angel

i had several drafts waiting, including the second part of the previous one, but between some complicated personal stuff and starting a new job (which is good, but stressful), i hadn’t been able to sit down, revise them, translate everything and actually like how they turned out. this one wasn’t even supposed to be this long… but things happened lol

i was thinking that my last post was a bj one-shot, and i don’t usually put that much effort into writing blowjobs, so this time i went all in on worshipping the reader instead

the first half is almost entirely plot — i think it makes the whole thing sweeter, hotter and more fun. but there are three little “cuts”, so if you want to skip straight to the smut, you can start from the third one. overall it’s pretty fluffy, but it gets properly dirty once the spice starts. noah is really sweet in this one, a little less cocky than in the last one i posted, but he still is. i adore him here

like i said last time, english isn’t my first language, so there might be some mistakes or repetitive words even though i re-read it several times, tried to vary the vocabulary and did some research while translating. i tried my best to keep the same feeling i had when i originally wrote it in spanish, so please be patient with me u.u' any feedback or advice is always welcome though! (:

also, i’ve never really talked about taking requests, but someone left me one for subby!folio and i actually squealed when i read it!!! i already have something half-written for that, so i’ll probably post it eventually (no promises on dates though, because translating and adapting everything to english always stresses me out and i need to be on my days off with a calm mind, and I'm also a little embarrassed to post some things, heh sjdhsd). this one was already halfway done and i finally managed to finish it these past few days

anyway, mucho texto. if you’re reading this, thank you so much and i really hope you enjoy it <3

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When you decided to move from Richmond to L.A., you didn't think the process would be this exhausting. You expected some chaos for a few weeks, of course, but even after the movers and your friends helped you haul everything you’d brought with you up the building's elevator, the work was nowhere near finished. You hadn't brought everything from home; your new little apartment was crammed with boxes in every corner, and you still had plenty of things left to buy.

You managed to get a lot done during the first week. Your priority was getting the living room ready, just to have a comfortable, decent space to look at every time you walked in—a good first impression for guests. You’d set up some furniture, a rug, a bookshelf for your books and vinyls, a record player, and a few decorations. Right in the middle, there was a coffee table and a sofa that had been a total nightmare to get up the elevator. It had given Noah, Jolly, and Davis a massive headache just trying to figure out how to squeeze it through the door.

"No, man, tilt it more to the right," Davis said, holding the end that was already inside the apartment.

"How the hell am I supposed to tilt it right when there’s a fucking wall next to me, D?" Noah snapped back, struggling with the other end.

Jolly and you watched closely. He had a smirk on his face, while you just looked completely drained.

"Let's try the left then."

"There’s another wall to my left, Davis!"

It had been a total mess. They argued for several minutes, and a neighbor even came by to ask if they needed help. Great, what a first impression! Two idiots fighting in the hallway. But somehow, by nighttime, the four of you ended up exhausted and crashed in the living room. Noah had claimed the sofa, stretching out on it —even though he didn't quite fit and his feet were dangling over one of the armrests. Jolly, Davis, and you sat on the floor, sharing a couple of pizzas and beers you’d ordered.

Over the next few days, you had to unpack more stuff. Some of the guys and the rest of your friends stopped by to help, making the whole thing go faster and feel a lot less overwhelming.

At a glance, the place was finally starting to look like a home. The kitchen had the basics: a table and chairs, your cookware, and small appliances like a blender, a toaster, and the coffee maker that had been with you since you started college four years ago. Even though your cabinets and fridge were still pretty much empty, and you’d basically been surviving on takeout from a Korean place down the street, it was getting there.

The bathroom was done too, but your bedroom was the one thing still left to finish.

You’d been sleeping on a mattress on the floor, and your clothes were still living in boxes. All you had set up was a nightstand and your desk with your computer ready for work.

Then, after you'd been there for a week, your bedroom furniture finally arrived. Noah, despite being busy all morning, had promised to come over and help you set it up.

His helpfulness didn't surprise you. He’d always been like that with you, ever since elementary school. Most of your friend group had grown up in Richmond, and you'd all been tight from the start.

But Noah and you had been a sort of inseparable duo since you were like seven. You lived in the same neighborhood and went to the same school. You’d shared so much over the years—from taking the bus to and from class together, studying, and doing homework, to playing outside or going out to ride bikes and skateboards with friends when you were kids. Then, as teenagers, you started going to parties together, or you'd tag along to his rehearsals and those early gigs his bands played in sketchy bars.

The two of you always swore it was just a solid friendship and nothing more. But everyone else suspected there was something else there. Something you didn't talk about, or maybe something you both just refused to see.

Still, you did have secrets you didn't share with the others. Like the nights you spent stargazing together while Noah practiced chords on that old secondhand guitar he’d bought back in eighth grade. Or the anime marathons when you both made excuses about having to study for an exam instead of going out with everyone else. And the sleepovers at his grandparents' house, where you’d end up sharing the same bed.

You had a great bond in general. It was secure, strong, and warm. You understood each other better than anyone else.

But if there was one secret you’d never share, it was the fact that, on more than one occasion, you’d actually kissed. It wasn't anything wild, though. You shared your first kiss at eleven years old out of simple curiosity while watching a movie. Back then, it just made both of you feel gross, and you wiped your lips right after trying it.

"Eww, why do adults like this?" You said with disgust at the time.

Noah mirrored your horrified expression. "I don’t know. Your tongue felt weird."

“Why did you even put your tongue in my mouth?!”

“I don't know, they were doing it!”

The second kiss happened at fifteen. It was a dare from your friends during a small hangout at Nick’s house when his parents were away and his sister was staying at a friend's. That night, you’d tried drinking for the first time, and since Noah already had a girlfriend, he had more experience than you did. It was a normal kiss, nothing over the top. But it left both of your hearts racing, even if you perfectly faked that it wasn't a big deal and went on with your lives like nothing happened.

The third and fourth kisses came at sixteen and eighteen. Same situations, different moments. Usually at parties, both of you having had a bit too much to drink. Maybe blurred by the alcohol or just bored with the night, you ended up kissing in a corner where no one could see you. Again, neither of you questioned it. You just took them as little slips, simple curiosity, or just a way to kill time. Noah had already dated several girls by then, nothing serious, and you’d tried having a relationship that turned out to be a bit of a failure.

None of the others ever found out. You knew that if they already teased you about that one kiss from the dare every now and then, the jokes would be never-ending if they knew it had happened more than once.

By the time you were nineteen, Noah and the guys had left Richmond for L.A. to chase their dreams of making it in music. After several attempts with different bands, he and Nick had managed to put together a stable lineup for a new project: Bad Omens. They’d had rehearsals and small gigs in bars back home, still without a set name but with a few songs that would lay the foundation for their future. They waited for Folio, the youngest, to graduate before moving and signing with a label that soon carved out a path for them in the industry.

You had stayed home to study, starting a Fine Arts degree with a major in photography, and experiencing a stable relationship for the first time. Your future, though not entirely guaranteed, seemed to have a clear path too. And even though you had new friends and a partner, you never lost touch with your old crew.

You talked to everyone every week, especially Noah, who kept insisting you should move to L.A. once you finished your degree so you could be close again. From a distance, you watched the band grow—their first album, their first big festival sets, and tours during those first two years. You’d only seen them a handful of times during that period, through fleeting visits or the occasional concert, moments that reminded you what it was like to spend every single day with them.

You were still undecided, but during your last year of college, your first serious relationship came to an end. Fortunately, it wasn't on bad terms. Maybe it hadn't been the most stable or thrilling relationship, in the best sense of the word, and maybe that guy had even left a lot to be desired… But missing having someone by your side to wake up with, or just to cuddle and watch a movie, made you miss what you’d had years ago with Noah even more. You didn't want to lose all of that as if it were just a passing phase in your life.

So, with nothing left tying you to Richmond, in the summer of 2018, after finishing your thesis and holding a photography exhibition in a gallery—which all your friends attended, taking a weekend off to support you—you finally made the choice.

That was how you ended up in a small apartment in Koreatown, with your friends coming and going to help you settle in.

And on the day your bedroom furniture finally arrived, Noah showed up with lunch and a toolbox he kept at the band house to help you put everything together.

"I hate this thing," he grunted, sitting on the floor and struggling with the tiny screws for the headboard.

You were folding your clothes and putting them away in the wardrobe you both had finished assembling an hour earlier.

"You can leave it if you want. I can figure out how to finish it later," you said softly.

"Nah, I'm not leaving until this bed is ready." He shook his head, focusing with his brows furrowed. "Maybe you should let me break it in as a reward for all my hard work." He dramatically wiped sweat from his forehead.

You turned around, arching an eyebrow at him while putting away some t-shirts.

"You are not putting your sweaty ass on my new sheets, Noah."

He let out a low chuckle and shrugged. "I can take a shower first. Besides, it’s getting too late to head back. We can have dinner, watch a movie, and then I’ll sleep like a baby on this thing."

You shook your head, sighing as you picked up a stack of pants to put them in their spot.

The simple thought of sharing a bed with Noah after all these years made your skin prickle.

"I don't think we’ll fit. You're a lot taller than the last time we slept on the same mattress," you pointed out.

He looked up from where he was holding a screwdriver against the wood of the headboard. He scanned you from head to toe, narrowing his eyes.

"Don't exaggerate, it's not like I'm seven feet tall. We can find a way for both of us to fit and— Shit..." He groaned when one of the screws slipped from his fingers. "Why do they make these things so tiny?"

You couldn't help but let out a soft laugh at that, walking over to grab the next box of clothes to put away. The one with your underwear and socks.

"Maybe they aren't tiny. Maybe you just have giant sausage fingers," you teased, picking up a few pairs of panties.

Noah turned toward you, his brows furrowed. He was about to snap back, defend himself from your accusation, and probably tease you about being so short compared to him. But when his eyes landed on what you were holding, he pressed his lips together and went back to looking for the screw on the floor.

"Well... having big hands has its advantages, you know?" he said softly, biting his tongue. "Oh, there you are, motherfucker," he snorted as he stood up, triumphantly holding the tiny screw between his fingers.

You shot him a sidelong glance as you walked over to tuck your panties into one of the wardrobe drawers.

"Oh yeah? Like what?" you blurted out without thinking, just out of the old habit of bickering and challenging each other.

But as soon as you turned back to grab your bras from the box and saw the smug smirk starting to spread across Noah's lips, you regretted it.

"Well..."

"Noah, don't," you warned, fixing your eyes on the box as you leaned down to grab your underwear, avoiding his gaze.

Noah quickly held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. But neither his smile nor his eyes showed a hint of it.

"Hey, I didn't say anything!" He defended himself. He let out a little chuckle, shaking his head and going back to screwing the wood together. "What were you thinking about, you perv?"

Your first instinct was to throw whatever you had in your hand at him—a bra that ended up draped over his head and falling slightly over his face. Heat flushed up your neck as you watched him catch it, laughing again.

"I wasn't thinking about anything weird. But I know you like the back of my hand."

He arched an eyebrow at you, his gaze quickly dropping to the garment between his fingers.

"I've had a few of these thrown at me on stage, I've been asked to rip some off in backstages and hotel rooms... but it's the first time a girl has thrown her underwear at me with such rage."

You let out a huff and marched over just to swat him on the head and snatch your bra back from his hands.

"Give me that." You grabbed it roughly and headed back to the wardrobe, keeping your back to him so he wouldn't notice the deep blush crawling up your face.

You heard another chuckle behind you while you put your things away.

"It's cute, anyway. The fabric is... soft."

"Shut up."

"Alright, alright. I'd forgotten how grumpy you get sometimes." He hissed. “But I know you love me anyway.”

You almost snapped back, but you chose to focus on finishing putting your clothes away instead, while he kept piecing the bed together. A long silence stretched between you for several minutes, with only the city sounds drifting in through the balcony and music from some bar across the street.

The silence wasn't awkward, and you were grateful for that. You’d never felt uncomfortable around him, and that brief moment of peace reminded you of the hundreds of times you’d been alone like this. You never had to fill the space with small talk because it just wasn't necessary. Afternoons where he’d practice guitar and you’d study for an exam, not sharing a single word, but feeling the warmth of each other's company.

It felt good to have that back.

Still, he was the one to break the silence.

"You know, you insisted a few times on giving me something for helping with all of this," he started, speaking slowly. You didn't turn to look at him, but you were listening. "I think I know how I want to collect..."

You took a deep breath.

"How much do you want?"

"Huh?"

"How much do you want?" you repeated.

"Y/n... I'm not talking about a payment, per se."

"No?"

You looked at each other then. You were confused, and he looked almost offended.

"How could you think I'd charge my best friend for helping her out?" He let out a huff. "But... going back to the bed thing. You could buy me dinner. I spent the last bit of cash in my wallet on gas and the stuff I brought for lunch." He gave a relaxed laugh. "Dinner, a movie, and sleeping on my masterpiece." He patted the bed, which was almost ready, as if it were his greatest pride. "I promise I'll shower."

You thought about it for a few seconds. It wouldn't be the first time you’d shared a sleeping space. There was no reason for it to be weird now if it never had been before. Finally, you nodded, this time with a calm smile.

"That doesn't sound too bad."

A warmth you hadn't seen in a long time, and that you’d truly missed, settled in his eyes.

"Yeah... doesn't sound too bad." His lips curved into a smile as he looked back at the wooden frame, shaking it slightly to make sure it was sturdy before standing up and leaning toward where the mattress was resting against the wall. "But maybe I’ll collect on another favor some other time."

You rolled your eyes. Things could never be perfectly simple with him around.

"I could do a free photoshoot for you if you want," you suggested.

He nodded, weighing the offer.

"Doesn't sound bad either, but Bryan already does that." He shrugged. "I mean, he gets paid for it. The label handles all that. And he doesn't even charge us for personal merch photos, so it doesn't really matter." He paused for a second as he picked up the mattress with absurd ease and tossed it into place.

You both stared at the finished job in silence.

"I’ll think of something," he said, acting like it was no big deal. Even though he already had a few things in mind he could ask of you—ranging from the stupidest ideas to the riskiest ones, the kind he knew would drive you crazy.

You didn't want to push it, and he didn't say anything else.

You just knew that any day now, he’d show up with an idea that he probably wouldn't let you say no to.

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Weeks went by, and with them came the adjustment to the city and your new chapter. Discovering new spots and getting into the rhythm of your friends' lives, as they quickly pulled you into everything they were doing. You’d managed to have a few promising talks with photography agencies that caught your eye while you worked on a personal project and occasionally pitched ideas for Bad Omens. Noah and the guys had even recommended you to their own agency, so you’d sent over your portfolio and had some paperwork to finish before the end of the month to set up an interview.

Everything seemed to be going well. It wasn't exactly like it used to be, since adult life brought its own set of worries, but everything else remained intact.

Rehearsals, shows, studio sessions, lazy afternoons at the guys' place or your apartment, dinners, laughs, and parties. All the missing puzzle pieces were finally back in place. You felt at home again.

You’d started spending one-on-one time with Noah again too. Every time he could grab a bit of free time to spend with you, he took it.

One afternoon in particular, he’d tagged along to help you go grocery shopping and finally stock your pantry and fridge. He helped you put everything away, stuffing the high shelves with things you wouldn't use or eat often, and once again, he suggested the usual plan: dinner and a movie.

"I saw you talking to some guy at the party last weekend. How’d that go?" He asked while you were both lounging on the couch, the TV on and a pizza box with two slices left sitting on the coffee table.

A beer rested in his relaxed hand. He was halfway through his third one, and you’d just started your second.

"Oh... nothing happened, really. He bought me a drink. He was flirting, but there was no, um... I don't know... spark?" You took a sip from your bottle, your eyes never leaving the thriller movie he’d picked out.

He shot you a sidelong glance.

"Spark..." he repeated, focusing on his beer. "You haven't been out with anyone since...?"

"Frank? No..." You shook your head, adjusting your position and tucking your legs up on the sofa. His eyes followed your every move. "After we broke up, I spent the last few months focusing on finishing my degree. And then I moved here, so I haven't really had much time for that either."

He nodded, shifting in his spot as well.

Once again, the silence wasn't awkward for you, but Noah seemed to be struggling with whether to ask more questions or try not to watch your expressions as you reacted to the movie. He’d missed this company, and the new routine you had, had brought a sense of peace to the chaos of being the frontman of a band that was already making a name for itself in the scene.

"And have you thought about it? I mean, dating again?" He asked casually— though the slight tremor of his fingers on the bottle suggested he was worried about sounding too forced—and took a quick swig of his beer.

You turned your head, locking eyes with him for the first time since the movie started. His dark gaze looked more curious than his voice had let on. You took a moment to really think about your answer.

"Mmm... I haven't ruled it out. But... I don't know." You shrugged. Then, you added in a more relaxed, teasing tone, "It's not as easy for everyone as it is for you, you know?"

Noah narrowed his eyes, searching your face.

"It's not that it's easy... It's just... letting things flow?"

"Great advice, Romeo," you said with a lopsided smile.

He rolled his eyes. "I promise it's not that complicated. I can give you lessons whenever you want." He gave you a wink.

That little gesture made you let out a huff, and you tried to focus on the movie again.

"Are you going to make me watch you make out with some girl at a party, or how exactly would these 'lessons' work?"

A loud laugh echoed through your living room, and it was impossible for you not to look at him again. He looked so pretty when he laughed, his eyes crinkling just a bit.

"That would be funny. But I was thinking about... I don't know, advice, maybe?"

You pursed your lips, trying to read past his relaxed expression.

"Advice on how to win over a man?"

"Yeah," he nodded without hesitation.

"And what do you know about it? Have you ever tried to win one over?" You arched an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your ribs.

Noah’s gaze dropped to your arms, and he quickly looked away when he noticed the simple action made your chest stand out in the top you were wearing.

A slow smile curved his lips.

"I’m a man too. I know what men like, and what they want." His voice was low, almost suggestive.

Want.

That word hung heavy in the air between you.

"Is this going to be some sexist crap about men liking women who cook or something like that?" You grunted.

"No. But that should be a universal thing. Taking care of the person you care about, no matter who you are or how you identify."

"You have a point. Go on."

Silence took over the room for a few seconds, interrupted only by the tense music of the movie and some dialogue from the characters. Noah watched you closely through his lashes, almost as if he were gauging your expression to figure out where to start.

"Most of us do like being pampered. Not necessarily in that way, but the... little things. Of course, that depends on the guy. But you’re probably more used to being called cute or having people compliment your outfit." His voice was calm, and he seemed to be taking the matter seriously. No jokes. "We’re used to giving the compliments, not hearing them as much. It’s rare to be called cute, and it can make someone's week."

You tilted your head with a bit of curiosity.

"Have you really never been called cute?"

He shook his head, a playful smile on his lips. "I’ve been told I’m hot, or fit. But cute? Nah."

Then, before you could even respond, he added:

"Wait, that's not true," he corrected himself, taking back his previous answer. "You called me 'cute' once back in sixth grade."

Your lips parted, and you stayed silent for a second. How did he still remember that?

"Yeah... You'd done your hair differently that day and you were wearing a shirt that looked good on you."

His eyes softened for a moment.

"Told you. Little details can make a week... or a whole lifetime."

You bit your tongue, thinking seriously about that. There were definitely things that had left a mark on you over time too. Things Noah had said or done, specifically. But you didn’t think he’d actually remember the things you’d said or done. He’d always seemed way more carefree than you.

You took a deep breath.

"What else?"

He pondered his next answer for a few seconds.

"We also like confidence when it comes to what someone wants or desires."

"Everyone likes that."

"True, but you know, it’s nice when you’re flirting with someone and they make it clear what they’re looking for. It doesn't have to be blunt, either, but it has to be honest."

You nodded. So far, it all sounded logical.

"Anything else, Professor?" You asked, sighing with exhaustion as you settled further into the sofa. One of your knees brushed against his thigh, but you didn't think much of it; you’d been much closer than that before.

He couldn't hide the mischievous smirk that spread across his lips when you called him that.

"Scents, eye contact, kisses, touches at the exact right moment," he listed calmly. "A nice perfume, a lingering look, and a soft squeeze on the arm can be your key to success."

You soaked up the information like a sponge. It wasn't anything crazy or out of this world. It was still logical. And the fact that he was being so logical was starting to worry you. Noah never missed a chance to turn a serious moment into a joke.

"You make some good points…  Is that it, or am I ready to go up to some guy at a party now?"

He just smirked.

"That’s your foundation. After that, it’s up to you to keep the conversation going and keep the guy interested."

And then, just like you suspected, he decided to mess it all up. He leaned in toward you, eyes narrowed and a look on his face that said whatever came out of his mouth next was probably going to get him yelled at.

"And if that doesn't work, you can always just get on your knees and give him some good head."

Your heart skipped a beat when you heard him. Your blood ran cold, and you were sure your face turned a thousand different shades of red in a matter of seconds.

"Noah!" You shrieked, shoving at his thighs with one foot. He caught it before you could actually kick him in the legs.

"What? I’m being honest, honey!" He let out a laugh, leaning back against the sofa cushions as if he hadn't just said something completely out of line. "We like that."

Your face burned, and you bit the inside of your cheek, looking away. Of course, you couldn't have a completely serious talk about a topic he could easily turn into an inappropriate joke. He’d always been like this.

You shook your head. It’s my own fault for asking.

But quickly, images from your previous relationship started flooding your mind. All those nights you’d spent in bed with your ex. It had been a preetty nice relationship, but you never really knew if what you were doing was right or not; you just let things flow. You didn't even know if everything your ex did was the "right" way, either, You remembered having better orgasms on your own, playing by yourself, than you ever had with him.

Maybe Noah noticed the gears turning in your head, because he gave your foot a gentle squeeze, his tattooed hand wrapping completely around it.

"What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

You blinked a few times and scrunched up your nose. "Nothing."

He didn't believe you. The way you shifted uncomfortably in your spot and the flush on your cheeks gave you away.

"Come on, we’re close. You can tell me," he assured you, the joking tone gone from his voice.

His hand calmly stroked your foot, almost massaging it in an attempt to soothe you. But his thumb grazing the sole of your foot made you ticklish, and your skin prickled.

You bit your bottom lip, debating whether to say something else or just kick him and go back to focusing on the movie. But now you had a thousand questions.You’d always figured things out for each other, and clearly, Noah had more experience in these matters than you did. Maybe it was worth asking.

Just some simple advice.

"Mmm... It's just that I'm not sure how..." You looked down at your stomach, where your fingers trembled slightly against the fabric of your top. "Well... how that whole thing works properly."

He leaned in, paying closer attention now.

"You've never done it?"His voice came out raspy—thicker than he probably intended.

You shook your head quickly.

"No, no. I mean... I have. But— I... I don't know, it was weird." You shifted in your seat again. "It was... fast. It was always fast."

One of his eyebrows arched.

"Did he finish quickly?"

The bluntness of the question made your cheeks burn even hotter. God, you had never talked about any of this with anyone.

You nodded almost shyly.

Noah paused, looking like he was choosing his words with extreme care.

"...And what about you?"

"What do you mean?" You looked up with curiosity, your heart starting to pound against your ribs.

The way his dark, focused gaze stayed on you made you shiver.

"Did you finish fast too, or did he have to work harder to make sure you got there?"

Oh my God.

The bluntness of it, without a single trace of a joke in his voice, was enough to make your head spin. And you hadn't even had that much to drink.

The conversation was already starting to spiral out of your control.

"You know what? We don't have to—"

Noah noticed the hesitation in your voice and the way you shifted nervously. He cut you off calmly, trying to make sure things didn't get too awkward for you,

"I’m just trying to see what I’m dealing with so I can give you the right advice, Y/n." He shrugged, looking so composed it was almost overwhelming. "It’s me. We’ve known each other since we were what…? Six years old? You have nothing to be embarrassed about."

Yes, it was Noah. Your oldest friend. The person you’d always trusted, the one who knew everything about you. But over the last two years, even though you’d spent hours talking on the phone and texting, there were details you’d never touched on. Among them, your sex life with your only serious boyfriend. And you weren't kids anymore.

"God..." You closed your eyes, trying to keep it together. It’s just Noah. You can talk to him. "No, I didn't really... finish fast. And there were times when I just didn't... Like, I didn't..."

You looked away, feeling a wave of shame this time.

Noah shifted in his spot, straightening up a bit. You didn't notice, but along with the fresh squeeze he gave your foot, his free hand made a subtle move, adjusting his pants slightly. The gears in his head had been working overtime for several minutes now, too.

"There were times when you didn't finish?" His voice sounded airy, low. A chill ran down your spine, from your lower back all the way up to your neck.

You bit your lip and nodded shyly again.

He went silent for a moment, and finally, he clicked his tongue.

"Oh, babe. Have you just been having shitty sex all these years?"

"Noah!"

Once again, you tried to push him away with your foot, but you couldn't do a thing against the firmness of his large, tattooed hand on you. He wasn't squeezing hard, it wasn't painful, but it was incredibly firm.

He shook his head in disbelief, as if what he’d just heard was some kind of tragedy.

"How is that even possible?"

"How is what possible?" You glanced at him sideways, still feeling self-conscious.

He bit his tongue, but reached out with his free hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The touch made you go rigid. It shouldn't have affected you so much; he’d done it hundreds of times before. But for some reason, that night, with a bit of alcohol in your system and the soft L.A. night breeze drifting in through the balcony window, it did.

"How is it possible for a guy to be with a girl as pretty as you and not make her cry with pleasure?"

His voice was almost a lament, and his words hit your chest like a row of darts.

Pretty... and... Cry with pleasure?

"Is that even possible?" You huffed, almost a growl.

His thumb grazed your cheekbone as he stroked the side of your head. Instinctively, you leaned further into his hand, as if seeking out a touch you hadn't felt in a long time, and there was something in that small gesture that made his own chest burn.

"Of course it's possible, sweetheart," he murmured, his thumb moving over your cheek again.

He shifted a little closer, not letting go. His finger slid down from your cheek to your jaw to keep you looking his way, while he carefully scanned your features. Your pupils were dilated, and there was a pretty blush spreading across your nose and cheeks. He couldn't help but notice how you swallowed hard having him this close.

The heat from your bodies and your breath began to mingle. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he’d notice it in the vein of your neck if he was paying attention.

"Do you want me to show you?" Again, his voice was raspy and airy.

"Noah..." you tried to warn him.

"I’m just trying to help," he lied. It was more than helping that he wanted to do now. "And you owe me a favor, by the way."

That hit you like a bucket of ice-cold water.

He couldn't be asking for what you thought he was asking for, right?

"Is this why you saved that favor?" You let out another huff, scowling.

He shook his head, perfectly calm.

"No. I was planning on asking for something else. But now, I want to ask you to relax."

What did that even mean? What was happening?

"Just relax, and let me..." He bit his lip. "Let make you feel good." His thumb stroked your chin so calmly that the mix of his touch and his words almost made you melt into the sofa.

It had been a long time since anyone had touched you like this. Maybe you’d never been touched like this—as if you actually mattered.

But this was wrong. It was your childhood best friend who was touching you.

You’d kissed a few times, sure. But what Noah was offering now crossed every boundary of what a friendship was supposed to be.

"I... I don't think this is right." Your voice sounded less certain than you’d hoped.

He smiled again. "Since when do you question whether what we’ve done is right or not?"

You bit your lip, and the simple question almost made you gasp.

"Noah..." you tried to warn him again, but your body seemed to be betraying you. Even though it would have been easy to pull away or push him back, you didn't.

"Just let me take care of you, angel."

Angel.

Shit.

He knew exactly what to do or say to make you crumble. He didn't even have to ask. He knew you better than you probably knew yourself.

"Would you let me? Please?"

His voice was so soft, his eyes so warm despite the dark glint in them, that you finally started to wonder what was even holding you back.

Noah was handsome. He’d always been handsome to you. He had changed a bit; his hair was longer, and his attitude was more confident than you remembered from before he left Richmond. You watched him move through parties or meetings with a much stronger presence now. But deep down, he was still the same shy, sweet, and clumsy guy.

Your friend. Your Noah.

You’d been through a thousand things together. He was quite possibly the person you had leaned on the most, the one who had been by your side through everything, just as you had been by his.

And if there was anyone you could trust blindly, it was him.

You took a deep breath and tried to count to ten, praying you wouldn't regret what you were about to say.

"Okay."

He didn't laugh, he didn't tease you, and he didn't have any over-the-top reaction.

"Okay?"

"Mhm," you nodded slowly. "Yes."

He nodded back, just once, even slower. Giving you one last light caress, he finally let out a sigh.

"That's it. Good girl." His voice was almost a purr that made you shiver. "Come with me."

With that, he let go of your cheek and took your hand in his, calmly moving your leg off of him as he stood up from the couch. You looked at him, confused, but you let him pull you up and lead you toward the hallway.

"Where are we going?" The answer was obvious.

"I’m going to make you ruin those new sheets, gorgeous." He gave you a lopsided smile—confident, but without being cocky.

Your heart did that thing where it skips a beat. Maybe it did a few backflips and ran a marathon in your chest too.

ㅤ

ㅤ

The process was slow.

You made it to your bedroom, and it was nothing like you expected. You thought you’d just stand there not knowing what to do, or that he’d immediately lunged at you with a kiss. But Noah led you to the edge of the bed and signaled for you to stay there for a moment while he turned on the small lamp on your nightstand.

You watched his every move as he pulled a lighter from his back pocket and lit one of the vanilla-scented candles next to the lamp. One he had given you the day you moved in.

He turned around slowly, looking at you with that familiar warmth. But there was something in his eyes, a spark that made his gaze feel different under the dim light of the room.

He moved toward the window to draw the curtains.

"Privacy."

That was all he said. And that single word set something on fire in your chest, and much lower too.

He walked with the slowness of someone who has all the time in the world to stand before you, still leaving a cautious space between you while looking you straight in the eye. Your hands trembled slightly, not knowing where to put them, and he smiled.

His own hands went straight to the waistband of his pants, to his belt, unbuckling it calmly without ever taking his eyes off you. Your heart did another round of high-performance exercises in your chest. He took it off with such natural ease and leaned over to set it next to the candle. You seemed to be in a trance watching him in the silence of the room, and the only thing that woke you up was the thud of the belt hitting the wood.

Your body shuddered.

"Do you want me to...?" you started to ask, your voice a bit shaky.

"No." He shook his head gently. "No. That’s just so I can move more comfortably." He took another step closer, gauging your reactions. "I already told you. I want you to feel good today. You don’t have to do a single thing for me."

His voice was so sweet you thought you were dreaming. Your ex-boyfriend had never been this calm, not even during your first time.

"Can I...?" he spoke again, interrupting the memories that had started to drift through your mind.

You saw his hands hovering halfway, gesturing toward your waist. You could only nod.

Noah closed the distance with small steps, making sure not to take the long strides he usually did. He didn't want to invade your space all at once or make you flinch.

His hands landed on your waist. They were large and firm, but without squeezing too hard. The heat of his touch through the fabric made you shudder again.

"You’re trembling," he murmured, his thumbs stroking your sides in an attempt to soothe you. "Don’t be nervous, gorgeous. I’m not going to do anything you don't want, and I won't do anything you don't like."

You took a deep breath. "Okay."

"You can stop me at any time. Now, in five minutes, when I’m about to touch you more... even if I end up undressing you. You can say no. Understood?"

"Mhm."

"Please, use your words."

Another shaky breath. "Understood."

"Very good... Good girl."

That damn pet name again.

Good God.

One of Noah’s hands moved away from your waist, reaching up again to brush a stray lock of hair that had stubbornly fallen over your face. The touch felt even more electric than before.

Noah never broke eye contact. His hand slid slowly down your cheek until his thumb rested on your bottom lip, pressing with a gentleness that made you instinctively part your mouth. The contrast of his warm skin against yours was almost too much to handle.

"Are you going to kiss me already?" The whisper slipped from your lips before you could even process it, heavy with an impatience you didn't know you had.

Noah let out a low chuckle, a vibration you could feel because of how close he was. His fingers tightened slightly around your waist, pulling you in until your chest brushed against his torso.

"Are you in a hurry, angel?" he murmured, tilting his head just enough for his nose to graze yours. "I thought you’d want me to take my time."

He didn't give you a chance to respond. Noah closed the remaining distance with an agonizing slowness, brushing his lips against yours once, twice, before finally sealing them in a real kiss. It wasn't a sudden crash; it was a firm, wet, deep pressure that made you let out a muffled moan. Is this actually happening? His hands left your waist to slide up your back, pressing you tighter against him, while his tongue sought entry with a confidence that made your legs feel weak.

You clung to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric of his t-shirt, feeling the hardness of the muscles underneath. Noah broke the kiss, pulling back only a few millimeters, panting against your mouth.

"Your mouth is just as soft as I remembered..." His voice was a raspy sigh as he trailed the kiss down toward your jaw, leaving a path of fire before moving up to your ear. "Tell me if you like this."

You felt his teeth graze your earlobe before he sucked on it gently, and an electric spark shot down your spine, making your body arch further into him.

"Yes... Noah, I like that," you gasped, tilting your head back to give him more access to your neck.

He didn't waste any time. His hands moved down again, but this time they didn't stay over your clothes. You felt his long fingers slide under the hem of your top, seeking direct contact with your skin. The touch of his warm palms against your stomach made you catch your breath, and Noah let out a heavy sigh against the curve of your neck when he finally felt your bare skin.

His fingers traced your sides with a slowness that made you ache, moving up inch by inch until his thumbs grazed the bottom edge of your bra. You tensed up—not out of fear, but from the rush of anticipation coursing through you.

"Can I take this off?" He murmured, pulling back just enough to find your eyes in the dim light.

His gaze was dark, heavy with an intensity that made you weak all over again, but his hands remained an invitation, not a demand. You nodded, unable to find the words, and Noah helped you rid yourself of the clothes with extreme gentleness, leaving your torso bare under the warm glow of the candle and the small lamp.

The cool air of the room hit your skin, but the chill lasted only a second before Noah’s arms were around you again. His eyes roamed over every inch of you with a reverence that made you feel like you were the most precious thing he’d ever had in front of him.

"You’re... beautiful," he whispered, and this time there was a slight edge of urgency in his voice. His gaze was fixed on your exposed chest. "Look at those pretty tits."

That made you blush instantly. And without giving you a second to process the praise, his lips were back on yours, but the kiss wasn't just an exploration anymore. Now, it was a silent demand. His hands moved firmly toward the back of your thighs, lifting you off the ground with an ease that reminded you just how much his body outmatched yours in strength. You wrapped your legs around his waist by pure instinct, feeling the heat of his torso through his t-shirt against your bare chest as he guided you the few steps to the bed.

When your back hit the new sheets you’d bragged about earlier, Noah positioned himself over you, keeping his weight supported on his forearms so as not to let his full body drop onto yours.

"I told you I wanted you to feel good," he reminded you, his voice vibrating against your sternum as he began to press wet kisses along the top of your chest. "And I’m going to make sure of it, gorgeous."

Noah pulled back just a few inches, enough to pull his t-shirt over his head in one quick, fluid motion. With his torso bare, the candlelight danced over the dark ink covering his skin, making his tattoo designs seem to come to life. Seeing him like that, so imposing and yet so devoted to you, sent a surge of desire through your belly unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

With your ex, sex had always been functional, almost choreographed, with your needs pushed to the background. But Noah... Noah looked at you like you were a miracle.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to stop touching you," he confessed in a whisper, capturing your lips in another deep kiss, hungrier this time, as his hands finally laid claim to your breasts.

The feel of his large palms surrounding you made you let out a moan that he swallowed instantly. His thumbs began to move in slow, steady circles, capturing those pretty buds at the tips until he felt them reacting to his touch, hardening. The pressure was perfect—firm, as if he were memorizing your texture.

He trailed his kisses down your sternum, leaving a warm, wet path that made you arch your back against the sheets. Every time his stubble grazed your skin, a shiver ran through your entire body. When his mouth closed around one of your nipples, sucking with agonizing slowness, you gripped the sheets, bunching them up as you let out a broken gasp.

"Noah... please..."

"Shhh, easy, baby. I've got you," he murmured against your skin before moving down toward your stomach.

His kisses descended inch by inch, pausing to trace a path toward your belly button with his tongue. You could feel the urgency building inside you, a heavy, damp heat settling between your legs that was screaming for his attention. But Noah took his time, savoring every little reaction from your body, every shudder, and the way your breathing became more erratic.

He stopped right at the waistband of your pants, resting his forehead against your belly as he caught his breath. You felt his hands move up again to lace his fingers with yours, pinning you to the bed.

"This is all about you," he said, looking up to meet your eyes. His brown eyes were smoldering, clouded with desire.  Once again, he asked for permission. "Can I keep going?"

As soon as you nodded, Noah shifted just enough to reach the button of your pants. His fingers moved with a precision that made you tremble, sliding the zipper down with a sound that seemed to echo in the silence of the room. He began to pull the garment down with agonizing slowness, stopping every few inches to leave a wet kiss on the skin he was uncovering—your hips, the tops of your thighs, even the curve of your knees when he finally freed your legs.

He took the time to gently kiss the side of your calf before tossing your pants to the side of the bed, treating you with a gentleness that made you feel like you were made of glass.

His hands moved up again, stroking the inside of your thighs with open palms, sliding up with a slowness that made you internally beg for him to reach where the heat was most intense. He stopped right at the edge of your panties, his long fingers barely brushing the fabric. His eyes locked onto yours, a silent question that you answered by slightly arching your hips toward him.

Noah hooked his thumbs into the fabric and slid it down. When you were finally fully exposed to him, instinct made you close your legs a bit, trying to hide yourself.

Noah let out a soft click of his tongue, a sound of playful disapproval that made you look at him.

"Nuh-uh... Don’t do that, honey," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "Don’t hide from me. There is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of."

His hands moved to the inside of your knees, pressing firmly but without force, guiding you.

"Open your legs for me, pretty girl. Let me get a good look at you."

You exhaled a breath you didn't know you were holding and gave in, letting him clear the way. Noah caught his breath instantly, his tattooed shoulders tensing as his gaze roamed over what he had just revealed. He stayed silent for a few seconds, just processing the sight under the candlelight.

"Holy shit..." He whispered, his gaze darkening completely. "You have such a gorgeous cunt. It’s perfect."

That brutal honesty, spoken with such devotion, made a new kind of heat explode in your chest. Noah leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of your hips, never taking his eyes off you.

"Do you even realize it?" he continued, his voice vibrating with an intensity that made your skin prickle. "You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life... And I’m going to savor every single part of you."

Noah didn't go straight for his goal. He took his time, propping his elbows on the mattress and framing your pelvis with his large hands while his eyes stayed fixed on the way your ragged breathing made your chest heave. His hands slid down, his fingers starting to trace invisible patterns over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, closing in and then pulling away from the center of your heat in an agonizing dance that made you claw at the sheets.

"Noah..." His name left your lips as a shaky plea, a silent broken whisper..

He gave a small, satisfied smirk at the way you reacted to his touch. He lowered his head and began pressing wet kisses into the crease of your thighs, right where the skin meets your pelvis. The contrast of his hot tongue and the cool air of the room made you let out a stifled moan. He kissed the fold of your groin once, twice, before moving up to lick the skin of your mons pubis with a slowness that made you see stars.

You felt your hips start to move by instinct, searching for the direct contact he was deliberately denying you. The damp heat between your legs was an undeniable presence now, an urgency throbbing with every second he took to explore your skin.

Noah noticed your impatience. He felt your thighs tense and your body reach for his, and finally, he let out a heavy sigh that ghosted directly against your heat.

"Look at you... you're already so soaked for me," he murmured, and the tone of his voice—so low and gravelly—was the final spark.

Without warning, Noah used his thumbs to spread you with expert gentleness, exposing the small bud of your pleasure to the candlelight. He leaned in and pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss right there, before his tongue made its real appearance. That first direct contact was like a bolt of electricity shooting up your spine to the base of your skull.

"Mmm..." A small whimper slipped past your lips.

Noah began to savor you with long, firm strokes, tasting every inch of you while his fingers dug into the softness of your ass to anchor you to him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, throwing your head back as the entire world narrowed down to the exact spot where Noah’s mouth was working wonders. It was a feeling of total, perfect surrender; there was no rush, no clumsiness. Only the sound of your own erratic breathing and the steady rhythm of his mouth, which seemed to know exactly where to press and just how hard to suck to completely undo you.

The pleasure was so sharp that you instinctively squeezed your thighs together, but Noah wouldn't let you close up. His hands moved from your ass to your groin, holding you open for him. You felt the graze of his long fingers searching for your entrance—slick and throbbing from his tongue—before one of them pushed slowly inside.

You let out a muffled gasp, your fists bunching up the sheets. It had been so long since you’d felt anyone like this that the simple contact of a single finger felt immense, reclaiming a space you’d forgotten could be so sensitive when someone else invaded it. Noah paused for a second, giving your muscles time to relax and wrap around him before he began to move with deliberate slowness.

"Mmm, you’re so tight, angel..." he murmured against your skin, his hot breath sending a fresh jolt through your nerves.

Soon, a second finger joined the first, stretching you with a slowness that made you arch your back. The rhythm of his mouth against your clit didn't falter, coordinating perfectly with the steady motion of his hand. Noah curved his fingers upward, pressing against that spongy spot that made you let out a moan louder than you’d intended.

You brought a hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the sound, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. The shyness of doing this with Noah was still there, fighting against the wave of pleasure threatening to break you.

Noah lifted his head just a fraction, his lips glistening under the candlelight, and he looked at you with an intensity that took your breath away.

"Don’t do that," he whispered, his voice rasper than ever. "I want to hear you. I want to know exactly what I’m doing to you."

His fingers picked up the pace, pressing harder against that exact spot, while his tongue refocused on your core with faster, hungrier strokes. You felt the tension in your belly tighten into a knot, a searing pressure screaming to be released.

"Let it go, gorgeous. All of it... just let it out for me," he encouraged, his free hand sliding up to caress your thigh as the world began to blur around you. "Those sounds are beautiful. Don’t hold back."

You closed your eyes and surrendered, your moans becoming more unsettled and deep as the first orgasm of the night began to rack your body, dictated entirely by the mouth and hands of your best friend. It was an explosion that started deep in your womb, a tidal wave of molten heat that numbed you all the way to your fingertips. You felt your muscles contract rhythmically around Noah’s fingers, trapping them, as your back arched violently against the sheets.

Your hands flew down desperately to his head, burying your fingers in his hair—not to push him away, but to hold him there, anchoring yourself to the only reality that mattered while you came in his mouth. Noah didn't stop; on the contrary, he intensified the suction and the motion of his fingers, overstimulating you right at the peak of your pleasure, forcing a cry from your throat that vanished into the silence of the room.

You writhed beneath him, trembling uncontrollably, feeling every nerve ending in your body flare and fade at his mercy. Only when the last spasm finally subsided did Noah ease the pressure. He took a second to press a slow, wet kiss against your still-throbbing heat before starting his ascent.

His lips traced the path of warmth he had just ignited, leaving soft kisses on your belly and sides while his hands moved back up to reclaim your breasts, kneading them with a gentleness that made you feel like you were floating.The contrast of his two-day stubble grazing your sensitive, prickled skin slowly brought you back to reality.

When his eyes finally met yours, Noah had that dark, satisfied look, his lips and chin glistening with the trace of you that still lingered on them.  He leaned over your face, catching your bottom lip between his teeth before whispering directly against your mouth,

"You taste so fucking good, don't you, baby?" His voice was a low growl, heavy with a confidence that made you shudder all over again as he began to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. "Even better than I imagined."

Noah let out a long sigh, a mix of exhaustion and a deep satisfaction that seemed to radiate from every pore. Instead of pushing further, he let himself sink slowly onto you, keeping his weight on his elbows so as not to crush you, and buried his face in the crook of your neck and chest. You could feel his hot, heavy breath against your still-sensitive skin.

You lay there, catching your breath, your heart thrumming wildly in your chest, realizing that for the first time in your life, you hadn't had to fake it for a single second. Noah knew you; he had read you perfectly.

Your hands, still trembling, moved to his hair again, stroking the chestnut strands with a tenderness that made something twist in both of your chests, even if neither of you would admit it out loud. It was a strangely domestic and sweet moment, surrounded by the scent of the candle and the silence of your new apartment. However, you couldn't ignore the firm, persistent pressure of his crotch against your thigh; Noah was achingly hard, yet he seemed perfectly willing to ignore it.

Did he get that hard just from eating me out?

"That was... incredible," you managed to say, your voice still a raspy, broken thread.

Noah pressed a soft kiss to the base of your throat without lifting his head.

"It was," he whispered against your skin. "Rest for a bit, angel. There’s no rush."

His generosity moved you, but there was something else simmering inside. The vulnerability of having been completely undone before him had given you a new kind of confidence, a spark of playfulness you didn't know you possessed. You bit your bottom lip, watching his tattooed shoulders rise and fall with his breath.

"Noah..." you called out softly.

He let out a low hum, an invitation for you to continue, without moving from his refuge against your chest, savoring the way you stroked his hair.

"You said you could make me cry from the pleasure..." you let out, repeating his own words from earlier. Your voice sounded a bit steadier, more defiant. "And I’m not crying yet."

The effect was instantaneous. Noah went rigid under your fingers, and the silence that followed was charged. Slowly, he lifted his head, pulling away from your chest to lock his eyes onto yours. His gaze was no longer just warm; it had darkened, his pupils so blown that the brown of his irises was barely visible. The desire he’d been trying to curb exploded across his face.

He caught his breath for a second, processing your invitation, before a slow, dangerous smirk spread across his lips.

"Are you sure about what you're asking for?" He asked, his voice dropping to a register so deep you felt it vibrate in your own pelvis.  "Because if we keep going, baby, I won’t be as merciful as I was a moment ago."

He didn't wait for you to answer with words; your gaze told him everything. Noah sat up in one fluid motion, moving to the edge of the mattress. He stood by the side of the bed, turning his back to you for a second as he kicked off his pants. The candlelight traced the muscles of his back and the map of ink running down his legs, but when he finally turned around to step out of his boxers and stand fully exposed, the air snagged in your throat.

"Shit..." you whispered, unable to help yourself, your eyes fixed on the way his erection—long, thick, and heavy with veins—tensed with his every move.

Noah was a 6’3” man; logically, everything about him was proportional... but seeing him like this, so real and so close, sent a small, involuntary flicker of panic through you. He was considerably larger than your ex, and the realization that all of that was about to be for you made you go wet all over again.

Noah caught the shift in your expression immediately. He sat back down on the mattress, crawling closer to you with that calm only he knew how to project, and stroked your cheek with the back of his hand.

"Hey..." he murmured, his smile softening, almost apologetic. "I was kidding about the mercy, angel. I’m not going to hurt you, you know that, right? We’ll go at your pace."

You nodded, swallowing hard as he moved to settle between your legs, letting his heat radiate against your thighs. Before going any further, Noah paused, bracing his hands on either side of your head.

"Are you on something?" He asked, his voice regaining a serious, responsible edge. "Because I... I didn't bring anything with me."

You looked at him for a moment, blinking, and let out a small, nervous laugh mixed with a bit of playful scolding.

"Wow, Noah Sebastian... I thought you were more prepared than this."

He crinkled his nose, feigning an offense he didn't feel, but then his shoulders slumped slightly and he averted his gaze toward your lips, a spark of genuine shyness flickering in his dark eyes.

"I am prepared," he defended himself. ”I always carry protection when I know I’m going to need it, I’ve never been reckless... But never, not in a million years, did I think I’d actually have the chance to use a condom with you. I didn’t think you’d ever let me get this close."

That confession made your heart skip a beat and now it felt like it had gone straight to the Olympics, thumping with a renewed force inside your chest. It wasn't a lack of planning; it was that, to him, you were someone so precious and out of reach that he hadn't even allowed himself to assume this would happen.

"Yes..." you managed to say, your voice softening completely. " I’m on the pill, Noah. It’s okay."

He let out a long sigh of relief, a vibration you felt through your entire body, and kissed you again, slower this time.

"Thank God," he whispered against your lips.

Noah moved back down to your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses that made your body arch before stopping to suck gently on the skin just above your collarbone. His hands moved firmly to the sides of your hips, using them to lift you just a fraction and settle himself better between your legs. He braced himself upright for a moment, and the sight of his tattooed torso, illuminated by the flickering candlelight as he loomed over you, took your breath away.

Without warning, you felt the first contact. Noah brought his erection close to your heat, dragging the head of his cock with agonizing slowness along the entire length of your slit. A low growl escaped his throat as he felt the searing warmth radiating from you. You gasped, closing your eyes, as he pressed against your clit, moving up and down to make you whimper.

Noah seemed entranced. His eyes dropped to watch how his own pre-come mingled with the slickness of your previous orgasm, creating a sinful sheen over his skin. He used two fingers to collect some of that shared trail and smeared it down his shaft, lubricating himself with a slowness that made you internally beg for him to end the torture.

Finally, you felt the pressure of the large, swollen tip against your entrance. Noah didn't shove; he just tested the waters, feeling your walls begin to yield and stretch to welcome him. You shuddered, bucking your hips toward him in a reflex of pure impatience.

"Goddammit..." Noah let out a raspy curse, gritting his teeth as he let the head of his cock slip inside.

The direct, skin-to-skin contact was something so new and overwhelming for both of you that the air seemed to hum. Noah looked just as affected as you were; being inside you, with nothing in between, made him tremble. You felt incredibly tight around him, so much more than you had been with his fingers.

"Breathe, angel... just breathe for me," he murmured, his voice strained with a superhuman effort not to lose control. "I’m gonna go slow. You tell me if it’s too much."

Noah began to sink into you slowly, inching his way forward. You let out a whispered curse, feeling the real, powerful intrusion; he was definitely larger than anything you had ever felt before, claiming a space that made you feel full in a way that was almost painful yet exquisite.

He didn't take his eyes off you, checking every small twitch of your face, every gasp, ready to stop if you asked him to.

"That’s it... almost there, beautiful. Just a little more," he encouraged, his voice vibrating in the air as he finished burying himself deep inside.

He stayed there, completely still, letting your muscles adjust to his size and letting the heat of both your bodies melt into one. Noah leaned down again to catch your lips in a deep kiss, sharing your ragged breaths as he waited for either your body or your mouth to give him the signal to start moving.

You felt as though there wasn't a single millimeter of free space left inside you. Noah filled you so completely that you could've sworn you felt him pressing against your very core, expanding you from within. It was an overwhelming sensation, but the warmth radiating from his body soothed you through the intensity. You tried to take those deep breaths he’d asked for, letting your muscles relax and mold themselves around his hardness.

In a reflex, your nails dug slightly into his shoulder blades, searching for a handhold. That small sting against his back made Noah react by pressing his hips even harder against yours. You both hissed in unison at the depth of the friction—a sound heavy with pleasure and a hint of exquisite ache that forced you to break the kiss to catch your breath.

You stayed like that for an eternal minute, foreheads pressed together, both your hearts thumping at the same wild pace. Noah didn't move, keeping his unspoken promise to wait until you were ready, though you could see by the tension in his jaw and the glint in his eyes just how much it was costing him to hold back.

Finally, you slid a hand down his back in a soft caress, seeking out his eyes in the shadows.

"You can move, Noah... I’m okay," you whispered, giving a small nod. "Move."

Noah let out a shaky sigh and, without pulling away from your lips, began to tilt his hips. These were measured thrusts—slow and incredibly deep. He didn't pull out far, preferring to maintain that total connection, grinding against your hot, slick walls with a precision that made you arch your back.

"Shit, gorgeous... you feel so... so good," he growled near your ear, his voice breaking from the strain of keeping the rhythm under control. “You’re taking me so well.”

Every time his hips collided with yours, a fresh jolt of pleasure surged through your body. The sensation of Noah sliding inside you was a thousand times more intense than you’d ever imagined. Bit by bit, he began to pick up the tempo, gaining confidence as he heard your gasps and felt your legs tighten around his waist, urging him on.

The sound of skin softly slapping and the friction of your bare chests became the only soundtrack in the room. Noah buried his face in the crook of your shoulder for a moment, letting his thrusts become more fluid and sure. He lifted his face, his right hand moving down to find yours, forcing you to look at him again.

"Look at me," he pleaded in a low breath. "I want to see that pretty face while you take this cock."

Noah didn't wait for you to process his words. As soon as your eyes locked onto his, he drove his hips home with renewed force, establishing a steady grind that forced a sharp moan from your throat. Physically, it was a total takeover; each thrust felt like he was claiming territory, stretching your walls and forcing you to focus solely on the point where your bodies met. Emotionally, your mind was trying to make sense of what was happening. It’s Noah, you thought between gasps. The same guy who helped you move, the one who made you laugh, who knew your deepest fears, the one who had put together the very bed where he was fucking you like you’d never been fucked before... and in that precise moment, it felt so goddamn right to have him there, inside you, that the idea of it being "wrong" to be with your best friend dissolved with every stroke.

"Noah... a little more... faster," you pleaded, your hands sliding up his tattooed arms until you gripped his shoulders.

He didn't hesitate. His eyes darkened even further as he began to steadily pick up speed. The sound in the room shifted; now it was the rhythmic echo of sweaty skin slapping together and the wet squelch of shared slickness filling the air.

"Goddamn, babe... you look beautiful like this," he let out, his breath turning into a short grunt with every lunge. "You’re squeezing me so tight that..." Noah let out a raspy, almost disbelieving laugh as he kept driving into you. "Now I get why your ex couldn't last. You’re so fucking tight I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna make it myself."

Despite the intensity, the joke made a choppy laugh escape you. A moment of pure connection that you could only share with him.

"Shut up, Noah!" You laughed, pulling on the back of his neck to draw him closer. You kissed him with a desperate hunger, mixing the taste of your breaths together. "Go faster. Don’t you dare stop."

He stepped up to the challenge. His thrusts turned frantic, losing every bit of the patience he’d shown at the start. You felt the head of his cock pressing deep, grazing your cervix with a precision that made you let out a sharp cry of surprise and pure bliss. You arched violently against the mattress, your legs locking even tighter around his waist, feeling every inch of your insides vibrating from his size.

"Yes! Right there! Noah, just like that!" You shrieked, completely losing any sense of shame.

"I’ve got you, baby... I’ve got you," he growled, his hands gripping your hips firmly, adding more power to every strike, while his gaze remained locked onto yours, devouring you as he claimed you in the most unrelenting way possible. “That’s it… pretty girl, just like that”

Noah watched you with a raw hunger that made you burn from the inside out, his pupils drinking in every single one of your reactions. Without slowing the pace of his lunges, he slid one of his tattooed hands between your bodies, seeking out the center of your pleasure with pinpoint accuracy. As soon as his fingers made contact with your clit, the world exploded.

You shuddered violently, your nails digging into his shoulders as a second orgasm began to climb up your spine with a force that left you breathless. Noah didn't stop; even as your walls clamped down around him in uncontrollable spasms, he kept driving into you with relentless firmness, forcing you to process every inch of his size while you came again.

"Noah... I can’t..." You gasped, your breath turning into a constant whimper. Your senses were at their limit, the overstimulation so real that your vision was beginning to blur.

But Noah had other plans. He wanted to give you the best sex of your life, and he wasn't going to settle for just two orgasms.

"You can take another one, doll. I know you can," he murmured against your ear, his voice a possessive snarl as his fingers went back to work on you, perfectly coordinated with the frantic sway of his hips.

You felt the electric pressure building again almost instantly. Your eyes welled up, tears of pure bliss starting to slide down your temples as you writhed beneath him. You couldn't believe your body was capable of feeling this much, of vibrating this way just from the touch and the invasion of your best friend.

When the third orgasm hit you, it was more shattering than the ones before, a shockwave so powerful you lost all sense of where you ended and he began. You squeezed him with such force that Noah let out a choked cry and had to bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as his own spasms began to surface.

"Fuck... I love this pussy," he groaned against your skin, his voice cracked with urgency. "It's going to drive me insane."

Noah braced himself upright again, his arms corded and veins bulging under the ink from the effort, just to see with his own eyes how your slick, throbbing heat swallowed every one of his thrusts. The sight seemed to be the final trigger for him. His lunges became deeper, more frantic, seeking that sensitive spot inside you to try and steal one last orgasm before reaching his own.

Each stroke was a steady hammering against your cervix, an invasion so profound you felt like you were coming apart. You began to shriek, a sharp, broken sound that mingled with the echo of slapping skin. Tears of pleasure blurred your vision completely as you shook your head against the pillow, your hands gripping his tensed forearms as if they were the only solid thing in a world falling to pieces.

"Noah... please... I-I can't take any more..." You whined, your body trembling in a constant note of extreme sensitivity.

He looked down at you, his face contorted by the strain and desire, the veins in his neck standing out as he fought not to come too soon. His eyes were bloodshot, locked onto yours with a primal urgency.

"Can I...?" he managed to growl, his voice barely a broken whisper while he kept the rhythm. "Can I come inside you, baby? Tell me yes."

Despite the haze in your mind, you understood exactly what he was asking. It was the most absolute act of intimacy you could give him, the final seal that on this night, your friendship had mutated into something much more voracious.

"Yes... yes, please... fill me up, Noah," you pleaded, arching your pelvis toward him in a desperate invitation.

Noah let out a raspy roar and, using his fingers one last time against your clit with ruthless precision, he pushed you over the edge. You came apart in a fourth orgasm, one that felt like your entire body was melting. Your walls, slick and hot, contracted with exquisite violence around him, drawing him in, and that was the signal his body needed.

Noah buried himself to the hilt, his hips crashing hard against yours as he let out a choked groan that was lost against your chest. You felt the dense, thick warmth of his seed spilling inside you, a sensation of fullness so deep it made you sob. He stayed there, anchored deep within you, as the final spasms racked both of your bodies in unison.

Finally, his strength gave out. Noah’s face fell heavily against your chest, his breath hitched, his lungs searching desperately for air. You could feel his heartbeat, fast and powerful, drumming against your own ribs, as silence returned to the room, broken only by your exhausted gasps.

Noah didn't move right away; he stayed there, enveloping you with his massive frame, as if he needed to process that finally, after all this time, he had made you his in the bed he had built for you himself.

You lay there, fused to one another, Noah keeping his face hidden in the crook of your neck as if the outside world had ceased to exist. It took a couple of minutes for oxygen to return to your lungs and for Noah’s heart to stop pounding with such raw ferocity against your chest.

Finally, he lifted his head, resting his chin on your chest to look at you. His eyes were clearer now, regaining that sweet glint, though they were still glassy from the effort.

"That was... fucking incredible, angel," he whispered before leaning in to give you a soft, slow kiss, heavy with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

With a heavy sigh, Noah  began to pull himself up to slide out of you. He did it with extreme slowness, letting every inch of friction be felt one last time. He stayed kneeling between your legs for a moment, in silence, his gaze fixed on the contrast of his tattooed skin against yours. He watched as his own seed began to slowly seep from your heat, slicking down your damp skin.

Noah let out a low hiss, his jaw tightening again.

"Shit... I’ve never done that," he admitted, his voice raspy, his gaze darkening for a second. "It’s so fucking hot."

He reached out and, with two fingers, caught some of the fluid that threatened to stain the already messy sheets, gently pushing it back inside you. The contact of his fingers inside you again made you let out a sharp moan, almost a startle, and you instinctively clamped your legs shut.

"Noah... stop... that’s enough." You managed to say through nervous laughter and gasps. You were so sensitive that any touch felt like a live wire against your skin.

He let out a low chuckle, a vibration full of satisfaction, and finally flopped down beside you, wiping his hand slightly on the sheets. He propped himself up on one elbow to face you, watching you with a warmth so absurdly sweet it made you feel like you could melt all over again. With his clean hand, Noah carefully brushed away the strands of hair that sweat and tears had plastered to your forehead and cheeks, taking care of you even when his own long hair was a tangled, sweaty mess—looking just as wrecked as you, if not worse. He traced your face with his fingertips as if he were memorizing every feature.

"You did end up crying after all," he murmured with a goofy smile, his eyes tracing the path of moisture on your cheeks. "You okay, princess?"

You nodded, still a bit dazed, feeling the weight of four orgasms clouding your senses in the best possible way. You curled into his side, seeking the warmth of his tattooed arm, and Noah pulled you in immediately, tucking you against his body while pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

"I’m better than okay, Noah," you sighed, closing your eyes. "Way better than okay."

You stayed like that for a long time, your breathing returning to normal while the lamp light and the flickering candle cast long, dancing shadows over your naked, intertwined bodies. The silence wasn't awkward, but it was thick, heavy with a satisfaction that neither of you could quite process yet.

Noah broke the quiet with a sigh, shifting slightly to settle his head better against the pillow.

"Hey... can I ask you for another favor?" He blurted out, his voice regaining that playful edge you knew so well.

You let out a huff against his chest, closing your eyes with exhaustion, already knowing some stupid proposal was probably coming. "Noah, for God's sake... today's first favor ended with us like this. What else could you possibly want now?"

He let out a vibrant laugh that you felt through your entire body. He hesitated for a second, squeezing you a bit tighter against his side, and when he spoke again, his tone was a mix of shyness and restrained desire.

"Well... I was wondering if we could do this again. Not another round today, my body wouldn't hold up, and yours even less... but another day. Can we?"

You looked up to find his eyes. Your heart skipped a beat again, a sensation of warmth different from the sex. It was something deeper, something that burned with a sweet ache. He wanted a repeat. You bit your lip, trying to hide the smile that threatened to break through.

"I don't know, Noah... I don't know if my body is capable of handling another night like this with you," you teased.

He let out an exaggerated pout, knitting his brows into a puppy-dog look you knew he only used when he wanted to win an argument.

"Please, baby... don't tell me no," he insisted, going back to being that same annoying friend as always, but with a new spark in his gaze. "I think my dick finally found its place in the world. You can't take that away from him now."

You gave his chest a light swat, feeling the heat of his skin, and told him to shut up as a blush crept up your neck.

"You're an idiot, shut up!" You laughed, hiding your face against his shoulder. You stayed quiet for a second before adding in a whisper, "Maybe... I could think about it."

Noah grinned from ear to ear, an expression of absolute triumph. "I knew you loved me."

You let out a groan, feigning an exhaustion that was actually pure adoration. "Unfortunately, yes, Noah."

It was a phrase you’d said to each other a thousand times since you were kids, but this time, the weight of the words was different. It carried the taste of his skin, the scent of sex, the vanilla candle, and the echo of your moans still lingering in the air.

Noah turned serious for a moment, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I love you too, angel. So damn much."

But, being Noah, he couldn't let the seriousness last too long. He let out a dramatic sigh and added, "And I love your tits... and your pussy... why didn’t we ever fuck before? I could spend my whole life buried inside that sweet, tight, pretty cu—"

"Go to sleep already!" You exclaimed, unable to stop yourself from laughing as you felt your cheeks burn against his skin.

"Fine, fine... but I love you," he repeated, settling in further and closing his eyes with a smug smile. “Always have.”

You curled up closer, letting sleep finally begin to win the battle, protected by his tattooed arms.

"I love you too, cute boy," you finally answered, letting the now definitive silence wrap around you both until sleep claimed you both.

You downshifted with a vicious grin, the engine roaring back to life as you slingshotted out of the tunnel’s mouth and into the open night. The Pacific stretched dark and endless to your right, waves crashing against the cliffs below. One wrong twitch and you’d join them. Perfect. The finish line was a flickering set of headlights two miles out, guarded by a crowd of shadows and cash. Underground racing didn’t do checkered flags. It did blood money, broken bones, and reputations carved in burnt rubber.

You were the Ghost. Undefeated. The woman who turned junkyard dreams into monsters that ate supercars for breakfast. Owner of the hidden garage buried under an old shipyard, where the real magic happened. Twin-turbo swaps in the middle of the night, custom ECUs that laughed at factory limits, nitro systems that could make a Prius feel like a demon. The underground scene whispered your name like a curse and a prayer. You modded for kings and crushed them on the same night.

Tonight’s race was supposed to be easy money. Some rich kid with more ego than skill. But the Lambo was no toy. It was fighting dirty, and you loved it. You flicked the nitrous. The world punched forward. Your Supra lunged like it wanted to tear the road in half. The Lambo’s driver panicked, overcorrected, and you slipped past on the inside, kissing his bumper with just enough love to send him spinning toward the guardrail.

Metal screamed. Glass shattered. Cheers erupted from the distant crowd. You crossed the line doing 210, engine howling victory as you slammed the brakes and drifted to a smoky stop. Heart hammering. Blood singing. That was the high no drug could touch.

The crowd surged, warehouse rats, tunnel runners, shady bookies with wads of cash thick enough to choke on. Abandoned highways like this one, old industrial tunnels, flickering warehouse meets where bets started at five figures and ended in broken jaws. This was your kingdom. No sponsors. No rules. Just speed, money, and survival.

You killed the engine and stepped out, black racing suit hugging every curve, hair wild from the helmet you tossed onto the hood. The Ghost didn’t pose for cameras. She collected.

“Pay up,” you called, voice cutting through the chaos. A nervous kid with a duffel bag approached, eyes wide. You took the cash without counting, trust was earned by fear, not receipts.

But the night wasn’t done with you. Three cars rolled up slow from the opposite end of the lot, engines purring like predators who’d already eaten. A matte-black Nissan GT-R, a slammed Porsche 911 with custom widebody aggression, and a wickedly low Mitsubishi Evo that looked like it was built for war. They stopped in a perfect line, headlights pinning you like spotlights on a stage.

The doors opened. First out was the one with the sharp gaze and quiet command, Jungwon. Lean, calculated, the kind of guy who mapped every race three moves ahead. Dark hair, sharper jawline, black jacket slung over his shoulders like he owned the wind itself. Strategic leader. The brain who turned their trio into something unstoppable.

Next, Sunoo. Pretty in a way that could disarm you right before he ruined your life. A sly little smile playing on his lips, golden hair catching the distant lights, moving like he was dancing even when standing still. The pretty-boy driver who could charm a cop out of a ticket or slide through traffic like smoke.

And then Riki, tall, feral, all sharp edges and barely contained chaos. The speed demon. the one who looked like he’d race the devil and win on principle, his dark eyes were locked on you with pure, hungry delight.

The crowd quieted. Everyone knew these three, they didn’t just race, they hunted, no public faces, no socials, just ghosts in their own right, fast cars, dirty money, and a reputation for winning at any cost. They’d cleared half the circuit in the last six months. Now they were here.

Jungwon stepped forward first, hands in his pockets, calm as still water. “Ghost,” he said, voice smooth but edged. “Heard you don’t lose.”

You leaned back against your Supra, arms crossed, cocky smirk already in place. “Heard right. You three here to watch or waste my time?”

Sunoo chuckled, low and sweet, circling your car with appreciative eyes. “Pretty thing like you, running alone? Dangerous. Someone might steal your crown.”

“Try it,” you shot back, eyes gleaming. “I bite harder than I look.”

Riki grinned wide, all teeth, already bouncing on his heels like the engine in his Evo was revving inside his chest. “I like her. Let’s race. Right now. Winner takes the loser’s ride.”

The crowd murmured. High stakes. These boys didn’t play small. Jungwon tilted his head, studying you like a chessboard. “Three against one’s not fair. But you don’t seem like the type who needs fair. Tunnel run. Full circuit. Abandoned stretch past the old docks. First to the warehouse district wins. Loser owes the winner… whatever they want.”

Your pulse kicked up again, that delicious pressure building. Cocky energy rolled off you in waves. “Whatever I want?” You pushed off the car, stepping right into their space, close enough to smell engine oil and adrenaline. “Careful, pretty boys. I might take all three of your cars and leave you walking.”

Sunoo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Bold. I like bold. But we don’t lose either, Ghost.”

Riki cracked his knuckles. “She talks big. Let’s see if she drives bigger.”

You laughed, sharp and genuine, the sound cutting through the night. “Get in your cars, boys. I’ll give you a head start. Wouldn’t want you crying about a slow warm-up.”

Jungwon’s lips curved, just a fraction. Respect mixed with challenge. “No head start. We race clean.”

Engines fired up around you. The GT-R’s twin turbos spooled with menace. The Porsche’s flat-six screamed. Riki’s Evo growled like a caged animal ready to break free. You slid back into your Supra, fingers wrapping around the wheel like an old lover. The hidden garage waited back home, your sanctuary of half-built beasts and secrets. But right now? This was the real church. Rubber on road. Heart in throat.

The flag dropped. Tires exploded smoke. Four cars launched into the darkness, the night swallowing them whole. Your Supra surged forward, glued to the asphalt, chasing the taillights ahead like prey that didn’t know it was already dead. Jungwon was smart, positioning early, blocking lines. Sunoo was slippery, using every gap like he was born in them. Riki? Pure chaos, diving into corners that should’ve ended him, laughing through the radio static that crackled between racers. You were the Ghost. And ghosts didn’t just win. They haunted. The tunnel loomed again, black mouth open wide. You downshifted, grinning like a devil. “Try to keep up, boys.”

The real race had just begun. Riki’s Evo launched beside you, feral and vicious, its aggressive stance clawing at the asphalt as he tried to muscle you into the wall on the first straight. Jungwon and Sunoo hung back, watching, but this opening heat was yours and the speed demon’s, raw, brutal, no mercy.

You didn’t give him an inch. The abandoned coastal highway twisted ahead like a black serpent, salt wind whipping through the open windows, carrying the metallic tang of burnt rubber and ocean spray. You shifted with surgical brutality, the gear lever slamming home as the Supra surged, pinning you back into the seat. Your thighs clenched around the vibrating bucket, anticipation bubbling in your belly from the thrill of racing three of the most notorious racers.

Riki was good, fucking terrifyingly good. He dove into the first sweeping curve like a predator waiting for this opportunity, apexing so tight his tires screamed in protest, trying to slingshot ahead. But you were the Ghost. You knew every crack in this forsaken road, every deceptive camber, every place where the asphalt buckled just enough to punish the reckless.

You feinted left, forcing him to commit, then cut inside with merciless precision. Your Supra kissed the inside line, suspension compressing hard enough to make your tits bounce against the harness. Riki’s Evo fought for traction, rear stepping out for half a second, enough. You blasted past in a blur of smoke and taillight fury, leaving him choking on your exhaust.

“Eat it, pretty boy,” you growled under your breath, a wicked grin splitting your face.

The tunnel swallowed you both. Darkness absolute, broken only by the strobe of emergency lights and the hellfire glow of your instruments. You flicked the nitrous again, and the car lunged, a violent surge of acceleration that made your heartbeat flutter against your skin from pure adrenaline and mechanical concentration. 200. 215. The Supra felt alive, like it wanted to fuck the road raw and leave it dripping.

Riki tried everything. He rammed your bumper once, twice, desperate and snarling. Metal kissed metal in sparks that lit the tunnel like fireworks. You laughed, loud, sharp, cocky, then braked late into the next chicane, forcing him to swerve wide or die kissing the concrete barrier. He chose life. Barely.

You smoked him by four full car lengths at the warehouse district marker.

You drifted to a smoky, arrogant stop in the middle of the cracked lot, engine ticking hot as it cooled. Stepping out, your racing suit clung to your sweat-slick skin, zipper pulled just low enough to tease the swell of your breasts. Your hair was a wild mess, cheeks flushed, lips parted as you caught your breath. The Ghost, victorious again.

Riki’s Evo screeched in seconds later, slamming to a halt beside you. He killed the engine and exploded out of the car like a storm breaking. He was fuming with rage and something far darker.

Towering, lean-muscled, sweat making his dark hair stick to his forehead, black tank stretched tight over a chest that rose and fell with barely leashed violence. His eyes, sharp, predatory, burning, locked onto you like he wanted to devour you alive. Jungwon and Sunoo hung back, watching with dark amusement.

Riki stalked forward, boots crunching gravel, until he had you backed against the warm hood of your Supra. His hands slammed down on either side of you, caging you in, close enough that you could smell engine grease, clean sweat, and raw, furious lust rolling off him in waves.

“Fucking bitch,” he hissed, voice low and gravel-rough, lips inches from yours. His gaze dragged down your body like a physical touch, slow, filthy, devouring the way your nipples had hardened against the thin fabric of your suit, the flush creeping down your neck, the way your thighs pressed together just slightly. “You think you can humiliate me like that and just walk away?”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you tilted your chin up, cocky smirk dripping with venom and invitation. Your hands came up, not to push him away, but to fist the front of his tank, yanking him even closer until your bodies were flush, heat against heat, fury against fury.

“Humiliate?” you purred, voice husky, lips brushing his with every word. “Baby, I destroyed you. Left you choking on my smoke like a desperate little slut. And you loved every second of it, didn’t you? I can see how hard you are right now.”

Riki’s breath hitched, a dangerous growl rumbling in his chest. One of his hands slid down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise, fingers digging in with bruising possession as he pressed his very obvious, very thick erection against your thigh. The friction sent a bolt of pure filthy heat straight to your core. You were soaked, and the way he ground against you made it worse. Better.

His face hovered so close you could taste his anger. Dark eyes bored into yours, eye-fucking you with such raw intensity it felt like he was already buried balls-deep inside you, splitting you open on that cock you could feel throbbing against your leg.

“You’re so fucking cocky,” he breathed, lips ghosting over yours, not quite kissing, just teasing the promise of violence and filthy sex. “Walking around like you own the night. Like no one could bend you over this hood and fuck that attitude right out of you.”

Your pulse hammered. Your cunt clenched around nothing, aching, dripping. You rolled your hips once, deliberately, dragging yourself along the hard line of his dick and watching his jaw clench so tight it looked painful.

“Try it,” you whispered, lips brushing his, breath mingling hot and wet. “I dare you, Riki. Pin me down. Fuck me stupid. See if you can make the Ghost scream for you.”

The almost-kiss was torture, lips barely touching, breaths ragged, both of you trembling with the effort not to close that last millimeter. Furious. Horny beyond reason. The air between you crackled, thick with the promise of hate-fucking so raw it would leave marks for days.

Riki’s fingers tightened on your hip, the other hand sliding up to grip your jaw, thumb pressing hard against your lower lip, parting it like he owned it. “You’re going to regret this,” he snarled softly, eyes black with lust.

You smiled against his thumb, slow and filthy. “Make me.” The night pulsed around you, engines still ticking, crowd watching from a distance, but all that mattered was the brutal, delicious tension threatening to snap and consume you both.

The air between you crackled like live wire in the salt-laced night air, thick enough to choke on. Riki’s body pressed against yours with bruising insistence, his cock a hard, insistent ridge grinding against your thigh, his breath hot and ragged against your mouth, thumb still claiming your lower lip like a brand. For one suspended heartbeat, the filthy promise hung there: the hood of your Supra, your legs spread wide, his hips slamming into you until the only sound louder than your screams was the wet slap of skin and the roar of distant engines.

But you were the Ghost.

With a slow, predatory smile curling your lips, you planted both palms flat against the hard plane of his chest and shoved. The push was deliberate, powerful, born from core strength honed by years of wrestling modified beasts and throwing your weight into every reckless maneuver. Riki staggered back a step, surprise flashing across those sharp, feral features before it melted into something darker, pure, seething hunger laced with frustration.

“Enough foreplay,” you murmured, voice low and velvet-rough, dripping with mockery and invitation. “You want me? Earn it properly next time, pretty boy. I don’t fuck losers who can’t even keep up on the straight.”

You turned away from him with languid arrogance, the zipper of your racing suit still teasingly low, the fabric clinging to the curve of your spine and the generous swell of your ass. The cool night wind kissed your heated skin as you bent slightly to retrieve your helmet from where it rested on the hood. The movement was unhurried, deliberate, arching your back just enough to let the dim warehouse lights paint sinful shadows across your body, knowing full well his eyes were devouring every inch.

The helmet felt cool and familiar in your grip, a talisman of speed and dominance. You tucked it under one arm, running a hand through your tousled hair, letting the strands fall messily around your flushed face. Your thighs still trembled faintly from the adrenaline and the aching emptiness he’d left between them, your cunt slick and throbbing, panties ruined beneath the thin racing suit, but you didn’t falter. Not for a second.

The crowd parted instinctively as you began to walk away, boots crunching over gravel and shattered glass with measured, confident strides. Every step radiated unchallenged power: hips swaying with natural, dangerous grace, shoulders back, chin lifted in quiet supremacy. The distant crash of waves against the cliffs below mingled with the low murmur of engines cooling and the hushed whispers of onlookers who had just witnessed the speed demon get thoroughly humbled, and then denied.

Behind you, Riki remained rooted in place, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides. You could feel the weight of his stare like a physical caress, dark, scorching, heavy with barely-leashed violence and raw, animalistic lust. It dragged down the length of your body, lingering on the sway of your ass, the way the suit hugged the dip of your waist, the glistening sheen of sweat along your collarbone. His jaw was locked tight, lips parted, breath still coming in short, furious bursts. The bulge in his pants hadn’t subsided; if anything, your rejection had only made him harder, more viciously aroused. He looked like a man who wanted to chase you down, slam you against the nearest wall, and fuck you until your voice broke and your legs gave out. Like he wanted to ruin you and be ruined in return. The fury in his eyes promised retribution, filthy, prolonged, and exquisitely cruel.

You didn’t glance back. Not once. Instead, you tossed a final cocky line over your shoulder, voice carrying clear and taunting through the night. “Keep staring like that and you might just cum in your pants before you even get another shot at me, Riki.”

A low, dangerous chuckle rumbled from his chest, half growl, half laugh, but he didn’t move. Not yet. Jungwon and Sunoo watched from beside their cars, expressions a mix of amusement and sharpened interest, but they stayed silent, letting the moment simmer.

You reached your Supra’s driver side, sliding in with fluid grace. The engine purred to life beneath you once more, a deep, throaty vibration that resonated straight through your still-sensitive core. As you pulled away from the lot in a controlled, smoky drift, the rearview mirror caught one last glimpse: Riki standing exactly where you’d left him, eyes locked on your taillights with the kind of dark, obsessive intensity that promised this was far from over.

The night swallowed you, but the heat of his gaze lingered on your skin like a brand, filthy, promising, and dangerously addictive. The taillights of your Supra faded into the black throat of the night, leaving behind nothing but the low rumble of distant waves and the faint scent of burnt rubber hanging in the air like expensive perfume mixed with sin.

Riki stood frozen for a long second, chest still heaving, cock straining painfully against the front of his pants like it had a personal vendetta against the zipper. Then, with a guttural curse, he dragged both hands through his damp hair, tugging hard at the roots as if the sting could ground him. “Fuck,” he growled, the word raw and dripping with frustration. “That fucking tease. She pushes me off like I’m some amateur and just walks away like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.”

Sunoo leaned against the hood of his Porsche, arms crossed, a sly, amused smirk playing on his pretty lips. His eyes glittered with dark delight as he watched Riki pace like a caged animal. “She does know. Did you see the way she looked at you? Like she wanted you to bend her over right there but decided you hadn’t earned it yet.”

Jungwon stood a few feet away, calm as ever, but his gaze lingered on the empty stretch of road where you’d disappeared. He exhaled slowly, a rare, low chuckle escaping him. “She’s a fucking challenge, beggin for us to break her open,” he said, voice smooth and measured, carrying that quiet authority that made the rest of them listen. “She’s lethal. That body in that suit? The way she moves, like she was built for sin and speed, the way she shoved you… Christ, Riki. You should shoot your shot.”

Riki let out a frustrated laugh, still gripping his hair before dropping his hands. His palms flexed at his sides like he could still feel the heat of your waist under them. “I wanted to fuck her right there on the hood. Pin her down, rip that suit open and bury myself so deep she forgets her own name. She was soaked for it—I could tell. The way her thighs kept pressing together, that little flush on her neck.”

Sunoo’s smirk deepened, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “Imagine how tight she is. All that attitude and fire? She’d fight you the whole time, clawing your back, cursing you, then moaning like a whore when you hit that spot just right. Bet she gets loud. Wet. Drips down your balls while you’re pounding her senseless, yeah?”

“God, yeah,” Riki groaned, adjusting himself blatantly, no shame left in him. His eyes were still fixed on the road, dark and obsessive. “I wanted to drop to my knees and taste her right there in front of everyone. See if the Ghost tastes as filthy as she talks. Then flip her around, bend her over that Supra, and fuck her until her legs shake and she’s begging me to fill her up. She acts untouchable, but I bet once you get inside her, she milks you like she never wants you to pull out.”

Jungwon’s expression stayed composed, but the heat in his eyes betrayed him. He tilted his head, watching Riki with calculated interest. “She’d be exquisite. Tight, hot, dripping. Strong thighs locking around your waist, back arching, those perfect tits bouncing while you rail her. She’s got stamina too, racing does that. She wouldn’t tap out easy. You’d have to earn every filthy sound she makes.”

Riki exhaled sharply, a predatory grin finally breaking through the frustration. “Next time I catch her, I’m not letting her walk away. I’ll have her spread open, screaming my name while I ruin that pretty pussy. Make her admit she wants it just as bad.”

Sunoo laughed softly, low and wicked. “We all might want a taste by the end of this. But you saw her first, Riki. Go hunt her down. Just make sure when you finally fuck her, you do it right. Make it dirty. Make it hurt so good she comes back for more.”

The three of them stood in the flickering lot, engines still ticking cool, the air thick with the residue of your presence, arrogant, intoxicating, and dangerously addictive. Riki’s jaw tightened with fresh resolve, the fire in his veins burning hotter than any race. This wasn’t over.

The garage smelled of motor oil, ozone from the welding torch, and the faint metallic bite of coolant. Deep in the bowels of the abandoned shipyard, your hidden sanctuary hummed under flickering industrial lights that cast long, dramatic shadows across half-built chassis and gleaming engine blocks. It was well past 2 a.m., the kind of hour where the underground world felt most alive. You were bent over the exposed engine bay of your Supra, back arched, the zipper of your racing suit pulled down to the valley between your breasts because the night was thick and humid, sweat tracing slick paths down your sternum and between your tits.

Tools clinked in your grease-streaked hands as you tightened a stubborn turbo fitting, muscles flexing under the thin fabric that clung like a second skin. The suit gaped open invitingly, revealing the inner swell of your breasts and the flat, toned plane of your stomach. You didn’t hear him at first, too focused, too deep in the mechanical rhythm that always calmed the storm in your blood.

But Riki had found you.

The heavy roll-up door rattled open with a metallic groan. You straightened slowly, wiping your hands on a rag, turning to face the intruder with that signature cocky tilt to your chin. He stood silhouetted in the doorway like a predator who’d finally run down its prey, tall, wired, dark hair messy from the ride over, eyes burning with hours of pent-up fury and raw, unrelenting lust.

“You really thought you could leave me like that?” His voice was low, dangerous, echoing off the concrete walls as he stalked inside. The door slammed shut behind him, sealing the two of you in. “Walking away with that smug little smirk while my dick was so hard it fucking hurt?”

You tossed the rag aside, leaning back against the Supra’s fender, arms crossing under your chest in a way that deliberately pushed your breasts higher, the zipper slipping another dangerous inch. A slow, taunting smile curved your lips. “Poor baby. Couldn’t handle getting smoked and then denied? Go cry about it somewhere else, Riki. I’m busy.”

He was on you in three strides.

The confrontation ignited like spilled fuel meeting flame. Riki’s hand shot out, fingers tangling brutally in your hair as he yanked your head back, exposing the elegant line of your throat. His mouth crashed against yours in a violent, devouring kiss, teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance, no tenderness, only raw hunger. You bit his lower lip hard enough to draw a growl from deep in his chest, then kissed him back just as viciously, hands fisting his shirt and dragging him closer.

“Cocky little bitch,” he snarled against your mouth, biting your lip in retaliation before sucking on it. His free hand shoved the zipper the rest of the way down, exposing your bare skin to the cool garage air. He palmed one breast roughly, thumb flicking over your already-hard nipple, pinching until you gasped into the kiss.

You shoved him back just enough to breathe, eyes blazing. “Then do something about it, speed demon. Or are you only good at talking shit?”

That snapped the last thread of restraint. Riki spun you around and bent you over the hood for a moment, grinding his massive erection against your ass while his hand snaked around to squeeze your throat, not cutting off air completely, but enough to make your pulse thunder under his fingers. “You’re mine tonight,” he growled, lips brushing your ear. “Gonna fuck that attitude right out of this pretty cunt.”

He hauled you upright, kissing you again, filthy, wet, spit-slick, before dragging you toward the Supra’s rear door. The backseat was spacious, leather pristine and waiting. He shoved you inside first, following immediately, the door slamming shut and trapping you both in the intimate, gasoline-scented confines of your own car.

Clothes were torn off in a frenzy. Your suit was peeled down your body like shedding skin, his shirt ripped over his head to reveal a lean, sculpted torso marked with faint scars from past wrecks. You barely had time to admire it before he was on you again, pushing you onto your back across the backseat, one knee forcing your thighs apart.

Riki’s hand returned to your throat, squeezing with perfect pressure as he leaned down and spit directly into your open mouth. “Swallow,” he ordered, voice gravel-rough. You did, eyes locked on his, defiant even as heat flooded your core and your pussy clenched with shameful need.

He grinned, feral and beautiful. “Good girl. My new fuckhole.”

His fingers found you soaked, embarrassingly, shamefully drenched. Two thick digits shoved inside without warning, curling cruelly against that spongy spot that made your back arch off the leather. You moaned, loud and unfiltered, hips bucking into his hand. He finger-fucked you mercilessly, thumb grinding against your swollen clit while his other hand kept your throat pinned.

“Look at you,” he taunted, voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “So fucking wet for the guy you humiliated. This greedy little cunt is dripping all over my fingers.”

You reached up, nails raking down his chest hard enough to leave red trails. “Then fuck me already, you bastard. Or I’ll find someone who can.”

Riki’s eyes flashed with pure animalistic rage and lust. He withdrew his fingers, shoved his pants down just enough to free his cock, long, thick, flushed dark and leaking at the tip. He stroked himself once, twice, then hooked your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half as he lined up and thrust into the hilt in one brutal stroke.

The stretch burned deliciously. You cried out, walls fluttering around the sudden invasion as he bottomed out, balls pressed tight against you. He didn’t give you time to adjust, pulling back and slamming in again, setting a punishing rhythm that rocked the entire car on its suspension.

“Fuck— so tight,” he groaned, hips snapping forward with savage force. The wet, obscene sounds of your pussy taking him filled the confined space. He reached up, yanked the sun visor down, flipping open the mirror so it angled perfectly. “Watch. Watch yourself get ruined, Ghost.”

You turned your head. The sight was obscene: your face flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy with pleasure; your tits bouncing with every violent thrust; Riki’s powerful body driving into you, muscles flexing, sweat gleaming. His hand returned to your throat, choking you lightly as he fucked you deeper, harder.

“Little bitch,” he panted, punctuating each word with a punishing thrust. “Acting untouchable. Now you’re just my fuckhole. Taking this cock like you were made for it.”

Your moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure. One hand braced against the roof, the other clawing at his back. He leaned down, biting your neck, sucking marks into your skin while his hips rolled relentlessly. The angle hit everything, deep, brutal, perfect. Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, pussy spasming around him so hard your vision whited out. You screamed his name, thighs shaking.

Riki didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, then flipped you onto your knees, face pressed against the cool leather, ass up. He re-entered you from behind, one hand fisting your hair, yanking your head back so you could still see yourself in the mirror, mascara smudged, lips parted in a constant moan, tits swaying as he railed you.

He spit into your mouth again when you turned your head, making you swallow while he pounded you senseless. “Again. Cum on my cock again, you filthy slut.”

You did, shuddering, gushing around him, the leather beneath you slick with your release. Riki’s pace grew erratic, thrusts losing rhythm as he chased his own end. His grip on your hips turned bruising.

“Gonna fill this pussy up,” he growled. “Mark my new fuckhole.”

With a guttural roar, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your insides, pulse after pulse until it was too much. When he finally pulled out, a messy creampie leaked from your wrecked hole, dripping in thick white strands onto the black leather seats.

You collapsed, chest heaving, body trembling with aftershocks. Riki leaned over you, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your shoulder before the feral edge returned.

He whispered against your ear, voice dark and possessive, “This isn’t over. Not even close.” The Supra’s windows were fogged. The garage was silent except for your ragged breathing.

Outside, the night waited, full of more races, more tension, more delicious destruction.

The next night found the trio back at their usual haunt, a dimly lit warehouse on the outskirts where the air hung heavy with cigarette smoke, cheap whiskey, and the low thrum of bass from hidden speakers. Riki couldn’t sit still. He paced the concrete floor like a man possessed, energy crackling off him in waves, a fresh bruise on his neck peeking from beneath his collar like a trophy.

“You should’ve seen her,” he said, voice rough with lingering hunger. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes dark and distant, replaying every filthy second. “She was so fucking tempting, so fucking hot.”

Jungwon leaned back against a stack of tires, one eyebrow raised, a slow, intrigued smile tugging at his lips. “Damn. Sounds like the Ghost finally met her match.”

Riki let out a low, satisfied laugh. “Match? Nah. I broke her. She was soaked before I even got inside her. Fought me the whole time but her pussy was gripping me like it never wanted me to leave. I’m telling you, that woman is addictive. Dangerous. Best fuck I’ve ever had.”

Sunoo sat on the hood of his car, legs dangling, pretty face deceptively calm. But beneath the surface, something shifted. He listened to every graphic detail, every filthy recounting, and felt a slow, insidious heat curl low in his stomach. At first it was mere curiosity, the way Riki, usually so feral and quick to move on, couldn’t shut up about her. But the more Riki talked, the more Sunoo found himself studying the mental image: your arched back, the cocky smirk even while getting railed, the way you must’ve taken control even when pinned down.

Interesting, Sunoo thought, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. She’s under his skin. Maybe I need to see what all the hype is about.

From that moment, Sunoo began watching you differently. Whenever your name came up in underground circles, or when your Supra tore through a tunnel run, his eyes narrowed with calculated interest. He catalogued your movements from afar, the confident sway of your hips when you walked away from a win, the precise way your hands worked under a hood, the sharp intelligence behind every taunting word. You weren’t just another racer. You were a puzzle wrapped in sin, and Sunoo had always loved solving things the hard way.

Two nights later, he showed up at your garage unannounced.

The roll-up door was partially open, golden light spilling out into the shipyard darkness. Sunoo killed the engine of his matte Porsche and stepped out, dressed in a loose black shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the sharp line of his collarbones, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms. He moved with that signature graceful slyness, like a fox slipping into a henhouse.

You were inside again, this time crouched beside a workbench, tools spread out like surgical instruments. You were wearing a simple tank top and had thrown on a pair of pants that didn’t mind getting dirty with grease, the fabric clinging to your sweat-damp skin. Sunoo let his gaze linger openly, appreciative, unhurried, drinking in the sight.

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice smooth as silk and twice as deceptive. “The infamous Ghost in her natural habitat. Mind if I interrupt your little mechanical worship?”

You straightened, wiping grease from your hands, eyes narrowing with immediate suspicion and a spark of amusement. “Sunoo. To what do I owe the displeasure? Come to beg for racing tips after your boy got his ass handed to him?”

He chuckled softly, stepping deeper into the garage, circling you slowly like he was appraising a prized engine. “Actually, I need some mods. My Porsche has been… misbehaving. Needs a firmer hand. Someone who knows how to make it scream just right.” His eyes dropped deliberately to the exposed curve of your breasts, then back up to your face, the implication dripping like honeyed venom.

You crossed your arms, pushing your chest up further, meeting his gaze with pure cocky defiance. “Flirting already? Riki must’ve run his mouth. What’d he tell you, that I’m an easy conquest now?”

Sunoo stopped in front of you, close enough that you caught the clean scent of his cologne mixed with engine oil. He tilted his head, studying you with those sharp, pretty eyes that seemed to peel back layers. “Oh, he hasn’t shut up about you. Every detail. How tight you are. How you moaned his name while he fucked you stupid in your own backseat. How you took his cum like you were starving for it.” 

He reached out, bold as brass, and lightly traced a finger along the edge of the hem of your tank, not quite touching skin but close enough to make the air between you crackle. “I have to admit… I’m intrigued. You don’t seem like the type to let anyone ruin you. Yet here Riki is, walking around like he conquered the unconquerable. Makes a man wonder what it would take to make you fall apart for him too.”

Your pulse quickened despite yourself. Sunoo’s approach was completely different from Riki’s feral onslaught, this was psychological, teasing, a slow seduction wrapped in mind games. He was peeling you open with words, watching every micro-expression, every shift in your breathing.

“Careful,” you warned, voice low and dangerous, stepping closer until your bodies nearly brushed. “You might bite off more than you can chew, pretty boy.”

Sunoo’s lips curved into a wicked, angelic smile. “I’m counting on it. I like things that fight back. Makes the eventual surrender so much sweeter.” His voice dropped to a velvet murmur. “Tell me, Ghost… when he had you bent over, choking on his cock with your own reflection staring back at you, did you think about the rest of us watching? Wondering how we’d feel stretching this legendary..?” he ghosted his finger tip over the waistband of your pants.

He let the silence stretch, eyes locked on yours, the tension thickening like smoke. Then he pulled back slightly, all business again, though the heat in his gaze remained.

“So. About those mods. I’ll pay whatever you want. Cash. Favors.” His smirk deepened. “Or we could work out a more… creative arrangement. I’m very good at negotiating.”

You felt the pull, that dangerous, addictive magnetism. Sunoo wasn’t rushing in like Riki. He was circling, probing, planting seeds. And damn if it wasn’t working. The garage suddenly felt smaller, hotter, charged with a new kind of filthy promise.

This trio was becoming far more than just competition on the road.  And Sunoo had every intention of getting under your skin, and eventually, deep inside you, to see exactly what made the Ghost unravel.

The garage was quiet, save for the low metallic ticking of cooling engines and the distant murmur of the sea beyond the shipyard. You were alone, dressed down after a long night of work, tiny black athletic shorts that barely covered the curve of your ass, and an oversized, worn-out tee that hung off one shoulder, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the fact you weren’t wearing a bra. Your nipples pressed against the cotton, sensitive from the cool night air drifting through the half-open roll-up door. Grease streaked your thighs and forearms as you tinkered with a half-finished chassis perched on jack stands in the center of the space, a sleek, bare-boned beast waiting for its soul.

You were bent over the hood when the door rattled open without warning.

Sunoo slipped inside like he belonged there, dressed in a black button-up half-undone and dark pants that hugged his lean frame. His hair fell softly over his forehead, and that angelic, dangerous smile was already curving his lips as he took in the sight of you, bare legs, messy hair, the way the oversized tee rode up to expose the underside of your ass when you straightened.

“Jesus, Ghost,” he drawled, voice silky and amused. “Did I catch you at a bad time? Or is this how you always greet your favorite customer?”

You wiped your hands on the rag, shooting him an irritated glare. “Sunoo. Ever heard of knocking? Or calling? It’s four in the fucking morning. I’m not in the mood for your mind games tonight.”

He ignored the warning, strolling closer with that infuriating grace, eyes dragging slowly over your bare thighs, the hard points of your nipples visible through the thin shirt, the way your shorts clung to your hips. “You look… edible. All soft and rumpled. Makes a man forget why he came here in the first place.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the car, deliberately bending deeper over the hood just to test him. “If you’re here for mods, talk price and leave. If you’re here to run your mouth about how Riki can’t stop bragging, save it. I’m busy.”

Sunoo chuckled softly and closed the distance. Instead of touching you, he leaned against the half-finished car right beside you, close enough that his warmth bled into your side. “Busy looking fuckable enough to distract a saint. You always this mouthy when you’re barely dressed?”

The annoyance built slowly, deliciously. He kept talking, teasing, poking, complimenting in the most backhanded, psychological way possible. Every time you snapped at him, he’d smile wider, stepping just a little closer, brushing “accidentally” against your arm, your hip, the side of your breast when you reached for a tool.

An hour passed like that. Banter growing sharper. Tension thickening. Eventually, he had you backed against the hood of the unfinished car, your ass pressed to the cool metal. The garage lights cast a low, golden glow over your skin.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he murmured, finally placing his hands on either side of you, caging you without quite touching. “Pretending you don’t feel it. But I see the way your thighs press together every time I mention racing you. Every time I talk about pinning you down like Riki did.”

Your breath hitched despite yourself. Sunoo noticed, of course he did.

He stepped between your legs, hands finally sliding onto your thighs, thumbs stroking maddeningly slow circles along the sensitive inner skin. “Tell me, baby… does your pretty cunt get wet when you race against us? When you know three dangerous men are hunting you on the road?”

You tried to push him away, but there was no real force behind it. He caught your wrists gently, pinning them to the hood above your head with one hand while the other traced higher, slipping under the hem of your shorts.

“Answer me,” he whispered against your ear, lips brushing the shell. “Be honest, or I’ll stop.”

“…Yes,” you finally hissed, cheeks burning. “It makes me wet. Happy?”

Sunoo’s smile turned wickedly sweet. “Good girl.”

The seduction unraveled slowly, torturously. For hours. He stripped you of the tee with reverent fingers, exposing your tits to the cool air, then spent what felt like forever worshipping them, sucking, biting, licking, while his thigh pressed firmly between your legs. You rode his thigh like a desperate slut, grinding your soaked pussy against the hard muscle through your shorts, leaving a dark wet patch on his pants. Every time you got close, he pulled back, laughing softly at your frustrated growl.

“Uh-uh. Not yet. I want you dripping. Begging. Confessing.”

He peeled your shorts down your legs, leaving you completely bare on the hood of the half-finished car. The metal was cold against your overheated skin. Sunoo dropped to his knees, pretty face inches from your glistening cunt, and simply breathed on it. Teased. Edged you with nothing but words and feather-light touches for what felt like eternity.

“Look at this greedy little pussy,” he cooed, voice dripping with pretty degradation. “Soaking for a man who hasn’t even fucked you yet. Riki really wasn’t exaggerating. You’re pathetic for it, aren’t you? The big bad Ghost, reduced to humping my thigh and dripping all over my tongue like a needy whore.”

When he finally gave in, it was devastating.

His tongue, hot, skilled, relentless, devoured you. Long, slow licks followed by vicious sucks on your clit. Two elegant fingers curled deep inside you, stroking that perfect spot while he edged you mercilessly, bringing you right to the brink again and again before pulling away to kiss your trembling thighs and whisper filth.

“Say it again. Tell me how racing us makes this slutty cunt throb.”

“I get so fucking wet,” you gasped, hips bucking against his face, hands fisted in his soft hair. “Every time… every time I see your cars, I get soaked. I hate it. I fucking love it—”

Sunoo moaned against your pussy, the vibration sending you spiraling. “That’s my girl. So honest when you’re desperate.”

He finally let you cum, fingers pumping faster, tongue flicking perfectly over your swollen clit while he looked up at you with those sharp, angelic eyes. The orgasm tore through you like a nitrous blast, violent and shattering. Your back arched off the hood, thighs clamping around his head as you gushed on his tongue and fingers, moaning brokenly, vision whiting out.

He worked you through every pulse, licking up every drop like it was ambrosia, murmuring pretty degradations between licks. “Such a messy little cumslut. Look at you creaming all over my face. So fucking beautiful when you fall apart.”

When the last aftershock faded, he rose to his feet, lips shiny with your release. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, then stepped back with a satisfied, almost cruel little smile.

You reached for him, aching for his cock, for more, but he caught your wrist and gently pinned it back down. “Not tonight, Ghost,” he whispered, voice velvet-soft and devastating. “I want you desperate. Next time I come back, you’re going to beg me to fuck you properly.”

He straightened his clothes, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and gave you one last long, appreciative look, naked, trembling, cum-smeared on the hood of your own car in the dead of the night. “Sweet dreams, baby.” Then he was gone, leaving the garage door rattling shut behind him. You stayed there, legs spread, chest heaving, pussy still fluttering and aching for something he deliberately denied you. The pretty bastard. And the worst part? You already knew you’d be waiting for his next visit.

The safehouse they shared, a converted warehouse loft overlooking the old docks, was dark with bits of unfiltered light and the low hum of the city bleeding through the reinforced windows. It was nearly dawn when the lock clicked. Sunoo stepped inside, still carrying the scent of your garage on his skin: motor oil, sex, and the faint sweetness of your release. His lips were still slightly swollen, hair tousled from your fingers, and the taste of you lingered on his tongue like the finest sin.

Jungwon was waiting. The moment Sunoo closed the door, Jungwon moved like a shadow unleashed. He slammed Sunoo back against the concrete wall with surprising force, one hand fisting the front of his half-open shirt, collar gripped tight enough to wrinkle the fabric. Their faces were inches apart. Jungwon’s eyes burned, dark, stormy, barely contained, his usually calm, strategic mask completely shattered.

“Did you fuck her?” Jungwon growled, voice low and dangerous, breath hot against Sunoo’s cheek. His other fist was clenched at his side, knuckles white. “Answer me, Sunoo. Did you fuck Y/N tonight?”

Sunoo didn’t flinch. Instead, a slow, wicked smirk spread across his pretty face, eyes sparkling with satisfaction and mischief. He tilted his head slightly, even while pinned, utterly unbothered by the aggression.

“Oh, I didn’t fuck her,” he purred, voice velvet-soft and dripping with filthy delight. “Not yet. But I made her fall apart so beautifully, Won. Had her spread open on the hood of that half-finished car at 4 a.m., wearing nothing but those tiny shorts and that pathetic little tee. God… Riki wasn’t kidding. She is so fucking fine.”

Sunoo’s tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, savoring the memory.

“Her pussy was dripping before I even touched it properly. Soaking my thigh while she rode it like a desperate little slut, whimpering every time I mentioned racing us. I ate her out for hours, edged that greedy cunt until she was begging, shaking, confessing how wet she gets just thinking about us on the road. Then I finally let her cum on my tongue and fingers. She gushed, Won. Screamed. Looked so fucking perfect when she broke.”

Jungwon’s breathing grew ragged. His eyes flickered wildly, from Sunoo’s swollen lips, to the faint red marks on his neck, down to the unmistakable scent still clinging to him. His grip on Sunoo’s collar tightened, jaw locked so hard it looked painful. A storm of jealousy, lust, and frustration rolled across his sharp features.

Then, bang. Jungwon’s fist slammed into the wall right beside Sunoo’s head, hard enough to crack the surface and send a small shower of dust drifting down. He was panting now, chest heaving, strands of dark hair falling messily into his eyes. The composed leader was gone. In his place was a man unraveling at the seams, burning alive with possessive need.

Sunoo only smirked wider, utterly unfazed. He leaned forward as much as the grip on his collar allowed, lips brushing the shell of Jungwon’s ear, voice dropping into a low, teasing whisper.

“You know, Won… you can have her too,” he murmured, sweet and poisonous. “I know you want her. Badly. No need to be so jealous that Riki and I got to taste her first. She’s addictive, isn’t she? That cocky mouth. That perfect body. The way she fights and then melts when you hit the right spot…”

He let the words hang, watching the way Jungwon’s pupils blew wide, the way his breath hitched.

Sunoo’s hand came up slowly, fingers lightly tracing the tense line of Jungwon’s clenched jaw. “She’d look so good under you. Or between us. Imagine bending her over together… making her admit she belongs to all three of us now.”

Jungwon didn’t pull away. His forehead dropped against Sunoo’s shoulder, breaths mingling in the charged silence. The air between them was thick with violence, envy, and something darker,  shared hunger.

“Next time,” Jungwon finally rasped, voice rough as gravel, “you don’t go alone.”

Sunoo’s soft laugh echoed in the loft, low and victorious. “That’s my man.” The night had already claimed you in pieces. And the trio was only growing more ravenous.

The garage felt too quiet after Sunoo left you wrecked on that hood.

You sat there for a long time afterward, legs still spread, cum-slick thighs trembling, chest heaving as you stared at the ceiling and tried to piece together what the hell was happening to you.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

Riki had claimed you like a beast, brutal, raw, no mercy. He’d fucked you stupid in your own backseat, choked you, spat in your mouth, turned you into his personal fuckhole while you watched yourself shatter in the mirror. And you’d loved it. The violence. The filth. The way he made your body sing with hate and pleasure so intertwined you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Then Sunoo. God, Sunoo. That pretty, psychological menace had spent hours edging you into madness with nothing but his voice, his thigh, his wicked tongue and elegant fingers. He’d made you confess how wet racing against them made you, how your pussy throbbed at the mere thought of their cars in your rearview. He’d degraded you so sweetly it felt like worship, then left you dripping and desperate, aching for a cock he deliberately denied you.

And now Jungwon, the calm, strategic one, was clearly unraveling too. You could feel it in the air, in the way the trio watched you during meets. Three dangerous, beautiful men circling you like wolves who’d tasted blood and wanted the whole feast.

Part of you was furious at how easily they were getting under your skin. You were supposed to be the one in control. The one who left them choking on your exhaust and their own lust. Yet here you were, touching the fresh marks on your neck, your thighs still sore, your clit still sensitive, wondering when the leader would finally snap and take his turn.

You hated how much you craved it. You needed it. The thought made you wet again even now, hours later. Three men. Three completely different kinds of ruin. And you, the Ghost, were starting to wonder if you’d finally met your match, not on the road, but in the delicious, filthy chaos they brought into your nights.

Two nights later, Jungwon found you alone at a smaller underground meet near the old industrial tunnels. He approached while you were leaning against your Supra, arms crossed, watching the lesser races with bored detachment. No Riki. No Sunoo. Just him, sharp jaw, darker-than-usual eyes, black jacket slung over his shoulders like armor. He moved with that quiet command that made people instinctively clear a path.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low and steady, but you caught the undercurrent of something sharper. “Race me. Tonight. Just you and me. No audience. No backup. Full circuit, the long tunnel route past the cliffs. Winner takes whatever they want from the loser.”

You raised an eyebrow, a cocky smirk tugging at your lips. “Bold. Your boys know you’re sneaking off to play with me alone?”

Jungwon’s gaze darkened. “They don’t need to know everything.”

The challenge hung between you, thick and electric. You accepted. The meeting point was a forgotten stretch of coastal highway at the edge of the cliffs, far from the usual crowds. Moonlight painted the asphalt silver, waves crashing violently below. Only two cars: your Supra and his matte-black GT-R, engines purring like predators sizing each other up.

You stepped out, wearing your racing suit zipped low again, hair loose and wild. Jungwon was already waiting. The moment you closed your door, he moved. No warning. He closed the distance in three strides, one hand gripping the back of your neck, the other sliding possessively around your waist as he yanked you against him. His mouth crashed into yours, deep, demanding, hungry. Not the chaotic violence of Riki or the teasing seduction of Sunoo. This was controlled fire. Jungwon kissed like he was staking a claim, tongue sliding against yours with deliberate dominance, teeth grazing your lip hard enough to sting. You tasted frustration. Jealousy. Weeks of watching his friends touch you before he could.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers fisting his shirt, biting his tongue when he tried to take full control. A low growl rumbled in his chest. When he finally pulled back, just enough to speak, his forehead rested against yours, breath ragged. His hand stayed locked on the back of your neck, thumb stroking your pulse point.

“It’s my turn now,” he whispered against your swollen lips, voice rough and dark. “You’ve had them. Riki fucked you raw in your own car. Sunoo made you cum on his tongue like a desperate little slut. But tonight? You’re mine. All mine. I don’t like sharing what I want, Ghost. And I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you smoke that idiot in the tunnel.”

His grip tightened, possessive, almost bruising. Those sharp eyes bored into yours, burning with barely-leashed intensity. “I’m not them. I’m not going to rush in and ruin you in five minutes. I’m going to take my time breaking you apart. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until the only name you remember is mine. Until this cocky, untouchable Ghost admits she’s dripping for the man who actually knows how to own her.”

You laughed breathlessly, defiant even as heat flooded your core and your thighs clenched. “Big words, Jungwon. Think you can back them up? Or are you just pissed your boys got to taste me first?”

His lips brushed yours again, slower this time, filthy and promising. “Race me. Beat me if you can. But when I win… I’m dragging you somewhere private and fucking you until you can’t walk straight. No sharing. No mercy. Just you, me, and hours of making up for lost time.”

The air between you crackled, thick with tension and raw, mutual hunger. Engines idled. The sea roared below. The night waited. Jungwon stepped back reluctantly, but not before stealing one last bruising kiss, biting your lower lip hard enough to leave a mark.

“Get in your car, baby,” he murmured, eyes black with promise. “Let’s see if the Ghost can handle what happens when the leader finally stops watching from the sidelines.” You slid back into the Supra, heart hammering, already aching with fresh, traitorous need. This wasn’t just a race anymore. It was foreplay. And Jungwon looked ready to win everything.

The race was brutal, beautiful, and completely rigged from the start.

Jungwon drove like a demon with a plan. He pushed you hard through the twisting coastal tunnels, his GT-R a black shadow in your mirrors, kissing your bumper on the straights and forcing aggressive lines through the corners. But at the final chicane before the cliffs, the one that decided everything, he hesitated just a fraction. A perfectly calculated mistake. You sliced through the gap like a blade, your Supra howling victory as you crossed the invisible finish line two car lengths ahead.

You killed the engine and stepped out into the moonlight, chest heaving, a savage, cocky grin splitting your face. The sea wind whipped your hair as you slammed the door and spread your arms wide.

“Looks like the great leader just got smoked,” you called out, voice dripping with arrogance. “What happened, Jungwon? All that big talk and you couldn’t even keep up? Pathetic.”

He climbed out of the GT-R slowly, eyes locked on you with terrifying intensity. On the surface, he was calm. But you could see it, the possessive jealousy simmering beneath that composed mask, boiling hotter with every cocky word out of your mouth. Riki had fucked you first. Sunoo had tasted you second. And now here you were, strutting like you’d conquered him too.

Perfect. He wanted you exactly like this, riding high on victory, mouthy, untouchable. Because when he finally broke you, the fall would be devastating. Before you could taunt him again, Jungwon crossed the distance in a blur. His hand clamped around your wrist like a vice and he yanked you toward his car, ignoring your sharp protest.

“Get in.”

“Jungwon—”

“I said get the fuck in.” He didn’t take you back to the garage. He drove in dark, furious silence to an abandoned underground parking structure deep in the industrial district, a concrete tomb of flickering fluorescent lights and echoing emptiness. The moment the GT-R rolled to a stop in the deepest level, he killed the engine, dragged you out by the waist, and slammed you against the trunk of his car.

His mouth crashed into yours with weeks of pent-up jealousy and hunger. The kiss was punishing, teeth and tongue and pure ownership. He bit your lip hard enough to draw a gasp, then soothed it with his tongue before devouring you again. “You think winning that race means shit?” he growled against your mouth, hands already ripping the zipper of your racing suit down to your navel. “I let you win, baby. I wanted you cocky. I wanted you dripping with that arrogant attitude when I finally ruin you.”

He shoved the suit off your shoulders, letting it pool at your waist, exposing your bare breasts to the cold underground air. His hands were everywhere, mauling your tits, pinching your nipples until you arched into him, then sliding down to shove the rest of the suit off your legs along with your panties in one aggressive motion.

You were naked in seconds. He was still fully dressed.

Jungwon spun you around and bent you over the trunk of his GT-R, your tits pressed against the cool, glossy black paint. He kicked your legs apart, one hand fisting your hair to yank your head back while the other freed his cock, thick, hard, and already leaking.

“You belong to us now,” he snarled, rubbing the fat head of his cock along your soaked slit. “Not just Riki. Not just Sunoo. All three of us. Say it.”

When you only moaned defiantly, he slammed into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch was devastating. You cried out, walls fluttering wildly around his girth as he bottomed out against your cervix. “Fuck— Jungwon—”

“Say it,” he repeated, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in, setting a punishing rhythm that made the car rock beneath you. His hips snapped against your ass with wet, obscene slaps that echoed through the empty garage. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to while I breed it.”

He fucked you like he was punishing you for every second he’d had to wait. Manhandling you with terrifying strength, yanking your hips back to meet every thrust, slapping your ass hard enough to leave marks, fisting your hair so you stayed arched perfectly for him.

“Yours— fuck, it’s yours— all three of you—” you gasped, the words torn from your throat as he railed you senseless.

“That’s right,” he growled, leaning over you, chest pressed to your back, teeth sinking into your shoulder. “My cocky little Ghost. Gonna fill this pussy until you’re leaking my cum on every starting line. Every time you slide into that Supra, you’ll feel me dripping out of you. Breeding you so deep you’ll be carrying my mark for days.”

His pace grew feral. Words poured out of him in a torrent of filthy promises between brutal thrusts. “Gonna pump you so full tonight you’ll be swollen with it. Riki and Sunoo can have their turns later, but right now this cunt is mine to ruin.”

He pulled out suddenly, spun you around, and lifted you onto the trunk like you weighed nothing. Your back hit the cool metal as he hooked your legs over his elbows, folding you in half and driving back inside with a guttural groan. The new angle let him hit impossibly deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every savage stroke.

You came hard the first time, screaming, nails raking down his back through his shirt, pussy gushing around him as your walls milked his cock. Jungwon didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, then kept going, chasing a second orgasm from your overstimulated body while his own release built. “Look at me,” he demanded, one hand wrapping around your throat. His eyes were wild, hair falling into them, sweat glistening on his sharp features. “Tell me again. Who do you belong to?”

“All of you,” you sobbed, voice breaking as another orgasm ripped through you. “Riki— Sunoo— fuck— Jungwon— I belong to all three of you—”

“Good girl.” With a deep, animalistic groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after pulse as he ground deep, making sure it took. He stayed inside you, breathing hard, until the last drop was spent. Then he pulled out, watched his cum leak from your wrecked hole for a moment… and flipped you over again. The second round was even rougher.

He fucked you on the trunk until your legs shook uncontrollably, filling you with a second creampie that pushed the first one out in messy white rivulets down your thighs and onto the glossy paint of his car.  By the end, you were a trembling, cock-drunk mess, covered in sweat, cum leaking steadily from your abused pussy, voice hoarse from screaming his name. Jungwon finally pulled you against his chest, still buried deep inside you, pressing soft, possessive kisses along your marked neck while his hand gently stroked your stomach.

“Mine,” he whispered, the word heavy with dark satisfaction. “Ours.” The underground garage was silent except for your ragged breathing and the distant drip of cum onto concrete. And the undefeated Ghost had never felt more thoroughly, beautifully claimed.

The underground parking garage was still echoing with the ghost of your screams when Jungwon finally let you go. He had dressed you himself with surprising gentleness, sliding the racing suit back up your trembling body, zipping it slowly as if sealing his claim. His cum was still leaking down your thighs, soaking into the fabric, a warm, filthy reminder with every small movement. You were wrecked: legs shaky, voice hoarse, throat marked with his bites, hips and ass bruised from his brutal grip. Yet when he pulled you against his chest for one last kiss, it was slower, deeper, almost reverent.

He drove you back to your hidden garage in silence, one hand possessively resting on your thigh the entire way, thumb stroking the fresh marks he’d left. When you arrived, he killed the engine and turned to you, eyes dark and unreadable. “Get some rest, baby,” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against your ear. “You’re going to need it.” Then he was gone, leaving you standing in the cool night air, body aching in the most exquisite way.

The next day dragged in a haze of delicious pain.

You woke up in your loft above the garage well past noon, every muscle protesting as you shifted. Your pussy was sore, swollen, tender, still faintly leaking Jungwon’s cum even after a long shower. Bruises bloomed across your hips like fingerprints, bite marks decorated your breasts and inner thighs, and your throat felt raw from how many times you’d screamed for him. Walking hurt. Sitting hurt. Even the brush of soft fabric against your skin sent little sparks of overstimulation through your core.

You felt used. Thoroughly, perfectly ruined. And you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Lying on your bed in nothing but an oversized shirt, you stared at the ceiling, replaying every filthy second. Riki in the backseat. Sunoo teasing you, torturous tongue on the hood. Jungwon’s jealousy in that empty garage, the way he’d folded you in half and pumped you full again and again while making you admit you belonged to all three of them.

Three of them. The thought should’ve pissed you off. You didn’t belong to anyone. Yet your body betrayed you, a fresh wave of heat pooling between your sore thighs at the memory. You were getting addicted. To their different brands of dominance. To the way they looked at you like prey they wanted to devour slowly. To the dangerous thrill of wondering what they’d do to you next.

By late afternoon, your phone started blowing up. Texts from various underground contacts flooded in, race offers, challenges, high-stakes tunnel runs. You declined every single one.

Not tonight. Body’s fucked.

You typed the same message over and over, a little smirk on your lips despite the ache. Some sent concerned replies, others tried to tempt you with bigger purses. You ignored them all. For the first time in years, the Ghost was sitting out. Not because you were scared, but because you were smart. Your body needed recovery if you were going to survive whatever storm the trio was brewing.

You spent the rest of the day in the garage anyway, moving slowly. Cleaning tools. Tuning the Supra with careful, deliberate hands. Every bend, every stretch reminded you of how hard Jungwon had manhandled you. How deep he’d fucked you. How he’d growled about claiming you until you were dripping.

By nightfall, the anticipation had become its own kind of drug. You showered again, letting hot water soothe your sore muscles, then dressed simply, black shorts that hugged your ass and a loose tank top that did nothing to hide the marks on your neck and chest. You left your hair down, wild and messy. No racing suit tonight. You weren’t racing.

You were waiting. Pacing the garage slowly, you felt the nervous-excited energy crackling under your skin. Part of you, the strong part, wanted to greet them with your usual arrogance, to act like last night hadn’t shaken you. Another part, quieter and darker, wondered what it would feel like if all three of them came for you at once. If they stopped playing these separate games and finally shared their new favorite toy.

You touched the bruise on your hip, pressing until it stung. Let them come. The roll-up door was half-open, warm light spilling out into the shipyard darkness like an invitation. Engines rumbled faintly in the distance, or maybe it was just your imagination. Either way, the night felt heavy. Charged. Like the calm before something beautifully filthy broke.

You leaned against your Supra, arms crossed under your chest, a slow, dangerous smile curving your lips despite the lingering soreness between your legs.

The garage smelled like oil, metal, and the faint trace of your own anticipation when the three of them arrived together.

You were leaning against the workbench in the center of the space. The bruises from Jungwon still decorated your skin like dark medals, fingerprints on your hips, bite marks on your inner thighs, faint hickeys along your collarbone. Every shift of your body reminded you how sore you still were, yet the ache only made you wetter.

The roll-up door groaned open. Riki first, towering, Sunoo gliding in behind him with that angelic smile that said, we’re about to ruin you, and Jungwon bringing up the rear like the calm center of a gathering storm. They didn’t speak at first. They simply walked in and surrounded you, three predators locking onto their favorite prey. “Well, well,” you said, voice low and cocky, crossing your arms under your chest so the tank rode higher. “The whole pack decided to show up. Miss me already?”

Riki’s dark eyes dragged over your body like he wanted to eat you alive. “You’ve been dodging races, Y/N. Hiding that pretty, used-up pussy from us?”

Sunoo chuckled softly, stepping close enough that you could smell his cologne. “Smart girl. After what Jungwon did to you the other night… I’d be sore too.”

Jungwon didn’t smile. He simply watched you with those sharp, possessive eyes, the memory of pumping you full still burning between you. You lifted your chin, refusing to shrink under their combined gaze. “If you’re here to drag me out for another round, you’re going to have to do better than that. I’m not your toy to pass around whenever you get hard.”

That’s when Jungwon spoke, voice smooth but edged with command. “We’re not here to pass you around,” he said, stepping forward until he could brush a thumb over the bruise on your jaw. “We’re here to offer you something better. A pact. The four of us, a crew. You keep modding our cars, tuning them into monsters. We race as one unit. You ride with us as our good luck charm. In the garage… and everywhere else.”

Riki grinned, hungry. “We dominate the circuits together. No more solo bullshit. You get protection, money, power. And we get you.”

Sunoo’s fingers traced the hem of your tank top, teasing. “Whenever we want, however we want. But only if you say yes.”

You let the silence stretch, heart hammering, cunt already throbbing at the thought. Three of them. All at once. The idea should’ve terrified you. Instead, it made you feel dangerously alive. “I’m in,” you said finally, voice husky. “But on my terms. If we’re doing this, we do it right, no holding back. I want all of you.”

Riki’s eyes flashed with pure lust. “That’s our girl.” They didn’t waste another second. Jungwon lifted you onto the wide metal workbench like you weighed nothing, the cold surface biting into the backs of your thighs. Tools clattered to the floor as they stripped you bare in seconds, tank top ripped over your head, shorts yanked down your legs. You sat there completely naked under the harsh garage lights, legs spread, pussy glistening with fresh arousal.

“Fuck, look at her,” Riki groaned, palming his massive bulge. “Still leaking from the other night and already dripping for more. Greedy little cumslut.”

Sunoo moved first, stepping between your spread thighs and claiming your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss while his fingers slid through your folds, circling your swollen clit. “Such a pretty pussy. Already soaked just from us walking in. You were waiting for this, weren’t you, baby?”

You moaned into his mouth as two of his elegant fingers pushed inside you, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot. Jungwon appeared at your side, gripping your jaw and turning your head so he could kiss you next, possessive, dominant, tongue fucking your mouth while Sunoo finger-fucked you slow and deep. Riki didn’t wait. He climbed onto the workbench, kneeling beside your head, thick cock already out and heavy in his fist. “Open up, Y/N. Time to taste what you’ve been missing.”

You turned eagerly, lips parting as Riki fed you his cock. He was huge, stretching your mouth wide, the salty taste of him flooding your tongue as he pushed to the back of your throat. You gagged prettily, eyes watering, but sucked him harder, hollowing your cheeks.

“Shit— that’s it,” Riki hissed, fisting your hair. “Look at our little mechanic taking dick like a pro. Gonna turn this sharp mouth into our fucktoy.”

They rotated you between them like that for long, delicious minutes, passing your mouth from one cock to another while fingers and tongues worked your dripping cunt. Sunoo ate you out with obscene skill, pretty face buried between your thighs, moaning against your clit while Jungwon and Riki took turns fucking your throat.

Then the real fun began. Jungwon laid you back fully on the workbench, your head hanging off the edge. Riki stepped up and slid his thick cock back into your mouth, fucking your throat in shallow, controlled thrusts. At the same time, Jungwon gripped your hips, lined up, and slammed into your pussy in one brutal stroke.

You screamed around Riki’s cock, the sound muffled and wet. “Fuck yes,” Jungwon growled, hips snapping forward, pounding you with deep, possessive strokes. “This cunt is ours now. All three of us. Gonna stretch every hole until you can’t remember what it felt like to be empty.”

Sunoo climbed onto the bench beside you, stroking his pretty cock as he watched you get fucked. “Look at her. Taking two cocks at once like she was born for it. Our perfect little cumslut. You love this, don’t you, Y/N? Being used by all of us.”

You could only moan desperately, body rocking between them. The workbench creaked under the force of Jungwon’s thrusts. Riki’s balls slapped against your forehead as he used your throat. Pleasure bordered on overwhelming. They switched positions fluidly, never leaving you empty for long. Riki took your pussy next, feral and rough, folding your legs back as he railed you mercilessly. “This is what you get for making me wait, baby. This tight little hole is gonna be dripping our cum for days.”

Jungwon fed you his cock while Sunoo sucked marks into your tits, pinching your nipples until you whimpered. Then Sunoo slid into your mouth, fucking your face with controlled thrusts while praising you in that sweet, degrading voice. “That’s our good girl. Taking three cocks like a champion. Gonna fill you up until you’re leaking on every tool bench in this garage.” The dirty talk never stopped, vulgar, possessive, addictive.

“Gonna pass this pussy around every night after we win.”

“Turn the undefeated Ghost into our personal breeding whore.”

“Swallow my cock deeper, Y/N. Show us how much you love belonging to all three of us.”

You came hard the first time with Riki’s cock buried in your cunt and Jungwon’s down your throat, body convulsing, squirting around him as they held you through it. They didn’t let you rest. Jungwon pulled you up, him behind you, pounding your pussy with deep, breeding strokes while Sunoo fucked your mouth from the front. Riki stood beside you, feeding you his cock in turns, stroking himself when he wasn’t in your mouth, occasionally spitting on your tits for good measure.

“Say it,” Jungwon demanded, slapping your ass hard. “Tell us who you belong to while we fuck you stupid.”

You pulled off Sunoo’s cock long enough to gasp, voice broken and filthy, “All of you— fuck— I belong to all three of you. Your cumslut. Your holes. Use me—”

Riki groaned and came first, painting your tits and tongue with thick ropes of cum. Sunoo followed, pulling out at the last second to shoot across your pretty, flushed face. Jungwon was last, slamming deep and unloading inside you with a guttural moan, flooding your pussy until it overflowed and dripped down your thighs onto the workbench. You collapsed against the cool metal, covered in sweat and cum, body trembling with aftershocks, pussy clenching around nothing as their release leaked out of you.

The three of them stood around you, breathing hard, eyes dark with satisfaction and fresh hunger. Jungwon leaned down, brushing cum from your lip with his thumb and pushing it back into your mouth. “Welcome to the crew, baby.” Riki smirked. Sunoo pressed a surprisingly soft kiss to your forehead, then whispered against your skin, “Our perfect little good luck charm.”

You smiled through the mess, sore, claimed, and more alive than you’d ever been. The pact was sealed. And the night was still young.

The days blurred into a feverish, grease-stained haze of preparation. Your hidden garage had transformed into a war room. The air was thick with the scent of fresh welds, burning rubber from test tires, high-octane fuel, and the constant undercurrent of sweat and barely-contained lust. Three matte-black monsters now occupied the central bays alongside your Supra: Riki’s aggressive Evo, Sunoo’s widebody Porsche, and Jungwon’s GT-R. They looked like weapons forged for war.

You worked like a woman possessed.

From dawn until the early hours, you lived under the cars. Sleeves rolled up, tank top clinging to your sweat-slicked skin, shorts riding high as you bent over engine bays or crawled beneath chassis on a creeper. Sparks flew from your welder as you reinforced roll cages, upgraded turbo manifolds, and installed new ECU tunes that would push these machines well beyond factory limits. You added aggressive anti-lag systems, upgraded intercoolers, stiffer coilovers, and massive brake kits that could stop a bullet train. Custom limited-slip differentials. Bespoke exhausts that howled like demons when unleashed. Riki watched you the most hungrily. He’d hover nearby, shirtless, muscles flexing as he handed you tools, his eyes locked on the way your ass moved while you worked under the Evo.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered one night, voice rough as he crouched beside you. “Seeing you like this, covered in grease, making my car meaner, gets me so fucking hard. You sure we don’t have time for a quick break on the hood?”

You slid out from under the car, face smudged with oil, and smirked up at him. “Focus, speed demon. You want to survive this hell race? Then stop thinking with your dick and help me torque these bolts.” But even as you said it, you let your hand brush deliberately over the growing bulge in his pants. Sunoo was more subtle, but no less dangerous. He’d sit on a nearby workbench, legs swinging, watching every precise movement of your hands with those sharp, pretty eyes. Sometimes he’d read out specs aloud, his voice like velvet, teasing you with double meanings.

“These new injectors are going to make her squirt power when you hit the nitrous,” he’d murmur, lips curved. “Just like you do when I have my tongue buried in that greedy little cunt.”

You’d throw a rag at his head, laughing, but your thighs would press together at the memory. Jungwon was the strategist. He coordinated everything, mapping the race route, studying rival crews, timing practice runs. But even he couldn’t keep his hands off you completely. Late at night, when the others were resting, he’d press you against the tool chest, kissing you slow and deep while his fingers slipped under your shorts to find you soaked.

“You’re the heart of this crew now,” he’d whisper against your lips, possessive as ever. “Our mechanic. Our good luck charm. Our filthy little secret. Don’t wear yourself out too much, baby. We need you strong for what’s coming.” The upcoming race was legendary, and lethal. A no-holds-barred, multi-stage inferno through the abandoned industrial district, old tunnels, and cliffside highways. Twenty of the most ruthless crews in the underground scene. Massive bets. Dirty tactics encouraged. Crashes were expected. Deaths had happened in past years. This wasn’t just racing. It was survival with engines.

So you pushed them harder. During the day, you ran them through brutal practice drills. They practiced reflexes on a makeshift course you’d set up using traffic cones, old tires, and sudden obstacles. You’d stand on the sidelines with a stopwatch and a megaphone, barking orders like a drill sergeant while dressed in nothing but oil-stained shorts and a cropped top.

“Again!” you’d shout as Riki drifted too wide. “You hesitate like that in the tunnels and you’re dead, Riki!”

“Sunoo, tighter apex! Stop showing off and drive like you want to win, not just look pretty!”

“Jungwon, you’re overthinking the line. Trust the car. Trust me.”

At night, the real filth returned. After long hours of wrenching, they’d reward you, and themselves, on the same workbench where they’d first claimed you as a crew. Sometimes it was quick and dirty: Riki bending you over the Supra’s hood while you were still holding a wrench. Sometimes it was slower, all three of them taking turns worshipping and ruining your sore, eager body until you were shaking and covered in their cum.

But the work never stopped. You barely slept. Your hands were raw, your back ached, but the fire in your blood burned hotter than ever. These weren’t just their cars anymore. They were extensions of the four of you, lethal, perfectly tuned weapons built by your hands and fueled by the raw chemistry between all of you.

One particularly long night, close to 3 a.m., you stood back and wiped sweat from your brow as the final mods were completed. All three cars gleamed under the lights, lowered, aggressive, and monstrous. Your Supra sat beside them like the queen of the pack.

The boys gathered around you, exhausted but wired, bodies glistening with sweat. Riki pulled you against his chest, strong arms wrapping around your waist. “You’re a fucking genius, Y/N.”

Sunoo stepped in from the side, pressing a kiss to your grease-streaked neck. “Our perfect little mechanic.”

Jungwon cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. “This race is going to be hell. But with you… we’re going to burn the whole circuit down.”

You smiled, cocky and exhausted and exhilarated all at once, leaning into their combined heat.

“Then let’s make them regret ever thinking they could compete with us,” you said, voice low and dangerous.  The garage fell into a charged silence, broken only by the occasional tick of cooling engines and the distant crash of waves. Tomorrow night, the real war began. But tonight, the four of you stood together, bonded by speed, sin, and something far more addictive than just racing.

The Ghost had finally found her pack. And together, you were going to be fucking legendary.

The night of the big race arrived like a storm breaking over the underground. The industrial district had turned into a pulsing arena of headlights, roaring engines, and thousands in cash changing hands under flickering sodium lamps. Twenty crews. Brutal multi-stage course through abandoned tunnels, elevated highways, and the treacherous cliffside runs. Dirty moves were expected. The crowd was feral, betting heavy, eyes hungry for blood and glory.

Your crew showed up like kings. Four cars in perfect formation, your Supra leading, flanked by Riki’s Evo, Sunoo’s Porsche, and Jungwon’s GT-R. All of them snarling with the mods you’d bled for. You’d tuned them to perfection, and the boys drove like men possessed, trusting every upgrade your hands had built.

The race was hell. They fought tooth and nail, Riki diving into impossible gaps with feral precision, Sunoo slipping through traffic like smoke, Jungwon calling moves over the radio with ice-cold strategy. You held your own at the front, Ghost reborn as part of something bigger, blocking rivals and opening lines for your men. Crashes echoed behind you. Sirens wailed in the distance. One car went over the barrier in the final tunnel run. But you four crossed the finish line together, first, second, third, and fourth in a dominating sweep that left the entire scene stunned into silence for three full seconds before the explosion of cheers and curses.

The win hit like nitrous straight to the veins. Adrenaline surged through all of you, thick and intoxicating. Hearts pounding, bodies buzzing, cocks already hard from the sheer thrill of victory and dominance. The moment the cars rolled to a smoky stop in the victory lot, surrounded by rival crews packing up, bookies paying out, and onlookers still buzzing, the tension snapped.

Riki was on you first. He dragged you out of your Supra and slammed you against the warm hood of his Evo, right there in the open lot where at least thirty people were still milling around within viewing distance. The risk made it filthier. “Fuck, Y/N,” he growled against your neck, yanking the zipper of your racing suit down in one violent tug. “We just owned that entire circuit because of you. Now we’re claiming our prize.”

You barely had time to gasp before Sunoo was in front of you, pretty face flushed with victory, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you into a deep, messy kiss. Jungwon moved behind you, pressing his hard body against your back, hands sliding inside your open suit to grope your tits roughly.

People were watching. Some turned away. Others stared openly. A few rival racers lingered by their cars, eyes wide at the bold display. The danger only made you wetter. They bent you over the hood of Riki’s Evo without ceremony. Your chest pressed against the warm, glossy metal, ass up, legs spread. Riki stood to the side, stroking his thick cock openly while Sunoo fed you his pretty dick right there under the flickering lights. “Open that cocky mouth, baby,” Sunoo murmured, voice sweet and filthy as he pushed past your lips. “Let them see how good our good luck charm takes dick after a win.”

You moaned around him, sucking eagerly as Jungwon shoved your suit down to your thighs, exposing your bare ass and dripping pussy to the night air. No panties. He’d made sure of that before the race.

“Look at this greedy cunt,” Jungwon growled, loud enough for nearby ears to catch. He rubbed his thick cock along your soaked folds, teasing. “Still sore from the other night and yet dripping like a whore for all three of us in public.”

He thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke. The force rocked you forward onto Sunoo’s cock, making you gag prettily. Jungwon set a brutal pace immediately, hips slamming against your ass with wet, obscene sounds that carried in the night air. His hand fisted your hair, keeping your head in place as Sunoo fucked your mouth in perfect rhythm.

Riki watched with dark, hungry eyes, occasionally reaching over to slap your ass or pinch your swinging tits while he stroked himself. “Fuck, she looks so good like this,” Riki groaned. “Bent over my hood, getting railed where everyone can see. Our perfect little team slut. This is what winning feels like.”

Jungwon fucked you like he was still racing, deep, aggressive, possessive. Every thrust pushed you further onto Sunoo’s cock, spit and precum dripping down your chin onto the hood. The risk of getting caught, of rival crews seeing the undefeated Ghost turned into a messy fucktoy for her team, sent you spiraling.

You came hard around Jungwon’s cock, moaning loudly around Sunoo, pussy clenching and gushing down your thighs. They didn’t stop. Sunoo pulled out of your mouth only to let Riki take a turn fucking your throat while Jungwon kept pounding your cunt. They rotated like that, switching between your mouth and pussy, using you right there against the car while distant voices and engine revs reminded you how exposed you were.

“Gonna fill you up again,” Jungwon panted, slamming deep. He came first, flooding your insides with thick, hot ropes. Riki followed, pulling out of your mouth to paint your tongue and tits. Sunoo took Jungwon’s place behind you and fucked you through the mess, adding his own load deep inside until it was leaking out around his cock in creamy rivulets.

By the end, you were a trembling, cum-covered wreck. They quickly zipped you back into your racing suit, but it was useless. Their combined cum was already dripping down your inner thighs, soaking the fabric from the inside. A visible wet patch started forming at the crotch as they helped you into your Supra. Riki smirked, kissing you hard. “Drive careful, baby. Wouldn’t want you making a mess all over your seat.”

Sunoo licked a stray drop of cum from your lip. “Our filthy good luck charm.” Jungwon gripped your jaw one last time, eyes burning. “We’re just getting started. This crew owns the night now.” Engines roared to life around you. You pulled out behind them, legs shaky, pussy still fluttering and leaking their cum steadily down your thighs inside the tight racing suit. The sensation was obscene, warm, sticky, constant, a filthy reminder with every shift of the pedals as you drove off into the night, victorious and utterly claimed. 

—

The roar of the crowd vibrated through the stands as Riki lined up for his solo race, a high-stakes tunnel sprint against some of the scene’s nastiest drivers. You sat wedged between Sunoo and Jungwon in the shadowed upper level, their bodies pressed close on either side of you, hands casually possessive on your thighs. Riki was off from the start. His Evo launched aggressively, but his lines were sloppy. He missed apexes he usually nailed blindfolded. In the final tunnel, he hesitated on a daring inside pass and got boxed out, finishing a humiliating third. The moment he crossed the line, you knew why.

His eyes found you in the crowd immediately, dark, burning, furious at himself. He’d been distracted. Thinking about you bent over his hood after the last win. About your mouth. About how your pussy clenched when you screamed their names. It cost him the race.

Back at the garage, the air was thick with tension the second the door slammed shut. Riki stormed in first, jaw clenched, still in his racing suit. “You,” he growled, pointing at you. “This is your fucking fault, Y/N. Couldn’t stop thinking about that tight little cunt the entire race.” Sunoo smirked, locking the roll-up door. “Then she needs to be punished, doesn’t she?”

Jungwon’s voice was calm but dripping with dark promise. “Strip her.” They didn’t give you time to protest, not that you wanted to. Your clothes were torn off in seconds. They bent you over the wide metal workbench again, wrists cuffed above your head to a hook they’d installed specifically for this. Your ass was presented perfectly, legs spread, pussy already glistening with traitorous arousal. Riki started. He brought his hand down hard on your ass, heavy, stinging spanks that echoed through the garage. Each slap made you jolt, the pain blooming into liquid heat between your thighs.

“Count them, baby,” he snarled, spanking you harder. “This is what happens when you distract me.” By the time he reached twenty, your ass was glowing red and you were dripping down your thighs. Sunoo stepped in next, elegant fingers tracing the heated skin before he slid a thick vibrating dildo deep into your soaked cunt. He turned it on high and held it there while Jungwon wrapped a hand lightly around your throat from the side, squeezing just enough to make your head spin.

“Such a greedy little distraction,” Sunoo cooed sweetly, fucking the toy in and out with cruel precision. “Look at you. Already clenching like a whore. How many times did you cum thinking about us while we were supposed to be focusing?” They rotated.

Jungwon took the toy from Sunoo and fucked you mercilessly with it, his free hand spanking your already bruised ass while Riki choked you lightly, whispering filthy praise and degradation into your ear. “You love this, don’t you? Being our little fucktoy we punish when you misbehave.” The first orgasm hit you fast and brutal. You squirted around the toy, soaking the workbench and your own thighs, crying out sharply.

They didn’t stop. Sunoo switched to a smaller, curved vibrator pressed hard against your clit while Jungwon kept the thick dildo pounding into you. Riki stood in front, feeding you his cock to muffle your screams. They competed openly. “Who can make her scream loudest?” Jungwon challenged, voice rough as he angled the toy to destroy your G-spot.

Sunoo smiled angelically, increasing the vibrations on your clit. “My turn to make our pretty mechanic cry.”

Riki fucked your throat deeper. “Scream for me, Y/N. Let the whole shipyard hear what a messy little cumslut you are.”

Orgasm after orgasm tore through you. They made you squirt again and again, messy, humiliating gushes that left puddles on the floor. Your legs shook violently. Tears streamed down your face from the overwhelming overstimulation, mascara running, lips swollen around whichever cock was using your mouth. By the fourth orgasm, you were sobbing, body convulsing uncontrollably. “Please— fuck— I can’t— too much—”

“You can,” Jungwon growled, spanking you hard while he drove the toy deeper. “You will. This is what you get for making Riki lose.” Riki took his final turn, replacing the toy with his thick cock and railing you from behind while Sunoo held the vibrator mercilessly against your clit. Jungwon choked you lightly, kissing you through the tears as you shattered again, squirting violently around Riki’s cock, screaming loud enough that it echoed off the walls.

Riki came deep inside you with a feral groan, pumping you full. Sunoo followed, painting your tits and face while you trembled. Jungwon finished last, making you ride his cock reverse cowgirl on the workbench, forcing one final, devastating orgasm out of your ruined body while he filled you too. You collapsed forward, covered in sweat, tears, and cum, ass cherry red, pussy swollen and leaking their loads in thick rivulets down your thighs.

Riki crouched beside you, brushing damp hair from your tear-streaked face with surprising tenderness. “Next time I race solo,” he murmured, voice dark but satisfied, “you better be in my fucking passenger seat where you belong.” Sunoo pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Our perfect little distraction.” Jungwon smiled against your neck. “Good girl.”

You lay there spent, broken in the most exquisite way, already knowing you’d distract them again. Because this kind of punishment? You were already addicted to it.

The morning after they’d wrecked you with toys and overstimulation, you woke up sore, marked, and pissed in the best possible way. Your ass still burned from the heavy spanking. Your pussy was swollen and tender, thighs covered in faint bruises. But instead of curling up and submitting, the old Ghost re-emerged, cocky, vicious, and out for revenge.

They wanted to play punishment games? Fine. You’d play it better. You started slow. You walked into the garage wearing the tiniest pair of black shorts that barely covered the curve of your ass and a cropped tank top that clung to your tits, no bra. Your hair was messy, lips still slightly swollen from the night before, and the bruises they’d left on your body were proudly on display.

The three of them were already there, working on the cars. The moment they saw you, their eyes darkened with fresh hunger. But you didn’t give them what they wanted. All day long, you teased. First, Riki. He cornered you near his Evo while you were pretending to check the tire pressure, pressing his hard body against your back, thick bulge grinding against your ass.

“You’re still dripping my cum from last night, aren’t you?” he growled, hands gripping your hips. You spun around, pushed him back against the side of the car, and straddled one of his thick thighs. Slowly, deliberately, you rolled your hips, grinding your barely-covered pussy along the hard ridge of his cock through his pants. You made sure to press your tits against his chest, lips brushing his ear. “Mmm… feels like someone’s desperate,” you purred, voice dripping with arrogance. “Too bad you don’t get to fuck me today, baby. Not after the way you three treated me last night.”

You rocked harder, letting your wetness soak through the thin fabric of your shorts onto his thigh, then suddenly pulled away right when his hands tightened and his breathing turned ragged. Riki groaned, head falling back. “Y/N… you fucking tease—” You smirked, cocky and untouchable. “Should’ve thought about that before.”

With Sunoo, you were crueler. He was sitting on the workbench reviewing race data when you sauntered over and climbed straight into his lap, facing him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and started grinding down on his already rock-hard cock, rolling your hips in filthy, slow circles. Sunoo’s hands flew to your waist, breath hitching. “Fuck, baby… just let me slip it in. I’ll be gentle—”

You laughed softly against his mouth, biting his lower lip before pulling back. “Gentle? No chance, pretty boy.” You kept grinding, pressing your soaked core right against the throbbing length of him, letting him feel how wet you were through both your clothes. Every time his hips started bucking up desperately, you slowed down or stopped completely, edging him mercilessly while whispering in his ear. Sunoo’s usually sweet, teasing expression twisted into pure tortured lust. His fingers dug into your ass hard enough to bruise, but you only smiled and climbed off, leaving him panting and painfully hard.

Jungwon tried to play it strategic. He waited until you were bent over the hood of your Supra, then came up behind you, pressing his thick erection against your ass while his hand slid around to cup your throat lightly. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N,” he murmured, voice low and commanding.

You pushed back against him, grinding your ass along his cock in long, deliberate strokes, arching your back like a cat in heat. “Am I?” you asked sweetly, looking over your shoulder with that signature cocky smirk. “Or are you just mad I’m finally the one in control?”

You kept rolling your hips, letting the head of his cock nudge right against your clothed entrance again and again, teasing him with the promise of sinking inside. Every time he tried to pull your shorts aside, you slapped his hand away and ground harder, faster, until his breathing turned ragged and his grip on your throat tightened with frustration. Then you stepped away completely, leaving him cursing under his breath, cock straining obscenely against his pants.

All day it went on like that. You’d brush against them “accidentally,” press your tits against their arms while handing them tools, whisper filthy reminders of how good their cocks felt while deliberately denying them. You’d grind on Riki while he was under a car, ride Sunoo’s thigh while pretending to check specs on a laptop, and edge Jungwon against every available surface. By late evening, they were feral. Riki was pacing like a caged animal, constantly adjusting his painfully hard cock. Sunoo’s pretty face was flushed, eyes dark with restrained violence. Even Jungwon, usually the most composed, had a dangerous glint in his eyes, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.

You stood in the middle of the garage, arms crossed under your chest, pushing your tits up on purpose, looking every inch the untouchable Ghost again. “Something wrong, boys?” you asked innocently, though your voice dripped with smug satisfaction. “You all look… frustrated.” Riki stepped forward first, voice rough. “Y/N. You’re pushing it.”

You tilted your head, smiling sweetly. “Good.” The power felt delicious. 

The same night crackled with a different kind of danger. After an entire day of your merciless edging, the boys were driven insane, bodies wound tight, cocks still aching, minds half on the track and half buried between your thighs. The frustration only made them sharper. Hungrier. Meaner. Word had spread fast through the underground: a once-in-a-decade race. Three rival crews versus your trio. The prize pot was absolutely out of a fever dream, eight stolen luxury cars plus over two million in dirty cash stacked in black duffels. Winner takes all. Losers walk away with nothing… or worse. You were not on the track tonight. You’d made that clear with a cocky little smirk as they suited up.

“You three can suffer a little longer,” you’d purred, leaning against the Supra in tiny shorts, arms crossed under your chest. “Win this race and maybe, I’ll let you fuck the attitude out of me.”That promise had lit a fire under them.

The starting line stretched across an abandoned freight yard that fed straight into the old industrial tunnels. Hundreds of spectators lined the barriers. Neon lights flickered. Bookies screamed odds. The air reeked of gasoline, weed, and raw testosterone. Your three cars sat at the front like predators: Riki’s slammed Evo, Sunoo’s aggressive Porsche, and Jungwon’s matte-black GT-R. Engines idling with menacing rumbles. Riki’s hands flexed on the wheel, jaw tight. “I’m still so fucking hard it hurts,” he muttered over the radio.

Sunoo’s soft laugh crackled back. “Blame our pretty little brat.”

Jungwon’s voice cut through, calm but edged with steel. “Focus. We win this, then we go home and ruin her until she can’t walk.” The flag dropped. Chaos exploded instantly. The first straight was pure war. Rivals tried to box them in, bumping aggressively. Riki dove into a gap so tight his mirrors scraped concrete, snarling as he forced a rival into the wall with a sickening crunch of metal. Sparks flew like fireworks.

Sunoo was a white swan in motion, slipping through traffic like liquid, using every dirty trick you’d taught him. He feinted left, then cut right, sending another car spinning into a barrier. His Porsche danced on the edge of control, widebody kissing the tunnel walls. Jungwon played the long game, hanging back just enough to read the chaos before striking. He was the anchor, calling moves with ice-cold precision while his GT-R devoured straights like a demon.

The course turned hellish. They blasted into the long abandoned subway tunnels, pitch black except for headlights and emergency strobes. One rival tried to run Sunoo into a pillar. Sunoo countered by tapping his rear bumper at 140 mph, sending the car into a violent spin that took out two others in a chain-reaction crash. The explosion of metal and glass lit up the tunnel behind them. “Clear,” Sunoo reported, breathing hard.

Riki was losing his mind with adrenaline and sexual frustration. On a sweeping elevated highway section, drifting through a corner so aggressively his Evo nearly rolled. He clipped a rival’s bumper on purpose, sending them flying over the guardrail and into the dark ravine below. The final leg was the cliffside death run, narrow roads hugging jagged drops, wind howling off the ocean. Here, the remaining rivals threw everything at them: side-swipes, brake checks, even throwing glass bottles onto the road.

Jungwon took a brutal hit to his rear quarter, the GT-R fishtailing dangerously close to the edge. For one terrifying second, two wheels hung over nothing but black sea and rocks. “Won—!” you screamed into the radio from the observation point above, heart in your throat. He recovered with terrifying skill, counter-steering perfectly. “Still here, baby.” That near-miss only fueled them.

In the last mile, the three of them formed a perfect arrow, Riki leading, Sunoo and Jungwon guarding his flanks. They crossed the finish line almost simultaneously, sweeping the podium in a dominant, brutal display that left the crowd roaring and the rival crews stunned into silence. They’d won. The stolen cars and duffels of cash were theirs. But the real prize was waiting back at the garage.

The drive back was torture. All three cars pulled into the shipyard in formation, engines screaming victory. The moment they killed the ignitions, the boys exploded out of their cars, eyes wild, bodies still vibrating with race adrenaline and a full day of your cruel teasing. You were waiting in the center of the garage, arms crossed, that signature cocky smirk on your lips. “Congratulations, boys. Looks like you—” Riki didn’t let you finish. He stormed forward, grabbed you by the throat, and slammed you against the side of his still-ticking Evo. His mouth crashed into yours in a violent, starving kiss. “You think you can edge us for twelve fucking hours and then stand there looking smug?” he snarled against your lips.

Sunoo appeared on your other side, pretty face dark with promise. “We’re going to make you regret every single thing, baby.” Jungwon stepped in last, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him. “Time’s up, Y/N.”

Hands tore at your tiny shorts and crop top until the fabric was in shreds on the concrete floor. “You’ve been a fucking brat all day,” Riki snarled against your lips, biting down hard on your lower lip until you tasted blood. “Grinding on our cocks like a cocktease and thinking you could walk away?”

They carried you to the wide central workbench and threw you down on your back. Within seconds you were completely naked, legs spread obscenely wide. Jungwon gripped your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision spark as he leaned over you. “Open that pretty mouth.”

Sunoo was already there, pretty cock hard and leaking as he fed it straight down your throat in one smooth thrust. You gagged loudly, eyes watering instantly as he started fucking your face with deep, controlled strokes. “Fuck… that throat feels even better when you’ve been teasing us all day,” Sunoo groaned, voice sweet and filthy. He held your head in place, hips snapping forward until your nose pressed against his pelvis.

At the same time, Riki and Jungwon positioned themselves between your spread thighs. Riki spat directly onto your already soaked pussy, rubbing the thick head of his massive cock against your entrance while Jungwon did the same, pressing right beside him. “You’re gonna take both of us in this greedy cunt tonight,” Jungwon said, voice low and commanding. 

They pushed in together. The stretch was brutal, burning, overwhelming. You screamed around Sunoo’s cock as both thick cocks forced their way inside you at once, inch by inch, stretching you to your absolute limit. The obscene pressure made your eyes roll back, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Fuuuuck— so goddamn tight,” Riki growled, eyes locked on where both you holes were stretched around both of their cocks. “Look at her taking two dicks like a champ. This is what you get for edging us, baby.”

They started moving, alternating thrusts at first, then finding a devastating rhythm together. The workbench creaked violently beneath you as they fucked you stupid, pounding deep into your cunt while Sunoo continued throat-fucking you without mercy. The wet sounds skin smacking and and gagging throat filled the entire garage. You came hard within minutes, violently, squirting around their cocks as your body convulsed. They didn’t slow down. “Again,” Jungwon demanded, spanking your clit hard while they railed you. “Cum on our cocks like the messy little whore you are.”

Sunoo knelt in front of you, gripping your hair and forcing his cock back down your throat. The three of them used you mercilessly. Riki and Jungwon fucked you in perfect sync, stretching you beyond reason, their balls slapping wetly against you. Jungwon reached around to rub your swollen clit while Riki sucked marks into your bouncing tits. Sunoo fucked your throat until drool and precum ran down your chin in thick strings, dripping onto your tits.

Riki panted, voice wrecked. “Gonna fill this slutty cunt until it’s overflowing.” The orgasms kept coming. You came again, soaking Riki’s abs and the workbench. Your screams were muffled around Sunoo’s cock as wave after wave of devastating pleasure tore through your overstimulated body. They started rotating. Sunoo pulled out of your throat only to let Riki take your mouth while Jungwon kept destroying your pussy. Then Jungwon switched to your throat, feeding you his cock covered in your own juices while Riki and Sunoo double-penetrated you again. The taste of yourself mixed with their precum made you moan like a broken whore. 

Riki came first, pulling out of your pussy and painting your face with thick ropes of cum. Sunoo followed, pulling out of your mouth and adding to the mess, covering your flushed cheeks, lips, and tongue. Jungwon kept fucking you through it, then finally buried himself deep and unloaded straight into your womb. They didn’t stop.

By the end, you were a complete wreck. Lying on the workbench, covered head to toe in sweat and semen. Thick loads dripped from your swollen pussy onto the floor. Your face was painted white, cum leaking from the corners of your mouth. Your tits were marked with handprints and bite marks. Your voice was hoarse from screaming. Riki crouched beside you, gently brushing cum-soaked hair from your face while Jungwon pressed soft kisses to your trembling thighs.

Sunoo smiled that angelic, wicked smile and leaned down to kiss your cum-stained lips. “Look at our strong, cocky Ghost,” he whispered. You could barely move, body twitching with aftershocks, pussy still clenching around nothing as more cum slowly leaked out of you. But even through the exhaustion, a weak, satisfied smirk tugged at your swollen lips. “Worth it,” you rasped. 

The tension in the garage had been simmering for days. You were bent over the hood of a sleek, silver Mercedes-AMG GT that belonged to Kai, a quiet but skilled solo racer who’d paid you a small fortune for emergency mods before the next big tunnel run. Your hands were deep in the engine bay, tightening a new intercooler setup, when the roll-up door slammed open hard enough to rattle the walls.

All three of them walked in. Riki first, eyes immediately narrowing at the sight of you working intimately on another man’s car. Sunoo followed, his usual angelic smirk gone flat. Jungwon brought up the rear, jaw locked so tight the muscle ticked. Kai, smart man that he was, muttered a quick thanks and disappeared the second he felt the shift in the air.

You straightened up, wiping grease on your shorts, and raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

Riki was on you in three strides. He spun you around, pressing your back against the Mercedes’ hood, and crashed his mouth onto yours in a deep, possessive kiss that stole the air from your lungs. His hands gripped your waist hard, fingers digging in like he could brand you through skin and bone.

“You let him bring his car here?” he growled against your lips before kissing you again, harder, tongue sliding against yours like he was trying to erase any trace of another man’s presence. “You had your hands all over his engine while we were waiting for you?”

Sunoo stepped in beside you, turning your face toward him the second Riki pulled back for air. His kiss was slower but no less intense, deep, claiming, one hand cupping your jaw while the other fisted the front of your tank top.

“You’re ours, Y/N,” Sunoo whispered hotly against your mouth, voice uncharacteristically rough. “Not some hired wrench for every pretty boy with money. I can’t fucking stand seeing you bent over another man’s car like that.”

Jungwon was last. He pulled you away from the Mercedes entirely, backing you up against the tool chest instead. His kiss was raw, almost angry, full of weeks of building emotion. When he finally broke away, forehead pressed to yours, his voice cracked with something real.

“I hate it,” he admitted, breathing hard. “I hate seeing you give even a second of your time to someone else. We’ve been trying to keep this casual, but… I can’t anymore. The thought of you with anyone who isn’t us makes me want to burn this entire shipyard down.”

The confession hung heavy in the air. You looked between them, Riki pacing like a caged animal, Sunoo watching you with dark, vulnerable eyes, Jungwon’s usual composure completely shattered. “I’m not going anywhere,” you said quietly, reaching up to touch Jungwon’s cheek. “But you three don’t own every second of my life.”

“That’s the problem,” Riki muttered, stepping close again. He kissed you once more, softer this time but still desperate. “I don’t want to share you with the rest of this fucking world, Y/N. Not even for money. Not even for an hour.” Sunoo pressed in from the other side, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the sensitive spot under your ear. “You’re more than our mechanic now. More than our good luck charm. You’re… ours. And it’s starting to feel like something I can’t lose.”

The moment stretched, thick with new, terrifying tenderness beneath all the possessiveness. Later that night, the feelings boiled over on the road. It was supposed to be a standard tunnel run, your crew running escort for a big payout. But the cops had been tipped off. Halfway through the long industrial tunnel, blue and red lights exploded behind you, sirens screaming.

“Scatter!” Jungwon barked over the radio.

The chase was vicious. Riki drifted through a narrow gap between concrete pillars at terrifying speed, barely missing a patrol car trying to cut him off. Sunoo used his Porsche’s agility to slip through an exit ramp at the last second. You stayed glued to Jungwon’s GT-R, pushing your Supra to its absolute limit as two cruisers closed in. A near-miss nearly ended everything.

One cop car tried to PIT you on a sharp curve. Jungwon swerved at the last second, forcing you to brake hard and slide between them in a hail of sparks and screaming metal. Your heart hammered so violently you thought it might burst. For one sickening second, you saw the headlines, the Ghost finally crashing out. You all made it out. Barely. Back at the garage, the adrenaline crash hit hard.

The second the doors were down, Jungwon yanked you out of your Supra and pinned you against it, kissing you like he’d almost lost you forever. Riki and Sunoo joined immediately, surrounding you in a tangle of desperate mouths and gripping hands.

“I can’t do this,” Jungwon rasped between kisses, voice raw with emotion. “I can’t keep pretending this is just racing and fucking. When I saw that cop almost take you out tonight… I’ve never been that scared in my life.”

Riki’s hand slid into your hair, tilting your head so he could kiss you deeply, almost angrily. “You’re under our skin, Y/N. All the way. I lose focus every time you’re not right there with me. And seeing you mod that asshole’s car earlier? I wanted to drag you away and remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Sunoo kissed you slower, but his hands trembled slightly against your waist. “We’re falling for you. All three of us. And it’s making us stupid. Jealous as hell. But I don’t want to stop.”

You stood there between them, heart racing for an entirely different reason now. The Ghost, undefeated, untouchable, felt her walls cracking under the weight of three pairs of eyes that looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in their chaotic world. “I’m scared too,” you admitted quietly, voice thick. “This stopped being just fun a long time ago.” Jungwon rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in. Riki pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to your temple. Sunoo nuzzled into your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

The morning after the confessions came slow and golden.

Sunlight filtered weakly through the high warehouse windows of the loft above the garage, painting long, dusty beams across the wide bed you all shared. The air still carried the faint scent of engine oil, sea salt, and last night’s adrenaline. You woke up tangled between them, Riki’s heavy arm slung possessively over your waist, Sunoo curled against your back with his face buried in your neck, and Jungwon lying on his side in front of you, watching you with quiet, unguarded eyes.

For once, there was no rush. No race looming in the next few hours. No engines screaming. Just the four of you, breathing in the same quiet rhythm. Jungwon reached out first, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a gentleness that still surprised you from the usually composed leader. His thumb brushed your lower lip, eyes soft in the morning light.

“Morning, baby,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep but warm like melted honey. He leaned in and kissed you, slow, lingering, no heat of possession this time, just pure, aching affection. The kind of kiss that said he’d been lying awake thinking about you for hours. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “You scared the hell out of me yesterday. I keep seeing that cop car trying to take you out… and all I could think was I can’t lose you.”

You smiled softly, your hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I’m right here, Won. Not going anywhere.” Behind you, Sunoo stirred, pressing a trail of lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your bare shoulder. His arm tightened around your middle, pulling you back flush against his warm chest.

“Mmm… my favorite way to wake up,” he whispered, voice still drowsy and sweet. “Our pretty girl between us.” He nuzzled into your hair, inhaling deeply like he needed your scent to ground him. “You make everything feel… right. Even when the world outside is trying to burn us down.”

Riki, ever the restless one, tightened his grip on your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the sensitive skin there with surprising tenderness. His usual feral energy was quiet this morning, replaced by something deeper, almost vulnerable.

“You know I’m shit at this soft stuff,” he mumbled against your skin, voice low and rough. “But fuck, Y/N… waking up and knowing you’re ours? That you chose us? It messes me up in the best way.” He pressed another slow kiss right below your ear, then another on your jaw, taking his time like he wanted to memorize every inch of you. “I don’t care about the cars or the money anymore. I just want you here. Safe. With us.”

You let yourself sink into them, surrounded by their warmth, their scents, their quiet love. For the first time in years, the undefeated Ghost didn’t feel like she had to run or fight. She just… existed. Cherished. The morning unfolded lazily. Jungwon eventually slipped out of bed and returned with coffee, black for you, exactly how you liked it, and a plate of fruit he’d cut up himself. He fed you bites of sweet mango between soft kisses, his free hand gently massaging the tension from your shoulders.

Sunoo pulled you into the shower with him later, but there was nothing rushed about it. He washed your hair with careful fingers, massaging your scalp until you were nearly purring. He kissed every bruise and mark they’d left on your body, not with hunger, but with quiet reverence, whispering against your wet skin how beautiful you were, how strong, how irreplaceable.

Riki was the most surprising. He cooked, or at least tried to, burning the edges of the eggs but plating them with a proud little grin when you laughed at the mess. He kept pulling you onto his lap while you all ate together at the small table in the loft, one big hand rubbing slow circles on your thigh, the other feeding you bites from his own plate.

“I like you here,” he said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “Just… us.” By late afternoon, the four of you ended up back in bed, a tangled pile of limbs and quiet affection. You lay on your back with your head in Jungwon’s lap while he played with your hair. Sunoo rested his head on your stomach, tracing lazy patterns on your skin. Riki had his face pressed against your ribs, one arm thrown over your thighs. None of you spoke for a long time. The silence was comfortable, heavy with new emotions that felt too big for words.

“I never thought I’d have this,” you admitted eventually, voice barely above a whisper. “I was always alone. But with you three… I don’t feel alone anymore. I feel seen. Wanted. Loved, even when you’re being jealous assholes about it.” Jungwon’s fingers paused in your hair. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, lingering there. “You are loved, Y/N. More than you know. I’m not good at saying it, but… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to us. To me.”

Sunoo lifted his head, eyes sparkling with rare vulnerability as he kissed the center of your chest, right over your heart. “You make me want to be better. Softer. Even when I want to keep you locked away from the rest of the world.”

Riki pushed himself up slightly, cupping your face with one big hand. His thumb stroked your cheek as he looked at you with raw intensity. “I’d burn every rival car, every cop, every fucking thing that tries to take you from us. But I’d also give it all up if you asked me to. That’s how much you mean to me now.” You felt your eyes sting with unexpected tears. Not from sadness, from the overwhelming warmth of being so completely, fiercely cherished. You pulled them closer, one by one, kissing each of them slowly and deeply, pouring every unspoken feeling into the press of your lips. They held you tighter, their hands gentle, their breaths mingling with yours in the quiet loft.

The underground world outside kept spinning, races, danger, dirty money, and rivals. But up here, in this stolen moment, there was only love. Messy, jealous, protective, all-consuming love. You were sinking into it, slow and deep, letting yourself be utterly, beautifully wrapped up in the three men who had claimed far more than just your body. They had your heart now too.

—

Six months later, the shipyard garage had changed.

What was once just a hidden den of midnight mods and stolen moments had slowly become something closer to a home. The loft upstairs now held four toothbrushes in the bathroom, your racing suits hanging beside theirs in the reinforced closet, and a bigger bed they’d dragged in after too many nights of tangled limbs and not enough space. There were plants Sunoo insisted on keeping alive on the windowsill, a ridiculous number of Riki’s protein shakes in the fridge, and Jungwon’s carefully organized race notebooks stacked on the desk.

You stood on the upper catwalk overlooking the garage floor, watching them.

Riki was under his Evo again, tools clanging as he fine-tuned the suspension you’d redesigned last week. Grease streaked his arms and cheek. Sunoo leaned against the Porsche, laughing at something Riki said while polishing the widebody with slow, elegant strokes. Jungwon stood a little apart, arms crossed, reviewing the new route maps you’d marked up together the night before.

They looked like home. But the underground never let you forget what it was. Tonight was another high-stakes run, bigger money, dirtier players, the kind of race where people still disappeared. The danger hadn’t vanished. If anything, it had grown sharper now that the four of you were something real. The jealousy still flared hot and sudden. The possessiveness still left bruises and desperate kisses against cold metal. The sex was still filthy, raw, and frequent, sometimes sweet and slow in the early mornings, sometimes all three of them wrecking you until you cried and begged on the same workbench where it all began.

Nothing had been sanitized. You were still the Ghost. They were still the ruthless trio that made the night circuits tremble. You still modded cars for cash when the mood struck. They still raced like devils and fucked you like they were terrified of losing you. But something deeper had taken root.

Jungwon looked up first, sensing your gaze. His sharp eyes softened the moment they found you. He climbed the metal stairs two at a time and pulled you into his arms without a word, burying his face in your hair. “You’re thinking too loud again,” he murmured against your temple. You smiled, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Just wondering how the hell we got here. From fucking in my backseat to… this.”

Riki and Sunoo joined you moments later, surrounding you in that familiar wall of warmth and muscle. Riki pressed against your back, arms locking around your middle. Sunoo slipped in beside Jungwon, catching your hand and pressing a slow kiss to your knuckles.

“We’re building something real,” Sunoo said quietly, his usual teasing tone replaced by something gentler, almost reverent. “Doesn’t mean we’re leaving the life behind. I don’t think any of us could. But we’re doing it together now. No more running solo. No more pretending this is temporary.”

Riki’s grip tightened, his voice low and rough against your ear. “I still get jealous as fuck when you work on other cars. Still want to drag you away and remind you who you belong to every single day. But I also want to wake up next to you every morning. Want to keep you safe. Want… a future. With you in it.”

Jungwon pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing your cheek. “We’re talking about buying the whole shipyard. Making it legitimate on paper, a real performance garage. We keep racing underground because it’s in our blood. We keep loving you the way we do because we don’t know how to do it softly. But we’re also building something that lasts. Something that’s ours.”

You felt your throat tighten with emotion. The Ghost who once thrived on solitude and speed now found herself completely, helplessly in love with three dangerous, complicated men who had cracked her open and decided to stay.

“I’m terrified,” you whispered, honest and raw. “I’ve never had anything real before. But I want it. With all of you. The filth. The danger. The quiet mornings. All of it.”

Riki kissed the side of your neck, slow and tender. Sunoo leaned in to capture your lips in a deep, lingering kiss that tasted like promise. Jungwon waited his turn, then kissed you like he was sealing a vow. The four of you stood there on the catwalk for a long time, wrapped around each other as the sun dipped lower and the garage lights flickered on one by one. Outside, the underground waited, screaming engines, dirty money, rival threats, and the ever-present risk of everything burning down.

Inside, something beautiful and messy and real was taking shape. You were still the Ghost. But now you had a pack. And together, no matter how dark or filthy or dangerous the road ahead became, you would face it as one. The night called. You answered, four hearts beating in sync, four shadows merging into something unbreakable. And for the first time, the future didn’t feel like something to outrun. It felt like something worth racing toward.

You haven't been home in eight months, and somehow the air feels exactly the same as it did when you were seven years old. Some things don't change. Your family's house is exactly as you left it.

"Y/N IS HOME!" your younger brother screams. He barrels into you before you've even dropped your bags, and you stumble backward into the doorframe with an oomph that knocks the breath out of your lungs.

"Daniel, you're seventeen, not seven," you wheeze, patting his back with the one arm that isn't pinned to your side. "You're supposed to be too cool for this."

"Never too cool for my favorite sister."

"I'm your only sister."

"That's why you're my favorite."

Your mother appears from the kitchen, her apron dusted with flour, her face breaking into a smile so wide it crinkles the corners of her eyes. She pulls you into a hug t, and for a moment you just stand there, letting yourself be held, letting the chaos of your family wash over you like water.

"You're too thin," she says, pulling back to examine your face. "Have you been eating? College students never eat."

"I eat, Mom."

"Lies. I can see your cheekbones. That's not natural." She pats your face firmly. "We're fixing this immediately. I made braised short ribs. And your grandmother sent over three kinds of kimchi."

The next hour is a blur of unpacking, being force-fed approximately seventeen side dishes, and deflecting increasingly pointed questions from your mother about whether you're "seeing anyone." You dodge the question with the practiced skill of someone who has been dodging it since high school, and eventually your mother gives up and redirects her energy toward making sure you eat a third helping of everything.

It's only when you're helping clear the table that she drops the bomb.

"Take some of the dumplings next door," she says, already packing a container. "The Yangs just got back yesterday. I'm sure Jungwon would love to see you."

Your hands freeze over the sink. "Jungwon's home?"

"The whole family. And Jungwon looks so grown up now. College has been good to him." She presses the container into your hands and gives you a look that brooks no argument. "Go. Say hello. You used to be inseparable, I'm sure he's been dying to catch up."

You and Jungwon. Inseparable. That's one word for it.

You've known Yang Jungwon since you were four years old, a solemn little boy with a bowl cut and a cute smile who had shown up at your family's barbecue with his parents and promptly shared his packet of strawberry Pocky with you without being asked. That was it. That was the beginning. From that moment on, you were a unit, a package deal, a two-for-one special, a matched set that no one bothered trying to separate.

Your childhood is a highlight reel of Jungwon moments. Jungwon teaching you how to ride a bike. Jungwon walking you to school every morning, even when his own school started earlier and he had to leave his friends to do it. Jungwon sneaking you extra snacks from his lunchbox because you always finished yours first.

You never had to explain yourself to Jungwon. He just knew. He knew that you needed silence sometimes, that your sarcasm was a defense mechanism, that you were terrified of thunderstorms but would rather die than admit it. He knew the exact moment you were about to cry (your left eyebrow twitched, just slightly, before the tears came). He knew you better than anyone, and you knew him just as well.

But then he left for college. And two years later, you left too. And the texts that had started out daily became weekly, then sporadic. The phone calls that had stretched for hours became minutes, then voicemails, then silence. You still sent each other memes sometimes, still liked each other's posts. But the closeness that had defined your entire existence had faded.

It's not anyone's fault. It's just what happens. People grow up, move away, build separate lives in separate cities. It's normal. It's fine. You're fine.

The doorbell chimes, a little melody that you remember from a thousand childhood visits. You hear footsteps inside, heavy and quick, and then the door swings open.

And you forget how to breathe.

Jungwon is standing in the doorway, and he is…he's…he's not the boy you remember.

The Jungwon in your memories is soft around the edges. Lanky limbs, round cheeks, the kind of face that made grandmothers pinch his cheeks. This Jungwon is wearing a tank top that is very, very see-through, because it's soaked with sweat. His hair is damp, pushed back from his forehead, and there's a towel slung around his neck that he's holding with one hand. His shoulders, when did he get shoulders? -are broad and defined. He's been working out. He's been working out, and the evidence is right there, and you are staring.

"Y/N?" His voice is deeper than you remember. He says your name like it's something precious, and his face breaks into that familiar smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes, the one you've known your whole life.

"Dang-" he starts, and then he's pulling you into a hug before you can react, his arms wrapping around you with an enthusiasm that makes the container press awkwardly between your bodies. He smells like sweat and fabric softener and something else, something warm and masculine. "You're home," he says into your hair. "You're actually home. When did you get back?"

"About an hour ago," you manage, your voice coming out relatively normal despite the fact that your face is currently pressed against a pectoral muscle. A pectoral muscle that belongs to Jungwon.

He pulls back, holding you at arm's length, and his eyes sweep over your face with an expression that's so purely, genuinely happy. "You look…you look amazing. Did you get taller?"

"I haven't grown since tenth grade."

"You look taller. It's the posture. You're standing like an adult now."

"Maybe because I’m an adult?"

He laughs. "Come in, come in," he says, stepping aside and gesturing you inside. "Mom's going to lose her mind when she sees you. She was just talking about you yesterday, she found that photo album from the summer we tried to build a treehouse ."

"Oh not the old pictures please."

"You know how nostalgic she can get."

"Y/N?! IS THAT Y/N?"

Mrs. Yang emerges from the kitchen, and within seconds you're enveloped in a hug. She's exactly the same as you remember, warm and effusive, with the same kind eyes that Jungwon inherited.

"Look at you!" she exclaims, pulling back to cup your face in her hands. "You're so beautiful! So grown up! Doesn't she look beautiful, Jungwon?"

"She looks beautiful," Jungwon agrees, and when you glance at him, his ears are slightly pink. Probably from the workout.

"Mom brought dumplings," you say, holding up the container. "She said you just got back yesterday and probably haven't had time to cook."

"That woman is an angel. Tell her we're having dinner together this weekend, no arguments, no excuses. I'm making bibimbap." Mrs. Yang takes the container and steps back toward the kitchen, already calling for her husband to come see who's at the door.

Mr. Yang appears a moment later, and the whole scene devolves into the kind of chaotic, overlapping welcome that you've experienced a hundred times before. Mrs. Yang starts pulling out photo albums. Mr. Yang asks about your classes and nods approvingly at your answers even though you're pretty sure he doesn't fully understand what your major entails.

And then the photo albums open, and the real embarrassment begins.

"Oh, this one!" Mrs. Yang crows, pointing at a photograph. "Look at you two! You must have been... what, six and eight? The school talent show!"

You lean in to look at the photo, and your soul briefly leaves your body.

"We were doing a skit about King Arthur," Jungwon says, his voice pained. "Y/N was Arthur. I was Lancelot."

The photos keep coming. Jungwon's first day of middle school, with you standing next to him on the front steps, your arm linked through his. A Halloween where you both dressed as characters from the same video game. A summer vacation at the beach where Jungwon got sunburned so badly he couldn't move for two days, and you sat beside him reading aloud from his favorite book until he fell asleep.

"I should probably head back," you say eventually, after the photo albums have been exhausted and Mrs. Yang has extracted a firm promise that you'll be at the family dinner this weekend. "Mom's probably wondering if I got kidnapped."

"I'll walk you out," Jungwon says, and there's something in his voice, something slightly awkward, slightly hesitant, that makes your stomach flip.

He walks you to the front door. "Hey," Jungwon says, his hand on the doorframe. "You want to walk to the convenience store? Like old times? I could really go for one of those melon ice creams."

"Sure," you say, and your voice comes out more casual than you feel. "But only if you put on an actual shirt first. I'm not being seen in public with you looking like... that."

He glances down at his tank top, and his ears go pink again. "Right. Yeah. Give me two minutes."

He disappears back into the house, and you stand on the front porch, trying very hard not to think about the way his shoulders looked in that tank top. Or the way his voice has deepened. Or the way his arms felt when he hugged you.

This is Jungwon, you remind yourself firmly. Jungwon, who is basically your brother except not actually your brother but definitely the brother-adjacent figure you've known your entire life.Stop being weird.

He reappears two minutes later in a soft-looking t-shirt and jeans, and the two of you set off down the familiar path toward the convenience store. 

"How's school?" Jungwon asks, falling into step beside you. "Your mom said you're doing really well. Something about making the dean's list?"

"Dean's list, yeah. It's not a big deal."

"It's a huge deal. You're a genius."

"I'm a person who doesn't sleep enough and has spent more time studying than partying."

"That's what being a genius is."

You laugh and maybe this won't be so hard. Maybe you and Jungwon can just... slip back into the rhythm you always had. Best friends, nothing more, nothing less. But when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, at the way the fading sunlight catches the angles of his jaw, the way his sleeves stretch slightly over his biceps, the way his lips curve into that familiar half-smile. This is going to be a long summer.

Apple Cider - Beabadoobee now playing

The next few days are as you expected. Jungwon, as it turns out, is completely, infuriatingly, obliviously the same. Not the same as the Jungwon who left for college two years ago, no, he's different in ways that keep catching you off guard. The broader shoulders. The deeper voice. The way he moves now, with a quiet confidence that wasn't there before, like he's grown into his own skin. But the way he treats you? That hasn't changed at all. He's still the same protective, brotherly, endlessly thoughtful Jungwon who's been orbiting your life since before you could tie your own shoes.

And that's the problem.

On Tuesday, he shows up at your house at 9 AM with a toolbox and a determined expression. Your mother mentioned, in passing, at the barbecue planning session that had somehow materialized in your kitchen, that the hinge on the back door was sticking. Jungwon, being Jungwon, took this as a personal mission.

"You don't have to do that," you say, standing in the doorway with a mug of coffee clutched in your hands. You're still in your pajamas. Your hair looks like it's been through a tornado. You were not prepared for visitors.

"It'll take ten minutes," Jungwon says, already crouching down to examine the hinge. His t-shirt rides up slightly as he bends, revealing a strip of skin above his waistband, and you very deliberately look at the ceiling. "Your mom does so much for everyone. The least I can do is fix a door."

"You're a philosophy major, not a handyman."

"Undeclared, technically. And I've picked up some skills." He glances up at you, and his smile is so genuinely warm, so completely devoid of any awareness that he's currently making your morning extremely complicated, that you want to throw your coffee at him. "Besides, I like helping. It makes me feel useful."

"Your people-pleasing is showing."

"My what?"

"Nothing." You take a sip of your coffee. 

On Wednesday, he helps your mother cook. You walk into the kitchen to find them side by side at the counter, your mom teaching him how to fold dumplings. Jungwon's fingers are clumsy with the wrappers, his dumplings coming out lopsided, but he's laughing, that bright, infectious laugh that makes your mother smile and pat his cheek like he's her own son.

"He's such a good boy," your mom says to you later, after Jungwon has gone home with a container full of the dumplings he helped make. "So polite. So helpful. Any girl would be lucky to have him."

You make a noncommittal sound and flee to your room before she can see the color rising in your cheeks.

On Thursday, he brings you boba. Unprompted. Just shows up at your door with two cups of brown sugar milk tea and that same devastating smile, saying he remembered it was your favorite and the new shop in town finally opened and he wanted to try it with you.

"This is bribery," you say, taking the cup anyway. "What do you want?"

"Can't a guy just bring his best friend boba without ulterior motives?"

"I've known you for fifteen years. You definitely have ulterior motives."

"Fine." He has the decency to look slightly sheepish. "My mom wants me to clean out the garage, and I was hoping you'd keep me company while I do it. She said she found our old middle school yearbooks in there, and I thought we could... I don't know. Look through them. For nostalgia."

Nostalgia. Right. Because looking at photographic evidence of your awkward preteen phase while sitting in close proximity to Jungwon in a dusty garage sounds like a completely safe activity that won't do anything weird to your heart.

"Sounds fun," you hear yourself say, because you're a masochist apparently.

And it is fun. Infuriatingly fun. You sit on an old lawn chair while Jungwon sorts through boxes, and you flip through yearbooks filled with photos of the two of you at every stage of adolescence. Jungwon with braces. You with bangs that were a tragic mistake. The two of you at the eighth-grade dance, standing stiffly next to each other. The two of you at the high school soccer game, your face painted with the school colors, his arm slung casually around your shoulders.

"God, we were such dorks," you say, holding up a photo of Jungwon in a truly unfortunate neon-green track suit.

"Speak for yourself. I was rocking that look."

"You looked like a highlighter."

"A very fashionable highlighter."

The laughter comes easily, the way it always has. And that's the thing that's messing with your head. Because when you're actually talking to him, when you're just existing in his presence the way you've done a thousand times before, everything feels normal. Easy. Like nothing's changed. But then he'll reach past you to grab something, and his arm will brush against yours, and you'll catch the scent of his laundry detergent mixed with something warm and distinctly him, and your brain will short-circuit entirely. Or he'll laugh at something you said, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and you'll find yourself staring at the curve of his lips and wondering things you have absolutely no business wondering about your childhood best friend.

And then the guilt hits. Because this is Jungwon. The boy who has never once looked at you as anything other than his best friend, his little sister. And here you are, mentally glazing every time he so much as flexes his forearms, like some kind of deranged romance novel protagonist who's forgotten the entire context of her own life.

You're terrible. You're a terrible person. You need to get a grip.

The barbecue is on Saturday. Both families, together, in the Yangs' backyard. It's a tradition that's been going on since before you can remember, and missing it would be unthinkable. So you can't avoid it. You can't avoid him.

On Friday afternoon, your mother hands you a grocery list that's approximately the length of a short novel. "We need everything for the marinade, plus the sides, plus drinks, plus-"

"Mom, this is enough food for an army."

"The Yangs are an army. Take Jungwon with you. He's got a car, and you shouldn't be carrying all those bags by yourself."

"I can carry bags. I'm an adult."

"You're a twig. A strong wind could knock you over. Take Jungwon."

So you text Jungwon, and Jungwon responds within thirty seconds with an enthusiastic yes!!! and three emojis that don't go together in any logical way, and twenty minutes later you're in the passenger seat of his car, heading to the grocery store.

"Remember when we used to ride our bikes to the corner store?" he asks, pulling into the parking lot. "We'd pool our allowance and buy as much candy as we could afford, and then we'd sit on the curb and eat it all before dinner."

"And then your mom would be mad because you ruined your appetite."

"She was always mad. I was a very difficult child."

"Yeah, I remember when you used to get ragebaited by your grandma a lot. Really funny."

"Please don’t mention it again."

"You were twelve."

Grocery shopping with Jungwon is an experience. He pushes the cart, pausing every few feet to consult the list your mother gave him and cross-reference it with the items in the cart. He reads the nutrition labels on everything, which is new, the Jungwon of your childhood would have just grabbed whatever had the most colorful packaging.

"College changed you," you observe, watching him compare two jars of sesame oil. "You're like... a responsible adult now. It's disturbing."

"Someone had to become a responsible adult. You're still the same chaos gremlin you've always been."

"You want that gremlin to punch that pretty face of yours?."

"Oh so you like my face? I’m honoured."

"I like your face only when you shut your mouth."

The checkout line is long, and Jungwon insists on paying, "your mom already does so much, let me contribute something", and you're standing beside him, helping bag the groceries, when you see it.

A small box. Brightly colored. Sitting innocently in the plastic bag among the vegetables and the marinade ingredients and the six-pack of Sprite. Condoms. You stare at the box for approximately three seconds, your brain refusing to process what it's seeing. Then the processing kicks in, and a series of thoughts flash through your mind in rapid succession:

That's a box of condoms.

In Jungwon's grocery bag.

Jungwon bought condoms.

Why does Jungwon have condoms?

Oh god, Jungwon has condoms because he uses condoms.

Oh god, Jungwon has sex.

Jungwon has SEX.

WITH PEOPLE.

"Y/N?" Jungwon's voice cuts through your spiral, and you realize you've been frozen in place with a head of cabbage clutched in your hands like a stress ball. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine!" you say, and your voice comes out approximately three octaves higher than normal. "Totally fine. Great. Never been better. Cabbage. Love cabbage. Great vegetable. Very... leafy."

Jungwon squints at you, clearly not buying a single word of this, but the cashier chooses that moment to announce the total, and he turns away to pay. You shove the cabbage into the bag with perhaps more force than necessary.

It's not a big deal. It's not a big deal. He's a twenty-something guy in college. Of course he's had sex. Of course he's bought condoms. This is normal. This is fine. You're fine.

But the thought sticks in your brain like a splinter, and by the time you're back in the car, the groceries loaded into the trunk, you've worked yourself into a state of quiet, internal frenzy.

How many girls has he slept with? Did he have a girlfriend? Multiple girlfriends? Is he seeing someone right now? Why didn't he tell you? Why would he tell you? It's not like you're his- you're not his anything. You're his childhood best friend. You're basically his sister. He doesn't owe you a detailed accounting of his romantic history.

But still.

Who were they? What were they like? Were they pretty? Smart? Funny? Did he hold their hands the way he holds yours? Did he kiss them? Did he-

You cut the thought off before it can finish. You don't want to know. You really, really don't want to know.

Back at your house, you help him carry the groceries inside, your movements mechanical, your brain still running through increasingly unhelpful scenarios. Jungwon is chatting about something, the barbecue, maybe, or his plans for the rest of the summer, but you're barely listening. The box of condoms is burning a hole in your brain.

"Hey," you say, setting down the bag of vegetables with a little more force than strictly necessary. "Can I ask you something?"

"Always." Jungwon turns to face you, his expression open and unguarded, and you feel a pang of guilt for what you're about to do. This is none of your business. You shouldn't be asking this. You have no right to ask this.

But you're asking it anyway, because you're a self-destructive idiot who can't leave well enough alone. "Did you..." You pause, searching for the right words. "In college. Did you... see anyone?"

Jungwon blinks. "See anyone?"

"Like... date. Or... you know. Hook up with. Or whatever." You wave your hand vaguely, like you're talking about the weather. Like this is a casual, normal conversation between two platonic childhood friends who definitely don't have weird, complicated feelings about each other.

Jungwon's ears go pink. "That's... a pretty personal question."

"Forget it. Sorry. None of my business." You turn back to the groceries, your face burning.

"No, it's fine. It's just... unexpected." He leans against the kitchen counter, his arms crossing over his chest. "Yeah. I dated a bit. Nothing serious. I, uh..." He rubs the back of his neck, a nervous gesture you recognize from childhood. "I hooked up with some people too."

Some people. Plural. Multiple. The words hit you like a punch to the stomach.

"Okay," you say, your voice remarkably steady considering the chaos happening inside your chest. "Cool. That's cool. Normal college stuff. Good for you."

"Are you sure you want to hear this? You're making that face."

"What face?"

"The face you make when you're trying very hard not to react to something. Your left eyebrow is doing the twitchy thing."

"Totally sure," you say. "I'm just curious. We haven't really talked about... any of this. I don't know anything about your life in college."

Jungwon is quiet for a moment, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. "There was... actually, there was someone I really liked. Last semester."

"Someone you liked," you repeat.

"Yeah. A girl in my philosophy elective. I had this whole crush on her for months, but I was too nervous to say anything." He smiles, but it's a different kind of smile, softer, more distant. "It's kind of a long story. She actually ended up with one of my best friends. It's okay now, they're really happy together, and I'm genuinely glad for them. But it was... a wake-up call, I guess."

"A wake-up call?"

"I realized I'd spent so much time waiting and overthinking that I'd missed my chance. I didn't want that to happen again." He shrugs, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "So I decided to just... live. Explore. Stop being so scared of everything. I figured if I didn't put myself out there, I'd just keep watching opportunities pass me by."

"So you started... sleeping around."

"That's a very blunt way to put it."

"I'm a blunt person."

"I know." He laughs, the one that crinkles his eyes. "It's one of the things I've always liked about you."

"So yeah," Jungwon continues. "I hooked up with people. Nothing serious, like I said. Just... trying things. Figuring out what I want. It's been good for me, honestly. I feel more confident now. Less like I'm waiting for something to happen and more like I'm actually living my life."

"That's... good. That's really good." You're saying the right words, but your voice sounds hollow to your own ears. "I'm happy for you."

Jungwon grins. "What about you? Any hot college romances I should know about?"

"No. Nothing. I've been too busy studying."

"Really? No one caught your eye?"

Just you, you don't say. Just the person I'm not supposed to think about like this. Just my childhood best friend who apparently spent his college years having casual hookups with other people while I was sitting in my dorm room wondering why I couldn't feel anything for anyone else.

"Nope," you say out loud. "I'm married to my textbooks."

"That's tragic."

"That's academia."

He laughs again, and then his expression shifts into something more mischievous. "Well, if it makes you feel better, you don't have to be jealous. At least my first kiss was with you."

Your brain screeches to a halt. "What."

"You know. High school. My parents' closet."

Sophomore year. It was a random Saturday afternoon, and both your families were downstairs preparing for some dinner party or another. You and Jungwon had escaped to his parents' room, hiding in the walk-in closet among the coats and the winter boots, having one of those rambling conversations that always seemed to happen when you were alone together.

And somehow, the conversation had turned to kissing. Neither of you had done it before. Neither of you wanted to be bad at it when the time came. And somehow, you still don't remember who suggested it first, you'd agreed to practice. With each other. Just to get it out of the way.

It had started awkward. A nervous brush of lips, both of you too hesitant to commit. But then Jungwon's hand had found your waist, and your fingers had curled into the fabric of his shirt, and something had shifted. The kiss had deepened. Became something hungrier, more urgent. His mouth had moved against yours with a confidence that surprised you both, and you'd made a sound, a small, breathless sound that had made him pull you closer.

It had lasted maybe five minutes. Maybe longer. Time had gone strange and elastic in the darkness of that closet. When you'd finally pulled apart, both of you breathing hard, his forehead pressed against yours, neither of you had spoken. The silence had been so loud it was deafening.

And then his mom had called you both for dinner, and you'd scrambled out of the closet like guilty criminals, and neither of you had ever mentioned it again.

Until now. Apparently. Because Jungwon is just casually bringing it up like it's some funny childhood anecdote, like it didn't fundamentally alter your brain chemistry when it happened.

"That wasn't-" you splutter. "That wasn't a kiss. That was... practice."

"Practice that went on for a really long time."

"We were curious!"

"We were very curious."

"YOU'RE THE WORST."

Your fist connects with his stomach before your brain can intervene. It's not a hard punch, you're not trying to actually hurt him but he doubles over anyway, laughing so hard that his shoulders shake.

"I'm sorry," he wheezes, "I'm sorry, your face, you should have seen your face-"

"I HATE YOU."

"You don't hate me. You've never hated me a day in your life."

"I'm starting today. I'm starting right now."

He straightens up, still grinning, and there's no awkwardness in his expression at all. No hidden meaning. No tension. Just fond amusement, like the memory of making out with you in a closet is just one of many sweet, funny moments in the long history of your friendship.

And that's when it hits you. Really, truly hits you.

This whole situation, the confusing feelings, the stolen glances, the jealousy that's been eating you alive since you saw that stupid box of condoms, it's all completely one-sided. Jungwon isn't looking at you differently. Jungwon isn't secretly harboring feelings for you. Jungwon is exactly where he's always been: your best friend, your brother in all but blood, the person who knows you better than anyone and loves you exactly the way he always has.

Platonically. Completely, utterly, devastatingly platonically.

"I should... go help my mom with the marinade," you say, your voice coming out steadier than you feel. "I'll see you tomorrow. At the barbecue."

"Definitely." Jungwon's smile is warm and genuine and so completely oblivious that it makes your chest ache. 

You're already backing out of the kitchen, your movements stiff and mechanical. Jungwon gives you a little wave, already turning back to the groceries, completely unaware that he's just detonated a bomb in the middle of your emotional state.

You make it to your home, then your room. You close the door. You lock it. And then you punch your pillow with the full force of your frustration.

"At least my first kiss was with you," you mutter, mimicking his voice in a high, mocking tone. "So you don't have to be jealous." Punch. "It was PRACTICE." Punch. "We were CURIOUS." Punch. "I've been pining like an IDIOT and you're out there having HOOKUPS and telling me about your PHILOSOPHY CRUSH."

You collapse face-first onto the pillow, your voice muffled by the fabric.

"He's so STUPID. He's so OBLIVIOUS. He's out there looking like THAT and talking about his SEX LIFE and bringing me BOBA and fixing my mom's DOOR and he doesn't even NOTICE-"

You stop. You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling. "What doesn't he notice?" you ask the empty room.

You know the answer. You've known the answer since the moment you saw him standing in that doorway in his stupid see-through tank top. You're into him. You're into him. Into your childhood best friend who has never once looked at you as anything other than a little sister. Into the guy who just casually told you about his college hookups and his philosophy crush and the fact that he decided to "explore his youth," whatever that means.

And what are you supposed to do with that? Confess? Risk ruining a friendship that's been the most stable thing in your life for fifteen years? Put everything on the line for a chance that he might, maybe, possibly feel something too?

No. Absolutely not. You're not going to be one of those people who ruins a lifelong friendship because they can't control their feelings. You're stronger than that. You're smarter than that. You're going to shove these feelings into a box, lock the box, and throw away the key.

Reality check, you tell yourself firmly. He doesn't see you that way. He's never seen you that way. The closet kiss was just curiosity. The way he looks at you is just friendship. The way he always saves you a seat and remembers your boba order and offers to fix things around your house is just the person he is…kind and thoughtful and completely, thoroughly platonic.

You are his childhood best friend. You are basically his sister. And that's all you're ever going to be.

You press your face back into the pillow and let out a long, muffled groan.

The barbecue is in full swing by the time you make your way to the Yangs backyard, and the scene is exactly as chaotic as you expected.

Mr. Yang is manning the grill. Your father is standing beside him, offering unsolicited advice about the proper way to flip the meet, which Mr. Yang is ignoring with the practiced patience of someone who has been receiving this advice for two decades. Your mother and Mrs. Yang are setting up the side dishes on the long picnic table, their heads bent together in what looks like a very intense gossip session. And Jungwon, Jungwon is walking toward you with a plate of meat fresh off the grill and a smile that makes your stomach do a flip.

"You're late," he says, holding out the plate. "I saved you the first batch before my dad could burn it."

You take the plate, and your fingers brush against his. The contact is brief, barely a second, but your skin tingles where he touched you, and you have to resist the urge to yank your hand back like you've been burned. This is fine. You've made peace with your feelings and shoved them into a mental box, and you're going to act completely normal today.

"Thanks for the meat," you say, and your voice comes out blessedly casual.

"You look kinda goofy."

"And you look like an idiot."

"Your idiot," he says. He doesn't mean it the way you want him to mean it. He means it the way he's always meant it, best friends, partners in crime, the two of you against the world. 

The afternoon unfolds in the easy, familiar rhythm of family gatherings. You eat too much. Your mother tells embarrassing stories about your childhood. Mrs. Yang counters with embarrassing stories about Jungwon's childhood. At some point, someone produces a karaoke machine, and your father treats everyone to a truly spectacular show of an eighties power ballad that has the entire yard howling with laughter.

And through it all, there's Jungwon. Sitting beside you at the picnic table, his knee occasionally bumping against yours. Refilling your drink before you even realize it's empty. Catching your eye from across the yard and making funny faces until you crack a smile. It's so normal. So familiar. So exactly like every other barbecue you've attended in the past fifteen years.

Except it's not. Because now you're aware of him in a way you never were before. Now you notice the way his laugh sounds when he throws his head back. Now you catalog the way his fingers curl around his cup, the way his shoulders move under his shirt, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins at you. It's exhausting. It's infuriating. It's the most alive you've felt in months.

"You're eating all the mushrooms," Jungwon observes, watching you pluck another one from the communal plate. "You know other people might want mushrooms, right?"

"Other people should have been faster."

"There were like ten mushrooms on that plate and you've taken eight of them."

"Nine, actually. I took one while you were talking."

He laughs, and you stuff another mushroom in your mouth to compensate.

The conversation shifts, as it always does, into the easy back-and-forth that's been your default setting since childhood. You argue about the correct way to pronounce a word you both heard differently. You debate whether the new coffee shop in town is better than the old one. You're laughing unguarded, when Jungwon reaches past you to grab the pitcher of lemonade. His hand slides across your lower back as he moves, just for a second, just to steady himself, but the contact sends a jolt of electricity through your entire body. His palm is warm through the thin fabric of your shirt, and his fingers press lightly against your waist, and his voice, when he speaks, is low and close to your ear.

"Excuse me for a second," he murmurs, and the tone, casual, intimate, completely unaware of what he's doing to you, makes your knees go weak.

Do not fold, you command yourself. Do not fold. You are a strong, independent person who is not going to melt because your childhood best friend touched your waist like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"The lemonade," you manage, your voice slightly strangled. "It's... right there."

"I see it now. Thanks."

His hand slides away, and you exhale a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. Across the yard, your mother catches your eye and raises an eyebrow. You pointedly look away.

The drinking competition starts, as all great disasters do, with your father.

"Beer!" he announces, standing up from his lawn chair with the slightly unsteady enthusiasm of someone who has already had two. "We need more beer! And a competition!"

"A competition for what?" Mr. Yang asks, looking up from the grill.

"Drinking! We're all old now. When was the last time we really let loose?"

"Last New Year's Eve," your mother says flatly. "You threw up in the rose bushes."

"Details."

Despite your mother's protests, the beer is produced. And not just a few bottles, your father disappears into the house and emerges with an entire case, his expression triumphant. Within twenty minutes, both sets of parents are lined up at the picnic table, a row of shot glasses (filled with beer, because they're middle-aged adults who know their limits but are pretending not to) arranged in front of them.

"Rules!" your father announces. "First one to tap out loses. Winner gets bragging rights for the entire year."

"There are no rules," Mrs. Yang says. "You just made this up."

"I'm the commissioner of this competition. I can make rules."

"You're an accountant."

"I'm an accountant and a commissioner."

The competition, predictably, devolves into chaos. Your mother, who has the alcohol tolerance of a hummingbird, bows out after two shots and spends the next hour giggling at everything anyone says. Mrs. Yang puts up a surprisingly strong fight, matching your father shot for shot until she suddenly stops mid-sentence, blinks, and announces that the sky is "very sky-like tonight." Mr. Yang, who has been nursing the same beer for the entire afternoon, is declared the winner by default when your father attempts a victory shot and misses his own mouth entirely.

"I won?" Mr. Yang says, looking genuinely confused. "I didn't know we were competing."

"That's the spirit," your father slurs, clapping him on the shoulder. "That's winning energy."

By the time the sun sets, both sets of parents are in various states of inebriation. Your mother is asleep in a lawn chair, her head tilted back and her mouth slightly open. Mrs. Yang is having a very intense conversation with the family dog about the meaning of life. Your father and Mr. Yang are attempting to fold up the picnic table and failing spectacularly.

Which leaves you and Jungwon. The only two sober people in a yard full of chaos.

"We should probably clean this up," you say, surveying the carnage. Empty bottles cover the picnic table. Plates of half-eaten food are scattered across every available surface. Someone, you suspect your father, has draped a string of fairy lights around the grill in what appears to be an attempt at decoration.

"Probably," Jungwon agrees. "Or we could just leave it and let them deal with it tomorrow."

"Your mom is currently explaining life to a golden retriever."

"The dog seems very engaged."

"Jungwon."

"Fine, fine. I'll get the trash bags."

The cleanup takes the better part of an hour. You collect the empty bottles while Jungwon tackles the food, scraping leftovers into containers and stacking plates with the practiced efficiency of someone who has cleaned up after many family gatherings. The parents eventually stagger inside, your mom leaning heavily on your dad, Mrs. Yang still muttering philosophical observations to the dog, until it's just the two of you in the quiet backyard, the only light coming from the string of fairy lights that your father had so artistically arranged.

"Well," Jungwon says, tying off the last trash bag. "That was..."

"A disaster?"

"I was going to say a successful family event, but disaster works too."

"It's not a real barbecue until someone passes out."

"Your dad set a new record this year. He almost made it to sunset."

"Personal growth."

Jungwon laughs, and the sound echoes in the quiet yard. He's standing close to you, closer than you realized and the fairy lights catch the angles of his face, the curve of his smile, the way his dark hair falls across his forehead. He looks like something out of a movie. A romance movie. The kind you watch when you want to torture yourself with unrealistic expectations about love.

"So," he says, leaning against the now-clean picnic table. "The parents are asleep. The food is put away. The dog is having an existential crisis. What now?"

"I don't know. Go home? Go to bed?"

"We could do that." He tilts his head, and there's something in his expression, something teasing, something challenging. "Or we could continue the tradition."

"What tradition?"

"The drinking competition. You know. Carry on the family legacy."

"Everyone else is passed out."

"Exactly. The title is still up for grabs."

You raise an eyebrow. "You want to have a drinking competition. With me."

"I want to see if you can handle it." His smile widens, and it's the same smile he used to give you when you were kids. "Unless you're scared."

"I'm not scared. I'm sensible. There's a difference."

"Sensible is just a word scared people use."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"It makes perfect sense. You just don't want to admit it."

The banter is familiar, comforting. But there's something different about it tonight. Something that feels almost like flirting, even though you know it's not. Even though Jungwon is just being Jungwon, and you're just being you, and this is exactly the kind of stupid challenge you would have accepted without hesitation back when you were teenagers and didn't know any better.

"Fine. But I'm warning you, I'm very competitive."

"So am I."

"My dad keeps a bottle of whiskey in the study," he says over his shoulder. "The good kind. The kind he thinks no one knows about."

"You're going to steal your dad's whiskey?"

"I'm going to borrow it. There's a difference."

"That's not how borrowing works."

"It's how my borrowing works."

The Yangs' house is quiet and dark, the only sound the distant snoring of a parent somewhere upstairs. You follow Jungwon to the study. He rummages through the bottom drawer with the confidence of someone who has done this before, and when he straightens up, there's a bottle of amber liquid in his hand.

"Ta-da," he says, holding it up like a trophy. "Twelve-year aged whiskey. My dad's been saving it for a special occasion."

"And this counts as a special occasion?"

"First barbecue of the summer? Definitely special."

"You're going to regret this tomorrow."

"Probably. But that's future Jungwon's problem. Current Jungwon wants to see if you can hold your liquor."

You follow him back to the living room, where he produces two glasses from the kitchen and pours generous measures of whiskey into each. He hands you a glass, and your fingers brush against his, and you very pointedly do not think about the contact.

"Rules," Jungwon says, settling onto the couch. "We take turns. Each of us drinks when it's our turn. First one to tap out loses."

"That's not a game. That's just... drinking."

"It's a drinking game. The game is drinking."

"That's the laziest game I've ever heard of."

"Do you have a better idea?"

You don't. So you clink your glass against his and take your first sip.

The whiskey burns going down, warm and smoky, and you can feel it spreading through your chest like a slow fire. Jungwon takes his turn, then you take yours. The glasses are refilled. The room starts to feel warmer, Jungwon's face is slightly flushed now, and his laugh comes easier, and he's sitting closer to you on the couch than he was before. Or maybe you're sitting closer to him. It's hard to tell.

"Remember the closet?" he says, and the question catches you off guard.

"What closet?"

"My parents' closet. High school. The-"

"I know which closet." Your face is heating, and it's not just from the whiskey. "What about it?"

Jungwon grins, and it's a looser grin than usual, less guarded. "Nothing. Just... that was a good kiss. For a first kiss, I mean."

"It was practice."

"It was a lot of practice."

"You're drunk."

"So are you."

"I'm not drunk. I'm... pleasantly tipsy."

"That's a very fancy way of saying drunk."

"I'm a fancy person."

"You're wearing a t-shirt with a cartoon cat on it."

"The cat is wearing a top hat. That makes it fancy."

Jungwon laughs so hard he nearly spills his whiskey. You catch his arm to steady him, and the contact is electric, and you pull your hand back like you've been burned.

"You know what," you say, the whiskey courage flooding through your veins, "you were actually a terrible kisser. Back then. In the closet. You were bad at it."

Jungwon's eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Terrible. All teeth and no technique."

"That is... extremely revisionist history."

"It's accurate history. You were bad. I was just being nice about it."

"I was not bad. I was-" He pauses, searching for the right word. "-enthusiastic."

"Enthusiastically bad."

"You were enthusiastic too!"

"I was practicing. There's a difference."

The room is spinning slightly now, but you don't care. The whiskey has unlocked something in you, something reckless and brave and completely, utterly stupid. The mental box where you've been storing your feelings is starting to crack at the edges, and you can't seem to find the energy to patch it back up.

Childhood friend? Brother-sister bond? Screw that. Screw all of that.

"I've had time to perfect it, you know," Jungwon says, and his voice is lower now, rougher. "Since high school. I've gotten better."

"That's what you think."

"It's what I know."

"Prove it."

The words hang in the air between you like a challenge. Like a dare. 

Jungwon blinks, his glass pausing halfway to his lips. "Prove it?"

"You said you've gotten better. I don't believe you." Your heart is hammering, but your voice is steady. "I want to test it out. For scientific purposes."

"You're drunk."

"So are you. That's not an excuse."

Jungwon stares at you for a long moment. His expression is unreadable, surprise, confusion, something else that flickers in his eyes and disappears before you can identify it.

"You're serious," he says.

"I'm always serious."

"You're the least serious person I know."

"And yet here I am. Being serious."

The silence stretches between you. Your heart is pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it. This is it. This is the moment where he laughs it off, makes a joke, brings back the familiar brotherly distance that's been the foundation of your friendship for fifteen years.

But he doesn't.

"Okay," he says, and his voice is so quiet you almost miss it. "Let's test it out."

He sets down his glass. You set down yours. Jungwon stands up, and you stand up, and the room tilts slightly, but you don't care.

"Let’s go to my place," you say, and your voice comes out surprisingly steady. "My room. The parents are all passed out anyway."

"Your room," Jungwon repeats. "Your childhood bedroom. With the stuffed animals and the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling."

"The stars are still there. The stuffed animals are in a box."

Jungwon follows you to your house (which is literally five steps outside his house). Your room is exactly as you left it, the bed is made, the curtains drawn, and the lamp on your nightstand casts a warm, golden light across everything.

Jungwon stands in the doorway, his hand on the frame, his expression caught between hesitation and something else. "Last chance to back out," he says quietly.

"I don't want to back out."

"You're sure?"

Everytime - Ariana Grande now playing

Instead of answering, you reach out and grab the front of his shirt, pulling him into the room. The door clicks shut behind him.

Jungwon sits at the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. You stand before him for a moment, heart pounding in your chest, before climbing onto his lap, straddling him with a confidence you don't know you possess.

His hands immediately find your hips, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your shorts. He pulls you closer, pressing you against the growing hardness beneath his jeans, and a soft gasp escapes your lips.

"What are you waiting to kiss me?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough with intoxication.

Instead of answering, you lean in, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss starts slow, tentative that quickly deepens as years of suppressed desire come rushing to the surface. His lips are soft but demanding, moving against yours with a practiced confidence that makes your head spin.

The kiss quickly escalates from tender to feverish. You are devouring each other, mouths opening wider, tongues tangling in a desperate dance. It is messy and urgent and everything you haven't let yourself imagine for all those years. Jungwon's hands roam your body, sliding up your back, fingers tangling in your hair, then back down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him.

He starts sucking your tongue into his mouth, drawing it in with a deliberate, sexual rhythm that sends jolts of pleasure straight to your core. His eyes remain open, locked with yours as he works your tongue, the intensity of his gaze nearly undoing you completely. The wet, obscene sounds of his sucking fill the room, mingling with your ragged breaths.

Your hips begin to move instinctively, grinding against him in a rhythm that matches the pull of his mouth on your tongue. The friction of your clothed bodies sliding together creates a heat that is almost unbearable.

"Fuck," he groans against your mouth, releasing your tongue briefly. "You feel so good. Move harder."

His words spur you on, and you move with abandon, dry humping him with a desperate need that borders on obscene. Every thrust of your hips against his sends waves of pleasure through your body, and you can feel his arousal pressing insistently against you, growing harder with each movement.

Jungwon's hands slip under your shirt, his rough palms sliding against your skin as he explores the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine. He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips along your jaw, down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there. You tilt your head back, giving him better access as your hips continue their relentless rhythm.

"You like that?" he whispers against your skin, his voice husky with desire. "Like riding me like this? So desperate for it."

"Shut up," you breathe, even as your body responds to his taunts, moving faster, harder.

"Make me," he challenges, capturing your lips again in another searing kiss. His tongue invades your mouth with renewed intensity, and this time you meet him with equal fervor, sucking and licking and biting in a battle for dominance that neither of you is truly trying to win.

The room grows hotter, the air thick with the scent of whisky and arousal. Jungwon's hands roam freely now, squeezing your breasts through your shirt, pinching your nipples until you cry out against his mouth.

"You’re so cute," he murmurs, his words muffled by your kisses. "Wonder how you'd look with my mouth somewhere else." Jungwon meets your rhythm, thrusting up against you, his hands gripping your hips to guide your movements. "Look at you," he continues, his voice dropping lower, becoming rougher. "So desperate for it. Bet you're soaking through these panties right now, aren't you?"

"Only if you're not already leaking through those jeans," you shoot back, your own voice breathy with need.

His response is a guttural groan as he increases the pace, his hips bucking up to meet yours with an urgency that matches your own. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound joining the symphony of wet kisses, ragged breaths, and whispered profanities that fill the room.

"Jungwon," you gasp against his mouth, the name a prayer and a curse all at once.

"Right here," he responds, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you even closer as he increases the friction between you. "Not going anywhere."

The pressure builds to an almost unbearable level, your movements becoming frantic as you chase your release. Jungwon seems to sense your need, his mouth returning to yours in a kiss that is both possessive and tender, his tongue once again sucking yours into his mouth with a rhythm that pushes you over the edge.

Your orgasm crashes over you with surprising intensity, waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you collapse against him, boneless and trembling. Jungwon holds you through it, his arms wrapped around you, his lips pressing soft kisses against your hair as you struggle to catch your breath.

When your senses slowly return, you become aware of the hardness still pressing against you, a testament to his own unsatisfied desire. You lift your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his in the dim light of the room.

"Your turn," you whisper, a mischievous smile playing on your lips as you prepare to return the favor.

Just as you shift to take control, Jungwon's hands shoot out, gripping your waist with surprising strength. "Oh no," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your entire body. "I'm not letting you lead this game. Not yet."

Before you can protest, he's flipped the positions, maneuvering you with an ease that is both impressive and infuriating. You find yourself sitting at the edge of the bed, breathless from the sudden movement, while Jungwon kneels before you. His eyes, dark and intense, never leave yours as his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts.

"These have to go," he states simply, tugging them down your legs. The fabric pools at your ankles, leaving you completely exposed from the waist down. A flush creeps up your neck as you realize how wet you are, the evidence of your earlier orgasm glistening on your thighs.

Jungwon notices too, of course. A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face as he traces a finger along the damp skin of your inner thigh. "Well now," he teases, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Someone got excited. Tell me, Y/N, did you just squirt? Because this looks like more than just regular excitement."

You open your mouth to deliver a sharp comeback, but the words die on your lips as he leans in, pressing soft kisses against your inner thigh. His lips are warm and gentle against your sensitive skin, a stark contrast to the roughness of his earlier actions.

"I should kiss your lips from down there too," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot against your core. "Since you're so convinced I'm a terrible kisser, maybe I need to practice on a different set of lips."

His mouth moves higher, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Then he pauses, sucking gently at the tender skin of your inner thigh, leaving a dark mark that will surely be visible tomorrow. He repeats the action on the other side, creating matching hickeys that stand out against your pale skin.

"I don't see the point of putting them on the neck," he explains, admiring his handiwork. "These are much more interesting, don't you think?"

You can't form a coherent response, not when his mouth is so close to where you need it most. And then he is there, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path along your folds. The sensation is electric, sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body.

Jungwon doesn't hold back. He devours you with an enthusiasm that is almost overwhelming, his tongue exploring every inch of your most sensitive areas. It is too much, too intense, and you find yourself trying to slide away, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

But Jungwon isn't having it. His arms lock around your thighs, holding you in place as he effortlessly slides you back toward his waiting mouth. "Oh no you don't," he growls against your core. "You wanted proof, and I'm not done proving anything yet."

His tongue enters you then, fucking you with a rhythm that makes your toes curl. It is delicious, the way he moves inside you, exploring every inch of your inner walls with a skill that is both impressive and infuriating. You look down at him, at the way his dark hair falls across his forehead as he works, at the intense concentration on his face as he focuses on bringing you pleasure.

Just as you are approaching the edge again, he slows down, his movements becoming deliberate, teasing. He runs his tongue through your folds with agonizing slowness, pausing occasionally to look up at you, his eyes dark with challenge. He knows exactly what he is doing, the bastard. He is provoking you, testing your limits, pushing you to the brink of insanity with his maddeningly slow pace.

The sounds are the worst part, or the best part, you can't decide. Each slow lick is accompanied by a wet, sucking noise that echoes in the quiet room, a constant reminder of what is happening between your legs. 

"Say it," he murmurs against you, his voice muffled by your flesh. "Say I'm a good kisser."

You bite your lip, determined not to give him the satisfaction. You are always stubborn, always bratty when challenged, and this is no different. If he wants you to admit he is good, he is going to have to work harder for it.

Jungwon chuckles, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through you. "Still so defiant," he says, pulling back slightly to look at you. "Is that how you treat your precious friend?"

He returns to his task with renewed enthusiasm, his tongue moving faster now, his lips sucking at your clit with a rhythm that makes your hips buck involuntarily. 

"Come on, Y/N," he urges, his voice rough with desire. "Just say it. Say I'm a good kisser, and I'll let you come."

That is all it takes. The combination of his skilled tongue and his dirty talk sends you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. As waves of pleasure course through your body, the words finally tumble from your lips.

"You're a good kisser," you gasp, your voice ragged with pleasure. "Oh god, Jungwon, you're such a good kisser."

Jungwon continues his ministrations through your orgasm, drawing out your pleasure until you are completely spent, collapsing back against the bed with a satisfied sigh. Only then does he pull away, a triumphant grin on his face as he looks up at you.

"Glad we settled that," he says, his voice smug with satisfaction. He rises to his feet, standing before you with a noticeable bulge in his jeans. "Now it's your turn. Suck my dick."

Jungwon doesn't wait for an answer. He simply stands and begins to unbutton his jeans. He pushes his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion, and his cock springs free, hard and heavy.

He stands before you, completely exposed from the waist down. He is bigger than you'd somehow imagined, thick and curving slightly upward, the tip already glistening with precum. A vein pulses along the underside.

"On your knees," he commands, his voice low and rough. It isn't a request, but you find yourself complying without hesitation, sliding off the bed onto the plush carpet of your bedroom floor. He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough that his cock is nearly level with your face. He tangles his fingers in your hair, his grip firm but not painful, using it to tilt your head back.

"Open up," he murmurs, his eyes dark with intensity as he looks down at you. "Let's see if that mouth is good for more than just talking back."

You part your lips, your heart pounding in your chest as he guides himself to your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting the salty bitterness of his precum, and he lets out a low groan, his fingers tightening in your hair.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathes, his voice strained. "Just like that."

You take him into your mouth then, slowly at first, savoring the weight of him on your tongue, the way he fills you so completely. You move your tongue along the underside, tracing the path of that pulsing vein, and his hips jerk forward involuntarily.

"Careful," he warns, though his tone is more pleased than admonishing. "I’m enjoying this a bit too much."

You want to see him come undone, to hear him gasp and groan, to know that you are the one causing his pleasure. You take him deeper then, until the tip of his cock brushes against the back of your throat, and you swallow around him, your muscles contracting.

"Jesus Christ," he gasps, his hips beginning to move in a shallow rhythm. "You're…fuck…you're really good at this."

You pull back slightly, creating a suction that makes his eyes roll back in his head. Then you take him deep again. Your hands come up to grip his thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch as he fights to maintain control.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with need. "I want to see those pretty eyes when you're sucking my cock."

You look up at him then, your eyes locking with his as you continue your ministrations. The intensity in his gaze is nearly overwhelming, a mixture of raw desire and something that looks suspiciously like affection. Jungwon begins to move more freely then, his hips thrusting in time with the movements of your mouth. The pace quickens, growing more frantic as he approaches his release. 

"I'm close," he warns, his voice strained.

You can feel it too, the way his cock seems to swell in your mouth, the way his thrusts become more erratic. You double your efforts, taking him as deep as you can, your tongue working frantically against him.

"Y/N," he gasps, his fingers tightening in your hair. "I'm…fuck, I'm coming."

His release is sudden and explosive, hot and salty as he spills into your mouth. You swallow instinctively, taking everything he has to give. When he is finished, Jungwon pulls away slowly, his cock softening as he withdraws from your mouth. He looks down at you, his expression a mixture of awe and satisfaction, his chest heaving with the effort of breathing.

"Come here," he says, his voice softening as he reaches down to help you to your feet. He pulls you into his arms, his lips finding yours in a kiss that is both tender and reassuring, tasting of him and of you and of everything you have just shared.

"You did great," he murmurs against your lips, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace.

You melt against him, your body still humming with pleasure, your mind reeling from the intensity of what has just happened. 

You wake up to the sensation of someone driving a truck over you.

No. Wait. That's just the hangover.

Your eyes crack open, and the first thing you register is the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling. The second thing you register is that your mouth tastes like something died in it. The third thing is that you're wearing only one sock. The fourth thing hits you like a freight train.

Jungwon.

You bolt upright so fast that the room spins violently, and you have to press your palm against your forehead to keep your brain from escaping through your ears. The memories come flooding back in fragmented, disjointed flashes, the whiskey, the challenge, the door clicking shut. His hands on your waist. You grinding on him. The way he'd said your name, low and rough, like it was something sacred.

You look down at yourself. You're still in your shirt from last night, wrinkled but still there. Your shorts are on the floor. And there, on your inner thigh, just above your knee, is a mark. A small, purplish bruise that definitely wasn't there yesterday.

You look for more, your heart hammering, and find another one. And another. A whole constellation of hickeys mapping a path across your skin.

"Oh my god," you whisper to the empty room. "Oh my god, it wasn't a dream."

It was not a dream. It was very much not a dream. You and Jungwon had gone at each other like two people who had been waiting their entire lives for an excuse. There had been hands and mouths and the kind of sounds you didn't know you were capable of making. And now you have to face him.

You spend approximately fifteen minutes staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to will the evidence off your skin. The hickeys are not going anywhere unfortunately. The smell of breakfast hits you before you even reach the bottom of the stairs. Eggs. Bacon. The unmistakable aroma of your mother's hangover soup, which she only makes when the entire household has made questionable decisions the night before. You follow the scent to the kitchen, your stomach churning with a mixture of nausea and pure, undiluted terror.

And there he is.

Jungwon is sitting at your kitchen table. Your kitchen table. In your house. Eating your mother's cooking like he belongs there, which, to be fair, he kind of does. He's been eating at this table since before he could see over the edge of it. But today, the sight of him makes your entire body go hot and cold at the same time.

He looks... fine. Completely, infuriatingly fine. His hair is slightly damp, like he's just showered. He's wearing a soft-looking sweater and jeans, and he's laughing at something your dad is saying, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that familiar way. There's no sign of a hangover. No sign of regret. No sign that anything at all has changed between you.

"There she is!" your mother announces, spotting you in the doorway. "The last survivor of last night's chaos. Come, sit. I made soup."

You mumble something that might be "good morning" or might be "please kill me," and you slide into the chair across from Jungwon. He glances up at you, and for one heart-stopping moment, you think you see something flicker in his eyes, a flash of recognition, a hint of heat, but then it's gone, replaced by that same easy, brotherly smile.

"Rough night?" he asks, and his tone is light, teasing, completely normal.

"You could say that."

"Your dad was snoring so loud I could hear it from my house."

You stare at Jungwon, waiting for something, a knowing look, a secret smile, something that acknowledges what happened between you. But he just keeps eating his eggs, chatting with your parents like this is any other morning, like he didn't spend a significant portion of last night with his mouth on your-

"Y/N, you're not eating," your mother says, pushing the soup closer to you. "Are you feeling okay? You look flushed."

"I'm fine," you manage. "Just... tired."

"Too much whiskey," your dad says sagely. "I told you kids. The Yangs can hold their liquor. Our family has no chance."

"I'm literally a Yang," Jungwon points out.

"Exactly. You have the advantage. It's genetics."

The conversation flows around and you sit there in silence, pushing your soup around your bowl, watching Jungwon act like everything is normal. Like everything is fine. Like he didn't whisper your name against your lips in the dark of your childhood bedroom.

It's infuriating. It's absolutely, completely, maddeningly infuriating.

The moment breakfast ends, you corner him.

Your parents have retreated to the living room, and Jungwon is at the sink, rinsing his bowl with the same helpful energy he's always had. You wait until you hear the TV turn on, and then you grab his arm and pull him into the hallway.

"Hey-" he starts, but you're already backing him against the wall, your hands planted on either side of him, your eyes blazing.

"What the hell was that?"

Jungwon blinks at you. "What was what?"

"That!" You gesture vaguely at the kitchen, at the breakfast table, at the entire morning. "Sitting there, eating eggs, acting like nothing happened!"

"Because nothing happened."

"Nothing-" You choke on the word. "Nothing happened? Jungwon, we…last night…my room…"

Understanding dawns on his face, and his expression shifts into something more serious. More guarded. "Oh. That."

"Yes. That."

He exhales slowly, his shoulders dropping. "Y/N, look. Last night was..." He pauses, searching for the right word. "It was a mistake."

The word hits you like a slap. "A mistake."

"Not because of you," he adds quickly, his ears turning pink. "Never because of you. But I shouldn't have... we were both drunk. We weren't thinking clearly. I took advantage of the situation, and I'm sorry."

"You didn't take advantage of anything. I'm the one who started it."

"You were drunk."

"So were you."

"That's exactly my point." He runs a hand through his hair, a frustrated gesture you've seen a thousand times. "We were both drunk, and we did things that... that we probably wouldn't have done if we were sober. And I don't want that to change anything between us."

Your stomach drops. "You don't?"

"No. You're my best friend, Y/N. You've been my best friend since I was six years old. I'm not going to let one night of... whatever that was... ruin fifteen years of friendship." His voice is earnest, his eyes searching your face for understanding. "I mean, it wasn't even... we didn't even... it was just foreplay, right? It's not like we went all the way. We can just forget it happened. Move on. Go back to normal."

Just foreplay. The words echo in your head like a taunt. Just foreplay. Like it was nothing. Like it didn't matter. Like the marks on your thighs are just random bruises, meaningless and forgettable.

"Right," you hear yourself say, and your voice comes out remarkably steady. "Just foreplay. No big deal."

"Exactly." Jungwon's shoulders relax, and the smile that spreads across his face is so relieved, so genuinely happy, that it makes your chest ache. "I knew you'd understand. You've always been the reasonable one."

"I'm the sarcastic one. You're the reasonable one."

"Then we're both reasonable. Even better." He reaches out and ruffles your hair, the same gesture he's been doing since you were kids, and then he's walking past you, back toward the kitchen, calling out something to your mom about helping with the dishes.

You stand there in the hallway, your back pressed against the wall, and you feel the sting of tears behind your eyes. You blink them back furiously. You are not going to cry. You are not going to cry over Jungwon, who just called what happened between you a mistake. Who said it was just foreplay. Who wants to forget it happened and move on.

You're not going to cry. But you're also not going to forget.

Two days pass.

Two days of pretending everything is normal. Two days of Jungwon acting exactly the same as he always has, helpful and cheerful and brotherly and infuriating. Two days of you smiling and nodding and laughing at his jokes while something hot and angry and desperate simmers just beneath the surface of your skin.

The problem is, you can't stop looking at him.

Every time he reaches for something, you notice the flex of his forearm. Every time he laughs, you watch the way his throat moves. Every time he brushes past you, your body remembers the weight of his hands, the heat of his mouth, the sound of his voice saying your name in the dark. 

It's frustrating. It's maddening. It's the most alive you've felt in years.

"Convenience store run?" Jungwon appears in your doorway on the third afternoon. "I'm craving melon ice cream."

"You're always craving melon ice cream."

"Pretty please."

"Fine." You grab your jacket and follow him out.

Jungwon chatters about nothing, a movie he wants to see, a new boba flavor he tried and hated. You respond in monosyllables, your attention divided between the conversation and the way the afternoon light catches the angles of his jaw.

You need to get a grip. You really, really need to get a grip.

The convenience store is blessedly air-conditioned and mostly empty. Jungwon heads straight for the ice cream aisle, leaving you to wander toward the chip section.

"Y/N? Is that you?"

You turn. The guy standing in front of you is vaguely familiar. It takes you a moment to place him, but then the memory clicks into focus: Jaehyun. High school. You'd sat next to each other in math class for two years.

"Jaehyun!" you say, genuinely surprised. "Wow, it's been a while."

"Right? Three years, maybe? You look great." He grins, and it's a nice grin, friendly and open. "Are you back for the summer?"

"Yeah, just visiting family. You?"

"Same. My parents still live in the old house, so I'm stuck here until August." He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Small towns, right? Nothing ever changes."

"Tell me about it."

The conversation flows easily, catching up on majors and career plans and mutual acquaintances from high school.

"Hey, we should catch up properly sometime," Jaehyun says, pulling out his phone. "A bunch of us are doing a bonfire next weekend. You should come. Bring whoever you want."

"Yeah, maybe. That sounds-"

And then his hand reaches out and ruffles your hair. It's an innocent gesture. Friendly. The same kind of casual physical contact that people exchange all the time without thinking about it. But before you can even process what's happening, there's a blur of movement behind you, and Jaehyun’s wrist is being yanked away from your head with enough force to make him yelp.

"Hey now," Jungwon's voice says, and it's light, teasing, the same tone he uses when he's joking around. But there's something underneath it, something cold and sharp that you've never heard before. "Let's keep our hands to ourselves, yeah?"

Jaehyun stares at him, his eyes wide. You stare too. Jungwon is smiling, a pleasant, polite smile that doesn't reach his eyes. 

"I was just-" Jaehyun starts.

"Just saying hi. I get it." Jungwon's smile doesn't waver. "But here's the thing…you don't touch her hair. That's not something you get to do. Understand?"

Jaehyun nods quickly, and Jungwon releases his wrist, patting him on the shoulder with that same easy, friendly energy.

"Good talk. Enjoy your summer, man."

And then he's turning away, his hand finding your elbow, steering you toward the checkout counter. You catch a glimpse of Jaehyun’s face, confused, slightly alarmed, before you're being dragged down the snack aisle and out of view.

"What the hell was that?" you hiss, yanking your arm free.

"What was what?" Jungwon doesn't look at you. He's studying the ice cream selection like it's the most fascinating thing in the world.

"That! With Jaehyun! You just, you threatened him!"

"I didn't threaten him. I set a boundary. There's a difference."

"You grabbed his wrist!"

"Gently."

"Jungwon." You step in front of him, forcing him to look at you. "What is your deal?"

For a long moment, he doesn't answer. His expression is unreadable, his jaw tight. Then he moves, one step, two, and suddenly you're backing up, your shoulders hitting the cold glass door of the ice cream freezer. He's right there, inches away, his body crowding yours against the door, and you can feel the chill of the glass through your shirt and the heat of him in front of you.

His hand comes up. His fingers slide into your hair. And then he ruffles it,but it's not the casual gesture from before. It's slower. More deliberate. His fingertips trace against your scalp, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine.

"Don't let other guys touch your hair," he says quietly, and his voice is low and rough and completely, utterly serious. "That's mine."

You stare up at him, your heart hammering, your brain short-circuiting. His face is close, so close you can see the individual strands of his eyelashes, the way his pupils have gone dark and wide. He looks like a completely different person. He looks like someone who wants to devour you.

And then he steps back. "Anyway," he says, and his voice is back to normal, cheerful and light, like nothing at all just happened. "I'm getting melon and chocolate. You want strawberry, right?"

He turns and walks toward the checkout counter, leaving you frozen against the ice cream freezer, your legs weak, your heart racing, your hair still tingling where he touched it.

What. The hell. Was that.

You stay there for a solid thirty seconds, trying to remember how to breathe. The cold from the freezer is seeping through your shirt, and you can hear Jungwon chatting with the cashier like he didn't just press you against a freezer and claim ownership of your hair. Your hair. Like it belongs to him. Like you belong to him.

And the worst part, the absolute, devastating worst part is that some dark, twisted corner of your brain liked it. Liked the way he'd crowded you. Liked the way he'd said mine in that low, possessive voice. Liked the way his fingers had felt in your hair, slow and deliberate and completely unlike anything he'd ever done before.

You push yourself off the freezer door and follow him to the checkout. Jungwon is already paying, his expression serene, his posture relaxed.

"Got your strawberry," he says, holding up the ice cream. "Ready to go?"

You nod mutely.

The walk home is quiet. Jungwon eats his melon ice cream and comments on the weather and points out a funny-shaped cloud, and you walk beside him in a daze, your mind spinning with questions you're too afraid to ask.

*What was that back there?*

*What did you mean by "mine"?*

*Do you want me the way I want you, or was that just some weird protective instinct that you're going to laugh off later and pretend never happened?*

But you don't ask. Because you're scared of the answers. Because if he laughs it off, if he says it was nothing, if he goes back to being the same platonic Jungwon he's always been, you don't think you can handle that.  So you walk in silence, and you eat your strawberry ice cream, and you try very hard not to think about the way his fingers felt in your hair.

The invitation comes on a Thursday, delivered via text message with the casual energy of someone suggesting what to have for lunch.

**Jungwon:** *lake tomorrow? picnic? there's that spot we used to go to as kids. i'll pack food.*

You stare at the message for approximately five minutes. The spot he's talking about is a small, secluded clearing by the lake about twenty minutes outside of town—a hidden gem that you'd discovered together when you were kids. You'd spent entire summers there, swimming until your fingers pruned, eating sandwiches that got slightly soggy from the cooler, lying on the grass and making up stories about the shapes in the clouds.

It's also, objectively, one of the most romantic places in existence. Secluded. Quiet. Surrounded by trees and the gentle lapping of water against the shore. If you were a romance novel protagonist, this would be the chapter where the love interest makes his move.

But you're not a romance novel protagonist.

This is a terrible idea. You should say no.

**You:** *sure. what time?*

The next morning Jungwon picks you up at ten, his car already packed with a cooler, a picnic blanket, and two towels that he definitely stole from his mom's linen closet.

"Ready for adventure?" he asks, holding the passenger door open with an exaggerated flourish.

"Ready for a twenty-minute drive to a lake we've been to literally a hundred times?"

"Every time is a new adventure."

"I’m already tired of you speaking."

"It’s just the beginning."

You roll your eyes and climb into the car, and he closes the door behind you with a satisfied grin. You roll down the window, letting the warm air whip through your hair, and for a moment, everything feels simple. Easy. Like it used to be before your feelings got tangled up in everything. And then Jungwon connects his phone to the car speaker, and a familiar song starts playing.

Lost Island - Enhypen now playing

"Oh my god," you say, recognizing the opening notes. "Is this-"

"Lost Island," he confirms, his grin widening. "Don't pretend you don't know every word."

"I don't know every word."

"You definitely know every word. You made me watch the colour coded lyrics when it came out."

"That was just to see the translation.."

"What about when you made me look at the concept photoshoot of the album?"

"It was for art purposes. I was studying the different concepts."

"You were studying Ni-ki’s pictures for the Afterlight version (iykyk), yeah?"

"Those pictures are a cultural reset."

He laughs, and the sound fills the car, and then he's singing along, loud and off-key and you can't help but join in. You've known this song since it came out. You've listened to it on late-night study sessions, on walks across campus, on the bus ride home from college. You know every lyric, every beat, every ad-lib. And singing it with Jungwon, your voices clashing and harmonizing in all the wrong ways, feels like coming home.

"AND NOTHING’S MORE PRECIOUS THAN TIME? THAN TIME WITH YOU!" he belts, completely butchering the song.

"That's not even close to the right key!"

"It's the right key in my heart!"

"Your heart is tone-deaf!"

The banter carries you the rest of the way to the lake, the familiar landscape scrolling past your window like a slideshow of your childhood. 

"It's exactly the same," you breathe, stepping out of the car.

"Some things don't change," Jungwon says, and there's something in his voice, something almost wistful that makes you glance at him. But he's already turning away, pulling the cooler out of the trunk, his expression back to its usual cheerful neutrality.

Jungwon spreads the blanket on a flat patch of grass near the water's edge, weighting down the corners with rocks so it doesn't blow away in the breeze. He unpacks the cooler very carefully, sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, a container of cut fruit, two bottles of lemonade, a bag of chips, and a small box of the cookies you used to beg your mom to buy when you were little.

"You remembered the cookies," you say, and your voice comes out more surprised than you intended.

"Of course I remembered. They're your favorite." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like remembering your favorite childhood cookies is just something people do. "I also brought the chips you like, even though you always eat the entire bag and then complain that you feel sick."

"I do not."

"You absolutely do."

"I will push you into the lake."

"You can try."

After lunch, Jungwon leans back on his elbows, tilting his face toward the sun. "We should swim."

"We didn't bring swimsuits."

"So?"

"So I'm not swimming in my clothes."

"Who said anything about clothes?" He grins at the look on your face. "Kidding. Kind of. You can swim in your t-shirt and underwear. It's basically the same as a swimsuit."

"Underwear is not the same as a swimsuit."

"It's fabric. You wear it. You get wet. Same concept."

"The concept is not the same. There's-" You stop, because he's already pulling his shirt over his head, and the sight of his bare torso short-circuits your brain.

You've seen Jungwon without a shirt before. Plenty of times. Swimming as kids, running through sprinklers, that one disastrous summer when he decided to try to get a six-pack and made you do crunches with him in his backyard. But this is different. He's different. The lean muscle of his shoulders, the planes of his chest, the way his stomach tightens as he tosses the shirt onto the blanket, it's all very, very different.

"See something you like?" he asks, and his tone is teasing, light, completely unaware of the chaos happening inside your brain.

"Just trying to figure out where your tan line starts," you say, your voice blessedly steady. "It's very uneven."

He laughs and wades into the water, his back to you, and you take the opportunity to have a small, internal meltdown. If he doesn't see you as a romantic prospect, then what does it matter if you're in your underwear? It's not like he's going to look at you differently. It's not like anything is going to change.

"Fine," you say, standing up. "But if I get hypothermia, you're explaining it to my mom."

"You're not going to get hypothermia. It's like eighty degrees."

You pull your shirt over your head, shimmy out of your shorts, and are left standing in your underwear, a simple black set that you definitely didn't choose this morning with the vague, subconscious hope that someone might see it. That would be ridiculous.

Jungwon glances back at you, and for just a second, just a fraction of a heartbeat, his eyes flicker down your body. But then he's looking away, splashing into the deeper water, his voice carrying over the lake. "Hurry up! The water's perfect!"

You wade in after him, and the water is cold enough to make you gasp. You push through the discomfort and dive forward, submerging yourself completely, and when you surface, your hair is plastered to your face and you're laughing.

"See?" Jungwon says, swimming toward you. "Not hypothermia."

"Ask me again in ten minutes."

"You'll be fine. You're tough."

You float on your back, staring up at the sky, and Jungwon floats beside you, and for a while, neither of you speaks. It's peaceful. Quiet. The kind of moment you'd want to bottle and keep forever.

And then Jungwon ruins it. "Remember when we used to do this as kids?" he says, his voice dreamy. "You were so small I could carry you around the whole lake."

"I was not that small."

"You were tiny. I could pick you up with one arm."

"That's a lie and you know it."

"It's not a lie. I'll prove it."

Before you can protest, he's moving toward you through the water, his hands finding your waist. You barely have time to yelp before he lifts you, actually *lifts* you, like you weigh nothing and suddenly you're dangling in the water with his hands under your arms, your face level with his.

"See?" he says, and his grin is insufferable. "Still got it."

"That's not, you're using both hands-"

"Details."

The position is ridiculous. You're basically suspended in the water, your legs floating uselessly behind you, his hands wedged firmly under your armpits. But his fingers, his fingers are pressing into the sides of your chest, dangerously close to-

Oh god.

His thumbs are brushing against the curve of your breasts.

You freeze. Every muscle in your body goes rigid. Your face, which was already flushed from the sun, goes approximately forty shades redder. Jungwon doesn't seem to notice, he's still grinning, still holding you up, his fingers still in that exact same position.

"You're so light," he's saying. "Have you been eating enough? Your mom was right, you're like a-"

You don't let him finish. You thrash in his grip, twisting out of his hands with a splash that sends water cascading over both of you. When you surface, gasping, you use the momentum to push a wave directly into his face.

"What was that for?!" he splutters, wiping water from his eyes.

"You were being annoying!"

"I was being helpful!"

"Your hands were-" You stop. You cannot say your hands were on my boobs. You absolutely cannot say that. "You were in my personal space!"

"That's what happens when you carry someone! There's personal space involved!"

"Not that much personal space!"

"You're so weird." But he's laughing, and the moment passes, and he's swimming away from you toward the deeper part of the lake, completely oblivious to the cardiac event he just caused.

You float there for a moment, your heart hammering, your skin tingling everywhere his fingers had touched. He didn't notice. Of course he didn't notice. He was just being Jungwon, playful and physical and completely unaware of the effect he has on you. To him, it was just another childhood game. Just another memory in the long highlight reel of your friendship.

But to you? To you, it was everything.

You take a deep breath and dive underwater, letting the cold silence swallow you whole. When you surface again, you've composed yourself. Your face is still flushed, but you can blame it on the sun. Your heart is still racing, but you can blame it on the swimming.

"You okay over there?" Jungwon calls from the deeper water. "You look like you're thinking too hard."

"I'm always thinking too hard."

"What about?"

About you. About your hands. About the way you said "mine" in the convenience store and then never mentioned it again. About how I'm trying so hard to move on and you keep doing things that make it impossible.

"About how I'm going to get revenge," you say instead, and you launch yourself toward him with a war cry that echoes across the lake.

The splash fight that follows is epic. Water goes everywhere. You end up with lake water in your sinuses and a piece of algae in your hair. Jungwon laughs so hard he accidentally inhales water and spends a full minute coughing on the shore. When you finally drag yourselves out of the lake, shivering and dripping and exhausted, you collapse onto the picnic blanket side by side, staring up at the sky.

The sun is starting its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. Your clothes are spread out on the grass, drying in the warm air, and you're lying in your underwear on a picnic blanket next to your childhood best friend, and somehow it doesn't feel awkward. It feels natural. Easy. Like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.

But as the sky darkens and the first stars appear, you remind yourself: this isn't a romance novel. He doesn't see you that way. And you're trying to move on.

You just wish moving on didn't feel so much like falling.

You're both still damp from the lake, a pleasant chill raising goosebumps on your skin. Jungwon notices you shivering slightly as you sit on the picnic blanket, pulling your knees to your chest.

"You're cold," he says, stating the obvious as he stands up. "Come on, let's get you warmed up."

Before you can protest, he's already pulling you to your feet, his hand warm and firm around yours. He leads you toward a large, flat rock at the edge of the clearing that has been baking in the afternoon sun. It radiates a gentle heat against your bare legs as he positions you to sit on its edge.

But he doesn't sit beside you. Instead, he positions himself directly in front of you, between your legs, his body creating a shield against the evening breeze. The proximity is intoxicating, his bare torso just inches from yours, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, close enough that you could lean forward and press your lips against his if you were brave enough, or stupid enough.

"You need a break," he says, his voice lower than it was moments before, his eyes fixed on yours. "After that epic defeat in the water."

"I didn't lose," you retort, but your voice lacks its usual conviction. You're too aware of his hands as they come to rest on your thighs, his thumbs stroking your skin in slow, deliberate circles. "It was clearly a tie."

"Denial is not just a river in Egypt," he replies, a small smirk playing on his lips. But his eyes... his eyes are serious, intense, focused on yours with an unwavering gaze that makes your breath catch.

You try to ignore the way his hands feel on your skin, the way his touch sends jolts of electricity through your entire body. You try to focus on the lake, on the sunset, on anything other than the man standing between your legs, looking at you like you're the only person in the world.

But then his hands begin to move.

It's a slow, deliberate journey, his fingers tracing a path along the sensitive skin of your thighs. Higher and higher they go, until they reach the inner curve of your legs. Your breath hitches, your muscles tensing as his fingers continue their exploration, inching ever closer to your most intimate place.

His hands reach the apex of your thighs, his fingers curling around the curve where your legs meet your hips. And then, oh god, his thumb slides inward, the tip of it brushing against the edge of your panties, touching the place where your folds begin through the thin fabric.

A soft gasp escapes your lips, your hips shifting involuntarily. The touch is electric, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. You can feel yourself growing wet, your body responding to his touch with an eagerness that betrays your attempts at nonchalance.

Jungwon's eyes darken, his thumb pressing slightly more firmly against you, a silent acknowledgment of your reaction. The air between you grows thick with tension, charged with unspoken desire. You lean in slightly, your lips parting, your entire being focused on the man before you and the hand that's doing unspeakable things to your composure.

And then he pulls away.

Just like that. As if nothing had happened. "We should probably get back to the blanket," he says, his voice completely normal. "I think there are still some cookies left."

You stare at him, your mind reeling, your body still humming with unfulfilled desire. Is he doing this on purpose? Is this some kind of game to him, a way to provoke you, to test your reactions? Or is he really so clueless that he doesn't realize what he's doing to you, doesn't understand the effect his casual touches have on your body, your mind, your heart?

You slide off the rock, your legs feeling shaky beneath you as you follow him back to the picnic blanket. As you dress, you watch him out of the corner of your eye, searching for some sign, some indication of what's going on in that head of his. But he's whistling softly, sorting through the remnants of your picnic, completely at ease.

And you're left wondering, as you have so many times before, whether the tension between you is real or just another product of your overactive imagination.Or whether, just maybe, he's as confused about this as you are.

Jungwon is lying beside you, propped up on one elbow, his hair still wet and curling slightly at the ends. He's got a cookie in one hand and his phone in the other, scrolling through something with casual ease. His phone buzzes, cutting through your thoughts. Jungwon glances at the screen, and his face breaks into a grin.

"Oh, it's Heeseung," he says, already accepting the video call. "I told him I was at the lake. He said he didn't believe me."

Heeseung. The name is familiar, Jungwon's best friend from college, the one he's mentioned a few times in passing. You've never met him, but you've heard enough stories to piece together a rough picture.

"Jungwon!" A voice crackles through the phone speaker, and Jungwon angles the screen so you can see. The guy on the other end is exactly as advertised, sharp jawline, dark eyes, the kind of face that probably breaks hearts without even trying. He's sitting somewhere indoors, a window behind him letting in soft afternoon light. "You actually went to the lake? I thought you were lying."

"Why would I lie about going to a lake?"

"I don't know. To seem more interesting than you actually are?"

"I'm very interesting."

"You read philosophy books for fun. That's not interesting. That's a cry for help."

You snort, and Heeseung's attention immediately snaps to you. "Who's that? Is someone else there?"

"This is Y/N," Jungwon says, tilting the phone toward you. "My childhood best friend. The one I've told you about."

You wave awkwardly at the camera. "Hi. I'm the one who didn't pour coffee on her own head."

Heeseung laughs, and it's a genuine, surprised laugh. "I like her already. She's got better instincts than me."

"Everyone has better instincts than you," Jungwon says. "You're famously bad at decisions."

"I'm famously bad at some decisions. I'm very good at other ones." Heeseung shifts, and in the background of his video, you catch a glimpse of movement. Someone else is in the room with him, a girl, sitting at a desk, her face partially obscured by a laptop screen. She's got headphones on, completely absorbed in whatever she's doing, and there's a colorful highlighter tucked behind her ear.

"Oh, is that-" Jungwon starts, and something in his voice changes. It's subtle, a slight softening, a slight hesitation, but you notice it immediately. You've spent too many years cataloging every nuance of his expressions not to notice.

"Yeah, that's her," Heeseung says, glancing over his shoulder at the girl. "She's studying. Again. I told her it's summer break, but she said, and I quote, the mitochondria doesn't take vacations."

"That sounds like her," Jungwon says, and there's that tone again. That soft, almost wistful tone that makes your stomach clench.

The girl in the background looks up, as if sensing she's being discussed, and Heeseung waves her over. She removes her headphones with a slightly confused expression, and then she's walking toward the camera, and you get your first clear look at her.

She's pretty. Really pretty, in a natural, unassuming way. Round glasses perched on her nose, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, wearing an oversized sweater that looks like it's been through several all-night study sessions. There's something about her expression, a little nervous, a little awkward, but also warm and genuine, that makes you understand immediately why someone might fall for her.

"This is Y/N," Heeseung says to her, gesturing at the phone. "Jungwon's friend."

"Hi, Y/N," the girl says, leaning into the frame. Her smile is slightly shy but sincere. "I've heard a lot about you. Jungwon talks about you all the time."

"All good things, I hope?"

"Mostly good things. He mentioned something about a treehouse incident?"

"I'm not taking responsibility for that. That was entirely his fault."

"It was not entirely my fault," Jungwon protests. "You were the one who wanted to add a second story."

"Because you said you wanted a better view of the stars."

"I was being romantic!"

"You were being delusional. The tree couldn't even support one story, let alone two."

The girl laughs, and Heeseung looks at her with an expression so openly, unguardedly fond that it makes something twist in your chest. That's love. That's real, undeniable, completely transparent love. The kind of love that doesn't hide or apologize or pretend to be something else.

"We should let you guys get back to your picnic," Heeseung says. "I just wanted to confirm that the lake does, in fact, exist."

"Confirmed," Jungwon says. "It's still here. Still wet. Still full of fish."

"Excellent. Very informative." Heeseung grins. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That doesn't leave much."

"Exactly."

The call ends, and the screen goes dark. Jungwon sets his phone down on the blanket and reaches for another cookie, completely oblivious to the storm that's just started brewing in your chest.

That's her. The girl from the philosophy elective. The one Jungwon had a crush on for months. The one he talked about in your kitchen with that soft, distant look in his eyes. The one who ended up with his best friend instead of him. And she's... nice. She seems nice. Genuinely nice, not fake nice, not trying-too-hard nice. The kind of nice that makes it impossible to hate her, even though a small, petty part of you really wants to.

"Jungwon?" you say.

"Hmm?"

"That was her, wasn't it? The girl you liked."

He pauses mid-chew, and for a moment, something flickers across his face, surprise, maybe, or the ghost of an old wound. But then it's gone, replaced by a smile that's a little too casual to be entirely genuine.

"Yeah. That was her."

"She seems nice."

"She is." He swallows the cookie and stares out at the lake, his expression unreadable. "She's really nice. She and Heeseung are good together."

"And you're okay with that?"

"I'm okay with that." He says it firmly, like he's practiced the words. Like he's said them to himself enough times that they've started to feel true. "It took a while, but... yeah. I'm okay with it. They make each other happy. That's what matters."

You don't know what to say to that. There's a heaviness in his voice that he's trying to hide, and you know him well enough to recognize it. He's not lying, he really is okay with it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't still sting. That doesn't mean he doesn't still think about it sometimes, late at night, when the world is quiet and the what-ifs creep in.

"I'm going to take a nap," Jungwon announces, stretching out on the blanket and pillowing his head on his arms. "The sun and the swimming made me tired."

"Okay."

"You should nap too. You look tired."

"I look radiant."

"You look radiantly tired."

"That's not a thing."

"It's a thing now. I invented it." He closes his eyes, and within minutes, his breathing evens out. He's asleep. Just like that. 

You sit there for a while, watching him sleep.

We can't be friends - Ariana Grande now playing

It's strange, seeing him like this. Unguarded. Vulnerable. The tension that he carries in his shoulders has melted away, and his face is relaxed in a way it rarely is when he's awake.

Your eyes trace the familiar lines of his face, the curve of his jaw, the sweep of his eyelashes. You know every inch of this face. You've memorized it over fifteen years of glances and gazes and stolen looks. But there's something different about looking at him now. Something heavier. Something that sits in your chest like a stone.

So that's he*, you think. That's the girl who had his heart.

And she's lovely. She's genuinely, painfully lovely. You saw it in the way she smiled, in the way she looked at Heeseung, in the way she clearly has no idea that she was once the center of someone else's entire world. She probably doesn't even know. She probably went about her life, completely unaware that Jungwon spent months pining over her, working up the courage to say something, only to lose his chance because he waited too long.

And that's the thing, isn't it? He waited too long. He liked her and he didn't say anything, and by the time he was ready, it was too late. Someone else had already stepped in. Someone bolder, someone braver, someone who didn't wait.

But he's not like that anymore. You've seen the change in him. The confidence. The ease. The way he carries himself like someone who knows what he wants and isn't afraid to go after it. He told you himself, after that whole situation, he decided to stop waiting. To start living. To explore his youth and put himself out there and not let opportunities pass him by.

She did that. That girl, with her round glasses and her messy ponytail and her complete, oblivious unawareness of the effect she had on him, she changed him. She's the reason he started hooking up with people in college. She's the reason he bought condoms and learned how to kiss properly and became the kind of person who presses other people against freezers and claims ownership of their hair.

You should be grateful to her. In a weird, twisted way, she's the reason Jungwon is who he is now, more confident, more assertive, more willing to go after what he wants. But all you feel is a hot, jealous knot in your stomach that you can't seem to untangle.

What does she have that you don't?

The thought surfaces before you can stop it, ugly and uninvited. You push it down, but it keeps rising back up, persistent and sharp.

What does she have that you don't? You've known Jungwon your entire life. You've been there for every scraped knee, every broken bone, every triumph and every failure. You know the exact way he takes his coffee and the name of every pet he's ever had and the song he listens to when he's sad. You've seen him at his worst and at his best, and you've loved every version of him.

And yet. And yet.

When he talks about her, there's still a softness in his voice. When he looked at her on that video call, there was still a flicker of something, not longing, exactly, but memory. The ghost of a feeling that was once very real. And you've never had that. You've never been the person Jungwon looked at like that. You've never been the person he pined over, the person he wrote letters to, the person he stayed up late thinking about.

You're just Y/N. His childhood best friend. The person he carries around in the lake and ruffles the hair of and tells all his secrets to, but never, ever looks at the way you want him to.

"It's not fair," you whisper, and your voice is so quiet it barely disturbs the air. "What does she have that I don't?"

The question hangs there, unanswered, and the silence that follows is deafening.

You look down at Jungwon, still sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of the turmoil churning inside you. His lips are slightly parted. His chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths. There's a piece of cookie crumb on his chin that he missed when he wiped his mouth earlier.

You reach out and brush it away, your fingers lingering against his skin for just a moment longer than necessary.

"I've been here the whole time," you murmur. "I've always been here."

He doesn't stir. He doesn't hear you. Maybe that's for the best.

You lean down, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you press a kiss to his cheek. It's soft. Barely there. The kind of kiss that could be dismissed as friendly if anyone saw, but is secretly, desperately not. Your lips brush against the warmth of his skin, and you close your eyes, and for just one moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like if he woke up and looked at you the way Heeseung looked at that girl. Like you were the center of his universe. Like you were the reason he existed.

But he doesn't wake up. And the moment passes.

You pull back, your heart aching, and you lie down beside him on the blanket. The sun is still warm, and the breeze is still gentle, and the lake is still lapping against the shore. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed.

You close your eyes, and you let sleep take you, and the last thing you feel before you drift off is the warmth of his body next to yours, close, but not close enough. Always, always, not close enough.

You wake up to the gentle hum of an engine and the soft pressure of something warm draped over your body.

It takes you a moment to orient yourself. You're not on the picnic blanket anymore. You're not by the lake. You're in a car, Jungwon's car, you recognize the air freshener and the one-eyed bear in the backseat, and someone has covered you with a jacket. Your jacket. The one you'd left in the backseat this morning.

Outside the window, your house is silhouetted against the dusky evening sky. The porch light is on. Your mom's car is in the driveway. Everything is exactly as you left it this morning, and yet nothing feels the same.

You push yourself upright, blinking sleep from your eyes, and that's when you notice Jungwon. He's not in the driver's seat. He's outside the car, leaning against the hood with his arms crossed, staring up at the sky. The first stars are starting to appear, and his profile is illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlamp. He looks pensive. Distant. Like he's been standing there for a while, lost in thoughts he doesn't want to share.

You open the car door, and the sound makes him turn. His expression shifts immediately, the pensiveness replaced by that familiar, warm smile. But there's something tired about it tonight. Something that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he says. "You were out cold. I didn't want to wake you."

"You carried me to the car?"

"You were dead weight. It wasn't that hard."

"I'm average height."

"You're fun-sized."

You roll your eyes, but there's no real irritation behind it. You're too busy processing the fact that he carried you from the lake to the car. That he wrapped you in your jacket and drove you home and then waited outside, in the cooling evening air, just so you could sleep a little longer.

"Thank you," you say, and your voice comes out softer than you intended. "For today. For... all of it."

"It was nothing." He shrugs, but his smile is genuine. "I had fun. It was like old times."

Old times. Right. Because that's what this was to him. Just another memory in the long, unbroken chain of your friendship. Nothing more.

He reaches out and ruffles your hair, the same gesture he's been doing since you were kids, the same casual, affectionate touch that used to feel so natural and now feels like a knife twisting in your chest.

"Get some rest," he says, already turning toward the driver's side. "I'll see you tomor-"

"Wait."

The word escapes before you can stop it. He pauses, his hand on the car door, his head tilted in confusion.

"What's up?"

Your heart is pounding. Your palms are sweating. Every rational part of your brain is screaming at you to let him go, to swallow your feelings, to keep pretending that everything is fine. But you're tired of pretending. You're tired of hiding. You're tired of watching him walk away and wondering what would happen if you just said the words you've been holding back for weeks.

"I need to tell you something," you say, and your voice is steadier than you feel. "And I need you to let me finish before you say anything. Can you do that?"

Jungwon's expression flickers, confusion, concern, something else you can't quite name. But he nods. "Okay. I'm listening."

You take a deep breath. The evening air is cool against your flushed cheeks. The streetlamp buzzes softly overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. The world keeps turning, oblivious to the fact that you're about to upend everything.

Earrings - Malcolm Todd now playing

"I like you," you say.

The words hang in the air between you.

"I don't mean like a friend. I don't mean like a brother. I mean... I like you. I have feelings for you. And I've been trying to ignore them, and I've been trying to move on, and I've been telling myself that you don't see me that way and I should just accept it, but I can't. Not anymore. Not after everything that's happened."

Jungwon is completely still. His hand has dropped from the car door. His face is unreadable.

"I know you probably don't feel the same way," you continue, the words tumbling out faster now, a dam that's finally broken. "And that's fine. That's... I mean, it's not fine, but I'll deal with it. I just couldn't keep pretending. I couldn't keep acting like everything was normal when it's not. Not for me."

The silence stretches for what feels like an eternity. When Jungwon finally speaks, his voice is careful. Measured. Like he's choosing every word with deliberate precision.

"Y/N... I think you're confused."

"I'm not confused."

"You've been through a lot lately. The stress of college, being back home, all the changes, it's natural to latch onto familiar feelings and mistake them for something else. But what you're feeling isn't-"

"Don't." Your voice comes out sharper than you intended. "Don't tell me what I'm feeling. I know what I feel. I've known for weeks. Maybe longer. Maybe I've known for years and I just didn't have the words for it until now."

"Y/N-"

"I like you, Jungwon. I want to be with you. Not as your childhood friend. Not as your sister figure. As a woman who wants to be with a man. That's what this is."

He flinches. Actually flinches, like the words have physically struck him. "You don't mean that."

"I do mean it. I've never meant anything more in my life."

"You can't-" He stops, runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration that you've seen a thousand times. "You can't just say that. You can't just drop that on me and expect-"

"Expect what? For you to feel the same way? I already told you, I know you probably don't. But I had to say it. I had to be honest with you, because that's what we've always been. Honest. And I've been lying to you for weeks, and I couldn't do it anymore."

Jungwon is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, his voice is low, almost pained. "I can't return your feelings."

The words hit you like a physical blow. You knew they were coming. You prepared for them. But knowing and hearing are two different things, and the sound of them, the finality of them knocks the breath from your lungs.

"I don't see you that way," he continues. "I've never seen you that way. You're my best friend. You're the most important person in my life. But I can't...I don't-"

"You don't see me as a woman."

"I see you as Y/N. My Y/N. The person who's been by my side since I was six years old. And I can't risk that. I can't risk us."

"Risk us?" You hear your voice rising, the hurt transforming into something hotter. Something angrier. "What about the mixed signals? What about the way you held me in the lake? What about the convenience store, when you told that guy not to touch my hair because it was yours? What was that, Jungwon? Was that just friendship too?"

His jaw tightens. "That was different."

"Different how?"

"That was... I don't know. Instinct. I wasn't thinking."

"You weren't thinking." You laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Right. Of course. You never think. You just do things and say things and then pretend they don't mean anything. Just like the closet in high school. Just like my bedroom last week. Just like everything."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" You step closer to him, your eyes blazing. "Let me ask you something. Honestly. Do you still have feelings for her? That girl? The one from the video call?"

Jungwon blinks, clearly thrown by the shift in topic. "What? No. I told you, I'm over that. She's with Heeseung. They're happy. I'm happy for them."

"Then what is it? If you're over her, and you're out there hooking up with other people, then what's so different about me? Why can't you see me the way you see them? Am I not attractive enough? Am I not-"

"Stop." His voice is sharp, sharper than you've ever heard it. "Don't do that. Don't compare yourself to anyone else. This isn't about you not being enough. This is about-"

"About what?"

"About the fact that you're the only thing in my life that's ever been mine!" The words burst out of him like a dam breaking, and suddenly he's not the calm, measured Jungwon anymore. His eyes are bright, his hands shaking slightly at his sides. "Do you understand that? You're it. You're the one thing I've always had. When my parents were fighting, when school was hell, when I was sitting in my dorm room at college feeling like I didn't belong anywhere, I always had you. You were always there. And I can't lose that. I can't."

"So you'd rather keep me as a friend than risk having me as something more?"

"Yes." The word is quiet but firm. "Yes. Because if we tried and it didn't work...if we broke up, if we hurt each other...I wouldn't just lose a girlfriend. I'd lose everything. I'd lose my best friend. I'd lose the person who knows me better than anyone. I'd lose fifteen years of history and memories and-" His voice cracks. "I can't do that. I won't."

"You're a coward," you say, and your voice comes out quieter than you expected. Softer. Almost sad.

Jungwon flinches. "Y/N-"

"No. You are. You're a coward. You've always been a coward. You liked that girl for months and never said anything, and someone else got to her first. And now you're doing the same thing again. You're so scared of losing what we have that you won't even consider the possibility of something more." You swallow hard, the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. "You said you changed. You said after that whole situation, you decided to stop waiting and start living. But you haven't changed at all. You're still the same guy who waits too long and lets things slip away because he's too scared to take a risk."

"Please," he says, and his voice is raw, desperate. "Please don't do this. We can still be friends. We can go back to how things were. Nothing has to change."

"I don't want to be friends!" The words tear out of you, loud and broken. "That's the whole point! I don't want to be your friend anymore! I want to be more! I want you to look at me the way you looked at her! I want you to touch me like you mean it and not pretend it was nothing afterward! I want to be the person you think about when you can't sleep at night! But I'm not! I'm never going to be! Because you won't let me!"

Tears are streaming down your face now, hot and unstoppable. You don't bother wiping them away.

"I have been here," you say, your voice cracking. "I have been here for fifteen years. I was here when you failed your first math test. I was here when you got your heart broken for the first time. I was here when you needed someone to talk to at 3 AM. And I've been here this whole summer, watching you, wanting you, and you didn't even notice. You never notice."

Jungwon's face crumples. "I notice," he whispers. "I notice everything about you. That's the problem."

"Then what is it?" You step closer, your chest tight with frustration and hurt and the desperate need to understand. "You've been giving me mixed signals since I got back. The way you look at me. The way you touch me. The convenience store. The lake. Carrying me around in the water with your hands all over me. What am I supposed to think?"

"I wasn't...I didn't mean to..."

"Didn't mean to what? Lead me on? Make me think there was something there when there wasn't?"

Jungwon's face crumples, and for the first time in this conversation, he looks genuinely stricken. "I wasn't trying to lead you on. I was just... being myself. That's how I've always been with you."

"Maybe that's the problem." Your voice cracks, and you hate it. You hate that he's seeing you like this. "Maybe you've always been like this with me, and I've just been too blind to notice that it doesn't mean anything to you. But it means something to me. It means everything to me."

"Y/N..."

"You know what I hate the most?" You're crying, tears spilling down your cheeks, hot and uninvited. "I hate her. That girl from the video call. I hate her so much it makes me sick."

"That's not fair. She didn't do anything-"

"I know she didn't do anything! That's what makes it worse!" The words are pouring out of you now, unstoppable. "She didn't do anything except exist, and she still managed to change you. She's the reason you're like this now. She's the reason you decided to stop waiting and start living. She's the reason you bought condoms and hooked up with people and became this whole new version of yourself. And I...I've been here the whole time. I've been here for fifteen years, and I've never been able to make you look at me the way you looked at her."

"Y/N, please-"

"You've known her for what, a few months? And she got to have your heart. She got to be the one who changed you. And I've been here since we were kids, and I've never...I've never been anything more than your best friend.. The person you carry around and ruffle the hair of and tell all your secrets to, but never, ever look at the way I want you to."

The tears are falling faster now, and you can barely see his face through the blur. You wipe at your eyes furiously, angry at yourself for crying, angry at him for making you cry, angry at the whole stupid universe for putting you in this situation.

"I've always been here," you whisper. "I've always been yours. And you've never once seen me."

Jungwon's composure cracks. His eyes are wet, his jaw tight, his hands clenched at his sides like he's trying very hard to hold himself together and failing. When he speaks, his voice is raw in a way you've never heard before.

"You asked what she had that you don't? Nothing. She had nothing that you don't. But she was safe. She was someone I could have a crush on from a distance and then let go when it didn't work out. But you...you're not safe. You're not distant. You're under my skin and in my bones and wrapped around every part of who I am. And if I let myself feel what I'm afraid I might feel for you, and it goes wrong..."

He stops, his voice breaking. A tear slips down his cheek, and he doesn't bother to wipe it away.

"I can't lose you," he says quietly. "I would rather have you as a friend for the rest of my life than risk losing you entirely."

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The street is quiet. The stars are starting to come out. And then you shake your head.

"We can figure this out. We can-"

"No. You don't get to have it both ways. You don't get to reject me and then ask me to stay exactly the same. That's not fair."

"Please." His voice cracks, and he reaches for your hand. "Please don't do this. You're too important to me. Our friendship is too important."

"Goodnight, Jungwon," you say.

"Y/N, wait-"

But you're already walking away. Already climbing the steps to your front porch. Already reaching for the door handle with hands that won't stop shaking.

You don't look back. You can't. If you look back, you'll break completely.

The front door closes behind you with a soft click, and you lean against it, pressing your palms to your face, and you let the tears come. All the tears you've been holding back for weeks. All the feelings you've been pretending not to have. They pour out of you in great, heaving sobs that shake your entire body.

You understand. God help you, you understand. He's scared. He's been scared his whole life, scared of losing people, scared of taking risks, scared of wanting something too much and having it slip through his fingers. He looks at you and sees everything he's afraid to lose, and instead of reaching for more, he's clinging to what he already has.

But understanding doesn't make it hurt less. Understanding doesn't fill the hollow ache in your chest or stop the tears from falling or make you forget the way his face looked when you walked away.

You don't know how long you sit there. The house stays quiet. The stars wheel overhead. And somewhere out there, on the street in front of your house, Jungwon is still standing by his car, staring at the door you just closed, hoping you'll come back out.

You push through the door, laptop bag sliding off your shoulder, already mentally clocking out of the first lecture before it's even started.

You’re so focused on going to your lecture that you nearly collide with someone.

Ni-ki is always recognizable through his scent most of the time, always that faint coffee smell to hide whatever he smoked on the drive over. His hand shoots out to hold something up between your faces. A small black clip. You spent 10 minutes looking for it yesterday with the little crack in the plastic from when you dropped it in your shower not so long ago.

"You left this," he says flatly.

Two days ago. You remember exactly where you left it ; on his nightstand, next to the empty can of soda and your phone that he'd moved so it wouldn't fall off the edge. He kept it in his pocket like a psychopath until now.

You take it. Your fingers brush his.

"Thanks," you say, because what else is there.

He's already stepping around you, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, heading to the opposite direction of every single one of his classes. You watch the back of his hoodie disappear around the corner.

Jess is already in your usual seats, two rows from the back, her energy drink sweating onto her notebook. She clocks your face the second you sit down.

"God, you look terrified," she says. "What happened?"

You set the clip on the desk. "Ni-ki just returned my hair clip."

Jess's eyebrows go up. She knows, not everything, but enough to figure out your state. She knows you go over there and she knows you don't talk about it.

"And how was that exchange ?"

"Normal, I guess." You pull out your laptop, even though you know you're not going to take notes. "He said 'you left this' and walked away."

"Romantic."

"Right."

She's quiet for a bit, then leans closer, lowering her voice even though no one near you is paying attention. "Okay, real question. Are you, like... keeping track? I mean, number-wise."

You frown. "Like...body counts?"

"Yeah. Like, since this whole thing started. Are you even seeing other people? Are you counting repeats? Because I've been thinking about it and I genuinely don't know what the etiquette is."

"I don't think there is an etiquette for whatever this is." You tap your fingernail against the desk. "And no, I'm not counting anything."

"You should. For records, at least." She grins, but it fades when you don't mirror it. "Fine. Do you want to count him? Like, in a way that means something?"

The professor walks in and you watch the projector screen flicker to life.

"I don't know," you say. And that's the worst part, you don't know if you want him to mean something or if you just want to stop wanting it so badly. The line between the two has been blurred for months now.

Jess sighs. "Boys are so stupid, like actually brain-dead. I swear my ex thought the clit wasn’t a real thing."

That pulls a laugh out of you, tired and a little rough. "He wasn't that bad."

"Your bar is in hell as I can see."

The lecture starts. You zone out ten minutes in, thumb moving over the crack in your hair clip. He kept it in his pocket for two days. You don't know what that means and you're probably not supposed to know.

It's fine. You'll text him tonight. He'll reply with one word or nothing at all. And you'll go over anyway. Because that's what this is.

───

Break time hits and the courtyard is a mess. You find a spot at one of the picnic tables near the old oak tree, Jess refuses to sit at because she says it gives her anxiety. You don’t mind it. It’s farther from the main walkway, which means fewer people trying to make small talk.

Jess is already inside the cafeteria buying a pastry that she kept talking about during the whole lecture, so you’re alone for a minute, scrolling on your phone without really focusing on anything. The sun is too bright and the coffee you had earlier is making your hands feel jittery. You can’t stop thinking about the way Ni-ki held out that hair clip this morning like it was nothing.

You look up because something in your peripheral shifts, and there he is. Two tables over, diagonal across the courtyard, sitting with Jay and Jungwon and another guy you don’t recognize. He’s not paying attention to whatever Jay is saying ; his elbow is propped on the table, chin resting on his knuckles, and he’s looking directly at you.

You hold eye contact because looking away first feels like losing a battle you didn't even initiate.

He tilts his head slightly, lazy but intentional, and mouths something slowly so you catch every syllable: "My place. After classes?"

Sounds like it’s a statement dressed up like one.

You nod once, enough for him to catch it.

He smiles but not a big one, it's a twitch at the corner of his mouth, making it looks like he’s amused by the whole thing, you just confirmed something he already knew. Afterwards, he turns back to his friends like nothing happened, reaching over to steal Jay’s fries without looking at you again.

Oh you hate what you just felt at that exact moment.

Jess drops into the seat across from you a moment later, biting into a croissant that’s shedding crumbs everywhere. “Okay, so I have a chem lab at 2 and then I’m free,” she says, talking around the pastry. “You wanna grab food after? There's that new Thai place that opened and I’ve been thinking about their spring rolls for days.”

You blink at her, still half-focused on the back of Ni-ki’s hoodie across the courtyard.

“Damn, the wind must be really strong today.”

“Sorry. What?”

“Thai place after classes. You in or not?”

You hesitate for a beat too long and Jess’s eyes narrow.

“Oh Lord,” she says slowly, setting down her croissant. “You’re not free, are you?”

You pick at a splinter on the table. “Not tonight.”

“Let me guess.” She leans forward. “Tall and emotionally unavailable.”

“Is that how you see him?”

“Am I wrong?”

You don’t answer, and she groans into her hands.

“You’re actually killing me,” she says. “One day, you’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been in a situationship with a guy who communicates exclusively through neutral face expressions.”

“He talked to me this morning.”

“He returned your hair clip, that’s not talking. Girl, come on.”

You laugh despite yourself, kicking her foot under the table. “Just text me the menu and I’ll go with you next week.”

She sighs heavily as she picks her croissant back up. “Fine. But you owe me details. Not the weird ones, i don't want to know how he fucks. I just want to know...like his last name. I don’t even know his last name.”

You look back toward the other table. Ni-ki is laughing at something Jungwon said, head tipped back slightly, and for a second he looks younger than 21, less like the version of him that presses you against his mattress and more like the version that offered you a cigarette on a rooftop when you were both strangers.

You still don’t know his last name either.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Me neither.”

───

The last class of the day finally ends. By the time the professor dismisses you, the sun has already set down, letting the sky being painted in purple and orange shades.

You don't rush to the parking lot. Something about walking too fast feels like admitting out loud that seeing him was the only thing you were looking forward to the whole day. Which it was.

The lot is mostly empty now, most students cleared out ten minutes ago, desperate to escape. Your sneakers scrape against the concrete as you weave between rows of beat-up sedans and the occasional overcompensating truck. And you finally spot his car.

His black Camaro is parked in the far corner, the one closest to the exit, because of course he needs a quick getaway. The engine is already running ; you can tell by the faint exhaust curling from the back ; and through the windshield you can see him slouched in the driver's seat, one hand resting on the wheel.

His head is tilted down, probably at his phone, and for a second you think about turning around and walking away just to see how long it would take him to notice. But your feet keep moving because you're pathetic like that.

You pull open the passenger door and the warmth hits you immediately ; he always runs the heat even when it's not that cold outside. The leather seat creaks under you as you slide in, tossing your bag between your feet.

Ni-ki doesn't look up right away as he finishes typing something, locks his phone, and only then turns his head toward you.

"You took forever," he says.

"Class ran late."

He hums, unconvinced, but he doesn't push it. He reaches over and pulls your seatbelt across you, not because he's being sweet, but because he's watched you forget it three times now and he's tired of the car beeping.

His knuckles brush your collarbone.

He puts the car in reverse and backs out without checking his blind spot, which should terrify you but doesn't anymore. The parking lot exits onto a side street and then he's merging into traffic, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping against his thigh to some imaginary song.

You watch his profile. The way his jaw is set, the tiny scar near his eyebrow he's never explained, the way his hoodie sleeve falls just right on his wrist.

"So," you say, because sitting in total silence for the whole drive feels like something a hostage would do. "You had a good day?"

He glances at you, and there's something almost amused in his expression. "You don't care about my day."

"Maybe I do."

"You don't." He says it simply, he obviously assumes that you don't actually care about his day because you're only here for one reason. And the worst part is he's not wrong, or maybe he is wrong and you just haven't figured out how to prove it yet.

You look out the window instead. The buildings blur past, a laundromat, a bodega with a faded sign, a bus stop with one tired-looking person waiting. Just normal things.

After a minute, Ni-ki's hand leaves the wheel and lands on your thigh, resting there.

The car keeps moving.

───

His house is too big for one person. That's the same thing you think every time you walk through the front door, and tonight is no different. The entryway alone could fit your entire apartment, and the ceilings are so high you get a little neck cramp looking up at the chandelier that probably costs more than your tuition.

Ni-ki doesn't bother with the lights. He hits a switch near the door and the living room floods with warm overhead light, revealing a space that looks like something out of a magazine ; leather couches, a marble coffee table that's definitely never seen a coffee ring, floor-to-ceiling windows that face a backyard you've only seen once in the dark. Everything is clean.

He kicks off his shoes by the door and you do the same, lining your sneakers up next to his like a silent compromise between his mess and yours.

You're still shrugging off your jacket when he drops onto the massive sectional couch, sprawling across it like a cat going for a nap. His hoodie rides up slightly and you look away because looking at him in that way would feel criminal.

"So," he says, drawing the word out, and there's something in his voice that makes you pause mid-fold of your jacket. "We've done the bed. We've done the floor. We've done the kitchen counter that one time." He tilts his head against the cushion, eyes tracking you across the room. "What about the couch?"

You freeze with your jacket still in your hands.

There's a crease at the corner of his eye that gives him away. He's enjoying this ; the way your shoulders go stiff, the way you suddenly can't look at him directly. The couch is huge and leather and objectively fine, but something about the suggestion makes your face heat anyway. Maybe because it's different, maybe because it feels less like falling into bed and more like something you'd have to think about.

"Don't get shy now," he says, and his voice is lower, teasing but soft underneath. "You literally said yes before I finished asking last time."

"That was something else."

"How?"

You want to answer, but it's embarrassing. You're not shy about him, not really, not anymore. But the couch feels too exposed, too close to the windows, too close to the part of the house where someone could theoretically walk in even though no one ever does. It feels less like a decision and more like a dare.

You drape your jacket over the back of an armchair, stalling. "I'm not shy."

Ni-ki shifts, propping himself up on his elbow. His hair falls over his forehead and he looks annoyingly handsome like this, all loose limbs and lazy confidence. "Yeah? Then come here."

Three words. And your feet move before your brain catches up. He doesn't even have to beg, when he just says things like they've already happened and waits for you to catch up, knowing you will eventually.

You stop at the edge of the couch, looking down at him. He looks back up at you, and his expression softens a little.

"Or we can go upstairs," he says, and it's not a concession.

You hate how easy it is for him to make you feel seen.

You sit down on the edge of the couch, close enough that your knee touches his thigh. "The couch is fine."

His eyebrow goes up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

His hand finds your waist anyway, pulling you closer until you're half-draped across his chest, and the leather creaks beneath you both. His heart is steady under your palm but yours is not.

"Liar," he murmurs against your hair.

He's right. You are shy, and a really bad liar.

The walk up to his bedroom feels longer than it should, the anticipation is buzzing under your skin. You’re practically vibrating with nervous energy as Ni-ki unlocks the massive door and pushes it open. The room is dark and spacious, lit only by the soft glow of city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He immediately reaches for the hem of his oversized hoodie, yanking it over his head and tossing it carelessly onto the floor. The sight of his bare chest stops you in your tracks. You feel a sudden, overwhelming wave of shyness wash over you, your cheeks flushing hot as you avert your gaze, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed.

"Why are you getting shy again?" Ni-ki asks, his voice low and amused as he steps closer, invading your personal space. He tilts his head, his eyes studying your face intently. "You’re not usually like this. What’s up?"

You look up at him, your voice barely a whisper. "Can we...go soft this time?" you ask, feeling vulnerable. He pauses, a glint of confusion crossing his face, but he nods slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes.

"Okay," he says, his voice dropping an octave lower. "I'll be soft."

He pulls you in by the waist, his hands warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension building between you. He presses you gently against the doorframe, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. His hands wander down your back, his fingers digging into your flesh, but you don't want to rush. You want to feel every inch of him, dragging this out.

You kiss him back, your tongues tangling together, a slow and deep exploration. His hands slide up your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands move to the waistband of your pants, his fingers teasing the button and zipper. You shiver as he undoes them, letting them pool around your ankles, and you step out of them, kicking them aside.

He picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently, the mattress sinking beneath you. He climbs on top of you, his weight pressing you into the sheets. He kisses you again, his lips moving from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck, his tongue flicking over your sensitive skin. You arch your back, giving him more access, his hands exploring your body, mapping out every curve and dip.

He moves lower, his lips trailing down your stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear. He pulls them down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He parts your legs, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You gasp, your hips bucking slightly as he touches you there.

He leans down and spreads your legs wider, his fingers sliding into you. He begins to finger you, his movements slow and pleasant, his fingers curling inside you, searching for that sweet spot. You moan his name, your hands gripping a pillow beside you. He adds a second finger, stretching you, his thumb rubbing against your clit. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around his fingers.

He pulls his fingers out, and you whine at the loss. He looks up at you before bringing his fingers into his mouth, sucking on them. "Sweet, huh?" he says, smiling, before moving up to kiss you again.

He positions himself at your entrance, his eyes locking onto yours. He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely. You gasp, his eyes rolling back slightly as he stretches you. He stays there for a moment, letting you adjust to his size, the friction building between you. "Tell me if it hurts."

"It's okay." You barely could answer.

He begins to move. He watches your face, wanting to see every reaction you have to him. He kisses you deeply, the kiss matching the pace of his hips. The feeling of him filling you up is overwhelming, the sensation of being so full and stretched is intense.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, encouraging him to go faster, but he holds back, his pace steady and controlled. He wants to make this last. He focuses on the sensations, the heat between your bodies.

He pulls out slightly, then pushes back in, his eyes never leaving yours. He leans down and kisses your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. You moan his name, the sound echoing in the room. He smiles against your skin, a small, satisfied smile, knowing he’s making you feel good.

He picks up the pace just a little, his thrusts becoming a little more urgent, but still slow. He wants to be inside you for as long as possible. The friction is delicious, sending sparks flying through your body. He kisses you again, his tongue tangling with yours, the taste of you driving him wild.

You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him. You look up at him, your eyes glazed with pleasure. "Ni-ki," you breathe out, your voice breathless and ragged. "I'm going to come," you whisper.

He nods, his eyes locking onto yours, and he keeps thrusting, his pace remaining steady, but he focuses on the spot that makes you see stars. You cry out his name as you unravel, your body clamping down on him. He follows moments later, his hips bucking against yours as he releases inside you, filling you completely.

He stays inside you for a long time, the silence of the room broken only by your ragged breathing. He leans down and kisses your forehead, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. "Fuck...that was good," he says, his voice quiet and tired.

He reaches for the bedside table and pulls out a small baggie and a lighter. He packs a bowl, taking a long drag, and then offers it to you.

You take a hit, your lungs filling with the smoke, and you cough slightly. He laughs, his chest vibrating against your back. He leans over you, blowing the smoke directly on your face. He pulls back, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Come closer," he whispers, his voice husky. He blows another cloud of smoke into your mouth, sealing it with a kiss. You feel the smoke swirl in your mouth and then pass it back to him, the taste of weed and mint mixing on your tongues.

"Ayy, that was kinda cool," he says, tracing the outline of your lips with his thumb.

"Was it?" you ask, a smile playing on your lips.

"Yeah," he says, his eyes darkening. "You should come over more often."

You just smile, content and relaxed, feeling the weight of the day melting away.

The bedroom is a mess of tangled blankets and discarded clothes by the time you both settle into the quiet evening. The floor lamp in the corner casts everything in a golden glow, just enough to see the shape of his arm resting above his head, the way his chest rises and falls.

You're on your back, staring at the ceiling, your shirt thrown somewhere near the night table.

Ni-ki hasn't moved to touch you. His hand is draped off the edge of the bed, fingers grazing the floor, and he's looking at the wall with that blank expression that could mean anything or nothing.

You don't know why you ask it and the words just fall out.

"Have you ever thought about getting a girlfriend?"

It sounds almost too casual. You keep your eyes on the ceiling so you don't have to see his reaction.

For a moment he doesn't answer. Then you feel him shift beside you, the mattress dipping slightly as he props himself up on one elbow. When you glance over, he's looking down at you with something unreadable on his face.

"What kind of question is that?" he says.

You shrug with one shoulder. "Just wondering."

He's quiet again, and you think maybe he's going to ignore it, change the subject or reach for his phone like he usually does. He exhales through his nose, almost a laugh, and runs a hand through his hair.

"There's this girl," he says, and your stomach drops. "She keeps calling me, texts me like three times a week. She wants to come over and fuck again."

You keep your face neutral. "And ?"

"And I don't really want to. She's kind of annoying, to be honest." He pauses, tilting his head like he's considering something. "But I might consider it. It kinda gets boring doing the same thing all the time."

The same thing. You. He means you.

Your jaw tenses and you look back at the ceiling because if you look at him right now, he'll see it ; the glint of something stupid. Jealousy. Over a girl you don't even know, over a guy who isn't yours and has never pretended to be.

You swallow it down. "So do it then," you say, and your voice comes out steady. "Not like we're exclusive."

"Exactly." He says it so easily.

There's a beat of silence. He shifts again, and you feel his gaze on your profile.

"What about you," he says. "You ever want a relationship? Like, one day."

The question catches you off guard. He's never asked you anything personal before. The closest he's gotten was asking if you wanted water that one time, and even that felt like an accident.

You should say yes. I mean you do want one. Just not with someone else. Maybe with him. But that's not what he's asking and you know it.

"No," you say, and the lie tastes bitter. "That's too much work."

He stares at you for a second longer before he drops back onto the mattress, arm going over his eyes. "Yeah," he says, voice muffled. "Same."

You lie there in the darkening room, his body warm next to yours but not touching, and you listen to the silence stretch.

He reaches for his phone on the floor and you reach for your shirt.

That's how it goes.

───

Friday afternoon, the sky is gray and it looks like it might rain but probably won't. You find yourself climbing the stairs to the rooftop before you've fully decided to go there. The pack of cigarettes in your pocket feels like an excuse, but it's the only one you have.

The door creaks when you push it open, and the air hits you instantly, a little damp, carrying the distant sound of traffic from the main road. You step out onto the gravel, lighter already in your hand.

Ni-ki is already there, leaning against the railing at the edge of the roof, the same spot where you first met him 8 months ago. His back is to you, shoulders hunched, a thin curl of smoke rising from between his fingers. He doesn't turn around when the door closes behind you. Either he didn't hear or he doesn't care.

For a second you think about leaving, turning around and going back down the stairs, pretending you never came up here. But your feet don't move, and neither does he, so you walk over to the opposite side of the railing and lean against it a few feet away.

You pull out a cigarette, light it and take a drag. The smoke burns on the way down.

Neither of you speaks for a long minute. The wind picks up, ruffling his hair, and he finally glances sideways at you. His eyes look tired, you already know he hasn't been sleeping at all.

"You smoke too much," he says, not even greeting you.

"So do you."

He huffs something that might be a laugh but it's hollow. He turns back to look at the skyline, the cluster of buildings and trees and the far-off blur of the highway. His jaw is tight, you could see it.

You should leave it alone. That's the agreement ; you don't do feelings, you don't do problems, you just do each other's bodies and then go home. But something about how his shoulders are set like he's holding something heavy, makes the words come out anyway.

"You okay?"

He takes a long drag, holds it and exhales. The smoke gets carried away by the wind.

"My parents," he says finally, and his voice is flat. "They want to cut me off."

You wait. He doesn't elaborate so you push. "Cut you off from what?"

"Everything." He flicks ash onto the gravel. "Money. My car. My card. All of it." A pause. "They say I've been doing bad things with it. That I'm out of control."

You can guess ; the late nights, the people he knows, the way his eyes look red sometimes when he picks you up. You've never asked before,it never felt like your place.

"So what are you going to do?" you say.

He looks at you then and there's something sharp in his expression. "What am I supposed to do? Get a job that I don't even like? Work at a café like a normal person?" He says it like the words taste bad.

You take a drag, thinking. "Maybe you could talk to them. Explain that—"

"I'm not explaining anything." His voice is harder now. "They don't listen. They never have. They just throw money at problems and then get mad when the problems don't magically disappear."

"Okay, but if they take the car, how are you going to—"

"I don't know." He cuts you off, pushing off from the railing and turning to face you fully. His cigarette is burning down between his fingers.

You take another drag. "You could...I don't know, sell some stuff? Or try to— "

"You don't get it."

His voice cuts through yours sharper than you expected. You turn to look at him. He's still facing forward, but his shoulders are tense now, his hand gripping the edge of the railing.

"I'm not saying I get it," you say carefully. "I'm just trying to help."

"Help." He says the word like an offense. "You can't help. You don't know what it's like to have everything and then have it pulled away. To have people look at you like you're just a spoiled kid who fucks up and that's all you'll ever be." His eyes are darker than usual. "You don't come from that. You don't understand."

It stings. Not because he's wrong about your background, he's not, you've never hidden that you're on scholarships and financial aid but because he's shutting you out in that particular way he does, it makes you feel like you're on the other side of a wall you can't climb.

"I'm not trying to fix it," you say, quieter now. "I just care. That's all."

He stares at you for a long second. His expression flickers, something almost vulnerable, almost soft, and then it's totally gone.

"Care," he repeats. "We're not close, Y/N. We fuck and that's it. You don't have to pretend like there's more, you know?."

He pauses. "I know what you're trying to do." His voice drops. "But you can't. You don't have parents like mine. You don't have...you live in a normal apartment and you worry about normal things. I can't just 'talk to them.' I can't just 'figure it out.' It's not the same."

Your chest tightens, you want to argue, you want to tell him about the hair clip, about the hundred small things that felt like something when you knew it didn't at all.

But you don't. Because he's right, isn't he? That's what you agreed to.

He drops his cigarette, grinds it out under his shoe, and stands. He doesn't look at you again.

You open your mouth to say something but he's already stepping back, dropping his cigarette to the gravel and grinding it out with his shoe.

"Forget it," he says. "I shouldn't have said anything."

He walks past you. The rooftop door creaks open, then shut.

You're alone.

The cigarette in your hand has burned down to the filter. You drop it, watch the last wisp of smoke rise up into the gray sky, and you don't follow him.

That's not your role and it never was.

───

The sand is hot enough to burn your feet by the time you and Jess find a spot near the water. You spread your towels out, anchor them with bags and a half empty bottle of sunscreen, and Jess immediately starts complaining about the seagulls.

"It's fine," you say, pulling your shirt over your head. "They're not gonna attack you."

"You don't know that."

You're about to respond when a volleyball smacks into the sand a few feet away from your towel. Jess jumps in surprise and you look up.

Jay is jogging toward you, already laughing, hand raised in apology. Behind him, Jake is doubled over for some reason, Jungwon is heading towards the shores, and further back, near the water, Ni-ki is standing with his hands in his shorts pockets, watching the horizon.

"Sorry," Jay says, grabbing the ball. "Jake's aim is ass today."

"Jake's aim is always ass," Jess says with a smile. She's known Jay since high school, and some habits don't fade.

Jay waves toward the others. "You guys wanna hang out? We've got a net set up. Well, Jake found a net. We're not sure where it came from though."

You glance at Jess and she shrugs.

"Yeah, okay," you say.

Walking over feels like walking into something you're not prepared for. The sand is soft, slipping under your feet with every step. Jake waves when he sees you. Jungwon is already in the water up to his knees, ignoring everyone. And Ni-ki is standing slightly apart from the group, not looking at you, which is fine because you're not looking at him either.

You haven't talked since yesterday at the rooftop, since he left you there with your cigarette burning down to nothing.

So you don't look at him and he doesn't look at you.

"We should play," Jake says, grabbing the ball from Jay. "Let’s make teams. Y/N, you're with me."

"You're gonna lose," Jess says.

"Bold talk from someone who hasn't touched a volleyball since middle school."

Jess flips him off.

The game is messy, no one really knows the rules except Jay, who keeps trying to enforce them, and Jungwon who doesn't care. You're next to Jake, which means you're laughing more than you're playing because he keeps making stupid comments every time he misses the ball.

"That was on purpose," he says after a ball flies past his head.

"Sure it was."

"I was just testing your reflexes."

You roll your eyes and serve. The ball actually goes over the net, it feels like a miracle. Ni-ki is on the other side, you realize. He misses it and watches it land in the sand next to him.

Jake whoops. "Good job Y/N."

The game ends when someone (no one knows who) decides it's over. Jess is already walking toward the water, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail. Jay follows her.

"Race you," Jake says, and he's already running before you can answer.

You run after him because you're competitive, and the water is cold when it hits your shin, colder when you fall forward trying to dodge a wave. Jake is laughing at you, so you push water at his face.

You two have a full on play fight right there in the shallows, splashing, shoving, Jake grabbing your wrist to spin you around. He's stronger than he looks, but he's also not holding that hard, so you manage to shove him back once, twice. His foot slips on a rock and he goes down, half sitting in the water, still laughing.

"Oh you're so dead," he says.

"You already are."

He lunges for your ankle and you stumble, catching yourself on his shoulder. For a second you're both just standing there, out of breath, water dripping down your faces.

Jake is still loosely holding your wrist.

"You fight dirty," he says.

"Just admit you're slow."

He laughs and lets go, wading deeper, already turning to find Jay.

You look toward the shore without meaning to. Ni-ki is standing at the edge of the water, watching the whole scene. His arms are crossed. His expression is blank.

You hold his gaze for a second but he looks away first.

Jess appears next to you, hair soaked and grinning. "Jake's gonna ask you out by the end of the summer. Watch it."

"He's not."

"Did you see the way he looked at you the whole time ?."

"It was a play fight."

Jess gives you a look. "Sure. And Ni-ki is definitely not standing over there looking like he wants to punch someone."

You glance back at the shore. Ni-ki is walking toward the towels, not toward the water. His steps are quick.

"Hey," Jay calls out. "You’re getting in or what?"

Ni-ki doesn't stop. "Got stuff to do."

"We’re at the beach. What stuff?"

He doesn't answer and grabs his shirt from his bag, shakes the sand off, and starts walking toward the parking lot.

Jake watches him go, frowning. "What's his deal?"

No one answers. Jay looks at you.

"I'm gonna go get some water," you say, because you don't know what else to say.

Jess grabs your arm before you can move. "Don't."

"What?"

"You're gonna chase after him. I can see it on your face. And he's just gonna say something shitty and you're gonna feel worse."

You pull your arm back. "I'm not going to chase after him."

"Okay."

"I'm not."

She holds her hands up. "Okay."

You stand in the water, salt drying on your skin, and watch the spot where his car was parked until the space is empty. Jess is right. You'd only feel worse, but it doesn’t matter since you already do.

───

The door to your apartment clicks shut behind you and you drop your beach bag on the floor, sand already spilling out onto the tiles. Your shoulders are pink from the sun, your hair still damp and tangled with salt, and all you want is a cold shower and an unhealthy amount of time of scrolling on your phone.

You plug your phone in first because it died somewhere between the volleyball game and the drive home. The screen lights up after a few seconds, and you blink at the notification.

13 missed calls.

All from the same number. It’s unknown.

Your first thought is spam. Your second thought is a wrong number. Your third thought, the one you don't want to acknowledge, is him.

You hesitate for a moment, thumb hovering over the call button, you press “call”.

The line rings four time before going to voicemail. A generic automated voice telling you to leave a message. You hang up without saying anything.

You're about to toss the phone onto your bed when it rings again. The same number. You answer. For a few seconds, no one speaks. There's just a slow and uneven breathing, and something in the background that sounds like a TV.

"Hello?" you say.

Still nothing, so you decide to assume that it’s him.

"I know it's you," you say. "You called me thirteen times. You can at least say something."

A pause and you hear his voice, low and slurred around the edges. "Hey."

Ni-ki.

You close your eyes and lean against your bedroom wall. "You okay?"

"Define okay."

"You're high."

"I guess so."

You can hear him exhale, long and slow, probably smoke. It’s definitely weed. His words are sticky, running into each other like he's thinking too hard about each one before it leaves his mouth.

"I didn't like it," he says suddenly. "Today. At the beach."

Your chest tightens. "Didn't like what?"

"You know what. The way you were with Jake. All close and laughing and..." He trails off, and you hear him take another drag. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. I don't care. You do whatever you want."

"You just said you didn't like it."

"I said it doesn't matter."

The line goes quiet for a moment. You can picture him ; probably sprawled on that massive leather couch in his empty living room, the high ceilings and the chandelier that cost at least a kidney. One hand holding the phone, the other holding whatever he's smoking. His eyes half-closed, looking like a hot disaster.

"I really need you right now," he says, and his voice cracks on the last word.

Your heart does a flip.

"That's not fair," you say quietly.

"I’m sorry."

"You can't just call me when you're high and say stuff like that."

"I know."

Silence. The sound of the TV in the background on his end. You can hear your own breathing.

"Can you come over?" he asks, and he sounds smaller than you've ever heard him. Needy like he never lets himself be. "Please."

You could’ve say no, tell him to sleep it off and call you in the morning when he's sober and less likely to say things he'll pretend didn't happen. You have to protect yourself for once.

And here you are, already grabbing your keys.

───

The drive takes twenty minutes. His house is dark when you pull into the driveway, the only light coming from somewhere deeper inside. The front door is unlocked as it always is, and you let yourself in, kicking off your sandals by the entryway.

The living room is a mess. Everything is scattered. There’s a blanket on the floor, empty glasses on the coffee table and his hoodie draped over the arm of the couch. And there he is, slouched in the corner of the sectional, phone on the cushion beside him, a half smoked joint balanced on the edge of an ashtray.

His eyes are red and his hair is a mess. He looks up at you when you walk in and something in his expression changes. It’s relief, you might think.

"There’s no way you really came," he says like he's surprised.

"You called me thirteen times."

"Right."

You drop your bag by the door and walk over to him. The coffee table has a pitcher of water and some takeout containers from somewhere you don't recognize. You push them aside and sit on the edge of the couch, facing him.

"You're an asshole," you say.

"Yeah."

"Like, genuinely an asshole."

He's not arguing back so that's how you know he's really high.

You reach out and take the joint from the ashtray, stubbing it out even though there's still some left. He watches your hands, your fingers, the way you're sitting close enough that your knee almost touches his.

"When did you eat last?" you ask.

He blinks at you like the question requires calculus. "I don't know. Lunch?"

"It's almost ten."

"Oh."

You sigh and stand up, heading toward the kitchen. His kitchen is massive and spotless and useless because he barely uses it. You find bread, peanut butter, a banana that's not too brown. You make him a sandwich without asking if he wants one because he's not in a state to make good decisions. When you come back, he hasn't moved an inch. You hand him the plate and he stares at it for a second before taking it.

"Eat," you say.

"You're bossy when you're annoyed."

"I'm always annoyed. You just don't notice."

He takes a bite, chews and swallows. His eyes stay on you the whole time.

You sit back down, closer this time, and you watch him eat until half the sandwich is gone. You take the plate away and set it on the coffee table.

"Water," you say, pouring a glass from the pitcher. You hand it to him and he drinks. When he's done, he sets the glass down and leans his head back against the couch, eyes closed. His breathing is slower now.

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

"You asked me to."

"Yeah. But you didn't have to."

You look at him ; the dark circles, the dried salt on his skin from the beach he barely touched, the way his hands are trembling just slightly. He's a mess. He's always been a mess, yet he's sitting here, in this big empty house, and he called you. Amongst everyone he knew, he called you.

"Yeah, well," you say quietly. "I'm here anyway so..."

He opens his eyes and turns his head to look at you. His gaze is heavy and unfocused.

"You're gonna stay?" he asks. "For a bit?"

You have to go home, because you have class tomorrow. Your hair is still damp from the ocean and you're tired and you know that staying will only make things more complicated.

"Yeah," you say. "For a bit."

He shifts on the couch, making room, and you take the hint. You sit next to him, close enough that your shoulder presses against his arm, and he doesn't pull away. Neither do you.

After a few minutes, his head drops onto your shoulder. His breathing evens out. He's not asleep, heavy and warm against you.

You stare at the dark windows, the empty room, the ghost of smoke curling from the ashtray.

This isn't going to fix anything. You know that and he knows that. But for now, he's not pushing you away, so everything feels fine.

The high wears off slowly. You notice that his breathing changes, it’s less shallow and more present. His fingers stop trembling too. His head lifts from your shoulder and he blinks at the room like he's seeing it for the first time.

He's still loose, still soft around the edges, but he's coming back to himself. You can feel it.

"You okay?" you ask.

He nods, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. "Yeah. Starting to feel human again."

"Good."

A silence settles between you, he turns his head, looking at you with those half-lidded eyes, and his voice is quieter when he speaks. "Did you shower yet? After the beach?"

You glance down at yourself. Your skin still has salt residue, your hair is stiff with dried seawater. "No. I came straight here."

He's quiet for a moment. "We could take a bath."

You look at him. His expression isn't teasing like usual, and it’s almost soft.

"A bath ?" you repeat.

"Uh yeah. The tub's big enough." There’s a pause. "We don't have to do anything. I just—I don't want to be alone right now."

That's the most honest thing he's said all night.

You nod. "Okay."

───

Even if you were already used to every corner of his house, you’d never get over how huge his bathroom is. Marble floors, a tub that could fit three people, candles on the counter that he never lights. He runs the water while you sit on the edge of the sink, watching him test the temperature with his wrist.

He's still in his beach clothes ; shorts, a loose t-shirt and a silver chain with a cross that he never takes off. You're in your bikini top and the oversized button-up you threw on over it.

When the tub is full, he turns off the water and looks at you. "You first."

You slide off the sink and step toward the tub, suddenly aware of how exposed you feel even though you've done much more than this with him. You take off your button-up and step out of your shorts, leaving your bikini on the floor. He does the same ; he pulls his shirt over his head, kicks off his shorts and his boxers.

The water is warm, almost too warm, and you sink into it with a sigh. The salt washes off your skin immediately, and you can feel your muscles relaxing. He gets in behind you, settling against the end of the tub, his legs on either side of yours.

For a minute, neither of you speaks. The water ripples softly. A candle flickers, he must have lit it while you weren't looking. You can feel him shifting, moving closer, and his arms come around your waist from behind. He pulls you back against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You freeze for half a second. He's never done this before. The fact of having this kind of moment with him doesn’t even feel real to you. You two have been intimate in so many ways but never like this.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs, breath warm against your neck.

"Yeah," you whisper. "It's okay."

His arms tighten slightly, holding you a little closer. You lean your head back against his shoulder and close your eyes.

This is new and terrifying. This is everything you've wanted without letting yourself admit it, but you know that things like that don’t really last. So you have to accept it.

───

The water starts to cool after a while, his thumb is tracing shapes on your stomach, absent-minded.

You think about what brought you here and how he sounded so small when he said he needed you.

"Ni-ki," you say quietly.

"Mm?"

You hesitate. You don't want to ruin whatever this is. But it's been sitting in your chest since all the times you've watched him disappear into himself.

"Those friends of yours that you mentioned before," you say. "The ones who got you into this stuff."

His hand stops moving.

"I'm not trying to start a fight," you add quickly. "I’m just worrying about you. You said they owe you money…And they're always pushing you to do more."

He's quiet for a long moment.

"They're not in my life anymore," he says finally.

You turn your head slightly, trying to see his face. "What?"

"I cut them off, like, a few weeks ago." His voice is steady and clearer. "They weren't friends. They just wanted someone to pay for everything and someone to get high with. I got tired of it."

You don't know what to say. He's never told you this or anything.

"Why didn't you say something?" you ask.

He shrugs, the movement rippling the water. "Didn't seem important."

"Not important? Ni-ki, they were using you."

"I know but," He presses his cheek against your hair. "That's why I stopped answering their calls. They'll figure it out."

You turn in his arms so you're facing him, knees on either side of his hips, water sloshing against the edges of the tub. His face is inches from yours. You can see that his eyes are tired.

"And the money they owe you?" you ask.

"It's just money." He says it like it means nothing. Or maybe to him, it doesn't. "I'd rather lose that than keep pretending they gave a shit about me."

Your hands find his shoulders, thumbs brushing over his collarbones and he lets you touch him.

"You're not going to fall back into that?" you ask. "When things get hard again?"

He looks at you for a long time.

"No," he says. "You’re here anyway. Everything feels different."

Your heart cracks a little.

"You can't rely on me to fix you," you force yourself to say, because you have to say it, you've seen too many people drown trying to save someone else.

"Y/N," He cups your face with one hand, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "I'm not asking you to fix me. I…I don't want to be alone anymore. It scares me more than you think."

The water is barely warm now. Your knees are starting to ache from the position.

"Okay," you whisper.

He smiles at you softly, and you nearly thought it meant something.

"We should get out," he says. "The water's cold."

"Yeah."

He pulls the plug and grabs a towel from the rack, wrapping it around your shoulders before his own. You step out of the tub together, dripping on the marble floor.

───

7:12 AM and your phone is rattling against the wood of your nighstand like it's trying to wake the dead. You grope for it blindly, eyes half-open and your brain still somewhere in a dream you can't even remember.

Ni-ki's name on the screen.

You answer. "Hello?"

"You sound like shit." His voice is rough like he hasn't slept either.

"Thanks. It's fucking seven in the morning."

"Well, no shit. Get dressed, I'm picking you up in twenty."

You sit up, rubbing your face. The memories from two nights ago flicker through your mind ; the bath, his arms around you. You brush it off as soon as the reality catches you.

You push it all down. "For what?"

"Does it matter?"

You're too tired to fight back. And a part of you, the stupid part, just wants to see his face.

"Fine," you say. "Twenty minutes."

He hangs up with no goodbye. Of course.

You throw on jeans and a sweater, brush your teeth. When you hear the engine outside, low and guttural, you grab your bag and head out. It's not the black Camaro. It's a Mustang GT ; sleek, black, newer than anything you've ever sat in. He's leaning against the driver's door, arms crossed, wearing a leather jacket and that same blank expression.

"New car?" you ask.

"Yeah, got bored of the old one." He opens the passenger door for you. "Get in."

The interior smells new and fresh. You buckle up as he slides into the driver's seat and pulls away from the curb without checking his blind spot. Some things never change. The city is waking up around you, coffee shops opening, joggers on the sidewalk.

You watch his profile, observing the sharp line of his jaw and his thumbs tap against the steering wheel like he usually does everytime he drives.

"You're staring," he says without looking at you.

" Am I not allowed ?"

He doesn't respond to that.

You take a breath. "Ni-ki."

"What."

"Why are you so cold sometimes?"

The question hangs in the air between you. His fingers tighten on the steering wheel before he relaxes.

"You think I'm cold?" he asks.

"Sometimes. You disappear, you push me away and...you say things you don't mean or you don't say anything at all." You're watching his face, looking for a crack. "I just want to know why."

He stays quiet for a long moment. The car slows at a red light and he finally glances at you. His eyes are tired again, that's how you know he smoked on the drive over.

Unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth twitches.

"You're cute when you're curious," he says.

"That's not an answer."

"Well," The light turns green, he accelerates. "I'll work on it."

───

The mall is mostly empty this early. A few senior citizens walking laps around the food court, some moms with strollers, employees unlocking gates. Ni-ki walks next to you, hands in his pockets. His presence is heavy but not uncomfortable. You wander past stores without really looking until one catches your eye ; a vintage thrift shop, the expensive kind with every luxury brands where clothes are curated and priced like art pieces.

You step inside more out of curiosity than intention. The racks are organized by color, the lighting warm, and there's a section in the back with dresses probably worn by celebrities considaring their prices.

Your fingers trail over the fabric ; silk, lace, velvet. One of them catches your eyes. A black dress, slip style but not cheap. It makes you think of old Hollywood movies and rooftop parties in the 60s. The price tag is tucked inside, and when you pull it out you actually laugh.

"300 dollars," you say, turning to Ni-ki. "For a thrifted dress."

He's standing a few feet away, watching you with a neutral expression. "Do you want it?"

"I want a lot of things I can't afford."

"That's not what I asked."

You look back at the dress, running your fingers over the fabric again. "It's gorgeous. But no. It's stupid to spend that much."

He pulls the dress off the rack and walks toward the counter without saying a word.

"Ni-ki. What are you doing?"

"Buying the dress."

"No. Ni-ki, come b─."

He ignores you, pulling out his wallet. The cashier, a girl with pink hair, looks between the two of you with mild amusement.

"Sir, would you like a bag?"

"Yes."

"Ni-ki, I'm serious." You grab his arm, but he doesn't stop. "You can't just buy me things like this."

He turns to look at you, and his face is softer than you expected. "Why not?"

"Because—" You don't even exactly know why. Maybe because it's too much or because it looks like it means something. He nods toward the rack, toward a deep red dress you didn't even realize you touched earlier. "You looked at that one first," he says. "I saw you run your fingers over it before you picked up the black one."

You blink. "You noticed that?"

"You touched it for like five seconds. I have to buy it now."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Too bad then." He tells the cashier to add the red dress too. She does, wrapping both in tissue paper.

You stand there, mouth slightly open, watching him pay nearly six hundred dollars for two dresses you never asked for.

"Try them on," he says, handing you the bag. "If you don't like them, we'll return them."

You stare at him and he stares back.

"Fine," you mutter, grabbing the bag and heading toward the fitting room.

The room is small, with a full-length mirror and a velvet stool. You pull off your jeans and sweater and slide the black dress over your head. It falls perfectly, hitting just above the knee, hugging your waist, the fabric cool against your skin. You turn in the mirror, and for a second, you don't recognize yourself.

You step out of the fitting room.

Ni-ki is leaning against the wall across from the door, phone in hand. His eyes lift to you, and something shifts in his face. His jaw goes slack for just a moment.

"Well?" you ask, suddenly self conscious.

He looks at you ; up and down, slow, like he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

"You look," he starts then suddenly pauses. "It's fine."

"Just fine?"

He pushes off the wall and walks toward you, close enough that you have to tilt your head up to see his face.

"I should return it," he says, there's a teasing edge to his voice now.

"Why?"

"I don't really feel like fighting someone today."

Your face heats. "Shut up."

"I'm dead serious."

"Stop acting like that."

He almost smiles. "Keep the dress. Both of them."

───

The park is small, tucked between a residential street and a community garden. You're sitting on a bench near the pond, ice cream cones in hand ; his is chocolate, yours is strawberry. The sun is higher now, warm enough to make you take off your sweater.

He eats his ice cream in silence, staring at the water. You watch a duck paddle in circles.

"So," he says, not looking at you. "You and Jake seem close."

Your spoon pauses halfway to your mouth. "We're friends."

"Friends." He says lowly. "You were pretty cozy at the beach. I mean, sharing towels...wrestling in the water, all of that."

You narrow your eyes. "Are you jealous?"

He scoffs. "No."

"You're deflecting."

"I can't be observant ?" He casually takes a bite of his ice cream. "Just saying. He's around a lot."

"He's your friend too."

"Yeah, but he doesn't look at me the way he looks at you."

"Nothing's going on with Jake," you say finally.

He shrugs. "Doesn't matter. You do what you want."

There it is again ; that same line he always falls back on. He's always trying to make it sound normal but it comes out like a permission, you're always feeling like it's a test he's making you take.

"I don't want anything with Jake," you say. "I want—" You stop yourself.

He looks at you, waiting for you to continue.

You look away. "Never mind."

The ice cream drips onto your fingers.

"You have ice cream," he says.

"Where?"

He leans in.

His lips are cold from the chocolate, but his tongue is warm when it swipes across the corner of your mouth. You freeze, and you find him kissing you, deep and slow, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. It's not the kind of kiss you share in public, so obviously it surprises you.

When he pulls back, you're breathless. You can feel your face burning.

"What was that for?" you manage.

He shrugs, excluding the fact that his ears are pink. "You had ice cream on your mouth."

"That's not a fucking way to wipe off ice cream."

"It is now."

You stare at him and he stares back, expression carefully neutral, nethertheless you can see the cracks. His fingers are still resting on your neck and he's not pulling away.

"You're such a jerk," you whisper.

"Yeah," he says. "Might get strawberry next time."

You shove him in the chest in embarassement, which made him chuckle slightly.

All of this is not making you think about unanswered calls, the days where he decides to be insanely cold or whether he's going to push you away again. So you try to enjoy it as much as you can.

The sun has dropped behind the trees. The bench has gone from comfortable to uncomfortable about an hour ago. Your tailbone is starting to ache and you've shifted positions at least six times, each time less effective than the last.

"I'm bored," you announce.

Ni-ki glances at you from the other end of the bench, one arm stretched along the back, his ice cream cone long gone. "You're always bored."

"Come on, it's been an hour since we sat here."

He watches you with a half-lidded expression. You stand up and brush off the back of your jeans. "There's a playground over there. Let's go."

"A playground." He says flatly, unimpressed by your idea.

"Yeah. You know...swings, slides, kids stuff. Don't tell me you're too cool for swings."

He doesn't agree yet he stands up anyway.

The playground is maybe fifty meters from the bench, a small fenced area with wood chips instead of sand, a plastic slide that's seen better days, and a set of swings hanging from a metal frame. The chains squeak slightly when the wind blows.

You make a beeline for the swings, feet crunching on the wood chips, and plant yourself on the closest one. The rubber seat is cold through your jeans. You grip the chains and kick off just a little.

"Push me," you say, looking back at him.

He's standing at the edge of the wood chips, hands in his pockets, watching you like you from afar. "Push yourself, you're not a kid."

"That's not the point."

He sighs ; a theatrical and put-upon sound ; but he walks over anyway. He positions himself behind you, hands hovering near your lower back for a moment before he gives a firm shove. The swing arcs forward, the chains rattling, and you let out a small laugh. The air rushes past your face. Behind you, he pushes again, harder this time.

"You know," he says, voice carrying over the squeak of the chains, "I've seen this before. Like in a movie. A guy pushes a girl on the swing. Very romantic."

"It's not that romantic. Trust."

"Mm." There's another push. "In the movie, they usually end up doing it in the bushes after."

You kick your feet out, trying to go higher. "What ?"

"You heard it right."

"You're disgusting."

"You're the one who wanted to come here."

He pushes one more time before he steps back. The swing slows gradually, the arc shrinking until you're just swaying. He walks around and sits down on the swing beside you, the chains groaning under his weight. He's taller than you so his legs stretch out longer, boots dragging in the wood chips.

"Be careful," he says, watching you swing forward again. "You're gonna flip over the bar."

"I'm not even that high."

"You could be."

"You worry too much."

He shakes his head. "I just don't want you to stain my new car if you get yourself hurt."

You push off again, swinging higher this time, the chains straining. The wind whistles past your ears. For a second you feel like you could lift right off the seat and keep going.

"See?" you call out. "I'm fine."

"You're gonna eat shit."

"I don't care."

It's a challenge and he hears it. You see him tense from the corner of your eye. You can feel that he's off his swing, boots crunching toward you, and before you can swing back again, his hands are on your waist.

He catches you mid-arc, steadying you, slowing the momentum. His fingers press into your sides through your sweater. The swing creaks to a halt, your feet finding the wood chips, his body so close that you could feel the heat radiating through his leather jacket.

"I know you care," he says quietly. "You just pretend you don't."

You're looking up at him, your hands still on the chains and his on your waist. The sky is almost dark now and a single light on the playground flickers to life somewhere behind him.

"I don't know," you say. "Maybe I learned from the best."

His thumbs press into your waist, just slightly. Something in his face softens.

"Come on," he says, letting go and stepping back. "It's getting dark."

He doesn't wait for you, already walking toward the path, hands back in his pockets, back to his usual distance.

You watch him for a second, then push off the swing one last time, just to feel the air rush past.

He stops and looks back at you. "Are you coming or not?"

"Yeah," you say, hopping off the swing. "I'm coming."

───

One week after, and he disappeared again without a single text, like he always did, but this time it hurt more than usual. It would've hurt less if you haven't hang out with him like there was a title for what you were for each other. But here you are. The lecture hall is half-empty because it's Friday and no one wants to be here, including the professor. You're slouched in your seat while Jess doodles in the margin of her notebook. The guy in front of you is watching YouTube on his laptop with the brightness all the way down. No one seems to care today.

Your phone buzzes against the desk. You glance at the screen. ‘Ni-ki’

Ni-ki [10:22 AM]

going out of town for the weekend

you can fuck anyone u want

don’t wait for me.

You stare at it for a while. You don't know what to say because there's nothing to say. Why is he giving you permission for something you never asked permission for ?

Jess notices your face. "What?"

You turn the phone toward her. She reads it, and her expression shifts from curious to annoyed.

"That's weird," she says quietly.

"Yeah."

"He found another chick, maybe." She chuckled before going back to her doodles.

You lock the phone and set it face-down on the desk. The rest of the lecture drags and sit there, replaying the message in your head, trying to figure out what it actually means.

───

After class, you wait until you're outside, standing under the covered walkway where the smokers hang out. Jess lingers nearby, pretending to check her phone but definitely listening.

You call him.

It rings four times. You think he's going to ignore it, but then he picks up.

"Hey." His voice is flat, sounding like he’s distracted.

"Ni-ki." You grip your phone tighter. "What was that message?"

"What message."

"The one about me fucking whoever I want."

You hear him exhale ; he’s smoking a cigarette. "Just saying. You have options."

"I don't want options."

He's quiet for a second. "Why not?"

The question catches you off guard. You expected him to brush it off, to say it was nothing, to change the subject but not this.

"Because I don't," you say. "I'd rather not, with anyone else."

Another exhale, his voice lower now. "You make that sound like a bad thing."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." You already know it's not nothing. The tone he takes when he says it ; clipped and distant, it sounds like he’s already out of the conversation.

You lean against the brick wall, watching people stream past with their coffee cups and backpacks. Jess catches your eye and you shake your head slightly.

"Ni-ki," you say, " What's happening ? You've been distant again for a whole week without texting me once, even after you said that you would work on it. Are you fucking someone else ?"

He doesn't answer right away. The silence stretches, and you can hear the faint sound of traffic wherever he is, maybe already driving out of town.

"That's not it," he says finally.

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know." His voice cracks a little. "I’m—I don't know what this is…and I don't know why you keep showing up when I keep being an asshole."

You close your eyes. "Could be that I like assholes."

"You really shouldn't."

"Yeah but that's not your call."

He laughs in frustration. "See? That's the problem. You don't let me push you away. You just keep coming back and I don't know how to handle that."

Your chest aches. "So you're leaving for the weekend because you can't handle me staying?"

"I'm leaving for the weekend because my dad wants to have a conversation about my future and I need to get it over with." He pauses. "The text was...I don't know. A test."

"A test for what?"

"To see if you'd get mad."

"Did I pass?"

"You got mad. So yes." He sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in it. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to not be that guy who sends impulsive texts and pushes people away."

You slide down the wall until you're sitting on the concrete, knees pulled up to your chest. Jess sits down next to you without saying anything, her shoulder warm against yours.

"Just go see your dad," you say. "Text me when you get back."

"You're not going to fuck anyone else?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Because I need to hear you say it."

You swallow. The words feel too heavy. You say them anyway.

"I don't want anyone else. Just you. Even when you're being an asshole."

Long silence. "Okay. Love you."

"Wait wha—"

He hangs up. And you sit there on the sidewalk with Jess, phone in your lap, trying to process what he just said. You know it’s going to hurt as he doesn’t want you to stay. He’s an asshole and you’re aware of it. But you can’t help but see the broken person he is, wanting to take care of him and give him everything he needs.

───

You've been staring at it for an hour now, counting the seconds between the creaks of the old building settling. The clock on your nightstand says 11:47 PM, then 11:58, then 12:03.

Sunday night. He was supposed to be back by now. He didn't say when exactly, but Thursday to Sunday felt like a window that's already closed.

You checked your phone maybe 40 times since Friday, but no messages nor calls. You're stuck on the same text thread sitting there, his last words about fucking whoever you want that you haven't responded.

Your eyes are heavy but your brain won't shut up. You turn onto your side, then onto your back, then onto your stomach. Everything is wrong.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand and you grab it before the second vibration.

Jake's name.

You don't talk to Jake often, maybe a few times in group chats. He's not the type to call you at midnight for no reason.

You answer. "Hello?"

"Hey, Y/N." His voice is different. "Sorry to call so late. You heard from Ni-ki?"

Your stomach drops. "No. Why?"

A pause on his end. You can hear him exhale. "He left Thursday, right? He said he was going to see his dad and was supposed to be back Saturday. It's Sunday now and no one's heard from him. Not me, not Jay, not even Jungwon. His phone's going straight to voicemail."

You sit up, your heart pounding. "Have you tried calling his house?"

"Yeah. No answer. I don't have the landline or whatever. I just have his cell."

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, already standing. "Okay. Let me try something."

"You think he's okay?"

"I don't know." You're pulling on a hoodie, tucking the phone between your ear and shoulder. "I'll call you back."

"Alright. Be careful."

You hang up and immediately dial Ni-ki's number. It rings once, twice, three times. Then voicemail. You call again. It goes straight to voicemail this time. Not even a single ring.

You try one more time but nothing.

The clock says 12:15 now. You stare at your reflection in the dark window. Your own face looks back, pale and anxious.

You text him.

You [12:16 AM]

Hey

Jake said you're not back

Call me when you get this.

Then you lie back down, but you don't sleep.

───

It's Monday morning. You skipped your first class, you could afford to miss.

You take the bus. You don't know why you bother with the bus when he's not there to pick you up, but walking would take an hour and you don't have the patience for that

The house looks the same as always. Big and quiet. The gate is closed but not locked. You push it open and walk up the driveway, the gravel crunching under your sneakers.

You ring the doorbell. The door opens, but not by much. An older man stands there, maybe in his sixties, wearing a simple button-up shirt. You've seen him before, once, maybe twice, always in the background. The butler, you guess or the house manager, something like that.

"Can I help you?" His voice is polite but guarded.

"I'm looking for Ni-ki. His friends haven't heard from him since Thursday." You try to keep your voice steady. "Is he here?"

The butler hesitates. His eyes scan your face, probably deciding if you're worth talking to.

"Mr. Riki is not currently at the residence," he says.

"When will he be back?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

You feel frustration building in your chest. "Is he okay? Did something happen with his dad?"

The man's expression doesn't change. "I'm afraid I can't discuss the family's private matters."

"Please." Your voice cracks. "I'm not some random person. I'm his...I'm a friend. He's not answering his phone. We're all worried."

The butler looks at you in slience. He then glances over his shoulder, into the dark hallway behind him, before stepping out onto the porch and pulling the door mostly shut behind him.

"He left for his father's estate on Thursday afternoon," the man says quietly like he's not supposed to be telling you this. "There was a scheduled meeting regarding his future. Finances, education, that sort of thing." He pauses. "I have not seen him since. The family's driver returned alone on Saturday."

Your heart drops. "Alone? Where is he?"

"I don't know. I wasn't told." His voice softens slightly. "If you're a friend of his, I would suggest waiting. He tends to...disappear, when things get difficult."

That's totally the opposite reassuring.

"Can you at least tell him I came by?" you ask. "Y/N. He has my number."

The butler nods once. "I'll relay the message."

He steps back inside and closes the door. You stand on the porch for a minute, staring at the wood grain, your hands shaking. Afterwards you turn and walk back down the driveway, gravel biting through the soles of your shoes.

You call Jake on the way to the bus stop. He picks up immediately.

"Anything?" he asks.

"No. He's not there. The butler said the driver came back alone on Saturday." You swallow. "No one knows where he is."

Jake is quiet for a second. "That's not like him."

You want to say that you don't know what's like him anymore. That every time you think you understand, he does something else.

"Yeah," you say instead. "I know."

The bus pulls up. You get on, find a seat by the window, and watch the big house shrink behind you until it's just a smudge in the distance.

───

The best you could was getting to Jess's apartment. You've been sitting on her couch for twenty minutes, not really watching whatever Jake has on the TV, not really listening to Jay argue with him about something related to F1. Your phone is faced down on the coffee table. You stopped checking it an hour ago.

Jess is in the kitchen, the sound of running water and the clink of a mug against the counter. You can smell tea, something herbal.

"You good?" Jay asks from the armchair, not looking at you, because he's learned from Jess that direct eye contact when you're upset makes you clam up.

"No," you say. "But it's fine, I guess."

Jake glances over. "Still no word?"

You shake your head.

The TV is playing some local news channel. A middle-aged woman is talking about a road closure downtown. You tune it out.

Jess comes in with a tray of mugs, setting it on the coffee table. She hands you one without asking if you want it. The mug is warm against your palms.

"Thanks," you murmur.

She sits next to you. "Have you eaten?"

"Not really."

"I'll order something later."

You nod. The TV cuts to a breaking news graphic ; red and white, it seems urgent.

"We're receiving reports of a shooting in the industrial district," the anchor says, her voice steady but grave. "Details are limited, but we understand the altercation occurred around 2:00 this afternoon and involved individuals associated with drug dealing and money laundering operations in the area."

Jake whistles low. "Damn. That part of town is getting worse."

Jay shushes him.

"One person has been confirmed shot," the anchor continues. "According to sources close to the investigation, the victim is reportedly a tall male in his early twenties. He is believed to be the son of a prominent entrepreneur in the region. Authorities have not released a name pending family notification, but we have obtained a photo from witnesses who apparently recognized the victim during the scene."

The screen cuts to a photograph.

Your hand freezes around the mug.

It's him. Ni-ki. The photo is from some event ; he's in a dark jacket, looking off to the side, jaw set, eyes half-lidded.

"The victim's identity has not been officially confirmed," the anchor says as text scrolls across the bottom of the screen. "However, our sources indicate that the body has not yet been recovered from the scene. Police are continuing their investigation."

The mug slips from your fingers. It hits the coffee table and tea spills everywhere, soaking a magazine, dripping onto the carpet. You're staring at the screen, at his face, at the words scrolling past.

Body not recovered.

Jess grabs your arm. "Y/N. Y/N, breathe."

Jake is standing now, phone already in his hand, calling Jungwon. Jay is frozen, eyes wide, looking between you and the TV, still not believing what he saw. The anchor moves on to the next story and the graphic disappears. The screen fills with footage of a city council meeting.

You don't remember standing up but you're on your feet now, and the room is spinning, Jess is saying your name over and over, and all you can think is : His body hasn't been found.

Which means he could be alive, or he could be dead.

You don't know anything at all.

@kookieterry @wonderikii @rikisloverrr @icryforenhypen @hyyhwriter @nodoubtily @teddyberryy @genienha @simjakeyjake @2dolcee @heartheejake

You and Heeseung had been rivals since the moment you stepped into the academy. Sharp-tongued, competitive, and unwilling to yield even an inch to each other. That rivalry had only grown worse during this group project. For days now, the two of you had been clashing nonstop—especially tonight.

The living room was dimly lit by a single lamp. The rest of the group had already given up and passed out, one sprawled across the couch, another curled up on the floor with a blanket. It was well past midnight, and the argument between you and Heeseung had dragged on far too long.

You finally threw your hands up. “You know what? Forget it. I’m tired. I’m not wasting any more energy on this.”

You rolled your eyes, not even waiting for his reply. The only space left was a narrow strip on the edge of the floor. Great. Just great. You muttered under your breath, “Dang it…” and carefully stepped over the sleeping bodies, too exhausted to grab your blanket from your backpack. You collapsed onto the cold floor, lying on your side with your back facing the room.

A few minutes later, you heard footsteps. Heeseung stood there, scanning the room with a heavy sigh. Every decent spot was taken. The chairs were too uncomfortable for his back, and the only free space left… was right beside you.

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly annoyed. For a second he hesitated, jaw tight. But exhaustion won. Without a word, he stepped over the others and lay down behind you, facing your back. The floor was barely wide enough for both of you. You could feel the faint warmth of his body just inches away, but you were too tired to turn around or care.

Until you shifted.

Your eyes fluttered open as your shoulder brushed against something solid. You turned your head slightly… and froze.

Heeseung was right there. Eyes closed, brows slightly furrowed even in sleep, his face mere inches from yours.

“What the fuck?!” you hissed under your breath, careful not to wake the others.

Heeseung’s eyes snapped open. For a split second, surprise flashed across his face, quickly replaced by that familiar look of irritation. He didn’t move away.

“Keep your voice down,” he whispered sharply, voice low and rough from tiredness. “You think I wanted this? There’s nowhere else, genius.”

You glared at him, heart beating faster than it should. “Then go sleep somewhere else. I’m not sharing space with you.”

“Yeah? And where exactly?” Heeseung shot back, voice barely above a whisper. His breath brushed against your cheek. “The couch is taken. The floor’s full. Unless you want me to sleep on top of you, this is it.”

Your face burned. You hated how close he was—close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the tiredness in his eyes. Close enough that every small movement made your shoulders touch.

“Move one inch closer and I swear I’ll push you into the wall,” you muttered, turning your back to him again.

Heeseung let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. “Trust me, I’d rather be anywhere but here too.”

But neither of you moved.

the silence stretched between you, the only sounds were the soft breathing of your sleeping groupmates and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. You could feel the heat radiating from his body against your back, and no matter how much you told yourself it was just the rivalry making your pulse race… you knew the night had just gotten a lot more complicated.

A few minutes passed in heavy silence. You turned your face toward the wall, determined to ignore the boy behind you and force yourself to sleep.

But the floor was narrow and uncomfortable. One of your sleeping classmates behind Heeseung suddenly rolled over in his sleep and pushed against his back. The sudden force made Heeseung slide forward, pressing his chest flush against your back.

“Shit…” he mumbled, voice low and rough.

He quickly planted his hands on the floor, trying to keep some distance, but there was nowhere to go. The push had left almost no space between your bodies. You could feel the heat of him through your clothes, his breath brushing the back of your neck.

Your heart slammed in your chest. You turned your head slightly, only to find his face right there—barely a breath away. His dark eyes were open, staring directly at you. Your noses were nearly touching.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered sharply, cheeks burning.

“I’m not doing anything,” Heeseung hissed back, clearly frustrated. “That idiot behind me pushed me. You think I want to be this close to you?”

His voice was quieter than usual, strained. One of his hands was still braced on the floor beside your waist, caging you in without meaning to. Every small movement made your bodies press together even more. You could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat against your back.

You glared at him, but the anger felt different now—mixed with something nervous and warm that you refused to name.

“Well, move back,” you muttered.

“Where?” Heeseung shot back, eyebrows furrowed. His gaze dropped to your lips for half a second before snapping back up. “There’s literally no space. Unless you want me to climb over you.”

You swallowed hard. The tension between you was thicker than ever. The rivalry, the annoyance, the exhaustion… and now this forced, unbearable closeness.

Heeseung let out a slow, shaky breath. “Just… go back to sleep. Pretend I’m not here.”

But neither of you moved. And neither of you closed your eyes.

You tried to ignore it—that strange, fluttering warmth twisting low in your stomach. It wasn’t anger. You knew anger too well when it came to Heeseung. This was something else. Something softer, heavier, You brushed it off, blaming it on exhaustion, on the way his body heat was seeping through your shirt like it had no right to.

But your body wasn’t listening.

Every time you breathed, your back pressed a little more firmly against his chest. His heartbeat was steady but strong, and you could feel it syncing with yours in the quiet. His breath ghosted across the nape of your neck, warm and slightly uneven now.

“Stop moving,” Heeseung muttered, voice so low it vibrated against your skin.

“I’m not,” you whispered back, sharper than you meant to. But you had shifted—just a little—trying to create even an inch of space that didn’t exist. The movement only made your hips brush against his, and you both froze.

That flutter in your stomach dropped lower.

Heeseung’s hand, still braced on the floor near your waist, tightened slightly, fingers pressing into the hardwood like he was fighting the urge to grip something else. His forehead nearly touched the back of your head.

“Fuck,” he breathed, so quietly you almost missed it. “This is ridiculous.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt tight, and that weird sensation was spreading—warmth crawling up your chest, heat pooling between your legs. You hated how aware you were of him. The faint scent of his skin, the way his thigh was almost slotted against yours, the solid line of his body curved behind you like it was made to fit there.

Another soft snore came from the guy behind him, and Heeseung got pushed forward again. This time there was no saving it—his hips pressed flush against your ass, and you felt the unmistakable hardness growing there.

Your eyes widened. Heat flooded your face.

“Heeseung—” you started, voice barely a whisper, mmhalf something else.

“Don’t,” he cut you off, strained. His lips were so close to your ear now. “Don’t say anything. It’s… it’s just biology, okay? I’m tired. You’re warm. That’s all.”

But he didn’t pull away.

And you didn’t shove him back.

Instead, you stayed perfectly still, heart hammering so hard you were sure he could feel it too. That flutter in your stomach had turned into a full ache now, low and insistent. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, and the small movement made you brush against him again.

Heeseung let out a shaky exhale through his nose, almost a hiss. His free hand twitched like he wanted to grab your hip but stopped himself halfway, fingers hovering just above your waist.

“You’re shaking,” he observed quietly. There was no smugness in his voice for once—just raw tension.

“I’m not,” you lied.

His dark chuckle was barely audible. “Liar.”

The silence stretched again, heavier this time. Charged. You could feel every inch of where your bodies touched—his chest to your back, his hips to your ass, his knees slightly bent behind yours. The rivalry that usually burned between you felt like it was melting into something else entirely.

You turned your head just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. His eyes were already on you, dark and intense, pupils blown wide. His lips were parted, breath coming a little faster.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then Heeseung’s gaze dropped to your mouth again, longer this time.

“…If you tell anyone about this,” he whispered, voice rough, “I’ll make your life hell.”

You swallowed. “Same goes for you.”

But neither of you moved away.

And when his fingers finally brushed—barely—against your waist, you didn’t push his hand off.

You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, trying desperately to force sleep to come.

One sheep… two sheep… three sheep…

It was useless. The counting only made you more aware of your own breathing, which was too shallow. Every inhale pressed your back more firmly against Heeseung’s chest. Every exhale made you feel the hard line of his body even more—especially the unmistakable heat and stiffness nestled against your ass.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

The warm flutter in your stomach had turned into a deep, throbbing ache between your thighs. You pressed them together again, but that only made it worse, sending a small shiver up your spine. You felt Heeseung’s breath hitch against the back of your neck.

“Stop squirming,” he whispered, voice dangerously low and rough. His fingers, still hovering near your waist, finally settled—lightly, almost hesitantly—on your hip. Not gripping. Just… resting there. Like he couldn’t stop himself.

“I’m not squirming,” you hissed back, eyes still shut. “I’m trying to sleep. Shut up.”

But your voice came out breathier than you wanted. You bit your lip hard, counting again in your head. Four sheep... fifth sheep...

It didn’t work. All you could focus on was the way his cock twitched against you when you shifted, the way his chest rose and fell faster now, the way his breath was scorching the sensitive skin of your nape.

Heeseung let out a quiet, frustrated groan, barely audible. His forehead dropped forward until it rested against the back of your head.

“You’re killing me here,” he muttered, so close his lips brushed your hair. “Just… stop moving for five seconds.”

“I’m trying,” you snapped under your breath. Your hand clenched into a fist against the cold floor. “This stupid feeling won’t go away. Damn it…”

He went still.

“What feeling?” His voice had dropped even lower. dangerously curious.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Admitting it out loud would make it too real.

But your silence said enough.

Heeseung’s fingers flexed on your hip, pressing just a fraction harder. Not pulling you back, but definitely not letting you escape either. His hips moved—barely—an involuntary little roll that pushed his hard length more firmly between your clothed cheeks.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

“Fuck…” he breathed, almost like a curse and a confession at the same time. “You feel it too, don’t you?”

You kept your eyes screwed shut, heart pounding wildly. The ache between your legs was getting unbearable, a slick warmth starting to gather in your panties. You hated how your body was betraying you, especially with him.

“I hate you,” you whispered, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Heeseung let out a soft, dark chuckle against your neck, the sound sending goosebumps racing down your arms.

“Yeah?” His lips ghosted over your skin as he spoke. “Then why are you so warm right now? Why is your breathing all messed up?”

His hand slid slowly, cautiously, from your hip to your stomach, stopping just under your ribs.

You didn’t push him away.

And when his thumb brushed in a small, soothing circle over your shirt, the sensation in your stomach flared hotter.

“Damn it, Heeseung…” you whispered again, half plea, half surrender. Your eyes stayed closed, but your body leaned back into him just the tiniest bit.

You hissed through gritted teeth, voice barely above a breath, “Stop moving, god damn it—stop moving.”

Your body was betraying you with every word. Even as you said it, your hips gave a tiny, involuntary push back against him, chasing the friction you were trying so hard to deny.

Heeseung’s breath stuttered hot against the back of your neck. His hand on your stomach tensed, fingers curling slightly into your shirt like he was anchoring himself.

“I’m not—” he started, but his voice cracked into a low, rough whisper. “Fuck, you’re the one who keeps shifting.”

He was lying. Sort of.

Because even while he spoke, his hips rolled forward again, almost imperceptible, but enough to drag his hard cock more firmly against your ass. The thin fabric of your clothes did nothing to hide how much he wanted this. How much he hated wanting this.

You clenched your jaw, eyes still squeezed shut, trying to fight the slick heat pooling between your thighs. “Then stay still,” you hissed again, sharper this time. “Or I swear I’ll elbow you in the ribs.”

Heeseung let out a quiet, breathless scoff that sounded more like a groan. His forehead pressed harder against the back of your head, his lips now dangerously close to your ear.

“You say that…” he murmured, voice dark and strained, “…but your body’s not listening.”

His hand slowly slid lower on your stomach, stopping right at the waistband of your pants. Not dipping inside. Just resting there. Tempting.

You could feel his heartbeat hammering against your back, fast and unsteady. His cock throbbed once against you, and the sensation made your stomach flip hard.

“Shit…” he cursed under his breath. “You have no idea how much I hate you right now.”

But he still didn’t pull away.

Instead, his nose brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered, so quietly it was almost sinful

“…And you have no idea how badly I want to flip you over and shut that pretty mouth up.”

Your breath hitched loudly in the dark.

The ache between your legs pulsed.

And neither of you moved an inch.

You hissed under your breath, voice trembling with both fury and something far more shameful, “You’re such a whore then—”

The words barely left your lips before Heeseung’s grip on your waist tightened, pulling your hips back against him with a slow, deliberate grind. His hard cock pressed firmly between your ass cheeks, throbbing even through the layers of fabric.

He let out a low, dangerous chuckle right against your ear, the sound rough and dripping with irritation and lust.

“Yeah?” he whispered hotly, lips brushing your skin. “I’m the whore? Then why the fuck are you so wet I can feel the heat through your clothes?”

Your face burned with humiliation. You wanted to snap back, to push him away, but your body was a traitor—your back arched slightly, pressing harder into his chest as another involuntary shiver ran through you. Your thighs squeezed together, but that only made the aching throb between your legs worse.

Heeseung’s hand slid lower, fingers teasing just beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing bare skin. His breath was ragged now.

“Say it again,” he taunted quietly, voice dark. “Call me a whore while your ass keeps rubbing against my dick like you’re begging for it.”

You bit your lip hard, trying to stay quiet as his hips rolled again, filthy, grinding into you with just enough pressure to make your head spin. The slickness between your thighs was undeniable now, your panties growing damp and sticky.

“I hate you,” you breathed, but it came out like a moan instead of an insult.

Heeseung smirked against your neck, teeth grazing your skin for a split second.

“Liar,” he murmured. His fingers dipped a little lower, tracing the waistband of your pants. “Your body’s telling the truth. So fucking honest right now…”

He pushed forward again, trapping you tighter between his body and the floor. The tension was suffocating.

Neither of you was sleeping tonight.

“I- I can’t take this anymore,” you hissed, eyes squeezed shut so tightly you saw sparks behind your lids.

Your voice cracked with frustration, shame, and something far needier. The ache between your legs had become unbearable—hot, slick, and pulsing with every tiny shift of his body against yours. You hated how desperate you sounded. You hated even more that it was true.

Heeseung’s breath hitched sharply against your neck. For a second he went completely still, as if your words had stunned him. Then his hand on your waist gripped harder, fingers digging into your skin through your shirt like he was barely holding himself back.

“Can’t take what?” he whispered, voice low, dark, and dangerously close to your ear. “Can’t take me being this hard against you? Or can’t take how badly you want it?”

He rolled his hips forward again, slower this time, more intentional. His clothed cock dragged firmly between your ass cheeks, pressing right against where you were throbbing the most. A quiet, broken sound escaped your throat before you could stop it.

Heeseung cursed under his breath.

“Fuck… you’re shaking,” he murmured, almost like he was in pain. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he continued, “You’ve been grinding back on me for the last ten minutes, acting like you hate it. But we both know that’s bullshit.”

His hand slid lower, boldly slipping under the hem of your shirt until his palm was flat against your bare stomach. The heat of his touch made your muscles jump.

You kept your eyes closed, biting down hard on your lip. Your breathing was ragged now, chest rising and falling too fast.

“I hate you,” you whispered again, but it sounded wrecked

Heeseung let out a soft, mocking laugh that vibrated against your back.

“Yeah? Then tell me to stop,” he challenged quietly, his fingers slowly tracing circles on your skin, inching dangerously lower toward the waistband of your pants. “Tell me to get the fuck away from you right now… and I’ll try.”

His hips gave another lazy, teasing grind, pressing his hardness right against your ass as if to prove his point.

You didn’t say it.

You couldn’t.

Instead, your head tilted back slightly, unconsciously offering more of your neck as a broken exhale left your lips.

Heeseung’s voice dropped even lower, barely audible, rough with want.

“That’s what I thought.”

His fingers finally dipped just beneath the waistband of your pants, hovering there, waiting.

“Last chance,” he breathed against your skin, lips brushing the sensitive spot right below your ear. “Tell me to stop… or tell me what you really need.”

His hand stilled, but his cock kept throbbing insistently against you.

Your heart was hammering so loud you were scared it would wake the others.

“Shut up,” you hissed, voice shaking with frustration and raw need. “Just fucking start already.”

Before Heeseung could even respond, you pushed your ass back against him harder, grinding deliberately against the thick, hard length straining in his pants. At the same time, you grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand upward, shoving it under your shirt until his palm was cupping your breast.

Heeseung’s entire body jerked against you.

“Fuck—” he choked out in a strangled whisper, eyes widening in the dark.

You tugged your shirt higher yourself, bunching it up just below your collarbone, exposing your bare chest to his touch. No bra. His warm, rough hand immediately squeezed your breast, thumb brushing over your already hard nipple.

Heeseung let out a low, shaky groan right against your neck, hips rolling forward to meet your grinding. His cock twitched hard against your ass as he palmed your breast greedily, squeezing and kneading like he’d been dying to touch you.

“You’re actually insane,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “Pushing your tits into my hand while calling me a whore…”

He pinched your nipple between his fingers, rolling it slowly, sending a sharp spark of pleasure straight down between your legs. You bit your lip hard to keep quiet, but a tiny whimper still escaped.

Heeseung’s other arm slid under you, wrapping around your waist and pulling you even tighter against his body. His hips started moving in slow, filthy grinds—pressing his clothed cock between your cheeks like he was fucking you through the fabric.

“Keep doing that,” he whispered hotly against your ear, lips brushing your skin with every word. “Keep rubbing your ass on me like a needy little slut.”

His hand on your breast grew rougher, squeezing harder as his breathing turned ragged. He rolled your nipple again, then slid his hand to your other breast, giving it the same attention while his hips kept that slow, torturous rhythm against you.

You could feel how wet you were now—your panties soaked, the ache almost painful.

Heeseung pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the back of your neck, then lightly dragged his teeth there.

“Tell me how far you want this to go,” he murmured, voice dark and dangerous, “because if you keep pushing back on my dick like that… I’m not gonna be able to stop.”

His fingers pinched your nipple again, harder this time, as if daring you to moan loud enough for someone to wake up.

You leaned back closer into him, lips barely brushing his jaw as you whispered hotly against his skin,

“Don’t stop then… or are you scared? Show me how brave you are.”

The challenge had barely left your mouth before Heeseung snapped.

He didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.

With a sharp, impatient tug, he yanked his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock. It sprang out, heavy and burning hot against your skin. In the same movement, his other hand roughly pulled your jogging pants and panties down in one swift motion, dragging them halfway down your thighs.

Cold air hit your bare ass and soaked pussy for only a moment before Heeseung pressed forward again. His thick, bare cock slid right between your thighs, gliding along your dripping folds.

“Fuck…” he growled low in your ear, voice trembling with restraint. “You’re soaked.”

He rocked his hips, letting his cock slide back and forth between your thighs, the head bumping teasingly against your swollen clit with every pass. One of his hands returned to your breast, squeezing hard, while the other gripped your hip, fingers digging into your skin as he held you in place.

“You talk so much shit,” he breathed, dragging his cock slowly along your slit again, coating himself in your wetness, “but look at you… pushing your bare pussy against me like a desperate whore.”

You bit down hard on your lip to stop yourself from moaning. The feeling of his hot, hard length sliding between your folds was driving you insane. Every slow thrust made the head of his cock nudge your entrance before sliding back up to rub your clit.

Heeseung leaned in, lips pressed right against your ear as he whispered darkly,

“You wanted brave?”

He pulled his hips back slightly, angled himself, and pushed forward.

The thick head of his cock pressed against your entrance, slowly stretching you open as he started sinking inside you from behind, inch by inch.

He groaned quietly into your hair, the sound rough.

“Shit… you’re so fucking tight.”

He didn’t stop. He kept pushing deeper, filling you up slowly but relentlessly, his hand tightening on your breast as he buried himself to the hilt inside you.

Both of you froze for a second, breathing hard, bodies locked together on the floor.

Then Heeseung’s hips started moving — slow, deep, filthy thrusts, careful not to make too much noise but hard enough that you felt every inch of him dragging inside you.

“Still think I’m scared?” he rasped against your neck, biting down lightly as he fucked you. “Tell me how brave I am now…”

“Fuck… fine,” you gasped, voice barely a whisper, trembling. “You’re brave… fuck, you’re brave—”

You turned your head just enough to glance back at him over your shoulder. Your eyes met in the dim lamplight, and you stared at him—lips parted, biting down hard on your lower lip to keep from moaning too loud.

Heeseung’s dark gaze burned into yours, pupils blown wide with lust. Sweat already clung to his forehead, his jaw clenched tight as he buried himself deep inside you with another slow, powerful thrust.

“Yeah?” he breathed hotly against your mouth, lips hovering just inches from yours. “Say it again while I’m balls-deep in you.”

He snapped his hips forward harder this time, burying his cock to the hilt. A broken whimper escaped you before you could stop it. The stretch was intense, the angle perfect, every thick inch dragging against your walls in the most filthy way.

Heeseung’s hand slid up from your breast to grip your jaw, turning your face further toward him so he could watch you while he fucked you. His thrusts stayed deep and steady — controlled, but getting rougher with every roll of his hips.

“Look at me,” he whispered roughly, eyes never leaving yours. “Look at me while you’re creaming all over my cock like you hate me.”

You bit your lip harder, eyes fluttering but refusing to close. The wet, quiet sound of skin meeting skin was barely masked by the heavy breathing between you. Every thrust pushed you forward slightly on the floor, his body completely molded to yours from behind.

“Fuck… you feel so good,” he groaned lowly, the confession slipping out like he hated admitting it. His grip on your jaw tightened as he leaned in and caught your lips in a messy, desperate kiss — all tongue and teeth, trying to swallow down both your moans.

He broke the kiss only to press his forehead against yours, panting.

“Still rivals?” he taunted in a husky whisper, slamming into you a little deeper, grinding his hips in small circles so his cock rubbed against that perfect spot inside you. “Or are you finally admitting you’ve been dying for me to fuck you stupid?”

His free hand slipped down between your legs, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight, slick circles as he kept thrusting.

Your whole body trembled. You stared back at him, eyes glassy with pleasure, lips still bitten red.

Heeseung smirked against your mouth, dark and satisfied.

“That’s what I thought.”

He kissed you again, harder this time, hips picking up pace as much as he dared without waking the others.

Heeseung kept thrusting into you with deep, measured strokes, each one dragging a silent gasp from your throat. The pleasure was overwhelming, making your mind hazy.

You reached forward, pressing your hand flat against the cold wall for leverage, trying to steady yourself as his hips rocked into you from behind.

Heeseung noticed immediately.

Without warning, he hooked one arm under your knee and yanked your leg up and wider, spreading you open even more. The new angle let him sink impossibly deeper, his cock hitting a spot that made your eyes roll back.

“Heeseung…” you whimpered breathlessly, the name slipping out like a broken plea.

“Fuck,” he groaned quietly against your neck, voice rough and strained. “Say my name like that again.”

He held your leg high, fingers digging into your thigh as he fucked you harder — still trying to stay quiet, but the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy was getting louder. His other hand stayed braced on the floor near your waist, caging you in while he drove into you with long, filthy strokes.

Every thrust pushed your chest harder against the floor, your shirt still bunched up, nipples rubbing against the fabric. Your hand on the wall curled into a fist as pleasure shot through you.

“Heeseung… ah—” you gasped again, biting your lip right after to muffle the sound.

He leaned over you, chest pressed flush to your back, lips right against your ear as he panted.

“Yeah? You like that?” he whispered, voice dark and mocking even while he was buried inside you. “Legs spread open for me on the fucking floor while our group is sleeping right next to us?”

He snapped his hips forward sharply, grinding deep, his cock rubbing perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you with every roll.

Your eyes fluttered, another soft “Heeseung…” escaping before you could stop it.

He smirked against your skin and bit down lightly on your shoulder, thrusting faster, deeper, chasing the pleasure he could no longer control.

“Keep saying my name like that,” he breathed, voice husky, “and I won’t be able to stop even if someone wakes up.”

His fingers on your thigh tightened, spreading you even wider as he fucked you relentlessly.

“I’m gonna cum… fuck— Heeseung,” you gasped, voice shaking and barely a whisper as your walls started clenching hard around his cock.

Heeseung’s breath hitched sharply. His eyes darkened instantly at your words.

“Shit— already?” he hissed against your ear, but there was clear satisfaction dripping from his tone. He yanked your leg even higher, spreading you obscenely wide as he fucked you deeper, faster, more desperately.

His hips snapped against your ass with wet, muffled slaps. He pressed his forehead hard against the back of your head, panting heavily.

“Then cum,” he growled lowly, voice rough and commanding. “Cum on my cock like the needy little slut you are. Right here. On the fucking floor.”

Heeseung’s hand left your thigh and slid down between your legs, rubbing tight, fast circles on your swollen clit while he kept pounding into you from behind.

Your hand on the wall trembled. Your whole body tensed, thighs shaking violently as the pressure built unbearably fast.

“Look at me,” he demanded in a harsh whisper.

You turned your head just enough. The second your eyes met his — dark, intense, and burning — your orgasm crashed into you.

You bit down hard on your own arm to muffle the moan that tried to rip out of you. Your pussy clenched and fluttered wildly around his thick cock, gushing slick heat as you came hard.

Heeseung groaned through gritted teeth, eyes locked on your face the entire time, watching you fall apart.

“Fuck— that’s it… good girl,” he rasped, still thrusting through your orgasm, drawing it out. “So fucking tight when you cum.”

Your body kept shaking, waves of pleasure rolling through you as he fucked you through it. Heeseung’s rhythm started to falter, his own breathing turning ragged and desperate.

He buried his face in your neck, biting down to stay quiet as his hips stuttered.

“I’m close—” he warned, voice strained, hips slamming into you a little harder. “Where do you want it?”

His cock throbbed violently inside you, clearly right on the edge.

“My mouth,” you whispered desperately, voice hoarse and trembling. “Cum in my mouth.”

Heeseung’s eyes flashed with raw hunger at your words. He let out a shaky, almost pained exhale.

“Fuck… you’re filthy,” he groaned quietly, but the way his cock twitched hard inside you told you how much he liked it.

Without wasting another second, he pulled out of you slowly, his thick length glistening with your juices. You quickly turned around on the floor, facing him. Heeseung sat up slightly, leaning back against the wall while you moved between his legs.

He gripped your hair tightly with one hand, guiding your head down as his other hand stroked his slick cock a few times.

You didn’t hesitate.

You wrapped your lips around his throbbing tip, tasting yourself on him as you took him into your warm, wet mouth. Heeseung’s head fell back, jaw clenched tight as he fought to stay quiet.

“Shit— just like that,” he whispered, voice wrecked. His hips bucked up gently, pushing more of his cock into your mouth. “Suck it… fuck, your mouth feels so good.”

You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, tongue swirling around the underside as you bobbed your head. Heeseung’s grip on your hair tightened, breathing fast and ragged.

“I’m so fucking close—” he warned, eyes locked on your lips stretched around him.

A few more strokes of your mouth and he broke.

With a choked, quiet groan, Heeseung came hard. Thick, hot spurts of cum filled your mouth as his cock pulsed against your tongue. He kept his hand in your hair, holding you there while he emptied himself, hips twitching.

You swallowed every drop, sucking him gently through the aftershocks until he was shuddering and oversensitive.

Finally, he pulled you off with a shaky breath, chest heaving. His dark eyes stared down at you, lips parted, sweat on his forehead.

For a moment, the two of you just looked at each other in the dim light — faces flushed, breathing heavy, the rivalry still burning underneath everything… but now mixed with something much more dangerous.

Heeseung wiped the corner of your lip with his thumb, then pushed it into your mouth so you could lick it clean.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered, voice low and rough.

He pulled you up and against his chest, both of you still half-naked on the floor, hearts still racing.

The next morning came too quickly.

You were already fully dressed, curled up on your side when a bright, cheerful voice echoed through the living room.

“Kids! Breakfast is ready~ Come eat before it gets cold!”

Your classmate’s mom clapped her hands a few times, her footsteps moving around the room as she gently shook the others awake. Groans and sleepy complaints filled the air as everyone started stirring.

You stretched your arms above your head with a soft groan, your back popping slightly. Your body felt sore in the best and worst ways — thighs aching, a faint throb between your legs, and the unmistakable reminder of last night with every small movement. You quickly sat up, fixing your messy hair and avoiding looking toward Heeseung.

But you could feel him.

Heeseung was already awake, sitting up a few feet away. His hair was tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep, and there was a faint red mark on his neck that definitely wasn’t there yesterday. He glanced at you the moment you moved, his gaze dark and unreadable.

For a split second, the memory hit you hard — his cock in your mouth, the way he groaned your name so quietly, the taste of him on your tongue.

Your cheeks burned.

“Morning everyone!” your classmate’s mom called again, smiling brightly. “There’s rice, eggs, and soup. Hurry up before the boys eat everything!”

The others slowly got up, yawning and stretching, completely oblivious. One of them even stepped over the exact spot where Heeseung had fucked you just hours ago.

You stood up and brushed off your clothes, pretending to be normal. But as you turned, Heeseung was suddenly right beside you, close enough that his arm brushed yours.

He leaned in slightly while everyone else was distracted, his voice low and rough against your ear.

“Sleep well?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smug little smirk. “You were moving around a lot last night.”

Your stomach flipped.

You shot him a sharp glare, cheeks heating up again. “Shut up,” you hissed under your breath. “Not a single word.”

Heeseung’s smirk only grew. He looked far too satisfied for someone who was supposed to be your rival.

As you both walked toward the dining area with the group, he stayed annoyingly close. His fingers brushed against the back of your hand for half a second — not quite holding it, but definitely not accidental.

You elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

“Asshole,” you muttered.

“Needy little liar,” he whispered back, so quietly only you could hear.

You sat down at the table across from each other. Every time your eyes met, the tension crackled. Heeseung’s gaze kept dropping to your lips for a second too long, like he was remembering exactly how they looked wrapped around him.

You kicked his leg under the table.

He kicked back.

But neither of you could hide the faint flush on your cheeks… or the way your heart raced every time he looked at you.

The rivalry wasn’t gone.