#I wanted him to be chaotic and fucked up to look at

[mssishipi]

TASTE OF INDULGENCE

CHAPTER 5 - TOO SWEET

They say three’s a crowd, but for Jay, Jake, and you—it’s starting to feel something closer to home. Love was never meant to be this simple, this natural, but with them, it’s loud in the best ways, a little chaotic, deeply tender, and a little too sweet to ever let go.

content tags: slice of life, established relationship, mc backstory, jayke backstory, fluff, fluff and little bit of angst, then fluff. timeskip, this chapter is corny but at least it's happy ending. and! take time to read my note at the end pls.

explicit content (smut): vaginal and anal fingering, cunnilingus, rimming, unprotected sex, threesome (dom jake, dom jay x sub reader) somnophilia, blowjob, slightly dub con, double penetration, unprotected anal sex (fxm), mxm scenes, multiple sex position. MDNI. WC: 18.2K

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4 YEARS AGO

JAKE grinned ear to ear, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as his gaze swept over the crowd. The music was loud, the lights erratic, and people were already spilling drinks and laughing too loud but Jake loved it.

This was exactly what he pictured college to be.

"Baby, are you excited for the first day of school?" he asked brightly, turning to face his boyfriend. Jay stood beside him with a disinterested scowl, arms loosely crossed, his eyes scanning the mass of dancing bodies with veiled judgment.

Jake bumped his shoulder playfully, trying to coax a smile out of him. "Come on. Parties like this existed in high school too. Don't act like you've never seen drunk teenagers twerking to bad remixes."

Jay raised an eyebrow at him, deadpan. "I didn't attend parties. This is my first time."

Jake blinked, surprised. "Wait, seriously?"

Jay nodded, then glanced back toward the crowd with a look of mild disgust. "And it's gross."

Jake laughed, slinging an arm over his shoulder. "You're such a grandpa. Come on, just pretend you're having fun."

Jay sighed but didn't resist when Jake intertwined their fingers, pulling him gently through the throng of sweaty bodies and flashing lights. His grip tightened protectively as people bumped into them left and right.

Then came the chant from the far end of the room, loud and synchronized over the music: "Go, bad bitch, go bad bitch go! Go, bad bitch, go bad bitch go!"

Jake's eyes lit up immediately, he grinned, tugging Jay toward the source of the chaos. Jay hesitated for a split second, but followed.

The crowd had formed a loose circle around the center of the living room. Phones were out, people laughing and cheering, hyping up whoever was in the spotlight. And there, in the middle—was you.

You were lying flat on a makeshift bar table, skin glowing under the colored lights, a lime wedge resting between your lips. Two other girls leaned in, each on either side of you. One was licking a trail of salt up from your stomach, the other from the base of your neck. The moment the salt was gone, they dove in, mouths finding yours together to take the lime between their teeth.

The crowd erupted. Phones flashed. Drunken hollers echoed. Someone near Jay screamed, "Holy fuck, she's wild!"

Jake whooped, clapping his hands. Jay, on the other hand, just stood there, his mouth slightly ajar. And neither of them looked away.

The rest of the party blurred by after that. And somehow, Jake stayed surprisingly clear-headed. His tolerance had always been higher than most. Jay kept his hands shoved in his pockets, back pressed to the wall, his usual role as Jake's quiet shadow. He didn't like parties, but he stayed—for Jake.

Later that night, as the house began to quiet and bodies thinned, a senior stumbled down the hallway, trying to prop you up in his arms. You were clearly out of it—eyes half-lidded, mumbling incoherently, limbs too loose.

"Please," the senior slurred, gesturing to the others with one hand while the other barely kept you upright. "Her dorm's just across from the school. My car's full. I can't take her."

Jay narrowed his eyes instantly. Then another guy tried to step in. "Hey! I don't trust my best friend with some stranger. You're dumb as hell. I'll take her." His hand slid around your waist but missed its mark as he nearly toppled over himself.

Jake was already moving. "Alright," he said smoothly, stepping between you and the two drunks. "We've got her."

"Don't worry about it," Jay said flatly, already reaching for your arm.

Jake crouched in front of you, grinning softly. "Hey there, party queen. Time to go, yeah?" You blinked slowly, confused, but didn't resist when Jake turned and let you slump over his back. He hooked his arms under your thighs, carrying you.

Sunoo appeared around the corner at that exact moment, also tipsy and clinging to Jay's shoulder for balance. "H-hey! Don't forget about me, you assholes," he slurred, his cheek pressed to Jay's arm.

Jay sighed, feeling Sunoo's weight. He looked at Jake, who was now adjusting you more securely onto his back.

"This is not how I thought tonight would go," Jay muttered, earning a soft laugh from Jake.

But still, neither of them complained.

"That was you?!"

Your eyes widened in disbelief as you stared at Jake, who was casually popping a marshmallow into his mouth, already mid-laugh.

"Yup!" he said, chewing with a grin. "I didn't even remember it until Jay brought it up again. He was the one who recognized you."

You let out a breathless laugh, pointing at him with an accusing finger. "Oh my God—that's so weird! There's a name for that, right? When something connects later, after the fact..."

Jake raised an eyebrow, still grinning. "You mean fate?"

"No, no, not fate. Like... a theory. Something about timing, or patterns—ugh, what is it called?" You tapped your temple, your brows furrowed as you struggled to catch the slippery thought.

Jay, who had been quietly lounging nearby, finally spoke up in his usual calm, dry tone. "Red string theory?"

You turned toward him, eyes lighting up. "Yes! That! The one about people being connected by an invisible red string, right? No matter the time, place, or circumstances."

Jake raised an eyebrow, smirking around the marshmallow he was chewing. "Wow, look at Jay getting all romantic."

Jay rolled his eyes but didn't deny it. "Just answering the question."

You grinned, leaning back on your hands as the warmth from the fire flickered across your face. "Kind of wild, though. Like... what are the chances that it was you two who carried me back that night? I didn't even remember your faces."

Jake let out a laugh, tossing another marshmallow into his mouth. "Yeah, but that's so corny."

You whipped your head toward him, offended. "Excuse me? The nerve of you to even say the word corny to me!"

Jake only grinned wider, catching you in one of his spontaneous bear hugs, nuzzling his cold nose against your cheek. A habit of his.

It had been two months now since you'd made it official—the three of you. A real relationship. And it still felt surreal sometimes, like you were walking through someone else's dream. But the dream never burst. It just kept unfolding, piece by piece.

Unlike the early days, you had begun to notice more. More about them.

Jake always nuzzled his nose against your cheek when he was especially happy or needy. It was his way of grounding himself. He still clung like a koala in his sleep, and the more affectionate he was during the day, the more clingy he became at night.

Jay, on the other hand, didn't smother. But he paid attention. He remembered the flavor of non-coffee drink you liked without asking. Always gave you the last bite. Always checked if your charger was plugged in or if you had your meds in your bag. He wouldn't say sweet words often, but it showed in the quietest ways—like warming your side of the bed when you went to shower, or silently making your favorite coffee just the way you liked it without a word.

Though you still lived separately, your things had slowly begun to gather in their apartment—spare clothes folded in their drawers, your skincare beside the sink. Most of your nights ended there, tangled in the sheets of Jay's bed, wrapped between the two of them.

Finals were over. You were technically on break now, waiting for your internship assignments to be announced. It gave you more time with them.

Polyamory still wasn't something you felt fully comfortable sharing publicly. People had opinions. Judgments. And while you weren't ashamed of your relationship, you weren't ready to offer it up for scrutiny either. But Jake and Jay—God, they made sure you never had to feel small or hidden.

If you held Jake's hand in public, Jay held your other. If someone stared too long, Jay would narrow his eyes and Jake would kiss your cheek just to spite them. They protected you from the outside world in quiet ways. And somehow, that made it easier to keep going.

Because every relationship needs communication.

But yours needed more than that.

You were the type of girl who overthought everything. The kind who cried over imaginary scenarios at 2 a.m., the kind who spiraled in her head over a misread emoji. But Jay and Jake had never once made you feel like a third wheel—never once made you question if you were wanted.

If anything, they had a way of anchoring you when your own mind started pulling you under.

Jake was always the first to notice. He'd tilt his head, study your face for a few seconds, and then, without saying a word, climb into your lap, wrap himself around you, and whisper something stupid like, "You look like you're thinking evil thoughts again." And somehow, his playful teasing would melt the anxiety before it could take root.

Jay's approach was different. He didn't ask what was wrong. He'd just pull you to his side, rest your head on his chest, and let his fingers stroke your hair until the noise in your brain dulled to a hum. He wouldn't pry, but if you started to talk, he'd listen. Not interrupt. Not dismiss. Just... listen.

That's how it worked, somehow.

Jake was sunshine, so warm, chaotic, and always moving.

Jay was moonlight, so quiet, steady, and always present.

And you... you were still trying to understand how two people like that had managed to wrap themselves around your life so effortlessly.

It wasn't always easy. Sometimes, you panicked over little things—if they spent too much time alone without you, if they didn't text back fast enough, if Jake seemed too tired or Jay seemed too distant.

But then Jake would crawl into your lap during movie night and demand kisses like a spoiled puppy, or Jay would press a coffee into your hands in the morning and quietly say, "It's been steeped for five minutes. I know you like it stronger," and all the doubt would dissolve.

They never made you ask for love. They just gave it. In ways you were still learning how to receive without guilt.

Sometimes you would lie in bed between them, one of Jake's arms draped across your waist, Jay's fingers brushing the curve of your thigh, and you'd just stare at the ceiling and wonder how the hell this became your life.

How the hell you went from crying alone in your dorm bed, convinced love wasn't something that came easily for girls like you... to waking up between two people who made you feel like the sun never set when you were around.

In your relationship, solo moments with each of them were fine—you'd communicated that early on. Sometimes, it was just you and Jay, or just you and Jake. But what you loved most was when the three of you were together. That's when it felt the most whole. The most right.

Sex was inevitable, of course. Desire had long since stopped being subtle between the three of you. But you preferred it when it was all of you, when they were both there, touching you, watching each other, and you.

You were sprawled across Jay's mattress, your breath catching as you blinked up at the ceiling. Sweat clung to your skin, the aftershocks of your orgasm still tingling through your limbs. Jake lay beside you, flushed and grinning, his chest rising and falling in slow rhythm.

"Huh? We're not going to do another round?" you asked breathlessly, lifting your head as your arm flopped over Jake's chest. "I still have energy..."

Jay, who was already standing by the bed, glanced over his shoulder with a raised brow. "You say that now, but you were shaking ten minutes ago."

"I always shake after!" you countered, voice pitching up into a whine. "I can go again. Please?"

Jay shook his head with an amused exhale, grabbing a towel and returning to the bed. He knelt beside you, gently guiding you to lie on your back. "You got diagnosed with low blood sugar last month, remember?" he murmured, dabbing sweat from your brow. "We're not pushing it. Not tonight."

"But I'm not even that tired," you pouted, reaching out to tug at his wrist as he wiped you down. Your eyes flicked toward Jake, who just burst out laughing.

"She's doing it again," Jake chuckled, brushing your hair back from your face. "Trying to act all bratty after coming twice."

You stuck your tongue out at him, still sulking. "It's not bratty if I mean it. I'm literally telling you what I want."

"Yeah?" Jay leaned down, lips brushing your temple. "Well, I want you to stop being hardheaded."

You huffed. "That's unfair."

In those times, you noticed how Jay and Jake would always bicker over the smallest things. At first, you thought Jay was too mature to even entertain those petty arguments. He always carried himself with such calm, measured detachment. But that image of him shifted entirely the day they started fighting over a Lego set you had randomly bought for fun.

It was supposed to be a relaxing evening, just the three of you lounging around the apartment after dinner. You pulled out the box with a grin, half-joking when you said, "Let's see if we can finish this without throwing hands."  You had no idea you were basically handing them a fuse and a match.

Jake immediately dived into the pieces like an overexcited child, sorting bricks. "We're starting with the base," he declared, laying out the instructions.

"No, we should build the smaller sections first," Jay countered, already pulling pieces aside, ignoring Jake entirely.

"Jay," Jake said slowly, narrowing his eyes, "you always do this. We follow my lead, and the thing turns out perfect."

"Says the guy who made the Millennium Falcon with an upside-down cockpit," Jay replied dryly, not even looking up.

You sat back on the floor, biting your lip to stifle a laugh as they bickered like a married couple over Lego.

Jay's brows were furrowed in intense concentration, silently studying the instruction manual. Meanwhile, Jake grew more animated by the second, gesturing with tiny plastic bricks in his hand.

"That piece doesn't go there," Jay said flatly, not looking up.

Jake scoffed. "It's a spaceship. We can be creative."

"This isn't abstract expressionism, it's an architectural set. You can't just freestyle a spaceship onto a French café."

"It's called innovation," Jake replied, sticking the rogue brick in anyway with a triumphant grin.

You sipped your drink, amused, watching the war unfold.

But it didn't end with Lego. No, their domestic chaos knew no bounds.

Take cooking, for example.

It always started with innocent intentions—"Let's cook dinner together," Jake would chirp, and you'd foolishly think it was a good idea.

Until Jay started cutting the vegetables.

"You're cutting it wrong," Jake muttered one time, hovering behind him.

Jay paused, knife halfway through a carrot. "There's a wrong way to cut something into cubes?"

"Yeah," Jake said, grabbing another knife. "You're not respecting the angles. Look—like this."

Jay raised an eyebrow. "It's dinner,"

You tried to offer a diplomatic smile as both of them now had knives and were demonstrating their cutting styles with increasing passive-aggression. Jake's "angles" turned into tiny artistic cubes. Jay's "efficiency" turned into thick slices. And somehow, in the end, you were the one cleaning up carrot peels from the floor while both of them stood back, arms crossed, debating culinary theory.

They fought like cats in a paper bag over the most ridiculous things but it was all in good fun. It never lasted. The bickering always ended with Jay rolling his eyes, Jake kissing his cheek with an exaggerated mwah, and you sandwiched between the two of them, watching it all.

You loved it. You loved the chaos, the noise, the warmth of it all. And maybe, you thought, that's what love looked like for the three of you.

A little loud. A little messy. And just right.

Well, in every relationship, there comes a time when a little space becomes necessary. A moment to breathe, to realize that even when you move as a unit, sometimes individual paths need to unfold.

You hadn't realized how tightly the three of you had wound yourselves together, how naturally it had become "we" instead of "I" until now.

"You're not going to continue the internship?" you asked, blinking in surprise, staring at Jake.

Jake adjusted his glasses nervously, avoiding your gaze. You turned toward Jay, who stood silently halfway up the stairs, one hand braced on the railing. He met your gaze with a resigned shrug, as if he didn't have the right words either.

"You passed the exam," you said gently, trying to piece it together. "Jay's the only one assigned to a different clinic. Why, baby? Is something bothering you?"

Jake exhaled a long breath, his shoulders drooping. Without a word, he plopped onto the sofa, his lips pressing into a tight pout. Behind his glasses, you saw the familiar shimmer of tears. He was trying to keep it together, but his emotions betrayed him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice cracking at the edges.

Your heart clenched painfully. You quickly sat down next to him, your hand instinctively reaching for his.

"Fifteen to twenty hours per week," you said softly, squeezing his hand. "We can do that. Are you... are you getting anxious again?"

You knew Jake's history with his own self-doubt, how sometimes he spiraled into believing he wasn't good enough no matter what he did. How the pressure to "keep up" gnawed at him until he felt hollow.

He hesitated for a long moment before finally speaking. "I don't think I like Psychology anymore," he admitted, his voice so small it barely made it to your ears.

"But Jake, it's only one year left—" The words stumbled out automatically, and the moment they left your mouth, you wished you could snatch them back.

Jake's face crumpled slightly, and you mentally slapped yourself. God, stupid. He doesn't need pressure. He needs understanding.

You exhaled shakily, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "I didn't mean that. You're allowed to change your mind. You're allowed to choose what's right for you."

Jay came down the stairs slowly, sitting on Jake's other side without a word. Jake sniffled, rubbing the sleeve of his hoodie against his nose. "I just feel like... like I'm failing," he mumbled.

"You're not failing," Jay said. "You're just being honest with yourself. That's a hell of a lot braver than forcing yourself to stay somewhere you don't belong."

You nodded against Jake's shoulder, feeling the truth of Jay's words settle deep in your chest.

Jake hiccupped a little laugh through his tears, shaking his head. His hands twisted nervously in the hem of his hoodie, and you hated the way he looked so small in that moment, like a boy trying too hard to be okay.

"I'm sorry," Jake whispered, his voice breaking again. "I know we planned everything. We talked about graduating together. About celebrating at the beach after..." His words trailed off, his eyes glossing over with more tears that slipped freely down his cheeks.

Without thinking, you reached up, adjusting his glasses with careful fingers, brushing the tears from his face. Your thumb swiped under his eyes gently.

"We can still do that," you said firmly, giving him the softest smile. "Graduation. The beach. All of it. Nothing has to change just because your path does."

Jake blinked at you, as if the possibility of still being loved, still being included, hadn't even crossed his mind. "You're not leaving us behind," you added, a little choked up yourself. "We're still doing everything, together. Always."

Jake let out a shaky breath, finally tipping forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His arms came around you tightly. Jay shifted closer, one large hand resting between Jake's shoulder blades, his other hand found yours where it rested against Jake's back, linking your fingers together.

You closed your eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the swell in your chest. "I love you," you whispered, so quietly you weren't sure at first if they heard it.

Jake pulled back instantly, his eyes wide and stunned, still glistening with tears that clung stubbornly to his lashes.

"D-Did you just say you love me?!" he burst out, his voice wobbling, a new kind of shine lighting up his whole face.

You blinked at him, your own tears slipping down freely now. "Why?" you sniffed, wiping your nose clumsily. "Did I never say those words before?"

Jake immediately turned his head toward Jay, still clutching your hand, his whole body practically vibrating with emotion. "No! She never said it! Right, babe?"

Jay, who usually kept his emotions tucked neatly behind a cool exterior, looked just as rattled. He gave a small, stunned nod, his lips parting like he couldn't believe it either.

"Say it again!" Jake begged, bouncing a little in place. You laughed through your tears, your heart swelling, cracking wide open as you threw your arms around both of them.

"I love you!" you shouted, your voice ringing out.

Jake made a choked sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, tackling you backward onto the couch, peppering kisses all over your cheeks, forehead, anywhere he could reach.

Jay leaned over you both, quieter but smiling that rare, soft smile you loved so much. He cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

"I love you too," he murmured, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek. "Both of you."

You had gotten so used to the three of you moving along the same path—same direction, same goals—that it almost felt foreign now to see it change.

But love wasn't about charging toward the same finish line at the same speed. It wasn't a race. It was about adjusting your pace, slowing down when someone needed more time, waiting without resentment, walking forward together even when the road split for a while.

And that was okay.

"So, he's planning on taking Physics now?" Sunoo mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich, crumbs spilling onto his sleeve as you walked together across the campus avenue, the late afternoon sun dipping low behind the buildings.

"Technically, he's not exactly back to being a first-year," Wonyoung pointed out, sipping on her milk tea as she balanced her phone in her other hand. "Most of his minor subjects are credited. He just has to take the major ones now."

"Irregular student life," Sunghoon grumbled beside Sunoo, gnawing on his chicken skewer. He squinted up at the sky like the very thought of coursework exhausted him. "He'll do fine though. He looks like the quiet, hardworking type."

Sunoo turned his head with a dramatic blink. "Silent? Who are you even talking about?"

"Jake? One of her boyfriends," Sunghoon said casually, waving his skewer toward you. "The one with the birthmark on his neck?"

You opened your mouth to correct him but Sunoo beat you to it, rolling his eyes so hard. "That's Jay, dumbass. Jake's the one who won't shut up about fucking Pokémon."

Wonyoung snorted into her drink, while you just laughed. They were teasing, sure. But there was something grounding about it, too. Like your relationship, no matter how unconventional, It was accepted without any weirdness among your closest friends.

Maybe that's what love looked like too. Not just inside the relationship, but outside of it—the way it wove itself into the spaces between you and the people you cared about.

You exhaled, a small, breathless laugh escaping you. "Sigh, I can't believe we're graduating," you said, shifting the strap higher on your shoulder as the four of you—Sunoo, Wonyoung, Sunghoon, and you—strolled toward the parking lot.

"I can't believe I survived without strangling a professor," Sunoo deadpanned, earning a chuckle from Wonyoung.

It was surreal. You still remembered crying in a ramen aisle. That version of you felt so far away now, like someone else entirely. Not because things were magically easy, but because you'd made it through, with them.

Time passed. Like it always does. Jay and you dove into your internships, different clinics, and long hours. Meanwhile, Jake transferred universities and somehow made himself busier, picking up part-time hours at a convenience store near campus, despite not needing the money.

"For experience," he'd said with a casual shrug when you asked. Then ruffled your hair and kissed your forehead before slipping out the door.

On a rainy Wednesday, you found yourself in Jay's apartment, the air filled with the scent of steak that he cooked and the faint hum of your laptop fan. You were standing behind him, your thumbs digging into his shoulders as he sat at the edge of the bed, posture slouched, brows drawn tight in pure exhaustion.

"Where are you even assigned?" you asked with your voice soft. "You look like you've been carrying the entire hospital on your back."

Jay groaned low in his throat as you hit a particularly stiff knot. His eyes fluttered closed, and he tilted his head slightly to the side. "Intake assessments and psych evaluations," he muttered. "A couple of the psychologists are already hinting they want me on the team."

You raised a brow, intrigued. "So... master's track?"

He tilted his chin up just enough to meet your gaze. "I don't know," he admitted. "Honestly? I only took psychology in the first place because I wanted to follow Jake. I never really had a plan past that."

Your hands slowed, thumbs stilling on his skin as you searched for the right words. Vulnerability wasn't something Jay handed out freely and it made this moment feel heavier, more fragile.

"You don't have to decide now," you said softly, stepping closer so your chest touched his back. "Let's just take the licensure exam together first. You can figure the rest out after."

Jay didn't say anything at first, but his hand reached up to find yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a quiet thank you. It was one of those moments where everything felt deeper than words.

You rested your cheek against his shoulder, wrapping your arms fully around him in a warm back hug. "It's been a while since we let ourselves just rest," you whispered, nuzzling gently into the curve of his neck. "Let's take it slow today."

Jay hummed in agreement, leaning into your touch. "We can go shopping tomorrow," he said after a beat. "Jake doesn't have class, and I noticed your skincare stash is pretty much empty."

You smiled against his skin, the corners of your mouth lifting. "I still have a few things left at the dorm."

"But not the good stuff," he teased, and you could hear the soft smile in his voice.

The next few months followed the same rhythm—routine, steady, exhausting. Your days blurred together in a cycle of early mornings and late shifts, and while your body pushed forward, it was starting to show the weight of everything. The kind of tired that sleep couldn't fix began to settle into your bones.

But at the end of every long day, there they were.

Jake stood at the edge of the sidewalk in his uniform, his name tag slightly crooked, his smile brighter than the streetlights flickering on around him. Jay leaned beside him in his white clinical coat.

Jake spotted you first, as always, and waved with both hands like he hadn't seen you in years.

And just like that, the heavy tiredness cracked open.

You smiled without even realizing it, quickening your pace as you crossed the street. Your bag slipped from your shoulder as your arms went around both of their necks, pulling them in close. You stood on your tiptoes, pressing your face into the space between their shoulders, breathing them in—Jake's warm scent of citrus and soap, Jay's subtle cologne and hospital linen.

Their arms wrapped around you instantly. You felt Jake press a kiss into your hair, heard Jay sigh softly as he pulled you in tighter.

"I missed you," Jake whispered, like he hadn't already texted you seventeen times that day.

You loved them. With every piece of your heart.

And finally. After everything, the sleepless nights, the breakdowns, the internships, and all the moments you wanted to quit—you stood here.

Your hair had grown down to your neck again, long enough for Sunoo to curl it into loose mermaid waves that bounced as you moved. You adjusted your toga, smoothing the fabric over your shoulders, and reapplied a layer of lip gloss while the ceremony rolled on in the background.

You glanced over your shoulder, eyes scanning the rows until they landed on him.

Jay was seated a few rows behind you, already in his cap and gown, his posture perfect as always. But when he noticed you looking, his expression softened. A small smile tugged at his lips, and he gave you a gentle wave. You couldn't help but grin back, lifting your hand to blow him a subtle, playful kiss. His ears turned pink almost instantly.

It still didn't feel real—graduation. But the weight of the cap on your head, the neat fold of the sash across your chest, and the buzzing excitement in the air around you made it sink in slowly. You did it. All of you did.

You'd earned Latin honors, your name printed in gold in the program. And Jay, unsurprisingly graduated as Magna Cum Laude, plus extra recognition for his work with a mental health advocacy organization.

The moment his name was called, the crowd burst into polite applause but that was completely drowned out by a very loud, very familiar voice near the back.

"THAT'S MY BOYFRIEND!!" Jake yelled, hands cupped around his mouth. Several heads turned. You laughed as you lifted your phone to capture the moment, zooming in to record Jay's furrowed brows and flushed ears as he made his way across the stage with practiced composure, pretending not to hear Jake's scream.

When the ceremony ended, you barely made it a few feet outside the venue before you were tackled into a tight, warm hug.

"Congrats, my lovers!!!" Jake beamed, pulling both you and Jay into his arms. He squeezed tightly before finally pulling back and grinning from ear to ear.

"Tadaaa!" he sang, revealing a bouquet in each hand—peonies and sunflowers for you, and a crisp arrangement of white roses and eucalyptus for Jay.

Jay shook his head with a small laugh, eyes fond as he accepted the flowers. You blinked against the sting of happy tears, clutching yours to your chest.

"Thank you, I love you," you sobbed, planting a loud kiss on his cheek.

"I love you more," he whined, hugging you back and forth.

"Sunoo! Take a picture of us!" Jake shouted, still hugging you.

A few steps ahead, Sunoo didn't even turn around—his face crumpled with exasperation as he raised a middle finger in your direction. Jake was still clinging to you, and Jay was trying to untangle himself from the three-way hug without knocking anyone over.

"Sunoo, please!" you called between giggles, clutching your bouquet in one hand and trying to shove Jake off with the other. "Come on, just one picture!"

Sunoo finally turned around, his expression the perfect blend of annoyance and affection. "You're all disgusting," he muttered, but he was already pulling his phone from his pocket, lining up the shot.

"Okay! Say 'I wasted my youth on a degree I'll never use!'"

You laughed and tugged Jake into the middle. Jay slid an arm around Jake's shoulder while you leaned in from the other side, flashing a peace sign and pouting your lips just in time for the shutter.

For the next pose, Jake was the one to yank you into the center. You wrapped your arms around both of them, grinning at the camera. Right as the second flash went off, they leaned in at the same time, planting kisses on both of your cheeks.

Sunoo made a dramatic gagging noise behind the camera, but you were too caught off guard to react—until a wide smile broke across your face. You lifted your hands, cupping their jaws gently, holding them there as if to say: stay. Stay in this moment.

Just like they'd plan for your upcoming anniversary, Jay and Jake had organized a trip to the beach.

And, of course, Sunoo was coming too.

"Bitch, I am not going to sit with you," Sunoo scoffed, rolling his eyes as he hauled his tote bag into the car.

"Well, Jay's driving, and I'm more of a backseat guy anyway," Jake said with a lazy grin, already adjusting his neck pillow. "If you want the front so bad, go ahead."

"No way, dude!" Sunoo scrunched his nose, then reached forward to tug your hair playfully as you buckled yourself into the passenger seat.

"Please, sit beside me!" he whined dramatically.

Jay leaned over to adjust your seatbelt, giving it a final click before gently brushing his fingers over your shoulder. You tilted your head to glance at the two of them in the backseat.

"It's only a three-hour drive," you said gently. "You'll survive."

Sunoo leaned back in the seat with a sigh, arms crossed, his face scrunched up. "Three hours in a moving tin can with him?" he muttered, jabbing a thumb toward Jake. "Barely."

Jay started the engine with a quiet sigh, already bracing himself. The soft murmur of the playlist filled the car as you pulled onto the open road, the city gradually melting into stretches of sun-washed highway and scattered trees.

For a few blissful minutes, the car was calm. Then, predictably, Jake opened his mouth.

"So," he began, sitting up a little straighter. "Did you guys know that if you accelerate fast enough, time literally moves slower for you? Like, time dilation."

You looked over your shoulder with raised brows. "Here we go."

"No, no—listen! Think about it. If Jay drives fast enough, like, close to the speed of light fast—then technically this three-hour trip would feel way shorter for him than for us."

"Except we'd all be dead because we'd vaporize before hitting Mach 1," Sunoo muttered under his breath, pulling his hoodie up over his head. "God, why are you like this?"

"But just imagine," Jake went on, eyes sparkling. "If we had a car that could do that. Like, space road trips. Time gets all wibbly. Three hours for us could be ten years for someone else. We could be out here vibing to music and come back to Earth and everything's changed."

Jay stared forward in silence, his grip on the wheel tightening fractionally.

"Jake," he said, voice low. "Please stop talking about bending time while I'm trying to figure out which exit to take."

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. "Is this your subtle way of saying we should be grateful Jay drives us through time and space at a safe 90 kilometers an hour?"

"Exactly!" Jake said brightly. "He's basically our chauffeur and a physics miracle."

Jay let out a long, slow exhale. "If I start accelerating at light speed, it's going to be straight into a wall."

Jake gasped. "That's momentum, babe."

Sunoo groaned louder this time, slapping a hand over his face.

When the three of you finally arrived at the beachside hotel, the sun was already dipping low on the horizon, casting streaks of amber and rose across the ocean.

You'd booked a one-room suite that came with a connected layout—two separate bedrooms, one shared living space, and a wide balcony overlooking the waves.

Without hesitation, you decided to bunk with Sunoo. After all, you were the one who insisted he come along in the first place. You didn't want him feeling like a fourth wheel. Jake had whined dramatically when you made the decision, slumping onto the couch with his arms flung over his face.

But the moment Sunoo turned to glare at him, Jake shut up immediately.

"Wow," Sunoo gasped as he threw his overnight bag onto the nearest bed. "How much did you spend on this? This is fucking luxurious!"

He flopped down like a satisfied cat, legs in the air, starfish-style, bouncing on the mattress.

You dropped your backpack near the dresser and laughed. "I don't know. I tried to give Jay money for it, but he just told me not to worry about it. Said he'd take care of everything."

Sunoo sat up, his expression half-impressed, half-scandalized. "I know he's rich—but this rich?"

You walked over to the vanity and opened one of the drawers, expecting it to be empty. It wasn't. It was stocked with complimentary skincare in glass jars that looked expensive. You didn't even recognize the brand.

"Yeah," you muttered with a shake of your head. "He's always been kind of... low-key about it."

And it was true. Jay never talked much about money, or his family, or what exactly his parents did. You knew it was something in finance, he'd mentioned it in passing once, but never with any detail. Not that you pried. That wasn't really your thing, and he always had this quiet way of changing the subject that made it clear there were lines he didn't want to cross.

You'd only met his father twice. Once at some formal dinner event where you weren't even introduced as his girlfriend—just as Jay's "close friend," which, at the time, didn't bother you as much as it probably should have. The second time had been more casual, a short visit when his father was in town.

You knew Jake's family ran a business too—something equally stable, equally well-off. Money had never been a problem for either of them. You'd met Jake's mother once, and she'd been warm and lively, like him.  His older brother, you'd spoken with more than a few times—he went to the same university as you, and was easy to talk to, open in a way that made Jake's background feel a little less distant.

You opened the sliding door to the balcony, just to breathe in the sea air. Below, people were still wandering the shoreline, some with towels slung over their shoulders, others in flip-flops with dripping ice cream cones.

You leaned your forearms on the railing and exhaled, breathing deep, your thoughts drifted somewhere you usually avoided: your family.

You trusted them. They weren't conservative. Not in a way that would ever make you feel unsafe. But still... you couldn't help but wonder how it would go. Really go.

Introducing Jay and Jake as both of your boyfriend? Something about that still made your stomach twist, not because it felt wrong, but because it was different. Not a lie. Just not the kind of story your parents would expect to hear over dinner.

You imagined it. Sitting across the table. Your mom would probably ask how school was, then what Jay was majoring in, then what Jake was doing after graduation. Then maybe, when the moment came, you'd say it—"they're both my boyfriends."

You winced at the thought, fingers tightening slightly on the railing. It wasn't shame, it wasn't even fear, not really. It was that strange vulnerability, the kind that comes when you love something so much, you're terrified to watch someone else misunderstand it.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the wind thread through your hair. Maybe not now. Maybe not yet. But eventually, you'd have to tell them. Eventually, you'd have to share this part of your world.

"Hey."

Your eyes fluttered open at the familiar voice. You turned your head to find Jay standing just inside the doorway, backlit by the warm light of the room. Behind him, you caught a glimpse of Jake barging in, already diving onto the bed with zero regard for personal space, promptly tugging at Sunoo's legs and earning a dramatic scream in return.

You smiled, the kind that bloomed slow and soft, turning back toward the sea. "Hey," you echoed.

You felt Jay step closer, then, warm arms circled your waist from behind. His chin came to rest lightly on top of your head, and you leaned back into his chest without thinking

"Are you okay?" he murmured, soft enough for just you to hear. "Do you like it?"

"Of course," you said with a small laugh, tilting your head slightly to brush against him. "I love it, Jay. Thank you."

His nose nudging gently into your hair before his lips pressed the lightest kiss to your temple. The kind that made everything pause for just a second. The kind that left your heart fluttering.

Even now—after a year of being with them—this feeling hadn't faded.

That sweet, silly rush in your stomach. It was all still there. Still new, still dizzying in the best way.

Jay held you a little closer, his thumbs stroking slow circles against your sides. Behind you, Jake's cackling echoed through the room as Sunoo threatened to throw him off the balcony.

A minute later, Jake came barreling out onto the balcony, full of loud energy and bright eyes. Without warning, he wrapped you in a rough, bouncing hug and started peppering kisses all over your face—forehead, cheek, nose, chin, each one louder and messier than the last.

You squealed in protest through your laughter, half-heartedly trying to push him away, but Jake only grinned wider. Jay let out a small chuckle and pulled him in too, arms closing around both of you. He kissed the top of Jake's head, then yours. And just barely, beneath the breath of the breeze and the rustle of waves below, you heard him whisper:

"I love you. Both of you."

Since the sun was already beginning its slow descent, the four of you decided to wander the local beach town and hunt down some fresh seafood. It should've been easy, but nothing ever was when it came to your group.

It was, well—how would you describe it? Chaotic. Definitely chaotic.

Because somehow, none of you knew how to properly eat lobster. Except Jay. Of course Jay did. He sat there effortlessly cracking shells and separating the meat for the three of you. Meanwhile, Jake had nearly launched half his shrimp into Sunoo's lap.

By the end of the night, your table was covered in seafood scraps, crumpled napkins, and three different sauces spilled onto your pants. You wouldn't have changed a thing.

The next morning arrived, you'd planned this day from the start—beach time.

Down by the shore, the sun was still soft in the sky, the sand warm beneath bare feet. Sunoo and Jake were already out on a big inflatable air bed, lazily drifting in the shallows, drinks in hand and sunglasses slightly too big for their faces.

Jay had volunteered to stay on the beach, a towel draped over his lap, focused on a portable grill he'd set up in the shade of a beach umbrella. He was flipping skewers of marinated meat and pineapple slices.

You had your body half in the water, arms hooked over the edge of the air bed, letting yourself float lazily beside it. The sun warmed your back, and you listened with half a smile to the conversation between the two clowns above you.

"I still don't understand how you can't swim," Sunoo said, voice shaded with judgment.

"I can swim," Jake replied. "I just... choose not to, for safety reasons."

"You panic the moment your feet don't touch sand!"

"Which is a valid fear, Sunoo! Ever heard of deep sea creatures?"

You rolled your eyes fondly and, with a quiet grin, began gently pushing the air bed farther out from the shore with your arms. Inch by inch. They didn't notice at first.

"H-Huh? Where are you taking us?!" Sunoo suddenly sat up, eyes darting to the now noticeably deeper blue beneath him. "I can't see clear water anymore!"

Jake peeked over the edge, alarm rising in his voice. "H-Hey! T-This isn't funny!"

You couldn't help but laugh, water sloshing against your shoulders. "Relax, we're still like twenty feet from the shore."

"Twenty feet too many!" Sunoo snapped. "Turn this raft around or I'm throwing Jake into the sea and sacrificing him to Poseidon."

"Excuse me?!" Jake gasped. "We made friendship bracelets yesterday!"

"I've already cut mine off," Sunoo declared with no hesitation.

You snorted, pulling the float gently back toward the beach as Jake and Sunoo continued bickering above you.

The rest of the day passed in a soft, golden blur. Jake and Sunoo spent most of it constructing a ridiculous, over-the-top sandcastle complete with seashell gates and a moat that kept getting trampled by passing kids. You stuck close to Jay, helping him with the food, handing him skewers and snacks while sneaking bites every time he wasn't looking.

Since Jake and Sunoo both flat-out refused to venture into deeper water, you and Jay decided to try something a little more thrilling: the banana boat.

Your heart pounded with excitement as you slathered sunscreen across Jay's back, he stood still beneath your touch. You gave his shoulder a playful squeeze before pulling your hands away and practically bouncing toward the dock, already grinning.

Clad in your two-piece swimsuit and secured in a bright life jacket, you tugged off your beach shorts and tossed them into the pile of bags before climbing onto the giant inflatable banana, you gripped the side handles for balance.

Jay climbed on right behind you. You felt the boat shift under his weight as he settled into place and then, as expected, his arms slipped around your waist, tugging you flush against him.

You turned your head just enough to catch his face over your shoulder, raising a brow. "Hey," you said, teasing. "Your hands should be on the boat, not on me."

Jay gave you that infuriatingly soft, crooked grin of his. "They'll get there," he murmured, but his hands lingered a second longer—fingers trailing gently along your ribs, dangerously close to your chest—before finally letting go and grabbing the side handles.

You gave a dramatic sigh, rolling your eyes, but you couldn't stop the smile that tugged at your lips.

The instructor gave a thumbs-up from the front, and moments later, the speedboat roared to life, tugging the banana boat forward in a sudden burst. You shrieked with laughter as the inflatable jerked forward, bouncing across the waves like a bucking bronco.

Salt spray hit your face. The wind whipped past your ears. Behind you, Jay's laughter rang out, arms tightening around your waist every time you caught air.

The boat twisted, turned sharply, and for a moment you were sure you'd fly off. But Jay held on, and you did too, screaming and laughing.

By the time it slowed, you were breathless, soaked to the bone, and still grinning like a fool. You turned slightly, cheeks flushed, and met Jay's gaze. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his eyes were shining.

"I want to go again," he said, already leaning in to kiss your cheek.

You smacked him lightly on the arm. "Hands on the boat, remember?"

He just laughed.

Later that evening, with dinner long over and the sky outside dark, you ended up sprawled in the other room with Jake, watching a random thriller movie on TV.

Jake's head rested comfortably on your chest, his arms lazily wrapped around your waist. Your fingers combed idly through his hair as your eyes stayed fixed on the screen.

"The fuck?! So he's the killer all along?!" Jake sat up a little, his voice loud.

You barely bit back a laugh, already expecting the outburst. "It was all in his head," you said calmly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his face. "He's addicted to propofol. It's one of those unreliable narrator things."

Jake groaned like the world betrayed him. "This movie is a scam. We wasted two hours for a hallucination ending?"

"You watched it on hotel cable," you pointed out.

But Jake didn't respond. A few minutes later, you realized his breathing had evened out, and soft snores were puffing against your shirt. You looked down to find him completely passed out, you smiled softly.

The bathroom door clicked open, and Jay stepped out, hair damp and towel slung over his shoulder. He paused at the doorway, eyes softening when he saw the scene on the bed. Then he crossed the room, leaned over, and pressed a kiss to your lips.

"I think I need to join Sunoo," you whispered, careful not to disturb the sleeping Jake.

Jay's hand slipped around your waist as he climbed into bed beside you. "Can you stay a little longer?" he murmured, pulling you close without even shifting Jake.

You chuckled, forehead resting briefly against his. "I'm already tired. Why? You're acting needy today, hmm?"

He smiled faintly, shaking his head, and leaned in to kiss your neck. His lips traced a path up toward your jaw, each kiss a little more lingering than the last.

"Not needy," he said softly. "Just... wanting to hold you both a little longer."

Eventually, after a long minute of coaxing and playful protest, Jay finally let you go but not before you caught the way his gaze lingered as you slipped out the door, like he was already thinking about pulling you right back in. Jay was usually calm, it was Jake who would've actually pouted and clung to your arm if denied his nightly cuddles.

You quietly padded across the hall and slipped into the other room. Sunoo was already passed out on the bed, one leg kicked free from the blanket, a silky eye mask perfectly in place despite his softly parted lips and gentle snores.

With a quiet sigh, you crawled into bed next to him and let the weight of the day sink into the mattress. The room was cool and quiet, and eventually, your eyes fluttered shut.

But somewhere in the blur between dreams and the gentle pull of sleep, you felt the bed shift behind you.

An arm slid around your waist, pulling you gently back against a solid chest.

You hummed softly, eyes still half-lidded as you turned your head slightly, blinking against the dim glow from the room.

"Jay?" you whispered, voice scratchy with sleep.

Jay pressed closer, nuzzling into the curve of your neck. His hand drifted over your waist and down to your stomach, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt before slipping underneath.

"What's wrong?" you murmured, trying to sound stern, but your voice was too soft. You risked a glance toward Sunoo, still blissfully asleep and completely unaware. Then your gaze returned to Jay, whose lips now grazed your shoulder.

"Nothing," he said quietly.

But his hand told a different story. It moved slowly beneath your shirt, calloused fingertips gliding across the bare skin of your stomach, tracing idle shapes.

You exhaled a quiet breath, lips parting slightly. "Jay..." you warned.

"Sorry," he murmured, but the apology was quickly eclipsed by the press of his lips to your neck. His mouth moved, grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. Then his hand shifted upward. You sucked in a quiet gasp when his palm brushed over your breast, fingers curling to cup it gently.

"Jay, s-stop," you whispered again, glancing anxiously toward Sunoo. He had turned in his sleep, now facing away, the soft rise and fall of his breathing steady and undisturbed.

Jay's hand didn't still. "I miss you," he breathed, thumb teasing over your nipple in a slow, deliberate flick that made your back subtly arch against him. His other hand tightened around your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel him pressed against you, the firm outline in his sweatpants grinding lightly against your hips.

"It's been so long," he murmured.

And it had. Between the internships, late-night assignments, and Jake's nonstop academic grind, the three of you had barely touched each other in weeks.

But you hadn't expected Jay to be the one like this tonight. He was always the composed one, the patient one. Jake was usually the one who gave in first, always craving touch, always clinging. Jay had control.

Usually.

"Jay, wait..." you whispered, your voice a rushed hush as you felt his other hand slipping lower, beneath the waistband of your shorts. His fingers moved slow, grazing over your folds, teasing the delicate skin. A low breath escaped him the moment he felt how wet you already were.

You swallowed, pulse quickening.

"I've been so horny all day thinking 'bout you," he whispered. That quiet, whiny edge in his tone made your core clench instinctively

Maybe it was the softness of his voice, or the fact that it was Jay who is usually so composed, now whispering filthy truths into your ear.

His fingers traced the seam of your labia, before one slowly pushed inside. You whimpered at the stretch, your walls clenching around him as your body instinctively responded. Despite the risky position, your legs parted a little wider under the sheets, silently begging for more.

"Please," he whispered, voice tinged with that desperate, breathy edge that made your heart race.

You tilted your head, meeting his mouth with yours, pressing your lips to his. He moaned against you, his mouth parting eagerly to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid past your lips matching the rhythm of his finger as it began to move—slowly thrusting in and out, curling just enough to make you shiver.

The kiss grew messier as his hand worked between your thighs. Your breaths tangled. Every quiet sound you made, he swallowed with his mouth.

Jay pressed closer against your back, his body molding to yours, breath hot against your cheek. Then he broke the kiss, slowly pulling his finger from your core, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. You whimpered when you saw him bring it to his lips, slipping it into his mouth.

He exhaled, clearly it wasn't enough. Then, without a word, he sat up and carefully lifted you into his arms.

You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, legs curling slightly as he carried you out of the room.

By the time he stepped into the other room, Jake was still sound asleep—sprawled out, one arm flung across the pillow.

Jay laid you down gently on the bed, his hands lingering on your sides. "Been thinking about eating this pussy ever since you wore that damn swimsuit," he whispered.

Before you could reply, he was already tugging your shorts down, exposing the heat between your thighs. The rush of cool air on your skin made your back arch, a soft gasp slipping from your lips.

"I think we're gonna wake Jake up," you whispered, voice breathless.

Jay was already on his knees. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, fingers curling around your thighs to keep them parted. Slowly, he leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe up your folds.

Your hips jerked at the contact, a moan slipping from your mouth. You reached down, fingers sinking into his hair, holding on as he buried himself deeper between your legs.

"Missed eating this pretty pussy," Jay groaned into you, he tilted his head slightly, adjusting the angle as he dragged his tongue in slow circles, then pushed it inside, the wet heat of it driving you mad.

You clung to him, biting your lip hard to stifle the sounds threatening to escape, but it was getting harder—impossible, even. Your body trembled beneath his mouth, hips shifting uncontrollably as Jay devoured you without pause.

He alternated between slow, languid licks and deep, greedy sucks, lapping up every bit of your arousal, then going back to swirling his tongue.

You tried to stay still, but it was too much. You couldn't stop moving, hips jerking. Every time you gasped, every time your legs twitched, Jay just held on tighter.

At your side, Jake stirred slightly in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent as he shifted. You froze for a beat, heart pounding then another sharp flick of Jay's tongue made your hips buck again.

"I'm cumming," you breathed out in a desperate whisper, thighs shaking. Your hands gripped the sheets as your hips tried to rise off the bed, but Jay only pressed you down harder, his palms firm on your waist, pinning you in place as he buried his face deeper into your cunt.

"Jay—Jay, I'm cumming, I'm cumming—" you sobbed, unable to stop the way your body trembled violently beneath him. He groaned at your words, grinding his nose against your clit, tongue plunging and swirling until the pressure snapped all at once.

Your back arched, eyes rolling back as your orgasm surged through you. The scream that left your lips was silent, lost somewhere in your chest, trapped between needing release and needing to stay quiet.

Jay didn't stop. Even as your thighs trembled and your whole body clenched around the pleasure, he kept licking, drinking you in, chasing every last drop while your limbs went slack around him.

"J-Jay... stop," you whimpered, voice cracking from the overstimulation. "Stop for a minute, p-please..."

You could barely breathe. The pleasure had gone white-hot, your body sensitive, twitching with every flick of his tongue.

Finally, he slowed. His mouth softened, his tongue easing into gentle strokes until he stilled completely.

He pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh before rising slowly, crawling up your body. His hands pushed your shirt up to your collarbone, and his lips followed, kissing along your stomach, trailing upward until he reached your chest.

He caught your nipple between his lips, tongue flicking softly as he sucked. Your fingers tangled weakly in his hair, still dazed.

Then his mouth moved higher, brushing along your collarbone, up the line of your throat, until he finally captured your lips.

You taste yourself while kissing him, tongue desparately shoving down to yours, only adding to the intensity as his tongue moved with yours.

Without breaking the kiss, he shifted your position, gently guiding you onto your side. Now spooning you from behind, he pressed flush against you, the heat of him seeping into your skin as his thigh tucked between yours.

You glanced at Jake who was still fast asleep.

Jay exhaled against your neck, then reached down with one hand to push his sweatpants just low enough to free himself. You felt him, hot and hard, nudging against your backside. A shiver ran through you as his hand slid along your inner thigh, coaxing it forward, lifting just enough to open you to him. You instinctively pressed your hips back, the thick weight of his cock nestling against your folds.

"Jay," you breathed, tilting your head. Your foreheads touched, noses brushing as his hand slid up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles.

"Keep your eyes on me, baby," he whispered. Your lashes fluttered as he ground his cock slowly against your center, dragging it along your slit without entering.

"We're gonna wake Jake up," you repeated, forehead still pressed to his, breath mingling.

Jay just smiled, the curve of his lips brushing your cheek as he whispered back, "It's okay... he can join anyway."

Before you could respond, his hips shifted and the thick head of his cock pressed into your entrance. Your mouth fell open, a gasp escaping as he filled you in one smooth, unhurried thrust. The stretch was full. You dug your nails into his forearm where it wrapped around your waist

He kissed you again, catching your breath with his mouth as he began to move, slow at first, each roll of his hips drawing a quiet moan from your throat. His hand never left your breast, kneading gently, thumb circling and flicking your sensitive peak in rhythm with his thrusts.

You broke the kiss, eyes half-lidded, both of you breathing heavily now, sharing the same air, bodies locked together as his pace gradually built.

He pulled out until only his tip remained, then pushed back in harder, hips snapping forward with more pressure.

"Ahhh!"

"Wanna go rough," he muttered against your neck. His eyes fluttered shut for a second, his grip tightening. "Can I? You'd like that, right, baby? Right?"

You nodded, unable to form words.

A low, needy moan left his throat as he picked up the pace, his thrusts turns faster and deeper. The soft mattress bounced beneath you with every movement, muffling the sound but not the intensity. You gripped the sheets, trying to stay quiet, but the way he filled you, the way his cock dragged perfectly along every inch of your walls—it was too much.

"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in your shoulder.

"Jaaay..." you gasped out his name, drawing it long and needy as pleasure pulsed through you.

His grip on your thigh shifted, releasing only to find your hand, fingers lacing with yours as he gently pushed your upper body forward, angling your hips just right. You followed without resistance, the motion letting him reach even deeper.

Then he hit it—that spot—and your mouth fell open in a silent cry.

Your eyes fluttered shut, lip caught between your teeth as your body clenched around him. You could hear the sharp breath he sucked in behind you, the tremble in his exhale as you tightened.

He was getting close. You could feel it in the way his rhythm faltered for a second.

"Good, baby?" he whispered against your ear, that soft, breathy tone he only used when he was holding back.

You smiled through another moan, the sound catching in your throat as you tilted your head slightly to find his lips. The kiss was short, a sweet, heated peck that melted into a soft whimper as he thrust into you again.

"Yes," you breathed, barely able to get the words out. "So good—haah—so deep..."

Jay rested his forehead against the back of your head, lips brushing your hair as he kept moving.

Jay pulled out. Your brows knit in confusion, lips parting, but Jay was already grabbing your hips, repositioning you. He dragged you to the edge of the bed, bending you forward as he laid you across Jake's sleeping form. Your back arched instinctively as your body adjusted to the shift.

"Wake him," Jay murmured as he settled behind you again, his hands spreading your cheeks.

You fumbled with Jake's pajama waistband, tugging both the fabric and his boxers down until his cock— still soft but stirring was exposed to the cool air.

Jay's fingers brushed against your rim. "You clean here?" he asked, his thumb circling the sensitive entrance.

A soft, involuntary whimper left your lips, your hips twitching backward toward his touch. You leaned down, pressing a trail of kisses along the length of Jake's cock, feeling it twitch beneath your lips.

"Answer me, baby," Jay said, punctuating the demand with a slap to your ass. The sharp sting made you flinch.

"Yes! I—I clean every day," you gasped.

Jay groaned in frustration. "Fuck. No lube."

You glanced over your shoulder to see him already sinking to his knees behind you.

He didn't hesitate—his tongue found your rim and began working. You moaned, body trembling as your knees weakened under the heat of his mouth.

You returned your attention to Jake, licking along the underside of his shaft up to the tip. He shifted slightly beneath you, a quiet sound escaping him, not yet fully awake but already growing hard in your mouth.

Jay's tongue pressed in deeper, spit slicking your rim as he worked you open. You groaned around Jake's cock, the vibration sending a jolt through him. His hips jerked upward instinctively, pushing his now-hard length deeper past your lips.

You took him in greedily, eyes fluttering shut as you pushed your ass back into Jay's face.

Jay stood suddenly, spreading your cheeks wide and guiding himself into your slick pussy with one firm thrust.

"Hmmph!" Your body jolted, a strangled moan escaping around Jake's cock. Jay grabbed your hips again, this time angling your body forward just enough to press your mouth deeper onto Jake's shaft, brushing the back of your throat.

Jake stirred fully now, groggy eyes blinking open.

He felt it first—the wet heat of your mouth wrapped around his cock and then he saw it.

Jay was behind you, fucking you, your body sandwiched between them, head bobbing in his lap.

Jake's stomach tightened at the sight. Jay looked up at him and grinned.

"Hey, baby," he said smoothly, driving in harder, making you moan louder and push yourself down even further on Jake's cock.

Jake reached out, still dazed but growing harder by the second, brushing a hand through your hair as your moans vibrated around him.

"G'evening...?" he mumbled, voice hoarse with confusion and arousal. He gently tugged you off his cock, watching a thin strand of saliva stretch from your lips to his tip.

Behind you, Jay didn't stop. He bent lower, lips brushing the back of your shoulder as he licked his middle finger, eyes locked on the tight ring of muscle between your cheeks. Slowly, he pressed his finger to your rim, circling once before slipping inside.

You jolted at the intrusion, hips twitching against him, a gasp escaping your lips. Jay didn't stop thrusting—he just matched the rhythm of his cock with the push of his finger, stretching you gradually, his free hand gripping your waist to hold you in place as you writhed beneath them both.

Jake shifted on the bed, pushing himself upright onto his knees, positioning himself in front of you. His hand wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly as he brought it back to your mouth.

"You want it back, sweetheart?" Jake asked softly, he tapped the head of his cock against your lips, smearing pre-cum along your mouth.

You opened willingly, tongue flicking out to taste him, your moan muffled as he slid back in. Jake groaned, hips twitching as your lips sealed around him again.

Jay curled his finger inside you, pushing deeper, and your whole body tensed at the double sensation — your throat filled with Jake's cock, your ass stretching slowly around Jay's finger as he fucked you with deep, rolling thrusts.

Jake leaned forward, hands gripping the curve of your ass as he spread you open wider, eyes fixed on the way you pulsed around Jay's fingers. He exhaled a shaky breath, mouth slightly parted.

Jay slipped a second finger inside you, the added stretch pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. It burned just enough to make your eyes sting but you didn't ask them to stop.

Because you missed this. Missed the ache, the fullness, the way they both used your body for their pleasure.

Moans overlapped in the room, Jay's soft growls as he felt you tighten around his fingers, Jake's ragged gasps as your mouth moved faster, your head bobbing on his cock.

You arched deeper, forcing yourself further onto Jake's length, the wet sounds of your mouth and their breathing tangled with the slap of skin and the creak of the bed. Your throat flexed as you took him in, your tongue working along the underside of his shaft, matching the pace of Jay's fingers stretching you open.

Jay slowed his thrusts behind you, his breath hitching as he reached the edge again, hips grinding into your ass with just enough pressure to keep himself teetering. Edging on purpose.

He looked up, meeting Jake's eyes over the curve of your back. Jake leaned forward, their mouths crashing together in a kiss that was anything but gentle. Teeth and tongue crashing.

Their bodies moved in tandem—Jay driving into you again and each push sent you forward, impaling your mouth on Jake's cock.

Jay's fingers slid out just as his cock pushed deeper inside. Jake's hand cupped the back of your head, guiding your rhythm, his hips snapping forward in short bursts, each one pushing into the tight heat of your throat.

"Ahh, fuck. Jay," Jake groaned, breaking the kiss. His breath fanned across Jay's cheek as he leaned in, trailing kisses down the side of Jay's neck. His lips found skin, then teeth followed, scraping lightly before soothing with his tongue.

Your lungs screamed for air. The pressure at the back of your throat blurred into dizzying deprivation, your nails scraped down Jake's thigh to signal him.

Jake pulled back in an instant, your lips slipping from his cock with a wet gasp. He leaned down, catching your mouth in a kiss. His hand cradled your jaw, wiping a trail of drool from your chin with his thumb.

Your chest heaved against the mattress, breath coming in stuttering bursts. Your vision swam, lashes heavy, lips swollen. You could feel your body moving but your mind floated, clinging to the feeling rather than the shape of it.

Jay groaned, breath shuddering as he pulled out, only to grip your hips hard enough to bruise—and drive himself into your ass with one single, brutal thrust.

"Ahhhh! Fuck!" Your scream tore through the room, your body convulsing under the intrusion.

Jay groaned loudly behind you. Your legs trembled, toes curling tight as pain bloomed through your spine. Tears spilled without permission, streaking hot down your cheeks.

"Hey... still with us?" Jake's voice broke through the haze.

He knelt beside you, brushing your hair out of your face, his lips soft against the damp trail of your tears. He kissed you again, slower this time, anchoring you as you shook beneath them both.

Jay bent over you, his chest pressed to your back. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, lips peppering kisses across your skin, his cock twitching deep inside your ass. His breath was ragged.

"Sorry, baby," he whispered, moving one hand up from your hip to your breast, cupping it gently. His thumb circled your nipple while the other hand steadied you. "Shhh... I got you. Just breathe."

But your lips trembled, a sob slipping through as you buried your face in the sheets. It hurt. Your body throbbed from the stretch, the shock of how deep he was, how sudden. Jake caught your hand, holding it gently, kissing the back of your palm.

"Talk to me," he said softly. "Does it hurt?"

You nodded, tears still falling, throat too tight to speak.

Jay froze. "I'm sorry," he whispered again. His hands softened, his hips still. He leaned back a little, pulling out carefully, guilt etched in every line of his body.

"No!" your voice cracked out, panicked, reaching blindly behind you. Your fingers curled around his hip, clutching. "D-Don't stop... I... I can take it."

Jake's brows furrowed, watching your face closely. "You sure?" he murmured, his thumb brushing along your wrist, eyes locked to yours.

You nodded, swallowing down the ache. "Please."

Jay didn't move yet. He stayed pressed close, his forehead resting against your spine, just breathing with you. Slowly, he guided his cock back, sliding just the tip inside before pausing. His hand smoothed over your side, your ribs, your hip.

"Okay," he breathed. "We go slow this time."

And when he pushed back in, it was careful, patient—his hands trembling with restraint as you stretched around him again.

And despite the sting, the burn, your body opened for him.

Jake leaned in and kissed you, his tongue teased your bottom lip, then slid past it. His hand cradled your jaw, tilting your face just the way he liked it, deepening the kiss as your mouth opened willingly for him.

Behind you, Jay didn't stop moving. His hips kept a slow, steady rhythm as he fucked into your ass, stretching you open all over again. You didn't expect the sudden shift not when he slipped free and thrust himself into your soaked pussy without warning. Your whole body jolted at the change, a moan catching in your throat, only to be swallowed by Jake's mouth.

Jay didn't stay there. He pulled out, slick with your arousal, and pushed back into your ass. You cried out into Jake's mouth, fingers digging into his shoulders as Jay started alternating between your holes, back and forth.

His groans grew louder with each pass, his cock coated with your slickness making the transitions smooth. Every thrust into your ass felt deeper now,  and once he was satisfied with the slickness, he stayed there—burying himself fully and starting to fuck you.

Your moans were helplessly muffled against Jake's lips. You clung to him as your body rocked from the force of Jay's pace, the bed creaking under the rhythm of their bodies working in sync.

Then Jay moved. His arms wrapped around your torso, lifting you effortlessly off Jake, carrying you as though you weighed nothing.

Jake fell back onto the bed, cock still hard and slick between his thighs, stroking himself as he watched Jay position you above him. Your body trembled in Jay's grip, your breath coming in fast, erratic gasps, eyes glassy and unfocused.

"Still with us?" Jake asked. His gaze locked onto your flushed face as he slowly fisted his cock, watching your lips part in a silent moan.

You tried to nod but squealed instead as Jay shifted behind you—straightening your spine, pulling you tight to his chest. And then Jake pressed the tip of his cock into your entrance, pushing into your dripping pussy.

Your hands were caught behind your back in Jay's grip, leaving you fully exposed, you gasped as Jake bottomed out inside you.

"God, so tight," Jake groaned as his hands slid up your belly, caressing the trembling muscles beneath your skin.

Jay held you steady, arms firm around your waist, as Jake began moving—rocking into you, using your slick heat to guide each stroke. Your hips rolled with his rhythm, your moans turning to desperate little gasps as you felt yourself being tugged and used like a doll between them.

Jay hissed behind you, resting his forehead against your shoulder. "Missed this," he growled, though he stopped his hips, letting Jake take over the motion for now, letting himself feel you clench around both of them with every bounce of your body.

Your head lolled back onto Jay's shoulder, mouth open in a silent scream as Jake's cock drove up into you from below, and Jay's cock filled your ass to the hilt.

And then Jay started again. He let go of your bound hands only to slide his arms around your chest, cupping your breasts, holding you in place as he started thrusting again. Faster and rougher.

Your mind spun. Your body thrashed. The friction, the pressure, your pussy squeezing Jake while your ass clung to Jay, was too much.

The bubbling heat in your stomach snapped. You came hard, your whole body seizing as the orgasm ripped through you, crying out shamelessly between them. Your walls clamped down, legs twitching.

"Shhh, Sunoo's sleeping." Jake moaned as he held your hips, anchoring you as he fucked up into you faster. Jay grunted, his arms tightening as his pace grew erratic, cock pulsing inside you as he pounded into your ass.

Behind you, Jay's control was unraveling. His rhythm stuttered, breath ragged in your ear. His arms tightened around you, holding you in place as his cock throbbed. "C-Close," he ground out before pushing you forward into Jake's chest, hands flattening against your back to hold you still as he drove in harder.

The pressure built again, your vision blurring at the edges. You could barely distinguish the sounds around you anymore—Jake's sharp gasps near your ear, the slap of skin, the wet drag of their cocks inside you, your own breathless moans.

And then Jay came. You felt the twitch, the sudden warmth deep inside as he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder. His teeth grazed your skin as he rode out his release, fingers digging into your sides.

Jay pulled out, only for Jake to shift suddenly beneath you. He flipped your body over, and before you could even register the new position, he was pushing into your ass.

You cried out, your voice raw from earlier but still rising to meet the intensity. Your senses were waterlogged, every drag of skin, every shift of their bodies, blurred into one endless stream of stimulation.

You writhed, helpless beneath Jake, your ass clenched tight around him as he buried himself deep, grinding his hips, gritting his teeth at the feel of you.

And then, in the haze of it all, you saw Jay again—on his knees, eyes glazed over as he wrapped his lips around Jake's cock the moment it slipped free, tongue tracing the length, savoring the taste of you and him mixed together.

Your mouth fell open, but no words came. They moved you again, bodies switching places.

Jay lifted your legs over his shoulders while Jake held your wrists above your head, mouths exploring. Jay's teeth found your shoulder, your neck, your ribs—sharp nips that left heat in their wake. Jake's hands were everywhere—palming your breasts, your hips, one hand buried in your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch.

Your throat was raw from screaming, your voice reduced to ragged whimpers. Your body is so overstimulated, so far past the edge—moved only because they moved you.

They shifted you again.

Your body was gently rolled onto its side, limbs trembling, eyes fluttering as they adjusted your position.  Jay pressed against your back, he curled one arm beneath your body. In front of you, Jake wrapped your leg over his shoulder, one hand cupping the back of your knee, the other guiding his cock back into your swollen cunt.

Jay pushed into your ass again at the same moment Jake slid inside you.

You made a broken sound, your fingers curled uselessly into the sheets as they moved in sync—slow at first, as though they both knew you were at your limit, then gradually picking up pace, chasing their own pleasure while coaxing the last shreds of sensation from your spent body.

"Almost there, baby... just stay with us..."

"So good for us. Always take us so well..."

Their hands didn't stop. They kept touching, even when you could no longer respond—Jake's fingers tracing lazy lines down your thigh, Jay's palm sliding up to cradle your breast, thumbing your nipple with the barest pressure, just enough to make your hips twitch.

You didn't know how long they kept going—minutes or hours?

When they came for the fourth time,  their moans were strained, filled with relief and release. Jay's hips stuttered as he emptied himself inside you once more, while Jake buried himself, his breath hitching as his cum spilled into your cunt.

They stayed still afterward, breathing heavy, their bodies wrapped around you. You whimpered softly, every part of you drenched in sweat and cum, your holes leaking, your thighs trembling.

Jake was the first to move. He brushed damp hair away from your face and kissed you. "Happy anniversary, baby," he whispered against your mouth, "I love you."

Jay nuzzled into your neck from behind, his hand still splayed over your stomach. "I love you," he whisper to your ear.

A soft smile lingered on your lips as sleep began to pull you under, your body finally giving in to exhaustion. Jay noticed the way your breathing slowed, the way your hand slackened in his. Panic flickered across his face for a second, concerned he might've pushed you too far, been too much.

But then he heard your first soft snore.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief, brushing a few strands of hair from your face before pulling the blanket gently over your body. His lips pressed to your shoulder in a tender kiss, before kissing also Jake whispering "I love you," before he allowed himself to relax.

You became the unintentional reason why the long-planned island hopping trip was canceled the next day.

You'd barely moved from the bed.

At some point, Sunoo had burst into the room, sunglasses still on despite being indoors, holding a half-eaten banana and a very dramatic frown.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said, hands on his hips. "One night, one night of freedom, and the three of you manage to destroy my entire itinerary."

You groaned from under the sheets, your face buried in a pillow.  Everything hurt.

Jay offered an apologetic look from the other side of the room, while Jake just laughed into his juice box.

"She's not going anywhere today," Jake said cheerfully, lounging at the foot of the bed. "She couldn't even walk straight coming out of the bathroom."

"Stop talking," you mumbled into the pillow, smacking Jake's thigh without lifting your head.

Sunoo threw his arms up. "I planned a whole route! A cute lunch spot! Coordinated swimwear! And now my best friend is basically bedridden and you two—" he pointed accusingly at Jay and Jake, "—have the audacity to sit there like you're innocent!"

Jake ended up tagging along with Sunoo that afternoon, following him through local shops as he hunted for souvenirs and spent half the time helping him find the perfect lighting for his Instagram shots. You'd seen the selfies later, Sunoo in oversized sunglasses, Jake photobombing with goofy peace signs, and couldn't help but smile.

When you returned from the vacation, back to reality, back to the hum of city life, you decided to take a breath and visit your hometown. Your family.

The first night home, you found yourself seated at the dinner table, the scent of home-cooked food familiar but somehow distant. Your mother passed you the rice bowl before sitting back in her seat with a sigh.

"We're sorry we couldn't come to your graduation," she said, not looking directly at you. "Your sister had her moving-up ceremony too, and I couldn't leave your brother alone."

You just smiled.

"So... what's next for you?"

You shifted in your seat, pushing the rice around your plate with your spoon. "I'm reviewing for the psychometrician licensure exam," you said calmly. "If I pass, I want to work in hospitals—maybe start looking into master's programs too."

"That's good," she replied, then went quiet.

The conversation ended there, just like that. The sound of utensils against plates took over the room. You weren't sure if they didn't know what to say... or if they simply didn't care enough to ask more.

Your parents had always been like this, distant and distracted. Your older brother had been a handful since childhood, always in trouble, always needing someone to clean up after him. The second eldest was the star: awards, medals, top of the class. Then your little sister came along, the one your mom adored, who got praised for even the smallest thing. And you... you were somewhere in the middle.

Never a problem. Never the pride. Just quietly capable. They assumed you could handle things. And you did. But being the one who always "figured it out" left you invisible more often than not.

You looked up from your plate, watching your mother refill your father's glass. He hadn't said much beyond a grunt of acknowledgment when you walked in earlier. You thought about what it would take to pierce the silence.

"I have boyfriends," you wanted to say.

Jake, who lights up every room and kisses your face. Jay whose love is in every thoughtful gesture, every look. You wanted to say it. You wanted to say they make you feel seen in a way your own family never did.

Your father might freak out. Or not. He might just wave it off the way he always did, tucked into his chair and his silence. Your mother might purse her lips, ask questions with careful tones and measured words.

You didn't expect celebration. So why was it so hard to say?

Your hands stilled on the table, spoon resting against your plate. The words sat on your tongue, but somehow they wouldn't come out.

Moving back in with Jay and Jake should've felt like comfort after being away too long. And in some ways, it did.

But the train of thought that had started back home refused to leave.

You couldn't shake it. Not even after unpacking. Not even after lying on the couch with the TV on and your phone buzzing somewhere out of reach. You stared at the screen blankly, not really watching, your mind circling around the same thought like it had nowhere else to go.

You'd missed your chance.

That window—that perfect, ordinary moment at dinner—you let it pass. And now it would be a long time before you saw them again. Maybe longer than you'd like to admit.

You'd wanted to share your life. The love you had. The people who saw you fully. But instead, you played your part again, the reliable one, the good daughter, the girl who doesn't ask for much.

You didn't hear the door open or close. Only the soft thud of a backpack hitting the floor pulled you from your thoughts.

"Hey."

Jake's voice snapped you gently out of your spiral, and you blinked to find him standing there in a rumpled hoodie and jeans, casual as ever, a tired smile on his face. He dropped his bag by the table and made his way to you.

You stood automatically, meeting him halfway to press a quick kiss to his lips before sinking back into the couch.

"Where's Jay?" he asked, dropping down beside you with a long, theatrical sigh. He leaned over without hesitation, wrapping an arm around your waist before settling his head in your lap.

"Helping his dad with something for the business," you murmured, threading your fingers through his hair.

Jake huffed, and you chuckled softly.

"Tired?" you asked, even though the answer was already clear.

He nodded into your thigh, lips pouty. "I want you two to cuddle me. Physics is actually killing me."

You smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. He hummed contentedly, his hand lightly rubbing circles into your hip as the quiet returned between you. But then, softly, Jake asked. "Are you okay?"

You blinked, and looked down at him. His eyes were still closed, lashes brushing his cheeks.

You didn't know what to say. You looked away from him, eyes drifting back to the glowing TV screen you hadn't been watching at all.

"I..." you started quietly. Jake opened his eyes, turning his face slightly against your lap to really look at you now.

You drew in a shaky breath. "I just realized... it's really hard for me to share my life with others. Even with people I love. Even with you two."

Jake didn't rush you, just let his hand smooth down along your waist in slow strokes, thumb tracing small circles like he was quietly urging you to go on.

"I know you and Jay... you'd introduce me to your families tomorrow if I asked. Like it's nothing. Like it's natural," you said. "But I couldn't stop thinking about it when I went home. I sat there at dinner, thinking about how I wanted to tell them. Tell them about you. About Jay. About us. And I didn't." You laughed softly.

Jake's hand stilled for a moment on your waist, then continued its gentle motion.

"I guess," you swallowed, "I started thinking that maybe... maybe I'm the one who doesn't belong here. That I shouldn't be in this. That, you know, three's a crowd."

Jake shifted, just a little, enough to slide his other arm around your hips so he could hold you properly now, his head still in your lap but his gaze completely focused on you. He took a long breath, then shifted again—just enough to sit up, turning his body to face you properly. One hand reached for yours, the other cupped your cheek.

"Baby," he murmured, "you're not taking up space. Okay? You belong here."

You looked at him, your throat tight, vision already beginning to blur at the edges. His eyes didn't waver, and before you could blink away the sting behind your lashes, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"We love you," he continued softly, "because of who you are. Not because of what you do, or how easy it is to explain you to other people. You don't owe anyone your story until you're ready to share it."

A single tear slipped down your cheek. Jake caught it with his thumb, brushing it away without a word.

"And I don't care how long it takes," he whispered. "You've already shared yourself with us. That's more than enough."

You let out a shaky breath, one hand still clinging to his. "I know this relationship isn't... normal," you said after a moment, your eyes dropping to your lap. "Not the way people expect love to look. I watch other couples making plans—talking about weddings, houses, kids. And I wonder if we'll ever get to have that, or if people like us... always have to fight just to be happy."

Jake didn't interrupt. He just listened, his thumb now gently stroking the back of your hand.

You kept going, because once it started, it felt impossible to stop. "I think about the future, and how there's this path laid out—what everyone thinks is the right way. And I wonder if we even can fit into it. Or if one day... you'll both get tired of trying. Because we'll always be the ones people don't understand." Your voice cracked slightly at the end.

Jake leaned forward, his brow pressing gently against yours. "You're right," he said. "This isn't the kind of relationship most people are used to. It's different. But that doesn't make it less real. It doesn't make it less ours."

He pulled back just enough to look at you. "We want all of that too," he said. "The commitment. The life. The forever kind of thing. We just get to write the rules together. And yeah, it's scary sometimes. But it's also kind of beautiful, don't you think?"

You nodded slowly, a tear sliding silently down your cheek. Jake caught that one too.

"We've been together for a year, baby," he said quietly. "We don't have to follow anyone else's path. We get to make our own. Just us."

You nodded again, letting your head rest against his shoulder. Jake leaned his head against yours too.

"Jay's planning to start his master's soon. You are too," he said softly. "Once I graduate, I'm gonna become an engineer. Then we'll buy a big house."

You let out a breath of a laugh, the smallest smile tugging at your lips. "Oh, yeah?"

He grinned, proud of himself. "Huge backyard. Real quiet neighborhood. Sunoo will live next door, but we won't tell him that's not a coincidence."

You chuckled, and Jake grinned wider, encouraged.

"We'll get dogs—three, no, five. You can name them. And then..." He paused dramatically. "How many kids do you want? Seven? I can give you that."

You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyebrows raised. "Seven? Are you out of your mind?"

He shrugged, mock serious. "I'm just saying. I have range."

You laughed properly then, the sound shaking loose the last of the heaviness in your chest. Jake's smile softened, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched you.

"I don't care how many," you said eventually. "As long as it's with you. With Jay."

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then one to your cheek. Jake wrapped his arms tighter around you.

You rested there for a while, wrapped up in each other. The future still felt uncertain, but it didn't feel so scary anymore. Not when you knew love could be quiet and messy and not look like anyone else's—and still be yours.

You and Jay passed the licensure exam. Together.

Sunoo had passed too, his proud shriek over the group call still echoed in your memory. Sunghoon aced the nursing boards, and Wonyoung, unsurprisingly, had done the same. There'd been celebratory dinners, messy group selfies, and a lot of ugly crying—Sunoo's, mostly.

Jake, meanwhile, was still deep in the trenches of college life. Balancing lectures, labs, and papers while hopping between part-time jobs, and on top of that, helping with his family's business whenever he could. It was exhausting just watching him move but somehow, he made it work, flashing his usual grin with "I'm just built different."

Jay, of course, had offers left and right. Hospitals, clinics, even research institutions. The kind of attention you weren't surprised by. You, on the other hand, didn't have a waiting line of clinics calling your name. And that was okay. You never expected to be him. You started where you could—sending out resumes, attending interviews, building your confidence one step at a time.

Still, it stung a little when you didn't get placed with him. Again.

You kicked the gravel beneath your feet, hugging yourself closer to Jay as the two of you walked side by side outside the exam center where you'd just finalized your paperwork.

"We're on different clinics. Again," you muttered, leaning into him dramatically.

Jay chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you in. "It's not the end of the world."

"It's the end of our synchronized lunch breaks," you huffed, resting your head against his chest.

"You just want to steal my snacks."

"You have better snacks," you mumbled. "And hotter coworkers. It's not fair."

He laughed quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You're the only one I flirt with at work, you know that."

You looked up at him. "Oh, so you do flirt at work?"

Jay smiled. That crooked, boyish smile he only gave when he knew he was pushing your buttons on purpose.

You rolled your eyes, but your grin betrayed you. The wind tugged at your hair, but Jay's hand reached up to tuck a strand behind your ear.

"I know it sucks," he said quietly. "Starting from different places. But it doesn't mean we're going in different directions."

You looked at him, heart softening.

"I want you to take your time," he continued. "Find a clinic that feels right for you. Not just the one that happens to be next to mine."

You bit the inside of your cheek. "I guess I just... wanted to keep walking this part with you. Like we did before."

"You still are," he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Just on your own lane. Doesn't mean you're not right beside me."

You leaned into his touch, warmth settling in your chest.

"And hey," he added with a gentle nudge. "At least now we'll have stories to share over dinner."

"Only if you bring the snacks."

"I'll bring you the whole damn pantry."

EPILOGUE

You learn a lot as you grow older.

Not just the kind of learning that comes from books or exams or degrees but the quiet kind. The kind that sneaks up on you in the middle of doing laundry, or while you're watching someone you love stir sugar into your tea exactly the way you like it.

As someone who graduated in the field of Psychology, you'd always known the theories—Maslow, Erikson, Skinner, all the frameworks for understanding behavior, emotion, trauma. But living it? That was a different education.

And love, in its realest form, had taught you as much as any textbook ever could.

Jay taught you patience not the kind that's passive, but the kind that waits with intention. He showed you how to pause, breathe, and choose your words instead of reacting. How to say "I'm sorry" without defensiveness. How to sit in silence when you needed to, and how that silence could say, I'm here. You don't have to rush.

Jake taught you joy. Not just happiness, but real joy, the kind that dances around a room with no music and makes jokes even when things are hard. He reminded you that you didn't have to be polished or perfect to be worthy of love. That vulnerability wasn't a flaw. That laughter could be healing in a way few things could.

And you... you learned that your role wasn't to be the center or the glue, but the space between—the breath before the storm, the bridge between Jay's quiet logic and Jake's loud, chaotic warmth. A stabilizer. A mirror. Over time, you stopped wondering where you belonged because you realized you weren't just part of it.

You were what made it whole.

The three of you sat on the floor that evening, legs tangled in blankets, surrounded by the half-unpacked mess of your shared apartment. A movie was playing quietly in the background.

"Do you remember when Jay used to get all sour around you?" Jake laughed suddenly, tossing a marshmallow in the air and catching it in his mouth.

From the kitchen, Jay's voice rang out. "Stop bringing that up!"

Jake only laughed harder.

You grinned, poking a marshmallow onto a stick before lowering it into the tiny tabletop burner you were using like a makeshift campfire.

"And what about our first big fight?" Jake continued, more softly this time. "When Jay and I got into it, and you tried to step in, and we just... turned it on you. God, we were assholes."

You nodded, laughing a little under your breath at the memory. It wasn't a good fight—messy words, hurt feelings, doors closed a little too hard. But it taught you something.

Jake leaned closer, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and resting his chin on top of your head. "You didn't get mad at us," he said. "Even after all that. We said stuff that wasn't fair. But you never yelled. Why?"

You looked at him, brows raised in mock offense. "You think I didn't want to throw both of you into the hallway?"

He grinned, but waited for the real answer. You sighed softly, looking down at the marshmallow as it turned golden in the firelight.

"I had a part in it," you said. "I confronted you both at the wrong time. Too soon. When emotions were still too high."

You glanced over at Jay, who had now joined you on the floor.

"We learned this in school, remember?" you said, the corners of your mouth lifting. "It's in our nature, when we're overstimulated, emotionally hijacked—our brains go into fight or flight. Logic takes a back seat. We say things we don't mean because we're trying to protect something inside ourselves."

Jay reached out and brushed his thumb over your hand.

"And I realized," you continued, "it's not about avoiding conflict. It's about knowing when to approach it. Timing matters. So does tone. So does intention."

Jake hummed in agreement, then shot a look at Jay, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Even though Jay's taking his master's, sometimes he forgets he's not a robot."

Jay looked up from where he was refolding a blanket, unimpressed. "Excuse me?"

Jake grinned. "You isolate your feelings like you're submitting them for peer review."

You laughed, tugging both of them closer until their shoulders bumped yours on either side. The warmth of being between them never got old.

"It's true, though," you added, resting your chin briefly on Jay's shoulder. "When Jay bottles things up, it builds. So when he does get upset, it's like—boom."

Jay rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

You slipped your arm around his waist, squeezing gently. "But he's working on it. Right, baby? Remember our promise?"

Jay didn't say anything at first, but the glance he gave you was soft. Then he sighed dramatically, leaning into your side with mock defeat.

"I remember," he muttered. "Self-awareness and emotional regulation.

Jake gave him a proud pat on the back.

Love isn't perfect. People aren't either. But love doesn't require perfection. Only presence and growth. The choice to stay and try again, even when things get hard.

It was Jake's graduation day.

You were in the shower when he opened the door without warning—completely naked, grinning.

"I'm going to wash your back," he said, stepping in, water misting his skin. "And you can wash mine too." He wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

Before long, your bodies were tangled together, steam rising as he thrust into you, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. The sound of your moans echoed against the bathroom, mixing with the splash of water and heavy breathing.

A knock at the door snapped the spell.

"Jake! You're gonna be late to your own damn graduation!" Jay's voice came through.

Jake sighed, forehead resting against yours. "I'll be quick."

Later, as you stood in front of the mirror doing the final touches on your makeup, Jay appeared behind you. His hands found your hips, and he leaned down, brushing his lips against your neck.

"You're glowing," he murmured.

You turned to face him, teasing, "You're just horny."

He smirked, guiding your mouth to his. The kiss deepened fast, he lifted you onto the counter and soon enough, you were breathless all over again.

By the time you arrived at the ceremony, your legs still trembled faintly under your dress. Jake found you in the crowd and grabbed your hand.

"Hey," he said, eyes hopeful. "Is it okay... if I introduce you to Mom? As my girlfriend?"

Your heart skipped. It had been three years of your relationship, you'd spoken to his parents plenty of times at their family shop, but never like this.

"S-sure," you said, then quickly added, "Unless you're not ready—"

"I'm ready if you are," Jake said softly.

You smiled, interlacing your fingers with his. "Tell them I'm yours."

As you walked toward his family, your chest tightened. Jay stood beside you, his palm smoothing over your lower back in a calming, familiar gesture.

"Congratulations, my boy!" Jake's mother exclaimed, kissing his cheek. She greeted both you and Jay with cheek-to-cheek kisses.

"Engineer Sim Jaeyun. Sounds official," Jake's brother said, fist-bumping him.

Conversation buzzed around, full of laughter and pride. Jake pulled you closer, one hand resting on your waist.

"Mom," he said clearly. "This is my girlfriend."

The group went quiet. Your mind rushed with a thousand thoughts. They'll judge you. They'll think you're a slut. They'll ask why both sons are wrapped around one girl.

Jake's mother looked down, eyes catching both Jake's and Jay's hands on you. "We know," she said gently. "Even Jay's father knows."

Both boys froze.

Her gaze turned to you. "Thank you for taking good care of my sons," she said, reaching up to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear.

Emotion caught in your throat. Your eyes stung. "I-I..." you tried to laugh. "They're the ones taking care of me, ma'am."

"You silly girl," she laughed, pulling you into a light embrace. "I know the stress of managing two men back and forth."

Her voice was teasing, but kind. And in that moment, the tightness in your chest, the quiet anxiety that had been sitting there all day finally softened.

You let yourself lean into the hug, if only for a second, and thought about your own family.

Would they react like this? With ease, with lightness? With kindness, even if they didn't understand?

You didn't know. Because you hadn't tried.

And maybe you weren't ready yet. Not today. Maybe not for a while.

But that was okay. Some truths take time. Some stories need space. And when you're ready, you'll tell it in your own way, on your own terms.

Until then, love doesn't stop growing just because it's quiet.

Jake’s family had invited the three of you to a formal dinner. You sat between Jake and Jay at the long table, surrounded by his parents, a few cousins, and an uncle who occasionally asked the waiter for another bottle of wine.

It wasn’t long before the discussion shifted to futures—careers, plans, and everything in between.

Jay was answering questions about his master’s program, explaining something about clinical data and research work. Jake jumped in right after, talking about his final year, his capstone project, and his tentative plans to help expand his family’s business once he had more experience under his belt.

“And then,” Jake added, grinning, “we’re thinking about buying a house, one with a good view, and I want a big yard.”

“A home for the three of you?” his cousin asked, a little curious. Jake just smiled. “Eventually.”

There was laughter, clinking glasses, someone said something about property taxes, and the conversation flowed easily.

Then Jake’s mother turned her gaze toward you with a warm smile. “And what about you, dear? You’re not taking your master’s yet?”

You smiled politely, meeting her eyes for a second before looking back down at your plate. You cut into your steak,  giving yourself a breath before answering.  “Maybe soon, ma’am,” you said gently. “But I’ve changed plans.”

“Oh?” she asked, curious but kind.

You nodded, glancing toward Jay and Jake, then back to her. “I want to teach.”

“I thought a lot about continuing on the clinical side,” you explained, “but lately, I’ve been drawn to education. To helping students find their footing the way I was helped. I think... there’s something powerful about shaping understanding, especially in psychology."

Jake’s mother’s expression softened, her hand folding neatly over her napkin.

“Well,” she said, “that sounds like exactly the kind of voice students need.”

You felt Jay’s fingers brush lightly against yours under the table. Jake, already proud, leaned back in his chair with a smug little grin, like your answer had personally earned him points.

“And who knows,” you added, a bit more lightheartedly now, “maybe I’ll take my master’s once I’ve had a classroom full of teenagers to humble me.”

There was soft laughter around the table, and the conversation moved on—back to housing prices, travel plans, the dessert menu. 

“I want to order something sweet,” Jake whispered, leaning over to you. You were still staring at the dessert menu, half-reading, half-dreaming. Jay leaned in on your other side, his curiosity piqued as he peered over your shoulder.

“There’s no corn there,” Jake teased, bumping Jay’s arm.

You giggled. Jay, unamused but barely hiding his smirk, reached over to pinch Jake’s shoulder.

You pointed at the menu: Strawberry cake.

Jake sighed with awe. “You’re such a softie.”

“You’ll thank me later,” you replied.

And he would. He always did.

The night ended softly.

The three of you returned to the apartment in quiet contentment, no one talked much. You changed out of your formal clothes, brushing your teeth half-asleep, moving in sync the way people who know each other too well do.

And when you finally collapsed into bed. You just lay there, all of you staring up at the star stickers you’d stubbornly stuck to the ceiling months ago. Most had stayed. A few had fallen. The glow had faded, but not completely. It was faint, but still there.

“I love the both of you,” you said, voice soft. 

Jay shifted first, curling closer, his arm wrapping gently around your waist. Jake, as usual, flopped without ceremony, resting his head on your chest and letting out a content sigh.

There was a long pause.

“…Did the dessert have something in it?” Jake asked suddenly.

You snorted and tugged lightly at his hair in warning. He laughed, Jay did too, muffled against your side.

They say love is supposed to follow a pattern. Meet someone, fall, build a life. A straight line—clear and recognizable. Love that fits neatly inside boxes, easy to explain, easier to accept.

But your story was never built that way.

They say love like this shouldn’t last. That it’s too unconventional, too complicated, too much to hold. But you’ve learned that the best things in life rarely follow a script. 

"We don't have to follow anyone else's path."

It stuck with you. And he was right. This love—yours, Jay’s, and Jake’s—it was never meant to fit into the lines drawn by someone else.

Love, you’ve learned, is not about being easy. It’s about being worth it.

And this—this messy, gentle, beautifully unexpected life you’ve built—is more than just worth it.

Unwritten. Unconventional. Undeniably full.

And maybe, just maybe… too sweet.

end.

— AUTHOR's NOTE:

Here’s a quick but important sex ed reminder:

This is fiction. That means some of the things the characters do aren’t meant to be copied in real life. One important example: going from anal sex to vaginal sex without cleaning in between is not safe.

Why? Because the anus and the vagina have totally different bacteria. The rectum naturally contains bacteria like E. coli, which, while usually harmless in the gut, can cause infections if they get into the vagina. This can lead to issues like bacterial vaginosis, urinary tract infections (UTIs), or even more serious complications.

So in real life, always clean up before switching between anal and vaginal sex — either by using a new condom or thoroughly washing first. Always, always practice safe sex.

[xoxojisu]

"YOU'RE PREGNANT?!"

synopsis: you're pregnant with osamu's baby! you need to break the news to atsumu, but he somehow spoils it.. for himself?

notes: afab reader if that wasn't obvious

you and osamu had rehearsed this like three times on the drive over.

well, you rehearsed it. osamu just kept nodding and saying, “he’s gonna be loud either way,” which… yeah, fair. but this was a big deal! atsumu may have been chaos incarnate, but he was still osamu's twin brother, and you both wanted him to be one of the first to know!

so here you were, sitting in a booth at a quiet ramen place, the twins across from each other like always, bickering over toppings like they weren’t in their thirties.

“who the hell puts corn in ramen?” atsumu griped, making a face.

“people with good taste,” osamu muttered, not bothering to even look up from his bowl in favor of continuing eating. "corn in ramen's tasty. it's sweet and crunchy and buttery. yer just not refined enough to get it. got the taste buds of a toddler."

"it's actually pretty good! osamu put me on." you chimed in.

“he look like he is the corn in ramen,” atsumu grumbled. “fuckin' fatass. what, ya pregnant?”

you froze.

osamu froze.

atsumu… kept eating.

you and osamu turned to each other in perfect sync, wide-eyed, identical expressions of did he just..? before you could even stop yourself, you blurted:

“how’d you know?!”

atsumu blinked. “huh?”

osamu reached over to hit atsumu on the head with his chopsticks, not saying anything, just staring at him in disbelief.

"wait, what?" atsumu said, "hold on-"

"is twin telepathy actually real?! holy shit! samu, why didn't you tell me that he could fucking read your mind?"

“i- huh? what? wait,” atsumu stuttered, eyes darting between you two, hands raised in shock. “you thought i meant you-” he pointed at you. “you’re pregnant?!”

you nodded slowly, still stunned. “we were literally about to tell you.”

atsumu opened his mouth. closed it. opened it again. “what the hell, i.. i was callin’ him fat!”

“i’m not fat,” osamu hissed. “i’m-”

“i was makin’ fun of him! i didn’t think i had mind-readin’ powers! holy shit!”

“well clearly you do!” you exclaimed, gesturing wildly. “you just predicted a whole pregnancy announcement! twin telepathy is real!”

atsumu leaned back in the booth, looking like he just got hit with a volleyball straight to the face.

“yer seriously- like, for real- like- like, actually pregnant?”

you nodded again, this time with a soft smile. “yeah. just a couple months.”

atsumu stared for another beat before his face completely split into the biggest, brightest grin you’d ever seen.

“no freakin’ way! i’m gonna be a uncle?!” he launched halfway across the table, practically knocking over a bowl in the process. “holy shit, i was jokin’! samu, ya really did it, ya old sap!”

osamu groaned as atsumu pulled him into a squeeze. “let go of me.”

“never! i’m gonna tell everyone!”

“you’re not.”

you laughed, the moment finally settling into the warm, chaotic joy you’d expected from the start.

atsumu finally let go, eyes still sparkling. “i can’t believe i called it. like—psychic level. maybe i should open a side hustle. chicks would pay big money for a hot guy to read their fortune.”

osamu looked at you. “i told ya he’d be loud.”

you grinned. “he was also kinda perfect.”

“damn right i was,” atsumu said, already pulling out his phone. “now what’s the name gonna be? ‘tsumu’ is a gender-neutral option, just sayin’-”

osamu reached across the table and finally flicked him on the forehead.

later, after the chaos had simmered down and the three of you stepped out into the evening air, atsumu was quiet in that rare way that made you glance over to make sure he was okay.

you were halfway to your cars when he slowed beside you. “so,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “you, uh… got any pictures yet? like, baby ones?”

you smiled and pulled out your phone. “only one so far. first ultrasound.”

you handed it over and he took it a little too carefully, like he was afraid to drop it. the black-and-white image flickered faintly on the screen, and he just… stared.

he didn’t smile. didn’t joke. he looked at that tiny shape like it was the most real thing in the world. like it had just hit him, really hit him what this meant.

“that’s… them?” he asked, voice quiet.

you nodded. “yeah. that’s your niece or nephew.”

atsumu blinked. “they’re so small.”

you and osamu glanced at each other—your heart a little full, his eyes a little softer than usual.

then atsumu looked up, meeting your gaze. “thanks for tellin’ me. first, i mean. that you wanted me to know first.” he cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. “i’m… real happy for you guys. both of ya.”

“you’re gonna be an amazing uncle,” you said, nudging him gently.

he gave a little laugh. “yeah? little corn junior?”

“no,” osamu said flatly. “absolutely not.”

but you were smiling, and so was atsumu, and osamu had that small, quiet look he only ever got when he was really, truly happy.

atsumu looked back at the photo one more time. then, without a word, he stepped forward and hugged you. not a joking one. not a one-arm squeeze. a real one.

“i’m proud of you,” he mumbled. "this is crazy."

you hugged him back. “we love you, ‘tsumu.”

osamu snorted beside you. “gettin’ soft in your old age.”

“shut it, old man. i’m still prettier.”

they started bickering again as you all walked down the street—arguing over who had better genes and whether the baby would inherit osamu’s cooking or atsumu’s hair.

you stayed a step behind for just a moment. hand resting over your stomach. heart full.

this little one was already so loved.

..and also so doomed to a life of chaos.

but mostly? so, so loved.

masterlist

[beetlejuicyy]

A Gift from Home

Satoru's fingers froze on the screen. He had been incessantly spamming you for the last five minutes with pictures of every souvenir he had bought for you and Suguru . Keeping it a surprise was never an option for him. However, as he was about to ask if you wanted something specific from Osaka, a video popped up in the chat. The thumbnail was clearly a corner of his room back home. For some reason, his heart skipped a beat. What could it be? A stiff feeling was growing in his pants as his mind raced back to the occasional pictures and videos you would send him when he was away on missions.

"Let's show Satoru what he's missing out."

Suguru's voice was the first thing to be heard on the recording as he pressed the play button. His pupils grew over the light blue of his iris, the serene shade of clear sky glowing with lust. The sweet, languid tone of Suguru's voice was enough for him to know what was going on, even though he could only see the floor of his own room. Satoru's free hand moved to his lap, resting over his growing cock. The sound of things hitting against each other and falling to the floor in the video gave him enough time to unzip his pants and pull down the fabrics covering his aching length. A soft, almost inaudible mewl of your voice hit his ears and his cock twitched, overly sensitive.

"Shhh"

Suguru's soothing voice responded to your frustrated sigh. The camera was moving around chaotically showing the nightstand, the closed door and the floor.

"Don't move yet, love. Let me prop this here."

Even though he couldn't see a thing, Satoru's imagination was running wild just with the sound of your voices. He clumsily ran his thumb over the tip of his cock already smeared with precum. The screen went black but the video kept running. Wet sounds of loud kissing echoed in Satoru's ears and he let his head fall back, groaning, as his fingers moved to the base of his cock. His pulse was booming in his chest and more importantly in every vein that ran along his length. Your moans against the other man's lips had him bucking his hips, thrusting his cock in his hand. The amused, teasing chuckle that came in response from Suguru felt as if it was directed towards him specifically, like he could see the pathetic state a few wet sounds and a black screen had him into. Satoru's teeth sank into his lower lip as the screen glitched and the back camera switched to the front one, finally revealing the two of you.

"Fuck"

Satoru breathed out as he took in every detail of the scene on his screen. The phone was clearly on his nightstand, propped against the lamp, probably. He could see your gorgeous naked body from the side as you were straddling Suguru, who was comfortably laying with his back against the headboard, looking into the camera with the dirtiest, most mischievous look. One of your hands was laying flat against his chest while your other arm was wrapped around his neck, you fingers probably a fistful of his long, black, silky hair. Noticing Suguru's gaze, you turned your head to the camera too. Satoru almost came at the clear sight of your fucked out expression, your eyes clouded with lust and your parted lips swollen and abused already. He swallowed the knot in his throat loudly, his finger frantically searching the pause button so he could take a closer look at the curve of your ass in Suguru's lap, the way your full tits were pressed against his toned chest, the bite marks all over his neck, the large, veiny hand sprawled over one of your ass cheeks. God, how Satoru wished he was there instead of this stupid hotel room. He pressed play once again.

"Hurry home, Satoru."

A guttural groan escaped him as an uncontrollable reaction to Suguru's words. Precum was dripping over his fingers as he pumped his cock at a faster pace, feeling his pulse throb under his fingers.

"We've spoiled this princess so rotten that I can't satisfy her by myself." He continued, a hand gently tugging a strand of hair behind your ear in a sweet, gentle gesture.

"Oh, shut up." You hissed and pushed his hand away from your hair, guiding it back to your ass.

You leaned in, locking lips with Suguru once again as your hips started boucing on his cock. The thought that all this time he had been inside you made Satoru incredibly sexually frustrated and overwhelmingly needy, the feeling of his hand around his cock not pleasuring enough. Scandalous sounds of skin slapping against skin echoed over the muffled moans. The tantilizing way your body was was undulating against Suguru had his blue eyes glued open to the screen, as much as he wanted to let his heavy lids close and chase his orgasm. He wanted to see every moment, every second of it. He felt his mouth water as Suguru ducked his face down, catching your nipple between his lips, earning a loud moan in response. As your head was leaned back, eyes shut, focused solely on your own pleasure while bouncing on Suguru's cock, his eyes were slightly open, looking sideways into the camera with the most smug expression written over them as he sucked and flicked his tongue over your sensitive nipples.

"Such a fucking tease."

Satoru grunted in pathetic jealousy, feeling his release approaching nonetheless. However, a part of him didn't want to come just yet. His hand movements slowed down, edging his orgasm away as he paid full attention to the video. By now, two large hands were glued to your hips, fingers digging into the soft fat at your sides as Suguru encouraged your movements to be faster and deeper. Your own nails had left marks all over his chest and shoulders already. You didn't seem to care that the phone was recording or that Satoru was witnessing how shamlessly cock drunk you were. Maybe this shamelessness was exactly what made his own cock twitch. However, Suguru, the culprit behind this whole dirty mess, was very vocal in making sure everyone was included no matter how far apart.

"You squeeze me out so good, baby."

He breathed out between grunts of pleasure and Satoru's cock ached in the absence of your sweet cunt to be buried inside of.

"Too bad Satoru isn't here to keep your mouth busy."

Inevitably, the thought of your sweet and warm mouth around his cock had Satoru whining pathetically, his hand speeding up in a messy and angry motion along his length.

"Or take you from behind the way you like it."

As he spoke, Suguru grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back to expose your neck. You moaned, half in pain half in pleasure as, without a doubt, his filthy words were having the same effect on you as they had on Satoru himself.

"Suguru ngh- fuck"

You moaned loudly, completely forgetting whatever it was you initially wanted to say because his arms wrapped around you, pulling your bodies impossibly closer, the tip of his cock hitting the right spot inside you over and over again.

"Yeah, baby. You're close, I know."

Satoru's head was spinning, probably because all the blood in his body was rushing through his aching cock, bringing him so close to release. Or at least that's how it felt when his eyes rolled to the back of his head, Suguru's strained, guttural voice speaking to both you and him.

"Won't you be a good girl and help Satoru cum?"

The groan that came out of his chest was feral. He took one last look at the screen, at the way your naked and sweaty bodies rubbed against each other, wishing he was there too. There was nothing sensual or controlled about your movements anymore. You were grinding feverishly, toes curled and body tense, doing anything it took to reach your high. He'll be there soon enough to remind you how well he can fuck you. How your greedy cunt was made to take both him and Suguru at the same time.

With that, he let his eyelids flutter closed, the only sensation he could feel in his body being the weight of his balls rounded full of his seed and the throbbing of his cock under his fingers.

"Come on, baby."

Suguru urged you again when you didn't seem to obey, a slap of his heavy palm on your ass reverberating at the same time with your moans. Satoru was sure, even with his eyes tightly shut, that your back arched in the most delicious way.

"Satoru, please-"

"Fuck" He groaned, your choked whimpers pushing him over the edge.

"Keep going."

Suguru growled against your skin, his lips leaving messy and sloppy kisses all over your neck.

"Right there, fuck, Satoru, right there!"

His whole body felt like it was burning. The phone fell from his grip, forgotten between the sheets, as the only thing he needed now was the sound of your pathetic pleas and Suguru's muffled moans against your skin. Instead, his free hand brushed the hair off his forhead, damp with sweat and sticking to his skin. Suguru's uncontrollable grunts were a clear sign he was close too. The previously quiet hotel room was filled with a filthy variety of sounds. Good thing he didn't have the time to order room service yet.

"I need your cock inside me, Satoru, please."

It was too much even for him. He didn't know how much of the video was left but there was no way he could avoid the thick ropes of cum that shot out of his cock at the sound of you begging for it. Sparks erupted behind his eyelids with the force of his orgasm hitting his entire body and his fingers now coated in white and sticky cum lazily pumped his cock a few more times, milking out every drop of pleasure left.

By the time his ears weren't booming with the sound of his heartbeat anymore, he grabbed the phone again to see the video was still playing. You were breathing heavily on top of Suguru while he was gently rubbing your back and holding you close, seemingly unaware of the camera anymore.

He missed both of you so damn much.

It was your hand that reached out for the phone on the nightstand. With the camera above your face you checked the state of your fucked out self, the messy hair, the swollen lips, the still intact eye make up, the blooming marks on your neck. Satoru felt his cock shyly growing hard again at the sight of your pretty face.

"Yes, you're pretty, stop rubbing it in his face."

Suguru seemed to be thinking the same thing as he tried to reach out and grab the phone from your hands.

"I'm talking to my boyfriend!" You slapped his hand away but he didn't seem to be giving up.

A soft whine left your lips as Suguru's cock slightly moved inside your cunt while he was trying to snatch the phone away from your grip. You tried pushing him away to no avail, his strong arms holding you close, his deep purple eyes looking into the camera.

"He's my boyfriend too."

"And we both miss you very much." You said, blowing Satoru a kiss through the phone.

"I'll give Yaga hell for giving you two missions back to back."

Satoru chuckled softly at Suguru's words. Indeed, one mission was bearable but two lenghty missions back to back away from his pretty girlfriend and his handsome boyfriend was too much for him.

The recording eded abruptly leaving Satoru sighing in disappointment. Luckily tomorrow morning he will be on his way back home.

Masterlist

[mintyys-blog]

hi minty, could I request reader with an exhibitionism kink x Fratboy!Wally west? like they end up fucking on every surface possible

WHO NEEDS PRIVACY? | wally west x reader

DC COMICS MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: smut, little to no plot, swearing, fingering (foreplay)

Kindly respect my work. No reposts, translations, or rewrites — AI-generated or not — without my consent. © @mintyys-blog

You didn’t go to frat parties. You went to study groups. To your job. To your dorm, where your roommate’s anime figurines silently judged your nonexistent social life.

But here you were—standing in the too-loud, too-sweaty foyer of Delta Sigma Zeta with a Solo cup in hand and a “What the hell am I doing?” expression you tried to smother behind lip gloss and fake confidence.

You weren’t popular. Wally West was.

Like, absurdly popular. Fast-talking, always-smiling, devil-in-a-varsity-jacket kind of popular. The guy who’d never spoken more than three words to you in class but still somehow knew everyone’s birthday and drink order.

And you had a crush on him. Naturally.

So yes, maybe you came tonight with a plan. A small one. A “use-his-popularity-to-get-into-the-right-social-circle” kind of plan. Which sounded cold, but when you spent most weekends watching Netflix while the campus partied, a little self-serving ambition felt justified.

What you hadn’t planned on? Him noticing you within five minutes of walking in.

He was holding court in the kitchen, surrounded by people who all looked like their Instagram feeds were filtered in real time. He spotted you instantly. Paused mid-laugh. Cocked his head like he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at.

Then he smiled. “Hey,” he called, leaning against the counter like a walking Abercrombie ad. “You stalking me or something?” You almost choked on your drink. “Please. If I was stalking you, you’d never know. I’m much better at it than that.”

That got a laugh. From him. From the people around him. And just like that, you were pulled into his orbit. You didn’t expect him to actually flirt. But he did. Shamelessly. Wally was the kind of guy who made you feel like you were the only person in the room even while he was making three people laugh behind you. He asked you questions—real ones. Teased you gently. Let his hand rest a little too long on the small of your back when he leaned in to talk.

“You’re funny,” he said at one point, eyes glinting. “You should come to more of these.”

“Parties?”

“My lap.” You nearly spat out your drink. “Oh my gosh.”

“What?” He raised his hands in mock innocence. “I said what I said.”

You didn’t plan on ending up in the laundry room.

But around midnight, after a chaotic game of Never Have I Ever (during which Wally definitely guessed you’d made out with someone in a public place and you definitely lied about it), he tugged you away from the crowd with a whisper of, “Come here, I wanna show you something.”

It turned out “something” was a dimly lit laundry room, half-clean, half-terrifying. And before you could ask what the hell he was doing, his lips were on yours.

He kissed like he flirted—fast, bold, just enough hesitation to check you were in it too. And you were. God, you were.

One second you were pressed against the wall, his hands gripping your hips like he’d earned them, and the next, you were lifted onto the washing machine.

“Tell me to stop,” he mumbled, mouth hot against your neck.

“I will,” you promised, breathless. “Eventually.”

You didn’t.

Somehow the machine turned on mid-makeout. You both paused as it started to shake, then looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“This is so dumb,” you said, wrapping your legs around his waist. “This is so hot,” he corrected. “The risk factor? Peak adrenaline.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You’re into it.” You didn’t deny it.

He kissed you like he wanted to ruin your lipstick and your plans. You let him. The walls were thin. You could hear music and footsteps outside.

“I swear if someone walks in—”

“We’ll tell them we’re doing laundry,” he said, sliding his hand higher under your shirt. “Like responsible adults.”

“On the spin cycle?”

“Gotta get it extra clean.”

You rolled your eyes so hard your brain might’ve reset. And still—you didn’t stop him. Not when he kissed down your neck, not when he muttered something about how good you looked up on that washer, all breathy and wild-eyed.

You liked this version of you.

The bold one. The one who didn’t care if someone heard. The one who got to be the center of his attention, if only for a little while.

And maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t about social climbing anymore. Maybe you liked being wanted by him for you.

Because Wally?

He wasn’t acting like this was casual. He was looking at you like you were daring him to fall, and he was considering it.

You weren’t sure what was hotter—the way Wally’s hands slipped under your thighs to tug you closer, or the steady vibration of the ancient washing machine beneath you that made your brain short-circuit in real time.

Either way, you were losing the ability to form rational thoughts.

“This is so…” you started, trailing off when his mouth found that spot under your jaw that made your toes curl.

“So what?” he murmured, teeth grazing your skin. “Scandalous? Filthy? A tragic misuse of household appliances?”

“Yes.” You pulled his face back up to yours. “All of the above.”

Wally grinned like a man who knew exactly how dangerous he was. His fingers curled into your hips, anchoring you in place like you might float away otherwise. And honestly? You might. Your pulse was on overdrive. Your dress was halfway to your ribs. Your legs were wrapped around him like you’d been rehearsing this since freshman year.

He wasn’t being subtle about any of it.

“God, you’re hot,” he breathed, trailing kisses down your neck. “How are you not already ruining someone’s life?”

“Because I’ve been busy ruining my own,” you said, tugging at the hem of his hoodie with a smirk. “But hey, new year, new goals.”

He laughed—boyish and bright—and then kissed you again, deeper this time. Like he forgot there was a party outside. Like the two of you had all the time in the world and no one was minutes away from accidentally barging in.

Your back hit the wall above the machine with a dull thud, and Wally paused, blinking up at the ceiling like he was having a holy shit moment.

“Okay. I don’t want to ruin the vibe,” he said slowly, “but I think I just had a spiritual experience.”

You cocked a brow. “From kissing me or the spin cycle?”

“Both,” he admitted. “But mostly you. Definitely mostly you.”

And just like that, the air between you shifted. It was still hot—still reckless and humming with bad decisions—but underneath it, something gentler was blooming.

He looked at you like you weren’t just a quick distraction. Like he wasn’t rushing this just to brag about it later.

“Still want to stop me?” he asked, voice softer now, hands steadying on your thighs.

You should’ve said yes. You meant to say yes.

But instead, you leaned forward until your forehead pressed against his, until you could count every freckle across his cheeks.

“Wally?”

“Yeah?”

“If we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“That’s fair,” he whispered, already kissing you again. “I’d take the fall for you.”

He pulled your panties down, “lace? Naughty girl.” He put them in his pocket, “I’m starting to think you planned getting laid tonight.”

“So what if I did?” you smirked, tugging him closer by the front of his shirt.

Wally didn’t hesitate. He practically growled into your mouth as he kissed you again—hungry, wild, the kind of kiss that made you forget your name. His hands gripped your thighs and hiked your dress up without ceremony, dragging the fabric to your waist like it offended him by getting in the way.

“God, you’re driving me insane,” he muttered against your skin, pressing kisses down your neck as his fingers skimmed along the inside of your thigh. “You know that, right? You have to know.”

You didn’t get the chance to answer. His fingers slipping lower, testing just how ready you were for him. He paused, glancing up at you with that devilish smirk like he’d just won a bet.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Knew it.”

Before you could throw back a sarcastic remark, he dipped two fingers into you—slow at first, dragging the motion out like he wanted to feel every second of it. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes fluttering closed as your head hit the wall behind you.

You were already soaked, and from the way he groaned under his breath, he liked that. A lot.

“Shit,” he whispered, his free hand gripping your waist as his fingers began to move—slick, rhythmic, deliberate. “You’re so wet for me.”

Your hips jerked forward instinctively, chasing the friction. The sound—wet, obscene—filled the room, almost louder than the music pounding outside. It made you dizzy. So did the way his eyes never left your face, like he was trying to memorize the way you looked unraveling under him.

His fingers curled inside you, brushing a spot that made your whole body jolt.

“Right there,” you gasped, voice barely audible over the roar in your ears.

“Ohhh, that’s it,” he said, grinning like a man who just figured out a cheat code. “Got it. We’re in business now.”

He adjusted his angle and did it again, and again—each stroke more precise than the last, his thumb brushing sensitive skin as his fingers pumped steadily, your slick coating his knuckles. You clenched around him without meaning to, and he felt it, too—his eyes went wide for a second like you’d just short-circuited him.

“Damn,” he muttered. “You’re gonna kill me.” You felt like you were floating, hips grinding against his hand, one of your shoes dangling off your toes, his name tangled in your throat but never quite making it out. Your fingers dug into his shoulders for balance, your chest heaving as your body arched into his touch.

He leaned in, mouth at your ear now, voice pure sin. “Anyone could walk in right now. You know that?” You shuddered.

“You’d let them see you like this?” he teased, curling his fingers again until your eyes nearly rolled back. “Let them see how pretty you look falling apart on my hand?” You didn’t answer—but the way your legs tightened around his waist said enough.

He laughed softly, and God, you could feel him—hard against you, barely held back, every muscle tense with restraint. You weren’t sure how much longer you could take it. You didn’t know if you wanted it to stop. All you knew was that you didn’t want it to end here. Not yet.

His hand moved with a rhythm that felt practiced and perfect—fast enough to make your breath catch, slow enough to drive you mad. You were gripping his shoulders like a lifeline, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as your body trembled under the intensity of it.

Your thighs were shaking. Your chest heaved. And Wally—God, Wally looked like he was thriving on the way you came undone for him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low, teeth flashing as he caught your eye. “Didn’t know you could be this loud.”

“I’m—” You barely got the word out, biting your lip hard enough to taste blood. “I’m not usually—”

“Like this?” he finished for you, voice full of wicked amusement.

You nodded, breathless.

“Yeah,” he whispered, leaning close until his lips brushed your ear. “You are now.”

He pushed his fingers just a little deeper, and you moaned, the sound strangled and desperate as you jerked forward. Your hips ground against his palm, chasing pressure, pleasure, anything. It was instinctive. Mindless.

You were already gone.

He pulled back just enough to watch your face, your mouth parted, your lashes fluttering as your body rocked with each wave of heat building inside you. And when your hands slipped beneath his hoodie, skimming over his warm skin, Wally sucked in a sharp breath like you had just touched a live wire.

“You’re killing me, babe,” he muttered, dragging his mouth down your neck, fingers never slowing. “You’re gonna make me lose my damn mind.”

There was a knock. A sudden thud against the laundry room door.

You both froze.

“Someone in there?” a voice slurred. “I need to throw my jersey in the dryer!”

Wally pressed a finger to your lips, wide-eyed, grinning like the chaos was a bonus prize.

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Not with his fingers still buried deep inside you, not with your body screaming for release and your pulse jackhammering in your ears.

He leaned in slowly, mouth right at your temple.

“Be quiet,” he whispered. “But don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

His fingers curled again—deliberate. Merciless. Your eyes slammed shut as you bit down on the sleeve of his hoodie to keep yourself silent, shaking under the weight of the pleasure curling like fire in your belly.

Whoever was outside the door gave up after a second, footsteps staggering away, music swelling louder again in the background. Wally pulled back just enough to see you, his thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“Still with me?” he asked softly. You met his eyes. And then you kissed him—hard, grateful, reckless. You weren’t stopping. Not yet.

Not when you could still feel his fingers inside you, slick with want. Not when your thighs were still trembling. Not when his voice was thick and needy in your ear, saying, “Come on, baby—let go for me.” You didn’t stand a chance, cumming around his fingers for the second time that night.

He pulled back just enough to catch your breath, his fingers still slick and slow, teasing and driving you closer to the edge. Your heart hammered so loud it almost drowned out the pounding bass from the party beyond the laundry room walls.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered, voice thick with need. His thumb brushed your skin in lazy circles, every touch electric. “I swear, you’re going to ruin me.”

Your breath hitched as his lips grazed the sensitive spot just below your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You pressed into him, desperate to feel more, to erase every line between where he ended and you began.

His hand slid lower, fingers tracing bold, deliberate patterns along your skin. The tension inside you coiled tighter and tighter, every inch of your body alive with raw, delicious anticipation.

Outside, muffled noises drifted in—the distant shout of a friend, the clink of a bottle—but here, in this charged bubble of heat and secrecy, nothing existed but the slick warmth of his touch and the wild, reckless promise in his eyes. You let your fingers tighten in his hoodie, your voice barely a whisper as you said, “Don’t stop.” He smiled—dark, confident, and utterly addicted—and obeyed.

You kissed him like you couldn’t breathe without it—needy, messy, all tongue and desperation. When you finally pulled back, your voice came out ragged.

“Wally,” you whispered, clutching the hem of his hoodie like it was holding your soul in place. “Do you… do you have a condom?”

He blinked, startled for half a second. And then he grinned—the slow, cocky kind of grin that made you want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.

“Babe,” he said, reaching into his back pocket without breaking eye contact, “I always come prepared.”

He held it up with a little flourish, the foil wrapper glinting in the soft light of the laundry room like it was some kind of prize.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you just carry that around at all times?”

“Would you prefer I didn’t?” he asked, leaning in, lips brushing yours as he added, “Because that’d be a real shame—especially right now.”

Your stomach flipped. Your pulse thundered. The fact that he had it on him, like this was something he wanted—not just tonight, but maybe for a while now—lit a fire low in your belly.

“Good,” you whispered, reaching down to tug him closer by the belt loops of his jeans. “Then don’t make me wait.”

His smirk faltered—just for a second—as something hungry, almost reverent, flickered in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

You barely heard the crinkle of the wrapper over the sound of your own heartbeat.

Wally stepped back just enough to slide off his hoodie in one smooth motion, revealing toned arms and a trail of freckles you hadn’t even realized you wanted to memorize. He caught your stare and smirked—cocky, but there was a softness beneath it, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real either.

“You good?” he asked, voice quieter now. Still playful, but gentler. Real.

You nodded, a little breathless. “You’re not gonna brag about this to your entire frat, are you?”

He stepped between your legs again, hands braced on your thighs, and leaned in close—close enough that his nose brushed yours.

“Only if you want me to,” he murmured. “But… I kind of want to keep this between us for a bit. Just mine.”

Your stomach flipped. Maybe it was the look in his eyes. Maybe it was the way he said mine like it wasn’t just about tonight.

And then?

Then he kissed you again—slow this time, deep and grounding. Like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth. Like he wasn’t in a rush anymore, even though you both felt like you were going to combust.

Clothes came off in stages. Some you helped with, some he practically tore off you. The cold air bit at your skin for half a second before his body was on yours again, all heat and want and reckless focus.

Your back hit the wall above the washer, your legs wrapped tight around his waist, and then—Everything disappeared.

His voice broke in your ear when you moved against him—low, ragged, somewhere between a curse and a prayer. Like he was barely holding it together. Like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

Your nails dragged down his back, leaving hot, red trails in their wake, and he hissed through his teeth—sharp and breathless. One of his hands fisted in the side of your dress like he needed something to hold onto. The other slid beneath your thigh, gripping hard, lifting, angling, until— Oh.

Wally’s breath stuttered, and he buried his face in your shoulder, lips parting against your skin, gasping something that sounded like your name but didn’t quite make it all the way out. Like it caught in his throat on the way up, too wrecked, too real.

You held onto him like the world was spinning off-axis. And maybe it was. Maybe it had been since the moment he touched you.

It was messy. Dizzy. A blur of breathless moans and half-formed words. His name on your lips like a broken promise. Yours in his voice, like he didn’t want to stop saying it, like he wanted to carve it into the air between you, into your spine, into the spaces that hadn’t been touched by anyone else before now.

The washing machine thudded beneath you—off rhythm, knocking against the wall like it was warning you it couldn’t take much more. But Wally didn’t falter. He rocked into you with a steady, determined pace, the kind that didn’t beg or fumble—it took. Bold. Focused. Devoted to the way you melted beneath him.

His grip under your thighs tightened as he pressed into you again, deep, like he wanted to feel every inch of you wrapped around him.

You gasped—sharp, high-pitched—and your hips tilted into him without thinking.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “God, that’s—yeah, just like that.”

Every thrust sent you tipping further into the edge of something you couldn’t name, couldn’t slow down. You were all sensation. All heat. All desperate, clinging need. His cock throbbing against your slick walls.



He kissed you again—messy, open-mouthed, off-center. You didn’t care. Neither did he. His lips chased yours between every ragged breath, every groan, every time your body jolted from the force of him.

“I’m not gonna last,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours, voice thick and hoarse. “You feel too good. You feel—fuck, babe—” You could barely answer. You were already unraveling.

Together, you fell into it—into each other, into every wave of sensation that pulled you under like a riptide. And when it broke, when the tension finally snapped— You didn’t come down gently. You crashed. Straight into his chest, his arms, his mouth whispering your name like it was something sacred.

Your back hit the cold dryer as you tried to catch your breath, legs still shaky, dress bunched around your waist like a trophy of war. Wally leaned over you, one hand braced against the wall, chest rising and falling like he’d just run laps around the block.

You blinked up at him.

He looked like sin incarnate—shirtless, flushed, freckles on full display, hair a mess from your hands. His grin?

Devastating.

“Okay,” he said between panting breaths, voice still a little wrecked. “So that… definitely wasn’t just about doing laundry.”

You laughed, a weak sound, your body still buzzing. “Pretty sure we broke the spin cycle.”

He glanced down at the washer beneath you, which was blinking red like it had given up on life. “That’s fine. I’ve got frat house immunity. They’ll just assume someone made it fight a raccoon again.”

You snorted, dragging your hands down your face. “Wally.”

He stepped back just far enough to help you off the machine, hands lingering a little longer than necessary on your hips, like he didn’t want to let go. And once you were standing—knees wobbling and all—he bent to pick up his hoodie, offering it to you without a word.

You blinked. “What’s this for?”

“Shielding your walk of fame,” he said with an obnoxious wink. “Also your dress is inside out and you lost a shoe halfway through. You’re not exactly blending in.”

You groaned. “Kill me.”

“No way,” he said, stepping in again, voice suddenly softer, teasing but sincere. “Then who am I gonna drag into closets and laundry rooms from now on?”

You met his eyes.

And that was the moment it hit you—not just the aftermath of what you’d done, but the way he was looking at you. Not like you were just a party hookup. Not like this was some brag to toss to the guys later.

No—he looked at you like he’d just found his new favorite secret.

You coughed, trying to play it off. “So… we’re gonna pretend this never happened, or…?”

“Oh no.” He stepped closer, one hand sliding into your hair, smug but fond. “I’m pretending like this is absolutely happening again.”

You opened your mouth to argue.

And then the door flew open.

“DUDE—” Some poor guy stood frozen, arms full of laundry, jaw hanging open as he took in the wreckage. The disheveled dress. Wally’s half-naked state. The deeply haunted look on the dryer’s face.

Wally didn’t miss a beat.

“Laundry’s taken,” he said cheerfully, pulling you flush against him. “Try the basement.”

Then he slammed the door in the guy’s face and turned back to you, eyes glittering.

“So. You wanna sneak out the back,” he said, “or do we walk out like legends?”

[dorkyteenagedirtbag-ks]

Synopsis: A simple favor turns chaotic when (Y/N) delivers Bokuto's lunch.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

As (Y/N) was getting ready for school, he heard his phone vibrate. He checked it and saw a message from his boyfriend:

"(Y/N), I FORGOT MY LUNCH ON MY TABLE. CAN YOU BRING IT TO ME, PRETTY PLEASE?"

He sighed, rolling his eyes, but decided to stop by Bokuto’s house-thankfully, it was nearby-before heading to school. Luckily, he had a spare key Bokuto’s mom had given him, since they spent so much time together.

He arrived at school early and made his way to the gym where Bokuto was. Standing outside, he texted him to come grab his lunch, but after a few minutes with no response, he gave up and slowly opened the door.

As he peeked his head inside, a volleyball smacked him right in the face, making him hiss in pain.

"Fuck..." he muttered, eyes closed, holding his head.

When he finally looked up, he realized everyone in the gym was staring at him. Flustered by all the attention, he gave them an awkward smile.

Just as the silence became unbearable, Bokuto and Akaashi came back from the locker room. Noticing their teammates frozen in place, they followed their gazes and saw (Y/N).

Prepared for what was coming, Akaashi casually plugged his ears.

"OMG (Y/N)!! WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY YOU WERE HERE?!"

(Y/N) didn’t even flinch, used to his boyfriend’s volume.

"I did text you, dumbass!" he said, pouting a little.

Before Bokuto could reply, (Y/N) handed him the lunch.

"Here. Next time, don’t forget it so I don’t have to go through that again." He turned around and headed to class without another word.

As Bokuto turned to face the rest of the team, he noticed all of them staring at him, confused. One finally voiced what they were all thinking.

"Who was that?"

Everyone nodded, clearly curious.

"Oh, that’s my boyfriend!" Bokuto replied proudly. "He’s cute, right?"

"WAIT, WHAT?!"

Akaashi stepped forward, wearing his usual bored expression.

"Yes. That’s his boyfriend. And I have to deal with the two of them being all lovey dovey every day. Unfortunately."

"That's not true... I don't see what you're talking about..." Bokuto said with a guilty smile.

Akaashi just stared at him, silent, while the rest of the team exchanged shocked glances, wondering how they'd missed such a major piece of gossip.

After the initial shock wore off, training resumed like usual. When the day ended, (Y/N) waited outside at the school gate, just like Bokuto had asked.

As soon as Bokuto saw him, he ran over him.

"(Y/N)!!" he shouted, pulling him into a big hug.

"Babe… people are watching. Can you not?"

Pouting, Bokuto let go and turned back to his team.

"So, guys, this is (Y/N), my boyfriend as you saw this morning. I know he’s cute, handsome, charming, and smart, but don’t even think about flirting with him," he said, shooting a glare at everyone.

(Y/N) sighed for the second time that day and gave him a light slap on the shoulder.

"Shut up. I told you to stop saying cringe things."

Turning to the team, he added, "Anyway, nice to meet you all, but I’m really tired-and we have to study for the exam, don’t we, Bokuto?" he said with a small smirk.

Bokuto’s smile dropped instantly.

"Aww, babe… can’t we do something else? It's not even exam week yet..." he pleaded with a nervous grin.

"No."

And with that, (Y/N) took Bokuto’s hand and led him back home, where they spent the next two hours reviewing their notes—while Bokuto complained every two minutes, asking his boyfriend when it would finally be over.

- 𝐊𝐒

The parasite in me kinda wanted it to be an omegaverse but I resisted lmao

Btw guys our request box is still open if you need :)

[jibitzlesscrocs]

Sooo i have a request for you with matt, what about reader being friends with the triplets and she goes to uni and she mets this guy she is very much into, but matt is a little (or very much) jealous especially because reader thinks that she kinda of see herself in a relationship with this guy, hoping to finally have her first relationship since she also like this boy a lot. So maybe one night they all go to a party (you can choose if Nick and chris are included or not) and reader hangs out with this guy, but after a while matt notices that she has completely disappeared with this guy and is kinda of concerned because he doesn’t trust him at all and after a while he (or Nick maybe) find her a complete mess crying alone because the guy insulted her because he wanted to have sex but she refused, and to lead him on and calling her name and things, Matt gets very very mad that goes to him and punch him and it’s like a whole mess, but when idk who maybe Chris or Nick stop their brother they all go home and reader is like in shock and helps matt with his hand and start to question him like why did you do that ecc, and he shares that he has feelings for her and hates seeing her going for all this wrong guys that wants to use her, sorry if this is too long and sorry for my English!!! lots of love from europeeee!!🩷🩷 i love your writing🫶🏻😍

omg hiii !! i love europe and i hope you like this !!

warning : fighting, forcing sex,

blind love

in which, matt fights for love

You came home from university trying to feel normal again.

The Sturniolos were your constants—chaotic, hilarious, grounding. And Matt? He was… complicated. Always has been. But ever since you started talking to Noah, that complication got worse. He barely replied to your texts, got pissy over the smallest things. You chalked it up to him being protective, but part of you knew better.

Still, tonight wasn’t about Matt. Tonight was about seeing your boys, drinking shitty beer out of red cups, and maybe finally figuring out where things stood with Noah.

You spent half the party by Matt’s side. He was quiet. Cold. His jaw stayed tight every time you glanced at your phone. Then Noah walked in—and you drifted.

You didn’t notice the way Matt’s eyes darkened. Or the way Nick nudged Chris, murmuring, “He’s gonna snap.”

⸻

Noah’s hand is on your waist.

He’s laughing into your ear. Telling you how different you look from the girls at school—how “in a good way” still sounds like an insult.

“You always act like you’re not into it,” he says, voice low. “But then you keep coming back. You know that’s kinda manipulative, right?”

Your stomach twists.

“I’m not—Jesus, I’m not trying to manipulate you, Noah.”

“Then what? You just like attention?”

The words hit harder than you expect. Maybe because they’re not new. Maybe because you thought he was different.

You pull away from him. “I’m done. Don’t talk to me like that.”

He snorts. “You’re such a fucking tease. Seriously. Pretending like you want something and then backing out like a scared little girl.”

You blink—tears already stinging. You shove past him and disappear out the back door, the cold air burning your skin.

⸻

Matt sees you vanish. Alone. With him.

That’s it.

He slams his drink down so hard the cup crumples. “Where the fuck did she go?”

Chris raises a brow. “Matt—”

“She left with him. You didn’t see the way he’s been touching her all night? He’s a fucking creep.”

Nick stands up. “Chill. Just text her.”

“No,” Matt growls. “I don’t trust that asshole for a second.”

He’s already moving before either of them can stop him, shoving through drunk bodies and thrown-around limbs until he’s outside—until he sees you.

Sitting on the steps. Crying. Alone.

His chest caves in.

You look up. “Matt…”

“What did he do?” His voice is low. Too low.

You try to wipe your face. “It’s fine, just—”

“No. Fuck that. Tell me what he said.”

You swallow. “He called me a tease. Said I led him on. That I was wasting his time. Because I didn’t want to have sex.”

Matt goes silent. Still. His jaw clenches so tight you think he might shatter.

Then he turns. Walks back inside like a loaded gun.

⸻

Noah doesn’t even see it coming.

Matt grabs him by the collar, slamming him back into the kitchen wall hard enough to rattle the frames.

“You motherfucker.”

“What the hell, man—”

Matt punches him. Full force. Right in the mouth.

There’s a gasp from the crowd. Someone yells, “Yo! Chill!”

“Say that shit to her face again,” Matt growls. “Call her a tease one more fucking time.”

Noah’s spitting blood. “What is your problem?! I didn’t even touch her!”

“Because she said no, dickhead. That means fuck off. Not throw a tantrum and call her names because your fragile ego couldn’t handle rejection.”

Noah lunges forward, but Chris and Nick are already there, dragging Matt back as he tries to go in for another swing.

“She’s not yours, man!” Noah shouts. “You’re not her boyfriend!”

Matt stops.

Breathing heavy. Bloody knuckles. Eyes locked like he could burn the guy alive.

“No,” he spits. “I’m not. But I should’ve been.”

⸻

Silence on the drive home.

You’re curled in the backseat, eyes puffy, hands clenched around the sleeves of your sweater. Matt hasn’t said a word. His fist is swelling, his mouth is a line of fury and regret.

You follow him into the bathroom quietly.

Matt doesn’t look at you—just turns the faucet on and leans over the sink, letting the cold water rush over his busted knuckles. The silence in the room buzzes louder than any music from the party ever did.

He winces when the water hits, but doesn’t pull away.

You grab a clean towel from under the sink and step closer.

“Sit,” you whisper, gently nudging him to the closed toilet lid. “Let me see.”

He does, jaw tight, breathing still uneven from the adrenaline. He doesn’t speak as you kneel in front of him, the fabric of your sweater brushing his jeans as you position yourself between his legs.

You take his hand carefully, almost reverently. The skin is scraped, the knuckles swelling, knotted red and raw. You dab the towel gently against them, eyes locked on the damage.

“You didn’t have to hit him,” you murmur.

Matt snorts under his breath. “Yeah, I fucking did.”

You look up. “You could’ve walked away.”

He finally meets your eyes, and something in the air shifts—thickens.

“Couldn’t,” he says, voice low. “Not when it was about you.”

Your breath catches.

You swallow, looking down again as you gently pat his hand dry. “Why, Matt?”

He’s quiet for a second. Then:

“Because seeing him touch you made me feel like I was gonna fucking explode.”

You freeze.

“Watching him laugh with you, knowing he was full of shit—knowing you were looking at him like he might actually care about you the way you deserve—” He pauses. “It made me sick.”

You slowly rise to your feet, still holding his hand. Your chest is pounding. “Matt…”

“I fucking love you,” he says. “Okay? I have for a while. And yeah, maybe I was too much of a coward to tell you before. But I can’t stand watching guys treat you like you’re just something to chase, or fuck, or talk down to when they don’t get what they want.”

You take a shaky step closer, standing between his legs again. His free hand instinctively finds your waist, like muscle memory.

You look at him—really look—and suddenly, everything you’ve been trying to ignore crashes into you like a wave.

“I thought I needed Noah to feel… worthy,” you whisper. “Like I finally mattered to someone.”

“You already matter,” Matt says immediately. “You matter so much it fucking hurts.”

You suck in a breath. His fingers flex around your waist. His injured hand still cradled in yours.

“I was scared to believe someone could love me like that,” you admit. “But I think I’ve always kind of wanted it to be you.”

Matt’s eyes flick to your lips, then back to your eyes.

He’s breathing harder now. “Say that again.”

“I wanted it to be you,” you repeat, barely above a whisper.

There’s no hesitation when his hand moves to your cheek. No uncertainty when he leans in close enough that his forehead brushes yours.

He doesn’t kiss you. Not yet.

Instead, he whispers, “Then let it be.”

taglist : @courta13 , @sunkissedsturniolos , @ivysturnss , @imsoborediwannadie , @emeraldsturns , @beabadoobeelvur , @moth-feeet , @lezleeferguson-120 , @leahfaith , @theowensturniolo , @nickysturnss

MAI’S STORE

-

[nightlilly0110]

We are the man-made monsters,

We are the ones who conquer,

You are a threat no longer,

I won't take more suffering from you

[winters-secret-star-wars-blog]

Omega: "Want to know a secret? I escaped from this mountain before. Know what else?"

[point-two-two]

horrible little imp man is plaguing my thoughts once more

[astrxealis]

super busy but hi i miss ffxiv i played again today raghh happy 10th anniv the rising event makes me cry i love ffxiv :(( but anyway! bg3 thoughts in tags!

[qvvit]

yall . fuck this class im in im so bothered!!!!

[divinedomainn]

Stream and Scream | reader x multiple men

play previous song? || ◁ PART 1 ▷ || play next song?

summary : After another horny stream, you drop the bomb: fuck-a-fan fridays—seven weeks, seven fans, seven filthy videos. masks on, faces hidden, just you and one lucky subscriber tangled up on camera each week. All they have to do? strip down, get hard, and show you why it should be them. Auditions start now.

contains : camgirl!reader x a whole ass roster, rotating cast, university AU, smut, porn with kinda a crack plot, casual sex, anonymous sex, exhibitionism, recording, oral sex, piv sex, rough kinky sex, everyone wants to fuck reader, horny simp men

A/N : and so it starts!!! is everyone ready to see the submissions from your favorite horndogs? :) (also i hope you can tell whose who hehehe) i'm trying to keep the writing inclusive for every sort of female presenting person so let me know how i've done!

The next few weeks passed in a blur of lace, lube, and direct deposits that made your head spin. What had started as a desperate half-joke had morphed into a full-blown empire - your empire. The girl who once contemplated selling her underwear for gas money was now clearing rent, tuition, groceries, and still had enough left over to drop serious coin on clothes and silk bed sheets.

You’d gone to the next level. Your friends were of course benefitting from your suspiciously newfound wealth, you casually said you had found a better part-time job, never letting them know the truth when you decided to take them shopping. Not yet at least.

Private requests were your bread and butter. You weren’t just good anymore - you were a professional tease, a digital siren with a library of toys, outfits, and vocal tones that could bring grown men to their knees. They paid for everything; soft whispers, rough talk, slow stroking, filthy roleplays. Some just oddly wanted to hear your moans on loop. Others wanted personalized videos where you called them by username and told them exactly what you’d do if they ever had the balls to show up in person.

You were making big bank. Like “accidental tax bracket change” big. Like “should probably consult a financial advisor” big.

And the men?

Oh, the men were obsessed.

Especially the regulars. Their usernames lit up your screen night after night, tipping with reckless abandon, flooding the chat with unfiltered thirst. You didn’t know who they were in real life, yet, but their personalities bled through the screen in such vivid, chaotic little ways.

EmoWithaBoner was yearning. Desperate in a way that made your chest clench and your thighs twitch. His messages were usually soft, almost sweet - You deserve everything, You looked so beautiful tonight - until something cracked open inside him mid-message and he’d type something crazy like: I would lick your cunt until you beg me to stop. Now that had gotten a small “Oh.” out of you. He wanted to worship you and ruin you all at once.

SixEyesOnly was a fucking menace. Flirty, cocky, constantly sending emojis that were way too smug for someone probably watching with only one hand available. His tips were ridiculous, like, spend $300 just to watch you eat grapes in a bad wig slowly sort of ridiculous, and his messages read like he was trying to fluster you on purpose. You assumed it was some sort of control thing with him, throwing money at people and getting them to do it. No complaints from you.

TempleOfSin was smooth, a little poetic, a little filthy. He asked for long, descriptive videos where you described what you were wearing, how you’d touch him, how you'd taste. He liked to also order roleplay videos where you pretended to worship him like he was some sort of God. Sometimes he called you his loyal little follower. You didn’t ask questions.

daddyissuez was feral. No other word for it. His requests were blunt, primal, always toeing the line of what the platform allowed and your own, now lacking, self-control. He liked spit, degradation, and power games. His tipping was sporadic and a lot less compared to the others, though, it was enough to keep him in your attention.

OfficeAfterHours was different. Polite. Polished. His messages came like little business memos laced with innuendo. “You looked stunning tonight. That color suits you,” followed by a $200 tip telling you to buy more in the same color. Never crude, always composed. It made him stand out more, somehow. Like a man who didn’t need to beg. A man who expected what he wanted, and always got it.

And then there was KingOfRot.

Unpredictable. Crude. Arrogant. He dropped tips like they were nothing. $500 just because you looked at the camera in a way he said was like a ‘deer in the headlights’. Odd, but $500 was a good amount to keep your mouth shut. He called you “pet,” “whore,” “delicious little thing.” You should’ve blocked him. Instead, you kept reading his messages twice over with your jaw unhinged and in wonderment whether or not he actually said that. His energy was intense and you hated how hot that was.

Which brings us to tonight.

You were perched in your new silk sheets, ring light warm against your skin, wearing your most transparent slip where your nipples were clearly on display and a smug little smirk behind that now iconic mask of yours. You’d hyped this stream for days - teased it on your feed, hinted at it in DMs. The chat was already on fire and you hadn’t even said a word yet. Tonight was a big one.

EmoWithaBoner: god ur so fucking hot tonight SixEyesOnly: i logged in 15 minutes early and i still feel late :(( OfficeAfterHours: You’ve outdone yourself this evening. KingOfRot: Come on, get to the fucking point, girl.

You grinned, slow and lethal, dragging your fingers along your inner thigh and ignoring KingOfRot.

“Well,” you purred, “I figured since you’ve all been very generous lately… it’s time I give something back.”

SixEyesOnly: oh fuck You licked your lips, loving the short little power trip it gave you. “I’ve been thinking,” you said, voice sweet and dangerous. “Maybe it’s time to start a little… tradition.”

You paused for dramatic effect.

“Fuck-a-Fan Fridays.” You bit your lip. Boom. Chat detonation. SixEyesOnly had sent you $200 just for the phrase.

EmoWithaBoner: you’re joking SixEyesOnly: oh shit baby TempleOfSin: Perfect. KingOfRot: You say when and where, pet. daddyissuez: i’ll be first. fuck the line OfficeAfterHours: I trust you've thought this through..

You leaned in close. OfficeAfterHours was cute in the way he was concerned for you. “I mean, why stop at one, right?” You giggled, cheeks burning behind your mask as you kicked your feet a little bit out of the view of your webcam. “I was gonna keep it casual, but um… yeah. What if I made it a thing? Like, a series?”

Another pause. You leaned in even closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper that still carried heat.

“One fan. Every Friday. For seven weeks.”

You crossed your bare legs over one another, your slip rising on your thighs as you did so. “Seven Fridays. Seven people. Seven chances to fuck the brains out of a very nervous, very willing woman who cannot believe she’s actually saying this live right now.”

You sat up again, brushing the slip back into place like your nipples weren’t clearly on display.

“I mean..obviously, we’ll keep it anonymous. Like, we’re not stupid here. Masks. No faces. Just hands. Bodies. And my camera.” The chat was still in full meltdown, comments stacking so fast the shitty platform could barely keep up. Your heart was pounding, your skin warm and tingling from the high of it all—of watching them fall apart just from your voice, your words, the soft shift of silk and skin. You hadn’t even done anything explicit yet, and they were on their knees.

God, it was addictive.

You stretched your arms overhead with a soft sigh, the movement pulling your slip just high enough to tease your hips. A final little gift before the curtain dropped.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” you said with a giggle, feigning innocence even as your gaze sparkled with something much dirtier. “You guys are gonna give me a heart attack.” SixEyesOnly: no no no don’t leave yettt!! :(( KingOfRot: You owe me for the buildup, woman. You tilted your head, lips curving into a sweet little smile as you leaned forward, giving them just one more generous view of your tits before the curtains closed.

“But before I go…” you said, voice slipping into something quieter, softer, like a secret you didn’t mean to share. “If you’re serious about Fuck-a-Fan Fridays… I want you to show me.”

The pause that followed had its own kind of weight. You watched the chat stall for half a second. The anticipation was thick enough to choke on.

“Send me a message,” you murmured, “with a picture. No face. Just your body, and cock, obviously.”

You let your fingers trail down your own torso, to your hips, your thighs, hinting at what you wanted to see. “Let me see what I’d be touching.. What I’ll be fucked braindead by.” EmoWithaBoner: fuck i’ll take a hundred SixEyesOnly: don’t lose your mind too much baby KingOfRot: It’ll be mine you dream about when you touch yourself. OfficeAfterHours: Submission will follow shortly. No face. Clean framing. High quality.

You had to laugh���giddy and a little breathless. You honestly didn’t think they’d go this feral.

“Think of it as an audition,” you said, tucking your knees to your chest, playing sweet again. “Show me what you’re offering. How you’d fit against me. In me.”

You smoothed your hand up your own thigh, lazily now, teasing.

“And just so you know,” you added with a little grin, “I’m only really looking at the ones who’ve tipped enough to keep my attention. You know who you are.”

Oh, they most definitely did.

The seven of them were already scrambling—photos incoming, tips rolling, blood leaving their brains. You didn’t need names. Their usernames were burned into your memory. Their obsessions with you were paying your bills.

“Goodnight, boys,” you whispered. “Impress me.” The second you ended the stream, you collapsed backward into your pillows with a dazed little laugh, limbs spread like you’d just run a marathon and won a gold medal in filth. The glow from your laptop cast a soft haze across your legs, the screen already lighting up with the chaos you’d left behind—tips still pouring in, messages stacking, your inbox begging for attention.

And the photos?

Oh, they were already flooding in, from people you didn’t want, but it was there regardless - upping your activity.

You rolled onto your stomach, chin resting in your palm as you clicked open the first one with a half-curious, half-unhinged smile.

No face, just like you asked. Neck down. The guy was standing in front of a mirror, one hand wrapped tight around his cock, the other lifting his hoodie to show off his chest. His abs were flexed. His cock hard enough to cast a shadow.

You blinked. Let out a slow breath.

“…Damn.”

Another one came in. Different guy, different vibe—tattoos on his hips, hand slick and stroking himself in a dimly lit bathroom, captioned: Fridays look good on me. Want to see how I look underneath you?

“Oh my god,” you whispered, laughing as you pulled your legs up behind you. “This is real. I’m really doing this.”

And you were. One fan. Every Friday. Seven weeks. Seven videos. Each one getting posted to your feed, available for your hundreds of subscribers to watch, rewatch, tip on, comment under, and probably break their dicks to.

It wasn’t just a hookup. It was content. Premium content.

Still riding the rush, you opened your messaging panel and started typing.

New Mass Message Sent to All Subscribers:

Hey babes— If you missed the stream tonight (rip to you), here’s your official invite.

Fuck-a-Fan Fridays is happening. Starting next week, I’ll be choosing seven of you to spend one very intimate night with me. Every Friday for the next seven weeks, I’ll be posting a new video. One fan. One full-length scene. Just me… and whoever impresses me the most.

How to audition:- Send me a photo. - Neck down only. No faces. Masks will be worn on camera, so full anonymity will be protected. But I need to see everything. Cock out. Hard. Your body. Your vibe. The way you'd look on camera—underneath me, on top of me, behind me, inside me.

Show off a little. Or a lot.

Make me want it. Let the auditions begin.

xoxo,

—Your girl

taglist : @frozenmallows @90s-belladonna @moncher-ire @kunareads @blublublubby @grignardsreagent @soozeu @mochiivqi @sweetsformysoul @killak9mi @celloccino @gurlhere4fluff @syubseokie

[jaeyuniversal]

you broke me first - l.hs

pairing: virgin!lee heeseung x experienced fem!reader

synopsis: you and heeseung are the school’s golden pair — popular, admired, and constantly shipped. the only problem? you can’t stand him. from competing on exams to gym class, you’re always neck and neck, and no one gets under your skin like he does. but while you see a rival, he sees the love of his life. when you overhear a hushed conversation that breaks you, will heeseung be able to win you back?

featuring: all of enha, winter from aespa, yuqi from (g)i-dle, and keeho from p1h

genre: angst... slow burn, some fluff, kissing, skinship, SMUTTTT, college au, first love trope?? sorta? one sided enemies to lovers

warnings: smut so mdni (18+), alcohol consumption, vandalizing property, Sexual Tension, everyone is around the same age (21-23), lowercase intended <3

playlist: you broke me first by tate mcrae & what was i made for — billie eilish

(smut warnings under cut!)

wc: 13.271k

a/n: first fic is here! plsplspls leave feedback as anything helps!! was listening to you broke me first and got inspo for a kinda angsty fic pls bare with me :3 anyways! enjoy the read <3<3

smut content: mention of toys (but no use), fingering, squirting, unprotected sex (not for you), dry humping, switch! hee and reader, riding, mating press, too much kissing, masturbation (m.), breeding kink, slight dacryphilia, oral (m. & f.), deepthroating, belly bulge, creampie, size kinkish, big dick! hee, not much aftercare but it's like fluffy, y/n has a “reputation” that she gets around, VIRGIN HEESEUNG (but no one knows…) i think thats it? lmk if i missed anything ◡̈

not proofread!

lee. fucking. heeseung. you hate him. you can't stand him. he always knows what to say just to piss you off. you might be wondering, "why don't you just try to avoid him?" the issue is... you do. you try with ALL your power but to no avail, he's in the same friend group as you.

your friends, knowing you hate him, decided to combine friend groups to see if you and him could mend things. spoiler alert: it failed miserably.

you felt safe in your small circle with keeho (the man you deemed to be your biological older brother — you aren't related), yuqi (your junior high best friend), and winter (your literal wife).

you guys were well known around the entire city of seoul for being the "it group" — always partying, hooking up, and somehow still acing every class (while nursing massive hangovers).

however, heeseung's friend group consisted of the golden boys in decelis university: park jongseong (known as jay, he hates his given name), sim jaeyun (known as the australian transfer student, jake), park sunghoon (the insanely hot figure skater), kim sunoo (the bubbliest person you've ever met), yang jungwon (the boy with feline features, however you've made a special note to never piss him off cause he has a black belt), and nishimura riki (known as ni-ki because he wanted to be different).

you loved riki. he was like your younger brother — chaotic, blunt, and always three steps ahead of everyone. you’d even joked once that if you had to suffer heeseung’s presence, at least you got riki out of it.

unfortunately, riki had the worst habit of instigating chaos.

“truth or dare?” he asked one friday night, grinning like he already had your life planned out. everyone was crammed into jay’s ridiculously large basement, music low, snacks half eaten, and bodies sprawled on beanbags and plush carpet.

you should’ve said “truth.” you knew you should’ve. but you weren’t a coward.

“dare,” you answered, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

the group erupted in ooooh's in perfect synchronicity.

riki’s grin only widened. “i dare you to sit on heeseung’s lap for five minutes.”

you almost lunged across the room.

“riki,” you hissed, “you are so dead.”

he just wiggled his brows suggestively. “i’m a baby. you wouldn’t hurt me.”

the worst part? he was right.

you looked over at heeseung, who was watching you like a cat watching a cornered mouse — lazy smirk, fingers casually drumming against his knee. “scared, sweetheart?”

“i’ll kill you in your sleep,” you said sweetly as you stalked over and dropped yourself into his lap like he was made of cardboard and air.

he oofed, not because you were heavy, but because he wasn’t expecting you to actually do it.

“wow,” he murmured, lips near your ear. “you smell like citrus and bad decisions.”

you resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

five minutes. you just had to survive five minutes.

but then his hands casually settled on your waist, and you felt it — the spark. the electric, traitorous, goddamn spark that told you this was a very, very bad idea.

because maybe, just maybe, your hatred wasn’t as pure as you thought- no. what are you thinking??? you immediately shook the feeling that was buzzing inside you and blamed it on the alcohol swimming in your blood.

you definitely. hated heeseung. yup, yeah, you really did.

heeseung on the other hand? he was just praying to every god he could think of that you couldn't feel how sweaty his palms were getting.

because he was panicking. full blown, internal screaming, oh-no-she’s-sitting-on-me-and-she’s-warm kind of panicking. he hadn't expected you to actually follow through on your usual threats, much less practically straddle him in front of your mutual friends.

but now? now he was just trying to not pass out from the sheer force of your perfume and presence and the weight of years of unresolved tension that sat heavier than you ever could.

"you're sweating," you said flatly, side eyeing him with that expression that usually meant murder or mockery — or both. "you good?"

"totally," he croaked. "i always nearly die when beautiful people threaten me. it's, like, my thing."

you blinked once. twice.

"did you just call me beautiful?"

"i said what i said," he muttered, then immediately regretted everything.

your brows lifted in slow, dangerous amusement. "you feeling okay, heeseung? you hitting on me while i’m threatening you?”

“wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, almost too quiet for you to hear.

and there it was again. the spark. like a lighter flicked too close to your frayed nerves.

you looked away, choosing to focus on literally anything else, but his grip on your waist tightened just slightly, grounding you, almost daring you to acknowledge it.

“how much longer do i have to sit on this assholes lap?” you questioned under your breath, reminding yourself, reminding him, that this was temporary.

"4 minutes!" jake sang back as his accented voice rang in your ears. fuck, it's only been one minute? you thought to yourself... until he spoke.

“i could ruin us in three,” he whispered, warm breath tickling your ear. he was so close you could practically feel his labored breathing against your back. you craned your neck to the side so you could look him in the eyes, "what did you just say???" heeseung was at a loss for words — his brain only drawing blanks.

did he say what he thought he said in his head out loud? impossible. he's hidden it so well, no one in your guys' shared friend group had even suspected his overbearing attraction towards you.

so heeseung did the only thing he could think of. he gulped.

just as your gaze dropped to his adams apple, sunghoon cleared his throat, reducing the fiery tension between you two to reduce to a simmer. "time's up" he stated. and just like that, the warmth you once shared was gone.

as the game progressed, the most interesting things to occur were jake kissing sunghoon on the cheek, riki vandalizing an old alley way that never saw the sun, and winter lady-and-the-tramping a twizzler with keeho.

you and heeseung never dared to even spare a glance in each other's direction for the rest of the night.

───

you laid awake, staring at the ceiling in jay's basement while trying to get comfy on the leather couch that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. you couldn't sleep. and the reason? none other than your self-proclaimed arch nemesis: lee heeseung.

your friend groups slept on different floors to prevent you and heeseung arguing and waking up the entire house. you slowly got up, attempting and (barely) succeeding to not step on a sleeping figure sprawled on the floor.

as you walk up the stairs from the basement, you hear two people whisper shouting at each other.

you glance at the time displayed on your phone.

a measly 3:16 am stared brightly at you. who's awake at this hour?? as you step closer to the hushed voices, you think you can make out the unmistakeable deepness of riki's voice and heeseung's annoying(ly hot) whispers, tinged with sleep.

"why the fuck would you dare HER of all people to sit on MY lap????" heeseung shouts quietly, clearly frustrated. riki bursts into a fit of giggles. "dude, don't tell me you feel something for her, don't you guys like hate each other?" he says between snide little chuckles.

heeseung freezes. there's no way riki really caught on to what he was supposed to never let slip through the cracks... right?! so he musters up all the dignity he has left and defensively grunts a series of defenses "nowhywouldieverseeherlikethatsheisn'tmytypeandithinkshe'sgross"

riki blankly stares back at heeseung's panicking eyes, "okayyy," he drags the word out, "you don't need to put her down like that, she's like my older sister, dude" riki spits back.

your lips twitch in a small smile, just for a second. just long enough for riki to catch your eyes peeking behind the corner. he nods once, subtle and solid. always in your corner.

but the comfort dies as soon as heeseung opens his mouth.

"i could never love someone like her."

and the world stops.

he says it so casually. almost like it’s a joke. like it's just another throwaway comment tossed between drinks and half-meant insults. but it lands with the weight of something cruelly true — or at least, something you believe he means.

you feel the breath hitch in your throat. just once.

riki's gaze is drawn to your frozen frame. and that's when everything freezes. heeseung whips around to see you standing there. eyes blown and glossy.

riki shifts, but he doesn’t move to try and console you — he knows better. knows this is something that'll bruise. something you need time to process, alone.

you bite back tears. “right,” you say, quietly. “of course.”

heeseung’s expression flickers — confusion, regret, something else — but you’ve already masked the pain. emotion draining from your face like you’ve trained for it. like it’s a sport. like if you stop moving, the hurt will catch up.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he says, a little too late, a little too soft.

you readjust your posture, fixing your shirt.

“you meant it exactly like that,” you reply, and it’s not even bitter. it’s worse. numb.

riki’s there before heeseung can say anything else. standing between you like a wall. like a shield.

“walk away,” he tells you gently, and you do.

because if you stay, you might ask him why not. and you’re not sure your heart could take the answer.

riki turns back to heeseung, flames he's never seen before burning in the younger boys irises that are normally filled with mischief and teasing glints. but all of a sudden none of that is there anymore. it's pure, unfiltered anger. raw emotion.

heeseung wants him to yell at him. say something, anything. but nothing comes. riki just walks upstairs like he doesn't even know who heeseung is anymore.

and maybe he doesn't.

───

the next morning, when heeseung wakes up, it's almost peaceful. until rain begins to tip tap on the roof and everything comes crashing down. his chest is tight and immediately swells with regret. so much he thinks it'll spill out of him just like the rain outside.

he needs to talk to you. make sure you're okay. but he knows he's the last person you want to see right now. still, he has to try

as he descends down the stairs, he doesn't smell the usual feast jay would prepare them: eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice and cereal for jake since he claims, "it doesn't hurt his tummy," (his words).

he actually doesn't see jake. nor sunghoon, sunoo, jungwon, jay, winter, yuqi, or keeho.

after last nights events, he expected not to see riki as he was probably with you.

how did he go from having the girl of his dreams sitting on his lap, to making her hate him even more?

it's simple, really: he fucked up.

he moves through the house like a ghost — rooms too quiet, air too still. no laughter, no music playing off someone’s phone. just him and the rain.

the basement still has the blanket you’d curled up with last night. your mug — half full. he picks it up, and it’s cold. like him.

he tries to call riki. no answer.

he tries to call you.

it goes straight to voicemail.

he types out a text. deletes it. tries again.

“i didn’t mean what i said. i didn’t mean to hurt you. i'm sorry, y/n”

he stares at it. sends it.

and immediately regrets it. because what if you never answer?

as he packs up all his belongings, ready for the uncomfortable drive home, someone enters the house.

heeseung's heart rate picks up. what if it's you? he bolts down the stairs and is ultimately disappointed when he's met with a very disapproving jay.

they stand across from one another, staring into each others eyes.

heeseung's the first to break. he collapses on the bar stool at the counter and drops his head into his hands like it weighs a ton.

jay just sighs and sits down next to his friend.

"is she okay?" heeseung mumbles, his face buried in his hands.

jay’s jaw tightens. "why do you care?" he snaps. "you sure as hell didn’t last night when you said you could never love someone like her."

the words hit hard — harder than jay intended — and heeseung shatters.

the sobs break out of him like a dam giving way, loud and raw. tears stream down his face, and the sound of it makes jay flinch, caught off guard by how real the pain is. how broken heeseung suddenly looks.

still, jay moves without thinking, reaching out and rubbing slow circles on his friend’s back. it doesn’t fix anything, but it softens the edges of the moment.

they sit there in silence, the storm outside echoing the one inside, as heeseung cries himself hoarse.

by the time he’s able to breathe steadily again, nearly an hour has passed. his eyes are red, his voice barely there. he lifts his head and meets jay’s gaze; tired looking into just as tired.

neither of them says much. there’s no need.

finally, jay sighs and stands. “go grab your stuff,” he says quietly. “you’re in no shape to drive. i’ll take you home.”

heeseung doesn’t argue.

because for once, he knows jay’s right.

───

your phone dings.

dni: i didn't mean what i said. i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm sorry, y/n

you stare at your phone. gaze void of emotion. you've cried out everything you could muster.

you don't even know why heeseung's words echo in your head.

were you really that intolerable to be around? surely you weren't. all of heeseung's friends enjoyed hanging out with you and same with your little group.

so why did hearing your supposed enemy say he could never love someone like you hurt so bad?

you suppose you need to distract yourself from thinking that heeseung's words have any sort of impact on you. and that's when your door swings open. riki, yuqi, winter, keeho, sunghoon, jake, sunoo, and jungwon walk into your apartment with food, video games, board games, coloring books, skincare — everything you needed at the moment.

a break.

a break from your spiraling thoughts and endless questions you didn't want answered.

there's a knock at the door, jay comes in after he dropped heeseung off, with a freshly made cake, red velvet. your favorite.

you don’t move at first.

the warmth of your friends floods the apartment — laughter, chatter, the familiar rustle of takeout bags and the buzz of game controllers syncing. but it feels distant, like you’re underwater, watching from behind a thick pane of glass.

yuqi wraps her arms around you from behind, cheek resting on your shoulder. “we got your favorite pork buns,” she says softly.

you nod. you don’t trust your voice.

riki’s the one who notices your phone still clutched in your hand. screen glowing. that message. his message.

he doesn’t say anything, but he takes the phone from you gently, pressing the lock button, letting the screen fade to black. and you’re grateful. because if you kept staring at it, you might’ve started crying again, and you didn’t think you had anything left in you.

“movie?” sunghoon offers, holding up a stack of dvd's none of you ever returned to the library.

“coloring?” sunoo chirps, already spreading out gel pens across your coffee table.

“face masks?” winter insists, already tearing them open.

you let them distract you. you let them love you in the only way they know how — loudly, messily, unconditionally.

there’s a moment, in the middle of the chaos, when keeho makes a stupid joke and jungwon snorts soda out of his nose, that you laugh. actually laugh.

and then it hits you like whiplash — how easily heeseung could’ve been here. how almost close you came to letting yourself believe there was something soft behind his smirks and eye rolls. how you’d dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, the tension between you wasn’t just one-sided delusion.

but then he said it. “i could never love someone like her.”

and even with the people you love surrounding you, something in your chest hurts. like a bruise that won’t stop blooming.

later, after everyone’s settled into pillows and half-finished coloring pages, riki sits beside you. he doesn’t speak for a long time.

then, quietly, “you don’t have to pretend around me.”

and that’s when your lip trembles. just slightly.

“i don’t know why it hurts this much,” you whisper. “i knew he hated me. i knew. so why do i feel so broken?"

“he didn’t have to say it like that,” riki replies, voice firm. “he didn’t have to break something just because he couldn’t admit he wanted to hold it.”

you nod, finally letting a single tear trail down your cheek. riki wipes it away before it can fall too far.

he squeezes your hand.

“he messed up,” he says. “that’s on him. not you.”

you hold onto that — his words, their presence, the comfort of being chosen and cared for.

and for the first time since last night, you breathe. not easily. not painlessly. but it’s a start.

───

heeseung didn't know how hard it would be to try and get any information about you.

how you were doing, if you were okay. anything

your mutual friends? after hearing how massive he fucked up, they sided with you.

sure, jay, jake, sunghoon, sunoo, and jungwon would text him and hang out with him occasionally, but they wouldn't utter a word about you. most of the time heeseung saw them, it would be for awkward movie nights or when they would game together when none of them could sleep.

when he was alone, his mind ached, his chest twisted in pain, but mostly... his body ached.

he tried to stop it, he knew it was wrong.

but when you sat on his lap, something in him shifted.

sure he knew you were pretty (breathtakingly stunning), but he never imagined something he thought about constantly would ever become reality.

he thought back to those 5 minutes. the tension. surely it couldn't have just been made up in his head, right?

the way your entire body tensed when his hands rested on your hips. normally he wouldn't have touched you, but you were shifting and he needed to stop his growing problem before you noticed.

and thankfully it worked.

however, he was already hard as a brick.

his breath hitched as he remembered the look in your eyes — uncertain, but not scared. curious, maybe? or was he projecting again?

he swallowed hard, his hands now clenched at his sides like if he let them loose, they’d betray him again.

five minutes. that’s all it was. but it looped in his head like a damn broken record.

you hadn’t said a word. but your thighs had tensed. and when he shifted, trying to regain his composure, you hadn't moved away — not immediately, anyway.

maybe it meant nothing. maybe you hadn’t even noticed the way his breath had gone shallow or the way he was holding back like his life depended on it.

but god, his body remembered.

he shifted in his bed now, alone, frustrated, angry at himself. this wasn’t who he was supposed to be. he wasn’t supposed to want this — to want you — not like this. not in silence, not in secrecy, not in pain.

but the damage was already done.

and the worst part?

he wasn’t sure he even wanted to stop anymore.

as he stared at his chase atlantic posters, he thought to himself. any guy would get hard when a pretty girl sits on his lap, right? surely it isn't just because he's a pathetic virgin who's had to lie to his entire friend group about how he "gets around."

soon enough, his thoughts were interrupted by the rapidly increasing ache between his legs.

his hands trembled slightly as they hovered over the tent in his shorts. his breathing was shallow, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as if he were caught in some fever dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

he hated how much he needed this.

how much he needed you.

with a low, strangled groan, he finally gave in, palming himself over the thin fabric. the relief was immediate, but it wasn’t enough — it never was. not when the ache ran deeper than just skin. not when every nerve in his body was screaming for more.

he slipped his hand beneath his waistband, hissing through clenched teeth as his fingers wrapped around his thick length, already twitching with need. he was so hard it hurt, painfully stiff and dripping at the tip, slicking his palm almost instantly.

your name burned on his tongue, but he swallowed it back.

he couldn’t say it. shouldn’t say it.

but in his head, it echoed over and over again. your laugh. your voice. the way you looked at him — or didn’t. the way you moved. god, he remembered everything. he was haunted by it.

he shut his eyes tight and let his hand move — slow at first, starting at his base and dragging his fingers up each vein decorating the sides. his patience wore out quicker than he'd ever admit, starting to move up his length, then down with just enough pressure to make his thighs twitch. he bit his lip, hard, trying to hold in the sounds. but as the memory of you shifting in his lap played behind his eyelids like a cruel fantasy, a soft whimper escaped.

he was losing it.

desperation clawed at him with every stroke, every flex of his hand. his hips lifted off the mattress as his muscles tensed. he imagined your fingers replacing his, your body hovering over his, your breath against his neck.

“please,” he gasped into the dark — not even sure what he was begging for. forgiveness? permission? you?

he pumped harder now, faster, chasing that high like it would save him. his other hand gripped the sheets, knuckles white. he was right on the edge, falling apart with nothing but the echo of your presence and the throb of need coiled deep in his belly.

“i need — fuck, i need you,” he moaned, broken and breathless. his body was hot, slick with sweat, twitching under his own touch.

he could feel it. the band threatening to snap at any moment.

he swirled his fingers around his tip, hitting that spot that made his vision go white. he was close.

all it took to unravel him was an image of you, mouth replacing his hand. trying to fit as much of him into your mouth while he just laid there and took it.

eventually the thought was too much, his seed spilled over his stomach in thick, messy ropes, his fist slowing only when the aftershocks wracked his frame like a wave of guilt and pleasure colliding all at once.

he laid there for a moment, chest heaving, skin flushed and sticky.

and then it hit him.

he still wasn’t satisfied.

because it wasn’t your touch. it wasn’t your voice, your kiss, your heat. it was just his hand and a fantasy he couldn't let go of.

and no matter how many times he did this, no matter how many times he used the memory of you…

it was never going to be enough.

───

you’ve held it together for as long as you could — smiled through movie nights, laughed at keeho’s stupid impressions, even ate something other than ramen yesterday. but it’s all surface level. the moment you're alone again, the cracks split wide open.

there you are, sitting on your couch, drowning in your thoughts. 

the faint glow of the streetlamp filters through the windows, further highlighting the text message staring back at you

“i didn’t mean it.” 

it replays in your head over and over like a broken record until your vision starts to blur. tears flood your waterline but you make no effort to stop them. 

you don’t sob. you just sit there, hurting so quietly it’s almost peaceful.

until it isn’t. 

your lip trembles slightly, then it all comes pouring out. 

“why? why did you say that? what the fuck. did i do to deserve those words?” 

riki hears your quiet words from the bathroom. he comes rushing out, empathy and sadness twirling in his eyes. 

“hey, hey, hey, talk to me y/n. yell at me if you need to, yeah?” he says. voice barely above a whisper. all you can choke out is a tiny “no, none of this is your fault.” 

riki sits next to you, holding you, trying to piece you back together as if he were the one who broke you.

disrupting the mellow silence lingering in your apartment, there’s a knock at the door.

not wanting the worst case scenario, you answering the door to heeseung, riki gets up and makes his way to where the sound came from. 

to both of your dismay, a tired heeseung stands in the doorway. 

his hair is messy, dark bags under his usually teasing eyes, looking like he hasn’t slept in days.

he freezes when he sees you. your puffy eyes, shaking hands, the way you curl in on yourself like you’re trying to disappear. 

riki steps in front of you, but you give him the signal to back down. you and heeseung can handle this alone. what’s another argument anyways? 

as riki walks away, heeseung starts slowly “yn…” 

you look at him. and no matter how hard you could have tried, nothing could have stopped you from snapping at him.

“why are you here?”  “i had to see you. i had to say–”  “you already said enough, heeseung.” 

god. the way you say his name. all he’s thought about since you last saw each other was you saying his name. and now, he doesn’t wanna hear it ever again. 

he opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. 

“do you know what it felt like to hear you say i wasn’t lovable? that someone like me could never be enough for you?” 

as if you could read his mind, you shake your head, dismissing whatever he was about to spit out. 

with every last ounce of energy you can gather, you scream. “you don’t get to feel sorry now. you made your choice the other night. i knew we had a mutual hatred, or at least some twisted distaste, but i never even thought about saying something like that to you.”

he doesn’t respond right away. just stands there, frozen. then you hear it. soft sniffles. ragged breathing. sobs.

he breaks.

because this is the first time he gets it. really, truly understands what he did. what he said. what it cost you.

“i’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice cracked and barely audible. “truly. what i said last week… i didn’t mean it. even thinking it broke me.”

you stare at him for a long, quiet second. and then you say it — flat, but shaking.

“you broke me first, heeseung.”

his breath catches. your words land like a punch to the gut, because they’re the truth. maybe the first truth spoken between you in a long time.

heeseung, who’s always so calm. so composed. the one who rolls his eyes at everything and makes everything feel like a joke. he’s crumbling in front of you now. not fighting. not defending. just falling apart.

and then it hits you. maybe he’s always been like this.

watching you. listening. never the first to strike, only ever the one to react. maybe he was never the villain in this story.

your breath hitches. maybe, just maybe, you were wrong.

you don’t know why the realization crashes down now. maybe it’s the sound of his sobs. maybe it’s the way the silence has more weight than anything he’s ever said. but something inside you shifts.

and for the first time, you see him — not as the enemy. but as the boy who let you hate him, because he didn’t know how to ask for anything else.

you replay every argument like a tape stuck on rewind. you were always the one who started it.

the snide comments. the sideways glances. the venom you dressed up as jokes.

heeseung never really fought back. he always matched your energy, sure, but he never escalated it. never crossed a line. not until that night.

your chest tightens. you realize you don’t even remember what the first fight was about. some hallway bump? a misunderstood glance? maybe it was never about anything. maybe it was just you, projecting every piece of your brokenness onto the only person who saw through it and stayed.

god, had he always stayed?

you remember in elementary school, how he used to bring you extra snacks when you forgot lunch. how he gave you his hoodie that one time you were shivering during morning assembly, even after you’d spent the entire week roasting him in front of your friends.

you remember the way his gaze always lingered—not in a way that felt invasive, but like he was always checking. watching over you without saying a word.

and now here he is. slumped into his knees. back pressed against the wall, crying over you.

you were so busy building walls with your bitterness that you didn’t notice it was slowly breaking him. 

the quiet way he tried to reach over them.

you sink to the floor across from him, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the weight of everything between you.

for a long moment, you don’t speak. neither does he. you just breathe in the silence together — like it’s the only language you both understand.

“i didn’t know how to stop hating you,” you whisper, voice catching. “because if i stopped… i think i would’ve started needing you.”

heeseung lifts his head. eyes red, lashes wet.

“i already did,” he says. “i never stopped.”

your heart fractures in a way that doesn’t feel sharp, just tired. heavy.

“i don’t know what to do with that,” you admit.

“you don’t have to do anything,” he murmurs. “not tonight.”

you nod. once. then you help him get up. both your legs feel numb, but you walk him towards the door. your hand rests on the handle, taking a second to look up at him. really look at him, and you’re tempted to say something. 

but instead, you give him the quietest thing you can offer: a small, broken sort of smile. not quite forgiveness. not quite goodbye.

then, he steps out into the night. and just like that, the quietness of everything settling in takes over. no more lies. just the truth.

as you’re deep in thought, riki walks in with two mugs of hot chocolate — extra marshmallows, your favorite. 

-ˏˋ⋆ 3 years ago ⋆ˊˎ-  

it’s a chilly summer night. you and riki are sprawled out on the roof of his parents' house, the shingles warm beneath your backs from the day’s lingering sun. crickets hum below. the stars blink overhead, careless and constant.

you shift slightly, seeking warmth, and without a word, riki lifts his arm. you curl into the space beside him, head on his shoulder, fingers tucked into the sleeve of his hoodie. his arm settles around you like it belongs there.

“do you think we’ll ever feel like this again?” you murmur. “peaceful. like nothing’s wrong.”

he hums low in his chest. “you mean without chaos or boys who don’t deserve you?”

you let out a breath, half a laugh. “exactly.”

there’s a pause, the kind that feels thick with unspoken things.

riki’s voice is soft when he finally speaks. “i think… the people who make you feel heavy, like you're constantly questioning yourself, that’s not love, y/n. that’s something else.”

you turn your face slightly to look up at him. he’s gazing at the stars like he’s afraid of admitting he craves the one thing he’s always sworn to never care about. 

“love should never hurt,” he says, quieter this time. “not the kind that stays.”

you don’t say anything right away. you’re too busy memorizing the way the night folds around his words. the way he’s always been a comfort for you, the one to pick you up when you’re falling. 

and in that moment, you believe him. you really do.

you nod once. “then i hope… when it’s my turn, it feels like this. safe.”

riki swallows. “me too.”

-ˏˋ⋆ present time ⋆ˊˎ- 

and now, back in your bedroom, the silence left in heeseung’s absence is deafening.

your gaze flicks toward the window, rain still threading down the glass like tear tracks. your mind lingers on that rooftop — the stars, the safety, the version of you who still believed in soft things.

before all the hook-ups, parties, and one-sided confessions. 

you pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders and whisper. either to riki or yourself, you don’t know.

“you said love should never hurt. i think heeseung missed that memo.”

and god, how you wish you could go back to that night — before the spiral, before the ache.

before the boy who made you feel like an afterthought.

before you let yourself fall over someone you thought you didn’t care about. 

riki leaves after making sure you’re alright, mumbling something about dance practice. 

and again, it’s just you. in the quiet. 

then, almost without thinking, you rip a blank piece of paper out of your journal.

you don’t plan it. it’s just instinct — fingers gripping your pen, waiting for permission your heart hasn’t quite given. but then you start writing.

dear heeseung,

i hated you before i knew how badly i could want you. maybe that’s where it all went wrong. because at some point, i stopped seeing you as the boy who annoyed me and started seeing you as someone i wanted to understand. as someone i wanted to look at me and see me. and for a while, i thought maybe you did. i thought maybe the way you pulled me into your lap, the way you whispered near my ear, the way your hand rested on my waist — i thought maybe it meant something. i thought i was stupid for hating you. turns out i was just stupid for hoping. you said you could never love someone like me. and god, that broke something in me i didn’t know was still whole. because even when i told myself i hated you, there was always that small, traitorous part of me that wondered: what if he doesn’t hate me back? what if it’s more? but it wasn’t. and now i can’t unhear it. you probably didn’t even mean it — not in the way it came out. maybe it was fear, or pressure, or ego. but it doesn’t matter, does it? words don’t get erased just because we didn’t mean them. they echo. and yours… yours are still echoing inside me like a song i can’t shut off. i don’t think i’m mad at you anymore. i think i’m mad at myself. for letting you get close. for not guarding the parts of me i only let out in small doses. for thinking i was different to you. i wish you hadn’t said it. but mostly, i wish it hadn’t mattered so much to me that you did. – y/n

you take out an envelope, neatly fold the paper and stuff it inside, writing a neat ‘heeseung’ on the front of it. 

some truths aren’t meant to be sent. some confessions are only meant for the rain to witness.

and tonight, that’s enough.

───

the second the door shuts behind him, the silence hits like a punch to the ribs.

heeseung stands there for a second too long, staring at the wood grain of your door like it might open again. like maybe you’ll come running after him. like maybe that small, broken smile you gave him wasn’t the end.

but it doesn’t open.

and it was the end.

he starts walking. he doesn’t even remember moving his feet, just that suddenly he’s outside, and the rain greets him like an old friend. cold, sharp, unforgiving. it soaks through his hoodie in seconds, but he doesn’t flinch.

he deserves it. every drop. every chill. every echo of your voice in his head.

“not quite forgiveness. not quite goodbye.”

god, what did he do?

how did he take someone who was literally sitting in his lap, trusting him with the fragile thread of something real — and turn that into this? this mess of silence and space and words he can’t take back?

“i could never love someone like her.”

he had said it so carelessly. so cruelly. trying to deflect the attention off himself in front of your friends, like a coward. like a boy who still thinks protecting his ego is worth more than protecting a heart.

especially your heart.

he wipes his face with the back of his hand, unsure if it’s tears or rain. it’s probably both.

he thinks back to your eyes right before he left. the way you looked at him like he was someone you used to know. like whatever thread was between you had finally snapped.

and the worst part?

he couldn’t even beg you to stay.

because he knows — he knows — he doesn’t deserve it.

he walks home in silence, the city around him buzzing and breathing like it doesn’t care at all about the wreckage inside his chest. his phone buzzes a few times in his pocket, probably jay or jungwon checking if he made it back safely.

but none of it matters.

because there’s only one person he wants to hear from.

and you’ve already said everything you needed to say. in the way you didn’t ask him to stay. in the way you didn’t cry. in the way you simply closed the door.

so when heeseung finally steps into his apartment, soaked to the bone, trembling from more than just the cold, he collapses on his bed, stares at the ceiling, and whispers:

“i didn’t mean it. i swear i didn’t mean it.”

but there’s no one left to listen.

not tonight.

───

heeseung isn’t the center of your world anymore.

not in the way he used to be.

in the weeks that follow, your friends become your anchor. riki never leaves your side. winter brings over matcha lattes and blankets. sunoo paints your nails while jake tells bad jokes. you laugh again. slowly, but surely.

you start writing more letters.

some are angry. some are soft. some are nothing more than wordless scratches of ink on paper.

but one night, you write a letter that feels different.

you don’t even realize what you’re saying until it’s already down:

i wanted you. for a long time. maybe even when i said i hated you. maybe that was the only way i knew how to say it without crumbling. i masked want with rage. affection with sarcasm. love with loathing. you made it easier to run. but i wanted to stay. god, i wanted to stay.

you fold that letter gently. tuck it into your drawer. it doesn’t matter if he reads it. not now.

because healing isn’t about him.

it’s about you.

and you’re getting there.

lately, the weekends have felt lighter. your apartment has become a familiar gathering place again, only now, it’s just the people who stayed. who showed up. who chose you. heeseung hasn’t come around in weeks, and no one really talks about it. not in a cruel way, just in the quiet, understanding way that friendships shift when someone slips out of the picture.

you used to dread saturday nights, used to flinch every time the group chat lit up with plans. used to wonder if he’d show up, if you’d have to spend the night pretending not to notice the weight of his silence, the way your laughter dulled around him. but somewhere along the way, those nights started to feel easier. not because you stopped missing him — but because you started remembering how to miss him without hurting yourself in the process.

your living room is alive with warmth and laughter. the scent of popcorn and mango smoothies drifts through the air. blankets are piled high on the couch, soft pillows strewn across the floor where riki is dramatically throwing himself down after losing yet another round of mario kart to sunghoon, who’s grinning like he just won the olympics.

“cheater,” riki groans, pointing an accusing finger without lifting his head.

“just admit i’m better,” sunghoon replies smugly, stretching his legs across the coffee table like he owns the place.

in the corner, winter and yuqi are dancing barefoot to a chaotic mix of early 2000s pop and indie throwbacks — somehow still synced up to choreography you’d all made up back in sophomore year. their laughter is contagious, unfiltered and bright, and it tugs a smile onto your face before you even realize it.

keeho is halfway through teaching jungwon and sunoo a tiktok dance in the kitchen doorway, voice loud and arms flailing with exaggerated energy. they’re laughing too hard to get the moves right, collapsing into each other every time they mess up. jake, unfazed by the chaos, is blending something suspiciously green in the kitchen, wearing a headband that reads “chef vibes only.”

you’re curled up on the loveseat, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a half-finished smoothie in your hands. and for once, you’re not scanning the room for him. you’re not wondering what he’d say or how he’d look at you or if tonight would be the night he pulled you aside and finally said something real.

you’re just… here. and it’s enough.

someone throws a pillow at your head, probably riki, based on the cackling, and you lunge to retaliate, laughing as the pillow war erupts across the living room. it’s messy, loud, ridiculous. and it’s yours. this little world you’re rebuilding, one laugh, one night, one breath at a time.

there’s still a part of you that misses him. maybe there always will be. but tonight, that part is small. quiet.

outnumbered by joy.

meanwhile, heeseung is alone in his apartment.

the place is dim. quiet. it hasn’t felt like home in a long time. he's been staring at his phone for an hour now, hoping for a text that doesn’t come.

he thinks about the group chat. the silence from everyone. he thinks about the night he ruined everything. and how, somehow, he still wants to fix it.

he knows an apology isn’t enough. not this time.

he needs to show you, all of you, that he’s not the same guy who let his fear speak louder than his heart.

he just doesn’t know how yet.

but he will. he has to.

because he doesn’t just want forgiveness.

he wants to deserve it.

───

somewhere in the chaos, one of your unsent letters goes missing.

riki finds it by accident. tucked under a cushion, edges worn. he doesn't mean to read it, but your handwriting draws him in, and before he knows it, he's holding your heartbreak in his hands.

he doesn't say a word. just slips it into his pocket and walks away.

a day later, heeseung finds the letter folded on the seat of his car.

he doesn’t recognize the paper at first. but the second he sees your handwriting, his heart drops.

his hands shake as he unfolds it. the silence around him is so loud, he can hear his pulse in his ears.

and then he reads it.

every word. every line. every raw, aching truth you never meant for him to see.

i thought maybe the way you pulled me into your lap, the way you whispered near my ear, the way your hand rested on my waist — i thought maybe it meant something. turns out i was just stupid for hoping. you said you could never love someone like me. and god, that broke something in me i didn’t know was still whole.

heeseung sits there, completely still. letter trembling in his grip.

"fuck," he whispers. "fuck."

he shows up to the next group hangout like his life depends on it.

he doesn’t talk to anyone. not really. not until you walk in.

you freeze when you see him. part of you wants to turn around and leave.

but he doesn’t let you.

he stands. crosses the room.

"can we talk?" he asks, voice low, not demanding, but pleading.

you don’t say anything.

"please. just five minutes. if you still hate me after, i’ll leave you alone. forever."

there’s a long pause.

you nod.

he takes you outside, away from the noise, into the quiet night.

"i read it," he says.

you blink. "read what?"

he reaches into his jacket and pulls out the letter. your letter.

your stomach drops.

"i wasn’t supposed to see it, i know. but... i’m glad i did."

"heeseung—"

"no. let me say this. please."

his eyes are desperate. glassy. his words shaky.

"i lied. that night. i said that because i was scared. because i felt too much, too fast, and didn’t know what to do with it. i thought if i pushed you away, i could kill whatever it was before it killed me."

he takes a step closer.

"but you weren’t just someone i hated. not really. you were someone i couldn’t stop thinking about. you were the highlight of every party, every night, every moment. i was an idiot. but i never stopped wanting you."

your throat is tight.

"you broke me," you whisper.

he nods.

"i know. and i’ll spend every second proving to you that i’m sorry. not with words — with time. with actions. with everything you’ll let me give."

there’s silence.

then you take a breath.

"you’ve got a lot to prove, lee heeseung."

he gives the smallest, hopeful smile.

"then let me start now."

and he does.

not with fireworks. not with promises he can’t keep. but with the small things. the consistent things.

the next morning, there’s a text from him. simple. 

“did you sleep okay?”

you stare at it for a while before replying. 

“yeah. you?” 

“not really. kept thinking about you.”

you don’t answer that. but your heart stirs anyway.

a few days later, he’s waiting outside your class with a drink in his hand, the one he used to make fun of you for ordering (“that’s basically sugar and foam, y/n”), but now buys without hesitation. he doesn’t try to walk you home. doesn’t push. just hands you the drink, offers a soft “you looked tired,” and walks away before you can respond.

he lets you come to him.

at the next hangout, he doesn’t hover. doesn’t sulk. he helps jake in the kitchen, jokes with jungwon, lets the others tease him without biting back. when you walk in, his eyes find you — but he doesn’t pull you aside. just offers a quiet, careful smile. like he’s waiting. like he’s learning how to stay.

one night, you’re struggling with your laundry, balancing way too many bags and a basket of unfolded clothes, and he appears without a word, grabbing half the load from your arms. you glare at him, but you don’t tell him to stop.

he walks with you to the laundry room, helps you separate colors, folds your towels when you’re too tired to finish. “i owe you way more than this,” he says softly. you don’t look at him. “yeah,” you murmur. “you do.”

he doesn’t reply. just keeps folding.

you start to notice it more after that. the way he lingers behind after group dinners to help clean. the way he listens, really listens, when you talk, even if it’s just about the books you’re reading or the music you’ve been into lately. the way he starts learning your rhythms again, not to manipulate them, but to respect them.

one night, you find a note slipped into your bag.

“this isn’t about getting you back. it’s about being someone who deserves to stand beside you. i don’t expect anything from you. just… thanks for letting me try.”

you don’t know what to do with that. but you keep the note anyway.

and maybe the biggest moment doesn’t feel big at all. it’s late. you’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, overwhelmed with everything—assignments, memories, feelings you’ve tried to ignore—and he shows up.

he doesn’t say anything. just sits beside you. close, but not too close. his shoulder brushes yours. your hand trembles. and without looking at you, he says, “you don’t have to talk. just let me sit here.”

and you do.

because he’s not trying to fix you. he’s just showing up. and maybe that’s what love looks like now.

quiet. patient. real.

you don’t forgive him all at once.

but some nights, it’s harder to pretend you don’t want to.

like the night it rains, and you forget your umbrella. you’re standing under the campus archway, clutching your books to your chest, half-considering just running for it, when a quiet voice says, “hey.”

you turn. heeseung’s holding out his umbrella, expression unreadable, hair already wet from the walk over.

“you’ll get soaked,” you mumble, surprised. “i don’t mind,” he says. “but you hate the rain.”

you want to tell him to leave. want to remind him that knowing those things doesn’t mean he’s forgiven.

but instead, you step under the umbrella. shoulder to shoulder. hearts too close. you don’t say a word the whole walk home. but you remember how he always matched his pace to yours. he still does.

───

there’s another time. movie night.

everyone’s over again, sprawled across the living room. you end up between yuqi and jungwon on the couch, but at some point, someone moves, and when you shift, you realize you’re next to him. again.

the movie plays. people whisper and pass snacks and argue over the plot twist. but all you feel is the space between your knee and his. the ghost of warmth where your arms nearly brush.

you don’t move away. neither does he.

and at one point, you laugh at a stupid scene. without thinking, you glance at him, wanting to see if he found it funny too. he’s already looking at you. and for a second, everything stills.

you look away first. but your heart doesn't stop racing for a long, long time.

───

the third moment is softest of all.

it’s late. everyone’s left. you’re cleaning up alone, stacking plates in the kitchen.

you don’t hear him come back until he’s beside you, rolling up his sleeves.

“thought i’d help,” he says gently. you nod. don’t speak.

you’re both quiet for a while, working in sync. something about it feels… familiar. domestic. like home.

then, as you’re drying the last cup, you glance over. he’s watching you, and there’s something in his eyes. something tender. careful. full of things he hasn’t said yet.

“i miss you,” he says softly. 

your breath catches.

you set the cup down.

“heeseung–”

“i’m not asking for anything,” he interrupts, voice thick. “just… i miss you. and i wanted you to know.”

you swallow hard. there’s so much you could say. but instead, you whisper, “i know.”

he nods once. and then he leaves. because he meant it — he wasn’t asking for anything. but that’s the moment you know: you don’t hate him anymore. you never did. 

───

it happens a week later.

a rooftop. stars overhead. winter’s birthday, most of your friends are tipsy on alcohol, sugar and too many karaoke songs. you haven’t had a drop of alcohol, wanting to truly feel everything.

heeseung finds you leaning against the railing, eyes on the sky.

“hey,” he says. you nod and let him stand beside you.

the silence isn’t awkward anymore. it’s soft. steady.

“can i ask you something?” he says, barely audible.

you hum.

“do you still feel it?” he asks. “whatever it was… whatever we had.”

you don’t answer for a long time.

and then, quietly… “i never really stopped.”

he turns. slowly.

your eyes meet. and in them is every apology he’s ever whispered with his actions. every moment he gave you space. every time he showed up when he didn’t have to.

you reach for him first.

your hand brushes his. his fingers curl around yours like a prayer.

and then, finally, he kisses you.

soft. aching. full of every unspoken word, every almost, every could’ve been. this isn’t the kind of kiss that demands anything. it’s a promise. a beginning.

you pull back first, just enough to whisper, “i don’t wanna do this while you’re intoxicated, i don’t want you to regret it.” 

he stares at you before mumbling into your lips.

“y/n, i haven’t had a drink, but it feels like i’m drunk when i kiss you.” 

your heart stops and everything fades into the background. “don’t break me again.” you plead, face inches away from his. 

he presses his forehead to yours.

“never again,” he breathes.

and this time, you believe him.

as he reconnects your lips, his hands tremble slightly where they find purchase on your waist. the night air is cool, but your skin is burning—flushed, alive, and aching in a way you haven’t let yourself feel in so long.

he pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes flick between yours and your lips, like he’s still not sure this is real.

“we don’t have to,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “just say the word.”

but you don’t want him to stop. not tonight. not after everything.

so you slide your fingers into the collar of his jacket, tug him closer until your lips brush his again.

“take me home, heeseung.”

and he does.

his apartment is quiet when you get inside, the chaos of the earlier party gone, the night still humming with something electric. you barely have time to kick your shoes off before his mouth finds yours again. hungrier now, more desperate. like all the restraint he’s shown is unraveling, thread by thread.

his hands are everywhere — your hips, your waist, your jaw. like he’s relearning you. memorizing the weight of you against him.

you tug his jacket off, fingers fumbling with the zipper, and he lets out a low, breathless laugh against your neck.

“still impatient,” he teases.

“still hot when you shut up,” you shoot back, and he groans.

you barely make it to the couch.

he sits first, pulling you into his lap like it’s instinct, like he’s needed this for months. your knees straddle him, bodies pressed chest to chest, your hands tangled in his hair as he kisses you like he’s starving for it.

he tilts his head, deepens the kiss, and it’s filthy. slow. wet. your hips roll against his without thinking, and the noise he makes, low and guttural, goes straight to your core.

“fuck,” he groans. forehead against your collarbone. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you arch into him, tug his shirt over his head, and he follows suit, fingers slipping under the hem of yours, eyes flicking up for permission. you nod, and he peels it off slowly, reverently, like unwrapping something precious.

his hands trail over your skin like he’s trying to remember what it feels like to deserve you.

and then his mouth is on your neck, your shoulder, trailing down until you’re gasping his name, your back arching as he presses kisses across your collarbones.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, like it hurts.

as you reach for his belt wanting to make him feel good, he puts his hand over yours. “there’s something i need to tell you.. before we take anything further.” he says like he doesn’t even want you to know. 

“what is it, hee?” 

god. that nickname. 

it’s what all his close friends call him, however when you say it. he wants to lay the world at your feet. 

“i’m.. uh– a vir-virgin…” he mumbles. you would have missed it had you not been paying close attention. 

you laugh. 

heeseung leans back into the couch, hoping, praying, wishing it to swallow him whole. 

as you observe heeseung, you realize he must be serious. “you’re a virgin? but you– you always used to talk about your hook-ups and how every week it was like you had someone new hanging off your arm??? what do you mean you’re a virgin?” 

he whimpers. he fucking whimpers. “i’m not proud of it, okay? i always came really close to hooking up with girls but i um. i couldn’t you know.. get it… up.” 

you sit there quietly, giving him time to compose himself and continue. 

“everytime i tried to lose my virginity, i couldn’t get hard unless i thought she was you,” he speaks, not gaining enough courage to look you in the eyes. 

you stare at heeseung for a moment, trying to process what he just said. the weight of it settles between you like a delicate secret, and suddenly the playful teasing tone you’d had before feels completely inappropriate.

you can see it in his doe eyes — how embarrassed he is, how much he wants to crawl out of his own skin. the corners of his lips are tugged in a tight line, as if holding in every emotion that threatens to spill out. but you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. it’s soft, gentle, but laced with a teasing warmth.

“you’re a virgin?” you ask, letting the words linger a little longer than they should, pretending to be surprised as if he hadn’t just told you, twice.

heeseung’s face reddens, and you see him shrink further into the couch. you could almost feel his desire to hide, to escape. but you don’t let him. instead, you move closer, shifting between his legs, and place your hand on his thigh. a gentle, reassuring pressure.

“god, heeseung,” you tease softly, your lips curling into a smile that isn’t cruel, but playful. “how could you keep that from me? you’ve been all… big talk and ‘i get all the girls,’ and here you are, this nervous little thing, blushing at the thought of being with me?”

his eyes flicker with uncertainty, but you lean in just enough to press your lips to his ear. you feel him tense under the touch, and the subtle shiver runs through his body, telling you everything you need to know. he’s not as confident as he makes it seem.

“you should’ve told me sooner, you know,” you whisper, your voice low, just enough to make his breath hitch. “i would’ve been patient. we could’ve taken it slow.”

heeseung groans softly, his hands gripping the fabric of the couch like he’s holding onto some semblance of control. you smile knowingly, watching the struggle on his face. but it’s not discomfort — it’s desire. you can feel it in the way his eyes refuse to leave yours, in the way his body reacts to the gentleness in your touch.

“i… i don’t want you to think less of me,” he mutters, barely audible, but you catch it anyway. “it’s just… with you, it’s always felt different.”

you gently trace your fingers up his chest, watching as his breath quickens. you’re giving him space to breathe, to process, and then you lean in, brushing your lips against his in a soft, teasing kiss.

“stop worrying about that,” you say quietly, your lips just barely touching his. “i don’t think less of you. if anything, you’re hotter right now than ever before.”

the vulnerability in his eyes shifts. he’s still nervous, but the weight is lifting. and for the first time in a while, you see him start to believe that he doesn’t need to hide anything from you.

then, you shift your focus, teasing him once more with a playful grin. “but you know, heeseung… i could help you with that. we could take this slow, maybe help you get comfortable with what it feels like to be with me. you trust me, don’t you?”

he nods, slowly, not trusting his voice. he’s ready. maybe more than he thought.

and you take that as your cue. you kiss him again, deeper this time, letting the heat between you grow. his body responds to you almost immediately. hands shifting from nervous to eager, pulling you closer as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

“let me take care of you,” you murmur, your hands trailing down to his belt. this time, you don’t hesitate. you undo it slowly, giving him time to react, but he doesn’t stop you. instead, he leans back into the couch, chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

heeseung’s eyes search yours one more time, a silent question in them. you nod gently, giving him permission to be vulnerable, to trust you fully.

and when your hands pull his pants down, you can feel the heat of him, see the evidence of his desire. you take your time, enjoying the way he reacts to each touch, savoring the way he trembles under your hands.

you start by rubbing over his bulge when your eyes widen. 

he just stares back at you, not blinking, but incredibly nervous. “is– is something wrong?” he stutters out. 

“wrong? no, heeseung. you’re huge.” 

he blushes and hides his face in his hands. his veiny hands. you’ll definitely need to put those to use later. 

you softly drag his hands away from his face and tell him to never hide from you. you think he’s beautiful like this. 

after he calms down, you look back into his eyes that resemble a deer, and he nods. signaling you to continue. 

you finally trail your eyes down to his raging hard on, you can almost see it pulse. 

his breath quickens the longer you take to begin touching him.

you start by teasing his swollen tip, arousal evident in the stain on his gray boxers. he sighs heavily, tipping his head back.

as you rub your hand down to his base, you get a feel for how thick he truly is. 

he’s hard. aching. even at the slightest touch, his eyebrows furrow and he holds back soft groans. 

you rip your hand off his clothed bulge. “if you want me to continue, you need to let me hear you, baby.” 

that was his breaking point, he quickly nods his head yes looking at you with pleading eyes, “c—can you please touch me? it hurts.” 

not wanting to tease him any longer, you rip his boxers off his thighs and his throbbing length slaps against his lower abdomen reaching just above his belly button. precum smears on his abs and you get the urge to lick it off.

so you do.

you gently move his dick away from his toned stomach, swiping your wet muscle along his abs, sucking to leave light marks. 

the noises he makes are downright pornographic, and you think you’ll never be able to hear them enough.

moving your attention back to the hardness in your grasp, you begin to lick up his shaft, tracing each vein with the tip of your tongue. his head is still tipped back, frustrating you a bit because you want his attention on you. 

so… in one swift motion, you take him down your throat until his tip hits the back. his head shoots up and he moans. loud. 

heeseung is in heaven. the feeling of your throat constricting around his cock, he never wants you to pull off of him. he gently pulls your hair into a ponytail, hands shaking when you start moving.

his apartment is filled with filthy noises: wet, loud, and obscene. 

he can hear and feel your gag reflexes kicking in but you don’t budge. you continue to move up and down, not wanting to stop until he cums. 

his tipping point was you somehow taking him even further down your throat, nose brushing his pelvis. he thought you were going to take a break for air but you didn't. 

you stay.

swallowing around him.

the pressure in your jaw is almost unbearable but when you feel his thighs shaking, you know he’s close. and you need to ruin him. 

hollowing your cheeks, you swirl your tongue around his engorged tip, hands coming up to play with his heavy balls. he can’t hold back anymore. the sensation of you taking his whole cock down your tiny throat and the stimulation of his balls in your hands. he groans. 

desperate. low. deep

and spills down your throat. warm, wet, and sticky ropes, pour out of his tip. taking up all the space you had left, some spilling out from the corners of your mouth.

you swallow all that you can, then pull off from his dick. 

heavy breathing is the only thing that can be heard. heeseung threw an arm over his eyes, chest heaving, trying to regain control of his senses.

meanwhile, you haven’t stopped clenching your thighs together. 

you didn’t even notice you were staring until he clears his throat. he just looks so gorgeous all fucked out.

“wow. did you– swallow.. it?” he asks through pants. 

you answer him like it was the most natural thing in the world, “yeah, because it was you” 

he moans, again. and that’s when you notice he’s still hard, still aching. 

as you move to straddle his lap, he grabs your thighs and wraps your legs around his waist. “not here, i want our first time to be special” he says softly, with a kiss to your temple. 

he carries you to his bedroom on wobbly legs and gently lays you down on his bed, hovering on top of you. he plants wet kisses all over your face, trailing down to your neck, collarbones, until he reaches your covered chest.

looking at you with big, lust filled eyes, he waits for your green light. you nod and he fumbles with your bra clasp, eventually tearing the fabric away. 

“you’re stunning,” he says completely awestruck by your half-naked form. 

as he continues staring, he licks his lips, slowly lowering his head wrapping his soft lips around one of your perky buds. 

you instinctively arch into his touch, one of his hands wrapping around your waist as his other hand gently kneads your other boob. soft gasps and whines slip from your lips as you try to grind up in search of any friction where you need it most. 

he senses your desperate pleas and starts moving his body to slot between your legs, face in front of your clothed core. you wiggle your hips trying to convince him to speed up and touch you where you need it the most. 

“can i…?” he practically begs, “yeah” you sigh as you relax into his plush sheets. he drags your sweats down your soft legs planting kisses along the inside of your thighs, all the way down to your calves. he makes his way to your panty clad pussy, pressing a soft kiss to your bundle of nerves aching for him. 

you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on before.

he looks so good between your thighs, you want this image ingrained into your brain forever. 

he brings his thumb up to press on the wet spot that’s formed on your panties, groaning, “fuck, you’re so wet.” 

“all for you.” 

he replays those words in his head and his patience snaps. tearing your underwear in half, he wastes no time. tongue lapping and the wetness between your legs, like he’s been deprived of any liquid all his life.

you’ve never met someone this desperate to eat you out. or anyone for that matter.

he mumbles against your core, “guide me, please, wan’ you t’feel good, mmh.”

your hands take place in his silky soft roots, gently tugging on the strands. 

through whimpers, you tell him to focus on your clit, and surprisingly (for a virgin), he finds it fairly quickly. 

he briefly sucks on the nub, flicking it with his tongue to soothe it. “fuck, hee” you moan out into the space of his bedroom. 

he groans against your pussy, carefully bringing up his fingers so he can push his tongue into your awaiting hole. the moment he starts fucking you with his tongue, you arch your back and grind into his face, needing more. 

he heard his friends talking about “prep” and “stretching girls out,” so he wonders if you need to be stretched out to take him. you said he was huge, did you mean it? he has no idea, he’s a pathetic virgin who has only shoved his dick into his right hand. not even a pocket pussy or fleshlight. 

to your dismay, he pulls away for a brief second asking if he should use his fingers. “please, i need you to stretch me out, i can’t– take you without prep,” you rush out feeling your high not far away.

“shit, okay baby,” he mutters back before bringing his middle finger up to spread your juices around. 

your hips jerk up when he focuses on your clit, surprised by the stimulation. 

slowly, he pushes his finger in, getting used to the warm sensation of your walls. 

you clench around his thick digit, feeling fuller than when you finger yourself. as he pumps it in and out, you tell him to add another one and he does. 

moaning in relief, you arch into his touch as his tongue finds its way back to your sensitive clit. 

between him lapping like a dog and the feeling of two of his fingers pumping in and out of your tight hole, you feel a familiar band in your stomach building up.

your moans increase and heeseung feels dizzy, taking in all that you give.

he curves his fingers all while sucking on your bundle of nerves, causing you to tip over the edge and that band in your stomach to snap. 

you come crashing down, chanting his name like a mantra as heeseung helps you ride out your high. 

as you lift your head and meet his gaze, he looks more fucked out than you do. hooded eyes, tongue lolled out of his mouth, gaze consumed with lust. you pull him by the collar of his shirt until your lips collide in a mess of tongues and teeth. 

your makeout session unfortunately doesn’t last long as heeseung starts whining into your lips. 

that’s when you realize his cock found your bent knee, not so subtly grinding against it, trying to relieve some of the ache. 

“feeling needy, are we?” you tease, earning a playful roll of the eyes from heeseung. 

pulling back, you drink in his bare torso– he’s always been muscular as he was very popular with the ladies (until he got into bed with them). 

dragging your hand up his chiseled abs, his stomach tenses and his dick twitches. 

you found his second biggest weakness, besides you. his abs. 

deciding to end the teasing there, since you’re also becoming increasingly impatient, you flip him over so you land on top of him with a quiet, “oof.” 

as you settle your bare core on his rock solid cock, you start grinding, placing your hands on his chest for support. 

he can’t hold back the guttural groans spilling from his mouth. not believing you’re really on top of him right now. this isn’t just one of his wet dreams. 

he thought this couldn’t get any better, but when he struggles to get out a weak ask for a condom, you just respond with “no, i’m– on the pill. need to feel you. all of you.” 

and to that, he moans, not believing his ears. 

it’s his first time. and he’s about to have sex with YOU. raw. he thinks he’s dreaming. there’s no way you’re real.

you gently angle his dick towards your awaiting hole, sinking down until his fat tip is inside you.

instantly, you both sigh in relief, starting to feel the pressure ease up. 

if you feel a stretch at his tip entering you, you don’t know how you’re supposed to fit all of him inside you. he’s the biggest you’ve seen and he doesn’t even know it.

your attention is drawn back to the man consuming your brain when he whines. “m-more, please.” he’s becoming needier the longer you stay at just his tip but you don’t know how to tell him you’ve never taken a size like him before.

“hee-heeseung i need a sec, you’re– fuck. so thick,” you say between moans. 

his grip on your hips tightens, a silent way of telling you to take your time. 

when you finally deem yourself ready, you sink lower, wanting to speed it up, bracing the stretch to come. 

you feel him pulsing inside you and that’s all you need to sink all the way down, him bottoming out inside you. 

it’s his first time feeling anything other than his hand wrapped around him, and he whimpers, loud. it’s overstimulating in the best way possible and before he knows it you move up to his tip and bounce back down. his dick twitches and you feel it. every vein, every pulse, every movement, even his heavy breathing. 

heeseung, not in control of his movements, bucks his hips up, making another non-existent inch fit inside your stretched out core. 

you moan soft and loud, eyes rolling back, as the pain turned into pleasure. bouncing faster on his girthy cock, you uncontrollably clench around him, causing heeseung’s grip to tighten. you know it’ll bruise tomorrow, but at the moment, he feels too good for you to care. 

the room smells of sex, and the only sounds that can be heard are skin clapping and your shared noises. 

heeseung must notice your legs becoming tired because before you know it, you’re flat on your back with heeseung on top of you, cock never slipping out from your pussy. 

his large hands grab each of your thighs, pressing them to your chest.

his pace is slow at first, testing the waters, getting a feel for a rhythm. 

as his hands stay pressed to your thighs, he slowly drags out and pushes all of his dick inside you. 

you feel him deeper in this position, a bulge forming in your lower belly. 

when he notices, his eyes stay glued there.

you wonder what he’s looking at but the moment you look down, you’re met with his hand pressing slightly on the bulge causing the loudest moan to leave your lips. 

he signals you to hold your thighs as one of his hands holds himself up and the other focuses on how he can feel his dick inside your guts with every thrust. 

his pace suddenly quickens when you clench hard around him, making his hips stutter briefly. 

endless praises leave his pretty lips, telling you how good you feel, how hot you look laid underneath him, taking whatever he gives you. 

feeling a familiar, yet new sensation building rapidly, you try to warn him that you’re close but somehow, he already knows. “i know baby, let go whenever you want.” he mutters back, feeling just as close to his high.

“fuck– where do you want it?” he rushes out, not wanting to cum inside you if that isn’t what you want. 

but apparently, all the gods are smiling down on him as you release your thighs from the grip you had on them and wrap your legs around his waist. “inside,” you moan. 

and at that, he cums. hard. ropes of his hot, gooey, cum spill inside you. tipping you over the edge.

with a loud groan, clear liquid comes rushing out from you, spraying all over his sheets and lower abdomen. soaking his dick. 

heeseung moans. again. raw and unfiltered at the fact that you just squirted all over him (he’s seen enough porn and heard too many stories from your shared friend group to know what squirting is). 

as you come down from your high, heeseung is somehow still cumming. it spills out of you, creating an even stickier mess on his bed. but he doesn’t care. 

not when you’re beneath him, chest rising rapidly, trying to catch your breath. 

heeseung’s cock is still lodged inside you, holding half of his cum inside you, not wanting it to go to waste. 

as he collapses on top of you, he places a soft kiss on your forehead, holding your trembling body close to his.

you were the first to speak, “i didn’t even know i could do that,” talking about how you squirted all over him. “guess we both had firsts today,” he softly chuckles. 

his breath is warm against your skin, his arm tightening just a little around your waist as if anchoring himself in the moment. you don’t respond right away, too caught up in the quiet thrum of your heartbeat, the lingering warmth between you, the way his fingers begin tracing gentle, absent-minded shapes against your spine.

“i didn’t expect it to be like this,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the hush of the room.

“like what?” he asks, voice low, like he’s afraid to shatter the calm.

you shift slightly to face him, resting your head more comfortably on his chest. “soft. safe.”

Hheeseung lets out a breath that sounds like relief and something deeper, something reverent. “yeah,” he whispers. “me neither.”

for a while, neither of you say anything. he pulls the blanket higher over both of you, his other hand brushing your hair back with such tenderness that it makes your eyes sting. he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering like he means it.

“you okay?” he asks, voice still rough from earlier, but softer now, like the edge of him has been smoothed by your touch.

you nod, then glance up at him. “are you?”

heeseung meets your gaze, and something in his expression shifts. vulnerability bleeding through the cracks he used to hide behind. “i am now.”

your heart squeezes.

he licks his lips, nervous. “i’ve been so stupid with you. all this time, i kept pushing and pulling, thinking maybe if i kept it messy, it’d be easier to walk away if i had to.” he pauses, his voice thinning. “but tonight just… made me realize i don’t want to walk away.”

your breath catches. “heeseung…”

“i don’t want this to be a one time thing,” he says, eyes searching yours. “not the sex, not the closeness. i want you. the fights, the tension, the way you drive me crazy and still somehow make me want to be better just by being around you. i’m so in love with you, it hurts.”

your lips part in surprise, and he laughs quietly, self-deprecating and shy. “too much?”

instead of answering, you lean up and kiss him, slow, deep, and full of all the things you couldn’t say until now. when you pull back, you rest your forehead against his, smiling as his thumb brushes over your cheek.

“i’m in love with you too, idiot.”

he grins, wide and a little teary-eyed, and pulls you closer like he’s never letting go.

and you know he won’t have to.

pls reblog & leave feedback <3 hope you enjoyed the read ◡̈

[ @jaeyuniversal ] prod. 250417

[ham1lton]

NOT A CHILL GIRL.

pairings: lewis hamilton x chronically online fiancée!yn

faceclaim: jordana brewster

summary: chronically online, funniest on the grid, and the proud owner of a face card that never declines—at least, according to yourself. your fiancé might raise an eyebrow at the first claim, the world might debate the second, but no one’s arguing with the third.

warnings: just jokes. don’t take any of this seriously.

author’s note: hope u enjoy bunny anon! :D

— small smau spinoff !

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liked by lewishamilton, yourinstagram and 187,938 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: celebrity stylist, and fiancée of f1 legend lewis hamilton, yn yln took to instagram stories to share some concerning posts. what do we think about these captions, ham1ltons?

view all 23,837 comments

yourinstagram MAMA I MADE IT

— user1 yn you have dressed some of the top celebrities and this is what you’re excited over??

— user2 forget that. she’s fucking LEWIS HAMILTON!!! and this is what she’s excited over???

user3 this is a v tame post for yn LMFAO

— user4 like she’s posted worse 😭

user5 she’s so unserious i’m obsessed

— user6 my fav wag

user7 i love the fact she’s dressing zendaya, showing up to her hot fiancé’s races and still finds time to shitpost

— user8 she’s so me

user9 she should be embarrassed. she’s grown

— user10 she will never see this btw

user11 i need to know lewis’ thoughts on these posts

user12 she’s the moment. i want to be her so bad.

— user13 successful in her own right AND secured the bag. #needtoBEthat

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────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

INSTAGRAM LIVE

yn i’m using lewis’ ninja creami to make slushies and sydney isn’t picking up her phone because she’s on set. so entertain me, my little gladiators.

user1 what flavour slushie are you making and why is it pure tequila

yn no. it’s a margarita mix. mostly anyways. all about balance babes.

user2 worst red carpet outfit request you’ve ever gotten?

yn girl some actor asked me to dress him up in head to toe camo… i wanted to be sick.

user3 yn, when’s the wedding? lewis is literally ready to propose again.

yn not until jungkook confirms he’s off the market. i need to know i’m not leaving options on the table.

user4 did you see lando’s post underneath your birthday post to lewis.

yn i did and i’m angry. how dare he be funnier than me on my own shitpost.

user5 who’s better at gift-giving, you or lewis?

yn me. obviously. lewis once got me a pen because “it looked sleek.” it was a nice pen, but still a pen.

user6 yn, if you could style anyone in history, who would it be?

yn harry styles but in 2012. imagine the chaos if he let me near those blazers.

user7 how did you guys meet?

yn via a mutual friend at a party. i thought his choice of shoes was disastrous and he thought i was funny. so obviously i went home with him that night. then i fell in love or whatever.

user8 you are literally the blueprint for chaotic but lovable. never change.

yn never will, little gladiator. never will.

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────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by yourinstagram, thirstystan1 and 1,098,125 others.

lewishamilton: sunday best, thank you theststyle

view all 19,827 comments

yourinstagram why won’t this damn app swipe RIGHT?!?!?

— lewishamilton wrong app sweetheart

— yourinstagram oh shit 😓 can you show me how to download the right one? ever since ashley madison shut down and farmersonly.com banned me for “unsolicited flirting,” it’s been tough out here.

— lewishamilton maybe try clownsonly.com—heard they’re taking new members.

— yourinstagram wow. this from the guy who once googled “how to impress a bad bitch” and got caught.

— lewishamilton a bad bitch was impressed, wasn’t she? checkmate.

— yourinstagram yeah, well, don’t get used to it. also, happy valentine’s, loser. 💖

— lewishamilton happy valentine’s, clown. ❤️

— user1 y’all are some weirdos 😭🩷

user2 YN GIVE HIM TO MEEEEEE

user3 #NEEDTHAT

— yourinstagram #TOOBAD

— user3 YN PLEASE 😭😭😭😭😭😭

user4 need this relationship NOW

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— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

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[simpforboys]

surprise! (2)

drew starkey x fem!singer!reader

summary: reader and drew shoot the ‘perfume’ music video!

warnings: fluff, swearing, sexual themes but no real smut, kisses

‘perfume’ by del water gap

part one , part three, part four

It was bright and early on a Wednesday in December.

You had been up since six am to be on set, get costumes all organized, makeup done, hair done, and just make sure your vision was really coming along how you wanted it to.

After all, 'Perfume' was a big deal to you, now even more so due to the fact that your dream man was going to be your on-screen lover.

When Drew finally showed up at eight am, almost exactly on the dot, he was a little disorganized due to not getting as much sleep as he should have the night before.

You were talking to the director, clearly deep in the discussion as you explained your vision as best as your chaotic brain could.

"Drew is here," your manager came walking over.

Fuck.

You looked over, seeing Drew standing awkwardly by the trailers as he looked around at the film location.

It was pronounced you had chosen to do more of a countryside feel, the old farmhouse that had people constantly going in and out of it in order to set up for later scenes.

The location was beautiful, though. Grass, sand, hills, and for the actual land, it was quiet.

"Hey, good morning."

You walked over to Drew, trying to hide your pounding heart and the bags under your eyes (because, obviously, you hadn't been able to sleep the night before).

"Good morning." Drew looked at you, a small smile on his tired face.

"Are you hungry? We have breakfast and coffee over here," you guided Drew over to the food station, hands shaking with nervousness.

"Coffee sounds good, yeah." Drew murmurs, trying not to stare at you in your outfit.

You had chosen to wear blue overalls with a black long-sleeve shirt, and brown cowboy boots to fit into the countryside vibe you were going for.

"Sorry, I barely slept last night."

Drew shook his head, a small smile on his face.

"No, you're good. You just... look good."

Your eyes widened slightly at his compliment, your face feeling hot. God, why did he have to be fucking sweet?

"I don't normally wear this shit," you tried to deflect off of it and make a joke.

Drew smiled, shaking his head softly as he took a sip of the hot coffee.

"I'm assuming we're going to be cowboys?" He teased.

You shrug, a small smirk curling onto your lips.

"I couldn't pass up the opportunity to give everyone cowboy Drew." You joked back, instantly feeling a little embarrassed.

Being hyperaware and anxious was absolutely not helping anything about any and all interactions with him.

"Okay, so you're welcome to help yourself to anything. I have to film some solo shots, but probably in around thirty to forty-five minutes, the costume lady will come to get you."

You spoke, avoiding looking at him.

Drew hummed, watching you get all nervous and embarrassed. As much as he wanted to reassure you that you were fine, he couldn't deny how amusing it was to see you get all shy around him.

"Thank you," he murmured.

While you went off to shoot some solo stuff, Drew was in the trailer as the ladies gave him some makeup and fixed his short hair.

You wanted him to wear blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a plain white shirt that had some dirt on it to make the appearance that he had been working outside.

By the time Drew was dismissed, you were finishing up filming. Staring at the footage that was just shot, your song playing in the background as you stood around the property or lip sung.

Glancing over and seeing Drew in the damn outfit you picked made your heart physically flutter.

He looked good.

You would definitely be feeding his fans (and yourself) content.

“How do I look?” He walked over to you, a small smirk on his face.

“Good… yeah, uh, good. Exactly how I envisioned.”

Why the fuck were you so nervous? Why the fuck was he so handsome and intimidating?

He hummed, wanting to tease you a little more before the director cut in.

“Okay, so you two are going to be sitting in the truck. Drew will be driving with Y/n in the passenger seat. When I say ‘go’, I want Drew to slowly reach over and hold her hand. Look at each other with soft, warm, loving eyes.”

The director says. The two of you nod in agreement, getting into the truck.

Drew placed his hands on the wheel as you looked out the window. The filming location was genuinely so pretty, and you were very pleased with your decision.

The camera man slid into the backseat with the big camera, making sure the angles would all be right.

“Okay, three, two, one… action!”

You continue to stare out the window as Drew drives the truck along the grassy pathway, ‘Perfume’ playing in the background.

And I'm picturing you right now, I'm thinking of you right now

You tried not to have your breath hitch when you felt his large, warm hand grab yours and intertwine your fingers.

Glancing over at him, your eyes met his gorgeous blue ones, a genuine look of affection filling your gaze, mirroring his.

But his was probably fake, he’s an actor after all.

Drew gave you a soft smile, which caused a small grin to curl onto your lips.

“And cut!”

‘Perfume’ cut off, but you were hyperaware of the way Drew didn’t immediately pull his hand from your’s.

In fact, you were the first to pull away, nearly shitting your pants at the way your hand tingled.

Drew cut the engine of the car, the director coming to the passenger side window as he leaned against it.

“That was really good, you could feel the tension in the gaze. For the next shot, we want Drew to get out of the car with Y/n to follow. Outside the car, start walking up towards the house, when Drew is going to place his hand on your waist and pull you towards him. Share a passionate kiss, and press her against the door.” The director said.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

“Sounds good,” Drew hums, glancing briefly at you.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your face felt warm as you nodded in agreement.

‘Perfume’ started playing in the background again, the next scene about to start.

“Okay… three, two, one… action!”

'Cause I wanna do all of the things, baby, I said I wanna do with you… 'Less this is a lie and I don't know myself like I thought…

Wait, this is a mess, I could be wrong, I could be so damn mistaken

Both you and Drew got out of the car, a sheepish smile on both of your faces as you start walking towards the house.

Your heart stammered in your chest when you both stepped onto the porch and his large hand snaked around your waist, tugging you firmly into him.

He dipped his head down, capturing your lips.

You were kissing Drew fucking Starkey.

Immediately, you both melted into the kiss. Your hands were on his jaw and the back of his neck, his other hand going to rest on your lower back, just on top of your ass.

Drew almost forgot where he was for a minute as he slipped his tongue into your warm mouth.

He pressed your back against the front door of the house, you pulling him down so his body is flush against yours.

Fuck.

You were both thinking it.

“And, cut!” The director called.

You were both so raptured into the kiss neither of you heard it immediately.

“Cut!” The director called again, trying to hide his snicker.

Drew slowly pulled his lips away from you, his hands sliding off your body, making you feel cold.

“Sorry,” he murmured. His blue eyes bore into yours.

“You two take five, we needa get the bedroom all ready for the next shot,” the director said.

You moved away from the door to sit on the front patio furniture of the house. Your lips were tingling, mind racing at the thought that you just made out with your celebrity crush.

Drew looked sheepish and a little embarrassed that he let himself get so into a kiss. It was definitely a first for him.

“You want a water or anything?” Drew asked you.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Thank you,” you swallowed. You were still feeling a little breathless from what just happened.

By the time Drew came back with your water, the director had also returned.

Both you and Drew followed the man into the back bedroom of the old farmhouse. It was bare, with the basic furniture of a wardrobe, bed, and nightstands.

You wanted it to be basic, you wanted it to add the detail into the story you were trying to convey.

"So, we're going to set the camera up right at this angle. Drew push Y/n back onto the bed and climb on top of her, still kissing. Only break the kiss so you can both pull your shirts off. Then we're going to cut it into a birds-eye view. Sound good for now?" The director hums.

Oh. Drew was going to see you in your bra.

You might have forgotten about that when you came up with ideas for the music video.

Drew nods, his eyes flickering over to yours, meeting your gaze before you both quickly look away. Why was he so nervous?

He had seen boobs, he had seen women in bras. Maybe it was the fact that he was going to see yours was driving him a little crazy, making him forget all about his professional side for a moment.

You unbuttoned your overalls at the top so it would be easier to pull your shirt off for the scene.

"Three, two, one... action!"

But I'm picturing you right now, I'm thinking of you right now, I'm picturing you right now

With nothing on, with nothing on but my perfume

The familiar beat of your song and lyrics came on, but you paid absolutely no attention to it when Drew kissed you again.

He flopped you back onto the bed, your body bouncing slightly. But neither of you dared to disconnect your lips, his tongue slipping in your mouth yet again.

A very small, faint whine left your throat when he pulled away to tug his shirt off. No fucking way you just did that.

Unbeknownst to you, the small whine made Drew's entire body go rigid. His mind was starting to drift into what you would sound like actually in bed.

You arched your back up, trying to remember that there was a giant camera on you both. You pulled your black long-sleeve up and over your head, eyes staring up at Drew.

The way his pupils dilated more, that gorgeous blue swirling into a deep sea color. Fuck. You were both ruined.

He immediately connected your lips back to his, both your minds a state of pure need. But before anything else could happen--

"Cut!"

The word "cut" was starting to become your least favorite thing in the entire world. Drew pulled back, still hovering over you.

You finally let your eyes drift down to his bare torso, seeing those abs for the first time in person. But he wasn't the only one.

He tried so hard not to look, to be a gentleman, to be professional. But he felt his gaze slip down to you lying there in your bra, his mouth growing a little wetter.

"Y/n, spread your legs and let Drew lay in between them. When we say action, Drew start thrusting your hips as if you two are having sex. We'll keep the birds-eye view so it gives off the appearance that you two actually are."

As the director gives his next instructions, a set designer fixes the sheet to rest around Drew's hips, covering up the fact that you are both still wearing pants.

All you and Drew could do was nod. It wasn't really safe to speak, not when the sexual tension and chemistry between you two was so high.

Drew had filmed sex scenes before, it was a part of his job. But fuck. You were driving him insane, and you were barely even speaking.

You spread your legs as Drew shifted closer to you, trying to look anywhere but at your chest and face.

"Three, two, one... action!"

Call me in the morning, beg me in the night, I'll be over safely if you need it anytime

I'm picturing you right now, with nothing on, with nothing on but my perfume

He had begun to softly move his hips, his mouth instinctively attaching to your jaw, kissing down to your neck. Your hands dug into his broad shoulders and back, trying desperately not to let out a real moan.

Your eyes were fluttered shut, legs tightening a little more around him. There was no real pleasure being shared, but both your bodies were on autopilot, as if you were actually having sex.

It was the hottest either of you had ever felt.

The day continued on, with both you and Drew filming more romantic scenes. It was very surreal that this was all pretend because, at some points, it felt real.

The last scene was finally shot and everyone cheered with applause, happy the hard work and long day is over.

You were changing out of your film clothes and back into the sweatpants and hoodie you wore to set at six am this morning.

Drew had also changed, putting on his jeans and jacket.

You were going around and sincerely thanking every single person for their contribution and hard work, the last person finally being Drew.

Your eyes locked onto each other, a small smile creeping onto both your faces.

"Thank you so much, Drew, seriously. I couldn't have done this without you," you told him.

Drew shrugged nonchalantly, but he seemed a little sheepish at your genuine words.

"No, thank you. I had a lot of fun today, you were a lot of fun to film with." Drew replies, a warm look in his gaze.

He pulled you into another hug, your face pressed into him, arms wrapped tightly around each other.

"I hope this isn't the last time you see me," Drew murmurs in your ear.

Goosebumps erupted all over your skin, the moment reeling in your mind as you thought about when he hugged you and murmured how much he loved your song on Jimmy Fallon.

"It won't be, I promise."

You finally pulled away, a little reluctantly. You didn't wanna scare him off by holding him for too long.

"I'll eventually send you photo stills and snippets to post for promotion, but I don't want you to feel like you have to post anything or a shit-ton of stuff. I know you're busy," you tell him.

Drew shook his head. "Nah, I'll post them. Promise."

You nodded softly, a little grin on your face.

"Alright, Y/n. I'll see you around," Drew hums.

You watched as he walked away, a warm feeling in your chest.

You had finally returned home after the long day. After showering, changing into pajamas, and feeding yourself, you slide into your warm bed.

Grabbing your phone from the nightstand, your heart jumped when you read one Instagram notification in particular.

@/drewstarkey has messaged you

You quickly opened the notification, a smile on your face.

Drew Starkey: Just wanted to thank you again for the opportunity today. Had more fun than I should have

Your User: Ofc!! Maybe when the music video drops we can celebrate together :3

Fuck. Your thumb pressed send before you could double-think that message.

Drew Starkey: I like the sound of that

Oh.

tags!!

@slut4you @sweetlike-sugarplum @snowtargaryen @fastlovela @christinechickiee @ahgrace6 @evermorx89 @loren8818181 @eddiemuns0nl0ver @sophiesmovingcastle5 @chimchimjiminie16 @amel1ee @reader1402 @tqd4455 @rxeae @caraxes-syrax @shrimpybbq @drewstarkeysbabe @rafeswhoooreee @meropeeonmee @rafeluvrr @marvelahsobx @raeven-marie43 @fallout-girl219 @brendazzlingg @10ava01 @secretsideofbree @drewstarrrkey @p0gue420 @gibson-g1rl @kiiyomei @spiderstyles04 @sexualparkour @vinaluvsu @domainexpandme @mariadu2 @toterry @taliawz @always-reading @angvl3tears @iloveoldermenn @aesthetic-lyss @lover-girl-estxx @cadhlabear

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 18th. mattheo — hate fucking / enemies.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: “at least her favourite form of foreplay isn’t an argument…” “or being a bitch her kink..”

warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon(meh), ex bf/gf trope, toxic behaviour, mutual manipulation, these two are chaotic as fuck, mentions of blood, gagging, degradation, rough sex PIV, hate fucking, spitting, spanking, uhhh i think that covers it. this one is a ride. can you tell this is my fav trope?

"I'm so fucking sick of you.”

"Get well soon, princess."

"Get fucked, Riddle."

Three sentences, three venomous insults that cut the room in half—heavy enough in their intensity to make you want to tear through dungeon walls, splintering stone and mortar with bare hands if it means sparing yourself another second in this blasted room, with him.

Detention at midnight—on a Friday, no fucking less—is unheard of. But leave it to your dickhead ex to make the impossible a reality. His fault, of course. Like always.

Snape had turned a blind eye for months. It was only a matter of time before something had to give. An hour unsupervised was as good as you'll get.

Sulking defeat, you sink back in your chair, rough wood digging into your spine as you eye Mattheo with a glare that could rival a bullet. He looks like hell, and it's infuriating how even in that state he manages to look so nonchalant, so maddeningly unbothered—like even exhaustion makes a home on him and he's comfortable with it. Bags under his eyes, scar cutting across the bridge of his nose, those dark curls falling messily over his forehead, white dress shirt wrinkled and open at the collar.

You roll your eyes, a gesture that feels like your only act of rebellion left.

And he notices. Of course he does.

"You haven't changed a bit," he spits, and you know it's an insult. You scowl as he swipes the blood off his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. "Always a bitch to me over something."

Bitch. The name strikes you, but you won't let him see it, won't let him know that it lands. You've bled too many times at his feet for him to draw blood again tonight.

"Am I not allowed to be pissed off that you dragged us into detention? We should be at the party, Mattheo. We should be anywhere but here." You hear the frustration rising in your voice, like it's boiling up from somewhere deep, somewhere you can't quite reach. It's hard not to let it slip, especially when he looks at you like that. "This is so fucking typical of you. You mess up, and somehow I'm the one who pays for it."

For a moment, there's silence, and it almost feels like a victory until you realize he's only biding his time, waiting to strike back.

"You really want to get back there? To that party?" He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. You long for the chair to break from under him. "After what your new man was caught doing with Lovegood?"

You snort before you can stop yourself, the sound slipping out like a reflex. You hadn't expected that. And quite frankly, it's amusing—no, downright hilarious—that he's clearly been keeping tabs on you and "new man", and now here he is, trying to play it off like he doesn't care. Like it's nothing.

"I'll spare you the insults this once," you mutter, fingers loosening the tie around your neck with a tug. "Because, clearly, you're ignorant to the truth, even if you think you know every goddamn thing." You pause, ripping out your earrings. "He's not my man, so I don't give a shit what he does with who. He ended it last week. Good fuck, sure—but other than that..."

You trail off, making a mocking noise with your lips, a derisive puff of air, as if you could blow away the memory of him as easily as dust off an old book. A Ravenclaw. Brilliant in all the wrong ways—sharp mind, yes, but utterly thrill-less, like he saw you as just another page to flip through, a textbook he was annotating.

It is what it is.

A moment passes and then Mattheo grins—slow at first, but spreading across his face like fire, destructive in its consummation. It unsettles you. He looks more intrigued than he's been in months.

"A good fuck, huh?"

"That's what I said," you reply, clipped, your tone offering no room for him to crawl inside.

"And why didn't it work out? Too good for you?" He says, twisting the knife just because he can. "Too clean, maybe?"

Your eyes scan the room, searching for something within reach to throw at him, anything to break this unbearable tension. Insufferable. Every inch of him, insufferable.

You find nothing, so you throw words instead. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

He nods, as if that's the truest thing either of you have said all night. Of course he knows.

You barely suppress a dry laugh at his idiocy. "Like I told you—he ended it. If you're so fucking interested in why it didn't work out, then why don't you go ask him?"

There's a pause—he's chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at you. You imagine chewing his head off as you stare at him.

"I'm sure you gave that bookworm the ride of his life," he says, voice half-dry, half-sarcastic, as if he's already bored of the conversation. As if he knew all of this information already. "Everyone knew that was temporary. Your first rebound, congrats."

And just like that, your blood is boiling. He knows how to needle you, how to get under your skin with the slightest flick of his stupid fucking tongue. Your eyes trace the cold stone of the dungeon walls, desperately trying to find something—anything—to distract yourself.

But it's no use. Mattheo's an asshole. He's always been an asshole. That's why you left. All the two of you did was fight and fuck, a chaotic spiral that was as thrilling as it was destructive. Now, he's easily your enemy—dragging you into his messes, never letting you get too far without ruining your life somehow.

And yet—

If you said you didn't miss the sex sometimes, that'd be a lie. Or at least a half-truth. The kind that slips out when you've had one too many glasses of firewhiskey, the kind you'd regret in the morning.

"What about you, dickhead?" You cut through the silence, ignoring his obvious attempt to rile you up. "That Hufflepuff you were seeing—why'd I see her all over Theo tonight?"

He answers far too fast. "They're friends."

You snort, disbelieving. "Right."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room to the bookcase as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The books feel safer somehow, less volatile.

"You're bored of her, aren't you?" You don't care to look at him. You can imagine the way his jaw tenses at the question.

The silence is telling. He doesn't answer right away. You know him well enough to understand what that means. Then, finally, he speaks, a half-answer that doesn't really answer the fucking question at all.

"At least her favourite form of foreplay isn't a fucking argument." He stands, slow, pushing his hair back from his forehead with one battered hand. You glance at him, pulse quickening. "Or being a bitch her kink."

"Does she even have kinks?" It slips out, a knife thrown without aiming. "Sounds like you're bored, Matty."

You watch as he blinks, his eyes darken. That nickname—you know you don't have the right to say it anymore, and that's exactly why you do. It's an insult wrapped in familiarity, and it hits its mark by the way his shoulders tense, jaw tight.

He steps toward you, one calculated step, and you feel it—that chaotic pull, the gravity that's always drawn you both in, no matter how far you try to stay away. A smile pulls at your lips, a cruel thing.

"How cute." He tilts his head just enough to inspect you, eyes dragging over you like he's searching for something to confirm what he already suspects. "Looks like you're jealous."

Your hand grips the bookshelf, eyes locked on him over your shoulder. Jealous? There's not a soul on this planet who could make you jealous. She may be the hero of this story, the girl that gets the guy, might even be everything you're not—

"Looks like you're learning the hard way," you're inspecting him now, too. Every piece of him you once touched. "When it comes too easy it's never gonna' hit as hard, babe."

Another pause from him—something dancing in his eyes. Anger? Maybe. Or something more, something twisted that you don't care to name. You've already lit the match, and now you're just watching him burn.

"You're so clever, huh? So full of advice," he sneers, ripping off his tie and chucking it on a desk. "Go on then, tell me more about how I feel, professor. Since you know everything about me."

You can't help the smirk that curls on your lips. Oh, he's pissed. And that means you're winning.

"What? You don't like hearing the truth? Too much for your delicate ego?" You take a step toward him, savouring every second of this. He hurt you, over and over, the scars from those days still fresh, still bleeding beneath your skin. This has been a long time coming. "You think I care about your new girl, Matty? The one you let your boys fawn over in the common room?...she kissed Theo tonight." You pause, letting that linger. "You think you're doing something, but I see right through you. You don't give a fuck about her. If you did, no one would dare touch her like that. So don't sit here, accusing me of jealousy, like I'm the one hung up on you. You're projecting. And it's pathetic."

He doesn't waste a goddamn beat—his laugh is bitter, sickeningly so—and he advances again, his shadow moving behind him, the space between you now barely there.

"That's amazing, truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a goddamn oracle. All-knowing, all-seeing." His voice is infuriating. The look on his face more-so. "What's your verdict then, my lord? You think this is all an act? That everything I'm doing is just to spite you?"

Your heart races, breath catching in your throat as he steps closer. This is a dance you both know too well, the kind where neither of you win.

"I know how you operate." Your chest heaves, anger rising with every breath. "It's all a game to you, Matt. A sick, twisted game to keep yourself entertained."

"That's rich, coming from someone who played it just as well." He takes another step forward. You could reach out and touch him now he's that close. His grin grows. "Too bad your Ravenclaw figured it out before you could sink your teeth in too deep. Next time you see him, make sure to tell him I said you're welcome."

Your brows pinch—the blood in your veins screeching to a halt, backing up like New York traffic at a standstill. You feel it, hot and furious, rushing toward a place it can't go, clogged behind the wall of rage building up inside you—

"You're welcome?" You spit, a sharp snarl caught between clenched teeth. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He's watching you, his eyes darting over your shoulder, fingers brushing over his lips like he's trying to dull that familiar smirk, that cruel little game he's always played.

Your stomach sinks, drops to your feet.

"Mattheo—" you snap, cutting him off just as he opens his mouth, before he can throw another snide word. "Spare me the cryptic bullshit for once in your life—“

His eyebrows lift at that, but there's a nod, a hint of something deeper in it. You taste the smugness in the air between you, can almost feel it slithering through his silence.

"Looks like you don't know everything after all. Isn't that ironic?" He straightens up, letting the moment breathe before his face hardens into something almost serious. "Your rebound came to me in the courtyard about two weeks ago. Had some questions about you."

"What?" Your nerves are vibrating, every cell in your body on edge. Your blood is so clogged, you swear you're seeing red. "What questions?"

"The usual sort of normal stuff. Your birthday. Your favorite colour. Childhood traumas. Our downfall. You know."

The casualty in the way he says it makes you sick, bile rising in your throat, a bitter burn at the back of your mouth. It's all starting to come together now. This stupid motherfucker—

"You're lying." The words feel weak, frail. He wouldn't—no, he couldn't. "You're fucking lying."

"Am I?" His fingers brush your cheek, but your skin's gone numb, your blood too frozen to feel anything but the cold burn of your fury. "Or, is the truth just…too much for your delicate ego to handle?"

Oh, fuck off—

Your wand is in your hand before you even realize you've grabbed it, instinct, pure reflex. There's barely a second of rational thought before you're casting, the spell hitting him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the chair he once sat in. His eyes flash, anger igniting there, and he scrambles for his wand—but you're faster.

"Expelliarmus."

One word and you're across the room before you even know you've moved, chest tight as you slam the tip of your wand against his throat. There's a cut on his lip, blood trickling down his chin for a second time tonight, but that stupid fucking smirk is still there, showcasing rubies for teeth and carved into his face like it belongs.

"Tell me what you did." Your voice cracks, but not from fear—it's fury, burgling through you, burning hot enough to make your whole body shake. You half want to cut him open just to bury your rage inside him, let him feel it. "If what you're saying is true, he ended things just days later. Tell me what the fuck you said to him."

Mattheo’s leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender, eyes glinting with the same smug amusement that's always haunted him. He's daring you, taunting you. He knows you never cared about that guy, not really.

You both know it. He was boring, easy.

This—this is something else.

His tongue swipes at the blood on his lip. "He didn't tell you—"

"Don't." Your wand digs deeper into his skin, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The pressure makes his breath hitch, but not enough. Not nearly enough. "I said tell me."

"Merlin—okay—I told him nothing, nothing really," his voice makes your grip tighten on your wand. He stares at you for a long, hard minute before he adds; "except that he should show me some fucking gratitude."

Your jaw slips, confusion rushing in like a flood. But before you can even question him—

"I told him he should be thanking me." Another pause. "When he's fucking you."

He laps at the blood seeping from the cut on his lip for the second time in only a minute and you barely notice the movement—the words hit you like a brick, but it's deeper than that, something visceral that crawls under your skin and settles in your bones. It's sharp, raw, cutting through the wall of rage so fast it leaves you breathless. You don't know how to explain it, this feeling that twists through you, something far too complicated to be named.

And then, you become aware of everything at once.

His legs, spread wide on either side of yours, the space between you so small, your chest just close enough to his face that his breath feels like it's fogging your skin. You're towering over him, wand pressed hard into his throat, your heart hammering in your chest like you're ready to ruin him—but his eyes, the way he looks up at you, says he'd let you.

"I may have even added that although you're with him, you'll always think of me. Both you and him know it’s true.“ That stupid smirk is gone, replaced with something you've never quite seen before. He pauses, before he continues. "You miss it. Us." Another pause. There’s something victorious in his tone, something that's almost breaking you. "And no matter how many times you try to forget, you never do, do you?"

Salazar save you—you should hex him. You should fucking hex him. Every nerve in your body is screaming for it, begging for it, but you can't. You can't fucking move. Your wand is still pressed to his skin, but it feels like you're the one pinned down.

"Shut up," you finally manage, but your voice is meek, thin, nothing like the fury you want to feel. "You...you're being—"

"I'll shut up," his hand finds your wrist, pressing your wand tip against his neck with more force—enough to make himself wince. "If you make me."

You blink, stunned, and you can feel your anger slipping, slipping faster than you can catch it. You don't know what's happening to you—it’s just him—his sick twisted insanity that disarms you. Time and time again. An endless fucking cycle.

"I could ruin you," you whisper, but it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself than him. You press the wand deeper, just enough to draw a grunt from him, but the look on his face—he's not afraid. No, he's enjoying it. "I have more reasons than most to leave you here bloodied for Snape to find in the morning."

You say the words but the conviction is gone, swept away in the flood of heat between you—the dizzying proximity, the way his lips curl, almost smiling but not quite—

"What are you so afraid of?" He whispers, and there's something fragile in his voice now. "That you might actually want this?"

"I don't want this." You force the words out immediately, hoping they will make it real. Hoping they'll stop this spiral. "I regret ever wanting this."

He’s silent for a moment as he lowers his hands, dark eyes falling to trace your lips—

"I know you hate me, the feelings mutual...but I know. I know I'll always be your favourite regret," those chocolate curls shift, his head tilts closer, too close. Not close enough. "You're still my weapon of choosing."

Merlin. Merlin bloody forgive you—

"…to hurt yourself with?” It's half a question, but you already know the answer.

He nods, and that does it.

Your lips are on his, fast and hard and bruising—and the reaction is immediate, visceral. All that backed-up blood—all that rage frozen in your veins rushes forward in a single, scorching wave. It crashes low, between your thighs, a heat so sharp it aches. The shame comes with it. So does the disgust. A sick knot of self-hatred pulsing through you as you taste his blood on your tongue while his hands are under your skirt, grabbing you like he owns you, pulling you into him. It's only a moment before your wand clatters to the ground, and your hands are tangled in his hair, yanking hard, hard enough to hurt.

You want it to hurt. God, you want it to hurt.

He growls at the sting on his scalp—and then, everything flips.

His fingers tug at something, and you realize it's his own wand, the one you tucked into the back of your skirt—and before you can even think, he's got it, casting a spell that sends you flying back onto the desk behind you. You groan—the world spins, but you don't even have a second to gather yourself before he's advancing toward you, casting another spell on his tie.

Within seconds it's slithering across your lips and tying itself around your head, gagging you.

He steps between your legs, parts them with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times before—rough hands gliding up your thighs, eyes wild. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, through your slit, and you try to hold on to any shred of control, but it's gone. You can feel it. The way you forget everything except the way he leans down, breath hot in your ear.

"Look how fucking wet you are," he spits through a sneering grin. "You're goddamn shameless, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, but your thoughts scatter the moment his fingers shove inside you, curling hard—so hard you gasp into the tie, your back arching violently off the desk.

"He ever get you this wet?" His voice is like gravel, each word grinding into your bones. "Nod your head if he did."

Your body reacts before your mind does, arching against him, but you don't move your head. As much as it hurts your pride to give him that win. You dig your fingers into his hair and pull—hard enough to make him grunt, hard enough to hurt.

His hand comes down hard on your thigh in response, a sharp smack that stings, a warning. You squeal, and his fingers start pumping faster, deeper.

He huffs. "That's what I thought."

His fingers make quick work of you, relentless, and his thumb presses to your clit, rolling circles in a rhythm that has your blood on fire, shame licking at the edges of your vision, but it only makes you burn hotter. This is all wrong. Everything about this is wrong, something you'll regret with every fiber of your being tomorrow, but right now, it's an ache you need.

It's the wound you keep reopening, the pain you crave because it's the only thing that ever feels real.

"Fuck, you're close, aren't you?" He sounds almost shocked, like he can't believe how easily your body betrays you, but you feel it too, the disbelief crashing through you as fast as the pleasure does. Too fast. Far too fast. "Did he ever make you cum? Huh? When's the last time you fucking came?"

You can't answer, just groan, yanking at his hair again. His response is immediate, another stinging slap to your inner thigh, sharp enough to make fluid prick your eyes. Your orgasm is right there, teetering on the edge, ready to tip over—but then he slows his pace, dragging it out, torturing you.

You whine. A pitiful, desperate sound you hate yourself for.

"Look at me." His voice cuts through the haze, and begrudgingly, you do. "He didn't make you cum, did he?"

Your face burns, not from his breath or his fingers or even the astronomical amount of shame you feel—but from the truth of it. You shake your head.

"How long?" His voice shatters the air between you. "A week?"

You shake your head again, biting into the fabric of his tie as his fingers curl deeper inside you.

"Two weeks?"

Another shake. He curses under his breath.

"You poor little thing." His words are venom, but the second they spill from his lips, he pumps his fingers into you again, massaging at your walls, and your vision goes white. "Can't even cum without me."

You would've slapped him if you could, would've torn him apart, but the orgasm hits you like a freight train, ripping through you with violent force. You clench around his digits, thighs trembling as you ride the wave of pleasure, convulsing, moaning into the tie as he watches you like he's won.

"So fucking easy." He withdraws his fingers, and immediately, his hands go to his belt. "We'll make up for lost time."

Everything about this feels like a rerun. The same scene playing out on loop, again and again—a cycle of self-destruction you know too well, like running headfirst into a burning building, certain you can handle the smoke only to choke on it.

He's taking off his belt, ready to fuck you stupid, and by morning you'll be back to the same familiar hatred, tearing each other apart in new, inventive ways. Your hands move sluggishly to rip the tie from your mouth, but you're slow, too slow, still dizzy from the release that blindsided you, one that you haven't felt in so long—the fabric barely grazes your fingers before Mattheo catches your wrists, yanking them back, dragging you to your feet in one rough motion.

The spin disorients you—arms pinned behind your back, his cock sliding between your thighs.

"You've done enough talking today," he hisses at your ear as he drags along your slit. "You want this, don't you?"

Your mind screams for you to shake your head, to end this here and now. You know he'd stop—he's an asshole, but not that kind of an asshole. You know it. You almost do it, almost say the word that would shatter this madness. But then he drags his tip against your clit and you moan before you can stop yourself.

Your head nods with a wanton moan, and it's so full of shame your eyes sting with tears.

"Yeah, I know, baby." He's taunting you, every syllable smug, condescending. "This pussy missed me so much, huh?" His hand tightens on your wrists until your skin burns, the other hand finding its way around your thigh, pulling you closer to him. "Fuckin' lost without me. S'all it's good for, isn't it? Taking my cock."

You groan, shaking your head in defiance, but even that feels like a lie. You hate him. You want him. You hate yourself for wanting him.

"No?" His fingers inch toward your clit, ghosting over it—you squeal, hips jerking for more. "Maybe we should call this off then?"

You blink once and his fingers are gone—wrenching a whine out of you, pathetic as you push your ass back against him, shame burning through you as you shake your head. Fuck him. Curse him. But you need him inside you, need him to fill the aching void that gnaws at you.

"That's my slut," he growls, and before you can process the words, he's inside you—one long, brutal thrust that spears you open, the stretch burning deep. The sting mixes with shock of his fingers returning to your clit, rubbing circles that make your knees buckle. "You know you're the only girl I've fucked raw? This pussy will always be mine."

He's fucking insane. Completely insane. And the worst part is, you're just as insane for wanting him. For needing him. You can't fight it. You don't even want to. Not now. Not when his voice drips like poison and he's tearing you apart in the only way you understand.

"Mmmf—" you groan into the tie and he's matching you, his teeth grazing your shoulder, marking you in ways that will last for days.

"I hope it hurts," he grumbles against your skin, his breath ragged. He's lying, you can feel it in the way his fingers are moving, coaxing you to cum, even as he pretends to wish you pain. "I hope it fucking stings."

Your hands ball into fists, trapped in his grip, and you imagine clawing at his back until you draw blood, sinking your nails in until he feels every ounce of your anger.

"I want you to feel it—fuck—I want you to remember this," he pants, his voice barely more than a growl as your climax crashes toward you, unstoppable now. "Remember how weak I make you. How much of a slut you are for me."

Another harsh thrust and then, you're there—falling into the void—pleasure is so strong it bleeds out of you, forcing your cunt to clamp tight around him, legs trembling, barely able to support you through it. Mattheo’s curses slip through clenched teeth, but this only fuels him—his rhythm picks up, brutal, hips slamming against your ass with a pace that borders on unhinged.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." The words are barely audible, grunted against the shell of your ear. You're whining, still twitching with aftershocks, but he doesn't care. His hands are on your hips now, fingers digging deep as he thrusts you forward, slamming you over the desk. The wood bites into your palms as you try to brace yourself, but his anger is palpable, drilling into you— "you wanna bitch at me now?"

The moan you release is automatic, instinctual. You can't stop it. Can't control it. His fingers curl around your throat, shifting the tie down to shove two into your mouth.

"Hhhhh—" you're trying to form words around his fingers, but it's impossible. The garbled sound is pathetic, but he knows exactly what you're trying to say.

"You hate me. I know." It’s smug, punctuated by a sharp smack to your ass, the sting of it making you yelp. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping the spit across your cheek before he grips your jaw, forcing your head to turn, to meet his eyes. "Open your mouth."

There's no time to process the demand. His eyes are molten, crazed, filled with something raw and uncontainable. His next thrust is punishing, slamming into your cervix, making you sob—your mouth parting just enough—

He leans in close, and then he spits into your mouth.

"Swallow it." His fingers dig into your cheeks, pressing the order into your bones. "Be a good girl for once."

You choke out a laugh, even as you're panting, even as he's splitting you stupid.

"Never." The word barely leaves your lips before you’re spitting back at him—your entwined saliva landing across his chin and lips.

For a second, you expect the worst—you brace yourself for the retaliation—the slap, the insult, the way he'll tighten his grip and take back control. But to your surprise, instead of anger, there's a grin—wide and feral, big and crazed enough to reach his eyes.

You smile back. His cock twitches inside you.

"Fuck me," he mutters, then crashes his mouth to yours.

You taste the salt and bitterness of mingled spit, a mess of his and yours, and it pulls a moan from somewhere deep inside you. He devours it, greedy, his hips growing erratic, sloppy as his high nears.

His hand drops to your clit, fingers pressing with a precision that obliterates every last shred of sanity—and it takes only moments before the pressure builds again, fast and furious. Your third orgasm rips you apart, your body clenching tight, muscles seizing as you're lost in it. You're not sure where you end and he begins—your breath congealing with his, your moans swallowed in the space between you.

His release follows right after, crashing over him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you with a groan that reverberates through your bones. You hate the way it feels. You hate the way he fills you. But you also can't deny the twisted satisfaction of it—the way you sought this punishment, needed it. The shame consumes you, but it's comforting in its familiarity.

He pulls out, and the silence between you is easy, broken only by your ragged breathing. The room feels impossibly small now, your body still thrumming with the aftermath, but the moment is over. You both start to move—piecing yourselves back together, pulling clothes into place, avoiding the weight of what just happened.

You don't understand how it came to this, how it always does, but you're not surprised. Not anymore.

After a long, silent moment, he looks at you. “I don’t regret what I did.”

You know he doesn’t.

“I know.”

He blinks. “I won’t apologize for it.”

You know he won’t.

“I know.”

He nods, now, a smirk on his lips as he watches you fix your skirt. You note the hair sticking to his forehead, how he’s still catching his breath even though he’s pretending he isn’t.

“You aren’t mad.” An observation.

“I’m not.” You reply. You know you should be, but the relief you felt when that Ravenclaw ended things tells you everything you need to know. “Just, never do it again.”

He nods again. “Sure.”

You’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean that—but, at least now, as you glance over at him, there's a small comfort in knowing you no longer want to kill him.