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marvelstoriesepic · 1 month ago

Text

Different, this time

Pairing: Fuck buddy!Bucky x Reader

Summary: After the hospital visit and the doctor’s diagnosis, Bucky is plagued with guilt. He won’t touch you again until he is absolutely sure that you’re okay. Once you manage to reassure him, you both discover what it truly means to make love, rather than just fucking with suppressed feelings. And it’s overwhelming in the best way.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: (18+) explicit sexual content, mdni; sickly sweet smut; oral (f receiving); fingering; soft aftercare; mentions of physical pain during sex (past); mentions of cervical bruising; slight mentions of medical scenes; panic attacks (graphic and mentioned); guilt; emotional distress; crying; themes of healing and emotional vulnerability; sad!Bucky; panicked!Bucky; sweetheart!Bucky; lots and lots of worried!Bucky

Author’s Note: Help, I might have ruined myself for any other real man with this. Y’all, this is my first time writing smut, so please be kind!! But I'm not gonna lie, I genuinely loved writing this. Soo I guess, this won’t be the last time you'll have me sharing some smut!! To make things clear, this is the second part to In too deep!! Btw, I was a bit nervous about whether I’d be able to get back into writing longer fics so smoothly, after the 2k drabble challenge, but I’d say I’ve managed lmao. I hope you enjoy ♡

Part One

Masterlist

The car is too quiet.

Outside, the streetlights flicker as if they’re forgetting how to glow.

You are in the passenger seat, watching the world blur past in smudges of gold and grey, your hands folded in your lap, afraid of what they might do if left unsupervised.

The car makes a soft and steady sound beneath you but everything inside feels tight. Too tight.

Like a breath, you haven’t taken.

Bucky hasn’t said a word since you left the hospital.

His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. White like fear. White like bone. White like guilt.

You glance over at him.

He’s staring straight ahead, eyes fixed, unmoving. His jaw is locked so tightly it looks like pain. There is a muscle twitching beneath the skin. Just beneath the hinge of his jaw, like something trying to break free.

The dashboard casts its pale light against his side profile. The soft stutter of passing streetlamps blink shadows across his hardened face.

You try to speak softly. “Bucky-”

“You sure you’re okay?” he interrupts, fast. Too fast. His voice is low but cracked, words splintering on their way out.

You nod before you realize he’s not looking. “Yes,” you say, slower. “I’m sure.” He’s asked about fifteen times in the last twenty minutes. But you think it actually should be you asking him.

The doctor told you that it was a cervical contusion in that although soft but clipped and clinical tone. Said that the bleeding would stop, that the pain would ease, that you were going to be fine - physically.

And the way Bucky flinched after that suggested he was perhaps doing worse than you.

He’s asked a few questions, asked how to treat it, asked what you might need, asked what he can do, but his voice was rough and close to giving out. He sat beside you in that too-white room, hands clenched in his lap, jaw locked as though he could grind down the guilt if he just kept his teeth pressed hard enough. He kept looking at your legs, at the blanket they gave you, as though he was waiting for the blood to start flowing again. As though he’d never trust your body not to break under him.

He listened when your doctor explained that it was moderate, but healing and there would be no lasting damage. You should just give it time and be gentle.

But Bucky didn’t hear healing.

He only heard damage.

He hadn’t said anything after that anymore. Just nodded, once. Swallowed hard. Signed the papers with a hand that shook so violently you had to cover it with yours.

You watch him now, his breath thinning.

“Buck,” you ease softly. “I’m okay. She said it’s healing, alright? I’ll be fine.”

Bucky shakes his head once. Sharp. A slice through the silence. “She said it could’ve been worse. That it could’ve-” He swallows loud, and doesn’t finish the sentence.

“But it’s not,” you remind him gently, almost wanting to reach out but not knowing if he needs that right now.

But Bucky doesn’t answer.

Then, you do reach for his arm, tenderly. Fingers brushing over his sleeve. But he flinches. Not from you. From himself. From the memory.

“Buck-”

“I should’ve noticed,” he snaps, and his voice breaks. Just a little. A fracture, clean through. “You said yes. You always say yes, and I- I should’ve seen it- I should’ve fucking known-”

His foot slips heavier on the gas.

The lane lines start to blur.

“Bucky,” you say again, firmer.

But he doesn’t answer.

His eyes dart from the windshield to the mirrors, unfocused. His shoulders have hiked up around his ears. His left hand twitches, his right one follows, tapping the wheel with restless, erratic beats.

His breathing is shallow. Too fast.

You can feel the swell of something too big inside him, pressing against his ribs, rising like floodwater. His grip on the wheel has gone rigid, too stiff for control. His shoulders are locking up.

“Bucky-”

His chest heaves harshly.

He blinks - once, twice - too slow.

His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle fluttering beneath his skin. His breath is sharp, teeth grinding as he sucks in through his nose and lets it out in gasps through his mouth.

“I hurt you,” he croaks, voice undone, shredded. “I fucking hurt you- I was inside you- I didn’t even see-”

The wheel jerks. Just for a second. Enough to drift too close to the lane line.

You shoot forward in your seat. Alarm ringing in your ears.

“I-” he gasps, blinking fast. “Y/n, I can’t- I can’t- I didn’t mean- I didn’t mean to-”

Reaching over to grab the wheel, you wrap your hands about Bucky’s, forcing it steady.

“Okay, okay, I got it. I’ve got you, baby. But we have to pull over.”

Bucky is trembling now. Hands frozen. Breath ragged. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face, catching the glow of a red traffic light.

You guide the car gently to the side, one hand over his as you steer, the other flicking on the hazards, keeping your voice and your movements calm for the sake of Bucky’s rising panic attack even as your heart thunders in your chest.

Bucky brakes too hard and too fast, the tires stuttering on the asphalt as though they are afraid of where he’ll go if they don’t stop him. The moment the engine falls quiet, the silence screams.

And Bucky falls apart.

His head drops forward. Hands over his eyes. Whole body shaking.

He’s still in the driver’s seat but he’s not in his body. His breathing is wild. His chest is heaving in sharp and panicked pulls and you realize he’s trying to get in air but can’t. His left hand is rashly fumbling for the door handle to keep himself tethered.

“Bucky,” you whisper, already unbuckling your seat belt. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

But he doesn’t hear you. He is stuck in some dark, echoing place inside himself and it won’t let him out.

Without hesitation, you move over the console and climb into his lap, settling gently on his thighs, facing him, your knees pressed into the edges of the seat.

Your hands come to his face, cradling it carefully - thumbs brushing over the hollow beneath his eyes, the flushed heat of his cheeks. His skin is clammy, cold.

He still can’t breathe.

You press your forehead to his. Anchor him.

His eyes squeeze together tightly.

“Hey, hey. Look at me, Buck. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

He shakes his head, choking out words you can’t make out because they all end up in a sob.

“James,” you start, and this time your voice is different. This is the sound you make when you’re scared and concerned and you need him to come back. “James. Breathe with me. You’re here with me. We’re okay.”

He shakes his head again, but it’s jerky, frantic.

“I hurt you,” he whimpers. “I hurt you. I should’ve known. I should’ve stopped-”

“No, no. Stop. Listen to me,” you whisper, voice low, brushing his tear-damp hair back from his face. “You checked in on me and I told you I was okay. I said I was fine. You trusted me, Bucky. That’s not your fault.”

He’s still trembling. Still trying to outrun the guilt in his lungs.

But you don’t move. You stroke his hair back, kiss his temples, his forehead, his nose.

His eyes finally meet yours. They are wide and wet and red, brimming with horror. He looks as though he wants to disappear inside himself.

You keep hold of his face, brushing tears away so tenderly. “It was my body. My voice. You didn’t know, and I didn’t tell you. That’s not on you. You never hurt me on purpose. I need you to hear that, Bucky.”

His chest heaves once, twice, then breaks apart with a cry. He pulls you closer, buries his face in your neck. His arms wrap around you like a man drowning.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffs again and again. “I’m so sorry.”

You close your eyes and run your fingers through his hair, slow and grounding.

“I know,” you whisper back. “I know you are. But you don’t have to be. I just need you here with me. Right now. Just breathe, Buck.”

And you guide him through it. Deep breathes. In and out. He follows.

And you hold him. As though he’s the one who’s breakable now.

****

You’ve never known silence like this.

Not the kind that’s empty. Not the kind that comes after slamming doors and burnt-out candles and sharp things unsaid. No, this silence is soft. Living. It seeps into your lungs and expands with each inhale, as though it wants to make space for something new.

Bucky is in the kitchen, stirring a spoon through a mug of tea as though it’s the most important thing in the world.

You’re sitting on his couch, knees tucked to your chest, wrapped in one of his henleys that hangs too big on you in all the right places. It’s quiet in your head for the first time in what feels like weeks.

The sky outside has folded into a kind of blue that feels more like velvet than color. The windows are cracked open, the summer breeze floating in, lazy and gold-edged, breathing over your skin like a whisper of someone who never learned to shout.

You’ve been here since late afternoon.

And everything smells like home at his place. Like Bucky. Cedar and cotton and chamomile. There’s a ticking of the wall clock he always pretends not to hate. Next to you lay the neatly folded blanket Bucky always pulls onto your lap when the AC kicks in too high.

Bucky brings you the tea like he always does and doesn’t let go of the mug until he’s sure your fingers are steady around it.

Then he sits down beside you, careful and close. His arm brushes yours and then he pulls back as though even that was too much. His eyes search yours. They always do now. As if he’s checking the weather behind your gaze before he says anything.

“You feelin’ okay?” he asks, voice rough. He probably hasn’t spoken all day before you came over.

You nod, and it’s mostly true. “I’m okay,” you say softly. “I promise.”

The TV is playing something you’re only half-watching, some indie movie with subtitles and sad music.

Bucky lets his arm drape behind your shoulders, over the back of the couch and you hear his fingers tracing the stitches in the seam of the couch. His gaze drifts to the TV but you know he’s not really watching. His eyes flick across the screen but his mind is somewhere else still. You don’t have to guess where.

That weight, that guilt, hasn’t let up.

And it’s not just the incident itself - it’s the panic he spiraled into afterward, the way you had to calm him down when you were the one who had been in pain. That’s what sits the heaviest on him, you think. That you comforted him, wrapped your arms around his trembling frame, and whispered soothing reassurances while your body was still in fresh pain.

You watch the line of his profile, the glimmer of the screen painting shadows beneath his cheekbone. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and there is a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there when you were only fuck buddies.

You’ve talked a lot. About everything. The incident. The aftermath. Your relationship. About what it all means and what it doesn’t, about what you both want and what you both fear. The hard words are behind you now, sorted and softened. And you’re not just his maybe anymore. You’re his. Official. Quietly, fully.

And still, he treats you as though you might not be. As though you’re a snowflake he caught in his hands and he’s afraid to close his fingers.

He’s still scared. Scared of doing something wrong. Scared of missing something again. Scared of hurting you again. You feel it in the way he touches you now - fingertips like feathers on your skin, always asking with and without words if you’re okay. Always watching, always listening.

He treats you like glass now. But glass that’s already cracked.

And you’ve tried to tell him again and again that you’re fine.

But Bucky has always been hard on himself. Especially when it comes to you and your well-being.

His fingers brush your shin slightly and the contact strikes, heat blooming low in your stomach.

You shift closer and Bucky’s attention snaps to you. He watches you move, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips and then darting back up, catching himself. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or habit, that reflex to hesitate.

But he’s been hesitating for weeks.

Weeks of healing. Weeks of slow walks and softer kisses and quieter touches.

You haven’t had sex since.

You wanted to. You were ready. But Bucky wanted to wait. To be sure. To be careful. To do it right this time.

And you let him. You let him wrap you in all that caution and care. Let him fuss and hover and bring you your favorite snacks, let him hold you through the night without reaching for anything more than the sound of your breathing against his chest. You let him because it’s what he needed.

But you are fine now.

Your body doesn’t ache anymore. You’ve healed. Fully. You know this because you’ve checked. Alone. With your fingers and your breath and the soft test of space. And you’ve told him, more than once. But Bucky is stubborn with his guilt, protective.

So you’ve waited. Because you love him.

But you notice the way Bucky keeps glancing at you, his eyes catching on your thighs, the shape of your mouth, the way his shirt hangs loose on your frame every time you wear it.

You notice it right now.

Moving your feet, you place them right on Bucky’s lap and feel the shift in his thigh muscle beneath you. The way his hand on your shin stills, the way the hand behind your shoulders drifts closer, then stops, fingers curling as though they’ve touched a flame.

“Movie’s boring,” you murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder, voice lazy with comfort.

He chuckles, a little breathless, a little nervous, low in his chest. “Didn’t even know what it was.”

His eyes catch yours. He’s looking at you as though you’ve said something profound.

Your hand slips up to cup his cheek, your thumb sweeping gently across the faint stubble there. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, as though your touch still startles him, still humbles him.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He swallows. Opens his eyes. Immediately, they drop to your mouth. Then back to your eyes. And again.

“Hi,” he breathes.

You lean in first.

The kiss is gentle. Familiar. Something well-loved.

He tastes of cinnamon and hesitation. He kisses you with a kind of slowness that seems almost like another apology, another question if you’re okay.

His hand finds your waist, the other brushes the back of your neck, and they hold you so carefully you want to cry. You press closer. Push into the kiss. Let it deepen.

And for a moment, with a soft groan, he lets go.

His grip tightens. His mouth opens. His body leans into yours, chest brushing chest, thighs pressing close.

His mouth moves with yours as though it remembers exactly where it left off. Deep. Thoughtful.

You sigh against him. The movie flickers behind your closed eyelids.

Your name escapes him in a breath, his hands tighten a fraction, shaking slightly. His breath stutters, the kiss deepens, and suddenly he’s pulling away.

His brows are furrowed and he looks at you slightly panting. “What are you doing?” he asks, cautious, worried.

You blink, lips swollen, a little dazed. You answer with a small, amused tilt of your head. “I’m kissing my boyfriend.”

He flushes visibly, face burning red, but he doesn’t smile, and that line between his brows doesn’t ease. His jaw flexes. “I just- I know we’ve talked,” he starts, voice hushed, breathy. “And you say you’re okay, but I just don’t wanna rush this. You know? I don’t want to push you. Or hurt you. Or do this just because I’m-”

He shifts slightly, adjusting himself. The movement reveals the hardening outline of him in his sweatpants.

“I’m not rushing, Buck. We-”

“I am though. I didn’t mean to- but it got kinda- fast, and-” He stops. Runs a hand through his hair. His voice is tight now. “I just need to be sure, doll. I need to know you’re okay. Completely.”

You press your forehead to his, arms slipping around his neck. Your voice is a soft brush. “I am okay. Really. It’s been weeks, Bucky. Everything’s healed. The doctor said it. I said it. And I’m telling you again.”

He swallows. You feel it. That pulse in his throat working hard to steady itself. He looks at you, hard. Searching. Maybe trying to see inside you.

“I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything.” A rough tremor runs through his voice.

“I don’t,” you ease quickly, shaking your head. “I want this, Bucky. And I’ve been listening to my body. I’m okay.” Leaning down, you kiss his jaw, just below his ear. He shivers. “And I trust you.”

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. His voice is thick, strained. “Still. I don’t wanna rush you. Not if there’s even a part of you that’s unsure. I mean- hell, what if- what if something hurts again? I couldn’t-”

You stop him gently with a hand to his chest. “Then we stop. Just like that. And we talk. Just like we’ve been doing.”

He stares at you for a moment. And you can see how words pool behind his eyes but don’t make it to his lips.

“Okay,” he whispers then, voice coarse. “Okay. Just… don’t want you to ever feel like you have to fix me by doing this. Don’t wanna take something from you just because I’ve got issues.”

“Hey.” You shake your head, fingers in his hair now. “That’s not what this is. I want this. I want you.”

He groans, quiet and exposed, tilting his head back against the cushion. His hands grip your hips. He’s flushed, already half-hard against your thigh and visibly trying to hide it.

You smirk a little. “Let me help with that.”

His eyes widen. “Doll-”

“I feel fine, baby,” you repeat, patient, but smiling. “I promise.”

“I’m not gonna let you do something just for me.” A rasp in his voice makes his words sound slightly scratchy.

You tilt your head. “Then maybe it’s for me. Ever think of that?”

He groans softly, hands squeezing you. “I’m trying to do the right thing-”

“Then let me show you I’m okay,” you state warmly.

His eyes close. A beat. Two. Three. He breathes out, slow.

You grin, your hands tracing circles over his chest. “I’m healed. I’m ready. You’re my boyfriend. What’s the problem here?”

He laughs something broken, something between admiration and disbelief. Then he sighs, eyes soft.

“You’re really okay?”

“I am.”

Pressing a tender kiss to your temple, he whispers into your ear, voice gravel. “We’ll go slow, yeah? Real slow. And you tell me if anything hurts, or if you’re uncomfortable.”

You nod immediately and brush his cheek lovingly and soothingly at the pain that’s still lingering in the corners of his voice. “I promise.”

****

He doesn’t rush.

He doesn’t dare.

Bucky lays you down as though you’re something he’s never been allowed to hold before - as if someone plucked the stars from the sky, wrapped them in silk, and gave them to him with a whispered don’t drop this.

It’s not rushed. It’s not eager. It’s not even lustful, not exactly.

It’s love. In slow motion. In devotion. In the way he arranges your body like a painting.

The cotton sheets are warm beneath you. Bucky kneels beside you, hovering, breathing slow and tight through his nose.

His hand cups your face. And he’s looking at you as though you are light. A glowing and living thing that he’s afraid to reach for too fast, he’s afraid of casting shadows on.

His gaze is soft and dark and unblinking. You can feel how full it is, how heavy. And it warms you. Like honey across your skin. Like sunrise slowly coming alive.

You smile up at him. “Bucky.” His name sounds like an invitation. Open. Safe. As though it belongs between your lips.

“I’m here,” he says, hardly a whisper. “You sure?” he asks, his voice low. Throaty. Careful. His thumb strokes your cheek as though it’s still asking.

You nod. But it’s not enough, so you pull him closer. Whisper against his mouth. “I want you.” A breath. “I trust you.”

He exhales all at once, and it comes out as a shiver.

After a pause, he leans down, kisses your forehead first. Then the top of your nose. Then, back to your mouth - and it’s gentle. It’s so gentle. As though he’s practicing reverence. Reminding himself you’re real.

“Tell me everything,” he murmurs. His hand on your cheek, your waist, your thigh. “I wanna know what feels good. What doesn’t. I want to hear every sound you make. I want to see your face every second. I wanna be right here with you, baby. Every second. You don’t gotta be quiet with me. Not ever.”

You nod, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. Because this is love in a language that isn’t words.

And he’s fluent in it. Fluent in you.

His fingers slide up the hem of the shirt you’re wearing - his shirt. And he pauses again.

“Can I take this off?” His voice is low. Strained. Still asking. Still making space.

You nod again. “Please.”

He swallows. You feel the tremble in his hands as he lifts the fabric slowly, cautiously, peeling away something important. He watches your face the whole time. Checks for flinches. For hesitation. For any sign that you might change your mind.

You lift your arms for him, and he helps you out of it without ever breaking eye contact.

And suddenly your chest is bare.

And Bucky hasn’t looked away from your face.

You almost laugh. Maybe you even almost cry. He’s so careful. As though he genuinely wants to memorize your expression with every inch of skin he reveals.

Only after a beat - when you don’t hide, don’t shift away - do his eyes begin to travel downward.

You watch him watching you. And it’s not hunger you see. It’s awe.

He seems to see you in full color and it makes your skin prickle with pleasurable heat.

His fingers trail down your sides, featherlight. Your ribs. Your hips. He touches you as though he’s learning you all over again.

Then his thumb glides up to brush the underside of your breast. You feel him exhale through his nose, shaky.

“God,” he whispers, rolling the words out with care. “You’re so beautiful.”

You don’t say anything. Just reach up, tangle your fingers in his hair. Pull him down to kiss you again, slow and long and open.

And he melts.

He moves over you, between your legs, still careful, still holding most of his weight off you. And he takes his time kissing you, your lips, until his mouth follows the path of his hands. Trailing across your collarbone, down to the softest parts of you. Every kiss is a question. Every breath against your skin is a vow.

When he reaches your stomach, he pauses again. Resting his forehead there like a man at prayer.

He takes another shaky breath and you soothe your hands over his dark locks, treading your fingers into his hair. Your thumb traces the back of his neck, bringing him back to the present.

He exhales. It sounds like surrender. “You gotta know how much I love you, baby.”

You do. You’ve known it since that day those few weeks ago. You know it by the way he moves. By the way he treats you. By the way he touches you. By the way he doesn’t rush.

“I love you too, Buck,” you whisper sweetly and his breath is broken against your skin.

He presses a kiss to your hipbone. Then lower.

His hands are back at your thighs now - sliding under, lifting gently. He kisses the inside of your knee, then the soft skin just above it, his breath trembling.

“You’ll tell me if anything doesn’t feel right,” he says, looking up but not taking his lips off your skin.

“I will,” you promise, getting breathless already.

“And if you want to stop-”

“I’ll tell you,” you assure him, softly, firmly.

He nods.

Then he leans forward and lays a kiss over your pubic bone. So worshipful. So loving.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until his fingers ghost over the waistband of your underwear - and stop there.

“Still okay?” he breathes, so quiet, it almost doesn’t make it out of his mouth. But it carries so much. Every syllable wrapped in worry, wrapped in memory. He’s still afraid something will crack open inside you if he touches the wrong place, the wrong way.

You nod.

But that’s not enough.

“Say it,” he whispers, and there’s a tremor in his voice again. “I need to hear you say it.”

You reach for him. Take his face in your hands, thumbs brushing over the apples of his cheeks. His skin is warm, flushed. His eyes are already glassy.

“I’m okay, baby,” you whisper, your voice soft but sure. “I want you to do this.”

With a pained exhaled sound and fluttering lashes, he nods and goes to kiss your thigh again. Then the dip of your hip. Then right beside the soft curve of your center. You feel the warm puff of his breath against the fabric and it makes your hips twitch.

And then he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and pulls them down. Slowly. Unwrapping something too precious to tear.

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t let his gaze wander greedily. He watches your face, every second of it - watching for hesitation, for discomfort, for pain. But all you give him is anticipation.

When the fabric slips down your thighs, past your knees, and finally off the ends of your toes, he sets it aside so carefully it almost makes you laugh. As though it’s something important.

Then he settles between your legs again. And he just looks.

He drinks in the sight of you, as though he’s parched. As though you’re the first drop of water he’s seen in weeks. His tongue darts out, barely wetting his lips. His hands spread your thighs wider, gently. Tenderly. As though he’s parting pages in a sacred text.

“You’re so-” he swallows. “Jesus, you’re-”

But he doesn’t finish.

He lowers his mouth to you instead.

The first kiss between your legs is featherlight. Half a breath. But it makes your whole body arch, your breath stutter.

Bucky groans softly into you - a sound of both restraint and desperate, helpless desire.

“Sorry,” you pant, chest rising too fast. “I didn’t-”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he rasps, voice dark with awe. “God, that was- do it again.”

And you do. You can’t help it.

He licks you again - slower this time. Broader. Firmer. His lips move with practice, but not routine. There’s nothing careless about the way he touches you. Every movement is deliberate. As though he’s re-learning you. Learning how you feel like being his. Utterly and completely. Studying the way your body blooms beneath his mouth.

And he keeps checking in.

He doesn’t ask again with words. He does it with his eyes, every time he lifts his gaze to yours. He does it with his hand, the way he curls his fingers around your hip but doesn’t grip, the way he strokes his thumb along your skin in circles, grounding you. The way he takes hold of your hand with his other, encouraging you to squeeze him in your pleasure.

You moan. Soft and breathy.

And Bucky’s whole body reacts - you can see it in the way his hips shift against the mattress, the way he groans into you as though your pleasure is his own.

And he’s holding himself back, still. You can see it in the tight line of his shoulders, the way his hand shakes a little as it holds your thighs open. He’s painfully hard. You can feel the heat of it, see the outline pressing into the sheets, but he doesn’t move to relieve it.

Because this moment is for you.

This is your healing, your pleasure, your gift.

And god, does he worship you.

He takes his time.

He kisses you between licks, soft and open-mouthed, as though he can’t decide whether he wants to devour you or just memorize you. His tongue moves in slow, perfect circles. Then strokes up. Down. Gentle flicks, patient and watchful. Never too much, never too fast.

He listens. Learns.

Every time your breath catches, every time your hips twitch and your fingers tighten against his hand and the sheets, he adjusts. Builds on it. Builds you.

“Tell me what feels good,” he breathes against you.

“Everything,” you gasp, struggling to take in air.

“Yeah?” He kisses your clit once, then again, light and tender. “Right here?”

You nod, too dizzy to speak, sighing softly.

He hums into you. “So good, baby. You’re doing so good.”

Your hands reach down, weaving through his hair and he groans when you pull just slightly.

He’s hard and leaking and untouched, but he still doesn’t seem to care. You’re shaking beneath his mouth and that’s all he needs.

“Bucky,” you whimper, high and trembling. “I’m- close-”

“I’ve got you,” he utters, fingers tightening just slightly on your hips. “I’ve got you, baby. Let go for me.”

And you do. You let yourself fall.

Gasping, shaking, your thighs clenching around his head and Bucky holds you through it. He stays there, mouth softening against you, kissing you through every aftershock. You don’t see him watching you. Slowing his movements. Letting you come down in your own time.

And when he finally comes up, his lips are wet and his eyes wild with wonder.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod. Voice gone. Words gone. Heart full.

And all he does is smile. The softest smile in the world.

You continue trembling when he climbs up your body again.

His hands frame your ribs, then your face, then your hair - as if he can’t decide which part of you he wants to hold first. His mouth is damp from you. His pupils are blown. But even with the flush of his skin, the pulse in his throat, the strain pressing hard against his boxers - he doesn’t rush.

He doesn’t even reach for himself yet.

He’s just looking at you. As though you’re art. His. And he’s still trying to build sense around that.

You lift a hand to his face. Trace his cheekbone, his brow, and he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering.

“Your turn,” you whisper.

Uncertainty flashes through his eyes. “Only if you’re sure. We can stop here, baby.”

You smile warmly. “I’m aching for you, Barnes. Can’t leave me hanging here.”

His throat bobs. His cheeks burn deeper, as though you’ve spoken something too tender, too vulnerable.

But he nods.

And slowly, Bucky rises to his knees.

His fingers go to the hem of his shirt and you watch the fabric lift over his stomach, up his ribs, his chest, and then finally over his head.

And it never gets easier seeing him like this.

He’s stunning.

He is solid and sculptured and beautiful. His shoulders broad and corded with muscle, his waist lean, his skin golden in the soft bedroom light.

And still, he looks at you as if you are the masterpiece.

He hisses softly, when he frees himself out of his boxers, hard and heavy and flushed dark at the tip. He’s leaking, aching, but even now he doesn’t let that take over.

He braces above you, forehead pressed to yours, one hand sliding down to cup your face again.

“You’ll tell me,” he insists lowly, “if anything feels wrong.”

“I promise,” you respond quietly.

“And you’re sure you’re-”

“I feel perfect,” you interrupt gently. “Because of you.”

His breath hitches. You feel his body tense.

And still, he hesitates. He glances down your body, past your hot skin and the slick heat still dripping between your thighs. His fingers hover just below your navel.

“Let me- just one-” he murmurs, already sliding a hand between your legs. “Just want to make sure-”

But the moment his fingers glide through your folds, and he feels how wet you still are from his mouth, he lets out a deep, strangled groan.

His gaze jerks up to yours. Wide. Disbelieving.

“Oh,” you tease softly. “Surprised?”

He reddens deeply. Face and neck and chest. Even the tips of his ears turn pink. He twitches against your thigh.

“You really didn’t know what you were doing to me?” you whisper.

His eyes dart away for half a second - bashful. Then back to yours.

He leans in. Presses his lips to your temple. Your cheek. The corner of your mouth. A trail of kisses.

“I just wanted to take care of you,” he breathes thickly. “Didn’t even think about- fuck, baby.”

You giggle softly, stroking the back of his neck. He groans again, burying his face in your neck and staying there for a few heartbeats, clinging to you.

But his hand stays between your legs. He doesn’t dive in. Just lingers. “Still have to make sure, yeah, baby?” he whispers into your skin.

You nod, soft. “Okay.”

And then he moves. Slowly. Carefully. He pulls his head back and his eyes fall between your legs. Then back to watch you. Watch your mouth, your eye, your breath.

His fingers dip lower, about to touch you in a way that means everything. You see his throat work around a swallow.

He sinks one finger in, soothingly and dragging it out. His other hand braces beside your hip as though he needs the ground. He stops at the first knuckle.

Watching your face. Searching. Always looking for a sign of pain.

You sigh, your mouth parting on a soft moan. Not from discomfort.

From relief. From the feel of him.

Bucky’s gaze flares.

“Okay?” he whispers.

You nod. “Yeah,” you breathe out.

He pushes in a little deeper. Then again. Until the full length of his finger is buried inside you.

You whimper. Arch, just slightly. His name slips out.

And Bucky stills. Blinks. As though the sound alone managed to take his breath away.

“Oh, fuck,” he exhales in a sigh. His gaze is so focused on you. He is all you can think about.

You bite your lip, watching him with stars in your eyes.

His fingers curl a little inside you and your breath catches again, back arching. And that has him groaning under his breath, leaning forward as though he just needs to be closer, deeper.

He kisses your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

And with his eyes on yours, he gently and ever so cautiously slips in another finger beside the first. This time even slower.

Your body shifts to accommodate him and he feels it. Feels the way you welcome him, wrap around him. How warm you are. How soft.

His breathing stutters.

You moan again.

And still, he stops. Right at the knuckle. Eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he rasps, halfway there to lose his voice.

“Yes,” you manage to get out, voice almost pleading. “More, Bucky, please-”

And he gives you more. Goes deeper. Until both fingers are sheathed inside you and he’s filling you just enough to make your toes curl, just enough for his name to fall off your tongue again in a way that almost leaves Bucky gasping.

He watches you. He doesn’t blink.

He curls his fingers gently, once, and when your hips lift off the mattress just a little, when your mouth falls open and your eyes flutter shut in pleasure, he groans again. Buries his face in your shoulder. Just like before.

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaims roughly.

You stroke the back of his neck.

His hands still inside you, as though he needs a second to breathe.

And after a few shaky breaths, he starts moving again. Fingers stroking that spot deep inside you, slow and perfect and gentle. His lips brush your shoulder. Your collarbone. He kisses your heart, trying to memorize how it beats.

And even though you feel his swollen member against your thigh, red and ready, he doesn’t move to use it.

Because you’re not ready until he is sure you are.

Not just wet. Not just eager. Ready.

So he watches you. Watches every moan. Every gasp. Every quiver of your thighs, every arch of your spine.

Until you fall apart on his fingers.

And it’s the way you come undone under the gentlest version of his touch, that truly seems to make him need you.

He slides his fingers out slowly after he guides you through your high, like an apology, like a thank you.

And meets your eyes. They are full. His voice is low when he speaks. Hoarse.

“Okay,” he starts. “Okay. I’m gonna start slow.”

You nod, biting your lip.

And he reaches down to line himself up.

There is a pause. A beat of stillness.

You feel the head of him pressing just barely against you. His breath catches. Your breath catches.

His eyes snap to yours. “Tell me if-”

“I will,” you promise, eagerness in your tone. “Just get in, honey.”

He pushes in. The stretch is slow. So, so slow.

You feel every inch of him, and he feels it, too. His mouth falls open, eyes wide, as though the sensation shocks him. As though it’s different now to be inside you, to be with you like this, now that you wholly belong to each other.

He groans - soft, drawn-out. The sound is being dragged from deep in his chest.

You clench instinctively, and he curses under his breath, forehead dropping to yours, eyes staying on you.

“Shit, baby- fuck-”

You hold onto his shoulders. His waist. Anything you can reach. You’re both shaking.

But he doesn’t push in all the way. Not yet. He pauses halfway in, breathing ragged, eyes continuing to search your face.

You talk before he can ask. “You can keep going.”

“Promise me.”

You kiss him. Sweet and slow and sure.

“I promise.”

And so he moves - just a little more - and the moan that rips out of him is wounded, as though pleasure hurts. As though being this close to you is almost too much.

But he doesn’t let himself close his eyes. Doesn’t let them move away from your face.

And when he’s finally seated fully inside you, his hips flush against yours, you both just breathe.

Still. Connected.

He doesn’t move at first. Just holds himself there - deep inside you. Anchoring himself to the moment, to your body, to the fact that you’re okay. That you want this. That you’re here.

And he’s trying not to cry.

You can see it in the way his lashes flutter, in the glassy sheen on his cheeks that catches the light.

His forehead leans against yours, breath hot over your mouth.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers. One word. As though it contains a hundred.

“It’s okay,” you whisper back. “You’re okay.”

His eyes stay open. You don’t think he’s blinked since he pushed in.

They are pinned to yours like if he looks away for even a second something might go wrong. He’s watching your eyes for any sign of pain. And you know he won’t close his own until he knows you’re safe.

“I can feel how hard you’re holding back,” you start quietly, gently, fingers brushing the sweat-damp strands from his forehead. “You can move, Buck.”

He doesn’t. His throat bobs. Jaw flexing.

“God,” he breathes. “You feel so good- too good- but I don’t want to- fuck, baby, I don’t want to hurt you again-”

“You won’t. You say it firmly, but still with a sweet voice. Your thumb strokes the dimple in his chin. “You didn’t before. It wasn’t your fault. And it’s not going to happen again.”

He breathes in as though your words might soothe something broken in him. But still, he doesn’t move. Not until you speak again.

“I need you, Bucky.”

And something in him crumbles. Slowly, painstakingly, he pulls his hips back just an inch, then slides forward again, keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. He’s watching, reading, studying every twitch of your mouth, your brows, every flutter of your lashes, every breath you take.

“Is that-” he breathes, “-was that okay?”

You nod, voice thick. “Yes. Yes, Buck, it’s perfect.”

And he moves again.

Tiny, tender thrusts. Gentle. Devoted.

It’s not even about pleasure, it’s about closeness. About the feeling of him. The heat of his skin. The tremble in his arms as he holds himself up above you. The way he groans, low and broken, every time he slides a little deeper.

His eyes won’t leave you.

Not even when his lashes are heavy with heat and he has to force them to stay open. Not even when his mouth opens and he exhales a shaky, stuttering breath that tells you he’s feeling everything. But he fights to keep them open. To see you.

You run your fingers through his hair, trying to get him to let go. “I feel good, baby. I’m okay.”

But he just shakes his head. Leans down and kisses you. Slow. Melting. Deep.

“I want to watch you feel good,” he says huskily. “Need it. Need to make sure.”

And then he thrusts a little deeper.

It’s so painfully careful but still enough to steal your breath. You gasp, clutching his shoulders, hips rising to meet his.

His eyes roll back. His whole body shudders. “Fuck,” he groans. “Don’t do that. God, sweetheart, you’re ruining me.”

You smile through the moan that slips past your lips. “That’s kind of the point.”

He laughs, a real and broken little laugh, but it cracks at the edges. He is overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by you.

He rocks into you again. A little deeper. A little more sure. Still slow, still soft - but he’s feeling it now, letting his hips follow the rhythm you’re building together.

You cling to him.

He is panting. Tiny tremors running through his arms. His left hand slides beneath your back, holding your closer, lifting your chest to his so your hearts are touching - so he can feel every beat of you against him.

His voice is low and trembling. “Tell me again,” he pleads, strained. “Please, tell me it’s okay-”

“It’s better than okay,” you gasp, nails dragging down his back. “I’m perfect. You’re perfect. Don’t stop.”

He kisses you. Desperate now. His rhythm falters for a second, too lost in the way your mouth tastes.

Then he pulls back, just far enough to look at you. His gaze is devastated. Open. Admiring.

“I love you,” he sighs.

And your heart bursts.

You take his face in your hands, voice breaking with feeling.

“I love you too.”

And it happens slowly. Then all at once.

He watches you fall apart as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful. As though your pleasure is a sunrise he never thought he’d survive long enough to see. As though every sigh, every gasp, every whisper of his name is another stitch holding his broken heart together.

You feel him shaking. Hear him whisper things he doesn’t seem to know he’s saying. “Shit, baby, look at you- so perfect- so good- fuck, baby-”

One of his hands grips beneath your thigh, thumb stroking soothing circles into your skin. The other tangles in your hair, holding your forehead to his as though he needs the connection to stay whole.

He’s watching your face as if it’s a map. Tracing every change in expression, every whimper and moan, every flicker of ecstasy that breaks across your features.

And you can feel it building. Low and hot, coiling tight in your belly. Your body trembling, hips lifting to meet his in soft, desperate little movements. Your breaths coming fast, faster. His name spilling from your mouth, making him shudder.

“Buck- Bucky- I’m- don’t stop.”

He falters. Just once. Just enough for him to whisper. “You’re close.”

You nod, gasping.

And that’s all it takes for him to shift slightly. Just enough to hit the angle he knows drives you insane. He leans in, nose brushing your cheek, lips at your ear. “Let go for me, my sweetheart. Please. I’ve got you. Always got you.”

And your whole body locks around him, your voice breaking into something wild and soft, pleasure cursing through your veins, hot and blinding and complete.

You come with his name on your tongue.

His eyes snap shut.

That’s all it takes.

He gasps, chokes on a breath, and then he’s gone - spilling into you with a groan that sounds like heartbreak and heaven all at once. His whole body arches, hands gripping you tight, holding on for dear life, burying himself in you. As though he wants to pour every ounce of his love into you and never come back.

His mouth meets your shoulder, kissing your skin as though he has all the time in the world.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “I’ve never- fuck- never felt anything like that.”

Neither have you.

Because this wasn’t just fucking. This wasn’t the kind of sex you’ve been having for so long.

This was something else.

This was love, laid bare. No games. No fear. No walls. Just skin and breath and heartbeats and truth.

He stays inside you. Doesn’t dare move. Not yet.

His face is tucked into your neck, breath hot and trembling.

You card your fingers through his hair, kissing the shell of his ear, the slope of his shoulder. “You okay?”

He nods. A slow, solemn little nod. Then pulls back just enough to look at you.

And the look in his eyes is too much.

As though he’s never going to recover from this. He doesn’t want to.

He brushes his fingers down your cheek and kisses you leisurely.

“I love you,” he says again, still searching for air. “More than anything.”

You whisper it back. Because you do.

Bucky keeps hovering above you even though he already brought you home. The way he presses his lips to your temple and cradles your jaw in his palm as though you’re the last delicate thing in the world.

You breathe him in. He breathes you in. His forehead rests against yours, sticky with sweat, the kind of closeness that makes time irrelevant.

“You okay?” he whispers quietly. His voice cracks right down the middle.

You nod, throat too tight for words, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t take the nod as final. His eyes scan your face as though he is trying to read between the lines of skin and breath and silence.

“I’m serious, doll,” he murmurs, a little firmer now. “You tell me if something feels off. Anything. If you’re sore, or-” he pauses, swallows a cough, “or if it hurt. Even just a little.”

Your hand finds the curve of his jaw, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone, damp with sweat and tenderness. “I’m okay,” you reassure him sweetly. “I promise, baby. I feel good.”

His brows twitch. He wants to believe you.

“I mean it,” you add, lips brushing against his. “I feel more than good. I feel amazing.”

That finally does something to him. His shoulders drop. His hands tremble a little less. But even still, his gaze keeps drifting downward - to where your bodies meet, joined in the slowest, softest way you ever have. Searching for signs of pain that your mouth hasn’t admitted yet.

And then, quietly, with a softness you’re still surprised at - he slides out of you and down the bed. Down your body.

You blink. “Buck?”

“I just wanna check,” he says, already reaching for a soft towel. “Not tryna be weird, just-” his throat bobs. “Just need to know you didn’t start bleeding again.”

You open your mouth, not able to say anything.

Taking hold of your hand, he kisses the back of it before continuing. Every movement is careful, tender, hands working as though he’s handling silk. He wipes you down with warm water, his brow furrowed with a worry so profound it makes your chest ache. He doesn’t rush, not once. His eyes move up to yours every few seconds, silently asking for consent all over again.

“Still okay?” he inquires quietly as he folds the towel, already looking like he wants to run a warm bath and wrap you in a blanket of cloud and honey and safety.

“Still okay,” you nod, voice thick with emotion.

“Good.” He exhales for the first time in what feels like minutes. “Good. You tell me the second that changes. I mean it. I’ll pull the moon out of the damn sky if it hurts you again.”

You smile watery. He kisses your thigh.

And then he lifts you, scoops you into his arms with a care that feels so incredibly intimate. Carrying you to the bathroom, he is holding you so close that your heart forgets what it’s like to feel anything but safe.

With a kiss to your shoulder and your forehead, he sets you down on the edge of the tub.

He draws the bath. He adds your favorite bubbles. Lavender and eucalyptus steam curling through the air, filled with comfort.

He tests the temperature and while it fills, he kneels between your legs, rests his cheek on your thigh, and places more kisses into the bend of your knee, your hip, your ribs.

“D’you feel it?” he asks then, quietly. Almost nervous. Voice low and hoarse.

You run your fingers through his hair. He melts under your touch.

You think you know what he’s talking about.

Because all those times you slept with each other before, it was fast, frantic, bodies tangled and pressed into stolen hours, trying to pretend it didn’t matter.

It never felt like being held in a way that spoke louder than words. Never felt like being chosen in the silence after the fact. Never felt like someone saying I love you without needing to say it.

But tonight, it did.

“Yeah,” you answer, just as silent. “It never felt like that before.”

He lifts his head. Eyes soft. “That a good thing?”

“A very good thing,” you answer, almost teasingly, grinning.

And Bucky’s smile comes wide and real. His hands move up and down your shins. He leans in. Kisses your knee. Eyes on yours.

And when he guides you into the water, hands warm at your waist, his eyes track you constantly, scanning your face, your body. Watching. Worry never leaving, but love, too - love stretched wide across every inch of his face.

He joins you once you’re settled, pulling you into his lap, your back to his chest, water lapping around your waists. His arms wind around you, tightening comfortably, his heartbeat thudding against your back.

He kisses your shoulder. Rests his head in the crook of your neck.

The bath water cradles you as though it knows how hard your body worked tonight, how loved it was, how careful the man at your side has been, every moment before and after.

Your knees are tucked to your chest, curled in his lap, spine pressed to his sternum. His arms are heavy around your waist, long fingers spread wide and warm beneath the surface of the water. One palm pressed flat over your stomach, the other stroking a gentle line up and down your thigh, so painstaking, as though he never wants to stop touching you. He holds you as though you are his heart made tangible.

You breathe together. Quiet. Slow.

The ache between your legs is not painful. It’s soft. A memory of something beautiful.

You feel Bucky’s heartbeat thump against your spine. He kisses your neck. Again and again.

Then - so quiet, so gentle, almost afraid - he asks again. “Are you still okay?”

And it shouldn’t be much. It’s just a check-in. One of a hundred he’s made tonight. The softness in his voice, the worry gathered beneath his breath - it should feel comforting.

But instead, your chest caves in.

Your throat locks up.

You blink once, twice, and suddenly you can’t see. Everything blurs.

Because he means it. He really, truly means it.

Because he loves you. So goddamn much. And he’s holding you as if you matter more than air and he touches you as if you are a living poem and you can still feel him inside you, loving you - and your heart can’t hold all of it. It’s too much. It spills over.

Because he’s been so careful. His hands were so tender and his mouth so full of praise and his eyes tracked you the way the earth tracks the sun. Because even now, when it’s over, when the candle he lit up before getting into the tub flickers low, and the air smells of eucalyptus and his thighs are soaked through with warm water, he still won’t stop caring.

And it hits you. All of it. Everything. The past weeks. The pain. The panic when you tried to scrub away the evidence alone in the very same bathroom you’re in right now and bolt out of his apartment. The way he broke through the door just to get to you, how he wiped you off with hands that trembled but never once let you go.

The guilt he carried. The way he flinched for days when you touched him back. The softness he offered even when he had none for himself.

And now this.

This perfect, intimate thing you just shared. This feeling of being held in a way no one ever held you before. It’s all too much. The bath, his arms, the way he holds your ribcage as though he’s matching your breath. The most amazing sex you’ve ever had. The way he whispered into your shoulder as he moved inside you with so much care.

You want to answer him. Want to tell him you’re okay. But nothing comes out.

You can only inhale sharply, the sound catching in your throat.

And Bucky stills. Goes completely stiff.

You don’t speak. You can’t. Your overflowing heart won’t let you.

Bucky shifts behind you. “Baby?” His voice is quiet. But not calm. Never calm, when it comes to your silence.

And you stay silent. Turning your head away.

His arms tighten and you feel him trying to look around at your face. “Hey, hey. Honey. What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Are you- did I- did something hurt again? Are you hurting? Something feel wrong?”

You shake your head, but his voice is shaking harder.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he croaks in a whisper, his fingers coming to cup your jaw, about to tilt your head, but you don’t want him to see the tears forming, don’t want him to panic. He is frantic, not sure what he’s afraid of more - your pain or your silence. “C’mon, baby, please talk to me. I- did I do something? Did I hurt you and you didn’t wanna say? Are you bleedin’?”

You can feel him check the water for any signs of red and you hate yourself for not getting your voice out of your throat. But the only thing coming up is a choked breath.

“Talk to me.” He talks fast, swallowing words, swallowing breaths. “Please, baby. You have to tell me. You’re scaring me.”

He can’t see you like this. Not with your face turned away, not with your chest shaking in silence. So he moves, carefully but with uncoordinated and frantic hands, guiding you to turn in his arms until you’re straddling him in the water, your body trembling with the force of emotion you hadn’t braced yourself for.

You try to speak, but all that comes out is a wet hiccup of a breath and a soft, unsteady sob - not from pain, not from fear, just from everything. Your chest stings with it. Tears fall. Two, three, falling down your cheeks.

And Bucky panics. “No, baby, no, please don’t cry. Fuck, I don’t-”

He’s sitting up straighter now, water sloshing around you both, almost lapping over the tub. His face crumbles. His hands scramble, checking your sides, your arms, trying to study every inch of you, to figure out what’s wrong here, where it hurts, what he missed.

“Shit, shit, I knew it! Baby I knew we should’ve waited. I shouldn’t have- fuck- I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry- please talk to me-”

“No,” you finally manage, voice cracking, catching his hands and trying to squeeze the quiver out of them. “No, no, Bucky- I’m okay, I’m okay.”

But his eyes are wide, a glossy sheen already there and you would like to kick yourself. The guilt is already spinning in those pretty blue depths, the fear and dread all bubbling and building and ready to crescendo into another panic attack.

You press your forehead to his. You breathe in, slow. You breathe out. Your hands move to cup his cheeks. “It’s not that,” you breathe, and your voice is wet and cracked and soaked in love. “It’s not- Baby, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

His breath is uneven, hectic. He doesn’t blink.

You kiss his lips. A soft, barely-there brush. “I’m just overwhelmed.”

His brow furrows. His hands pull you closer to his chest, but his eyes stay locked on yours.

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “I’m not in pain. I promise. It’s just-” You break off with another hiccup of a laugh-sob. “You’re being so wonderful. And it’s been so much. In the best way.”

Bucky stills. Eyes blinking fast, jaw tight with the restraint of a man trying not to fall apart.

You pull back to look at him clearly. “I just-” you try to laugh, but it’s mostly just a breath shivering on the edge of something enormous. “I love you. So much. And it just- hit me. How much. I’ve never felt like this before. And it was just a lot, all at once.”

Bucky stares at you as though you split the earth open beneath him.

And then his hands are everywhere. On your cheeks. On your back. In your hair. Holding your face, trying to keep you in this moment with him. As though this is the most important moment in his life.

“God.” He chokes on a breath, and his lips land on your forehead, your nose, your eyelids, kissing your tears away. “You- you’re crying because you love me?”

You nod against him, laugh through your tears.

He exhales and his whole body sags with it.

“Shit,” he breathes, voice wavering. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

He presses you even tighter into his chest, cradling the back of your head. “Fuck, you scared me. I thought I hurt you again. I thought- thought I messed it all up again.”

“You didn’t,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You didn’t. Not even close.”

He is breathing harder than before, but the panic is softening now, bleeding out into the warmth of your body against his.

“I just love you so much,” you repeat, voice just a small breath. “And I didn’t expect it to feel like this. This… intense.”

He nods against you. Kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then your wet lashes. “Yeah,” he exhales and there is a sheen to his voice, as though it passed through his own unspilled tears on the way out. “I know what you mean.”

You bury yourself against him, cheek to his chest, and his arms curl tight around your back. He rocks you just slightly, water lapping quietly against the porcelain, even now wanting to soothe you, hold you through it, make sense of all the things your tears said before your voice could.

His touch never stops. Always checking. Always there. One hand rubbing soft circles into your hip. The other brushing your damp hair back behind your ear.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you apologize eventually, brushing your nose against his cheek.

His laugh is soft and shattered, something frail, but there’s relief in it. Adoration. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You tilt your face up. Find his lips. It’s not a kiss that needs anything. It’s not even a kiss that asks. It’s just gentle. Soothing. Comforting. Sweet. Home.

“I’m more than okay,” you whisper softly.

And his eyes are shining.

He presses a kiss into your hair, then another. Then three more in a row because he can’t help himself. And he tells you he loves you, because he can’t help himself.

And he doesn’t let go. Not for a long time.

He won’t let you move. Not until the water cools. Not until the stars settle outside the bathroom window.

He won’t let you reach for a cloth or dry yourself off or even think about standing without him.

He refuses to let you go through one more thing alone.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable.”

- C. S. Lewis

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bonediggercharleston · 5 months ago

Text

I am very wary of people going "China does it better than America" because most of it is just reactionary rejection of your overlord in favor of his rival, but this story is 1. absolutely legit and 2. way too funny.

US wants to build an AI advantage over China, uses their part in the chip supply chain to cut off China from the high-end chip market.

China's chip manufacturing is famously a decade behind, so they can't advance, right?

They did see it as a problem, but what they then did is get a bunch of Computer Scientists and Junior Programmers fresh out of college and funded their research in DeepSeek. Instead of trying to improve output by buying thousands of Nvidia graphics cards, they tried to build a different kind of model, that allowed them to do what OpenAI does at a tenth of the cost.

Them being young and at a Hedgefund AI research branch and not at established Chinese techgiants seems to be important because chinese corporate culture is apparently full of internal sabotage, so newbies fresh from college being told they have to solve the hardest problems in computing was way more efficient than what usually is done. The result:

American AIs are shook. Nvidia, the only company who actually is making profit cause they are supplying hardware, took a hit. This is just the market being stupid, Nvidia also sells to China. And the worst part for OpenAI. DeepSeek is Open Source.

Anybody can implement deepseek's model, provided they have the hardware. They are totally independent from DeepSeek, as you can run it from your own network. I think you will soon have many more AI companies sprouting out of the ground using this as its base.

What does this mean? AI still costs too much energy to be worth using. The head of the project says so much himself: "there is no commercial use, this is research."

What this does mean is that OpenAI's position is severely challenged: there will soon be a lot more competitors using the DeepSeek model, more people can improve the code, OpenAI will have to ask for much lower prices if it eventually does want to make a profit because a 10 times more efficient opensource rival of equal capability is there.

And with OpenAI or anybody else having lost the ability to get the monopoly on the "market" (if you didn't know, no AI company has ever made a single cent in profit, they all are begging for investment), they probably won't be so attractive for investors anymore. There is a cheaper and equally good alternative now.

AI is still bad for the environment. Dumb companies will still want to push AI on everything. Lazy hacks trying to push AI art and writing to replace real artists will still be around and AI slop will not go away. But one of the main drivers of the AI boom is going to be severely compromised because there is a competitor who isn't in it for immediate commercialization. Instead you will have a more decentralized open source AI field.

Or in short:

#AI #OpenAI #DeepSeek

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sukunasweetheart · 7 months ago

Text

the tiger and his milk! 🐯

in this world, a certain tiger hybrid male keeps a keen eye on a cow hybrid female next door...

warnings; female reader, inaccurate?omegaverse, lactation without pregnancy, animal-human hybrid AU (but theyre more human than animal tbh just imagine them with ears and a tail), heat and rut, breeding, alcohol as aphrodisiac, bullying of the cervix, tit sucking, nipple teasing, biting, dry humping, overstimulation, sexual frustration, neighbours-with-benefits, knotting, f!masturbation, lots of cum, this is straight up just a hxntai oop

word count; 6.5k

dividers by @/saradika-graphics and @/thecutestgrotto

do NOT expect a serious and well-paced writing from this one, i was horny and the end result is just.... this. sorry not sorry, I AM WARNING YALL; this is one degenerate ass fic also forgive me for any inaccuracies in any of the tropes i used, i just cherry picked the parts i wanted and mixed it all together so...

moving to this new neighborhood hasn't been all too easy for you.

being a little low on money aside, there's a certain rambunctious neighbour who won't leave you alone. he playfully terrorises you with threats to eat you up, and makes comments that all go straight to your head, making you feel weak and flustered, leading you to cower beneath him. though you should firmly tell him to cut it out, you struggle to do this when you’re dealing with someone who could be a natural predator of yours, had you been an actual sow and not a hybrid.

that, and also-

strangely, there's a part of you that doesn't despise the way he treats you. in fact, when you see his large, brutish hands and the veins that run up his arms, you feel yourself squeezing your thighs together. you brush it off as it being a result of your apparent loneliness and sexual frustration. there's nothing good that'd come out from being with such a discourteous man.

setting that aside... there are numerous other problems that you've been having to deal with, recently.

your breasts have been collecting milk faster, and much more than usual, recently.

even for cow hybrids, milk should only be produced when the female is pregnant, and for only a year or two at most after giving birth. for some unknown reason, you produce it all year round, even without needing to have children. doctor after doctor you've visited, and all they've told you is that you're a strange anomaly. there is nothing you can do about it except extract it every now and then, to relieve the pain and swelling.

tonight, that is what you're planning on busying yourself with, once you get home from your shitty office job.

walking towards your porch with a deep sigh, you hear a deep voice call out to you.

"bad day at work, dollface?" your terrible neighbour-- sukuna, he's called, asks you with a cigarette in his hand dressed in jeans and a black tanktop. his tail swishes playfully behind him.

dollface. one of the few nicknames he uses condescendingly to refer to you. it's either dollface, doll, or sweetheart, and you don't recall ever hearing him actually use your name.

"um, work was alright... thank you for asking. have a good evening."

you like to make things short and stop any further conversation from happening, even though it might come off as a little awkward. one of sukuna's ears flick at your dry response, but he doesn't seem to bother you any further as you hurriedly unlock your front door and head inside.

sukuna drops his cigarette bud on the ground, and puts out the flame by stepping on it. you're not very sociable, as per usual...

but your sweet, passing scent makes for a little growl to rise in the back of his throat. sweet milk. that's what you always smell like. how curious. how tempting.

once you're home, you immediately grab your breastmilk pump that sits beside your sink. it hasn't been too long since you last cleaned it. you unhook your bra, and grimace at the wet stains on it, from leaking bit by bit throughout the day.

you press the pump up against one of your breasts and press the on button. it starts doing it's job. you sigh from relief, and watch as it fills up quite quickly. you wonder what you should do with all of it...

you stop the pump to empty it out into a glass bottle. it's a tedious process. sometimes... sometimes you wish you had a partner who could help you with it. sometimes, you wish someone would latch their mouth on and extract you directly-

what if he-- sukuna- did that for you? forcefully held you down and-

your eyes widen and your tail droops with shock at your own intrusive thoughts. heavens, no! you need to get yourself a partner. it's been too long. you hope you're not heading into heat already? it's not time for that yet, at least not according to your usual cycle. shaking your head as you extract the remnants of the milk from your breasts, you finish up quickly.

at least tomorrow, it will be saturday.

you'd forgotten about how overgrown the grass in your front yard had gotten. so, even though it's a saturday, and despite how you'd love to stay inside with all the curtains shut and doors locked tight... an unpleasant duty calls outside.

but despite the meticulous preparation of lathering enough sunscreen over yourself in protection against the sun's rays - the lawn mower suddenly doesn't want to heed to your calling.

your face scrunches up into a frown. darn thing.

the useless machine splutters and makes an obnoxious noise only in the beginning before giving out, no matter how many times you try to rev it back up again.

"goddamn it. you stupid thing," you mutter under your breath, crouching down to inspect it.

"need help?"

sukuna leans against the fence that is shorter than his own height, watching you with amusement. he'd been observing you for quite a few minutes by now.

"no thank you. i'm quite alright..." you respond without turning back. you know damn well whose voice that belongs to.

but does he listen? of course not! you hear the noise of the man easily bypassing the fence by elegantly hopping over it, before walking over towards you. how funny, even the fence fails to serve it's purpose in this moment.

"like that's believable. you think verbally degrading it will make it work?" sukuna snorts, coming around and shooing you away from the lawn mower.

he gives it a nice big rev, but not much happens. you smile slightly, wondering if he was going to make a fool of himself, after all that big attitude.

sukuna brings his foot against the side of the machine and gives it a hard kick. the sound startles you.

and now it's starting up nicely, and beginning to do it's job.

the man begins to mow your lawn for you, without another word. you stand around, not knowing what to do... your ears flicker as you stare at him doing your job for you. it feels odd. what is he up to?

well... no matter the hidden motive, it's true that he's doing you a huge favour. perhaps you should at least make a cold beverage for him, once he finishes with your yard. after observing him for a while, you head back inside to search for what would serve as an appropriate iced drink.

by the time you've stepped back outside, the yard is cut neatly and sukuna is in the midst of returning your lawn mower to your garage.

you silently hand him over his drink, and he takes it with a smirk.

"it's gone..." he suddenly comments.

"what's gone?" you question, with a raised eyebrow.

"that sweet smell that always surrounds you."

he proceeds to down his drink very quickly, not breaking eye contact with you. then, he starts chewing on the ice, tail swishing mischievously behind him.

"i... don't know what you mean." you cross your arms.

"hmm. playing dumb, i see. that's fine, i suppose."

you stand awkwardly with him in silence, simply listening to him crunching away on the ice. the heat from the sunlight gets more and more unbearable.

"if you're done with your drink... i think i'll start heading back inside now. thank you for your help today," you tell him politely, carefully taking your cup back from his hands.

he makes it seem like he's handing it over to you obediently, but then he tightens his grip against it when you're holding onto the glass, making you stare up at him in confusion. he pulls it back, so that you stumble closer to him.

"just letting you know. if you need any help, you can always ask me."

you're a bit nervous, but you try not to show it. does he know something? how much does he know? you feel your tail cowardly fall in between your legs. sukuna's ears give a light flick, but you don't know what that means.

"...we're neighbours, after all."

you look at him with distrust, holding onto your cup tighter. your gaze is unwavering as you meet his eyes.

"sure. i'll keep that in mind," you respond slowly.

seemingly satisfied, he lets go of your glass.

"thanks for the drink. see you."

it's a short backhanded wave he gives you, before he hops over the fence again. you narrow your eyes. just what kind of fence is this useless? can't even keep away one bad, bad man. you're not sure how much he's caught onto, but you sure hope he stops being interested in you with enough time. he easily sends odd tingles down your spine, and you don't like that one bit.

not at all...

the working part of an office job isn't actually that bad.

it's the people involved around you that makes it a living hell. nothing gets your blood pressure higher than your collusive colleagues and snobby superiors - especially the lazy ones who do everything to shove their workload onto other people.

such people are yet also, annoyingly obsessed with get-togethers and teamwork, which makes you laugh.

today is such an unlucky day, that you've been dragged off to an after-work gathering at some cheap restaurant with your shitty coworkers, all because one of them decided that they needed one.

nothing like being surrounded by a bunch of people that you hate, on a wednesday evening. you have to put on a fake smile, and remain the passive, agreeable coworker in this environment. they coerce you to drink more alcohol. you want to decline, but you feel as though you'll ruin the mood if you turn them down. you down a few pints of beer.

you can feel your breasts leaking again.

just let me go home, you think to yourself, for the fifth time in a row.

your wish is only granted after an hour or two later. you're still sober, maybe a little tipsy, seeing as you can feel the heat in your face from the alcohol. your body is probably not taking it very well today.

the first thing you do when you get home is washing your hands and settling down with your little trusty pump. when you undo your bra, you sigh in relief as your chest feels free. and also...

it's probably the alcohol acting as an aphrodisiac - you're a bit more sensitive tonight. you caress the swell of your breast and groan, your horniness overriding how tired you are. your other hand wanders down your panties, and your ears droop down.

you purse your lips together and let your fingers work against your clit for an orgasm that you know will be unsatisfactory, but you chase after such pleasure regardless. your breaths quicken, and you tilt your head back, closing your eyes. nearly there...

just when you were about to reach your first high of the night, a firm knock is heard from your door. just your luck. a ruined orgasm.

who can it be, at this time of the evening? you throw on a cardigan that just barely covers you up, and boldly stomp towards the door, irritated. you could give this person just about any piece of your mind.

but when you open the door, you're met with your most cunning and bothersome of a neighbour, sukuna. maybe it's because you're hornier than ever right now - you feel as though he looks even...hotter, tonight. his scent makes you dizzy.

sukuna had come by because he needed an ingredient for his dinner.

he wasn't expecting to be met with the eye candy that is your slightly disheveled self, with one hand keeping your loose cardigan together, while you're very obviously braless, judging by your nipples jutting out against the fabric. that, and the thick smell of your arousal that hit him right when the door had opened.

"wh-what do you want?" you ask, a little breathless, trying to keep it together.

sukuna looks down at you, trying to keep himself calm. this seems amusing. he doesn't think he'll be able to stop himself from tenting his pants soon, if he stays around you longer...

"you look like you were busy with something... sorry to interrupt," he voices slyly, his fangs showing when he smiles.

"just... get on with it, please," you frown, your legs squeezing together. you can never tell what he's thinking - whether he knows everything or if he's pretending to know everything.

"nothing much, just ran out of salt at home. could i get some of yours?" sukuna shrugs innocently, holding up his empty salt jar.

"hold on a second."

you turn around to button your cardigan up with a sigh of annoyance, and you tell him to come in while you grab your salt from the kitchen.

once sukuna steps inside, he observes a million details at once. the very first thing he sees is your little pump that you'd forgotten to put away there. there's no way that puny thing is enough for you, is it?

in your kitchen, you grab your jar of salt, and attempt to open the thing - but your arms feel like jelly at the moment. you grit your teeth and try harder, cursing at yourself for shutting it so tight the last time you used it. you begin to strain your arms further. sukuna marvels at this excellent opportunity he is granted.

your feelings of irritation are whisked away when a pair of hands gently land on top of yours, against the jar. his fingertips reach the lid through the gaps between your own fingers. you feel the bigger man's body warmth, when he comes around from behind. it makes you feel so weak. your tail is hanging off to the side, raised high.

sukuna applies a bit of pressure, and the jar comes off easily. you note how warm his large hands feel.

"i came here for the salt, but now i'm thinking maybe i won't need it anymore..." he whispers down at you. your ears can't help but flicker from his voice.

"what... do you mean by that?" you ask, not knowing what to think.

he guides your hands to put the salt down on the counter. and then his body presses up against yours a little harder. you can feel his growing boner against your behind, and you feel lightheaded. sukuna peers down longingly at the exposed side of your neck.

your pheromones mix with his, and his fluffy tail curls around your leg, almost possessively. sukuna's hands are still holding onto yours, and you feel your breaths get more laboured by the tension.

"i promised to lend my help, didn't i? c'mon..." he coaxes, speaking closely so that his breath grazes against the skin of your neck.

you feel yourself starting to sweat a little more - his body heat is just too much. your chest is uncomfortably full, and the thought of someone sucking on your sensitive nipples is enough for you to finally cave in, and play the fool for the night.

you break free from his grasp for a moment, and hesitatingly point to your couch.

"...sit. it's probably easier on the couch," you tell him, not looking his way. and now you're even shoving him towards it, impatiently.

"my, how demanding," he comments teasingly. he knows you purposefully broke the tension - to prevent him from taking the lead. but he obediently takes a seat on your couch. following that, you awkwardly mount him and sit on his lap.

sukuna watches with a softer smirk as you unbutton yourself again, revealing your leaky breasts with a flustered look on your face. sukuna's hit with that familiar sweet scent that's always been floating around you all this time - but now, it's right in front of him, in full force. it makes his mouth water. he was right about you lactating.

"....go ahead," you tell him shamelessly, yet still sorely embarrassed, cheeks feeling so warm that you're concerned you might pass out. "just be gentle," you warn him, looking at him with a little hesitation and pursed lips.

sukuna feels his cock twitch against you, and he wonders if you can feel it too, from the way you're sitting right on it. his own face feels quite flushed - any man would be the same if they were in his position. such a pretty thing in his lap, willingly undoing her buttons for him. he's never seen tits more beautiful than yours.

"hurry-" you breathe out, impatient, and moreover, shy from the way he's shamelessly admiring your face and chest with a dumb smirk plastered on his face.

not even a millisecond after you say it, he puts his searing hot mouth around one of your nipples. your brain ceases to function as a zap runs through your body, and you whine without meaning to, your back arching. though you grab at his shoulder, your other hand claps over your own mouth to muffle your moans.

the suction of his mouth does wonders for pleasure, nothing like the dull feeling that your mechanic pump gives. you hear his throaty growls as he sucks on your nipple, getting a mouthful of the taste of your sweet milk. you shudder on top of him, becoming pliant with his touch.

sukuna bathes in your warmth and the softness of your breasts, enjoying how he is able to breathe in your scent from this close. your milk isn't like anything he's ever had before. not too sweet and yet not bland - a taste that is unique to you...

his other hand squeezes your other nipple, making sure it isn't too lonely from his touch. you jerk your hips against him, whole body twitching from the pleasure, the joy of having your tits milked by someone else rather than yourself. you can't hold your moans back any longer.

"fuck... oh please..." you mumble, feeling your breast being drained of it's milk.

he stops sucking for a moment, and you see the beautiful but subtle blush on his cheeks, as he looks up at you like he's intoxicated. he lets his tongue out and flicks it up and down your erect nipple, rolling it around the areola. it makes you whimper and tremble in his lap.

"don't... tease me..." you say through gritted teeth, frowning at him while he merely chuckles at your reaction.

sukuna attaches his mouth to your other breast, as it's leaking so much - as if to beg him to drain it next.

your cunt is pulsing so bad, and you feel yourself drenching your panties already. you subconsciously grind down against him and his obvious boner, trying to relieve yourself, desperate to reach a proper orgasm this time. both of you are in a lusty haze, unconcentrated eyes, you're lost in pleasure and he's lost in the taste of you, your breast milk dripping down his chin as he messily gulps down with greed.

sukuna also bucks his hips up against you, cock straining in his pants - god, he's so hard that it hurts. when was the last time he's felt such a way? he breathlessly sucks and slurps everything out of you, feeling the milk pass down his throat and into his stomach. he could drink this shit forever.

he wants to cum. he's gonna fucking cum. into his pants no less, like a damn virgin. with the way you're rolling your hips around and grinding down on him like a whore, its only a matter of time.

"haah... sukuna... more- do it more," you plead, relishing in the pleasure of having your tits taken care of, while you get yourself off on his very obvious erection - rubbing your clothed cunt against him. it feels so good on your sensitive clit, you're gonna lose your damn mind.

sukuna doesn't pry his lips away from your nipple, but his hands come off your breasts - you feel his arms wrap around your waist instead, holding you down against him tightly, guiding your hips and helping himself dry hump you harder while his face is still all up in your tits.

your breathing quickens even further, and you grab fistfuls of his shirt on his back, shutting your eyes in anticipation-- before letting your orgasm crash over you completely. you gasp as your clit throbs intensely, and you feel slick leaking all over in your panties as you ride your climax out against sukuna's hard cock, shuddering as you do so.

sukuna groans with his mouth still on your breast, his orgasm coming a little later than yours, dick twitching as rope after rope of his cum soils his boxers, hips bucking up into you without control - it feels so restricted in his shorts, and he desperately wants to take it out. his lips finally leave your swollen nipple with a little pop sound. his large hands come to grope the soft flesh as he comes off his high, a dull throb ringing in his cock, one orgasm being far from enough.

"look at you, rubbing your cunt all over my cock to get yourself off, like a proper slut. aren't you a little too eager?" he teases breathlessly, with a weak smirk on his face.

"you're the one... that came onto me so strongly..." you pant, drunk from the waves of pleasure you just received, and from the endless twitching of sukuna's giant cock... he's still hard.

"just admit that you're perverted. arguably, even worse than what i am," sukuna mocks, pinching at your nipples, making you wince.

"shut up, you."

in the spur of the moment, you lift your hips up slightly to shove your hand down his pants to take his dick out due to irritation. sukuna gives the slightest flinch from the sensation of your hand, grabbing onto his now bare erection.

you begin to fiercely jerk him off with a frown on your face, wanting to punish him for his comments a few seconds ago, knowing he's still sensitive from his recent orgasm.

"fuck-! what're you-" he cuts his own voice off with a choked off gasp due to the tight grip of your hand against his twitching cock. he's back to bucking his hips again as you pump up and down with both hands, his dick already being lathered with his own cum making it easier for you. the noises that come out of him almost fills you with pride - and also surprise. you'd never thought that someone like him would ever moan in this way... you jerk him off faster, and a little harder, being fixated on his pretty looking cock that keeps jumping in your hands.

"shit! that's- enough-" sukuna gasps again, chest heaving and whole body jerking, but oddly, not attempting to stop you at all.

you watch in awe, as his cock spurts out several strings of white cum once again, his head tilted back with deep groans, dick pulsing - your hands keep away from it for the first few seconds just to observe, but then you help to milk it dry, grabbing his base and slowly stroking up and down. he shudders from your touch, and the sight of him being so sorely sensitive makes you feel your heartbeat in your pussy again.

he really does cum a shit ton. it goes for what seems to be like ages, never ending pulses of his cock and rope after rope tainting your hands, and his own stomach. the way he shivers before you, how captivating his groans sound, it all makes you want to do it all over again.

you slowly rub his tip against your palm, playing with his dick as if it were a toy - but this time, he grabs your wrist to stop you.

"enough..." he says with a low voice - and the look that he gives you sends a shiver down your spine.

he's beginning to smell a bit different. its not like before. and it's getting thicker by the second...

"ah, fuck.... i'm in rut," sukuna admits with a scowl, and a flushed face.

the realisation hits you like a truck.

"look at what you've done," sukuna growls as he grabs your hips and pushes you closer towards him, his cock impossibly harder. he's breathing heavily, and you see the precum that's gathering on his tip. he won't be able to hold himself back much longer, and you know it.

and curse the omega in you - you're unable to resist him, and you can feel yourself syncing with his rut, a strange swoop occurring in your stomach. his strong pheromones make you lightheaded and feverish, instigating your submissive side as you become obedient - sitting on his lap with an eager shine in your eyes, breathing heavy from his strong scent and your desire to be dominated.

you want to have your brains fucked out. you can't take it anymore.

as if reading your mind, sukuna lunges forward and practically throws you onto your back on your couch - you let out a yelp and watch as he pulls your shorts and panties down and casts them aside, stripping you completely. you feel so vulnerable, but his intense strength and desperation is only adding to your arousal.

he pushes your knees up and rubs his cock up against your clit, and puckering hole.

"look at all this slick. you want me that bad huh?" sukuna remarks darkly, sweat gathering on his temples.

you grit your teeth, fighting the urge to give him a meek response - having the strange desire to provoke and set him off until the end.

"you're the desperate one here..." you tell him breathlessly, sensing how his dick is practically begging to be inside you, with the way it twitches on your cunt.

your blood runs cold for a second, when you see the way he looks down at you, with a vein popping out on his forehead.

"...maybe i am," he relents, with a low voice, grabbing your face.

and then he leans down to shove his lips against yours, while thrusting his cock into you at the same time.

you whimper into the kiss as his tip hits your womb like nothing. you'd ignored how massive he was at the start, but now it's impossible to brush off.

"t-too big..." you mumble when he breaks away from your lips.

sukuna groans as he drags his cock in and out of your sopping cunt, practically holding him in an iron grip from the suction. your endless amount of slick coats his dick with plenty of lubricant to fuck you more easily.

"you can take it, doll. i'll make you take it..."

his eyes dilate as he begins to piston his hips at a fast but uneven pace, groaning shamelessly as his cock ravishes your pussy by hitting all the right places, heavy balls smacking against your ass with every thrust. the pleasure runs through your veins like electricity, and you feel high off the feeling of someone so big and strong using you like you were his fleshlight - to relieve his rut.

you can barely breathe from the way he pounds you, relentlessly pushing you to the limit, tears forming in your eyes and high pitched moans coming from your throat.

"ohh-! sukuna... oh, please please please..." you plead, almost sobbing.

he responds by leaning down to lather his tongue against your scent glands, sucking on them and rest of the skin on your neck. you shudder and let out another set of whimpers - and sukuna's fangs feel antsy, wanting to sink them into your flesh.

sukuna aims for the sweetness from your breasts, to distract himself. you cry out as he roughly latches onto your nipple and begins to suck as he squeezes your soft flesh. his cock feels like it's about to burst.

when he stimulates your nipples a certain way and his tip grazes your g-spot at the same time, you're hit with an orgasm that makes you squeal and has your cunt fluttering uncontrollably.

his dick gives in to the sudden milkings of your pussy and sukuna pushes his hips to settle himself into you as deep as he can - giving a choked off groan from the sudden climax as his cock swells up inside of you, anchoring itself.

the knowledge of him knotting you doesn't seem to matter as you enjoy the feeling of the warm gush of his cum pouring into your womb, his balls clenching with every rope that spurts out, messily coating your walls with white.

sukuna pants so heavily above you, abs flexing as he continues to orgasm in your warm cunt that still has a dull pulse from your previous climax. he nuzzles into the crook of your neck with a soft growl, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

your breathing relaxes as you lay still on the couch while sukuna weighs you down and breeds you properly, consequences be damned. you could try and fight him off, but it's been so long since you've been so sexually satisfied that your logical thinking has turned itself off. all you want to do is enjoy bathing in the pheromones of your alpha and let the heaviness of his large body drape over yours as he pumps you full of his babies.

sukuna is usually very careful about who he's around when he's in a rut - and he's always made sure either he or his partner had some sort of protection on before doing anything. he wouldn't want to go around having kids with the wrong people. it's hard to say whether you're wrong or right for him - he doesn't know much about you to judge yet...

but you make him feel so right.

and he's still fighting off the urge to mark you to make you officially his, with drool beginning to run down his chin. his fangs are making it unbearable; he needs to bite something right now.

"you look restless..." you tell him, getting him to tear his gaze away from your neck, to your face instead.

you pull him in for a messy kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth. he feels the way you brush over his fangs, paying extra attention to them as you make out with him, and it makes him groan. you must have done this with someone else before. sukuna nips at your tongue and lower lip, doing his best not to break skin - trying to relieve himself of the urge to bite.

the swell of his knot is gradually subsiding, but you know that the night is far from over.

"which way to your bedroom?" sukuna asks after breaking away from your kiss, breathlessly.

"farthest down the corridor, past the kitchen.." you respond, feeling a little needy after he abruptly stopped the kiss like that.

"hold onto me."

he lifts you up easily with his arms, and you wrap your legs around his waist, arms over his shoulders. the display of strength makes your heartbeat quicken.

when you're laid upon the soft mattress of your bed, his lips come crashing down again - while his hips begin to give shallow thrusts, cock still hard and throbbing. sukuna kisses you like he's a man starved, and you feel as though he might actually swallow you up at this rate.

the strong grip on your hips tighten as his pace gets rougher. you have to break away to gasp and moan. every time he jostles your body, you feel his previous heavy load sloshing inside you, and it's getting too much. sukuna doesn't look like he's even entirely here, hips moving mindlessly and drool dripping down his chin - it's a terrifyingly arousing sight.

he tries to come down and kiss you again, but you have to push his face away - you're so out of breath that you're afraid you might pass out if he does that again. it's overwhelming, how his thick cock bullies itself against your walls over and over again.

sukuna doesn't seem too pleased that you're pushing him away; he holds you tighter and he adjusts his hips to fuck you deeper. you mewl loudly, but keep your hand weakly against his face - he doesn't force it away, but lets his tongue droop out, caressing your fingers with it. you feel him bite and suck on your hand as his sharp thrusts produce small bulges in your stomach.

you witness his eyes dilating again, and you swear you see hearts in them this time, your fingers still in his mouth.

his dick feels so, so good in your pussy. your intoxicating smell now surrounds him after coming into your bedroom, and it's driving him insane. he grunts above you, balls feeling heavy, dick pulsing as his tip finds its way knocking on your cervix. there's a thick ring of cream foaming on the base of his cock now, a mixed concoction of both his cum and your slick.

his thrusting gets sloppy and his hips stutter, meaning that he's going to orgasm again. sukuna's eyes roll back, as he messily "kisses" your hand, pushing himself balls deep into you at the final moment.

you arch your back at the sensation of his knot swelling up once again, cumming at this moment. sukuna almost topples over from the tightness, as the walls of your cunt flutter around his knot, effectively squeezing everything out of him.

"f-fu-uuck..." he drones, his voice dragging the curse word out.

you feel him dumping every drop into your poor womb, emptying his balls. you're afraid that you'll get addicted to this "full" feeling, the warmth of his seed filling you up, the way your insides can feel his cock twitch violently with every thick string of cum he shoots out. you never imagined being held down and inseminated would feel this good.

sukuna's eyes are half-lidded, pleasure continuing to run up and down his spine. he pins your wrist down against the bed suddenly, and latches his mouth to one of your breasts - beginning to suck immediately, like he's trying to rehydrate himself with your milk. you shudder. it seems as though he's doing nothing but take, take, and take from your body... not that you'll stop him from doing so.

you run your fingers through his soft hair, catching your breath, slightly trembling each time he sucks a little too hard. shortly after he is seemingly content, he completely collapses his body over yours, face all up in your breasts, purring while his knot still sits inside of you.

you sense that it's only the beginning of a long, long night.

once the sun has rolled into the sky, you finally remember the fact that the weekdays haven't finished yet - and that you're supposed to be getting ready for work right now.

problem is, there's a certain someone clinging to your whole body from behind, still purring against the nape of your neck with a hand lazily groping the flesh of your tit. you can feel his fluffy tail curling around yours, possessively. you're sleepy, and his stupid purring keeps coaxing you to take a nap. he's a lot more docile and softhearted than you imagined. you supposed he'd be out of your house by now.

you reach out and feel around to grab your phone, to give your workplace a call to take the day off. while you're on the phone, sukuna places soft kisses down your back. you hope your boss can't hear the excessive vibration in the background. once you're done with that, you shove your phone under your pillow.

"i need a nap... you can use my shower, or go home, whichever you prefer," you tell him sleepily, shutting your eyes.

"is sleeping next to you also an option?" he asks from behind you, snuggling up closer.

"mm," you reply mindlessly, already dozing off. he slips his arm under your head. admittedly, his arm pillow does feel comfortable.

when you next wake up in a few hours time, you don't know what to feel when you notice that he's still next to you in bed.

"finally awake?"

"yeah... i'm surprised you haven't left," you mumble, following that with a yawn.

"i'm surprised you're not chasing me out," he shoots back.

"what would be the point? i'll see you again the moment i step outside the house."

"i bet you love that. being able to see me all the time," sukuna teases, twirling a strand of your hair with his finger.

"ugh, think what you will," you roll your eyes, trying not to be flustered.

you suddenly realise how thirsty and hungry you are.

"i'm starving... i don't remember what's in the fridge," you mumble to yourself.

"hop in the shower with me and i'll take care of all your meals today," he offers, smirking.

you don't really trust his intentions - especially something as intimate as showering together - but you are famished, and you don't think you will be bothered to cook at all today.

"what meals are we thinking?" you ask, curious.

"hm. well, how about steak?"

"... is that a threat?"

sukuna bursts into laughter.

he informs you that the salt he had originally wanted from you was supposed to be for the steak he was cooking last night. who knew that he'd be having a different kind of steak that evening? you look unamused as he makes the joke between chuckles.

unsurprisingly, you do end up in the shower with him, and again, unsurprisingly, he does pay extra attention to soaping up your tits in particular, and making out with you a little here and there. but as promised, you are rewarded with possibly the best meals you've ever had since you moved to this neighbourhood.

after a bit of conversation, turns out the man is a freelance chef, which is something you would've never guessed. from first glance, he seemed like he could've been part of some gang or a shady underground business.

when you sheepishly apologise for misjudging him based on his looks, sukuna laughs once again, and tells you that he'll forgive you if you let him continue to "help you out" from here onwards...

the rest is in dot points bc im lazy!

originally, i had wanted to make this a bit more toxic but i turned it more wholesome bc i felt like ive already posted toxic stuff before this so haha...

btw you do a few pregnancy checks while sukuna is still there after that night, and it turns out negative. it's a big sigh of relief for you and while it should be the case for sukuna too, since he's never really liked the idea of having kids, for some reason there's the tiniest twinge of disappointment...

anyway - after this, their relationship turns into a weird mix between friends with benefits and ?lovers, semi slow burn

often crashing in each others beds and sharing meals, but also having periods where you won't see one another for a week or so when life gets busy

thing is, you always try and tell yourself that you'll only use him to relieve the swell in your breasts, but it's never the case. things always go out of control and you end up bouncing on his cock without thinking of the consequences.

and he can't stop himself from teasing you everytime, those tits of yours could kill a man, he swears. sukuna gets extremely touchy with them, grazing his fingertips over your nipples, groping you with your shirt still on like a lewd old man, life just feels better when he has your tit in his mouth or hands. it hardly feels like he's actually bullying you when he gets hard like a mf while doing it.

and there are moments where he blurs the line between FWB and becoming something a little more, like when he scents you before you leave his place. "...why're you scenting me?" "why not?"

there is an incident that happens in your house one time, where a huge water leak had happened while you were away at work, drenching the floorboards and things requiring a lot of fixing. you had nowhere else to stay that wasn't either a motel or some cheap sauna so sukuna offered you to sleep at his place for the time being.

it really made things between you two feel a lot more intimate and romantic, a lot of tension, especially when sleeping together without the sex and doing all the chores. both of you felt a little empty when the house maintenance was all done and you had to go back to your own place.

"but there's nowhere for you to sleep except for my bed. i'm not bothered to clean out any of the spare rooms and i don't suppose you want to sleep on the sofa for weeks straight?"

a sly method of getting you to sleep next to him.

also, this man is quite loaded with money. freelance chef popular in demand, but he only takes up jobs that he feels like doing. sometimes he'll leave his house empty for longer times because he's busy, which makes you quite lonely and confused, since he doesn't really explain to you where he's going and why a lot of the time.

when he eventually is back again, he is met with you, holding the scent of some other alpha. he finds himself feeling incredibly upset and possessive, even though he's always deemed relationships to be superficial in his life, because it limits his freedom. but he just feels so deeply unhappy about it that he ends up arguing with you

he knows it shouldn't be something he is entitled to feel angry about when he's not even properly committed to you but it's not like he's ever mingled with other omegas ever since he's met you? it just felt so unfair to him in the moment.

shortly after the argument, you end up confessing you didn't even do anything with the alpha anyway, just a boring date and one quick hug. and sukuna also explains that it was his fault in the first place, leaving and coming back without saying anything. turns out that he sometimes works as a chef in places like hotels and when he's preparing food for companies or people who live a distance away, he just spends the nights somewhere nearby for convenience.

the tension is high after both of you are finished clearing things up, and it eventually leads to sex again. he wants to get rid of that scent ASAP, whether it was from just a hug or not, he needs it GONE. and this time, he properly marks you, sinking his fangs into your scent glands like he's always ached to do.

the night ends with you two officially becoming a couple, finally haha, happy days

the end

Masterlist

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x y/n

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pandapetals · 21 days ago

Text

Need You Now

Summary: Months of lingering touches, long looks, and unspoken words finally come to a head when you can’t hold back anymore.

Pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

Word count: 8k

Content warnings: established relationship, a bit of a shy reader?, reader is down bad for joel, soft joel, sexual tension, build up to smut, body worship, thigh riding, voyeurism, fingering, cowgirl/riding, p in v, praise kink, good girl used, dirty talk, endearments, tenderness

A/N: divider by @/saradika-graphics. Since I've been writing a lot more smut, I want to try writing different stuff. P.S. This has been in the drafts for a bit.

Your gaze lingered on Joel like it always did these days, tracing the broad line of his shoulders as he hefted a bale of hay into the stables. The sleeves of his shirt clung to his arms, the fabric darkened in spots with sweat. He moved with an unhurried strength, and that was part of what drew you in.

You leaned against the fence post, half-listening to Nathan talk about a busted post, but your attention kept drifting back to Joel.

How he’d tilt his head when Tommy said something, the rough scrape of his palm across his jaw as he wiped at the sweat there. Little things. Ordinary things. But to you, they landed sharp and heavy, gathering in your stomach like storm clouds.

It wasn’t new. You’d been dating Joel for months, falling into something you both refused to name. Boyfriend felt too simple, too sweet. What you had with Joel wasn’t delicate. It was quiet, careful, and lately, it was growing teeth.

You’d started noticing how often he stood just a little too close. His fingers would brush the line of your jaw when you kissed him quickly and breathlessly before pulling away, and his gaze would linger as you walked off.

It built in small moments, like the weight of a hand resting just above your knee or the rough timbre of his voice dropping when no one else was around. You hadn’t slept with him yet. Not because you didn’t want to. Hell, you thought about it more than you cared to admit, but because nervousness was curling inside you. Shy wasn’t quite the right word either. It was more… the sharp ache of wanting something you weren’t sure you deserved.

And now, watching him, his back muscles flexing beneath that worn shirt, the heat of the afternoon clinging to his skin, it was getting harder to push it aside. The ache settled low like an insistent pull. You crossed your arms tight over your chest, as if it might hold something back.

Joel turned then, catching your gaze across the yard. His brow quirked, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he could feel how you were looking at him. Like he’d known for days.

Heat bloomed beneath your skin, crawling up your neck as you tore your gaze away, fixing your eyes on Nathan, though his words barely registered. Something about fence repairs, or the weather turning — you couldn’t hold onto it.

Still, your eyes betrayed you, flickering back toward him before you could stop yourself. He was bent to his work again, hauling another bale onto his shoulder. It shouldn’t have felt like a punch to the ribs, but it did.

You swallowed hard, your pulse tapping insistently against the hollow of your throat. The world's edges seemed to dull, the chatter of the others, the scrape of boots against dirt. All of it fading beneath the weight of your restless thoughts.

Was this what he wanted?

For you to unravel like this, so wound up with want that it pressed heavily between your legs, that you could barely think straight when he was near? Or was he oblivious to what he was doing to you and how every careless brush of his hand and lingering glance set something alight under your skin?

It gnawed at you, the not-knowing.

And yet, the truth you didn’t want to name was this — he wasn’t going to make the move. Not unless you did. Joel was a man of long silences, sidelong glances, and letting things come when they came. He wouldn’t push. Wouldn’t ask.

Which meant it had to be you.

You’d have to find the nerve to tell him what you wanted. To ask for what kept your body restless in the dark, your fingers brushing over your skin, and pretending they were his.

“Hey. You alright, darlin’?”

Joel’s voice startled you, and you jumped like he’d caught you doing something you weren’t supposed to. Your gaze snapped up, and he stood closer than you’d realized, brow knit, a bead of sweat trailing down the side of his temple.

Your throat worked around a swallow, words catching somewhere between your chest and your tongue. He watched you, eyes narrowing just a little, like he could see straight through whatever half-assed answer you might give.

“I—” you started, but then he reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up to wipe the sweat from his temple.

And you looked. God help you, you looked.

Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, catching on the flash of tanned skin, the curve of his stomach, and the faint trail of dark hair beneath his waistband. It was a brief, careless motion on his part, but it landed like a spark in a dry field.

Heat flooded your face so fast that it made you dizzy. You could feel your pulse thudding hard behind your ears, your skin prickling beneath his shadow.

You shouldn’t be staring, but your eyes clung to the sight a second too long, hunger stirring low and sharp in your belly before you wrenched your gaze away, pretending to focus on the ground, the fence, anything else.

Joel’s voice came again, softer this time, a little amused. “You sure you’re alright?”

You nodded, a weak, mortified thing, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Mhm. Fine,” you mumbled, though your voice sounded thin and unconvincing even to your ears.

Joel let out a quiet hum, the corner of his mouth ticking up in the faintest ghost of a smirk. He didn’t call you on it. Didn’t tease. Just stood there a beat longer than necessary, letting the moment's weight hang between you.

“Was gonna head to the mess hall,” Joel said, his voice a low rumble as he looked down at you. “You hungry?”

You almost choked on the answer you wanted to give — yeah, hungry for you — but managed to bite it back at the last possible second. A wild, half-panicked thought crossed your mind: Jesus, did I say that out loud?

Your stomach twisted, your face heating under the weight of his gaze. God, you probably looked like a wide-eyed, needy, half-feral stray cat someone left out in the rain.

“Sure,” you murmured, the word barely scraping past your throat.

You turned quickly, eager to put a little space between you and your humiliating thoughts, when his hand caught your wrist.

“Hold on a second,” Joel said.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting up to his, searching for a hint of his thoughts. The sun caught in the flecks of green in his irises, and something about how he looked at you made your knees go loose.

His hand slid from your wrist, brushing a piece of hair from your forehead, tucking it gently behind your ear. It was a simple thing. Innocent, probably. But it made your heart race. Your skin flushed hot, a shiver chasing down your spine. Every inch of you prickled, hypersensitive to the warmth of his fingertips and the low hum of his nearness.

“Joel?” you managed, breath catching with confusion.

He smiled, small and easy, like none of this meant anything to him. Like he didn’t know what it was doing to you.

“Had a ladybug in your hair,” he murmured, holding his palm to show you.

A tiny red dot crawled along the callused skin of his hand. He glanced at it, then back at you, eyes crinkling at the corners.

You let out a breathless laugh, though it came a little shaky, your heart still hammering in your chest. “Oh,” you said weakly, cursing yourself for sounding like you’d forgotten how to speak.

Then, as casually as if he hadn’t just unraveled you with a touch, he flicked the ladybug off his hand and nodded toward the mess hall. “C’mon, let’s eat.”

You followed, your skin still tingling, the ache between your legs a quiet, insistent thing you pretended wasn’t there.

The mess hall was half-full when you and Joel walked in, the scent of something savory and sweet hanging in the air. Conversation buzzed low around you, the scrape of utensils against plates, the distant clatter of a pan in the kitchen. You trailed behind him, still feeling the ghost of his touch at your wrist, the warmth of his hand brushing your hair, as if your skin hadn’t quite recovered.

Joel snagged a tray for you both, and you followed him down the line, not trusting your voice enough to speak. He didn’t say much either, just handed you a cup, grabbed two bowls of stew, and steered you both toward an empty table near the window.

He slid into the bench seat, and you sat across from him, putting what you thought was a safe amount of space between you. But the benches were narrow, the table not much broader, and you felt a jolt of awareness at how close his knee was to yours beneath the wood.

You kept your gaze fixed on your bowl, shoving a spoonful of broth into your mouth without tasting it.

The conversation started easily. Something about the weather turning colder, and a fence that needed fixing on the east side: his voice was low and easy, and you found yourself relaxing in it, sinking into the warmth of his presence like slipping into a hot bath.

And then it happened.

A brush. The softest, accidental sweep of his leg against yours under the table. A spark of contact. Barely there, but enough.

Your breath stuttered. You glanced up sharply, but Joel was looking down at his stew, like nothing had happened. No flicker of acknowledgment on his face.

So maybe it really was nothing. Except it happened again—a shift in his seat, the press of his knee to yours, lingering this time.

You swallowed hard, your pulse skipping. Your hand tightened around the spoon, and you hated how flustered you felt over a small, easily brushed off touch.

Joel’s gaze finally lifted to yours, and the corners of his mouth tugged up, just enough to make your stomach swoop.

“You sure you’re alright, darlin’?” he asked softly, voice dipping below the steady hum of the room.

“I’m fine,” you managed, though the words scraped out a little rough, your throat drier than it had any right to be. “Just hot today. Stew isn’t helping.”

Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your tray as you said it, gaze flickering anywhere but his face: the window, the bowl, the half-empty room. But you could still feel the heat of his knee against yours.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, his voice low, a little rough. “Hot as hell today.”.

Your pulse kicked up, a flush creeping higher along your neck, prickling at the back of your scalp. You bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to pull it together, to stop reading into every damn thing he said, every glance, every touch.

But then his boot nudged against yours.

You glanced up, and there it was — that look. The one that made your stomach dip, like stepping off a ledge. His eyes were steady on yours, his mouth soft at the edges, like he wasn’t in a hurry for anything but wasn’t about to stop, either.

Your breath caught, words dying on your tongue.

Joel’s gaze lingered another beat before he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod and went back to his stew like nothing had happened.

Leaving you burning alive in a room full of people, your skin too tight, the air too thick, and the taste of something dangerous hanging heavy on your tongue.

By the time you both stepped out of the mess hall, the sun had slipped low, painting the sky in streaks of pink and amber. The air had cooled, but your skin still felt too hot, prickling beneath your shirt like it hadn’t quite forgotten the way Joel’s knee had pressed against yours.

You shoved your hands into your pockets, trying not to fidget as you fell into step beside him.

Joel didn’t say much, and you weren’t surprised. He never did during these walks. Just let the quiet stretch long and easy between you, the steady crunch of boots on gravel the only sound for a while.

The streets of Jackson were mainly empty now, with folks settling in for the night. Porch lights glowed warm in the dusk, and the faint hum of voices and the distant bark of a dog carried on the cool evening air.

Your heart tripped a little when Joel’s hand brushed against yours.

It was light, barely a touch, just the back of his knuckles grazing yours as he shifted something in his pocket. You didn’t pull away.

Didn’t move closer either. Just let your hand linger where it was, close enough for that accidental contact to happen again. And it did. Once, twice, each time a little longer, like the space between you had started to shrink on its own.

Your pulse tapped steadily at your throat, words thick behind your teeth. You wanted to say something about the stars coming out, the stupid ladybug earlier, and how you weren’t just hot from the weather.

“Y’been quiet,” he said, his voice soft. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

You swallowed hard, your gaze flicking to him in the dim light. How he looked at you — steady, unhurried, like he had all the time to wait for you to speak — made your chest ache.

“I’m fine,” you lied, a half-smile tugging at your lips, though your voice felt thin.

He didn’t push; he just let his hand brush yours again, slower this time, his fingers grazing along the side of your pinky before drifting away.

When you reached your front porch, the ache between your ribs felt sharp enough to cut.

“Thanks for walkin’ me home,” you managed, turning toward him, fingers itching at your side to reach for him, to hold him there a little longer.

Joel gave a small nod. “Always, sweetheart.”

He lingered a beat, like he might say something else. Might lean in. Might close that inch between you, but then he tipped his head, a flicker of warmth in his eyes, and turned away, heading back down the path.

You gasped, the sound catching sharp in your throat as Joel turned away, his broad shoulders fading into the dark. He always kissed you goodnight. A soft, lingering thing that left your stomach flipping and your skin buzzing for hours after. But not tonight.

He was leaving you like this — strung out, aching, every nerve stretched thin.

A flicker of heat shot through your chest, chased by something sharp and restless. This had all been some way to rile you up. Hadn’t it? The way his hand brushed yours, the weight of his knee against yours, those long, quiet looks that said everything without saying a damn word.

Your head spun, heart racing so hard you could hear it pounding in your ears.

Before your mind could catch up to your body, your feet were already moving, gravel crunching under your boots as you crossed the space between you in a few quick steps. Your hand shot out, fingers curling around the firm line of his bicep.

“Don’t you dare,” you blurted breathlessly, voice rougher than you meant it to be.

Joel froze. He turned slowly, his brow ticking up, and the look on his face made your stomach dip, like maybe this was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

“Don’t I dare what?” His voice was soft with a gravelly edge. Your fingers tightened on his arm, and your skin buzzed against his warm skin.

“Leave me like that,” you blurted, your voice sharp, a rough edge of breathlessness clinging to the words. “You did all this on purpose because you’re too scared to ask for more.”

It came out in a rush, heat flushing your skin, your chest rising and falling like you’d just sprinted a mile. You scoffed, glaring up at him, though your hand still hadn’t let go of his arm.

Joel’s face changed. The steady calm he wore like armor cracked, his brow furrowing, mouth parting like he was searching for something to say.

“No,” he said, voice low and uneven. “It—it ain’t like that.”

Your heart kicked against your ribs, throat tight. “Then what’s it like, huh?” you fired back, your words tumbling over each other. “You flexing those stupid muscles in the sun, pulling that thing with the ladybug, then the—the knee thing—”

Your voice faltered, heat creeping higher up your neck.

And then you saw it.

The way Joel’s expression shifted — not guilt, not smugness, but realization. His eyes widened, something dawning behind them that made your stomach drop. The kind of look that made you realize he hadn’t been playing a game at all.

At least, not on purpose.

His hand came up, rough fingers scratching at the back of his neck, eyes dropping for a beat before finding yours again.

“I thought…” he started, voice soft now, a little raw around the edges. “I thought you were bein’ quiet ‘cause you didn’t want more. I figured… maybe you weren’t ready. Or maybe you didn’t see me that way. Hell, I’ve been holdin’ back, darlin’. Tryin’ not to scare you off.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, looking down, your voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “Turns out you scare me more by not doing anything.”

Joel let out a breath, his hand brushing your jaw, tilting your face up so you’d look at him. “Didn’t mean to leave you hangin’,” he murmured, thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone. “Was just waitin’ on you.”

You exhaled, chest tight, your eyes searching Joel’s face like you might find courage there. The night pressed in around you, thick and heavy, and your throat felt too tight to swallow.

“Go on,” Joel coaxed, his voice low with the faintest rasp. “Tell me what you want.”

The words made your stomach clench, your pulse skipping. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out immediately—just a stammer, a shaky breath that made your cheeks flush hot.

“I— I want…” you stumbled, the words catching like burrs in your throat. It felt impossible to say it out loud, though every inch of you screamed for it.

Joel’s thumb brushed along your cheekbone again, his touch making your skin prickle. His hand tilted your face, his eyes steady, soft but dark around the edges.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Ain’t no need to get shy on me now, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip, your gaze flickering to his mouth for half a second before dropping back to his eyes, heart hammering so hard you swore he could hear it.

“I want you,” you whispered, trembling but sure. Your hand found the fabric of his shirt, twisting it in your fingers. “All of you, Joel.”

Something flickered in his eyes, and he nodded, leaning down to press his lips to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin.

“Atta girl,” he said, and the sound of it, low and thick, made your stomach swoop. “We can do that soon. I promise.” When he started to pull back, you shook your head, catching his shirt tighter in your grip.

“No—no, Joel,” you breathed, the words slipping out without permission, a boldness breaking loose from the tight coil in your chest. “I don’t wanna wait. I want you now.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, all raw want and aching honesty.

Joel stilled, his thumb retracing your cheek, his other hand resting against your waist. The air between you felt electric, every inch of space charged with what you’d both been too careful to say.

His gaze locked on yours, unreadable for a long, heavy second. Then he clicked his tongue softly, head tilting just a little.

“You sure about this?”

You nodded, probably too fast, heat blooming under your skin. Your hand slid down from his bicep, lingering over the steady rise and fall of his chest, feeling the warmth of him through the worn fabric.

“I’m sure, Joel,” you said, softer this time, but with a steadiness that surprised even you.

His jaw flexed, something unreadable passing over his face, and you took the chance to grab his hand, threading your fingers through his calloused ones as you tugged him toward your house.

The walk felt unreal, like the air had thickened, every step a little heavier. Time stretched and slowed, your pulse thrumming in your ears. When you reached your front door, your stomach was full of nerves and anticipation, your skin tingling.

Inside, the house felt too quiet. You took your boots off without looking at him, suddenly hyperaware of every movement. The air between you crackled with so much unspoken want that it made your hands shake.

Joel stood just inside the doorway, his fingers grazing the back of his neck as he glanced around, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

“We… uh… we should get comfortable,” he said, voice low and rough.

You laughed, breathy and nervous, the sound spilling out before you could stop. “Like… on the bed?”

It wasn’t that you hadn’t done this before. You had, but never with him; somehow, it felt different.

Joel’s gaze flicked back to you, and that tiny, crooked grin you’d grown addicted to tugged at his mouth. “Yeah,” he replied, like he knew exactly what you felt. “Like on the bed.”

Your stomach swooped, heat curling low in your belly as your fingers found his hand again, threading through the rough warmth of his calloused palm. You tugged him gently down the hall, your pulse thudding hard in your throat.

You half-expected Joel to stop you, to push you against the wall, to kiss you stupid before you even made it to your room, but he didn’t. He followed, his thumb rubbing lazy circles against the back of your hand.

No rushed kisses. No frantic tugging of clothes. Just the sound of your breath, shallow and quick, and his heavy footsteps at your back.

The air felt thick inside your room, and the only light came from the lamp on your nightstand. You turned, half breathless, your heart pounding so hard it made your fingertips tremble.

And still, Joel didn’t make a move.

“Uh… Joel?” you asked, voice soft, your brows pinching together. “Do… you not want me?”

His face changed instantly. Whatever restraint he’d been holding flickered into something raw and painfully tender. He stepped closer, his hands cradling your face like you were something breakable, his thumbs brushing beneath your cheekbones.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “Of course, I want you. Been wantin’ you for a while now.”

“I just… I can tell you’re nervous,” he went on, one thumb tracing the corner of your mouth. “And I don’t ever wanna do somethin’ you ain’t ready for. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

A rush of warmth spread through your chest, relief crashing into something hotter beneath your skin. “Oh,” you whispered, a little breathless now, your voice unsteady for a different reason entirely.

Joel’s gaze searched yours, and then, finally, his mouth brushed yours—a slow, careful kiss.

You sighed into it, your fingers sliding up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, the heat of his body seeping into yours. His lips moved against yours, coaxing, unhurried, and you melted into the steadiness of him.

When he finally pulled back, it was only enough to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, his smile grazing your skin.

“Let’s get comfortable,” he murmured, voice warm.

You nodded, cheeks flushed, and after awkward shuffling and nervous laughter, you both stripped down to your underwear. Joel’s broad, tanned chest made your stomach flip — the thick lines of muscle, the smattering of hair, the faint scar along his stomach you hadn’t seen before.

You bit your lip, your eyes tracing over him as you memorized every inch.

Joel sat back against the headboard, reaching a hand out toward you. “C’mere.”

And without thinking, you settled in his lap, straddling him, your knees bracketing his hips. The feel of his hands on your thighs, his thumbs stroking along your skin, made your breath hitch.

You just sat there, hearts pounding, eyes searching as your hands explored tentative, lingering touches like it was the first time you’d ever been allowed to want someone like this.

Joel’s gaze darkened, pupils blown wide as his fingers traced a deliberate path up your sides, the rough drag of his calloused thumbs brushing the soft swell of your ribs. His touch made your skin prickle, a hot shiver rolling down your spine.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered.

You leaned in, catching his mouth with yours in newfound hunger. The kiss was deeper, your tongue slipping against his, tasting him, pulling a deep, guttural groan from his chest. It vibrated against you, making your thighs clench.

His hands tightened at your waist, and when you shifted — chasing the ache building between your legs — the heat of your clothed pussy dragging against the firm muscle of his thigh made you gasp. Your hips stuttered, a soft, needy whimper spilling into his mouth.

Joel pulled back just enough to watch you, a brow arching, his lips slick and parted, his expression downright sinful.

“Hm?” he rumbled, one corner of his mouth curling. “You like that?”

You bit your lip, your face hot but too far gone to pretend otherwise. Another tiny roll of your hips, and your breath hitched again, the friction sending sparks through you.

Joel let out a low, rough chuckle. “Go on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his voice molten in the dark. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you as he positioned you just right over one of his thick thighs. “Take what you need.”

You braced your hands against his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle flex beneath your palms as you rocked your hips, the pressure sharp and perfect. The soft fabric of his boxers against your soaked underwear made you gasp, your head tipping back.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured, a dark edge curling around the words as his hands guided your hips. “Look how fuckin’ pretty you look, all needy for me.”

The rough praise hit you low in your belly, a sharp jolt of heat rushing through your veins. You pressed down harder against his thigh, chasing that friction, your hips finding a desperate rhythm as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Joel,” you whined, the sound slipping out raw and breathless.

“Atta girl,” he rumbled, his hands tightening at your waist before one slid up, fingers teasing over your breast through the thin fabric of your bra. The contact made your breath hitch, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. “Just like that,” he coaxed, his thumb brushing over your nipple, making it pebble beneath the lace.

Then his hand cupped you fully, kneading, squeezing, and his mouth brushed your ear, the scrape of his stubble making you shiver.

“I wanna see you,” he murmured, voice filthy sweet. “Can I, darlin’?”

You nodded frantically, your eyes flickering open to meet his. The hunger in his gaze made your pulse stutter.

“Yeah,” you breathed, already arching into his touch.

Joel wasted no time, his fingers working the clasp at your back with practiced ease. The straps slid down your arms, and then your bra was gone, leaving you bare before him.

For a split second, your hands twitched, like instinct wanted to cover yourself — nerves mingling with the ache inside you. But Joel caught your wrists and shook his head, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Don’t hide from me, pretty girl,” he rasped, his thumbs brushing slowly over your skin. “Let me see you.” How he said it with want, like you were the only thing he’d ever cared to look at, made your heart flutter.

You let your arms fall to your sides, your pulse thundering, and Joel let out a low, appreciative groan, his gaze dragging down to your bare chest.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, leaning in to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the swell of your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth.

A broken moan tore from your throat as your hips rocked harder against his thigh, the steady pressure sending sharp, electric heat through your core. Every nerve in your body felt stretched thin, your skin flushed and tight, slick with sweat. The rough drag of your soaked panties against the thick muscle of his leg had you trembling, chasing the edge without shame now.

“Oh—Joel…” you gasped, your voice cracking as you buried your face against his neck, breath hot against his skin. “I’m so close. Didn’t—didn’t think I could… come like this.”

Your words sounded wrecked, desperate, and it only made Joel groan, his thigh flexing beneath you, giving you something firmer to grind down on.

“You can, darlin’,” he rasped against your ear. “You will. Look at you—makin’ a mess on me, fuckin’ beautiful.”

His hands were everywhere, broad palms skating up your back, cradling the nape of your neck, guiding the roll of your hips, holding you together even as you started to come apart.

You felt it crest fast and hot, a sharp, aching coil deep in your belly snapping loose as a strangled, broken whimper slipped from your lips. Your entire body went tight, thighs quivering as you pressed down hard against his thigh, riding the wave as it crashed through you.

Your orgasm hit in pulses, slick soaking through your underwear and onto the soft fabric of his boxers, and you clung to him, gasping his name like a prayer.

Joel’s mouth was at your ear, murmuring through it, his voice low and steady as your body trembled. “That’s it, sweetheart… atta girl…perfect.”

When you finally sagged against him, breath ragged, your face buried against his shoulder, Joel’s hand stroked soothingly up and down your back, one arm tight around your waist.

“Damn,” he said, a grin in his voice. “Been wantin’ to see you like that for so long.”

You exhaled, a breathless, dizzy smile pulling at your lips as you looked at him. Your cheeks were flushed, skin still buzzing. “Never done something like that before,” you admitted, your voice shy, words soft around the edges.

Joel’s hand cupped your cheek, rough thumb brushing tenderly along your jaw. “Me either,” he whispered.

Your gaze dropped, and there it was — the thick, straining outline of his cock pressing hard against his boxers. Your pulse skipped, heat flooding low in your belly as your hand instinctively reached down, fingertips brushing over the bulge, eager to touch him.

But Joel caught your wrist, his grip firm but gentle.

“Not yet,” he rasped, eyes dark, pupils blown. “I know you can take it, but I wanna make sure you’re good and ready for me first.”

You blinked up at him, your breath hitching, and your body was already throbbing and aching to be filled. Confusion flickered across your face, but before you could speak, Joel moved, guiding you off his lap with a firm hand at your waist.

You barely had time to process before he was behind you, broad chest against your back, his legs bracketing yours on either side.

Joel’s mouth brushed the shell of your ear, his voice a dark, sin-soaked murmur. “I want you to touch yourself for me.”

Your stomach flipped, breath catching sharply in your throat. “W-what?” you gasped, turning your head to glance at him over your shoulder.

He smirked, his eyes gleaming in the low light, and leaned in to graze his stubble along your jaw. “Like you do when you’re alone,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Wanna watch you fall apart for me, sweetheart.”

“But, Joel—”

“Be a good girl,” he murmured, one hand slipping down to rest between your thighs, cupping the heat of you through the soaked fabric of your underwear. “Show me.”

Your protest died on your tongue, replaced by a soft, broken moan as your hips rolled into his palm.

Your hands moved on instinct, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear, tugging the drenched fabric down your trembling thighs. Joel helped, his hands spreading your legs open over his, leaving you bare and exposed against him.

“Goddamn,” he growled, his lips trailing down your neck as he dragged one hand up to knead your breast, the other stroking slow, possessive lines along your thigh. “Go on, pretty girl… show me how you touch that sweet little pussy.”

The room felt too hot, the air thick with the scent of sweat and skin. Your hand dipped between your legs, and Joel’s voice was right there, rough and ragged in your ear.

“That’s it, good girl. Just like that.”

When your fingers brushed your slick folds, a soft, wrecked whimper tumbled from your lips, your body already so strung tight that the edges of your vision went hazy. The heat between your thighs was unbearable, the ache sharp and insistent.

“Joel… please,” you gasped, your fingers circling your clit in tight, desperate little motions. “Want your fingers, need you—”

“Not yet,” he murmured, lips grazing your ear, the words sinking into your skin like warm honey.

A needy, broken sound escaped you as your hips rolled into your touch, your body arching against the hard line of his chest. Your eyes squeezed shut, your thighs starting to press together, chasing friction.

“Uh-uh,” Joel’s voice came rough, command thick in his tone. “Keep ‘em open for me, sweetheart.”

His hands slid down, thumbs skimming up the sensitive, trembling skin of your inner thighs, coaxing them apart. The cool air against your soaked skin made you shudder.

“Let me see how fuckin’ wet you are for me,” he whispered, and the sound of it, low and filthy, made your pulse stutter.

Your fingers worked faster, slick sounds filling the space between your ragged breaths, your head falling back against Joel’s shoulder.

His hand reached down, closing around your wrist. You whimpered at the loss of contact, your body protesting the sudden emptiness. Before you could beg again, Joel brought your fingers to his mouth, those dark eyes holding yours. His lips closed around them, tongue curling, sucking your slick-coated fingers into his mouth with a groan.

“Christ,” he rasped, releasing them with a soft, wet pop. “Taste so goddamn sweet.”

The heat between your legs pulsed harder, your thighs trembling.

“Can I have you now?” you whispered, voice trembling with need, your whole body aching for him.

Joel’s teeth grazed your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Yeah,” he growled. “You’ve been such a good girl for me, darlin’.”

Joel’s hand released your wrist, his fingers trailing down your thigh in a possessive glide that left a shiver in their wake. Your skin prickled, heat rolling through you in waves as his touch dipped lower, teasing over the sensitive skin at the crease of your thigh.

Then, finally, one thick finger slid between your slick folds, gathering your wetness in a lazy, unhurried stroke. The contact was almost too much, your hips jerking against his hand, a soft gasp slipping from your lips.

“Fuck…” Joel groaned, his voice a dark, reverent thing against your neck. His lips pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat, stubble scraping deliciously over your flushed skin. “You’re drippin’ for me. Look at this,” he rasped, his finger teasing at your entrance, circling but not pressing in.

Your whole body arched, chasing him without thinking, a whimper clawing up from your chest.

“Please,” you breathed, your head lolling back against his shoulder, legs falling open wider.

Joel chuckled softly, his free hand tightening around your thigh to keep you spread for him.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, his finger finally slipping inside you, the thick stretch making you moan. “Knew you’d feel this perfect.”

Your walls fluttered around him, greedy and desperate, and he groaned again, his teeth grazing the curve of your jaw.

“You’re gonna take every fuckin’ inch of me. But not yet,” he warned, teasing you with the slow thrust of his finger.

“Oh, please, Joel,” you moaned, the words breaking apart on a gasp, your hips rolling down into his hand, greedy for more.

“You sound so pretty like this,” he rasped, his voice thick with hunger.

His single finger pumped into you, the slick slide of it making your skin burn, every drag against your walls sending sparks through your core. The way he worked, you open with patience like he was savoring every twitch and whimper, made you dizzy.

Your hands clutched at his thighs, your head tipping back against his shoulder, a broken whine slipping from you as the ache inside sharpened.

“More,” you breathed.

He groaned and, without pulling back, slid a second thick finger inside you. The stretch made your breath catch, your thighs trembling as your walls fluttered around him.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” Joel growled against your throat, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. “Squeezin’ my fingers like that.”

His fingers moved in a steady rhythm, scissoring slightly, working you open, coaxing moans from your lips. Your hips couldn’t stay still, grinding down against his hand, chasing every stroke, every curl of his fingers as your body tightened around him.

“You feel that?” he said, his voice a slow, dangerous drawl against your ear. “How good you’re takin’ my fingers?”

You whimpered, your body so close to unraveling, you could barely form words.

“Joel… I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he coaxed, his other hand cupping your breast, thumb teasing over your nipple. “Gonna fall apart on my hand first… then I’ll fill you up like you fuckin’ need.”

Your hips moved of their own accord now, grinding down against Joel’s hand, every thrust of his fingers making you moan, your whole body drawn tight like a bowstring. The heat building low in your belly threatened to snap, sharp, hot, and overwhelming.

Joel’s mouth stayed at your ear, lips brushing your skin as he spoke, “That’s it, darlin’… just like that,” he murmured, his fingers curling deep, hitting a spot inside you that made you cry out. “I can feel you clenchin’ around me. You’re close, ain’t you?”

A broken, breathless whimper was all you could manage, your head tipping back against his shoulder, eyes squeezing shut as the tension in your body coiled tighter and tighter.

Joel’s free hand gripped your thigh, keeping you spread wide for him as his fingers worked you open, the wet sounds of his hand moving between your thighs mingling with your ragged breathing.

“Gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he rasped, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Wanna feel you fall apart on my fingers. C’mon, sweetheart, be good and give it to me.”

Your body shuddered around him, a sharp, blinding pleasure tearing through you as your orgasm crashed down. A cry ripped from your throat, your hips bucking helplessly against his hand. The wave of it pulsed through you in hard, aching bursts, wetness spilling over his fingers as you came, trembling and wrecked in his arms.

Joel groaned against your skin, his hand slowing just enough to drag it out, milking every last shudder from your overstimulated body.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growled, kissing the curve of your neck, savoring the way you fell limp against him, breathless and shaking.

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Your head lolled to the side, cheek pressed to his shoulder, heart pounding so hard it echoed in your ears.

Joel’s hand left you, and you whimpered at the loss, already missing how his fingers filled you. He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a soft, satisfied groan. “Sweetest goddamn thing I’ve ever tasted,” he muttered.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your body still humming with aftershocks. Your eyes fluttered shut as you pressed a weak, lingering kiss to the curve of his neck, your lips brushing over the rough stubble and salt-slick skin.

Joel sighed softly and leaned down to kiss your temple. “Need a minute, darlin’?” he murmured against your skin.

You gave a slight nod, the last of your strength pooling in the simple motion. Your body felt boneless, and your chest rose and fell in slow, uneven breaths.

Joel shifted behind you, pulling you close until you were tucked against him, your back to his chest. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you there.

“S’okay,” he murmured, his hand tracing lazy, soothing patterns along the bare skin of your back. “You did so good.”

The praise made your heart flutter, emotion catching you off guard in the quiet. You turned your head slightly, your cheek resting against his bicep.

“But… what about—” you started, voice small, the words snagging as guilt and tenderness tangled in your chest.

Joel’s fingers stroked through your hair, tucking a damp strand behind your ear. “Nah,” he rumbled, brushing another kiss to your hairline. “Don’t you worry about me, sweetheart. Tonight was all about you.”

And it wasn’t just the words, but how he said them, like nothing mattered more than seeing you like this, wrecked, held, and cared for.

You let out a soft, contented sigh, your hand finding his and lacing your fingers over your stomach. “I like it when you take care of me,” you admitted quietly, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

Joel’s chest rumbled behind you, a low, rough sound somewhere between a chuckle and a pleased groan. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you in closer, until there wasn’t an inch of space left between your bodies.

“Yeah?” he murmured, the warmth in his voice like a slow drag of heat along your skin. “Well… why don’t we get cleaned up—”

“No,” you blurted, cutting him off so quickly it made him pause. “Joel, I want you.”

His breath caught, the shift in your voice — the ache there — pulling his gaze down to you.

“I meant it,” you whispered, your fingers tightening around his, a boldness rising beneath your skin, fueled by how he touched you. “And besides… you didn’t even get off.”

Joel let out a rough sigh, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. “Told you, baby… tonight was about you.”

You pulled away just enough to turn toward him, your thigh sliding over his. The air seemed to thicken around you again, the ache sparking right back to life beneath your skin.

“Joel,” you said, firmer this time, your hand finding the back of his neck, your fingers threading through the damp hair. You met his gaze, heart pounding, a raw, desperate honesty in your voice. “Please. I need you. Need to feel you.”

He cursed under his breath, his jaw flexing tight, the last of his restraint hanging by a thread. His hand was already sliding down your side, his fingers rough and warm against your overheated skin.

“You sure about this?” Joel rasped, though his voice was low, strained, like he already knew your answer. “Ain’t lookin’ to overdo it. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You brushed your lips against the sharp line of his jaw, your breath hot against his stubble, and how his chest rumbled beneath you made your stomach clench.

“I need you,” you whispered, soft but sure, the ache in your voice pulling a low, guttural sound from deep in his throat.

Joel surged forward, catching your mouth in a rough, hungry kiss that left no room for hesitation. His hand slipped between your thighs, fingers finding your slick heat, teasing the sensitive, swollen flesh there. You moaned into his mouth, hips bucking into his hand, the heat between you reigniting like a match to dry kindling.

“Jesus,” he groaned, his forehead pressed to yours as his fingers circled your clit, his voice frayed and thick.

Your breathing stuttered as you cupped his face, your thumb brushing along his beard-rough cheek.

“How do you want me?” he rasped, voice rough against your lips, the question loaded and reverent all at once.

You bit your bottom lip, a breathless grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Wanna ride you,” you panted, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “Don’t want your back hurting you.”

Joel huffed a soft, wrecked chuckle, its fondness unmistakable even through the thick heat of the moment. “Look at you,” he murmured, leaning back against the headboard. “Always thinkin’ about me.”

You smirked, sliding down his body, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers. His cock strained against the fabric, thick and flushed, and your pulse skipped at the sight of him.

“Been wanting this all night,” you admitted, your voice rough with want.

Joel’s gaze stayed fixed on your face, like he didn’t wanna miss a second of how you looked touching him for the first time. You pushed his boxers down, his cock springing free, thick and heavy against his stomach.

You took him in your hand, relishing the heat, the weight of him. Joel hissed a sharp breath through his teeth, his hips lifting slightly into your touch.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his hand tangling in your hair. “Look so good with your hand on me.”

Your thumb dragged over the bead of precum at his tip, and his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking there as he fought to stay still.

“You keep doing that,” he warned, voice a wrecked rasp, “and I’m not gonna last long.”

A wave of heady confidence surged through you, the kind that came from how Joel looked at you. Without overthinking it, you climbed into his lap, straddling his thick thighs, your knees bracketing his hips. His hands immediately settled on your waist, squeezing, his thumbs stroking over your skin.

You reached between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around his cock. Joel groaned, his head tipping back against the headboard as you guided his tip to your entrance, teasing yourself with the slick, aching slide of him against your folds.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

You bit your lip, shivering at the feel of his blunt head nudging against your clit, dragging slick over your pussy.

“Been thinkin’ about this all night,” you whispered, watching his face as you shifted your hips, letting just the tip slip inside. The stretch made your breath hitch, your body clenching down instinctively.

Joel’s hands shot up to your breasts, kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs teasing your nipples as a guttural groan broke from his chest. “Fuck—look at you,” he murmured. “So goddamn perfect.”

You whimpered his name, a shaky, desperate sound, and slowly started to sink, inch by inch, the thick stretch of him making your thighs tremble. Every time you took a little more, Joel’s hands gripped tighter — one sliding down to your hip, the other still toying with your breast, his thumb circling your nipple as he cursed under his breath.

“Good girl… that’s it,” he praised. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

Your head tipped back, a moan spilling from your lips as you finally bottomed out, the fullness of him stealing your breath.

“God, Joel,” you gasped, your hands bracing against his chest, feeling the flex of muscle beneath your palms. “So big—feels so good.”

He groaned, his mouth catching yours in a messy, desperate kiss, teeth scraping your bottom lip as he held you there, his hips giving the slightest, needy thrust up into you.

“Move for me, baby,” he rasped against your lips. “Show me how you ride me.”

You nodded, lips parted, a breathless moan slipping free as you started to move — slow at first, lifting your hips and then sinking back down, feeling every inch of him drag against your walls. Every thick vein, every stretch of him filling you so deep it made your vision blur.

It was better than you’d imagined in those restless nights, than the fevered dreams that left you aching. Nothing compared to the heat of him inside you, the way his hands gripped your hips like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Oh, Joel,” you panted, your fingernails digging into the hard line of his shoulders as you rode him, your pace quickening with every wet, desperate slap of skin against skin.

A ragged groan tore from his chest, his head dropping back against the headboard as his eyes squeezed shut.

“I ain’t gonna last,” Joel growled, his voice frayed, the muscles in his arms flexing as he fought to keep his hands steady on you, to let you have this.

“Me either,” you gasped, your head tipping back, hair sticking to your damp skin, every roll of your hips sending sharp, perfect sparks of pleasure through you.

Joel’s hand slipped up your back, threading into your hair, tugging gently to pull your mouth back to his. His kiss was all tongue and teeth, messy and greedy, swallowing your cries as your pace stuttered, chasing that edge neither of you could hold off much longer.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he groaned against your lips, his hips starting to thrust up into you, matching your rhythm, rough and deep. “Give it to me. Wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

You were so close, teetering on the edge, every nerve in your body strung tight and ready to snap.

“Joel, I—”

“Yeah, I got you,” he said, his voice breaking as his control unraveled with you.

Your body tightened, a sharp, desperate clench around Joel’s cock that made your entire frame tremble. The pleasure hit suddenly and blinding, your orgasm crashing over you in hard, pulsing waves. A broken, wrecked whimper slipped from your lips as you buried your face against his neck, your nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders, clinging to him.

Joel groaned, deep and raw, his grip on your hips tightening as your body spasmed around him.

“That’s it,” he rasped against your ear. “Such a good girl. Doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

His control slipped as you came, his hips thrusting up into you as he chased the tight, wet grip of you clenching around him. The slick sound of it, the heat of your release coating him, only made his breathing rougher, his jaw clenched tight.

You felt him tense beneath you, his body shuddering, and then he was pulling out, a ragged groan tearing from his chest.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel panted, one hand wrapping tight around his cock, the other steadying you against his chest.

You slid off his lap, legs weak and trembling, sinking beside him on the bed. Your eyes locked on the sight of him, fist working over his thick, slick length, his stomach tight, sweat-slick skin flushed. The way he looked at you—wrecked, desperate, the last of his restraint burning away—made heat pool low in your belly all over again.

“Wanna see you,” you whispered, your voice rough and needy, watching how his hand moved over his cock.

Joel’s eyes darkened, a low curse falling from his lips as he stroked faster. “Keep lookin’ at me like that, darlin’,” he growled, his voice breaking, “and I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it.”

With a deep, guttural moan, his hips jerked, thick ropes of heat spilling into his hand, across his stomach. His head fell back, chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths as he worked himself through it.

You watched every second of it, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips as you reached out, your fingers brushing his thigh.

“Give me a second,” Joel muttered, his voice rough and wrecked, a breathless, half-laugh slipping out as he glanced at you. “I’ll get you cleaned up in a minute,” he added, dragging a hand down his face, his lips quirking in a crooked, spent grin.

You smiled, your pulse still unsteady, and scooted closer, closing the last bit of space between you. Without a word, you curled into his side, your head tucked beneath his chin, one hand splayed over his chest's steady rise and fall. His skin was still hot, his heartbeat thudding under your palm.

Joel let out a low, contented sound and slipped his arm around you, pulling you in tighter. His hand rubbed slow, absent circles along your bare back.

You smiled against his chest, pressing a small, lingering kiss to his skin before your fingers brushed along the line of a faint scar on his stomach, tracing it without thinking.

Joel’s hand stilled briefly, then resumed its gentle path along your back. He tilted his head, kissing the top of your hair.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, a grin in his voice now. “But I like it.”

A quiet laugh slipped from you as you snuggled closer, your limbs heavy, the ache between your legs a pleasant, distant throb.

Eventually, Joel kissed your temple again, his voice a soft promise against your hair. “Still gonna clean you up… just need a minute, sweetheart. Might not ever wanna let you go.”

You smiled because right then, neither did you.

taglist: @starmurdock

2K notes · View notes

nephynes · 18 days ago

Text

You thought things would calm down after the confessions, the crying, the sex. After fists were thrown and secrets dragged out into the open. But Jake is still mean, Sunghoon is still quiet, and now you're still stuck somewhere in the middle—aching for something that feels like love but tastes like possession.

• minors do not interact

• pairing: sunghoon x afab reader x jake

• part one here

• wc: 45k (yikes)

• content tags: SMUT, polyamory, angst, found family vibes, messy relationship dynamics, emotional hurt/comfort, intense group drama, mention of cheating, heavy emotional themes, jealousy, slut shaming, verbal degradation, crying, physical altercation, unhealthy coping mechanisms, complex feelings, mentions of sexuality, power imbalance, reader calls the boys hoonie and yunnie sometimes, mentions of enhypen’s jay, jungwon and heeseung and lesserafim’s yunjin and chaewon. not proofread.

WARNINGS: emotional whiplash, heavy angst, themes of cheating, heartbreak, yelling, crying, drinking, graphic, talks of weight loss/gain, depictions of sex, slut-shaming (called out), toxic relationships, emotional manipulation, intense emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, slow burn healing. please read with care 💕, also i need everyone to remember that this is FICTION!

• a/n: yes i know it took me forever to write this, yes it nearly emotionally destroyed me in the process and yes, i hope it emotionally destroys you too enjoy the chaos, again and the crying, and the filthy ass smut.

• story edit by @yujinoot

• nsfw warnings under the cut

threesome (mfm), established relationship, emotionally charged sex, oral (f and m receiving), praise kink, slight breeding kink, slight dacryphilia (crying during sex), anal, slight hair pulling, face sitting, spanking, themes of voyeurism, squirting, possession/claiming, lots of kissing and touching, switch!jake and dom!sunghoon, sub!reader, double the aftercare, shared bed, reader is doted on completely, lots of “mine” and “ours,” intense eye contact, and deep emotional intimacy wrapped in filth. let me know if i missed any.

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You weren't even supposed to come tonight. Again. You'd said as much when Sunghoon offered to pick you up, voice hushed over the phone, socked feet curled under you on the couch, saying, "I don't think I'm in a party mood." He didn't push. He never really does. He just said, "You'll be with us," like it was that simple. "It's someone's birthday, right?" you asked after a beat. "I don't even know the birthday boy."

"Jungwon won't mind." You blinked. "Who even is Jungwon?" And then, faintly, over the phone, not even on the call with you, Jake's voice rang out in the background like a war cry. "Ugh! Just come, Y/N!!"

So now you're here. Three drinks in and sunk into a velvet-cornered couch, nursing a half-empty cup while Jake makes eyes at you from across the room, he probably thinks you've been talking to Yunjin for too long now. You didn't even know she'd be here tonight. You're trying so desperately trying to listen to what she's saying, something about how things have changed with Heeseung, how he's not the same, how you’ve barely been at your apartment, but it's hard to when Jake's stare is making heat crawl up your spine. It's different now with you and him, with you and them. There's no official label, no posts or promises. Just this unspoken closeness, a quiet claiming that's bled into everything. It sits under your skin like warmth after a fever. You're still you, still the girl who people-watches from corners, still awkward when they touch you too long, but now, when Jake calls you pretty, you roll your eyes and tell him to shut up instead of looking away.

And he lives for it, he watches you the way you watch people, he notices you. Notices when you excuse yourself from Yunjin's presence and head to the kitchen. "You staring again, sweetheart?" Jake's voice cuts through the low music, dragging your attention away from the stranger in the corner who's been arguing with a girl in black boots for the past fifteen minutes. You blink up at him. He's leaning against the wall beside you now, eyes lazy, lips pink from whatever cocktail someone handed him earlier. His shirt is half-unbuttoned already.

"I wasn't staring," you mumble, even though you were. "I was observing." Jake laughs, that boyish little tilt of his head when he knows he's caught you in a lie. "Mm. Observing. Right." He reaches for your cup and takes a sip without asking, then makes a face. "What is that?"

"I don't know. Someone handed it to me and said it tasted like juice." Jake hums, leaning closer. "It tastes like trauma.” You hear Sunghoon snort as he approaches both of you and it makes your cheeks warm, not just from Jake's teasing, "I was watching that couple over there," you mutter, nodding toward the argument in the corner. Jake follows your gaze. "Oof. Been there." "You're so mean," you say, sipping from your cup just to have something to do with your hands. "I'm honest," he counters, brushing your hair out of your face. "You think he cheated?" Your eyes flick back to the couple. The girl's arms are crossed, the guy's face twisted in the kind of guilt you can't fake. "Definitely. He looks like he left his phone face-down one too many times." Jake hums in agreement, and then—"You know who else used to leave her phone face-down?" You glance at him, slow. "Who?" Jake's grin sharpens. "You." Your mouth parts, ready to protest, but he just winks, smug and playful, and says, "It's okay, baby. We already know you're the heartbreaker now."

"I am not—" you start, but you don't get to finish. Because Sunghoon, who's been silent the entire time, watching the exchange with a faint smirk, suddenly pulls you to his side and plants a kiss to the side of your head. You gasp, caught off guard, hand flying up to steady yourself against his chest. "You're letting him get cocky," Sunghoon murmurs near your ear. His voice is quiet and casual, but it melts down your spine. "He's gonna think you like him."

"I don't," you say, but it's breathless and Jake's grin widens like he knows better. "You so do," he says, brushing his fingers along the rim of your cup. "Admit it." Your face burns. Sunghoon chuckles beside you—a rare, genuine sound. "Let her breathe, Jaeyun. You're scaring her." "She likes when I scare her."

"I like when you shut up," you snap, heart thumping too fast—and both of them freeze. And then Jake's mouth drops open, affronted. "Oh, you've changed."

"I told you," Sunghoon murmurs, dragging his hand over the small of your back. It's new—all of it. The teasing, the way you don't fold under their attention anymore, not as easily. The way you lean into Sunghoon's chest like you belong there. Like you've finally accepted that, in some strange, broken way, you do. The music starts to shift to something bass-heavy and dark, pouring in from the open sliding doors that lead to the patio. You barely notice when Sunghoon moves. He's smooth like that, so quiet, so deliberate in the way he pulls you deeper into the house, away from the center of noise and heat. His palm stays at your lower back, anchoring you like a leash.

It's only when you blink and glance around that you realize the people around you have thinned. This side of the house is dimmer, quieter. A hallway leads off to what you assume is a guest bedroom, but you're tucked into a low couch that's slightly hidden by tall shelving and shadow. The music still thrums through the walls, but here, it's softer. Private. Sunghoon pulls you into his lap sideways—your legs draping across his thighs as he settles back, one arm slung across the back of the couch behind you, the other resting possessively on your outer thigh.

Jake flops down beside him, his knee bumping against yours, completely unfazed by the way you're curled into Sunghoon's body like a second skin. You feel dizzy, not from alcohol, but from the shift in atmosphere. From how real this feels. Jake's fingers trail lazily down your shin before they reach your ankle, his expression curious. "When'd you get these?" he asks, tone unreadable. You glance at him, confused. "You bought them." Jake's eyes lift. "I did?"

"Last week." He tilts his head, mouth twitching like he's somewhere between amused and disturbed. "Was I blacked out?"

"No," you say quietly, "you were just... distracted." Sunghoon exhales through his nose. You feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back. The silence that follows feels weighted. "I should introduce you to Jungwon," Sunghoon murmurs then, his voice almost lost in the thrum of the music spilling from the other end of the house. His hand slides higher up your thigh, not rushed, just steady. Intimate. Your fingers curl around his wrist. "Stop—people will see."

"So?"

"Yunjin might walk in."

Jake's jaw twitches. He leans forward, casually prying your hand off Sunghoon's like he's done it a hundred times. "Who gives a fuck about Yunjin," he mutters, eyes still on your foot, thumb brushing a slow line up your calf. "She always shows up uninvited anyway." The bitterness in his voice is quiet but undeniable. It slithers into your chest like smoke. "I don't want to meet Jungwon," you say, not even sure why. Jake shrugs. "He's harmless."

"He's also Jake's golden boy," Sunghoon adds. "Little too sweet. Makes me uncomfortable." You don't even have time to fully process what that means before Jake scoffs, fingers tightening a fraction where they're brushing your calf. "Says the one who fucked him," he mutters, not even looking up. You blink. "What?" The word slips out of you in a gasp before you can stop it. Your voice isn't loud, but it cuts straight through the air between all three of you. Sunghoon doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink. Just tilts his head slightly like the memory is irrelevant now. Jake finally meets your eyes. "Yeah. That's how it works with Hoon, baby. He breaks them in, and gets bored of them."

It's a joke. But not really. You glance at Sunghoon, expecting something—denial, annoyance, anything. But he just shrugs one shoulder, casual. "He was curious," he says simply, like he's talking about something as mundane as loaning someone a lighter. Jake snorts. "He was obsessed with you for weeks."

"And then he wasn't." Silence settles again. You sit there stunned, a little breathless, wrapped in Sunghoon's lap and Jake's stare, while this entire new side of their past unfurls around you. And now Jungwon is walking toward you, pretty and bright and completely unaware that you just found out both the man beneath you has slept with him. You don't know what shocks you more—the reveal, or how unbothered they are by it. "He's a literal angel," Jake says, annoyed. "And he's been asking about her." Before you can respond, someone steps into view. You glance up—startled by how young the boy looks. Pretty. Too clean. Too bright for the shadowed space you're in. Jake doesn't even look surprised. "Hi, birthday boy." Jungwon stops short when he sees you. And you see it. The shift. "Oh," he says, his voice soft with wonder. "Are you...Y/N?" The way he says your name, like he already knows it. Like he's said it before, makes you stiffen slightly.

Jake smiles, slow. "Told you she was real." Jungwon looks at you like you're unreal anyway. "I've... heard a lot about you," he says gently. Sunghoon hasn't said a word. But his hand is still on your thigh. His fingers tap twice—almost like a warning. You try to remember how to breathe. "Happy birthday," you say finally, voice small. Jungwon smiles. "This might be the best part of it." You don't know what to say to that. You don't look at Jake and you don't dare look at Sunghoon. It hits you all at once—how this thing between the three of you lives just under the surface. Like a current humming in the walls. Invisible, but undeniable. And Jungwon, for all his innocence, is standing at the edge of it. Jake lets out a small sound. Not quite a laugh. "C'mon, Wonnie. Don't be creepy." Jungwon scratches the back of his neck, flushed. "Sorry. Just... surprised."

You nod, almost imperceptibly. You feel like a surprise too. An anomaly in this world you're still not sure you belong in. But they keep pulling you deeper, neither of them ever ask if you're ready. You're starting to think they don't care. Jungwon fits in too easily, you think. He stays after the introductions, laughter light in his voice and gaze too warm when it lands on Jake. The way he leans closer when Jake talks, how he seems to know exactly how to make him laugh. Their rhythm is natural, almost flirtatious but familiar and you're not sure what that says about anything. It's not just the ease between them, it's the way Jungwon looks at you sometimes, asking questions like he genuinely wants to know the answers. You can't meet his eyes when he does, you kind of just stare just past his shoulder, nod a little too much, sip your drink like it'll save you. Sunghoon notices. His palm smooths up your side, and he leans in, his lips brushing your ear when he murmurs, "Why won't you look at him?" You hesitate, maybe you'll lie or tell the truth. But then you see it—just beyond Sunghoon's shoulder, in the dim-lit corner of the living room.

Yunjin. Arguing with Heeseung. They're too far for you to hear anything, but her hands are moving fast, her expression sharp with something that doesn't belong at a birthday party. Heeseung's jaw is tight, head ducked, like he's trying to keep things quiet. You shift, body twitching in instinct. Sunghoon's lap suddenly feels like too much. You move to rise, but his hand presses against your thigh, holding you there like a lock. "Don't," he says lowly. Your breath catches. "I just—" But it's too late, Yunjin's eyes snap in your direction. You feel it before you see it—the freeze, the flicker of disdain that crosses her face. She's still mid-sentence with Heeseung, but her attention splinters, zeroing in on you, not just you, but you nestled in Sunghoon's lap like it's second nature, while Jake absentmindedly rubs circles into the arch of your foot, his fingers tangled around the heel he just remembered buying you. She looks at you like she's witnessing something sordid. Her lip curls before she catches herself.

Jake follows your gaze, eyes flicking to Yunjin. "Tch," he breathes out, a wry smirk forming. "Oh no. She's short-circuiting." Sunghoon doesn't say anything. He just tugs you a little closer, turning your body inward, his hand resting between your legs like it belongs there. You feel exposed. Not just physically, emotionally, like someone's cracked the glass and now everyone can see the dirt beneath. "She's gonna say something," you whisper. "Let her," Jake says, not even looking away from the way his fingers trace the shape of your ankle. "She was never good at behaving herself anyway." You don't know what he means by that, but you don't get the chance to ask. Because Yunjin is already making her way toward you, and Sunghoon hasn't let go of your thigh. And suddenly you remember why you never liked parties in the first place. She walks up like a storm that forgot how to be subtle, heels sharp against the marble as her eyes fix on you with a kind of disbelief that makes your stomach churn.

"What's this?" Yunjin demands, voice cutting clean through the music and conversation like it was always meant to be heard. "I'm sorry, I'm just—confused." You blink at her, already shrinking in Sunghoon's lap, but he doesn't let you move. His hand on your thigh tightens just slightly. "I mean..." She gestures vaguely, like the sight of you is something foul. "Weren't they—harassing you? Not that long ago? And now you're perched on him like some little—"

She falters. Her jaw clenches and you brace. "...Whore."

It's not even yelled. It's worse—it's quiet, mean and even measured. You gasp, feeling you whole body go cold all over, your mouth parting in shock. She's never spoken to you like that. Not in all your life. Not even when you fought as kids and now you don't even know what to say.

Sunghoon does. "Be careful," he says flatly, but the threat is unmistakable beneath his calm. Yunjin's head snaps toward him, fury building in the curve of her brow. "What is this? Huh?" She scoffs bitterly. "Are you fucking my cousin?" She says it loud enough for the room to tilt. Jake, who'd been lazily toying with the buckle on your heel, leans back on one elbow and smirks. "Why do you care so much?" It hits a nerve. You see it happen—Yunjin's entire body stills for a half-second, her expression shifting just enough that something unsettles in your chest. Like there's a history here you don't know, a door you've never been allowed to open. She covers quickly. "Because Heeseung will kill you," she says, pointing toward Sunghoon. "You know he will. If he finds out." Sunghoon's gaze drifts, slow and unfazed, to where Heeseung still stands where she left him, hands in his pockets, eyes watching but unreadable. "Hm," he hums. "He doesn't really look like he cares." Jake snorts. "Yeah, we were thinking the same. Pretty sure there's something else he'd actually care about." He says it at the exact moment Heeseung begins walking over. You feel it happen in slow motion—the drop in Yunjin's shoulders, the way her breath stalls, the look she throws Jake like he just put a loaded gun on the table and dared someone to pull the trigger.

You glance around. Jungwon, who had been sitting nearby, freezes where he is. His eyes flick between everyone, between you, Jake, Sunghoon, Yunjin, then down to his drink like it might explain what the fuck he just walked into. He's the only other person, besides you, not folded into whatever war is quietly being waged in plain sight.

Yunjin's voice is thin now. "Don't."

Heeseung's steps are slow and Jake's still smirking, but Sunghoon has gone still beneath you, like a predator who sees the snare coming. And you? You can feel your pulse in your throat, making you feel like something is about to break. Heeseung walks up like he didn't just argue with Yunjin in the hallway moments ago, like he didn't nearly rip his watch strap off adjusting it too tightly, jaw still twitching beneath the calm. "Hey," he greets, nodding at the three of you. His voice is level, his tone careful—too casual for the way his eyes keep flicking between where you're curled in Sunghoon's lap and where Jake is still playing idly with the ankle strap of your heel. Sunghoon speaks before anyone else can. "Heeseung," he says, calm as a lake, one hand sliding leisurely up your hip. "I'm kind of with Y/N now. Is that okay?" And then, he thrusts his hips up, enough to jostle you in his lap, enough to make a surprised squeak escape your lips. The sheer shamelessness of it makes Jake bark out a laugh, head tipping back against the couch.

Heeseung blinks. Once. A breath passes. Then, slowly, his brows lift—not in outrage, not in disapproval, but with a vague kind of curiosity. "Uh... sure?" He shrugs, as if that was all it took. "Yeah. Congrats or whatever.” Yunjin's face crumbles. She whirls to face him. "Are you serious right now?" Jake tilts his head, all mock-innocence. "See, Yunjin?" he says. "He doesn't care. So why do you?" That's the final nail. You can see it hit her all at once—the humiliation, the realization that whatever reaction she thought she could provoke just isn't coming. Not from Heeseung or any of them.

She doesn't say a word. Just spins on her heel and storms off, shoving through the crowd like she can disappear if she moves fast enough. You jolt, instinct kicking in. "I should—"

"No," Sunghoon says simply, tightening his hold. "You're not chasing after someone who just called you a whore." You freeze. He says it so calmly, like it's fact, like it's beneath even arguing about. Jake lets out a low hum beside you, fingers now trailing soft circles along the arch of your foot. "Sunghoon's right," he murmurs. "She said what she said." You exhale shakily. But then—Heeseung shifts, shoves his hands in his pockets and gives Sunghoon a look. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Sunghoon doesn't even hesitate. He lifts you without a word and places you in Jake's lap like you weigh nothing, like it's second nature. Jake grins, catching you easily, one arm looping around your waist. Heeseung doesn't even look twice. Not at the transfer, at you or at the soft gasp you let out when Jake's hand settles over the front of your stomach like it belongs there. He just turns and walks off, Sunghoon falling into step beside him. The second they're gone, Jake presses a kiss behind your ear. You don't even realize you're still tense until he speaks—low, warm, curling through you. "You okay, baby?" You nod, even though your chest feels tight, nerves still rattled. Jake pinches your inner thigh lightly. "You didn't even notice Jungwon's gone, huh?"

You glance at him. "What?" You blink, gaze flicking around. It's true. You hadn't even noticed him leave. Jake grins, sharp and too pleased with himself. "You've been too busy dripping all over Sunghoon's jeans to notice anything." You start to protest, but then his voice drops, low and filthy against your ear. "I know you're soaked. I could see it every time he moved his hand. You were clenching your thighs so tight for what, baby? You think we're not gonna take care of that the second we get you home?" Your breath hitches as you feel his smirk against your cheek. "Yeah. That's what I thought." Your breath stutters, lips parting like maybe you'll deny it or maybe beg, but Jake doesn't give you the chance. His hand trails from your thigh up, up, and then he slips his fingers between your legs.

Right there in his lap, under the sheer fabric of your dress, his fingertips press against your panties, soaked through, warm and slick with want. You jolt, eyes widening. Jake just hums, like he's satisfied with himself. His fingers don't linger. He gives one slow stroke and pulls away, eyes dark as he raises his hand up to show you the dampness on his fingers. "You don't even know what you do to us," he says softly. "Look at this. Fuck." You flush so hard it burns, mouth open but no words coming out. Jake leans in, brushing his lips to the shell of your ear, the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. "Think Sunghoon felt this too when you were grinding all over him like that?" He presses a kiss to your cheek. "You're lucky we're in public, baby."

Jake's fingers still glisten when he lifts them and you know what he's about to do before he even does it. You shake your head, weakly, breath caught somewhere between protest and anticipation. But he's already slipping his fingers into his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. His lips close around them with slow deliberation, tongue curling, sucking your taste off with a soft pop when he pulls them out again. He looks wrecked—pupils blown, lips parted, smiling like he's just won something. You're barely holding on, heart thudding in your throat, when a shadow falls over the two of you.

"Wanna head out?" Sunghoon's voice cuts in smoothly, low and direct, like he didn't just interrupt something that was about to spiral. "I've got something to handle with Heeseung, but I'll meet you at home." Jake answers before you can even breathe. "Yes," he says quickly, hand already sliding possessively over your knee. "We're going." But you hesitate, glancing up at Sunghoon, eyes searching his unreadable expression. Something about the way he said handle something makes your stomach twist. And maybe you don't realize it, but you're biting your lip, worried. Sunghoon notices. His features soften almost imperceptibly as he leans down just a bit, voice dipping into something only you'll catch.

"It's alright, baby," he murmurs. "Go with Jake. I'll meet you at home." He presses a kiss to your temple, warm, reassuring and final, he straightens, already walking off before you can argue. Jake's hand slides up your back and pulls you in closer.

"You worry too much," he mutters, almost smug again now that Sunghoon's gone. "C'mon. I already need you again." And just like that, the air shifts again. The front door clicks shut behind you and Jake doesn't waste a second. His hand wraps around your wrist firmly, leading you out of the house like you're on borrowed time. You cast one last glance over your shoulder. The house is still humming behind you. Music bleeding into the night air. Voices echoing off the brick. But Sunghoon's already gone, disappeared somewhere deeper inside with Heeseung, and the absence of him makes everything around you feel a little too loud. A little too chaotic.

Jake doesn't say a word until you're outside. He unlocks his blue Jeep Wrangler with one sharp click, opens the passenger side for you, and ushers you in with a look that borders on don't test me. You scramble in, clutching the hem of your dress when it rides up, only to feel Jake's hand on your thigh again the moment he slides into the driver's seat. He doesn't start the car right away. You feel his eyes on you first, burning, frustrated, reverent. Then his hand slides higher, then higher, until his knuckles brush just beneath your dress. "You're still wet," he mutters, more to himself than to you. You nod before you even realize it.

His head thumps back against the headrest and he groans. "Fuck, I can't—Hoon’s so fucking slow about everything. I don't know how he does it. You were in my lap for two seconds and I almost lost it." You try to tease him, "You always almost lose it." But he's not laughing. He leans in suddenly, hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that's messy and rushed and a little too hot for the passenger seat of his car. You whimper into his mouth and Jake swears against your lips. "I was about to fuck you right there in front of him." Your breath catches. "He just sits there. Like composed. Like he didn't watch me taste you with his fingers in your mouth last week—like he doesn't know." He shakes his head, pulling back only slightly, thumb dragging along your bottom lip.

"I'm not like him, you know?" he says, quieter now. "I don't do that... waiting shit. I want you now." The engine roars to life under his hand. "Seatbelt," he adds, but it sounds more like a growl than a reminder. You barely manage to click it in before he's backing out of the driveway, one hand on the wheel, the other firmly gripping your thigh. Streetlights flicker across his face as he speeds down the empty road, and you catch the way his jaw clenches—tight, impatient. Jake is chaos, restless, always on the verge of something dangerous, Sunghoon is a storm you never see coming. And you’re stuck in the middle as the fuse between them.

Jake doesn't even bother locking the Jeep when you arrive. He's out and rounding the car before you've even reached for the handle, pulling your door open with one hand and tugging you toward the building with the other. There's urgency in everything he does—his pace, his touch, the way his fingers keep twitching against your wrist like he's resisting the urge to stop and press you up against the elevator wall. The second the door to their apartment swings open, it hits the wall with a thud. Jake doesn't care. He's already kissing you. Clumsy. Messy. His mouth finds yours the moment you're inside, and he moans into it like he's already losing control. It's not a soft sound. It's greedy, almost needy. You can feel how badly he wants it, how wrecked he already is just from kissing you. He's all hands—up your sides, over your hips, under your dress. You barely get a word in before your feet leave the ground.

"Jake—" you gasp, arms winding around his neck as he lifts you. "I got you," he breathes, kissing along your jaw now, stumbling toward the hallway. "Fuck—I got you, baby." The walk through the apartment is clumsy at best. Jake's grip on your waist is iron-tight, his mouth never straying far from your neck, pressing wet kisses under your ear, murmuring things that don't even make sense, just sounds of want, of need, of everything he's been holding in all night. His fingers fumble with the zipper of your dress, like he doesn't know whether to undress you here in the hallway or wait until the bedroom.

"Why are you so—fuck—soft everywhere?" he mutters against your throat, and it's half accusation, half worship. "You know I can't handle it." He kicks the bedroom door open, not even his own, you realize hazily, as your back hits the edge of Sunghoon's bed. Your breath catches in your throat, but Jake doesn't notice. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn't care.

His hands are already dragging your dress up your thighs. "You wore this for me, didn't you?" he breathes, like he needs to believe it. "Tell me you did."

Your lips part, but the words come out soft. "I did."

Jake stares at you in awe like you just handed him the heavens and the earth. "I fucking love you." You can't even respond before his mouth is back on yours, his hands sliding down the backs of your thighs, gripping tight. He groans as he lifts you and lays you back on the bed, one knee braced between yours, nudging your legs apart. He hovers above you, forehead to forehead, breathing heavy. His eyes are blown out with want, but he's not moving fast now, not anymore. Now, he's just looking at you. "Do you even know," he says, "how fucking pretty you are when you let me in like this?"

He runs a palm down your side, slow and firm, until his fingers skim the hem of your panties. He doesn't yank them off, not yet, just traces the edge, pressing the lightest touch where you ache most. You jerk under his touch. Jake moans at your reaction. "Shit. That's all it takes, huh?"

He dips his fingers under the fabric and slides them between your folds, slow, testing, and groans when he feels the wetness pooling there. "Oh my God." The groan that leaves him is obscene. "Sunghoon's gonna kill me," he mutters, half-laughing as he leans down and kisses your cheek, your jaw, your collarbone. "But I don't care. I can't wait anymore. Can't." He's talking more to himself now, barely coherent. Then he's falling back onto the bed, eyes glassy, lips red, his voice lower now, almost pleading. "Come here." He tugs you closer by your hips. "Sit on my face."

You blink. "What?" Jake lets out a breathless laugh, voice curling into a grin even as his eyes burn serious. "You heard me. Don't act shy now, not after the way you were whispering in Hoon's ear with his hand on your thigh like that." You feel your heart pound, legs unsteady. "Jake—"

"I wanna make you feel good," he says. "Need to. Don't you get it? I'll lose my mind if I don't taste you right now." He's so eager. So sincere in the worst way. You try to keep your balance as he pulls you up over him, backlit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Jake's hands never leave your body, dragging you gently forward until your knees are planted beside his head, thighs trembling with anticipation. He looks up at you like you're everything he's ever wanted. "Please," he whispers, eyes locking with yours. "Be good for me."

Your breath catches as you lower yourself slowly onto him, and Jake groans the moment your heat grazes his tongue, hands gripping your thighs like you're divine, like he's anchoring himself to reality through you alone. Jake looks up at you from below like he's been waiting for this, like nothing else truly matters. His fingers trail up the back of your thighs slowly, not rushing, not even speaking. Just waiting for you to settle into place. The warmth of his breath against your skin makes your stomach flutter, nerves tight and trembling. You lower yourself gradually, hesitant, but he doesn't pull—just holds you steady, his hands open and patient on your hips. The moment your pussy brushes his lips, he exhales like he's been holding his breath for minutes.

You're not sure when your hands found his hair, but they do, threading in soft, slow strokes through the strands as his mouth opens against you. At first, it's light, just the gentle press of his lips and the lazy flick of his tongue, almost like he's memorizing. His grip tightens, grounding you with just enough pressure to keep you still. "Ah!—Ja—"

He groans lowly, the sound vibrating against your skin, and it makes your entire body shudder. His hands flex at your hips, encouraging you to move, more, deeper, harder. "Yeah, that's it," he murmurs, breathless against you. "Just like that... come on." Your thighs tighten around his head as you grind down again, unable to help the shaky moan that slips from your lips. "Jake! Please!" He doesn't let up. If anything, he holds you tighter, more devoted in the way he pulls you closer, like he can't bear even an inch of distance between his mouth and the warm pulse of your body. Every breath is shaky, every movement desperate. Your legs tense. You can't help the way you shift forward, barely grinding down into his mouth, and he responds with a hum so soft you almost miss it. His arms wrap fully around your waist now, anchoring you closer. He starts to move you, slow and controlled, as if he's savoring the weight of you, the way you tremble. There's a quiet desperation in the way he works his mouth against you—never frantic, but focused. His eyes flutter shut, brow creasing in concentration. The kind of devotion he shows you in this moment feels dangerous. Like he's addicted, like nothing else could ever be enough.

Your breathing hitches as your hips move again, your choice this time, and his hands slide further, brushing up your back, fingers pressing lightly between your shoulder blades. The gesture is tender, grounding. He doesn't say anything else, but the look in his eyes when they open again is a plea. You grip tighter to his hair, tilting his head just so. You whisper something—his name, maybe, or just a broken sound—and his mouth chases the movement of your body like instinct. "Jakey! Uh uhn," you gasp, "I'm—I'm so close," you whisper, arching as the pressure builds. His palms smooth up your spine in a steady rhythm, anchoring you, calming and arousing all at once. And when you shake in his hold, trembling, he just tilts his face up, unbothered and patient, and takes every last ounce of you with a quiet, satisfied hum, not even flinching when you press down and shudder through it, clutching at.

You barely realize he hasn't taken a breath until he finally exhales, lips still brushing warm against your skin, his fingers still stroking softly at your waist like he's in no rush to let you go. "Jaeyun—" you breathe, already trembling from the comedown, but he doesn't stop. His hand stays right there, coaxing another slow rise from you, pulling your pleasure taut again. "I'm not done," he murmurs, voice rough and hungry. He kisses up your thigh as you lift off him slightly, still panting, still dazed. He's flushed, lips wet, eyes darker than you've ever seen them. "C'mere," he says, guiding you down to straddle his lap this time, pulling you into a deep, messy kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, feel the eager pull of his hands under your thighs as he ruts up slowly against you, still fully clothed.

That's when the door opens, making the air shift instantly. Jake doesn't stop kissing you, not at first. He moans into your mouth, lost in it, until he hears the soft click of the door closing again behind whoever walked in. And then a quiet voice breaks the haze, "So this is what I come home to?" You jolt, your head turning, lips still slick from Jake's mouth, and your eyes meet Sunghoon's. He's leaning against the wall like he's been standing there longer than you realized. His eyes are dark, unreadable, drifting slowly from your flushed face to the way Jake's hands are gripping your waist. You suddenly feel everything, the sticky mess between your thighs, the sharp press of Jake's belt buckle under you, the faint tremble in your knees.

Jake sighs against your shoulder, lazy and smug. "You said to take her home." Sunghoon hums, not in amusement or anger, but something in between, something sharp and quiet. "I didn't say ruin her in my bed." You feel Jake's fingers flex where they rest on your hips, but he doesn't argue. He just grins. "You're the one who said she looked pretty tonight," Jake says, his voice low. "You should've known better."

There's a pause. You can't look at either of them. Then, "Did she cum?" Sunghoon asks. The question makes your stomach tighten, shame blooming in your chest. But Jake only chuckles, tilting his head to look up at you, brushing his thumb over the curve of your cheek. "She did," he says softly. "But I think she could do it again, don't you?" Sunghoon pushes off the wall. The way he walks over is unhurried. The way he looks at you is careful, like he's deciding what to do with you now. His hand brushes your arm, fingers skating up the side of your neck until he tilts your chin toward him. Jake doesn't move, he just watches, eyes half-lidded, breath slowing. "You okay?" Sunghoon asks you.

You nod.

"Words."

"Yes." He studies you for a second longer. Then he leans in, not to kiss you, but to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. Gentle and possessive. "Good," he murmurs. "Now get off him." Jake lets out a frustrated breath, but he doesn't fight it cause he knows Sunghoon is in control now. His hands don't leave your waist though. You feel the way he twitches beneath you, the faint roll of his hips like he's chasing friction, even now. He wants you, he always wants you, but it's Sunghoon's presence that stills him. That centers the room again. Sunghoon stands just behind, one hand sliding into his pocket, his other resting lightly on the edge of the bedframe. "Were you going to make her ride you?" he asks Jake quietly. Jake glances up at you, then back to Sunghoon. There's no guilt, just honesty. "Yeah."

Sunghoon hums, slow and deep. His gaze cuts to you.

"She looks tired." You blink. "I'm not—"

"Shh," he interrupts, not unkindly, and brings a finger to his lips. "I didn't ask." Jake watches you with blown pupils, his chest rising and falling like he's just run a mile. He doesn't say anything, just waits. Sunghoon's voice dips a little lower. "Do it right, Jaeyun." Jake groans at that, like the words alone are a reward. He sits up just slightly, lips brushing your collarbone, eyes fluttering closed at the praise. "Yes, sir," he murmurs, almost to himself.

"And be gentle with her. Okay?" You feel the flush race up your chest, spreading over your neck, your ears. Jake presses his mouth to your shoulder like he's trying to calm himself down, whispering soft nothings between the kisses. "I can ride him, Hoonie" you say quietly, voice shaky but sincere. "I want to. I'm not—"

Sunghoon tilts his head, dark eyes narrowing just slightly as he moves closer. His fingers brush your chin again, thumb pressing against your bottom lip this time. "No," he murmurs. "Not this time." He leans down, mouth nearly grazing your ear. "Let Jake take care of you, hm?"

Your breath catches, knees tightening on either side of Jake's hips. Jake notices. He grins and cups the back of your thigh, fingers slipping higher. "Lay back, baby," Jake says, voice still rough from earlier. "Let me take care of you." You're melting into it before you even know it, back arching, thighs trembling, the room closing in around just the three of you. Sunghoon still hasn't sat down, still hasn't touched beyond your face, but you can feel the weight of his presence like a second heat. Jake guides you down with gentle hands and even gentler eyes, and you hear him whisper against your neck, "Perfect girl." And behind him, Sunghoon finally speaks again, quiet and unwavering.

"Don't stop until she cries."

Jake settles over you like a promise, warm, flushed, breathing heavily as he kisses his way down your jaw. You feel every bit of him, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the roughness of his voice murmuring in your ear as his fingers trail over your waist. "So fucking soft," he breathes, kissing down your throat. Across the room, the old leather chair creaks. You tilt your head just enough to catch a glimpse of Sunghoon lowering himself into it, one long leg crossing over the other, fingers laced loosely in his lap. He doesn't say anything, you know he doesn't need to. The atmosphere changes the moment he sits down. Jake feels it too, you can tell by the way his hands still on your body for just a second, by the deep breath he takes against your shoulder before looking over his shoulder and locking eyes with Sunghoon.

Then he turns back to you, slower now. "Look at me," he says softly. His fingers brush your cheek. "You with me, baby?" You nod. "Good girl." He kisses you, open-mouthed and heady, and as he shifts down between your legs again, he parts them with careful hands like he's opening a gift. His cock rubs between your folds, and he groans, low and ragged. "Fuck, so wet," he murmurs, dragging himself through the mess he already made earlier, and glancing back toward Sunghoon again. "She's dripping." Sunghoon gives a slow nod. "She should be." Jake doesn't need more instruction than that. He lines himself up and rests his weight on one forearm, his free hand still petting your thigh, brushing hair from your face. His lips ghost over your ear. "Tell me if it's too much," he says.

You nod again, voice gone somewhere too far to reach. He pushes in slowly, so slowly, keeping eye contact with you until you gasp and clutch his shoulders. "Fuck—" Jake moans, lips parting as he bottoms out, hips shaking just a little. "You feel unreal. So warm, so tight—fuck." You hear the leather shift again. Sunghoon's watching. You know he is, but he hasn't said anotner word. Jake pulls back, then rocks in again, shallow, precise thrusts that make your legs tighten around his waist.

His voice breaks again. "Taking me so good, princess. So good. You were made for this, you know that? This pussy—fuck, it's ours." He leans down, presses a kiss to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. "I need you," he whispers. "So bad. Always do." His pace is unhurried but deep, dragging every inch of himself through you, letting you feel everything. One of his hands slips between your bodies, finding your clit, pressing soft, slow circles. You gasp, hips jumping. "Oh shit!"

"That's it," he pants. "Let me make you cum. Come on, pretty girl. Just for me." You cry out softly, fingers digging into his back, and behind him, he knows you're close and he moans like he's proud, like it's the highest compliment he's ever received. He kisses you hard. "You're so good for me. You gonna cum, baby? Gonna soak me?" You nod frantically, the build-up sharp and fast, pressure mounting under his hand, under his hips. The moment's stretching, tightening, ready to snap. And as it does, Jake groans your name, holding you through it as your legs shake and your eyes squeeze shut.

But through your moans and breathless whimpers, you still hear Sunghoon, steady, observant, and controlled.

"Think you can give him another one?" Jake's body is already moving, hips rolling into you with a steady, deliberate rhythm, but now his eyes keep straying, flicking toward the chair in the corner where Sunghoon sits, silent and composed. The man hasn't said anotner word, but he doesn't really have to. Just being there changes the way Jake touches you, the way he moves inside you.

At first, it had been about you, about the way your lips parted, the way you whispered his name in breathless moans. But now Jake's losing focus. His breath stutters every time he feels Sunghoon's gaze on him, burning low and unreadable. Jake starts fucking you harder without realizing it, like he's performing now, or proving something. The weight of Sunghoon's silence makes him want to impress. You notice the shift too, how Jake goes deeper, the way he grits his teeth. His hand wraps tighter around your thigh. He's chasing something, and it's not just your second orgasm. He groans again, forehead brushing against yours, and you feel how wound up he is. It's not just need, there's reverence there.

Jake had never considered himself submissive, well that was until he met Sunghoon. To Jake, there just seemed to be something about Sunghoon that made him want to be that way for him, made him want to do everything Sunghoon said, even before he said it. If Jake believed in religion, Sunghoon would be his god, maybe that would explain why he's currently fucking his cock into you but his mind is elsewhere. His mind is entirely on Sunghoon in particular, where he's sat across the bed from you two. Jake is moaning like it hurts, he's starving for praise like that might be the only thing keeping him alive.

"Sunghoon," he gasps, hips rocking into you with enough force to jolt the headboard, "fuck—look at me. Please—please look at me." Sunghoon doesn't flinch. He's still. Unbothered. Sitting in the corner chair like he's been there forever, long legs spread now, jaw in his hand, eyes flicking lazily across the room—but not to Jake. Never to Jake. Jake whines, desperate and pretty, breath fanning across your collarbone as he buries himself deeper, chasing something he'll never get from the man who made him this way. "Am I doing it right?" he pants, fucking you harder. "Tell me I'm doing it right—tell me I'm good—please—"

Sunghoon hums. His gaze lands on you this time. Controlled. Careful. "You're such a slut for praise, Jake," he says, voice low and faintly amused. "Shouldn't you be asking her that?" And Jake does. So fast. So broken. "Baby—" His voice cracks. "Am I good? Am I making you feel good?" You try to answer, lips parting on a moan—but Sunghoon stops you before a sound can fall. "Don't answer him." Your body tightens under Jake's, your back arching instinctively toward the voice that denies and commands you.

And Jake feels it. "Fuck," he grits, pulling back to look at your face, but you're already looking past him. Already whining for someone else.

It doesn't matter that Jake had already pulled two orgasms out of you, with his mouth, with his words, with the frantic way his fingers curled like he was searching for something only Sunghoon could name. It doesn't matter that you're still trembling underneath him, that your skin is hot and your limbs boneless from how hard you came the last time.

Because now Sunghoon is here. Watching. And somehow that makes everything feel different. Jake feels it too, the shift in the air, the weight of Sunghoon's presence behind every stroke. He's still buried deep inside you, his chest slick and flushed, and his pace is no longer thoughtful or controlled. It's gone, whatever composure he had left. His thrusts are rough now, fast and unforgiving, like he's trying to chase something only Sunghoon can give him permission to have. "Jake," you breathe, nails dragging lightly down his back as he keeps rutting into you. "Wait—" You whimper again, barely able to breathe through the rhythm, your body rocked back into the bed with every movement. "Slow down, please—" But he doesn't, he probably doesn't even hear you.

His hand fists the sheets beside your head, and his other grabs your thigh and hikes it higher like he needs more of you, like he could crawl inside you and still not get enough. That's when your head tilts, eyes catching the one person who always sees everything. Sunghoon hasn't moved from the chair. His elbows are on the armrests now, fingers steepled under his chin. He looks calm, maddeningly calm, but you know better.

Your eyes plead with him silently, lips parted, breath shaky. One more thrust from Jake and you gasp, "Hoon—" It's barely a whisper. But it's all he really needs.

In an instant, Sunghoon is up. He doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't even look at Jake at first. He comes to your side, brushing his knuckles softly over your cheek, grounding you before turning his head to the man still buried inside you. "That's enough," he says, voice low but firm. Controlled. Jake stills. It's like a switch flips in him—his hips freezing, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, but his eyes glassy as they lock onto Sunghoon like he's been waiting for that command all along. "I didn't mean to," Jake mumbles, his voice hoarse and desperate. "I know," Sunghoon replies, cool and quiet, like he's the only one in the room who understands Jake completely. He slips his hand down, gentle where Jake was frenzied, fingers brushing over your thigh and easing it down. "But she asked you to slow down. Didn't she?"

Jake swallows hard, nodding like a reprimanded boy.

Sunghoon's hand lingers on your knee. "You alright, love?" You nod back, heart thudding, already calmer just from his presence. Jake's still inside you, but now he isn't moving, he’s waiting, watching Sunghoon like he needs permission to breathe. That's when it becomes clear to you like it always does—Jake might be the one fucking you, but it's Sunghoon who hold all the power. And he always has been.

"I can keep going," you whisper, still catching your breath, voice fragile but filled with certainty. "I want to." Jake exhales like he's been given permission to live again, but you're not looking at him. Your eyes are locked on Sunghoon. "I want you to touch me too," you say, barely above a breath. Your fingers curl at the sheets, as if grounding yourself to keep from pulling him in by force. "Please."

It's the only word that finally breaks him. You see the moment his composure wavers, his eyes flinch, his jaw tightens, and for the first time tonight, Sunghoon hesitates. He's never been able to deny you anything. Not when you ask like that. Not when your voice sounds that soft, that raw. A long silence stretches between the three of you, thick with your need, Jake's restless grip still holding your hips in place, and Sunghoon's stare flickering across your face, from your eyes, to your swollen lips, to the soft, quivering part of you that just begged for him.

Then, finally, Sunghoon gives a quiet nod. "Get on top," he murmurs, voice steady again, but you can feel the shift underneath it. Jake nearly groans in relief as you move, lifting your legs and sliding up to straddle him. His hands find your thighs immediately, squeezing like he's been starving, but it's your eyes on Sunghoon again, watching him sit at the edge of the bed now, close enough to touch, close enough to kiss.

And so he does. The first press of his mouth to yours makes your whole body flinch, not in surprise, but in something sharper. His lips are slow, claiming, so deep that you feel your toes curl as your hips rock down on Jake. Jake's moans muffle in your throat as Sunghoon kisses you again. And again. Every time you roll your hips forward on Jake, Sunghoon meets you with his mouth. His tongue slides past your lips like he's determined to keep you tethered to him no matter who's inside of you. The heat of Jake's hands, the way he moves beneath you, it all melts together in the haze of Sunghoon's kiss.

You try to reach for more of him, hands desperate at the hem of his shirt, tugging, frustrated that he's still fully clothed while you're bare, being touched and watched and used. Your fingertips find the warm skin under the fabric, sliding under his shirt, desperate to feel more. Sunghoon doesn't stop you. He lets you feel. Lets you explore. Even if he hasn't moved to undress, even if he's holding back, you aren't. And your hips don't stop moving. Not once. You ride Jake slow, languid, your rhythm set by the rise and fall of Sunghoon's mouth on yours, the ebb and flow of his tongue pulling you under like a tide. It makes you dizzy, being loved like this by one man while kissing the other, being watched and touched and given the space to want everything.

And god, you want everything.

Jake pants beneath you, clutching at your thighs like he might fall through the mattress, and you never break the kiss, not even as you start to tremble again, not even as Sunghoon finally whispers, voice low against your lips, "Just like that, princess." You barely realize how fast it's building again until your thighs begin to shake. Jake's grip on you has turned possessive, hands gripping your hips like he's guiding you through the end of the world. He's a mess beneath you, all panting breaths and ruined whimpers, his head thrown back against the pillow as he mouths your name like a prayer he's barely worthy of.

And you, you're still tangled in Sunghoon. His lips trail slow and steady along your jaw now, your neck, your shoulder, mouth warm and coaxing even as his hands stay maddeningly still on your thighs, letting Jake have you while he simply watches. Letting you ache for more of him, and only giving you his voice in return. "You're so perfect," he murmurs against your skin. "So, so pretty when you take it like this." Jake's moan cuts through the room high, broken. “Nghh—I—M’gonna cum!” You can feel the tension coil in him, that telltale snap of his rhythm turning erratic beneath you. He's close. You know it. Sunghoon knows it too.

"Look at him," Sunghoon murmurs in your ear, dragging his lips just below it, "he's already breaking." And Jake is, shaking, crying out, hips jolting up once, twice, a third time before he completely breaks under you, spilling inside with a noise so wrecked it makes your head spin. His arms wrap tight around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest, as if he doesn't know what else to cling to but you. That's when it happens. As Jake's high crashes into him and his body goes slack, his hand slides blindly out, not even looking, just reaching and palms over Sunghoon's clothed cock. Just once. Just a rough, mindless squeeze like instinct, like habit. Sunghoon finally breathes like it hurt. His hand shoots out to Jake's wrist, gripping it tight.

"Jake." It's a warning. Low and dangerous. But Jake only smiles, breathless and utterly undone. He nuzzles your chest like he doesn't have a single thought in his head, eyes glazed, body limp beneath you. "Sorry," he murmurs, eyes fluttering open just barely as he looks up at Sunghoon. "Couldn't help it." You're still catching your breath when you look at Sunghoon, and the heat you find there steals whatever air you had left. Jake's chest rises and falls beneath you in exhausted waves, his eyes barely open as he blinks up at the ceiling, dazed. Your body's still trembling faintly, skin damp and flushed, caught somewhere between overstimulation and deep, floating warmth. But it's Sunghoon's hands that ground you again, firm at your waist, lifting you before you can even register the shift.

You gasp softly, clinging on instinct. Your arms loop around his shoulders. Your legs wrap around his waist. And he catches all of you like he was always meant to.

He doesn't flinch when he feels it, the wetness between your thighs painting into the front of his clothes. Jake's cum, still leaking, smearing onto him with every shift of your weight. Sunghoon doesn't even blink. He only adjusts you a little higher in his arms, one hand cupping the back of your thigh, the other firm at the base of your spine, keeping you close. "Come on," he says, glancing at Jake without stopping his stride. His voice is quiet, but it leaves no room for negotiation. "You too." Jake groans but pushes himself up slowly, limbs still boneless as he stumbles to follow. And Sunghoon, ever composed and in control, carries you straight to the bathroom, never once loosening his grip. Never once looking away. Because you're done for now, yes.

The water is long gone now, turned off with soft, sluggish movements, steam lingering in the air. Towels exchanged between fingers like unspoken reassurances. No words needed. Not yet. You're clean, finally. A little sore. A little dizzy. But warm. Sunghoon's hoodie is draped over your shoulders, sleeves long enough to swallow your fingers. Jake had laughed watching you tug it on, muttering that Sunghoon always brings out your bratty side, but his voice was half-asleep even then, eyes puffy and red around the edges.

So now here you are. Tucked in Jake's bed instead of Sunghoon's, a rare deviation none of you had energy to question. The sheets still carry Jake's detergent, softer, citrusy, a little too clean for how he usually acts and your limbs are caught in a tangle of body heat.

Sunghoon lies on his back beside you, one arm folded under his head, the other stretched along the curve of your side. You're tucked in close, nose nearly brushing his shoulder as you breathe him in. His pulse is slow under your cheek. His fingers lightly drag up and down your spine, rhythmic, gentle, like he's drawing shapes just for himself. Jake, meanwhile, is curled up on the other side of you, head heavy on your stomach, cheek pressed to your bare skin. You're stroking his hair without even realizing it, combing the strands back gently as his breathing deepens, softer and slower with each pass. The room is quiet. The kind of quiet where the world feels far away. Just three of you, bodies finally settled, the ache of heat and noise replaced with something heavier and tender.

You stare at the ceiling for a moment. Then at Sunghoon. "Can I ask something?" His fingers pause for a split second before continuing, slower now. "Mm."

"The thing earlier," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. "With Yunjin. What was that?" There's a pause. A very long one. You feel the shift in his breath before you hear the words. "It's nothing," he says finally, calm. Even. "I'll tell you later." But something in the way he says it makes your stomach turn. Sunghoon never lies, but he does withhold. And this doesn't feel like nothing. Not when his jaw ticks like that. Not when his hand drifts up your spine again, a little tighter, like he's grounding himself. Not when he won't look at you, even now.

You nod, because you don't want to push. But you don't miss how Jake stirs slightly at the sound, how he snuggles closer, pressing a kiss to your skin without even lifting his head. He's already halfway into sleep, and you know he won't remember it. But it's comfort. His way of keeping you close. So you let it go. For now.

Even if the silence feels heavier this time. Even as Sunghoon's fingers slide higher and rest at the nape of your neck. Even as you try to believe him. Even as the weight of that later starts to hang in the air between you.

The first thing you hear is the quiet hum of Jake's voice, muffled, amused, talking shit over his headset somewhere in the living room. You recognize the cadence of it, the rise and fall of his tone, the clack of his controller buttons, the way he leans into his game with too much energy for this hour. The second thing you feel is warmth. Heavy, slow warmth. Sunghoon. You're tucked into his chest, half-under the covers, skin against skin, the room still dim and quiet. The sunlight is creeping in just enough to make his collarbones glow. His breathing is steady and warm at your nape. One of his legs is thrown over both of yours. His arm is firm around your middle, too firm, actually. You shift slowly, turning your face into his chest before you lift your head just slightly, blinking your eyes open. There's a moment where you forget everything else. Your body is still sore in a pleasant way. Your mind is fogged with sleep. There's no urgency.

You stretch, or at least, you try to. You start to lift your arm, shift your hips to sit up and that's when you feel his arm tightens around you like a vice. His hand flattens against your side, keeping you exactly where you are. "Sunghoon?" you whisper, voice thick with sleep. "Don't go yet." His voice is rough and quiet. "Just for a little longer." You glance up and he's already awake, eyes barely open, lashes low and heavy. His mouth is slack and soft from sleep, but the grip he has on you is anything but. You try to smile. "I was just gonna brush my teeth."

"I don't care."

"Okay..."

"Talk to me," he says next, a little firmer. "Anything."

You pause. The tone is familiar, the softness threaded under something else. A kind of vulnerability he rarely shows unless it's quiet like this, unless you're alone.

You hum. "Like...about what?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Why?" He exhales. Shifts just enough to bury his nose in your hair. "You already know," he says quietly. "Your voice calms me." And he's right. You do know. This isn't new. It's happened more than a few times, after hard days, after silence-filled dinners, after that one fight with his father where he didn't even speak for hours. You remember the first time, when he told you in a low voice that your talking about anything, about everything, made him feel like the world wasn't closing in. You'd said you were honored. You still are. So you relax back into him, shifting your head slightly against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. You let your eyes close again.

And then you speak.

"You always say that," you whisper, voice low as you rest your hand against Sunghoon's chest, just over his heart. His eyes are closed again now, and his lashes twitch a little when you brush your thumb across his skin. "That my voice calms you." Your lips quirk slightly as you exhale a fond breath. "But you never tell me why. Is it the tone? The dumb things I say? Or just because I don't shut up when you need a distraction? You smile to yourself when he makes a quiet hum something between agreement and a dozing sigh. "I could talk about the weather, you know," you say lightly. "Like, it's supposed to rain today. Probably later. Jake's gonna forget he left the top of his Jeep down and get mad about it and pretend it wasn't his fault."

You feel the faintest breath of amusement in Sunghoon's chest, even as his grip slackens just a little. "Or I could tell you about the list of groceries we forgot to buy again. Or how Jake definitely used my shampoo even though he swore he didn't." You brush a gentle hand over Sunghoon's hair. "Or how we really need to wash your sheets after last night but we're all too lazy. Or how..." you trail off softly, your voice thinning as his breathing deepens. You pause to look up at him eyes closed, jaw relaxed, the smallest crease between his brows finally softening. You press a kiss just below his collarbone. "I'll still be here," you whisper. "Always."

And then carefully, slowly, you untangle yourself from his limbs. He stirs for a second, brows furrowing as if his body knows you're leaving even if he doesn't fully wake. But you hush him softly, running your fingers through his hair once more. "I'll be right back." Then you slip out from under the blanket, padding quietly across the cool floor, and make your way down the hall toward the soft noise of game chatter and clicking buttons. Just as you suspected, Jake is curled up on the couch in the living room, headset askew, legs sprawled wide and controller in hand. He's in a hoodie and boxers, hair still messy from sleep, and the moment he sees you, his whole face lights up.

"There's my girl," he beams, dropping the controller to the side and opening his arms. You don't even hesitate, you crawl straight into his lap, straddling him in a tight hug as he wraps you up with both arms. He smells like your body wash and leftover cologne, and you breathe him in as he peppers kisses along your cheeks. "Hi, hi, hi," he murmurs between kisses. "God, you're warm. You sleep okay, baby? You sore?" You nod into his shoulder, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck. "A little sore," you admit softly. "But good sore." Jake grins against your cheek and pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands. "Yeah?" he says, tilting his head. "You need me to kiss it better?" You laugh softly, tapping his chest.

"Maybe later," you say. "Sunghoon's still asleep."

Jake gives you a look like when is he not? “We should make breakfast.” You say, but instantly almost regret saying we.

The kitchen is quiet at first, just the low clatter of pans and the hum of the fridge. You're barefoot as you move around the space with practiced ease, cracking eggs and flipping pancakes with a gentle rhythm.Jake's at your side, or more accurately, in your way. "Wait, wait, baby—should I stir this?" he asks, already grabbing the whisk in a bowl you very much do not need stirred. "No—Jake, that's pancake batter, it's done."

"Oh," he says, sheepish, setting the whisk down like it's fragile. "Well, what about the toast? Should I flip that?"

You pause. "You don't flip toast, Jake."

"Oh." You shoot him a look over your shoulder, and he holds his hands up in surrender, grinning like he's already planning his next move. "I'm helping."

"You're talking," you counter. "Very loudly. While putting things in the wrong place. Which is... the opposite of helping." Jake leans into the counter with a whine. "I'm moral support."

"Sure you are."

"You're bossy when you cook," he says with a smug tilt of his lips. "It kinda turns me on." You shoot him a flat stare, eyebrows raised. "Oh my god," you mutter, jabbing a finger toward the stool behind him. "Sit. Down. Don't touch anything else." His eyes gleam like he's just been handed the best gift of his life. "Yes, chef." He drops into the seat with exaggerated obedience, resting his chin in his hands, staring at you with something between adoration and mischief. "Tell me what to do next, I'll be so good." You roll your eyes and smirk as you turn back to the stove. "You're such a sub." Jake laughs, then pushes up to his feet just long enough to wrap his arms around your waist and kiss the corner of your mouth. "Only for you." “And Sunghoon.”

The moment is cut short by the sound of a low, groggy voice from the hallway. "It's way too early for you to be turned on, Jake," Sunghoon grumbles, padding into the kitchen with hair still messy from sleep. He rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand and leans over to kiss you, a slow, languid kiss that tastes like morning and comfort. Then he tilts his head and breathes in, eyes fluttering half open. "Smells good." Before you can respond, he slips his arms around your waist and lifts you off the ground, placing you on the counter like you weigh nothing. The kiss that follows is just as effortless slow and soft, his hands firm at your hips, lips brushing yours again and again until you sigh into his mouth.

Jake lets out a dramatic sigh. Sunghoon turns without missing a beat, leans in, and kisses Jake too. Just a soft press of lips, but it's affectionate and familiar and Jake grins like it's nothing new. "Hi," Sunghoon murmurs, then turns back to you, gently grabbing your foot and rubbing it in his hand. "You sore?" The question is quiet, spoken like he already knows the answer. You nod just slightly, and his thumb brushes over your ankle, kneading a spot there as Jake scoots closer to run his hand down your thigh. "You both asked the same thing," you say with a sleepy smile, watching them move around you like you're the center of gravity.

Jake beams. "Team effort." You lean your head back against the cabinet and breathe in the warmth of it all, the scent of eggs and pancakes, the press of Sunghoon's palm on your skin, the sound of Jake humming some off-key tune as he steals a piece of fruit from the cutting board. It's so domestic. So easy and so far from where you started. The three of you tucked in the glow of the morning—half-eaten pancakes on the counter, music playing low from Jake's phone, and your legs swinging gently where Sunghoon set you on the kitchen island. But eventually, the thought creeps in. You should go back to your place. You don't really want to—not when the air here feels like something warm and worn-in. Not when Jake keeps grazing your waist when he passes, or when Sunghoon's fingers are still loosely wrapped around your ankle, absently rubbing. Still, your laundry's piling up, your textbooks are somewhere under your bed, and you haven't touched your own skincare in four days. You shift on the counter. "I should head back for a bit," you say quietly. Jake stops mid-chew and frowns. "Now?"

"Just for a while," you shrug, playing with the hem of the oversized hoodie you'd slept in. "I need more clothes. And my laptop." There's a pause. You don't say it out loud, but you're both thinking it—Yunjin might be there. Jake is the first to break the silence. "I'll go with you." You glance over at him. He's already standing up, wiping his hands on a paper towel, as if it's already decided.

"You don't have to," you say gently, not wanting to seem cold, but knowing how much heavier it'll feel if he's there, how much more obvious your tension with Yunjin will be with him watching. "Really. I'll be fine."

Jake frowns, but you can tell it's not from offense, it's from concern. Sunghoon finally speaks, voice quiet as always. "Let him drive you." You turn your head. He's not looking at you, just brushing the crumbs off his hands and walking to the sink, like it's a casual suggestion — but it isn't. You know Sunghoon too well to miss the weight behind his words.

"I'll be okay," you repeat. He dries his hands and finally meets your eyes. "I know. But you shouldn't have to be." That lands heavier than you expect. It silences you for a beat. Jake doesn't gloat. Doesn't push. He just rests his hand on your thigh and says, softer this time, "Let me take you. Just the ride, yeah? I won't come up." And the way he says it, not begging or pleading, just offering, makes it impossible to say no.

You nod. "Okay." Jake grins. "Cool. I'll grab my keys."

As he disappears into the hallway, you feel Sunghoon step close again. He tilts your chin up with one finger, expression unreadable, the way it always is when he's being careful with his words. "Don't let her get under your skin," he says quietly.

"I'm not—"

"I know you," he interrupts, brushing his thumb against your cheek. "And I know how much space you make for people, even the ones who don't deserve it."

Your throat tightens. "You should go back cause you want to," he adds. "Not just because you feel like you have to." You lean into his touch for a second longer, just until you hear Jake's footsteps returning. Sunghoon drops his hand, presses a kiss to your temple, and steps away.

The car is warm, the windows slightly cracked as the wind hums in soft bursts. You’d reminded him to put the top back on and now he’s got one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing animatedly as he tells you some story about a mutual friend from class, something about a failed group project and a spilled drink, but your eyes aren't really on him. You're watching the road blur past. Listening, but not really.

The smile on your face is faint, polite, not the kind Jake's used to pulling from you. He's halfway through a joke when you finally cut in, voice gentle, almost unsure. "What did you mean... back at the party," you start slowly, "when you said Yunjin doesn't behave herself?" His hand stills on the wheel. You see the way his jaw tightens, barely noticeable, but you catch it.

He exhales through his nose, gaze fixed on the road. "Did you ask Sunghoon?" You hesitate, thinking maybe you should lie. Then, quietly, "I did." Jake hums once, like he's not surprised. "What'd he say?" You shake your head a little, turning to face him more. "He said it was nothing. Or that he'd tell me later." Jake chuckles dryly, shifting gears at a light. "That sounds like him."

"Is it nothing?" There's a pause. Jake finally glances at you, just for a second, then looks back at the road. "You should listen to Sunghoon," he says, not unkindly. "It's not a big deal." But the way he says it, almost rehearsed. Like he's been told to say that before. You turn back to the window, chewing on your lip, silence slipping between you two again. Jake drums his fingers on the steering wheel, probably trying to think of something else to talk about. Something easier. But the question still lingers between you both. It still doesn't feel like nothing, and you can tell he knows that. You can’t really say much, especially when he’s already pulling up to your building and parking, leaving over to kiss you and tell you not too take too long.

You shut the door of your apartment quietly behind you, already feeling the weight of the air inside your apartment. Yunjin's sitting on the couch, just as you expected, arms crossed and eyes glued to her phone, but it's the tension in her shoulders that tells you everything. "Hey," you say softly, setting your bag down. No response. You glance at her again. "Yunjin." She finally looks up, expression unreadable. "Oh. You're back." You stop, taken aback by the tone. "Yeah... just came to grab a few things." She nods slowly, like she's pretending to think about that. "Right. Cause you live at Sunghoon and Jake's now." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Or maybe you're still trying to decide which bed you like more."

That lands hard. You pause in place, uncertain if you heard her right. "What?" She stands up, folding her arms. "Don't look so shocked. People talk, you know? And I'm not blind. You're staying over there constantly. You walk around campus like it's normal—like it's fine."

"Yunjin—"

"Are you sleeping with both of them?" she snaps, making you go stiff. "What—what kind of question is that?" you ask, trying to keep your voice level. "It's not a question," she says coolly. "It's what everyone already thinks. Don't act like you're some innocent victim here. You know what you're doing."

You stare at her, heart pounding. "Why are you saying this to me?"

"Because I'm your cousin, basically your sister," she spits. "And you clearly need someone to knock some sense into you." The silence afterward is awful. Heavy and bitter. She doesn't back down, doesn't blink, doesn't seem to notice how much she's just hurt you. You open your mouth even though nothing comes out. But then door opens with a clean, sharp sound that cuts right through the silence. You and Yunjin both turn your heads toward it, startled. Jake steps in casually, holding your phone between two fingers like he's done nothing but walk into a peaceful room. His face, though, says otherwise. His eyes lock on Yunjin's instantly—calm but tight around the edges, like a lit match held too close to something flammable.

"You forgot this," he says, voice low as he looks to you. He holds the phone out gently, not breaking eye contact with Yunjin until you reach to take it.

"Jake—" you start, confused, because you'd watched him drive off. He had class, he told you he did. He cuts you off, gaze still fixed on Yunjin. "This conversation? Not your business," he says quietly, but the threat in his tone is unmistakable. "And the way you're talking to her? You're crossing a line you don't want to cross."

Yunjin blinks like she can't believe what she's hearing. "Is that a threat?" Jake raises a brow. "It's a warning. You don't get to speak to her like that. Not anymore."

"Oh, I'm so scared," she snaps, arms folding. "What are you gonna do? Have Sunghoon glower at me until I cry?" It's meant to be biting. But Jake doesn't even flinch. He tilts his head just slightly, his tone flat. "You think this is about me and Sunghoon?" He looks down at you then, eyes softening just a little. His voice drops, quieter now. "I was already driving off when I noticed your phone. But something told me to come up anyway." He looks at Yunjin again, no longer trying to hide the coldness in his stare. "Guess I figured right."

You're still frozen, unsure what just shifted. Jake's still Jake—but this edge to him? The steel behind the softness? It's disorienting, like watching something gentle catch fire.

Yunjin stares at him, and for the first time—she doesn't have anything to say. And you're left even more confused than before. Because none of this feels random, none of this feels new to them. Jake doesn't say anything at first. He just steps inside and closes the door behind him, the sound oddly calm despite the storm in his expression. His eyes flick to you, then to Yunjin. You watch the shift in his face as he registers how stiff you look, how shaken. "Go grab your things," he says, eyes still on your cousin. You hesitate. "Jake—"

He turns his head slowly and looks at you—really looks. And the intensity there, the weight behind it, makes your mouth go dry. "Y/n." That's all it takes.

You move, legs shaky as you head down the hallway toward your room, but you can hear them behind you. Muffled voices, low but clipped. You pause just past the corner, just out of view. The voices sharpen. "I'm warning you," Yunjin snaps. "You wouldn't dare—"

"Just fucking try me, I’m begging you." Jake's voice is all grit and steel, low enough to be a growl, and for a moment you don't recognize him. You can't make out what Yunjin says after that because Jake's footsteps are suddenly coming down the hall. You dart into your room and pretend to be mid-pack when he walks in, though your fingers are barely curled around the strap of your duffle. He doesn't speak right away. Just stands there, jaw clenched, pulling his phone from his back pocket and dialing. "Yeah, it's me," he says as soon as the line connects. His eyes don't leave yours. "She's coming back now. Yunjin opened her fucking mouth."

A pause. You can faintly hear Sunghoon on the other end, but you're too disoriented to register the words.

Jake drags a hand through his hair and exhales harshly. "Yeah. In a bit." He hangs up and lowers the phone, finally glancing at your duffle. "You're so slow sometimes," he mutters, stepping closer. "Sit down."

You blink. "What—"

"Sit," he repeats, already prying the bag from your grip.

You lower yourself to the edge of your bed as he starts grabbing clothes. No rhyme or reason to it. Shirts, hoodies, underwear, shorts, your phone charger. You watch him shove them all into the bag. He grabs a pair of your panties off the floor near your laundry basket and pauses. You watch his gaze drag slowly over them, then flick up to meet your eyes. A smirk curves at his lips, playful and a little wicked. "These are mine now." You stare at him in disbelief. He slips them into his pocket and grabs your wrist with zero shame. "Let's go, baby."

"Jake, wait—"

"No," he cuts in quickly, jaw set, hand still wrapped around your wrist. "You don't need to see her again right now." Your feet scramble to keep up as he leads you down the hall, the bag slung over his shoulder, his grip unwavering. You pass the living room, the couch, the kitchen, but Yunjin isn't there. Or maybe she is and she's just gone silent again—but you don't dare look.

Jake doesn't stop. He pulls open the door, steps out, and keeps going, guiding you down the stairs like every second you spend in that apartment is dangerous. Like something might snap if you linger any longer. You barely remember locking the door. You barely remember making it down the last step before he's helping you into the passenger seat, shutting the door behind you, circling the car to the driver's side.

It's not until he throws the duffle in the back seat and starts the engine that you finally speak.

"I didn't... I didn't know she could speak to me like that…ever." Jake looks straight ahead as he pulls onto the street, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "Neither did I."

Jake's car pulling into the student lot like it owns the pavement isn’t anything new. The late morning sun always glints off the blue of the hood, windows rolled down, your laughter blending with Jake's dramatics. He's in the middle of reenacting a scene you half-remember from four months ago—something he'd called you, something filthy and ridiculous, and something that still makes your stomach twist in the best way now. "'She’s a free use toy now, remember?'" you repeat in his voice, pitching it low and overly serious. "'That's what you said, baby.'" You slap his arm, your face flushed, the both of you nearly wheezing with laughter now. Jake grins like an idiot behind the wheel, almost pleased with himself. "I don’t even know why I said that! You looked so sad, my heart clenched." He pouts.

"Mine too," Sunghoon chimes dryly from the back seat. His tone is flat, but there's a hint of amusement there—just enough to make you glance back at him with a small smile. "Yeah, yeah," Jake mutters, shifting into park as the three of you pull into a spot. "Let’s just think of it like post sex dirty talk."

“What!?”

"I don't need dirty talk," Sunghoon replies as he opens the door. "You two are loud enough for all three of us." The car shuts off. Jake practically bounds out, his words already flowing again, this time about the stats class he’s trying not to fail. You reach for the door handle but don't get far—Sunghoon is already there, pulling it open, steadying your hand with his. "Careful," he murmurs, not for show. His fingers smooth the hem of your skirt, and it's automatic, the way he does it. The way his hand lingers at your hip for a second too long. You barely notice. Or rather, you're used to it now. Jake's still talking, walking ahead, phone in hand, gesturing like someone gave him a stage.

And then something quieter and sharper hits you. You glance up and realize...people are staring. Not just glancing. Staring. A pair of girls by the outdoor vending machine pause mid conversation. A guy you recognize from your elective class does a double take. You catch a couple seated at the stone benches near the quad, both turning their heads as the three of you walk by. And suddenly nothing is funny anymore. Suddenly, you're aware of how close you're standing to Sunghoon, how his hand is still faintly at your lower back. You think about the night before, about the way Jake's voice sounded when he was spilling himself inside you while Sunghoon kissed your mouth shut. You think about how many times this week you've stayed over and how you barely even sleep at your own place anymore. You hear Yunjin's voice like she's walking beside you. People talk, you know?

You're not sure what they're saying, but they're saying something. Your stomach tightens as your face goes hot. Sunghoon's arm starts to rise, curling over your shoulders like it always does, and you react before you can think. You shrug him off. Not so gently that it makes him pause mid-step. Jake even stops talking. It's a blink, a beat, but the air shifts instantly. You can feel both of them watching you. Sunghoon's brows draw in the tiniest amount and Jake's confusion is very obvious. You swallow and force your eyes ahead, tucking your hair behind your ear like that'll explain everything. "Sorry," you mumble. "It's just hot." But even you don't sound convinced. Neither of them says anything right away. You all keep walking and you don't dare look back.

It suddenly feels like you're very, very alone, as the crowd thickens the closer you get to the central quad. Jake has started chattering beside you again, walking a step ahead just so he can turn and face you with that boyish grin. "So then I was thinking—after your econ class, you come back with us. We'll order from that place you like. The one with the overpriced pasta. Sunghoon's paying."

"Am I?" Sunghoon says flatly from your other side, barely looking up from his phone. "Yes, because I paid last time and I don’t even think she’s seen her credit card in a hot minute." He points his thumb at you. “Hey!” You shove at his shoulder, “It’s okay, princess. We like spending our money on you.” You offer a weak smile, eyes flicking around again. You can feel people staring, you're not imagining it this time. It's in the way they don't just glance, they linger. A few of them lean into each other to whisper. You almost think you hear your name, or maybe you don't. You wrap your arms around yourself, stepping slightly out of Jake's reach when he goes to grab your arm. He doesn't catch the shift at first. But he does the second time you do it.

He stops mid-sentence. Frowns. "Hey..." His voice softens just slightly. "What's going on?"

You don't answer right away. You feel both their eyes on you now. Jake reaches for your hand this time, slower, gentler—and you hesitate before you let him take it. Only for a second. You pull it away under the pretense of adjusting your bag strap. You look at them both, then down at your shoes and then up again. "They're staring," you finally say. The words are small. Almost swallowed. "People are...looking." Jake blinks at you, like he's trying to understand something that doesn't make any sense. "So?" His voice is light but it holds something sharper underneath. A note of come on threaded through. "So," you repeat, eyes flashing up to him, "it's not just glances, Jake. It's—people are probably saying things. About me. About...us."

Jake exhales. Not quite a sigh, not quite a scoff. "Okay? Let them. Who gives a shit?"

"Jake," Sunghoon warns, quiet and even. Jake looks between you two, his jaw ticking. "What? I'm serious. We’re not doing anything wrong."

"That doesn't mean it's easy for her," Sunghoon says, more to Jake than to you. "She's clearly struggling. Let's talk about it tonight." He steps closer to you, brushing his knuckles against your cheek in a way that makes you want to close your eyes, if only for a second. "You're okay," he murmurs. "Alright? We'll figure it out." Then he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. You don't push him away this time. You let him. Jake still looks tense. Like he's trying to hold back a million things he wants to say. But he keeps quiet, watching you carefully as you shift your weight on your feet, hands tucked in the sleeves of your sweater now.

You give a small nod. "I'll see you guys later," you say, already backing away toward the path that leads to your building. "Text me when you're out," Sunghoon says. Jake doesn't say anything. You turn around to walk away. Two steps away, just as you're passing a line of trees along the sidewalk, you feel a sharp little pinch right where your skirt ends. You nearly jump. You spin around and Jake's already grinning like he didn't just grope you in public.

"Mine," he mouths, poking at his chest. You flush instantly, whipping back around, and walking fast—heat rising up your neck, and somehow, a little lighter than before.

The rest of your day unspools in a blur. Your econ class dragged on longer than it had any right to, the professor's voice somehow more monotone than usual, each slide heavier with graphs you couldn't focus on. You kept blinking at the same sentence in your notes, rereading it until the words lost meaning entirely. Yunjin still hadn't replied to any of your messages. Not even the short one you sent during your break, Can we talk later? Just us. It stayed marked as delivered. The silence sat with you all day like a knot behind your ribs.

Jake, on the other hand, had sent you seven messages before your class even ended. “hey pretty” “people suck” “but i love you” “sunghoon says i'm being annoying” “but he's cranky, maybe he's hungry” “i miss you rn” “you miss me?” Meanwhile, Sunghoon had sent one. “You okay?”

That was it. Just two words. But you stared at the message for a while, and somehow it made your chest ache in a different way.

And now here you are, exactly where you knew you’d end up again today—melted into the center of Jake and Sunghoon's couch, Jake sprawled entirely on top of you like a human-sized heat pack, half-crushing your lungs while he scrolls through videos with the volume too high. His chin is resting on your chest, legs tangled with yours, one arm wrapped lazily under your back like he never intends to move again. "I'm going to suffocate," you murmur, voice muffled against his shoulder. "No you're not," Jake replies without looking up. "You love this." You do. You hate how much you do. Sunghoon's voice drifts in from the kitchen. "Jaeyun, get off her. You're going to fold her in half."

"I’m like her weighted blanket," Jake replies, one leg tightening around you like a boa constrictor. Sunghoon sighs but doesn't argue further. "I'm ordering," he says over his shoulder. "Same thing as last time?"

"Yes," you say. "Please." He glances over at you, eyes scanning from where your arms are wrapped tightly around Jake's back to the way your ankles hook around his hips. He shakes his head once. Jake grins and kisses your chin, finally looking up. You smile faintly. "You're heavy."

"And warm," he adds. "And comforting. And sweet. And sexy."

"I didn't even say any of that." You roll your eyes and bury your nose into the soft fabric of his shirt, ignoring the fact that the last twenty-four hours felt like emotional whiplash. Right now, right here, you're okay. Sandwiched between chaos and calm, with Jake's weight grounding you and Sunghoon's voice surrounding the space you’re in. You let yourself breathe.

The food arrives with a knock at the door and a soft "thank you" from Sunghoon as he takes the bags. You and Jake are still tangled up on the couch until the smell of your favorite order drifts into the room, and you already know what's about to happen. You feel it in the way Sunghoon lingers a little too long in the kitchen—organizing containers, silently placing utensils beside napkins. He's thinking about what to say. He's going to ask. He's going to start that conversation.

So you beat him to it. "What's the deal with Yunjin?" you ask suddenly, sitting up straighter, brushing Jake's hair from your face. Jake pauses—his entire body freezing like someone hit pause on the app he was scrolling through. He lifts himself off you slowly, sitting up beside you now, looking over at Sunghoon like he's waiting too. Like this part isn't his to answer. Sunghoon doesn't look surprised. He sighs, quiet and composed as always, reaching for one of the containers and placing it in front of you. "Don't worry about her," he says evenly, sliding a fork into your hand. "It's not important." Jake nods like that's final. "Seriously. She's not a problem."

"She kind of was yesterday," you say gently. "And no one's telling me why." Sunghoon's eyes flicker to Jake's, something unspoken passing between them, but neither of them says anything else. It's like hitting a wall. One you didn't know was there until you crashed into it. So you nod once, deciding to let it go for now. But it turns out you can't let go of everything. Because Jake, still trying to smooth the air, says softly, "About earlier—when you said people were staring."

"I just—" you start, but it's like the dam breaks before you can control it. "What is this?" Both of them look at you. Jake stops mid-bite, brows furrowing. Sunghoon sets his drink down, posture straightening slightly like he already knows where you're going. "What are we doing?" you continue. "Like, what is this even supposed to be? Am I...your girlfriend? Am I both your girlfriends? Are you my boyfriends?" Sunghoon blinks slowly, lips parting—but nothing comes out just yet.

"Because sometimes it feels like I'm a pet or something," you say quickly, before either of them can answer. "Like, you feed me and you cuddle me and you both say you want me—but no one's saying what this actually is. And I get it, I do, this started as a mess—but I just need to know."

"Pet?" Sunghoon repeats under his breath, tone unreadable. Jake makes a small, soft noise beside you. Almost like a laugh, but not quite. There's something guilty in it. "Like I'm just something cute you feed and play with and keep around for your convenience," you say, voice shaking a little. "I don't know what I'm allowed to call this. What I'm allowed to feel. You both keep—fucking me, touching me, taking care of me but not saying anything. And I've just been going along with it, but now people are talking and I don't even know what to say to myself, let alone anyone else." Jake raises both his hands a little, a weak smile pulling at his mouth. "Well, you fuck us too, baby."

You whip your head toward him. The glare you give is cold enough to shut him up immediately. Jake winces. "Okay. Bad timing." You blink hard, trying not to cry. "I'm serious." Sunghoon steps in gently, always calm, always composed. "We know." Jake shifts uncomfortably. "She's right. We should've said something. We've been...we've been enjoying it too much to pause and check in. That's on us."

"I need to know," you whisper. "Before this goes any deeper than it already has." Sunghoon reaches across the table, brushing your knuckles with his fingers. "You're not a pet. You're not some thing we keep around. You're someone we care about. Deeply."

Jake's voice comes in low, sincere. "And if you need it defined, then yeah. You're our girlfriend. Mine. Sunghoon's too.” He looks at Sunghoon, who nods once, no hesitation. "You're ours. And we're yours," Sunghoon says simply. "If you want that." Jake leans in again, resting his chin on your shoulder, quieter this time. "And if anyone gives you shit about it...let us handle it." The silence that follows feels different now. Like an exhale. You're still unsure, still scared—but at least you're not alone in it. Jake notices you starting to crumble again, your arms still wrapped around your legs like a shield, your forehead resting on your knee like you're trying to disappear. You've stopped talking, but your eyes are wet, and the silence is loud. So he does what Jake always does when emotions get too raw—he leans in with a grin and says something that makes you want to both kiss and strangle him.

"Okay, but if you were just our pet or our toy or whatever—would we let you ride us like that?" You blink. "Jake—"

"I'm serious," he grins, full of teeth now. "The way you get on top? That shit's not recreational. That's religious. Cowgirl of the century. If we were just using you, you'd be flat on your back all the time."

"Jake," Sunghoon says, without looking up from his container. "Read the room."

"I am reading the room," Jake shrugs, nudging you again. "It's tense. I'm easing it." You shoot him a look that's somewhere between exasperated and fond. "And the way you moan?" he keeps going, ignoring Sunghoon's sigh. "Half the building probably thinks we're filming amateur porn. And I'm not even mad."

Your cheeks flush instantly. Then Sunghoon finally glances up, chewing slowly. "You done?" Jake looks over at him, unbothered. "Not even close.” But when he sees the heat rising in your cheeks—your breath caught in your throat, lips parted but silent—he backs off just a little, gaze softening as he runs his thumb over the spot he touched.

"I'm just saying," he says, a bit quieter now. "Don't say we're using you when you fuck us like you own us."

You look at him. Then Sunghoon adds, so dry it's almost funny, "And you call me possessive." Jake just smirks and shrugs. "She started it." You're sit there, stunned and blushing, legs curled up beneath you as Jake licks his lips like he didn't just casually obliterate your emotional stability with his mouth. Sunghoon's watching you both now, quiet but not in that unreadable way he always does, he's leaned back with one arm thrown over the back of the couch, chewing slowly as if he's giving you space to recover. But his eyes don't leave you. You don't even realize you're staring into your lap until Jake shifts again beside you. The warmth of his hand on your lower back is grounding this time, not teasing. When he speaks again, his tone is lighter. Not softer exactly—but easier.

"Okay. Let's change the subject before Sunghoon murders me." Sunghoon just lifts a brow. Jake grins at him, then turns back to you. "What do you think about us going away next month?" You blink. "What?"

"For Sunghoon's birthday," he clarifies. "It's just after midterms. I figured we could do something—just us. Like, leave the city. Rent a cabin. Go up north. Or maybe a beach town if the weather isn't shit." You turn your head slowly. "It's your birthday next month?"

Sunghoon nods as he chews, like it's not a big deal. Jake scoffs. "See? He wasn't even going to say anything. He never does. He hates celebrating, but I think that's mostly because no one's ever done it right." Your eyes linger on Sunghoon. He's looking at the coffee table now, suddenly preoccupied with peeling a label off the water bottle he hasn't even opened. There's the faintest tightness around his mouth. You realize with a quiet kind of ache that Jake's probably right. "I didn't know," you say, quiet.

Sunghoon shrugs. "It's not important." Jake mutters, "It is to me." There's a pause. Jake leans forward slightly, voice losing its usual lilt. "It should be to you too." Your chest tightens. "Of course it is. I didn't mean—" You stop. Breathe. "I just didn't know." Sunghoon nods once. "Now you do." Jake leans back, brushing his hair out of his face. "So? What do you think? We go away for a few days, just the three of us. No classes. No campus. No one watching us like we're weird."

You nod before you can talk yourself out of it. "Yeah. I'd like that." Sunghoon doesn't say anything at first. Then he murmurs, "We'll see how midterms go." Jake rolls his eyes. "Don't act like you're not already ahead in every class."

"I'm not failing," Sunghoon allows, glancing at you now. "You?"

"I'm managing," you say, and it's true—but just barely. It's hard to focus with everything going on. Yunjin's silence. Campus whispers. The heaviness that lingers even when you're safe on their couch, fed and warm and wanted. Jake nudges your side gently. "Then we're going. You need a break, birthday boy needs attention, and I—" He grins. "I'm just trying to see you in a bikini." Sunghoon scoffs, but you catch the way his mouth twitches. Jake keeps going. "We'll get a place with a hot tub. Or one of those outdoor tubs. Imagine the three of us in that. Steam. Moonlight. Maybe a bottle of wine."

You raise a brow. "Who's bringing the wine?"

"I'm twenty-two," Jake says, smug. "I can get alcohol."

You snort despite yourself. Sunghoon finally smirks.

And for a second, it's just quiet again. Easy. You settle back into the couch. Jake picks up a fry. Sunghoon pulls the food containers closer. And for the first time all day, the weight in your chest feels a little lighter.

You don't know what you are to them. Not yet. But you know they want you here, they're not letting go, and maybe for now, that's enough. Jake starts going on about beach towns and hot tubs and "aesthetically pleasing coastal interiors," but his excitement is infectious. The way he grins as he talks about planning something for Sunghoon—for the three of you—makes you feel warmer than the wine in your glass. Sunghoon's leaned back into the couch cushion beside you, watching Jake with that quiet fondness of his. Your bare knee brushes against his thigh when you shift, and he doesn't move away. "I want to show you something," he says suddenly, voice low but certain.

You look at him, curious. "Right now?"

He stands. "Yeah. Come." Jake raises an eyebrow. "Are we about to witness a murder or a surprise?" You follow Sunghoon anyway, trailing behind him through the apartment with Jake padding along behind you, still chewing on the last of a chocolate-covered strawberry like this is some late-night drama reveal.

It feels a little strange, walking into Sunghoon's room again. You haven't been in here since the three of you had sex on that very bed two nights ago. The room looks the same at first glance, neat and clean, the sheets are changed now, curtains drawn halfway and his nightstand exactly as minimal as you remembered. But then you see it. Against the far wall, in the corner that used to be empty, right next to his bed, stands a newly assembled vanity mirror. Soft, diffused bulbs line the frame. The surface gleams. And on top of it—your favorite skincare bottles, your foundation and lip oils, the mascara you lost weeks ago. There's even a small gold dish with your rings and earrings placed just right.

You take a slow step closer, stunned. Jake leans against the doorframe behind you. "He made me go with him to pick out that mirror. Swore the first one was 'too cheap-looking.' We've been hiding this for, like, two days." Sunghoon, still behind you, shifts a little awkwardly. "It's for... when you're getting ready here. Or, I don't know. If you wanna leave your stuff. Or—"

"Or if you just wanna live here," Jake finishes easily. "With us." You blink. "Wait—what?" He shrugs. "This is us being emotionally responsible adults. You already stay over like five nights a week, baby." Sunghoon nods, but he's quieter. "You haven't been in my room since...that night. So we figured if you did come back in, we wanted it to feel like yours too." Your throat tightens. You look back at the vanity—at how thoughtful it is. How deliberate. "I don't even have a drawer here," you mumble, a little breathless.

Jake laughs. "Yes, you do. Sunghoon emptied half his closet for you." Sunghoon shrugs like it's nothing, but his ears are a little pink. You turn toward them, voice soft. "You guys did this in two days?"

"We would've done it in one," Jake says, "but someone had to rearrange the lighting three times."

"I wanted it to look good," Sunghoon mutters. You don't realize your eyes are glassy until you blink down and one tear slides to your cheek. It's not sadness, not exactly—just that unbearable feeling when people love you with more care than you know how to process in the moment. Jake's already stepping forward. "Hey—hey. You crying?" You wipe at your face quickly, laughing through it. "No. Yes. I'm fine. It's just—this is really... a lot."

"It's okay," Sunghoon says, stepping closer too. "It's meant to be." He reaches up to tuck your hair gently behind your ear. You lean into the touch before you can stop yourself. Jake wraps an arm around your waist from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder. "So? Wanna move in, baby?" You look at them—your quiet, steady Sunghoon. Your chaotic, tender Jake. The mirror. The space. Your heart answers before your mouth can. "Yeah," you whisper. "Yeah. I do."

Jake's arm stays wrapped around your waist, fingers tapping lightly like he's buzzing with unused energy, when he pulls back just slightly to grin at you. "So," he says, dragging out the word. "Who wants to shower with me?" You open your mouth, ready to tease him for being predictably himself, when Sunghoon's phone buzzes in his pocket. He checks the screen, and for a split second, something shifts in his expression, a subtle flicker of recognition that tightens his jaw just a bit. "I'll be back," he says quietly, already turning away as he answers the call. "Hey, Heeseung." It's faint, but you catch the way he murmurs the name low under his breath like he didn't mean for you to hear. He walks out of the room with the phone pressed to his ear, voice dipping even softer as he disappears into the hallway. Your brows knit together for just a second. Heeseung?

But before you can dwell on it, you feel Jake's hands slip under your thighs, and with a sudden lurch, he's thrown you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

"Jake—!" you squeal, laughing as the blood rushes to your head. "Put me down!"

"Nope," he says, marching toward the bathroom with all the determination of someone carrying a trophy. "You're showering with me. You cried a little and now I have to bathe you like a princess."

"Is that the rule?" you protest, squirming as he smacks your thigh playfully. He hums, nonchalant. "That's my rule. Plus, you smell like strawberry body lotion and decision-making fatigue." He kicks the bathroom door open and steps inside, still holding you like a sack of sugar and setting you down gently on the countertop. His eyes scan over you with a rare kind of softness. "You okay?" he asks, voice quieter now, thumb brushing over your knee. "Really okay?" You nod, the earlier emotion still lingering like warmth in your chest. "Yeah. I am."

"Good," he murmurs, already reaching behind you to turn on the shower. "Let me take care of you a little."

There's a beat, a quiet moment between the sound of water filling the tub and the faint echo of Sunghoon's voice somewhere deeper in the apartment, still on that call. And you can't help but wonder. What was that about? But right now, Jake is tugging at the hem of your shirt with that boyish grin he always gets when he's about to undress you like it's a present he's unwrapping. And for now, you let the questions go and step into the tub holding Jake’s hand. The water is warm, scented faintly with eucalyptus and something sweeter, probably one of the overpriced oils Jake had tossed into the basket when he dragged you through the skincare aisle last week. You didn't expect to use it like this, not tonight, not like this, not with Jake pressed up behind you in the oversized bathtub, your spine resting against his chest and his arms looped around your waist like he's anchoring you there.

He hums low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back as he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder. You feel his fingers skim across your arms and settle over your hands, gently guiding them to float over the surface of the water. "Relax," he says, softly. "You've been tense all day."

"I've had a weird couple of weeks," you murmur, voice dry. "I think I'm allowed to be tense." Jake chuckles behind you, his nose brushing against your neck before he plants another kiss there. "Fair." His fingers interlace with yours underwater, and for a long minute, neither of you says anything. He just holds your hands in his and lets the water cradle you both, his thumbs brushing slow, thoughtful circles against your knuckles. "Hey," you ask after a while, voice quiet. "How do you guys even afford this place?" Jake doesn't answer right away. He exhales slowly, his chin resting on your shoulder. "Sunghoon's dad bought it for him. His 21st birthday gift. He actually owns the whole place." Your eyes widen a little. "Wait, he owns it?"

"Mhm," Jake hums. "Straight up. Title deed and all. I just moved in junior year because my last apartment had a black mold problem and I was too lazy to apartment hunt."

"Of course you were," you mutter.

"Hey," he says, laughing as he splashes water against your side. "It was life or death. I was being slowly poisoned." You lean back against him, more relaxed than you've felt all day. He keeps kissing your neck in quiet intervals, like he's reminding himself you're real and here and his. "Okay," you ask again, slower now, "How did you and Sunghoon... start?" Jake's hands pause just slightly, but then he resumes the soft movements, this time sliding his palms up your arms in long, comforting strokes. "Freshman year," he says. "We were in the same dorm building. Total strangers. I thought he was an asshole at first—he barely talked, always wore headphones."

"Sounds like him."

Jake grins. "Yeah. He caught me making out with someone in the stairwell and said something like, 'You know the walls are thin, right?' Thought he was judging me. Then two nights later, he kissed me at a party." You blink. "Wait—he made the first move?"

"Surprised?" Jake says, tilting his head.

"Yes?" Jake laughs again, pressing a hand to your stomach and gently pulling you closer to him in the water. "Yeah, he kissed me first. I think he was just curious, honestly. But it wasn't a one-time thing. It turned into more." You stay quiet for a second. "Do your parents know?"

"Mine don't ask questions," Jake says, tone losing some of its earlier playfulness. "I don't think they'd care much as long as I keep up appearances. Sunghoon's... kind of complicated. His dad is—well. He wouldn't be thrilled." You frown at that, looking down at where your hands are still tangled in his beneath the water. Your chest tightens just slightly. You tilt your head back a little more, resting it against his collarbone. His skin is warm, and his breath stays steady against your neck, like he's completely at peace.

"You said it started freshman year," you murmur. "Just the two of you. So when did you start... inviting girls into your bed?" Jake's fingers still on your waist for just a moment. Then he smiles softly against your skin. "Not just girls, baby," he murmurs. "Guys too."

You blink, surprised. "Oh...right. Sorry."

"No need to be sorry," he says gently, reaching for your hand under the water again. He's tracing along your knuckles now, thumb moving slow. "It's not something we talked about at first. It kind of...happened. One time at a party, it always starts at a fucking party, we found out this girl was flirting with both of us at the same time."

"And you didn't mind?" you ask.

Jake huffs out a laugh. "Nope. If anything, it kind of turned us on? We realized we didn't care about sharing. At least not like that. So it became a thing — a little game." You're quiet, processing that. You think about how they are with you, all teasing, overwhelming, indulgent. But also careful. Also...real.

Jake nudges your chin with his nose, coaxing you back into the present. "You okay?" he asks. You nod slowly. "Yeah. Just... it makes sense. I guess I never really thought about it." He's quiet for a beat. "We weren't looking for anything serious," he says, voice softer now. "Not until you." Your chest stutters a little at that.

"And you're both...?"

"I'm pansexual," Jake says easily. "And Hoonie’s bi."

You chew on that for a moment, staring down at the water, the way it ripples with the movement of your legs still loosely tangled with Jake's. He doesn't press you. Just kisses your shoulder again and waits. "Have you ever thought about being with a girl?" he asks finally, tone light but curious. "Like, would you ever—?"

"My first kiss was with a girl," you say before you can stop yourself. Jake jerks slightly behind you. "Wait. What?"

You laugh a little, shrinking down in the water. "It was in middle school. Truth or dare. We were twelve."

"Oh my god." Jake sounds absolutely delighted. "Why is this the first I'm hearing of this?"

"Because it's not a big deal!" you say quickly, cheeks warming. "It was just a kiss."

"Still," Jake says, turning your face toward his. He's grinning like you just told him the most interesting thing in the world. "I feel like this changes everything."

You roll your eyes. "It really doesn't." Jake leans in and kisses your cheek anyway. "Tell me everything," he says, still smiling. "Name, zodiac sign, where is she now—" You splash water at him and he yelps, laughing, pulling you closer again like he can't help himself.

You sigh, content and warm against him, the water lapping gently against your skin. His arms are lazily wrapped around your waist, one hand trailing idle circles over your stomach as the other continues to play with your fingers underwater. "Can I tell you something kinda embarrassing?" you murmur. Jake hums, his lips brushing your shoulder. "Always."

"I used to hear all these rumors about you and Sunghoon on campus...before I even knew either of you." That perks him up. You can sense his smirk forming before you even glance back. "Oh yeah?" he says, already amused. "Like what?" You grin. "Like how you two were rich and lived in some crazy off-campus apartment with a private elevator and heated floors."

Jake snorts. "Okay, yeah, it’s just an elevator. Heated floors, though... only in the bathrooms." You giggle a little. "I still can’t believe he got an apartment for his birthday?" Jake nods like it's normal. "He wanted a Ducati. His dad said no. So, apartment." You blink. "That's...not how my parents work." He chuckles. "Same." You nudge his thigh with yours, warming up. "And they said you drive a Jeep Wrangler—red—with custom rims. Supposedly a reward for agreeing to study business." Jake actually throws his head back and laughs at that.

"I wish," he says through laughter. "I do drive a Wrangler, but it's clearly blue. And I got it for my high school graduation, not because of some lame agreement. My parents still think I'm gonna take over my dad's law firm one day." You grin. "So the business degree is...?"

"Mostly for show," he shrugs. "And to keep them off my ass." You turn your head a little, looking up at him. "Okay, but there was also this one rumor about how you and Sunghoon were like...always hooking up with people. Together. Like some weird team." Jake pauses. Then slowly raises a brow. "I mean... that one's not entirely false." You lean your head back again, smiling up at the ceiling. "Okay, wait, there were so many."

Jake chuckles behind you, arms still snug around your waist. "I'm listening." You start ticking them off on your fingers. "There was one that said you and Sunghoon had a no-dating policy because you didn't want to catch feelings and ruin the—quote—dynamic."

Jake laughs low in your ear. "Okay, that's dramatic. We just didn't want to deal with drama. If someone got clingy, it was a hard no. But no official policy. We're not a corporation." You hum. "Someone once told me Sunghoon broke up a couple because the girl hooked up with him and her boyfriend got jealous." Jake snorts. "That one's true. Not even Hoon's fault though. She lied. Said she was single." Your jaw drops. "He broke up a whole relationship?!"

Jake shrugs. "To be fair, the guy should've been mad at her, not us. Hoon didn't even remember her name the next day." You giggle, letting the warm water slosh a little as you shift. "There was this insane rumor that you—you—ran a finsta where you used to post thirst traps for Sunghoon just to mess with people." Jake breaks into a full grin. "Okay. That one's only a little true."

"WHAT."

He laughs, smug. "I didn't run a finsta, but I did post some stupid clips of Hoon dancing or shirtless after the gym. Just for fun. Girls in the comments used to fight over him. He hated it."

You gasp, delighted. "That's evil." He kisses the side of your neck, smirking. "I'm misunderstood." You continue, "Someone said you two once threw a party where you only let people in if they were hot enough, and you made out with two different people at the same time on the couch." Jake's shoulders shake with laughter behind you. "That party was a disaster. Sunghoon got drunk and made everyone leave because someone puked in his room. And that three-way kiss wasn't planned. They just... went for it."

Jake tilts his head, grinning at you. "What else did they say, hmm?" You bite your lip, pretending to think. "That you only ever go for people you can't have."

He quiets for a beat. His arms tighten slightly around your waist, and when he speaks next, it's softer. "Guess I broke that one too."

"Okay, but this one? Someone told me you guys had a third roommate that no one ever saw but was apparently just there for sex. Like, they called her your house pet." Jake nearly chokes. "Oh my god—what?! That's so fucked up."

"You're not denying it fast enough."

"I'm laughing too hard to defend myself!" he said, voice still warm with amusement. "That's complete bullshit. We didn't even have a third roommate, let alone a pet girl. Sunghoon would never let just anyone into his space like that. What do they think we were doing—running a harem out of a student housing lease?"

You tilted your head, smirking. "I mean..." He lightly bit your shoulder and you squealed. Jake grinned into your neck. "Don't get smart, baby. You're not a pet in this house now, remember?" Your stomach fluttered. "That...somehow doesn't make it better."

"Admit it," he said, voice lower, more teasing, "you'd have believed it if I hadn't told you otherwise."

You turned your face toward his. "Oh, I totally believed it." His grin was shameless. "You still do." You didn't answer, and instead just let your fingers float in the water—because maybe you did. Just a little. Because now that you were here, inside this impossibly expensive, stupidly sexy apartment, with Jake all over you and Sunghoon's voice faint in the hallway...none of it really felt like a rumor anymore. It felt real, cause you were in it now, and you knew they wanted you to stay.

You’re trying to hold back a grin as you continue talking. "There was another one that said you both had fake names on Tinder and used to catfish freshmen just for fun." Jake raises his hands like he's offended. "Now that is slander. I didn't even use dating apps. That was always Hoon's department." You snort. "Oh yeah? Cause I heard Sunghoon only swiped right on people who had either modeling portfolios or mutuals at Ivy Leagues."

Jake pauses. "Okay. That one might be true." You both break into laughter. "Someone said you once skipped a midterm because you got invited to Cannes."

Jake stretches lazily behind you. "Nah, it was the Canary islands. And it wasn’t like we were randomly invited. It was my brothers wedding." “Plus it was after midterms”

"Okay. Well that makes more sense"

"Exactly." You blink, turning to glance at him again—but just then, the bathroom door opens.

Sunghoon walks in, without a word, dropping onto the closed toilet seat, thighs spreading as he rests his elbows on them. The motion draws your eyes before you can stop yourself, gaze dragging to the vee of his hips and the way his muscles flex under his skin. He notices. He always notices.

"Do you guys ever use your bathroom?" he asks casually, voice low and warm with amusement. Jake doesn't look away from you, but he grins. "Yours is bigger."

"Mm," Sunghoon hums, eyes flicking to you now. "That why she always ends up in here looking like this?"

You swallow, cheeks hot again. You feel Jake's smile against your shoulder. Sunghoon leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees now. His eyes drag over your bare shoulders, your wet hair clinging to your collarbone, the way you're pressed against Jake's chest in the water like you're trying to disappear—but not really. "You're so fucking beautiful," he says it like a whisper, like it's not the first time he's thought it today. Or the fifth. Your breath stutters in your throat.

You try to look away but you can’t and neither does he.

Jake's arms tighten around you, a little possessive. A little indulgent. His voice is softer when he speaks, like he already knows what Sunghoon's words did to you.

"She is," Jake murmurs, brushing a kiss behind your ear, and then down the slope of your neck. "So perfect." And the air shifts—warm steam and something heavier threading between all three of you. The kind of quiet where want lives, curling slow and inevitable at the base of your spine. You can feel the weight of Sunghoon's gaze like fingertips against your skin, almost like a promise. You're still flushed from Sunghoon's compliment when you hear the faint sound of fabric being peeled away—the unmistakable rustle of clothes hitting the floor.

You glance up and Sunghoon's undressing, slow and unrushed, pulling his shirt over his head like it's no big deal that you're both watching, because it isn’t. He tosses it to the side before pushing his sweats down, stepping out of them with a calm, practiced ease. And then he heads toward the standing shower opposite the tub like this is the most natural thing in the world. Jake kisses your cheek as if he didn't just tighten his hold on you again. Your eyes follow Sunghoon shamelessly—the strong line of his back, the clean muscles of his thighs, the way he turns the water on and steps under the spray without even glancing back.

"Do you guys ever fight over dick size?" you blurt, half-giddy, half-curious. There's a beat of stunned silence. And then Sunghoon barks out a laugh. Like, actually laughs. Full-bodied, head tilted back, water pouring down his chest as he scrubs body wash into his skin. Even Jake snorts behind you, chin resting on your shoulder. "Oh my god," Sunghoon says between little breathless huffs, rubbing his hand down his face like he's trying to compose himself, "what the fuck, why would you ask that?"

You're giggling now, hands covering your burning face. "I don't know! You guys are both hot and stupidly confident. It's a valid question!" Jake chuckles against your ear. "We haven't fought about it, no," he says with faux solemnity. "We've definitely compared, though."

Sunghoon hums, lifting his brows under the spray. "Weird way of saying I won."

"Please," Jake scoffs. "We're basically the same size."

"Exactly," Sunghoon replies smoothly, rinsing his chest, "and I'm taller, so it looks bigger." That earns another laugh from you, and Jake presses his face into your neck with an affectionate groan like this is his life now.

The water's still a little warm when Sunghoon reaches out a hand for you. "C'mere," he murmurs, voice low and gentle. You let him help you out of the tub, fingers curling around his forearm for balance as he steadies you. Jake's already in the shower by the time your feet touch the floor, letting the spray soak through his hair. He reaches for you the second you're close enough, tugging you under the water between them. It's quiet, almost tender—the rinse off. Just soft hands gliding over your skin, fingers brushing your shoulders, your waist. Sunghoon kisses your forehead at one point. Jake rubs shampoo into your scalp with the gentlest touch, humming something low while water slicks down your back. Afterward, Jake wraps a thick towel around you like it's second nature, tugging it snug and pressing a kiss to your cheek with a little "you did good, baby," like you just ran a marathon instead of... taking a bath.

By the time you're settled in front of the new vanity, in Jake's oversized shirt that hangs halfway down your thighs and Sunghoon's boxers peeking out beneath, you feel extra warm in more ways than one. "This is still crazy," you mumble, eyes sweeping over the glossy surface, the perfect lighting, the neat rows of your favorite products already set out like you've lived here forever. "I didn't even know you two noticed what I use." Jake's sprawled out on the bed beside you, chin resting on his forearm, watching you like he's studying a piece in a museum. He reaches lazily for a bottle near your elbow. "What's this one?" he asks, holding it up to the light. "Retinol," you mumble through a layer of moisturizer.

"What's that do?"

"Helps with texture, aging, breakouts..." Jake squints at the label, then back at you. "You don't need it. Your skin's already perfect."

You roll your eyes, smiling as Sunghoon strolls in from the en-suite bathroom with his iPad in hand, his hair still damp from the shower and slightly curled at the ends. "So," he says, casual but decisive, "if we're doing the trip for my birthday, we need to start looking now. Summer houses go fast—especially the good ones."

You glance at him in the mirror. "Should I pitch in?"

Jake doesn't even let you finish the sentence before he lets out this loud, incredulous laugh—one of those half-snorted ones where he buries his face in the bedspread like he can't believe what he's hearing. "Oh my god," he wheezes. You blink. "What?" Jake props himself up on one elbow, smirking at you with faux seriousness. "Baby. Sunghoon would rather die. Like, full-stop, cease to exist rather than let you drop a cent on something." Sunghoon doesn't even deny it. He just stands there, arms crossed, and lifts a brow like, obviously. You narrow your eyes, trying to fight back a smile. "That's not really fair—"

"It's not about fair," Sunghoon says calmly. "It's my birthday. My trip. And I want to pay for it." Jake nods solemnly behind you. "He's been rich and repressed since birth, princess. Let him use his trauma the way he wants." You giggle despite yourself. "But I can contribute—"

"No," Sunghoon interrupts, voice a touch firmer, but his gaze is soft. "You don't have to. That's the whole point." Jake whistles low under his breath. "You're not gonna win this one. He's gonna book some insane beach mansion with like...six bedrooms, two hot tubs, and a private chef, and you're just gonna have to sit there looking pretty and being spoiled." He grins like he lives for that visual. Sunghoon meets your eyes through the mirror, tilting his head. "Exactly."

And yeah, it's hard to keep arguing when they both look at you like you're the best part of every plan they've ever made.

The warm light glows softly against your skin as you sit at the vanity, carefully patting essence into your cheeks, lips slightly parted in focus again. Sunghoon is now pacing slowly across the room with his iPad in one hand, thumb scrolling as he mumbles something about beach rentals and peak season prices. You're only half-listening to Jake's little rant about why citrus scents are superior to woody ones in candles when the thought blurts out of you, calm and curious. "What's your body count?" Jake groans like he's been wounded, falling back onto the mattress with a dramatic flail. "Jesus, baby. You've been on a roll with these questions tonight."

Sunghoon just looks up from his iPad, lips quirking into a small smile. He doesn't speak right away, just watches you for a second, like he's unsure if you're being serious or poking at them again. "I'm just curious," you hum, flipping open your lip mask container, totally nonchalant. Jake shifts onto his side, watching you. "You curious or you looking for a reason to judge us?" You smirk at his tone, deliberately slow as you apply the lip mask. "Why would I judge? I already know you were a menace." Sunghoon makes a soft snorting sound behind you.

You glance over your shoulder at him. "Well?"

"I think I liked it better when you asked if we ever fought over dick size," he replies dryly, eyes back on the iPad but the edge of his mouth betrays a smile.

Jake's still watching you, lips twitching up but still withholding the answer. You roll your eyes and pout at the mirror. "Fine. Mine's three."

The room goes silent. You glance back just in time to watch Jake's face fall. His smile slips first, just a twitch of confusion that spreads into something heavier. His brows draw together, mouth parting. Sunghoon doesn't even move at first, doesn't blink—he's frozen mid-scroll, his eyes flicking up to you.

Jake is the first to speak. Quiet, disbelieving. "Th—Three?" And Sunghoon, voice low, strained, "Who was the third?" You stare at them both, blankly for a second, before, "Oh my god," you burst out, laughing as you spin around on the stool. "I'm joking!"

Jake exhales so hard he practically deflates, his palm dragging down his face. "You—holy shit, that's not funny." Sunghoon finally sets the iPad down, closing his eyes with a visible exhale of tension. "Don't do that." You're still giggling, covering your mouth. "You should've seen your faces. I've never seen you two panic that fast." Jake groans again. "Don't say three like that. You really scared me."

"Well, I didn't know you cared," you tease, stretching your foot to where Jake is on the bed and he grabs it, just like you knew he would. Sunghoon walks past the end of the bed toward the mini-fridge in the corner, murmuring, "It's not about caring. It's about...statistics."

"Statistics?" you echo, raising a brow. "Yeah," Jake mutters beside you, eyes closed as he drops back again. "Statistically, if there was a third, one of us missed something big." You lean your chin into your hand, watching them both fondly. "You guys are—I don’t even know." Sunghoon returns to his pacing, water bottle in one hand, iPad in the other, and then suddenly turns on his heel. "Okay, what do we think of this one?" he asks, stepping toward the bed. He walks over to you and Jake and crouches just enough to tilt the screen toward you both. On display is a photo of a stunning beach house—sleek, modern, with huge windows and a private pool overlooking the ocean. The kind of place that makes you instinctively lean forward and say, "Wait, what?"

Your eyes widen, immediately suspicious. "This is gorgeous. But..." You squint at the corner of the screen, where Sunghoon's finger is very deliberately planted. "Why is your finger covering the price?" Jake lets out a low chuckle beside you, already sensing where this is going. Sunghoon's mouth pulls into a faint, sly smile. "Do you like it or not?"

"Sunghoon."

"I'm serious. Just say if you like it."

"I do, but—how much is it?"

"That's not relevant." Jake actually laughs this time, dropping his head back on the mattress with a soft thud. "Oh, he's doing that thing again." You glance between them. "What thing?" Jake lifts a hand toward Sunghoon, still chuckling. "The thing where he hides the cost because he knows if you see it, you'll freak out and say no, and he'd rather just book it and deal with your protests later." Sunghoon doesn't deny it. He just gives you a long, measured look. "It's a nice house. Very private. Ocean access. You won't have to see a single stranger all weekend unless you want to."

"But how—"

"Do you like it or not," he repeats, firmer this time but still calm. You gape at him, baffled and kind of impressed by the level of audacity. "I mean, yeah, it's beautiful, but—Sunghoon, seriously, how much is it?"

He just blinks, completely unfazed. "Would you rather stay in a motel with sand in the sheets and a rusty AC unit?" Jake raises a hand in mock surrender. "He's got a point." You shoot Jake a half-hearted glare, but he just grins at you lazily, clearly enjoying the whole exchange. Sunghoon finally relents with a small smirk, standing back up. "Look. If you hate it, we'll find something else. But I want you to relax. This trip is supposed to be good for us." Jake hums in agreement, nudging your ankle with his foot. "Yeah, no stress. Let richie rich do his thing." You narrow your eyes. "I feel like I'm being manipulated." Sunghoon leans down just enough to press a kiss to the top of your head as he murmurs, "You are. Now pick out a swimsuit or something." Jake snorts into his arm. "She's not even packed yet and you're telling her to pick out swimwear." Sunghoon shrugs, walking back toward the desk. "Manifesting." Jake shifts a little closer on the bed, pulling out his phone with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Alright," he says, unlocking it, "if Hoon's gonna bully us into luxury accommodations, I think it's only fair I get to pick your bikinis."

You blink. "My bikinis?" He smirks. "For the trip. You're gonna need some new ones, right?" Before you can protest, he's already scrolling through some sleek, minimalist swimwear site—gorgeous models, sun-drenched beaches, and little strings that don't look like they'd cover much more than a scrunchie. You sigh but lean in anyway, your shoulder brushing his, your chin nearly on his shoulder as you settle beside him. "Okay fine," you murmur, cozy, the back of your hand skimming his thigh as you try to keep up with the screen. Jake grins when he feels you cuddle into him. "I knew that'd get you." He scrolls a bit more, swiping through a few options until one catches his eye—a baby blue bikini, simple but flattering, with gold rings on the sides. "Ooh, this one would look good on you—what's your favorite color, by the way?" He raises his voice slightly. "Hoonie, come check this one out." From the desk, Sunghoon glances up briefly, mildly curious but still scrolling. "Send it to me."

Jake doesn't get the chance. Because you go very still beside him, eyes narrowing at the price listed under the bikini set. "Jake," you say flatly. "Why are the bikinis two hundred and fifty dollars?" Jake pauses mid-scroll. "Huh?" You reach over and point, jabbing the screen. "That. Right there. That's the top. Just the top. It's one hundred and thirty-two before taxes." Jake blinks, then slowly turns his head to you with a sheepish little grin. "Should I have hidden the prices too?" You gape. "What do you mean too?!"

Sunghoon, without even turning around, mutters, "I warned you." You groan and drop your head into Jake's shoulder. "You guys live in an alternate reality."

Jake laughs, deep and warm, sliding his arm around your waist to tug you closer. "Yeah, well, welcome to it." You shake your head, still appalled. "Two hundred fifty dollars for something that covers maybe three square inches."

Jake grins. "Two inches if I'm lucky."

"Jake."

"I'm just saying." He holds the phone up again, brows raised. "So... you like the blue one or should I keep scrolling?" You sigh but nuzzle deeper into his side, warm and soft against him. "Keep scrolling." Sunghoon finally gets up and walks over, standing behind the two of you. "Get her the black one," he says casually, pointing. "It'll look better with her skin tone."

You look up at him. "Do I get a say in this?"

"No," they both say at the same time. You groan again but it's drowned by Jake's quiet chuckle and the gentle way Sunghoon's fingers come down to brush your jaw for a moment, his voice a little softer now, "It's gonna be a good trip."

Midterms came and went in a whirlwind of caffeine, group study sessions, and the constant shuffle of flashcards and highlighters. The apartment felt more like a war zone than a shared living space with Sunghoon's untouched protein shakes gathering condensation beside his laptop while he grumbled over math formulas, and Jake flopped dramatically on the living room rug muttering, "If I get a single A this semester, that'll be my miracle."

When results finally came in, Jake stared at his laptop in disbelief for a good ten seconds before deadpanning, "I think I actually got Cs on all of them. Which is kind of impressive, in a way." He was mostly kidding, he passed everything, but not by the margins his parents would've hoped for. He celebrated anyway, calling himself a smarty pants while Sunghoon shushed him from across the room.

Yunjin still wasn't speaking to you. Not when you passed her in the library. Not when you held the elevator for her. Not even when you sent her a short, cautious message letting her know you'd be out of town for a few days. She'd read it, left you on delivered for a day and then read, but never replied. And maybe that was fine. Maybe it wasn't. Either way, there wasn't time to sit with it for too long.

The week passed quickly, and then suddenly, it was Thursday. The morning of the trip bloomed early and bright. You packed the last of your things before sunrise, half-listening to Jake and Sunghoon move around the apartment like shadows. There was laughter, a few yells about someone forgetting the charger or where the sunscreen was packed, and a loud debate about whether to bring the little Bluetooth speaker. You left just after 10 a.m. Jake's Jeep Wrangler waited outside like something out of a summer movie—top off, back loaded with bags and coolers, Sunghoon's sunglasses already perched on his nose as he leaned against the passenger door checking the GPS. Jake wore a sleeveless white tank and black cargos, all golden skin and lazy smiles as he helped you into the front seat like it was some kind of ritual. Your dress—a soft, floaty sundress with thin straps and a neckline that made Jake do a double take—billowed slightly in the breeze.

"Got everything?" he asked, sliding into the driver's seat. "Yep," you nodded, adjusting your sunglasses.

"You look like trouble," he grinned, and when you rolled your eyes, he added under his breath, "The best kind." The road stretched out endlessly ahead, smooth and wide and sun-warmed. You passed gas stations and tiny roadside diners, the hum of tires and the low thrum of music from the speakers wrapping around you like a slow lullaby. It was loud sometimes—Jake drumming on the steering wheel, Sunghoon reading out Yelp reviews for lunch spots in voices that made you giggle—but there were soft moments too. Fingers brushing your knee. Jake tilting his head back to soak in the wind. Sunghoon stretching out his arm to rest over the backseat casually, turning to look at you both when he thought you weren't paying attention.

Three hours in, you stopped for gas and iced coffee. Sunghoon traded places with Jake—who immediately beelined for the passenger seat and pulled you with him. You were still blinking sleepily from the lull of the drive, half-curled into the corner of the front seat when Jake caught your wrist gently and tugged you down.

"C'mere, baby," he murmured, spreading his legs slightly and settling you between them. His shirt was bunched behind your back now, arms wrapped around your waist like a seatbelt as he got you comfortable in his lap. "Shouldn't I be wearing a seatbelt?" you mumbled, nose brushing his throat. "Nah," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss just behind your ear, "I've got you." He smelled like sunscreen and leather and the faint citrus of whatever body wash he used, and you sighed into him as the Jeep started moving again, the road stretching farther and the sun tilting golden through your sunglasses. Wind tangled your hair. Jake's hand smoothed over your thigh lazily, his other arm looped around your waist as he hummed to the music. You dozed like that for a while, safe and warm in his arms, your sundress brushing the edge of his shorts, your head tucked under his chin, Sunghoon's voice a calm rhythm in the background as he drove.

And just like that, the weekend had begun. Sunghoon's birthday was only two days away. The vacation was waiting. The waves. The slow, decadent hours that would stretch between now and Monday. You didn't know what was coming yet. But for now, in that Jeep, sun-soaked and held like something precious, everything was still whole. The house was huge, washed in soft ivory paint and modern wood accents with high windows that opened to a view of the ocean so blue it looked stunning. It sat perched on a soft cliffside, where a private wooden path led down to the sand. Inside, the space was open and breezy, clean, modern, but cozy too. You all wandered room to room, calling dibs and tossing bags around, the boys marveling at the sound system and built-in grill while you gasped at the oversized bathroom mirror.

Thursday evening passed lazily. You all sat out on the back patio with drinks and takeout from the only decent place you could find nearby. Jake turned on music from his phone and danced around with a glass of Coke while Sunghoon grilled shrimp skewers and told you both to stop acting like children. You stayed up past midnight, bare-faced, barefoot, skin glowing from the salty breeze, and not a care in the world. Now it was Friday afternoon, and your vibe was completely different. You were standing in front of the mirror, a bright green bikini top clinging to your chest like a second skin. It was cuteor it would've been if it fit properly. But it was a full two sizes too small. You'd only just now realized that the sizes on the site had been in European metrics. All of them. Every single one Jake had ordered with you. The bottoms were worse—low rise and barely-there, and the top? Let's just say one good wave and you were going to be the entertainment for the whole beach.

Downstairs, you could hear the impatient tapping of flip-flops and Jake's familiar voice calling out, "Baby? Seriously? The sun's gonna set before we get there if you don't hurry." You panicked. "Can you guys come up here?" your voice carried, laced with confusion and mild distress. A beat passed before the footsteps and then Jake's voice again. "Why? What's—oh. Oh." He stopped in the doorway. You turned around slowly, crossing your arms over your chest instinctively. "They're all like this," you muttered. "All the bikinis. Every single one is...I don't even know how." Jake blinked at you like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or melt into the ground. "I—okay. Wait. Wait. Let me see."

"Jake—"

"No, seriously. I just...I need a second." He stepped in fully, eyes wide, gaze raking over you, then darting away. "Oh fuck." At that moment, Sunghoon appeared in the doorway too. "What's taking so—" His words cut off the second he laid eyes on you and he visibly froze.

His hand tightened on the frame of the door, and his brows lifted just slightly before he glanced at Jake and then back at you. "Is that the one I picked?" he asked carefully. You blinked. "They're all like this." A long silence passed. Then, Sunghoon, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smirk, looked straight at Jake and deadpanned, "Did you do this on purpose?" Jake barked a laugh. "No! Obviously not. Do you think I want her to get heat stroke because her ass is basically out?"

"You don't seem that mad about it," you said, narrowing your eyes. "I'm not mad about how it looks," Jake said shamelessly. "I'm mad we're going to be late because now I'm thinking about pushing the whole beach day back until tomorrow." Sunghoon walked in slowly now, finally getting his composure back, though his eyes still lingered. "You're not wearing that out there," he murmured, reaching forward to tug one of the straps gently, watching it snap back into place with a disapproving shake of his head. "You'll be on some guy's Snapchat story before you even touch the sand."

"But we don't have anything else," you groaned. "And the stores here are so overpriced—" Jake was already pulling out his phone. "We can order you something express. Overnight delivery. Worst case, we drive into the town in the morning." Sunghoon exhaled and nodded. "For today...you can wear one of our shirts and your shorts to the beach. That way you still get sun, and you don't have to worry about this whole wardrobe malfunction thing." You huffed. "I was supposed to be hot today." Jake leaned down, pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder. "You are hot today." Sunghoon's voice, quiet and amused, "Too hot, actually." Jake sighed dramatically. "Okay, beach. Let's move.

The beach was almost eerily perfect, in a way that made you feel like you were dreaming, it was secluded, sun-drenched, and quiet save for the gentle lap of waves and the occasional distant laugh from another couple several cabanas down. The air smelled like coconut sunscreen and salt, and the sand was warm enough to sink your toes into without flinching. Sunghoon had splurged on the fanciest cabana available, of course—sleek wooden framing, gauzy white curtains, plush daybeds. It looked like something out of a magazine editorial, and Jake had immediately stretched out on one of the loungers like he owned the place. You'd barely set your tote down before Jake grinned and took off running. "Jake—!" You blinked, startled, before chasing after him barefoot through the sand, laughing as you ran. Sunghoon didn't say a word, just shook his head with a rare, fond smile and then took off behind you both, his long legs easily overtaking yours. Jake was first and Sunghoon let you win.

You all collapsed on the sand, breathless and red-faced from laughter. You caught a glimpse of Sunghoon genuinely laughing, his head tipped back, hair messy from the ocean breeze, and your heart hurt a little. You didn't realize how rare it was for you to see him like that. "I don't run unless I'm getting paid," he muttered, sand stuck to his chest and forearms. You eventually made your way to the water. Sunghoon didn't wait, he came up behind you, arms around your waist, and with an effortless lift, carried you into the ocean. Your legs instinctively wrapped around him, and he grinned, saltwater dripping from his lashes.

"This is cheating," you whispered breathlessly, hands tangled in his wet hair. He kissed you once, then again—slow, easy, like you weren't waist-deep in ocean water. When you pulled back, dazed, you noticed Jake watching from a few feet away, not with jealousy or anything of the sort, but with admiration. He looked like he was thanking every god for this getaway and it drew you to him, kissing him too, this one more playful, mouths smiling into each other, noses bumping. His hands were warm on your back despite the chill of the ocean. It didn't take long before both boys were getting competitive again, scooping sand in their palms and chasing you up the beach with it. You shrieked, half-laughing, half-running, but they were faster, and grinning so evil when they caught up. Two sandy handprints landed square on your ass, one slightly higher than the other. "Seriously?" you gasped.

"Matching set," Jake grinned, brushing more sand onto the curve of your hip for symmetry. Later, you found out Jake had posted a picture on his private Instagram story—just your back, bikini bottoms, and two very clear sandy handprints with no caption. The sun was setting when the three of you made your way back up the private trail to the beach house on foot, flip-flops dangling from your fingers, towels wrapped lazily around your waists. You were sandy and soaked and sun-drunk. The sky was pink now. Sunghoon opened the door for you, but you were already tugging your bikini straps down under Jake's shirt before you even crossed the threshold. "I am not getting sand all over this house," you muttered, stepping out of your bottoms and shaking them out before dropping them by the door. Jake laughed from behind you, watching you shimmy out of your bikini top, wearing nothing but his oversized shirt from earlier in the day.

"Hmm," he hummed, walking up behind you. You barely had time to register the heat in his voice before his hands were on your waist, pulling you back against him. Sunghoon lingered in the corner, towel slung over one shoulder, watching quietly, but his eyes were dark, tracking the way Jake kissed down your neck, how you arched a little when Jake's hands slipped under the hem of his own shirt. "You're really just—doing this right here?" Sunghoon asked, but his voice was low, interested, not judging.

Jake glanced back at him, smirking. "What, you're shy now?" He asked as he drags you to the couch, and pressing you there, it's deliberate with his knee between your legs and his hands in your hair. His lips are warm and persistent, tongue sliding against yours like he's coaxing you open for him, like he has all the time in the world and he's planning to use it. Sunghoon's still nearby. You feel his presence before you feel his touch, his arm brushing against yours as he settles in behind you. His hand finds your bare thigh, warm and steady, sliding up just enough to make you breathe a little harder. Jake breaks the kiss to look at him. "You're just gonna sit there?" Sunghoon smirks a little. "You were busy."

"She's not just mine, you know?" Jake says, turning back to you, his mouth already hovering close again. "Let him kiss you, baby." You blink up at him, flushed, and then turn your head to Sunghoon. He doesn't ask. Just leans in and kisses you, slower than Jake, deeper, like he's learning you all over again. His hand rests on your cheek, fingers brushing your jaw. When Jake's hand slides under his shirt, teasing your nipples, Sunghoon deepens the kiss, swallowing the sound you make in your throat. Jake laughs quietly. "So obedient," he murmurs against your neck, biting gently. "You always let him kiss you like that when I'm watching?" You can't even answer. Their hands are everywhere now, Jake is palming your breast, Sunghoon's thumb stroking your thigh, pushing the hem of your shirt higher, higher. You shiver. Sunghoon pulls away just enough to look at you. "You okay?"

You nod quickly. "Yeah. I—yeah." Jake's grin sharpens. He leans in again, brushing his lips against your ear.

"Wanna show him what you got him for his birthday?"

You go still. Your breath catches hard in your throat. "Jake—" Sunghoon looks confused at first. "What?" Jake's voice is low now, hot against your ear. "Come on. Don't be shy. He's been so good today. You know he'll love it." You hesitate, heart pounding, your skin prickling as heat floods through you. Jake's fingers trail down your spine, featherlight.

"You said you wanted to be his gift, his birthday is in a few hours," he whispers, "so give it to him." You glance at Sunghoon. He's watching you closely now, his expression a mix of curiosity and hunger, like he's not sure what you're about to do but he wants it. Badly. So you shift on your knees, above Jake, and with shaky hands, you pull down the waistband of your shorts just enough. Enough for him to see it. The soft, glinting edge of the buttplug catches the light—delicate, blush pink, shaped like a bow. It fits snug between the curve of your cheeks, resting there with perfect intention. You shift slightly, thighs pressing together, back arched just enough.. "Is that...?"

"You can fuck her here, baby," Jake says behind you, tapping your ass cheek with one finger, his voice proud as he brushes your hair off your shoulder so he can kiss your neck. "Kept her like that all week. For you." Sunghoon doesn't move for a second. He's stunned. And then he exhales, almost like a groan, dragging a hand through his hair as his gaze drops to your ass again. "You're kidding," he mutters. "You actually..."

"She wanted to," Jake says, dragging his hand down your back, then squeezing. "She asked. You should've seen her last week, all squirmy and shy and so fucking wet the second I put it in. Had to eat her pussy so she'd stop whining." Sunghoon looks dazed. "Holy shit." You feel Jake smile against your shoulder. There's a long pause. Then the pad of Sunghoon's thumb trails lightly down the curve of your spine, featherlight, until he reaches just above the plug. He doesn't touch it. Not yet. He just lets his hand rest there.

"You've never done this before." It's not a question. He already knows. You shake your head, glancing at him over your shoulder. "No." Something in his expression shifts—something slow and low and almost solemn, like he's trying not to break something delicate in front of him. Jake watches him carefully. "Well?" he prompts. "You gonna thank her, birthday boy?" Sunghoon smiles faintly. It's crooked, quiet, full of everything he doesn't say out loud. "With you sitting over there like a smug little shit?"

Jake just grins wider. "Then come get your girl, Hoon."

"Told you he'd like it, baby." Jake says, nuzzling his nose in your neck. "Best birthday ever?"

"Best fucking birthday ever." Sunghoon muttered as he got on his knees, behind you, pressing you further into Jake so you were perfectly arched, with your ass and pussy directly in his face. He stared at the buttplug for a second longer before pulling it out slowly, watching how your body reacted to the object being removed from you. And audibly groaning at the whimper you make. The moment his tongue made contact with your dripping heat, your entire body tensed, a quiet gasp slipping from your lips as your nails dug into Jake's shoulders. "Shit," he hissed under his breath, his voice vibrating against your skin. "You're unreal."

Your lashes fluttered as you melted into the feeling, a soft moan escaping while your hips instinctively rolled toward his mouth. Sunghoon shifted lower, tongue diving deep before dragging back up slowly, deliberately. Then he started mouthing at you—messy, open-mouthed kisses that left your thighs trembling. His tongue circled your clit lazily, then slid back down again, tasting everything. "I didn't even know I wanted this," he murmured, voice husky, sending a chill up your spine. One of his hands splayed across your lower back, gently coaxing you closer to Jake, who held you steady like an anchor in the storm.

"Easy," Jake whispered, brushing a kiss to your temple. "Just breathe, baby."

Then Sunghoon's tongue slipped somewhere new—somewhere you thought the plug had prepared you for. A startled cry ripped from your throat as your body jolted, clutching at Jake in shock. The sensation was foreign, startling, and then the pleasure began to bloom. Sunghoon held you open with both hands, tongue exploring without hesitation, while Jake's fingers found your clit and started working slow, maddening circles over it. "That's it," Jake murmured, watching your expression melt. "That's my good girl. You like that?" You tried to respond, to say anything, but then Sunghoon pushed deeper, his tongue breaching you completely, and a broken, helpless moan tore free from your chest.

"Ah—Hoonie!" The feeling was indescribable—so intense and overwhelming, your mind could barely keep up. He moved between your openings with practiced ease—one second his tongue was circling your tightest rim, the next he was dragging a slow, obscene lick down to your soaked pussy. A low groan rumbled from his chest, lips slick as he devoured everything you gave him, like he couldn't get enough.

"Can I use my finger?" he asked, voice rough with want. You nodded with a shaky inhale, and Jake brushed another kiss to your cheek, his fingers still rubbing tight, unrelenting circles over your clit that made your thighs tremble.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Sunghoon muttered, one slick-coated finger gently circling your puckered entrance, playing with the sensitive muscle but holding back from fully pushing in—just yet.

When your body finally softens against Sunghoon's, he eases a finger in, pushing just past the entrance before pausing. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, his voice quieter than usual, checking your reaction. Your answer was muffled, your face buried in the curve of Jake's neck, a quiet, shaky, "No." Jake lifts his head to speak for you. "She said no." Sunghoon's finger presses in deeper, slick with your arousal as he gently works you open. His movements are slow, precise, and devoted—though the way his jaw clenched betrays just how badly he wanted to lose control. He lets out a sharp breath through his nose as he watches the way your spine arcs, your body pressed close to Jake's, the tight clench of muscle around his finger making his cock twitch in anticipation.

"Just like that," he murmurs. You inhale sharply when a second finger slips in beside the first, stretching you further. The sensation is unfamiliar, even bordering on too much—but his patience grounds you. Jake's fingers lazily circle your clit while his mouth trails along your collarbone, muttering soft praise against your skin. "Perfect, baby. You're doing so perfect." The moment Sunghoon is confident you're ready, and satisfied with how pilant you've become, he withdraws with shaking hands and fumbles at the waistband of his shorts. His cock sprang free, red and swollen, the tension in his body palpable as he positions himself behind you. One hand sliding to your lower back, gently pushing you down into Jake's chest while his mouth ghosted over your shoulder.

"Go slow, Hoonie," Jake whispers, tilting your face to his and licking at your bottom lip in a sweet distraction. Sunghoon gives him a subtle nod, and for a moment, it really looked like he'd listen—until his palm lands hard across your ass with a sharp slap. "Ah!"

"You've been walking around with a plug in you all week like a filthy little slut," he growled. "You knew I'd lose my mind over it, didn't you, baby?" One hand grips your waist firmly while the other guides his cock to your entrance. The first press of him inside has you whimpering instantly. Jake was quick to soothe you though, brushing his lips against your ear. "It's okay, princess," "it's gonna feel so good real soon, I promise." He lowers his head to capture your nipple in his mouth, gently sucking as you try to catch your breath. Behind you, Sunghoon groans, full-bodied and desperate. "Fucking hell. So tight—Jesus Christ." His restraint was unraveling by the second. Jake's hand trails down, spreading you wider to give Sunghoon better access, and the sound that tears from him is downright feral. "Oh, fuck—Jake—yeah, just like that."

Jake doesn't stop. One hand holds you open while the other resumes slow, deliberate circles over your clit, making your thighs tremble. "Yunnie—" you gasp, voice cracking as you whine his name into his ear.

He smiles against your cheek. "Yeah, pretty girl? You like that?" "You like Hoonie fucking your tight little hole open?" You nod frantically, eyes glassy and unfocused, pleasure washing over your features like a fever. Jake coos sweetly, lips ghosting over your cheek.

"Aww, does it feel good, baby?" he asks, fingers never slowing on your clit. Your voice comes out barely above a whisper, breathless and shaky. "Faster..." That one word sends a ripple through the air. Neither of them ask who you're talking to—both of them just react. Jake's fingers quicken, pressing tighter, circling faster, more precise. Behind you, Sunghoon grunts low in his throat and adjusts his grip on your hips, driving into you with sharper, deeper thrusts now, dragging loud moans from your throat with every push. The stretch has your legs trembling, your body sandwiched between them, completely overwhelmed. Jake kisses the corner of your mouth, not breaking rhythm for a second. "So needy, huh? You want both of us to ruin you, is that it?"

Sunghoon's fingers dig harder into your waist. "Look at her," he rasps. "Can barely keep her eyes open." Your breath stutters again as Jake slides two fingers into your mouth, letting you suck them automatically. "That's it," Jake whispered. "Good girl. Just take it."

Sunghoon's hips snap harder now, every thrust making your body jolt forward into Jake's chest. He hisses at the feel of you clenching, practically growling through his teeth. "She's squeezing me so tight."

"Because she's close," Jake smirked, pulling his fingers from your mouth to pinch your nipple. "Aren't you, pretty baby?" You can't even speak—just another frantic nod, a sob of pleasure tearing out of your throat as the pace refuses to let up. It's too much, but you don't want it to stop. You can't even imagine asking them to stop. And neither of them plan to. Just as your legs begin to shake, as the pleasure surging to unbearable heights, Sunghoon grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you upright off Jake's chest with startling ease. You gasp, dizzy from the sudden movement, your body still fluttering from the stimulation. "Open your mouth, baby" he orders, voice dark and low. "Suck Yunnie off." Jake's eyes widen for a split second, but he was already pulling his shorts down, cock flushed and leaking. He guides it to your lips, and the second you part them, he groans—loud, shameless, head tilting back as he sinks into your warmth. "Fuck—so obedient, baby," Jake pants, cupping your face as you take him deeper. "God, you're perfect. Just like that." You moan around him, tongue swirling, letting him fuck into your mouth with shallow thrusts. But the moment is cut sharp when Sunghoon's palm lands on your ass again—hard and punishing. You jolt, muffled whimper vibrating around Jake's cock. "She's so good," Sunghoon mumbles behind you like he can't believe it, voice wrecked, hips slamming into you now with barely restrained aggression. "Tight little hole—fuck, I can't..."

Your body is bouncing between them, stretched, full, completely claimed. Jake is panting through gritted teeth, hands trembling as he tries to control himself. "She's gonna make me cum—shit, you're gonna make me—" Sunghoon growls, wrapping an arm around your waist and driving into you so deep your entire body shudders. "Don't you dare finish before her." Jake groans like it physically hurts to stop but pulls back slightly, just enough for you to suck the tip, desperate and messy, while Sunghoon fucks you into the edge.

"You close, baby?" Sunghoon asks, voice broken. "You gonna cum all over my cock like a good little slut?"

Your moan is the only answer he needs. Sunghoon reaches down himself to circle your clit with practiced fingers and you absolutely break—body tensing, legs trembling, a high-pitch cry escaping past Jake's cock as your orgasm rips through you like a violent wave. "That's it," Jake whispers, watching your eyes roll back, "Good girl, fuck—look at you."

Sunghoon curses under his breath, hips stuttering as he finally lets go, spilling deep inside you with a loud moan, his forehead pressed to your shoulder. You're a trembling, boneless mess between them—used, adored, completely undone. But your mouth never stops sucking Jake off, his grip tightens in your hair as your lips work over him, cheeks hollowed, eyes glassy from overstimulation. He was already close—your tongue too eager, your mouth too warm, and your throat too obedient. "Fuck—gonna cum," he says, trying to pull back, but you suck harder, moaning around him as if daring him to finish there. "Wait—baby, swallow it—like I like—" Too late. You already were. Your throat bobs with each swallow, taking every last drop before he even finishes the command. Jake stares down at you, chest heaving. "Jesus Christ," he breathes, his cock twitching in your mouth. "That was so fucking hot."

When he finally slips free, you look dazed, lips swollen and glossy with spit, eyes fluttering as if trying to hold on to consciousness. Sunghoon still has you gripped by the waist, slowly pulling out, and you whimper from the sheer sensitivity, his cum immediately beginning to drip from your hole. Your legs give out but they catch you before you hit the floor, gently guiding you down onto the couch. You collapse sideways, chest rising and falling fast, totally limp, dazed and trembling. Neither of them speak for a second—both staring at the way Sunghoon's cum leaks from your freshly used hole, trailing slow and thick down your thighs and onto the leather. Jake adjusts himself, sweat-slick and still catching his breath, watching you like you were art. "Fuck," he whispers. "That's—Fuck."

Sunghoon stays crouched beside you, thumb brushing gently over your hip. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches. Quiet and intense with his jaw clenched.

Your breathing is shallow now, your body utterly spent, limbs heavy and tingling from the overstimulation. The room is silent save for Jake's slow, steady breaths where he's slumped back against the couch, almost half-asleep and completely blissed out. Sunghoon doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at you—really looks at you, eyes slowly sweeping over your trembling frame, the marks on your hips, the slick mess between your thighs. Then he moves gently, one arm sliding beneath your knees, the other curling behind your back.

You can’t even protest as he picked you up, bridal-style, tucking your head against his chest. "Are you sore?" he murmurs as he carries you into the bathroom. His voice has lost all its edge, soft and concerned now, like every piece of him is now tuned to you. "Do you need anything? Water?" You shake your head sleepily, just clinging to him. He kisses the top of your head pulling you into the warm shower. He’s so careful with you, moving slowly, running his soapy hands down your back and legs, washing your hair, and massaging your scalp, whispering how good you were, how proud he is of you. You barely say a word, just hum softly and lean into him, letting him take care of everything.

Afterward, he towel-dries you with gentle strokes, slips one of his oversized shirts over your head, and helps you into bed. He comes back out into the living room freshly showered in only his sweats, glancing over at the couch where Jake is still out cold. "Jake," he calls, voice low but firm. "Go shower. Come to bed." Jake grumbles, half-laughs, but drags himself up, muttering something about needing ten minutes and a gallon of water. By the time he joins you both in bed, the lights were dim, and Sunghoon has you cradled against his chest, your body finally starting to relax in the warmth and comfort of his hold. Jake slides in behind you, arm draped lazily over your waist. You blink up at Sunghoon, your lips brushing his cheek in a slow, grateful kiss. "Happy birthday, Hoonie." He stills. And then he smiles—soft and rare, a kind of vulnerable happiness blooming in his eyes as he looks down at you. "You really are everything, baby." He whispers back.

The light spilling in through the white linen curtains is soft and golden, the kind that only happens near the ocean—quiet, slow, and drenched in warmth. You wake to the scent of salt and boyish musk, buried between the two people you've come to crave like breath. Jake is sprawled on your left, arm thrown haphazardly around your waist, his cheek smushed against the pillow. Sunghoon is to your right, chest bare, lashes fluttering ever so slightly as he sleeps. You feel the dull ache between your thighs—the kind you've come to love, the kind that reminds you of everything they did to you the night before. It's intimate, almost sweet in its soreness. Like a love letter written in bruises and breathless moans.

Carefully, you shift to sit up, brushing your hair from your face. But in your movement, your hand slips just slightly across the waistband of Sunghoon's boxers, pressing against the very obvious morning effect there. He groans softly through a smirk, eyes still closed. "Didn't get enough yesterday, pretty girl?" His voice is deep and gravelly with sleep, thick like honey. You flush but smile, heart fluttering. Leaning down, you kiss him gently, your lips brushing his like a secret. "Happy birthday, baby," you whisper, fingers brushing his hair back. He finally opens his eyes, they're glassy with sleep but locked on you. One hand snakes around your waist and pulls you down so you're flush against his chest, sprawled on top of him. "Thank you," he murmurs, hands splayed across your back. "You're the best gift I've ever gotten."

Behind you, Jake groans and stretches, the sheets rustling. "Ugh, what time is it?" he mumbles, voice muffled against the pillow. Then he turns, eyes still half-shut, and reaches over your body to cup Sunghoon's jaw. He leans in and kisses him, lazy and affectionate. "Happy birthday, babe," he mutters, his voice low and warm. Sunghoon chuckles beneath you, the vibration rippling through your chest. "Best way to wake up," he says. You're wrapped up in limbs and heat and love—one boy beneath you, one boy beside you, both of them looking at you like you're theirs. And you are, you can tell in the way Sunghoon's fingers are lazy where they trace patterns on your bare back, and you're still laying on top of him when he speaks, voice muffled slightly by your hair. "So," he hums, "what should we do today?" You lift your head just a little, looking down at him, lips brushing his jaw. Jake's arm tightens around your waist from behind, like he doesn't want to give you up just yet. You hum too, thinking, but Jake's the one who answers first.

"We could invite a few of our friends up," he says casually, his voice still thick with sleep. "Just something chill. Intimate." Sunghoon snorts beneath you. "No one's gonna drive six hours to celebrate my birthday." You stifle a laugh and mumble, "I don't even have any friends," your tone a little too dry, the snort at the end giving away how little you care. Jake groans like you've personally offended him. "That's not true," he sighs, leaning up on one elbow to look at you, brow furrowed. "You have us." You twist around to meet his eyes and raise a brow. "You're not my friends." Your tone is calm, almost thoughtful. "Actually, I've been thinking...I kind of want to make new ones. Maybe girls, I need to be around less testosterone."

There's a pause. Sunghoon grunts underneath you like he's just been stabbed, his hands tightening ever so slightly on your hips. Jake scoffs. "You say girls like we'd allow it be guys."

"Jungwon's cool," Jake adds after a beat, tone a little brighter, like he's offering a genuine solution. "We could all hang out more with him when we get back." That earns an actual laugh from Sunghoon, sharp and smug. "Why are you pushing this Jungwon agenda so hard?" Jake's head snaps to him. "Because he's sweet," he says, almost defensive, like he's ready to argue. "And normal. He's not weirdly obsessed with stock prices or adrenaline or—" he gestures toward Sunghoon, "—being emotionally constipated." You groan and start crawling over Sunghoon's chest, pushing your hair back as you rise up on your knees. "I'll pass on Jungwon, I want girlfriends, " you say with a sigh, standing at the edge of the bed and stretching, "also because I can't even look him in the eye without picturing you—" You turn and point at Sunghoon, "—bending him over." Jake chokes on a laugh while Sunghoon groans, covering his face with a pillow. You grin wickedly, bend at the waist in full theatrical performance, and moan, "Sunghoon—ahh, fuck, right there!" tossing your head back dramatically like you imagine Jungwon must've. Jake loses it, flopping onto his back in laughter, and Sunghoon pulls the pillow off just to glare playfully at you.

"Minx," he mutters. Jake props himself up against the headboard, sheet sliding low on his hips, eyes still a little puffy with sleep but already gleaming with mischief. "Okay but seriously," he starts, raking a hand through his hair. "If we do invite people, it could be fun. Just a small thing. Jay, maybe. Jungwon. Heeseung, obviously." my Sunghoon groans again. "Obviously." Jake shrugs. "And I guess that means Yunjin would have to come too," he tacks on, his voice dropping into something heavier—flat, reluctant, with a bitterness he doesn't bother hiding. You pause mid-stretch in the doorway, your hand frozen on the bathroom doorframe. The annoyance bubbles up before you can swallow it. "Okay, can one of you just say it already?" Jake lifts a brow, watching you. You cross your arms. "What is it with you two and Yunjin? You act like she poisoned your drinks every time her name comes up." Sunghoon doesn't answer—just makes a face and throws his arm over his eyes like he can't even deal with the subject.

Jake, on the other hand, doesn't miss a beat. He stretches both arms over his head, tone dry, "Aside from the fact that she called you a whore to your face and is a raging cunt?" He glances at you, all faux innocence. "Not much, really." Your jaw drops a little. "Jake."

"What?" he says, eyes wide. "You were there. You heard her." Sunghoon lifts his arm from his face just to mutter, "He's not wrong."

Jake points. "See? Thank you." You roll your eyes and walk back over to the bed, standing at the foot of it now, arms still crossed. "She's my cousin."

"She's a bitch," Jake corrects smoothly, laying back against the headboard again. "Family ties don't exempt her from that." Sunghoon nods in agreement, lips tugging into a little smirk like he's secretly enjoying your disbelief. Jake squints at you, suddenly more serious. "You know we'd never say anything if it wasn't about you. You're too nice to call her out, so someone has to." You blink, caught off guard. Their protectiveness always hits a little harder when you're not expecting it. Jake sighs dramatically, kicking the sheet off his legs. "Just think about it, okay? Birthday gathering. Limited guest list. Preferably minus raging narcissists."

Sunghoon chimes in, eyes still closed, "She can come. As long as she stays six feet away from my girl and doesn't speak unless spoken to." Jake lifts his hand like he's making a pact. "Seconded." You mutter under your breath, turning for the bathroom again. "I can't even deal with you two right now." And from behind you, with a laugh in his voice—Jake calls out to you, "Baby! Come back!"

Turns out Jake was right—there is a very short list of things people wouldn't do for Sunghoon. Even driving six hours just because Jake sent out a half-assed invite to a beach house birthday? Not off the table, apparently. Only a handful of people came—it was still intimate, just louder now. Warmer. A little more chaotic. Heeseung showed up first, of course, with Yunjin clinging to his arm and sunglasses on despite it being overcast. You'd said hi to her, trying to be polite, trying to keep things smooth, and she didn't not respond...she just sort of tilted her head and said, "Bold outfit choice," before letting her eyes skim you up and down like you were something she'd never choose from the rack. And when you'd mentioned casually that Sunghoon had picked it out, she made that face. The one that was all tight-lipped and pinched like she'd just bitten into something sour and needed everyone to know.

Jake had seen it too. Of course he had. And he'd pulled you away before you could respond, guiding you across the patio by the small of your back with a too-sweet, "Let's get you away from the rotting energy, yeah?" He introduced you to Jay next—smirking a little as he did it, like he was proud to show you off. Jay had been polite, chill, charming in that low-effort way that felt like it came naturally to him. You liked him instantly. Then Jungwon pulled up, a little later, looking tan and soft and friendly, and you weren't sure what you were expecting—but it wasn't the way he smiled when he saw you. It was easy, bright, like he actually wanted to be there. Like he wanted to talk to you. He complimented your outfit right away. "You look amazing, by the way," he even asked how you were like he meant it. And you wanted to like him. You almost did. But every time he looked at you with those kind eyes, all you could think about was Sunghoon's hands on him, Sunghoon's mouth on his neck, the sound he must've made when he came and that was the problem.

No matter how nice he was, you couldn't unsee it. You couldn't unknow it.

It’s well into the afternoon now, the sun has started its slow descent over the ocean, and the birthday energy has shifted from sleepy and sweet to loose-limbed and sticky with alcohol. You're at the drinks table trying to stop Jake from going too hard, fingers wrapped around his wrist as he sloppily pours a round of shots he doesn't need. "Jake," you murmur, half-laughing, half-serious, "no more." He grins at you with that dangerous twinkle in his eye, the one that always means trouble, and holds a full shot glass just out of your reach. "But it's a celebration," he says with a mock pout, swaying slightly as he clutches the edge of the table for balance. You reach up to snatch the glass, and just then, he accidentally tilts it forward, spilling cold liquor straight onto your bare chest, where the low-cut neckline of your bikini top leaves skin exposed. "Oh nooo," he says, faux-gasping with a shit-eating grin before he dips his head low, mouth hot and wet against your skin as he licks the shot clean with a giggle. "Can't waste good tequila."

"Jake!" you squeal, swatting at him while laughing. You're barely able to regain control of the situation when Sunghoon appears at Jake's side, calm and unimpressed as he hands him a bottle of water. "That's enough," he says, low and even. Jake—drunk and flushed and still grinning—immediately drops the shot glass and takes the water with a nod, like Sunghoon's word is law. "Okay," he says softly, like a scolded dog who doesn't mind being scolded. He flops down onto a nearby stool, still sipping, and you follow, your fingers brushing gently through his hair. He hums under your touch, his lashes fluttering. Then, out of nowhere, he mumbles, "I love you. So much." It's quiet but genuine, a little slurred but certain. You smile, brushing his bangs off his forehead, your chest warm with it. But then out of the corner of your eye you see her. Yunjin. Leaning a little too close to Jay on the terrace chairs, her fingers brushing his arm like she doesn't even realize she's doing it. Her legs crossed just so, laughing a little too loudly at whatever he said. And Jay's not exactly pulling away either. Your gaze shifts instinctively and catches Sunghoon's. He's already looking, but not at you. His eyes are locked on Heeseung, who's walking toward the pair now with a stiff jaw and a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

He comes to a stop in front of them, looking down at Jay like he's trying to make sense of it. "Dude," Heeseung says, his voice casual but cold, "why are you so all over my girlfriend?" Jay blinks up at him, smile faltering. And just like that, the tension at the table spikes—sharp, quiet, and full of all the things that haven't been said yet. Jay's eyes flick to Heeseung's, expression hardening into something mean and brash, so different from the charming guy you met just hours ago, the one Jake had introduced so proudly. "I'm all over your girlfriend?" Jay scoffs, standing now, his tone loud and sharp enough to cut through the sound of the waves. "She's the one who came onto me. She always comes onto me." There's a shift. A drop in pressure like the air's been sucked out of the house. Jake, still perched on the stool beside you, squints and lets out a half-drunk, "Uh oh." You slap your hand over his mouth without even looking.

Heeseung's jaw flexes. "What the fuck do you mean always? She always comes onto you?" Jay throws his hands up, exasperated. "Come on, Heeseung. Everyone knows your girlfriend is a fucking slut. You're just the only one too blind to see it." Gasps break out like shattering glass. Someone actually says "Oh my god." The music comically stutters to a stop. And Yunjin? She just blinks but doesn't even deny it. Your pulse is thudding in your ears as Jay keeps going, eyes lit up like he's been holding this in for way too long. "Why are you even coming after me?" he snaps, stepping forward, "You didn't seem to have a problem when she threw herself at Sunghoon too."

Silence. Your feel your body go ice cold, turning your head slowly toward Sunghoon, your mouth dry, your breath caught somewhere deep in your throat. But he's already looking at you. Already shaking his head, already panicking. "Baby," he says, voice trembling for the first time ever, "I swear—it didn't happen. She tried, yeah, but it didn't fucking happen." He turns to Jay, eyes wild. "Jay! Are you fucking kidding me right now!?" But it's too late. Heeseung steps back like he's been physically hit, eyes wide and locked on Sunghoon now. "Are you fucking serious?" he breathes, voice deadly quiet. "You knew?" You can feel it, the moment the entire mood shatters—cracking open into something ugly and raw. Everyone's watching now. No one's moving. No one dares to breathe. And you’re standing there, still stuck on that single, damning word. Tried.

Jake, still half-drunk and slow on the uptake, lets out another one of his too-loud, too-poorly-timed laughs. "I mean...Yunjin is kind of a slut," he mumbles with a shrug, like that'll somehow ease the tension. It doesn't. Yunjin snaps her gaze to him so fast her sunglasses nearly fall off. And that's when it breaks. That last thread holding her in place. "I'm the slut?" she hisses, taking a step forward and jabbing a finger in your direction. "Not my cousin who you and Sunghoon turned into your fucking sex slave?" The air splits. Everyone flinches. Jake immediately sobers like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. He stands, voice low and sharp, "Watch your fucking mouth." Sunghoon's right behind him, jaw clenched. "Don't you dare talk about her like that." But you're already stepping back. Heart pounding. Face burning. Stomach lurching. The words crawl under your skin like fire, because this—this sick, twisted narrative—is what they've been hiding. What they've been keeping from you. Your voice comes out clipped, shaking. "Don't. Don't defend me."

Yunjin smirks like a predator who's smelled blood. "Ooou," she purrs mockingly, "look who finally grew a spine. All it took was getting dicked down, uh?" Your fists curl at your sides, and Jake growls something under his breath, but Yunjin's not finished. "You're so fucking pathetic," she spits. "You let them touch you. You let them fuck you after everything they did. You think that makes you powerful now? Makes you special? Please. You were a joke before, and now you're just a joke who moans." There's a second where no one says anything—where it feels like the whole world tilts, and even the ocean forgets to crash. But then someone speaks, "Come on, Yunjin." Jungwon. Calm, smooth, and a little amused. Arms crossed. Leaning casually against the side of the bar like he's been watching a game unfold. "You're just jealous," he says with a laugh. "You couldn't have either of them if you tried." He smiles, then adds, just to twist the knife, "And turns out—you did."

Jungwon’s words don’t seem to stop her though, it seems like she can’t stop, like she’s smelled your weakness. Spitting venom with a bitter little smile, fully convinced that out of everyone here, you're the easiest to break. "You act so fucking innocent," she snaps, taking a step closer, "but you're just as desperate as the rest of us. Probably worse. Newsflash, cousin—being passed between two guys doesn't make you liberated. It makes you a fucking whore." For a beat, it seems like no one will say anything, no one will move. But you do. You calmly step forward and Yunjin barely has time to react before your hand flies across her face, hard and open-handed. The crack of the slap echoes over the stunned silence of the house. She gasps, stumbling slightly, blinking like she can't quite believe it happened. But she recovers quickly, her face twisting in fury as she lunges at you, teeth bared, hands reaching like claws. Sunghoon is faster than her though, throwing himself between you just as she lashes out, his back turned to her. She slams her hands against his shoulders, but he doesn't budge. His only focus is you. His eyes find yours instantly, wild and pleading. "I can't believe you," you whisper, voice low and shaking and full of heartbreak. Then you turn and walk away. "Baby—wait, Y/N!" Sunghoon calls after you, voice cracking. He spins to follow, panic flooding his face. Jake plants a hand on Yunjin's shoulder and shoves her back, firm but not cruel. "Get a grip," he mutters, then glances toward Heeseung, voice low. "Get your girl." But Heeseung just lets out a short, bitter laugh. "I'm done with this bitch," he says, already walking toward the edge of the deck. "Jay can have her. Or Sunghoon. Or whoever the fuck else she tried to fuck while we were together." He doesn't look back. Just walks straight toward the path that leads out of the house. And behind you, everything collapses.

The drive back from the beach house feels interminable. You're curled up in the back seat, forehead pressed to the window, headphones in, eyes trained on nothing. Every few minutes, Jake glances at you through the rearview mirror. Sunghoon tries to look back, but you never meet his eyes. The tension is so thick it might as well be physical, like a wall separating you from them. They try though, Jake's voice is quiet at first. "You okay back there?" You don't respond. "Do you want something to eat?" Sunghoon adds. "We could stop somewhere."

"Not hungry," you mumble. Jake sighs after a long pause. "Princess, come on. Just talk to us." You don't, you plug your headphones in tighter and shut your eyes, trying to tune them out. And the silence stretches all the way home. Arriving at the apartment, you still don't say a word. You're out of the car and up the elevator before they've even made out of the car. You beeline for Sunghoon’s bedroom, flinging open the closet, and yanking clothes off hangers, fast and frantic. Your suitcase hits the bed with a thud. Shoes. Pajamas. Toothbrush. Anything you might need. "Wait—baby," Sunghoon's voice rushes in from the doorway. "What are you doing?" You don't answer, you don't even look at him. "Don't do this. Please," he says, stepping closer, voice almost cracking just a little. "We can talk about it. We can work through this."

Jake appears behind him, brows furrowed. "Don't let what Yunjin said get in your head. She's just jealous. Jungwon said it—she was trying to get a rise out of you." You freeze, your back to them. One breath. Then another. "It's not just about Yunjin," you snap, spinning around. "It's everything." They both fall silent. "We’re about to go back to school and you think people won't talk? You think they won't look at me like I'm just some kind of—" your voice breaks, "—some kind of toy you two share?" Sunghoon flinches. Jake's eyes go wide. "There was never any time for me to adjust. I was just—thrown into your world. Your friends, your rules, your dynamic. And I thought I could keep up. I really did." You're breathless now. Holding back tears. You zip up your bag with trembling hands. "I just—" you whisper, barely audible, "—I just need space to figure things out."

Jake takes a step forward, jaw clenched. "You can't do that." But before he can finish, Sunghoon cuts in gently, "Where will you go?" His voice is full of worry. "You can't seriously be thinking of going back to your apartment. Not with Yunjin still there—"

"I'm going to my parents'," you say.

You're zipping your overnight bag when you feel their eyes on you again. They don't say anything at first. Just watch you move, like they still can't believe this is happening. Sunghoon breaks the silence. Quiet. Heavy. "Fine." Jake snaps his head toward him. "Fine?" You can’t look at either of them. Jake steps forward. "For how long?" he asks you, voice low, desperate. "A few days? A week? What does space even mean?" Before you can respond, Sunghoon speaks again—steady, but restrained, like it's costing him something. "I'll drop you off at the train station." Jake turns on him. "Are you kidding me, Sunghoon?"

Sunghoon doesn't waver. "She said she needs space." Jake scoffs, almost laughing in disbelief. "So that's it? You're just gonna let her leave?"

"She's not a prisoner, Jake," Sunghoon says, and for the first time, there's a faint edge in his voice. "She said she needs space, so we give her space." Jake doesn't reply. His jaw tightens, like he's fighting the urge to yell, cry, beg—maybe all three. You swallow the lump in your throat and finally lift your eyes. "Thank you," you whisper to Sunghoon. He nods once, jaw clenched, eyes never leaving yours. Jake's arms fall to his sides. He looks so small all of a sudden, like he knows it’s been decided.

You genuinely don't remember much of the drive to the train station. Not the hum of the engine, not the silence in the car, not the way Sunghoon kept glancing at you like he was memorizing you for the last time.

You just remember the feeling. That sinking ache in your chest like guilt and grief wrapped into one, mix with the fear that you were doing the wrong thing, even though every part of you screamed that it was the only thing you could do. Sunghoon carried your bag to the platform. Jake didn't come. When your train pulled in, Sunghoon hugged you so tightly you could barely breathe, and whispered, "Please come back soon," like it physically hurt him to let go. You cried quietly the whole ride home, cheek pressed to the cold window. Your phone buzzed the moment the train started moving.

yunnie: I'm sorry. Please don't shut me out. We love you. I love you.

You didn't respond, just cause you didn’t know what to say. When your parents picked you up, it was like nothing had happened. Like you hadn't fallen apart. Like you weren't carrying pieces of your broken heart in your duffel bag. They were warm, soft and so blissfully unaware. Your mom made your favorite dinner that night. Your dad teased you about how pale you looked. They smiled. They laughed. They welcomed you home. And for a second, you almost believed you could pretend again. That none of it had happened. That you were just a girl coming home from school for a break. But then you lay in your old bed, and the tears came again. Every night, you scrolled through their messages—Jake's in the beginning, desperate and unfiltered. Sunghoon's every single day without fail, soft voice notes whispering I miss you, angel. I miss you so much. Sometimes he told you what he ate that day or he’d tell you a memory that reminded him of you. Other times he just said goodnight.

You read every word. Listened to every audio. And then, you locked your phone, turned your face to your pillow. And let your heartbreak sit with you like a ghost in your childhood room.

It's been weeks, maybe. Jake has lost track of time.

Sunghoon marks every day by your silence. You're gone—and everything's gone quiet in the worst way. The apartment feels too big without your voice, without your footsteps, without the soft way you'd call for one of them from the kitchen or the bedroom or the shower. Without you, it all feels cold. Stale. Off.

Sunghoon texts you every morning and every night.

He sends voice notes sometimes—soft, unpolished things that trail off at the end because he doesn't know how to stop talking to you without hearing something back. You rarely reply. When you do, it's polite. Surface-level. Enough to let him know you're alive, but not enough to let him in.

Jake tried too, at first. Tried calling, texting, joking, even begging. The first few days, he camped out on the couch, checking his phone every five minutes, voice breaking whenever he mentioned your name. He left your favorite snacks on the counter, like you'd somehow walk through the door and see them and forget everything. But after a week of silence, he started to withdraw. Got quieter. Moodier. By the second week, he stopped texting altogether. He still keeps your contact pinned at the top of his phone—still opens your thread sometimes just to stare at the last message you sent—but he doesn't send anything new.

Sunghoon notices. They don't say it, but something in them has started to split. They used to move in sync—choreographed without trying. Now, they barely speak unless it's about logistics. Dinners are eaten in silence. The living room feels colder, they both start sleeping in their own rooms instead of choosing one randomly to sleep in like when you were around. You were the thing holding it all together and now that you're gone, nothing feels right. It seems like neither of them know how to fix it without you.

The apartment is dark when Jake stumbles in, the front door clicking shut behind him with a careless thud. He kicks off his shoes, jacket half hanging off his shoulder, cologne and alcohol clinging to him like a second skin. Sunghoon is on the couch, still awake. The TV is on, but the screen's silent—just soft blue light casting shadows across his face. His jaw clenches when he hears Jake. "What time is it?" he asks, not turning his head. Jake scoffs, sways a little as he heads toward the kitchen. "Relax, dad."

"You've been out every night this week." Jake yanks open the fridge, grabs a water, slams it shut. "So?"

Sunghoon finally stands, voice sharp now. "Jake. What the fuck are you doing?" Jake turns to him, eyes glassy but burning. "What do you mean what am I doing?"

"You're spiraling," Sunghoon bites out. "Coming home drunk, ignoring everyone, ignoring me—" Jake throws his hands up. "Oh my god, fuck off."

"What happened to fighting for her?" Sunghoon's voice cracks around the edges. "What happened to not giving up—?"

"She left, Sunghoon!" Jake explodes. "She abandoned us. You think I'm acting out? No. I'm reacting. To the fact that the girl I love walked away and she's probably not fucking coming back!" Sunghoon flinches. But he holds his ground. Steps forward. "We can't give up." Jake laughs bitterly. "We already lost her. You just haven't admitted it to yourself."

"No," Sunghoon snaps. "You're giving up because that's easier than sitting in the pain. Because if you stay fucking drunk and distracted, you don't have to feel how much it hurts. But I do. Every second of every day." Jake says nothing, he truly can’t. And for a long moment, the only sound in the apartment is both of them breathing hard, like they've been fighting for hours. Like the heartbreak is something they're choking on. "She's not gone," Sunghoon whispers finally, more to himself than Jake. "She's just...figuring things out." Jake doesn't respond. He just walks past him and disappears into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Sunghoon's eyes fall to his phone on the coffee table, where one more message sits unsent. He hits send anyway. "Goodnight, baby. We miss you."

Sunghoon loves Jake. He really does. But these days, he can barely look at him without feeling like he might snap. He knows Jake's hurting too, but it's different. Jake hurts like a wildfire—chaotic, messy, scorching everything in its path. Sunghoon's hurt is quieter. Slower. The kind that sits in the corners of a room and never really leaves. He now spends most of his days avoiding the apartment. There's a small café down the street—one with frosted windows and chipped mugs, where the baristas don't ask questions and let him linger too long. He sits there for hours, headphones in, untouched coffee cooling in front of him. Watching people walk by the window. Wondering if you're eating enough. If you've made new friends like you said you wanted to. If you miss him. He wonders what he could’ve done better, over and over, until the memory of Jake's voice in the middle of that fight resurfaces, she left, Sunghoon. And he hates it—because maybe Jake's right. You did leave and maybe you're not coming back. He's staring blankly at his phone when it buzzes against the tabletop. One message. Your name. Your contact photo. His breath catches, his heart slipping straight to the pit of his stomach. He fumbles unlocking the screen, hands shaking so badly he nearly drops it. And there it is.

You: hi hoonie.

Two words is all it takes to make the whole café blur, to make his vision fog, dissolving the noise and shifting his entire world back into place—just two words. He stares at the screen like it might disappear if he blinks too hard. Then he types back, trembling, teeth clenched, breath caught somewhere in his throat.

Hoon: hi baby. god i missed you.

And for the first time in weeks, he feels like maybe he's not drowning anymore. His fingers are flying to type the second your reply comes in.

You: i missed you too. and jake. how's he been?

Sunghoon stares at the screen, his chest tight. His thumb hovers, unsure how to answer. He could lie, he could protect Jake a little. But he knows you deserve more than that.

Hoon: not good. we're not good without you.

He hesitates a little before adding typing more,

Hoon: i've been missing you so bad, baby. did you listen to the messages?

There's a pause. He watches the three dots blink in and out for what feels like hours. Then your response lights up the screen:

You: yes. i listened to all of them. every single one.

And then another message comes in

You: if you still want me, i think i'm ready to come home.

His breath catches so hard it almost hurts. He doesn't even realize he's already typing, his hands trembling, a sound of pure relief breaking in his chest like a dam cracked wide open.

Hoon: of course baby girl. yes. yes please. come home. please. what time should i come get you from the station? i'll be there early. i'll wait. just tell me.

He stares at your name on the screen, eyes glassy, smiling like he hasn't in weeks. For the first time in what feels like forever, the ache in his chest finally eases cause you’re coming home.

The train hisses behind you as it pulls away, the last trace of your long, quiet ride home vanishing down the track. You stand there on the platform, suitcase at your side, arms wrapped tightly around yourself—not because it's cold, but because your heart is beating so hard, it needs something to hold onto. You see him before he sees you. Sunghoon steps out of his car and into the station, black hoodie pulled low, hands stuffed into his pockets. He looks around like he's searching for air. His eyes are sharp, darting across the crowd with a kind of frantic hope. You watch him scan the line of waiting people, his lips pressed into a tight line, until his gaze catches on you. And it looks like everything in him melts. His shoulders drop, face softening instantly, mouth parting slightly as he takes a single breath and then starts walking—fast. Not running, but fast, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he takes too long. You don't move. You just watch him close the distance, watch the way his eyes don't leave yours even for a second. And when he reaches you, he doesn't say anything right away. He just pulls you in.

His arms are around you in a heartbeat, strong and warm and all-consuming. Your feet barely stay on the ground. His hand is at the back of your head, fingers slipping into your hair like he's trying to relish the shape of you again. And then his lips are everywhere.

A kiss to your cheek. Another to your forehead. Then your jaw, your temple, your nose. Each one broken by a breathless whisper, "I missed you." "I missed you so much." "God, my baby—I missed you." You feel it in your throat, the way your eyes sting, your whole chest pressing into his like it's desperate to get even closer. You don't even realize you've started crying until he pulls back just enough to look at you and says softly, "Don't cry, baby. It’s okay." Sunghoon barely makes it out of the station parking lot before his hand finds yours again. It's like he can't help it—like the distance from your skin is unbearable now that he's got you back. His palm covers yours on your thigh, his thumb stroking gentle lines across your knuckles. And then, as the car slows at a red light, he lifts your hand to his lips and kisses it softly, like it's something sacred.

He doesn't let go after that. One hand on the wheel, one hand curled around yours, fingers laced tightly together like if he lets go, you'll change your mind. You glance at him from the passenger seat, your heart already softening all over again. He's smiling, really smiling. Not the tight, polite one he wore when he dropped you off at the station. Not the sad, faraway one you imagined he wore every time he texted you and heard nothing back. This one is warm open and alive. "You look prettier than I remember," he says suddenly, stealing a glance at you. You laugh softly, looking away, but his grip on your hand tightens gently. "I'm serious," he says. "You were gone so long I started thinking I made you up." You shake your head, lips parting to say something but then he speaks again, quieter this time. "Jake's gonna lose his mind when he sees you." That makes your stomach twist. You look down at your joined hands, and Sunghoon must feel the change in your silence because he turns toward you slightly, his voice soft. "He's been...not himself, without you. He's gonna be really happy. We both are."

You nod slowly, chewing on the inside of your cheek, and Sunghoon lifts your hand again, pressing it to his chest, right over his heart. It's beating fast, you can feel it. "We're gonna fix this," he whispers, eyes on the road. "All of it." And he squeezes your hand like a promise.

The underground parking lot is dim and quiet, the hum of Sunghoon's car engine the only real sound as he pulls into his usual spot. He shifts into park, and the headlights click off. You stay seated for a moment, just looking out at the elevator in the distance, heart suddenly thudding in your chest like it knows something your brain hasn't caught up to yet.

But then you feel it—Sunghoon's fingers slipping between yours again, warm and almost overwhelming but grounding. "You ready?" he asks softly, eyes gentle.

You nod. He leans over the center console to kiss you—slow and smiling, like it's the first kiss of a new chapter. Then he's getting out, grabbing your suitcase from the trunk and waiting patiently as you slide out of the car. It's quiet as you walk together toward the elevator, your suitcase wheels echoing softly across the concrete.

In the elevator, Sunghoon stands behind you, arms circling your waist from behind, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder. He rocks you side to side a little. "Jake's gonna freak out," he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. "He's been such a mess." You smile faintly. But your palms are sweating. The elevator dings and it almost makes you flinch. Sunghoon pulls you toward the apartment with that same soft excitement from earlier. He's already pulling out his key, fumbling a little because he's balancing your suitcase and trying to be quick about it. "You want to shower first or eat? I can order while you—"

He opens the door and everything changes. The hallway is dim, the apartment lit only by the yellow glow of the kitchen underlight. At first, it's quiet—almost deceptively so. But then you hear movement. The soft shuffle of hurried footsteps. And Jake's voice, low and rushed, "Wait—hold on, just grab your stuff."

Sunghoon's body stiffens in front of you. You try to peek past him, heart in your throat. Then you see him.

A shirtless Jake, hair sticking up like he's been in bed.

A red scratch blooming fresh across the side of his chest. And behind him, a girl, half-dressed, tangled in a button up shirt that clearly isn’t hers, carrying her shoes in one hand and her phone in the other, head ducked like she's trying not to be seen.

Your breath leaves your body like you've been hit. Not pushed—hit. The girl brushes past Sunghoon with a muttered "Sorry" and ducks around you too fast to even register your presence. Jake hasn't even seen you yet. His eyes are locked on Sunghoon. Wide. Caught. Guilt flashing so hard it nearly knocks the color from his face. Then he sees you. And it’s like his entire world collapses in on itself. He doesn't say your name. Doesn't dare breathe it. He just stares. Horrified.

Your whisper is small. Fragile. Like glass held up to a storm, "Oh my god."

His mouth opens. "No—no, no, no—fuck—you weren't supposed to—," he stammers, stepping forward, eyes begging, chest rising and falling fast. "I didn't—fuck, this isn't—it didn't mean anything—I swear to God, it didn't mean anything—"

You haven't moved. You can't seem to. You're standing there in your little travel outfit, bag rolling gently between you and Sunghoon, and all the warmth you gathered in the car, in the elevator, on Sunghoon's lip drains out of your body in one awful, slow wave. Jake is still stammering. Still frozen half-naked in the middle of the room like he hasn't decided whether to run or fall to his knees. And Sunghoon hasn't looked at you yet. He hasn't looked away from Jake. He's standing stone-still in the doorway, the suitcase handle loose in his hand. The hurt in his face is so quiet, so deep, it almost doesn't register at first. But then you see the way his jaw is locked, how his throat bobs when he swallows, the way his fingers tremble around the suitcase handle. He steps forward. Slowly. Eyes still locked on Jake like he's trying to force an explanation out of him with just his stare. "Tell me this isn't what it looks like," he says, voice sharp with warning, but soft underneath, cracked at the edges. "Tell me you didn't do this." Jake takes another half-step forward, still frantic. "I didn't know she was coming today—Sunghoon, fuck, I wasn't thinking, I didn't plan this, it just—she texted me, and I said yes without thinking, and—" He falters. Because Sunghoon finally turns to look at you.

And your face. Your face absolutely ruins him, it’s not because you’re crying or yelling—you’re not. You just look like someone blew a hole through your chest and walked away. Like something broke open in you that will never close again. And all Sunghoon can do is whisper your name.

"...Baby." You blink once, taking one small step back.

And he follows. "Wait—no—baby, please—" That's when he drops the suitcase handle and everything begins to unravel. Your shoes make almost no sound as you turn and walk out the door. It's not fast or dramatic. You just...leave. Like your body is on autopilot, like if you stay even one second longer, your chest might actually crack open. But you don't make it far. The hallway is dim, humming with ceiling light, and you're maybe ten steps from the apartment door before you hear him.

"Y/n—" Sunghoon's voice. A rough, broken thing. "Y/n, wait, please—" Then arms around you. Strong and warm and trembling. He turns you gently—carefully—and pulls you into his chest, both arms locking around your back like he's trying to hold the pieces of you together. You resist at first, trying to push him away.

But he doesn’t let you. "Shh—no, no—please—please don't do this—just let me—please let me hold you," he begs, voice cracking as he buries his face into your hair. "I didn't know. I didn't fucking know. I swear to God, baby, I would've told you. I would've never brought you back if I knew—" And that's when you break, right there in the hallway. You shatter—into him, onto him.

A sob rips out of you, ugly and raw, and your fingers claw at his hoodie as he pulls you tighter against his chest. Your legs shake, your shoulders heave, and you can barely even breathe through the sound of it. Sunghoon holds you like he's never going to let go again.

"I didn't know," he keeps whispering, over and over, like maybe if he says it enough, the truth will rearrange itself. "I didn't know. I didn't fucking know." You're still sobbing. Still trembling. He moves both of you toward the wall, pressing your body gently there, shielding you from the rest of the world with his own.

"I don't believe it," he murmurs fiercely, like he needs you to believe him. "I can’t believe he did this. He was broken without you—he couldn't even look at your stuff, he was crying all the fucking time—he loves you. He loves us. There's no way he'd—"

"But he did," you whisper, and your voice isn’t loud or sharp, it’s just final. Sunghoon pulls back to look at you. And you see it, finally—his tears. Silent and warm, streaking down his cheeks like he didn't even notice they were falling. You shake your head, barely able to get the words out.

"How could he do this…to us?" Your voice breaks on the last word. Sunghoon's lip wobbles a little as he cups your face, thumbing away the tears that just keep coming. "I don't know," he whispers. "I really don’t know." And for a moment, neither of you say anything.

There's just the sound of your breathing, labored and broken, and the way your tears soak through the front of his hoodie as he holds you. "I can't—I can’t go back in there," you whisper. "I know."

"I can't even look at him."

"I'll take you somewhere," he says immediately. "Anywhere. A hotel, my parents house—I'll get the car, right now, I swear—" You shake your head again. "Just...please don't leave me alone."

"I won't," he says, voice steady despite the tears. "Never again." And he doesn't let go. Not for a long, long time. He doesn't let go of your hand. Not as he leads you down the hallway, not as you both reach the elevator in silence, not even when the doors close and the dull hum of descent wraps around you. You're shaking. Still numb and in shock. But he keeps his fingers tangled with yours like it's the only thing saving him. When the elevator hits the underground level, he walks you carefully to the car, opens the door for you like he always does. But before getting in himself, he hesitates. "I'll be right back, okay?" he whispers, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. "I'm just gonna grab your suitcase." You nod faintly. He runs. Actually runs back toward the elevator, disappears inside the building again. You wait. Five minutes. Maybe seven. And then the trunk thumps shut and Sunghoon's slipping into the driver's seat beside you, breathing a little hard but managing a quiet, "Got it."

He starts the engine. Drives. Doesn't ask where you want to go, he doesn't need to. The silence in the car is thick. You don't look at him. You don't look out the window either. Just stare at your lap like you can still see the image burned into your eyes—Jake's face, his bare chest, the girl's body slipping past you, the disbelief on Sunghoon's face. He keeps glancing at you.

Keeps checking to see if you're okay. Keeps seeing that you're not. It's a long drive, longer than you expect, and it isn't until he pulls into the circular driveway of a hotel, glass exterior glittering under city lights, that you even realize where he's brought you. He parks. Hops out quickly. Rounds the car to open your door for you again. Still doesn't let go of your hand. Inside, the lobby is quiet, marble floors echoing beneath your feet. The concierge says nothing when Sunghoon pulls out his wallet, only asks for your name and smiles gently at your silence. "Six nights," Sunghoon tells him firmly. "Maybe more. We'll see."

You're in another elevator again. He's holding your suitcase with your hand is still in his. Neither of you speak. The hotel room is warm with neutral tones, high thread count linens and soft lighting. But it all feels far away, like a set from a movie you're not in the mood to watch. Sunghoon wheels the suitcase inside. Sets it beside the closet, watching you sit on the edge of the bed, still not speaking or crying. Until you are, like it just hits you all at once. A sob punches its way out of your throat and you fold over, shoulders curled in, hands digging into your lap as the tears crash down. You don't even try to stop them. It's too much. Everything feels too much. And he's beside you in a second dropping to his knees in front of you, arms around your waist, pressing his forehead to your stomach like he’s going to fall apart too. "Princess," he whispers, voice already breaking. "Please—please don't cry. I can't—I can't handle it—"

But you do. And he lets you. He shushes you gently, murmuring soft little promises into the curve of your waist as his hands rub your back, as he slowly coaxes you sideways onto the bed. You curl into him instinctively, face hidden in his chest. He pulls you closer, wrapping himself around you. One hand cradling the back of your head, the other strokes slow, steady circles into your spine. "It’s okay," he whispers. "You're okay. I've got you. I'm not leaving." You don't know when you stop crying. You don't even remember falling asleep. But when you eventually do, you're warm. And Sunghoon's arms are still around you, his lips still brushing your hair, his chest rising and falling under your cheek like you're the only thing keeping his heart beating at all.

You wake to silence. A thick, weighted kind—the kind that makes you feel like the world has stopped turning while you slept. Your clothes are still the same from yesterday. Wrinkled, cold and you feel them stick to your skin when you shift slightly under the hotel blanket, cheeks stiff and tight with the dried remnants of your tears. Your head is buried in Sunghoon's chest.

His shirt is damp where you cried. His arms are still around you, the hand on your back still gently cupping the curve of your spine like he never loosened his grip all night. You stir and he doesn't move, doesn’t flinch.

But you can feel the tension in his body. The way he holds his breath. Like he's afraid that if he moves too quickly, the whole thing might shatter all over again.

His eyes are open, red-rimmed and tired. Fixed on the ceiling above, jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line. You shift a little more, trying to sit up. He doesn't stop you, but his arm stays loosely wrapped around your waist. The room smells faintly of hotel soap and skin and sadness. You whisper, "Did you sleep at all?" He finally looks at you.

And that's when you see how broken he looks. Like someone carved a hollow right into his chest and filled it with silence. "No," he murmurs softly. “Couldn’t." You nod faintly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You cling tighter. Like you know something's coming. And you’re right. You can feel it in the shift of his breathing. His throat bobs, and then he says, barely a whisper, "I need to talk to him." You blink up at him, brows drawing together. Your throat aches like you're about to cry again, but the tears haven't reached your eyes yet. "Oh."

"I just—" His voice is soft as he sits up, finally pulling away from you, though it's reluctant. "I need to make sense of this. What happened. Why he did it. How it even happened." You just look at him for a moment. Then you say, "I don't want to be alone." His expression crumples at that. He reaches for your hand again. Grips it tightly. "I won't be gone long," he promises, forehead pressing to yours. "Just an hour or two, baby. I'll come right back. I swear."

You bite your bottom lip, nodding slowly. He kisses your forehead, your temple, the side of your nose—soft, lingering kisses like little apologies for leaving. Then he pulls away again. And this time, you let him go. The door closes behind him with a dull, final-sounding click. And you're alone, wrapped in a hotel comforter, in the aftermath of something you're still trying to understand, while down the hall or across the city already Sunghoon walks into the fire. Into Jake, into whatever comes next.

The drive home is a blur for Sunghoon, he doesn't even remember closing the hotel door behind him. Doesn't remember the walk through the lobby or the way the valet stared at him like he recognized the storm cloud brewing behind his eyes. The world outside the windshield flies past in streaks of color, but he isn't really seeing it. He's trying to make sense of the situation at hand. Jake. Jake. He must've misunderstood. Maybe she was a friend. Maybe it was a mistake. But no. There was nothing accidental about what they saw.

The girl was buttoning her shirt—Jake’s shirt, as she walked out of his bedroom. Jake was shirtless, wide-eyed and guilty. It wasn't a maybe. It wasn't a blur. It was a fucking betrayal. And Sunghoon can't stop thinking about the way you crumbled in his arms—how you cried into his chest like the air had been stolen from your lungs. He parks the car in a daze and makes his way upstairs. Every footstep down the hallway echoes louder than the last. The door isn't locked, as he just walks in to find Jake on the couch. Head bowed. Shoulders slumped with his phone in his hand, talking softly into the speaker.

Sunghoon hears it just before it stops recording. "...I know I fucked up, but I swear I love you. I love you. Please just—just come back." Jake's thumb hovers over the send button. But he doesn't press it. He knows he can't. Not now. Not after what he's done. He looks up when he hears Sunghoon close the door. But he doesn't say anything, he doesn't try to explain. He just looks... ruined. Like a child caught red-handed, trembling and ashamed, waiting to be punished. Sunghoon stares at him for a long moment, "You couldn't even wait?" His voice is ice. Jake flinches a little, his eyes dropping again. He doesn't try to fight it. "I thought she wasn't coming back," Jake says quietly. "I thought—" Sunghoon cuts him off before he can finish. "So what? You thought she wasn't coming back, so you stuck your dick in the next girl you saw? That's your excuse?"

"I felt abandoned—" Sunghoon slams his hand down on the back of the armchair. "I was abandoned too!" he yells. "She left me too! Jake. You think it didn't break me? You think I didn't want to give up every night while texting her because I didn't know if she'd ever respond? You think I didn't miss her so fucking bad I couldn't sleep?"

Jake's chest rises and falls rapidly. "I know—"

"No, you don't," Sunghoon spits. "You don't fucking know, because instead of hurting and staying loyal, you went and fucked someone else. You cheated. On us."

Jake's lower lip trembles. His fingers are digging into his knees like he's trying to keep himself from collapsing completely. "It didn't mean anything," he whispers. "I was out of my mind. I—I regretted it the second it happened."

"Yeah?" Sunghoon snaps. "Too bad regret doesn't make her unsee it. Doesn't undo what you did." Jake wipes at his eyes, sniffling hard. "You think I don't hate myself for it? You think I'm not dying inside?"

"You don't get to die inside," Sunghoon growls. "She gets to die inside. We do. You made that choice. We live with the fucking aftermath." Jake tries to say something, tries to open his mouth, but no words come out. He looks like he's seconds from collapsing. From crumbling into nothing. But Sunghoon doesn't care. Not right now. Because he remembers the way you sobbed against his chest. The way your voice cracked when you whispered "how could he do this to us?" And no amount of guilt can take that back. Jake doesn't move, he sits there like a kicked dog, face blotchy, hands shaking, eyes rimmed red with guilt. He opens his mouth to speak, but Sunghoon cuts in before he can even try. "No," Sunghoon says sharply, chest heaving. "You don't get to do this, Jake."

His voice isn't loud, but it's dangerous now. Cold and trembling and laced with too much grief to contain. "I texted her every single day," he says through gritted teeth. "I left her voice notes every morning and every night, telling her that I missed her, that we loved her, that it was safe to come home. I promised her, Jake. I begged her to believe that everything would be okay."

Jake stares at him, lips parted. Breathing hard, like he’s on the edge of shattering. "I brought her back," Sunghoon continues, voice cracking. "I kissed her hand in the car and told her how happy you'd be to see her. I told her we'd protect her better this time, that she wasn't alone anymore. And the second I opened that door, you were standing there—shirtless, with some girl rushing out of your room." He pauses, nostrils flaring, trying to collect himself. "You don't know how hard I had to stop myself," Sunghoon whispers, eyes sharp and glassy. "From dragging you out into the hallway and beating the fucking life out of you right then and there."

Jake lets out a strangled sob. He brings both hands up to his face like he's trying to block the words out, but they keep coming—because Sunghoon can't stop. "She cried herself to sleep," he says, quieter now, more broken. "On a fucking hotel bed. In the clothes she travelled all the way back to us in. I had to hold to her while she did, and keep telling her it would be okay even though I knew it wouldn't."

Jake lets out a breath like it hurts to exhale. "I can fix it," he chokes. "I swear—I can fix it. Please, Hoon. Things can still go back to normal—" Sunghoon laughs, but it’s not funny. It's bitter and dry and devastating. "Can they?" he spits, stepping closer. "Can they really?"

Jake doesn't answer. He just sits there—pathetic, ashamed and drenched in regret. And that look of utter helplessness, of you tell me what to do and I'll do it, like he's not the one who burned it all to the ground, that’s what finally breaks Sunghoon completely. His voice drops. Barely a whisper. "If she doesn't come back to us—" he swallows hard, tears stinging at his eyes. "If she never forgives us..." Sunghoon's jaw clenches. "I will never forgive you," he says, eyes glassy. "Do you hear me?" Jake doesn't respond but his shoulders shake with the force of his sobs. "Not ever," Sunghoon breathes. "Jaeyun." Jake flinches at his name like it's some curse. And Sunghoon stares at him one last time, broken, furious and devastated before turning and walking away.

The hotel room is dim—just the golden lamp on the nightstand casting a soft glow over the bed. Sunghoon is lying next to you now, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting limp beside yours. He hasn't said much since he got back, just quiet sighs now and then, like he's still trying to sort through everything swirling in his chest. It's nighttime now and you reach out without a word, slipping your fingers into his, your thumb brushing over his knuckles gently. It's not a grand gesture, but his breath hitches when you do it.

He squeezes your hand—tentative, "I missed this," he says softly, like a confession. "Just being able to touch you." You swallow hard, your voice a whisper. "Me too." There's a long silence after that. A kind of peace that's not perfect, but quieter than it's been in days.

Then Sunghoon speaks, voice low and tired. "Did you...make any new friends while you were home?"

You actually let out a soft laugh, dry and almost shy. "No. I didn't really leave the house. I barely left my room. I think my parents were getting worried I was turning into a ghost." Sunghoon's smile is faint but real. "They're probably just happy to have you close."

You nod, your voice quieter now. "They were. I missed them so much." He glances over at you. His thumb rubs along the side of your hand again, slower this time. You hesitate before speaking again, "Jungwon texted me." You feel his body go still. "When?" he asks, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Couple days after I got home," you murmur. "He just...asked if I was okay. Said Jake told him I left."

Sunghoon sighs heavily, but not in surprise, more of acceptance. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment before turning his head to you. "You don't have to be friends with Jungwon if you don't want to," he says quietly, with a sort of tired conviction. "Not after everything. I know he's Jake's friend, but you don't owe him anything." You nod. "I know." He squeezes your hand again, tighter this time. Like he's silently vowing to protect you from all of it—Jake's betrayal, Yunjin's cruelty, even the pieces of yourself still bruised from everything.

You lie there in the quiet, his hand still held in yours, warm and grounding. The room feels suspended in time—just the two of you tucked into this little pocket of the world where nothing hurts quite as loudly, where the betrayal and the heartbreak and the ache haven't disappeared, but at least, for now, they're muffled. You shift your head on the pillow, angling your gaze toward him. His jaw is tight, his lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks as he blinks slowly at the ceiling. You speak gently. "What about you?" His eyes flick to yours. "What did you get up to? Other than all the things you told me...the café, your parents..." you trail off. He hesitates, his mouth parting just slightly before closing again. Then, he exhales slowly through his nose, voice hushed and vulnerable. "I didn't really...get up to much." Your fingers tighten slightly around his.

"I tried, at first," he says, "to keep moving. To keep pretending like I was okay." He lets out a humorless laugh. "But my world kind of...slowed. When you were gone." Your heart tugs painfully in your chest. "I'd wake up and just—lie there. For hours sometimes." He swallows. "Didn't even want to shower. Or eat. I'd sit in that café down the block like I told you, every afternoon. Just staring out the window."

"Waiting for me to text," you whisper. He nods once, eyes still fixed on the ceiling like looking at you might break him. "Yeah." There's something so quietly devastating about the way he says it. Like existing without you took everything out of him, left him hollow in a way no one else could fill. You lean a little closer, pressing your forehead to his arm. "I missed you every second." His eyes finally meet yours. They're glossy again, but he blinks the tears back, determined not to cry this time. "Don't leave again," he whispers. "Please."

"I really don't want to," you say softly. "But how do we even get past this? We're in a hotel room right now, Hoon." He nods like he knows, stroking his thumb over the back of your hand. The silence between you is soft now—no longer heavy with pain but full of something else, something tentative and warm, like a newly bandaged wound. Then, out of nowhere, he murmurs, "You lost weight." You pout, looking up at him "Huh?"

He frowns a little. "Your face...and your arms. You feel smaller when I hold you." You roll your eyes. "Oh wow, thanks."

"No," he says, turning toward you, serious. "It's not a compliment, baby. I don't like it. You're gonna eat more." You snort. "Well, I wasn't exactly in the mood for takeout and ice cream while crying into my pillow." He shakes his head, already sitting up and stretching a little. "No, no, that won't work. I'm putting you on a schedule. Three meals a day. Snacks. Maybe I'll cook. You want pasta? I'm ordering pasta right now." You watch as he starts patting down his pockets for his phone, already mumbling about how much he's going to make you eat. "Something creamy. High calorie. Carbs. Dessert too—maybe cake or like a pie? Yeah, we'll start slow." You laugh quietly, heart swelling a little at his chaotic determination. But then there's a knock at the door and it interrupts the moment, making you both halt. The sound is polite but firm. One knock. Two. Then silence. You glance at each other. "You expecting someone?" he asks, brow furrowed.

You shake your head. "No. You? Could be room service?" Sunghoon slowly rises to his feet. He hesitates, then quietly pads toward the door, shoulders tensing as he approaches. The hotel room is quiet, and your own breath seems too loud in your ears. He looks back at you once, a cautious warning in his eyes, then reaches for the handle and opens the door. And there Jake is. Standing in the hallway, hands in the pockets of his jeans, face pale, jaw tight, eyes rimmed red—but dry, for now. You sit up slowly. Jake doesn't even look at Sunghoon at first. His eyes seem to be trained on you as if he didn't dare believe you were really behind that door until now. Sunghoon's body shifts in front of the threshold like a quiet barrier, unmoving. Jake finally blinks, mouth twitching like he wants to speak but doesn't know where to start. "I'm not here to fight," he says softly. "I just... I just need to talk to her."

Sunghoon's hand grips the edge of the door just a little tighter.

"How did you even know she was here?" he asks, voice low, cautious. Jake doesn't flinch, or even blink. "I've always had both your locations," he says, eyes still locked on you. "Since the beginning. I just...never stopped checking." Sunghoon's jaw tightens. He doesn't say anything for a moment. You can tell he wants to slam the door shut—protect you, protect whatever little peace you've managed to find here. But after a long beat of tense silence, he sighs. And steps aside, letting Jake walk in like a ghost. Like someone quietly being lowered into a grave. His shoes barely make a sound on the marble floor. His hands are still shoved deep into his pockets like he's trying to keep himself from shaking. And still, his eyes never leave yours. He stops a few feet in front of the bed, like he knows better than to come closer.

"I won't take long," he says, voice thin, tired. "You don't have to say anything. You just have to listen."

Your throat feels tight. You don't trust your voice even if you wanted to say something. "I'm sorry." Jake's voice cracks on the second word. "I'm sorry for doing this to you. For hurting you. For hurting Sunghoon. I don't have anything to defend myself with. There's no excuse. I was scared. I was selfish. And I was fucking stupid." "There isn't a version of this story where I'm the victim, I know that." His hands come out of his pockets now, trembling at his sides.

"If there's even the smallest chance, a one in a million chance that you two can be happy without me, then I won't get in the way. I'll let it happen. I'll walk away. You should take this chance. You should be with Sunghoon." Sunghoon shifts behind Jake, still by the door, but watching, listening. Jaw locked. You can feel the weight of his silence too. Jake's eyes fill with tears, but none fall. He blinks fast and swallows hard. "He said..." He continues glancing back toward Sunghoon for just a moment, like it hurts to even repeat it. "He said he'd never forgive me if you didn't come back to us. So please..." He looks at you again, eyes wet and raw. "Forgive him. Just him. Even if you can't look at me again, even if I'm the last person you ever want to see, please don't shut him out because of what I did."

You feel your chest splinter under the weight of his words.

He takes a single step back. "I'll disappear from both your lives forever if that's what it takes. But don't make him pay for my mistake." Jake's voice is quieter now. Smaller. Almost as if each word is chipped off a block of pain lodged deep in his throat. "You should come back to the apartment," he says, not meeting your eyes this time. He stares at the floor like if he looks at you too long, he might break apart right there in front of you. "I'll move out. I've already been looking at places—just shitty little studio listings bookmarked in a folder like that's gonna fix anything but...I don't care. I'll go."

He swallows hard. The muscles in his throat twitch as he forces the next words out. "Just come back. Be with Sunghoon. You two can still have something beautiful. Real. I mean..." he lets out a bitter, breathy laugh and finally glances back at Sunghoon, "You always deserved better than me anyway. He is better. You love him and he really does love you." You press your palm to your mouth like it'll stop the ache from leaking out. Jake sees it, sees the tremble in your fingers, and rushes to finish before he breaks apart completely. "No one will look at you weird. No one will whisper anymore. It'll be normal. Easy. Just the two of you. You can have a happy relationship without people talking or judging or wondering how it all happened."

There's silence. Heavy and full. Jake shakes his head once, tears threatening again, and wipes at his face like he's disgusted with himself for crying at all. "Please..." His voice cracks. "Just don't throw it all away because of me." And then, quietly, so broken you almost don't hear it. "I already lost you. I won't survive knowing I cost him you too."

There's a long, soul-crushing pause. Jake stands there, waiting, breath caught like a thread in his throat. The silence screams in his ears—no crying, no yelling, no footsteps chasing after him. Just silence. So he takes it for what it is—understanding, maybe not forgiveness, but acceptance. Resignation. And it's enough for him to turn. He starts to walk away, but your voice, quiet and trembling, slices right through him. "But..."

Jake freezes. You take a shaky breath, eyes brimming.

"I don't want to be without you, Jake." He turns slowly, stunned. His face twists in confusion at first, like he can't believe what he heard—but then he sees you stepping toward him, the tears sliding freely down your cheeks, and he breaks. The tears he's been holding back finally fall, trailing hot and fast down his cheeks. His lips part like he wants to say something, but you're already speaking again. "I don't want to be with just Sunghoon." Your voice is louder now, clearly and it cracks, but not from doubt—from honesty. "I love both of you." Jake's mouth opens just slightly, like the words hit him so hard he forgot how to breathe. "I'm so mad at you," you whisper through the sobs you've been holding in. "You really hurt me, Jake. You hurt Sunghoon too. You almost ruined everything."

He nods like he's ready to take the hit, like he knows he deserves it. But you're still walking closer. "But I still love you," you say, tears choking every syllable. "God, I love you so much. And the thought of my life without either of you—that's what hurts the most." He takes a step forward, eyes glassy, lips trembling, hands half-raised like he's scared to reach for you, scared he'll shatter this moment. "And if—if you're willing to work through it with us," your voice trembles again, "if you're willing to fight—really fight for me and for Sunghoon..." You reach him. Your hand brushes his chest. "Then we can start from somewhere. At least."

His face crumples. And without another word, he pulls you into his arms like his whole life depends on it—because it does. You fall into his arms without thinking, the distance between you evaporating the second your body presses against his. His breath catches, chest rising sharply beneath your touch, and for a moment he just stands there, frozen, as though your embrace is the last thing he ever expected—but the only thing he's ever wanted.

He wraps his arms around you with a desperation that nearly steals your balance. One hand grips the small of your back, the other trembles against your shoulder, holding you to him as though the weight of your grief might pull you both under. His face buries in the crook of your neck, breath uneven, and you feel it—the warmth of a tear against your skin, quickly followed by another. "I'm sorry," he whispers, the words cracked and hoarse, spoken into your collarbone like a confession into church pews. "I'm so fucking sorry."

You pull back just enough to see him. His face is flushed and tear-stained, eyes glassy, wide with disbelief. You cradle his jaw gently, your fingertips brushing over the ridges of his cheekbones, thumb wiping away the tears he hasn't stopped shedding since you walked into his arms. He leans into your palm as though it steadies him. "Jake," you murmur, voice barely formed.

His gaze locks on yours, heavy with every unsaid word, every sleepless night, every regret that's burned through him since the day you walked away. Your foreheads touch. Then your noses. And when your lips meet, it's a slow unfolding—painful in its tenderness, soaked with everything you've both endured. He doesn't rush. He doesn't pull. He just kisses you—soft and reverent—his lips moving with the ache of someone who still can't believe he's allowed to. The kiss tastes of salt and apologies. Of longing that never stopped growing. Of love that never left, even after everything. But it deepens before you can even think. It's not so soft anymore. It's heat and ache and months of silence collapsing into motion. Jake's hands roam, no longer trembling but gripping—your jaw first, then sliding down to your neck, the pads of his thumbs brushing your skin. He kisses you again, and again, and again, mouth moving with bruising need, barely giving you room to breathe.

His fingers slip beneath your jaw, tilting your head just enough to fit his lips better against yours. Your hands fist into the fabric of his shirt, clutching him tightly. His touch grows more frantic, less careful. One hand cups the back of your head, holding you still, while the other traces down to your waist, gripping there like the thought of distance is unbearable. There's an audible exhale when he presses closer, chests flush, and he pulls away only for a second—just enough to whisper, "I missed you so fucking much," voice rough, breaking apart in the center. Then he's kissing you again, and this time you feel it down to your knees. He kisses you like he's starving.

Like he spent every night since you left trying to remember how your mouth felt against his. He kisses you like the world ended and this is the only piece of it left that he still wants. And you let him. Because you missed him, too. Because despite the pain, despite the betrayal, there's something magnetic and familiar in the shape of him pressed to you, in the way his breath stutters every time you touch him back. You moan into his mouth when he sucks at your bottom lip, hands climbing his chest, slipping into his hair. He groans softly at the feeling, hips barely shifting forward before he stops himself, foreheads pressed tight. "I shouldn't—" he starts, breathless. But your fingers tug at his shirt. "I want you to."

You don't hear Sunghoon approach at first. You only feel the tremble in Jake's breath as it fans across your cheek, his lips hovering over yours. Then Sunghoon speaks softly behind him, voice tight with concern. "Are you sure you want this?" Jake freezes. His head dips, forearms braced against either side of you, almost holding himself up. He doesn't say anything, doesn't look back—he's too afraid the answer will break him.

Sunghoon continues, stepping forward until he's close enough that you can feel his presence wrap around both of you. "We can wait. For as long as you need. This was never about the sex. You know that, right?"

You turn your head, catching Sunghoon's gaze from over Jake's shoulder. His eyes search yours—not for permission, but for peace. And there's nothing but reverence in them.

You give him a smile. Not a trembling one, not one born of pressure or uncertainty. It's steady and soft. The kind that says I know what I want. Then your fingers drift to the hem of Jake's shirt. You tug gently.

Jake glances down, stunned, until you meet his eyes again and whisper, "I want it." Your fingers trail up his bare skin as you lift the shirt off him, your gaze flicking between his and Sunghoon's. "I missed your hands. Both of you." Jake lets out a broken sound, something between a sigh and a groan, like the weight of your forgiveness is too heavy to hold and too sacred to drop.

Sunghoon's chest rises, then falls with a shaky breath.

Jake's forehead presses to yours again, eyes squeezed shut. There's no more rushing, only three people breathing each other in like air after drowning for so long.

Jake's breath hitches the moment he feels Sunghoon's lips against his neck. It's gentle at first —a brush of mouth over skin, nothing more. But Jake still jolts, gasping softly, muscles tense under your palms. You're still pressed against his chest, your hands dragging slowly over the ridges of his abs, the curve of his waist, but his eyes flutter shut only when Sunghoon speaks.

"I should hate you," Sunghoon murmurs into his skin, voice raw and low, every syllable burned into the space between Jake's ribs. "You really fucking hurt us."

Jake's knees nearly give. You watch it happen, how his body caves just a little between your hands, how his throat bobs with a swallow, guilt rising like bile. His mouth parts, ready to apologize again, but Sunghoon doesn't let him speak. "But tonight," Sunghoon says, breath hot and firm on Jake's neck, his tone sharpening to something unshakable, unmovable, "you're going to do whatever she says." It's really not a request. Jake exhales a trembling sound, so affected by the command it comes out closer to a whimper than a breath. His hand instinctively finds your hip, squeezing like he needs to hold onto something real. His other arm tries to reach back, grasping at Sunghoon's thigh, but he can't find purchase. Can't find anything at all.

He's unraveling, your hands don't stop moving. They coast up his chest, over his heart, one curling around the back of his neck while the other trails lower, teasing the edge of his waistband. Forgiveness tastes strange when it's this tender. When it's handed to you wrapped in heat and hunger, in soft lips and firmer words. Sunghoon's mouth is still pressed to Jake's throat, kissing softly now, possessively. His palm slides down Jake's spine, slow and steady. He’s caught between your warmth in front of him and Sunghoon's control behind, blinking up at the ceiling like he's not sure this is real. He feels dizzy with it. Drunk off the way you touch him, how soft your lips are when you kiss the corner of his mouth, how your forgiveness feels like salvation. He lets out a broken, shaking sound and doesn't even realize he's nodding. "Yes," he whispers, barely audible. "Anything."

"Anything?" you echo, tilting your head with a small, breathy laugh, soft but taunting, sweet but sharp. Jake swallows hard, noticing how your voice has teeth now.

You brush your fingers across his chest, nails grazing where his heart is hammering beneath skin. He's trembling under your touch, still catching his breath from Sunghoon's mouth on his neck, but you keep your eyes on his, watching every flicker of emotion that passes through him—the regret, the longing, the want.

"Anything," he repeats, voice hoarse, and it makes you smile, even though it doesn't quite reach your eyes. "What if I told you..." You lean closer, lips brushing his ear, voice a whisper now. "That I didn't want you to touch me at all?" You never thought it was possible to watch someone break in real time, to watch the weight of that sentence crush him from the inside. His shoulders sag, chest tight and heaving, mouth parting in a stunned silence. He wants to speak, to beg, to say something that might undo the sentence, but nothing comes out. And then Sunghoon sinks his teeth into the side of Jake's neck—hard, causing him to help. “Ah!”

It's not pain though, not really. It's submission in its purest form. The sudden rush of breath he takes in is sharp and desperate. Sunghoon pulls back slowly, his lips stained red from the pressure, a blooming bruise already forming beneath the skin. You coo, cupping Jake's face between your palms, stroking your thumbs along his jaw. "Oh, poor baby," you murmur, soft and almost mocking. "That hurt?" You take a step back, fingers still curled around his chin, guiding him until he stumbles forward, pliant and stunned. "Get on the bed," you say simply. Jake obeys. It's not graceful. He trips a little on the edge of the mattress, palms catching himself as he falls onto it. His knees follow, sinking into the sheets, wide-eyed and breathless and completely undone. The mark on his neck already deepening in color.

Sunghoon steps behind you, his hands warm at your waist, watching with a quiet, unreadable intensity as Jake looks up from the bed, mouth parted, eyes shining, completely at your mercy. Then you reach for Jake's waistband, slow and deliberate. "If I say you don't get to touch me...you won't. Understood?"

Jake nods, instantly. But it isn't enough, especially not for Sunghoon, "Use your words," he murmurs from behind you. Jake breathes out, broken and obedient.

"Yes. I understand." You turn away from Jake, slowly, deliberately, your body still humming from the control you'd just exerted over him. You tilt your head up to face Sunghoon, lips parted, voice soft and honey-sweet.

"Wanna ride you, Hoonie," you murmur, eyes full of something heady and bright. Sunghoon's lips twitch into a smile that barely hides the hunger behind it. His hands are already on your waist, sliding under your shirt, touch reverent and greedy all at once. "Yeah?" he breathes, eyes darkening as he leans in, mouth brushing against yours. "Anything you want, pretty girl."

His kisses are deep and languid, like he wants to make you feel everything at once—his hands moving with purpose, stripping you bare with a kind of ease that only comes from knowing you. He peels the shirt off your shoulders, your bra next, then bends to mouth at your collarbones. You giggle when he lifts you clean off the floor with a low grunt, effortlessly strong, still kissing you like he can't get enough. He spins you gently in his arms, your laughter catching in your throat as he lays down beside Jake, pulling you into his lap so your legs straddle his hips. The shift in the room is immediate—charged with heat. Jake's eyes are glued to you, still kneeling on the bed, chest rising and falling with sharp, uneven breaths. His hands are clenched into fists on his thighs. He doesn't speak—but the look in his eyes, the desperation and hunger, says everything.

You lock eyes with him. And while holding his gaze, you reach down between your bodies, hook your fingers into the waistband of Sunghoon's pants, and tug them down just enough that his cock springs free—hot and hard, flushed a deep red. Your breath catches.

You shift your panties to the side, slowly, letting Jake watch everything—your fingers slipping under the fabric, revealing your wetness, your want. His jaw tightens as his gaze flickers down, then back to your face. You line Sunghoon up, the head of him brushing against you. Still holding Jake's stare, you whisper, "Watch me."

Then you sink down. Sunghoon groans, head falling back against the pillows, hands tightening around your waist—but your eyes don't leave Jake's, not for a second. He looks ruined already, lips parted, chest heaving, pupils blown wide as you start to move slowly, rolling your hips in small circles, your hands planted on Sunghoon's chest for balance. His eyes are locked on your face, mouth parted in awe, the way your lashes flutter when he hits the deepest part of you already making him groan. "Fuck, Yunnie," you breathe, barely able to get the words out through the sheer fullness, "Hoonie’s so big—it's too much, he's stretching me out—"

Sunghoon lets out a choked laugh, hands sliding up your back, keeping you grounded as you bounce slow and sweet. "You can take it, pretty girl," he says, breathless, "you always take it so good." Then he turns his head, eyes finding Jake across the bed—Jake, who looks completely undone, lips bitten raw, arms tense in his lap as he watches you fuck Sunghoon right in front of him. "You remember, don't you?" Sunghoon says, voice low and dark, words dragging like smoke. "How fucking tight she is?"

Jake swallows hard, nodding cause he does remember, he knows. Sunghoon's hand moves to your ass, spreading you a little wider on his lap as he grinds up into you. "She's still that tight," he murmurs. "Still squeezin' around me like she doesn't know what to do with it." You whimper, head falling forward, your rhythm stuttering for a second from the delicious drag of him inside you. You look over at Jake, flushed and panting and visibly hard under his jeans. You see the way his fingers dig into the sheets now, holding himself back. "You remember, don't you, Jake?" you whisper, your voice laced with something wicked and wet and wanting. "You remember how good I feel?" He nods again—once, sharp, desperate.

You moan when Sunghoon hits the right spot again, and you can't help it, you start to ride him harder, bouncing now, your hands gripping his shoulders, head tilted back with every gasp. “Oh shit! Sunghoon!”

Jake can't tear his eyes away. "Please," he says, voice hoarse, finally cracking. "Please let me touch you."

Sunghoon growls under you, but it's not anger—it's something else, something dark and territorial and charged with the thrill of control. "You gonna be good?" he asks, eyes narrowing. "You gonna do whatever she says?" Jake nods again, this time slower, breath catching when your eyes meet his and you smile, "Then crawl over here," "and rub my clit," you tell him, barely more than a breath between gasps, and Jake obeys instantly, crawling in close, his hands almost shaking as he reaches for you. His fingers find you, and the moment he starts to move in slow, practiced circles, your entire body trembles. The pleasure is sharp and sudden, slicing through your core and making you moan louder. You clutch Jake's shoulders to stay grounded, your forehead resting against his as you shudder. "God," you whisper, nails dragging down his arms. "Just like that."

Jake's eyes are wide, hungry and reverent all at once. "I missed you," he says, voice cracking. "Missed you so much." Then you kiss him, desperate and unrestrained. Your mouths crash together, teeth clashing, breath caught in your throat as his hands never stop rubbing. Your fingers go straight to his waistband, fumbling with the button of his jeans, tugging at the denim, hungry to feel him again, every part of him. He groans into your mouth when you finally free his cock, hips twitching, his hands pausing for only a second before he goes right back to rubbing soft circles against your clit, coaxing another shiver from your spine.

Under you, Sunghoon's hands are on your waist, fucking up into you, watching with heavy eyes as you and Jake melt together in front of him—two puzzle pieces trying desperately to fit again, despite everything. "Are you gonna let him in?" Sunghoon murmurs low beneath you. "Or do you want to keep teasing him first?" You glance down at him, then at Jake, lips swollen and pupils blown, still panting like a prayer's caught in his throat. But then Sunghoon starts unraveling beneath you. His hands are gripping your waist tighter now, fingers digging in deep. Each thrust up into you is deeper, rougher, his hips snapping with a need he's been swallowing down for weeks. "F–fuck, baby," he gasps, voice guttural. "I can't... you feel so good—I'm not gonna last—"

You're trembling, dizzy, your hands scrambling to hold on to Jake's shoulders for balance, for anything, and he's still touching you, still rubbing soft, perfect circles between your thighs, watching you with wide eyes that burn with something deeper than lust. Worship. Longing. Love. "I—I can't," you whimper, your voice barely recognizable, caught somewhere between a sob and a plea. "It's—Hoonie, it's too much—"

"I've got you," he breathes. "You can take it. You're so good for me, baby." And when you cry out, breath catching sharp and sudden in your throat, both of them hear it—hear the way your voice shatters as you cum. You barely manage to warn them, half-choking out a "I'm gonna—Hoonie, I'm—" before your body locks up. Everything crashes. Your orgasm rips through you in waves—sharp, overwhelming, dizzying. Jake holds your hands tighter, whispering, "That's it, baby, so good," while Sunghoon helps guide your hips, slowing your movements just enough to keep you from falling apart completely, easing you through the tremors. You don't even know what's happening at first. One second you're clinging to Jake's shoulders, trying to catch your breath, trying to come down from the orgasm that shattered your whole body, and the next your thighs are shaking all over again. Sunghoon is still moving beneath you, slower now, grinding up into the heat of your overstimulated cunt like he can't stop, won't stop—not until he's buried so deep inside you he disappears.

"Oh my god—" you gasp, body jolting forward. You feel it before you even realize it's happening. A gush, a rush, a sudden burst of pressure that leaves your thighs soaked and trembling and your breath punched clean from your lungs. "Holy shit," Sunghoon mumbles beneath you, stunned, voice half-wrecked with awe. His grip loosens for just a second, and then he's dragging you back down hard onto him, hips snapping up, chasing his own high now, greedy for it. Jake stares like he's seen a miracle. His hand is still between your legs, slick and shaking, frozen in place until Sunghoon growls low in his throat and knocks it away. "She's mine right now," Sunghoon mutters, almost possessive, his eyes half-lidded and dark with something primal. He pulls you back against his chest and buries his face in your neck. "Just for a second—just let me—"

And he thrusts once more, hard and deep, moaning against your skin as he finally loses control, cumming deep inside you. You're both a mess—your body shaking, hips twitching from the overstimulation, and Sunghoon gasping through his orgasm, arms wrapped around your middle, holding you to him so tight you can feel the tremor in his spine. Jake's hands move to your back, rubbing you gently as he presses a kiss to your spine, voice rough as he whispers, "You okay?"

You nod, dazed, shaky and a little broken up. Trying to catch your breath when Jake leans in again, kissing your shoulder, your back, trailing soft apologies into your skin. His eyes are wide and desperate when they meet yours, like he's still afraid this will be ripped away from him because he doesn't deserve to be here.

Sunghoon catches that look too. And he smiles—slow and deliberate—before reaching over, curling his fingers around Jake's jaw. "You're not touching her again until she says so," Sunghoon murmurs, voice still thick and wrecked from how hard you just made him cum. "Matter of fact... you're not coming until we say so either." Jake's breath catches and his whole body tightens. You cup his flushed face between your hands, nodding slowly, your lips brushing his as you whisper, "We're gonna make you beg, baby."

And oh, does he beg. The night stretches out in sweat-slick sheets and bitten lips and whispered commands. Every time Jake gets close to cumming, one of you pulls away—hands vanishing, mouths retreating, leaving him cursing under his breath, pleading for more. You ride him just enough to ruin him, then slide off with a wicked little smile, watching the way he shudders. Sunghoon kisses him through the whimpers, soothing and cruel at once, murmuring, "Not yet. You don't get to cum yet. You don't get to cum until she says so."

Jake obeys. All night long he obeys. And when you finally let him cum, when you finally look down at him hours later and whisper "You can cum now, baby" he sobs with it and thank you, over and over again.

It's not perfect yet and it might never be. But it's good now, better now. There are still moments that hurt—old memories that sometimes sneak in without warning, a passing comment or a flicker in one of their eyes that reminds you how bad it once got. But it's not sharp anymore. The edges have dulled with time, with effort and love. You trust them again. And they trust you. Jake doesn't flinch when you pull away to gather your thoughts. Sunghoon doesn't shut down when he's overwhelmed. You kiss one, then the other, and neither of them cares who sees anymore. There are still stares, whispers, but you're truly past it. The world can look because you know what you have. And that's all that matters to all of you.

Right now, you're doubled over in a sun-drenched corner booth at a café you never thought to go to until Sunghoon took you there, it’s the same one he used to haunt when you were gone. Now it's your spot. Yours and Chaewon's. She's wiping tears from her eyes from laughing so hard, one hand holding her half-empty iced coffee, the other gesturing wildly as she wheezes, "No but actually—He said that? Like what does that even mean?" You're clinging to your stomach, giggling uncontrollably. "I don't know—I don't know why it's so funny—but it is!"

That's when a familiar voice hums warmly behind you.

"Hi baby." Sunghoon's fingers sweep through your hair as he kisses the top of your head, his palm settling on your shoulder with a light squeeze. You tilt your head back to up at him, already reaching for his hand.

"You ready to go? Jake’s outside." he says, then turns his gaze to Chaewon, eyebrows lifting curiously. "And who's this?" "Oh—!" You twist in your seat, eyes still a little crinkled with laughter. "This is Chaewon, from the seminar. Chaewon, this is my boyfriend Sunghoon."

Sunghoon gives her a small, polite smile. "Nice to finally meet you. I've heard nothing but chaotic things." Chaewon grins, wide and proud. "I plead the fifth." He chuckles, then glances down at you again with something that softens all the angles of his face. You know that look. He's happy. Happy you finally made that friend you were talking about, happy you're laughing again, happy you're here.

You suddenly hear Jake’s voice before you even see him approaching, "Baby," Jake calls out, spotting you across the café with a grin already tugging at his lips, "you still wanna go to the Canary Islands—?" He stops in his tracks as his eyes land on Chaewon. You can see the calculation happening behind his gaze. He blinks once, then points between you two. "Who's this?"

Before you can answer, Sunghoon wraps an arm around your shoulders from behind and offers coolly, "Chaewon. She's her friend." Jake nods slowly, glancing between you, Sunghoon, and the girl seated beside you. Then he says, deadpan, "Cool. Chaewon, do you wanna come to the Canary Islands with us?"

You and Chaewon both burst out laughing at the same time, hers more bewildered, yours fondly exasperated. "Jake—what?!" He just shrugs, smile stretching wider, unapologetically smug. "I already bought three tickets. What's one more?" Sunghoon sighs through his nose, pinching the bridge of it. "You're not supposed to just... collect people."

Jake throws a smile at Chaewon. "It's not collecting if she's fun."

"She is fun," you defend. "Also, you're insane." But Jake only smiles more softly now, like he's seeing something you haven't yet. "Yeah. But you're laughing again."

That shuts you up for a second. Because you are laughing, you’re whole in a way you haven't been in months. Sunghoon leans down, brushing your temple with a kiss. Jake slips into the booth across from you and steals a sip of your drink before wrinkling his nose. "You still drink this garbage?" Chaewon side-eyes you. "You're letting him bully your coffee order?" You shake your head with a grin and glance between the two boys—your boys. You know you'll still have days where things feel hard, moments when the past creeps up, nights where you'll have to talk it out again, cry it out again, try again. But you'll do it. All of you will.

Because this is what it looks like now. Jake pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket showing you the email confirmation. "The hotel has ocean views and a private plunge pool. I'm thinking we leave Wednesday, Well that’s when the flights are booked for anyway." Sunghoon rests his chin on your shoulder, murmuring, "You've always wanted to go." You smile at him and nod.

"Let's go to the Canary Islands."

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byfawn · 6 days ago

Text

THE CONTRACT

↳ oneshot | 10.8k | lowercase intended

preview: you signed a contract in desperation for money, thinking it was a joke of sorts—desperate times call for desperate measures. but when you're taken by two masked men who don’t plan to hurt you, just keep you, you realize this isn’t a joke anymore.

↳ note: this is a dark romance with heavy psychological elements and morally ambiguous characters. while the ending leans into tenderness, there is a lot of blurred lines. reader discretion is strongly advised. i really held back a lot while writing this because i was not in the mood to have my account flagged again lol. maybe one day i'll get the balls to go full throttle!

↳ content warnings: this fic contains explicit non-consensual elements (kidnapping, confinement, drugging, forced captivity), psychological manipulation, stockholm syndrome themes, graphic sexual content (including cunnilingus, spanking, edging, denied orgasm, forced orgasm, overstimulation, anal play, double penetration, breeding, pussy slapping, praise, and degradation), power dynamics, forced feeding, and emotional trauma.

the bright glow of your laptop screen lights up your cramped apartment. outside, the city echoes with distant sirens and the occasional drunken shout, but inside, the silence is deafening. your fingers hover over the keyboard, trembling slightly.

the eviction notice on on the coffee table stares back at you in big, bold red letters reading final warning. almost as if it was some kind of death sentence. you hoped it would't come to this but hope could only get you so far. the last thing you needed right now was to be homeless in this shady neighborhood during the dead of winter. you've sold everything of value—all of your jewelry, your books, even a good chunk of your clothes. but it wasn't enough. it was never enough.

so there you were, curled up on your sunken couch, scrolling through the darkest depths of the internet. the places people only whisper about in hushed tones. your breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts as you click through encrypted forums, each one darker than the last. the air in your apartment feels thick, heavy with the weight of your desperation.

you spent hours working late nights and early mornings but it was never enough to crawl yourself out of the debt that has been sucking you into a blackhole.

then you see it.

the sanctuary.

the site is sleek, almost too polished—like it was designed to lure in people exactly like you. no flashy banners, no pop-ups. just a single, ominous listing under experiences:

be taken. be kept. no questions. $500,000 payout upon completion.

your heart stutters in your chest. half a million dollars. that kind of money would be life changing. more than enough to wipe your debts clean, to start over, to breathe again. you could finally move out of this shitty hell hole that is a pathetic excuse of an apartment.

it was probably a scam but what harm would come from just filling out the application. some twisted joke or a phishing site made to prey on the desperate. you weren't stupid, you knew that. but your fridge was empty, your bank account was overdrawn, and the landlord's threats were starting to sound like promises.

but the questions that follow make your skin prickle with unease:

do you consent to full surrender? yes.

are you prepared to give up all rights for the duration of the stay? yes.

are you mentally and physically prepared for an intensive period of isolation, obedience, and environmental conditioning? yes.

do you understand that comfort and care will be provided at the discretion of your handlers, not upon request? yes.

you swallow hard, throat dry as sandpaper. the rules are deliberately vague, the language clinical, detached. it claims that it is a hundred percent legal and consensual, but something about the way the words sit on the screen makes your stomach twist.

it feels like a game. a dangerous, twisted game—but you're desperate enough to play.

your cursor hovers over the sign button. for a moment, you hesitate, the rational part of your brain screaming at you to close the tab, to walk away. but then you think of your landlord's sneer, the way your stomach aches from skipping meals, the crushing weight of knowing you're one missed payment away from being out on the streets.

against your better judgement, you click sign.

you hold your breathe as you wait for what happens next. the screen of your laptop goes black. anxiously, you ram your fingers against the keyboard in an attempt to bring it back to life. the screen remains black, the shocked reflection of your face staring back at you.

you can't help but laugh. it comes out nearly hysterical. with everything going on, the last thing you needed was your shitty laptop giving out on you. as you reach to close your laptop, the screen mysteriously flickers back to life with a single message written across it:

leave your door unlocked tonight.

you slam the laptop shut, the sudden silence in the room pressing in on you like a physical force. your pulse roars in your ears, your palms slick with sweat. what the absolute hell did you just agreed to?

fuck, it's too late to back out now. and no amount of prayers or demise can undo what you had just signed off on. for all you know it was probably some stupid prank set up by a group of teenagers who didn't know any better. that night when you went to sleep, you locked the door and triple checked the windows before heading to bed.

you spent countless hours tossing and turning, you were far to anxious to even close your eyes, afraid that the dark will swallow you whole. you opted for sitting on the edge of your mattress, knees drawn to your chest, listening to the creaks and groans of your apartment building. every noise makes you jump, your heart insistently pounding in your ears. every creak made your skin crawl, quickening your pulse.

the clock strikes past 2:00 a.m. your eyes sting from hours of fighting off much needed slumber. you had a shift at the coffee shop that started in three hours. but despite your exhaustion, your body refusing to relax. before you knew it, light was softly filtering through the blinds, the dark of the night gone at last. the apartment was quiet and still as it could be as you stretched your sore limbs. staring into the mirror, your eyes were bloodshot and your face looked drained of life.

there was a part of you that felt like an absolute and utter idiot for even believing that something was going to happen. still, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. it wasn't in the apartment itself, or in the air, or the light. it was in you.

you dragged yourself through your shift at the coffee shop, running on caffeine and adrenaline. the hours passed in a blur. you made drinks, wiped counters, and forced yourself to smile at customers who would never guess what you had done the night before. you kept checking your phone, half-expecting a message, a warning, something. but there was nothing. it felt almost as though a weight was lifted off of your chest.

by the time your shift ended, you were too exhausted to think straight. you walked home in a haze, the cold wind biting at your skin. after a quick hot shower, you bundled up under your comforter and drifted off into some much needed slumber.

you don't know what wakes you.

maybe it's the shift in the air, the sudden absence of sound. maybe it's the weight of a gaze you feel before you even open your eyes. but when you do—there's a man standing at the foot of your bed.

your breath catches, your body locking up in pure, animal instinct. he's tall—too tall—his broad frame nearly swallowing the dim light from the streetlamp outside. the shadows cling to him like a second skin, but you can make out his face due to his mask, the glint of something dark and unreadable in his eyes.

you don't scream. you don't even move. your lips part, but no sound comes out.

then instinct finally kicks in.

you lunge for your nightstand, scrambling for anything to defend yourself. his hand snaps out, catching your wrist in a grip like iron. your pulse thunders in your ears as you twist, nails raking against his arm. a growl rumbles in his chest, low and warning.

"none of that," he murmurs, voice rough.

you don't listen. you can't. panic floods your veins, sharp and electric, and you thrash, knee jerking up. a second pair of hands grabs you from behind, locking your arms against your body. "fuck," a new voice mutters, voice thick with a british accent. "she's a fighter."

you writhe, teeth bared, but they're too strong. he reaches reaches into his pocket, pulling out a syringe. the liquid inside catches the light and you thrash against them even harder.

your breath comes in ragged bursts. "no—no—"

"shhh," the first man soothes, almost gentle, as if he's calming a spooked animal. "just a little pinch."

the needle sinks into your neck.

you gasp, the burn of the injection spreading fast. your limbs grow heavy, your vision blurring at the edges. the last thing you see is the second man's masked face tilting as he studies you, his grip never loosening.

"sleep now, little one," the first man murmurs.

and just like that—the world goes dark.

when you wake, its feels like your skull has been hammered in. you could practically feel your heart pounding in your head. your neck still sore from whatever the hell you were injected with. your mouth feels dry and tastes of copper and cotton. when you try to swallow, its like sandpaper grinding against your throat. you slowly start to piece together the reality around you.

first it's the smell of damp concrete and something metallic. then the cold, seeping through your clothes and into your bones. finally, the pain, a dull throb at your neck where the needle went in.

you blink against the dim light. you're on a mattress, thin and lumpy, pushed into the corner of what looks like a basement. the walls are bare concrete, the only light coming from a single bulb swinging gently from the ceiling. there are no windows.

you try to lift your head and immediately regret it as the world tilts violently. a soft whimper escaping your lips. when you try to stand up, the chain around your ankle yanks you back. your breath hitches. it's thick, industrial-grade, bolted to the floor and connected to a leather cuff tight enough to leave marks but not cut off circulation.

"she's awake."

the voice comes from the shadows near the stairs. the british one steps into the light, holding two mugs. steam curls from them in the cold air. he's changed clothes and is now wearing black tactical pants and a tight gray henley that stretches across his shoulders. his mask remains firmly in place, the familiar skull fabric hiding his features. only his eyes are visible, glinting in the low light as he studies your pain-tense form.

he sets one mug on the floor near your mattress and keeps the other for himself. "drink. it'll help with the headache."

you don't move. your throat burns with thirst, but you won't take anything from him. not again.

he sighs, crouching down to your level. "suit yourself." he takes a sip from his own mug, watching you over the rim. "you put up a good fight back there. surprised me."

"go to hell." your voice comes out cracked, barely above a whisper.

you can tell he's grinning even through his mask. "already there, darling."

the creak of the stairs makes you both turn. the larger masked man descends slowly, his massive frame barely fitting. he's changed into a black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. the sight of those thick veins running under tanned skin makes you swallow hard. his face is concealed by that distinctive hood—the fabric obscuring everything except those unsettling eyes that track your every movement.

"she's not drinking," the british one says. there's something possessive in how he watches you, something that curls heat low in your belly even as your mind screams in protest.

the hooded man tilts his head, the fabric shifting with the movement. "she will."

he reaches into his pocket with deliberate slowness and pulls out a phone. your phone. his fingers tap the screen before turning it toward you. the glow illuminates the loose threads of his hood as you see the bank notification—$100,000 deposited into your account.

"first installment," he says, voice muffled slightly by the fabric. "as promised."

you stare at the number until the screen goes dark, reflecting back the shadowy outline of his concealed face. it's more money than you've ever seen.

the british one nudges the mug closer with his boot. the ceramic scrapes against concrete. "now will you drink?" there's a challenge in his voice that makes you want to both obey and defy him, the contradiction tying your stomach in knots.

your hands shake as you reach for it. when you look up, they're both watching you with something like satisfaction, and the heat in their eyes has nothing to do with cruelty and everything to do with possession. it should terrify you. part of you wishes it did.

the hooded man pockets your phone, the movement making his hood shift. for a second, you think you see the shadow of stubble along his jawline before it disappears back into concealment. "rules are simple," he says. the fabric moves with each word. "you stay. you obey. you get the rest."

"and if i say no?" your voice comes out breathier than you intended.

the british one's laugh is hollow. "you clicked the button, love. that was your signature." he steps closer, and you don't pull away when his thumb brushes your lower lip. "we all know what you really want."

the hooded man's hand settles on your waist, large enough to span nearly half of it. his breath is warm through the fabric as he leans down. "this is your life for now," he murmurs, and the promise in his voice makes your traitorous body arch toward him. "be a good girl and accept it."

the bulb flickers as they leave. the lock clicks. outside, wind howls, but inside, you're burning up. you're torn between horror and shame and filled with the aching need they've awakened in you. the tea sits forgotten as you press your thighs together, disgusted with yourself and yet already wondering when they'll return.

the silence after they leave is suffocating. you slump back against the mattress, your fingers trembling where they clutch the mug. the tea has gone cold, but your skin still burns where they touched you. you hate it. you hate how your body betrays you, how your pulse jumps at the memory of rough hands and low voices.

the chain around your ankle clinks when you shift, the sound too loud in the empty basement. you should be planning an escape. you should be screaming. instead, you're staring at the spot where the british one stood, the way he brushed your lips with his calloused hands burned into your mind. perhaps it was the after effects of the drugs that they gave you making you hallucinate?

you don't know how long has passed but you're most certain that it has definitely been a few hours. you're stomach is grumbling, the last thing you consumed was a day or two ago—a croissant and cup of coffee from the cafe. the hunger was gnawing at your stomach and you were starting to feel dizzy.

the door clicks open without warning. you jerk upright, chains rattling, as the british one strides in carrying a tray. the smell hits you first—roasted meat, fresh bread, something herbal that makes your empty stomach clench painfully.

"brought you dinner, darling," he says, setting the tray just beyond your reach. steam rises from the plate, curling in the damp basement air. your mouth waters before you can stop it.

you force your gaze away. "i'm not eating that."

he crouches with predatory grace, balancing effortlessly on the balls of his feet. "oh?" his fingers tear off a piece of bread, holding it up. "smells good though, doesn't it?"

when you don't answer, he tsks. "such a stubborn little thing." the bread brushes your lips. you press them tighter. his other hand grips your chin, forcing your head up. "come now. you'll need your strength."

"for what?" you snap, trying to twist away. his grip tightens.

"for all the fun we're going to have." he presses the bread harder against your mouth. "eat."

you lunge suddenly, teeth aiming for his fingers. he moves faster, twisting your head to the side and pinning you against the mattress. his body presses down, all hard muscle and controlled strength.

"naughty," he breathes against your ear, hips grinding down just enough to make your breath hitch. the bread is still in his other hand. "you want to play rough? fine." he nips your earlobe. "but you're still going to eat."

you thrash violently, nails raking down his arms, legs kicking uselessly beneath his weight. he sighs dramatically. "have it your way." in one smooth motion, he pulls his mask up just enough to reveal cruel, smiling lips and pops the bread into his own mouth, chewing slowly while watching you struggle. "shame. it's really quite good."

your stomach growls loudly. you can feel your face grow heated from embarrassment but your far to prideful to eat anything he offers. you can see his eyes light up with dark amusement.

before you can react, he's grabbing another piece of bread and chewing it deliberately. you barely have time to gasp before his hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back. his mouth crashes against yours, tongue forcing the food past your lips. you choke, but he doesn't let go until you swallow, his teeth nipping your bottom lip as he pulls away.

your chest heaves, torn between rage and the shameful realization that your body is responding to his dominance. he tears off another piece, chewing slowly as he watches you. you know what's coming. your breath comes faster.

"open," he commands. when you don't obey, he pinches your nose shut. instinct makes your lips part, and he's on you again, feeding you another mouthful with his lips and tongue. this time, when he pulls away, a whimper escapes you before you can stop it.

"that's it," he coaxes, feeding you another bite. each morsel comes with a stroke of his fingers, a whispered praise that coils heat low in your belly. "so good for me."

when the food is gone, he lingers, thumb wiping a crumb from your lip. you bite down hard. he yanks back with a laugh, examining the teeth marks on his thumb. when he finally stands, adjusting his mask back into place, you're left panting, your lips swollen, your body thrumming with conflicting sensations.

"feisty till the end," he muses. "i like that." he collects the tray, pausing at the door. "sleep well, princess. you'll need it."

your can feel the exhaustion of the past two days and a 12 hour shift wearing down on your body. as much as you try to fight it off in fear of one of them coming back down, your exhaustion wins and sleep comes heavy and unwilling. your lips still tingle from the forced feeding, your skin buzzing with the memory of his hands on you. you dream of mocking voices and teeth at your throat, waking in gasps only to find the basement still dark, still empty.

when you wake, it is to the feeling up being watched—a feeling that you have known all to well lately. it's him. the hooded one. he seems to be much gentler compared to the one with the british accent.

he's seated in the corner, silent as a shadow, his massive frame swallowing what little light filters into the room. you don't know how long he's been there, but the way his head tilts when your eyes meet tells you its been far to long. his gaze catches yours slow, deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment its prey realizes it's caught.

"you're awake." his voice is low, muffled by the mask, but it scrapes over your skin anyway. he doesn't move. doesn't blink. just stares, those unreadable eyes tracking the way your breath hitches.

you sit up slowly, chain clinking, your muscles stiff from the cold floor. instinct has you crawling backward before you can stop yourself, shoulders pressing into the wall as if that could save you. "what do you want?"

he stands in one smooth motion, the movement too graceful for a man his size. the bucket in his hand sloshes, water dripping onto the floor between his boots. "you need to wash."

your stomach drops. "no."

he doesn't react, just sets the bucket down with a thud and nudges it toward you with his foot. the towel draped over his arm is crisp, white—a mockery of cleanliness in this basement. "you're dirty," he says.

heat floods your cheeks. "i'm not undressing in front of you."

"no?" his head tilts, the edges of his hood shifting. beneath the fabric, you imagine his lips curling. "then you stay dirty." he crouches suddenly, fingers snagging the hem of your shirt. "unless you want help."

you slap his hand away. "don't fucking touch me."

his grip closes around your wrist like a vice, yanking you forward until your chest nearly brushes him. "fight all you want," he murmurs, dragging your trapped hand under his mask. his tongue flicks out, tracing your knuckles through the fabric, slow, as if savoring the salt of your skin. "you'll give in eventually. i'll ask again nicely. take it off."

"no."

one hand fists in your shirt and yanks. the cotton fabric tears like paper. cold air hits your bare skin and you gasp, hands flying up to cover yourself. it's pointless. he's already grabbing your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. his gaze darkens as he drinks in the sight of your bare chest. your nipples harden under his sharp stare and you can't help but squirm. you shouldn't have found this attractive but it had wetness pooling at the apex of your thighs.

the damp cloth traces your collarbones, slow and methodical, wiping away your sweat. you bite your lip to stop the moan threatening to escape.

"so sensitive," he murmurs, the cloth dipping lower. he releases your wrists and grips your waist, holding you still as he washes between your breasts. your breath comes faster, your nipples pebbling under his attention. "see how your body reacts?"

you squeeze your thighs together, but he notices. of course he does. his knee nudges them apart as he crouches before you. the cloth drags down your stomach, over your hips, leaving fire in its wake. when it reaches the waistband of your shorts, you whimper.

"shhh," he soothes, even as his fingers hook in the fabric. "i'll take care of you." the rip of fabric echoes in the quiet room. you should be ashamed, should fight harder, but his hands on your bare skin feel too good. you melt under his rough hands like putty. you find all the fight that you had slowly simmer down under the gentle care of his hands.

the water is cool, but where he touches you burns. his fingers trace every curve, every dip, cleaning you with a reverence that makes your chest ache. when his thumb brushes your inner thigh, you jerk, a broken sound escaping your lips.

"so perfect," he growls, his masked mouth pressing against your knee. "so responsive." his hands slide up your legs, washing away the last traces of dirt, leaving you exposed and trembling.

no one has ever been so attentive to you. not when you were scrounging for food in dumpsters at twelve. not when you burned with fever that left you immobile in that shitty studio apartment with no one to even bring you medicine because you had no one. the first tear falls before you can stop it.

he pauses. "look at me." when you don't, his fingers grip your chin, forcing your gaze up. his masked face tilts, studying your wet cheeks. "crying?" his thumb swipes under your eye, collecting tears. "why?"

"because you're—" your voice cracks "—you're fucking monsters. and this is the kindest anyone's ever touched me."

the confession hangs between you, raw and ugly. his breathing changes, the mask fluttering slightly. for a long moment, he just watches you shake, his grip on your waist the only thing keeping you upright.

was it the emotional wear and tear of the past 48 hours sneaking up on you? or even worse, the lifetime of neglect that you had faced resulting in any kind of attention, good or bad, making you feel seen? you had been numb for so long that the sensation of tear running down your heated cheeks felt foreign. it was almost as if a dam had burst within you.

his hands resume their work, slower now. the cloth moves down your thighs with unbearable gentleness, washing away dirt and years of neglect. "let go," he murmurs against your knee, his lips brushing skin through the fabric. "just let us take care of you."

you sob when his fingers find the scar on your hip—the one from when you fell through a rusted fire escape at fourteen and stitched it up yourself with fishing line. his touch lingers there, warm and steady, and something inside you fractures.

maybe it wouldn't be so bad, you think wildly, to let them break you. if their hands put you back together after. if they keep looking at you like you're something precious instead of disposable.

"there," he whispers when you're clean, pressing a towel to your damp skin. his hands tremble slightly as he dresses you, buttoning the fresh dress with careful fingers.

you hate how much you crave his approval. hate how badly you want him to touch you again. but most of all, you hate that when he leaves, the cold feels unbearable—and that the scent of him lingers on your new clothes, wrapping you in something dangerously close to comfort.

the days blur together in a haze of careful hands and quiet commands. the british one that you have come to know as simon comes like clockwork—morning, noon, night—feeding you bites of food between teasing remarks. "open wider, princess," he'll murmur, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip until you obey. sometimes he makes you eat from his fingers. sometimes from his mouth. you always flush, always protest, but your lips part easier each time.

and the tall one that goes by konig is the one who washes you, his massive hands surprisingly gentle as they scrub away your resistance along with the dirt. he notices everything—how your breath hitches when his fingers graze the back of your neck, how your thighs press together when he kneels between them to wash your legs. "so responsive," he praises each time, his masked mouth brushing your ear. "such a good girl for me."

you had lost track of how many days you had been holed up in the basement. how long did they plan to hold you captive? you had wondered if there had been anybody out there looking for you. although, that was highly unlikely given that you're parents weren't in the picture and you had no friends. maybe your manager at the cafe had filed some kind of report, she was a sweet old lady who always checked in on how you were doing because she knew that you lived alone in a shader part of town.

as the days passed you started to formulate ways you could escape. the first order of business you had to tackle was the stupid chain on your ankle. luckily for you, there had been a bobby pin from your hair that you had kept hidden under your mattress.

you waited until the house fell silent, until even the creaking floorboards above had stilled. then you went to work. the lock was stubborn, but you were stubborn too. the first click made your pulse spike. the second had your hands shaking with anticipation.

"and what do we have here?"

you nearly jump out of your skin—your blood turns to ice. simon’s voice comes from directly behind you, his shadow swallowing you whole. you don’t even have time to turn before konig’s hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back.

"naughty girl," he murmurs, plucking the pin from your fingers. his mask brushes your cheek as he inhales sharply. "you smell like fear. you should be scared."

simon crouches in front of you, his knife flashing as he taps it against your ankle cuff. "we give you pretty dresses. feed you from our hands." the blade gently slides up your calf, making you shiver. "and this is how you repay us?"

you spit at him, the saliva landing on his boot. "go to hell."

simon’s laugh sends shivers down your spine as he wipes his boot clean with slow, deliberate strokes. "oh sweetheart," he purrs, sheathing his knife with a click that echoes in the silent basement. "you just earn yourself a proper punishment."

konig’s grip in your hair tightens as he hauls you upright, his other hand wrapping around your throat in a way that shouldn’t make your pulse jump but does. "such a bad girl," he murmurs, his masked lips brushing your ear, the heat of his breath making you shiver. "needing to be taught a lesson."

you thrash against him, nails scraping at his arms, but he doesn’t budge. the hard planes of his chest press against your back, his arousal evident even through layers of tactical gear. simon stands with that infuriating smirk, rolling up the sleeves of his henley to reveal corded forearms that have no business being so distracting. "over my lap," he commands, settling onto the edge of the mattress with deliberate ease.

"fuck you!" you snarl, twisting in konig’s hold. your heart pounds not just from fear, but from the way his fingers flex against your throat, the way simon’s eyes darken as they rake over your body.

konig tsks, the vibration rumbling through his chest and into yours as he easily maneuvers you face-down across simon’s thighs. the cold air hits your bare ass as konig yanks your panties down in one sharp motion, his knuckles brushing your sensitive skin and leaving fire in their wake.

"such a pretty little ass," simon muses, running his calloused palm over one cheek in a caress that feels more possessive than punishing. "gonna look even prettier all red and marked up."

the first smack lands without warning, sharp and stinging. you yelp, fingers digging into the mattress as heat blooms across your skin. "bastard!" you spit, but your traitorous body already responds, your nipples pebbling against the rough fabric of simon’s jeans.

simon just chuckles, delivering another sharp slap to the same spot, the pain melting into something dangerously close to pleasure. "count them, princess. or we start over." his thigh shifts beneath you, pressing deliberately against your aching core.

"never!" you gasp, but your hips rock forward instinctively, seeking friction.

the next blow comes harder, making your eyes water even as your cunt clenches around nothing. konig’s hand settles between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned as simon begins a relentless rhythm—left cheek, right cheek, each smack louder than the last, each one sending jolts of heat straight to your throbbing clit.

"o-one," you finally crack out in a broken voice, shame curling in your belly even as your arousal grows.

by the fifth spank, your thighs shake—not just from pain, but from the way simon’s massive hand covers nearly your entire ass, his fingers brushing dangerously close to your dripping slit with every impact. the sharp sting radiates through you, mixing with the low throb between your legs until you can’t tell where the pain ends and the pleasure begins.

"f-fifteen," you choke out after another brutal spank, your ass burning like fire. tears streak your face, but worse—your juices coat simon’s jeans where you grind against him, your body betraying you completely. you’re a sobbing, snotty mess by fifty, but your cunt pulses with need, aching to be filled.

simon pauses, rubbing circles over the heated skin of your ass. "fast learner that we have here," he murmurs, his voice rough with arousal. his fingers dip lower, brushing against your soaked folds and coming away glistening. "oh? what’s this?" he holds his wet fingers up for konig to see, his smirk widening.

you whimper, hips jerking away from his touch, but konig holds you firm, his other hand sliding down to squeeze your abused cheeks. "she’s dripping," he observes, his voice thick with amusement as he presses against you, letting you feel the hard length of him through his pants. "such a dirty little thing, getting off on her punishment."

"i’m not!" you protest, but your traitorous body clenches around nothing, your clit throbbing with each heartbeat. the scent of your arousal fills the air, mixing with leather and gunpowder in a way that makes your head spin.

simon’s next smack lands directly on your pussy, the sting mixing with pleasure so intense you scream, your back arching off his lap. "liar," he growls, delivering two more sharp slaps to your swollen lips that have you seeing stars. "your cunt’s begging for more. should we give it to her, konig?"

the taller man hums, his fingers sliding through your folds to circle your aching clit with terrifying precision. "i think she’s earned a reward," he decides, pressing down just hard enough to make you writhe, your hips chasing his touch. "after she apologizes, of course." his thumb flicks over your sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing a broken moan from your lips. "well, little one? what do you say?"

you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, refusing to give them the satisfaction even as your nails dig into the sheets, your body arching toward konig’s skilled fingers. simon’s hand comes down again, this time on your already burning ass, the sharp sting making your clit throb against konig’s relentless circles. "fuck! okay, okay! i’m sorry!" you sob, the words torn from you as much by pleasure as punishment.

konig’s fingers don’t stop their torturous movements, his other hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. "sorry for what, little one?" his voice is rough velvet through the mask, that accent curling around the words in a way that makes your stomach flip.

"for t-trying to escape," you gasp, hips rocking shamelessly against his hand now, your resistance crumbling with each expert stroke. the way simon watches you—those piercing eyes tracking every twitch of your body, the way his jaw tightens when you moan—sends fresh heat pooling low in your belly. "for being a b-bad girl."

simon’s palm lands one final, stinging blow before soothing over the heated skin, his touch almost tender.

"good enough," he decides, flipping you onto your back with effortless strength. his eyes darken at the sight of your tear-streaked face, your heaving chest, the way your nipples pebble under his gaze.

"look at you," he murmurs, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. "all marked up and still so defiant." the way his voice drops sends shivers down your spine. "we’ll break you eventually."

konig’s fingers push inside you without warning, curling against that sweet spot that has you seeing stars. "she’s close," he observes, though the way his breath hitches betrays his own arousal. his fingers piston in and out, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room as you arch off the bed, your body taut as a bowstring. "should we let her come?"

"not yet. the first time she comes, it will be on my cock." simon leans down, his breath hot against your ear as konig’s fingers still, leaving you teetering on the edge. "don’t even think about touching yourself, i will be watching."

"next time you misbehave," simon promises, his teeth grazing your earlobe in a way that makes your cunt clench around konig’s fingers, "we won’t stop at just a spanking." the dark promise in his voice has liquid heat dripping down konig’s fingers. "understood?"

you nod frantically, your entire body trembling with denied release, your skin oversensitive and burning wherever they’ve touched you. konig withdraws his fingers with a wet sound, wiping them deliberately on your inner thigh, marking you with your own arousal. "good girl," he murmurs, the praise curling around you like smoke. "now sleep."

as they leave, the door locking behind them with finality, you collapse onto the mattress. your ass still burns, your cunt still aches, and worst of all—your fingers itch to touch yourself despite simon’s warning. you press your thighs together, biting back a moan as the friction sends sparks through your oversensitive nerves.

curling into yourself, you press your face into the pillow to muffle your frustrated scream. you should be planning another escape, looking for a weakness in routine, trying to get out of the shackle but you find yourself wondering on how they would taste and feel instead.

sleep didn't come. just the endless replay of konig's murmured praise, simon's dark promises. the way they'd worked you over like a shared project, all rough hands and calculated tenderness. you bit your lip until copper flooded your tongue, but it didn't stop the memories—konig's breath hitching when you clenched around his fingers, simon's grip in your hair as he forced eye contact while konig touched you.

the next morning arrives with no relief. you wake tangled in sweat-damp sheets, your body still thrumming with last night's denied pleasure. every shift of fabric against oversensitive skin sends sparks through your nerves, making your teeth clench. you press your thighs together tightly, but the pressure only makes it worse —a constant, aching reminder of their control.

"someone didn't sleep well," he observes, setting down the breakfast tray. the scent of coffee makes your chest tighten with something dangerously close to homesickness.

"fuck you," you mutter, but your voice lacks its usual bite.

he chuckles, perching on the edge of the mattress. "eventually." his fingers trail up your bare leg, pausing at the bruise konig left yesterday. when you flinch, he presses harder, his thumb circling the mark. "hurts?"

you shake your head, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

"liar." the word is almost affectionate as he reaches for the breakfast tray. "open."

when you hesitate, his free hand slips beneath the sheets, finding your still-throbbing core with terrifying accuracy. "i said," he repeats, fingers applying just enough pressure to make your hips jerk, "open."

you part your lips with a shaky exhale, letting him feed you the first bite. his smile widens as he wipes a crumb from your lip with his thumb. "see? was that so hard?"

konig enters silently, his massive frame filling the doorway. his masked face tilts as he takes in the scene—simon's hand still under the sheets, your flushed cheeks, the way your fingers clutch the blanket in white-knuckled fists. "trouble?" he rumbles, moving to stand behind simon.

"just reminding our girl who takes care of her," simon replies, feeding you another bite. this time, konig's hand joins his under the sheets, his fingers replacing simon's. his calloused fingers drags against your sensitive flesh, making you gasp.

"so wet," konig murmurs, his other hand stroking your hair. "even after last night." his fingers work you with clinical precision, never quite giving you what you need. "do you want to come, little one?"

you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood. the answer claws at your throat, but pride keeps it locked behind your teeth.

simon leans in, his lips brushing your ear. "say please," he whispers, "and maybe we'll consider it."

the tray sits forgotten as they reduce you to a trembling mess between them—konig's relentless fingers, simon's filthy words. when you finally break, a whispered "please" slipping past your lips.

simon's fingers dig into your thighs as he pushes them apart, the cool air hitting your needy cunt. his mask is lifted just enough to reveal his smirk before he leans in, tongue dragging a slow, torturous stripe through your folds. you whimper, back arching off the mattress, but he pins you down with ease, his grip bruising.

"so fucking wet," he mutters against you, lips sealing around your clit to suck lightly—just enough to make your toes curl but not enough to push you over. his tongue flicks and teases, alternating between soft licks and sharp nips that leave you gasping. konig's hand strokes your inner thigh, his other palming himself through his pants, the quiet sound of fabric rustling filling the room.

"please," you choke out, fingers twisting in the sheets.

simon pulls back with a wet sound, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "please what?" he taunts, dragging his cock through your slick, the thick head catching on your clit. you jerk, a broken noise escaping you. "use your words."

"please—fuck me," you plead, hips lifting desperately.

he doesn't make you wait. with one brutal thrust, he's inside, stretching you to the limit, the stretch burning so good. his hips snap forward, setting a punishing pace from the start, each drive punching a moan from your lips. konig's hand slips between your bodies, thumb circling your clit in time with simon's thrusts, the dual stimulation making your vision blur.

"gonna come?" simon growls, fingers digging into your hips. "told ya the first time you'd come would be on my cock."

you shatter with a sob, your cunt clenching around him as pleasure crashes over you in waves. the orgasm so intense that it hits you like a freight train. simon fucks you through it, his own release following shortly after with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you. konig's breath is ragged behind his mask, his hand moving faster over himself until he grunts, spilling over his fist.

simon pulls out with a satisfied hum, thumb swiping through the mess between your thighs before pressing it to your lips. "good girl," he murmurs, watching as you lick it clean. konig's hand strokes your hair, his touch almost gentle compared to the wreckage simon left behind.

"next time," konig says, "i'm taking your ass, little one."

konig's fingers curl around the cold metal of the shackle, the one that's been clamped around your ankle for weeks—maybe months, time blurred down here in the dark. the click of the lock releasing is the sweetest sound you've ever heard. your skin tingles where the rough iron had been, the sudden absence of weight making your leg feel almost weightless, like you could float away.

the relief is immediate. the constant pressure, the chafing, the way it bit into your flesh every time you moved—gone. you suck in a sharp breath as blood rushes back to the spot, the sensation both prickling and soothing at once. you reach down without thinking, fingertips brushing over the raw, tender skin. it's sore, yes, but god, it's free.

he watches you for a moment, his masked face unreadable, before he hooks an arm under your knees and another behind your back, lifting you like you weigh nothing. your body protests weakly—every muscle limp, every nerve still buzzing from simon's rough treatment—but you don't fight it. you can't.

the basement stairs creak under his boots, each step taking you further from the damp, mold-scented air, closer to something you'd almost forgotten existed. real light, real air. your vision swims as he carries you into the hallway, the sudden brightness making you flinch. it's not even that bright—just a dim lamp flickering on the wall—but your eyes burn anyway, unused to anything but shadows.

he kicks open a door, and then you're being lowered onto something soft. a bed. actual fabric beneath you, not concrete, not that pathetic excuse of a mattress. your body sinks into it, the mattress cradling you in a way that makes your throat tighten. you want to cry. you might already be crying.

konig's hand drags over your bare hip, possessive but not cruel. "rest," he orders, voice gravelly. "you'll need it."

you don't have the strength to answer. the second he pulls the blanket over you, your eyelids give out, heavy as lead. the last thing you feel is the ghost of his touch on your cheek before darkness swallows you whole.

later that evening, you stir to the feeling of large hands sliding beneath you, lifting you with surprising care. your body aches, muscles still heavy with exhaustion, but the pain is duller now—soothed by the deep, dreamless sleep you'd fallen into.

konig's voice is softer than usual, almost tender as he murmurs, "time to get you cleaned up, little one."

you blink up at him, disoriented, but there's no cruelty in his touch, no impatience. just steady, quiet control. the mask is still in place, but his movements are gentle as he carries you down the hall, the sound of running water growing louder with each step.

when he pushes open the bathroom door, steam curls in the air, the scent of something warm and herbal—lavender maybe—filling your lungs. your breath hitches. a real bath. not a bucket of cold water dumped over your head, not the rough scrub of a rag while you shiver on the basement floor.

the tub is already full, water glimmering under the dim light, little bubbles floating on the surface. konig kneels beside it, testing the temperature with his fingers before turning back to you. "can you stand?" he asks, voice low.

you nod, though your legs tremble when your feet touch the tile. his grip tightens just enough to steady you, his other hand sliding around your waist to keep you upright. the care in his touch is almost startling—like he's handling something fragile, something precious.

he helps you step into the water, and the moment it closes over your skin, you nearly whimper. it's so warm, so soft, the heat seeping into your sore muscles, loosening the tension in your back, your shoulders. you sink deeper, the water rising to your collarbones, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel clean.

konig doesn't rush you. he sits on the edge of the tub, one arm draped over the rim, watching as you slowly relax. when he finally reaches for the soap, his movements are methodical, careful. the washcloth glides over your skin, scrubbing away the grime, the sweat, the lingering traces of simon's touch. he's thorough but never rough, his fingers lingering just a little longer on the places where bruises bloom—like he's memorizing them.

when he reaches your hair, his touch turns almost reverent. he tips your head back, cupping water in his palm to wet the strands before working the shampoo through with slow, massaging circles. your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, a quiet sigh escaping you. it's the closest thing to kindness you've felt in so long, and it makes your chest ache.

"better?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you can only nod, throat too tight to speak.

he hums in approval, rinsing the suds away before lifting you from the water with effortless strength. a plush towel wraps around you, absorbing the droplets as he pats you dry with surprising tenderness. his hands linger on your hips before he lifts you again, carrying you back to the bed.

the sheets are cool against your skin as he lays you down, but the warmth of the bath still lingers beneath your flesh. he looms over you, his masked face unreadable as he reaches for something on the nightstand—a small bottle of oil.

"gonna stretch this pretty little ass for me," he murmurs, uncapping the bottle. the scent of vanilla and something spicier fills the air as he pours the oil over his fingers, warming it between them. "you'll take it so well, won't you? always such a good girl for us."

his free hand spreads your thighs, exposing you completely. you shiver, but not from cold. there's something about the way he looks at you, the way his voice drops into that rough, possessive tone that makes your stomach tighten.

the first touch of his slick fingers against your rim makes you gasp. he circles slowly, teasing, watching how your body reacts. "so tight," he growls. "gonna ruin you for anything else."

just as the tip of his finger begins to press inside, movement catches your eye—simon, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. his gaze is dark, hungry, tracking konig's every movement. when he pushes off the wall and stalks forward, your breath hitches.

"look at that," simon murmurs, dragging a calloused finger through your folds. "already wet for it." his touch is rougher than konig's, less patient, but it sends a jolt of heat through you all the same.

konig chuckles, the sound low and pleased as he works his finger deeper. "she loves it," he says, twisting his wrist just enough to make you whimper. "don't you, little one? love being stuffed full?"

simon's fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles that have your hips jerking. "fuck," he breathes, watching konig push a second finger in. "look at her. greedy little thing."

the stretch burns, but the pleasure simon coaxes from your clit makes it impossible to focus on anything else. konig scissors his fingers, stretching you further, his other hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. "soon," he promises, voice thick with want, "it'll be my cock. gonna wreck this perfect ass until you can't walk."

simon leans down, his breath hot against your ear. "and i'll be right here," he murmurs, "playing with this pretty cunt while he does."

the plug is cold when konig presses it against your hole, but the way he works it inside—slowly—has you arching off the bed. simon's fingers curl inside you, matching konig's pace, and when the plug finally pops into place, you come with a broken cry, their praises ringing in your ears.

the room is hazy as they pulls away, simon's fingers glistening as he drags them slowly from your soaked cunt. you're still trembling, oversensitive and boneless, but he doesn't let you rest for long.

"open," he commands, pressing those same wet fingers to your lips.

you obey without thinking, tongue darting out to lick them clean, the taste of yourself sharp and familiar. simon hums, satisfied, before reaching for the tray he'd brought earlier. the food is simple but to you, it might as well be a feast.

simon doesn't hand it to you. instead, he picks up a piece of fruit, holding it to your mouth. "eat," he says, voice rough but not unkind.

you take a bite, the flavors exploding on your tongue, and you have to force yourself not to whimper. it's so good, so much better than anything you've had in what feels like forever. simon watches you chew, his dark eyes tracking every movement of your throat as you swallow.

"that's it," he murmurs, grabbing another piece. "good girl."

he feeds you like that making sure you take your time. konig watches from the foot of the bed. you can feel the weight of his gaze. it's heavy, possessive, and it makes your skin prickle even as exhaustion tugs at your limbs.

when the tray is empty, simon sets it aside and wipes your mouth with his thumb, the gesture almost tender. "sleep now," he orders, pushing you back onto the pillows.

you don't have the energy to resist, not when your body feels so heavy, so used. the plug inside you is a constant reminder of their claim, but right now, even that can't keep you awake.

the last thing you see is konig leaning over you, his hand brushing your hair from your face. "rest," he says, voice softer than you've ever heard it. "we're not done with you yet."

escape is the last thing on your mind as you doze off.

the next morning, sunlight filters through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed. it had been so long since you'd waken up to the sun. you stir as the door creaks open, konig's broad frame filling the doorway.

"morning, little one," he rumbles, voice still rough with sleep.

you sit up slowly, the soreness in your body a dull ache now, more memory than pain. the plug in your ass still feels foreign. konig crosses the room in a few strides, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. "feel better?" he asks, tilting his head.

you nod, and something in his posture relaxes—just slightly.

"good," he says. "then let's get you dressed."

he doesn't give you a choice, but his hands are gentle as he helps you into fresh clothes—soft cotton pants, a loose sweater that smells faintly of him. when he kneels to slide socks onto your feet, his fingers linger over the fading marks from the shackle, his thumb pressing lightly against the tender skin.

you had fallen so into routine with the two of them that your old life was a thing of the past. it's not like you had anything or anyone to go back to. at least here, you had a roof over your head and you didn't have to worry about when or what your next meal would be.

"no more basement," he murmurs, more to himself than you.

"no more basement," you repeat after him.

then he stands, offering you his hand. "come. you can see the rest of the house."

your breath catches. real freedom—even if it's just within these walls—feels like a dream. konig leads you through the hallway, his grip firm but not restraining. the house is larger than you expected, the floors polished wood, the walls lined with framed maps and black-and-white photographs.

but it's the library that makes you stop.

floor-to-ceiling shelves, packed with books of every color and size. your fingers twitch at your sides, itching to touch, to explore. konig notices, of course. he always notices.

"go on," he says, nudging you forward.

you don't need to be told twice. the moment your fingertips brush the spine of a book, something tight in your chest loosens. you pull one out at random, the weight of it familiar and comforting in your hands.

konig watches as you curl into an armchair, your knees tucked under you, the book open in your lap. he doesn't join you, just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. but he doesn't leave either.

the silence is comfortable, broken only by the turn of pages. you lose yourself in the words, the story pulling you under, and for the first time in so long, you forget—forget the basement, forget the pain, forget that you're anything but a girl reading a book on a quiet morning.

until konig shifts, pushing off the wall. "simon's back," he says, and just like that, the spell breaks.

your fingers tighten around the book, but you don't protest when he takes it from you, marking the page with a slip of paper before setting it aside.

"later," he promises, his hand sliding under your chin, tilting your face up to his. "if you're good."

the rest of the day goes by in a blur, you even asked simon if you could cook dinner and he agreed although he was wary of letting you use a knife, reasonably so.

the knife feels heavy in your hand—too much power after so long without any. simon watches from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, his dark eyes tracking every movement. you can feel his gaze like a physical weight, but you focus on the vegetables in front of you, slicing them carefully.

"slow," simon murmurs, stepping closer. his breath ghosts over the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. "don't get too excited now."

you nod, forcing your hands to steady. the rhythm of chopping is almost meditative, the repetitive motion soothing. simon hums in approval, his fingers brushing your hip as he reaches past you for a glass. the casual touch makes your stomach tighten.

dinner is simple—pasta, roasted vegetables, a sauce simmering on the stove. it's more than you've cooked in months, maybe years, and the domesticity of it feels surreal. konig appears just as you're plating the food, his mask pushed up just enough to reveal the sharp line of his jaw. he inhales deeply, nodding.

"smells good, little one," he says, taking his seat at the table.

simon doesn't say thank you, but the way he cleans his plate tells you enough.

the meal is quiet, the only sounds the scrape of forks and konig's occasional low comment. you eat slowly, savoring each bite, hyperaware of their eyes on you. when you finish, konig takes your plate without a word, stacking it with the others.

then simon stands, stretching lazily before fixing you with a look that makes your pulse jump.

"bed," he says, tone leaving no room for argument.

you obey without hesitation, your body already reacting to the command. konig follows, his presence a solid warmth at your back as you climb the stairs.

your room is dim, the bed neatly made—just as you left it. but you don't get the chance to admire it before simon is pushing you onto the mattress, his hands rough but purposeful.

"you did good today," simon murmurs as he strips you of your clothes, "so we'll make it good for you too."

the mattress dips under their combined weight as konig settles behind you, his massive frame caging you in. his thick thighs bracket yours, forcing your legs wider. you can feel the obscene stretch of his cock already—hard and leaking against your ass—as he works the plug inside you with slow, filthy twists.

"fuck, look at you," simon growls from between your legs, his calloused fingers spreading your drooling cunt wide. "clit all swollen and begging, and this greedy little hole—" he slaps it, making you jerk, "—dripping just from getting stuffed in the ass. fucking perfect."

konig’s hand fists your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat as he finally pulls the plug free with a wet pop. the cold air hits your stretched rim for just a second before he’s pressing the thick head of his cock against it, spit-slick and relentless.

"breathe, little one," he rumbles, but doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s sinking in, inch by brutal inch. your back arches, a broken scream tearing from your throat as he bottoms out, his hips flush against your ass.

simon doesn’t let you recover. he flips you onto your back, your legs hooked over his shoulders as he slams into your cunt in one brutal thrust. the angle is deep, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with every snap of his hips.

"that’s it, take it," simon grunts, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit as konig starts moving behind you. the stretch is unreal, your body stuffed impossibly full, their cocks rubbing against each other through the thin barrier of your walls.

konig’s hand slides around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur as he murmurs, "feel that? both of us inside you, owning you." his thrusts are slower, deeper, dragging against your oversensitive rim with every pull.

simon leans down, biting your nipple through the fabric of your shirt. "gonna fuck you so full, princess," he snarls. "gonna pump this tight cunt until it’s dripping with me—then watch as he seals it all inside you."

you’re sobbing now, your body strung tight between them, pleasure and pain blurring into one unbearable wave. konig’s free hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise as he picks up the pace, his balls slapping against your ass with every snap of his hips.

"come," simon demands, slapping your clit again. "come on our cocks like the filthy little thing you are."

you shatter with a scream, your cunt fluttering around simon as your ass clenches down on konig. they don’t stop—just fuck you through it, their groans mingling as they chase their own release.

simon comes first, his cock pulsing inside you as he grinds deep, filling you up just like he promised. konig follows with a low snarl, his thrusts turning erratic before he spills, his cum mixing with simon’s as it leaks out around his still-hard cock.

for a long moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing and the wet drip of their spend onto the sheets.

then konig leans down, plugging your ass again, now filled with his cum. "my perfect little one," he murmurs, pressing a kiss through his mask to your pulse point. "you did so well."

simon just smirks, tapping your swollen clit once more just to watch you twitch. your body is limp between them, every muscle trembling from overstimulation. for a moment, you think they’ll leave you like this—used and sticky and aching. but then simon shifts, his arms sliding beneath you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you whimper at the movement, your oversensitive skin protesting, but he hushes you with a low hum.

"shh, princess" he murmurs, carrying you toward the bathroom. "we’ll take care of you."

the water is already warm when he lowers you into the tub, the heat soothing your sore muscles. konig follows, a damp cloth in hand as he kneels beside you.

"look at you," simon says, dragging the cloth over your stomach, wiping away the evidence of their claim. "so pretty when you’re all fucked out."

you shiver, but there’s no bite to his words—just quiet satisfaction. konig takes your hand, his thumb rubbing circles over your knuckles as simon cleans between your legs, his touch surprisingly careful despite the way you flinch.

when the water starts to cool, konig lifts you, wrapping you in a towel before carrying you back to bed. the sheets have been changed, fresh and soft against your skin. simon presses a glass of water to your lips, his free hand cupping the back of your neck to help you drink.

"slow," he warns, but his voice lacks its usual edge.

you swallow obediently, the water soothing your raw throat. konig climbs in beside you, pulling you against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear. simon settles at your back, his arm slung over your waist, his breath warm against your shoulder.

"you can leave tomorrow if you want, the rest of the money promised to you will be wired to your account," konig murmurs into the quiet, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm. the words hang in the air, heavy and unexpected.

you go still against him.

simon’s grip tightens slightly at your waist, but he doesn’t argue. just waits for your response.

the offer is real. you can tell by the way konig’s chest rises and falls, measured and slow, like he’s bracing for something. like he already knows.

your throat feels tight. you think of whatever shitty life awaits you beyond these four wall. you had nothing to go back to. yes, the money would be nice but not as nice as whatever this was. you think of the careful way simon had fed you, the way konig had held you after. you think of the basement—the cold, the dark, the ache of being nothing.

and then you think of this.

the weight of them around you, the heat, the way their touches have started to feel less like a threat and more like...something else. something you don’t have a name for yet.

you press closer to konig, nuzzling into the space between his collarbone and jaw, his mask tickling your nose. his breath hitches, just slightly.

"no," you whisper.

simon exhales against your shoulder, his arm curling tighter. konig’s hand stills on your arm before sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the spot behind your ear.

"good choice, princess" simon rumbles, and you hear a rustle behind you followed by a kiss to your shoulder. you lean over to see that he had taken his mask off, it was your first time seeing him without it. your heart catches in your throat, you hadn't expected him to be that attractive.

konig doesn’t say anything. but when you tilt your head up to look at him, his mask is off, his dark eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, and you close your eyes and drift off.

the days melt into weeks, then months, then years—each one softer than the last. the basement gathers dust, its door left permanently ajar until one day konig tears it off its hinges and turns the space into a wine cellar. you laugh when simon fills the first rack with cheap beer instead.

their masks stay off more often than not now. you learn the way simon’s nose scrunches when he laughs, the way konig’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks when he’s fighting sleep. they learn the way you hum when you cook, the way your toes curl when they kiss that spot behind your knee.

mornings find you tangled in their arms, afternoons in the library with your head in konig’s lap as simon reads aloud (badly, on purpose, just to hear you giggle). evenings are spent on the porch, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of gold and violet, their hands never far from yours.

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