kittykyuuu - Tumblr blog

kittykyuuu · 20 days ago

Text

You were just Heeseung’s girlfriend’s cousin—quiet, polite, a little too naive for your own good. Then you met his friends. Now you’re in the middle of a spiraling mess of jealousy, bad decisions, emotional whiplash and two boys who treat boundaries like suggestions. Oops.

•minors do not interact

•park sunghoon x afab reader x jake sim

•wc: 33k (i’m so sorry)

•genre: slow burn, darkish? fic, angst, smut

•content tags: SMUT, toxic friendships, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, jealousy, angst, character conflict, questionable decision-making, emotional tension, verbal degradation, crying, physical altercation, unhealthy coping mechanisms, complex feelings, power imbalance, mentions of blood, depictions of anxious behavior, manipulative dynamics, sunghoon speaks in italics, jake has issues, messy people being messy, mentions of enhypen’s heeseung and lesserafim’s yunjin. not proofread.

•a/n: this got a little out of hand. everyone in this is insane and needs therapy (except maybe yunjin). please remember this is fiction and not a guide to healthy relationships. enjoy the chaos.

•nsfw tags below

praise kink, degradation kink, oral sex, jealousy kink, crying during sex, possessiveness, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, aftercare, slutty behavior, dirty talk, intense emotional sex, soft dom undertones, toxic tenderness (let me know if i missed any)

You don't know why you're still here, the music's too loud, the laughter too sharp and the room too small for how much it feels like it's pressing against you, closing you in. You're not even sure how you ended up here, or why you let Yunjin drag you out when you knew damn well it was going to be one of those nights. She's busy talking to someone else now, lost in the chaos, and you're left to wander, like always.

You clutch your cup tighter, not because you want more to drink but because it's the only thing grounding you. It's plastic, cheap, and it's all that's standing between you and the clamor of this stupid, stupid party. The people around you are so loud, so unapologetically themselves. Everyone's happy, laughing, drinking, talking with their friends, and you? You're just another face in the crowd, a blur, standing on the edge of it all.

There's a group of girls dancing by the window, the kind of girls who laugh too loud, talk too much, their bright colors making it clear they've got more attention than you ever will. You want to look away, but your eyes keep dragging back, following them as if your brain can't help but analyze the way their bodies move, the way they shine so effortlessly. And then, you wonder how they'd look if you were in the center of their circle, taking the place of one of them, laughing, dancing, without a care in the world. You can almost see it, but the picture feels blurry, like it's just out of reach.

Somewhere across the room, you spot a couple making out by the fridge, their hands wandering, the slapping sound of wet lips and muffled giggles piercing through the noise. The guy's hands wander lower, and she pulls him in closer, her body shifting beneath him. It's normal, you think, but the weird feeling in your stomach twists deeper. You've always felt like an outsider in these situations. These people, they know what they're doing, know how to have fun, know how to look and act in the moment. You never really fit in like that.

You glance around again. There's a guy on the couch talking too loudly, probably trying to impress someone with some half-baked story, and another girl, looking over at him like she's interested but not enough to give him her full attention. You catch bits of conversations, fragments, half-formed words and laughing sentences that don't make sense to you. People throwing their heads back and laughing like it's the easiest thing in the world. And you're standing there, holding your cup like it's a shield, too afraid to walk into any of it, too scared to be a part of it.

You sigh, letting your gaze wander to the corner by the stairs, where a few of the guys are hanging out. They're laughing, but their laughter sounds different from the others. Louder, sharper. There was something about observing everyone else that made you feel detached, almost like an outsider. Heeseung, of course, was the life of the party, laughing loudly with friends, always the center of attention. His presence demanded it, naturally. And then there was Sunghoon, looking as composed as ever, standing off to the side with his arms crossed, watching the room with his usual detached gaze.

But what caught your attention most in that moment was Jake. The chaos of the party seemed to swirl around him like he was at the eye of the storm. You caught a glimpse of him near the drinks table, his usual smirk on his face as he chatted with a girl who was all doe-eyed and giggling, the kind of girl who looked like she'd fall for anything he said. He didn't seem bothered by the attention, though.

In fact, he seemed...pleased.

You watched, your heart picking up pace, as he gently guided the girl toward Sunghoon. Jake's hand rested at the small of her back, his smile playful and effortlessly charming as he introduced the girl to Sunghoon. The moment wasn't anything special on the surface, but the way Jake's hand lingered, the way Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable... it sent an unexpected ripple of discomfort through you.

It wasn't just the way Jake stood so confidently, so familiar with the girl, but the way Sunghoon's lips curved upwards—slightly, ever so slightly—into something that resembled a smile. It was the first time you'd seen him genuinely show any hint of warmth toward someone in this room, especially a stranger.

Sunghoon took the girl's hand delicately, raising it to his lips in a soft, almost theatrical gesture, kissing her knuckles with a quiet grace that didn't match the chaos of the party. His gaze flickered briefly to the girl, and then back to Jake. You couldn't hear the words they exchanged, but the scene itself was enough to make your stomach tighten, an odd mix of curiosity and something heavier—something that felt like jealousy, though you quickly pushed that feeling aside.

The girl blushed, her smile sweet as she laughed at something Sunghoon said. You couldn't help but notice how easy it was for her to slip into this world, how effortlessly she fit into the social dynamic that you were still trying to make sense of.

And then your eyes caught Sunghoon's gaze—just for a moment. His eyes met yours across the room, cold and distant, before he blinked and shifted his attention back to the girl in front of him. But it wasn't the usual indifference you were used to; there was something there, something flickering beneath his cool exterior that made your heart skip a beat. But then it was gone, and he was back to his composed self, nodding politely at whatever the girl was saying.

You shook your head, blinking away the strange feeling of being left behind. You had no reason to be affected by any of this, right? You were just... observing. That was all..

You shift your weight, trying to ignore the way your heart beats a little too fast. You wonder what he's thinking, or if he's thinking anything at all. He never really pays attention to you. At least, that's how it feels. Sunghoon's the kind of person who sees everything but says nothing. He can be in a room full of people and somehow make you feel like you're invisible. Like it doesn't matter if you're there, or not. But you know better. Deep down, you know he notices. He has to. Why else would you feel like your pulse quickens every time he's near?

You turn your eyes away from the corner and try to focus on something, anything else, but your mind keeps drifting back to them. To him. To the way the whole room feels different when he's around. You wonder if they all see it — the way he stands apart from everyone else, like he's above it all. And you wonder if they notice that you're always the one looking at him, the one too afraid to be noticed, but always noticing him. Your breath hitches slightly as you feel the weight of your own thoughts.

There's a sudden burst of laughter nearby, and someone bumps into you, startling you out of your thoughts. You almost spill your drink, but you catch it just in time. Your hands tremble slightly, and you hate yourself for it, because who the hell gets nervous in a crowded room full of drunk people?

The night is too long. It's too much. It's too overwhelming.

And just when you think you've had enough, just when you're about to leave and find a quiet place to breathe, someone grabs your wrist gently but firmly.

"Hey, are you okay?"

It's Yunjin. Again. Her eyes are softer now, concerned.

You blink up at her, not even realizing you'd been holding your breath. She's got that knowing look on her face, like she can see right through you.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. You're not okay, but what's the point in admitting it?

Yunjin doesn't buy it. "You're not fooling anyone. Loosen up. Let go. It's just a party."

You swallow, then force a smile. "Yeah, just a party."

She gives you one last look before pulling you toward the kitchen, ready to distract you with something, anything to get you out of your head. You follow her, only half-present in the moment, lost in thoughts of someone who probably doesn't even know you exist.

The music is a dull hum in the background as Heeseung finds you and Yunjin. He looks a little too smug, like he's up to something. You feel a sinking feeling in your stomach as his eyes flash between you and Yunjin, and you know exactly what's coming.

"You two," Heeseung grins, "let's go say hi to the boys. They're over by the back corner."

You immediately freeze. No. No way. You'd rather do just about anything else than walk up to that corner of the room. It's always them, always Jake and Sunghoon, always that strange tension that makes everything feel ten times harder than it needs to be.

Yunjin, surprisingly, seems to read the atmosphere instantly. "Heeseung, no. We're good. Let's just—"

But before she can finish, Heeseung's already dragging her along, and of course, that means you have no choice but to follow. You want to protest, but the words catch in your throat. You could leave, but that would make you look like a coward. So, you trudge after them, barely registering the shifting in the crowd as Heeseung pulls you both toward the back.

As you approach, you see them. Sunghoon, leaning against the wall like he owns the place, his eyes cold but somehow piercing. He's not looking at you, and the familiar ache in your chest stirs again. And then there's Jake, that infuriating, charming, always-too-confident smile on his face. He's leaning toward Sunghoon, whispering something in his ear, and for a brief moment, Sunghoon's lips curl up into a rare smile—an actual, genuine one. Your heart lurches in your chest, an unfamiliar feeling tightening your throat.

It's the kind of smile you rarely get to see from him. It's like a secret just for Jake, a look of camaraderie you'll never be a part of. It almost feels like you've just been slapped. Why does it bother you so much?

And then, before you can even process the feeling, Heeseung's already talking to them about something you can't hear over the thrum of your heartbeat

Jake, not missing a beat, looks over at you with that mischievous glint in his eyes, smiling like he just found his favorite toy unattended. His lips curve into that damn teasing smirk that makes your stomach churn.

"Well, well, well," Jake begins, leaning in a little too close, voice dripping with something far too cocky, "look who finally showed up, Sunghoon's biggest fan" His eyes scan you up and down, like he's not even trying to hide how much he's enjoying seeing you squirm.

You swallow, trying to keep your expression neutral, but you know your face is probably betraying you. The red creeping up your neck is only the start of it and like clockwork the memory of that damn day starts playing in your head, that damn art show.

The school art show wasn't your idea of fun, not by a long shot. It was all cliché stuff—overpriced paintings no one understood, weird sculptures that looked like junk, and way too many people pretending to care about the "emerging artists." You hated those events, but Yunjin had dragged you there because Heeseung had convinced her it'd be "fun", at the time you had even wondered if this was what your life would amount to, Yunjin dragging you everywhere Heeseung drags her too, You wanted to be anywhere else that night but there you were, standing in the middle of a sea of pretentious art students, holding a plastic cup of wine that tasted like it was from a box, trying to look like you belonged.

You were trying to blend into the background, holding your drink like a shield. You hated how awkward you always felt around people you didn't know, how out of place you were in spaces like that. But that wasn't the part that had bothered you. No, what hit you hardest was when you saw him.

Sunghoon.

He was standing across the room by a few abstract paintings, his expression as unreadable as ever, hands shoved into the pockets of his blazer, looking as out of place as you felt. You could never fully decipher what was going on in his head, but it didn't stop you from trying. He was stunning, impossibly cool, like he belonged in a different world, not the sweaty, underfunded art gallery that smelled like paint fumes.

You didn't know how long you'd been staring at him until you felt the weight of someone standing beside you. When you glanced over, it was Jake, his usual smirk plastered across his face. He didn't even need to say anything, not really. You could tell by the look in his eyes that he already knew.

"Interesting, huh?" Jake's voice was low, teasing, like he was reading you like a book and you were too obvious for him to care.

Your heart skipped, heat creeping into your cheeks, but you just shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Not really. I'm just looking around."

But Jake wasn't buying it. His gaze flicked over to Sunghoon, then back to you, sharp and calculating. He raised an eyebrow. "Right," he said, his tone dripping with mock amusement. "You sure you're not looking at him?"

Your stomach dropped. The way he said it was casual, too casual, like he was testing the waters, but you felt your pulse quicken. No. This couldn't be happening. You could feel the blood rush to your face, betraying you. The truth was, you were looking at him. It was hard not to. Sunghoon had a way of standing in a room and making everyone else feel irrelevant. But of course, you couldn't admit that to his demon of a best friend, not now, not ever.

You turned away quickly, pretending to focus on some abstract art that was meant to be a painting of a tree but looked more like a tangle of colorful spaghetti. "I wasn't—"

Jake didn't let you finish. He stepped closer, his voice a little too loud, cutting through the low hum of the party. "You know, you're really obvious sometimes."

You froze. The words burned, like they were meant to sting.

"I mean, you're always so quiet around him, so careful not to look at him too much, like you're afraid he'll notice." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "But I noticed. I always notice."

You swallowed hard, your heart racing in your chest. You hadn't realized it was that obvious. Had you really been that transparent? You'd tried so hard to hide it, but it felt like every single moment around him was a magnet that pulled your attention back to Sunghoon, even when you didn't want it to.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you muttered, trying to backpedal, but Jake was already laughing, low and knowing. He was enjoying this. He was enjoying the fact that you couldn't hide from him, not anymore.

"No need to deny it," he'd said, leaning in a little too close, his smirk practically leaking into his words. "It's cute. How you've got it so bad for him. But you're not the only one who notices, you know? And don't even bother you're way too plain for...well, anyone." He nodded in Sunghoon's direction, and your heart froze at the thought of him knowing too.

Before you could even form a response, Jake was already walking off, leaving you standing there, your thoughts spiraling. The rest of the art show blurred into the background as you watched Sunghoon from the corner of your eye. He was talking to a group of people, his expression still cold, his gaze distant. He wasn't even looking at you. Of course he wasn't. You were just another face in the crowd to him.

But for that brief, horrible moment, you felt completely exposed, like your deepest, stupidest secret was laid bare for everyone to see.

Jake had seen it all and made you feel bad for it like you were so wrong for even thinking about Sunghoon. All the thoughts and memories were quickly pushed out by Jake's laughter, his reaction to your stunned expression.

Before you can muster any response, Jake's voice lowers, and he asks, his tone far too casual, "So, did you touch yourself to the thought of him this morning? I mean, come on, it's not like you've been hiding it."

Your stomach drops. The world feels like it slows down as your cheeks burn with the harsh sting of embarrassment. You're about to say something, anything, but Yunjin immediately jumps in.

"Jake, stop," she snaps, her hand on his shoulder, trying to push him away but her voice doesn't hold the sharpness it needs. It sounds more like a half-hearted attempt at deflecting, not like someone who's genuinely defending you.

You can't even look at her, the humiliation swarms you, sinking in deeper as Jake's laugh fills the space between you all. It's mocking but there's something else in it too, something darker and of course, Sunghoon is just standing there, arms crossed, his expression still unreadable. He meets your eyes for a split second and for that brief moment, your chest feels tight, like the air's been sucked out of your lungs.

His gaze is cold, but there's something there. Is it judgment? Disinterest? You can't tell. Before you can make sense of it, he looks away, turning his attention back to the group, like the brief moment never happened. And that feeling—the one you've been trying to avoid all night—surges again. You want to disappear. You want to vanish into the floor, to leave this all behind. To not have to stand here, in front of them, where every word feels like a betrayal of yourself.

"Wow, she's really shy," Jake continues, noticing the red creeping up your neck, "don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Your little secret's safe with me." He says crossing his heart clearly to continue in his mockery of you.

Yunjin steps in front of you, her posture protective, though you can tell she's just as uncomfortable with the way Jake's been pushing. "Jake, seriously. Just, cut it out."

But Jake doesn't listen, of course he doesn't. He's too caught up in the fun of teasing, in watching you squirm under his words. He steps closer to you, leaning in, the space between you shrinking with every breath.

"Tell me, did you think about it when you were alone? How badly you want him, hmm? I bet you've been thinking about it for a while now." His words are so casual, but the intensity behind them has your heart racing, your hands shaking at your sides.

You don't know how to answer. You don't know how to respond without making it worse. The silence stretches too long. You feel the weight of everyone's gaze, even if most of it is on you, the heat of the room pressing in, suffocating you.

And Sunghoon—he just keeps ignoring you. Like he always does. Even now, when Jake is throwing all of this in your face, Sunghoon just looks away. He doesn't speak, doesn't even acknowledge the tension between you all. You're invisible to him, and that hurts more than anything else.

The world suddenly feels smaller. You want to crawl into a hole, to escape from the fire that Jake's started with his words but for some reason you can't. Not yet.

Yunjin doesn't know what to say anymore. The air is thick with the weight of unspoken things, the tension hanging between all of you, and nothing will be the same after this.

You didn't even realize your body had moved you to walk way until you hear Yunjin calling after you but you ignore her, you don't care, you need to leave, her voice fading with every step you take. You don't care about that look of pity Heeseung probably gave you slipped out of their presence, or that anyone else in that damn party even notices your absence. All you can focus on is the frantic pounding of your heart, the feeling of humiliation that's gnawing at your insides, like it's eating you from the inside out.

The cold night air hits your skin like an ice-cold slap, sharp enough to snap you back into some kind of reality, but not enough to stop the sting in your chest. You press your arms tighter around yourself, the thin fabric of your jacket doing little to protect you. The tears you don't want to cry keep falling, though they're dry now, the cold air sucking them away before they can even make it down your face.

You hate Jake.

You hate him so much.

How dare he? How fucking dare he see through you like that, so easily, like you were some pathetic little thing for him to toy with? Like you weren't even a person, just some... joke for him to laugh at, to humiliate. He knew exactly what he was doing when he cornered you like that, when he asked you about Sunghoon like it was the most casual thing in the world. He had to have known how you'd react, how fucking embarrassed you'd be. He had to have known.

And yet, he didn't stop. He didn't care.

Your thoughts spiral, each one more self-loathing than the last, each one making your chest tighten until it's hard to breathe. You should've known this was coming, right? You should've known it would end like this—Jake, smirking, tearing you apart with a couple of words, and Sunghoon... Sunghoon—who just... looked at you. Like you were nothing. Like you were invisible.

You didn't even have the strength to stay at that party. You couldn't even pretend to enjoy yourself. You were suffocating, choking on your own insecurities. Every breath felt heavier than the last, every step you took colder than the one before.

"God, I hate him..." The words slip out before you even realize you're speaking them, your voice shaking. You're not sure if you're talking about Jake or Sunghoon anymore, but in this moment, it feels like the same thing. Like both of them were the reason you were this miserable.

Your pace quickens, though you don't know why. Maybe it's the restlessness, the panic bubbling up in your chest that makes your heart race faster, like you can't get away from the thoughts, from the feelings fast enough. You can feel your chest tightening, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You can almost feel the anxiety creeping in, wrapping around you like chains.

You want to scream, but it gets stuck in your throat. You don't know how much longer you can keep it together, keep pretending like none of this is killing you inside.

The city lights flicker in the distance as you push through the cold, the emptiness of the streets echoing the emptiness in your chest. It feels like you're walking on autopilot, each step taking you further from the party, further from the night that just destroyed everything. It's not until you reach the alley by your apartment building that you stop, your back pressed against the cold brick wall, fighting to get control of yourself.

Breathe. Just breathe.

But even the simple task of breathing feels like too much. Your head is spinning, the world around you feels far away, like you're trapped inside your own head and can't escape.

You press a hand to your forehead, trying to steady yourself, but the dizziness doesn't go away. Everything's too loud. Your thoughts are too loud. Your own heartbeat is too loud.

You can't stop thinking about what Jake said, what he made you feel. And Sunghoon... he didn't even notice. Did he notice? Probably not. He never notices you. You weren't worth noticing.

Tears prick at your eyes again, and you curse under your breath, wiping them away furiously, but they keep coming. How could you be this weak? How could you let them both—Jake and Sunghoon—tear you apart so easily?

It feels like everything is unraveling, like you're losing control of the only thing you had left: yourself. And you want to scream, to punch something, to hit Jake and Sunghoon for making you feel this small.

But instead, you just stand there, on the sidewalk. feeling completely hollow inside, letting the cold air do what it does best—drown out the tears you couldn't stop.

Two weeks, that's how much time had passed since the night of the party, two weeks of you keeping your distance from both Jake and Sunghoon, not that you were ever willingly in their presence anyway—it was easy. You'd stayed firm, avoided every chance to interact with them, despite Yunjin's insistence that you needed to stop being so stubborn. You weren't about to let yourself be subjected to Jake's taunts and Sunghoon's indifference. So, you avoided them. Kept your head down, and kept to yourself.

Whenever Yunjin tried dragging you to Heeseung's apartment or anywhere you knew they would be, you'd fake an excuse, stand your ground, and avoid them like the plague. It had been too humiliating, too hurtful to let them into your space again. Jake's teasing, his knowing smirk when he'd drop hints about Sunghoon, about your obvious feelings—everything about it made your skin crawl. Sunghoon's lack of acknowledgment had only made it worse. You weren't sure what was worse: the way Jake tormented you or the way Sunghoon simply didn't care.

But today was different. Yunjin had made a big deal about a girls' day out. Just you and her, no boys allowed. You weren't sure how she convinced you to go, but you'd relented. You needed a break from everything—the pressure of avoiding people, the stress that kept mounting every time you had to walk past Jake, every time Sunghoon was just there.

So, you got dressed.

A simple dress—nothing too flashy, but it was enough to make you feel good about yourself, for the first time in weeks. The fabric clung just enough to your figure, and you paired it with simple sandals that didn't make you feel like you had to put on some act. It was just you, trying to feel a little more like yourself.

But then, of course, life had other plans.

You met Yunjin at Heeseung's apartment, ready to head out. She'd already slipped into a playful, teasing mood, chatting excitedly about the day ahead. But as you stepped through the door, you froze.

Jake and Sunghoon were sitting in the living room, you think about bolting, making a run for it. Why are they here anyway? Don't they have some super expensive off campus apartment?

You tried to avoid eye contact, hoping they wouldn't notice you, but of course, Jake's eyes were already on you, studying you in that way that made your skin prickle.

"Y/N," Jake drawls, voice warm like honey—if honey were made of gasoline and meant to burn. "You're looking... fuckable today."

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

"What the actual—"

He's already pushing off the couch, making his way toward you like a predator who's just noticed his prey flinching. You take a step back instinctively, fingers gripping your phone like it could protect you.

Jake hums as he circles you. "You got a date? Some sweet campus boy finally grow the balls to ask you out?"

"I'm here for Yunjin," you bite out. "She's just grabbing something." You add, you yourself wondering why you're explaining it to him.

His eyes drag over your figure slowly. "Blue suits you."

You fold your arms over your chest. "Whatever game you're playing—"

But then his hand moves. Quick. Thoughtless.

He flips the hem of your dress up just enough to see the skin of your upper thighs and lets out a low whistle. "Damn, sweetheart. Who's the lucky guy today? Or lemme guess..."

He leans in, breath ghosting your ear, "You wore this for Sunghoon?" Your entire body stiffens and you glance past Jake's shoulder—expecting, maybe, for Sunghoon to roll his eyes, or finally say something to make Jake shut the hell up but he doesn't look at you.

He stays exactly where he is, face blank, eyes still trained on his phone like you don't even exist.

It stings more than it should.

You turn on your heel and head toward the door, heart thudding somewhere between your ribs and your throat

"Jake—" Yunjin started, her voice sharp, defensive, but it wasn't convincing. She didn't sound angry enough. Didn't sound protective enough. "Heeseung! Tell Jake to leave Y/N alone! For fucks sake". She says to her boyfriend but he just looks around like he doesn't want to get involved.

You wanted to disappear. Wanted the floor to swallow you whole.

You looked at Sunghoon again, hoping for a flicker of recognition, maybe even a hint of something. But no. His gaze was trained on something else entirely, indifferent to the scene Jake was creating. He didn't look up at you. Didn't acknowledge you at all.

And then, as if to prove that he'd never been part of this conversation, Sunghoon looked away towards the hallway.

You bit your lip to stop the tears from welling up, your throat tightening. The humiliation was unbearable. You didn't even care about Jake anymore, or what he said. What hurt was the fact that Sunghoon didn't even spare you a second glance.

"Jesus, Yunjin, relax," Jake continued, his voice light but dripping with mockery. "She's just dressed up. Can't blame me for noticing. Not like she's got anyone else to impress."

You wanted to scream. Wanted to say so many things, tell him to fuck off, tell him you weren't anyone's joke but you couldn't. You were stuck in that moment, frozen, watching as he mocked you.

You finally managed to move again, head low, pretending you were above it all, pretending it didn't hurt, but it did.

As you turned to leave, Jake's voice rang out again, as if he hadn't had enough of toying with you. "See you later, baby girl," he called after you, too casually, too easily. You're almost out. One hand's on the handle, back turned because you don't want to give Jake the satisfaction of seeing your face, or how flushed you feel.

But you pause against your better judgment and look back and see Sunghoon lean in to whisper something into Jake's ear his voice is low, soft. You barely hear it, just a whisper, meant only for Jake.

You don't catch the words—but you do catch Jake's reaction. He jerks his head toward Sunghoon, brows lifted in disbelief. "Are you fucking serious?" Jake mutters, like it's something vile. You don't wait to hear more, you're already out the door, the fabric of your dress still settling around your thighs, and your chest feels tight again. Not because of Jake but because you don't know what Sunghoon said.

And it's driving you crazy.

Yunjin is still babbling behind you, but you barely heard her.

You pressed your hand to your chest, feeling your heart thudding too fast. The burning in your throat was almost unbearable. You didn't even want to go out anymore. You didn't want to do anything. You were sick of feeling this way. Sick of the way Jake had gotten under your skin, sick of the way Sunghoon could make you feel like nothing without even trying.

The day blurred into night, the girls' day with Yunjin more of an exhausting performance than any kind of relief.

You laughed when she laughed, smiled when she took pictures, nodded along when she gushed about Heeseung and the shoes she wanted to buy next. You pretended. Pretended you weren't thinking about the way Jake flipped your dress like you were nothing but an object. Pretended your mind wasn't stuck on the mortifying second you caught Sunghoon not even looking at you.

You had tried.

And for a few moments, it almost worked until you were back alone in your dorm room, peeling the dress off like it was a brand you couldn't scrub off fast enough. The blue fabric lay crumpled at the foot of your bed, a mocking reminder of everything you wanted to forget.

You sat on the floor in front of your bed, knees pulled up to your chest, the textbook you were supposed to be reading long abandoned beside you. The words wouldn't sink in. Your brain was too loud, too crowded with shame. You couldn't stop replaying it, Jake's smirk, Yunjin's half-assed defense that reminded of when you were younger and her mum would make her play with you, Sunghoon's nothingness.

Your phone buzzed beside you. You didn't even think before reaching for it, needing any kind of distraction. It was a message from Jake's private instagram.

smjyn: you should let me fuck you in that blue dress, baby girl.

You stared at the screen, the bile rising in your throat so fast it nearly choked you. For a moment, you couldn't even breathe, then you were typing before you could stop yourself, your fingers moving too fast, too angry.

you: kill yourself.

You hit send, your heart hammering painfully against your ribs, the aftershock making your hands tremble. Jake didn't reply. You wished that was the end of it, you wished the night would just swallow you whole, let you sink into the silence, into the smallness you couldn't seem to shake off lately.

You tried to study. Opened the textbook again, blinked at the words until your eyes blurred. Your phone buzzed, you didn't want to look, every part of you screamed not to. But you did anyway and this time, it wasn't Jake.

It was from Sunghoon.

The username from the account you had endlessly stalked, made your stomach drop, made your fingers clench tighter around your phone. You had never texted before. He had never even looked at you like you existed, the message was short, almost careless.

parksgh: don't let jake get to you. he's just fucking around

You read it once, then again, and again. Your heart was lunging up into your throat, thudding painfully against your ribs. You hated how fast you moved to open it, hated how warm your cheeks got even though you knew better. You didn't know what to say back, you didn't even know if you should say anything back and it didn't even matter because by the time you thought about it long enough, he had already gone silent again.

Like the message itself had been a fluke. A mistake. A momentary lapse in his indifference. You set your phone down face-down on the carpet, your chest rising and falling too fast, your hands refusing to steady. You couldn't even remember what you were supposed to be studying anymore. All you could think about was the way his username looked lit up on your phone screen and how stupid you were for letting it mean something.

Your chest was tight, the weight of everything catching up with you all at once. It wasn't just the text; it was his name on your screen. You didn't know how to feel about it. He barely acknowledged you when you were in the same room, so why was he even texting you now?

You tried to resist but you couldn't help but type back.

you: okay, thank you

It felt like an awkward response, but you didn't know what else to say. It didn't even make sense that you were talking to him, you barely knew him and yet here you were, replying to his message like this was normal. You waited, breath held, for a reply, not sure what you were expecting but certainly not what came next.

parksgh: wyd

Your heart skipped a beat. What? He was asking what you were doing. Wyd?

You hadn't spoken before, he hadn't even looked at you in that way. So why was he reaching out now, like you were old friends? You sat frozen, staring at the words, your mind swirling in confusion.

The little bubble popped up again, a response almost immediately.

parksgh: you good?

Your brain stuttered as you tried to process it. This couldn't be real. Sunghoon—the guy who never said anything to you, the one who had barely looked at you, was texting you and not just some generic message, he was asking about you. You didn't know what to say, so you just typed something simple, something that wouldn't give anything away.

you: yeah, just tired

You waited, heart racing, unsure of what was going on. His responses kept coming. Short, blunt, and entirely unbothered.

parksgh: sounds like it, you been studying?

Another message came through as you were reading that one, making your head spin.

parksgh: you should get some sleep, it's kinda late no?

You didn't even know how to reply. He wasn't a friend, wasn't someone you were close with. Why was he being so... normal with you? But then, his next message made everything stop. A simple question, one that you couldn't even begin to understand.

parksgh: do you actually touch yourself while you think of me?

You froze. The air left your lungs. You couldn't breathe. The panic crept up your throat, your heart pounding violently as though it wanted to escape your chest. The words felt like a slap, hard and painful, as if your body was rejecting the sheer audacity of them. Your thoughts crashed together, the weight of what he was implying sinking in. You felt dizzy, like you were spiraling into something you couldn't control.

You couldn't—you couldn't—tell him the truth. That you had done what Jake had accused you of that night, that he was the star of all your wet dreams so instead you denied. You scrambled to type your response, fingers shaking with the intensity of the emotions clawing at you.

you: no, no i don't. of course not.

You hit send almost too quickly, hoping the denial would settle your racing heart, but the seconds felt like hours as you waited for him to respond. Your hands were trembling, your breath shallow, as you tried to keep the panic at bay.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, there was nothing. You stared at your phone screen, willing the next message to come, but the minutes passed in silence. Your mind raced with confusion, frustration, and a strange, bitter emptiness. You tossed your phone aside, hoping the night would be over soon so you could just sleep and forget about everything, forget about him.

But of course, right when you were about to close your eyes, your phone buzzed. The message was simple, curt, and devastating.

parksgh: liar

You stared at the screen, your pulse still thundering in your ears. The word was a punch to your gut, sharp and cutting, like it was meant to tear something inside of you. You couldn't understand it, couldn't understand him but all you knew in that moment was that you were utterly, completely, lost.

You dropped your phone onto the floor like it burned.

You sat there for a minute, staring at your lap, feeling your face get hot, your chest get tight. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

Sunghoon had never said more than a casual hey when you'd bumped into him before. That was it, a polite, distant nod in a crowded hallway, a meaningless word tossed over his shoulder when Heeseung introduced you to the group once, barely even looking at you.

Now, he was accusing you of touching yourself while thinking about him? And calling you a liar when you denied it?

You scrubbed your hands over your face, willing the burning behind your eyes to go away. What the hell was happening?

You weren't close. You weren't even friends. You were just Yunjin's cousin, the quiet tagalong at parties you didn't want to be at, the awkward extra body in rooms you didn't belong in. Not the kind of girl Sunghoon would think twice about as Jake had said to you before. Definitely not the kind of girl Sunghoon would text.

But he had.

You leaned back against the frame of your bed, feeling the cold seeping through the concrete, feeling the ugly knot of confusion and shame twisting in your stomach.

You hated this. You hated the way your heart had raced when you saw his name light up your screen. You hated the way you couldn't even deny it properly, because somewhere, deep down, you had thought about him. Exactly the way Jake always teased but enough that the accusation had knocked the breath out of you and you hated, just hated how badly you wanted another message from him.

You pressed your palm against your chest like you could force your heart to slow down, it didn't help. Nothing helped, you genuinely felt sick.

You weren't the kind of girl this happened to. You didn't even know how to flirt, let alone handle whatever the hell this was. You were good, you were quiet, you kept your head down, you knew your place.

Still, you were sitting here, trembling like some desperate little thing just because Sunghoon, with his pretty face and cold eyes, decided to say a few reckless words to you. You didn't know what he wanted, didn't know if he was serious, if he was playing some fucked-up joke, if he even cared what his words would do to you.

Maybe he was bored, maybe he didn't even think twice about it.

Maybe you were just a stupid, convenient distraction for him. The thought made your throat close up, made the sting behind your eyes sharpen. You climbed up into your bed turning your head into the pillow, biting down on your lip hard, willing yourself not to cry over something so stupid, over a boy who probably didn't even remember texting you.

You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to breathe.

You didn't ask for this. You didn't want this.

You just wanted to go back, before the art show, before the party, before the texts, before your heart learned how it felt to be pulled in two different directions at once.

You just wanted to be invisible again.

You knew should've gone the long way around the finance building, you should've kept your head down, kept walking, kept pretending like the weight of that unanswered text didn't cling to you like a second skin.

Instead you stood there, muttering under your breath about your asshole finance professor, flicking through your notes like you could understand what was in it despite being the one who wrote them all down, your hands curled tight around the notebook, trying to fight the rising frustration buzzing under your skin. The sky was cloudy, the wind sharp against your legs where your skirt ended.

You didn't even notice him at first, not until you glanced up and there he was. Across the street, leaning against the stone wall like he was born there, staring at you.

Blank face, hands in his pockets. Eyes so sharp they cut through the heavy air between you.

You froze, every instinct in your body screamed to run but it was already too late. Sunghoon pushed off the wall, crossed the street without looking, closed the space between you in a few long strides like he had every right to.

You couldn't breathe, couldn't move and hated how your pulse quickened anyway.

He stopped too close. Close enough that you could smell the clean laundry scent of his hoodie. Close enough that you had to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes.

He didn't say anything at first. Just stared down at you like he was trying to figure out what you were made of.

And then, flat voice, barely louder than the wind:

"Why'd you ignore my last text?"

You blinked at him, like he was insane. Like you were insane for being the only one who thought this wasn't normal. You shifted your weight, glanced away, noticing how his body blocked your only exit, of course it did.

You hated how small you felt and you really hated the way his words hung between you, sticky and hot, like you owed him something.

You hated him.

"I didn't know you cared," you said finally, your voice sharper than you meant it to be. You crossed your arms, armor thin and cracking. "Since when do you even talk to me?"

He cocked his head to side, his eyes never leaving your face like he genuinely couldn't understand why you seemed mad. "Oh" He said lowly, "I thought you wanted my attention."

The breath you were holding punched out of your chest, making you take a step back but he followed, slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world to watch you unravel.

You didn't know what you hated more—how smug he looked or how badly you wanted to grab him by the front of that stupid hoodie and shake him until he made sense.

"I don't," you said, even though it sounded like a lie.

He tilted his head in the other direction, watching you, like you were something pathetic he'd found crumpled on the sidewalk, like you weren't even real.

You swallowed hard, the bitterness burning your throat.

He said nothing, just stood there, letting the silence stretch so taut between you it could slice you open. before you could snap, before you could say something you'd regret, he reached past you, flicked the ends of your sleeves with two fingers like he couldn't help himself.

And maybe you would've stood there forever, frozen in place, if Jake hadn't come strolling around the corner at the absolute worst moment, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, a smug smirk pulling at his mouth like he knew exactly what he was walking in on. He slings an arm around Sunghoon's shoulder like he's crashing a party—his usual stupid grin painted across his face, and an energy so casual it only makes things feel worse.

"Aw, am I interrupting?" he coos, eyes flicking between the two of you. "You look like you're about to cry, baby girl".

Your cheeks flame instantly. "Shut up, Jake."

He just laughs—God, you hate him—and leans in a little too close, voice low but far from discreet.

"Would she let me watch you fuck her, Hoon?" he said, all fake innocence, all ugly laughter, eyes trained on you but directing the question to Sunghoon as if you weren't there and you felt your entire body seize up, blood rushing to your face, stomach flipping painfully like you were about to be sick.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but Jake was already bumping Sunghoon's shoulder, brushing past like this was normal, like this was just what they did.

You didn't even notice the way Sunghoon's mouth twitched, the way something dark and unspoken passed between them, because your brain refused to process it, refused to even consider it.

All you could think about was getting away, getting anywhere that wasn't here, before you embarrassed yourself even more.

You didn't see the way Sunghoon's eyes stayed on you long after you turned and fled.

You didn't know yet what they were really like.

* You should've stayed home, when the smell of opened beer cans hits your nose you realize you should've stayed home, stayed small, stayed out of the fucking way like you'd been doing for the last month, shrinking yourself into something harmless, something invisible, something that Jake and Sunghoon couldn't touch even if they wanted to.

But you didn't, against your better judgement let Yunjin drag you out, wide-eyed and whining about how you were turning boring, how Heeseung promised it would be chill and Jake and Sunghoon would be on their best behavior, how they swore they wouldn't even look at you and you believed it, like an idiot.

Now you're standing here in the middle of some shitty house party, abandoned, holding a lukewarm plastic cup like it's a fucking shield, feeling stupid, feeling trapped. The music is too loud, the floor is sticky under your shoes, someone's laughing way too hard behind you and it feels like the sound is aimed directly at your back.

You look around like maybe you'll see Yunjin and Heeseung, maybe you'll see a way out but they're already gone, already swallowed up by the night, already tearing at each other in some dark corner and you're left with nothing but your own pathetic loneliness.

You hate this, you hate how obvious you must look, you hate how you're gripping your cup so hard it's starting to crumple in your hand and you hate that you thought, even for a second, that you'd be safe here. You really try to suppress it but a part of you starts to build resentment towards your cousin.

You're just about to turn and leave, cut your losses and slip out the door like a coward, when you feel it. That horrible prickle at the back of your neck, the sensation of being watched, heavy and suffocating and familiar in a way that makes your stomach twist.

You already know who it might before you even turn around, only two options come to your mind and you can't even decide which one is worse but of course it's him.It's always him.

Sunghoon stands across the room, half in shadow, arms folded across his chest, head tilted like he's studying you again, not smiling, not frowning, just watching.

You freeze, panic blooming low in your stomach but look away quickly, pretending you didn't see him, pretending you don't care. You take a shaky sip from your cup, trying to check your phone like you have somewhere better to be.

You lie to yourself with every breath you take but it doesn't matter because he's already moving toward you.

Your heartbeat stutters painfully in your chest as he crosses the room, cutting through the crowd like he doesn't even see anyone else, like you're the only thing that matters.

You turn your body slightly, angling away from him, hoping he'll take the hint.

He doesn't.

He stops just in front of you, so close you can smell the clean, sharp scent of his cologne, can feel the heat radiating off his skin.

"Are you avoiding me?," Sunghoon asks voice indifferent like this is just some passing question he doesn't seem to want the answer to.

You swallow hard, throat dry and say nothing, even if you could speak, you don't know what to say. You don't know why he's even talking to you, why he's pretending you exist after ignoring you so effortlessly for so long.

"You look pretty." You blink. "What?" His voice is low, steady and as usual unemotional.

"Your dress is pretty and you look pretty in it, Y/N" He says so matter of factly and it almost sounds like he's telling you the sky is blue and it makes you scoff, turning your body away like maybe that'll help you breathe again. "Please don't start. I'm not doing this tonight." "Doing what?" he asks.

"You know what, Sunghoon. Why don't you and your guard dog just leave me alone?", you grit and instantly you swear you can see his mouth twitch like he's about to smile

He doesn't deny it, doesn't even argue, he takes one slow step forward. "Guard dog? You don't seem so mouthy when he's in front of you though" he almost taunts, clearly referring to how you lock up whenever Jake is close. The comment hits you so hard, you don't even notice you're against the wall now. His hand barely grazing your waist, his voice brushing your ear.

"Do you wanna kiss me?" Your breath hitches because there's no teasing tone in his voice not like the way Jake would say it just to fluster you and make your cheeks flush. He's genuinely asking if you want to kiss him.

Sunghoon says it like he's asking a favor, like he's letting you decide.

"I—no. I mean—" you stammer, heart climbing into your throat. "I don't know what you're doing, but—"His lips brush your jaw and you immediately go quiet, your mind shifting between how this is the closest you've ever been to him and how this is also the longest conversation you've ever had.

You gasp—his hand is suddenly pressing flat against your stomach, holding you in place. "Sunghoon—"

"You don't sound like you want me to stop." You shake your head, eyes wide. "This isn't fair." "I didn't say it was."

His mouth trails lower, his breath is warm and while you're melting he's still expressionless, calm, like nothing about this affects him and maybe that's what finally breaks you.

So when he whispers, "Let me take you home," you're nodding because your body listens faster than your brain can protest.

Sunghoon unlocks his car without looking at you and gets in without waiting. You just followed him, numbly, helplessly, into his car, stomach churning and heart hammering so hard you thought you might be sick.

He drove like he kissed—silent, steady, like none of this meant anything. You sat there in the passenger seat, hands clenched in your lap, trying not to look at him, trying not to think about the way your body was still burning where he touched you, trying not to wonder why he hadn't even smiled once.

He drives in silence, not looking at you once, not when he's merging onto the freeway, not when you're stopped at a red light, not when you pull up to the underground parking lot of his building. He just turns off the engine and gets out.

You sit there for a second, paralyzed, watching his frame walk towards the elevator. Then you force yourself to move, force yourself to follow him inside, force yourself to pretend that this is fine, that you can survive this, that you won't fall apart the second he touches you again.

You don't even know why you do it, you don't know what you're hoping for or what you're trying to prove.

Maybe you just want to feel wanted or to hurt and maybe right now to you, it's the same thing.

The door shuts behind you with a soft click. You half-expect him to push you against it, mouth hungry, hands impatient but instead, Sunghoon walks ahead, tossing his keys on the counter like this is routine, like you've done this a hundred times before.

You stand uselessly at the door, all stiff, unsure, heart climbing your ribs like it's trying to get away from you. He finally turns around, his eyes meet yours for the first time since the party but you can't help but look away, attempting to look around to observe the space

Sunghoon's apartment is exactly how you'd pictured it, it's big, cold and kind of empty. Everything is clean, clean to the point of sterile, all dark hardwood floors and concrete walls, black leather couch, black coffee table, flat screen bolted onto the wall.

No clutter, safe for the pile of PS5 games next to the console and a camera that's charging in the corner. Even the lights are dim, recessed into the ceiling, casting everything in sharp, ugly shadows.

There are no photos or trophies or notes on the fridge. Just space, silence and a daunting kind of emptiness. He doesn't say anything when you walk in or ask if you're okay, he just tugs you by the wrist down a short hallway into what you assume is his bedroom, like you're an obligation he's trying to get out of the way.

The room matches the rest of the apartment—gray walls, dark bedding, no signs of life. A single queen-sized bed in the center, neatly made with black sheets, a dresser, a nightstand and nothing else.

You hover awkwardly by the door, arms wrapped tight around yourself, not knowing what else to do. You want to ask him what you're doing here, or if this means anything to him at all, you want to ask him if you mean anything.

You don't, you don't say a word. He crosses the room in three long strides and crowds you against the wall again, just like he did at the party, pressing his body into yours, slotting his thigh between your legs.

You gasp, hands scrabbling at his chest. He kisses you, rougher this time, hungrier, but still there's that same frustrating emptiness radiating off him, like he's only half there.

It stings and you know it shouldn't but it does. You kiss him back anyway, desperate and clumsy, letting him push you toward the bed. You fall back against the mattress, bouncing once, heart pounding so loud you're sure he can hear it.

He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it aside, then hooks his hands under your thighs and yanks you down to the edge of the bed, manhandling you like you weigh nothing.

You squeak in surprise, trying to suppress the fluttering in your stomach as presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. The touch sends a shudder through you, he doesn't seem to notice or if he does, he doesn't care, he just pushes your dress up higher, baring your thighs, your panties, the flushed vulnerability of you.

You try to press your legs together instinctively, but he's already settling between them, mouth dragging hot and slow along the sensitive skin. Your head drops back against the bed with a helpless whine. It's overwhelming, the weight of him, the heat of him, the way he's so calm while you're falling apart.

He kisses the crease of your thigh, breathes against the damp cotton of your underwear, licks a slow stripe over the center and you jerk, thighs trembling but he doesn't stop, he doesn't even flinch. It's almost clinical, the way he touches you , it's efficient, methodical but his mouth. God, his mouth.

His mouth might be the only part of him that's honest, it is frantic, almost desperate even. Devouring, like he's starving for you, like he's trying to say everything he's never said aloud, everything he can't bring himself to voice.

You fist his sheets, chest heaving, feeling tears sting at your eyes. It feels too good, too much, like you're dying but also floating. You barely register it when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugs them down, baring you completely. You barely register it when he slides a finger through your folds, testing your wetness, humming low in his throat like he's pleased.

You only really come back to yourself when you feel the tip of his finger pressing against your entrance, when your whole body locks up in terror, when you squeeze your eyes shut like you're bracing for impact.

Sunghoon halts. You can feel it, the sudden tension in his body, the way his head lifts, the way he goes still between your legs. You crack your eyes open to find him staring up at you and his brows are drawn together, just slightly. You realize you're shaking and quite clearly crying. "Have you..." he starts, voice rougher than before, almost uncertain before he clears his throat. "Have you done this before?"

You shake your head, violently, squeezing your eyes shut again, humiliated beyond belief. You're so sure this is it, he's going to kick you out, he's going to laugh in your face and tell you he doesn't fuck virgins. So you brace for it and wait for the disgust, the mockery but it doesn't come. Instead, you feel his lips against your knee, soft and featherlight, like an apology he doesn't know how to give.

"Don't cry," he murmurs. Your breath shudders out of you and when your open your eyes, Sunghoon is still kneeling between your legs, still staring at you with that same unreadable expression, but there's something different now, something softer, something almost vulnerable.

He brushes his thumb over your thigh, gentle and you can't even hide your surprise that he doesn't move to get off you or tell you to leave.

He stays, like maybe, just maybe, you're not completely disposable after all. He's there looking at you in a way that has you trembling, gasping for air and blinking tears from your eyes, when he leans in closer, breath ghosting over the slick, swollen heat of you, his mouth brushing your inner thigh as he speaks. "So," he says, low and almost lazy. "What did you do when you touched yourself thinking about me?"

You choke on your own spit and you feel your whole body lock up again, shame burning hotter than your skin. "I— I didn't," you lie, immediately, stupidly. He huffs a laugh against your thigh, the first real sound he's made all night but it's not cruel, not that it's kind either. It's just amused. "Oh?" he murmurs, lips still trailing your inner thighs, "Then why are you shaking like that?"

You squeeze your eyes shut again, trying to disappear but he doesn't let you. He presses a kiss to the very edge of your hipbone, then another, closer and another.

"Tell me," he says, voice slipping lower, rougher. "Tell me what you did." You can't breathe, like the air has been completely stolen from your lungs. You can't lie either, not when he's looking at you like that, like he already knows and he's just waiting for you to admit it.

"I— I just—" you stammer, your voice breaking. "I just rubbed—" you curl in on yourself, mortified, "I rubbed my clit a little, that's all, I swear." You force the words out like a confession, like a sin and Sunghoon? He smiles. For the first time since you've known him, for the first time ever, he smiles at you. It's small, almost imperceptible but it's there and it knocks the air out of your lungs.

Like he's pleased, almost like he's proud of you. "Good girl," he says, and your heart almost explodes. You're still trying to process that, still trying to make sense of the sudden weightlessness in your chest, when he dips his head again, mouth closing over your clit without warning. You cry out, hips bucking up off the bed but he doesn't even flinch, he just pins you down, hands bruising against your thighs, licking you like he's been starving for it, like you're the only thing he's ever wanted and you sob, writhing, overwhelmed.

It's too much but it's not enough, you don't even know anymore.

He doesn't give you a second to breathe, to think, to ask him why he's doing this, what you are to him, why it feels like you're being torn apart and stitched back together all at once.

He just keeps going.

Keeps sucking your clit into his mouth, keeps teasing your entrance with the tip of his finger.

When he finally pulls his mouth off you, you're keening, fists twisting in the sheets, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. He lifts his head to look at you, face flushed, mouth slick, and mutters, almost to himself that you barely hear him over the roaring in your ears. "Need to get you ready."

You sob again when you feel him nudge a finger at your entrance. "Please," you whimper, not even sure what you're begging for. "Please slow down, I—" He cuts you off by tapping your thigh, light but firm. "Tap my shoulder if you want me to stop," he says, flat and emotionless, like he's just reminding you of the rules he never even told you in the first place.

Then he pushes inside, you gasp, a very raw, broken sound, as your walls clench instinctively around him. He groans low in his throat, but otherwise shows no reaction, like it's nothing, like you're nothing. You clutch at the sheets, tears burning your eyes again, but you don't tap out. You don't stop him, you can't because it's not like you want to anyway.

He works his finger in and out of you slowly, methodically, never looking up, never checking your face. You try to catch your breath, to calm down, to not cry harder but fail.

And Sunghoon doesn't stop, he just keeps going—steady and unflinching, like you're a problem he's determined to solve, like your pain and or pleasure isn't even real to him, like you're something he already owns but somehow, somehow, it still feels like the best thing anyone's ever given you.

He's relentless, barely even gives you a second to breathe, to think, to feel anything but the stretch of him working you open, one finger at first, slow and steady, ignoring every soft sob that falls from your lips.

You feel like you're drowning. The bed is too big, the room too cold, the walls are grey, the sheets are dark, the only light coming from the dim bedside lamp casting long shadows across the plain white walls, like he doesn't feel anything and maybe he doesn't and you're the idiot for expecting him to.

You dig your fingers into the sheets tighter, squeezing your eyes shut, trying not to sob out loud again. Trying not to embarrass yourself even more. Then you feel it, the slow, deliberate curl of his finger inside you.

You hiccup, chest spasming with another silent cry. Sunghoon clicks his tongue, sharp and soft at the same time. "Stop crying," he mutters, not looking up from between your thighs, it's almost bored, almost annoyed but there's something under it too, something you can't name.

You sniffle pitifully, nodding even though he's not looking at you, even though you don't think you could stop even if you tried. Then he shifts again, sliding his mouth back over your clit, and the heat of it makes you jolt. You mewl helplessly, high and broken, when he sucks harshly at the sensitive bud.

"Gonna add another," he mutters against you, voice low and unaffected, like he's just narrating, like you're not trembling beneath him. You barely have time to brace yourself before he's pushing a second finger inside. The burn is sharp, almost unbearable, and your whole body arches off the bed involuntarily, you're gasping, panting, trying to wriggle away from the overwhelming sensation, but he just presses your hips down, holding you in place like it's nothing.

You whimper, the sound muffled against your fist when you shove it into your mouth to stop yourself from making more noise. You don't even realize you're babbling until you hear your own voice cracking through the air, "Sunghoon, Sunghoon—"

You're not even thinking, you're just saying his name like a prayer, like it might save you. For a second, he stills, before softly, curiously, he murmurs, "Yeah?" and it's he thinks you're trying to talk to him, like he doesn't even realize it's just moaning.

Your whole face burns hotter, your body trembling harder, you shake your head frantically, tears dripping onto the pillow.

You don't know what you're saying anymore, you don't know anything at all, except for him, his mouth, his fingers, the way he's filling you, the way he's making your body light up in ways you've never known it could.

He curls his fingers again, deeper this time, deliberate and suddenly you see stars behind your eyelids. You cry out, bucking your hips up against his mouth, sobbing out another desperate, broken whimper of his name.

And he gets it then, you can feel it in the way his mouth curves into a smirk against you, the way he presses in deeper, harder, finding that spot again, hitting it relentlessly until you're gasping, twitching, clenching around his fingers so hard it hurts. Your whole body's on fire and you're so close you can't even think. He's still so calm, so detached, like he's just...studying you, watching you fall apart with that same unreadable look on his face.

You don't even realize you're crying again until he lifts his head, looking up at you with a frown. "You're so sensitive," he says, almost wonderingly. "You gonna cum already?" You shake your head, sobbing harder, even as your hips grind desperately against his fingers. He huffs a soft laugh under his breath, not mocking, just...satisfied.

And then when he's lowering his mouth again, sucking harshly on your clit while his fingers fuck into you deep and slow. You don't stand a chance, you come undone with a wrecked cry, shattering under him, your whole body locking up and then convulsing, thighs trembling uncontrollably.

He doesn't stop or even slow down. He works you through it, fingers deep, mouth unrelenting, until you're gasping, shaking, tears flooding down your cheeks from the overstimulation and only then—only then, does he finally pull back.

You feel so empty when he does, you almost sob again, he sits back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand — looking completely unaffected while you lay there ruined, shaking, broken on his bed.

You cover your face with your hands, humiliated, you don't even know what you're crying about anymore. The pain? The pleasure? The way it all feels so impossibly hollow when he's looking at you like that?like he's still a thousand miles away even when he's inside you.

"Don't cry," he says again, voice almost too soft to be real but he doesn't reach for you, doesn't comfort you or say anything else.

He just sits there, watching and waiting like he doesn't know what to do with you now that he's broken you but then you feel him lift off the bed and you hear the faint sound of the door opening and closing.

You're alone now and you don't know how long you lay there, body trembling, cheeks sticky with tears drying into itchy trails down your skin. Minutes pass, maybe even hours cause it feels endless.

The room is too quiet without him, so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat, your own ragged breathing. The ache between your legs hasn't faded. It throbs there, humiliating and hot, like a bruise you can't stop pressing on. You stare up at the ceiling. You wonder if this is it, if he's just going to leave you like this. Used up, humiliated and forgotten.

You try to move, but everything feels too heavy, you feel stupid for thinking it might've meant something different when he touched you and you feel even stupider for still wanting more.

The door opens again, making whole body tenses on instinct. You don't sit up because in reality you can't. You listen to the soft footfalls across the room then the mattress dips beside you.

You flinch, you can't help it then something presses into your arm, you blink and look. It's a water bottle, unopened and cold. You glance up at him, confused, uncertain but he's not looking at you. He's staring blankly at the floor, legs spread casually, one arm draped over his bent knee.

You fumble to unscrew the cap, hands still shaking, and take a small sip, the water almost choking you. The silence is suffocating. You don't know why you're surprised when he breaks it first. When he turns his head just slightly, eyes flickering to you, dark, unreadable and says, almost absent-mindedly,

"You want more?"

Your breath catches and you stare at him, wide-eyed, like you must've heard wrong but then you see his mouth twitch. The tiniest hint of a curios smile, genuine like he really doesn't know the answer.

Your heart stutters painfully as you set the water down on the nightstand with clumsy fingers.

Your throat is dry even though you just drank and you nod.

Barely, a small, scared movement.

He watches you steadily for a moment then he tips his head slightly, like he's trying to get a better look at you. "You sure?" his voice is lower now, rougher but still that same detached calm but something else too, threading underneath.

Something you want so desperately to be real and it makes you nod again, a little firmer this time because don't trust your voice to come out right.

He stares at you a second before moving slowly.

He stands up, shrugging his t-shirt off in one smooth motion, leaving him in shirtless with just his jeans. Your heart hammers against your ribs, panic and anticipation fighting for space in your chest. You watch as he unzips his jeans, pushing them down his hips with a casualness that almost makes you dizzy.

He's already half-hard, think and heavy between his thighs. You realize, distantly, that you're gawking so you quickly jerk your gaze away, cheeks burning.

You hear a soft, breathless chuckle from above you not mean and then he's crawling back onto the bed, over you, caging you in with his body.

You feel so small beneath him like prey. He's looking at you differently now, not in the normal cold and empty way, he's looking at you with hunger now and it makes you shiver.

"You sure?" he asks again, voice barely a murmur this time, lips brushing your temple.

You nod frantically, squeezing your eyes shut. "Say it," he says, tone still maddeningly calm. "Need to hear you." Your voice is a whisper, a plea, a confession. "I want you," you breathe. "I want more."

Something in him finally cracks. You feel it in the way his whole body shifts closer, the way his mouth finds yours in a kiss that's nothing like before. His tongue slides against yours, filthy and slow, and you whimper into his mouth without meaning to.

He kisses you like he wants to consume you as if he needs to and when he pulls back, just barely, his forehead resting against yours, he's panting. For the first time tonight, he doesn't look unreadable, wrecked and hungry. He shifts, reaching between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance — the swollen, aching place between your legs still slick from his mouth.

He rubs the head of his cock against you, slow, deliberate, pulling another pathetic whine from your throat. You feel him smile against your cheek. "You're so wet," he murmurs, nudging your thighs wider with his knees, not even asking, just taking. You feel the blunt head of him pressing against you and it's too much, it's not enough, you can't tell which.

He leans down, mouth brushing your ear. "Tap my shoulder if you want me to stop," he reminds you, voice rougher now. You nod frantically again because you don't want him to stop, you just want everything he's willing to give. Even if it's nothing real or even if it feels you emptier than before.

He doesn't say anything when he pushes in. Doesn't shush you, doesn't kiss you, doesn't tell you it's okay. He kind of just watches, like he's waiting for something, like you're some sort of test he's trying to pass. The stretch is unbearable, sharp and hot and you're scrabbling at his shoulders before he's even halfway in, breathing fast and panicked against his neck.

You hear yourself whispering, wait wait wait wait but he's already slowing, already stopping, his hands bracketing your hips steady and firm like he expected this because he knew you'd break apart underneath him. You feel him breathe against your temple, slow and even. He's still hard, still not fully inside you but he's giving you the space to catch up even if he looks utterly unbothered doing it. "Relax," he says after a beat. "You're making it worse."

You nod frantically against him, squeezing your eyes shut, willing your body to loosen, willing the burn to subside. It takes a minute, maybe longer and he waits like he has all the time in the world.

Not stroking your hair or murmuring sweet things like you imagined the person you'd lose your virginity to would do, none of that. He's just existing above you, warm and solid, until finally you whimper, nodding again, giving him permission to move.

He pushes in slower this time but you still cry out, it's too much, too much, you feel so impossibly full but he hushes you, a soft sound, almost absent-minded, like he's trying to focus. You claw at his shoulders, needing something to hold onto, needing something real while your body stretches and aches around him. You hear him swear under his breath when he bottoms out, low and strained, like he's barely keeping himself together.

He stays there, buried deep, not moving. You don't realize you're crying again until he shifts just enough to catch your face in his hand, tilting your chin up to look at him. "Still with me?" he mutters, thumb brushing your wet cheek almost carelessly. You nod, trembling, wrecked and he gives a low breath of a laugh, amused but not mean. "Good girl," he says, more to himself than to you and it makes your heart seize painfully in your chest.

Good girl.

You cling to it like a lifeline.

He moves then.

Slow at first, dragging out almost all the way before pressing back in and it's overwhelming, the feeling of him inside you, the stretch and slide and pressure so much you can't breathe properly. You can hear the slick, embarrassing sounds your bodies make, can hear the broken little noises spilling from your own mouth. You bury your face in his shoulder, too humiliated to meet his eyes. He fucks you in slow, grinding thrusts, deep and steady, like he's trying to memorize the way you feel wrapped around him.

You're babbling something, you don't even know what, little pleading sounds that don't form real words. You hear him murmur something against your hair, so soft you almost miss it. "Fuck," he mutters. "You're so fucking tight." You whimper at the words, at the ragged sound of his voice, at the way he sounds affected for once, not calm, not detached, but wrecked. He groans low in his throat when you clench around him by accident, and his hips stutter for the first time.

"You're not doing it on purpose, right?" he mutters, almost teasing. "You're just that desperate, huh?" You shake your head frantically, sobbing against his skin, too overwhelmed to even think straight. You hear him laugh again, a breathless, disbelieving sound and then his mouth finds your shoulder, your neck, teeth scraping lightly. Your nails dig into his back, desperate, and he lets you, he lets you cling to him, lets you leave marks on his skin.

At some point, you don't know when, he finds a rhythm that brushes something devastatingly good inside you. Your whole body jerks when he hits it and you cry out, high and sharp.

He stiffens, then slowly, he pulls back and thrusts into that same spot again. Harder and deeper. You keen, the sound raw and broken, he does it again and again. Until you're sobbing into his neck, clinging to him like he's the only thing keeping you alive, you can't seem to stop moaning his name. You don't even realize you're doing it until you feel him smirk against your throat.

"Yeah?" he says, almost amused. "Is that what you like?" You nod frantically, tears leaking out the corners of your eyes. "You're so fucking sensitive," he murmurs, almost admiring. "Didn't even know girls like you existed." You want to ask what he means. You want to ask what kind of girl he thinks you are but you can't speak, you can barely think only feel. It feels too much, too good, too raw. He keeps fucking into that spot, relentless, steady, unforgiving, until you're arching beneath him, your whole body trembling, your voice breaking on desperate cries. You cum with a strangled sob, clenching around him so tight he curses, low and vicious. You shake and shudder, tears spilling hot and fast, still clutching at him like you'll fall apart without him but doesn't stop moving or give you a second to catch your breath. He keeps fucking you through it, slow but deep, grinding against that sensitive place inside you until you're gasping and whimpering and scratching at his back without meaning to.

You can't take it, your whole body feels too raw, too overwhelmed and overstimulated. You tap frantically at his shoulder, voice breaking. "S-Stop— please—"

He stills immediately, breathing hard above you. You feel him pull out slowly, carefully, and you collapse back against the sheets, boneless and trembling. There's a pause and you barely register him looking down at you, at the spots of blood smeared between your thighs, at the stains on his sheets.

He sighs.

"You bled on my bed," he mutters, like it's mildly annoying and it makes you flinch, humiliated, curling in on yourself but then before you can sink too deep into the shame, you feel him brush a hand over your knee. Gentle, almost absent-minded that it makes you blink up at him through tear-blurred eyes. He looks exhausted, disheveled and a little dazed. His thumb traces circles into your skin, not looking at you.

"You did good," he says quietly, almost endearingly. Then, louder, more to himself than to you — he mutters, "First time... fuck."

He leans back on his palms where he's sat at the edge of the bed, dragging a hand through his hair, looking genuinely thrown off for the first time. You don't know what to say, you didn't even know if you should say anything at all so you just lie there, aching and ruined, staring up at the ceiling like maybe you'll wake up and this will all have been some fever dream.

But you don't wake up, because this is real and he's real. Your whole body feels heavy, used up, raw and your thighs are sticky, the sheets beneath you damp and crumpled. The room smells like sweat and sex and something softer, something sweeter—him, you think. Sunghoon moves around the room in that quiet, efficient way he does everything, tugging the blanket up over you, finding the bottle of water from earlier and cracking it open but he doesn't look at you while he works. You think, distantly, stupidly, that he looks more real like this, less like the untouchable version of him you built in your head and more like a boy with messy hair, bitten lips and fingerprints pressed into his hips.

He comes back to the bed, crouches at the edge, and presses the bottle into your hand. You almost drop it cause your fingers are too shaky but he catches it, wrapping his hand around yours until you can hold it steady. "Drink," he says simply. You sip, obedient, trying to focus on how it tastes metallic now that it's lukewarm. You don't realize he's still touching you until you feel his thumb stroking over the inside of your wrist, absent and repetitive, in a way that seems like he doesn't even know he's doing it. He watches you drink, then takes the bottle from you when you're done and tosses it onto the floor with a soft thunk.

There's a weird, heavy silence between you, not uncomfortable, just thick with something you don't have the words for. He shifts back onto the bed, sitting with one knee drawn up, shirt sticking to his chest. He clears his throat once, like he's thinking through what he wants to say. "You want me to drive you home?" he asks eventually, making you blink up at him, throat dry even thought you just had water. You're not sure what you expected him to say, something colder, maybe. Something meaner but his voice is weirdly careful, almost... tentative.

He scratches the back of his neck. "I live with Jake," he mutters, like it's some necessary disclaimer. You realize, a beat too late that it's not about him hiding you. Something in you convinces yourself that this is his own weird way protecting you. From Jake and from the teasing you know would come if Jake figured this out.

It's almost enough to make you cry again but you bite it back, swallowing around the lump in your throat. You're about to shake your head to tell him no, it's fine, you'll call a cab, you don't want to be his problem anymore but then you realize he's now holding you. Somewhere in the middle of everything, somewhere between the water and the words, he'd pulled you against him, tucked you into his side and you didn't even notice.

His arm is around your shoulders, warm and steady. His hand is rubbing slow circles into your bare thigh, not sexual just steady and it knocks the air right out of your lungs. You blink up at him, wide-eyed and wrecked, he catches your stare and raises an eyebrow, that unreadable almost-smirk twitching at his mouth.

"What?" he says, voice rough and low. You shake your head, bury your face into his chest instead, trying to hide the way you're falling apart all over again. Trying to hide how much this, the tiny stupid casual tenderness of it is undoing you faster than anything else tonight.

He keeps holding you, stroking your back now and it's all the gentleness you wanted in the start, It feels so good, you don't realize you've fallen asleep, maybe it was somewhere between his hand tracing slow lines up and down your thigh or when you curled deeper into his chest, hiding from the world outside the four walls of his room.

You don't know but you wake up to the feeling of him shifting, gathering you against him, moving you like you're something breakable. You blink up at him, dazed and disoriented. "C'mon," he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "I'm driving you back." The way he says it so definitively has you thinking there was never a version of this story where he didn't

You don't remember getting dressed cause he helps you, pulling your dress down over your hips, smoothing it out like it matters if it's wrinkled now. He doesn't touch you wrong or linger where he shouldn't, he just gets you ready, like you're something he needs to take care of.

The drive back is nothing like the drive to his apartment.

The first time, it had been silent, heavy even, your heart slamming itself against your ribs with every mile closer you got to something inevitable. Now it's quieter, somehow, still tense and thick but not scary. Not when he keeps glancing over at you, real glances this time, not just bored flickers, like he's making sure you're still breathing.

"You okay?" he asks when the stoplight stretches a little too long. His hand settles on your thigh without even thinking, warm, steady, thumb stroking small arcs into your skin. You nod without thinking, too cause you don't trust your voice and his jaw tightens like he doesn't believe you but he doesn't press, he just squeezes your thigh gently, keeping it there, like he needs the contact to stay grounded.

The city blurs by outside the window, neon smears, headlights, the occasional drunken laughter of a group stumbling home from the bars. You stare out at it and try not to think about the fact that his hand hasn't moved and that he's still touching you like it's second nature now.

When he pulls up in front of your building, he cuts the engine without a word and climbs out. Your brain can barely register that you didn't give him an address but yet here you are. You fumble with the door handle and your seatbelt, still half-dazed, but he's already there, opening it for you, offering a hand you don't take because you're too stunned to move. You look up at him and can't help but sense there's something different about him now, something softer around the edges, something raw. "Text me," he says, low and serious, an order. "And..." he hesitates, jaw clenching, like the next part hurts to say. "Don't cry again."

It's almost desperate, almost as if it does something to him, seeing you fall apart. You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out. You're standing there on the sidewalk, small and ruined and still half in love with a boy who doesn't even know how much damage he's doing. He watches you for a second longer, waiting, like he's giving you the chance to say no, tell him to fuck off and end whatever this is before it starts but you don't.

You just nod, biting your lip so hard it stings. Without another word, he's backing away, climbing into his car, pulling off into the night with the windows down and the music low and his hand still flexing like he misses the feel of you under his palm.

You don't text him or even think about texting him, you genuinely try not to. You bury your phone under your pillow, your backpack, sometimes even your bed, as if that'll keep the temptation away. As if you're not sitting there, curled up in bed with the covers pulled up over your head, thinking about his hand on your thigh during the drive back. Thinking about the way he opened the door for you like it mattered. Thinking about the way he said don't cry again like it physically hurt him to see it.

It doesn't help, none of it does so much so that you spiral, slow, inevitable all into something heavy and gray and miserable. Yunjin notices immediately, of course she does, she keeps knocking on your door, calling you, threatening to break in if you don't answer her. She even gets Heeseung to come at one point, she probably told him something frantic enough that you have to lie through your teeth and tell them you're just sick or tired or busy.

Anything but the truth.

You don't leave your dorm except for class and even then, you barely make it out the door, trudging across campus like a ghost.

Until, three days later, you drag yourself out to a small cafe off campus, needing a change of scenery, somewhere quiet to pretend you're still a person. You've been there for maybe an hour, laptop open, notes spread ever, highlighter caps scattered across the table then you feel it.

A presence, a shadow falling over your table that makes you look up and there Sunghoon stands, different hoodie, same unreadable face but there's something in his eyes, something sharper, something frustrated, something almost desperate when he says "I told you to text me." You blink at him, heart slamming into your ribs so hard you swear you hear it. He stares down at you for a second longer, shoving his hands into his pockets like he's physically stopping himself from reaching for you.

Then, deadpan, he says "Don't you wanna have sex again?" You just stare at him, absolutely dumbfounded, mouth opening and closing but no words forming. The cafe noise blurs around you and you shove your chair back roughly and stand up, your heart hammering, your hands shaking, your voice raw when you snap at him "I'm tired of being confused."

He blinks, actually looks caught off-guard but you're not finished. "What do you even want, Sunghoon?" You're almost yelling not caring if people are looking cause now you just need to know. You need to stop being this wreck, this ruin, this stupid girl still hoping for softness from someone who only ever gives you pain.

Sunghoon doesn't answer right away, he just looks at you, unmoving like he's thinking or deciding something. And then, so soft you almost don't hear it, he says "You." Your breath catches as your whole body goes rigid. For half a second, half a heartbeat, you believe him, you believe he means it Until he tilts his head slightly, voice dropping, eyes darkening as he adds "In my bed again." It just feels like you've been punched hard and straight through the chest. Your hands tremble at your sides as you stare at him—at this boy you thought you hated, thought you craved, thought you needed and you realize; You don't know him at all.

You're about to walk away, already trying to gather up your things into your bag, you're thinking about how you'll shove past him, out the door, back into the rain-slicked street but then Sunghoon leans in. So close you can feel the heat of him bleeding into you. His voice lowers like something rougher and raspier, like it's been clawing its way out of his throat. "I meant it," he says. "You."

You halt, you hate him, you hate him so much but he's still leaning in, dipping his head down slightly like he's confessing something dark, something private, like he's handing you a piece of him, bloody and raw. "You don't get it," he says, almost whispering now. "Nobody's ever been like that. In my bed." Your heart cracks, the worst part is you believe him, you believe he's telling the truth but there's still that sharp, selfish edge to it, that gleam in his eyes like he's not just confessing, he's coaxing, begging even.

"Let me have you like that again," he says, and his mouth is so close to yours it almost feels like a kiss. It's almost sweet, if not for the way he says it—half desperate, half manipulative, like he thinks those are the words you want to hear and he knows you'll fall for it. Maybe you already have because your body is betraying you, shivering, leaning closer, your fingers curling into fists at your sides so you don't grab him by the hoodie and kiss him first.

You want to hurt him back but all you can do is whisper, broken "You don't even know what you're asking for." Sunghoon just looks at you, silent and still, a flash of something almost like regret in his eyes but it's gone too fast for you to catch it properly. His fingers twitch in his hoodie pocket, like he wants to reach for you and doesn't know if he's allowed.

He hesitates, for the first time, he hesitates, before he speaks again "Let me learn" and it guts you because you're stupid enough to want to believe it. You're stupid enough to want him even when you know better. If you weren't so stupid you would have noted the amount of chances you had to turn away and tell him no but you don't, not when he's helping you pack up your things or guiding you to his car, not when he's pulling you in for desperate kisses at stoplights, you don't say no because the part of you that wants him is bigger and anything else and because you're stupid.

The memory of how you got here is a haze, you remember him frantically pulling off your sweater as soon as you walked in through the door, unlike the first time you were in his apartment and he waited to take you into his room, it's all so frantic, the heat of his mouth on your neck, the way his hands tug at your skirt frustratingly before he's grunting against your mouth like he's telling you to do it and you do, You remember him picking you up off the ground making your legs instinctively wrap around him as he holds you up effortlessly, taking you to his room again and placing you on the bed more gently.

You can't help but notice how his room looks a bit different in the daylight but your thoughts about it are thrown out the window when you feel him pull your panties down your legs and stare at where you're wet for him. His mouth is just devouring as devouring as it was the first time, it's so skillful, it has you arching instantly, grabbing at his hair and bucking your hips up to meet his mouth.

You don't hear the door open or even sense someone is in the room until his voice cuts through the dim air like a blade.

"Well, well. Look at you."

Your eyes fly open to meet Jake's, he's leaning against the wall, jaw clenched, arms crossed, eyes dark but he's not mad. No, he's smiling, slowly and cruelly like watching the punchline of a joke he told hours ago finally land. "Guess I was right about you."

Your hand flies to Sunghoon's shoulder, tapping at him panicked, breathless. "Hoon—Sunghoon—stop. He's here—" But Sunghoon doesn't even glance back. He just coos, soft and low. "It's okay," he murmurs, almost fondly. "Ignore him." Ignore him? Ignore Jake standing there, wolf-eyed and grinning, hands shoved into his pockets like he's about to stay a while.

You try to pull away again, one last desperate wriggle of your hips but Sunghoon is relentless. His mouth finds your clit again, his hands pressing your thighs wide, pinning you open like a butterfly.

Pinned, shivering, exposed and Jake fucking laughs under his breath. "Desperate little thing," he says, almost sweetly. "You like this, huh? Like having an audience?" Your throat closes up and your heart punches against your ribs.

You squeeze your eyes shut humiliated, so humiliated but Sunghoon's tongue doesn't falter, his fingers don't slip. He's focused like you're the only thing in the world, like Jake's presence is meaningless. Maybe it is. Maybe all that matters is the way Sunghoon is pulling these pathetic little sounds out of you, wet, broken and soft.

Jake comes closer because you feel his heat at your side, hear the way he crouches down, mouth grazing your ear when he speaks "Go on, pretty baby," he whispers. "Cum for him." You sob, you can't help it and Sunghoon's tongue just flattens harder, swirling, ruthless.

Jake hums approvingly.

"Yeah, that's it. Cum like a good girl for your beloved Sunghoon." Your whole body snaps tight and you fall apart like he ordered it, helpless, degraded and soaked. You cum hard, gasping, clutching at the sheets, your hips jerking up into Sunghoon's mouth like you're chasing it, like you need it to survive. It's pathetic; it's degrading and it's the best thing you've ever felt. Sunghoon doesn't even slow down through it, just keeps licking, gentle now, coaxing the last little spasms out of you until you're shaking, whimpering, completely broken open.

Jake just watches, smirking.

You don't even realize you're shaking until you try to sit up, your hands are trembling and the sheets are damp under your thighs, your whole body still pulsing from the devastating orgasm Sunghoon wrung out of you like it was nothing.

You don't even have time to gather yourself or to cry or scream or run, before Sunghoon is shifting, sitting back on his heels between your spread thighs. "Let Jake take your top off," he says, all flat and dispassionate like he's asking you to hand him your notebook in class.

Your mouth falls open and you blink at him—once, twice—because surely you didn't hear that right."No," you croak, voice ragged with confusion, shame and heartbreak. "What the fuck—" You glance between them, voice rising. "You guys are fucking weird." You yank at the sheets, trying to cover yourself but Sunghoon doesn't even flinch. Jake that's still smirking devilishly just shifts closer to the bed, looming over you and Sunghoon? God, Sunghoon just tilts his head, looking at you. That same unreadable stare, dark and heavy and burning but this time there's something different there. Something that reaches out and claws at you even as you recoil. Not affection or cruelty, just want, so intense it's borderline unbearable.

Jake's gaze is different, lighter, crueler, like he's seeing you as something to be played with but Sunghoon—Sunghoon is hungry. You feel it crackling in the air, feel it vibrating against your skin and God, you hate yourself, because your body is betraying you again — your head nodding before you even realize it, weak, desperate, aching.

Jake grins, sharp and wolfish—the second you do. "Good girl," he breathes, wasting no time, before you can regret it, his fingers slip under the hem of your flimsy top, tugging it over your head, baring you completely, safe for your bra that he immediately discards and his mouth is on you immediately, hot and slick and brutal.

Sucking at the soft flesh of your tit, biting down just enough to make you whimper. You gasp, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders, not pushing him away or pulling him close either, just clutching him, trying to hold yourself together. It's too much, their hands, their mouths, the heavy stare of Sunghoon's black eyes like he's drinking you in.

You can't catch your breath and Sunghoon's patience wears thinner by the second. You can feel it in the way his hands slide up your thighs, the way he spreads you open again without a word, the way his cock twitches against his thigh as he watches Jake mark you up.

He's done waiting, he wraps his hand around the base of his cock, not even bothering to slow down, not even pretending to give you time to adjust. "Move," he mutters to Jake, a single word, sharp-edged. Jake laughs against your skin but he obeys, pulling back just enough for Sunghoon to settle between your thighs. You barely have time to whimper before Sunghoon is there, pressing the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, not cruel but not careful either, sliding in with slow, brutal finality.

You gasp high and broken—your nails digging into the sheets. Jake's mouth finds your ear, murmuring filth. Sunghoon just fucks into you like you're a thing he's owed, stretching you open on his cock and you clench on him, your hips jerking with every punishing thrust, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes and soaking the sheets beneath you. Your head is spinning, your chest heaving, every nerve ending raw and oversensitized.

You think if he fucks you any harder, you'll just shatter apart and you almost want him to. You almost want him to break you completely so you'll stop feeling this ache, this desperate, hollow yearning for something he refuses to give you. Your eyes screw shut, your fingers scrabbling uselessly at the sheets and it's all just white noise.

Until one particularly brutal thrust has your whole body jerking and your eyes fly open on instinct and that's when you see it. Through the blurry haze of your tears, your vision sharpening in short, frantic bursts. You see Sunghoon not just fucking you but kissing Jake, in fact it's not just kissing, it's devouring. Sunghoon's mouth is slanted hard over Jake's, his tongue forcing its way between his lips, messy and aggressive. Jake is grinning into the kiss like he's won, one hand tangled in the back of Sunghoon's hair, the other lazily tweaking his own nipple through his t-shirt, like he's savoring the way Sunghoon is practically fucking his mouth too.

You whimper without meaning to, your body clenching helplessly around Sunghoon's cock at the sight because it's so much, too much even. Sunghoon driving into you, Sunghoon moaning into Jake's mouth, Jake playing with himself, Jake smirking like he knows exactly what this is doing to you and somewhere deep down, even through the pleasure flooding your body, even through the slick obscene noises filling the room, you know now what you hadn't let yourself believe before. That this thing between Jake and Sunghoon—whatever it is—It's more.

They're not just friends, they can't be, not with the way Sunghoon is gripping Jake's jaw, the way he's pulling those filthy little noises out of him like he knows exactly how. Your stomach twists, sick and overwhelmingly turned on. You're so close again, you can feel it, your whole body trembling on the precipice of another orgasm, Sunghoon's thrusts getting sloppier, deeper, his low grunts spilling out of him like he can't even hold them back anymore.

"Jake," Sunghoon suddenly groans all wrecked and desperate "I'm—" Before you can even understand what's happening, Jake is moving, quick and decisive. He shoves Sunghoon back by the hips, pulling his cock out of you with a wet, messy noise that has you gasping at the sudden emptiness. Your legs twitch, your pussy instinctively clenching down around nothing and then you watch, horrified as Jake drops to his knees in front of Sunghoon like it's normal, like it's natural and wraps his lips around Sunghoon's flushed, dripping cock without hesitation.

Sunghoon moans, really moans. Loud, guttural, shameless, the kind of sound he never gave you, the kind of sound you ached to pull out of him. Jake hums smugly around him, looking right at you, his eyes sharp and gleaming with amusement.

Like he's mocking you, almost daring you to say something. To admit how much you wish it were you making Sunghoon fall apart like that. Your breath hitches in your throat, your hands fisting in the ruined sheets, every inch of you burning with humiliation and confusion and sick, aching need.

Sunghoon stands there, looking disheveled and flushed, his skin slick with sweat, the faintest smirk pulling at the corner of his swollen mouth. Jake wipes his lips with the back of his hand but instead of stepping away, instead of giving you a moment to think, he's reaching for you.

His hand tangles in your hair firm and he's dragging you forward, toward him. You don't even resist, too stunned, too broken open already, too ruined by the heavy tension that wraps around the room like a noose and then he's kissing you, messy and wet, so incredibly obscene. You whimper into his mouth when you taste it—Sunghoon's lingering arousal still coating Jake's tongue, thick and salty and wrong. You should pull away, shove him off and spit it out you don't because Jake is holding you there, mouth slanted over yours, his free hand cradling the back of your head so you can't escape the way the taste spreads and soaks into your own tongue and somewhere in the blurred confusion of it all, you realize you're kissing back and obeying when he pulls away and looks at you with those sharp eyes, telling you to swallow.

Your knees buckle, but Jake catches you easily, turning you towards Sunghoon. "You were such a good girl for me," he says under his breath, incongruous with the essence of him still coating your lips. "You'd be even better if you let Jake fuck you too." You glance up at him through a blink, stunned, teetering on the edge of sanity, knowing exactly what you should say.

No. No. No.

But it's like there's a part of your brain wired exclusively for him, for the soft cadence of his voice, the weight of his hand on the curve of your waist, the promise of his approval, so nod weak and trembling, before your mind even finishes forming the thought.

Jake grins, triumphant and he's moving immediately, not wasting a second, grabbing your hips and turning you around like you're just something to be positioned, something to be used. "You're going to let me fuck you? After all that mouthing off? Telling me to kill myself?" he taunts, "What was it she called me again, Hoon? Your guard dog?" he adds, running his hand down your back and pressing down so you're perfectly arched for him.

You can see Sunghoon sitting back against the headboard now, watching you with lazy, half-lidded eyes. Jake's hands are rough as he spreads you open, humming low under his breath when he sees just how wet you still are. It's shameful, the way your body betrays you, throbbing and slick and eager.

"Fuck," Jake mutters, almost to himself, "Sunghoon really did break you in, huh?" You hear Sunghoon laugh, smug but you don't dare lift your head to look at him. You're too busy squeezing your eyes shut, fists curling tight in the sheets, bracing yourself for whatever's about to come.

And when it does come, when Jake finally pushes into you, it's so different, he's not as patient. He's rougher, filling you quick and deep, grunting under his breath when your body clenches down instinctively. "Still so tight," he breathes, reverent, like he can't fucking believe it. You whimper, your arms shaking, your body arching more without your permission, as he starts to move. Long, deep thrusts that make your back curve, your mouth fall open in helpless little gasps and all the while Sunghoon is watching.

In a silent possessive way, you can feel like a brand burning into your skin. You know you're not supposed to want this, you're not supposed to like the way Jake is fucking you, hard and fast and unrelenting while Sunghoon watches like you're putting on a show just for him.

Your body doesn't care, it's already chasing the next brutal, devastating high and Jake aids it, fucking you with sharp, brutal thrusts that knock little gasps and whines from your throat without mercy. Each snap of his hips punches forward into that spot inside you that feels too raw, the overstimulation crackling up your spine like electricity.

It's nothing like how Sunghoon fucked you. Where Sunghoon was calculated, almost teasing in the way he stretched you open, Jake feels like punishment, like he's trying to split you in half just because he can. His pace didn't slow once, not even when Sunghoon shifted closer, not even when the softest brush of lips pressed against your temple like a secret only you were supposed to feel. If anything, it got worse. Harder, deeper, like he was trying to fuck the kiss right off your skin.

And it was so stupid, it was so stupid, because your body betrayed you instantly, muscles clenching down around him so tight you felt it too, the way your walls tried to drag him deeper, how your toes curled and your back bowed like you were desperate for more.

Jake's laugh was low and rough against your ear, all teeth and mean amusement as he tightened his fingers around your waist. "She's fucking clenching. Just 'cause you kissed her," he taunted, and you wanted to say no, wanted to deny it, wanted to pretend you had any dignity left but it was impossible when Sunghoon's mouth was finding the corner of your lips now, slow and tender and unbearably sweet. "You're so pretty"

"Pathetic little thing," Jake cooed, voice dipped in false pity, "Sunghoon calls you pretty and you're already squeezing my cock like it's the first nice thing anyone's ever said to you." You whimpered, pressing your forehead to the mattress, trying to hide from them both, from the unbearable heat prickling under your skin. You could feel Sunghoon smiling against your cheek, soft and secretive, and when you cracked your eyes open, you caught it, that tiny, almost imperceptible look he passed to Jake. The faintest tilt of his mouth. Permission. Encouragement.

"Don't listen to him," Sunghoon murmured anyway, voice as soft as his kisses, pretending like he wasn't the one feeding the fire. His hand stroked lazily down your spine, light enough to make you shiver. "You're pretty. That's all that matters."

Pretty.

You could have cried.

You almost did.

Jake's laugh rumbled against your back as he thrust up into you again, hard enough to have you gasping, scrabbling uselessly at the sheets. "Such a good girl," Jake crooned mockingly, dragging the words out, slow and sticky like syrup. "All pretty and dumb for us."

Sunghoon just kept petting you, like you were something small and helpless. His fingers tracing your spine like he was counting your vertebrae, his mouth ghosting over your skin, and then he was murmuring almost absently, like he was thinking out loud, "So pretty like this. So pretty I almost feel bad."

You didn't even know who he was talking to—you, Jake, himself—it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the way Jake's cock bullied into you without a hint of mercy, and the way Sunghoon looked at you like you were something sacred he was offering up to be ruined.

"Are you gonna fucking cum or what," Sunghoon muttered next, his voice a little rough around the edges, impatient, a glimpse of the colder boy underneath all the tenderness, "You never take this long with the other girls."

Jake barked a short laugh, snapped his hips forward once, hard enough to make you cry out. "Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all, "she's just a little too fucking sweet." You didn't know if he meant the way you tasted, the way you sounded, the way you looked sprawled out for them like you'd forgotten how to say no. Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it.

You couldn't think straight anymore.

You couldn't do anything but clench and sob and ache for them, feel Jake's cock dragging in and out of you, feel Sunghoon's kisses ghosting over your skin, hear their low voices murmuring above you like a prayer and a curse all at once.

You heard it, heard it even through the messy sounds of Jake using you, even through the haze of your own breathless little cries and for a second everything inside you pulled tight.

Other girls.

He said it like it meant nothing. Like it was just some passing detail, a shrug of the shoulders, a fact you should already know but you didn't and in the haze of it all you almost didn't realize Sunghoon wasn't yours, maybe he was Jake's but one thing is sure though; you weren't the first girl they'd done this with.

Your throat worked uselessly, a desperate little sound clawing up before you could stop it and you hated it, hated that they would hear it, hated that it gave you away. "S-Sunghoon"

He turned to you, still petting you absentmindedly but you could feel the slight hesitation in his touch, the way his fingers paused just a little too long at the dip of your spine, as if considering whether he'd gone too far but he didn't apologize, he didn't even look sorry. He just leaned in closer, brushing his lips over your shoulder, whispering sweet nothings into your burning skin like he could stitch up the bleeding hurt with pretty words.

"You're better than them," he murmured, so quiet you almost thought you imagined it. "So much better, baby." You despised how easily you melted for him. Jake thrust particularly deep and you choked on a sob, "Oh my God! J-Jake!", hips jerking helplessly back against him, desperate for any kind of grounding. Your mind was a mess, a riot of shame and pleasure and need and you didn't know how much longer you could hold yourself together, you tongue was already dropping out of your mouth, making you drool.

Above you, Sunghoon just smiled, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was pleased you were breaking because to him it was probably the whole point.

Jake groaned low in his chest when he finished, the sound rattling deep in his throat, but you barely heard it. You were already gone, gone somewhere far inside yourself, where you didn't have to feel the way Sunghoon was murmuring at Jake to "go ahead, finish inside," like it was just another order to be given. Where you didn't have to feel Jake's lazy satisfaction as he spilled inside you, one hand gripping your hip like he owned you, like he had some right to leave pieces of himself inside your body.

It hit you all at once, the whiplash of it, how went from being a virgin a week ago to this, spread out, used, letting boys who barely even liked you do whatever they wanted with you. The shame was so thick it tasted metallic in your mouth. You scrambled, struggling to move, your limbs trembling and slow. Jake was still inside you and you hated it, hated the hot sticky reminder of everything you'd let happen, hated him for still being there like he had every right.

You shoved at him, weak and clumsy but desperate enough that Jake gave a startled grunt and stumbled back, finally slipping free. You barely registered it. You were already trying to crawl off the bed, blind and panicked, desperate to get away before they could see the tears slipping hot and furious down your cheeks but before you could even swing your leg over the edge, Sunghoon's hand closed around your wrist.

Firm that it makes you halt, chest heaving, refusing to look at him, refusing to let him see how broken you were. You tugged weakly against his grip, but it was useless. He didn't say anything at first, just held you there, thumb brushing thoughtlessly against the inside of your wrist, as if soothing you. As if he thought he could soothe this.

You yanked at your wrist, the pathetic sound of your struggle filling the heavy room, Sunghoon didn't even flinch and his grip stayed firm, like he barely noticed how hard you were trying. He just stared at you, something strange and unreadable flickering in his dark eyes, his gazed held confusion, as though he couldn't understand why you were crying.

His gaze dragged over your face, the wetness on your cheeks, the trembling of your mouth, the way you could barely breathe around the panic squeezing your ribs and then he asked it, so casually you almost thought you imagined it.

"Why do you cry all the time?" Asking as if your tears were an inconvenience but it makes something inside you snap. You tore your wrist out of his grip with a violent jerk, your whole body swaying from the force of it, and you backed away so fast you stumbled over yourself. You didn't even care that you were still naked, still aching, still leaking down your thighs.

"I can't believe I did this," you choked out, voice cracking, the words coming in one ugly, messy rush. "You're both fucking weird. I can't believe I let you— I can't believe I—" but before you could finish, Jake's voice cut through the air, lazy and amused, like none of this meant anything to him. "You wanted it," he said, shrugging like it was obvious. "And from the way you were moaning for us? Pretty sure you enjoyed it too."

The shame burned hotter than ever, climbing your throat like bile. You wrapped your arms around yourself, wishing you could disappear into the floor, wishing you had never met them, wishing you could scrub the memory of all of it off your skin. They weren't even trying to comfort you or apologize, they were just standing there, like you were the crazy one for thinking any of this was supposed to mean something more.

You flinched when Sunghoon moved toward you, every part of you braced to be mocked again, humiliated further but instead of laughing at you, instead of pushing you back onto the bed and telling you to take it like before, his hand came up, slow, almost unsure, and wiped the tears off your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. The touch was awkward but gentle in a way that made your throat close up. He didn't know what he was doing, you could feel it in how clumsy he was, as if affection wasn't something he gave often, like he was terrified of getting it wrong.

Before you could form more thoughts, he was leaning in, mouth brushing yours so softly it barely even counted as a kiss, just a warm press, a quiet apology he didn't know how to speak. You made a sound, something broken and desperate in the back of your throat, and he caught it with his mouth, kissing you a little harder. "Don't cry again," he mumbled against your lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut, hating him for making it worse, feeling sorry for yourself for leaning into him without even thinking.

Jake stood a few feet away, still shirtless, still burning from the inside out, arms crossed, watching the whole thing with something close to murder flashing in his eyes. He wasn't smiling anymore, the lazy, taunting smirk was gone, replace with something aimed at Sunghoon like he had just witnessed a betrayal, as though Sunghoon wasn't supposed to kiss you like that, wasn't supposed to wipe your tears or whisper anything that sounded even remotely like he cared.

Jake's jaw clenched, his fingers dug into his biceps, nails biting through the thin fabric of his shirt. It made your stomach twist, that look on his face, the look of boiling anger and ugly jealousy.

Because Sunghoon had never, not once, touched another girl like that and now he was wiping tears off your face like you were some delicate fucking thing worth saving.

Jake's hands curled into fists and stomach twisted. The anger was old, nothing new because it had been sitting in him for a long time—months, maybe.

It started at the party.

The girl, he couldn't even remember her name now but he remembered how she was giggling, clutching his arm, pressing her tits against him like she didn't know he wasn't the one she needed to impress. Jake led her through the crowd anyway, up the stairs, through the half-cracked door where Sunghoon stood against the wall sipping something dark from a cup.

"She's cute, right?" Jake said, grinning, jostling her forward a little. Sunghoon barely even looked at her before he tilted his head, caught her wrist in his hand, brought it up to his mouth and kissed it, all while his eyes were on Jake, while his smile was directed at Jake.

It was mechanical, hollow even and Jake saw it even if no one else did. Sunghoon didn't even want her, he didn't want any of them, not really anyway. He just let Jake bring girls around because it was easier to use them than admit there was nothing either of them actually wanted. It was an arrangement, an easy and disposable arrangement.

Until you, Jake had felt it the day he saw you in Heeseung's apartment, you came over, looking so nervous you could barely meet his eyes. It was supposed to be a joke, flipping up your dress while you were trying to leave. Just to see if you'd cry, just to see if Sunghoon would even bother looking.

He did.

Jake caught it—the way Sunghoon's gaze went dark, sharp, almost hungry. He was the one who leaned over, under his breath, and whispered into Jake's ear. "I want her."

You.

Jake could still feel it, the way those words made something twist in his gut, made his palms itch to hit something. Sunghoon had never said that before. Not once, not even when Jake handpicked the prettiest, most desperate girls at every party but you, standing there like some little doll about to bolt for the door. You, who they hadn't even touched yet, you were the one Sunghoon wanted.

Jake ignored it, or he really tried to. He tried to brush it off, the same way he brushed off the weird sick feeling that climbed up his throat every time you looked shyly at Sunghoon instead of him.

But then the night came. The night Sunghoon was meant to fuck you, Jake was there in his room—had the door cracked open, waiting for Sunghoon to come to him.

It should've been routine, it always was, especially with the shy or naive girls and you were certainly naive, almost borderline oblivious in Jake's opinion. Sunghoon was meant to get you ready and Jake would join later if he felt like it, they'd use you up and that would be that. Instead, Sunghoon slipped out of the room, tight-jawed, tense and cornered Jake by the kitchen sink when he came to get you the water bottle. "She's a virgin," Sunghoon said low, eyes dark and unreadable. "We're not doing this tonight." Jake had laughed because it sounded like he was joking. "What, you scared or something?"

Sunghoon just stared at him. Something ugly, something furious flickering just beneath his skin. "I'm serious," he muttered, voice rough. "I'm not ruining it like this." Like this? Like it mattered?

Jake stood there, watching Sunghoon grab a bottle of water, stall for time, anything to calm down before he went back to you. It burned something inside Jake that he didn't even know he had, not jealousy, not really, it was something worse. Jake wanted to break something. Wanted to break him.

Sunghoon is still holding your waist, like you were his to protect, his fingers pressing deep enough to bruise, yet there's a softness to his grip. He's staring at you like he doesn't understand what's wrong, his eyes searching yours like he can make sense of everything. But he can't. He won't. His breath brushes against your ear as he whispers, "Stay."

It's quiet. Almost too quiet.

Your chest tightens, the words hanging in the air like a weight you can't shake off. You feel the tears welling again, the ache in your throat, the rawness of everything you've just experienced. This wasn't supposed to be you. You weren't supposed to be here.

But you're still here. Still in Sunghoon's room. Still caught between the chaos of two boys who have never looked at you like you were anything other than a game. The thought nearly breaks you, but you keep your head tilted away from Sunghoon's searching gaze, eyes trained on the floor.

That's when Jake's voice cuts through the silence.

"She's not yours, Sunghoon," he sneers, his voice thick with mockery. "She's a free use toy now, remember?"

The words hit harder than anything physical. Sunghoon's face tightens, a flicker of anger flashing across his features for the first time. This is the first time, in all the years of living with Jake, that Sunghoon's ever asked a girl to stay in his room. He never needed to. The others, they always left when the night was over, like it was just part of the script. But with you... he's different. He wants you here. Wants you more than he's willing to admit.

And Jake knows that. He knows it, and he sees the change in Sunghoon, the shift that makes everything spiral out of control.

Sunghoon tenses, his grip on your waist tightening, but it's not to keep you close anymore. It's like a warning, a subtle shift, like he's trying to hold onto something that's slipping through his fingers.

"You don't know shit about her, Jake," Sunghoon spits, voice low, dangerous. But there's a tightness in his chest, the kind that tells you this isn't just about you anymore. This is personal.

Jake laughs, the sound cruel and mocking. "I know enough. You're just fucking delusional, man. She's never gonna be anything but a toy, something to fuck when you need it."

And that's when everything breaks. That's when the jealousy and the anger in Jake's eyes finally win out. He's seething, and there's something darker in him now, something that twists his features into a snarl.

"You think she's different?" Jake's voice rises, thick with bitter disbelief. "You think she's special? She's just a body, Sunghoon. You're no different from me."

Sunghoon doesn't even think. His fist is already flying toward Jake's face before the words are fully out of his mouth.

The sickening crack of Sunghoon's punch echoes through the room. Jake stumbles back, a flash of shock before he's charging again, but this time, Sunghoon's ready. They clash together, their bodies colliding with a force that shakes the room, like they're trying to tear each other apart with their bare hands. You watch, heart pounding in your chest, unable to move.

Jake doesn't care. His gaze is locked on Sunghoon, furious and burning, but there's something else there. Something ugly. It's like he's mad at the whole world. Mad that Sunghoon is breaking the rules, mad that he's treating you differently, and mad that he can't have you like he thought he would.

"You fucking hypocrite," Jake spits, shoving Sunghoon hard enough that he almost knocks you over with him. "You think you're better than me? You fucked her first. You let me fuck her too. Don't act like you're some fucking savior now."

Sunghoon's fist lands again, and this time, the sound of the punch is more brutal, sharper. The room stills for a moment. Everything quiets.

And then Jake stares up at him, blood dripping from him his split lip, his expression twisting into something almost unrecognizable.

"You're not special either, Sunghoon. She'll never choose you."

And that's when the weight of it hits you. Both of them are broken. Both of them have pushed you to this point. But the one you can't seem to tear your eyes away from, the one who's been different with you, is Sunghoon. It's always been him, hasn't it? Even though everything's a mess, even though your mind tells you to run, your body aches for the one who's holding you in place.

But this fight, this ugly confrontation, it feels like the breaking point. Both of them, tearing each other down, just to try and prove something to you. And you don't know how much longer you can stand it.

Jake slammed the apartment door so hard the hallway lights flickered. His chest heaved like he'd run a marathon, every breath sharp and unsteady, and his jaw ached from how tightly he was clenching it. Sunghoon's words were still ringing in his ears. His fists still burned from the impact.

And you? You were still in that room, still with Sunghoon. The echo of it made something cave inside him and he wasn't sure if it was the punch or the shame that hit hardest. It hadn't always been like this.

Two months ago, that was when Heeseung brought you around for the first time. Introduced you casually at a birthday party as his girlfriend's cousin. Jake barely remembered whose birthday it was because the moment he saw you, you eclipsed everything. Not because you were trying to. No, you didn't even speak much that night. Just nodded politely, murmured a hello. It was your eyes that did it—too soft, too open, too easy to read. He saw the way you looked at the floor more than at anyone else, how your hands fidgeted with the strap of your bag.

You didn't belong in their world of sharp words and sharper games and maybe that's exactly why he wanted you. He told himself it wasn't serious, just a passing thing. You were pretty, sure. Innocent too but surely not his type. Except he caught himself watching you, noticing you, even wondering about you but then you had to go and ruin it—by looking at Sunghoon.

He hadn't even looked at you that night, he barely nodded in acknowledgment, said something offhanded to Heeseung about you being "quiet." Sunghoon didn't see you at all but you saw him and Jake saw you.

Staring.

It was in the little glances, the way you perked up just slightly when Sunghoon's voice cut into the room. The way you didn't blink when he walked past, as though you could memorize his silhouette if you tried hard enough. Jake had watched you the whole time, watched you light up for someone who never even looked your way and it made something petty and jealous unravel in him.

He approached you that night of the art show just to tell you, you were too plain for Sunghoon, he said like a warning but it came out more like a challenge. He saw your lips part, saw the brief hurt in your eyes before you turned away.

That was the beginning.

It became a game, or that's what he told himself. Teasing you at parties, mocking the way you watched Sunghoon like he hung the fucking moon. A part of him thought that if he made you feel small enough, you'd stop looking at Sunghoon like that, maybe you'd look at him instead, maybe he could rewrite the script if he could just make you flinch enough to forget what you wanted.

Then one night, after too many drinks, Sunghoon admitted it. "She's cute." Just those two words, offhanded, they barely even meant anything but Jake saw it. The way Sunghoon had been looking at you lately—less like he didn't notice and more like he didn't know what to do with the noticing.

It hit Jake like ice water before Sunghoon even whispered it in his ear that day at Heeseung's apartment, Sunghoon wanted you and you had always wanted him, so where did that leave Jake? He didn't even know who he was jealous of anymore. You, for getting Sunghoon's attention? Sunghoon, for having yours? Or himself—for turning something tender into something so vile?

Maybe that's why he let it happen tonight. Why he hadn't walked away the moment he saw you under Sunghoon like that. Why he'd joined in, touched you like he had any right, kissed you just to claim a piece of something that was never his but none of it made the ache go away, in fact it only made it worse.

"She's not yours, Sunghoon. She's a free use toy now, remember?"

He'd said it because he was furious, he needed to get under Sunghoon's skin because to him it was easier than admitting the truth; he still wanted you and not just your body and not just tonight but when Sunghoon looked at you like that—held your waist, whispered soft things into your skin, kissed your tears away—it gutted Jake.

Sunghoon had never asked a girl to stay, not even once, not even the girls that had way more experience than you and now he was asking you.

Jake punched the wall as he reached the bottom of the apartment stairwell, breathless. His hand split open against the drywall. Still, the pain didn't come close to what was boiling in his chest because the truth was, he never stopped wanting you and now he might've lost you forever along with his best friend.

Back in the apartment, the room still smelled like sweat and anger and something unspoken, thick in the air, clinging to your skin like shame. Sunghoon's touch was gentle this time, he didn't say much as he led you toward the bathroom, one hand lingering low on your back, the other steadying your wrist where his fingers had left slight red marks earlier. You were too quiet to fight him on it, too tired to explain the weight sitting in your chest like wet cloth.

The warm water hit your skin and it felt too good, too soft, like maybe you didn't deserve it. Sunghoon didn't rush. He moved like he'd done this before, washing over you with careful fingers, rubbing suds into your arms, your thighs, behind your ears like he was memorizing the shape of you with every glide. He kissed your shoulder once. Then your temple. Then your mouth. Quick, gentle intervals like he was testing if you'd still let him.

You did.

He didn't speak until he was drying you off, voice low, half-rasped. "Lift your arms." You obeyed. Not because you were weak but because for once, it felt safe to surrender. He slipped a soft shirt over your head, long enough to brush your thighs. It smelled like detergent and cologne and him. You could get drunk off the scent alone. Your legs wobbled as you stepped into clean pair of his shorts and he caught you without a word. He tucked you in like he hadn't just broken you down hours ago. Covered you up to your chin, smoothed the damp strands from your face, lingered a little longer than he meant to. His gaze was unreadable—something suspended between guilt and awe.

"I'll be back," he murmured, like he was worried you'd vanish if he didn't say it aloud.

The sound of the shower running again was the only thing that lulled you close to sleep. You didn't hear him come back in. You just felt the bed dip and the warmth of his body sliding in behind yours, arms looping slow around your waist, chest pressing to your back like he needed to feel you breathing to believe this was real.

He nuzzled against your hair. "Come here," he whispered and he pulled you into him like you belonged there, like he hadn't just chosen you in front of Jake, like maybe he always had.

*•*•*

Jake hadn't been back to the apartment in three days. He'd spent them mostly on Heeseung's couch, pretending to watch TV, pretending he wasn't thinking about you every second he blinked. He didn't say much and Heeseung didn't ask, that was the thing about old friendships—they left space where words couldn't go.

When he came back, the apartment felt the same but emptier, he told himself he wasn't looking for signs of you but the disappointment in his chest when he didn't find any told the truth.

You're gone.

He heard the door to Sunghoon's room click open not long after. He didn't have to turn around to know it was him. They stood in the kitchen like strangers. Jake's knuckles itched with memory, so did his ribs but his voice didn't shake when he finally spoke.

"She left."

Sunghoon didn't deny it. "She needed space."

Jake almost scoffed. "From you too?" Sunghoon looked at him, and there was something devastating in the softness of it. "From the both of us."

A beat passed. Then another.

"You know why you're this angry?" Sunghoon said, his tone level. "It's not because I touched her. It's not even because she let me. It's because you wanted to be the one."

Jake's fists curled before he could stop them.

"I didn't—"

"Yes, you did," Sunghoon cut in, unshaken. "You were just too scared to be anything other than cruel."

Jake's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He couldn't argue—not really. Not when Sunghoon looked at him like he already knew, not when he didn't even have to say it. There was a shift, almost invisible. A flash of something in Jake's eyes, something like grief or longing. It passed too quickly for anyone else to notice but Sunghoon saw it and maybe that's why, as he turned away, he said, "She's at her place."

Jake swallowed. "Why are you telling me?"

Sunghoon didn't answer.

But he didn't need to.

*•*•*

The stairs felt longer than usual or maybe Jake was just nervous regardless of the five days it took him to gather the courage to show up here. His legs didn't feel steady, not when he reached the third floor. Not when he raised a hand to knock on your door. His heart wasn't racing—it was free-falling.

He almost turned around but then the door opened and you were laughing.

It wasn't a sound he'd heard ever, it was soft, light, the kind of thing that came from somewhere safe. You were mid-laugh, leaning slightly into the doorframe, probably reacting to something Yunjin said behind you. Her voice floated out from the living room. Jake barely registered it.

Because then you saw him and everything about you changed. Your smile dropped like glass slipping from a ledge. You didn't say anything but your face said enough, the laughter hadn't just faded, it had recoiled almost like you were scared, like seeing him reopened something you'd tried to bury.

Jake felt it in his chest, low and sudden and still, he didn't speak because how could he? He had no right to be hurt, not after what he did, not after everything he'd been. Still, he stood there, holding his breath, waiting to be let in.

"Can I talk to you?"

Jake's voice was soft even careful like he wasn't sure if he deserved the words he was speaking. Yunjin was at your side in a heartbeat, sliding into the doorway with one brow raised, a hand coming instinctively to your elbow. "She doesn't owe you anything," she said, her tone sharp but calm. "So if you're here to play whatever game you were playing before—"

"It's okay," you said, cutting in quietly. Yunjin looked at you, frown deepening. "You sure?" You nodded. "Just give me a minute."

There was something in Jake's eyes, something raw and unguarded and even if your brain was screaming to slam the door, your heart—traitorous and trembling—wanted to know what he had to say.

You stepped out, closing the door gently behind you, and followed him into the empty hallway.

Jake didn't speak right away.

You could see it—the way his throat worked, how his eyes flicked to the floor and then back to you, like he was sorting through a thousand things he could say and none of them felt right.

Then, finally, "I'm sorry."

It was plain, simples and unpolished, it had you blinking. "What?"

"I'm sorry," he said again, firmer this time. "For everything. For how I treated you. For flipping your skirt up in front of everyone. For saying shit that made you feel—less than." His breath caught slightly. "I'm even sorry for fucking you like that. And calling you—"

You cut in before he could finish. "A free use toy?"

He flinched. "Yeah. That."

Your arms crossed over your chest, suddenly cold. "Are you only saying this because you and Sunghoon want to fuck me again?"

Jake's eyes widened. "No. No. God, no. That's not—I'm not—" His words tumbled, frantic. "I'm not here because of that. I'm here because I have to tell you. I have to tell you that I liked you first."

Silence blanketed the hall.

Jake took a breath and stepped closer, gaze never leaving yours. "That day Heeseung introduced you, when he said you were his girlfriend's cousin, Sunghoon didn't even look at you. But I did. I couldn't stop looking at you. You were so—" He stopped himself, jaw tightening. "And then you were looking at him. Always. Like he was everything." His voice cracked on that last word.

You didn't move.

He ran a hand through his hair, voice lower now. "I didn't know how to handle it. I just— I hated that you never looked at me the way you looked at him. And it made me cruel. I know that. I know I was an asshole. But I swear to god I was only ever like that because I didn't know how else to deal with it."

You stared at him, stunned into silence, noticing how his eyes were glassy like he was begging himself not to cry and maybe for the first time, you saw him. Not as the boy who teased you mercilessly, not as the one who touched you like you were nothing but as the one who was unraveling in front of you—afraid, desperate, honest. He huffed out a breath before continuing, "I know you think I'm just awful and that Sunghoon doesn't have feelings but he does and—" "I—I promise I'll be better and he will too, just come over please." "There's so much we want to tell you" he sighed the last part like he was using the last of his energy to say it.

That was the last thing he said before he left you standing there and you don't remember agreeing, not really. It's all a blur—Jake's quiet voice on the stairwell, the look in his eyes like he was begging without asking, the way he said please, the way he mentioned Sunghoon like the words had weight in his throat.

Maybe that's why you're here, maybe it's closure, maybe it's not.

The apartment is quiet when you knock but the second the door opens, you feel a pair arms around you. "You didn't cry again, did you?" Sunghoon's voice murmurs into your hair, soft and close.

You shake your head. No, you didn't, not this time. His scent is familiar, clean soap and something warm underneath. He lingers a second too long before he steps aside and that's when you see him—Jake, standing by the kitchen counter like he's unsure whether to stay or disappear. His expression flickers when your eyes meet, but he doesn't say anything. He just watches, you used to think his stare meant mockery but now it's something else. It's waiting, even hoping.

The silence stretches and you feel like you should say something. Sunghoon glances between you two like he's used to translating tension. "We talked," he says, mostly to you. "Jake wanted to say sorry. Properly this time." You nod because right now it's all you can do.

"Can I...?" Jake's voice trails off. He gestures awkwardly toward the couch, like he's asking for permission just to sit near you. He's never been this quiet before, never this cautious.

He settles beside you with careful space between your knees. The silence isn't comfortable, but it's not hostile either, just dense with everything unspoken.

Jake speaks first, the words low and halting. "I didn't mean for it to happen like that. Any of it. I was—" He stops, jaw tightening. "I guess I didn't know who I was mad at. You. Him. Myself." Sunghoon stays leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the exchange unfold like it's something he can't touch just yet. Jake glances at you. "You don't have to forgive me. I just... I didn't want it to end like that."

The part of you that once trembled under his cruelty now twitches at his vulnerability, you're not sure when that shifted. Somewhere between the teasing, the way he flung ugly words like armor, and the raw admission in his stare now—something changed.

Maybe you did want him, not like before, not in spite of the way he hurt you but because somewhere beneath the mess, something inside him looked like it had been reaching for you all along.

"You're not as mean as you think you are," you say quietly. Jake huffs a breath that sounds like he might cry if he lets it finish and it has you reaching for him rubbing his cheek with your thumb and you're not entirely surprised that he's leaning into your palm.

You don't know who moves first, only that the space closes and his lips are on yours now, frantic and almost clumsy, his hands find your waist and trail up to your back before he's pulling at your hair so your neck is exposed to him. He pulls away and his forehead presses against yours, Sunghoon is behind you again, kneeling on the couch and sliding a hand along your back like he's grounding you in the moment.

"You sure you want this?" Sunghoon murmurs. You nod, barely but he sees it. Jake sees it. The air shifts and you all somehow manage to make it to Sunghoon's bedroom. Their hands are everywhere, their lips too, kissing, biting, marking, Jake's hands are tugging at your clothes like they personally offended him, Sunghoon is kissing you like today is his last day on earth. He pulls off you placing kisses to your cheeks before speaking, "Come on, let Jake show you how sorry he is" he says as back away, you look to Jake and he seems to want it more than you realize. "Okay".

That was all it took for him to pull down the denim of your shorts along with your panties, staring at you between you legs like he was looking at art, "So pretty, so wet for us" he mumbles, placing kisses to your inner thighs. "Don't tease her, Jake. Do as she says", Sunghoon's voice rings through the room and it makes Jake look up at you like he's waiting for your command, the look has your breath stuttering before you say, quietly but firmly, "Eat my pussy".

Jake must have been on voice command because he immediately starts eating you out. You whimper, back arching as he leans in, licking up your folds with a deep moan like he's lost his mind.

"Fuck—Jake—"

His tongue is everywhere—sloppy, relentless, devouring you like you're dessert and he's starving and you're grinding against his face before you can help it, hand in his hair, breathy moans spilling from your lips like a prayer. Your thighs were already trembling but Jake wasn't slowing down, you looked up from his to see Sunghoon smiling down at you and it makes you moan out more, "Oh my god!"

If anything, Jake is more determined now—tongue working your clit with maddening precision, fingers spreading you open so he could taste you deeper, wetter, messier, like he's trying to pull those sounds from you. You tried to push him away—not because you wanted to stop, but because it was too much, too good but Jake just growled low and gripped your hips tighter, dragging you back to his mouth like he'd die without it.

And then, slowly, finally, he pulled back—lips and chin glistening. Your breath hitched at the sight, he looked wrecked. Hair a mess. Eyes dark and blown wide with hunger. "She didn't ask you to stop, did she?" You look up at Sunghoon as he spoke, just now noticing that he's taken his cock out, it's hard, red and leaking as he palms himself while looking right at you.

Jake look at you and then back at Sunghoon and Sunghoon comes up behind him where he is, "Go on baby, tell him what to do. Use him" he says to you but you can't really speak so instead you grab Jake's hair and pull him back where you're aching for them both.

Behind him, Sunghoon watches, calm and in control, one hand fisted in Jake's hair as if to keep him there. The warm flick of his tongue makes you jolt, your hand gripping the sheets. Jake moans into you, desperate, like he's trying to earn your forgiveness with every swirl of his tongue. You almost don't notice Sunghoon has pulled Jake's up on his knees and now has Jake's shorts and boxers down to his knees where they meet the sheets. Sunghoon looks down at Jake where his back is involuntarily arched with lust filled eyes and the sight of him spitting a dollop of saliva right onto Jake's hole has you gasping, "Sunghoon" you gasp out and he looks at you with a smirk, you look down at Jake and notice his eyes rolling back, you can't tell if it's because of how you taste or because of Sunghoon's index and middle fingers that are now pushed into him.

Jake is still trying his best, his tongue is fucking your hole so good you're trembling but then suddenly he's crying out and you see that Sunghoon has pushed his whole length into him at once and it makes Jake choke on a gasp against your pussy.

"You're losing rhythm," Sunghoon murmurs, dragging his hips back before pausing. His voice is low. "Don't you want to show her how sorry you are?"

Jake whimpers, nodding frantically, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" his lips returning to you with renewed effort—tongue trembling, breath shaking. You arch, overwhelmed at the way he's trying so hard for you. For both of you.

And it's working.

Your thighs close around his head, your moans tangling with Jake's soft cries as Sunghoon keeps rocking into him. The way Jake's mouth moves on you—messy, reverent, aching—pulls you closer and closer until you're gasping his name, your fingers tangled in his hair as you finally finish against his tongue.

Jake groans, muffled by your release, clinging to your thighs like they're the only thing keeping him grounded but then he starts moving again—this time, back against Sunghoon. "Fuck," Sunghoon hisses, voice strained as Jake starts to push back harder. "So desperate to be fucked now, huh?"

You slide forward, cupping Jake's flushed face, and he looks up at you with wide, watery eyes. Your thumb brushes away a tear rolling down his cheek. "Pretty boy," you murmur, kissing his cheek, then the other. "You're so pretty like this." The moment your voice breaks through him, his eyes widen, lips parting in a shaky moan, just like Sunghoon once did to you—Jake clenches down hard around him, the shock drawing a ragged groan from Sunghoon. Sunghoon chuckles breathlessly, eyes flashing. "Oh, now that's familiar. You remember that, sweetheart?" he says to you.

You do remember and now it's Jake—whimpering, trembling, taking it. You trail your hand down Jake's trembling stomach and wrap your fingers around his cock, already dripping. He jerks in your hand, keening, hips stuttering as you start stroking him in time with Sunghoon's thrusts.

"Oh, fuck," Jake cries. "Please—please—"

"Look at you," you coo. "Falling apart just like me." "All that anger, you're just a fucking brat huh?" you ask and he shakes his head furiously. "I—I'm not!", you keep stroking him, speeding up your movements.

Sunghoon growls behind Jake, watching your hand work him while Jake chokes on a sob and fucks himself harder on Sunghoon's cock. "K—Kiss" he whimpers, "Aww, you want a kiss baby?" Sunghoon coos but Jake can only respond with incoherent babbles now. You lean down and kiss him but that means you neglect his aching cock, when he pulls away just to moan out, you go back to stroking him.

Jake lets out a wrecked, high-pitched moan, body trembling as you reach between you and wrap your hand around his cock again . He nearly collapses.

"Please—please, I'm gonna—"

You stroke him slowly, watching the way his body bucks into your fist and back onto Sunghoon's cock in perfect rhythm. He's whining, shameless and loud, hips jerking. Every time you squeeze, he moans louder.

Sunghoon grits his teeth. "Good fucking girl," he growls to you, fucking Jake harder. "He's gonna cum just like this—such a fucking mess."

Jake's the first to break. He sobs your name as he spills all over your hand, body curling in on itself. The clenching sends Sunghoon over the edge with a groan, and he pulls Jake close, hips stuttering as he finishes inside him.

And then, silence. Just heaving breaths, sweaty skin, bodies tangled together on the sheets.

Jake collapses against your chest, still gasping, and you stroke his hair without thinking. Sunghoon lays beside him, one arm thrown lazily over his waist.

For a moment, it's quiet.

Then Jake speaks, "You think Heeseung would be mad we fucked his girlfriend's little cousin?"

You blink. "I'm older than Yunjin."

They both whip their heads toward you.

"No fucking way," they say in perfect unison and somehow, that's the moment you realize you're probably not getting rid of either of them anytime soon.

1K notes · View notes

kittykyuuu · 20 days ago

Text

˗ˏˋ04. BOYFRIEND PACKAGE UNLOCKED

pairingᝰ.ᐟ sim jaeyun x reader

warningsᝰ.ᐟ fingering, oral, unprotected sex, etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

statusᝰ.ᐟ 4/9 completed!

the bed feels too big the moment your warmth is gone. jay stirs slowly at first, the sunlight brushing against his eyelids, the faint weight of the blanket still clinging to his side where you were supposed to be. he doesn't open his eyes right away—not because he's tired, but because something in him already knows. when he does, the empty space beside him confirms it. you're gone. no note, no message, no sound from the hallway. just the faint scent of you lingering on his pillow, a whisper of your presence still folded into the sheets like a promise he thought you might stay long enough to keep. he pushes himself up slowly, muscles tense, chest tight, eyes flickering to the empty corner where you stood last night in that lace. where he first kissed you. where something changed.

he swallows down the knot in his throat as he reaches for his phone on the nightstand, screen already lighting up with notifications. thousands of them. likes, comments, reposts, subscriptions pouring in like a flood. the video is viral—trending faster than anything he’s ever uploaded, his name attached to a level of attention he didn’t even plan for. but none of it feels right. not without you here. he taps into the earnings, sees the numbers spike, thumbs hovering over the payout settings for a second too long before he finally splits it and sends your share directly to your contact. the confirmation ping echoes hollow in the room, too loud against the quiet you left behind. and then he opens a message thread with your name at the top and types—

why’d you leave without saying anything?

but before he can hit send, his thumb lingers. he watches the text for a moment… and deletes it.

he sinks back into the bed for a second, phone resting on his chest now, but it doesn’t feel like comfort. it feels like static. like all the tension he’d carried leading up to last night has only unraveled into more questions. he’d told himself not to get attached. he’d told himself it was just a collab—just a girl. but the second he saw you, something cracked in him. something deep. and now that you’re not here, it aches. not in a way he can shake off. not in a way that goes away with the camera light. he closes his eyes again, the sheets still warm, the air still holding your perfume, and he wonders if you’ll ever come back.

he picks up his phone again and reopens the thread with your name. it’s empty. no response. no message. nothing but your contact name and a blank screen, like you were never here at all. and yet… the feeling of your mouth still lingers on his skin. your voice echoes in the back of his mind like a melody he can’t unhear. he wants to ask you something. anything. but every question sounds like too much—or not enough. so he doesn’t type this time. he just stares.

the numbers keep ticking up, but it doesn’t mean anything now. he sees the comments flooding in—about your moans, your movements, the way you took everything like you were made for it. praise stacked on praise, attention that anyone else would revel in. but jay doesn’t even crack a smile. because none of them saw the moment after the camera turned off. none of them saw the way you trembled in his arms. the way you melted when he washed you off. none of them saw the soft way you curled into him under the covers like you belonged there. like you wanted to stay.

he pulls himself from the bed eventually, sluggish movements betraying the tightness in his chest. he gets dressed in silence, doesn’t bother fixing the sheets, doesn’t open the blinds. the place feels dim, even with the sun out. lifeless, even though he’s never lived here with anyone else. the success of the video buzzes around him, growing louder by the second, but all he hears is the absence of your breathing. the way you slipped out while he slept. like you were afraid of what it meant if you didn’t. like if you stayed, you’d have to admit something neither of you were ready to say. and maybe you’re right. maybe it is just content. maybe he was stupid to think it could be more. but fuck, does he wish you’d stayed.

he paces once through the living room, then sits back on the couch, phone in hand, still staring at the message thread that won’t light up. still wondering if you’ll text first. still hoping that maybe—just maybe—you’re thinking about it too. he taps open your profile again, thumb brushing the edge of your last video, eyes scanning the comments like one of them might hold a clue. but it’s just noise. it’s always noise. and it means nothing if it’s not coming from you.

he’s done this so many times—invited someone over, gone through the checklist, lit the camera, said the lines, hit the angles, cleaned up after. rinse. repeat. content made. money earned. another collab in the books. but this one isn’t settling right. not in his chest. not in his bones. not in the part of him that’s still waiting to hear your voice on the other end of his phone. and it’s fucking with him more than he wants to admit.

he tells himself it’s just the afterglow. that the shoot went well, better than most, and that’s why it’s still sitting in his gut like something unfinished. but deep down, he knows it’s more than that. he’s had good scenes. he’s had better reactions, better angles, louder moans. he’s worked with people who were more open, more enthusiastic, more willing to take it further. and yet, none of them felt like you. none of them lingered in the air like the way you smelled when you pressed into his chest. none of them looked at him after like you did—like you weren’t acting, like the lines between camera and person had blurred too far to separate. and that’s what’s messing him up. that’s what’s got him replaying every second like it means something.

he doesn’t want to be the guy who catches feelings from a collab. he’s always been careful. always stayed detached enough to keep it easy. clean. business. but this? this isn’t clean. it’s messy. it’s tangled in the way you gasped when he poured wax down your stomach. in the way your voice cracked when you begged him to keep going. in the way you whispered thank you under your breath before you collapsed into him. and fuck, he hasn’t stopped hearing it. hasn’t stopped seeing it. like his memory has decided to loop the night for him whether he asked it to or not.

he paces through the kitchen, opens the fridge, then closes it again. he isn’t hungry. he just needed something to do. something to distract himself from the voice in his head asking why it matters so much that you’re gone. he’s not supposed to care. he’s not supposed to notice. he’s supposed to move on to the next booking, the next message, the next set of pretty eyes who’ll let him do the same thing and call it work. but he doesn’t want to. not yet. not when he still remembers the sound of your breathing slowing beneath the water. the weight of your head on his chest. the way you didn’t flinch when he told you you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever touched.

he swipes through his texts again. pauses on your contact. wonders what he’d even say if he reached out. he wants to ask you if you slept well. if you made it home safe. if you meant any of it. but those aren’t the kinds of questions you ask someone you filmed a scene with. not unless you’re willing to admit it wasn’t just a scene. not unless you’re ready to confront what the hell that night actually was. and jay’s not ready. not really. because if he is—then it means something has to change. and he doesn’t know what to do with that yet.

he thinks of heeseung for a moment—of the way he showed up at his place a few days ago, dragging his body through the door like he’d just lost a fight. he remembers the tension in his shoulders, the way his voice cracked when he said she left. he didn’t say much else. didn’t offer a name. just that she walked out like it meant nothing. jay had laughed at the time. teased him about catching feelings over a girl he barely knew. but now—now it doesn’t seem so funny. now he’s the one sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the impression in the sheets and wondering what the fuck just happened.

you were supposed to be a good collab. a name to tag. a body to light. a voice to frame. you weren’t supposed to be the thing that left his bed feeling colder than the rest. you weren’t supposed to make him hesitate. to make him wonder if he did something wrong. to make him think about what it meant when you stayed the night and didn’t say goodbye. and now? now he doesn’t know if he wants you to text him back—or if he’s terrified you actually will. because whatever this is? it’s already not content anymore.

—

you sit on the floor of your bedroom, back pressed against the frame of your bed, phone facedown beside you, like it might say too much if you even glance at it again. your knees are tucked to your chest, arms wrapped loosely around them, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like they’re supposed to keep you from unraveling. outside your window, the afternoon light filters in soft and sleepy, and inside your chest, everything feels like it’s shifting without permission.

nari knocks once before slipping into your room without waiting, a mug in her hands and a gentle concern on her face like she can already read the weight behind your eyes. she doesn’t ask right away, doesn’t speak—just settles beside you on the floor, her thigh pressed against yours and the faint smell of vanilla rising from her sweater. you’re grateful for the silence, for the way she always knows how to sit in it with you without making it worse. but after a minute, your voice cracks the space between you, low and tired. “do you ever think maybe i’m doing too much?” she blinks, looking over. “like… all this. the videos. the messages. meeting people i barely know. does that sound crazy to you?” her expression softens like she’s heard this before, but never from you.

you press your forehead to your knees, the cotton of your hoodie warm against your skin, trying to stop the thoughts from spiraling too fast. “i didn’t expect it to feel like this,” you say quietly. “like i’m giving away pieces of myself without realizing it until it’s already done.” the words sit heavy in your mouth, shaped by guilt, by confusion, by something softer you don’t want to admit out loud. “and now it’s like… it’s not just filming anymore. it’s not just content. it’s—” you hesitate, searching for the word. “intimate.” you finish. “it feels intimate. and i don’t know if it’s supposed to.” you lift your eyes then, finally looking at her. “is that normal?”

nari’s quiet for a moment, like she’s letting the weight of your words settle before she touches them. she reaches out gently, wrapping her fingers around your wrist, grounding you the way she always does—with her presence, not her judgment. “of course it’s normal,” she says softly. “you’re doing something incredibly intimate. just because it’s filmed doesn’t mean it’s not real.” she squeezes your wrist once, then again. “your body knows the difference between performance and connection, even if your brain hasn’t caught up yet.” you blink, swallowing against the ache in your throat. “so i’m not… broken?” you ask. “no,” she replies without hesitation. “you’re just human.”

you nod slowly, the lump in your throat not gone, but easier to carry now. you lean your head against her shoulder, grateful for the way she always finds the words when yours feel too tangled. “sometimes i feel like i’m living two lives,” you whisper. “there’s me here—taking orders, paying bills, scraping by. and then there’s this other version of me online, in front of a camera, being seen by people who don’t even know what my favorite color is.” nari lets out a soft hum, her hand stroking your arm. “both versions are real,” she says. “they’re just trying to figure out how to live in the same skin.” and somehow, that makes all the difference.

—

you’ve been calling out names for the past hour and a half without looking up. your fingers move automatically now—punching buttons on the screen, wiping syrup from your palms, sealing plastic lids with a snap that feels too sharp in your ears. you’re on your third refill of watered-down iced coffee and it doesn’t taste like anything anymore. someone asks if their drink is dairy-free three separate times. the espresso machine screeches again. the printer spits out another rush of orders before you’ve even caught up with the last. your wrist hurts. your lower back throbs. your voice is running dry, barely audible over the constant hum of people waiting.

you pull a sticker from the printer, slap it on the side of a cold cup, and slide it down the counter like clockwork. “grande pink drink with light ice,” you call out, monotone. a woman steps forward, grabs it without saying thanks. you almost smile anyway, out of habit. almost. but then you spot her—just past the edge of the milk bar, standing there like she always does when she’s trying to look casual. arms crossed, tablet in hand, eyes sweeping the floor.

you brace yourself before she even opens her mouth, the kind of instinctive reaction your body has learned after months of being under her watch—where every interaction feels like walking a tightrope, balancing politeness with exhaustion. you lift your head just slightly, posture stiffening as you wipe your damp palms against your apron, your fingers sticky from caramel syrup and trembling with the kind of restraint that’s worn thin over time. your eyes don’t leave her, not because you’re trying to be bold, but because if you look away now, you’re not sure you’ll be able to hold onto the small flicker of resolve burning in your chest. she makes her way toward you with a familiar gait—unhurried, calculated, the kind of slow approach that makes you feel like you’re already in trouble before she even speaks. her lips are pursed, her eyes narrowed just enough to register dissatisfaction without being overtly rude, and her arms are crossed like she’s been standing there long enough to decide she doesn’t like what she sees.

“y/n,” she says, and your name sounds like a warning, softened only by that professional sweetness she always laces into her tone when she’s about to tell you you’re doing something wrong. “can you try to pick it up a little?” she adds, glancing at the growing line of impatient customers, then back to you with eyebrows raised. “we’re already behind.” it’s not harsh—not really—but it lands like a slap anyway, the implication behind her words echoing louder than the phrasing itself. you’ve heard her say versions of this before, always when you’re running on empty, always when you’re giving more than you have left, and still it’s never quite enough. you don’t answer right away. the words hang in the air between you, familiar and irritating and heavy with the weight of everything you’ve been too afraid to say. you look down slowly, your gaze drifting to your apron, the fabric wrinkled and damp around the edges, to the sticker still clinging to your hand, printed with a name you don’t care to read. and then it settles—like a hush in your chest—because this moment isn’t just something you’ve thought about. it’s something you’ve practiced.

you move with a strange calmness, not mechanical, not rushed, but deliberate—like every motion you make has finally caught up with a choice you already made in silence weeks ago. your hands lift to the knot at the back of your waist and untie your apron slowly, carefully, as though the small gesture deserves reverence. you fold it once, then again, smoothing out the fabric like it means something, and place it gently on the counter beside the headset, which you remove from your head with the same quiet finality. there’s a pause after that. a stillness. and then you raise your eyes, finally meeting hers without blinking, your expression neutral but unreadable. “i’m done,” you say, and though your voice isn’t loud or sharp, it cuts through the clatter of cups and background noise like a clean tear through cloth. it doesn’t sound angry. it doesn’t even sound sad. it sounds like release.

she furrows her brows slightly, tilting her head like she’s unsure if she heard you correctly. “done with what?” she asks, and you can tell by her face that she’s genuinely confused, because in her mind, this isn’t something you’re allowed to say. you let out a quiet breath, not a sigh exactly, but something closer to an exhale that’s been stuck in your chest for too long. “this,” you clarify, voice still even but firmer now, like you’re finally standing on solid ground. “the job. i’m quitting.” the words settle around you like a weight lifted, like a lock clicking open from the inside out, and you can feel the adrenaline moving through your blood in slow, hot waves, but it doesn’t make you dizzy this time. it makes you steady.

she doesn’t respond at first. just blinks at you like you’ve spoken in a language she’s never heard before—like the idea of you leaving hasn’t even existed as a possibility in her world. you can see the gears turning behind her eyes, the slight twitch of her mouth as she tries to figure out if this is some kind of joke or a moment of heat you’ll immediately take back. and maybe if it were a month ago, you would’ve. maybe you’d apologize, force a smile, tie your apron back on and pretend like none of this ever happened. but not this time. you don’t smile. you don’t soften it. you just stand there, and watch her try to make sense of it.

“wait… you’re—quitting?” she says finally, her voice hitching just enough to betray how caught off guard she really is. her eyes scan your face, searching for something—uncertainty, maybe, or regret—but all she finds is quiet resolve. “are you sure? you didn’t give notice, we’re—i mean, we’re short-staffed as it is. i could give you a couple extra days off if you need them or—”

you shake your head before she can finish, not harshly, but with enough certainty to stop the sentence in its tracks. it doesn’t matter that she’s trying now. it’s too late. she had all the chances in the world to notice how burnt out you were. how invisible you felt. how little of yourself you had left to give.

you reach behind your neck, unfastening the rest of your apron, and fold it carefully in half before stepping forward and holding it out to her. your hand doesn’t shake. it doesn’t hesitate. she stares at it for a beat too long before accepting it, almost robotically, like her body moves before her brain catches up. she looks down at the crumpled fabric in her hands like it’s proof that this is real, that you’re not going to change your mind. that for the first time, you’re the one walking away.

you don’t say goodbye. you don’t thank her for the opportunity or apologize for the timing or offer to cover one last shift to make things easier. you just turn, moving toward the back wall where you keep your tote bag and jacket tucked into the metal cubby that still has your name on it in faded label tape. you sling the bag over your shoulder, check that your phone and keys are inside, and walk through the same door you’ve walked through a hundred times before—only this time, it feels different. like a closing. like a small, quiet revolution.

the second the cold air hits your face, you feel it—the weight loosening in your chest, the ache in your shoulders dissolving, the burn behind your eyes softening into relief. the street is loud, but it doesn’t matter. you move through it like you’re somewhere else entirely. your legs carry you forward before your mind fully catches up, past the familiar shops and corners you’ve passed on too many tired mornings, your steps steady and purposeful now, like your body knows where you’re going even if your thoughts haven’t settled.

you slip your hand into your tote bag without stopping, fingers brushing past your wallet and charger until they close around the smooth edge of your phone. it’s warm from all the buzzing, and the screen lights up before you even look down. three tip notifications. two new subscribers. and one message thread that catches your eye before anything else—bold and unread, his username in lowercase: @jakeoncam.

you swipe it open with your thumb, slowing your pace just enough to read as you cross the intersection near your block.

jakeoncam: gonna pick you up 8, okay?

there’s a second message right beneath it.

jakeoncam: don’t stress about anything, i don’t bite ;)

your heart lifts in a way you didn’t expect, something warm unfurling in your chest like the sun cutting through heavy clouds. you stop at the edge of your building’s steps and glance at the time—6:17 p.m.—enough time to shower, change, and pretend for a little longer that your life isn’t balancing between two separate versions of yourself. the girl who just quit her job, and the one who’s about to step into a stranger’s car and play pretend until it starts to feel real.

you take the stairs two at a time, heart knocking steadily against your ribs—not from nerves, not exactly, but from something closer to momentum. like you’re already halfway into the next chapter without realizing it. your keys jingle softly in your hand as you reach your floor, the chipped silver door familiar beneath your fingertips as you unlock it with a quiet click. inside, your apartment smells faintly like coconut body wash and citrus cleaner, the leftover scent of a space you’ve slowly begun to make your own.

you shut the door behind you, dropping your bag onto the couch with a thud that echoes louder than expected in the small space. you exhale and head straight to the bathroom, stripping off your clothes along the way, leaving behind a trail that marks the difference between that life and this one.

you let the water run hot, hotter than usual, steam curling around your body as you step inside and tilt your head back under the spray. for a minute, you don’t move. you just breathe. let the heat soak into your skin and chase off the last remnants of espresso and sweat and everything you don’t need anymore. when you step out, it’s like shedding the day entirely. like something new has settled onto your shoulders in its place—light, intoxicating, electric with possibility.

you wrap yourself in your softest towel and move to your mirror, brushing your fingers over your face like you’re studying yourself again. not the barista. not the customer service smile. you. the girl he’s coming to pick up at eight.

your closet door creaks as you open it wider, the low sound slicing through the quiet hum of your apartment. it’s not overflowing, but it holds enough—enough lace, enough silk, enough textures you’ve worn in front of the camera when the goal was to entice, to impress, to make people pay attention. but tonight feels different. not performative, not transactional, not like you need to be touched-up and teased-out until you’re a fantasy. it’s something quieter than that. more intimate. your fingers move past the usual suspects: black mesh, red strappy lingerie, dresses with seams that cling to your skin like second thoughts. you pause instead on a white tank top, one you haven’t worn in months. it’s light and clingy and slightly sheer, the kind of thing that rides up when you move too much, that dips just low enough at the neckline to suggest something without screaming it. it looks like comfort. it looks like home.

you pull it gently from its hanger, the cotton brushing over your fingertips like a secret, and fold it over your arm as you turn toward the dresser. you dig out a pair of soft pink shorts, high-waisted with a satin sheen that catches the low light of your bedroom, the hem fluttering around your thighs like a whisper. it’s not a look that demands attention. it’s not bold. it’s not curated to trend.

you dress slowly, smoothing the top down over your stomach, adjusting the waistband of the shorts so they sit just right on your hips. you stand in front of the mirror for a while, eyes trailing over your reflection, taking in the softness of it all—the undone hair, the flushed cheeks, the lip gloss still dewy from your last touch-up. you pin a piece of hair behind your ear, then let it fall again. you want to look like you didn’t try. but god, you did.

you spritz perfume onto the inside of your wrists and press them together, then dab a little behind your knees, between your thighs, where the scent will warm with every movement. you run gloss over your lips again, just enough to make them glisten, and watch the way they catch the light. you slip your favorite dainty necklace around your neck, the chain fine and silver and cool against your skin, and check the time again before turning to look out the window. the city is beginning to dim into dusk, buildings casting longer shadows, streetlights flickering on in slow succession. cars pass. people walk by in pairs, in groups, in rushes of laughter and low conversation. and then—one car pulls up and stops.

you lean a little closer to the glass, one hand bracing the windowsill. the car is dark, sleek, familiar in a way that tightens something low in your stomach. the headlights shut off. a figure steps out. even from here, you know it’s him. jake stands by the passenger door, phone in hand, thumb tapping a message. you don’t need to check your phone to know it’s already coming through. you grab it anyway. the screen lights up with a message bubble that makes your chest warm.

jakeoncam: i’m outside :)

your hand wraps tighter around your keys as you step out into the evening air, the door clicking shut behind you with a soft finality that feels louder than it should. the breeze ghosts along your skin, brushing over your bare legs and the loose fabric of your shorts, the scent of something sweet and warm—your perfume, your lotion, maybe even the faint trace of coconut from your earlier shower—carried on the wind like a secret. the street is quiet in that golden moment between daylight and dusk, and there he is—still leaned casually against the passenger side of the sleek black car, his head bowed slightly as he looks down at his phone, unaware that you’re standing there watching him see you for the first time.

you take a few slow steps forward, your sandals brushing lightly against the sidewalk, and as your shadow crosses into his space, he looks up.

his reaction is instant—but not loud. not exaggerated. his whole posture shifts, his back straightening, his shoulders squaring subtly like something invisible has moved through him. his eyes meet yours and hold—longer than they should, longer than is comfortable if you weren’t already both half-aware that this moment was coming. you see it then: the way his lips part, just slightly. the way his fingers curl a little tighter around the phone in his hand. there’s no smirk. no wink. no casual quip to break the silence. he just… looks at you.

you blink, suddenly hyper-aware of how warm your face is. you open your mouth to say something, anything, but before a word can form, he’s already moving—pushing himself off the car, sliding his phone into his pocket as he walks around the front to the passenger side. he reaches the door before you do, fingers curling around the handle, and without saying a word, he opens it.

“thanks,” you murmur, voice soft with surprise, and he just tilts his head toward the open door, gesturing for you to get in like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

you lower yourself into the passenger seat carefully, your hands smoothing your shorts instinctively as you settle in—and the moment your body hits the leather, you still. the interior is pristine. quiet. the kind of silence that comes from money. you’ve never sat in a car this nice before, not even close, and the contrast hits you like a slow, rising warmth that starts in your chest and spreads down your arms. everything feels padded, soft and controlled, like the air inside is being filtered just for you. you let your eyes scan the dashboard, the matte finish of the screen, the glow of the console, the smoothness of the stitching along the seats. even the seatbelt feels expensive.

you glance over at him, eyes wide with a hint of disbelief. “okay,” you breathe out, half-laughing, “this is… wow.”

that’s when he grins, finally letting out the quietest chuckle as he closes the door behind you and walks around to the driver’s side. “what?” he says as he slides into the seat, glancing sideways at you with a look that’s all warmth and mischief. “you thought i was picking you up in, like, a busted toyota or something?”

you raise a brow, biting back a smile as your fingers trace the seam of the seat. “i mean… i wasn’t expecting to feel like i was about to be driven to a premiere.”

he hums low in his throat as he fastens his seatbelt, then starts the car with a smooth twist of his wrist. the engine doesn’t even roar—it purrs, soft and deep and controlled, like everything about this man who, up until now, you’ve only seen in curated fragments. there’s something surreal about it—this new dimension of him unfolding in front of you. and for a second, you forget that you’re not just here for a ride. you’re here for a shoot. a job. a collaboration.

you glance at him again as he pulls out into the street, the fading light casting a soft halo around his profile. “so…” you begin, voice careful but curious, “what exactly are we filming tonight?”

he glances at you, smile tugging at the corner of his lips but not fully forming. “you’ll see,” he says, tone playful but not unkind. “it’s not like the others. i wanted something different.”

you pause. you know you should ask for more details—boundaries, logistics, angles—but something in the way he says it makes you hesitate. not out of fear. out of intrigue.

the ride to his place is quiet—not awkward, not strained, just comfortably subdued. the kind of silence that feels filled with unspoken questions and maybe a few things neither of you are ready to say out loud yet. the city moves around you in soft streaks of gold and neon, traffic lights blinking red across the windshield, people walking in clusters on the sidewalks, laughter trailing behind as you pass. the interior of the car is warm, dimly lit, and smells faintly like leather and his cologne—woodsy and clean, with something deeper underneath that clings to your senses in a way you’ll probably remember later when you’re alone in your bed. you glance over at him a few times, just quick glances when he’s focused on the road, hands loose on the wheel, forearms firm and relaxed. his profile is calm. eyes forward. expression unreadable, but not cold. thoughtful, maybe. like he’s holding something close to his chest and waiting for the right moment to let it go.

when he finally turns onto a quieter street, the buildings thin out and grow taller. the sidewalks are cleaner. the air changes. the kind of neighborhood you don’t just happen to end up in—you have to get here. you try not to show your surprise, but your fingers tighten slightly on your bag in your lap, eyes scanning the rows of apartments that look more like personal museums than homes. he doesn’t say anything about it—doesn’t try to show off or explain—and somehow, that only makes it more surreal. there’s no keypad when he pulls into the underground garage, just a smooth lift of a hand as the security arm rises and he glides in like he’s done it a thousand times before.

you step out of the car into soft, echoing quiet. the garage is spotless, even the cement seems polished. your footsteps sound sharper here, more deliberate, like they carry weight they didn’t have outside. he walks beside you, close but not touching, and when you reach the elevator, he holds the door without needing to be asked. you step inside, and he presses the button for the top floor. no hesitation. no checking a key fob. just… top floor.

the silence stretches again, but this time, it feels heavier. not uncomfortable—just thick with anticipation. you feel it in the air between you, in the hum of the elevator and the soft scent of his hoodie lingering beside you. he doesn’t speak until the doors open, and even then, it’s barely above a murmur.

“you good?” he asks, glancing at you sideways, voice low.

you nod, meeting his gaze. “yeah. just... taking it all in.”

he smiles—just a flicker of it. “it’s just a place. you don’t have to be impressed.”

but you are. even if you don’t say it.

he leads you down a short hall, his steps quiet, his key sliding into the door with a smooth click. when he opens it, the first thing you notice is how clean it is. not sterile, not showroom-perfect—just lived-in in a way that’s neat but warm. dark floors, soft lighting, high ceilings. shelves lined with records and books and a few indoor plants that are actually thriving. the air smells like cinnamon and clean laundry, with the faintest trace of something familiar—like skin, maybe. like home.

you step in slowly, letting your eyes adjust to the lighting, and turn toward him as he closes the door behind you. “this is where you film?”

he nods once, toeing off his shoes. “sometimes. depends on the vibe.” he looks at you for a beat, then gestures with a tilt of his head. “come on. i’ll show you.”

you follow him down the hallway, past a small kitchen with marble counters and warm light under the cabinets, toward a room at the end. he opens the door without warning, revealing a softly lit bedroom that looks nothing like the usual shoot setup you expected. there’s no ring light. no backdrops. just a large bed with charcoal-gray sheets, a few candles burning on the dresser, and a single camera mounted low on a tripod at the corner of the room—facing the bed, but unobtrusive. intimate. natural. like it’s just… part of the space.

“you still haven’t told me what we’re doing,” you say, turning to him, suddenly more aware of how quiet the room feels with just the two of you standing in it.

he leans against the doorway like it’s the only thing keeping him upright, arms folded but not in that distant, unreadable way—more like he’s bracing himself. holding in more than he’s letting on. “i booked the boyfriend package,” he says, voice low, careful, like the words might fall apart if he says them too fast. “that’s… what i want us to film.”

you blink, unsure if you heard him right. “you did?”

he nods slowly, the motion subtle. “yeah. my subscribers have been asking for it—something different from me. softer. more connected. they’ve seen enough of the casual stuff. the rough cuts, the quick edits. they want something that feels real.” he glances around the room once, like he’s buying himself time. “i didn’t want to fake that kind of connection. not with someone i barely know, not with someone who wouldn’t get it.”

you’re about to ask what that means when his eyes meet yours again—steadier this time, heavier with something that makes your breath pause. “i wanted to do it with you.”

and there it is.

a flicker of something unspoken passes between you, and you feel it settle in your chest before your brain can even catch up. the weight of that choice. not random. not professional. you. you, whose face he’s just now seeing for the first time. whose voice he’s only heard in clips until now. whose presence is suddenly a lot more tangible than any frame or thumbnail ever allowed.

you watch it hit him in real time.

he shifts, uncrossing his arms like the posture suddenly feels too tight, too vulnerable. his eyes flick away for a second, jaw tightening. “i mean—fuck,” he mutters under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “sorry. that probably sounded—i didn’t mean it like…” he stops himself, tongue pressing into his cheek like he wants to rewind and erase the heat that’s creeping up the back of his neck. “i’m not trying to be weird. i just—now that i know what you look like… in person…”

his voice trails off, shoulders stiffening slightly. “i guess it’s different. seeing you. like this. i didn’t expect it to hit like that.”

he laughs, but it’s quiet and nervous and almost self-conscious, his eyes flicking back up to you with a kind of desperate softness, like he’s not sure if he just messed this up or made it something bigger than it should be. “you’re just… not what i expected.”

you tilt your head, heart beating a little faster. “and what were you expecting?”

he exhales, half a laugh, half a sigh. “someone less you.”

you don’t know what that means—but you feel it. in your spine. in your chest. in the strange, steady silence that follows, filled with too much of him and not enough distance. not anymore.

you don’t answer right away. not because you don’t know what to say—but because you do. it’s just heavy, sitting at the back of your tongue, waiting to be said in a way that won’t crack the atmosphere hanging between you. you’re still looking at him—at the shift in his body, the faint flush climbing up his throat, the way his fingers keep brushing the hem of his hoodie like he’s trying to anchor himself in something steady. he doesn’t usually fumble, you can tell. he’s smooth on camera, deliberate with his words, in control of how he presents himself. but now, with your full face in front of him, no blur, no mask, no screen between you—he’s unraveling just a little. and not because he’s flustered by the shoot. because it’s you.

you let the silence linger another beat before you exhale through your nose, soft and almost amused. “okay,” you say finally, voice low. “i’ll do it.”

he looks up like he wasn’t expecting you to say yes so easily, like part of him had already braced for rejection. his brows lift slightly, eyes searching your face for hesitation, but you give him none.

he sits beside you slowly, the edge of the bed dipping with his weight, and though he doesn’t reach for you, the space between your bodies hums with something new. not tension exactly—more like a current of anticipation. like something’s beginning, and neither of you is sure when it crossed over from conversation to countdown. the candlelight flickers against the walls, soft and golden, casting slow-moving shadows over the bedspread between you. you fold your hands in your lap and glance down at them briefly before speaking, steady now, certain about what you need.

“no choking. no slapping. no name-calling. i don’t want anything that feels like domination or degradation—not for this one.” your voice is even, but there’s a quiet firmness behind it. you’re not apologizing. just stating fact.

he nods immediately. “got it. nothing rough. all soft. affectionate.”

“if there’s undressing,” you add, “i want it slow. not all at once. like it’s not the goal.”

“of course.” he doesn’t hesitate. “everything gradual. natural. not performative.”

you pause again. “kissing?”

his eyes meet yours, and for a second you feel the air thicken between you. he speaks carefully. “i want to, if you’re okay with it.”

you nod. “i am. but keep it intentional. not like you’re trying to eat me alive.”

he lets out a quiet laugh, not mocking, just relaxed—like you’ve given him permission to settle back into himself. “no worries. all soft. like you’re already mine.”

the words settle heavy in your chest—not because of what they mean, but because of how easily he says them. like he’s done rehearsing. like he’s already begun.

you glance at the camera, still dark and idle. “how long are we recording for?”

“as long as it feels right,” he answers. “i’ll edit it down later. i just want to let it breathe.”

you nod again, your pulse soft but steady, and then—finally—he rises.

he walks over to the camera with slow, measured steps, adjusts the angle slightly, and presses the record button. a tiny red light blinks to life on the corner, small and steady. not intrusive. just watching. he doesn’t say action. doesn’t count you down. just turns and comes back to the bed like he’s stepping into something sacred.

you shift further up, your back resting against the headboard, legs bent slightly beneath you. he climbs onto the bed carefully, slowly, not closing the distance all at once. instead, he settles beside you again—this time angled inward, his body turned toward yours. you can feel the change immediately. he’s closer now. not touching. not yet. but he’s watching you like every movement matters. like this is the moment it starts.

“you good?” he asks again, quieter this time.

you meet his gaze, and the way the shadows play against his cheekbones makes him look softer. realer. “yeah,” you breathe. “i’m good.”

he exhales once, then lets his hand drift—slowly—onto the blanket between you, fingers just barely brushing the fabric closer to your thigh. “then come here,” he says, almost a whisper.

and something in the way he says it—gentle, coaxing, utterly calm—makes it feel like more than acting.

makes it feel like the scene has already begun.

the mattress shifts under his weight, the springs sighing softly as he settles beside you again, closer this time—close enough that the warmth from his body reaches your skin in slow waves, even though he still isn’t touching you. not really. just his presence is enough to tilt the air, to quiet everything else that was buzzing in your mind up until now. you glance down once more, instinctively smoothing the hem of your shorts over your thigh, as if remembering all over again what you’re wearing.

“I brought stuff,” you murmur, the words coming out half-breath, half-thought. your eyes lift to meet his, unsure why it even feels necessary to explain. “like… clothes. for filming. something cute. for the vibe.”

he watches you for a moment, and then—without missing a beat—he shakes his head, slow and steady.

“you don’t need it,” he says, voice low, final in the way it lands. not dismissive—sure. “you already look perfect.”

you blink, a little caught off guard—not because it’s the kind of thing you haven’t heard before, but because he doesn’t say it like it’s a line. doesn’t smirk. doesn’t follow it up with something cheeky to downplay it. he just says it like he means it. like he already believed it when you opened your door and stepped into his car. like this version of you—soft tank top, flushed cheeks, lips glossed just enough—is exactly what he wanted to capture all along.

you don’t answer. not out loud. but your body does—shoulders softening slightly, breath easing as you lean just an inch closer. not even a full lean. just enough to close a little of the space he’s left for you to decide.

his hand moves between you again, this time slower, more intentional. he doesn’t reach for you outright—he lets his fingers hover near your thigh, not quite brushing your skin. it’s like he’s waiting for a sign. like he wants you to close the gap.

you do.

just a small shift. just enough for your leg to graze his hand, to let your shoulder brush the sleeve of his hoodie. the contact is brief, featherlight, but it opens something. makes room for more.

his fingers curl slightly, brushing against the side of your leg before sliding up, the backs of his knuckles trailing softly along your outer thigh. it’s nothing. barely even a touch. but the way it’s delivered—slow, reverent, like he’s learning the curve of your body one inch at a time—makes your breath catch.

his hand moves again, this time rising gently to your arm. he doesn’t rush. he just skims up the length of it with the lightest drag of his fingertips, tracing from elbow to shoulder like he’s memorizing it. your skin prickles under the contact, every nerve waking up in a quiet, aching bloom.

and then—without a word—he reaches higher.

his hand lifts, brushing a few strands of hair back from your cheek, thumb grazing the edge of your jaw in the softest arc. it’s not meant to lead anywhere. it’s not hungry. it’s just a touch. one that says you’re here now, and i see you, and stay close.

you exhale without meaning to, and it’s not shaky—but it’s something. something just a little uneven.

his eyes flick to yours, steady and unreadable. “still okay?”

you nod once. “mmhmm.” you sound breathier than you meant to. more open. less on.

he smiles again, soft and small, and doesn’t say anything else. he doesn’t need to. the scene is already happening, and neither of you is acting anymore.

his hands come up slowly, fingers tracing up the curve of your arms in featherlight motions, like he’s memorizing the shape of you by feel alone. his touch is reverent, unhurried, gliding over your skin with a gentleness that makes your breath catch in your throat before you can stop it. the pads of his thumbs circle near your shoulders, and then you feel them—his fingers curling just beneath the thin strap of your white tank top. he doesn’t pull. not yet. he just pauses there, holding the fabric lightly, his eyes lifting to meet yours as if asking a question without speaking it aloud. the room feels still, quiet in a way that sharpens every small sound—your breathing, the soft creak of the mattress, the low hum of the candle flickering nearby. you hold his gaze for a moment longer, your heart beating a little harder beneath your ribs, and then you nod—small, certain. you see something flicker in his eyes at that, something deep and quiet, like he’s grateful. and then he moves closer, his lips parting just slightly as he exhales the softest, breathless sound against your skin.

“so soft…” he whispers, barely audible, but you feel it more than you hear it—low and warm, brushing over your shoulder as he leans in. your body sinks into the bed slowly, your back hitting the sheets as you ease down beneath him, his legs still planted on either side of you, caging you in without weight. the air feels thicker now, warmer, every inch of you awake under the way he looks at you, like you’re something he’s dreamed about more than once. his mouth hovers just above your skin, not touching yet, just close enough that the heat of his breath dances across your collarbone and sends a ripple of goosebumps down your arms. when he finally kisses you, it’s not on the lips—it’s at your bicep, a soft press of warmth against muscle, followed by another, then another, trailing up in slow succession. his fingers drag the straps of your top down gently, easing the fabric off your shoulders with care, never rushing. his lips follow the path his hands create, gliding over new skin with quiet reverence, curved in a soft smile when he reaches the hollow of your collarbone. he kisses you there, too—like it’s instinct. like it’s his favorite place to land.

his lips linger at your collarbone for a moment longer, the press of them so delicate it almost doesn’t register as real—just the ghost of contact, followed by the brush of his breath and the way his nose nudges gently against your skin. he doesn’t rush the next movement, doesn’t reach for your chest or drag the fabric further down; instead, his hands settle at your waist, thumbs resting lightly just above your hips as he pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes trace your face slowly, like he’s scanning for any sign that you’ve drifted too far into your head, that this is too much, that maybe you’ve stopped feeling safe—but you haven’t. you’re still here, still warm beneath him, still open to whatever comes next. he sees that. and something in his face shifts again—less performer, more person. like the act is beginning to blur into truth, like this version of him is something he’s been saving. one of his hands lifts again, fingers brushing up your arm until they find your jaw, and he tilts your chin gently toward him, his thumb grazing the corner of your mouth as he breathes, “you look so good like this. i don’t think you even know.”

you feel your pulse stutter under your skin, not from the touch itself, but from the way he says it—low, slow, like it wasn’t meant to be heard by anyone but you. his voice is soft, but it carries something heavier underneath. affection, maybe. or longing dressed up like make-believe. his other hand shifts slightly at your side, fingers spreading across your ribs through the thin fabric of your tank top, holding you like you’re something delicate. you don’t speak. you don’t need to. the weight of the moment hangs between you, thick and warm, and you let yourself fall deeper into it, let yourself be the person he’s talking to. the person he sees like this—laid out beneath him, lips slightly parted, eyes soft with want. “i’d keep you like this forever if i could,” he murmurs next, his lips close enough to brush yours but not committing, not yet. “just wrapped up in me like this. warm, safe, mine.”

and even though you know it’s a scene—even though you know it’s being filmed—your body can’t tell the difference anymore.

his words melt into the air between you, lingering like steam, and for a second, all you can hear is the rhythm of your breath—his and yours syncing in that quiet space where time slows down. you feel the weight of his body shift just slightly as he leans closer, finally closing the gap between you, his mouth brushing over yours in a kiss that’s so gentle, it feels more like a question than a claim. there’s no hunger behind it, no pressure—just the warmth of his lips moving against yours like he’s trying to memorize the shape of them. he pulls back for a second, his nose nudging softly against yours, and when your mouth chases after his without thinking, he smiles. not smug. not cocky. just soft. like he didn’t expect you to want him back this much. his hand slides from your jaw to your neck, his thumb tracing the edge of your collarbone while his other hand flattens over your waist, slipping just beneath the hem of your tank with a careful slowness that makes your stomach flutter.

his palm is warm where it meets your skin, and he moves like he’s done this in a dream before—fingers spreading along your side, drifting upward inch by inch, not grabbing or groping, just feeling. the way he touches you is deliberate, every motion paced like it’s being recorded in his memory before it ever hits the camera. he kisses you again, deeper this time, and your lips part instinctively, inviting more—more of him, more of this softness that feels like it might wreck you if it lingers too long. his tongue brushes against yours, slow and unhurried, coaxing rather than taking, and it’s not filthy. it’s not performative. it’s just full. you make a sound in the back of your throat without meaning to, and his hand under your shirt rises a little higher in response, fingertips grazing the underside of your breast but never settling there—just circling, teasing, drawing heat into every nerve that lies beneath. when he pulls back from your mouth again, he’s breathing heavier, lips parted, eyes locked on yours like he’s never seen anything more important. “you’re doing so good, baby,” he whispers, and this time, the endearment doesn’t sound like a line. it sounds like a truth.

his eyes don’t leave yours, not even for a second, and you feel it—the way he reads you, waits for that small flicker of permission that lives in the way your breath hitches and your body leans in. his hand moves from beneath your shirt to your shoulder, sliding the thin strap of your tank down again, this time slower, like he’s savoring the drag of fabric over skin. he bends his head as he does it, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder with a softness that makes your spine curve into the mattress. the other strap follows, peeled gently off your arm until both hang useless at your sides, the top of your tank now barely clinging to your chest. and then—his hand comes up, fingers brushing the hem where the fabric meets your sternum, and he waits. doesn’t tug. doesn’t ask. just looks at you like he needs to know you still want this. and you do. you nod, just once, and that’s all it takes.

his hand moves again, curling around the center of your top, and as he begins to lift it—inch by slow, teasing inch—he leans down and kisses you.

it’s not rushed. not greedy. it’s full and warm, his mouth slotting perfectly against yours like he’s been waiting for this exact moment to let himself want you openly. the kiss deepens as he drags the fabric upward, his hands careful not to pull too fast, not to break the rhythm between your mouths. your lips part for him automatically, breath catching as his tongue sweeps gently into your mouth again, slower this time, like he’s tasting something he doesn’t want to forget. your arms lift for him, letting the tank slide over your head, and he pulls back just long enough to ease it off—tossing it somewhere near the foot of the bed before settling back over you with a softness that makes your chest ache. your skin is bare now, your chest rising with every breath as the cool air kisses you first, followed closely by the warmth of him—his mouth returning to yours, his hand finding your waist, his whole body hovering just close enough to let you feel the weight of him without pressing it all at once.

his lips break away from yours only to find the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the dip just below your jaw, each kiss delivered like a secret—unrushed, purposeful, devastating in how tender they feel.

his lips don’t rush the journey downward—they move with intention, mapping the space from your jaw to your throat with soft, open-mouthed kisses that make your breath catch and your spine curve subtly beneath him. each press of his mouth is slower than the last, like he’s letting the weight of what he’s doing sink into both of you at the same time. his hand stays planted at your waist, steady and warm, thumb stroking absent-minded circles into your skin as if to keep you grounded while the rest of you slips further into this. he murmurs something low against your neck—inaudible, but not meaningless—and then drags his lips down to your collarbone again, this time kissing across it like he’s painting a line only he knows the shape of. your fingers tighten slightly in the sheets, breath coming slower now, deeper, as your chest rises into the heat of his mouth. he doesn’t comment on it. he just smiles against your skin, lips curving softly as he kisses the center of your sternum next, right where your heartbeat is loudest. his hand slides up again, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast now, more deliberate this time—still not grabbing, still not taking—just feeling, coaxing warmth into your skin in the way only a lover would.

he pulls back a little then, enough to look at you fully, eyes moving over your chest like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t be allowed to, like you’re something rare and delicate spread out beneath him. “you’re beautiful,” he says, voice just above a whisper, and the words sound so real, so unscripted, that you can’t even convince yourself they’re part of the act. before you can respond, his mouth is on you again—lower this time, his lips trailing down the curve of your breast with careful, reverent movements that make your fingers twitch where they rest beside you. he doesn’t go straight for your nipple—he circles around it first, lips warm and breath steady, building tension so slow it starts to ache. when he finally closes his mouth around it, it’s soft—gentle suction paired with the slow flick of his tongue, his hand sliding up to cradle the other breast with matching tenderness. you let out a breathy sound, something close to a whimper, and his grip tightens slightly, grounding you, his mouth never leaving you for even a second. everything about the way he touches you feels designed to make you feel cherished, not consumed—like he wants to undo you gently, not destroy you.

he doesn’t stop kissing you, not even when his mouth moves lower—down the slope of your ribs, the soft rise and fall of your belly, his breath warm and steady as it fans across newly bared skin. his hand follows his mouth in perfect rhythm, trailing down your side with fingers spread wide like he needs to feel all of you at once, like his touch alone isn’t enough to satisfy the way he’s looking at you. your skin hums under him, heat pooling low in your stomach as his lips press gently into the curve just above your navel, and you swear he smiles when you inhale sharply at the contact. he doesn’t rush it—doesn’t tug at your waistband or rip fabric away—he just lets his hand drift lower, fingertips grazing the seam of your shorts, dragging lightly back and forth like he’s asking without saying anything. you lift your hips just slightly in response, offering more than permission—offering yourself, and he takes it with both patience and hunger layered beneath the softness. his fingers hook into the waistband slowly, dragging the fabric down your thighs inch by inch, watching the way your body shifts beneath him, watching every breath you take like it means something to him personally. the shorts fall away easily, forgotten at the edge of the bed, and you’re left bare for him in a way that feels deeper than skin. his hand skims your hip now, palm warm and steady, thumb stroking the dip beside your pelvis like he’s easing you into the next wave of touch.

he kisses your hip next—just once, then again—before leaning back slightly to take you in fully, eyes roving slowly down your body with the kind of attention that makes your skin feel too tight around your bones. “fuck…” he breathes, not loud, not directed at you—just a thought escaping his mouth, like he can’t hold it in anymore. he leans over you again, his chest brushing lightly against yours, and kisses you on the mouth with a heat that feels new—less testing, more claiming. your hands rise instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as his tongue brushes yours again, slower now, but deeper, like he’s trying to drag you under with him. one of his hands slips between your thighs, warm and careful, fingertips barely grazing your inner thigh as his lips keep moving against yours, like he wants to distract your mouth while his hand learns the rest of you. he doesn’t go straight to where you want him—he just teases, traces, presses the lightest touches into the soft skin between your legs, making you arch into him without even realizing. when his fingers finally reach the center of you, just barely brushing over your panties, you gasp softly into his mouth—and that’s when he groans, quiet and wrecked, like feeling your heat through the fabric alone has undone something in him.

“jake…” you breathe out, the sound slipping past your lips in a low, desperate moan as your hips roll forward slowly, instinctively chasing more of the friction his hand is barely offering. your thighs tense around his wrist, your body arching into his touch like it’s the only thing tethering you to the bed. you can’t help it—the way your body moves on its own, needy and aching, every nerve lit up with the hope of something deeper. but he doesn’t give in, not fully. he just lets out a soft groan, deep in his throat, the kind that vibrates low and hot against your skin as he leans closer. you feel the weight of his breath first, then the press of his lips right against your ear, and the sound alone makes your lashes flutter. “want me to touch you, baby?” he asks, voice no louder than a whisper, his words coated in something tender but wrecked, like he’s already half-drunk off you. his nose grazes your temple, lips hovering at your skin as your body stiffens just slightly, everything inside you tightening at once.

you nod before he even finishes the sentence, your head moving quickly, breath shallow, because you don’t trust yourself to speak without falling apart. and it’s enough for him—more than enough. his hand shifts just a little lower, fingers pressing in with purpose now, the soft pad of his middle finger rubbing slow circles over your clit through the fabric of your panties, so featherlight it nearly breaks you. your mouth falls open in a shaky exhale, the sound high and sweet as your thighs tremble around his hand. your body jolts with every tiny movement of his fingers, his rhythm steady, controlled, like he’s been waiting to do this right—not fast, not messy, just right. “fuck,” he breathes, barely moving his lips as he watches the side of your face. “you’re so fucking perfect, baby.” his voice is warm and reverent, the words dragging low across your skin as he studies you like you’re the only thing he wants to see—eyes fixed on every shift in your expression, every sound you give him, every way your body begs without words.

his fingers slow for just a moment, pressing the softest kiss beneath your ear as he exhales deeply, like he’s trying to anchor himself in this—in you. your body is already trembling, breath unsteady and chest rising in shallow waves, and you feel the fabric of your panties cling tighter to your center with every brush of his fingers. he shifts slightly beside you, gaze focused, hand moving lower with care, and then—finally—he slips his fingers beneath the fabric, pushing it gently to the side. your breath catches completely, your thighs parting on instinct, and the first real touch of his bare fingers against you makes your hips jerk forward with a soft, stuttering moan. the heat of his hand, the glide of his fingertips through your wetness—it’s enough to steal the sound right from your throat. “fuck, baby,” he whispers, his voice thick and low, like your body just confirmed something he’s been imagining for a long time. his fingers move again, one sliding slowly up and down your slit, careful and deliberate, testing the way you twitch under his touch before circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure. he doesn’t say anything else right away—he just watches, listens, feels you open under him like you were made for this pace.

your hands grip the sheets beside you, nails curling into the fabric as you try to breathe through the way he touches you—gentle but certain, like he knows exactly what you need before you can even form the words. he keeps his eyes on your face the whole time, studying the way your mouth falls open, the way your brows knit together, the way you tilt your hips up into his hand with a silent plea for more. and he gives it to you—just a little, just enough to make your legs shake as his fingers slide lower again, one slipping inside with slow, perfect ease. you gasp, your walls fluttering tight around the intrusion, and he groans softly under his breath like he felt it in his own body. “look at you,” he murmurs, kissing your temple between words, “so pretty like this… taking me so well.” his thumb drags gently over your clit as his finger curls, coaxing you open with every stroke, patient and relentless in his tenderness. it’s not about the rhythm yet—it’s about the connection, the way his body molds around yours like it was always supposed to be this close. and the longer he touches you, the more you forget about the camera, the scene, the setup—because all that’s left is this.

you’re already coming apart under him and he hasn’t even given you everything yet. just one finger inside you, slow and curling, paired with the soft drag of his thumb over your clit—it’s too much and not enough all at once. your hips lift into his hand with every pass, chasing it, clinging to it, aching for more friction, more fullness, more him. his eyes are still locked on you, but they’re darker now, his lashes low over heavy pupils, and you can tell he’s feeling everything—every squeeze of your walls around him, every gasp you try and fail to hold in. “that’s it,” he murmurs, voice low and close, right against your skin, as if he’s trying to speak directly into your bloodstream. “don’t hold it in, baby. i want all of it.” his lips find your cheek, then your jaw, then your mouth—kissing you like you’re the only thing that’s ever tasted right, like he needs to kiss you through this. and you let him, parting your lips to take him deeper, the wet slide of his tongue making your legs shake even harder than his hand does.

when he pulls back, his mouth stays close, his breath mixing with yours in the space between, and he shifts slightly, hand dragging lower for a second. he presses his palm flat against your mound, his knuckles grazing your slit, and then—so slowly it makes you whimper—he eases a second finger inside you. the stretch makes your thighs twitch, your body sucking him in like it’s what you were made for, and he groans low in his throat, the sound barely contained. “fuck,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear, “you feel so good, baby. you’re making it so hard to take it slow.” but he does. he does, even though his breath is shaky now and his jaw’s gone tight from holding back. his fingers start to move in a deeper rhythm—slow thrusts paired with purposeful curls, each one hitting the spot that makes your toes curl and your throat go tight with the need to cry out. his thumb doesn’t stop working your clit, rubbing small, maddening circles with just enough pressure to keep you teetering on the edge without falling. and every time your body jumps or clenches, every time a sound slips from your lips, he reacts—his mouth finds your neck, his hand presses deeper, his voice sinks lower.

“you’re taking me so well,” he says again, like it’s the only thing in his head now. “look at you—fuck, look at you. soaking my hand, grinding up on me like that.” and you are. you didn’t even notice when your hips started moving, chasing the rhythm, fucking yourself on his fingers while his body stays perfectly still. your legs spread wider without thought, one arm flung back above your head, the other clutching at his sleeve, desperate to anchor yourself to something. “it’s okay,” he murmurs, seeing the way your chest rises too fast, the way your thighs start to tremble. “i got you, baby. i got you. don’t fight it.” he leans back in and kisses you again, messier now, wetter, tongues sliding slow as his fingers start to speed up just enough to drag a new kind of sound from your throat. not soft anymore. not polite. it comes from somewhere deep—like the part of you he just found and refuses to let go of.

his free hand comes up to your waist, gripping it tighter now, holding you in place while your body bucks beneath him, and his kisses grow more urgent with each roll of your hips. he’s not asking anymore. he’s guiding. controlling. but not with force—with focus. like his only job in the world is to make sure you fall apart exactly the way you’re meant to. and still, he doesn’t stop talking. “you’re doing so good,” he whispers against your lips, his voice breathless but steady. “my good girl. letting me touch you like this. letting me ruin you this slow.”

you try to respond, but your voice breaks apart before it even forms. all you can do is gasp his name again, shaky and thin, your whole body vibrating as his fingers fuck deeper into you, curling up perfectly on every thrust. the pressure builds fast now—hot and dizzying and thick, your stomach clenching with every drag of his thumb, every filthy praise he breathes against your skin. “that’s it,” he says again, more frantic now, like he’s losing control, too. “you gonna come for me, baby? come on—let me feel it.”

and you do. god, you do.

you come with a cry, your mouth pressed to his shoulder as your legs shake and your whole body clenches around his fingers, pulsing with a rhythm that makes you forget everything but him. his name spills from your lips in pieces, high and broken, and he doesn’t stop—not right away.

he doesn’t say anything right away. just breathes. just watches. his fingers slide slowly from your body, coated in your slick, and you shiver at the sudden emptiness he leaves behind, your muscles still twitching with aftershocks. his hand rests gently on your thigh now, not pushing, just grounding you, and then he starts to move—shifting lower on the bed, his mouth trailing along your stomach in slow, open-mouthed kisses that make your breath catch all over again. you don’t know how he still feels calm after what he just pulled from you, but he does—like your orgasm was just the beginning, like he’s not satisfied until you’re too ruined to remember your own name. you watch through hazy eyes as he settles between your thighs, broad shoulders spreading you open wider with nothing more than his presence. the way he looks at your body should be illegal—his eyes low-lidded and dark, a soft smirk tugging at his lips like he already knows how wrecked you’re going to be. “you’re already shaking,” he murmurs, his voice quiet and full of heat, “and i haven’t even tasted you yet.”

he kisses your inner thigh first, not close to where you need him, just a slow press of his mouth to the softest skin he can find. you twitch under him, thighs flexing, but he hums low in his throat and holds you in place with a gentle grip, his thumb stroking idly as he switches sides. his lips drag across your skin, lazy and hot, tongue flicking out here and there to tease—not yet, not yet, his body seems to say. your fingers twist into the sheets, breath coming faster now, your entire body arching with every near-touch that doesn’t land where it’s supposed to. he’s taking his time, worshipping the space around your cunt like it’s sacred, like he’s saving the best part for last. “so pretty,” he says, more to himself than to you, his breath brushing over your folds without touching, and it makes your hips jump. his hands press down on your thighs again, firm but patient, and he smiles up at you like he’s the only one who knows how badly you need this. “you gonna let me make a mess out of you, baby?”

and then—finally—he leans in and licks one long, slow stripe through your folds.

you moan sharp and sudden, your whole body curling forward before you drop back into the sheets, your legs trembling around his shoulders. his tongue is soft but purposeful, warm and wet and steady as he takes his time tasting you, moaning softly against your cunt like it’s the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth. he doesn’t go for your clit right away—instead he teases it, tongue swirling slowly around it, flicking up just to feel your hips buck and your fingers twitch. his hands slide under your thighs to hold you open, pulling you closer to his mouth like he wants to bury himself in you completely. and he does—he groans again, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrates straight through your core, and then his lips wrap around your clit and suck gently, just once, and your vision goes white around the edges. you cry out his name, high and breathless, your thighs trying to close around his head, but he holds you wide and keeps going. every flick of his tongue is slow, calculated, like he’s testing you, learning exactly what drives you over the edge and then dialing it in.

“so fucking sweet,” he murmurs between licks, voice muffled and wrecked against your skin, “could stay down here all night.”

and god—you want him to.

his tongue moves like he knows what your body wants before you do, slow and fluid and fucking confident, dragging through your folds with a rhythm that makes your thighs shake around his head. every time you try to lift your hips, to grind closer, to chase the pressure building too fast behind your ribs, his hands hold you down—thumbs digging gently into your hips as his mouth presses deeper into your cunt. your fingers tangle in the sheets, pulling, grasping for something solid while your other hand drifts down, finding his hair. it’s soft between your fingers, slightly damp with sweat, and when you tug—just a little—he groans into you, the sound low and filthy and hungry. his tongue circles your clit again and again, steady now, stroking over it with slow, wet flicks that make your mouth fall open. the moan that leaves you isn’t small. it’s not shy. it spills from your throat like it was dragged out of you—“jake…”—half gasp, half prayer. and the second he hears it, the second his name hits the air in your voice like that, he moans right back into your cunt like it’s the only answer that matters.

you don’t even realize you’re saying it again, softer now, drawn out between whimpers—jake, jake, jake—like it’s the only word left in your vocabulary. he eats it up with the same hunger he’s pouring into you, his mouth messier now, wetter, his tongue stroking faster, flicking tighter, sucking your clit between his lips just long enough to make your toes curl. his hands stay strong on your thighs, holding them open as your legs tremble, as your hips start to roll despite you, chasing that edge all over again. he keeps murmuring praise between every kiss, every stroke—“that’s it, baby,” “so fucking good,” “you taste unreal,”—his voice wrecked and reverent and barely keeping it together. when you start to fall apart, when the pressure coils hard and sharp in your belly, your voice goes higher, moaning for him shamelessly now, breathless and open and wrecked. “oh my god—jake, please,” you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair, your hips twitching in his grip. he growls at that, the sound raw and desperate, and then his mouth is on your clit again, tongue flattening over it and fucking staying there, licking in fast, perfect circles while your thighs shake and your moans turn frantic.

“come for me, baby,” he pants, his lips brushing against your soaked skin. “let me hear it—wanna hear how you sound when you fall apart for me.”

you break on the next stroke.

your whole body locks up, pleasure slicing through your spine like lightning, and your mouth falls open in a long, broken moan of his name—“jake—fuck, oh my god, jake—”—as your back arches off the bed and your hands clutch at anything you can reach. your thighs tremble around his head, your walls clench hard, and you come with a cry that sounds like it’s been waiting inside you for days. he doesn’t stop. not for a second. he keeps licking you through it, slower now, softer, coaxing every last twitch from your body until you're shaking and breathless and barely able to form words.

and still—he presses one last kiss to your clit, gentle, almost sweet.

“good girl,” he breathes, his voice thick and wrecked. “you’re perfect.”

he doesn’t rush. even now, with your legs spread wide and your body soft and trembling beneath him, he moves slow—like every second he doesn’t slide inside you is one more second he gets to feel your skin pressed under his palms, your chest rising with every breath he pulls from you. he’s fully naked, warm and flushed and heavy above you, but the weight of him hasn’t settled yet. not fully. not where you need it. his cock rests against your inner thigh, thick and hot, dragging lightly against your skin as he leans back in to kiss you again. it’s messier now—your lips parting on instinct, tongue sliding against his, all wet mouth and shaky breath while his hands roam up and down your sides like he still can’t get enough. and he can’t. you feel it in the way his hips roll forward once, lazy and deliberate, grinding his cock up against your pussy, sliding through your slick folds without breaching. it makes you gasp into his mouth, your body jolting up to meet him, but he pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips.

“not yet,” he breathes, voice warm and wrecked. “wanna feel you like this first.”

his hips roll again, slower this time, and the head of his cock drags perfectly over your clit—so slow it makes your toes curl. you whine softly, your hands slipping down to his waist, fingers digging into his skin as your hips twitch up, chasing the pressure. he lets out a soft laugh, barely there, and does it again, grinding into you just right so that your pussy clenches around nothing, needy and aching. “so wet for me,” he mutters, eyes flicking down between your bodies. “i could come from this alone… just sliding through your slick like that.” and he does it again, and again, letting the weight of him press into your core, the thick heat of his cock gliding against your folds like he’s teasing both of you to the edge. your breath starts to break—soft moans, high whimpers, every little sound begging him without saying it outright. he presses his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering shut, and keeps grinding, soft and deep and slow. “feels so fucking good, baby,” he whispers, “can you feel how bad i want you?”

you nod quickly, voice gone, mouth open, just gasping as he drags his cock back and forth through your folds—so close, so maddeningly close, like he’s letting your body know what’s coming without giving in yet. he angles his hips slightly, the head catching just barely at your entrance, and you arch up with a breathless moan. “jake—please,” you whimper, finally saying it, finally breaking. “i can’t take it, i need you inside.”

he groans at that—deep and wrecked and relieved, like he’s been holding back just for this moment. “i got you,” he breathes, dropping a kiss to your temple, your cheek, your mouth. “i’ll give it to you, baby. nice and slow.”

but still, he doesn’t push in yet.

he kisses down your throat instead, mouth dragging over your collarbone, hands sliding under your back to lift you up into him. you feel the weight of him grind down again, cock pressing into your clit in slow, soaking circles, and it makes you cry out—your whole body arching, thighs shaking, breathless and so fucking full of want you could scream.

and just when you think you’ll break—

he lifts his head, looks you in the eye, and whispers:

“tell me you want all of it.”

you’re already nodding before the words fully leave his mouth, breath stuttering in your throat as you stare up at him—eyes wide, lips parted, body shaking. “i want it,” you gasp, voice thin and desperate and completely raw. “i want all of it, jake. please.” your thighs tremble around his hips, every inch of your skin buzzing with heat, slick and open and so ready, and he groans at the sound of your voice, the way your hips roll up against him like you can’t take one more second of being empty. he leans down and kisses you—hard this time, full of tongue and breath and heat—while one hand slips beneath your thigh and the other wraps around the base of his cock, guiding it down through your folds again. you feel the thick head catch at your entrance, and you suck in a breath, your hands clutching at his arms as your body braces. “you sure?” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “because once i’m in you… i’m not stopping.”

you can’t even speak—just whimper a soft, broken “yes,” and that’s all he needs.

he pushes in just barely, the head stretching you open slow, and you cry out, hands flying to his shoulders as your walls pulse and flutter around the thick pressure. he holds himself there, not moving yet, just groaning through gritted teeth as your pussy clenches down on the first inch like it doesn’t want to let him go. “fuck, baby,” he hisses, voice shaking now, “you’re so tight… you’re gonna ruin me.” his lips find yours again, messier now, more urgent, like kissing you is the only thing keeping him from thrusting in all at once. he moves his hips the tiniest bit, rocking forward and back, just shallow enough to make you feel every ridge, every thick vein dragging through your entrance while he holds back the rest. your body arches under him, legs wrapping tighter, hips lifting like you’re begging to be filled completely. “more,” you whisper, voice wrecked and pleading. “please, jake, more.”

he moans into your mouth like you just punched the air out of his lungs, and he gives it to you.

slow, deep, dragging—he pushes in another inch, then another, thick and hot and so much, and your body shakes from the stretch, your breath catching on a broken moan as you feel yourself wrap around him. he’s breathing hard now, forehead pressed to yours, his arms trembling as he fights to stay slow, to feel every second. “you feel like heaven,” he whispers, voice wrecked, “like you were made for me.” your nails drag down his back, your legs spread wider, and when he finally bottoms out—hips flush against yours, cock buried fully inside—you both just breathe. heavy and slow. your walls clench around him hard and he groans deep in his chest, mouth dropping to your neck like he needs to hide there just to survive it. “so fucking good,” he mutters, pressing kisses along your throat. “so tight, baby. you’re perfect.”

and all you can do is moan—soft, desperate, full of him—because you’ve never felt this full. this warm. this wanted.

he doesn’t move at first. not right away. just stays there inside you, thick and throbbing, letting your body get used to the way he stretches you open in a way that feels impossibly full. your walls pulse around him, tight and slick, clenching with every heartbeat as he breathes heavy against your skin, forehead pressed to yours like he’s anchoring himself to the feel of you. your hands find his back again, sliding up his shoulders and into his hair, and the second your fingers tangle at the base of his neck, he groans—soft and guttural—like it gives him permission to fall apart. he kisses you again, deep and messy, tongue sweeping slow against yours while his hips finally begin to roll back, just an inch, just enough to make you gasp from the sudden, aching drag of his cock inside you. he thrusts forward again—slow, thick, deliberate—and you whimper into his mouth, your body jolting from the depth. “that’s it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours, “just like that, baby… fuck, you feel so good.”

he keeps it slow at first—each thrust steady and deep, hips rolling into you like he’s trying to grind the shape of himself into your body. every time he pulls out, it’s only halfway, just enough to make you feel the absence before he’s pushing back in again, thick and perfect, hitting deep in a way that makes your whole body tremble. your moans come easier now, breathless and raw, spilling from your lips every time his hips meet yours with a soft smack that sounds so filthy in the quiet room. he buries his face in your neck, kissing and panting between your moans, and you can hear how wrecked he is—his voice cracking, his breath shaky, his restraint unraveling with every stroke. “you were made for this,” he gasps, his hand slipping down to grip your thigh, spreading you wider as he fucks deeper. “made to take me… fuck, baby, i can feel you squeezing me.” your head falls back into the pillows, your mouth open, your hands gripping at his back like you don’t know what else to hold onto. and still—he moves slow. still—he keeps it deep. still—he fucks you like he’s worshipping something sacred.

“say my name,” he breathes against your ear, hips dragging through you again. “wanna hear you say it while i’m inside you.”

“jake,” you whisper, breath broken and needy, barely catching the syllables between moans as your hips roll up to meet his. the way you say it—high, sweet, desperate—makes him groan low and deep in his chest, his body pressing tighter against yours like he’s trying to crawl inside you completely. “again,” he murmurs, voice cracked and shaking, “say it again for me.” you do—again, and again, each repetition softer and more ruined than the last until his name is all you can breathe, all you can cling to. his pace doesn’t change—he keeps it slow, keeps it deep, dragging every thrust out like it’s meant to leave an echo inside you. your legs fall open wider, thighs shaking with every roll of his hips, and he slips one hand under your knee, lifting it gently so he can fuck into you at a new angle, thicker, closer, impossibly deep. you cry out at the shift, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades, and his mouth finds yours again, swallowing your moans as he fills you to the hilt. “that’s my girl,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours, “taking it so good for me. so fucking perfect.”

he’s starting to lose it—you can feel it in the way his rhythm falters for half a second, his hips jerking just slightly harder before he reins it back in. his abs are tight, his arms trembling where they hold you, but he doesn’t let go of the pace. he keeps it slow, because he wants to feel it. wants to memorize the drag of your walls around him, the way your body shakes every time he bottoms out, the way you moan his name like he’s the only thing in the world that matters. he brings his hand to your jaw, holding you still, making you look at him, and when your eyes lock, his hips roll again—slow and deep and perfect, and you both groan like it hurts to be this close. “don’t wanna come yet,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “wanna stay like this. wanna feel you forever.” your heart stutters at that—not just from the words, but the way he says them, like it’s not even about the scene anymore. like he means it. like he’d stay inside you forever if you let him

he holds the rhythm. slow, deep, devastating. every thrust rolls into you with a weight that feels heavier than just his body—it feels like intent, like worship, like every drag of his cock is him telling you i don’t want to forget this. your body rocks with every movement, thighs trembling around his hips, chest pressed flush against his as he kisses you again and again, tongues slow, mouths warm, breath shared like it’s sacred. his hand stays on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, keeping your eyes locked on his, like he can’t stand to look away while he’s inside you like this. “you feel so good,” he whispers, his voice broken, reverent. “fuck, baby, you don’t even know—i could stay buried in you all fucking night.” his thrusts stay measured, smooth, dragging against your walls with that thick, perfect pressure that makes you moan with every stroke, makes you arch into him like your body can’t decide if it needs to get closer or fall apart entirely.

you moan for him again—his name, soft and ruined—and he groans deep in his throat, jaw tightening as his hips roll forward with a little more weight, a little more urgency. he still doesn’t speed up. he’s holding it back. barely. his brows are furrowed now, sweat beading at his hairline, his body straining with the effort to keep fucking you slow when every part of him wants to sink into you harder. “you’re so fucking warm,” he breathes, almost delirious. “so wet… so tight around me, baby, i don’t—” he cuts himself off with a kiss, mouth crashing into yours as his hands grip your hips tighter, grounding himself before he loses it completely. he pulls back after a moment, panting, forehead pressed to yours. “you feel this?” he mutters, giving you a particularly deep grind that makes your toes curl. “you feel how perfect we fit?”

and you do.

you feel everything. the weight of him, the stretch, the heat, the unbearable pleasure building from how slow and thick he’s giving it to you. and it’s too much. it’s not enough.

“jake,” you moan, breath shaky, hands clutching at his shoulders. “please…”

his eyes snap to yours, wide, hungry. “what is it, baby? tell me.”

you breathe hard, your chest rising against his, voice thin as you whisper, “please… fuck me harder.”

his breath catches. his whole body stills. and then—he smiles.

“you sure?” he asks, but his voice is already different—deeper, darker, more undone.

you nod, biting your lip. “please. i need it.”

he lets out a breath like he’s been holding it the entire time, and his hands slide down your hips, gripping hard, dragging you further down the bed until your legs fall wide open again. he shifts his weight, plants his knees, and pulls his hips back slow—so slow—until just the thick head of his cock stays tucked inside you. and then he drives back in.

hard.

your mouth falls open in a cry, your fingers clawing at his back as he fucks into you with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. it’s not rough—not like pain—but it’s urgent. desperate. full of everything he’s been holding back. his hips snap forward again, and again, and your body rocks with each thrust, wet sounds filling the room now, loud and raw and obscene. your pussy clenches hard around him, every drag of his cock making your nerves light up, and you cry out his name over and over, babbling now, incoherent. “jake, fuck, fuck—yes, please, don’t stop—”

“that’s it,” he growls, his voice wrecked. “take it. take all of it, baby. this is what you wanted, right?” he fucks into you deeper, harder, the mattress groaning beneath you, your legs spread wide as he slams into you again and again, hips meeting yours with thick, filthy sounds that echo through the room. “you begged for this. and now you’ve got it.” he leans over you again, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your thigh, and he starts fucking down into you like he means it—deep and hard and fast, his name still falling from your lips like prayer.

your back arches, your body shaking, the pressure building again—faster this time, sharper, unbearable.

he feels it. he knows.

“you gonna come for me again?” he gasps, his voice all praise and breath and heat. “you gonna let me feel you break on my cock, baby?”

“yes—” you cry, voice catching. “i’m so close, jake, i—fuck, i’m gonna—”

“do it,” he groans. “come on. let go. let me feel it.”

and when you do—it hits hard. it slams through you like heat and lightning, your whole body seizing up around him as you come hard, crying out his name like it’s the only word you’ve ever known. your thighs shake, your stomach clenches, and your pussy pulses around his cock so tight it makes him choke on a moan and drop his head to your shoulder.

he doesn’t stop moving. doesn’t stop praising you. just fucks you through it, slower now, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your mouth.

“that’s it,” he whispers. “my good girl. so perfect for me.”

he doesn’t pull out. doesn’t even move. just stays there, buried inside you, thick and pulsing, while your body shakes around him in the aftershocks of your orgasm. you’re still gasping, your limbs loose, slick and soaked beneath him, and he’s breathing so hard it sounds like it hurts to hold back. his hand comes up to your face again, brushing your hair out of your eyes, thumb dragging down your cheekbone with the kind of tenderness that makes you ache. “fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “you feel so good… i don’t wanna stop.” his forehead presses to yours, soft and warm, and he kisses you—slow, open-mouthed, like it’s not enough to just be inside you, like he needs every part of you at once. you can feel him twitching inside you, so close to the edge, but he doesn’t chase it. not yet. he grinds into you slowly, hips rolling instead of thrusting, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure from your overworked body. “can’t believe how good you feel,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “how good you sound. how good you fucking take me.”

his voice cracks a little, and his rhythm falters.

he’s close. you can feel it in the way his abs tighten, the way his hands tremble where they’re gripping your hips, the way his cock throbs inside you with every slow grind. he tries to hold on—god, he tries—but the way you moan for him, the way your body still clenches around him even after you’ve come, it’s breaking his restraint in pieces. “shit,” he gasps, pulling back just slightly, the drag of his cock making your body jump. “i’m not gonna last, baby. i need—fuck, i need to—” and then he stops. pulls out fast, thick length slipping from your soaked pussy with a slick sound that makes your thighs twitch. “turn over,” he says, voice deep and trembling. “now.”

you don’t even think. you flip over onto your stomach, dazed and dizzy and breathless, and barely have time to gasp before you feel him again—his hands on your ass, spreading you open just slightly, his cock heavy and hot as it presses between your cheeks. and then he groans—loud, broken—and you feel it, all of it, hot and thick as he comes across your lower back in long, pulsing waves. it hits your skin in slow, sticky ropes, and the sound he makes—the sound—is something you’ll never forget. he moans your name as he spills over you, hips jerking, breath catching, body finally giving in after holding it back for so long. “fuck, baby, fuck—look what you do to me,” he groans, hips stuttering, hands still gripping your thighs like he doesn’t want to let go. you tremble beneath him, face turned to the side, lips parted, chest rising in shallow pants as you feel the heat of him drip down your spine.

and then—you feel him move.

he leans over you, kissing your shoulder, your neck, the shell of your ear. “don’t think i’m done with you yet,” he whispers, voice low and ragged. “you’re not getting away that easy.”

before you can respond, his hands slide down your sides again, guiding your hips up just enough to tilt your ass higher into the air. you feel his cock again, still hard, still slick, pressing against your entrance—and he slides back in with one slow, deep thrust. you both moan at the same time, loud and breathless, your hands fisting the sheets as he sinks into you from behind. he’s deeper now, the angle sharper, the stretch more intense, and you feel it everywhere—your spine, your belly, your throat. his hands grip your waist tight, thumbs pressing into your back, and he doesn’t wait this time. he fucks. slow but firm, hips snapping into you with rhythm and purpose, the sound of skin on skin filling the room again. you’re already close again, already gasping, and so is he. every sound you make pushes him deeper, every cry of his name makes him move faster, and still—he whispers, “you feel like heaven,” like he’s praying, like he’s thanking you for letting him stay inside you again.

he doesn’t ease up—can’t. not with the way your body feels around him now, wet and open, slick with his cum still dripping from your back, every squeeze of your walls dragging a groan from his throat that sounds more animal than human. he’s locked in, one hand tight on your hip, the other dragging up your spine to press gently between your shoulder blades, guiding your chest back down to the sheets as he fucks you deeper. each thrust is thick and full and sharp, his hips smacking against your ass, his cock dragging perfectly through the mess between your thighs. “god, baby,” he moans, completely gone now, “you’re gonna make me come again—can’t even fucking think.” your moans rise with his, broken and high, your arms trembling where they’re braced beneath you, your voice too wrecked to form anything more than his name. jake, jake, jake, like it’s the only word your mouth remembers.

he leans forward, his chest brushing your back, his lips pressing hot and desperate at the curve of your shoulder. “you close again?” he whispers, voice hoarse and breathless. “feels like you’re gonna break for me again—fuck, i can feel it.” his cock grinds deep inside you, slow and dragging for just a second, and your whole body jerks, your legs trembling. “please,” you gasp, voice caught between sob and moan, “don’t stop—don’t stop—” and he doesn’t. he grabs your hips tighter, pulls you back into him harder, and fucks you through it—relentless and focused, every stroke hitting just right, every sound echoing in the air like it’s only meant for the two of you. his breathing turns ragged again, sharp exhales mixing with soft curses and your name repeated like a chant, and your body starts to fall apart beneath him, spine curving, thighs twitching, breath breaking with every roll of his hips.

the pressure builds fast—hot and high and impossible, curling tight in your stomach, crashing through your nerves until it bursts. you come with a cry, hands fisting the sheets, your body locking down around him like it’s trying to pull him even deeper. your moans get higher, needier, your cunt fluttering wildly around his cock as he fucks you through it, shaking and soaking, so wet now that every thrust is slick and loud and perfect. “that’s it,” he growls, so close, barely holding on. “come for me, baby—fuck—so tight—so good—mine—”

and he comes again, groaning loud and raw, hips slamming into you one last time as he spills deep inside. you feel it hit, hot and thick, flooding your cunt in slow pulses, dripping out around his cock as he grinds in and stays there, breathing hard, whole body shaking. he doesn’t move. doesn’t say anything right away. just stays inside you, buried, panting over your back, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder while his cum leaks out of you onto the sheets below.

neither of you says anything right away. you can feel his heart pounding against your back, fast and unsteady, matching the rhythm of your own as the last of the tremors roll through your body. the room is quiet except for your breathing—heavy and soft, shared in the space between your bodies. you’re limp beneath him, your cheek turned to the side, face buried into the sheets, completely undone, and he doesn’t rush to move. doesn’t rush to pull out. he just leans down and kisses your spine, one kiss at a time, slow and sweet and almost grateful. “you did so good,” he whispers, lips dragging along your shoulder. “so fucking good for me, baby.”

he pulls out gently, slow enough that you whimper at the loss, and his hands are on you right away—rubbing soft circles into your hips, grounding you. you feel him shift off the bed for a moment, his absence barely a few seconds before he’s back again, kneeling beside you with something warm in his hands. “gonna clean you up, okay?” he murmurs, and you nod, weak and breathless, your body still buzzing from everything he gave you. the cloth is warm and damp, and he’s so gentle with it—wiping between your thighs, along your back, between your legs—his touch careful, reverent, like you’re something fragile. he kisses every part he touches, murmuring soft praise under his breath—“still shaking,” “so pretty like this,” “wish you could see yourself right now.”

when he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside and slides back into bed, pulling the covers over both of you before wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you close. your body fits against his like you were molded to rest there, your back to his chest, his legs tangled with yours. his hand strokes along your stomach, up to your ribs, then back down again, lazy and comforting. “was that okay?” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “not too much?” you shake your head, letting your fingers wrap around his at your waist, holding him there. “perfect,” you murmur, voice hoarse and quiet. “you were perfect.”

he kisses your temple. “so were you.”

and he stays like that—pressed to your back, arms around you, his breath slow and even—until the heat fades from your skin and your body finally lets itself rest. but even then, he doesn’t let go.

he just holds you.

—-

the knock at the door came like a whisper against the quiet, just loud enough to be heard but soft enough to feel hesitant—like whoever was behind it wasn’t entirely sure they wanted to be let in. heeseung lifted his head, glancing up from the dim silence of the living room, his phone idle beside him on the cushion, screen black, unread messages tucked away and ignored. he didn’t answer at first. he just stared toward the door for a beat too long, then finally pushed himself up with a sigh that felt older than it should’ve. he walked slowly, deliberately, and when he opened the door, the hallway light spilled in and outlined sunghoon in its glow—hood up, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, eyes shadowed beneath the brim. he didn’t look angry. didn’t look anything. just stood there with a stillness that said more than his face ever could.

heeseung stepped aside without a word. sunghoon brushed past him and into the apartment like it wasn’t the first time—but it wasn’t casual. it wasn’t routine. the room felt colder the second he entered.

jay was already there. hunched low in the corner of the couch, elbows planted on his knees, fingers raking over his scalp like he was trying to scrub thoughts out of his own skull. his head lifted only slightly when sunghoon walked in, eyes dull, expression unreadable. he nodded in acknowledgment but didn’t speak.

the silence was thick—uncomfortably so. it stretched like something alive, something waiting to snap. sunghoon didn’t sit. he hovered at the edge of the couch, eyes darting from jay to heeseung, and finally broke it.

“what’s going on?”

the question was soft. flat. but it cut straight through the weight in the room.

jay exhaled, deep and ragged, and let his hands fall between his knees, fingers laced, knuckles pale from the tightness of his grip. he stared at the carpet for a second too long before sitting up, shoulders tense, like what he was about to say had been pressing against his ribs for days. “i got caught up in something,” he said, voice low, like he wasn’t sure if he was confessing or just trying to hear it said out loud. “someone.”

he didn’t look at either of them when he said it. just kept his eyes trained downward, like the words were heavier that way.

“you say that like it’s new,” sunghoon replied, his tone unreadable.

jay let out a short breath—half a scoff, half a sigh. “it’s not. i just didn’t think it would… i don’t know. i didn’t think it would matter.”

heeseung shifted slightly against the door, arms crossed now, gaze sharper, quieter. he wasn’t speaking, but he was listening in a way that made the room feel smaller.

jay leaned back against the couch, one hand over his mouth for a second before he finally said it. “i worked with her.”

the air shifted. slightly. just enough.

“thought it’d be just one collab. she was shy. real quiet. but then… she came over. we talked. she opened up a little.” his voice cracked faintly at the edge. “it felt different.”

“different how?” heeseung asked, still calm, but tighter now—his voice like a thread pulled taut between two fingers.

jay shrugged, jaw working silently before he answered. “like i didn’t want it to be just once.”

no one spoke for a moment. the quiet settled like a fog.

“we had dinner. we filmed. she stayed over,” jay continued, softer now. “but we didn’t—i mean, we could’ve, but we didn’t. she fell asleep next to me. i woke up and she was gone.”

heeseung’s eyes didn’t move from him. his posture hadn’t changed, but something in the stillness of his face felt heavier.

sunghoon didn’t look surprised. just tired.

jay raked a hand through his hair again and let it fall with a frustrated sigh. “i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing. i just… can’t stop thinking about her.”

and then it slipped.

“y/n’s not like anyone else,” jay muttered, not even realizing what he’d said until the room went dead still.

heeseung blinked.

“what?” he asked, too calm. too quiet.

jay blinked back, slow, the words hanging in the air.

“what name did you just say?” heeseung asked again, but there was something different in his voice now—sharp, coiled, the kind of calm that cracked open just before it exploded.

jay’s mouth parted. then closed. then opened again. “i—I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

heeseung pushed off the wall. straightened his back. the air around him shifted, like gravity had thickened.

“what name,” he said, his voice cold now, “did you just say?”

jay swallowed. “y/n.”

“there’s no fucking way…” heeseung mutters, his voice low and tight, like it’s being dragged from somewhere deep in his chest. his eyes don’t leave jay’s, narrowed and dark, his brows drawn so tightly together that the lines across his forehead seem carved in place. you can see the way his chest rises, too slow, too strained, like every second is squeezing around his ribs, making it harder to breathe. he’s still, but the tension in his body is loud—the kind that makes the room feel smaller, like it’s closing in on itself.

“what is it?” jay asks, his voice sharp, suspicious, but there’s a flicker of hesitation behind it. his gaze darts across heeseung’s face, searching for something unspoken, but the way heeseung is staring—straight through him—tells him everything. he already knows. and when heeseung doesn’t answer right away, jay’s jaw tenses. “you fucking know her?” he snaps, rising from the couch, his movements quick and uneven. “you know who she is?”

heeseung finally stands, slow and deliberate, like he’s been holding this in too long. “i knew her before you,” he says, his voice flat but heavy. “she’s the one who’s been fucking with my head. she’s the one who’s had me up at night wondering why the hell i can’t stop thinking about her.” his words hang thick in the air, and jay just stares at him, pacing now, hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

the silence that follows makes the walls feel like they’re closing in. the atmosphere shifts—denser, more volatile—and sunghoon feels it settle in his chest like smoke. he glances between the two of them, their body language sharp and unreadable, like wires pulled too tight. “who the hell are you two talking about?” he asks, breaking the silence, but the question lands flat—ignored, unanswered—because heeseung’s voice cuts back in before either of them can acknowledge him.

“cut it off,” heeseung says suddenly, voice low and cold. “don’t talk to her again.”

jay stops moving.

he turns slowly, his brows furrowing deep, disbelief flashing across his face as he steps toward heeseung. “who the fuck do you think you are?” he says, and there’s no humor in it. “you don’t get to make that call. i’m not cutting shit off.”

they stare at each other, heat rising between them in silence, and for a second jay doesn’t even know how to feel—jealous? betrayed? inferior? he doesn’t know what hurts more, the fact that heeseung knew first or that heeseung felt it first. that he’s not the only one obsessed with you. not the only one caught in whatever spell you’ve put over them.

sunghoon finally realizes—this isn’t just about a collab. this isn’t casual. this isn’t temporary. they’re not just pissed because they crossed wires. they’re fighting over a woman. and not just any woman. someone who’s turned both of them into something possessive, reckless, different. his brows furrow slightly, mouth parting, but no words come. curiosity simmers quietly in his chest, rising higher with every second. they’ve never fought over a girl before. never even talked like this over someone they’ve filmed with. but something about you has them both breaking rules they never thought they’d cross.

and now he’s wondering—what is it about her?

sunghoon stays quiet for a beat longer, his eyes flicking between the two men standing across from each other like they’re one word away from something irreversible. heeseung’s jaw is clenched, his fists tight at his sides, like he’s holding himself back from saying more. jay, on the other hand, looks seconds from exploding—like the wrong breath would set him off. and in the middle of it all, sunghoon feels something else creep in through the cracks of the tension: curiosity. it had started small, a flicker when he heard the name. when he realized they weren’t talking about just anyone. when he watched heeseung stand like that, sharp and focused, and jay snap like something had been stolen from him. it wasn’t just jealousy. it wasn’t pride. it was obsession.

so he speaks.

“what’s her username?”

jay looks over sharply, brows furrowed. “what?”

“the girl,” sunghoon says, voice low but steady. “you’re both clearly ready to fight over her. i just wanna know what she looks like.”

heeseung scoffs quietly, shaking his head as he starts to pace, like the idea of pulling another person into this makes his skin itch. “don’t,” he mutters. “you don’t wanna get involved.”

sunghoon shrugs, but his tone stays even. “maybe i do.”

jay watches him for a moment, his mouth a tight line, fingers twitching at his sides like he’s trying to decide whether to laugh or warn him. “you’re not curious,” he says, almost accusing.

“but what if i am?,” sunghoon replies, tilting his head slightly. “you two ever been like this over someone before?” he waits a beat, lets the silence answer him. “exactly. so if this is how you act… i just wanna see who she is.”

heeseung stops pacing. his shoulders are tense, his eyes dark as they lock onto sunghoon’s. “it’s not about how she looks.”

“then what is it?” sunghoon asks, and his voice is quiet, but it’s not soft. “because you’re both standing here ready to lose your shit over someone who none of us even knew existed a few weeks ago.”

jay doesn’t answer. not at first. he sits down instead, jaw still tight, staring at the floor like the answer is there if he just thinks hard enough.

“she’s different,” he finally says, voice low. “the way she talks. the way she films. the way she looks at you like she already knows what you’re gonna ask for, and gives it to you before you say it.”

heeseung nods slowly, almost without realizing. “she gets under your skin,” he murmurs. “and you don’t even notice until you’re in too deep.”

sunghoon watches them both—his friends, his brothers, suddenly strangers with wounds he didn’t know they had. and instead of pulling away, something in him leans closer.

“i want in,” he says, soft but certain.

heeseung turns to him, eyes narrowing. “don’t.”

“why not?”

“because you’ll end up just like us,” jay mutters. “and none of us know what the fuck we’re doing.”

but sunghoon just smiles, slow and calculated. “maybe i want to find out.”

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ i'm backkkk ! was too excited to upload this to you all so if there's mistakes, so sorry i did not proofread it >.<

taglistᝰ.ᐟ @starry-eyed-bimbo @vixialuvs @justaquarium @dark-moon-light02 @deobitifull @minjeong28 @wonzzziezzzz @wonsohl @psychicyouthfox @honeyfever @strayy-kidz @bloomiize @tunafishyfishylike @jaehaki @ihearteatingxo @songbyeonkim @sol3chu @mo0neng3ne @strxwbloody @hii01mii @merwdusa @dorrissakurada @lycxee @frequentlykit @heeenha6484 @sjakewrld @stwrlightt @parkjjongswifey @haneulhee @fr34k4c1dr41n @cozyre @vwricky @nyxtwixx @nuggets4lifers @yunkiconico @mynameis-rosie1 @leeknowslefteyebrow @babygguk98 @noiiny @horijiro @nshmrarki @delulumel @brooklyninawhitemustang @baedreamverse @stvrrylove @killedbycharlize @sehyojae @mylettterstoyou @metanoianlove @shaysimpss @kiokantalope @sanriwoozzz @mniwna @l1nn13 @gongyoorit @miszes @ineedheewoninmylife @seonhwastaar @ivyleyun @ari3ll4 @ssanhwatto @negin7 @koizekomi @enhaz1 @kittympirty @slayhaechan @semi-wife @tobiosbbyghorl @hoonsdrnkdzd @shy9-29 @heeenha6484 @heeseungsbm @kristynaaah @smlbch @kirinaa08 @millis-diary @kawaiichu32 @wonislife17 @minniesverse @k1ttyjwon @luvksnn @wondash @wooalt @sweetsoobie @nyxiebabyyy @jakezzgirlz @b1tem4rks @hoonneyyzz @mimimovv @hanjiversee @ch4c0nnenh4 @sarashusbandissunghoonfyime @tnafzi @bbypink @en-hoon02 @skzenhalove @azzy02 @sanchaah @planetmarlowe @miniw0nz @daisy-doo1 @femaholicc @cherryangel-coke @hooniesfvngs @kimsvtaes @mniwna @i-am-not-dal @star-hoon @wafflelyweddedmallow @certifiedjaeyunist @devouredyou @neogotmysam @nuki-riki @heesang07 @littlofang @simj4k3 @makgeolli-jw @ksnooppy @luvksnn @starryemiko @isagistar @nickiminajleftasscheek @jeonkaijoon @doveblackboat @haestuffs @srhnyx @azzy02 @bubblemoonclouds @diana021811 @wonuziex @blubb0 @choicila @nyfwyeonjun @neo-weareone @jooniesbears-blog @byshens @arourababy

2K notes · View notes