pairing : sunghoon x fem!reader. synopsis : you just cant seem to get rid of sunghoon, even no contact wont stop him genre : situationship, fwb 2 lover? warning : explicit humor, mentions of sex, cursing, avoidant yn do we see a theme with me, master Communicator sunghoon a/n : haiiiii this is short and sweet i giggled a lot while reading but u should listen to needy by ariana grande~
◟in which◝ your bestfriend confesses while under anesthesia ⸝⸝
﹙ 466 ﹚ ── bestfren! jake ✶ 𝑓. reader 𓂋 pure fluff ﹕ friends to lovers (kinda) ﹕ accidental confession
order notes: such a cute request from one my fav moots — who you should definitely follow once she starts writing (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
the inside of the operatory room smelled like mint and a hint of powdered latex gloves, the kind that clung to the air after it’s been stretched around a hand. jake laid back against the leather chair, legs propped up, blinking slowly at the ceiling before turning his gaze towards you.
he’d just woken up after getting his wisdom tooth removed, drowsy and clearly delusional, “have i ever told you how pretty your eyes are?” he mumbled around the gauze, voice slurred as his eyes threatened to flutter shut again.
“they’re like… the perfect shade of that—that color… your eyes.”
you smiled, leaning forward in your chair, already reaching for his hand. "oh really? is that the only thing you like about me?” you teased, keeping in mind to bring it up later once he was fully awake.
he tried to shake his head, but instead it just rolled lazily against the headrest as if it was too heavy to hold up. you couldn't help but chuckle, brushing away a strand of hair on his forehead that made it there after the attempt.
"you're so nice...like—like an angel... a really pretty one," he breathed out, his pupils dilated as he stared at you, taking in the way the light shined on your features. "my chest—no... heart? it does this thing when you're around..."
you stared back at him, mindlessly brushing your thumb over his knuckles, trying to gauge how much of the medication was actually talking. "jake..."
he weakly lifted his finger, like he was trying to stop you from saying more but it only stayed up for a second, plopping back down against his thigh with a soft thud, "shh... c-can i tell you a secret?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a poorly slurred whispered as he leaned forward.
"i really like you... like," he giggled as he leaned back, lifting his hands and spreading them apart, leaving a wide gap between them. "this much... that—that's how much i like you."
your breath caught in your throat, heart fluttering as you processed the words. he was still looking at you with a loopy smile on his face, arms still wide apart like he wanted the weight of the words to sink into you. and they did, more than he could know.
a knock sounded at the door and soon his dentist walked in, not picking up on the mood in the room, "how are you feeling, buddy? ready to go home i hope," he asked, turning to hand you some paperwork.
you took it and smiled, cheeks burning and heart still racing. you mumbled a thank you to the dentist, forcing your eyes to stay glued to the paper but it didn't help, they just kept drifting back to jake and that stupid grin.
taglist: @cutestdesires @cuteyjjwonnnn @nota10butadefinite8 @sstrawbxrry @kristynaaah @coffeetiramisuu @rikiiholiic @prettynishimuraa (comment to be added to the list !)
—𝑶𝑹 𝑾𝑯𝑬𝑵 you walk into a tattoo shop drunk just to prove a point, and walk out with the best thing to ever happen to you. Except he’s hiding something. And between the secrets and your stalker classmate closing in, you get it twisted before you get it right.
playlist… hanging out to dry — florence road // vampire — dominic fike // addicted — lovelace // fallen star — the neighbourhood // real people — hozier // nothing’s gonna hurt you baby — cigarettes after sex
pepa speaks!! hii so this is my first time writing a fic and I’ve been working on this for like a longgg time and decided to post bc I’m a bit nervous LOL uhm so yeah there will be a part 2 btw and also my taglist is open! pls enjoy and I’d really appreciate likes and reblogs 🤭💐
The thing about a girls’ night with Ria was that it always ended somewhere it wasn’t supposed to. The club had been Hana’s idea. The fourth round of shots had been Soo’s.
The part where all four of you ended up on the pavement at eleven-forty-five, heels in hand, looking at a tattoo shop with a red light glowing in the window like it was personally inviting you in — that had been Ria. “We’re going in,” she said.
“We are not going in,” Soo said.
“It says open.” Ria pointed at the sign. Studio 13. Like that settled it.
“It’s almost midnight.”
“They put the sign out.”
“Ria—” But you were already looking at the door and thinking why not, which was the alcohol talking, and also you were cold and your feet hurt and the red light looked warm from out here on the pavement. “I want a piercing,” you said.
Ria grabbed your hand. “She wants a piercing.” Soo looked at the sky. Hana was already moving toward the door.
The club outfit had been Ria’s fault entirely. The top was small — that was the only word for it, small and black and doing everything a top could reasonably be asked to do. The skirt wasn’t much better. You’d spent the whole night at the club feeling like the main character, which was the intended effect, and the cold air outside had done nothing to make you feel less exposed.
You pushed the door open and the warmth hit you first. Then the smell — ink, clean soap, something faintly chemical underneath it. Black walls covered in flash art. Low red lighting that made the whole place feel like a deliberate secret. Something slow playing from speakers you couldn’t locate.
Two guys inside. One in the back with his head down over a drawing tablet. One at the front counter. The one at the front counter looked up.
He was tall even on the stool, long legs stretched out in front of him, forearms resting on the desk like he owned the surface and everything past it. Full sleeve on his left arm. Silver rings on most of his fingers. Dark hair pushed back slightly. One earring. The kind of face that got you in trouble if you looked at it for too long — sharp jaw, dark eyes, a mouth that was currently sitting in the very early stages of a smirk.
He took in all four of you in about two seconds. Then his eyes found you and the smirk finished forming. “We’re open,” he said. “Barely.”
Ria and Hana peeled off toward the flash wall immediately. Soo planted herself near the door with her arms folded. Which left you walking up to the front counter alone, bare legs, tiny skirt, heels clicking on the concrete floor.
You watched him watch you walk over. He didn’t pretend he wasn’t watching. Didn’t do the polite thing where you glance away and back. He just watched, easy and unhurried, the way someone looks at something they find genuinely worth looking at, and when you got to the counter and leaned on it his eyes moved — slowly, and with complete lack of apology — from your face down to your chest and back up again. Held eye contact like nothing had happened. You’d been looked at before. This was different. This was a man who had decided he wasn’t going to pretend. “Hi,” you said.
“Hi.” His voice was low. Even. The smirk hadn’t moved. “Can I help you?”
“I want a piercing.”
“Yeah?” He leaned back on the stool, arms folding across his chest, the sleeve shifting with the movement. His rings caught the red light. “What are you thinking?”
“Tragus.” You reached up and tapped the outer ridge of your ear, which meant your arm lifted and your top shifted and you watched his eyes drop again, briefly, before they came back to yours like he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about it. “I’ve been putting it off. I’m in a decisive mood.”
“Decisive,” he said.
“Very.”
“I can see that.” He said it like it meant something else. Then: “How much have you had tonight?”
“Enough to be excellent company.”
He looked at you. Really looked — quiet and thorough, taking in your face, the flush across your chest, the way you were leaning on his counter in that top — and then his tongue pressed briefly against his cheek like he was trying not to smile properly. “Can’t pierce you with alcohol in your system, baby.”
Baby. Like he’d been calling you that for years. Like it was already established. “That’s a rule?” you said.
“That’s the rule.”
You leaned further onto the counter, closing some of the distance between you. His eyes went exactly where you expected them to go and stayed there for a beat longer than was professional before dragging back up. His expression didn’t change. He was completely comfortable with being caught, which was — honestly — impressive. “What if I promised to be very good?” you said.
“I’m sure you would be.” His voice was smooth, unhurried. “Still no.”
“What if—”
“You can come back tomorrow,” he said. “Sober. I’ll pierce your tragus.” A pause, his eyes dropping once more, quick and deliberate, before landing back on yours. “Or whatever else you want.”
The air between you did something. “That sounds like more than a professional offer,” you said.
“I’m a professional.” The smirk was fully settled now. “The offer’s professional. What you do with it is up to you.”
You held his gaze. He held yours back without any effort at all, completely at ease, like this was just how Tuesday night went for him. It was annoying. It was also working. “I don’t know where this place is sober,” you said.
He was already reaching under the counter. He slid a card across the desk with two fingers — didn’t look down to do it, kept his eyes on you the whole time. STUDIO 13. NISHIMURA RIKI. PIERCING.
You picked it up. “Your personal card,” you said.
“Goes straight to me.”
“Bold.”
“Efficient,” he said.
You looked at the card. Then at him. “I’m Y/N.” His eyes went down again — unhurried, completely unapologetic, a slow look that started at your face and made its way south before coming back up — and then he said, “Y/N,” like he was just trying the name out. Like he’d be using it again. “You gonna remember that?” you said.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “I’m going to remember that.”
The way he said it made it about more than your name. Behind you, Ria made a noise she covered poorly with a fake cough. You didn’t turn around. “Come back sober,” Riki said. “I’ll take care of you.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I’m going to do it.” He picked his phone back up, easy as anything, like the conversation was filed away now and he was done performing — except the smirk stayed. “Get home safe, Y/N.” Dismissed. Warmly, cockily, with complete confidence that you’d be back.
You picked up the card, slid it into your bag, and let Soo steer you to the door because your own legs had made a decision to co-operate with his energy and you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.
Outside Ria grabbed your arm with both hands. “Y/N. The way he looked at you—”
“Ria.”
“He looked at your tits like—”
“Ria.” Hana was fanning herself. Even Soo was quiet, which was its own verdict. The Uber was three minutes away and you looked at your phone and felt your face doing something warm that you were crediting entirely to the alcohol.
Inside, Heeseung finally looked up from his drawing tablet. He’d watched the whole thing. Ten feet away. Nobody had noticed. He looked at Riki.
Riki had his phone in his hand but he was looking at the door — at the space where you’d just been standing in that top, leaning on his counter, letting him look — with an expression Heeseung couldn’t quite name. Something had landed and settled behind his eyes.
“Who was that?” Heeseung said.
Riki looked down at his phone. “Some hot girl.”
“Some hot girl,” Heeseung repeated.
“Wanted a tragus piercing.”
“Uh huh.” Heeseung looked at the counter. At the space where Riki’s personal card had been sitting ten minutes ago, now somewhere in your bag on the way home. “You give clients your personal card often?”
Riki said nothing. Heeseung looked back at his tablet. “Right,” he said quietly, and said nothing else.
Three weeks later you were standing outside Studio 13 again and this time you were completely, annoyingly sober. “I don’t know why I’m here,” you said.
“Because Riki said come back sober and you kept his card for three weeks,” Ria said, pushing the door open.
“I kept it by accident.”
“In your purse.”
“That’s where cards go.”
“You don’t keep any other cards in your purse, Y/N. I’ve seen your purse. It’s a graveyard of receipts and one lip liner.” You followed her inside because the alternative was standing on the pavement arguing with her and you’d already lost this argument six times on the way over.
Ria had a tattoo appointment. That was the reason you were here. You were just here for moral support. You were going to sit in a chair and look at your phone and not think about the guy who had looked at you like that and said I’ll take care of you with complete sincerity and a smirk that should have been annoying.
The door swung shut behind you. Same as before — black walls, flash art, red light, the slow dark playlist. A different energy in the daytime though, busier, more lived-in. Jay was at the side counter doing something with ink caps, talking loudly to no one in particular. Jake was sweeping near the back. Heeseung was visible through the half-open door of the back room, head down, working.
No one at the front desk. You relaxed slightly. Ria was already at the counter, checking in for her appointment, and you drifted toward the flash wall and started looking at the art because it was genuinely good and also because you needed something to do with your eyes.
You heard the door from the back open. Heard footsteps. Heard someone say, “Riki, someone’s here—” You turned around because you were a person with normal human reflexes and not because your body had already clocked the name.
Riki came through the back door with a pair of gloves half-on, looking down at the appointment book, and then he looked up.
He saw Ria first. Then his eyes moved — one smooth, unhurried slide — and found you standing by the flash wall in your jeans and your jacket looking like someone who was absolutely only here for moral support. “Hey,” he said.
“Hi,” you said. There was a pause that lasted slightly too long for two people who didn’t know each other.
“You came back,” he said.
“Ria has an appointment.”
“Right.” He looked at you. “And you’re just here for Ria.”
“Correct.”
“Nothing to do with the card.”
“I forgot I even had it.”
“Uh huh.” He pulled the second glove on, still looking at you, and the smirk had settled into something warmer now — less performance, more genuinely pleased. “How’s the tragus feeling? Still decisive?”
Ria made a sound from the counter that she turned into a cough. You didn’t look at her. “I’m considering my options,” you said.
“Good answer.” He turned to Ria, professional now, easy switch. “Ria, yeah? Heeseung’s got you, he’s just finishing up. Five minutes.”
“Perfect,” Ria said, and then immediately looked at you with an expression that meant she was storing everything and you would be debriefed extensively later.
Riki came around the counter. Didn’t go back to the desk — came and stood near the flash wall, close enough to talk, far enough to be plausibly looking at the art. “You look different,” he said.
“I’m sober.”
“That’s probably it.” His eyes did the thing — a brief, easy drop and return, taking in the jacket, the jeans, the way you were standing — and then he was looking at your face again like that was just how he operated. Open about it. Unbothered. “Still good though.”
“You’re very confident,” you said.
“I’m accurate,” he said. You looked at Riki. He looked back. This close you could see the bar through his tongue properly — silver, subtle when his mouth was closed, noticeable when he talked — and the ring in his ear and the way his rings shifted when he crossed his arms.
“So,” he said. “You actually want the piercing or did you come all the way here just to tell me you forgot my card existed?”
“I could still want the piercing.”
“You could.” He tilted his head slightly. “Do you?”
You held out for three more seconds. Then: “Yeah.”
His smile did the thing again — the slow, settled version, the one that looked like satisfaction and something warmer underneath it. “On the house,” he said.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He was already moving back toward the piercing station, unhurried, like it was decided. “Come on.”
The piercing chair was in a partitioned section near the back — semi-private, its own mirror, a tray of tools laid out with the kind of precision that told you he took this seriously. He snapped a fresh pair of gloves on and gestured to the chair and you sat down and tried to look like you were not thinking about the last time you’d been in this general vicinity, considerably less sober, telling him he had criminally pretty eyes. You were thinking about it.
He adjusted the chair height without asking, tilted the light, and then stepped in close to look at your ear. His fingers were gentle when they touched the outer ridge — thumb pressing lightly to test the cartilage, professional and careful — and he was close enough that you could smell whatever he was wearing, something dark and clean. “Tragus is a good choice,” he said, still examining your ear. “Suits you.”
“You can tell that from my ear?”
“I can tell from your face.” He stepped back, reached for the marking pen. “You’ve got good bone structure. Something small here draws attention without being loud.” He met your eyes in the mirror. “You’re already loud enough.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“It was one.” He marked the spot with the pen — quick, precise — and then held up a small mirror so you could check the placement. His hand was steady. Everything about him was steady, which was both reassuring and slightly irritating. “Good?” he said.
“Good.”
He put the mirror down. Reached for the needle. And then paused, looking at you in the main mirror with an expression that was more direct than the smirk — more level. “You nervous?” he said.
“No.”
“Your jaw is doing something.”
“My jaw is fine.”
“Y/N.”
“I’m a little nervous,” you said. “About the needle. Not about—” You stopped.
“Not about?” he said.
You looked at him in the mirror. He looked back. The smirk was quiet right now, just his face, just the question sitting there. “The needle,” you said. “I said what I said.”
He let it go. Looked back at your ear, positioned his hands. “Breathe in,” he said. You breathed in. “Out.”
You breathed out and he moved — quick and precise and over before you’d finished processing it. A sharp bite of pressure, brief, clean, and then his hands were already switching out the needle for the jewellery, smooth and practiced. “Done,” he said.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” He stepped back to let you see in the mirror. Small flat-back stud, exactly where the mark had been, sitting perfectly. “What do you think?”
You looked at it. Turned your head slightly. It was — actually exactly right, the placement, the size, the way it sat. “I think you’re good at your job,” you said.
“I know.” But he said it lightly, without the edge, and when you looked at him in the mirror he was looking at the piercing with something that read like quiet pride. Like he actually cared that it was right.
He peeled his gloves off. Started going through aftercare — saline spray, what to avoid, how long to leave it — and you listened and watched his hands and thought about how he’d looked at you when you walked in. That slow, settled smile. You came back. Like he’d known you would. “Any questions?” he said.
“No.”
“Good.” He handed you the small aftercare card. His fingers brushed yours when he passed it over and he didn’t move his hand immediately, just let the contact sit there for a second before stepping back. “You should come back in four weeks so I can check it.”
“Is that standard?”
“For you it is.”
You looked up at him. He was close still, leaning against the counter beside the chair, arms crossed, completely at ease with the proximity and what he was saying and the way he was looking at you. “That’s a very smooth way to make a follow-up appointment,” you said.
“I’m a smooth guy.”
“You’re a cocky guy.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” He smiled properly. “Four weeks, Y/N. I’ll be here.” From the main floor, very clearly, you heard Jay say to Jake in a voice that carried: “Twenty says she’s back in two.”
Heeseung appeared in the doorway of his room as you were walking back out to wait for Ria. He looked at you. Then at Riki, who was cleaning up the station behind you. He said nothing.
When you were out of earshot, he leaned in the doorway and looked at Riki with a level expression. Riki didn’t look up. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
Heeseung was quiet for a moment. “She coming back?”
Riki stacked the packaged jewellery back in the tray. “Four weeks.”
Heeseung looked at the ceiling. Looked back down. “Right,” he said, and went back into his room.
Riki looked up once — just once — at where you’d gone back to sit with Ria, talking and laughing, your hand coming up to touch the new piercing gently like you were checking it was real. He looked back down at the tray. Picked up his phone. Set it down again. Four weeks was a long time.
You were back in two weeks. You told yourself you had a legitimate reason. The piercing felt slightly tender on one side and the aftercare card said to come back if anything felt off and this was a medical concern, essentially, and had nothing to do with anything else. Ria, when you told her this, said “uh huh” in the exact same tone Riki had used and you’d hung up on her.
You pushed the door to Studio 13 open at four on a Thursday afternoon.
Jay was at the front counter this time. He looked up, recognized you, and his whole face did something delighted. “Y/N,” he said, like you were a returning champion.
“Hey.” You unwound your scarf. “Is Riki—”
“In the back.” Jay was already leaning back in his chair, tilting toward the hallway. “Riki.”
“I could have just—”
“RIKI. Your girl’s here.”
From the back, a pause. Then footsteps. Riki appeared in the doorway with a black coffee in one hand and his phone in the other and when he saw you something moved across his face — quick, controlled — before it settled into the usual. “Two weeks,” he said.
“I know.”
“I said four.”
“The piercing felt off.”
He looked at you. You looked back. He took a slow sip of his coffee. “Come here,” he said. Back in the piercing section again. The chair, the mirror, the tray. He set his coffee down on the counter and snapped gloves on and tilted your chin to the side with two fingers, turning your head so the light hit the piercing properly.
He was quiet while he looked. Close, the way he’d been last time, close enough that you were aware of exactly how tall he was and exactly how little space existed between you. “Looks fine,” he said.
“It felt tender.”
“New cartilage piercing. It’s going to feel tender.” He turned your head a fraction more, examining the entry and exit points. “You sleeping on it?”
“Sometimes.”
“Don’t.” His thumb pressed gently just below the piercing, checking the tissue. “You’re not rotating it, are you?”
“The card said not to.”
“People do it anyway.”
“I follow instructions.” He made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. His fingers were still at your jaw, light but there, and in the mirror you could see him looking at the piercing with that focused, careful expression he got when he was working — like the rest of him went quiet and it was just this, just the task, just making sure it was right.
“It’s fine,” he said again, quieter this time. “A little irritated but nothing bad. You’re cleaning it?”
“Twice a day.”
“Good girl.” He said it the same way he said everything — even, unbothered — and went right back to examining the piercing like he hadn’t just said it, like it was nothing, like your entire nervous system hadn’t just done something embarrassing.
He stepped back. Pulled one glove off. In the mirror you watched him look at you — your face this time, not the piercing — and the focused work expression shifted back into something more personal. His eyes moved down briefly, back up. Unhurried. Unapologetic. “You didn’t just come for the piercing check,” he said.
It wasn’t a question. “I was in the area,” you said.
“Y/N.”
“I was.”
“Okay.” He pulled the second glove off, dropped them both in the bin. Leaned against the counter beside the chair with his arms crossed, looking at you with that steady, patient expression. Like he had all the time in the world and was fully prepared to wait you out.
The rings on his fingers caught the light. The bar through his tongue was visible when he spoke and sometimes when he didn’t, a small flash of silver that your eyes kept going back to without your permission. “Can I ask you something?” you said.
“Go ahead.”
You nodded toward his mouth. “Does it affect anything? The tongue piercing.”
The corner of his mouth pulled up. He knew exactly what you were asking and you both knew you both knew it. “Depends what you mean by anything,” he said.
“Talking,” you said. “Eating.”
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t affect talking or eating.”
The way he said it made the implication sit in the room like a third person. “And what about—” you started.
“Yes,” he said simply. You looked at him. He looked back at you, completely relaxed, the smirk at about thirty percent, like he was letting you sit in the answer rather than pushing it.
“That was going to be a different question…” you said.
“Was it?” It wasn’t.
You looked away first, which you were counting as a tactical retreat rather than losing, and he made that almost-laugh sound again and pushed off the counter. “Come out front,” he said. “I’ll get you the saline to take home.”
Jay was now pretending to organize a drawer he had clearly already organized when you came back out. Jake had appeared from somewhere and was leaning on the wall near the door with his phone out. The effort to look casual was extraordinary.
Riki went behind the counter, got the saline, slid it across to you.“Stop sleeping on it,” he said.
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t try. Just don’t do it.”
“You’re bossy,” you said.
“I’m thorough.” He leaned on the counter. His forearms were right there, the sleeve on full display this close — you’d been trying not to look at it properly but it was a lot of work. Intricate blackwork, something that looked botanical near his wrist, darker geometry climbing toward his elbow. “Like the sleeve?” he said.
You looked up. He’d caught you. “It’s good work,” you said.
“Heeseung did most of it.”
“Heeseung tattooed you?”
“First one when I started here.” Something shifted slightly in his face — not closed off, just more considered. “Kind of a thing between us.”
You wanted to ask what kind of thing. Something in how he’d said it made you not push. “You do your own piercings?” you said instead.
He tilted his head so you could see the earring. “This one.”
“Doesn’t that hurt more when it’s yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“And you did it anyway.”
“I do most things anyway,” he said. He said it lightly but there was something under it, something matter-of-fact about pain being a variable he’d simply accounted for. You looked at him for a second longer than you meant to. “Four weeks,” he said, quieter now, just to you. “Come back in four weeks and I’ll check it properly. And if you’re in the area before that—” he held your gaze — “you know where we are.”
“Very smooth,” you said.
“You keep saying that.”
“You keep proving it.” He smiled. The real one — not the smirk, not the performance, the actual smile that did something to his whole face. You’d only seen it once before, the night you came in drunk when he laughed at something Ria said, and it was worse up close and sober.
You picked up the saline. Shouldered your bag. “Thanks for checking it,” you said.
“Anytime.”
You were halfway to the door when Jay said, loudly, to no one: “Two weeks. Called it.”
“Jay,” Riki said, flat.
“I’m just saying—”
“Jay.” You pushed the door open and let it close on whatever Jay said next. On the pavement you breathed in cold air and stood there for a second. I do most things anyway. You thought about that the whole way home.
You texted Ria that night.
you: the piercing was fine btw. just irritated.
Ria: sure
you: it was a legitimate medical concern
Ria: how did he look
you: that’s not relevant
Ria: how did he LOOK
You stared at your phone. Put it face down. Picked it up again.
you: good. he looked good. go to sleep.
Ria: 😭😭😭 Y/N YOU ARE SO DOWN BAD
You put your phone on the charger and lay on your back in the dark and stared at the ceiling. The bar through his tongue caught the light when he talked. Yes, he’d said. Like it was nothing. Like he said it every day. You put a pillow over your face.
Across the city, Studio 13 was closing up. Heeseung was cashing out. Jake was wiping down surfaces. Jay was retelling the afternoon to Sunghoon, who had come in for his evening shift and was listening with the specific expression of someone enjoying information they could use later.
Riki was at the piercing station. Cleaning the tray. Doing the same task he’d done a hundred times. “She came back in two weeks,” Jay said.
“I heard,” Sunghoon said.
“I called it.”
“You did call it.”
“Riki,” Jay said. “You owe me twenty.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” Riki said. “We didn’t make a bet.”
“Spiritually we did.” Riki said nothing. Put the tray away.
“She’s coming back in four weeks,” Jay told Sunghoon.
“Or two,” Sunghoon said.
“Or two,” Jay agreed.
“Both of you,” Riki said, without heat, “can shut up.”
They did not shut up. He let them talk and went back to the tray and thought about the way you’d looked at his mouth when you asked about the piercing. The way your eyes had gone somewhere specific and come back and you’d tried to cover it with a different question.
He’d watched the answer land. Had watched you process it and look away and call it a tactical retreat when it wasn’t. He was good at reading people. He’d had to be, for a long time, for reasons that had nothing to do with tattoo shops or piercing chairs.
You were going to come back before four weeks. He put the tray away and picked up his coffee and didn’t say any of that out loud.
You were back in ten days. You didn’t have a reason this time. You’d run out of reasons. You showed up at three on a Wednesday with two coffees and the vague awareness that something had shifted from I’m in the area to something you didn’t have a word for yet. Jay opened the door before you reached it. “She’s got coffee,” he announced into the shop.
“Jay—”
“Is one of those for me?” He was already holding the door open, looking at the cups in your hand with genuine hope.
“No.”
“Y/N.”
“I brought two.”
“There are multiple people here who drink coffee.”
“There are two coffees,” you said. “Do the math.”
Jay looked wounded. You walked past him into the shop and he let the door close and called after you: “I’m telling Riki you were mean to me.”
“Please do.” Riki was at the front counter. Actually at the counter this time, not coming through from the back, sitting on the stool with his forearms on the desk and his phone in his hand. He looked up when you came in and his eyes went straight to the cups. Then to your face. Then he smiled — not the smirk, not the performance, just a real and immediate thing that he didn’t seem to think about first. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” You put one of the coffees on the counter in front of him. “I didn’t know how you take it.”
He looked at the cup. Looked at you. “Black is fine,” he said.
“Lucky guess.”
“Is it?” He picked it up. His fingers overlapped yours on the cup for a second before you let go — brief, probably accidental, neither of you addressed it. He took a sip. Put it down. “Ten days.”
“I know.”
“Getting closer to two weeks, not further.”
“I’ve been busy,” you said. “This was the first chance I had to—”
“Y/N.”
“What?”
“You don’t need a reason,” he said simply. You looked at him. He looked back, completely even, like he’d just said something neutral about the weather. “Sit down.”
That was how it started. Not with anything dramatic. Just you sitting on the other side of the counter on a Wednesday afternoon with a coffee while Riki worked through his admin, and the conversation that happened around it — easy and unhurried, drifting from one thing to another, the kind of talk that didn’t feel like it was going anywhere because it didn’t need to.
You learned things without asking for them. That he’d been at Studio 13 for two years. That he and Jay had met here. That he had opinions about piercing placement that were borderline philosophical and he’d share them unprompted if you let him.
He learned things back. That you were in your final year. That Ria had been your best friend since you were sixteen. That you had three other piercings already and had done two of them yourself, which made him look up from his phone with an expression that was equal parts impressed and horrified. “You did your own helix,” he said.
“With a kit.”
“A kit.”
“People do it.”
“People also do a lot of things I have to fix,” he said, and leaned across the counter to look at your ear without asking. His fingers found the helix piercing, examining it with the same careful focus he brought to everything, and you sat very still. “It’s crooked,” he said.
“I know.”
“I can fix it.”
“I know.”
He was still looking at your ear, close, his thumb light against the cartilage. “Why haven’t you?”
“I kept meaning to.” You paused. “And then I found Studio 13 and I figured I’d—”
You stopped. He pulled back just enough to look at your face. His expression said he’d heard the end of the sentence even though you hadn’t said it. “Figured you’d what?” he said.
“Come here eventually,” you said. “For things.”
The smirk appeared. “For things.”
“Piercings.”
“Right.” He stepped back, let you breathe, picked his coffee back up. “I’ll fix it whenever you want.”
“Add it to my tab.”
“You don’t have a tab. Everything I do to you is on the house.” He said it completely straight and then looked at his phone, leaving you to sit in the everything I do to you by yourself.
Jay appeared from the back at that exact moment, looked at you both, looked at the counter between you, and went directly back the way he came without saying anything, which was somehow more powerful than if he had.
Hana came with you the following Wednesday. She had been angling to see the shop since Ria had described it in approximately four hundred texts and the second she walked in she stopped in the middle of the floor and looked around with wide eyes. “Oh,” she said. “Oh this place is cool.”
Jake, who was at the side counter, looked up. Hana looked at Jake. Jake looked at Hana. You filed that away.
Riki was with a client in the piercing section — you could see him through the partition, gloved up, talking the client through something in that low steady voice. You hadn’t told him you were coming. You weren’t sure why, except that you’d wanted to know what it felt like to walk in and see him before he saw you. It felt like something, as it turned out.
He was focused on his client, head tilted, hands precise. He’d pushed his sleeves up and the full length of the tattoo was visible now — blackwork that climbed from his wrist to somewhere past his elbow, detailed and dark. He was saying something that made the client laugh. Patient and calm and completely in his element.
You stood there and looked at him for maybe four seconds too long.
“Y/N,” Hana said quietly beside you.
“What.”
“You’ve got a face on.”
“I don’t have a face.”
“You’ve got a very specific face.” She looked at Riki. Looked at you. “Oh you are done.”
“I’m looking at the flash art,” you said, and turned to look at the flash art.
Jay materialized at your shoulder. “She does this every time,” he told Hana, like you weren’t standing right there. “Comes in, looks at him, then looks at the wall.”
“I can hear you,” you said.
“I know.” Jay smiled. “Coffee?”
Riki’s client left at half past three. He came through from the partition still pulling his gloves off and stopped when he saw you and Hana at the counter with Jay. The gloves came off slower. “You didn’t text,” he said to you.
“Spontaneous visit.”
“Hm.” He dropped the gloves, came around to the main counter. His eyes moved to Hana briefly, assessing, friendly. “Friend?”
“Hana,” you said. “She wanted to see the shop.”
“Welcome.” He said it to Hana and then his attention came back to you in that way it always did — like you were the fixed point and everything else was peripheral. “How’s the piercing?”
“Fine. Good.”
“You sleeping on it?”
“Mostly not.”
“Y/N.”
“Mostly not. I’m a side sleeper, it’s a process.”
He leaned on the counter. His coffee was cold by now but he picked it up anyway. “I’ll fix the helix today if you want. While you’re here.”
“Yeah?”
“Chair’s free.” Hana’s elbow found your ribs with surgical precision. You ignored it.
“Okay,” you said.
The helix took ten minutes. Precise, careful, the same focused quiet he brought every time. Afterwards he checked the tragus — habit, he said, like that was a normal thing, like of course he was checking it — and you sat in the chair and let him and looked at his face in the mirror while he was looking at your ear.
Up close like this you could see things you couldn’t from the other side of a counter. The small scar through his left eyebrow, barely visible. The way his jaw set when he was concentrating. The rings on his fingers — he took them off for client work and put them back on after, and watching him slide them back on was a thing you were apparently noticing now.
He caught you in the mirror. Didn’t call you out. Just held your gaze for a second and then looked back at the piercing, and the corner of his mouth moved slightly. “Good,” he said. “Helix looks better. You’ll need to re-do the aftercare cycle.”
“I know.”
“You actually know or you’re saying you know?”
“Riki.”
“I’ll write it down.”
“I literally work a piercing counter in my memory called things Riki has told me,” you said.
He went still for a half second. Then: “Yeah?”
“You’re very thorough,” you said. “It sticks.”
He looked at you in the mirror. Steady, quiet, something behind his eyes that was more than the usual easy confidence — something that had weight to it. “Good,” he said, quieter.
He stepped back. Started cleaning up. Normal, routine, the way he always moved through the shop like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. “Same time next week?” he said. It wasn’t really a question.
“Sure,” you said.
In the main shop, Hana was sitting on the counter watching Jake explain the difference between traditional and neo-traditional tattooing with the energy of someone who had found religion. Jay was watching this with profound satisfaction. When you came back out Hana looked at you and then at Riki behind you and then at you again. “We should go,” you said.
“Should we,” Hana said.
“Yes.”
“Jake was just explaining—”
“Hana.” She got up, reluctantly, and said goodbye to Jake in a way that suggested she was also going to be back before four weeks. Jake watched her go with an expression that Riki clocked and then looked away from like he hadn’t seen it.
At the door you turned back. Riki was at the counter, already on his phone, or pretending to be. “Thanks for the helix,” you said.
“Anytime.” He didn’t look up. “Wednesday?”
“Wednesday,” you said. Jay made a noise. Riki didn’t look at him. You pushed the door open and the cold air hit you and behind you you heard Jay say, quiet and satisfied to no one in particular: “Regular.”
The Wednesday visits became a thing. Not every week, sometimes every ten days, but consistent enough that Jay started having your coffee order ready. Consistent enough that Jake stopped looking surprised when you walked in. Consistent enough that Heeseung, who said little and noticed everything, started nodding at you when you arrived like you’d passed some quiet assessment he’d been running.
Riki never texted first. You did sometimes — nothing significant, a meme about piercings, a question about aftercare that you probably knew the answer to. He always replied. Never with much. But always.
The counter between you was becoming a problem. Not the physical one — the metaphorical one. The distance that was exactly the right size for this isn’t anything yet and felt increasingly inadequate for what was actually happening in the space between you every Wednesday afternoon. He looked at you like you were a decision he’d already made. You were starting to think you had too.
Daniel texted on a Thursday.
Daniel: hey, haven’t seen you around much. you ok?
You stared at it. You and Daniel had two seminars together and a loose group chat and approximately nothing else, and this was the third text this week.
you: yeah all good, just busy
Daniel: we should get coffee sometime
you: I’m pretty slammed rn, sorry
You thought nothing of it. You mentioned it to Riki the following Wednesday — offhand, in the middle of a conversation about something else, not thinking. “This guy in my seminar keeps texting,” you said. “It’s starting to get annoying.”
Riki was writing something on the appointment book. His pen slowed.“What guy?” he said.
“Daniel. We’re in the same module. He keeps asking for coffee.” Riki’s pen stopped. You looked up. His face was the same — neutral, easy — but something had shifted underneath it. Something had gone very still in the specific way of a thing that was actively being held still.
“You said no?” he said.
“Obviously. I’m not interested.”
A pause. He looked back at the appointment book. Wrote something. “Good,” he said.
Just that. Good. You looked at him for a second. “Riki.”
“Hm.”
“Are you—”
“Helix check,” he said, and stood up from the stool. You let him redirect you. Sat in the chair. Let him check the helix he’d fixed two weeks ago and didn’t need to check again. His hands were as steady as they always were. His voice was as even.
But when you looked at him in the mirror his jaw was set in a way it wasn’t usually and his eyes, when they met yours in the reflection, had something in them that was more than the usual warm certainty. Something that looked a lot like mine with nowhere to go yet. You looked away first. Neither of you said anything about it.
Daniel was waiting outside your seminar on Tuesday. Not accidentally. He was leaning on the wall opposite the door with his phone out, and when you came through he pushed off and fell into step beside you like it was coordinated, like he’d timed it. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” You kept walking.
“Good seminar?”
“It was fine.”
“I thought Professor Kim made a good point about the—”
“Daniel.” You stopped. Turned to face him. He was decent looking, objectively — tall, friendly face, the kind of guy who probably did well in situations where persistence read as flattering. “What’s going on?”
He smiled. Easy, practiced. “I was thinking we could grab that coffee.”
“I said I was slammed.”
“You’re not slammed right now.”
“I have somewhere to be.”
“Where?”
You looked at him. “That’s not really—”
“I’ll walk you,” he said. Like that was a reasonable response. Like the answer to I have somewhere to be was I’ll come.
“Daniel.” You kept your voice even. “I appreciate it but I’m not interested. Okay? Not trying to be harsh, just being clear.”
Something moved across his face — not anger, more like recalibration, like he was filing this away as a temporary obstacle. “Maybe just as friends,” he said.
“I’m good. Thanks though.” You walked away. Heard him say something behind you — see you Thursday — and didn’t respond. You texted Ria about it on the bus.
you: the Daniel thing is getting annoying
Ria: what happened?
you: he waited outside my seminar
Ria: ew
you: I told him straight I’m not interested
Ria: good. are you telling riki?
You stared at that.
you: why would I tell riki??
Ria: because you tell riki everything now??
you: I do not tell riki everything
Ria: you told him about your mum’s cat
you: that came up naturally and I’m not telling him, it’s not a big deal
You put your phone in your bag. You didn’t tell him.
Wednesday came and you sat at the counter with your coffee and talked about other things — Hana and Jake’s ongoing situation, which was developing at a glacial pace that was driving Ria insane. A new flash piece Heeseung had drawn that you’d been looking at for twenty minutes when you came in. Whether you should get a second tragus on the other ear. “Yes,” Riki said, without hesitation.
“That’s a very immediate answer.”
“It’s an obvious answer.” He looked at your ears, both sides, that assessing look. “Symmetrical double tragus. Come in next week.”
“Maybe I want to think about it.”
“You don’t need to think about it.”
“Riki.”
“You came in drunk wanting a tragus piercing,” he said. “You knew then. You know now.”
You looked at him. He looked back with the patience of someone who was completely certain and was willing to wait for you to catch up. “Fine,” you said.
He smiled. “Next week,” he said.
The following Tuesday Daniel was outside your seminar again. This time you saw him before he saw you and you changed direction, took the long way to the exit, added seven minutes to your walk. Small, manageable.
On Thursday he was in the coffee queue behind you. “Coincidence,” he said, and smiled at you, and you smiled back tightly and paid for your coffee and left.
On Friday he messaged. Again.
Daniel: hey saw you in the queue yesterday, why’d you leave so fast?
You didn’t reply. And he messaged again on Saturday.
Daniel: did I do something wrong?
You showed it to Ria over the phone that night. She was quiet for a second. “He’s not taking the hint,” she said.
“I didn’t hint. I said directly I wasn’t interested.”
“Then he’s not taking the direct statement.”
“Yeah.”
Another pause. “Tell Riki.”
“Ria—”
“Y/N I’m serious, tell—”
“It’s fine. I can handle it.”
“I know you can handle it, that’s not the—” She stopped. “Just tell him. You know you want to.” You didn’t answer that.
Wednesday came around, you’d been at the counter for forty minutes. Jay had come and gone twice. Jake had shown Hana something on his phone that made her laugh and Riki had looked at that for approximately one second before very deliberately looking elsewhere.
You were mid-sentence about something — your dissertation, probably, you’d been complaining about your dissertation — when the door opened.
Sunghoon came in from his afternoon off, still in his jacket, unwinding his scarf. He was unfairly attractive and moved through the shop like he knew it, dropping his bag behind the counter and immediately coming over to where you were sitting. “Y/N.” He leaned on the counter beside Riki’s stool, friendly, easy. “How’s the tragus?”
“Good.” You touched it briefly. “Riki’s doing the other side next week.”
“Nice. You should let me draw something for you. Little custom piece, just here—” he touched his own collarbone— “would suit you.”
“Yeah?”
“Hundred percent.” He looked at Riki. “Right?” Riki was looking at his phone. “Riki,” Sunghoon said.
“Hm.” He didn’t look up. Sunghoon looked at you with a small what’s his problem expression. You looked back with a I genuinely don’t know expression.
You talked to Sunghoon for twenty more minutes. He was easy to talk to — funny, straightforward, the kind of person who filled a room without trying. He showed you his portfolio on his phone, talked you through a couple of pieces, asked about your university course with actual interest.
Riki stayed on his stool. He wasn’t on his phone. You could tell because you kept looking over and the screen was dark. He was just sitting there in the specific stillness of something being actively held in place, forearms on the desk, jaw set. When Sunghoon went to the back to change into his work clothes you turned to Riki. “What’s wrong with you?” you said.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve said four words in the last twenty minutes.”
“I’ve been busy.”
You looked at the dark phone screen. Looked at him. “Riki.”
“I’m fine.” He finally looked at you. His face was even, controlled, the expression he wore when he was putting effort into the expression. “You want more coffee?”
“No.” You kept your voice low. Jay and Jake were across the room but still. “Talk to me.”
Something moved behind his eyes. For a second you thought he was going to — actually going to, drop whatever this was and say it. His jaw shifted. His eyes moved over your face and then away. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Forget it.”
You looked at him for a long moment. He looked at the counter. You picked up your bag. “I’m going to head,” you said.
He looked up then. Quick, like he hadn’t expected it. “You don’t have to—”
“I have stuff to do.” You stood up. Your voice was even, you’d made sure of it. “I’ll see you next week for the tragus.”
“Y/N—”
“Bye, Riki.” You said goodbye to Jay on the way out. Waved at Jake. Pushed the door open into the cold.
Behind you, through the glass, you heard Jay say something. Heard Riki’s voice, short and clipped. Didn’t hear the words. You walked to the bus stop and stared at the road and felt something hot and frustrated sitting in your chest that you didn’t have a clean name for.
He texted at nine that night.
Riki: I’m sorry about today
You stared at it.
Riki: I get like that sometimes. I don’t like it.
Another one, a minute later.
Riki: It wasn’t about Sunghoon. It wasn’t about you.
Riki: ok it was about Sunghoon.
You sat on your bed with your phone in your hand and read that three times.
you: do you want to tell me what “getting like that” means??
A pause. Longer than his usual response time.
Riki: Not over text. Wednesday?
you: yeah
you: Riki, Sunghoon was just being friendly
Riki: I know. I know that. It doesn’t always
The message cut off. Like he’d deleted the end of it and sent what was left.
Riki: Wednesday. I’ll explain.
Riki: night Y/N
You got there at three. Jay handed you your coffee without being asked and then found somewhere else to be, which meant Riki had said something to him beforehand, which meant he’d been thinking about this. Riki was at the counter. He looked up when you came in and the usual ease wasn’t fully there — not gone, just quieter, like he’d dialed something back. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” You sat down. Wrapped both hands around the coffee. “So.”
“So.” He exhaled. Looked at the counter for a second, then at you. “I get possessive.” He said it straight. No build up, no softening — just put it on the counter between you like something he’d decided you should see.
“Okay,” you said.
“I don’t like it,” he said. “It’s not — I’m not trying to make it your problem. I know Sunghoon wasn’t doing anything. I know you weren’t doing anything. It just—” He stopped. His jaw shifted. “It sits wrong. Someone else in your space. Being the thing making you laugh.”
You looked at him. His eyes were on the counter, which was unusual — Riki who held eye contact through everything. “Has it always been like that?” you said.
“Yeah.” Simple. “Better than it used to be.”
“What was it like before?”
He looked up. “Worse.” A pause. “I dealt with it badly. I’m not—” He stopped again. “I’m not like that anymore. I don’t act on it. But I feel it and sometimes it makes me go quiet and disappear into my own head and that’s not fair to you.”
You sat with that. “Why are you telling me this?” you said.
He held your gaze. “Because you asked.”
“People don’t always answer when you ask.”
“I know.” Something in his face. “You should know what you’re—” He stopped himself again, and you heard the end of that sentence clearly even without the words. What you’re getting into. What I am.
“Riki,” you said. “If Sunghoon had been doing something—” You held his eyes. “Or anyone. I’d handle it. That’s not— I’m not someone who needs protecting from other people’s attention.”
“I know that.”
“But I’m also not—” You paused. Chose the words. “I’m not interested in other people’s attention. Okay? That’s just—” You shrugged. “That’s just where I’m at.”
The silence that followed had weight to it. Riki looked at you. Really looked — the way he did sometimes, like he was reading something underneath the surface of what you’d said, like he was checking if you meant it.You meant it. “Okay,” he said quietly.
“Okay,” you said.
He exhaled. Something in his shoulders dropped slightly — barely visible, but there. “Tragus,” he said.
“Tragus,” you agreed. He stood up from the stool. And as he passed behind the counter his hand came down briefly on yours where it rested on the surface — just for a second, just his fingers over your knuckles, warm and solid — and then he was moving through to the piercing section and the moment was gone.
You sat there for a second. Then you followed him. Across the room Jay looked at Heeseung in the doorway of his office. Heeseung looked back. Neither of them said anything.
It happened on a Friday. Not a Wednesday. Not planned. You’d come in with Hana at five because she’d finally committed to a small piece on her ankle and wanted moral support, and by the time Jake was finishing up the linework the shop had emptied out — Sunghoon’s last client gone, Jay heading out with his jacket half on, Heeseung locking his office with his keys already in his hand. “You good to close?” Heeseung said to Riki.
“Yeah.” Riki was wiping down the front counter. “Go.” Heeseung looked at you. Brief, unreadable. Looked back at Riki. Said nothing and left. Jay pointed finger guns at you on his way out. You ignored him.
Jake finished Hana’s piece at half past six. She sat up and looked at it in the mirror with the expression of someone who had just made a very good decision, and then she looked at you and at Riki and made a different kind of decision entirely. “I’ll get a cab,” she said.
“I’ll come,” you said.
“You don’t have to.” Serene. Innocent. Absolutely deliberate. “I’m fine on my own.”
“Hana—”
“I’ll text you when I’m home.” She hugged you, said goodbye to Jake, said goodbye to Riki with a smile that communicated volumes, and then she was gone and Jake was heading out behind her and the door swung shut and the shop was quiet.
Just you and Riki. He was at the front counter. You were near the piercing section. The red light was low and the playlist had shifted to something slower, something with bass underneath it, and the flash art on the walls looked different when there was no one else here — more intimate, like the shop had exhaled. “You can head,” Riki said. He wasn’t looking at you. Wiping the counter, routine.
“I know,” you said.
You didn’t move. He stopped wiping. The silence lasted four seconds. You counted. Then he looked up. The expression on his face wasn’t the smirk. Wasn’t the work focus. It was something stripped back — something that had been running underneath everything for weeks and was apparently done waiting. “Y/N,” he said. Low.
“Yeah,” you said. Like you were answering a question he hadn’t asked yet.
He put the cloth down. He came around the counter and crossed the floor and he didn’t stop until he was right in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your chin up slightly, and his hand came up to your jaw — not grabbing, just his fingers along the side of your face, tilting you toward him — and he looked at you for one more second like he was making absolutely sure.
Whatever he saw made his mind up. He kissed you and it was nothing like the slow build you’d been expecting — it was immediate, certain, his mouth on yours like he’d been thinking about it for weeks because he had been, and you got your hands into his shirt and kissed him back and the sound he made low in his throat did something catastrophic to your ability to think.
His hands moved — jaw, then your waist, pulling you in until there was no space left between you — and you felt the rings on his fingers through the fabric of your top and his body was solid and warm and there, fully there, nothing held back.
You bit his lower lip without planning to. He pulled back half an inch. His eyes were dark, his breathing had changed, and he looked at you with an expression that rearranged something in your chest. “Do that again,” he said quietly, “and we’re not stopping.”
“Good,” you said. And you did it again. He walked you back until your shoulders hit the wall beside the piercing partition — not rough, controlled, one hand flat against the wall beside your head and the other at your waist, and he kissed you deeper this time, slower, like he had you exactly where he wanted and wasn’t in any rush now that he did.
His tongue — god, his tongue, the bar was there and present and you felt it and made a sound into his mouth that you would have been embarrassed about if his hand hadn’t tightened on your waist the second you did it. “There it is,” he said against your mouth.
“Shut up,” you breathed.
“You’ve been thinking about it.” Not a question. His lips moved to your jaw, your neck, unhurried. “Since I told you.”
“Riki—”
“Yes,” he said, quoting you back to yourself, and you felt him smile against your throat.
“You’re so—”
“I know.” He pulled back to look at you. His hair was slightly wrecked, his eyes were very dark, and he looked at you with the kind of focus he usually reserved for his work — total, precise, like you were something he intended to get exactly right. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to stop talking,” you said.
“No you don’t.” He was right. You didn’t.
“I want—” You stopped. His thumb had found the hem of your top, tracing the skin at your waist, barely moving, just there. Your brain was doing something unhelpful. “I want you to keep going.”
“Keep going,” he repeated. Like he was logging it. “That’s not very specific.”
“Riki.”
“I want to hear you say it.” His voice had dropped, lower than usual, and there was something in it — not a demand exactly, more like an invitation with weight behind it, like he already knew and wanted you to catch up. “Tell me.”
You looked at him. He looked back, steady, patient, his thumb still tracing that small arc at your waist.
“I’ve wanted you for weeks,” you said. “You know that.”
“I know.” He leaned in, his mouth at your ear. “I wanted to hear you say it.” His hands moved — both of them, finding the hem of your top, sliding underneath to your bare waist, warm palms spreading across your skin — and you exhaled shakily and his mouth came back to yours and the patience dissolved.
Somewhere on the walk from the counter to the wall you got his shirt off and you put your hands on his chest and then his stomach and then lower and found the waistband of his jeans and his breath caught — actually caught, an involuntary thing, the first crack in the steady control — and you looked up at him.
His jaw was tight. His eyes were dark and fixed on your face. “Keep going,” he said. His own words back. Low and rough. You undid his jeans. Your hand found him and he was — there was a Jacob’s ladder — you stopped. He watched your face process it.
“Riki,” you said.
“Yeah.” His voice was rough now, the evenness wearing thin at the edges.
“When were you going to—”
“When it came up.”
“It’s come up.”
“It has,” he agreed, and something in his expression was almost amused except he was too far gone for amused, too focused, his hands gripping your waist with more pressure than before. “Still want to keep going?”
You looked at him. “Are you serious right now.”
He laughed — real, brief, surprised out of him — and then his forehead dropped to yours and you felt him exhale and then his mouth was on yours again and the laughing was done. Your jacket off your shoulders and it hit the floor and his mouth was on your throat before it landed — open, hot, his tongue against your pulse point and the piercing bar cool against your skin and you made a sound that echoed off the black walls. “Riki—”
“I know.” His hands were at the hem of your top, shoving it up, impatient in a way that cracked the usual control wide open. “Off.”
You got it off and his hands were on your tits and his mouth came back to yours.
He walked you back into the wall beside the piercing partition — not slow, not careful, just direct — and pinned you there with his body and his hands were everywhere and yours were too and it was nothing like the slow careful thing you’d half imagined. It was desperate. Both of you. Weeks of it.
“You have no idea,” he said against your jaw, your throat, lower, his mouth on your collarbone, “how long I’ve—” He stopped. His teeth grazed your skin. “Fuck.”
“Tell me,” you breathed.
“Since you walked in here in that dress,” he said into your skin. “Since you leaned on my counter and looked at me like that. I’ve been—” His hands found your jeans, the button, the zip. “Since then.” He shoved your jeans down your hips and you kicked them off and his hand pushed between your thighs and found your pussy through the thin fabric still there and pressed and your hips rolled forward hard.
“There,” he said. Low, rough, satisfied. “There you are.” His fingers moved — slow, deliberate, feeling the heat of you through the fabric — and he looked at your face while he did it. Watching. Taking everything. “Soaked already,” he said. “Were you like this the whole time?”
“Don’t—” you started.
“You were.” He pushed the fabric aside and his fingers touched your folds directly and you choked on a breath. The rings were cold, the contrast of it shocking and good and — “Riki—”
“Good girl,” he said quietly. Like it meant something. Like you’d done something right just by responding to him. His fingers moved through your folds and found your clit and you grabbed his shoulders and held on. “So wet. So fucking — look at you.”
“Please—”
“Please what.” His fingers kept moving, unhurried despite everything, despite the fact that you could feel how much he wanted this — felt it against your hip, hard, his own breathing gone ragged at the edges. “Say it.”
“I need—”
“Say it, Y/N.”
“I need you to fuck me,” you said. “Now, Riki, please—” He made a sound low in his throat and his fingers disappeared and he was shoving his own jeans down, just enough, barely, one hand braced on the wall beside your head — and then he looked at you, dark eyes and wrecked hair and jaw set hard.
“Here?” he said. Rough. “Right here?”
“Yes—”
His hand found your pussy again, two fingers pushing inside, testing, and you made an embarrassing sound and he groaned at the feel of you — “fuck you’re—” — and then his fingers were gone and he was there, the head of his cock at your entrance, and you hooked your leg over his hip. He pushed in. Both of you went still. His forehead dropped to yours. Your nails were in his shoulders. The Jacob’s ladder — you felt every single one and your mouth fell open and you heard him exhale shakily above you. “Riki—”
“I know.” His voice was barely there. “I know, just — fuck — just give me a second—”
“Don’t stop,” you said. “Don’t stop, keep—”
He moved. There was nothing controlled about it. That was the thing — Riki who was steady and certain and always in possession of himself — gone. Completely. He fucked you against the wall with his jeans half down and yours on the floor and his rings cold against your thigh where he’d hooked your leg higher and the bar of his tongue in his teeth when he looked at you and it was overwhelming, the closeness of it, the sound of it in the empty shop.
“Good,” he said, rough and low, his hips rolling into you, setting a pace that had your head dropping back against the wall. “Good girl, just like — yeah, just like that—”
“More—”
“Yeah?” He shifted his angle and you cried out and he did it again, deliberate, watching your face. “There?”
“Yes — yes, don’t stop—”
“I’ve got you.” His mouth found your throat. “I’ve got you, you’re doing so — fuck, Y/N, you feel—” He broke off. His rhythm stuttered and recovered. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”
The praise landed somewhere it had no business landing, warm and devastating, and your hips were moving to meet him and your clit was grinding against him with every thrust and you were already… “Riki I’m going to—”
“Do it,” he said immediately. “Cum for me. Come on.” His hand moved between you and his thumb found your clit and pressed and you shattered — your whole body going taut, his name in your mouth, your nails breaking skin on his shoulders — and he fucked you through it, relentless, not letting up—
“That’s it,” he said against your ear, rough and wrecked. “That’s it, good girl, god you’re—” He followed you over the edge not long after — his rhythm breaking, his breath gone, his forehead hard against the wall beside your head — and the sound he made when he came was low and helpless and you felt it everywhere.
There was silence that followed apart from the playlist over the shop speakers. The red light under the door still illuminated. Both of you still against the wall like butter of you planned to move soon, his weight partly on you and partly on his arm and neither of you in any hurry to fix that.
Your leg slid down from his hip. He pulled back enough to look at your face. His hair was completely wrecked. His mouth was slightly swollen. He looked at you with an expression that had nothing performed in it — just open, just him, something that hadn’t had a name all this time and still didn’t quite yet. “Hi,” he said.
You laughed. Surprised out of you, real. He smiled — the real one, the one that changed his whole face — and pressed it briefly into your hair.
You found the back room couch eventually. His shirt on your shoulders. The rings back on his fingers because he’d put them on out of habit and then looked at his own hands like he hadn’t noticed himself doing it. You lay on your back. He sat with his back against the couch, forearm on his knee, looking at the floor. “So,” you said.
“So,” he said.
“What happens now?” you said.
He was quiet for a moment. “What do you want?”
You thought about the card in your bag. The Wednesdays. The way he’d looked at you across the counter every single time like you were a decision he’d already made. “I don’t know yet,” you said. Honest.
“Okay,” he said. Easy. No pressure in it. His hand found yours in the dark. Didn’t make anything of it. Just held on. You stayed on the couch until the playlist rolled over twice. At some point the I don’t know yet became irrelevant because his mouth found your throat again and his hands were back under his shirt on your skin and the question got buried under something more immediate.
You left at nine. He walked you to the door. Held it open, leaned in the frame. The cold air hit you and you turned back. He looked wrecked and unbothered about it. Shirt on, jeans done up, rings on every finger. Hair a disaster. Looking at you with that expression — the settled one, the certain one. “Wednesday,” he said. You nodded.
Neither of you said anything about what it was. That was the agreement, unspoken, the way most things between you and Riki were unspoken. You came in on Wednesdays. Sometimes other days. Sometimes he texted at ten at night — nothing explicit, just you up or studio’s empty — and you went, and nobody named what that meant. It worked. Mostly.
The sex was — there wasn’t a word for it that didn’t sound inadequate. Compulsive was close. Inevitable was closer. Like once the wall had come down neither of you had any interest in rebuilding it, like your bodies had been having a conversation for months and were now just speaking plainly.
He learned you fast. Faster than anyone had. What made you gasp versus what made you come apart completely. The difference between what you asked for and what you actually wanted. He paid attention the way he paid attention to everything — totally, precisely — and used it with a focus that should have been illegal.
You learned him too. That the control was real but thin in the right circumstances. That his jaw set right before it cracked. That he made sounds he didn’t seem to know he was making. That he said your name differently when he was close — shorter, sharper, like he didn’t have room for the full shape of it. That he always, always pulled you back when you tried to move away after. Not possessive. Just — unwilling to let the warmth go yet. You were trying very hard not to think about what that meant.
Three weeks after the first time, on a Tuesday night, you were in the back room of Studio 13 with Riki’s shirt on the floor and your jeans somewhere near the door and his mouth on your throat and his hand between your thighs and the playlist coming through the walls and everything was fine, everything was exactly what it was, unnamed and manageable —
And then he said I’ve got you in that low rough voice right against your ear and something in your chest did a thing it wasn’t supposed to do. You filed it away. Dealt with it later. Later didn’t come because he did something with his tongue that made later completely irrelevant.
Wednesday afternoon. Counter. Coffee. Normal. Easy. The same as it had always been except for the part where it wasn’t because now you knew exactly what his hands felt like and what sounds he made and what his face looked like when the composure cracked and sitting on the other side of a counter from him in the middle of the afternoon was — a different experience than it used to be.
He was telling you something about a client — complicated custom piece, back and forth for weeks on the design — and you were listening and also watching his hands move when he talked, the rings catching the light, and thinking about those hands on your waist last night and… “Y/N.”
You looked up. He was looking at you with the quiet knowing expression. “I was listening,” you said.
“You weren’t.”
“I was. Custom piece. Back and forth on the design. Client keeps changing their mind.”
He tilted his head slightly. The corner of his mouth. “What were you thinking about?”
“The flash art.”
“Hm.” He leaned on the counter. His forearms right there, the sleeve on full display, and he looked at you with that unhurried certainty. “You were looking at my hands.”
“I was looking at your rings.”
“Y/N.”
“They’re interesting rings.”
He held your gaze for a long moment. Then he looked down at his hands, turned them over slowly, looked back up at you with an expression that was doing something to your ability to function. “Come back tonight,” he said.
“I was here last night.”
“I know.”
“And the night before.”
“I know.” He didn’t look remotely apologetic. “Come back tonight.”
You looked at him. “We should probably — this probably shouldn’t be—”
“Probably,” he agreed, like the word meant nothing.
“Riki.”
“Tonight, Y/N.”
You looked at your coffee. At him. At the rings on his hands that you had been thinking about and were now not admitting to thinking about. “Fine,” you said.
He picked up his own coffee. Satisfied. Like there had never been any other outcome. From across the shop Jay said nothing. He had learned, over the past three weeks, that saying things got him absolutely nowhere and had adapted accordingly. He simply made eye contact with Sunghoon across the room and they had an entire conversation without words.
That night after Studio 13 closed, which had become its own specific thing — the red light, the quiet, the shop breathing differently when it was empty. Riki had barely locked the front door before you were crossing the floor toward him and his expression when he turned around and saw you moving like that— “Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” You reached him. Your hands went to his chest, his jaw, pulling him down, and he came without resistance, his hands finding your waist immediately, already knowing where to go.
He kissed you slow this time. Deliberately slow, like he was making a point, like the urgency of the last few weeks had shifted into something that wanted to take its time. That was somehow worse. “Riki,” you said against his mouth.
“Hm.”
“Stop going slow.”
“No.” He kissed your jaw. Your throat. Slow and deliberate, his hands sliding under your top to your bare waist. “I spent all afternoon thinking about this.”
“So did I, that’s why—”
“That’s why we’re taking our time.” His mouth at your collarbone. “I want to—” A pause. His lips against your skin. “I want to take you apart properly. Not fast.”
Your hands tightened in his hair. “That’s not fair,” you said.
“No,” he agreed, and kept going. He got your top off and looked at you in the low light the way he always did — that slow, unapologetic assessment that moved over you like you were worth looking at carefully — and then his mouth found your tits and your head fell back.
His tongue. The bar of it, cool and present, circling your nipple, and you made a sound and his hands tightened on your waist. “Good girl,” he said against your skin. “Just like that.”
“Riki—”
“I’ve got you.” He moved to the other side, same slow attention, his hands holding your waist like you might float away. “I’ve got you, just — yeah, just feel it.” You were going to lose your mind. Your hands found his shirt and he let you get it off and then he was walking you back to the couch in the back room and laying you down and looking at you from above with dark eyes and that expression — the open one, the one that had no performance in it.
He got your jeans off slow. His hands running down your thighs as he pulled them, his mouth following, pressing to your hip, the inside of your knee, and by the time he got back up to your folds you were already soaked. “Riki, please—”
“Please what.” His breath against your inner thigh. Close, not close enough.
“Please—”
“Tell me what you want.” His lips brushed your folds, barely, just the suggestion of pressure. “Tell me.”
“Your mouth,” you said. “Please, your mouth—” He gave it to you. The bar of his tongue against your clit and you grabbed the back of the couch and held on. He ate your pussy like he had nowhere else to be — thorough, focused, the same attention he gave everything — and the sounds he made against you, low and hungry, like he was getting something from it—
“God—” your hips rolled and his hands held them down, firm, keep still, and the loss of control of that made it worse in the best way. “Riki I’m — don’t stop, don’t—”
“Not stopping,” he said against your clit. “Cum for me. Come on.”
You did. He worked you through it until you were pulling at his hair telling him too much, too much and he pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh and came back up your body and looked at your face with an expression that was — satisfied wasn’t the right word. Reverent was closer, which was a thing you were absolutely not processing right now. “Good girl,” he said quietly.
“Stop calling me that,” you said, breathless.
“No,” he said simply, and kissed you.
When he finally pushed inside you both exhaled like something had been solved. Slow, this time. Deep. His forehead against yours, his arms bracketing you, his rings cool against the side of your face where his hand was. “Okay?” he said.
“Yeah.” Your voice wasn’t working right. “Yeah, keep — please keep going.”
He moved. Slow, deep rolls of his hips that had you feeling every ridge of the ladder on every stroke and your mouth kept falling open and he watched it happen. “You feel it,” he said. Low, not a question.
“Yes—”
“Good.” His hips rolled deeper and you gasped. “That’s good, you’re so — fuck, Y/N—” His composure was fraying at the edges, the rhythm getting less controlled. “You take me so well. Every time. Like you were—” He stopped himself.
You looked up at him. His jaw was set, his eyes dark, something moving behind them that he’d just pulled back from saying. “Like I was what,” you said.
He looked at you. For a second — just a second — something was right there on his face, unguarded, something that went past the physical and landed somewhere neither of you had named yet. He kissed you instead of answering.
You let him. Filed it away. Pulled him closer and let the question dissolve into the drag and heat of him moving inside you and his mouth on yours and his hand sliding between you to find your clit— “Riki—”
“I know,” he said. “I know, come on, cum for me again, you can—”
“I can’t—”
“You can.” His thumb on your clit, his cock deep, his voice at your ear. “You can, good girl, come on, let me feel you—” You came with his name in your mouth and your whole body shaking and he followed you with his face pressed into your throat and the sound he made was low and broken and yours.
After his thumb moving slow at your hip. The ceiling. The playlist. You were thinking about like you were— and what came after it. You were thinking about I’ve got you and how he said it every time, always, like a reflex, like something that came from somewhere deeper than the moment.
You were thinking about the fact that you knew what his laugh sounded like — the real one, the surprised one — and that you’d been collecting these things without meaning to and the collection was getting heavy. “Riki,” you said.
“Hm.”
“What are we doing.”
Silence. His thumb stopped moving. Then, carefully: “What do you want to be doing.”
You stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
He was quiet for a long moment. You could feel him thinking — that specific quality of his silences, weighted, considering. “I’m not good at this part,” he said.
“What part.”
“The—” A pause. “Saying things.”
“You say things to me all the time.”
“Not these things.”
You turned your head to look at him. He was looking at the ceiling, jaw slightly tight, the expression of someone navigating something carefully. “What things,” you said quietly.
He turned his head. Your faces close in the dim light. His eyes moved over yours. “I don’t want you going anywhere,” he said. Finally. Quietly. “That’s — that’s what I’ve got right now.”
It wasn’t everything. You both knew it wasn’t everything. But it was Riki, who didn’t say things, saying a thing, and it landed with the weight of something much larger behind it.“Okay,” you said.
“Okay,” he said. His thumb started moving again. You looked back at the ceiling. The unnamed thing stayed unnamed. But it was there, in the room with you, and you both knew it.
The thing about not naming something was that it didn’t stop it from being a thing. It just meant you had no language for it when it started to matter. Four weeks into whatever this was, Ria staged an intervention.
Not a dramatic one — she didn’t have people over or make a presentation, she just showed up at your flat on a Saturday morning with coffee and pastries and sat across from you at your kitchen table with the expression of someone who had been patient for a very long time and was cashing that in now. “Talk,” she said.
“About what.”
“Y/N.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Ria.”
“I want you to say what’s happening with Riki.”
You picked up your coffee. “We’re—”
“If you say friends I’m leaving and taking the pastries.”
You put your coffee down. “It’s complicated.”
“Is it? Or is it simple and you’re making it complicated because you’re scared?”
You looked at her. She looked back with the patience of someone who had known you for six years and had seen every version of your avoidance. “We haven’t put a name on it,” you said.
“Why not.”
“Because—” You stopped. Because he’d said I don’t want you going anywhere and you’d said okay and neither of you had pushed past that. Because every Wednesday and every late night felt like building something and neither of you would say what you were building. “It’s working the way it is.”
“Is it.”
“Yes.”
“You like him.”
“Obviously.”
“Like like him.”
“Ria—”
“Y/N.” She leaned forward. “You went back to that shop every week for two months before anything happened. You know his coffee order, his schedule, what makes him laugh. You’ve met his friends. He checks your piercings as an excuse to be close to you.” She paused. “That’s not complicated. That’s you being terrified.”
You stared at the table. “He’s not easy to read,” you said. Finally.
“He gave you his personal card the night he met you,” Ria said. “Heeseung told me he’d never done that before.”
“When did you talk to Heeseung?”
“Jake texts me sometimes.”
“Jake texts you.”
“That’s not the point.” She pushed a pastry toward you. “The point is that boy is absolutely gone for you and you both keep dancing around it and it’s making everyone at Studio 13 insane, apparently.”
“Everyone?”
“Jay’s exact words were if they don’t sort it out soon I’m locking them in the back room.”
You put your face in your hands. “I don’t know how to do this with him,” you said, muffled. “He doesn’t say things. I don’t push. We just—”
“So say something first,” Ria said simply. “You’re not someone who waits, Y/N. That’s not you. You’re doing it because you’re scared he won’t say it back.” You lifted your face. Said nothing. She was right and you both knew it.
You didn’t say anything that Wednesday. You came close — sitting at the counter, coffee in hand, Riki talking about something, his rings on the desk, his eyes finding yours every few sentences the way they always did — and the words were right there, and you looked at his face, and you thought about Ria’s voice saying terrified, and you said nothing. He looked at you at one point like he knew something was moving behind your eyes. “What,” he said.
“Nothing.” You smiled. “Keep going.” He held your gaze for a second. Let it go.
The following Saturday Sunghoon texted you. Not unusual — you’d exchanged numbers for shop-related things, flash piece ideas, scheduling. He was easy to talk to, straightforward, the kind of person whose texts read exactly like his voice.
Sunghoon: hey, you said you were thinking about a collarbone piece right
you: yeah still thinking
Sunghoon: I drew something. wanna see
He sent a photo. Small, delicate, blackwork — something botanical, two thin stems crossing, minimal and precise. It was exactly your taste and you had no idea how he’d known that.
you: sunghoon this is gorgeous
Sunghoon: right? come in monday, I’ll show you the full size version. riki’s off monday so it’ll be quiet
you: sounds good, see you then
You didn’t think anything of it. Sunghoon was your friend. He’d drawn something for you. You were going to look at it. You didn’t mention it to Riki because there was nothing to mention.
Monday the shop was quieter without Riki in it, which was a thing you noticed and filed away as information you didn’t love having. Sunghoon had the drawing laid out on the counter when you arrived — full size, done properly on transfer paper, and it was even better than the photo. You stood over it with him pointing out the details, his hand close to yours on the paper, talking through placement and sizing and whether to add a third stem.
Jay was pretending to do something at the other counter.bHeeseung was in his office with the door open. “Here,” Sunghoon said, and pressed the transfer paper lightly to your collarbone to show you the placement. His hand steadied it against your skin, professional, and you looked in the mirror and thought yes, that was exactly right. Your phone lit up on the counter.
Riki: you at the shop?
You looked at it. Jay looked at it. Sunghoon didn’t see it.
you: yeah, sunghoon drew something for me. just looking at placement
The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Riki: k
One letter.
Riki: looks good?
you: really good actually. he’s talented
The dots again. Then nothing. No reply. You put your phone down. Sunghoon was still talking about the third stem. You looked at the transfer in the mirror and tried to pay attention and felt something uneasy settle in your chest.
Riki was at the counter when you arrived Wednesday. You knew within ten seconds that something was wrong. Not visibly wrong — he looked the same, said hey the same, had your coffee ready the same. But his eyes when they met yours were flatter than usual. The warmth was there but dimmed, like something had been turned down. You sat. Picked up your coffee. “How was your day off?” you said.
“Fine.” He was looking at his phone.
“Did you do anything?”
“Not much.” Jay appeared from the back, clocked the atmosphere in approximately two seconds, and disappeared again.
You watched Riki scroll his phone. His jaw was set. Not dramatically — just tight, controlled, the way it got when he was holding something still. “Riki,” you said.
“Hm.”
“Look at me.” He looked up. The flat quality was more visible face to face. Something was moving behind his eyes that he was keeping on a very short leash. “What’s wrong?” you said.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve said twelve words since I got here.”
“I’ve been busy.”
You looked at him. He looked back, and you could see the effort of it — the effort of sitting in whatever this was and keeping it even. “Is this about Monday?” you said.
Something shifted in his jaw. “No.”
“Riki.”
“It’s not about Monday.”
“So it is about Monday.”
He put his phone down. Flat on the counter. He looked at you with an expression that was very controlled and also not controlled at all if you knew what to look for, and you knew what to look for now. “You went in on my day off,” he said.
“Sunghoon drew something for me. I told you.”
“I know what you told me.”
“Then what—”
“His hands were on you.” Quiet. Final. Like he’d been sitting on it for two days and it had compacted into something very small and very dense.
You stared at him. “He was showing me placement. For a tattoo. That’s his job.”
“I know that.”
“Then—”
“I know that, Y/N.” His voice was still even but something was pushing at the edges of it. “I know it doesn’t mean anything. I know Sunghoon wasn’t — I know.” He looked at the counter. “It doesn’t stop it feeling—” He stopped.
“Feeling what,” you said. He was quiet for a long moment.
“Wrong,” he said. “It feels wrong. Someone else’s hands on you feels wrong and I don’t know how to make that—” He stopped again. His thumb pressed against the counter. “I’m trying to be rational about it.”
“You went quiet for two days,” you said.
“I know.”
“That’s not — Riki, you can’t just go quiet every time something—”
“I know.” He looked up. His eyes were direct now, no flatness, just the real thing underneath — something frustrated and raw and tired of itself. “I know it’s not fair. I’m telling you I know that. I just—” A breath. “I don’t know how to feel it and not do that. I’m working on it.”
You looked at him for a long moment. “You went quiet instead of talking to me,” you said.
“Yes.”
“And you’re telling me now because I pushed.”
“Yes.” He held your gaze. “I would have told you. I just needed to — I needed it to be smaller before I could say it without it being—” He gestured vaguely. “A lot.”
“Is it smaller now?”
“Somewhat.”
You picked up your coffee. Looked at it. Put it down. “You know that there’s nothing—” you started.
“I know.” Immediately. “Y/N, I know. This isn’t about you. This isn’t about Sunghoon. It’s mine, it’s a me thing, and I’m not trying to make it your problem.”
“It becomes my problem when you disappear.”
“I know.” His jaw shifted. “I’m sorry.”
You looked at him. He looked back, steady, the thing behind his eyes open now in the way it only got when he’d pushed past the control on purpose — when he was giving you something deliberately. “Don’t disappear,” you said. “Whatever it is — just say it. To me. Not in your head for two days.”
“Okay,” he said. His hand moved across the counter and covered yours briefly — the rings cool, the weight of his palm familiar. “Okay, Y/N.”
The touch lasted a few seconds. He didn’t make anything of it. Just let it be there and then pulled back. From the back room, completely audibly, Jay said to someone: “finally.”
“Jay,” Riki said flatly.
“I’m just saying—”
“Jay.”
That night, late. He was in your flat, his idea — he’d texted at nine, not you up or studio’s empty but just your name, which was new. He was on your couch with his legs stretched out and his head back and his eyes on your ceiling and you were beside him close enough to feel the warmth of him and neither of you had moved toward the other yet. Just sitting. Existing in the same space. “Can I ask you something?” you said.
“Yeah.”
“The possessiveness.” You kept your voice even. “Where does it come from.”
A pause. He was quiet long enough that you thought he might not answer. “Control,” he said finally. “Or — fear of losing it. Things I care about.” His thumb moved against his own knee. “I spent a long time in situations where things got taken. People I — things I couldn’t protect.” He stopped. “I don’t talk about it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” A pause. “I want to. I just — not yet.”
Not yet. Not never. Not it’s not your business. Not yet meant there was a timeline. Meant he was thinking about it. Meant you were someone he was moving toward telling.
You leaned your head against his shoulder. He went still for a second — surprised, you thought, by the smallness of it, the casualness — and then his head dropped against yours and you felt him exhale. “The collarbone piece,” he said eventually. “Let me do it.”
You lifted your head. Looked at him. “You do tattoos?”
“Heeseung taught me. I’m not on the books for it but—” He met your eyes. “I want to do it. If you want.”
Sunghoon’s drawing. Riki’s hands. “Yeah,” you said. “Okay.”
Something settled in his face. Quiet and satisfied in a way that had nothing to do with the smirk. “Okay,” he said.
You put your head back on his shoulder. His arm moved — slow, like he was checking it was allowed — and settled around you. The unnamed thing pressed closer. Neither of you named it. But his arm tightened slightly and you let it, and that was something too.
The collarbone piece took two sessions. Riki had been clear about that upfront — small piece, delicate linework, he wanted to do it right and doing it right meant not rushing. You’d sat in the chair in the back room of Studio 13 on a quiet Tuesday morning with his hands on your collarbone and his face close and his full attention on the work and tried very hard to be normal about it. You were not normal about it. “Stop tensing,” he said, without looking up.
“I’m not tensing.”
“Your shoulder is up by your ear.” You lowered your shoulder. He glanced up briefly — dark eyes, the focus in them softening for just a second when they met yours — and then back down. “First line’s the worst,” he said. “Then you’ll settle.”
“I’ve been tattooed before.”
“Not by me.” He said it simply. Like it was just a fact. Which it was. But the way he said it landed like something more — like not by me was its own category, its own distinct experience, and he was right, as it turned out, because when the needle touched your collarbone the small shock of it dissolved almost immediately into the warmth of his hands steadying you and his voice saying good, just like that, breathe — and you settled.
You watched his face while he worked. This version of him — the work version, focused and quiet and completely present — was one of your favorites. All the usual energy went inward. The smirk was gone, the easy confidence was still there but different, channeled into precision. He moved the machine in small careful arcs and his free hand was always on you, always steadying, always aware of exactly how much pressure to use. “You’re staring,” he said.
“You said that to me once before.”
“You were staring then too.”
“Maybe I just have a specific staring problem.”
The corner of his mouth moved. He didn’t look up. “Maybe you do.”
He kissed you after the session. Not immediately — he’d finished, stepped back, examined the work with that quiet critical eye, declared it good. You’d looked in the mirror and felt something warm move through your chest at the sight of it — the two stems, thin and precise, sitting exactly right on your collarbone. “It’s perfect,” you said.
“I know.” He was already at the sink, washing his hands, and you could hear the smile in it even without seeing his face. You got up from the chair. Crossed the small space between you. And when he turned around you were right there and his expression shifted — from satisfied work-focus to something more personal, more immediate — and you put your hand on his jaw and kissed him.
He kissed you back with his damp hands at your waist, careful not to touch the fresh tattoo, and it was slow and unhurried and tasted like coffee and something that was just him and when you pulled back his eyes stayed closed for a second. Opened. Looked at you. “Hi,” he said quietly.
“Hi,” you said. His thumb moved at your waist. The rings. The warmth of his palms through your shirt.
“Come back Thursday for the second session,” he said.
“I know, you told me.”
“Just making sure.” He kissed you again before you could respond — quick, soft, his mouth on yours for just a moment — and then stepped back and handed you the aftercare sheet and was professional again, mostly, except for the way his eyes followed you to the door.
Thursday’s second session was longer. More detail, more shading on the stems, a small shadow that made the whole thing lift off the skin. You sat in the chair and he worked and you talked — properly talked, the way you did at the counter but quieter, more contained, just the two of you in the partitioned space.
He told you about growing up. Small things — not the things he kept locked, but around the edges of them. A younger brother. Moving schools twice. Being good at things with his hands from early on, carving things, taking things apart to see how they worked. “Is that why the piercing?” you said.
“Partly.” He shifted the machine slightly. “Partly because it’s — immediate. You do it right and you see it right away. No waiting to find out.”
“You like knowing things work.”
He glanced up. “Yeah.”
“Control thing.”
A pause. “Yeah,” he said again, quieter. You let that sit. Didn’t push.
“Tell me something else,” he said, after a moment. Deflecting but not — more like redirecting, like he wanted the conversation to keep going just in a different direction.
So you told him things. About your course, your family, the flat you’d moved into two years ago that still didn’t feel completely yours. The way Ria had been your anchor through everything since you were sixteen. How you’d wanted to study abroad and hadn’t and sometimes still thought about it. “Why didn’t you?” he said.
“Felt like running away from something.”
“Were you?”
You thought about it. “Probably.”
He looked up. His eyes on yours, level. “What were you running from.”
“Someone,” you said. “It doesn’t matter now.”
He held your gaze for a moment. You watched something move through his expression — something careful, something that might have been jealousy at its very distant edges but was mostly just — paying attention. Storing it. Like everything you gave him went somewhere it would be kept.
“Their loss,” he said. Simply. Looked back down. You looked at the top of his head and felt the unnamed thing press against your ribs from the inside.
He finished the piece in two hours. You both looked at it in the mirror — his chin near your shoulder, your reflection side by side — and neither of you said anything for a moment. “Well,” you said.
“Yeah,” he said. It was exactly right. Better than right. The kind of thing that looked like it had always been there, like your skin had been waiting for it.
You turned. He was right there, closer than you’d clocked, and you put both hands on his chest and looked up at him and he looked down at you and the moment expanded slightly. “Thank you,” you said.
“Don’t thank me.”
“Riki—”
“It was for me as much as you,” he said. Quiet. Direct. No smirk in it. “I wanted to put something on you. That’s—” He stopped. His jaw shifted. “That’s a me thing. Don’t thank me for it.”
You looked at him. He looked back, steady, and the naked quality of what he’d just said sat between you — I wanted to put something on you — and neither of you moved for a second.
Then you kissed him. Slow, deliberate, your hands spreading on his chest. He made a low sound and his arms came around you — gentle because of the fresh tattoo, careful, his hands at your back instead of your waist — and he kissed you back like he had time, like he wanted to use it.
When you broke apart he kept his forehead against yours. “Stay,” he said. Low. “Tonight. Just—” A pause. “Just stay.”
“Okay,” you said. You ate takeout on the floor of the back room because the couch was small and the floor had more space and Riki sat with his back against the couch and you sat between his legs with your back against his chest and it was so domestically comfortable that it was almost alarming.
He ate with one arm around you. His chin occasionally dropping to your shoulder to look at whatever you were showing him on your phone. His thumb making that small absent arc at your hip that he did when he wasn’t thinking about it.
“Ria thinks we need to define this,” you said, at some point. His arm didn’t tighten. Didn’t loosen. He was quiet for a moment.
“What do you think?” he said.
“I think Ria is right about most things.”
“Hm.” His thumb kept moving. “What would you define it as.”
You turned your head slightly. His face was close — close enough to see the detail of the scar through his eyebrow, the silver of his earring, the way he was looking at you with that careful open expression he only had when there was no one else around. “I don’t know,” you said. “What would you.”
“Mine,” he said. Quiet. Simple. Like it was the most obvious answer.
Your heart did something inconvenient. “That’s very you,” you said.
“Is it wrong?”
You turned back to face forward. His arm around you. The takeout. The red light. “No,” you said. “It’s not wrong.”
You felt him exhale against the back of your head. Slow, like something had released. His lips pressed briefly to your hair. Not a kiss exactly — too soft, too absent, more like a thing he did without deciding to.
You stayed on the floor until midnight. Talked about nothing important. Everything slightly important. He told you Jake was obviously falling for Hana and was handling it terribly, which you already knew, and you told him Ria had started texting Jake directly to speed the process along, which he did not know and which made him laugh — the real one, sudden, surprised. You stored it.
“I should go,” you said eventually. You had a nine AM seminar and the responsible thing—
“Yeah,” he said. Made no move to untangle himself from around you.
“Riki.”
“Five minutes.”
“You said that twenty minutes ago.”
“Five more minutes.” You leaned back into him and gave him the five minutes. He pressed his mouth to the side of your head again — that soft, absent thing, lips in your hair — and you closed your eyes and thought about mine and the way he’d said it like it was just the truth.
When you finally stood up he walked you to the door the way he always did. Unlocked it. Held it open. You turned back. He kissed you in the doorway — unhurried, thorough, one hand cupping your jaw and the other flat against the doorframe — and you kissed him back and it went on longer than a goodbye kiss needed to, longer than was practical, until he pulled back and looked at you with dark eyes and slightly wrecked composure.
“Wednesday,” he said. His thumb traced your jaw once before dropping.
“Wednesday,” you said. You made it to the end of the street. You looked back. He was still in the doorway, leaning on the frame, watching you go. When he saw you look he didn’t pretend he hadn’t been watching. Just held your gaze across the dark street. You turned back around and smiled at the pavement the whole way to the bus stop.
Heeseung had told everyone to come to his flat for dinner on Saturday — no occasion, just food, just all of them in the same place — and you’d arrived with Ria who had told you she’d been waiting for this invitation for weeks, which meant Jake had told her about it before Riki had told you, which meant something.
Heeseung’s flat was calm and dark-walled like the shop, art everywhere, music at a volume that allowed conversation. Jay was already there and immediately pulled Ria into an argument about something. Jake appeared from the kitchen and the way his face changed when he saw Ria was something you were going to tell Riki about later.
Riki was on the couch. He looked up when you came in and the smile that happened was immediate and unguarded — no performance, no build up, just his face doing the thing it did when you appeared, the thing you didn’t think he knew it did. He moved over without being asked. You sat beside him. Close. His arm went across the back of the couch behind you — not around you, but there, present, the rings near your shoulder.
Sunghoon arrived twenty minutes later and dropped onto the armchair across from you and looked at you both with an expression of great satisfaction. “You two sorted?” he said.
“Sunghoon,” Riki said.
“What? Last month you were—“ He stopped. “I’m just asking—”
“We’re sorted,” you said. Sunghoon grinned. Riki’s arm moved from the back of the couch to actually around your shoulders, like Sunghoon asking had given him permission to stop pretending he wasn’t doing it.
Dinner was loud and easy and everyone talked over everyone and Jay told a story about a client that got more elaborate every time he told it and Ria fit in like she’d always been there and Heeseung sat at the head of the table and said little and watched everything with quiet satisfaction.
After dinner you ended up back on the couch. Riki beside you, your legs across his, his hand resting on your ankle. The conversation had split across the room — Jay and Sunghoon, Ria and Jake in what looked like an increasingly interesting exchange, Heeseung in the kitchen. “You good?” Riki said quietly, just to you.
“Yeah.” You looked at the room. “This is nice.”
“They like you.”
“Jay likes everyone.”
“Heeseung doesn’t,” he said. Simple. “He likes you.”
You looked at him. “How can you tell?”
“He invited you.” He said it like it was obvious. “He doesn’t do this for everyone. He did it because—” A pause. His hand moved slightly on your ankle. “Because you’re—” He stopped.
“Because I’m what,” you said softly.
He looked at you. The room was noisy around you but it felt like it had contracted to just this, just his face and yours and the thing he was about to say. “Important,” he said. Quiet. “Because you’re important.”
Your heart did the inconvenient thing again, harder this time. “Riki,” you said.
“Yeah.”
“That word—”
“I know what word I used.” You looked at him. He looked back, steady, not taking it back, not softening it. Just — sitting in it, the way he sat in most things, patient and certain.
Across the room Jay said something loud and everyone laughed and the moment breathed. Riki’s hand moved from your ankle to your calf. Warm. Present. “Stay tonight,” he said. Low enough that it was only for you. “Not at the shop. Mine.”
His. His flat, which you hadn’t been to, which was a different thing than the back room couch. A different kind of staying. “Yeah,” you said.
He nodded. Looked back at the room. But his hand stayed on your leg and his shoulder was warm against yours and you sat in the important and let it settle into something that felt permanent.
Later, when most people had gone and Ria was helping Heeseung with something in the kitchen and it was just you and Riki by the door putting your jacket on he turned you by the shoulders. Kissed you slowly, his hands on your face, thumbs at your jaw. The kind of kiss that had no agenda, no direction, just wanted to exist. When he pulled back he looked at you for a long moment.
The word boyfriend was right there in the room. Neither of you said it. But his hand found yours and held it, and he didn’t let go the whole way to his flat, and somewhere in the space between mine and important and his fingers between yours on a dark street — the unnamed thing finally had a shape. You just hadn’t said it out loud yet.
His flat was on the third floor of a building that had seen better decades, the kind of place that was held together by good bones and someone who actually cared about the space inside it. You didn’t know what you’d expected.
More of the shop, maybe — dark walls, flash art, the deliberate aesthetic. And there was some of that. Dark furniture, a few framed pieces on the walls, one large canvas above the couch that was either very expensive or done by someone he knew and you suspected the latter. But it was also — lived in, in a specific way. Books stacked in an order that made sense only to him. A record player in the corner with a small collection beside it. The kitchen clean in the way of someone who cooked properly and cleaned as they went.
It was a home. Actually a home. That surprised you and you didn’t know why it surprised you and then you thought about what he’d said — I spent a long time in situations where things got taken — and understood it. He’d built this. Deliberately. Piece by piece. “Stop analyzing it,” he said from the kitchen.
“I’m not analyzing it.”
“You have your analyzing face on.”
“I don’t have an analyzing face.”
He appeared in the kitchen doorway with two glasses of water and looked at you standing in his living room in your jacket still on and raised an eyebrow. “Take your jacket off,” he said. “You’re staying.” You took your jacket off.
You fell asleep on his couch. Not intentionally — you’d been talking, the record player on low, and somewhere between one subject and the next the warmth of him beside you and the late hour pulled you under. You were aware of it happening distantly, the conversation getting slower, your eyes getting heavy, and you didn’t fight it.
You woke up in his bed. He’d moved you. At some point while you slept he’d carried you — or walked you, half-conscious — to the bed and put you in it and the duvet was pulled up and his pillow smelled like him and you lay there in the early grey morning and stared at the ceiling and felt something enormous and inconvenient sitting on your chest.
You heard him in the kitchen. The quiet sounds of someone who knew how to exist in the morning without disturbing anyone. You lay there and thought about mine and important and the collarbone tattoo and his hand in yours on the dark street and the back room couch and two months of Wednesdays and the card he’d slid across the counter the first night like he’d already decided.
You thought about Ria’s voice. You’re terrified. You were terrified.
He was at the kitchen counter with his back to you when you came in. Making coffee, unhurried, still in the clothes from last night minus the jacket. Rings on his hands already. You didn’t know if he’d slept. He turned when he heard you. Took in your expression with one look. “Hey,” he said carefully.
“Hey.” You stood in the kitchen doorway. Your heart was doing something loud. “You moved me.”
“You were asleep on my couch.”
“You could have woken me up.”
“You looked tired.” Simple. Like it was nothing. Like carrying you to his bed was just a practical thing he’d done without thinking. “Coffee?”
“Riki.” He looked at you. Really looked — reading whatever was on your face with that careful focus, taking it in.
“What’s going on,” he said.
“Nothing. I just—” You stopped. Started again. “I woke up in your bed and it—” You pressed your fingers to your mouth briefly. “It felt like something.” He was quiet. Waiting.
“I think this is something,” you said. “I think it’s been something for a while and we keep not saying it and I’m—” You exhaled. “I’m tired of not saying it.”
The kitchen was very quiet. Riki leaned back against the counter. Crossed his arms. His expression was the open one — no performance, no control layered over it, just his face and whatever was behind it. “Say it then,” he said quietly.
You looked at him. “I want this to be a thing. A real thing. I want—” You. “I want the name.”
He uncrossed his arms. Crossed the kitchen in three steps and he was right in front of you and his hands came up to your face — both of them, palms at your jaw, tilting your face up — and he looked at you for one long second. “It’s already a thing,” he said. “It’s been a thing.” His thumb moved at your cheekbone. “I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”
“That’s very smug,” you said. Your voice wasn’t fully steady.
“I know.” He wasn’t smiling. His eyes were serious, dark, right there. “Y/N.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not good at the words,” he said. “You know that. But this—” his thumbs traced your face, gentle and deliberate “—this is not nothing. This hasn’t been nothing since you walked into my shop.”
Your hands found his wrists. Held on. “Okay,” you said.
“Okay,” he said. He kissed you. Soft, slow, his hands still on your face like he wanted to hold the moment still. You kissed him back and felt the unnamed thing finally, finally settle into something with a shape and a weight and a name you’d figure out the exact word for later.
When he pulled back he pressed his forehead to yours. “Boyfriend is a weird word,” he said.
You laughed. Surprised out of you, real. “It really is.”
“But yeah.” His mouth curved. “That.”
“That,” you agreed. He kissed you again, brief and warm, and then stepped back and handed you a coffee and the domesticity of it — his flat, his coffee, his hands, the morning — hit you somewhere soft.
“Sit down,” he said. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“You cook?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Riki I’ve known you for months and I’ve never seen you eat anything that wasn’t takeout or coffee.”
“That’s at the shop.” He was already at the fridge. “At home I cook.”
You sat at his kitchen counter on a stool and watched him move around his kitchen with the same ease he brought to everything — competent, unhurried, knowing where things were — and drank your coffee and felt the warmth of the morning settle around you. “What are you making?” you said.
“Eggs.”
“Just eggs?”
“Good eggs.” He glanced back. “Don’t underestimate eggs.”
They were good eggs. You ate at his kitchen counter side by side, your shoulder against his, and the conversation came easy the way it always did — drifting, unhurried, one thing opening into another. He told you about the record player, how he’d found it at a market two years ago and had to carry it up three flights on his own. You told him about the flat you’d wanted that you hadn’t got and ended up in your current one instead and how it had turned out better. “Things usually do,” he said.
“Philosopher.”
“Just paying attention.” His hand found yours on the counter between you. Covered it. Not making anything of it — just there, warm and present. You turned your hand over and his fingers slid between yours. You sat like that until the coffee was cold.
He walked you out two hours later. Down the three flights and out onto the morning street, quiet at this hour, pale winter sun doing its best. He had his jacket on, hands in his pockets, walking beside you in the direction of the bus stop. “You don’t have to walk me,” you said.
“I know.” He walked you anyway. His shoulder bumping yours occasionally. Not holding your hand now — just beside you, present, taking up the right amount of space. At the bus stop he turned to face you. “Wednesday,” he said.
“Wednesday,” you said. Then: “Actually I might come Tuesday. I need to talk to Heeseung about extending the collarbone piece.”
Something moved across his face. Quick, then gone. “You want to extend it?” he said.
“Just the stems, maybe. One more.” You looked at his expression. “What?”
“I’ll do it,” he said. Immediate.
“I know you’ll do it—”
“I mean — the extension. Let me do it.” His jaw was doing the thing. “Not Heeseung.”
You looked at him. Understood. “Okay,” you said.
“Okay.” The jaw relaxed. A short exhale.
You reached up and kissed him — he leaned down to meet you before you’d fully extended, like he’d been waiting for it — and it was brief and warm and tasted like coffee. “Tuesday,” you said against his mouth.
“Tuesday,” he said. The bus appeared at the end of the road. He stepped back. Hands back in his pockets. Watching you with that settled, certain expression. “Text me when you’re home,” he said. New. That was new.
“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “Okay.”
You texted Ria from the bus.
you: we sorted it
The reply was immediate. She’d been awake, waiting.
Ria: WHAT
you: it’s a thing. officially.
Ria: I KNEW IT I HAVE BEEN SAYING does he even know the word boyfriend???
you: he said it’s a weird word
Ria: oh my god he’s so him
you: he made me eggs
Ria: Y/N!!!
you: they were really good eggs
Ria: I am going to cry. IM SO HAPPY!
You put your phone in your pocket and looked out the bus window at the city going past and felt something settled and warm sitting in your chest where the unnamed thing used to be.
Daniel saw you get off the bus. You didn’t notice him. You were texting Riki — something small, a photo of a dog outside the coffee shop you were passing, the kind of thing you sent now because you could — and you walked past him without looking up.
He watched you go. Watched the way you were smiling at your phone. He knew about the tattoo shop. He’d heard you mention it. He’d put things together — the visits, the name that came up, the way you’d brushed him off every time since October.
He pulled out his own phone. Started looking. It didn’t take long. Public record. The charge, the conviction, the sentence. He read it twice. Read the name again. Looked up Studio 13. He sat with it for a long time. Then he texted Soo.
Daniel: hey, you’re friends with Y/N right. I need to tell you something about someone she’s seeing.
The thing about finally naming something was that it changed the texture of everything. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just — small shifts, accumulating. The way he texted now, more often, nothing significant but there. The way he said my girlfriend to a client who asked about the collarbone piece, casual, not looking at you when he said it, and you’d had to look very hard at the flash wall for a moment. The way his hand found yours in public without him thinking about it first. Small things. Heavy things.
You were catastrophically gone for him and had been for a while and now there was nothing to hide it behind.
The first Tuesday after you came into Studio 13 at noon and Riki was with a client so Jay made you coffee and sat across from you at the counter with the expression of someone who had been waiting to say something. “So,” he said.
“Don’t,” you said.
“I just want to say—”
“Jay.”
“I called it.” He held up both hands. “First week you came in. I said to Sunghoon, I said that girl is going to wreck him, and I was right—”
“I didn’t wreck anyone—”
“In a good way.” He was grinning. “He’s different. He’s — I’ve known Riki for two years and he texted me last Sunday morning just to talk. Riki. Texting. On a Sunday. Because he was in a good mood and wanted to—”
“Jay.” Riki’s voice from the piercing section, flat. He’d finished with his client without you noticing.
“I’m just saying—”
“I heard what you were saying.” Riki came around the partition and looked at you and the expression on his face when it landed on you was the thing Jay had been describing without being able to name it — something unlocked, something that had been held tight for a long time and wasn’t anymore.
He came to the counter. Leaned down and kissed you hello like it was something he’d been doing for years. Brief, warm, his hand on your jaw for just a second. Jay made a noise. Riki sat on his stool without acknowledging him. Picked up his coffee. “How’s the collarbone?” he said.
“Good. I want to talk about an extension.”
“I know what I’ll doing with it.”
“I haven’t told you what I want yet.”
“I know what you want.” He met your eyes. Completely certain. “Trust me.”
You looked at him. Thought about the first piece — how right it had been, how it had looked like it had always been there. “Fine,” you said.
Jay, very quietly, said: “He’s so different.”
The extension happened the following Thursday. One more stem. Slightly longer than the others, curving toward your shoulder, a small bud at the end that he’d added without asking and that was so exactly right you hadn’t been able to speak for a moment when you saw it. “Riki,” you said.
“Hm.” He was examining the placement, focused.
“The bud.”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“No.” He glanced up. Brief, the focus breaking for just a second. “Do you like it?”
You looked in the mirror. The three stems, the new one curving outward, the small closed bud at its tip. Something that looked like potential. Like something about to open. “Yeah,” you said. “I like it.”
He looked back down. Said nothing. But his free hand, steadying your shoulder, pressed slightly. Small. Deliberate.
Three weeks in and the shape of things had settled. Wednesdays at the shop. Tuesday evenings at his flat, which had become a specific thing — you’d bring food, he’d already have the record player going, and you’d eat on his couch or his kitchen floor and talk until one of you fell asleep. Some Fridays at yours, which he’d come to twice now and moved through with the particular attentiveness of someone learning a space they planned to know well.
His things had started appearing at your flat. A hoodie, first — left behind, not retrieved. Then a phone charger. Then a record he’d brought over to show you something and hadn’t taken back. You didn’t point any of this out. Neither did he.
You had a key to Studio 13. That had happened without discussion — Riki had taken it off his keyring one night when you’d arrived before him and handed it to you and gone back to what he was doing. You’d stared at it for a full ten seconds.
This was how he said things. Not in words. In the key. In the bud on the stem. In text me when you’re home and Sunday morning texts and the way he always, always knew when something was wrong before you’d said anything. You were learning his language. It was quieter than most people’s but it was fluent.
Four weeks in, on a Wednesday night after Studio 13 closed as usual. But tonight the energy was different from the second you’d locked the front door behind you — something in the way he’d looked at you across the shop all evening, something that had been building since you’d arrived and had nowhere to go while there were other people present.
He kissed you against the front counter the second the lock clicked. Not soft. Not the hello-kiss or the goodbye-kiss or the slow deliberate thing from his kitchen. This was four weeks of officially named wanting, his hands in your hair and your hands in his jacket and both of you breathing differently inside ten seconds. He pulled back. Looked at your face. “Hi,” you said.
“Hi.” His voice was rough already. His hands moved from your hair to your waist, sliding under your top to bare skin, and you felt his rings and exhaled. “Been thinking about you all day.”
“I was here all evening.”
“I know.” His mouth found your jaw, your throat. “Worse.”
“Riki—”
“I know.” He pulled your top up and off and looked at you in the low red light the way he always did — that slow, deliberate sweep that moved over you like you were something he was committing to memory. The collarbone piece. His hands on you. “God,” he said quietly. Not performing it. Just — reacting.
“Come here,” you said. He came. He got you onto the front counter. Which was new. Which was — you looked around the shop, the dark windows, the closed door, and then his hands were on your thighs spreading them and he was standing between them and the location became very irrelevant. “Here?” you said.
“Here.” He kissed you again, deep, his tongue against yours and the bar of it doing what it always did to your ability to think. His hands pushed your skirt up your thighs, found your underwear, pushed it aside — and his fingers were there, at your folds, and you grabbed the edge of the counter.
“Riki—”
“Already.” His fingers moved through your folds, slow, feeling you. “Fuck, Y/N, already—”
“Don’t be smug—”
“I’m not.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, your throat. “I’m really not.” His fingers found your clit and circled and your hips rolled forward. “That’s it. That’s—” A breath. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Tell me,” you breathed.
He pushed two fingers inside you and your head fell back. “This,” he said, low, watching your face. “Every time. Every fucking time you walk in here I want—” His fingers curled and you gasped. “Yeah. That. I want that sound.”
“More—”
“More?” He kept the pace slow. Deliberate. His thumb finding your clit while his fingers moved and the combination was devastating. “You sure? We’re not in a rush.”
“Riki I swear to god—”
He laughed — low, warm, real — and his fingers moved deeper and his thumb pressed harder and you grabbed his shoulder and held on. “Good girl,” he said against your throat. “So good. So wet for me, every time, like you spend all day—”
“I do,” you said, breathless. “I do, okay, is that what you want to hear—”
“Yes,” he said simply, and meant it, and his fingers moved faster. You came with your face pressed into his neck and his name in your mouth, his fingers working you through it, not stopping until you pulled at his hair and told him too much, too much—
He pulled his hand back. Pressed his mouth to your temple. Your cheekbone. The corner of your mouth. “Good girl,” he said again, softer. “You’re so—”
“Don’t you dare say something nice right now,” you said. “I can’t handle it.” He pressed his smile into your hair.
You got his jeans open. Got your hand on his cock and felt him exhale sharply against your neck —that involuntary thing, the crack in the control — and stroked slowly and felt every bar of the ladder and heard him make a sound that was almost pained. “Y/N—”
“Yeah?”
“I need—” His hips pushed forward slightly. “Fuck, I need you to—”
“Need me to what.” You kept the pace slow. His own medicine.
His forehead dropped to your shoulder. “Please.” The please from Riki — rare, wrecked, genuine — landed somewhere it always landed and you let go of him and pulled him forward by his waistband and he understood, got his jeans down, stepped between your thighs.
He pushed inside in one slow stroke and you both went still. His hands braced on the counter either side of you. Your hands on his chest. The shop around you, the red light, the flash art on the walls watching everything. “Okay?” he said. Rough. Always asked.
“Move,” you said. “Please, Riki, move—” He moved.
The front counter was cold under your hands and he was warm everywhere else — his chest against yours, his mouth at your throat, his hips rolling into you in a rhythm that started slow and deliberate and got less controlled as it went. “You feel—” He broke off. His jaw set. “Every time. Like the first time, every—”
“Don’t stop talking,” you said. “I like it when you talk.”
He made a rough sound. “You like it.”
“Yes—”
“Good girl for telling me.” His pace shifted deeper and you choked on a breath. “Good girl for always — fuck — for always telling me what you want—”
“Riki—”
“I’ve got you.” His hand slid between you, found your clit, and you arched. “I’ve got you, come on, cum for me, you can—”
“I just—”
“I know.” His thumb circled. “Do it again. Come on. Let me feel you cum on my cock, Y/N—”
The degradation and the praise all tangled together and his thumb and the ladder on every stroke and his voice at your ear and you shattered again — harder this time, your whole body locking up, his name loud enough that it bounced off the dark walls—
He followed you. His rhythm breaking, his breath gone, his hands gripping the counter so hard you heard his rings knock against it — and the sound he made when he came was the broken one, the helpless one, the one you collected and kept.
After the both of you on the front counter, you sitting, him leaning against it beside you. Still not fully dressed. The playlist had long since ended and the shop was quiet except for both of you getting your breathing back. You looked at the flash art on the walls. “We just did that on the front counter,” you said.
“We did.”
“Where clients sit.”
“I’ll clean it.”
You looked at him. He looked back with the wrecked-and-unbothered expression, his hair completely destroyed, his rings catching the low light. “You’re not even slightly embarrassed,” you said.
“No.” Simple. His hand found your knee. “Are you?”
You thought about it. “No.” He smiled. The real one.
You leaned your head on his shoulder and he turned his face into your hair and you sat on the front counter of Studio 13 at midnight and the warmth of it — the us of it — felt like something you could live inside. “Stay,” he said. Into your hair.
“At yours?”
“Here. Couch in the back.” His hand moved at your knee. “Don’t want you to go yet.”
You lifted your head. Looked at his face. “Riki. I’m not going anywhere,” you said.
His eyes moved over yours. The thing behind them — the possessive, careful, quietly terrified thing that drove the jealousy and the silence and the hand always finding yours — settled. “I know,” he said. Like he was practicing believing it.
“I know you know.” You put your hand on his jaw. “I’m telling you anyway.” He turned his face into your palm. Brief. Eyes closing for just a second.
Then he stood up, pulled you off the counter, kept your hand in his. “Couch,” he said.
“Couch,” you agreed.
You were asleep within minutes with Riki’s jacket over you and his voice low in the background talking to someone on the phone — his brother, you thought, distantly, the conversation too quiet to hear properly — and the red light under the door and the smell of ink and his hoodie under your cheek.
You were asleep and warm and his and the storm was three weeks away. It felt like nothing could touch this.
Daniel texted your friend Soo on a Wednesday night. She didn’t tell you immediately. That was the first thing — she sat on it for four days, turning it over, looking at the record he’d sent her, reading it and rereading it. The charge. The conviction. The length of the sentence. Assault. Grievous bodily harm. Victim: female.
She read those words and thought about you and made a decision she believed was the right one. She texted you on a Sunday.
You were at Riki’s flat. Sunday morning, late, the good kind of late — his record player going, both of you in the kitchen, you on the counter watching him make coffee with the focused competence he brought to everything. His hair was wrecked. He had a bruise on his collarbone that was your fault and he’d looked at it in the mirror that morning with an expression of complete satisfaction that had made you throw a pillow at him. Your phone lit up on the counter beside you.
Soo: hey can we talk today. it’s important.
Soo: it’s about Riki.
You looked at the screen. “What,” Riki said. He’d clocked your face without turning around. He did that.
“Soo wants to talk.” You kept your voice neutral. “About you.”
He turned. Read your expression. His jaw did the thing — the subtle set — but his voice stayed even. “What about me?”
“She didn’t say.”
A pause. He looked at the coffee. Back at you. “When?”
“Today apparently.” He nodded. Said nothing. Turned back to the coffee and you watched his shoulders and thought about the tension in them and didn’t ask.
You met Soo at the coffee place near yours at two. She was already there when you arrived. She had her hands around her cup and her expression was the one she got when she was about to say something she’d rehearsed — careful, prepared, slightly guilty around the edges. You sat down. “Just tell me,” you said.
She put her phone on the table. Turned it to face you. A screenshot. A public record database. The name — Nishimura Riki — and below it the details, dry and legal and devastating in their simplicity. Charge: Assault occasioning grievous bodily harm. Victim: Female, 28. Sentence: 14 months. Probation: 12 months.
order notes: was supposed to be working on a request but i got distracted with this idea and couldn’t sleep without writing it
꒰ྀི toxic fwb!niki ꒱ྀ who you met night one night at a party after you had an argument with your boyfriend. you both hit it off immediately—so well that the night ended with you straddling him in his car outside your boyfriend’s dorm, grinding down against niki until he came.
꒰ྀི toxic fwb!niki ꒱ྀ who never cared about getting caught. you could tell him your boyfriend was almost home from work or class and it’d only make him fuck you harder.
“yeah? let him see his pretty girlfriend spread out for me,” he grunts, voice steady. and you can hear the smirk on his face when you clench around him at the words.
꒰ྀི toxic fwb!niki ꒱ྀ who always records whenever you’re on your knees, pretty lips wrapped around his cock, tears staining your cheeks. he’d never send the videos to your boyfriend but it doesn’t stop him from teasing you with the idea of doing it.
“so fucking pretty like this…” he breathes, lifting his hips in shallow thrusts, zooming in on the way you were swallowing every inch. “are you this needy of a slut for your boyfriend?”
꒰ྀི toxic fwb!niki ꒱ྀ who loves bullying your cervix. he'd have your back pressed against the mattress, gripping the sheets like they were your only anchor as his hips slammed into you relentlessly.
꒰ྀི toxic fwb!niki ꒱ྀ who hates whenever you stop answering his messages. you’d go ghost when you and your boyfriend made up. he knew you’d be back and when you do, he makes sure to remind you to never do that shit again.
꒰ྀི toxic fwb!niki ꒱ྀ who swears what’s between you and him is purely transactional but fucks you like he loves you.
“fuck— god, I love you—love this pussy…” he pants, his body pressed against your chest, one hand gripping your waist while the other holds your hand as he pounds into you.
꒰ྀི toxic fwb!niki ꒱ྀ who is definitely territorial. he’d leave hickeys and marks all over your body, not caring the struggle you’d have trying to cover all of them.
꒰ྀི toxic fwb!niki ꒱ྀ who would make you pick up the phone whenever he was rearranging your guts. he’d see your boyfriend calling and answer it, forcing you to speak while trying to hide what you were really doing.
꒰ྀི toxic fwb!niki ꒱ྀ who came to your dorm in the middle of the night, drunk and soaked from the rain. he couldn’t stop thinking about you, about the way he felt with you—or the fact you weren’t fully his.
“I love you—i really do,” he hiccups, voice slurred to the point every word is bunched together, but you understand everything. “just please… l-leave him… I’ll be better—i am better.”
taglist: @cuteyjjwonnnn @nota10butadefinite8 @sstrawbxrry @kristynaaah (ignore how I haven’t done my taglist in a while heh.. I forgot until now)
𑣲⋆ Sim Jaeyun ❤︎ Fem!reader ✴ smut sub!jake reader is kinda mean? jake is adorable and dramatic kinda crack? jake calling his dihh mini jake (i seriously burst out laughing while writing this part)
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍 ✴ All you wanted to do was sit back, relax and enjoy your pool day tanning and reading, until your extremely needy boyfriend decided that he wanted you immediately. Though, you decided that you take the wheel this time.
Warning : 𝑬𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 : handjob pet names [pup, good boy, baby] praises teasing
🪷° Haze' notes : I legit wrote this while listening to mukbang in my ears.. (eatwithboki) and it helped me write better! Maybe food slurping noises and chewing noises help me write?! Nah, it has to be satisfying- but I love a sub jake so I wrote one!! Eeeehhhh so cuteeeeeee!! [Not proofread]
“Y/Nie~”
“No.”
“I didn't even say anythi—”
“Still a no.”
“Babyyyy!!”
You sigh, rolling your eyes at your boyfriend's constant whining. It was pool day today and the both of you had wore your swimming outfits for the pool in your house. Which being, you wearing a light blue bikini and him wearing black shorts.
Now, the thing about your boyfriend Jake is that he… “Y/Nie~ pleasee.. I'm bouta bust a nut..” is very needy and extremely cute. One part of you loathes pool days because he could never shut up after seeing you in a bikini, needing you at least once to finally shut up and let you tan.
“No, Jake. I'm tired and we fucked yesterday. Let me rest.” He whined.. actually whined like a puppy getting kicked. His face scrunching up in displeasure and disappointment. “Then maybe a boobjob?”
“No.” There was no way you were going to give him a boobjob while you were trying to rest. “A handjob? Baby please~ I beg you.” You shook your head and just turned to the side, fixing your sunglasses so you could read. He groaned but shut up, letting you have your peace.
You thank the lords and sigh in relief. It wasn't that you didn't like having sex with him or being intimate. You loved it. But the fact that both of you were intimate almost everyday exhausted you. You liked having your alone time, reading and listening to music. But having a constantly needy boyfriend with a huge sex drive and a monster dick, you were tired.
“Ahhh.. so lonely.” You hear him mutter under his breath, walking around the water in the pool which made loud noises. He was definitely making those noises to grab your attention so you could take pity on him. But you truly were exhausted and didn't want to indulge him in the acts.
But the other part of you did feel extremely guilty for having to deny him, knowing that he would have to beat one out in the showers after the both of you are done. Not to forget, his constant pouting and sad eyes following you the entire day because you denied him.
*SIGHHHH*
He is so dramatic.. yet adorable.. please lord help.
He didn't just release one long sigh, he did that constantly for at least thirty minutes, making sure to make each one louder than the last. “Aish! Jake!” He flinched, hope shining in his eyes, thinking that you finally acknowledged his need. “Yeah, baby? Need me? I'm here—”
“Can you not sigh so loud? I'm trying to read.” He pouted instantly. If he had dog ears and a tail, they would definitely be sagging by now. “I'm just trying to calm my dick.. it's too hard for you baby.. I promise it has a mind of it's own..”
You scoff, rubbing your forehead. “Jake.. don't speak like your dick is something else entirely.” You argued but he didn't back down, pouting to make you weaker. “But it does! Mini Jake thinks on—”
“You did not just call your dick ‘mini jake’”
“I did.”
“Take it back.”
“No.”
“Jake.”
“No. His name is mini—”
“Take it back or no handjob.”
He instantly jumped out the pool with no seconds wasted, falling at your feet and looking up to you like a goddess, “I take it back! Handjob is fine! It's amazing!"
Of course he would agree without a thought. “Needy puppy.” You teased, closing your book as you got up from the chair into a seating position. He grinned sheepishly, having no shame in being called a puppy. He liked it apparently. It was honestly a shock for you to figure it out.
“Pants off, pup. Come here,” You pat the space beside you, making it clear that you wanted him there. His pants were off instantly, his hard cock slapping his stomach as he shot up and sat beside you, his pupils blown wide with need.
“Baby, please—need you so bad,” He always whined so prettily, just like a good boy should. You see the pink blush dust his cheeks, his lips wet and swollen from the frequency he bites it. He was the prettiest boy you had ever seen. You close the gap between him and you, capturing his lips with yours.
He groaned into your mouth, loving the way your lip gloss tasted in his mouth. You forced your tongue inside, tasting him all over as your hands reached his thighs, your fingertips teasing him with feather light touches. Loving the way his muscles tensed under you.
“My good boy, my sweet boyfriend,” He purred at the praise, his imaginary ears plopping up with his imaginary tail wagging rapidly. You decide to not tease him much longer and grab the base of his cock, giving it a few pumps as you spread his precum, using it as a lubricant.
“Ahh—love—” You pull back from the kiss, leaning down to kiss his beautiful jaw, loving the little sounds leaving his lips. You twisted your palm to massage his cock in your hands, pumping it slowly as you started to move it up and down. Your thumb twirled over the tip of his cock every time your palm reached the top, making his shiver with sensitivity.
“Y/Nie.. ahh—please,” You hmm in his neck, biting and sucking softly to mark all the places that only belonged to you. You loved seeing him all submissive and whimpering, knowing only you could see him like that.
Only you made him like that.
“Tell me what you want baby,” He throw his head back with a loud groan when you stroked him a little harder, his hips twitching into your palm. “Harder—pleas—” His breath hitched when you rubbed the base of his head, eyes squeezing shut.
“Eyes on me, pup.” Your command was instantly followed by him, not daring to disobey when his pleasure is in your hands. “Good boy.” You felt his cock twitch in your palm, his hips jerking up to fuck your fist. His thighs started trembling a little with his moans pitching higher.
“Close baby?” You questioned, pressing small kisses on his lips with your hands stroking him faster along with giving him a few hard squeezes. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, his face dropping to your shoulder as he sobbed into you, begging you to let him come.
His whimpers and pleas were more than enough for you to finally let him reach the high he had been chasing, giving a few last strokes. “Come for me, pup. Drench my hands.” With a loud groan, he spilled all over your hands, shooting ropes of thick white spurts which made a mess on your hands and around you.
“Good boy, such a good pup.” You help him ride out his pleasure, holding him close and giving him a few last strokes before pulling your hand away. “Satisfied?” He whispered a small thank you, hiding his face in your neck.
After all this, one thing was sure. You could never deny your boyfriend.
hey guys, i just wanted to say I know im a slow writer and whatnot when it comes to requests—partly because im in the middle of transferring schools, which hasn’t been an easy process—but i kindly ask that you refrain from sending someone else the same request you send me. even tho people have have different writing styles, it still could put me and/or them in risk of plagiarism accusations but not only that, it’s lowkey rude…
i promise every request sent to me is either halfway written or finished and being prepared to be posted. I say this because when I saw—who thankfully was a moot—drop a fic with the exact same plot as a request I was working on was kinda disheartening..
im not saying you can’t send more than one request to other people, but please try not to send the exact same thing to multiple writers.
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍 ✴︎ Jay comes from the grocery shopping but looking at you with your pajamas on, he couldn't control himself and took you against the window of his penthouse.
Warning : 𝑬𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 : rough Jay dirty talk praise degradation nipple play pussy spanking spanking multiple orgasms forced orgasm oversensitivity unprotected sex [dont]
🪷° Haze' notes : YAHHHHHH this is straight flith- not the best but I like it and I hope you do too!!! [Not proofread]
“Fuck—baby,” That’s the first thing you hear as soon as your boyfriend walked in from grocery shopping. You tilt your head in confusion and stare at him. “What? I’m chilling..?” He chuckled, a dark shadow appearing on his face. Simply placing the bags on the kitchen counter, he turned to you, watching as you went back to look at the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse.
“Baby, you look divine..” You smile and turn towards him, playfully scoffing at his weird advances. “I’m literally in my pajamas.” You shake your head and grin, blush creeping up on your face. “So? Can’t I desire my girlfriend’s beauty in some pajamas?” You scoff and turn to the view again. “Don’t be weird about it.”
Suddenly, you felt his arms circle your waist, his lips finding your neck which left trails of kisses under your earlode. “So sweet.. I love you so much, princess..” Your eyes flutter close at his little pecks, shooting electricity through your entire body. You breathe out a soft sigh, melting against his palms as they sneak their way under your thin t-shirt.
“You are so fucking beautiful, princess. Meant to be worshipped and fucked raw.” His dirty words sent heat straight down your core. You whimpered against his chest, throwing your head back on his shoulder as he helped you take off the cloth, leaving you bare. “Fuck—no bra? You were wishing for this, princess?”
“Jay, please—” You gasp at the feeling of his cold fingers brushing your nipples teasingly. “Please what, love? Be specific.” He sucked at your sensitive spot right under your jaw, leaving you a mess of moans for him. “Please touch me,” You begged, opening your eyes and locking them on his. He continued to tease your nipples as he watched your pupils blow wide, face heating up all because of him.
“As you wish, princess.” Instantly, his free hand dipped from your waist to your core, cupping your pussy through your shorts. You moan into him from the pleasure, your hips grinding on his hand greedily. “Look at you, so needy and pathetic.” You loved it. Loved being treated like a slut only for him. “Please Jay—I need you,” He captured your lips on his and slid his hands inside your shorts, slapping your naked folds lightly, causing you to jump.
“Jay—”
“Shush, slut.. Just take what I give you, princess.” His duality was what you loved the most. One second he would be a complete ass and the next, he would call you sweet nicknames. Your breathing deepens when he pressed his fingers on your clit, lathering your wetness all over it before drawing light circles, just keeping you on the edge and not giving you the entire satisfaction.
Your eyes squeeze shut, moans leaving your lips like a mantra. “Look baby, look at the view.” He commanded, slapping your soft folds again making you jerk up. “Ahh.. Jay..” He smirked, loving the effect he has on you. You look at the night city again, watching the microscopic people from the 30th floor. The glow of the city, twinkling of the roads and the fluorescent lights from the other apartments, making you even wetter by the thought that if someone wanted, they could see you pressed against the window, getting fingered by your boyfriend.
“Jay—Please! Need you, baby,” He helped you out of your shorts and pinned you on your stomach to the window, shoving his pants to take his angry cock in his hands which was leaking like a faucet. “Ass out, slut.” You pushed your ass out, arching your back towards him as your breasts press against the cold glass, sending shivers down your body.
You expected him to just thrust and pound but..
SMACK
You scream in surprise and pain at the loud smack to your ass, cranking your head to look at him. “Babyy—” He silenced you with another loud smack, smirking at the way your butt jiggled and reddened at the impact. You moan because of the sweet mix of pain and pleasure at the continuous smacks from him to your ass. He groaned at the view of you in front of him.
Thighs trembling, slick leaking down your inner thigh, back arched and your ass red and plump. A perfect wet dream. “Fuc—you were made for getting fucked raw, darling.” He took his cock and brought it to your folds, using your slick like a lube before spitting on your hole, watching your walls clench needily around nothing.
“Jay.. mhmm,” You sigh at the feeling of him pressing his cock at your entrance, wiggling your ass so you could take him in but ended up with another harsh slap on your ass. “No moving.”
Before you could protest, he slammed his hips forward, filling you straight to the brim with one thrust. You scream at the pain, jerking upright from the intense stretch of your walls as you try to hold onto something. Jay mercilessly just pushed your back into an arch again and supported you by the waist before your knees gave out beneath you.
“Stay still, slut.” Without giving you a second to adjust, he pulled out all the way and pushed back in again, pressing on your stomach bulging, making you lose your mind. “Feel this, princess? That’s me..” He continued thrusting all the way slowly at first before picking up speed, pistoning his thick cock in and out your gummy walls, abusing his tip against your g-spot.
You scream against the window, a tight knot forming in your stomach. The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping with wet squelches along with the mix of your moans and Jay’s groans. “Jay—’m comin—” You scream as your legs tremble terribly, your knees almost giving up. Jay instantly held you up to his chest, pressing your body on the cool window as he reached an arm down to rub your clit in furious circles while pounding into your tight pussy like a beast.
“Come for me, princess. Drench my cock baby—” With a loud scream, you came on his cock, squeezing him impossibly which almost made him explode inside you. “Fuck—like that,” He kept pistoning his cock, his movements slightly faultering as he was getting close too.
“Fuck—squeeze me baby,” You cry out and try to close your legs because it was too much but he picked your leg in his arm, not letting you close up. Tears streamed down your eyes as you beg him to stop but he paid no attention, too drunk of the feeling of your warm pussy sucking him greedily.
“Fuck—ugh!” At last, he came hard inside you, pressing your clit, forcing out another orgasm instantly. Your body jerked up with your eyes rolling to the back of your head. The second orgasm was much more intense and quick that you didn’t even need much stimulation. Your head drops on your boyfriend’s shoulder, eyes fluttering close as you whimper softly, feeling his seed inside you, coating your walls.
He gave you a few more light thrusts, making sure not a single drop was wasted before he pulled out. “Hmm..” You hum softly, feeling Jay chuckle in your neck. “Fuck princess, you drive me insane..”
“You just fucked me insane..”
“And I would do it all over again after I clean you up.”
i just can't decide — which road is leading me to hell or paradise?
🦡★. ݁˖ SUMMARY :: your overly possessive boyfriend makes an agreement with his best friend in order to try to control himself and his jealousy issues — his best friend has to flirt with you, and if you fall for it, you'll earn something that you will remember for the rest of your life. This prize for your boyfriend is supposed to be a punishment, however he can't help himself but realize he likes it too...
🦡★. ݁˖ TAGS :: possessive jake, jealous jake, oral sex, cuckolding, threesome, queer themes, internalized homophobia, m x m content, fingering, nipple play, doggy style, hidden feelings, mentioned sunoo and jungwon, toxic jake, unhealthy relationship, possessive relationship, cheating (idk?), loads of dirty talk, breast fucking, masturbation, dom!sunghoon, sub!jake, verbal humiliation, homoerotic friendship, handcuffs, slight bdsm, sunghoon is a freaking braaaaat in this, sassy!sunghoon, unprotected p in v, rough sex, fingers in mouth
🦡★. ݁˖ GENRE :: smut with plot
🦡★. ݁˖ PAIRING :: boyfriend!jake x reader x boyfriend's!best friend!sunghoon
🦡★. ݁˖ WC :: 11k
🦡★. ݁˖ NOW PLAYING 💿 jealous type | doja cat
A/N :: i cant even put into words how much i HATE the first part, but pls dont let it scare you away because the rest is good💔 this is a very old draft haha thought id post something while im working on my longer fics (SURPRISE SURPRISE!!!)
Jake has always been a jealous type since you’ve known him. Ever since you and him got together three years ago, he got envious of the tiniest things. Even seeing you ask for directions in an amusement park from another male made his blood boil with anger.
You told him it was kind of upsetting you, and he has tried to control it ever since. But it's just so hard, when in his eyes you are the most beautiful and precious thing ever.
So, instead of trying to control it, he buried the thoughts deep down in his mind. He just hid it that he felt jealous every time you had to go out, possibly meeting someone you know and seeing you smile while talking to someone else.
“She told you she's with her friends” Sunghoon’s voice rasps through the phone’s speaker.
Jake walks around in the living room, almost nervously as he bites down his nails. It is a Thursday night, and you are out with your friends working on a uni project.
He wanted to trust you and not act childish, so he let you go without saying anything, not even a sneaky comment about how you could’ve just invited your friends over to do the project in your shared apartment.
But here he is, on the phone with his best friend who tries to reassure him as much as he can. Sunghoon finds it funny how Jake gets upset at the smallest things ever. It surprises him a little bit, because before he got with you, he was never like this.
“What if one of her friends wants to get with her?” He questions, earning a sigh from the other side of the phone.
“Man, you are seriously something else since you guys are together” Sunghoon says, having the audacity to laugh.
Jake stops circling around in the living room and looks out of the window, biting his lower lip down. “Are you saying that if you had a girlfriend you wouldn't be—”
“Straight up possessive?” Sunghoon interrupts “No”
“I'm not possessive” Jake projects, clenching his teeth together tightly. “I'm just worried”
Another sigh from the other side of the phone, and Jake is seriously beginning to debate if he should just simply put the phone down and, maybe, maybe… go after you. He knows where you meet your friends all the time, it's always the same bar on the corner of the street.
“Alright” Sunghoon says after a few moments of silence. Jake thinks this is finally the time when he says ‘don’t be a loser’ or something like that, and puts the phone down. “I'm coming over”
Jake’s eyes widens suddenly hearing the words from his friend, and he opens his mouth to say something back, to deny it, but he already hears the small ‘beep’ that indicates the end of the phone call.
-
Jake lays on his couch, not feeling like moving a singular muscle when he hears a key in the door. He glances over at it, just to see Sunghoon stepping in. He doesn't even know since when Sunghoon has a key to your apartment, but he doesn't really care at this point. This man has invalidated his private space a long time ago, and he doesn't bother to leave any time soon.
Sunghoon laughs when he sees his best friend laying on the couch unbothered, having his eyes on the tv but not really watching it.
“Jeez, you look faded, man,” Sunghoon comments, putting his leather jacket on one of the kitchen’s chairs.
“I'm not faded” Jake mumbles back, sitting up weakly.
Sunghoon hops down next to him on the couch, slightly pushing his arm to move away. “You are overreacting” he states.
“Thanks, that's really reassuring!”
Sunghoon runs a hand through his dark locks, putting both of his legs on the couch “I’m serious. Have you ever looked in the mirror? Why would she want anyone else when you— nevermind” he trails off mid sentence, turning his head away to look at the glowing tv screen, the light hitting his face making his soft features stand out more.
Jake frowns his brows in slight confusion. Why did Sunghoon get shy all of a sudden? He looks stressed, which isn't an usual thing to see on his face. Not when he was about to compliment his best friend; it was a casual compliment and nothing else.
“What?” Jake lets out a small chuckle, gaze staying on his best friend “when I what?”
“You look good, Jake. You don't have to worry about her cheating on you” Sunghoon barks finally, eyes still avoiding Jake at all cost. He wanted to say handsome, he wanted to say more, but he decided it was for the better to keep his mouth shut. Jake doesn't have to hear all his thoughts about him.
Jake chuckles again, but this time it's different. It sounds like he's satisfied with the compliment. “Thanks” he smiles to himself. “But that doesn't really help. My mind just can't stop”
Sunghoon ducks his head back and looks at the ceiling, he’s starting to get fed up by hearing the same thing over and over again all the time. Then, just as if a light bulb lit up in his mind, he straightens his back “I have an idea”
Jake looks up at him, cocking a brow curiously. “What is it?”
“I can prove to you that she only wants you. I can test her”
Jake grimaces “You want to flirt with my girlfriend?”
Sunghoon runs his hand down on his face, gesturing with his hands while he explains. Sure, if you word it like Jake, the idea doesn't sound so good… “No, no. I mean, kinda, but she won't fall for it. Trust me. I can flirt with her and everything, and I will tell you everything she tells me. So you will know everything about our interactions.”
Jake curls up in a ball at the end of the sofa, pulling his knees up to his chest and biting down his nails as he thinks through the idea. It seemed very bad at first, but now that he thinks about it maybe it isn't that bad. Sunghoon flirts with you, just like a stranger would. But he can tell him about all of your interactions, how you react to each of his words. Yes, you know that Sunghoon is Jake’s best friend, but it isn't a problem since you guys never actually talked that much, just rushed greetings and goodbyes.
This is all what Jake wants. This is all he has been wanting ever since you two got together. Ever since he kissed you for the first time, ever since he tasted you for the first time. Knowing how you react when you talk with someone else and he's not there.
“So, what do you think?” Sunghoon asks, snapping Jake out of his cloudy thoughts.
“And what if she does cheat on me?” Jake assumes.
“She won—”
“No, I’m serious. I'm not overreacting, or whatever. What if she really does?” His tone is serious, meaning every word he says.
Sunghoon bites down his lip, seriously thinking. “Well, then we fuck” he shrugs.
“What the fuck? And what do I gain from that?” Jake exclaims, throwing a pillow at the dark-haired boy.
“I don't know, man. You can— like— watch?” He says the last part of the sentence like it's the most forbidden thing to say, like it's a slur, quietly. But he still says it, and Jake heard it very well.
“Watch? Are you serious?” He asks, knitting his brows together “You want me to watch how you fuck my girlfriend?” he lets out a nervous giggle, ignoring the shivers that run down his spine at the idea.
Sunghoon throws the pillow back, and Jake catches it smoothly. “Okay, look, I know it sounds bad— like— very bad.” he starts, and licks his lips. Jake looks at him with brows knitted together, eyes as big as ever. Sunghoon looks away from his heavy gaze for a moment. “But, if you think about it… You have to work on your skills. You have to control yourself, to not get jealous.”
“Come on, my jealousy is not that bad”
“You called me to talk about how much it irritates you that your girlfriend went out with her friends to do a project for school” Sunghoon says, in a tone that makes Jake look childish and dumb.
“Well, yes—”
“The call lasted for two hours. You said it yourself. Your mind can't stop making up shit”
Jake bites down his lip until it bleeds, looking Sunghoon up and down for a flash of moment, trying to take in what he's saying exactly. It's not that bad. You would never actually cheat on him, right? You wouldn't fall for his best friend.
“Okay”
“What? Really?” Sunghoon asks, surprised at the sudden mind changing. He would never have thought that Jake would let him even try to flirt with you, but letting him fuck you was the bigger thing that made his heart skip a beat. If things go well, obviously. The fact that he would watch it is just cherry on top.
“Yes” Jake lets out a huff and stands up, walking to the kitchen to drink a glass of water. After this conversation he will need something way stronger than water tonight.
Sunghoon follows him, still being flabbergasted by Jake's words. “I can't believe you actually said yes”
Jake turns away from the sink, facing the overly happy Sunghoon “Go home before I change my mind”
-
A few days, maybe two weeks have passed since the agreement with Sunghoon, and Jake would lie if he would say he was able to stop thinking about it. When you got home, he welcomed you with kisses and hugs, and you could practically not scrape him off of you until you went to sleep.
He even milked information out of you, making you tell him every single detail about your night. Honestly, it wasn't big of a deal. Meeting your friends for project work never was. You tried to tell Jake about the details of the biological research you guys did, but he didn't care about that. Obviously.
All the things Sunghoon said kept him up at night. What the bigger trouble was is that he didn't only imagine him flirting with you and felt jealous. That wasn't the case at all. The thing is that he didn't feel even a grain of jealousy as he imagined you with him.
His mind kept going back to Sunghoon sitting on the couch in a black sleeveless top and black sweatpants, practically begging him to let him flirt with you. He couldn't help, but he had to admit that he found it a little bit hot. Imagining that Sunghoon, his best friend, getting intimate with you, his girlfriend, was even hotter.
He'd been thinking about Sunghoon so much in the past few days that he had to realize that he found his best friend attractive. Was he okay with that? Jake didn't know. Because even though he found Sunghoon visually appealing, and the thought of him pounding into you made him hard, he still had you. His girlfriend.
The girlfriend he protected at all cost, the girlfriend he jerked off to on the nights you were out with your friends, working on whatever biology project you had. The girlfriend he loved and admired with his full heart.
Besides, who said he can’t find two people attractive at the same time? He isn't in love with Sunghoon, his best friend since high school. He is still in love with you.
And jerking off to two people in the shower while you were away was even more exciting. It felt a little forbidden, dangerous.
It was always the same scenario that had popped up in his mind; Sunghoon fucking deep into you while your moans are echoing in the room. He sits on a chair, watching and touching himself.
This fantasy in his mind made him come so hard he didn't even know he was able to be all alone, without you. So he let himself keep going. And he didn't tell you, he was way too worried that you would break up with him.
The small plus that Sunghoon planted the idea into his mind in the first place made it at least three times better, because he kept remembering that this was an agreement at the end of the day. It might happen in real life too.
You were surprised when Jake let you go for the night easily, even though you never mentioned you are working on the project with your friends or anything like that. You had no idea about the fact that when you were not home, he was playing with himself while thinking of you and his best friend. Sometimes together, sometimes not.
The truth is that you started to feel like the atmosphere was suffocating. Sure, in the past week you were working on the school project with Sunoo and Jungwon (your friends), but school made you so depressed at the same time.
Coming home after a long day on campus and having your boyfriend kissing every inch of skin on your body was good, sometimes. However there were times when all you wanted to do is sleep without feeling any worry of school or anything. You felt like you were missing out on that.
“Really?” Sunoo’s voice drops, looking at you like you just told him that you are pregnant.
“I'm serious. Not even a ‘the project again?’, he just said yes” you shrug as you explain, pulling your glass of cocktail closer to take a sip from the straw.
Jungwon chuckles “That's not your boyfriend, y/n. Somebody stole him and cloned him, I’m telling you”
The conversation by the bar counter is interrupted by the overly hot bartender who has been looking at you all night, practically eye fucking but who cares about the details. He steps closer when he sees Sunoo's glass being empty and gives you a soft smile. “Another one of those?” he asks, and Sunoo nods.
You watch as he works on the drink, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up perfectly on his arms, just so his forearms are flexing with every move.
He tosses the glass to Sunoo on the black marble counter when he's done and walks away back to his colleagues.
“Girl” Jungwon slaps your arm playfully “I know Jake is still your boyfriend even though he acts suspiciously careless but that was crazy”
You laugh, eyes flickering between him and Sunoo “What was crazy?”
“Eye fucking with the bartender on a random friday night” Jungwon adds “Now that's something”
“I mean, If you were single or if he wasn't hot I would say it's nothing” Sunoo says, chugging down the rest of his own drink “But Park Sunghoon is something”
You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear at the mention of the name, your eyes finding Sunghoon in the corner again, his eyes still glued to you although he's chatting with one of the other bartenders.
“He’s the hottest boy on campus” Sunoo looks at him too, shaking his head.
This whatever thing between you and Sunghoon started around two weeks ago. You already knew him - somewhat - because he's your boyfriend's best friend, but you never had a conversation with him. That changed two weeks ago, when he randomly came up to you after class. He asked if you needed a ride home, and he was just so bubbly and kind that you had to say yes. After that, he might’ve taken that as a sign that you wanted to get closer to him, because he kept inviting you to the bar where he worked after school, he kept offering you rides home which you gladly accepted, and he kept saying you should go to the library together sometime.
You weren't exactly against getting closer with him. Sure, you had Jake, and Sunghoon was his best friend but all this time Sunghoon’s sudden change of behavior just suggested that he wanted to be friends with you. He knew you were Jake's girlfriend.
Talking with him felt different than talking with Jake. It's not that you weren't absolutely obsessed with Jake, being with that man felt like winning the lottery, but Sunghoon was approaching you with kindness. He cared about your day while he drove you home, at least he pretended to care about it. Sometimes he even asked back about your biology project you’ve been working on with Sunoo and Jungwon, and you often caught him smiling at you while you talked about the interesting — for you, for someone it could be boring — facts about fishes and their behavior.
In the past few days you might have realized that Sunghoon made you feel in some kind of way. Something scarily close to how Jake made you feel. However, it didn't make you question your feelings for Jake. It made you confused, but you decided to ignore that and enjoy both of their presence at the times when you were with them.
“Whatever.” You shake your head, turning it away from Sunghoon and fixing it on your glass instead “I would never leave Jake. Besides, Sunghoon is only my friend.”
Sunoo sighs, running a hand through his blond hair “I don't want to say anything that would mess up your mind, but Sunghoon definitely wants you too”
-
Your fingers are tangled in Jake’s black locks, pushing him closer to your dripping folds as he devours you. You are laying on your bed, you just got back from a long school day. He told you he couldn't wait for you to get home, and as soon as you stepped inside, he kissed you like he never did before.
When he made you lay down on the edge of the bed and spread your legs, you noticed he was already hard but you didn't question it.
This time, you let your thoughts leave your mind, letting him do whatever he wanted with you.
He let out a gasp, his breath caressing your exposed core so heavenly. He backs up a little and looks up at you. You don't look at him, you keep your eyes on the ceiling, one hand in his hair and the other gripping the sheets next to you.
He swallows and gets back to work, carefully tracing your wetness with his tongue, then he slurps on your clit. You let out a moan at that, but it sounds lifeless.
You enjoy it for sure, you always enjoy it when he eats you out or does intimate things with you. This time you promised yourself to let the thoughts escape your mind, to finally let go a little. However you couldn't stop the thoughts of Park Sunghoon flowing into your mind, and you hated it. A little bit.
“Is this good?” His voice is soft, his index finger reaching up to your clit as he begins to do circular moves on it.
“Yes” you say, trying to sound breathless, but your voice is concerningly firm.
He pushes down harder, the sudden sensation on the bundle of nerves makes you arch your back and let out a moan. He smirks at the sound you make and keeps doing the same movement with his finger. With his other hand, he traces your entrance, teasing the wet hole before he pushes his index and middle finger inside at the same time.
The sounds you make are finally genuine, and you grip his hair tightly to hold onto something.
“Fuck, you are so tight” he hisses, curling his fingers upwards to press it to your walls.
You whimper “Fuck, Hoon”
Jake is in the middle of speeding up when you let out those two words. He stops immediately, eyes snapping up from your core right into meeting your eyes.
He pulls out his fingers and wipes it in the sheets. Your heart is beating faster than ever in your chest when you see his sharp look, and you feel like it's about to explode at any moment.
“Jake, I’m sorry I don't know why—”
He stands up, smoothing his sweatpants out, trying to hide his painfully obvious erect. “Why?” is all he asks, voice coming out more shy than he intended it. He swallows hard, you see the way his Adams apple bobs in his throat.
The lack of reaction surprises you. When the name slipped out of your mouth, you thought he would snap and yell at you. Knowing how possessive Jake can be, especially at a vulnerable moment like during sex, you would've never thought he would just ask why.
That's why you didn't know what to say.
You prop yourself on your forearm, observing the way he crossed his arms in front of his chest “I’m sorry” you apologize once again.
“Did he fuck you?”
Your eyes widen, and you feel your cheeks turning crimson at the sudden question. You should’ve expected this one. “No,” you shook your head. “I wouldn't cheat on you”
“Then why did you say his name? Out of all people” Jake hisses, his mind going back to the agreement once again. The same agreement he just couldn't get his mind off in the past weeks. Seems like you and him are on the same page, yet it hurts him so bad.
You bite down your lips, sitting down fully on the bed. You try to cover your exposed breasts with your arms, suddenly feeling way too naked and vulnerable in front of him.
“I can't lie to you” you begin, taking a deep breath “He has been approaching me in the past weeks, for some reason. He’s very kind, but I thought his intentions were to become friends. I mean, Sunghoon knows you are my boyfriend, right?” you try and look up, into his intense gaze. “I didn't even notice but I guess I… fantasized about him a little. In the past days. But, that doesn't mean I don't love you, Jake. You are my everything and you know that”
The end of the monologue sounds like you just tried to save your skin, but when you look at him again you see him listening to your every word. And by listening I mean he actually looks like he was interested in what you said, unlikely when you told him about the biology project.
“So” he sits down on the edge of the bed, turning away from you “You want both of us?” he fidgets with his nail.
You have to think that through for a moment. You were more than confused in the past weeks, the sudden approaching by Sunghoon made your whole world flip around, but you still love Jake. No one could ever question your feelings for him. So, looking at these things all together, you could say yes. It was just weird to think about it like that, because you sounded greedy.
“Yes” you say in a bitten whisper, between your teeth.
You fix your gaze on your knees, but after a silent beat, you look up. Though, Jake doesn't even have a cool spot on the bed where he had been sitting before.
Great. He got up and ran away or something, because when you went out to the kitchen + living room, he wasn't there either.
Oh, what have you done…
-
“What's up, pretty?”
You jolt your head up at the familiar voice, being faced with the smiley Sunghoon. “Why are you all alone?”
You shrug, looking back at the top of the barcounter, trying not to cry. It has been two hours since the thing between you and Jake, and after you dressed up you made your way straight to the bat where Sunghoon works, you don't know why either. That was the dumbest place you could’ve ran away to.
During these two hours, two different waiters served you, and Sunghoon just started his shift around twenty minutes ago.
“What's wrong?” his voice softens, tilting his head as he observes you.
You, you want to say, but that would be a little rude.
“Nothing” you bark instead, fidgeting with your own finger instead of looking up at him.
He pushes his tongue to the inside of his cheek, taking your state in for a few moments before he slaps his palms on the countertop. “Alright” he begins “I see that you are sad, so, what about coming with me tonight for dinner? I’ll cheer you up?” he tries, looking at you with puppy eyes.
You sigh, trying not to smile at his sweetness “Sunghoon, you know I have a boyfriend… who also happens to be your best friend. You can't keep doing this” your stomach twists as soon as you say the word ‘boyfriend’ out loud. Do you really have a boyfriend? You can absolutely not handle Jake breaking up with you. If something, that will ruin you.
You swallow hard, and just like if he could read your mind, he says:
“Something happened between you and Jake?” He says it like it's a statement rather than a question. Though, he doesn't seem so concerned about it. His tone is filled with curiosity.
How ironic, Sunghoon being the one who's asking this question “It's complicated.” you say, trying to close the topic as soon as possible.
“You know you can tell me,” he presses.
You clench your jaw tightly, hesitating if you should tell him about the little story or not. The way he looks at you, black shirt sleeves rolled up on his forearm while his palms are on the countertop, tilting his head and looking so cute but also masculine at the same time… it's driving you crazy. “He was eating me out and I kind of might have said a different name. That's all” you say, and the sudden topic of your and Jake's sex life makes him freeze in place for a moment.
“Really?” his voice is slightly more high pitched than before, you don't miss that. He crosses his arms and leans on the countertop, leaning forward to be able to whisper “And what name did you say?”
You swallow the lump in your throat, getting lost in his dark eyes. He frowns with his thick eyebrows, his expression seeming more serious than before “Yours”
He leans back, humming to himself. The loss of his presence close to you lingers in the air as he moves away to the sink, grabbing a glass and drying it with a towel. “Hm, that's interesting, cuz’ me and Jake have a… how do I say it… an agreement ” he says casually, not looking up while doing his work.
You knit your brows together in confusion. What is he talking about?
“What agreement ?”
“We figured Jake has to work on his obvious jealousy issues. So, we made a bet that if you fall for my flirting and want to have sex with me, he has to watch it” he places the glass down next to the other ones with a clinking sound that feels heavy in the bar, because in your mind suddenly everything else is silenced. His tone is so calm and casual it nearly makes your blood boil.
Your heart pounds against your chest heavily. Was it all a game to him? - that is one of the main questions inside your head right now, and you rather shove down the part inside of you which felt excited about the idea.
He turns to you, and his heavy gaze breaks the train of thoughts inside your head. “I guess saying my name during sex makes it up too” he offers a smile.
You don't smile back at him. He lets out a small laugh at your confused reaction, ducking his head down for a moment.
“So, are you in, angel?” he tilts his head, his smile as sweet as ever.
You bite down your lower lip and nod without hesitation. You love Jake, you really do, but Sunghoon has been driving you crazy since you talked with him for the first time. Having them two at the same time sounds a little bit too good to be true. You knew you had to decide as fast as possible.
He hums in approval, walking around the counter so he can be next to you. “I didn't think you would say yes this fast”
You shrug, finally smiling back at him. Sunghoon leans closer to press a small kiss at your earlobe before he whispers “I’ll give you a ride home”
-
Sitting on the passenger seat next to Sunghoon who is holding the steering wheel with one hand while his other is swinging out of the window has never been so awkward. You don’t even attempt to take a glance at him, feeling too embarrassed.
The air feels oddly suffocating, and your heart is still pounding in your chest. You couldn't stop thinking about Jake ever since you got out of the bar. Last time you were home, he magically disappeared. So, where is he? Did he really run away? Did he get home after that?
Upbeat music radiating from the radio snaps you out of your thoughts, and you finally take a gaze at Sunghoon who is humming along with the beat, tapping on the outside of his car’s door with his fingers.
He must have turned the radio up not so long ago, because you clearly remember the dead silence that filled the car a few minutes ago. Seems like you were so lost in your thoughts you didn't even notice it.
“Traffic is shit these days” he comments to himself, pulling out sunglasses from the glove box and sliding it on the bridge of his nose with a smooth move.
You are currently stuck in the traffic for the past twenty minutes, which makes this whole situation even more embarrassing for you, knowing where you are going with what suppose.
You turn away from the window to look at him, getting tired from looking at the same damn electricity pole in these past minutes. “Do you think he's home now?”
When you got into the car, you decided to tell him about every single detail, including the one where he literally disappears out of nowhere.
Sunghoon nods, keeping his eyes on the road.
You furrow your brows “How are you so confident?”
Without a word, he reaches to the backseat, rummaging in his bag for his phone. He hands it to you, the chat with Jake being opened.
you : dude, u fr ran away? dont be a pussy lol. we had an agreement , remember?
Jake : i know. i just needed time to think, thats all
you : are you home now, babyboy?
Jake : yes
Jake : babyboy…?
you : nice, me n yn are going to your place like rn
Jake : what? why?
Your eyes scan the messages, your hands gripping the phone a little bit too tightly. “You don't want to answer him or what's up with the last message?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, not being bothered by it in the slightest “We’ll tell him everything once we get there”
“Makes sense,” you mumble, throwing his phone at the backseat. “Baby Boy?”
A smile tugs in the corner of his lips, but he bites it down “Just joking”
-
The golden light of the sunset from outside creeps its way into the room through the small gap between the curtains, shining at the spot right where you and Sunghoon sit on yours and Jake's bed, making out.
You both sit on your knees, he has one of his hands on your waist to keep you stable while he stuffs your mouth with his tongue and you let out small moans.
When you got to Jake’s and your place, Sunghoon explained everything to Jake. He said he was still in the deal, and you guys basically started it right away. It still felt somewhat absurd, especially because you never would've thought Jake would like this kind of stuff.
So, that's why you and Sunghoon are sitting on the middle of the king sized bed, while Jake sits on a chair settled right in front of the bed, watching you. His eyes are flickering between you and Sunghoon, unsure who to watch.
Sunghoon kisses differently than Jake. He’s more rough, like there's no tomorrow. He moves his lips on yours like if it's possible to eat you up, then he is able to do it.
You can feel Jake's eyes on you, but when you open yours for a moment and glance at him, you see that his eyes are fixated on Sunghoon. He sits still. His posture is straight, his arms are awkwardly on his lap and he doesn't move.
You would be worried that he feels uncomfortable, but Jake himself said it: he’s still in the deal. And you don't have time to overthink it, since Sunghoon bites down your lip, and you can't help the sound that comes out of you.
“Fuck” you mumble, pulling back to take off your shirt.
Sunghoon doesn't try to be subtle with his staring, his eyes immediately set on your red lacy bra, and you see Jake's eyes looking at you from the corner of your eyes too.
You gulp, straightening your back to push out your chest more. You can't help but feel both excited and nervous at the feeling of their eyes on you, looking up and down at you hungrily.
In the next moments, Sunghoon takes off his shirt too, and your eyes fly to his toned abs. His upper body is perfectly worked out, from his wide shoulders to his small waist.
He glances at Jake, then smirks at you when he looks back. “Alright” he starts, and grabs you by your wrists.
Before you could ask what he's doing he makes you sit at the end of the bed, leaning your back against the bed frame as you face Jake now, who’s sitting impatiently in the chair in front of the bed.
Sunghoon shifts next to you and grabs your jaw firmly, turning your head away from Jake to kiss you deeply, his tongue moving roughly in your mouth. While one of his hands holds your jaw, his other makes its way down to your chest, teasingly hovering over one of your boobs. Then he caresses your skin between your breasts with his index and middle finger, making your back arch up in anticipation. He smiles into the kiss and moves his hand lower, pushing down your stomach slightly.
“Sunghoon” you moan softly into the kiss.
“Shh” he pulls away, licking his lips “let's put on a show for him”
Your eyes shift to Jake, who’s leaning a little bit forward in his chair. Sunghoon’s hand moves to the button of your jeans. He’s unbuttoning it so slowly that you are sure if he doesn't rip it off of you in the upcoming few seconds your wetness will be visible on your pants.
When he finally undoes it and pulls it down, throwing it away next to the bed, he grabs both of your thighs, still sitting next to you and giving Jake a clear view as he spreads your legs.
Jake bites down his lower lip, palming the front of his own — now very uncomfortable — jeans.
You eye his very obvious bulge, trying to keep the sounds in your throat, but it's getting harder with each second. You can't stop thinking about both of them ruining you, even though the agreement was only about Jake watching you and Sunghoon.
You pull up your knees, and Sunghoon moves his palm to your core, massaging your wetness with his slender fingers. He pushes down roughly, and you moan.
“Fuck, Hoon” you hum, one of your hands going up to grab onto the bed frame.
Sunghoon’s eyes shift to the top of the bed frame, and he smiles down at you “Great idea” he starts, and you frown your brows at him.
“Do you have any handcuffs?” he asks, his voice sounding way too innocent for this question.
You stutter, making eye contact with Jake who's silent “Uh- yeah it's in the front drawer”
Sunghoon pulls out the said drawer on the bedside table and laughs at the sight “I knew you are a nasty ass couple. I fucking knew it”
He pulls out two pink handcuffs and grabs your hands, handcuffing them together. “Is this okay?”
He asks, and when you nod he moves them above your head, cuffing them to the bedframe with the other handcuff.
“Don't be too greedy” he comments and moves his hand down again, his fingers circling through the wet fabric rougher than before.
“Hmpp— Sunghoon—” you choke out, closing your eyes.
Sunghoon looks at Jake, who still has his right hand on his clothed cock, palming it heavily. “Jake, you should look at yourself now. You look so pathetic.”
A small whimper leaves Jake, and you snap your eyes open to look at his flushed cheeks and heavy eyelids. “You haven't touched yourself because I haven't told you yet. What a good boy” Sunghoon adds, then looks back at you.
You would be lying if the dirty talk he spoke (yes, even with your boyfriend) didn't turn you on even more. Besides, you are sure you look even more pathetic than Jake, being tied up helplessly and laying on the bed, looking up at him with big eyes.
Sunghoon leans down and presses a kiss in-between your breasts, and god, you want to grab onto his hair so much, but all you can do is to ball up your fists desperately. He hooks his fingers onto both sides of your red panties and pulls them down with a smooth move, throwing it aside probably around where your jeans landed too.
He looks up at you, shaking his head “Wearing matching underwear, what a slut”
He glances at Jake again “Do you want to see me finger her?” he asks, voice rough.
Jake nods heavily, and you’ve never in your life seen him being so submissive. Especially for another male, now if something, that was new.
“Good” he turns his head back to you again as he mumbles, and he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead “I’m going to be rough to make him suffer more” he whispers in your ear like it's some secret. “Is that okay, love?”
And you can't help but nod your head, not knowing exactly what you are signing up for. “Yes”
He gently licks your earlobe, but before you could fully focus on that interesting sensation, his fingers firmly penetrate your leaking hole, making you nearly scream.
“Oh my—” you arch your back, and you hear him chuckling next to your ear.
He doesn't start off slowly or anything like that, no, instead he moves his ring and middle finger in and out in a fast rhythm. The wetness of your pussy makes it way easier to move, but he still struggles to set up a steady rhythm at first.
You look at Jake through your knees, he’s biting down his lip so hard it probably bleeds by now. You imagine what he could be thinking about: he probably wishes it was him who was fingering you so hard, and not his best friend.
Sunghoon lets out a deep sigh, his own aching bulge making it hard for him to keep his rhythm steady and not stutter with his fingers. It's also Jake's presence that feels heavy, but having both of you under his dominance makes his ego boost.
Sunghoon glances at Jake, and the sight of him, being so desperate to touch himself yet so silent, almost makes his jaw drop. His face is so red, his skin is probably aching for a touch. Sunghoon finds himself wanting to touch his best friend, but he looks back at you quicker than ever when you let out a breathy moan, distracting him.
“You can—” he clears his throat, looking back at Jake who's listening to his every word closely “Touch yourself.” he adds in a commanding voice.
And he doesn't have to tell Jake twice, who is already out of his pants when you look at him while Sunghoon’s long fingers curl inside of you, your mouth hanging agape as you watch him getting out of his boxer, sitting down at the chair with his hard dick in his hand. He has his eyes on you, his precious girlfriend, prettier than ever, laying on the bed, offering yourself like you are a whore.
Sunghoon suddenly adds a third finger, and your vision goes dizzy for a second, letting out a guttural moan. “Take it” is all he tells you.
The stretch is insane, you feel like your walls are about to rip at any moment. He slows down as he sees you struggling, his other hand caressing your hair softly.
He shifts his gaze to Jake again, who is groaning helplessly in the chair now, leaning back as he strokes his cock.
“Don't cum” Sunghoon says to Jake, and he pulls his fingers out of you too.
You take deep breaths, disappointed at the fact that he didn't let you or Jake come.
He fixates his eyes on Jake, moving his hand to his own hardness now. “What do you want?” he asks gently.
Jake lets go of his shaft, grabbing the armrest of the chair. He hesitates before talking, his eyes flickering between Sunghoon and you “I— Can you kiss me too?”
The question comes a little unexpected, and you frown your brow at Sunghoon for a moment, just to scan his reaction. He looks surprised too, but he doesn't back up. If anything, he gets on all fours and crawls to the end of the bed, looking at Jake for the whole time.
He doesn't even look back at you, and Jake doesn't bother to take a glance at you either, they just lean in as Sunghoon approaches the man in the chair. Sunghoon kisses him just like he kissed you before: roughly.
It's torture, because you know exactly how it feels and you know exactly what must Jake feel. The latter’s hands wrap on the sides of Sunghoon’s face, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss.
You can't look away from them. Both of them are undeniably hot, and seeing them kiss is also not the least attractive thing you've seen. Sunghoon sits on his knees so he can run his fingers through Jake's dark locks, his fingers grasping his hair into his fists. They look like this is practice for them, like they have been doing this since they knew how to kiss.
You hear Jake whimper into the kiss, Sunghoon probably bit down his lip. Then, Sunghoon yanks Jake back by his hair, making him look up, a string of saliva still connecting their lips together. “You are so needy, Jae” he smirks and lets go “Sit with your back to the bedframe. I want you to have a clear view”
Jake just nods and crawls to the bedframe, leaning his back against it as he sits down next to you. He’s too embarrassed to look down at you, but you look at him. You have never seen Jake this desperate and needy in your whole life, and it was such a big turn on. He looks pitiful and embarrassed, face red and hair messy because Sunghoon messed it up during their kiss.
However, you don't have much time to enjoy the view of Jake, because Sunghoon stands next to you and undoes the handcuffs that kept you still by the bed.
He leads you to the end of the bed by your wrists, gesturing you to sit down on the edge of the bed. You do as he tells you, laying down and propping yourself on your forearms to look up at him from under your lashes.
In this position, you see nothing of Jake who's sitting by the bed frame, his semi-hard cock already in his hand again, stroking it vaguely. You only see Sunghoon who squats down in front of you, his eyes shifting behind your back, at Jake.
“What do you want me to do to her?” He asks, like you aren't even there.
There's a silent beat before the answer comes. “Undo her bra. I want to see her breasts bounce while you fuck her”
Jake’s voice is firm again now, seems like he gained back his confidence he usually has when it's just the two of you. Sunghoon gives him a sly smirk before turning back his attention to you, looking at you like you are the only woman in the world. He pulls his eyebrows together as he looks up, eyes big like a puppy's.
“Can I undo your bra, angel?”
You nod your head, and his hands are already caressing your back up and down as he reaches for the back of your bra and undoes it with a soft click that feels like an echo in the silent room. You hear Jake murmur when Sunghoon throws your bra away and looks at him. “You want to see her breasts, hm? It must feel so bad that you can't see them right now and it's me seeing them. They look pretty good, right, Jae?”
You hear something behind your back, and you recognize the sound : Jake is definitely stroking himself again. Sunghoon’s dirty talk works on him better than anything else, and even though it surprises you it makes you oddly turned on too.
“They are so round, and the nipples are so hard…” he continues, now setting his eyes on your breasts. Jake knows all of it, he knows how your breasts look like more than anything else, but now he only can see your back and it makes him impatient. “Angel, your breasts are perfect” Sunghoon softens his voice, it's crazy that you can make a difference between when he's talking to Jake and when he's talking to you so easily. His whole demeanor changes. “Can I fuck these pretty tits? Please?”
He still squats in front of you and his hands are on your sides, thumbs softly pushing your stomach down as he looks up at you with his pretty, thick eyebrows knitted together. You just can't say no to this. You bob your head, and he finally reaches town to his pants to free his cock that's aching to be touched.
There's pre-cum spilling out of his flushed tip, and he smears it over his cock with his hand before he stands up in front of you, looking over your head straight at Jake like you were only here when he was squatting in front of you.
“Baby, I don't want to waste lube yet…” Sunghoon grabs your hair and yanks your head so you look up at him as he offers you a sweet smile “Would you be so kind and let me use your mouth instead?” He lets your hair loose so you can nod, no words coming out of your mouth.
He moves his hand from your hair to your face and grabs your jaw as he pushes his thumb into your mouth eagerly, forcing you to open it. Sunghoon slightly slaps your cheek before letting your jaw go and he puts his leaking cock to the tip of your tongue. He pushes in slowly, and he moans when he meets the warmness of your saliva, your tongue immediately licking the part of his cock that entered your mouth.
You lick off all the pre-cum that has leaked in your mouth and begin to move your head, looking up at him from under your lashes while doing it. However his gaze doesn't meet yours, he has his eyes fixed on Jake who still sits in the end of the bed with spread legs, but he's not touching himself anymore. He's completely silent as he watches the scene unfold before him.
You do your work and bob your head at Sunghoon’s cock while he stays still, one of his hands tangling in your hair to lead you slightly. There's a vein going down from the base of his cock to his tip, and you slide your tongue across it earning a soft whimper.
After a few moments he averts his gaze away from Jake and suddenly pulls out of your mouth, slapping your cheek again slightly in a form of appreciation. “Fuck, angel, you did such a good job” he comments, his gaze flickering between you and your boyfriend “He taught you so well how to suck dick, you could be a whore by now”
Jake's brows furrow together at the mention of you with other men, but he doesn't say a word. He lets Sunghoon talk. “Though he is very possessive of you so that isn't in your vision board, I’m guessing” he lets out a laugh “But… seems like he doesn't mind it when you are with me. He's still hard, even though he already jerked off once”
Sunghoon eyes Jake, and he looks at him like he's just a piece of meat and nothing else. His eyes darted from his flushed face and sharp eyes to his lap and a sly smile tugs in the corner of his lips “Or am I that special, Jae?”
Jake runs a hand through his messy black hair, looking away from Sunghoon’s dark gaze. “You are not special, it's just a one time thing” he murmurs.
“A one time thing?” Sunghoon repeats mockingly “Don't act like you don't jerk off to the image of me and your girlfriend together”
You furrow your brows confusedly at that, looking up at Sunghoon who still has his eyes on the man behind your back “Sunghoon…” you try to hush him
“It’s none of your business” Jake barks
“It’s hot” Sunghoon says back, like it's the most casual thing ever. But was their friendship ever casual?
Before Jake could say anything at that, before he could address everything, that he might have slight feelings for his best friend too, Sunghoon is looking at you again.
“You warmed up my cock so well, love” he reaches down to grope your breast, pinching your nipple that makes you let out a choked sound. “It’s time to ruin these cuties”
He bites down his bottom lip as he moves closer to you again, pushing his hard and flushed cock between your breasts. “Push them together” he commands, and you do as you were told.
He slides his cock upward, the saliva you left on it and the pre-cum it's mixed with makes it move easily. He rolls his hips, watching as his cock slides between your breasts while you push them together so they wrap around it better. “Fuck” Sunghoon’s thrusts stutter while more and more pre-cum leak out of his cock. But before he could come, he grabs onto your shoulders and pushes himself away from you, leaving you with your breasts covered in your own saliva and his pre-cum.
He looks over at Jake again to see his reaction, and he just sits there while eyeing Sunghoon with his head tilted back toward the bedframe.
“Do you want to fuck her?” Sunghoon asks, and you turn your head around to look at him too.
Jake's eyes flicker between you and Sunghoon for a few moments before he shakes his head which surprises you. “You fuck her. That was in the agreement.”
“Let's make another agreement,” Sunghoon suggests, looking at both of you. “If you’ll be a good boy and won't touch yourself while I fuck your girlfriend, we both fuck her. How about this?”
Jake nods with you at the same time, totally synched up. Having both of them in you is all you want right now. Not just Sunghoon, not just Jake, but both of them at the same time.
“Awesome” Sunghoon smiles, his gaze darkening “Jake you sit back in the chair, y/n you go to the side of the bed.” he commands, and Jake practically jumps out of the bed to sit back into his chair that's placed in front of the bed.
“Let's make sure you’ll be good for me” Sunghoon says as he walks over to Jake with both handcuffs in his hands, clicking them open to handcuff his hands to the armrests. After he’s done, he gives him a satisfied smirk. “Now you definitely won't touch yourself, right?” he looks down at Jake who is now totally tied up to the chair. Then after a few silent moments, Sunghoon decides to lean forward and click one of the handcuffs open. Jake blinks up at him.
“You know what? The choice is in your hands, Jae. I give you the right to touch yourself but… as you can see, I left one of the handcuffs on for a reason.” He turns around, not giving any more shit about Jake.
You sit down on the edge of the bed, but Sunghoon gestures to you to stand up instead. “Turn around and bend over, beautiful”
You get on fours on the bed and bend over slowly, arching your back teasingly to put a show up for him. Sunghoon bites down his lip as he watches your ass get in the air and your chest pushed down to the sheets. He puts his hands on your waist possessively, pulling you closer to himself. “What a good girl” he murmurs as he strokes his cock and places it to your entrance, then pushes in firmly without any warning. You grasp the sheets in your fists, trying to swallow a high-pitched scream.
He begins to move easily, thrusting deep into you with every roll of his hips until you become a moaning mess. Sunghoon on his own is groaning after every move, enjoying how deep he can go inside you to fill you up.
He places one of his hands on the arch of your back while his other hand lingers on your waist, digging his thumbnail into the skin of your stomach. Your walls wrap around him so perfectly like you were meant to be filled up with his length, too bad it's Jake who owns you.
You try to keep your head down on the mattress while Sunghoon pounds into you, the skin-to-skin sound filling up the room. Jake sits in the chair eagerly, trying so hard to not touch himself. It’s hard, because he can feel his cock twitch every time he sees Sunghoon penetrate you deeply as your pussy drips.
Sunghoon’s hand comes up to the back of your head to pull you by your hair so you can talk. “You like it?” he asks, breathless.
“Yes” you cry out, feeling a drop of tear spilling from your eye “Please Sunghoon keep fucking me like this” you beg.
Sunghoon smiles and furrows his brows in pleasure as you arch your back even more so he can hit you just at the right angle. “You heard that, Jake?” he turns his head towards his friend, who grabs the armrest so hard that his knuckles have turned white. “He likes how I fuck her”
Jake swallows hard, biting the inside of his cheek down as he feels the rage building up in himself. This scenario only worked well in his head — he thinks, though he's undeniably hard again.
With a long groan, Sunghoon pulls out of you and strokes himself, pushing your back down with his hand to make you arch deeper. “Good girl” he says when he sees you back shrinking down deeper, and after a few moments he spills his cum all over your back with a soft whimper escaping him.
“Shit” he mumbles when he comes, making a mess of your back. Then, he looks at Jake who’s still sitting in his chair helplessly, one hand cuffed to the armrests and the other grasping the other armrest as hard as he can, trying to restrain himself.
“You listened to me.” Sunghoon states, analyzing Jake’s state by looking him up and down. “You are so cute like this, Jae. Just sitting in your small chair whining like a puppy while you try to restrain yourself from touching. But you’ll do it eventually, right? Because when you put food in front of a puppy and tell him to not eat, he’ll eat it after a few desperate whines anyway.” He leans forward, their faces close together while you still try to gain yourself together on the bed. “Right?”
“Just… undo the handcuff already” Jake turns his head away, feeling like he can't look into his best friend’s eyes right now. Not like this. Not in this state. He reaches his cuffed hand as much as he can towards Sunghoon, the chain clinking slightly as he shakes it.
Sunghoon hums but then gives in and undoes the handcuff, letting Jake’s hand totally free. Now he's not under his mercy, not anymore. Jake massages his red wrist with his other hand, fixing his gaze on his own hands instead of looking at Sunghoon who’s still hovering above him.
“So, are you going to analyze the veins on your hand or would you rather come to see that beauty laying in your bed, hm?” Jake finally looks up and glances at you, who’s sitting on the bed with messy hair and a dirty back. You make eye contact with him for a thin moment, but you both realize it's a bit awkward.
You’ve never been this vulnerable in this relationship, and neither had him. It’s a new thing, and you aren't sure how things will be after this night.
Jake walks over to you and leans down to hint a kiss on your forehead. It’s the most gentle thing that has happened to you today. Then, he cups your cheeks with his hands and leans down to kiss you deeply. “Are you okay?” he whispers, only for you to hear. You nod your head in his hands, opening your eyes to look at him.
Jake pulls away from you, letting your face go. Then, he looks at Sunghoon, something pitiful in his eyes. “So, did I do good?” a small smile tugs in the corner of his lips as he asks, and Sunghoon just lets out a laugh.
“Of course you did” Sunghoon answers, folding his arms in front of his chest “You earn a prize” then, both of them look at you as you sit on the edge of the bed and they are towering right in front of you.
You suddenly stand up from your place and walk over to them, grabbing both of their heads and pushing them close to each other until their lips meet. Then, you pull your hands away and just watch as the scene unfolds in front of you and they deepen the kiss, Jake’s tongue darting out to lick Sunghoon's lips.
Their hands can't find their places, Jake sometimes grabs onto Sunghoon's neck while Sunghoon's hands get glued to his waist, but they grope each other hungrily everywhere they can touch.
You sit back on the bed to spread your legs, your hand going down to your core. You start to message your clit, watching them kissing each other. Jake lets out a small moan when Sunghoon goes down with his head, kissing on his neck now. He bites and sucks the skin there, and Jake runs his hand into his dark locks “Fuck, Hoon”
Your thumb remains on doing circular moves on your clitoris while you move your middle and index finger between your folds, sliding them down and up. You feel the tension building up in your nerves as the two men in front of you get hungrier and more in heat. Sunghoon goes lower and bites Jake’s collarbone, and Jake can't help but close his eyes to enjoy, feeling every wave of heat the kiss brings go down to his arousal.
“Can I… can” Jake mumbles between small whines, and you push your middle finger in your pulsing hole. “Can I choose a — ah— prize?”
Sunghoon backs up, looking at him with wide eyes “What do you mean?”
Jake bites down his lip, unsure if he should really say his thoughts out loud. “Would you give me head?”
“What?”
Jake feels his cheeks becoming crimson color, and he turns away “Nevermind”
You stop your movements and pull your finger out of yourself, watching all of this with pure curiosity. What is up with Jake? Since when is he like this?
“Okay, you fucked up the whole mood” Sunghoon says as he walks around the room to collect his clothes, already putting his shirt back up.
“But what about Jake’s prize? He didn't touch himself” you question, kind of confused and disappointed by the sudden cut-end of the night.
“Maybe next time” Sunghoon pulls his jeans up, doing his buttons. When he turns back around, he faces two blinking faces. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I thought this was… you know, a one time thing” Jake mumbles.
Sunghoon lets a laugh out “We already talked about this”
You and Jake share a look while Sunghoon looks for his socks then puts them on, after finding it eventually. “You want to keep doing this?” you dare to ask, and Sunghoon nods casually.
“Why not? Did you guys have fun? I think we can keep this thing up. As long as no one knows about it… I don't want people to think I’m a weird pervert or something”
“So you want to do it in secret” Jake says, nodding to himself as he lets the words sink in.
“Yeah” Sunghoon pulls his phone out of his jeans's pocket, checking his messages “Shit, I got called in for work stuff. I have to go.”
“We’ll talk about it, I guess” you add before he goes away, waving goodbye.
And in the next moment, you and Jake are left alone in complete silence, and for a moment you avoid his gaze. You feel that again, that weird vulnerable feeling you felt when you accidentally said Sunghoon's name while you two had sex. Fiddling with your fingers, you ask “Do you think it's a good idea?”
Jake folds his arms as he thinks for a moment, then nods “I’m not against it”
“What?” you question, genuinely surprised. That would mean he has to share you with someone, and last time you checked Jake definitely wasn't the type to do that. “You would share me with Sunghoon?”
“Look, I— I don't know, okay? He’s my best friend and I know you are in good hands when you are with him.” he stops for a moment, mouth going dry. “I have to work on my jealousy issues. They cloud my every day, and trust me y/n it’s not good. I hate it, I don't want to have it. I feel like this could help. Sunghoon is open minded and… well, you find him attractive, don't you?”
You bite down your lip until it bleeds a little, your teeth leaving a small wound on it. If he asked you this a few hours or days ago, you would definitely lie to this question. But now, everything has changed.
“Yes, I do”
“So are you in? It wouldn't be a big thing if it's just between the three of us, right?”
You hesitate for a moment before you say: “Yes”
A/N :: WOOHOOO!! if you reached the end of this, thank you for reading this story ♡ every like, comment (especially comments), reblogs and support is very very appreciated!! and don't be angry about this VERY open end because 🥁🥁🥁 part 2 is comingggg cuz i only wanted to make this as a short smut oneshot as funsies with no specific plot written down in my drafts but its already kinda long and i absolutely fell in love with this plot, and i feel like i can add so much more feelings and stuff to it!! so stay tuned, maybe this'll become my first series
‧₊ ˚⊹ gojo lets his shy gf ride him on the couch 18+
note written for this request ! sorry it took so long to get out anon, hope u enjoy <33
cw pinv riding, creampie
you never usually get like this. but for some reason you've just been desperately horny all day. all you can think about is satoru’s dick filling you up, splitting you open and hitting all those right spots. and you know he’d be more than happy to help you out—the both of you have just been chilling at home since the morning—but the only thing is that you're far too nervous to ask him straight up. your boyfriend always has the bravery to initiate intimacy with you, but for some reason hever have enough confidence to be the one to ask first.
so, today, as you're practically aching to be touched, you decide to pluck up the courage and just ask him. entering the living room, you see him slouched on the sofa scrolling mindlessly through his phone, blindfold flush against his eyes. all he's wearing are his plaid pyjama bottoms sitting low on his hips, the waistband of his boxers peeking out over the hem. the sight of his torso in all its muscled glory as he sits there, so relaxed, makes your thighs squeeze together unconsciously.
sitting down next to him, you rest your head on his shoulder. satoru smiles, putting his phone down and snaking his arm around you.
“how’s your day been, baby?” he adjusts himself so he’s facing more towards you.
you mumble something in response, though you're not even quite sure what you said yourself—something about being a little frustrated, maybe. he kisses you softly on your temple and asks you if you need anything from him. you do, you so desperately do. you want him buried deep inside you, and you want to tell him that. but something inside you makes the words halt in their track. you swallow them down, chickening out.
“no,” you shake your head lightly. “just wanted to sit with you. carry on with what you were doing.”
he chuckles, reaching for his phone again to resume his scroll. on the other hand, you try your utmost best to will away the throbbing ache between your legs. but nothing is helping; your mind is hazy with the thought of bouncing on satoru’s thick cock.
you curl up more into his side, one hand trailing up to stroke his fuzzy undercut whilst the other roams across the bare skin of his firm shoulder.
gojo cocks his head to the side. “you sure you don't want anything from me?”
“yeah,” you gulp down your lust. “i’m sure, just getting comfy.”
“oookay…” he drawls out, not totally convinced of your words.
you need some way to signal to him what you want without directly saying it out loud. so, you take it upon yourself to shift even closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling your face into him. you inhale his scent—clean, minty, satoru. the smell of him only makes you wetter, your panties getting more soaked by the second.
“satoruuu…” you mumble into his skin.
“whats up, baby?” he puts his phone down once again.
your primal hunger for him clouds your vision and you finally push aside your nerves, deciding to be bold. you swing one leg over him and straddle his lap, hands tangling in his snowy locks. beneath you, you can feel him already getting hard, so you grind down a little.
he doesn't flinch. “hm? thought you said you didn't need anything?” there’s a teasing lilt to his voice and you're sure he's being purposefully oblivious. there’s no way he hasn’t realised what you're asking for, right now. not with the way you're practically all over him.
you whine a little, though you don't mean to, getting more frustrated by the second. satoru just laughs, placing his large hands on your waist. you pout at him, your hands braced against his warm chest. if he wanted you to be more direct, so be it. hooking one finger into the hem of his blindfold, you tug it up gently, the dark fabric pushing his hair up on his forehead.
now, with no blindfold between you, your eyes meet his. they're blown wide; where there was once a ring of crystalline blue, there is now pitch black desire.
“what do you want, baby?” he whispers, kissing your cheek lightly. “use your words.”
your skin feels hot with embarrassment, but you don't why. this is satoru, your satoru. your wonderful partner who waits on your every beck and call, and would drop a mission halfway through if you asked him to come home.
“want you…” your voice is meeker than you would have hoped, trailing off at the end.
he smirks. “can't hear you, sweets. speak up.”
“i want you, satoru.” you grind down on him again. “want you to fuck me. been thinking about it all day.” another grind. this time, he hisses through his teeth at the sensation.
at your words, he loses all previous semblance of restraint, pulling you towards him and crashing his lips against yours. the kiss is hot, all tongue and teeth and raw passion. it’s messy and when he pulls away, his lips are shiny and plump. in one motion, he’s already shoved both his pyjamas and his boxers halfway down his legs. as his dick springs out, it’s already flushed red and leaking. it looks like it hurts.
gojo pulls your flimsy sleep shorts to the side, along with your damp panties, and runs two fingers through your sticky folds.
“fuck— so wet already,” he breathes out. “should have just come to me earlier, baby.”
you whimper at the contact that you've been craving so badly all day. then, without delay, he lines himself up with your needy entrance and pushes in. you moan out in pleasure. the stretch is wonderful—you feel so full. in the daze of bliss, you begin to rock your hips back and forth. satoru holds you tightly, guiding you with his hands, head lolling back onto the cushions behind him.
“haah— yeah, that’s it— show me how much you needed me,” he exhales under his breath. “fuck yourself on my cock, baby.”
you're panting, now, inner thighs burning. the room is dank with sweat and slick, the sound of wet skin hitting skin echoing in your ears. satoru’s hips are bucking up into you and he’s groaning, your name a mantra on his lips.
“satoru—ngh—feels so good.”
“yeah?” he teases. “you’re so pretty, my needy girl.”
at his praise, you feel yourself begin to unravel at the seams. you're both sweaty, but it feels so good that you couldn't care less about the mess you're making on him, pussy squelching and creaming around his length.
soon, he’s grunting and you're whining out, your orgasm building up inside of you with such ferocity that you're buckling at the waist, forehead falling against satoru’s.
“toru—” you choke on a moan. “gonna—hah—cum—”
he doesn't say anything, just groans in response, and you know he’s close, too. after a couple more bounces up and down, you're coming undone on him, velvety walls clamping down around his dick, which twitches inside of you as he spills into you.
as you come back to reality, satoru’s arms hold you tight. you rest your head against his flushed skin, looking up at him through your lashes. he’s already smiling down at you.
“next time,” he grins from ear to ear, pecking you on the forehead. “all you have to do is ask, sweets.”
warnings & content: mdni! 18+ explicit language, suggestive themes, unprotected sex (safe sex gois), reader is on pill, p in v, oral sex (m receiving) breast play, clit play, nasty jake, reader is freaked out, jake brother almost caught them
synopsis: screw the rules of chess. you had a completely different, much wilder game in mind for the both of you, playing the part of being jake’s freaky girlfriend…
now playing: “freak” by doja cat
note: i'm so freaked out by the one and only sim jaeyun. just want him 24/7 ☹️✌️ he's the reason why i am so freaky these past few days. pls enjoy this freaky fic mwahhh!!
The chessboard placed between you and Jake, as you sat on the soft cushion, pieces arranged in their opening formation. His shared room with his brother smelled of fabric softener and the strawberry ice cream you'd shared earlier. The only sounds were the soft click of pieces moving and the occasional frustrated exhale from Jake.
You should have been planning your next move. Instead, your gaze drifted upward from the board to where Jake sat cross-legged across from you, manspreading just enough to make the fabric of his khaki pants stretch taut across his thighs. The outline of him was visible—thick, heavy, pressing against the fabric. Your fingers hovered over your bishop, and were now forgotten.
Jake ditched the blazer hours ago. His white uniform shirt had the top three buttons undone, the collar loose, his necktie hanging like an afterthought. The sleeves were rolled to his forearms, and every time he reached for a piece, the muscles shifted beneath his honey skin. Veins traced along the backs of his hands, prominent against pink knuckles. His fingers were long, bony, nails trimmed neatly as always. When Jake moved a knight forward, his jaw clenched—a sharp angle that flexed as he realized he'd walked into your trap.
He ran his fingers through his hair again, the dark strands falling messy and soft across his forehead. A bead of sweat gathered at his temple despite the cool air from the air conditioner.
"Your move," he said, voice low and distracted.
Winning wasn't your goal anymore. The ache between your legs had been building since he'd unbuttoned that shirt. Your panties were soaked through—you could feel the wet fabric clinging to you with every small shift of your hips. You wanted to ruin him.
You wanted him to ruin you. Now.
You stood. Jake's eyes followed you, confused, his hand still resting on his rook. Without breaking eye contact, you slipped your hands beneath your skirt, hooked your fingers into the waistband of your black panties, and tugged them down. The fabric peeled away from your wet center with a soft, obscene sound. You balled them up and tossed them directly at his face.
Jake caught them on reflex, one hand snapping up. The soaked fabric dangled from his fingers. His eyes went wide, cheeks flushing pink.
"W-what are you doing?" His voice cracked. Another bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
"Isn't it obvious?" You planted your foot on the edge of the chessboard and kicked. Pieces scattered, clattering against each other, the carpet muffling the sound. "I'm going to fuck you. So unzip your pants now before I ruin them."
"But my brother could come anytime soon—"
You dropped to your knees and crawled across the cushion toward him. Jake's words died in his throat as you pressed your lips to his. Soft. Plump. Tasting strawberry ice cream you ate earlier. You bit his lower lip—thick and warm between your teeth—and he whimpered.
The sound went straight through you. High, breathy, desperate. You wanted to hear it again and again.
"Then let's be quick," you murmured against his mouth.
You reached for his belt, yanking the buckle open, pulling the leather free. His khaki jeans came next—tugging the button, dragging the zipper down, shoving the fabric past his hips. He lifted himself enough for you to pull them off, and they landed somewhere on the soft carpet behind you. Your patience is gone. Your wet cunt throbbed with the need for your boyfriend inside you.
Jake shifted backward, leaning against the edge of his bed, and pulled you onto his lap. You straddled him, your bare pussy pressing against the cotton of his boxers. You ground down, feeling the hard length of him beneath the thin fabric, your slick wetness soaking through immediately.
"Horny, are we?" Jake's smirk was breathless. He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, and you tilted your head to give him more access.
"How can I not? I have a sexy boyfriend with a big dick." You palmed him through his boxers, feeling him twitch against your hand. You tugged the waistband down, freeing his cock—hard, flushed, the tip swollen and leaking pre-cum from the slit.
You grabbed him, positioning the thick head at your entrance. You teased yourself first, just fucking the fat tip of him in and out, stretching yourself around the widest part.
"Hnghh—" you gasped.
"F-fuck, you're so tight," Jake groaned, his hands gripping your hips.
You sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch. He filled you completely—thick, long, his cock pulsing inside you as if it had been built for your cunt. You could feel every vein, every ridge of him. You started to bounce, your wet pussy sliding up and down his length, his balls slapping against you with each movement. The lewd, wet squelching sound echoed off the walls.
"You're so big—ahh!"
"Go fuck yourself more," Jake urged. His eyes were fixed on you—your closed eyes, your furrowed brow, your parted lips fighting to stay quiet. He lifted your skirt, watching his dick disappear inside you, his balls glistening with your juices. White cream formed where your bodies met. His naughty fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles. Jake wants to engrave this to his mind forever.
"You're so hot like this. Fuck—" He watched your fucked-out face, your pussy stretched wide around him.
You unbuttoned your blouse, freeing your breasts from your bra, just enough for Jake to devour it. You leaned forward, brushing one nipple against his plump lips while you groped the other shamelessly. Jake latched on immediately, sucking like a starving man, his tongue swirling, his eyes locked on yours.He looked at you as he kept on sucking it, maintaining his eye contact with you.
If you are the freak, then he is the nasty one.
He twitched inside you as you keep bucking your hips. You tightened around him—he felt it too. Jake pushed you down gently onto the carpet, your head landing on the soft cushion where you sat earlier. He grabbed both your legs, pressed them toward your chest, spreading them wider. Without warning, he thrust hard and deep—so deep making your eyes roll back.
"J-Jake—fuck! Fuck!" You were crying now, tears of pleasure as he slammed into you faster.
"Does it feel good? Is this what you wanted?" He fucked you deeper, harder.
"Yes—hnghh! Right there..."
You grabbed his necktie, pulling it toward you, and bit down on the fabric to muffle your moans. Jake couldn't stop staring—your spread legs, your swollen cunt dripping onto the soft carpet, boobs bouncing sinfully trying to escape from your bra, your mouth biting his tie, your glossy eyes staring at him. You're so freaked out right now. Jake swore he could cum anytime by just looking at you.
“Hmmp–” Then you came hard. Your cunt clenched around him, pulsing, sucking him deep. Making him moan from your tightness. Your whole body shook from your intense orgasm.
"Fuck, baby... you're so good around me." He kissed your forehead, pulled the tie from your mouth, and kept pounding.
"B-babe, cum in my mouth? Please?" You opened your mouth, tongue out with your pleading eyes.
What a nasty offer.
"You're such a freak—ahh!" He kept snapping his hips.
Jake pulled out suddenly. You hissed at the sudden loss. He hovered above you, in between your head, stroking his cock fast. You could see his slit oozing with pre-cum. You lifted your head a little bit, licking his flushed swollen tip, swirling your tongue, sucking just the head as he stroked the base. Staring at him playfully. Jake cannot think straight right now by how hot you look.
"My baby wants my cum?" He ran his fingers through his sweat-damp hair.
You nodded, releasing him with a wet pop. Jake was breathtakingly handsome above yours—biting his lower lip, staring down at you intensely, stroking himself fast as he could. You're a lucky bitch you thought to yourself.
"I'm gonna cum—ahh—fuck—hnghh!"
Jake came hard. Hot spurts of his seed hit your tongue, some of it landed on your flushed cheeks, your closed eyes. He kept milking himself until nothing remained. You lifted your head again, sucking his swollen tip clean. Earning a loud groan from Jake.
You appear messy, yet in a beautiful way. Jake captured this moment to his mind.
He gets off you quickly above you, lifts his boxers from his ankle, and reaches into the drawer beside you for the wipes. He took some wet sheets and gently cleaned your face, wiping away the sticky semen. Jake also helps you button up your blouse, before moving down to your legs to wipe away any juices.
"Open your legs for me, baby," he commanded, and you complied quickly.
Now, he is once again beneath you. You felt the cool wipe against your entrance as he cleaned it gently, causing you to clench from the sudden friction. Jake swallowed, his gaze fixed on your swollen pussy.
"So beautiful. Only for me," he leaned forward to press a quick kiss on your pussy. Your eyes widened, and you quickly grabbed his hair, forcing him to look at you.
"Jake, we just finished!" you scolded him.
Jake chuckled softly and pressed a gentle kiss on your lips. He inserted his tongue, savoring the taste within your mouth as he explored your warm mouth. Both of you pulled out with a smile.
"Thank you, babe."Jake warmly embraced me with a gentle smile, saying, "I love you so much."
"I love you too, Jaeyun. Next time?" You hugged him back, teasing him again.
"I don't mind doing it again right now."Jake laughed.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Both of you froze, staring at each other before disconnecting when someone began to knock.
"Jake! Bro! I left my wallet inside. Could you please give it to me?" His older brother was outside.
Your blood ran cold upon hearing his brother. Jake panicked and quickly put on his pants, then stumbled to his feet.
"Wait a minute, hyung!" Jake shouted.
"Come on, man! Let me in!" His brother was knocking harshly on the door.
Jake finally zipped up his pants and went to his brother's study table to pick up the wallet he had been requesting. He opened the door, revealing his furious brother.
"Peace, hyung." Jake shyly handed him the wallet.
His brother's eyes landed on you as you sat on the floor, hugging a cushion and bowing at him with a shy smile. You were honestly embarrassed. His gaze then shifted to his younger brother. Both of you were flushed from the intense session you just had, your clothes wrinkled and your hair messy. Jake's older brother quickly understood the assignment.
"Alright. Thanks for this!" A naughty smile crept across his face as he said his goodbyes.
As soon as Jake closed the door, his brother shouted from the hallway.
"Safe sex, kiddos!" his voice playfully teased, followed by loud laughter fading down the corridor.
You and Jake stared at each other, your faces burning with embarrassment. You threw a cushion in Jake's direction, but he caught it instantly, thanks to his quick reflexes.
"What?!" Jake laughed, trying his best not to smirk at how flustered you were.
"N-nothing!" you replied, burying your reddened face in his pillows as you collapsed onto his bed.
"Where's my freaky girl now?" he teased, joining you on the mattress and pulling you close.
note written for this request ! i'm super sorry it’s so short anon but i hope you enjoy it anyways <333 loveu
cw no explicit smut but there is boob sucking ;) , reader kiiiind of implied larger chest but honestly it's minor any size can work all boobies are good boobies (take it from a girl whos in a relationship with a problematic boob size gap i love everyone <3)
your boyfriend was a self-proclaimed “boob guy.” whenever he was having a rough day, satoru would somehow end up face down in your chest, rambling about whatever had pissed him off that day.
tonight, he came home exhausted and very obviously annoyed. the first thing he did after slipping into his pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt was flop down on the bed next to you and curl up into your side. laughing lightly, you wrap one arm around him as the other drifts to his head, carding through his hair gently. you scratch at his scalp and he groans, pressing his face further into your body.
he inhales deeply. “you smell good,” he mumbles, all muffled in your clothes. “missed you today. yaga was on my back all day for some nonsense.”
“i missed you too, baby,” you whisper, kissing the top of his snowy head. “wanna talk about it?”
sometimes he would want to just lie in the silence with you, soaking in the peace and quiet. other times, like today, he wanted to share with you all the things he had been holding back all day. he does so, one of his large hands coming up to cup your breast. you think nothing of it—you know it somewhat soothes him. as he chatters away, his palm works at you, kneading and squeezing lightly. his thumb brushes over your nipple, hardening it under your vest top.
“i’m just so bored of it,” he sighs into you. “it’s like i’m never doing enough for them.”
your hands massage his head and run through his hair. he, on the other hand, hooks a finger into the neckline of your top and pulls.
“satoru!” you gasp. “you're such a pervert.”
“can you blame me?” he shoves his face into the gap between your breasts and places soft kisses against your skin. “they destress me.”
chuckling, you slip the strap of your vest off your shoulder and shift onto your side so that he has better access. satoru pecks the side of your breast closest to the bed and licks a wet strip up your pebbled nipple. you inhale sharply, the warmth of his tongue a stark contrast to the cool air of your bedroom.
you grip his hair tighter as he pulls the sensitive bud past his lips, sucking gently. one of his hands squeezes the tit he currently has in his mouth, the free one pinching your other nipple, rolling it between the soft pads of his fingertips. a soft moan escapes your lips as he flicks his tongue out against you, pressing it into your skin.
satoru continues to suck and lick at your tits, alternating between both until he’s drooling down your breasts, lips plump and raw. the sensation is soothing, sending shivers down your spine as your clit begins to throb and pulse. the position is comfortable; you're both on your sides as if you were cuddling, but instead his mouth is wrapped around you and your panties are getting more soaked by the second.
shifting slightly, gojo snakes his hand down your thighs and presses his fingers into the drenched cotton of your sleeping shorts, finding your clit with ease as he rubs small circles into it. you arch more into his touch, his mouth never ceasing its ministrations on your nipples. he’s enjoying this even more than you are—his eyes are screwed shut, eyebrows furrowed as he groans around your tits, tongue swirling expertly against you.
when he releases you from his mouth with a wet pop, he looks up at you fondly. his cheeks are tinged a pretty pink and he’s smiling sheepishly, hair a mess from where you've been gripping at it.
“feel any better?” you ask, kissing his forehead.
“much better, thank you, baby.” he grins from ear to ear as his fingers slip carefully under your underwear. “your turn next.”
synopsis: you're moving into your college apartment when a handsome guy helps you with your heavy boxes on the stairs. He turns out to be Jay, your older neighbor — a lawyer who quickly becomes part of your new life. He listens to you ramble for hours but never offers much about himself, and you tell yourself it's fine, that everyone has boundaries. Being with him feels too right to question, so you let yourself fall anyway, completely lost in him and blind to what's right in front of you until it's too late.
includes: student!reader x lawyer!jay, age gap (not specified), neighbors to lovers (?), lots of domestic fluff mixed with rough sex, slow-burn buildup before the smut, explicit sexual content (mdni), big dick jay, size kink (emphasis on thickness, length, belly bulge, stretching, etc.), cockwarning, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, praise kink, multiple orgasms, spitting in mouth, overstimulation, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, riding, missionary, spooning sex, car sex, doggy, spanking (punishment), manhandling, dirty talk, nipple play, soft dom!jay, brief mean dom jay, aftercare, pet names (princess & baby).
wc: 19.2k ─ a/n: ngl i'm so insecure about this... it took me forever to finish because i was running out of creativity and kept giving up, but i finally did it! really hope you guys like it anyways. i'd really appreciate any feedback! happy reading <33
comment here to join the tag list! .𝜗𝜚 ݁˖
You have been waiting for this moment for months, even years. You are finally moving out. It is because of college, but still, it is a new beginning far from home — a brand-new chapter in your own space. A mix of excitement and nervousness settles in your chest, because living alone requires a lot of responsibility, and you are not sure if you are ready to handle it all.
For the past five minutes, you have been staring at the mountain of boxes crammed into the trunk and backseat of your car like a game of Tetris. You are wondering how you are going to carry so many boxes up to the third floor where your apartment is. With a deep breath, you finally grab one of the boxes, and immediately stagger under its weight.
"Maintenance. Sorry for the inconvenience" reads the sign taped to the elevator doors.
Drops of sweat form on your temples, down the back of your neck, and pool on your spine, making your shirt stick to your skin. Of course it would be hot as hell on the day of your move, and of course the elevator wouldn't be working — talk about lucky.
You take another deep breath, hug the box against your chest, and begin climbing the stairs slowly, careful not to lose your balance.
Your arms are trembling and your breathing is almost as heavy as the box by the time you finally reach the first floor, forcing you to set it down for a moment to rest. But just as you pick it up again, mentally preparing for the next flight of stairs, the sound of footsteps coming down from above catches you off guard.
A man is coming down the stairs. He’s tall, wearing a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the prominent veins on his forearms. His jaw is sharp — probably sharper than any knife you’ve ever seen. He looks so put-together that you suddenly feel embarrassed by your sweaty face and disheveled state.
Seeing you, he stops immediately, his eyebrows furrowing with mild concern. "Whoa. Let me help you with that." His voice is low and smooth, the kind of voice that sends a shiver down your spine before you can stop it.
You blush, heat rising from your neck to your cheeks. "Oh, you don’t have to. I can manage—"
"I insist," he replies gently, waiting with his hands hovering, giving you the choice. You let him take the box, and the relief is immediate — your arms practically sing in gratitude. He lifts it as if it weighs nothing, cradling it against his chest with just one arm — the same box you were struggling to carry with both. "I’m Jay, by the way."
You quickly wipe the sweat from your forehead and try to fix your hair because you want to look at least a little presentable for the incredibly good-looking man helping you. "Thank you so much. I’m y/n. I’m moving in today, to apartment 3B."
Jay’s expression softens, and a warm smile spreads across his face. "3B? That’s interesting. I live right next door, in 3A." He nods toward the stairs. "Looks like we’re neighbors." He gestures ahead. "After you."
You both climb the remaining stairs together and your heart still pounding. You can’t tell if it’s from the physical effort earlier or from his company. Because of the nerves, the words start tumbling out before you can stop them.
"I’m starting college this week. I got accepted and everything, and I was so excited when I found this apartment. It’s the first time I’ve ever lived away from home, so I’m really thrilled… but also kind of terrified? Like, what if I get lost on campus? What if my classes are way harder than I expected? I brought way too much stuff, I’m kind of attached to my things, you know?" You let out a breathless laugh. "Sorry, I’m probably talking too much. I get really chatty when I’m nervous."
Jay glances at you as you walk, the box still balanced effortlessly in his arms. He doesn’t look annoyed — in fact, he seems amused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You’re not talking too much. It’s a big change, but you’re doing great."
You bite your lower lip, watching him as you climb. There is something intriguing about him that sparks your curiosity. "And you? Are you a student too, or…?"
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "No, I’ve already graduated. I work at a company downtown." He says it casually, offering no further details — which only makes you even more curious.
You reach the landing of the second floor and have to stop to catch your breath, while Jay doesn’t even seem slightly winded — it’s honestly impressive. "My parents helped me pack my bags, but they’re hours away now. It’s exciting, though. New city, new people. I just hope I don’t ruin everything."
"You won’t," Jay says gently. "Everyone feels like that at the beginning. The nervousness is normal. Besides, you seem like you have a good head on your shoulders. You’ll find your rhythm." He sets the box down carefully in front of your door. "Ready for another round?"
The words hit you like a spark. "Ready for another round." And before you can help it, your mind immediately drifts, imagining Jay on top of you, his strong body pressing you into the mattress, that same low voice murmuring the question against your neck while his hands pinned your wrists above your head. Heat flooded your face and settled lower in your belly.
You quickly shake your head, trying to push the thought away, desperately hoping your blush isn't too obvious. "Yes, let's do it."
He carries the rest of the boxes for you, going up and down the stairs multiple times. Meanwhile, you keep rambling nonstop about what you are studying, where you are from, and how you are feeling about this new phase of your life. He listens as if he genuinely cares, and even though you can’t quite place the age difference between you two, you feel surprisingly comfortable with him.
When the last box finally makes it through the door, you stand in the hallway with a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Jay. Honestly. I don’t know what I would have done without you."
"Glad I could help. Moving is a big step. If you need anything else, I’m right next door." With that, he returns to his own apartment, leaving you surrounded by a sea of boxes that will clearly take hours to unpack.
A few days pass. You unpack — not everything, just the most important things. Your first classes are overwhelming. You get lost twice, accidentally walk into the wrong lecture hall, and sit through an entire lecture on quantum physics before realizing your mistake. But as embarrassing as it was, that mistake ended up leading you to a guy named Jake, who turned out to be incredibly nice and cute.
Now you are standing outside Jay’s door with a plate of cupcakes in your hands, ready to properly thank him for helping you with the move. The thing is, you can’t really bake; you tried making the cupcakes yourself but ended up burning the batch, so you had to go to the bakery on the corner to buy a box of them instead. They look a bit too professional, but since he doesn't know about your complete lack of kitchen skills, you're confident he won't suspect a thing — especially since you took them out of the box and arranged them nicely on a plate just to be extra safe.
You knock on his door, your heart pounding hard in your chest. He opens it a moment later, and his face lights up when he sees you. "Hey, neighbor," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "How are classes going?"
"Good," you reply, pushing the plate forward with a little too much force. "Great, actually. I only got lost twice today, which is an improvement." Your smile widens. "I brought these for you. For helping me with the move. I made them myself."
He looks at the cupcakes, then back at you, this time raising an eyebrow. "You made these?"
"Yes," you say, nodding firmly with your chin held high, trying to look confident. "From scratch. All by myself. I’m pretty good at baking."
He picks up one of the cupcakes and examines it, narrowing his eyes as he brings it closer to his face. You feel your determination starting to crumble.
"Really?" he asks with a smile, clearly testing how long you will keep up the lie. "From scratch?"
You hold his gaze for three whole seconds before you look away in embarrassment. Your shoulders drop and your face turns as red as a tomato. "Okay, fine. I bought them at the bakery on the corner. I took them out of the box so you would think I’m a functional adult who knows how to bake." You laugh at yourself. "I tried making them the other day, Jay. I set off the smoke alarm. I’m a danger to this entire building."
He throws his head back and laughs — not mocking you, but with a genuine, warm laugh that makes you feel less embarrassed about pretending you had baked the cupcakes. "Oh my God, you actually burned them?"
"I once burned noodles. I’m a total disaster in the kitchen."
He steps aside, still smiling, and gestures for you to come in. "Alright, come in. I’ll split one of these ‘homemade’ cupcakes with you. It’s the least I can do for someone who put so much effort into the task."
Your mom’s voice whispers in the back of your mind: "Don’t talk to strangers and definitely don’t go into their apartments, sweetheart." But is he really a stranger? He is your neighbor who carried all your boxes without complaining, and the way he stands there holding the plate of cupcakes with that smile makes you not hesitate at all.
You follow him inside. He leads you to the kitchen, grabs two small plates, and carefully unwraps a vanilla cupcake, splitting it in half before sliding one piece toward you.
"Have a seat," he says, pointing to the stool by the kitchen island.
"So, you mentioned you work downtown? What exactly do you do?" you ask as you sit down.
"I’m a lawyer," he replies, taking a bite of his half and nodding in approval. "Good choice of bakery, by the way."
You laugh, biting into yours. "A lawyer. That makes a lot of sense. You have this… I don’t know how to say it without sounding weird, but you have this organized vibe. Like you’re really good at arguing without even raising your voice."
His smile widens. "People have definitely told me that before that I have a ‘courtroom voice.’ It’s just my normal voice, only lower and slower. People tend to listen when you don’t yell."
"You’ll have to show me someday. If I ever get in legal trouble, I’ll know exactly who to call."
"Please don’t get in legal trouble. But if you do, I’m your guy."
The conversation flows just as easily as it did on moving day, and before you know it, you’re venting about your annoying professor, how massive the campus is, and all the times you’ve already managed to get lost. Between all the talking, the cupcakes completely disappear, leaving the coffee he made to sit cold and barely touched in your mug. There’s just something about him that instantly puts you at ease.
Despite the age gap, he never talks down to you or makes you feel small, which makes talking to him completely effortless. It’s just so comforting to have someone around who listens to you with that much care and attention — especially when he happens to be incredibly good-looking, leaving you totally hooked since the very first day.
As he walks you to the door when you finally get up to leave, he snatches a pen and a post-it note to scribble something down. Before you know it, he’s pressing the paper into your palm, his fingers brushing lightly against yours and sending a sudden warmth to your cheeks as he says, "Here’s my number, in case you ever need anything."
"Thank you," you say, smiling a little too wide.
He nods. "Anytime. Seriously. Don’t be a stranger."
────────
The grocery bags dig painfully into your fingers as you stand in the lobby, staring at the elevator doors that are still under maintenance. You look at them as if a miracle might happen — maybe if you stare for one more second, God will take pity and finally fix it. Nothing happens, of course, which makes you let out a long sigh of frustration. It has been days since you moved in and the elevator is still not working.
Your arms already hurt from carrying way too many bags. You definitely should have made two trips, but stubbornness won.
Reaching the second floor is pure torture; your arms are burning, those plastic handles are digging right into your palms, and the bags keep swinging awkwardly against your legs. Trying to stop and adjust your grip only makes things worse, to the point where you're seriously considering just sitting right there on the stairs and crying.
You finally collapse against the wall at the third-floor landing, letting the bags slide to the floor just to catch your breath. Right then, the door to 3A clicks open and Jay steps out — perfectly dressed for work with that annoyingly handsome lawyer look that instantly makes your stomach do a little flip.
He sees you immediately. For a second, his eyes take in the whole scene — your flushed face, the many overloaded bags, and the way you are leaning against the wall breathing heavily. A light, amused laugh escapes him. It is not mocking, just genuinely entertained, as if he expected nothing less from you.
"Carrying heavy stuff again?" he asks, walking toward you. "You really don’t learn, do you?"
Before you can even open your mouth to protest, he is already reaching for the bags, picking them all up at once as if they weigh absolutely nothing. His strong arms support the weight so effortlessly that his biceps press against the fabric of his dress shirt, making it completely impossible for you not to stare.
He turns and walks toward your door, carrying everything like it is nothing.
At your doorstep, Jay sets all the bags down carefully against the wall and turns to face you. His expression is calm, almost unreadable, but there is something more in it. You understand it the moment he starts speaking in a gently scolding tone. "You really shouldn’t carry so much at once," he says, crossing his arms. "It’s not safe and it’s clearly too heavy for you. Make two or three trips next time. Look at your hands, they’re all red. You were hurting yourself. Why? Because you’re way too stubborn, huh?"
You glance down at your palms, and they are red where the plastic handles dug in. "I was fine," you say, though even you do not believe it. "I almost made it."
"Don’t be stubborn."
"You sound exactly like my dad," you reply, crossing your arms to mimic him. "He’s always telling me I’m too stubborn for my own good."
Jay’s lips curve into a small smile. "Because you really are," he says with so much certainty that you cannot even argue back. "I’m serious. Next time, make multiple trips or just text me. I’d rather help than watch you struggle like that."
There is a protective tone in his voice that makes your cheeks warm with a mix of embarrassment and something else stirring low in your stomach. He is lecturing you like a child, but somehow it sounds kind of hot coming from him.
Then he glances at the grocery bags again. Now that the scolding is over, he seems to actually pay attention to what is inside them. He picks one up and looks inside — it is full of frozen meals, instant noodles, ultra-processed food, and canned goods. "Look, I know you’re in college now, but that doesn’t mean you have to live on processed food. It’s quick, sure, but you need real fresh stuff, not just things that come out of a can. Eating like this long-term isn’t good for you. You could get sick."
You blink, caught off guard by the extra lecture. He is fully in dad-mode now, and there is something strangely attractive about how seriously he takes it, like he is genuinely worried about you. "Okay, okay. I get it… I already told you I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I just grabbed whatever is easiest so I don’t starve."
Jay’s expression softens a little. "I’m not trying to scold you. I just know how easy it is to fall into bad habits when you’re living on your own for the first time." He pauses and adds in a gentler voice, "If you ever need help in the kitchen, you know where to find me. I’m not exactly a chef, but I know how to make real meals."
Your mind wanders again because you can’t help it — you picture him in your kitchen, standing right behind you while teaching you how to cook, his hands guiding yours, the warmth of his body against your back…
"I’ll try to do better, I swear. Thanks for helping again. I think I owe you something now. How about brownies as a thank you this time?"
Jay shakes his head, chuckling softly. "You don’t owe me anything. Just be more careful next time." He glances at the heavy bags one more time. "Need help carrying these inside?"
You shake your head quickly. "I can handle it from here. I bet you’re busy, you look like you’re heading to work."
He checks the watch on his wrist. "Yeah, I have a meeting soon, but the offer stands anytime." Before turning to leave, he gives you one last firm look. "Take care of yourself."
After he leaves, you drag the bags inside, one half first and then the other, just like Jay suggested.
That night, you are sprawled on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you open your contacts. You saved Jay’s number, of course, but you have been telling yourself you don’t need to text him. It is an emergency-only number, but then you think about him carrying your groceries, the effortless way he took them from you, and the gentle scolding in his voice. Before you can overthink it, you are already typing a message to him.
────────
It is already past midnight and you have been staring at the same page of your textbook long enough for your vision to blur. Your brain has officially given up — it is impossible to absorb a single word more after hours of studying.
You are about to slam the book shut to take out your stress on it and drag yourself to bed when a soft knock sounds at the door. Your heart jumps slightly because you were not expecting anyone, especially not at this hour.
Another knock.
You get up slowly, stretching your sore muscles, and walk to the door. When you open it, Jay is standing there, looking different tonight without his formal work clothes and lawyer posture. He is wearing a simple white t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and is barefoot. He looks relaxed, holding a bottle of red wine — as if he made the sudden decision to knock on your door and came straight over without even putting shoes on.
"Hey," he says, his low voice making your stomach flip. His eyes scan over you, taking in your tired face, messy hair, and pajamas. Something in his expression softens.
"Hey," you reply softly, matching his tone.
"Hey," he repeats, then laughs when he realizes what he just did.
"Hey," you answer again, this time with a small smile. "You already said that."
"I know." He laughs again, shaking his head. "I just… it’s late."
"Very late."
"I know." He lifts the bottle slightly. "I bought this earlier today but… it’s no fun drinking alone."
You look at the wine, then back at him. The way he is standing there — messy hair, ridiculously handsome, and a little too soft — makes going back to bed suddenly seem like a very stupid choice. "Are you inviting me to drink with you?"
"I’m asking if you want to take a break. From everything."
The way he looks at you with those inviting eyes makes the decision easy, but you decide to tease him first. "I don’t usually drink with strangers."
"We’re not strangers," he says, his voice soft. Your teasing does not seem to faze him.
"We’re not exactly friends either," you reply, tilting your head and studying his reaction.
The corner of his mouth lifts into a small, almost lazy smile. "Then let’s change that."
You pretend to consider it for a moment, even though you were already fully committed the second you saw him at your door. "Mmm, okay. But let’s do it at your apartment. Mine is a mess."
His smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Alright, whatever you want."
You grab your keys and follow him, also barefoot, to the door next to yours. His apartment is clean and organized as always, which makes the space feel strangely comforting. In the kitchen, he pours two glasses of wine and hands you one, his fingers brushing against yours for half a second and sending a spark through your body.
"Cheers," he says, raising his glass.
"Cheers," you repeat, gently clinking your glass against his.
You take a sip and let out a small, involuntary hum of appreciation — it is much better than you expected, probably the most expensive wine you have ever tasted. He gestures toward the living room. "Come on, let’s sit," he says, leading the way to the couch. You follow and settle onto his couch, trying to look more relaxed than you actually feel.
"This is nice," you say, taking another sip.
He sits on the other end of the couch — close enough to talk comfortably, but far enough to be polite. "It’s just wine." He takes a sip, watching you over the rim of his glass.
"I mean relaxing… not thinking about classes for the first time."
He nods, understanding. "You think about classes a lot."
"It’s pretty much my entire life right now," you admit with an awkward little laugh, taking another sip.
"I remember going through that too. Everything revolving around exams, assignments, and exhausting responsibilities."
You tilt your head, studying him. "You make it sound like ancient history."
"Sometimes it feels like it." He takes a sip, not breaking eye contact. "I still remember when I was in college. I used to think a bad grade would ruin everything." A dry laugh escapes him as he shakes his head. "There’s so much pressure."
Suddenly you find yourself wanting to know more about him, drawn by the experienced tone in his voice and posture. The wine is already loosening your tongue, so you ask. "How old are you, anyway?"
A small, playful smile appears on his lips. "I’m old enough."
You narrow your eyes, trying to hold back a smile. "That’s not an answer."
"It’s the only one you’re getting." He takes another sip.
"That’s annoying," you say, leaning forward slightly and resting your elbows on your knees.
"Maybe I am annoying." He shrugs, but there is a sparkle in his eyes that tells you he is enjoying this.
"You’re avoiding the question," you accuse, pointing a finger at him.
"I’m protecting my privacy."
"From what? Your neighbor?" You laugh, raising an eyebrow.
"Especially from my neighbor."
You pout, pretending to be hurt. "Fine. Keep your secrets."
"Everyone has secrets," he says, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone.
"I don’t." You are not even sure why you say it. Maybe it is the wine, or the way he is looking at you right now.
"Everyone does." He holds his ground. "You have secrets too."
Your pulse quickens. "I don’t."
"Yes, you do."
You swallow hard. The air between you feels thicker now, charged with something you can’t quite name. You shift slightly on the sofa and notice how easy it would be to reach out and touch him. "So you have a lot of secrets, huh?" you ask, curious.
"Yes. Quite a few."
"Like what?" you press, wanting to see what he will give you.
"If I told you, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore." His lips curve into a slow, almost predatory smile.
"Touché." You raise your glass in an ironic toast, making him laugh.
A comfortable but heavy silence settles between you for a moment, thick with tension as you exchange glances and take slow sips. The wine is definitely doing its job — making your words come out slower, your laughter easier, and your body warmer.
"How old are you?" he asks, breaking the silence.
You blink, caught off guard. "Me?"
"Yes, you." He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "You asked me, so I’m asking you back."
You smile, deciding to play his game. "I’m old enough."
A low, surprised laugh escapes him — rich and genuine. "That’s my line."
"I know." You take another sip to hide your smile.
"You stole my line."
You just shrug. "I borrowed it."
"That’s not how borrowing works."
"Yes, it is."
He laughs again. "You’re impossible."
"Am I? What else?" You raise an eyebrow, challenging him.
"You’re something," he says, his voice dropping again.
"What?" You are not sure what he means by that.
"I don’t know yet." He keeps his eyes fixed on you. "But I’m figuring it out."
You feel your cheeks heat up and take another sip of wine to try to hide your reaction. Jay, however, keeps watching you, and you can tell he noticed.
"You know what I’ve noticed?" By now your voice is a little slurred, so you have to be careful with the words that come out of your mouth.
"What?" His wine glass is almost empty. He sets it on the coffee table and turns all of his attention to you.
You lean back on the couch, turning to face him more directly. Your knee brushes against his thigh, but neither of you pulls away. "You don’t talk much about yourself."
He tilts his head, frowning slightly. "Don’t I?"
"No. You listen, but you don’t share. Like, you’re dodging right now. You give answers, but you don’t really answer."
"Well, I’m trying to protect myself," he says simply.
"Protect yourself from what?" You lean forward, genuinely curious now.
"From getting too attached." The words are honest, and you definitely were not expecting them.
You stare at him, your hand frozen halfway to taking another sip. "From what?"
"To you." His voice is almost a whisper, making your pulse race and your skin flush.
"Why would you get too attached to me?"
He stays silent for a moment, his eyes tracing over you as if he wants to memorize every detail. "Because it’s easy to get attached to you."
"No, it's not," you say, shaking your head as a small, incredulous laugh escapes you.
"It is." His voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. "You just don’t see it."
You look away, feeling your entire body grow warmer. "You’re dodging again."
"I’m being honest." He leans forward slightly, and you can smell him now — a masculine scent mixed with the light sweetness of the wine.
You set your glass on the coffee table and turn to face him completely, the wine making you bolder. "You’re giving me half-answers. You’re telling me just enough to make me curious, but not enough."
He stays quiet for a moment, thinking. "What do you want to know?"
You hold his gaze. "Something real. Truly honest."
Silence stretches between you, thick with something heavy and suffocating that you can't quite name. Then he whispers, "I think you’re beautiful."
Your breath catches, and for a second you are not sure you heard him correctly. "That’s not—" you begin, but he interrupts you.
"It’s honest."
"You can’t just say that," your voice barely comes out as a whisper.
"I just did." His gaze doesn’t leave yours for even half a second.
"It’s too… direct."
"You asked for it." He says it simply, like it is the most natural thing in the world.
"You’re a tease," you say, not sure if you are complaining or not.
"Wait until you find out what else I am. You want to know me? Then make sure you’re ready."
You do not know what to say or what to do, so you look away, your face burning.
When he finally walks you to your door, you are a little unsteady on your feet. He steadies you with a gentle hand on your waist, and the touch is enough to send shivers through your body. "I’m fine," you murmur, even though you are swaying slightly.
"You’re drunk," he says, smiling at your messy state.
"I’m a little tipsy," you reply, giving him a blurry-eyed look.
"You’re drunk."
"It’s the same thing," you mutter dismissively.
"No, it’s not." He is looking at you with that warm, steady gaze that makes your knees feel weak.
You smile, light and tipsy. "Yes, it is."
At your door, you miss the lock twice. He laughs softly before helping you. "Thank you," you whisper. "For this, for the wine, the company, and everything."
His lips curve into a small, warm smile. "Good night, old enough.:
You smile again — you seem to always be smiling when he is around. "Good night, old man."
You step inside, close the door, and lean against it with your heart racing and your whole body warm from the wine and his words — still smiling like an idiot.
A few minutes later, you are curled up in bed when your phone buzz on the nightstand.
────────
You have been tossing and turning on the mattress for what feels like hours — shifting positions, turning to the other side, but nothing helps. You can’t fall asleep — you mind refuses to stop, racing with thoughts about exams, deadlines, and the weight of all your responsibilities pressing down on your shoulders. You need air, you need to feel like you are not suffocating in that apartment, surrounded by boxes you haven't even had the time to unpack yet. There are several unfinished notes on your desk that constantly remind you that you are not doing enough, no matter how hard you try.
So you go up to the rooftop. The cool night air hits your face and lets you breathe again.
The city is an endless sea of lights — countless tiny glowing points in the darkness that remind you how small you really are. You sit on the old bench near the edge of the roof, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them like a shield.
Your thoughts slowly begin to calm as the minutes pass, and the knot in your chest loosens just a little.
Then the door creaks open behind you.
You turn quickly, your body instantly on alert and your heart racing. And there he is — Jay. He is wearing sweatpants and a black shirt, something about this casual, almost domestic look makes your heart skip a beat. He sees you immediately and stops. Surprise flashes across his face for a second before it turns into that familiar half-smile.
"Can’t sleep either?" His voice is low, almost intimate in a way that makes you shiver.
You shake your head. "I have too much on my mind right now…"
He nods as if he completely understands — and he really does. Walking toward you, he stops at a respectful distance before sitting on the bench beside you — close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body, but not so close that he invades your personal space. "Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all." You shift over a little even though there is already enough space.
He leans back, looking up at the sky, which is beautiful tonight with a full moon and stars shining brightly. The silence stretches between you. He doesn’t force conversation; he simply sits there observing the sky and the city with you. The silence is not awkward — it is actually comforting, especially when you are with him.
"I can’t sleep," you admit, breaking the silence with words that slip out before you can stop them. "I try, but my brain just won’t stop. Every time I close my eyes, I start thinking about all the things I have to do, all the things I haven’t done, and all the ways I’m probably going to mess everything up."
"What’s on your mind?" His voice is gentle and patient as always, showing that he is ready to listen.
"Everything." You let out a shaky sigh. "College, exams, being away from my family for the first time… It’s a lot. I thought I was ready, that I could handle it. But sometimes it feels like I’m drowning and I don’t know how to swim. Literally."
"I know how that feels," he says after a long moment of silence. His eyes stay fixed on yours, and there is something raw in them — something honest. "I remember feeling exactly like that. Like everything was too much and I was too small to handle it."
"You’re talking about yourself. That’s new," you say softly. "You always ask about me, but you never—"
"You already have enough on your plate," he cuts in gently.
You blink, caught off guard. "What?"
"You’re stressed about college, adjusting to a new city, and far from your family," he keeps his gaze steady on you, his expression sincere. "You don’t need to hear about my problems too."
"That’s not how it works." You shake your head as something warm and confusing blooms in your chest. "We’re supposed to share things. That’s what—" You pause, searching for the right word. "That’s what friends do."
"I don’t want to burden you when you’re already dealing with so much, and I certainly don’t want to make it worse."
You stay quiet for a moment, his words stirring something you cannot quite name — but it feels good. "That’s really… kind," you finally say.
"I try." He shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips.
The silence settles again, and you sit together quietly for a while longer. Then, out of nowhere, he tilts his head and asks, "How’s your succulent doing?"
You laugh at the unexpected question. "You’re asking about my plant?"
"I remember you mentioned it." He turns toward you — fully turning his body — with a small playful smile on his lips. "I bet you gave it a name."
You shake your head, still smiling. "I haven’t named it yet… but it’s still alive, which is honestly impressive."
"You’re supposed to water it," he says in a gently scolding tone.
"I know." You look away, feeling a little guilty about slowly killing a plant.
"But you forget." There is no judgment in his voice, only warm amusement.
"I forget." You laugh — something you always do when you are with him. "I have a lot on my mind, okay?"
"You’re a plant killer." He smiles, making you grin even wider.
"I’m not a plant killer! I’m just… forgetful. It is surviving, which is more than I can say about myself sometimes."
Something in your words changes his expression. It is still gentle, but now there is a hint of concern. "You’re doing better than you think."
You don’t know what to say, so you just look at him, with the words stuck in your throat.
"Does the succulent at least have company?" he asks after a moment, his voice light as always.
You blink, confused by the sudden question. "What?"
"Other plants, maybe some flowers, something to keep it company. Plants get lonely too."
You laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t think it gets lonely. It’s just a plant, after all."
"All living things have feelings. It definitely feels lonely," he says with so much conviction that you almost believe him.
"That’s not scientifically accurate," you reply, not entirely sure if what you are saying is accurate either.
"I never said it was." He shrugs. "I’m a lawyer. I deal with arguments, not facts."
"They’re the same thing."
"Not at all." He shifts closer to you on the bench, making sure you are listening. "Facts are objective. Arguments are subjective. I make a living turning subjective arguments into something that sounds like objective facts."
"That’s… something. And you’re so weird."
"I’m just concerned about your plant’s loneliness." His voice is incredibly serious, showing that he is taking this very seriously.
"You’re worried about my plant," you say, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, just like I worry about you."
You don’t know what to say again — Jay has a way of leaving you speechless. Your cheeks flush and you look away. "I’ve never received flowers before, anyway…" you say softly, the secret slipping from your lips.
Jay is not sure he heard you correctly. "What did you say?"
Even though you hesitate, you repeat it, louder this time. "I’ve never received flowers." You look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. "I had a boyfriend before, but he was an idiot. He never did anything romantic like giving me flowers or taking me for dates."
He stays silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on you while your heart pounds loudly in your ears. He is thinking about something — you can tell by the way his jaw tightens. "Would you want to go on one? With me."
You stop breathing the moment you hear his words and everything around you seems to freeze. "What?"
"A date. A real date where I pick you up, open doors for you, and take you somewhere nice. It doesn’t have to be romantic if you don’t want it to be. It can just be two people spending time together. Whatever makes you feel comfortable."
Your heart is beating so hard you are sure he can hear it, your mouth is dry, your palms are sweaty, and the words feel stuck in your throat again. Jay is asking you out on a date — a real date. The age gap has been on your mind since the day you met — he is a lawyer and you are still trying to figure out how to live on your own, but every interaction with him feels safe, like he truly sees you.
"Jay, I—" You stop, taking a shaky breath.
"You don’t have to answer right now," he says gently, giving you time to think.
"No, I—" You take another deep breath, and this time the words come out steady. "Yes. Yes, I want that."
His face transforms — a slow, warm smile spreads across his lips and reaches his eyes, making your stomach flip and your heart race just like always.
"Great," he says softly. "I’ll plan something."
A shy laugh escapes you as the reality of it sinks in. "What do you like to do on dates? I’m sure you’ve been on plenty."
He leans forward a little, resting his elbow on his knee. "I want to know what you like. That’s what matters right now, tell me your preferences so I can plan something good for you."
As you think for a moment, you suddenly feel embarrassed by how limited your preferences are. "I’m kind of picky, honestly. I like pasta, I hate anything too spicy, and I don’t like overly sweet desserts. Oh, and I’m not a big fan of seafood unless it’s fried. Is that too much?"
Jay listens attentively, nodding as if he is absorbing every detail. "Not at all. Being picky isn’t a problem, it actually makes it easier to get it right." He pauses, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. "You know, for someone who’s a disaster in the kitchen, you have very specific opinions, princess."
The nickname lands softly between you — affectionate and teasing, with a hint of warmth. Your breath catches, your face flushes instantly, and you lower your head to hide the redness in your cheeks and the smile forming on your lips.
"I… You can’t just say that," you murmur, looking at him through your lashes.
"Why not?" He is smiling even more now, clearly enjoying your reaction. "It suits you. You have high standards and you know exactly what you want, even if you pretend you don’t."
You cover your face with both hands for a second, peeking through your fingers. "You’re going to make me regret saying yes."
"Too late," he murmurs, his voice low and affectionate. "You already said yes."
You lower your hands and meet his gaze, your heart racing in the best possible way. Jay stands up suddenly and offers you his hand. "Come on, it’s getting late and you have class tomorrow. Let’s get you back inside before you freeze."
You take his hand — which is so much bigger than yours — and let him help you up. He doesn’t let go afterward, his fingers stay intertwined with yours as you walk together toward your floor. The elevator is no longer broken, but you both take the stairs anyway, wanting to prolong the moment a little longer.
Stopping at your door, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand. “I'll text you about the date,” he says softly. "We’ll pick a night that works."
You nod, still feeling a little shy about everything. "Okay… Good night, Jay."
"Good night, princess."
────────
The next day, you are more nervous than you have ever been. Every notification on your phone makes your heart skip a beat, terrified that it is Jay confirming the date. Your stomach is in knots with a mix of panic and hope, even though you want to go on this date, you are still incredibly nervous about it.
Your phone buzzes while you are in the library trying to study. "Friday at seven? I’ll take care of everything. Just be ready for a proper night out."
The words "proper night out" send a shiver through you. He is taking this seriously, treating it as something special, even though he said it didn’t have to be romantic. Still, it means something. Smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt, you text back agreeing.
When Friday finally arrives, the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. In fact, they become even more restless as the time of the date gets closer. Hours before, you start getting ready — taking your time as you choose an outfit that makes you feel confident and beautiful. You spend extra time on your makeup, keeping it natural but enhancing your eyes and lips, making sure everything is perfect.
Exactly at seven, you take the elevator down. Jay had insisted on waiting outside the building instead of knocking on your door. "I want you to have the full experience," he had texted earlier, and the gesture made you smile despite your nerves. The moment you step out onto the sidewalk, you see him leaning against his sleek black car parked at the curb. He looks unfairly handsome in a tailored dark shirt and pants.
For a moment, he simply looks at you — slowly scanning from your face to your dress and back up again as his smile widens. "You look beautiful," he says, taking a step closer. "Really, truly beautiful."
Your cheeks flush quickly and a smile forms on your lips. "Thank you. You look really handsome too."
Before you can say anything else, he reaches inside the car and pulls out a beautiful bouquet of flowers. "I remembered what you said on the rooftop…"
The bouquet is perfect, wrapped so beautifully that it makes your chest tighten. "Jay…" you whisper as you reach out to take the flowers. "They’re beautiful. I don’t even know what to say."
Without thinking, you give him a grateful hug. His arms wrap around you immediately, one hand resting on your lower back while the other gently caresses the nape of your neck. "You don’t have to say anything. Just enjoy tonight. That’s all I want."
When you pull away, still smiling widely, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and asks, "Ready to go, princess?"
You nod, holding the flowers like a lifeline. He opens the car door for you, waiting until you are settled before closing it gently. When he slides into the driver’s seat, he looks at you with a playful smile. "Seatbelt, please. Safety first."
You laugh and buckle up. "Such a gentleman."
"Only for you."
The drive starts peacefully, soft music playing in the background as you talk. He asks about your day and teases you lightly when you admit that you spent half of your class daydreaming about tonight and that it took you forever to choose what to wear.
You can’t stop stealing glances at him — the way his hands rest easily on the steering wheel, those large hands with long fingers, and the way he looks at you at red lights as if making sure you are still real.
After a few minutes, you notice the city lights fading and buildings giving way to trees. "Where are we going?" you ask curiously, realizing he has been driving for a while — much farther than you expected. "This is pretty far from our building. Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?"
Jay laughs, keeping his eyes on the road. "I’m not going to kill you. I’m just taking you to a place I love, and I think you’ll love it too."
The drive takes about thirty minutes, but when you finally arrive, the restaurant leaves you breathless. You immediately understand why he chose it — it is cozy and elegant, with a stunning view of the city. He reserved a intimate corner table with the perfect view.
He pulls out the chair for you, and as soon as you sit down, he leans in slightly to whisper in your ear, "Relax, okay?"
The dinner unfolds perfectly. You order pasta — creamy, exactly the way you like it — and he chooses a steak dish, offering you a bite from his fork with a raised eyebrow that feels far more intimate than it should. You talk a lot, and he listens as always, head tilted and eyes focused only on you.
You tell him about the friendships you are making in college, about the strange noise your AC is making, and absentmindedly mention the doorman. "He’s nice, I think… but sometimes he looks at me like he knows something I don’t."
Jay’s expression shifts with something unreadable for half a second, but he quickly covers it with a soft chuckle. "He’s probably just in a bad mood. Or maybe he sees how much you’re distracting your poor neighbor."
You laugh. "Poor neighbor? You seem to be handling it pretty well."
His foot brushes against yours under the table. "Barely."
In the middle of the conversation, Jay’s phone buzzes on the table. He glances at it, frowns, and silences it, slipping it into his pocket.
But a few minutes later, it buzzed again. Jay sighs. "I need to take this. It’s probably an emergency with a client. I won’t be long. I’m really sorry."
"Go ahead. I’ll be here judging the dessert menu."
He leans in and gives you a quick kiss on your temple before standing up. "I’ll be right back, princess."
The casual display of affection makes your heart race as you watch him walk away. While he is gone, you take a sip of your wine, observe the people around you, and study the dessert menu.
He returns after about five minutes, sliding back into his seat with an apologetic smile. "All sorted. Where were we?"
When the check arrives, Jay pays without hesitation, even though you offered to split it. Outside, the night air is cold, so he drapes his jacket over your shoulders when he notices you shivering. Then he pulls you closer for a moment, wrapping his arms around you. "Thank you for saying yes," he murmurs against your hair.
You look up at him, smiling. "That was the best decision I’ve made in a long time."
The drive back feels shorter than the trip there, unfortunately — you wish this moment could last forever. Jay keeps one hand on the wheel and the other holding yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles that send shivers down your spine. You arrive at the building sooner than you would like, but instead of stopping at the curb, Jay drives into the underground garage.
You unbuckle your seatbelt. "Thank you, Jay. For everything, the flowers, the dinner, the evening… I had a really great time."
He turns to you, that slow smile playing on his lips. "I’m glad, princess."
You reach for the door handle, but his hand moves quickly, wrapping around your wrist and stopping you. Your breath catches at the unexpected contact. "Wait, aren’t you going to thank me properly?"
You blink, confused. "I just did? The hug outside the restaurant and just now."
Jay chuckles, and his gaze shifts into something hungrier. "That was sweet, but I was thinking of something a little more fitting for the end of a perfect night."
Without overthinking it, you lean across the console and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," you whisper again, pulling back to see his reaction.
His smile widens. "Still not enough, princess. Come here."
He cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer. The kiss starts soft, his lips meeting yours hesitantly, and you quickly melt into it, which makes him deepen the kiss while still keeping a slow, deliberate pace. His tongue traces your lower lip, and you part for him with a small sigh.
What begins as one kiss turns into many, you lose count as they grow more intense, hungry, and urgent.
Somehow, you end up climbing over the console. His hands guide your hips until you are straddling his lap in the driver’s seat. The space is tight and the steering wheel presses against your back, but you couldn't care less right now. His hands roam along your sides, sliding up your dress until they rest on your thighs, his thumbs drawing circles that make you whimper against his mouth.
You kiss him again and again, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging gently, which draws a low groan from him. That only encourages you — hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you. The friction makes you gasp, and Jay clearly loves the sight — he squeezes your thighs, encouraging your movements.
"God, you’re incredible," he whispers against your mouth between kisses. "So responsive… so perfect."
Jay pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, breathing hard. "You deserve better than this, princess. Our first time shouldn’t be in a car like a couple of impatient teenagers."
You kiss him again, more intensely, nipping at his lower lip. "I don’t care, I want you right here."
He groans, sliding his hand into your hair to pull you into another hungry kiss. "You’re so eager, princess… and so perfect grinding against me like this."
His mouth moves down to your neck, sucking lightly and drawing more whimpers from you. Your movements become restless, rubbing harder, chasing friction. "Jay…" you whisper between kisses. "I need you, please."
His hands find the hem of your dress, slowly pulling it up inch by inch with clear appreciation until he discards it onto the passenger seat. "Beautiful," he murmurs reverently as he stares at your tits. "So beautiful." He leans down, pressing hot, wet kisses along the soft skin, then his tongue circles one nipple before sucking it deeply into his mouth.
You arch your back, a moan escaping your lips. He gives the same attention to the other tit, licking, sucking, and grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth while his hand massages and caresses the first. “You taste so good,” he praises, his voice muffled. "These perfect tits in my mouth… you’re already trembling. So sensitive for me."
He kisses lower, along your sternum and ribs, then back up — worshipping every inch of you while you keep grinding against him. Your panties are soaked, and the friction against his hardness only turns you on more.
He waits until you’re trembling in his lap before he finally moves. Reaching between you, he lowers his pants and boxers just enough to free himself, and when he does, your eyes widen. He is big — thick and hard. The sight makes your mouth water and heat pool low in your belly.
Jay reaches into the glove compartment, fumbling for a condom. He tears it open and rolls it down his length with surprising skill while you watch, hypnotized and a little intimidated by his size and thickness. "You’re… really big," you say softly.
Jay notices your nervousness and caresses your cheek, trying to soothe you. "We’ll go slow, princess. I’ve got you. My good girl can take it."
He helps you shift your panties to the side, guiding you as you sink down onto him. The stretch is intense but delicious — you take him inch by inch, breathing deeply as he fills you completely, murmuring praises nonstop. "That’s it, princess… so tight, so good for me… so fucking perfect around me."
You bury your face in his neck as you sink all the way down, taking him completely until your ass is pressed firmly against his lap. "Oh God… you’re so, so big," you moan, still adjusting to the intense stretch.
The age difference flashes through your mind — he is older, more experienced, probably used to women who knew exactly what they were doing. You want to be good for him, so once you feel ready, you start moving — bouncing with almost frantic energy, desperate to please him. Your hips move and grind fast, determined.
"Easy, princess," Jay groans, gripping your hips to slow you down. "Slow… just like that. You feel incredible, but there’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere."
You moan, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. "I just… you’ve probably been with so many others who were better at this. I want to make it good for you. I want to be the best—"
He cuts you off with a deep kiss, then pulls back to look into your eyes while still guiding your movements into a slower, deeper rhythm. "Hey, none of that. It’s just you right now, and you’re already the best, baby. Look at how perfectly you take me." He thrusts up gently to emphasize his words, drawing a moan from you. "You’re my princess."
You relax into his words and the rhythm he sets, moving your hips in deep, grinding motions instead of frantic bouncing. It feels even better this way — his thickness brushing against every sensitive spot inside you. "Like this?" you ask breathlessly, your voice shy but needy.
"Just like that," he praises, his voice rough. "So good for me. So wet… so tight. You’re perfect, listen to those pretty sounds you make."
You keep whispering to him the whole time — shy confessions and soft, breathless questions. "You feel so good, Jay… I feel so full. Does it feel good for you? Tell me if you’re enjoying it."
He groans, his hands roaming over your back, squeezing your ass, then returning to your tits so he can lick and suck them while you ride him. "I love it. I love everything you do. The way you squeeze me… the way you say my name. You’re ruining me, princess."
The pleasure builds uncontrollably, intense and overwhelming, leaving both of you sweaty and breathless. He slides a hand between you to your clit, circling it with his thumb in time with your movements. You tremble hard, moaning and gasping, telling him how close you are, how good he feels, and how much you have wanted this since the day you moved in.
When you come, your walls pulse tightly around his thickness and your body shakes as you cry out his name. Jay follows right after, holding you firmly against him as he finishes into the condom with a deep groan, murmuring endless praises. "That’s it, come for me… so beautiful giving yourself to me completely… my perfect girl."
You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard. He wraps his arms around you tightly, kissing your temple while his hands gently caress your back. "You okay?" he whispers after a while. "Was it too much?"
"It was perfect," you murmur, nuzzling into his neck. "Better than I imagined. Thank you for slowing me down when I got too excited. I probably embarrassed myself, right?"
He shakes his head lightly and laughs, then he gives you one last kiss on your temple and helps you climb back into the passenger seat, watching as you slip your dress back on. "Don’t forget these," he says, reaching for the bouquet.
You take it with a happy smile. "I wouldn’t dare."
He walks around the car to open your door and intertwines his fingers with yours as you walk toward the elevator. Once inside, he pulls you close and kisses you the entire way up to your floor.
"Your place tonight?" you ask against his lips.
Jay’s hand slides to your lower back, pulling you even closer. "Yes, because I’m not done with you yet. I need you in my bed. The thought of you in my sheets, smelling like me when you wake up… it drives me crazy."
The elevator doors open and he pulls you down the hallway toward his door, unlocking it effortlessly. The moment you are both inside, he takes the flowers from your hand, sets them on the counter, and turns to you with hungry eyes. "Come here," he growls, pulling you into a deep, desperate kiss. His hands cup your face first, then slide down your body. "Let me take care of you properly this time."
He leads you to the bedroom and there, he undresses you slowly, admiring and kissing every inch of exposed skin. When you are completely naked, he steps back and looks at you with pure admiration and desire. "Fuck, look at you… so perfect. Every curve, every inch… all mine tonight."
He removes his own clothes and guides you onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs. His warm palms caress them, spreading you open even more. His mouth is on you immediately, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before circling the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, savoring you. "Mmm, already so wet," the vibration of his voice makes you gasp. "You taste so sweet, princess. Like you were made for my mouth."
You let out a shaky moan, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. "Jay… that feels incredible. Oh God—"
He slides a finger inside you, curling it against that sweet spot while his mouth continues sucking and licking. The suction around your clit, the rhythm of his finger stroking that perfect spot deep inside — it all turns the pleasure into something deliciously overwhelming. He adds a second finger, then a third, carefully stretching you as he pumps them in and out.
Your hips move against his face as the pleasure intensifies. "Don’t stop… please, Jay, just like that," you moan, your voice breathless and desperate. He eats you out like a starving man — licking, sucking, and thrusting his fingers into you until your thighs shake around his head and you fall apart with a long, loud cry. You clench and pulse around his fingers as the orgasm crashes through you.
Jay doesn’t stop right away, he keeps licking and fingering you through it, prolonging every sensation until you are limp and panting. Only then he drags his mouth up your body, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, and up your neck. "You taste like heaven," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "I could do this all night, make you come on my tongue until you go stupid."
He grabs a condom from the nightstand and rolls it on quickly over his hard, leaking cock. You reach down, wrapping your hand around his thick, hard length — stroking him slowly, feeling the weight, the pulsing heat, tracing the veins with curiosity. "I want it raw, Jay… I need to feel you, please."
He groans deeply, his hips pushing forward into your fist. "Baby… protection first, remember? I’ll still make you feel good even with the latex between us, I promise." After kissing your forehead, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes in inch by inch, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. You feel a burning stretch as your walls slowly give way to him, every thick pulsing vein dragging against your sensitive insides. When he’s halfway in, you look down between your bodies and see the clear bulge pressing out against your lower belly.
He notices it right after and quickly slides a hand down to press against the bulge, feeling it move under his palm as he sinks deeper. "Fuck, look at that. You see how deep I am? My cock is rearranging your insides, princess. Stretching this tight pussy so you can see it from the outside."
Your hand joins his, pressing against the visible outline, feeling him move inside you from both the inside and the outside. He teases you mercilessly, thrusting slow and deep so the bulge shifts under your combined touch. "You’re taking me so well, like this pussy was made for my cock. So greedy, swallowing every inch."
He sinks the rest of the way in with a guttural groan, bottoming out completely. "Shit… so tight, so hot. You’re already milking me."
His thick cock fills you so completely that every movement presses against sensitive spots that steal the breath from your lungs. His thrusts start controlled and incredibly gentle instead of brutal force. One hand stays intertwined with yours above your head, while the other caresses your cheek, squeezes your breast, and lightly pinches your nipple before soothing it with his thumb. "You look like pure sin wrapped around me… My beautiful princess, creaming all over my cock, taking every inch like a good girl. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else."
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Jay… it feels so good. You’re so deep, I can feel you everywhere." He leans down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss as his hips move faster in a devastating rhythm that pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
You come hard around him, your walls fluttering and clenching tightly as you cry out. He does not stop, thrusting deep and steady, prolonging your orgasm until you are shaking. "Fuck, that’s it, come on my cock, baby."
Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a long, broken groan of your name as he cums, pulsing inside you. He stays buried deep for long moments afterwards, holding you close and covering your face, neck, and shoulders with soft kisses until both of your breathing steadies.
Eventually, he pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and returns from the bathroom with a warm, damp cloth. He cleans you both gently, murmuring more praises the entire time. "You were perfect, princess. So responsive, so beautiful when you come for me." He pulls the sheets over both of you and wraps you in his arms.
Your head rests on Jay’s chest while his fingers trace a lazy path along your spine, down to the curve of your waist. Without a word, you shift, turning onto your side. Jay follows naturally, molding his body against yours from behind in a perfect spoon. His chest presses against your back as he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer. You can already feel him half-hard again against the curve of your ass, sending a fresh wave of heat through your body.
He nuzzles into the back of your neck, placing soft kisses there. "You okay?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough in the quiet room.
"More than okay," you whisper back, pressing lightly against him. "I like feeling you close like this."
Jay reaches for another condom from the nightstand. You hear the faint rustle as he puts it on, then his hand returns to your body, tenderly caressing your side and hip. He lifts your top leg slightly, hooking it over his, opening you up for him. The thick head of his cock brushes against your entrance before he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until he is buried completely inside you.
"So good," he whispers against your neck, sliding a hand up to caress your breast. His fingers massage gently, his thumb circling your nipple until it hardens under his touch.
He starts moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips, thrusting unhurriedly so you can feel every inch of his thick cock dragging against your walls. While he fucks you, his hand on your breast never stops worshipping it — squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, occasionally pinching lightly before soothing it with gentle caresses. And his mouth keeps placing open-mouthed kisses along the back of your neck, back, and shoulder.
You reach behind you, running your fingers through his hair as you move with him. "Jay… deeper like that feels so good."
His thrusts become a little deeper, but still controlled. "You take me so well every single time. Look at how perfectly you fit around me. I could stay inside you forever." His mouth finds the sensitive spot on your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark while he continues playing with your breasts — pinching, rolling, and caressing until your nipples are deliciously sore. Only then he slid his hand down to your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. The combination of sensations is overwhelming and pushes you closer and closer to the edge. "You’re so close… I can feel you squeezing me. Come for me again, princess."
And you do. Your walls contract rhythmically around his thickness as you moan his name, your body trembling in his arms. Jay follows right after you, burying his face in your neck with a deep groan as he comes, filling the condom.
You turn your head slightly to capture his lips in a lazy kiss. "I feel so safe with you," you whisper. "And so wanted."
He stays inside you until the aftershocks fade, then carefully pulls out, discards the condom, and cleans you both once again with gentle care. He pulls the sheets up around you both and draws you back into his arms, spooning you again.
Jay’s hand rests tenderly on your stomach, tracing small circles there. You feel deeply in love and completely at peace as you start to drift off to sleep, safe in his arms.
Sunlight is already filtering through the curtains by the time you slowly wake up the next morning —.only to realize the space beside you is empty, even though the warmth of Jay’s body and the faint scent of his cologne still linger around. You stretch and sit up to look around the room, noticing one of his shirts draped over the back of a chair. Slipping it on, you pad barefoot out of the bedroom toward the kitchen, drawn by the rich aroma of coffee and food already filling the air.
Jay is at the stove, flipping eggs while a plate of toast and cut fruit waits for you on the counter. You walk up to him and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. "Good morning."
He turns off the stove and turns around, settling his hands on your hips. His gaze softens instantly when he sees you wearing his shirt. "Good morning, princess. You look way too good in my clothes."
You laugh softly and tilt your face up, expecting a kiss. He leans in but pauses with a playful look. "Ah, but you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. No good-morning kisses until after breakfast."
You pout and dramatically pull away. "Not even a kiss on the cheek? You’re so cruel."
With a sigh, he gives in — pressing a long kiss to your cheek, then another to your forehead. Before you can say anything, he effortlessly lifts you and sits you on the edge of the kitchen counter, standing between your knees. "There. Now I can look at you properly while I finish this."
As he moves around the kitchen, your eyes wander until they stop on the refrigerator. Something catches your attention — photos are held up by magnets, but one in particular stands out: a Polaroid of Jay smiling with his arm around a woman’s shoulders. You hadn't noticed it on your previous visits to the kitchen — you had been too focused on him. "Who is that?" you ask curiously, nodding toward the fridge. "The woman in the photo with you?"
Jay glances over while sliding a plate toward you. "That’s my sister. We don’t look much alike, I know. We’re actually half-siblings."
You tilt your head, studying the photo for another second. They really do not look very similar, but that is not unusual for half-siblings. "She looks nice," you say lightly, accepting the plate he offers. "Breakfast looks delicious, by the way. You really didn’t have to."
"I wanted to," he replies, stepping between your knees and stealing a quick peck. "After last night, it feels right to take care of you this morning… and maybe every other morning too."
You smile shyly. "Speaking of last night… it was incredible. You made everything feel so good, so right. I keep replaying every part of it in my head."
He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "You were perfect, baby. I loved every second of it." He leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth. "You’re so beautiful when you let go for me."
"You’re going to make it really hard for me to focus in class today." You take a bite of the toast, savoring it. "Oh, by the way, I’m going out with some new friends from college tonight. They invited me to a party, it’s a chance to get to know each other better outside of class."
Jay nods, resting a hand on your thigh and stroking it lightly. "Sounds fun. Just be careful, okay? Text me when you get there and when you’re heading back."
"I will," you say, stealing another quick kiss from him. "I won’t stay out too late anyway. I have an early class tomorrow."
He picks up a piece of fruit from the plate and brings it to your mouth, brushing his fingers teasingly against your lips. "You deserve to have fun… I’ll be here if you need anything when you get back."
You stumble out of your friend’s car a little after 1 a.m., waving goodbye as you sway on your feet. You make your way toward the building entrance and suddenly remember that you promised to text Jay — which you didn’t. So you call him to let him know you arrived and are heading up. In response, he says he is waiting for you.
When you reach the third floor, Jay’s door is already open and he is waiting for you. "Heyyy," you say cheerfully, immediately wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. "I’m back. Just like I promised."
Laughing Jay’s arms wrap around you automatically as he looks at you more closely. "You’re pretty drunk, princess. How was the party?"
"So much fun," you ramble, clinging to him tighter as he guides you inside and closes the door. "We danced, there was a shot game, and my new friends are so funny. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt." You tilt your head up, puckering your lips. "Kiss?"
Instead of a proper kiss, he gives you a quick one on your forehead. "You smell like a distillery and your shirt is soaked, what happened?"
You look down at the sticky stain on your shirt and pout. "Someone spilled on me. It’s gross. But I still want kisses, real kisses." You try to pull his face down, standing on your tiptoes. "I missed you all night. I kept thinking about you during the party… about how nice you were last night. We should do that again right now."
Jay gently holds your wrists to stop you. "Not tonight, princess. You’re drunk."
"But I want you," you beg, pressing closer, but he doesn’t give in at all. "You’re so hot, so gentle, and… big. Please?"
He shakes his head and guides you toward the bathroom. "No. Only when you’re sober and can remember everything clearly. Right now, I’m just taking care of you, okay?"
"Let’s get you cleaned up," he says gently once you reach the bathroom. Reaching for the hem of your wet shirt he carefully pulls it off, followed by the rest of your clothes.
"You’re always so gentle with me," you murmur, watching him adjust the shower temperature. "No one has ever been this gentle. I really, really like you, Jay."
He smiles softly and helps you into the shower, joining you still fully dressed so he can take care of you. Jay keeps one hand on your waist to steady you while the other runs soapy over your shoulders and arms.
The alcohol in your system makes your emotions spill out easily before you can stop them. "I think… I think I’m falling for you," you confess, your tongue loose, making your cheeks flush. "Is that crazy? It feels too fast. I know I’m younger and still figuring everything out, but being with you just feels right. You make me feel safe, wanted, and special."
Jay pauses for half a second, processing what he just heard, but then continues washing you carefully — lathering the floral-scented body wash over your skin. "This smells like… girl stuff," you say, a little curious. "Is it yours?"
He looks away for a moment before answering. "It’s my mom’s. She left some things here the last time she came to visit."
"Ah," You rest your forehead against his chest as the water runs over both of you. "I meant it, though. About falling for you. Even if it’s too soon… I can’t help it."
Jay wraps his arms fully around you under the spray of water, holding you close — voice is full of affection when he finally replies. "Hey… look at me, princess." He gently lifts your chin. "What you’re feeling… I feel it too." Softly, he kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose. "We don’t need to rush or label anything right now. Just know that I’m here and I care about you a lot."
Even in your alcohol-fueled haze, his words calm the part of you that was worried you were moving too fast. "Really? You feel it too?"
"I do." He continues washing you carefully — your arms, your back, your sides — just taking care of you. "Being with you is easy. Natural. So let’s just enjoy it, okay? One day at a time."
Jay finishes rinsing you off and helps you out of the shower. Wrapping you in a towel he dries you gently before dressing you in one of his shirts. By the time he guides you to bed, you are already sleepy. He helps you lie down and you snuggle into the sheets, murmuring one last "I really like you" before falling asleep.
────────
The following days feel almost too good to be real.
You wake up in Jay’s bed, wrapped in his arms and wearing one of his shirts. He always wakes up before you to make breakfast and greet you with a good morning kiss and that smile that still makes your heart flutter. But on some mornings, you pull him back into bed to cuddle before classes and work, and without any argument, he makes time to make you feel loved.
When you get home from class, tired, Jay is already there to greet you cheerfully despite his own exhaustion. He texts you during the day, asking how your classes are going and reminding you to eat. When you are together, he pulls you in for slow, affectionate kisses — the kind that make your legs weak. Some nights you cook together as he tries to teach you how to make proper meals. Other nights he orders takeout and you eat on the couch while you tell him every detail of your day. He still doesn’t share much about himself, always dodging the subject, but you do not push — you don’t want to be invasive.
The sex is frequent — sometimes slow and worshipful, his mouth and hands adoring every inch of you until you are trembling and coming apart. Other times it is faster and more urgent — against the kitchen counter, in the shower, on the couch, in his home office. One night you try baking cookies together, ending up covered in flour and laughing as he kisses the mess off your cheek. Another night you start watching a movie cuddled together, but the movie is forgotten halfway through when clothes come off and he fucks you right there on the couch.
Suddenly everything feels so domestic — he now keeps an extra toothbrush for you, your notebooks are on his coffee table, and some of your clothes are scattered around his apartment. It is undeniable that you are falling deeper and deeper in love.
On a Sunday afternoon, you are studying on his couch while Jay is in his home office, working on a complicated case that demands his full attention. After hours buried in books and notes, concentrating is almost impossible. At this point, your mind keeps wandering to him without permission. When your brain finally gives up, you close the book with a dramatic sigh.
You walk down the hallway and peek into his office. Jay is sitting at his desk with his sleeves rolled up, looking unfairly attractive as he concentrates on reviewing some papers. "Jay?" you call, walking in without waiting for an answer.
He looks up, and the moment his eyes meet yours, the tension in his shoulders softens. "Hey, princess. How are the studies going?"
Boring." You take a few steps closer and don’t ask for permission — you simply climb into his lap, settling on his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. You leave a trail of kisses along his jaw, then his cheek and lips. "I missed you. Pay attention to me? Just for a little while?"
One of his hands rests on your waist while the other continues organizing the documents. "I’d love to, baby, but this case is a nightmare. There are documents everywhere. I’m going crazy with these."
You nuzzle into the curve of his neck and kiss him there. "You’ve been in here for hours… you deserve a break." Your hips move subtly against him, restless, the friction sending a spark through both of you. You feel him twitch beneath you, already starting to respond to your movements.
Jay’s grip on your waist tightens. "Princess…" There is a warning tone in his voice, bordering on frustration. But as you grind against him, you can feel him beginning to harden, and that gives you hope — you think he might give in.
"You’re really testing me today." He pulls you into a kiss, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. When he pulls away, it is with a frustrated sigh.
"That's the point," you whisper, smiling proudly against his lips as you continue grinding, slower this time, feeling him get even harder.
Jay curses under his breath, gripping your hips more firmly. No matter how hard he tries to hold back, he can’t, the desire is uncontrollable. He reaches between you and unzips his pants. "Fine, but you’re going to behave." He frees his hard, throbbing cock and pulls your panties and shorts to the side. This time there is nothing between you — no latex barrier, just him.
You sink down onto him slowly, and the new sensation hits you immediately — it’s different, hotter, more intimate. Every ridge and vein is raw against your walls, the skin-to-skin contact sends a shiver through your entire body and makes you moan as you settle fully onto him. The stretch feels deeper and more overwhelming than ever.
For a moment, it feels perfect — connected, raw.
But then his hands close firmly on your hips, holding you completely still. "Don’t move," he commands, his voice noticeably deeper and rougher. "Stay just like this. No grinding, no whimpering. I’m serious."
His cock pulses hot and heavy inside you, and you can barely focus on what he said. "Jay… oh my God, you feel—"
"I said don’t move," he interrupts, repeating it more harshly this time. His free hand returns to the stack of papers while the other arm stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place.
At first, you try to obey — resting your head on his shoulder and breathing deeply every time his cock twitches inside you, but the longer you sit there, the harder it becomes. You let out a soft moan as your hips twitch involuntarily. "Jay… please, just let me move a little bit."
"I told you not to move. Jesus, you’re really pushing it today." The irritation is clear in every word now, and his grip on your waist tightens even more. "I have a deadline. I can’t afford to get distracted like this."
Again, you try to stay still — you really do, until frustrated tears prick at your eyes — but your body betrays you with small, involuntary movements of your hips. "I’m sorry… I can’t help it. This is driving me crazy. I need you to move, please."
Jay’s jaw is tense and his breathing comes in heavy bursts — clearly fighting the urge to thrust up into you. "You think I don’t want to? You’re so tight and wet around me right now, but I can’t. I have work to do and you’re not letting me focus." His tone grows even harsher. "Stop squirming. Be a good girl for me and just sit there.”
But you do not listen — you roll your hips again, letting out a moan as he rubs against that sensitive spot inside you. "Jesus Christ. I told you I have work and this is fucking important."
"But I missed you and this is torture. Please, please just fu-"
He cuts you off sharply. "You always miss me, always need something. Kisses, hugs, my cock, my fucking attention. You practically live here now, your things are all over my apartment, you sleep in my bed like it’s yours. Isn’t that enough attention? You know what? I need you to get off so I can actually finish this case."
The words hurt, making your chest tighten — tears of frustration turn into something heavier and spill down your cheeks. "I didn’t mean to be annoying… I just wanted to be close to you."
"Yeah, well, wanting to be close to me doesn’t magically make my deadline disappear. I’m already behind because of distractions like this." His hand on your hip tightens even more, holding you completely still, the pressure bordering on uncomfortable. "You have your own apartment right next door. Just give me a few hours alone, for once."
You stare at him in disbelief at what you just heard. Suddenly the intimate position feels humiliating — the way you are still stretched around him while he looks at you like you are nothing but am annoyance. "You want me to leave? Like this… right now"
"I’m telling you to give me some space." With no patience left, he lifts you off him, leaving you empty and trembling. "Go to your place, take a nap, study, whatever. Just let me work."
You stand there with shaky legs, wiping away your tears, feeling small, vulnerable, and unwanted. With a quiet, trembling breath, you whisper, "…Okay."
It's past 9 PM when Jay finally steps out of his office, having finished dealing with that pile of papers. The silence hangs heavy now, normally you would be humming, curled up on the couch waiting for him, or laughing at something silly on your phone. Without you, the space feels too empty. He had been rude — way too rude — and he sees that now. He owes you an apology, so he walks over to your door, but just as he is about to knock, he notices the door is not fully closed — it’s slightly ajar, allowing him to hear low murmurs of voices.
Frowning, he pushes the door open a little more and steps inside, finding a guy standing right at the entrance to your living room, putting on a jacket. The guy turns at the sound of the door, his expression quickly shifting to surprise. "Ah, hi. You must be Jay. She talks about you a lot."
He looks over the other guy’s shoulder toward the couch where you are sitting with your knees pulled up. The guy cleans his throat, sensing the tension between the two of you. "I was just leaving… It was really nice talking to you." He gives you a small wave. "Text me if you need anything else, okay?"
You smile and wave back. "Yeah. Thanks, Jake. Drive safe."
As Jake heads for the door, Jay blocks his path. "Wait. What exactly were you doing here?"
Jake blinks, surprised by the sudden question. "She seemed pretty down when we texted, so I decided to stop by and check if she was okay. Anyway, I’m heading out. Nice to meet you, man."
He steps aside, letting Jake pass. The door closes behind him, leaving just the two of you in the suddenly too-quiet apartment.
You stand up, hugging yourself. "Jay… what are you doing here?"
The regret he felt for being so harsh with you is quickly replaced by jealousy and irritation. "I came because my place was too quiet without you. I started thinking maybe I was too hard on you earlier, but clearly you didn’t waste any time finding company."
You frown, confused by what he means. "He’s just a friend. I told you about him before, we met during my first week on campus when I accidentally walked into the wrong lecture hall. I was upset after you basically kicked me out, so I texted him. We weren’t doing anything, just talking."
Jay lets out a short, bitter laugh and steps closer. "Talking late at night like it’s a casual visit. You mentioned him before, of course, but I didn’t know you two were close enough for house calls."
The hurt from earlier mixes with frustration now. "You were so rude, Jay. You made me feel like I was an annoying pest who can’t function without your attention. I understand you’re stressed with work, but you didn’t have to push me away and kick me out like that. I felt embarrassed."
He closes even more of the distance between you, standing close enough that you can feel the jealousy radiating off him. "You’re the one who can’t sit still for five minutes without demanding something, climbing into my lap while I’m trying to meet a deadline, whimpering and squirming like a spoiled brat because you ‘missed me’."
You take a step back, but the couch hits the back of your legs. "I just wanted to be close to you."
"But the world doesn’t revolve around your need for attention. I love having you around, but today? You made it impossible for me to concentrate, and the second I ask for a few hours to actually get things done, you run straight to this Jake guy?" Jay doesn’t care that nothing happened — the image of another guy in your space, late at night, while you were upset, makes his blood boil.
"I didn’t run to him! I was crying when he got here and he just listened. Unlike you, who basically told me to leave because I’m too much."
Jay’s laugh is harsh this time, completely humorless. "Too much. Yeah, that’s one way of saying you’re a spoiled brat who demands attention every second, and the moment things get difficult, you replace me with whoever is most convenient."
Neither of you speaks for a long moment. You look away, Jay’s jaw clenches, and soon his gaze drifts from your face to the way you are hugging yourself, then lower, lingering on your bare legs. The jealousy is still burning in his chest, mixed with the memory of you sitting on his cock earlier, demanding attention, all needy.
"Come here," he says, nodding toward the couch.
You hesitate, biting your lip, which makes Jay exhale sharply and close the distance. His hand wraps around your wrist, guiding you toward the couch. "We’re not done talking about this."
He sits on the couch and pulls you closer until you are lying across his lap, your stomach pressed against his thighs. Your shirt has ridden up naturally, but he is not satisfied. "This is in the way." His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them down and tossing them aside — leaving your ass completely bare for him.
Jay’s palm rests on one of your cheeks, squeezing the flesh possessively. "You’ve been pushing all day… needing attention, teasing me, and then Jake shows up at your place, and I’m supposed to just swallow that?" His fingers dig harder into the flesh. "You’re mine, and it’s time you learn what happens when you piss me off this much."
His hand makes slow circles over your skin, almost soothing. "How many spanks do you think you deserve for acting like this?"
Your heart races as you try to process his words — head turning slightly to look at him. "What? Are you serious?"
He meets your eyes with a firm, dark expression — one you have never seen from him before. "Very serious. You’ve been spoiled all day, teasing me on purpose. So tell me, how many do you think you deserve?"
You swallow hard, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I don’t know… Five? Maybe?"
Jay lets out a mocking laugh. "Five? That’s way too low, baby. You’re going to take twenty, and you’re going to count each one out loud. If you lose count or mess up, we start over. Understood?"
You hesitate but eventually whisper, "Yes… okay."
"Good girl." His hand lifts and the first spank comes without warning — firm and sharp, the sound echoing through the silence. You jolt, a surprised moan escaping you — heat spreads instantly across your bare skin, the sting stronger than you expected.
"One," you gasp.
He immediately rubs the spot in slow, soothing circles, calming the hot skin where he struck.
"Two," you say after the next spank lands on the other cheek.
Jay keeps a steady rhythm — delivering hard spanks followed by almost tender caresses. Then his fingers slide lower, tracing your wet folds, spreading them teasingly, brushing against your entrance, lightly circling your clit before pulling away.
"What a spoiled little brat," he murmurs during one of the pauses, rubbing your reddened cheeks while two fingers tease your slit again. "You’re already getting so wet… You like this, don’t you?"
You moan instead of answering, which earns you another sharp spank. "Five."
He continues, the spanks leaving marks and building heat across your ass. Now his fingers are dip inside you, moving with slow, shallow thrusts, curling just enough to brush that sensitive spot and make you clench around him desperately. But he always pulls back before you can get close to the edge.
"Six… seven… ah!"
By ten, tears prick your eyes, your thighs trembling as the sting turns into a pulsing heat.
Jay pauses longer this time, massaging your sore ass and spreading your cheeks so he can tease your entrance again. "You’re mine. When you need attention that badly, you come to me, even if I’m stressed, even if I tell you to leave." A finger pushes deep inside you, staying there while his thumb brushes your clit.
You lose track amid the overwhelming sensations and he makes you start over, just as he warned. "Back to one." During the restart, two more fingers slide inside you, moving in a torturous rhythm. "You feel how wet you are? This is what happens when you forget who you belong to."
"You’re mine. Your time, your attention, this body. I don’t share it." Spank. Soothe. Tease. "Say it."
"I’m yours," you moan.
"Louder." Another spank.
"I’m yours, Jay!"
When he finally reaches twenty, you are a trembling mess with tears streaming down your face. Jay finally pulls you up and turns you so you are sitting in his lap. His hands stay on your ass, carefully massaging the sore flesh and you press yourself against the hard bulge in his pants, burying your face in his shoulder. "You did so well, my good girl."
Jay lifts your chin, meeting your eyes. For a moment, he just looks at you — really looks at you — taking in your flushed cheeks and tear-streaked face. Then he leans in and kisses you. One hand remains on your sore ass, squeezing gently, while the other slides into your hair. He kisses you like he needs to claim every part of you — hungry, insistent, his tongue tracing your lower lip before sliding inside. You melt into him, moaning against his mouth as you start slowly grinding your hips.
He pulls back just enough to trail his mouth along your jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot below your ear. "Still so needy… even after all that." Then he kisses you again, deeper and hungrier, tongues sliding together with fervor. The hand on your ass slips between your bodies to tease your wet folds with light circles and shallow dips — keeping you right on the edge.
When he pulls away, a thin string of saliva connects you for a second before breaking. "On your knees, princess."
Obediently, you slide off his lap and kneel between his spread thighs. Jay looks down at you, one hand lazily stroking your hair as he frees himself from his pants — his cock springs out, thick, heavy, and already leaking at the tip.
"Open. Tongue out," he says, tapping your lower lip with two fingers. You open your mouth and obediently stick your tongue out. He leans forward and spits directly into your mouth. The warm, viscous saliva lands on your tongue, degrading in a way that makes you shiver. "Swallow that first," he instructs. You swallow while keeping your eyes locked on his. He nods with a satisfied hum. "Now show me how sorry you are for pushing me today."
You start with kisses along his length before dragging your tongue from base to tip. Jay groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, but he doesn't force you — not yet. His thickness stretches your lips as you finally take him into your mouth. He is big enough that you can only take about half before he hits the back of your throat. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking what does not fit in a steady rhythm.
"Fuck… that’s it," he murmurs, tilting his head back for a moment before his gaze returns to you. He doesn't want to miss a single second of this. "Look at me while you suck it."
You do, looking up at him with teary eyes, and the sight makes his cock twitch in your mouth. When you pull back to catch your breath, he slaps his cock against your tongue a few times, leaving strings of saliva connecting you, before guiding you back down. "Yeah, just like that… good girl."
Between bobs, when you pull back to breathe, you say breathlessly, "I’m sorry for distracting you and for Jake being here." Then he guides you down again.
Jay’s hips start moving, pushing a little deeper and testing your limits. Tears continue to prick your eyes from the stretch, but you keep going, hollowing your cheeks and moaning around him.
When he finally gets close, Jay’s grip tightens, his thighs tense, and his breathing becomes ragged. "I’m going to come. Don’t waste it, swallow everything." You nod around him, doubling your efforts and with a deep groan, he comes down your throat — thick, hot pulses that you swallow eagerly, not letting a single drop escape.
He pulls out slowly, a string of saliva and cum connecting your lips to the tip before it breaks. "Open your mouth. Show me."
You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to prove you swallowed everything. “That’s my good girl.”
He helps you up, pulls you back into his lap, and kisses you, tasting himself on your tongue. Your hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you that makes Jay groan into your mouth, one hand sliding down to grab your bare ass and guide your movements.
"Still not satisfied? Such a greedy little thing." Even though he just came, his cock is already stirring again, hardening beneath you as your wet pussy slides along his length.
You gasp against his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Jay… I need you so bad."
He answers by kissing you again, but soon pulls back to meet your eyes. "Then take what you want."
You don’t hesitate, not even for a second. Rising on shaky knees, you reach down and align the thick head of his cock against your entrance, and slowly you sink down, gasping at the stretch and every inch that fills you. The lack of a barrier makes him feel impossibly thicker than the last time in his office — hotter, more intimate. The spanked skin of your ass burns as you settle fully against his thighs.
"Fuck," Jay hisses, his head falling back against the couch for a moment as his hands grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding you fully impaled on him. "So wet… so fucking tight like this."
You start moving, rolling your hips in a slow, deep rhythm, the angle letting you feel every ridge and vein raw inside you, pulling broken moans from your throat. One of his hands slips under your shirt to caress one tit while the other stays on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh in time with your movements. The mix of pleasure and stinging burn makes everything more intense.
"That’s right," he growls, thrusting up to meet you. "This is what you wanted all day, isn’t it? My attention. My cock." You lean forward, kissing him messily while you bounce, moving your hips faster.
With a low curse, he wraps his arms around you and suddenly flips you, laying you down on the couch cushions, driving him even deeper which pulls a sharp cry from you.
Now he is on top, pinning you beneath him — one of your legs hooked over his shoulder as he starts thrusting into you with deep, powerful strokes — hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt each time and the lack of a condom lets you feel every raw inch.
Clinging to his back, your nails dig in as the pleasure borders on overwhelming. Jay’s face hovers above yours, his hair damp with sweat falling into his eyes. Rhythm falters for a second as he looks at you, something darker flashing across his face, the jealousy from earlier — the image of Jake leaving your apartment — has not disappeared. "Are you on the pill?"
You shake your head, breathless, barely able to form words between moans. "No, I’m not."
He thrusts harder, hitting deep against your cervix as if to emphasize the point. "Good," he growls, eyes locked on yours. "Actually, fucking perfect. Maybe I’ll knock you up tonight, put a baby in you so you won’t even think about another guy like Jake. You’ll stay right here with me, we’ll have a beautiful family, me, you, and our kids. No more distractions."
The words should have shocked you, but in the heat of the moment — with him fucking you raw, his body claiming yours completely — they only send a fresh wave of arousal through you. Moaning loudly, your legs tightening around his waist. "Jay… fuck—"
He groans at your reaction, his hips moving harder. "You like that idea, don’t you? My cum deep inside you, getting you pregnant so everyone knows you’re claimed." One of his hands slides down to press lightly against your stomach, as if he can already imagine it.
The couch creaks beneath you both, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the wet noises of him fucking you filling the room. Jay’s earlier irritation fuels every deep thrust, but so does possessiveness — the need to claim you completely after the stressful day. He presses you deeper into the cushions, his hips moving in a way that grinds against your clit with every stroke.
When you finally come, it is intense — your walls contracting tightly around his cock as you scream his name. Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible, and you feel the hot pulses of his cum filling you, thick and warm.
For long minutes, Jay simply holds you — kissing your neck, your jaw, your swollen lips — his cock softening slowly inside you, but as the minutes stretch on, you feel him coming back to life, pulsing against your sensitive walls. "Already?" There is a playful tone in your voice.
"I can’t help it." He moves, pressing one last kiss to your mouth before slowly pulling out. You moan at the loss, feeling his cum start to leak out of you, but his hand quickly reaches down to push it back inside you with two fingers. "Don’t waste it."
He leans back on the couch, stroking himself until he is fully hard again. "Turn around. Hands on the backrest."
You obey, your body trembling as you shift position, kneeling on the cushions, gripping the top of the backrest and arching your back slightly while Jay moves behind you, his gaze fixed on the evidence of the earlier spanking — your cheeks still red with visible handprints — as one of his palms smooths reverently over the heated skin before squeezing firmly.
"Fuck, look at this… Still so red from your lesson." His cock brushes against your entrance before he thrusts deep inside you in one powerful stroke, the new position letting him sink even deeper as the head of his cock presses against spots that make your toes curl drawing a loud moan from you while you grip the backrest tighter as he bottoms out.
Jay starts fucking you with firm, powerful thrusts — deep and deliberate, the couch creaking beneath you both — as every thrust makes your sore ass bounce and the red marks darken even more with the impact, his eyes unable to leave them while his thumbs press into the soft flesh, pulling you back onto his cock repeatedly.
"These marks… they look so good on you." Without warning, he lands a hard, stinging spank on your right cheek, the already sensitive skin making you cry out and clench hard around his cock as Jay groans at the sensation, his hips stuttering for a moment before he resumes his deep rhythm.
He gives your left cheek another spank, making you writhe and moan again as you push back against him desperately despite the burn — or maybe because of it — the mix of pain and pleasure making you even wetter, the previous creampie turning everything obscenely wet and messy.
"That’s it," he praises, smoothing his hands over the fresh marks he just added. "Squirm for me. I love how sensitive you are right here." He gives you one more spank, lighter this time but still enough to make you shudder, and immediately soothes the area with his hands, massaging the sore flesh while he continues thrusting deep and hard from behind.
Jay leans over you, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside yours while the other reaches down to rub tight circles on your clit. His chest presses against your back, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks between thrusts. "You’re going to take every drop again, princess. I’m going to give you my babies, keep you so full you won’t even think about anyone else."
When you come again — hard, your vision blurring from the overwhelming sensations — Jay follows right behind, burying himself deep with a groan and flooding you with another load of hot cum. He stays inside you for a long time afterward, thrusting slowly through the aftershocks.
Finally, he pulls out carefully and pulls you into his arms, stroking your back in slow, gentle movements. "You’re a mess, princess. Come on, let me take care of you."
He stands up with you in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. Once inside, he turns on the shower, adjusts the temperature, and removes the rest of both your clothes before guiding you under the hot spray with him where the water cascades over you both. Jay takes his body wash, lathers it between his hands, and runs them over your skin — being extra careful around your sensitive ass, massaging the foam in light circles that ease some of the sting.
"Maybe I was a little too rough tonight," he says, his hands moving along your thighs, cleaning away the evidence of the many rounds. "Work stress got to me, and then seeing Jake… I took it out on you more than I should have. You handled it really well, but I’m sorry if it was too much."
You lean back against his chest, letting the water rinse off the soap as you tilt your head to look at him. "It hurt… but it also felt good. In a weird way. I just hated feeling like I was bothering you earlier. I didn’t want to annoy you while you were working. I just… missed you a lot."
After rinsing you, he turns off the shower, wraps you in a towel first, then himself and dries you carefully, paying extra attention to your ass and rubbing some soothing lotion he finds in the cabinet. "There. Better?"
"Much better," you admit, reaching up to touch his face. "Thank you for taking care of me like this."
He leans down and kisses your forehead. "You make it easy to want to take care of you." Pulling you closer, his voice shifting to something even calmer and more sincere. "I don’t know what I’d do without you around. I can’t imagine coming home and not having you here like this. You just… fit. Right here with me."
You hug him tightly, burying your face in his chest. "I feel the same. I always want to be close to you because you make everything feel better."
Smiling against your hair, Jay guides you to the bed and pulls the covers back, lying down beside you to pull you close against his chest. One arm wraps around you securely, his hand rests gently on your ass — not squeezing, just warm and protective over the sensitive skin.
You snuggle even closer, your leg draped over his as exhaustion finally takes over completely. "Stay the night?" you ask sleepily.
"Wouldn’t dream of leaving," His fingers trace lazy circles on your back until your breathing evens out and you fall asleep.
Next morning you stir slowly, feeling the pleasant ache in your muscles and Jay’s heavy arm draped over your waist, his body curled protectively against your back. He feels you waking up and trails lazy kisses along your shoulder before moving up the side of your neck. "Good morning, baby," he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep as his hand slides to your stomach. "Sleep well?"
You turn in his arms, smiling despite the slight soreness when you move, and reach up to brush the messy hair from his forehead. "Yes… thanks to you."
He leans in and kisses you properly — slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes you melt. At this point, he couldn't care less that neither of you had brushed your teeth yet. "You were incredible last night. Let me make it up to you a little more with breakfast."
Jay borrows a pair of your sweatpants that look comically tight on his incredibly nice ass, making you laugh as he models them. In the kitchen, you work side by side like so many mornings before — he cracks eggs for scrambled eggs while you toast bread and slice fruit. Small touches are stolen throughout: a hand on your lower back as he reaches past you, a quick kiss on your temple when you hand him the salt shaker, a playful bump of his hip against yours.
"You’re in a good mood today," you tease, leaning against the counter while he plates the food.
"I can’t help it when I wake up next to you." He sets the plates on the table and pulls you in for another kiss before you both sit down.
After eating, you start getting ready for college and he for the office. Jay kisses you one more time before heading back to his apartment next door to get ready for work. You take a long shower and, once dressed in jeans and a comfortable blouse, you step out into the hallway at the same time he does, looking impeccable in his work clothes.
He quickly pulls you in for a proper goodbye, hands gently cradling your face as he kiss your forehead, lingering there for a long moment. "Have a good day at class. Text me when you’re done." With one last soft kiss on your lips, he pulls away with a smile. "See you later, princess."
College passes in a whirlwind of classes and notes, but your mind keeps drifting back to Jay — the way he holds you, the sweet words, the kisses. He has not sent many messages during the day, which is a little unusual, but you figure he must be busy at work.
When you finally get home in the early evening, you step into the elevator and press the button for the third floor. Just before the doors close, a woman you have never seen in the building before enters, but something about her face seems vaguely familiar.
The woman smiles politely as the elevator starts moving. Curiosity gets the better of you and before you can stop yourself, you ask, "Hi… do you live here? I’ve been in the building for about two months and I don’t think I’ve seen you around."
She nods, laughing lightly. "Yes, I do, but I’ve been away on a work trip. I’m a lawyer and a complicated case kept me out of town longer than expected. I actually got back this morning."
"Wow. That sounds intense… By the way, my name is y/n. Nice to meet you."
The woman’s smile widens. "Nice to meet you too. Jay has already told me about you. He’s mentioned his sweet neighbor a few times."
Your heart flutters with joy — Jay talked about you to the neighbors. It feels special, like proof that you are really becoming a bigger part of his life. "He did? That’s nice to hear."
The elevator dings on the third floor and you both step out together. A small flicker of confusion crosses your mind — she is going the same way — but you don’t think much of it. Maybe she lives farther down the hall.
Then you see Jay standing there and your face lights up immediately. He hadn't texted you all day, and seeing him now makes excitement bubble up inside you. You walk toward him with a radiant smile.
At the same moment, the woman also walks straight up to him. When she reaches him, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him — a deep, familiar, affectionate kiss. Jay’s hands settle on her waist automatically as he eagerly kisses her back.
The world stops.
Your feet freeze mid-step and everything inside you turns cold and numb. It takes a moment for your brain to process what you are seeing, but then the pieces fall into place with painful clarity. That was Jay’s wife. The woman in the Polaroid photo he casually said was his "sister." The late-night calls he claimed were from the office. The feminine body wash he said belonged to his mom. The distant restaurant he took you to on your first date, probably so no one nearby would recognize him. The way the doorman sometimes looked at you with that judgmental expression, like he knew something — he did. All the small inconsistencies you had ignored because you were so blinded by how gentle and attentive he seemed.
Every sweet word, every touch, every promise of "you’re mine" had been built on lies. He was married. His heart already belonged to someone else, and you had been nothing but a convenient distraction from the apartment next door — blind, eager, and so in love with the version of him he showed you that you never saw the truth.
Jay’s eyes meet yours over his wife’s shoulder, and for a fraction of a second, something like panic or guilt flashes across his face. The shock turns into pure pain, making you practically run to your door as you fumble for your keys while hot tears blur your vision.
You lean against the door, sliding down to the floor as sobs begin to escape you. Your chest hurts as if someone had ripped a hole in it. All the cute moments — the kisses, the touches, the date, the bouquet — turn ugly and humiliating in your memory.
You cry hard, knees pulled up to your chest, as disappointment turns into shame for having fallen so completely for the man who made you feel special, desired, and loved… and it was all a lie.
The thin walls allow you to hear muffled voices — his wife asking about his day, the normalcy of their conversation only making everything worse. You press your hands over your ears, trying to block out the sound, but the damage is already done. Your heart is shattered.
The man you had grown so attached to — the one who held you so tenderly after sex, who made you breakfast and promised more comfortable days like that — was someone else’s husband, and you had been the other woman without even knowing it.
the bathroom was filled with the sounds of heeseung’s loud moaning as you suck his cock.. his thick length is hitting the back of your throat as you take him deeper..
“oh fuck! just..like that.. suck that fucking cock..” he says, as he leans against the cold shower tiles, fighting the urge to push your head..
your eyes roll back.. you grip heeseung’s thighs as you swirl your tongue around him.. he starts crying from pleasure.. he can’t hold himself anymore so he starts pushing your head..
he starts thrusting into his mouth, fucking your face.. his balls slap against you chin as he moves faster.. “finger your pretty pussy as you suck this cock..” he says.. his head falls back against the wall, letting out a moan.
you spread your legs and you start fucking yourself with your fingers, “that’s right baby girl.. doing so good.. fucking that tight pussy with your fingers for me..”
he pulls your hair harder as hollow your cheeks, sucking him hard.. he lets out a whimper, his cock throbbing inside of your mouth..
your fingers move faster at the sound of his whimpers.. getting you more turned on.. tears form in your eyes, you’re already overstimulated from everything going on..
you start gagging as he pushes all the way in.. keeping you there.. you start gagging, as his thick length is idle at the back of your throat…
“that’s right.. choke on that cock like that… so pretty when you gag..” he says, he thrusts into your mouth one more time before he cum’s hard down your throat..
you swallow it while you cum on your fingers..
you pull them out as he brings you up, kissing you sloppily, tasting himself on you.. he moans into your mouth as his tongue slides against yours..
he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he nuzzles his face in your neck.. seeking comfort after this intimate moment..
thinking about… pussydrunk!won & his addiction with being in between your thighs┊custom order 📋
warnings. . . explicit sexual content (mdni) ﹕ oral fixation ﹕ face riding ﹕ cum eating ﹕ masturbation ﹕ face sitting ﹕ (not proofread !)
order notes: playing re9 and im so close to kms… capcom just throw anything together to make these creatures bro
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who became addicted after his first taste of you. he could never get enough. he loves your sweet moans and the way his name slips from your mouth like a prayer whenever you are about to cum.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who wakes you up with his face between your thighs, chin already drenched in your arousal. he’d hum whenever you were fully awake, already slipping two fingers inside, curling them just right while he devoured you.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who loves when you grip his hair whenever it’s too much. he’d be on his knees at the edge of the bed, desperately fisting his cock every time you tugged his head closer.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who drinks every drop eagerly like a starved man, groaning against your pussy, the vibration shooting through your core.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who literally begs you to sit on his face. the mere sight of you straddling him, grinding your hips down every time you wanted more, drives him insane.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who does it for his own pleasure. he’d lick and kiss your pussy for what felt like hours, making sure you were satisfied, all while he leaked through his sweats.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who likes to pour wine on your breasts, thighs, then right above your pussy. he’d lick up every drop, refusing to waste anything.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who tends to forget to breathe properly while eating you, hooked on the taste. he’d come up for air, breathing ragged, chin glistening with strings of your slick connecting from his mouth before diving back in.
꒰ྀི pussydrunk!won ꒱ྀི who keeps going even after you cum. he keeps licking you through it, savoring the way your hips twitch—not planning to stop until you’re crying and pushing his head away.
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