yumira.

The cold hits harder out here than you expected, a knife-edge wind slicing through the thin satin of your costume until your teeth chatter. You curl forward, shoulders hiked like you’re trying to fold yourself into a smaller target, one arm clutching the neckline in place, the other white-knuckling your phone as you bounce from rideshare app to rideshare app. Each rejection pings through you like a bruise: No drivers available in this area. Of course not, it’s past midnight, you’re half a mile from campus in a suburban stretch no sane driver cruises after Halloween. Your shoes, strappy, glittery, chosen for possible fun, not actual mileage, grind tiny rocks into your heels every time you shift your weight, and you feel each sting all the way up your calves. Behind you, the bass thrums in your bones, a relentless heartbeat you want to outrun but can’t.

From the cracked doorway you left ajar in your rush, you catch neon slices of party light: strobing orange, sickly green. The smell of sugary punch laced with cheap vodka drifts out in sticky waves, hazed with smoke and that unmistakable tang of too many bodies packed too close. You’d lasted maybe twenty minutes inside, long enough to see two strangers giggling on the staircase as they unzipped each other’s costumes, long enough to watch a couple you think you’ve seen in your econ lecture full-on tongue each other in the pantry beside the plastic-wrapped loaf of Hawaiian rolls. Someone had already spilled an entire cauldron punch bowl, raspberry-red tide creeping across the hardwood while three different people filmed it instead of helping. The music was a remixed early-2000s hit, pitched high and cruel, a relentless pulse that made your temples throb like they were trying to hammer their way out.

Out here, the party house has a warped, storybook charm, its two stories blurred with orange string lights and half-sagging cobwebs, plastic skeletons swinging crookedly from the porch beams, caught in the wind like marionettes abandoned mid-dance. The front steps are crowded with carved pumpkins, some masterpieces, some crude, all grinning with flickering teeth, candlelight twitching behind jagged mouths. Every window pulses with the blur of movement, staccato silhouettes framed by haze and music, a thousand tiny dramas happening behind smudged glass: someone jumping onto a friend’s back, a flash of bare thigh as a costume rides up, a glittering mask tossed aside. Laughter rises, shrill and wild, then drops into a bassline rumble that rattles the panes, the house itself seeming to sway with every surge.

You shift your weight, heel sinking into the wet grass, feeling the chill leak through your tights. The tombstone at your ankle—R.I.P. GOOD GRADES, black marker slanted, makes you snort quietly, a bubble of bitter amusement rising as you imagine your transcript going six feet under by morning. Another gust claws at the hem of your dress, dragging satin up your thighs, and you jerk it down, face burning with the self-consciousness of a kid who thinks the whole world is watching. The truth is, no one’s looking. You’re invisible out here, a scrap of shadow on the fringe of something riotous and glowing. The laughter from inside feels both inviting and pointed, like a joke you’re not in on. You fold your arms tighter across your chest, cold gnawing through the thin costume, phone clenched so hard your knuckles ache.

You can hear everything, even with the door mostly closed, the off-key chorus of a group shotgunning punch in the kitchen, the shriek of someone spotting a friend in matching fangs, the groan of floorboards under too many stomping boots. Once or twice, someone opens the door and a sheet of sound pours out: old pop remixed with horror-movie effects, giggles that burst and scatter across the lawn before vanishing. From your place in the dark, you’re neither guest nor stranger, just the negative space around the party, a half-forgotten margin between porch lights and street. You watch the light flicker over the lawn, golden and syrupy, and wonder if it would swallow you whole or spit you back out if you tried to re-enter.

You shift again, the ache in your feet growing sharper, shoulders curled forward against the wind. You can smell the sweet reek of fake cider, pumpkin guts, sweat, something fried and overcooked wafting out the kitchen window. The sound of glass shattering, cheers follow, then a thud. Someone’s already made a mess of the living room, you’re sure. Inside, everyone’s burning hot and too loud, while out here, the night clings to you, cool and damp, and you swear you can hear your own heart louder than the music. It’s the peculiar ache of being somewhere you’re not wanted, but not brave enough to leave for good, just stuck, in between, shivering while the party goes on without you.

You stare down at your phone, thumb hovering, willing a rideshare to appear out of thin air. You’d give anything to be back in your bed, mismatched socks and pumpkin-scented sheets, watching something soft and safe under a pile of blankets. Instead you’re here, on the fringe of someone else’s fun, and even the skeleton on the porch seems to laugh at your expense. You came because Mira wouldn’t let up, weeks of “please, just this once,” all her puppy-dog eyes and promises of fun, until you caved. She’d wanted you in something cute, something that would “make guys jaw drop,” but mostly you just wanted her to stop begging. Now you’re cold, alone, haunted by the echo of her laughter somewhere inside, regretting every step that brought you here. You never belonged at parties like this; you don’t want to flirt with strangers or drink until the world goes blurry. The truth is, you regret letting yourself be convinced you could slip into someone else’s story for a night, and all you want is to disappear back into your own.

Your phone glows blue against your frozen palm, thumb twitching with every failed attempt at summoning a ride. The screen flickers, mocking your desperation with its pulsing “no drivers available.” Each try makes your hands shake harder, nerves tangled with cold and something rawer, embarrassment, maybe, or just the ache of being so pathetically out of place. Wind slices down the street, swirling around your bare legs, catching at your skirt, making you shiver so hard your teeth knock. Overhead, the porch lights pour orange into the darkness, smudging everything in the tint of jack-o-lanterns; your breath comes in little clouds, white against the chrome tank of the bike beside you. The metal gleams, slick and beautiful, reflecting broken fragments of party light. bodies moving behind frosted windows, teeth bared in laughter, the blur of devil horns and fishnets in every glass pane. You press closer to the seat, the machine thrumming quietly in the chill, its silhouette a hard comfort beside the wild warmth you’re locked out of.

You’re pressed against the bike without thinking, letting the warmth of the metal seep into your skin. Your brain barely registers that it’s a stranger’s ride, you just know it feels good to lean here, like it’s the only thing anchoring you in the cold. The bike is a silent furnace in the October dark, its black-chrome tank radiating the leftover heat of a vanished rider, and you find yourself pressed to it like bruised fruit to a warming windowsill, heedless of propriety, grateful for any spark that staves off the night’s bite. The metal hums under your corseted ribs, reflecting candle-orange jack-o’-lantern glows so that your satin witch skirts shimmer like spilled potion across a cauldron’s rim; every breath fogs the mirror-shine, a ghostly charm you can’t help tracing with chilled fingertips. It smells of gasoline and clove-sweet cologne, a contradiction as sharp and steady as a heartbeat, promising movement even while standing still. Somewhere inside the house, bass and laughter crash like storm surf, but out here the machine’s quiet authority feels like an oath: if darkness wanted a steed, this would be it, sleek, predatory, patient, waiting for the figure who commands it to step from shadow and claim both engine and the girl foolish enough to lean against its ribs for warmth.

You don’t hear footsteps at first, just the slow scrape of something heavy over loose gravel, a metallic chime threading through the wind. It’s the kind of sound that prickles at the back of your neck, not quite alarming, just enough to set every sense on edge. For a heartbeat you imagine it’s nothing, just the house shifting, the wind knocking something over, but then it comes again: deliberate, boots rolling stone, steady as a metronome. It slices through the chorus of party noise, sharp as a knife against glass. You press closer to the bike, letting the engine’s leftover heat bloom against your thighs, comfort and tension mixing in your chest. In the haze of porch lights and swirling fake fog, you glimpse a silhouette moving between parked cars, broad shoulders, tall frame, a slow and certain gait that seems almost out of place in a yard full of drunken, tripping shadows. He isn’t hurrying; it’s as if he owns the night, or at least the piece of it you’re trying to disappear into.

There’s a chill in the air, cold enough that your breath smudges the chrome when you exhale, and for a second you almost resent how safe you feel pressed to this machine. Like the bike is a wall between you and the chaos, or maybe a bridge, letting you float in the space where things might shift. The motorbike’s frame is smooth beneath your palm, the black paint glossy, reflecting the orange flicker of carved pumpkins and the gold edge of a too-late moon. You let yourself linger, hiding in the outline of a life you don’t live, heartbeat syncopated with the metallic hush behind you. A shadow stretches over your shoulder. You sense him before you ever look, something in the air tightens, a shift, a hush, your nerves winding up. He stops just outside your peripheral vision, close enough that the warmth of his body eclipses the bite of October air, close enough that you smell the faint tang of leather, sweat, and sugar from inside. You don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t look, hoping for a moment that if you don’t acknowledge him, the world will hold its breath with you.

Then his voice breaks the quiet, low and careful, not quite mocking but edged with challenge. “Didn’t peg you for a thief.” The words curl between you, slow and dangerous, sliding under your skin like a secret. Only then do you glance up, finally facing him in the dim light, he’s not just any boy at the party, not just another student fading into the night. He’s something darker, sharper, carved from shadow and sweat, every inch of him humming with the kind of attention that makes you wonder if you’ve just been chosen, or hunted.

You’re face to face with Park Sunghoon, and even in the bad porch light, you can’t pretend he’s anything less than beautiful. He’s the kind of campus legend whose name is always half-whispered, half-worshipped: everyone knows someone who’s slept with him, fought with him, wanted to be him, wanted to ruin him. The upperclassmen swap stories about the time he bench pressed a whole rugby team for charity, or that night he disappeared with two girls and came back grinning, lipstick-stained, not a hair out of place. His jaw looks cut from stone, hair tousled and a little wild, eyes rimmed dark with exhaustion or maybe just the shadow of too many nights like this one. 

Every line of his is built for attention, broad shoulders filling out the tactical jacket, long fingers loose and confident at his side, the quiet sort of power that says he doesn’t need to try, because everyone’s already looking.  You tell yourself he’s just another campus cliché, a heartthrob in a crowd of a thousand, but your heart still skips when he gives you his full attention, gaze skimming over your bare thighs, pausing at your mouth like he’s reading your secrets there. Park Sunghoon, the name that floats through every corridor, scrawled on bathroom stalls and whispered in stairwells. Heartthrob, rumored bad influence, the reason half your classmates even show up for lectures some days. 

His group is legendary in the way popular boys always are, untouchable, glossy, all gravity and golden-hour confidence. They’re sprawled across every soft surface inside, Jake’s laughter bouncing off the ceiling, Jay flicking bottle caps at Heeseung, who’s busy texting three people at once. Jungwon always tries to pull new faces in, but even he can’t break the circle’s spell. You’d never admit it out loud, but you don’t really like them; it’s the easy entitlement that grates, the way they move through parties like the floor tilts for them, the private language of in-jokes and glances that leave everyone else as an afterthought. Still, you watch them, everyone does. Every glance is loaded, every dare filthier than the last, the air around them thick with things that never make it onto Instagram stories. Sometimes you catch yourself eavesdropping on their whispered bets, who’ll fuck in the backyard, who’ll hook up in the guest room, whose ex is coming back for another round. 

It’s a little disgusting, how much you don’t want them to notice you. The idea of being just another girl on their lips, their attention, their approval, the sharp appraisal in their eyes, makes your skin crawl. Sunghoon and his group are infamous for a reason: they dominate every room, weaving inside jokes and filthy dares, surveying every girl as if she’s on offer for their amusement. The last thing you want is to become part of their legend, another conquest, a story for them to laugh about the next morning. You’d rather be invisible, anonymous, just a background blur they forget by sunrise. Tonight, the worst outcome would be to have his eyes linger on you, for all the wrong reasons, only to be discarded, forgotten, left with the bitter taste of being used and nothing more. You’d take invisibility over their spotlight any night.

You might wish to disappear, but you’re not going to be invisible tonight, not with the way he’s looking at you now. Sunghoon’s gaze is impossible to ignore, heavy-lidded, shamelessly direct, as if he’s already catalogued everything about you worth having. He leans against his bike like he owns the night, boots planted wide, one broad hand casually splayed on the chrome, the other dangling his keys. There’s a cocky slant to his mouth, a flicker of amusement in the set of his jaw; he looks at you like he’s been expecting this moment all along, like he knows exactly how this story ends. It’s in the subtle way his eyes trace your silhouette, lingering on the way your costume, tight, vintage, a pin-up witch in midnight satin, clings to your hips and frames your legs in thigh-highs and velvet. His own costume is almost a mirror: black tactical jacket unzipped just enough to show the muscle beneath, his arms all sinew and power, the fake blood at his jaw making him look like he’s just come from a bar fight or a heist. You notice it now, the way your costumes echo each other, matching in their darkness and defiance, and for one breathless second, it’s like you planned it, like you belong at his side.

He doesn’t let the silence settle. “You stealing my ride, or just looking for trouble?” he drawls, voice low and edged with a teasing smugness that’s all challenge and none of the usual frat-boy bark. He flicks his gaze pointedly between you and the bike, as if the two of you are both just barely out of his reach, and grins when you bristle at the implication. “Didn’t think anyone could make leather and fishnets look this good except me.” The words are warm, gliding over you, and you catch yourself staring at the outline of his bicep under the sleeve, the line of muscle at his throat, the way every inch of him seems designed to be wanted. You swallow hard, trying to keep your expression blank, but your heart’s already traitorously loud in your chest. The bike at your back hums with his presence, the chrome cold through your stockings, and you realize you’re both reflected in its lacquered curve, shadow-twins in the flickering orange of the porch lights.

You try to step away, making your tone clipped, your shoulders set. “I’m not looking for trouble. I just want to go home.” The words are brittle as ice, and you keep your eyes fixed on the curb, desperate to avoid the full brunt of his attention. You gather your jacket tighter, shift your weight away from him, praying he’ll take the hint and leave you in peace. “I don’t need to talk to you, or anyone, actually. This isn’t my kind of night and it’s an even lamer party.” You mean for it to sound dismissive, but your voice cracks on the last word, betraying your nerves. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, just lets the smile curl a little wider.

“Damn,” he says, feigning a look of mock offence, hand over his heart. “That’s how you feel about my party? Lame?” He gasps, a cartoonish, exaggerated sound, but his eyes stay sharp, glued to you. “It’s not a lame party, by the way. We’ve got a Ouija board, haunted jello shots, and someone threw up in a cauldron. That’s, like, three for three on Halloween bingo.” He leans in just enough for you to smell the lingering spice of whiskey and cinnamon gum on his breath. You’re so close now, you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the cut of his cheekbone where it catches the porchlight. There’s a new edge in his voice, something heavier, a dare behind the bravado. He tips his chin at you, lips curving. “So, let’s hear it. What’s got you so ready to run home? Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little fake blood and too many plastic bats.”

You snort, shoving your hands in your pockets. “Please. Your party smells like cheap vodka and somebody’s regret. I saw three people making out on the pantry floor. One of them might’ve been wearing a diaper, and don’t even get me started on the punch. Did you poison it, or is it supposed to taste like cough syrup and sadness?”

He grins, flashing teeth, shifting even closer so his knee bumps yours. “That’s our secret recipe. You just can’t handle the classics. At least nobody’s passed out in the tub—yet.”

You arch a brow, defiant. “Only because the bathroom door’s jammed. Pretty sure I watched Heeseung and some girl try to break in with a plastic skeleton arm. The music’s so loud my fillings hurt. And what’s with the playlist? If I hear Monster Mash one more time, I’m walking into traffic.”

He feigns horror, clutching his chest. “Monster Mash is a classic. It’s Halloween law. I bet you’re the type to skip Thriller, too. Besides, you could dance if you wanted.”

“I don’t dance at parties where half the costumes look like a fever dream. Jay’s in a toga and Crocs. Someone’s got devil horns and pajamas. What were you even supposed to be? Discount Batman?”

He laughs, deep and easy, voice dropping. “Funny. I thought you’d appreciate the tactical look. Didn’t realize you had such strong feelings about Crocs. You’re one to talk, what are you supposed to be? Kinky Elphaba?”

Your mouth quirks, heat rushing to your face. “Vintage witch, actually. Didn’t know you knew the difference between velvet and vinyl. I figured the only spell you could cast was making girls disappear the next morning.”

He leans in, close enough for your breath to catch. “Maybe I only disappear when I’m bored. And for the record, your costume’s the only thing keeping this party alive right now.”

You scoff, fighting a smile. “That’s rich. You throw this whole party and you’re out here harassing girls next to your precious bike? Afraid someone’s going to steal it, or do you just like the view?”

His eyes flick down, then up, slow and shameless. “I like a good view. Especially when it’s freezing and some gorgeous girl’s pressed against my seat, acting like she hates every second of it. I’m starting to think you don’t hate it at all.”

You cross your arms, tilting your chin. “I hate loud parties, cheap drinks, bad costumes, and boys who think they’re God’s gift just because they can grow a five o’clock shadow. But sure, maybe I’ll give you credit for the bike.”

He grins, looking at you like he wants to bite. “You can hate the party, but you can’t pretend you don’t like the attention.”

Your voice is soft, but edged. “If I wanted attention, I’d have stayed inside. Maybe I just like the cold.”

He steps even closer, so close the air shivers between you, the lines of the party dissolving behind him. “If you really wanted to leave, you would’ve already. Or maybe you’re just waiting for me to give you a reason to stay.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart’s hammering. “Give me one good reason.”

He smirks, lowering his voice, his breath warm at your ear. “I could make you forget you ever wanted to leave. Bet I could make you beg to stay.”

For a split second, it’s all sharp and electric, your glare, his crooked smile, the space between you thrumming with something wild. The party could fall off the edge of the earth and you’d never notice, not with his eyes pinning you in place. You shrug, forcing a dry laugh, the tension thrumming under your skin. “Big talk. But I’ll need more than cheap lines and Monster Mash to stick around, Park.”

He cocks his head, grin widening. “How about a ride? On the bike, or—” his gaze drags, deliberate, “—wherever else you want. I’m good with my hands.” The words hang there, filthy and funny and daring, and you realize you’re smiling back, your whole body wound tight as a bowstring, refusing to look away.

You’re silent, unable to look away from him. His eyes bore into you, daring you to call his bluff, to walk away, to break the charge that’s suddenly vibrating between your bodies. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. You can feel your own pulse thudding in your throat, the burn of his gaze heating every inch of exposed skin, the tension thick as smoke. The urge to say something, anything, is overpowered by the urge to just close the last few inches and see what would happen if you stopped pretending. The whole night feels head-fucked, every nerve jangling. You gulp, searching his face for a sign, for a warning, for something that might let you break free but all you see is intent, fixed and hungry, and you realize, with a rush that leaves you breathless, you don’t want to be invisible anymore.

He shrugs off his jacket with a casual flick, the leather warm from his body, and drapes it over your bare shoulders. His hands linger a moment too long, thumbs tracing the slope of your arms, fingertips curling at the nape of your neck to settle the collar. The gesture is unexpectedly gentle, almost reverent but the heat in his eyes makes your breath catch. “Can’t have you freezing out here,” he says, voice low and loaded, “not when you look that good.” You feel the weight of it, his scent ghosting over your skin, the jacket swallowing you up in his presence. For a second, you both go still, tension knotting tight between you, the world outside the circle of his touch blurring into insignificance. The party roars, but all you hear is the soft hush of his breath as he pulls the zipper up under your chin, knuckles brushing the hollow of your throat.

You smirk, trying to chase off your own nerves, “You’re so possessive about this jacket, your bike’s gotta be worse. Afraid someone’ll scratch it, or are you afraid I’ll look better on it than you ever did?” The words are teasing but shaky, colored by a strange, heady thrill. 

He grins, all teeth and hunger, stepping closer, his hands moving to your hips without asking. “Trust me,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “that seat was waiting for you.” His grip tightens, bold, confident, and the implication is unmistakable. “And I like seeing you on things that belong to me.” The words hit low in your gut, wicked and forward.

You meet him glare for glare, matching his pace, refusing to break first. “You’d have to earn it,” you challenge, letting your fingers toy with the zipper, “and not just the bike.”

He doesn’t blink. He dares you with a crooked smirk, nodding toward the machine gleaming in the porch light. “Go on. Try it.” At first, you scoff, half-laughing, but something in his stare dares you to want it. Your hands shake a little as you straddle the seat, your dress riding high, leather warming your thighs, his hands steadying you, fingers sliding up your waist, guiding you, lingering, until there’s no space left between you. He steps up behind, fitting himself to your back, his chest pressed to your spine, breath hot at your ear. The chaos behind you intensifies, laughter and shrieks swirling around the porch, but Sunghoon’s touch makes the night fall away. The press of his body is electric, his hands molded to your hips, his chin brushing your hair as he leans in. “You look fucking perfect up here,” he whispers, the words meant only for you, the promise of everything he could do vibrating in the air between you.

All eyes are on you now, friends, strangers, half the party turned to stare, their voices rising in gasps and shrill disbelief, a flicker of phone flashes capturing the moment. People are elbowing each other, whispering, “Is she really—? That’s Park’s new girl now?” But you don’t care, not when his hands are sliding under the hem of your dress, adjusting your seat, making you feel safe and exposed all at once. He presses his lips to your ear, voice velvet and dirty: “Wanna know how it feels to really ride, sweetheart?” Every word tingles over your skin, promise and threat, and you shiver, whether from the cold or him, you can’t tell.

It hits you, suddenly, just how insane this is, straddling Park Sunghoon’s bike, his hands on your body, the party crowding the porch behind you, the night sharp and alive. You never thought you’d even talk to him, let alone be here, burning with want and daring, ready for something wild. The world outside your little orbit feels blurry, distant, unreal. You feel his breath in your hair, his thigh braced against yours, his presence filling every empty space in your body. There’s a sharp, dizzy certainty blooming in your chest: this could be the start of something dangerous, something real, something that belongs only to you and him. For once, you’re not invisible. For once, the universe is staring back, and it feels right, perfect, inevitable.

He leans forward, mouth ghosting over the curve of your ear. “I’ll make you a bet. I take you on a ride, show you what it feels like, what it means to let go and if you love it, you come back inside and spend the rest of the party with me. Let me show you how much fun you can really have.” His fingers flex at your hips, his mouth inches from your neck, eyes burning. You don’t hesitate. “Fine. But if I don’t like it—if riding isn’t all that, then you’re coming with me. We’re leaving, and you’re sitting through a double feature of every classic Halloween movie I own. Popcorn, pumpkin candy, and you’re not allowed to complain.”

His eyes crinkle, his smile dangerous and real. “Deal,” he says, the word rolling over you like a promise. “But just so you know—I never lose.” The world shrinks to this moment, this heat, this wild, reckless bet with the campus heartthrob, your heart beating in time with the engine you’re about to start. For once, you can’t wait to see what happens next.

The engine is cold and mean beneath you, the bike a beast between your thighs, chrome gleaming in the jack-o-lantern haze. Sunghoon is right behind you, his chest pressing into your back, the hardness of his body an anchor and a dare. He leans over you, one hand braced on your thigh, the other guiding yours to the ignition. You can feel his breath on your ear, the rumble of his voice so low you almost miss it. “Twist, baby. Not too gentle, but not all at once. Like you mean it.” His fingers curl over yours, large and certain, veins tight under his skin, and the contact shoots straight to your core.

“Scared?” he asks, voice so close it’s almost in your mouth, and you can’t help the shiver. The wind whips your bare legs, goosebumps rising along your skin, but it’s his touch that makes you tremble. “Or just nervous because you know I won’t let you get away now?” He laughs, the sound hot and cruel and proud, one hand sliding up to your waist to steady you as you shift on the seat. 

You try for a smirk. “Are you nervous? That I’ll crash and ruin your pretty bike, Park?”—but your voice is thin, breathless, your whole body wound tight, braced for anything.

His laugh is low, a rich rumble against your spine, and you feel it before you even hear it. He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice smug and deep. “I’m not worried about the bike, sweetheart. I’m more concerned about how wet you’ll be by the time we stop.” His hands glide down your arms, tightening at your waist as the bike idles, heat radiating from him in waves. “You think I’d let anything happen to you? I’d let this bike hit the pavement before I’d let you fall. Besides…”—his hips shift, pressing himself closer, unmistakable, hard, cocky—“I like a little risk. Makes it more fun when you hold on tight.” He nips at your neck, tongue flicking over your pulse, and you shudder, caught between fear and anticipation. You barely have time to gasp before he’s revving the engine, his mouth a wicked line at your jaw. “Show me how bad you want to ride, princess. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Your cheeks burn so hot it’s almost painful, his breath catching as his words settle over your skin, thick and heavy, a promise and a dare all at once. You tilt your head back just enough to meet his eyes over your shoulder, your pulse racing, words caught somewhere between a challenge and a plea. “Big talk, Park,” you murmur, lips parted, your body already melting into his grip. “Maybe I want you to worry a little. Maybe I want to see just how far you’ll let me go.” Your fingers tighten over his, anchoring yourself in the warmth of his hands, the shiver in your voice making everything more electric. “Hold on, then. I hope you like the way I ride.” The wind whips past as you start to move, your heart pounding out a wild rhythm, his chest pressed to your back, his laughter rumbling dark and approving. For the first time tonight, you don’t care who’s watching, you just want to see what happens when you finally let go.

He reaches around you, his body caging yours, hand on the throttle. “You ride this right, you’ll feel everything. Hold on, don’t let go.” He presses his mouth to your ear, whispering, “If you fall, it’s on me. But I never let anyone fall, especially you.” The dominance in his words is thick, his palm bracing your hip, the weight of his thigh pushing you into the machine. You feel trapped and protected, wild and claimed, and it’s the kind of danger you’ve never tasted but always craved.

Just before the engine snarls awake, Sunghoon reaches behind him, fingers curling around a matte black helmet, and without a word he settles it gently over your head, brushing your hair back, buckling it beneath your chin with careful fingers. His gaze flicks up, sharp and serious for a beat, every cocky edge smoothed out by the way his thumbs linger on your jaw. “No one rides with me without this, princess. I plan on riding with you until we’re breathless, not getting you killed.” He grins, soft and wild, then slips his own helmet on, the click of the strap loud in the night as he swings his leg back over the bike, pulling you flush to his chest, the world outside the visor already fading away until it’s just the two of you, heat and wind and everything waiting to happen.

The engine coughs to life, vibrations buzzing straight up your spine, and Sunghoon laughs again, low and proud, a dark sound that thrums in your chest and somewhere lower, the sound of a boy who knows exactly what it is to break rules and bend bodies to his will. “Let’s go,” he commands, his voice all gravel and smoke, one broad hand curling under your jaw to tilt your head back, forcing you to meet his eyes. The porch lights flicker across his face, sharp jaw, eyes hungry, lips parted with something dangerous. “Look at me when I say it. You ready?” he murmurs, his thumb tracing your pulse, claiming every shaky breath as his own.

His hands guide yours over the throttle, his fingers splayed wide, palms swallowing yours, he wants control, but he wants you to feel it, wants you to know you’re not alone on this ride. “Throttle slow, then fast. I want to see if you can take it,” he says, voice curling over your skin, making you shiver even through layers of leather and lust.

You twist, too eager, and the bike jerks forward, the motion pitching you flush back into his chest. His hands clamp hard on your hips, holding you in place, fingers digging in, half-pain, half-possession, laughter curling through his body and into yours. “Easy,” he growls, his voice all dominance now. “Don’t fight it, let it move through you. Trust me.” He moves with you, hips rocking forward, pressing himself against your ass, the heat of him so blatant it makes you clench around nothing, makes you want more.

Every time you steady, he tests you, hips rolling forward, hands sliding up and under the hem of your dress, stroking the bare skin of your thigh, his mouth ghosting over your ear. “Lean back on me, baby. That’s it. Let me see how good you can be for me.” The dominance in his touch is overwhelming, your mind slipping out of gear, body burning with every command, every subtle flex of his hands.

The house fades behind you, the party noise swallowed by the engine’s growl and the rushing wind. Your thighs clamp tighter around the bike, your body rocking with the pulse of speed, and he’s there, hands never letting you drift, his mouth at your ear again, whispering filthy encouragement, the threat and promise of what he’ll do to you later. “That’s it. You like this, don’t you? Taking over my ride and letting me show you how it’s done?” 

You giggle, a sound almost wild with adrenaline, “Can’t believe you’re leaving your own party for me.” 

He answers, smug and bright, “The party was dead the minute you walked out. This is where the real fun starts.” You surge into the darkness, the wind stealing your breath, hair whipping around your face, your heart beating so fast it almost hurts. The lights fade behind, the night swallowing you both, and for the first time all night, you feel free, held tight, taught to let go, every inch of you pressed against the only boy on campus who’s never let anyone close enough to fall.

You can feel him, hard, thick, grinding up into you even as the bike rumbles forward, the vibration of the engine running right up your thighs and into the softest, rawest parts of you. Every time you ease off the throttle, he shifts behind you, hips rolling with the bike, cock pressing firmer through denim, making it absolutely impossible to ignore what’s coming or how desperate you already are. His chest pins you forward, the line of his body sheltering and daring you all at once. He laughs again, but this time the sound is right at your ear, half-mocking, half-hungry, and it’s so filthy and intimate you feel it echoing in your bones, a private message only you can hear. “Keep going. I’ll tell you when to stop,” he murmurs, the threat and the promise burning just beneath his words.

His hands never stop, one steering, the other sliding up from your waist to your ribs, fingers slipping under your dress, teasing the edge of your bra, calloused thumb tracing the dip between your breasts. You gasp, the bike lurches, but he holds you tight, laughing low, breath hot on your skin, every touch a dare. “You feel that? You like the way I fit behind you?” he taunts, his cock grinding harder, every bump in the road making you jolt back onto him, so aware of the friction, the heat, the want coiling low in your belly.

You shudder, knuckles white on the handlebars, legs spread around the engine, the wind snatching at your hair, dragging it across his cheek as he leans closer. “You ride like you fuck,” he hisses, hips jerking into you, the lewd praise making you ache, skin prickling with anticipation. “Little messy, a little too eager, but you make me want to lose control.” He drops a kiss at the base of your neck, tongue flicking over your pulse, teeth scraping just hard enough to make you gasp, your back arching into him, desperate for more.

Every stoplight, every sudden turn, becomes an excuse for his hands to find a new spot, to pull you tighter, his mouth dragging up your throat, whispering the filthiest things—how pretty you look like this, how wet you must be, how he can smell the heat of you even with the night air whipping past. “You gonna cum just from riding?” he teases, and the shame of it, how close you actually are, makes you whimper, hips rocking, the engine shuddering between your legs and his cock a relentless promise behind you.

You try to keep your composure, biting your lip, eyes burning from the rush of wind and sensation, but Sunghoon’s relentless, never letting up, his palm sliding down between your thighs, pressing against you through your panties, rolling his hips so you feel every inch of him, every intent. “Don’t slow down, baby. I want the whole street to know who’s making you lose it,” he rasps, one hand on your heart, the other on your cunt, the world shrinking to just this—his body, your want, the wild risk of it all.

The city blurs around you, neon streaks, orange streetlights flickering over wet asphalt, the roar of the engine swallowed by the sound of your own breath. You barely register the world beyond him, every sense overloaded by the feel of his hands, his cock, the heat of his mouth dragging along your jaw, the taste of danger and desire so thick you can’t breathe. You know you’ll lose this bet, you want to lose, and the certainty of that makes your skin buzz, every muscle tight, every nerve ending raw.

You tip your head back, riding the high, the speed, the risk, and feel him everywhere, his words, his touch, his hunger, so overwhelming you never want the night to end. For the first time, you feel yourself letting go, really letting go, surrendering to the wild, dangerous promise that only Sunghoon and his bike can offer. The engine roars, your heart roars louder, and you realize this is what it means to be alive—this freedom, this fear, this heat, this boy at your back and his cock already promising the next disaster you’ll both make out of each other.

You hit the open road, every muscle in your body locked with tension, every bump and turn magnified by the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing. But he’s behind you, all power and ease, his hands covering yours on the grips, voice low in your ear. “Just relax, you’ve got this. Lean when I lean. Trust me.” It’s strange how quickly you do. The first curve sends you tilting, a gasp catching in your throat, but his touch steadies you, his palm splayed across your stomach, pressing you back against him. The night air rushes over your skin, the bike’s engine is a wild animal beneath you, and you realize you’re not afraid anymore. You’re breathless, high on speed, on him.

With every mile, your body finds its rhythm. Your back straightens and a wild laugh spills from your lips as the wind whips your hair into your mouth. Sunghoon’s answering chuckle rumbles in your ear. “See? You’re a natural.” The city melts away, orange streetlights blurring into streaks of haunted color. You glimpse shadows of trees, the glint of moonlight on glass, the silver ribbon of river cutting through the darkness. Everything is in motion, bright and endless and fast.

You let your head fall back, air cold and clean against your throat, hair flying behind you like a cape. For a second, you close your eyes and let the world tilt and spin. Sunghoon’s chin drops to your shoulder, the heat of his mouth brushing your skin, “Open your eyes, pretty. You don’t want to miss this.” You do as he says, and the world explodes into sensation, stars caught in puddles along the road, the smell of earth and autumn smoke, distant bursts of laughter from backyard fires. Your giggle rises, unguarded and dizzy, and you feel him smile against your neck, pride and possession burning in his gaze.

You start to move with the bike, hips shifting with each twist and swerve. The speed picks up, Sunghoon leans in, his voice a growl, “Faster, yeah? You can handle it.” The pavement blurs beneath you, the engine roaring, your heart pounding so hard you feel it in your teeth. 

You squeal, loud and unashamed, “Go! I want more!” and he obeys, one hand firm on your thigh as he pushes the bike harder, the two of you a blur of shadow and heat cutting through the night.

There’s a kind of reckless magic in this, every shiver of fear swallowed by the rush of pleasure, every trace of self-consciousness left behind with the party and its noise and strangers’ eyes. You haven’t let yourself be this unguarded in so long, maybe ever. The night is a movie reel, and you’re the girl who’s finally living, the bike, the needle that stitches every moment into your skin. You never knew you needed this, to trust, to let go, to laugh without thinking about who’s watching. Sunghoon’s hand tightens on your hip, fingers digging in as if to remind you: You’re here, you’re with me, you’re not going anywhere.

You catch glimpses of your own reflection in storefront windows as you fly by, wild hair, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and greedy for more. The cold bites at your exposed thighs, but you barely feel it, body humming from the heat pressed close behind you. Sunghoon’s mouth is at your ear again, a command and a promise, “You look good like this. Free. Happy. You should see yourself.” You grin, twisting to look at him, your noses almost touching, and there’s a moment, so brief and electric it’s almost painful, where you feel everything change between you.

The city drops away, replaced by dark stretches of road, houses spaced far apart, empty lots overgrown with weeds. The speed is dizzying now, your laughter mingling with the roar of the engine, a song that belongs only to the two of you. Sunghoon guides you with each shift and press, his hands confident, greedy, reassuring, and you let yourself fall into the motion, the heat, the possibility that this night might never end. It’s a bet you already know you’re going to lose—you’ll never want to go back to the party, not when you’ve tasted this kind of wildness.

The world feels infinite, time suspended between the streetlights and your own pulse. Every sense is alive—cold wind on your bare skin, Sunghoon’s body is a furnace at your back, the steady vibration of the bike beneath you. You lean into a curve, his arms caging you in, and for the first time, you feel unstoppable. This is more than escape, it’s surrender, it’s flight, it’s the start of something you don’t want to name. You press your head back, find his mouth at your ear, and let yourself whisper, “Don’t ever stop.” The night stretches out before you, wild and wide and open, and you know with aching certainty that you’ll follow him anywhere.

For a moment you aren’t a girl on a bike, you’re acceleration itself, a streak of untended starlight blazing through October’s velvet hush. Moon-silver air rushes over your teeth, and the raw grin splitting your lips feels bigger than your own face, as if your happiness can’t be contained by skin. You tilt your head back, eyes slicing upward, and the night answers in saturated color: bruisy indigo curling at the horizon, a slick ribbon of violet where the streetlamps blur, clusters of feathery gold stars pricking the black like lit confetti. The clouds, thin as sugar-spun dreams, drift past in bruised lilac and ghost-white strips, glowing each time they trespass across the moon. Every shade feels personal, poured directly into your marrow.

You realize you’ve been holding your breath for weeks—months—maybe years, the way a cracked teacup holds rain, always fearing the next tremor will make you shatter. But right now the tremor is freedom: the engine’s hum vibrating up your spine, Sunghoon’s laugh buzzing against your nape, the metallic rasp of wind yanking at your hem. Your lungs expand so wide it almost hurts, filling with cold, cinnamon-scented air, and you think: this is what it’s like to live in color instead of grayscale. You wonder how close you came to skipping it all, curling beneath a dorm blanket while October spilled its fireworks outside.

His hands tighten on your hips, steady, grounding, yet somehow a dare, don’t look away. So you don’t. The sky is a dark river and you’re a stone skipping its surface: brief,  bright, reckless. You’re a jack-o-lantern’s candle, flame licking its own wax, never meant to last the whole night but burning as if that’s the only commandment. You’re every wicked little rumor that ever clung to his name, speed, danger, pleasure, yet here, under these storm-colored stars, those words turn tender, almost holy.

You laugh, wild, helium-light, half-sob because minutes ago you were desperate to vanish, and now you want to swallow the night whole. Every fear tastes small beside the taste of wind on your tongue. Somewhere behind you the party still howls, but it’s only background static now; the real song is the low thunder of the bike, his ragged breathing, the drumline of your heart. If the road never ended you’d ride it until dawn set the world on fire, until every bruise on the sky blushed pink. The thought strikes you: there’s so much left to feel, and you almost missed it. You squeeze his thigh, grateful, greedy.

Up ahead the streetlights scatter like molten coins across wet asphalt, and you swear the pavement itself shimmers, liquid obsidian, reflecting constellations even the astronomers don’t have names for. The future might be hiding in that shine, or maybe it’s pressed between your shoulder blades where his chest echoes your heartbeat. Either way, it feels like the night is only just cracking open, rich with possibilities that taste of gasoline, laughter, and want. You can’t predict where it will take you, but you know, deep in bone, blood, and spark-bright grin, you won’t be the girl who leaves early ever again.

His hand tightens on your thigh, fingertips pressing hard, almost possessive as the bike idles beneath you. The street behind blurs out, just the two of you straddling the engine and each other, your bodies tangled in the aftershocks of speed. Sunghoon’s mouth is close to your ear, his voice thick and lazy with pride. “Look at you,” he breathes, letting his teeth graze the edge of your jaw, “didn’t know you had it in you, riding like you were fucking born for it. You know how fucking good you look with your hands all over my bike, legs spread, hair wild, shit, you could ruin a man right here.”

You laugh, still giddy, your fingers tightening on the handlebars. “You like watching me take control? Thought you were the one giving the lessons tonight.” Your voice is teasing, but there’s a challenge there, a dare you want him to answer with more than words.

He laughs, low and cocky, his hips pushing forward so you feel the solid weight of his cock, hard through his jeans. “Trust me, I’m learning, too. Didn’t know how much I’d love this, watching you take it, hearing you squeal for me, knowing every pair of eyes at that party wishes they were me right now. This wasn’t on my bucket list, baby, but fuck if it isn’t my new favorite thing. Might never let anyone else on my bike again.”

You tip your head back, bumping into his shoulder, your grin wicked. “So you’re saying I ruined you?”

He smirks, thumb brushing up under your dress, slow and filthy, tracing the outline of your soaked panties. “Ruined, obsessed, whatever you want to call it. Never seen anyone take a ride like that, never seen anyone make it look so fucking hot. You got me all fucked up, sweetheart. Gonna need you on the back of this bike every night now.”

You hum, feigning innocence as you roll your hips back against him, breath catching at the friction. “You better keep up, Park. I might just be your best ride yet.”

He growls, leaning in, his tongue flicking at the shell of your ear, voice thick with heat. “Oh, you’re more than that. You’re my favorite problem. Don’t think you’re leaving my side for the rest of the night, not when you’re this fucking perfect, not when you ride like you’re made for me.” You laugh again, the sound shaking through both your chests, and you know he means it, every word, every touch. This isn’t just about the bike. This is the start of something reckless, stupid, and maybe exactly what you’ve been starving for.

You’re still clutching the handlebars, knuckles white, breath tumbling out in warm clouds. There’s a wildness in your chest you almost don’t recognize, something reckless and alive, a fizzing urge that overrides the usual need to control, to keep every feeling on lockdown. You’ve always been the girl who winds herself too tight, who keeps her edges sharp and her words neat, who never risks looking foolish or out of place. But right now, with your thighs burning from the ride, your heart battering your ribs, and Sunghoon’s hands everywhere, you feel loose, uncoiled, like you’ve finally let go of a weight you didn’t even know you were carrying.

You glance over your shoulder at him, laughing, hair a tangled mess, skin flushed and alive under the city’s neon haze. “I didn’t know I could feel like this,” you say, voice thick with disbelief and wonder. “I didn’t know I could let go. I’m always so—tight, so careful, and you just—” You shake your head, at a loss, because it’s never been this easy to be wild, to want, to take. 

Sunghoon grins, wild and bright, his eyes burning as he watches you unravel. “That’s the point, isn’t it? You keep everything bottled up. Maybe you just needed someone to make you forget how,” he murmurs, his words soft but edged with heat, pride, and the promise of even more freedom to come. It’s not just the bike or the speed or even the sex, it’s the way you let yourself be seen, wanted, and reckless for the first time in a long time. Sunghoon’s given you that push, the one you would’ve never asked for, and you know you’ll chase this feeling again and again, every wild night, every backroad, every moment you forget how to hold yourself back.

You let out a squeal, high and bright, as the bike picks up speed, your laughter tumbling out before you can help it. The wind whips at your face, wild and sweet, but the rush isn’t just the night air, it’s him, Sunghoon, right behind you, his voice a growl of approval. “God, you’re so fucking hot like this,” he calls over the roar, the compliment ragged, almost a moan. “You’re cute when you’re happy. Ride for me, pretty girl. Let me see you let go.” The praise makes you giddy, makes you bold. You lean back, pressing your ass into his crotch, feeling how hard he is, feeling his hunger, how badly he wants you.

“Touch me,” you beg, the word spilling from your lips without shame, your body straining for more, for anything. “Please, Sunghoon, I want your hands on me, right now.” You’re giggling, desperate, dizzy, your skin buzzing from the freedom and the danger, the engine’s vibration everywhere. His laughter is low and filthy, his breath hot at your ear, and then you feel it, one of his hands never leaving the handlebar, but the other slipping right between your thighs, pressing into the slick heat already soaking through your panties.

“Fuck, you’re soaked. You’re so tight,” he groans, two fingers rubbing you slow, then fast, his grip steady even as the bike keeps moving. The road is a blur beneath you, the only real thing is his touch, his dominance, the way he makes you feel held and ruined at once. He keeps you balanced, guiding you with his body, his mouth never far from your skin. “You wanna cum for me? Here, like this?” he growls, his palm flattening, working you just right, thumb teasing your clit as you gasp, writhing, the world spinning out beneath your wheels.

Your nipples ache, hard beneath your dress, and he knows, of course he knows, his free hand sneaking up under your top, pinching and rolling the sensitive bud, his fingers rough and clever. You arch for him, a whimper sliding out, wanting more, needing everything. “Look at you, baby. You can barely ride straight,” he teases, and you can hear the smirk, feel the filth in every word. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you? You love when I touch you, when everyone could see if they just looked close enough.”

The moans spill from you, unashamed, wild, all for him, lost to the night and the thrum of the engine, the world reduced to the feel of his hand moving inside you, the sting and sweetness of his grip on your breast, his lips at your ear. “That’s it, pretty. Let me hear you. Give me those sounds,” he pants, his own hips grinding up against your ass, cock throbbing, ready to split you open the second he gets you alone.

You’re begging, mindless, all words and want: “Don’t stop, please, Sunghoon, I need more, I need you to fuck me, ” but you never finish, because he shoves two fingers inside you, fucking you slow and deep, thumb flicking over your clit until you’re sobbing, coming for him on the back of his bike, the world exploding in sound and speed and need.

He growls in triumph, biting your shoulder, still guiding the bike steady, never letting you slip. “That’s my girl. You’re so fucking perfect, so wet for me,” he hisses, his hand never stopping, still tormenting your nipple, still fucking you with his fingers, milking every last aftershock, every moan, every trembling gasp. The whole world spins out, wild and reckless and so fucking good, and all you can think is that you never want this ride to end.

It’s not just the engine’s roar or the wind tangling your hair that drives you wild, it’s the dizzy rush of being slightly drunk, skin humming, blood sugar-quick from too many shots and too many longing glances, that makes everything sharper, sloppier, more dangerous. The alcohol is a fuse burning low in your veins, a soft haze that loosens your tongue and dissolves every last inhibition; it makes Sunghoon braver, too, reckless in a way that borders on feral, all cocky smiles and bold hands, his laughter loud and mean and full of want as he pushes you further, faster, messier. Each gasp and grind is magnified, each dirty word and desperate kiss charged with the kind of wildness you only find when you’re both half-untethered. intoxication turning every brush of skin, every shared look, into a dare you can’t help but take.

The ride back is reckless, laughter and moans eaten by the wind, and you barely feel the ground beneath the tires when Sunghoon finally swings the bike up to the curb in front of the pulsing party house. The porch lights smear gold over chrome, heat swirling off the engine, the house a blur of chaos behind you but the world shrunk down to the fever between your legs and the press of his chest at your back. You kill the ignition, breathless, hair whipped wild, and the quiet hits so suddenly you laugh out loud, a startled, delighted giggle, hand clapped to your mouth, high off the speed and the risk and the boy pressed so tight behind you.

You lean back, letting your head loll against his shoulder, turning just enough to catch the outline of his mouth in the dark, the glitter of want in his eyes. The silence stretches, heavy with promise. He grins, all teeth and hunger, and you tip sideways until your lips brush his, tasting sweat, adrenaline, and the faintest hint of whiskey from earlier. He groans, low and broken, immediately surging forward to devour you, his mouth hot and greedy, tongue sliding deep, hands everywhere, pulling you down into his lap so the bike rocks under you, echoing every desperate thrust of your hips.

It’s clumsy and urgent, all knees and elbows and teeth, his hands squeezing your thighs, dragging you closer until you’re straddling him, skirts bunched up, the whole world condensed to the slick heat between your legs and the hard line of his cock grinding up against you. The engine is still warm beneath you, metal humming against your calves, and every time you move the bike bounces in place, a dirty rhythm that makes your breath catch and your vision blur. Someone shrieks with laughter near the porch but neither of you notice, locked in, lost, every nerve ending tuned to each other.

You can feel him, solid and throbbing, rutting up between your thighs, and it’s so filthy, so public, you almost hope someone’s watching. He’s got one hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back so he can bite down the length of your throat, sucking marks into your skin, growling praise into your ear. “You’re fucking wild,” he mutters, nipping your jaw, hips bucking up to meet every grind. “You gonna fuck me out here, princess? Let everyone see how bad you want it?”

Your answer is a moan, muffled against his mouth, fingers clutching his shoulders, grinding harder, riding the hard seat and his cock and the thrum of the whole damn bike. He kisses you again, open-mouthed and messy, spit slick between your lips, his hands sliding up under your shirt, thumbs flicking over your nipples until you gasp, arching into him, desperate for more. The house is roaring, the whole street alive, but you’re caught in your own little fever dream, hips stuttering, body electric with need.

You pull back for just a second, breathless, watching the way his chest heaves, eyes glazed with lust and something deeper, something hungry and possessive. “You make me fucking crazy,” he rasps, one hand slipping down, pressing against the soaked crotch of your panties, teasing you right there, in the open, shameless and proud. “I could do this all night. Would you let me, baby? Would you let me ruin you right here, just to show them all you’re mine?”

You’re whimpering, rocking into his palm, desperate and aching, every movement making the bike jolt beneath you, every gasp swallowed by his mouth. His teeth scrape your lip, his hips thrust up, and for a wild, endless moment, the whole world is just heat and need and the delirious, dirty joy of being wanted, of wanting him right back, your hands in his hair, his fingers inside you, the two of you wild and high and so, so alive in the Halloween night.

Your breath fogs, lips swollen, heart racing from the ride and the way your body is caging his in, one of his hands locked around your waist, the other tracing slow, lazy circles over your thigh. “Sunghoon,” you gasp, voice raw and greedy, “I want you—fuck, I need you. Can we please go somewhere quiet and let me scream for you? I want to fuck you so loud everyone in this town hears.” You’re not guarded anymore, not even close, just ruined by adrenaline and the night, the need thrumming through your veins like gasoline. You turn, mouth right against his visor, and beg: “Please, please, just take me somewhere—”

He grins, full and wicked, teeth flashing under the parking lot lights. “Looks like you lost our bet, pretty girl. And you know what that means, I’ve got to show you what a real party is before I let you ride me again.” He plants a slow, filthy kiss at the corner of your mouth, tasting your need. “Don’t pout. You’ll get everything you want. Just let me have you in my world first.” You groan, muttering under your breath, but you’re already nodding, already slipping your hand into his, letting him lead you back up the drive.

Walking into the house now, your entire body thrums with possession and hunger, Sunghoon’s hand huge and warm in yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles, the two of you moving as one. It couldn’t be more different from when you arrived, cold and invisible, hugging your coat to your chest and shrinking from every blast of music or snatch of laughter. Now the lights seem to blaze in welcome; heads turn, conversations stall, and the air is thick with something that wasn’t there before. You hear someone gasp your name, and a low ripple of “Is that Sunghoon with—?” runs through the crowd. There are stares, half-curious, half-envious, but you barely notice, the world narrowing to the press of his palm, the way he glances back at you with a look that says you belong to him.

Sunghoon doesn’t stop, not for anyone. He weaves you both through the tangle of bodies, the haze of spilled beer and too-sweet punch, and even though you know you’re suddenly the center of attention, you don’t care at all. All you feel is the weight of his hand, the way your chest brushes his arm, the way he glances down at you every few steps, eyes dark and proud and already undressing you again. The house hasn’t changed, there’s still the same chaos, the same heat, the same wildness crowding every corner but this time you’re not a ghost on the margins. You’re here, you’re seen, you’re wanted, and with him you feel untouchable.

He squeezes your hand, tugging you close, his lips at your ear as he murmurs, “Let’s give them a show, hm? Let’s make them wish they’d been the one to drag you out into the night.” And all you can do is nod, dizzy and gleaming, as he sweeps you through the crowd, no longer invisible, no longer alone, just you and Sunghoon at the center of it all, heat rising, promise in every step, your body already singing for what’s coming next.

The noise of the main room swells as he steers you through the crowd, his hand never leaving the small of your back, both of you brushing against bodies slick with heat and cheap cologne, the chaos a living thing. It feels strange, surreal, to be claimed in front of all these people, his hand guiding, sometimes squeezing, sometimes sliding just a little too low, as if to say mine. But his voice in your ear is quieter, coaxing. “Come on, I want to show you something,” he says, mouth brushing your hair, and you let him lead you past the crowd, trusting him in spite of everything.

He pulls you into the laundry room, flicking on a string of battery lights tacked over the washing machine, the sudden hush making your breath feel loud in your chest. Someone’s left a tray of cider shots on the dryer, apples, cinnamon, a bite of whiskey and he pours you each a glass, nudging it into your hands with a wink. “Most people never see this side of a party,” he says. “But this is where you get the best stories.” The light is soft and yellow, the air perfumed with detergent and the distant sound of bass. He leans back against the dryer, watching you, thumb brushing over your wrist, as you sip and feel the tension begin to ease. It’s so private, so removed, it almost feels like you’ve wandered into someone else’s memory.

The music changes, something slower and older, a song you half-remember from a summer you almost want to relive. He grins when you recognize it, reaches for your waist, and pulls you into his lap on the edge of the dryer. “Let’s have a dance, pretty girl,” he whispers, voice husky. You go willingly, legs swinging, his knees bracketing yours, the two of you swaying just slightly to the beat. The air smells like sugar and clean cotton, his hands smoothing up and down your back, and for a moment it’s as if you’ve always belonged here, folded into the heat and hum of the house.

After a few minutes, Sunghoon lifts you down and grabs your hand again, tugging you into a narrow hall lined with old framed photos and thrift store art, pausing at a door. “Attic’s this way. Hardly anyone goes up except my closest friends.” He flicks on a lamp at the foot of the stairs, and you follow him, your footsteps muffled by the thick runner. At the top, the attic is transformed: fairy lights strung overhead, mismatched pillows scattered everywhere, people curled up in little knots, laughing, sharing secrets, couples tracing patterns on each other’s skin. A few glance up, but Sunghoon’s presence makes room for you. He pulls you onto a heap of pillows, his arm around your shoulders, your thighs flush against his, both of you facing a window lit blue by the city outside.

“Look,” he murmurs, pointing out at the skyline, “you see that spire? That’s where Jake and I got locked out one night, and had to climb down the fire escape.” He starts telling stories, sharing tiny memories tucked inside each room, how Heeseung once slow-danced with a boy up here just to win a dare, how Jay wrote song lyrics in Sharpie on the beams, how the best nights are always the quiet ones nobody else remembers. As he talks, you realize how little you ever saw before, how the surface chaos of a party hides all these softer, stranger, sweeter corners. Your heart starts to calm; you can feel it physically, breath deepening, laughter slipping out more easily, the tension of the night draining from your shoulders as Sunghoon traces circles over your knee, always touching, always close.

You curl into a velvet throw blanket and Sunghoon’s side, letting him hold you, the two of you half-watching the slow, lazy dancing on the far side of the attic. At one point he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers trail over your cheek, and it makes your whole body hum. “See? It’s not all beer pong and bad decisions,” he murmurs, nuzzling your temple. “Sometimes it’s just… this.” He kisses you, slow and deliberate, lips soft but hungry, one hand sliding up your thigh under the blanket, the rest of the room melting away.

When you break apart, giggling and breathless, he pulls you even closer, fingers tangled with yours, and starts pointing out silly details, the sticker someone left on the lamp, the shoes dangling from a ceiling beam, the soft hum of a group playing a whispered game of truth or dare in the corner. Every detail he shares feels intimate, like a secret, and your heart twists at how easy he makes it to forget where you started tonight, alone, outside, cold. Here, with him, you feel warmer, lighter, like you might finally be letting yourself belong.

Eventually, he coaxes you up again, guiding you through the attic’s hidden exits, down a back staircase that lets out into a tiny sunroom full of dying houseplants and candles burned almost to the glass. He grins, squeezing your waist, and says, “If you ever need a break from the crowd, this is where I hide. Want to stay here a little longer?” The way he looks at you, soft, possessive, so sure, makes it impossible to say no. You let him settle you in his lap again, the two of you tucked away behind a half-closed door, sharing more cider, his hands never still, tracing patterns on your thighs, your back, your jaw, leaving you aching and giddy and wanting nothing but him.

He kisses you again, this time with a hunger he doesn’t bother to hide. Your fingers knot in his hair, your body pressed to his, the rest of the world gone fuzzy and distant, just shadows and candlelight and the thrill of being seen, finally, in all the ways that matter. You forget, for a little while, about the bet, about the crowd, about anything except the heat and weight of him, the little world you’ve carved out of the party chaos, a secret speakeasy, a blanket fort in an attic, a sunroom full of overgrown green. All of it, suddenly, just for you.

You sink into Sunghoon’s lap, straddling him with your knees pressed to the cushions, hands braced against his shoulders, the velvet throw puddled around your hips but forgotten. Your bodies align perfectly, his legs wide beneath yours, your chest flush to his, every inch of space gone in an instant. The room is a low-lit cocoon: candlelight flickering over floorboards, the muted thump of party music far below, but here it’s nothing but the heat between you. His hands slide up your thighs, thumbs sweeping under the hem of your dress, palms dragging you closer until your core is pressed to the hard length straining against his jeans. 

You don’t answer with words, your hips answer for you, rolling forward, grinding down slow and shameless, feeling the heat and pressure build where you both want it most. He sucks in a sharp breath, head tipping back, and you chase his mouth, lips meeting in a kiss that’s already half-moan, half-bite. His hands are everywhere: cupping your ass, tugging you harder against him, tracing up your spine to fist in your hair, holding you in place as he kisses you like he needs to taste every part of you. “You feel that?” he mutters against your lips, letting his hips buck up, cock thick and ready under you. “Fuck, you’re so hotc so fucking wet for me already. I knew you’d be trouble the second I saw you leaning against my bike.” His words are a low growl, but his hands are worshipful, sliding up your ribcage, thumbing at your nipples through the thin fabric, squeezing until you whimper into his mouth.

Your grinding gets bolder, wetter, a rhythm building that’s just for the two of you. Every little friction sends sparks up your spine, your body wild for more, your breathing ragged. You pull back just enough to see his face, eyes glazed, lips slick, jaw tight with want. You lean in and whisper, “You like this, don’t you?” and he laughs, low and desperate, thrusting up to answer you with his body. Around you, the rest of the world could disappear and you’d never notice, all that matters is the way he holds you, the way his tongue tangles with yours, the slow, relentless drag of his hands under your dress and the unspoken promise that there’s so much more waiting once you finally leave this attic.

The world outside your little corner is still all raucous music, distant shouting, and the distant thud of feet on the stairs, but here it’s a warm, golden hush, every flicker of candlelight dancing across his jaw, every heartbeat close enough to taste. Sunghoon’s hand finds your thigh, long fingers squeezing, inching the hem of your dress higher. You tip your head back, breathless, lips parted, watching the shadows play over his face. His voice is low, smoky, barely more than a whisper: “You know, I was watching you all night. Out on the lawn, leaning against my bike. You looked like you were waiting for someone.” He presses his mouth to your ear, nuzzling, soft laughter rumbling through his chest. “Did you know it’d be me?” The words burn, heavy and sweet. You turn in his arms, facing him fully, and his hands settle around your waist, holding you steady as you straddle his lap, knees pressing into the pillows.

Your answer is a slow, deliberate kiss, your mouth finding his lips soft at first, tasting the cider on his tongue, letting him pull you closer until your chests are flush, until your hips sink down and you feel him, already hard, straining through his jeans. He groans against your mouth, biting gently at your bottom lip, and you let yourself melt into him, every inch of your body wound up, aching, hungry for more. His hands slide under your dress, palms hot and greedy, pulling you tighter, rocking you against the thick length of him, grinding slow and heavy, as if he needs to memorize the shape of you. He breaks the kiss, just enough to murmur against your jaw, “Fuck, you feel good. I could sit here all night with you just like this. No one’s ever looked better in my lap.” His breath is hot, damp on your skin, hands never stillc one sliding up your spine, splaying wide between your shoulder blades, the other dipping down to cup your ass, urging your hips into a deeper roll. You gasp, your body answering without thought, grinding down, letting the ache and the friction carry you somewhere shameless.

Your lips find his again, messier now, open-mouthed, teeth grazing, tongues tangled, each kiss more desperate than the last. He tugs your head back, exposing your throat, and leaves a trail of kisses, biting just hard enough to make you shiver. The blanket slips, pooling around your hips, leaving you open, exposed, glowing in the lamplight. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, one hand guiding your hips as you move, slow and shameless on his lap. “You want more?” His words are a growl now, all need, all promise.

You nod, panting, nails digging into his shoulders, the world blurring into heat and want and the soft scrape of his jeans against your thighs. “I want you,” you say, voice raw. “Right here, right now.” He hisses, his grip tightening, hips bucking up, grinding you down, the two of you gasping into each other’s mouths, chasing pleasure in the secret hush of the attic, the party nothing but a heartbeat beneath your feet. He kisses you again, rough and deep, and everything else falls away, just the taste of him, the strength of his arms, the dizzy, perfect friction of your bodies tangled together, lost in the golden dark.

You’re ready to ride him, breathless in his lap, but before you can sink down, Sunghoon pulls back with a sly, taunting grin, his hands tightening on your hips to hold you at the edge of his lap, just out of reach. “Not yet,” he murmurs, his voice thick and low, heat coiling in every word. “You lost the bet, remember? I promised to show you how this party’s supposed to feel.” He sits up, shifting you off him just enough that your body aches at the loss, that empty throb making you want to whine. Before you can protest, he grabs your hand, fingers laced tight, tugging you through the tangle of blankets and across the attic floor. “Come on, pretty girl. You’re not leaving without a tour.”

You barely catch your breath before he’s leading you down the stairs, weaving through shadow and light, past half-dressed couples and collapsed partygoers. He sweeps you into the kitchen, chaos, sticky counters, trays of half-eaten snacks, a punch bowl looking suspiciously radioactive. He grins, snagging a loaf of bread and a bag of shredded cheese, elbowing a drunken Jake out of the way at the stove. “You ever had a grilled cheese this late?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “Bet it’ll ruin you for life.” He’s cocky, almost childlike as he fumbles with the pan, but there’s something soft in the way he glances back to make sure you’re watching, the way he leans close so only you can hear: “I make it better when someone’s looking.”

You tease him for his technique, swiping at the cheese on his wrist, and he retaliates by offering you the first bite, feeding you slowly, thumb brushing your lower lip. The kitchen is a storm of sound, someone yelling about spilled cider, glass shattering in the sink, laughter bouncing off the tile but with his hand on your cheek and the taste of melted cheese in your mouth, it feels private, secret. Sunghoon backs you against the fridge, lips crashing to yours, stealing the taste of your last laugh, vodka and sharp cheddar and something so fucking raw you shiver. His hands slide to your waist, hips pressing forward, grinding you up against the cold metal, the heat between your bodies making you forget where you are. Every pass of his tongue is dirtier than the last, the world blurring around the sharp edges of your want, your breath fogging the stainless steel.

Someone shouts from the other room, music blares, a new song pounding through the floorboards. Sunghoon just grins into your mouth, pulling away to catch your dazed, hungry look. “Still think you want to go home?” he asks, letting his hand fall to yours again. Before you can answer, he’s dragging you out of the kitchen, down the hallway, where most of the party has thinned. He fishes his phone out, scrolls for a second, and suddenly you’re alone in the biggest living room, the couch deserted except for a couple passed out on each other. He plugs his phone into the speaker, some slow, pulsing track filling the room, something sexy and lush and meant to be heard in the dark.

He finds you with his eyes, grinning, and tugs you into his arms, hands landing low on your hips, pulling you in so close your chest brushes his with every shallow breath. “Let’s see if you dance as good as you ride,” he teases, his voice velvet, and you can’t help but laugh, nerves and want fizzing through you. He starts slow, rocking you in time to the music, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers filth, compliments, filthy things he wants to do to you, praise for how fucking hot you look tonight, how no one else in this house compares. His hands get bolder, sliding over your ass, fingers tracing the line of your spine, drawing you flush against the hard line of his body. You can feel him, thick, ready, pressing up against your core with every step, every sway. He kisses your neck, bites your shoulder, lets his hands cup your ass and grind you in time to the music, not caring that anyone could walk in and see.

There’s laughter somewhere, but its background, unimportant. You only hear the music, feel the pulse of his hands, your hips rolling shamelessly into his. It’s intimate, obscene, slow-dancing in the dark with the one boy who can set you on fire with just a look. When he finally pulls back, breathless and grinning, you realize your heart is beating out of your chest, your body begging for more, and you know the night is nowhere near finished, not with Sunghoon in charge.

You barely get a warning, a grin, a wicked glint in Sunghoon’s eye, before he tugs you away from the music and the chaos, down a shadowed back staircase and up another, the air thinning and cooling as you climb. The hallways narrow, overhead lights flickering, distant bass thrumming through the floors. He pushes open a heavy door and suddenly you’re hit with the hush of night, cool air against your skin, the city spread out in glimmering bokeh below. The rooftop is a secret garden, untamed: fairy lights strung haphazard over rusted railing, wind-worn deck chairs scattered around a square pool that glows aquamarine in the dark, steam rising from a sunken jacuzzi bubbling in the corner. No one else is here, just you, Sunghoon, and the hiss of water on tile.

He doesn’t hesitate. He drops his jacket on a chair, then peels off his shirt in one easy motion, letting it fall to the ground with a thud that feels more intimate than a kiss. Under the golden lights, his body is all shadow and muscle, pale skin glinting, dark hair wild above his brow. Every line of him is honed and unapologetic, broad shoulders tapering down to a tight waist, the muscles in his arms flexing as he moves, chest dusted with the faintest line of hair trailing down, stomach tight and cut with abs you want to rake your nails across. He smirks, undoes his belt with a lazy twist, slides out of his jeans, boxers following until he’s bare, no shame, no fear, just confidence and hunger.

His cock hangs thick and already hardening, jutting forward between strong thighs, the head flushed deep red, glistening in the half-light. Your throat goes tight at the sight, he’s beautiful, the kind of beautiful that makes your mouth water, your core clench, every inch of him made for sin. He catches you staring, one eyebrow arching as he fists the length slowly, spreading the slick with the pad of his thumb just to tease. “You gonna keep watching, or you gonna come take what you want?” he taunts, voice velvet-dark, making heat bloom everywhere in your body.

A low, greedy growl rumbles in your chest before you can stop it, hunger twisting through your belly. He grins, hungry and wolfish, drinking you in with the same unhidden need, the weight of his cock swinging as he steps closer to the pool. The sight alone has you pulsing, ready to sink your teeth into his shoulder, to taste salt and skin, to claim every inch. The way his body moves, so unhurried and certain, makes you want to drop to your knees and worship every line, every shadow, every drop of sweat. It’s almost feral, the way you crave him—hot and raw and desperate, a need that claws under your skin, threatening to eat you alive if he doesn’t touch you soon.

Your throat goes dry. You’re trembling from the cold, from the heat in his eyes, from the raw audacity of being here, alone, exposed, with Sunghoon. He grins wider. “Come on, sweetheart. No one ever finds this place. Only the good ones get an invite.” You glance at the skyline, at the empty chairs, heart pounding as you tug your dress up over your hips. The hem catches, and you flush, fumbling with the zipper, but his voice finds you: “Slow down. Let me see.” Your hands go still. You lock eyes with him, and the rest of your dress slides up, satin rustling, baring your legs, then your thighs, then your bare chest beneath the witchy corset you chose just for tonight. You toss it aside, goosebumps racing down your arms. You hook your thumbs in your stockings, rolling them down inch by inch, his gaze dragging over every inch of skin you reveal. By the time you’re bare, the night air is colder but your body is burning, your nipples pebbled, your pulse thrumming everywhere.

His eyes drag over every inch of you, slow, greedy, a touch of reverence mixed with unmistakable hunger, his gaze dips from your flushed cheeks to the swell of your breasts, nipples pebbling in the chill, down your belly to the soft skin between your thighs, the shadows hiding nothing, the goosebumps rising everywhere he lingers. He stares like he’s starving, tongue wetting his lips, jaw tensing as his gaze traces the curve of your ass, the arch of your back, the vulnerable line of your throat. “Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, voice husky, eyes blown wide with want. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, messy, perfect, dripping for me.” For a moment you swear he’s lost language, just breathing you in, jaw flexing, cock twitching, hungry as a wolf, not moving until you come to him.

He crooks a finger, beckoning. “Come here. It’s warmer here.” You take a breath and step in, the water licking up your calves, knees, thighs, until it’s waist-deep and your body sighs at the sudden heat. Sunghoon doesn’t give you a second to hesitate, he meets you in the middle of the pool, hands finding your waist under the surface, his touch anchoring you as your legs threaten to give out. He drags you closer, chest to chest, skin to skin, the world vanishing until it’s just your heartbeat and his, the smell of chlorine and him, the stars reflected all broken in the ripples.

He tilts your chin up, grinning, hair dripping over his brow, his eyes so dark you could drown. “Thought you’d run,” he whispers, but you shake your head, breathless, hungry. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” You reach for him, hands sliding down his back, feeling the shiver that runs through him. He kisses you, slow at first, tongue teasing at the seam of your mouth, then deeper, hungrier, one hand tangling in your hair, the other sliding down your spine to cup your ass and pull you flush. Your legs wrap around his waist, your back arching, every inch of your body slick with water and want. The heat of the jacuzzi swirls around you, the city humming somewhere far below, but up here, there’s only the slap of water, the breathless hush between your moans, the quiet gasp when his cock grinds against your core.

His stare doesn’t let up for a second—you feel it, sharp and unblinking, grazing every curve, every patch of skin you’ve just exposed to the night. You try not to flinch under the attention, but there’s something primal in the way he watches, like he’s memorizing you for later, cataloguing every dip and hollow and inch of soft flesh he’s about to touch. When you finally step closer, the city lights painting you gold and silver, he lets his hands settle on your hips, drawing you into the heat of him, his cock hard and leaking against your belly, bodies flush and slick as the steam from the jacuzzi blurs your outlines. He doesn’t say a word—just devours, starting at your mouth, tracing your lips with his tongue before deepening the kiss, messy and slow, until you’re gasping. His mouth finds your throat next, nipping a bruise under your jaw, then scraping his teeth over your collarbone, biting the tip of your shoulder just hard enough to make you moan, then soothing it with a kiss. He trails lower, lips and teeth mapping you like a secret he’s waited all night to claim, and by the time he licks the shell of your ear, his hands have moved up, thumbing your nipples, making your head drop back, breathless and bare in every sense.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” he growls, nipping, licking, drowning in you, his voice raw. Your hands grip his hair, your hips moving against his under the water, grinding, desperate, chasing the heat that builds with every slick stroke. Your thighs tighten around him, holding him there, wanting more, always more.

He slips a hand between your legs, fingers teasing, sliding through your folds, finding you already soaked despite the water. “You gonna let me make you cum right here?” he murmurs, teeth flashing. “You want the whole city to hear you?” You whimper, nails scratching at his shoulders, biting back a moan as he circles your clit, slow and dirty, just how you like. His other hand cups your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple, tugging until you’re squirming, so close to falling apart already you could scream.

He kisses you again, swallowing your cries, his hips moving, grinding you together in the steaming blue water, the slap and swirl of it echoing off the tiles. “Hold on to me,” he whispers, his forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and ragged. “Let me take care of you.” And you do, you let him, you let yourself, lost in the thrill of being naked and devoured and seen, right here where no one else will ever find you.

The water sloshes around your hips as Sunghoon’s hands find your waist, pulling you down into his lap, every inch of skin meeting his, his cock sliding between your thighs, hot and heavy. You’re still half-floating, legs weightless in the warm pool, when his fingers find your clit under the surface, slick and slow, the pad of his thumb circling until you’re arching into his chest, mouth buried in his shoulder to keep quiet. The steam rises, fogging the air, your breaths mingling with the night as he slips a finger inside you, then two, knuckle-deep and curling just right, making your legs quake beneath the surface. He coaxes you, filth in every whispered word, “You want everyone in this city to know how good I make you feel, pretty thing?” before sealing his mouth over yours to swallow your answer. His grip tightens, rhythm cruel and perfect, and you lose track of time, every heartbeat pulsing against his palm, your body clenched and fluttering, thighs trembling around his hand as you come hard, biting down on his shoulder, stifling your scream.

He doesn’t let you sink back into the water. Instead, with a strength that feels possessive and adoring all at once, he scoops you up, water streaming off your skin, and lays you out on the cold stone edge of the pool. Your back hits the tile, the shock of it chased by the heat of his gaze, and you barely catch your breath before his hands are parting your knees, spreading you open to the night. The city sprawls behind him in a mess of neon and traffic, but all you see is the hunger in his eyes, the way his hair falls into his face as he kneels at the edge, mouth already ghosting over your inner thigh. He pauses just long enough to drink you in, fingers stroking gently over your slit, then dives in, tongue flattening against your clit, licking long and slow, savoring you like something decadent.

Every pass of his mouth is unhurried, deliberate, obscene, his tongue teasing your folds, dipping inside, then back up to flick against the swollen bud of your clit until you’re whimpering, fists tangled in his hair, heels digging into his bare shoulders for leverage. He groans when you writhe, mouthing curses against you, lips glossy with you, tongue never letting up, devouring every sound you make. The cold air hits your skin but you’re burning from the inside out, trembling on the edge of another orgasm as he sucks your clit into his mouth, humming low, letting his teeth graze just enough to make you cry out, all the while murmuring how sweet you taste, how filthy you look like this, dripping, ruined, spread out for him and only him.

Stars blur overhead, the city roaring beneath you, but the only thing that matters is his mouth—Sunghoon, unashamed and relentless, eating you out like it’s his whole reason for being. When you finally break, shattering in a rush of sound and sensation, he doesn’t stop, lapping up every drop, tongue gentle but insistent, anchoring you to the rooftop, to the heat of his body, to the wild, dizzying realization that no one has ever made you feel like this before. When you come down, breathless and boneless, his hands are there, steadying you, worship in every touch.

You barely hit the tiles before Sunghoon has you pinned, his mouth crashing against yours, teeth and tongue and hunger, your bodies slick with water and need. Your arms loop desperately around his neck, legs tangled at his waist, every kiss a collision, every gasp a promise. He stumbles you both through the dark, trailing wet footprints, groping blindly for a door, laughter and party noise echoing distantly behind you. Your nails rake his back, hips grinding against his as he fumbles the knob, shoves you both inside a cramped bathroom, and kicks the door shut with a shuddering slam. The lock clicks. He presses you flat to the door, mouth devouring yours, his hands everywhere, palming your ass, tugging you higher, fingers digging bruises he’ll kiss later. The need is dizzying, a heat that scorches your lungs, every breath a moan swallowed between frantic kisses, hips rutting helpless and greedy, both of you lost to the madness of wanting, desperate to fuck and tear the rest of the world away.

He grabs your jaw in one hand, tilting your face up, and spits right into your open mouth, smirking as you swallow it down, hot and filthy, your tongue flicking over your lips just to taste him. He kisses you hard, tasting himself, grinding you harder against the door so every ridge of his cock rubs through his jeans into your clit. “Open wider,” he commands, sliding two fingers between your lips and fucking your mouth, thumb pressing down on your tongue. “Show me how much you want it. Make it sloppy, baby.” You do, spit pooling on your chin as you suck him, moaning around his hand, your eyes rolling back at the roughness of it, the ownership, the way his gaze never leaves your face.

He drops his hand to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath catch, holding you still while he kisses down your chest, biting the soft skin above your neckline, leaving dark marks that will bloom into bruises. You arch, whimpering, hips rolling, desperate for more, your cunt aching, dripping, desperate for his cock. He grins, wicked and sharp, and slides his fingers back between your legs, smearing wetness over your thighs. “Can’t believe how much you’re leaking for me,” he murmurs, voice thick with pride and want. “Do you want everyone to hear how filthy you get when I touch you? Want me to make you scream for real this time?”

The porcelain sink bites into your hips as Sunghoon shoves you back, your dress bunched at your waist, your panties tugged off so fast the elastic burns your thighs. He doesn’t give you a chance to breathe, just drops to his knees on the grimy tile, his hands spreading your legs so wide the stretch aches. His mouth finds your cunt like he’s been starved for it all night, his breath hot and ragged, tongue flat and broad as he licks a filthy stripe from your hole up to your clit. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t flirt, just devours, tongue moving in brutal, greedy circles, sucking your clit between his lips, letting the messy slick and spit drip down his chin. He moans into you, loud and guttural, as if the taste of you alone could make him cum. You arch, clawing at the edge of the sink, your moans bouncing off tile, high and desperate and wet.

He slides two fingers inside without warning, curling them up ruthlessly, knuckles grinding against your dripping cunt while his mouth works like you’re the only thing in the world he wants to worship or ruin. Every flick of his tongue is frantic, his nose pressed into your mound, your thighs trembling on either side of his head. He pins you open, one palm splayed against your belly, pressing you down to keep you from writhing away as his fingers fuck you rough and deep, hitting that spot that makes you scream. He growls against your clit, “Scream for me, pretty baby, let them hear how fucking sweet you taste”—and you do, your voice raw, the whole party surely hearing your cries as you cum the first time, legs kicking, hands fisting in his hair.

He doesn’t slow, doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop to gloat. He just pulls you closer, nearly lifting you off the floor, tongue pressing inside you, fucking you with his mouth, the mess soaking his chin, spit and slick dripping onto the tile below. He eats you like you’re his last meal, like he needs you to survive, his hands squeezing your thighs so tight you’ll bruise, groaning into your skin every time you shudder or cry out. You lose track of your own noises, pleasure pouring out in filthy moans and half-words. “Please, please, don’t stop, need it, fuck”—and he only laughs, eyes gleaming up at you, pupils blown wide, devouring the sight of you coming apart.

He starts talking, filthy and low, every word vibrating through your cunt. “Look at this pretty pussy, dripping all over my tongue, you taste so fucking good, bet you’ve never been eaten like this before, have you? Bet no one’s ever made you cum just from their mouth, yeah? You wanna cum again? You gonna soak my face, baby? Show me how much you love being ruined like this”—his words half-mocking, half-worshipping, every line making you melt. You try to close your legs but he pins them open, spreading you wider, licking even deeper, nose bumping your clit as he sucks, tongue fucking you, grinding his face into you like he’s marking you for everyone to see.

When you cum again, it’s violent, your whole body spasms, thighs clamping down on his head, hips bucking so hard you nearly knock the sink loose from the wall. He grins, loving it, lets you ride his tongue through the aftershocks, never stopping, fingers still pumping deep, thumb rubbing messy circles on your swollen clit. “Good girl,” he breathes, “cum for me, fuck, do it again, want you shaking,” and you sob, tears running down your cheeks, every nerve ending on fire, pleasure rolling through you in endless, breaking waves. He slaps your thigh, hard, just to feel you jerk and cry out, the sting mixing with the ache and the want and the mess he’s making of you.

He’s relentless, licks you through every twitch, never letting up, using his spit to make you even messier, his hair sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed, eyes locked on yours the whole time. You’re babbling now, begging, not even sure what for, just needing, needing, needing, and he eats it up, hungry for every sound, every shiver. He pulls back for a second, eyes dark, mouth shining with you. “Look at you,” he says, “look how fucking ruined you are for me. You want more? Want me to spit in your mouth again? Want me to fuck you with my tongue until you forget your name?”

You nod, desperate, and he laughs, leans up to spit in your open mouth, then dives back down, tongue working faster, messier, sloppier. His hand slips up, finds your throat, squeezes until you’re dizzy, your moans turning strangled and high-pitched, your cunt squeezing around his fingers. He lets go just long enough to slide his thumb into your mouth. “Suck, baby, wanna feel your tongue”—then goes back to devouring you, his voice muffled, “Gonna make you cum for me again, I don’t care if you scream, let everyone fucking hear you, I want them to know you’re mine now, all mine.”

He keeps eating you out until your legs are shaking so badly you can’t stand, until you’re half-sobbing, half-laughing, your whole body tingling, the mess everywhere, on your thighs, his mouth, the sink, the floor. When he finally stands, his jaw glistening with your slick, he wipes his face on the back of his hand and smirks, looking at you like you’re the only thing worth having tonight. You’re a wreck, thighs trembling, voice hoarse, eyes wild and all you want is for him to ruin you all over again. 

The door rattles in its frame, pounding and laughter echoing from the hallway, but neither of you move. Sunghoon stands, eyes glazed and hungry, his hands cupping your ass as he lifts you just enough to grind the thick, aching length of his cock right against your dripping cunt. The fabric of his jeans is rough, the pressure perfectly filthy, and you gasp, desperate for friction, thighs trembling as you rut helplessly against him. His voice is all low smoke, breath hot in your ear. “You want me to fuck you in front of everyone?” he whispers, thumb stroking the inside of your thigh, “Or do you want to get on your knees and show me how much you need it?”

Your answer is a broken whimper, but you slide down his body, tongue tracing the ridges of his abs as you go, licking sweat, teeth scraping over his skin, fingers digging into his waistband until you reach the bulge that’s been tormenting you all night. He yanks his belt open, jeans barely past his hips, cock springing free, flushed and leaking for you. You don’t hesitate, just take him in hand, spit already pooling on your tongue, gaze flicking up to meet him. He grins, cocky and wild, one hand sinking into your hair, gripping tight as he guides you to his cock. “Open up, pretty thing,” he growls, voice barely louder than the party outside, “Let me see how much you can take.”

You suck him deep, hollowing your cheeks, loving the way he shudders, the salty tang of him heavy on your tongue. His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling, making your eyes water in the best way. Every thrust of his hips makes you choke a little, spit and precum dripping down your chin, but you’re greedy for it, moaning around him, nose pressed to his pelvis, throat stretching for him. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groans, “Look at you, drooling for my cock with the whole fucking house outside.” The bathroom door rattles again, someone’s yelling, pounding, but Sunghoon’s only response is to fuck your mouth harder, his other hand braced on the sink behind you, holding you steady.

You pull back, licking a wet stripe from the base to the head, swirling your tongue under the tip, making him gasp. He’s twitching, pulsing, desperate already, and you love the power of it, love the way he looks down at you like you’re the filthiest, prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “You gonna let me cum down your throat, baby?” he whispers, breathless, “Or do you want to taste it on your tongue first?” His hand is tangled in your hair, pulling your head back, making you look up at him, his cock smearing your cheek. You moan, sticking your tongue out, begging for it without words.

He slaps his cock against your tongue, leaking all over your lips, then pulls you up by the hair, making you gasp as he drags you to your feet. “Not yet,” he murmurs, “Want you screaming when I fuck you.” His grip is brutal but careful, a hand cradling the back of your head, thumb brushing your jaw as if to soothe. “Gonna ruin that pretty mouth, then bend you over the sink and make you take it until you’re crying for more.” His mouth finds yours, kissing you with teeth and tongue, the taste of his cock mixing with your own slick on his lips.

You’re shaking, wet and desperate, every inch of your body on fire as he turns you, pressing you hard against the cool porcelain, cock grinding into the curve of your ass. He lifts your dress, bare skin to the open air, and rakes his nails down your spine, making you arch and whimper. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, “Love seeing you messy. Love knowing everyone can hear how much you want it.” His hand slips between your thighs, fingers stroking your soaked folds, spreading you open just enough to make you gasp. He leans in, voice right at your ear, filthy and soft. “Bet you’ll cum for me just from this, just from grinding on my cock while they all listen.”

The door bangs again, louder now, angry voices and more laughter, but Sunghoon just laughs low in his throat, eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. “Let them wait,” he smirks, “You’re not leaving this room until I’m finished with you.” His other hand finds your throat, squeezing just enough to make you dizzy, his cock rocking against your cunt, your slick already soaking his jeans. You whimper, grinding back on him, desperate for more, for everything. “Say you want it,” he whispers, biting your ear, “Say you want to be ruined with everyone listening.”

You manage a breathless, “Want it, want you to fuck me right here, make them hear me scream,” and he smiles, dark and hungry, tongue flicking over the shell of your ear. “Good girl,” he purrs, “You’re mine tonight. Only mine.” He sucks a mark into your neck, hand still tight in your hair, cock still pressed hot and heavy against your soaked cunt, every muscle in your body straining for the moment he finally gives in and takes you.

The bathroom is a wild, echoing chamber of sweat and heat, the thump of music and muffled shouts from the party pounding through the door. Sunghoon’s cock grinds against your soaked folds, the denim gone rough and sticky from your slick, his fingers threading through your hair as he breathes in the sound of your moans. He kisses you, hungry, biting, the kind of kiss that makes you ache for more even when you’re already trembling. “You want it so bad, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice pitched low for you alone. “Bet you’ll forget your own name when I fuck you. Bet you’ll scream so loud the whole house will know who you belong to.”

Your body surges forward, desperate, greedy, hips rolling back to meet every shift of his. “Sunghoon,” you gasp, clawing at the porcelain, “please. Please, just fuck me. I can’t, I need it, I need you right now.” He laughs, dark and delighted, the sound vibrating up your spine. You feel the slap of his palm on your ass, sharp and stinging, and it only makes you wetter, your body bowing under the command of his hands. “That’s it,” he hisses, “Beg for it, pretty girl. Show me how desperate you can get.”

He yanks your dress up, leaving you bare from the waist down, your cunt glistening in the harsh bathroom light, so wet you’re practically dripping onto the tiles. His fingers dip between your legs, gathering slick, spreading it over your folds, just to hear the filthy sound it makes. “Fuck, you’re soaked for me,” he growls, lining himself up at your entrance. “You want everyone to know how needy you are? Want them to know I’m the only one who gets to ruin you like this?”

The head of his cock pushes inside, thick and slow, stretching you open inch by aching inch. Your mouth falls open, a strangled moan torn from your throat as he fills you, the world tilting, vision white-hot at the edges. You clutch the edge of the sink, his knuckles white, as he bottoms out, grinding his hips into yours, refusing to let you adjust before he’s pulling back and slamming back in, hard enough to make the whole counter shudder. “Fuck—so tight,” he groans, voice strangled, “God, you feel fucking perfect. Taking me so well, baby.”

You can’t form words, just breathless pleas and broken whimpers, every thrust driving you closer to the edge, his grip bruising on your hips. “That’s it, let them hear you,” he pants, rutting into you harder, the slap of skin loud enough to be scandalous. “Let them hear how much you love getting fucked by me.” You’re half sobbing, half laughing, lost in it, forehead pressed to the cold mirror, tongue out to catch your own moans as you watch the way his eyes burn into your reflection.

The doorknob rattles. There’s a sudden shout, someone’s trying to barge in, the handle wrenching, a flash of hallway light. You barely register it before Sunghoon snarls, pulling out, turning you, shoving the door shut with a slam that shakes the wall. “Occupied,” he barks, voice raw and ragged, and you’re giggling, high on adrenaline and shame and desire, watching him lock it again, his cock flushed, glistening with your slick. “No one’s interrupting,” he mutters, grabbing you, spinning you around so your back hits the door, pressing his body flush to yours.

His mouth is on your neck, your jaw, biting down hard enough to leave marks, his hands everywhere—m, thighs, ass, waist, the small of your back. You wrap your legs around his hips, locking him in, grinding down until you feel him tremble. “You’re so fucking hot,” you whisper, licking the sweat off his cheek, “I want you to lose control for me. I want you to cum so hard you forget your own name.” He groans, teeth bared, and then he’s back inside you, pounding up into you with desperate, filthy need, every thrust pushing you higher.

You’re gone, lost in sensation, the world narrowing to the place where his cock splits you open, the sting of his teeth on your collarbone, his fingers bruising your hips as he fucks you hard enough to make the door rattle in its hinges. “Take it, take all of me,” he growls, fucking you through his own shaking, “You’re mine tonight. All fucking mine.” You moan, clawing at his shoulders, nails raking his skin, leaving marks you know he’ll love in the morning.

There’s another crash from outside, someone pounding, another voice laughing, the party oblivious or pretending not to care. You gasp, the noise pushing you closer, making it feel even dirtier, the risk of being caught sharpening every edge. “You want to be caught, don’t you?” he whispers, dragging your head back by the hair, forcing you to look into his eyes. “You want everyone to know you’re getting fucked like this.” You’re so close, teetering, your whole body slick and straining, and you can only nod, desperate for release.

He slows for a moment, catching your jaw in one hand, holding you steady as his hips snap into yours, cock grinding right against your g-spot. “Say it,” he growls, “Say you want everyone to hear you cum.”

“I want it,” you whimper, voice shaking, “I want everyone to know I’m yours.” He laughs, soft and dark, then fucks you harder, pulling you down onto him, making your legs quake with every thrust. The pleasure builds, wild and sharp, until you’re sobbing, crying out, your whole body spasming as you shatter around him, the sound echoing off the tile and mirror and his lips at your ear, telling you how good you are, how fucking perfect.

When it’s over, you collapse against his chest, both of you shuddering, breath tangled, his hands smoothing over your skin in rough aftercare, mouth gentler now, peppering kisses over your face, your shoulder, whispering praise and filth in equal measure. “So fucking good for me, baby. Never seen anyone take it like you do. You’re unreal.” You’re barely standing, legs jelly, and he eases you down, kneeling, pulling you into his lap on the floor, still joined, still desperate for more. His voice is softer, careful, but still electric. “You want to cum again?” he asks, thumb stroking your swollen clit, “Or do you want to make me lose it this time?”

Your answer is a hungry nod, and before you can blink, he’s pushing you gently to your knees, his cock glistening and flushed, right at your lips. “Open up, pretty thing,” he murmurs, “Show me how filthy you can get.” You don’t hesitate, just lick him clean, savoring the taste of both of you, moaning as he shudders under your tongue. He’s so sensitive, every swipe of your mouth making him twitch, curse, eyes rolling back in his head.

He thrusts into your mouth, both hands tangled in your hair now, fucking your throat slow, then faster, his voice ragged and ruined, “Fuck, just like that, you’re perfect, you’re so fucking perfect, take it, take it all, baby.” Someone bangs on the door again—neither of you care, the risk only making you hungrier, your hands squeezing his thighs, pulling him deeper. He’s losing it, voice shaking, “Gonna cum, you want it, don’t you? Gonna swallow every drop like a good girl, show me, show everyone how much you love my cock.”

He holds you in his lap for a moment, both of you still trembling, his heartbeat thundering beneath your cheek as you catch your breath together. The air between you hums with something raw, something unfinished—neither of you satisfied, not really. His fingers trace idle, hungry circles over your bare thigh, and when your eyes meet in the bathroom mirror, the heat is still there, unspent, ravenous. You see the glint in his eyes, that ache that never seems to settle; the kind of need that isn’t satisfied by one orgasm or two, but by losing himself inside you, over and over, until you forget where you end and he begins. You don’t even flinch when he stands, hands gripping your waist, lifting you like you weigh nothing, pushing you back against the door with a force that’s both desperate and deliberate.

He fucks you until your knees buckle, sweat dripping down your spine, your body crushed between his and the bathroom door. Sunghoon’s breath is ragged at your ear, every thrust harder than the last, his body strung tight as a wire. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he snarls, his cock slamming deep, the slap of skin against skin echoing out past the music and shrieks from the party. “I can’t get enough of you. I need you again. And again.” You cry out, dizzy, so full you can barely take it, but the ache is everything—sweet, stinging, electric. His hand snakes around your throat, thumb pressed gentle over your pulse. “You gonna take all of me? You gonna let me ruin you tonight?” He’s watching you in the mirror, pupils blown, jaw clenched, desperate for the sight of you fucked out and open just for him.

Even after you’ve come, trembling, spent, Sunghoon won’t let up. He doesn’t even pull out all the way, just drags you across the tiles, bends you over the sink, and pushes in again, making you whimper with every fresh thrust. “Look at yourself,” he whispers, curling your hair around his fist, yanking your head back so you have to meet your own reflection. “Look how perfect you look with my cock inside you. Tell me who you belong to.” You choke on his name, lost in sensation, in the way he fills you up, his cock bruising you deep, his voice nothing but hunger. “That’s right,” he laughs, low and dark, “all fucking mine.”

He fucks you raw, hard, relentless, each round rougher than the last. Sometimes he’s almost gentle, sliding in slowly, letting you feel every inch, but then the tension snaps and he’s pounding you again, hips slamming into your ass until you cry out, your nails raking his shoulders, leaving him marked and claiming him just as much. There’s nothing soft in the way he takes you, nothing patient in the way he chases his own pleasure and yours. He wants you spent, ruined, the memory of him pressed into your body for days.

You feel the edge coming again, too quick and too much, but Sunghoon lives for it. He pulls out just as you shudder, then drags you to your knees, cock smearing your cheek as he strokes himself, sweat running down his chest, breath hot and wild. “Open your mouth,” he commands, voice barely more than a growl. “Show me how much you want it.” You do, tongue out, eyes locked on his, and he groans, cock sliding past your lips, thick and still slick from your cunt. He fucks your mouth, using you, loving every second, thumb brushing the corner of your lips as you choke and swallow him down. “That’s it, good girl, take it—fuck, I could do this all night.” His hands tangle in your hair, pulling you down, his hips jerking as he uses you for his own release.

When he cums, it’s with a guttural cry, cock twitching against your tongue, his whole body shuddering as you swallow him down, not wasting a drop. He pulls you up, still hard, still wanting, and kisses you hard, filth and heat and possessiveness tangled in every movement. He doesn’t stop, he presses you to the wall, fingers between your legs, sliding into you, smirking at how wet and ready you still are. “You’re fucking insatiable,” he teases, licking the sweat from your collarbone. “You want more, don’t you? Can’t get enough of me.”

And you don’t. Your body aches, pussy swollen and sore, but you need him, crave the way he fills you, the way he claims you over and over. He lifts you again, legs wrapped around his waist, cock sliding in so deep you see stars. “That’s my girl,” he pants, fucking up into you, relentless. “So perfect, so fucking perfect. I could keep you here forever, just taking my cock, just for me.” Your head falls back, mouth open, lost in the endless heat, the push and pull of his body, the dirty words that fall from his lips, the praise and the possession and the hunger that never ends.

The night is brutal with cold, a sharp bite that steals your breath and stings your cheeks, but you barely notice it over the pulse in your veins. You follow Sunghoon through the aftermath of the party, red Solo cups scattered in the grass, bits of toilet paper caught in the branches, a deflated jack-o-lantern leaking candle wax on the curb. The house behind you still pulses with music and leftover heat, but it’s nothing compared to the gravity that drags you to him, to his bike waiting like some shadowed beast under the streetlamp.

He glances back, eyes black and glittering, a cocky grin flickering on his mouth as he tosses you the helmet. “Let’s get out of here. For good this time,” he says, voice gone low and rich, threading through you like a promise. “This place was just a rental. My place is better.” You pull the helmet on with trembling fingers, chin strap digging into your jaw, every movement made clumsy by adrenaline and nerves. He swings his leg over the seat, muscles flexing in his thighs, black jeans hugging him like a second skin, and then he looks over his shoulder, nodding for you to climb on. “Come on, pretty. You’ll ride behind me, hold tight, don’t let go.”

When you settle in behind him, it’s instinct to grip his waist, but he grabs your hands and slides them lower, guiding your arms around his middle, his fingers warm even through your coat. “Right there,” he murmurs, thumb tracing a lazy circle against your knuckles, voice a secret meant for your skin. “Closer. I want to feel you the whole way home.” He revs the engine, the bike shuddering beneath you, the vibrations running straight up your thighs, making you squirm against him. He laughs, deep and knowing, a rumble that vibrates through your chest as you press yourself into his back.

“Keep your knees tight, princess,” he says, letting his hand rest atop your thigh, stroking just enough to set you trembling. “Balance is everything. Move with me. Lean when I lean. And don’t be scared, nobody rides me off the road.” The world narrows to the feeling of his body, the rough texture of his jacket, the heat of his palm curving possessively over your thigh. You smell his cologne, that sharp, addictive note of leather and musk and the wild tang of autumn air, and you realize you’d follow him anywhere.

The bike snarls to life, engine growling under both of you, and suddenly you’re flying, roaring out onto dark city streets, neon blurring, Halloween decorations spinning past in your periphery. Every corner tilts your universe, every jolt drives you harder into his back, your arms locked around his waist, your breath stuttering with every turn. He speeds up, faster and faster, chasing the empty stretches of night, the world whittling down to your shared pulse, the cold air burning tears from your eyes.

When you lean into him, your chest pressed flat to his spine, you feel the way he arches back, shifting his hips so your thighs lock tighter around him, one hand reaching to squeeze your knee. His other hand sneaks down between your bodies, fingers creeping under your skirt, tracing the damp silk clinging to your skin. “That’s it, baby,” he says, barely audible over the wind and the engine, but you hear him anyway, every syllable curling through your body. “Can’t wait till I get you home. Gonna keep you on my lap till sunrise.”

Every stoplight is an excuse for him to touch you, thumb pressing circles into your thigh, knuckles grazing the skin above your panties, just enough to leave you aching for more. The thrill is heady, wild, your laughter spinning out behind you in the wind. He leans back, helmet tapping yours, voice a filthy whisper, “Doing so good, princess. You hold on so tight. Do you feel that? That’s what you do to me.” You gasp, not sure if you’re riding the bike or him, the world a blur of color and sound and him, always him, guiding you home, where the night won’t end, not until you’re wrecked and ruined in his bed.

The ride ends behind a block of dark, glassy apartments, a part of town that never really sleeps, but tonight is quiet, all the noise contained inside walls you’ll never see. Sunghoon coasts the bike down a narrow drive, past numbered parking bays and flickering security lights, until he pulls up in front of a steel door set flush in the back of the building. You realize, with a start, that this isn’t just any garage, it’s his. His apartment is right above, keys on a loop at his belt, and you see the mark of him in everything: the battered bike helmet hanging from a peg, a stack of textbooks balanced next to a laundry basket, old posters curling on the far wall. When he swings open the heavy door, you step into a space that’s private in a way nothing at the party ever was, this is where he keeps what matters. The air smells like cold metal, grease, and a hint of his cologne, the floor scarred by tire marks and the ghost of old spills. Every echo in here belongs to him.

He kicks down the stand and looks over his shoulder, eyes dark and waiting. You linger at the threshold, not quite ready to shatter the quiet, this is his domain, the world where he’s more than just a rumor or a dare. You see the apartment door at the back, a spiral of keys hanging, the comfort of knowing if you want, you’ll follow him all the way home. For now, you’re just here, in his garage down below, surrounded by the proof that this is real, this is private, and for the first time all night, you’re not just crashing someone else’s scene. You’re in Sunghoon’s.

The garage is chilly and cavernous, but every echo of concrete and steel is muffled by the throb of your heartbeat and the low rumble of Sunghoon’s bike beneath you. He sits back on the cool leather seat, legs splayed, jeans shoved low, cock flushed and thick and already slick from your mouth. You climb onto him, knees braced on either side of his hips, skirt bunched up around your waist, panties already gone, your bare skin prickling with anticipation and the brush of night air. The bike creaks under your shifting weight, the smell of oil and rubber sharp as you grip the handlebars behind his shoulders, using the frame to hold yourself steady as you slide down onto him in one greedy, desperate motion. You gasp, the stretch brutal, your thighs trembling around his.

He groans, hands splayed hard on your hips, dragging you flush against him, the bite of his grip promising bruises that’ll last for days. “Fuck, just like that,” he growls, voice echoing off the garage walls. The engine’s still warm, humming beneath your knees, every movement of your hips causing the bike to shudder and groan, the vibrations traveling straight up through your cunt, making you shiver and moan. You start to bounce, riding him hard, letting your head fall back, hair spilling down your spine, the slap of skin on leather shockingly loud in the echo chamber of the garage.

You’re loud, too, deliberately so, every gasp and curse tumbling out unfiltered. “God, Sunghoon, fuck, you feel so good, you’re so deep,” you moan, nails digging into his shoulders as you pick up the pace, grinding down until you see stars. 

He reaches up, grabs a fistful of your hair, yanks your mouth to his, tongue rough and demanding, swallowing your moans. “You like that, baby?” he whispers, letting you catch your breath just long enough to whimper, “Yes, yes, fuck, don’t stop.” His free hand slaps your ass, the sound ricocheting, making you clench around him and bounce harder.

The bike rocks beneath you, tires squeaking against the concrete as you move, the whole thing swaying with the rhythm of your bodies. Sunghoon’s jacket is bunched between your fists, his chest slick with sweat. “Look at you, riding me like you own me,” he rasps, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide. “Think you can cum for me, right here, with the door open?” You look over your shoulder, see the sliver of night through the half-rolled garage door, the risk of being seen, of being heard, making you whimper. “You want the neighbors to know what a slut you are for me?” he teases, his voice filthy and fond, hand snaking up to wrap around your throat, thumb stroking your pulse as he thrusts up into you.

You bounce harder, the engine’s growl under you mixing with your cries. “Yes, please, Sunghoon, I want it, I want you,” you pant, the words ragged, desperate. 

He leans forward, licks a stripe up your throat, teeth grazing your jaw, before pulling your hand up to cover your own mouth. “Be quiet, or I’ll stop,” he warns, but there’s laughter in his voice, the challenge clear. You whimper against your palm, trying to stifle your cries as he pounds into you, the bike rattling, every thrust making the headlights flicker. The slap of your skin against his, the wet drag of your cunt, the heavy bass of the engine, every sound makes you clench tighter, feel wilder, needier.

He pulls your hand away, forcing your mouth open with his thumb. “Let them hear,” he commands, voice low and brutal. “Let them know who’s fucking you, who’s making you cum.” You shudder, the humiliation and pride blurring together, hips jerking as you start to unravel. He digs his fingers into your waist, urging you to ride him harder, faster, until you’re sobbing, back arching, body straining for release. “Good girl,” he breathes, the words breaking you open, the orgasm ripping through you so hard you nearly scream, collapsing against his chest, shaking and spent.

He won’t let you stop. He flips you, pushing you forward so your hands are braced on the handlebars, ass high in the air, your thighs spread wide. “Stay just like that,” he orders, lining up and slamming back in, his hips slapping against your ass. The bike is shaking, the whole garage vibrating with every desperate thrust. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby, you take it so good,” he groans, hand sliding up to fist in your hair again, jerking your head back so you have to look at him, see the wild hunger in his eyes. “I could fuck you like this all night, do you want that? You want to cum again, for me?”

You’re begging now, every word a plea, every breath a sob. “Please, Sunghoon, more, I need you, I need it.” He reaches around, rubs your clit in tight circles, fucking you through another shattering orgasm, your whole body convulsing, tears streaming down your cheeks from the intensity. 

He leans in, kisses the salt from your skin, whispers praise into your ear, every word filthier than the last. “Such a good girl, so fucking pretty when you break for me. I’m never letting you go.” The engine purrs beneath you, the garage ringing with the sound of your ruin, the thrill of being caught making every moment burn hotter, every climax sweeter, every inch of you his.

You barely catch your breath before Sunghoon is on you again, lips crashing into yours, rough and hungry, all teeth and spit. He pushes you down to the cool concrete floor, the grit of dust biting your bare thighs, his weight pinning you in place. “You said you wanted more,” he growls, voice ragged, fingers digging into your hips as he yanks your legs apart. The floor is cold and hard, but his hands are everywhere, bruising and possessive, his cock pressing hot and heavy between your thighs. “Spread for me. Let me see.” You do, shameless and pliant, arching your back so he can slide back inside, stretching you wide as he sinks in, groaning at how slick you are, how ready you always seem to be for him. The garage lights flicker overhead, the world reduced to the slap of his skin, the slap of his cock, the sweet ache of the concrete scraping your spine.

He leans down, mouth hot on your neck, biting just hard enough to make you gasp, then dragging his tongue across the mark, soothing and claiming. His hips pound into you relentlessly, the sound obscene, wet and filthy, every thrust pushing you further, deeper, until you’re crying out, nails clawing at his back. “You feel that?” he taunts, low and mocking. “No one else is ever gonna fuck you like this. You’re all mine.” He bends your legs up, pushing your knees to your chest, fucking you open for him, letting the whole garage see what you look like ruined and wanting, your moans bouncing off the walls. You barely notice when he spits on your chest, rubbing the mess over your nipples, making you arch up and beg for his mouth.

He flips you, hauls you up, and shoves you against the nearest wall. The cement is icy against your cheek, but his body is all heat behind you, his cock splitting you open as he slams back in. He grabs your wrists, pins them above your head with one hand, the other wrapped tight around your throat, thumb stroking your jaw. “Count for me,” he rasps, hips pistoning into you, every thrust making your bones rattle. “Every time you cum, I want you to say my name.” You lose track, the orgasms rolling through you, wringing you out until you’re boneless, your voice cracking from screaming his name over and over. He bites your shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise, leaving his mark where no one but you will ever see.

You collapse to your knees, dizzy and half-laughing, half-weeping, your face pressed to the wall. He drops down with you, drags you over to the bike, props you up against the seat so your back arches and your ass is on display. He kneels behind you, spreads you wide, and eats you out again, rough and messy, spit and cum smeared everywhere. “You taste like heaven,” he groans, tongue working you until you’re begging for mercy, thighs shaking, his fingers fucking you open while his tongue torments your clit. You sob, grab his hair, ride his mouth until you’re shaking, your body wrung out and dripping. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you down, just keeps going until you push him away, gasping for air.

He stands and pulls you up, kissing you hard, shoving you back over the bike’s gas tank, your hips pinned by the curve of metal. “Hold on,” he commands, and you grip the handlebars for dear life as he thrusts into you from behind, the bike swaying under the force of his fucking. He grabs your hair, jerks your head back so you have to look him in the eye in the reflection of the chrome, his voice low and taunting. “Look at yourself. Look how desperate you are. Fuck, you’re so perfect like this.” The engine clicks, the seat creaks, your bodies thrum with every bounce, your moans muffled by the roar of your own need. He slaps your ass, tells you you’re his filthy girl, his perfect rider, the only one who can take him this deep.

He pulls out, grabs your jaw, spits in your mouth, kisses you with it, lets you lick his tongue, then flips you onto your back again, fucking into you hard, deep, slow now, torturing you with the drag, making you beg for every inch. “Do you want it fast or slow?” he asks, voice thick with satisfaction. “Tell me what you want, baby.” 

You beg, plead, every word a confession, every moan a demand. He gives you both, fast, then slow, mixing it up, never letting you settle, never letting you know what comes next, until you’re so dizzy with it you don’t know if you’re cumming or crying or both. His hand is on your throat again, his teeth on your lips, his cock dragging you open, making you his over and over.

The last time, he takes you on the cold floor again, one hand under your knee, the other pinning your wrists above your head, fucking you until you go silent, pleasure sharp as a knife. He whispers all the filth in your ear, how he wants you, how he’ll never get enough, how he wants you to ruin him and let him ruin you. When you finally go limp, trembling and leaking and bruised and perfect, he collapses on top of you, breath coming hard, kissing you soft and slow, the world outside the garage fading to nothing.

He barely lets you catch your breath, dragging you off the bike by your hips, his mouth already finding your tits, tongue laving over one nipple, then the other, sucking hard and desperate, leaving each peak wet and stinging. “You taste so fucking sweet,” he mutters against your skin, teeth grazing, biting down just enough to make you arch, your hands fisting in his hair, gasping for air. He sucks, circles, bites, makes you moan and whimper and beg, switching sides, mouth frantic and greedy like he’s been starved for years. “Let me hear you, baby,” he growls, tongue flicking, sucking so hard your whole body tingles, nipples red and swollen and aching. You tug him closer, whimpering, not caring about anything but the way his mouth makes you burn.

Before you know it, he spins you, palms rough on your waist, pressing you up against the cold garage wall. His hands are everywhere—one squeezing your breast, thumb rolling your nipple, the other yanking your ass back so your hips jut out for him. You feel his cock, hot and leaking, pressing between your cheeks, still slippery with your slick and his spit. He bends low, licks up your spine, then nips the back of your neck, makes you shiver, makes you whimper, so needy for more. “Hold on,” he commands, voice gone jagged. “Don’t let go.”

You brace your palms flat against the wall, eyes fluttering closed, pulse hammering as he lines up, cock heavy and throbbing. Without warning, he pushes in, fucking you deep, all the way to the hilt, a brutal, perfect stretch that makes you sob. His fingers slide up, find your mouth, slip between your lips, two, then three, pressing down on your tongue, holding your jaw open as he fucks you. “Suck,” he orders, voice dark, possessive, and you do, tasting yourself, moaning around his fingers, drooling, wild with how filthy it is. He thrusts harder, hips slapping your ass, the garage echoing with every desperate, messy movement.

The wall is cold, your skin is hot, sweat sliding down your back, your knees shaking with every punishing snap of his hips. He’s relentless, fucking you deeper, harder, never slowing, every thrust a filthy promise that you’re his for the night. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, dragging them down to rub your clit, circles rough and fast, making you squirm, making you wail. “You look so good like this, fucked out and messy, dripping down my cock,” he grunts, voice pure sex and hunger. “You like being used, don’t you? You want everyone to know who ruined you?”

Your mind shatters, white noise and pleasure and Sunghoon’s voice, Sunghoon’s hands, Sunghoon’s cock driving you wild. You cry out, clenching around him, trembling on the edge until you break, coming hard, body convulsing, walls fluttering, so sensitive you can barely breathe. He follows with a growl, slamming deep one last time, spilling inside you, biting down on your shoulder as he grinds through his orgasm, hands holding you so tight you’ll wear his fingerprints for days.

He doesn’t pull out right away, just leans over you, panting, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your neck, cock still buried inside. “Fuck,” he rasps, almost laughing, still high on the aftershocks, “I can’t believe you’re real.” He’s shaking, you’re shaking, the world gone blurry with heat and exhaustion and that wild, raw thrill that nothing will ever feel like this again.

You slide to the floor together, tangled and gasping, your head against his chest, his arms wrapped around you, both of you too spent to move, your bodies sticky and sore and blissed out. The garage is quiet, just the soft tick of the bike’s engine cooling, your mingled breaths, the pounding echo of your hearts. Sunghoon presses lazy kisses to your temple, still tasting salt and sweat, his mouth gentle where it was ravenous before. “You’re fucking insane,” he whispers, a crooked grin in his voice, “and I want you all night.” Neither of you want to move. You just hold each other, ruined and new, high on everything that’s just happened, the bike, the risk, the wildness, the pure fucking insanity of this night. You’re both fucked dumb for each other, bodies humming with aftershocks, every touch lingering, every whisper a secret. You know you’ll never look at him—or yourself—the same way again.

𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑

It’s barely afternoon, sunlight slanting through the half-open blinds of Sunghoon’s apartment, his apartment, now just as much yours, though most people would only see the way your bra is dangling from his bedroom doorknob, the way your perfume and his cologne have become a single scent. You’re straddling his hips, thighs bracketing his, still sticky and a little raw from where he’s kept you for days, weeks, a whole month now spent learning how many ways you can lose yourself with him inside you. The sheets are a ruined, tangled mess, there’s never been a morning they weren’t. Your knees ache from all the different angles he’s bent you; your voice is rough from begging, from whispering his name, from laughing when he fucked you through sunrise and started again at noon. The air tastes like sweat, old sex, and something so sweet it hurts your teeth. He’s looking up at you like there’s no world outside this bed, arms folded behind his head, mouth parted, jaw dark with stubble you feel everywhere, on your collarbones, between your thighs, where he’s marked you again and again.

Your hands splay over his chest, mapping every new bruise, every old scratch, every memory you made with your body tangled around his. His cock is thick and hard beneath you, slick with both of you, and your hips roll slow and deep, not because you’re in a hurry, but because you both know there’s no rush anymore. This isn’t the wild, desperate fucking of that first night, though you’ve had more than your share of that too. Now it’s a marathon, an experiment, every thrust a new way to say “don’t stop,” every moan a promise you’ll never be done learning each other.

Your head tips back as you ride him, sun painting gold across your skin, and he’s transfixed, greedy for every detail, every sound you make, every flutter of your lashes when you clench around him just right. If anyone asks what you two have done this month, the honest answer is everything, on the bed, the kitchen counter, the couch, his bike, against the shower wall, even on the floor when you couldn’t make it another step. You’ve forgotten how to say goodbye, how to keep your hands to yourself, how to let a day pass without his fingers inside you, his mouth coaxing you open, his words as filthy and necessary as air. You move for him, slow and deep, a rhythm only you two know, hips rolling until his hands slide up to grip your waist, bruising, claiming, promising another hour, another night, another week of this endless wanting. You’re drunk on it, dizzy with it, every nerve ending still raw and electric from all the ways you’ve loved him in the last month and all the ways you plan to keep going.

You bounce gently, letting him fill you over and over, your bodies sticky and soft, clinging together like the world’s shrunk to just this bed and the sound of your shared breath. Sunghoon’s hands finally slide up, cupping your waist, holding you steady as you ride him, his eyes never leaving your face. “You know,” he murmurs, voice rough and so full of honesty it makes you pause, “I noticed you way before the party. I knew who you were before you tried to escape my party and steal my bike.” His thumbs move over your skin, teasing, slow. “You always sit in the third row, two seats from the end. You bite your pencil when you’re thinking and your notes are neater than anyone’s.”

You give him a look, jabbing your heel against his thigh, breathless and grinning, hips rolling harder. “Please. I ride that motorbike better than you ever could, Park.” He barely lets you catch your breath before he’s rolling his hips up again, hungry for more, and you laugh, biting your lip, still bouncing on his cock. “You know, I’ve gotten pretty good at riding, right? Both kinds. All those late-night lessons you give me, you only ever take your hands off to put them somewhere filthier.”

He grins, dark and possessive, hands sliding up your waist as he rocks into you, “Don’t act like you haven’t begged for every lesson. I think you love my bike almost as much as you love my cock.” 

You whine, letting your head fall back, hips moving faster, “It’s a close race, Park, but only one of those makes me scream.”

He chuckles, deep and smug, twisting his fingers in your hair to pull you down for a kiss, voice thick with promise. “Yeah? Let’s see which one you want more after we’re done. Might have to take you for another spin after this.” And you moan, losing yourself in the rhythm, in his hands, in the heat, knowing you’ll always say yes, whether it’s leather and engine oil or tangled sheets and nothing but skin, because every ride with him is the only one you ever want to take.

“God, I never knew riding could feel this fucking good, makes me want to climb on and lose myself every damn night, on your bike or your cock. Just need you under me, begging me to go faster, baby.”

He grins back, cocky and gorgeous, dark hair falling over his eyes, letting you take him all the way in. “Yeah? I know what you ride the best, though,” he fires back, one hand cupping your ass, pulling you down hard on his cock, making you gasp.

You moan, grinding harder, shameless, the bedsprings squeaking under you. “Yeah, baby, say it. Tell me what I’m best at.” You bounce on him, hair flying, eyes locked on his, drunk on how he never stops wanting you.

He groans, low and desperate, thrusting up into you, rough and perfect. “You—fuck—bounce on my cock like you were born for it. You make me lose my mind every time, every fucking time.” And you laugh, wild, head thrown back, riding him faster, the sound filling the room and the sunlight and everything you’ve been together all month, just the two of you, always wanting more.

You pull back, breathless, lips brushing his as you coo, “Really, baby? You noticed me before the party?” The word boyfriend tastes sweet and new on your tongue, makes you smile into his mouth. He nods, hands warm on your hips, eyes shining as he draws you down into another kiss. You blink, pulse stumbling, every part of you clenching around him. “You, you noticed me?” Your voice is half a gasp, half a smile, shy and so fucking vulnerable. 

His answer is a low groan, hips rocking up, his gaze softer than you’ve ever seen, but still hungry for all of you. “I did. Every time I walked in, I checked if you were there. You never look up, but I could always feel you in the room. I like how quiet you are, how you actually listen, how you laugh at the stupidest jokes the professors make even when no one else does. I like the way you write little notes to yourself in the margins—little hearts, sometimes, or just dumb reminders.” He squeezes your waist, grounding you to him, every word a gentle claim. “You’re different. You made me want to be different, too. I had my eye on you way before the party, that’s why I’m happy Mira dragged you there. My whole worldview shifted the second I caught a gorgeous little witch in thigh highs loitering next to my bike, looking like she might hex me if I got too close or maybe ride off with the whole damn thing.”

Your hips slow, almost stopping, your eyes stinging with something bright and full, his confession winding through your chest. “I thought you never even saw me. I thought I was invisible to you.” It comes out soft, almost embarrassed.

He only laughs, warm and disbelieving, pulling you closer, pressing his lips to your cheek as if to erase the very idea. “You could never be invisible to me, sweetheart. Not in a million years. “Couldn’t stop seeing you if I tried,” he whispers, thumb tracing your jaw. “That’s why when I saw you leave the party, I couldn’t let you go. I was scared you’d slip away before I ever got the chance to know you for real.” His voice drops, darker, more vulnerable. “You have no idea how glad I am that I saw you trying to leave, that I convinced to stay with me and taught you how to ride. That I got to show you what you do to me.”

You flush deeper, arching into him, riding him a little harder now, your hair falling over your face, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. “You’re such a fucking idiot, Sunghoon,” you murmur, breathless and grinning, “you could’ve had this all along.” He groans, hands flexing on your waist, hips driving up into you with more intent, both of you chasing something deeper than just pleasure.

For the first time you feel incandescent, like a midnight-carved jack-o’-lantern finally lit from within, every razor-thin slice of loneliness flooded with heat as Sunghoon’s gaze holds you open; it’s liberating, obscene, a revelation that shudders through your bones and pools between your legs, because being wanted this hungrily turns invisibility into costume at last discarded, the shy girl unmasked beneath the October moon and claimed in candle-bright sparks of pleasure; you ride him with desperation and awe, tasting sweat and pumpkin-spiced air, understanding in every slick, echoing slap of skin that the right lover doesn’t just see you, he burns your outline into constellations, teaches your body the gospel of being noticed, worshipped, devoured, until the old you is nothing but a ghost story whispered outside party windows while you come alive, trembling and greedy, in the lantern-glow of his hands.

Your rhythm gets rougher, more desperate, your body lit up everywhere he touches. He drags you down for a kiss, mouths crashing, tongues tangled, his hands sliding over your back, pulling you flush to his chest as he thrusts up, cock hitting just right, making you gasp. He grins against your mouth, wicked and open, “I want you every day. I want you every way.” You ride him faster, the bed shaking, your moans melting into his name, the world reduced to sweat and skin and the hungry, tangled ache between you. You come together, bodies pressed tight, his arms wrapped around you so close you can barely tell where you end and he begins. You bury your face in his neck, both of you shaking, breathless, his hands stroking your spine, whispering soft, filthy nothings that make you laugh and shiver and cling to him all at once. There’s nothing frantic in it, just the soft, raw certainty that you’ve both been waiting for someone to look at you like this, to touch you like this, to finally let yourself want and be wanted.

When it’s over, you collapse beside him, tangled up in his sheets, legs still draped over his, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. He looks at you, eyes warm and content and just a little wild, and says, “You wrecked me, you know that?” And you can’t help but smile, because you know exactly how he feels, ruined and remade and so goddamn glad you let yourself be seen.

Outside, October sunlight spills across the blinds like leftover jack-oʼ-lantern glow, but inside this room feels enchanted, two midnight runaways who outraced the witching hour and woke up in their own fairy tale. The bed is your pumpkin carriage at dawn, sheets rumpled into silver clouds, his heartbeat drumming beneath your palm like the last notes of a spell, and every bruise you share glitters like star-dust proof that you both survived the haunted woods. You lie there, skin warm against skin, tasting cinnamon on his smile, certain that the universe bent its crooked spine, just once, to scribble a sweeter epilogue: every morning after this, you’ll keep choosing one another, the quiet girl and the campus legend, rewriting Halloween into happily-ever-after as long as you both feel the magic humming under your ribs.

asks, reblogs, comments much appreciated, don’t be a silent reader !!

wanna read more from me? check out my latest sunghoon fic!

Life was very hard right now, despite everything you and your family tried. The heat wave running through the area was unbearable in its own right. What made it worse was having to watch your stepmother walking around the house in her bikinis, day after day, she would be around in them. Her heavy bust had nearly spilled out more than a handful of times as she moved around the house. You could hardly look at her; you would get hard in seconds, staring at her perfectly shaped body. You didn’t say anything, though; it wasn’t your place, either, considering this was her home, too. Still it was a problem you couldn’t so much as leave your room without catching a glimpse of her bending over to pic something up, showing that perfect ass of hers off. 

You had dreams about her, about your father’s wife. You wanted Eunbi. She was absolutely beautiful, and those bikinis she wore left little to the imagination. 

You peeked out of your room, and with no Eunbi insight, you went to the kitchen, hoping to get something cold to drink. As you searched through the fridge, you heard her. “Honey? Can you get me something to drink, too?” Honey, that’s what Eunbi called you. It was weird enough to hear her call you, considering she was only a little bit older than you. Add in the fact that she was also your stepmother, and it was weirder. That being said, knowing that she had called out to you, you grab a bottle of water for her and head toward the living room.

Walking in, you see her in another bikini. Eunbi was lying on the floor, sweat running down her face and legs, just as slick from the sweating she was doing. You paused, taking in the sight before you, Eunbi had her legs spread, you could just see the blue of her bikini bottoms poking out from under the white skirt she had on. Her breasts were bulging out of the top of her bikini top. You were getting hard quickly, and it would be tough if she spotted that. You shake your head and walk over to her, placing the bottle beside her before turning on your heel, ready to walk out. “Honey,” you pause, hoping she didn’t see your bulge. “Do you think your father is going to come home soon?”

You breathe a sigh of relief, “I don’t know Eunbi. He always goes on these sorts of trips. Sometimes he comes back in a day or two, and other times it’s like a month.” You say honestly. 

“Right,” Eunbi responds, dejected. “I knew he would be gone for work a lot, but I didn’t think it would be this lonely. Do you want to play a game? I could use the company.” There was a hint of hopelessness in her voice, and as much as you didn’t want to be in the same room with her for fear of her seeing your bulge. You also felt bad for her. You saw the relationship they had firsthand, you heard about how your father would stop his trips and finally settle down again, but since the wedding, he’s been gone more than ever. You understood how Eunbi must feel, being told one thing but then getting the opposite. 

“Sure, what kind of game did you have in mind?” You turn around, sitting as quickly as possible, trying to avoid staring at Eunbi’s heavy chest. You focus on her face, seeing a slight smile form as you accept the invitation. 

Eunbi purses her lips as she considers what game to play. She rolls onto her stomach, crawling over to the TV stand, searching through the drawers. You can’t help but stare at her ass, it shakes from side to side as she looks. It was shapely, and your imagination runs wild. You imagine what it must be like to take her from behind, feeling what must be the soft piece of flesh pressing against you as you drive yourself deep into her. 

Eunbi kneels, finding a game she thinks would be good for the two of you. She turns herself around and places the box in front of you, Jenga. “This should be a little fun.” She says, a slight smile on her lips. She lifts the box and begins setting up the game, block by block. “It’s been so hot, hasn’t it?” She says, her eyes glued to the growing structure. 

“Yeah, it’s been pretty hot.”

“I’ve had to wear my bikinis in the house. It’s insane we don’t have air conditioning; these fans aren’t helping either. Eunbi sticks her tongue out, focusing intently on the tower, making sure no piece sticks out. Sweat moves down her neck, running between her heavy mounds. Your thoughts go wild again as you imagine lapping up the sweat between her tits, the moans she would make a response fill your ears for a moment. Your cock twitches as you think about it. You shake your head and push the idea out. 

Eunbi finishes setting up the game and looks up at you, noticing where your eyes were. A slight blush moves across her face. “The game's ready. Do you want to go first?”

“Uh, no, you should go first. You set it up.”

“Okay,” Eunbi looks at the tower and nudges a piece from the very bottom, pushing it out slowly until she’s able to reach around and pull it out. The shake shakes slightly, but there isn’t a threat of it falling yet. Switching to your turn, Eunbi eyes you while you focus on the game. She scans you up and down, noticing the bulge in your shorts. More than shock, there was intrigue. Whether it was because of the heat messing with her mind or loneliness, Eunbi felt a pang in her chest. She squeezed her legs together and stared at the outline in your shorts. “Bigger,” she thought to herself, biting her lip. 

“There we go,” you call out, grabbing the piece you pulled out. 

Eunbi shifts her focus onto the game. She leans forward, giving you a look into the valley between her mounds. She only realizes what she is doing as she glances at you, noting how much you are staring at her chest. She pulls another block out, placing it back on the top of the tower. 

It was back to you. The game continued with both of you staring at the other when it wasn’t your turn. The desire each of you held for the other was growing. Eunbi, at one point, had removed her skirt, saying it was getting uncomfortable. It was difficult to concentrate with Eunbi in her bikini before, but now that you had an unblocked view of her shapely legs, it was another beast entirely. Eunbi noticed your cock twitch as you stared at her body. Seeing the reaction pleased her. She was craving more, her mind began to imagine how big you were, and it was getting her wet. Still, you both played on piece by piece, and the tower became more unstable.

The tower was becoming unstable, threatening to fall over at any moment. “How about we make this a little more fun?” Eunbi asks, a teasing smile on her face. 

You wonder what she means, “More fun?”

“Yeah, interesting might be a better word. How about the loser takes off a piece of their clothing?” She says boldly, almost confident that she would win. 

“I- that’s kind of…”

“Are you afraid you might lose to your mommy?” Eunbi teases, sticking her tongue out at you. 

“Okay, you’re on.” You reply, your competitive spirit stirring in response. You watch the tower intently. It was a mess of missing pieces, the middle pieces almost completely gone. You spot your target, though, one section already had one of the edge pieces taken, you would take the other, leaving a single middle piece to hold up the tower. You make slight taps to the piece, nudging it out of place before tugging it out and carefully placing it back on top. 

It was Eunbi’s turn. She glanced at you before turning her eyes to the tower. “You know I haven’t lost a game in a long time.” Eunbi wasn’t after a win, at least not in this game. She picked her spot, going for something risky. She licked her lips, waiting for what came next. Looking at the level where you just took a piece, Eunbi was going to “attempt” to flick the last piece out, getting rid of one level entirely. The confident look on her face had you convinced she’d be able to do it. Eunbi’s smirk faded as she smacked her hand against the block. The tower fell down one level, shaking before it collapsed. It was all going to plan. She sighed at the loss and placed her hands on her bikini top. “I guess I lost.” Without any sort of hesitancy she tugged at the bottom of her bikini top, her tits bouncing in their confines before she finally brought it over her mounds and released them. You were stunned, unable to look away from her perfect breasts as they bounced in front of you, a slick and glistening mess from all her sweat. Your cock was harder than ever. “A deal is a deal.” She said, twirling the bikini top around her finger. “Are you proud of looking at your mommy’s tits? Hmm?” 

You couldn’t speak or do anything—the sight before you completely envelops you. Eunbi chuckles and bounces, so her tits shake and jiggle for you. “Well? What do you think? Want to touch them?” Eunbi said, pressing the issue. She crawls toward you and takes your hand, bringing it close to her chest. “Do you?” She pauses, her thumb running across your palm. “Do you want to touch mommy’s tits? Because there’s something I want too.” Eunbi places her hand on your crotch, moving her hand along your clothed bulge. You gulp, never expecting to be in this situation. You don’t even notice your hand moving forward, until you feel her soft tits rubing against your palm. Eunbi bites her lip, containing her moan before smiling. She reaches into your shorts, her bare hand wrapping around your shaft. 

“E-eunbi,” you groan. 

“Shh, Honey, I need you.” Eunbi leans in, pressing her lips against yours. “I know it’s wrong, but it's been so long and seeing you so hard…” You will weaken, and you return the kiss, your hand squeezing Eunbi’s breast as she pushes you onto your back. Your hand slide down her sides, sliding underneath her bikini bottom as you grab her ass, fingers digging into her soft flesh. Eunbi moans into the kiss, allowing your tongue to explore her mouth. 

Nothing can stop either of you. Eunbi wanted you with her entire being. Her hand moved along your shaft quickly. She pulls your shorts down with her other hand, springing your cock free. She glances down, eyes widening for a second as she sees your size. The shock is replaced by satisfaction; you are bigger than your father, just as she had thought. Her hand squeezeds your cock, making your grunt and drawing a bit of precum out of you. 

You release your grip on Eunbi’s cheeks and move out, grabbing the sides of her bikini bottom and pulling them down. Eunbi kicks them off on you get them to her knees and sits on your pelvis, your cock rubbing against her slick folds. “I can’t wait any longer, Honey,” Eunbi moans. She rises and aligns herself with your cock sinking onto it in an instant. It’s a shock to your system just as it is for Eunbi’s. You both throw your heads back, whether it was finally getting the release you both wanted, the taboo of fucking your family, or something else you both came at that moment. Eunbi’s body tingled as she felt your cum shoot inside her. She had forgotten what it felt like, and she wanted more. 

Eunbi grinded against you at first, rocking back and forth causing your cock to rub against her walls but her body wanted more. She placed her hands on your chest and squatted over your, slowly rising before slamming herself back down onto your cock. “Keep going, Eunbi,” you groan, holding onto her waist and guiding her along your shaft as you thrust into her. You watch her tits bounce as she gets into a rhythm, sweat running down her body. You lean up, sticking your tongue out and running it between her heavy tits, lapping up her salty sweat before moving over to one of her nipples.

“Oh, wait baby,” Eunbi moans as she feels your mouth surround her sensitive nipple, your tongue swirling around the hard nub as you suck on her tit. Eunbi cries out from the pleasure, her moans getting louder as you switch to the other breast. 

She continues to ride you, her body growing weaker as you both move closer to another orgasm. “Eunbi,” you grunt. That was enough to tell her you were getting close, even if you hadn’s said a word she would’ve figured it out sooner or later, your cock was throbbing inside her again. Eunbi had to give up her squat position and ride you normally, giving you the position to grab her waist and thrust into her for the final few moments before you both were taken to heaven, rocked by intense orgasms. Eunbi collapses on top of you, breathing heavily. You tilt her head and kiss her. Your sweaty bodies felt like they were melding together. 

“That was amazing,” she says breathlessly.

“I can keep going, at least once more.” Eunbi nods and gets ready to ride again. “No, I want you from behind.” You lift the young woman, moving her beside you. Eunbi lies flat on the floor, her strength gone from the previous two orgasms. Just as well you had always imagined fucking Eunbi into the ground. You run your hands along her body, stopping at her ass and giving each cheek a squeeze. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought of this, Eunbi,” you whisper into her before aligning with her cunt. You push yourself back into the welcoming hole, stretching out your stepmothers pussy, pushing your cum out of her as you go deeper. 

“Deeper, baby. Make me cum again.” Eunbi feels your body weight against her as you push deeper. Her eyes twitch in their half-lidded state. Fully buried inside your stepmom you pull out and slam yourself back in, your pelvis pressing against her soft ass. The experience was better than you had imagined. You lost yourself nearly instantly, beginning to thrust into Eunbi like a wild beast.  “Fuck! Fuck me! Fuck your dirty mommy!” Eunbi screamed. You snaked your hands under her waist, lifting her ass up and giving yourself a better angle. You slam into her ass with every thrust, both of your minds melting into nothing as claim Eunbi. You hold Eunbi up with one hand, using the other to her clit, pressing it and making her get closer to cumming. Eunbi roars as the pleasure floods her body, she backs her ass into you, wanting you deeper as your cum spills out of her onto the floor. “Oh fuck!”

Eunbi curls her toes as she’s rocked by another orgasm, her entire body shakes before collapsing onto the floor with you on top of her, your cock buried inside her tight cunt, filling her with another load of your semen. You rest on top of Eunbi for a moment before rolling off of her. Your cum pours out of her staining the hardwood. Neither of you cares, though; the experience was like nothing else. Your bodies desire more, and if it weren’t for the exhaustion, the two of you would’ve continued to go at it like rabbits. 

You don’t know how much time passes before your strength returns and you're finally able to get up. Eunbi was in the same position. As you both get to your feet, you look at each other, wanting nothing more than to have sex again. Your body is tingling with excitement. Eunbi reaches out and grabs your cock, her hands rubbing the creamy mess. “I want you to ruin me every day. We can’t tell your father about this, but just know that I am all yours.” You tilt her head back and kiss her. Eunbi raises her leg to your side, and pushes your cock back inside her warm cunt. 

a/n: jesus. this fic nearly took me out 😭 had to do actual research on what goes down at an american party bc obviously i’m not american (if u thought i was…… respectfully get out). also i was gonna post this at 2am but i deadass fell asleep mid-edit while “last friday night” was blasting in my left ear.

had this festering in my drafts for like a week because my brain refused to cooperate. finishing it felt like fighting for my life in the trenches, but i’m glad i pushed through bc i kinda love it??? dahlia being a repressed religious perv is sooo real to me. venti has a god complex and i’m not stopping him. man thinks he invented pleasure. praise be. 

also! modern college au, everyone’s legal and consenting, and ready to make terrible decisions <3 

you didn’t even wanna come to this party. 

like, genuinely. you had an exam next week, a half-written paper, and a half-dead social battery. the last thing you needed was to be shoulder-to-shoulder with a bunch of horny undergrads blasting katy perry like it was 2010 and shame didn’t exist.

but your roommate was hot and persuasive and already four shots in when she started dragging you by the wrist.

“i swear,” she slurred, her glitter eyeshadow half-smudged and confidence turned all the way up to eleven, “you need to get dicked down or at least dance, girl.”

you brought a water bottle and wore a thrifted denim short. crop top optional, dignity minimal. you figured you’d hover around the snacks, say no to three drinks, and dip early with your gpa intact.

you weren’t expecting to find god.

or rather — two boys who made you forget him completely.

it started off normal. crowded house, colored leds, somebody grinding to a weeknd remix in the living room. your roommate disappeared ten minutes in, presumably to go make out with that guy from her econ class who looked like he cried after sex.

you were posted by the kitchen counter with your “water” (spiked, probably) and a vague plan to ghost as soon as someone tried to rope you into flip cup.

suddenly you heard a familiar voice, buried under the bass and drunk laughter. something warm and deep, with a laugh you remembered a little too well — like the echo of a bad idea, like the first sip of communion wine that was definitely not grape juice.

you turned your head, scanning through the haze of neon lights and sweaty bodies until you saw him.

“wait,” you said, freezing mid-step. “is that—”

you blinked through the crowd. tilted your head. no fucking way.

“dahlia?”

and like some kind of divine punishment, he looked up right as you said it. head tilted. curls a little longer now. smile the same. pretty as always, just older — more grown into himself. less sunday choir, more sunday morning regret.

you stared. he stared back.

and he smiled. slow. familiar.

“holy shit,” you mumbled. “literal church boy dahlia. the pervert.”

your friend turned her head, already halfway through her third drink. “the what?”

you grinned, cheeks flushed. “he used to moan during prayer.”

she choked. “you’re kidding.”

“senior youth retreat. i was there. it was dark.”

you didn’t mean to talk to him again. not really.

you were supposed to be getting more water — in the loosest sense of the word — and maybe scoping out the snacks before your roommate dared someone to dance on the dining table. but somehow, you ended up pressed near the kitchen counter with him, sipping vodka-disguised hydration and laughing a little too easily against the tune of an early-2000s party playlist.

like the past didn’t hum under your skin.

like you hadn’t spent whole years pretending you didn’t think about his lips when you closed your eyes.

“you still go to church?” you asked, voice looser now, a little slow from the alcohol. your eyes flicked down to the rosary slung around his neck, a glint of silver nestled above exposed collarbones. the chain dipped beneath his half-unbuttoned shirt — a silk one, of course, because dahlia didn’t know how to dress normally.

“every sunday,” he said, tilting his head, elbow resting behind you like he always needed to trap you somewhere. “confession, too.”

you raised a brow. “must be a long-ass session.”

he grinned. “only when i think of you.”

you choked. coughed. wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

“you’re disgusting,” you muttered, trying not to smile. “jesus wept.”

“probably because you wore that skirt to sunday school.”

you gave him a look. “you wore fishnets to a baptism.”

“we all have our moments.”

you snorted, flicking his arm. “blasphemous freak.”

he leaned in, mouth close to your ear, voice low: “missed you too, sweetheart.”

you were about to recover — really — when a new voice cut in. higher, smoother, soaked in flirt and casual sin.

“hey,” someone drawled, “who’s your friend?”

you turned your head.

and immediately forgot how to breathe.

the boy standing there looked like temptation had crawled out of a lana del rey song and decided to make itself fashion. crop top riding dangerously high on his waist. eyeliner smudged like he’d fucked and cried in it. messy red eyeshadow painted over his lids like sin. earrings glinting with every lazy tilt of his head. thigh chains. layered necklaces. a smile like he already knew every filthy thought in your head and was ready to make it worse.

he looked at you like a cat watching something twitch.

“venti,” dahlia muttered beside you, voice already tight. “this is y/n.”

venti’s eyes didn’t leave your face. “oh. hi.”

your brain short-circuited.

he tilted his head, smile curling. slow. knowing.

your heart did a little skip. then maybe a cartwheel. maybe a confessional-level sin.

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. you blinked, twice, trying to remember how words worked.

venti’s gaze dragged down and up in one unashamed sweep — not even pretending to be subtle. when his eyes met yours again, they sparkled. and then he smiled wider.

dahlia rolled his eyes so hard it looked like a prayer for patience. “she’s mine.”

you scoffed immediately. “she’s not,” you said, turning fully toward him — maybe too quick. maybe too flustered.

venti was still watching you, smug like he’d already won. 

your knees wobbled. traitors.

dahlia noticed. of course he did. he stepped in closer, hand ghosting over your hip like he had to remind both of you where you used to belong.

“you’re drunk,” he muttered, low.

“so are you,” you shot back, voice breathier than you wanted.

venti’s grin sharpened like a knife. “i’m sober enough to know i’d make her feel better than your holy hands ever could.”

he took a sip from his red solo cup, and when a drop slipped past his lip, he caught it with his tongue.

your soul left your body.

dahlia made a sound halfway between a scoff and a growl. “you’re going to hell.”

venti shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “with her? gladly.”

you exhaled. shaky. already fucked in the head. already thinking about what it’d be like to be ruined between them — choir boy and chaos incarnate.

you had a paper due monday. a hangover waiting to ambush you. a party full of strangers that wouldn’t notice you disappearing.

and god definitely wasn’t here tonight. 

“so,” venti said, stepping closer — dangerously closer — until your shoulder nearly brushed his. he smelled like wine and spearmint and something sweet you couldn’t name. “what brings a girl like you to a party like this?”

“roommate dragged me,” you replied, trying to sound casual. your voice came out thinner than expected. “i have an exam next week.”

“mm. you study hard?”

“i try to.”

he smiled like you just handed him ammunition. “you look like you need a break.”

“she doesn’t need your kind of break,” dahlia muttered, shifting beside you. his palm skimmed the curve of your waist, familiar and territorial.

venti, unbothered, leaned past you to grab a bottle off the counter — something green and half-empty — and poured a finger of it into his cup. he offered it to you with a smirk.

you didn’t take it.

“i’m already drunk,” you said.

“so am i,” he replied, “and yet i’m still making excellent choices.”

“this isn’t an excellent choice,” dahlia said, tugging you a little closer.

“what, sharing a drink or stealing your girl?”

you almost choked.

“i’m not his girl,” you said.

dahlia’s fingers tensed.

venti’s eyes glittered. “well, if you’re not his… can i have you?”

you blinked at him.

and maybe it was the alcohol. maybe it was the way he was smiling like he’d already won. maybe it was the ghost of dahlia’s breath on your neck, the memory of his hands under your skirt at sixteen, the fact that you felt so alive for the first time in weeks —

but you said it. blame the devil, the vodka, the look in venti’s eyes. you said it anyway.

“are you two gonna keep talking,” you asked, voice low, “or are you gonna fuck me?”

a beat of stunned silence.

then —

“dibs,” venti said, instantly, voice light but laced with something that made your spine straighten. “i call dibs.”

“you can’t call dibs,” dahlia snapped, sharp and bristling. “she’s not some fucking prize.”

venti only smiled, stepping closer with that same lazy, dangerous charm. “sure feels like i’m winning something.”

“i talked to her first.”

“you also tried to claim her like a parking space,” venti shot back, glancing at you with a knowing gleam. “she said no, remember?”

you blinked up at them, half amused, half unhinged, stomach doing flips and thighs already pressing tight.

“jesus,” you muttered, “this is the worst threesome negotiation ever.”

venti leaned down a little, voice dropping as he looked you straight in the eye. “oh, love. this isn’t negotiation. this is foreplay.”

you might’ve blacked out for a second. just a little.

then dahlia was suddenly behind you, crowding close enough for his chest to press against your back, one hand low on your waist, mouth right next to your ear.

“say the word,” he murmured, “and i’ll take you upstairs right now. don’t even have to look at him.”

venti hummed. “but she wants to. don’t you, pretty thing?”

you turned to look at him.

his tongue was running along the edge of his bottom lip, slow and knowing, fingers playing with one of his necklaces. he was watching you like a dare. like he already knew what decision you were going to make.

your mouth went dry. your body didn’t.

“you’re both,” you said, exhaling, “so fucking annoying.”

“but hot,” venti reminded, cocky.

“and talented,” dahlia added, already pulling you subtly toward the hallway. “you remember.”

venti’s hand was on your other wrist before you realized it, cool and confident. “i promise i’m better.”

you didn’t even know who led you up the stairs — one of them pushed the door open, the other tugged you inside, both of them crowding close as the music faded behind a slam and the click of a lock.

heat. hands.

someone’s mouth on your neck. someone else’s fingers at the hem of your shorts.

“dibs on her mouth,” venti said, already dropping to his knees, smiling like the devil as he looked up at you.

“you’re such a slut,” dahlia muttered — but he let go.

“i am,” venti grinned, tugging your hips closer. “and she’s about to be, too.”

you barely had time to breathe.

venti’s hands were already gliding up your thighs, warm and smooth, dragging your shorts and underwear down in one practiced, greedy motion. the grin never left his face. not even when he kissed the inside of your knee and said, in the sweetest voice you’d ever heard:

“hold still for me, baby. gonna make you sing.”

you almost said something smart — almost — but then his mouth was on you, and the words evaporated. tongue hot, slow, teasing. his thumbs held your thighs open with a surprisingly firm grip, and then he moaned into your pussy like he’d just tasted something divine.

your knees buckled.

“fuck,” you gasped, one hand shooting out blindly until it hit dahlia’s arm. you curled your fingers into his shirt. “oh my god—”

“told you she’d sound pretty,” venti murmured against your cunt, before licking another long stripe up the center and flicking your clit with his tongue.

“and i told you to shut up,” dahlia muttered, but his voice was hoarse. his hand found the back of your neck, thumb stroking the edge of your jaw as he leaned in to kiss your temple. “you like his mouth, baby?”

you whimpered, nodding helplessly.

“yeah, she does,” venti said smugly. “she’s dripping. such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

you would’ve protested — maybe — but then he sucked, lips wrapping around your clit and tugging just right, and the pleasure hit like lightning.

your hips jerked forward. dahlia caught you.

“venti,” you whimpered, “fuck—i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” he said sweetly. “let go for me, pretty thing. cum all over my tongue.”

you did.

shaking, gasping, clinging to dahlia’s shirt like a lifeline while your thighs trembled around venti’s head. he groaned, licking you through it, hands firm on your ass to keep you steady.

when it was over, he kissed the inside of your thigh like a reward.

“so sweet,” he murmured, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “might get addicted.”

you were still trying to catch your breath when dahlia gently tilted your face toward his.

his eyes were dark.

“my turn,” he said.

you didn’t realize you were grinding against venti’s mouth until he groaned, loud and thrilled, hands squeezing your thighs to keep you there. your head spun. your hips jerked. he loved it.

“needy girl,” he gasped against you, tongue flicking quick and sharp. “use me.”

you whimpered.

behind you, dahlia cursed under his breath, pushing your bra up to mouth at your tits, teeth grazing your nipple just rough enough to make you jolt. “fuck, baby. so sensitive. you’re gonna cum already, aren’t you?”

venti pulled back just enough to grin against your skin. “she’s close.”

“she always was easy.” “she’s perfect.” “she’s mine.”

you gasped, nearly choking on your own breath.

“then why’s she whining on my tongue?” venti said, smug, dragging it over you again — and god, it was filthy the way he moaned like he’d been starved for this, like the taste of you was his favorite kind of poison.

you cried out, trembling hard enough that dahlia had to grip your hips tighter to keep you upright.

“venti—venti—fuck—”

“cum for me,” he said sweetly. “be good and make a mess on my face.”

and you did.

with a cry that split the air, you came hard — shaking, hips bucking, vision dark at the edges. venti didn’t stop. he ate it up, humming, licking through your orgasm like he was trying to memorize it. like he wanted seconds.

maybe thirds.

you barely had time to catch your breath before dahlia was spinning you, lips crashing into yours — rough, messy, starved.

“still mine,” he muttered against your mouth. “she might’ve got you first, but i get to fuck you.”

venti wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes shining. “we get to fuck her.”

dahlia didn’t argue this time.

you were dizzy, your knees barely holding, your pulse still too fast. but you didn’t care.

not when dahlia was walking you back toward the bed, pushing you gently down, stripping you slow like you were something precious and ruined all at once. not when venti crawled up beside you, kissing your neck, your jaw, your collarbone — every inch dahlia wasn’t touching.

“gonna take care of you,” venti whispered, fingers ghosting down your stomach. “you’ll let us, won’t you?”

you nodded. breathless.

“use your words, baby,” dahlia said, already undoing his belt. “what do you want?”

you looked between them — wrecked and warm and starving — lips parted, thighs trembling, mouth slick with spit and want and everything you weren’t supposed to be.

your voice barely came out a whisper.

“…both of you.”

venti beamed. radiant. unholy. like a prayer turned inside out.

“god bless.”

“god hates us,” dahlia muttered, already pushing your thighs further apart, climbing over you like he owned you. “and i’m about to make you forget every prayer you’ve ever known.”

your breath hitched. your whole body keened.

then came the first thrust — deep, deliberate — and the air punched out of your lungs in a messy, wrecked sound.

you didn’t even know whose hands were on you anymore. one gripped your throat just enough to make your vision blur at the edges, another curled around your hip, dragging you back against their pace like you were made for it. venti was saying something — words you couldn’t catch, not when your brain was sliding like honey through your skull — but his mouth was wet and hot and everywhere, his tongue licking into your teeth like he wanted to taste the exact second you broke.

dahlia growled in your ear, low and dark, his grip bruising.

“say it,” he rasped. “say who’s making you feel this good.”

“y-you both—” you gasped, hands scrabbling for anything to hold onto. “fuck, please—”

“aw, look at her,” venti cooed, voice syrupy, cocky, cruel. “can’t even think straight. how many times has she cum already?”

“four,” dahlia grunted. “maybe five.”

“mm. not enough.”

you whimpered as venti dipped between your legs again, tongue unrelenting, too much — too much — but god, you didn’t want it to stop. didn’t want to breathe if it meant they’d stop touching you like this, worshipping you like the altar you were never meant to be.

you moaned — high and helpless — when dahlia’s pace picked up, slamming into you like he was trying to fuck his name into your spine.

venti grinned up at you from between your thighs, lips wet and swollen.

“gonna make her forget the alphabet.”

“already did,” dahlia panted. “she went stupid after the second orgasm.”

you didn’t deny it.

you couldn’t. your brain had been fucked clean out of your head, scrambled like eggs, your only thoughts left were their names and the way they made you feel — raw, perfect, ruined.

and still they kept going. and you let them.

you let them, because you were already too far gone. because your body begged for more even when your mind shattered. because you’d never felt this good. this full. this taken.

because whatever sins you’d committed to get here?

you’d do them all again. twice. in heels.

god was gone. and you were still moaning.

it didn’t matter anymore. not with your legs trembling open, cunt puffy and dripping, drool sliding from the corner of your mouth as you moaned pathetically around venti’s cock.

“ohh, look at her,” venti cooed, breath shaky, voice teasing and airy as he fisted your hair. “baby’s all fucked out already, and we haven’t even finished.”

“slut,” dahlia muttered behind you, hands digging into your hips as he snapped his into yours. “you came again, didn’t you? just now. again. fuck—your pussy’s still squeezing like she wants more.”

you whined around venti’s length, eyelids fluttering. your arms couldn’t hold you up anymore. your thighs had given out ages ago. they kept you upright between them — barely — venti’s cock hitting the back of your throat while dahlia was still pounding into your soaked, overstimulated cunt like he was trying to fuck the brain out of you.

maybe he already had.

venti moaned, hips twitching as your lips hollowed around him. “you’re drooling, pretty girl,” he gasped. “so messy. god, i love it. she’s not even blinking, look—she’s gone, dahlia.”

“good,” dahlia growled, pace still brutal. “she wanted to act like she didn’t want either of us earlier. needed a reminder.”

venti chuckled, breathless. “she’ll forget her name at this rate.”

you tried to answer — to say fuck you or i hate you or please or more or something, anything — but your voice was gone, throat raw, thoughts mush.

“mm-mm,” venti murmured, noticing the twitch of your brows. “don’t think. just feel.”

you whined again — this time, deeper. desperate.

dahlia leaned forward, hand sliding up to wrap around your throat from behind. “you gonna cum again for us, sweetheart?” he rasped into your ear, hips still slamming into you. “gonna cream all over my cock like a needy little toy?”

you gasped around venti, tears finally slipping from your lashes.

venti groaned, tilting your head up to look at him. “god, she’s crying,” he whispered. “you’re so fucking pretty like this, y’know that?”

you made a wrecked little noise, drool sliding past your lips as you nodded.

dahlia grunted. “fucking knew she liked it. knew you were a dirty girl the second i saw you in that church dress.”

your cunt clenched violently.

“fuck—again?” dahlia moaned. “she’s—she’s gonna—”

you broke.

legs kicking, arms trembling, a scream caught in your throat around venti’s cock as your body convulsed, heat flashing white as you came hard — your sixth? seventh? you couldn’t tell — clenching so tight around dahlia it made him swear, hips jerking once, twice, before he buried himself to the hilt with a groan.

venti whimpered. “ohh, fuck, baby—fuck—gonna—gonna—”

he pulled out just in time, coming hot and fast across your tongue and lips, his hand under your chin to tilt your face up, make you take it. you let your mouth fall open, drool and spit and come spilling messily down your chin.

“that’s it,” he gasped, voice sweet and fucked. “good girl. good fucking girl.”

you whimpered — barely conscious, twitching.

dahlia pulled out slow, watching your slick drip down your thighs. “fuck, look at that mess,” he muttered, thumb brushing your clit just to watch you flinch. “soaked the sheets. hope your roommate’s proud.”

venti collapsed beside you, sweaty and blissed out, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

you blinked at him, dazed. “mmnnh.”

he grinned. “no thoughts. just cock.”

“mission accomplished,” dahlia muttered, flopping beside you on the other side.

you weren’t even sure which of them kissed your shoulder.

you just knew your legs didn’t work, your soul had left your body, and if god had been here tonight —

he definitely left mid-threesome.

you woke up to the sound of someone snoring and someone else — singing.

acoustic. badly. with feeling.

“…living in a material wooorld, and i am a material giiirl—”

your brain hurt. your legs hurt. your entire existence hurt.

you cracked one eye open.

and immediately regretted everything.

venti was sitting cross-legged on the floor, wrapped in a blanket like some sleep-deprived prophet, strumming an actual guitar (???) you swore nobody had brought to the party. eyeliner smudged halfway to his temples, red eyeshadow still smeared across one cheek like war paint. his lips were shiny — glossy, even. god only knew why.

he grinned when he saw you awake.

“morning, sunshine! you moaned like a pornstar in your sleep.”

you blinked.

rolled over.

and immediately saw dahlia, shirtless, face buried in a pillow, groaning like he had just been born into suffering.

“kill me,” he rasped.

you sat up slowly, blanket clutched to your chest, realizing three things at once:

1. you were wearing dahlia’s shirt. inside out. 

2. venti was definitely wearing your bra like a headband.

3. someone had written “slut sandwich” on the fogged-up mirror in lipstick.

“what the actual hell happened,” you croaked, throat wrecked, dignity in shambles, and your legs about two steps away from quitting the entire concept of balance.

“sex,” venti answered brightly from the bed, still shirtless, still smug. “lots of it. possibly illegal in some countries.”

“definitely illegal in a church parking lot,” dahlia added, not even opening his eyes. “and probably a few states.”

you flipped them both off with shaky fingers as you stumbled toward the bathroom, every muscle in your body filing a complaint.

“don’t forget to hydrate!” venti called after you, far too cheerful for a man who’d literally begged to cum in your mouth five hours ago.

you grumbled something about exorcisms and shoved the bathroom door open, clinging to the sink like a war veteran. mascara smudged. knees bruised. bite marks blooming like artwork down your collarbone. you didn’t even want to check your hair.

you’d barely closed the door behind you when you heard:

“hey dahlia?”

“what.”

“did we actually high-five while spit-roasting her or was that just something i dreamed about?”

a pause.

“nah. we definitely high-fived. you yelled ‘teamwork makes the cream work.’”

venti wheezed. “oh my god. i’m hilarious.”

you slammed the bathroom door shut like it owed you money.

god, give me strength, you prayed silently. and maybe a therapist. and a gallon of electrolytes.

…also maybe another round after brunch. if they behave.

an average person can't say they get to travel around the world and get paid for it, or routinely get invited to watch fashion shows—but sunoo can. it's a privilege he's earned by working his body to the bone for years.

but the biggest perk of his job, and arguably his favorite, was getting to spoil you too.

not that you'd want to. you've always turned down his gifts politely, always telling him that his attention and time was all you need. but this time, he made sure you wouldn't be able to refuse.

he didn't even bother asking you if you wanted anything. he bought as much as he was allowed to, and even decided to personally deliver it to your apartment, sneaking in with his spare key.

"love! i'm back!"

your eyes widened at the familiar voice and you shuffled out your bed with a wide squeak. "baby! can't believe you didn't even text me that you'd... be... here?" your voice trailed off at the sight of your boyfriend.

he was beaming at you with not just one, but multiple paper bags hanging off of his arms—all stamped with the familiar prada milano logo. "i come bearing gifts!" he giggled, body shimmying along with the bags.

your lips are parted as you stare at the bags, then back to his stupidly pretty face. you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "sunoo... how many times do we have to go over this? i told you i don't need those."

the disappointed tone quickly watered down your boyfriend's bright and bubbly demeanor. "it isn't a matter of you needing them, baby." he frowned. " i want you to have them. i picked all of them out especially for you. you said you wanted a new bag, right?"

"yeah, from the department store, maybe! these probably cost a fortune." you gave him another sigh of exasperation, grumbling underneath your breath.

you don't mean to sound ungrateful, especially not when sunoo's being so generous, but gifts—especially extravagant ones like these—made you feel guilty.

but what would you expect from a boyfriend whose love language is gift giving? expensive gift giving, to be specific.

sunoo, seeing the grim expression on your face, set the bags down on the coffee table. he walked to you, arms snaking around your waist before pressing an affectionate peck on your forehead. "well you'd be glad to know that we get a hefty discount as prada ambassadors."

"really?"

he smiled and leaned forward to rub the tip of his nose against yours, pulling out a giggle out of you. "mhm. the boys bought a lot too, but i already have enough clothes, so i used mine to get you nice things. now don't worry your pretty little head about the price, okay? or else i'll be upset."

you pouted, nodding in defeat. "thank you, baby."

"no need to thank me, doll." sunoo gave your bum a pat and quickly stole a kiss from your lips before gesturing to the mountain of bags in your living room. "give me a fashion show. i wanna know if they look as good on you as i imagined."

sunoo sat on the couch with a calm and laidback smile plastered on his face as he watched you flaunt your brand new clothes. your confidence grew each time you left your bedroom in a different piece, and he gladly gave you encouraging compliments, one after the other.

a leather jacket, shiny new heels, a purse, a dress—sunoo truly went all out. though he couldn't say he did it all for you. selfish as it was, it was also rewarding for him.

he felt useful whenever he spoiled you. given how much attention the public gave to him, he knew he couldn't indulge you in a lot of other things other "normal" boyfriends would, so this was his way of compensating for that.

seeing you in shorts skirts and revealing tops that he picked on purpose for this very occasion just so happened to be a very nice bonus.

"sunoo, they look so pretty!" you bit down your lip as you strut out in a lacy tank top and wool skirt from the brand's most recent collection, gasping and giggling in excitement after making your silly poses. "they make my legs look longer, too."

he leaned forward wearing a calculated smile. "of course they do. i told you, i only got the ones i know you'd like." sunoo's sharp eyes dropped down to the smooth skin of your upper thighs, tongue running across his lower lip. "give me a twirl, princess."

you followed your boyfriend's orders, unaware of how his eyes stuck on to your body—at how the fabric lifted just enough to give him a quick look of your ass and the thin black panties hiding the sweet dip between your thighs.

he couldn't resist the grunt clawing out his throat, already feeling himself grow firm under his pants. "god. so fucking pretty, aren't you?"

your teeth sank on your bottom lip and a giddy laugh bubbling out of your mouth before you could control it. "first you spoil me with clothes, and now you're spoiling me with compliments?"

sunoo shrugged, opened his arms, and beckoned you over. "come here, doll. i have one last gift to spoil you with."

he pulled you on his lap until your back was pressed flat against his chest before fishing a small leather box from his side. you watched him open it slowly, revealing a white-gold necklace.

the sight of the tiny diamonds pressed into the triangular pendant almost made you choke. the thought of your boyfriend spending his hard-earned money on something so obviously expensive made you push his hand away, shaking your head.

"sun, it's... it's beautiful but—"

"no buts, princess." sunoo ignored your protests and swept your hair to one side. he pressed a kiss on your bare shoulder, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the base of your nape, raspily whispering, "you'd wear it for me, won't you?"

he escalated it into nips and licks, knowing your resistance would slowly break with each press of his plump lips on your skin. you let out a soft mewl, neck instictively tilting to make room for his mouth. soon enough, he had your head bobbing weakly.

once it the accessory was secured, sunoo let out a small sigh, pride gleaming in his eyes. the pendant sat right between your collarbones and the metal perfectly accentuated the light red marks blooming across your decolletage.

"you look so good in it, baby." he whispered, voice low and thick with restraint. his palms that once rested on your knees began treading dangerously high up your inner thighs. "so, so pretty. and all fucking mine."

sunoo resumed his assault on your neck and you grew dizzy under the wet kisses, body beginning to feel like jelly as his hands roughly grabbed at every inch of your skin with need.

his gave your perky mounds a rough squeeze though the thin top while simultaneously reaching under your skirt to trace his delicate fingertips along the hem of your soaked underwear.

your hips pushed upward, trying to gain some sort of friction and he just chuckled at the cuteness of your attempt, teeth sinking down on your shoulder blade. "i'm not even doing a lot and yet you're already squirming, doll." nevertheless, he relented and cupped your dampened core.

"pretty. so fucking beautiful even when you're needy." he praised softly as he watched your pathetic attempt to grind into his palm, cooing when you cry out his name in frustration.

he pressed a firm hand to your stomach and you slumped against him in defeat, head tipped back against his shoulder. he planted a kiss on the tip of your ear, swapping his warm palm with fingers on your clothed clit. "d'you miss me, doll? tell me you missed me. tell me you missed this."

his finger pushed, rubbing your swollen bundle of nerved through the rough fabric making you gasp and nod eagerly. "yes— fuck.. i missed you so much, sunoo. please– please, i need it."

his fingers threaded through your hair and he used his hold to tilt your head towards him—still done with love but with enough to make you gasp at the mild sting on your scalp.

"i missed you too, doll." his plump lips ghosted over yours before tugging on your hair to claim your mouth in a fiery, passionate kiss like he wanted his actions to prove his words.

sunoo claimed your lips like it's the only air he needs, tongue prodding inside your mouth like he's trying to remember every corner and every ridge again.

as if the lip lock wasn't enough to drive you insane, he began rubbing you through your underwear harder, smearing the sticky mess inside until it seeped out onto his fingers that moved in tight, firm circles.

at this point, you're panting into his mouth. your body felt like a live wire, jolts of pleasure shooting straight to your core with each flick and pinch he gave on your most delicate parts.

and sunoo was not faring any better with the way you kept rocking your ass against his covered length. "shit, i can't take this anymore— i need to feel you now."

his fingers found the ends of your skirt, and just before you think he's going to pull it off—he pushed it up, causing the fabric to bunch around your waist. "s–sunoo?"

"want to see you like this. my pretty little doll getting fucked in clothes i bought for her, hm?" he flashed you mischievous grin and with another pull at your top's neckline, your chest is exposed as well.

he removed your panties last—the only thing he hasn't gifted to you—tugging it down your thighs before manhandling you until you're straddling him again. "my girl."

sunoo's eyes hungrily raked up your still-clothed yet very bare body. his fingers tweaked and rolled on your sensitive nipples, abusing the poor buds until you're arching your back further into his touch and dripping down onto his denim. "yours, sun. mmh— a–all yours, i promise."

his fingers ghosted higher, index finger hooking on the chain of your new necklace. you saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips before you're pulled down, lips crashing with his in another messy, uncoordinated kiss. he willingly swallowed all your sinful noises, only breaking away from the kiss so he could look at you, reveling at your glazed eyes and spit-slick lips.

your skin buzzed with each touch and it amplified when he began pushing your wetness against the evident bulge of his jeans, guiding you to roll your hips against him. "like that, sweetheart. feels good, doesn't it?"

"yes. y–yes, fuck.. so good." your eyes fluttered shut, letting out a quiet whimper of his name as the rough fabric tugs on your exposed clit, the friction enough to have your thighs shaking. "want you, sun... want it so bad, please—"

he threw his shirt side, pushed his jeans and boxers down to his knees with the speed of a man whose patience was stretched too thin to be bothered about removing them properly.

you wrapped your finger around his firm length, licking your lips as translucent beads of his arousal leaked from the dark pinkish tip. sunoo let out a low hiss when you ran your thumb across the tip, giving your thigh a gentle smack.

"quit teasing. you wanted my cock, right? so sit on it, doll." his cocky demeanor faltered for just a flash when you guided his tip to your entrance, letting out a quiet his when you sank down.

his sharp eyes locked where you were connected, pupils dilating at the sight of you greedily swallowing him whole, "like that.. such a good doll for me, aren't you? so warm, so tight— fuck, you're killing me, baby." he whispered, muscles of his jaw growing tighter as he fought his body's urge to buck upwards.

"f–full..." was all you could say—whimper, rather. you settled in that position for a while and sunoo graciously rubbed your skin, thumb moving in soothing circles on your clit while muttering praises of how well you're taking him.

"i know, love. it's been a while since you got a good fucking like this, haven't you? don't worry. i'll give you the attention you deserve—let you have as much as you want." he cooed.

when you felt good enough, you planted your palms against his firm shoulders walls to anchor yourself and began moving. your walls dragged against his length as your pelvis moved up, only to slam down again, each drop causing his length to press into you in its entirety.

the pain of the stretch is swiftly replaced with the overwhelming sensation of wanting more, and more, and more until all you could do was babble incoherently with eyes rolled back as pleasure consumed you. "i missed you, sun— fuck. n–none of my toys or—mmh—fingers... c–could—"

"none of them feels the same, do they?" sunoo breathlessly chuckled, drinking in the sight of your bouncing figure: your hair that stuck to your face, your tongue that stuck out as you panted, the chain that glinted around your neck like his personal branding.

he reached up, cupping your bouncing mounds, tweaking at a nipple. "nothing—and no one—would ever fuck you as good as i can, baby. "

you felt your thighs starting to burn, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop—not when each drop on his cock has the tip kissing your cervix, battering the sweet spot you wouldn't even dream of reaching by yourself. "no. fuck, o–only you, sun! only you can."

you bounced, rocked, and ground yourself against him, claws digging down on his skin but his eyes were stuck—glued to the way the diamonds of your new necklace caught the light with each hop you did.

he almost felt guilty that it distracted him from your blissed out expression, but something about the way it hung on your neck, the way it shone against your dampened skin like it was made just for you—it filled him with a deep, insatiable feeling of possessiveness seeing you fuck yourself dizzy on his cock wearing it.

before you know it, his hips began to move, thrusting upwards to meet your own as it sunk down. "o–oh, fuck, sunoo!"

your nails left red streaks on his shoulders and on the thick of his arms, but he couldn't care less. sunoo even indulged in the pain, letting out a moan of your name as he secured his arms around your waist, lifting you up and down on his cock and shamelessly using your body as his own toy.

"it's okay, baby. let me do the work." he grunted in between short gasps, once again pulling you down by the chain around your neck so you could rest your forehead on his broad shoulders.

sunoo let out breathy sighs of your name, mingling with the constant sound of skin slapping bouncing off the walls. "poor baby. you must've missed this, huh?" he smugly laughed, hand rearing back to landing a few hits your ass. "missed getting treated like a slut? a dumb needy hole for me to fuck?"

you couldn't answer him in your disheveled state but your clenching walls were enough for sunoo. still, he wanted to drag it out. he needed to hear it from you. "is my baby too dumb to answer already? too drunk on cock? come on, answer me." he demanded with another whip to the flesh of your thigh.

"yes! yesyesyes, fuck—" you nodded your head as much as you could, nose buried in the crook of his neck while chanting sunoo's name like a prayer. pleased, he rewarded to by angling his hips to where he'd have you seeing stars with every precise thrusts.

"of course you did." he chuckled, tone dripping in confidence. the muscles of his arms tensed, biceps curled as he pushed you up, only to pull you down to meet his thrusting hips half-way.

"you fucking ruin me, d'you know that? every night i was away—mmh, fuck—all i could ever think about's your pussy– 'bout destroying this pretty cunt as soon as i get home."

more filthy confessions spilled from his mouth his mouth in dragged out slurs as he chased after his high, driving his cock up into your weeping hole until tears of overwhelm left your waterline, reducing you into nothing but a babbling, shaking mess. "sunoo! i'm gonna cum, s–shit!"

"wait— nngh– fuck, hold it. wait for me, doll." his jaw tensed and his brows pinched together, pent up desperation translated to merciless thrusts and red handprints on your ass and thighs.

you tried your best, but the pressure was too much—far too much for your body to handle, especially with your boyfriend whispering dirty promises into your ear, detailing his plans of ruining you all night.

you cried out his name as you hit your peak, body writhing on top of his as sunoo pulled your hips down all the way until he bottomed out inside you, releasing thick spurts of his cum with a shudder and a quiet whisper of your name.

the exhaustion finally hit you both like a freight train. no sound of the world outside the walls of your apartment, just two lovers catching their breaths and muttering soft proclamations of love to one another.

you laid your head on his shoulder. the calm aftermath allowed you to feel the way his heart beating quickly beneath his chest, and you giggled, "god.. i forgot how insane and needy you become after tours."

sunoo laid his hand on top of yours, the other mindlessly playing with the necklace's clasp that rested on your nape. "you're calling me needy like you didn't just confess to being unsatisfied with your little toys." he chuckled, pressing loving kisses on the crown of your head. "you did so well, doll. 'm so proud of you."

"do you want to get up and shower? i can set up a bath for us." you offered, but sunoo shook his head, speaking in that soft, sonorous tone you missed so much. "later. let's stay like this for a while, mm?"

you nodded your head and carefully adjusted yourself on top of him to get a little more comfortable. sunoo hissed, his torso flinching when the movement made you involuntarily clench around his still-twitching length. "actually— why don't i clean you up in the shower?"

you met his eyes and swallowed.

this night was going to be much longer than you thought.

YAN'S NOTES ➤ ending kinda ass but this is another YUMMY drabble that came about from this request. everyone say "thank you, peach anon" for giving me this idea !! again, i'd love to hear ur thoughts!! send your feedback to my inbox jsy ! < 3

PERM TAGLIST ➤  @mariegibeau @kristynaaah @ikeukiss @zerocoded @alex-is-sleeping @ntxs1 @angelhyuka @tsukheeshima @clxssy1997 @strawberrykkk1 @cripplinghooman @xoxo-seraphine

“You saw the numbers already?” he asked, voice dripping with that intoxicating mix of arrogance and amusement. “Hasn’t even been an hour and it’s everywhere.” He tilted his head, the curve of his smirk deepening. “Guess I am the moment.”

You rolled your eyes, but your body betrayed you, you couldn’t stop staring at his lips, the way the gloss caught the light, or the sharp glint in his gaze that told you he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

He stepped forward until his chest brushed yours, fingers hooking under your chin. “Gonna congratulate me, sweetheart?” he teased, leaning in just enough that his breath brushed your mouth. “Or are you just gonna keep staring like the rest of the world?” Your pulse jumped. “I could think of… a better way to congratulate you.”

The grin that spread across his face was pure trouble. Within seconds, you were sinking to your knees on the hardwood, the cool floor biting into your skin while he loosened his belt. He didn’t break eye contact for a second, not even when he freed himself, thick and heavy in his hand, the flushed tip already slick.

“You’re lucky,” he murmured, brushing the head against your lips, smearing precum across them like gloss. “No one else gets me like this… not even in their dreams.” The moment your tongue slid out to taste him, his breath hitched, just enough to let you know he wasn’t quite as unshakable as he pretended. You opened wider, taking him in slow, letting him feel the drag of your lips around him until the head nudged the back of your throat.

“Fuck—” His hand slid into your hair, gripping tight, nails scraping your scalp as he guided you forward. “Just like that… god, you’re perfect.”

You bobbed your head, hollowing your cheeks, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth. Every time you swallowed around him, he swore under his breath, hips twitching forward just enough to make you gag, and the sound drew the dirtiest chuckle from him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, glancing down at the obscene sight of your lips stretched around him, mullet brushing against his sharp jaw as he tilted his head back in pleasure. “Bet the entire industry would kill to see you like this.”

You moaned around him, the vibration making his grip tighten. His breathing got rougher, the smooth arrogance cracking with every wet glide of your tongue along the vein under his cock. When you started stroking the base with one hand, twisting in rhythm with your mouth, his composure snapped. “Shit— fuck, I’m close—” His voice broke into a gasp as his hips pushed forward, burying himself to the hilt in your throat. Warmth flooded your mouth as he spilled into you, the salty heat coating your tongue. He pulled back just enough to watch you swallow every drop, a wicked grin curling his lips.

When you wiped the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, he crouched down, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his gaze. “Congratulations accepted,” you said, voice hoarse.

Sunoo laughed low in his throat, thumb stroking your jaw. “Baby,” he said, smirk back in full force, “I haven’t even shown you the afterparty yet.” Before you could react, he hauled you up, not gently, either. His hands gripped your waist and pulled you into his lap as he dropped onto the couch, his half-soft cock already pressing against your core through your clothes.

“Thought I was done?” he murmured against your ear, his hands sliding up under your shirt, dragging his nails lightly over your skin until goosebumps chased their path. “Cute.” You barely had time to gasp before he pushed your panties aside and slid the head of his cock against your folds, still slick from your spit and his release. He didn’t bother with a warm-up, just pressed in, slow but unrelenting, filling you until you were choking on a moan.

“That’s it,” he growled, one hand locking around your hip to keep you still. “Sit on it. Feel how deep I am.” You whimpered, the stretch making your thighs shake. He smirked at the sound, one hand sliding up to grip your jaw. “You swallow my cum so well… let’s see how good you are at milking my cock.”

The thrusts started slow, almost lazy, but each one was sharp, angled to make you shiver. Every time you clenched around him, his grip on you tightened, his mouth brushing your ear with filthy praise.

“Fuck, you’re tight… all for me… bet you were dripping when you saw my photos go up, weren’t you? Imagining everyone else drooling over me while I’m buried inside you like this.”

Your answer was a broken moan, your head falling to his shoulder as he fucked up into you harder, chasing another release. His hand slid to your throat, holding you there just enough to make your pulse pound in your ears. When he finally came again, spilling hot inside you, his grip didn’t loosen, not until he was sure you’d taken every drop. Only then did he lean back, grinning like he’d just claimed another trophy.

“Now,” he said, licking his lips as if he was still savoring the taste of your earlier work, “you can say you were the first to get me after the announcement.”

masterlist

⟡ @tashmonellloveskpopboybands,⟡ @yuriloveshee,  ⟡ @kookiesnkim, ⟡ @picklemafia, ⟡ @add-this-to-that,  ⟡ @xxjoyridingxx,⟡ @enjakey, ⟡ @noidnoentry, ⟡ @avadie,  ⟡ @enhaheart8, ⟡ @yourislandgirl, ⟡ @meowwwon, ⟡ @saodk  ⟡ @inlovewithparkjisung, ⟡ @verycutesyverymindful,  ⟡ @fleurdelises, ⟡ @tyongielee, ⟡ @amzingjellyfish, ⟡ @enbplvr, ⟡ @6abriellaa, ⟡ @fateismoonstruck, ⟡ @artemesiareads, ⟡ @d0einheadlights, ⟡ @miuuuw,  ⟡ @butwhyareyoureyessosad, ⟡ @rainofcrime, ⟡ @darkblueblueberr, ⟡ @zone444girls, ⟡ @bombombakudanmeow, ⟡ @en-cityy,  ⟡ @koya2000, ⟡ @tttbearblog, ⟡ @yb763, ⟡ @freakseung2001  ⟡ @nics-fxy, ⟡ @irers, ⟡ @seungsoftly, ⟡ @iyaiyaohhh, ⟡ @xnatqq,

✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧

you let out a string of choked moans, eyes rolling back to your skull, “fucking cumslut, you asked for it” he rasps back at you with a stern voice, anger clearly present. heeseung leans back down, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours, his nose bumping into yours as his hand comes up to squeeze your cheeks, spitting in your mouth. its makes you feel dizzy, orgasm approaching closer by the second when you feel his cock twitch inside your cunt. “god, fuck— look at these tits, should cum all over shouldn’t i?” he says, mostly to himself as his eyes trail down to them. your eyes go wide as you coat his dick in white, chest heaving as you replay your orgasm, gasping slightly. heeseung still hasn’t pulled out, his rhythm slowing down as he pulls out abruptly, squirting all over your chest. it only has you slowly taking some on your fingers and stuffing it down your throat.

[˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗] 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙟𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙜 !

you had no excuse for the way you were purposefully provoking your boyfriend’s patience tonight, except that he hadn’t fucked you in two weeks. it was at a close friend’s birthday, and you really couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. jay’s patience was on the verge of breaking at the way you kept palming the tent that had built inside his pants, so with an excuse that you were feeling out of it, he dragged you out of your fun early. and here you are now, tear streaked face pressed into the floor of your living room as he smacks his hips into yours from behind, pulled your ass closer. you knew jay was angry, simply by the way you didn’t even make it to the bedroom. “mm! i’m sorry— g.. god” you murmur as you lift your head, balancing yourself on the palms of your hands.

jay lets out a sarcastic chuckle at your words, jaw tightening. “fucking think that’ll do anything? shit—” he rasps, hissing when he feels your walls clench down on him. your legs shake vigorously as his cock hammers at your cervix, walls fluttering. jay thinks he’s never going to see anything prettier than you under him and pleading, so despite you begging him to slow down a little, he only goes faster. it was all too much for you, intense pleasure aching at your core, but you’d be pushing back your hips if he even ended up stopping. “ja..y— gonna cum!— fuckfuck” you cry out, the knot inside your stomach tightening and walls pulsating. your so close, so so close, you’re about to let go, when he pulls his cock out of your wet walls, the sweet feeling dying down. he rubs your hips soothingly when you go still, whispering into your ear, “you’ll get to cum, pretty, just not now”

[˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗] 𝙨𝙞𝙢 𝙟𝙖𝙚𝙮𝙪𝙣 !

jake still remembers the way your fingers sat stuck inside your dripping cunt when he walked into your shared bedroom; insatiable would be the word he’d use to describe you right now as he drags a baby pink dildo through your tight walls. you knew this was coming, you knew you should’ve sit still, but here you were, spread over your boyfriend’s lap as he stabbed a dildo through your cunt, fingers flicking at your clit. “hah—! yun.. wan’ your cock!” you say with a small frown etched upon your face. the words let out sounded a lot more insolent than you intended, but you could care less, it only pushed his buttons harder. jake is amused at how easy your words come out of your mouth, poking his inner cheek with his tongue.

“real fucking bitchy today, aren’t you?” he snaps, tossing the dildo, then removing his belt and pulling down his jeans, just until his cock sprung out, hard and slightly pink at the tip. the sight made your eyes droop in a daze, just desperate to get it inside of you. your legs wrap around jake’s waist as he pulls you closer, stuffing his dick inside your gaping hole abruptly. his cologne suffocates you in the best way, hips lifting off the bed as he pounds into you, walls fluttering and spasming around his length. “fucking take it! wanted cock didn’t you? come on baby, tell me you love it” jake snarls, thrusts getting wetter and sloppier. your toes curl up, legs numb and shaking as you nod again and again, “yes! shit—fuckfuck, love your cock, loveitsomuch” you mutter loud and broken, voice getting stuck. your body goes still as you let out your high, drenching his dick in white as he fills you up, hips still hitting yours. “we’re far from done, so be a good fucking girl and lay still” he whispers into your ear, leaning down and connecting his forehead with yours.

[˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗] 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙨𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙣 !

“gonna be good girl?” sunghoon asks you, rubbing the sides of your hips soothingly. you nod, mumbling a small ‘yes’ looking away and managing a small smile as you play with the dainty silver necklace resting against his collarbone. lies, you definitely weren’t going to, and you knew it the moment you climbed onto his lap. he simply grins at you, lifting your hips up to fill your pussy up with his dick, completely swallowing it. you let out a gasp at the feeling, chest tightening when you feel his tip hit deep. sunghoon’s hands squeeze your hips, one hand moving down to grope your ass, as he moves you up and down his cock. you almost immediately tug of his hands, setting your own pace, acting like it was something totally normal. although you don’t look at him, you can feel him burning holes into your face with his stare, head tilted and an amused look drawn on his face.

sunghoon almost immediately brings your hips to a stop, grabbing both your wrists behind your back, tightly gripping them. “don’t think you heard me sugar, i said be fucking good” he tells you voice a lot more stern and deep. it has you gulping down your saliva, but you still put on a fake pout, looking at him innocently, “i didn’t do anything hoon, calm down” you tell with faux innocence. sunghoon thinks he’s never wanted to fuck you so hard and shut you up till now, chuckling deeply at the way you immediately talked back to him. “you wanna take control? is that it baby? then do it, but don’t you dare fucking stop, until i tell you” he tells you, laying back down. your a bit surprised at his words but listen nonetheless, mounting your hands on his chest as you bounce on his cock, igniting pleasure throughout your body. “mm, god, that.. f-feels good” you mutter, voice shaky as your hips move faster, the urge to come increasing. and that’s what you do, spilling all over, mind clouded and hips stopping. before you could even regain your strength, sunghoon’s hands take control, rocking your hips back and forth. you let out a cry looking at him, “i told you not to fucking stop, c’mon, let's see if you can make me cum” he mutters out.

But then there was the other Heeseung, the one only you knew. The one who made you beg for mercy in the privacy of his bedroom, the one who whispered obscenities in your ear with that deep voice no one else had ever heard, the one who turned every inch of your body into his exclusive property. That Heeseung no one could even dare imagine existed, because he was so well guarded, so hidden beneath those glasses and his introverted genius look.

And with those details in mind, let’s move on to this moment…

You were on all fours at the edge of the bed, still with damp hair from the shower you both took as soon as you arrived, your torso pressed against the sheets, your fingers gripping the fabric while moans already escaped your throat. He was behind you, kneeling on the floor, his hands wide on your thighs, holding you well apart to devour with full dedication the pussy he was so obsessed with.

His tongue didn’t stop. He licked with hunger, with knowledge, with precision. He savored you as if he could never get enough, as if he’d been craving to sink in there for days — as if he hadn’t done it almost every damn night—. The sucking sounds were loud, desperate, sprinkled with his gasps, your moans, and the wet friction that made everything even dirtier.

“Mmmh… too sweet as always,” he murmured against you, his tongue still licking your clit in slow circles. “You drive me crazy, so fucking crazy.”

Then he devoured you again. His nose buried between your ass cheeks, his tongue sliding over the entire length of your sex, from your throbbing clit down to that spot below, licking shamelessly, without stopping, without giving you a break. You moaned loudly, breaking apart against the sheets, trembling, knowing he wasn’t done yet —that this was just the beginning—.

Behind you, Heeseung growled softly, his deep voice loaded with lust as he spread you open with his hands to see better, to eat you deeper.

“Open wider, baby. Let me see you better. I want to have etched in my head how your pussy beats when I do this.”

And you obey. Because this other version of him accepted nothing less than absolute submission.

Your legs tremble. The heat between them is a brutal urgency. His tongue works tirelessly—sucking, licking, slurping, plunging into your entrance then back up to torture your clit—. No pauses, no mercy. You feel his saliva mixed with your own juices sliding down your thighs, his wet jaw pressed against you, the wet sounds filling the room like a filthy echo. His fingers part your lower lips, stretching you to have you fully exposed to his tongue.

“Always so ready and wet for me…” he murmurs against you, his voice deep, so close that every word vibrates in your pussy. “And damn, you taste so fucking delicious.”

You gasp, forehead pressed to the mattress, body trembling. His kisses are rough, his tongue impatient; he’s eating you like his life depends on making you come. Your fingers clutch the sheets, moaning uncontrollably. But you don’t speak, not a single word escapes your mouth. You can’t… And he doesn’t like that.

He stops abruptly, pulling his tongue away. The emptiness is immediate and your pussy throbs desperately.

“Again? What did I tell you before?” he mutters, annoyed. His hand slaps one of your ass cheeks, a sharp, loud smack that makes you scream—more from pleasure than pain—. You bite your lip, unable to look back. “Use. Your. Words.”

His hand slides down to your clit, barely grazing it with the fingertip, teasing just enough to make you more desperate, but not giving you anything real. You feel your inner muscles clench, searching for him.

“Do you want me to make you come with my tongue? Is that what you need, princess? Then say it. Ask me.”

Your body arches. Your hips jerk, desperate for friction. The desperation shoots through you like an electric shock.

“Love, please…” you gasp in a pleading tone. “Don’t stop, keep eating me out, please~ I need more of your mouth. I want to come on your tongue, Heeseung.”

He lets out a guttural groan, and a rough, dirty laugh escapes his lips.

“That’s my good girl. That’s how you do it. So obedient, so well trained. I’m going to reward you like you deserve.”

And he attacks again. But this time, there’s no control. This time, he devours you as if he wanted to rip your soul out through your pussy. His tongue moves desperately, licking your clit with quick, precise motions, alternating loud sucks and deep licks, while one of his hands slides down to your entrance and plunges two fingers inside without warning. He fucks you with them with the same intensity as his tongue, curling them exactly where he knows you lose your mind.

“God, You were made for this, weren’t you? To come all over my face like the good baby you are just for me.”

Your screams become uncontrollable, higher, more broken. His free hand squeezes your hip to hold you still while he sucks your clit harder. The fingers inside you move fast, precise. The sound of your wet pussy is vulgar, each movement intensifying it, and all you can do is shout his name, filthy and broken.

“Hee, don’t stop! I’m coming, I’m going to cum, please!”

He growls with satisfaction. He pushes his fingers deeper. Sucks harder.

“Do it, darling. Come all over my damn face.” he orders, his mouth glued to your clit, voice muffled, sending vibrations to your nerves.

But you do it, you obey. You come with a guttural scream, like your body is exploding. Your legs give out, your back arches, your pussy clenches with involuntary spasms around his fingers. You feel the pleasure so dense and wild it makes you lose all sense of the world. Meanwhile, he stays there, sucking, swallowing, licking everything you give him. Your juices soak his face, and he doesn’t care — he revels in it.

You completely unravel, only for him. And when he finally pulls away, his tongue swipes over his lips and he smiles, panting.

“Look at you… All breathless, trembling, your legs shaking and that pussy still throbbing for me. You’re so fucking sexy,” he says, sliding his soaked fingers slowly over your ass. He kisses one cheek tenderly, then gives you a final smack as a caress. “Such a good girl.”

Your legs keep trembling, muscles tight, your breath uneven. You’re barely recovering from the orgasm, and you already feel him behind you, pressing against you with his hot body, his pre-cum slick cock pushing against your throbbing entrance, hungry for you.

Heeseung strokes your lower back with one hand, slow, while the other grabs one of your cheeks and squeezes it hard, spreading your legs a little wider. He leaves another kiss on your ass, soft, just before delivering another loud smack that makes you gasp. Then, with a softer, breathier voice, he says:

“My precious little girl… You know how good you look when you come like that? Your pussy has me spellbound, I'm so fucking addicted. I can’t let you rest, not when you’re this ready for me.”

He stands behind you and, with one hand, adjusts his cock. You feel it, hot, hard, pulsing against your swollen vaginal lips. The wet friction sliding against your entrance already leaves you breathless. He moves slow at first, running the tip of his cock up and down, brushing your clit with every stroke.

“So wet, and it's all for daddy, right?” he whispers while fondling your ass with his other hand, spreading your cheeks to look at you fully, panting as he sees how your pussy shines with so much juice. “Tell me, baby. Tell me who treats this pretty pussy so well.”

You moan, lips parted, forehead pressed to the sheets. He doesn’t respond with thrusts yet. He just waits. His glans stays right there, pressing against your entrance without pushing in.

“What did I say before? Use your words, babe. If you don’t say it, I won’t fuck you,” he threatens, and your pussy pulses violently at the demand in his voice.

“You, daddy… Only you know how to treat my pussy right,” you whimper shamelessly, and he growls, so satisfied you can feel him vibrate. He doesn’t give you any more time.

He plunges into you with a single thrust. Without stopping, without hesitation. His whole cock slides deep inside you, stretching you all at once, making you scream into the mattress. Your walls clamp around him tightly, still sensitive, wet, throbbing from the previous orgasm.

“Fucking perfect,” he growls, voice broken as he stays buried in you for a few seconds, soaked. “So tight and warm for me. You feel daddy filling you up, don’t you, love?”

You can’t even answer, just moan loud while he starts moving. Slow and deep at first. Then, without warning, he changes the rhythm. He fucks you hard, with restrained rage, with hunger. His pelvis slams your ass with every thrust, creating a wet, carnal, filthy sound. His cock sinks all the way in and pulls out just enough to slam back mercilessly. The angle, the rhythm, the heat — everything shakes you inside— .

Meanwhile, his hands don’t rest. One slides up your back, stroking it tenderly, contrasting with the brutality of his thrusts. The other slips under you, groping your breasts from beneath, searching for your nipples, playing with them, pinching them as you scream his name over and over.

“Do you like it, my princess? Do you like how daddy fucks you like this?”

“Yes, daddy, I love it, you fuck me so fucking yummy,” you pant without restraint, without filter.

“Good girl,” he says, biting your back as he keeps fucking you relentlessly. “You look so beautiful like this, all trembling, talking dirty, and this little cunt swallowing me deep…”

He tugs your hair to lift your torso. He leans over you, his chest pressed to your back, and starts biting your neck. His breath is hot, rough, dirty.

“Say it again… Who’s fucking you like this?”

“You, daddy,” you moan hard. “Only you. Fuck me harder, please.”

He smiles against your neck.

“You’re so good… so obedient… I’m gonna fill you up just how you like it, you’re gonna feel every damn drop of my cum inside you. And you’re gonna come while you do it, okay?”

His rhythm grows even more violent, rawer. The bed creaks beneath you. Your moans turn into screams, and every thrust pushes you closer to the edge. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it furiously in sync with the sway of his cock. The sound of your wet pussy swallowing his cock fills the room.

“Daddy~ I’m gonna come again… I can’t hold on… please~” you beg, your voice by now nothing but a trembling, helpless sound.

“Yes, you can, and you’re going to do it for me, understood?” he growls in your ear, pushing deeper, harder, faster. “Do it now, sweetheart! Come for daddy!”

And then you explode, with a strangled moan as the orgasm hits you like an electric shock. Your whole body tightens, your thighs shake violently, your back arches against him, and your inner walls clamp his cock with brutal force, as if your pussy wanted to swallow him even more.

“Fuck… That’s how I love to take my girl". Heeseung growls, barely breathing, teeth clenched.

He feels you pulsing around him, your body wrapping him with desperation, so wet, so hot, so perfect.

He can’t take it anymore. He buries himself deep with a final thrust, so strong it makes you tremble and lets out a sharp cry from your throat. And then he comes, with a rough, raspy growl from his chest as his hot cum fills your insides in thick, warm, abundant waves. His pelvis trembles against your ass, his fingers dig into your skin, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane.

“Take it all, baby…” he pants against your neck. “Every drop… This pussy is mine, and I’m marking it from the inside, can you feel it?”

You can only moan a barely audible yes, trembling, your legs completely weak and your body stabilized by his hands. You notice the heat building inside you, how his still-throbbing cock remains buried inside you while both your spasms fade very slowly.

The air is thick with sex, gasps, the wet sounds of your bodies still connected. Heeseung doesn’t move. He stays pressed against you, holding you from behind, kissing your shoulder as his breathing slows down.

“You were so good for me, baby girl,” he murmurs with dirty tenderness, stroking your belly with his hand soaked in your wetness.

His lips brush your nape. His cock, still buried, twitches once more inside you. And you… you keep burning. Still trapped in that filthy, absolute pleasure trance.

© 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 ★

You gave him the faintest hum, turning your head lazily into the pillow. “Didn’t ask you to climb on me.”

He laughed, quiet, dark.

“No,” he murmured, palm curling around the curve of your thigh. “You gave me permission to use you. Whenever I wanted.”

His fingers dipped under your panties. You stayed still, even as your breath hitched. You could already feel the slick starting to build between your legs. He hadn’t done anything yet. He didn’t have to.

“I don’t remember agreeing to being woken up like this,” you mumbled, bratty.

Jay’s fingers pressed tighter against your inner thigh. “You agreed to be mine. And that includes when you're half-asleep and faking attitude.”

He moved fast, flipping you onto your stomach in one smooth motion, dragging your hips up until your knees sank into the mattress and your face pressed into the pillow. Your shirt rode up high, your panties dragged down slow.

You let out a soft sound, half-protest, half-moan.

“Such a fucking tease,” Jay muttered behind you. “You act like you don’t want it, but your pussy says otherwise. You’re soaked.”

His palm smacked your ass—hard. You jumped, breath catching, heat flaring in your cheeks.

“Jay—”

“Don’t ‘Jay’ me. You begged for this setup,” he said, voice calm but cutting. “Told me you wanted to be available whenever I needed. Like my own little toy. My personal fuckdoll.”

You whimpered into the pillow, hips twitching back toward him instinctively.

He leaned over you, lips at your ear. “So don’t pretend to be shy now.”

Then he reached between your thighs and ran two fingers up your slit—slow, filthy, teasing. Your thighs trembled as he pressed them in just enough to spread the mess you’d already made.

“You’re dripping and I haven’t even fucked you yet,” he growled. “God, you’re disgusting.”

“Fuck you,” you breathed, grinding back against his hand.

He pulled his fingers away, brought them to your lips, and tapped. “Then suck.”

You opened your mouth, letting him slip them past your tongue. He watched you over your shoulder, eyes dark and possessive as you moaned around them, sucking like you wanted to be punished.

Jay pulled back suddenly, hands dragging your hips up until you arched for him—on your knees, spine bowed, legs spread wide. Completely exposed.

“Look at this,” he muttered behind you. “Fucking perfect. So pretty like this. All mine.”

You squirmed in place, back arching deeper. “Then hurry up and take what’s yours.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then his hand landed on your ass again, harder this time, enough to make your legs jolt.

“You don’t get to make demands,” he said, voice dark and dangerous. “You gave me access. That means I use you how I want. When I want. How long I want.”

You clenched around nothing.

Jay’s cock pressed between your thighs then—thick and hot, dragging up your folds with one slow thrust of his hips, letting you feel the weight of him through the mess you’d already made.

You gasped.

“Fuck—Jay, please—”

He gripped your hair, yanked your head back gently, just enough to hear the strain in your voice. “So polite now. What happened to all that bratty mouth?”

You whined, pushing back against him, chasing the friction.

Jay groaned under his breath, and for a second you could feel how close he was to losing control.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he gripped your hips tighter and started grinding against you, slow, controlled, dragging his cock up and down your slit without entering. Just teasing. Just using.

You couldn’t breathe.

The stimulation was maddening. His cock gliding over your clit with every roll of his hips, his breath hot on your neck as he pressed you into the mattress like you were nothing but a pillow to rut against.

“Good girl,” he muttered. “Look at you. Letting me use your body to get off. So fucking obedient when you’re wet.”

Your thighs shook.

You reached back for him, tried to grip his thigh, to pull him closer—inside, but he smacked your hand away.

“No,” he growled. “You’re not the one in control here.”

You moaned, louder this time, back arching hard as his cock slid right over your clit again, again, until your vision blurred.

“Jay—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“That’s right,” he whispered, mouth pressed to your ear. “Come for me. Be a good toy and make a mess all over my cock.”

And you did.

You came with a cry muffled by the pillow, your legs trembling, your whole body tightening as your orgasm pulsed through you hard and fast, your slick coating his cock as he ground out the last few thrusts.

Jay let out a ragged breath, slowing down. His hands soothing now as he massaged your hips, still grinding slow and shallow against you like he couldn’t stop.

But he didn’t finish.

Not yet.

You collapsed to the mattress, legs shaking, breath caught in your throat.

Jay leaned down, kissed your shoulder, and said low in your ear:

“I’m not done with you yet.”

You hadn’t even caught your breath when you felt Jay shift behind you.

His hands slid down your hips again, slow, purposeful. Possessive. He gripped the backs of your thighs and spread them wider, watching the way your folds glistened, your cunt twitching from the orgasm still fading out of your body.

“You really just came like that,” he muttered. “Without me even putting it in.”

Your cheek was pressed to the mattress, your lips parted, your breathing still shaky. “Maybe if you actually fucked me like a real man, I wouldn’t have to.”

You didn’t see it, but you heard his quiet, low laugh. Dangerous.

“Still got that mouth on you?” he asked, voice husky as he climbed back over your body. “After I let you come first? After I gave you exactly what you needed?”

His cock pressed at your entrance, thick and slick with your mess, and you could already feel your body opening up, aching for him.

“You act like you don’t love being used,” he muttered, dragging his tip slowly through your folds again, tapping at your entrance but not giving in. “But your pussy’s begging me to stay inside.”

You whimpered. “Then do it, Jay.”

He paused.

And with a low, satisfied growl, he pushed in—slowly, deliberately, dragging every inch of his cock through your overstimulated walls until he bottomed out, your body stretching to take him.

Your mouth dropped open. A breathless moan escaped your throat.

“Fuck—” Jay exhaled. “Still so fucking tight. You make me feel like I’m losing my mind.”

You tried to push back against him, but he grabbed your hips and held you there, buried to the hilt.

“You don’t get to move,” he said roughly. “You already got yours. Now you take it. Like the good girl you pretend not to be.”

His hips drew back—slowly. Then slammed in hard, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. You gasped, arching up into him.

Again. And again.

Jay set a pace that was devastating, controlled at first, each thrust deep and heavy, grinding into your sweet spot just to watch your legs tremble.

“Look at you,” he muttered, thrusting deeper, slower. “Crying for more and still trying to talk shit. You wanted this. You asked for this.”

Your fingers twisted into the sheets, your voice wrecked. “Jay, please—”

“Please what?”

You moaned.

“Say it,” he growled, hand coming down hard on your ass. “Say what you want.”

You broke.

“Please—fill me up,” you gasped. “I want you to finish inside. I want to feel it.”

Jay groaned so deep it vibrated in your spine. His hands gripped your hips harder, his thrusts turning rough, more ragged, more desperate, his breath hot on your back.

“You like being used that much?” he muttered. “Like being just a hole for me to fuck and fill whenever I want?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Fuck—yes.”

“Then take it.”

His thrusts turned brutal. His rhythm snapping faster, deeper, his cock hitting the back of your walls until your whole body jolted forward, your voice reduced to whimpers and gasps and broken pleas.

You felt it building in him. His body tightening, breath catching, his pace turning erratic as he chased his own release.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growled. “Gonna stuff you so full of me you’ll be leaking for hours.”

You moaned, tightening around him, clenching just to push him over the edge.

“Fuck—baby—”

He came with a low, drawn-out groan, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he spilled every drop, grinding into you until there was nothing left to give. His body draped over yours, warm and heavy, his chest rising and falling with sharp breaths.

He didn’t pull out right away.

Instead, he stayed inside. His hands soothing now, rubbing circles into your hips, your waist, your thigh. The tension drained slowly from his body, but he didn’t say anything yet.

You finally opened your mouth.

“So,” you mumbled, still face-down in the mattress, “was that… your way of using me casually?”

Jay laughed softly, low and real.

“Nah,” he said, pressing a kiss to your spine. “That was me losing control.”