cinnamon-won

[cinnamon-won]

HIS LITTLE KITTEN

2022 ・ 16+ ・ 7k ・ oneshot — yandere + shock trope

— requested by anon!

warning: severe bullying, abuse, degradation, controlling and sadistic! jungwon, good boy! jungwon gone bad lmao, mild delusion, cursing, pulling hair, slapping, jungwon having a short temper, non-con kissing, jungwon ruining reader's belongings, public humiliation, cursing, cat & mouse game, um someone's head gonna get cut off - descriptive gore scene?

— I'm not a native speaker so I apologize for any grammar errors (I'm still learning!)

Slap!

A stinging pain engulfed your cheeks as you looked back up to meet those same eyes that hold so much innocence and kindness to it, eyes that made you fell into it's lovely depths and wishing nothing but to see more of it — and that was your first mistake, by now you'd wish you have never taken the first step; a dare within your friend group, a seemingly innocent dare to force yourself to gather a courage to walk straight to your crush; him.

Yang Jungwon.

The first time you've ever laid your eyes on him was on the day of your first day of school. The day where your dad had been promoted into a higher position in his job and so this immense luck landing it's grace on your family had you and your mom jumping in the living room with pure bliss after your dad breaks the news.

You've remembered it all very well; the pure happiness adorning your parent's face, the scent of the city and the mesmerising sight of the tall buildings you've never seen before for you grew up in the countryside your entire life, the day when you tried on your new school uniform — spinning around as you looked at yourself in the mirror, happy and contented, the day when you stepped in to your new high school and instantly made good friends, and the day you laid your eyes on him.

The class president, the smartest and the perfect ideal type of every girl; his feline eyes that somehow holds the enchanting melody of a siren, pulling you deeper into its deepest parts inside the ocean. His lush black hair flowing along the gentle breeze under the sunny blue sky while his face constantly switches to numerous kinds of expressions.

Confused, curious, shock, amazement, disbelief and many more you've grown to memorise as you watched him from the distance.

He was ethereal and a piece of canvas that you couldn't dare to lay your hands onto.

It continued on for many weeks till your friends caught on with your hidden but obvious feelings for the class president, and a not so bright but daring idea popped in their head.

You, to say the least, were very taken aback by the game your friends suggested.

Of course, you refused, shaking your head in complete refusal not wanting to embarrassed yourself and possibly stamping your entire life with such a bold and shameless name.

But your friends advice strikes your heart even deeper with the logic in your head, "Your class president won't always be there, better take the chance while it's still free and flying~"

And so, you did it as you proceeded with the dare.

You don't know how you got this sudden outburst of courage but yet, you still did it.

You remember how his feline-like eyes grows into cute boba ones as he takes in your confession. Abashed you were as you voiced out the dare you had with your friends; a small peck on his cheek would suffice the deal as your cheeks heated up with each words escaping from your mouth while your friends' giggles annihilates you like an arrow.

What he said next surprises you, "Sure, a small peck won't hurt anyways."

You were sure your eyeballs were about to pop out when you heard those words but nevertheless you regained your composure, biting your lips every now and often as you lifted yourself up in tiny tip toes to his height.

Taking a quick, chaste peck on his soft cheek. You muttered a thousand thank you while you bowed down for nth time, striding off to your friend with their joyous responses.

How foolish you were as you blushed in a complete mess, taking a one last quick look at him and you swore you almost choked on your saliva when his feline-like eyes were fixated on you and a tiny grin adorning his lips while his friends playfully pushed him.

Ah, was that it?! Have you somehow had pulled the strings within his heart?

Love, love, love — sweet kind of love that everyone dies for! What could anyone else want if not that kind of love?

You thought, that was it. When your eyes were met that soft pink letter laying inside your locker. The owner had his name written below the sweet paragraph, a sweet confession, a sweet epiphany.

— Yang Jungwon.

Your heart exploded in utter happiness, trying to suppress your wide grin with your clenched fists up to your lips.

But why?

What is this? Where's the love story you were hoping to experience in? The rainbows, the soft clouds, the pastel colours surrounding it — where was it?

The stinging burn on your face says otherwise and that same spine-chilling voice you once so much adore echoes inside the empty classroom.

"Have you always been such a slut behind my back? Even before you had met me?"

Why did your angel-like crush turn out to be such a horrible and an incarnate of devil himself?

You couldn't processed everything so quick as in a split second; you were pulled into those warm chests in a harsh approach, actually. Jungwon throws daggers into you as his wrath filled eyes softened and at once he crashed his lips into you for what seems like a hundredth time.

The kiss, his kiss, his lips that you ever so often gazed at and wonder how does it taste like?

Was it soft? Was it caring? Was it love?

Was it capable to even bring you a larger bliss within your heartstrings? To pull and tighten, to push and hold and to strengthen the love you had for this very boy?

Apparently, no.

It hurts you instead — like a handmade scarf that has been meticulously sewed with love all these time, only to be mercilessly torn apart by this thorned love.

The very first time he did that was back then when you came back from home together with your childhood best friend who came to visit you from the countryside, a short visit that is; and a boy that to be exact, and when Jungwon approaches you from the distance with a pair of yogurt in his hands — it was your foolish dumb mistake to miss that sour expression on his face.

You failed to realise that he didn't like it. He didn't like it even for a bit. In fact, it made him bitter. It ruin his supposedly good day. The pair of yogurt in his hands had been crushed into pieces, its contents staining his hands.

It was crystal clear that you two liked each other but due to personal reasons such as you didn't want to be in a relationship first considering you had a strict parents. Talk about your questionable approach that day. .

He respected that even more so with a gentle smile adorning his face and his feline-like eyes raising up in the slightest smiles.

He was so attentive and sweet to you, often listening to your wishes and never complaining. Love was written all over his pretty face as he watches you read a book out loud with the utmost affection, helping you with your homework as a wide big smile never leaving his cherry pink lips.

However that day . . .

That day was the first time you knew what he was capable of; he was pissed. Pushing you into your room harshly with an immense rage written all over his being, it was like he was controlling himself from releasing it on you and so he took it out on your belongings. Ripping your notebooks in pieces, your precious belongings into a dumb broken useless stuff as soon as he was done.

You were weeping, desperately begging for him to stop and when he did — you were taken aback, fear for the first time engulfed your being when he approached you with small steps.

"Fucking slut. That bastard, what was so good in him that you had to let him walk you home rather than me?!"

"You could've ask me. You could've called me. That piece of shit you had in your pocket, you got my number right so why? Why, why, why?"

"Answer me!"

This boy right in front of you and that boy you've often watched from afar was a complete different persona from each other.

And this wasn't the one you had fallen in love with.

"Fuck, kitten. You've become so brave, aren't you?"

From then on, your spring life bathed in soft pink and cherry blossoms has been replaced with a darker shade of petals — roses with thorns, sharp edges that mercilessly graced your once untainted skin with its claws and teeths.

A harsh pull on your hair made you stumble backwards in a swift speed, your butt hitting the floor with a loud thud, making you gasp and looking up to see that same boy you once adore but very much harboured a deep hatred now.

Jungwon's feline eyes hold the same emotion as he had that fateful day, annoyance and bitterness.

"Ah!" you gritted your teeth when his claws aggresively pulled a fistful of your hair to his nose — sniffing it like a mad dog.

"Your hair. . Did you got a new hair shampoo today?" His eyes softened for a bit and you hastily nodded not wanting to anger him further in this once again empty classroom in which most of the students had gone for the lunch break or to their respective clubs. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've bought a new one for you, you know? Shouldn't have troubled yourself to buy cheap ones. ."

His harsh grip on your hair loosens and instead turns into a caring pat, "They don't suit you."

In this very situation, Jungwon doesn't like it the slightest if you don't answer him because he demands you to agree with every single thing he says, obey him and submit yourself to him.

"I-I. .—"

"Oh c'mon, I haven't did anything yet and you're stuttering like a dumb bitch? Fuck, kitten. . Stop being so adorable will you?" Jungwon giggled as he brushed your hair in a caring gesture.

Those giggles that were once a sweet-like melody to your ears now only served as a horror bell ripping your ears apart.

"—But it's not so adorable walking around with someone behind my back. I thought you've learned your lesson?"

Silence.

The dark, eerie atmosphere and the unnerving silence engulfing the entire room had your body ran with goosebumps as the feline boy sighed, fixing his posture and dragging one of the desks to his side.

"Kitten," Jungwon brushed your hair with his fingers, patting your head ever so loving as he helped you get up on your feet — his other hand wrapped itself around your waist.

Helping himself sat on the desk, he pulled you between his legs, further closing the distance between you both as his arms grabbed you in either your side while you couldn't bear to look at him with those menacing and alluring eyes as always.

"You're fucking lucky I'm in a good mood today, or else I would've snap your ear in half considering I saw you with a particular student in the corridor."

Panic arises within your heart, spiraling into your pupils as your eyes widen. "N-no! Jungwon, it's not like what you t-thought! Ah!—"

His soft strokes on your hair suddenly digs its claws in your skin, pulling your face a bit close to him in a swift speed.

"Excuses. Haven't I told you to stop giving me dumb excuses if you still want to keep that sweet tongue of yours, kitten?"

You gulped nervously.

"I don't mind taking it since that would mean you won't have to scream everytime we play a game.."

Shaking your head in desperation as you pleaded with your eyes, you can't bear to get tortured by him again.

"Then beg. Show me how sorry you are."

You hesitated but if this is what it takes to escape his wrath then you have to.

On your knees to the floor as you wrapped your arm around his pants, "Jungwon, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you! I just— I just—"

Silence, silence.

"Are you really sorry?"

You nodded in a frantic manner.

Another pure agony of silence ensues but eventually, Jungwon's eyes softens, "Sweet, sweet, kitten. That's exactly what I wanted from you." His hand wrapped itself around your neck making you leaned forward to him.

Once again, his lips devoured yours. The heated moment between the both of you contain so much romance and chemistry as you watched yourself and him in the mirror leaning against the wall.

If only, if only this was all a dream.

You were beyond lucky to have escaped his dangerous little games that day, as it was a rare occurrence for Jungwon to do so.

When he's in a good mood, soft and melodic humming emitting from him and aura brightening with each passing second — this boy was the one you're familiar with.

He was a self composed boy, calm as the water and familiar as the gentle sky — but the truth couldn't be any more uglier when his wrath overtook every inch of him as deep inside him; a sinister darkness spiraled inside the depths of his now rotten heart — which was he said, your very fault.

And when it did happened, all hell breaks loose. You could only pray to the deity above for him to go easy on you.

"Wear this skirt I bought for you, I think it would suit you alot, kitten."

"What's this shit? You could've ask for my help than from others, don't you know how fucking it pissed me off to see you begging around like a dumb slut?"

"(Name)! Look, here's a picture of a cat I took the other day."

"You look so damn adorable with all these scars, darling!"

It's that unpredictable emotions of his that switches on and off that scares you so much. You were lucky he only resorted to slapping you or choking you most of the time, and only then when you were being a brat to him — does the real torture starts;

Jungwon takes a great pleasure in torturing you in every way possible he could think of and everytime it would end with fresh deep scars with blood dripping from it, dark bruises all over your arm. He was sadistic but dramatically romantic at the same time.

Hell, hell it was.

He's the reincarnation of evil itself.

Another hell disguised in a normal day.

You could never escape this hellhole that has this demon lurking inside it, Yang Jungwon.

"Earth to (Name)?" A hand waves in front of your face in a hasty manner and you looked up only to be met with the gentle aura that exudes from this boy.

Sim Jake. The puppy-like boy of this school, with that gentle and polite manners of his that always have been the talk of the town just like Jungwon.

In fact he was among Jungwon friends. Those friends that you often saw around Jungwon during lunch break.

Jake, to say the least, was the one who showed support and cheer for you whenever he passed by. Ever since the day of that bold confession of yours, Jake would randomly appear and strike a short and brief conversation which consists of teasing you and telling bits about Jungwon, something he never fails to do so.

Kinda like your secret wingman.

You've always thought Jungwon was the only one different amongst his friends; kind-hearted and the caring type and that's why it surprises you that Jake was so easy to approach and talk to unlike the typical high school popular groups you often watch from TV shows, expecting them to be very mean and evil.

Evil.

Well, that was before you knew just how Jungwon really was and so you've became extremely wary around his friends, not wanting to form any close nor brief friendship with any of them.

Drowning in your thoughts, you missed Jake's question and his frowning expression were crystal clear that he wasn't letting it pass.

"(Name)!"

"O-oh?" stuttering as the noises of the cafeteria surrounding you brought you back to reality, and back to Jake. Gulping, you pulled your sleeves down to hide the purple bruises on your wrist but your abrupt gesture caught Jake's attention, making his eyes lingered on your covered wrist.

And yet, he just tilted his head — passing it off as a random habits of yours, "So, how's your relationship with Jungwon? Is it all good?"

The way he gleefully say it with that big wide smile splattered on his face made your stomach churned. Was he oblivious to what was happening to you and Jungwon?

"Um. . I guess so?"

"Pfft, that short response is all you got?"

You looked down to your tray of food, "Then what else do you want me to say, Jake?"

"Uhm, anything? Is this only the update you can give to us after that bold dare you did in front of all of us that day? C'mon now, (Name)." Jake whined. "Even Jungwon won't tell us anything about you."

You munched on your food, hoping nothing but for the conversation to end and for Jake to leave at once.

If Jungwon appears and sees you with another guy other than him, it won't end well. But it's not like you could spat out to Jake and tell him to get out of your sight since deep inside you, you still want to talk with him and laugh with him like you used to.

"Didn't it work though? God, have my sacrifices were all a waste, gone to the drain?" Jake pouted, grabbing your arm dramatically which instantly made you flinched in surprise.

"Huh? What's wrong?"

You swore your heart sank due to that abrupt close proximity and because of that, your mind was once again drowning in fear of him. Your head snapped around, looking for any signs of him but there was none and so a sigh of relief escapes your mouth.

"(Name), you're acting like there's a murderer on the loose hunting you down." Seemingly annoyed by your cold response, he just sat down next to you munching on his food — acting like a lost, mad puppy.

The sight made you wanna chuckle but his words made your heart sank for the nth time, he was spot on. If only, he knew what was happening all this time.

If only he knew, would he help you?

You're so fucking tired. You're tired of Jungwon and all the atrocities he put you in through. The comforting vibe this blonde-haired boy sitting next to you made you wanna break down and bawl in tears. You've been keeping it all this time and not even your parents were aware of it.

Jungwon was so good, so good at making you kneel before him and unknowingly letting him manipulate your emotions and it seems like he takes in a great amusement in doing that to you. So to the school, he made it look like you two were lovers but distant just so he can see who would dare to approach you.

Just so he can see who would be bold enough to put themselves right into the mouse trap he created.

And luckily for you, you've managed to avoid some students especially the male students who approached you because you don't want anything to happen to them.

But some were had their life ripped apart from them because of your fault, just like he said.

However, you can't take it anymore. You can't bear to live in this hellhole anymore.

"J-Jake? . ."

Jake scoffed as he munched his food but nonetheless answered, "Hmmm?"

"Can you help me?"

Your heart pounded deep inside your ribs to the point it hurts, you couldn't believe you did it.

You went back to the classroom and bumped into someone's chest, mumbling an apology so quick that you didn't realise it was him.

Your breath getting caught up in your throat, you took a few steps backwards but he immediately grabbed your hand pulling you closer to him in a harsh way.

What is it? Why is he mad again? Did I do something wrong? Please no, let it be not that reason!

Your mind ran a dozen thoughts as his grip on yours grew tighter making you whimper in pain, "J-Jungwon? Agh!"

"Shut up." Jungwon spat out, his face clearly irritated and bitter — you gasped, fear engulfing your body again as you realise those are the same expressions you've seen before. "Why are you talking with Jake, huh?"

"It— it's not what you think it is! W-we were just talking!" You pleaded not wanting to go through the same fate again.

"What could you two be possibly talking about? Do you think I'm fucking dumb to not realise that Jake often met you behind my back?"

"No! We didn't do anything! I swear, Jungwon please get that thoughts off your mind!"

"Fuck, what else do you want me to think? That my girlfriend is going around with my friend behind my back and doing whatever I—"

"You always say the same dumb shit!" You screamed and that made him taken aback. "You're fucking delusional! I've never even agreed to be your girlfriend and so even if we did anything, you don't have the right to control me like this! Why are you doing this to me?!"

Instant regret. Just why the fuck you did it?

Slap!

"Brat."

Slap!

"Seems like I didn't taught you enough, I see."

Slap!

You fell on the floor with a loud thud, cupping your face with both your hand that you were sure had gone deep red due to the repeated, painful slap. Your eyes had endless tears welling up inside it, gritting your teeth in an immense fear and agony.

Bending his height down to your level — his dainty fingers stroke the edges of your face, a complete contrast to what he did a few seconds ago but it didn't last long when he digged his nail deep into your skin, forcing your pathetic eyes to look at his deep ones.

"When was the last time I told you to quit doing that? Are you really trying to test my patience? Trying to see what I am even more capable of doing to you?"

"Is that it?"

You shook your head.

"Is that it?"

Again, you shook your head, tears dripping down your cheeks as your lips were pressed tight.

"IS THAT IT?!" you whimper at his sudden outburst, his veins popping in his neck as his face had bathed in red — again, you shook your head in desperation in hopes to appease his wrath.

"Then, honey?—" his voiced softened in a remarkable pace along with his eyes, "Where did you even get that bratty attitudes of yours? Did someone teach you? Tell me then, I'll give them a lesson in behalf of you."

You shook your head once again, shutting your eyes tight.

"Was it Jake?"

Panic surged inside your veins which instantly had you opened your tear filled eyes. "N-No! It's not him!"

Jungwon tilted his head at your sudden response, "Are you defending him?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You made another horrible mistake.

"Why. Are. You. Defending. That. Bastard?" Jungwon gritted his teeth.

"No! Jungwon! Please!"

Jungwon dragged you to the hallways of the school where all of the students were there, watching you drown in your embarrassment with snickers and giggles escaping their mouth.

No one was helping you here.

"See, everyone. This slut over here is betraying me, do you actually believe it?!"

Loud murmurs and gasps emits from all of them, one of the girls stepped forward with an exaggerated pout, "Then Jungwon-ah? Why can't you just leave this bitch?!"

"Right? She doesn't deserved you!"

"Just leave her! A bitch her like belongs to the street."

"Fuck right."

Your mind was bombarded with all the loud murmurs and insults thrown at you, like a knife stabbing all over your body on repeat — dragging it's tip and ripping your skin open. Your ears felt like it's gonna burst and bleed, you wanted to run, you wanted to escape.

But where?

Where?

Where?!

It felt like an endless eternity for you as you weep silently, weak and helpless as you could do nothing but let Jungwon walked you home, he brought you back to your home with that sickeningly sweet smile splattered on his face as he talked with your parents. Attending to your bruises and softly caressing it with the white towel and a bowl of water on the table.

"It is because I love you that's why I'm doing this." There it was once again, that gentle Jungwon you've always known. Why? Just what kind of bullshit is this? Why was he so kind and so evil at times? It almost makes you cry to your heart again.

"Then please stop doing this to me. ." You cried out, voice so small because inside you, a deep and big fear were lingering.

"What? This is for your own good. Haven't you gone being such a brat, I wouldn't have to go far to that extent." Jungwon raised his eyebrow. "Your bratty attitude fucking pissed me alot, y'know?"

"It's not like I intended to!" You whisper-yelled, a sudden courage burst inside your heart but still wary of your parents downstairs. And you don't know why you're even doing it. "

Jungwon was taken aback by your outburst but stayed silent and so you took it as a chance.

"Jungwon, you're fucking insane! You're insane! This is not normal and I don't know where the fuck your head is but this isn't it! What happened to you? What have happened to you? This isn't you!"

"I'm not m-me?" Jungwon giggled, letting out an amused scoff as he looked down and then back to meet your teary eyes again, "Darling! I think you're the one who's gone insane."

"No! It's not me! It's you! A sane person won't ever do all these bullshit! Yang Jungwon! Just leave me, I fucking beg you!"

Jungwon suddenly grabbed ahold of your jaw in an aggressive manner, forcing you to look at him as he leaned forward — your faces against each other just an inch closer.

"There, there," his other hand tucked in the strands of your hair behind your ear, "You don't know what you're saying so just fucking shut your mouth, love. I know you better than you know yourself."

"Just give it a little time, you'll get used to it. I know you will. Now let me see that pretty smile?" Jungwon's lips tugged up in the brightest smiles, a complete contrast to his lovesick feline eyes.

You were done. You can't bear this anymore, all of these extreme torment and abuse to your mental health. You don't care anymore, you have to run away from this city, away.

Away from him. Whatever it takes, you just have to escape from that boy you once ever so declared to love with your whole heart and gave your whole life to.

Your undying love for Jungwon has ceased to exist, it's painfully gone to ashes.

With the phone in your bruised hand, your being was shivering in fear as you called that one person you only trust right now.

Beep, beep.

Beep, beep.

"Hello? What's up, (Name)?" His voice almost made you bawl in tears due to how safe and comforting it was.

Cupping your mouth to prevent yourself from crying, you spoke up, "J-Jake. . P-please help me."

But why is it?

Just why?

One foot forward, and another.

Here he comes, here he comes.

Didn't you say you wanted to be with Jungwon? That you wanted to be remain by his side and never leave the town? To be the only one who's going to be by his side and show who truly likes him?

To remind you of your very words, the very words that came out from your lips in the very first place.

Here you are inside Jake's house, unsafe you were as you sat on his couch with him sitting on the other side just to make you feel as comfortable as you can.

You appreciated the gesture but really, the damage has been far too done.

"Are you sure you don't want to report this off to the police?"

"Fuck, Jake. Let's just get over it please?" You bit your lip as you frown deeply, unable to look at Jake's eyes. "He's— extremely manipulative a-and it's so fucking tiring to even try to get him back in his senses and whatever we do, he's insane and I just really, really don't want to see him anymore. Please, please. Just please bring me far away from this place, from him."

Jake felt there was nothing to say anymore after hearing your words and so he stood up walking towards you, crouching in front of you as he took your hands and pat it slowly.

"Don't worry, I'll do just that. Wherever you want to go, there we'll stay."

"W-we? What do you—"

"City life fucks my head sometimes too, just want to get a break too but of course I'll get a separate house, haha." Jake's smile widens and it comforted your heart instantly, it almost felt like the situation was never this serious and everything you've experienced before was all just a bad, bad dream; a nightmare you've been forced to live in.

Ring, ring!

"Oh— let me get this call first!" You nodded watching Jake walking over to the other room. And just like that, you took a deep breath sensing a great relief engulfing your body that you were atleast safe right now.

In Jake's house to stay in until everything has settled, there were tight security surrounding his house or mansion considering how wealthy his family is, it's really no wonder at this point. You've kinda felt a bit ashamed to asked for his help but there was really no choice, you've have to take the only opportunity laid in front of you to save yourself . . . From the devil himself.

It has been a few days since you've went to school and even return back to your home. School was one thing but even your so-called home was no longer your safe haven as even Jungwon often break into your room's window and the rest was history.

Everywhere you go, there he was.

A soft chime echoes from the door a few metres away from where you are; the spacious living room. Turning your head to the source of the sound, you pondered for awhile and just a whole good minute — one of the old maid who helped you just now came out, striding too the main door.

Somehow, something was making you uneasy.

Just why Jake's taking so long with the call he got?

Fiddling your fingers and peeling away the skin of the edges of your nails, you sighed dejectedly waiting in patience but just then you heard the maid's voice echoing through the hallway you've just came in through.

A desperate, weak voice that almost reminds you of yours when you were in Jungwon's presence, resembling your voice whenever he was playing his little games that you hated so much, that you grew to fear all this months being with him.

Cat and mouse.

The winner takes the prize.

And the roles was crystal clear, he has always been the cat and you've always been the mouse.

Always had been.

A pair of rubber shoes halted it steps just a few steps away from you — the table being the only object separating you from that person.

"Love, do you think ignoring me is such a good idea? I don't think so."

And speaking of the devil, there he was beside the old lady.

Your heart sank to it's core and your stomach churned as soon as your eyes met with his gaze filled with expressions you couldn't fathom but something you were sure rings the death bell to your life.

You couldn't stand up, your feet were stuck to the ground and your body froze — you wanted nothing but to run but why, why, why. .

Why can't you move? Stand up and run.

It was as if he had cast a spell on you; a poisonous one that pulls you towards him, those same feline eyes that helds a siren-like melody — a melody that sang an approaching bloodbath.

"(Name)—" You didn't even have to look up to see Jake as he too, were shocked to see the feline boy he had been avoiding all this time for your sake. "J-Jungwon? What brings you here? This is rare, y'know? Bro?"

"Why? Am I not allowed to visit?"

"No, of course not! It's just—"

"(Name)?"

Your eyes shoot open when his spine chilling voice called out for you, almost as if your body was acting out of your own will. "H-huh?"

Jungwon reached out his hand with a sweet smile on adorning his lips, "Let's go home. I prepared dinner for you and I'm sure the dishes are getting cold, so let's go?"

Lies. He's fucking lying.

You whimper silently as you pushed yourself back to the couch, "No. ."

Jake immediately went to you, covering you from Jungwon's view. "Just go home, Jungwon. She's not going back with you."

"Hm?"

"You heard me, she's not going home with you so just please—" Jake paused, struggling to find the right words to say, "W-we we'll just talk about this tomorrow, okay?"

Silence.

"Okay?" Jake repeated once again, waiting for Jungwon's response but only a low giggle escaped from his lips.

"Tomorrow? What are you talking about? Do you actually think you still got to live one more day after messing up my fucking plan?"

"J-Jungwon?"

Another scoff, "Honey, why do you keep seducing other bastards? Haven't I done enough for you? Haven't I taught you enough lesson?"

"Just stop it!" You yelled at him as you took a cover behind Jake.

"I hate it when they look at you, so fucking much . . ." Jungwon snapped his head to the old lady beside him and to her utmost fear, everything happens so fast that you and Jake couldn't processed what happen but froze to death.

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

"You're all I ever think about, and you fucking dare to run away with someone who wasn't me?!" Jungwon screamed to the top of his lungs as his tight grip on the maid's hair grew tighter, her head breaking open with every fatal blow to the wall — deep red blood dripping from the wall to the furniture.

Run.

As soon as Jungwon was done with the utter mess he created, his head tilted to your direction — his eyes holding nothing but insanity.

"Come here, kitten. Maybe I would go easy on you if you just come over here and beg like I taught you."

Jake shielded you away from the monster's sight as he pushed you backwards, whispering, "Run. Just r-run."

You shook your head as tears formed in your eyes again, gripping Jake's shirt in hopes to pull him with you.

The sight in front of Jungwon made him more bitter, "Fuck, (Name). I don't know if I want to kiss you or kill you. But okay, go ahead and run. I'll catch up to you later. . Just make sure to hide very, very well."

"(Name)! Just go!" Jake pleaded, and your heels spun around taking you away from the both of them.

Why? Why did you even bother to run away from Jungwon in the first place?

You ran far ahead, far away from the monster — you were drowning in immense fear as you hid behind the rooms among the countless of rooms in the vast hallway.

The eerie silence between them was eating Jake alive, his body shivered on its own as he tried to stop it with his other hand.

This boy, this boy wasn't Jungwon.

"J-Just what had happened to you?" Jake cried out.

Jungwon's face remain expressionless but his eyes were holding a thousand words — words that screaming annoyance and bitterness.

"You should've known better. Flirting with what's mine? You must want to die so bad."

It couldn't be more creepier as the lights went off. Darkness engulfed everything leaving the entire mansion into a complete hell and the only thing providing light for you was the moon on the sky, it's bright form hiding behind the grey clouds outside the window.

Your chest rose and fell in hopes of trying to gain your breath back but it was all hopeless as you can't calm yourself down, your lungs only hurting with each passing second and your nails almost breaking as you digged it so deep into your legs.

"Please don't let him find me, please don't let him find me!" you prayed silently over and over again as you bury your face in your legs.

Blood dripping from the boy's arms as he took his time to search for you across the hallway filled with countless of doors on his either side. Sighing, he wiped his face over a thousand times somehow getting more and more irritated with each passing second. "Do you think if you ignore me. I would stop following you?"

Your face had gone pale, blood drained from your face when you heard his small voice from the distance, the walls and doors blocking the danger from you.

Another door got crashed with a loud kick.

"Do you think if you would get some help, I would back down and give up?"

A few, soft tsk emits from him.

"Or have you ever thought, if you hide somewhere, I'd never find you in this world?" Another door were kicked in, delivering a ticking death bell towards your direction as you curled your form even deeper in hopes to protect yourself from him.

"Oh no no no dear kitten!" His exaggerated voice made you whimper, there was no turning back — this was the beginning of his game. This was how he starts his game.

Jungwon claps so loud as he throw his head backwards, a series of giggles emitting from him, "Why? Are you scared?"

He doesn't care, if it's fun he will do it. That's why he was looking for you while his other hand lazily grips the dripping head within his claws. "Kitten~"

BAM!

"Are you here?!" a grim giggle soon follows one after another, your breath hitched in utter fear making you cupped your mouth from producing any more sound.

It was obvious by now that he purely enjoys the thrill of hunting you down like a prey waiting to be devoured.

"Let's see. ." His blood-stained fingers slides continuously through the wooden doors.

Silence.

The sound of the empty air and low chimes below the mansion were heard all over the space.

Your body froze when a rush footsteps stride over to to another door, just beside from where your door are. "You're here then?!"

Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out.

Your chest rose and fell in a countless times making your heart ache as just then—

BAM!

The entire lights surrounding in and out of the mansion flickers open, except the room you were in and the door to the room you were in bursts opened, revealing the boy tilting his head downwards to take a good look on your weak, petite crouching form on the corner of the room.

"Ah, found you. Kitten."

You felt a surge of goosebumps engulfed your entire body and without realising, you were already bawling in tears — your cries of agony filled the entire room.

Pain, pain, pain.

You knew pain was waiting for you.

If you were lucky enough, if he was lenient enough, you'd be away with some few scratches.

But if you weren't, you'd be sure that you wouldn't be walking away from this place with your legs still attached to yours because you remembered what he said when he brought you back home.

"I don't mind cutting your legs off just to keep you by my side."

But that wasn't the only thing that made your breathe caught in your throat, your cries of agony had stopped instantly when something he threw rolled over to your direction.

You watched it but not being able to comprehend what it was due to the darkness of the room and the light behind Jungwon blinding your view.

It rolls, rolls, and rolls until it halts before you.

Utter disgust.

A surge of scream from you emits in the air and your head threw downwards, vomiting everything from your stomach.

"J-Jake?" You bawl in tears, excruciating pain had you stood up in a frantic manner wanting nothing but to stay away from the dripping head on the floor.

What were you feeling?

Sadness? Anger? Pity? Regret? Guilt?

You couldn't fathom what it was as you keep letting out loud cries of agony, shutting your eyes tight but the gory image before you were etched deeply in your mind.

Jungwon wasn't at all pleased but let out a low chuckle anyways, "Ta-da! Like the gift?"

He slowly approaches you in a leisurely way, taking a good look at the pathetic head laying on the floor before giggling and kicking it off like a soccer ball.

The flesh organ hits the wall, furthering the damage on it's bruised face which results in its eyes popping out.

"Why don't you see it? Fuck. Take a good look at the present I made for you." Jungwon grabs ahold of your jaw, pushing your face to the head of the boy who once promised to look after you. "Look. Doesn't he look nice with all that?"

You cried. Cried and cried. You were incredibly tired but you still cried.

It was your fault, wasn't it?

A spine chilling and low giggle emits from him behind your back. "Yes, it's your fault."

"Haven't you tested my patience, nothing sort like this would've happen but you did, brat." He pushed you so hard towards the ground once again.

Helpless and weak, you didn't look up, only weeping in pure agony.

"Remember when you first did the dare back that day?" A soft giggle emits from him. His chest rose and fell as a satisfied grin adorned his face.

"At first, I was wondering why a girl like you would be so damn brave.. I was more than intrigued." A small pocket knife emerges from Jungwon's pockets, already stained with blood. "But when you told me you'd be by my side for the rest of our eternity, something snapped inside me y'know? When you told me that you'd remain with me even if no one else did, don't you realise just how fucking insane that is?"

Jungwon grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head up to meet his dark and lovesick gaze.

You whimper in utter fear as he stroked the cold tip of the knife on your lips then slowly sliding it down to your neck. "I'm so madly in love with you, kitten."

"You love me too, right?"

You nodded so fast, tears dripping to your cheek down to your jaw and that sight made Jungwon leaned forward, licking and tasting the tears staining your face.

"Now if you don't kiss me, I'll slit your fucking throat."

📣AUTHOR'S NOTE: bruh writing bout jungwon always made me so invested tf. Again, don't confused fiction w reality, this is only meant to satisfy the readers' imagination. I can't stop myself from adding my dose of my craziness in it 💀 I think I should also control myself from writing long fics for a request lmao. As always, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! They're the ultimate motivation fuel!

© sweetpieceofnightmarez, 2023 JAN 5.

-> ask blog: @llyzblog

[cinnamon-won]

I never ever read horror fics so I didn’t expect to love this as much as I did, but it’s sooo good!!!

╚»★«╝ 𝕱𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖟𝖊𝖗 𝕭𝖚𝖗𝖓 ╚»★«╝

Pairing: Park Sunghoon x Reader (Darkfic) Word Count: 4956 words Genre: Obsession | Horror Kink | Psychological Smut | Dark Romance Summary: The first sign is the cold. Not winter cold. Not roommate-left-the-window-open cold. This is the kind of cold that lives under your skin. The kind of cold that warns you you’re prey. You don’t know who he is the first time he shows up behind you, whispering in your ear with a knife at your throat. But he knows you. He’s been watching. And he’s decided: If he can’t kill you, he’ll keep you. And no matter how far you run, he always catches you. Content Tags: Darkfic / Yandere / Horror Romance, Stockholm Syndrome, Captor x Captive dynamic, Obsession / Possessive Behavior, Psychological Manipulation, Knife Kink / Fear Kink / Predator-Prey, Dubcon / Noncon Dynamics (reader freezes, but also participates—nuanced consent issues)Orgasm-as-currency / , Power play, Somno whispers / Ambiguous dream state confessions, Emotional Breakdown / Psychological Punishment, Post-Orgasm Denial / Silence Treatment as Punishment, Death (past: canon character death & revenge), Morally Gray / No Redemption Arc, No Happy Ending, Explicit Warnings (Hard Limits Sensitive Readers Should Note):, Noncon elements / coercion, Stalking / Home Invasion, Knife play (no gore, but threat of violence is intimate and constant), Past murder (canon to plot), Psychological manipulation / grooming into submission Mentions of alcohol & inebriation during capture scene Freezer burn metaphor throughout (cold obsession that leaves permanent damage) Author’s Note: This is a darkfic with no safe ending. It explores twisted obsession, emotional captivity, and the point where survival starts to look like surrender. If you need fluff, healing, or redemption arcs, this is not the fic for you. But if you like predator-prey dynamics, horror kink, and morally gray captor POVs, welcome to Freezer Burn. However, if this is too heavy for you, no pressure. I'll see you next time.

The first sign is the cold. Not the regular kind, the roommate-left-the-window-open cold. No, this is different. It’s bone cold. Deep, crawling cold that makes the hair on the back of your neck lift even though you’re wrapped in two hoodies.

You glance at your laptop screen. 3:12 AM. The cursor blinks at you. Your essay is still at 400 words.

You should’ve been done hours ago, but your brain’s on overload. Deadlines. Overdue bills. The sound of your professor’s voice looping in your skull. And underneath it all? That cold.

You rub your arms, try to shake it off. Maybe the AC’s broken. Maybe you’re going into shock from too much caffeine. Three Red Bulls and a cold slice of leftover pizza don’t exactly count as self-care.

But then the clock ticks. Louder. It sounds…off. Like it’s warning you. Tick. Tick. Tick.

You stare at the wall. Nothing’s there. You try to type again. Your fingers are numb. There’s sweat on your palms, but your spine? Frozen.

And then you feel it. Breath. Hot against the shell of your ear, but somehow your skin still prickles with frost.

Before you can move, before you can even think, something sharp slides under your chin. Cold steel. A knife.

Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. Your eyes flick to the side, wide, but his hand is already there, gloved fingers curling around your jaw, tilting your head just enough to expose your throat.

“Check your thermostat, sweetheart.”

The whisper curls into your earlobe.

Low. Silk-soft. Intimate in the worst possible way. Your pulse jumps so hard you think he can feel it beneath the knife.

His lips don’t touch you, but his voice does. Warm breath in contrast to the blade’s ice. “Go on,” he says again. His tone is casual, like this is a game.

“Let’s see why it’s so cold in here.” Your knees threaten to give out. You try to tell yourself it’s a nightmare. Sleep paralysis. Another stress hallucination, like the ones you get during finals week.

But this? This is real.

You feel his chest brush your back. Solid. Calm. Like he’s done this before. The blade dips lower, grazing your collarbone.

You don’t move.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock’s louder now. Mocking you. “You’re not gonna scream?” he murmurs. “Good girl.” Your lips tremble, but your throat stays silent. What’s the point?

You’re not stupid, you’ve seen enough movies to know what happens to the ones who make noise.

“Been watching you for weeks,” he says softly, almost like a confession. “I know when you shower. When you cry over deadlines. When you fall asleep at your desk.”

His gloved thumb strokes your pulse. Gentle. Possessive. “I know the way you leave your window cracked when you get too hot.” The blade shifts, tracing the curve of your neck. “But tonight?” His lips finally ghost over your skin. “You’re not hot anymore, are you?”

Your eyes flick to the thermostat.

It’s set to 74°F. But the number on the screen is wrong. It reads: 32°F. Freezing. “See?” he breathes. “Told you to check it.”

You don’t scream. You don’t ask him who he is. You don’t cry, beg, or plead. You do what the trauma textbooks say is the worst thing: You freeze. And you convince yourself that this isn't real.

Because he disappears. Just like that.

The moment your clock hits 3:33 AM, the blade vanishes. The cold lifts. And you spin around to nothing but your shadow.

No footprints. No blood. No signs he was ever there.

Just a faint scent on your hoodie. Clean. Sharp. Something like frost and cologne and danger. You tell yourself it was a dream.

You never asked him who he was. Not that night.

Not when he whispered in your ear, not when the blade tapped your throat like a secret. You didn’t ask because some part of you, the animal part, already knew.

Predators don’t explain themselves. And prey? Prey pretends it’s a dream. So that’s what you did. You told yourself it was stress. Lack of sleep. Too much caffeine. Not enough oxygen. Hallucinations from hunger and overwork. You convinced yourself it wasn’t real. You had to.

Because the alternative? That he was real? That meant you were already marked.

A product of sleep-deprivation and caffeine poisoning. You laugh about it in the morning. You even tweet something dumb like "Lmao I think I hallucinated a hot serial killer last night 🥲🔪"

But then the notes start. At first, it was small things. A folded piece of paper slipped under your door: "You look pretty when you’re scared."

A text from an unknown number, even though you never gave it out: "Did you eat today? Don’t lie." A sticky note on your bathroom mirror: "Don’t lock the window tonight. I like watching." Days passed. Your brain frayed at the edges.

The next one shows up in your textbooks. You open your political theory exam prep and a square of white flutters out.

“You bite your lip when you’re about to cry. I’d like to bite it for you.”

You stop sleeping. You start checking the thermostat every ten minutes. You don’t tell anyone, because how do you tell someone you’re being haunted by a dream that left behind fingerprints?

Every night, you stared at the thermostat, watching it dip below freezing even though the heater was on.

And still, you said nothing. To anyone. Until tonight. You go insane.

You think you see him in crowds. You hear his voice in cold gusts of wind. You sleep with the lights on and your back to the wall. And then, one night, three weeks after that first visit, it happens again. You’re in your kitchen, pouring water for ramen. It’s exactly 3:12 AM.

Your phone is face down.

The world is still. And the cold returns. Hard. Immediate. Biting. You don’t need to look behind you to know he’s there. Only this time? You don’t pretend it’s a dream. But this time, you speak.

"Why?" you whisper, eyes forward. Your reflection stares back at you from the darkened laptop screen. "Why me?"

His smirk curves slow, like ice forming on glass. He doesn’t answer. His lips brush your ear instead.

“…who are you?” Your voice is small, cracked. It barely makes it past your lips.

You swallow. Try again. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?” Silence.

You don’t turn. You feel his presence like a thundercloud behind you. Feel the blade before it touches you. And then, nothing.

No steel. No breath. Just the sound of your heart punching against your ribs. And then he speaks.

“Run.”

The word slithers down your spine. Your mouth goes dry. You blink once, and he’s in front of you.

Eyes like snowstorms. Mouth curled in a slow, delighted smirk.

“Go on,” he says softly. “I’ve given you a headstart.” You try to step back. He tilts his head. “Because once I catch you?” He leans in, teeth flashing. “I’m never leaving.” “Go on, sweetheart.” His voice is sugar-laced frost. “Run. I want to see how far you get.”

At first, you don’t take it seriously. You brush off the whispers in your ear. The cold steel against your throat. The voice telling you to run.

You tell yourself it was sleep deprivation. A hallucination. A trick of your exhausted mind and caffeine-burnt nerves. But then the notes get worse.

They stop being playful. Stop being flirty. They start getting personal. The first one is taped to your pillow when you come home from class.

“I told you to run, didn’t I?”

You rip it up. Throw it away. Pretend it was a prank. Some sick joke by someone who found a spare key. You change your locks the next day. Buy pepper spray. Sleep with scissors under your pillow.

But the second note comes anyway. This time, it’s tucked into your wallet, between your student ID and your driver’s license.

“So you don’t believe me, Piro?”

Your stomach collapses. Nobody calls you that anymore. Piro was your nickname when you were little, something soft and stupid that your parents used when you scraped your knees or spilled juice on the carpet. You haven’t heard it in years.

Nobody knows it now. Except him. So you do the only thing you can think of. You run.

You grab your keys at 3:03 AM, throw your laptop into a bag, and leave the city. Your hands shake on the steering wheel. Your breath fogs up the windows even though the heater’s on.

Your ears ring the whole drive. Two hours later, you pull up to the family house. The one nobody lives in anymore. No lights. No neighbors. Just you and the ghosts of old summers. You lock the doors. Close the curtains. Double-check the windows, the closets, under the bed. For three days, you live like a ghost.

You eat dry cereal out of the box. You don’t shower. You don’t sleep. You listen. To every creak. Every groan of the house settling. Every bird outside that sounds too much like a footstep. Your pulse never slows. You’re always waiting for the cold to come back.

But on the fourth night, you crack. It’s stupid. It’s just one night. You’re tired of shaking. Tired of hiding. So you find the old bottle of vodka under the sink. It’s dusty, half-empty, leftover from a New Year’s you barely remember.

You drink straight from the bottle, eyes blurry, throat burning. You finish half of it before you realize your hands are numb. But the alcohol feels better than the fear.

For a moment. You sit in the living room, dizzy. The house is too quiet. Your stomach turns.

But the vodka hums warm in your chest, drowning out the panic for the first time in weeks. Your head lolls back against the couch cushion. That’s when the clock starts ticking louder.

The old grandfather clock in the corner, it’s been broken for years, ever since you rode your bike straight into it back when you were seven. But now it’s ticking.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Like it’s counting down. Like it knows something you don’t. You blink. Your vision swims.

And then, you feel it. That cold. That impossible, sharp cold that crawls over your skin like frostbite. It sinks into your scalp. Down your spine. Into your veins.

You don’t turn around. You already know.

“Piro.” His voice is a ghost behind you. Soft. Smiling.

Your spine snaps straight. But you’re too drunk to run. Your knees buckle. Your breath gets stuck in your throat. He steps into view. Right in front of you, between the couch and the dark hallway. You don’t know how he got inside. You don’t know when.

But he’s here. And you’re too drunk to stand. His hoodie is black. His skin pale, almost glowing in the dim kitchen light. His mouth is curved in a lazy smirk.

Eyes sharp. Cold. Unblinking.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” His voice is casual. Almost playful. Like he’s commenting on the weather. Like this is a reunion, not a threat. “I told you,” he whispers, stepping closer. His shoes make no sound on the hardwood.

“I always keep my promises.” Your head spins. “Why…” Your lips are numb. You swallow hard. “Why me?” He tilts his head. Smiles wider. But he doesn’t answer. He crouches in front of you instead, eyes level with yours.

His breath is cold, but his skin is colder when he brushes his knuckles over your cheek. “You should’ve run farther, Piro.” His voice sinks into you like icewater. “I gave you a headstart.” His hand curls gently around your jaw, tilting your face up.

“Didn’t I?” The knife appears like magic. Glinting silver. Pressed against your throat again, but not cutting. Just reminding you.

You’re drunk. You’re shaking. But you can’t look away from him.

“Now?” he whispers. His lips graze your ear. His breath smells like winter air. “Now I get to keep you.”

You make the mistake of trying to run. Even drunk, even trembling, you try. Your muscles jerk. Your feet slip off the couch.

You think maybe if you bolt for the door, you can outrun him. But he doesn’t give you the chance. Before you can take two steps, his arm wraps around your waist.

The knife kisses your neck. Soft. Like a lover. “Piro.” His voice is calm, like you’re just kids playing tag.

“You’re not listening.” You squirm.

His grip tightens. The blade never cuts, it’s gentle the way he handles you, terrifyingly gentle. Like he’s keeping you warm while he cages you.

He carries you back to the couch like you weigh nothing. You’re shaking, shivering, vodka making your stomach twist, but he sits down and drapes you over his lap.

Then, without a word, he picks up the blanket from the couch back. Wraps it around you. Tucks you in. With the knife still at your throat. “There we go,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back.

His lips ghost over your temple. His breath is ice. “You’re mine now.” When you wake up, he’s still there. In your kitchen.

Cooking breakfast. Eggs crack against the pan. The smell of butter sizzles in the air. Your head pounds, but the memory is crystal clear. Not a dream. Not a blackout.

He stayed. He stays. He sets a plate in front of you. “Eat,” he says softly. “I made it for you.” You’re too afraid not to.

He lets you ask small things at first. Where did he sleep last night? Answer: “Next to you, of course.”

What time is it? Answer: “Doesn’t matter anymore.” Why are you still here? Answer: “Because you’re mine.”

He tells you to call him Sunghoon. Not “hey” or “you” or “what are you.”

Just Sunghoon. And for days, it’s like this. He cooks. He hums. He showers in your bathroom, leaves wet footprints down the hallway.

He sleeps beside you. Sometimes his arm drapes over your waist when you lie stiff in bed. Sometimes he watches you before you open your eyes.

But one day, you push too far. You ask him too many questions.

What are you? Where did you come from? How long have you been watching me? And then: “Why me, Sunghoon?”

Something clicks behind his eyes. He drops the kitchen towel. His jaw tightens. Before you can move, he’s on you. He throws you over his shoulder like you’re a bag of groceries.

Carries you down the hallway. You kick. You plead. But he’s humming softly, like this is fun for him. He tosses you on the bed.

The mattress squeaks under your back. You’re out of breath, heart slamming. He leans over you, eyes sharp, smile cold.

“Wanna play, Piro?” he whispers. “Let’s make it fair.”

“Every orgasm you give me,” he says softly, “I’ll answer two questions.” His hand cups your chin. “But I get to decide when to stop.”

Your throat closes. Your legs clamp shut, but he pushes them apart with his knee like it’s second nature.

“Wanna know who I am, baby?” His smile stretches wider. “Earn it.”

Your head spins. Your thighs shake. Sunghoon’s breath is hot against your ear as he pins you to the mattress, one hand wrapped tight around your jaw.

“I told you the rules, baby.” His voice drips with mock sweetness, but his hips grind harder, slow, brutal thrusts that have you gasping.

“Every orgasm you give me, I’ll answer two questions.” You can’t think straight. His palm slides between your legs, fingers pressing exactly where he knows you’re weak.

“But I get to decide when to stop.” His cock drags slow inside you, long, deep strokes that make your toes curl.

Your stomach knots. Your brain fuzzes. And the worst part? You want it. Even while you hate him. Even while you should be screaming. “C’mon, Piro.” His lips brush your neck. His tongue licks over your pulse. “Beg me for answers.”

You whimper. Your thighs clamp around his hips, but he just chuckles. “Fucking desperate now, aren’t you?” His fingers tighten on your throat, not enough to stop your breathing, just enough to remind you who’s in charge.

“You were so brave when you tried to run. Look at you now.” He rocks his hips harder, grinding into the spot that makes your back arch.

“Pathetic little thing,” he groans. “Look at you, wet, shaking, taking my cock like you’re starved for it.”

Your eyes roll back. The room is spinning. Your voice cracks when you plead, breathless and ruined. “Sunghoon, please, I need to know—”

“Oh?” His smile is razor-sharp. His rhythm doesn’t falter. “Is that a question, baby?” Your face burns. Your legs shake. You feel your orgasm creeping up, unstoppable, choking your throat.

“You gonna cum?” His lips are right by your ear, teasing, filthy. “Gonna cum on my cock like a good little hostage?” You try to hold back.

You really do. But curiosity kills the cat. But his hips slam into you harder. His hand grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him, no escape.

“You want answers, love?” His breath is a growl now. “Fucking earn them.” Your body gives out first.

You cry out, shuddering beneath him, walls clenching around him so tight he lets out a groan of approval. “There you go,” he purrs. “First orgasm down.” He doesn’t stop thrusting.

Doesn’t pull out. Keeps fucking into you like he’s punishing you for it. “Two questions. Go.” Your voice breaks. Your mind scrambles for something, anything, but you’re too wrecked to think straight.

You gasp for air. “Why me?” you whimper. Sunghoon’s mouth brushes your cheek. “Because I like breaking things that run.” Your stomach flips. You try to ask the second question, but your voice cracks. Your lips part, his thrusts get harder.

“Come on, Piro.” His smile is sharp, cruel. “One more. Before I make you cum again.” Your eyes fill with tears. Your throat is raw.

But you ask it anyway, without thinking.

“Did you kill my brother?” Silence. His hips still. His cock twitches inside you, but he goes dead quiet. You feel the cold return.

Worse than before. The air turns sharp. Frozen. Like the temperature just dropped twenty degrees in an instant.

His hand leaves your throat. His eyes? Flat. Empty. Like glass.

Sunghoon slides out of you slowly. Your legs fall open, used and wet, but he doesn’t even look at you now. He sits at the edge of the bed. Back to you. Silent. You reach for him, panicked.

“Sunghoon, I—I didn’t mean—” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word. The room is so quiet you can hear the clock in the kitchen ticking again.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Your body is still trembling. Your skin burns where he touched you, but the space between you now feels like ice.

You beg him. “Sunghoon, please—just tell me—” Nothing. He stares at the wall, shoulders tense. Like something broke inside him. And for the first time since he showed up in your life, you wonder if you finally asked the one question you weren’t supposed to.

The room goes cold. Colder than before. Not just the air, the space between you. Sunghoon sits at the edge of the bed. His back to you. Shoulders stiff. Eyes locked on the wall like he can’t even stand to look at you anymore.

And that’s worse than the knife. Worse than the threats. Worse than when he made you beg. This isn’t punishment you can fight against.

This is silence. Frozen silence that seeps into your lungs and makes it hard to breathe. You try to fix it. Your voice is soft, cracked from gasping and crying, but you try anyway.

“Sunghoon—” His hand lifts. One slow movement. “Don’t.” That’s all he says. You swallow it. You don’t speak again. The Bed is a Coffin Now He lies down next to you. Not touching. Not kissing. Not whispering in your ear like before.

Just breathing. His breath is soft against the pillow, but his body is tense, coiled like a predator that isn’t done playing yet.

You lie next to him, shivering under the blanket he once used to tuck you in. But now? You’re terrified to move. Your body is still wrecked from before. Your thighs ache. Your skin is marked where his fingers pressed too hard. Your mouth tastes like sweat and vodka and tears.

But it’s the silence that makes your chest hurt. The clock ticks on the wall. Too loud. Too slow.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

You close your eyes and pretend to sleep. Because you don’t know what else to do. Somewhere after 4 AM, when your brain starts drifting, lost between dream and nightmare, that’s when it happens.

You feel him move. You hear the shift of the sheets. The soft brush of his lips near your ear. So close you feel his breath. And then, so quiet you barely catch it: “Your brother killed mine first.” Your eyes snap open. Your breath stutters.

But when you turn your head to look at him, Sunghoon’s still lying beside you. Eyes closed. Face soft. Like he’s asleep.

Did he say that? Or are you hallucinating? Your heart races. Your stomach knots. Did he really whisper that in your ear? Or did your guilt twist the memory, make you imagine it? You don’t know. And that’s the worst part.

When you wake up, he’s gone.

His side of the bed is cold. The imprint of his body still dents the mattress, but the space beside you is empty.

You sit up fast. The house is quiet. Too quiet. The kitchen is empty. No eggs. No coffee. No humming under his breath like the other mornings. You check the front door, it’s locked from the inside.

He’s gone. But he never left. You feel it in your bones. Maybe he’s watching from outside. Maybe he’s in the basement. Or the attic. Or behind you right now, breathing against your neck while you pretend to be alone.

You think about his words. If he really said them. Your brother killed mine first. That would explain it, right?

Why he picked you. Why he’s obsessed. Why he’s doing this. But your brother’s dead. And Sunghoon…? You don’t know what he is.

You wander the house. Barefoot. Silent. You check the mirrors. Check the closet. Check your own reflection, like maybe you’ll find an answer in your own eyes. But the notes don’t stop.

Day One Alone:

You find the first note in the bathroom. On the mirror, written in red marker.

“I’m still here, Piro.”

Day Two:

One under your pillow.

“Did you like my answer, or do you want a better one?”

Day Three:

The power goes out. And the cold gets worse. You don’t know if it’s winter or if it’s him.

You don’t hear him come in. You just feel it. That shift in the air. That cold slither under your skin. Like ice pressing into muscle.

You don’t move. Because you already know it’s him. The mattress dips beside you. Sunghoon’s breath curls against the back of your neck.

“Still here,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. You don’t run. Not this time. His hand slides under the blanket. Finds your waist. Pulls you back against him like you’re his favorite thing to keep.

“You get it now, huh?” His voice is soft. Sweet. Deadly. “This is easier, baby.” His nose nuzzles behind your ear. “Let me keep you.”

The Obsession Starts Here. You don’t fight when his hand drags between your legs. Your thighs twitch, but you stay open.

You stay soft. “Fuck—listen to you.” His voice dips lower, crueler. “Wet for me. Always so fucking wet for me, Piro.” His fingers sink inside you. Two. Deep. Without warning.

Your breath hits the back of your throat, but you don’t stop him. “See?” His mouth brushes your jaw.

“You’re already taking my fingers so easy.” He fucks them into you slow. Deliberate. Cruel. “You’re mine now, baby.” His lips drag over your neck. “I get to do whatever I want to you.” And he does. He flips you onto your stomach like you’re a toy. Like you’re his.

Face smashed into the pillow. Hips dragged back, ass in the air, legs shaking. “No running this time.” His cock slides into you hard.

One sharp thrust. No warning. No teasing. No prep beyond his spit-slick fingers and the way he knows you’re already wet for him.

You cry out. But he covers your mouth with his hand.

“Shhh.” His breath is ragged against your ear.

“You’re gonna take it.” His hips slam into you. Rough. Deep. Punishing. The slap of skin on skin is loud in the room. But his voice is louder. “Fuck, listen to that.” Your nails claw at the sheets.

But you don’t try to get away. Because some part of you, the broken partd, oesn’t want to.

Sunghoon leans over you, hips still driving in deep, cock heavy inside you. His lips ghost your ear. “You like getting ruined, huh?” Your face burns.

Your thighs tremble. But you nod. Because it’s easier now. “Good girl,” he groans, hips stuttering for a second before he sets the brutal pace again.

“You’re warm right now, baby,” he whispers, dragging his tongue along your throat, “but you’ll remember me like freezer burn.” His teeth scrape your shoulder. “Hurts like hell. But you still need it.” His hand slides from your mouth to your throat.

Fingers tightening just enough to make your pulse flutter. “Say it.” His voice is darker now. Filthy. Breathless. “Say you like it.” Your throat closes, but you say it anyway. Your body does it for you. “I like it.”

“Say you’re mine.” You should say no. You should still fight. But you don’t. Because it’s easier now. And he’s right. “I’m yours.”

The Breaking Point When you cum, it’s ugly. Raw. Your legs quake. Your vision blurs. Your cunt clamps down around him so hard you feel him twitch inside you.

“Fuck—good girl.” His hips keep moving. “Just like that.” You’re shaking. Sweaty. Eyes glassy. But you stay exactly where he wants you. Face in the pillow. Ass up. Owned.

When you’re ruined, fucked out and limp beneath him, he finally says it. Cock still inside you. Breath warm against your ear.

“Your brother killed mine first.” Your stomach flips. Your throat tightens. But your body? Your body stays relaxed. Because by now? It’s too late to fight. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stays inside you. Stays close. But in his head? He’s back there again. The Alley. The Night Everything Broke. His brother’s blood was still warm when it splashed his shoes. That was the part no one tells you about death. How it’s hot before it goes cold.

Gun to the chest. One shot.

Your brother did it with a grin. Told his crew it was just business. Something about a bet gone sideways. A debt unpaid.

“It’s just business, man.” That’s what he said. Right before kicking the body into a puddle. Sunghoon watched from the shadows. Hands in his pockets. Rain dripping down his face. Didn’t cry. Didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe for a second.

His brother, the one everyone called Ice, lay there with his chest ripped open. A hole right where his heart should’ve been. Sunghoon stared at it. And something in him broke clean in half.

The Obsession Starts He followed your brother after that. Tracked him home. Learned his habits. But that’s when he found you. He saw you through the window. Sitting on the floor in sweatpants. Hair messy. Eyes soft.

You weren’t like your brother. You were still warm. And Sunghoon? Sunghoon got stuck. He started watching you instead. Learning you.

Tracing you like muscle memory. Your routine. Your favorite food. The way you left the porch light on for stray cats.

He told himself he’d kill you after. After he was done watching. After he was done listening to you hum in the kitchen. After he was done jerking off to the sound of your shower turning on.

But he never stopped. When his brother died, he promised revenge. But after you? After watching you fold laundry while humming to yourself? He made a new promise:

“If I can’t kill her, I’ll keep her.”

Back to Present Sunghoon’s still inside you when the memory fades. His cock twitches. His hand strokes your waist like he’s calming himself. You don’t know any of this. You don’t know how long he’s been watching you.

“It’s okay, Piro.” His voice is soft in your ear. “It’s easier this way.” And you believe him. Because you have no idea what’s coming next.

The next morning, you don’t ask questions. You eat the breakfast he makes you. You sip the coffee he stirs. And when he presses a kiss to your forehead, you don’t flinch. You lean into it. Because this? This is easier. You’re his now. You’ve been his.

And some sick, soft part of you? It’s glad. Sunghoon cups your chin. Makes you look at him. Eyes sharp. Smile soft. “Good girl.” His thumb wipes your lip. “No more running.” His voice drops low. Right into your ear. “Freezer burn, Piro.” His tone is almost tender.

“Cold enough to blister you. Hot enough to hurt when you thaw.” And you believe him. Because now? You don’t even remember what it felt like to be warm without him.

END

Masterlist

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

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[cinnamon-won]

Blurred lines 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

۶ৎ Summary: You’ve always gotten along really really with Jake during uni, so it only made sense to share a flat with him post-grad. Now you’re roommates who have a playfully physical friendship but it’s starting to mean something.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚Word Count: 10.9k, lowkey not my best work but, oh well

۶ৎ Tags: angst, smut, lawyer apprentice Jake, slice of life, shared domesticity,, smut tags: munch!Jake, jealousy, angry sex, heavy petting, pussy slapping, edging + denial,, soft dominance, possessiveness, use of blindfold, sex on the balcony

౨ৎ Content Warning: mdni, smut Extra: masterlist, taglist: @mrsjjongstby

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

You and Jake weren’t best friends exactly, you were more like orbiters who kept getting pulled into each other’s gravity. Same friend groups. Late-night library hangs. Group project partners who accidentally became each other’s go-to plus-one. You’d pass each other snacks during lectures and you might’ve "jokingly" sat on his lap a few times.

By the end of final year, it was just… normal to be around each other.

Fast forward to post-grad life looming. Your friend group start spiraling with “where is everyone living next year” stress.

You say “Ugh, I don’t want a random roommate. I just want someone chill.” Jake, half-asleep on the couch, goes “So… live with me then.” You blink. “You’re serious?” He shrugs. Casual, like always, “Yeah. We already practically do.”

And that’s it.

You both tour two flats, pick the one with huge windows, two bedrooms and a couch that sinks too deep, and sign a lease. It’s not even dramatic. It just makes sense.

You fight over rugs. He insists on a “muted navy palette.” You want color. He ends up secretly buying the yellow throw you liked.

On your first night together in the flat, you’re both sitting on the floor eating noodles out of the box.

“You nervous?”

“Only about what your snoring sounds like.”

He throws a pillow at you.

And after weeks of living together, you two fall into a rhythm. Jake leaves early in the morning for his part-time internship at a law firm. He was prepping to become a lawyer, so seeing him in suits, shirts and ties quickly became a regular occurrence. The first time you saw him all professional was when you had to help him with his tie.

It was kind of cute. He quietly shuffled into your room and gently woke you up. You remember how shy he was, a slight blush covering his cheeks. Still remember the way his hand rested on your waist as you worked on knotting his tie properly.

Since you’re a screenwriter, your mornings on the other hand are much slower. You shuffle to the kitchen in socks and a hoodie that might be his. Most days, you talk to yourself more than you talk to anyone else. Except Jake. Always Jake.

He’s usually gone by the time you fully wake up, but his presence lingers. A mug left in the sink. Cologne in the hallway. A post-it on the fridge that says, "Eat something real today. Instant noodles don’t count. – J"

Days you two spend apart, but evenings unanimously become a time just for you two. Sometimes you would go out for a walk, other days a party, but most evening would end with a shared dinner and watching series.

But not tonight. You had been looking forward to tonight for way too long. You had been eyeing one of your coworkers for months and finally he asked you out on a date. Sunghoon was the same age as you and Jake and while you didn’t really know him that well, there was something about him...

Which is why you spend over an hour picking your outfit, and then another hour doing your makeup. You’re just putting on your perfume when you hear a soft knock at the door.

Jake leans in, fresh from a shower — hair damp, grey tee hanging loose, one hand braced against the wood. His eyes catch your reflection in the mirror. He doesn’t smile.

“You going out with that guy tonight?”

Your mascara wand pauses. You glance at him through the mirror. “You mean Sunghoon?”

Jake shrugs. "Whatever his name is."

You turn slightly, narrowing your eyes. “Why?”

“Just asking,” he says casually.

There’s a beat of silence. The room smells like your perfume and the faint mint of his body wash. You go back to your lashes, but he doesn’t move.

Then, he steps closer, so close you can smell his body wash, and reaches past you like he’s fixing something on the counter. Instead, his fingers brush along your temple, then tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingers a second longer than it needs to.

“You look prettier with your hair like this,” he murmurs, voice low.

You freeze. It’s nothing. It’s always nothing.

Except it isn’t.

You stare at him in the mirror. His eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable, a challenge tucked behind his calm demeanor. Your pulse stutters.

Then your phone buzzes on the counter.

You glance at it. A message from Sunghoon. hey… sorry. can’t make it tonight. something came up. rain check?

You deflate before you can stop yourself. Jake notices immediately.

“Let me guess,” he says. “Date’s off?”

You try to sound breezy. “Work emergency or something.”

Jake doesn’t gloat, but there’s something smug in the way he shifts back, arms folding across his chest.

“Guess that means movie night’s back on,” he says, already turning toward the living room. “Your pick. But nothing depressing.”

You don’t answer right away. You just watch him go.

It takes you a moment to move, and then you’re changing into shorts and a loose shirt. It would lowkey be a waste to take your makeup off after you just applied it, so you leave it on. No other reason.

When you reach the living room, Jake’s already half-sprawled on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest like he owns the place (he kind of does). The blinds are drawn, the fan hums softly in the corner, and Netflix’s horror menu flashes onscreen.

He looks up when he sees you, and his gaze lingers for a second longer than usual. On your legs. Your lips. Your eyes — still done up like you’re going somewhere better than this.

“Didn’t change much,” he says, smirking.

You throw a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

He catches it, laughing. “I meant that as a compliment. You look…” He gestures vaguely. “Fancy. For a movie about bloodsucking sadists.”

You shrug, climbing onto the couch and tucking your feet under you. “Might as well let the vampires appreciate the effort.”

Jake’s eyes flick to your lips again, just for a beat. Then he’s clearing his throat, shifting to grab the remote. “Alright. No crying if it’s gory.”

You nudge his leg with your toe. “Please. I’ll protect you.”

Jake grins, all smug. “Oh yeah? Gonna fight off the undead for me?”

You nod solemnly. “With style.”

“Great,” he says, tossing the blanket over both of you. “Then I’m officially off-duty.”

You shift to get comfortable, letting your legs stretch across the couch. The blanket settles over you both. His thigh brushes yours. Your foot nudges his again, not quite by accident. He doesn’t move.

The movie starts — all flickering shadows and eerie violins — but your focus wavers. Jake smells like laundry detergent and that citrusy cologne he always wears. You feel the rise and fall of his chest beside you, calm and steady.

A few minutes in, another jump scare hits. You jolt. He snorts.

“Still feeling brave?” he teases.

You scowl at him, then shift closer, just to prove a point. Your knee nudges his hip. Your arm slides across his stomach.

“Shut up,” you mumble. Jake doesn’t say anything, but he lifts his arm and lets you curl against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Before long, you’re draped half across his chest, cheek against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. The room is dark except for the flicker of the screen. His fingers find your hair, brushing through it slowly, over and over.

It feels good. Too good. You let yourself sink into it for a few long breaths. Then you start to shift back. But Jake doesn’t let you. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers resting gently. “You always run when I touch you,” he murmurs.

You give a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Do not.”

But your voice is too soft to sound convincing. The movie drones on in the background  but your mind's gone quiet. Jake’s still stroking your hair. Your eyes flicker to the muted blue light of your phone on the coffee table.

Sunghoon’s text still sits there. You don’t say anything, but your body gives you away, in the way your shoulders curve in, the weight of your breath.

Jake notices.

“Hey,” he says softly, thumb grazing your jaw. “You okay?”

You nod. Pause. Then shake your head.

“I feel stupid,” you admit.

Jake shifts to face you more fully. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like I even liked him that much.” You press your cheek against his chest, voice muffled. “I just wanted someone to like me that much.”

There’s a long pause. Jake doesn’t say anything right away, he just holds you tighter, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“You know,” he says eventually, a teasing lilt creeping back into his tone, “I bet I’m a better kisser than that guy anyway.”

You let out a tired laugh, pulling back to look at him. “Oh yeah? So confident.”

Jake shrugs, mouth twitching. “I have a good resume.”

“Oh, do you?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Prove it.”

You don’t even know what makes you say it.

Maybe it’s the leftover sadness. Maybe it’s the way his thumb is brushing your cheek. Or the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re not just his roommate. Like you’re his everything.

But suddenly you’re leaning in, still half-laughing.

The kiss starts soft. Just lips. Barely moving. Just a pause. Just a breath. Then Jake tilts his head. His hand slides up to cup your jaw. His thumb grazes the corner of your mouth and—

He kisses you like he means it.

No teasing. No jokes.

You whimper. A quiet, involuntary sound you don’t even recognize as your own. And he pulls you closer in response.

You don’t even realize spreading your legs, straddling him from where he still lays down on the couch. Jake’s hands rest on your hip and when his tongue traces your lower lip. When you open your mouth in submission his grip on your hips tightens.  You shudder, and then Jake starts guiding your hips. Back and forth, slowly. You let him.

But then, just as suddenly, you both pull back.

You’re both breathing hard. Your thighs are still locked around his hips. His hands still resting on your waist. The air between you feels charged but no one’s saying it.

So you clear your throat and go, voice light, “Okay. Yeah. You’ve… definitely got a good resume.”

Jake huffs a laugh, chest rising under your palms. “Told you.”

“But,” you add, trying to keep your voice teasing, even though your pulse is still sprinting, “I’d need references before hiring full-time.”

He raises an eyebrow. “References? Babe, I am the reference.”

You laugh, it’s shaky, breathless and slowly climb off his lap, adjusting the hem of your shirt like that’ll somehow undo the grinding you just did.

Jake shifts too, leaning back on the couch like nothing happened. Except for the pillow hat he places in his lap. And the way his gaze drops to your lips again, just for a second.

“So,” you say, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. “Still wanna finish the movie, or was that your idea of a plot twist?”

Jake grins, low and slow. “Let’s see how it ends.”

You press play. But your body’s still humming. He throws his arm across the back of the couch, unbothered.

Neither of you says anything else.

But something’s changed.

And you both know it.

The next morning is weird. It’s one of those days where you can’t work from home so you wake up at the same time as Jake does. And when you step out of your room, wearing only an oversized shirt – that’s probably Jake’s – you pause.

Jake is at the kitchen table, coffee half-drunk and Kindle in hand. His hair is still damp from his shower. He’s wearing that crisp white shirt that always fits a little too well, sleeves already rolled to the elbows.

His eyes lift when he hears your bedroom door creak open, and then they drop, slowly tracing the length of your legs like they have every right to.

“Morning,” you mumble, throat suddenly dry. You don’t wait for him to answer before disappearing into the bathroom.

When you return, you’ve changed into something semi-professional and pulled your hair back. Jake’s putting on his watch by the door. His cologne hits you before his voice does.

“You good?” he asks casually, like you didn’t ride him on the couch fourteen hours ago.

“Peachy,” you say, grabbing your tote bag. Your voice is light. Neutral. A little too neutral.

The car ride is… quieter than usual. There’s no playlist. Just the sound of traffic and turn signals. Until Jake breaks the silence.

“So, Sunoo texted. He wants to do something this weekend,” Jake says, eyes still on the road.

“Oh?” you ask, eyes flicking toward him.

“Haunted house. The one near the old train station.” He glances at you. “You in?”

You shrug, forcing a smile. “Yeah, sure. Who else is coming?”

“Me, Sunoo, Jay, Heeseung. I think Yujin and Liz are joining, too.”

“Great,” you say. “Perfect for Yujin to scream into Jay’s arms.”

Jake chuckles at that. “Better than Sunoo clinging to my hoodie again.”

“You’re the designated safety blanket. You knew what you signed up for.”

Jake glances at you again. His voice drops just a touch, teasing. “You gonna cling to me too this time?”

You don’t answer right away. You let the question hang there, feel the weight of it settle between the bucket seats.

Then you say, “Only if the ghosts get handsy.”

Jake snorts, but you catch the faint smile tugging at his mouth. He taps the steering wheel lightly with his thumb.

“That’s my favorite shirt, by the way,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“This morning. You wore it last week too.” He pauses. “Looks better on you.”

You stare out the window, ears burning, pretending you don’t hear him. But your heart is a little too loud.

And suddenly, the idea of getting scared on purpose this weekend… doesn’t seem so bad.

Except when the weekend rolls around and the seven of you near the abandoned train station you don’t think you will have to pretend to be scared.

The air is colder here, even though it’s the middle of summer. Not even a breeze breaks through the stillness. Like the atmosphere has forgotten how to move. Everything is quiet in that unnatural, pressurized way that makes your ears buzz. Even the sky feels different. Dusky, despite the fact that it’s barely past sunset.

The old train depot looms ahead. All rusted beams and broken windows, the paint long since peeled away to reveal something grey and rotting underneath. Ivy curls up the corners like fingers trying to hold it shut or maybe hold something in.

Jake whistles low under his breath beside you. “Charming.”

“Nope,” Sunoo says immediately. “Absolutely not. This place is cursed. There’s, like… ghost laws being broken right now.”

Liz snorts. “What the hell are ‘ghost laws’?”

Sunoo ignores her. “Why is it so quiet? Why is the sky pink? Why does it smell like iron and regret—?”

“Stop reading Wattpad,” Jay mutters, though his own grip on the back of Yujin’s shirt is noticeably tight.

“I’m just saying,” Sunoo huffs, edging closer to Liz, “if we go missing, check the attic first. It’s always the attic.”

Heeseung says nothing, but he’s clearly uncomfortable, his hands are in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He gives the place one slow look and mutters, “Why do I feel like something’s watching us?”

Jake laughs under his breath. “Because something is watching us. The actors are probably already inside.”

You glance at him. He looks calm. Relaxed, even. But when you brush his hand with yours, he squeezes it lightly. Just once.

You don’t let go.

By the time you reach inside, you’re glued to his side. He lets you, fingers interlocked together and your other arm gripping his bicep. You think he flexes his muscle when you touch him, but don’t comment on it.

 The haunted house (train?) is all black walls and red lighting, with old train sounds whistling through hidden speakers. The air smells like dry metal and artificial fog. Each hallway is tighter than the last, cramped and dark and full of sharp turns.

It doesn’t take long before you’re pressed against Jake, your face buried in his chest after a vampire-jumpscare pops out of a hidden wall.

“Jesus,” you whisper, trying to breathe.

He chuckles and holds you tighter. “They got you good, huh?”

“You flinched too!”

“Only because you screamed in my ear.”

Up ahead, Liz and Sunoo are doing a running commentary about which horror tropes they’re about to fulfill.

“Oh my god, we split up!” Liz shrieks. “This is how I die! I’m the comic relief!”

“I’m the comic relief!” Sunoo counters. “You’re the hot one who survives ‘cause of fan demand!”

Meanwhile, Jay is trying to walk calmly while Yujin clings to his arm with a suspiciously delighted smile. Heeseung’s behind them, dead silent, bambi eyes scanning every corner like he’s prepping for actual war.

But you and Jake… are in your own little bubble. Somewhere between adrenaline and instinct, you’re not thinking anymore. You’re just holding onto him. Sometimes his arm is around your shoulders. Sometimes your hand is in his hoodie pocket. You’re never apart.

At one point, someone turns around and says, “Wait… are you guys, like, together?”

You don’t have time to respond. A vampire lunges from the shadows just then, and you shriek again, arms looping around Jake’s waist.

Behind you, Sunoo gasps, “It’s giving main couple energy!”

You feel Jake’s chest rumble against yours with laughter. You don’t look up.

But later, when the group finally exits through the heavy fire door and spills into fresh night air — breathless, laughing, buzzing — you catch Jake looking at you.

He doesn’t say anything. Just raises an eyebrow like he’s in on a joke you haven’t caught yet. You should roll your eyes. You should brush it off. Instead, you stare back. For just a beat too long. Your pulse is still racing and you know it’s not just because of the fake blood or flashing lights.

The group piles into a tucked-away corner booth at a 24-hour Korean BBQ joint, still riding the adrenaline of half-screams and nervous laughter.

Sunoo is loudly recounting how a jump-scare made him nearly cry. Liz keeps teasing Heeseung for “flinching like a grandma.” Yujin’s arm is looped through Jay’s, who’s clearly enjoying the attention.

You squeeze into the bench between Jake and Heeseung, feeling the warmth of Jake’s thigh pressed casually against yours like it belongs there.

You’re halfway through wrapping some pork belly in lettuce when Heeseung nudges you lightly with his shoulder. “You held it together better than I thought,” he says, mouth tugging into a crooked grin.

You look up, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “You just… seemed like the type to scream.”

“You’re the one who kept swallowing his own scream,” Liz chimes in with a laugh. “Like, Heeseung, be honest. You were dying in there.”

The table erupts in laughter. Heeseung doesn’t even deny it, just grins, eyes sliding back to you. “Still. You were pretty cool.”

Jake goes quiet beside you. You don’t notice. But his hand rests heavier on the bench now, a fraction behind your back.

The table shifts into smaller conversations. You sip your drink, unaware of Jake’s eyes watching the way Heeseung leans in when you laugh. Or how Heeseung always seems to address you when telling a story.

Jake says nothing. But the ice cubes in his water clink sharp under his grip.

You both get home after dinner. You're still laughing a little, still a bit tipsy from the soju and beer. Jake tosses his hoodie on the back of the couch, stretches. “You good?” he asks, glancing at you.

You nod, toeing off your shoes. “You were kind of a human shield back there.”

Jake smirks. “What can I say. Built different.”

You swat at him as you pass, and when you pause in the hallway, he follows. In the kitchen, you're pouring water, and he steps behind you. He’s too close, not quite touching you but you can feel his breath flutter over your neck. Goosebumps appear on your skin.

You turn around to say something and — bump into him. You both freeze.

It’s nothing. It’s everything.

You laugh. He smiles. Then he tugs you into a hug, arms wrapping low around your waist. You don’t even question it anymore. Your arms slide around his shoulders. His face buries into your neck. You hold there. A few beats too long.

Then his hands start to move. Thumbs brushing over the hem of your shirt. Fingertips ghosting up your spine. You should say something, but instead you start leaning. Hips shifting closer. Your fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his neck.

You whisper, “You’re touchy tonight.”

Jake laughs, but it’s quieter now. “You didn’t mind seem to mind it in the train.”

“No,” you admit. “I didn’t, still don’t.”

When you pull back, it’s just enough to see his face. His eyes flick to your mouth. Then away. Then back again. He doesn’t let go of your waist. If anything his grip feels firmer, grounding you in this kitchen into his arms. Like you belong in them.

You tilt your head. “What?”

Jake hesitates. Then shrugs, too casual. “Nothing.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, what is it?”

He exhales slowly through his nose. “Just… you and Heeseung were talking a lot tonight.”

You blink. “So?”

He shrugs again, but it’s tighter this time. Like he regrets saying anything. “Didn’t realize you were into that.”

You stare at him, utterly confused. “Into what?”

Jake’s gaze finally meets yours head-on. “Guys who flirt like they’re trying not to get caught.”

Your lips part, startled. “What? He wasn’t— Jake. Are you jealous?”

“No,” he says immediately. Too fast. Then, quietly “Maybe.”

It’s quiet. So quiet you can hear the tick of the fridge behind you. Your fingers flex where they still rest on the back of his neck. You step in all the way now chest to chest.

And you say, softly “There’s nothing going on with me and Heeseung, we’re just friends.”

Jake’s jaw clenches. “Good.”

His hands slide up your sides. “Are we also just friends?”

You tilt your head. “I’m not sure what you mean, but you’re acting like you want to prove something.”

“I do,” he says. Then leans in. His lips find yours and it’s like a fuse short-circuits. The kiss starts hard. His hands gripping your waist, your thighs pressing closer, the edge of the counter digging into your back. Jake doesn’t ease into it this time. He kisses like he means it, like he's been waiting all night.

You gasp into his mouth. His tongue sweeps past your lips, and you moan before you can stop it.

His hands drop to your thighs, squeezing, and then he’s lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. You spread your legs and he steps between them without breaking the kiss.

One of his hands slides up your bare thigh under your shirt. His touch slow, teasing, stopping just below where you want him. The other cups your jaw, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You tug at the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, chasing his mouth. Jake growls softly into the kiss low and pleased and murmurs against your lips “Still just friends?”

You shake your head, breathless. “Stop talking.”

But the specialness of the moment was ruined. As soon the words leave your lips Jake pulls back. He looks like a kicked puppy. A hot kicked puppy, with swollen lips and hair a mess. And it’d be hot if it weren’t for the look in his eyes.

Hurt.

Jake steps back completely. His hands fall from your waist like you burned him. “Right,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “Just… talking too much again.”

You blink. “Jake—”

But he’s already turning away, moving down the hallway. Your chest tightens, but you don’t follow. What would you even say? That it didn’t mean anything? That it did? Instead, you stare at the counter where he just stood. Your thighs are still spread. The air still tastes like his kiss.

The silence stretches between your two rooms that night like a canyon.

And it continues into the next day. You hear the door shut closed after he leaves for work. He’d usually come and say bye, sometimes even kissing the top of your head.

You’re not sure what you’re feeling when he just leaves. A strange hollowness seems to follow you throughout the day. Like a dark shadow you can’t quite shake.

You sit on the pleather couch, just staring at your screen as if the script would write itself. But no matter how much you push, no words get typed out. Or even worse, they do, but suck.

Whenever you try to concentrate your thoughts betray you. The kiss replaying like a music video over and over again. You force yourself reread your script for the fifth time.

It sucks. You have a writers block.

You want to scream, deadline fast approaching but you just can’t write today. You slam the laptop closed just as the front door opens.

Jake comes home after work, loosening his tie. Looks at you — slumped on the couch, laptop closed, a half-eaten granola bar on the table.

“You’re still in the same spot as this morning.” He notes, but you don’t register the concern in his voice.

“Congrats. You can see.” You flatly deadpan at end with your nerves. It was everything, the kiss, your confusing feelings, the writer’s block. Nothing seems to be going your way today.

He sets his bag down carefully, steps over to the couch, and lowers himself beside you. His knee touches yours.

“Is this… because of what happened yesterday?” he asks, voice softer now. Cautious. Like he’s not sure if he’s stepping on a landmine or something delicate.

You blink at him. Then scoff quietly. “No.”

His eyes flicker.

“I mean—” You sigh, finally looking at him. “Maybe. I don’t know. Everything’s just… loud right now. In my head.”

He stays quiet. He hates not being sure of you. Hates the idea that maybe you regret it. Jake’s fingers twitch, but he doesn’t reach for you yet. “Did I do something wrong?”

The question makes you soften. Just a little.

“No,” you say. “It’s not you. It’s this.” You gesture at the couch. The mess. The day. Your laptop. “I have a deadline tomorrow and I’ve written nothing. I’ve been sitting here for hours and everything I type feels like garbage.”

Jake breathes out. A small sound. His shoulders relax.

“Oh,” he says, almost relieved. Then he glances at you again — closer this time — eyes flickering to your mouth. “So it’s work.”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “Just work.”

A beat passes.

“You should’ve texted me,” he says, voice casual. “I could’ve picked up something sweet on the way home.”

“I didn’t know you were taking care of me now,” you say, teasing, tired.

Jake’s expression softens in that unreadable, dangerous way he has. “Someone has to.”

Then he moves closer.

You don’t stop him. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. Your cheek finds the soft place between his jaw and collarbone. He smells like cologne and fabric softener and something warmer underneath, something like home.

“You’re so tense,” he murmurs, thumb brushing lightly over your arm.

You sigh again, melting without meaning to. The hug isn’t just comforting it’s grounding. Familiar. He rubs your back, and something in your chest eases. You sit like that for a while, your limbs tangled loosely.

Then Jake leans back just a little, just enough to see your face. His hand slides down your arm, brushes over your bare knee, thumb pressing into your thigh.

You glance at him, blinking.

He tilts his head. “Want me to distract you?”

You go still. “What?”

Jake’s hand doesn’t move, but his eyes are darker now. Slower. Studying you. Like he’s weighing your silence, like he’s making sure you understand him.

You do. All too well. And the worst part is you want to be distracted. You want to forget everything.

You swallow. “Jake…”

But you don’t say no.

Not when his hand slides higher. Not when he shifts to face you fully, his knee pressing between yours, lips brushing your cheek. Not when he whispers, “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

And when you breathe out, shaky and slow, that’s the only yes he needs. You allow him to guide you, lay flatly on the couch. And watch him.

You pupils are blown. His hands are slow at first, deliberate, almost reverent as they slide beneath the hem of your shorts. Jake swallows hard when you lift your hips for him, helping him pull them down your legs. His fingers tremble slightly as he sets them aside.

Your eyes are wide. Blown.

He hovers above you for a moment, one hand pressed against the couch cushion by your head. His eyes meet yours — and it’s not teasing, not smug. Just watchful. There’s a storm brewing beneath his gaze. A question, unspoken.

Still okay?

You nod, and your breath stutters. "Jake."

He leans in, brushes a kiss against your inner thigh, then another, higher. You flinch slightly at how tender it is. How intimate.

“Relax,” he murmurs again, voice low. His hands slide beneath your thighs and he shifts you forward. Closer to him. “Let me take care of you.”

You’re not sure if he’s talking about your stress, your block, your loneliness or himself. But when his mouth meets your lower lips he’s slow and devastating and you forget the question altogether.

He’s not rushed. Not greedy. He moves like someone making up for something, like this is a confession more than an act. A worship. Each flick of his tongue purposeful, his grip tightening when your thighs threaten to close around his head. He wants to be here. He needs to be here.

You gasp when Jake licks a long stripe from your hole up to your clit. He reaches for your thighs, setting them on his shoulders and then he digs in again.

He’s rougher this time, suckling on your clit. He moans, sucking with more passion when you grab his hair.

He let’s you rock his face on your pussy, squeezing your thighs.

And you… fall apart too easily. The slow build of pressure has been sitting inside your body all day, maybe longer. Weeks. The almost-kisses, the confusing touches, the way he looks at you like he wants to ruin you gently.

It all crests as his fingers dig into your hips and he murmurs against you, low and coaxing, “That’s it. Just like that.”

It’s almost too much. Not from stimulation but from the intimacy. From how seen you feel. You hear how wet you are, can feel Jake’s jaw work. And then – he adds fingers.

He slips his middle finger into you and your mind literally melts. Pleasure is all you can focus on right now, not caring about how loud you’re being or the way your hips keep humping his fingers deeper into you.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, back arching. “Jake—fuck—why are you—”

“Shh.” He hums into you, sending another wave through your body. “You needed this. That’s all.”

And when you finally come apart — shoulders tense, mouth parted, breath catching in your throat — Jake doesn’t stop. Lapping your juices up as if he’s a starving man. But it’s too much. You’re twitching, trying to pull back – but Jake has you locked in place.

He doesn’t let you go until you’re a whimpering and squirming mess, too sensitive, gasping his name like it’s a question.

He looks up at you from between your thighs, lips slick, eyes dark and unreadable.

You blink. “What the hell was that?”

Jake just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shifts forward so he’s hovering over you again, his eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes and back.

“You needed it,” he repeats, soft and serious. “That’s all.”

But you both know that’s not all. It’s not sex. But it’s not not, either. And neither of you have a single word for what this is now.

Instead of answering him, instead of letting yourself ruminate over what just happened, you pull him down into a kiss.

Jake seems surprised, gasping when your lips meet. But you don’t mind taking lead. You cup his face, legs wrapping around his waist as you kiss him as if your life depended on it.

He kisses you back, matching your urgency, your need. You can taste yourself on his tongue, the saltiness of it making you moan as you grind down against his thigh, chasing more.

He groans into your mouth, hands gripping your waist tighter.

“You’re—” a breathless peck to his lips, “such—” another kiss, “a good friend.”

The words slip out, stupid and soft, the kind of thing you didn’t really mean — or maybe meant differently in your head.

Jake freezes.

His mouth is still on yours, but he doesn’t kiss back this time. His brow creases, and after a beat, he pulls away. Resting his forehead against yours, his eyes flutter shut like he’s trying to hold something in. His body is still hard against you, unmistakably turned on — but that fire dims as he slowly leans back.

“I need to shower,” he says quietly, voice low and clipped. “Watch a movie when I come back?”

You nod, feeling his absence instantly as he pulls away. Your chest aches not just from arousal but something else now. Regret? Confusion? You’re not sure. You didn’t mean it like that. Not like just a friend.

But the damage is done.

When he returns, fresh from the shower, his hair damp and curling at the ends, he wraps you in a blanket before joining you on the couch.

You expect warmth. Closeness.

Instead, the blanket settles like a barrier that’s soft, but solid. His arm curls around you from behind, sure, but there’s distance in the way he holds you now. A subtle restraint, like he’s afraid of touching too much.

Your chest twists.

You almost say something about earlier, about the kiss, about what you meant, but the words sit thick in your throat.

Because the truth is, you didn’t mean to call him a friend like that. Not in that moment. Not when you were half out of breath, high off his touch. But it was easier to label it safe than admit how much you were spiraling inside. How close you felt. How badly you wanted him to stay.

You fidget under the blanket. Jake doesn’t speak.

Your hand twitches like it wants to reach for his. It doesn’t.

And maybe this is what hurts more than anything — not the silence, not even the awkwardness. But the knowing. That one wrong word was enough to push you back behind this invisible line neither of you knows how to cross again.

So you let him hold you. Quiet. Still.

Not because you're fine with it, but because you're scared if you speak, the rest will tumble out. Everything you don’t know how to ask for. Everything you're afraid he doesn't want.

And maybe… just maybe, if you wait, this will pass. If you keep the quiet gentle, maybe you can find a way to fix it later. To talk when the air doesn’t feel so fragile. When it won’t sound like a confession.

So you press your face into the pillow, trying not to breathe too loud. Trying not to need too much.

Behind you, Jake shifts a little closer, just barely. His arm tightens for a second, like he almost forgets the wall between you.

But then it loosens again.

And neither of you says a word.

The next morning, Jake comes into your room just before leaving for work. He leans down. Presses a soft kiss to your cheek. Like it's nothing. Then he straightens, gives you a small smile that’s polite and distant and he disappears.

You lie there, frozen.

At first, you try to brush it off. Tell yourself this is what you wanted, right? Just friends. No pressure. No awkwardness. But that kiss stings in a way you weren’t prepared for. So you do the only thing that makes sense in the moment.

You start ignoring him back.

When he texts, you leave him on read. When he walks into the room, you don’t look up. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. But beneath the chill, the silence, the shoulder-turning — your heart aches. You’re not mad. Not really. You just don’t know how to say I didn’t mean it like that.

You miss him. And worse — you want him. Not just the way he touched you, but the way he looked at you. Like you weren’t just some girl, but someone he couldn’t stop wanting.

You crave that again.

So by the time Thursday rolls around, your pride is fraying, your patience thinning. You need a reaction. Any reaction.

Which is why you’re sitting on the couch in shorts that toe the line between indecent and illegal, a tank top clinging to you like it’s been shrunk in the wash — waiting.

Not because you think this’ll fix it. Not because you're confident. But because it's the only language you know how to speak right now.

The door clicks open.

Jake walks in.

You don’t turn your head. Not right away. You hear the jingle of keys. The sound of shoes being kicked off. A pause.

Then, finally, his voice — calm, clipped, guarded.

“Didn’t realize this was a lingerie party.”

You glance up slowly, eyes wide with innocence. “Oh?” you murmur. “This? Just comfy.”

And even though you smile, your heart's pounding in your chest. Because you're not teasing — you're reaching.

Jake drops his bag by the door, loosens his tie, and walks past you — like it’s nothing. But his eyes… his eyes say something else entirely.Lingering. Burning.

You push further.

“I was feeling a little hot,” you say casually, stretching your arms overhead. The hem of your tank rises with you.

He opens the fridge. Grabs water. Doesn’t look at you.

“You don’t say.”

You blink. So he’s going to act like he doesn’t care?

You rise. Pad toward the kitchen on bare feet. “You’ve been quiet,” you say, voice light. “Everything okay?”

Jake shrugs, drinks. “Busy week.”

He won’t meet your eyes.

You step closer. “Or is it the fact that you had your mouth on me, and now you’re acting like we’re just roommates again?”

That gets his attention.

Jake finally turns — cool gaze sweeping over you, lingering a second too long on the slope of your chest, the bare skin of your thighs. Then his mouth quirks. Not a smile — more like a warning.

“We are just roommates,” he says. “Friends. You said so yourself.”

You blink. “Right,” you say tightly. “So friends can do that? Friends can—”

You don’t finish. You’re flustered now, and Jake sees it. Smirks.

You move closer, fast, needing the upper hand. Bold. You press a hand to his chest, slide your fingers down to his waistband. Your other hand rests on his shoulder. You glance up at him, lashes low.

“You’re hard.”

Jake doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. “So are we taking turns stating the obvious now?”

Your breath catches.

His voice is calm. Controlled. Cold.

“You’re the one who wanted no label,” he continues, tone light but jaw tight. “So this? It doesn’t count. Just a reaction, right?”

You falter.

He leans down, mouth brushing your ear.

“But you’re not really looking for just reactions, are you?”

And then he walks past you. And now you’re confused.

You tried not letting it get to you, but insecurity starts to seep in. Was something wrong with you? You’re chilling in your room when your phone pings. It’s the groupchat.

🌞noo:

PARTY THIS FRIDAYYYY BY THE RIVER. pls someone else bring the aux tho. jake’s taste in music makes me want to bite drywall

Jake:

you’ve literally danced to my shit before????

🌞noo:

yeah because i’m hot and adaptable not bcs it was good

💋 Liz:

sunoo let jake have one win this week 😭

Jay:

where is this exactly?

Yujin:

next to the trail behind the docks. we used to go there for bonfires remember?

You respond, half-joking:

cute. will there be skinny-dipping or should i bring a towel

🦌 Hee:

you can borrow mine 👀

You do a double look as you read his reply. Your stomach swoops but before you can reply Jake’s responding.

Jake:

relax.

🦌 Hee:

lmao. you relax. what, scared she’ll get cold?

🦊 you:

i love it when the groupchat turns into a pissing contest <3

Jay:

anyway i’m bringing tequila. yujin said she’s making jello shots.

Yujin:

no i didn’t

 Jay:

you will tho 😇

💋 Liz:

can we all agree on one thing?

🌞noo:

no drama

💋 Liz:

no hookups between friends

🦊 you:

girl be serious

Is what you type, but your mind is already wandering traitorously to a boy with black fluffy hair and a puppy persona.

It’s Friday. Jay picked you and Jake up and now here you were. Golden hour is kissing the riverbank. Music drifts lazily through bluetooth speakers. There's a cooler full of drinks half-submerged in the water. People are arriving in waves — towels, sandals, skin on display.

You're in a two-piece with a light cover-up that’s definitely more "slip" than "dress." You clock Jake the second he gets in Jay’s car. Black swim trunks. Messy hair. Oversized tee hanging off his shoulder. He meets your gaze once and looks away.

Heeseung’s the one who whistles when he sees you.

“You always gotta show up looking like a vacation?”

You snort. “And you always gotta flirt like it’s your job?”

He grins. “Not a job if I enjoy it.”

Jake’s nearby. Not close. Not far. Just watching with a drink in hand, jaw tight. Sunoo and Liz are already loudly arguing over who makes better playlists. Jay and Yunjin are sitting side by side but not touching, throwing little glances every few minutes.

But Jake?

He’s not talking much. Not laughing. He hasn’t really been spending any time with you over the past week. Not texting as much. And suddenly it matters more than it should.

You pretend you’re not flirting with Heeseung. Yes, you lean in when he jokes. Yes you laugh too loudly at something stupid he says. And maybe you’re watching Jake’s reactions when you do so.  

And he sees it. He sees the way you touch Heeeung’s shoulder when he makes you laugh. Sees the way Heeseung’s eyes seem to linger too long on your top. And something in him snaps.

Just then you lean into Heeseung, Jake sees you saying something to him and then you’re leaving.

He follows you before Heeseung can.

The bass from outside the bathroom thumps through the tiled walls. You’re alone, fixing your lip gloss in the mirror, but your hands are shaking from nerves. You had a feeling  he followed you.

The door creaks open. Jake steps in. Locks it.

You meet his eyes in the mirror.

“Bathroom’s taken,” you say, tone flat.

He doesn’t leave. Just watches you. “You and Heeseung having fun?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

Jake shrugs. “You’ve been laughing at all his jokes. Hanging off him like he’s your boyfriend.”

You spin around slowly, still leaning against the sink. “So what? You jealous?”

He doesn't answer right away. Just stares at you, jaw tight, chest rising a little faster than normal.

“Should I be?”

You swallow. “I don’t know. Should you?”

Jake takes one step closer. Then another. He’s toe-to-toe with you now, his hand brushing your hip.

You don’t back down. “We’re just friends, remember? Isn’t that what we are?”

He exhales through his nose. The corner of his mouth twitches.

Then, without warning, he steps between you and the sink, arms braced on either side of you, caging you in.

You’re breathless.

“I was doing just fine,” he murmurs, voice low, eyes scanning your face, “telling myself we’re just friends.”

Your heart stutters. “What changed?”

Jake leans in, nose brushing yours. “You.”

You blink. “Because I flirted?”

“Because you know exactly what you’re doing.” His voice sharpens, heated now. “Wearing that dress. Touching his arm. Laughing like that.”

“I was just being nice—”

“No, you were provoking me. And you wanted me to see it.”

Your stomach flips.

Jake’s hand slides to your hip, pulls you flush against him. You can feel him. Hard and restrained. His voice stays low and even, but it cuts through you.

“You wanted a reaction?” His hand slips under your cover-up, skims bare skin. “Now you’re going to deal with it.”

He presses you harder against the sink. His other hand wraps around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, claiming. You half whimper half gasp, chest rising and falling deeply as you let him do with you whatever he pleases. After all, this was what you wanted.

“I’m not gonna say it,” he whispers, mouth brushing your ear. “Not yet. But I’ll show you.”

You gasp as he hooks your leg up on the sink, exposing you. You dress hikes up, bunching by your waist as your panties are put on display.

His hand slides between your thighs, brushes over the fabric clinging to you, wet and sticky.

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs, amused. “And you’re trying to act like you don’t care.”

You clench around nothing, lips parted.

He pulls your panties to the side but doesn’t give you what you want. Just strokes you slow, maddening. Teasing. Fingers never quite brushing over your clit. He plays with you like that until you react.

You whimper.

“Use your words,” he murmurs, fingers circling your hole.

“Jake…”

“Say it louder.” He commands, stopping his movement.

“Please—”

He gives your pussy a sharp slap. The sting oddly pleasurable. But the unexpectedness of it, makes you flinch.

Your eyes fly open. “What—?”

“You like begging?” he says, tone cool, eyes half-lidded. “I think you do.”

He sinks to his knees, pulls your hips forward on the counter. You scramble for grip. His mouth is hot and unrelenting — but he keeps you right on the edge. Tongue circling your clit, tugging, sucking on it but never in the way he knows you like.

Eventually he gives in, circling your clit with his tongue, before working with his jaw. Loud suckling sound can be heard mixed with your loud whimpers.

But every time you start to fall apart, he backs off.

By the third time you’re panting. Desperate. “Jake—!”

He looks up at you, lips wet. “Say you want me.”

“I want you.” You cry out, rocking your hips (or trying to) against any surface. You’re practically buzzing with the need to release, shaking in want.

“No. Say you want to be mine.”

You falter. The words feel too big.

He doesn’t push. Just pulls back slightly — and the emptiness is unbearable.

“Say it,” he says again, softer now. “Or I’ll stop.”

Your hands fist in his hair.

“I’m yours.”

His eyes flash with something akin to victory and hunger.

“That’s better.”

He stands, yanks your panties down, and pushes into you in one smooth thrust. You want to curse, the stretch almost too much. You feel too full and at the same time you want more.

 Your moan is caught halfway in your throat. He kisses you like it’s punishment, like it’s worship. One hand on your throat. The other cradling the back of your head like you’re glass.

“You make me fucking insane,” he groans, hips snapping up into you, rougher now. “You want danger? You want someone to claim you?”

“Yes,” you choke out. “Yes.”

He fucks you like it’s a message. Like he’s carving his name into you. Hips relentlessly pushing into you.

You whimper, the rough pace Jake set making you cock drunk.

Jake notices, the hand around your throat sinks lower, covering youe tit as Jake leans down.

He kisses your neck softly, his hips snapping into you. He’s so close to you that he’s almost humping into you. Your body moving with his whenever he thrusts into you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling harshly and Jake bites you. Literally bites you. And then, he’s sucking a love bite on your skin. Right below your throat. For everyone to see.

After, when you’re trembling and dazed and the mirror’s fogged with heat, he doesn’t say a word. Just adjusts your cover-up gently, tucks your hair behind your ear, and kisses your forehead like you didn’t just break each other in a public bathroom.

The morning after the party you’re tired. Hungover. Emotionally tapped. You fumble through your kitchen, making tea like your body doesn’t ache with memory — like Jake didn’t fuck you in a bathroom last night so hard you still feel him in you.

He’s already sat behind the kitchen table, almost as if he was waiting for you to wake up. At first neither of you say anything.

Until you can’t take it anymore.

“What?” you ask with more bite than you intended.

Jake’s jaw is tight. “We need to talk.”

You cross your arms. “There’s nothing to—”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t do that again.”

You blink. “Do what?”

“Pretend it didn’t matter.”

Silence.

“You always do this,” Jake says, voice low. “Something happens, and you brush it off. You act like I’m imagining it.”

You open your mouth — and he shakes his head.

“You’re not confused. You’re scared.”

Your breath catches. You hate how right he is. He always sees you. Even when you don't want to be seen.

You try again. “Jake, we were drunk. The party—”

“I wasn’t drunk,” he says. “You know I wasn’t.”

His eyes are sharp, unreadable. “Were you?”

You hesitate. Shake your head once.

He exhales, jaw flexing — then takes a step forward. “So just say it.”

You take a shaky step back. “Say what?”

“That you want me.”

Your back hits the wall. “Jake—���

He pins you with his eyes, chest rising and falling. “Say it.”

You can’t look at him. “Why? So you can say I told you so?”

“No,” he says quietly. “So I can finally touch you without wondering if you’ll run the second we’re done.”

You grab his shirt, fisting it near his stomach, and pull him in until your breath fans his lips. “I want you,” you whisper. “All of you.”

His hands lift slow, intentional, and cup your face like you're something breakable. His thumbs brush your cheeks. He tilts your chin up, studies you.

"Okay," he says, like a vow.

When he kisses you, it’s not hurried or hungry. It’s deep. His mouth moves over yours like he’s memorizing, reclaiming. And when he finally pulls back, you're breathless.

“I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, his lips grazing your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. “How you sound. How you taste. How you fall apart.”

His hand slides under your shirt, resting over your stomach not rushing, just feeling.

“And I’m not gonna stop this time,” he says. “Not until you forget anyone else ever looked at you.”

You gasp when his fingers dip lower, but he still doesn’t move fast. He lingers. Draws circles on your thigh like he’s playing with patience, watching you twitch.

He likes it. The way you can’t stay still. The way your breath comes shorter now, even though he’s barely touched you.

“You’re squirmy,” he murmurs, amused. “Already?”

“Jake,” you whisper, nails digging into his arms.

His gaze flicks up, sharp and dark. “Use your words.”

“You want me?” Jake asks, voice quiet but laced with heat.

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes wide.

He studies you, gaze steady. “Then prove it.”

Your heart skips. “I will. Jake—” you reach for him, desperate now, “I swear, anything.”

A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face.

“Yeah? Then let me try something,” he murmurs.

He produces a silk tie. The same one he wore this week. The same one that still smells faintly like cologne and heat and him. You hum in anticipation, you think he’s probably going to tell you to turn around and tie your wrists together. But you’re caught off guard when he speaks.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs.

You do. The tie ghosts across your cheek, a featherlight tease, before he slips it around your eyes and knots it behind your head — tight enough to hold, loose enough to keep you comfortable. Your breath catches as darkness wraps around you. It heightens everything. And everything is laced with Jake. It’s like you’re in a personal Jake-terrarium, his scent all around you, his hands ghosting over your arms, shoulders and back. He laces your fingers when you feel him against your ear, warm and close.

“You’re not gonna run this time?” His voice is low, close, threading against the shell of your ear.

“No,” you whisper. “I want this.”

“You want me,” he corrects. His fingers brush your jaw, tracing down your neck. “Say it.”

“I want you,” you repeat, voice needy.

Jake hums — satisfied, not smug. Then his hands take yours, and he guides you. Carefully. Silently. Every step feels electric. You don’t know where he’s taking you — until the air shifts, cooler now, tinged with the crisp morning air.

You’re on the balcony.

The city hums below. Too far to hear, close enough to feel. You’re hidden from view — probably. Not completely. It doesn’t matter.

Your hands rest on the railing, and Jake’s voice returns, low and calm behind you.

“Stay still.”

You do.

He steps in close, chest against your back, fingers slipping under your shirt, sliding it up, baring you to the sky.

“This okay?” he asks.

You nod, but it’s not enough.

“Words,” he reminds you, breath warm on your shoulder.

“Yes, Jake.”

The tie around your eyes tightens with your inhale. The air is cool, but Jake’s hands are fire.

He kneels behind you.

You feel his mouth first — soft, reverent — trailing kisses along the backs of your thighs, then up higher. You slightly bend over, hands gripping the balcony railing as if it’ your lifeline. And in a way it was. Because just one slip ad it could end badly – but you trust Jake. Trust him to take care of you.

His hands grip your hips. Gently at first. Then firmer. Possessive. And he holds you in place, watching as you try to rub your thighs together, but when his grip is too tight you switch to rocking your hips back and forward. it doesn’t give you any friction and that’s when Jake’s hands slide towards your butt, then under your butt, before he’s slippin one hand to your inner thighs.

But he doesn’t touch you there yet. He simply pushes his face into your clothed butt, nose pressing right where you need him. And then he says,

“You smell like you’ve been thinking about this all day.”

You whimper. He chuckles — low, pleased.

Then his fingertips glide up inside of you and you gasp. He was gentle, yet powerful. You spread your legs further, bending down even more so your chest presses against the cold railing.

“You’re soaked,” he says as he keeps pushing two digits in and out of you in a scissoring motion.  Your hips twitch. He presses you still with one hand, the other pulling at your lacy panties.

“Did you wear these for me?” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe, wiggling your cunt over his hand.

“Did you want me to find you like this? Desperate. Squirming.”

“Yes,” you breathe, your pretty hole practically vibrating with the way you keep doing kegles.

His finger circles your clit — barely there. And you moan, knuckles white from how hard you’re holding onto the railing.

“Hold still,” he murmurs.

You try. You fail.

He tsks under his breath and let’s go of the panties. They snap. The touch stinging. You immediately still completely. “Didn’t I say still?”

You gasp. “I’m sorry—”

Jake strokes deeper once, then pulls away. You whine at the loss.

He loves this. You can feel it in the way he exhales — slow, in control. You’re on fire. He’s the one holding the match. He stands up then, hugging you from behind. He presses his hips against you and you moan, rocking yourself back into him. Jake kisses your neck, and it’s all you can focus on.

But his hands are already pulling your panties down, he lightly pats you on your butt and you step aside a bit, letting them fully fall down. You don’t worry about someone seeing you two, you were too high up for pedestrians to see and your neighbors had the view obstructed by the railing. But still, you shiver once he bares you to the outside world.

But Jake doesn’t worry, he’s back on his knees as soon as your panties hit the ground. Then one finger slips back in. Then another. He keeps them deep as he pushes them in, and out. In a hook motion, reaching the most pleasurable spot inside of you.  His whole palm is on your cunt, with his thumb teasing your clit in light, endless circles.

“You feel that?” he whispers, mouth against your ear now. “How perfect you are like this? Bare. Open. Mine.”

You whimper. “Jake—”

“Not yet.”

He pulls his fingers out. You nearly sob.

Then he brings them to your lips. “Open.”

You do. He pushes them past your mouth, slow and steady, watching as you suck him clean.

“Good girl,” he says.

You nearly come from those two words alone.

“Ready?” he asks.

You nod frantically, tie still in place, heart pounding out of your ribs. Jake pushes and hold you into his desired position. Now you’re standing straight, looking as if you’re just looking over the city (if only it weren’t for the tie still tied around your head), and Jake is holding you from behind – as if he’s just hugging you.

Your head cocks to the side, and Jake nuzzles into it. His right hand disappears behind you and you can hear him shuffling behind you.

Then you feel it — his cock, thick and warm against your entrance.

“You sure you’re not gonna run again?” he murmurs, teasing the tip against you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper. “Just—please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me,” you plead, grinding yourself against his dick. And Jake finally pushes his hard dick into you. You don’t think you’ve ever been stretched by a dick this good and you kind of stop breathing. The lack of oxygen and vision made the feeling of his dick ten times better.

And you know Jake feels it too. He groans as soon as his cockhead stuffs you, hips stilling and stuttering for a moment.

You whine, squeezing him in a silent command to give you more, more, more.

“More Jakey, please,” you whine, he tsks but complies. Slowly stuffing you full.

He doesn’t give either of you time to move before he’s thrusting into you. Slowly. So slowly you think you know how every vein looks, how every ridge looks and you still want more.

Jake fucks you with intent. Deep, deliberate strokes that claim you inch by inch. You’re crying out, gripping the railing, blindfolded and desperate. He fucks you like he’s memorizing every sound you make. Like this isn’t just sex it’s proof.

That you’re not going anywhere.

That you’re his.

And when he finally lets you fall apart, it’s to the sound of his voice behind you, whispering like a spell

“That’s it. Good girl. Let them hear how mine you are.”

Your body’s still trembling, silk tie slipping down your nose, the air cooling your skin. Jake doesn’t speak right away. He just holds you from behind, pressing a kiss to your shoulder — then another, higher this time, near your neck.

You feel his heartbeat against your back. Fast. Just like yours.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

You start to laugh, just a little. Maybe from adrenaline. Maybe because you don’t know what else to do.

Jake gently unties the blindfold, letting it fall away. He cups your jaw, turns you to face him, and really looks at you.

“Too much?” he asks softly.

“No,” you say too quickly. Then realizing that might sound dismissive you add, “It was… good. Intense. But good.”

He studies you for a beat, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. You think he might tease you, say something cocky but instead, he kisses your forehead.

Then your temple.

Then your lips.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to protest.

Carries you in, literally. Like you weigh nothing. Like you’re something precious.

He runs a warm bath and adds eucalyptus salt like it’s routine. His hands are all over you — not sexually now, just present. Stroking your back as you sink into the water. Brushing damp hair from your face. Letting you lean into his chest when you finally relax.

You close your eyes. Not because you're tired. Because it’s easier than letting him see how much this is affecting you.

He still sees it.

“You okay?” he asks again, quieter now, as if he knows you’re trying not to feel anything too real.

“I’m fine,” you mutter. But your fingers are clinging to his forearm.

Jake notices. Smiles a little.

“I always kiss your temple after,” he says casually, like it’s a fact. “Even before tonight.”

Your eyes snap open. “You do?”

He nods. “It’s where you melt the most.”

You scoff. “That’s not—” But you trail off. Because yeah. You probably do.

Once you’re dry, wrapped in a soft towel and oversized shirt that smells like him, he pulls you into bed. Doesn’t let go.

You lie there together, limbs tangled, and it should be awkward, but it’s not. Not until the words slip out of your mouth — too fast, like everything else with you lately.

“So… what now?”

Jake shifts to look at you. “Now I take you on a real date.”

You blink. “Even if we’re already fucking?”

“Especially if we’re already fucking.”

That makes you laugh. So does he. Your noses bump as you kiss again, slower this time. Lazy. Sweet.

Afterwards you head to a late lunch — the usual post-party ritual. Sunoo picked the spot: some cozy place with overpriced eggs and bottomless mimosas. Everyone’s a little sluggish, mildly hungover, and deeply curious.

You and Jake walk in together.

At first, no one clocks it.

But then you slide into the booth next to Jake. And his hand is still resting on the small of your back when you sit. You’re glowing. He looks way too pleased.

Sunoo is the first to notice.

His eyes narrow. “Wait…”

Jake doesn’t say anything. Just leans back, throws his arm casually behind you like it’s nothing like it’s normal and smirks.

Sunoo gasps.

“WAIT.”

Jay lifts an eyebrow over his coffee. “Here we go.”

“Is this—are you two—” Sunoo points between you like he’s solving a murder. “Did you finally do it?”

Liz drops her fork. “Finally?”

Yujin gasps, slapping Jay’s arm. “I told you something was up after the haunted house.”

Jay just sips his drink. “Yeah, but I figured we’d all be grandparents before they figured it out.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything at first. He just tilts his head, eyes flicking between the two of you. There’s a little smile tugging at his mouth — you think it’s fond, but you also see the tiniest flicker of something else. Surprise, maybe. Something more complicated. Still, he raises his glass like a toast.

“Well,” he says smoothly. “I guess Jake finally manned up.”

You look at him, curious, but Jake doesn’t flinch. “Someone had to,” he replies, calm and steady.

Sunoo clutches his chest. “So it’s real? Like real real?”

Jake nods. And then like it’s not a big deal at all he laces your fingers with his under the table.

You don’t pull away.

“Wait,” Liz says, eyes darting around. “Have you guys, like… had the talk?”

Jake looks at you. “Have we?”

You smile at him, that private kind of smile only he seems to get. “I think last night counted.”

Sunoo practically combusts.

“OH MY GOD THEY TOTALLY FUCKED.”

You slap your palm over your face. Jake just laughs, entirely unbothered. “Thanks for keeping it classy, Sunoo.”

Heeseung raises his brows. “Bathroom?”

Jay chokes on his drink.

“Not confirming or denying,” Jake says but he’s grinning now, actually grinning like he just won the lottery and isn’t even trying to hide it.

“You’re disgusting,” Yujin says through a laugh, but she’s clearly happy for you. “But like, in a cute way. I guess.”

“Disgustingly overdue,” Liz mutters. “Seriously, this has been months of tension. I deserve a gift basket.”

Sunoo nods, dead serious. “With candles. And at least one thank-you note.”

You roll your eyes but you’re still smiling.

And underneath the noise, the teasing, the laughter, Jake leans closer to your ear. Low enough that no one else hears.

“Mine,” he murmurs.

You look at him. “Yours.”

And for once, saying it feels easy.

[cinnamon-won]

This is pure filth omg but still once of the best things I’ve read in a longgg time

payback! — psh

Fortunately, you got the best, filthiest fuck of your life with your boyfriend’s friends. Unfortunately, Sunghoon doesn’t tolerate sneaky sluts. ─── In which Sunghoon's dick does all the disciplining :)

content tags/warnings: cheating, vouyerism (video), mention of double penetration, sunghoon smokes, jayke cameo, slut shaming, objectification, nymphomania implications. uhm. angst at the end? explicit content (smut): revenge unprotected sex, spitting, slapping, headlocking, throat fucking, mild pussy eating, squirting, power imbalance, creampie, dub conish. MDNI. WC: 5.4K

“Ahh—fuck! Harder! Want it harder! Please, please, please!”

Sunghoon sat low on the sofa, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. His other hand clutched the phone tightly, knuckles slightly white around the edges. His gaze was fixed, unmoving, pupils dilated.

He took a long, deliberate drag from his vape. Smoke filled his lungs, a bitter warmth crawling up his throat as he leaned his head back and exhaled slowly toward the ceiling, watching the vapor curling at the air.

His jaw tightened, thumb hovering, he paused the video at just the right moment: your mouth stretched open, eyes glazed and hungry. Jay was buried deep inside you, and you were still trying to force Jake’s cock past your lips like you couldn’t get enough.

Sunghoon should’ve known better than to trust a fucking slut like you.

He let the video play, it was torture, but he didn’t stop. He watched—watched you, his girlfriend, on your hands and knees, getting railed back and forth by the two people he called "friends".

Every sound bled through the speaker: your squeals, your moans, the choked-out begs between thrusts. You sounded wrecked, gone, cockdrunk out of your mind.

“Jay, man, take a video of me too,” Jake muttered.

The camera shook as it switched angles. Sunghoon blinked slowly. You yelped when Jake pushed into you from behind, face buried into a pillow, your ass bouncing from the impact. His grip clamped tight around your waist, dragging you into every thrust.

Jake bit his lip, one hand locking on your hip as he slammed into you harder. When he noticed the camera again, he flashed a quick grin, threw up a lazy west side sign, and laughed, right before burying himself even deeper.

Sunghoon didn’t realize his hand had moved until the sound of shattering glass snapped through the room. His phone hit the wall hard and fell to the floor in pieces.

He stood there, chest rising and falling, eyes locked on the broken fragments scattered across the floor. His pulse throbbed in his ears, Fuck his friends. Fuck everything. And fuck you for letting them touch you. For letting them use you like that. Was his dick not enough? Was his attention not enough? You couldn’t stop at one—you had to take both of them?

His hands curled into fists at his sides. Heat crawled up his neck, his fingers trembled at rage, disbelief, something else he didn’t want to name. And God—fuck him, for the way his cock throbbed through it all.

—

“Baby! Miss you, miss you, miss you so much! How was your trip?”

Your voice spilled out with that same sugary tone you always used. You threw your arms around his neck, clinging tight, lips grazing his cheek, trailing up to his jaw, then to his mouth, like you had no idea what you’d done. Like you hadn’t fucked two of his friends like the filthy little cum-soaked toy you were.

Sunghoon stood still.

Not because he didn’t feel anything—but because he felt too much. Anger sat thick behind his ribs, it made his skin itch. Made his muscles tighten. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. His jaw locked as he stared past you, eyes locked on the clock ticking against the wall. Each second felt louder than your voice. Each tick reminded him to hold the line.

Your perfume clung to him, so sweet that it made him fucking sick.

God, you really had the audacity. Clinging to him like you missed him. As if those bruises on your hips weren’t from someone else’s hands. As if your throat hadn’t been used just days ago while he was away.

Pathetic.

That’s all he could think. You were pathetic.

A lying, moaning, desperate little slut who’d do anything for attention. Spread your legs for the first hand that touched you, then crawl back to him with that same fake innocence in your eyes. How many times had he fallen for it? How many times had you smiled up at him with those soft lips, pretending to be his and his alone?

He almost laughed again.

“Did you miss me?” you whispered against his ear, voice sweet like sugar melting over rot. You didn’t even know what you’d walked into.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

You beamed at him. He smiled back, just enough to keep the game going. Just enough to keep his hands from wrapping around your throat.

You didn’t deserve anger, not the full weight of it. You didn’t deserve to be screamed at or broken down. No. You deserved to be seen for exactly what you were and stripped of the illusion you wore so well.

That’s why Sunghoon was quiet now, laid back against the headboard, watching you beautifully ride his dick.

You rode him with that same practiced rhythm, hips rising and falling, skin gleaming with sweat. Your hands rested on his chest, fingers curling against his skin as you moaned his name.

“Ahh! Hoonie!” you gasped, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut.

Sunghoon eyebrow twitch at the way your pussy clings to his dick. His jaw slackened, eyes traveling from the way your breasts bounced with every grind, down to where your slick folds swallowed his cock, again and again.

His grip on your waist tighten, He wondered if you even knew you were showing him your tells. The little things—how your hands trembled slightly, how your moans pitched too perfectly, how your eyes kept darting open to check his face when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Guilt, maybe. Or fear. Or just the habit of someone used to performing for an audience.

He let his thumb slide along your waist. “You’re working hard tonight,” he said finally, “trying to earn something?”

You froze for half a second. Then gave a breathy laugh, hips rolling again. You threw your head back when the tip of his cock brushed that spot deep inside you, the one that made your thighs shake.

Sunghoon leaned in close, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Keep going,” he whispered. “I want to see how far you’ll go pretending like you haven’t fucked any man behind my back.”

Your breath caught hard in your throat. Eyes shot open, wide, startled—exposed. Panic spilled into your face faster than you could mask it. You looked to the side, slowly, like maybe you’d misheard, like maybe he hadn’t just said what he said.

Sunghoon sat back slightly, his eyes fixed on yours, that smirk on his face was evident and it wasn't playful, it was cruel.

You scrambled instinctively, trying to lift yourself off him, heart pounding so loud you could barely hear your own breath.

Sunghoon hands clamped around your waist. In one swift, punishing motion, he dragged you back down onto his cock, forcing you to take him all the way to the base. You let out a sharp squeal, a breathy cry of surprise as your walls clenched around him. Your hands braced against his chest, legs trembling around his hips.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked. “You were doing so well.”

He began to thrust up into you, deep, grinding against that spot that made your body betray you. You couldn’t stop the way your breath hitched, the way your eyes fluttered shut even as shame colored your face.

“S-Sunghoon…”

“Shhh, baby,” Sunghoon whispered, almost gentle. A sick mockery of comfort. His hand slid up your thigh, then curled around your waist again. “Just ride it out. You’re so good at it.”

He smiled up at you hazy. Enjoyment, yes, but laced with contempt.

“You fucked them like this too?” he asked softly “Bounced on their cocks just like this?” His eyes dragged over your body, taking in the way your tits moved with every thrust, the way your mouth opened like you couldn’t breathe. “Moaned their names the way you moan mine?”

You whimpered, trying to press against his chest, to pull back but the moment your hips lifted, he slammed back up into you sharply. You cried out, your hands trembling where they pressed against him.

“Oh? What’s wrong?” he breathed, tightening his grip on your hips to keep you from moving. “It was easy when it was Jay, right? When it was Jake choking you on his cock. You didn’t stop them.”

He fucked up into you harder now, each thrust punishing. “But now you’re shy? Now you can’t take it?”

His other hand moved between your legs, thumb brushing your clit, with just enough pressure to send your body jolting. A cry left your throat, your hips twitched instinctively, confused between pulling away and pushing closer.

Sunghoon watched every reaction. His smile widened when your head dropped forward, shoulders shaking, your entire body caught in the unbearable space between pleasure and shame.

You whimpered, a sound choked with emotion—humiliation, arousal, panic. Everything at once. Your thoughts scattered, dizzy, your chest heaving as tears welled in your eyes threatening to fall.

“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” Sunghoon murmured. “On my cock. After spreading your legs for my friends like a filthy, greedy little thing—you’re still going to fall apart for me.”

His thrusts didn’t stop. He kept you pinned, grinding deep inside you, thumb flicking against your swollen clit.

“You are a slut, aren’t you?” he breathed. “Mine or not—you were made for this. Made to take cock. Any cock. As long as it fills you up.”

Your body jerked as a sob hitched in your throat, but before you could look away, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back.

His eyes were on fire. Cold rage underneath that made you whimper in fear. “Look me in the eyes,” he said. “I want to see what’s left. What’s left of your fucking dignity when I make you cum on the cock you were supposed to stay loyal to.”

You trembled under his gaze, lips parting, chest stuttering for breath as his thumb circled harder, relentless, synced with each thrust.

Your orgasm built fast, twisted in shame. You couldn’t hold back the moan that tore from your throat as your walls fluttered violently around his cock.

“S-sorry… I—I am… I’m sorry,” you whimpered, voice breaking as your orgasm dragged through you. Your body was shaking, overwhelmed, your skin burning with the heat.

Your head felt light as if you might float away if not for the solid grip of his hands anchoring you to him. He was still thrusting into you, slower now, but just as deep—riding your high, using your own climax as fuel to fuck you further into submission.

“Sorry?” Sunghoon echoed, a dark, breathless laugh curling from his throat. “That’s it?”

You choked on another moan, trying to pull away, but he held you tight, one hand still in your hair, the other sliding to your throat again keeping you in place like a doll.

“That’s your apology? You cum on my cock like a fucking whore and think sorry makes it better?”

He tilted his head, eyes locked on your tear-streaked face. “You begged them too, didn’t you?” he continued, “Bet you moaned for Jay just like that. Bet you looked up at Jake with those same cute innocent eyes."

He thrust up harder, forcing a strangled moan from your throat, and you hated that it felt good.

“That’s what makes you sorry?” he hissed. “Not the cheating. Not the lies. Not the way you spread your legs the second I was gone. No—you’re sorry because I found out.”

Your lips parted to deny it, but nothing came. Just another whimper, another shaky breath.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say what you are.”

You blinked at him, glassy-eyed, barely able to think past the ache between your legs, the fog in your brain.

Sunghoon’s hand came down hard across your breast, the sharp smack echoing through the room. You cried out, gasping as your back arching from the sting, skin blooming with heat where his palm landed.

“Say it.”

“I’m a slut,” you whispered, eyes shutting tight.

He didn’t move right away. Just sat beneath you, cock still buried deep, like a man in complete control. Then he leaned in, face close, his lips brushing your ear. “What?” he murmured. “Louder.”

You hesitated, swallowing the shame thick in your throat.

“I—” your voice caught, but his grip on your waist tightened, and he gave one slow, grinding thrust up into you that made your stomach clench and your throat tighten.

“Don’t make me ask again,” he said, each word coiled with threat.

“I’m a slut,” you said louder this time, voice shaking.

He chuckled, he brought both hands down hard on your ass, your body jolting forward instinctively. “Now ride it, bitch,” he said flatly.

He laid back, arms folding behind his head, eyes locked on you. You sobbed softly, body trembling, tears dripping from your chin. Your legs felt like they were giving out beneath you, but you moved, slowly, awkwardly, lifting your hips and sinking back down onto his cock. You whimpered from the stretch, your body clenching in protest.

It wasn’t pleasure anymore. Not really.

Your slick had dried, leaving just the raw friction of swollen flesh and too much use. Each downward push made you flinch, made your breath hitch. But you moved anyway, grinding your hips weakly, trying to obey.

“Why are you crying?” Sunghoon muttered.

You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t even look at him. You kept your eyes down, throat tight, lips trembling as more tears rolled down your cheeks.

“After everything you did, you’ve got the fucking audacity to cry?”

You flinched, but kept moving, trying to hold yourself up as your knees wobbled.

“I make you cum—again—even after what you did, and this is what I get?” he sneered. “You ride me so fucking ugly. Limp, clumsy, pathetic."

You blinked through your tears, heart sinking deeper into your chest.

“This is how you repay me?” he continued. “Slutting around behind my back, then giving me this?” His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging into sore flesh

You gasped, hands trembling where they braced against his chest.

“If you’re so sorry,” Sunghoon said flatly, “then show it. Stop running your filthy mouth. It’s disgusting.”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Off,” he ordered. “This is getting fucking boring.”

Your breath caught, but you obeyed. Your legs shook as you slowly lifted yourself off of him, wincing from the rawness and the ache. You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, swallowing hard, trying to steady your breath.

Sunghoon stepped off the bed, ignoring you entirely as he grabbed his vape from the nightstand. He took a long drag, smoke curled around his lips as he exhaled, head tilted slightly, eyes locked on you.

You stared at him, uncertain. His gaze didn’t soften, the moment your eyes met his, your stomach turned. That look—cold, disgusted, fully aware of your every weakness—made your skin crawl. You instinctively tried to cover your body with your arms, shrinking under the weight of it all.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Kneel.”

You hesitated.

“Kneel,” he repeated, slower, deadlier.

You dropped to your knees, the floor cool against your skin. Your palms settled on your thighs, head lowered, trying not to cry again.

He took another drag before stepping closer, towering over you. "You know what to do. Hmm?"

You nodded faintly, lips already parting as instinct took over. You leaned forward, pressing your mouth to the tip of his cock, licking slowly around the head, soft, tentative, almost apologetic.

Above you, Sunghoon sighed, his head tilting back slightly, mouth parting. His hand slid into your hair, fingers tangling at the roots. His hips rolled forward without warning, forcing more of him past your lips.

You choked softly but didn’t stop. You pressed your tongue along the underside, taking him deeper, your jaw stretching. Your eyes fluttered shut, tears slipping again.

You heard him breathe out again, pleased but quiet, watching the way you submitted—how your cheeks hollowed, how spit clung to your lips and chin.

“Deeper,” he muttered. “Don’t make me do all the work.”

You moved, slow but desperate to please, sucking him in until your lips touched the base, your nose brushing his skin. Your throat tightened, gagging softly, but you held him there, swallowing around him. Your hands instinctively gripped his thighs, nails pressing into the skin as you tried to steady yourself through the strain in your jaw and the tightness in your throat.

“Keep your hands off me.”

Sunghoon’s voice cut through. You froze, then slowly let your hands fall, resting them on your own thighs instead. The position made you feel even smaller, more exposed. Forced to hold yourself steady without any support, you sank deeper into the reality of what this was.

He didn’t look down at you with affection. There was no care in his touch, no softness in his grip. He simply pushed your head forward again, guiding you down until you were swallowing him whole.

Even with the heat in your cheeks, even as tears lined your lashes and your chest tightened with shame, you felt the ache between your legs.

The growing slickness, the way your pussy clenching with each shallow breath you took.

You hated how the humiliation bled into arousal, how the sting of his words and the weight of his control made your body want.

You sucked him deeper, every wet glide of your tongue along the underside of his shaft made your own thighs press together. Your slick coated your folds.

Sunghoon’s fingers tightened in your hair again, holding your head still as he began to thrust slowly into your mouth, using you at his pace.

“Ahh—fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth, head falling back as the pleasure surged low in his gut. His stomach tightened, breath ragged. He bit down on his bottom lip, then forced his gaze back down.

There you were—eyes wide, teary, locked on him.

Your lips stretched around his cock, spit dripping down your chin, but your gaze didn’t falter. Those wide, innocent eyes. That soft expression. The contradiction of it all. His thighs tensed, another shaky breath escaping him—half sigh, half moan.

God, you looked perfect.

Too perfect.

Perfect in a way that made his chest ache. You were beautiful—painfully so. Beautiful in your face, your mouth, your movements. Beautiful in how you took him, how your tongue still moved even when your jaw had to hurt, how you kept trying to please him no matter how much you were falling apart.

It infuriated him.

You were so beautiful, it made him angry.

Sunghoon took a long drag from his vape, chest rising slowly as the heat burned in his lungs. The smoke curled in his throat while his other hand tightened in your hair, and he began to move faster.

Your whines were muffled around his cock as you struggled to take him, the slick, wet gagging sounds filling the room. He exhaled the smoke in a slow stream, the haze rising as his head fell back, a groan tearing from his chest.

The pleasure was overwhelming. Your mouth, your heat, the way your throat tightened around him—it all crashed into him at once. Every sound you made echoed through his body, feeding every lust on his brainstream.

His muscles tensed, jaw clenched, hips grinding forward again and again, chasing that high while watching you choke on him.

Painfully perfect.

Sunghoon took a drag from his vape again, his other hand gripped the back of your head, and without warning, he pushed you down until your nose pressed to his skin.

His hips stilled. He let out a long, guttural moan as he came, the pleasure crashing through him in heavy waves. Warmth spilled into your throat, his breath caught in his chest, and the smoke slipped out around his lips before it ever reached his lungs—lost in the force of the moment.

His stomach flexed, fingers tightening in your hair as he held you there, making sure you swallowed everything.

“Fuck,” he groaned, eyes half-lidded, chest heaving.

The room fell quiet for a moment, just the sound of his breath, the faint hiss of the vape in his hand, and your muffled gasp as he finally let you go.

You pulled back slowly, coughing once, spit trailing from your lips as you caught your breath, face flushed and soaked, lips swollen from use.

Sunghoon looked down at you—still high off the orgasm, but his gaze already sharpening again. “On the bed,” he said. “Lay on your back. Spread your legs.”

You hesitated for a moment, throat dry. Slowly, you stood, legs trembling beneath you. Your mouth opened as your voice cracked out. “L-Love…”

His expression shifted instantly. The glare he gave you made your breath catch, your body stiffen. “Who said you could talk?” he snapped. “I gave you an order. Lay down. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You swallowed hard, heart thudding in your chest. The word stayed frozen on your tongue as you climbed onto the bed. You lay back slowly, your hands slid to your thighs, hesitating again until you saw him watching.

Without another word, you parted your legs, exposing yourself fully, the slick between your thighs sticking to your skin, making everything feel vulnerable.

Sunghoon stared down at you, his thoughts turned over themselves again, looping in quiet intensity.

You were pathetic. And somehow, you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. That contradiction burned in him. You had the perfect face for submission. The perfect body for ruin. The perfect pussy.

Sunghoon climbed onto the bed slowly, knees sinking into the mattress as he settled between your legs. His eyes never left your face, watching every twitch, every breath. You gasped softly as his hands reached for you, fingers sliding along the inside of your thighs before spreading you wider with both hands.

His thumbs parted you carefully, deliberately, exposing the soft pink flesh that throbbed under his gaze.

Your chest rose and fell with short, anxious breaths. Heat flushed across your skin as his eyes moved lower, tracking every inch of you. He leaned in slightly, his breath ghosting over your slick entrance, close enough to make you twitch.

“Mine,” Sunghoon growled, the word thick with possession.

You moaned at just the sound of it—your body reacting before he even touched you.

His mouth found you, tongue dragged along your folds, swirling over your labia with deliberate pressure. The heat of his mouth, the wet glide of his tongue—it sent a pulse straight through your core. Your hips jerked upward, instinctive, desperate for more.

"'Hoonie!"

His nose pressed against your clit as he pushed his face deeper into you, letting your thighs squeeze around his head. The rough drag of his tongue, the way he flicked it just beneath your clit before flattening it again—it made your eyes roll back, a breathless cry tumbling from your lips.

Sunghoon’s hands slid up your body, settling on either side of your breasts. He kneaded them with slow, heavy pressure, watching you from beneath his lashes, eyes half-lidded.

He flicked his tongue faster, lips locking around your clit, sucking it once. Then his fingers found your nipples, pinching them lightly between his thumbs and forefingers. Your back arched instantly, the sudden stimulation shooting straight through your chest.

You cried out, overwhelmed, hips grinding against his mouth, trying to chase more of that friction. His grip tightened.

He moaned low into your pussy, the vibration making your whole body jolt, heat surging across your skin as your walls fluttered in response.

You almost believed for a second that the Sunghoon you knew had returned.

It was the way he pressed soft kisses to your inner thigh after you came, the way his hands shifted you from position to position with steady control, the way he fucked you so deep and slow that your vision blurred. You saw stars. Again. And again.

But it wasn’t the same.

The Sunghoon you remembered didn’t talk like this. Didn’t whisper filth into your ear with each thrust. Didn’t slap your ass raw or choke you until your moans turned to broken gasps.

Still, you took it. You let him. Because deep down, you knew that you deserved it.

“Ahh—s-stop, p-please…”

You’d lost count of how many times you’d come, how many times he’d flipped you over, dragged you back, split you open on his cock without pause.

Maybe it was the frustration in him. Maybe it was the shame in your eyes. Maybe he liked how breakable you looked under him, how pliant your body had become, how you still clung to him with every breath. Something about that flipped a switch in him. Whatever restraint he had was long gone now.

And once that restraint broke, he discovered things.

He saw it clearly.

You were a slut in the most literal sense, a body that didn’t know when to stop. A mouth that begged him to slow down while your pussy clenched tighter the rougher he fucked you. You kept saying you needed a break, that it was too much but you bounced harder on his cock every time he called you a liar.

And he was learning fast. The more he overstimulated you, the more honest you became.

The shame turned into hunger. The cries turned into moans. And your begging… it was starting to sound less like desperation.

“More… more—please, g-give me… nghh, more!”

Sunghoon kept his forehead pressed to your shoulder as he drove into you from behind. His hips snapped against your ass, each thrust deeper than the last, his chest slick with sweat against your back.

He bit his lip hard, eyes dropping to watch your body unravel. Your head lolled forward, hair damp and clinging to your neck, mouth falling open with every jolt of his cock hitting deep.

He gritted his teeth, groaning low as your pussy clamped down hard around him, spasming again.

He didn’t miss the way your moans kept rising—louder, sloppier—your voice barely forming real words anymore, just needy sounds spilling from your throat.

Your whole body was trembling, overstimulated past reason. He hadn’t even touched your clit, and yet you came again, your walls fluttering around him as your ass rocked back into his hips, trying to keep him inside just a little longer, trying to stretch the pleasure further. Your mind was so far gone, he almost wondered if you even knew where you were.

High, like on him. On the way his cock punished you. The way he filled you over and over until you didn’t care what you looked like, what you sounded like, or how broken you were getting.

“More! More!” you squealed again, the pitch cracked.

Sunghoon clicked his tongue, his arm came up fast, locking around your neck, bicep flexed tight across your throat as he pulled you back into him.

You gasped, then moaned louder despite the pressure. Your hands shot up to his arm, nails digging into the muscle, but you didn’t try to stop him.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled into your ear, hips pounding forward even harder. His cock dragged along that sensitive spot inside you with cruel precision, over and over again, and you squeezed him so tight he nearly saw white.

“Fucking hell,” he moaned through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna milk me dry like this.”

You whimpered something, eyes rolling again, mouth slack, tears mixing with sweat down your cheeks.

Sunghoon realized he could keep going for hours, and you’d never stop asking for more.

“Gonna cum, g-gonna cum!”

Sunghoon’s arms locked around you tighter, dragging your body down as he shifted his weight over you, pressing your chest into the mattress. His full weight settled on top of you, forcing your legs wider, holding you down. Your breath hitched. Vision blurred. The pressure in your core spiked as your stomach tensed, nerves screaming from the inside out.

And then it hit.

The orgasm ripped through you, your back arched beneath him, toes curling, fingers clawing at the sheets. You tried to scream, tried to say something—but your lungs wouldn’t cooperate. The air caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat. Every nerve in your body burned.

Your pussy clenched so tightly around him, it was unbearable. He didn’t stop.

“Ahhh—fuck!”

A rush of liquid spilled out of you, your body jerking, forcing his cock to slip halfway free. But Sunghoon growled under his breath and drove back in, ignoring how your walls convulsed violently around him, squeezing him too hard to be comfortable.

You tapped his arm, again, again, frantic, but he didn’t slow.

He kept thrusting, rough and deep, chasing his own high. His moans got louder, breath ragged against the back of your neck, hips slamming into you with a rhythm that felt merciless.

Drool slipped from your parted lips, dripping to the sheets beneath you as your body went limp beneath him. You tried to form words, to beg, but your voice came out broken, slurred.

“H-hurt…”

Sunghoon paused only for a second, but then he pulled out halfway, slammed back in, grabbing your hips and lifting them higher, changing the angle. His thrusts became faster, more direct, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room.

You gasped, eyes wide and unfocused, body jerking with every motion. Your body trembled under him, your legs shook, unable to hold form, collapsing slightly with each heavy snap of his hips.

Sunghoon gripped your waist harder, knuckles pale, holding you steady as he fucked deeper.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he moaned. “Gonna fuck you so full you won’t even remember their names.”

Your eyes rolled back, vision going white at the edges. The ringing in your ears drowned out everything but the heavy beat of your pulse.

Until you felt the sharp grunt against your skin. The way his cock throbbed as warmth spilled inside you. His whole body trembled, every muscle locked tight. His grip on your throat and waist tightened with that final release, pouring everything into you—rage, frustration, need—all of it buried inside you.

You swore you almost blacked out.

Your body went limp the second he let go of your neck. His cock slipped out of you, overstimulated and leaking, and without warning, he flipped you onto your back. You landed against the mattress roughly, arms falling open—one near your head, the other across your stomach, completely drained.

Your skin was pale, cold in some places, burning in others. Your chest rose and fell in shaky, uneven breaths. Eyes unfocused and drifting.

Sunghoon stood over you, chest heaving, his body shining with sweat. The bedsheet beneath you was soaked between the sweat, the slick, the mess of it all, everything was drenched.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, jaw tight. His eyes dropped to your pussy still twitching, so red, his cum starting to leak out, pooling beneath you.

Still riding the edge of his rage, he leaned forward and spat right onto your stomach. The wet splatter hit your skin, sliding down over the curve of your hip.

A single tear slipped from the corner of your eye, but you didn’t flinch. You just laid there, still and open, chest rising in shallow, erratic breaths.

Sunghoon stepped back, reaching for his vape, fingers trembling slightly. He took a long drag, turning away as smoke filled his lungs. His jaw stayed clenched, shoulders tight as he tried to center himself.

“N-need… m-more cock…”

He froze. Slowly, he turned, eyes narrowing.

You hadn’t moved. Still flat on your back, limbs slack, eyes unfocused. But the tears kept coming, streaming quietly down the sides of your face. Your lips were curved into a strange, hazy smile.

“Want… more…” you breathed.

Without thinking, Sunghoon moved back to you. His vape clattered onto the nightstand as he dropped to the bed, hands gripping your waist. He pulled you into him, cradling your body, his chest pressing to yours. His arms wrapped around you tightly.

You kept whispering soft, broken words that made no sense. Repeating yourself and pleading.

Your body twitched slightly, your hips shifting even now, instinctively seeking more.

Sunghoon just held you tighter, burying his face into your neck and breathing in your scent, grounding himself in your warmth and in the truth of what you were.

[cinnamon-won]

MANCHILD

➢ pairing: cowboy!jake x fem!reader … ﹒cowboy au, strangers to lovers, smut \\ ➢ synopsis: you’re trouble, and jake sim knows it. you flirt like it’s your job, wear sin like perfume, and make men beg without even trying. he’s the only cowboy who doesn’t chase you. so naturally, he’s the only one you want. a small-town, slow-burn, filthy little game of who breaks first. ➢ word count: 9.5k

➢ warnings: smut!! minors dni. oral sex (f and m receiveing), unprotected sex (dont do it!!), public-ish sex, dirty talk, possessive!jake, softdom!jake, bratty!reader, spanking, cum eating, praise and degradation, cowboy kink™, jake is a menace but so are you, yeehaw but make it slutty

you’re wiping down the counter when you say it, voice low and lazy, like it’s just another tuesday night and not the kind of sentence that rearranges a man’s brain chemistry.

“i like my boys playing hard to get.”

you don’t mean it to land anywhere in particular. you’re just talking, tossing it out there between gossip, your voice sweet, meant only for the girl beside you. so she laughs, nudges you with her hip. “you mean the ones who ghost you after three days?”

“no,” you sigh, stretching like a cat behind the bar. “i mean the ones who pretend they don’t care. the ones too proud to beg. makes it more fun when they do.”

you say it like it’s a joke, but you mean every word. and across the room, jake sim hears you.

he hadn’t meant to. hadn’t even realized he was eavesdropping until the words tangled around him. he’s not the type to pay attention to chatter. he’s been coming to this place for years, knows how to tune out the flirting and the country drawls and the clink of empty glasses. but your voice is different. and he’s seen you around, of course. everyone has.

you’re the kind of girl people build myths around. the kind they write country songs about, because you have a laugh that could ruin a man. and every guy in town’s tried his luck. most ended up a little poorer, a little dumber, and twice as obsessed. and you never even blinked.

so when you breeze past his table, tray balanced on your palm, perfume trailing like a challenge, jake doesn’t move. doesn’t shift, doesn’t look up from his drink. not obviously, at least. he doesn’t give you the satisfaction. and you notice. oh, you notice. because you’re used to stares, to whistles and clumsy compliments and boys who fall over themselves to hand you things you never asked for. you’re used to the way they sit up straighter when you walk by, the way their words fumble out of their mouths like dropped coins.

but this one? this one just sits there. quiet and unmoved.

you catch him watching only once, just once, when you lean forward to grab a bottle from the bottom shelf, and when your eyes flick up, his are already somewhere else. not pretending, not faking it, just gone. and it pisses you off more than it should.

you don’t say anything. you just toss your hair over your shoulder and smile at the other girl again, louder this time. “i like my men all incompetent,” you declare, tucking a dollar into your apron, “and i swear they choose me, i’m not choosing them.”

jake lifts his beer to his lips, slow. doesn’t smile. doesn’t even smirk. and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel in control of the game. you hate that, but you also love that.

but you definitely hate rodeos.

too loud and sweaty. too many men with too little brain and too much cologne. it’s just the same loop every time—horses, hats, hollering, and someone calling you “sweet cheeks” like that’s supposed to make you blush instead of gag. normally, you stay far away. but tonight’s different. because you heard jake sim was riding.

so you show up. late, of course, on purpose. your boots crunch over dirt and beer cans as you make your way through the crowd, hips swinging just enough to remind everyone you don’t walk, you arrive. every man you pass straightens his spine like you might look at him if he behaves, and every woman rolls her eyes in that half-jealous way they always do.

but you don’t care. you’re not here for them. you’re here for the man on the horse.

and when you spot him, out in the pen, one hand gripping the reins, the other resting light against his thigh, you feel that slow, low flutter in your stomach that tastes a little like trouble. because he’s wearing that stupid hat again, the same beat-up one that sits just low enough to make his eyes a mystery and his mouth a promise. his shirt’s rolled up to the elbows, collar unbuttoned, forearms dusted with dirt and sin. he looks like sin. he rides like sin.

you lean against the fence, pop a piece of gum into your mouth, and pretend you’re not watching. but you are, everyone is. but he doesn’t look into the crowd, not once. he doesn’t wave, doesn’t show off, doesn’t even smile. he just focuses—on the gate, on the bull, on the seconds ticking down before the chaos. there’s something precise about it, almost like he’s not here to perform, just to win.

and you hate how hot that is.

when the gate finally opens and he bursts out, body moving like he’s part of the beast beneath him, the whole crowd goes wild. people scream, hats fly, beer spills. but you just chew your gum and watch. he holds on longer than anyone else that night. and when he lands, smooth and sharp and smug, your stomach does a traitorous little flip.

he still doesn’t look at you. not even when he walks past, later, towel slung over his shoulder, shirt sticking to his back, sweat dripping down his neck like something out of a country girl’s fantasy.

you’re standing by the concession stand now, pretending to look at overpriced chili fries when he walks right past you again. and for the first time, maybe in ever, you don’t know what to do with that. because everyone looks at you. everyone wants something from you.

but jake sim? jake sim doesn’t even blink.

you pop your gum again, louder than necessary. he still doesn’t turn. bastard. so you lick your lips, tilt your head, and mutter just loud enough for the girl next to you to hear—just loud enough for him to maybe hear, too— “god, i hate cowboys.”

except you don’t. you really, really don’t.

so you decide to wear red on saturday. not a soft red. not a muted, tasteful, wine-country red. no, this is bright, dangerous, stop-sign red. the kind that glitters when you walk and blasphemes when you bend. you slip it on slow, knowing exactly what it does to your body and your ego. it’s the kind of dress that starts fights and finishes them.

you don’t wear it for him, not technically. but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t check your lipstick twice before heading to the bar, or if you hadn’t spent a good three minutes wondering if jake sim was the type of man who noticed sequins.

(it turns out—he isn’t.)

he’s already there when you walk in, sitting in his usual corner like a piece of furniture carved from patience and denim. same hat, same shirt, same maddeningly blank expression. he doesn’t flinch when you walk by. doesn’t scan your legs like every other man. doesn’t lean over to whisper something to his friend and then laugh too loud. he just looks. once. and then looks away.

you could scream. instead, you smile. you spend the next hour putting on a show—not for him, of course, never that. just for… the atmosphere. you take extra time leaning over the bar. you laugh a little louder, let your fingers trail longer. you flirt, you twirl, you dance like you’re made of sugar and smoke.

and he just sits there. solid. steady and stoic in the face of sin.

when the jukebox shifts to something slow and sweaty, your friend pulls you out from behind the bar and spins you onto the floor. you go willingly, you always do. you dance with her, and then with some other guy, who’s a terrible flirt but a decent dancer. you laugh as you move, hips swaying, hands up, hair stuck to your neck. people cheer, whistles echo. someone shouts your name.

and still, jake sim doesn’t look. he sits there, beer untouched, fingers drumming slowly against the table. his eyes are on the wall, or the floor, or nowhere at all. you want to throw a chair at him. instead, you press your body just a little closer, let your head tip back, your laughter bubble out like champagne. 

and for half a second, just half, you swear you can feel his gaze. but by the time you glance over, it’s gone.

you finish the dance anyway, cheeks flushed from effort or ego or something worse, and when you walk past jake’s table again, you pause. just enough. he still doesn’t say anything. but his knuckles are white around the bottle, and that’s something.

and ​​you’re not much of a smoker, not really. it’s more about the image. the ritual of it—door swinging shut behind you, the hum of the saloon dulling into background noise, a lighter flicked slowly. you like the weight of the cigarette between your fingers, the way it makes your mouth look meaner. you especially like the way people look at you when you do it.

on sunday, though, the sidewalk is mostly empty. the neon sign above the door buzzes like it’s dying, and your heels click against the pavement. you’re alone, almost. because he’s there. leaning against his truck—of course it’s a truck, stupid and long and matte black— arms crossed, hat low, chewing on a toothpick like he was placed there by god.

you try not to look. but of course you fail.

“you always stand like that,” you say, taking a drag and blowing smoke sideways, “or is this a special occasion?”

he doesn’t turn, god, he doesn’t even smile. “like what?” he asks, voice low and scratchy, like he only uses it when necessary.

you flick ash toward the gravel and shift your weight, one hip out, just enough to suggest: i am here and i am wearing very little. so you say: “like you’re being painted,” you say. “by someone too obsessed with denim.”

that gets a reaction, barely—a twitch at the corner of his mouth. nothing close to a smile, but you count it anyway. “you don’t like denim?” he asks.

“i like it just fine,” you say, letting your eyes travel up and down. “i just think it likes you a lot.”

he hums, quiet and unfazed. the toothpick shifts from one side of his mouth to the other with devastating nonchalance. “you always flirt like that?” he asks finally, and it’s almost cruel, the way he says it—like he’s calling you out without even looking at you.

you tilt your head. “like what?”

“like you’re bored.”

you take another drag, slower this time. it buys you a second. maybe two. “i’m not bored,” you say. “i’m offended.”

he finally looks at you then. really looks. not a glance, not a flick of the eyes, but a slow, full scan that starts at your boots and ends at your mouth. “offended?”

“yeah,” you say. “you’re the first man in town who hasn’t tried to get a shot with me.”

he raises an eyebrow. your breath hitches, and you curse yourself for it. because god damn it. he pushes off the truck, and he steps forward, just one step, just close enough for you to smell him. smoke and leather and desert heat. “that why you came out here?” he asks. “to collect another admirer?”

“no,” you say, a little too quickly. “i came out to smoke.”

he nods, glances at your cigarette. “you’re holding it backwards.”

you look down, you are. shit.

he walks past you then, amused and infuriatingly tall, back toward the saloon. and just before the door swings shut behind him, he tosses the toothpick into the dirt and says, without looking: “you’ll have better luck with someone who gives a damn, sweetheart.”

you stand there for a minute, blinking smoke out of your eyes, lips parted in disbelief, cigarette still backwards in your hand. you don’t know whether to chase him or marry him. probably both.

the annual summer festival happens a week later, and the whole town’s lost its damn mind. kids run wild, drunk uncles argue, and there’s a man singing country ballads off-key on the main.

and you look stunning, obviously.  short dress, boots too clean to be from here, a pair of sunglasses you don’t need but wear anyway. you walk through the crowd like you’re not sweating like everyone else. and your arm? it’s linked tightly through lee heeseung’s. the sheriff’s son. walking cologne bottle. he thinks calling women “sugar tits” is flirtation and not a felony. you smile like he’s the most charming thing this town’s ever coughed up. and across the lot, jake sees everything.

he’s standing near the fence, drink in hand, chewing on his pride. he looks like a warning sign, his arms crossed so tight his biceps look like they’re planning a mutiny. he doesn’t blink, he doesn’t even pretend not to be watching. you glance at him once, and once is enough.

you laugh louder. lean closer to heeseung, who’s talking about god-knows-what—his truck, his workout, his daddy’s badge—and you nod like you care. every move is calculated. every smile is a weapon. because you know exactly what you’re doing. so you excuse yourself after a while, muttering something about needing another drink, slipping away from heeseung before he can say something else that’ll make your ears bleed. you walk through the back, your boots clicking fast.

you’re halfway to the bar when you feel a heat at your back. 

“fun night?” his voice is behind you. dry and quiet. 

you don’t turn around right away. you let the moment hang. and then you say, “depends,” running a hand through your hair like it’s not dripping down your neck. “you havin’ fun watching?”

he steps in closer. you feel him before you see him, his chest just a breath away from your shoulder. “you always hang off men you don’t like?” he asks, voice low enough to make your knees consider collapsing.

you shrug. “what makes you think i don’t like him?”

“you’re bored. i know what you look like when you’re havin’ fun.”

you hate how that line makes your stomach twist. hate it more that he’s right. so you finally turn to face him, hands on your hips, head tilted with mock sweetness. “what, jealous?”

he laughs. it’s short and dark. “of lee heeseung?” he scoffs. “sweetheart, i’m jealous of his dog before i’m jealous of him.”

you bite your lip to hide the smile, and you fail. “then why are you here?” you ask, eyes locking onto his. 

he leans in, just enough to make you dizzy. his gaze dips—down your lips, down your throat, down your dress—and lingers there, shameless. he looks like he wants to say more. or do more. and you kind of wish he would. but instead, he straightens up, steps back, and lets the space between you fill with heat again.

“because, darling, next time you wanna get under someone’s skin,” he says, “maybe pick a man who ain’t wearin’ daddy’s badge.”

and just like that, he turns and walks off. no touch. not even a goddamn smirk. you’re left standing there, pulse racing, drink forgotten, mouth parted like a woman halfway to disaster.

you fan yourself with your hand, mutter to no one, “fuck my life.”

and over the next few weeks, jake sim makes a habit out of losing his mind quietly.

he tells himself he’s just thirsty. that’s the only reason he keeps showing up to the saloon. he tells himself that every night he parks that stupid truck in the same stupid spot and walks through the same door into the same bar where you’re working, and where you, lately, won’t even look at him.

and that’s what kills him. because you used to look. all big eyes and evil little smiles, like you were constantly cooking up something sinful and he was the poor bastard about to taste it.

but now? now you barely glance in his direction. you walk past him like he’s just another part of the furniture. take other tables. pour drinks with your back to him. laugh at other men’s jokes.

and jake watches silently. desperately. he tries not to, he really does. but his eyes betray him every time. they flick to you the second you walk by—legs bare, hair pulled back with a pen, lips glossed to hell. you smell like vanilla and cigarette smoke, and it’s infuriating how much he wants to bite that smell off your throat.

and the worst part is that he knows you’re doing it on purpose. because sometimes, just sometimes, he catches the way your mouth twitches when you pass his table. the way you shift your weight a little slower, lean over a little further when you’re grabbing something. and when he doesn’t look up—when he pretends not to notice—you bite your lip like you’re trying not to laugh.

you’re playing hard to get. which is adorable, really. but it works. fuck, it works.

jake sim, who’s spent most of his adult life being aggressively unbothered, now sits at this bar like a man possessed. he sips beer and imagines things he shouldn’t. he watches your mouth wrap around straws and thinks about how it’d look wrapped around something else entirely. he stares at your hands pouring drinks and thinks about them fisting in his shirt, pressed against his belt, sliding down—

he coughs. shifts in his seat. takes another sip and pretends like he’s not half hard just because you leaned against the fridge five minutes ago.

he doesn’t talk to you. hasn’t, since the festival. because that would mean giving in. and if there’s one thing jake sim is worse at than feelings, it’s losing. but god, the way you walk? the way you smile at the wrong people? the way you drop the occasional “cowboy” into a sentence like it’s not meant to ruin him?

it’s almost sweet, the way you’re trying to get under his skin. but also: it’s working. and he thinks, not for the first time, that if you asked—if you looked at him a certain way—he’d let you wreck his entire life. you could tie him to the back of his own truck, spit on his mouth, call him useless in front of god and the sheriff, and he’d probably thank you. 

but you don’t look at him anymore. you just brush past him one more time, close enough for your skirt to kiss his knee, and say to no one in particular, real sweet: “why so sexy if so dumb?”

and jake swears to god he’s gonna start a bar fight just to calm down.

but the moment you step onto the dirt lot of the fairgrounds, sundress fluttering and sunglasses perched high on your nose, his brain short-circuits. ​​he sees you the second you walk in. he pretends not to, of course. jake sim has made an olympic sport out of pretending you don’t exist. but you’re here, again. and he’s fucked. 

he’s in the chute, adjusting his gloves, boots already caked in dust, chest strapped down tight like it might explode. he tells himself to focus on the ride, on the bull, on anything but the way your thighs are peeking out from under that goddamn dress.

you shouldn’t be here. he was hoping you’d show up, obviously, but now that you’re actually here, it feels like a setup. like god’s decided to make him fail in front of everyone and look good doing it. so he refuses to look directly at you. not while you’re standing near the fence, leaning against the railing like you’re modeling for the “ruin a man” calendar. not while you’re laughing at something some poor bastard just said, tossing your hair over your shoulder. and certainly not when you suck on that red snow cone.

he adjusts his hat lower. counts backward from ten. tries to remember how to breathe.

he’s still got it under control—mostly—until the moment he’s mounting the bull and glances toward the crowd just once. just a peek. and there you are, watching, with your lip between your teeth and a look that could sterilize holy water.

he slips. just a little. just enough for one boot to miss its mark and his hand to falter on the rope. no one notices. not really. but he does.

the ride still goes fine. better than fine, actually. he makes it the full eight seconds, lands smooth, wipes the sweat off his brow like he’s not a mess on the inside. like he didn’t almost fall off a 1,500-pound animal because you were licking syrup off your finger.

later, after the noise dies down, after the dust settles and the crowd starts dispersing into beer and music and gossip, you find him. he’s near the back of the stables, away from the noise. hat off, hair damp, shirt sticking to his back in places that make your hands twitch.

you lean against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted. he sees you coming. of course he does.

you don’t say anything right away. just look him over like you’re checking for bruises. “didn’t fall this time,” you say.

“not for lack of tryin’,” he mutters.

you raise an eyebrow. “the bull or me?”

he doesn’t answer. you take that as a win. so you step closer, slow. toe the dirt with your boot, pretend to be casual. but everything about you tonight is a performance, and he knows it. the cherry lip gloss. the dress with buttons that strain when you breathe. the way you keep shifting your weight like your thighs are begging for attention. you’re trying to get to him, and you are. but he’ll die before he admits it.

“you always ride that well,” you say, voice syrupy and cruel, “or was that just for me?”

“don’t flatter yourself, darlin’.”

“too late,” you grin. “flattered myself the whole way here.”

he laughs at that, but he still doesn’t move. you take another step. now you’re in front of him, barely a breath of air between your bodies. the tension crackles, like something’s about to snap. he looks down at you, his jaw tight, eyes darker than usual. you could kiss him, you could push him. you could drop to your knees and he wouldn’t stop you. but he stays still. and you know what that means. he’s losing it. slowly and deliciously.

so you just smile, all teeth and trouble, and say: “you gonna say thank you for coming, or do i gotta leave and come back so you can do it right?”

he looks down at you and decides—fuck it. if this is a game, he’s gonna play. so his hand lifts. two fingers hook lazily in your belt in your dress, just enough to make your breath hitch and your knees forget how to behave. he doesn’t pull, doesn’t tug, just lets it sit there. you blink up at him like you weren’t expecting him to do this. because you weren't.

“thought you came to watch the ride,” he says, voice like gravel and heat. “didn’t know you were hopin’ to start one.”

you’re stunned for a second, flustered. but you recover fast. your hand comes up, trailing a single finger down the buttons of his shirt, slowly. and you giggle. you say nothing, you only giggle and smile. then you step back, leaving him standing there with nothing but the smell of your perfume and a growing problem in his jeans. he blinks once. twice. and you’re already gone.

a few days later, he sees you again at the gas station. you’re sitting on the hood of your car. your car is pink, of course it’s pink. girly in that deadly way. floral air freshener, fuzzy dice, a sparkly steering wheel cover and a bumper sticker that probably says something like “yee-haw, bitch.”

you’re licking a cherry lollipop. wearing the tiniest pair of shorts known to mankind and a tank top that does nothing to hide your agenda. your legs are crossed, one foot bouncing lazily in the air like you have nowhere to be and every intention of being stared at. and people are staring. two guys walk by, heads snapping so fast they nearly sprain something. an old man in a tractor cap gives a long, disapproving look that lasts until he crashes into a trash can.

you? you smile sweetly. wave. keep sucking on that lollipop like you’re not ruining lives. and jake watches from the far pump, arms crossed, jaw tight, trying so hard not to enjoy the sight of you doing exactly what you do best.

and then, just like you’ve sensed him from across the lot, you slide off the hood, sway your hips across the concrete, and approach him with the most dangerous sentence in your arsenal: “cowboy,” you say, “i think i got a flat.”

he raises an eyebrow. looks at your car. no flat. you grin like the liar you are. “could you check for me?” you ask, voice all syrup and fake innocence. “i’d do it myself, but—” you shrug, twisting a strand of hair around your finger. “i don’t wanna chip a nail.”

he stares at you and you stare back. he knows what this is. you want him on his knees. and god help him—he’s thinking about it.

“you sure?” he says, tone dry. “seems like you’re the type to pop a tire just to see what crawls out the woodwork.”

“you caught me,” you beam. 

he sighs, but he walks over anyway. you trail behind, delighted, watching him crouch down in front of your car, like he is your personal cowboy-themed thirst trap come to life. he’s in front of you, all strong hands and dirty jeans, touching your tires like it’s a performance.

you lean back against the hood. cross your legs the other way. suck louder on the lollipop, just to be mean. and jake knows the tire’s fine, he also knows he’s losing. and when he looks up—sweat on his brow, eyes half-lidded, gaze landing right between your crossed legs—you don’t say a word. you just smile and keep chewing. you got what you wanted: him on his knees.

and it happens on a thursday. the saloon’s half-full, sticky with the usual noise, and you’ve got a tray in one hand. you spot him before he sees you. or maybe he lets you think that. he’s sitting at the bar, same stool as always. sipping something dark with his hat tipped low and one leg stretched out like the floor belongs to him. he’s talking to someone, a girl you don’t recognize, leaning in just enough to make your stomach twist.

he’s smiling. he never smiles, at least not like that. and that’s when it hits you: he’s doing it on purpose.

your first instinct is to roll your eyes. your second is to walk over there and ruin both their nights. instead, you drop off your tray at the counter, smooth your skirt, and remind yourself that you’re not bothered. not even a little. so you circle around the bar, busy yourself with orders. chat with a guy in a cowboy hat, laugh too loud, lean too close. and eventually, you feel that static buzz that only comes from being watched.

you turn your head, and of course he’s looking. not just looking, jake is devouring. his eyes trail down your legs, up your hips, pause at your chest like he’s making a list of crimes he’d commit if the sheriff weren’t his boss’s daddy. and your heart stutters, your mouth dries. you take a step toward him before you even realize it.

but then he gets up and walks past you, doesn’t say a word. and you think, what the hell?

but then his hand brushes yours, just barely. like an accident that wasn’t an accident. you whip around to say something sharp, but he’s already halfway to the door. and you follow. you don’t mean to, really, but you do. you catch him near the back hallway, one hand braced against the wall, like he knew you’d come after him.

you open your mouth to say something clever, but he steps in real close. close enough that your back hits the wall and your knees almost collapse. “somethin’ wrong, darlin’?” he asks, voice all silk.

“what was that?” you hiss, trying not to stare at his mouth. “flirting with that girl like i wasn’t in the room?”

he smirks. smirks. “didn’t know i needed permission.”

you cross your arms. push your chest up just enough to be annoying. “you’re playing games.”

he shrugs. “so are you.” his hand lifts, not to touch you (the bastard’s too good for that), but to brush a piece of lint off your shoulder. “you looked a little jealous,” he murmurs, voice dipped in sin. “cute look on you.”

your pulse stutters, but you refuse to show it. “you’re gonna die alone,” you say, breathier than intended.

“probably,” he says. “but not before i ruin you first.”

you suck in a breath. his face is right there, close enough that if you leaned forward, you’d taste the whiskey on his lips. you think he might do it, you think maybe this is it. but he doesn’t kiss you. instead, he leans in slow, his breath hot against your cheek, then presses a kiss right there, soft and warm and maddening. the kind of kiss that doesn’t take anything but still leaves you ruined.

then he pulls back. smirking, so smug and infuriating. “goodnight, sweetheart,” he says. and then he walks away, like he didn’t just light a fire in your chest and leave it burning.

and there’s a party on the edge of town on that week—somebody’s cousin’s birthday or maybe just an excuse to drink next to a fire. there’s music blasting out of speakers in the back of a lifted truck, people doing shots, and you’re there, of course, making every poor bastard lose his mind just by existing.

you’re wearing denim shorts and a little white top that ties in the front, and jake sim wants to fight the concept of clothing for making something that looks that illegal.

he sees you before you see him. and he sees heeseung before you do. pretty boy with too-white teeth and too many opinions about his own biceps. he’s been in love with you since high school and never got the hint. but tonight, you’re letting him talk. you’re laughing, you’re standing close. and you don’t even have to look across the fire to know jake’s watching.

you toss your hair over your shoulder. heeseung says something about his new truck and how it “purrs like a mountain cat,” which isn’t a thing, but you smile anyway. you’re about to make some flirty comment just to push it further when a hand wraps around your arm.

not rough, not mean, just firm. you whip around and there he is. jake. his face is unreadable. calm, almost. but his grip says something else entirely.

you blink. “well, hey there, cowboy—”

“walk,” he says.

you try to act annoyed, dramatic. “what if i don’t feel like—”

“walk.”

so you do. he leads you away from the fire, away from the crowd, toward the gravel lot where his truck is. you expect him to say something, yell, maybe. accuse you of something dramatic and delicious. but instead, he spins you around and presses you up against the passenger door.

his hand is still on your arm. the other braces beside your head. his body doesn’t touch yours, not really, but he’s close enough that you can feel the heat off his skin and the tension coiled under it. you blink up at him, wide-eyed and fake-innocent. “is this how you treat all your women, cowboy? dragging them into parking lots and pinning them to cars?”

“no,” he says. “just the ones who know better.”

you gasp softly, it’s almost a laugh. “oh, so now you’re mad?”

he leans in, mouth inches from yours, eyes dark and hungry. “you wore that top on purpose.”

you smirk. “maybe i was hot.”

he looks down, pointedly. “you are. and you know what you’re doin’.”

“do i?”

he exhales sharp through his nose, like he’s trying not to combust. and when he speaks again, his voice is lower. “you really want him to touch you? that what you’re lookin’ for?”

you blink slow and wet your lips. “maybe i just want somebody who actually does it.”

the look on his face shifts just slightly. then he leans in. you think this time it’ll happen, finally, the kiss, the collapse. the moment the game ends. but instead, his lips graze your jaw, not your mouth. his hand dips low, fingers brushing the hem of your shorts like he’s thinking about it.

“you don’t want ‘somebody,’” he whispers. “you want me.” you’re not breathing. he pulls back again, just enough to leave you gasping in the space between what was almost and what still isn’t. “but you’ll have to beg, sweetheart,” he adds, smirking. “and i don’t think you’re ready to do that yet.”

he turns like he’s going to walk away again, like that’s the last word. like he didn’t just light a match and drop it between your legs. but this time, you don’t let him. your hand shoots out fast and grabs his belt loop. he pauses and stills, and slowly, turns his head back toward you.

“you think i won’t?” you ask, voice low and deadly sweet.

he looks down at your hand, still fisted in his jeans like a challenge. then his eyes flick back up to yours—dark, wild, curious. he steps closer, just one step. then another. until he’s right in front of you again, and this time there’s no space. no teasing, no gaps. just you, caught between a truck door and the worst mistake you want to make.

he leans in. both hands come to rest on either side of your head. caging you in and claiming the air between you. “careful now,” he murmurs, voice rough. “you’re not the only one who likes to play.”

and then his knee presses forward, between your legs. you gasp. it’s not subtle, not even a little. he fits it there, deliberate and slow, until your thighs part just enough to make room for the solid weight of him. his thigh is strong and warm. your breath catches and your fingers twitch where they’re tangled in his shirt.

he’s watching your face. watching your mouth, like he’s trying to memorize the exact second you lose composure. but you don’t, you smile. then, slow and wicked, you roll your hips just a little against his thigh—enough to make him grunt, low in his throat, like he wasn’t ready for it. “you started it,” you say, feigning innocence. “don’t get shy now, cowboy.”

he exhales sharp. one of his hands drops and wraps tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him. your shorts ride up. the pressure of his thigh against you gets sharper, filthier, almost unbearable. “you think this is a joke?” he growls.

“no,” you breathe. “i think it’s foreplay.”

his hand tightens. he shifts his thigh just barely upward, grinding it between your legs, and you have to bite your lip to keep the sound in. he leans in, mouth ghosting over your ear. “i could make you come like this,” he says, voice like a sin you want to confess over and over. “right here, against my truck, with nothin’ but my thigh between your legs.”

you shiver, but you smile. “you talk a big game,” you whisper, lips brushing his jaw. “but so far all you’ve done is flex in tight jeans and give me blue balls.”

he lets out a sharp laugh, dangerous. then his hands drop to your hips, grip possessive, and he rolls you against his thigh again. this time harder and filthier. like he wants to see how far you’ll let it go. your knees almost buckle. your head hits the truck window. but your hands are in his hair now, pulling, tugging, dragging his face closer.

and still he doesn’t kiss you. you pant, flushed and desperate and mad as hell. he just smirks. “look at you,” he says. “makin’ a mess on me and i haven’t even touched you proper.”

you glare at him and your lip curls in frustration. “maybe you’re scared.”

he arches a brow. “of what?”

“of me.” you press down hard against his thigh again—your move now, your game—and you feel him tense. feel him curse under his breath like you’ve just won a round he didn’t even know he was playing. you lean in and whisper against his mouth: “i could ruin you.”

he inhales sharp. you swear you hear him mutter fuck. but still, still he doesn’t kiss you. he pulls back, eyes wild, chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile.

and then he steps away. leaves you there. aching and panting. blinking like you just came out of a trance. “one of these days, sweetheart,” he says, adjusting his belt like he needs a minute. “you’re gonna be the one beggin’.”

and then he climbs into the driver’s seat and drives away. you stare after him, thighs trembling, heart racing, and mutter:

“i’m gonna set his truck on fire.”

and jake sim spends the week trying not to think about you. which is stupid, because you’re everywhere. in his sheets, in his hands, in his mouth when he mutters fuck at two in the morning and fists his hair like it’ll shake you out of his head.

he sees you in the curve of a beer bottle. in the red of a stoplight. in the fucking grocery store, standing in front of a watermelon display like you invented sin.

he can’t focus. can’t sleep. can’t work. every time he bends over a fence or climbs into the truck, he hears your voice in his ear: i could ruin you. every time he closes his eyes, he sees your thighs wrapped around his fucking leg. he’s losing it. actually, clinically losing it.

and the worst part is that he let it happen. he swore he wouldn’t. told himself he wasn’t like the rest of them—the boys who lined up for your attention like fools in heat. he used to watch you tease and twist and toy with every man in town and laugh. not because he didn’t get it, because he did. but now he’s just another name on your list. and he hates it.

he’s a grown man. a cowboy, for christ’s sake. he should be immune to lip gloss and flirty banter and skirts short enough to send him to jail. but he’s not. and the worst part is that you know, you know what you’re doing. you know exactly how to stand, how to talk, how to glance up with that little tilt of your head like oops, did i break you again?

and he’s fucking gone. he’s a freak for it. a perv. he thinks about your mouth at church. he imagines your legs wrapped around his waist when he’s driving. he’s so far gone it’s pathetic.

so on thursday, when the thought of you cleaning up at the saloon alone hits him like a truck, he doesn’t fight it. he gets in the truck, drives like the devil’s chasing him. when he gets there, the bar is dark, empty. just the faint sound of clinking glasses and a broom dragging across the floor.

you’re behind the counter. sweaty and tired. loose hair falling around your face. still the hottest thing he’s ever fucking seen.

the door creaks open. you don’t look up. “we’re closed,” you call out, distracted.

then you lift your head, and you pause. your lips part. 

his boots hit the floor. he doesn’t say a word. just crosses the room in four heavy steps, reaches for your wrist, and pulls you in like he needs you to breathe. and then— he kisses you.

not sweet. not shy, not teasing. hot, open and filthy.

he groans when your mouth opens under his, when your fingers clutch his shirt like you’ve been waiting for this just as long. his hands are everywhere, your waist, jaw, the small of your back. he kisses like he’s mad about it, like this is a punishment.

your back hits the counter. your teeth knock. a glass falls off. and still, he kisses you like he’s trying to erase the space between you. 

he pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your cheek. “you win,” he mutters. “is that what you wanna hear?”

you’re panting, flushed. “not yet,” you whisper. “i like my man playing real hard to get,” you whisper, breath ghosting his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to tease.

and that’s the moment he snaps. his hands come up, cup your jaw like he’s trying to memorize it, and he kisses you hard, messy and desperate. and you moan, you can’t help it. he tastes like whiskey and salt and everything you’ve been dreaming about at three in the morning.

his hips press forward, tight against yours, grinding you back into the edge of the counter like he wants to leave a dent in your spine. and you grin against his lips. you reach back blindly, “you gonna keep kissing me like a saint,” you pant, pulling back, “or you gonna bend me over something, cowboy?”

his eyes go dark. “oh, you wanna act like a brat now?” he growls.

you smirk. “what gave it away?”

he grabs you, lifts you right off the floor and sets you down on a table like you weigh nothing. your legs part without hesitation and he steps between them, his hips hard against yours, and his hands gripping your thighs like he’s trying to decide which one he wants to ruin first. “look at you,” he mutters, eyes trailing down your body. “pretty little mouth, dirty little attitude.”

you tilt your head, all fake innocence. “you like it.”

he leans in close, mouth against your ear. “i’m gonna fuckin’ break you.”

your breath vanishes. his fingers trail up your thigh, slow, teasing, maddening. he doesn’t go where you want him, but just next to it, brushing the edges, watching you squirm. “i know what you need,” he murmurs. “you need someone to shut that mouth. teach you some fuckin’ manners.”

you wrap your legs around his waist. “you volunteering?”

he laughs, low and filthy. “baby, i’ve been applying for that job all month.” then he grinds forward, slow and mean, dragging a moan out of you that echoes across the empty bar. you gasp and clutch at his shoulders. he grabs your hips, presses them down, holds you there. “no running now,” he mutters. “you been beggin’ for this.”

you roll your hips up into his. “you liked it.”

he groans, kissing down your neck, biting just enough to make you gasp again. “liked it so much i nearly wrecked my truck thinkin’ about you.” his hand slips under your top. calloused fingers on your skin, rough and reverent all at once. he palms your chest like he’s claiming it. like he’s mad you let anyone else look. you arch into him, moaning. “so impatient,” he teases, voice a growl. “what happened to makin’ me beg, sweetheart?”

“shut up and fuck me.”

he smirks against your throat. “say please.”

you groan, kick your heels against his ass. “cowboy—”

“say it.”

you hiss, then lean in and bite his lip. “please.”

he pulls back just enough to smirk, breath hot against your lips. “please what?” he asks, voice low, gravel rough.

you glare at him, or at least, you try to. but your legs are wrapped around his waist, your hips aching for friction, and his hand is already creeping up your thigh like he’s got nowhere to be but inside you. so you say it, no shame. no power left to pretend. “please, fuck me, jakey.”

he groans loudly, like the words physically hit him. then he mutters something that sounds like jesus fucking christ, and crashes his mouth into yours. and this kiss is different. it is hungry and starving. he grinds against you, slow and hard, pressing you down into the table with the full weight of his body. your shirt rides up. your back arches. the wood creaks underneath like it might give out, and honestly—if it breaks, let it. you’ll thank it for its service.

his hands are everywhere. palming your thighs, squeezing your ass, gripping your waist like he owns it. “look at you,” he rasps, lips trailing down your throat. “fuckin’ dream girl of the county. all these poor bastards lining up for a smile, and here you are—legs open for me.”

you gasp and whimper and dig your nails into his shoulders. he presses his hips harder, grinds right against where you need him most. your head drops back, your moan echoes. “you love this,” he says, panting now. “bein’ up here where anyone could walk in. where anyone could see you gettin’ ruined by me.” you don’t answer, you can’t. “what happened to that bratty mouth, huh?” he growls, dragging his teeth along your jaw. “where’s all that sass now?”

“shut up,” you breathe. “just—please.”

“beggin’ again?” he taunts. “thought you didn’t do that.”

“i’m making an exception.”

he laughs, dark and hot, and grabs your hips tighter, pulling you to the edge of the table. “you should see yourself right now,” he mutters, undoing his belt with one hand. “look so fuckin’ pretty like this. so desperate.”

“you’re the one that came after me.”

“yeah,” he admits, lining himself up, voice breaking a little, “because i’m a goddamn fool for you.”

and then he pulls back. his hand wraps around your jaw, gentle but firm, tilting your face up to look at him. he’s flushed and panting. pupils blown wide. and his voice, when he speaks, is low and dangerous and thick with control he’s barely holding. “get on your knees.”

your heart stops and your grin widens. “you asking or telling me, cowboy?”

he presses his thumb into your cheek, leans down, kisses the corner of your mouth like he’s being nice before doing something awful. “i’m tellin’ you,” he mutters, “be a good girl and make me feel good.”

you blink slow, mouth open, pretending to think about it. “what’s in it for me?”

his hand slips down, fingers wrapping around your throat just enough to make you feel it—not choking, just owning. “my cock in your mouth,” he growls. “and maybe if you do it right, i’ll let you come later.”

your knees buckle, but your pride doesn’t. you hum, all fake sweetness. “guess i could use something to suck on.” you drop to the floor, knees hitting the sticky saloon wood like you belong there. he watches you, chest heaving and jaw tight. trying not to come just from the sight of you looking so cute on your knees for him. you look up at him, eyes wide, lips parted. “you nervous?” you tease.

he barks a laugh. “just waitin’ to see if the mouth that talks so much can finally do something useful.”

you pout. then reach for his belt, slow and dramatic, undoing it like it’s the last gift under a christmas tree. and when his cock springs free, hard, flushed, huge, your mouth waters. you glance up again. “you been thinkin’ about this, haven’t you?”

he hisses as you wrap your hand around him, thumb brushing the tip. “every fuckin’ night,” he admits, voice ragged. “jesus, i’d wake up hard just rememberin’ how you looked struttin’ around in those little shorts behind the bar.”

you stroke him once, twice, slow and sweet. then you lean forward, kiss the tip. just a whisper of a touch. he groans. his hand finds your hair, pulling it already. you drag your tongue along the underside, all the way down, then back up again. he swears, low and filthy. “look at you,” he rasps. “knees on the fuckin’ floor, pretty mouth full of me. you know how many men in this town would give their right hand for this?”

you hum around him. smile with your eyes, because you do know. and you love that it’s you doing this to him. so you take more of him in, then more. until he’s deep in your throat, and he’s gripping the edge of the table so tight you think he might snap it in half. “fuck,” he moans. “that’s it, sweetheart. just like that. takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

his hips twitch forward. just a little, just enough to make you gag—on purpose, and he loves that. he loves the sound. he loves how messy your mouth is for him. so he starts to move in shallow thrusts. hand in your hair, not rough, but claiming. “you gonna let me come in your mouth, baby?” he groans. “gonna swallow it all, show me how good you are?”

you nod and moan, sucking harder, and that’s it. he gasps, his hips snap forward. his whole body shudders. he comes hard, hot and thick on your tongue, fingers tangled in your hair, voice wrecked. you swallow it all, slowly. wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, like a brat.

you’re still on your knees, lips wet, tongue peeking out in satisfaction like you just finished dessert and might go back for seconds. he looks down at you, utterly wrecked. and then he laughs breathless and disbelieving. “jesus christ,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair like you just short-circuited every last nerve. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you grin, smug as sin. but then he leans down, and his strong arms slide under your shoulders, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you squeal, half-laughing, hands flying to grip his shirt. “hey—!”

“shut up,” he breathes. “my turn.”

he sets you down on the table again, right where you were before. but this time, he doesn’t kiss you yet. doesn’t even touch you. he just steps back, eyes dark and hungry. and says, “spread.”

you blink, chest rising. “what?”

he tilts his head, steps back in, hands firm on your knees. “you heard me, sweetheart. open up. now i’m gonna make you feel good.”

you part your thighs slow, watching his eyes drop, watching his breath hitch. you lean back on your elbows, head tilted, and he glances at the wet mark through your shorts. he drops to his knees, his hands grip your thighs, dragging you to the edge like he’s pulling you into hell with him. he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, slow and reverent, like you’re a prayer and a sin at the same time.

“you wet for me already?” he murmurs, hot breath brushing your core through your shorts.

you nod, breathless. “since you walked in.”

he grins. bites the soft skin just above your knee. “should’ve told me. i’d’ve come sooner.”

he yanks your shorts and panties down fast, like he’s impatient. because he probably is. so then—finally—he licks you. one long, slow stroke that makes your back arch off the table. you gasp. grab the edge and moan his name so soft it sounds like a confession.

and he devours you. not gentle, not slow. just hungry and precise, like he’s got something to prove. his tongue works you open, circles and flicks and drives you fucking wild. he hums when you buck your hips, groans when you moan. his grip on your thighs bruises. his tongue never stops. “so fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against you. “no wonder they all wanna taste.”

you whimper. he slides a finger in, then another. crooks them just right. your whole body tightens. your breath catches. “that’s it, baby,” he whispers. “ride my face. let go. give it to me.”

you do. you shatter, legs trembling, back arched, voice gone. you’re gasping his name, tugging his hair, begging him to stop or keep going—you don’t even know. he doesn’t stop. not until your whole body is shaking. not until your thighs twitch and your breathing turns ragged and your hand slaps the table in surrender.

then finally he pulls back with his mouth glistening with you. his smile is wrecked, his eyes wide and wild. he looks up at you like you just handed him the goddamn meaning of life. “holy fuck,” he whispers, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “you came so good for me, angel.”

you try to glare, you really do. but your limbs don’t work. your knees are jelly. your stomach’s still twitching in aftershocks. and then he stands, towering. glowing like he just found religion between your legs. and then he leans down, kisses your jaw, and says—soft and cocky— “think you can take one more?”

your eyes flutter open, you blink at him. “you’re insane.”

he grins and kisses the corner of your mouth. “that ain’t a no.”

you roll your eyes. but you’re already lifting your hips, already turning. and then his hands are on your waist, firm and steady, spinning you around until you’re bent over the table. your cheek presses to the cool wood. your arms stretch forward. “fuck,” you whisper.

he hums behind you, hands sliding up your back, bunching your shirt at your ribs. “look at you,” he mutters. “so goddamn ready. still drippin’ for me.” he leans over you, chest to your back, mouth at your ear. “tell me you want it.”

you inhale shakily. “i want it.”

his hand slides between your thighs. fingers glide through your wetness. “tell me who’s gonna make you come again.”

you gasp. “you are.”

“say my name, sweetheart.”

“you, jakey.”

he groans. lines himself up. and then he pushes in. you gasp, you arch and whimper. his hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, controlling the pace. his hips move slow and deep, dragging a moan out of you every time he bottoms out. “so tight,” he pants. “like you’re fuckin’ made for me.”

you moan his name again, cheek still to the table, one hand reaching back to grab at his wrist. he laughs low and feral. “no runnin’ now,” he growls. “you said you could take one more.”

his thrusts get faster and harder. the table starts to creak. your moans start to sound like pleas. and he’s loving every second. he leans in, bites your shoulder, mutters against your skin, “gonna fuck you so dumb you forget how to sass.” you gasp and grin. you push back against him just to be a brat. he grabs your hips, pulls you back onto him hard. “jesus,” he hisses. “you like this, don’t you? bein’ used like this.”

“i like you like this,” you pant. “all obsessed.”

he grunts, and slaps your ass with a sting that makes your knees wobble. you yelp. and then he laughs, breathless, wicked. “i’m not lettin’ anyone else touch you again,” he mutters, voice cracked open, raw in your ear. his hand comes down to your hip, gripping. “this?” he growls, grinding into you harder, deeper. “this fuckin’ mouth, these thighs, this perfect little pussy— all mine.”

you moan, loud and shameless. he leans in, mouth hot on your neck, and his hand slips around you, fingers finding your clit like they never forgot it. he rubs in tight, fast circles, exactly how your body begs for. “come for me again, baby,” he pants. “show me how fuckin’ pretty you fall apart.”

and you do. you break, and your cry punches through the empty bar, your walls clenching so tight around him it nearly knocks the air from his lungs. your hands scrabble for the edge of the table, your face buried, your voice gone, just moans, sobs, his name like a prayer you can’t stop saying. and then—still shaking, still high on it— you whisper, broken and filthy: “inside. jake. please—come inside.”

he fucking loses it. his hips stutter, his breath catches, his hand grabs your ass roughly. “fuck, baby—” his head drops to your back. his rhythm falters, he’s right there. “you want me to fill you up?” he growls, desperate. “want me leavin’ you dripping with me?”

you nod, frantic. “yes—yes, please—i want it, i want all of it—”

he groans, loud. his thrusts go messy. erratic. wild. “goddamn, you’re gonna ruin me,” he gasps. and then he comes, deep and hard. body shuddering as he spills inside you, hips pressed tight, your name falling from his lips like a sin he’s finally ready to be forgiven for.

his hand stays in your hips. his forehead pressed to your back. both of you panting. shaking. wrecked. and you smile, eyes closed, face against the table, voice barely above a whisper:

“told you you were obsessed.”

he laughs—hoarse, drunk on you—and kisses your spine. “shut up,” he murmurs. “you fuckin’ love it.”

after, at your place, after he wrecked you in every possible way, you watch him fall asleep beside you, arm slung across your waits like he is still trying to stake a claim. cowboy hat on the floor. love bite on his throat. your lipstick on his chest.

you smile to yourself. “i like my men playing hard to get,” you whisper.

lucky for you, he never stood a chance.

author’s note: soooo i saw this edit of jake in full cowboy mode and lost every functioning brain cell i had left. then i watched manchild by sabrina carpenter and went wait what if… so this fic accidentally became the most porn-with-plot thing i’ve ever written. but i regret nothing. cowboy jake has a chokehold on me and the saloon girl in my brain wouldn’t shut up until he was wrecked and begging. anyway, yee-fucking-haw 🤠

my masterlist // perma taglist: @rairaiblog @nqdirr @iyoonjh @saeris-world @jayparked @solonenova

© all rights reserved @/heejamas — do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures

[cinnamon-won]

Digital Shadows- Yang Jungwon

pairing: yang jungwon x f!reader genre: hacker x reader, psychological thriller, dark romance, suspense warnings: obsessive behavior, hacking, privacy invasion, psychological tension, explicit sexual content (18+, minors DNI), unprotected sex (wrap it up IRL!), oral sex (m receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, teasing, begging, strong language word count: 9.6k a/n: A thrilling mix of suspense and dark romance, this fanfiction dives into Jungwon’s obsessive hacking of Y/N’s life and their intense, twisted love. Written with vivid emotional detail, it’s a wild ride of fear, desire, and digital danger. Thanks for reading this tale—more to come!

The faint hum of your laptop filled the quiet of your bedroom, its blue light casting jagged shadows across the walls. You sat cross-legged on your bed, scrolling through your inbox, when a new email notification popped up. The sender’s name was just a single letter: J. No subject line, no greeting, just a single sentence that made your skin prickle: “You looked nice in that red hoodie today, Y/N.” Your fingers froze over the trackpad. You hadn’t worn that hoodie since yesterday, and you’d only gone to the library and back—alone.

This wasn’t the first message. For three weeks, J had been slipping into your digital life like a ghost. It started with a text from an unknown number: “That latte art at Brew Haven is overrated, don’t you think?” You’d brushed it off as a prank, but then came the DMs on your private Instagram—comments about songs you’d played, books you’d posted, even the exact time you’d left your house one evening. Whoever J was, they weren’t just guessing. They knew you.

You clicked the email shut and glanced at your phone, its screen dark but somehow menacing. Downstairs, your sister Ryujin’s laughter rang out, sharp and carefree, mingling with the low voices of her boyfriend Jay and his best friend, Jungwon. They’d been over all afternoon, sprawled across the living room couch, playing some co-op game on Jay’s PlayStation. You’d kept your distance, as usual. Jay was fine—sweet, reliable, the kind of guy who’d help with dishes unprompted. But Jungwon? He was different. Too smooth, too sharp, like he was always calculating something behind those dark eyes.

You shook your head, trying to dislodge the creeping suspicion. Jungwon was just a guy, not some shadowy cyberstalker. Still, the timing of J’s messages felt too convenient. They always came when you were alone, late at night or early in the morning, when Jungwon wasn’t around. Or was he? You couldn’t be sure anymore.

The doorbell had rung earlier that day, and Ryujin had let Jungwon in, his black backpack slung over one shoulder, his hair slightly messy from the wind. He’d flashed you a grin as he passed your room, his voice carrying a teasing lilt. “Y/N, still glued to that laptop? You’re gonna turn into a robot.” You’d rolled your eyes, muttering something about schoolwork, but his gaze lingered a second too long, like he was reading you instead of just looking.

Now, alone in your room, you opened your CCTV app, a habit you’d picked up since your parents installed the system last year. The feed loaded: the front porch, empty; the backyard, still; the living room, where Ryujin, Jay, and Jungwon were laughing over a spilled bowl of popcorn. Jungwon’s head was tilted toward his phone, his fingers moving swiftly across the screen. You squinted, trying to make out what he was doing, but the feed was too grainy. Probably just texting, you told yourself. But your gut churned.

Another ping. A new message from J: “Why’re you checking the cameras, Y/N? Don’t trust your guests?” Your breath caught. The CCTV app was still open on your phone, the living room feed staring back at you. You slammed the app shut, your heart hammering. This wasn’t a coincidence. Whoever J was, they could see what you were doing—right now.

The next morning, you woke to the smell of coffee and the clatter of dishes downstairs. Ryujin was in the kitchen, flipping pancakes, while Jay hovered nearby, stealing bites of batter. Jungwon was there too, leaning against the counter, his laptop open and his fingers flying across the keys. He looked up as you entered, his smile easy but sharp, like a blade hidden in velvet. “Morning, Y/N. Sleep okay?”

You nodded, avoiding his gaze as you grabbed a mug. “Fine.”

“Rough night?” he pressed, closing his laptop with a soft click. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

Ryujin laughed, oblivious. “She’s just stressed about finals, right, Y/N? You’ve been glued to your laptop 24/7.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, pouring coffee to avoid the conversation. But Jungwon’s eyes didn’t leave you, and you felt them like a weight. He was always like this—too observant, too interested. Last week, he’d “accidentally” bumped into you at the café you frequented, claiming he was just passing by. The week before, he’d shown up at your house with Jay, offering to fix your router when it started lagging. You’d declined, but he’d lingered, asking questions about your tech setup with a curiosity that felt too intense.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jungwon said now, his tone casual but his eyes anything but. “Your laptop’s pretty high-end, right? Mind if I borrow it later? Mine’s been crashing, and I’ve got some… projects to finish.”

Your grip tightened on the mug. “Why not use Jay’s?”

Jay snorted, tossing a pancake onto a plate. “My laptop’s ancient, dude. It can barely run Netflix.”

Jungwon shrugged, his smile disarming. “Yours is faster, Y/N. I’ll be careful, promise.”

Every instinct screamed no. But Ryujin was watching, and Jay was nodding like it was no big deal, and saying no without a reason would sound paranoid. “Fine,” you said finally, your voice tighter than you meant. “But don’t mess with anything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jungwon replied, his grin widening. He opened his laptop again, and you caught a glimpse of green code scrolling across the screen before he angled it away.

That afternoon, you handed over your laptop, your reluctance masked by a forced shrug. Jungwon settled on the living room couch, his posture relaxed but his focus razor-sharp. You hovered nearby, pretending to scroll on your phone, but your eyes kept darting to him. His fingers moved like they were born for this, typing commands you couldn’t follow, his expression unreadable. Occasionally, he’d glance up, catching your eye with a smirk that made your stomach twist.

“Got some cool stuff on here,” he said after a while, not looking up. “Your playlists are wild. Didn’t know you were into screamo.”

“It’s not screamo,” you snapped, defensive. “And don’t snoop.”

He chuckled, low and teasing. “Relax, Y/N. Just making conversation.”

But you didn’t relax. You couldn’t. Not when your phone buzzed in your hand, a new email from J popping up: “He’s in your system now. Careful what you let him touch.” Your blood ran cold. You glanced at Jungwon, still typing, oblivious—or was he? The CCTV app was still on your phone, tempting you to check. You opened it, the living room feed loading instantly. There he was, Jungwon, on the couch, his laptop screen reflected faintly in his glasses. You zoomed in, heart pounding, and saw it: lines of code, a terminal window, and what looked like a mirrored image of your laptop’s desktop.

You closed the app, your hands shaking. “I’m grabbing a drink,” you mumbled, fleeing to the kitchen. Alone, you opened the email again, rereading the message. He’s in your system now. It couldn’t be Jungwon. Could it? He was Jay’s best friend, practically family. But the messages, the timing, the way he watched you—it all lined up too perfectly.

Your phone buzzed again. Another message from J: “Check your webcam. Smile for me.” You froze, your eyes darting to your laptop on the couch. The webcam light was off, but that didn’t mean anything. Not if J was as good as they seemed. Not if J was Jungwon.

That night, you lay awake, the house silent except for the faint creak of pipes. Ryujin and Jay had gone to bed hours ago, and Jungwon had left with a casual “Thanks for the laptop, Y/N. You’re a lifesaver.” But you weren’t sleeping. You couldn’t. Every creak, every shadow, felt like a threat. You’d taped over your webcam, changed your passwords, even unplugged your router, but the unease lingered.

Your phone lit up. A text, not an email this time, from an unknown number: “You’re cute when you’re scared, Y/N. But you don’t have to be. I’m not here to hurt you.” Attached was a grainy image—a still from your bedroom CCTV, showing you sitting on your bed, staring at your phone. The timestamp? Five minutes ago.

You dropped the phone, your breath hitching. The cameras. He was in the cameras. And if Jungwon was J, he’d been in your house, in your life, closer than you ever realized. The question wasn’t just who he was—it was what he wanted. And whether you were scared enough to run… or curious enough to find out.

The next morning, you woke with a jolt, the memory of last night’s CCTV image burning behind your eyes. Your phone lay face-down on the nightstand, as if ignoring it could erase the message from J: a grainy still of you in your bedroom, timestamped just minutes before it arrived. You hadn’t slept properly, your dreams a jumble of code and Jungwon’s sly smirk. Now, sunlight streamed through your curtains, but it did nothing to ease the chill in your bones.

Downstairs, the house was quiet. Ryujin had left early for a study group, and Jay was probably with her. You were alone—or so you hoped. Your laptop sat on your desk, its lid closed like a sleeping predator. You hesitated, then opened it, half-expecting something to leap out. The screen flickered to life, normal at first glance. But as you opened your notes app to jot down your thoughts—anything to make sense of the chaos—something was wrong.

Words appeared on the screen. Not yours.

“You’re up early, Y/N. Thinking about me?”

Your fingers froze above the keyboard. The cursor blinked, then moved again, typing in real-time: “Don’t look so freaked out. It’s just a little fun.” You slammed the laptop shut, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. You hadn’t touched the keys. Someone—J—was in your system, watching, typing, playing with you.

You grabbed your phone, opening the CCTV app to check the house. The feeds loaded: kitchen, empty; front porch, empty; living room, empty. Your bedroom feed was last. You hesitated, then tapped it. The screen showed your room, your bed, you—right now, hunched over your phone, eyes wide.

The angle was from the ceiling camera, its lens unblinking. You forced yourself to look at the laptop. The webcam light was still off, covered by the tape you’d slapped on last night. But the notes app incident told you tape wasn’t enough.

Another ping. A text from an unknown number: “You can’t hide from me, Y/N. But why would you want to?” Attached was a screenshot of your notes app, the words J had typed still visible. Your stomach lurched. This wasn’t just emails or texts anymore. They were inside your devices, real-time, like a shadow moving with you.

You skipped breakfast, too rattled to eat. Instead, you sat at the kitchen table, your laptop and phone in front of you like evidence in a crime scene. Jungwon’s face kept flashing in your mind—his quick fingers on his keyboard, his too-knowing smile when he borrowed your laptop yesterday. It had to be him.

He was Jay’s best friend, always around, always too close. And he’d had access to your laptop, your house, your life. The CCTV system was Ryujin’s idea, installed after a string of neighborhood break-ins, but Jungwon had been here when the techs set it up. You remembered him asking questions, leaning over the technician’s shoulder, his curiosity seeming innocent at the time.

Now, it felt like a setup.

Your phone buzzed again, this time a notification from your music app. A new playlist had been created: “For Y/N, From J.” The songs were eerily specific—your favorite obscure indie tracks, a metal song you’d only listened to once in private, even a demo you’d downloaded from a sketchy site years ago. No one could know this. No one but someone who’d dug deep into your digital footprint.

You opened your laptop again, determined to fight back. You ran every antivirus you had, the scans coming up clean. Frustrated, you opened a browser, but before you could type, the search bar autofilled: “How to know if you’re being hacked.” You stared, your hands nowhere near the keyboard. The browser loaded a page, but instead of search results, it displayed a single line in bold: “You’re asking the right questions, Y/N. Keep going.”

You yanked the laptop’s power cord, shutting it down manually. Your hands shook as you grabbed your phone, ready to call Ryujin and spill everything. But what would you say? That her boyfriend’s best friend was a psycho hacker? That he was stalking you through your own devices? She’d think you were unhinged. You needed proof.

That afternoon, Jungwon showed up again, uninvited as usual. Ryujin and Jay were back, laughing in the living room as Jungwon dropped his backpack by the couch. He caught your eye, his smile as disarming as ever. “Hey, Y/N. Thanks for the laptop loan yesterday. Worked like a charm.”

You forced a nod, your throat tight. “No problem.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “You okay? You look… tense.”

“Just tired,” you lied, avoiding his gaze. You retreated to the kitchen, pretending to busy yourself with dishes, but you kept your phone’s CCTV app open, watching him. Jungwon pulled out his laptop, his fingers moving with that same fluid precision. You zoomed in on the feed, catching a glimpse of his screen: a black terminal window, green text scrolling too fast to read. Your pulse quickened. Was he doing it now?

Your phone vibrated in your hand. Another text from J: “You’re staring. Like what you see?” Your eyes flicked to Jungwon, still typing, his expression unchanged. But the timing was too perfect. You opened the CCTV feed again, switching to the kitchen camera. There you were, standing by the sink, phone in hand, looking rattled. The feed glitched for a split second, and when it cleared, a tiny text overlay appeared in the corner: “Hi, Y/N.”

You dropped the phone, the clatter echoing in the quiet kitchen. Ryujin called out, “You good in there?” You mumbled a reply, scrambling to pick up the phone. The text overlay was gone, but the message was clear: J was in the cameras, and they were taunting you.

That evening, you locked yourself in your room, your laptop powered off and your phone on airplane mode. You needed to think. Jungwon was the only person who made sense as J. His tech skills, his access to your house, his weirdly intense interest in you—it all fit. But why? Was it a game? A crush? Something darker? You remembered the way he’d looked at you yesterday, his voice soft but edged when he said, “You’re fascinating, Y/N.” The memory made your skin crawl, but there was something else too—a flicker of curiosity you couldn’t shake.

You grabbed a notebook, scribbling everything you knew about J. The messages started three weeks ago, right after Jungwon had “fixed” Ryujin’s Wi-Fi. He’d been in the house more often since, always with his laptop or phone, always watching you a little too closely. The CCTV system was cloud-based, accessible with a login Ryujin had shared with Jay—and probably Jungwon, by extension. Your laptop, your notes app, your music app—all compromised after he’d borrowed it. The evidence was circumstantial but overwhelming.

Your phone buzzed despite airplane mode, making you jump. A notification from your calendar app: “Meet J at midnight. Your room.” Your blood ran cold. You hadn’t set that event. You opened the app, and the entry vanished before your eyes, replaced by a single word: “Soon.”

You glanced at the clock. 10:47 p.m. Whatever J—Jungwon?—was planning, it was escalating. You needed a plan, fast. Confront him? Record him? Or wait and see what he’d do next? The thought of facing him alone terrified you, but so did the idea of doing nothing. He was in your systems, your home, your head. And he knew it.

The house creaked, and you froze, listening. Footsteps, soft but deliberate, moved down the hall. Ryujin and Jay were asleep—you’d heard them go to bed an hour ago. Which left only one person who could be out there.

Your phone lit up again. No notification, just a single image on the lock screen: your bedroom door, from the hallway camera, with a shadow just outside.

The shadow outside your bedroom door lingered on your phone screen, a dark silhouette against the grainy hallway feed. Your heart thudded so loudly you swore it echoed in the silent room. The clock on your nightstand read 10:52 p.m.—just over an hour until the mysterious “Meet J at midnight” calendar event that had appeared and vanished like a ghost. Your phone, despite being in airplane mode, felt like a live wire in your hand, buzzing with the weight of J’s presence. You were certain now: J was Jungwon. The messages, the hacked apps, the CCTV access—it all pointed to him. But knowing didn’t make it less terrifying. If anything, it made it worse.

You crept to your door, pressing your ear against the wood. The footsteps you’d heard moments ago had stopped, but the air felt heavy, like someone was still out there, waiting. You glanced at your laptop, powered off and unplugged, its webcam still taped over. Your notebook lay open on the bed, pages filled with your frantic scribbles: timelines of J’s messages, Jungwon’s visits, every suspicious moment. It wasn’t enough. You needed proof—something concrete to confront him with, or to take it to Ryujin and Jay without sounding like you’d lost it.

Your phone vibrated, startling you. Airplane mode should’ve blocked notifications, but there it was: a new text from an unknown number. “You’re thinking too hard, Y/N. Just open the door.” Your breath hitched. You swiped to the CCTV app, the hallway feed loading instantly. The shadow was gone, the corridor empty, but a new text popped up: “I’m faster than you think.” Your hands shook as you switched to the living room feed. There was Jungwon, sprawled on the couch, his laptop open, typing with that effortless speed you’d come to dread. He looked relaxed, almost bored, but his fingers were a blur, and the faint reflection in his glasses showed lines of code scrolling like a digital heartbeat.

You forced yourself to breathe. He was downstairs, not outside your door. But the timing, the messages—it was him. It had to be. You needed to act before midnight, before whatever he was planning came to a head. You grabbed your notebook, flipping to a fresh page, and started mapping a plan. Confronting him directly was risky; he was too smart, too slippery. Recording him might work, but your devices were compromised. You needed something he couldn’t hack—something analog.

You tiptoed downstairs, avoiding the creaky third step. The living room was dimly lit, the TV casting a flickering glow across Jungwon’s face. He didn’t look up as you entered, but his lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low, almost playful.

“Something like that,” you replied, keeping your distance. You clutched your phone, the CCTV app still open in the background, showing the kitchen feed now. You’d left a small voice recorder—one of your dad’s old gadgets—hidden under a stack of magazines on the coffee table earlier. If Jungwon said anything incriminating, you’d have it on tape, untouchable by his digital tricks.

He closed his laptop with a soft click, his eyes finally meeting yours. They were sharp, like he could see through your casual facade. “You’ve been acting weird, Y/N. Something on your mind?”

You shrugged, forcing a laugh. “Just stressed. Finals, you know?”

He tilted his head, studying you. “You sure? You’ve been… jumpy. Like you’re waiting for something to happen.” His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a challenge. Your skin prickled. He knew you were onto him, didn’t he?

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed again. You glanced down, unable to stop yourself. A new email from J: “You’re cute when you play detective. Check your notes app.” Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t opened the notes app since this morning, when it had typed on its own. Against your better judgment, you swiped it open. A new note was there, timestamped seconds ago: “Stop trying to outsmart me, Y/N. You’re making this too easy.”

You looked up, and Jungwon was watching you, his smirk wider now. “Problem?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock concern.

“You tell me,” you shot back, your voice sharper than you meant. His eyebrows raised, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, like you’d just made the game more interesting.

“Careful, Y/N,” he said softly. “You’re starting to sound paranoid.”

You wanted to snap at him, to demand answers, but Ryujin’s voice cut through from upstairs. “Y/N? Jungwon? You guys still up?” You heard her footsteps descending, and Jungwon leaned back, his expression shifting to innocent in a heartbeat.

“Just chilling,” he called back, winking at you. Ryujin appeared, yawning, her hair messy from sleep. She glanced between you and Jungwon, oblivious to the tension.

“Go to bed, Y/N,” she said, grabbing a glass of water. “You look like a zombie.”

You muttered a goodnight and retreated, your mind racing. Jungwon’s eyes followed you until you were out of sight.

Back in your room, you locked the door and checked the CCTV feed again. Jungwon was still on the couch, but his laptop was open again, and he was typing. You zoomed in, catching a glimpse of a terminal window, but the text was too small to read. Your phone buzzed, another text: “You forgot to check your browser history.” Dread pooled in your chest. You opened your laptop, powering it on despite every instinct screaming not to. The browser loaded, and the history showed searches you hadn’t made: “How to secure a webcam,” “Signs of remote access,” “CCTV vulnerabilities.” All timestamped from the last hour, while you were downstairs.

Your hands trembled as you opened the notes app again. Another new note: “You’re getting warmer, Y/N. But you’re still not fast enough.” You slammed the laptop shut, your breath ragged. He was toying with you, leaving breadcrumbs to prove he could reach you anywhere, anytime.

You grabbed the voice recorder from the living room when Jungwon stepped out to use the bathroom, praying it had caught something. You played it back, but it was just static and snippets of your conversation—nothing damning. Either he hadn’t said anything incriminating, or he’d known the recorder was there. You wouldn’t put it past him.

The clock ticked closer to midnight. You sat on your bed, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the locked door. Your phone was off now, battery removed for good measure. The laptop was unplugged, stashed under your bed. But the CCTV camera in the corner of your room felt like an eye, unblinking and merciless. You’d covered it with a scarf, but it didn’t feel like enough.

At 11:58 p.m., a soft knock came at your door. You froze, your heart in your throat. “Y/N?” Jungwon’s voice, low and calm, seeped through the wood. “You awake?”

You didn’t answer, your eyes locked on the doorknob. It didn’t turn, but your phone—off, battery out—somehow lit up on the nightstand. The screen displayed a single word: “Open.”

You stood, legs shaky, and backed away from the door. Another knock, sharper this time. “Come on, Y/N,” Jungwon said, his tone still light but with a hint of impatience. “I just want to talk.”

You swallowed, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s late, Jungwon. I’m tired.”

A pause, then a soft laugh. “You’re not tired. You’re scared.” He said it like a fact, not a question. “But you don’t have to be. I’m not the bad guy here.”

Your notebook was still open on the bed, and you glanced at it, at the list of J’s messages. Every instinct screamed that Jungwon was J, but a tiny, reckless part of you wondered if you were wrong. If he was just a guy, teasing you, flirting in his weird, intense way. You shook your head. No. The hacked apps, the CCTV, the real-time taunts—it was too much for coincidence.

“I’m not opening the door,” you said, louder now, trying to sound firm.

Another pause, longer this time. Then, softly: “Your choice, Y/N. But I’ll see you soon.” His footsteps retreated, and you heard the creak of the stairs as he went back downstairs. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe, until the house was silent again.

You stayed up all night, the scarf over the camera, the door locked, your notebook clutched like a lifeline. At 3 a.m., your laptop—still unplugged—emitted a soft hum. You stared, horrified, as the screen flickered on, displaying a live feed of your room. Not from the CCTV, but from another angle—lower, closer. Your webcam. The tape was still there, but the feed showed you, sitting on your bed, staring at the laptop in real-time.

A text overlay appeared: “I told you, Y/N. I’m always watching.”

You screamed, shoving the laptop off the bed. It hit the floor with a thud, the screen going black. You didn’t sleep again that night, your mind spiraling. Jungwon wasn’t just hacking your devices. He was hacking your life. And the worst part? You still didn’t know why—or what he’d do next.

The morning after Jungwon’s midnight knock, your room felt like a cage. The scarf over the CCTV camera hung limp, useless against the violation of last night’s webcam feed. Your laptop, now shoved into a drawer, was a traitor you couldn’t trust. Your phone, battery still removed, sat dead on your nightstand. You hadn’t slept, your eyes burning from staring at the ceiling, replaying every message from J, every glance from Jungwon, every moment that had led to this suffocating dread. You knew it was him. You knew. But knowing wasn’t enough—you needed to end this.

Downstairs, the house was alive with normalcy that felt obscene. Ryujin was humming in the kitchen, flipping eggs, while Jay laughed at something on his phone. Jungwon was there too, perched on a stool at the counter, his black hoodie swapped for a clean white tee, his hair slightly damp from a shower. He looked infuriatingly normal, sipping coffee like he hadn’t spent the night terrorizing you. But when his eyes met yours, that familiar smirk flickered—just for a second, just for you.

“Morning, Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth as ever. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

Ryujin glanced over, frowning. “Seriously, Y/N, you okay? You’re paler than my bedsheets.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, grabbing a glass of water to avoid Jungwon’s gaze. Your hands shook slightly, and you prayed he didn’t notice. But of course he did. His eyes tracked you like a predator, and you felt it in your bones: he was J, and he was enjoying this.

You needed a plan—something to trap him, expose him, or at least make him back off. Confronting him directly hadn’t worked; he was too slippery, too good at playing innocent. You needed evidence, something Ryujin and Jay couldn’t dismiss. And you needed it before he escalated further. The webcam feed last night, showing through the tape, was a warning. He was closing in, and midnight—his promised “meeting”—had passed, but you didn’t feel safe. You felt hunted.

You spent the morning pretending to study, your notebook open to a page of meaningless notes while you brainstormed. Jungwon stayed downstairs, but his presence was a shadow, lingering in every ping of your phone, every flicker of your laptop screen. You’d reinserted your phone’s battery to check for new messages, half-expecting another taunt. Nothing yet, but the silence was worse—it felt like he was waiting, letting you stew.

By noon, you had an idea. Jungwon was good, but no one was perfect. If he was hacking your devices, he was leaving traces—logs, IP addresses, something. You weren’t a tech genius, but you’d taken a coding class last semester, enough to know the basics. You needed to bait him, catch him in the act, and record it in a way he couldn’t erase. The voice recorder hadn’t worked, but maybe something simpler would.

You grabbed an old USB drive from your desk, one you hadn’t used in years. It was clean, unconnected to any network. You plugged it into your laptop, quickly setting up a dummy file—a text document labeled “Y/N’s Secrets.” Inside, you wrote nonsense: fake diary entries, random thoughts, anything to make it look personal. If Jungwon was as nosy as you thought, he’d take the bait. You left the laptop on your desk, screen unlocked, and headed downstairs, leaving the USB plugged in.

“Hey, Ryujin,” you called, keeping your voice casual. “I’m running to the store for snacks. Want anything?”

She looked up from her phone, sprawled on the couch next to Jay. “Chips. Spicy ones. You sure you’re okay? You’re acting weird.”

“Just need some air,” you said, forcing a smile. Jungwon was at the counter, scrolling on his phone. He didn’t look up, but you saw his fingers pause for a split second. Got you, you thought.

You left the house, circling around to the backyard where you could peek through the living room window. The CCTV app was open on your phone, showing Jungwon still at the counter—but then he stood, stretching, and wandered toward the stairs. Your pulse quickened. You switched to the bedroom feed, watching as he appeared in your room, casual as ever, like he belonged there. He glanced at the laptop, then at the door, before sitting at your desk. His fingers moved over the trackpad, opening the USB drive.

You held your breath. The dummy file was rigged with a simple tracking script you’d found online—a long shot, but it logged access times and device IDs. If he opened it, you’d have proof he was snooping. Jungwon’s expression didn’t change as he clicked the file, his eyes scanning the screen. Then, infuriatingly, he smirked, typed something, and closed the laptop. He left the room, and you hurried back inside, heart pounding.

Upstairs, you checked the USB. The file was still there, but a new note had been added at the bottom: “Cute try, Y/N. But I’m better than that.” Your stomach sank. The tracking script’s log was empty—wiped clean. He’d seen through it, turned your trap against you. But worse was the new email waiting in your inbox: “Nice USB trick. Want to see something cooler?” Attached was a video file. You hesitated, then clicked.

It was your bedroom, filmed from an angle you didn’t recognize—not the CCTV, not the webcam. You were in it, sleeping, two nights ago, the covers pulled up to your chin. The video zoomed in, slow and deliberate, on your face. A text overlay appeared: “Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

You dropped your phone, bile rising in your throat. He wasn’t just in your devices. He was everywhere.

That evening, you couldn’t pretend anymore. You cornered Ryujin in the kitchen while Jay and Jungwon were gaming in the living room. “I need to talk to you,” you whispered, pulling her aside. “It’s about Jungwon.”

Her brow furrowed. “What about him? He’s been here all day, Y/N. What’s got you so freaked?”

You hesitated, knowing how crazy it would sound. “I think he’s… hacking me. My phone, my laptop, the CCTV. Someone’s been sending me messages, watching me, and it started when he started coming around more.”

Ryujin stared, then laughed, short and sharp. “Jungwon? The guy who can’t even set up his own Netflix account without Jay’s help? Y/N, you’re spiraling. Maybe you’ve been online too much.”

“I’m not crazy,” you snapped, shoving your phone at her, showing the video from J. “Explain this.”

Her face paled as the video played, but she shook her head. “This could be anyone. Some creep from the internet. Why would Jungwon do this? He’s practically family.”

“Because he’s obsessed,” you said, your voice low. “He’s always watching me, always here. He borrowed my laptop, Ryujin. The messages got worse after that.”

She frowned, glancing toward the living room where Jungwon’s laughter mixed with Jay’s. “Okay, that’s… weird. But we need proof. Real proof. I’ll talk to Jay, see if Jungwon’s been acting off. But don’t do anything rash, Y/N. If it’s not him, you’ll look insane.”

You nodded, but you weren’t waiting for her. You had one last idea—a risky one. If Jungwon wanted to play, you’d play back.

That night, you set the trap. You left your laptop open, a blank text document on the screen, and typed a single line: “I know it’s you, Jungwon. Stop this, or I go to the police.” You left it visible, then hid in the closet, your phone recording through a crack in the door. The CCTV app was open on another device, an old tablet, showing the room. You waited, barely breathing.

At 11:47 p.m., your bedroom door creaked open. Jungwon stepped inside, his expression unreadable. He glanced at the laptop, read the message, and chuckled—a low, dangerous sound. “Oh, Y/N,” he murmured, sitting at your desk. “You’re so close.”

He typed something, his fingers flying, then leaned back, staring at the screen. Your phone buzzed in your hand, a new text: “Police? That’s adorable. But you don’t want to end this. Not yet.” He stood, looking directly at the closet—directly at you. “Come out, Y/N. Let’s talk.”

You froze, your heart stopping. He knew. He’d always known. The tablet’s CCTV feed glitched, then cut to a new angle: inside the closet, showing you, crouched, phone in hand. A text overlay blinked: “Game over.”

Jungwon opened the closet door, his smile soft but chilling. “I told you, Y/N. I’m not the bad guy. I just… like you. A lot.” He crouched to your level, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re fascinating, you know that? The way you think, the way you fight back. I couldn’t stop watching.”

You clutched your phone, your voice shaking. “You’re sick, Jungwon. This isn’t a game.”

His smile faded, and for a moment, he looked almost hurt. “It’s not about hurting you. It’s about knowing you. Everything—your music, your fears, your secrets. I wanted to be close to you. Closer than anyone.”

You stood, backing away. “Stay away from me. I’m telling Ryujin. Jay. The police.”

He sighed, standing too. “They won’t believe you. I’m careful, Y/N. No traces, no proof. Just you and me.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “But I’ll stop. If you want me to. Say it, and I’ll delete everything—every hack, every feed. Or… you can let me show you what I can do. For you. With you.”

Your mind raced. He was offering a way out, but it felt like a trap. Yet the intensity in his eyes, the sincerity beneath the madness, made you pause. Was he dangerous, or just obsessed? Could you trust him to stop? Did you want him to?

“I need time,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the fear.

He nodded, stepping back. “Fair. I’m patient. But don’t take too long, Y/N. I’m always watching.” He left, the door clicking shut behind him.

You collapsed onto your bed, the tablet still showing the glitched CCTV feed. A new message appeared on your phone: “Your move.”

You had a choice to make. Expose him, risk everything, and hope for proof. Or play his game, dive deeper, and maybe—just maybe—find a way to beat him at it.

The silence was a weapon. For three weeks after Jungwon’s midnight confession in your closet, the absence of J’s messages left a void that gnawed at you. No pings, no glitched CCTV feeds, no eerie texts taunting you from the shadows of your phone. Your laptop, locked away in a drawer, was a sleeping beast you didn’t dare touch. Your phone, battery removed half the time, felt like a grenade with the pin pulled. The scarf over your bedroom’s CCTV camera hung like a flag of surrender, a reminder of Jungwon’s eyes—sharp, piercing, obsessive—watching you through every digital crack in your life.

You’d checked your systems obsessively, running scans, scouring logs, even enlisting a friend from your coding class to double-check. Nothing. No traces of J, no hidden connections, no signs of intrusion. Jungwon had kept his promise: he’d wiped his presence clean. It should’ve calmed you, but it didn’t. The silence was his new game, a dare to see what you’d do without his shadow looming. And the worst part? You missed it. Not the fear, but the thrill—the way his messages made your heart race, the way his obsession made you feel seen, wanted, known.

Jungwon was still a constant in your life, showing up with Jay like nothing had changed. He’d lounge in your living room, his leather jacket tossed over a chair, his dark hair falling just right over his eyes, his smirks sharp enough to cut. Every glance he sent your way was a spark, igniting a fire you couldn’t extinguish. Ryujin and Jay were oblivious, laughing and joking as if the world hadn’t shifted under your feet. But you saw it—the way Jungwon’s eyes lingered, the way his voice dropped when he spoke to you, the way his fingers brushed yours when he passed you a drink. It was subtle, deliberate, and it drove you wild.

You should’ve hated him. He’d hacked your life, your privacy, your mind. But the truth was uglier: you were falling for him. His obsession, his ability to unravel every piece of you—your late-night playlists, your unsent rants, the way you danced alone in your room—was terrifying but intoxicating. He’d seen you at your rawest, your most vulnerable, and instead of running, he’d stayed. Devoted. Consumed. And now, you were consumed too, caught in a web of fear and fascination that felt like love.

It was a stormy Thursday night, the kind where the sky roared and the rain lashed the windows like it wanted to break in. Ryujin and Jay were at a friend’s game night, leaving the house empty, the air thick with the scent of wet pavement and anticipation. You were in your room, trying to focus on a coding project, but your mind kept drifting to Jungwon—his voice, his hands, the way he’d looked at you in the closet, like you were the only thing in his universe.

Your phone buzzed, a motion alert from the CCTV app. You opened it, your heart already racing, and there he was: Jungwon, standing on your porch, soaked to the bone, his black hoodie clinging to his frame like a second skin. He looked up at the camera, his eyes dark and unreadable, and smiled—a slow, deliberate curve that sent a shiver through you. You didn’t hesitate. You were already moving, down the stairs, to the door, your pulse a drumbeat in your ears.

You opened the door, the cold air rushing in with the scent of rain and his cologne, cedar and steel. “You shouldn’t be here,” you said, but your voice was soft, almost inviting.

He stepped closer, water dripping from his hair, his eyes locked on yours. “You didn’t change the locks. Or the Wi-Fi. Or the CCTV codes.” His voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge to it, a hunger. “Why, Y/N? Hoping I’d come back?”

You crossed your arms, trying to hold your ground, but your cheeks flushed. “Maybe I wanted to see if you’d keep your promise.”

He laughed, a sound that vibrated through you, warm and dangerous. “I did. No hacks, no messages. I’ve been good.” He took another step, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him despite the rain. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. And I know you’re thinking about me too.”

Your breath caught. He was right, and you hated it. You’d spent weeks replaying his words, his messages, the way he’d seen you—really seen you. It was invasive, yes, but it was also intimate, like he’d cracked open your soul and memorized every piece. “You scared me,” you said, your voice trembling but honest. “You crossed lines. My phone, my laptop, my cameras. But…”

“But?” he prompted, his eyes darkening, his smirk softening into something more vulnerable.

“But I can’t stop thinking about you either,” you admitted, the words spilling out like a confession. “The way you saw me—everything about me. It’s terrifying, but it’s… it’s hot, Jungwon. Knowing you were watching, knowing you wanted me that much—it’s messed up, but it makes me feel… alive.”

His smile was gone now, replaced by something raw, intense. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, his voice rough. “I saw you—your music, your rants, the way you laugh when you think no one’s around. I couldn’t look away. I tried, Y/N. I stopped the hacks, I deleted everything, but I can’t stop wanting you.”

You swallowed, your heart racing. “Then don’t,” you said, the words reckless but true. “I want you too. All of you—the hacker, the guy, the obsession. I want you in my life, Jungwon. In my systems, my world, everything.”

His eyes widened, surprise flickering before it was swallowed by hunger. “You mean that? You’re giving me access—your phone, your laptop, your secrets?”

You nodded, stepping closer, your hands trembling but sure. “Yes. I want you to know me, like I want to know you. No walls, no games. You get my servers, my data, my everything. But you give me yours too.”

He stared at you, like he was trying to process the weight of your words. Then he laughed, a low, thrilled sound, and closed the distance between you, his hands cupping your face. “You’re insane,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek, warm despite the rain. “You’re giving me your world, Y/N. You sure about that?”

“I’m sure,” you said, your voice steady now, your eyes locked on his. “I want you, Jungwon. I want the guy who hacked my life because he couldn’t stay away. I want the guy who sees me like no one else ever has. Hack me, watch me, know me—I’m yours.”

His lips crashed into yours, and the world tilted. The kiss was fire, desperate and consuming, like he was pouring every moment of his obsession into it. His hands were everywhere—on your face, your neck, your waist—pulling you against him, the wet fabric of his hoodie soaking into your shirt. You kissed him back, just as hungry, your hands fisting in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan into your mouth. He tasted like rain and mint, sharp and addictive, and you couldn’t get enough.

The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing yours, slow and deliberate, then fast and reckless, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. You gasped, and he took advantage, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, sending a shiver through you. Your hands slid under his hoodie, finding warm skin, lean muscle, the rapid beat of his heart under your fingers. He hissed softly, his grip tightening on your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

“You’re killing me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with want. “I watched you for so long, wanted you for so long, and now you’re here, letting me in.” His lips trailed to your jaw, leaving a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses that made you arch against him. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

“Then show me,” you whispered, your voice shaky but bold, your hands sliding up his chest, nails grazing lightly. “Show me how much you wanted me.”

He groaned, low and deep, and kissed you again, harder, his hands roaming your back, possessive and urgent. You stumbled back, pulling him with you, until you hit the couch, and he followed, his body pressing you into the cushions. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and he moaned, the sound vibrating against your lips, making your head spin. His lips found your neck, sucking lightly, leaving a trail of heat that had you gasping, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him on.

“I saw everything,” he murmured against your skin, his voice raw. “Your late-night dances, your rants about bad coffee, the way you sing when you think no one’s listening. I wanted to be there, Y/N. Not just watching—touching you, feeling you.” His teeth grazed your collarbone, and you shivered, your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him back to your mouth.

“Then don’t stop,” you said, your voice breathless, your lips brushing his. “You have me now. All of me.”

He kissed you like it was a vow, slow and deliberate, his hands sliding under your shirt, warm against your skin. The touch was electric, every point of contact burning, and you arched into him, wanting more. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, possessive but careful, like he was still afraid you’d vanish.

You kissed him back, pouring every confusing, thrilling emotion into it—fear, desire, love, all tangled together. Your teeth nipped his lip, and he groaned again, his hands tightening, pulling you so close you could feel his heartbeat, fast and erratic, matching yours.

The kiss stretched on, a blur of lips and tongues, gasps and moans, until your lungs burned and your body felt alive in a way it never had. He pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m yours. Every code, every server, every secret—I’m giving you everything, Y/N.”

You nodded, your chest heaving, your hands still tangled in his hair. “And I’m giving you mine,” you said, your voice steady despite the fire in your veins. “My phone, my laptop, my life. Hack me, Jungwon. I want you to.”

His eyes darkened, a mix of awe and hunger, and he kissed you again, slower this time, savoring every second. His lips moved against yours like he was memorizing you, his hands roaming your sides, your back, your hips, like he couldn’t get enough.

You kissed him back, just as deep, your hands sliding under his hoodie again, feeling the heat of his skin, the tension in his muscles. He groaned softly, his teeth grazing your ear, and you shivered, pulling him closer, wanting every piece of him.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “Every detail, every moment—I knew it when I watched you, but this… this is everything.” His voice was raw, almost reverent, and it made your heart ache, made you want him more.

You pulled him back to your mouth, kissing him with a desperation that matched his, your hands roaming his chest, his shoulders, his hair. The couch creaked under you, the rain a distant roar, the world shrinking to just the two of you. His lips were swollen now, his breath uneven, but he didn’t stop, kissing you like he’d been starving for it, like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

The rain roared outside, a relentless curtain that sealed you and Jungwon in Ryujin’s living room, the world shrinking to the heat of his lips, the press of his body, the fire of his obsession. His kiss was a storm—teeth grazing, tongues tangling, a desperate edge that matched the chaos in your heart. Jungwon, Jay’s best friend, the hacker who’d slipped into your digital life as J, was now unraveling you in the flesh, and you were letting him, craving him, falling for him in a way that felt like love and madness intertwined. His wet hoodie clung to his lean frame, your hands greedy under the fabric, tracing the hard lines of his abs, the rapid beat of his heart. You’d spent weeks terrified of J’s messages, his eyes in your cameras, but now you knew—Jungwon was J, and you wanted every byte of him.

His obsession was a mirror to your own, a twisted thrill that made you feel seen, wanted, alive.

Every night since, you’d waited for him—not by a window, but by your phone, your laptop, your heart racing for a ping, a glitch, a sign of J. You’d refresh your inbox, check your CCTV feeds, even play your obscure playlists, hoping he’d notice, hoping he’d break his silence. The absence of his messages was torture, but it only deepened your hunger. He’d hacked your life, your privacy, your soul, and you’d fallen for it, for him, for the way he knew you better than anyone.

Last night, alone in your room, the longing had been unbearable. You’d lain back, the darkness thick, your body humming with need. Your fingers slipped beneath your panties, finding the damp folds of your pussy, slick with thoughts of Jungwon—his voice, his smirk, the way he’d seen you through your webcam. You gasped, imagining his hands, precise and skilled, his hacker’s fingers teasing you apart. You circled your clit, slow at first, then faster, picturing his eyes on a hidden feed, knowing exactly how you arched, how you moaned. “Fuck, Jungwon,” you’d whispered, your hips bucking, your fingers plunging into your wet heat, chasing the image of him—his obsession, his control. The release hit hard, a shuddering moan spilling from your lips, but it wasn’t enough. You needed him, not just his shadow.

Now, he was here, real and burning, his lips on yours, his body pinning you to the couch. “You’re killing me,” he growled against your mouth, his voice rough with want. “I watched you for so long, wanted you for so long, and now you’re here, letting me in.” His lips trailed to your jaw, hot and open-mouthed, leaving a path of fire that made you arch against him. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

“Then show me,” you gasped, your voice bold, your hands sliding under his hoodie, nails grazing his abs, hard and warm. “Show me how much you wanted me.”

His groan was primal, his lips crashing back to yours, kissing you like he’d die without it. His hands slid under your shirt, fingers rough against your skin, tracing your ribs, your waist, sending sparks through you. You arched into him, your legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer, feeling the hard press of his cock through his jeans against your thigh. He hissed, his teeth grazing your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “Fuck, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a growl. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“Good,” you moaned, tugging his hoodie off, your hands greedy for his skin—smooth, taut, fever-hot. His lips found your collarbone, kissing, biting, leaving a trail of heat that had you gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders. The couch creaked, the rain a distant roar, the world shrinking to his mouth, his hands, his body against yours.

He pulled back, his eyes dark and wild, his breath ragged. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice thick with possession. “Every song, every secret, every fucking moment—I’ve seen it all, and I want it all.” His hands gripped your hips, yanking you up, and you straddled him, your thighs squeezing his, feeling the bulge of his cock pressing against your core through your leggings. You ground against him, slow and deliberate, and he cursed, his head falling back, his hands tightening on your ass.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his eyes locked on yours, watching every roll of your hips, every flush on your cheeks. “You have no idea how many nights I watched you, wishing I could touch you like this.” His fingers dug into your ass, guiding your movements, making you grind harder, the friction sending heat coiling low in your belly.

“Then do it,” you challenged, your voice breathless, your hands fisting in his hair, tugging hard. “Touch me, Jungwon. Fuck me like you’ve been dreaming of.”

His control snapped, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He flipped you onto your back, the couch creaking under the force, his body hovering over yours, all lean muscle and hunger. He yanked your shirt up, exposing your bra, and his mouth was on you, kissing the swell of your breasts, his tongue flicking under the lace. You moaned, arching up, your hands scrambling to unhook it, and he helped, tossing it aside, his lips closing over your nipple, sucking hard. The sensation shot straight to your pussy, making you writhe, your legs wrapping around him, desperate for more.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing your nipple, his hand palming your other breast, pinching just hard enough to make you gasp. “I knew you’d feel like this, taste like this.” His lips trailed down your stomach, kissing, licking, until he reached the waistband of your leggings. He looked up, eyes burning, and you nodded, your breath hitching.

He peeled your leggings and panties off in one swift motion, leaving you bare, your pussy glistening with want. He cursed under his breath, his hands spreading your thighs, his eyes locked on your dripping core. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he said, his voice raw, his fingers brushing your folds, teasing, not enough. You bucked your hips, whining, and he smirked, that J smirk, the one that haunted your feeds. “Patient, Y/N. I’ve waited this long. I’m gonna savor you.”

His finger slid inside, slow and deliberate, curling just right, and you moaned, your head falling back. He added another, stretching you, his thumb circling your clit, the pressure building fast. “So tight,” he groaned, his voice strained, his eyes flicking between your face and your pussy, watching every reaction. “You’re gonna feel so fucking good around my cock.”

“Then give it to me,” you snapped, your voice needy, your hands tugging at his jeans, fumbling with the button. He laughed, low and dark, helping you, shoving his jeans and boxers down, his cock springing free—hard, thick, the tip glistening with precum. Your mouth watered, your pussy clenching at the sight, and he noticed, his smirk widening.

“Like what you see?” he teased, stroking himself, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’ve got no idea how many times I jerked off thinking of you, watching you on those feeds.”

You reached for him, your hand wrapping around his cock, stroking him, feeling the hot, velvet weight of him. He hissed, his hips jerking, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, leaning down, kissing you hard, his tongue fucking your mouth like he was claiming it. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

“Then lose it,” you whispered against his lips, guiding his cock to your entrance, rubbing the tip against your slick folds. “Fuck me, Jungwon. Now.”

He didn’t need another invitation. He thrust in, hard and deep, filling you in one brutal stroke, and you cried out, your nails digging into his back, the stretch burning and perfect. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled, pausing, his breath ragged, his eyes locked on yours. “You okay?”

You nodded, your body adjusting, the fullness sending heat spiraling through you. “Move,” you begged, your hips rocking, needing more. He pulled back, then slammed in again, setting a relentless pace, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. You moaned, loud and shameless, your hands gripping his ass, pulling him deeper.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he panted, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wider, his thrusts brutal and precise, like he’d memorized every inch of you. “My perfect little slut, letting me fuck you like this, letting me own you.”

“Yes,” you gasped, your pussy clenching around him, the dirty words sending you higher. “I’m yours, Jungwon. Fuck, I’m yours.”

He groaned, his lips crashing to yours, kissing you sloppy and desperate, his hips snapping faster, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. His hand slid between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles, and you screamed, the pleasure overwhelming, your body shaking. “Come for me,” he growled, his voice rough, his thrusts erratic, his own release close. “Come all over my cock, Y/N.”

The command broke you. Your orgasm hit like a wave, your pussy clamping down, your body arching, a choked moan ripping from your throat. Jungwon cursed, his thrusts faltering, and he pulled out, stroking his cock fast, his cum spilling hot and thick across your stomach, marking you. He collapsed beside you, both of you panting, the couch damp with sweat and rain.

For a moment, it was quiet, just the rain and your breaths. Then he turned, his eyes soft, his hand brushing your hair back. “You’re everything,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Every code, every secret, every moment—I want it all.”

You nodded, your heart still racing, your body buzzing. “And I want you,” you said, your voice steady. “Hack me, watch me, love me—I’m yours.”

"I'll always be watching you, my love." Jungwon whispered in your ear. "Always through your digital shadows."

@heesvnqie | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

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[cinnamon-won]

THIGH FUCKING WITH SUNGHOON

cw: panty fucking, thigh fucking, black lace/ribbon obsession, clothing kink, messy desperation, cumplay, overstimulation themes, soft dom!Sunghoon, praises

You don’t say a word when he walks in.

You just stand by the bed in nothing but a black lace panty set, sheer thigh-high stockings clipped into garters, a delicate little ribbon resting at the waistband, drawing attention to exactly where you know he’ll look first.

And he stops in the doorway — dead silent, jaw tight, gaze raking over your body like you’ve just knocked the air out of him

“You,” he breathes out. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

You blink. “You don’t like it?”

Sunghoon laughs — but it’s not amused. It’s breathless. Shaky. Dangerous.

“Don’t do that.” His eyes lock to yours, heavy and unreadable. “Don’t stand there looking like that and ask me if I like it. I can’t even fucking think straight.”

You take a step back onto the bed and sit, knees parting slightly. “So do something about it.”.

In two strides, he’s in front of you, kneeling between your spread thighs, large palms sliding up from your ankles to your thighs in one slow, reverent stroke. His touch is gentle, but his eyes are starved.

“You wore this for me?” he asks, voice low and frayed.

You nod.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

He kisses your inner thigh, presses his cheek there, like he’s trying to anchor himself — and then he moves you back onto the bed, legs falling open around his hips. He undoes his sweats, pulls his cock out — flushed, leaking, so heavy it hangs before he even touches it.

“You’re already wet,” he mutters, rubbing the head of his cock against your lace-covered folds. “Look at this. I haven’t even touched you, and you’re soaked.”

You whimper. The friction is maddening — the heat of him sliding between your thighs, trapped against that lacy bow. The wet sounds already echo in the room, and he hasn't even really started yet.

“Shit..,” he groans. “I should fuck you right now. But I can’t. Not yet. Not when you’re wearing this. I want to ruin it first.”

And as if his hips and cock had a mind of their own, he thrusts — not inside, but between your thighs, dragging his cock slowly through the tight warmth of your skin, the slippery heat of your panties, the sticky mess already forming as he glides along you again and again.

“God—baby,” he moans. “Your thighs… your panties… this fucking bow—”

The tip of his cock smears precum directly onto the ribbon.

He freezes.

And then slowly, deeply – he grinds again.

“I’m gonna cum all over it,” he whispers, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes shut like he’s ashamed of how hard he’s rutting into you. “This little bow. You made yourself so pretty and I’m gonna stain it.”

“Please,” you breathe. “Please do.”

That snaps something in him.

His grip tightens on your hips, fucking harder now between your thighs, panting ragged against your mouth.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “You know that, right? These thighs, this pussy, this perfect little lace—mine. All of it.”

His cock drags faster, sloppier, smearing precum across your panties, down your thighs, heat building between both your bodies like a coil about to snap.

“Say it,” he pants. “Say you’re mine while I fucking cum on this lace.”

“I’m yours, Sunghoon. I’m yours—yours—”

He groans — broken — and cums hard, cock twitching violently as he spills between your thighs, thick and hot and messy. It drips onto your lace, your skin, your garter strap, and you watch him twitch through it, his eyes rolling back, head falling to your shoulder as his hips stutter.

But he doesn’t stop.

Even with his cock softening, even with your thighs messy and soaked, he keeps kissing your body like it’s sacred. Keeps stroking your skin, whispering filth against your neck.

“I’m not done,” he murmurs, pulling your panties to the side with trembling fingers. “That was just for me.”

He lowers his head — and licks the mess he made off your thighs first before burying his face between them.

"You’re not changing,” he mutters, lifting his head to take the sight of you in, his lips pink and glossy with his and your release and mixed juices. “I’m gonna eat you out through these cum-drenched panties next. Maybe I’ll fuck your throat with them in your mouth.”

He laughs, breathless.

“Fuck, you make me so dirty.”

[cinnamon-won]

dear reader... | 02z (18+)

You came seeking permanence in a place known for its impermanence.  Instead, three men showed you what one unforgettable summer can teach about love, adventure, and letting go.

Genre: destination au, strangers-to-lovers, smut Pairing: ENHYPEN Jake/Sunghoon/Jay x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI, Notes: 20k words. I KNOW, WHY IS IT SO LONG? Guys, it's three men. 15k words is not gonna cover it all, lmao. Loosely based on the 2018 movie, Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again!. I was rewatching the movie (for the 9868th time) and thought it would make a great fic because it's messy and dramatic, you know what I'm saying? LMAO. I hope you like this! Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for NCT, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself, otherwise, lmk.

Enjoy~

Paris, 2007

At a small restaurant tucked into a corner in Paris, you sat across from a guy who hadn’t stopped talking since the wine arrived. His name was Jake. You’d met him earlier that afternoon at the hotel. Or more accurately, you’d bumped into him just as he was coming back from lunch, with his paper cup of cold coffee spilling all over your shirt.

He’d looked horrified. In accented English, he started rapid-firing: “Oh god, I’m so sorry—I didn’t see you—are you okay? Did it burn? No, wait, it’s iced. Still—fuck—hang on—”

You were still blinking the splash out of your eye when he lunged forward with a bunch of napkins, dabbing at your sleeve in a panic. That only led to a series of increasingly awkward brushes and even more frantic apologies. At one point, his hand grazed your left boob and he practically launched himself backward.

“Shit—I wasn’t trying to grope you, I swear! I’m not a strange man!”

You were flustered and maybe a little annoyed. But the whole thing was so ridiculous that you just started laughing. Jake, still a little red in the face, had let out a breathy, nervous chuckle of his own. For a few seconds, he just watched you laugh with a slight crease on his forehead and a confused but curious smile on his lips.

You’d eventually stopped laughing and started waving your hand dismissively. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. It was just… oh my god,” you trailed off, looking away so you don’t laugh again.

“I know this is probably the worst possible timing but—would you, um—” He paused, cleared his throat, and in one breath and what you now realized was an Australian accent, blurted, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

And now here you were. He was still rambling.

“It’s just been a mess since I got here. First, the hotel mixed up my reservation, then I couldn’t figure out the train system, and don’t even get me started on the guy at the station who yelled at me in French—I think it was French. I don’t know. I really thought this trip would be like… I don’t know, healing or something?”

He paused only to take a sip of wine, then set the glass down with a sigh.

“I’m not even the spontaneous type, you know? I plan everything. But I thought, hey, maybe I’ll go off the grid for once. Have my little adventure. And so far, it’s just been a lot of me getting lost and getting sworn at in French.”

“They were probably just saying ‘hi,’” you offered, shrugging.

“Yeah, maybe. But I probably should’ve just stayed home,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Played with my dog, or something.”

You rested your chin on your hand, half a smile tugging at your lips as you watched him go on. He talked a lot about himself, but not in a way that he was trying to impress you. He was just… nervous. A little frantic, even. But there was something about the way he talked earnestly and a bit self-deprecatingly that made you want to lean in and listen. It was kind of cute.

He was kind of cute.

Jake glanced up mid-sentence. “Sorry, I’m talking too much, aren’t I? I don’t usually talk too much, but I can’t help it. You’re just so…” he trailed off and sighed. “Is it boring? Am I boring you?” he added, looking a little apologetic.

You shook your head. “Not at all. Please, I like listening.”

He smiled, relieved, and you found yourself smiling back.

Two days ago, you’d been somewhere else entirely. Standing at the airport with your two best friends, both trying not to cry, both saying you were being dramatic, that you were running away. Maybe you were. But you liked to think of it as ‘starting over’ instead.

The moment your graduation cap hit the floor of your shared apartment, you knew your youth was over, and that perfect, cookie-cutter life waiting back home would catch up to you. You didn’t want that. So you packed your bags and chose your own path.

Corsica. An island off the coast of France, where you could be whoever you wanted and do whatever you wanted.

You hadn’t made it to Corsica yet. You hadn’t even figured out how to get there. But you weren’t in a hurry. So for now, you wandered Paris. And somehow, you’d ended up here—with a very cute stranger who couldn’t stop talking.

After dinner, you ended up walking along the Seine and Jake had stopped talking.  The silence was a little startling, like someone had hit pause on a very fast, very chaotic radio broadcast. But it wasn’t awkward. He kept close but not too close, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched slightly against the wind.

The city lights reflected on the river, making it glimmer as you basked in the quiet and the beauty around you. Paris looked like something out of a movie, and you found yourself slowing your steps just to take it all in.

“Paris is kind of magical,” you said, just to say something.

Jake nodded slowly, then said, “It’d be a lot more magical if the people were a little nicer.”

You laughed. “Still mad about that guy at the train station?”

“He called me a donkey.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Un âne,” he said, in a terrible accent, pulling out a small dictionary from his coat pocket. “I looked it up later.”

You laughed harder, and he gave a self-pitying sigh that only made it worse. “I don’t even know what I did. I think I just stood too close to him.”

You kept walking, your steps in sync without meaning to.  It seemed like Jake had finally gotten comfortable around you. He’d stopped yapping and the nervous crease on his forehead had disappeared at some point. He asked where you were from, how long you were traveling, what made you pick Paris. You answered casually, carefully. Bits and pieces. Enough to keep the conversation going without opening up too much.

But it was a good conversation, and a good walk. You enjoyed talking to him and hearing his thoughts. And from the way he looked at you when you talked, it seemed like he enjoyed it too.

When you finally made it back to the hotel, Jake lingered with you in the lobby, fidgeting with the room key in his hand. He was getting nervous again, you could tell by the way his forehead was creased, and how he couldn’t look you in the eyes.

“What?” you prompted.

Jake scratched the back of his neck. “Hey, um,” he said, voice suddenly a little hoarse, “do you… wanna go out with me tomorrow?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Are you gonna spill another drink on me?”

“No,” he said quickly. Then added, “Not on purpose.”

You bit back a smile.

“I just—” he exhaled, looking a little too earnest, “Meeting you was kind of the only good accident I’ve had this whole trip. So, if you don’t have plans, how about spending the day with me?”

That sold it. You smiled and said, “I would love to, Jake.”

He looked relieved, grinning at the carpet before finally meeting your eyes again.

You didn’t bother setting an alarm. When you wandered downstairs the next morning, Jake was already waiting in the lobby, sipping a cappuccino and tapping his foot like he wasn’t sure whether he was early or late.

His eyes lit up when he saw you. “Hey,” he said, standing up a little too fast. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

You raised a brow. “I said I will.”

“Yeah, I know, but sometimes people say yes and don’t mean it. And I’ve been ghosted before. Not that I thought you would. Just—anyway. Hi.”

You laughed and said hi back.

“You look good today,” he said, smiling toothily. “And yesterday too. I’m sure you look good every day.”

“Dude, stop,” you chuckled, already making a beeline for the exit. “Let’s just go.”

“Of course! Yeah!”

The plan, if there was one, was to wing it. You both agreed on no maps and no real agenda. Jake suggested museum-hopping, and it sounded good enough. He brought a little foldable tourist map “just in case,” which you teased him for.

You wandered through halls of oil paintings and marble statues, whispering observations like you were museum critics. Jake tried to guess what every sculpture was about—usually something tragic or wildly inappropriate. He made you laugh loud enough to earn a few shushes from other people.

“‘Femme Étendue avec un Chien.’ Sounds like a thriller.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s a woman napping with her dog.”

“Still. Could be a thriller. The dog murdering its master kind of thriller.”

You got shushed by a woman in a long wool coat. Jake mimed zipping his lips but started talking again five seconds later.

After that, you ended up in Montmartre, where artists lined the cobbled square, painting everything from landscapes to caricatures. Jake insisted you both get one drawn together by a grumpy man with yellow-tinted glasses who didn’t say a word the entire time. When he finally flipped the sketch around, Jake let out a strangled noise.

“Is that my nose? I look like a pelican.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “I kind of love it.”

While you were there, a man tried to sell you a tiny Eiffel Tower keychain for twenty euros and Jake got so flustered trying to say ‘non merci’ that you ended up dragging him away before he accidentally bought three.

You shared a crepe from a street vendor and walked into luxury boutiques, the kind where everything smelled expensive and the saleswomen looked allergic to budget travelers. You ran your fingers along a buttery-soft leather purse with no visible price tag.

Jake hovered behind you, blinking at the rows of gleaming handbags.

“How much do you think this is?” you asked, holding up a small purse.

“Mm… two hundred?”

You tilted the bag to find the tag. “Try two thousand.”

Jake recoiled like it burned him. “Does it read your mind? What are we paying for?”

“The aesthetic, obviously,” you said, striking a mock-model pose.

In another shop, you pointed at a pair of heels that looked like crystal. Jake pointed at a maroon scarf and said, “You’d look good in this.”

You scoffed. “If I can afford it.”

Jake tilted his head as he searched for the price tag. “Oh, I think this is the only thing we can afford from here.”

You hummed, narrowing your eyes like you were actually considering it. “Exactly how many crepes can we buy for one of those?” 

He shrugged. “Twenty, give or take?”

“Yeah, nope.”

“Big nope,” he agreed, carefully putting the box back on the shelf.

By late afternoon, your feet were starting to ache. You tried to hide it, but Jake noticed.

“I know you’re tired, but we have one more stop. We’re gonna need to take a train, but I promise it’s worth it.”

You grimaced, and for a second, Jake looked like he was about to give up, but he shook his head and put on a determined face. “You can’t come to Paris and not see the Eiffel Tower.”

That made you nod. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”

He took you to the Eiffel Tower. It wasn’t part of the plan—you didn’t have one, but you weren’t expecting it, not really. You’d caught glimpses of it during the day, rising above the city like a paper cutout, but standing under it at dusk felt different.

It glowed. That was the only word for it. Golden lights stretched up into the sky, and there was this hush, like the whole city had quieted just for a moment to let you take it all in.

You ended up on the lawn across the street from the Eiffel Tower, eating sandwiches from a shop you passed on the way there. The sky was turning lilac. You chewed slowly, taking it all in—lights blinking, the faint sound of a violin from somewhere down the street, the grass slightly damp beneath your coat.

“I used to think I’d work for a big hotel chain,” you said after a while. “You know, like… the Four Seasons or The Ritz.”

Jake turned his head to look at you.

“But later on, I decided I wanted one of my own,” you went on. “A little hotel. Cozy and nice. Something that feels like home for people who are far away from theirs.”

Jake hummed thoughtfully, swallowing a bite before saying, “I’d stay there.”

You turned to him. “You would?”

He nodded. “But only if there’s room service. And robes. I’m very fancy.”

You snorted. “We’re eating 2 euro sandwiches in probably the most expensive city in the world.”

“Only for now,” he replied proudly. “We’d both be doing much better and earning much more by the time you’ve built that hotel.”

You didn’t say anything to that. You just smiled at your sandwich and took another bite.

In your dimly lit hotel room, you sat on the edge of your bed, laughing at something Jake had said. You were leaning your head against the four-poster as you watched Jake in his spot on the carpeted floor, fumbling with the wine bottle and the paper cup.

He’d brought it out casually in the elevator, half-joking that he’d bought it on his first day here to take back home, but he was willing to share it with you. One thing led to another, and now here you were, drinking warm Bordeaux out of paper cups and toasting to the kind of day that felt too good to leave unfinished.

Jake finally managed to pour without spilling and handed you your paper cup.

“I wish this place at least had room service,” he sighed, shaking his head at the cup.

“You should’ve gone to a bigger, more posh hotel then,” you teased before taking a sip.

It was fruity, a little warm, and probably not very good, but in that moment, it felt perfect enough.

You talked less now. The day had wrung most of it out of you. Jake had leaned back against the bed, long legs stretched out in front of him, his head tilted toward the ceiling as he listened. He was just there—warm and a little flushed, wine-stained cup cradled in one hand.

He let out a contented sigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever walked this much in one day.”

You snorted. “You say that like you didn’t make me climb half of Montmartre.”

Jake gave you an indignant look. “I did make you climb, but it was me who almost died trying to keep up with you.”

“You’re such a baby,” you laughed, nudging his knee with your foot. He caught it in his palm.

You looked down, and so did he. Neither of you said anything.

Then his hand slid up, fingers wrapping loosely around your ankle—carefully, almost cautiously. You watched the way he tilted his head to meet your eyes, searching, communicating something you could understand clearly, oddly enough.

You could say it was the alcohol, willing you into something you usually wouldn’t do sober. But you knew that would be a lie. You weren’t drunk, not even tipsy. You knew what you were doing when you gave him the same look he was giving you.

Your heart picked up as Jake’s hand traveled up your leg, pausing at your knee. He leaned in, soft and slow, and planted a kiss on your skin.

You didn’t say anything. And to him, your silence—and the way you were looking at him—was encouragement enough to keep going.

He kissed the side of your knee again, a little firmer this time. When you still didn’t stop him, he shifted closer. His hand slid up your leg, pausing just above your knee. 

“Tell me if this is—if I’m reading this wrong,” he said softly, his voice lower than before but you could hear he was a little nervous.

“You’re not,” you said softly, offering a shy smile.

Jake gave a small, almost bashful smile, like he was relieved but still a little uncertain. Then he leaned in, placing a hand beside your hip as he kissed you. He missed your mouth the first time, catching the edge of your lip.

“Sorry,” he muttered under his breath.

You laughed a little against his mouth. “It’s fine. Come here.”

That helped. He kissed you again, properly this time, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other propped him up on the bed. Still, even as it deepened, he wasn’t rushing. You could feel how careful he was, like he didn’t want to startle you or like he wasn’t sure this was really happening.

When you tugged his shirt up, he hesitated for a second before helping you take it off, eyes darting to yours like he was checking again.

“You sure?” he asked in a whisper.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah. Just… kind of feels unreal.”

That made your chest ache in a good way. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his cheek, and said, “It’s real.”

He let out a breath, nodding as he touched your waist, thumbs brushing your skin like he wanted to be gentle even now. His shyness didn’t last long once you pulled him close again, his confidence creeping in the moment he saw you responding with your hands on him, and your breath hitching under his touch.

Jake took care of the rest, his hands sliding under your top with more certainty now. His palms were warm, fingertips grazing up your sides, over your ribs, until you raised your arms and let him pull the fabric over your head. His gaze flickered downward, then back up again, clearly trying not to stare but staring anyway.

You felt beautiful under his gaze, the kind of beautiful that didn’t come from lighting or lingerie or careful timing, just the way he looked at you. Like he wanted all of you, and genuinely so.

“You’re—” he started, then bit his lip, trying to compose himself. “You’re beautiful.”

You reached for him, pulling him in until your lips met again, slower this time, deeper. When you moved further up onto the bed, Jake followed, crawling up between your legs as you tugged at the waistband of his jeans. He was quiet but not passive. His hands were all over you now, exploring, touching, squeezing with a gentle firmness that made your heart skip.

As he pulled your bottoms down and tossed them aside, his gaze trailed over every inch of bare skin with eyes of adoration and amazement. He hesitated just long enough for you to notice. His fingers were brushing the top of your thigh, his lips parting like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You reached for him instead, undoing the button of his jeans with more confidence than you felt. “Jake,” you prompted.

“Yeah,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours. “Yeah, I’m here.”

He kissed you again, one hand traveling down from your boob to your belly, and futher down to cup your sex. He worked you up for a few moments, fingers circling your clit clumsily but with just enough pressure to make you moan.

And when he finally decided to push into you, he did it painfully slow, still being cautious. He held still, breathing hard, his hand sliding under your thigh to pull you closer. His other hand gripped the sheet near your head like he needed something to hold on to. 

You let out a soft gasp, your back arching as you adjusted around him, and he kissed your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he could reach.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded again. “Yeah. You can move.”

He obliged and moved slowly at first, deeply, the kind of rhythm that made your toes curl.  He kept it up until the tension coiled tight in both your bodies, until his restraint began to slip. The room filled with breathy, lewd sounds—your moans, his whispered curse when you clenched around him, the muffled thump of the headboard as his thrusts grew more desperate.

You bit your lip, eyes shut tight as you tried not to be too loud. The hotel was cheap, and the walls were unforgivingly thin.

“Jake, please,” you whimpered, mouth parting but barely making a sound, even as he drove you to the edge.

“Please what?” he asked softly, brushing a thumb over your cheek and kissing your forehead.

You gripped his arms tighter, holding his gaze. “Harder.”

He didn’t hesitate this time. With a low grunt, he adjusted his grip on your hips and drove into you harder, the rhythm picking up, deeper now, less cautious. Your head tipped back against the pillows, a sharp moan slipping out before you could stop it. Jake buried his face in your neck to muffle his own.

Each thrust made the headboard knock just slightly louder. You barely registered it anymore. All you could think about was the heat of his skin, the stretch of him inside you, and the desperation in the way he held you like he couldn’t get close enough.

“God, you feel so—” He cut himself off with a breathy groan, hands sliding up your sides. “You okay?”

You couldn’t answer with words. You just nodded frantically and wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, drawing him in deeper. He gasped, nearly losing his rhythm.

Your hand tangled in his hair as your other clawed at his back, trying to hold yourself together as he kept hitting just the right spot. The coil in your belly wound tight. You were close. His movements turned erratic, one hand slipping down to your clit, clumsily rubbing in tight circles until your body seized around him.

Your orgasm hit like a wave, crashing over every nerve. You clung to him, gasping out his name, your entire body tensing, shaking, unraveling.

Jake didn’t last much longer. The second your walls clenched around him, he let out a strangled groan, buried as deep as he could go, and spilled into you. His whole body trembled with it, the hand near your head fisting the sheet like he needed to anchor himself to something.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you said anything and it was just the sound of your breathing, oddly too loud in the quiet room.

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then your cheek. And finally, your lips—slow and breathless and almost shy again.

Then, quietly, Jake asked, “Did you like it?”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his hair was messy, and he looked so earnest that your heart squeezed a little.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I really did.”

He let out a relieved breath, then grinned bashfully, like he couldn’t quite believe this had happened.

“Good,” he said, tucking his face into the crook of your neck again. “’Cause I really liked it too.”

You chuckled. “You did well.”

He let out a soft laugh, forehead pressed to yours. “I think I just saw stars.”

He fell on the space beside you, staring at the ceiling as you both caught your breath. You curled up beside him, nuzzling against his chest that was still damp with sweat. You wanted to say something, but sleep was already catching up to you.

Jake wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then he let out a deep, contented breath.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You blinked, suddenly wide awake. You shifted to look at him, but his breathing was already slowing, his features softening.

He was fast asleep before you could say anything.

The wind blew at you as soon as you stepped off the bus, salty and cool and strong enough to tug at your sun hat. You held it in place and squinted up at the sky. It was bright and beautiful, the vivid blue hue decorated with scattered clouds.

You adjusted the handle of your carrier and followed the other passengers toward the ferry terminal. A seagull screamed overhead. Someone lit a cigarette beside you. Around you, people were chattering in what you could make out was French and some Italian. It was much noisier here than it was in Paris. Less posh and polished, more human and real.

The morning felt raw, a little too bright after a night like that. But you didn’t look back.  Corsica was next. That was the plan. That had always been the plan.

The port was small—just one wooden pier stretching out into the water, a few moored boats bobbing gently with the current. It was a far cry from Paris, or even the bus station you’d left this morning. Everything here moved slower, like time itself had decided not to keep up.

You walked up to the small booth, eyes darting to the analog clock above the door. 17:10.

Last Departure - 17:00Next Departure - Tomorrow, 7:10

“No, no, no,” you muttered, quickening your pace. 

You shoved past a wobbly gate that probably wasn’t meant to be opened, lugging your bag like it was a boulder. “Wait!” you screamed at the ferry, your voice cracking as you sprinted along the creaky wooden pier.

“Wait for me!” you shouted, flailing your arms like a maniac.

The ferry let out a long, mournful horn and started to pull away, the wake rippling through the still water.

“Turn back!” you shrieked, weaving past a stack of plastic crates and an unimpressed fisherman. “Turn back! Damn it!”

You reached the end of the pier, panting, face red, chest burning. The ferry was already further on the horizon.

“Seriously?!” you yelled, flailing your hat in the air. “You couldn’t wait five more minutes?!”

You dropped your suitcase with a thud and bent over your knees, catching your breath. “Merde.”

“Missed your boat?” said a man from behind you.

You straightened, whipping around with a glare reserved for backhanded comments and people who cut in lines. “Wow, what gave it away?” you deadpanned. “The shouting or the visible despair?”

The man smiled smugly. His dark hair was pushed back neatly, his button-down was crisp and linen, and on his nose sat a pair of sunglasses you could swear you’d seen on display at Prada yesterday. Definitely not a local. And definitely not someone who’d taken three buses in the past ten hours.

“Both?” he said, tilting his head. “That’s too bad. The next ferry isn’t until tomorrow.”

You sighed, all the fight draining from your body at once. “Yeah. I can read.”

He clicked his tongue, stepping closer to the edge of the dock beside you. “Wouldn’t it be nice,” he said, “if someone had a boat that could take you to the island?”

You let out a dry laugh. “It sure is. But it’s a little early to start hallucinating.”

“Mm,” he hummed, eyes flicking over you with mild amusement.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked past you, toward a gleaming white yacht docked not ten feet away.

You blinked.

He stepped onto the deck like he’d done it a hundred times before, then turned back to look at you with an infuriatingly pleasant smile. You lifted your chin, brushed your hair out of your face, and stepped forward.

“Looks like someone did have a boat that could take me to the island,” you said, flashing your best smile. “If only the owner was nice enough.”

He glanced at the yacht behind him, then back at you. “Oh, this isn’t mine. I just stand here pretending it is so women will fall for me.”

You snorted. “Gross.”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning. “But it works.”

You scoffed, laughing under your breath as you waved him off and turned away. “Right. Bye, then.”

“I’m kidding,” he called out, still laughing. “Come aboard. My boat’s heading that way too, and I’ve got spare rooms.”

Your feet moved before your brain could offer a single warning, climbing onto the docked yacht without hesitation. No passport check, no credentials, no double-take at the stranger with movie-star hair and designer sunglasses. Just vibes. Your mother would’ve had a stroke.

Or, more likely, she would’ve shaken her head and muttered something about how you always liked to fuck around and find out.

The man turned just in time to help you onto the deck, his hand warm around yours. “I’m Jay, by the way.”

You told him your name and he chuckled. “Next time, you might wanna do a double-take and get to know people before getting into their boat,” he said. 

You laughed at that, though you agree he was right. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

You glanced around the yacht. Sleek, white, and clean enough to eat off of the floor. A compact galley gleamed to the left, and a staircase led to what you assumed were the sleeping quarters.

“This is Captain Luc,” Jay said, nodding to a man in a white polo who gave you a quick salute before going back to his maps. “That’s Sofia, our cook. Pierre and Manu help out with navigation and maintenance. Don’t worry, they’re all very well-paid and only mildly resent me.”

Sofia gave you a wink as she passed with a basket of fruit, and Manu barely looked up from where he was scrubbing something on the deck.

“Nice setup,” you said, setting your suitcase down with a thunk that felt very out of place on such pristine floors.

Jay smiled. “It’s not huge, but it gets the job done.”

“That’s what they all say,” you quipped, giggling.

His grin widened. “I like you already.” He turned and motioned for you to follow him below deck. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

You followed him down a narrow staircase and into a hallway of sleek wood and soft lighting. He opened a door to a small but clean room with a porthole view and a surprisingly fluffy-looking bed.

“This one’s cozy,” he said. Then, casually added, “Mine’s a bit nicer though. Bigger bed. Better sheets. Better lighting, if that matters.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Bet the women loved the lighting in your room.”

Jay leaned on the doorframe, still grinning. “They loved me more, but yeah, the lighting did suit their taste too.”

“Great.” You stepped into the room, tossed your bag onto the bed, and gave him a sweet smile. “I like dim rooms like this one better.”

But Jay wasn’t backing down yet. “You’d be surprised how effective dimmers can be.”

You gave him your fakest smile and nodded to the door. “Thanks for accommodating me. Please close the door on your way out.”

Jay chuckled and pushed off the doorframe. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be dimming the lights in advance.”

He disappeared down the hall, leaving the scent of some expensive cologne lingering behind him.

You looked around the room again, shook your head, and flopped back onto the bed.

The sun had set by the time you made it up to the deck. The sky was starry and cold, and the sea was calm, stretching endlessly in all directions. Dinner had been set on a small table with linen napkins, wine glasses, and even candles.

Jay looked up from the magazine he was reading, straightening up when he saw you walking in. “Good evening. How was your nap?” he asked, motioning to the seat across from him.

“Refreshing,” you replied, eyeing the setup. “First, you tried to seduce me with good lighting. Now it’s sea bass?”

He laughed. “Can’t a guy just offer dinner without an ulterior motive?”

You sat. “Sure, he can. But to me, you’re a walking ulterior motive.”

“Please,” he chuckled. “I just like to make my guests feel special.”

“How many guests have there been?”

Jay poured you a glass of wine and handed it over. “Too many. You’re my favorite, though.”

You smirked as Sofia walked over to fill your glass with wine. “You’re really going for it, huh?”

“Just enough to keep you entertained,” he replied smoothly, taking a sip of his wine. “If I go too hard, you’ll run. If I don’t try, I’m wasting this view.”

“You mean me or the sea?”

He tilted his glass toward you. “Both. Though you’re slightly more distracting.”

Dinner was actually good. The fish was cooked perfectly, and the wine was expensive and tasted like it. Every so often, a crew member drifted in and out, clearing plates or topping off wine like it was just any ordinary day. Jay, for his part, didn’t stop flirting for more than thirty seconds at a time.

“So where exactly were you running to before you missed the ferry?” he asked, leaning in like he actually wanted to hear the answer.

“Some small village in Corsica,” you said, twirling your fork. 

“Vacation?”

You shrugged. “Immigration? I’m moving there.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “Why?”

“Identity crisis?” you offered with a chuckle. “Nothing really. Just trying to figure things out. Make something for myself.”

“Ah,” he said, sipping his wine. “My favorite kind of woman.”

“I’m sure you say that about every kind of woman.”

“Not to every kind,” he replied, smirking. “Just the ones I like.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help chuckling.

“Anyway,” he said after a beat, cutting into his food, “I may not look like it, but I’m kind of figuring things out too. So… I get it.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I’m sure you’ll get there eventually.”

“I feel like we should toast to that,” he said, lifting his glass. “To starting over and making something of ourselves.”

You clinked yours gently against his. “To strange men and questionable decisions.”

After dinner, the two of you drifted toward the front of the yacht. You leaned against the rail, watching the faint outline of the horizon and the stars dotting the night sky.

Jay stood beside you, close but not touching. His wine glass dangled loosely in his fingers. “Not a bad way to spend a missed ferry, huh?” he said.

You hummed. “Could’ve been worse. I could’ve ended up on a fishing boat with no wine.”

“Or worse,” he said, “with someone boring.”

You glanced at him. “Fine. I’ll concede and say you’re not that boring.”

Jay smirked, eyes on the sea. “I can already imagine how broken my heart would be once you leave this boat tomorrow.”

You snorted. “Did that line ever work for you? Don’t tell me it did, because I know it didn’t.”

He chuckled. “Oh, you’d be surprised. It’s my best line.”

“No, it’s not,” you replied, shaking your head and taking a sip from your glass. 

“It is, though,” Jay insisted, bright grin gleaming under the light. “Although, I can see that it doesn’t work on you, and that’s just making me fall in love with you even more.”

“Stop,” you chided softly, nudging his arm with your elbow. “I won’t have sex with you.”

“Why not?”

You looked over at him, smirking. “We literally only just met.”

He bumped you back with a grin “And you’re not that kind of girl?”

“Absolutely not,” you said, then paused. “Usually,” you added, looking away.

Jay chuckled heartily, taking one step away. “Fine. But it is true that I’m falling in love with you.”

“Yeah,” you sniggered, rolling your eyes. “I'm getting that a lot these days.”

The next day arrived with the soft rock of the yacht and sunlight pouring through the porthole window. You stirred awake at noon, disoriented for a second before remembering the events of the day before—missed ferry, expensive yacht, handsome stranger with very white teeth.

By the time you made it to the deck, the coastline of Corsica was already coming into view. It was closer now and you had specifically pointed out a tiny village by the coast when the captain asked where you wanted to be delivered to.

The village was small, charming in that rustic way travel blogs loved to romanticize—whitewashed walls, terracotta roofs, little boats bobbing in a quiet harbor. It looked peaceful and safe. Like the kind of place where things might finally slow down for you.

Jay was already up, leaning casually on the rail with a coffee in hand and sunglasses perched on his nose like he hadn’t stayed up half the night trying to charm you out of your room.

“Sleep well?” he asked without looking.

You stepped beside him and inhaled the salt-thick air. “Like a sloth. Must be the ocean breeze. Or the sheer emotional exhaustion of your flirting.”

He chuckled. “You wound me. I’m not a flirt, I’m a charmer.”

“Does saying that help you sleep better at night?” you asked, stretching your arms over your head.

“Most of the time,” he said, grinning. Then he nodded toward the dock. “You’re up next. Corsica awaits.”

You glanced at the approaching land, heart flickering with something between nerves and excitement. “Oh, it’s a beauty. Are you sure you won’t stop by and explore the island before you head to Sardinia?”

“I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’m a little behind schedule.” He turned to face you fully, just for a moment. “It’s a shame, though. I was starting to enjoy your company.”

“Was?”

“Am,” he corrected, gently. “Though I suspect I’ll be enjoying the memory of you more than anything else.”

You rolled your eyes but found yourself smiling anyway. “Well, thanks for the ride. And the fish. And for not being a strange man who liked to kidnap unsuspecting tourists who missed their ferries.”

Jay laughed a little too hard, head lolling back. When he recovered, he was wiping small tears from the corners of his eyes. “We’ll see each other again, though. I’m sure of it.”

You blinked at him. “That sounded oddly ominous.”

He winked. “Then I said it right.”

The yacht bumped gently against the dock. A crew member waved you toward the exit. You gave Jay a last look, one corner of your mouth lifting in amusement.

“Take care, Playboy.”

“You too, Miss Not-That-Kind-of-Girl.”

You descended the ramp with your suitcase thumping behind you, the sun warming your shoulders and your next destination waiting just ahead.

Behind you, the yacht peeled away from the dock and disappeared around the curve of the coast. But Jay’s last words echoed anyway.

We’ll see each other again.

The village was even lovelier up close. Narrow stone streets wove between crumbling old buildings, flower boxes popping color out of every window. Locals moved slowly, like they had all the time in the world. It felt like a place untouched by urgency, like nothing truly bad could happen here.

You wandered without direction, letting your feet take you uphill, away from the port and toward the cliffs that framed the coastline. The sea stretched endlessly below, crashing in soft rhythms. For a while, you just stood there and stared at it, arms folded loosely, wind tugging at your clothes. You could already picture the postcards.

Then, further ahead, something caught your eye.

It sat like a relic from another lifetime: a grand, slightly crumbling mansion with tall shuttered windows and ivy crawling halfway up the walls. The gate stood open, a “FOR SALE” sign bolted crookedly to the wrought iron. Grass had grown wild, and the gravel path was broken and overgrown, but the bones of the place were beautiful. In your mind’s eye, you could picture the grandeur and the majesty of the place.

You hesitated for a second, then stepped through the gate. The front door wasn’t locked and inside, the air was stale but not unpleasant. The ceilings were high, the rooms wide and flooded with light from broken windows. It smelled faintly of dust and sea. You moved carefully, your footsteps echoing across tiled floors and creaking wood.

In your mind, it all changed. You saw fresh white paint, wide glass doors, airy curtains that fluttered in the breeze. You pictured soft linens and warm breakfasts, travelers coming in from the harbor with sand still on their skin. You could almost hear the clink of plates in a bright little dining room and laughter echoing through the halls.

You gasped at the sheer excitement of it all, covering your mouth as you looked around the place. Then you shrieked and started twirling around. You stopped just in time, breathless at the edge of the stairs.

“This is it,” you muttered to yourself, eyes still wide. “This is the place.”

You turned to leave, determined to find out if the place was still for sale and if your savings was enough to buy it. But just as you were stepping out of the big double doors, large drops of rain started hitting the floor and your head.

The downpour came instantly, heavy and fast, drenching the gravel path before you. You froze at the doorway, then stepped back inside. The once quiet halls were filled with the sound of raindrops battering the roof and the old windows, sheets of it cascading off the eaves. There was no point trying to make a run for it.

So you wandered a little deeper into the house, hugging your arms to yourself. 

“Just for a few minutes,” you murmured aloud, brushing a cobweb off a dusty banister. “I’m sure it’s just passing by.”

But hours passed and the rain didn’t let up.

What started as a drizzle had turned relentless, and by late afternoon, it was hard to tell whether the sky was getting darker from the storm or the approaching dusk. The old house groaned occasionally with the wind. Water pelted the windows like tiny stones.

You paced for a bit, hugged your knees for a while, then tried pacing again. The floorboards creaked. Somewhere upstairs, something thudded. It could’ve been the wind. Or ghosts. You chose not to think about it.

“I love this place,” you muttered to yourself. “I just don’t want to die here.”

With the rain still going strong and no sign of stopping, you resigned yourself to the possibility of staying the night, miserable, damp, and slightly haunted. You pulled your bag closer, rummaging for something that could function as a light source. Cellphone? Dead. Flashlight? Obviously, you didn’t have one. You were sure you had a lighter, though. It was your friend’s that you’d nicked at some point before leaving for France.

Just as you were deep into your luggage looking for the lighter, you heard footsteps. Your head jerked up. Then another footstep, then the sound of the front door creaking.

You froze. You weren’t imagining it—someone was inside!

Your mind raced. Was it the owner? Were you about to be arrested for trespassing? Was it a real estate agent with unfortunate timing? Or worse, some awful drifter who wandered into empty buildings looking for lone women to murder in cold blood?

The footsteps were getting closer. Your heart jumped into your throat.

Without thinking, you grabbed the closest thing—a splintered piece of wood from a broken table leg—and backed into the shadow of the stairwell, gripping it like a weapon.

They were coming down the main hall with steady, heavy steps. When the figure appeared in the doorway, you lunged.

Or, well, tried to.

A startled yelp came out of both of you as the man blocked your swing just in time, catching your wrists with both hands. “Whoa—whoa—hey!” he gasped. “I’m not—! I’m not here to rob you! Or—or murder you!”

You stared at him, breathless, wood still clutched in your hands. “Then what the hell are you doing here?!”

“Trying not to die of hypothermia,” he said quickly. He had a soaked jacket, a backpack slung off one shoulder, and water dripping from the ends of his hair. “And, uh—avoiding flying furniture, apparently.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m—I’m Sunghoon! Park Sunghoon!”

You didn’t relax yet. “Are you the owner?”

“No,” he said. “Are you?”

You hesitated. “…No.”

He slowly let go of your wrists. You slowly lowered your arm. The two of you stared at each other, breathing hard.

“Well,” you said after a few seconds, sighing in relief. “This is definitely not how I imagined meeting someone today.”

He blinked. Then laughed. “Yeah, me neither.”

You both stood there for a while, listening to the rain hammering the roof like it had no plans of stopping. You glanced at him. “Think it’ll let up soon?”

Sunghoon didn’t even look outside. “Nope.”

“…You sound so sure.”

He shrugged out of his wet jacket. “I just know a thing or two about weather.”

“Okay, Weatherman.” You made a face. “Fantastic. So what, we just wait it out? Sit on the floor until morning?”

“There’s probably a fireplace somewhere,” he said, tugging off his shoes and shaking out his soaked sleeves. “A place like this has to have one.”

You sighed, shuddering at the sight of him in wet clothes. You then turned to your suitcase and flung it open. You first found the lighter, turned it on, and rummaged through your clothes for a t-shirt.

You found a plain white oversized sweater and handed it to him. “Here.”

Sunghoon hesitated. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You said so yourself. The rain isn’t letting up anytime soon.”

He sighed, but he looked grateful when he accepted it. “Thanks.”

You turned away as he got dressed, fixing your gaze on a hallway up ahead. “I think I saw the fireplace over there earlier.”

Walking together, with the lighter illuminating the dark halls, the two of you found it the old, soot-caked hearth in what might’ve once been a formal sitting room. Tall windows lined the walls, and you could see lightning flash beyond the horizon. The fireplace was cold and cobwebbed but intact.

“Found our survival base,” you said, voice echoing off the high ceiling.

Together, you gathered anything burnable—splintered chair legs, bits of an old table that looked way beyond repair. Sunghoon kicked apart a broken door with a little too much enthusiasm.

You raised an eyebrow. “You do this a lot?”

“Breaking and entering?” he asked, dragging a long covered couch across the room. “No. But I’m good at winging things.”

He tugged the white cloth off the couch and sent a thick cloud of dust into the air. Beneath it, the upholstery was surprisingly intact—floral velvet with only one visible tear on the side.

“Not bad,” he said, flopping down. “Way better than the hostel I stayed in last night.”

You scoffed. “I appreciate your optimism.”

You dropped your bag nearby and pulled out your meager stash of chips, two chocolate bars, and a slightly squished croissant. You held them out. “Dinner?”

He held up a hand to his chest solemnly. “It’s an honor.”

You shared the food while he coaxed the fire to life. Soon enough, warmth began to seep into the room, and a yellowish glow illuminated your faces and the walls.

“Not the worst way to spend a storm,” he said, stretching out his legs toward the fire.

You gave him a look. “You realize we’re in a haunted-looking mansion, right? With barely enough food and no cell service?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, tilting his head back against the couch. “But at least we’re warm and dry, and not dead yet.”

You laughed quietly, pulling your knees up to your chest. The fire crackled between you. Rain kept pelting the windows, but in here, it was manageable. Almost safe. You were both quiet for a while, chewing in silence, listening to the fire crackle and the storm rage outside.

Then Sunghoon spoke. “I used to be scared of thunder.”

You glanced over. “Really?”

He nodded, glancing over his shoulders out at the tall windows. “I was maybe six or seven. My mom told me it was just the clouds yelling at each other.” He smiled faintly. “So I’d yell back. Thought it made me brave.”

You grinned. “Did it work?”

“Only when she was in the room.”

The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney. He leaned back, his gaze on the flames. “You ever have something you were embarrassed to admit you were scared of?”

You thought about it. “I’m scared of spiraling out of control.” You chuckled. “You?”

He looked over, brows lifted slightly. “Me? I don’t know,” he said, then looked away. “I think I’m scared of staying still.”

You didn’t say anything at first, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, you asked, “Did you… run away?”

“Not exactly,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if I’m running away or taking a break. I had this perfectly reasonable life mapped out for me. Job, partner, apartment, future. All very respectable.” He let out a dry laugh. “But none of it felt like it belonged to me.”

You nodded slowly, understanding without needing every detail.

“So I left,” he added. “Just picked a spot on the map and left.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then you said, “Good for you.”

He looked at you. “Yeah?”

You smiled. “Yeah. Sometimes walking away is the braver thing.”

You took a deep breath and fixed your gaze on the fire. “I ran away, too. Everyone back home had some plan for me. What I’d study. Where I’d work. Who I’d be. And I went along with it because it was easier than fighting. Until one day I looked around and realized nothing in my life felt like mine.”

You felt your chest loosen after saying that out loud, like something unknotted inside you. A long pause followed. Then you added with a smile, “Still doesn’t explain why I walked into a random old mansion.”

“It’s a beautiful one,” he said. “Kind of poetic, really. You leave your life behind and walk straight into a ghost of someone else’s.”

You chuckled, leaning back into the couch. “Well, when you put it that way…”

The wind howled outside, but the room felt warm. Not just from the fire—something else, too. Something like understanding. You looked at him again, really looked this time. He was soaked, probably tired, and definitely not what you expected to find when you first stepped through those gates.

But somehow, running into him made perfect sense.

You woke up to sunlight pouring in from the tall windows. The high ceiling and the dust floating in the rays of morning light reminded you where you were—an abandoned mansion where you got stuck waiting out a storm.

You sat up slowly, noticing that the spot on the couch beside you was empty.

“Sunghoon?” you called out, but there was no response. 

You stood up, stretching your sore arms, and glanced around. The place was as quiet as it had been the day before. The broken furniture. The high windows. The eerie vibe.

You had almost thought Sunghoon wasn’t real. That he was just a figment of your imagination that your brain cooked up out of fear of being alone in this big house, but then your eyes landed on a dark denim jacket hanging near the fireplace, still a little damp.

You smiled a little. He was real after all.

But where was he? You had no idea. Maybe he’d left as soon as morning came and simply forgotten his jacket. Not that you were expecting him to stay, but you had assumed he would at least bid you a proper goodbye.

Well, it was no use sitting around waiting for him to come back and explain himself, so you decided to start your day. After gathering your things and running a hand through your hair, you made your way out of the mansion and back through the village path. The rain had washed the streets clean, and the morning had that fresh-after-a-storm feeling.

At the heart of the village, you found the inn. It looked like it hadn’t been updated in a decade, but it had flower pots on the window sills and a hand-painted sign out front that read Chambres.

The woman at the front desk wore a knit vest, bright lipstick, and had the energy of someone who’d wrestle a bear and win. She welcomed you like you were an old friend who’d finally come home, offered a nice room, and a hearty breakfast.

By noon, you were freshly showered, had eaten something good, and were strolling through the village looking for the real estate office. You found it near a patisserie, and the woman behind the desk raised an eyebrow when you mentioned the old mansion.

“That place?” she said. “You sure?”

You told her you were, and that you had the money ready.

She blinked, then smiled. “Well, no one else was ever interested in buying it, so it’s yours if you really want it. Paperwork will take a while, but you can go ahead and start fixing it up. No one’ll stop you.”

You were halfway through signing the first form when she added, “Funny. Someone else asked about it earlier today. Young man. Seemed curious but didn’t seem interested in buying.”

“Why was he asking about it?”

“Who knows? First-time visitors to this town are always curious about that place.”

You paused for a second, then shrugged. “As long as he’s not a potential rival buyer, I’m good,” you said with a smile.

“I assure you, Miss,” the lady said, stepping out of her desk to join you. “No one wants that place. Why do you think it’s much cheaper than it’s supposed to be?”

The real estate agent handed you note after the paperwork, tapping her nail against the words written on it.

“Since the place is gonna need to be fixed up, I suggest you talk to Jean-Luc. He’s a mason, but he has a group of carpenters working for him. He does a pretty good job, though he can be a little nosy.”

“Thanks. I was just wondering where to start looking for help,” you said, smiling as you examined the name and address on the note.

Before leaving the office, the agent told you what Jean-Luc’s daily rate was and to call out his bullshit if he ever asked for more than that. You thanked her again and turned in the direction of Jean-Luc’s shop. 

You met him at his shop, a wiry man in suspenders and a flat cap. He asked a few questions, but he seemed to know more about the place than you did.

“I’ll come by tomorrow morning to have a proper look, then we can negotiate.”

After that, he pointed you to a local supply shop, where you bought items you could use in the meantime, including some sturdy brooms, a pair of gloves, a few rags, and a bucket. You debated getting bleach but settled for lemon cleaner and optimism.

By the time you made your way back up the winding road to the mansion, your arms were aching from the weight of the supplies. But there was something satisfying about the ache, the breeze, and the faint scent of damp earth left by the storm.

You were surprised to see a motorbike parked outside the gates. The rain from the night before had washed the dust off the path, and the sun lit up the gravel as you stepped through the front doors of the mansion again.

Inside, the sound of hammering echoed faintly through the halls.

You followed it to the study, where the fireplace was. Sunghoon was crouched beside a wooden table, sleeves pushed up, hair damp at the temples. He held a hammer in one hand and was steadying a broken leg with the other, completely focused.

He looked up when he heard your footsteps. “Hey,” he said, straightening. “You’re back.”

You blinked. “You’re here?”

“So are you,” he said, setting the hammer down gently. “I thought you’d left for good.”

“I thought you left,” you replied, stepping inside.

He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Just went out to grab some food. When I came back, you weren’t here.”

You looked around. A few chairs had been repaired. One of the broken shelves stood straighter than before. He’d clearly been busy.

“You’ve been fixing things?” you asked.

He nodded. “I had time. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to help the place along a little. The woman at the real estate office said I could come by if I wanted.”

You raised a brow. “You went to the real estate office?”

“Yeah. She was friendly.” He looked sheepish, then smiled. “She said no one was ever interested in the place.”

You smiled back. “Well… someone is.”

He paused. “You?”

You nodded. He let out a short breath, like he hadn’t expected that. Then he gave a small, thoughtful smile. “Then maybe it’s good I didn’t leave.”

You tilted your head. “Why is that?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna need extra hands around here.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, no thanks. I don’t need a man bossing me around my own property.”

“No, I don’t mean it like that.” Sunghoon laughed. “I’m an architect, you see. I know my way around structures. If you’re planning to restore the place… I could help.”

You studied him. He didn’t seem to be lying. “…I don’t know how much I can pay you,” you said.

“Well, you fed and dressed me last night, so I’m basically alive because of you.”

That made you snort. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Just a little,” he replied, laughing. “But I’m serious. If you don’t mind having me around… I’m happy to help. That’s all.”

You were quiet for a moment, then reached into your bag and pulled out a broom. “Alright, then. Since you’re so eager… how about we start with the floors?”

He took the broom from you with a smile. “Sure.”

The first few days were chaotic in the most exciting way. You had dust in your lungs. Paint flakes in your hair. And the occasional clatter of tools or startled yelp when someone stepped on a loose board made the once eerily quiet place into a rowdy construction site. 

Jean-Luc’s team of local carpenters moved in and out with efficiency, restoring what could be saved and gutting what couldn’t. 

You did what you could afford. No grand hotel transformation just yet because your savings wouldn’t allow it, but enough to make the place safe, clean, and standing. You patched up what you could and left the heavy lifting to people who actually knew what they were doing. Sunghoon floated somewhere between both worlds, neither a hired worker nor idle guest.

He showed the carpenters the original layout you’d uncovered, and offered suggestions they actually listened to. You noticed the way they nodded when he spoke, how they looked to him when unsure.

One day, when the particularly exquisite wooden double doors leading to a grand ballroom broke down, everyone said your idea of putting them back in place wasn’t possible. The broken hinges had chipped a piece off one of the two doors, making it hard to put it back.

“We can repurpose the other one. Use it to replace the library door. Then maybe forgo the doors and keep the ballroom open?” Sunghoon suggested, tilting his head as he examined the doorway. He turned to you. “What do you think?”

“You’re full of solutions, aren’t you?” you said, only half-teasing.

He shrugged. “Comes with the degree.”

The architect thing came up again and again—not because he bragged, but because he made it quite useful. He knew how to brace the weakened staircase, how to check for mold behind plaster, and how to tell the difference between salvageable and unsafe. And when you asked how he knew all this labor stuff when he was supposed to be an architect, he always said, “It comes with the job.”

Together, you made progress. Slow, sweaty, stubborn progress.

You’d sweep out a room while he cleared debris. He’d rig up temporary lighting while you picked tile samples you couldn’t afford yet. Some afternoons, you’d sit together on the back steps, drinking orange juice from the orchard behind the house. 

Other times, when your arms were too tired to scrub anything else, he’d ask, “Want to get out of here for a bit?” And somehow, you always did.

You rode behind him on the motorbike, hands wrapped around his waist, wind whipping at your sleeves. The roads curved sharply along the cliffs, opening into views of the sea that looked almost too blue to be real. You dipped your toes in hidden coves, ate greasy fish sandwiches by the pier, and once spent a full hour watching an old man play the accordion in the town square.

Sometimes he pointed things out—a crumbling lighthouse, a fig tree blooming near the bend—and you found yourself asking about the island, even though you knew he was as new to the island as you were.

The nights were quieter. Sometimes you cooked, sometimes you didn’t. Once, when the electricity went out, you shared a bowl of fruit by candlelight and listened to the wind sweep through the shutters. He told you about a vineyard resort project he’d worked on in Nice. You told him how you’d found this place by accident a few years ago on a trip you were never supposed to take.

Opening up to him was oddly easy for someone like you who liked to keep to herself and not let people in. He was easy to be around. Charismatic without trying. Quiet, but never cold.

You soon noticed how he always let you talk first. How he’d fix something for you without being asked to, or wipe his shoes before stepping inside even if the floors were already filthy.

The house slowly took shape. And so did whatever this was between you.

Jean-Luc’s crew was just wrapping up for the day when you stepped out, putting on your jacket and smoothing down the skirt of your dress. You’d taken the time to pick it out, simple, soft blue, not too fancy, but it was much more sophisticated than your usual work shirts and sun-stained jeans.

Jean spotted you instantly. “Ah,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag and giving you a once-over. “That dress is new.”

You gave him a look. “I had this dress for years.”

He grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You dressed up nicely for your date.”

“It’s not a date,” you said, out of habit more than conviction. “We’re just eating out because I didn’t wanna cook.”

The guys had heard Sunghoon earlier in the day when he invited you to eat at the pub in town. He did it because you complained about being too tired to make food, but Jean and his crew decided it was open to interpretation.

“Mm-hmm.” He raised a brow. “Sure. Too tired to cook, but not too tired to wear parfum, eh?” he added, glancing at his crew, who all started whistling.

You rolled your eyes, laughing under your breath. Their teasing had become a daily ritual ever since they started working in the house. You’d learned about Jean’s nosy nature from the get-go, but were surprised at first when you saw it firsthand. He’d asked you almost everything there was to know about you, from your education, your parents, and your decision to move into a foreign land and buy a haunted mansion.

Still, he didn’t pry too much and wasn’t annoying, so you took it all in stride. And as for his assumption that there was something going on between you and Sunghoon, well, you didn’t think much of it. If Sunghoon knew or was clueless that he was being shipped with you, you wouldn’t know because you never really talked about it.

“How about I hitch a ride to town?” you asked, already getting into their truck. “Would be a waste walking downhill in this dress, don’t you think?”

“It would be an honor to deliver you to your prince, mademoiselle.”

By the time you stepped out at the curb near the pub, the sun had dipped low, gleaming orange and gold across the sea. You caught your reflection briefly in the window and frowned. It was a nice dress. But why did you take the time to look pretty? You’d even put on lipstick, and for what? A casual dinner?

It’s just dinner! Right?

Or is it? You shook the thought away before you could overthink it.

Inside, the pub was lively but cozy, with fairy lights strung on wooden beams, a small local band playing mellow jazz near the back. Sunghoon was already seated at a corner table, nursing a glass of something amber. He looked up when you walked in and smiled.

“Wow,” he said, standing as you approached. “You look…”

He paused, and the way he searched for a word made you feel self-conscious. You hid your nervousness behind a smirk. “Weird? Disproportionate? Wicked with a hint of witchcraft and sorcery?”

He laughed. “Beautiful. Definitely beautiful.”

You smiled, sliding into the chair opposite him. “Thanks.”

He looked good, too. He’d shaved. Maybe even styled his hair. A waitress came by, dropped off menus, and you both skimmed through them, ordering a round of food that was heavier than you needed but comforting all the same. The band was playing a soft instrumental, and you leaned back in your seat, letting the atmosphere settle.

Sunghoon had been at the house every day this past week, but it occurred to you now how little you knew about his nights. He didn’t stay there, not even once. He always left just before dusk, riding off on that old motorbike. You never asked where he went, but vaguely assumed he was probably resting in his room at the inn. You were curious, but it didn’t matter much.

Until now.

Tonight, he was different. Still warm, still easy to talk to, but something in the air felt a little off-script. The way his eyes gleamed, the way he smiled when you caught him looking. It made you nervous and giddy at the same time.

“Didn’t take you for a dress person,” he said, sipping his drink.

You raised a brow. “And what kind of person did you take me for?”

He tilted his head like he was thinking of the answer. “Sawdust. Paint stains. And boots.”

You scoffed. “So… a disaster?”

“I didn’t say that.” His smile widened. “I like disasters. They’re more fun to fix.”

You narrowed your eyes, half-laughing. “Did you just call me a fixer-upper?”

“Well, no…” he trailed off, then blinked like he’d surprised himself. “Wait, did I? Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—you're actually kind of perfect.”

You laughed under your breath. “Okay, Charmer. Slow down.”

He leaned in, elbows on the table. “You’re blushing. I think you’re charmed.”

“It would take more than that to sweep me off my feet, Hoon,” you said, taking a slow sip of your drink. You smiled at him as you placed your glass back down. “But you’re on the right track.”

“Am I?” he asked, grinning, canines and dimples on full display. “Good to know. I’ll try harder then.”

He didn’t usually talk like this. You didn’t either, not with him. But neither of you stopped.

When the food came, the conversation didn’t stop either. It slipped in with the wine, with the melodic music in the background, with the occasional brush of his knee against yours beneath the table.

“You really didn’t have to dress up,” he said at one point, glancing at you over his fork.

“I didn’t,” you said. “This is me on a regular day. You should see me on a real date.”

He leaned back in his seat. “Am I not getting the real date version?”

“That depends. Is this a date?”

His brows lifted slightly, as if surprised you said it out loud. But his answer came quickly.

“I don’t know.” He smiled. “You tell me.”’

You sighed, feigning frustration. “Ugh, no. Wrong answer.”

Sunghoon winced, propped an elbow on the table, and buried his face in his hand. “Crap. Can I try again?”

“Nope,” you teased, giggling behind your glass.

The flirting stopped by dessert, and you fell into a conversation about the house and its grand architecture. Sunghoon talked about the dating of the design and the timelessness of it. At some point, you’d told him your plans of converting it into a hotel. It would take time since money was obviously a huge factor to consider, but you laid out your renovation plans, your vision, and the whole dream behind the project.

“For now, it’s just a dream,” you said, smiling as you stirred an olive in your drink. “But the first step was buying the place, and that’s a box ticked in my list.”

“That’s actually a big start.”

“Right?” you chimed, eyes gleaming. “I still have a long way to go, but it is something, right?”

“It is,” he replied, a smile gracing his lips as he watched you.

You kept talking, hands moving animatedly as you described the lounge you envisioned, the garden terrace, the way the morning sun would hit the breakfast room just right. And Sunghoon just watched you.

At first, you didn’t notice, too caught up in your own excitement. But then you glanced at him and caught the way he was looking at you—soft and focused, like he wasn’t listening at all but watching.

Your smile faltered slightly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinked, leaned back, and shrugged with a small grin. “Like what?”

“Like that,” you repeated, heat creeping to your cheeks. “I know you know what I mean.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, eyes glinting under the dim pub lights. “No reason. I just… I’m just really proud of you.”

Your pulse raced at the way he said it. Like he meant it, and the affection in his voice wasn’t a figment of your imagination. You looked down at your drink. “Well. Thanks.”

He tilted his head. “That made you nervous.”

“No, it didn’t.”

He laughed under his breath. “You always get defensive when someone compliments you. It’s cute.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling now. “And you’re acting really out of character tonight. What’s up with you?”

“Sunghoon straightened up in his seat, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, a little too casually

Before you could say anything, he flagged down the server, asking for a pen and paper. A few minutes later, the order sheet was in front of him, along with your full attention.

“Alright,” he said, uncapping the pen. “Show me what you see.”

“What I see?”

“For your dream hotel,” he replied, beaming. “I’ll do a free sketch for you since you came here looking all pretty tonight.”

You laughed at first, but took him up on his offer. You walked him through it—the courtyard, the check-in desk, the sunlit breakfast room. He listened closely, nodding along, his hand gliding over the paper with precision. He added soft curves where you imagined sharp lines, windows where there were none, and little alcoves you hadn’t even thought of.

“This is where I’d put the courtyard,” you said, tapping the center.

“With some trees?” he asked. “A fountain?”

“Exactly,” you said. “But not a flashy one. Just charming and pretty.”

He sketched it in. You leaned over the table to get a better look, your shoulder brushing his. He didn’t pull away. You didn’t either.

When he finished, he slid the paper toward you. “It’s rough, but… this is what I see when you talk about it.”

You stared at the sketch, warmth blooming in your chest. “It’s kind of perfect.”

“You’re kind of perfect,” he said, and this time, he didn’t soften it with a laugh or a tease. 

Your heart thudded. He was looking at you like that again—like you were the only one in the room, like it would hurt him to peel his eyes away, like he wanted to just stare at you as much as he could.

“So… what now?” you asked, one hand hugging yourself. You felt nervous under his gaze, and not in a bad way.

“I should drive you back, but…” he paused, leaning a little closer. “Do you want to take a walk before we call it a night?”

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Outside, the air was cool and the streets mostly empty. The band’s music faded behind you as you walked side by side, a little closer than usual, not talking much. His hand brushed yours once, then again—until he finally just reached for it and laced your fingers together.

When you turned the corner and saw his bike down the road, he looked at you once with a smile before letting go of your hand.

“Will you be alright?” he asked as he mounted his bike and handed you one of the helmets. “You’re in a dress.”

“Yeah. I can manage,” you said, letting him help you put the helmet on.

His hand lingered on your jaw even after he’d fastened the helmet in. For a second, you thought he was gonna kiss you, but he just took a deep breath and turned back to his bike.

The ride was cool and quiet. You held onto him as usual, arms wrapped around his torso, balancing yourself behind him, making sure you didn’t fall. For some reason, despite the considerable distance of the town from your mansion, the drive ended too quickly. 

You stopped in front of the gates but as you handed him his helmet back, something heavy settled in your chest. You didn’t want the night to end.

Neither did he, apparently. You could tell by the way he just sat there on his bike, staring at you and not saying anything but not moving to leave either.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked quietly after a minute.

He didn’t answer at first, just looked at you as if he was looking for any hint of doubt on your face.

Then, with a smile, he said, “I would love to if that’s alright with you.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You didn’t need to. Because all the overthinking, the second-guessing, the usual mental tug-of-war you went through whenever something felt too close and too good just stopped.

There was only the cool night air, the sound of crickets in the distance, and Sunghoon—  at you with that steady gaze of his, like he’d wait forever for your answer if he had to.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and kissed him. And he kissed you back like he’d been waiting for this all night.

His hands came to your waist, holding you. One of them slid up your back, pulling you in a little closer. You felt him smile into it and that was the moment your knees nearly gave out.

Because it was soft and sweet and beautiful and just so so melting.

When you finally pulled back, breath slightly uneven, he didn’t let go of you. “Is that a ‘yes’?” he whispered teasingly.

You giggled, eyes still closed. “That’s a yes.”

He kissed you once more. Urgently this time, like he couldn’t help himself, before reaching past you to unlock the gate.

Inside, the house was quiet, the lights were dim. You didn’t bother flicking them on. His hand found yours as you kicked your shoes off by the door, and you led him through the dim hallway like it was instinct. 

You weren’t rushing, pausing every now and then at some corner to kiss and embrace each other like you couldn’t get enough.

In your room, you both paused not from hesitation, but awe. Sunghoon looked around the once lifeless space that now felt lived-in and warm. And then his gaze returned to you, and it softened, like you were the most beautiful part of the room.

“Are you nervous?” he asked quietly, holding your hands.

“A little,” you admitted, stepping close. “But not the bad kind of nervous.”

He smiled, reached up and cupped your face in both hands, drawing you in again. The kiss this time was different. Slower, surer. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the way his breath hitched when your fingers brushed the back of his neck.

His touch was careful and tender, like he was asking permission with every move. You helped him out of his jacket, then reached behind yourself to pull the zipper of your dress down, but his hands stopped you gently.

“Let me,” he murmured.

You turned, and his fingers found the zipper. You felt the brush of his knuckles against your spine, the drag of fabric slipping from your shoulders. When you turned back to face him, he just stood there for a second, eyes roaming slowly over you.

“God,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

He didn’t say it like he was trying to seduce you. He said it like he meant it. Like he’d never meant anything more.

You reached out, pulled him back to you, mouths meeting again as your hands slid down his stomach to the front of his jeans. He hissed when you pressed your palm to the bulge there, already hard for you. “Fuck,” he muttered against your lips. “Please don’t tease.”

“Sorry,” you whispered, grinning.

He picked you up gently and carried you to the bed. The sheets were cool beneath you, and the room warm around you. You pulled him down with you, mouths meeting again. His kisses grew deeper, needier, as he settled between your legs, grinding slow against your clothed sex.

You could feel him through the layers, thick and hard, and it made your body pulse with want. He slipped a hand down between your thighs, pressing the heel of his palm against your core. You moaned, soft and breathy, hips tilting up to meet him.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, his lips grazing your throat. “Just from kissing me?”

“Don’t get cocky,” you mumbled, but your voice cracked on the end.

He smiled against your skin, then kissed down your body—between your breasts, your navel, lower—until he reached the edge of your panties. He looked up at you then, waiting.

You nodded.

He pulled them off slowly and settled between your thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The first stroke of his tongue made your back arch off the bed.

He took his time, licking deep, sucking hard until you were gasping his name. One arm wrapped around your thigh to keep you open, the other hand slid up to lace your fingers together on the sheets. You came like that—shaking, eyes squeezed shut, hand clinging to his—his mouth still on you, working you through it.

When he kissed back up your body, you were trembling. “You good?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded again. “Please.”

“Condoms?”

You shook your head. “I’m on the pill.”

He kissed you again, harder this time, and then positioned himself between your legs, his jaw tight like he was holding himself back. He slid into you languidly, lubricated by your own cum and his saliva.

He sank in slowly, with a deep, ragged breath, forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”

You felt full, stretched in the best way. Your arms wrapped around his back, fingernails grazing his skin as he started to move—shallow at first, then deeper, rolling his hips in smooth, deliberate thrusts that made your toes curl.

He kept whispering your name, like he couldn’t stop himself. Kept asking if you were okay, if it felt good, if he should go slower—and every time, your only answer was to hold him closer.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t frantic. It was deep. Hot. And overwhelming in the most delightful way.

You kissed through it, tangled in sweat and soft moans and the sound of skin meeting skin. Your second orgasm built slowly, until he shifted your hips up just right, and you cried out, gripping his back as you came again.

He followed not long after, burying his face in your neck with a choked sound, holding you so tightly you could hardly breathe—and you didn’t want to, not if it meant letting go.

He stayed inside you for a moment after, catching his breath, lips brushing your shoulder. Then he pulled out gently and lay beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms again.

No one spoke for a while. You didn’t need to.

His fingers traced soft shapes of your back as your breathing slowed. Your cheek rested against his chest, where you could feel his heartbeat still thudding fast.

“I really like you,” he said eventually, voice low, almost shy.

You closed your eyes. “I know.” And you did. “I like you too.”

The next morning, Sunghoon made coffee while you stood barefoot in the kitchen, hair messy, wearing only his oversized shirt from the night before. He’d found the beans in your pantry, ground them by hand, and hummed under his breath while the moka pot hissed on the stove. When he handed you a cup, it was with a kiss to your temple and a sleepy smile you wanted to keep in your pocket forever.

He didn’t leave that day. And the day after that. And then again the next. It wasn’t even a conversation—it just happened. One minute, he was supposed to return to his little room at the inn. The next, his toothbrush was on your sink and his boots sat neatly next to yours by the door.

“I guess I live here now,” he said with a shrug one evening, holding up a bundle of clean clothes he’d brought over.

You tried to act unbothered, but your chest felt light and strange and full. “I guess you do,” you replied.

Days spilled into each other like honey, slow and golden.

You worked the orange orchard together, side by side under the sun. He taught you how to check the fruits for ripeness, how to prune gently, how to tell if the bees were happy. You teased him for being too serious about it. He teased you for wearing perfume to pick fruit. He stole kisses in the shade of the trees, juice sticky on your fingers, the scent of citrus clinging to your skin.

“You’ve got a bit on your mouth,” he’d say, only to lean in and lick it off with a grin that made you drop the basket you were carrying.

Sometimes you ended up lying in the grass instead of working. Talking about the past, the future. Tracing invisible lines on each other’s arms. Learning the things that didn’t come up in early conversations—how he hated raisins, how you cried watching documentaries, how neither of you had felt like this in a long, long time.

Nights were warm. He’d light a fire when it got cold and pull you into his lap while you ate dinner on the couch. The two of you would read—him with his architectural journals, you with whatever novel you’d found at the local shop. Your legs tangled. His hand on your thigh. You’d fall asleep with your cheek on his chest more often than not, waking up only when he carried you to bed.

He made love to you like he was discovering something new each time. Slow. Intentional. Always watching your face like it told him a secret he didn’t want to forget. There were times he didn’t say a word, just kissed you like he meant it, like he needed it, like he’d been waiting to do it forever.

Sometimes it was lazy. Sometimes passionate. Sometimes soft, with laughter in between. One time, he brought oranges into the shower, peeled them as water ran down both your backs, fed you slices from his fingers before pressing you up against the glass.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” you told him one night, your voice quiet in the dark.

He rolled over to face you, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded with sleep. “Me neither.”

You explored the island on foot and by his bike, visited hidden beaches and ate at local tavernas where he introduced you as his “partner”—not girlfriend, not roommate, just something simple and solid and true.

He drew plans for your hotel idea, left them pinned up on your fridge, updated them with sticky notes that said things like “maybe French doors here?” or “do you like this arch style?”

You found yourself setting the table for two without thinking. Buying his favorite snacks when you went into town. Pulling his shirts from the laundry and holding them to your chest like a fool.

There was a routine now. A tenderness. A life. And it felt like forever.

One day, you were sitting on the dock just past the cove, legs dangling over the edge, fishing rods in hand and an old bottle of white wine between you. Neither of you knew much about fishing, but Sunghoon said that was part of the fun.

You’d caught nothing. He’d caught seaweed. Twice.

“Okay, but it looked like a fish,” he said defensively, flicking the green tangle off his line. “For a second.”

You laughed, tipping your head back as the breeze brushed your cheeks. You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed like this with someone other than your best friends. He looked over at you, half smiling, the way he always did when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

A peaceful quiet settled between you for a minute. Then you broke it.

“I’ve pictured this place for years,” you said softly. “Not this exact dock, or this exact sunset… but the idea of it. Of being somewhere like this.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond right away. He just turned his head to listen.

“I’d imagine buying a house on some forgotten island, fixing it up myself, turning it into a little bed and breakfast or a hotel. Starting something that was just mine. A place to breathe. A place to stay.”

You swallowed, not nervous, just careful. “And I was always alone in that picture. I wasn’t lonely, I was content. I thought that’s what I wanted.” You looked at him. “And then I met you.”

His eyes stayed on you, steady. Patient.

“And now when I picture it again… I see you. Just—there. Beside me. Part of it.”

You gave a small shrug, cheeks warm. “I know it sounds crazy. We haven’t known each other long, and there’s still a lot I don’t know about you, and maybe this is too fast, but… I was wondering if you’d like to be in that picture. For real. If you’d want to try building something together.”

Sunghoon didn’t answer right away. He just set down his fishing rod, then reached for your hand, fingers lacing between yours.

“Doesn’t sound crazy to me at all,” he said quietly.

You looked at him. He looked at you. And in that silence, something deep and certain was decided between you. Llike two pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.

The fish still weren’t biting. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

That night, you lay tangled together in bed, skin still warm from the day’s sun and each other’s touch. The windows were open, and the sound of the waves slamming against the cliff below was oddly soothing despite its violence. Sunghoon’s arm lay heavy across your waist, fingers lazily stroking your bare stomach. It was quiet, the kind of silence that usually felt safe with him.

“I have to tell you something,” he said quietly.

You turned slightly to face him. “What is it?”

“I love you.”

You giggled, closing your eyes and nuzzling your nose back on his chest. “Okay, Lover Boy. I heard you.”

“And I’m engaged to someone else,” he added, making you force your eyes open.

At first, you didn’t react. The words didn’t quite register in your head. You blinked up at him, waiting for a punchline. But he just looked back at you, his eyes open and serious.

“What?”

“It’s not what it sounds like,” he said quickly, propping himself up. “It’s arranged. My family—back home—they… they set it up. I didn’t choose it. I barely know her. I’ve met her maybe three times. I don’t have feelings for her.”

Something cold seeped into your chest. You pulled away from him. “And when were you going to tell me?”

“I—I didn’t know how. I didn’t think it mattered at first. But then everything with us…” He reached for you, but you slapped his hand away. “I should’ve told you sooner. I know.”

You sat up, dragging the sheet around yourself. “You didn’t think it mattered? Are you hearing yourself?”

“I didn’t plan any of this,” he said, sitting up too. “I was just here for a little break. I didn’t plan to meet you and fall for you.”

You laughed bitterly. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t stand there and talk about falling for me like you didn’t lie by omission every single day. You let me build a whole dream around you. Around us. And you were promised to someone else this whole time?”

“It’s not real—”

“It’s real enough,” you snapped. “I don’t care if you love her or not. I don’t care if it’s just paper. You’re someone else’s, Sunghoon.”

He looked like he’d been punched. “I don’t want it! I choose you.”

“No. You don’t get to choose! You knew this would happen and you let it happen anyway.” Your voice broke then. You didn’t mean for it to, but it came out in a tremble. “Get out.”

He froze. “Please… Don’t do this.”

“Go. Just get the fuck out! Please,” you said, turning away and moving to the corner of the room.

You buried your face in your hands and sobbed, shoulder trembling, voice breaking. You could hear the soft sounds of Sunghoon’s footsteps approaching you, then his hand on your shoulder but you swatted it away.

“Just leave, Hoon!”

He left. And he never came back.

You hadn’t slept. Not really. You’d kept your eyes closed through most of the night, but your mind never let you rest. You could still feel the ghost of his arm around your waist, the weight of his words sitting heavy on your chest.

“And I’m engaged to someone else.”

The sun had fully risen and the ocean looked far too cheerful for how you felt. You opened the door to see Amy’s familiar grin and Lea’s arms already opening for a hug. They were glowing with excitement, sunglasses in their hair, bags slung over their shoulders, and not even an ounce of awareness that your world had collapsed less than twelve hours ago.

“There she is!” Lea beamed, pulling you into a tight squeeze. “God, it smells like citrus and freedom out here. I’m never leaving.”

“You look like you haven’t slept,” Amy said with a teasing frown. “Don’t tell me you and Lover Boy were up all night doing—”

You let out a soft laugh—more exhale than amusement—and stepped aside to let them in.

The massive house felt too full suddenly. Their voices bounced off the walls, light and warm. They talked about the flight, the heat, the funny guy at customs. You listened. Smiled when appropriate. Nodded at all the right times.

It wasn’t until you’d served them fresh juice on the patio that Amy tilted her head and said, “So where is he? You were going to introduce us, right? We were ready for the whole ‘meet the boyfriend’ thing.”

You looked down at your glass, then out at the sea. “He’s not here anymore,” you said quietly. “We’re done.”

Both of them froze. “What?” Amy asked, gently.

“He’s engaged to someone else. Back home. Doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

You didn’t look at them, didn’t want to see the sympathy you knew was coming.

Lea reached across the table and touched your hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sighed, unwilling to get into the details but wanted to share. “It’s really nothing. We were having a good time and I thought I’m in love with him. Now that he’s gone, I think it was just the moment, you know what I mean?”

Lea tilted her head, looking at you in confusion, but Amy beside her nodded in understanding. “Totally get it. I mean, two beautiful people together in a beautiful island? I’d think I’m in love too,” said Amy.

Lea shook her head. “No. It was serious when you told us about it on the phone. You sounded so…sure.”

“No, darling.” Amy tapped Lea’s cheek gently. “It was the weather. You have no idea how easy it is to mistake good vibes with being in love.”

They argued about it for a while, but they didn’t press. They didn’t ask for more than what you were willing to divulge. They simply shifted the conversation, as if by instinct, pulling you back into safer waters.

But even as they talked about their plans—about beach days and wine nights and helping you with the orchard—you couldn’t help but glance at the seat across from you. The one that had been his just yesterday.

It was supposed to be good day. You were gonna introduce him to Amy and Lea, your best friends, your true family. But that was a bust. And now it was just you again.

But at least you weren’t alone.

The week that followed blurred into a sun-soaked montage of tequila shots, sandy hair, and late-night laughter. With Amy and Lea around, it was impossible to sit still for too long. They pulled you out of the house, out of your head, and out of the quiet grief you hadn’t yet figured out how to deal with.

Amy dragged you away from the village and into the other side of the island where the beaches were packed with tourists, loud music, and overpriced mojitos. You danced barefoot in the sand, lip-synced into beer bottles, flirted with strangers you had no intention of remembering. You let the lights and noise and sea carry you for days—numbed and glowing all at once.

Amy flirted with every fine European men who so much as looked her way. Lea got into a tipsy argument with a street performer about astrology. You laughed so hard you nearly cried.

It didn’t make the pain disappear. But for a little while, it drowned it out.

And then, one afternoon, as you lay on a beach towel by the docks, the sand warm beneath you, skin glowing, a little drunk on Aperol spritz and good company, the sun suddenly vanished from your face.

You blinked up at the abrupt shadow.

And found a man holding an umbrella over your head like a knight with absolutely no armor, just absurd confidence and expensive taste. Linen shirt, half-buttoned. Sunglasses pushed up into dark brown hair. Smirk painted across his face like it had been there since birth.

“Hi there,” he greeted casually, his voice ringing with a familiarity that hit straight in your chest.

You pulled your own sunglasses down your nose and squinted up at him. “What are you doing here, Jay?”

He chuckled lightly. “It’s good to see you too.”

Amy and Lea looked between the two of you like they’d accidentally stepped into a scene from a movie they hadn’t seen the beginning of.

“No, seriously.” You sat up slowly, brushing sand off your legs. “What are you doing here?”

“Official business is concluded, so I’m heading home. But I figured I’d drop anchor for a bit.” He lowered the umbrella handle toward you. “And maybe see a friendly face.”

You blinked at him again, mouth parting slightly. This wasn’t just some coincidence. Jay was here. Jay, with his yacht and smirk and maddening presence, had found you again.

“I knew it was weird when you said we’d be seeing each other again,” you said, narrowing your eyes playfully.

He grinned wider. “Miss me?”

“In your dreams,” you replied, standing up. “How long has it been?”

“Oh, just thirty-three days, give or take,” he shrugged, closing the umbrella. “It’s not like I was counting the days till I see you again,” he added with a grin.

Of course. That was the Jay you knew. Shamelessly flirty, smooth about it, and tries to talk you in sleeping with him every chance he gets. You rolled your eyes and turned to your friends, both still looking clueless. “Oh, these are my girls, Amy and Lea.”

“Hi,” said Lea.

“Lovely to meet you,” said Amy, offering a hand to Jay. “I’ve heard nothing about you,” she added, glancing knowingly at you.

You gave her an apologetic scrunch of your nose.

“Ladies, I’d hate to disturb you, but,” Jay nodded toward the water, past the dock where his boat was glistening under the sun. “How would you like some cocktails on a boat?”

You chuckled at his blatant attempt at impressing your girls. Amy perked up immediately. “A boat? That boat?” she asked, pointing at Jay’s yacht.

“Yes, Ames,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes at Jay. “Did I mention he’s got a yacht?”

Lea was already grabbing her tote. “Let’s go before he changes his mind.”

You shook your head, laughing as Jay offered you a hand up like he was inviting you to a gala. Dramatic, as always. You didn’t take it, but you did follow him, the three of you trailing after him barefoot across the sun-warmed dock.

Amy nudged your arm discreetly. “Who is he?” she whispered.

Lea leaned in on your other side. “He’s hot.”

“Hotter than the fucking sun,” Amy added.

You smirked, keeping your eyes ahead. “He’s just someone I met a while back. He helped me out when I first got stranded here.”

Amy gasped softly. “That’s the boat guy? You never said he looked like that.”

“I barely said anything,” you muttered.

“Exactly,” Lea said. “Suspicious.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. Jay was ahead now, glancing back to make sure you were all still following. He tossed you a wink and kept walking.

Amy nudged you again, lower this time. “Okay but for real—are we allowed to flirt with him or is that off-limits?”

You gave her a look. “Behave.”

“Not a no,” she sing-songed.

You sighed dramatically. “He’s a player. If you can handle someone like him, then go ahead.”

They both exchanged a knowing glance. Amy shook her head. “Yeah, no. It’s pretty obvious he came all the way here to see you, specifically.”

You had a small yacht party, just the four of you, plus Manu, Jay’s crew member-slash-silent bartender who somehow knew exactly when to top up a drink or disappear entirely. There were expensive bottles, platters of seafood and fruit laid out by the excellent Sofia, and music drifting softly through the deck speakers. You laughed, drank, danced barefoot under string lights, and watched the sun dip into the sea.

By the time night fell properly, Lea had passed out on one of the long couches, clutching a throw pillow like a lifeline. Amy had disappeared below deck with Manu about thirty minutes ago and hadn’t been seen since.

Which left you, barefoot at the railing, half a drink in hand, ocean breeze blowing your hair, talking to Jay.

“Today, you became Amy and Lea’s favorite person,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder at him. He was leaning beside you, one arm braced casually against the rail.

He gave a lazy shrug, that usual smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “As I should be. I did try my best. Although my main guest of honor’s a little harder to impress.”

You chuckled, but didn’t say anything.

He chuckled too, eyes glinting as he looked at you for a long moment. “You look different,” he said. “Not in a bad way. Just… different. Your eyes don’t shine like they did when we met.”

The sudden comment caught you off guard. He smiled and added, “Must’ve been hard for you after I left.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you turned back toward the dark water. “Not at all,” you said. “But… a lot’s happened since then. Been kind of a rough patch lately. Don’t really wanna talk about it. I’ll just bore you.”

He didn’t press. Just nodded, like he understood. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “But for what it’s worth—I know you’ll be fine. You’re the strong, independent type. You don’t need anyone.”

You smiled faintly, touched by the unexpected sincerity.

Then, with perfect Jay timing, he tilted his head and said, “How was it? Am I sweeping you off your feet? Are you considering checking out my suite now?”

You turned to him, arching a brow. “Wow. Very subtle, Jay,” you said flatly.

He grinned, shrugging with fake innocence. “Can’t be too forward. You might think I’m desperate to have sex with you.”

That made you laugh, and he watched you with a fond smile on his lips. After a beat, you handed him your empty glass and said, “Lead the way, then.”

He blinked once. Then let out a short breath of disbelief, like he was laughing at his own luck.

“Damn,” he said, cocking his head. “Didn’t think you’d actually bite.”

You raised a brow, feigning nonchalance. “So? Lead the way.”

Jay paused. The smirk was still there, but it faltered a little. He avoided your gaze, then he leaned back just slightly, voice dropping lower.

“Nah,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Can’t mess around with drunk girls. Bad karma.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Still not gonna happen.”

You tilted your head. “That’s your excuse?”

He gave you a crooked grin, but he wasn’t meeting your eyes anymore. “It’s called principle, thanks. I’m being a gentleman for once, but don’t get used to it.”

You stared at him, trying not to laugh at his face. He was flustered. Jay, king of confidence, was caught off guard. He probably hadn’t expected you to actually call him on his bullshit. And now he was scrambling, all cool exterior but twitchy tells.

“Wow,” you teased, enjoying his struggle. “You’re not as smooth as I thought.”

“Well, whatever,” he deadpanned. “I’m gonna go make sure no one’s thrown themselves off the side of the boat.”

And with that, he turned and walked away. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head. Score one for you.

The next day was supposed to be a group outing. Jay had invited all three of you on his boat again, planning a full day of sightseeing, drinks, and whatever else the ocean had in store.

But that morning, when you stepped out in your swimsuit and cover-up, your hair still damp from the shower, Amy and Lea were both lounging on the patio, coffee mugs in hand and suspiciously smug looks on their faces.

“What are you guys doing? We have to go,” you said matter-of-factly.

Amy hummed as she shook her head. “You’re going alone.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You need this, girl,” Lea said simply. “He’s hot. You’re heartbroken. And we’re tired of watching you mope.”

You scoffed indignantly. “I did not mope. When did I—”

“Go,” they said in unison.

So you did.

Jay greeted you with a grin as you boarded his boat, wind tousling his hair and sunglasses perched cockily on his nose.

“No entourage today?” he asked, helping you aboard.

“They bailed,” you said.

He smiled, clearly pleased. “Smart girls.”

The day unfolded like something out of a travel magazine. The sky was endless blue, the sea even more so. He took you to hidden coves and quiet stretches of beach, pointing out rocky cliffs and ancient ruins. You swam in the clearest water you’d ever seen, laughed until your stomach hurt, shared cold drinks and warm glances.

By late afternoon, you were stretched out beside him on the deck, towel beneath you, the sun dipping lower in the sky.

Jay turned his head toward you, that lazy smirk still in place. “I would really be heartbroken once you leave my boat, but I guess it’s worth it if it’s you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Romantic.”

He chuckled. “I can be, if that’s what you’re into.”

You didn’t answer. Just looked at him, lying on his side, head propped on one hand, salt still glistening on his chest and sunglasses perched perfectly on his nose.

“I’ve been dying to be alone with you,” he said quietly.

You didn’t look away. “And now that you are?”

He gave a half-shrug, his smile softening. “Now I’m trying not to fuck it up.”

You smiled, leaned in just a little, and said, “Then don’t.”

It was all the permission he needed. With one swift motion, he hovered over you, his body blocking the sun as he looked down at you.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Are you?” you asked back, challenging him. “Or are you gonna get all flustered and adorable for me again?” you added, fingers tracing the curve of his abs.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game here, sweetheart,” he challenged.

“So what? Too hot for you?”

Jay smirked, visibly impressed. His eyes flicked to your lips then briefly back to your eyes before diving in to kiss you. It was warm, salty, sun-drenched. His hand was confident when it landed on your waist, rubbing, feeling. Yours curled into his damp hair as the boat rocked gently beneath you, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Below deck, the second the door shut behind you, Jay had you pressed against it.

He kissed you deep, dirty, all tongue and teeth, his hands greedy as they found your waist and pulled you closer. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the seawater still drying in patches along his chest, the faint taste of liquor on his tongue. You reached down, tugged on the waistband of his shorts, and he laughed into your mouth.

“Impatient, are we?” he murmured, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth.

You kissed him hard, arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he groaned low in his throat as his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you to the bed like you weighed nothing. Your bare legs locked around his hips. Your thighs met the warm sheets and you gasped against his mouth when he bit your lip.

“God, I’ve been thinking about this all fucking day,” he muttered, kissing down your jaw, his hands roaming greedily over your sides. “You're so goddamn sexy when you tease me.”

You tugged at his hair. “When did I do that?”

He smirked into your neck. “You obviously had no idea, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure you feel very, very sorry about it.”

His lips were on you again before the words even registered. Kissing you deep, kissing you slow, until you were squirming beneath him. His hand slid up your thigh, pushed the fabric of your swimsuit aside, and his thumb brushed where you were already soaked.

“Wet and excited,” he muttered. “Just the way I like it.”

“Jay, stop talking and get on it,” you panted, hips chasing his hand.

Jay grinned. “Alright, since you asked nicely.”

You shot him a glare, but it melted fast when he dropped to his knees. Pulled your bottoms off with one fluid motion and threw them somewhere behind him. 

You tipped your head back the moment his mouth touched you, one hand bracing on the counter, the other tugging at his hair again. “Jay—fuck—”

He moaned into you, rough and obscene, like he wanted you to know just how much he was enjoying it. The room was filled with wet, messy sounds, your breathy gasps echoing above it all. You gripped his hair, trying to stay still, but your body had a mind of its own, hips rocking up into his face.

“I can’t—” you choked out, thighs trembling. You came embarrassingly fast, clenching hard around nothing as you gasped his name.

Jay stood and kissed you, still tasting like you, and his hands were already pushing his shorts down. You reached for him, touched him, and he hissed in approval.

“Come here,” he growled, and then you were being turned, hands braced against the mattress, his chest pressing against your back. He slid inside you with a groan so guttural it made your toes curl.

The stretch stole your breath. “Oh, fuck—Jay—”

“God, you feel unreal,” he breathed against your shoulder, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise while the other slipped between your thighs again. “You gonna take it like a good girl or do you want to tell me what to do?”

You tried. You really tried. But every time you opened your mouth, he hit something inside you that made your thoughts scatter.

“Uh-huh,” he chuckled darkly. “That’s what I thought.”

The pace turned relentless. Fast and deep, the sounds of your bodies slapping together echoing off the cabin walls, your breathy moans mixing with his filthy praise. He told you how good you felt, how gorgeous you looked, how he’d been dreaming about this since the day he met you. You cursed, clutched the sheets, back arching, completely unraveling beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, pulling out and flipping you around.

He hovered above you, kissed you slow again, positioning himself between your legs. “You wanna ride me?” he asked, teasing.

You nodded, lips brushing his jaw. “Yeah. I do.”

He rolled onto his back immediately, hands behind his head. “Be my guest.”

It didn’t last long. You straddled him, sank down slowly, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. “Jesus Christ—”

You tried to find a rhythm, something steady, but the way he felt inside you—thick, deep, rubbing every spot perfectly—made it impossible. Especially with the way he kept watching you, mouthing filth between clenched teeth, hips bucking up to meet yours.

“You’re so fucking tight—shit—look at you,” he groaned. “If you can only see yourself right now.”

His hands gripped your ass, helping you move, but then he sat up, mouth finding your collarbone, your shoulder, and suddenly he was thrusting up into you, hard and fast, stealing every ounce of composure you had left.

You clung to him, moaning shamelessly as he fucked you from below, his voice rough in your ear. “That’s it, baby. Come on.”

You did, again, harder than before—crying out as you clenched down around him, lightheaded and spiraling in euphoria.

Jay swore under his breath, then flipped you onto your back in one fluid motion. “One more,” he rasped, driving back into you, not giving you time to catch your breath. “You’ve got one more in you, don’t you?”

You didn’t even answer. Just held on tight, nails digging into his back as he slammed into you, rough, messy, perfect. He kissed you through it, swore again when he felt you start to come undone, and then with one final thrust, he spilled into you, gasping your name against your mouth.

The silence after was satisfying. Heavy with heat and broken by his occasional grunts and your panting. You stayed tangled, sweaty and half-laughing, while he buried his face in your neck and caught his breath.

“Well,” he said eventually, voice hoarse. “I’m amazing, aren’t I?”

That made you laugh. “You’re alright.”

He laughed and kissed your shoulder. “Okay, liar,” he quipped before rolling onto the bed beside you.

You said goodbye to Jay at the dock, the same spot he’d first said goodbye to you after taking you to this place. He helped your friends load their bags onto his yacht, cracked a joke about how he wasn’t running a taxi service, and kissed you once—quick and easy, no lingering promises. You smiled at him, genuine and grateful, and then he was gone, taking the laughter and chaos and comfort with him.

And just like that, you were alone.

You hadn’t truly been alone since you arrived in France. Jake had been with you in Paris on your first day, cute and shy. Sunghoon was on this island the day you got here, charming and kind, offering you help and himself. When he left, your friends arrived with wine and sunhats, and then Jay swept in like a storm, all noise and heat. But now the house was truly empty. You hadn’t expected the silence to feel so loud.

For a while, you didn’t do much. You walked around barefoot, let the days pass lazily, ate too much fruit, and stared at the ocean. You were scared, not of the house, not of the work ahead, but of the loneliness. You’d never admitted that before. But there it was, pressing into your chest like it intended to suffocate you.

Still, you carried on.

Since you didn’t have the finances to convert the mansion into a guesthouse yet, you found work in town. Mornings were spent in a café near the harbor, brewing coffee and scribbling names on cups that always got smudged. Tourists liked you, maybe because you smiled even when you were tired, or maybe because you looked like a tourist yourself if one would take away the uniform and the beret.

At night, you waited tables at corner street restaurant, where the wine was relatively pricey and the seafood never disappointed. The hours were long, but the pay was fair, and the staff became familiar. You didn’t tell them much about yourself, just that you were from a small village a few miles away and saving up for something big.

You kept working on your plans when you got home—sketching interior designs, tallying costs, researching permits and licensing. Some nights you fell asleep with your laptop still open on your stomach. Other nights you walked down to the beach alone, letting the cool sand soothe your body and mind.

It wasn’t a glamorous life. But it was good.

And slowly, you started to feel less fragile. You didn’t miss Sunghoon, not exactly. What you missed was the closeness, the feeling of someone else’s warmth in the bed beside you, the distraction from your thoughts. But you were proud of yourself too. You were building something. Even if it wasn’t a hotel yet, even if it was just a new version of yourself.

Two months passed like that.

Work, sleep, plan, repeat. The days folded into each other like pages in a worn book—some soft and golden, others heavy with fatigue. You had slipped into a routine without realizing it. Maybe that’s why you didn’t notice at first.

Your period was late.

It didn’t hit you until one morning at the café, when the espresso machine was hissing in the background and a wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere. You brushed it off, blaming the heat. But the feeling stayed until you had to leave because you couldn’t take it anymore without throwing up. 

And then came the other things. The tenderness, the fatigue, the strange aversion to the smell of coffee that made your coworkers laugh but made your stomach turn.

You tried not to spiral. Maybe it was stress. You’d read that stress could delay periods. You'd been busy and tired. But still, something gnawed at you. So you had to check. 

On afternoon, after your shift ended early, you walked into a clinic two towns over, where no one knew your name. You filled out the form with shaky hands and let the nurse lead you through the halls, your heart racing in your chest.

And then came the results that were impossible to misunderstand.

You were pregnant.

When you stepped back outside, the world was too bright, the sound of cicadas were roaring in your ears. You sat on a bench just outside the building, phone clutched in your hand but no one to call.

Because now came the real question: Who? Which one?

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought of it. The possibility had been there, but hearing the confirmation made it real. And now your mind spiraled through the summer like a montage, playing back every moment, every night, every touch.

Jake. Sunghoon. Jay.

You weren’t reckless. It wasn’t about that. You had been careful—or at least you thought you had. But the lines blurred in your memory now, and all you were left with was the truth.

You were carrying a child, and you didn’t know who the father was.

You sat there for a long time. Just breathing. A little girl passed by holding her mother’s hand, chattering about ice cream. A breeze lifted your hair. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed.

And you were still sitting. Still not sure what came next. But that night, you knew you needed to call Amy and Lea.

“This is why I always tell you to wrap it up,” Amy said immediately.

Neither of them knew what to say at first. You didn’t blame them. It wasn’t exactly news you could prepare them for.

“The raw way might be toe-curling, head-spinningly amazing,” Amy went on, “but it’s not worth it if it’s gonna get you knocked up out of wedlock.”

Lea scoffed audibly on the other line. “Shut up, Ames. You’re the one who always said condoms are cock-blockers and everyone should experience the ‘sheer delight’ of raw sex at least once.”

“I meant once, not—” Amy cut herself off. “Okay, never mind. We’re not talking about me.”

“You’re literally always talking about you.”

“Lea.”

“Sorry, sorry. Focus,” Lea said, clearing her throat. “So who do you think is the father?”

“Park Jay?” Amy ventured.

“Or Park Sunghoon,” Lea added. “You did say he was hot and brooding and emotionally intense, right? That sounds like potent baby-daddy energy.”

“Mm,” Amy mused. “But Jay has the boat and the abs. I’m leaning Jay.”

“Oh my god. It doesn’t matter. They’re both Parks, our baby will get the same surname regardless of who the father is,” Lea said excitedly.

You sighed. “Guys.”

“Don’t ‘guys’ us,” Amy said. “You invited us into the drama, now let us live in it.”

“Okay, but there’s someone else…”

They both went quiet. “...Don’t tell me you slept with someone else after Jay left?” Amy finally said.

You winced. “Actually, it was before. I met a guy name Jake Sim in Paris. Before coming to Corsica. Things happened.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then both of them erupted in squeals. 

“Three guys in just one summer?” Amy shrieked.

Lea was laughing. “You are an icon. How does it feel to be the main character of an erotic French film?”

“I feel nauseous,” you muttered.

“Pregnancy symptom,” Amy deadpanned.

“I’m serious,” you said, running a hand over your face. “What if it was Jake and I was just insane this whole time? Like, genuinely hormonal and insane. What if that’s why I got so swept up with Sunghoon? I couldn’t keep my hands off him. Maybe I was already pregnant then. Maybe I wasn’t even in love—just horny and mental.”

“Hormones do make you horny,” Amy said thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t be the first woman to fall in lust under the influence of progesterone.”

“No, girl. You cried over him,” Lea reminded gently. “And you don’t really cry over guys unless it’s real.”

“Yeah, but pregnant women are crazy women. How would I know what’s real and what’s not?” you whispered. “I just thought it was love but then it wasn’t. It was just me being reckless and careless and—”

“Babe,” Amy cut in. “I know what you’re doing. You’re denying that it was real. Even if it was love and even if it wasn’t, you’re allowed to have feelings. You don’t need to justify your heartbreak to anyone. Especially not to yourself.”

You were quiet for a second. “Thanks, Ames.”

Amy added, “And I still say it’s Jay. Sunghoon probably pulls out. He sounds like a good guy. Good guys pull out.”

“Oh my god,” Lea said, cracking up. “On that note, I’m hanging up before Amy gives this baby a horoscope reading.”

“Wait, I totally should—”

Click. You stared at your phone, smiling faintly.

And then you weren’t smiling. You were just sitting again, alone in your big bedroom. A child growing inside you. A thousand things left to figure out. But at least you had friends who made you laugh along the way.

You didn’t know what to do at first. The test had been positive, the signs were there, but your thoughts had scattered into every direction at once. You considered everything—your finances, your future. Your pride.

The sheer humiliation of having to call any of the three men, let alone all of them. What would you even say? That you had a summer full of crap decisions and now needed help guessing which one was the father?

No. Just the idea made you shrink into yourself.

You kept the secret close to your chest, rolling it over and over, sleepless nights spent making pro and con lists in your head. You had reasons—dozens of them—for why you couldn’t keep the baby. And everytime you came close to making the call, to booking the appointment, something stopped you.

And then it was too late to even consider it.

You gave birth to a healthy baby girl in a cool winter night, with the help of kind women in the village who knew what to do. They guided you through labor with gentle hands and wisdom, and when you finally held your daughter in your arms, all the noise in your head quieted down.

Your daughter was perfect. Warm and pink and wailing, with one little fist curled around your finger.

You named her together. Amy and Lea had flown in as quickly as they could, flustered and crying and loud as ever, and from that moment on, the baby was theirs too. Theirs and the village’s, because it really did take a village to raise a child. The baker who always snuck pastries into her bag. Old man Jean-Luc who carved a cradle. The innkeeper who watched the baby when you picked up extra shifts.

The little girl grew into a sweet, curious child with wide eyes and smart wit. Everyone said she looked just like you. You were near-twins, people would say, shaking their heads fondly. 

“She’s your spitting image. Her dad’s genes didn’t even try!”

You raised your daughter with love. You taught her to be soft with the world but never small. To be good but not naive. To be strong but not unkind.

Meanwhile, you built the bed and breakfast from the ground up—slowly, with scraped knees and secondhand furniture, but with pride. It was small but beautiful. Cozy but polished. Tourists came, then returned, drawn by the warmth of the place and the magic of the island.

It wasn’t always easy—there were long nights, missed opportunities, tired tears—but it was yours. And you were happy.

Not the kind of happy that came with a man’s hands around your waist or whispered promises in the dark. The kind that looked like laughter over breakfast, like sun-dried sheets, like a child’s muddy footprints on a kitchen floor.

You didn’t need a man, and neither did your daughter. You had built a life of your own and it was enough.

“Mommy! Someone’s here!” your daughter called from the front door.

You had two hours left before guests would arrive for her birthday party. You were in the kitchen icing cupcakes when the doorbell rang, so you called out for her to answer it, assuming it was a parent dropping off a gift early—or Amy and Lea showing up with something too big to carry alone.

“I’ll be right out!” you called, wiping your hands on a dish towel as you jogged toward the front, hair tied up in a bun, frosting smudged on your arm. “Who is it, honey?”

You froze the moment you saw who she was staring at.

Standing on your porch were three men you hadn’t seen in years.

Jake, in a navy blue suit and tie, holding a bouquet of flowers. Jay, sunglasses perched on his head, casual as ever but visibly hesitant. And Sunghoon, his expression unreadable, eyes flicking from your face to the hand you’d unconsciously placed on your daughter’s shoulder.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

Then you let out a stunned, almost exasperated laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

[the end... or is it?]

[cinnamon-won]

⭑ INCH BY INCH ⸻ park sunghoon

you have a boyfriend gifted with a pornstar cock, but he refuses to use it on you, too scared he'll end up hurting you. so your best shot is to devise a plan to get him to crumble, and even if things don't unfold quite as expected, what matters is the result anyway... right?

starring ⋆ f!reader x park sunghoon, besties!jaykewon

this work contains ⋆ smut ⋆ minors so not interact ⋆ barely any plot, way too much smut, sunghoon being diabolically hung, my extremely poor attempts at humor, established relationship, nasty nasty shit... brat tamer sunghoon, alcohol consumption, implied driving under the influence, jealousy, slut shaming (not from hoon), a tiny bit of violence, blood, size & bulge kink, fingering, dry humping, slight degradation, partially clothed sex, a freaky voice message, edging & overstim, oral (f!red), mutual masturbation, lube, squirting, unprotected sex ⸻ rules m.list

length ⋆ one shot ⸻ 23.6k words

⭑ NIA ⸻ i'm in pain and my period is abt to start ANDD antibiotics fucked my stomach up so if you see typos no you don't. anyways. big fat cock. who agrees!! shoutout to my homies vivi and stella for putting up with my ass and deactivation threats anytime i write anything ever!!! and for having read this before anyone else

Having a dick so big multiple people suggest you make a career out of it isn't half as nice as it sounds, Sunghoon would know that better than anyone.

Even before getting any experience, he'd been aware of just how comically large his dick was. He'd known ever since he had to go out of his way to search for porn with ‘massive cock!’ in the title for it to look anything like his, and even then he often found himself thinking they had to be exaggerating a bit for the sake of clicks.

Turns out, the comparison with real life average sizes is even more ridiculous.

He knows it sounds silly, there are hordes of men out there that would pay good money to swap places with him—his dear friend Jake being the first in line.

Sunghoon still cringes when he remembers the first time he'd oh so innocently asked Jake for his opinion on the matter. Truthfully, all he wanted to hear from his bleached blonde friend was some reassurance, maybe how it was all in his head, or how at the end of the day the right person would love and appreciate every part of him no matter what, or whatever you tell people in situations like these. His first mistake was believing Jake out of all his friends would do the most tactful thing.

“That thing’s like—fucking huge!” Jake shrieked, grabbing Sunghoon’s phone out of his hands, every protest falling on deaf ears. “There’s no fucking way, man.”

“It’s not that b—” Sunghoon tries to speak, but Jake stops him before he even gets a sentence in, calling Jay’s name at the top of his lungs. 

“What are you—”

“WHAT,” Jay yells back from the kitchen, over the deafening sound of the food processor in use, annoyed by Jake’s continuous interruptions that day. Of which at least four were to show him some nasty looking recipe he found on tiktok.

“You gotta come take a look at this!”

At the time, Sunghoon was still vaguely uncomfortable around Jay. He was nice enough, and he was a great roommate, so there was that at least. It was a good trade off because the other option was staying at the way too crowded shitty dorms, and he liked the privacy that this deal got him. He wasn't always on board with it, Jake had to talk him into it when high school ended, but he swore him and Jay would be the bestest of friends if only he could let his reservations behind for a little, at least give him a chance.

Sunghoon moved away halfway through the second year of high school, and for a while it felt like Jay had swapped places with him and taken the life he was supposed to live for himself. First his best friend, Jake. Then the girl of his dreams, the one he never found the courage to confess to, you.

Thing is, while Sunghoon could recognize Jay had done absolutely nothing wrong to him per se, he still felt betrayed by him in a way. Truly it was just envy.

The food processor comes to an abrupt halt, and all that can be heard from the other room is a deep sigh, followed by the sound of dragged footsteps as their tall friend walks into the messy—in the way only college boys living spaces can be—living room with resignation. “Fine. But this better have nothing to do with Cheetos or tacos.” 

“Much better.” Jake winks at him, nudging Sunghoon’s hands away with his elbow, the younger hissing in pain. “Behold,” he turns the phone towards an unassuming Jay, aware of the fact he's about to change the older's view of Sunghoon forever.“Sunghoon’s monster of a cock.”

Jay’s hands stop on his apron, (the ridiculous one with a bodybuilder torso and cheetah boxers Jungwon got him for a secret Santa) and his mouth hangs open for a second too long, before he comes back to his senses and notices how Sunghoon slumps back on the couch, cheeks burning red. Jay swats the phone out of Jake’s hand. “What the fuck is your problem, dude.”

“What? I’m just saying it’s way larger than average!”

“He’s uncomfortable.” Jay says, going back to drying his hands on the apron. “Leave him be.”

This only makes Sunghoon’s cheeks redder, his ears a bright pink too. Jake scoffs, eyeing him suspiciously. “Sure. I’m sure having a porn star cock must be so mortifying. Who even complains about stuff like this?” he snickers before making his voice a pitch higher. “‘Poor me! My dick’s too heavy! What will I do!”

“Oh my god,” Sunghoon runs a hand through his hair, pulling the ends a bit. “It is not that big.” He looks at Jay for support, expecting him to disagree with Jake.

Jay’s gaze falters to his pants for a split second. His mouth twists but he remains silent.

“Not you too.” Sunghoon's hands now hold his face as he sinks into the cushions further, legs spreading. “Just say what you wanna say.”

“I mean…” Jay gestures towards Sunghoon's crotch. “I suspected you were big but… that’s crazy, man.”

“It’s not that cra—”

“Yes it is! You’ve got a fucking gas storage tank in your pants and you wanna sit here and tell us it’s not crazy?” Jake says, exasperated by that point. “And stop playing dumb. It’s big. That’s good. I’m sure the ladies go crazy over it. Or the gentlemen. Or whoever it is you fuck.” He kisses his teeth, muttering under his breath. “Lucky bastard.”

“Jake’s right, Hoon. I don’t know why you're so… negative about it. It's a good thing."

“I wouldn’t know,” Sunghoon mutters under breath, more to himself than to the guys, but it’s still loud enough for them to catch it.

“Oh? Then whenever the time comes, you’ll see how much they’ll love it,” Jay says.

"I'm just worried." Sunghoon tries his best to avoid both sets of eyes staring intently at him. "What… what if I end up hurting someone?"

Jake coos, then moves closer to Sunghoon on the couch, his breath fanning over his ear as he whispers, “Always so concerned about other people. Aren't you such a cutie pie?”

The boys weren't exactly wrong, but with big dick come great responsibilities—as Jake said. Yup, roll your eyes at him, not Sunghoon. He's innocent—like having to finger and eat out your partners for what feels like an eternity before even trying to push the tip in, which is not exactly the best situation to be in as a virgin. Current Sunghoon thinks that's the best part, but it took a while to get here.

Sunghoon has always been a very patient man though, a gentle giant in every sense of the phrase. The last thing he would ever want to do is inflict pain accidentally on another human being.

When he got his first actual girlfriend, he'd been so nervous and honestly quite scared to have sex with her. So he got on Google whenever he had free time to study ways to make it as comfortable as possible, watching all kinds of video explanations or reading through feminine pleasure blogs written by women for women specifically, because that's where Jay told him the good stuff was at.

By the time he got to actually have sex with her, his mind was so overwhelmed by all this information that he essentially forgot how to even think. It was anything but romantic, so deeply embarrassing Sunghoon still cringes even after all this time when his mind betrays him and reminds him of it while trying to fall asleep at night.

And then, to add insult to injury, his girlfriend cheated on him and left him for this guy she'd only just met, because 'it might not be as big, but at least he knows how to use it'.

Heartbroken and with an hurt ego, Sunghoon did that thing all boys do when their first relationship doesn't work out: hit the gym and promise themselves they're never gonna fall in love ever again.

That second part ended up failing, because from the moment you showed up at his doorstep to visit (your now ex boyfriend, but a beloved friend nonetheless) Jay and Jake, five different bags around you, with eyes as big as saucers and staring at him like he had invaded his own apartment, all the feelings younger Sunghoon had for you hit him like a brick to his nape all over again.

You two dating came as a shock to everyone around you, mostly because while you were aware of Park Sunghoon's existence and vice versa, you'd never given it too much thought. You remembered him as the scrawny kid with the cute moles from math that you used to always catch staring. He was often around Jungwon because they were neighbors, but was way too shy to even say hi to you. That, and he was also always around Jake—who you were not exactly fond of, given his reputation—so you steered clear of him when you could manage to.

Then, when the third year of high school started, you stopped seeing him around, and Jungwon told you he had moved away to follow his dad's business. You wouldn't admit it at the time but the hallways seemed duller than usual for a few days, but that probably was also due to Jake not being as loud and energetic with his best friend gone.

Last year of high school, you went on a few dates with Jay from history class, and while he was the closest you have ever thought a man to be perfect, you both agreed you worked better as friends than anything more. Usually that means 'you're cool but I'm gonna try my best to not have to say hi to you if I see you around', but Jay is so wonderful, you actually kept in touch and became quite close, even if platonically.

By the time the year ended, you had a very tight group of friends consisting of yourself, Jungwon, Jay, and even Jake—who, for the record, isn't nearly as bad as all the crazy rumors make him out to be. It saddened you that it took so long to find your group, but you were grateful you had one nonetheless, a lot of people never get that luxury, so you weren't about to let a little graduation get in between you all. You spent a good five days consoling Jake that no, no one was going anywhere and yes, you will all be best friends for life.

But then college started, and it became difficult to stay in touch because Jay and Jake had to move. Jake reassured you that you and Jungwon would be more than welcome to visit and stay over at their apartment—which you found funny because that is technically not Jake's apartment at all, at least not until Hoon moved in too and the three of them started sharing the costs, but he has a way of making every place he steps foot in his, like he's meant to be there, so Jay let it slide.

So the first thing you did when you finally had some free time was getting on the cheapest flight available to go visit your friends. Heavy luggage in hand and stained sweatpants on, you were dumbfounded when the one who opened the door for you was none other than Park Sunghoon, and not Jay like you expected.

He was no longer the shy kid you remembered him to be, and he had grown nicely into his features, his hair now a jet back instead of the brown you were accustomed to see. Over those two weeks you realized that while you have know Sunghoon all your life, you had never really seen him, and it made you want to go back in time and hand a little paper note to the shy boy always staring at you during class.

Your head sinks further into your pillow with a whine, the case enveloping it sporting gray spots of wetness, where your tears and drool had accumulated over the last torturous half an hour Sunghoon spent fucking you open with his fingers. You don't know what he means, because you feel like you could take his entire fist by now, that's how wet you are. If your pillowcase is such a mess, you don't even wanna think about what your bed sheets look like.

"I can– take you," you protest, breath hitching mid sentence at a particularly deep curl of his fingers inside you.

"Yeah?" Sunghoon quirks an eyebrow at you, moving his thumb to suddenly hover over your clit. It's not a full touch, nor does he really move it from there, but just the expectation of it has your walls involuntary flutter around his digits. A wicked grin overtakes his face, in a way you think it would clash with his prince-like features. But it looks right at home on him, the canines poking out only adding to his devilish charm.

"Then what's this? Gripping me even tighter," he says against your lips again, like he can't pick between kissing you or speaking, like anything he does he needs to do it with your taste on his mouth. He shakes his head, pouting at you before you get the chance to retort. "Squeeze me this tight when I'm inside you, and I'll believe you're trying to push me out, baby."

The press of his length against your thigh doesn't help, and when your eyes roll to the back of your head, half the reason is the new spot he's now reaching making you see stars, the other is your frustration with him. You know he's huge, and you know he cares about your comfort above all, but a little sting as he bottoms out inside you would be a hundred times better than the 'prep' he's subjecting you to. It took so long to even get here, and now he plans on making you wait even more? You have half the idea to push him off of you and get on top of him, take what's yours. If he's not gonna believe you can take him, you might as well just show him.

Of course, that wouldn't work, because Sunghoon is infinitely stronger than you are and the only thing you would accomplish is looking stupid thrashing under him as he keeps you pinned down. Probably with one arm only too, to really get his point across.

"Add another finger then." There's a certain bark in your tone that makes him chuckle. That's all it is: bark and no bite. You can do nothing but demand, and demand, and demand again, but if he's not willing to give it to you, there is close to nothing you can do about it. And it makes Sunghoon's cock twitch against the slick skin of your thighs. He loves knowing he has you at his mercy.

"Woah!" he gasps, and the fake surprise only irritates you further. Or at least that's what you tell yourself, because Sunghoon doesn't miss the way you clench around his fingers whenever he talks to you like this. "Missy, you're so bratty today… where are your manners?"

The retort is ready on your tongue, but the words mold into a surprised hiss when he actually prods your hole with a third digit, feeling around for a way to slowly ease it into you. You fear it won't be as easy as you hoped, but you also don't want to back down now that he's giving in.

"Just put it in." You angle your hips to give Sunghoon easier access.

"Easy there." He leans back on his knees, and you hate how you're so needy. Even when he's still so close, fingers pumping in and out of you at a torturous pace, you crave for every inch of your body to be touched by his, for your breaths to mingle for as long as possible. You wonder how it's possible to miss someone who's right in front of you, but your heart yearns to hear the rhythmic beat of his own against your chest all the same.

You don't get to dwell on it too long, because the sensation of something wet dribbling right where Sunghoon's fingers meet you rips you out of your thoughts.

It takes a few seconds for you to realize what's happening, but when it sinks in, your mouth slowly hangs open in a moan, eyes closed to relish the feeling.

"You like that?" Sunghoon asks, and for once you can't bring yourself to care about the cockiness in his tone. In fact, it's the last thing you could care about—not when his digits are working to spread his spit all over you, and his third finger is slowly making its way inside you right next to the others. It's a tight fit, and Sunghoon can't really move his fingers like he wishes to, but it'll do for now. He can always do it over and over again until you're ready, as long as you keep making those faces for him. "Look at you," he continues. "You were so demanding earlier, now you're falling apart and I'm barely just getting started."

You clench around him hard, body all tensed up as you accommodate the sudden change in thickness.

Sunghoon bends down again when he notices you're not easing up, trailing his way back up your body with pecks, giving you a few on your lips once he reaches your face. "Does it burn, baby?" he asks, the playful edge in his tone from earlier completely gone, smoothed down to the usual soft timbre you love so much. "Do you want me to take it out? I'll make you cum with two fingers, it's okay."

You shake your head. The stretch does burn, but you also want to prove to him that you can take him.

"You sure?" The murmur vibrates against your ear, the sound of his voice close enough to have you arching your back, pushing your stomach against his harder figure. If you had any sort of reservation about continuing, it's totally gone now. His insistence to make you comfortable always ignites pure want in you.

You nod, but your eyes are still screwed shut because of the burn, so it's not enough for Sunghoon to let go yet.

He slows down his movements, trying to help you out, but the whine you let out is enough to let him know you actually want what he's giving you and more. Still, he needs to hear it. "Use your big girl words, I know you can."

"Wanna keep going."

"Aaand?"

"Please, Hoon." You know you're far gone when you don't even care about how whiny you sound, you would get onto your knees and beg if he asked you to right then. You would want to forget about it right after, but still, you would do it in a heartbeat.

Thankfully, your boyfriend is very nice to you, so 'please and thank you's are enough to keep him satiated, at least for now.

"Good girl."

The praise goes straight to your cunt, further tightening the grip you have on his fingers. Sunghoon is flattered, but that's not what you need in that moment. So he reminds you.

"Take deep breaths, baby. It's only gonna hurt more if you don't ease up."

"Hoon, want more."

"I know baby, I know. But it'll feel better if you stop tensing up. Here, follow my breaths and let go." He kisses both of your shut eyelids. "Eyes on me, pretty. Okay?"

You obey him like it's second nature, but when you open your eyes and you're met with the downright angelic sight of your boyfriend, black strands of hair framing his face and his chain dangling slightly from his neck, you don't understand how you're supposed to calm down. He starts taking deep breaths, ones you try your best to mirror. And despite what you thought, the focus on your chest rising and falling and the warmth in Sunghoon's eyes does make the stretch a lot better. You were enjoying yourself before too, all things considered. Now it's different, you're struggling to keep your sounds in, and any other time you would be mortified by how much wetness is seeping out of your cunt, but Sunghoon's presence is relaxing in a way no one else's has ever been for you.

The more you explore each other's bodies, the more you start to think that maybe, just maybe, there is not a single thing you could do with Sunghoon that you would ever regret. The safety of a judgment free zone with someone who obviously cares deeply for you makes the experience so much better than you could have ever imagined. What other people did to you, no matter how pleasurable, just didn't measure up to what Sunghoon does with you. And you haven't even gone all the way in.

"Theeere we go, see how much better it feels when you're not being a brat?"

Sunghoon is careful with you, watching your every reaction and studying your expressions so he can learn exactly what makes crumble and what brings you closer to the edge, what makes you forget you have to breathe and when to pause so he can drag your pleasure out for as long as he wants, for as long as you can handle. His cock is rock hard, casually rutting against you from time to time. You have half a mind to reach into his boxers and help him out, but you're not sure you could do a good enough job at it, not when he's starting to bend the tips of his fingers to reach right where you need him.

You can feel yourself getting closer, so you grab his wrists—whether to stop him or push him further, you don't know yourself. What you do know, is that just fingers have never felt this good before, and if you had the choice to feel like this forever, you would take it.

The sudden grip doesn't deter Sunghoon, it encourages him instead. His movements are faster, deeper, but still just as precise. It's like he already knows the ins and outs of what brings you pleasure. "Gonna come all over my hand, baby? I know you're close."

You nod desperately, throat too raw and dry to produce sounds more complex than little whines—which Sunghoon finds adorable, he can't wait to find out what sounds you make when he's splitting you open on his cock. He coos, and that alone almost makes you cum. Almost, because what really does you in is his thumb moving to finally circle your clit, really touch it.

Your body tenses up again when your vision goes a searing white, but Sunghoon's other hand finds your thighs right away to prevent you from caging his hands between your legs. He worked hard to make you cum, so you're not gonna take the sight of your fluttering pussy away from him, not when he has rightfully earned it.

"You did so well," he says, his hand caressing the skin of your inner thigh as a reminder to relax your muscles, his thumb slowing down its movement on your clit as your walls flutter around his digits at longer intervals each time.

You eventually even out your breathing, your vision still a little fuzzy, but you feel lighter and content. Once Sunghoon is sure you're okay, he pulls you in for a sweet kiss, like he wasn't just rearranging your guts with his fingers alone moments ago.

"Perfect, you're so perfect," he whispers between kisses, landing a wet smack on your nose when you scrunch it in response. "You're always gorgeous but this—fuck, you're beautiful." He keeps kissing you, each kiss waking up a different butterfly in your stomach. You feel giddy like you haven't ever since you were a kid running through the meadow on a spring evening. You giggle when he reaches the valley of your breasts, and run your fingertips through his hair, his head resting on your chest.

"I love you," Sunghoon whispers, and for the first time in your life you know those words to be true, no hidden intention behind them, no cruel joke waiting for you at the end of the line. It feels right when they're coming out of Sunghoon's mouth.

"I know, I love you t—what are you doing." It's much more of an accusation rather than a question, because you see the little wicked glint in his eyes as he resumes kissing his way down your body—first down your navel, then between your thighs.

"Showing you how much I love you, duh." He spreads your legs as open as he can get them before you start protesting again. "Besides, I haven't gotten a taste yet."

You should stop him, because suddenly you're reminded of how he still hasn't come yet, and you would feel bad to neglect him. The look in his eyes though—needy, almost feral— keeps you pinned right in your spot. "What… about you?"

Sunghoon looks at you, genuinely confused. "What about me?"

"Yeah, I should be… helping you out." You glance down at him, and the wet patch on his boxers makes you clench around nothing. Had you not witnessed first hand how messy Sunghoon can get, you would assume he cummed already. Knowing that's only pre though, makes saliva flood into your mouth at the mere thought of your boyfriend's cock pumping load after load down your throat. Screw 'not hurting' you, you would be happy gagging and choking endlessly around him if it meant you got a tiny little taste.

"Oh baby, but you are helping me out. Just lay back and let me." Sunghoon pops two of his fingers in his mouth, tasting the residues of you high still lingering on his skin, rich and divine on his tongue. "So good, now let me get a real taste."

He trails his wet fingers up your body, relishing in the way you shiver under his touch when he brushes over your nipples. He grabs your face once he reaches it, and forces you to look at him. "Wanting to please me… aren’t you such a generous girl? So, so good for me. So eager to please, you’re so cute.” He doesn't miss how your lip twitches in response to his words, and how your hand slides between your thighs and how they close around it. “But, I'm still not done.”

“But—”

“Shhh,” he silences you right away. He parts your lips with his thumb, and your response to it is immediate, sucking on it without needing to be told what to do. You swirl your tongue around his finger eagerly, as if trying to show him what he is missing by not letting you take his cock out his pants. “See? So perfect for me. Such a pretty and obedient girl, am I right?” 

You nod subconsciously, like he has you under a spell, ready to comply with anything he asks out of you. Maybe he does.

“I know that’s right.” Sunghoon takes the thumb out of your mouth, coating your lips with your own spit as he caresses them with it. “Then do what you’re told and lay back. I can fuck you another time. Now spread those legs for me mkay? Yeah, just like that. So much we can do in the meantime."

"I just don't get why he won't stick it in me."

"You have such a way with words."

You throw a fry at your best friend, only to get more irritated when he catches it midair with his mouth. Jungwon chews it loudly with his mouth open—because he knows it annoys you to death—then washes it down with his coconut milkshake that he won't let you get a sip of because 'using the same straw as me counts as cheating now that you're dating Sunghoon'.

"Okay but why? You're a man. What's the thought process behind this? Tell me."

"Girl, it's your boyfriend. You tell me."

"What if he doesn't fine me att—" A fry hits you right on your forehead, and it's like the impact activates your brain cells, because of course Sunghoon finds you attractive, that is not the problem.

"Now, let's be honest with ourselves please. None of that shit."

Your back hits the bed with a soft thud, arms spread out as you stare at the very familiar ceiling of your room. A sight you've been taking in quite often recently, while trying to come up with a plan to get Sunghoon to dick you down good.

Jungwon shoves a fist of fries in his mouth, barely chewing before speaking again. "I don't get why it's such a big deal."

You roll onto your side, facing the blonde little gremlin occupying the space next to you. "It's a big deal because— why is your ass on my pillow. Jungwon get—"

He silences you by feeding you a handful of fries from the container on his lap. "You were saying?"

You gulp them down quickly before replying, because you're civilized enough to do so, unlike someone else. "We've done it all, and I know he's scared of hurting me, but I can also tell he's holding back. I'm ready– I've been ready. It's just… whenever I think it's gonna happen he pulls back so suddenly, like he's restraining himself."

"Mhh… you've talked to him about this, right?" Jungwon looks at you in a way that feels entirely too judgmental, like skipping the communication part is something you do often enough for it to be a pattern. Something he needs to check off of a list before he gives you more advice.

He's not completely wrong. As in, at one point in your life you had made an habit out of assuming people's thoughts and intentions, but that is in the past. And those people are not your Park Sunghoon.

The polaroids messily scattered on the wall above your desk, like someone had dropped them and they'd defied gravity to stay there, glimmer as the sun starts its golden descent into the horizon. Old, more ruined around the edges ones you took right after Jungwon got you a polaroid camera with his very first salary from working at an ice cream shop over the summer. Pictures of sunsets and dumb words carved into sandy beaches, of thumbs digging into teenager Jungwon's dimples. Newer, glossier ones that you took when Sunghoon gifted you a new camera, after the one Jungwon got you finally broke down after years. You'd cried so hard that day, because it had felt like growing up.

The charger is still hidden under all the mess of receipts in your comforter's drawer, you still hope one day the pink sticker covered camera will turn on if you charge it long enough.

But some things are meant to stay in the past, and better ones are always hiding behind the corner, ready to come your way.

You aren't the young girl with the pink polaroid camera anymore, just like you're not the girl that is scared to voice her thoughts and troubles any longer.

"Of course I have."

"And?"

"Won, he just tells me I need more prep. I've had plenty of that, trust me. Like, he's spent the last month using this toy on—"

"Okay, okay I get it. I trust you, spare me the details."

"—Point is, I'm more than ready. I know it's gonna be uncomfortable and a bit painful at first, he's like… so huge it's—"

"I get it."

"—but that's a given with how big he is. I think it's just… him being nervous, really."

"Have you… tried to, uhm. Take charge? Maybe you calling the shots would make it easier for him to let loose." Jungwon looks down on his lap as he plays with the rings adorning his fingers. You wouldn't say he has ever been particularly shy per se, not when it comes to discussing your sexual life, even in heavy detail. He was the boy your mother made you take a bath with after a whole day of rolling around in dirt as a kid, because his wasn't around a lot of the time. The same boy who has seen you toothless and with horrible haircuts, who has seen all your embarrassing phases. Talking to Jungwon was much more akin to talking to yourself rather than venting to a diary, because he stored secrets in his heart that you would never be comfortable writing down on paper. Except he also calls you a dumbass when he needs to.

It's been a little different ever since you started dating Sunghoon freshly out of college, but you imagine it can't be helped since Jungwon is also very close to him.

You take a deep breath, shoulders slumping with the motion. Yeah, like that would ever work. "He doesn't give up dominance ever, really. I have tried a few times but…" you trail off, thoughts suddenly plagued with images of Sunghoon putting you back in your place instantly whenever you tried to take charge. You have already given it some thought, a lot of thought, actually. What wouldn't you do to have Sunghoon under you and at your mercy, so responsive to every touch, perhaps even tied down. Yeah, you're gonna have to bring it up more seriously to him, maybe then he would let you—

"Are you seriously fantasizing about dominating your boyfriend right in front of my cheddar fries?"

But you're gonna continue that thought another time.

"Let's see then…" Jungwon continues, evidently determined to find a solution to your problem. "Maybe act out? Would that work? Mhhh… I don't know, you're already very annoying day to day and he puts up with that…so."

Jungwon genuinely looks like he is putting so much thought into it, somehow it makes it more offensive.

"Yeah. And who grew up next to him? You. Exactly. You trained his patience, if anything," you retort, but Jungwon doesn't even give you the satisfaction of acknowledging it, because you both know that you do love to be a nuisance to your boyfriend whenever you get the chance.

"Wait." Jungwon perks up after a seconds of deep thought, making the plushies on your bed fall on the floor, but the situation is so dire that you don't scold him. Instead, you cast a hopeful glance in his direction. Please let his brain cells work for once in his life.

"Isn't Hoon like, terribly jealous every time someone brings up that time you and Jay dated in high school?"

The cogs in your brain turn, and if someone was to walk into the room at that moment they would be able to smell the fumes coming out of your and Jungwon's head.

Jungwon continues, though he doesn't need to, because you have caught what he is hinting to already. "You need him to snap? What better reason to if not some good ol' jealousy. Am I right?"

But of course he is, that little gremlin genius.

"And, it just happens that a few high school acquaintances are organizing a get together soon. You know people will bring up you and Jay, just drag Hoon along. It's fate."

"Have I ever told you that you're my bestest friend ever and that I owe you my life, Won?"

Your plan is not working out as expected.

Getting everyone on board took you and Jungwon some time, but they all eventually agreed to come along. Sunghoon himself was the one with the most reservations, since he moved away halfway through high school and he missed a good chunk of it. Most importantly, he missed how you and the others became friends in the first place, so he's always been a little bitter about it.

Calling it a plan was an overstatement. You wore a skimpy little outfit, black miniskirt and sheer thighs, and bet on someone bringing up how you and Jay used to date in front of Sunghoon. You hoped that would make him jealous enough to grab you and drag you home, maybe teach you a lesson that you would inevitably learn nothing from.

Instead, you get sulky Sunghoon with a beer in his hand, looking at you like a kicked puppy as you and Jay make conversation with your old acquaintances. It doesn't help that Jungwon refuses to pick up his phone so you two can come up with something quick to stir the night towards your desired outcome.

The call goes into voicemail again, and you sigh for the hundredth time that night as you end it and open up his chat to type in another text.

"No answer yet?" Jay asks, smoothing his pink dress shirt. He's always the classier looking guy in the room, no matter where he goes, but the hue of pink he chose for the night makes him stand out further in the sea of swarming bodies.

You shake your head. You're in a quieter corner, away from the thumping speakers, but your throat is sore after all the screaming you did over the deafening music. You thought you would get used to the volume when a few of the people at the reunion suggested moving to a club across the street to end the night with a bang, just like the old times, but it somehow got progressively worse instead.

From your side, Jake puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles to catch someone's attention, and when it doesn't work, Jay laughs at him.

"Sunghoon looks bored, I think we should call it a night," Jay says.

"Bored? He looks like he's gonna murder the next poor soul that steps too close to Y\N," Jake takes a swing of the drink he's holding, something that looks like aged whiskey. Very much unlike anything Jake would order. He hisses after the liquid burns his throat, even when diluted by the melted ice. "Jay, my man, your taste is so ass."

You give the interaction a half hearted laugh. Despite your original plan, you hate seeing Sunghoon so uncomfortable, especially when you know he only came along to make you happy. He insists he doesn't belong surrounded by people who pretend to remember who he is and keep bringing up stuff that happened in the past expecting a glint of recognition from him. You tell him there are multiple people with a similar experience to his even when they attended all years, you tell him he belongs anywhere as long as you and the other guys are there. He tells you those are the people that don't get invited to these sort of events.

"It's getting late anyway, maybe we should just go," you say, checking your notification bar for any sign of life from Jungwon. Still nothing.

"I'll go get Won." Jake throws back the remaining drink, scrunching his eyes and hissing at the bitter taste he still isn't accustomed to.

You take a second to scan your surroundings, and the swaying mass of sweaty bodies makes you nauseous. You used to love getting rocked back and forth by the music, uncaring for a single thing in the world if not the overwhelming love you felt for everyone and everything around you when alcohol buzzed through your system. When you were younger, it felt like ibuprofen for your soul. Now, it only amplifies the hurt in your chest when you think about how heavy this night must have been for your boyfriend.

Before you can make your way to him, someone grabs your attention.

"Jay! And you over there, it's been a while."

You instinctively turn towards the loud voice, finding a vaguely familiar face cockily grinning in your direction.

"She has a name." Jay takes a deep breath and gives you a look, his jaw tense, and that alone is enough to let you know right away the guy in front of you is nothing but trouble.

The guy continues as if you weren't even there to listen to the conversation. A ghost. "Doesn't matter, being your girlfriend is all she was known for back then." He takes a swing of his beer, taste as bitter as his voice. He's very obviously drunk out of his mind, words slurring and step unsteady, but his words annoy you anyway.

"Excuse m—" you try to interject, but he speaks right over you.

"You two back together?"

Jay looks like he's seconds away from punching him, but you simply shake your head no. "Oh! No, and I'm not single actually. My boyfriend's here—" you turn around to look for Sunghoon where you last saw him, and beam when you find him right as he walks up to you. His shoulders relax just the tiniest bit when he notices how relieved you look when you meet his gaze, the way you reserve that look to him only, the way you light up as soon as you spot him. "There he is! Perfect timing, baby."

Sunghoon slides a hand around your waist possessively, placing a soft kiss to your temple to really get the point across. "I was looking for you."

Truth is, he wasn't. He had his eyes on you the entire time, but you were playing with your rings and kept readjusting your clothes as the conversation was unfolding, and Jay looked uneasy too, so he figured nothing good was being said.

"Yeah, sorry! Just catching up with friends from back in the day. Y'know, reminiscing and stuff. Have you seen Won around?" You want to diffuse the situation before the idiot in front of you says anything he might regret. You want Hoon to be a little jealous, not for him to get you all kicked out of a party because someone decided to run their mouth a little too much. Your hand finds his exposed biceps, and it looks like he made the right choice by stepping in, because now that he is all up in your space, you're visibly more comfortable.

Sunghoon shakes his head. Last time he caught a sight of Jungwon in the crowded space was when the night had barely started, and he wore a cowboy hat as he shoved his tongue down some girl's throat. Good for him. "He's probably… catching up with acquaintances too."

You look like you are about to say something, but the nameless guy interrupts you before you get a single word out. It gives Sunghoon all the more reason to dislike him, even before he listens to what he has to says. "And you are? I don't recall seeing you around."

"Oh! Hoon just moved to a different school halfway through high school, but we're all friends," Jay replies instead, familiar with his best friend's feelings about his high school years.

"Then why is he here?"

Sunghoon's jaw clenches. You squeeze his arm as if to remind him you are next to him, and he melts instantly into your touch.

"I'm here because my girl and my friends are. Now if you'd be so kind, we are trying to have a nice night, and you're interfering with that." Sunghoon turns around, holding you against his chest as he starts to make his way to the bar to grab another beer.

"Yeah? You know your friend and your girl used to fuck? Maybe they still do."

Sunghoon was raised to be a patient man. One that counts to ten before reacting, a man who wouldn't even hurt a fly. So it must be the alcohol fueling his actions, because before he realizes what he is doing, he grabs the guy by his shirt, knuckles white as a ghost making the material wrinkle in his hold. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Sunghoon knows he is being provoked, but not even Jay trying to step between them can do anything to calm his anger, not when the poor bastard spits on his shirt, then says something that he really shouldn't have.

"I mean look at her." The man laughs, and it's bitter, filled with something more sinister than mere disgust. It's envy. "Are you surprised? She's dressed like a whore."

Sunghoon moves before you have the time to grab him, right fist colliding with so much force against the man's face, his lip breaks on contact. He wobbles a bit, hit taking him by surprise, but he just gathers the blood dripping inside his mouth and spits it by Sunghoon's feet.

"Hey! Hey." Jay grabs the guy's arm, roughly yanking him back as a crowd of people starts to notice the commotion, heading to take a look at what's happening, a few bodyguards included.

"So tough," the man starts a laughs interrupted by winching when his broken lip curls too much. "Take that out on your so called friend—"

Your voice drowns out the rest of the sentence. "Baby, please."

Sunghoon looks at you, and for a second you doubt he sees you. There's so much anger in his eyes, like he wants nothing more than to rip the little bitch in front of him to pieces. They're almost unfamiliar in a way that send shivers down your spine. You hate the fact that you can't tell if it's fear or lust. But the storm behind his gaze clears out for a second when he sees the alarm on your pretty face, just the one you need. "I wanna go home."

No matter the anger coursing through Sunghoon's bloodstream like venom, thick black poison inciting him to turn back and finish the job, his conscience always prioritizes your well being and what you want. So when you take his hand a make a beeline for the exit, he follows without a single complaint.

The car ride back home is uncomfortably silent.

Sunghoon doesn't hum the random tune playing on the radio like he usually does, he doesn't hold your thigh nor does he even spare you a glance, and you start worrying he might be mad at you.

The words said about you earlier sting, but they don't hold a candle next to Sunghoon's silence. You want to speak up, fill the void that is so uncharacteristically awkward, but the words die in your throat the second you try to push them out.

A ding! followed by your phone screen lighting up signals a new notification, and you swipe through your phone to find out if Jungwon has finally made his existence known.

It's a text from Jay. You notice how Sunghoon's eyes dart to your phone for a split second before going back to focusing on the road ahead, his jaw twitching under the street lights.

00:27 AM. Jongie <3: You guys made it home yet?

00:28 AM. you: not yet, you? did you find the others?

Last thing you heard as you dragged Sunghoon out of the club was Jay arguing with both the still nameless guy and two bodyguards who had been notified of commotion next to the bar. Your main goal was to get your boyfriend the hell out of there before he broke someone's face in, but now that you're away from the mess and the dizziness from the alcohol has started to die down, leaving your muscles and bones tired, you worry for your friends too.

00:29 AM. Jongie <3: Heading back now, Jake texted me he found Won.

00:29 AM. Jongie <3: Wasted, ofc. But apparently Jake's taking care of him now.

00:31 AM. you: don't know if i like the sound of that. will they ever let us back in there?

00:33 AM. Jongie <3: Yeah no chance, Won won't be happy when he finds out.

00:35 AM. you: how did him and jake even get home?

You lock your phone for good after Jay confirms Jake mumbled something about a really nice girl with a great rack driving them home, deciding you'll deal with their bullshit another day, when you're completely sober and not worried about what your unusually silent boyfriend might be thinking.

Just in time for Sunghoon to pull into his driveway. He doesn't remind you to take your bag with you as he always does, he doesn't wait for you to be out of the car before heading straight towards his front door. Truth be told, you're more shocked he didn't just drop you off at your own apartment because now you're really sure he must be upset with you.

It's dumb, really. What that guy said is anything but your fault. But your panicked mind makes up scenarios in which Sunghoon knows you wanted to make him jealous, wanted to get a reaction out of him for something as silly as getting him to properly fuck you. It convinces you he has every right to be upset.

His hand twitches in pain for a second while unlocking the door, dried blood—both his and not—staining his pristine knuckles, and it only aids in making you feel worse. You follow him through the entrance, and he waits for you to walk inside before locking the door for the night. It's now or never.

It takes all the courage you can find within yourself to speak, and still your voice comes out uneven, shaky, things your voice has never been when talking to Park Sunghoon. "I'm really, really sorry."

He turns back to you like you just said the most shocking sentence he's ever heard in his life, and he quickly grabs you by your hips when he notices just how scared you look. He quickly realizes you must've mistaken his silent attempt at calming down his anger at the situation for coldness towards you for some reason, and his heart breaks a little at the thought of having made you doubt yourself. When he answers, it's the softest you've ever heard him. "What for, pretty girl?"

Tears well in your eyes when you fail to find the words. You're sorry for so many things, you don't even know where to start. You're sorry for dragging him somewhere he didn't even wanna be in the first place, sorry for taking advantage of his kindness for your own benefit, you're sorry his knuckles are raw and bloodied just because he had to defend you. Above all, you're sorry for being so damn selfish.

Sunghoon carefully caresses your face with his clean hand, so none of that bastard's blood goes anywhere near your pretty features. His thumb swipes across your bottom lip like it's second nature, silently waiting for you to say what's on your mind. He searches your gaze, but you're too busy trying to not burst into tears right there in front of him, so he lowers his hand to your jaw and gently angles your head upwards.

His eyes are kind and warm, no hint of the searing coldness they held mere minutes ago. "None of what happened today is your fault," he speaks slowly, sincerely. He makes sure every single word leaving his lips is loud and clear, no room for misunderstanding or doubt. Sunghoon is smart, he knows you like no one ever has put in the effort to. "I'm sorry if I made you doubt yourself back there, I should've said something. I'm sorry." He sounds secure and confident in what he's saying, but the little unsteady breath and the sharp swallow that come right after betray him. His hand slightly trembles on your skin, and it makes your heart sink even more.

Something else to add to the list. You're also sorry for making Sunghoon feel guilty over your emotions when he never did anything wrong to begin with.

You still struggle to speak, especially when Sunghoon is looking into your eyes as one would towards the light shining through the water surface after holding their breath in far too long, like it means being able to breathe again. There's a devotion in him you've never seen, something actors on a stage cannot replicate, something you don't think words to describe it have been spoken out yet. Something purely unique to you and him.

When your words fail you, you show him your own devotion in a different way.

There's a medication kit Sunghoon got forever ago solely to patch up Jake and Won whenever their Jake and Won antics get them hurt (very often, comically often). Never in your life would you have imagined Sunghoon to be on the receiving end of the care, but here you are.

Sunghoon follows you wordlessly to the couch, giving no protest when you point to sit down while you take your spot next to him.

The saline stings as you carefully clean the wound, but Sunghoon makes no show of it. You finally have a reason to look at somethings else other than his eyes as you gather your thoughts, but he doesn't lose sight of the frown deepening on your face.

Sunghoon watches you intently through his now messy bangs as you hold his bigger hand in yours as if it were made out of the most precious, frail glass. His fingers are way thicker than yours are, but you brush against his knuckles with the cotton just as softly as he kisses your forehead seconds before you let yourself be taken by slumber in his arms every night. He sees all the expressions fluttering on your face, he gives you the time he knows you need. He knows there's something you need to get off your chest.

When the blood stains the cotton instead of his skin, you speak up, "Does it hurt?"

Sunghoon hums in disagreement, the sound dry in his throat. You press into the raw skin a little harder, earning a low hiss from him. "Don't lie to me. We don't lie to each other."

"We don't, but you're hiding something from me." He stops before continuing, his voice a mere whisper, "what's wrong?"

"You got hurt because of me."

"That's not—"

"Yes you did." And once the river of words tumbling out of your mouth starts, it can't be stopped any longer. "I know how you feel about high school and—"

"It's not that—"

"But it is. I don't care if it was five years ago or ten or fifteen, I know you feel a certain way about it and don't lie to me to spare my feelings because it makes me only feel worse. You feel a way about it and I still went out of my way to take advantage of it for such a stupid reason and now I feel like a fucking idiot. And it also got you hurt."

"Baby," Sunghoon says after a moment of quiet, only filled by your heavy breathing. "Hey."

You busy yourself by grabbing the gauze in the little med kit next to you, but you make the mistake of glancing at him for a second, and the little smile dancing on his lips keeps your eyes glued to the sight.

"It's only a few scratches. What's all this really about?"

"I just… fuck, I'm never living this down." You stretch the white bandage over Sunghoon's wound, wrapping it a few times to fully secure it. You take a deep breath, buying yourself more time by inspecting your boyfriend's fingers like they're the most interesting thing you've ever seen in your life. He playfully taps his index against your palm. It makes you smile despite your best efforts not to. "I just wanted to make you jealous."

You say it so quietly even Sunghoon, barely inches away from you, almost misses it. Almost, because you hear the teasing in his tone loud and clear. "Jealous?"

Cat's out of the bag anyway, so you might as well explain yourself. "Before you say anything, Won gave me the idea."

"Of course."

"I just, y'know. Best friend stuff," you say, as if it's the answer to everything.

"Best friend stuff… as in?" Sunghoon keeps prodding, and the faint smile you hear as he speaks without having to take a look at him simultaneously makes you want to grin and roll your eyes at him. You bite your inner cheek instead.

"As in… complaining about my boyfriend…"

"Oh, you must have so much to complain about."

"Well, for starters, my boyfriend doesn't want to fuck me—"

Sunghoon erupts in a fits of boyish giggles when he finally figures out what's going on, delighted to see how embarrassed you are by this whole ordeal. He grabs you by your hips and sits you right on top of his lap so suddenly you let out a little shriek of surprise. "Trust me, your boyfriend would love nothing more than to fuck you through the mattress."

Your hands rest on his shoulders, and you lower your chest against his, noses brushing each other. "Then what's stopping him?"

Sunghoon's warm breath tickles your lips when he whispers, "Maybe he thinks your pretty little pussy can't take it yet."

A warm feeling travels through your body, settling into your lower abdomen, and just when you think he's gonna kiss you, he pulls back and rests his back on the cushion behind him, sinking further into the soft couch and pulling you down with him.

"Hoon—"

"Mh-mh. You haven't told me what Won's idea was yet."

"You know it." You raise your hand to playfully hit his chest, but he's faster than you are and catches your wrist midway with his injured hand.

"I don't know a damn thing," Sunghoon says as he brings his lips to the back of your hand, letting them brush gently against your soft skin before placing a small peck. "Go on, enlighten me."

You pout, but Sunghoon's set on making you talk, and even though you're stubborn and embarrassed, you know he won't let it go until he's satisfied with your response.

And, the slowly growing hardness under your exposed panties, combined with the residuals of alcohol still buzzing through your system are making it hard for you to stand your ground. Not when Sunghoon looks as good as he does with his bangs messily covering his eyes, and fitted short sleeve highlighting his hard chest underneath the cotton. Unfortunately for you.

You move on his lap, adjusting your position so you can feel more of him through the thin material covering you. You crave the harsh coarseness of his jeans on you, for the heat seeping out of him to envelope you fully. You're on top of him, thighs straddling his, yet you feel the invisible push to be even closer. As close as you physically can be.

Sunghoon sees the hunger in your eyes, he has all this time. He too is barely hanging on by a thread, and the self restraint he's miraculously managed to keep until now is dwindling by the second. All the times you've begged for him, all the times he's fucked your pretty pussy open with different toys, bigger and thicker each time. All the times he's had to take cold showers after seeing the raw need for him to claim you fully reflected in your eyes, even after coaxing orgasm after of orgasm out of you. You're so insatiable, but he might be even worse. Once he gives in, he doesn't think he'll be able to let you go ever.

Sunghoon knows you've felt ready for a long time, and even if he thinks you could use more getting used to bigger sizes before he allows himself to finally sink into you, the temptation gnaws at him all the same.

He just needs a little confirmation.

"Tell me, what was this master plan of yours?" he speaks with his mouth pressed to your palm, softly running his nose down to your wrist, allowing himself to bask in the warmness of the scent you chose for the night.

"Won's, not mine."

"That you willingly agreed to."

"I just… wanted to make you jealous." You finally admit, avoiding Sunghoon's gaze at all costs.

"How so? Wearing this tiny little dress?" His voice is lower, more dangerous. He slides his free hand to grab a handful of your barely covered ass, the skirt having ridden up to your waist almost completely. "You know I like it when the attention's on you. They can look all they want, you're mine." The movement causes you to jerk up against his crotch, earning a low grunt from the man beneath you.

"Tell me, baby," Sunghoon rocks you slowly against his hard bulge, caging his bottom lip between his teeth as he takes in your needy and embarrassed form. "How did you plan to make me jealous? Why?"

Your hand slides down his chest and dips under the thin shirt before caressing just over the waistband of his underwear peeking out of the dark jeans. "I thought it would be a smart idea to drag you along to the get together, and I guess I hoped someone would bring me and Jay up. I know how you feel about it and I wanted to use it to my advantage, but I also didn't consider how you'd feel surrounded by strangers reminding you of all the time you and the guys lost. All the time we lost. You came to make me happy and I was being selfish the entire time. You even got hurt because of me—"

"Not because of you. He should be thankful you were there to stop me or I would've broken his ugly face in."

"Still. I'm so sorry. It was childish."

A beat passes without either of you saying anything, and you twitch uncomfortably in his lap.

"Why?"

Your lip trembles, and your heart sinks at the thought of having angered your angel of a boyfriend. Tears well up in your eyes before you even attempt to explain yourself, but Sunghoon gently angles your chin toward him until you're met with his gaze. It's intense, darker than you've ever seen in all your time knowing him. He searches your face for something, and you realize it's not anger casting shadows behind his eyes. It's pure, unfiltered lust.

"Why did you want me jealous?" His voice is raw, like it pains him to produce a single sound, like whatever you answer him with is the honey that will soothe it.

You twitch again, and this time you're not scared, but your insides twist all the same. He rest heavy and hot under you, and you don't know how you'll handle another rejection if that's what this is leading to.

"I wanted you to fuck me, really fuck me. I hoped it would be enough to push you to the breaking point, Sunghoon.“ You swallow hard, and the saliva in your mouth feels thicker than usual. Maybe it is, maybe you're just more aware of all the sensations within your body. "I need you to break."

It's all Sunghoon needs to hear.

He lurches forward to capture your lips with his, harsh and messy, like an animal that has finally broken out of the restraint keeping it chained. His hands roam all over your body, eager to explore every single inch as if it's the first time he ever does.

You reciprocate him with just as much hunger behind every movement, hands slipping from his body to his hair to pull his head back. You grind your hips against his, moves deliberately slow compared to the feverish kiss. "I need you. I don't wanna wait anymore."

Sunghoon moans into your mouth when you release his hair, and he doubles his efforts, sliding his fingers through the wide gaps of the fishnets covering your thighs, big palms fully working you on top of his bulge.

"You want it so bad, baby?" He says between open mouthed kisses, full lips raw and red from the fight with yours. "I'm gonna give it all to you."

Uncaring for the mess of knocked over stuff you two leave in your wake, from Sunghoon's keys loudly hitting the ground to your heels abandoned somewhere on the carpet, you make your way to his room without ever letting go of each other. All around you is just background noise and things you'll think of later, the only thing that seems to matter is to get in bed and get rid of all the pent up frustration clouding your minds.

The door shuts closed and soon your back hits the bed with a soft thud, Sunghoon's hands heavy on your hips and mouth hot on your neck as he carves a wet path on your sensitive skin, caging you between his hard chest and the mattress. He wraps your leg around his middle, and when your cores touch again, you both sigh in relief.

You've spent all this time on the cusp of finally getting something more, waiting—albeit not so patiently on your part—for the right moment, and now that you both know you're just moments away from it, seconds seem to stretch out into hours and even the slightest teasing feels unbearable.

That's what you think, at least. Because Sunghoon is nothing but a tease at heart, and he has very different plans in store for you.

You take advantage of the little moment of pause to undress yourself, but Sunghoon stops you as soon as he notices what you're trying to do.

"Keep it on," he murmurs along your neck, feeling your pulse quicken right under his full lips. He kisses along your collarbones, to your shoulder, exactly where the strap of your dress rests. His teeth graze the material, and he draws back slightly before letting it snap back into place, the slight sting making you jump just the tiniest bit in his hold. "You wanted to make me jealous in this? Then I'll fuck you in it." He mouths his way back up, until he reaches your ear, teeth gently biting right where he knows it makes shivers spread all over your body. "Next time you wear it, my cock is all you'll be able to think about."

You can't hide the way your body reacts to his words, thighs pressing together from the sheer excitement.

Sunghoon toys with the strings of your fishnets, and for a moment you think you should take them off, but he just rips a hole through them, allowing his hand to finally slide underneath them and grab your ass as harshly as he wants. "These were getting on my nerves."

"I can take them—"

Sunghoon silences you with a kiss, slower than the previous one, calculated and meticulous but every bit as passionate. His teeth sink into your bottom lip until you gasp against his mouth, his tongue gently licking away at your lip to soothe the sting. He pulls your core closer to his, unabashedly moaning into your mouth as he ruts his hips into yours.

The tights start to frustrate you the more he works himself against your panties. You want to be closer, you need to feel him push against you completely, and they're in the way. So once again, you try to rid yourself of them.

Sunghoon keeps you still. "These stay on until I tell you to take them off." His tone is commanding, but not abrasive, muffled by your skin. "Understood?"

You barely nod when suddenly he's bending you at his will like you're his to drag around as he pleases, and while usually you would've fought back just for the sake of it, you play nice this time, doing anything to not have him changes his mind and leave you hanging once again.

He sets you on your knees, facing the headboard of his king sized bed, a sturdy and thick thing, wood carved with elegant loops and twirls all around the edges. They gleam and cast shadows alike when Sunghoon reaches over you to turn on the bedside lamp.

The same hand steadies your hip as he lowers himself onto you, pressing his chest to your back and littering kisses from your temple to your neck. "Aren't you such a cute little thing?" he whispers into your ear, chucking when he feels you shudder under his weight. "So needy and desperate, making up plans just to have my cock in your tight pussy." He's so big, so warm. So strong. It makes your knees weak, and you would crumble on the soft mattress if not for his large hand keeping you still. "Should've just come to me right away, should've begged for my cock like the good girl I know you can be." His other hand starts to travel down your body, and your thighs instinctively spread open to accommodate him.

Pride blooms in Sunghoon's heart. You're so pliant for him, sweetly allowing him to touch you all over, your body responding so well to his slightest touch, to his softest word. The trust you have in him makes his cock harder in his pants, but he's always been a patient man. A man that enjoys taking his time playing with his meal before sinking his teeth into it.

That, and you still have a lesson to learn. "But you've been bad, so bad." He bites your earlobe as his fingers hook onto one of the little holes in your tights, right over your throbbing core, so needy and ready to be claimed by him. You hear a loud rip before you realize what's going on.

His fingers immediately find your panties, slick and stuck to your drooling lips, and he starts touching you over them like all the teasing he's subjected you to until then isn't enough to satisfy him. "You'll make it up to me, yeah? You'll make me proud and happy." He licks along the shell of your ear, and your thighs shake, spreading open once more to coax him into touching you better. "I'll only fuck you when I'm satisfied with how sorry you are."

"Hoon—"

"Don't worry, baby." His fingers dip under the fabric, finally really touching you for the first time that night. He slides two fingers between your lips to coat them in your juices as he keeps talking to you in a tone that almost seems belittling, the pout in his voice too heavy and pronounced for it to be honest. "I'll make it worth it. All the time we waited will be worth it. I just have to get you nice and ready, dripping for me."

You have half a mind to turn around and fight him, because you don't understand how you could physically get wetter even if you wanted to be patient and take it. "I'm already wet," you say, and it comes out a little harsher than you intend for it to.

"Look at you," Sunghoon mocks you, the bite in your response only making him chuckle lowly in your ear, the vibrations from the sound make wetness pool on his digits, much to his amusement. "Can't keep the brattiness in check even when you should feel sorry. How can I take your apologies seriously?"

You open your mouth to answer, but his fingers pinch your clit before you get a single word out, replaced by a shriek that sounds something right in between pleasure and pain.

"Less talking." Sunghoon doesn't stop or lessen his touch on your poor sensitive bundle of nerves. Instead, he rolls it between his fingers, coaxing loud moans out of you with every single movement. "More of this."

The bed creaks under Sunghoon's knees as he detaches from your already quivering form and gets up to grab something. You complain with a little whine at the sudden loss, but just a quick glance in his direction tells you to stay still and be patient.

"Where's your phone?" Sunghoon asks. It sounds a lot more like an order.

"My… huh? My phone?"

"Your phone. Where is it?"

You gawk at him for a second, still in the same position despite the dull ache in your knees slowly but surely setting in, your mouth agape as you try to rack your brain for an explanation as to why the fuck Sunghoon needs your phone since he doesn't seem to be planning on offering you one. "In my bag. On the couch, I think."

It's only a few seconds before your boyfriend returns with your phone in his hand, and throws it carelessly on the bed next to you. He returns to his previous position, the warmth radiating from his body soothing you even when you don't know what to expect next.

You'd be lying if you said you don't enjoy this stricter version of your ever so loving and doting boyfriend, thighs clenching at the thought of the danger lurking behind his sweet demeanor.

"Unlock your phone and open Jay's chat." Sunghoon's calm facade is completely gone, replaced by pure fire.

"What?"

"You heard me." His grip on your thighs tightens, possessive and angry. "You're gonna open Jay's chat and record while I fuck your pussy with my fingers, and you'll have him hear how good I make you feel."

You're breathless, adrenaline pumping through your system and ears ringing at the thought of doing something so obscene, with one of your best friends on the other end of it no less. "Hoon, Jay didn't have anything to do with this… we shouldn't—"

"I don't care." Sunghoon bites your neck, sharp canines poking you just enough to elicit a gasp out of you. "You'll do as I say and tell him you won't ever go back."

He sounds so possessive, so unlike any version of him you have experienced, and just this little taste has you obsessed. You love the soft spoken, big sweetheart he always is, and you love the sleeping beast hidden just beneath the surface too. You love the anticipation of what's to come, not knowing which side of Sunghoon you're gonna get.

Your hand trembles as you reach for the phone, his is sure and steady as it makes its descent down to your wet pussy again. Sunghoon takes his time, letting his fingers ghost on your thighs for a little before sliding the panties off of you. You hear him moan behind you, and you're glad you don't get to see what you suspect is him licking off the wetness off the fabric he just rid you of. That would be way too much for you in the moment, you think.

The Jongie <3 contact in your favorites section seems so silly now that you're mere seconds away from letting him hear how your boyfriend fucks you, so you take a few deep breaths in preparation. As if sensing your hesitation, Sunghoon quickly places a gentle kiss to your temple, and just like that, he's back to his caring self. "You said you're sorry, baby. You should show me, but you don't have to."

You press the voice message recording button moments later, heart thrumming loudly in your ears as you slide your finger up so it keeps recording hands free.

"Such a brave girl. So, so good for me." Sunghoon praises you, and it soothes some of the anxiety you feel, his tone thick and sweet as honey, you barely recognize it as the same one that was giving you harsh commands earlier.

The downright filthy sound of Sunghoon's digits spreading your pussy lips open has you cowering in embarrassment, but your boyfriend doesn't care. He needs Jay to hear how absolutely soaked you are. He wastes no time, pushing in three fingers inside you.

Your mouth is hung open in a silent moan, eyebrows knit together and eyes closed, taking a moment to adjust to the sudden sensation. It stings, even when you're so wet it's dripping down your thighs by now, but his fingers are so long and thick the initial stretch is always uncomfortable, despite all the training.

Sunghoon doesn't like that, so he gives you no time, no warning, and just starts pumping in and out of you, curling the tips just like he does when you're about to cum and need the tiniest push. He's unfair, so unfair, because how are you supposed to keep your sounds down like you planned to when he's finger fucking you like it's his life mission to have you come undone in record time?

You don't know if it's an ego thing, or he just wants to make your punishment that much harder. It must be both, because within seconds you're moaning and gasping out in pleasure for him and Jay so beautifully, really putting on a show for the both of them. But it's so hard to focus and remember what you're supposed to say, and the longer the voice message is, the more mortified you'll be in the morning.

For now, satisfying Sunghoon's thirst for punishment and placating the jealousy you yourself caused is your top priority. You'll think about the consequences another time.

"Aren't you gonna say hi? Where are your manners?" Sunghoon's mouth drops to your ear, the movement of his fingers inside of your cunt relentless and not giving you a single second to breathe properly. It doesn't matter to him, how much harder he's making for you to accomplish your task. He basks in it, even. He's proud of how just his fingers are enough to turn you dumb with pleasure.

"I—mh," you try your best to muffle the moans cascading from your lips, to no avail. Even if you managed to do so, the incredibly loud squelching noises in the background would betray you.

"Need a hand?" he laughs dryly, and you feel the faint presence of a fourth finger next to the other three, waiting to slide in and stretch you open further.

"Hoon!" you gasp in surprise.

"That's right, baby. That's who you belong to. Tell Jay."

"I—I belong to—Hoon! I can't!"

His fourth digit keeps prodding around to find a possible entrance, but you're already so full you think any more would actually break you. "How do you plan to let me fuck you, then?"

He's teasing you. You both know you can and you will. It's just a matter of taking it slowly. His finger is suddenly not trying to inch inside you anymore, despite how lost you both are in the moment, your comfort comes first always. It just means Sunghoon will find another way.

He speaks lowly against your ear, but it's enough for your phone to pick it up clearly, "Once I'll split you open on my cock like you've been begging for, nothing else will ever satisfy you. No one else will. Once I claim your little hole, it's mine. Jay's seen how big I am. He knows it too. Tell him whose pussy I'm about to split open."

"Mine." You gasp at a particularly harsh thrust.

"No. Mine." The sheer command in his voice makes you clench even more around his fingers, as if the fit isn't already tight enough. "Try again."

"Yours! It's yours."

"Good fucking girl." He moans against you, his hot breath rising goose bumps all over your skin. "Tell him you'll never go back to him," he adds after a moment, quieter.

The pace he is fingering you at slows down just enough so you can actually get a coherent sentence out, and you're silently grateful for this little show of mercifulness on Sunghoon's part. If not for this, the voice mail would probably end up being an hour long.

"I'll never—mh. Go back to you."

"Good. So good. Now tell him how happy you are with me, happier than you ever were with him. Tell him you love me," he rasps, high on the reassurance you're providing him. High on how obedient you are for him.

"Love Hoon so much, I love him. I love him so so much. Hoon, please." You're a mess, dripping down onto the bedsheets and clamping around his fingers so hard any more would probably cut Sunghoon's blood flow. The more you grip him, the wider you spread your thighs to accommodate him, like you're silently begging for him to be harsher. He has half a mind to fulfill your body's wordless plea.

"Look at you, spreading your pretty legs for me. You like it when I talk to you like this? Does it make your little pussy wetter?"

You're so tight, so wet, and Sunghoon is so impossibly hard. He could cum right there just thinking about how good you'll feel wrapped around him, walls convulsing and milking him for all he's worth with every orgasm he gives you. For every orgasm you bless him with.

A sight for sore eyes, one Jay will never see nor hear. Because as soon as he can sense you climbing up your high, getting so close, your walls fluttering against his curled up digits in preparation and juices plentifully seeping out of you, he grabs your phone and ends the recording himself.

Sunghoon moves, and suddenly you miss the weight of his chest pressing into your back, but the pace of his fingers inside you slows down again. You wail as you feel the climax you were so close to dissipate, and suddenly you feel like invisible ropes are keeping your front tied to the bed. Your back gives in under the pressure, arching in ways that should be uncomfortable but it's the only outlet other than the plentiful sounds being pushed out of you your body has to ground itself in the midst of all the pleasure.

The loneliness your heart feels whenever he deprives you of his body heat for as much as a few seconds has tiny broken sobs and whines lurch out of your throat, but like every single time, Sunghoon is there to soothe you. "I know, baby, I know. Just let me help you feel good. Yeah?"

Even when you're supposedly being punished, he can't help but go a little easy on you, his gorgeous angel. His spoiled baby. But it's okay, because you did such a good job, listened and obeyed to his every command.

Sunghoon's warm breath tickles the skin of your bottom, and his nose brushes up from your mid thigh to your ass, giving you a playful yet gentle bite on the plushy skin. Air gets stuck in your throat in anticipation, but like every single thing he does, he takes his time in savoring all the moments leading up to finally get your sweet taste to coat his tongue like he's craved for this entire time.

You're twitchy and so responsive in his hold, and Sunghoon is enamored with the sight of your fluttering walls trying their best to suck his thick digits in even more. Greedy little cunt for a spoiled little girl. A perfect match.

He watches intently how you react to every single thrust of his fingers inside you, how your knees shake and body flops forward when he bends the tips in just the right direction when you least expect it. He pushes in deeper, and deeper, until you're gushing on his palm, your essence dripping down his wrist and a few droplets down to his elbow too. He registers your every moan, every beg for more, imprints all your sounds in his memory like they're the dearest ones he's ever made.

Sunghoon remembers all your reactions from times you'd consider unimportant, from the little moan when you first bite into anything he's cooked—whether you really like it not—to the way your leg bounces when following the rhythm of a song you said you despised because they played it on the radio too often, to the way your eyebrow twitches when he mentions a name you haven't heard before.

When you catch him with that sweet look in his eyes, staring at you with a toothy grin and canines peeking out, it's because he's watching you and storing everything in his mind, no matter how mundane, no matter how dumb, no matter how silly. It's a no brainer he'd do this in times like these too, even when he's witnessed you come undone under his gaze plenty of times, he doesn't want to miss a single one.

It's not really about learning what brings you pleasure faster and what prolongs it, he's familiar with all of that already, Sunghoon just happens to really enjoy watching you, even if you think it's the most embarrassing thing in the world.

So he does exactly that, inspects you carefully as he keeps fucking you open with his fingers, taking guesses about how hard or deep he should make his pumps, pride blooming in his chest—and cock throbbing in his pants—when you react exactly like he expects. While usually he watches you with a lovesick smile, the grin on his face and fiery glint behind his eyes are different now, hungrier and needier, but every bit as obsessed.

Because that's exactly what Sunghoon is, deeply and unashamedly obsessed with you.

He builds your orgasm up again, brick by brick, flick of his wrist by flick of his wrist, until you're quivering and shaking and begging him to not take it away this time.

"Please," you moan, hand clenching onto the bedsheets beside you so hard you'll be shocked if by the end there won't be a hole ripped in them. "I'm so close."

Sunghoon notices how you hold onto your orgasm, waiting for his approval. It makes his hips twitch forward involuntary, eager to please and eager to give you anything you want. "I got you baby, let go. Let me hear the pretty sounds you make when you cum for me."

It's all it takes for the coil in your stomach to completely snap, and the second your warm walls flutter around Sunghoon's fingers for the first time, you feel a sense of emptiness that lasts only a moment, before you're full again. It's not as thick, shorter but so much wetter, and through the thick fog clouding your mind as your body is overtaken by uncontrollable shivers spreading from your core to every extremity of your body, you realize he just replaced his fingers with his tongue.

Another lightning strike shoots right through you, head to feet, as Sunghoon keeps fucking you through your orgasm with his tongue. You're still fluttering around it and releasing all of your juices right into his awaiting mouth when the ringing in your ears slowly fades, replaced by the downright obscene sounds of Sunghoon slurping up all he can get out of you. It's messy and nasty, the lower half of his face completely coated in your essence but he doesn't care. He wants more.

He moans into your pussy like he's the one being pleasured, and once that single second of bliss between fully coming down from an orgasm and overstimulation setting in goes by, he pulls you in closer when you start moving too much. You're still too sensitive, but if Sunghoon thinks you're greedy, you have to realize he's even worse. Feeling the dull throbbing of your walls as you come around his tongue one time just isn't enough. If it were up to him, he'd have you wet his mouth again and again until you physically can't withstand any more. Until you're barely coherent and slipping into a peaceful sleep, completely tired out.

Sunghoon grabs a handful of your ass with his still dripping hand as he licks a stripe down from your hole into your lips, spreading them open with his tongue to find your clit, throbbing and raw from your previous orgasm. He rolls it between his lips, toys with it with his tongue, uncaring for the way your body pushes away from his mouth. After all the begging you did, you have no business running from it, if you ask him.

"Stay still," he growls into you, both of his hands tied together on your lower back as he fully pushes you down on the mattress with his strength, leaving you nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. He nuzzles his face into you, enveloping all he can get with his warm mouth, sighing and groaning contently with every bit of wetness you gush right on his tongue.

He explores every inch of you, every nook and cranny he can get into, cleaning you up with each lick and wetting you even more with every other. "So fucking good," he moans into you, dragging you back against him when you think you can't physically be closer, when the tip of his nose pushes into your hole and when the only way he has to breathe is through his mouth which is full of you. He pants and gasps against your cunt so much you fear he might suffocate himself just to not come up for air a single time.

Your own face is pushed against the bed, mouth biting down on the cotton fabric beneath you to ground yourself in the immense cloud of pleasure Sunghoon is giving you. He's so lost in your taste he doesn't even remind you to not muffle your sounds, the only thing in his mind is to have you come undone on his mouth once more.

Sunghoon knows he's close to his goal when your little pained whines start turning into longer, more drawn out moans, when you stop running away from his tongue and instead start thrusting yourself back into his hold, back into his mouth. All your senses are ablaze, nerve endings lit and confused but so pleased at the same time. You yourself don't know when the it stopped hurting and became that dull, impending feeling of almost there to something more that both maddens you and keeps you hooked, but you roll your hips anyway in search of just the little nudge in the right direction your body violently craves.

Like always, Sunghoon knows exactly what you need.

"Go on, baby. Touch your little clit for me." His voice is full and rich of that low gravel you barely get to hear, but that has tingles run down your body when you do. "Help me make you cum." Sunghoon lets his tongue run back up from your clit to your slit again, inching closer to your throbbing hole as you let a hand sneak under your body to your pussy, immediately finding your sensitive bundle of nerves.

You're so drenched by now you don't need to wet your hand before drawing circles all over it, dragging it in all the directions you know have your toes curl. Sunghoon likes it messy though, so he gathers a glob of spit and loudly releases it on your cunt, the position making it dribble down right where your hand is working to bring you closer to your peak.

The onslaught of wetness pooling down only adds to the already embarrassingly loud noises coming from your cunt, and you're so wet, your own fingers slip a few times. It doesn't help that your arm shakes under you even when pinned down by your entire body weight when Sunghoon shoves his entire tongue down your hole again, using both of his hands on your lower back to move you so you're fucking his muscle as if it were a toy. His nose drags on your perineum with every movement of your bottom half against his face, and under any other circumstance you'd be mortified, but Sunghoon has a way of soothing you in the most embarrassing situations without really having to do anything but be there with you, like nothing matters in the grand scheme of things when his body is heating yours.

You speed your movements up to match the pace he sets, and with every thrust of his tongue combined with every flick of your wrist, you feel the band in your lower tummy stretch and warm up, until your sight turns searing white and warmth envelops your body from your core to all your limbs in rhythmic waves, first every other second, and then gradually slowing down.

You release on Sunghoon's tongue, and he wastes no time, gulping down all he can manage to, moaning into your heat like he's tasting the most divine nectar. You can't see it as you're busy catching your breath and slowing down your heartbeat as the rush of pleasure dissipates into a calmer buzzing felt all over your body, but Sunghoon's eyebrows crease in the middle, his eyes closed as he commits the taste of your cum to his memory, right beside all the indecent bits of you he treasures in his mind.

Sunghoon pulls his tongue out of you, already missing the way you flutter against it when you come undone, and leaves a trail of pecks all over your bottom, first on the plush of your ass still kept up by his strong hold despite you having completely given up on keeping yourself upright long ago, then all over your thighs, switching from one to the other as he runs a reassuring hand all over your skin, wordlessly soothing you. His palms are big and thick on your thighs as he moves to wrap his hands to the front, steadying you one last time to capture your clit in a gentle suckle, just enough to have your body convulse in overstimulation, but too tired and spent to fight back.

He pulls off of you with a pop after hollowing his cheeks around it one last time. "Did so good for me, baby. You're so perfect."

Without Sunghoon's hands keeping you up, you slump on the bed, completely this time, groaning when the burn in your lower body fully sets in now that you can move it again. It's dull and persistent, and especially fiery right where Sunghoon's hands stayed locked for most of it.

"You okay, pretty? Was I too rough?" He sounds concerned when you take longer than usual to regain your strength, his hands immediately roaming all over your body to massage any sore spot. His touch is light like a breeze but welcome like the sun on a spring day, warming up all the knots in your muscles. The dangerous edge seems to have completely evaporated, only leaving your sweet boyfriend behind. In the moment, it's exactly what you need.

You give him a vague sound of approval in response, but you know it's not enough for him when he gently maneuvers your body around to face him, holding you so carefully one would think him scared of damaging you.

The warm light shining from the night stand casts shadows on his face, but the slight concern etched on his features is bright as day. It's an intimate moment, and you'd giggle because of the sheer difference in his behavior if you had the energy to do so. Instead, you reach for his hand. The same hand that held a bruising grip on you just moments before, the same hand that hit the man who disrespected you.

Sunghoon returns you touch right away, locking your fingers with his as if second nature. You place a featherlight kiss on them, allowing your lips to linger on his salty skin as you speak. "I'm great. Perfect even." It comes out a little raspy, like you haven't fully caught your breath yet, but it's a start.

"Yeah. You are."

"And you? You doing okay?"

Sunghoon gifts you one of his cannot-possibly-contain-it smiles, the ones where he looks down for a split second as his eyes crinkle and somehow smile wider than his lips do. Your favorite kind of Sunghoon Smiles you'd say in the moment, though if you were to compile a list they would all be in the number one spot.

"Perfect, even."

"Hey, that's my line—" you start, but Sunghoon finishes your sentence for you.

"—Don't steal it."

You hum, the taste of skin still on your lips as you bask in the moment for a little, neither of you daring to break the peaceful quiet that wraps like a fuzzy blanket around you. Sunghoon flinches just the tiniest bit when your fingers graze the bandaged scratches, making you ease up your hold on his hand. He immediately squeezes yours to tell you it's okay.

"You know," you say after you let the silence linger for a few more seconds, only your heartbeats and shallow breaths filling the air in the dimly lit room. "You look really hot when you're mad."

Fits of giggles pour in the almost nonexistent space between you—first Sunghoon's, yours following suit.

"I must look super hot when I'm jealous then," he says with that teasing edge in his tone you're all too familiar with. He dips down to catch your lips in a slow kiss, suckling on your bottom lip gently, the corners of his mouth still raised. He hasn't stopped smiling once.

"Absolutely," you say before Sunghoon pecks you again, and then keeps doing it as you try to continue. "And when you're happy—" another peck. "And when you're bored." Another peck. "And when you're—sorry if I say this but you look like a cute kicked puppy—sad.

"So you're gonna keep finding ways to make me jealous, I assume."

It's not meant to be a jab, you know he's being playful. But it stings you just in the right way, and suddenly you're in the passenger seat of Sunghoon's black Bentley again, worrying about having hurt his feelings past redemption.

Like all things you, Sunghoon catches it right away.

"Hey there, it's okay. I'm not upset, baby." Sunghoon's hands are secure around your hips, his thumb running soothing circles on your skin while your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer because it's simply never enough.

"You should be. You're too nice."

Sunghoon presses his lips on your fluttering lashes. "You being a little brat is nothing new. I think I know how to handle you pretty well, don't I?" His breath, minty but also vaguely bitter from the beer still, warms your cheekbone. Sunghoon's proximity to you is intoxicating in ways no amount of alcohol could ever be, and you hate beer, but god, what wouldn't you do to taste it off of his lips for the rest of your life.

Whoever is up there must be gracious because your prayers are answered the very next second, with Sunghoon ghosting his lips on yours, looking at you with tenfold the intensity and fire from earlier, like someone drenched the space behind his eyes with gasoline and lit it up without you noticing it. The switch is so sudden, and by now you should be used to this, but you don't think you ever will. Not when your boyfriend is looking at you like he might devour you whole any moment, and you'd let him. You'd love to let him.

"Act out all you want," Sunghoon says, voice dripping in possessiveness, right against your awaiting mouth. You want to swallow every last bit of it. "Go out there in short little skirts barely covering your ass. Make up all the silly plans you want, even ones where Jay's involved. Let everyone get a good look at you because that's all they'll ever fucking get." His hand reaches for your inner thigh, then folds it to give himself better access. His bulge is heavy and hard against your bare core, the weight of it enough to have you shiver and mewl, but when Sunghoon starts grinding his hips into yours, the noises spill out of you like you have no control over them. "At the end of the night, after you've had your fun, you'll always come back to me. In my bed, soaking my pants with your little pussy because you only get wet like this for me."

It's embarrassing how fast you feel like you could come again, but Sunghoon's hard thickness slides so perfectly over your folds even through the fabric, and the harshness of his jeans catches your clit every so often in such a delicious way. His pants are soaked through in your essence, both of you moaning and panting in each other's mouths so messily you don't even know if it could be classifies as a kiss or a mere exchange of spit.

"You're mine," Sunghoon rasps, like his life depends on it. He fumbles with his pants, depriving you of the mouth watering friction. You make a few noises of complaints, but his teeth are quick to sink into your bottom lip to silence them. "A spoiled little brat. But mine."

The heaviness of him finds your dripping core again, this time so much warmer, only his underwear separating your most sensitive parts from touching. It's the closest you've ever been to feeling his cock on you, and it's overwhelming. Electricity shocks run through your body when he starts moving his pelvis against you, completely coating the already damp material with the mix of your arousal and release. He's not unaffected—his own precum shows up right where the little slit in his tip is, the fabric of the boxers a darker shade of gray there.

"Mine to love, mine to discipline, mine to train. Mine." You don't know wether the hoarseness coming from his throat is due to the anything but proper activity you two are partaking in or simply the raw need for you to really let his words sink in, but the effect it has on you is clear. The proof is right where your cores meet.

You tentatively roll your hips into his, movements emboldening when you earn a few low grunts from him.

"This pussy is gonna be mine too now. Mine to worship and please. Mine to fuck open like she never has been before. I'm gonna ruin you for everyone else. You want that, right?"

You nod frantically, your hips running after Sunghoon's in a relentless chase, like they have a mind of their own.

"Say it. Say you want me to ruin your little hole."

"Ruin it—Hoon, please."

His hips falter when he hears just how desperate you sound, his eyebrows scrunched up in the middle and you can tell he's biting down on his tongue to ground himself. It only encourages you.

You reach for his boxers, wrapping your hand around the outline of his bulge and trying to contain your facial expressions at the reminder of just how ridiculously large he is. You squeeze it with your palm, his eyelids fluttering closed and his chest heaving from your touch alone. You try not to think too much about how outrageously wet the fabric is, all thanks to you. "Please, I need to feel you inside," you beg, arms pushing your tits—now basically spilling out of your dress—together and looking up at him with the most innocent doe eyed expression you can muster up.

Sunghoon's jaw leaps, and you feel like under a microscope as he watches you. "Little minx you are." He reaches for the first drawer of his night stand, rummaging though it quickly before pulling a tiny bottle out of it. It's lube.

"I don't need—"

Sunghoon silences you by spitting right on your pussy, your complaint turning into a whimper at the contact. "You do, baby. You need all the help you can get." Complaining more will get you nowhere but tucked into bed, still needy, horny and with a wet pussy, so you decide to play your cards cleverly and let him do his thing.

You paw at his boxers, fingers dipping into the waistband and trying to tug them down to get to the prize hidden behind. You spread your legs open even more as Sunghoon rips a larger hole into your tights, the veins running down his arms slightly bulging from the effort.

The sudden coldness of the lube dripping down on your puffy folds surprises you enough to rip a little yelp out of you, and Sunghoon's wide palms find their rightful place on your thighs, pushing them against your hips and lower stomach. He takes a good look at your cunt, spreading you open to his liking and leaving no inch of your skin hidden from his sight. "Such a pretty pussy." Your joints still ache and burn from all the exertion they already endured, but Sunghoon's words are like a soothing balm for your body and mind. "Prettiest cunt in the whole fucking world, all wet and ready for me to fuck."

You finally manage to free his cock fully, despite his filthy words sending waves of weakness through your body, and immediately wrap your palm around the middle, mouth watering when your thumb doesn't reach your other fingers. Not only is it way longer than average, it's also thick beyond comprehension, perfectly curved to hit all the right spots in you and so fucking veiny you can feel more slick pour out of you in anticipation. You quite literally cannot stop gawking at it, trying to move your hand up to his tip, just as thick if not thicker than the base, and you gulp as you watch beads of semi transparent liquid pour out of it.

"What is it, baby?" Sunghoon asks, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he tries to not buck his hips into your hand. "We can stop if you want."

"No!" Your grip around him tightens, earning a gasp and a shallow thrust from him. Your thumb swipes over the head to spread his need all over, making it easier for you to slowly jerk him off. "Please," you add, quieter, afraid he might take the opportunity away from you.

The sight of you laying down so prettily with your much smaller hand enveloping his length, has all the blood in Sunghoon's body rush straight to his groin. He could cum at any moment, just from having you right in front of him like this, but he's set on making it worth the wait.

"You're so fucking hot like this." His hand finds your cunt again, fingers spreading your folds open so he can take a good look at the sensitive bud he loves so much, finding it so swollen he wishes to just bend down and suck on it again.

Once the lube fully coats his digits, he brings them down to your hole again, prodding it just enough to make sure it's slick with the cold essence. He squirts more of it right onto his cock while you keep fisting him as best as you can, spreading the lube all over it until all that can be heard in the room is the loud squelching noises and both of your heavy pants and low groans. His fingers keep rubbing your folds, coaxing more of your own arousal out of you, the feeling so distracting the pace you set on his cock falters a bit. To compensate, you add your other hand too, milking him with both at the same time.

"Fuck yeah, just like that," Sunghoon moans, and he looks divine above you with his lip caught between his teeth, gaze flickering from where his hips have started fucking into your fists, to where his fingers are playing with your pussy, like he cannot decide which view is best.

His cock throbs in your hands every time your hold tightens or your movements get faster, and you're stuck watching every reaction. His chest heaves, sometimes he looks like he forgets to breathe and then he has to make up for it. His cheeks are flushed, and when you notice how his bangs are sticking to his forehead because of the sweat accumulating on his hairline, you suspect he might be close.

"Gonna come?" you ask, battling your lashes at him, hoping he'll do just that from your hands alone. That's enough to wake him from his daze, and you almost regret asking when he breaks free from your hold and stops playing with your pussy.

The disappointment is short lived, because without wasting any time, Sunghoon brings your legs close together around his cock and sets both of your feet on one of his shoulders. He fucks your thighs just like that, with slow thrusts, making sure to slide his cock between your folds and let you feel every single vein running down his length. "You'd love that wouldn't you? Me coming all over your pussy. You're so fucking messy."

The shirt still covering his torso leaves close to nothing to the imagination now, clinging to every ridge of his abs and chest because of the sweat, and you're basically drooling at the sight. The feeling of Sunghoon's cock between your thighs and on your cunt is too much for you already, clit throbbing with need every time his tip catches on it, balls pushing against your hole every now and then, but you make the mistake of looking down when his thrusts get faster, and the view you're met with has you absolutely obsessed.

The head of Sunghoon's cock peeks out from your thighs every time his hips move forward, red and leaking so fucking much on your lower tummy it looks like he's cumming all over you already. But then it just keeps going, reaching close to your belly button, and when his head rests right on it, your mouth goes slack. It's one thing to see how big he is normally, but to have it compared directly against you, it makes the room spin in circles and your body feel even weaker. You need him inside you now.

"You like the view, baby? That's how deep I'm gonna be inside you, how deep I'll be fucking you," Sunghoon laughs, a little manically, and you hate how much it turns you on, like you need to be any more than you already are. "You'll feel me riiight here." He stops his thrusts to tap his cock on your stomach, the sounds of the tiny slaps reverberating through the room. "All up in your guts."

You gasp out his name when his hips go back to working his cock between your thighs, in an attempt to get his attention, but he already knows what you want.

"I know, baby. I know. Just a little more I promise." His gaze flicks up to meet yours, watching you intently for any sign of discomfort, any indication that you might want to stop. He knows it's unlikely—Hell, he's sure you were about to beg him to fuck you for the nth time that night just now—but he needs you to be absolutely sure. The weight on his chest, the slightest hint of uneasiness looming over him despite all the excitement fades in the background when all he finds on your face is pure lust, unfiltered need for him.

The pace slows down a little, and Sunghoon keeps eye contact with you as he speaks with his full lips brushing the skin of your ankle, giving you a few kisses there to ease up any anxiety you might feel. "Are you sure, pretty? We can wait a bit more. We don't have to—"

"Hoon. For the love of God just put it in or i might actually die within the next two minutes."

An amused wheeze tickles your skin, followed by a gentle nibble right where his lips kissed you. He rests your legs back down while he still kneels on the bed "Alright, alright."

He's spent all this time preparing you, telling you to take it slow for your own well being, but as you watch the way his eyes hesitantly shift focus around your body, you think maybe he's not the one ready yet. "Hoon?" you catch his attention, voice meek but it's like music to his ears, always.

Sunghoon hums in acknowledgement, but he looks deep in thought. His thumb follows the ridge of your jaw to your chin, then swipes over it a few times as if to encourage you to continue.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Had a change of heart? Weren't you just about to die a few seconds ago?"

"I'm asking you."

He exhales, then bends down to place a soft kiss right on your parted lips. "Of course I'm sure. I'm just…" He trails off, but you already know what he's thinking.

"You won't hurt me," you say, keeping eye contact to really get the point across. "Besides, even if you did. I'd enjoy it a bit."

The corner of his lips lift up, and you know you've finally cracked through him. "I suppose you would."

His elbow rests by your head, while his other hand grabs his cock and gives it a few pumps in preparation—not that he needs it, Sunghoon doesn't think he's ever been this goddamn hard in his entire life. "Give me a few taps anywhere if you want me to stop, if it helps you can bite me when it hurts." He positions himself, hand still guiding his tip to your leaking entrance, but doesn't push in just yet. "Where should I cum?"

You're about to lose your mind, hips slowly rolling against his tip to try to coax it inside of you and he's still talking instead of doing something about it. "Huh?"

"Where do you want my cum baby? You won't be able to talk when I'm fucking you."

The sheer seriousness in his tone has shivers run down your spine, but you don't dwell on it too long. "Inside. Anywhere you want just please—Oh my god."

The sting of his tip slowly pushing in stops you from finishing your sentence. It's a mild discomfort for now, but the feeling of it stretching you open is better than any of the toys you and Sunghoon experimented with could've ever provided. He's just getting started, but your mouth is already ajar, and more wetness seeps out of you when your boyfriend rewards you with the most beautiful moan you've ever heard.

"God, it's like she's begging me to slam all the way in." His thumb swipes over your clit in circular motions to help you ease up so the first few inches aren't too harsh on your poor drooling pussy, and even though the tip isn't even the entire way in, the sight of his cock slowly disappearing inside your heat quickly shoots up to his favorite spot. "Deep breaths baby, remember what I taught you—No, don't tense up, it's okay. You've got this."

Your eyes roll all the way to the back of your head, pleasure and discomfort blending into one slowly as he waits for you to adjust. How are you supposed to not clench around him when he's encouraging you like this? It's beyond you.

Your hand shoots to grab Sunghoon's muscular biceps when he starts moving again, and he stills right away, waiting with bated breath for the taps to come.

They don't.

"Is it all in yet?" you ask, because truly, you feel so fucking full already, fuller than you have ever been. But the amused look on Sunghoon's face tells you exactly what you need to know.

"I mean." He moves a little more, and the burning—even if eased up a bit by all the juices and lube coating both of you—resumes. "A little more than the tip is."

"The tip?"

"The tip." Sunghoon thrusts out gently before pushing in again, both of you moaning at the same time. "I can fuck you with just that, it's enough to make you come harder than you ever have." He doesn't wait for you to tell him what to do, opting to give you shallow thrusts to test the waters, his thumb never parting from your clit.

The way you shudder and the little sweet sounds you make because of his tip alone has his stomach knot in all kinds of ways and his cock leap and throb so much it fucking hurts. Sunghoon would want nothing more than to shove it in and claim you fully, mold your pussy around his girth so perfectly no one else would ever be able to give you a cock half as good as his—like he would let that happen in the first place.

You're writhing under him, legs kicking a little when he feels the slide in and out slowly get more comfortable and slippier. That doesn't mean you're not clenching around him so hard he could cum at any given moment, but for your own pleasure—and his, really. He wants to shoot his load as deep as he possibly can—he tries to hold off to the best of his capabilities.

But fuck if it's not the hardest thing he's ever tried to do.

He almost breaks when your own hand reaches down for the one working on your pussy, smaller palm attempting to cover the back of his and to coax it into moving faster. There's a bit of drool on the corner of your lips, and you look so wrecked already, Sunghoon hates how a shiver runs down his spine at the mere thought of how you'll look like when he's balls deep inside you. "Hoon—fuck. I want more."

He coos at you, pretending he's not a wreck himself, pretending the thread thin sliver of sanity he has left isn't the only thing preventing him to fold your legs all the way up to your chest and fuck you into oblivion, but the arm next to your head shakes with restraint, and the knuckles on his fist are ghostly white by now, even if you're too blissed out to pay attention. His voice is shaky, uneven, but his words are careful and patient, even when you'd rather them not be. "We gotta get your pretty parts used to it first baby, come like this just once, it's only the last stretch."

Your whines turn into moans when his movements on your clit fasten and his tip nudges inside you a little deeper, just enough to momentarily satisfy your craving for more.

"Aren't you a greedy little thing," Sunghoon rasps, holding back his own impending orgasm with all his strength, beads of sweat now rolling down his neck deliciously, and you kinda wish you could bend forward and lick them off of him. "Asking for more, and more, and more after the stunt you pulled today. My pretty baby," his thumb pushes more forcefully on your bud, making it hurt so good for a second as you adjust to the pressure, then giving you harsher drags, meant to have you come undone and quivering under him in no time. "So desperate for cock you just had to go ahead and try to make me jealous. You like it when I'm jealous?"

You gasp, nodding frantically as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach tighten more and more, an embarrassing amount of slick pouring out of you and running downwards.

"You're so fucking lucky this is the first time we do this," his voice is rough, an octave lower than usual. "Or I would've bent you over and fucked you so silly the second we got home without stretching your pretty pussy open. But I'm so kind. Thank me for it."

You clench hard around him at his words, toes bending because you don't know what else to do with all the pleasure coursing through you, and he gives a gorgeous deep groan in response. "I'm gonna—"

"Then thank me for it."

You come around him hard, harder than you ever have, thank you's pouring out of your lips like a broken prayer, entire body shaking head to toe from the intense orgasm. The buzz in your ears persists for a while as you try to come down from it, and you can see but it feels like you can't, like your brain isn't registering any of the images your eyes capture. Bright, static, dark spots, so many things at once. It feels like you blacked out for a second even if you didn't, all your senses dulled to make space for all the other sensations your climax provides.

When you slowly start to regain power over them, you're met with the sight of Sunghoon panting like a dog, eyes closed and fist wrapped around his cock, the head poking out and redder than you've ever seen it, looking like he just ran a fucking marathon. Somehow, he managed not to cum. He was so close though, so close he had to pull out the second your walls started to involuntary flutter around him or he would've been done for.

The tight black shirt is still clinging to him like a second skin, and the first coherent thought of yours after the fog around brain clears is to get him out of it as soon as you can. You tug at the hem, still panting and blood buzzing from the release. "Off."

Sunghoon doesn't answer you with words, but he rips the shirt off his torso, throwing it somewhere on the floor behind him. His hands are shaky as they travel from your waist to your hips, then reaching your thighs, spreading you open further in front of him and allowing him to take a look at the big mess you—both of you, really—made. Sunghoon's cock is rock hard, tip oozing enough precum to make all the prep you've endured so far pointless. (Not really, you know better than that.)

Sunghoon goes back to nudging his tip on your hole, just holding it there without pushing in quite yet, casting a last questioning glance your way because he needs the reassurance that you're okay with this one last time before he fully commits.

When you nod, he slowly eases himself back into you with a low moan accompanying the motion, this time his gaze holding yours. The face you make as his tip stretches you open makes it a hundred times harder for him to keep his chill, wanting nothing more than to say fuck it and pound you stupid like you've been begging him to do ever since things first got handsy between you two.

The burn isn't nearly as bad as it was the first time, leaving space for so much more pleasure to course right through you, and you can't help the relieved sigh that leaves you when his tip is fully back inside you again, like it's a need for you to be filled by it. And Sunghoon sees that. He sees the fire in your eyes, the greediness slowly pooling behind those pupils he loves so much, how your hips look for his even if taking any more in hurts.

His hips jerk forward more than he intends them to, but he can't help it, not when you're looking at him like he's the prey. More of your wetness coats him, and both of you loudly moan into the night.

"You feel so fucking good, baby," Sunghoon whines, actual tears filling his waterline because he can't believe how much you're gripping him, pussy fluttering around his girth with every little bit he pushes forward, welcoming him like no one has ever done. "Tightest little pussy ever."

The hold on your thighs is bruising, but it helps you stay at least a little grounded so you wouldn't have it any other way. Whenever you think you're too full and cannot possibly take anymore, you feel a little more of Sunghoon's cock slide in you, so you get on your elbows with what little strength you have left and take a look for yourself. He's barely halfway in, and the burning sensation is starting to set in again. It hurts, but it hurts so good, you need more and you need less at the same time.

"Yeah, that's right, angel. Watch how your greedy needy cunt swallows me." Sunghoon's eyebrows are creased, sweat now not only dripping from his scalp, but little droplets constellating his broad chest, following the paths preset by his sculpted physique, all the way down to his vline. A mouthwatering sight.

"So full," you sigh, eyes never leaving from where you're connected, clit throbbing the more he fucks his cock into you, begging for a lick of attention.

"You'll be so much fuller. Can you behave and handle that for me, mhh?"

You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding along to his words and sneaking down your hand to play with your clit when you come to the conclusion that Sunghoon's hands are way too busy gripping your plushy skin like his sanity depends on it.

"Smart girl," he praises.

The wetter you become, the easier and more pleasurable the slide is. Sunghoon watches you for any sign of unbearable discomfort, slowing down when you bite your tongue or picking his speed back up when you bless him with those precious needy whines of yours. "You're doing so well, my gorgeous girl. So fucking amazing, making me feel so good already, God, you're perfect."

His words of encouragement play a big part in easing the pain for you, soothing you enough to make it easier for you to not tense up when his cock nudges a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. Your hand flies to your lower belly and you swear you feel him right there, so much deeper than you've ever had anyone—or anything—be.

"There we go," Sunghoon puffs out like he's been holding himself back from breathing this entire time, his pelvis grinding against your folds deliberately. And you finally realize he's all the way in for the first time ever. "Squeezin' me so tight, are you scared I'll run away?" He pulls back a bit before fully thrusting inside again, the curve of his cock aiding in making him hit all the right spots you could've never reached yourself. "No fucking chance. Not after I've got a taste of this. Gonna fuck your pretty pussy open every fucking night, until I've trained her to take me in without any complaints."

He sets a slow pace, not wanting to overwhelm you just yet, then adds, in a softer tone, "Does it hurt too bad, baby?"

If he keeps the back and forth up for much longer, you're gonna end up getting whiplash. But between groans and higher pitches sounds, you manage to answer him. "Any more and you would've popped me like a balloon."

Sunghoon giggles as he bends down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, hands finally loosening his grip on your legs and traveling all over your body. "You begged, and begged and—"

"I'm not complaining, am I?" you ask, breaking the kiss and resting your forehead on his, the saliva string connecting you two shining under the warm light of the lamp. "Harder."

Sunghoon complies instantly, speeding up his movements and giving you actual thrusts instead of the messy mix of grinding and nudges he'd taken a liking to. His hot, wet mouth finds your neck, too greedy and selfish, in desperate need of hearing the beautiful sounds you make instead of swallowing them down. His tongue skates over your pulse point, a shiver traveling down your entire body when he gives you the lightest nibble right there before licking it up again in apology.

"I can still taste you in my mouth." His breath tickles the wet skin of your neck, your front arching into his when goosebumps appear all over your exposed arms. "Always want to—mh, taste it. You'll let me eat your pretty pussy again after you gush on my cock?"

Even if you want to reply, you really can't, not when the pace he's drilling into you at is knocking the air out of your lungs, and the bolder his movements get, the more you understand why he asked where he should cum before even staring. You want to look at him, take in every expression on his beautiful face, but the pleasure is too much to handle and the only thing that seems to help is closing your eyes and letting them roll back into your skull.

Your lips are raw from all the biting, and you're so incredibly thankful when Sunghoon's hand swats yours away from your clit to replace it, allowing you to sink your fingers into his broad shoulders, clawing at them with every languid thrust he gives you. He feels so perfect, filling you up to the brim and then some more, stretching you out so fucking good you suspect you won't ever be able to scratch the itch if not with his cock.

"I'm in love with this fucking pussy, baby," he moans, loud and unapologetic, making his way with open mouthed kisses down your neck, then following the line of your clavicle, only to dip down between the valley of your breasts. Your tits have spilled out of the tiny little dress due to bouncing around with every precise thrust Sunghoon gave you, and your nipples are perky and hard, begging for his attention right in his face.

"And your tits, fuck. So pretty, I'm gonna eat you right up." He licks a stripe on one of your hardened buds before enveloping it fully between his lips and sucking on it lightly, sighing contently into it when you push your tits on his face further, loud whines spilling out of you.

The very familiar band in your tummy starts to tighten again the more he works on your nipples and clit at the same time, thrusts never once faltering. All of your senses are heightened to such a degree you don't even know what to do with yourself anymore if not lay under Sunghoon and let him absolutely ravage you, not a single thought but 'feels so good' crossing your mind. But it's fast, too fast, and you want it to last for longer, want Sunghoon to keep fucking you for hours until the only word you remember is his name.

You try to push his hand away from your clit, only earning a reprimanding yet gentle bite on your nipple, a warning. "I c-can't."

"Can't what, pretty girl?" He rolls your nipple between his lips, lapping away the tingling sensation the nibble left on it that has you jolt in his hold. "Use your words."

You throw your head back in frustration, feeling the impending climax approach you once again, the nth that night. "Don't want it to end," you gasp, using up all the strength left in you form a coherent sentence.

Sunghoon coos at you. Fucking coos at you only to deepen the strokes of his cock inside you, angling his hips to reach even deeper. "Cum for me baby, I'll just keep fucking you."

Your thighs shake as they wrap around his waist to pull him closer, his hips switching to grinding his cock into you instead of thrusting it, the fat tip poking the most delicious sensitive parts of your heat. You gasp and wheeze, claw and scratch and draw blood from his skin but it never hinders or stops his strokes. You clench around him time and time again, wrapping around his cock so nicely Sunghoon can feel his own orgasm build up in the pit of his stomach.

You come around him with a silent scream, every single part of your body twitching under him as he keeps fucking into you, now chasing his own high. He still takes a moment to watch you and how beautiful you look at the highest of your peak, eyes glazed over and mouth hung open, sweaty skin glistening so beautifully he wishes to be a painter and capture it forever. It's a sight he's never gonna grow accustomed to, and it has his stomach twist in knots. "That's it baby, so fucking gorgeous, keep cumming for me like that, milking my cock so well."

Even in the aftershocks of your orgasm, your body looks for his, hips rolling into his as if to silently ask for him to cum inside you, now that your voice has completely failed you.

"Just a bit more. We're almost there, my perfect little baby, so good for me," Sunghoon is babbling too by now, so damn enamored with the sight of you trying to keep your twitching under control even though you're still cumming around him and teetering on overstimulation so he can fully savor his own high. "The most perfect angel girl ever. I love you so fucking much."

Your head is light and Sunghoon's words reach you as if in slow motion, muffled by your own blood buzzing in your ears. You're completely drenched, and the bedding underneath you is too, but neither of you can bring yourselves to care. The slide is not painful anymore, and everything feels so warm and slippery, you never want it to end.

The image of Sunghoon still grinding and fucking his cock into you, his pace now reduced to a desperate mess and nowhere near as precise as it was, clears up slowly as your ears stop ringing, but your pleasure never does. You don't know if you're still cumming or if Sunghoon fucking you just feels this good you can't tell the difference, but you feel like you're on cloud nine and lighter than you've ever been.

Sunghoon's torso is completely glistening, and you feel some of that slick coat your skin too when he bends your legs into you, folding you against the bed and hitting even deeper inside you.

You're a moaning mess as he pistons his dick inside your heat, dragging perfectly against your gummy walls. You look down and see a bulge poke your lower tummy with each deep stroke of his. The sight alone is enough to have you on the edge again, but it feels different this time, like you cannot possibly contain what's about to happen.

"Hoon—"

"Shh," he silences you, hair a sweaty mess and dripping all over your figure. The squelching sounds of his skin slapping against yours, connected by white strips of slick on both of your thighs get even louder when his pace gets faster, the hand that played with your clit suddenly pushing down on the bulging of your stomach. "Give it all to me, soak my fucking dick—fuck, I'm gonna cum baby, gonna cum so deep inside you."

You cannot stop the dam from breaking, juices shooting out of you so suddenly you're taken aback too, coating his entire lower abdomen in it. Your cunt throbs around him so hard, almost like it's trying to push his cock out of you. You can't think of anything, cannot fathom anything that's not Sunghoon, and his perfect cock, and how good you feel, going completely limp on the bed.

He moans louder than you at the sight of your wetness drenching the bed and his cock. "Fuck, take it all baby. I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm—"

His hips stutter one final time against you, burying his cock deep inside you and shooting his seed in multiple thick spurts as deep as he possibly can, filling you up perfectly. He dips down to catch your mouth in a messy kiss, panting into your mouth even as you two are still both trying to catch your breath from your orgasms, but your lips on his are all the oxygen he needs.

"I love you," you whisper into the kiss, your words finally having found the way out of your throat again.

Sunghoon hums, his body weakened and tired but still hovering above you instead of slumping on you. "I love you more." He gives you a sweet peck like he wasn't just putting you through the matters moments ago. "You were perfect, baby. Did so amazing." He lets his body go beside you on the bed, dragging you between his arms and grimacing when the wet mess you made on the covers touches the back of his body. "A rag won't be enough."

You smile, weak but content. "And who's fault is that?"

Sunghoon pretends to think about it, but from the look on his face you can tell the answer is ready on his tongue. "I think it might be yours for being too hot I couldn't help myself."

You swat your hand on his chest, but there's no force behind the gesture.

"Aaand for making me jealous."

A groan leaves your lips, your arms coming up to cover your face. "How am i gonna ever face Jay again after this."

Sunghoon's chest vibrates against your skin. "You'll think about that after I clean you up."

You make a low noise of complaint, rolling over to push yourself on top of your boyfriend's body, hands resting on his toned chest as you reach for his huge cock and slowly sink yourself onto it, head thrown back in pleasure even if it's not fully hard anymore. Sunghoon's breath catches in his throat as he watches you lower yourself against him again, your head finding refuge on his shoulder. "Later."

You stay like that for a while, breaths slowly synchronizing in the peaceful quiet, Sunghoon's cock comfortably nested in your heat while his fingers lazily ghost over the entire expanse of your back. You could fall asleep at any moment, but you raise your head one more time to look at your boyfriend, his half lidded eyes meeting yours instantly. "You did not strike me as the type of guy to edge himself that much."

"Just go to sleep."

BONUS

You roll over to tentatively search Sunghoon's bedside table, ignoring the sound of the lube bottle hitting the floor, until the cold screen of your phone meets your spread hand.

Sunghoon is snoring lightly behind you, his nose nuzzled against your nape, and you hope to not wake him up as you unlock your phone. You recoil when the light that feels like a million suns momentarily blinds you, but even that is not enough to discourage you from completing the life-or-death task ahead of you.

You open up messages—promptly ignoring Jay's "never do this shit again. you two are nasty."— and click on Jungwon's chat, not wasting time to watch the several unloaded video files sitting in it (you can easily recognize the blonde silhouette of Jake's hair in half of them, so you're free to assume it's nothing of particular importance anyway) to type a quick text.

05:34 AM. You: mission accomplished ;p (cancel the hiking thing we planned for next week unless you carry me yourself. your girl can't walk)

Shockingly enough, he replies within the minute.

05:35 AM. twin: you shameless being (a whole week is crazy)

05:37 AM. twin: whatever, but I'm dragging you out for brunch so you figure out your means of transportation yourself. we need to catch up

05:38 AM. You: crazy night for both of us i assume

05:38 AM. twin: oh you have no idea

[cinnamon-won]

☆ Captive Royalty !

genre: crack, royalty au, fantasy au, smut, fluff

pairing: sub prince ! beomgyu x dom afab poor reader ?

synopsis: desperate times call for desperate measures…so you kidnap the prince of the kingdom and he turns out to be more of a handful than you expected.

warnings: kidnapping !! sub beomgyu, dom reader, beomgyu gets drugged, slight knife play, bondage, ropes, degrading, choking, riding, creampie, hand job, kinda dollification, overstimulation, hair pulling, orgasm denial, finger sucking ? (this sounds really dark from the warnings but it’s kinda unserious and silly and consensual)

word count: 4.6k

Prince beomgyu lets out a long, theatrical sigh, wandering aimlessly and weaving through the bushes and trees of the mystic forest a few metres away from the castle, needing a break from his duties even for just a second of reprieve. The air smelled of damp earth and fragrant wildflowers. Butterflies flitted their pretty wings lazily around him as he stepped over a cluster of bluebell flowers on the mossy floor, where mushrooms were also scattered of all different shapes and colours.

As he ventured deeper into the forest, vines and ivy curled around the tall tree trunks, practically moving and alive, shaking loose pink petals off the branches and falling atop beomgyu’s long hair instead.

He stops when he comes across a small, crystalline pond tucked away, watching as purple dragonflies hover over the surface, lily pads and petals floating on top and, beneath the clear water, koi fishes whose colourful scales practically glowed, swimming and flicking their tails elegantly. Beomgyu stood there for a moment, captivated by the tranquility of the scene. For a small second, it was as if he could finally forget everything.

But then, he mutters to himself, scowling. “I swear to the gods, hate the court, hate those stupid advisors. I hate them all.” Prince beomgyu kicks a pebble rather aggressively into the pond in his frustration.

A tiny fairy emerges out of the water, angrily screaming, hovering and pointing, coming very close to his face high pitched in a language he cannot understand, then vanishes in a puff of glitter.

Beomgyu stares blankly, then merely shrugs.

Instead, he takes a look back at the ethereal scenery, the forest nothing short of enchanted. Closing his eyes, he tilts his head back, basking in the golden sunrays peeking through the canopy, inhaling deeply.

But his moment of peace is abruptly interrupted when he feels a cold, sharp blade pressing against his throat.

Beomgyu’s breath catches, eyes snapping open to meet a much less aesthetic view: A dagger, pressed very intimately underneath his jaw and already practically digging into his adam’s apple, “What the fu-”

“Don’t move.” Came the voice behind him.

Oh my god. He’s going to die. This is where prince beomgyu begins to panic, immediately stripping himself of his jewellery and any valuables, tossing them onto the grass, hastily. “Here! Take it! Take all of it! Please! Just not my face! I’m too handsome to die!”

You stare at him, baffled beneath the mask you were wearing, almost forgetting to keep the dagger steadily pointed at him.

“I’m not robbing you.” You say flatly. “I’m taking taking something far more valuable...”

There was a moment of silence as he looks at you cluelessly.

Then he gasps. “You’re taking my hair?!”

“I’m kidnapping you.” Tightening your grip on the dagger, you roll your eyes, grabbing the cloth from your bag, shoving it over his nose and mouth, drugging him.

“Mmfph!” The prince protests, flailing but then his eyes roll back and his limbs go limp, simply falling unconscious.

You warily eyed up the prince who now sat unconsciously tied to a chair in your cottage, head lolling to one side.

Surprisingly, it was much easier kidnapping the prince of the kingdom than you had imagined. He didn’t put up much of a fight, nor were there any guards around him, or any witnesses at all. Quite underwhelming really.

But at least everything was going even smoother than planned, you’d even written the ransom letter and had already sent it off to the king. Now you just had to wait and soon it would all be yours.

You study the prince’s face. You’d never seen him before, too preoccupied and shut away in your cottage in solitude. You didn’t care for them. Besides, what have the royals done for you other than tax you and steal all your money? Why were they even praised anyway? They just sat around doing nothing really. It was practically their fault for your situation right now.

Other than that, the prince was almost achingly pretty. He had quite handsome features, long, thick eyelashes that practically kissed his naturally flushed cheeks, perfectly round, plump lips, messy bangs falling effortlessly over his brows. His regal attire, though a little dirtied from the abduction, still extravagant, embroidered with gold thread and intricate patterns. He looked dainty and fragile all tied up. The prince reminded you of a doll.

A quiet groan breaks the silence and your staring. The prince stirs, lashes fluttering before his pretty eyes slowly blink open, dazed. He takes in his surroundings, strangely without much alarm, gaze sweeping across the decrepit interior of your cottage before landing blankly on your black cat perched menacingly on the window sill. They have a tense, silent stare off before his eyes make their way to you, looking you up and down since he hadn’t seen your face properly before, eyes raking over your figure with a brow raised. He looked almost…amused?

You supposed you didn’t cut the most terrifying figure. No scary scars, no missing eye or other limbs. Just plain clothes, a dagger at your hip, and an unimpressed expression.

The prince speaks up. “Are you part of a rebellion? Do you want to overthrow the monarchy?”

“No.”

He lazily grins, eyes trailing down to the ropes binding him. “Hmm. Then this is… a little provocative, don’t you think?”

“The hell.” You furrow your brows at a loss of words. “No! Ransom. This is for ransom! ”

“Ah.”

“You’re the prince. Your face is probably worth more than my entire life. When your daddy finds out his beloved son has been captured, I’m sure he’ll give me all the money I ask and you’ll go back to your fancy castle.” You lean back, sighing, just imagining how much gold you’ll accumulate soon, “Don’t worry, your kingdom will pay good money to have you back.”

The prince snorts. “Will they?”

You frown. “…Yes?”

He gives you a pitiful look, “I hate to say it but I think they’ll be more relieved than horrified I’m gone, to be completely honest.”

You cross your arms in confusement. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” He says, shifting in his restraints, “that my father finds me to be an insufferable disappointment. If you think he’s going to shell out a fortune to get me back, you’re sorely mistaken. No one in that castle can stand me, too much of a ‘troublemaker’ or something apparently.”

You stare at him. “You’re joking.”

“Wish I was.” The prince replies cheerfully. “You should have kidnapped my brother Prince Huening Kai instead. They would have had a heart attack. If you’d taken him, they’d probably have sent an entire army after you by now.”

“I wasn’t even aware there were two of you.”

“Five actually.” He adds, “Maybe you should have done some research before kidnapping royalty.”

You roll your eyes, “Well, which one are you then?”

“Prince Beomgyu!” He beams, grinning widely, looking proud and smug, his expression entirely too relaxed for someone tied to a chair in a stranger’s cottage.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as you were beginning to think.

It had been days.

And absolutely nothing.

No guards barging down your door, no royal army marching through the forest, no frantic messenger bird clawing at your window with a desperate letter from the king, promising to give you all the money in the land for his poor son back.

Just pure silence.

You were starting to think either something happened to your messenger bird on the way or gods forbid, they really, truly didn’t want him back.

“I told you.” Beomgyu’s voice was maddeningly smug from where he was still bound to the chair. “Face it. They don’t want me back.”

You put a hand to your hip. “You’re lucky I haven’t gagged you.”

“Oh?” The prince raises a brow, smirking.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Gods. You’re disturbed.” You turn away to check the kettle heating by the fire. You were going to need tea. Lots of it.

You take a tea cup in your hand, pouring the earthy, floral brew that you had foraged from the forest, steam rising in swirls and you bring it to your mouth to drink. The warmth seeping through your fingers and into your chest, making you slightly more calmed about this whole maddening situation. Beomgyu’s eyes are on you the entire time. You supposed you could give him some too. “Here. Have some tea.”

“Can’t exactly help myself, can I?”

You huff, rolling your eyes, walking over to him, bringing a cup to his soft lips for him to sip and he looks up at you with a teasing glint in his eyes almost like he’s heavily enjoying that you’re doing this for him.

He swallows, furrowing his brows and smacking his lips together, savouring the taste. “Ooh Peasant tea. I like this. It’s very different to how all of my many chefs have made it for me.”

You cross your arms, nodding in approval, “It’s the best. Practically survive on it.”

He seems amused by your love for tea, nodding, sipping some more until he’s finished and you place the cup back on your counter.

You study him intently, intrigued. “So, why were you sulking around so much by the pond, kicking rocks at fairies before I—well, pointed a dagger at your throat.” There’s no easy way to describe the situation.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to! How was I supposed to know there was a fairy there?” Beomgyu protests, finding it humorous. “But, they’re forcing me to marry some princess from some other kingdom. I don’t even know her. I don’t want to get married at all.” He grimaces, staring at the ground with furrowed brows. “I hate being a prince. I have no freedom or say in anything. It’s so suffocating. I must act in a certain way, all these duties, now marriage. I don’t want any of it.” Beomgyu looks uncharacteristically and genuinely upset about it, the most sad you’ve seen him, and that’s you holding him captive.

You blink, then almost laugh. “Wow. Poor you. You really have the worst life. Must be so hard having all your meals cooked and servants at your beck and call, sleeping in a massive bed with silk sheets. In a castle. Truly.”

The prince furrows his brows at your mocking tone. “You don’t get it. It’s not all that great, you know.”

Your scoff, crossing your arms. “No, I get it. you’re incredibly privileged for those to be your only problems.”

He sulks at you, shrugging. “I guess so. I’d still rather have your life though, a peaceful, mundane, peasant life.”

You give him a flat look, nearly amused at his comical, out of touch words. “It’s far from peaceful. I’m incredibly in debt at the moment and owe money to lots of people, scary people I can’t even begin to repay. I’m doing this because I need the ransom money. You wouldn’t last a day in the real world.”

“I would!” He heavily pouts at you, taking offence. It’s almost endearing. “Anyway honestly, being held hostage has been much better than any day at the castle.”

You shake your head at the prince, sighing.

Beomgyu talked. A lot. About the castle gossip, about the ridiculous scandals of the court, all their carefully polished lies sold to the commoners, about all his other brothers, Prince Yeonjun’s scandalous new affair.

You were very entertained, the tea you make, since it seems to be one of the only things he likes, and these conversations weirdly happening regularly.

“I swear to every god in existence.” Beomgyu had said, with all the endearing dramatic flair of someone telling ghost stories with a candle, “Prince Yeonjun was caught HALF NAKED, sneaking out of the royal astrologer’s tower.”

“No way.” You gaped, sipping on your tea.

He grins, victorious, revelling in your shocked expression. “Swear on my crown. I don’t even know why I’m the one they call troublesome.”

Somewhere along the way, you’d begun to like having beomgyu around, in a way that both irritated and intrigued you.

He was for sure a bratty prince, complaining endlessly about almost everything, the chair, food, the ropes digging into his skin (you had tied them more gently), dramatically whining about a small splinter he got because of the chair (you actually took it out for him and gave him a bandage).

But…for all his whining, very strange comments, and being a royal pain in the ass, (and though you wouldn’t admit it aloud), the strange companionship he offered, despite the messed up predicament, was starting to feel…maybe comforting? when you’d had nothing in the past but your cat, living alone in your cottage.

He’d become company. Real company. It had been so long since you’d had that.

You had one thing in common, you both hated your realities and wanted to get away. And you could, if this damn king would send you the ransom money and come collect his son. You’re honestly astonished. Would they even come for him? What were you supposed to do with him if they never come?

“Ughh.” Beomgyu groans dramatically, wiggling his tied hands pathetically. “I’m suffering.” He says with such an exaggerated pout it was almost impressive.

You turn around to look at him, wondering what it was now.

“My bangs are all in my eyes. I can’t see anything and I can’t move them away.” He blinks at you. Then, very deliberately, batts his lashes, those ridiculously long, doll-like lashes. “You kidnapped me.” Beomgyu says pointedly, deadpan. “The least you could do is brush my hair out of my eyes. Basic courtesy.”

You raise a brow. The audacity. But with a long sigh and contemplation, you wandered over, standing before him. He blinks up at you, the brown strands of his hair over his eye, genuinely a little pathetic and silly looking.

You brush your fingers through his messy strands gently, absentmindedly. His hair was so soft. His pretty brown eyes locked with yours, eyes following your face, unblinking, unusually quiet for once. Close.

And gods, was he pretty.

Your touch lingered longer than probably necessary, tucking the last of his bangs behind his ear, fingertips brushing against his warm skin. You swear the tips of his ears were pinker than usual too.

You finally step back, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest, you could only scowl at him.

Your kidnapping had been, by all accounts, a complete and utter failure. It had not been the most fearsome hostage situation either, your intimidation tactics quite lacklustre, no violence, no torturing, and no damn money.

Even your cat had gotten used to him by now, seemingly liking him, curling up often in his lap, purring contently and napping. And worst of all, You were getting used to him too.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting a warm orange glow in your small cottage. The evening had settled in, quiet and still, except for the rhythmic, repetitive sound of your knife chopping into carrots on the cutting board for a stew.

“Well,” Beomgyu drawls from his usual spot, arms bound behind his back and chair, voice cutting through through the ambience. “you know. You’re not exactly what I expected.”

“Why, disappointed?” Your eyes don’t leave the cutting board, still chopping and unfazed.

His lips quirk into a lazy grin. “Hardly.”

That makes you pause mid-slicing the vegetables, turning around with an incredulous look, “Are you flirting with me?”

“Perhaps. You’re easy on the eyes.” The fire flickers and reflects in beomgyu’s deep brown as you as you stare at him and you catch mischievous glint in them too.

“I’ve quite literally kidnapped you.” You fold your arms.

He shrugs in his restraints, “I know you won’t hurt me. You haven’t tortured me once. Not even a little.”

A slow smile makes its way across your lips, brow raising at what you hear, amused. Instead, you reach for your dagger, making your way towards beomgyu and his gaze follows your every movement.

“Oh?” You slowly flick some of the locks of his soft hair out his face with the sharp tip of the dagger, his breath catching in his throat at that, eyes slightly widening. Then you trace the blade leisurely along his cheek, the prince shivering at the feeling of the steel on his skin. “How are you so sure?” Beomgyu swallows, breath hitching almost looking scared for a second, but then he smirks, thrilled, eyes never leaving yours and yours never leaving his. The two of you locked in a stare now, the eye contact, quite intense.

“You like me.” Beomgyu simply grins impossibly wider.

“Like you?” You echo, sceptically, scoffing at his words. With deliberate slowness, you trace the dagger across his jawline, advancing down his pretty neck, pressing the sharp edge down a little hard—not enough to cut but enough for him to feel it and dip into his soft flesh, his skin prickling up and chest rising and falling, all tensed in anticipation. “Are you sure you don’t like me?”

You point at the now growing tent in his pants that was too hard to ignore. A violent red flush creeps over his cheeks, embarrassed as you cast a deliberate, judging glance downwards with an arched brow. How incredibly absurd. You’re pointing a knife at him and he’s getting turned on.

He purses his lips together for a second, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows but then he runs his mouth again, voice a little breathless, but he grins regardless, “What are you going to do about it?”

Where on earth does he gain this confidence from?

“Leave you. That’s disgusting.” You say, pulling your dagger away in theatrical repulse and moving away from him.

Beomgyu instantly splutters in panic, thrashing helplessly against his bonds, pathetically pleading, eyes wide. “B-but! Wait! Please. It hurts!”

You smile, satisfied, stepping closer to him once again. That’s more like it. “Why should I?”

He just looks up at you so severely desperate, so pitiful. Your eyes flicker down to his slightly wobbly lips and then back up at his panicked eyes. And as if drawn by some invisible force, definitely not of your own doing, you grab and tug at one of the ropes, impulsively leaning down to kiss him, he kisses back instantly, fervently, surging forward and leaning into the kiss as much as his bindings would allow, lips crashing together, all heated and messy, needy and sloppy, beomgyu whines softly into your mouth and gods help you, it does things to you. You bite down on his plump lower lip until he gasps, shoving your tongue down his, dominating the kiss and he just lets you.

You then pull away, he still tries to chase your mouth back even when you pull away but you move to his throat, trailing your lips down his neck, ghosting over, he tilts his head back obediently, warm breath sending him shivering before you bite and suck harshly.

“Please.” He pants, delirious, so worked up already, eyes squeezed shut. “Touch me. Please.”

How could you refute? He squirms in his chair when you begin to palm him through his pants, already embarrassingly hard, gasping so loudly, jaw going slack just from that. Beomgyu bucks helplessly into your touch as you continue to teasingly grind your palm, kissing and sucking on his neck again, he’s all just needy whines and whimpers, pleas falling from his lips for a little more.

You love his reactions and the pathetic noises he makes, so worked up from a little friction on his clothed dick. You want more of it, you want to break the pretty little prince. You sit in his lap, unzipping his pants before him, cock just as pretty as every other part of him, leaky, wet and red, you brush your thumb over his cute tip, spreading the precum teasingly slow, watching his face.

“Oh…” Beomgyu looks down himself, brows knitting together, shuddering and groaning softly.

The sound when you wrap your hand around his cock and glide your hand up and down is impossibly loud over the crackling of the fire in your cottage, sticky and squelchy and the prince already seems far gone from the slow pumping, unraveling at the first stroke, pupils blown wide, glossy lips parted. How dirty.

“Did you seriously get hard from your captor threatening you with a dagger? You’re fucking sick, beomgyu.” You ridicule him in a faux saccharine tone, hand pumping his dick faster, twisting around the tip that he’s panting now, his head dropping forward, resting and falling on your shoulder, you bring your other hand to stroke at his hair. You can tell he’s close, moaning out prettily.

He still manages to bite back though like the brat he is so clearly he’s not that much of a mess you like you want him to be, he lifts his head back to look at you. “You’re the one who kidnapped me. You’re sick.”

“Fine then. If I’m so sick, I’ll stop.” You still your movements on his dick, pulling your hand away. He wails, loudly crying at that, trying so hard to move, pulling uselessly at the ropes to chase your hand but he can’t.

“No! Please. I’ll die.” There he goes being so dramatic again, tears brimming in his panicked doe brown eyes, hyperventilating. The fact that this is the most distressed he’s gotten being kidnapped is honestly concerning. “Please,” He rasps, wrecked, dazed “fuck me.”

You cruelly laugh at the sight, tutting. “Such crude words coming from a prince...”

He just whines frustratedly in response, exasperatedly frowning like he’s having a tantrum.

“Aw. What a poor little prince.” You mockingly coo at him, stroking his cheek but he leans into it anyway, yearning for more, wanting any sort of touch from you now, you drag your teeth against the lobe of his cute pink ear licking, goading him. He shivers at that, sucking in his breath.

“You’re torturing me!” Beomgyu comically pouts.

“I thought you said I wasn’t torturing you at all.”

“Well now you are. You’re killing me. I’m going to die.”

“This is what you call torturing?” You chuckle incredulously.

“Yeah. Fuck me now.” Beomgyu looks like he might combust if you so much as deny him another second, his cock twitching in the open air, painfully red and glistening. You haven’t touched him in what? Seconds? But it feels like an eternity to him. “Just…please—”

You don’t even wait to hear more of his insufferable begging, you lift your skirt and hips up, pushing your panties to the side and sinking down on his dick unceremoniously, it nearly knocks the wind out of him, gasping sharply, mouth hanging open.

“Holy shit.” He groans. “You’re, oh my god—”

Beomgyu throws his head back, practically going cross eyed at the feeling of your warm tight pussy around him. You start to bounce on his cock continuously, riding him and holding onto his shoulders roughly to stabilise yourself., beomgyu moaning shamelessly loud, high pitched and strangled like a girl, dumb and dazed, drooling onto you at the feeling of your pussy.

You bring your hand to his cheek, kissing beomgyu hard, hands tangling in his long hair, tugging, fucking him mercilessly as he sinfully and filthily moans into your mouth. Then he pulls away.

“Choke me.” Beomgyu licks his swollen lips, looking at you sexily, eyes half lidded.

“You’re perverted.” But your hands wrap around the column of his delicate, pretty neck, now marked and mauled. Beomgyu exhales a shaky breath like it was all he wanted.

“Ah…harder.” Beomgyu gulps, pretty Adam’s apple moving as he does so.

You squeeze harder around his neck and he hisses, furrowing his brows, face scrunching up gorgeously, a pretty vein in his neck popping out. His eyes roll to the back of his head, gasping for air, letting out breathy noises, face and neck flushed, you press down just a little more, still bouncing on his cock, deliberately clenching around him. You feel him twitching inside you and then he cums, whole body convulsing, spilling his load inside your pussy.

But you don’t stop, bringing your hand to his shoulders roughly again, digging your nails into him, fucking him through it. He whimpers painfully, straining against the ropes, but he can only helplessly take whatever you give him.

“stop!—ah! too much, too sensitive…” Beomgyu sniffles and sobs, gasping at the overstimulation, babbling incoherently.

“No it’s not. You were begging to be fucked, now it’s too much for you?” You tighten your grip on his shoulders.

He’s about to whine and complain but you take two of your fingers, stuffing them in his mouth to shut him up, he sorrowfully sucks on them like a slut instead, moaning around them whorishly, gazing up at you with teary watery eyes and his pretty wet swollen lips. Gods. Just looking at the state of him, pretty, writhing, helplessly tied up, it’s making you go insane. He still looks like a doll, face red and rosy, dolly lashes thick fluttering and clumped together with tears, soft hair now all messy, bangs damp and all sweaty. A wrecked, cracked porcelain doll, your doll, yours to ruin and play with. He looks divine. What a whore of a prince.

You bounce on his dick mercilessly, riding him faster and faster and faster to get yourself to reach your high too, bringing your finger to your clit, rubbing. One final look at beomgyu’s face, pitiful doe eyes and sucking on your fingers and that does it, cumming around his twitching dick. With a muffled scream and sob, beomgyu’s cumming again, looking like he’s going to pass out, spurting and shooting more of his warm and sticky white ropes of cum into you, cumming so much, it’s all creamy, completely milking him dry, his whole body shaking beneath you and his chest is heaving like a drowning man, gasping for air.

Only then do you reach for your dagger again, slicing the rope, slithering to the ground. Beomgyu falls forwards instantly, collapsing into your arms, gripping and clinging to you, trembling like a leaf, hands roaming all over you and hugging you tight, the first time he could actually touch you. And beomgyu kisses you so desperately over and over, like he’s starved, hands shaking, clutching your clothes, you keeping his cheeks feeling equally starved.

But your kissing is interrupted by a messenger bird throwing a scroll with an unmistakable royal crest through your window. You get up to read it:

An armed procession will arrive by nightfall to collect our Prince Beomgyu in exchange for the agreed ransom.

— His Majesty, the King.

“Are you…going to return me back then?” Beomgyu says quietly, like he already knows the answer and is fearing it, his shoulders are slumped, already looking miserable and like a devastated puppy, thinking about having to return back to living in the castle.

You think for a moment. You fold the scroll neatly, setting in on the table. “No.”

Beomgyu blinks, “No?”

You smirk. “I’m taking something far more valuable.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widen, and then stars. His eyes practically lighting up, sparkling, you could practically see his tail wagging if he had one.

You both start giggling like idiots.

By the time the army reaches your cottage that evening, it is already abandoned.

And somewhere, gods only knows where, you’re running hand in hand through the forest, longe gone, cat tucked under one arm, and just enough tea packed to last the journey.

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

A/n: do not ask what this is 😭 I know it makes zero sense but thats kinda the point it was just supposed to be unhinged unserious crack smut 😍🫶

[cinnamon-won]

30

Time goes so fucking fast. One minute I wrote my first enha fic on here, the next it’s somehow been two years since I started this blog??

I had so many like hopes to build this blog and write frequently because it feel like less pressure than Wattpad or ao3, I could take requests easily and also write much shorter stuff since it’s all based on quick thoughts.

But somehow it’s been two years and I didn’t do as much as I hoped lmao

Am I sad about it? No not really. At the end of the day she’s a hobby but what I AM sad about is all the thoughts rotting in my drafts because I keep wanting to “perfect” them lol

Don’t know what that means, but if you see some spam posts, thats just me finally posting everything I’ve been keeping in my drafts for the past year !!

[cinnamon-won]

Might have accidentally read this without realising it’s the 9TH FUCKING PART

Was so good on its own but now I’ll definitely be going back to read all the parts 😭✋

Now Live ! Stream: 9

Genre: camboy au, college au, smut, crack, ongoing series

Paring: camboy! Beomgyu x gn reader (afab when smut)

Warnings: emotional distress and regret following a consensual sexual encounter, sub! beomgyu, dom! reader, top! gyu, crying, hand job, dry humping, tit sucking, nipple play, possessiveness, overstimulation, use of butt plug, spanking, dacryphilia, strap sucking, beomgyu wears lip gloss, praise, degrading, use of pet names, dollification, choking, slut shaming,

Synopsis: Every Thursday night at 8pm, you tune into your favourite camboy: Angel313. What you don’t know is he goes to the same uni as you, is even in the same class as you and is Choi Beomgyu, the campus fuckboy but will you keep his secret?

Word count: 8.4k

You feel sick.

you've been pacing around your dorm relentlessly for 20 minutes now, gnawing at your fingernails, because right now, at this exact moment, beomgyu was streaming. Without you.

And not just without you, but with one of the biggest camgirls in the community: Winter01.

You tried to remain unbothered, unfazed, unaffected, at least, that’s how you acted when, beomgyu, unsure and sheepish, had asked you whether he should go for it. It made sense, she had specifically reached out only to beomgyu and had asked to collab, and that was a great opportunity since she was so well known. If he appeared on her channel, then you’d both gain more popularity and traction on your channel too and make even more money. He should totally go for it. It made perfect, rational sense. It shouldn't feel this serious. it's just a stream. Just a collab.

Except, the thought of beomgyu doing a stream with someone else, being fucked by someone else, someone else making him feel good…it just made this nasty, terrible, inexplainable feeling occur within you. That’s what you do with him. That’s your thing. No one else has ever touched him on stream, not ever, not until now.

You collapse onto your desk chair in frustration, only to shoot up a second later. You stand back up. You open your laptop. You close it. You go back to the tab of the website. You close that too. The endless back and forth, making you go insane.

The notification still glows at the top of your laptop screen like a slap to the face.

@Angel313 is now live with @Winter01 !

You battled with yourself, conflicting thoughts on whether you should click on the stream, see what’s going on. Because, a part of you was dying to know. What was she doing with him? Did he like it? Did the viewers like it? Were there even more views than normal? What if it becomes super trending? Was she better than you at fucking beomgyu? What if beomgyu likes her way more than you? It was genuinely eating away at you from the inside.

But at the same time, you didn’t want to see. It’s best to not know at all. What you can’t see can’t hurt you, ignorance is bliss, you know, all that stuff. Because once you click on the stream, there’s no going back. Did you really want to see all that? You could remain peacefully unaware, let the imagination torment you with glimpses only in your mind, not in high definition, in real time.

But, maybe it’s best to know actually.

Maybe the not knowing is worse. What if she’s touching beomgyu the way he likes? What if he likes it better? At least you’ll know and then you can be prepared if he decides he wants to switch partners and toss you aside because winter was way better.

But can you blame him? Winter is beautiful. And she’s popular for a reason. Even you’re familiar with her, you’ve watched some of her streams before. She’s good at what she does. You like her too. What if it does go viral? What if they have insane chemistry and the chat explodes and people beg for more and they're all like ''holy shit, this is the best collab ever" and they make so much money and everyone likes them both together so much and they collab even more in the future and then he just starts streaming with her altogether instead because she’s so much better? She is a professional camgirl, you were just a viewer, a fan for a faceless pretty camboy named angel313. Do you even know what you’re doing?

You suck in a breath. Alas, the curiosity gets the better of you though, and hesitantly, you click on the stream. It loads slowly and you can hear the imaginary countdown in your head, body buzzing with dread at what you might see.

You get what you went searching for. You’d opened the pandora’s box.

You see it as soon as it loads—Winter’s pretty manicured hand wrapped around beomgyu’s flushed cock, pumping him up and down as he stiffly sat on her pink gamer chair, she’s whispering things you can’t decipher, giggling and she looks so pretty, glossed lips brushing over his reddened ears, you see beomgyu who looks like he’s freaking out over all of this, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, embarrassed, cheeks all pink, shaking slightly, biting his lip. Then you hear it. His voice. He lets out a small quiet, shy whimper and a "P-please...!" That does it.

You switch the stream off instantly, slamming your laptop screen down like it had burned you. You don’t want to see anymore. You wished you hadn’t seen at all, but it’s too late to unsee, the image now fully engrained in your head. You feel even more sick than you did before.

Curiosity really does the kill cat, you guess.

You hate how your chest aches. And it feels far too much like the feeling of heartbreak for your liking. Which is dumb. Why did you care so much anyway? In the past when you didn’t know who Angel was, you would have absolutely loved to watch him get fucked on camera by someone else. He only ever used to do solo streams. Hell, if you knew it was Winter, you probably would have been even more overjoyed and excited to watch your favourite pretty camboy get ruined by another pretty camgirl. You probably would have lost your mind. A small part of you almost misses back when you were just a viewer, when you didn't know Choi Beomgyu, the supposed campus fuckboy was Angel313. When you used to just watch him unknowingly through a screen.

Your nerves are tripled as you wait and brace yourself for beomgyu to return.

You don’t know exactly what you expected when Beomgyu finally walks through the door, but it wasn’t this.

He’s quiet. Too quiet. No grinning, smug from ear to ear, enthusiastic and blushing. No giddy, boastful oversharing of how amazing everything was, like you’d thought. Like what he usually does when he finds something exciting or funny about his day and rambles about it to you for so long with shiny eyes because he can never really contain his emotions when he feels happy and it's always endearing and he always kind of resembles a puppy when he’s like that. Beomgyu doesn’t even meet your eyes.

You get off your bed with wide eyes immediately at the sight of him, standing straight in anticipation way too quickly. Your heart is hammering in your chest, all the questions you wanted to ask blowing up in your mind, but getting jumbled and stuck in your throat.

What was it like?

How did it go?

Was she good?

Do you want to stream with her again?

“Beomgyu.” You start frantically, “How did it—?”

But before you can finish the question, he wraps his arms around you. Tightly. Practically collapsing against you. He presses his entire body into you, hugging you like he’s desperate to melt into your skin and he buries his head deep into your shoulder.

You gasp and freeze, deeply confused, and brows furrowed. Beomgyu is tense, his breath is warm but shaky against your bare neck. Still, your arms move slowly, hugging him back. You hold him, gently at first, then a little tighter. That seems to ease him slightly. His shoulders loosen a fraction. But his grip on you stays firm.

“...Gyu?” you ask, quieter, softer now.

He doesn't answer. You try to pull back slightly to look at him, but he just clings tighter, arms winding more secure around your waist and burying his face impossibly deeper into your shoulder and neck, shakily inhaling and exhaling.

“Hey…what’s wrong? Did something happen?” You run your hand gently up and down his back. Could it be winter? Maybe something happened?

“No.” Beomgyu mumbles finally as if he could read your mind, voice muffled against your hoodie. “She was…really nice, actually. Nothing happened.”

You blink at him, even more lost. “Then…?”

Beomgyu sighs. “I don’t know. It just- It didn’t…feel right.”

He pulls back from your shoulder, facing you now and you see how glossy his brown eyes had become. He looks at you like he’s trying to explain something he doesn’t quite understand himself, like he can’t figure why it’s having such an affect on him either. “Thought it would be like all the other streams, but it didn’t feel the same. At all. I don’t know, maybe I’m being dramatic. But it made me feel... weird. Not like, bad. Just…sort of, empty? Dissociated? I couldn’t stop thinking about—” Beomgyu pauses, eyes squeezing shut for a second before opening again, unsure. “It-it wasn’t…” Beomgyu sighs again. “It wasn’t you.”

Beomgyu frowns at you with a pout, bottom lip almost wobbling as his mouth becomes heavily downturned, and then he hides his face into your shoulder once more, gripping onto you harder.

That stuns you into silence.

It wasn’t you.

“Sorry. It’s weird, I know.”

“It’s not.” You say firmly. You cup the side of his face without thinking, brushing your thumb over the soft skin beneath his eye. He leans into it immediately, almost instinctively, eyes fluttering shut, relieved.

Beomgyu continues to hug you silently in that spot for a while. After a long, moment, he gently nudges you backwards guiding you to the bed and lowering both of you down onto it. He flops on top of you, his cheek pressed right against your chest as if you’re his pillow, arms wound tightly around your waist, cuddling you. A content sigh escapes him when you start slowly carding your fingers through his soft hair, stroking through the strands. His body is warm and so are is slow breaths against your skin, legs tangled with yours and he’s soo clingy.

You don’t know how long you just lie there. But you wouldn’t have been able to get up even if you wanted. You’d attempted to get up earlier to go to the bathroom, but beomgyu hadn’t let you, furrowing his brows in offence and whining annoyed at you loudly, refusing and clinging to you somehow even more.

Despite him restricting you from pissing—it was quite sweet, the way he was acting right now, wanting to be close to you the whole time and latching his limbs onto you like an octopus that won’t let go, making your heart flutter.

And then, after what felt like hours, he moves. Beomgyu slowly lifts his head from your chest, eyes fluttering open and he blinks at you. His gaze roams your face, slow and searching, and his hand comes up, delicately brushing some hair away from your face. There’s something quietly desperate in the way he looks at you. And then he leans down, soft lips grazing yours and he kisses you.

It starts slow at first, his lips moving against yours gently. He pulls away a little, gazing at you again, then he surges forward, kissing you deeper this time, hands moving to cup your face. His lips are plush and hot, moving with increasing fervour, breath hitching as he starts to get needier as time goes on. His tongue slips past your lips and he groans softly into your mouth, kissing you deeper, messier, more desperately like he’s been starved of it.

His hands trail down, grabbing at your waist, your hips, pushing himself even closer to you until there’s no kind of space left between you. His eyes are half lidded by now, lips so swollen and parted. One hand pushes your hoodie up, exposing your tits, lips kissing the space in between your breasts, then kissing all over your chest eagerly and brushing his mouth over the expanse. And then his pouty lips wrap around your nipple, hand groping and kneading the other, moaning at that.

You gasp as he continues to suck your tits blissfully, flicking and swirling his tongue harshly around your nipple that has you squirming, mouthing at you hungrily. He’s drooling and your chest and his lips are all shiny and slick with spit and drool. Then he switches to the other nipple. You feel him humping you by now, rocking his hips against yours, muffled desperate whines eliciting from his stuffed mouth, continuing to rut against you like a dumb, dirty dog.

He looks up at you innocently through his pretty lashes and doe brown eyes, plump lips still latched and wrapped around your tits, sound of him avidly sucking and slurping and moaning, evident around your dorm. He finally lets go with a wet pop, so drooly and messy and then he kisses you again, sloppily making out all wet, still humping you, breath ragged, eyes half lidded.

“I need you.” Beomgyu says when he pulls away from your lips, looking at you so intensely, so gravely. He sounds so wrecked. And he’s not just turned on, although that’s apparent too, but so wrecked and frenzied and needy already. “Pleaseee. I need to be closer to you. Wanna feel you. Please, I wanna fuck you so bad right now, I can’t” He sounds like he’s going to cry. “Let me, let me, baby, please…” He keeps kissing you between every plea, your mouth, your neck, your collarbone, any part of you he can kiss.

You let him because after everything that’s happened today, you want him just as badly, you’re just as desperate for beomgyu. His hands are already fumbling to rid you of your clothes and then his own, desperate and shaky and clumsy with urgency.

You stroke him a few times his cock twitching in your palm as he lets out a broken, pretty moan, “You want it that badly, hmm?”

Beomgyu nods frantically, his hips twitching forward like he can’t help himself, pupils dilating just from thinking about it.

You laugh, “You're so needy.” You bring his dick closer to you, dragging his tip through your slick folds, moving yourself against him, watching the way beomgyu’s face scrunches up, and then beomgyu does too, sliding his cock against your folds up and down until you say he can fuck you.

“Y/n…” He whines, “please, please. Can I be inside?” Beomgyu begs and implores, like not being inside of you right now is the most unbearable thing ever possible for him, like it physically hurts him, shaking and trembling just at the feeling of his wet dick sliding on your folds.

“Go on, baby.”

Beomgyu does not need to be told twice, he wastes no time, lining himself up and burying his swollen fat tip and the rest of his length t the hilt inside your warm, wet pussy. “O-oh, god…” Beomgyu squeezes his eyes shut, not even being able to open them, he throws his head back, pathetically moaning out long and loud, gasping for breath, trying to calm himself down, he could cum already.

Just as he starts to move, you stop him with a palm to his chest. You suddenly get an idea, “Wait, gyu.” He stops, whining in confusion, just blinking at you, too dazed.

You bring your phone out and start a stream, filming beomgyu. There wasn’t supposed to be a stream but you feel the urge. You want everyone to see, you want them to know at the end of the day, he’s yours, feeling possessive. You want them to see how he acts when he’s with you.

All the comments are flooded with talk of the stream beomgyu had done with winter previously, but the general consensus seemed to be that most were confused and asking of your relationship with beomgyu, some also debating on who they liked seeing beomgyu more with.

@angelsfav: Wait so you guys aren’t dating ????

@luuvsubs: I always thought they were dating. From their dynamic and everything they did and acted, it seemed like they were.

@31333_fan: seeing angel’s dynamic with two different partners was really interesting and stark haha. I like both so much ! 🩷

@ilovewiinter: I preferred angel and winter. She’s my favourite camgirl!

@freakyyes : winter >>> sorry not sorry 😋

@heartgel: Nahhh he has so much more chemistry with who he usually streams with. He’s wayy more into this 😭 look at him 🫠

“Are we dating?” you repeat to the screen. “No. We’re not.”

You place the phone on your table so they can properly see you both. Beomgyu really doesnt care about anything at all at the moment, he just wants to fuck you. You tell him he can start again and beomgyu begins to move.

Beomgyu fucks into you slowly at first, trying to control himself with desperate, restrained, shaky rolls of his hips like he wants to feel everything, every inch of you, eyes focused and obsessed, entranced with the lewd sight of your pussy slowly swallowing him in. He moans every time he bottoms out, eyes fluttering shut, mouth slack and cute, deep, breathy little cries. You can’t tell if he’s going so slow, moving like this and holding back because he’s waiting for permission, to tell him he can go faster, or he’s desperately trying to savour it, but you want more.

You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer and deeper into you and hands sliding up his back, clutching at the muscles there, moving and rolling your own hips to meet his as well, guiding him to fuck into you more. Beomgyu yelps, his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head at that, a choked moan slipping past his lips, hands placed on the mattress on either side of you, faltering, “S-sshit...!” 

"Does it feel good, puppy?" You coo at him, one of your hands coming to tangle and caress his messy, long hair, loving how he's already falling apart because of you.

Beomgyu nods like a brainless baby, eyelids drooping with pleasure, slurring his words, his tiny lisp becoming slightly more evident, drool dribbling down the corner of his mouth, watching your tits deliciously jiggle with every thrust, "Ss-so goood-ughh. Pussy feels s’ good, so perfect...mmm-ah."

It’s not long until beomgyu completely loses himself in the feeling of you, his thrusts quickly building up in speed, slamming his hips harder and deeper, erratically. “Wanna be inside you forever…wanna be—ahh this close t’you all thetime...” Beomgyu is just blabbering random shit by now, deliriously slamming his cock into your now soaked pussy repeatedly. Beomgyu holds onto you tightly, face falling into the crook of your neck, utterly wrecked, his drool all on your neck now, his moans and groans spilling into your ear.

“Yeah? You’re all mine aren’t you?” You coax him, your own eyes glazed up at this point, your puppy fucking you so well, such a good boy.

Beomgyu’s hands scramble for yours blindly and desperately, interlacing your fingers together, squeezing hard, holding your hands and refusing to let go. He’s still clinging so close to you like a lifeline, like he can’t bear not to, like he wants to dissolve into you completely, all so sticky and hot, you hold onto him tightly too.

“Yeah. Yours. ‘m yours…” He lifts his head from your neck, bringing his forehead to yours, looking at you like you hung the stars.

“Only I can make you feel this good right?” So maybe you are trying to stroke your own ego a bit by now, but you need him to say it, need everyone else to hear it too.

Beomgyu nods and hums, giving you a dreamy look, pathetically whimpering and whining, face contorted in overwhelming bliss, “mmh. Only you.” He squeezes your hand tight at that, nuzzling his nose with yours, forehead still touching yours, peppering sweet kisses all over your face. Your heart feels like it might give out.

Your pussy clenches tightly around him and beomgyu looks genuinely so far gone, so dumbed out, so fucked out from your pussy, his face the most debauched you’ve seen him, groaning, “baby…ah ‘m so close” Beomgyu’s cock plows into you so sloppily, squelchy wet slaps of skin when he fucks your hole feverishly and uncoordinated, continuous strangled moans leaving his mouth by now.

Beomgyu is so incredibly sweaty, messy hair wet and falling into his half lidded eyes, sweat dripping down his sharp jaw, nose and forehead, you’re probably just the same too, if not worse. But beomgyu just looks so good and so hot, so sweaty and so sexy. The sweat makes his whole body glow and shine under the dim light, and god, does he truly look like an angel right now. It’s ironic, so on-the-nose. Angel313. His username. It’s unfair how unreal, how ethereal beomgyu looks.

And beomgyu is so loud, unable to contain his noises of pleasure, he should probably keep it down but you don’t want him to, you adore hearing the sounds he makes because of you. The moans loud and relentless, tumbling out of him uncontrollably, reverberating around the room as well as the slick sounds of his cock moving inside you.

He’s shaking with the effort not to cum too soon, not to fall apart so fast that it embarrasses him. But it’s useless. You know him way too well by now, you’d watched all his streams before, streamed with him too much by now to know exactly when he’s close even when he tries not to, you know what makes him twitch, what makes his eyes roll back, what makes that pretty, loud mouth of his go slack and dumb.

“Cum for me, pretty angel. Show them how good you are for me.”

One of his hands goes down to your pretty folds, thumbing over your clit fast, rubbing in frantic little circles, desperate to have you cumming on his cock too, the other still interlocked with yours needily. Beomgyu ruts into you helplessly like a wild, panting dog, slamming his stuttering hips relentlessly with yours.

“I-I’m gonna c-cum—“ He chokes and stutters out. You bring your hand to thumb at his sensitive nipples, playing with the buds harshly and that brings him to the edge, “F-fuck, baby I-I’m cummingg I’m cumming…!” Beomgyu wails, crying out, he feels his orgasm build in his stomach and so do you, both of you letting go and cumming together, so intense, it almost feels spiritual.

You grab his face, smacking your lips with his, kissing him and swallowing down his moans so hungrily, kissing so deep it steals the air from both your lungs but neither of you pull away, his forehead still rests softly against yours, his sweat sweat dripping onto you. You feel so much of beomgyu’s hot, sticky cum spilling into you continuously, completely milking him and his body jerks, shaking violently. Beomgyu cums so hard he genuinely sees stars, just feeling pure ecstasy and fully, utterly spent.

When you both genuinely need to breathe, you pull away, lips parting with a wet, thin pull, a sllippery, slivery string of saliva still connecting your swollen mouths. Your breaths are ragged, chests heaving against each other, your skin damp and flushed. You reach out blindly, fingers fumbling over the desk until you finally manage to end the stream with a click, not really bothering to look at the donations or comments.

“Holy fuck…” Beomgyu shuts his eyes, breathing out, holding onto both of your hands.

“Quite literally.” You pant, dazed.

You both giggle at that, lightheaded, beomgyu shaking his head with a breathless laugh, grinning tiredly at you, forehead dropping to yours once more.

Beomgyu starts to pull out but you stop him, “keep fucking me, beomie. Isn’t that what you wanted? Said you want to stay in my pussy forever hmm?” Your voice teasing, brushing his sweaty bangs out his face, grinning wickedly. But he doesn’t complain.

“Y-yeah.” Beomgyu just nods, moaning weakly, already fucking and stuffing his cum back into you again with gasped whimpers and whines and wincing of overstimulation, trembling. You really don’t know how long you guys go at it for, all blurry and dizzy, just remembering beomgyu’s loud cries of your name and cumming again and again and again, clutching and grasping onto you.

Beomgyu🪽: did you want to hang out? me, tae and kai are gonna play tekken !! 😋

Y/n🎷: nah can’t sorry. I’m REVISING in the library with a friend. 🤓📚Which YOU should be doing too btw…🤨🧐🫵

Beomgyu🪽: but can’t you just come? Can’t you do that later? I need to beat you in tekken again. 👉👈 And I don’t need to revise, I’m naturally talented in mewsik >_< 🎤🎸🎶

Y/n🎷: what kind of spelling is that. Tell Kai he should be revising rn too wtf it’s literally exam season

Beomgyu🪽: Kai said you’re a neek. Are you really not coming ??☹️☹️🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Y/n 🎷: I’m literally at the library rn, no.

Beomgyu 🪽: who are you with anyway? Music practice room guy?

Y/n 🎷: yeah

Beomgyu🪽: cool, have fun revising.

Beomgyu’s stomach twists. He scowls at your message for a little longer, fingers lingering on the keyboard like he wants to type something else but then he doesn’t. With a little too much force, he places his phone on the table face-down, knitting his eyebrows in a frown, arms crossed, grumbling to himself.

He kinda hates that you’re not coming over. He kinda really hates that you’re hanging out with that other guy instead of him too. Do you not like his company anymore or something?

He really, really wanted to see you today. He’d even gotten extra snacks for you, the ones he knows are your favourite and cleared the space on the floor so you could sit next to him. He didn’t think you wouldn’t come. Is he being dramatic right now? You’re just studying in the library, it’s probably what he should be doing too. But, you’ve never said no to hanging out ever before…you’d still come, just for a bit even if you didn’t want to.

Well, at least he still gets to see you today, because there is a stream later tonight.

“What? Y/n’s not coming?” Taehyun asks from where he sits, crosslegged on beomgyu’s bed, controller in hand, starting the game.

“No.” Beomgyu sulks, sounding very much like a kicked puppy. “They’re too busy studying with this guy they met in the music practice rooms. They’re always hanging out with him lately…” The last part is said with so much bitterness in his voice, muttering and complaining.

Taehyun raises an eyebrow. “Do you know who this guy is?”

“No.”

“Have you asked?” Huening Kai chimes in, sat on the floor, back slumped against the bed a controller also in his hand and munching on a packet of crisps.

“No.” Beomgyu huffs. “Anyway. As I was about to say before, I’ve had a really, really big revelation, something highly important.”

Kai gasps, eyes wide. “You’re pregnant.”

“I’m not a fucking seahorse.” Beomgyu rolls his eyes, “I was going to say…” He closes his eyes, inhales and exhales dramatically and finally declares, “I think…I like y/n more than IU.”

They’re both silent for a second but neither of them seem particularly shocked to hear that. Then, kai resumes munching on the crisps loudly again, unfazed.

“That’s your big revelation?” Taehyun asks, incredulously.

Beomgyu takes offence. “I think it’s really shocking. Why are you not shocked? I’ve liked IU since I was nine! She’s my first love.”

Huening Kai gasps dramatically, mocking him. “Even more than Park Boyoung?!”

Beomgyu hesitates. He takes a moment to really think, deeply in thought, as if that was the hardest question he’s ever had to answer, like those moralistic ‘would you rather change the track to the baby or kill 5 people’ dilemmas. “Possibly… yes.”

“Okay wait, no.” Kai sits up, “This is serious.”

“I was saying this was serious before! So, like what should I do? Do you guys think I’m going insane? I’m going insane. I’ve lost it.” Beomgyu grabs a fistful of his own hair, pulling at it and groaning. “I feel like…i feel like the tragic second male lead in a kdrama right now who like, watches the main couple get together in the rain with an umbrella in his hand, smiling even though he’s dying inside.” He doesn’t know exactly when it happened but after he came back from doing that stream with winter, it all became so very clear to him, suddenly crashing down on him. He thinks it’s been happening for a while. And it’s very serious.

“No, I think it was just inevitable from the start.” Taehyun replies calmly, eyes focused on the menu screen, clicking a few buttons, “I think it’s hard not to catch feelings given your situation. It makes sense. I’m pretty sure y/n likes you too.”

“Just tell them bro.” Huening Kai adds, his mouth disgustingly full of crisps as he spoke.

Beomgyu’s head shot up. “Tell them? Ew. Gross. No. I’m not doing that.” He comes closer to where Kai sat, reaching for a crisp in the bag himself, eating it with a pout. “They don’t even like me. They like him. That annoying practice room guy, whoever he is. Ugh, whatever. Maybe I’m just getting really confused because of the nature of what we do. Maybe, I don’t even like y/n. Yeah…yeah.” Beomgyu nods conspicuously, agreeing with himself with narrowed eyes, stroking his chin slowly like an old, beared man, except, he doesn’t have a beard.

“You’re so full of shit.” Taehyun throws a pillow aggressively at beomgyu’s head.

“Oww!”

Taehyun and Kai exchange a pointed look, shaking their heads, maybe it wasn’t going to happen sooner than they both were beginning to think.

Beomgyu huffs in defence, “Say if I did, even I did…tell them. It could jeopardise everything! We’re supposed to be professional partners. If I say something and it gets weird between us, what then?” His chest tightens a little at the thought. You could stop streaming with him, what was he supposed to do then? Continue solo again, find someone else? He already knows now he wouldn’t want to be streaming with anyone else if it wasn’t you. And if he went solo, it’d be boring again, he’d get less money. But it wasn’t even about the streaming anymore, he’d gotten so close to you in a matter of a few months. You’d become such an important person, a staple in his life so naturally, that he couldn’t remember what it was even like before you had entered it. He wants to be close to you all the time. Days without you are weird now. When you’re not around, he’s always missing you. He’d rather it stay how it is now than not have you in his life at all. So no, he’s not going to risk it.

“You should at least find out who this guy is.” Kai yawns, tossing the bag of crisps to the side, taking the controller in both his hands, ready to play now.

“Why?” Beomgyu asks suspiciously.

“To see if he’s way hotter than you.”

Beomgyu gasps, scandalised, beginning to spiral. “What if he is?”

You sat hunched in the computer lab of the library, all your notes and books and manuscript paper sprawled madly on the desk as you desperately tried to learn about advanced music theory and Schenkerian analysis, you have no idea how kai and beomgyu aren’t stressed out right now, your head beginning to hurt as you sat besides haechan who was also studying, a lot more calmly than you.

The library and computer lab was pretty packed and alive since it was exam season, being able to see other stressed out uni students fighting the same losing battle, and groups of friends who were gossiping about their latest traumatic situationship of the semester—very entertaining to eavesdrop on, though distracting as you were supposed to be revising, both you and haechan giggling at the outrageous things you hear.

Haechan glances at what you’re attempting to revise at the minute and pitifully shakes his head at your screen, “Man, I’m so glad I didn’t pick Music.”

You groan, head on the desk, “I can’t do it.”

“Wanna go for a walk around campus instead?” Haechan offers.

You laugh, “you know what, yeah.” Both of you leaving all your possessions on the desk with blind trust, wandering out the library into the late afternoon sun.

Before the walk properly began, you both made a detour to the campus cafe, purchasing a drink to cheer you up a bit more. You think you deserve a little sweet treat, having been at wits end to warrant one.

You laugh and walk around with haechan, drinks in hand and sipping on them, the campus golden and bathed in soft amber light, a pleasant breeze that wasn’t too hot or too cold. The cherry blossom trees lining the main path had all burst into full bloom by now, their pretty pink petals littering the ground you walked on, falling elegantly. Some students were already sitting on the grass, chatting away like it was summer already. It was so peaceful to see, and a great breath of fresh air from studying in the library.

You stop to stare at the cherry blossom trees, pointing excitedly, because no matter how many springs have come and how many cherry blossom trees bloomed when the time came every year, it never failed to always leave you in awe at just how beautiful they are. “Look at them. It’s so pretty!”

Haechan nods in agreement. The temptation of taking a picture overcomes you and you bring out your phone, taking a few shots of the cherry blossoms and the sunset behind, then holding your phone out to show him, proudly.

He leans closer, squinting at your screen, smiling. “Okayy, photographer. You should post those.”

PING !!

Suddenly, you get an extremely loud buzz on your phone.

@Angel313 going live soon !!

Shit.

The notification lights up your entire screen so obnoxiously.

You freeze for a second, trying not to visibly freak out or act suspiciously, yanking your phone away from him and fumbling to switch it off, putting it back in your pocket.

Obviously haechan saw it too, you saw how his eyebrows had creased in slight intrigue. But it’s not like it’s some promiscuous username, it wasn’t like it screamed ‘porn!’ it could be anything for all he knows. How would he know that was a camboy, that could literally be a youtuber, gamer or anything else? Yeah, It’s really not that deep, he wouldn’t think it was deep.

He doesn’t say anything about it, which means he probably didn’t think much of it, he just continues casually walking and talking again, changing the subject and you’re very thankful he never asks. Your heart still thudding in your ears for the rest of the stroll.

Beomgyu sat pliantly beside you on the bed, legs folded, hands resting in his lap, eyes following your movements with curiosity, your hand was on his chin, tilting it up, the other intimately applying coats of your lip gloss slowly onto his lips.

“Ow. It burns! What the fuck.” Beomgyu furrows his brows, hissing. He could feel the tingling sensation on his lips right now and it was deeply uncomfortable.

You chuckle, amused. “Yeah, it’s a plumping lip gloss. And it doesn’t even burn that much. Why are you being so dramatic?” Dragging the applicator across his bottom lip in a deliberate motion.

Beomgyu wrinkles his nose. “Whatever that means.”

You roll your eyes, deadpan. “It’s in the name. It plumps your lips.”

“Well it feels really weird.”

“It’s alright, it’ll go away.” You, apply one more coat then pull back, looking satisfied. You take the phone in your hand, filming beomgyu’s lips up close, “Look at the pretty doll.” Needless to say, the chat is blowing up at the sight of angel in lip gloss, the comments lighting up with strings of hearts and emojis.

ANGEL IS TOO PRETTY WTF JDJDJ

LOOK AT THOSE LIPS ?!? 😩 he has the prettiest lips ever

RUIN HIM PLEASE 💕

You’d even done beomgyu’s hair, putting it into a half up poinytail and adding one of your clips in his hair.

Beomgyu looks so good with your lip gloss on, his lips tinted, glittery, sparkly and even plumper than they usually were. He looked so kissable. God, you wanted to kiss him immediately, ruin him, wreck him. But you stop yourself, you were going to ruin him in a different way.

“On your knees, pretty.” Your voice sweet but commanding. Beomgyu does what he’s told and moves immediately, dropping from the bed without hesitation. His knees hit the floor with a soft thud, looking up at you with his sparky brown, innocent, doe eyes, thick doll lashes fluttering like butterfly wings as he looks up at you.

You bring the strap you were wearing to his mouth, tapping his lips with it a few times, watching the strings of the thick sticky gloss connect to the top of the strap.

“Open your mouth, baby.”

Beomgyu slowly opens his mouth wider, still not breaking eye contact with you. You slowly push the silicone into beomgyu’s pretty mouth. He begins to suck soft and slow without even being told, rocking his head, wrapping his shiny lips around it.

“Yeah, that’s it,” you murmur at the sight, hand stroking over his cheek, “So pretty for me, babe.”

He moans at that, spurring him on, looking up at you desperately. Beomgyu’s hands move to eagerly hold onto your hips, but you swat them away, “No touching.” Beomgyu whines in protest but keeps his hands on his lap instead, balled into fists to stop himself from touching you. His poor dick, hard and leaking in his pants by now.

Beomgyu is so into it by now, focused, bobbing his head earnestly, trying to take more, wanting to please you like he’s really making you feel good as if it’s actually your real body, moaning loudly around the strap. When beomgyu moves further on the faux cock, the harness begins to bump against your clit and you try chasing the sensation by pushing more of your strap down beomgyu’s throat, grasping onto his hair and little ponytail to guide him more harshly. He softly gags, tears springing in his eyes as it hits the back of his throat but he doesn’t stop.

“God, you’re so hot like this pretty doll face, taking my cock so well.” You moan from the feeling of it hitting your clit but also at how pathetic beomgyu looks right now.

"Mmph—mmmghd.” Beomgyu garbles and moans around the silicone in response, drool slobbering all on his chin and wet mouth, spit mixed with the gloss, creating a slick shiny mess on his mouth and the toy, teary, pleading puppy eyes blinking up at you.

But you continue to ignore his gags, forcing him to deepthroat the strap, hands roughly pulling at his hair.

You then bring his face all the way down to the base of the dildo, his nose pressing into your lower abdomen and you hold him there. His body shakes, wide panicked eyes, muffled chokes and cries. But you still keep him there. There’s tears streaming down his face, helpless, cheeks hollowed.

After a while, you let go, he pulls himself completely off and splutters as thick strings of drool connect his lips and chin to the tip of the dildo. Beomgyu gasps for air, choking and coughing and crying, wiping at his chin.

You bring him up, seeing how you’d ruined the pretty doll, his cute hairstyle now all messy, clip half loose and slipping from his bangs, eyes glassy, lashes prettily clumped with tears, tears stream still evident on his rosy cheeks, his lips utterly wrecked, puffy, red, slick and wet and swollen, lip gloss and spit all around and smeared. It’s gorgeous.

You kiss him before he can even properly catch his breath, not giving him that much time for air but he melts into it, kissing you back desperately as if you were the air he needs to breathe, spit and gloss smearing onto your own mouth, all tongue and sloppy, whimpering in your mouth.

Pushing him onto the bed, you straddle him as he lays with breathless anticipation underneath you. You’d agreed to peg him today and he’d sucked your strap so well, with such dedication, being so good, you wanted to give it to him already, wanted to make him feel so good.

You throw his shirt off him, pierced belly comes into view. That iconic little hello kitty charm glinting at you from his navel, rising and falling with every shaky inhale as his tummy trembles underneath your touch. Placing your hand on his tiny waist, you marvel at how he is beneath you. You kiss him everywhere, down his neck, chest, tummy, marking him, sucking soft hickeys as he lets out soft little whines, tugging at the sheets.

You move further down, leaving him in his underwear, spreading his legs apart, kissing the soft unblemished skin of his pretty plush thighs, sucking his inner thighs as his breath hitches, so sensitive there, biting, licking, covering, littering and painting them in purpley and pink splotches. Beomgyu squirms and shivers, restless as your mouth gets so close, too close to his aching, hard cock but not enough. “Pleasee.” He’s breathless, legs spreading even wide for you, “just—touch me, already.” Beomgyu whines and pouts. “You’re teasing me. I’m dying over here.”

You roll your eyes but tug his underwear down and it’s like he suddenly remembers something, panicked, horrified. He shuts his legs, hands instantly flying to cover the area. Beomgyu is blushing furiously, face and ears flushed, his cheeks blooming a pretty shade of pink, pinker than the cherry blossoms you’d seen earlier today. He avoids your gaze, looking anywhere but you, so incredibly embarrassed, so shy.

That’s weird. Beomgyu was rarely ever this shy anymore. He hadn’t got this embarrassed since the first time he streamed in front of you.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him, opening his legs and pulling his hands away nonetheless.

That’s when you see it— a pretty little bedazzled heart shaped, pink gem, resting snugly in beomgyu’s hole, catching the light like treasure in a chest. What the hell.

You’d never seen it before and it was driving you crazy, in a good and bad way.

“Oh my god.” You gasp, dramatically, scandalised. “You whore! Have you been wearing this all day?”

“N-no! Just a few hours before you came!” Beomgyu squeaks and splutters, face buried in his hands, trying to explain himself as if he’d committed some atrocious, heinous crime. “Couldn’t help myself…and, and—I missed you.” Beomgyu mumbles, sulky, “You didn’t even come today! Too busy with that guy.” He suddenly furrows his brows at you, glaring, indignant, petulant, as if it was your fault.

You gape at him. “You couldn’t even wait? Didn’t ask me, didn’t even tell me, touching yourself without me there…you brat.” You spit out and tut, shaking your head at him. In hindsight, it wasn’t even that bad. You just wanted any kind of excuse to punish him now. In fact, you’re almost salivating at the sight of beomgyu wearing a pretty pink jewelled butt plug.

He lets out an offended noise, protesting. “I just warmed up a little. I was being…” He almost laughs, playing coy, then looks back up at you innocently, “…proactive.”

“You were being an impatient whore.”

Your eyes drag slowly over to the plug again, taking in how pink and sparkly it is, how snug it looks, how his cute tiny hole must’ve adjusted to it, gently stretched and waiting for you, squirming for hours. God. Beomgyu looked so good with it. It suited him so well.

Beomgyu studies your face, searching your eyes and his face slowly turns into a satisfied grin, regaining some of that usual bratty confidence. “You love it. I know you do.”

You ignore him, watching the screen on the phone, turning to the live chat, smiling cryptically. “What do guys think? Should we still fuck him? Or should we punish him?”

Beomgyu’s smug little smirk falters instantly replaced with a dreaded look. But the chat is already flooding in.

Punish him.

Spank him till he cries >_< 🌸

Slap him until he’s really sorry ! Make sure you don’t fuck him at all.

You grin. Almost everyone says to punish him, that he deserved a spanking instead.

Beomgyu’s eyes widen, shaking his head devastated, mortified. “No.” His voice breaks, “Don’t listen to them—please. Please fuck me.”

“They’re saying you should get spanked instead.” You shrug as if it’s all out of your control.

Beomgyu whines again, more pathetic this time, distressed, trying to bring your hand to his dick, grinding up against your hand. “Please—please, baby, I need it so bad, I-i’ve been good-”

You swat your hand away in disgust. Instead, You grip his face roughly, forcing him to look at you, “Do you want to get punished even more?”

Beomgyu recoils like a dejected helpless puppy, knowing he can’t do anything anymore. He slowly flips over onto his stomach and you bend him over your lap.

“You guys are evil.” Beomgyu comically mutters bitterly, casting a betrayed glare at the camera to the viewers before turning it on you. “And you—you’re so mean.” He pouts but accepts his fate.

SLAP !

Beomgyu opens his mouth to say more but his words dissolve into a loud, startled moan as your palm lands on the curve of his small ass with a sharp, echoing smack.

SLAP !

You strike again, spanking beomgyu continuously as he sucks in air loudly, biting his lip, gasping, back arching, trying to hold in the desperate pained whimpers, dick twitching uncontrollably with every smack, thighs quivering.

You spank him again, impossible harder this time, each hit ringing out obscenely, his cheeks painfully reddened and crimson and burning. Sight so pretty with his ass marked and red and the sparkly pink gem nuzzled in between. Your handprint is evident on his ass by now and beomgyu begins to let out muffled cries at your unrelenting slaps, his cock hurting so bad and leaking, rubbing against your thigh from your smacks, smearing his precum there.

“B-baby! Please! S-stop, please fuck me!” Beomgyu mewls and shudders as you still strike him violently, “I-it hurts!” You’re not sure whether he’s talking about his dick or his ass.

“You should’ve thought of that before you decided to be a needy little slut without permission.” You spank his angry scarlet skin again.

Slap !

Beomgyu full on sobs, tears spilling freely from his eyes, hiccuping, wailing loudly, legs thrashing and shaking his head, “S-sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m s-sorry!”

You gently knead the sore flesh of his ass, then let your fingers toy and play with the plug, slowly, teasingly, you ease it out until the widest part stretches him, then pushing it back in his pretty hole with a wet pop, taking it out and thrusting it fully back in his hole, doing that over and over again, fucking him with the little toy, moving it around in circles.

“Ah-ahh—fuck- baby—” Beomgyu gasps, and jolts at the little pleasure, desperate for anything. He lets out the loudest whorish, slutty moans, mewling high pitched, eyes half lidded. He’s such a terrible, weepy mess.

"Baby...you're so pretty like this,” you coo, sweetly, still continuing with your ministrations of moving the jewelled butt plug around in his ass, grinding it in circles and spanking him raw, “you’re such a slutty whore.”

“O-only for- ah! you.” Beomgyu weeps.

You giggle. “Not for your viewers? You’re so ungrateful, angel.”

“Can I cum? Please, please, please. I’ve been good. Pleaseplease” Beomgyu moans.

“Should we let the poor puppy cum?” You glance at the screen, checking what they’re saying, “…sorry baby, they’re saying no.” You tell beomgyu pitifully, feeling slightly sorry for him.

Beomgyu shakes his head wildly, whole body wracked with sobs, shedding so many tears, heart broken. “No! no no no ! I can’t-”

But he doesn’t even listen, it becomes too much and he can’t hold it in, doesn’t even care, in fact, he’s annoyed at you and viewers for being so cruel to him, defiant. The slapping and playing with his hole and the small rubs against his poor cock makes him lose it, spurting and splattering helpless thick hot creamy copious amount of cum all on your thighs as he shudders, whole body convulsing, still crying and sniffling, his pretty legs trembling delicately like a baby deer.

You blink at him. “Did you just cum anyway?You’re so disobedient!”

Beomgyu whimpers, nervous. And there goes the endless punishments beomgyu receives.

You give beomgyu the best aftercare you can after that, praising him and promising to actually peg him next time.

He doesn’t let go of you, insisting on you both showering together, holding onto each other as the warm water sprays on you both, steam rising around, beomgyu groans at the sensation, head looking dramatically on your shoulder, his hair all damp and the bangs attractively in his eyes as he clings to you even when you try to massage his scalp with shampoo, head hiding in your neck, kissing your shoulders and neck soft and tender, making your heart flutter.

Both of you now lay in his bed and you cuddle him, skin still warm and clean from the shower, wrapping your arm around him, bringing him close your side as you play with his damp hair, whispering sweet things in his hair as he sleepily hums, snuggling closer.

Then beomgyu speaks up suddenly, “Hey,” his voice low and soft.

You tilt your head to look at him. “Hmm?”

Beomgyu shifts to face you, head propped up on his elbow, brows slightly furrowed. “Who is he?”

You blink, confused. “What? Who?”

“Music practice room guy.”

You raise your brow, then answer casually. “Oh, his name is Haechan.”

Beomgyu’s eyes suddenly widen, entire body tensed, getting up instantly, “Haechan?! As in cello playing Haechan?”

You sit up too, utterly confused by now and nod then remembering, “Oh yeah, he actually said he knew you.”

“Y/n.” Beomgyu’s voice is sharp, incredulous. “Do you even know—”

But a loud buzz cuts through the room. His phone screen lights up on the nightstand. Beomgyu frowns and picks it up.

Haechan: I know you’re a camboy, beomgyu. I always knew you were a fucking whore. Just wait until I tell everyone 🤣🤣.

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs ☹️ At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

A/n: yipppiiieee !! It’s finally 😭😭 sorry if the smut is just really badly written and messy I was lowkey not there when writing it. Also there’s probably only one chapter left ! So tell me if there’s certain scenes or stuff you wanted reader and beomgyu to do in terms of sex 🤔 Also you maybe confused about the plot twist but there was kinda a poorly excused hint in one of the earlier chapters on who haechan could be and why 🤔 also someone tell me if I need to add more warnings idk what I missed 😭😭

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[cinnamon-won]

dtf.― p.js , s.jy

Jake isn’t a fucking cuck, but damn if you don’t look good with Jay on you like that. Yes, Jay. His arch nemesis. The stupid toned-muscle, nice car driving, fat cock throbbing, pretty lips and seductive voice having, bitchass neighbor… or the one where jay is a super cocky rich neighbor who really, really doesn’t care if jake, your husband, knows how badly he wants to not just fuck you, but both of you. The only thing better than one brat to jay just so happens to be two brats.

PATREON REQUEST | MDNI

WORDCOUNT― 7.4k

PAIRING― sim jaeyun x afab reader (ft.neighbor brat tamer park jongseong)

CONTENT― neighbor au, husband jake, threesome, smut, jayke action, jay tops everyone, jake only tops you.

DISCLAIMER ― there is a lot of emphasis on jayke and the reader is cucking them. i got feral for a bit, pls forgive. 

NOTE― JAYKE GIRLIES RISE. p.s. Not entirely proof read, i struggled a lot writing a threesome this time, idk why ;-; pls forgive lil ol sj 

SMUT TAGS ― threesome, guy on guy action, anal fingering , pussy eating, cock sucking [jake throats him], overstimulation, jay is a bit more dominant but all three of them are practically a pile of jelly, raw grinding, double vaginal penetration, dick against dick stuff, some guiding/hair tugging [jake receiving], cream pie, squirting

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake stares through his living room window, knowing damn fucking well why his neighbor is outside pretending to pull weeds in his back garden right now. The fact that said neighbor is very aware that Jake is watching him? 

It’s pissing him off.

Jay, the cocky, toned torso, asshole is trying to push his buttons standing out there with his shirt off. He just knows it. Those smirks aren’t unnoticed. What’s worse is that those smirks are always directed at him, right before Jay’s eyes are all over you. Jake’s beloved, his fucking wife. 

The fact that the idiot next door thinks he’s really gonna do something is borderline psychotic. Being so open about it, so blatantly confident?

All he has to do is fucking ask, but no. He’s being sneaky. Jay flirts with you behind his back, the dude brings you the mail before he can even get outside to do it himself, he brings over extra groceries, he does this, he does that…all because he thinks he can like…have an affair with you or something?

An idiot, is what that guy is. A very, very attractive idiot. It’s not like you and Jake are against having fun with a third, it’s just the fact that Jay is sitting here like you’re some trophy to be won when you’ve already got a goddamn ring on your finger. What’s crazier is that if you were anyone other than you, and Jake was anyone other than him, Jay very well may have already been in a full-blown affair with the wife of whatever neighbor he’d have.

And so, Jake watches, he studies. He knows you’re out back with your book, half naked, specifically because you find it funny that, for once, your husband is jealous.

“You’re taking it personally, he’s just being nice.” You told him months ago. “Jake, Jake. Look what Jay brought over!” You had squealed with glee just last week, presenting him with a cute little row of macaroons. “Don’t be silly, he doesn’t check me out.” You have said at least a million times, knowing full well it’s a lie.

Both of you are very aware of the way you defend him for the sake of possibility.

Well then, what’s this? Jake argues in his head, watching Jay practically turn his head like the fucking exorcist to get an eye full of you lying out under that tree. At this point, Jay isn’t allowed to be a third. 

Trying to get his wife to cheat on him?! Hell no. 

And the weeks go by with this idea in Jake’s head. Now, he wakes up at the crack of dawn and waits for the mail. Now, he comes home with extra groceries neither of you need. Now, he mows the lawn perfectly, quicker than Jay mows his. 

He isn’t going to win you over this way, ever. Maybe, if Jay didn’t have such an ego, this would have been a lot more fun. 

Except, Jay kind of does win. Jake mows the lawn, suddenly Jay is planting flowers and offering to plant some for you. Jake checks the mail? Jay gives you coupons from his own stash just in case. Jake comes home with more groceries? Jay just brings you home cooked meals now. 

You’re aware of what’s happening, it’s only a matter of time before you let this guy get some. Hell, even Jake knows it. He doesn’t like it, but he knows you do.

It’s the fact that Jake knows the types of men you’re into. If this guy wasn’t so cocky, always trying to one up him, maybe he’d have told you to run along next door and have some fun. But it’s war now. 

Full blown war.

Even when you giggle at his anger after weeks upon weeks of petty activities. Trying to calm him down and butter him up, all “C’mon babe, ill even moan louder for you.” and “You’re probably bigger anyway, imagine putting him in his place by fucking me.”

The idea is…nice by this point, after all, how else can Jake win? Because he knows how to fuck his wife, and he’s very, very good at it. Jake won’t be the one inviting him in though, no. Nor will you.

If anything, the idea of embarrassing Jay, making him think he’s won the war by getting you to sleep with him only to realize Jake has been waiting for it to happen? 

Now that– that would be hilarious. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It takes the better part of six months for all of this turf war shit to come to a head. Jake almost laughs, watching Jay act like he’s in it for the long run. As if his wife hasn’t been giving him signals since he agreed to the little deal with you. 

“If we let Jay fuck you, you better tell him I’m better.” He had argued. Not at all hurt that you want to sleep with the guy, more hurt that it would demolish his ego to not be able to look Jay in the eye and show him how insignificant his role is. 

You nodded. And now, six months later with that fucking asshole next door constantly thinking he’s closing in on you, Jake senses the sin in the air. 

“Babe, it’s happening!” You had whisper-shouted quickly into the phone before hanging up.

Naturally, Jake was home in record speed, slamming through the front door and rushing to the bedroom. And there it is. Jay jumps back with wide eyes, cock hanging out of his pants as if he’s so guilty, as if this wasn’t his intention. You, smirking on the bed, completely nude, legs spread. 

Oh, you sure got his attention this time, and Jake eyes down both of you, trying so hard not to smile. 

“It’s not w-” Jay goes to explain himself, face going flushed and hair all fucked up as he stands awkwardly with his hands covering his cock.

Arguably, Jake kind of thinks he looks…well…he gets it. He’ll never admit it to you, nor to Jay, but he gets it. Jay  is pretty…he’s maybe even thicker than him too, and his body is toned and near pristine, oh…his mouth.

“It’s about fucking time.” Jake rolls his eyes more at himself than at the neighbor, already lifting his shirt off and flicking his eyes to you. “Was starting to think you really thought you could fuck my wife without me.” 

Jay is stunned at first, that’s kind of exactly what he was thinking. Yet– Oh, so the two of you are into this? He was starting to wonder why Jake never came over to kick his ass after consistently trying to get at you. Now he looks between you and your husband, eyes narrowed, smirk appearing. 

“Wait,” Jay says, ignoring the way you both can see his cock twitch with interest as he moves his hands away from whatever shame he was feigning. “You’re a fucking cuck? Honestly, I should have known.” 

So he still wants to be a cocky asshole about this?

“Oh, no. No, no.” Jake laughs, groping himself as he closes in on Jay. “You will be the one watching.” 

Jay rolls his eyes, nodding as if this is some sort of joke. 

“Right, right.” He nods, then looks at Jake, scanning his torso before arguing. 

“You don’t think it’s weird how wet she already is? I barely touched her–and you.” Jay glances down at Jake’s bulge now, watching how the man rubs against it. “You got hard looking at me, not her.”

Silence. 

Jay’s not embarrassed like he was supposed to be. Actually, he’s well aware that he’s right.

Jake stares at him, you stare at him, and he leans back, stretching his arms out before scratching the back of his head. 

“If I knew you both wanted me–” He breaks the silence, dropping his eyes to Jake’s bulge again, “maybe i’d have come for you first. Smooth out the friendship, then fuck your wife.” 

Why is Jake’s stomach bubbling?

And you. You’re just watching it unfold. Two very beautiful men standing in front of you, gripping their cocks, semi-arguing not just about fucking you, but….fucking each other? About who the cuck is when clearly, it’s you right now?

Oh, Jake’s gonna love him. You think he already does, actually, because you see the way his lip is quivering from here. He does that when he wants to pounce, when he wants to be kissed. You know him well enough, you see his interest, his attraction to the neighbor. All that petty competition turned him to mush within seconds of Jay not backing down. 

“Kiss him,” You mumble from the bed, tracing your fingers up and down your thigh. “Jakey, kiss him. He’s really good at it.”

The best part is, you expected Jake to be in one of his moods. When he’s aggressive, bruising with every touch and kiss, but this is…very unexpected. It’s the opposite actually. This is rare even for you to see your husband become docile, nearly submissive. To watch him act like this especially when you have a third in the room. He’s never given up his control when someone else is involved, unless of course, the third is a woman. 

The fact that it’s towards Jay is a bit more unexpected. They’ve been silently beating the shit out of each other through domestic acts for so long now, you can argue that Jay will probably hold this over his head forever if it continues. 

Toxic masculinity, all that. The competition between men can be very sexy on its own when it involves your body, but seeing your husband practically roll over and be vulnerable too? How lucky for both of you to have someone like Jay living just across the yard. 

You can see it in the neighbor’s eyes, someone who is not only willing to participate, but will participate, will take over, will not back down.

Jay’s won the war, but Jake doesn’t really care as much now that he’s seeing what you see in him. Hell, he didn’t even know the guy likes dudes, and the fact that he said he should have gone for him first? 

Jake is his type? 

Well, Jay is your type, and he’s your husband’s type, and you are their type. 

Isn’t this kind of…great?

“Yeah, kiss me.” Jay finally cuts into the silence, waiting for Jake to make his move, the one that will make him give in, the one that’ll essentially land him in the throne that reigns over both of you. 

How funny is it that Jake does lean in to kiss him? Jay watches, not at all closing his eyes despite watching Jake close his own. Probably to be passionate, probably to let his own desire take hold. Not quite yet though, Jay thinks. As he can feel Jake’s breath on his cheek, his eyes shoot to you and his hand shoots to the back of Jake’s hair. 

He pulls it, keeping eye contact with you as he now, pushes your husband down. He keeps Jake’s face close to his body, making sure he can feel his lips run all the way down, straight against his cock. He holds his head there for a moment, letting it twitch against Jake’s lips before he pushes him down further, sitting him on his knees. 

Doing that was strangely difficult though. He could tell Jake would’ve done it. Right here and now, leaving you, his own wife, neglected with her legs all spread out on the bed just to suck a cock? 

Thirsty. Both of you. Because don’t think for a second that Jay didn’t see how much you liked watching him do that either. Watching him control your husband. 

“Sit.” Jay says against Jake’s near-pout at the act of being dominated. “You’re going to sit there, and you’re going to watch.” 

Jake finally blinks up at him and the look kind of floors Jay a little bit by the time he finally lands his eyes back on him. Like, goddamn, he’s so, so fucking submissive looking when his eyes go all glassy like that. 

Arguably, Jay is already borderline lustfully obsessed with the idea of fucking you, but your husband? After meeting his glare for so long? There’s something so, so arousing watching him submit like this, all while you’re just lying there, smiling, loving it.

Jay holds back a short chuckle, catching his breath in his throat before he breaks his character even for a moment, showing how much he’s interested too. Gotta stay strong for now. 

“Understood?” He tilts his head instead, keeping that grip in Jake’s hair. 

Jake nods, now looking at you. Almost apologetically, but you smile at him with a short nod as well, spreading your legs even wider as Jay makes his way over. 

“Now,” Jay’s voice goes softer when he speaks to you, one palm landing on your inner thigh and the other against your cheek as he crawls over you. “Where were we?” 

Fuck, what a man. You nearly shiver at the touch alone, noting how he’s acting the exact same way as he was before Jake walked in. He’s not acting, he’s not putting on a show to try and one up your husband again, no. This is just…him. 

Maybe a bit rough around the edges, but he knows what he’s doing. He’s definitely gotten around, surely.

“Ah, right.” Jay mumbles with a smile, leaning down and letting his lips rest against your neck with a hot breath. “You wanted me to play with you for a little bit, didn’t you?” 

You nod again, feeling like if you speak right now, it’ll come out dry and raspy. You did want him to play with you, because if you didn’t ask for it, he may well have already been fucking you when Jake walked in. And that was against the rules. 

There had to be a way to hold Jay off. Especially because he was definitely rushing before. 

“When’s he coming home?” You recall him saying when he walked through your front door. Truly, he wouldn’t have walked in if you didn’t answer the door the way you did. 

Bra and panties, all done up like you were expecting him. He’s a little embarrassed at that though, because he instantly got hard at seeing you like that. Like it was specifically for him. He knew Jake was at work. Who else would it have been for?

He asked that without any indication of you actually seducing him though, it was all assumption. And he was right to assume because, well, he picked up your hints for months. Coming over for sugar wasn’t going to cut it anymore after seeing you open the door like that. You looked at him like that.

 He was going to fuck you this time. Months and months of distant flirting had nearly driven him insane by this point too. 

“He gets off work in about an hour but, let me use the bathroom first–” You had said in a hushed tone, full-on acting, role playing with a man who didn’t realize it was allowed. 

Then, you called your husband with the news as Jay was tearing his belt off on the other side of the bathroom door.

You also recall Jay demanding you take him to your bed when you had tried to go back to the living room. Probably to mark territory or something, and all you could do was comply. After all, your husband was already on his way and you could tell Jay knew he didn’t have a lot of time. He wanted to make it count, no matter how quick he had to be. After all, there was a look in his eye, one that made you feel like he knew it wouldn’t be the only time.

When Jake walked in, your neighbor already had his cock out, slapping it against your clit, grinding up against it, commenting on how pretty you are, how wet you’ve gotten for him, asking how much longer you’re going to make him wait, threatening to put it in and render you breathless– then the door opened, and now here you are. 

“Asked me to play with you, as if you weren’t the one playing games with me.” Jay whispers now, a little more aggressively. “No more rushing now, hm?” He adds, slapping his cock right against your clit again before pulling back. 

“In that case–” Down he goes, happy that he already pulled both that bra and the panties off of you before Jake even got home, nosing his way straight to your quivering pussy.

Before he lets you feel it though, he looks back, making sure Jake is watching, getting a full view of his half clothed ass before nodding. 

“Make yourself useful and get my pants off while I do this.” 

No eyes are on Jake as he does as he’s told. In fact, your eyes are rolling back and Jay’s are looking up at you, feeling Jake try and pull at his pants. His tongue, however, is already working wonders. Licking you up and licking you down, between each fold before sucking your clit in his mouth and making it all sensitive, throbbing. 

Jake does manage to get his pants off for him, and he stays in his place beside Jay now, waiting, watching. Occasionally his eyes glance down, seeing his neighbor’s heavy cock hang there, neglected, leaking little drops onto the bed. 

If Jake was smart about this, he probably wouldn’t be thinking about licking it up, yet here he is, surprising himself time and time again with this side of him. He really, really didn’t expect the situation to turn into this. If at all, he should be the one eating you out right now, he should be the one telling Jay to take off his pants. 

Jay should be the one thinking hard about licking cum up. He should be the one neglected. 

“Y’know,” Jay suddenly groans against you, voice vibrating your clit. “If she was mine, I wouldn’t share her.” He continues, going back in for another long and languid lick against your hole, waiting for you to moan, practically forcing one from your throat when he dips his tongue inside of you. 

And he continues that, closing his eyes this time and focusing on the taste, the feeling of what will soon be wrapped around his cock. It’s like heaven, kind of, having you like this while Jake just sits off to the side. He wonders what your husband must be thinking right now, if he’s into it or growing angry. 

 “Especially not with you.” He finally adds, leaning back from you and studying the mess he’s made so far before turning his head back to Jake. “Look at her, how could you just watch someone do this to her?” 

And, well, the look on Jake’s face kind of bruises his heart a little bit, softens him up. He’s still just blinking up at him, almost as if he’s waiting to be told he can come up from the floor, cock raging so hard in his pants. Jay shakes his head at himself before looking at you. 

“Then again, I probably wouldn’t share him either.” He says as he stands on his knees, presenting his cock to you, grabbing your hand and guiding it straight to him before addressing your husband again. “Come up here.”

Jake practically leaps onto the bed now, getting an eye full of how your hand barely wraps around the girth of this man, and he stares. And stares, and almost entirely forgets that he’s the husband in this situation, this is his room, his bed, and his wife. 

And Jay is his neighbor. His extremely, insufferable, sexy fucking neighbor. 

“Look at you.” Jay seethes as he fixes his posture tall and strong above you, lip tucked between his teeth briefly at the gentle grip you twist around the head of his cock. “Both of you.” He adds, now grabbing Jake by his hair again, this time pulling his face straight to his own.

“You still wanna kiss me?” He says now, Jake nodding instantly. 

You watch the way your husband leans in, almost moaning in relief when his lips meet Jay’s. It’s messy, extremely intimate to see up close like this. It turns you on somehow more to see Jake act the way you do when he’s left you neglected for a few minutes too long. Desperate, kind of argumentative with his pouting and moaning. 

Gripping Jay harder, you urge them on, watching their tongues reach the point of messy drooling, their chins wet, Jake probably tasting your pussy on Jay’s lips. And god, when Jay moans into it, probably due to the speed in which you’re now jerking him off, even you moan in response. 

There’s something about seeing him get into it, ignoring the fact that he’s appeared calm and collected this whole time. 

Yeah, he’s definitely getting into it. He grabs Jake’s hair harder, kisses him deeper when you circle your fist at the head of his cock, collecting the precum so you can slide back down to the base. And fuck, when you watch him now, reaching out, grabbing Jake through his pants? 

You whine, wanting more than just lying here watching.They’re so into it and you’re just…here witnessing it. You want them to kiss you too, you want them both on you, working you open, making you feel good too. But you’re briefly ignored in this moment as Jay starts rutting his hips, fucking your fist at a pace that makes it hard to jerk him off. 

And Jake…god, you knew you married him for a reason. Look at him, barely kissing back now, just slack jawed as Jay palms between his legs for him, licking into his mouth before moving down, kissing his neck, biting his shoulder. 

That’s it. You’re losing your damn mind right now, pulling your hand back and sitting yourself up on the bed. Jay doesn’t even flinch at the loss, and just kisses Jake harder to make up for it. 

 Your eyes stay glued to them as you now move yourself forward, poking and podding your husband first, who ignores you entirely because he’s, well, lost in it. Very into it. Still slack jawed, still reeling from finally being touched. 

You move your attention to Jay, poking and prodding him instead, and he pays attention. Grabbing your curious hand and pulling you roughly against him. You smile at the movement, understanding that he’s clearly still the one in control here, and whining for your husband may not be in the cards right at this moment. 

He’s just like you, you’re just like him. 

Just seconds later, you push back again, wanting to encourage more than this, wanting to see more, feel more. You start working Jake’s pants off and practically push Jay’s hand away from him, only now do they both pause, watching your hands pull out his cock. Still he moans at it, skin on skin, and you hold it there, looking up at him, glancing at Jay, then back down. 

“Stop leaving me out.” You mumble. 

Jake finally snaps out of it at that, lips feeling tingly as he watches you, guilt bubbling up that he lost it there for a second. Jay, on the other hand, is kind of reeling at how jealous the two of you get. Yet, still you’re both entirely into him as much as you are each other, it seems. 

It’s only natural that you’ll whine for Jake when he’s too busy kissing the man who is supposed to be on you right now, but no worries. None at all, Jay likes it. He understands. 

“Awh,” Jay coos, pushing his hips forward and bumping your hand with it, making sure the head of his cock meets Jake’s before continuing the act. Rutting again and again, messing your hand with the mix of precum and arousal. “Did he leave you out?” 

They both did, but something about the way Jay’s voice sounds when he asks, so soft yet still cocky. Charming, because even Jake nods at that before skewing his head to you, dragging his own hand down to hold it over yours before allowing Jay to slide his length into the tight space. 

You feel it when your husband leans in to kiss you now, as if he’s apologizing. Too worked up to say it, and can only act on his apology. Warm lips enveloping yours with a heated, near desperate kiss, then he starts immediately fucking up. You can feel it, the way their cocks meet and keep the mess of hands holding them together slick and wet for this. 

Jay is stuck watching this time, and he can’t decide on whether he should watch the way you manage to overpower Jake in the kiss, or the way you and your husband are both holding both cocks so tightly just so he can fuck up and against the under side of Jake’s. 

Jesus. All three of you have a bit of a pit in your stomach, especially when you manage to slip your hand out and allow Jake to control the mess in the middle as you, now, turn from Jake’s kiss with the intention of kissing Jay now.

Finally, you’re not left out, finally, there’s two cocks out in the open, rubbing against each other with a wet, pornographic sound.

“Oh, needy.” Jay comments when you kiss him just as harshly as you did Jake, you can feel his smirk on your lips but he quickly falls into the kiss too. And that’s when Jake absolutely loses it, finding you so pretty, both of you, so, so, so pretty like that when he’s feeling so good. 

And now, a small pause. You pull back for a breath and get a good look at both of them. Their attention is no longer on each other, it’s on you. Both pairs of eyes shining at you as they continue to jerk their weeping length off against one another, and suddenly, you’re shy. 

There’s a hunger in Jay’s eye, a need in Jake’s, and only now do you lay back again, spreading your legs open wide, and using your fingers to spread your pussy out the same way. 

“Jakey–” You call out to him, wiggling your hips and presenting it to him first, “look–”

Jay shivers when he looks first, seeing how much wetter you’ve become.

“Yeah, Jakey,” He echoes your words, grabbing him by the hair again since he seems to like that and guiding his face straight to your hole, “look at it.”

Being guided isn’t something Jake allows often, but he doesn’t mind so much now with his face being nuzzled into a cunt he knows so, so well by another man. Fuck, he barely was able to catch his breath before it was knocked out of him again. He licks out immediately anyway, and makes himself comfortable, hands and knees, lapping away like a happy little pup. 

Jay studies you closely when Jake does his thing, the way you lazily watch him, the way your chest rises and falls with deep, meaningful moans that shows he knows his way around your body, and he knows how to pleasure it. So, now he averts his eyes to Jake, his body, his waist, his ass.

He’s got so much to work with between the two of you. And so, he pushes Jake’s head into you further, roughly rubbing his nose into the mess, making you moan, and hoping he’s enjoying himself because he’s sure he might pull back when he–

Jake does pull back slightly, but that arch in his back doesn’t go unnoticed either. A saliva slicked finger pushes, circling his rim before pushing in. 

“Fuck–” Your husband groans with a shiver, his cheek against your clit, resting his head briefly there as if to prepare of the welcomed intrusion.

And it goes on like that for a bit longer than you had expected. All of this is happening in a way you weren’t expecting, actually. There’s a sense of control here, but it’s gentle, almost careful with intention. Somehow, Jay’s attention stays on Jake, maybe as a form of apology, or maybe to assert his dominance now that he, at the very least, has you where he wants you. 

Your eyes glisten at your neighbor, blinking at him as he pleasures both of you. He seems to be enjoying himself, looking back at you all while using Jake as an extension of himself, and of course, finger fucking him to the point Jake can’t stop rutting back against the pleasure.

Arguably, Jay may not know what exactly to do with all of holes willing to let him fuck them. But, also, none of you are short on time.

This can happen as many times as you want, hopefully. 

“Mhm, that’s right–” Jay groans now, nearly rolling his eyes at how tightly Jake’s ass hugs his single digit. He reaches around him now rather than guiding his head, holding his waist and leaning over him, aggressively fucking his finger in, finding his prostate in a near instant just to toy with it. 

“You ever heard him cry before?” Jay now averts his eyes to you with an amused tone. 

You shake your head, a mess at how fast Jake works his tongue on you through the pleasure, your hands now finding your way into his hair to rub his nose in it even more. 

“Ever see him cum untouched?” 

Another shake of your head. 

“No?” Jay smiles, tilting his fingers up, assaulting Jake’s prostate and within seconds, you note the way your husband starts writhing between your legs.

His tongue is sloppy, he’s moaning so loudly that he can barely catch his breath, and Jay immediately pulls his fingers out before aggressively lifting Jake up and away from you by his arms, letting you see the cum spurting out of him, sending tremors and shivers from his toes to the top of his head. 

“Oh–” You groan, squeezing your legs together at the image, watching Jake grow frustrated at his ruined orgasm despite the cum still dripping out of him. 

You’ve never seen him look so ruined, and the way Jay presents him to you so proudly kind of…well, he really did it. As if on command, making your husband both cum and cry. There’s clearly some things both of you could learn from Jay. 

“Now, stop neglecting her.” Jay’s tone comes out far more demanding now, ignoring the way Jake’s cock weeps with sensitivity now, once again guiding him, except this time, when Jake holds back as if to rest for a moment, Jay’s demands are directed at you. 

“Fuck him.” 

Well, who would say no to that? 

You take it upon yourself now to push your husband back, letting his head hang off the bed as Jay helps you lay him out, and instantly you sit. Grinding your bare, soaked pussy against his half-flaccid length. 

Jake does whine through it, shooting his hands up to you and not even knowing himself if he wants more, or if he needs you to slow down, or to stop entirely. His hands are frantic, breaths are uneven, his eyes going from wide open, to rolling back, to squeezing shut. 

He looks panicked, confused, stunned.

“Stop thinking,” Jay instructs him, whispering sweetly as he pulls himself off the bed to get a good look at the blood rushing to the top of Jake’s head as it hangs there. 

Your husband is kind of thankful, happy to be a bit mindless in this moment because suddenly, it does feel good, feeling someone so familiar sinking down on him all in one go. So wet, so warm, so his. It doesn’t seem so bad to let someone else think for him right now either.

He tries to lift his head to see you still, but he starts seeing lights, going a bit dizzy as you gently ride yourself on him. 

You are trying to adjust as he grows harder inside of you, stretching you open and giving you the fulfillment you’ve been needing since all of this started. You moan, trying to be compassionate about this, especially knowing he’s about to be toyed with even further, by both of you.

Jay nods at you with a smile, as if encouraging you to go faster, to take what you need from him. 

Then his eyes flick between both of you, cock in hand, he stands up slightly, aligning it perfectly with Jake’s lips. Poor guy is so dizzy he probably doesn’t even notice yet, but Jay communicates with you. That same cocky smirk, a raised right eyebrow, and a tilt of his head. 

He’s asking you for permission…to put it in?

“Yes, yes, yes.” You moan as you bounce and frantically nod your head, trying to regain breath at the sheer idea of it. “Baby,” You groan now, unsure if Jake can even hear you at this point. “Open your mouth.”

You can’t see his face, and god how you wish you could because of Jay’s reaction in particular. The way he taps his cock, pushing forward, probably sliding into his mouth now. It’s the way he holds both sides of Jake’s head when he does it, the way his eyes are laser focused, his abs flexing in silent pleasure, his slow release of a very faint moan.

Man, fuck, you’ve always wanted to see your husband suck someone off, but he never has. He’s only ever allowed it to happen to him, only ever made someone else suck him off.

“Oh, good boy,” Jay moans now at the feeling of Jake’s tongue frantically lapping, despite how crowded his mouth is becoming. And he throws his head back at the pleasure, now going to hold the bottom of Jake’s chin, tilting his head back further to angle the position, thrusting straight down his throat. “So, so good–”

Jay notes how he needs to just, like, shut the fuck up now. Even he, at this point, is losing it. This wasn’t something he actually thought Jake would let happen, yet…look at him. Fuck, look at you. Drinking up the image, eyes so dark and crazed that he’s using your husband like this–

That you’re both using Jake like this.

You’re bouncing, riding, chasing, staring off at him as if you’re some sort of feral animal happy to take what you can get Then, Jake, choking and gagging around him as he moans in pleasure at the same time, spit bubbling out at the sides of his mouth, dripping down and into his hair and he probably loses the ability to think at all if his hands are anything to go by.

Scratching at his own body, gripping the sheets, reaching out for something, for anyone to hold him through it.

All that blood split between his head and his cock…it’s so obvious, and you’re still chasing, getting enough but at the same time, knowing you can have more.

Something snaps in Jay as he watches you. He’s lot the plot a bit, taking a liking to Jake, seeing how far he can push the boundary just because he can, almost forgetting how fucking badly he’s wanted you. 

You. 

He hasn’t even fucked you yet, he seriously let Jake do it first? 

“Jesus,”  Jay groans out of frustration now, fucking into Jake’s throat one last time and holding it there as he stares forward at you. He ignores the choking sounds, the desperate searches for breath only because it feels, so, so fucking good.

 “Alright, alright.”

You’re a bit confused at the way Jay talks more to himself than at you or your husband, but you hear a sputter when he pulls back, walking to stand at the side of the bed and leaving Jake to deal with the aftermath of whatever lashing his throat just took in stride.

You pause your bouncing, watching him curiously.

“Scoot back a bit,” Jay says now, helping you scoot back, helping Jake get his head back on the bed so he can regain whatever humanity he has left in it. 

And then, Jay is positioning himself behind you, allowing you to essentially plant yourself back onto your husband before he’s forcing his own cock in alongside him. Without warning, without helping you stretch out more. 

You fall forward with a yelp, now just as breathless as Jake is when you hug against him tightly, burying your nose in his neck, feeling his heartbeat right against your lips there. 

“Jake,” You whisper as you desperately search for comfort, feeling Jay stretch you out. “Oh, fuck–”

Jake nods his head slightly, now willing to take whatever this guy is going to give to the two of you. After all, he’s taken the brunt of Jay’s attack by now, he’s sure you’ll love it as much as he does. So, he wraps his arms around you in a comforting way, essentially trapping you in place, whispering a short, breathless hum of, “feels so good baby, when you squeeze around us like that–”

That ignites you as you nuzzle further into your husband’s neck, unable to stop squeezing around them. It fucking hurts, it hurts so badly, but–

Fuck. Jake wants it. Jay wants it. 

You want it.

Jay watches the mess in front of him, the way you both writhe and cling as he makes room for himself, fucking roughly forward, sliding with intentional pushes to stretch you open just enough to fit all of him alongside Jake.

Seeing your cunt try and handle it, the way you grip, stretch, and instinctively try to push him out? It’s too much for you, but just right for all three of you, he thinks, as he makes eye contact with Jake and gets a drowsy nod. 

He watches the way Jake holds you tighter, forcing an arch too. Ugh, what a good man he is. 

“Yeah.” He moans, now picking up a rhythm as you both start moaning in near unison, “Hold her just like that for me.” 

And, well, you wanted to be fucked by them both but preferably not like this. At first anyway. You shock yourself when you call out, moaning so loudly it leaves a ringing in your ear. There’s rubbing up against something so sensitive inside of you, both cocks pulsing, stretching you beyond belief, and you…like it?

It feels good now. Too good.

Your moans come out as cries as Jay continues, and both men seem to be falling in love with the sound of it. So much so that, even Jake now ruts his hips up with a cheeky smile, encouraged by Jay’s praise to keep going, all so he can feel you squeeze, and squeeze, and try to push them out. 

And goddamn, does it feel good to have a cock rubbing against him in such a tight, wet little hole. Even Jay now starts whining with you.

Moaning, a mess, all fucking three of you. Finally, Jay has broken out of character, fucking forward fast, hard, near thoughless. It renders Jake unusable as he tenses up under you, holding you through it, babbling out filthy words of how full you must feel now that his cum is spilling out. 

“Feel that, baby?” He whines so quietly, and you do feel it. Arguably, so does Jay.  

You’re barely able to breathe through it, suddenly feeling fingers in your hair that pull you back. You can feel Jay’s chest breathing rigidly on your back, and now you both stare down at Jake.

He looks so lost in it, and yet still, Jay demands. 

Well, he pleads.

“Keep going,” Jay directs at Jake, well aware of his orgasm, slowing his hips to keep himself from cumming too,  and groping both of your tits to hold you in place. “Fuck up, faster, let me feel it.” He continues, now landing a sloppy, drooling bite against your shoulder. 

And you watch your husband, something igniting yet again in his eyes as he does just that, grabbing your hips and letting his hips rut up, freely. 

“Fuck yes,” Jay moans for him before biting against your neck now. “You gonna cum too?”

Okay, yeah, maybe Jay is trying to rush it now. He wants to be the last one to release, and if you don’t get there soon, he’s going to fucking embarrass himself. Thankfully, you nod frantically like a good little wife, dropping a hand down and simply pressing your clit before your legs start shaking. 

Both men feel it, the way you tense up, and they both put all of their energy into it. 

You hold your breath through the orgasm, never having felt so full like this. It just keeps coming, and coming until–oh. 

“Ahh–” Jake looks at you in surprise, lip now pulled between his teeth as he throws his head back again, dizzy, so fucking sensitive. His wife just fucking squirted. 

For the first time, you did it. After years and years of both of you trying to figure it out.

Jay doesn’t even know what to think about it, feeling you cum around him as Jake’s cock struggles to keep up through the pain, all around him and against him, the splash of wet pushing out against him, dripping down onto Jake. 

It’s so messy, so fucking dirty.

Holy fuck. He can’t, he can’t keep holding back.

You’re so sensitive when you fight through it, Jake even moreso, and Jay loves it as his hips demand an abusive pace. Pushing in, out, so deeply, so fucking hard inside of you, mixing around the mess of cum before–

The bruising grip on your hip tells you more than the twitching inside of you, and Jake practically starts crying in pain at the rawness of it all. Jay, shaking, releasing all of it with tight, jerking thrusts before finally, he slumps over you. Sandwiching you between both himself and your loving, exhausted, absolutely docile husband. 

Out of breath, out of fucking mind really, you don’t even move. 

You don’t clean up, hell, you don’t even open your eyes after that as you catch your breath between the tight mess of bodies.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

After that day, things kind of…changed. 

Jake is more needy. He’s still dominant for you when you need it, but it’s kind of a welcome change from time to time. Having him act all sweet and sloppy, as if he can no longer control it when the time is right and you’re looking particularly mean. 

Threesomes don’t take place quite as often these days though. With other people, anyway. As to be expected considering no one has ever actually participated quite like he did.

Jay has also become a bit more gentle too. Still openly getting his eyes on you every chance he gets, but Jake doesn’t mind near as much simply because he knows Jay checks him out too. The sexual tension is always felt between houses, and always satiated in one room or another. 

Once even on the back porch in the dead of the night, but still.

The time spent with Jay now is a lot less…um, erratic. Jay learns the two of you the same way you both learn him, and there have even been a few times since where Jake was the one toying with you both. 

Even a time where you were the one in control. 

It’s comfortable, fun, equal. To the point neither of you really look for a third anymore, after all, you’ve got the perfect match just across the yard, right?

Jay: hey jakey boy, come over, bring our wife

Jake waves his phone in front of your face. It’s been weeks since the last time the three of you played. In fact, Jay has been kind of flaky about it lately, responding too late to texts, or simply declining. 

Nevermind the fact that Jay always claims you as his wife too when things get, well, sexual. It’s not like he doesn’t do the same shit to Jake, calling him his husband, chuckling, being soft about it. It’s the fact that it had been weeks, both you and your husband were starting to feel a bit heartbroken about it, actually. 

And when two of you do go over, expecting lots of sex and even more questions about why Jay is being so weird lately, they’re hit with romance?  With dinner on the stove and candles on the fucking table? 

Jay wants in. 

Commitment.

Permanence. 

[cinnamon-won]

proving a point (and kind of failing) – p.sh

. . ? sunghoon gets handcuffed (hell yeah) – smut / minors dni ; 828 words

cw handcuffs , afab reader , handjob , orgasm denial , unprotected sex , a lil bit of dumbification

🗯️ yk the drill , this isnt proof read – it wasn't even supposed to be this long but my pretentious ass got poetic n ended up writing more than expected .. n then i got bored n sleepy so it became kind of ass idk honestly .. not proud of this one but i'll live i need to allow myself to be a mediocre writer bc at the end of the day its not that deep

handcuffing sunghoon to the bed's headrest , restraining him n saying for once you are going to be in charge ,, when really , you both know sunghoon is merely granting you the illusion of power , for his own amusement , his eyes following your every action waiting for the moment you'll cave in n admit defeat , letting him take control again .

it's all a game to sunghoon , n maybe to you too – but it's also a matter of proving yourself .

you straddle sunghoon's hips , stubbornly ignoring his sweet , sweet voice as he plays his part , pleading for you to hurry up and touch him already in a whiny tone that feels almost mocking.

'shut up,' you retort as you drag sunghoon's boxers down his legs , leaving them around his knees without much care . sunghoon is right, in a way : you do have to hurry up , not dwell for too long on the details, take what you want without giving it more than half a thought to not let your resolve crumble and let him take control again .

sunghoon bites back a whine as your fingers wrap around his dick. for a second – it feels like an eternity to him – you just stay there , running your fingertips along the circumference of his cock, tracing its details as if you need to map it out, as if your body, your insides haven't already memorized its every single millimeter , to exhaustion.

'i told you to hurry,' sunghoon lifts his hips, searching for more friction that you don't grant him as you retract your hand with a smirk.

'and i,' you actually wrap your hand around sunghoon's cock now, giving it the smallest squeeze before pumping it once. 'told you to shut up.'

you don't know how your voice doesn't shake , how you manage to meet sunghoon's eyes as you start to slowly , painfully drag your hand up and down his length , to hold his gaze when you pick up the pace and he finally – or at least , for a moment – gives in , tilting his head back and letting you take your time with him .

it's not long before sunghoon feels the incipit of an orgasm building up in him . in his defense , he's been rock hard ever since he got in this predicament, if not before you even told him you wanted to take charge for the night . sunghoon just thinks you're the hottest person to ever walk earth, and anything you do could get him bricked up without you even trying to.

just as sunghoon is about to voice just how close he is , your touch disappears again , a satisfied smile creeping on your face when you hear him groan in disappointment.

'you just have to be a little patient,' you reassure him , your nails lightly scraping the inside of his thighs.

you lift your hips slightly and push your panties to the side , you grind down on sunghoon's cock and let your wetness coat it , your legs shaking when his tip bumps into your clit before you finally align it to your entrance and let yourself sink down on him slowly .

so agonizingly slow sunghoon genuinely feels like he's about to go insane . he uselessly pulls at his restraints , the urge to hold you , grab your hips and pull you down onto his cock all at once almost unbearable as he feels you take him centimeter by centimeter , clenching around him .

you hold back your own moans , trying so hard to mantain the dominant role you've taken up , despite how feeling so full , so close to sunghoon is enough to reduce your brain to mush .

'sunghoon' you call out , bracing yourself on his toned stomach so you can lift yourself up just to immediately slam down – it's too fast , and slightly painful , but you need it , immediately missing the fullness when you raise your hips .

'what is it, baby?' there it is . that tone , the condescension that had been barely shining thigh his words earlier , now clear as day even in your fogged up brain .

your frown, grinding your hips as you try to form a coherent thought. 'it's...' you don't manage to finish the sentence, half trailing off , half interrupted by sunghoon bucking his hips up to distract you . this motherfucker .

sunghoon is now shooting you a smug smile , a raised eyebrow as if he's challenging you . he looks back at the handcuffs for a moment. 'whenever you want, baby.' he reminds you , voice softer .

you decide that fuck it , you can't take it anymore. fuck being in charge, fuck your pride and fuck sunghoon – literally and figuratively.

it's not long before you have freed sunghoon from his restraints , leaving sweet , delicate kisses on the marks that have formed on his wrists before his hands find your hips , moving them for you as he holds you close to his chest , his mouth busy licking and kissing along your neck to muffle his moans as he finally gets to fuck you properly.

[cinnamon-won]

29

Last week of exams and then the first thing I’m going to do is change my pfp theme. Lowkey getting bored of the cute pink, might go for blue ocean vibes next.

Also going to get through the asks piled up in my inbox - didn’t realise I had so many ✋

There’s a couple requests in there too so at least I have something to do after exams

(If anyone else wants to send any requests please send them now, I’ll be closing requests after exams so I can slowly work through them all)

[cinnamon-won]

28

GUESS WHO GOT TICKETS TO SEE ENHYPEN IN LONDON 🤭

[cinnamon-won]

you broke me first - l.hs

pairing: virgin!lee heeseung x experienced fem!reader

synopsis: you and heeseung are the school’s golden pair — popular, admired, and constantly shipped. the only problem? you can’t stand him. from competing on exams to gym class, you’re always neck and neck, and no one gets under your skin like he does. but while you see a rival, he sees the love of his life. when you overhear a hushed conversation that breaks you, will heeseung be able to win you back?

featuring: all of enha, winter from aespa, yuqi from (g)i-dle, and keeho from p1h

genre: angst... slow burn, some fluff, kissing, skinship, SMUTTTT, college au, first love trope?? sorta? one sided enemies to lovers

warnings: smut so mdni (18+), alcohol consumption, vandalizing property, Sexual Tension, everyone is around the same age (21-23), lowercase intended <3

playlist: you broke me first by tate mcrae & what was i made for — billie eilish

(smut warnings under cut!)

wc: 13.271k

a/n: first fic is here! plsplspls leave feedback as anything helps!! was listening to you broke me first and got inspo for a kinda angsty fic pls bare with me :3 anyways! enjoy the read <3<3

smut content: mention of toys (but no use), fingering, squirting, unprotected sex (not for you), dry humping, switch! hee and reader, riding, mating press, too much kissing, masturbation (m.), breeding kink, slight dacryphilia, oral (m. & f.), deepthroating, belly bulge, creampie, size kinkish, big dick! hee, not much aftercare but it's like fluffy, y/n has a “reputation” that she gets around, VIRGIN HEESEUNG (but no one knows…) i think thats it? lmk if i missed anything ◡̈

not proofread!

lee. fucking. heeseung. you hate him. you can't stand him. he always knows what to say just to piss you off. you might be wondering, "why don't you just try to avoid him?" the issue is... you do. you try with ALL your power but to no avail, he's in the same friend group as you.

your friends, knowing you hate him, decided to combine friend groups to see if you and him could mend things. spoiler alert: it failed miserably.

you felt safe in your small circle with keeho (the man you deemed to be your biological older brother — you aren't related), yuqi (your junior high best friend), and winter (your literal wife).

you guys were well known around the entire city of seoul for being the "it group" — always partying, hooking up, and somehow still acing every class (while nursing massive hangovers).

however, heeseung's friend group consisted of the golden boys in decelis university: park jongseong (known as jay, he hates his given name), sim jaeyun (known as the australian transfer student, jake), park sunghoon (the insanely hot figure skater), kim sunoo (the bubbliest person you've ever met), yang jungwon (the boy with feline features, however you've made a special note to never piss him off cause he has a black belt), and nishimura riki (known as ni-ki because he wanted to be different).

you loved riki. he was like your younger brother — chaotic, blunt, and always three steps ahead of everyone. you’d even joked once that if you had to suffer heeseung’s presence, at least you got riki out of it.

unfortunately, riki had the worst habit of instigating chaos.

“truth or dare?” he asked one friday night, grinning like he already had your life planned out. everyone was crammed into jay’s ridiculously large basement, music low, snacks half eaten, and bodies sprawled on beanbags and plush carpet.

you should’ve said “truth.” you knew you should’ve. but you weren’t a coward.

“dare,” you answered, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

the group erupted in ooooh's in perfect synchronicity.

riki’s grin only widened. “i dare you to sit on heeseung’s lap for five minutes.”

you almost lunged across the room.

“riki,” you hissed, “you are so dead.”

he just wiggled his brows suggestively. “i’m a baby. you wouldn’t hurt me.”

the worst part? he was right.

you looked over at heeseung, who was watching you like a cat watching a cornered mouse — lazy smirk, fingers casually drumming against his knee. “scared, sweetheart?”

“i’ll kill you in your sleep,” you said sweetly as you stalked over and dropped yourself into his lap like he was made of cardboard and air.

he oofed, not because you were heavy, but because he wasn’t expecting you to actually do it.

“wow,” he murmured, lips near your ear. “you smell like citrus and bad decisions.”

you resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

five minutes. you just had to survive five minutes.

but then his hands casually settled on your waist, and you felt it — the spark. the electric, traitorous, goddamn spark that told you this was a very, very bad idea.

because maybe, just maybe, your hatred wasn’t as pure as you thought- no. what are you thinking??? you immediately shook the feeling that was buzzing inside you and blamed it on the alcohol swimming in your blood.

you definitely. hated heeseung. yup, yeah, you really did.

heeseung on the other hand? he was just praying to every god he could think of that you couldn't feel how sweaty his palms were getting.

because he was panicking. full blown, internal screaming, oh-no-she’s-sitting-on-me-and-she’s-warm kind of panicking. he hadn't expected you to actually follow through on your usual threats, much less practically straddle him in front of your mutual friends.

but now? now he was just trying to not pass out from the sheer force of your perfume and presence and the weight of years of unresolved tension that sat heavier than you ever could.

"you're sweating," you said flatly, side eyeing him with that expression that usually meant murder or mockery — or both. "you good?"

"totally," he croaked. "i always nearly die when beautiful people threaten me. it's, like, my thing."

you blinked once. twice.

"did you just call me beautiful?"

"i said what i said," he muttered, then immediately regretted everything.

your brows lifted in slow, dangerous amusement. "you feeling okay, heeseung? you hitting on me while i’m threatening you?”

“wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, almost too quiet for you to hear.

and there it was again. the spark. like a lighter flicked too close to your frayed nerves.

you looked away, choosing to focus on literally anything else, but his grip on your waist tightened just slightly, grounding you, almost daring you to acknowledge it.

“how much longer do i have to sit on this assholes lap?” you questioned under your breath, reminding yourself, reminding him, that this was temporary.

"4 minutes!" jake sang back as his accented voice rang in your ears. fuck, it's only been one minute? you thought to yourself... until he spoke.

“i could ruin us in three,” he whispered, warm breath tickling your ear. he was so close you could practically feel his labored breathing against your back. you craned your neck to the side so you could look him in the eyes, "what did you just say???" heeseung was at a loss for words — his brain only drawing blanks.

did he say what he thought he said in his head out loud? impossible. he's hidden it so well, no one in your guys' shared friend group had even suspected his overbearing attraction towards you.

so heeseung did the only thing he could think of. he gulped.

just as your gaze dropped to his adams apple, sunghoon cleared his throat, reducing the fiery tension between you two to reduce to a simmer. "time's up" he stated. and just like that, the warmth you once shared was gone.

as the game progressed, the most interesting things to occur were jake kissing sunghoon on the cheek, riki vandalizing an old alley way that never saw the sun, and winter lady-and-the-tramping a twizzler with keeho.

you and heeseung never dared to even spare a glance in each other's direction for the rest of the night.

───

you laid awake, staring at the ceiling in jay's basement while trying to get comfy on the leather couch that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. you couldn't sleep. and the reason? none other than your self-proclaimed arch nemesis: lee heeseung.

your friend groups slept on different floors to prevent you and heeseung arguing and waking up the entire house. you slowly got up, attempting and (barely) succeeding to not step on a sleeping figure sprawled on the floor.

as you walk up the stairs from the basement, you hear two people whisper shouting at each other.

you glance at the time displayed on your phone.

a measly 3:16 am stared brightly at you. who's awake at this hour?? as you step closer to the hushed voices, you think you can make out the unmistakeable deepness of riki's voice and heeseung's annoying(ly hot) whispers, tinged with sleep.

"why the fuck would you dare HER of all people to sit on MY lap????" heeseung shouts quietly, clearly frustrated. riki bursts into a fit of giggles. "dude, don't tell me you feel something for her, don't you guys like hate each other?" he says between snide little chuckles.

heeseung freezes. there's no way riki really caught on to what he was supposed to never let slip through the cracks... right?! so he musters up all the dignity he has left and defensively grunts a series of defenses "nowhywouldieverseeherlikethatsheisn'tmytypeandithinkshe'sgross"

riki blankly stares back at heeseung's panicking eyes, "okayyy," he drags the word out, "you don't need to put her down like that, she's like my older sister, dude" riki spits back.

your lips twitch in a small smile, just for a second. just long enough for riki to catch your eyes peeking behind the corner. he nods once, subtle and solid. always in your corner.

but the comfort dies as soon as heeseung opens his mouth.

"i could never love someone like her."

and the world stops.

he says it so casually. almost like it’s a joke. like it's just another throwaway comment tossed between drinks and half-meant insults. but it lands with the weight of something cruelly true — or at least, something you believe he means.

you feel the breath hitch in your throat. just once.

riki's gaze is drawn to your frozen frame. and that's when everything freezes. heeseung whips around to see you standing there. eyes blown and glossy.

riki shifts, but he doesn’t move to try and console you — he knows better. knows this is something that'll bruise. something you need time to process, alone.

you bite back tears. “right,” you say, quietly. “of course.”

heeseung’s expression flickers — confusion, regret, something else — but you’ve already masked the pain. emotion draining from your face like you’ve trained for it. like it’s a sport. like if you stop moving, the hurt will catch up.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he says, a little too late, a little too soft.

you readjust your posture, fixing your shirt.

“you meant it exactly like that,” you reply, and it’s not even bitter. it’s worse. numb.

riki’s there before heeseung can say anything else. standing between you like a wall. like a shield.

“walk away,” he tells you gently, and you do.

because if you stay, you might ask him why not. and you’re not sure your heart could take the answer.

riki turns back to heeseung, flames he's never seen before burning in the younger boys irises that are normally filled with mischief and teasing glints. but all of a sudden none of that is there anymore. it's pure, unfiltered anger. raw emotion.

heeseung wants him to yell at him. say something, anything. but nothing comes. riki just walks upstairs like he doesn't even know who heeseung is anymore.

and maybe he doesn't.

───

the next morning, when heeseung wakes up, it's almost peaceful. until rain begins to tip tap on the roof and everything comes crashing down. his chest is tight and immediately swells with regret. so much he thinks it'll spill out of him just like the rain outside.

he needs to talk to you. make sure you're okay. but he knows he's the last person you want to see right now. still, he has to try

as he descends down the stairs, he doesn't smell the usual feast jay would prepare them: eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice and cereal for jake since he claims, "it doesn't hurt his tummy," (his words).

he actually doesn't see jake. nor sunghoon, sunoo, jungwon, jay, winter, yuqi, or keeho.

after last nights events, he expected not to see riki as he was probably with you.

how did he go from having the girl of his dreams sitting on his lap, to making her hate him even more?

it's simple, really: he fucked up.

he moves through the house like a ghost — rooms too quiet, air too still. no laughter, no music playing off someone’s phone. just him and the rain.

the basement still has the blanket you’d curled up with last night. your mug — half full. he picks it up, and it’s cold. like him.

he tries to call riki. no answer.

he tries to call you.

it goes straight to voicemail.

he types out a text. deletes it. tries again.

“i didn’t mean what i said. i didn’t mean to hurt you. i'm sorry, y/n”

he stares at it. sends it.

and immediately regrets it. because what if you never answer?

as he packs up all his belongings, ready for the uncomfortable drive home, someone enters the house.

heeseung's heart rate picks up. what if it's you? he bolts down the stairs and is ultimately disappointed when he's met with a very disapproving jay.

they stand across from one another, staring into each others eyes.

heeseung's the first to break. he collapses on the bar stool at the counter and drops his head into his hands like it weighs a ton.

jay just sighs and sits down next to his friend.

"is she okay?" heeseung mumbles, his face buried in his hands.

jay’s jaw tightens. "why do you care?" he snaps. "you sure as hell didn’t last night when you said you could never love someone like her."

the words hit hard — harder than jay intended — and heeseung shatters.

the sobs break out of him like a dam giving way, loud and raw. tears stream down his face, and the sound of it makes jay flinch, caught off guard by how real the pain is. how broken heeseung suddenly looks.

still, jay moves without thinking, reaching out and rubbing slow circles on his friend’s back. it doesn’t fix anything, but it softens the edges of the moment.

they sit there in silence, the storm outside echoing the one inside, as heeseung cries himself hoarse.

by the time he’s able to breathe steadily again, nearly an hour has passed. his eyes are red, his voice barely there. he lifts his head and meets jay’s gaze; tired looking into just as tired.

neither of them says much. there’s no need.

finally, jay sighs and stands. “go grab your stuff,” he says quietly. “you’re in no shape to drive. i’ll take you home.”

heeseung doesn’t argue.

because for once, he knows jay’s right.

───

your phone dings.

dni: i didn't mean what i said. i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm sorry, y/n

you stare at your phone. gaze void of emotion. you've cried out everything you could muster.

you don't even know why heeseung's words echo in your head.

were you really that intolerable to be around? surely you weren't. all of heeseung's friends enjoyed hanging out with you and same with your little group.

so why did hearing your supposed enemy say he could never love someone like you hurt so bad?

you suppose you need to distract yourself from thinking that heeseung's words have any sort of impact on you. and that's when your door swings open. riki, yuqi, winter, keeho, sunghoon, jake, sunoo, and jungwon walk into your apartment with food, video games, board games, coloring books, skincare — everything you needed at the moment.

a break.

a break from your spiraling thoughts and endless questions you didn't want answered.

there's a knock at the door, jay comes in after he dropped heeseung off, with a freshly made cake, red velvet. your favorite.

you don’t move at first.

the warmth of your friends floods the apartment — laughter, chatter, the familiar rustle of takeout bags and the buzz of game controllers syncing. but it feels distant, like you’re underwater, watching from behind a thick pane of glass.

yuqi wraps her arms around you from behind, cheek resting on your shoulder. “we got your favorite pork buns,” she says softly.

you nod. you don’t trust your voice.

riki’s the one who notices your phone still clutched in your hand. screen glowing. that message. his message.

he doesn’t say anything, but he takes the phone from you gently, pressing the lock button, letting the screen fade to black. and you’re grateful. because if you kept staring at it, you might’ve started crying again, and you didn’t think you had anything left in you.

“movie?” sunghoon offers, holding up a stack of dvd's none of you ever returned to the library.

“coloring?” sunoo chirps, already spreading out gel pens across your coffee table.

“face masks?” winter insists, already tearing them open.

you let them distract you. you let them love you in the only way they know how — loudly, messily, unconditionally.

there’s a moment, in the middle of the chaos, when keeho makes a stupid joke and jungwon snorts soda out of his nose, that you laugh. actually laugh.

and then it hits you like whiplash — how easily heeseung could’ve been here. how almost close you came to letting yourself believe there was something soft behind his smirks and eye rolls. how you’d dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, the tension between you wasn’t just one-sided delusion.

but then he said it. “i could never love someone like her.”

and even with the people you love surrounding you, something in your chest hurts. like a bruise that won’t stop blooming.

later, after everyone’s settled into pillows and half-finished coloring pages, riki sits beside you. he doesn’t speak for a long time.

then, quietly, “you don’t have to pretend around me.”

and that’s when your lip trembles. just slightly.

“i don’t know why it hurts this much,” you whisper. “i knew he hated me. i knew. so why do i feel so broken?"

“he didn’t have to say it like that,” riki replies, voice firm. “he didn’t have to break something just because he couldn’t admit he wanted to hold it.”

you nod, finally letting a single tear trail down your cheek. riki wipes it away before it can fall too far.

he squeezes your hand.

“he messed up,” he says. “that’s on him. not you.”

you hold onto that — his words, their presence, the comfort of being chosen and cared for.

and for the first time since last night, you breathe. not easily. not painlessly. but it’s a start.

───

heeseung didn't know how hard it would be to try and get any information about you.

how you were doing, if you were okay. anything

your mutual friends? after hearing how massive he fucked up, they sided with you.

sure, jay, jake, sunghoon, sunoo, and jungwon would text him and hang out with him occasionally, but they wouldn't utter a word about you. most of the time heeseung saw them, it would be for awkward movie nights or when they would game together when none of them could sleep.

when he was alone, his mind ached, his chest twisted in pain, but mostly... his body ached.

he tried to stop it, he knew it was wrong.

but when you sat on his lap, something in him shifted.

sure he knew you were pretty (breathtakingly stunning), but he never imagined something he thought about constantly would ever become reality.

he thought back to those 5 minutes. the tension. surely it couldn't have just been made up in his head, right?

the way your entire body tensed when his hands rested on your hips. normally he wouldn't have touched you, but you were shifting and he needed to stop his growing problem before you noticed.

and thankfully it worked.

however, he was already hard as a brick.

his breath hitched as he remembered the look in your eyes — uncertain, but not scared. curious, maybe? or was he projecting again?

he swallowed hard, his hands now clenched at his sides like if he let them loose, they’d betray him again.

five minutes. that’s all it was. but it looped in his head like a damn broken record.

you hadn’t said a word. but your thighs had tensed. and when he shifted, trying to regain his composure, you hadn't moved away — not immediately, anyway.

maybe it meant nothing. maybe you hadn’t even noticed the way his breath had gone shallow or the way he was holding back like his life depended on it.

but god, his body remembered.

he shifted in his bed now, alone, frustrated, angry at himself. this wasn’t who he was supposed to be. he wasn’t supposed to want this — to want you — not like this. not in silence, not in secrecy, not in pain.

but the damage was already done.

and the worst part?

he wasn’t sure he even wanted to stop anymore.

as he stared at his chase atlantic posters, he thought to himself. any guy would get hard when a pretty girl sits on his lap, right? surely it isn't just because he's a pathetic virgin who's had to lie to his entire friend group about how he "gets around."

soon enough, his thoughts were interrupted by the rapidly increasing ache between his legs.

his hands trembled slightly as they hovered over the tent in his shorts. his breathing was shallow, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as if he were caught in some fever dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

he hated how much he needed this.

how much he needed you.

with a low, strangled groan, he finally gave in, palming himself over the thin fabric. the relief was immediate, but it wasn’t enough — it never was. not when the ache ran deeper than just skin. not when every nerve in his body was screaming for more.

he slipped his hand beneath his waistband, hissing through clenched teeth as his fingers wrapped around his thick length, already twitching with need. he was so hard it hurt, painfully stiff and dripping at the tip, slicking his palm almost instantly.

your name burned on his tongue, but he swallowed it back.

he couldn’t say it. shouldn’t say it.

but in his head, it echoed over and over again. your laugh. your voice. the way you looked at him — or didn’t. the way you moved. god, he remembered everything. he was haunted by it.

he shut his eyes tight and let his hand move — slow at first, starting at his base and dragging his fingers up each vein decorating the sides. his patience wore out quicker than he'd ever admit, starting to move up his length, then down with just enough pressure to make his thighs twitch. he bit his lip, hard, trying to hold in the sounds. but as the memory of you shifting in his lap played behind his eyelids like a cruel fantasy, a soft whimper escaped.

he was losing it.

desperation clawed at him with every stroke, every flex of his hand. his hips lifted off the mattress as his muscles tensed. he imagined your fingers replacing his, your body hovering over his, your breath against his neck.

“please,” he gasped into the dark — not even sure what he was begging for. forgiveness? permission? you?

he pumped harder now, faster, chasing that high like it would save him. his other hand gripped the sheets, knuckles white. he was right on the edge, falling apart with nothing but the echo of your presence and the throb of need coiled deep in his belly.

“i need — fuck, i need you,” he moaned, broken and breathless. his body was hot, slick with sweat, twitching under his own touch.

he could feel it. the band threatening to snap at any moment.

he swirled his fingers around his tip, hitting that spot that made his vision go white. he was close.

all it took to unravel him was an image of you, mouth replacing his hand. trying to fit as much of him into your mouth while he just laid there and took it.

eventually the thought was too much, his seed spilled over his stomach in thick, messy ropes, his fist slowing only when the aftershocks wracked his frame like a wave of guilt and pleasure colliding all at once.

he laid there for a moment, chest heaving, skin flushed and sticky.

and then it hit him.

he still wasn’t satisfied.

because it wasn’t your touch. it wasn’t your voice, your kiss, your heat. it was just his hand and a fantasy he couldn't let go of.

and no matter how many times he did this, no matter how many times he used the memory of you…

it was never going to be enough.

───

you’ve held it together for as long as you could — smiled through movie nights, laughed at keeho’s stupid impressions, even ate something other than ramen yesterday. but it’s all surface level. the moment you're alone again, the cracks split wide open.

there you are, sitting on your couch, drowning in your thoughts. 

the faint glow of the streetlamp filters through the windows, further highlighting the text message staring back at you

“i didn’t mean it.” 

it replays in your head over and over like a broken record until your vision starts to blur. tears flood your waterline but you make no effort to stop them. 

you don’t sob. you just sit there, hurting so quietly it’s almost peaceful.

until it isn’t. 

your lip trembles slightly, then it all comes pouring out. 

“why? why did you say that? what the fuck. did i do to deserve those words?” 

riki hears your quiet words from the bathroom. he comes rushing out, empathy and sadness twirling in his eyes. 

“hey, hey, hey, talk to me y/n. yell at me if you need to, yeah?” he says. voice barely above a whisper. all you can choke out is a tiny “no, none of this is your fault.” 

riki sits next to you, holding you, trying to piece you back together as if he were the one who broke you.

disrupting the mellow silence lingering in your apartment, there’s a knock at the door.

not wanting the worst case scenario, you answering the door to heeseung, riki gets up and makes his way to where the sound came from. 

to both of your dismay, a tired heeseung stands in the doorway. 

his hair is messy, dark bags under his usually teasing eyes, looking like he hasn’t slept in days.

he freezes when he sees you. your puffy eyes, shaking hands, the way you curl in on yourself like you’re trying to disappear. 

riki steps in front of you, but you give him the signal to back down. you and heeseung can handle this alone. what’s another argument anyways? 

as riki walks away, heeseung starts slowly “yn…” 

you look at him. and no matter how hard you could have tried, nothing could have stopped you from snapping at him.

“why are you here?”  “i had to see you. i had to say–”  “you already said enough, heeseung.” 

god. the way you say his name. all he’s thought about since you last saw each other was you saying his name. and now, he doesn’t wanna hear it ever again. 

he opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. 

“do you know what it felt like to hear you say i wasn’t lovable? that someone like me could never be enough for you?” 

as if you could read his mind, you shake your head, dismissing whatever he was about to spit out. 

with every last ounce of energy you can gather, you scream. “you don’t get to feel sorry now. you made your choice the other night. i knew we had a mutual hatred, or at least some twisted distaste, but i never even thought about saying something like that to you.”

he doesn’t respond right away. just stands there, frozen. then you hear it. soft sniffles. ragged breathing. sobs.

he breaks.

because this is the first time he gets it. really, truly understands what he did. what he said. what it cost you.

“i’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice cracked and barely audible. “truly. what i said last week… i didn’t mean it. even thinking it broke me.”

you stare at him for a long, quiet second. and then you say it — flat, but shaking.

“you broke me first, heeseung.”

his breath catches. your words land like a punch to the gut, because they’re the truth. maybe the first truth spoken between you in a long time.

heeseung, who’s always so calm. so composed. the one who rolls his eyes at everything and makes everything feel like a joke. he’s crumbling in front of you now. not fighting. not defending. just falling apart.

and then it hits you. maybe he’s always been like this.

watching you. listening. never the first to strike, only ever the one to react. maybe he was never the villain in this story.

your breath hitches. maybe, just maybe, you were wrong.

you don’t know why the realization crashes down now. maybe it’s the sound of his sobs. maybe it’s the way the silence has more weight than anything he’s ever said. but something inside you shifts.

and for the first time, you see him — not as the enemy. but as the boy who let you hate him, because he didn’t know how to ask for anything else.

you replay every argument like a tape stuck on rewind. you were always the one who started it.

the snide comments. the sideways glances. the venom you dressed up as jokes.

heeseung never really fought back. he always matched your energy, sure, but he never escalated it. never crossed a line. not until that night.

your chest tightens. you realize you don’t even remember what the first fight was about. some hallway bump? a misunderstood glance? maybe it was never about anything. maybe it was just you, projecting every piece of your brokenness onto the only person who saw through it and stayed.

god, had he always stayed?

you remember in elementary school, how he used to bring you extra snacks when you forgot lunch. how he gave you his hoodie that one time you were shivering during morning assembly, even after you’d spent the entire week roasting him in front of your friends.

you remember the way his gaze always lingered—not in a way that felt invasive, but like he was always checking. watching over you without saying a word.

and now here he is. slumped into his knees. back pressed against the wall, crying over you.

you were so busy building walls with your bitterness that you didn’t notice it was slowly breaking him. 

the quiet way he tried to reach over them.

you sink to the floor across from him, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the weight of everything between you.

for a long moment, you don’t speak. neither does he. you just breathe in the silence together — like it’s the only language you both understand.

“i didn’t know how to stop hating you,” you whisper, voice catching. “because if i stopped… i think i would’ve started needing you.”

heeseung lifts his head. eyes red, lashes wet.

“i already did,” he says. “i never stopped.”

your heart fractures in a way that doesn’t feel sharp, just tired. heavy.

“i don’t know what to do with that,” you admit.

“you don’t have to do anything,” he murmurs. “not tonight.”

you nod. once. then you help him get up. both your legs feel numb, but you walk him towards the door. your hand rests on the handle, taking a second to look up at him. really look at him, and you’re tempted to say something. 

but instead, you give him the quietest thing you can offer: a small, broken sort of smile. not quite forgiveness. not quite goodbye.

then, he steps out into the night. and just like that, the quietness of everything settling in takes over. no more lies. just the truth.

as you’re deep in thought, riki walks in with two mugs of hot chocolate — extra marshmallows, your favorite. 

-ˏˋ⋆ 3 years ago ⋆ˊˎ-  

it’s a chilly summer night. you and riki are sprawled out on the roof of his parents' house, the shingles warm beneath your backs from the day’s lingering sun. crickets hum below. the stars blink overhead, careless and constant.

you shift slightly, seeking warmth, and without a word, riki lifts his arm. you curl into the space beside him, head on his shoulder, fingers tucked into the sleeve of his hoodie. his arm settles around you like it belongs there.

“do you think we’ll ever feel like this again?” you murmur. “peaceful. like nothing’s wrong.”

he hums low in his chest. “you mean without chaos or boys who don’t deserve you?”

you let out a breath, half a laugh. “exactly.”

there’s a pause, the kind that feels thick with unspoken things.

riki’s voice is soft when he finally speaks. “i think… the people who make you feel heavy, like you're constantly questioning yourself, that’s not love, y/n. that’s something else.”

you turn your face slightly to look up at him. he’s gazing at the stars like he’s afraid of admitting he craves the one thing he’s always sworn to never care about. 

“love should never hurt,” he says, quieter this time. “not the kind that stays.”

you don’t say anything right away. you’re too busy memorizing the way the night folds around his words. the way he’s always been a comfort for you, the one to pick you up when you’re falling. 

and in that moment, you believe him. you really do.

you nod once. “then i hope… when it’s my turn, it feels like this. safe.”

riki swallows. “me too.”

-ˏˋ⋆ present time ⋆ˊˎ- 

and now, back in your bedroom, the silence left in heeseung’s absence is deafening.

your gaze flicks toward the window, rain still threading down the glass like tear tracks. your mind lingers on that rooftop — the stars, the safety, the version of you who still believed in soft things.

before all the hook-ups, parties, and one-sided confessions. 

you pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders and whisper. either to riki or yourself, you don’t know.

“you said love should never hurt. i think heeseung missed that memo.”

and god, how you wish you could go back to that night — before the spiral, before the ache.

before the boy who made you feel like an afterthought.

before you let yourself fall over someone you thought you didn’t care about. 

riki leaves after making sure you’re alright, mumbling something about dance practice. 

and again, it’s just you. in the quiet. 

then, almost without thinking, you rip a blank piece of paper out of your journal.

you don’t plan it. it’s just instinct — fingers gripping your pen, waiting for permission your heart hasn’t quite given. but then you start writing.

dear heeseung,

i hated you before i knew how badly i could want you. maybe that’s where it all went wrong. because at some point, i stopped seeing you as the boy who annoyed me and started seeing you as someone i wanted to understand. as someone i wanted to look at me and see me. and for a while, i thought maybe you did. i thought maybe the way you pulled me into your lap, the way you whispered near my ear, the way your hand rested on my waist — i thought maybe it meant something. i thought i was stupid for hating you. turns out i was just stupid for hoping. you said you could never love someone like me. and god, that broke something in me i didn’t know was still whole. because even when i told myself i hated you, there was always that small, traitorous part of me that wondered: what if he doesn’t hate me back? what if it’s more? but it wasn’t. and now i can’t unhear it. you probably didn’t even mean it — not in the way it came out. maybe it was fear, or pressure, or ego. but it doesn’t matter, does it? words don’t get erased just because we didn’t mean them. they echo. and yours… yours are still echoing inside me like a song i can’t shut off. i don’t think i’m mad at you anymore. i think i’m mad at myself. for letting you get close. for not guarding the parts of me i only let out in small doses. for thinking i was different to you. i wish you hadn’t said it. but mostly, i wish it hadn’t mattered so much to me that you did. – y/n

you take out an envelope, neatly fold the paper and stuff it inside, writing a neat ‘heeseung’ on the front of it. 

some truths aren’t meant to be sent. some confessions are only meant for the rain to witness.

and tonight, that’s enough.

───

the second the door shuts behind him, the silence hits like a punch to the ribs.

heeseung stands there for a second too long, staring at the wood grain of your door like it might open again. like maybe you’ll come running after him. like maybe that small, broken smile you gave him wasn’t the end.

but it doesn’t open.

and it was the end.

he starts walking. he doesn’t even remember moving his feet, just that suddenly he’s outside, and the rain greets him like an old friend. cold, sharp, unforgiving. it soaks through his hoodie in seconds, but he doesn’t flinch.

he deserves it. every drop. every chill. every echo of your voice in his head.

“not quite forgiveness. not quite goodbye.”

god, what did he do?

how did he take someone who was literally sitting in his lap, trusting him with the fragile thread of something real — and turn that into this? this mess of silence and space and words he can’t take back?

“i could never love someone like her.”

he had said it so carelessly. so cruelly. trying to deflect the attention off himself in front of your friends, like a coward. like a boy who still thinks protecting his ego is worth more than protecting a heart.

especially your heart.

he wipes his face with the back of his hand, unsure if it’s tears or rain. it’s probably both.

he thinks back to your eyes right before he left. the way you looked at him like he was someone you used to know. like whatever thread was between you had finally snapped.

and the worst part?

he couldn’t even beg you to stay.

because he knows — he knows — he doesn’t deserve it.

he walks home in silence, the city around him buzzing and breathing like it doesn’t care at all about the wreckage inside his chest. his phone buzzes a few times in his pocket, probably jay or jungwon checking if he made it back safely.

but none of it matters.

because there’s only one person he wants to hear from.

and you’ve already said everything you needed to say. in the way you didn’t ask him to stay. in the way you didn’t cry. in the way you simply closed the door.

so when heeseung finally steps into his apartment, soaked to the bone, trembling from more than just the cold, he collapses on his bed, stares at the ceiling, and whispers:

“i didn’t mean it. i swear i didn’t mean it.”

but there’s no one left to listen.

not tonight.

───

heeseung isn’t the center of your world anymore.

not in the way he used to be.

in the weeks that follow, your friends become your anchor. riki never leaves your side. winter brings over matcha lattes and blankets. sunoo paints your nails while jake tells bad jokes. you laugh again. slowly, but surely.

you start writing more letters.

some are angry. some are soft. some are nothing more than wordless scratches of ink on paper.

but one night, you write a letter that feels different.

you don’t even realize what you’re saying until it’s already down:

i wanted you. for a long time. maybe even when i said i hated you. maybe that was the only way i knew how to say it without crumbling. i masked want with rage. affection with sarcasm. love with loathing. you made it easier to run. but i wanted to stay. god, i wanted to stay.

you fold that letter gently. tuck it into your drawer. it doesn’t matter if he reads it. not now.

because healing isn’t about him.

it’s about you.

and you’re getting there.

lately, the weekends have felt lighter. your apartment has become a familiar gathering place again, only now, it’s just the people who stayed. who showed up. who chose you. heeseung hasn’t come around in weeks, and no one really talks about it. not in a cruel way, just in the quiet, understanding way that friendships shift when someone slips out of the picture.

you used to dread saturday nights, used to flinch every time the group chat lit up with plans. used to wonder if he’d show up, if you’d have to spend the night pretending not to notice the weight of his silence, the way your laughter dulled around him. but somewhere along the way, those nights started to feel easier. not because you stopped missing him — but because you started remembering how to miss him without hurting yourself in the process.

your living room is alive with warmth and laughter. the scent of popcorn and mango smoothies drifts through the air. blankets are piled high on the couch, soft pillows strewn across the floor where riki is dramatically throwing himself down after losing yet another round of mario kart to sunghoon, who’s grinning like he just won the olympics.

“cheater,” riki groans, pointing an accusing finger without lifting his head.

“just admit i’m better,” sunghoon replies smugly, stretching his legs across the coffee table like he owns the place.

in the corner, winter and yuqi are dancing barefoot to a chaotic mix of early 2000s pop and indie throwbacks — somehow still synced up to choreography you’d all made up back in sophomore year. their laughter is contagious, unfiltered and bright, and it tugs a smile onto your face before you even realize it.

keeho is halfway through teaching jungwon and sunoo a tiktok dance in the kitchen doorway, voice loud and arms flailing with exaggerated energy. they’re laughing too hard to get the moves right, collapsing into each other every time they mess up. jake, unfazed by the chaos, is blending something suspiciously green in the kitchen, wearing a headband that reads “chef vibes only.”

you’re curled up on the loveseat, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a half-finished smoothie in your hands. and for once, you’re not scanning the room for him. you’re not wondering what he’d say or how he’d look at you or if tonight would be the night he pulled you aside and finally said something real.

you’re just… here. and it’s enough.

someone throws a pillow at your head, probably riki, based on the cackling, and you lunge to retaliate, laughing as the pillow war erupts across the living room. it’s messy, loud, ridiculous. and it’s yours. this little world you’re rebuilding, one laugh, one night, one breath at a time.

there’s still a part of you that misses him. maybe there always will be. but tonight, that part is small. quiet.

outnumbered by joy.

meanwhile, heeseung is alone in his apartment.

the place is dim. quiet. it hasn’t felt like home in a long time. he's been staring at his phone for an hour now, hoping for a text that doesn’t come.

he thinks about the group chat. the silence from everyone. he thinks about the night he ruined everything. and how, somehow, he still wants to fix it.

he knows an apology isn’t enough. not this time.

he needs to show you, all of you, that he’s not the same guy who let his fear speak louder than his heart.

he just doesn’t know how yet.

but he will. he has to.

because he doesn’t just want forgiveness.

he wants to deserve it.

───

somewhere in the chaos, one of your unsent letters goes missing.

riki finds it by accident. tucked under a cushion, edges worn. he doesn't mean to read it, but your handwriting draws him in, and before he knows it, he's holding your heartbreak in his hands.

he doesn't say a word. just slips it into his pocket and walks away.

a day later, heeseung finds the letter folded on the seat of his car.

he doesn’t recognize the paper at first. but the second he sees your handwriting, his heart drops.

his hands shake as he unfolds it. the silence around him is so loud, he can hear his pulse in his ears.

and then he reads it.

every word. every line. every raw, aching truth you never meant for him to see.

i thought maybe the way you pulled me into your lap, the way you whispered near my ear, the way your hand rested on my waist — i thought maybe it meant something. turns out i was just stupid for hoping. you said you could never love someone like me. and god, that broke something in me i didn’t know was still whole.

heeseung sits there, completely still. letter trembling in his grip.

"fuck," he whispers. "fuck."

he shows up to the next group hangout like his life depends on it.

he doesn’t talk to anyone. not really. not until you walk in.

you freeze when you see him. part of you wants to turn around and leave.

but he doesn’t let you.

he stands. crosses the room.

"can we talk?" he asks, voice low, not demanding, but pleading.

you don’t say anything.

"please. just five minutes. if you still hate me after, i’ll leave you alone. forever."

there’s a long pause.

you nod.

he takes you outside, away from the noise, into the quiet night.

"i read it," he says.

you blink. "read what?"

he reaches into his jacket and pulls out the letter. your letter.

your stomach drops.

"i wasn’t supposed to see it, i know. but... i’m glad i did."

"heeseung—"

"no. let me say this. please."

his eyes are desperate. glassy. his words shaky.

"i lied. that night. i said that because i was scared. because i felt too much, too fast, and didn’t know what to do with it. i thought if i pushed you away, i could kill whatever it was before it killed me."

he takes a step closer.

"but you weren’t just someone i hated. not really. you were someone i couldn’t stop thinking about. you were the highlight of every party, every night, every moment. i was an idiot. but i never stopped wanting you."

your throat is tight.

"you broke me," you whisper.

he nods.

"i know. and i’ll spend every second proving to you that i’m sorry. not with words — with time. with actions. with everything you’ll let me give."

there’s silence.

then you take a breath.

"you’ve got a lot to prove, lee heeseung."

he gives the smallest, hopeful smile.

"then let me start now."

and he does.

not with fireworks. not with promises he can’t keep. but with the small things. the consistent things.

the next morning, there’s a text from him. simple. 

“did you sleep okay?”

you stare at it for a while before replying. 

“yeah. you?” 

“not really. kept thinking about you.”

you don’t answer that. but your heart stirs anyway.

a few days later, he’s waiting outside your class with a drink in his hand, the one he used to make fun of you for ordering (“that’s basically sugar and foam, y/n”), but now buys without hesitation. he doesn’t try to walk you home. doesn’t push. just hands you the drink, offers a soft “you looked tired,” and walks away before you can respond.

he lets you come to him.

at the next hangout, he doesn’t hover. doesn’t sulk. he helps jake in the kitchen, jokes with jungwon, lets the others tease him without biting back. when you walk in, his eyes find you — but he doesn’t pull you aside. just offers a quiet, careful smile. like he’s waiting. like he’s learning how to stay.

one night, you’re struggling with your laundry, balancing way too many bags and a basket of unfolded clothes, and he appears without a word, grabbing half the load from your arms. you glare at him, but you don’t tell him to stop.

he walks with you to the laundry room, helps you separate colors, folds your towels when you’re too tired to finish. “i owe you way more than this,” he says softly. you don’t look at him. “yeah,” you murmur. “you do.”

he doesn’t reply. just keeps folding.

you start to notice it more after that. the way he lingers behind after group dinners to help clean. the way he listens, really listens, when you talk, even if it’s just about the books you’re reading or the music you’ve been into lately. the way he starts learning your rhythms again, not to manipulate them, but to respect them.

one night, you find a note slipped into your bag.

“this isn’t about getting you back. it’s about being someone who deserves to stand beside you. i don’t expect anything from you. just… thanks for letting me try.”

you don’t know what to do with that. but you keep the note anyway.

and maybe the biggest moment doesn’t feel big at all. it’s late. you’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, overwhelmed with everything—assignments, memories, feelings you’ve tried to ignore—and he shows up.

he doesn’t say anything. just sits beside you. close, but not too close. his shoulder brushes yours. your hand trembles. and without looking at you, he says, “you don’t have to talk. just let me sit here.”

and you do.

because he’s not trying to fix you. he’s just showing up. and maybe that’s what love looks like now.

quiet. patient. real.

you don’t forgive him all at once.

but some nights, it’s harder to pretend you don’t want to.

like the night it rains, and you forget your umbrella. you’re standing under the campus archway, clutching your books to your chest, half-considering just running for it, when a quiet voice says, “hey.”

you turn. heeseung’s holding out his umbrella, expression unreadable, hair already wet from the walk over.

“you’ll get soaked,” you mumble, surprised. “i don’t mind,” he says. “but you hate the rain.”

you want to tell him to leave. want to remind him that knowing those things doesn’t mean he’s forgiven.

but instead, you step under the umbrella. shoulder to shoulder. hearts too close. you don’t say a word the whole walk home. but you remember how he always matched his pace to yours. he still does.

───

there’s another time. movie night.

everyone’s over again, sprawled across the living room. you end up between yuqi and jungwon on the couch, but at some point, someone moves, and when you shift, you realize you’re next to him. again.

the movie plays. people whisper and pass snacks and argue over the plot twist. but all you feel is the space between your knee and his. the ghost of warmth where your arms nearly brush.

you don’t move away. neither does he.

and at one point, you laugh at a stupid scene. without thinking, you glance at him, wanting to see if he found it funny too. he’s already looking at you. and for a second, everything stills.

you look away first. but your heart doesn't stop racing for a long, long time.

───

the third moment is softest of all.

it’s late. everyone’s left. you’re cleaning up alone, stacking plates in the kitchen.

you don’t hear him come back until he’s beside you, rolling up his sleeves.

“thought i’d help,” he says gently. you nod. don’t speak.

you’re both quiet for a while, working in sync. something about it feels… familiar. domestic. like home.

then, as you’re drying the last cup, you glance over. he’s watching you, and there’s something in his eyes. something tender. careful. full of things he hasn’t said yet.

“i miss you,” he says softly. 

your breath catches.

you set the cup down.

“heeseung–”

“i’m not asking for anything,” he interrupts, voice thick. “just… i miss you. and i wanted you to know.”

you swallow hard. there’s so much you could say. but instead, you whisper, “i know.”

he nods once. and then he leaves. because he meant it — he wasn’t asking for anything. but that’s the moment you know: you don’t hate him anymore. you never did. 

───

it happens a week later.

a rooftop. stars overhead. winter’s birthday, most of your friends are tipsy on alcohol, sugar and too many karaoke songs. you haven’t had a drop of alcohol, wanting to truly feel everything.

heeseung finds you leaning against the railing, eyes on the sky.

“hey,” he says. you nod and let him stand beside you.

the silence isn’t awkward anymore. it’s soft. steady.

“can i ask you something?” he says, barely audible.

you hum.

“do you still feel it?” he asks. “whatever it was… whatever we had.”

you don’t answer for a long time.

and then, quietly… “i never really stopped.”

he turns. slowly.

your eyes meet. and in them is every apology he’s ever whispered with his actions. every moment he gave you space. every time he showed up when he didn’t have to.

you reach for him first.

your hand brushes his. his fingers curl around yours like a prayer.

and then, finally, he kisses you.

soft. aching. full of every unspoken word, every almost, every could’ve been. this isn’t the kind of kiss that demands anything. it’s a promise. a beginning.

you pull back first, just enough to whisper, “i don’t wanna do this while you’re intoxicated, i don’t want you to regret it.” 

he stares at you before mumbling into your lips.

“y/n, i haven’t had a drink, but it feels like i’m drunk when i kiss you.” 

your heart stops and everything fades into the background. “don’t break me again.” you plead, face inches away from his. 

he presses his forehead to yours.

“never again,” he breathes.

and this time, you believe him.

as he reconnects your lips, his hands tremble slightly where they find purchase on your waist. the night air is cool, but your skin is burning—flushed, alive, and aching in a way you haven’t let yourself feel in so long.

he pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes flick between yours and your lips, like he’s still not sure this is real.

“we don’t have to,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “just say the word.”

but you don’t want him to stop. not tonight. not after everything.

so you slide your fingers into the collar of his jacket, tug him closer until your lips brush his again.

“take me home, heeseung.”

and he does.

his apartment is quiet when you get inside, the chaos of the earlier party gone, the night still humming with something electric. you barely have time to kick your shoes off before his mouth finds yours again. hungrier now, more desperate. like all the restraint he’s shown is unraveling, thread by thread.

his hands are everywhere — your hips, your waist, your jaw. like he’s relearning you. memorizing the weight of you against him.

you tug his jacket off, fingers fumbling with the zipper, and he lets out a low, breathless laugh against your neck.

“still impatient,” he teases.

“still hot when you shut up,” you shoot back, and he groans.

you barely make it to the couch.

he sits first, pulling you into his lap like it’s instinct, like he’s needed this for months. your knees straddle him, bodies pressed chest to chest, your hands tangled in his hair as he kisses you like he’s starving for it.

he tilts his head, deepens the kiss, and it’s filthy. slow. wet. your hips roll against his without thinking, and the noise he makes, low and guttural, goes straight to your core.

“fuck,” he groans. forehead against your collarbone. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you arch into him, tug his shirt over his head, and he follows suit, fingers slipping under the hem of yours, eyes flicking up for permission. you nod, and he peels it off slowly, reverently, like unwrapping something precious.

his hands trail over your skin like he’s trying to remember what it feels like to deserve you.

and then his mouth is on your neck, your shoulder, trailing down until you’re gasping his name, your back arching as he presses kisses across your collarbones.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, like it hurts.

as you reach for his belt wanting to make him feel good, he puts his hand over yours. “there’s something i need to tell you.. before we take anything further.” he says like he doesn’t even want you to know. 

“what is it, hee?” 

god. that nickname. 

it’s what all his close friends call him, however when you say it. he wants to lay the world at your feet. 

“i’m.. uh– a vir-virgin…” he mumbles. you would have missed it had you not been paying close attention. 

you laugh. 

heeseung leans back into the couch, hoping, praying, wishing it to swallow him whole. 

as you observe heeseung, you realize he must be serious. “you’re a virgin? but you– you always used to talk about your hook-ups and how every week it was like you had someone new hanging off your arm??? what do you mean you’re a virgin?” 

he whimpers. he fucking whimpers. “i’m not proud of it, okay? i always came really close to hooking up with girls but i um. i couldn’t you know.. get it… up.” 

you sit there quietly, giving him time to compose himself and continue. 

“everytime i tried to lose my virginity, i couldn’t get hard unless i thought she was you,” he speaks, not gaining enough courage to look you in the eyes. 

you stare at heeseung for a moment, trying to process what he just said. the weight of it settles between you like a delicate secret, and suddenly the playful teasing tone you’d had before feels completely inappropriate.

you can see it in his doe eyes — how embarrassed he is, how much he wants to crawl out of his own skin. the corners of his lips are tugged in a tight line, as if holding in every emotion that threatens to spill out. but you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. it’s soft, gentle, but laced with a teasing warmth.

“you’re a virgin?” you ask, letting the words linger a little longer than they should, pretending to be surprised as if he hadn’t just told you, twice.

heeseung’s face reddens, and you see him shrink further into the couch. you could almost feel his desire to hide, to escape. but you don’t let him. instead, you move closer, shifting between his legs, and place your hand on his thigh. a gentle, reassuring pressure.

“god, heeseung,” you tease softly, your lips curling into a smile that isn’t cruel, but playful. “how could you keep that from me? you’ve been all… big talk and ‘i get all the girls,’ and here you are, this nervous little thing, blushing at the thought of being with me?”

his eyes flicker with uncertainty, but you lean in just enough to press your lips to his ear. you feel him tense under the touch, and the subtle shiver runs through his body, telling you everything you need to know. he’s not as confident as he makes it seem.

“you should’ve told me sooner, you know,” you whisper, your voice low, just enough to make his breath hitch. “i would’ve been patient. we could’ve taken it slow.”

heeseung groans softly, his hands gripping the fabric of the couch like he’s holding onto some semblance of control. you smile knowingly, watching the struggle on his face. but it’s not discomfort — it’s desire. you can feel it in the way his eyes refuse to leave yours, in the way his body reacts to the gentleness in your touch.

“i… i don’t want you to think less of me,” he mutters, barely audible, but you catch it anyway. “it’s just… with you, it’s always felt different.”

you gently trace your fingers up his chest, watching as his breath quickens. you’re giving him space to breathe, to process, and then you lean in, brushing your lips against his in a soft, teasing kiss.

“stop worrying about that,” you say quietly, your lips just barely touching his. “i don’t think less of you. if anything, you’re hotter right now than ever before.”

the vulnerability in his eyes shifts. he’s still nervous, but the weight is lifting. and for the first time in a while, you see him start to believe that he doesn’t need to hide anything from you.

then, you shift your focus, teasing him once more with a playful grin. “but you know, heeseung… i could help you with that. we could take this slow, maybe help you get comfortable with what it feels like to be with me. you trust me, don’t you?”

he nods, slowly, not trusting his voice. he’s ready. maybe more than he thought.

and you take that as your cue. you kiss him again, deeper this time, letting the heat between you grow. his body responds to you almost immediately. hands shifting from nervous to eager, pulling you closer as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

“let me take care of you,” you murmur, your hands trailing down to his belt. this time, you don’t hesitate. you undo it slowly, giving him time to react, but he doesn’t stop you. instead, he leans back into the couch, chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

heeseung’s eyes search yours one more time, a silent question in them. you nod gently, giving him permission to be vulnerable, to trust you fully.

and when your hands pull his pants down, you can feel the heat of him, see the evidence of his desire. you take your time, enjoying the way he reacts to each touch, savoring the way he trembles under your hands.

you start by rubbing over his bulge when your eyes widen. 

he just stares back at you, not blinking, but incredibly nervous. “is– is something wrong?” he stutters out. 

“wrong? no, heeseung. you’re huge.” 

he blushes and hides his face in his hands. his veiny hands. you’ll definitely need to put those to use later. 

you softly drag his hands away from his face and tell him to never hide from you. you think he’s beautiful like this. 

after he calms down, you look back into his eyes that resemble a deer, and he nods. signaling you to continue. 

you finally trail your eyes down to his raging hard on, you can almost see it pulse. 

his breath quickens the longer you take to begin touching him.

you start by teasing his swollen tip, arousal evident in the stain on his gray boxers. he sighs heavily, tipping his head back.

as you rub your hand down to his base, you get a feel for how thick he truly is. 

he’s hard. aching. even at the slightest touch, his eyebrows furrow and he holds back soft groans. 

you rip your hand off his clothed bulge. “if you want me to continue, you need to let me hear you, baby.” 

that was his breaking point, he quickly nods his head yes looking at you with pleading eyes, “c—can you please touch me? it hurts.” 

not wanting to tease him any longer, you rip his boxers off his thighs and his throbbing length slaps against his lower abdomen reaching just above his belly button. precum smears on his abs and you get the urge to lick it off.

so you do.

you gently move his dick away from his toned stomach, swiping your wet muscle along his abs, sucking to leave light marks. 

the noises he makes are downright pornographic, and you think you’ll never be able to hear them enough.

moving your attention back to the hardness in your grasp, you begin to lick up his shaft, tracing each vein with the tip of your tongue. his head is still tipped back, frustrating you a bit because you want his attention on you. 

so… in one swift motion, you take him down your throat until his tip hits the back. his head shoots up and he moans. loud. 

heeseung is in heaven. the feeling of your throat constricting around his cock, he never wants you to pull off of him. he gently pulls your hair into a ponytail, hands shaking when you start moving.

his apartment is filled with filthy noises: wet, loud, and obscene. 

he can hear and feel your gag reflexes kicking in but you don’t budge. you continue to move up and down, not wanting to stop until he cums. 

his tipping point was you somehow taking him even further down your throat, nose brushing his pelvis. he thought you were going to take a break for air but you didn't. 

you stay.

swallowing around him.

the pressure in your jaw is almost unbearable but when you feel his thighs shaking, you know he’s close. and you need to ruin him. 

hollowing your cheeks, you swirl your tongue around his engorged tip, hands coming up to play with his heavy balls. he can’t hold back anymore. the sensation of you taking his whole cock down your tiny throat and the stimulation of his balls in your hands. he groans. 

desperate. low. deep

and spills down your throat. warm, wet, and sticky ropes, pour out of his tip. taking up all the space you had left, some spilling out from the corners of your mouth.

you swallow all that you can, then pull off from his dick. 

heavy breathing is the only thing that can be heard. heeseung threw an arm over his eyes, chest heaving, trying to regain control of his senses.

meanwhile, you haven’t stopped clenching your thighs together. 

you didn’t even notice you were staring until he clears his throat. he just looks so gorgeous all fucked out.

“wow. did you– swallow.. it?” he asks through pants. 

you answer him like it was the most natural thing in the world, “yeah, because it was you” 

he moans, again. and that’s when you notice he’s still hard, still aching. 

as you move to straddle his lap, he grabs your thighs and wraps your legs around his waist. “not here, i want our first time to be special” he says softly, with a kiss to your temple. 

he carries you to his bedroom on wobbly legs and gently lays you down on his bed, hovering on top of you. he plants wet kisses all over your face, trailing down to your neck, collarbones, until he reaches your covered chest.

looking at you with big, lust filled eyes, he waits for your green light. you nod and he fumbles with your bra clasp, eventually tearing the fabric away. 

“you’re stunning,” he says completely awestruck by your half-naked form. 

as he continues staring, he licks his lips, slowly lowering his head wrapping his soft lips around one of your perky buds. 

you instinctively arch into his touch, one of his hands wrapping around your waist as his other hand gently kneads your other boob. soft gasps and whines slip from your lips as you try to grind up in search of any friction where you need it most. 

he senses your desperate pleas and starts moving his body to slot between your legs, face in front of your clothed core. you wiggle your hips trying to convince him to speed up and touch you where you need it the most. 

“can i…?” he practically begs, “yeah” you sigh as you relax into his plush sheets. he drags your sweats down your soft legs planting kisses along the inside of your thighs, all the way down to your calves. he makes his way to your panty clad pussy, pressing a soft kiss to your bundle of nerves aching for him. 

you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on before.

he looks so good between your thighs, you want this image ingrained into your brain forever. 

he brings his thumb up to press on the wet spot that’s formed on your panties, groaning, “fuck, you’re so wet.” 

“all for you.” 

he replays those words in his head and his patience snaps. tearing your underwear in half, he wastes no time. tongue lapping and the wetness between your legs, like he’s been deprived of any liquid all his life.

you’ve never met someone this desperate to eat you out. or anyone for that matter.

he mumbles against your core, “guide me, please, wan’ you t’feel good, mmh.”

your hands take place in his silky soft roots, gently tugging on the strands. 

through whimpers, you tell him to focus on your clit, and surprisingly (for a virgin), he finds it fairly quickly. 

he briefly sucks on the nub, flicking it with his tongue to soothe it. “fuck, hee” you moan out into the space of his bedroom. 

he groans against your pussy, carefully bringing up his fingers so he can push his tongue into your awaiting hole. the moment he starts fucking you with his tongue, you arch your back and grind into his face, needing more. 

he heard his friends talking about “prep” and “stretching girls out,” so he wonders if you need to be stretched out to take him. you said he was huge, did you mean it? he has no idea, he’s a pathetic virgin who has only shoved his dick into his right hand. not even a pocket pussy or fleshlight. 

to your dismay, he pulls away for a brief second asking if he should use his fingers. “please, i need you to stretch me out, i can’t– take you without prep,” you rush out feeling your high not far away.

“shit, okay baby,” he mutters back before bringing his middle finger up to spread your juices around. 

your hips jerk up when he focuses on your clit, surprised by the stimulation. 

slowly, he pushes his finger in, getting used to the warm sensation of your walls. 

you clench around his thick digit, feeling fuller than when you finger yourself. as he pumps it in and out, you tell him to add another one and he does. 

moaning in relief, you arch into his touch as his tongue finds its way back to your sensitive clit. 

between him lapping like a dog and the feeling of two of his fingers pumping in and out of your tight hole, you feel a familiar band in your stomach building up.

your moans increase and heeseung feels dizzy, taking in all that you give.

he curves his fingers all while sucking on your bundle of nerves, causing you to tip over the edge and that band in your stomach to snap. 

you come crashing down, chanting his name like a mantra as heeseung helps you ride out your high. 

as you lift your head and meet his gaze, he looks more fucked out than you do. hooded eyes, tongue lolled out of his mouth, gaze consumed with lust. you pull him by the collar of his shirt until your lips collide in a mess of tongues and teeth. 

your makeout session unfortunately doesn’t last long as heeseung starts whining into your lips. 

that’s when you realize his cock found your bent knee, not so subtly grinding against it, trying to relieve some of the ache. 

“feeling needy, are we?” you tease, earning a playful roll of the eyes from heeseung. 

pulling back, you drink in his bare torso– he’s always been muscular as he was very popular with the ladies (until he got into bed with them). 

dragging your hand up his chiseled abs, his stomach tenses and his dick twitches. 

you found his second biggest weakness, besides you. his abs. 

deciding to end the teasing there, since you’re also becoming increasingly impatient, you flip him over so you land on top of him with a quiet, “oof.” 

as you settle your bare core on his rock solid cock, you start grinding, placing your hands on his chest for support. 

he can’t hold back the guttural groans spilling from his mouth. not believing you’re really on top of him right now. this isn’t just one of his wet dreams. 

he thought this couldn’t get any better, but when he struggles to get out a weak ask for a condom, you just respond with “no, i’m– on the pill. need to feel you. all of you.” 

and to that, he moans, not believing his ears. 

it’s his first time. and he’s about to have sex with YOU. raw. he thinks he’s dreaming. there’s no way you’re real.

you gently angle his dick towards your awaiting hole, sinking down until his fat tip is inside you.

instantly, you both sigh in relief, starting to feel the pressure ease up. 

if you feel a stretch at his tip entering you, you don’t know how you’re supposed to fit all of him inside you. he’s the biggest you’ve seen and he doesn’t even know it.

your attention is drawn back to the man consuming your brain when he whines. “m-more, please.” he’s becoming needier the longer you stay at just his tip but you don’t know how to tell him you’ve never taken a size like him before.

“hee-heeseung i need a sec, you’re– fuck. so thick,” you say between moans. 

his grip on your hips tightens, a silent way of telling you to take your time. 

when you finally deem yourself ready, you sink lower, wanting to speed it up, bracing the stretch to come. 

you feel him pulsing inside you and that’s all you need to sink all the way down, him bottoming out inside you. 

it’s his first time feeling anything other than his hand wrapped around him, and he whimpers, loud. it’s overstimulating in the best way possible and before he knows it you move up to his tip and bounce back down. his dick twitches and you feel it. every vein, every pulse, every movement, even his heavy breathing. 

heeseung, not in control of his movements, bucks his hips up, making another non-existent inch fit inside your stretched out core. 

you moan soft and loud, eyes rolling back, as the pain turned into pleasure. bouncing faster on his girthy cock, you uncontrollably clench around him, causing heeseung’s grip to tighten. you know it’ll bruise tomorrow, but at the moment, he feels too good for you to care. 

the room smells of sex, and the only sounds that can be heard are skin clapping and your shared noises. 

heeseung must notice your legs becoming tired because before you know it, you’re flat on your back with heeseung on top of you, cock never slipping out from your pussy. 

his large hands grab each of your thighs, pressing them to your chest.

his pace is slow at first, testing the waters, getting a feel for a rhythm. 

as his hands stay pressed to your thighs, he slowly drags out and pushes all of his dick inside you. 

you feel him deeper in this position, a bulge forming in your lower belly. 

when he notices, his eyes stay glued there.

you wonder what he’s looking at but the moment you look down, you’re met with his hand pressing slightly on the bulge causing the loudest moan to leave your lips. 

he signals you to hold your thighs as one of his hands holds himself up and the other focuses on how he can feel his dick inside your guts with every thrust. 

his pace suddenly quickens when you clench hard around him, making his hips stutter briefly. 

endless praises leave his pretty lips, telling you how good you feel, how hot you look laid underneath him, taking whatever he gives you. 

feeling a familiar, yet new sensation building rapidly, you try to warn him that you’re close but somehow, he already knows. “i know baby, let go whenever you want.” he mutters back, feeling just as close to his high.

“fuck– where do you want it?” he rushes out, not wanting to cum inside you if that isn’t what you want. 

but apparently, all the gods are smiling down on him as you release your thighs from the grip you had on them and wrap your legs around his waist. “inside,” you moan. 

and at that, he cums. hard. ropes of his hot, gooey, cum spill inside you. tipping you over the edge.

with a loud groan, clear liquid comes rushing out from you, spraying all over his sheets and lower abdomen. soaking his dick. 

heeseung moans. again. raw and unfiltered at the fact that you just squirted all over him (he’s seen enough porn and heard too many stories from your shared friend group to know what squirting is). 

as you come down from your high, heeseung is somehow still cumming. it spills out of you, creating an even stickier mess on his bed. but he doesn’t care. 

not when you’re beneath him, chest rising rapidly, trying to catch your breath. 

heeseung’s cock is still lodged inside you, holding half of his cum inside you, not wanting it to go to waste. 

as he collapses on top of you, he places a soft kiss on your forehead, holding your trembling body close to his.

you were the first to speak, “i didn’t even know i could do that,” talking about how you squirted all over him. “guess we both had firsts today,” he softly chuckles. 

his breath is warm against your skin, his arm tightening just a little around your waist as if anchoring himself in the moment. you don’t respond right away, too caught up in the quiet thrum of your heartbeat, the lingering warmth between you, the way his fingers begin tracing gentle, absent-minded shapes against your spine.

“i didn’t expect it to be like this,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the hush of the room.

“like what?” he asks, voice low, like he’s afraid to shatter the calm.

you shift slightly to face him, resting your head more comfortably on his chest. “soft. safe.”

Hheeseung lets out a breath that sounds like relief and something deeper, something reverent. “yeah,” he whispers. “me neither.”

for a while, neither of you say anything. he pulls the blanket higher over both of you, his other hand brushing your hair back with such tenderness that it makes your eyes sting. he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering like he means it.

“you okay?” he asks, voice still rough from earlier, but softer now, like the edge of him has been smoothed by your touch.

you nod, then glance up at him. “are you?”

heeseung meets your gaze, and something in his expression shifts. vulnerability bleeding through the cracks he used to hide behind. “i am now.”

your heart squeezes.

he licks his lips, nervous. “i’ve been so stupid with you. all this time, i kept pushing and pulling, thinking maybe if i kept it messy, it’d be easier to walk away if i had to.” he pauses, his voice thinning. “but tonight just… made me realize i don’t want to walk away.”

your breath catches. “heeseung…”

“i don’t want this to be a one time thing,” he says, eyes searching yours. “not the sex, not the closeness. i want you. the fights, the tension, the way you drive me crazy and still somehow make me want to be better just by being around you. i’m so in love with you, it hurts.”

your lips part in surprise, and he laughs quietly, self-deprecating and shy. “too much?”

instead of answering, you lean up and kiss him, slow, deep, and full of all the things you couldn’t say until now. when you pull back, you rest your forehead against his, smiling as his thumb brushes over your cheek.

“i’m in love with you too, idiot.”

he grins, wide and a little teary-eyed, and pulls you closer like he’s never letting go.

and you know he won’t have to.

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[ @jaeyuniversal ] prod. 250417