highlight. "please don't go. please. i'm—" he exhales shakily, and when you turn back to look at him, his eyes are wet. jeong jaehyun, who never cries. jeong jaehyun, who smiles through everything. "i'll do anything. i'll be whoever you need me to be. just—don't walk out that door. i can't watch you leave again. i can't."
pairings. nonidol!jaehyun x fem!reader
genre. angst, non idol fic, college au, smut 18+
tags. angst, college au, communications major jaehyun, non-idol au, second chances, situationship, slow burn, yeaner jaehyun, exes to lovers, miscommunication, trust issues, emotional hurt/comfort, smut with feelings, needy jaehyun, desperate jaehyun, jaehyun begs, crying during intimacy, soft dom jaehyun, making up, hopeful ending, realistic fiction
warnings. desperate sex, begging and pleading, repeated apologies during intimacy, deep kissing, sloppy undressing, body worship, breast worship, praising whispers, fingering, oral sex female receiving, cunnilingus, clit sucking, tongue fucking, penetrative vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, size difference, height difference, smaller female reader with taller male, missionary, prone bone, eye contact, hair tugging, gentle aftercare, cuddling, holding tight, yearning desperate male character, no condom (lets pretend she's on bc, i forgot condoms again forgive me)
wordcount. 7k
part 1. | masterlist
it's 8:47 in the morning when your phone buzzes.
you're already awake, sitting cross-legged on your bed with a cup of instant coffee going cold on the nightstand. the screen lights up with his name, and you stare at it for a solid five seconds before flipping the phone face-down.
jaehyun.
you don't pick up. you haven't picked up since sunday.
the call ends. a minute later, a text comes through.
jaehyun: you awake? i'm outside
you don't reply. you don't even open it. the read receipt stays off, and you let your thumb hover over the notification before swiping it away.
outside your apartment building, jeong jaehyun is sitting in his black kia k5, engine idling, one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding his phone. he's wearing that gray hoodie you used to steal from him back when things were different. back when you still believed him.
he waits.
five minutes pass. then ten.
he checks his phone again. nothing.
he runs a hand through his hair—freshly cut, shorter on the sides, the way you once said you liked—and exhales through his nose. then he pulls up your chat history, scrolling up to see the last time you actually responded to him with more than one word.
you: ok
you: sure
you: thanks for the ride
that was friday. three days ago. before everything shifted again.
he types out another message, thumbs moving slowly like he's weighing every word.
jaehyun: did i do something?
he stares at it. backspaces. types again.
jaehyun: you have class at 9 right? i can drive you
send.
he tosses his phone onto the passenger seat and leans his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes. the campus isn't far—fifteen minutes with morning traffic—but he's been coming here every tuesday and thursday for the past three weeks, ever since you let him back in. or at least, let him try.
rewind to a month ago.
september. the semester had just started. you were walking out of the communications building, earbuds in, bag slung over one shoulder, when someone fell into step beside you.
"you're walking fast."
you didn't have to look. you knew that voice.
"what do you want, jaehyun."
"to walk with you."
"i didn't ask."
"i know. i'm offering."
you kept walking, faster now, but his legs were longer and he had no trouble keeping up. he didn't say anything else, just walked beside you all the way to the bus stop, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, that stupid dimple flickering at the corner of his mouth like he was holding back a smile.
when the bus came, he didn't get on. he just stood there on the curb, watching you find a seat.
the next day, he was there again.
and the next.
by the end of the week, you finally cracked.
"what is this, jaehyun? what are you doing?"
he tilted his head, feigning innocence. "i'm walking you to the bus stop. is that a crime?"
"yes. it is. you lost the right to walk me anywhere."
the playfulness in his face flickered, something more serious bleeding through. "i know," he said, quieter. "i'm trying to earn it back."
you didn't believe him. you told yourself you wouldn't. you told yourself that jeong jaehyun was all charm and no follow-through, a communications major who knew exactly how to talk to people because that's what he was good at—talking. saying the right things. flashing those dimples and getting away with everything.
but he was persistent.
he started driving you to campus on days your schedules overlapped. he'd show up with coffee—your order memorized, even though you'd only told him once, months ago, before everything fell apart. he'd buy you lunch from that overpriced sandwich place near the library and leave it on your desk during your afternoon lecture without asking for anything in return.
he was doing all the right things.
and you hated that it was working.
mid-september to early october.
it went like this:
tuesday morning, he picks you up at 8:30 sharp. he's never late. the car smells like his cologne and the vanilla air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. he asks about your assignments, your group projects, the professor who always mispronounces your name. he doesn't talk about himself unless you ask, which you rarely do.
thursday afternoon, he's waiting outside the communications building with two cups of iced tea. "you look tired," he says.
"thanks. that's exactly what every girl wants to hear."
"i didn't say you look bad. i said you look tired. there's a difference."
you roll your eyes, but you take the tea.
saturday, he takes you to a hole-in-the-wall ramen place in hongdae. "you're paying," you remind him.
"obviously."
"and this isn't a date."
"obviously," he repeats, but there's a smirk tugging at his lips, and you hate that it makes your stomach flip.
he tells stupid jokes. like, genuinely stupid ones—dad jokes, knock-knock jokes, puns so bad they physically hurt. he does it on purpose, you know. he wants to see you crack. he wants to see that involuntary twitch of your mouth before you catch yourself and bury the smile under a scowl.
"why did the scarecrow win an award?" he asks one evening, driving you home.
"i'm not doing this."
"because he was outstanding in his field."
you groan, loud and exaggerated. "that's not even funny."
"then why are you smiling."
"i'm not."
"you are. your cheek is doing that thing."
"my cheek doesn't do a thing."
"it does. right here—" he reaches over, finger hovering near your face, and you swat his hand away before he can touch you.
he laughs. dimples on full display. and for a moment—just a moment—you forget why you were supposed to hate him.
but the thing about jeong jaehyun is that he's always been too good at this. too smooth. too effortless.
that's the problem.
you've known him for two years now. you met in intro to mass communication, ended up in the same study group, and somehow fell into something that felt like it could be real. he was charming then, too. flirty. always finding excuses to sit next to you, to borrow your notes, to ask for your opinion on his projects.
for a while, you thought it meant something.
when you walked away, he didn't stop you. didn't chase you. didn't text or call or show up at your door. he just let you go, like it didn't matter. like you didn't matter.
so when he showed up in september, all apologies and coffee runs and dad jokes, you didn't trust it. how could you? jeong jaehyun was a communications major in more ways than one—he knew how to say the right things, how to deliver the right lines, how to make you feel like you were the center of his universe even when you weren't.
you kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
and then saturday happened.
saturday, october 11. minji's dorm room, 9:14 pm.
you're sitting on her floor, back against the bed frame, scrolling through your phone while she rummages through her closet for something to wear to her birthday party next weekend.
"so minseo isn't coming," minji says, tossing a black top onto the bed.
"wait, why?"
"because jaehyun's coming."
your thumb freezes mid-scroll. "what?"
"yeah, i invited him. you guys are talking again, right? i figured it'd be fine."
"no, i mean—why isn't minseo coming just because jaehyun's there?"
minji pauses, turning to look at you. there's a flicker of something on her face—realization, maybe, or regret for bringing it up at all. "oh. you didn't know?"
"didn't know what."
she hesitates. "they had a thing. like, months ago. minseo said it was serious. or at least, she thought it was."
the room feels smaller.
"when," you hear yourself say.
"i don't know exactly. around june? july? she didn't really talk about it until recently. i think she's still kind of hung up on him."
june or july. months ago.
the same months when jaehyun was supposedly realizing he made a mistake with you. the same months when he was allegedly thinking about you, missing you, regretting the way things ended. the same months he later described as "hell" when he was trying to win you back.
apparently, hell looked a lot like getting serious with minseo.
"hey," minji says, reading your face. "i'm sure it's not—i mean, you know jaehyun. he's..."
"yeah," you cut her off, voice flat. "i know jaehyun."
you leave her dorm twenty minutes later. you don't cry. you don't even feel sad, exactly. it's more like a dull, familiar ache—the same one you felt last spring when you realized he wasn't going to come after you. the same one that told you, over and over, that you were never as special to him as he was to you.
of course.
he's jaehyun.
a face like that, a smile like that, a way with words like that. why would he ever settle for one person when he could have whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and call it "just having fun" when things got too real?
you were an idiot for thinking anything had changed.
sunday, october 12. you start ghosting him.
it's subtle at first. you don't answer his good morning text. when he calls, you let it ring. when he sends a follow-up message—you okay?—you leave it on read.
monday passes the same way. he texts three times. calls twice. you ignore them all.
by tuesday morning, he's standing outside your building like clockwork, and you're still in bed, coffee gone cold, phone buzzing against the mattress. the vibration stops, starts again. he's calling.
you don't pick up.
outside, jaehyun checks the time. 8:52. your class is in eight minutes. if you don't leave now, you'll be late.
he calls again. straight to voicemail this time—not because your phone is off, but because you rejected the call.
that's when it hits him. this isn't a busy morning or a dead battery. this is deliberate.
he stares at his phone screen for a long moment. then he opens his chat with minji.
jaehyun: hey, random question. did something happen over the weekend?
three dots appear. disappear. appear again.
minji: uh
minji: i might have mentioned the minseo thing
minji: sorry, i thought she already knew
jaehyun closes his eyes.
minseo.
he presses his forehead against the steering wheel for a solid ten seconds, then straightens up and puts the car in drive. he doesn't speed off dramatically—he's not that kind of person. he just drives, merging into morning traffic, heading toward campus because he doesn't know where else to go.
he's not angry. he's not even defensive. he just feels... stupid.
because here's the thing: minseo was june. early june, right after finals, when he was trying to convince himself that he was fine. that he didn't mess up with you. that there were other girls, better girls, girls who didn't look at him like they expected him to fail.
minseo was nice. minseo was fun. and for about three weeks, jaehyun let himself pretend it could be something more. but it wasn't. it didn't matter how pretty she was or how much she liked him—she wasn't you. every conversation, every date, every kiss, he was thinking about someone else.
he ended it in july. told her he wasn't ready for anything serious. she cried, which made him feel like absolute garbage, and he spent the rest of the summer alone, replaying every mistake he'd ever made with you.
that was the summer that changed him. or at least, he thought it did.
he thought he could come back in september and prove it.
but old reputations die hard, and jeong jaehyun knows exactly what he looks like. the guy who never takes anything seriously. the guy who bounces from girl to girl. the communications major with the dimples and the charm who could sweet-talk his way out of anything.
he knows that's what you see when you look at him.
and right now, sitting in his car in the hanyang university parking lot, he's realizing that he might never be able to change that.
wednesday. thursday. friday.
you keep ghosting. he keeps trying—but quieter now, less persistent. a single text in the morning. a single text at night. no calls. no showing up at your building.
jaehyun: i know you're ignoring me. i'm not going to force you to talk
jaehyun: but when you're ready, i'll explain. about minseo. about everything
jaehyun: i'm not asking you to believe me. just to listen
you read them all. you don't reply.
it's easier this way, you tell yourself. easier to cut him off now than to let him in again and get burned. he's jaehyun. this is what he does. he's probably already moved on to someone else.
(he hasn't.)
(he's been going to class, coming home, and sitting in his studio apartment with the lights off, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he let this happen again.)
saturday, october 18. minji's birthday party.
you almost don't go. but minji is your friend, and you're not going to let jeong jaehyun ruin that. so you put on a decent outfit, fix your hair, and show up at the rooftop bar minji rented out, determined to have a good time.
jaehyun is already there.
you see him the moment you walk in—standing near the railing, talking to someone from your communications seminar. he's wearing a black button-down, sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back. he looks good. annoyingly good. but there's something off about him. his smile doesn't reach his eyes. his dimples are nowhere to be seen.
you look away before he can catch you staring.
you spend the first hour avoiding him. it's not hard—the party is crowded, and you're good at making yourself small. you stick to the edges, nursing a drink, laughing at the right moments, pretending you're fine.
then you step outside to get some air, and he's there.
the rooftop has a smaller balcony section, semi-private, and he's leaning against the railing with his back to the door. his phone is in his hand, but he's not looking at it. he's just standing there, shoulders slightly hunched, like he's carrying something heavy.
you should turn around. you should go back inside.
instead, you clear your throat.
he turns. when he sees you, his whole body tenses—shoulders drawing back, hand tightening around his phone. for a second, neither of you speaks.
"hey," he finally says. his voice is rough, like he hasn't used it in a while.
"hey."
a pause.
"you've been avoiding me," he says. it's not an accusation. just a fact.
"yeah."
"can i ask why? or do you want me to figure it out myself."
you cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe. the october air is cold against your skin. "i heard about minseo."
he doesn't flinch. doesn't look surprised. "i figured."
"so?"
"so nothing." he turns to face you fully, and you're struck by how tired he looks. dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight, none of that easy confidence he usually carries. "minseo was a mistake. i was—i don't know. i was trying to get over you. it didn't work."
"wow. that's very romantic. i'm sure she loved hearing that."
"she didn't," he admits. "i ended it badly. i'm not proud of it."
you don't say anything.
"i know how it looks," he continues, voice quieter now. "i know what you think of me. the guy who's always 'just having fun.' the guy who doesn't take anything seriously. and maybe i deserved that reputation. maybe i earned it. but i'm not—" he stops, exhales. "i'm not that guy anymore. or i'm trying not to be. i wouldn't have spent the last month driving you to class and buying you lunch and telling you stupid jokes just for fun. that's not what this was."
"then what was it."
"it was me trying to show you that i changed. because i knew telling you wasn't enough."
you look at him. really look at him. the tension in his shoulders. the uncharacteristic lack of dimples. the way his hand is shaking slightly against the railing.
you want to believe him.
but you've wanted to believe him before.
"jaehyun," you say, and your voice comes out steadier than you feel. "you let me walk away last time. you didn't fight. you didn't chase. you didn't even text. and then you spent the summer with someone else, and you expect me to believe that i'm different?"
he flinches. actually flinches, like the words hit him physically.
"i know," he says. "i know i messed up. i know i keep messing up. but i'm still here. i came back. and i know that doesn't fix anything, but—"
"but what."
"but what do you want me to do." his voice cracks on the last word. "tell me what to do and i'll do it. i'll stop trying if that's what you want. i'll leave you alone. but you have to tell me, because i'm not going to walk away this time unless you ask me to. not again."
the city hums below you. somewhere inside, minji's party continues—music, laughter, the clinking of glasses. out here, it's just the two of you and the cold october wind and the weight of everything unsaid.
you don't answer right away.
and for the first time in two years, jeong jaehyun doesn't try to fill the silence.
he just waits.
it's been two weeks since minji's party.
two weeks of him trying. not in the loud, performative way he used to—showing up unannounced, buying your coffee, filling silences with jokes. quieter this time. more careful.
he took his time, sucking gently, then softer, like he was trying to memorize the way you felt under his tongue. his free hand rested on your ribs, fingers spread wide, the size difference clear in how easily his palm covered so much of you. he switched sides, mouth warm and unhurried, little hums vibrating against your skin when your back arched slightly. “you always feel so good like this,” he murmured, lips brushing the underside of your breast before he kissed lower, open-mouthed and slow.
he texts once a day. not good morning or good night, nothing that expects a response. just small things. a song he thought you'd like. a photo of the campus cat that always sits outside the communications building. once, a voice memo of him attempting to play a song on his guitar, which he's terrible at, and he ends it with a self-deprecating laugh that you replay three times before you catch yourself.
you don't reply. but you don't block him either. you're not sure what that says about you.
on tuesday, you see him in the library. he's at a table near the window, head bent over a textbook, earbuds in. he doesn't notice you. you stand there for maybe fifteen seconds, watching the way his brow furrows when he's concentrating, the way he taps his pen against his lip. then you leave before he can look up.
on thursday, you run into him outside the communications building. literally run into him—you're rushing to your afternoon lecture, not looking where you're going, and suddenly there's a solid chest and familiar hands steadying your shoulders.
"sorry—" you start, then stop. it's him.
"hey." his voice is soft. his hands drop from your shoulders immediately, like he's afraid of holding on too long. "you okay?"
"yeah. fine. late for class."
"right. yeah. go." he steps aside, clearing the path. "i'll—see you around."
he doesn't say anything else. doesn't push. and somehow that's worse than if he had.
friday night, it rains.
you're at a house party in hongdae, a friend of a friend's place, and the whole night you've been restless. the music is too loud. the crowd is too thick. you keep checking your phone even though no one's texting you.
then minji grabs your arm, tipsy and grinning. "jaehyun's here."
your stomach drops. "what?"
"yeah, minho invited him. he's in the kitchen."
you don't go to the kitchen. you stay in the living room, wedged between the couch and a bookshelf, pretending to be interested in a conversation about someone's internship. but then the crowd shifts and there he is, leaning against the kitchen counter, a red cup in his hand, listening to minho talk about something with a polite half-smile on his face.
he looks tired. he always looks tired these days.
his eyes find yours across the room. he doesn't wave. doesn't smile. just holds your gaze for a moment—long enough to make your chest tight—and then looks away.
at 1 AM, people start leaving. you're outside waiting for a taxi, rain coming down in sheets, your thin jacket doing nothing to keep you warm. your phone is at 4%. the taxi app says 25 minute wait.
a car pulls up to the curb. black kia k5.
the window rolls down. "get in."
you hesitate. everything in you says no. everything in you says yes.
"i'm not going to try anything," he says, and his voice is so tired, so genuinely drained, that you believe him. "you're going to freeze out here. just let me drive you home."
you get in.
the drive is silent.
rain hammers the windshield. the wipers squeak rhythmically. jaehyun doesn't turn on music. doesn't try to fill the silence with dumb jokes or easy conversation. his hands are at ten and two, eyes on the road, jaw tight.
when he pulls up to your building, he doesn't turn off the engine. just sits there, waiting.
"thanks for the ride," you mumble, hand on the door handle.
"wait." his voice comes out strained. he clears his throat. "can we talk? not here. not in the car. somewhere. my place is close. five minutes. that's all i'm asking. five minutes, and if you still want to leave after that, i'll drive you back myself and you never have to see me again."
you should say no. you know you should say no.
"fine," you hear yourself say. "five minutes."
his apartment is small.
studio, really. a bed pushed against the far wall, a desk cluttered with textbooks, a guitar case gathering dust in the corner. fairy lights strung above the window—you remember helping him put those up. last year. back when things were simpler.
you stand near the door with your arms crossed. he stands near the kitchen counter. three feet of space between you. it feels like a mile.
"okay," you say. "talk."
he takes a breath. then another.
"i don't know how to do this," he admits. "i've been trying for weeks and i keep getting it wrong and i don't know—i don't know how to prove that i'm serious. that this is serious. that you're not just some—some game to me."
"maybe because you've treated everyone like a game for two years, jaehyun." your voice is sharper than you intended. "maybe because every time i let myself believe you, i find out about another girl. eunji. soyeon. minseo. how many more are there that i don't know about."
"there's no one else." he steps forward. you step back. he stops. "there hasn't been anyone since july. i ended things with minseo because she wasn't you. because no one is you. and i know that sounds like a line, i know that's exactly the kind of thing i would say to get out of trouble, but i swear—"
"swearing doesn't mean anything to you."
"what do you want me to do." his voice rises, cracking at the edges. "do you want me to get on my knees. do you want me to call minseo right now and let you listen. do you want me to—" he breaks off, running both hands through his hair, tugging at the ends. "i don't know what you want from me. you won't tell me. you won't let me in. you just keep shutting me out and i'm trying—i'm trying so hard and it's never enough."
"because you let me walk away." your voice shakes. your eyes sting. you refuse to cry. "last spring. when i found out about eunji. i wanted you to stop me. i wanted you to fight. and you just—stood there. you let me go like it was nothing."
"it wasn't nothing."
"it looked like nothing."
"i know." his voice drops. "i know what i did. i think about it every day. i think about your face when you walked out. i think about how i didn't chase you. i think about what a coward i was. and then i spent the whole summer trying to convince myself i was fine and i wasn't. i wasn't fine. i'm not fine now. i haven't been fine since you left."
he's close now. you don't remember him moving, but he's close. you can see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the red rims around his eyes, the way his chest is rising and falling too fast.
"you're so good at this," you whisper.
"good at what."
"talking. saying the right things. making me feel like i'm the only person in the world. it's what you do, jaehyun. it's what you've always done."
"it's not an act." his voice breaks. "it was never an act with you. i know i messed up. i know i gave you every reason not to trust me. but i'm not—" he stops to take a shuddering breath, "i'm not performing. i'm not trying to win. i just—i just want you. that's it. that's all it's ever been."
you shake your head. "i can't do this again."
"do what."
"this." you gesture between you. "the hoping. the waiting. the finding out i was wrong about you. i can't."
"then don't hope." he steps closer. you don't step back. "don't trust me. don't believe a single thing i say. but stay. just—stay. give me a chance to show you. not tell you. show you."
your throat is tight. "jaehyun—"
"i know i'm selfish." his voice is barely above a whisper now. "i know i'm asking for something i don't deserve. but i'm asking anyway. please."
the word hangs in the air. please. jeong jaehyun doesn't say please. jeong jaehyun doesn't beg. he's too proud, too confident, too used to getting what he wants without having to ask.
but he's asking now.
something in you cracks.
"i should go." your voice barely audible. "this was a mistake."
you turn toward the door.
he moves faster than you've ever seen him move.
his hand catches your wrist—not hard, not grabbing—just stops you. gentle. desperate.
"don't." the word comes out strangled. "please don't go. please. i'm—" he exhales shakily, and when you turn back to look at him, his eyes are wet. jeong jaehyun, who never cries. jeong jaehyun, who smiles through everything. "i'll do anything. i'll be whoever you need me to be. just—don't walk out that door. i can't watch you leave again. i can't."
"jaehyun."
"i know." he steps closer, still holding your wrist, thumb pressed against your pulse. "i know i'm too late. i know i should've done this a year ago. i know you don't owe me anything. but i'm begging you. i'm actually begging you."
his other hand comes up, hesitant, hovering near your face like he's afraid to touch you without permission. his fingers are shaking.
"you're the only thing i've ever been sure about," he whispers. "and i ruined it. i know i ruined it. but if there's even a tiny part of you that still—"
he doesn't finish.
he kisses you instead.
it's not smooth. it's not confident. it's desperate and messy and his lips are trembling against yours, one hand still around your wrist, the other finally cradling your jaw like you're something precious. he kisses you like he's drowning and you're air. like he's been waiting months for this and he can't believe it's happening.
"please," he breathes against your mouth. "please, please, please—"
the word becomes a chant, a prayer, broken and breathless between kisses. his forehead presses against yours. his eyes are squeezed shut. a tear slips down his cheek and lands on your collarbone.
"tell me to stop," he says. "tell me you don't want this and i'll stop. i'll stop. i swear i'll stop."
your hands are in his shirt. you don't remember putting them there. his heart is pounding so hard you can feel it through the fabric.
you don't tell him to stop.
the sheets were already warm under your back when jaehyun kissed you again, his hand steady on the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw. his mouth moved slow and deep, the kind of kiss that tasted like the mint from earlier and the faint salt of his skin. he kept murmuring sorry against your lips, the word slipping out between breaths like he couldn’t stop it. “sorry… i just—don’t go yet.” his voice was low, rough at the edges, nothing dramatic, just real and tired.
he tried to pull your shirt up but his fingers caught in the fabric, clumsy from how tightly he was holding on. you lifted your arms and did it yourself, tossing it aside onto the floor where his clothes already lay scattered. the cool air of the room hit your skin for a second before his mouth was on you, warm and immediate. “fuck… so pretty,” he breathed, the words barely above a whisper as he leaned down. his lips closed around one nipple, soft and wet, tongue circling slowly while his hand cupped the other, thumb brushing over it in lazy strokes.
he took his time, sucking gently, then softer, like he was trying to memorize the way you felt under his tongue. his free hand rested on your ribs, fingers spread wide, the size difference clear in how easily his palm covered so much of you. he switched sides, mouth warm and unhurried, little hums vibrating against your skin when your back arched slightly. “you always feel so good like this,” he murmured, lips brushing the underside of your breast before he kissed lower, open-mouthed and slow.
your pants came next. his hand fumbled at the waistband, pushing them down your hips but struggling with the angle on the bed. you raised your hips and helped slide them off along with your underwear, kicking them to the foot of the bed. jaehyun sat back just enough to yank his hoodie over his head in one motion, revealing the lean lines of his chest and stomach, skin already starting to flush. he was taller, broader in the shoulders, and when he leaned back over you the mattress dipped under his weight, making your smaller frame feel even smaller beneath him.
his fingers found you first, two of them sliding through your folds before pressing in carefully. “is this okay?” he asked, voice husky, eyes flicking up to yours. you nodded and told him to shut up, the words coming out breathy. he gave a small nod, lips pressing together, and focused. his fingers curled inside, slow and steady, thumb brushing your clit in gentle circles. the wet sounds were quiet, mixing with his heavy breathing and the low creak of the bed whenever he shifted. he watched your face the whole time, dark eyes steady, breathing through his mouth as he worked you open.
after a minute he slid lower, shoulders settling between your thighs. his mouth replaced his fingers, tongue flat and warm as he licked a slow stripe up your center. he groaned softly at the taste, the vibration traveling through you. he ate you out without rushing, lips closing around your clit and sucking gently, then releasing to lick again, over and over. his hands held your thighs apart, fingers pressing into the soft skin, keeping you spread for him. because of his height, his long arms reached easily, one hand sliding up to rest on your stomach, feeling the way your breathing changed.
you threaded your fingers through his hair, the strands soft and slightly damp with sweat already. he made a low sound when you tugged lightly, tongue pressing firmer, circling then flicking. the room filled with the quiet, wet noises of his mouth on you and the occasional hitch in your breath. he stayed focused, switching between slow licks and gentle suction, building it steadily until your hips started shifting against his face. he didn’t speed up, just kept the same deliberate pace, like he wanted to draw it out as long as possible.
when he finally pulled back, his lips were slick, chin glistening. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and moved up your body, kissing your stomach, then between your breasts, then your mouth again. his cock was hard and heavy against your thigh, the tip already wet. he reached down, guiding himself to your entrance, rubbing the head through your folds a couple times before pressing in.
he went slow, eyes locked on your face the entire time. “fuck,” he breathed as the head slipped inside, the stretch real and full. inch by inch he sank deeper, hips pressing forward until he bottomed out, pelvis flush against yours. a heavy breath left him, chest rising and falling visibly. he stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, forehead dropping to rest against yours. his hand stayed on the side of your face, thumb stroking your cheek.
you breathing harder, bodies moving together in the quiet of his apartment. he reached between you, fingers circling your clit again, the added stimulation pushing you closer. his thrusts faltered a little when he got near the edge, hips snapping forward with more urgency. “cum with me,” he said against your ear, voice strained. “please.” you clenched around him and he followed right after, burying himself deep with a low, heavy groan. his hips stuttered, pulsing inside you as he came, warmth spreading. he kept moving through it, shallow thrusts to draw it out for both of you, until the tension finally eased. his arms shook slightly as he held himself up, breathing hard against your neck.
he didn’t pull out immediately. instead he stayed buried inside, forehead pressed to yours, both of you catching your breath. his hand stroked your side slowly, gentle now that the intensity had peaked. after a minute he carefully slid out, a soft wince from both of you at the loss. he reached for the towel he’d left on the nightstand earlier, cleaning you first with careful wipes, then himself. nothing was said, just the quiet sounds of fabric and breathing. when he was done he pulled you against his chest, your smaller frame fitting easily into the curve of his taller body. his arm wrapped around your waist, hand resting on your stomach, fingers tracing idle patterns. the sheets were tangled around your legs, damp with sweat. he pressed a lazy kiss to the top of your head, then another to your shoulder, his breathing slowly returning to normal. the fan kept spinning, the streetlight outside casting soft shadows across the room.
his fingers kept moving on your skin, slow and soothing, like he was still trying to keep you close even after everything. the apartment was quiet again, just the two of you tangled together on his bed, bodies warm and spent. he didn’t say anything more about leaving.
for now it was just this—skin against skin, his heartbeat steady under your cheek, the real, messy aftermath of two people who weren’t ready to let go yet. he shifted once, pulling the blanket up over both of you, then settled back, holding you tighter. his leg draped over yours, the height difference making it easy for him to surround you. sleep started to pull at the edges, but he stayed awake a little longer, fingers still tracing your skin, breathing slow and even against your hair. the night stretched on like that, quiet and intimate in his small bedroom, the outside world far away for the moment.
afterward.
the room is quiet except for breathing. the rain has stopped outside. his fairy lights cast soft yellow shadows on the ceiling.
you're on your side. he's behind you, arm draped over your waist, face buried in the back of your neck. he hasn't let go for twenty minutes. his fingers trace absent patterns on your stomach.
"are you awake," he whispers.
"yeah."
"okay." a pause. "i just wanted to check."
silence.
"i meant everything," he says. "before. during. all of it. i meant it."
you don't answer.
"you don't have to say it back," he adds quickly. "you don't have to say anything. i just wanted you to know."
his arm tightens around you. his lips press to the nape of your neck. soft. almost hesitant.
"i'm not going anywhere," he murmurs. "not this time. even if you push me away. even if you tell me to leave. i'm staying. i'm going to keep staying until you believe me."
you turn in his arms. face him. he looks young like this—eyelashes still damp, lips slightly swollen, hair a mess from your fingers. vulnerable in a way he never lets anyone see.
you reach up. trace the line of his jaw with your thumb.
"okay," you say.
his eyes widen. "okay?"
"okay. i'll—try. i'm not promising anything. but i'll try."
the smile that breaks across his face is small. tentative. nothing like his usual grin. but it's real. you can see it in his eyes—the dimple appearing, just barely.
"that's enough," he says. "that's more than enough."
he pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin. you feel his heartbeat against your cheek. steady. steady.
outside, the city hums. inside, jeong jaehyun holds you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
highlight. "please don't go. please. i'm—" he exhales shakily, and when you turn back to look at him, his eyes are wet. jeong jaehyun, who never cries. jeong jaehyun, who smiles through everything. "i'll do anything. i'll be whoever you need me to be. just—don't walk out that door. i can't watch you leave again. i can't."
pairings. nonidol!jaehyun x fem!reader
genre. angst, non idol fic, college au, smut 18+
tags. angst, college au, communications major jaehyun, non-idol au, second chances, situationship, slow burn, yeaner jaehyun, exes to lovers, miscommunication, trust issues, emotional hurt/comfort, smut with feelings, needy jaehyun, desperate jaehyun, jaehyun begs, crying during intimacy, soft dom jaehyun, making up, hopeful ending, realistic fiction
warnings. desperate sex, begging and pleading, repeated apologies during intimacy, deep kissing, sloppy undressing, body worship, breast worship, praising whispers, fingering, oral sex female receiving, cunnilingus, clit sucking, tongue fucking, penetrative vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, size difference, height difference, smaller female reader with taller male, missionary, prone bone, eye contact, hair tugging, gentle aftercare, cuddling, holding tight, yearning desperate male character, no condom (lets pretend she's on bc, i forgot condoms again forgive me)
wordcount. 7k
part 1. | masterlist
it's 8:47 in the morning when your phone buzzes.
you're already awake, sitting cross-legged on your bed with a cup of instant coffee going cold on the nightstand. the screen lights up with his name, and you stare at it for a solid five seconds before flipping the phone face-down.
jaehyun.
you don't pick up. you haven't picked up since sunday.
the call ends. a minute later, a text comes through.
jaehyun: you awake? i'm outside
you don't reply. you don't even open it. the read receipt stays off, and you let your thumb hover over the notification before swiping it away.
outside your apartment building, jeong jaehyun is sitting in his black kia k5, engine idling, one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding his phone. he's wearing that gray hoodie you used to steal from him back when things were different. back when you still believed him.
he waits.
five minutes pass. then ten.
he checks his phone again. nothing.
he runs a hand through his hair—freshly cut, shorter on the sides, the way you once said you liked—and exhales through his nose. then he pulls up your chat history, scrolling up to see the last time you actually responded to him with more than one word.
you: ok
you: sure
you: thanks for the ride
that was friday. three days ago. before everything shifted again.
he types out another message, thumbs moving slowly like he's weighing every word.
jaehyun: did i do something?
he stares at it. backspaces. types again.
jaehyun: you have class at 9 right? i can drive you
send.
he tosses his phone onto the passenger seat and leans his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes. the campus isn't far—fifteen minutes with morning traffic—but he's been coming here every tuesday and thursday for the past three weeks, ever since you let him back in. or at least, let him try.
rewind to a month ago.
september. the semester had just started. you were walking out of the communications building, earbuds in, bag slung over one shoulder, when someone fell into step beside you.
"you're walking fast."
you didn't have to look. you knew that voice.
"what do you want, jaehyun."
"to walk with you."
"i didn't ask."
"i know. i'm offering."
you kept walking, faster now, but his legs were longer and he had no trouble keeping up. he didn't say anything else, just walked beside you all the way to the bus stop, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, that stupid dimple flickering at the corner of his mouth like he was holding back a smile.
when the bus came, he didn't get on. he just stood there on the curb, watching you find a seat.
the next day, he was there again.
and the next.
by the end of the week, you finally cracked.
"what is this, jaehyun? what are you doing?"
he tilted his head, feigning innocence. "i'm walking you to the bus stop. is that a crime?"
"yes. it is. you lost the right to walk me anywhere."
the playfulness in his face flickered, something more serious bleeding through. "i know," he said, quieter. "i'm trying to earn it back."
you didn't believe him. you told yourself you wouldn't. you told yourself that jeong jaehyun was all charm and no follow-through, a communications major who knew exactly how to talk to people because that's what he was good at—talking. saying the right things. flashing those dimples and getting away with everything.
but he was persistent.
he started driving you to campus on days your schedules overlapped. he'd show up with coffee—your order memorized, even though you'd only told him once, months ago, before everything fell apart. he'd buy you lunch from that overpriced sandwich place near the library and leave it on your desk during your afternoon lecture without asking for anything in return.
he was doing all the right things.
and you hated that it was working.
mid-september to early october.
it went like this:
tuesday morning, he picks you up at 8:30 sharp. he's never late. the car smells like his cologne and the vanilla air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. he asks about your assignments, your group projects, the professor who always mispronounces your name. he doesn't talk about himself unless you ask, which you rarely do.
thursday afternoon, he's waiting outside the communications building with two cups of iced tea. "you look tired," he says.
"thanks. that's exactly what every girl wants to hear."
"i didn't say you look bad. i said you look tired. there's a difference."
you roll your eyes, but you take the tea.
saturday, he takes you to a hole-in-the-wall ramen place in hongdae. "you're paying," you remind him.
"obviously."
"and this isn't a date."
"obviously," he repeats, but there's a smirk tugging at his lips, and you hate that it makes your stomach flip.
he tells stupid jokes. like, genuinely stupid ones—dad jokes, knock-knock jokes, puns so bad they physically hurt. he does it on purpose, you know. he wants to see you crack. he wants to see that involuntary twitch of your mouth before you catch yourself and bury the smile under a scowl.
"why did the scarecrow win an award?" he asks one evening, driving you home.
"i'm not doing this."
"because he was outstanding in his field."
you groan, loud and exaggerated. "that's not even funny."
"then why are you smiling."
"i'm not."
"you are. your cheek is doing that thing."
"my cheek doesn't do a thing."
"it does. right here—" he reaches over, finger hovering near your face, and you swat his hand away before he can touch you.
he laughs. dimples on full display. and for a moment—just a moment—you forget why you were supposed to hate him.
but the thing about jeong jaehyun is that he's always been too good at this. too smooth. too effortless.
that's the problem.
you've known him for two years now. you met in intro to mass communication, ended up in the same study group, and somehow fell into something that felt like it could be real. he was charming then, too. flirty. always finding excuses to sit next to you, to borrow your notes, to ask for your opinion on his projects.
for a while, you thought it meant something.
when you walked away, he didn't stop you. didn't chase you. didn't text or call or show up at your door. he just let you go, like it didn't matter. like you didn't matter.
so when he showed up in september, all apologies and coffee runs and dad jokes, you didn't trust it. how could you? jeong jaehyun was a communications major in more ways than one—he knew how to say the right things, how to deliver the right lines, how to make you feel like you were the center of his universe even when you weren't.
you kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
and then saturday happened.
saturday, october 11. minji's dorm room, 9:14 pm.
you're sitting on her floor, back against the bed frame, scrolling through your phone while she rummages through her closet for something to wear to her birthday party next weekend.
"so minseo isn't coming," minji says, tossing a black top onto the bed.
"wait, why?"
"because jaehyun's coming."
your thumb freezes mid-scroll. "what?"
"yeah, i invited him. you guys are talking again, right? i figured it'd be fine."
"no, i mean—why isn't minseo coming just because jaehyun's there?"
minji pauses, turning to look at you. there's a flicker of something on her face—realization, maybe, or regret for bringing it up at all. "oh. you didn't know?"
"didn't know what."
she hesitates. "they had a thing. like, months ago. minseo said it was serious. or at least, she thought it was."
the room feels smaller.
"when," you hear yourself say.
"i don't know exactly. around june? july? she didn't really talk about it until recently. i think she's still kind of hung up on him."
june or july. months ago.
the same months when jaehyun was supposedly realizing he made a mistake with you. the same months when he was allegedly thinking about you, missing you, regretting the way things ended. the same months he later described as "hell" when he was trying to win you back.
apparently, hell looked a lot like getting serious with minseo.
"hey," minji says, reading your face. "i'm sure it's not—i mean, you know jaehyun. he's..."
"yeah," you cut her off, voice flat. "i know jaehyun."
you leave her dorm twenty minutes later. you don't cry. you don't even feel sad, exactly. it's more like a dull, familiar ache—the same one you felt last spring when you realized he wasn't going to come after you. the same one that told you, over and over, that you were never as special to him as he was to you.
of course.
he's jaehyun.
a face like that, a smile like that, a way with words like that. why would he ever settle for one person when he could have whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and call it "just having fun" when things got too real?
you were an idiot for thinking anything had changed.
sunday, october 12. you start ghosting him.
it's subtle at first. you don't answer his good morning text. when he calls, you let it ring. when he sends a follow-up message—you okay?—you leave it on read.
monday passes the same way. he texts three times. calls twice. you ignore them all.
by tuesday morning, he's standing outside your building like clockwork, and you're still in bed, coffee gone cold, phone buzzing against the mattress. the vibration stops, starts again. he's calling.
you don't pick up.
outside, jaehyun checks the time. 8:52. your class is in eight minutes. if you don't leave now, you'll be late.
he calls again. straight to voicemail this time—not because your phone is off, but because you rejected the call.
that's when it hits him. this isn't a busy morning or a dead battery. this is deliberate.
he stares at his phone screen for a long moment. then he opens his chat with minji.
jaehyun: hey, random question. did something happen over the weekend?
three dots appear. disappear. appear again.
minji: uh
minji: i might have mentioned the minseo thing
minji: sorry, i thought she already knew
jaehyun closes his eyes.
minseo.
he presses his forehead against the steering wheel for a solid ten seconds, then straightens up and puts the car in drive. he doesn't speed off dramatically—he's not that kind of person. he just drives, merging into morning traffic, heading toward campus because he doesn't know where else to go.
he's not angry. he's not even defensive. he just feels... stupid.
because here's the thing: minseo was june. early june, right after finals, when he was trying to convince himself that he was fine. that he didn't mess up with you. that there were other girls, better girls, girls who didn't look at him like they expected him to fail.
minseo was nice. minseo was fun. and for about three weeks, jaehyun let himself pretend it could be something more. but it wasn't. it didn't matter how pretty she was or how much she liked him—she wasn't you. every conversation, every date, every kiss, he was thinking about someone else.
he ended it in july. told her he wasn't ready for anything serious. she cried, which made him feel like absolute garbage, and he spent the rest of the summer alone, replaying every mistake he'd ever made with you.
that was the summer that changed him. or at least, he thought it did.
he thought he could come back in september and prove it.
but old reputations die hard, and jeong jaehyun knows exactly what he looks like. the guy who never takes anything seriously. the guy who bounces from girl to girl. the communications major with the dimples and the charm who could sweet-talk his way out of anything.
he knows that's what you see when you look at him.
and right now, sitting in his car in the hanyang university parking lot, he's realizing that he might never be able to change that.
wednesday. thursday. friday.
you keep ghosting. he keeps trying—but quieter now, less persistent. a single text in the morning. a single text at night. no calls. no showing up at your building.
jaehyun: i know you're ignoring me. i'm not going to force you to talk
jaehyun: but when you're ready, i'll explain. about minseo. about everything
jaehyun: i'm not asking you to believe me. just to listen
you read them all. you don't reply.
it's easier this way, you tell yourself. easier to cut him off now than to let him in again and get burned. he's jaehyun. this is what he does. he's probably already moved on to someone else.
(he hasn't.)
(he's been going to class, coming home, and sitting in his studio apartment with the lights off, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he let this happen again.)
saturday, october 18. minji's birthday party.
you almost don't go. but minji is your friend, and you're not going to let jeong jaehyun ruin that. so you put on a decent outfit, fix your hair, and show up at the rooftop bar minji rented out, determined to have a good time.
jaehyun is already there.
you see him the moment you walk in—standing near the railing, talking to someone from your communications seminar. he's wearing a black button-down, sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back. he looks good. annoyingly good. but there's something off about him. his smile doesn't reach his eyes. his dimples are nowhere to be seen.
you look away before he can catch you staring.
you spend the first hour avoiding him. it's not hard—the party is crowded, and you're good at making yourself small. you stick to the edges, nursing a drink, laughing at the right moments, pretending you're fine.
then you step outside to get some air, and he's there.
the rooftop has a smaller balcony section, semi-private, and he's leaning against the railing with his back to the door. his phone is in his hand, but he's not looking at it. he's just standing there, shoulders slightly hunched, like he's carrying something heavy.
you should turn around. you should go back inside.
instead, you clear your throat.
he turns. when he sees you, his whole body tenses—shoulders drawing back, hand tightening around his phone. for a second, neither of you speaks.
"hey," he finally says. his voice is rough, like he hasn't used it in a while.
"hey."
a pause.
"you've been avoiding me," he says. it's not an accusation. just a fact.
"yeah."
"can i ask why? or do you want me to figure it out myself."
you cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe. the october air is cold against your skin. "i heard about minseo."
he doesn't flinch. doesn't look surprised. "i figured."
"so?"
"so nothing." he turns to face you fully, and you're struck by how tired he looks. dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight, none of that easy confidence he usually carries. "minseo was a mistake. i was—i don't know. i was trying to get over you. it didn't work."
"wow. that's very romantic. i'm sure she loved hearing that."
"she didn't," he admits. "i ended it badly. i'm not proud of it."
you don't say anything.
"i know how it looks," he continues, voice quieter now. "i know what you think of me. the guy who's always 'just having fun.' the guy who doesn't take anything seriously. and maybe i deserved that reputation. maybe i earned it. but i'm not—" he stops, exhales. "i'm not that guy anymore. or i'm trying not to be. i wouldn't have spent the last month driving you to class and buying you lunch and telling you stupid jokes just for fun. that's not what this was."
"then what was it."
"it was me trying to show you that i changed. because i knew telling you wasn't enough."
you look at him. really look at him. the tension in his shoulders. the uncharacteristic lack of dimples. the way his hand is shaking slightly against the railing.
you want to believe him.
but you've wanted to believe him before.
"jaehyun," you say, and your voice comes out steadier than you feel. "you let me walk away last time. you didn't fight. you didn't chase. you didn't even text. and then you spent the summer with someone else, and you expect me to believe that i'm different?"
he flinches. actually flinches, like the words hit him physically.
"i know," he says. "i know i messed up. i know i keep messing up. but i'm still here. i came back. and i know that doesn't fix anything, but—"
"but what."
"but what do you want me to do." his voice cracks on the last word. "tell me what to do and i'll do it. i'll stop trying if that's what you want. i'll leave you alone. but you have to tell me, because i'm not going to walk away this time unless you ask me to. not again."
the city hums below you. somewhere inside, minji's party continues—music, laughter, the clinking of glasses. out here, it's just the two of you and the cold october wind and the weight of everything unsaid.
you don't answer right away.
and for the first time in two years, jeong jaehyun doesn't try to fill the silence.
he just waits.
it's been two weeks since minji's party.
two weeks of him trying. not in the loud, performative way he used to—showing up unannounced, buying your coffee, filling silences with jokes. quieter this time. more careful.
he took his time, sucking gently, then softer, like he was trying to memorize the way you felt under his tongue. his free hand rested on your ribs, fingers spread wide, the size difference clear in how easily his palm covered so much of you. he switched sides, mouth warm and unhurried, little hums vibrating against your skin when your back arched slightly. “you always feel so good like this,” he murmured, lips brushing the underside of your breast before he kissed lower, open-mouthed and slow.
he texts once a day. not good morning or good night, nothing that expects a response. just small things. a song he thought you'd like. a photo of the campus cat that always sits outside the communications building. once, a voice memo of him attempting to play a song on his guitar, which he's terrible at, and he ends it with a self-deprecating laugh that you replay three times before you catch yourself.
you don't reply. but you don't block him either. you're not sure what that says about you.
on tuesday, you see him in the library. he's at a table near the window, head bent over a textbook, earbuds in. he doesn't notice you. you stand there for maybe fifteen seconds, watching the way his brow furrows when he's concentrating, the way he taps his pen against his lip. then you leave before he can look up.
on thursday, you run into him outside the communications building. literally run into him—you're rushing to your afternoon lecture, not looking where you're going, and suddenly there's a solid chest and familiar hands steadying your shoulders.
"sorry—" you start, then stop. it's him.
"hey." his voice is soft. his hands drop from your shoulders immediately, like he's afraid of holding on too long. "you okay?"
"yeah. fine. late for class."
"right. yeah. go." he steps aside, clearing the path. "i'll—see you around."
he doesn't say anything else. doesn't push. and somehow that's worse than if he had.
friday night, it rains.
you're at a house party in hongdae, a friend of a friend's place, and the whole night you've been restless. the music is too loud. the crowd is too thick. you keep checking your phone even though no one's texting you.
then minji grabs your arm, tipsy and grinning. "jaehyun's here."
your stomach drops. "what?"
"yeah, minho invited him. he's in the kitchen."
you don't go to the kitchen. you stay in the living room, wedged between the couch and a bookshelf, pretending to be interested in a conversation about someone's internship. but then the crowd shifts and there he is, leaning against the kitchen counter, a red cup in his hand, listening to minho talk about something with a polite half-smile on his face.
he looks tired. he always looks tired these days.
his eyes find yours across the room. he doesn't wave. doesn't smile. just holds your gaze for a moment—long enough to make your chest tight—and then looks away.
at 1 AM, people start leaving. you're outside waiting for a taxi, rain coming down in sheets, your thin jacket doing nothing to keep you warm. your phone is at 4%. the taxi app says 25 minute wait.
a car pulls up to the curb. black kia k5.
the window rolls down. "get in."
you hesitate. everything in you says no. everything in you says yes.
"i'm not going to try anything," he says, and his voice is so tired, so genuinely drained, that you believe him. "you're going to freeze out here. just let me drive you home."
you get in.
the drive is silent.
rain hammers the windshield. the wipers squeak rhythmically. jaehyun doesn't turn on music. doesn't try to fill the silence with dumb jokes or easy conversation. his hands are at ten and two, eyes on the road, jaw tight.
when he pulls up to your building, he doesn't turn off the engine. just sits there, waiting.
"thanks for the ride," you mumble, hand on the door handle.
"wait." his voice comes out strained. he clears his throat. "can we talk? not here. not in the car. somewhere. my place is close. five minutes. that's all i'm asking. five minutes, and if you still want to leave after that, i'll drive you back myself and you never have to see me again."
you should say no. you know you should say no.
"fine," you hear yourself say. "five minutes."
his apartment is small.
studio, really. a bed pushed against the far wall, a desk cluttered with textbooks, a guitar case gathering dust in the corner. fairy lights strung above the window—you remember helping him put those up. last year. back when things were simpler.
you stand near the door with your arms crossed. he stands near the kitchen counter. three feet of space between you. it feels like a mile.
"okay," you say. "talk."
he takes a breath. then another.
"i don't know how to do this," he admits. "i've been trying for weeks and i keep getting it wrong and i don't know—i don't know how to prove that i'm serious. that this is serious. that you're not just some—some game to me."
"maybe because you've treated everyone like a game for two years, jaehyun." your voice is sharper than you intended. "maybe because every time i let myself believe you, i find out about another girl. eunji. soyeon. minseo. how many more are there that i don't know about."
"there's no one else." he steps forward. you step back. he stops. "there hasn't been anyone since july. i ended things with minseo because she wasn't you. because no one is you. and i know that sounds like a line, i know that's exactly the kind of thing i would say to get out of trouble, but i swear—"
"swearing doesn't mean anything to you."
"what do you want me to do." his voice rises, cracking at the edges. "do you want me to get on my knees. do you want me to call minseo right now and let you listen. do you want me to—" he breaks off, running both hands through his hair, tugging at the ends. "i don't know what you want from me. you won't tell me. you won't let me in. you just keep shutting me out and i'm trying—i'm trying so hard and it's never enough."
"because you let me walk away." your voice shakes. your eyes sting. you refuse to cry. "last spring. when i found out about eunji. i wanted you to stop me. i wanted you to fight. and you just—stood there. you let me go like it was nothing."
"it wasn't nothing."
"it looked like nothing."
"i know." his voice drops. "i know what i did. i think about it every day. i think about your face when you walked out. i think about how i didn't chase you. i think about what a coward i was. and then i spent the whole summer trying to convince myself i was fine and i wasn't. i wasn't fine. i'm not fine now. i haven't been fine since you left."
he's close now. you don't remember him moving, but he's close. you can see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the red rims around his eyes, the way his chest is rising and falling too fast.
"you're so good at this," you whisper.
"good at what."
"talking. saying the right things. making me feel like i'm the only person in the world. it's what you do, jaehyun. it's what you've always done."
"it's not an act." his voice breaks. "it was never an act with you. i know i messed up. i know i gave you every reason not to trust me. but i'm not—" he stops to take a shuddering breath, "i'm not performing. i'm not trying to win. i just—i just want you. that's it. that's all it's ever been."
you shake your head. "i can't do this again."
"do what."
"this." you gesture between you. "the hoping. the waiting. the finding out i was wrong about you. i can't."
"then don't hope." he steps closer. you don't step back. "don't trust me. don't believe a single thing i say. but stay. just—stay. give me a chance to show you. not tell you. show you."
your throat is tight. "jaehyun—"
"i know i'm selfish." his voice is barely above a whisper now. "i know i'm asking for something i don't deserve. but i'm asking anyway. please."
the word hangs in the air. please. jeong jaehyun doesn't say please. jeong jaehyun doesn't beg. he's too proud, too confident, too used to getting what he wants without having to ask.
but he's asking now.
something in you cracks.
"i should go." your voice barely audible. "this was a mistake."
you turn toward the door.
he moves faster than you've ever seen him move.
his hand catches your wrist—not hard, not grabbing—just stops you. gentle. desperate.
"don't." the word comes out strangled. "please don't go. please. i'm—" he exhales shakily, and when you turn back to look at him, his eyes are wet. jeong jaehyun, who never cries. jeong jaehyun, who smiles through everything. "i'll do anything. i'll be whoever you need me to be. just—don't walk out that door. i can't watch you leave again. i can't."
"jaehyun."
"i know." he steps closer, still holding your wrist, thumb pressed against your pulse. "i know i'm too late. i know i should've done this a year ago. i know you don't owe me anything. but i'm begging you. i'm actually begging you."
his other hand comes up, hesitant, hovering near your face like he's afraid to touch you without permission. his fingers are shaking.
"you're the only thing i've ever been sure about," he whispers. "and i ruined it. i know i ruined it. but if there's even a tiny part of you that still—"
he doesn't finish.
he kisses you instead.
it's not smooth. it's not confident. it's desperate and messy and his lips are trembling against yours, one hand still around your wrist, the other finally cradling your jaw like you're something precious. he kisses you like he's drowning and you're air. like he's been waiting months for this and he can't believe it's happening.
"please," he breathes against your mouth. "please, please, please—"
the word becomes a chant, a prayer, broken and breathless between kisses. his forehead presses against yours. his eyes are squeezed shut. a tear slips down his cheek and lands on your collarbone.
"tell me to stop," he says. "tell me you don't want this and i'll stop. i'll stop. i swear i'll stop."
your hands are in his shirt. you don't remember putting them there. his heart is pounding so hard you can feel it through the fabric.
you don't tell him to stop.
the sheets were already warm under your back when jaehyun kissed you again, his hand steady on the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw. his mouth moved slow and deep, the kind of kiss that tasted like the mint from earlier and the faint salt of his skin. he kept murmuring sorry against your lips, the word slipping out between breaths like he couldn’t stop it. “sorry… i just—don’t go yet.” his voice was low, rough at the edges, nothing dramatic, just real and tired.
he tried to pull your shirt up but his fingers caught in the fabric, clumsy from how tightly he was holding on. you lifted your arms and did it yourself, tossing it aside onto the floor where his clothes already lay scattered. the cool air of the room hit your skin for a second before his mouth was on you, warm and immediate. “fuck… so pretty,” he breathed, the words barely above a whisper as he leaned down. his lips closed around one nipple, soft and wet, tongue circling slowly while his hand cupped the other, thumb brushing over it in lazy strokes.
he took his time, sucking gently, then softer, like he was trying to memorize the way you felt under his tongue. his free hand rested on your ribs, fingers spread wide, the size difference clear in how easily his palm covered so much of you. he switched sides, mouth warm and unhurried, little hums vibrating against your skin when your back arched slightly. “you always feel so good like this,” he murmured, lips brushing the underside of your breast before he kissed lower, open-mouthed and slow.
your pants came next. his hand fumbled at the waistband, pushing them down your hips but struggling with the angle on the bed. you raised your hips and helped slide them off along with your underwear, kicking them to the foot of the bed. jaehyun sat back just enough to yank his hoodie over his head in one motion, revealing the lean lines of his chest and stomach, skin already starting to flush. he was taller, broader in the shoulders, and when he leaned back over you the mattress dipped under his weight, making your smaller frame feel even smaller beneath him.
his fingers found you first, two of them sliding through your folds before pressing in carefully. “is this okay?” he asked, voice husky, eyes flicking up to yours. you nodded and told him to shut up, the words coming out breathy. he gave a small nod, lips pressing together, and focused. his fingers curled inside, slow and steady, thumb brushing your clit in gentle circles. the wet sounds were quiet, mixing with his heavy breathing and the low creak of the bed whenever he shifted. he watched your face the whole time, dark eyes steady, breathing through his mouth as he worked you open.
after a minute he slid lower, shoulders settling between your thighs. his mouth replaced his fingers, tongue flat and warm as he licked a slow stripe up your center. he groaned softly at the taste, the vibration traveling through you. he ate you out without rushing, lips closing around your clit and sucking gently, then releasing to lick again, over and over. his hands held your thighs apart, fingers pressing into the soft skin, keeping you spread for him. because of his height, his long arms reached easily, one hand sliding up to rest on your stomach, feeling the way your breathing changed.
you threaded your fingers through his hair, the strands soft and slightly damp with sweat already. he made a low sound when you tugged lightly, tongue pressing firmer, circling then flicking. the room filled with the quiet, wet noises of his mouth on you and the occasional hitch in your breath. he stayed focused, switching between slow licks and gentle suction, building it steadily until your hips started shifting against his face. he didn’t speed up, just kept the same deliberate pace, like he wanted to draw it out as long as possible.
when he finally pulled back, his lips were slick, chin glistening. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and moved up your body, kissing your stomach, then between your breasts, then your mouth again. his cock was hard and heavy against your thigh, the tip already wet. he reached down, guiding himself to your entrance, rubbing the head through your folds a couple times before pressing in.
he went slow, eyes locked on your face the entire time. “fuck,” he breathed as the head slipped inside, the stretch real and full. inch by inch he sank deeper, hips pressing forward until he bottomed out, pelvis flush against yours. a heavy breath left him, chest rising and falling visibly. he stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, forehead dropping to rest against yours. his hand stayed on the side of your face, thumb stroking your cheek.
you breathing harder, bodies moving together in the quiet of his apartment. he reached between you, fingers circling your clit again, the added stimulation pushing you closer. his thrusts faltered a little when he got near the edge, hips snapping forward with more urgency. “cum with me,” he said against your ear, voice strained. “please.” you clenched around him and he followed right after, burying himself deep with a low, heavy groan. his hips stuttered, pulsing inside you as he came, warmth spreading. he kept moving through it, shallow thrusts to draw it out for both of you, until the tension finally eased. his arms shook slightly as he held himself up, breathing hard against your neck.
he didn’t pull out immediately. instead he stayed buried inside, forehead pressed to yours, both of you catching your breath. his hand stroked your side slowly, gentle now that the intensity had peaked. after a minute he carefully slid out, a soft wince from both of you at the loss. he reached for the towel he’d left on the nightstand earlier, cleaning you first with careful wipes, then himself. nothing was said, just the quiet sounds of fabric and breathing. when he was done he pulled you against his chest, your smaller frame fitting easily into the curve of his taller body. his arm wrapped around your waist, hand resting on your stomach, fingers tracing idle patterns. the sheets were tangled around your legs, damp with sweat. he pressed a lazy kiss to the top of your head, then another to your shoulder, his breathing slowly returning to normal. the fan kept spinning, the streetlight outside casting soft shadows across the room.
his fingers kept moving on your skin, slow and soothing, like he was still trying to keep you close even after everything. the apartment was quiet again, just the two of you tangled together on his bed, bodies warm and spent. he didn’t say anything more about leaving.
for now it was just this—skin against skin, his heartbeat steady under your cheek, the real, messy aftermath of two people who weren’t ready to let go yet. he shifted once, pulling the blanket up over both of you, then settled back, holding you tighter. his leg draped over yours, the height difference making it easy for him to surround you. sleep started to pull at the edges, but he stayed awake a little longer, fingers still tracing your skin, breathing slow and even against your hair. the night stretched on like that, quiet and intimate in his small bedroom, the outside world far away for the moment.
afterward.
the room is quiet except for breathing. the rain has stopped outside. his fairy lights cast soft yellow shadows on the ceiling.
you're on your side. he's behind you, arm draped over your waist, face buried in the back of your neck. he hasn't let go for twenty minutes. his fingers trace absent patterns on your stomach.
"are you awake," he whispers.
"yeah."
"okay." a pause. "i just wanted to check."
silence.
"i meant everything," he says. "before. during. all of it. i meant it."
you don't answer.
"you don't have to say it back," he adds quickly. "you don't have to say anything. i just wanted you to know."
his arm tightens around you. his lips press to the nape of your neck. soft. almost hesitant.
"i'm not going anywhere," he murmurs. "not this time. even if you push me away. even if you tell me to leave. i'm staying. i'm going to keep staying until you believe me."
you turn in his arms. face him. he looks young like this—eyelashes still damp, lips slightly swollen, hair a mess from your fingers. vulnerable in a way he never lets anyone see.
you reach up. trace the line of his jaw with your thumb.
"okay," you say.
his eyes widen. "okay?"
"okay. i'll—try. i'm not promising anything. but i'll try."
the smile that breaks across his face is small. tentative. nothing like his usual grin. but it's real. you can see it in his eyes—the dimple appearing, just barely.
"that's enough," he says. "that's more than enough."
he pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin. you feel his heartbeat against your cheek. steady. steady.
outside, the city hums. inside, jeong jaehyun holds you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
i love ur anton fics 😭😭😭😭 i was wondering if u could make one for wonbin? tysmmm
best friend's secret — p.wb
🪐. he sees your new vacation photo on instagram while gaming, he saves it, gets painfully hard, and strokes himself while imagining you gagging on his cock, guilt mixing with overwhelming lust. noncon, mdni
warnings — explicit sexual content, male masturbation, detailed descriptions of arousal and orgasm, voyeuristic fantasy involving a best friend, internal guilt and conflict, strong language, adult themes, 18+ only, non-consensual use of personal photo for sexual gratification. mdni.
pairings — nonidol!wonbin x fem!reader
genre — smut, 18+ | masterlist.
wonbin leaned back in his gaming chair, the soft hum of his pc fans filling the quiet room. his fingers moved on the keyboard out of habit while his mind wandered a bit from the match.
a notification sound cut through the game audio. he glanced at his phone on the desk and saw your name. it was a new instagram post from you.
he paused the game quickly and picked up the phone. the photo loaded. you were on vacation for a week, standing somewhere sunny with a normal shirt and shorts on. nothing fancy.
his eyes scanned your face first. the familiar smile he had known since childhood made something warm stir in his chest. then his gaze dropped lower without thinking.
he looked at the way the shirt sat on your chest and how the shorts showed your legs. his cheeks heated up right away. he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, feeling the flush spread.
wonbin saved the photo to a hidden folder on his phone like he had done a few times before. he knew it was not right but he could not stop himself.
his cock started to harden in his sweatpants. the fabric felt tighter suddenly. he muttered under his breath, voice low and rough.
"fuck, you're so pretty."
guilt hit him fast. you were his childhood best friend. he had always kept his feelings buried behind easy smiles and casual hangouts. but right now the guilt was not stronger than the heat building in his body.
he palmed himself over the sweatpants, pressing lightly at first. a quiet groan slipped out. the game was still paused on screen but he did not care anymore.
with one hand he controlled the mouse to leave the match. the other stayed on his growing erection, rubbing slowly to ease the ache.
his patience ran thin after a minute. he pulled his cock out, already leaking at the tip. the cool air of the room made him hiss softly.
wonbin picked up the phone again with his free hand. he zoomed in on your photo, focusing on your lips and the curve of your body.
he started pumping his cock with steady strokes. his grip was firm, thumb brushing over the head each time. breaths came heavier now.
he imagined it was your mouth around him. the way you would look up while taking him deeper, gagging a little but not stopping. the thought made his hips buck up into his fist.
"shit... just like that," he whispered to the empty room. his eyes stayed glued to the zoomed photo.
the guilt flickered again but it only made everything feel more intense. he knew he should not be doing this with your picture but his body did not listen.
wonbin leaned further back in the chair, legs spreading wider. his hand moved faster along his length, slick sounds mixing with his low groans.
he pictured you on your knees in front of him during one of those lazy afternoons at his place. the innocent way you laughed turning into something else entirely.
his free hand gripped the armrest of the gaming chair tight. veins stood out on his forearm from the effort. sweat started to form on his forehead.
the vacation photo stayed open on his phone screen. he zoomed in even more on your chest, then your legs, letting his mind fill in every detail he had noticed over the years.
"you're driving me crazy," he said quietly, voice strained. another groan followed as he twisted his wrist at the top of each stroke.
wonbin closed his eyes for a second but opened them again to look at your face in the picture. it felt more real that way, even if it was just a photo.
his pumping grew quicker, almost desperate. the chair creaked a little under his movements. he was getting close but he tried to hold it back to make it last.
memories flashed in his head. childhood days playing together, teenage years where he started noticing you differently, and now this secret want he hid behind friendly texts and shared meals.
he imagined the sounds you would make if it was really happening. soft gags and muffled moans while your lips stretched around him. the thought pushed him closer to the edge.
wonbin bit his lower lip hard to keep from being too loud. the apartment walls were thin and the last thing he needed was neighbors hearing.
his hand flew over his cock now, slick with precum. every vein and ridge felt sensitive under his fingers. his balls tightened as the pressure built.
he stared at your legs in the photo and pictured them wrapped around him instead. the smooth skin he had only seen in passing during summers.
"god... i want you so bad," he muttered, the words slipping out unfiltered. guilt twisted with the pleasure but he could not stop.
wonbin's breathing turned ragged. his chest rose and fell quickly. the game on his pc screen had long gone to sleep mode.
he switched the phone to his other hand so he could use his dominant one for better control. the strokes became shorter and faster, focused on the head.
the zoomed image of your mouth made his imagination run wild. he saw you taking him all the way, eyes watering but eager. it was too much.
his hips jerked up off the chair. a deep groan escaped as the first wave hit him. thick ropes of cum spilled over his fist and onto his stomach.
he kept pumping through it, milking every last bit while staring at your photo. his body shuddered with the release.
wonbin slowed down gradually, chest heaving. the guilt came back stronger now that the haze of arousal was fading. he wiped his hand on a tissue from the desk.
he looked at the saved photo one more time before locking his phone. a quiet sigh left him as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"what the hell am i doing," he said to himself, voice barely above a whisper. but deep down he knew he would probably do it again.
the room felt too quiet after. he stood up slowly, legs a bit shaky, and headed to the bathroom to clean up properly.
later that evening he would text you something casual like always. asking about your vacation or sharing a meme. keeping the secret locked away behind his innocent eyes.
wonbin sat back down in the gaming chair after washing up. he restarted the game but his mind stayed on you the whole time.
he wondered if you had any idea how he really felt. probably not. you treated him like the same old best friend from years ago.
the thought made him smile a little despite everything. for now this was how it was. hidden feelings and stolen moments like this one.
he played a few more matches half-heartedly. every notification from his phone made his heart jump, hoping it was you again.
but the night went on normally. just another evening in his small seoul apartment where no one knew what went on behind the screen.
wonbin eventually turned off the pc and lay in bed. the photo was still saved on his phone but he did not open it again that night.
sleep came slowly. his last thought before drifting off was your smile in that vacation picture and how much he wished things were different.
the next morning he would wake up and act like nothing happened. that was the routine he had gotten used to over the years.
keeping it all inside while staying your reliable childhood best friend. the one with innocent eyes that hid everything else.
i noticed almost all your works barely had a warning in them, dont get me wrong i love ur fics im just wondering why
heyy, honestly i feel like no matter what i do, i can’t really know if some of my readers are minors or not. and i know some teens / minors would still read even if i warn them not to. like i said in my bio, read at your own risk. i’m not gonna stop you if you clearly want to read it, that’s on you, not me, tho all my works contains small warning like 18+.
about me: my real name is shaira, i am from the philippines, i was born in 2007, and i am currently a college student. ever since i was fifteen years old, i started writing love stories on wattpad, then i came across tumblr and kpop, and the rest was history. i am an IVE stan (specially WONYOUNG), and i am actually planning on writing about them soon.
things i write:
— fanfics
— smut (consensual)
— reactions / imagines / headcanons
— some astrology readings
— other things
here are my works / master list. click one to view!
tags. college au, friends to situationship, subtle acts of love, quiet devotion, drunk friends being chaotic, soft jaemin, acts of service as a love language, late night drives. explicit sexual content, fwb dynamics, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), desk sex (oral), praise kink, soft dirty talk, realistic college setting, no protection mentioned (i forgot), consensual, slow build orgasms, body description, light marking, aftercare elements, pet names.
pairings. na jaemin x fem!reader
genre. fluff, smut (18+)
w.c. 5,266
notes. requested fic!
🎀. five friends survive into second year college. jaemin is the quiet one who takes care of everyone without being asked. between him and you, something undefined but exclusive has been building since first year. in public he's subtle. alone he isn't.
the tent is loud. it is always loud with them.
the plastic tarp flaps against the metal poles every time someone shoulders through the entrance, and the steam from the boiling tteokbokki pot fogs up the small space until everything looks soft at the edges. haechan is halfway through a story about his communications professor who apparently showed up to zoom class in a bathrobe, and mark is laughing so hard he has to put his forehead down on the sticky table. minjeong is leaning against your shoulder, eyes half lidded, her third glass of somaek mostly untouched in front of her now.
you are across from jaemin.
this is where you always end up. not by accident anymore, not since first year when you both started gravitating toward the same side of whatever booth or couch or floor was available. tonight he is wedged between the wall and haechan's flailing elbow, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, one hand wrapped around a beer he has been nursing for the past hour. he is listening to haechan but not really. you can tell by the way his gaze keeps drifting. back to you. away. back to you.
he does not make it obvious. that is the thing about jaemin. he is subtle in the way that people who are not looking for it will never catch. a glance held a second too long when you laugh. his knee shifting under the table until it rests against yours and then stays there, a steady pressure you have grown used to over the past year and a half. his fingers pushing the little plate of pickled radish closer to your side of the table without a word because he knows you like it with the fried dumplings.
you did not ask him to do that. you never ask.
he just notices.
"and then," haechan is saying, gesturing so broadly he nearly knocks over minjeong's glass, "she goes, 'well, communication is about authenticity,' and i was like, miss, you are wearing a bathrobe. a literal bathrobe."
mark wheezes. minjeong groans. you smile and reach for your water.
jaemin is already pouring it for you.
the pitcher tilts in his hand before you can even extend your arm. he fills your cup to just below the rim, the way you prefer, and sets the pitcher back down without looking at you, his attention still seemingly on haechan's story. but the corner of his mouth ticks up. just barely.
you mouth thank you. he blinks once. slow. a private acknowledgement.
"you're so whipped," haechan says, and it takes you a second to realize he is talking to jaemin.
jaemin's expression does not change. "for pouring water?"
"for pouring her water. you didn't pour mine."
"you have hands."
"i have hands," haechan repeats, scandalized. "mark, did you hear that. jaemin said i have hands."
mark lifts his head from the table just long enough to say, "you do, actually," before dropping it back down.
minjeong snorts. you laugh. jaemin's gaze flicks to you again, quick, cataloguing the sound like he is saving it somewhere.
the night stretches on. more bottles appear. haechan orders another round of soju even though jaemin shakes his head and says, "you're gonna regret this tomorrow." haechan waves him off. mark is red in the face now, giggling at everything. minjeong has fully given up on sitting upright and is slumped against your side, her cheek pressed to your sleeve.
you are warm. tired. the kind of tired that settles in after a long week of readings for your contemporary lit class and the three page response paper you still have not started. your eyes sting from the grill smoke. your head feels light.
you need the bathroom.
you shift in your seat, trying to extricate yourself from minjeong without waking her, and the movement makes the table wobble. haechan's glass clinks against mark's. you brace a hand on the edge of the booth and push yourself up, but your legs are heavier than you expected. the soju has settled into your bloodstream, a low hum.
jaemin is already standing.
you do not see him move. one moment he is across the table, and the next he is beside you, his hand under your elbow, steadying. not gripping. just there. a suggestion of support.
"i'm fine," you say automatically.
"i know," he says.
haechan, who has the observational skills of a hawk when it comes to other people's business and absolutely none when it comes to his own, zeroes in immediately. "jaemin, y/n can walk okay?"
his voice is teasing, loud enough that the couple at the next table glances over. mark snickers into his arm. minjeong stirs against the booth cushion and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like leave them alone but could also just be kimchi jjigae. it is hard to tell.
jaemin does not rise to it. his thumb brushes once against the inside of your elbow, feather light, before he drops his hand. but he does not step away.
"someone has to make sure you don't walk into a pole on the way to the car later," he says to haechan, flat. "least i can do is make sure y/n finds the bathroom."
"that doesn't even make sense."
"it doesn't have to. you're drunk."
mark howls. haechan sputters something indignant but jaemin is already turning, his hand hovering near the small of your back as he guides you through the narrow gap between tables. he does not touch you. not here, not in front of everyone. but the space he leaves is deliberate. close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him.
the bathroom is at the back of the tent, past the kitchen entrance where the ajumma is flipping jeon on a sizzling griddle. the noise of the tent fades a little here, muffled by steam and the rhythmic slap of her spatula.
you stop outside the door. jaemin stops too.
"i'm really okay," you say again, quieter this time.
"i know," he says again.
he leans against the wall opposite the bathroom door, arms crossed loosely, his hoodie bunched at his elbows. the fluorescent light above him buzzes faintly. it makes the shadows under his eyes look deeper than they are, or maybe they really are that deep. political science is eating him alive this semester. you know he pulled two all nighters last week because he texted you at 4 a.m. a photo of his desk covered in highlighters and empty coffee cups with no caption.
you had sent back a photo of your own desk. also a mess. also 4 a.m.
he had replied with a single emoji. the little blue heart.
it was not a big thing. it never is with him.
he waits while you use the bathroom. when you come out, he is in the exact same position, but his phone is in his hand now. he pockets it the second the door opens. his eyes find yours in the dim light.
"you tired?" he asks.
"yeah."
"me too."
neither of you move. the ajumma shouts something to the kitchen boy. a burst of laughter erupts from the front of the tent. haechan's voice carries over all of it, unmistakable, probably starting another story.
jaemin is looking at you. not the way he looks at you across the table when other people are watching. this is different. this is the way he looks at you when it is just the two of you, when the pretense falls away and he lets himself be still.
his gaze moves over your face. your eyes, your nose, the tired slope of your mouth. cataloguing. the same way he always does.
"headache?" he asks.
"a little."
"i have the good painkillers at my place. not the cheap ones haechan buys."
you huff a small laugh. "of course you do."
his mouth curves. not a full smile. just a softening.
"come over after," he says. it is not a question. it has not been a question for a while now. when things get hard, you both run for each other. his place has become an unspoken sanctuary. his extra toothbrush in the bathroom. your charger permanently plugged in next to his bed. the hoodie of his you never gave back folded on his chair because you both pretend it lives there now.
"okay," you say.
he nods once. pushes off the wall. his hand finds the small of your back this time, brief, just enough pressure to guide you back toward the chaos of your friends.
you walk back to the table and haechan is mid sentence about something else entirely, his attention already diverted to a new topic. mark is trying to pour another round but missing the glasses entirely. minjeong has woken up enough to film mark failing at pouring, her phone held unsteadily in one hand.
jaemin slides back into his spot across from you. under the table, his foot nudges yours.
you nudge back.
no one notices.
the night ends the way it always ends. haechan arguing about the bill, mark too drunk to do basic addition, minjeong half asleep on her feet.
jaemin handles it.
he does not make a production of it. he simply pulls out his card, passes it to the ajumma before haechan can finish saying "no but wait i think i owe more because i had the extra—" and waits with his arms crossed while the receipt prints. haechan tries to venmo him immediately and drops his phone on the floor. mark picks it up and drops it again. minjeong is leaning heavily against your shoulder, her breath warm and slow against your neck.
you do not want to let go of her.
she is your person in the way jaemin is your person but different. minjeong knows the versions of you from before. she sat next to you in intro to literary theory when you both realized you had no idea what derrida was talking about and decided to be confused together. she held your hand during freshman orientation when you got overwhelmed by the crowd. she is the one you call when jaemin is the one making your chest feel too full and you need someone to just listen.
so when jaemin steps out of the tent and glances back at the four of you huddled on the sidewalk, his phone already to his ear, you tighten your arm around minjeong's waist.
"cab for haechan and mark," he says, hanging up. "three minutes."
"what about minjeong," you say.
jaemin looks at you. then at minjeong, who has her eyes closed and her cheek smushed against your coat. then back at you.
"i got her one too. separate."
you blink at him. "you called three cabs?"
"two. i'm driving you."
the words are simple. flat. like it is the most obvious thing in the world. haechan, who is swaying slightly and holding onto mark's shoulder for balance, squints at jaemin.
"you barely drank again," haechan accuses.
"someone has to get you home."
"mom behavior."
"shut up, haechan."
the cab pulls up. jaemin opens the door and physically guides haechan into the backseat like he is herding a particularly uncooperative cat. mark follows more easily, mumbling something about seeing everyone tomorrow, and jaemin leans down to give the driver the address before shutting the door. the taillights blur red and then disappear around the corner.
minjeong's cab arrives four minutes later.
you do not want to let go.
"she can stay at mine," you say, looking at jaemin.
he does not argue. he does not sigh or roll his eyes or say come on, y/n. he just stands there, hands in the pockets of his jacket, and waits.
but minjeong stirs. she blinks her eyes open, takes in the cab, takes in jaemin standing a few feet away, and something knowing passes over her face. she is drunk but not stupid. she sees the way jaemin is looking at you. she has seen it for a year and a half.
"go," she mumbles, patting your arm clumsily. "i'm fine. text me when you get home."
"minjeong—"
"i'm fine," she repeats, firmer. she pulls back, sways once, and steadies herself on the open cab door. she points a finger at jaemin. "take care of her."
jaemin nods once. "always."
minjeong folds herself into the cab. the door closes. the car pulls away.
and then it is just you and him on the empty sidewalk, the pojangmacha tent glowing orange behind you, the october air sharp and cold.
you turn to look at him. your head is fuzzy. the soju has turned your thoughts soft at the edges. you are trying to remember if you thanked him for paying because you did not see him do it but you know he did. he always does. the bill, the cabs, the small unspoken things that keep everyone afloat.
"you paid," you say. it comes out more like a statement than a question.
jaemin shrugs. "haechan will venmo me tomorrow. mark will forget and then venmo me three days later with extra for 'emotional damages.' minjeong will try to pay me back and i'll tell her to buy you coffee instead."
his voice is even. like this is just how things work. like taking care of people is not a choice he makes but a fact of his existence.
the cold makes you shiver. you are wearing your own coat but it is thin, not meant for october nights that drop below ten degrees. jaemin notices. of course he notices.
he shrugs off his jacket.
"you don't have to—"
"i know."
he holds it open for you. you turn and let him drape it over your shoulders. it swallows you. the sleeves hang past your fingertips. it smells like him. fabric softener and something faintly citrus and just jaemin. the warmth from his body still clings to the lining.
you had been wearing it since you all stepped out of the tent onto the sidewalk. you do not remember exactly when he put it on you. maybe while you were saying goodbye to minjeong. maybe while haechan was yelling about the venmo request. no one noticed. they never notice.
but you notice. you always notice.
he looks at you in his jacket and something in his face shifts. the careful neutrality he wears around everyone else softens at the corners. his eyes trace over you and he smiles. not the performative smile he gives when haechan makes a joke or when someone points a camera at him. the real one. the one that makes the dimple appear on his left cheek, deeper than the right, a small divot that you have pressed your thumb into more times than you can count.
"come on," he says quietly.
his car is parked half a block down. he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, closest to the street, a habit he has had since high school that you called him out on once and he denied and then kept doing anyway. his hand brushes yours as you walk. once. twice. the third time he just takes it. his palm is warm and dry and his fingers slot between yours like they belong there.
at the car he opens the passenger door for you. waits until you are settled. closes it gently. when he slides into the driver's seat and starts the engine, the heater kicks on low, and the dashboard lights cast his face in soft blue.
he does not pull out right away.
he sits there, hands on the wheel, looking at you.
"what," you say.
"you're pretty."
it comes out simple. factual. like he is telling you the time or the weather. you are pretty. period.
you are drunk enough that the words hit you square in the chest. your face heats. you look away, out the window at the empty street, but you can feel him still looking at you.
"jaemin."
"what."
"you can't just say that."
“why not."
"because."
"that's not a reason."
you turn back to him. his eyes are soft. patient. he is waiting for you to find the words but you do not have them. you never do when he looks at you like this.
he leans over the center console. one hand leaves the wheel and comes up to your face. his thumb brushes the curve of your cheek, light, like he is handling something fragile. his gaze drops to your mouth and then back up to your eyes. asking. always asking. even now, after a year and a half of this thing between you that has no name, he still asks.
you nod. barely a movement. just enough.
he kisses you.
it is not rushed. jaemin does not rush things with you. his mouth moves against yours slow and sure, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. he tastes like the barley tea he drank instead of soju. warm. familiar. he pulls back just enough to press his forehead to yours.
"missed you," he says.
"i was with you all night."
"not the same." his thumb traces the line of your jaw. "can't look at you the way i want to when everyone's there."
you know what he means. the restraint he holds in his body around your friends. the careful distance he keeps. the way he looks at you across the table like he is memorizing you because that is all he is allowed to do in public. but here, in the quiet of his car with the heater humming and the streetlights pooling gold on the dashboard, he does not have to hold back.
"missed you too," you say.
his smile returns. the dimple. god, the dimple.
he kisses you again. once, soft. then he pulls back and shifts the car into gear.
"let's go home," he says.
home. his place. the studio apartment in sinchon with the extra toothbrush and your charger and his hoodie on the chair. home is wherever he is. it has been for a while now. you think he knows that. you think maybe he has known longer than you have.
his hand finds yours over the console as he drives. he does not let go until he has to park.
you sat on the edge of jaemin's narrow dorm bed feeling the last traces of the party haze fade away. the sweet citrus flavor of the hangover drink he had handed you still lingered on your tongue. your head felt steady now. the loud music from the tent earlier had turned into a distant hum through the thin walls.
the small room smelled like old paper and the faint laundry detergent from his sheets mixed with the leftover scent of his cologne.
textbooks and loose notes covered almost every inch of the wooden desk pushed against the wall. a single lamp cast a warm yellow glow over the chaos of highlighters pens and printed lecture slides. the single window showed the dark campus night outside with a few scattered lights from other dorm buildings.
you shifted slightly on the bed and looked at him. he was still in that plain black t shirt that fit snug across his chest and shoulders from the gym sessions he squeezed in between classes.
his hair looked a little messy where he had run his fingers through it earlier while trying to study. you did not mention the studying or the papers. you just spoke quietly.
"i feel better now."
jaemin turned his chair around to face you fully. he gave you that small genuine smile. “good.”
the one where the corners of his eyes crinkled just enough to make his expression soft and real. no dramatic words. he stood up slowly and crossed the short distance between the desk and the bed. the floor creaked faintly under his steps on the old linoleum. he stopped right in front of you and leaned down. one hand came up to cup the back of your neck gently. his palm felt warm against your skin.
he kissed you without hurry. his lips pressed soft at first. warm and familiar. you tasted the plain water he had been drinking mixed with the quiet steadiness that was just him. when you kissed him back he deepened it slowly. his tongue brushed against yours in a lazy slide. you let out a small involuntary moan against his mouth. "jaemin."
that sound hit him low in his gut. he felt the shift inside himself. the quiet want that had been building since he saw you at the party earlier. his hands moved to your waist. steady and sure. “shh, let me make you feel even better.”
he guided you up from the bed until you were standing with him. then he turned you around with gentle pressure. your hips met the edge of the desk. papers crinkled softly under your palms as you braced yourself there. the wood felt cool through the thin fabric of your shirt.
jaemin pressed close behind you. his chest brushed your back. one arm wrapped around your middle to hold you steady against him. he did not shove or rush anything. his breath was even near your ear. he reached down and popped the button of your denim shorts open with one hand. the zipper came down next. he tugged the shorts and your panties down together in one smooth motion. they slid to your ankles. the cool air of the dorm room touched your bare skin and made you shiver lightly.
his palm settled between your legs right away. broad and warm. he rested it there for a moment just feeling. his fingers were slightly calloused from guitar strings and late nights writing notes. you were already slick. soaked from the kisses and the way his body felt pressed against yours.
"fuck, youre so wet." he murmured low against your ear. his voice stayed calm and quiet. no exaggeration. just honest want. "so needy for me already. dripping like this."
he started rubbing slow circles with his palm. the pressure light at first. teasing your clit without giving too much. his other hand stayed on your hip. thumb stroking small soothing patterns over your skin. he leaned in and kissed the side of your neck. open mouthed and unhurried. his lips trailed lower to your collarbone. he sucked gently there. enough to pull blood to the surface and leave a faint mark that would fade by morning if you covered it. then he moved up to your jaw. kissing and sucking softly while his palm kept working between your thighs in those lazy circles.
you pushed back against his hand a little. hips rolling on instinct. jaemin smiled against your skin. you could feel the curve of his mouth. he slid one finger inside you then. slow and deliberate. letting you feel every inch as he pushed in. his finger was long and thick. it stretched you just right. he curled it gently at first. searching for that spot inside you that made your breath catch. when he found it he started moving. pulling out almost all the way before sliding back in. the pace built gradually. from slow and deep to faster and firmer.
his biceps flexed visibly with each thrust of his hand. the muscle shifting smooth and strong under his skin as he worked you. the wet sounds of his finger moving in and out filled the small quiet room. mixed with your quickening breaths and the faint creak of the desk under your weight.
"thats it baby." he said softly right by your ear. his tone stayed even and low. like he was talking you through something simple and good. "you feel so good around my finger. tight and warm. taking it so well for me."
he kept the quiet praise coming between kisses. his lips never left your neck and shoulder for long. "look how wet you are pretty. soaking my hand already. you needed this didnt you. needed me to touch you like this."
your legs started to tremble after a while. the slow build had your body heating up gradually. tension coiling low in your belly. “please…” you moaned, needily.
“please what?”
“harder, please..”
he chuckled darkly, jaemin did not speed up suddenly. he kept the rhythm steady. finger fucking you deep and firm while his palm rubbed firm circles against your clit. the combination made the pleasure climb higher. slow and inevitable. your breathing turned ragged. fingers curling tighter against the scattered papers on the desk. some of them slid sideways under your palms.
he sucked on your collarbone again. then your jaw. his free hand held your hip steady so you stayed balanced. the flex of his arm behind you felt solid and reassuring. you could feel the heat of his body through his t shirt. the faint scent of his skin and the detergent on his clothes.
the orgasm built up slow just like he wanted it to. starting as a warm flutter deep inside. then spreading outward in waves that grew stronger with every curl of his finger and press of his palm. your thighs shook first. small tremors that turned into full shakes as it got closer. your walls started fluttering around his finger. clenching in anticipation.
when it finally hit you it crashed through hard. your whole body shook. legs trembling uncontrollably as the orgasm ripped through you. you moaned his name broken and quiet. forehead dropping down onto the rumpled papers. your walls clamped tight around his finger. pulsing and squeezing in rhythmic waves that made your vision blur for a second. the pleasure rolled on and on. leaving you gasping and shaking against the desk.
jaemin kept moving his finger gently through it all. drawing it out until the shakes eased into small aftershocks. only then did he slide his finger out slow. he brought it up to his mouth without hesitation. licked it clean with a low hum. tasting you on his tongue.
"you taste so good baby." he said quietly. voice a little rougher now from holding back. "sweet and perfect."
he dropped to his knees behind you right after. the movement smooth and unhurried. his hands came up to spread your thighs a little wider. careful so you would not lose balance against the desk. his breath ghosted warm over your sensitive soaked skin. then his mouth was on you. tongue flat and broad as he licked a slow stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. he groaned softly at the taste. the vibration traveling straight through you.
he ate you out with the same focused patience. tongue circling your clit in steady strokes. then dipping inside you to lick at your entrance. sucking lightly on your folds before returning to your clit. his hands gripped your ass gently. thumbs spreading you open so he could bury his face deeper. the wet sounds were louder now. intimate and real in the quiet dorm. no rush. just the steady heat of his mouth working you over.
"so sweet, so pretty." he murmured between licks. voice muffled against your pussy. "my good girl. so fucking wet still. letting me taste you like this."
the second orgasm started building even slower than the first. your body already sensitive from the first release. every lick and suck sent sparks through your nerves. the tension coiled again. tighter this time. your hips rocked back against his face on their own. fingers gripping the edge of the desk hard. knuckles turning white.
jaemin stayed right there. tongue flicking and circling. sucking on your clit with just enough pressure. his hands kept you spread and steady. he licked inside you deep. then back up to swirl around your clit again. the build felt endless. pleasure stacking layer by layer until your thighs began shaking once more.
when the second orgasm hit it was intense. your body shook hard. legs trembling violently as waves of pleasure surged through you. you cried out softly. pressing back against his mouth while your walls fluttered and clenched around nothing. the release left you breathless and oversensitive. small whimpers escaping as he licked you gently through the aftershocks. slowing down until you pushed weakly at his head.
jaemin stood up behind you. wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. his breathing came a little heavier now. chest rising and falling under the black t shirt. he wrapped both arms around your waist and pulled you upright against his chest. the hug felt loose and warm. solid. his chin rested on your shoulder for a long moment. you could feel his heartbeat against your back. steady and real.
"you okay?" he asked. voice soft and genuine. no theatrics. just quiet concern. he pressed a small kiss to your temple. lips lingering there.
“yeah.” you nodded. still catching your breath. the papers on the desk lay rumpled and slightly scattered from where your hands had pressed down. jaemin did not glance at them. he reached down and helped you step back into your panties and shorts. his hands careful and steady as he pulled them up your legs. adjusting them on your hips like it was the most natural thing.
he guided you away from the desk then. toward the narrow bed against the other wall. the mattress dipped slightly as he pulled you down with him. he lay back first and let you settle against his chest. one arm draped around your shoulders. his fingers stroked slow lines up and down your back. the room felt even quieter now. the distant party noise almost gone. just the faint sound of your breathing and his.
jaemin closed his eyes for a moment. content with the way you fit against him. warm and close. the studying could wait until morning. the textbooks and notes would still be there. right now he preferred this. the quiet afterglow. the feel of your body relaxing against his. he kissed the top of your head once. soft and unhurried.
"stay a bit longer." he said. voice low in the dim light. "rather be with you right now anyway."
you stayed like that. tangled together on his dorm bed. the lamp still on at the desk casting long shadows across the room. the night outside the window felt far away. just the two of you in the small space. skin warm. breaths even. the easy comfort of being close after everything.
jaemin let his hand keep stroking your back. slow and rhythmic. his mind quiet for once. no rush to get back to the books. no pressure from midterms tonight. he felt the way your body had shaken under his hands and mouth. the memory made him smile faintly to himself. he pressed another light kiss to your hair. breathing you in. the faint scent of your skin mixed with the party remnants and the dorm air.
hiiii! pleaseee i’m obsessed with your fics. can i please request a jaemin or jeno fic with a secret relationship with reader. they’re in the same friend group and just thought that hiding it for the meantime would be ok, since both of them are also a private person. they don’t move away from each other, it’s more like they’re getting shipped because of the princess treatment reader is receiving. can be with smut, up to you. thank you so much!! :>
imma try this one, the trope sounds so good, i think jaemin would be best for this type of fic. i'll try to finish this up in 2-3 days cause i have another fic that i'm currently writing 😭, i won't keep y'all up, thank you for requesting (i'll make it a full fic.)
note: edit!!!!! the fic is alr up, heres the link <333
anton who’s always a soft and smiley guy with a long patience but a sudden switch happened because he got jealous. maybe he gets jealous with another member or someone 🙉
it was a thursday night in seoul, the kind where the air still carried the leftover chill from march even though april had rolled in. you sat cross-legged on your dorm bed, the steam from the ramyeon cup warming your face as you slurped noodles straight from the container. the tv played some random variety show in the background, but your phone was the real distraction.
you: im eating ramyeon
the reply came after a minute.
anton: thats good
simple, like always. you typed again.
you: wyd?
anton: im studying
you stared at the screen for a second, the blue light reflecting off your eyes. third-year political science at snu wasn't a joke. anton spent most of his days buried in books or in the library, prepping for discussions on international relations or whatever dense theory they threw at them that week. he was soft-spoken when he talked to you, gentle even, always answering your texts even if it was just a short line. but you knew better than to ask him to drop everything and come over every time. he always found his way back eventually, though, slipping into your routine like he belonged there.
you didn't push tonight. instead, you finished the ramyeon, tossed the cup, and scrolled through messages. sungchan's text popped up from earlier. his apartment party tonight. nothing huge, just a bunch of his friends from different majors blowing off steam mid-semester. sungchan had become your friend through anton somehow, the three of you hanging out enough times that invitations extended to you even when anton was swamped.
you didn't tell anton. he was studying, and you didn't want to pull him away or make it seem like you expected him to babysit your social life. you threw on jeans and a simple top, grabbed your jacket, and headed out. the subway ride to sungchan's place near campus was quick, the car half-empty at this hour.
sungchan's apartment was already buzzing when you arrived. music thumped low from a speaker in the living room, not too loud but enough to feel the bass. about twenty people scattered around—some on the couch arguing over a game, others in the kitchen mixing drinks from whatever bottles were on the counter. sungchan spotted you right away, waving you in with that easy grin of his.
"hey, you made it. grab a drink, yeah? everyone's chill tonight."
his friends were the usual mix: loud but friendly, the kind who pulled you into conversations without making it awkward. you danced a bit in the cleared space near the speaker, nothing crazy, just moving to the rhythm while holding a plastic cup of soju mixed with something sweet. a couple shots went down easy, warming your chest. the room felt alive in that typical college way—laughs cutting through the music, someone yelling about a recent exam fail.
you were in the middle of the small dance area, half-laughing at a story one of the girls was telling, when a hand landed on your waist from behind. not aggressive at first, but definitely trying to pull you closer. you shifted, trying to turn and see who it was, but the crowd pressed in a little and the guy didn't let go right away.
"hey, come on—" you started, voice steady but annoyed.
"that's enough."
the voice cut through clear, low and even. you knew it immediately. anton. he wasn't shouting, wasn't making a scene, but the tone left no room for argument. his face was blank when you finally turned— no smile, no soft look he usually saved for you. just a tight jaw and eyes hidden behind those thin-framed glasses he wore when he read late.
he reached out, fingers wrapping around your wrist, not rough but firm enough to guide. you let him tug you through the room toward the short hallway that led to the bathroom. people glanced but didn't say much; sungchan's parties had their moments, and everyone knew anton was the quiet type anyway. the restroom door clicked shut behind you, the music muffling to a distant hum.
the small space felt even smaller with both of you in it. a single bulb overhead cast warm light on the tiled walls. you pulled your arm back gently, heart picking up for reasons that weren't just the drinks.
"anton, wait— it's not what it looked like. that guy just came up, i was about to—"
he didn't interrupt with words at first. instead, he adjusted his glasses with one hand, pushing them up the bridge of his nose like he did when he was trying to collect his thoughts after a long study session. his other hand stayed near your arm, not holding anymore but close. the blank expression cracked just a bit— not anger exactly, but something tighter, frustrated in that quiet way he carried everything.
"i know," he said finally, voice soft but edged. "saw it from the door. still didn't like it."
you opened your mouth to explain more, but he stepped closer. the air between you shifted, heavy with the faint scent of his usual detergent mixed with the night outside. his jaw flexed once, visible even under the light stubble he sometimes forgot to shave during crunch weeks. then his hand came up, cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing near your cheekbone.
no big declaration. just the way he looked at you for a beat, like the studying and the distance and the random guy had worn through the usual gentleness for a second. he leaned in slow, giving you time, but when his lips met yours it wasn't tentative.
the kiss started firm, his mouth warm and insistent in a way that didn't match the soft-spoken guy who texted back short replies. you tasted the faint mint from whatever gum he chewed to stay awake during all-nighters. his free hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him as he backed you gently toward the sink counter. glasses fogged a little from the closeness.
you kissed back, hands sliding up to his shoulders, feeling the tension there from hours hunched over political theory texts. it deepened quick— tongues brushing, a quiet sound escaping him when you nipped at his bottom lip. his jaw moved under your fingers as he angled his head, kissing harder, like he needed to remind both of you why he came crawling back every time. one hand left your face to grip the edge of the counter beside you, steadying himself. the other stayed at your waist, thumb pressing in just enough.
"fuck..." he muttered against your mouth, pulling back half an inch to adjust his glasses again. they were crooked now, lenses slightly smudged. he looked at you, breath a little uneven, the blank mask gone and replaced with that familiar softness mixed with something hotter. his lips were flushed, hair a bit messier from your fingers.
you caught your own breath, the party noise still faint outside the door. "you were supposed to be studying."
"i was." his voice stayed low, almost a whisper. "got your last text. then sungchan mentioned you were here. couldn't focus after that."
he didn't apologize for showing up or for the tug to the bathroom. just leaned in again, slower this time, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth before trailing to your jaw. it wasn't rushed or dramatic—just real, the kind of moment that happened when two people orbiting each other in busy college lives finally collided. his hand slid up your back under your top, palm warm against skin, while you tugged lightly at the collar of his hoodie.
outside, someone laughed loud in the living room, a glass clinked. inside, it stayed just the two of you for a little longer, the makeout easing from that initial edge into something steadier, his gentleness creeping back in between the heavier kisses. anton wasn't the type for big scenes. he was the guy who studied late, answered texts simply, and showed up quiet when it mattered.
anton didn’t waste time. his hand was still around your wrist when he turned you around to face the sink, your hips pressing against the cool edge of the counter. the mirror in front of you fogged slightly from the warmth of the small room and your quick breaths. he stepped right behind you, chest to your back, and kept kissing you—mouth hot on the side of your neck, then moving to your jaw, then lower to the collarbone where your top had slipped a little.
his lips were firm, a little urgent, the kind of kisses that came from hours of holding back while buried in textbooks. you felt his breath against your skin, warm and uneven.
“anton… wait,” you said quietly, voice catching as his hand slid under your top. “not here. they’re right outside.”
he didn’t stop. when his mind locked onto something, he could be stubborn like that—quietly, without raising his voice or making it dramatic. he just hummed low against your neck, the sound vibrating through you.
“i know,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “but i saw that guy’s hand on you. didn’t like it.” his voice stayed soft, almost gentle even now, but there was an edge underneath. “just need a minute with you.”
you tried to turn your head to look at him, but he kept you facing the mirror, one hand on your waist holding you steady while the other worked the button of your jeans. the denim slid down your hips with a realistic tug—his fingers a little clumsy from the angle and the heat of the moment, but determined. cool air hit your skin as the fabric pooled around your thighs.
“anton—”
“shh,” he whispered, not mean, just focused. his hand slipped between your legs, fingers finding you already warm and slick from the drinks and the sudden closeness. he rubbed slow circles at first, gentle pressure that made your knees feel unsteady. “you’re so wet already.”
a small sound escaped you and you gripped the edge of the sink. he kept going, fingers playing, teasing the spot that made your breath hitch. then he slid one finger in, slow and careful, curling it just right. you arched slightly, back pressing into his chest. the movement made you lean more over the sink, and anton followed, leaning down with you so his body stayed flush against yours.
“fuck… you feel good,” he said under his breath, voice low and a little rougher than usual. he added a second finger, pumping steadily, the wet sound quiet but unmistakable in the small bathroom. his thumb kept rubbing outside, building it up. “been thinking about you all night instead of my readings.”
you breathed out a shaky laugh, trying to keep quiet. “you were supposed to be studying… not showing up here and doing this.”
“couldn’t focus after sungchan said you were coming,” he admitted, lips back on your neck, sucking lightly. “kept picturing you here, dancing, someone else trying to touch you.” his fingers moved faster, curling deeper. “this is mine tonight.”
your legs trembled a little and you felt the pressure building quick— the alcohol loosening everything, his steady touch doing the rest. you came with a quiet gasp, hips jerking against his hand, one palm slapping lightly on the mirror for balance. anton didn’t pull away right away. he kept his fingers inside you through it, slowing but not stopping until the waves eased.
when he finally slid them out, he brought them up to your mouth. “open,” he said softly. you did, tasting yourself on his fingers as he pushed them past your lips. his eyes met yours in the foggy mirror. “good girl. always so good for me.”
he kissed your temple, gentle now, while you caught your breath. you were sweaty, hair sticking a little to your forehead, cheeks flushed. anton’s free hand moved between you, unbuckling his belt with a metallic clink that sounded loud in the quiet space. he pushed his jeans and boxers down just enough, his cock hard and warm against your ass.
“sorry,” he whispered, voice back to that soft-spoken tone, almost apologetic even while he lined himself up. “i know it’s not the best place… but i need you right now.”
you nodded, still breathing hard. “just… be quick. someone might knock.”
he pressed in slowly, careful at first, a low groan escaping him as he sank deeper. “shit… you’re tight.” his hand gripped your hip, steadying both of you. once he was fully in, he paused, forehead resting against the back of your shoulder. “you know you can call me anytime, right? huh?”
you let out a small breathy sound as he started moving, slow thrusts at first. “yeah… i know.”
“good. because i’ll come crawling back to you every time,” he said, voice low against your ear, punctuating the words with a deeper push. “doesn’t matter how many readings i have. doesn’t matter if it’s late. i’ll be here.”
the rhythm built gradually—realistic, not perfect, the angle a little awkward over the sink but it worked. his hips snapped forward steadily, one hand sliding up your back under your top while the other stayed on your hip. the sound of skin meeting skin was muffled by your bodies pressed close.
“feels good?” he asked quietly, breath warm on your neck. “tell me.”
“yeah… fuck, anton, right there,” you answered, voice hushed. you pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts. “don’t stop.”
he didn’t. he kept going, pace picking up just enough, glasses slipping down his nose again. he adjusted them quickly with one hand without breaking rhythm. “you’re so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured. “all flushed and taking me in sungchan’s bathroom.” a small, almost shy laugh escaped him at how ridiculous it sounded, but he didn’t slow down. “never thought i’d be doing this tonight instead of highlighting articles on foreign policy.”
you smiled despite the heat, gripping the sink tighter. “you’re such a nerd… even when you’re inside me.”
“your nerd,” he corrected softly, kissing the side of your jaw again. he reached around with his free hand, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in time with his thrusts. “come on, baby. one more time. i want to feel you again.”
the second orgasm hit you harder, legs shaking as you clenched around him. anton groaned low, burying his face in your neck to muffle it. a few more thrusts and he followed, hips stuttering as he came inside you, breathing heavy against your skin.
he stayed there for a moment, both of you catching your breath, his arms loosely around you. the party noise filtered back in—someone laughing in the distance, music still playing. he pulled out carefully, grabbing some tissue from the counter to clean you up first, then himself. his movements were gentle again, the stubborn heat fading back into that quiet care.
“you okay?” he asked, voice soft as he helped pull your jeans back up, buttoning them for you. his glasses were still a little crooked, hair messy, cheeks pink.
you turned around to face him properly now, fixing his glasses for him with your fingers. “yeah. a little sweaty. you?”
“better,” he said, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “sorry if i got carried away. just… didn’t like seeing someone else touch you.”
“i know. it was nothing,” you told him, smoothing his hoodie. “but next time text me before you show up like a jealous boyfriend.”
he gave a small smile, the soft one that made his eyes crinkle a bit. “not boyfriend yet. but i can be. if you want.”
the words hung there, simple and real, no big confession under dramatic lighting. just anton, 21, third-year poli sci, buried in books most days, standing in a bathroom at his friend’s party with you after fucking you over the sink because he couldn’t stay away.
he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “want to stay longer or head out? i can walk you back. or we can go somewhere quieter if you’re not done with me yet.”
you hadn’t ended the night. the party was still going, and so were the two of you.
Can you write anton Lee fic where they break up and still have nasty sex🤤 please pls make it longgg
how to un-know you? — l.anton
pairings: nonidol!anton × fem!reader
genre: angst, smut (18+), lovers to exes, exes to ?
w.c: 6.4k
warnings: messy relationship, toxic relationship, explicit sexual content, rough angry sex, unprotected sex, pull-out method, breeding kink talk (said in anger, not literal), emotional manipulation vibes, post-breakup hook-up, ghosting, messy communication, possessiveness, dirty talk. no happy resolution yet
synopsis. the apartment has become a museum of silences. you and anton have been together since high school, but now the space you share feels smaller than it ever has. the arguments have shifted from forgotten dates to something heavier, something that makes you both avoid looking directly at the worn couch where you used to fall asleep watching bad reality tv. the breakup didn't happen in a screaming match. it happened on a thursday afternoon, quiet and sudden, like a lightbulb burning out.
🌸 "i know how she smells when she's stressed, when she's just woken up. i know the sound of her breathing when she's about to fall asleep. i don't know how to un-know that. i don't think i can learn it again for someone else.”
a/n — hope u like this one, its kinda rushed, im sorryy. thanku for suggesting love ^^
week 1:
the door clicks shut behind you with that specific sound it makes when the humidity is high and the wood swells in the frame. you don't say anything at first, just drop your keys in the ceramic bowl on the entryway table. the bowl you two bought at a thrift store three years ago because anton said it looked like a melted jellyfish and you laughed so hard the cashier asked if you were okay. you haven't thought about that in months. the apartment smells like the ramen he probably made three hours ago, the broth having settled into that stale, salty air that sticks to the curtains.
you see his back first. he's sitting on the floor in front of the couch, knees pulled up, laptop balanced on the coffee table. he's wearing that gray hoodie with the frayed cuff. you know the one. you used to steal it. now you just notice that the string is missing from the hood because it came out in the wash and neither of you has bothered to thread it back in. that's the thing about living together for this long. you stop fixing the small things because the energy required to thread a hoodie string feels monumental when you're already carrying the weight of a forgotten reservation.
he doesn't turn around. he knows it's you. the lock is distinct, and you both know the rhythm of each other's footsteps in the hallway. the weight of your walk, the way you pause to check the mail slot even though it's always just flyers for pizza places you don't order from anymore. you stand in the kitchen archway and watch the back of his head, the way his hair curls a little at the nape where he needs a haircut. three weeks ago you would have walked over and run your fingers through it just to annoy him. now your hands stay at your sides, and you realize you're gripping the edge of your own sleeve. it's a tic you've developed recently, this holding onto yourself because holding onto him feels like asking for something you're not sure you deserve.
this all started the way water starts boiling. you don't notice it until it's already rolling, until it's too hot to touch the pot. the first thing was the restaurant. thai place on fifth. he'd been talking about their khao soi for two weeks because his roommate from freshman year said it was "life-altering" and anton, being anton, decided he needed to have a life-altering soup experience with you. he made a reservation. he told you twice, maybe three times. he even sent you a calendar invite with a stupid subject line that said "soup acquisition mission" and a little rocket emoji. you accepted it on your phone while walking to your 2 p.m. lecture and then your brain immediately filed it away in the same drawer where you keep your student id number from sophomore year and the name of your neighbor's cat.
the day of, you were in the studio. you'd been working on a project that was eating you alive, the kind of deadline that makes you forget to eat or blink or check the time. by the time you looked up, it was 9:47 p.m. and your phone had seven messages from him. the first one, sent at 7:02 p.m., just said "got the table by the window :)". the last one, sent at 8:34 p.m., was just "okay." no emoji. no punctuation. just the word sitting there like a stone dropped into still water. you called him immediately, your hands shaking from caffeine and guilt, and he answered on the fourth ring. he wasn't yelling. anton almost never yells. that's what makes it worse. he just said, "they gave the table away at 8:15. i'm in the car now." and you heard the sound of his turn signal clicking in the background. a small, steady, mechanical sound that felt louder than any fight you'd ever had.
you tried to apologize. you said it was work, you said you lost track of time, you said all the things that are technically true but don't actually matter when someone has been sitting alone at a table for two for over an hour, picking at the condensation on a water glass and telling the server "she's probably just running late." he accepted the apology. or at least, he said the words "it's fine." but "it's fine" is never fine. "it's fine" is what you say when you're too tired to explain why it's not, when the math of expressing the hurt doesn't add up to the energy you have left. he came home that night with a paper bag from the bodega, a sad looking sandwich and a bottle of green tea. he ate it standing at the counter, not at the table. you sat on the couch and watched him out of the corner of your eye, and you felt the first hairline crack form in whatever foundation you'd built since junior year of high school.
week 2:
then there was the parking lot. that was a week later, maybe five weeks. you'd both been at a friend's gathering off-campus, one of those parties where the music is just loud enough that you have to lean in to talk but quiet enough that you can still hear the awkward silences. you'd been off all night. he'd been talking to someone about a film restoration project, his face doing that thing it does when he's genuinely interested, and you'd been standing next to him scrolling through your phone. not because you were bored, but because you didn't know how to insert yourself into the conversation without feeling like you were interrupting. you felt like a plus-one at a party you'd both been invited to. on the walk back to his car, the air was cold and wet, the kind of early spring night that makes your joints ache. he was walking slightly ahead of you. not fast, just not beside you.
in the car, the windows fogged up immediately. he turned the defroster on high and the fan made that rattling sound it always makes when it's on the third setting. you sat in the passenger seat and stared at the dashboard. the clock read 12:04 a.m. he asked if you were coming back to the apartment. you said you didn't know. you said maybe you'd sleep in your own dorm room. it was a lie, or maybe a test. you haven't actually slept in your dorm room in six months. your pillow is on his bed. your charger is plugged in on your side of the mattress. but in that moment, the thought of lying next to him in the dark, the both of you breathing but not speaking, felt like a punishment you wanted to avoid.
he didn't start the car. he just sat there with his hands on the wheel, thumbs tapping against the leather in a rhythm that wasn't a song. it was just nerves. "why do you do that?" he asked. his voice was low, the way it gets when he's trying really hard to keep it level. "why do you always run back to your own space when things feel off?" and you didn't have a good answer.
you just had the truth, which was that sometimes being in a room with someone you love while you're both hurting feels like being in a room with the volume turned up too high. the parking lot was empty except for a few cars with student parking decals and a single streetlamp that buzzed like it was full of bees. you told him you just needed air. you got out of the car and stood by the trunk for four minutes. he waited inside. neither of you moved toward the other. you got back in, and you drove home in a silence that was only broken by the gps voice saying "turn left in five hundred feet."
the worst one, the one that sits in your stomach like a rock even now, was the night you called him selfish. you can't even remember what started it. it was a tuesday. something about the dishes. something about how he'd left his shoes in the hallway and you'd tripped on them. it was so small, so unbearably domestic and petty. but the argument bloomed fast, like mold in a dark corner. it grew from shoes to "you never listen" to "you always think your stress is the only stress that exists." and in the heat of it, standing in the kitchen with the faucet dripping because he'd been about to wash a pan but stopped mid-action, you said it. "you're being so selfish right now."
his face changed. not dramatically. anton's face is like a calm lake, you have to watch the edges to see the disturbance. his jaw tightened. he put the sponge down on the counter very carefully, like it was made of glass. "i waited for you for an hour and forty-five minutes," he said. his voice was quiet. "i didn't say anything mean when you forgot. i didn't bring it up again. i didn't guilt you. i let it go because i know how hard your semester is. but i'm selfish." he didn't say it like a question. he said it like he was reading a fact off a page. and then he walked into the bedroom and closed the door. not a slam. just a soft, firm click. the sound of the wood swollen in the frame.
you stood in the kitchen for a long time. the faucet dripped. the pan sat on the drying rack, still dirty. you could hear him moving around in the bedroom, the creak of the floorboard by the closet. and you realized with a sick clarity that you had just taken the thing you both were supposed to be holding carefully and you'd thrown it on the ground just to see if it would bounce. the word "selfish" hung in the air of the apartment like smoke. it was still there the next morning, and the morning after that. it's the kind of word that doesn't wash out of the curtains easily.
now, standing in the kitchen archway watching him sit on the floor in front of the couch, you can feel that word between you. he still hasn't turned around. his laptop screen glows blue against his face, and you can see the reflection of his eyes moving as he reads something. he's wearing earbuds. you know he can't hear you, but you also know he knows you're standing there. the air in the apartment is thick with everything you haven't said. the ramen smell. the dripping faucet. the gray hoodie without the string. you take a step forward, your sock catching slightly on a rough patch in the floorboards. he still doesn't move. you don't know if you're going to touch his shoulder or just walk past him to the bedroom. you don't know which one is the right move anymore. that's the thing about building something since high school. eventually, the blueprint you started with doesn't match the house you're standing in, and you're both too scared to open a wall and see if the foundation is still holding.
week 3:
it came on a thursday. not a dramatic night with rain against the window or a public scene at a party. it was 3:14 p.m. and you were both in the living room, him on the floor with his laptop, you on the couch with a textbook open to a page you hadn't read in twenty minutes. the sun was coming through the blinds in those thin strips that make dust motes look like floating gold. you'd been sitting there for almost an hour without either of you saying a word, and the quiet wasn't the comfortable kind. it was the kind that feels like holding your breath underwater, waiting for someone to come up first.
you don't remember exactly what triggered it. maybe he sighed. maybe you shifted and the couch cushion made a sound. but suddenly you were looking at the back of his head and thinking about the restaurant reservation, the parking lot, the word "selfish" that had been living in the walls of this apartment for weeks now. and something in your chest just gave way. not like a snap, more like a rope that had been fraying thread by thread finally parting under its own weight. you said his name. your voice sounded foreign to you, like it belonged to someone braver or more tired.
he turned around. he took out one earbud and let it dangle against his hoodie. his face was blank in that way it gets when he's bracing for something. he knew. you could see it in the way his shoulders were already set, the way his eyes didn't quite meet yours but fixed on a point just over your left shoulder. he'd known this was coming for weeks. maybe months. but knowing a wave is coming doesn't make it easier to stand in the surf. "i don't think i can do this anymore," you said. the words came out flatter than you expected, like you were reading a line you'd rehearsed without realizing.
"this," you continued, and you gestured vaguely at the space between you two, at the apartment, at the air itself. "i feel heavy all the time. even when we're not fighting. i feel like i'm waiting for it to get bad again. that's not... healthy. for either of us." you said healthy like it was a foreign concept you'd just learned in a textbook. he didn't flinch. he just sat there with one earbud hanging and looked at you. the sun stripe moved across his cheek and you watched it catch the faint stubble he hadn't shaved because he'd barely left the apartment in three days to study for midterms. you wanted to reach out and touch his face. you didn't.
he nodded. just once. a small, mechanical movement of his chin. "okay," he said. it was the same "okay" he'd sent you in that text message from the restaurant. flat. a stone dropped into water. he didn't ask why. he didn't ask if you were sure. he didn't ask if there was someone else or if you needed time to think. he just said okay and turned back to his laptop. his fingers hovered over the keyboard but didn't type anything. you sat there for another thirty seconds, waiting for something. a question. a protest. a plea. anything to show that the last four years had actually happened. but he just sat there, still as a photograph, and eventually you got up and walked to the bedroom and closed the door with that same soft, swollen click.
the first three days were a kind of purgatory you didn't know existed. you were both still living in the same apartment because the lease didn't end for another two months and neither of you had anywhere else to go on short notice. he slept on the couch. you didn't ask him to. he just came out of the bedroom on the first night with his pillow under his arm and a blanket you'd bought together at ikea two years ago. he didn't look at you. he just set up on the couch like it was the most normal thing in the world, and you stood in the hallway in your pajamas and watched the light from the living room go off.
you could hear him at night. not crying. anton doesn't cry easy. but you could hear him shifting on the couch, that creak of the old springs every ten or fifteen minutes. you'd lie in the bed that still smelled like both of you and listen to him not sleeping, and you'd press your face into the pillow to keep from making any sound yourself. the first morning, you came out to make coffee and found him sitting at the kitchen counter with his head in his hands. his laptop was open to a study guide for his film theory midterm, but the screen had gone dark from inactivity. the coffee maker was beeping because he'd started it and then forgotten. he looked up when you walked in and his eyes were red-rimmed but dry, like he'd been staring at something bright for too long.
wonbin noticed on day two. anton showed up to their shared study session in the library basement, the one they'd had scheduled for weeks, and he just sat there. didn't open his notebook. didn't make a single dry comment about the guy two tables over who always ate tuna sandwiches. wonbin said his name twice before anton blinked and looked at him like he'd just remembered where he was. "we broke up," anton said. he said it the same way someone might say "i missed the bus." flat. factual. and then he went back to staring at the wood grain of the table.
wonbin didn't push. he's good like that. he just closed his own textbook and sat there with him for forty minutes in silence. eventually he said, "you want to get out of here?" and anton shook his head. "i just need to sit somewhere that isn't the apartment," he said. his voice was hoarse, like he hadn't used it all day. wonbin told you this later, not as a way to make you feel guilty, but because you asked. you'd run into him outside the humanities building and the question just fell out of you before you could stop it. "is he okay?" and wonbin looked at you with something that wasn't pity but was adjacent to it. "he will be," he said. "he just doesn't know how to do this. four years is a long time to learn a person's scent and then try to forget it."
you cried for a week straight. not the pretty kind of crying you see in movies where a single tear slides down a perfect cheek. this was the kind where your face gets swollen and your nose runs and you make sounds that you didn't know you were capable of making. minji came over on the second night with takeout containers of jjajangmyeon and two bottles of soju. she didn't say anything at first. she just sat on your bedroom floor with you while you sobbed into a pillow that still had a faint trace of his shampoo on it. "i hate this," you kept saying. "i hate this so much. i regret everything. i regret saying it. i regret meaning it. i don't know what i want."
minji let you spiral. she's the kind of friend who knows that sometimes you just need to let the words fall out in whatever order they come, even if they contradict each other. "you said it because you meant it," she said finally, picking at the edge of the soju label with her thumbnail. "you wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true, at least a little bit. that doesn't mean you don't love him. it just means love isn't enough to fix what was broken." you wanted to argue with her. you wanted to tell her she was wrong, that love should be enough, that you'd made a terrible mistake. but the words wouldn't come because somewhere underneath the grief, you knew she was right.
the apartment feels cavernous now. you've started noticing things you never noticed before. the way the bathroom faucet drips if you don't turn it off at a specific angle. the fact that he always bought the orange juice with extra pulp even though you complained about it every single time. you found one of his hoodies balled up in the back of the closet, the gray one with the frayed cuff and the missing hood string. you held it for a long time without putting it on. it still smelled like him, but fainter now, like a candle that's almost burned out. you folded it carefully and put it back where you found it. you don't know if you're keeping it for him or for yourself.
he still moves around the apartment like a ghost. you hear him in the kitchen at odd hours, the soft clink of a spoon against a mug. he's been drinking tea instead of coffee, which you know means his stomach is upset because he only switches to tea when he's anxious. you've caught yourself making enough coffee for two in the morning out of muscle memory, standing there with a full carafe and nowhere for the second cup to go. the two of you orbit each other in the small space, careful not to collide, careful not to touch, careful not to look too long. it's the most present you've both been in the same space in months, and it's only happening now that you're no longer together.
he doesn't think he can learn another scent. wonbin told you that too, or maybe you overheard it through a friend of a friend. the way anton said it, apparently, was like he was admitting something shameful. "i know how she smells when she's stressed, when she's just woken up. i know the sound of her breathing when she's about to fall asleep. i don't know how to un-know that. i don't think i can learn it again for someone else." you heard this and you had to sit down on the edge of the bathtub with the door locked for twenty minutes because it made your chest feel like it was caving in.
you haven't spoken about the breakup. not really. there was no closure conversation, no "this is why it happened" discussion. it just happened, sudden and natural like a tree branch finally giving way under too much snow. one moment you were a unit, however fractured, and the next you were two people who used to be in love, sharing a lease and a fridge and the unbearable weight of four years of memories. you don't know what comes next. neither does he. all you know is that tonight you'll go to sleep in the bed that used to be both of yours, and he'll lie on the couch with the ikea blanket, and you'll both listen to the sound of the other not sleeping through the thin apartment walls. and maybe that's just what the beginning of the end looks like. quiet. swollen. full of things you're both too tired to say.
week 4:
you said you’d move out. you weren’t ready. he was too, but he didn’t say it. but seeing you pack up your things while he’s still there. he stares at your back. quietly. you didn’t know he was still there.
“you’re leaving.”
you pause, fingers tightening around the strap of your duffel. “i am.”
he looks away, jaw working like he’s swallowing words. he stayed like he didn’t want you to go.
“can we at least try to talk about it?”
“maybe,” you said. but then you left.
the whole trimester felt hollow. for both of you trying to start over.
week 5:
not until friday came. it was fourth sem, wonbin’s birthday. you both bumped into each other again. and this time he refused to let you go.
it was just supposed to be a soft kiss. pls come back, im sorry the dorm feels hollow without you. and you’d just nod and kiss back. but your back pressed against an empty room door. you thought he’d stop but he even pushed you further. tf.
he was hungry. kissing, biting, tongue inside your mouth. you felt his fingers and he’s already apologizing. he fucks you standing, your front pressed against the wall. he’ll pull out. he keeps apologizing, kissing, etc.
the hallway smelled like spilled beer and the faint burn of someone’s vape. wonbin’s door was cracked open, bass leaking out with bursts of laughter. you’d stepped out just to breathe, the party inside feeling too loud after three drinks and too many forced smiles. your phone was in your hand, thumb hovering over the ride app, when anton appeared at the end of the hall.
he looked the same — tall, shoulders a little hunched like he was carrying the same weight you were. his eyes found yours immediately. no smile, just that quiet recognition that used to feel like home.
neither of you planned it. you tried to keep walking. he stepped in front of you, not blocking, just there.
“hey,” he said, voice low enough that it almost got lost under the music.
“hey.”
silence stretched for a second. then he nodded toward the end of the hallway. “there’s an empty room down there. can we talk? just for a minute.”
you should’ve said no. the trimester had been hard enough — classes blurring together, nights spent staring at the ceiling in your new place, wondering if you’d made the right call. but you followed him anyway. the door at the end was unlocked, probably someone’s temporary storage or a friend crashing elsewhere. it clicked shut behind you and the noise from the party dulled to a distant hum.
anton turned to face you. the room was dim, only the light from the hallway window spilling in. he looked tired. you probably did too.
“i’ve been thinking about what you said,” he started. “about maybe talking.”
you leaned against the door, arms crossed. “yeah.”
he took a step closer. then another. “the dorm feels hollow without you. everything does. i keep expecting to hear your keys or see your stuff on the counter.”
his hand came up, hesitant, brushing a strand of hair from your face. the touch was soft. familiar. you didn’t pull away. when he leaned in, the kiss started gentle — lips meeting like they were scared to break something. you kissed back, slow, the kind of kiss that carried months of missing someone without admitting it.
“i’m sorry,” he whispered against your mouth. “for how it ended. for not saying anything when you were packing.”
you nodded, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. that was supposed to be enough. a quiet moment, a soft apology, then back to the party or back to your separate lives.
but the kiss deepened. his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer until your back pressed fully against the door. his tongue slipped in, tasting like the beer he’d been drinking, and something shifted. the hunger was sudden, raw. he bit your bottom lip, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your breath catch. you felt his body press in, solid and warm, the way it used to when nights got long and words ran out.
“anton,” you breathed, but it came out more like a question.
“i know,” he said, already apologizing as his fingers worked the button of your jeans open. “i shouldn’t. fuck, i know.”
your jeans slid down just enough, along with your panties. his hand was between your legs before you could think straight, two fingers sliding through the slick heat. you were wet — had been since the kiss turned heavy — and he groaned quietly when he felt it.
“shit… you’re soaked,” he muttered, forehead dropping to your shoulder. his fingers pushed inside, curling in that way he knew you liked. “i’m sorry. i just missed you. missed this.”
the stretch felt good, too good. your head tipped back against the door with a soft thud. his mouth found your neck, sucking lightly, then biting down as his fingers moved faster. the sounds were quiet but filthy — the wet slide, your uneven breathing, his low curses.
he pulled his hand away only to free himself. you heard the belt, the zipper. then he was lifting your leg, hooking it over his hip, turning you slightly so your front pressed to the wall beside the door. the cool surface met your cheek as he lined up and pushed in.
no condom. just the raw heat of him sliding inside, slow at first, then deeper. you gasped at the fullness, the familiar way he filled you. anton’s hand braced beside your head on the wall, the other gripping your hip to hold you steady.
“i’ll pull out,” he promised, voice strained as he started to move. “i swear.”
he fucked you like that — standing, your body trapped between him and the wall. the thrusts started measured but quickly turned harder, hips snapping forward. each push pressed you tighter against the surface, your palms flat on the wall for balance. it wasn’t gentle. it was needy, desperate, like he was trying to erase the months apart in one go.
“fuck,” he groaned against your ear. “you feel so good. i’m sorry — i know this is messed up.”
he kept apologizing even as his pace picked up. his mouth stayed on you — kissing your shoulder, your neck, the spot behind your ear. every thrust dragged a quiet sound from your throat. the angle hit deep, making your toes curl in your shoes. you could feel the tension building fast, the way your body remembered him too well.
his hand slipped around to your front, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. that pushed you over. you came with a choked moan, clenching around him, legs shaking. anton followed seconds later, pulling out with a harsh breath. you felt the warm spurts hit your lower back and ass, his body shuddering behind yours as he stroked himself through it.
for a long moment, the only sound was your breathing. heavy, uneven. his forehead rested against your shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around your waist now that the urgency had faded.
“i’m sorry,” he said again, softer this time. “i didn’t plan for that. it just… happened.”
you stayed still, trying to catch your breath. your jeans were still halfway down your legs, his cum cooling on your skin. the party noise filtered back in — someone shouting a happy birthday, glass clinking. reality settled slowly, heavy and awkward.
anton reached for some tissues from a nearby desk, cleaning you up as best he could in the dim light. his touch was careful now, almost shy. he helped pull your jeans back up, fingers lingering a second too long on your hips.
“you okay?” he asked quietly.
you nodded, turning to face him. his hair was messy, lips a little swollen. he looked like the anton you knew — the one who used to make you coffee in the mornings and steal your hoodies.
“yeah,” you said. your voice came out hoarse. “you?”
he shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “i don’t know. i meant what i said about the dorm. it’s been shit without you.”
the silence stretched again. not the angry kind from before the breakup, but the uncertain one. the kind that came after crossing a line you couldn’t uncross.
“we should probably get back,” you said eventually, smoothing your shirt down.
he nodded, but didn’t move right away. “can we still talk? for real this time. not like this.”
you looked at him, really looked. the trimester had left marks on both of you — tired eyes, the weight of starting over alone. maybe that was why it felt so easy to fall back into old patterns.
“maybe,” you said. it was the same word you’d given him when you left the apartment. but this time it felt a little less final.
anton opened the door first, letting the hallway light spill in. you followed him out, the noise of the party swallowing you both again. your bodies didn’t touch as you walked back toward wonbin’s room, but the air between you felt different now. charged. unfinished.
inside, someone handed you a new drink. anton stayed nearby, not crowding but not leaving either. you caught his eye across the room once, and he gave a small, tired smile.
the night wasn’t fixed. the hollow feeling in your chest wasn’t gone. but for the first time in months, it felt like there might be something after the silences. not a guarantee. just a maybe that didn’t hurt as much as before.
week 6:
but you’ve ghosted him again. because you were unsure. scared to go back to that. your phone had been lighting up for four days straight.
anton [tue 11:47pm]: you home safe?
anton [wed 9:12am]: can we talk today? i meant what i said about the dorm feeling empty
anton [thu 2:34pm]: you’re really doing this again? just disappearing after we fucked?
anton [fri 7:05pm]: i’m coming over tomorrow if you don’t answer. don’t ghost me again.
you read every single one. you just didn’t reply. the fear sat heavy — going back meant risking the same quiet fights, the same silences that had grown too loud in the apartment. so you left the messages on read and tried to focus on lectures and takeout dinners alone.
saturday night the knock came hard on your dorm door. you opened it still in your hoodie and sleep shorts, surprised to see anton standing there with his hood up, rain spotting the fabric. his eyes were dark, jaw set.
“anton? what are you—”
he cut you off by stepping inside, pushing the door shut behind him with his foot. before you could finish the sentence his hands were on your face, mouth crashing into yours in a messy, angry kiss. teeth bumped, tongues sliding wet and desperate. he tasted like rain and the faint mint from gum he’d probably chewed on the walk over.
you pulled back just enough to breathe. “we said we’d talk. not this.”
“talk?” he laughed once, short and bitter, walking you backward until your legs hit the bed. “you said we’d talk after the party and then you left me on read for three fucking days. again. you always do this.”
his hoodie came off in one rough pull. you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell too fast. he pushed you down onto the mattress, crawling over you, knees bracketing your hips.
“i was scared,” you said, hands coming up to his chest, not pushing him away but not pulling him closer either. “that night felt too good and too fast. i didn’t know how to face you after. what if we just end up back in the same place? avoiding each other on the couch, not talking about the real shit?”
he leaned down, mouth brushing your jaw, then biting down on your neck hard enough to make you hiss. “you left me again. packed your shit, said maybe we could talk, and walked out. then at the party you let me fuck you against the wall and still disappeared. how many times do i have to watch you leave?”
his hands shoved your hoodie up and off, tossing it somewhere on the floor. your shorts followed quickly, his fingers hooking into the waistband and yanking them down with your panties in one go. you were already wet — the angry kiss and the weight of him over you doing more than you wanted to admit.
“anton, slow down,” you tried, even as your legs spread for him anyway. “we can talk now. i’m here.”
“yeah, you’re here now,” he muttered, shoving his own sweats and boxers down just enough to free his cock. it was hard, flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. he rubbed the head against your slick folds, teasing your entrance. “but for how long? till you get scared and ghost me again?”
you moaned softly when he pushed in the first inch, stretching you open. no condom, just raw heat. he didn’t go slow. he sank in deep in one thrust, bottoming out with a groan that vibrated against your chest.
“fuck,” he breathed, forehead dropping to yours. “you feel too good. always do. that’s the problem.”
he started moving right away — hard, deep strokes that made the bed creak. your hands gripped his back, nails digging in as he fucked into you. skin slapped against skin, wet and loud in the small dorm room.
“tell me why you ghosted,” he demanded between thrusts, one hand sliding under your knee to push your leg higher, opening you up more. “say it while i’m inside you.”
you gasped, hips rocking up to meet him. “because i’m scared we’ll keep hurting each other. we’ve been together since high school. i know how you smell when you’re stressed, how you breathe when you’re falling asleep. i don’t know how to unlearn that if this falls apart again.”
he groaned, pace turning rougher, hips snapping harder. “then stop running. every time it gets real you leave. you left the apartment. you left after the party. i’m tired of it.”
his mouth found yours again, kissing messy and deep, tongues sliding together while he fucked you harder. you could feel every inch of him dragging inside, hitting that spot that made your toes curl.
“what do you want me to do?” he asked against your lips, voice strained and angry. “keep waiting around while you decide if you want me or not?”
you clenched around him, close already from the intensity. “i want us to actually talk. not just fuck and then disappear.”
“talk?” he thrust deep and stayed there for a second, grinding against you. “fine. here’s me talking. if you keep leaving like this, maybe i should just knock you up so you won’t leave.”
the words hit heavy. he didn’t soften them, didn’t take them back. his eyes stayed locked on yours, angry and desperate, hips still moving in slow, punishing rolls.
“you don’t mean that,” you whispered, even as another moan slipped out when he hit deeper.
“right now i do,” he said, voice rough. “i’m so fucking tired of watching you walk away. you think i want to learn how someone else smells or sounds? no. i want you. here. not running every time shit gets hard.”
he picked up speed again, fucking you harder, the angle making your back arch off the bed. his hand slipped between your bodies, fingers rubbing your clit in tight, fast circles.
“come on,” he growled. “cum for me. show me you’re still mine even when you’re scared.”
you came hard, thighs shaking, a broken moan tearing from your throat as you clenched tight around his cock. he followed right after, pulling out at the last second with a curse. hot stripes of cum landed across your stomach and tits, his hand stroking himself through it until he was spent.
both of you stayed there panting, bodies slick with sweat. anton grabbed tissues from your nightstand, cleaning you up with surprisingly gentle hands despite the anger still simmering in his eyes. he wiped his own mess off your skin, then tossed the tissues and collapsed beside you, pulling you against his chest.
the rain tapped against the window. your leg draped over his, his arm heavy around your waist.
“i meant what i said,” he said quietly after a minute, no apology in his tone. “if you keep ghosting and leaving, maybe knocking you up is the only way you’ll stay. i’m not joking about being done watching you go.”
you traced a finger over his chest, feeling his heartbeat slowly calm down. “that’s fucked up to say.”
“yeah, it is,” he admitted. “but it’s how i feel right now. you know me too well. i know you too well. we’ve been doing this since high school. i don’t want the dorm to feel hollow. i don’t want your bed to feel temporary. i want you to stop running.”
you stayed silent for a moment, listening to the rain and his breathing. the fear was still there, but so was the warmth of his body, the familiar way he held you.
“i won’t ghost again,” you said finally. “we’ll talk. every day if we have to. no more disappearing.”
he turned his head, kissing your forehead. “good. because next time you try to leave without talking, i’m not letting you out that door so easy.”
the room felt smaller now, but not in the bad way. the silences weren’t empty anymore. they were filled with heavy breathing, rain on glass, and two people who had known each other too long to pretend they could just walk away clean.
you didn’t know if the angry words about knocking you up would come up again sober. you didn’t know if this fixed everything. but for tonight the museum of silences had one less exhibit. just tangled sheets, quiet rain, and the steady beat of his heart under your cheek.
warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (male receiving), deepthroating, face fucking, vaginal sex, wall sex, praise kink, light degradation, hair pulling, size kink, quiet/semi-public sex (dorm setting with members nearby), tired/soft dom anton, creampie (implied), swearing, slight d/s dynamics, age gap (older girlfriend)
wc: 2.6k
synopsis. late at night in his private dorm room, exhausted 22-year-old anton stands in his sweats and has his older girlfriend y/n kneel on the floor. he fucks slowly into her mouth while they talk quietly, finding real, tired relief after a long practice day. what starts as gentle oral quickly turns into desperate, needy sex against the wall, with anton staying vocal and mixing praise with filthy degradation as he uses her to unwind.
the dorm was dead quiet by the time you slipped inside using the code anton sent. only the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen and someone’s low snoring from another room broke the silence. you moved down the short hallway to his door at the end. he opened it before you could knock twice, standing there in the dim light from his room spilling out behind him. 184cm tall, broad shoulders filling the frame, black hoodie on, grey sweats sitting low on his hips. his hair was still a little damp from the quick shower after practice, face tired but eyes lighting up just a bit when they landed on you.
“hey,” he said softly, voice rough from the long day. no big smile, just that quiet relief. he stepped back to let you in and shut the door, locking it with a small click. the single room felt even smaller with him in it—bed pushed against one wall, desk cluttered with a notebook and earphones, practice hoodie tossed over the chair. the air smelled like his body wash mixed with the faint leftover sweat from hours of dancing.
he didn’t sit. instead he stayed standing right there in the middle of the room, a couple steps from the bed, legs slightly apart. “practice kicked my ass today,” he murmured, looking down at you. “new formation keeps changing at the last minute. my calves are killing me. couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole way back in the van.” he rubbed the back of his neck, then let his hand drop. “missed you. like, bad.”
his fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweats but he didn’t push them all the way down. just enough to pull his cock out, leaving the sweats bunched around his upper thighs. he was already half-hard, thick and heavy, the kind of size that matched his tall frame. at 22 it didn’t take much after days of no time for himself. he stood there solid, masculine, hoodie still covering his torso, sweats staying on like he was too tired to bother with more.
“kneel for me?” he asked, simple and direct, voice low so it wouldn’t carry. his hand rested on your shoulder for a second, guiding you down gently until your knees hit the wooden floor in front of him. the height difference was stark—you on your knees, him towering above, cock right at face level. he looked down at you, one hand lightly on the top of your head, thumb brushing your hair once.
you looked up at him, voice soft. “you look really tired, baby. long day?” your hand came up, wrapping around the base of him. he was warm, skin smooth over the growing hardness. you stroked him slowly a couple times, feeling him thicken fully in your grip.
“yeah… fucking exhausting,” he answered, breath hitching a little when your thumb rubbed over the head. “but this helps. missed your mouth.” he stayed standing, one hand now bracing lightly against the wall beside the door for balance, the other resting on your head.
you leaned in, lips parting to take him in. the first slide of your tongue along the underside made his hips twitch. “mmh… yeah, like that,” he breathed. you took him deeper, mouth warm and wet, working slowly at first because he was thick. your hands rested on his thighs through the sweats, feeling the solid muscle underneath.
anton let out a quiet groan, head tipping back for a second. “fuck, that’s good.” you pulled back a little, lips shiny, and murmured against him, “you’re already so hard. been thinking about this all day?” then you sank down again, taking more of him, tongue pressing flat.
“all fucking day,” he admitted, voice rough. his free hand stayed gentle in your hair but his hips started moving, slow at first, pushing into your mouth. he wasn’t rough, just needy, sliding deeper with each shallow thrust. the head bumped the back of your throat and he paused, letting you adjust. “shit… sorry, you okay?” he asked, looking down at you, eyes dark but still checking.
you nodded slightly, humming around him, the vibration making his thighs tense. “yeah, keep going,” you whispered when you pulled off for air, spit connecting your lips to his cock. “use my mouth if you need to.” then you took him back in, relaxing your throat as best you could.
he groaned again, quieter this time, and started fucking into your mouth in steady, controlled thrusts. hips rolling forward, cock sliding over your tongue, pushing deeper each time. the wet sounds were soft but clear in the quiet room—your mouth working him, his low breaths, the faint creak of the floor when he shifted his weight. his sweats stayed bunched around his thighs, fabric brushing your cheek sometimes when he moved.
“god, you feel so good,” he muttered, voice breaking a little. one hand cupped the back of your head now, not forcing but guiding the rhythm as he fucked your mouth. his other hand pressed flat against the wall, keeping him steady while his legs, still sore from practice, held him up. every thrust was deliberate, realistic, the kind that came from real need after holding it in for days. sometimes he’d go a little deeper, holding for a second when you swallowed around him, then pulling back so you could breathe.
you looked up at him between strokes, eyes watering slightly from the depth, and pulled off just enough to speak. “you’re so big tonight… taking it easy on me?” your voice was husky, a small smile tugging at your wet lips before you licked along the vein on the underside.
he let out a short, tired laugh that turned into a groan when you sucked the head again. “can’t help it. missed you too much.” then he pushed back in, fucking your mouth with a bit more urgency, hips snapping forward in shallow thrusts. the head hit the back of your throat repeatedly, spit dripping down your chin onto the floor. his breathing got heavier, chest rising under the hoodie, but he kept it quiet, biting his lip sometimes to stay silent.
“keep doing that with your tongue,” he whispered, voice strained. you did, swirling it around the head every time he pulled back, tasting the salty precum that leaked steadily now. his thighs trembled a little under the sweats—not from coming, but from the long day finally catching up while pleasure built on top of it. he stayed standing the whole time, tall frame leaning slightly forward, one hand in your hair, the other on the wall.
you hummed around him again, taking him as deep as you could, and he cursed under his breath. “fuck… yeah, just like that, y/n.” his thrusts stayed steady, cock sliding in and out of your mouth, wet and warm. no rush to finish. he was drawing it out, letting the relief wash over him slowly in the safety of his locked room while the rest of the dorm slept.
you pulled off for a breath, hand stroking him firmly while you looked up.
he looked down at you, eyes half-lidded, sweat starting to bead on his forehead again. “this is perfect. don’t stop.” then he guided your head back down gently and slid back into your mouth, fucking into it with that same controlled rhythm, tall body moving above you, sweats still around his thighs, hoodie still on. the night felt long and private, just the two of you in the quiet room, his tired body finally unwinding through you.
anton’s hips kept rolling forward in that steady rhythm, cock sliding deeper into your mouth with every thrust. his sweats were still bunched around his thick thighs, the fabric brushing your cheek each time he moved. you were on your knees on the wooden floor, hands gripping his legs through the material, jaw aching a little from how thick he was but you kept going, tongue working him as best you could. his breathing had gotten heavier, chest rising fast under the black hoodie, one hand tangled in your hair while the other pressed flat against the wall for balance.
“fuck… y/n, i’m—shit, i’m close,” he whispered, voice cracking. he was trying so hard to stay quiet, but the sounds kept slipping out anyway. low, broken grunts and shaky breaths that he couldn’t hold back. his members were just down the hall—probably sleeping, but the dorm walls were thin. every time he pushed into your throat and you swallowed around him, a helpless little “ah—fuck” escaped through gritted teeth. he bit his lip hard, eyes squeezed shut for a second, but it didn’t stop the quiet moans.
you looked up at him, eyes watery, and hummed around his cock, sucking harder. that did it. his thighs tensed under your hands, muscles jumping. “oh god… yeah, just like that—don’t stop, please,” he breathed, voice getting higher, more desperate. he was vocal, couldn’t help it, the words tumbling out in that tired, needy tone. “your mouth feels so fucking good… i’m gonna—fuck, i’m coming—”
his hips stuttered, pushing deep one last time as he came hard down your throat. hot spurts filled your mouth, thick and salty, and he let out a choked groan that he tried to muffle by pressing his face into his own arm. “ahh—shit, shit, fuck…” the words were muffled but still loud enough that he winced right after, listening for any movement outside. his body shook a little, tall frame leaning heavier against the wall while he kept coming, pulse after pulse. you swallowed as much as you could, some of it slipping from the corner of your lips, but you stayed on him until he was done, sucking gently through the aftershocks.
he was breathing hard, chest heaving, when he finally pulled out slowly. his cock was still half-hard, shiny with spit and come, twitching when the cool air hit it. “holy fuck… sorry, i tried to be quiet,” he whispered, voice hoarse. a small, tired laugh escaped him as he looked down at you, thumb wiping the mess from your chin. “you okay? that was a lot.”
you nodded, swallowing the last of it, voice a little raspy. “yeah… you came so much. felt like you really needed that.”
“i did,” he admitted, still catching his breath. he didn’t let you stay on the floor long. his hands slid under your arms, big palms warm as he guided you up to your feet. at 184cm he towered over you even more now, pulling you close until your back hit the wall beside his desk. the room was small, so the move only took a couple steps. he pressed against you, hoodie still on, sweats pushed down just enough, his body heat radiating through the fabric.
“turn around,” he murmured against your ear, voice low and rough from coming. you did, palms flat on the wall. he tugged your bottoms down quickly, not bothering with anything else, just enough to get access. his hand reached between your legs, fingers sliding through how wet you already were from sucking him. “fuck, you’re soaked… all that just from blowing me?” he sounded half-amused, half-turned on again.
he lined himself up and pushed in slow at first, thick head stretching you open. you gasped, forehead pressing to the cool wall. “anton… big—fuck.” the words came out shaky. he groaned quietly as he sank deeper, hips flush against your ass once he bottomed out. “so tight… always so good for me,” he whispered, starting to move. his thrusts were deep and steady, the kind that made your knees weak. the wall creaked faintly with each push, but he didn’t care anymore, too lost in it.
you came first, faster than you expected. the angle was perfect, his cock hitting that spot inside you over and over while his hand reached around to rub your clit. your legs shook, a broken moan leaving your lips before you could stop it. “i’m—i’m coming, oh god—” your voice cracked, body clenching hard around him. words stopped making sense after that. everything blurred into soft, helpless sounds—whines and gasps that you couldn’t hold back.
anton didn’t let up. he kept fucking you through it, hips snapping harder now, one hand fisting your hair and pulling your head back gently but firmly so your back arched. “that’s it… come on my cock like a good girl,” he breathed right against your ear, voice dark and low. the praise and degradation mixed together in that real, breathless way. “look at you, can’t even speak anymore, huh? all dumb and fucked out just from my dick. so fucking pretty when you’re like this.”
he tugged your hair a little more, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you right there, head tilted back so he could see your face from the side. “yeah? nothing to say now? just taking it like you were made for it.” his thrusts stayed deep, grinding against you every time he bottomed out. “my dumb little slut… so wet, creaming all over me. you love when i use you after practice, don’t you?” the words were filthy but spoken softly, mixed with softer ones right after. “but you’re so good for me… always letting me have you when i need it. fuck, i love this pussy.”
you couldn’t form real sentences anymore. just broken whimpers and moans, forehead sliding against the wall as he fucked you harder. your brain felt hazy, every thrust pushing you further into that floaty, dumb feeling where only pleasure existed. anton kept talking, voice husky and relentless, switching between praise and degradation without missing a beat. “can’t talk? that’s okay, baby. just make those pretty sounds for me. let me hear how stupid i’m making you.”
his free hand gripped your hip, fingers digging in as he drove into you, tall body curved over yours. sweat was beading on his skin again, hoodie sticking to his back. he was vocal the whole time—groans, curses, whispered filth right into your ear. “fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight… gonna make me come again if you keep doing that.” every pull on your hair sent sparks down your spine, keeping you arched and helpless against the wall while he used you exactly how he needed after that long, exhausting day.
the dorm stayed quiet outside, but inside his room the sounds were unmistakable—skin against skin, your muffled moans, his low grunts and dirty words. he didn’t stop, hips rolling deep and steady, dragging it out because he wasn’t ready to be done with you yet. his cock throbbed inside you, thick and relentless, pushing you toward another edge even as your first orgasm still pulsed through your body.
you were completely gone, mind blank except for the feeling of him filling you, his voice in your ear, his hand in your hair. anton leaned in closer, lips brushing your neck as he whispered, “good girl… my perfect dumb girl. take it all for me.”
warnings — fingering, vaginal penetration, kitchen sex, table sex, soft dom renjun, mild jealousy, light possessiveness, consensual power play, slight edging, explicit sexual content, established relationship, post-idol au, domestic intimacy, realistic couple dynamics, aftercare, adult content 18+
wc — 1.6k
note: credits to the anon user who requested this last year, i accidentally deleted your request. im soo sorryy T.T
the rice cooker hummed softly in the background while renjun stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, chopping vegetables with that steady rhythm he always had when he cooked. he was 26 now, still carrying that quiet confidence from years of figuring life out away from the spotlight—no schedules, no cameras, just normal days like this one. you sat at the small dining table a few steps away, phone pressed to your ear, chatting with an old friend from back home.
nothing serious. just catching up, laughing at some dumb story about a failed blind date your friend had gone on last weekend. your giggles came easy, light and unbothered, the kind that filled the room without trying too hard. renjun rarely got jealous. he trusted you, trusted the steady thing you two had built over the past year of dating like regular people—coffee runs, late-night walks, him teaching you simple mandarin phrases while you helped him practice korean recipes. he wasn’t the type to make scenes or overthink small stuff.
but tonight something shifted.
he glanced over his shoulder, knife pausing mid-chop as another soft laugh left your lips. his brows raised just a fraction, dark eyes narrowing slightly in that calm, observant way of his. not angry. just... curious. a little pointed. he set the knife down, wiped his hands on the dish towel, and turned fully toward you. the apartment smelled like garlic and sesame oil, warm and familiar.
“who’s that?” he asked, voice even, almost casual. no edge, just straightforward like he was asking about the weather.
you pulled the phone away for a second, covering the mic with your palm, still smiling. “just ji-eun. she’s telling me about this guy who showed up to dinner in pajamas. it’s hilarious.” you let out another small laugh, waving it off like it was nothing, and went back to the call. “sorry, go on—”
renjun didn’t push. he turned back to the stove, stirring the pan with a wooden spoon, but the air between you felt a touch heavier now. not dramatic. just there. he tasted the sauce, adjusted the heat, moved with the same quiet efficiency. five minutes passed. your conversation wrapped up naturally, goodbyes exchanged, phone set face-down on the table.
you stood up, stretching, ready to help set the table. “smells good. need me to grab plates?”
he didn’t answer right away. instead he lowered the flame, turned to face you again. that same raised-brow look lingered, softer now but still present. “you were giggling a lot,” he said simply, tone calm, almost conversational. his mandarin accent curled lightly around the korean words, the way it always did when he was relaxed. “sounded fun.”
you laughed it off again, stepping closer to loop your arms around his waist from behind as he faced the counter. “it was. nothing serious. you know how she gets with her stories.” your chin rested against his shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne mixed with dinner. “jealous?” you teased lightly, expecting the usual brush-off. renjun wasn’t possessive like that.
he let out a short breath, almost a chuckle, but didn’t deny it outright. his hand covered yours on his stomach for a moment, warm and steady. then he turned in your hold, facing you properly. at 171cm he wasn’t towering, but the way he looked at you now—close, direct—made the space feel smaller. “not usually,” he admitted, voice low and matter-of-fact. “but hearing you laugh like that while i’m right here... hm.”
you grinned, about to make another light comment, but he leaned in and kissed you once, slow and intentional. nothing rushed. his lips tasted faintly of the sauce he’d been tasting earlier. when he pulled back, his eyes held yours. “let’s see if you can laugh it off in a bit.”
the words landed soft, but with enough weight that your stomach flipped. dinner was almost ready, but renjun had other ideas now. he turned the stove off completely, then guided you backward with gentle hands on your hips until your lower back met the edge of the table. no big production. just the two of you in the quiet apartment, the city hum faint outside the window.
“renjun—” you started, half-laughing still, but he shook his head once, that calm expression never breaking.
“sit,” he said, simple as that.
you did, hopping up onto the table. he stepped between your knees, hands sliding up your thighs over your lounge shorts, thumbs brushing the hem. his touch was unhurried, familiar. he kissed you again, deeper this time, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck. when he broke it, his forehead rested against yours for a second. “you’re mine to make laugh like that,” he murmured, almost to himself, before his fingers dipped under the fabric of your shorts and underwear in one smooth motion.
no rush. he worked you open slowly, two fingers pressing in with that precise care he always had—watching your face the whole time, reading every small reaction. your breath hitched. the giggles from earlier died in your throat, replaced by softer sounds you couldn’t quite control. his other hand stayed on your thigh, holding you steady.
“still laughing?” he asked quietly, voice steady even as his fingers curled just right, thumb circling where you needed it. the kitchen light cast warm shadows across his features, highlighting the small dimple that appeared when his mouth curved slightly. he wasn’t smirking. just focused, present.
you shook your head, biting your lip, hips shifting involuntarily. the table creaked faintly under you. renjun kept the pace even, adding a third finger when you were ready, stretching you with the same patient rhythm he used when cooking or practicing dance moves alone in the living room. your head tipped back, a low moan slipping out instead of any laugh.
“good,” he said, almost approving. he leaned in to kiss along your jaw, then your neck, nipping lightly at the spot he knew made your breath stutter. his free hand slipped under your shirt, palm warm against your skin, thumb brushing over your chest in lazy strokes. everything felt grounded—his body heat, the faint sizzle of residual oil in the pan, your own pulse in your ears. no over-the-top dirty talk. just him being renjun: soft in the way he touched, firm in the way he didn’t let up.
minutes stretched. your legs trembled around his waist. he brought you right to the edge with his fingers alone, then eased back, drawing a frustrated sound from you. “renjun, please—”
“not yet,” he replied calmly, withdrawing his hand only to tug your shorts and underwear down your legs in one go. he freed himself from his own sweats, rolling on a condom from the drawer nearby like it was the most normal thing in the world. then he was back between your thighs, pushing in slow and deep, one hand gripping your hip to keep you from sliding on the table.
the stretch burned nicely. you clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his shirt. he moved with controlled thrusts, deep and steady, eyes half-lidded as he watched you fall apart. every time you tried to hide your face or bite back a sound, he’d tilt your chin back up gently. “let me hear,” he said, voice low but not demanding—just honest.
you couldn’t laugh it off anymore. your mind went hazy, thoughts scattering as he fucked you right there on the kitchen table, dinner forgotten on the stove. the angle hit perfectly each time, his hips rolling in that precise way that came from years of dance training. sweat beaded on his forehead, but his breathing stayed measured, only breaking when he groaned softly against your ear.
“you feel so good,” he whispered, simple and real, no flowery lines. his hand slipped between you again, fingers finding your clit while he kept thrusting. the dual sensation pushed you over fast—body tensing, a broken moan tearing from your throat as you came hard around him.
renjun followed not long after, burying himself deep with a quiet curse in mandarin, forehead pressed to your shoulder. for a minute you both just breathed, his arms wrapping around you to keep you close. the apartment smelled like half-cooked food and sex now.
he pulled out carefully, disposed of the condom, then helped you down from the table on shaky legs. a small, satisfied smile tugged at his lips as he brushed hair from your face. “dinner’s probably cold,” he said, voice back to its usual calm. “we can reheat.”
you leaned into him, still catching your breath, no giggles left—just warm exhaustion and the quiet certainty that renjun, even when a flicker of jealousy showed, handled it like everything else: straightforward, without turning it into something bigger than it was. he kissed your temple once, then went back to the stove like nothing had happened, though the way his hand lingered on your lower back said otherwise.
later, eating reheated food at the table you’d just been on, conversation flowed easy again. he asked about your friend’s story after all, listening with that soft focus of his. jealousy didn’t stick with him. but tonight it had sparked something warmer, closer. and you both knew it without needing to say much more.
warnings. — oral (f rec), petnames, fingering, hard fucking, multiple sex scenes, jaehyun is hungry af, edging, praising kink, dumbification, multiple sex positions, wife and husband, married, loud sex, y/n has a full back tattoo, they're so inlovee, backshots, size difference / size kink, manhandling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, breeding kink (light or heavy), marking.
wc. — 2.3k
synopsis. — jaehyun comes home from military leave exhausted but desperate for his wife (reader) the second he walks in he devours you—deep kisses, relentless oral, then rough backshots on the couch for half an hour straight. needy, vocal, marking you up while praising you softly. high sex drive means the night is nowhere near over. your body and full tattooed back take everything he gives.
the door clicked open at 11:47 pm. jaehyun stepped inside still in his military fatigues, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, boots heavy on the wooden floor. twenty-eight years old, broad shoulders filling the frame, taller than the doorway made sense for. two weeks into his temporary discharge, thirty days total—and this was the first night he made it home before midnight. the apartment smelled like the jasmine rice you cooked earlier and the faint vanilla of your lotion.
you were on the couch in an oversized black t-shirt and nothing else, legs tucked under, scrolling on your phone, back decorated with that full snake graphic tattoo that curled from your shoulder blades down to the dip above your ass. you looked up when the door shut and your whole face changed—eyes softening, lips parting like you’d been waiting for this exact second.
he dropped the bag. didn’t even kick his boots off properly.
“hey,” he said, voice low, tired, but already thickening with something else.
you stood up fast.
he crossed the room in three strides, caught you by the waist, and lifted you clean off the floor. the size difference hit immediately—your feet dangling, his biceps flexing under the fabric as he pulled you against his chest.
he was bulkier now, months of training carved into lean muscle, abs tight, happy trail disappearing under his belt. you fit against him like you were made to disappear there.
“missed you so fucking much,” he muttered against your mouth before he kissed you.
it wasn’t soft. he swallowed you whole—tongue sliding in deep, wet, controlling the angle so your head tilted back. you whimpered into it, eyes fluttering shut, mouth going slack almost instantly because he didn’t let you lead.
he did everything: sucked on your tongue, licked the roof of your mouth, bit your lower lip just hard enough to make you gasp. one big hand cupped the back of your head, the other gripping your ass, squeezing, kneading like he needed to remind himself you were real.
your back hit the couch first. he followed right after, caging you in, knees on either side of your hips. you were already breathing hard, cheeks flushed. he pulled your t-shirt up and off in one motion, mouth latching onto your neck, then lower—collarbone, the soft swell of your breast, sucking marks that would bruise tomorrow. his dimples flashed when he looked up at you for half a second, that boyish smile cutting through the hunger.
“jaehyun—” you started, but he was already moving down, spreading your legs with his shoulders.
he ate you like a man starved. tongue flat and slow at first, then focused, relentless. every lick, every suck had your hips twitching. he groaned against you, the vibration making you whine louder. one arm hooked under your thigh, holding you open while the other hand pressed down on your lower stomach, keeping you still. you came the first time fast—back arching, small hands fisting his short hair, a broken “fuck” slipping out.
he didn’t stop.
second time he added two fingers, curling them just right, mouth still working your clit. you were shaking, overwhelmed, eyes glassy. he looked up at you, lips shiny, dimples deep. “that’s it, baby. let me have it.”
by the third you were pushing at his shoulders, too sensitive, but he just kissed your inner thigh and murmured, “one more for me, my wife. missed this pussy so bad.”
when he finally pulled back, his cock was straining against his pants—thick, heavy, already leaking. he stood just long enough to shove his fatigues down, shirt ripped off over his head. abs flexing, biceps bulging, that happy trail leading down to where he was rock hard. y/n’s eyes widened a little every time, like you still couldn’t believe how big he was.
he flipped you over without warning, pulling your hips up so you were on all fours on the couch, back arched, that snake tattoo on full display. he ran his palm down your spine, thumb tracing the inked bones and scales. “love this fucking tattoo,” he said, voice rough. “love looking at it while i fuck you.”
he pushed in slow at first—letting you feel every inch, stretching you open. you were so tight, so wet from his mouth, but still gasping at the fullness. your waist in his big hands looked tiny. he bottomed out and stayed there a second, forehead pressed to your shoulder blade, breathing hard.
“so good,” he whispered. “my beautiful wife. so fucking perfect for me.”
then he started moving.
rough. desperate. months of pent-up need in every thrust. skin slapping, couch creaking under you both. he gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks, one hand sliding up to press between your shoulder blades, pushing your chest down while he fucked you deeper. backshots for what felt like forever—half an hour at least, pace never letting up. he’d slow down when you got close, edging you until you were crying into the cushion, then slam back in harder.
“jaehyun—please—” you whimpered, voice muffled.
“i know, baby. i got you.” his voice stayed soft even when his hips were brutal. “cum for me again. wanna feel you squeezing me.”
you did—over and over. he talked you through every one: low praises, “good girl,” “that’s my wife,” “missed you so much, missed being inside you.” his hands never stopped moving—groping your ass, squeezing your waist, reaching around to rub your clit when he wanted you to fall apart faster.
he pulled you up once, back against his chest, still buried deep, one arm banded across your stomach while the other hand tilted your head for another messy kiss. tongue fucking your mouth while he ground up into you. you went boneless, mouth hanging open, little gasps and whines the only sounds you could make while he did all the work.
by the time he finally let himself go, you were both drenched in sweat. he came with a deep groan, hips stuttering, filling you until it leaked down your thighs. even then he didn’t pull out right away—just held you close, kissing the back of your neck, dimples pressing into your skin as he smiled against you.
“we’re not done,” he murmured, voice hoarse but already hungry again. “got a whole month, baby. and i’m not letting you leave this apartment much.”
you laughed weakly, still trembling, pussy aching in the best way. “rip me then.”
he flipped you onto your back, settled between your legs again, mouth already descending.
“that’s the plan.”
both of you barely made it to the bedroom.
jaehyun had you in his arms the second he pulled out from the couch, your legs wrapped around his waist like muscle memory. cum was still leaking down your thighs, but he didn’t care. he carried you down the short hallway, mouth never leaving yours—tongue slow and deep, licking into you like he was trying to taste every whimper you made. your arms were loose around his neck, brain already hazy, body buzzing from the first round.
he kicked the bedroom door open with his foot and dropped you onto the bed face down. the sheets were cool against your overheated skin. you didn’t even have time to push up on your elbows before he was on you—big body covering yours completely, one knee shoving your legs together so they stayed straight and tight. he mounted you like that, chest pressed to your back, weight pinning you down just enough that you couldn’t really move. the snake tattoo on your spine flexed under his palm as he ran his hand down your back.
“stay like this, baby,” he murmured against your ear, voice low and rough. his cock, still hard and slick from before, nudged between your thighs. “gonna fuck you just like this.”
he pushed in slow, forcing your legs to stay closed so the fit was ridiculously tight. the squelch was loud—wet, obscene, every inch sliding through the mess he’d already left inside you. you moaned into the pillow, the sound muffled and broken. you were already so full, so sensitive, but the way he stretched you with your thighs pressed together made everything feel sharper.
jaehyun groaned deep in his chest, forehead dropping to the back of your neck. “fuck… so tight. hear that? that’s my wife’s pretty pussy.”
he started moving—long, heavy strokes that made the bed creak. every thrust pushed you deeper into the mattress, your small frame swallowed under his taller, bulkier one. the happy trail on his stomach brushed against your lower back with every roll of his hips. his biceps flexed on either side of your head as he braced himself, one hand sliding under you to grip your waist—21 centimeters of soft skin and bone that fit perfectly in his palm.
you sobbed.
not from pain—from being completely overwhelmed. the kind of brain-clouded sob that came when you were already fucked dumb and he just kept going. your moans turned wet and shaky, face flat against the pillow, mouth open, drool starting to soak the fabric. every time he bottomed out the wet slap of skin and the squelchy sound of your pussy taking him made you cry out louder.
“jae—hyun… ah—fuck—”
poor neighbors. the walls weren’t that thick and it was past midnight, but he didn’t slow down. if anything your broken little sobs fueled him more. he loved when you got like this—completely lost, eyes unfocused, body limp except for the way your walls fluttered around him.
he leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “that’s it, my beautiful wife. let it out. sound so good when you cry for me.”
always a kisser. he turned your head to the side with two fingers under your chin and kissed you like he was starving for it. tongue sliding in deep, playing with yours, sucking on it, licking the roof of your mouth while he kept fucking you in that tight, closed-leg position. you couldn’t even kiss back properly anymore—your mouth just stayed open, letting him do whatever he wanted. soft whines and gasps vibrated against his tongue every time he thrust hard.
he pulled back only to kiss the corner of your lips, your cheek, the shell of your ear, then dove back in again. one hand stayed on your waist, the other reached under to rub slow circles on your clit. the dual sensation made you sob louder, legs trying to twitch but trapped between his.
“so fucking wet,” he whispered against your mouth, voice soft even as his hips snapped harder. “missed this. missed filling you up every day. my wife… my pretty little wife taking me so well.”
he edged you twice like that—slowing down right when you were about to tip over, grinding deep instead of thrusting, kissing you through the frustrated whimpers. then he’d pick the pace back up, rougher, deeper, until the squelching noises got louder and your sobs turned into desperate, hiccuping moans.
third time he didn’t stop.
you came hard, body shaking under him, pussy clenching so tight around his cock that he hissed. your face stayed smashed into the pillow, mouth open in a silent cry for a second before the sound broke free—high and wrecked. he fucked you through it, never pulling out, just slow deep rolls of his hips while you pulsed around him.
“good girl,” he praised, lips brushing your temple. “cum on my cock again, baby. wanna feel it.”
he didn’t let you come down. flipped you just enough to slide one arm under your chest, pulling your upper body slightly off the bed so he could kiss you better while still fucking you from behind. tongue in your mouth, lazy and filthy, matching the rhythm of his hips. you were completely brainless now—eyes half-lidded, tears clinging to your lashes, little whimpers every time he hit that spot inside you.
he kept going. minutes blurred. the wet sounds of your pussy, the slap of his hips against your ass, your muffled sobs and moans filling the room. his hand never left your clit, drawing another orgasm out of you until you were shaking so hard he had to hold you tighter.
“jaehyun… can’t—too much—”
“you can,” he said gently, kissing the side of your neck, then your jaw, then claiming your mouth again. “one more for me. my beautiful wife. let me have it.”
when he finally let himself finish, it was with a low groan against your lips, hips stuttering as he pumped you full again. he stayed buried deep, chest heaving against your back, arms wrapped around your small frame like he never wanted to let go. sweat slicked your skin. the snake tattoo on your back glistened under the low lamp light.
he kissed you again—slow, deep, tongue gently playing with yours even as you both tried to catch your breath. you were limp, fucked out, barely able to respond, but he still licked into your mouth like he couldn’t get enough.
“love you,” he whispered, voice hoarse but soft. dimples pressing into your shoulder as he smiled against your skin. “missed my wife so fucking much.”
he didn’t pull out yet. just held you there, cock still twitching inside you, kissing the back of your neck, your tattooed spine, murmuring praises while your body trembled with aftershocks.
g — lovers to enemies, to lovers again (kinda). bit of angst, slice of life, SMUT (18+), both are college students, both 21+
t — y/n's a diva, kinda red flag jae, manipulative jaehyun, manhater f!reader, womanizer!jae (sorry y'all), lots of bickering / arguments. DOWN BAD JAEHYUN AT THE END. smut, oral, fingering, p in v, praise, petnames, word plays, degradation, (missionary + doggy), multiple orgasms. jaehyun's willing to change for y/n :(
wc — 10k (got carried away sry)
part 2
club eclipse, seoul — 11:47 pm
you spotted him before he spotted you. hard not to. same stupid jawline, same stupid shoulders, same stupid way of leaning against a booth like he owned the place. doyoung was next to him, looking bored. taeyong too. and there, right in the middle, jeong jaehyun with a drink in his hand and that look on his face like he was already deciding which girl he was taking home tonight.
you rolled your eyes so hard you almost missed your mouth with your drink.
"you're staring," mina said beside you.
"i'm not staring. i'm observing. there's a difference."
"you've been observing the same corner for thirty seconds."
you turned back to the bar. "he's not worth thirty seconds."
but then doyoung looked up. looked at you. looked at jaehyun. looked back at you. and you watched the exact moment he decided to be annoying about it.
jaehyun's head turned.
and then he was looking at you.
you didn't smile. didn't wave. didn't do anything except hold his gaze for half a second longer than necessary before turning back to mina like he was a stranger.
"who is that?" mina asked.
"no one."
"that was not no one energy."
you took a long sip. "ancient history. expired. do not recommend."
but your pulse was being a traitor, and you hated that. two years. two years since you got on that plane with a broken heart and a carry-on and told yourself you weren't going to cry about him anymore. you'd kept that promise. mostly. okay, not the first three months. but after that? solid.
so why were your palms doing that stupid sweaty thing?
you didn't look at him again. you were better than that. you talked to mina, ordered another drink, laughed at something dumb she said. you were having fun. genuinely. you didn't need him to know that, but also, you kind of wanted him to know that. that you were fine. better than fine. thriving, even.
you were mid-laugh, head thrown back, when you felt it.
someone standing too close to your left.
you turned.
jaehyun.
up close, he looked the same. same dark eyes. same mouth that always did that half-smirk thing. same everything, except maybe a little more tired around the edges. or maybe that was just you projecting.
"hey," he said.
"hey," you said back. flat. unimpressed.
long pause. he was waiting for you to say something else. you didn't.
"you look—"
"if you say 'good,' i'm walking away."
he blinked. then—god help you—he smiled. the full one. the one with the dimples. the one that used to make you forgive him for literally anything.
you hated that you still noticed.
"i was going to say 'you look like you're having fun,'" he said.
"wow. groundbreaking observation. really using that communications degree."
his smile didn't drop. if anything, it got wider. "still mean."
"still annoying."
"didn't say i didn't like it."
you stared at him. he stared back, entirely too comfortable, entirely too pleased with himself. like this was a game. like you were just another girl at a bar he was going to charm.
"what do you want, jaehyun?"
he shrugged. the kind of shrug that said nothing and everything. "saw you. thought i'd say hi."
"you said hi. bye."
you turned back to the bar. he didn't leave.
"paris was good?" he asked.
"paris was great."
"learn french?"
"enough to tell people to leave me alone."
he laughed. actually laughed. low and quiet, and you felt it in your chest before you could stop yourself.
"you're still bitter," he said. not a question.
"i'm not bitter. i'm realistic. there's a difference."
"there is?"
"bitter would mean i still care." you looked at him then, dead in the eyes. "i don't."
his expression flickered. just for a second. then it was gone, replaced by that easy, infuriating smile again.
"okay," he said.
"okay."
"so if i asked you to catch up sometime—"
"i'd say no."
"you haven't even heard the offer."
"don't need to."
he tilted his head, studying you. like you were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. you hated being studied.
"you're different," he said finally.
"yeah, jaehyun. that's what happens when you leave. people change. shocking, i know."
he didn't have a comeback for that. for once.
the silence stretched. the bass thumped. someone behind you laughed too loud. and jaehyun just stood there, looking at you like he was trying to find the version of you he used to know in the version standing in front of him.
he wasn't going to find her.
"well," you said, picking up your drink. "this has been a terrible trip down memory lane. thanks for that."
"y/n."
you stopped. didn't turn around.
"i'm glad you're back," he said. quiet. almost not cocky for once.
you almost believed him.
then you remembered senior year. the car. the plane. the texts he never sent. the calls he never answered. the instagram stories of him at parties with girls whose names you didn't want to know.
you turned back. smiled at him. the fakest smile you had.
"cool," you said. "anyway, my friend's waiting. bye, jaehyun."
you walked away. didn't look back.
but you felt his eyes on you the whole way.
and when you got to the bathroom and locked yourself in a stall, your hands were shaking.
not because you still loved him.
because you were afraid you might.
you leaned against the bathroom sink and stared at your own reflection like it had personally offended you.
your hands were still shaking. you hated that. you hated him. you hated the way your chest had gone tight the second he smiled, the way your stomach did that stupid flip thing that it absolutely did not have permission to do anymore.
"you're being insane," you whispered to yourself.
because here's the thing. you knew better. you knew exactly who jeong jaehyun was. you'd watched it happen in real time—back in high school, when he was sweet and attentive and made you feel like the only girl in the world. and then slowly, piece by piece, he got comfortable. stopped trying. started showing up late, canceling plans, forgetting things that mattered to you.
by senior year, you were carrying the whole relationship on your back while he coasted.
and the worst part? he didn't even realize it. when you told him you were leaving, he looked genuinely confused. like you'd just announced you were moving to mars for no reason.
"for your dream?" he'd said, like it was a betrayal.
"yes, jaehyun. for my dream. the one you never asked about."
he didn't have an answer for that.
and now he was here, two years later, smiling at you like nothing happened. like he didn't spend those two years working his way through half the female population of this campus. like you hadn't cried over him in a parisian studio apartment at 2am, eating cheap ramen and wondering if you'd made a mistake.
you hadn't made a mistake. you knew that.
but knowing and feeling were two different things.
you splashed water on your face. fixed your lipstick. took a breath.
"focus," you told yourself. "friends. college. not him."
mina was waiting for you outside the bathroom. she raised an eyebrow.
"you okay?"
"fine. let's go dance."
"did that guy say something—"
"i said let's go dance."
she dropped it. smart girl.
you danced for the next hour. you laughed. you let yourself exist in the music and the bass and the press of bodies that weren't his. you didn't look at the booth in the corner. not once.
okay, twice. but you didn't count the second time.
——
meanwhile, across the club, jaehyun was falling apart in slow motion.
he'd gone back to the booth after you walked away. sat down. didn't say anything. doyoung and taeyong exchanged a look that said everything.
"well?" taeyong asked.
"well what?"
"how'd it go?"
jaehyun picked up his drink. stared at it. put it back down. "she hates me."
doyoung snorted. "shocking. truly. who could have predicted."
"shut up."
"no, seriously. what did you expect? a hug? 'oh jaehyun, i've missed you so much, let's pretend the last two years didn't happen'?"
jaehyun didn't answer. because yeah. part of him had expected that. not the hug part, but… something. something that wasn't the way you looked at him like he was a stranger. or worse—like he was an inconvenience.
"she looked good," he said quietly.
doyoung sighed. "jaehyun."
"what? she did."
"she always looked good. that's not the point."
the point was that you looked happy. genuinely happy. and he was the reason you left, and he was the reason you weren't happy with him, and seeing you thrive without him felt like swallowing glass.
he didn't say that out loud. obviously.
instead, he scanned the crowd. found you immediately—because of course he did, his eyes had been doing that all night without permission. you were dancing with your friend, arms up, eyes closed, smiling.
he watched you for a full thirty seconds.
"you're doing it again," taeyong said.
"doing what?"
"the thing where you stare at her like a lost puppy."
"i'm not—" jaehyun stopped. ran a hand through his hair. "whatever. let's go. i'm done."
"done with the club or done with life?" doyoung asked.
"both. neither. i don't know."
they left at 1am. jaehyun drove. doyoung sat shotgun. taeyong passed out in the back.
><
II. various clubs, seoul — one week later
you never used to be a club person.
back in high school, you were the type who preferred movie nights and cafés and long walks that turned into deep conversations at 2am. jaehyun used to joke that you had the soul of a grandmother. you'd punch his arm, he'd grab your hand, and that was that.
so honestly? the fact that you'd been to four different clubs in the past seven days was embarrassing.
but here's the thing. mina was going through a breakup. and you were a good friend. and if being a good friend meant putting on a dress and standing in sticky-floored rooms with overpriced drinks and bad decisions, then fine. you'd suffer.
it had nothing to do with the fact that jaehyun might be there.
nothing.
except.
night one — wednesday. some place in hongdae with purple lights and a dj who played the same beat for forty-five minutes. you were mid-conversation with mina when you felt it. that prickling on the back of your neck. you turned.
jaehyun was at the bar. talking to some girl. his hand on her lower back. her head tilted back, laughing at something he said.
you looked away. finished your drink. ordered another.
"you okay?" mina asked.
"fine. just tired."
you left at 1am. didn't think about the way his eyes followed you to the door.
night two — friday. different club. louder. sweatier. you were dancing, actually having fun for once, when you saw him again. same pose. different girl. blonde this time. he was leaning in, saying something in her ear, and she was eating it up.
you rolled your eyes so hard a guy next to you asked if you were okay.
"men," you said.
he nodded like that explained everything.
you left at 12:30. told mina you had a headache.
night three — saturday. this was getting ridiculous. you almost didn't go. but mina was crying over her ex again, and you couldn't say no to that face, so you put on your shoes and went.
and there he was.
same corner. same pose. different girl. brunette this time. shorter. she was touching his chest, and he was smiling that stupid dimpled smile, and you felt something hot crawl up your throat.
not jealousy. absolutely not jealousy. annoyance. pure, clinical annoyance.
"that guy keeps showing up," mina said, following your gaze.
"what guy?"
"the one you're pretending not to look at."
"i'm not—"
"y/n. babe. i love you. but you've looked at him six times in the past ten minutes."
you shut your mouth.
"just talk to him," mina said.
"no."
"then stop staring."
"i'm not—" you stopped. took a breath. "let's just dance."
you danced. you didn't look at him again. you were very proud of yourself.
but when you went to the bathroom at 1:30am and checked your phone, there was a text from an unknown number.
unknown: you keep showing up
unknown: are you stalking me or something
you stared at the screen. your heart did something stupid.
you: who is this
unknown: you know who this is
you: don't have this number saved for a reason
unknown: ouch
unknown: seriously though. three nights in a row. starting to think you missed me
you: i missed having functioning brain cells before i saw your face
unknown: lol
unknown: there she is
you didn't respond. you turned off your phone. washed your hands. looked at yourself in the mirror.
"do not text him back," you said to your reflection.
you texted him back.
you: i'm here for my friend. not for you. don't flatter yourself
unknown: sure
unknown: sure sure
unknown: then why'd you leave early the first two nights
you: because the music was bad
unknown: music was fine
unknown: you left right after you saw me with that girl
your stomach dropped.
you: i didn't notice any girl
unknown: liar
unknown: you looked right at us. twice.
you hated him. you hated him so much.
you: maybe i was judging your taste. she looked boring
unknown: she was boring
unknown: they're all boring
you stared at that message for a long time.
you: not my problem
unknown: never said it was
unknown: just saying
you didn't answer. you turned your phone off again. you stayed in the bathroom for five more minutes, until your heart stopped racing.
when you came out, jaehyun was leaning against the wall across from the bathroom door.
alone.
"what are you doing," you said flatly.
"waiting."
"for what."
"you."
you crossed your arms. "we're not doing this."
"doing what?"
"this. whatever this is. you being weird. me being annoyed. go back to your girl."
"she left."
"of course she did."
he pushed off the wall. took a step closer. not close enough to be threatening, but close enough that you could smell his cologne. the same one he used in high school. that was annoying too.
"you've been at three clubs this week," he said. "you hate clubs."
"people change."
"not that much."
"maybe i'm having a phase."
"maybe you wanted to run into me."
you laughed. actually laughed, because the audacity was unreal. "jaehyun. baby. i would rather run into a wall."
his eyebrows went up. "baby?"
"slip of the tongue. don't get excited."
but he was smiling. that stupid smile. the dimples. the whole thing. and you hated that you noticed, and you hated that your chest felt tight, and you hated that deep down, underneath all the annoyance and the bitterness and the very valid grudge, you were scared.
not of him. of yourself.
because you knew. you knew that if you weren't careful, you'd fall for that smile again. and he didn't deserve that. he didn't deserve you.
so you stepped back. "go home, jaehyun."
"you first."
"i'm serious."
"so am i."
you looked at him. he looked at you. the bass thumped through the walls. someone stumbled out of the bathroom and pushed past you both.
"i'm not doing this," you said again. quieter this time.
"doing what?"
"letting you back in."
he didn't say anything for a moment. just looked at you with those dark eyes, and for once, the cocky mask slipped. just a little.
"what if i'm not trying to get back in?" he said. "what if i just want to talk?"
"we have nothing to talk about."
"we have two years to talk about."
"we have nothing," you repeated.
and then you walked away. again.
you didn't look back. again.
but your phone buzzed in your hand as you reached the exit.
unknown: same time tomorrow?
unknown: just kidding
unknown: unless
you shoved your phone in your bag and didn't respond.
you thought about him the whole way home.
><
III. weeks later
you hated him. you hated him a lot. not the casual kind of hate, not the "oh he's annoying" kind of hate that people throw around without meaning it. no, this was the deep, bone-tired, i-wish-i-could-forget-you-existed kind of hate that sat in your chest like a stone and made everything heavier. and the worst part—the absolute worst part—was how easily he could crawl up under your skin.
you hated that too. the way your body remembered him before your brain could stop it.
so when the rain started on thursday evening, you almost welcomed it. a distraction. something else to focus on besides the fact that you'd been thinking about him for four days straight, against your will, like some kind of sickness.
you were walking back from the pottery studio, a canvas bag slung over your shoulder with two plates wrapped in newspaper inside. the ones you'd been working on for weeks—the ones you'd finally glazed just right, a deep blue that reminded you of the ocean at night. you'd been so focused on getting them home safely that you didn't notice the sky turning gray until the first drop hit your nose. then the second. then the sky opened up like someone had tipped over a bucket.
you ran for the nearest cover—a bus shelter, except it wasn't a bus shelter, it was just a small metal shed attached to a closed-down shop, barely big enough for one person. you ducked inside, clutching your bag to your chest like it was a baby, and watched the rain come down in sheets.
thunder rolled somewhere in the distance. the wind picked up. you were trapped.
and then you saw the headlights.
a black car pulled over to the curb, about ten feet from where you were standing. the window rolled down. and of course. of course it was him.
jeong jaehyun leaned across the passenger seat, one hand on the steering wheel, rain dripping onto his arm through the open window. his hair was wet, pushed back from his forehead. he looked annoyingly good. he always looked annoyingly good.
"you need a ride?" he called out over the rain.
you stared at him. you didn't know if the heavens had sent him as a lifeline or if the devil was just that good at picking the perfect moment to provoke you. either way, you wanted to say no. every logical part of your brain was screaming at you to say no. but then you looked down at your bag, at the plates wrapped in newspaper, at the rain that was already starting to soak through the canvas despite your best efforts.
you were selfish when it came to your work. you always had been. and those plates were too good to sacrifice for the sake of your pride.
so you ran to the car.
you yanked open the passenger door, slid inside, and slammed it shut behind you. water dripped from your hair onto your shoulders. your shoes squelched against the floor mat. the car smelled like him—that same cologne, mixed with something clean, like laundry detergent and rain.
"buckle up," he said.
"don't tell me what to do."
he didn't smile. but his dimple flickered, just for a second, and that was somehow worse.
he pulled back onto the road. the windshield wipers swiped back and forth, back and forth, a steady rhythm that filled the silence. the rain was loud against the roof. you clutched your bag in your lap and stared straight ahead.
"where to?" he asked.
"hongdae station."
"that's where you're staying?"
"that's where i'm going."
he didn't push. just nodded and drove. the streets were mostly empty—everyone with sense was inside, avoiding the storm. but not you. never you.
for a few minutes, neither of you spoke. the only sounds were the rain and the wipers and the low hum of the engine. it was almost peaceful. almost. until he opened his mouth.
"so," he said.
"so what."
"so… how's paris?"
"gone."
"i meant—"
"i know what you meant. it's gone. i'm here now. that's the whole answer."
he glanced at you. just a quick look, his eyes flicking from the road to your face and back. "okay. tough crowd tonight."
"every night. i'm consistently hostile. it's called having standards."
"standards," he repeated, like he was tasting the word. "is that what you call it?"
"that's what i call not tolerating people who wasted two years of my life."
the words came out sharper than you intended. the car went quiet again. the rain got louder.
you watched the buildings pass by outside the window. convenience stores. coffee shops. a fried chicken place you used to go to with him after school, back when things were easy. you looked away from that one.
"i'm sorry," he said.
you turned your head so fast you almost got whiplash. "what?"
he kept his eyes on the road. his hands were at ten and two, which was weird because he used to drive with one hand, lazy and careless, like nothing mattered. now he was gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
"i said i'm sorry," he repeated. quieter this time. like he wasn't sure he wanted you to hear it.
but you heard it.
"for what," you said. not a question. a test.
"for…" he stopped. exhaled. his jaw tightened. "for everything. for being selfish. for not asking about your dreams. for letting you leave without—" he stopped again. shook his head. "never mind."
"no, finish that sentence."
"it's nothing."
"it's not nothing. you don't just say 'i'm sorry' and then take it back. that's not how it works."
he didn't answer. the rain kept falling. the wipers kept swiping. you were both silent, but it was a different kind of silent now. heavier. like there was something in the air between you, something unsaid, and neither of you knew how to break it.
you stared at his profile. the line of his jaw. the way his brow furrowed slightly when he was thinking. the stupid mole above his lip that you used to kiss, back when kissing him was the best part of your day.
you looked away.
"turn left here," you said.
he turned left. the streets got narrower. older. you were close now.
he pulled up to the curb outside your building. the rain hadn't let up—if anything, it was worse, hammering against the roof like it was trying to break through. you sat there for a moment, your hand on the door handle, your bag clutched to your chest.
"jaehyun," you said.
he looked at you.
you looked at him. really looked. not the quick glances you'd been stealing all week, not the annoyed glares you threw his way at clubs. a real look. at his eyes, dark and tired and something else you couldn't name. at the way his hair was still damp from the rain. at his hands on the steering wheel, knuckles white.
you wanted to say something. something honest. something that would hurt him the way he'd hurt you.
but you didn't.
"thanks for the ride," you said instead. flat. distant. the same tone you'd use with a stranger.
you got out of the car before he could respond. the rain hit you immediately, cold and hard, soaking through your shirt in seconds. you didn't care. you walked to your building, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.
you didn't look back.
but you heard his car sit there for a long time before he finally drove away.
and when you got upstairs and unwrapped your plates, both of them were fine. not a single crack. you wished something had broken. at least then you'd have something to fix.
><
life hadn't been treating you great lately. and that was putting it mildly. on top of that, you were getting irritated at everything. the sound of your roommate chewing cereal made you want to scream. the way the elevator in your building beeped too loudly made you clench your jaw. a stranger on the street bumped into you yesterday and you almost cried, not because it hurt but because you were so overstimulated and so done and so tired of pretending you were fine when you weren't.
and then there was your mother.
she'd been calling you every other day, sometimes twice a day, and every conversation circled back to the same topic: when were you going to settle down? when were you going to find a nice boy? when were you going to stop being so picky and just let someone take care of you?
"you're not getting any younger," she'd said last week, like you weren't barely twenty-two.
"i'm aware, eomma."
"jihoon's mother called me again. he's such a good boy. why don't you give him a real chance?"
you'd sighed so loudly you thought she might hear it through the phone. "i've been on three dates with him."
"three dates is nothing. that's not enough to know someone."
"it's enough to know i'm not interested."
but she didn't hear that part. she never heard that part.
so now you were at the mall, sitting across from jihoon at a cafe that was playing music too soft for the fluorescent lighting, watching him stir his iced americano for the fifth time. he was fine. that was the problem. he was perfectly fine. nice smile, decent job, good family. his mother had already decided you were the one, and jihoon, being the kind of man who let his mother make all his decisions for him, had apparently agreed.
he hadn't asked you, though. not really. he'd just shown up, like a package his mom had ordered online, expecting you to be grateful.
"my eomma said we should go to that new restaurant in gangnam," jihoon said, not looking up from his drink. "the one with the tasting menu. she said it's romantic."
"did she," you said flatly.
"yeah. she thinks we'd look good together."
"does she."
he finally looked up. smiled. it was a nice smile, technically. straight teeth, symmetrical, the kind of smile that probably made his mother very proud. but there was nothing behind it. no heat, no curiosity, no sign that he actually wanted to know who you were as a person. you were just a box he was trying to check off on his life's to-do list.
"you seem tired," he said.
"i am tired."
"you should sleep more."
"wow. groundbreaking advice. thank you."
he didn't catch the sarcasm. or maybe he did and just didn't care. either way, he nodded like he'd said something profound and went back to stirring his drink.
you looked around the cafe. couples on dates, friends laughing, a girl your age reading a book by herself and looking completely at peace. you envied that girl. you envied anyone who wasn't sitting here, pretending to be interested in a man whose personality had been curated by his mother.
honestly, at this point, you'd rather impress his mom than impress him. at least she had opinions. at least she seemed to want something. jihoon just floated through life like a leaf on a river, letting the current take him wherever, never once asking if he wanted to go there.
you checked your phone under the table.
eight messages from jaehyun.
you hadn't given him your number. he'd gotten it from someone—doyoung probably, or maybe taeyong, or maybe he'd just asked around until someone caved. that was the thing about jaehyun. when he wanted something, he didn't stop until he got it. annoying, but consistent.
the messages started from two days ago.
jaehyun: heard you're seeing someone
jaehyun: jihoon?
jaehyun: the guy whose mom picks out his sweaters?
jaehyun: that's who you're going for now?
you hadn't responded.
jaehyun: okay that was rude sorry
jaehyun: not sorry about the sweater thing though. you've seen his sweaters.
jaehyun: y/n
jaehyun: seriously?
jaehyun: you're really not gonna answer me
the last one was from this morning, sent at 7:32 am.
jaehyun: i'm not gonna stop. you know that.
you locked your phone. put it face-down on the table. jihoon was talking about his mother's new car, something about the color and the leather seats and how she'd let him borrow it on weekends if he asked nicely. you nodded along, making sounds of acknowledgment that meant nothing, while your brain wandered somewhere else entirely.
you wanted an escape. that was the honest truth. you wanted someone to pull you out of this cafe, out of this conversation, out of this life that felt increasingly like a cage you'd built for yourself out of obligation and guilt and the crushing weight of everyone else's expectations.
you didn't know how he did it.
but when you walked out of the mall two hours later, jihoon having kissed your cheek goodbye like you were a grandmother he was being polite to, jaehyun was there.
his black car was parked right out front, double-parked like he didn't care about rules or tickets or anything except being exactly where he wanted to be. he was leaning against the driver's side door, arms crossed, wearing a black hoodie and jeans that looked expensive but worn in, like he'd had them for years and refused to let them go.
he looked up when you walked out. pushed off the car. stood there in the gray afternoon light, and you hated how your stomach flipped. you hated it so much.
"what are you doing here," you said. not a question. an accusation.
"picking you up."
"i didn't ask to be picked up."
"you didn't have to."
you stopped a few feet away from him, close enough to talk but far enough that your arms stayed crossed over your chest. your bag was heavy on your shoulder. your feet hurt from walking around the mall for two hours in shoes that looked cute but were secretly designed by someone who hated women.
"how did you know i was here," you said.
"jihoon posted a story. tagged the location. you were in the background."
"you watch jihoon's stories?"
"i watch everyone's stories." a pause. "mostly yours. but you don't post anymore."
"because there's nothing to post."
"there's always something to post."
you rolled your eyes so hard you saw stars. "jaehyun. what do you want."
he looked at you for a long moment. his face was hard to read—not the usual cocky smirk, not the easy confidence he wore like armor. something quieter. something that almost looked like concern, except you knew better than to call it that.
"you look tired," he said.
"so i've been told."
"jihoon?"
"among others."
"he doesn't know how to take care of you."
"i don't need to be taken care of."
"everyone needs to be taken care of sometimes." he opened the passenger door. "get in."
"no."
"y/n."
"i said no."
"you're standing in the cold. you've been with that guy for two hours and you look more exhausted than when you went in. you haven't responded to any of my texts, which means you're either ignoring me or you're too tired to deal with me, and either way, you shouldn't be walking home alone." he didn't blink. "get in the car."
you stared at him. he stared back.
the wind picked up, cold against your cheeks. you could hear the distant sound of traffic, someone laughing near the entrance of the mall, a car horn blaring somewhere in the distance. and jaehyun just stood there, holding the door open, waiting.
you got in the car.
you didn't say anything. neither did he. he closed the door behind you, walked around to the driver's side, and slid into his seat. the engine started. the heat kicked on. you sat in the passenger seat with your bag in your lap and your jaw clenched and your heart doing something it had no business doing.
he pulled out of the parking lot. didn't ask where you wanted to go. just drove.
and for the first time all week, you felt something that wasn't exhaustion or irritation or the dull ache of pretending to be okay.
you felt your shoulders drop. just a little. just enough.
you still hated him.
but right now, in this moment, you hated him a little less.
><
for days, you actually didn't know why you were instinctively hanging out with him. it just happened naturally, which was somehow worse than if you'd planned it.
because if you'd planned it, you could blame yourself, could call yourself stupid and weak and tell yourself to stop. but this wasn't planned. this was you waking up and finding him already texting you, or you walking out of class and finding him leaning against his car like he just happened to be in the area, or you mentioning you were hungry and him showing up fifteen minutes later with no explanation and no apology and no expectation other than that you'd get in the car and let him drive.
and you did. every time. you got in the car.
you hated yourself for it. but not enough to stop.
it started small. a bookstore near your campus that you'd mentioned once, offhand, in a text about needing a new copy of a novel you'd lent to someone and never gotten back. you didn't even remember telling him. but three days later, he showed up at your dorm with the book in his hand, paperback, the same cover as your old one because he'd remembered which edition you had.
"you didn't have to do this," you said, standing in your doorway, still in your sweatpants.
"i know," he said. and then he smiled, all dimples, like a fucking puppy who'd just brought you a stick and wanted you to throw it.
you took the book. you didn't say thank you. but you didn't close the door in his face either, and he took that as an invitation to lean against the doorframe and ask what you were doing for dinner, and somehow, forty-five minutes later, you were sitting across from him at a ramyeon shop, slurping noodles and trying not to laugh at the way he kept burning his tongue because he was too impatient to let the broth cool down.
"you always do that," you said, unable to stop yourself.
"do what?"
"eat too fast. burn your tongue. complain. do it again."
he looked up at you, noodles hanging from his mouth, and you watched him fight a smile. he lost. "you remember that?"
"i remember everything. it's a curse."
"must be nice, having such a good memory."
"it's not nice when the memories are of you."
he laughed. actually laughed, loud enough that the ajumma behind the counter looked over. and you felt something crack in your chest, something you'd been trying very hard to keep sealed shut.
you looked down at your ramyeon. stirred it with your chopsticks. didn't say anything else.
but he kept looking at you. you could feel it.
the next time was the han river.
it was a thursday night, which meant nothing to you except that you'd finished your last class at six and had nowhere to be and no one to see and absolutely no reason to text jaehyun back when he asked what you were doing. but you did. you texted him back. and an hour later, you were sitting on a blanket that he'd brought—because of course he had a blanket in his car, because of course he was prepared, because of course he'd thought of everything—with a convenience store bag between you filled with canned beer and chips and those little chocolate pies that you used to fight over in high school.
"you still eat these?" he asked, holding up a chocolate pie.
"you still ask stupid questions?"
he grinned. tore open the packaging. handed it to you without being asked.
the river was dark, the water reflecting the lights from the bridges and the buildings across the way. there were other people scattered along the bank—couples mostly, some families, a few groups of college students laughing too loud and smoking cigarettes they weren't old enough to buy. the air was cool, not quite cold, the kind of temperature that made you want to wear a jacket but also made you want to feel the breeze on your arms.
you cracked open a beer. took a long sip. let the bitterness sit on your tongue.
it was disorienting.
"why are you doing this," you said, not looking at him.
"doing what?"
"this. the bookstore. the ramyeon. the river. all of it."
he was quiet for a moment. you heard him take a sip of his beer. heard him set the can down in the grass.
"do i need a reason?"
"everyone needs a reason."
"maybe my reason is that i want to."
you finally looked at him. he was already looking at you. his face was soft in the low light, the sharp edges of his jaw blurred by shadows, his eyes dark and unreadable. he wasn't smiling. that was the thing that got you. he wasn't trying to charm you or win you over or convince you of anything. he was just... there. present. waiting.
"you can't just show up and expect things to go back to how they were," you said.
"i don't expect that."
"then what do you expect?"
he shrugged. one shoulder, lazy, like the question didn't matter. but his eyes said something else. "i don't know. maybe nothing. maybe just... this. sitting here. drinking beer. not being alone."
you wanted to argue. you wanted to tell him that was a cop-out, that he was avoiding the question, that he owed you a real answer after everything he'd put you through. but you were tired. and the beer was cold. and the river was pretty. and for the first time in a long time, you didn't feel like you had to perform happiness for anyone.
so you let it go.
you drank your beer. you ate your chocolate pie. you listened to the sound of the water and the distant traffic and the occasional laugh from the group of students down the bank.
at some point, you drank too fast and the world got a little fuzzy around the edges. not drunk—just loose, your thoughts moving slower, your guard dropping lower than it should have. you leaned back on your hands and looked up at the sky, which was mostly clouds, barely any stars, but still better than looking at him.
"you're smiling," he said.
"no i'm not."
"you are. i can see it."
"you're delusional."
"maybe." a pause. "you look good when you smile. you should do it more."
"don't," you said.
"don't what?"
"don't look at me like that."
"like what?"
"like you—" you stopped. swallowed. "just don't."
he didn't say anything. but he didn't look away either.
you finished your beer. opened another one. the night stretched on, and the river kept flowing, and somewhere in the distance, a boat horn sounded low and mournful.
you stayed until the cans were empty and the chips were gone and your fingers were cold from holding the metal. jaehyun drove you home. walked you to your door. didn't try to come in.
"same time tomorrow?" he asked.
"i have plans."
"cancel them."
"i'm not going to cancel—"
"same time tomorrow," he said again. not a question this time.
you didn't say yes. but you didn't say no either.
and when you closed your door and leaned against it, your heart was beating too fast and your face was warm and you could still feel the ghost of his gaze on your skin.
you were in trouble. deep, stupid, predictable trouble.
and the worst part was that you didn't even care anymore.
and it kept going and going.
that was the thing about jaehyun. once he decided he wanted something, he didn't stop. he didn't know how to stop. and what he wanted, apparently, was you. not in the way he'd wanted all those other girls—quick and easy and forgettable. no, this was different. this was him showing up at your door with coffee before your morning class. this was him remembering that you hated pulp in your orange juice and that you couldn't sleep without a fan on and that you cried at those dog adoption commercials every single time without fail. this was him being patient in a way he'd never been patient before, waiting for you to let him in instead of forcing his way through the door like he used to.
the kitchen felt smaller with him standing so close, the warm light from the range hood casting soft shadows across his face. jaehyun looked at you with that half-lidded gaze, the cocky edge from his younger days still there but tempered now, like he knew exactly what he wanted and wasn’t in a rush to prove it anymore.
his hands rested on your hips, thumbs pressing lightly into your skin as he backed you up until your lower back hit the cool marble island.“come here,” he murmured, voice low and steady, pulling you flush against him. the kiss started slow, lips brushing, then he tilted his head and took it deeper, tongue sliding against yours with a confidence that made your pulse spike.
you kissed him back, hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders.a soft meow interrupted.you broke the kiss first, glancing down at the sleek black cat circling jaehyun’s legs.
“seriously? you have a cat now?”
jaehyun chuckled, dimples flashing as he looked down too. “yeah, cloud. found him wandering near the dorm last year. he’s been my roommate ever since.” he nudged the cat gently with his foot. “not the time, buddy. go sleep or something.” cloud meowed again, louder, staring up at both of you like he was personally offended.
“he’s judging us hard right now,” you said, trying to suppress a laugh as you caught your breath.jaehyun grinned wider, leaning in so his forehead almost touched yours.
“let him judge. i’ve waited two years for this. a cat’s not stopping me.” his voice dropped, rougher. “you have no idea how many nights i spent thinking about you… about this.”
he kissed you again, hungrier this time, one hand moving to the back of your neck to hold you in place while the other slipped under your shirt. his palm was warm against your stomach, sliding higher until he cupped your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple through your bra. you gasped into the kiss. “that’s it,” he whispered against your lips when he pulled back just enough to speak. “make those sounds for me. missed hearing you.”
his mouth moved to your neck, lips trailing wet kisses along your jaw before he found the sensitive spot below your ear.
he bit down gently, teeth grazing, then sucked hard enough to make you arch into him.
“fuck, you smell so good,” he muttered, voice vibrating against your skin.
“still the same. drives me crazy.” you felt him getting hard, the thick line of his cock pressing against your thigh through his sweatpants.
he rocked his hips forward once, letting you feel it. “see what you do to me? been hard since you walked in the door.”
he shifted his attention to your ear, catching the lobe between his teeth and tugging lightly while his hot breath fanned over it. “remember how you used to beg me to touch you like this?” he whispered, voice confident and smooth.
“bet you still like it the same way.” his hand slid down, popping the button of your pants open with practiced fingers. he pushed them down along with your underwear just enough to give him access. two fingers dragged through your folds, slow and deliberate.
“already so wet,” he said, almost proud. “all for me?” you nodded, gripping his shoulders tighter as he circled your clit with his thumb, firm and steady.
then he pushed one finger inside you, curling it slowly while his thumb kept the pressure on your clit.
“jaehyun…” you breathed.
“yeah, baby? feel good?” he added a second finger, thrusting them deeper, scissoring slightly to stretch you.
his pace was perfect, confident, like he’d spent those two years memorizing exactly what made you fall apart. “tell me. want to hear you say it.”
“feels… really good,” you managed, hips rocking against his hand. he grinned against your neck, biting down again, harder this time, then soothing the sting with his tongue.
“good girl. you’re clenching around my fingers already. so tight.” his free hand stayed on your waist, holding you steady against the marble counter while his fingers pumped in and out, palm grinding against your clit with every thrust.
he was vocal, never shutting up, voice low and rough in your ear. “been dreaming about this pussy for two years. every girl i saw… none of them compared. none of them were you. none made me this hard.” the pressure built fast under his skilled touch.
your legs started shaking, back pressing harder into the cool marble.
jaehyun kept the rhythm steady, fingers curling against that spot inside you while his thumb worked your clit without mercy.
“that’s it, cum for me,” he murmured, biting your earlobe again.
“let go. i’ve got you. wanna feel you come all over my fingers.” it hit you minutes later, sudden and intense. your orgasm crashed through you, walls clenching tight around his fingers as you moaned his name quietly.
your head fell back, eyes squeezed shut while waves of pleasure rolled over you. jaehyun didn’t stop right away, slowing his movements to draw it out, whispering soft praises against your neck.“there you go… so good for me. fuck, you’re beautiful when you cum.” he eased his fingers out eventually, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean, eyes locked on yours the whole time. his dimples appeared again with a satisfied smirk. “still taste fucking perfect.”
cloud meowed loudly from the floor, clearly done with the show. jaehyun laughed softly, forehead resting against yours, his erection still obvious and pressing against you.
jaehyun didn’t wait long after you came down from your high against the kitchen island. his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you easily like you weighed nothing. you wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, arms around his neck as he carried you out of the kitchen and down the short hallway to his bedroom. cloud meowed once more behind you, but jaehyun just kicked the door shut with his foot, the click of the lock sounding loud in the quiet dorm.
he set you down on the edge of his bed, the sheets cool and rumpled from where he’d probably been lying earlier. you sat there catching your breath, heart still racing. “jaehyun… i don’t know anymore,” you said quietly, voice a little shaky. “it’s been so long. everything feels different.”
he stood between your legs, looking down at you with those dark eyes, one hand brushing hair out of your face. his dimples softened the cocky tilt of his mouth. “hey, dw. i got you,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss your forehead, then your lips, slow and reassuring. “i always do. just let me take care of you tonight. yeah?”
you nodded, and he kissed you deeper, hands moving to pull your shirt over your head, then your bra, tossing them somewhere on the floor. he stripped his own shirt off next, revealing the lean muscle he’d kept from years of training. his sweatpants followed, and when he freed himself, his cock sprang up heavy and hard, tip already leaking. he was thick, flushed dark, veins standing out along the length.
“look what you do to me,” he said, voice low and confident as he wrapped a hand around himself, stroking once. “been like this since the kitchen. two years and you still get me this fucking hard.”
he pushed you back gently until you were lying on the bed, then climbed over you, knees spreading your thighs wider. he gripped his cock and rubbed the head against your clit, slow circles, then dragged it down through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. he did it multiple times, teasing, pressing just against your entrance before pulling back again.
“jaehyun…” you breathed, hips twitching.
“shh, baby,” he said, eyes locked on where he was rubbing against you. “so wet still. you want it? want me to fuck you?”
“yeah… please.”
he didn’t let you adjust. with one smooth thrust he pushed inside, burying himself halfway in one go. the stretch burned in the best way, making you gasp sharply. he groaned low, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “fuck, so tight. missed this pussy so much.”
he started moving hard right away, hips snapping forward, driving deeper with each thrust until he bottomed out. the bed creaked under you. “that’s it, lovely. take it. been waiting too long to go slow.”
you moaned, hands gripping his back as he fucked you deep and fast, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. he was rough but controlled, angling his hips to hit that spot inside you every time.
“fuck, you feel so good,” he growled against your ear, biting the lobe again. “such a good girl for me. taking my cock like you were made for it.” then his voice dropped lower, dirtier. “look at you… so fucking needy after all this time. bet no one else fucked you this good while i was gone, huh? this pussy’s mine.”
you whimpered, nodding, legs wrapping tighter around him. “jaehyun… harder—”
he chuckled breathlessly, dimples flashing even as he pounded into you. “yeah? you want it harder, baby? greedy little thing.” he hooked one of your legs over his arm, opening you wider, and drove in deeper, faster, the headboard starting to knock against the wall. “that’s my girl. taking every inch like a slut for me. so pretty when you’re falling apart.”
the mix of praise and degradation made your head spin, heat pooling low again. he kept talking, voice rough and vocal the whole time. “come on, lovely. cum on my cock. wanna feel you squeeze me.”
you came hard a few minutes later, back arching off the bed, walls clenching around him as the orgasm ripped through you. your moan was loud, broken, fingers digging into his shoulders.
jaehyun groaned, slowing just enough to ride you through it, but he wasn’t done. “good girl… fuck, that’s it.” he pulled out, breathing hard, and flipped you over onto your stomach without warning. “ass up, baby.”
you barely had time to push up on your knees before he was behind you, gripping your hips and slamming back inside in one rough thrust. doggy style hit even deeper. he fucked you harder now, one hand sliding up your back to press between your shoulder blades, pushing your chest down into the mattress while the other held your hip tight.
“shit, yes,” he hissed, pace brutal. “look at that ass. so perfect. taking me so deep like this.” he slapped your ass once, not too hard but enough to sting, then rubbed the spot soothingly. “my pretty slut. been dreaming about fucking you like this for two years. none of them were you. none felt this tight, this wet.”
he was rough, hips snapping forward relentlessly, the sound obscene. “you love it, don’t you? love getting fucked dumb on my cock.” his hand reached around to rub your clit again, fingers fast and firm. “cum again for me, lovely. want you to soak the sheets.”
you were shaking, another orgasm building fast from the rough angle and his words. “jaehyun— fuck, i’m close—”
“that’s it, baby. let go. cum all over me. show me how much you missed this dick.”
you came even harder the second time, crying out into the pillow, body trembling as pleasure crashed over you in waves. jaehyun kept thrusting through it, groaning loud, his own rhythm starting to stutter.
“fuck, you’re squeezing me so good… gonna make me cum too.” he didn’t pull out, just fucked you through your orgasm, voice dropping to a rough whisper. “good girl. so fucking good for me.”
both of you were breathing hard, sweat-slicked skin sticking together as he finally slowed, still buried deep inside you, hands stroking your back gently now.
the room smelled like sex and his cologne, the dorm quiet except for your heavy breathing and the faint sound of cloud scratching at the door outside.
