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nephynes · 3 days ago

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Jay calls you “baby” like a threat. Heeseung fucks you like he hates you. You say you’re confused, but you’ve got both of them on their knees and still keep the door open. Someone should stop you, too bad they’re both in love with the wreckage.

➺ minors do not interact

➺ pairing: jay x afab reader x heeseung

➺ wc: 12k

➺ content tags: SMUT, toxic relationship, manipulative behavior, possessive ex, jealousy, dubcon undertones, emotional whiplash, angst, degradation, praise, emotional manipulation, hurt/comfort, power imbalance, obsessive love, heartbreak, crying during sex, coercion, unprotected sex, unresolved feelings, blurred boundaries, rough sex, aftercare (questionable), guilt, shame, self-worth issues, eroticism as control, reader with poor coping mechanisms, kind of a self righteous slut, complicated ex, trauma bonding, spiraling emotions, unhealthy attachment. NOT PROOFREAD.

➺ a/n: going against all tumblr protocols/norms and posting fics without wips or teasers, let’s consider this my comeback after taking so many BEATINGS. i wrote this with like zero emotional stability and no moral compass whatsoever and i wrote the ending with so much anxiety about my work, i feel so insecure about it but whatever. enjoyyyy and block your ex! reblog and heeseung will appear in your dream calling you angel face

➺ nsfw warnings under the cut

oral (f receiving), rough sex, degradation, threesome, double penetration, hair pulling, mean dom!heeseung, kind of switch!jay, crying during sex, jealousy sex, handjobs, manipulation kink (implied), ass play, saliva for lube (lots of it), power play, coercion themes, sub!reader, possessive behavior, humiliation, slut shaming (not corrected), multiple partners, use of pet names, hand over mouth, spanking, forced positioning, reader cries but doesn’t stop. let me know if i missed any.

Jay's room always smells like wood smoke and something mixed with his cologne and boy musk, but you've grown way too used to it over the years. You're currently stretched out across his bed with your laptop propped against your thighs and your phone in your hand, hovering a finger over a barely there lace slip in your shopping cart. "Is it too much?" you ask, turning the screen toward him.

He barely glances up from where he's messing with his journal on his desk. "It's basically dental floss. You should get it." You snort, clicking to add it to your cart. "How supportive."

Jay turns then, walking back over with a bottle of water in hand, eyes flicking toward the screen like he's expecting more lingerie picks. He drops down beside you, one knee brushing yours, lazy and comfortable and way too familiar.

You scroll through another site, mindlessly showing him crop tops and overpriced boots. He makes stupid little comments until eventually, you lean across him to grab your charger from the nightstand beside him and your tank top slips. Just slightly thin straps sliding down your shoulder, fabric dipping lower than you meant to but it's enough for him to see them. The darkened, wine colored shadows blooming along the swell of your breasts, stark against your skin.

He goes still and you don't even notice at first, you’re too busy trying to untangle the cable, but Jay reaches without asking, curling his fingers under your strap and tugging it down a little more, his eyes sharpening. "You let him mark you up like that? Heeseung?"

You frown a little, brows raising as you glance down at where his hand is still lingering so close to your breast. Then you swat him away, annoyed. "No, Jay. The fucking tooth fairy. Who do you think?"

He doesn't laugh like you assumed he would. He leans back against the headboard, jaw tense, tongue poking the inside of his cheek like he's chewing on something he won't say. You can feel his stare, heavy and unreadable.

You roll your eyes defiantly and turn the screen back to yourself. "I didn't realize I needed to send you a memo every time I get fucked."

Jay scoffs out dry and humorless. "Guess not," he says, "just didn't think you'd still go back to him." He glances at you. "What? I didn't meet up to his standards?"

That makes you snap your head toward him. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That thing. Where you act like I owe you something."

Jay laughs low under his breath. "You don't owe me shit," he says, "but maybe you could admit you liked it."

You go quiet. Just long enough for him to know he's hit a nerve and now he looks smug, but not in a gloating way, it’s in that I know what gets under your skin and I'm going to sit there and rot it out kind of way. He shifts a little closer, gaze lingering too long on your collarbone.

"You're said we were just having fun," you say, stiff.

Jay grins. "I did."

You don't know what pisses you off more—his smile, or the fact that part of you wanted to hear something else.

You open your mouth to say something, maybe something catty but the buzzing of your phone on his bed interrupts you.

What shitty timing, you think as Heeseung's name flashes across your screen, loud and abrupt in the quiet lull after Jay's last comment. His lips curl in amusement, and he lets out this mocking laugh, like of course it's him. "Speak of the devil," he mutters.

You want to melt into the floor or throw your phone out the window, but instead you sit frozen, watching the screen pulse with Heeseung's name.

Then it goes silent—only for a text to flash up a second later.

Heeseung: you coming or not?

Jay hums, mean. "Such a romantic."

Your stomach drops as he reaches for your phone. "Jay—don't," you snap, lunging forward, but he catches your wrist easily, holding the phone up and out of reach with a bored flick of his hand. You try to grab it with your free hand, but he's quicker, suddenly twisting you around with too much ease, like he knows every way you move. In one slick move, he tosses your phone across the room and catches your arm behind your back, pinning you on the bed.

"Jay!" you gasp, twisting under him.

He leans over you, lips brushing your ear. "You were really about to go crawling back to him again?" His voice is soft but razor-sharp. "After everything he's done?"

His thigh slides between yours, pining you in place. His grip on your wrist tightens a little and you can feel his warm steady breath against your cheek. "Is that what you like?" His voice is rough now. "Being treated like a fucking afterthought."

You try to twist away from him, to say something, but he turns you over and kisses you before you can, with brute force and possession. You can feel the frustration radiating off him as he swallows the sound of your protest. Your heart rate increases and you hate how quickly your body turns against you, how familiar it feels, how much worse it makes it, the fact that it's Jay. The one person who's always known how to get under your skin.

"I just didn't think you were still that easy," he says lowly, right at your ear. "Still letting him fuck you like you mean nothing."

The words sting somewhere deep in you. You try to jerk away from him, but his hand doesn't move. "That's all he does, isn't it?" Jay adds, almost casual. "Fuck you and leave. And you run back like some good little pet."

Your heart's racing faster now and you’re trying to twist harder in his grip.

But he cuts you off by pressing in, his lips brushing your jaw in a cold and measured contact. "You let him treat you like that. But I'm the one you keep in your bed?" He asks. "Don't think that's fair."

You're too stunned to respond and he knows it. Jay releases you just as suddenly as he grabbed you, pulling away like it didn't mean anything, like he hadn't just shifted the air in the room.

He doesn't even apologize, he just watches you with that stoic look in his eyes, waiting to see what you'll do next. His eyes never leaving yours, even as he stands up from the bed.

You're panting, chest rising and falling as you sit back up on the bed, glaring at his retreating figure. He's already halfway across the room, calm like nothing happened, when he says, too offhandedly, "Your mom called me."

You frown, confused. "What?"

He looks at you. "Said you haven't been eating."

Your stomach twists and you shoot up to your feet, face hot with frustration. "You bring that up now?" you snap, breath catching in your throat. "Seriously?"

Jay just shrugs like he doesn't see why you're upset, like it's just another data point he's sliding across the table. "I'm just trying to show you what he does to you," he says simply.

Your jaw clenches. "Don't blame Heeseung for that," you bite out, angrier now. "I had issues with food way before him. You know that."

There's a pause and the air in the room feels way too heavy for how quiet it is.

He doesn't argue this time, he just flops on the bed again and says, "Come here."

You don't move at first, you shouldn't move—in fact you should get your shit and leave his apartment. But his voice is soft and smooth and too familiar, like a trigger your body's been unfortunately conditioned to obey.

You go, as if something tugs you forward, your legs moving even without your consent.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed by the time you reach him, and without asking or saying a word, he takes your wrists and pulls you into his lap, guiding your thighs to straddle him.

You settle there, shaky and annoyed, but too used to the way this goes to resist. His hands settle on your hips, holding you there. "I’m not the problem." he says, looking up at you. "I'm the one who cares, baby."

You stare back at him. At his straight face. At the boy who always knows exactly when to twist the knife.

You don't answer him right away.

Because all you can think of is how this whole fucked up thing between you and Jay didn't even start with care. Not really.

It started with rage.

Two nights after your third breakup with Heeseung.

You'd shown up to Jay's apartment with mascara bleeding under your eyes, your hoodie sleeves pulled over trembling fingers, and that look you always wore when you were ready to swear Heeseung off for good.

Jay didn't say a word when he opened the door. Just stepped aside and let you in. You stormed past him, fuming, fists clenched like you wanted to punch something.

"I'm done," you'd said. "This time I mean it. He can fuck himself—he can rot."

Jay had nodded, slow. "So he said it again."

You broke. Right there on his couch. Hot, angry tears spilled down your cheeks, your voice cracking with how bitter it all tasted. You told Jay everything. What Heeseung said, even what he didn't say and how he always knew just how to keep you hooked.

Jay sat there the whole time—legs spread, arms resting over the back of the couch, like he was soaking it in.

And then he leaned forward, pressing a hand to your thigh. "Let me help." His voice was quiet, measured even. "I could make you feel better? Or…forget?"

You didn't really know what he meant until he dropped to his knees. You definitely didn’t expect the way he grabbed you by the hips, dragged you down until your back hit the cushions of his couch. You didn't expect how gentle he was when he peeled your sweats down, your underwear off. How he kissed the insides of your thighs like they were bruises only he could soothe.

How he said—"Just let me do this. You don't have to think."

And you didn't think, in fact you couldn’t. His mouth was too good—hot, slow and sinful, tongue fucking into your soaked pussy like he was trying to reclaim every inch of you Heeseung had tainted. He moaned when you gripped his hair, when you cried out, "Jay—Jay, I'm—"

You came with your fists in his hair and your mouth slack from the shock of it, thighs shuddering where he’d placed them over his shoulders. You'd never cum like that before, not even with Heeseung.

He just looked up at you, lips wet, expressionless. "Feel better?" he'd asked.

You could barely nod.

But that was how it started and how it didn't stop.

After that night, you kept coming back. You told yourself it was casual, just a physical thing to get your mind off your ex. Jay never made a big deal about any of it, never even asked for more.

Until he found out you'd gone back to Heeseung.

He didn't yell or sulk that day. He just looked at you one morning while you were still naked in his sheets, and said, "So you let him fuck you again?"

You froze, mind scrambling for a lie to give him, but nothing came out.

He didn't press further or accuse you of anything. He stared at the ceiling and muttered, almost to himself,

"I didn't realize you liked crawling back to someone who doesn't even pretend to care about you."

And then he got out of bed.

He didn't touch you for two weeks after that. Not until you caved and showed up at his door at 1am, asking if he hated you. He just gave you that same look and pulled you into his lap like always.

Jay never needed to yell, he only needed you to come back. And somehow you always did.

The memories fade, but Jay's mattress is still beneath your knees and his hands are still coasting lazily over the backs of your thighs, because to him he's always had the right to touch you. He's moved up against the headboard now, taking you with him, dark hair messy from where you yanked it earlier. His eyes pin you in place with calm surface to them but cold calculations rippling underneath.

His thumbs press just above the curve of your hips.

"Promise me you're done with him."

It isn't a question, it's merely a line in the sand. No heat, no coaxing, just the terms of staying right here. Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. Jay lifts one brow, waiting.

"I...can try," you whisper, hating how small it sounds.

He shakes his head once. "Not good enough." Followed by a slow inhale, an almost disappointed one. "I've cut off half the girls I see for you—stopped answering DMs, stopped returning calls. You know that."

You do and part of you was always stupidly flattered every time a name disappeared from his phone.

Jay's fingers slide under the hem of your tank, thumbs brushing skin. "So here's what you're gonna do." His voice stays level, matter of fact, with nothing pleading or cruel. "You're going to block him. Delete the number. The next time he wants someone to fuck when he's bored, he can call literally anyone else."

You swallow, feeling the air too thick in your chest.

"Say it," he demands, eyes never leaving yours. "Promise me."

You despise your pulse for fluttering and that it feels like gravity tilting the room. But all you manage is a small nod and a softer, "Okay...I promise."

Something in his jaw unclenches as his palms slide up your sides, settling possessively at your ribcage. "Good girl," he says, and it isn't praise so much as confirmation that you've aligned yourself correctly. His hands guide you down until your chest brushes his. "Keep me happy," he adds, voice almost gentle, "and I'll keep making you forget why he ever mattered."

Your eyes flutter shut, equal parts relief and dread. You want to keep him happy. God, you do. Even if it means burning every other bridge until only Jay's hands are left to catch you.

So you kiss him, seal the promise on his tongue, and try not to notice how pleased he sounds when you sigh into his mouth—like he's already sure you'll never break your word.

He laughs into your mouth condescendingly, like he's entertained by you and it knocks the rhythm right out of your kiss.

"Fuck," he murmurs when you bite down on his bottom lip, his hand tightening briefly at your waist. But it's still followed by a chuckle, smug, cruel and lazy. "You're so eager now. Look at you."

You grind down on him, hips shifting instinctively, desperate to make a point, but it only makes him laugh harder. "Aww." He tilts his head, voice thick with derision. "Look who thinks she knows how to ride now."

Your stomach flips as you feel the heat of shame curling with arousal prickling up your neck.

"So precious," he keeps going, hand dragging down the small of your back, right over the curve of your ass. "You kiss like you're starving, but your hips still falters every time."

"Shut up," you mutter, breathless, but it comes out whinier than you want.

"Oh, now you're embarrassed?" His smile sharpens. "Didn't seem so shy when you were humping me just now."

You shove at his chest, but his hands only tighten, grounding you in place, locking your body against his.

"Go ahead," he says, softly now, teeth grazing the underside of your jaw. "Get mad, but prove me wrong, baby. Show me you finally learned how to fuck me properly."

And fuck—he knows exactly what he's doing. His voice, his words, his mouth, all of it designed to crack you open. He drags the shame, defiance and desire out of you like he's mining for gold.

Your hands shake a little where they press to his chest.

But you roll your hips anyway.

Because God help you, you do want to prove him wrong. But when he doesn't move you nearly falter like he predicted, he doesn't help you or even touch you, he's leaned back against the headboard, arms spread uselessly beside your knees, his expression deadpan but his eyes locked on you with sharp, dark, and maddening patience.

You're the one shifting on top of him, dragging your skirt up around your hips with trembling fingers, your breathing shaky as you tug your panties to the side yourself. He doesn't make a sound, not even when you reach down between the two of you to palm him through his sweats, trying to coax his cock hard.

Still, he just watches. You're a private show, meant only for him. Not someone he's touching, but someone he's witnessing, every breath and movement is a performance he can't tear his eyes from.

His dick twitches in your hand, slowly filling, but he gives no reaction—not a moan, not a sigh, not even a shift of his hips. Just that steady gaze that makes your skin burn.

"You won’t help me?" you whisper, a little breathless.

He shrugs, that same frustrating smirk on his lips. "Thought you were trying to prove you could ride me good now."

You glare at him, fingers curling tighter around the base of his cock. You stroke him a little rougher than necessary, but he only raises a brow like he dares you to keep going.

"Come on," he murmurs, voice low, goading. "Figure it out. You wanted to be the one in control, didn't you?"

You press your lips together, swallowing a shaky breath as you line him up, lowering yourself slowly on the thickness of him and shaking just slightly, fingers clutching his shoulders for balance.

You gasp as the bulbous head of his cock slips in. But he just watches quietly like he’s waiting.

And somehow, to you that's worse than anything he could've even said.

You're whimpering, trying to take more of him rolling your hips just right, moving slow and deliberate like you think he wants. Like you hope he wants.

Your hands brace on his chest, your thighs burning already, and you move with every ounce of desperation you can muster—arching your back, biting your lip, trying to look as sexy and confident as you can manage.

But inside, it's sheer panic. Because you know what Jay could have, you know all the other girls he's brushed off for you. All the girls who would've killed to be in your place, bouncing perfectly in his lap, earning his soft praises and smug grins.

What if one of them would've been better? What if you're just…forgettable?

The jealousy twists sharp in your gut. And the need to matter and to mean something to Jay pushes you harder. You grind your hips down with more focus, swiveling just right, clenching around him tight and desperate.

And it finally pulls a real moan from him. It seems so raw and almost involuntary, but your heart stutters in your chest anyway.

You look down at him through your lashes, still rocking your hips, barely breathing. "Am I..." Your voice is shaky. "...doing good?"

Jay's eyes lift to meet yours—half-lidded and blown black, finally trailing his hand up to rest on your waist, not guiding you yet, just holding.

He exhales slowly, like the sight of you ruins him.

"So good," he croons. "So fucking good, baby."

And like that, you feel your whole body light up with relief, pride and maybe even power. Like maybe you’re finally enough for him.

His fingers suddenly tighten around your waist, and without warning he starts moving you himself, bouncing you harder on his cock. It’s not gentle or kind like you had hoped it would be when you’d asked him to help you. No, Jay is using his strength like it's second nature, like he's been waiting for you to tire out just so he could take over.

Your breath punches out of your lungs when your hips are dragged down hard, the thick length of his throbbing cock pushing in deeper than you'd dared to go on your own.

"Jay—!" you cry out, head snapping back, thighs trembling. But he's already covering your mouth with one large palm.

"Shhh," he breathes, lips brushing your cheek as he leans forward. "You're gonna get me a noise complaint, baby."

You can't help the way your eyes roll back, the stretch, the pressure, the depth of him inside you making your body seize with too much sensation. "Mmpfh."

His grip on your waist is absolutely bruising, dragging you down again and again, faster and harder. Your moans go muffled into his hand, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, your body turning to nothing but a puppet in his lap.

And Jay just watches you fall apart with that same infuriating calmness. "Look at you," he mutters. "Didn't even know how to ride it right five minutes ago."

His voice is smug and dirty. "But now? Now you're screaming for it." He says shifting his body a little, just his hands, one still rests at your waist while the other slips off your mouth and between your bodies, fingers seeking out your clit with perfected ease. You gasp when he finds you, the slick sound of your wetness absurd in the quiet of the room.

He presses his thumb just right and you jolt, the sudden pressure driving you dangerously closer to the edge. Your hips start to stutter, rhythm completely lost, but he picks it up for you—gripping your waist and moving you with a strength you'd forgotten he liked to flex. The next thrust is deeper, more brutal, and your head tips back with a cry, body arching into his. "J—ay! Ngh—Y—yes! There! There!"

Jay doesn't let up at all. "You're babbling now," he says, voice like velvet and venom. "What, you getting stupid for me already?"

You try to respond but your mouth won't cooperate, nothing comes out but a broken whine. Your limbs are trembling, your head swimming. He can feel it in the way you're squeezing around him, right on the brink.

Then he leans forward, mouth at your ear, voice a low rasp, "Do it again."

Your whole body slows to the stiff point. You know exactly what he means, exactly what it means and panic flares across your face, just for a second. Then his hand is on your throat, but not to choke you, just guiding you and pressing you gently back down onto the bed. Your back hits the sheets, chest heaving and Jay climbs over you, slow and deliberate, gaze fixed on yours.

You don't have to say a word. He sees the desperate, delirious relief in your eyes now that he’s on top. The smirk that spreads across his face is so mean and satisfied.

"There she is," he whispers, brushing your hair back with mock affection. "Right where you belong."

Then he moves inside you again, and your world splits open. The new angle is different and it’s letting his cock brush something achingly good inside you.

Your mouth opens, forming a silent no, but it's already happening, he's coaxing it out of you with the same rough rhythm, the same maddening meticulousness.

Your body starts to stiffen again as the pressure boils over, and just as you start to panic more. "Relax," he breathes. "Let it happen."

"I said do it again."

Your thighs quake. The wet slap of skin, the slick mess between your bodies—it's so overwhelming, so humiliating, and so perfect.

You choke on a gasp as your orgasm crashes down, blinding and involuntary, and then it happens. You feel it. The heat, the release, the wet flood you tried to hold back.

Jay's eyes light up, fucking triumphant. "Look at the mess you made," he says low, like he's proud of you and taunting you all at once. His hand glides down, wet with you, lifting his soaked fingers to your mouth. "Open."

You do. Of course you do.

He pushes two fingers past your lips, and you suck them obediently, tongue swirling slow even as your chest still heaves from the aftershocks. His eyes darken.

"You like it nasty, don't you?" he mumbles, pulling his hand away with a wet pop, dragging your jaw open with his thumb. "So fucking easy."

He shifts then, the weight of him pressing your legs wider as he strokes himself once, twice, and not gently. He's so hard and even almost angry with it, and it makes you realize he's been holding back, waiting for you to cum first.

He leans forward, teeth at your jaw, whispering, "You want to be used, right? That's what Heeseung doesn't get. You don't need love. You need to be ruined."

Then he pushes deep in again, faster and meaner.

You scream a loud sound you really try to swallow but it comes out anyway.

He doesn't hold back this time, his pace is rougher now, desperate, driven by something darker. He holds your leg up over his shoulder, trying to mark his name into the deepest part of you.

"Fuck," he grits, breath coming hot against your throat. "You're still so wet—squeezing me like you want me to finish inside."

You can't seem to form any sensible thoughts so you just grip his shoulders like a lifeline, head rolling back, another moan choking in your throat.

"Still so tight," he pants, sweat dripping down his temple, his thumb dragging across your spit-slick mouth. "Still...fuck—still letting him fuck you like you're not already mine."

You sob when he shifts your legs higher, deeper now, hitting that spot that makes you claw at the sheets.

"Jay—" it's all you can manage, too far gone to stop him but too full of him to breathe. But it’s not like he's even listening. Not really. He's watching the way you fall apart, as if he's memorizing the proof that he can still undo you this thoroughly.

His hips pulse, the rhythm of them breaking down—he's close. You feel the way his breath goes jagged, the way his arms start to tremble, how his teeth dig into the underside of your jaw before he groans right there, like he's in pain.

"I'm gonna cum," he grits, voice tight. "You want it, don't you?"

You nod frantically, already crying from the sheer overstimulation. He's everywhere—his scent, his voice, the weight of him fucking you into the mattress.

"Say it."

You try, you do really try. "Want it—want you to cum—inside, please, Jay, please—"

And that's what does it for him. He buries his cock inside you to the hilt with a broken sound, hips grinding into you as he cums hard, long and deep, filling you with thick ropes of his cum until you swear you can feel it pooling inside. His whole body jerks, muscles clenching, breath catching at the base of his throat. He stays like that for a long moment, frozen over you, forehead pressed to yours, both of you slick with sweat and sex and something even heavier.

He props himself up on his hands to look down at you when both your breathing slows, but he still doesn’t pull out. He just stares down at you, still inside, his hand sliding up your ribs until it's cradling your jaw.

"Next time you go back to him..." His thumb strokes over your bottom lip. "I'm done with you."

"And if you do...you better make sure I don’t find out."

His voice isn't even loud but it's steady and enough to make your stomach drop. He ignores the look on your face and shifts your panties back in place then gets off you.

Sometime between the kisses he peppered all over your face, the threat and the uber he'd ordered you, Jay had helped you get dressed again, his touch cool and careful, not speaking as he smoothed your hair down and tucked your phone back into your hand like a peace offering.

You're curled up on your bed, thumb hovering over the keyboard of your phone, the half-typed message to Heeseung glowing like a bruise.

you: ok fine. you win. when?

You stare at it too long, not because you're hesitant but because you know you should be. True to your word and your promise to Jay you had deleted Heeseung's number but you hadn't blocked it, and what use was that when you had it memorized.

Jay had looked you in the eye not even an hour ago and basically told you to choose between them. And maybe you'd meant to take it seriously. Maybe.

But then the soft thud against the glass pane of your window that has you blinking and turning you head—changes everything.

And there he is, changing everything. Heeseung.

Climbing through your window like it he would when you first started dating, but it's not with a smile and an embarrassed chuckle like those days, it's with a frown.

He's mad.

You can tell from the second his feet hit your floor, his jaw locked tight, his eyes raking over you with that specific brand of fury only Heeseung has, that’s quiet and cold, but mean under the surface.

His gaze drops to your legs tucked beneath you on the bed, your wrinkled tank, your flushed skin, and something shifts in his expression—tighter, darker.

"Why the fuck didn't you answer my text?" he says, voice low but sharp enough to cut.

You swallow hard. Your phone's still in your hand, the screen glowing with the message you never sent. He sees it.

"I was gonna—"

"Yeah?" He takes a step closer. "You were gonna what?"

You flinch at the heat between your legs cooling too slowly, the sticky ache of Jay still clinging to you. You didn't even shower or change, the drop in serotonin you experienced after leaving Jay's house left you in a rut.

And now Heeseung's standing here, inches away, breathing the same air as you.

He stops beside your bed, looking down at you, and you can't seem to meet his eyes.

Your shame feels loud, you're even scared he can probably smell it on you.

All your fears are validated when he grabs you by the ankle, one strong hand curling around and dragging you down the bed like a ragdoll. You gasp, your phone slipping from your grip as your back hits the mattress edge.

"Don't ignore me," he mutters, but it's distracted now. His hands are already on your thighs, pushing your skirt up. You squirm, legs instinctively snapping shut, but he doesn't allow that, never does. He spreads you open with one rough motion, ready to scold you, tease you, touch you but then he looks between your legs and his hands stop moving.

Your panties are soaked. Still a little askew. You hadn't fixed them right. Hadn't bothered.

You watch his face twist in real time—brows pinching, mouth parting slightly, like he can't seem to believe what he's seeing.

"What the fuck?" he says, low, breathless. "Did you let someone else fuck you?"

Your stomach flips violently. You try to sit up, to cover yourself, to explain, to say something but he grips your inner thigh tighter, forcing you to stay open.

His voice is flat now. "Who was it?"

He blinks at your silence.

And then, without even looking at you, just staring down at the complete mess between your legs, he lets out a laugh. It's not loud, it's not even mean at first, it's actually almost like he's stunned.

"So you're a little slut now, huh?" he whispers.

The word hits you like a punch to the stomach. Your chest caves in a little. Not because of what he said, but because he said it. Heeseung—who's never called you that. Who's always had this unspoken softness for you, even when he was being cruel. Even when he was distant or cold or high out of his mind, he'd never call you out of your name.

"You don't get to say that," you whisper, voice shaking. "We're not even—" You break off, choking on the heat rising in your throat. "We're not together anymore."

"Right," he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. "You just keep my name in your phone. Keep my number on speed dial. Let me fuck you whenever I want. But now suddenly I don't even get to ask?"

"You don't," you snap. Your hands slam into his chest, weakly at first then harder the second time. "Get out. Get the fuck out, Heeseung."

He doesn't budge.

You push him again, as hard as you can, trying to guide him toward the window he so casually crawled through as if things were normal between you two. "You can't just show up here and—and check my fucking underwear—"

That makes him grin. A slow, infuriating grin.

You hate him.

You want to cry.

"You're really throwing a tantrum right now?" he says coolly, dodging your push like it's child's play. He catches both your wrists with one hand, effortlessly holding them in place. "What happened to that little whimpering mess I had in my lap last weekend?"

"Fuck you," you spit, writhing in his grip, breath catching. "You don't get to shame me and then act like you care!"

He just shrugs. "Didn't say I cared."

Then his grip tightens just enough to make you stop squirming. "But I'm not leaving either."

He walks right past you like you're not even standing there, like the argument didn't just happen. He moves with lazy arrogance—shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets.

You watch, stunned, as he sinks down into your bed, like he's done it a hundred times before. Which in his defense, he has.

He reaches over to your nightstand and picks up your phone. Just grabs it, thumbing through your screen, looking for God knows what, maybe the name of the person he's so sure you fucked earlier.

Your throat is too tight. Your fists clench by your sides, but he doesn't even glance at you, he's sat there, scrolling through your phone and the silence starts to ache.

Then he looks up.

Expression calmer now. "Go shower." He says with a flat and final tone.

You don't move, the twist in your stomach and the ache in your chest from the shame blooming there makes it hard to move. The worst part is that you don't even know if it's from what he said, or the fact that a part of you wants to listen.

"Now," he adds, eyes flicking back down to your phone.

Like you're just some mess he needs to clean up. You do as you're told—of course you do because Heeseung said so.

Your bathroom light is too bright, too exposing. You scrub harder than you need to, the soap scalding your skin as the shame now settles thick in your chest. You clean yourself like you're trying to erase something. Like you can.

What if Jay calls? What if Heeseung picks up?

Your mind races as you step back into the room, wrapped in a towel, your hair dripping, your skin flushed from the too-hot water. Heeseung looks up from where he's sprawled across your sheets and laughs, so casually amused.

"That supposed to impress me?" he asks, gesturing to the towel. "Like rinsing off some other dudes cum suddenly makes you clean?"

"Cute," he says, tilting his head. "You look nervous. Is it guilt or just performance?"

"Don't just stand there," he says after a beat, voice slow like syrup, sliding back into his usual apathy. "You think we're gonna cuddle or something?"

You shift uncomfortably, still frozen in place, clutching your towel.

He finally sits up, rolling his shoulders back, spreading his legs and patting the edge of the bed like he's calling a dog.

And somehow, stupidly, your body moves before your brain tells it not to.

You sit beside him, still shaking a little, heart hammering against the wet towel. You don't look at him, and you wish he couldn't see the panic painted all over your skin.

He doesn't touch you.

Just leans closer, nose grazing your ear, voice flat and low.

"I'm not gonna fuck you in the same hole you just gave another guy." He exhales a soft, sharp breath

You jolt, but his hand grips your waist tight enough to make you shut up and stay still. "You wanna make it up to me?" he says, voice so calm it cuts deeper. "Then get on all fours. Be useful for once."

"You know what I want."

The worst part is that you do know and you feel it breaking something open inside you—something ugly and raw and so, so tired.

But regardless of the tiredness, your body still moves.

Because that's what you've always done when it comes to Heeseung.

He shifts over you, his chest grazing your back, towel slipping as he cages you in. His mouth brushes your shoulder in a slow deliberate kiss, laced with the kind of false tenderness that makes your skin crawl. You shiver, more from the pressure than the heat of it.

Then he reaches around and pushes two fingers between your lips.

"Open up for me, angel face." he says, voice low and close to your ear and when you hesitate, his other hand presses down on your lower back, a clear warning. You part your lips, and he pushes the fingers deeper, right against your tongue. You nearly gag, your cheeks heating with sheer mortification. He doesn't move them until your saliva begins to pool around them.

"That's enough," he says, yanking them out and watching a strand of saliva cling between your lips and his fingers.

Without pause, he brings that spit slick hand behind you, reaching between your ass cheeks, spreading you open.

He coats his cock with the spit lazily, intentionally letting you feel every second of the slow glide of his fingers against you. You flinch when he teases the tight ring of muscle, his voice flattening into something amused.

"What?" he asks, tauntingly innocent. "You gave him your pussy. I'm just working with what's left."

You squeeze your eyes shut, thinking of how his cruelty has never sounded this casual.

"You should be grateful," he continues, positioning himself behind you. "Most guys wouldn't want you after that. But me?"

He chuckles.

"I'll still fuck you."

His hand comes up to your throat in a choke. A reminder, as his hips press in slowly, forcing your body to adjust. Your legs tremble, stretched awkwardly on your knees, hands digging into the mattress. You can barely breathe through the sting, and he hasn't even started moving yet.

"You look so pathetic right now." He says, feeling the way the walls of your asshole spasm around him as he pushes in deeper, hot and slick with your saliva and his precum. "Poor you, helpless and weak. You just take me whenever I show up, uhn?"

You squirm in pleasure at his words, nodding, repeatedly moaning words about being his slut and for him to give you his cock, completely forgetting about the promise you just made Jay—like a true whore.

"Yeah?" He taunts you, slipping one hand under you to your tit and pinching your nipple so hard you arch your back at it, arching into him as you feel the pain shoot all the way through you in pleasure. "You're only good for taking my cum, right angel face?"

A gasp rips from your throat when his nails bite down on your nipple again, the sting shooting straight through you. Waves of goosebumps ripple across your skin, relentless, and all you can do is nod harder, desperate to keep up. "Ah—Hee, oh my god!"

"Shhh, isn't your mum home? You want her to come in here and see me fucking your needy hole? See how much of a fucking slut her daughter is?" You shake your head violently but the drag of his cock against your walls and the slap of his balls against your cunt that's dripping onto the bed as you doing otherwise.

His thrusts stay unrelenting, each one a willful reminder that this is only about release, not some sort of reunion. He leans down, mouth beside your ear, the rasp of his breath harsher than the slap of skin against skin.

"This doesn’t mean we're getting back together?" His laugh is cold and cruel, hips snapping forward harder just to hear you gasp. "Keep dreaming. I'll fuck you, but I'll never get back together with you again."

You clench around him, feeling the shame, hurt and sheer pleasure all tangled, and he hisses, the smile in his voice turning near vicious.

"That's it—tighten up like you don’t believe me," he taunts, hand curling in your hair to keep your face buried in the pillow. "We're done, angel face. You're just a convenient hole I'll use when I'm bored."

He punctuates every word with another sharp thrust, voice dropping even lower. "So stop pretending, stop hoping—because when I pull out, I'm gonna walk away, and you'll still be nothing but leftovers in another guy's bed."

You’re nearly in tears at his words, feeling it pooling on your lash line. You’re starting regret breaking your promise to Jay or for not standing your ground and pushing Heeseung out of your window. "Hee—Heeseung, please."

In one swift motion he pulls out and drags you to the edge of the bed and onto your back, pushing in again, completely ignoring your pleas. "Oh fuck! Shit’s so fucking tight—You let him fuck you here?"

"No! N—Never!" your response has him fucking forward faster, pinning your knees to your shoulders as he fucks deeper and rubs his fingers all over your clenching pussy. "You gonna squirt for me like a good girl?"

The sounds your pussy is making are messy and obscene, and when he hooks two fingers inside your pussy and curls them up? You don't stand a chance in the world, you cum hard, body spasming violently as the liquid shoots out of your cunt and sprays his chest and stomach, he laughs at the sight, "Yeahhh, there we go."

It drives him on towards his own orgasm. He thrusts faster and harder, pushing your legs into your chest harder, so hard that all you can do is bask in the pain. Your ass is burning deliciously, your pussy is hot, and your clit swollen as he finally groans and spills inside you. Hot strings of his cum filling your ass, making you keen and moan at the delicious feeling.

His skin is slick against yours as he falls over you, caging you in with your sweat cooling in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You lie tangled together on the rumpled sheets, the aftermath of your stormy reunion thrums through every nerve of your body. His breathing comes out in ragged gasps as he shifts, body weighted onto you.

His hand drifts across your waist, the pads of his fingers rough where he's still too worked up. He leans in, voice clipped on your neck, every word laced with that familiar sting, "Don't get soft on me now, angel face. I'm not your boyfriend again."

Your heart thumps at the barb because you want him to be. But instead you force the usual shrug, feigning like you don’t care and wincing at the ache between your legs.

"Yeah," you whisper, a little out of breath. "I know."

He presses closer, chest against your spine, and you feel the heat of his body like something too close to a claim for someone who just outwardly said he doesn’t want to be with you again.

"Good," he mutters through a sharp exhale. "Then you know I'm sleeping here. Don't bother moving."

You don't argue, not because you don’t see the need but because you’re far too exhausted and you know damn well he won’t listen to you anyway. You're too used to his cold commands and your quiet yielding, so you let him pull you tighter, you let his arm settle across your ribs.

No kisses or soft words or aftercare, at least Jay had tried to make you look more presentable—smoothing out your skirt and trying to tame your here it’s just the steady thump of Heeseung’s heartbeat against your back and the whir of the street outside your house.

You close your eyes, mind drifting instead to Jay as you try to ignore the not so soothing circles Heeseung’s thumb is rubbing into your stomach.

He'll kill me, you think, eyelids heavy. He said he'd be done if he finds out, he actually said to make sure he doesn’t find out. The worry threads through you, sharp and anxious, but sleep drags you under before you can chase it down.

And for a moment, you're caught between their worlds—Heeseung's cold possession holding you in the dark, and Jay's promise of finality echoing in your head as you drift off.

You wake up to the sound of someone exhaling sharply through their nose, it’s not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. But it's enough to pull you from the tangle of sleep, your limbs feel heavy and your skin is too warm beneath the sheets. Your body aches, but not sore in the good way, this is in the used up and exhausted way.

There's a dull throb between your legs and the rawness in your throat reminds you that you cried hard last night. For a second, you don't even remember where you are, but then you shift, and the bare skin against yours moves with you.

Heeseung still asleep beside you, with his chest rising and falling steadily. One of his arms is draped across your waist. You're completely naked with sticky thighs and a dull ache between your ass cheeks. The air in your room feels wrung out and the smell of sex is clinging to the sheets.

That same breath comes again and you realize it’s not from Heeseung, so you blink your eyes open.

And Jay is standing above you.

Dressed in sweats and a white tee that clings to him like second skin. His face is stoic, eyes flicking between the shape of you under your blanket and the man lying beside you.

Your heart stops, it actually stops before crashing into a violent rhythm inside your chest.

"Wow," Jay says, voice calm in that terrifyingly low way. "Not even twenty-four hours."

You shoot upright, dragging the sheet over your chest, like it'll somehow undo everything or erase the guilt growing like mold in your throat, threatening to suffocate you. You feel exposed and nauseous, like you could throw up right there in the bed.

"Jay—" you start, voice cracking.

But he just lifts his hand, not even to silence you, just so incredibly dismissively. Like your words aren't even worth hearing.

"Your mum said you didn't eat dinner," he says after a beat, not even looking at you now. "That's why I came. She said she was headed out for the day. Thought I could check on you."

Your stomach sinks. Shame slams into you so fast you have to look away. You want to be so angry at your mother for thinking Jay is so responsible with you but you can’t because he is responsible, especially with you.

Heeseung starts to stir at the sound of voices around him. He blinks up at Jay, completely unbothered. "What the fuck—?"

You can't breathe, not to talk of move. You feel like a child about to be punished, or more like a criminal caught red handed, but worse than all that, you feel absolutely pathetic.

"Is this how you let random guys barge into your room now?" Heeseung grumbles, rubbing his eyes. He squints at Jay. "The fuck are you even doing here?"

You want to scream at him to shut up. You want to cry, as you watch Jay stare into your eyes.

Heeseung sits up slowly, scoffing under his breath. "Get the fuck out, dude."

Jay doesn't budge or even feign like he’s about to. No, instead he plants himself at the foot of the bed—arms crossed, back straight, that unnerving calm carved into every line of his face. His gaze stays glued to you, not even wavering when Heeseung pushes up onto an elbow, blanket slipping low across his hips.

"Get dressed," Jay says, voice quiet but completely resolute. He isn't loud, because remember? he doesn't ever have to be. The authority in his voice is always ice cold and precise.

You scramble at the sheets, fully dizzy with panic, shame and adrenaline. Your hands are shaking so badly you can't tell if you're gripping cotton or fucking air.

Heeseung scoffs, a bark of incredulous laughter. "Who the fuck are you to tell her what to do?"

Jay doesn't still spare him a glance. He just extends a lazy hand toward your dresser. "Clothes. Now."

Heeseung's eyes narrow, confusion dawning into something uglier. "Wait." He sits all the way up, raking his gaze over Jay's face, then yours. "Hold on. Is this—" He points between the two of you, lips curling. "You? You're the guy who fucked her?"

You fathom speaking now, even though he truth is screaming inside your skull, your throat feels cemented shut.

Heeseung lets out another humorless laugh. "Wow. Your so called best friend, huh?" He looks you over, disgust edging his tone. "You'll really spread your legs for just anyone, won't you?"

The words punch a hole straight through your chest, it has your vision blurring, but you still slide from the bed, clutching the sheet to the front of your body—the ache between your ribs way louder than the ache between your legs.

Jay's jaw flexes, but he doesn't rise to the bait of Heeseung referring to him as just anyone. He still doesn’t look at him. Rather, he turns slightly, exposing his profile to you, creating a corridor of privacy in the room that somehow excludes Heeseung entirely.

"Drawer," he says softly. "I'm counting to ten."

The absurdity of it almost makes you laugh—or sob. You stumble to your dresser, jerk it open, and pull the first t-shirt you find over your head. Your fingers fumble with a pair of panties. You feel Heeseung's stare on your back, burning with hate and disbelief.

Jay murmurs, "Eight...nine—"

You wrench the panties up just as he reaches ten, heart jack-hammering in your throat. Then you stand there, arms wrapped around yourself, sheet puddled at your feet like evidence.

Finally Jay shifts his gaze to Heeseung—slow and intentional with his eyes flat and glacier cold. "Out," he says. One syllable and absolutely nothing more.

Heeseung brims with tension, rising from the bed. "Fucking make me."

The air in your room turns heavy, electric, charged with something darker than anger. You tug the oversized shirt lower on your thighs, cheeks burning, pulse rabbiting beneath your skin. You should tell one of them to leave, you should scream, you should do something. Instead you stand there uselessly with a pounding heart and a twisted gut while the two men who know your body like a map stare each other down over the wreckage of your sheets.

Jay breaks the silence first, voice low. "You promised."

Heeseung lets out a dry laugh, eyes flicking to you, then back. "And? She promised me once too. Didn't stop her moaning my name last night while I fucked her ass."

Your breath catches so hard you think you might faint. You taste shame, guilt and it’s something sour that turns strangely sweet when both their gazes snap to you at the same time, like you're the prize in a game neither of them intends to lose.

"You proud of that?" Jay asks, still calm, but you hear the steel under the words.

Heeseung's smirk widens. "Looks like she is," he says, nodding at the way your knees knock together, the way your fingers twist in the hem of the shirt that ridiculously smells like Jay's detergent and Heeseung's sweat. "Little thing's shaking."

Your stomach flips with equal parts dread and a perverse thrill. Yesterday's memories flash hard behind your eyes, both of them inside your head, under your skin. You know you'll never be able to choose. Because part of you likes this, you like their attention crashing over you from both sides, two tidal waves colliding with you caught in the undertow.

Jay steps closer, toying with your phone in his palm. "Show him you can fucking follow instructions." he says quietly, gaze never leaving Heeseung.

The command sinks into your bones, all too familiar and unraveling. Your lips part but you don't even know what you're about to say or do. But then Heeseung's hand snakes out, catching your wrist and pulling you toward him instead.

"She listens to me just fine," Heeseung declares, fingers sliding to your chin, forcing your head back so you're looking up at him. "Don't you, angel face?"

You swallow, throat tight. A tiny sound, half-whimper, half-yes escapes your lips.

Jay's eyes are blazing when Heeseung shifts you to have your back against his chest. His hand traces a slow, infuriatingly confident line down your stomach, and you flinch at the intimacy of it. You don't even have time to move before Heeseung's mouth is right beside your ear, dragging a lazy kiss against your neck, possessive and smug.

Jay doesn't say anything, but his eyes darken, you see it and so does Heeseung.

"Seriously?" Jay finally mutters, voice low, somewhere between daze and something shockingly hungrier. "You're letting him touch you like that, right in front of me?"

Heeseung just laughs, warm breath skating over your shoulder as his hand slips lower, palming your pussy like he has every right to. "You can't look away though, can you?" he says, eyes fixed on Jay now, goading. "What's the matter? Didn't get enough yesterday?"

Jay's fists curl at his sides but he doesn't move, the tension radiating off of him is palpable. His stare drops to where Heeseung's hand is inside your panties you put on, groping like he's testing ownership.

"You're disgusting," Jay snaps, but his voice is thinner now, less conviction. His gaze is low and lingering.

Heeseung hums. "And you're hard."

That hits Jay like a gunshot and he freezes, nostrils flaring because he is hard.

Heeseung turns his attention back to you, smirking a little. His fingers slip between the folds of your pussy, finding your clit and you whimper, head dropping forward into your hands, embarrassed, but not enough to tell him stop, or enough to make them leave.

"Don't pretend this isn't what she wants," Heeseung says, dragging his lips along your neck. "She's been taking both of us, hasn't she? Plus I don’t really care about her, she just lets me do things other girls don’t."

Jay doesn't answer, but he does step closer. Close enough to see everything and close enough that your skin burns from the weight of both their attention.

"You gonna join me?" Heeseung asks him, too cocky now. "Or you gonna watch with your dick in your hand like a fucking cuck?"

Jay looks at you and the way his eyes soften is the only warning you get before he grabs your chin and kisses you, rough and unrelenting. Now you know neither of them are leaving at least not until one of them wins or they break you.

Heeseung's grip on your waist tightens, but his gaze is all on Jay now, trying to stand behind you like he's bored, like he's not fully hard from just watching Jay kiss you. He lets out a slow exhale, smirking a little as he confesses something that seems to not matter to him anymore.

"You know," he starts lazily, still watching as your tongue collides with Jay’s, "when I was with her...back then? You used to piss me off. Thought you were some kind of threat."

Jay pulls his mouth from yours. "Shut the fuck up."

"But looking at you now..." Heeseung tilts his head, continuing and dragging his eyes lower in a way that makes the air shift. "I don't think I wanna fight you anymore."

There's a beat of silence, something electric buzzing underneath it. You blink, unsure if you heard him right.

"I kinda wanna fuck you instead," he adds plainly.

Jay's lips part slightly, brows drawn in confusion that's quickly swallowed anger or curiosity, you can't truly tell.

Heeseung laughs at Jay’s reaction and then leans in closer to you, resting his chin lazily on your shoulder, eyes still on Jay. His tone drops. "Bet you taste good too," he says, like it's nothing, like he's not teasing the both of you. "Wouldn't mind finding out."

You tense between them, pulse thudding, because you see how this is power, pride...and a pull between them that neither of them wants to admit but both of them feel.

"Fuck off," Jay mutters, but his voice is hoarse now. "That’s not fucking happening."

Heeseung grins, victorious, and kisses your neck again, but slower this time cause he knows Jay is watching.

Heeseung's palm slides possessively over your stomach again while his mouth works a heated trail up your throat—never taking his eyes off Jay. Every flick of Heeseung's tongue feels like a dare thrown directly at the other man, and Jay's control is visibly eroding, his jaw flexed, chest rising faster, fists clenching as though he's deciding whether to shove Heeseung away or drag him closer.

"Getting worked up just watching?" Heeseung murmurs, lips brushing your earlobe, but the words are for Jay. He drags his hand lower across your thigh, slow enough to make you squirm. "Thought you were the one giving orders."

Jay's reply is a dark and unamused laugh. "Keep talking."

Heeseung does—whispers something filthy against your skin, hips nudging his hard clothed cock against your ass until you gasp and he continues to goad Jay.

"Tell me," Heeseung says, voice low as he noses along your jaw. "Is he a good kisser?" His question hums with challenge, and his fingers flex on your hip, reminding you how completely you're pinned between them.

Your pulse thunders. Shame and anticipation collide in your chest, and something reckless slips past your lips, something soft and breathy and meant only for him.

"Why don't you...find out?"

For a beat neither man moves. Jay's eyes flash in shock and something close to resentment, a flare of something hungry. Heeseung's grin spreads, slow and wicked. He leans past you, crowding closer until his breath mingles with Jay's.

The charged silence hangs, but then Jay closes the distance, grabbing the back of Heeseung's neck like he didn’t tell him a moment ago that it would never happen. Their mouths crash together, raw and forceful. You're caught between them, heat bouncing off their bodies, every muffled groan vibrating through your spine.

It's messy and competitive—Jay bites Heeseung's lip and Heeseung answers with a low growl, hand sliding boldly down Jay's side before circling back to squeeze your thigh. You feel the tremor that rolls through Jay at the touch, and pride twists with awe in your lower belly.

Heeseung's grip on your thigh loosens just long enough for him to shove you forward, away from the collision of their mouths. You stumble onto your knees beside the bed, watching as he turns fully to Jay, eyes blazing with hungry curiosity.

Heeseung presses his palm to Jay's chest, sliding it down over his ribs, fingertips tracing the line of his abs. Jay's breath draws sharp, caught off guard.

"Ever been with a guy before?" Heeseung's voice is soft, teasing, every word loaded.

Jay blinks at him. "No," he manages, tone rough.

Heeseung just laughs, soft and smug, thumb brushing over Jay's exposed skin. "That's alright. I'm honored to be your first..." He glances at you, eyes gleaming. "Just like I was hers."

Jay's jaw tics, but he doesn't move away. Heeseung steps in closer, chests brushing, heat rising in the thin space between them. His hand moves higher, curling around the back of Jay's neck, pulling him in again. And this time the kiss is filthier, open-mouthed with teeth grazing and tongues sliding without hesitation.

You're breathless watching them. Jay's hand grips Heeseung's side, uncertain but firm causing the other to groan into his mouth, hands slipping lower to snake between both their bodies to palm Jay’s hardened cock over his sweats. Jay jerks, gasping into the kiss, hips twitching forward in shock.

"Fuck," Jay hisses, pulling back just enough to suck in air.

"Sensitive already?" Heeseung grins, licking his lips. "That's cute."

You press your thighs together, pulse pounding at the sight of them, Jay's cheeks are flushed, Heeseung's calmness is near predatory, and the sheer tension vibrating between the three of you. Your body still aches from the night before, but all you can think about is them.

Heeseung bites his lip, fingers curling tighter around Jay's waistband, tugging it down enough to expose the hardness beneath.

Jay shudders. Heeseung raises an eyebrow. "You hard for me already?" he murmurs. "Or is it for her?"

Jay doesn't answer and it causes Heeseung to grin wider. "Guess it doesn't matter."

And then he spits into his hand, slow and deliberate, before wrapping it around Jay’s dick without breaking eye contact with him.

You swear you feel your clit forming a heartbeat.

Jay takes a sharp inhale he tries desperately to stifle. This is new to him, but his chest tightens either way and his pulse hammers in his throat when Heeseung wraps his spit covered hand around his dick. Everything in Jay screams that he shouldn't want this, that Heeseung is the enemy, but beneath that war, a dark current of arousal is coiling.

Heeseung's fingers pump him slow and sure, eyes locked on his as if he willing him to break. Jay's lips part, and for a heartbeat, he almost moans but he clamps his jaw shut instead, head tilting back so only the curve of his throat shows, as heat floods his face.

His hands twitch at his sides, yearning to grip something, anything. He lifts one to knot in Heeseung's hair, not in anger, but instinct like a desperate plea for more and it makes Heeseung's grin flicker with victory.

Jay's vision darkens at the edges as the pleasure builds, electric and terrifyingly sweet. He fights for control, but his body betrays him when a low groan slips free, startling even him, one which has you trailing your hand between your legs to find some sort of relief.

Heeseung doesn't even glance your way but his voice slices through the thick air like a whip, "Touch yourself and neither of us lay a hand on you."

Your fingers freeze, inches from your cunt, the sight before you too overwhelming, their bodies are close, with tension humming like live wire, and you’re drowning in it, arousal clouding everything else.

A pit of embarrassment forms in your chest. You slowly lower your hand back to the ground with your heart racing.

Jay looks you too now with a dark gaze, you notice his chest rising and falling hard like he's on the edge of saying something—but doesn't.

Heeseung's pace stroking Jay's cock quickens, it turns somewhat relentless, he has one hand still steady at Jay's hip while the other pumps him with confidence. Jay's eyes flutter shut as the pressure builds, you know that look.

"You like that, don't you?" Heeseung says, voice laced with amusement.

Jay's fingers cling to Heeseung's shoulders, body trembling under the rising tension of his orgasm. You watch, breath caught as Heeseung leans in close, lips brushing Jay's ear.

"Look at you—so proud you could handle her, and yet here you are, helpless for me." His thumb presses in right over the phallic tip of him, dragging a trembling, lewd pulse through Jay's cock. It makes Jay's hand jerk, scrabbling at Heeseung's wrist, helpless.

Heeseung smiles knowingly against Jay's skin—slow, knowing. "No hiding," he teases, brushing fingertips over Jay's lower lip until Jay parts them, letting Heeseung trace the wet line. "You don't sound like the tough guy you pretend to be."

You watch Jay try to swallow, try to form a retort, but his voice is gone, it's replaced by a soft, whimpering moan that vibrates through his whole body.

"Go on," Heeseung says. "Let me see what you look like when you cum.”

Jay's head falls back, neck bare, throat exposed. And then it happens, a trembling exhalation, guttural and urgent, as Jay's body shudders and clenches. You see the flush spread across his cheeks, you hear the wet heat of Jay's cum slicking across Heeseung's palm.

Heeseung strokes him through it with a steady hand, letting Jay's orgasm roll through him until the final shudder. Then he slowly withdraws his hand, setting Jay's spent cock free to twitch in the cool air. He watches Jay's chest heave, eyes still closed, mouth parted.

For a heartbeat, there's only the sound of Jay's ragged breathing, then Heeseung's gaze flicks downward, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips when he notices Jay still hard, flushed and ready like he hadn't just come undone seconds ago.

"Well, shit," he drawls, low and smug. "Didn't think you had stamina like that."

Jay doesn't respond at first, he just eyes Heeseung up and down, standing firm, his chest heaving with barely restrained unease. But there's a flicker in his eyes of something darker, especially when Heeseung keeps looking at him like that, like he's impressed and still in control all at once.

Heeseung's grins because he doesn't miss the look Jay gives him. He leans in a little, "I wanna know, Jay. You ever fucked her ass?"

That hits. Jay's head snaps toward you, and there's a twitch in his lip, his whole body tensing like he's about to swing, but it's not from shame or shock but something possessive and territorial, and it makes his tone is clipped and bitter when he replies, "No. I haven't."

Heeseung hums in jest, clearly savoring it, but then Jay steps in, crowding his space more with a tight jaw. "You think that makes you better than me?" he mutters, eyes narrowing. "You think that means you get to take what's mine?"

Heeseung raises a brow, not backing down. "You really think she's yours right now?" he says, voice velvet-smooth. "She let me in first. And look at you..." He chuckles as his gaze drops again. "Still acting like you've got any say."

But instead of escalating, Heeseung steps back a bit. A surprising glint of generosity or maybe twisted mischief shines in his eyes. He turns to you, then grabs your wrist, dragging you of the ground effortlessly toward him.

"Come here, angel face," he says, already sitting back on the sheets.

You shake as he guides you to straddle him, already pushing your panties down your thighs.

Jay's confusion flashes at the sight, followed quickly by understanding. His eyes drag across your body as you're pulled onto his lap. The way you're still pliant, already slick, flushed from everything that just happened. You settle over him like instinct, thighs shaking.

Heeseung lays against the bed with his hands spread on your ass, satisfied. "Go on," he tells Jay, like he's giving him a gift. "Or you don't wanna fuck her ass?"

Jay doesn't speak, he just gets on the bed behind you and grabs your hips roughly, eyes never leaving Heeseung's. The tension between them is tangible now, some primal challenge in the air and you're caught right in the center of it—torn and dizzy with it, as Jay pushes you down onto him, every inch of him searing and full of purpose. And all the while, Heeseung just watches cause he likes what he sees.

The sheets are cool under your knees as Jay's hands splay around your ass, guiding you to angle back against him. Every breath from you seems too loud in the sudden hush of your room, it's just the faint creak of the mattress and the muted hum of morning outside your window. Jay's hands are warm against your spine, his skin damp where he's still riding the edge of anger and desire.

Heeseung lounges at the head of the bed and under you, propped against the pillows, dark eyes tracking every twitch in your body and every flicker of tension across Jay's jaw. You're hyperaware of his presence—how his gaze sears like a brand, claiming you even as Jay'sce fingers spread across your waist in their own possessive pattern.

You're pinned between them—straddling Heeseung's lap as Jay lines his spit and cum covered dick up with your clenching hole. Heeseung's hands grip your hips too, trying to keep you in play for Jay, his thumbs digging into the flesh of your ass, forcing you back hard on Jay's cock behind you. You moan out something incoherent, "Oh—! W—Wait! Nggh."

Heeseung's voice is a rasp at your ear with something wicked and out of breath, "Look at you—between two men like some cheap toy." He adjusts himself under you, pulling out his cock from his boxers and gently lining it up with your pussy. "Oh my god! Heeseung wait!"

You gasp, heat roaring through your core as Jay picks up a steady pace of fucking his cock into you and Heeseung pushes his up into your sopping cunt, each stroke makes you push back Jay, the feeling of both of them in your holes has you digging your nails digging into Heeseung's shoulders.

Heeseung chuckles darkly. "You like that, don't you? Two big dicks fucking you?" His grin is jagged, but you can't even look at it for too long because the fullness is so intense you have to close your eyes. "So good! So good!"

Jay's hand finds yours on Heeseung's shoulder, gripping tight, his is palm hot on yours. He doesn't say anything, but you feel the strain in his muscles as he drives his cock into you harder and faster.

Heeseung leans upward, kissing you quickly before shoving his fingers into your mouth. "Ngh! Oh! Goddamit! I can feel your dick through her." He takes his fingers from your mouth and uses the same ones to rub your clit in harsh circles.

"Too much! Heeseung! Jay!"

"Sloppy little thing," he snarls. "But Jay'll fix that, huh?" He fucks up into you with renewed determination, the pressure of your orgasm building inside you in a jagged, desperate wave.

Tears sting your eyes as Jay's grunts fill the room. "Hole's so tight—My God."

"She ever squirt for you before?" Heeseung asks Jay, pace never failing, "Yeah," Jay groans, his eyes screwing shut and his head lolling back.

Heeseung laughs. "Yeah? Think you can go faster?"

You hear Jay grumble in agreement as his pace picks up along with Heeseung's and they both brush something delicious inside your two holes. The stretch is impossibly overwhelming, it has you drooling right onto Heeseung's chest.

You're right at the edge of losing control and you know they are too, every nerve ending in your body erupts into a blazing white-hot spark. You can feel the relentless fullness of Heeseung thrusting into your pussy and the deep burn of Jay pushing into your asshole like two currents of pressure that clash inside you, building into one ridiculously impossible wave.

"I'm gonna cum! Hee!—Jay! Gonna cum! Gonna cum!"

In that instant, your vision blurs at the edges, your breath catches in jagged gasps, and your holes clench down around them both. Your hands slam into the headboard as a rush of heat floods outward from your cunt, simultaneously constricting and exploding, like every drop of blood in your veins has turned to molten fire. "Yes yes yes! Use me! Use me!"

Your whole body convulses with Jay's name on your lips, need shooting through every nerve until Heeseung's words pull you back from the edge. "Fuck, that's right—Ugh."

A strangled moan tears from your throat, your back arches, and your toes curl as the wave crests. You're suspended between fierce ache and a blissful orgasm, every inch of you humming with overload.

Time fractures and each of your heartbeats thump in your ears as your orgasm rolls through you again and again with thick surges of bliss that crackle with humiliation and joy all at once. Your vision swims with dizziness, you're so fucking elated and completely undone.

Behind you, Jay grunts grow louder, his own ripping orgasm from him in a raw exhale as he cums into your asshole, continuing to pump himself into you. His hips jerk with every pulse, driving you higher even as you cum. "Oh fuck me."

Beneath you, Heeseung's breath snarls in your neck, with a husky voice. "Cumming!"

You feel his cum spill inside your pussy, so warm and grounding, as his hands tighten on your hips and hold you in place.

You're suspended between them with Jay's and Heeseung's pleasure and yours intertwining in a moment of pure, overwhelming abandon. Your body trembles so hard you think you might shatter, tears slipping free as the last tremor fades.

You feel trapped in their storm of shame, lust, and fear. It has you dizzier and you start to drift, so close to passing out. Your limbs feel heavy and detached, as if you're watching someone else slumped between them. Their bodies surround you so steadily while the world outside your bedroom window carries on oblivious.

Heeseung's breath is soft against your neck, his hand still resting on your hip. Jay's steady weight behind you reminds you of every promise made and every threat whispered. But no one speaks and time thins.

All you can feel is the slow pulse of your heart, the faint sting of tears on your cheeks, and the relentless press of desire still humming through your veins.

Then, almost too quietly to hear, Heeseung shifts, voice against your skin but eyes on Jay.

"I wanna fuck you next."

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starktonyx · 2 days ago

Text

Are we out of the woods yet?

Pairing: John Walker x reader. Word count: 6.2k

Description: John Walker and you are nothing more than two idiots who can’t stand each other. But when a mission goes wrong and you fall through cracking ice, he does everything in his power to keep you alive.

Warnings/Tags: Enemies to ‘you saved my life, what are we now?’, hurt/comfort, drowning in frigid water, CPR, body heat. You might fall in love with him. Thunderbolts make a cheeky appearance.

Notes: This was the most voted option for my next fic, it’s uh … it’s a bit long, yeah 🤭. Enjoy 🫶🏼

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You'd lost a stupid bet to Yelena, so stupid you couldn't even remember what it was, but you were currently living the consequences of it.

Which meant being paired on a mission with none other than John Walker.

Yes, the myth, the legend, the annoying, all star american asshole.

You'd managed to avoid being paired with him for a while. After all, the last few missions you were together had ended in setbacks, for the simple reason you two just couldn't get along. We're talking about a history of missed targets, blown covers, a few stray bullets aimed in each other's general direction, and maybe ... one crashed jet.

So Bucky and Yelena avoided it at all costs when planning for missions.

That was until now, all because Yelena had gotten bored. A lost bet landed you back on another jet with him of all people.

Mission site was in the middle of a frozen forest, where sunlight hadn't touched the snowy ground in years. Even inside the jet, you could feel the cold creeping through the metal walls as you got closer to the drop point.

You were sent to retrieve intel from a highly guarded facility that had made enemies with Valentina. Maybe eliminate a few targets if it came to that. Quite standard, even easy if you actually knew how to work together as a team.

The worst part? Their security perimeter stretched for miles. Which meant you had to go through a rough landing between the trees, far away from the base, and then hike through thick snow and unforgiving cold just to get in there.

Any enhanced teammate would've been better than you. Either Bucky or Alexei ... maybe they just didn't want to stroll around for miles with Walker either.

Couldn't blame them.

So Yelena, influenced by Bob surely, thought it would be funny to send you. Now that was the worst part, doing all of it with him.

You didn't even know what it was about Walker that riled you up so badly. Maybe it was his superiority complex. Maybe it was his agressiveness when he didn't like the way you planned things. Or how he never took the blame when things went sideways, even when he'd done something reckless too. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way he looked a little too good when he was pissed at you, those veins in his neck, chest heaving, strands of sweaty hair sticking to his forehead—stop.

Let's go back to 'You simply don't get along'.

It was easier to hate him than to name ...whatever the hell this was.

"Can you stop doing that? I'm trying to land this thing, or are you looking to crash another plane?" Walker snapped from the pilot seat, not even turning to look at you.

You stopped for a second, realizing you'd started pacing in the back of the jet. It was the only thing keeping your body warm, and your mouth shut.

Until he had to open his.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is the super soldier getting distracted?" you said sarcastically. "Maybe if you actually paid attention to the plane this time, you won’t crash another one."

"We crashed because you couldn't sit still for five seconds … like right now."

"Wow, you're right. I brought it down with my bad attitude. My apologies, Cap."

You noticed the way his posture tensed on the seat, knuckles immediately flexing on the controls ... why was he so easy to rile up?

And why the hell was that kinda ... No. Stop it.

John didn't know what it was about you that riled him up so bad either. Maybe it was the constant defiance, that bratty attitude he just couldn't allow. Maybe it was how you never followed his orders, even when he was right. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way you kept running your mouth and he could only think about his mouth on yours to shut you up—no.

He just hated you, that was it.

"Just sit your ass down and put on your belt. We're about to land," he muttered, trying not to sound like he wanted to throw you out mid flight. "I don't know how bad it's gonna be landing into the woods."

You figured it was better to comply, not for him, but because the mission hadn't even started yet and part of the bet with Yelena was to finish the mission successfully, without killing each other in the process.

A lost bet was a lost bet, after all.

You plopped down into the copilot seat beside him, letting your eyes roll as you buckled in. John just side eyed you.

"Good girl," he muttered under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.

You went upright in your sit, looking at him with disbelief. "What the hell did you just call me?"

All you saw was a half smirk on his face, but before you could unbuckle and force him to say it again, the jet landed harshly into the snowy woods, trees scraping against the reinforced windshield as the aircraft rolled for some distance until it came to an abrupt halt.

You groaned when your head knocked hard against the leather copilot seat. From the corner of your eye, you saw his head snap toward you.

"You okay?" he asked, already unbuckling his belt.

If you really looked into it, it sounded a bit off from someone who had made very clear how much he didn't care about you. But apparently he seemed to have forgotten that for a moment, as he walked over and knelt in front of your seat, fingers working quickly to unbuckle you as he scanned your face for any signs of a concussion.

And for a moment you believed the hit gave you one, because there was no way in hell this was real.

John Walker...being nice to you? Caring?

You blinked a few times at the sight of him crouched at your feet, heart thumping so loud on your chest you were sure he could hear it. John's eyebrows furrowed to your lack of response.

You considered faking the concussion so you could blame your dazed state to that and not to the fact that his large hands rested on your knees like he wasn’t the last person who wanted to touch you.

"I'm good," you finally replied, barely audible, but enough for him to let out a breath he was holding.

Your eyes dropped to your lap, and he was suddenly aware of the placement of his hands. He quickly cleared his throat, standing up to somehow pretend to shrug it off. He grabbed his shield from the floor and tightened it up in his arm, maybe a little too hard so he could control his own heartbeat.

"Okay then … time to go to work."

You cleared your throat too, nodding and trying to ignore the heat that flushed across your cheeks.

Must've been the landing... yeah, just that.

——

The rough landing seemed to had messed with the jet's communication system, leaving you unable to notify anyone back at the watchtower that you'd made it safely.

You barely got two steps outside before regretting every decision that led you to this point. The stupid bet with Yelena. Stupid Bob.

Actually, scratch that ... Yelena was taking the yelling for the both of them.

Even layered head to toe with Valentina's high tech tactical suit, the cold crept in through every seam and zipper. The forest around you was quiet, and too white, just frost covered pines and the sound of boots crunching the snow below you.

And... him.

He walked ahead of you, carrying the map completely unfazed by the freezing air, head high and posture perfect, with that ridiculous bent shield attached to his arm.

"Walker, why do you get the map?" you asked, not even trying to hide your irritation.

"Because I actually know how to read it," he replied without looking back.

You rolled your eyes. Honestly, you didn't even want the map, your crossed arms were staying glued to your chest for warmth. Picking a fight with him was just the most entertaining way to stay conscious.

You walked in silence for about fifteen minutes before you started talking again, not because you had anything relevant to say, but because it kept your jaw moving.

"How much longer?" you asked, not intending it to come out as whiny as it did, but the cold sinking in your bones was making your brain foggy.

"Can't keep up, already?" he mocked. "Want me to take out the Sentry I keep in my pocket? Maybe he can fly us there."

You inhaled sharply, resisting the sudden urge to stab him. No one would know ... right? Mission incident. Just an incident.

You shook your head, you still needed him to get out of there. That didn't mean you couldn't mess with him a little longer.

So you sniffled.

"You're so mean, John," you mumbled, voice laced with fake hurt.

He stopped in his tracks, shocked about two things. First, did you just call him John? And second ... were you sobbing?

He immediately spun around to check, and Jesus, not a single tear. Just a goddamn grin spreading across your face.

His was jaw tight as he turned away, clearly realizing he'd been played.

"You're impossible," he muttered, shaking his head as he began walking again. You laughed.

"I'm actually cold ... not that you'd get it Walker, you're biologically incapable of suffering."

"Can you just be quiet for two seconds?" He groaned. "Maybe shutting up will help you preserve some energy."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you huffed, "Are we saving that energy for all the arguing we're gonna do later?" you were panting now, hating the way your breaths came shorter from the lack of oxygen.

He stopped again, turned just enough to glance at you over his shoulder.

"You good back there, or do I need to carry you?"

There was a part of it that sounded like he actually gave a fuck, but most of it was just him being sarcastic. Or at least that's what you told yourself.

"Oh, please," you scoffed, trudging past him in the snow. "I'd rather get naked here in the cold than be carried by you." He let out a short, dry laugh, and continued trailing behind you.

Yes, fighting with you was entertaining to him too.

The two of you went deeper into the snowy woods for a while, until the trail curved into a clearing. There, a wide, frozen lake stretched in front of you, splitting the path you were supposed to get across. It was lightly dusted in snow, surface thin enough to be a problem but not so fragile you couldn't maybe cross it if you were careful.

If you were careful.

Walker stepped in front of you, eyes scanning the amount of space the lake covered. He cursed under his breath, realizing going around was not an option if he wanted to get this mission done before the night fell and you froze to death.

"I don't like the look of this." He muttered, shaking his head.

It didn't take long for him to get into his I-was-a-soldier-once persona, running through scenarios in his head until he chose the one he seemed to be satisfied with.

Surprise, it was always the same one.

"Okay ... you're gonna have to stay right behind me. I'll check the ice as I go, you step where I step, got it?" He turned to you, lifting his eyebrows expecting an answer while you looked at him with an annoyed expression.

Yes, you knew it was the safest way to do it, he just didn't have to sound so condescending about it.

"Yes ... got it Walker, thank you," you rolled your eyes, eager for him to just go so you could get this over with.

He sighed, and turned his back to you. He adjusted his shield on his arm and stretched his neck from side to side. You snorted, why was he so dramatic all the time?

"Let's go," he muttered, before testing the first step by tapping into the ice with his boot.

You made your way like that, he gave cautious long steps, first putting part of his weight to test it, then all of it, before he could step forward with you behind him. You kept yourself close to him, as much as you told yourself you didn't enjoy it, the broadness of his back covered you from the chill air and his body was so warm you could feel it through his suit.

You didn't notice when he came to an abrupt halt, lifting his right arm up as a 'stop sign' a second too late, causing you to collide against his back.

"What the– ouch!" You cursed when you crashed into him. He didn't even budge from his spot, it was like hitting a wall. A six foot two brick wall. "Do you mind warning me before stopping like that? you are literally made of concrete," you complained, rubbing your forehead.

"I literally signed it when I stopped," he furrowed his brows, pointing the hand he kept in the air.

"You are supposed to sign it before you stop, soldier boy. Or how about you just talk like a normal human being?"

"Listen, I think this is a thinner section, so we have to walk through slower, s l o w e r, is it clear enough for you now?" he said, spelling the world 'slower' as he made a walking motion with his fingers on the palm of his hand.

God, stabbing him never sounded like a better idea.

"Jesus Walker, do you even hear yourself when you talk? Just because you're leading doesn't mean you have to be a dick about it." You were almost yelling, completely fuming at this point.

"If you don't like the way I lead," he snapped, gesturing sharply in front of him, "then by all means, go ahead, take the lead. Break the ice if you want. I won't catch you if you drown."

You narrowed your eyes at him.

He didn't expect you to actually move.

But you did. Because you'd rather drown out of spite than let him think he had the final word. So you squared your shoulders and strode right past him without hesitation.

His hand shot out to grab your shoulder. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm taking the lead," you shrugged, and he looked at you in disbelief.

"Are you serious right now–"

You yanked your shoulder from his grasp before he could finish. "Dead serious."

You kept walking without testing your steps, John's eye twitched at the sound of your boots hitting the ice. At this point you had forgotten how cold you were, just from the anger at him alone.

"Oh great ... yeah, keep stomping like that. You want me to throw the shield too? Maybe help you break it faster?"

"No, Walker, I don't want your stupid taco shield. Besides, I'm lighter than you."

You kept your pace, ice creaking faintly beneath you, but you ignored it. You were almost halfway through. When his firm hand latched onto your forearm, rougher this time, stopping you in your tracks.

"Stop doing that!" he snapped, holding you firmer so you wouldn't let go. "You can't just walk off and–"

"God, stop stopping me!" you shouted back, twisting violently in his grip. "Let go of me, Walker!"

But this time, he wasn't gonna let you. You exhaled loudly, feeling helpless, so you stomped your foot on the thin ice. Great … you were letting John Walker make you throw a tantrum. He just got angrier at your reckless move.

"I gave you an order!" He finally snapped, making your eyes go wide in surprise to his audacity.

Where the hell does this man get off?

You just stood there in silence for a few seconds that felt like an eternity, his grip still firm on your forearm. Your brows furrowed, chest rising up and down from the confrontation. You swore your head was about to explode.

"You know what, Walker," you muttered, your voice was low because you felt that if you raised it any louder you were about to have a stroke. "Maybe if you used half of the brain inside your big stupid head you would realize you're not the boss of me."

He opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out. His posture relaxed slightly, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"I'm just trying to keep you alive," he muttered, like he was trying to make you understand something he couldn't quite put into words.

You saw a flicker of something different in his eyes, making you lower your arm to stop resisting against his grip. You wanted to believe him, you really did. Flashes of the way he'd looked concerned about you back in the jet invaded your mind.

But no. You wouldn't give him the pleasure.

"I don't need you to do that," you whispered, and when you noticed a slight falter in his grip, you forcibly pulled yourself back.

The sound of cracking ice didn't even register to him until it was too late. You turned around to continue making your way, planning to ignore him the rest of the mission.

"Wait, stop—" he blurted out, reaching a hand to stop you, but you had already stepped forward.

The clear layer beneath your boots gave way in an instant.

Freezing water swallowed you whole as you lost sight on John, who stood on what was left of the ice on the surface.

It wasn't just cold, it was paralyzing.

Your breath got caught somewhere in your lungs, never making it out. You tried to swim up but everything was so heavy, your limbs, your thoughts ... the world. You could only watch as you were dragged from the light above.

This was it. Your last dumb mission, stuck with him of all people.

John's knees hit the ground hard, scrambling to the edge of the crack you'd fallen in, peering into the dark, freezing water. But he could see nothing.

"Shit—shit ... where are you?” he looked frantically, but there was no way he could get you out like that, the current had pulled you under.

He inmmediatly dropped the shield attached to his arm, the goddamn map, and didn't even think twice before diving in. The cold punched the air from his lungs, but he didn't care, he could take it. You couldn't.

His eyes went wide in the dark, searching through the blurry water for you. Minutes passed, but he refused to acknowledge how long it was taking him to find you, how his enhanced body was already pleading for oxygen.

But then, in the distance he saw something. A figure ... your body, sinking like it didn't belong to someone fighting for their life.

Maybe you weren't fighting anymore.

No. God please—no.

He got to you in three large strokes, grabbed you with one arm, and pushed up, only to be met with thick, unbroken ice above. He cursed, accidentally swallowing some water. He slammed his fist into it once, twice, he didn't know how many it took until it broke wide open, cracks stained with the blood of his hand.

It didn't matter, he would heal.

John bursted through the surface with you held tight to his chest, coughing, ignoring the cold sinking into his bones as he dragged you into a thicker part of the ice like his life depended on it.

Because it did. Because yours did. But you weren't breathing anymore.

"No no no ... hey, hey, come on–" he groaned, laying your head on his lap, gently tapping your cheek, but you didn’t open your eyes. "Fuck."

He cradled your head to place you flat on the ice, and kneeled beside you. You were still, too still, the image of your limp body broke something inside him he didn’t even know was there.

"Don't do this to me," he muttered, as he started CPR with just one blood stained hand so his strength wouldn't crack your ribs on top of everything else. "Come on. Come on, don't– not like this ... I didn't mean it dammit!"

He shook his head, wet hair splashing cold water everywhere, aggressively wiping his eyes with his free hand, before going down to blow oxygen into your mouth.

"Breathe .. please breathe. You're not–you're not allowed to go out like this, you hear me?"

He kept just kept going, didn't plan on giving up, not on you. Compress, oxygen. Compress, oxygen. Over and over.

Until you finally jerked under him.

Water burst from your mouth in a choking cough, body lurching forward, your hands reaching out to cling on something, anything.

John.

He exhaled like he hadn't since he saw you go under the water and immediately scooped you up against his chest, a large hand placed behind your head to steady you. You gasped as you shivered, and he just felt this excruciating pain in his chest.

"Okay ... okay. You're okay," he mumbled, more to himself than you. "You're going to be just fine."

He just stroked your hair, as he kept muttering 'you're okay' 'you're alive'. You coughed a few more times, clinging into the heat of his chest that escaped the wet fabric of his clothes. That's when you realized he was soaking and shaking too, he'd actually pulled you out.

"You ... you went after me," you blurted out.

John wanted to punch himself in that moment. Repeatedly. Why did he have to say all those things to you? He knew damn well he would go after you every time.

He held you tighter, and placed a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, voice cracking, something you never thought would hear from him, but man was he holding you like his life depended on it.

You wanted to say something else, but your teeth began chattering uncontrollably. You weakly pulled apart to look at him, maybe to let him know you felt your body giving out, maybe to look at him clearly one last time before your eyes began blurring more. And he saw it, he knew.

"No–no don't do that. Stay with me, alright? Listen to me! Just this once."

You're not the boss of me, Walker, you thought.

He finally stood up, pulling you up into his arms, one hand braced under your knees, the other across your back. "We're heading back to the jet. I need you to stay awake for me."

You just managed to nod, curling against his chest.

He left his shield behind, Val would get it back and if she didn't who cares. That wasn't important to him now, you were.

He miraculously managed to make it out the frozen lake without it breaking again, running right back into the forest path you'd already hiked through.

At this point, he didn't feel the cold anymore.

Didn't feel the bite of ice in his clothes, or the burning ache in his chest as he launched himself through the trees. You were trembling in his arms, he knew you were getting worse the longer he took to get you to shelter.

"Hey," John barked, louder than he meant to, like volume would anchor you to him. "C'mon. Say something, just keep talking."

You wanted to roll your eyes and laugh at him. He sounded way too desperate, for someone who couldnt stand you this morning. "You suck," you managed to blurt out, and you felt his laugh vibrate in his chest.

"Good girl," he replied, trying to get you mad at him like he'd done earlier in the jet, just so you talked to him.

Just so you stayed alive out of pure spite.

But you didn't fight him this time, you didn't want to anymore. He could boss you around all he wanted as long as you could feel the warmth of his body. As long as he kept running through the woods, holding you like you were the only thing that mattered to him.

"Eyes open. Stay with me." He groaned, when he didn't get the reaction he wanted. "Just a little longer, alright? Yell at me, go ahead, just keep saying shit. Insult my haircut. Tell me I ruined your day ... anything."

You made a noise, maybe a word, but it sounded wrong. Your head lolled against his shoulder and your lips were turning blue.

"Fuck," he hissed. "You're not dying on me."

The jet was on sight now, slightly buried in snow between the crashed pines. The second he reached the ramp, he stumbled up with you in his arms, kicking the door open. The inside was less cold than outside, but it was not enough.

He laid you gently on the copilot seat, and turned to the controls, desperately flipping switches to get the jet's heating system going, and fiddling with the comms settings to try to get to the team.

"Bucky? Yelena? Anybody, come in–" he barked, looking at you over his shoulder. "We need immediate extraction."

Nothing came back, the signal was still down.

"Goddammit." He slammed the control panel, a let out a string of curses under his breath.

He finally turned to your figure on the seat, and felt his whole chest cave in. You weren't moving anymore, just breathing shallow and slow. He could hear your heartbeat slowing down as you stared at him with half lidded eyes.

The jet had barely warmed up. It was like being inside a fucking freezer. There was no time, he knew what he needed to do.

"Fuck it."

He stripped off his gear quickly. The heat of his body had already dried off most of it. Still, he got rid of his tactical suit, gloves, the compression shirt he wore inside, until he was left in his underwear, body steaming against the crisp air.

He knelt by your chair, then hesitantly placed his hands on your soaked layers.

"Sorry ... I have to do this," he muttered, as his fingers found your suit's zipper. "I know you hate me. I know this is the last thing you want ... but I need you to live more than I need your permission right now."

His hands were careful. Gentle, even as they worked fast. He took off all layers, except for your underwear. His jaw clenched the whole time as he tried to keep his eyes from looking more than necessary.

He then lifted you off the seat so he could sit instead, placing you on his lap. He pulled you as close as he could, chest to chest, arms wrapped around your freezing body trying to trap as much heat as he could between you. He tilted your face gently, tucking it under his chin.

And God, he was warm.

By this point you had stopped shivering, but he knew it meant you were just at the worst stage of it. Your lips were blue, skin worryingly lifeless, and you couldn't quite figure out what was going on anymore.

"I got you," he whispered, kissing your head like he did when he got you out of the water. But that time you'd gotten back to him. Right now you were drifting away. "I've got you. You're gonna be okay."

"John?" His name came out unsure. Like you didn't remember he was even with you. Like you didn't remember you never called him John.

"Yeah it's me ... it's Walker. You hate my guts, remember? ... come on, stay with me," he held you tighter, wishing there was a way to give you all the serum going through his veins, even if it was him dying instead of you. "I didn't mean it. Any of it. You can punch me when you get better. I'll let you."

His hands tan through your back, your arms, rubbing warmth into your skin, trying to coax you back.

"I'll carry you through another mile of snow. I'll lose all the bets to Yelena if it means you get to yell at me one more time."

He didn't know what he was saying anymore. And it's not like you were hearing him anyways, time got strange after that.

You drifted in and out, sometimes aware of his arms around you, sometimes lost in the static of your own head. But slowly, like fog clearing, your mind began to catch up with your body. You felt heat all around you, like you were wrapped in something solid and safe.

And... bare.

Your cheek was pressed to bare skin.

John Walker's skin.

You blinked against the soft rise and fall of his chest, his heart thumping under your ear.

"...you're warm," you whispered, barely audible.

For a moment, he thought he’d imagined it. But you shifted in his grip enough to let him know that you were there, that you were real again.

Thanks to him.

"You're alive," he exhaled. His hand instinctively cupped the back of your head, fingers threading carefully through damp strands. "Jesus ... you're alive."

"You sound surprised," you rasped, lips ghosting a smirk.

"I watched you fall through the ice." His voice cracked on the word fall. "Yeah ... I'm fucking surprised."

"I can tell ... your heart is racing," you mumbled, voice coming out hoarse from your dry throat.

The adrenaline was still screaming through his bloodstream. He wanted to play it off, crack a joke, maybe roll his eyes and say yeah, thanks for ruining the mission, but none of that came out.

"Yeah ... well," he breathed out. "You scared the hell out of me."

There. He said it. Fuck it.

"I thought you hated me,"

"I tried to.. . God knows, you make it easy."

That made you huff a shaky laugh. He ignored the way his heart skipped to that. You were laughing again. Alive. In his arms.

"You're not exactly sunshine yourself, John."

John. His name sounded so pretty coming out your lips when you were not dying.

"I know."

That was probably the first conversation that didn't end with you wanting to punch him in the face. Something had shifted.

Maybe almost dying was all it took.

It was like the cold had finally frozen the part of your brain that hated John Walker. Or the heat of his body had melted the part of you that still tried to pretend you did.

You nestled your face closer to his neck, trying to soak in the impossible warmth of his skin. "I didn't mean it either ... you know. All the times I said you were insufferable."

He didn't say anything.

"I mean, you are ... but–" You exhaled. "I think I just didn't want to deal with whatever this was."

You felt his fingers twitch against your back, still careful, like you weren't almost naked in his arms.

"Yeah," he said. "Same."

John looked down at you, still cradled to him like glass. You were watching him now, really watching him, and not with the usual disgust behind your eyes. This time it was something... gentler.

And he was close. Too close. You could feel the heat of him everywhere, arms still locked around you like you belonged there. And his gaze had stopped hiding whatever had been buried under all those arguments and insults.

He tilted his head, eyes flickering down to your lips for a second too long. That's when something snapped inside you. You surged forward before your brain could catch up.

It wasn't cute, not at first. It was cold dry lips, desperate touches, and months of pent up tension crashing together. But then he softened, his hand cradled your face like you were something fragile, and yours clung to his neck like maybe if you held tighter, this wouldn't end.

But it did, because he pulled apart, like he was still holding himself back. He shook his head.

"I want you alive first ... fully conscious," he whispered against your lips. "Not ... not like this."

Of course he wasn't sure if this was real. If this was just some kind of 'thanks for saving me' type kiss. Like tomorrow you would wake up and remember you hated him, and he wasn't sure if he could take that.

You shook your head, you have never known what you wanted more than in this moment. Maybe it was the adrenaline wearing off. Maybe it was the brush with death.

"No," you shook your head. "Ive never felt more alive ... and I'm not wasting another second."

John opened his mouth to argue, but you kissed him before he could. You took all the strenght left in your body to kiss him deeper, until it was less about the anger, the insecurities, and more about everything else you hadn't said yet.

And you showed him, with your hands running through his hair, with your tongue playing with his, that this kiss wasn't a just a thank you, it was an apology ... a finally. Because you still didn’t know what the hell this was, but neither of you wanted to fight it anymore.

You pulled back breathless, but you were still so close that you could feel his chest rising and falling against yours. And then ... you both laughed.

Awkwardly. Like you didn’t know what to do with each other now.

"...What on earth was that?" you whispered, smiling through the adrenaline crash.

"I ...I don't know," he muttered, a little dazed.

You knew you should be panicking, overthinking. You should be denying everything that just happened. Yet still, you're both laughing again, naturally, like you didn't spend the last months wanting to stab each other.

Something loosened inside you, and you closed your eyes. His warmth, John was so damn cozy and soft ... almost unreasonably so.

Until he oppened his mouth again. Because he was still John Walker after all.

"So... what was that about you rather being naked around here than letting me carry you?" He allowed himself to tease you, because he could now.

Because everything you said in your stupid argument came true. You just didn't expect him to rub it in. You opened your mouth in surprise, hitting his chest, but this time it was playful.

"Haha, very funny. What was that about you not going after me if I drowned?" you snarked back.

He chuckled, and god ... it felt so easy now. He didn't have to say something mean back this time, too many months wasted on that.

So he just leaned in and crashed his lips against you.

Because you were cold. Because you were warm. Because your lips were right there and he just saved your life. And he was sick of pretending he hated the sound of your voice.

This time what interrupted your little make out you was the voice of someone else.

"... h-hello? ... guys come in. We got your message, Walker. Already on our way. Are you both okay?"

Yelena's voice coming out the jet’s comms made your tongues freeze mid kiss. You split apart like teenagers caught making out in a janitors closet.

You were suddenly aware of your very compromising position ... almost naked.

"Oh my god ... oh my god, John," you panicked, looking at the pile of wet clothes on the floor. "She's not even gonna let us explain it to her."

"Just ... don't answer yet," he hissed. "Give me a second to ... it's just my face, I can't—" He turned away from you.

"Are you blushing?" You chuckled through your panic.

"No ... It's the cold, shut up."

"Guys, do you copy? Hellooo ... this is Yelena … I swear to God if you two are dead, I'm going to be very upset."

You scrambled upright, before she thought about accessing the jets cameras or video calling, and tapped the console to talk to her.

"This is Walker and uh ... me," you said, voice slightly breathless. "We're alive, mission compromised. But we're... okay."

There was a pause, and you thought maybe you saved your asses.

"Why do you sound like you've been making out?"

You didn't answer inmediatly.

"Hold on ..." she hurried, and you panicked.

A white light flickered, signaling image was coming through. A fucking video call.

Before you could launch towards the control deck to cut the communication, a hollogram showed the inside of another jet, and Yelena's face. Or more accurately, Yelena's extremely judgmental face. Her eyes went wide, jaw almost falling to the floor.

"What the fuck are you guys doing?"

John cursed under his breath and reached blindly to get his tactical shirt, laying it over your shoulders to cover what was left of your dignity. Bob's voice came in behind her.

"Wait, wait ... move, lemme see—holy shit,” he covered his mouth with both hands, in half amusement, half disbelief.

Ava shoved herself into frame next, squinting. "Are you guys... naked?"

Bucky just peeked his head in, horrified. "They are."

You covered your face with both hands, muffling a mortified groan. John just tipped his head back and let out the most dramatic sigh of his life.

"I swear to god," he muttered. "We weren't ... we're not—it was hypothermia!"

"And your solution was...?" Yelena teased.

"Body heat, Belova," he snapped, rolling his eyes. "It's called first aid, look it up."

"Well ... clearly you got aided." Ava smirked at you.

Bob's voice chimed in again. "I bet that's not the only thing he—"

"BOB."

Yelena mouthed a sorry to the camera after shutting him up, and gently pushed him to the side. Ava disappeared next to them. Even off frame you could still hear their muffled laughs.

Bucky just scanned your face through the screen. "You okay?"

You nodded, because you were. You finally were. "He's really warm."

John cleared his throat.

"We need evac. She's stable now but still cold. Jet heating wasn't enough, I did the only thing I could."

"Copy that," Bucky nodded, biting his cheek to not say anything. "Reaching your coordinates, just please... put your shirts back on before we get there."

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━

Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated, thank you so much for reading <3

#john walker x reader #john walker #john walker x you #john walker x y/n #john f walker #us agent x reader #us agent #john walker imagine #wyatt russell #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #marvel #mcu #thunderbolts x reader #john walker angst #john walker fluff

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ohhiimjazzed · 19 hours ago

Text

NSFW Phainon Headcanons for his season

3.4 SPOILERS AHEAD I REPEAT 3.4 SPOILERS AHEAD

Also this is SMUT so Minors DNI

Character: Phainon Reader Pronouns: they/them or gender neutral tags: smut, a little angsty, mentions of pregnancy, overstimulation, praise, body worship, kinda wholesome ngl

Phainon doesn't know what to do when it comes to sex in the beginning. He holds back from it out of fear of hurting you. He's pretty big. He keeps the voice in the back of his mind telling him to ruin you quiet. You have to reassure him that you'll be okay if he wants to be a little rough. You trust this man with your life. That's the problem. So, you have a safe word and some lube.

Once Phainon gets going though, he's going. Like, you ain't stopping until Amphoreus welcomes a new dawn. Okay. That's an exaggeration, but you get it. You're getting dicked down by this man real good. He can go for a while, but when you're truly done. He's also done.

That doesn't mean Phainon won't overstimulate you, though. He'll make you cum as many times as he wants you to before even thinking about his own pleasure. "One more time, love. I'm not done with you yet," he'll say while eating you out/sucking you off. He hasn't even properly fucked you yet.

Speaking of oral, Phainon is a giver when it comes to oral. Seeing your legs tremble while your voice escapes in whimpers and moans is one of his favorite sights. He'll claim that he doesn't need you to suck him off. But, he'd be a liar if he said he didn't love it. So please do it. Let him relax, good god does Phainon need it.

Phainon will take you from behind whenever he feels particularly frustrated that day. It allows him to be a little rougher, pulling on your hair, groping your ass, etc. He'll press your face into the mattress firmly, but not enough to suffocate you.

Phainon will take you from the front the rest of the time, however. He likes being able to see your face. There's an intimacy behind that. He's not just fucking you. He's making love to you. He cups your face lovingly while your legs hang over his shoulders. The tenderness contrasts with how much he's pounding into you.

Praise kink? Yeah, Phainon has a huge praise kink. He'll tell you how well your taking him, how beautiful you look with your face all fucked out and drooling. It goes both ways too. Tell him how good he feels, how perfect he is and he'll start fucking you harder.

He's also into body worship. Phainon could spend hours just feeling up your naked body, admiring it. It's like Mnestia sculpted you from their divine hands. He'll blush if you do it to him too. Touch the sun mark on his neck/shoulder. It's sensitive and you'll get the best whimper from him.

Phainon would prefer to cum inside you if you'll let him. He'll stuff you full of his seed until you physically can't take anymore of him. He likes fingering it back into you when it drips out. It lets the voice in the back of his mind hope that one day, you'd have his child. Once these endless cycles are over and he can stop killing his friends and injecting his memories into a new him over and over, he'd be free to spend a peaceful life with you. But that's only a dream.

Phainon practically begged you to say his name in bed, not 'Phainon.' He wanted his true name to fall from your lips. 'Khaslana.' His name felt like poetry coming from you.

Near the cycle's end, Khaslana touches you with desperation. It leaves you confused. It's not like you're going to die the next day. You are. Just like the rest of them.

Khaslana's aftercare is ever so gentle. He holds you like you're a delicate piece of glass and cleans you like the most precious treasure in the cosmos. He kisses the bite marks and bruises on your body, whispering apologies all the while. You have to reassure him that he did nothing wrong and that you loved it.

Khaslana then holds you close, praying that one day, he won't he holding your dead body in his arms.

#hsr #hsr smut #hsr phainon #hsr x reader #phainon #phainon smut #phainon x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail #3.4 spoilers #hsr 3.4

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bunnynova · 2 days ago

Text

LET ME IN YOUR OCEAN, SWIM

𐙚⋆.˚ - Pairings: Blade, Dan Heng, Anaxa, Phainon, Mydei (seperate) x Fem!Reader 𐙚⋆.˚ - Warnings: Multiple Orgasms/Several rounds, Pussy eating, Fingering, Pet names, PnV, Creampies, filthy tbh, rough sex, dirty talk, praise?, degrading? spitting, cockwarming, marking? choking kinda ? aphrodisiac usage in Anaxas (all I could think of?) 𐙚⋆.˚ - Words: 5.1k

𐙚⋆.˚ - A/n: This content is 18+ MNDI. I hope you enjoy it! Requests are open!! I want it to be known as well all of my fics are written with a plus sized reader in mind - but that doesn't mean you can't read it with a different body type! I do not mention hair textures/color same with skin tones. I do try to be as inclusive as possible. Not proofread either. 𐙚⋆.˚ - Notice: You can filter your content in the event it is not for you, under blog settings if any of tags used you will not see content relating to this. MINORS, AGELESS, BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. UPDATE YOUR PROFILE BEFORE INTERACTING OR FOLLOWING.

You weren’t sure how it started, maybe it was the teasing brush of his fingers under the dinner table, or the way he’d whispered filth into your ear in passing, voice rich with promise. But now, your wrists were bound behind your back, the leather biting softly into your skin as you straddled Blade’s lap. His cock sat heavy and full inside you, stretching you so deeply it ached, in the most delicious, maddening way.

He reclined like a king on his throne, arms tucked lazily behind his head, chest bare and gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat. Those sunset hues raked over your trembling body, half-lidded and brimming with heat. That smirk, gods, that wicked smirk, curled at the corners of his mouth like he already knew just how wrecked you’d be by the end of the night.

“Go on then, baby,” he rasped, his voice rolling like thunder low in his chest.

“Been whining for my cock all day. Let’s see you work for it. take what you need. Such a greedy little thing," Blade taunts, voice a low rasp against your ear. "So desperate for my cock, you don't care about anything else."

Your legs were already trembling from the relentless grind, thighs aching as you tried to keep pace, to stay steady. The stretch of him inside you was near overwhelming, and every motion, every slow, downward grind of your hips sent waves of pleasure rippling up your spine. You moaned softly, breath stuttering as your walls clenched around him.

His gaze darkened.

“There you go,” he murmured, finally reaching up, fingertips skimming up your sides before curling around the soft weight of your breast. He thumbed your nipple, circling it slowly, then pinching just enough to make you gasp.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that. Such a good girl when you're desperate for me.”

You whimpered as your hips stuttered, sinking down onto him again with a wet slap. He was so deep it felt like he was in your throat, and the drag of him inside your soaked cunt sent sparks dancing across your vision.

“You’re not getting help until I feel you fall apart,” he growled, tightening his grip on your tit as he sat up slightly, nipping your collarbone with his teeth. “And even then… fuck. I might just keep watching. You look so fucking perfect like this. Fucked-out. Shaking. Begging.” His voice rasped, laced with a lustful tone.

Blade’s hand left your chest just long enough to reach beside the bed, fingers curling around his phone. He flicked open the camera, switching to video mode without missing a beat. “Yeah... I need to remember this,” he muttered as he hit record, holding it up to capture your flushed, ruined expression. “Don’t stop, baby. Show me how hungry you are.”

He slammed his free hand down on your ass with a sharp smack, the sting radiating through your body and making your walls flutter around him. The sheer force of it knocked you forward, a sharp gasp falling from your lips as your forehead dropped to his shoulder.

“Please, Blade,” you choked out, voice thin and high. “I can’t, too much.. please”

His eyes flicked up, full of smug amusement, his phone still recording. “Is that right?” he mused, tongue flicking over his lower lip. “Didn’t you say you needed it so bad earlier you’d do anything for me?” He clicked his tongue, slipping the phone aside. “Tired already, and I’ve barely touched you.”

He set the device down, then reached around and untied the binds at your wrists with deliberate slowness. The moment they fell free, he gripped your hips hard and flipped you with practiced ease, pinning you beneath him before you could even gasp.

The loss of control made your breath catch.

“Brace yourself,” he murmured against your throat, his cock still buried to the hilt inside you, pulsing with anticipation. “You’ve had your chance to ride me, now it’s my turn to ruin you.”

His mouth found yours, devouring you with a kiss that tasted like lust and triumph. One hand laced with yours above your head, the other gripping your thigh and hitching it up, opening you wide. He pulled back just enough to meet your dazed gaze, his voice low and reverent:

“You’re not walking tomorrow, doll. But gods help me, I want you wrecked.”

A smirk curled at his lips as his hands came to grip your waist. Holding your body in place as he began a relentless pace.

The headboard slammed against the wall as your cries grew louder, the room thick with the sound of skin meeting skin, breathless moans, and his low groans right in your ear.

It was going to be a rather long night.

—

You’d only meant to assist in a simple energy-enhancing elixir. That was the assignment. But one misstep in measurement, a droplet too much of a rare herb with latent aphrodisiac properties, and now the air in the alchemy room felt thick, like molten honey clinging to your skin, every breath laced with heat and desire.

Your body trembled, flushed from the inside out, and you barely had the clarity to steady yourself as Anaxa pressed you over his cluttered desk. The wood was cool against your feverish skin, but the relief was fleeting, especially when his hands found your thighs, stroking upward with an excruciating slowness.

"You're burning up," he murmured, his voice deeper than usual, heavy with restraint and want. His palms were rough from handling vials and tools, but they moved over your soft skin reverently, memorizing every inch. When he lifted your leg and placed it on the desk, spreading you open further, a shaky breath escaped your lips.

Then his fingers found your slick folds, parting them to slide between with maddening ease.

“Fuck,” he rasped, dipping one finger inside you with a slow, deliberate curl. “You’re dripping, sweetheart. I barely touched you.”

He watched your back arch, his eyes hooded, devouring the sight of you writhing under his touch. “So wet for me already… so ready. You're like a flower trembling open under the sun’s first kiss.”

“Anaxa…” you whimpered, turning your flushed face toward him, eyes glassy with need. “Please. It’s too much, I need you. I feel like I’m on fire.”

A low, pleased chuckle rumbled in his chest as he leaned over you, pressing a kiss to the back of your shoulder. “My love,” he purred, “the last thing I want to do is hurt you. Let me take care of you. Yeah?”

His fingers moved with more purpose now, two sinking inside and scissoring open, brushing expertly against that spongy spot that made your thighs tremble and toes curl. Your breath hitched, nails digging into the wood of his desk.

“There we go,” he coaxed, his voice velvet and grit. “That’s it, thats my good girl. Just like that.”

When he slid his fingers free, glistening with your arousal, he brought them to your lips with a smirk. “Taste yourself for me, yeah?”

You sucked his fingers in without hesitation, your tongue swirling around them eagerly, and the dark look in his eyes nearly made your knees buckle.

As you suckled, he undid his belt with one hand, pushing down his trousers. His cock sprang free,thick, flushed, and already leaking. He hissed through his teeth at the sight of you, lips wrapped around his fingers while your hips subtly rolled against the air in anticipation.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, guiding your hips into position. “Ready for me?”

You nodded, whimpering your assent, but that wasn’t enough for him.

“Say it.” he breathed, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you.

“I’m ready, Anaxa. Please. I need you inside me.” You cried out, the desperation dripped off your voice in waves.

And just like that, he snapped.

He lined himself up, the thick head of his cock brushing your soaked entrance before slowly, deliberately, pushing into you. Inch by inch, stretching you open, dragging a guttural moan from deep in his chest,and a strangled cry from your lips.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you gasped, forehead pressed against the desk, legs trembling.

Anaxa groaned, head tilting back. “You’re so fucking tight. Gods, the way you grip me, like your cunt was made for me.”

His thumb returned to your clit, drawing tight, deliberate circles that had your walls fluttering around him, clutching him deeper. His other hand wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling your hips back against every hard thrust.

The room echoed with wet, obscene sounds,the slap of skin, your mewls and moans, the throb of shared desire amplified by the lingering effects of the potion. Your body felt electric, every thrust sending sparks up your spine, your nerves raw and alive.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he growled into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “To feel me like this? Deep and hard, filling every inch of your needy little hole?”

“Y-Yes,” you cried, voice trembling. “I wanted you. I've always wanted you, Anaxa..”

He groaned as your walls clenched around him again, his grip on your hips tightening. “Fuck, don’t do that, baby. You’re gonna make me come, and I’m not done with you.” He leaned forward, chest pressing against your back, lips brushing your ear.

“It’d be a shame to end this now, wouldn’t it? When we’ve barely scratched the surface of what I want to do to you.”

His cock throbbed inside you, thick and pulsing, and his movements slowed,just slightly,enough to drag out every second, every breathless moan. His fingers didn’t stop moving on your clit, and it was too much. You were unraveling. “Anaxa,I'm-!”

“Let go for me,” he murmured, voice like smoke. “Come on, doll. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And when your climax crashed into you it was violent, soul-shaking, you cried out his name like a prayer. He followed you moments later with a strangled groan, grinding deep as he spilled inside you, breath catching in his throat.

The room was still, again. Heavy with the scent of sex and alchemical oils. Your chest heaved as you lay against the desk, limbs trembling, heart pounding in your throat.

Anaxa brushed your hair gently from your face, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Are you alright?” he murmured, voice quiet now, low with concern.

You nodded, lips parted as you caught your breath. “Yeah, I just didn’t think today’s lesson would turn into that.” you laughed a bit as you tried to catch your breath.

He chuckled softly, as he rested his head against your shoulder. “We’ll call it an experiment in practical alchemy.”

You snorted weakly, unable to help the smile tugging at your lips, even as your legs refused to stop shaking.

—

Mydei had lost so much, too much. The grief, the blood, the burdens he bore had hollowed parts of him, left him starved for something warm, something anchoring. And that anchor was you. He clung to you like salvation, like he’d drift into the abyss without your body pressed to his. At night, he was never far, always buried deep inside you, cockwarming with his face nestled into the crook of your neck, your scent his lullaby, your cunt his comfort.

One arm slung possessively around your waist, the other lazily cupping your breasts as he whispered soft, broken things against your skin.

But this? This was different.

This was worship.

Because Mydei would never kneel for anyone. Never bow. Never submit. Yet now, here he was, on his knees before you, his mouth hot and hungry between your thighs as you sat like a goddess on his throne. Yours now, it seemed. The power shift made your skin tingle, made your core throb. It made his mouth water.

Your thighs were thrown over his broad shoulders, heels digging into the tense muscles of his back as he devoured you like he’d been starved for days. His tongue was relentless, slick and deep, lapping up your arousal with obscene enthusiasm. The room echoed with the wet, messy sounds of him feasting on you, slurps and growls and the occasional gasped praise, incoherent and ragged: “fuck, so sweet.. s’perfect.. can’t get enough..”

Your head lolled back against the velvet lining of the throne, your body arching, quivering beneath his mouth. Every drag of his tongue, every suck on your clit made your back bow, your hands fly to his hair. You gripped his golden strands tight, guiding him with desperate, breathy pleas.

"Mydei.. please, feels so fucking good," you moaned, voice cracking as pleasure shot up your spine. Your hips bucked forward when he sucked harder, sharp and unrelenting on that aching bundle of nerves.

He groaned, almost feral, his fingers bruising into your thighs as they trembled around his head. "Gods, Princess, look at you. Trembling from just my mouth. Let me hear those sounds. I need them."

The words were muffled, smothered by your slick and his determination. But you heard them. Felt them. Your fingers tugged tighter as you rolled your hips against his face. He moaned again, the vibration sending shockwaves through you.

And then, you gasped. Sharp, high-pitched, your whole body twitching when two of his fingers slid inside your fluttering, dripping hole. They curled just right, just so, and your thighs clenched around his head like a vice.

"Yeah, right there, Mydei! fuck, don’t stop," you begged, voice cracking, eyes rolling back into your skull.

He couldn’t hear you anymore, not really. His head was spinning. Your taste coated his tongue, your scent filled his lungs, your cunt clenched around his fingers so tight it made his cock throb and twitch helplessly in his pants. He hadn’t meant to finish. He really hadn’t.

But when you cried out his name, when your slick gushed around his fingers and your thighs spasmed against his ears, he came. With a guttral goran, shamefully untouched, his release soaking into the fabric of his pants as he fucked you through your orgasm with tongue and fingers with a desperate need to drown in you.

He was panting when he looked up at you. His cheeks flushed, chin wet, lips red and swollen. His eyes were glassy, ruined, drunk on you. And when your gaze met his, just as hazy, just as fucked out. He let out a soft, breathless laugh.

“Well,” he murmured, voice hoarse and reverent, “suppose we can finish this properly once I get out of these damn pants.”

His cheek rested lazily against your thigh, one hand still cradling it, thumb stroking the soft skin there. “C’mon, princess. Let’s get cleaned up.”

But neither of you moved. Not yet. You stayed like that tangled, flushed, trembling lost in the afterglow, in each other.

—

Phainon’s tongue drags up your slit again, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the last taste before a kill. His nose brushes your clit, and you twitch under him with a broken gasp. Your thighs try to close, but his arms keep them locked open, biceps flexed, forearms solid as stone. He’s already pulled two orgasms out of you. You’ve cried, begged, sobbed his name, and he’s still hungry.

Your voice is hoarse. “Phai.. please..”

“Please what, baby?” His voice is dark, taunting. He curls his fingers again. “Please don’t stop? Please ruin me? Tell me what you want. Come on baby wanna hear ya”

You don’t answer, your voice dying on your tongue as he curled his fingers just right making your mind go blank.

“Didn’t fuckin’ think so.” He grins, teeth dragging lightly across the crease of your thigh. “You’ve got more for me. I know your body better than you do.”

“Mmm,” he hums. “You said you wanted to come again. So I’m making sure you do. Gotta get this pussy ready.”

“For what?” you gasp.

He pulls his mouth away just long enough to meet your gaze. His lips are shiny, chin soaked. His eyes burn straight through you, “For me.”

You try to pull away, but he drags you right back into his mouth. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs hard enough to bruise, pulling you down like he’s drowning in you. His mouth latches onto your clit again, tongue flicking in a brutal rhythm that makes your vision blur.

“Pussy’s so fuckin’ good, baby. I could stay down here forever.”

You try to catch your breath, chest heaving. “You already have. I can’t feel my legs.” You breathed out, although it sounded more like a laugh.

He chuckles against your skin, licking back up with an almost lazy motion. “Then you’ll stop runnin’ from me.”

“I can’t, I can’t take it” you stammer, thighs trembling.

“You will,” he growls, pausing only to spit on your pussy before slapping your clit with the flat of his tongue. “You will, baby. Give me another. I wanna feel you fucking break on my tongue.”

As if his voice was like the law, your orgasm hits like a crashing wave. You cry out, your whole body shaking under his mouth as you soak his chin. He moans into you, licking you through every twitch and clench, groaning as if he’s the one coming.

By the time he pulls back, his face is wrecked. Lips swollen, chin shiny, eyes glazed with hunger. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. He looks high. Feral.

Then you see it, the bulge straining hard against his sweatpants, twitching. Leaking.

“Get on your stomach,” he says suddenly. Your muscles are barely functioning. “Phai..”

“I’ll move you if I have to princess, come on.” He spoke as he pats your thigh with a chuckle.

You roll over slow, weak, trembling. He pushes your back down with one hand, keeping your ass raised. He peels down his sweats, cock springing free. It was thick and veiny, already beeding with precum at the tip. He runs it through your folds, dragging it up and down your overstimulated pussy with a groan.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice like gravel. “So fuckin’ wet. So ready for me.”

You scream into the pillow, arms shaking. The stretch is insane, unforgiving. He gives you no time to adjust, already pounding into you with deep, brutal thrusts, hips slapping hard against your ass.

You moan weakly, trying to gather yourself, but your body is boneless. He lines himself up and sinks slowly inch by inch, each achingly blissful inch. The stretch is too much, no, it was perfect. You whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. “You’re too big..”

“You always say that,” he groans, voice frayed as he bottoms out. “Still take every inch like a good fuckin’ girl.” He pulls back and slams into you hard. You cry out, body jolting, already sensitive and raw.

“You feel that?” he growls in your ear, hips slamming against yours again. “Feel how deep I am? This pussy knows me.”

“Take it. All of it,” he growls, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip. “You asked for this. You said you wanted me to fuck you dumb, remember?” You nod desperately, choking on moans.

“You love it,” he sneers, dragging his cock out to the tip before slamming back in, right to the hilt. “This tight little cunt’s fuckin’ made for me. You come on my face, you take my cock, and you beg for more.” Your fingers claw the sheets as his hand leaves your hip to deliver a sharp slap to your ass, the sting making your eyes tear.

“Fuck.. Baby, you sound so pretty when you cry. Makes me wanna ruin you all over again.”

You sob into the mattress, but it’s not from pain. It’s too much, deliciously so.

“You hear that?” he pants. “That sloppy little sound? That’s how hungry your pussy is for me. Sucking me in like you never want me to leave.” He leans over you now, chest to your back, his voice hot and dangerous in your ear.

“Tell me it’s mine.” You moan, barely audible.

“Louder.” He growled. He wanted to hear you.

“It’s yours, Phai Ah-yours.” You cried out as your breath hitched in your throat.

“Say it while I’m buried in you.” He thrusts deep again, cock grinding right into your sweet spot. You cry out, voice cracking. “It’s yours! All yours, fuck! don’t stop!”

He groans, dragging his teeth along your neck. “That’s it, baby. My fuckin’ girl.”

He flips you over with no warning, manhandling you like you weigh nothing. Now you’re beneath him, his body caging yours, sweat dripping from his brow as he slides back in, deep and slow this time. His eyes never leave your face.

“You good?” he asks quietly, breathing rough against your cheek. He knew he was being a bit rough. You nod, tears still in your eyes. “Please, keep going.”

He kisses your lips messy, tongue curling into your mouth—before he starts fucking you again. Harder now. Purposeful. Like he’s chasing something. Like he wants to fuck his name into your bones.

His hand finds your throat, thumb under your jaw. Not squeezing. Just claiming. “You take it so good,” he grits out, watching your tits bounce with each thrust. “You were made for me.”

Your mind was a mess, head thrown back, your words barely coherent. Just babbles of his name, singing it like it was prayer. And fuck was it music to his ears.

He lowers his mouth to your neck, biting hard, marking you. His thrusts grow messy, erratic. You feel him twitch inside you, hips jerking. “I’m gonna come,” he pants, voice nearly desperate. “You want it? You want me to fill you up?”

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Yes! fuck, yes, Phai! Fill me up Ngh!”

His thrusts become erratic, rough, deep. He slams into you one final time and holds there, cock pulsing as he spills into you. He shudders, mouth open against your shoulder, panting like he’s just been dragged back from the edge

His groan is broken, guttural, as he buries himself to the hilt and spills inside you. You feel it, hot, thick, deep and your own orgasm rips through you again, triggered by the sound of his moan and the stretch of his cock pulsing inside your fluttering walls.

“You fuckin’ ruin me,” he growls, voice cracked, almost pained. “Every time.” You’re both still for a moment, bodies twitching, sweat clinging to your skin. He brushes your hair back from your face, eyes still wild but softer now.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice low. You nod slowly, dazed. “Yeah..Just, Holy shit. What got into you?” A crooked grin tugs at his lips. “Don’t fall asleep yet.” You blink up at him, eyebrows lifting. “Why?” you ask breathlessly.

“Because you’re not done,” he says, shifting his hips. “And neither am I.”

—

Dan Heng was hot tempered, questionably hostile at times, but when it came to you? He was always a blushing mess. With you, he turned shy, uncertain, his confidence unraveling under the weight of his affection. The first time you mentioned wanting to be intimate, he had blinked at you like you’d spoken in an entirely foreign tongue. His hands clenched in his lap, ears tinged with scarlet, eyes darting to anywhere but your face.

It wasn’t reluctance. He wanted you. You could see it in the way his gaze lingered on your lips too long, in the way he sometimes flinched when your hand brushed his, like the contact physically startled him.

He just didn’t know what to do with the need burning under his skin. But with time, with whispered encouragement and soft patience, Dan Heng shed his nervousness like molten armor.

And once he did, he became devastating.

He knew every single thing that made you tick, every single nook and cranny of your body. That alone made him dangerous. Your body, your sounds, the way your eyes fluttered when he kissed just under your jaw, the delicate shiver that ran down your spine when his breath warmed your ear.

He’d approach you quietly, sometimes catching you off guard with how fast he’d close the distance. Strong arms slipping around your waist from behind, the rough heat of his palms pressing into your skin, his lips brushing your neck just so, where your pulse fluttered beneath your skin, quickening the ache that curled low in your belly. That subtle spot where the softness of his mouth made your knees tremble, and your breath hitched, trembling with need.

More than his hands, more than his mouth, it was his voice gravelly and warm that ruined you most.

“Look at you,” he whispered one night, voice thick with desire as he settled between your thighs, the subtle musk of his skin mixing with the sweet, salty tang of your arousal. His fingers ghosted up your inner thigh, brushing over the delicate skin until you trembled under the featherlight touch. “Such a pretty little dove. Dripping wet, and I’ve barely even touched you.”

Your cheeks heated with embarrassment and anticipation, your panties clinging damply to your folds, the slight pressure already unbearable. He hadn’t even removed them yet, but the slick heat pooling between your legs begged for more. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and full of hungry promise.

“Use your words, my little dragon,” he murmured, breath fanning over your skin, warm and intoxicating. “Tell me what you want.”

You squirmed beneath him, thighs trembling. “Jus’ wan’ you, Danny.. want you to touch me.”

He smiled a slow, wicked curve that sent shivers crawling down your spine, and leaned in to press a heated kiss to the corner of your mouth. The taste of him is rich and addictive. “Good girl.”

The words settled inside you like fire.

His hands slid beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your ribs, sending sparks wherever he touched. Slowly, reverently, he peeled away your clothes, the faint rustle of fabric the only sound in the quiet room. His palms warmed your skin, kneading your breasts as his mouth descended, lips sealing around your nipple. His tongue flicked and teased, gentle but insistent, and a soft sigh escaped you, fingers threading into his thick, silky hair.

He lingered there, worshiping your body like a sacred offering, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

Then, moving downward, he left a trail of wet, hungry kisses—a path of fire across your belly, the soft pulse of his tongue tracing your hip bones. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, holding you open as he lowered his mouth to your slick folds. The taste of you, sweet and salty, filled his senses, intoxicating and pure. His tongue circled your clit with slow and deliberate flicks, while his fingers spread your lips wider, exposing every inch to his skilled touch.

A moan tumbled from your throat, raw and unguarded, your hips arching involuntarily toward him. His groan vibrated through the room, a low rumble of satisfaction as he savored your response, his mouth and hands worshiping your trembling body.

You writhed beneath him, hips grinding softly against his mouth, desperate for more. He encouraged it, his voice thick with need as he whispered your name, coaxing every shudder, every gasp.

He didn’t stop until your legs shook and your breath came in ragged gasps, your body unraveling under his devotion.

Only then did he rise, lips pressing tender kisses to yours, the lingering taste of your essence on his tongue making him dizzy with desire. His hands cradled your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he murmured, “So beautiful. So good for me.”

You kissed him back, soft and needy.

Without warning, you felt the heavy heat of him pressing against your entrance, thick and pulsing. He slid inside you inch by inch, slow and deliberate, watching your face for every flicker of pleasure and hesitation. Your hands clung to his broad shoulders, your breath catching as he filled you completely—deep, hot, and endless.

He stayed still, letting you adjust, savoring the way your body clung to his.

“You’re taking me so well, my love,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “So tight around me... like you were made for me.”

His movements began slowly and measured and so very deep. Languid thrusts that sent delicious fire rippling through you. Every drag of his cock inside your warm, slick walls made you gasp, your breath hitching in time with the slow, agonizing rhythm. His mouth was everywhere, licking your neck, nipping at your collarbone, and planting bruising kisses on your shoulder.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he pulled you flush against him. The scent of sweat and sex filled the room with a heady, intimate perfume that bound you to him.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his voice cracking with need. “Can’t get enough of you. I want to stay inside you forever.”

His praise tumbled from his lips in a torrent now, each word a caress against your skin as he stirred you from within. “So soft. So perfect. I love you.” His voice was raw, vulnerable, bared to you entirely.

You cupped his face between your palms, brushing your lips over his in a messy, desperate kiss.

“I love you too,” you whispered, voice trembling with emotion. “More than I know how to say.”

Dan Heng’s hips moved faster, harder, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure exploding through your nerves. You were tangled together, body and soul, riding the edge of bliss. His fingers slid between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing slow, steady circles that sent waves crashing over you.

“Come for me,” he urged, breath hot against your ear. “Show me how much you love me.”

Your release shattered over you in a torrent of heat and sound, your body clamping down on him as your cries echoed through the room. Dan Heng’s own growl of your name was rough and desperate, his hips stuttering before he spilled deep inside you, trembling and spent.

He didn’t pull away.

Wrapped around you, the two of you caught in the quiet afterglow, skin slick and sticky, breaths mingling in the dim light. His face was buried in your neck, fingers tracing lazy patterns over your back. The scent of sex and sweat and something infinitely tender surrounded you.

“I don’t know how to say everything I feel for you,” he murmured against your skin. “But when I’m like this, with you, I hope it’s enough.”

You kissed the damp curls at his nape, fingers threading through his hair.

“It is,” you whispered. “It always is.”

I hope you enjoyed! Requests are open.

Do not plagiarize my content. Do not repost my content, or translate it either. Do not post my content on any social media. Do not steal my content or feed it into AI.

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guliexe · 2 days ago

Text

━━━SHORELINE 18+

Surfer!Sim Jaeyun x Female!Reader

.ᐟwarnings/tags: friends to lovers, summer, soft dom!jake, making out, dry humping, dirty talk, praising, unprotected sex, p in v, angsty a little, fluff, oral (f), fingering, aftercare

♡ you've loved jake for years, but he's never looked at you the way you wish he would. one summer night, he finally does, and everything changes.

.ᐟwc: 8.8k (no proofread)

It’s mid-July, and everything feels a little unreal. The kind of heat that sticks to your skin like honey, the air salty and sweet, the ocean loud but somehow comforting in the background of every moment. The days stretch long and slow, sun-drenched and golden, and the nights are warm enough that no one really goes inside anymore. You’re part of a tight-knit friend group that’s been orbiting the same beaches and bonfires all summer. Surfboards, smoothies, sandy towels, music from portable speakers. Mornings blur into late afternoons, and someone always brings drinks when the sun starts to dip behind the horizon. And then there’s Jake. Jake Sim—tanned, black hair curling over his forehead, bracelets always clinking on his wrist, board under his arm like it’s part of his body. He’s been your friend for years, technically. But you’ve spent most of those years trying to ignore the fact that you’re completely, hopelessly in love with him. You’ve never told anyone. Not even your best friend. Not even yourself, out loud. Because Jake? Jake doesn’t see you that way. Not when there’s girls like her around. Bright, gorgeous, loud—the kind of girl who fits next to him. She’s the one who always throws her arm around his shoulders in photos, who surfs as well as he does, who laughs just a little too hard at his jokes. You tell yourself that it’s not a big deal. That it’s fine. But it’s not fine. Because no matter how much you try to play it cool, how much you smile and laugh and act like Jake is just another guy in the group, your heart still skips every time he looks at you too long. Every time he says your name, grinning around the bottle of water he’s drinking from. Every time he pulls his shirt off without thinking and runs into the waves, sun hitting his back like he was made to be here.

You weren’t supposed to hang out alone today. The whole group was meant to come, but everyone canceled one by one. Lazy. Busy. And now it’s just you and Jake. Alone. And he’s waiting by your door, board propped up next to him, shirtless. “Ready to hit the water?” he says, tossing you a smile that makes your knees weak. “You promised I’d get to see your legendary surf stand today.” You roll your eyes, laughing to cover the panic in your chest. “Legendary in how bad it is?” “Legendary because you’re cute when you fall,” he teases. And just like that, you’re drowning—and you haven’t even stepped into the ocean yet.

The water is warm when you wade in, the kind of warmth that wraps around your legs and pulls you in deeper. Jake walks ahead of you, board tucked under one arm, wet hair already curling at the ends. You try not to stare at his back, the way his shoulder blades shift, the water beading down his tanned skin. You fail miserably. “Alright, coach me,” you say, trying to sound confident. Jake smirks, turning around and offering his hand to help you up onto the board. You hesitate for a half-second before taking it. “You already know the basics,” he says, treading water beside you. “Pop up fast, keep your balance, don’t panic.“ “Okay.” He lets go of the board and gives it a little push. “Go ahead.” You paddle forward, managing to catch a baby wave—and, just like that, you’re on your feet for all of three glorious seconds before you wobble and tumble straight off the board with a splash. You come up sputtering, hair in your eyes, and Jake’s already laughing. “You almost had it that time!” he calls, floating closer. You flick water at him. “Shut up.” He grins, eyes crinkling, and swims over to steady the board. “Alright, alright. Try again. I’ll help this time.” You crawl back on, breathless and wet, trying not to think about how close he is as he floats next to you. He places one hand gently on your lower back to steady you and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

“Keep your feet wide,” he murmurs, guiding your legs into position. “Yeah, like that.” You nod, eyes glued to the water. Anywhere but his face. “And pop up—now.” You try, really try, but your knee slips and suddenly you’re falling again, off the board and straight into him. You crash into his chest, your hands landing on his shoulders, and his arms wrap around you instinctively to keep you both from going under. For a moment, everything stops. You’re pressed against him, chest to chest, his hands firm around your waist, ocean swirling around you. The sun glows somewhere above, but all you can feel is Jake. His eyes are on yours. So close. So dangerously close. Salt on his skin. His breath fanning over your lips. You blink. He doesn’t move. And then, awkwardly, too quickly, you laugh. “God, I suck at this,” you say, trying to twist out of his arms. He lets go slowly, like he doesn’t want to. “Nah,” he says, voice quieter now. “You’re doing better than you think.” You swim backward a little, pushing your hair out of your face, cheeks burning. He watches you like he’s trying to figure something out, but the moment passes, and soon enough, he’s teasing you again. Splashes you. Challenges you to a race. Makes you forget for a second that anything happened at all.

You spend a little longer in the water, drifting between lazy splashes and playful teasing. Jake tries to dunk you once, fails, and you laugh so hard your stomach hurts. “This is probably the worst surf lesson of all time,” you tease as he floats beside you, arms stretched behind his head like he has all the time in the world. He shrugs. “Nah, I’ve had worse.” “Oh yeah?” you smirk. “Name one.” He grins. “This one girl nearly drowned me because I was ‘correcting her form.’ Real aggressive.” You snort. “She sounds kind of hot.” He raises a brow at you. “She is.” Your chest tightens, but you splash water in his face before he can see it. Eventually, the sun starts dipping lower, turning everything a honeyed gold. You both float there for a few more quiet seconds, water rocking you gently. Then Jake nudges you with his shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s head out.” You make your way back to shore, water dripping from your limbs, the sand soft and warm beneath your feet. Jake walks ahead to grab his board, and you follow, pulling your hair back, skin glistening in the fading light. What you don’t see is the way he looks back at you when you pass him. His eyes trail over your curves, still wet and gleaming under the sun. The way your bikini clings to you. The curve of your hips, the slow sway in your walk as you brush your towel off. His jaw tightens slightly, brows twitching like he’s thinking something he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t look away. Not until you sit down. You drop onto your towel with a soft sigh, brushing your hair out of your face. Jake joins you a moment later, flopping down beside you, his board sticking out of the sand nearby. Everything smells like sea salt and sunscreen and him.

The two of you sit side by side, toes buried in the warm sand, wet hair dripping onto your shoulders. The waves roll in and out, steady and soft. The sun is lower now. Jake leans back on his elbows, looking out toward the horizon. “Good day.” he says softly. You glance over at him, and it hits you again—just how pretty he is in this light. His profile, the way his lashes catch the last of the sun. How at ease he looks here, like the ocean is the only place he’s ever belonged. “Yeah,” you say, heart thudding a little too hard. “It is.” For a few moments, there’s only the sound of waves and birds and the quiet hum of tension between you. “Wanna come to mine?” you say, nervous. Jake turns to you slowly. “I’ve got beers, chips, probably some ice cream too.” He smiles, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Your beach house feels cooler once you step inside, the salty breeze drifting in through open windows, mixing with the familiar scent of sunscreen and lemony soap. Jake’s already tossing his towel over the back of the couch like he lives here—because in a way, he kind of does. He’s been here more times than you can count, post-surf showers, movie nights, late dinners with the group. But tonight feels different. You grab two beers from the fridge and toss one to him as you walk past “Thanks.” You plop down onto the couch beside him, legs curled under you, and he stretches out, shirt sticking to his still-damp skin, hair a little frizzy from the salt water. The TV flickers in the background—some nature documentary neither of you is watching. The only light comes from the screen and the tiny lamp you always forget to turn off. It casts the whole room in a soft orange glow, warm and sleepy. He cracks open his beer. “So. On a scale of one to complete embarrassment, how would you rate today’s surf lesson?” You shoot him a glare over your bottle. “I’d say a solid seven. But only because I didn’t actually drown.”

He chuckles. “A win’s a win.” You sip, watching him out of the corner of your eye. He looks relaxed. His head is tilted back, the curve of his jaw catching the lamplight. That bracelet he never takes off is still wet, clinging to his wrist. His thumb runs lazily over his beer bottle. You clear your throat. “Thanks for teaching me. Again.” He glances over. “You’re getting better.” “Liar.” He smiles at you softly. “Okay, you suck. But you’re trying. And you looked like you were having fun.” You nod, lips quirking. “I was.” For a while, the two of you just sit there, sipping quietly, shoulders nearly touching. The breeze flutters through the curtains, and outside, the last of the sun has melted into the ocean into something darker, quieter.

He turns slightly toward you, voice low. “Crazy how long we’ve been doing this.” You glance at him. “Surfing?” He gives you a look. “This. Us. Hanging out. It’s been, what—five years?” You nod slowly. “Yeah…damn. Five.” You both go quiet for a moment, the weight of that time hanging in the air between you. So many summers. So many inside jokes. So many chances you didn’t take. He breaks the silence first. “Remember that one time we all snuck into the pool at that hotel?” You laugh instantly. “When you splashed the security guard and nearly broke your ankle jumping the fence? Yeah.” Jake chuckles. “I swear we almost died that night.” You’re both smiling now, warmth bubbling up between you—not just from the drinks, but from this. From the years of comfort, the way you know each other so well it’s easy to forget the ache under the surface. You shift slightly to face him more, leaning back against the couch. “I’m glad we’re still like this,” you say quietly. “Even if everything else’s changed.” Jake’s eyes meet yours. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.” The air feels heavier now. Not awkward, but charged. His eyes drop to your lips for just a second before flicking back up.

Your head’s tipped back against the couch, skin flushed and warm from the drinks, your lips still tingling from laughing too hard at something dumb Jake said ten minutes ago. The room spins just slightly in that way it does when you’ve had just enough, soft edges, soft thoughts, everything blurring like a dream. Jake’s next to you, turned toward you now, one arm thrown lazily along the back of the couch. He’s watching you. You can feel it more than see it. “You’re drunk,” he murmurs. You snort. “No I’m not.” He smiles, the corners of his mouth tugging up in that slow, teasing way that always makes your heart ache. “Yes, you are.” And then his hand reaches up gently and he tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear, fingers trailing just barely against your skin. You freeze, breath catching. His eyes don’t leave yours. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, “You’re so pretty.” Your whole body stills. “…What?” You look up at him, blinking, heart hammering. You can feel the blush rising in your cheeks like a wave, hot and immediate. Jake just smiles wider. And then he lets out the softest laugh and leans in. He kisses you. Warm and slow, his lips pressing softly into yours like he’s been waiting to do it for years. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw, and your eyes flutter shut, the taste of him, beer, salt, Jake, sinking into your skin like a secret.

He kisses you like he means it, like he’s been dying to, and the second his hands slide around your waist, you already know where this is going. His grip is firm but careful, fingertips pressing into the skin just above your hips, still damp from the ocean. You feel him shift beneath you, then suddenly you’re being pulled into his lap. You let out a soft gasp, steadying yourself with your palms on his shoulders as your knees straddle him, your bikini-clad body settling over his swim trunks. He exhales hard through his nose when your thighs tighten around his hips, and you can feel him underneath you already, half-hard, hot, pressing right up against your barely-covered center. “Fuck,” he breathes, his head tilting back as he looks at you. “You’re so pretty like this.” You’re already blushing, your skin buzzing from the heat of the alcohol, the air, him. He brings a hand up to push a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering along your jaw. “You always are,” he murmurs. “But right now? Sitting on me like this? You’re unreal.” You can’t say anything. Not when he’s looking at you like that. Not when every part of your body is screaming for more. So you slowly move. Your hips roll forward, just once, dragging the soaked fabric of your bikini bottom against the rougher texture of his swim trunks. The friction makes both of you shudder.

His grip on your hips tightens instantly. “There you go,” he murmurs, voice low and thick. “Just like that, baby.” Your stomach flips at the praise, at the way his voice drops when he says it—baby. Like it belongs to you now. Like he’s never called anyone else that before. You do it again, a little more confidently this time, grinding against him with a soft whimper slipping past your lips. Jake groans deep in his chest, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Fuck, that’s it,” he says. Your hands slide up into his hair, wet and soft under your fingers, and you kiss along his jaw—down his neck, where his pulse beats hard against your lips. He tilts his head to give you more space, his breath catching when you kiss a little harder. His cock twitches beneath you and you feel it, all of it. And it’s so good, so intense, that your hips move without you even meaning to, searching for more pressure, more friction, more him. He hisses through his teeth, pulling you down tighter against him. “Keep doing that baby, fuck—” he murmurs. You moan softly, your pace picking up, slow but steady, dragging yourself along him as you kiss down his neck, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses over sun-warmed skin. The heat is building fast between you, sweat and seawater mixing with the electricity sparking under every touch. “Jake,” you whisper, lips brushing his collarbone. He leans in, breath hot against your cheek. “Let’s go to your room, yeah?” he says, voice rough. And when you nod, eyes wide, lips swollen, he lifts you, arms firm under your thighs, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Jake carries you down the hall with your legs wrapped tight around his waist, your bikini still damp and clinging to your skin, his lips brushing yours between heated, breathless laughs. When he nudges your bedroom door open, the only light in the room is the soft, low glow of your lava lamp, a dreamy, slow-moving mix of purples and pinks that cast shifting shadows on the walls. He sets you down on the bed carefully, like you’re fragile, like he’s trying to keep it gentle, but the second your back hits the sheets, he’s on you. He climbs over you, his body caging yours in with easy strength, and he dives in—his lips on your neck, hot and open, kissing and sucking until you’re gasping. He nips at the skin just below your ear, your collarbone, working his way down with messy, hungry kisses. “Jake,” you whisper, voice already shaking. “God,” he groans into your neck, hands sliding up over your stomach. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” Then his hands find your chest, his thumbs dragging along the edge of your bikini top before he squeezes your tits through the fabric, hard enough to make you gasp. His mouth is still at your neck, kissing and biting and panting against your skin like he can’t get close enough.

You arch into his hands, your hips already shifting beneath him, grinding up against where he’s hard and heavy between your legs. Even through the fabric of your swimsuits, the pressure is blinding. You rock your hips again, more desperately this time. He groans low and filthy, and grinds back down into you. “Fuck, baby,” he growls, one hand leaving your chest to grab your hip and hold you still. “You’re gonna make me lose it.” His fingers dig into your waist, guiding your hips as you move against him, his cock thick and pulsing through his swim trunks, pressed perfectly against your core. You’re soaked already, the thin fabric of your bikini barely a barrier at all. Jake palms your tits roughly through your bikini top, groaning low in his throat like he’s waited too long to touch you like this. Then, without a word, he slides his fingers under the fabric and pushes it up, taking it off of you. He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dropping to your now-bare chest. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” And then he’s on you again—his mouth hot and hungry, lips wrapping around one nipple as he sucks it deep into his mouth. His tongue circles, wet and relentless, and your back arches off the mattress as a moan tumbles out of you. “Jake,” you gasp, threading your fingers into his damp hair.

He groans at the sound of your voice, switching sides, licking and sucking at the other nipple now while his hand slides up to squeeze the one he just left—fingers rolling it between his fingertips, firm and perfect and too much in the best way. He’s messy with it, sloppy, he doesn’t care, just needs to taste you. His teeth graze your sensitive skin and you writhe beneath him, grinding up into the hard line of his cock pressed against your center. “You sound so good,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice rough and low. “So fucking sweet, baby.” And then, his hand trails down. Over your ribs. Over your stomach. Straight under your bikini bottom. You suck in a breath the moment his fingers slide through your slick folds, already soaking wet from how badly you want him. He groans. “Fuck. You’re dripping.” His middle finger finds your clit and starts rubbing slow, steady circles over it, perfect pressure, and your hips jerk up instantly, a whimper slipping from your lips before you can stop it. Jake’s mouth crashes back onto yours, swallowing every sound as he kisses you harder than before—tongue curling into yours, his hand between your legs never stopping, working you into a mess beneath him.

You can’t stop the sounds now—soft gasps, broken moans, the way your body starts rocking into his touch. “Jake, please,” you whimper, tearing your mouth from his, eyes glassy. “Tell me what you need,” he says, kissing along your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “I’ll give you anything, baby. Just say it.” You’re panting beneath him, your hips rolling helplessly into his hand as his fingers circle your clit, while his mouth stays glued to your neck. He’s so deep into you—touching, kissing, tasting—you don’t even realize how close you are to falling apart until the words tumble out of your mouth, broken and breathless. “Jake,” you whimper. “Want you to fuck me.” His hand stutters, just slightly, but he keeps going, his breathing getting heavier against your cheek. He lifts his head, eyes locking with yours, and you feel like the air has been sucked out of the room. You blink up at him, barely able to breathe, and whisper, “Please, Jakey.” He whimpers. Actually whimpers—a soft, desperate sound pulled from somewhere deep in his chest, like the sound of his restraint finally snapping in two. “Holy fuck,” he mutters, and then he’s moving, yanking his hand from between your legs, reaching down to hook his fingers under the sides of your bikini bottoms. “You can’t—fuck—don’t call me that.” He slides your bikini bottoms off in one smooth motion, tossing them somewhere behind him, and his gaze drops between your legs. His jaw clenches at the sight of you, wet, flushed, bare for him. “Jesus Christ, baby…”

Then he’s on his knees, pushing his swim trunks down, and your eyes drop instinctively. Your breath catches. He’s big. Thick and flushed and so fucking pretty, the tip already slick and leaking as he wraps a hand around the base and strokes once—slow, like he’s trying to calm himself down and failing miserably. You let out a soft, shocked moan, eyes locked on him. Jake notices—and he smirks, that cocky little flash of teeth you’ve seen a hundred times before but never like this. He leans over you again, kissing you slow, deep, while he lines himself up between your legs, the head of his cock dragging through your wetness. “Want me to fuck you ,baby? Yeah?” he breathes against your lips. You nod fast, almost trembling. “Yes. Please—want you so bad, Jakey.” He groans and pushes forward, just barely. And it slides in—slow and easy, your body opening up for him, so warm and wet around him that he nearly chokes on a moan. “Holy fuck,” he gasps against your mouth. “You feel—so good. So fucking tight.” You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, hands digging into his back, and when he bottoms out, it feels like something inside you clicks into place. You’re full. So full. He doesn’t move for a second, just breathing hard against your neck, his body trembling from holding back. Then he pulls out halfway—and thrusts back in, sharp enough to make you gasp.“Jake—!”

“That’s it,” he grits out, one hand grabbing the headboard above you as he starts to move. “Let me hear you.” He starts fucking you slow but deep, his hips rolling into yours like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel. Every thrust hits that perfect spot inside you, the one that makes your back arch and your breath catch in your throat. He groans, eyes dark, sweat starting to bead at his temples as he picks up the pace, his strokes getting rougher, needier, deeper. “You take me so fucking well,” he pants. “Knew you would. Knew you’d feel perfect.” The sound of skin on skin fills the room, the wet slap of his hips meeting yours over and over, and you can barely think—your body rocked by every thrust, every word, every kiss he presses to your cheek, your neck, your mouth. You moan his name again, broken and breathless. And Jake loses it. He starts fucking you harder, faster, his cock slamming into you at just the right angle, his hand slipping between your bodies to rub circles over your clit. You’re barely holding on. You can’t even form words anymore—just soft, broken gasps of his name. “Jake… Jake, I—” You claw at his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open as your whole body tightens. He leans down, breath hot on your neck. “That’s it, baby. Let go. Lemme feel you.”Your back arches off the bed as the orgasm crashes into you. Your thighs tremble around his hips, and you cry out, your entire body clenching around him as your release hits you like a wave.

You’re dazed, ruined, barely aware of anything except how full you feel, how perfect he feels, how you never want this to end. “Fuck,” Jake groans, voice strained. “You feel so good—holy shit—I don’t think I can last—“ He pulls out suddenly with a desperate grunt, wrapping a hand around his cock, and you barely manage to open your eyes in time to see him come completely undone. “Fuck, baby,” he gasps, head falling back as hot, sticky ropes of cum spill across your stomach, your tits, painting your flushed skin in a messy, breathless finish. He strokes himself through it, breathing hard, his eyes locked on the sight of you laid out beneath him—glowing in the purple light of the lava lamp, glistening, ruined, perfect. You blink up at him, still dazed, your chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. Jake looks like he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. “Jesus,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “You fucking wrecked me.”

You must’ve fallen asleep wrapped up in him. One minute, Jake was still kissing your shoulder, fingertips brushing lazy shapes on your waist, and the next, your eyes are fluttering open to the faint glow of early morning bleeding into your room. The sky outside is that soft, pale indigo. The same dreamy light that washed over you both last night is back, but now it feels different. Colder. You blink, stretch your legs beneath the sheets, still drowsy and warm, and then you realize—He’s not there. Your hand reaches instinctively to the other side of the bed, but it’s cold. Sheets wrinkled but empty. His clothes are gone from the floor. Your heart drops. You sit up slowly, blanket falling around your bare chest, the ache between your thighs a lingering reminder of everything that happened hours ago. Your skin still smells like him. You still feel his hands on you. His mouth. His words. But he’s not here. And just like that, the warmth starts to fade. The bedroom feels too quiet, too still. Your throat tightens. You try not to let your mind spiral, but it’s impossible not to. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to him.

Maybe it was just the alcohol. Just the tension. Maybe he went back to her. Maybe he regrets this. You swallow hard. You tell yourself to stop, to breathe, to wait—but the sting is already rising behind your eyes, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek. Then another. And then you’re silently crying, chest tight, fists curled in your blanket as you sit there in the soft light of a morning that suddenly feels so cruel. You knew he liked that other girl. You’ve seen the way he looks at her—how can he look at you the same way and still want someone else? You wipe at your face with the back of your hand, frustrated with yourself for feeling this much. For hoping. Because last night, for just a little while, it felt like you were everything to him. And now…he’s gone.

By midday, the sun is high and blinding, casting golden light across the waves. The beach is buzzing again, boards scattered across the sand, friends stretched out on towels, someone grilling lunch, music playing just loud enough to drown out your thoughts. You sit a little off to the side, legs curled beneath you, sunglasses hiding your tired eyes. You’ve barely said a word since you joined everyone. You nod when people talk. Smile when it’s expected. But you’re not really present. Not when you can still feel the ghost of Jake’s hands on your body. Not when the last thing you remember from last night was falling asleep tangled up in him, thinking maybe, finally, he was yours.

And now, now it’s like you’re watching him from the outside again. Like you always have. Jake’s been hovering nearby all morning—offering you drinks, asking if you’re hungry, tossing you gentle smiles like he’s trying to check in without making it obvious. But you’ve kept your distance. And it’s killing him. You see it in the way he keeps glancing at you, confused, a little hurt. Like he doesn’t understand why everything feels different. Like he’s searching for the version of you from last night, the one who moaned his name and kissed him like she’d been waiting a lifetime. Now you barely look at him. You can’t. Because you don’t trust yourself not to break. He comes over at one point, shirtless, hair still damp from a swim, sitting beside you with a hopeful smile. “Wanna walk down to the rocks with me later? It’s kinda nice over there.” You don’t meet his eyes. “Maybe later,” you say, soft. He hesitates. “You okay?” “Yeah,” you lie. Jake stares at you for a second longer, his brows drawing together like he wants to press harder, but doesn’t. He nods once and gets up again, joining the others. You finally exhale. And you sit there the rest of the afternoon feeling like you’re floating just out of reach—like everyone else is on the shore and you’re out in the water.

The party starts just after sunset. It’s beautiful, really—how quickly the sky shifts from orange to dusky pink to deep navy. Someone brought lanterns and fairy lights, and now they’re strung along the trees and tied to sticks in the sand, flickering like stars. A bonfire crackles near the center of it all, throwing golden light across everyone’s faces. Music’s playing, and someone’s passing around a bottle of vodka. Plates of food rest on towels and tables. Coolers overflow with beer and soda. People are laughing, dancing, shouting over each other. It’s the kind of night that should feel perfect. But it doesn’t. Not for you. You’re standing a little off to the side, near the edge of the fire’s light, holding a drink that’s already gone warm. You’ve been trying to act normal all evening, but you feel it—how different everything feels now. Or maybe it’s just you that feels different. You haven’t spoken much. You haven’t even tried to talk to Jake. And he hasn’t really come over, either. Not since earlier. You keep pretending not to watch him. Pretending not to care that he’s across the circle of people, beer in hand, laughing at something someone said. At something she said. She’s right beside him—the girl. The one you’ve always had a quiet ache about. The one he used to flirt with before. The one you thought he moved on from after last night. But now her hand is wrapped lightly around his arm, and she’s leaning in close, laughing at something he said like he’s the funniest person alive. You can’t hear what they’re saying. You don’t need to. Your chest goes tight. Your stomach turns. Jake doesn’t push her away. He doesn’t lean in either, but he smiles. And that smile makes something splinter in your chest. Maybe it meant nothing to him. Maybe last night was just a moment. Maybe she’s the one he wants after all.

You can’t take it anymore. You quietly slip away from the group, no one notices. They’re too busy drinking and dancing. You walk farther down the beach, shoes in hand, until the noise fades behind you. Until it’s just the sound of waves, soft and rhythmic, and the wind in your hair. You find a small outcropping of rocks half-hidden by tall grass and sit there, your arms hugging your knees, heart full of things you can’t say out loud. The sand is cold. The air has a bite to it now that the sun is gone. But you don’t move. You just sit there quietly, aching. Until you hear footsteps in the sand behind you. You don’t need to look to know it’s him. Jake says your name gently, like he’s afraid you’ll run. You close your eyes. “Can I sit?” he asks. You nod without speaking. He drops into the sand beside you, knees bent, hands on the ground behind him. For a few moments, neither of you says anything. Then he murmurs, “Why’d you leave?” You shrug, still not looking at him. “Just wanted some air.” “I noticed you were gone.” He pauses. “I’ve been noticing a lot of things lately.” You say nothing. He swallows. “Did I do something?” You don’t answer. You can’t. Because your throat is already tight, and your eyes are already burning, and you don’t know how to tell him that watching him with her tonight shattered something fragile you were still trying to protect. You just whisper, “I don’t want to talk about it.” Jake looks at you for a long time. Then he says softly, “Okay. But I’m not leaving you out here alone.” And so he stays. Quiet and still, right beside you, just close enough that you can feel the warmth of him.

You sit beside him in silence, the ocean humming softly in the distance, moonlight casting silver over the waves. The party is still alive far down the beach, music pulsing faintly, voices rising and falling, but out here, it’s just you and Jake. The air feels heavy. Like the moment is pressing in from all sides. Jake picks at the hem of his shorts, stealing glances at you like he wants to speak but doesn’t know where to begin. You can feel the weight of his gaze, his confusion, his worry. And suddenly, you can’t take it anymore. Your voice is small—barely audible over the water—but it cuts through the space between you like lightning. “Did it mean anything to you?” He freezes. Your eyes stay fixed on the ocean. You can’t look at him. If you do, you’ll fall apart. You swallow hard, voice trembling. “Last night…when you—when we…” You hesitate. “Was it just a hook-up to you?” Jake turns toward you fully now. You still don’t meet his eyes. There’s a beat of silence. “What?” he says, like the wind got knocked out of him. You finally look at him, and his expression shatters something in you. He looks stunned. Crushed. Like he never saw this coming. “I woke up and you were gone,” you whisper. “And then today you just acted like everything was normal. And then tonight, you’re with her—laughing, letting her touch you—like nothing happened between us. Like I imagined all of it.”

Jake’s mouth opens, then closes. He’s speechless. You look away again. “So just tell me. Did it mean anything to you?” The silence stretches, and you feel your stomach twist. Then his voice breaks through, soft and shaking, “Of course it meant something to me.” You blink. Jake exhales hard, dragging a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know you felt this way. I thought you’d be weirded out. I thought maybe I crossed a line. I didn’t know what to do.” You look at him, and he’s not smug or cool or collected. He looks wrecked. “I wasn’t with her,” he says quickly. “Not like that. She grabbed me. I didn’t even realize it would look bad. I wasn’t thinking, I was just…I was looking for you.” Your chest tightens. “I’ve been trying to talk to you all day,” he says, his voice rising just a little. “But you kept shutting me out. I thought maybe you regretted it. That I fucked everything up.” Your breath catches. “I left because I didn’t want to wake you. That’s it. I was scared if I stayed, you’d wake up and regret it.” You’re both quiet for a moment, the weight of everything between you settling in the sand. Then he adds, barely above a whisper, “I’ve liked you for years. I just didn’t think I had a chance.” You stare at him, barely breathing. His words keep echoing in your head. It doesn’t feel real. Like maybe you dreamed this whole thing. Like your brain made it up just to protect you from the ache in your chest. But then Jake smiles. Soft and sheepish. Like he’s been holding this in forever and finally let it out.

You blink, eyes burning again—but this time for a different reason entirely. “You…you liked me?” you whisper, voice shaky. “This whole time?” Jake laughs under his breath, shaking his head like he can’t believe you don’t see it. “Are you kidding? You’ve been driving me crazy since the first time we met.” A breathless sound escapes you, half laugh, half sob, and you don’t even realize you’re crying until Jake reaches out and gently wipes a tear from your cheek. “Hey,” he murmurs, scooting closer, his hand cupping your jaw. “Don’t cry, baby.” You lean into his touch without thinking. Your heart is racing, chest rising and falling fast, and you can barely look at him without tearing up again. “I thought I lost you,” you whisper. “You never did,” he says. “I was yours before last night. You just didn’t know it.” Your lips part like you’re about to speak, but then Jake leans in, his forehead brushing yours, and he kisses you. Soft and gentle. His lips warm and slow against yours, he’s trying to tell you everything he hasn’t said with just one kiss. You melt into it, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt as he pulls you closer. When he finally pulls back, his lips are still brushing yours as he whispers, “I’m not going anywhere this time.” He leans back just slightly, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, catching the last trace of tears before they can fall again. “Wanna go back to the others now?” he asks, voice low and soft. You nod, your heart finally light again. “Yeah.” He smiles and laces your fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You both stand, still barefoot, brushing off the sand. The moon is higher now, and the wind cooler, but with Jake’s hand in yours, everything feels warm again. He doesn’t let go. And as you walk back toward the lights and the fire and the laughter, you swear the world feels a little different—like something shifted quietly inside it.

The party’s still going strong around the fire, but everything feels quieter now. Jake’s hand hasn’t left yours since you came back from the rocks. Every now and then he bumps your shoulder or leans close to say something soft, like he has to keep touching you just to believe you’re really still there. And every time your eyes meet, it lingers. There’s no awkwardness anymore. No guessing. No more pretending. Just heat. Raw, familiar, and simmering just beneath the surface. You’re sitting beside him on one of the big towels, watching the flames crackle and the others still half-drunk and laughing. But you don’t really care about any of it. Not when his fingers are trailing slow circles on your bare thigh. Not when you keep glancing at his mouth like you want to kiss him again—properly. You feel him shift beside you, and when you look up, he’s already watching you. “Wanna leave?” he murmurs, voice low against your ear. You bite your lip, nod once. “Yeah.” He stands up without another word, tugging you gently with him, and neither of you tells anyone goodbye.

The walk back to your place is quiet but not awkward. Just heavy with anticipation. Your fingers stay laced. He keeps stealing glances at you, and your heart won’t stop racing. By the time you get inside, the door’s barely closed before he turns to you, eyes dark, soft smile. Jake cups your face and kisses you, slow and tender. His hands trail down your sides, slipping under the hem of your dress, touching your skin like he missed it. You let your arms wrap around his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you sigh into his mouth. This time, there’s no rush. No foggy drunk blur. He doesn’t break the kiss as he picks you up—hands gripping the back of your thighs, holding you against his chest like you weigh nothing. You gasp softly against his mouth, arms tightening around his shoulders. He walks the familiar path to your bedroom, only the soft light of the hallway guiding the way. When he gets there, he gently lowers you to the bed. He pauses above you, one knee between your legs, his gaze sweeping over your face “You’re sure?” he asks again, voice low but steady. You nod, breath shaky. “I want you.” Jake lets out a soft exhale, like he’s been holding it in all night. “Good,” he whispers, brushing your hair from your face with the back of his knuckles. “Because I’m not letting you go this time.”

He leans down and kisses you again, slower and deeper. His mouth warm and sure, hands trailing along your waist, slipping beneath your dress to touch your bare skin. His lips move to your neck, dragging along the sensitive skin just below your jaw. “You smell so good,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Feel even better.” Your fingers dig into his shoulders. And when he slips a hand beneath your dress, eyes locked on yours, his voice drops to a whisper that sends shivers straight to your core, “Let me make you feel good again, yeah?” His fingers slip, sliding over your panties—and the moment he feels the dampness there, he lets out a low groan. “Fuck,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours for a beat. “Already wet for me?” You nod shakily, unable to speak, hips twitching as he rubs slow, deliberate circles over your clothed slit. The pressure of his fingers through the thin fabric has you gasping, legs parting on instinct. Then he presses a little harder, and your breath hitches, your body arching into his hand with a quiet, needy whimper. Jake smiles against your neck, voice low and warm. “Sound so sweet f’me, baby.”

Your thighs tremble. He slides your panties to the side, fingers finding your soaked folds, and then slowly, he slips two fingers inside. You moan softly, walls clenching around the intrusion, and Jake groans in your ear feeling how tight you are. “Shit,” he breathes, starting a gentle rhythm, curling his fingers with every stroke. “So fuckin’ soft around me.” You’re already squirming, hands fisting the sheets, barely able to process the pleasure building as he fucks his fingers into your gummy walls. Then his thumb finds your clit, pressing and rubbing in slow, perfect circles, and your head falls back with a whine. He kisses down your neck, messy and hungry, teeth scraping lightly over your skin. “There you go,” he murmurs between kisses.“Makin’ all those pretty noises just f'me.” You moan louder at that, your body completely at his mercy now—hips rocking up to meet every thrust of his fingers, desperate for more, for all of him.

You can feel it building, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, seconds away from falling apart completely, but then Jake pulls his fingers out. You gasp, whining at the loss, trembling with frustration. “Jake—” you whimper, breath ragged. He leans in, voice thick with heat. “Shhh, baby.” Before you can even beg, he’s already moving, kneeling between your legs, eyes locked on you as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and drags them down your thighs. Then your dress. He pushes it up and over your head, leaving you completely bare for him. Jake just stares for a moment—drinking you in like you’re something holy. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted. “Fuck,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair. “You’re so fucking perfect.” He pulls his shirt off in one swift motion, tossing it aside. His skin is warm and golden in the low light, muscles flexing as he shifts forward, settling himself between your thighs like it’s where he belongs.

You shiver as his hands slide up your legs, thumbs brushing gently along your inner thighs. Then he leans in close, until his breath is hot and heavy right against your dripping cunt. He doesn’t touch you yet. Just breathes. Watches. Fingers ghosting up and down your slick folds as you writhe under him, desperate and aching. “Look at you,” he murmurs, completely entranced. His thumb swipes gently through your wetness. “My sweet girl.” You bite your lip, a whimper slipping from your throat. And then, he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, soft and lingering, before sliding his tongue slowly up your slit, groaning low against you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

The moment his tongue touches you, it’s over. He moans low against your pussy like he’s tasting something he’s been craving for years. He starts slow, teasing licks through your folds, lips wrapping around your clit just enough to make your whole body jolt. And then he does it again. And again. Each time a little rougher. A little wetter. A little more desperate. “Fuuuck,” he groans into you, hands gripping your thighs, keeping you open for him. “You taste so fucking good.” You gasp, fingers tangling in his hair, hips lifting off the bed as he sucks your clit into his mouth. It’s messy, obscene—the sounds of him licking you echoing through the room, wet and filthy and perfect. Then suddenly, he’s slipping two fingers back inside you—pushing in deep, curling them up in just the right way, and your moan breaks into a whimper. “Ngh—Jake—!” He groans again, like your voice alone is enough to make him lose it. Then he adds a third finger.

Your back arches, legs trembling as he fucks them into your soaked cunt fast and deep, his palm smacking softly against your skin with every thrust. His mouth never leaves your clit—tongue flicking, sucking, devouring like it’s the only thing that matters. “Let go, baby,” he mumbles against you. “Wanna feel you.” You’re already so close. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t stop yourself from grinding against his face like your body’s got a mind of its own. The pressure snaps. You cry out, thighs clenching around his head as your orgasm crashes into you. Your fingers tug at his hair, your hips jerk, your moans breaking into soft, high-pitched whines as you fall apart in his mouth. But Jake doesn’t stop. He keeps licking. Keeps fucking his fingers into you like he wants to memorize the way you cum. And when you finally start to go still, trembling and breathless beneath him, he pulls back just enough to kiss your inner thigh, lips swollen, chin glistening with your slick. He crawls back up your body, kissing a trail from your trembling thighs to your stomach, over your chest—leaving warm, messy kisses across your skin before finally reaching your mouth. He kisses you hard. Hungry, deep, desperate, his lips still slick from tasting you, his tongue dragging over yours like he needs more of you in every way.

You can feel how hard he is now, pressed between your thighs. It’s driving you crazy—every movement, every breath just making it worse. Still kissing you, he breaks just long enough to whisper, breathless, “Need to be inside you, baby. Can’t wait anymore.” You nod, dazed, still catching your breath. Jake shifts back, and in one smooth motion, he pushes his shorts and boxers down, finally freeing his cock. You can’t help the soft gasp that leaves your lips, and Jake smirks through heavy breaths. He leans down again to kiss you, while his hand slides up your thigh. Then suddenly, he grabs one of your legs, lifting it over his shoulder. His other hand cups your breast, fingers squeezing, thumb brushing softly over your nipple as he lines himself up. “Look at me,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with heat. You do. And then he slides in. Slow at first, inch by inch, until he’s buried deep inside you, your walls fluttering around him. You moan his name, back arching off the bed.

Jake’s jaw clenches, his hand tightening on your thigh. “Fuck, baby…” he groans, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “You feel—so good—fuck.” His hips start to move, deep, rolling thrusts that drag every inch of him along your soaked walls. He keeps your leg hooked over his shoulder, the angle letting him hit every sweet spot, his other hand still cupping your breast like he can’t get enough. “So perfect…so tight for me—fuck!” he pants, voice all praise and heat. You moan louder, nails digging into his arms as he starts to pick up the pace—hips slapping against yours, breath hot and ragged, all while he keeps watching your face like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Jake’s rhythm starts to falter, his hips snapping faster, rougher, his breathing growing messier with each thrust. His brows are furrowed, lips parted, hair falling into his eyes as he fucks you like he’s starved for it.

“Oh my god—fuck,” he moans, head dropping forward. “You feel so fucking good, baby—shit, you’re so tight—oh fuck—” The way he says it, so breathless, whimpering, makes your whole body react. Your walls clench down around him instinctively, squeezing him hard, and it pulls another choked moan straight from his throat. His voice breaks again. “Ohhh fuck—just like that—holy shit—” He sounds so good. Ruined. Wrecked. Like he’s completely unraveling inside you. You’re a moaning mess beneath him, gasping for air, thighs trembling as he pounds into you deep and fast, hitting that perfect spot with every stroke. Then he brings his hand down, finding your clit like he knows exactly what you need. His fingers are messy, fast, rubbing tight circles in sync with his thrusts. You cry out, arching under him, clutching at his biceps as he holds himself over you and keeps fucking you through it. “Jakey—!” you sob, voice high and desperate. He groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard. “That’s it, baby,” he pants, kissing your jaw, your neck. “Come on—cum for me again—please, I need to feel it—need to feel you fall apart on me.”

You’re so close, your legs starting to shake, your fingers gripping him like a lifeline, your moans breaking into breathless little whimpers. And all you can hear is him—moaning, gasping, whimpering, praising you like he’s gone completely stupid from how good you feel. Your whole body locks up as that final wave crashes over you—tight and hot and overwhelming. You cry out his name, legs shaking, back arching as you cum hard around him, fluttering and pulsing deep on his cock. Jake chokes on a moan—high, broken, wrecked. “Fuuuck—so good—so fucking good, baby, oh my god—” He pulls out just in time, gritting his teeth through a loud, desperate groan as he fists himself and spills all over your pussy and thighs—sticky, thick ropes of cum painting your skin while his hips twitch and his breath catches in short, ragged pants. He collapses forward slightly, chest rising and falling, eyes still glazed with pleasure. Then his gaze drops down, seeing the mess he made of you, and he groans again, softer this time, like it’s too much to handle. “Shit,” he breathes. “You’re so fucking perfect…” He leans in and kisses you slow and warm. His hand brushes your cheek before moving to the nightstand, grabbing some tissue from a pack you kept there. “I got you” he murmurs. You hum softly as he wipes you clean—gentle, patient, still pressing soft kisses to your collarbone, your shoulder, anywhere his mouth can reach. And when he’s done, he tosses the tissues aside and crawls back into bed, settling in beside you. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you into his chest like he has to keep you close. You feel his breath in your hair, slow and steady now. His hands finds your waist, his thumb stroking lazily over your skin. Then he whispers, barely audible in the dark, “I’m yours…I’m not going anywhere.”

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