this is only a master list for NISHIMURA RIKI i have my whole enhypen master list here
SHIRTLESS — seeing niki shirtless for the first time
MORNING LIGHT — a sober morning with your bf
WORKOUT ON NIKI — workout on top of him leads to a heavy make out session
OBSESSED — riki is obsessed with you especially your lips
HOW TO SKATE — your best friend teaching you how to skate but he also taught you how to fall in love with him even tho he’s the one who fell first
EYES DONT LIE — your ex still yearns for you, coming over that night he showed you how much he still loves you
YEARN FOR YOU — the bad boy in school? you’d never know how much he yearns for you until he actually shows it
I LIKE YOU — your brothers best friend knows you’re off limits and even while having a boyfriend, tho as soon as he saw an opening he took the risk
MY LITTLE BOY — smau texts with your bf tho he’s needy
BRA STRAP — not knowing what the bra strap on someone’s wrist meant until you gave one yourself to your boyfriend and he showed you the real meaning
LOVE IS A DRUG — niki being a dead man without you, but when he sees you he’s on his knees begging for you to come back, and you do
TEXTS WITH YOUR NONCHALANT BF
BLONDIE — you caused trouble in that shirt dress during a party and he fucked you through the mattress afterwards
KISS ME — youre out w ur husband and pregnancy cravings got you craving ice cream, staining your mouth with it he kissed it away and makes him go crazy
DRUNK EVENING — seeing ur bf drunk for the first time = plot twist
FORBIDDEN LOVE — a criminal and a normal student sometimes can’t work out
Synopsis: The world fears mafia boss like death itself—but the moment his wife disappears without security, the ruthless monster everyone fears becomes a terrified husband ready to burn the entire city down to find her. Especially when she comes home with life-changing news.
WORD COUNT — 11.7k+
The mansion was silent.
Not the peaceful kind of silence either.
It was the kind that made grown men lower their heads and avoid eye contact. The kind that crawled beneath skin and whispered danger.
Every servant stood frozen. Every guard looked one second away from death.
And at the center of it all stood .
Black dress shirt rolled to his forearms. Gun still holstered at his side from the mission he had returned from less than twenty minutes ago. Crimson stains dotted the cuff of his sleeve—not his blood.
His expression?
Cold.
Deadly.
The most feared mafia boss in the country had walked into his mansion expecting warmth. Expecting his wife to run into his arms with that bratty grin he secretly adored.
Instead, he got silence.
“She left at six, sir…”
The personal guard’s voice shook violently.
Heeseung slowly turned his head.
“And you let her?”
The guard looked ready to collapse. “S-She ordered us not to follow too closely—”
A gunshot echoed through the mansion.
Several maids flinched.
The guard dropped instantly.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Heeseung stared at the body emotionlessly before speaking in a terrifyingly calm voice.
“Find her.”
The room erupted into motion.
Phones rang.
Cars started.
His men scattered across the city like hunting wolves.
Because everybody knew one thing:
If Y/N was hurt…
Heeseung would burn the entire city down looking for whoever touched her.
—
Meanwhile, Y/N was completely unaware of the chaos she caused.
She sat outside an ice cream shop, swinging her legs happily while eating vanilla ice cream from a tiny cup.
Today had been perfect.
First the gynecologist appointment—which nearly made her pass out from nerves.
Then the arcade.
Then the tattoo shop.
And now ice cream.
Honestly? Best day ever.
Well… except for the fact her hands still trembled every time she looked at the tiny paper bag in her purse.
Positive.
She was pregnant.
A tiny smile spread across her face again.
“Heeseung’s gonna lose his mind…”
She could already imagine it.
The terrifying mafia king who made politicians tremble would probably stare at the pregnancy test like his brain stopped functioning.
The thought made her giggle.
She had wanted to tell him only after it was confirmed. That’s why she snuck out alone.
Because if she had told him beforehand?
He would’ve brought twelve doctors, armored vehicles, and probably a helicopter.
“Dramatic man,” she muttered affectionately.
After finishing her ice cream, she stood and stretched carefully.
Her lower back stung slightly beneath her clothes from the fresh tattoo.
Worth it though.
Absolutely worth it.
Now she just needed to get home and surprise her husband.
—
The moment the mansion gates opened, Y/N blinked.
Why were there so many cars?
Men stood everywhere.
Armed.
Tense.
The second her car stopped, several guards rushed forward.
And then she saw him.
Heeseung stood at the top of the mansion stairs.
Still.
Deadly.
His dark eyes locked onto her instantly.
Y/N’s smile faltered a little.
“…Oh.”
Uh oh.
He descended the stairs quickly.
Not running.
Heeseung never ran.
But the speed in his steps made everyone move aside immediately.
Before she could even greet him, his hands grabbed her shoulders.
“You’re hurt?”
“No?”
“Did anyone touch you?”
“What— no.”
“Why is your phone off?”
“Oh…”
His jaw tightened.
He scanned her from head to toe like he was checking for injuries. His hands moved to her arms, waist, face—searching for any sign of pain.
Finding none only barely calmed him.
The guards around them looked terrified.
“Everybody out,” Heeseung ordered coldly.
Within seconds, the entrance hall emptied.
The massive doors shut behind them.
And then silence returned.
Y/N looked up at him carefully.
“…Baby?”
“You left the mansion alone.” His voice was dangerously quiet. “Without security.”
“I can explain—”
“You disappeared for hours.”
“I know but—”
“Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you?”
She blinked at him.
Heeseung rarely raised his voice with her.
But right now?
He looked genuinely furious.
No.
Terrified.
“I came home,” he continued tightly, “and you were gone. No guards knew where you were. Your phone was off. You vanished.”
Y/N’s expression softened slightly.
Ah.
So that’s what this was.
Not anger.
Fear.
“My phone died,” she admitted quietly.
He closed his eyes briefly like he was fighting for patience.
“You don’t leave alone.”
“Heeseung—”
“You don’t sneak out.”
She crossed her arms.
“You act like I’m gonna explode if I walk outside.”
“You could’ve gotten hurt.”
“But I didn’t.”
“That isn’t the point.”
She sighed dramatically before walking toward the couch.
“Baby, relax. You’re being dramatic.”
His eyes widened slightly.
“Dramatic?”
“Yes.”
“You disappeared for seven hours.”
“And I came back alive and gorgeous.”
He stared at her in disbelief.
Then she patted the couch beside her.
“Sit.”
He should’ve refused.
Should’ve continued lecturing her.
Should’ve stayed angry.
Instead, he walked over automatically because somehow this woman controlled him without effort.
The second he sat down, Y/N climbed directly into his lap.
His hands instantly moved around her waist out of instinct.
“There,” she said proudly. “Much better.”
“You think this fixes things?”
“Mhm.”
“Y/N.”
She smiled softly this time.
Then reached into her purse.
Heeseung watched her pull out a small white stick.
At first, confusion crossed his face.
Then realization hit.
Everything around him seemed to stop.
“…What is that?”
Y/N suddenly looked nervous.
For the first time all day.
“I went to the doctor today,” she admitted quietly. “That’s why I snuck out.”
His arms around her tightened slightly.
“And?”
She placed the pregnancy test carefully into his hand.
Positive.
Heeseung stared at it silently.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Like his brain refused to process it.
Y/N bit her lip nervously.
“Well?” she whispered.
He looked up slowly.
And she had never seen that expression on his face before.
Not rage.
Not coldness.
Not calculation.
Pure emotion.
“You’re pregnant?”
She nodded.
For several seconds, he said absolutely nothing.
Then suddenly he pulled her against him so tightly she squeaked.
“Oh my God—”
“We’re having a baby,” he murmured against her hair like he still couldn’t believe it.
His voice actually shook.
Y/N blinked in surprise.
The ruthless mafia king was trembling.
A laugh escaped her softly.
“You really are dramatic.”
He pulled back just enough to stare at her.
“You went alone to a doctor while pregnant?”
“…Maybe?”
His expression instantly sharpened again.
“Y/N—”
“Oh come on.”
“You should’ve had security.”
“I wanted one peaceful day.”
“You are carrying my child.”
“And I’m still me.”
He exhaled slowly, clearly trying not to argue.
Then his hand carefully rested against her stomach.
So gentle.
Like she was made of glass.
The sight melted her completely.
“You happy?” she asked softly.
He looked at her like she asked the dumbest question possible.
“You gave me everything.”
And for once, the feared mafia boss looked nothing like a monster.
Just a man hopelessly in love with his wife.
Y/N grinned suddenly.
“Oh! I forgot.”
His brows lifted slightly.
“There’s another surprise.”
“…Another?”
She nodded mischievously.
Immediately he looked suspicious.
“What did you do?”
She gasped dramatically. “Wow. No trust.”
“You disappeared all day.”
“Fair point.”
She slid off his lap and grabbed his hand.
“Come with me.”
He let her pull him upstairs.
Inside their bedroom, Y/N turned toward him with a grin that usually meant trouble.
Heeseung crossed his arms.
“I’m concerned.”
“You should be excited.”
“That sentence never ends well with you.”
She laughed before turning around slightly and moving her shirt carefully just enough to reveal the fresh tattoo inked along her lower back.
Elegant.
Beautiful.
Dangerously attractive without being vulgar.
Heeseung stared at it silently.
Then at her.
“You got a tattoo.”
“Mhm.”
“Today.”
“Mhm.”
“Without telling me.”
“You were busy being scary somewhere.”
He stepped closer slowly.
His fingers hovered near the tattoo carefully, not touching the irritated skin.
“What is it?” he asked quietly.
She smiled softly.
It was his initials woven into a delicate design.
Subtle.
But meaningful.
His eyes darkened slightly with emotion again.
“You’re insane,” he muttered.
“And you’re obsessed with me.”
“Obviously.”
She turned around fully.
“So? Do you like it?”
For a moment he simply looked at her.
This chaotic, teasing girl who ignored rules, terrified his guards, snuck out alone, came back pregnant, and somehow still managed to own his entire heart.
Then he pulled her gently against his chest.
“I love you,” he said quietly.
Y/N blinked.
Because Heeseung rarely said it aloud.
Not because he didn’t feel it.
But because he showed it differently.
In protection.
In devotion.
In the way the entire world bent for her.
Still…
Hearing it made her smile instantly.
“I know,” she teased softly.
He narrowed his eyes.
“Brat.”
She laughed brightly before wrapping her arms around his neck.
And somewhere deep inside that cold, dangerous mansion—
For the first time in years—
finally felt peace.
Three weeks later, the entire mafia organization had unofficially entered a state of emergency.
Not because of enemies.
Not because of rival gangs.
Not because of weapons.
Because Y/N craved strawberries at three in the morning.
And apparently took pregnancy cravings more seriously than international warfare.
“Why are there six people in my kitchen?” Y/N asked sleepily.
Nobody answered.
Mostly because they were terrified.
One chef was cutting strawberries.
Another was baking pastries.
Someone else was blending milkshakes.
Two guards stood awkwardly holding grocery bags.
And in the middle of it all stood Heeseung wearing black sweatpants and a dark t-shirt, sleeves rolled up while personally checking strawberry quality like his life depended on it.
Y/N stared.
“…Baby.”
He looked up instantly.
“You’re awake.”
“Yes, because I heard a whole restaurant operating downstairs.”
“You said you wanted strawberries.”
“I said maybe.”
“That sounded serious.”
She blinked slowly.
Then burst out laughing.
“You’re insane.”
The feared mafia boss ignored her entirely and walked over with a plate.
“Eat first.”
Y/N smiled softly despite herself.
Pregnancy changed Heeseung in terrifying ways.
Not softer.
No, the world still feared him.
Men still trembled when he walked into rooms.
Enemies still disappeared overnight.
But with her?
He became unbearable.
Possessive.
Overprotective.
Obsessed.
“You can stop glaring at the strawberries,” she muttered while taking a bite. “They didn’t offend me.”
“They looked unripe.”
“Baby…”
“They could upset your stomach.”
She snorted.
God.
He was doomed.
—
By month three, Heeseung had become everybody’s personal nightmare.
“No heels.”
Y/N stared at him blankly.
“What.”
“You almost tripped yesterday.”
“I literally stepped on carpet.”
“You stumbled.”
“I breathed wrong and you panicked.”
“You’re pregnant.”
“And?”
“And now you belong to me and the baby.”
She gasped dramatically.
“Excuse me? I belonged to myself first.”
His dark eyes narrowed slightly.
“You know what I mean.”
She grinned.
“You’re bossy.”
“You’re reckless.”
“You still love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Y/N threw a pillow at him.
He caught it easily before walking toward her desk where she sat scrolling through baby clothes online.
Immediately his expression softened.
That happened often now.
Especially whenever he caught her unconsciously touching her stomach.
“What are you looking at?”
“Tiny shoes.”
“…Why are they so small?”
She giggled.
“I know right?”
Heeseung sat beside her quietly.
For several minutes, he simply watched her scroll.
Tiny onesies.
Baby blankets.
Stuffed animals.
And somehow this man—who negotiated weapon deals and ordered executions without blinking—looked genuinely intimidated by baby socks.
Y/N noticed instantly.
“You’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“You looked at that sock like it threatened you.”
“It’s small.”
“It’s literally a baby sock.”
“How does a human fit into that?”
She laughed so hard she nearly fell sideways.
Heeseung immediately steadied her.
“Careful.”
“There he is,” she teased. “Paranoid dad.”
His hand moved instinctively to her stomach again.
Their baby wasn’t even showing much yet.
But he touched her like he needed constant reassurance they were both real.
Alive.
Safe.
“I just…” He paused quietly. “Need you okay.”
Y/N’s expression softened instantly.
Sometimes she forgot what his world looked like.
Violence.
Enemies.
Blood.
Fear.
He spent years surviving in a life where people lost everything overnight.
So of course he was terrified.
Not for himself.
For her.
For the baby.
She leaned over and kissed his cheek softly.
“We’re okay, Hee.”
His eyes flickered toward her.
Only she called him that.
Only her.
“Promise?”
“Mhm.”
“You’ll tell me if something hurts?”
“Yes.”
“If you feel sick—”
“Yes.”
“If anything feels wrong—”
“Heeseung.”
He sighed.
She smiled before taking his hand and placing it over her stomach again.
“You know,” she said softly, “our baby’s definitely gonna bully you.”
His brows lifted.
“Impossible.”
“Baby, I already bully you.”
“You terrorize me.”
“Exactly. Genetics.”
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
Rare.
Real.
Beautiful.
God, Y/N loved that smile.
—
The next disaster happened during baby shopping.
Because apparently bringing into public while pregnant was equivalent to escorting a loaded weapon into civilization.
“Why are there so many guards?” Y/N whispered.
“Security.”
“There are literally twelve men following us.”
“Sixteen.”
She looked horrified.
“Heeseung!”
“What?”
“We’re shopping, not invading a country.”
“You’re pregnant.”
“That is not an explanation for military formation.”
He ignored her completely.
The luxury baby store had emptied almost immediately once people recognized him.
Employees stood stiffly.
Nobody dared approach.
Meanwhile Heeseung examined strollers with the same seriousness he used when planning assassinations.
“This one.”
Y/N blinked.
“That stroller costs more than a car.”
“It has suspension.”
“For what? Off-road baby racing?”
“It’s safe.”
She grabbed his arm dramatically.
“Our child cannot become spoiled before birth.”
He looked at her blankly.
“Too late. It’s my child too.”
Fair point.
Unfortunately.
Thirty minutes later, Y/N sat on a couch inside the store eating snacks while Heeseung bought basically everything.
Cribs.
Blankets.
Clothes.
Toys.
Bottles.
A terrifying amount of things.
“Baby,” she called lazily, “our child is still cooking.”
“I’m preparing.”
“You bought three strollers.”
“One for each property.”
She stared.
“…You have issues.”
He walked back over calmly before kneeling in front of her.
Several employees nearly fainted seeing the infamous mafia boss on his knees.
But Heeseung only focused on Y/N.
“Tired?”
“A little.”
“Want to go home?”
“Mhm.”
Immediately he stood and signaled the guards.
Shopping trip over.
Mission complete.
Y/N giggled quietly.
“You’re whipped.”
He looked down at her.
“You carry my entire world inside you.”
And just like that—
She melted again.
Because no matter how terrifying was to everyone else…
With her?
He loved too deeply.
Too fiercely.
Like losing her would destroy him completely.
And honestly?
Maybe it would.
The day they found out the baby’s gender, the entire mansion nearly exploded from chaos.
Because genuinely stopped functioning.
“A girl?”
The doctor smiled nervously. “Yes, congratulations—”
“A daughter?”
“Yes.”
Y/N burst out laughing beside him.
The infamous mafia boss looked completely stunned.
Like somebody had unplugged his brain.
“A baby girl,” Y/N repeated teasingly.
Heeseung slowly looked toward the ultrasound screen again.
Tiny.
So tiny.
His daughter.
Something dangerous softened in his eyes instantly.
And Y/N knew right then—
It was over for everybody.
Because Heeseung was already obsessed.
“You’re crying,” she whispered dramatically.
“I’m not.”
“There are literally tears in your eyes.”
“Shut up.”
She laughed harder.
The doctor wisely stayed silent the entire appointment.
—
After that day, Heeseung became even worse.
“No pink.”
Y/N blinked.
“What?”
“No overwhelming pink nursery.”
“She’s a baby girl.”
“She can have elegance.”
“She can have pink.”
“She can have both.”
“Baby, she’s not attending a business meeting fresh out the womb.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“That’s exactly why I’m concerned.”
He narrowed his eyes while adjusting the tiny bracelet around Y/N’s wrist carefully.
Everything became careful now.
Gentle.
Protective.
Especially as her stomach grew bigger.
And God—
She was beautiful.
Not that Heeseung ever stopped looking at her like she hung the stars themselves.
But during pregnancy?
It became ridiculous.
The glow in her skin.
The softness in her cheeks.
The way she unconsciously cradled her stomach while talking.
Heeseung looked at her like she was something sacred.
Untouchable.
His entire world.
Which made leaving for missions almost unbearable.
“I don’t like this.”
Y/N sighed while fixing his tie.
“You say that every time.”
“You’re almost eight months.”
“I know how pregnancy works, thank you.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
The mission was important.
Dangerous.
He hated leaving her.
Especially now.
“You’ll call me immediately if anything hurts.”
“Yes.”
“If you feel dizzy—”
“Yes.”
“If—”
“Heeseung.”
His hands slid around her waist carefully.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” She kissed his cheek softly. “Go finish your scary mafia business and come back to me.”
His eyes softened instantly.
“To you and our daughter.”
Y/N smiled warmly.
“Exactly.”
—
One and a half months later, Heeseung finally returned home.
Exhausted.
Bloodied knuckles.
Dark circles beneath his eyes.
The mission had dragged longer than expected, and every single day away from Y/N nearly drove him insane.
The first thing he did after entering the mansion?
“Where is she?”
“She’s upstairs, sir.”
He moved immediately.
But halfway there—
He heard voices coming from his office.
He paused.
The large doors were slightly open.
Inside, several men sat around the conference table discussing shipments nervously while Heeseung’s second-in-command led the meeting.
Then the doors opened wider.
Y/N entered quietly.
The entire room instantly stood.
Because nobody in this mansion feared anyone more than Heeseung—
Except maybe his pregnant wife.
Y/N looked exhausted.
One hand rested against her lower back while the other supported her stomach gently.
Nearly eight months pregnant now.
Beautiful.
Glowing.
And visibly uncomfortable.
Then her eyes found Heeseung standing near the doorway.
Immediately her face lit up.
“There you are.”
Every cold edge in Heeseung disappeared instantly.
He crossed the room quickly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled tiredly. “My back hurts.”
His expression darkened with concern immediately.
“You should be resting.”
“I was trying to,” she complained softly. “But our daughter keeps using my ribs as a playground.”
A few men around the table looked like they wanted to disappear.
Watching their terrifying boss fuss over his wife felt weirdly intimate.
Y/N ignored everybody completely.
She simply grabbed Heeseung’s arm before guiding him toward the chair at the head of the table.
Then—
Without hesitation—
She climbed directly into his lap.
The entire room froze.
Heeseung instantly wrapped his arms around her protectively.
“You okay?” he murmured against her hair.
“Mhm.”
“You eat?”
“Yes.”
“Water?”
“Yes, dad.”
One of the men accidentally choked on air hearing that.
Heeseung shot him one glance.
Silence returned immediately.
Y/N shifted slightly against his chest before sighing happily.
“I missed you.”
His arms tightened around her.
“I missed you more.”
Then less than two minutes later—
She fell asleep.
Right there.
Curled against his chest during a mafia meeting.
The room stayed completely silent.
Nobody dared move.
Heeseung looked down at her sleeping face carefully.
Her breathing slow.
Peaceful.
One hand still resting over their daughter protectively.
And something inside him ached painfully.
Because this woman trusted him so completely.
Even now.
Even surrounded by dangerous men and violence and bloodshed—
She slept peacefully in his arms.
Like he was home.
His thumb brushed softly across her cheek.
“Continue the meeting,” he said quietly.
Nobody missed the gentleness in his voice.
—
The delivery happened three weeks later.
And it was the first time Y/N ever saw genuine fear in Heeseung.
Not anger.
Not rage.
Fear.
Pure panic.
“Breathe, baby.”
“I AM BREATHING!”
“You’re squeezing my hand too hard.”
“You did this to me!”
“That’s fair.”
Another contraction hit.
Y/N nearly murdered him with her glare.
Meanwhile Heeseung looked one second away from losing his sanity.
Doctors moved around carefully.
Nurses whispered instructions.
And the infamous mafia boss stood beside the hospital bed looking paler than everyone else combined.
At one point the doctor calmly said, “Sir, you need to relax.”
Heeseung stared at him coldly.
“My wife is in pain.”
“Yes, but your pacing is stressing the staff.”
“I’ll buy the hospital.”
Y/N laughed despite the pain.
“See? Dramatic.”
Hours later—
Everything changed.
A tiny cry filled the room.
And suddenly the world stopped.
“She’s here,” the doctor smiled.
Heeseung froze completely.
The nurse carefully placed the baby into Y/N’s arms first.
Tiny.
Perfect.
Beautiful.
Dark little hair.
Small pout.
And immediately—
Heeseung’s daughter wrapped tiny fingers around his thumb.
That was it.
Done.
Destroyed.
The ruthless mafia king melted instantly.
His eyes watered openly this time.
No denial.
No hiding.
Y/N looked exhausted but glowing as she smiled weakly at him.
“She has your eyes.”
Heeseung stared at both of them like nothing else existed.
His girls.
His entire universe.
—
By the time their daughter turned one, everybody knew one thing:
was hopelessly whipped.
Completely.
Utterly.
Pathetically.
For both his wife and daughter.
“Papa!”
The tiny toddler ran across the garden clumsily.
Heeseung immediately bent down and caught her before she could trip.
“There’s my princess.”
Y/N watched from the patio while laughing softly.
Their daughter looked exactly like a dangerous combination of both of them.
Heeseung’s eyes.
Y/N’s attitude.
Poor world.
“She’s spoiled,” Y/N called out.
“She deserves it.”
“She made you buy her three stuffed bears yesterday.”
“She pointed at them.”
“That is not a valid defense.”
Heeseung ignored her completely while their daughter grabbed his cheeks happily.
Then his gaze shifted toward Y/N.
And just like always—
He stared.
Because even after pregnancy…
Even after sleepless nights and chaos and motherhood…
She was breathtaking.
Actually no.
Worse.
She somehow became even more beautiful.
Softer.
Warmer.
Glowing in ways he couldn’t explain.
Y/N noticed him staring and raised a brow teasingly.
“What?”
“You’re beautiful.”
She snorted.
“I literally have baby food on my shirt.”
“And?”
“And I look exhausted.”
“You look perfect.”
Their daughter suddenly pointed toward Y/N excitedly.
“Mama!”
Immediately Heeseung walked over carrying their little girl.
His girls.
Always his girls.
Y/N smiled as they reached her.
Then their daughter grabbed both their faces dramatically and squished them together.
Heeseung actually laughed.
A real one.
Warm and deep and rare.
And for a moment—
The feared mafia king wasn’t terrifying at all.
Just a husband.
Just a father.
Hopelessly in love with the little family that healed every broken part of him.
• synopsis ৎ You and Jungwon have been in a long-distance relationship for four months. You connect via video call every night, but this time is different.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤYang jungwon x fem! reader
⠀ ⠀ ⠀CONTENTS — Explicit smut, edging, prolonged denial of orgasm, oral sex (cunnilingus), rough sex, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, creampie, vulgar and possessive language, intense desire, sexual desperation
⠀ ⠀ ⠀NOTE — I saw that you really liked the first part, I hope you like this one too. (If you have any ideas or suggestions for stories, you could help me by telling me, since I can't think of anything to write.)
Two weeks had passed since that video call.
Two weeks in which the routine remained exactly the same: good morning messages, random photos throughout the day, and the obligatory video call before bed. But something had changed. Since that night, the calls felt more intense, more desperate. It was no longer enough just to touch and come. Now they both stayed longer afterward, speaking in hushed tones, missing each other more intensely, almost as if it physically hurt.
You missed him terribly. And you knew he missed you just as much. That desperation was consuming them both.
You had finished working on your computer. You leaned back in your chair with a long sigh, feeling your back grateful for the rest. You closed your eyes for a moment, but your mind wouldn't stop. The exhaustion from work was building up in your shoulders, but there was something stronger than physical tiredness.
A desperation that went deeper.
You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, unconsciously squeezing your thighs together. You missed Jungwon in a way you could no longer ignore. You missed his hands, how he held you tightly yet gently. You missed his mouth tracing your neck, his warm breath against your skin sending shivers down your spine. You missed his fingers inside you, moving exactly the way you liked, and most of all, you missed his husky moans as he neared his climax.
Just thinking about it sent a familiar warmth through your legs.
You glanced down at your phone. It was only 1:20 pm.
There were still hours until the video call that evening. Hours in which you would have to keep pretending you could focus on other things, when in reality you could only think about him. About his soft voice telling you what to do, about the way he looked at you through the camera, about how he bit his lip when he saw you touching yourself.
You sighed and got up from the chair, walking to the bed. You lay down on your back and stared at the ceiling. Your body felt sensitive, restless. Even the touch of the sheet against your legs bothered you.
Two weeks had passed since the last time you'd touched each other via video call, but it felt like two months. Each day was harder. "I miss you" wasn't enough anymore. You wanted to feel him. Really feel him. His hands, his weight on top of you, his mouth silencing your moans.
You looked at your phone again, as if just wishing hard enough would make his message appear. Nothing.
Only… eleven more hours to hear his voice.
You bit your lip in frustration and closed your eyes, trying not to think about how your body ached from missing him so much. But it was impossible. Your mind was already replaying his last words from that night, his husky voice whispering your name as he came.
You let out a shaky breath and squeezed your thighs together again.
"Jungwon… hurry up," you murmured to yourself, almost pleadingly.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝜗ৎ
The rest of the day dragged on.
You tried to distract yourself with everything you could: you cleaned your room, made some food, answered some pending messages, and even tried watching a show. But nothing worked. Every time your mind quieted down, it returned to him. To Jungwon. To his hands. To his voice.
By 6 pm, you were already restless. You showered with lukewarm water, but even the touch of the water against your skin made you more sensitive. You put on a loose t-shirt that belonged to your boyfriend and some simple panties, without pants, because any extra fabric bothered you.
You threw yourself back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It wasn't just desire anymore. It was need. You needed to hear his voice saying dirty things to you. You needed to see him looking at you with those dark eyes as he told you how to touch yourself. You needed to come thinking about him.
You looked at the clock for the umpteenth time.
11:45 pm.
You sighed in frustration. It was only fifteen minutes until the time they usually went online. Your heart was already racing just thinking about it. You adjusted yourself in bed, leaned back against the headboard, and put your phone down, trying to calm yourself.
The minutes dragged on.
At 12:05 a.m., you couldn't take it anymore and picked up your phone. You opened your chat with Jungwon and texted him: "Can we move up the time of our call today? I miss you."
He didn't reply. At 12:20 a.m., you sent him another message: "Baby?"
Nothing. Not even a read receipt.
You started to get nervous. Jungwon was never this late. He always let you know if he was going to finish late at practice or if he had a meeting. You dialed for the video call.
One ring…
Two rings…
Three rings…
He didn't answer.
You felt a knot in your stomach. You called again.
Nothing. Ten more minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty. It was almost 1 a.m. and you still hadn't heard back. Your mind started racing, imagining a thousand bad things: that he was sick, that he'd had a problem at work, that he was too tired… or worse.
You sat on the bed, hugging your knees. The excitement from a little while ago had mingled with worry. The silence in your room felt heavy.
Just as you were about to send him another message, your phone vibrated loudly.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀Incoming video call - Jungwon
You answered almost without thinking. The screen lit up. Jungwon appeared, but the image was dark. There was only streetlight. He was walking. He was wearing a black hoodie with the hood up and his mask pulled down.
"Hey, my love…" he said softly, almost whispering.
"Jungwon, what's up? I've been calling you! You had me worried,” you replied, your voice clearly shaken.
He chuckled softly but continued walking without saying much. The camera moved slightly with his steps. “Sorry to worry you… there was a last-minute change of plans.”
You frowned, confused. “Change of plans? Where are you?”
Jungwon raised the camera slightly. Behind him, you could see the familiar streets of your neighborhood. Your heart skipped a beat when you recognized the corner of your street.
He stopped right in front of your house. He looked directly at the camera with a nervous but confident smile.
“Get out… I’m outside.”
You froze, staring at the screen. For a few seconds, your brain couldn't process what you'd just heard. You blinked, confused, and looked back at the image. Jungwon was still there, standing in front of your house, his hood up, wearing that nervous smile he could barely hide.
"What…?" you whispered, your heart pounding so hard it almost hurt. "Jungwon… are you really outside?"
"Come down," he repeated more softly, almost pleadingly. "I've been traveling for over 14 hours to get here. Please don't make me wait any longer."
You didn't need to hear anything else. You threw your phone on the bed and jumped up so fast you almost felt dizzy. You ran down the stairs barefoot, your breath ragged and your legs trembling. Your heart was pounding in your throat. When you reached the front door, you opened it without hesitating. And there he was.
Jungwon looked up as soon as he saw you. For a moment, neither of you moved. You just stared at each other. Two weeks of pent-up desire, nights of touching each other through screens, of missing each other until it hurt… all of it was there, between you, heavy in the air.
“Jungwon…” your voice came out almost broken.
He didn’t say anything. He took a step forward, entered your house, and closed the door behind him with his foot. As soon as the door clicked, he grabbed your waist with both hands and pushed you against the hallway wall. It wasn’t gentle. His mouth crashed against yours desperately, almost hungrily. A moan escaped you as you felt him for real after so long. His lips were hot, demanding, and his tongue slipped in without asking permission. He kissed you as if he wanted to reclaim every lost second.
“I missed you so much…” he murmured against your lips, barely breaking the kiss. You have no idea, fuck…
His hands slid down your waist, grabbing your ass through your shirt and pulling you against his body. You could feel him hard against your stomach. Jungwon let out a low growl and kissed you again, deeper, dirtier.
You pulled away just enough to breathe and looked into his eyes. His pupils were completely dilated.
"I thought you were going to go crazy for video calls…" you whispered, your voice trembling.
Jungwon let out a dark laugh and rested his forehead against yours.
"I was close," he confessed, breathing against your mouth. "But I don't want to see you through a screen anymore. Tonight I want to feel you for real."
He slid a hand between your legs and touched you through your panties. You moaned as you felt his fingers. "You're soaking wet…" he growled against your neck, biting gently. "Is all this because of me?"
You nodded, biting your lip. Jungwon smiled against your skin and lifted you in his arms as if you weighed nothing. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.
"I hope you're ready," he whispered huskily in your ear. "Because I plan to fuck you until you can't walk tomorrow."
Jungwon didn't wait for your answer. He climbed the stairs slowly but deliberately. His breath was heavy against your neck, and you could feel the heat of his body through your clothes. Each step he took made his erection rub against you, constantly arousing you. He kept kissing you: your mouth, your jaw, your neck. He gently bit you and then ran his tongue over the area, sending shivers down your spine. You clung tighter to his shoulders, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst.
When he entered your room, he closed the door behind him. The dim light from the lamp cast soft shadows on the walls. He gently lowered you onto the bed, his eyes searching your body with a mixture of desire and something deeper, as if he still couldn't quite believe he was actually there. He slowly removed his sweatshirt and t-shirt, revealing his toned torso. Your gaze traveled down his abdomen, following the line of his waist and the way his pants accentuated his hardness.
Jungwon climbed onto the bed and positioned himself over you, supporting his weight on his forearms. The air between you was thick, heavy. He lowered his head and kissed you. It was a deep, desperate, and needy kiss. His lips moved against yours with purpose, savoring you as if he wanted to make up for lost time.
His hands roamed over your body over your shirt: your waist, your ribs, the curve of your breasts. He removed the garment, slowly pulling the fabric up, kissing every bit of exposed skin. When you were only in your panties, he took his time looking at you. His breathing became heavier.
He lowered his head and kissed your neck, then moved down to your breasts. He kissed them with devotion, sucking and licking your nipples until they were hard and incredibly sensitive. A soft moan escaped you.
He continued down. He kissed your stomach and paused at the edge of your panties. He slowly pulled them off, sliding them down your legs as he gazed intently at you.
"I've been fantasizing about doing this for four months," he murmured huskily. "And I'm going to make sure you enjoy it so much you'll be begging me to fuck you."
He spread your legs wider with his hands, placing them on his shoulders, and gazed at your exposed pussy for a few seconds. His first lick was slow, hot, and wide, tracing your entire entrance until he reached your clit. You let out a long, trembling sigh. He repeated the movement several times, savoring you calmly, enjoying every drop of your wetness.
Little by little, he focused more on your clit, circling it with his tongue in slow but firm circles. Each time his hot, flat tongue passed over that spot, a shiver ran through your entire body.
"Jungwon…" you moaned softly, running your fingers through his hair.
He slowly inserted a finger inside you, moving it with a steady rhythm while his mouth continued working. He added a second finger and curled them upward, touching that exact spot that made you see stars. He constantly changed the rhythm: sucking softly, licking quickly, sucking harder. He didn't give you a chance to get used to it.
Your legs trembled around his head. The orgasm was building, slow but powerful. Jungwon seemed to know exactly when you were close, because every time you felt you were about to explode, he slowed down or changed his technique, prolonging the delicious torture.
"Please…" you begged, your voice trembling, tugging at his hair.
His fingers moved faster, fucking you while he sucked your clit hard. You were so close… so dangerously close…
Jungwon abruptly pulled his fingers out and moved up your body. His mouth glistened, his hair was disheveled, and his eyes were completely dark. You felt his hard, hot cock brush against your wet entrance.
He settled between your legs, resting his forehead against yours. He rubbed the thick head against your swollen clit several times, sliding it between your wet lips. He looked you straight in the eyes and, in a husky voice, said,
"I can't take it anymore."
With a firm, abrupt movement, he pushed forward and entered you in one deep thrust.
A muffled moan escaped you as you felt him open you completely. Jungwon let out a low growl and began fucking you with hard, deep thrusts from the very first moment. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't slow. Every time he pulled almost all the way out, he thrust back in forcefully, hitting the very back of you with a wet, obscene sound.
He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, slamming them against the mattress. His hips slammed against yours mercilessly. He lowered his head and bit your neck, then licked the area and bit again. His thrusts were intense, but little by little they became more tortuous: he would pull out almost to the tip and then slowly plunge back in, pressing hard against your most sensitive spot.
"So tight…" he whispered against your ear.
He had you completely open beneath him. He changed positions several times: on your knees, on your side, pressed against your back. Each time, he kept you on the edge for long minutes, fucking you deep and slow, stopping just as you were about to come, forcing you to feel every inch of him while your body trembled with frustration and pleasure.
Tears were already soaking the sheets. Your pussy throbbed desperately around his cock.
Jungwon turned you onto your back again, slowly spread your legs, and settled between them. He rubbed his cock against your swollen clit before entering you again, inch by inch, until he was completely buried inside you. He stayed still for a few seconds, looking into your eyes.
And then, finally, he stopped holding back.
His thrusts became faster, stronger, and more urgent. He fucked you with all the pent-up desire, slamming his hips against yours with a brutal rhythm. One of his hands slid down to your clitoris and rubbed it with quick, precise movements.
The orgasm hit you with overwhelming intensity. Your body tensed, arching against him as you came so hard you let out a long, broken moan. Your pussy contracted violently around his cock, throbbing and gushing. The waves of pleasure kept coming.
Jungwon groaned your name and came inside you, filling you with hot jets as he continued to move slowly, prolonging both of your pleasure.
He collapsed on top of you gently, still inside, breathing heavily against your neck. He kissed your forehead, lips, and collarbone with soft, tired kisses. He held you tightly against his chest, slowly stroking your back as you both tried to catch your breath. His cock still throbbed inside you, sending little spasms of residual pleasure through your body.
Several minutes passed in silence, only the sound of their breathing filling the room. He collapsed on top of you gently, still inside you, his breath ragged against your neck. He kissed your forehead, lips, and collarbone with soft, weary kisses. He held you tightly against his chest, slowly stroking your back as you both tried to catch your breath. His cock still throbbed inside you, sending little spasms of lingering pleasure through your body.
Several minutes passed in silence, only the sound of their breathing filling the room. Jungwon gently withdrew from you and pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. He kissed your hair and whispered near your ear:
"I missed you so much… you have no idea how much."
All you could do was sigh, still trembling, and run your fingers along his chest.
"Don't ever leave me again…" you murmured weakly.
Jungwon chuckled softly and pulled you closer.
"I'm not going anywhere tonight."
Not even twenty minutes had passed when you felt his cock hardening against your thigh again. He easily turned you onto your side and lifted one of your legs. Before entering you, he slowly kissed your neck and murmured against your skin:
"I want to feel you again…"
He entered you from behind, slower this time, but deep. He embraced you completely, one hand possessively squeezing your breast and the other sliding down to your still-sensitive clitoris. This second round was more intense and controlled. He fucked you with long, deep thrusts, almost pulling out only to plunge back in completely, making you feel every inch of his thickness.
His fingers moved in slow, precise circles over your clitoris, bringing you to the edge again and again. Each time your breathing quickened and your pussy began to clench tightly around him, he stopped completely, remaining still inside you, forcing you to feel him throbbing inside you as he kissed your shoulder and the back of your neck.
"Jungwon… please…" you begged between ragged moans, moving your hips desperately.
"Shh… not yet," he whispered against your ear, his voice husky. I want it to last longer.
He kept you like that for a long time, fucking you slowly and deeply, torturing you with that delicious denial. He slightly changed the angle and began to move a little faster, hitting that sensitive spot inside you with each thrust. His fingers sped up on your clit, but just when you felt like you were going to explode, he slowed down again.
You were trembling uncontrollably, tears of pleasure streaming down your face. Your whole body was sensitive, overstimulated, and desperate to be released.
Jungwon gently bit your shoulder and finally picked up the pace, fucking you harder while his fingers continued to move.
"Now… come for me," he growled against your skin.
The orgasm hit you even harder than the last. Your body jerked violently against his as you came with a long, broken moan, your pussy squeezing him tightly, pulsing and gushing around his cock. Jungwon followed you shortly after, coming inside you with a husky groan, filling you even more as he pressed you against his chest.
They stayed like that for a long time, connected, breathing together. Jungwon kissed the nape of your neck and your back gently, his hands roaming your sides as if he couldn't stop touching you.
The night was barely beginning, and you knew that before the sun rose he would make you his at least one more time. Because after so much time apart, no round seemed enough to quell the hunger they both felt.
Jungwon pulled you closer to his body and murmured in your ear, his voice hoarse and tired:
"Again… I can't stop."
You just sighed, trembling, letting his hands explore you again.
• synopsis ৎ You and Jungwon have been in a long-distance relationship for four months. Every night you connect on video call, but what starts with “I miss you” always ends the same way Jungwon watching you intensely through the screen, telling you exactly how he wants you to touch yourself for him. Missing each other had never felt this hot.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤYang jungwon x fem! reader
⠀ ⠀ ⠀CONTENTS — 18+ Content / Explicit, Phone Sex / Erotic Video Call, Detailed Dirty Talk, Mutual Masturbation, Use of Vulgar Words (cunt, cock, fuck, cum, etc.), Soft Domination / Sexual Instructions, Descriptive Orgasms, Sexual Frustration Due to Long-Distance Relationship
⠀ ⠀ ⠀NOTE — I remembered this live and it made me want to write this. If you have suggestions or ideas for stories or something you can tell me, I don't have any ideas to write anymore 🙂↕️
The video call connected at 2:14 a.m.
Four months had passed since they'd last seen each other in person. Four months of crazy schedules, Jungwon traveling from country to country doing his thing, and you trying to carry on with your normal life while counting down the hours until you could talk to him.
He appeared on screen in the dim light of his room. His hair was still damp from the shower after practice, he wore a simple black t-shirt that clung slightly to his torso, and he had that tired expression you knew so well. But as soon as he saw you, his eyes softened.
"Hey, my love," Jungwon murmured in that husky voice you loved so much. You let out a little nasal laugh at the sight of him like that, so cute and exhausted.
"Are you really tired?" you asked, smiling. "Do you want me to let you sleep?"
Jungwon replied, almost offended, "No. Don't even think about hanging up."
He adjusted the camera so you could see his face better. That face that always made you drool, even when he was dead tired.
You smiled and settled on your side in bed, your phone pointed directly at your face. Every now and then, without meaning to, you lowered the angle a little, revealing your tight black tank top with a neckline that didn't go unnoticed.
And Jungwon noticed.
"Tell me, how have you been?" you asked. He ran a hand through his hair, thoughtful, and sighed.
"Traveling all the time is exhausting… but it's okay, I guess. You tell me, my love. I want to hear your voice." He repositioned the phone, placed it on a stand on the table, and sat up more comfortably. Now the camera captured his entire torso. He was wearing loose white cotton pants that hung loosely at the hips. He rested his arms on his legs and looked at you intently, waiting for you to speak.
You swallowed.
"It was such a long day…" you began, glancing around your room. "I was with my sister almost the whole time, we went shopping, and then…"
As you spoke, Jungwon listened intently. Or at least it seemed that way. His eyes followed every movement of your lips, how they moved as you spoke, how your eyes occasionally darted away from the camera, flustered. He noticed the soft blush on your cheeks and, above all, how your breasts looked larger and rounder because of the position you were lying in.
It had been months since he'd touched you. Months since he'd been able to kiss you, smell you, feel you. Every little detail about your body was starting to affect him more than he wanted to admit.
You unconsciously bit your lower lip, smiling as you continued: "…in the end, I made instant ramen because I was too lazy to cook, but I made it like it was my last supper."
You were usually the one who did most of the talking on video calls. Jungwon liked listening to you. But tonight he was quieter, more distracted. His eyes flicked down from your face to your chest and back up again.
You decided to tease him a little.
"Your hair looks longer, didn't you cut it a week ago?" Jungwon raised his hands and touched his hair, ruffling it slightly. That simple movement made his shirt ride up a little, revealing a glimpse of his abdomen.
You unconsciously squeezed your legs together, feeling that familiar tingling sensation settle in your stomach.
Jungwon stared at you silently for a few seconds that felt like an eternity. His eyes were no longer soft. There was something darker in them, something that was slowly growing.
"Yes, I cut it about ten days ago…" he finally replied, his voice lower than usual. "But it's grown back now. Do you like it?"
You nodded slowly, unconsciously biting your lip.
"It looks good on you… you look more handsome like that," you said, almost in a whisper.
Jungwon didn't answer right away. He just looked at you. His gaze traveled slowly down your neck, stopping at the neckline of your tank top, where it lingered for a moment, his breaths becoming deeper. The silence grew heavy, oppressive.
Then he looked back up into your eyes.
"Keep talking," he murmured, almost as a gentle command. "Don't stop."
You tried to continue recounting your day, but the words came out slower, more distracted. Jungwon was no longer pretending to listen attentively. His eyes kept returning to your chest, to the way the fabric adjusted to your body with each breath.
You shifted slightly in bed and, without meaning to, squeezed your thighs together. Jungwon noticed immediately. His right hand slid slowly down his own abdomen, over the black T-shirt, as if he were holding back. The fabric rode up slightly, and you could see the skin of his waist. That small detail sent a rush of heat through your belly.
"Why are you squeezing your legs together?" he asked softly, almost hoarsely. "Is something wrong?"
You remained silent, feeling your pulse throb in your throat. Jungwon tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours.
"We've been like this for four months…" he continued, almost speaking to himself, "Seeing each other through a screen. Missing each other. Wanting each other."
He was silent for a few seconds, just breathing. The air between you felt electric, even though you were thousands of miles apart.
"Pull down one strap," he asked suddenly, softly but clearly. "Just one. I want to see you better."
Your heart raced. You slowly slid the left strap off your shoulder. The fabric slipped down slightly, revealing more skin and the upper curve of your breast. Jungwon let out a long, deep sigh, almost inaudible.
"Like this…" he murmured, his eyes fixed on you. "You look so soft."
He unconsciously ran his tongue over his lower lip and added, more quietly, "Keep telling me… but gently touch yourself through your shirt. I want to see you do it."
Your hand trembled slightly as you raised it. You first grazed your neck, then slowly moved down until you covered one of your breasts through the fabric. You gently squeezed it, feeling your nipple already hard and sensitive against your palm. A ragged breath escaped you.
Jungwon swallowed visibly. His eyes followed your every movement, as if hypnotized. He adjusted himself in the chair, spreading his legs a little wider, and rested an arm on the back. His shirt rode up slightly, revealing a line of skin on his lower abdomen.
"Slower…" he whispered. "Like this, as if it were my hand touching you. I want to imagine I'm there."
You obeyed, massaging your breast with slow, circular motions. Each time you pressed a little harder, you felt a wave of heat rush down between your legs. Jungwon didn't look away for a second. His free hand moved over his own abdomen, slowly moving up and down, almost unconsciously.
"I've wanted to touch you for so long," he confessed softly.
He paused, taking a deep breath. His eyes flicked up to your face for a second, noticing how you bit your lip and how your cheeks were getting redder.
"Do you like it when I look at you like this?" he asked, his voice deeper. "Tell me the truth."
You nodded slightly, not daring to say much. Jungwon barely smiled, but it was a dark, heavy smile. "Good… then don't stop. Keep touching yourself for me. I want to see how your chest moves when you breathe. I want to see you get hotter and hotter just because I'm watching."
The atmosphere between you felt thick, heavy with pent-up desire. Neither of you wanted to rush things, but you both knew this call wasn't going to end like the others.
Jungwon watched you, his eyelids slightly drooping, his breathing deeper. His gaze was so intense you could almost feel it as a real caress on your skin. He said nothing, just watched you touch yourself, following every slow movement of your hand over your breast. "Breathe," he murmured after a while, his voice deep and calm. "Don't tense up. I want you to feel everything slowly."
You did as he asked. You slowly exhaled as you continued massaging your breast, squeezing it with more confidence. The fabric of your shirt had already slipped down quite a bit, and now it barely covered anything. Jungwon moistened his lips, clearly affected.
"Like that… perfect," he whispered. "Look how your nipple is showing… it's so hard now. Does it excite you to know I'm watching you?"
You nodded, biting your lip harder. You felt the heat building lower and lower, between your thighs, dampening your underwear. Jungwon noticed you moving your hips almost imperceptibly against the bed.
"You're restless," he commented with a small, dangerous smile. "Does it hurt down there? Do you feel that throbbing that won't go away?" You didn't answer with words, only let out a ragged sigh.
Jungwon leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, and the camera captured his face and part of his torso more clearly.
"I want you to do one more thing for me," he said softly, almost as if he were asking you a favor. "Lower your hand… very slowly… and touch your other breast too. I want to see both of them at the same time. I want to see how they move when you squeeze them."
You obeyed. With both hands now, you began to touch your breasts, squeezing them, massaging them with slow, circular movements. The tank top was practically useless now; it just hung around your waist. Jungwon exhaled sharply, as if he'd been gasped for air.
"Oh my God…" he murmured, almost to himself. "You're so beautiful. You have no idea how much I want you here, to bury my face between your breasts and suck you until you tremble."
His right hand slid down her abdomen again, this time more decisively. It stopped just above the waistband of her white pants, where a noticeable erection was beginning to show. He didn't touch himself directly, just ran his fingers over it, grazing the fabric, as if he were struggling to control himself.
"Keep going… don't stop," he pleaded, his voice huskier. "Squeeze them tighter. Imagine they're my hands… that I'm there kissing your neck while I touch you."
You pressed harder, and a soft moan escaped you. Jungwon closed his eyes for a second, as if that sound had hit him directly.
"Again," he demanded in a low voice. "I want to hear you. Don't be quiet."
You let out another moan, clearer and softer, as you continued touching yourself in front of the camera. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable.
Jungwon ran a hand through his hair, messing it up, and let out a long sigh.
"Baby…" he said, looking you straight in the eyes this time. "If you knew everything I want to do to you right now… you'd get even wetter." He was quiet for a few seconds, just breathing heavily, watching you touch yourself as if it were the most delicious thing he'd seen in months.
"Tell me…" he continued, his voice lower and more dangerous. "Do you want me to tell you everything I'd do if I were there with you? Or would you prefer I ask you to move your hand a little lower?"
You were silent for a few seconds, breathing heavily, your hands still on your breasts. You felt your heart pounding in your chest and that wet heat between your legs growing more and more insistent.
Jungwon waited patiently, looking at you with an intensity that disarmed you. He wasn't pressuring you, just observing you, letting the silence speak for both of you.
"I want… you to ask me," you finally replied, almost in a whisper.
A slow, dark smile appeared on his lips.
"Good," he murmured. "Then lower your hand… very slowly. Pass it over your stomach… and slip it under your shirt. I want you to touch yourself over your panties first."
Your breath caught in your throat. You slid your right hand over your skin, down between your breasts, grazing your abdomen until you reached the hem of the shirt that was now rolled up around your waist. You slipped your fingers under the fabric and touched the top of your panties. They were wet. Much more than you expected.
Jungwon noticed it in your expression.
“Are you wet already?” he asked in a low, almost husky voice. “Don’t lie to me.”
You nodded, biting your lip hard.
“Tell me,” he insisted gently. “I want to hear you say it.”
“I’m… really wet,” you confessed, your voice trembling.
Jungwon closed his eyes for a second and let out a long sigh, as if that confession had hit him right in the face.
When he opened them again, his gaze was darker.
You obeyed. Your fingers began to move in soft but firm circles over the fabric. The pleasure began to build quickly, making you move your hips against your own hand without realizing it. Jungwon’s breathing became heavier, almost in sync with yours.
“Fuck, baby…” he growled softly. “If I were there, I would have already taken your panties off with my teeth.” I'd have you spread-eagled on this bed, licking you until you begged me.
He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated and aroused.
"Look at me," he ordered suddenly.
You looked up at the camera. His eyes were completely black with desire.
"I want you to keep touching yourself like that while you look at me. Don't look away. I want to see your face when you're dying for it."
The atmosphere was so charged you could almost feel the electricity through the screen. Your soft moans mingled with his husky breathing, and neither of you seemed to want this to end anytime soon.
"I want you to keep touching yourself like that while you look at me. Don't look away. I want to see your face when you're dying for it."
You kept your eyes fixed on the screen, on his face. Jungwon was looking back at you with such intensity that you felt like your skin was burning. Your fingers continued to move in slow, firm circles over the damp fabric of your panties. Each touch sent small jolts of pleasure through your legs, making them tremble.
Jungwon bit his lower lip hard, breathing through his mouth. His hand was no longer just brushing against your pants; now he was pressing it more intently against his erection, slowly stroking it through the white fabric.
"You're trembling…" he observed, his voice husky. "Can you feel your clit throbbing? I bet your panties are completely soaked by now."
You nodded, never taking your eyes off him, letting out a soft moan as you pressed a little harder. Jungwon smiled slightly, but it was a heavy, dark smile.
"Good girl… keep going. Don't rush. I want you to feel everything slowly, to get desperate little by little."
The silence of the room was broken only by your breathing and the small sounds that escaped you. Jungwon leaned back a little more in his chair, spreading his legs wider. The fabric of his pants clearly showed how hard he was.
"Lower your fingers a little more," he asked softly. "Rub your entrance over your panties… feel how wet you are for me."
You did as he commanded. Your fingers slid down and pressed gently against your entrance, feeling how warm and wet the fabric was. You let out a longer moan, almost a whimper. Jungwon exhaled sharply.
"Fuck… that sound," he murmured, closing his eyes for a second as if it hurt him not to be there. "If I were with you, I'd already have two fingers inside you, moving them slowly while I suck on your neck." I'd have you soaking my whole hand.
He opened his eyes again and stared at you.
"Now I want you to do something else… put your hand inside your panties. But just touch it. Don't go all the way in yet. I want you to feel how slippery you are."
Your hand trembled as you slipped it under the fabric. As soon as your fingers touched your hot, wet skin, you let out a louder moan. You were soaked. Jungwon noticed it on your face and let out a low growl.
"Like this… touch yourself slowly. I want you to feel every drop. Tell me how it feels."
"It's… so wet," you whispered between moans. "Everything's slippery…" Jungwon exhaled sharply and put his hand inside his pants, finally getting a grip. You watched him move his hand slowly, masturbating as he looked at you.
"I want you to keep touching your clit in circles… but I want to hear you." Don't stifle your moans. I want you to imagine it's my tongue licking you. Slowly… hot… savoring every inch of you.
Your hips began to move on their own against your hand. The moans escaped you more frequently, softer, more desperately. Jungwon didn't take his eyes off your face, enjoying every expression.
"You're so beautiful like this… touching yourself for me," he whispered, moving his hand a little faster. "Four months wanting you… and now I have you like this, wet and moaning just for me."
He remained silent for a few seconds, just breathing heavily, looking at you with half-closed eyes.
"Baby…" he said finally, his voice deeper and heavier. "Do you want me to let you come tonight… or do you want me to make you suffer a little longer?"
You remained silent, breathing heavily, his fingers still moving slowly over your clitoris. You knew the answer, but you were ashamed to admit it. Jungwon waited patiently, looking at you with an intensity that made you feel completely exposed.
“I want… you to make me suffer a little more,” you finally whispered. A dark, satisfied smile appeared on his lips.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “I knew you’d choose that.” He settled more comfortably in the chair and lowered his voice slightly, almost as if he were speaking into your ear: “Then keep moving your fingers… very slowly. I want you to feel every touch. I want that pleasure to build until it hurts.”
You obeyed. Your fingers continued tracing slow, gentle circles over your swollen clitoris. Each movement elicited a soft, trembling moan from you. Jungwon didn’t take his eyes off your face, studying every expression.
“You’re so wet I can hear it from here,” he said huskily. “Open your legs wider. I want to see everything.”
You spread your knees wider, completely open to him. Jungwon let out a long, heavy sigh, almost a stifled growl. "Like this… perfect. Look how you're glowing." His hand moved slowly inside your pants, unhurried. "I want you to imagine my mouth down there. My tongue swirling exactly where your fingers are… licking you slowly, savoring you, sucking gently but steadily."
Your breathing became more ragged. Your hips began to move on their own against his hand, seeking more pressure, but Jungwon stopped you immediately. "Slower," he ordered firmly. "Don't rush it. I want you to be desperate."
"Jungwon…" you moaned, frustrated and aroused.
"Shh… I know, baby. I know you want more. But not yet. I want you to feel how everything throbs, how you get wetter and wetter just because I'm watching you."
He remained silent for a few seconds, only breathing heavily as he watched you touch yourself. His hand continued to move inside your pants, slowly, controlled.
"Now put a finger in," he said suddenly, his voice lower. "Just one. Very slowly. I want to see you open up for me."
You slowly slid a finger inside you. You were so wet it went in without resistance. You let out a long moan, and Jungwon groaned softly, clearly affected.
"God… you feel so good," he whispered. "Move that finger slowly… in and out. I want you to feel every inch."
You began to move it calmly, in and out while your other hand continued on your clitoris. The moans escaped you more frequently, softer, more needy.
Jungwon watched you, completely fascinated, his eyes half-closed and his mouth slightly open. "You're so tight and so wet at the same time…" he murmured. "Four months without being able to touch you… and now I have you like this, moaning and fucking you with my fingers just because I asked you to."
His voice was low, husky, heavy with pent-up desire. Each word seemed to vibrate in your chest and travel straight between your legs. You moved your finger slowly inside you, gently sliding in and out, while your other hand continued to caress your clitoris with soft, circular motions. Jungwon ran his free hand through his damp hair, tousling it further, and let out a long sigh.
"I want you to add another finger," he asked after a while, his gaze never leaving yours for a second. "Slowly. I want to see you open up even more for me."
You inserted a second finger, feeling your hot, slippery interior receive it. You let out a deeper, longer moan, arching your back slightly. The feeling of fullness was delicious, but it still wasn't enough. Jungwon noticed it in your expression.
“I know you want more,” he whispered with a small, dark smile. “But you’re going to have to earn it. Move both fingers in and out… slowly. I want to hear that wet sound you make. I want to imagine it’s my cock opening you up like that.”
You obeyed. Your fingers moved in and out with a slow but steady rhythm. The soft, wet sound filled the room, and Jungwon closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying it as if he were there. “Fuck… that sound is driving me crazy,” he growled, speeding up the movement of his hand inside his pants. “If I were there right now, I’d have you on your back, legs over my shoulders, fucking you slowly but deeply. I want to feel you squeeze me every time I enter.”
Your breathing became more and more ragged. Moans escaped you uncontrollably, softer, more needy. You moved your hips against your hand, seeking more depth, more friction. Jungwon noticed and stopped you with his voice: “Don’t move your hips faster. Stay still. Just move your fingers. I want you to feel everything calmly… to feel how it throbs inside you.”
“Jungwon…” you moaned his name, almost pleading.
“I know, baby. I know it hurts because you want it so badly,” he said in a soft but firm voice. “But look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me.”
You looked up at the screen. His eyes were completely black, glowing with desire. His lips were slightly parted and his breathing was heavy. The hand inside his pants was moving with more intention now, but still slowly, controlling every second.
“You’re so beautiful when you’re this desperate…” he continued, almost hypnotized. “With your legs open for me, your fingers inside that wet pussy, moaning my name. You have no idea how many nights I’ve spent imagining this.” Touching myself thinking of you, of how you look when you come.
He paused for a long time, just breathing heavily as he watched you touch yourself. The silence was filled with your soft moans and the sound of your fingers moving inside you. “Now curve your fingers upward a little,” he suddenly ordered. “Touch that spot that drives you wild. But go slowly… I don’t want you to come yet.”
You did as he said. As soon as your fingers brushed against that sensitive spot, an even more intense pleasure coursed through your entire body. You let out a louder moan, almost a sob, and your legs trembled visibly.
“Like that… right there,” Jungwon whispered, his voice deeper. “Keep touching there. I want to see your face as you fight to hold back. I want you to feel it all building… how your legs are shaking… how you’re getting even wetter.”
Your body was burning. Sweat began to trickle down your neck and between your breasts. Jungwon gazed at you as if you were the most delicious thing he had ever seen, taking in every detail. "Tell me what you feel," he asked, almost in a whisper. "I want to hear you speak while you touch yourself for me."
"It feels… too good," you moaned breathlessly. "Everything's throbbing… I'm so wet… Jungwon, please…" He let out a low growl and sped up his own hand slightly.
"Not yet, my love. Hold on a little longer for me. I want it to be so intense when I let you come that you'll tremble all night."
"Not yet, my love. Hold on a little longer for me. I want it to be so intense when I let you come that you'll tremble all night." Jungwon spoke calmly, but his voice was becoming increasingly husky, more intense. He stared at you intently as his fingers continued moving inside you, curved right where he'd indicated. Each touch against that sensitive spot drew louder, more desperate moans from you.
"Jungwon… please…" you begged between ragged breaths. I can't take it anymore… He let out a long, deep sigh, as if it were as hard for him as it was for you to maintain control.
"You certainly can," he replied with that mixture of sweetness and authority that drove you wild. "Look at you… so wet, so open, fingering yourself just because I asked you to. You're so perfect for me."
He leaned back a little more in the chair and lowered his white pants enough so you could clearly see his hand moving around his hard cock. The movement was slow, controlled, but his breathing was no longer so.
"Take your fingers out for a moment," he suddenly ordered. You did, almost complaining about the empty feeling. Jungwon smiled at your frustrated expression.
"Don't worry. I just want you to open yourself up more with your hands. Use both hands and part your lips for me. I want to see everything properly."
With your cheeks burning, you obeyed. You used the fingers of both hands to spread yourself open in front of the camera. Jungwon remained silent for several seconds, just staring at you with completely dark eyes.
"Oh my God…" he murmured almost inaudibly. "Look at you… so pink, so swollen and dripping. You're a mess because of me."
He ran his tongue slowly over his lower lip and continued, "Now put two fingers back in. Deep this time. And with your other hand, keep touching your clit. I want you to do it all at the same time."
You put them back in, deeper, and your other hand returned to your clit. The pleasure was immediate and intense. You began to move with more urgency, moaning uncontrollably as Jungwon watched you hungrily.
"Faster with your fingers," he urged, his own hand slightly increasing the pace around his cock. "I want to hear what they sound like. I want to imagine it's me fucking you hard against the bed."
The wet, obscene sound of your fingers sliding in and out filled the room. Your moans grew higher, more frequent. You felt orgasm approaching dangerously, building in your belly like a wave about to break. "Jungwon… I'm close…" you moaned, almost whimpering.
“I know, baby. I can see it on your face,” he said, breathing heavily. “You’re squeezing your fingers, aren’t you? You’re shaking all over.”
You nodded, your eyes glazed and your mouth slightly open. Jungwon leaned closer to the camera, as if he wanted to be inside the screen.
“Keep going. Don’t stop. I want you to come thinking about me. I want you to scream my name when you come.”
You increased the pace, moving your fingers faster, pressing your clitoris harder. The pleasure was almost unbearable. Your legs trembled uncontrollably, and you felt your whole body tense. “Jungwon… Jungwon, please…” you begged between moans. “Come for me,” he finally ordered, his voice deep and urgent. “Now, baby. Come hard.”
The orgasm hit you like a violent wave. Your body arched forcefully, a long, broken moan escaping your throat as you came intensely, trembling all over, his fingers clutching inside you. Jungwon didn't stop watching you for a second, masturbating faster until he too came with a low groan, staining his hand and abdomen.
For several seconds, only your ragged breaths could be heard. Jungwon gazed at you with half-closed eyes, still catching his breath, a soft, satisfied smile playing on his lips.
"So beautiful…" he murmured. "I love seeing you like this."
For several seconds, only your ragged breaths could be heard. Your body still trembled slightly from the orgasm, your legs spread, his fingers still inside you, feeling your pulse.
Jungwon watched you with half-closed eyes, his chest rising and falling powerfully. Her hair was more disheveled, her lips red from biting them so much, and her expression was satisfied but gentle.
"God…" he murmured in a low, husky voice. "You're so fucking beautiful when you come. You have no idea how much I love seeing you like this."
You slowly withdrew your fingers and let out a shaky sigh. Jungwon smiled tenderly, wiping his hand with a tissue as he watched you.
You shifted more comfortably in bed, raising the phone slightly. Now your face was closer. Jungwon gazed at you silently for a few seconds, as if caressing your face with his eyes. "I miss you so much," he confessed softly, almost vulnerable. "Not just this… I miss holding you afterward, kissing your forehead, feeling you tremble against me as you calm down."
You smiled weakly, your breathing still ragged. "I miss you too… so much," you replied. Jungwon ran a hand through his hair and let out a long sigh.
"This is getting more intense… but also more insufficient. I want to have you for real. I want to sleep with you, wake up with you… not just through a screen."
He was quiet for a moment, looking at you affectionately.
"Are you okay?" he asked more gently. "Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?"
You nodded, turning onto your side in bed and pulling the sheet over you a little.
"Stay… don't hang up yet." Jungwon smiled sweetly, resting his head on his pillow and placing his phone beside him.
"I'm here, my love. Rest. We'll talk more tomorrow… and plan when I'm going to see you for real. Because this isn't enough anymore."
You looked at him in silence, with a tired but happy smile. Little by little, the exhaustion after the orgasm took over, while Jungwon spoke softly about silly things to help you fall asleep peacefully.
"Sleep, baby…" she finally whispered. "I love you."
summary: completely drunk, fed up and bored with the dramatics of casual relationships and the continuous disappointment of hookups—you and your best friend decide the best way to solve this dilemma is being fuck buddies. But that was just a joke…right?
genre: smut. college. best friends.
word count: 16.3k
warnings (+18): adult content. swearing. party themes. pet names (angel, baby). playful banter. alcohol. kissing. lots of humor. heavy petting. nipply play. dom!jake. fingering (f. recieving). rough sex (?). unprotected sex. vocal!reader and jake. light teasing. (very) minor brat taming. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. icehockeyplayer!jake and academicoverachiever!reader have slightly odd views on relationships. jake is a (nice?) fuckboy. reader and jake are very horny people. mentions of icehockeyplayer!maki, jay, heeseung and sunghoon. other brief mentions of intak, yuna, jungwon, sohee, chaewon, sunoo and isa. jay is also in a band, very ‘green day’ - ‘nirvana’ adjacent.
MINORS DNI!!
A/N: and she lives! been gone for a while (my sincerest apologies) but we’re back!! this one is pretty lengthy, the hiatus may have given me a running mouth (and a long list of future ideas too!) just hoping it hasn’t made me rusty.
It started as a joke.
Nestled into the corner of a worn leather couch that had definitely seen better days, nursing a mixture of whatever you could find on the messy drinks table—over the rowdy music that you could practically feel humming in your chest and bouncing off the walls in a way too crowded frat house.
Your teeth worried at the rim of your cup, shoes kicking at the array of streamers and confetti on the floor.
You were floating in that perfect sweet spot between tipsy and drunk, where everything felt softer around the edges—your limbs all loose and warm like honey.
Jake was mid-rant beside you, his long legs stretched out, one arm draped across the back of the couch behind your shoulders.
He looked frustratingly put together for someone five drinks deep—dark hair slightly mussed in that effortless way that probably took him zero effort, his Dicelis Hockey hoodie pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms that had no business being a bit distracting.
The party sign on the wall now hung haphazardly close to floating to the floor, now just reading ‘HBD SUNGCH…’. The abandoned Cards Against Humanity game sat on the coffee table, half the white cards now decorated with pretzel crumbs and beer rings–
“(Y/N)!” Jake snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Are you even listening to me?”
Rude.
“I’m listening!” you protested, batting his hand away with a defensive shrug.
You were listening–mostly. You were also wondering when Sunghoon would storm in and lose his mind over whoever massacred his card game with snacks and cheap beer.
Jake’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “Oh yeah? Then what I was just talking about?”
“Umm…” You took a tactical sip of your drink, buying a bit of time, “your latest conquests?”
He groaned, dropping his head back against the couch. “Not just any conquest, angel. I was talking about thee Yuna Shin.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “Wait, pause–” You shifted to face him better, nearly sloshing your drink. “All-Star cheer captain Yuna Shin?”
A slow, devastating smirk spread across Jake’s face, “so you weren’t listening.”
“…sorry?” You flashed him that sheepish smile that usually got you out of things and Jake rolled his eyes, though there was no real heat behind it.
“As I was saying, before I lost you to whatever was going on in that pretty head of yours—I thought Yuna and I were on the same page.” He gestured with his free hand, frustrated.
“Nothing serious, y’know? Just hooking up, blowing off some steam.”
“Something fun and casual.” You added, and your best friend pointed at you like you just solved a world problem.
“Exactly. I mean, you get it. You know how insane my schedule is: practice, games, film sessions. Sometimes you just need to–”
“Decompress?” You supplied, fighting a giggle.
“Right!” The man’s face lit up with vindication. “But then,” he paused, leaning in conspirationally, “two weeks in, she hits me with it.”
“...What are we.” You both chorused, dissolving into laughter.
Jake groaned like he was in physical pain, raking a hand through his hair. “I mean, we talked about this. Day one, cards on the table, and now she wants to put a label on it and make it into this whole...thing.”
“Why can't we just have…fun?” He asked basically no one but himself after a few beats of silence.
Fun.
One word. Three letters. Embossed in bold, shiny gold letters across the hardcover of Jake Sim’s ‘Relationship 101 Handbook’ that was his trusted guide to every romantic interaction he’d had since sophomore year of high school.
Jake had never been one to take relationships seriously–if you would call what he had ‘relationships’.
You’d been watching this routine repeat itself in different variants for years now.
Jake didn’t do relationships—not real ones at least.
Labels made him twitchy, commitment gave him hives and the word ‘girlfriend’ might as well have been in an ancient lost language for all the meaning it held for him.
At least he wasn’t cruel about it though. He at least had the courtesy of always being upfront and honest about what he could and couldn’t offer.
But that didn’t stop girls from hoping that their particular combo of pretty face and personality would be the exception to finally make Jake Sim want to ‘settle down’.
Spoiler alert: it never was.
The pattern repeated itself like clockwork, from the conundrum of summer flings before senior year of high school—when Jake scored the alluring job of a beach lifeguard—to senior year’s abundance of girls who wanted to wear his varsity jacket—each one lasting a few weeks before the inevitable ‘what are we’ conversation sent Jake running for the hills.
Now here you were, junior year of college and Jake was still the same: Dicelis’ Division I ice hockey star defenseman—and of course, the list of girls struck by Eros himself were an endless, constantly replenishing supply.
Most of them wanted something more: wearing his extra team shirt, going on dates—even something as simple as cuddling after sex—wrapped up in a bow of commitment, affection and the pretty title of ‘girlfriend’—all of which were things that lived on Jake’s hard ‘no no’ list, scribbled in red marker and underlined twice.
This was the third rant this month alone.
Jake sighed dramatically, staring at the ceiling like it held answers. “I’m at my wit’s end here, (Y/N), I really am.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, because the theatrics of his chagrin were quite comical.
“Oh you poor thing,” you said, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “So many beautiful women wanna date you. How do you survive?”
He shot you a look. “Don’t be a dick.”
You tilted your head, pouting your lips with insincere disappointment, “aw, but you make it so easy.”
He kicked your foot lightly. “I’m being serious. I mean, you get it right? You do the whole ‘no-strings’ thing sometimes.”
You made a noncommittal sound, swirling the contents of your cup. “Well , if you consider drowning in yearbook club projects and philosophy readings ‘fun’, then sure. I’m having a time.”
Jake’s brows furrowed in confusion, “wait, hold up. I thought you were seeing someone?”
He snapped his fingers, trying to summon the memory through his alcohol-clouded brain. “That guy—Intak! From the men’s basketball team right?”
You deadpanned. “Jake, we broke up a month ago. You're late to the party as usual.”
“A month?” He raised a brow. “Shit, really? I thought you guys were doing good.”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh you know. It was the usual bullshit—spending too much time with my best friend.” You grumbled, already anticipating his reaction.
“Apparently you ‘clearly want to jump my bones’ and he couldn’t handle the competition.”
Right on cue, that insufferable smirk spread across Jake’s face, slow, inevitable and way too bright.
“Don’t,” you warned, pointing at him threateningly. “Do not start—”
“I mean, geez.” Jake leaned back, radiating false modesty as he stroked his jaw in efforts to conceal his growing smile. “Are they really that intimidated by me?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves now.”
“I can’t help it!” His grin was shit-eating and unrepentant. “This is like the third time this has happened. Maybe fourth? I’m losing count.”
“Trust me, I’m well aware.” You sank back into the cushions in defeat, letting your head tip back. “My exes are a bunch of guys who couldn’t handle my best friend being a guy. It’s exhausting.”
And it really was.
Boyfriends, for you, were complicated in a way they never seemed to be for other people.
You couldn’t remember the last time you’d kept one around for longer than two months.
It always started the same: fun, sweet, easy, great sex—and then they’d notice the Jake shaped figure looming in your orbit.
The way he’d text you at random hours. The way you had inside jokes and a language that no one else could decode. How he’d show up at your apartment unannounced, or the way you’d disappear to meet him without explanation.
Somehow—every single time, “I don’t care if you have a guy best friend” would morph into “but does he really need to be around this much?” which would spiral into “I’m not comfortable with how close you two are” and eventually land on a messy breakup with the claims that either the both of you were blind, stupid—or both.
Intak had been the final straw.
The breaking point that made you throw your hands up and say fuck it to the whole institution of dating.
After two months of increasingly passive-aggressive comments about Jake, Intak had finally snapped during what was supposed to be a cozy movie night at your apartment.
You’d briefly checked your phone to see what Jake texted you and Intak had paused the movie with an irate, bitter smile.
“You know what? I’m done. I’m not going to keep playing third wheel in my own relationship while you’re clearly in love with someone else.”
“I’m not in love with Jake—”
“Oh, please.” Intak rolled his eyes with a sharp, mean laugh. “You light up when he texts. You prioritize his schedule over mine. Half the stories you tell start with ‘Jake and I.’ I’ve been competing with him since day one and I’m tired of losing to someone who’s supposedly ‘just a friend.’”
He’d stood up, furiously grabbing his things. “Here’s some free advice (Y/N): either fuck him and get it out of your system, or admit that you’re emotionally unavailable and stop wasting people’s time. But don’t pretend you’re capable of actually being in a relationship when you’re clearly already in one.”
And then he’d left.
You’d sat there, stunned and furious, his words ringing in your ears, unable to shake his absurd accusation.
After that ended, (with you telling him exactly where he could shove his pseudo-psychological analysis) you'd tried the casual hookup thing.
Just sex, no expectations, no jealous boyfriends getting territorial over your best friend.
But that had its own problems too.
The hookups themselves were usually fine, all tension and excitement and the thrill of something new.
But the aftermath? The awkward morning-afters, the forced small talk over bad coffee, the weird dance of pretending last night meant more or less than it actually did.
Then there were guys who’d say they wanted casual but then got weird when you didn’t text back immediately, those who treated it like a transaction and made you feel hollow—and others who couldn’t find the goddamn clit with a map and a flashlight.
It was exhausting in a completely different way than dating had been, and after a few particularly disappointing encounters, you’d just…stopped.
So here you were: very single, very sexually frustrated, listening to your equally single and frustrated best friend complain about the exact same problems from the opposite side.
The universe had a twisted sense of humor, you’d give it that.
You stared at the ceiling above in pensive thought, scrutinizing the crowded half-deflated helium balloons, bobbing lazily like they’d given up on floating.
“I’m just so tired of all the drama,” you said finally. “Why can’t people just…enjoy each other without all the complications? Like it’s not that serious.”
Jake let out a low hum of agreement, stretching his legs out beside yours until your knees almost touched, “right?”
You snorted. “Maybe you’re the problem.”
He turned his head toward you, grinning. “Don’t say that. I'm trying to be deep here.”
“You? Deep? That’s generous.”
“Wow, rude.” Jake grabbed a pretzel from the decimated snack pile on the table and threw it at you. “Here I am having an existential crisis about the lost art of hookups, and you’re attacking my character.”
You caught the pretzel, popping it into your mouth. “Someone has to keep your ego in check.”
“My ego is perfectly sized, thank you.”
“Is that before…or after inflation?” You pouted with artificial curiosity, and Jake laughed—that full bodied sound that always made you smile despite yourself.
Silence settled between the two of you for a moment, focused on your respective drinks as you lazily people-watched.
Then Jake slowly sat up straighter, his eyes lighting up with a sudden realization. “Okay but seriously though…”
You gave him a skeptical side glance.
“What if–and hear me out–”
“Literally nothing good ever starts with ‘hear me out’.” You turned to him, suspicious. “What are you about to say?”
Jake’s eyes had that chaotic gleam they got when he was about to suggest something either brilliant or completely idiotic.
“What if the solution to our problem is kind of obvious?”
You blinked at him. “What solution? What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying,” Jake gestured vaguely between you both, his movements loose and animated from the alcohol. “What if we just…did it?”
Your brain took a moment to process. “Did what?”
“The whole no-strings thing!” Jake was warming to the idea.
“Think about it. We both want the same thing–something fun, uncomplicated, with someone who actually understands. And we’re both sitting here complaining about it when–”
“When what?” You were starting to catch on, a laugh building in your chest.
“When we could just…y’know.” He waves his hand between you again like saying the actual thing was illegal, “…with each other.”
A shocked laugh burst out of you as you slowly sat up. “Oh my god, are you serious right now?”
Jake was grinning now, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Why not? We already now each other. There’d be no games, no messy let downs–”
“No jealous boyfriends,” you added, getting into it now despite yourself. “Exactly.” Jake pointed at you enthusiastically.
You felt yourself getting pulled into the conspiracy, despite how ridiculous it sounded—listing benefits with Jake like it was a pitch idea.
There wouldn’t be any jealousy, awkward morning-afters, no wondering if they’d text back and ‘what are we’ conversations because you already knew what you were—
“Best friends who are just having fun.” you’d finished, and you found yourself mulling over it with in entertained curiosity.
There was a beat of silence.
Jake’s eyes twinkled with amusement and something else—something that made your stomach flip in a way you were too inebriated to examine.
“I mean…” Jake said slowly, “it kind of makes sense?”
“It really does actually,” you heard yourself agree, your voice almost wondering. “Like weirdly perfect sense.”
You both stared at each other for a long moment, squinting through matching mischievous smirks, the idea suspended in the air between you like something tangible.
Then, simultaneously, you both shook your heads and said: “Nah” before breaking into fits of laughter.
“Oh my god, can you imagine?” Jake wheezed, nearly spilling his drink.
“We’d be terrible at it.” You agreed, laughing so hard your sides hurt.
“We’d probably get into a fight about who’s doing it wrong–”
“Uhh, you’d definitely be doing it wrong.” You nodded up at him, and Jake threw you a challenging look,“I’ll have you know I’ve never had complaints in that department.”
“That you know of, for all we know Yuna could be speaking bad on your skills right now.” You shot back, and Jake threw another pretzel at you.
“See? This is exactly why it wouldn’t work. You can’t even compliment my skills.”
“I’m not going to stroke your ego about your sex life, Sim.”
Jake fought a snicker, “the word ‘stroke' in that sentence is very unfortunate timing.”
Your mouth fell agape in comic shock, smacking his arm, “you’re disgusting.”
“I thought this was a safe space!” He shrugged with mock innocence.
“It’s never a safe space for your dirty jokes.” You chided, still laughing.
“And yet, you still gracefully endure.” Jake settled back into the couch, still grinning like an idiot.
“…But seriously though, for a second there, it almost made sense, right?”
“For a very brief second.” you admitted with a warning lift of your finger.
It was ridiculous. Funny. You even swiftly moved on to a different topic of conversation before you threw back a few more drinks and joined the dancing crowd—forgetting the entire thing completely as the night peeled away.
But now—weeks later, the bold declaration of your official dry spell started to sound extremely over ambitious and the stupid (very stupid) idea had begun to look more like a good suggestion than just an alcohol-fueled joke.
You were aggressively multitasking right now: murdering a bowl of cereal at your kitchen counter, tapping away at your computer—all while glaring daggers at your roommate while she hummed in the kitchen like the birds sung her awake this morning.
The smile on Chaewon’s face was so radiant you probably didn’t need to worry about your electric bill for the next few months. It was the kind of smile no insult could wipe away.
Last night had been peaceful, just catching up on coursework after Sunoo dragged you clubbing three nights in a row.
You’d finally made a dent in your art history essay, wrapped up on your yearbook duties for the week, and even gotten ahead on your philosophy readings.
Then you’d heard the front door click shut around midnight, and more than one pair of footsteps in the hallway—along with Chaewon’s distinctive giggles, followed by the low rumble of a decidedly male voice.
You’d smirked to yourself, amused. She’d definitely overshare at breakfast—she always did, in excruciating detail you never asked for.
It was funny, right up until her bedroom door clicked shut and you’d been reminded, once again, that your apartment had walls made of paper.
What followed was a very thorough, very enthusiastically salacious reminder of everything you were definitely, frustratingly not having.
Now she was making coffee like she hadn’t just disrupted your entire night, and you were taking out your sexual frustration on your innocent breakfast.
“So,” Chaewon started.
“No.” You shoved another spoonful into your mouth, and her shoulders dropped, “I didn't even say anything yet!”
“Well, whatever you're about to say,” you pointed your spoon at her, “the answer is no.”
She laughed pouring her coffee with an infuriating amount of grace. “I was just going to say that you seem a little tense this morning. Trouble sleeping?”
You fixed her with your flattest stare. “The walls are thin and your headboard is loud. Go figure.”
“Oh,” Chaewon had the audacity to look pleased, “yeah, Eric is pretty good with–”
“If you finish that sentence, I will move out.”
“Just saying,” The girl continued, completely undeterred by your threat, “it was mindblowing.” she supplied, staring off into the distance with a reminiscent smile, then she sighed. “I miss his dick, already.”
“Oh trust me, the entire apartment complex knows you do.” You muttered, and Chaewon turned to you with a bemused smirk, “careful babe, your green is showing.”
“I’m not jealous.” You glanced at her with a grimace. “I’d just rather prefer the noise of downtown nightlife over the sounds of a porn rendition next door.”
Your roommate laughed earnestly, “you could have that too you know? You’re hot.”
“Chae, it’s not that I can't, it's that I won't. I’m just swamped with work right now.”
Chaewon paused, eyeing you with the kind of suspicious scrutiny that made you look away too quickly, “…when’s the last time you actually got laid? Like properly laid?”
“It is way too early for an interrogation right now.” You stabbed your cereal with unnecessary force, each spoonful more violent than the last.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Well, it's the only one you’re getting.” You returned to your laptop, trying to ignore the nosy figure hovering over you.
Maybe she’d eventually relent if you feigned interest in the laptop you were barely paying attention to—but Chaewon knew you far too well to ignore your badly structured facade of content.
She leaned against the counter, cradling her coffee mug, shifting her expression to something gentler. “I’m serious though, (Y/N). When was the last time you did something for yourself?”
“You’ve been on the Dean’s List for two years, your streak isn’t going anywhere any time soon, you should have some fun!”
Fun. There was that word again.
“I…have fun.” You protested weakly.
“Editing the yearbook forum at 2AM doesn't count as fun.” She elaborated.
“It does if you’re passionate about what you do.” You pointed, with a cheeky grin and an almost-questioning lift of your brows—as if daring your best friend’s disagreement.
“…Girl.” She set down her mug, fixing you with an unimpressed look.
“You’re like a soda can ready to explode. You need to blow off some steam.” She sighed insistently, like your voluntary abstinence was her problem.
“Go out. Meet someone. Have a meaningless hookup that rocks your world and leaves you useless for days.”
The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong.
You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d felt that kind of rush—the anticipation, the foreplay, the earth shattering feeling of an orgasm that wasn’t from your fingers.
Your vibrator was getting more action that you’d had in months, and even that was starting to feel depressing.
“Hm, I’ll think about it.” You muttered.
Chaewon smiled and turned knowing. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Philosophy 302 felt like the universe was personally mocking you.
You slumped in your usual seat near the back—close enough to hear Professor Sorenson but far enough to avoid being called on unless absolutely necessary.
Your laptop was open to a fresh document, cursor blinking expectantly, but your brain felt like static.
“Today,” Sorenson announced, pacing at the front of the lecture hall with the kind of energy that suggested she had far too much coffee, “we’re driving into Socratic philosophy. Specifically his views on desire and jealousy.”
Of course. Of course this was the topic today.
You resisted the urge to drop your head onto your desk or peel away from class and risk your perfect attendance.
“Socrates believed that jealousy is, at its core, simply desire unmet,” she continued, gesturing expansively.
“Its the gap between what we have and what we want. The tension between reality and longing.”
Someone in the front row raised their hand—probably to ask something pretentious about the Symposium—but you’d already tuned out.
Jealousy is desire unmet.
Okay but really, who needed ancient philosophy to define something you could already feel gnawing at your insides?
It had been over a month. Over a month since you’d had any action that didn’t involve machinery and your own imagination.
The closest you’d come was three weeks ago—some cute guy at a club who’d bought you a drink and kissed you against the bar.
It was nice against your own judgment. Flattering even.
But Sunoo had been your ride that night and he’d been ready to leave the second Jungwon drunkenly suggested the idea of getting everyone in the place a round of shots—so you got his number and told yourself you’d text him.
You never did.
Now here you were listening to a poetic lecture about some guy that lived eons before you, while your body reminded you in increasingly aching ways that you were a living breathing human with needs that were currently being spectacularly ignored.
You’d tried to drown it out. Buried yourself in assignments, spent hours in the editing lab and even deep cleaned your apartment at 1AM last Tuesday.
You had spent plenty of ‘quality time’ with yourself, but it wasn’t enough. It was like trying to satisfy a craving with wrong food—it filled the space but it didn’t quite hit the spot.
What you wanted was the earth-shattering, knees-weak sex Chaewon was apparently having.
You’d made an attempt to settle in the blissful comfort of envied denial, chalking her dramatic retellings as mass hysteria—but who the hell were you kidding?
You too, wanted to be fucked six ways to Sunday. You needed to feel both wrecked and alive in a way that a class ten in the morning on a Wednesday definitely wasn’t providing.
“The question then becomes,” Sorenson said, pulling you momentarily back to reality, “how do we reconcile our desires with our reality? How do we bridge that gap without losing ourselves to jealousy or desperation?”
Your laptop screen blurred slightly as you stared at it.
How do you bridge that gap?
Jake’s face flickered through your mind, unbidden–that stupid smile, those dark eyes, the way he’d looked at you on that couch two and a half weeks ago.
“What if we just did it?”
You had laughed it off. Dismissed it as drunk stupid rambling.
But the idea had slowly burrowed into your brain like a splinter, small and persistent. You’d catch yourself thinking about it at random moments—in the shower, before bed, during particularly boring lectures like this one.
It was insane. Completely insane.
But…was it really?
You shook your head, trying to psychically dislodge the thought. This was stupid and wrong. You were friends. Best friends. You didn’t cross that line because some lines existed for a reason.
Even if you were currently so horny you could barely think straight.
Even if Jake was objectively gorgeous and made zero effort to hide it.
And even if the idea of uncomplicated fun with someone you actually knew wouldn’t fuck it up sounded exactly like what you needed right now.
Stop it, you told yourself firmly.
Class continued in the background, but you were too busy trying to convince yourself that Jake’s drunken suggestion hadn’t been slowly, insidiously making more and more sense over the past weeks.
Your phone buzzed in your lap.
jake from state charm: bro practice is killing meee
jake from state charm: coach has us running drills like we’re training for the olympics
jake from state charm: im dying
jake from state charm: pls send food
jake from state charm: or a medic
Despite everything, you smiled.
you: u are SO dramatic 💀
jake from state charm: im SUFFERING
jake from state charm: this is a cry for help
jake from state charm: also im rlly bored, entertain meeee
you: you’ll live
jake from state charm: ur breaking my heart
you: 🎻
jake from state charm: bros wining the idgaf war
You snorted softly.
jake from state charm: are you free friday?
jake from state charm: jays having one of his gigs again
you: what’s your gpa and answer quick 🤔
jake from state charm: chill, i study hard and party hard ✋🏻🙂↕️🤚🏻
jake from state charm: balance is key smarty pants
you: right right…
jake from state charm: i’ll take that as a yes, see you friday ;)
You shook your head, slipping your phone back into your bag, still smiling despite yourself.
This was fine. Everything was fine—you were fine. You absolutely were not thinking about what Jake looked like under that hockey uniform.
Nope.
Jake was going to lose his fucking mind.
He slammed his locker shut with more force than necessary, the metallic clang echoing through the half empty locker room.
Practice had been brutal all week—three hours of drills on ice, conditioning, and Coach riding their asses about the upcoming season.
But that wasn’t what was making him want to punch something.
“Yo, Jake!” Jay’s voice carried from the showers. “You coming to Giselle’s tonight or what? S’posed to be a rager.”
“Maybe,” Jake called back half-heartedly, yanking his t-shirt over his head.
He probably wouldn’t go.
Jake had been to three parties in the last two weeks and they’d all ended the same way: some girl would approach him, they’d flirt, she’d make it clear she was interested, and Jake would…
Nothing.
He’d do absolutely nothing.
Which was weird because Jake never did nothing.
Jake was the guy who hooked up at parties, who had girls’ numbers saved in his phone, who never spent a weekend alone unless he chose to.
But lately? Nothing. Three weeks of absolutely nothing, and it was starting to make him feel like he was losing his edge.
“Dude…you good?” Maki appeared from around the corner, towel around his waist, eyeing Jake suspiciously. “You’ve been weird lately.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what your face says. You look constipated.”
“Thanks, asshole.”
Maki laughed, grabbing his bag. “Seriously though, what’s up? You turned down Yujin last weekend. Yujin Ahn. The girl you’ve been trying to hook up with in physics class.”
Jake had turned her down. Yujin had been perfectly willing, perfectly attractive, perfectly available. She’d been wearing a dress that should have been downright illegal and she’d made her intentions very clear.
And Jake had made an excuse and left.
Not because he wasn’t attracted to her. Not because he didn’t want to have fun. But because he’d been down this road too many times now, and he knew exactly how it would end.
“Just not feeling it lately,” Jake muttered, shoving his practice gear into his bag with unnecessary aggression.
“Not feeling it? Bro, you’re like—” Maki stopped himself, a knowing look crossing his face. “Oh. Oh. This is about the crying thing, isn’t it?”
Jake’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit. This is totally about the crying thing.” The blonde sat down on the bench, looking far too entertained. “Dude, that wasn’t your fault. You were upfront with her from the start.”
“Doesn’t matter. She still cried. In the middle of the cafeteria.” He deadpanned.
“Okay, yeah, that was rough,” Maki admitted with a chuckle. “But again—not your fault. You told her it was casual.”
Jake had told her.
He’d been crystal clear about it, just like he always was—no expectations, no promises, just fun.
Yuna nodded as fast as she could manage, said she completely understood and was on the same page before crashing into his lips and pushing him into the sheets.
Three weeks later, she’d asked where they were going and Jake had gently reminded her of their initial conversation, and had tried–tried–to let her down as softly as possible.
He’d even told her she was amazing, that any guy would be lucky to date her, but he just wasn’t that guy.
Yuna gave him that doleful look, managing a weak smile even through watery eyes. She had constantly repeated that she was okay when Jake had asked—begging her not to cry–and she did anyway.
Right there in the cafeteria, mascara running, while half the room paused their lunch break to stare.
Evil incarnate was what he was apparently.
And before Yuna? There was Amber, who’d teared up when he’d ended things. And before her—Macy, who’d actually cried in his chest and told him she thought they had really had something.
By the time he’d made the fifth girl cry, the team would've coined some mortifying nickname, one that would definitely leave the locker room and follow him everywhere, stamped across his forehead for the rest of his days.
Jake felt like he wasn’t even doing anything wrong.
He didn’t ghost them or act like a dick and pretend they meant nothing. He sat them down, explained gently but firmly that this wasn’t going to turn into something more, and appreciated the time they’d spent together.
According to the rest of the team, that made him ‘the sweet one’. The fuckboy with a conscience. At least he wasn’t getting slapped like Heeseung, or screamed at in the quad like Sunghoon last month.
But ‘sweet’ didn’t stop the tears and ‘nice’ didn’t make the breakups hurt less—and Jake was getting really fucking tired of being the guy who made girls cry, even when he’d done everything inherently ‘right’.
“You’re too good at letting them down easy,” Sunghoon said, reading his mind.
“That’s your problem. You’re so nice about it that they think there’s hope.” He fished a water bottle out of his locker. “Like maybe if they just try harder, you’ll change your mind.”
“I tell them from the start—”
“Yeah, but you’re also charming as fuck, bro. Remembering their coffee orders and asking about their classes and actually listening when they talk: that’s boyfriend behavior.”
“That’s literally just being a decent human being.”
“Right, but most guys hooking up casually aren’t decent human beings. So when you are, they think it means something.” Sunghoon pointed out, shaking his hair dry.
Jake scrubbed a hand over his face with an exasperated groan. “So what, I’m supposed to be an asshole? Treat them like shit so they don’t catch feelings?”
“No,” Maki said grinning, clearly enjoying this, “he’s saying maybe you need to be more selective. Or—” he snapped his fingers.
“Or find someone who actually gets it. Someone who won’t fall for your whole ‘sweet guy’ routine because they already know all your bullshit.”
Someone who already knew his bullshit…and his mind immediately (and traitorously) went to you.
Right.
“I’m not talking about this anymore,” Jake said, standing abruptly and yanking his bag onto his shoulder.
“I’m just saying,” Maki continued, following him out, “you’ve been in a weird mood for like three weeks now. Ever since Sungchan’s party at our place—what happened that night anyway?”
Brief fragments of that night came to mind, but one stood out like a sore insistent thumb: that stupid joke about you two being the perfect fuck buddies.
You’d both laughed it off and went back to normal.
Nothing technically happened.
Except everything had shifted anyway, tilted slightly off-axis in a way Jake couldn’t quite correct.
Because that suggestion—made half-drunk and mostly joking—had been rattling around in his head ever since, getting louder and making more sense as the weeks flew by.
You did get it.
You understood the appeal of something casual and uncomplicated because you wanted the same thing.
You wouldn’t develop expectations he couldn’t meet because your friendship had already established what you were to each other.
There would be no crying. No uncomfortable conversations where he had to explain that he liked you but not like that. No wondering if he was leading someone on or breaking someone’s heart.
It would just be…easy. Fun. The way it was supposed to be.
And he couldn’t deny—had never been able to deny, if he was being honest with himself—that you were beautiful. Objectively, empirically gorgeous in a way that had nothing to do with your friendship and everything to do with the fact that Jake had working eyes.
He’d just never let himself think about it too much because you were you, the one person in his life who was uncomplicated and easy and safe from all his usual bullshit.
But lately, he’d been thinking about it. A lot.
About the way you looked when you laughed, head thrown back and completely unselfconscious. How you’d lean against him during movie nights, warm and comfortable in his space.
About that night on the couch when you’d been wearing that silly slogan tank top and the chilly September night made him realize that you weren’t wearing a bra.
Jake had very carefully kept his eyes on your face because anything else teetered the edge of dangerous.
But he briefly let himself think about how you’d probably kiss—rough and defiant, the same way you argued with him about.
And what you’d sound like if he got his hands on you. What you’d look like underneath him, that bratty tongue of yours finally lost for words while he—
An idiot.
He felt like an idiot letting himself think of such things. Getting a hard on from the thought of your best friend was wrong—he could practically feel the shame burning the hairs on the back of his neck.
You were his best friend. Off-limits. The one person he couldn’t mess things up with.
Even if the idea of fucking you had become impossible to ignore.
Sunghoon slapped him on the shoulder with an irritating pitying smile. “You’re a good dude, Jake. Even if you are currently going through some kind of weird celibate phase.”
“It’s been three weeks, not three years.”
He scoffed. “For you? That’s basically a lifetime.”
Jake’s eyes went skyward, though a small grin betrayed him.
Yeah. A lifetime.
If you mashed together an older brother's basement rehearsals with the scratchy, emotionally manic soundtrack of a ‘turn of the millennium’ teen movie, you’d get Jay’s band: The Fallout.
Collective was practically packed wall-to-wall with people, the atmosphere slightly thick with neon lights slicing through the gloom of fog and the overwhelming cigarette smoke—which was a headache waiting to happen if you stayed long enough.
Peeling posters of long forgotten rock bands and stars graced the brick walls, alongside a pristine collection of old Rolling Stone magazines and passionate slogans about how ‘rock ruled’ or whatever.
The people who came to these shindigs were a harmonious blend of heavily opinionated music nerds, students at their third location, and anyone who thought loud music excused questionable hygiene.
You attended one of Jay’s gigs back in freshman year, if that was what you’d call it then.
Back then, he only performed at frat parties, which somehow made the obnoxious traditions of those gatherings slightly cooler.
Now, he was performing small bar gigs and open mics, pouring himself into each note with the same passion he’d had since he was in high school, performing to no one but the entire neighbourhood from his garage—or his parents (who were clearly held hostage).
He’d once joked to you that you could still get with him before he was untouchable—be his cool girlfriend to bring on tour to make every body else jealous and you’d scoffed: “Yeah sure, because rockstars are so known for their monogamy.”
The Fallout was mid-set, and the crowd was eating it up.
You stood near the back with Chaewon and Sunoo, nursing a second vodka cranberry that was more vodka than cranberry, watching Jay dominate the small stage like he was born with a Les Paul in his hands.
Jay was good—really good. His fingers flew across the guitar strings with practiced ease, his voice rough and melodic as he leaned into the mic.
He also looked unfairly hot doing it, damp hair casted over his eyes and concentrated intensity, his t-shirt clinging to him in a way that suggested the stage lights were doing their job.
“Okay, I need to know if he’s single immediately,” Chaewon announced over the music. “Because I am already planning our future together.”
“You don’t even know his last name.” You pointed out, raising a brow.
“Park,” Sunoo supplied helpfully. “Jay Park. Hockey player, lead guitarist, and according to a few of his exes…a lot of trouble.’”
Chaewon’s eyes practically sparkled. “Perfect. I’m dressed like a rockstar’s girlfriend already.” She gestured to her outfit—an off-shoulder band tee she’d artfully cut herself, paired with leather shorts and doc martens. “This was clearly fate.”
You had to admit, Chaewon wasn’t wrong. The girl looked about ready to be splashed across a tabloid magazine, hanging off a rockstar with effortless cool.
You had gone a different direction—a patterned halter top showing more cleavage than you usually went for, paired with a mini skirt and your favorite boots, with eyeliner sharp enough to kill.
You looked good. You felt good.
The music was great, bouncing off the walls with just the perfect amount of volume and reverb.
The energy was really infectious and lively, but you were still somehow…restless.
“So,” Sunoo said, leaning in conspiratorially, “when are you going to put yourself out there tonight?”
“Not you too.” You dramatically groaned.
“I’m just saying!” The pretty man said, hands miming passionately.
“You look hot, the music is good, everyone’s got liquid courage—this is literally prime hookup territory.”
“I’m not hooking up with a random stranger at a bar.”
“Why not?” Chaewon joined in with a whine, fussily shaking her shoulders, “You need to unclench babe.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re repressed.”
“I’m…selective.” You supplied with a shrug.
“You’re pent up,” Chaewon corrected. “There’s a difference. And honestly, babe? It’s starting to show.”
You shot her a look. “Excuse me?”
“You stress-cleaned the apartment in the dead of night last week, then you reorganized the entire living room.” She quipped with an accusatory look.
“Finding my scented candles was like finding Waldo–you totally messed with my entire system.”
You glanced at her like she just asked if it was night, “I was trying to be organized? And I told you to pack away your candles after using them to ‘cleanse the vibes’.”
“Okay mom.” Chaewon drawled with an amused smirk, ignoring your simmering glare.
Sunoo rolled his eyes, ignoring your lover's spat, “you’re just channeling your sexual frustration into other activities,” he said sagely. “That’s classic displacement behavior.”
“You crash one of Jungwon’s classes and suddenly you're a psychologist.”
Sunoo shrugged, flashing you an expectant look, theatrically sipping his drink, “but I am wrong though?”
Well…no. Irritatingly so.
“We’re just trying to help!” Chaewon protested.
“Look, I know what happened with that guy Sunoo tried to set you up with last time—”
“Do not bring up Sohee.”
“—but that was one bad experience! Not every hook up ends with the guy crying mid-coitus because he misses his ex.”
“He came in about two minutes, then immediately started crying about his ex-girlfriend while literally using my tits as a pillow.” You grimaced at the memory.
“I didn’t even get to come and I had to play therapist. The worst trade deal in history.”
Sunoo winced with an apologetic smile. “Yeah sorry, that was…rough. My bad. But this time—”
“Nope.” You cut him off with a half playful warning. “No setups. No ‘I have a friend who would be perfect for you.’ Just…no.”
“Fine, fine.” Sunoo held up his hands in surrender. “But you could just, I don’t know, find someone yourself? Take initiative?”
“I don’t need to take initiative. I’m perfectly content with my current situation.”
“Your current situation is you and your vibrator,” Chaewon deadpanned.
“Oh my god, Chaewon!”
“What? It’s true! And while I do support your solo activities, they’re clearly not cutting it anymore. You need the real thing.” She insisted.
“Preferrably someone hot, very charming and yes, capable of leading a band while looking like angels sculpted him themselves.”
That was directed more so towards herself than you, catching her shifting glance to Jay with that particular look on her face.
You guaranteed somewhere in the week you’d be victim to another sleepless night and a TMI recap over your morning breakfast.
You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a laugh at the way she dreamily stared at the lead guitarist like he hung the moon.
Thankfully, the end of the song saved you from another failed defense against your tag teaming jury, the crowd erupting into applause and cheers as Jay grinned, adjusting the mic.
“Thank you, thank you!” His voice carried over the sound system, warm and genuine. “You guys are fucking amazing. This next one’s a new song we’ve been working on—it’s called ‘Bad Decisions’ which feels appropriate for a Friday night, right?”
The crowd cheered in agreement.
The band launched into the song and you found yourself swaying despite your mood, the bass thrumming through your chest.
“Okay, but Jay is legitimately hot,” You admitted, watching him absolutely shred on guitar. “Like, objectively speaking.”
“Right?” Chaewon was practically drooling. “The way his arms look when he plays? Criminal. Absolutely criminal.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t crawled over to the stage and tackled him.” Sunoo observed with a humored smile.
Chaewon flashed him a chaotic grin, “oh I’m considering it.”
“Give me a few more drinks and you’ll have to hold me back.” She sang with a warning, and you both told her to behave herself amidst laughter.
This was a good way to unwind from the harrowing week you spent with your nose in your books. The Fallout was good, the company was good…but that relentless thought hadn’t gone away.
If anything, it was getting worse.
“I need another drink,” You announced.
“I’ll come with—” Chaewon started, and you waved dismissively with a warm scoff, “no, it’s fine. You stay and appreciate Jay’s arms. I’ll be right back.”
You pushed through the crowd toward the bar, weaving between bodies and dodging elbows.
The music was loud enough to rattle your ribcage—and you were grateful for the excuse that it was just the bass that was making your chest do complicated things.
Definitely just the music.
Jake spotted Isa Lee the moment he walked into the bar with Heeseung and Sunghoon.
She was standing near the stage with a group of her cheer friends, looking effortlessly beautiful in a casual dress that somehow looked both comfortable and perfectly put together.
Her dark hair was down in loose waves, and when she laughed at something her friend said, Jake felt…nothing.
Well, not nothing. She was gorgeous, and he’d been trying to catch her at the right time since September.
But that usual spark of interest, the rousing anticipation of a potential hookup—just wasn’t there.
“Dude, Isa Lee is totally checking you out,” Heeseung said, nudging Jake’s shoulder.
“What?”
“Three o’clock. Don’t make it obvious.” Sunghoon grinned. “She’s been looking over here since we walked in.”
Jake glanced over casually, and Isa caught his eye with a slow smile, a clear invitation.
“Go talk to her, man,” Heeseung encouraged. “You’ve been wanting to hook up with her for months.”
He had been.
Isa was smart—chem major, very talented cheerleader, genuinely nice from everything he’d heard. She was exactly the kind of girl who should interest him.
Should being the operative word.
“Yeah,” Jake said, not moving. “I will. In a minute.”
“…What are you waiting for?”
Jake didn’t have a good answer for that. Or rather, he had an answer, but it was one that would make his friends theatrically concerned and ask a conundrum of questions he didn’t want to answer.
He had to break this cycle, somehow.
But his two teammates were looking at him expectantly and mildly confused, while Isa was still smiling in his direction.
“Fine,” Jake said. “I’m going.”
He crossed the room, smoothly weaving through the crowd until he reached Isa’s group of friends who’d nudged her persistently with barely concealed grins and giggles.
“Hey,” he said, leaning in so she could hear him over the music.
“Hey!” Isa’s face lit up. “Jake, right? You’re on the hockey team with the lead guitarist.”
“Guilty. You’re Isa?”
“That’s me.” She touched his arm lightly, as she eyed him down. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”
“Wouldn’t miss one of Jay’s shows. He’s been practicing that new song for weeks.” Jake gestured toward the stage where Jay was currently in the middle of a guitar solo.
“He’s pretty good, right?”
“He’s amazing! I love live music.” Isa moved closer, her shoulder brushing his. “Do you play any instruments?”
“Yeah, but Jay and I have different musical directions. A band breakup would be waiting to happen if I joined.”
Isa laughed, and Jake found himself going through the motions—smirking, leaning in, saying the right things.
It was all easy and familiar. He’d done this dance a hundred times.
But his heart wasn’t really in it.
You lingered at the bar, idly people-watching while you patiently waited for the bartender to remember that pouring drinks was, in fact, his primary job—not shamelessly flirting with a gaggle of far too inebriated girls clearly trying to snag free drinks.
Your fingers drummed against the sticky wood counter, letting your gaze drift over the crowd before your eyes landed on an awfully familiar tall figure.
Jake.
Had he been here the whole time?
He stood slightly off to the side, leaning down to hear a girl speaking into his ear.
Jake looked unfairly good under the haze of the colored lighting, shoulders stretched broad beneath a fitted tee layered over a long sleeve, the bottom cuffs shoved carelessly up his forearms.
Show off. You scoffed with a slight smile.
And of course he was talking to someone.
Jake could strike up a conversation with a brick wall and have it blushing in under five minutes.
The girl—you realized—was Isa Lee.
That tracked.
Isa was one of Jungwon’s all-star cheer teammates.
She was the kind of girl professors adored and campus baristas remembered, all honey warm laughs and the uncanny ability to make you feel like the most interesting person in the room.
She was a real sweetheart, almost offensively so.
You watched, faintly amused, as Isa’s hand slowly brushed Jake’s chest like she was checking its structural integrity.
She then leaned in closer, whispering something…and there it was: the beam of that smile.
Not enough to look sweet, and just enough to look dangerous—and Jake definitely knew what he was doing.
You suppressed a disbelieving laugh.
Jake always had that stupidly charming half-smile, but somewhere between sophomore year and that hockey camp before junior year it transformed along with everything.
From the adorable boy next door to what you could only perfectly describe as one of those absurdly pretty guys you noticed at the airport and felt mildly disappointed when your boarding group got called.
Back then you found it deeply annoying.
Now you just found it entertaining.
Isa laughed again, tracing absent patterns on his chest, and you lifted a brow.
Bold.
Jake’s hand hovered briefly at Isa’s waist, polite but noncommittal. He was looking down at her, nodding and listening intently.
And then his eyes shifted, finding yours.
You didn’t look away, simply curving your lips in a mild, impressed half-smile, communicating with your countenance: Busy night?
Recognition flashed across his face, followed by a slow grin that made something in your stomach flip against its will.
Jake briefly turned back to Isa, saying something that was clearly unreadable. She blinked up at him, mid suggestion before Jake began to step back, to your surprise.
He murmured something that made Isa’s face flicker—confusion? disappointment?—before he offered an apologetic smile.
And then he turned, making a direct beeline for the bar.
You found yourself straightening slightly, ignoring the flicker of something that suspiciously felt like anticipation.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Jake greeted, sliding in next to you with a growing smile.
You tilted your head. “Stalking me, Sim?”
“Always. It’s my favorite hobby.” Jake leaned against the bar, throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way he always annoyingly did.
He leaned back to take your outfit in properly for the first time. “Damn, (Y/N). Do you always dress like that or did I get lucky tonight?”
You smirked, striking a deliberately exaggerated gesture of throwing your hair back. “You like? I figured if Chaewon gets to dress like a rockstar’s girlfriend, I might as well make an effort.”
“An effort,” Jake repeated, his eyes trailing over the strappy top that showed off your shoulders, the mini skirt that made your legs look about a mile long.
“That’s one way to put it. You look unfair.”
“I know.” Your smile was purely unabashed.
That was your usual reaction whenever Jake harmlessly flirted with you—completely unaffected by his usual behavior in that way that was so quintessentially you.
But right now it strangely felt like you were reading lines off a script, irked by that annoying little buzz in your gut that refused to mind its own business.
“Well, I didn’t spend two hours getting ready for nothing.”
“Two hours?!” Jake raised his eyebrows with a grin that was equally amused and shocked.
“Perfection takes time, Sim. You wouldn’t understand with your three-second hair routine and your basic graphic tee and boring jeans.” You judgmentally eyed his frame.
Your feigned scrutiny faltered as your eyes betrayed you, lingering on his perfectly toned arms and the waistband of his jeans teasingly low—Calvin Klein's mocking you.
Why did it take hours for girls to get ready while guys practically slapped on whatever they could find and looked like…that.
Jake laughed with a bashful shrug, and without breaking eye contact—he casually flicked a subtle hand toward one of the bartenders. “What can I say angel? I’m just naturally blessed like that.”
“Naturally something,” You muttered with a grumble.
The man briefly shifted his attention to the bartender, ordering drinks for the two in a way that you shouldn’t have found hot, but did.
You’d been standing there for seven minutes flagging the bartender like an overzealous fangirl—your voice cycling through desperate octaves to try and get their attention and he’d just…done it.
The drinks you had so far were definitely to blame. It had to be that.
Alcohol lowered standards, it was basic peer reviewed science—and you could pull a journal article about that right now.
Sober you would never feel a flutter in her chest over a man simply summoning a bartender over with his index finger all while keeping his undivided attention on her.
Ridiculous.
Jake turned back to you, “and FYI, The Smiths?” he pointed at his shirt, “isn’t basic, you’re just uncultured like that.”
“Says you and every other performative male yearning for substance,” You said once you had your drinks. “All you’re missing are some glasses, vintage headphones and a Jane Austen book.”
Your best friend clutched his chest with mock hurt, “you wound me (Y/N), I keep you company, I buy you a drink and yet you still judge me.”
You threw him a well meaning smile and he couldn’t conceal his own any further, shaking his head with a chuckle.
You paused, searching the crowd in confusion. “Wait what happened to Isa? I saw you two looking cozy.”
The question came out before you’d really thought about it. Not that you cared exactly—Jake could talk to whoever he wanted. He always did.
But you’d noticed the way she was with him earlier, with the kind of body language that usually meant Jake would disappear in an hour or less.
And yet here he was at the bar. With you.
It was weird and out of pattern. That's all.
“She’s nice.”
“Incorrect answer.”
“That’s all I can say.” Jake took a sip of his beer, deflecting. “What about you? Having fun?”
“Define fun.”
“That bad, huh?”
You shrugged, taking a long sip.
Everything about the night should’ve been perfect, but there was this restless irritation fizzling in your veins that wouldn’t quit, and admitting your night was subpar at best, would require admitting why.
You ultimately concluded that you’d rather spare yourself more external efforts from friends to squander your sexual embargo.
It also just weirdly felt more mortifying than irritating to hear Jake have an opinion on your nonexistent sex life.
“It’s fine. Music’s good.”
Jake studied you for a moment, and you could feel him reading between the lines in that way he always did—but thankfully, he didn’t push, simply replying with an understanding nod.
You both fell into a comfortable silence, Jay’s band comfortably filling the space.
The place was still busy, with the frenzied humdrum only a Friday night could bring out, but somehow both of you felt more relaxed standing here at the bar with each other than you had all night.
“Jay looks good up there,” You observed, watching the stage. “Like, really good. The whole angsty hot musician thing really works for him.”
Jake glanced at you skeptically. “Are you thirsting over my teammate right now?”
“I’m making a simple observation about his attractiveness.” Your eyes gleamed with mischief. “Chaewon’s already decided they’re soulmates based entirely on the way he plays guitar.”
“That tracks. Jay has that effect on people.” Jake paused. “Please tell me you’re not under his spell too.”
“Relax, Chaewon called dibs. Besides, musicians are too high-maintenance for me.” You turned to face him fully, leaning your hip against the bar.
The question bubbled in your chest again—the nagging curiosity about why Jake was here instead of leaving with Isa.
It wasn’t jealousy, you just knew Jake.
You knew his patterns and knew that when a girl like Isa showed interest, he usually took the opportunity without much hesitation.
So why hadn’t he?
“How’s your night actually going? You looked like you were about to leave with Isa.”
Jake shrugged, suddenly seeming very interested in the typography of his beer label. “Just wasn’t feeling it, I guess.”
“Really?” You couldn’t keep the surprise out of your tone, “you’ve been trying to hook up with her since September.”
Jake made an amusing noise of frustration, “how does everyone know that?” He threw his hand up, “have I been that obvious?”
You pursed your lips with intentional silence, darting your eyes back to the stage.
“Wow, coming for my throat tonight.”
“You’re always obvious.” You tilted your head, studying him. “But seriously, you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
Jake considered lying—you could see it cross his face, the automatic playful smile he used with everyone else—but instead, his shoulders dropped slightly with a sigh.
“Honestly? I’m just spent,” he admitted. “Rather drown myself in hockey practice and physics homework than do that whole dance again.”
Jake took a long swig from his drink. “I don’t know. Maybe I need a break from all of it.”
“A break? You?” You looked genuinely surprised. “Jake Sim, taking a break from hooking up? Did I slip into an alternate dimension?”
“Ha ha. But yeah, maybe. The whole thing is…exhausting.”
You were quiet for a moment, and when you spoke again, your voice was softer. “Yeah. I get that.”
Something in your tone made Jake look at you more closely. You were staring at your drink, the crease in your eyes an adorable yet clear indication that you too, looked like you wished you could be anywhere else.
“...You want to get out of here?” The words came out before Jake could think about them.
You looked up. “What?”
“This place. The gig. Everything.” Jake gestured vaguely. “You wanna just leave? Go somewhere quieter?”
“What about Chaewon and Sunoo?”
“What about Heeseung and Sunghoon? They’ll survive without us.” Jake bumped your shoulder with his. “Come on. Let’s bail. But only if there’s alcohol at your place.”
Your smile was slow and considering. “Sunoo did leave a few bottles of something.”
“Sold.” Jake downed the rest of his beer, setting the bottle on the bar. “Let’s go.”
“You sure? You’re not going to regret leaving Isa behind?”
Jake looked at you in a way that made your face unusually warm, “I’m pretty sure.”
“Come on.” Jake laced his fingers through yours, tugging you away from the bar.
You tried desperately to down the rest of your drink as he pulled you toward the exit, nearly spilling it on yourself in the process.
“Jake wait—I’m still—” you protested between gulps, giggling.
“Chug faster!” He laughed, “I didn’t drag you to all those parties for nothing.”
You managed one final heroic swig before he dragged you through the door, both of you laughing like idiots as the cool night air hit your faces.
When you reached your apartment, Jake immediately gravitated to your speaker with the familiarity of someone who’d done it a thousand times before, immediately fiddling with the device.
“Oh, make yourself comfortable,” you called from the kitchen, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Already am!” Jake crashed on the couch, kicking off his shoes and propping his feet up on the coffee table. “What’ve you got?”
“Let’s see…” You stared at the haphazard arrangement of bottles left on the counter in a rush to catch an uber. “Vodka, rum, some tequila that Sunoo left here, and—oh, he got amaretto.”
“Fancy.”
“He does contain multitudes.” You started grabbing at bottles. “Want me to make something, or are we just doing shots?”
“Make something. Show off your bartending skills.”
“I don’t have bartending skills.”
“Then improvise. I believe in you.”
You laughed, pulling out glasses and starting to mix something that looked more complicated than it probably needed to be.
“So,” You said, briefly looking up from your mixing, “how’s hockey going?”
Jake looked away a bit too quickly as he cleared his throat, shrugging. “Hockey’s been the same. We’ve got a game in a few weeks, so everyone’s pretending they’re in the NHL.”
You hummed intently, dangerously pouring something amber into something clear.
Jake watched you for a second, “You should come to the game.”
You made a face, “I’ve been to games.”
“Not in months.” He pointed at you accusingly. “Fake fan behavior.” Jake clicked his tongue in disappointment.
“I’ve just been…busy.” You shrugged, crashing beside him and handing him a drink.
The speaker finally came to life after he did enough damage—the harmony of East High students filling the room with way too much glee and optimism for a mellow evening.
“Shit, my phone’s still connected.” You lunged for your phone, frantically disconnecting the music amidst Jake’s unshakable laughter.
“High School Musical 3?!” He managed between laughs, shoulders shaking while you rolled your eyes with a flustered groan.
“Whatever! It’s a good movie and a good playlist, I’m not backing down on that.” You insisted, trying to fight the burn that settled in your cheeks.
“Aww.” Jake cooed, reaching over to pat your head, “you are such a dork (Y/N).” Still grinning.
“Uhh…says the guy who just ditched a sure thing to hang out with me.”
“Who says you’re not a sure thing?”
The words came out more flirtatious than Jake intended, and your eyebrows shot up nimbly. “Careful, Sim. Keep talking like that and I might actually think you actually like spending time with me.”
“I tolerate you.” Jake corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Right, that’s why you drove forty minutes to watch me tank soccer try outs in junior year.”
“That was moral support.” He defended.
“You laughed the entire time.” You said dryly, though you were still smiling.
“I’m sorry (Y/N), but you were absolutely hilarious, you were playing an entirely different sport.”
“I only grabbed the ball because the midfielder hurled it right at my face!”
The rest of the night melted into something comfortable and way better than where your night had been going a few hours ago.
You had reached the point where you could feel the pleasant buzz of the alcohol in your veins, just the right amount of tipsy that made everything entertaining.
You two talked about anything and basically everything—ranging from entertaining moments in your yearbook club and hockey, to harmless gripes about your respective roommates.
Jake grumbled about how Sunghoon ran the apartment like being captain didn't leave the threshold of the ice rink, while you mentioned Chaewon’s inability to do basically anything without the TV playing ‘That 70s Show’ reruns—even if she was fast asleep.
But being slightly plastered also invited unwarranted impulsivity and honesty in you that only liquid courage could reinforce—slightly unfettered by your sober self to filter your pensive thoughts.
For the most of the conversation your mind had been embarrassingly elsewhere.
Whenever Jake had a few drinks in him, he always talked animatedly—hands waving, fingers gesturing wildly at something he was talking about.
It was adorable.
Though now, you weren’t hyper fixated on his fingers due to dramatics—but because they were nice, and pretty, and long. Your mind couldn’t help itself with the thought of his fingers at a place you ached for them be.
It was shameful, you’d admit.
Here he was talking your ear of about something you’d tuned out ten minutes ago, and your cunt practically had its own maddening pulse at though your best friend finger fucking you.
You were so horny it was driving you crazy.
“Okay, I’m calling it,” Jake announced suddenly, drawing you out of your thoughts. “You’ve been in another world for like the past ten minutes.”
“I was here!"
“Really? Care to repeat what I said?”
You opened your mouth, scrambling for an excuse, and closed it. “Sunghoon…did another annoying thing?”
“Wow. Riveting summary.” Jake shifted to face you, grinning. “What’s going on? And don’t say ‘nothing’ because you’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m an excellent liar, actually.”
“You’re really not. Remember poker night at mine?”
You groaned with a roll of your eyes. “That doesn’t count.”
“Oh, it counts.” He was already grinning at the memory. “You had a garbage hand and kept licking your lips.”
“My lips were dry!”
“Your lips are never dry, (Y/N).” He stated with light humor in his tone, and you tried to maintain a neutral expression at that clearly harmless observation.
“You were panicking.” Jake poked your side, making you squirm. “Come on, spill. What’s the deal?”
Diversion was the obvious way out.
You could change the subject, and insist on moving on—but honestly? You were way too tired and tipsy to thinking about your sexual frustrations alone. And if you couldn’t talk to Jake about this stuff, who could you talk to?
“Okay, fine.” You sighed, sitting up a bit straighter, “but you have to promise not to be weird about it.”
“Okay, okay. I promise to be minimally weird. That’s the best you’re getting.”
You rolled your eyes but continued. “Remember at the party when we were complaining about hookups and relationships?”
“You mean two weeks ago when I was having my Yuna crisis?”
“Yes, that. Well, I’ve been thinking about what you said,” you shifted in your spot, suddenly hyperaware of his unwavering gaze,“…about wanting something fun without all the complications.”
Jake’s lips quirked up into something mischievous. “Oh? Do tell.”
“Don’t make this weird.”
“Too late, already weird. Continue.”
You grabbed a throw pillow, hugging it to your chest. “I’m just saying, you had a point. Everyone’s either looking for their future partner or treating hookups like sports tryouts. And both options sound exhausting.”
“You’re not wrong. So what, you’ve been sitting here thinking about that?”
“Maybe. Is that so weird?”
“Not at all. I’ve been having the same crisis for three weeks.” Jake’s tone was light but his eyes still focused on you with unusual intensity.
“What brought this on? Finally tired of guys getting jealous of your devastatingly handsome best friend?”
You sighed with theatrical awe, “your humility is truly inspiring.”
“I’m just stating facts.” He grinned. “But seriously, what’s up?”
Your fingers picked at the loose threads on the pillow. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been…frustrated lately. And not in a ‘my assignment is due’ way.”
“Oh?” Jake’s grin widened. “What kind of frustrated are we talking about here?”
“You’re such a child.”
“You brought it up!”
“I’m trying to have a serious conversation!”
“About being sexually frustrated?” Jake was fully grinning now, clearly enjoying himself. “By all means, continue. This is fascinating.”
“I hate you.” You threw the pillow at his face, and he caught it, laughing.
“No you don’t.” Jake tossed the pillow back.
“But okay, seriously—I get it. The whole ‘too stressed to date but too stressed not to’ thing. It’s an annoying cycle.”
“Exactly!” You gestured emphatically. “Like, I don’t have the energy to deal with someone getting clingy or possessive, but I also—” You cut yourself off, feeling the warmth blossom in your cheeks.
“But you also want to get laid?” Jake supplied helpfully.
“Oh my god.”
“What? I’m just finishing your sentence!”
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Can you blame me? You’re usually so put together and now you’re over here blushing about wanting to have sex. It’s adorable.”
You glared at him. “I will kick you out.”
“No you won’t. You need me for emotional support during your dilemma.” Jake’s grin softened into something more genuine. “But for real though, I get it. It’s like… you want the fun parts without any of the dramatic parts.”
“Right! Is that too much to ask? Just something simple and uncomplicated?”
“Apparently, yes. Because people are terrible at keeping things simple.”
“The worst.”
You fell quiet, both contemplating the unfairness of modern dating.
Then Jake spoke up, voice casual but carrying an undercurrent of something else, “we could solve both our problems pretty easily.”
“Remember when I also suggested that we…” He trailed off, letting the allusion of what you two playfully conspired that night—and your heart skipped.
“Yeah. I remember.”
“I’m just saying.” Jake turned to face you fully, one arm draped over the couch back.
“It makes sense. We both want the same thing and we’re both sitting here whining about it when the solution is right in front of our faces.”
Your mouth went dry. “Jake—”
Jake’s eyes were dark with the kind of mischief that meant the gears were already turning. “We already know each other. There’s no feelings, no games, no jealousy, no crying in cafeteria halls—”
You broke into a chuckle at the memory. “Oh yeah, that was hilarious.”
“Not my point—but see? With you, there’s none of that. Just…fun. Simple. Easy.” He shifted closer, his knee bumping yours.
“We’re both adults. We’re both frustrated. We trust each other. Where’s the harm in having a little fun?”
“The harm is that it could make things weird.” You supplied, with a lift of an eyebrow.
You were mostly convincing yourself more than anything, because this was a bad idea.
But the traitorous part of your mind, honest enough to admit that you wanted to be thoroughly, enthusiastically fucked senseless seemed to scrap your sensible thought.
“Or it could make things better.” Jake’s voice dropped lower. “No messy baggage, just…two friends helping each other out.”
You chewed on your lip, and Jake couldn’t help but track the movement, his gaze sending a shock straight to your core.
“So what, we just…do it? Hook up?”
“Why not?” Jake was warming to the idea all over again.
Your eyes briefly flickered to his slender fingers, absentmindedly brushing against his lips and you wondered what it would feel like to kiss them—all soft, plump and pretty.
“Okay.”
Jake blinked, eyes going wide for a brief second.
“But—but—if we actually did this, there would have to be rules.”
Jake’s face lit up, and he had to physically school into something nonchalant. “Rules. Yes. I’m great with rules.”
“You break rules constantly.” You stated, with an unimpressed squint.
“Hockey rules. These would be different. Important rules.” He sat up straighter, all business now, “rule one: this would just be for fun. No expectations.”
“Obviously.”
“Rule two: nothing changes. We’re still best friends first.”
“Agreed.”
“Rule three: if it gets weird, we stop. No questions asked.”
“That’s actually reasonable,” you admitted.
“I have my moments.” Jake was grinning now, clearly pleased with himself.
“And rule four,” you added, “we don’t tell anyone. Not because it’s shameful, but because everyone would make it into this huge dramatic thing.”
“Makes sense.”
“And rule five—” Jake’s expression turned more sincere. “This doesn’t fuck up what we have. Because you’re too important to lose over something that’s supposed to be fun.”
Your chest felt tight, shifting to manual breathing. “Do you really think we can pull this off?”
“I think we can.” Jake reached over, softly brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “But only if you actually want to.”
Did you want to?
God, yes. Jake was right. This could work. You could make this work.
“Okay,” you said, the word coming out more confident than you felt.
Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay?”
“Okay. Let’s try it.” You nodded, feeling slightly terrified and exhilarated in concert. “But this would just be a one time thing.”
“Yeah, just a one time thing,” Jake rehashed with a dutiful nod.
You held his gaze for a second, the space between you abruptly feeling tighter, charged with something chancy—something you’d never imagined would exist with Jake.
“So…” you started, suddenly feeling awkward. “Do we just like…now?”
“I mean, we could?” Jake laughed, hand pushing through his hair. “Unless you want to schedule it? Put it in our calendars? ‘Hook up with best friend, Friday 9PM’?”
“Oh my god, shut up.” You dragged your hands over your face, groaning between giggles.
“I’m just saying, we could be organized about this—”
Before Jake could get another word out, you fisted your hands in his shirt and dragged his lips to yours.
It was impulsive, born from equal parts frustration and avidity and the need to just do something before you overthought yourself out of this entirely.
Jake made a small sound of surprise before kissing you back, his hand sliding into your hair while his other arm wrapped around your waist.
And oh. Oh.
Jake’s lips were just as soft as you’d expected, moving against yours with a certainty that made your stomach flip.
He tasted like the drinks you’d been sharing and that cologne that was so distinctly him, and it was intoxicating in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol.
Your hands found his shoulders, gripping tight as the kiss turned hungrier and urgent. Jake pulled you closer, eliminating any space between you, and you went willingly, your brain finally, blessedly shutting off.
This was happening. This was really happening.
And it felt right in a way that should probably concern you but currently didn’t.
When you finally broke apart for air, both breathing heavily, Jake’s gaze carried something indecipherable that had never been aimed at you before.
“So,” he said, voice rough. “Your room?”
You laughed, slightly breathless. “Well, we’re literally at my place. Seems efficient.”
“Right.” Jake blinked himself out of a haze. “Efficient.” He stood, pulling you up with him. “Lead the way?”
You grabbed his hand, leading him down the short hallway to your room. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest, anticipation and nervousness and want all tangled together in your chest.
This was probably a mistake.
But god, you wanted it anyway.
The door closed with a defining click behind Jake as he leaned against the door, trying to catch his breath and his bearings.
“Okay, so how do you want to—”
His voice died completely when you grabbed the hem of your top and pulled it over your head in one swift, confident motion.
Jake’s brain short-circuited.
Whatever he’d been about to say evaporated the second your bare skin hit the air.
You adorned a black lace bra that was definitely not your usual practical style, and Jake’s eyes dropped before he could stop them.
Holy shit.
“If we do this,” you said, seemingly unbothered by his staring, “we both have to swear it’s just one time and nothing changes. I’m still the annoying girl who steals your music taste, and you’re still—”
You cut yourself off when you realized Jake wasn’t even listening to a single word. His eyes were locked shamelessly on your chest, his expression somewhere between awe and hunger.
You clapped your hands sharply. “Hey! Can you pay attention?”
Jake’s gaze jerked upward, heat flooding his cheeks. “Sorry,” he laughed, the sound stupefied and breathless. “It’s just—you’re kind of—I mean—Wow.” He signaled vaguely at you, swallowing hard, “man, do I love Victoria’s Secret.”
Despite yourself, you felt a smile tug at your lips, “god, you men are so easy.”
“No, no—that’s unfair.” Jake leaned closer, defensive but grinning. “I’m still fully dressed while you’ve already started stripping. That’s cheating.”
“Well?” You crossed your arms beneath your chest, deliberately emphasizing your cleavage as you tilted your chin up. “What are you waiting for?”
Jake huffed out a laugh, already reaching for his shirt. “You’re bossy. Are you always this bossy when you do this?”
In one quick move, he tugged his shirt off and tossed it aside. The fabric hit the floor, and suddenly his body was right there in front of you—all lean muscle and defined lines that you had definitely not been noticing for weeks now.
You’d seen Jake shirtless more times than you could count, but somehow, here in your small bedroom with the air different between you, it felt like the first time.
“Depends,” you said, reaching out to run your fingers through his messy hair, and his eyes softened, closing briefly with a soft groan.
“If my time’s being wasted, I take charge.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” Jake’s voice dropped low, conspiratorial, as his hands found your waist. “I’ll make it worthwhile.”
You scoffed, arching a brow even as your stomach flipped at the promise in his tone.
“Sure.”
“Still doubting me?” His hands were a satisfying contrast to your skin, thumbs tracing idle circles just above your hips—pulling you closer until you could feel the warmth radiating off him.
“I’ve been let down before,” you muttered, though your heart was hammering at the gentle pressure of his touch.
“Okay, fair.” Jake reached over to brush the edge of your jaw before his palm settled warm against your cheek. He leaned in slowly, his lips hovering just above yours teasingly, “but you just haven’t done it with me.”
The cocky murmur had your pulse tripping.
Just as Jake tilted forward to close the distance, you darted back, laughing when he immediately followed, chasing your mouth.
“Woah, ease up there, big boy. The rules—”
“One time only, nothing changes, yeah, yeah.” His words tumbled out in a rush, impatient and wanting—and before you could object again, Jake’s mouth crashed into yours.
You practically melted, all your carefully constructed defenses dissolving like sugar in water. Your arms snaked around his neck as he leaned into you with a muffled sound of satisfaction.
You were both conjectural at first. Maybe you’d both eventually change your minds and call it quits, probably laugh at this absurd night a few weeks later over watered-down liquor in some crowded house.
But his lips were so soft…so inviting—and every time you tried to briefly pull away to catch your breath, he was seeking your lips like he’d been starved for way too long, and the only thing satiating him was this.
Jake’s hand slid from your cheek into your hair, tilting your head just so, while the other pressed firm against the small of your back, bridging any remaining distance.
Heat curled low in your stomach as his tongue brushed yours, teasing, pulling a tiny, involuntary sound from your throat.
The sound made him groan into your mouth, kissing you harder, needier, until the room seemed to shrink around just the two of you.
You barely had time to catch your breath before his grip shifted—one strong arm hooking under your thighs, the other steady at your back.
In a swift, dizzying motion, he lifted you clean off the ground, your legs instinctively locking around his waist.
Jake barely pulled away from your mouth, even as he carried you, the kisses now messy, consuming, teeth grazing your lower lip before he tugged it gently between his.
You gasped, a sharp inhale against him, and he swallowed the sound like he’d been waiting for it.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan low in his chest—the vibration thrumming against your lips, down your throat, charging through you like static.
Jake’s hand slid higher along your back, palm splayed broad and possessive, holding you flush against him as if the closeness still wasn’t close enough.
The bed eventually sank under your weight as he leaned over you, the chill of the cotton sheets against your spine a quiet counterpoint to his solid frame.
He kissed you harder, tilting his head to deepen it, his tongue sweeping against yours with a deliberate fervor that made your legs tighten around him.
Your breath hitched when his teeth grazed your jaw, trailing marks along the skin as he dragged his mouth along your neck—every brush of his lips, every nip, sending shivers racing down your spine.
Jake murmured something against your skin, too low and ruined by a groan to catch, but the sound alone had your chest heaving.
Jake felt solid beneath your grip, steady even while you were falling apart, dizzy from the heady mix of stolen breath, and the throbbing ache between your legs.
When his lips returned to yours, it was reckless—your breathless sighs lost in it, swallowed whole as his hand snuck beneath your back and searched for the clasp of your bra.
Jake only pulled away to gauge your reaction, cautious enough to ask, “are you sure want me to—“
“Now’s not the time to be considerate,” You interrupted, voice breathless and edged with frustration.
“Geez,” he laughed against your mouth, “you’re kinda hot when you’re demanding.”
“I’m hot all the time,” you rolled your eyes, “now take the damn thing off.” That came out whinier than you intended it to be, but he obliged—pulling back just enough to slide the straps down your shoulders, the lace falling away completely.
For a moment, he just stared, and you watched his expression shift from playful to something darker—hungrier.
His throat worked as he swallowed hard.
“Fuck,” Jake said, voice rough. “Your tits are perfect.”
You felt a flush of pride and satisfaction despite yourself, “tell me something I don’t know.”
“I’m serious.” His hands came up to cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp.
“Like, I knew you were attractive, obviously, but this is—” He shook his head, seemingly at a loss for words. “This is unfair. You’re unfair.”
“Are you done admiring, or are we actually doing this?” Your voice came out as a breathless moan, your body already arching into his touch for more.
“Oh, we’re doing this.” Jake’s grin turned wicked as he lowered his head, his mouth trailing down your neck. “But I have to take my time enjoying this.”
“Jake—”
“Relax.” His lips brushed against your collarbone, trailing lower. “I said I’d make it worthwhile, remember? Trust me.”
You wanted to argue, and then Jake’s mouth closed over your nipple and your brain short-circuited completely.
“Oh fuck,” you breathed, hands flying to his hair, gripping the soft strands between your fingers.
Jake hummed against your skin, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body.
His tongue circled slowly, deliberately, while his hand worked your other breast with the same focused attention.
Your head fell back into the pillow with a soft broken moan, eyes falling shut as your lips went agape.
Okay, maybe him taking his time wasn’t the worst idea.
“Still want me to rush?” Jake asked, his voice smug as he switched sides, swirling and sucking on the sensitive bud with satisfied groans.
“Shut up,” you managed, between gasps.
“That’s what I thought.”
His hands slid down to your hips, fingers slipping into the waistband of your skirt. He pulled back to throw you a demanding look, “these need to come off,” he rasped.
You lifted your hips helpfully and without complaint, eager to eliminate any remaining barriers between you.
Jake made quick work of your small bottoms and underwear, stripping them away in one smooth motion, groaning at the sight of your arousal practically sticking to the lacy fabric.
Then he sat back on his heels, just looking at you laid out on your bed, completely bare before him.
“You’re staring.” You pointed out, trying to sound unaffected even as your skin prickled under his gaze.
You moved to close your legs, suddenly too aware of how exposed you were.
Jake’s hands caught your knees before they could come together, gently but firmly pushing them back apart. “I can’t help it.” His hands ran up your thighs, spreading them wider. “Such a pretty pussy.”
“Being a kiss ass isn’t necessary—”
“It’s not being a kiss ass if it’s true.” His fingers traced idle patterns on your inner thighs, maddeningly close to where you wanted him but not quite there.
“Jake, I swear to god, if you don’t—”
Your complaint died in a moan as his fingers finally, finally touched you where you needed him most, practically slipping between your slick folds with ease.
"You’re so—“ his voice died in his throat, eyes fluttering shut for a second as his cock painfully throbbed in the constraint of his jeans, a shuddery breath escaping his lips.
“So fucking wet." Jake groaned, his fingers sliding through her slickness. “Is this all for me?”
A ragged moan tore from your lips as he began to pump them inside you, barely giving you the chance to respond—grabbing at his shoulders as you tried to anchor yourself.
You struggled to form a proper sentence, your hips rocking in time with his fingers—too lost on the incredible sensation.
His fingers found your clit, rubbing it in erratic circles and your hand practically flew to his wrist, with a sharp cry.
"Fuck, right there." You moaned, “don’t stop.”
"Are you begging?" He smirked, his eyes gleaming as he watched your expression contort, pleasure rippling through your body. “I wish this could last forever.”
"Don’t—don’t look so smug about—oh fuck—”
Jake’s expression shifted entirely, eyes going dark and predatory in a way that made you clench around his fingers helplessly.
Then his pace slowed.
The focused attention that had been driving you toward the edge became something torturously gentle and maddeningly unhurried.
“Last warning (Y/N).” His tone irritatingly calm, “Be good for me or I stop and leave you like this.”
One slow, intentional curl of his fingers made you whimper, “and we both know you won’t come nearly as hard with your fingers.”
“Okay, I’ll behave—I’ll be good I swear,” you gasped out, any pretense of your control dissolving as your hips chased the rhythm he was denying you.
“Good.” His smirk was brief but devastating before he returned to a different pace, this time with no intent of stopping—plunging into until you were a moaning mess.
“That’s it. Just like that.” He growled, his thumb finding your clit again and rubbing it in torturous circles, sending sparks of pleasure through you. “Look at you.”
Your walls clenched around his fingers, helplessly bucking into his hand, the sound of your whimpers music to Jake’s ears as he pumped his fingers at a jaw dropping speed.
Your back arched, the coil inside you snapping, and waves of pleasure rolled over you as you came, a strangled cry tearing from your throat.
Jake eventually pulled his fingers out of you when your loud mewls reduced to whimpers—licking them clean, and the sight alone had you nearly begging him to finger fuck you again.
But he had better plans as the satisfying sight of him stripping met your hazy sight.
Your breath caught when Jake finally stripped off his jeans and boxers, your eyes widening slightly despite yourself.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
You’d known, theoretically, that Jake was…proportionate. Tall guy, athlete, the math checked out.
But theory and reality were two very different things, and reality was currently standing in front of you.
You clenched around nothing as you stared at his hard cock, the head glistening with pre-cum and wanted nothing more than to feel him inside you, stretching and filling you to the hilt—at least that’s what you’d hoped.
The last thing you needed was for a pretty cock to be rendered useless.
You were impressed and maybe slightly intimidated, swallowed thickly, a flutter of nervousness mixing with the sheer need for to be in you now.
Jake caught your expression, his expression softening into something gentler. “Hey. We don’t have to—”
“No,” you said way too quickly, meeting his eyes. “No, I want to. I just…give me a second.”
“Take all the time you need.” Jake moved over you, settling himself between your soaked folds, brushing it against your slick making your head spin.
“We’ll go slow.”
Slow, Jake thought, every muscle in his body tense with restraint. Right. Slow. He could do slow.
Except he wasn’t sure he could. Not when you were spread out beneath him looking like every fantasy he’d been trying not to have for three weeks.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
You nodded, before he grabbed this side of your face capturing your lips with his, stealing your air in a consuming, needy manner. Your arms looped around his neck, clinging as his mouth slanted deeper against yours.
You could feel him prodding at your center, aligning himself at your dripping entrance before he slowly slid in and both your mouths fell slack against each other as you both gasped at the sensation.
The stretch was intense, almost overwhelming, your body struggling to accommodate him. Jake moved incrementally, giving you time to adjust, and you could feel him shaking slightly with the effort of holding back.
“You okay?” Jake’s voice was strained and rough.
“Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah, keep going.”
Jake pushed in further, still maddeningly slow, and your nails dug into his shoulders with a small cry. It was almost too much, riding that edge between pleasure and pain but then it shifted—and you thought you were losing your mind.
“Holy shit,” Jake breathed, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You feel—fuck, (Y/N), you feel amazing.”
Your hips rolled experimentally, and Jake’s control nearly snapped. “Shit,” he hissed. “(Y/N), if you do that again—”
You did it again purely uncontrolled, drawing a broken moan from the both of you. “Fuck.” Jake’s hips jerked involuntarily, pulling out slightly before sliding back in, and you gasped.
He started to move then, slowly, setting a gentle rhythm that was meant to ease you into it. Long, measured strokes that had your breath hitching but weren’t quite enough.
You wanted more.
But you were also acutely aware that you would regret that tomorrow.
Hell, you’d probably regret it in an hour. Walking was going to be interesting. Sitting in class on Monday was going to be a nightmare.
But if you were only doing this once, then you wanted all of it.
“Jake,” you gasped out.
“Yeah?” His voice was breathless, his rhythm steady but clearly controlled.
“Stop—” you gripped his shoulders harder. “Stop being so gentle.”
Jake stilled, pulling back to look at you. “What?”
“I’m not—” your face flushed, but you held his gaze. “I’m not going to break.” You pulled him down, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Stop playing nice and fuck me properly.”
Jake went completely still for a heartbeat, his pupils blowing wide until his eyes looked almost black, “You sure?” His voice was rough, dangerous.
“Please,” you breathed, and that was all the green light he needed.
Jake slipped out of you before snapping into you, and your head tipped back with a broken moan.
He set a new pace—still controlled but no longer careful, his cock dragging along your walls with deliberate and powerful strokes—hitting spots inside you that made you see stars behind your eyelids.
Holy fucking shit.
You could feel him everywhere—deep, so deep you could barely breathe. Your body was stretched impossibly full, pleasure radiating out from your core in waves that made you shake.
It was good—so good—but that careful pace was driving you crazy.
“Jake,” you panted, your nails raking down his back. “Please” you struggled to form words, your brain short-circuiting with pleasure. “I want—I need—”
“Tell me.” Jake’s voice was rough, shockingly controlled despite everything. “Tell me what you need.”
Everything, you thought desperately. You needed everything.
“Faster,” you gasped out. “Please, Jake. Stop treating me like I’m fragile and just—fuck me.”
He shifted his grip, one hand sliding under your knee as he hooked your leg over his shoulder, opening you further as he slammed into you—over and over again.
“Like that?” Jake’s voice was rough, commanding.
“That what you wanted?”
“Yes—oh god—yes—” the cries practically tumbled out your lips at its own accord, dumbstruck by the punishing pace, all his careful restraint abandoned.
Your nails clawed at Jake’s back, his shoulders, anything you could reach marking his skin as he pounded into your relentlessly, reducing any coherent thoughts to pure overwhelming sensation
“Nobody’s ever made you feel like this, have they? Be honest.”
You shook your head. “So good, so good, so fucking good.”
The room echoed with desperate sounds of your voice, breathless moans and the obscene sounds of him pistoning into you.
You didn’t even notice you’d caught your lip between your teeth, trying to stifle the pathetic sounds, until Jake made a sound of disapproval, thumb dragging your lower lip, freeing it from your bite.
“Uh-uh, I want to hear you.” He demanded, watching you squirm beneath him with pathetic cries as he pounded into you, clenching around him like a vice.
“That’s it,” Jake growled. “Let me hear you. Want to hear you say my name.”
“Jake—Jake—oh my god, Jake—” your sounds pitched higher and higher, breaking into breathless pleas.
So much for one time, you thought.
“Fuck, (Y/N)—” Jake’s words dissolved into a groan. “So, so fucking perfect—”
You shattered, vision going blurry as your second orgasm crashed through you in waves so intense you couldn’t breathe or think.
You were wrecked, helplessly fluttering around him, distantly aware of screaming his name—probably loud enough for the entire floor to hear, but you were beyond caring.
The aftershocks rolled through your body, your mind completely white-static as your legs shaked uncontrollably—barely able to remember your own name, let alone form a sober thought.
But Jake—Jake was still moving, still buried inside you with no intent of stopping.
How the hell was he still going?
“Too much,” you whimpered, trying to push him away even though some deeper part of you absolutely did not want him to stop.
“I can’t—”
Jake caught your wrists gently but firmly, pinning them gently above your head with one hand.
His other hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he slowed his rhythm just slightly.
“Yes you can,” he said, his voice raspy and strained but somehow still demanding. “You can give me one more.”
Fuck. So close. Jake was so fucking close, and you felt incredible.
“I can’t,” you gasped, even as your body betrayed you, already building toward something else despite your protests.
The assailing sensation was intense—almost too much but not quite, toeing that perfect line between pleasure and overwhelm.
“You can,” Jake insisted, his free hand sliding down to grip your hip, holding you steady as he maintained that stupefying pace. “You’re doing so good, (Y/N). So fucking perfect. Just a little more, baby.”
Jake adjusted his angle slightly, hitting that heavenly spot inside you that made you feel dizzy all over again.
“That’s it,” Jake groaned, his grip on your wrists tightening slightly. “Feel so fucking good. You’re taking me so well.”
Your eyes fluttered close, your mouth open in a silent cry as the oversensitivity morphed into something else entirely, your body responding despite your exhausted protests, that familiar coil building again impossibly fast.
“Jake,” you gasped out, his name broken and desperate.
“I know. I know, baby.” His voice was wrecked now, losing that controlled edge. “Come with me. Need you to—fuck—need you to come with me.” His eyebrows drew together, his mouth falling open as his rhythm stuttered.
The steady, controlled movements were becoming erratic, punctuated by the gorgeous sounds of his deep groans, catching and transform into higher, breathier whimpers when you clenched around him.
The hand on your hip slid between you again, thumb finding you oversensitive clit, and you nearly screamed.
“Every sound you make—god, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” He whimpered breathlessly chasing his own release.
“Please,” Jake groaned, and you'd never heard him sound so desperate, so undone. “Please, (Y/N). One more. Give me one more.”
So pretty, your mind supplied hazily. He sounded so fucking pretty when he was losing control.
The combination of his fingers, his words, the way he was looking at you like you—it was too much.
You came apart again, harder this time, your vision whiting out as your whole body arched up into his as pleasure crashed over you in a surge that felt endless.
You felt Jake’s rhythm stutter, burying himself into you as he finally, finally found his own hit with a groan that sounded like it was torn from his chest.
You felt him pulse inside you, his whole body going rigid before collapsing against you, his face buried in your neck as he came with a sound that was absolutely the prettiest thing ever.
“Fuck.” His head dropped to your shoulder, his whole body shuddering, still holding your wrists above your head like he’d forgotten to let go.
Consciousness you lost for a brief second, the dark spots clouding your visions before they gradually faded away.
Both of you were trembling and gasping for air, your hearts pounding against each other.
Jake lifted his head slightly, his hair a complete disaster and his eyes still unfocused.
“You okay?”
You let out a breathless hazy laugh. “Ask me that question in five minutes.”
Jake’s laugh was weak but genuine, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before he carefully pulled out, both of you wincing slightly at the sensitivity, before collapsing beside you.
You laid there in silence for a moment, both trying to catch your breath.
“That—” you couldn’t even find words. “Jake, that was—”
“Yeah.” Jake echoed breathlessly.
Fucked.
Absolutely fucked. In every sense of the word, was what you were.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ summary :: being single in your teenage years made you miss out on many things, one of them being the kissing game with the soda flavored lipsticks. so, now that you finally have a boyfriend, you decide to play it. however, the game quickly escalates into something more...
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ genre :: smut (mdni!)
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ tags :: fingering, small fluff, missionary, p in v, jake is head over heels for y/n, squirting, small to no plot, pwp, kissing, making out, overstimulation, masturbation, protected sex, nicknames, cum eating, finger sucking, dry humping (kinda)
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ wc :: 3.1k
now playing :: kiss it better — rihanna
With the plastic box tugged under your arm, you typed in the message quickly as you were waiting for the traffic lights to turn green so you could finally rush home.
you : i got the thing. ill be home in probs like 5 mins.
You couldn't deny the nervousness that took over your body. The lights finally changed, and you snatched the box out from under your arms and threw it in your tote bag. You made your way to the other side of the road with quick steps, getting lost in the big New York crowd.
Just another busy Friday morning. Every person has a different goal. A different place they go to. Most probably go to work, but who knows? Maybe they are on their way to one of their loved ones in the hospital, or they are going on a date (even though it's eleven in the morning).
Personally, you were on your way to your new apartment. You freshly moved out of the college dorm to your own apartment, and it was pretty hard to pretend like you felt sad for your roommate while she was sobbing in your arms when you told her the news. The truth was that you were straight up cheesing inside the whole time. You couldn't wait to have your own personal space, without anyone interrupting your study sessions or series binge sessions. But the best part : you finally had enough time to be with your boyfriend alone.
Jake was your first ever boyfriend, which was a kinda embarrassing thing to admit at the age of twenty. However, you felt like you just entered your youth, even if it was late. You tried to ignore that part. People usually do cringy teenager type of things when they are sixteen, but you missed out on that.
You weren't the type to complain a lot, but one day you found yourself spilling your heart out to Jake about it while your head was in his lap, his fingers caressing your head as he nodded understandingly.
That's where the idea came from : the lipsmackers, now tossed in your bag next to your breakfast you got from the bakery on the corner of the street.
It was Jake’s idea. He said, and I quote “We should start doing those ‘cringy’ things, then”
You wanted to say ‘no’ so bad, because still, you are in college, a twenty year old independent woman who has a successful career in front of her. You almost did say no, but thinking it through, it can't hurt, right?
So, Jake made you write a list of things you missed out on when you were a teenager. The things your friends would brag about to you, knowing damn well you are a lonely loser. The things that made you so insecure you couldn't stop scratching your arms.
Lip Smackers were on top of the list. It was so nostalgic, at a time they were all over the stores. Well, you never had anyone to do it with. Until now.
You push down the bell next to your apartment door. Jake should be there, because he spent last night with you. You binged all the three Maze Runner movies, and neither of you noticed how much the time passed. By the time you finished, it was already four am.
Soon, the door opens and the most gorgeous boy you have ever seen in your life smiles at you. Then he steps closer and wants to press a kiss on your lips, but you stop him.
“Remember, no kissing” you say, teasingly. You and Jake decided to not kiss until you got the lipsticks. It was anticipating, because you made the list two days ago, and you kiss, like, all the time.
He rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips are tugging upwards “Someone is strict” he comments, leading you in the apartment and closing the door behind you.
You set your bag down by the table, pulling your breakfast and the plastic box out of it. Jake glances at it, then his eyes find you again. “So? When do we start? I don't think I can handle another day without kissing you”
He steps closer, grabbing you by your waist. And he moves dangerously close, his lips breezing your skin ever so slightly.
You look up at him, smiling “We can do it now”
⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
You fiddle with the box a bit before you can open it, your hands shaking. Jake is sitting on the bed in front of you, and you could tell he just can't wait, because his back is perfectly straight and he has his hands on his knees as they are crossed.
Your heart is thumping in your chest. You don't even know how to play this game properly. It sounds so dumb — a grown woman being anxious to play a kissing game with her boyfriend. It's straight up ridiculous. But the lipsticks bring back so many memories, and most of them being bad, you just can't help your feelings.
When you finally manage to get the lipsticks out of the box, you look up at Jake.
“Okay. Cover your eyes. And don't cheat” You tell him, and he nods as he lowers his head and buries his head in his hands.
You look down at the six different lipsticks, indicated in vivid colors. You end up picking the sprite one first. As you apply it on your lips, you taste it a little bit, the sweet flavor getting on your tongue. It tastes horrible, like every candy from the 2000s. It's not much of a surprise.
You throw the green bottle back to the other ones, mixing them together.
“You can look now,” You insist.
Jake looks up faster than the speed of light, his eyes landing on your glistening lips. He's so freaking cute when he's all excited but can't get what he wants yet.
You smile softly “You are really excited”
“I am” he doesn't deny it, he gets on his knees so he can crawl towards you.
He moves slowly, almost hesitant like it's your first kiss ever. Like it's his first kiss ever. He gulps nervously, Adam's apple bobbing visibly in his throat. Jake leans down and presses his soft lips onto yours. He doesn't move at first, and you don't either, because you have no idea what to do.
After a few moments, you feel his tongue darting out and licking your bottom lip. He grabs onto your shoulders and pulls you closer to taste it better, but his tongue only licks your lips and he's very careful with it.
He pulls back, looking up for a moment. “Hm” he humms, thinking “I think… Sprite? Maybe?”
You nod heavily, feeling your cheeks getting red. “You got it right on the first try. That's good”
“Alright, next one” He hurries, lowering his head again.
You let out a small laugh, picking out the next lipstick. You hesitate for a moment, should it be Coca Cola or Fanta? Coca cola is an iconic flavor, he would get it fast, meaning he wouldn't kiss you for long… But Fanta is his favorite. Maybe he would get that even faster.
But again, Fanta is his favorite. Bingo.
You pick up the neon orange bottle with more confidence now, smearing it all over your lips. Once. Then twice. Then thrice.
“I'm done” You smile and close your eyes, this game is so fun after all.
You keep your eyes closed but hear the bed creaking under his weight as he crawls closer again. He's so so slow, it makes you want to pull him closer as fast as possible. It feels like he's doing it on purpose.
He leans down, your eyes are still closed. You feel his hot breath hitting your skin, your slick lips offered to him. His lips feel softer this time on yours, he kisses you like he's trying to hold back. You know it, it happened before. It makes you feel a little more excited, knowing he's trying his best to control himself.
He licks your lips again. Once, then twice. Jake tilts his head slightly and licks your lips once again, this time he licks into your mouth. It's a bit awkward, he’s hesitant with it, but you let him. His hands find the side of your burning hot cheeks, and he tilts your head upwards for more availability. The angle feels better now, and you straight up make out at this point. His tongue finds yours continuously, and his lips are moving hungryly on yours.
He kneels between your legs, but you feel him crawl closer, gesturing you to move back. And you do, until your back hits the bedframe. The kiss never breaks, his movements are far away from hesitant. Jake moves his hands from your cheeks to your waists, squeezing it slightly.
“This one is… good…” he manages to spit out, then he dives onto the softness of your lips again.
Jake bites down your bottom lip, and you can't stop a small moan from getting out. You let your hands wander and you ran them through his soft brown hair, grabbing onto the back of his head to push him closer.
His hands feel hot against your skin as he pushes your shirt upwards.
He breaks the kiss, and you finally open your eyes to meet his. His pupils are blown wide and his whole face is red like he's tipsy, drunk on your lips. Not to talk about his glossy lips, the lipstick messily smeared all around his mouth, some of it on his cheeks.
“Can I take this off?” He asks softly, tugging your shirt.
You nod and help him, then your eyes flick to his yellow-black striped shirt. A silent gesture, but he gets what you want immediately and takes it off. He tosses both of the shirts aside and fiddles with his zipper. Your eyes track his every movement.
“Fuck” he cusses when he finally unbuttons his jeans and pulls it down, throwing it aside.
The next thing you know is that he’s on your neck, sucking on the smooth skin. It will probably leave marks later.
He works his way down with his mouth, and you take a deep sigh before you look down at his back, watching how his back muscles flex with every movement, every time he leans lower and every time he moves his hands on your hips.
“Jake… Please” you beg. He looks up at you, his fingers hooking onto your pants as he pulls them down without teasing.
His tone is soft when he asks “Please what, angel?”
You swallow, squirming in your place “I want you”
He smirks up, and moves back up to kiss you. As he kisses you, he still feels the vague taste of the Fanta on his tongue. He grinds his hips down, you feel his bulge against your panties, fabric to fabric.
“What do you want from me? Be specific?” He tilts his head, looking at you with those big puppy eyes.
You are sure you are about to melt. Why is he soft and cute, but also so handsome and hot at the same time? How is that possible?
You lick your lips, looking down at his body hovering above you. “I want you inside of me, please, Jake” you whisper.
He smiles, grinding down again. His bulge presses to your wet panties, the fabric is — gosh — so thin.
“Hm, what a nasty girl…” he mumbles, kissing on your cheek. “I gotta prepare you for that, then, because I don't think you can take it right away”
He drags a line with his index finger across your chest, between your breasts, across your stomach, and then he plays with the lace of your panties for a while. Jake sees the anticipation on your face, and it makes him nearly laugh. He ends up letting out a small giggle as he pulls the panties down.
How could he ever tease you rudely when you look at him so softly?
He circles on your wet clit, and you let your head fall back on the bedframe. When you are about to catch your breath and get yourself together, you feel two of his long fingers sliding inside your dripping hole. Your hand flies to grab his muscular arm, letting out a moan.
“Jake!” you scream when he curls his fingers inside, just the right way. He moves them fastly, setting up a rhythm. You clench around his fingers, the stretch makes you see stars when he scissors his fingers impatiently.
As he plumps his fingers inside with his right hand, he holds you in place with his other one, his thumb caressing your stomach.
When you are about to burst, your mind going dizzier than ever, he pulls his fingers out.
You take deep breaths, chest rising and falling heavily. He moves his hand up to your face and pushes his fingers inside of your mouth suddenly, forcing you to suck on them. Your mind is already so fucked up that you just do whatever he tells you to do. “Good…good girl” he mumbles, the sight of you sucking on his digits and tasting yourself turning him on more than it should be.
“Do you think you are ready now?” Jake asks but he's already pulling his boxers down, out of breath.
You nod, and watch him as he reaches to the bedside table and pulls out a condom and lube. He rolls up the condom and smears lube over his cock, making it slippery. Jake lines up against your entrance and he sucks his breath in as he pushes in. He always does this, you’ve noticed it already.
You moan as your muscles tense, grabbing the sheets next to you to keep yourself steady. He stops, a small whine leaving his mouth.
“Are you okay?” He eyes you up and down, and his gaze sets on your face. You look at him, your eyes half lidded and your gaze hazy.
“Yeah” you breath, barely audible.
But Jake hears it, and he starts to move slowly. Even though he stretched you out with his fingers, you still feel like your walls are about to break at any moment.
You arch your back as he pushes again and bottoms out slowly. You feel him slightly shaking, a sign that he's still trying to control himself.
His shaky breaths caresses your skin.
“Jake” you mumble out, and he immediately looks at you. “You can go faster” you add.
You don't need to tell him twice, he picks his pace up and starts going in a faster rhythm, kneeling up on the bed so he can fuck inside you deeper.
You moan out his name as he spreads your legs wider and lifts your hips. This angle makes it better to reach your G spot with every thrust, his movements getting smoother, the lube helping him out a lot.
“So pretty and tight for me” Jake digs his nails onto your calves and moves them around his waist, gesturing you to lock them around him so he can get deeper. And you do it, trying to ignore the fact that your legs are beginning to give up and tremble.
Jake moves effortlessly in and out of you, and you open your teary eyes to look up at him, watching as he bites down his bottom lip. His muscles tense and flex with every move, and he keeps his eyes on your smooth wetness between your legs. The lube is mixed with your juices by now, and he can't get enough of the sight.
The bed creacks every time he bottoms out, the bed frame hitting the wall progressively. You grab the sheets like your life depends on it, the lipsticks slowly rolling to the edge of the bed until they fall down on the floor with a thud.
You feel how you are falling apart slowly, your legs are undeniably trembling. Jake moves his hands from under your thighs to the curve of your ass, caressing in slightly.
“Take it” he commands, thrusting hard.
“Shit, Jake I’m going to—” without being able to finish the sentence, it happens. It's so sudden that you don't even realize what happens.
Not until Jake stops his movements and pulls out. He leans down and presses a kiss on your neck, giggling “I didn't know I could make you squirt”
You widen your eyes, the adrenaline still rushing through your body when you look down at your legs. Jake kneels up again and starts to stroke himself, looking at your pussy being covered in your juices you squirted out. Jake is also covered in it, his dick and abdomen glistering.
Jake whimpers as he strokes himself, biting down his bottom lip. He comes into the condom with a whine escaping his lips a few moments later. He spanks your cunt with his dick, slightly pushing it between your wet folds. Then, he collapses onto the bed and steadies himself by putting his palms next to you on the bed.
You are still dizzy and high by your enormous orgasm, probably your biggest one yet. You are also kinda shocked and embarrassed by how you ruined the sheets, but it seems like Jake isn't bothered by it.
He lays down next to you, exhausted. You both turn to look at each other on the bed, just watching each other gasping for air.
“I'm… sorry” you say after a few silent minutes, referring to the way your sheets are all wet now.
“Sorry? You don't have to be sorry” Jake smiles at your awkwardness. “This was probably our best session yet, if you’d ask me”
You can't help but smirk at that. “Yeah?”
Jake nods “Yes. Next time we play this guessing game we should spice it up a little”
You cock an eyebrow “Spice it up? This wasn't spicy enough?”
“What I mean is that next time you should put it on your other lips”
Your jaw nearly drops, and you hit his arm playfully. You try to hide how the idea doesn't make you disgusted at all, no, you will probably even think of it more than you should later.
“You are such a freak, Jake Sim”
“But you love it” he leans closer, pressing a kiss on your forehead.
And you smile, feeling blessed that you have such a good boyfriend you can do things like this with. “I do”
elle’s thoughts ❀ hi! i’m playing around with different themes and formatting, so sorry if it’s been changing a lot. anyway, i hope you enjoy this little drabble :) there’s gonna be a part two of them actually getting caught, so click here for that.
tap to read more ◡̈
Jake felt like he was going to die.
At least, that’s what you thought when you saw the look spread across his face during dessert. You were at his parents’ house in Australia for the first time, surrounded by his extended family members who had gathered to celebrate Christmas. With Jake’s busy schedule as an idol, it was difficult to find time to visit his family, and you were both so glad to finally be there.
However, because of the large influx of people staying at his parents’ house, you and Jake had been forced to share a room with a few of his younger cousins, which put a damper on your very active sex life. Normally, Jake couldn’t keep his hands off of you, but now? He was lucky if he got the chance to hug you before getting pulled into some random task or game. He looked like the lack of sex was actually going to kill him.
You supposed that was how you ended up in the backyard of his parents house after dark, Jake pressing you against a large eucalyptus tree and kissing you like a man starved. Despite the sun having gone down, it was summer in Australia, meaning it was still incredibly hot outside. You were sweating profusely despite the thin dress you wore, and your steamy make out session with your boyfriend wasn’t helping at all.
You had been worried when Jake had pulled you outside, as you knew that anyone could walk out of the house and find you two there, but you knew how badly Jake needed this. How badly you needed it too.
“It’s been torture not being able to have you to myself,” Jake murmured against your lips between kisses. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive the next few days before we go home.”
He dove back in, reconnecting your lips. His tongue brushed along your top lip, and you opened your mouth to allow him inside. He explored your mouth with his tongue, a soft moan escaping him as he did so.
“What if someone sees us?” you asked against his lips.
“They won’t,” he responded, his hands desperately grasping your hips. “They’re watching a movie, and you can’t see outside from the house after dark.”
“You promise?”
Jake pulled back slightly, lust clouding his eyes. “Promise.”
“Okay, fine,” you moaned as his mouth made contact with the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “But you have to be quick.”
“It’s been so long since we’ve fucked that I’ll probably cum in less than a minute,” he mumbled, his lips ghosting over your neck. “Is that quick enough for you?”
You groaned in response as Jake’s hand found its way up your thigh. His fingers slipped under the skirt of your dress, and you let out a sharp inhale as his fingers grazed the wetness between your thighs.
“So wet already?” he asked, glancing up at you.
“Did you expect me not to be?” you huffed.
“Not that fast.”
“You’re not the only one who’s been missing sex, you know. Just looking at you makes me wet these days.”
Jake’s eyes flared, a look of possessive hunger flashing across his face before he dove back in. He littered your neck and collarbones with kisses, his fingers slowly rubbing over your clit through your panties. You let out a series of quiet sounds, your hands roaming up and down his back to feel as much of him as possible. It had been too long since you had been able to touch Jake like this, and you would take full advantage of it while you could.
“I wanna be inside you so bad, baby,” Jake said, his breath coming out in hot puffs against your skin.
“What’s stopping you?”
Jake raised his eyes to yours, and he only looked at you for a second before your hands found their way to his shorts, quickly undoing the button and zipper before pulling them down just far enough to release his aching cock. He shuddered as the warm evening air hit him, and he lowered his hand to pump himself a few times.
“I need you,” you whispered, connecting your lips with Jake’s hungrily. The ache between your legs was becoming unbearable, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could wait to be filled by your boyfriend. It no longer mattered to you where you were, or that anyone could find you. Every cell in your body was screaming for Jake, and your patience was wearing thin.
Jake released his cock, instead using his hand to grasp the back of your thigh. He lifted your leg up just enough to allow him to fit there, and he pushed your panties to the side before pressing his tip against your entrance.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice wrecked with want.
“Yes,” you breathed, feeling yourself pulsing against his tip. “Please, Jake.”
This was all the encouragement he needed. He slowly slid his cock into your wet folds, and you both let out simultaneous moans as he filled you. Once he was buried to the hilt, he leaned forward and rested his forehead on your shoulder.
“Holy fuck,” he groaned. “I’m not gonna last very long.”
“It’s okay,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as you ran your hand through his soft hair. “We can always sneak out again later and do it again.”
Jake lifted his head, a devious smile spreading across his face. “I love the way you think, y/n. We might just have to.”
After a brief pause, Jake began to thrust slowly inside you, the sound of cicadas in the trees around you almost concealing the sharp breaths and wet noises of his cock sliding in and out of you.
“Feels s’ fuckin’ good,” Jake whimpered, his hand still tightly grasping the soft flesh of your thigh to keep it raised. The bark of the tree was digging into your skin with each thrust, but you didn’t care. The only sensation you could focus on was the delicious pleasure of Jake moving between your legs.
“Oh my god, Jake,” you said, throwing your head back as his thrusts grew faster. With every snap of his hips, he buried himself fully inside you, and you were utterly addicted to the feeling of being filled with each thrust. Waves of pleasure rolled through your body, and you connected your lips with Jake’s, your hot breaths mingling with his as you swallowed his moans.
You were both growing sweatier by the moment, as the scorching summer night air pressing around you only combined with the rapid movements of your bodies rolling together. Jake’s hair was becoming more damp by the second, but you didn’t care. You were having the hottest sex of your life in every way possible.
“I’m getting close,” Jake whined, raising his free hand and bracing it on the trunk just behind your shoulder. With his other hand, he still grasped your leg, and you knew there would be bruises there tomorrow, but you didn’t care. Those bruises would serve as a reminder of just how desperately Jake had needed you, and just the thought turned you on more than you already were.
Jake squeezed his eyes shut, his length rubbing against the delicious spot inside you that had you seeing stars. With each wild buck of his hips, you let out a clipped moan, and you could tell that your obscene sounds were driving him even closer towards his release.
“I-I think I’m gonna c-cum with you,” you stuttered, pressing your forehead to Jake’s.
“That’s so fuckin’ hot,” he ground out. “I’m so close, baby. You’re getting me so close.”
You swore viciously as you felt your orgasm rising within you, and Jake could tell you were about to cum. He dropped his hand and began to furiously rub your clit, and that was all you needed. Your orgasm crashed over you, your pussy spasming around Jake’s cock. He immediately began to cum inside you with a loud cry, and he fell forward against you as he emptied his load deep inside.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. You were both trying to regain your breath after your outdoor encounter, and after a bit, Jake began to laugh.
“What are you laughing at?” you asked, a slow smile spreading across your face.
“I can’t believe we just did that, that’s all,” he panted, still inside you. He raised his head, looking at you with so much love and affection that you felt your heart swell. “And we’re gonna do it again later.”
You were about to respond when you heard the back door of the house open, and you both froze.
“Jake? Y/n? Are you guys out here?” his dad called.
Jake swore under his breath, quickly pulling out of you and zipping up his pants. You smoothed his hair, trying to make sure it looked as if you hadn’t just been running your hands through it.
“Yeah, we are,” Jake called. He stepped out from behind the tree, allowing you a moment to make yourself decent. “I was just showing her this huge tree. I was telling her all the stories about how we used to fight in the branches as kids.”
“Ah, good memories,” his dad chuckled. “Well, we’re about to put a movie on, and your cousins want you to join us.”
“Gotcha, we’ll be right there.” Jake flashed his world-famous smile at his dad, and you felt your heart flutter. “Gotta finish my story real quick.”
“Take your time, we’ll wait.”
After that, you heard the door close, and Jake slowly turned to look at you. You both burst out laughing.
“Do you think he heard us?” you asked.
“God, I hope not,” Jake laughed. He held out a hand for you. “C’mon, let’s go watch the movie. Then we can come out here for part two when everyone else goes to bed. Deal?”
𝓦𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍⠀ ✶ ⠀after one too many drinks at a crowded house party, you and sim jaeyun slip away to an empty guest room, unable to ignore the tension that's been building between you all night. what starts as a desperate attempt to steal a few private moments quickly turns into an intense, messy encounter fueled by alcohol, mutual desire, and jake's inability to keep his hands, or his mouth, off you.
𝟏𝟕𝟐𝟕 🗯️ ✽ ─── ⏾ 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 sim jaeyun⠀x ⠀ 𝓯 ! rea ´ ꒳ ` 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : established relationship ˒ porn without a plot ˒ drunk sex ˒ possessive behavior ˒
𝔀𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : explicit sexual content ⋮ 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀, 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 ✿ mutual intoxication ˒ creampie ˒ unprotected p in v ˒ riding ˒ dirty talk ˒ praise kink ˒ breeding kink ˒ tit play ˒ cum play ˒ body worship ˒ breast sucking ˒
𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬⠀ ✶ ⠀ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭
🪩 。 𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 jake jake jake jake ^__^ wrote this because i was trapped on a 2 hour long trip <//3 i need jake so bad it’s not even ok anymore
The party is at an all-time high.
So are you.
Three shots of tequila and two cups of whatever-the-fuck punch they mixed in that kitchen have you floating, warm-blooded, syrupy-limbed, skin buzzing like a live wire.
The bass rattles through the floorboards and up through the bed you're straddling Jake on, locked inside some stranger's guest room while the party roars on downstairs, and you cannot bring yourself to care. Not when Jake is underneath you, looking up at you with those dark, drunken, half-lidded eyes, hands already sliding up your waist toward your chest like they've been trying to do all goddamn night.
"Fuck—baby, you're so big, mmph—oh—" you moaned out while Jake rubs tight circles on your clit, biting his lip down.
Your skirt is bunched around your waist, underwear pulled to the side, and his cock is buried so deep inside you that you can feel him in your stomach. He'd already been hard when you shut the door, had been pressing into your thigh the whole walk up the stairs, groaning against your neck about how he'd been staring at your tits since you walked in and couldn't take it anymore. Now you're on top of him and he's watching you with this feral, reverent look, thumb working your clit in those tight, devastating circles while you try to remember how to breathe.
"That's it," he rasps, voice whiskey-rough and low. "Ride me just like that. God, you feel so fucking good—" His free hand slides up your waist and cups your breast over your bra, squeezing roughly, thumb dragging across the fabric to find your nipple. You clench around him on instinct and he hisses, hips bucking up into you. "Oh, you like that? Squeezed me so hard just from me touching your tit."
He doesn't wait for an answer. He yanks your bra cup down and your breast spills free, nipple already stiff, and Jake groans like he's been dying for this. "Fuck. Look at you. Been thinking about these all night, you know that? Every time you leaned over the counter, every time you laughed and they bounced a little." He rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging gently, then harder, watching your face contort. "Wanted to put my mouth on them so bad it was making me fucking stupid."
He sits up abruptly, one arm wrapping around your waist to keep you seated on his cock, and buries his face in your chest. His mouth finds your nipple and latches on, hot and hungry, tongue swirling over the peaked bud with a groan that vibrates straight through your skin. His other hand stays between your legs, fingers still working your clit in those maddening circles, and the sensation has you arching into him with a broken, pitchy moan.
"Jake—oh my god—"
"Yeah?" He pulls off just long enough to speak, lips brushing your slick nipple, breath hot and damp. "You like when I suck on your pretty nipples like this?" He does it again — sucks hard, flicks his tongue rapidly, then releases with a wet pop. "Hmm? Is that what gets you off, baby? Me worshipping these gorgeous fucking tits while you ride my dick?"
You can't even answer. You just grind down on him harder, clenching and rolling your hips, chasing the friction on your clit and the stretch of him inside you and the obscenity of his mouth on your breast. He switches to the other one without ceremony, pulling the bra cup down and sucking your nipple in deep, humming against your skin like he's savoring it.
"Can't wait to get you home," he murmurs against the swell of your breast, kissing the soft skin wetly, dragging his tongue along the underside where it's sensitive and full. "Gonna keep you in bed all weekend. Not gonna let you put a shirt on. Gonna breastfeed from you for hours, baby. Gonna have my mouth on these tits until you're crying."
You whimper, high and desperate, and his fingers on your clit speed up in reward. "Good girl," he breathes, and the praise hits you like a drug, makes your cunt flutter around his cock so hard he groans and drops his head back against the pillow. "Hell—you're so good. So perfect for me. My perfect girl with the prettiest pussy and the most gorgeous tits I've ever seen in my entire life."
He thrusts up into you, hard, and the angle shifts so he's grinding against your front wall and your eyes roll back. "Oh—fuck, right there—"
"Right here?" He does it again, rolling his hips deep and slow, thumb pressing firmer on your clit. "You like when I hit that spot? When I fill you up and play with your pussy at the same time?" He sits up again, one hand on your hip and the other on your breast, squeezing and kneading, thumb rubbing your nipple in slow, deliberate circles. "Mm, you like it when I rub your nipples in circles like this, is that it? That’s what makes my good girl go fucking dumb on my cock?"
Your mouth drops open but nothing comes out except a shattered, breathy whine. He grins, wrecked and cocky, and does it again, tighter circles, pinching at the peak of each rotation, and your whole body shudders.
"Yeah, that's it. Can't even talk, can you? Too busy feeling good?" He pulls you down against his chest and wraps both arms around you, burying himself impossibly deeper, and starts fucking up into you in short, grinding thrusts that drag his cock against every sensitive inch of you. His mouth finds your ear, lips brushing the shell of it, breath hot and damp. "You're so fucking wet, baby. I feel you dripping on me. Making a mess all over my cock. Such a messy girl. My messy, perfect, pretty girl."
"Jake—mmph—" You don't even know what you're asking for. More? Everything? Him? Your nails dig into his shoulders and he groans, low and animal, hips stuttering.
"Hmm? Use your words, baby. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours."
"Want you to—keep talking—don't stop—"
He laughs against your ear, breathless and dark. "Oh, you like my voice? Like when I tell you how good you feel? How tight your pussy is? How I've been fantasizing about your tits all night and now they're right here in my hands and I'm never letting go?" He squeezes them both for emphasis, pressing them together, and you nearly sob. "I'm gonna come so deep inside you, baby. Gonna fill you up until it's dripping down your thighs. You want that? Want me to breed this pretty pussy?"
"Yes—god, yes—fill me up—"
"Yeah? Want my cum inside you? Want me to pump you full until you're leaking?" His rhythm turns ragged, desperate, hips snapping up into you harder, faster, chasing it. His hands slide down to grip your ass, spreading you open so he can get even deeper, and the new angle has you keening against his neck. "I’m gonna give it to you. Gonna give you every fucking drop. You're mine. This pussy is also mine. These tits are mine. Everything about you is mine and I'm gonna ruin you for anyone else."
You're right there, right on the edge, teetering, every nerve white-hot and coiled tight. His thumb finds your clit again and presses hard, rubbing in fast little side-to-side strokes that short-circuit your brain completely.
"Come for me," he growls against your jaw. "Come on my dick like a good girl. Let me feel it."
Your whole body seizes, cunt clamping down on him so tight he chokes on a groan, and you come with a loud, wrecked cry that you'd be embarrassed about if you weren't too far gone to care. The pleasure rips through you in waves, hot and endless, and you're dimly aware of Jake fucking up into you through it, chasing his own release with guttural, broken sounds.
"Fuck—fuck—I'm gonna—baby, I'm—" He slams up into you one last time and buries himself deep, cock pulsing as he comes with a long, shuddering groan, spilling hot and thick inside you. You can feel it — feel every rope of it, the heat of it flooding your walls, pooling so deep you swear you can taste it. He holds you there, arms locked around you, hips twitching through the aftershocks, face buried in your neck and breathing hard.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. Just panting. Just the muffled bass from the party below and the sound of your breathing slowly evening out.
Then Jake lifts his head and looks at you with those hazy, fucked-out eyes, and grins like a man who just got everything he wanted.
"Best tits I've ever seen in my life," he murmurs, and kisses your collarbone. Then the swell of your breast. Then your nipple. "And I'm gonna be thinkin' about 'em until I'm eighty years old."
You shift to climb off him and wince at the overstimulation, and when his cock slips out of you, a thick, warm trickle of his cum follows — oozing out of your pussy in a slow, heavy drip that lands on his stomach. You both look down at it, and Jake exhales a shaky breath through his teeth, eyes darkening all over again.
"Look at that," he whispers, wrecked and hungry. "Look at what I did to you. That's mine. You're mine." He reaches down and swipes two fingers through the mess between your thighs, gathering the cum leaking out of you, and pushes it back inside with a slow, deliberate curl of his fingers that makes you whimper and clench around him. "Keep it in. I want it to stay in. I want you walking around this party with my cum inside you for the rest of the night so you remember who you belong to."
His fingers curl again, pressing against that spot, and your thighs tremble. He watches your face with dark, satisfied eyes, thumb brushing your clit just once, just enough to make you jolt and gasp, before pulling his hand away and bringing his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a hum.
"Goddamn," he says, casual as anything, like he didn't just rearrange your entire nervous system. "You taste good with me inside you."
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
written for the heart’s mailroom event ! ༊
⌗ in which . . . a cozy evening together with your clingy, affectionate fiancé park jongseong turns into another one of his teasing interruptions, quietly ruining the sweetness of an otherwise domestic moment between you two
流星 ໑ . . fiance!jay ⋆ fem!reader
⌗ includes . . . smut (18+), established relationship, dom!reader ⋆ sub!jay, oral sex (m. receiving), cockwarming, grinding, riding, unprotected sex (don't), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, heavy praise, creampie, blowjob, cum swallowing, dirty talk, teasing ➜ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ♡ purely a work of fiction, none of this reflects reality | wc: 5.7k
♪ el’s bubble: love love mi a jay fic (this has been in my drafts for a few days & i believe she's ready for the wilderness) !!! lowk because that tiktok trend has been terrorizing my whole ass fyp but i just got back home after a crazy ass side quest so #YOLO . . requested, thank you so muchi (❁´◡`❁) enjoy — likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply appreciated on here ♡ requests are open if you want to see me write something specific ۫
now playing . . . nothing by cigarettes after sex
If there was one thing you wouldn’t have ever expected to do, that would have been dating and eventually getting engaged to someone who was younger than you.
The difference, if you could even call it that, was only about a year.
It was funny, really, because ever since you were a kid, you had always imagined yourself ending up with someone older. Someone who would naturally take the lead, someone steady and mature and a little ahead of you in life. Even in high school, whenever your friends asked about your type, your answer was always the same. Older guys. Maybe someone in the same year if you really liked them, but never younger.
Then you met Jay in your university’s music club and suddenly none of that mattered anymore.
At first, it was purely superficial. You noticed him because he was ridiculously attractive. The kind of attractiveness that made people glance twice without even realizing they were doing it. Pretty in an unfair way. Sharp eyes, nice hands, effortless smile, sharp jawline, and that annoying habit of looking good no matter what he wore, whether it was an oversized hoodie during practice or a plain black polo during performances.
You remembered seeing him for the first time during club orientation, sitting lazily in the corner with a guitar resting against his thigh while someone else talked. He wasn’t even doing anything special. He just looked up for a second when somebody called his name, and you thought, oh, he’s handsome.
Then someone mentioned he was younger than you.
Immediately, your brain filed him away into the category of off-limits. Attractive, yes, but he’s younger, and younger boys weren’t your type.
Still, Jay had this way of slipping past your expectations without permission.
Maybe it was because he never acted younger around you. He carried himself with this quiet confidence that made it easy to forget the age gap entirely. Another possibility was the way he listened when you talked, genuinely listened, eyes fixed on you like he cared about every word coming out of your mouth.
If the two of you were standing side by side, most people assumed he was older.
You looked softer compared to him somehow. Friendlier. Easier to approach. Meanwhile, Jay had this composed aura about him that made him seem older than he actually was, especially when he stayed quiet. People always reacted the same way after finding out your ages.
“Wait, he’s younger than you?”
Every single time.
Every single time, Jay looked way too pleased hearing it too.
The more practices you attended together, the more your carefully built preferences started crumbling apart.
You found yourself looking for him first whenever you entered the club room. Saving the seat beside you without thinking. Waiting for his texts longer than you should have.
The worst part was realizing that despite being younger, Jay somehow made you feel more taken care of than anyone older ever had.
Which was ironic, considering you had spent most of your life being the one taking care of other people.
Being the eldest daughter in your family came with responsibilities whether you liked it or not. You grew up reminding your siblings to eat breakfast before school, checking if they brought umbrellas when it rained, nagging them to sleep earlier, helping with assignments that weren’t even yours. Half your personality had probably been built around making sure everyone around you was okay.
It was exhausting sometimes.
It also became second nature eventually.
Jay, for some reason, seemed to love that part of you.
Not because he was immature or incapable of taking care of himself. If anything, Jay was annoyingly competent on his own. He cooked better than you sometimes, carried heavier equipment during performances without complaining, remembered deadlines before anyone else did.
Still, he softened under your care in a way that made your chest ache.
He liked when you reminded him to eat after long rehearsals. Liked when you fixed his hair absentmindedly before performances. Liked when you scolded him for staying up too late working on arrangements.
Sometimes he would deliberately rest his head on your shoulder after practice and sigh dramatically just to hear you fuss over him.
“You’re tired?” you’d ask immediately.
He’d smile without opening his eyes. “A little.”
It was embarrassing how fast you folded every single time.
Your friends noticed it before you did. The way Jay gravitated toward you naturally, like he had already decided you were someone safe to lean on. The way he accepted your care without ego getting in the way.
Most men hated being fussed over too much. Their pride got bruised easily.
Jay, meanwhile, looked at you like being cared for was one of his favorite things in the world.
Maybe that was what ruined you completely.
For the first time, taking care of someone didn’t feel like responsibility. It felt wanted. Desired, even.
Every little thing you did for him mattered.
A few years passed quicker than you expected them to.
University ended, the music club slowly faded into memory, and somehow, through all of it, Jay stayed.
Now the two of you were engaged, living together in a condominium unit that finally started feeling like home instead of just a place to sleep in. His shoes stayed abandoned near the doorway no matter how many times you told him to fix them properly, his guitar picks appeared in random places around the apartment, and half of your closet had quietly become his.
Jay came from money. That much was obvious early on. Nice family, expensive upbringing, connections everywhere. People usually assumed life had been easy for him because of it.
What they didn’t see was how ridiculously hardworking he was.
Even back in university, Jay had never been lazy. He was the type to stay up until three in the morning finishing projects perfectly instead of settling for “good enough.” Now it was late meetings, endless calls, hours spent working on his laptop at the dining table until his shoulders started hurting.
Money gave him comfort, sure, but it never made him complacent.
If anything, Jay worked harder than most people you knew.
Ironically, the same man everyone found intimidating at first glance turned out to be the clingiest person alive behind closed doors.
You could literally be folding laundry on the couch only for him to walk over silently and drop his full weight onto you without warning.
You used to think dating someone younger meant you would always have to act more mature, more composed, more responsible.
Instead, you ended up with a fiancé who looked intimidating enough to scare strangers but secretly wanted to be babied half the time.
Not that you were complaining.
Truthfully, you had grown embarrassingly fond of the way Jay always seemed to seek you out first. The way he naturally gravitated toward you after long days, arms wrapping around your waist before he even said hello properly. The way he rested his head on your shoulder whenever he got tired, quietly waiting for you to run your fingers through his hair.
Maybe being the eldest daughter your entire life wired something into you permanently.
Maybe Jay simply fit into that space too perfectly.
Either way, somewhere between university practices, late-night ramen runs, and years spent loving each other, taking care of him became the easiest thing in the world.
The kitchen smelled insanely good already.
Butter sizzling in the pan, garlic frying until golden, Cajun seasoning coating practically every surface you touched because you kept shaking it onto things without measuring properly anymore. A massive pot of seafood sat nearby waiting to be mixed in while several corn cobs cooled on a tray beside you, covered generously in butter and spices.
“This is gonna change your life,” you announced seriously while cutting another lemon in half. “I’m not even joking when I say this is literally going to be the best meal of your life.”
Jay leaned against the kitchen counter watching you with the most entertained expression on his face.
“Our life, rather,” you corrected. “I’ve perfected everything already.”
“You say that every time you cook seafood, baby.”
“Because every time, I improve it.”
A quiet laugh left him.
Jay was an exceptionally good cook himself. Annoyingly good, actually. The type who somehow made everything look easy no matter how complicated the recipe was.
Still, he always insisted your seafood tasted better.
Not even just seafood either. Practically everything you made.
Every meal turned into the same thing eventually. Jay praising every bite like you personally invented cooking.
At first you thought he was exaggerating to be nice. Then you realized he genuinely just loved being taken care of by you. Loved sitting at the counter while you cooked, stealing ingredients from the chopping board until you smacked his hand away. Loved hearing you ask if the food needed more seasoning even though both of you already knew he would inhale the entire thing regardless.
“You know,” you said while stirring the sauce carefully, “sometimes I think you just hype up my cooking because you want me to keep feeding you forever.”
“Obviously.”
You blinked at him. “Wow! At least lie a little.”
Jay only grinned before walking closer, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist from behind.
“I mean it though,” he murmured near your ear. “You taking care of me is probably my favorite thing ever.”
“That sounded strangely pathetic.”
“No, listen,” he continued shamelessly. “You don’t understand how attractive it is watching you cook for me looking like this.”
You frowned. “Looking like what?”
“Domestic.”
“That is the corniest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It’s true.” His chin rested against your shoulder. “Think I’d let another person feed me corn this good?”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “You’re ridiculous.”
Jay hummed thoughtfully behind you. “Still would marry you again over this seafood boil alone though.”
“You already proposed.”
“I’d do it twice.”
Warmth spread across your face despite yourself. Moments like this always got you embarrassingly easy. Jay being clingy, affectionate, constantly attached to your side like he physically needed your attention to survive.
Then, of course, he ruined it.
“You keep saying this’ll be the best thing you’ve ever eaten in your life,” he said casually.
“It will be! Trust me, both you and I will love it.”
Jay glanced downward meaningfully before pointing toward himself.
“Not this?”
You nearly dropped the spoon straight into the pot.
“Oh my god,” you groaned, horrified. “What the hell is actually wrong with you?”
You could already feel your composure slipping in ways you absolutely refused to acknowledge, even as you tried to focus on the pot in front of you.
“What?” he asked innocently. “Valid question, baby.”
“You act like a teenage boy around me.”
“A horny teenage boy.”
“Jay!”
His laugh filled the kitchen immediately, bright and shameless, especially after you smacked his arm with the towel beside you.
That was the problem with him sometimes.
Jay looked so composed around everyone else. Polite, mature, intimidating even. Then the second the two of you were alone, he started saying the filthiest things imaginable with a completely straight face.
“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, turning back toward the stove.
“You’re so in love with me, it’s obvious.”
“Unfortunately.”
“You love taking care of me too.”
His arms tightened around your waist slightly after saying it, nose brushing against the side of your neck for barely a second. The gesture itself was innocent enough, but paired with his voice, paired with the way he lingered there, it sent heat rushing embarrassingly fast through your body.
“You know what your problem is?” you said quietly.
“Hm?”
“You get way too cocky when I’m nice to you.”
Jay only smiled against your skin. “So keep being nice to me.”
You stared at the simmering pot for another second before sighing dramatically and setting the spoon down onto the counter.
“That seafood better not burn,” you warned.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Baby?”
“You’re annoying,” you informed him while turning around fully, hands sliding up the front of his shirt. “Actually so annoying.”
Jay looked entirely too pleased watching you move closer anyway.
With one last glance at the pot, you reached over and turned the heat down to low, just enough to keep it warm, not enough to keep it cooking.
You rose onto your tiptoes.
Your fingertips found his jaw before your lips did, tracing the sharp line of it, the hard cut of bone and muscle that had made your stomach flip the very first time you saw him. Stubble grazed your skin, rough and dark, already shadowing his face even though it hadn't been more than twelve hours since he'd shaved. You followed the ridge of it from his chin up to his ear, slow and deliberate, like you were memorizing him by touch.
Jay's breath went shaky. His eyes fluttered half-closed, lips parting on a soft exhale.
"You know," you murmured, voice low, thumb brushing along his cheekbone, "maybe that seafood boil won't be the best meal I'll ever have in my life, hm?"
His pupils blew wide. That desperate, worshipful look flooded his face, the one that always made your cunt clench, the one that told you he'd follow you anywhere, do anything you asked, let you take him apart piece by piece.
"Baby," he breathed, and it came out like a prayer.
You kissed him.
Slow. Deep.
Your lips pressed against his, soft and deliberate, and he melted into you immediately, his hands finding your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt like he needed something to hold onto. His mouth opened under yours, a low moan vibrating against your tongue as you slid it along his bottom lip, tasting him. He tasted like the beer he'd been sipping while you cooked. Like warmth. Like home.
Your fingers slid into his hair, gripping the dark strands, and he whimpered, actually whimpered into your mouth, high and needy, and you swallowed the sound like it was the only thing you'd ever needed.
The stove hissed behind you. Butter crackled in the pot. You ignored all of it.
You pulled back just enough to breathe. His lips were red, slick, parted. His eyes were hazy, pupils blown, chasing yours.
"Let's take this over elsewhere, shall we?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but you were already moving, grabbing his wrist, pulling him off the stool and across the kitchen tile. He stumbled after you, all 180 centimeters of him, letting himself be dragged like he weighed nothing. Like being pulled by you was exactly where he wanted to be.
Park Jongseong, who closed deals worth millions in his sleep. Who had a reputation so sharp it preceded him through every boardroom in the city. Stumbling after you with flushed cheeks and quick breath, obedient and eager.
The stove bubbled softly as you passed it. The scent of garlic and butter hung in the air.
You reached the couch and pushed.
He went down without resistance, fell back onto the cushions, looking up at you with wide, dark eyes. His chest was already rising and falling fast. His hands lay loose at his sides, palms up. Waiting. Surrendered.
"Good boy," you said softly, climbing onto his lap.
You settled over him, thighs bracketing his hips. The weight of you pressing down made his breath stutter. His hands flew to your waist immediately, not quite grabbing, just holding, thumbs stroking the bare skin where your shirt had ridden up.
You kissed him again. Slower this time. Taking your time. Teasing his mouth open with gentle pressure, licking along his bottom lip, biting down just enough to make him gasp.
"Take off your shirt," you said against his mouth.
He scrambled to obey. The fabric was gone in seconds, tossed somewhere behind the couch without a second thought. His chest was bare beneath you, warm golden skin stretched over lean muscle, his nipples already hard from the cool air. You ran your palms down his chest, feeling his heart hammering under your touch, feeling the way his stomach tensed and jumped when your fingers grazed lower.
"So pretty," you whispered. "My handsome boy. You know that, don't you?"
He shook his head. A tiny, honest gesture. His cheeks were flushed, eyes dropping away from yours.
"You should," you said, tilting his chin back up with your fingers. "Because you are. Every inch of you. I could look at you forever."
His lips trembled. His eyes went glassy.
"Baby," he whispered, voice cracking.
You traced his collarbone with your fingertips. Then his shoulders. Then back up to his jaw, cupping his face in both hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones.
"I love your face," you said softly. "I love your jaw. I love the way you look at me like I'm the only person in the world."
"You are," he said immediately. Desperate. Earnest. "You are, baby. You're everything. I can't—I can't think about anything else when you're in the room. I can't think about anything else ever. You're in my head all the time."
The sudden confession hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered.
You kissed him again. Softer this time. A reward.
Then you rolled your hips.
A slow, grinding press of your cunt against the hardening length of him through both your clothes. His head fell back against the couch cushion. A moan slipped out of him, broken and raw, punched from his throat.
"Fuck—"
"Yeah?" You did it again. Slower. Dragging. Feeling him thicken beneath your heat. "Feel good, baby?"
"So good. Fuck, baby, you feel so—" His voice cracked. His hands flew to your thighs, gripping tight. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Just—don't stop. Please don't stop. Feels too good, I need—I need you so bad—"
You ground down again, watching his face twist with pleasure. His lips parted. His brows furrowed. Sweat glistened at his temple. He looked wrecked already, and you'd barely started.
"That's it," you murmured. "You're taking it so well. Such a good boy for me."
A desperate little sound escaped his throat. His hips bucked up against you involuntarily.
You slowed. Stilled.
He let out a whine, high and needy, pure desperation, his hands tightening on your hips.
"Please, please, baby, why'd you stop—"
"Because I want to taste you first."
His eyes went wide. His cock twitched visibly beneath his sweatpants, straining against the fabric.
The stove crackled in the kitchen. A soft, rhythmic sizzle. Butter and garlic are still warming.
You climbed off his lap. He reached for you immediately, fingers brushing your hip, not wanting you to go even that far.
"Stay," you said softly.
He froze. Hands dropping back to his sides. Obedient. Waiting. His chest heaved with every breath.
You knelt between his legs on the floor.
The position made him whimper, high and embarrassed and so fucking turned on. You could see it in the way his cock strained against his sweatpants, the dark spot of pre-cum already soaking through the grey fabric.
"Look at you," you said, palming him through the material. "So hard for me already. Been thinking about this all night, haven't you?"
"All day," he gasped. "All—all week. Every time you bent over something. Every time you licked seasoning off your fingers. I couldn't—I couldn't stop—"
You squeezed gently. His hips jerked.
"Please, baby, please—"
You pulled his waistband down. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the head slick and leaking, curving up toward his stomach. You wrapped your hand around the base, feeling the heat, the weight, the way he twitched in your grip.
"God," you breathed. "You're so beautiful. Every single inch of you."
His breath stuttered. "Baby—"
You leaned down and took the head into your mouth.
Just the tip. Slow. Your tongue circled him, tasting salt and want, the slick pre-cum spreading across your lips. His whole body jerked. A low, guttural moan rolled out of him, uncontrolled, shameless, loud.
"Fff, baby— "
You sank lower. Taking more of him into your mouth. Your tongue pressed flat along the underside as you went, feeling every ridge, every vein, every twitch. He was thick, stretching your lips, filling your mouth, and you moaned around him at the feel of it, the vibration making his hips buck.
His hand flew to your hair. Not pulling. Not pushing. Holding. Fingers trembling against your scalp.
"That's it," you murmured, pulling off just enough to breathe. A string of saliva connected your lips to his cock. "You're doing so good for me, Jay. Just relax. Let me take care of you."
His eyes were glassy. His mouth hung open. "I—okay. Okay, baby. I trust you. I trust you so much."
You smiled and took him deep again.
You set a slow, deliberate rhythm. Your hand worked the base while your mouth moved over the head, alternating between deep swallows and teasing kitten licks. You watched him, watched his stomach clench, his chest heave, his lips form words he couldn't quite get out.
"Please, please, please—"
Every plea went straight to your pussy, slick and aching between your thighs.
You pulled off with a wet sound. Stroked him slowly, watching his cock glisten with your saliva.
"You're so loud," you said. "I love it. I love that everyone would know exactly who you belong to if they heard you right now."
"I belong to you," he gasped. "Only you. Just you, baby, always, you own me. I'm yours. I've been yours since the first time you looked at me."
You took him back into your mouth.
Deeper this time. Your throat relaxed, letting him slide further in. He cried out, a broken, desperate sound, and his hips bucked up before he caught himself.
"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to—"
You hummed around him, and he moaned so loud it echoed off the kitchen tiles. The stove hissed in response, like the apartment itself was reacting to him falling apart.
You pulled off, breathless, saliva slick on your chin.
"Don't apologize," you said, voice rough. "I want you to let go. I want to feel you come down my throat. I want to taste every drop."
His eyes rolled back.
You swallowed him again. Faster now. Your hand working in rhythm, your mouth sucking, tongue pressing, and his sounds got higher, more broken, more desperate.
"Baby, I'm—I'm gonna, fuck— "
You looked up at him. Held his gaze.
And let him come undone.
His release hit your tongue, hot and thick, spilling in pulses. You swallowed around him, taking every drop, working him through it with your mouth and hand until his hips stopped bucking and his body went limp against the couch. His chest heaved. Sweat coated his skin.
You pulled off gently, licking your lips clean, savoring the taste of him.
"Good boy," you whispered. "You did so well. So good for me. I'm so proud of you."
He was panting, wrecked, his eyes half-lidded and dazed. "That was… shit, amazing, baby. Oh my god. I can't— "
"You can," you said softly, kissing his inner thigh. "You can do so much more for me, can't you? You're my good boy."
He nodded immediately. Eager. Desperate. Already half-hard again.
You stood up slowly, keeping eye contact.
"Then watch."
You pulled your shirt over your head. Let it fall to the floor. Your shorts followed, pooling at your ankles. You stepped out of them, standing before him in just your bra and panties.
His hands twitched. Reaching.
"Uh-uh, not yet," you said softly.
He waited. His chest rose and fell. His cock was already thickening again, hard and eager despite having just come.
"You're so greedy," you said, smiling. "So needy for me."
"I'm always needy for you," he breathed. "Every second. I can't help it."
You climbed back onto his lap. His cock pressed against your stomach, hot and hard, as you settled over him. You could feel the slick heat of yourself through your panties, soaking the fabric, making a mess of his thigh.
You reached down and guided him to your entrance.
Just the head. Pressing against you. Teasing through the soaked fabric of your panties.
He whimpered.
"Please, baby, please, I need—"
"I know what you need."
You pushed your panties aside and sank down slowly. Inch by inch. Feeling every ridge, every thick inch stretching you open. His mouth fell open. No sound came out.
"Fuck," you breathed. "You're so big. Always forget how full you make me. How good you feel inside me."
He gripped your hips. Not moving you. Just holding. Trembling.
"Take it," you said softly. "Take all of it. You can take it, can't you, baby?"
"Yes, yes, I can—"
"Good boy."
You lowered yourself fully. Seated. His cock buried deep inside you, filling you completely. You both stilled.
The heat. The stretch. The weight of him inside you.
You didn't move.
"I want you to feel this," you murmured, running your fingers through his damp hair. "Just feel it. Being inside me. Being mine. You feel that? How tight I am around you? How perfectly you fit?"
His hands slid up your back. Pulling you closer. His face pressed into your neck, breath hot and shaky.
"Mmgh, baby, I feel it," he whispered against your skin. "I feel everything. You're so—you're so perfect. So warm. I don't ever want to leave."
"Don’t leave then."
You stayed like that. Cockwarming him. Letting him feel every twitch, every clench of your cunt around him. The stove hissed in the kitchen. Water bubbling. Butter popping softly. The world existed somewhere outside, but here there was only this.
His hands moved to your back. Tracing your spine. Then up to your bra strap.
"Can I—" he started, voice small.
"Unclasp it."
He fumbled. His fingers slipped once, twice. You smiled, watching him struggle, watching the concentration on his face.
"Having trouble, baby?"
"Your bra is… it's tricky—"
"Try again."
He got it. The clasp gave, and the straps slid loose. You let the fabric fall away, baring your chest to him. His eyes went dark, hungry, reverent. He looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"Touch me," you said softly.
His hands came up immediately. Cupping your breasts. Thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasped at the contact, sensitive and aching.
"It's okay, baby," you murmured. "I'll feed you."
He leaned forward without hesitation. His mouth closed over your nipple, hot and wet, sucking gently. His tongue circled the peak, and you moaned, head falling back, fingers tangling in his hair.
"That's it. Good boy. Just like that."
His other hand kneaded your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. He switched sides, mouth latching onto the neglected one, and you felt it everywhere, the pull of his lips, the graze of his teeth, the way his tongue soothed each sensitive peak.
His hips twitched beneath you. A tiny, involuntary thrust.
"Hungry already?" You laughed breathlessly. "Needy already, after just stuffing all that into my mouth?"
He whined against your breast. The vibration made you gasp.
"You're so fucking greedy," you whispered, but there was no complaint in it. Only wonder. Only adoration.
You rolled your hips. The barest movement. Just enough to make him moan around your nipple.
"Tell me what you want, baby."
He pulled off just long enough to speak, chest heaving. "More. Please, baby, please—more, I need more, I need you to move—"
"Beg me."
He didn't hesitate.
"Please. Please, baby, I'll do anything, I'll be so good, I'll be so good for you, just please… I need you to fuck me—I need to feel you—I need—"
"Good boy," you murmured. "Good, sweet boy. That's all you had to say."
You lifted your hips. Slowly. Letting him feel every inch of the drag, the friction, the slick heat of your cunt gripping him.
Then you sank back down.
And you started to move.
Slow. Deep. Grinding in circles at the bottom of every thrust. He moaned with every roll of your hips, his hands gripping your ass, guiding but not controlling.
"Look at you," you breathed. "Taking me so well. My perfect boy. My good, perfect boy."
His head fell back. His throat exposed, that sharp jawline you loved, the column of his neck, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.
You leaned in and sucked a mark onto his throat.
He cried out. His hips bucked up, driving himself deeper.
"You like that?" you murmured against his skin.
"Yes, fuck, baby, yes—"
You sucked another mark lower. On his collarbone. Then his chest. Your hips never stopped moving — slow, deep, grinding, filling.
His hands roamed your body like he couldn't believe you were real. Over your hips. Your stomach. Up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples.
"That's it," you encouraged. "Touch me. Take what you need."
"I just need you," he gasped. "Just you. Only you. Always—oh god—"
You sped up. Just a fraction. Enough to make his breath catch.
"Please," he begged. "Please, baby, please can I—can I come?"
"Not yet."
He whimpered. Rocked his hips up to meet yours.
"Please, I've been so good—"
"Have you?" You slowed down. "Let me think about that."
"Please, please, baby, I've been so good, I took everything you gave me, I was quiet, I— "
"You weren't quiet at all," you said, smiling. "You were so loud. I loved every second of it."
He blushed furiously. "Then please—"
"Beg me again."
Another desperate plea. Higher pitched than the last, his voice cracking.
"I'm begging you, please let me come, I need it so bad, I need to come inside you, please, baby—I need to feel you—I need to come, please. "
"What do you call me?"
"Baby. My baby. My pretty girl. My... fuck—my everything. Please."
You leaned down and kissed him. Slow and deep. He melted into it, moaning against your lips.
"Be a good boy and come with me, won't you?"
His eyes flew open. "Yes. Yes, yes—"
You rode him faster. Harder. The couch creaked beneath you. His hands gripped your ass, guiding your rhythm, and you could feel your climax building, hot and tight and desperate, coiling in your belly.
"Come for me, Jay."
He shattered.
His release flooded you, hot and pulsing, his whole body shuddering beneath you. The feeling of it pushed you over the edge. You came around him, clenching, milking him through it, moaning his name like a prayer.
"Jay, fuck—that's it, good boy, my good boy—"
He kept coming, kept spilling into you, his hands gripping your hips so tight you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. You didn't care. You wanted them.
You collapsed against his chest.
His arms wrapped around you immediately. Holding you close. His heart hammered against your ear, wild and fast and alive.
For a long moment, there was only breathing. The soft hiss of the stove in the kitchen. The warmth of his skin against yours. The sticky heat between your thighs.
"That was—" His voice was wrecked. Gone. "I don't have words."
You lifted your head and kissed his jaw.
His stubbly, sharp, beautiful jaw. You traced it with your lips, pressing soft kisses along the edge of it, feeling him shiver under your touch.
"I love your jaw," you murmured against his skin. "I've always loved your jaw. Did you know that?"
He shook his head, eyes closed, a soft smile playing at his lips.
"I do. It's one of my favorite things about you. That and your hands. And your eyes. And the way you look at me like I hung the moon."
"You did," he whispered. "You hung everything."
You kissed him again. Soft. Sweet. A promise.
"Thank you," he breathed. "For—for taking care of me. For being so good to me."
"Always," you said. "You're my good boy. My perfect boy. I'll always take care of you."
His arms tightened around you.
The seafood boil sat between you both on the low table, still steaming, still heavily seasoned with Cajun spices and butter glistening under the warm kitchen light. The corn cobs looked borderline excessive in the best way possible, stacked like you had fully lost control and decided more was always better.
You had barely settled onto the couch when Jay was already beside you, closer than necessary, knees brushing yours as he pulled the tray a little nearer like he was in charge of it now.
“You should eat first,” he said, softer than usual.
You blinked at him. “Since when do you say that?”
“Since you look tired.”
That alone made you pause.
Jay had always been clingy, yes. Affectionate, yes. But this was different. Less teasing, more attentive in a way that made your chest feel warm in a quieter direction.
He peeled a piece of shrimp for you without asking, careful and slow, like it mattered, then held it out with a small expectant look.
“You’re spoiling me,” you murmured, but you leaned in anyway.
“Good,” he said simply. “Let me.”
The way he said it made it feel less like a joke and more like something he meant completely.
He shifted closer again, shoulder pressing lightly against yours, then nudged a corn cob onto your plate like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing this.
“You always do this for me,” he added after a moment.
“Do what?”
“Take care of me.”
You exhaled softly, watching him more than the food now. “You’re acting like I don’t enjoy it.”
His gaze flicked to yours briefly, then away like he was suddenly shy about admitting something obvious.
“I just like doing it for you too,” he said.
A small silence settled between you two, but it wasn’t awkward. Just full. Warm. Familiar in a different way than before.
Jay handed you another bite before taking one for himself, but his knee stayed pressed against yours the whole time, like he wasn’t fully satisfied unless he was close enough to feel you there.
“Eat more,” he said quietly after a while. “You barely touched yours.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Yes, my chef.”
That earned you a small laugh from him, soft, fond, and a little clingy in the way only he could manage, even while trying to take care of you for once.
⭐️ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
tags: @simsimluver @maishee @grdientlips @psychicdazestrawberry @kristynaaah @heesroses @vmpiricou @seungiesdoll @malibluess @stwryun @hooniluhv @rikisn @hazeheart12 @exclipszz @melancholatte @bluepains @gojopolo @jasmineeeee1009 @ming1luvr @ni-k1ttie @enzsstuff01 @ixnotmee @emvss @simjaeyunslut @luvlyjaemin @kikizzz0 @ilovhoonie | send an ask if you’d like to be added ˙𐃷˙
🗯️ 内容 explicit sexual content ♫ 18+ ⸝⸝ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ᯓ established relationship, heavy makeout, dirty talk, body praise, soft sub & dom dynamics, cockwarming, riding, creampie !
EL’S ✷ BUBBLE : so so soooo incredibly rushed i’m sorry 😭 too many side quests keep dragging me away from blr . . but this one is for and requested by my fellow filo-engene baby @soltyshshs hehe lawb you !!! enjoy cuties ♡ mwehehehe i love jake
"Mmm, baby, this feels good, feels so nice."
Jake's voice is a warm, drowsy murmur against your chest, the words vibrating through the thin cotton of your oversized shirt and into your skin. His arms are looped around your waist, loose and lazy, his fingers resting against the small of your back like they've always belonged there.
His head rises and falls with the rhythm of your breathing, cheek pressed right above your heartbeat, and you can feel the exhaustion still clinging to him, the kind that settles deep into the bones after twelve hours of drilling choreography until your muscles scream and your brain turns to mush.
You run your fingers through his hair, slow and absent, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you know makes him melt. He hums in response, a tiny, content sound that you feel more than hear, and his arms tighten a fraction around your waist, pulling himself closer, burrowing deeper into you like he's trying to crawl inside your ribcage and live there.
It had been an impossibly long day.
Rehearsals that started before the sun came up and didn't end until the studio lights were the only thing keeping the room from going dark. Run-throughs and spot-checks and the choreographer saying "one more time" what felt like forty-seven more times.
Your own body was a landscape of aches, your hip flexors burning, your calves tight as piano wires, but Jake had it worse.
You'd watched him during the final full run, the way his landings were just a beat too heavy, the way his arms lagged a half-second behind the count on the last chorus, the way he pressed his palm flat against the mirror afterwards and just breathed for a long, trembling moment before anyone could notice.
He'd pushed through it, because that's what Jake does, because that's what all of you do, but you could see the weariness in the slump of his shoulders on the shuttle back to the hotel, the way his head tipped back against the window and his eyes fluttered shut before the vehicle had even left the parking lot.
So when you'd texted him "netflix and chill?" an hour after you'd both dragged yourselves back to your respective rooms, you'd meant it in the most literal, innocent way possible. A movie. Some company. Maybe he'd fall asleep on your shoulder and you'd let him, because he looked like he needed it and because you liked the weight of him, the trust of it, the way he went soft and pliant and unguarded only around you.
But then he'd shown up at your door not even two minutes later, still in his practice sweats and a worn t-shirt, hair damp from the shower, and the way he'd looked at you, all heavy-lidded and almost helpless, had told you everything you needed to know about what kind of night this was going to be before either of you said a word.
And now here you are.
Propped up against the headboard with your legs stretched out on the hotel bed, some romcom playing on the laptop balanced on the mattress beside you, the volume turned low enough that it's basically just background noise.
Jake is lying half on top of you, his body a long, warm line of weight and heat against your side, his head on your chest, his arms around your waist, and it's sweet, it's so sweet, except for the part where his hands have started to wander.
It happened gradually.
Innocently, even, if you were being generous.
A palm settling on your ribcage that slowly migrated south. A thumb that started tracing idle circles on the curve of your waist and then drifted upward, inch by patient inch, until it was brushing the underside of your breast through your shirt.
Then he wasn't even pretending to be subtle about it anymore, his hand just full-on cupping you, kneading the soft flesh through the cotton, squeezing gently and then a little less gently, his fingers pressing into you with a lazy, possessive hunger that he probably wasn't even fully aware of.
Jake has always been like this.
A freak in the most understated, unassuming way, the kind that sneaks up on you. He doesn't leer or grab or make crude jokes the way some guys do. He just touches, constantly, like he's physically incapable of keeping his hands off you when you're within arm's reach, and the touching always starts soft and then devolves into something more. A hand on your thigh during dinner that creeps higher. An arm around your shoulders that turns into fingers tracing your collarbone. A back hug that becomes his palms sliding up your ribs to cup your breasts while he presses his face into your neck and breathes you in like you're the only oxygen in the room.
You'd clocked it early.
Way back, before you were even together, before you were anything more than two dancers from different groups who kept ending up at the same afterparties, competitions, and late-night food runs. You'd noticed the way his gaze would drift to your body when he thought you weren't looking, the way his hands would twitch at his sides like he was stopping himself from reaching out. You'd noticed the way he'd look at you on stage, during those moments when both your groups were backstage waiting for results, the way his eyes would track the movement of your body like he was memorizing the choreography of your hips for later.
Jake has always been obsessed with your body. That's just a fact, the way gravity is a fact, the way the grass is green is a fact. It's not something he hides well and it's not something he tries particularly hard to hide. He tells you constantly, in words, in touches, and in the way he looks at you like you're something holy, something he can't believe he gets to have. He loves the curve of your waist, the softness of your stomach, the shape of your breasts, the thickness of your thighs. He loves all of it with an enthusiasm that borders on worship, and he's never, not once, made you feel like there was anything about your body that needed changing, hiding, or apologizing for.
Right now, though, his hands are making it very difficult to focus on the movie, which you've already lost the plot of entirely. His fingers are kneading your breast through your shirt with a slow, rhythmic pressure, his palm squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, and every time his thumb brushes over your nipple through the fabric, a tiny spark of heat shoots down your spine and settles warm and heavy between your thighs.
"Jake," you say, and your voice comes out softer than you intended.
"Hmm?" He doesn't lift his head from your chest. His fingers don't stop.
"You're being some freak again."
A pause. Then, very quietly, almost sheepishly: "I know."
His hand still doesn't move. If anything, his fingers squeeze a little tighter, and you feel your nipple pebble against his palm through the thin cotton, and you know he feels it too because his breath hitches, just slightly, a tiny stutter of air against your collarbone.
"Baby," you try again, and there's a warning in it this time, the kind that could go either way, could mean stop or could mean keep going but you better be ready for the consequences.
"I can't help it," he mumbles into your chest, and his voice is muffled and warm and so genuinely pitiful that you almost laugh. "You're just so soft. And you smell good. And you're right here, and I'm tired, and you feel so nice, and I just—I want to touch you."
He says it like a confession. Like it's something he's been fighting against and losing. And you know, you know the solution to this, because you've been here before, many times, in many variations.
When Jake gets like this, when his hands won't stop and his breathing goes shallow and his body presses closer and closer like he's trying to fuse the two of you into one person, there's only one thing that calms him down.
You shift beneath him, and he makes a small, protesting sound at the movement, his arms tightening around your waist, but you're gentle but firm as you guide him upright. He goes easily, pliant, his body following your hands like he'd follow them anywhere.
You position him so he's sitting against the headboard, his back to it, his legs stretched out in front of him, and you watch the way he looks up at you, all dark, sleepy eyes and swollen lips and that particular expression he gets when he's needy and trying not to show it.
"C'mere," he says, reaching for you, and his voice is rough and low and it does things to you that you'll never admit out loud.
You swing your leg over his lap and settle onto his thighs, straddling him, and the position puts you above him, looking down, while he has to tilt his chin up to meet your eyes. The laptop is still playing beside you, the romcom's soundtrack filling the room with something bright and incongruous.
The air conditioning hums overhead, cool air prickling at the bare skin of your arms and the strip of your stomach where your shirt has ridden up, making you shiver slightly, making you aware of every inch of your body and every inch of his.
"We're just going to sit like this for a bit," you tell him, and your voice is steady, controlled, the way it always is when you're taking care of him. "Okay? Just this. To help you calm down."
"Okay," he whispers, and he's already nodding, already agreeing, because Jake never argues when you take charge, never pushes back when you set the terms. He just sinks into it, into you, like you're the only solid thing in a world that's constantly shifting under his feet.
You reach between your bodies and hook your thumbs under the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down just enough, and he lifts his hips to help you without being asked, a small, eager movement that makes something warm and possessive curl in your stomach.
His cock is half-hard already, thick and warm against his thigh, and you wrap your hand around him briefly, just a single stroke, feeling him twitch and swell in your palm, before you guide him toward your entrance.
You're not wearing anything under your shorts, and you push the fabric aside, position him at your opening, and then you sink down.
Slowly. So slowly. Inch by inch, feeling the stretch of him, the thick, hot pressure of him filling you up, and the sound Jake makes is something between a gasp and a whimper, a broken, breathless thing that escapes from his throat like you've pulled it out of him by force. His hands fly to your hips, gripping but not pulling, just holding, like he needs something to anchor him while you take him apart piece by piece.
"Fuck," he breathes, his head tipping back against the headboard, his eyes squeezing shut. "God, you feel—you feel so good, so warm, so—"
"Shh," you soothe, and you're fully seated now, your hips flush against his, his cock buried to the hilt inside you, and you can feel him throbbing, feel the way he's already getting harder, the way his body is responding to the tight, wet heat of you even though you haven't moved. "Just stay still. Just feel it."
He nods, his jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough that you know there'll be little half-moons pressed into your skin like signatures. You can feel him trembling, tiny, involuntary shivers running through his thighs beneath yours, and you run your hands up his arms, over his shoulders, smoothing down the tension you find there, and he melts under your touch, his grip loosening, his breath slowing.
This is literally the thing about cockwarming Jake.
It's not just about the physical sensation, though that's part of it, the fullness of him inside you, the way your walls grip him, the way you can feel every pulse, twitch, and throb of his cock against your most sensitive places without either of you moving. It's about this, the way he goes quiet, soft, and completely, utterly surrendered underneath you. The way he gives you everything, every last scrap of control, and trusts you to hold it for him.
You pull the blanket from the foot of the bed and drape it over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders, and the warmth of it combined with the heat of his body against yours is immediately, overwhelmingly soothing.
The air conditioning continues its quiet assault, cold air prickling at your exposed shoulders, the top of your head, and the sliver of your ankle where the blanket doesn't quite reach, a sharp contrast to the furnace of him beneath you, inside you.
The movie plays on, forgotten, the laptop's distant hum mixing with the sound of both of you breathing.
For a while, you just sit there. You inside him, him inside you, your bodies fitted together like puzzle pieces, the kind that snap into place with a satisfying finality. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, or maybe it's your heartbeat you're feeling, the two of them so synced up you can't tell the difference anymore.
His hands have migrated from your hips to your waist, his arms wrapping around you loosely, pulling you close, and his face is pressed into the curve of your neck, his breath warm and slow against your skin.
"Mmm," he hums, and the sound is drowsy, content, like a cat that's found the one sunny spot in the entire house. "This is nice. You're nice. Everything is nice."
A laugh escapes you, quiet and fond. "You're so cute when you're like this."
"Like what?"
"All soft and needy."
He makes a small, embarrassed sound against your neck, and you feel his cock twitch inside you, and oh, that's interesting. You file that away for later, the fact that calling him needy makes him harder, makes his hips jerk in a tiny, involuntary thrust that presses him just a little deeper.
"Jake," you warn gently, and he stills immediately.
"Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to move. It just—you feel so tight, I can't—"
"It's okay." You card your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp, and he shivers and sighs and melts further into you. "You're doing so well. Being so good for me."
He keens.
Actually keens, a thin, high sound that he tries to swallow but can't quite manage, and his arms tighten around your waist, and you feel his whole body flex and shudder under you.
Jake has always been a whiny person, you found that out way before you ever got together, back when he'd whine about early call times, sore muscles, and bad catering at competitions, but this specific variety of whine, the one that comes from deep in his chest when you praise him, is something you discovered later and have been devotedly cataloguing ever since.
"Baby," he mumbles into your neck, and his voice is thick, syrupy, like he's half-asleep and half-desperate. "Can I kiss you? Please?"
"You don't have to ask," you say, tilting his chin up with your fingers.
His mouth finds yours like it's coming home.
The kiss starts soft, slow, the way everything has been tonight.
His lips are warm and slightly chapped, and they move against yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, the kind of tenderness that says I love you I love you I love you without a single word.
You kiss him back, your hands cradling his jaw, your thumbs tracing the sharp line of it, and he makes a small, pleased sound into your mouth that vibrates through both of you.
Then the kiss deepens.
His lips part against yours and your tongue slides against his, wet and hot and slow, and the shift in the air is immediate, palpable, like someone turning up the temperature in the room by ten degrees.
You feel his cock pulse inside you, feel him swelling, getting impossibly harder, and a low groan rumbles through his chest and into yours. Your own body responds, your walls clenching around him, your arousal slicking the space where you're joined, and the sensation of being filled while kissing him, of being so completely connected, is enough to make your head spin.
You're kissing him deeper now, hungrier, your fingers sliding from his jaw into his hair, gripping, tugging slightly, and he gasps into your mouth and his hips roll up into yours, just once, a single, grinding thrust that makes you both moan.
The blanket shifts around your shoulders, the cool air rushing in to meet your heated skin, and the contrast, the cold on your shoulders and the heat between your legs, is maddening.
And then your hair falls in your face.
It happens between one kiss and the next, the long strands slipping from behind your ear and tumbling down between you like a curtain, catching on Jake's lips, tickling his cheek, getting in the way of his mouth finding yours.
You huff in frustration, reaching up to push it back, but Jake's hand gets there first.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and hazy and impossibly soft, and his fingers gather your hair gently, carefully, like he's handling something precious.
He sweeps it all to one side of your neck, smoothing it down over your shoulder, and then you feel his other hand at your nape, his fingers finding the hair tie on his wrist, the one he always wears, the black one that's become as much a part of his daily uniform as his practice shoes.
He stretches it between his fingers and then gathers your hair into a low ponytail, securing it with practiced ease, like he's done this a hundred times before, because he has, because Jake is always the one fixing your hair when it gets in your face, always the one with the hair tie when you forgot yours, always the one paying attention to the small things so you don't have to.
"Pretty," he murmurs, and the word is so simple, so sincere, so completely unguarded that it steals the breath from your lungs. He's looking at you the way he always looks at you, like you hung the moon and the stars and every constellation in between, and his thumb brushes your cheekbone once, feather-light, before his hand settles back on your waist.
"Jake," you breathe, and you don't know what you were going to say after that, maybe nothing, maybe everything, but it doesn't matter because you're kissing him again, harder this time, more urgent, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer even though closer isn't physically possible when he's already inside you.
The kiss is messier now, wetter, all tongues and teeth and the slick sounds of your mouths moving together in the quiet room.
You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel his cock twitching and straining, and your hips are moving without your permission, grinding in slow, tiny circles that don't lift off him but shift him inside you, pressing him against different places, making you feel him in different ways.
Each movement draws a sound from one of you, a gasp or a moan or a shuddering exhale that the other swallows.
"Baby," Jake whimpers against your lips, and his voice is wrecked, barely there, just breath and want and need all tangled up together. "I need—please, can I move? I want to move, I need you, I want—"
"I know," you whisper back, and you lift your hips and sink back down, and the sound he makes is devastating, a broken, choked-off moan that he buries in your neck. "I've got you."
You start to ride him.
Slowly at first, torturously slowly, lifting your hips until only the tip of him is inside you and then sinking back down, taking him to the root, feeling every inch of the stretch, every ridge and vein of him dragging against your walls.
The blanket is pooled around your waists now, shifting with every movement, and the air conditioning hits the sweat gathering on your shoulders and the back of your neck, making you shiver, making your skin prickle with goosebumps that have nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the man underneath you.
The sound of it is obscene in the best way, the wet, slick noise of your body taking him in, the soft slap of skin against skin when you bottom out, the creak of the hotel bed beneath you, and beneath it all, the distant, tinny sound of the movie still playing on the laptop, completely ignored.
"Feel so good," Jake gasps, and his head is thrown back against the headboard, his throat exposed, his lips swollen and wet from your kisses. His hands are on your hips, holding, his fingers pressing into your flesh like he needs something to ground him, like he might float away if he doesn't anchor himself to you. "You feel so fucking good, I can't—you're so tight, so wet, oh my god—"
"Really?" You clench around him deliberately, squeezing his cock with your walls, and he yelps, actually yelps, a sharp, high sound that makes heat pool low in your stomach. "You like that, baby? Like how I feel around you?"
"Yes—god, yes—fuck, I love it—I love you—I love you so much—"
"I know you do." You lean in and kiss the hinge of his jaw, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head to catch your lips, kissing you messy and desperate and deep. "My pretty boy. My good boy. Taking me so well. Being so fucking patient for me."
He whines into your mouth, a high, keening sound that dissolves into a moan when you grind down onto him, circling your hips, pressing his cock against that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
Your hands are braced on his shoulders, your fingers digging into the solid muscle beneath his worn t-shirt, and you can feel the way his entire body is trembling, the effort it's taking him to not just grab your hips and thrust up into you the way he desperately wants to.
"You can move," you tell him, your mouth against his ear, your breath hot on his skin. "Move with me."
And he does.
His hips snap up to meet yours, and the change in rhythm is immediate, electric, his cock driving into you deeper and harder than before, and the sound that escapes you is ragged and startled and so fucking needy.
He's not rough, Jake is never rough with you, not really, but there's a desperation to the way he moves now, an urgency, like he's been holding back for so long and the dam is finally cracking.
"Shit—you feel—feel amazing—mmm—" The words tumble out of him in broken fragments, punctuated by thrusts and gasps and the lewd, wet sounds of your bodies moving together. "So good, baby, you're so good to me, so good —"
"Jake—" Your voice comes out wrecked, barely a voice at all, just breath and heat and the shape of his name. The pleasure is building, a tight, coiling heat in your stomach that spreads outward with every thrust, every grind, every time his cock hits that spot that makes your thighs shake and your cunt clench around him.
"Close," he gasps, and his rhythm is faltering now, his thrusts getting shorter, faster, more erratic, his fingers digging so hard into your hips you know there'll be marks tomorrow and you don't care, you want them, you want every mark and every bruise and every physical proof that you're his and he's yours. "I'm close, I'm—can I—please—"
"Not yet," you say, and your voice is steady even though your body is shaking, even though every nerve ending is screaming at you to let go, to fall, to crash over the edge with him. "Wait for me. Can you do that? Can you be good and wait for me?"
"I'll try," he whimpers, and his eyes are squeezed shut, his jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief, and he looks like he's fighting a war inside himself, every muscle taut with the effort of holding back. "I'll try, I'll be good, I—fuck—you're so tight, you're clenching so hard, I can't—"
"You can," you tell him, and you take his face in your hands, tilting his chin up, forcing him to look at you, and the raw, open vulnerability in his eyes, the desperate, helpless need, makes your heart clench and your cunt clench and both of them are too much. "You can, because you're mine, and you're going to come when I tell you to. Okay?"
"Okay," he breathes, and the word is a surrender, a prayer, the most honest thing he's ever said. "Okay. Yours. I'm yours, baby."
You speed up, grinding down onto him harder, faster, chasing the edge now, feeling it rush up to meet you, and Jake's hands slide from your hips to your thighs, gripping the soft flesh there, squeezing, his fingers pressing into you the way he always does, like he can't believe you're real, like he needs to feel every inch of you to convince himself this isn't a dream. His cock is hitting that spot inside you with every thrust now, relentless, devastating, and the coil in your stomach is wound so tight you think you might shatter.
"Baby," you gasp, and your forehead drops to his, your breath mingling, your noses brushing, so close you can see the wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes, the way his lashes are clumped together, the way he's looking at you like you're the entire universe compressed into a single person. "I'm close. Come with me. Now."
He breaks.
A sob tears from his throat, your name and a moan and something that might be I love you all tangled together into a sound you'll never forget, and his hips buck up into you one final, desperate time, and you feel him come, feel his cock pulse inside you, hot and thick, feel him filling you up, rope after rope, the warmth of it spreading through you, and the sensation is enough to push you over the edge right after him.
Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your walls clamping down around his cock in pulsing, rhythmic contractions, and you're moaning his name into the space between your mouths, your fingers fisted in his hair, your body shaking apart on top of him while he holds you through it, his arms wrapped around you so tight, so tight, like he's terrified you'll disappear if he lets go.
The aftershocks ripple through you for what feels like an eternity, your body twitching and trembling against his, his cock still inside you, softening slowly, still pulsing with the last echoes of his release.
You can feel him leaking out of you, the warm, sticky evidence of what you've done pooling where your bodies are pressed together, and it should be messy and inconvenient and probably require a towel, but right now, in this moment, it just feels right. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.
You collapse against his chest, your face pressed into his neck, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. His arms stay around you, his hands smoothing up and down your spine, gentle, soothing, and you can feel his heart hammering against your chest, or maybe that's yours, you still can't tell the difference.
"Wow," Jake whispers after a long moment, and his voice is hoarse and wrecked and there's a laugh hiding underneath it, the kind of laugh that comes after something so good you almost can't believe it happened.
"Yeah," you agree, and you press a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck, just because you can. "Wow."
"I love you," he says, and he says it so easily, so casually, like it's the simplest and most obvious fact in the entire world. "Like, a lot. Like, an embarrassing amount. Like, I was literally just thinking about it while we were—you know—and I was like, wow, I really love her, and then I almost started crying in the middle of it, which would have been really weird, but—"
"Jake."
"Yes, pretty?"
"Shut it and hold me."
He laughs, soft, warm, and bright, and his arms tighten around you, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head, right at the crown where your ponytail is gathered, and you feel him smile against your hair.
"Okay," he murmurs. "I can do that."
The movie is still playing on the laptop beside you, the credits rolling now, a soft, forgettable pop song accompanying the names of people you'll never think about again.
The air conditioning hums its quiet, constant drone overhead, cool air drifting down over the blanket that's still tangled around your waists, prickling at the bare skin of your shoulders.
Jake's heartbeat is slowing beneath your ear, settling into something steady and calm, and his breathing has gone slow and deep, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that makes you drowsy, that makes you want to close your eyes and sink into him and never come back up.
You shift slightly, adjusting the blanket so it covers both of you properly, and Jake makes a small, protesting sound at the movement before settling again, his face buried in your hair, his arms loose around your waist.
He's still inside you, soft now, warm and comfortable, and you don't move off him, don't want to, not yet, because this, this right here, this feeling of being so completely tangled up in another person that you can't tell where you end and he begins, this is everything.
This is literally the one thing you never knew you needed until Jake showed up and gave it to you without even being asked.
"Hey," he says, quiet and drowsy against your temple.
"Hmm?"
"Thank you for texting me tonight."
A smile pulls at your lips, soft and private. "Thank you for showing up quickly."
"I would've been faster but I couldn't find my room key."
"You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously in love with you obviously," he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice, the dumb, cheesy, perfect grin that he always gets when he's about to say something corny and he knows it and he doesn't care.
"Oh my goodness." You lift your head just enough to look at him, at the warm, sleepy, satisfied look on his face, the mess of his hair, the way his lips are still swollen and red. "You're the worst."
"The worst boyfriend or the worst in general?"
"Both."
"Harsh." But he's smiling, that soft, crooked smile that makes your chest feel too small for your heart, and he leans in and kisses you, gentle and slow and tasting like nothing and everything, and you kiss him back, and it's sweet, so sweet, sweet enough to make your teeth ache.
When you pull apart, you rest your forehead against his, your noses brushing, and you just breathe together for a moment, in and out, in and out, the sound of it filling the small space between you.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asks, and his voice is barely a murmur, barely a sound at all, just the shape of the words against your lips.
"Same time tomorrow," you confirm.
He smiles again.
You feel it more than see it, the way his lips curve against yours, the way the corners crinkle, the way his arms squeeze you just a little tighter.
Outside the window, the city hums with a life that has nothing to do with you, and the air conditioning keeps up its quiet, steady drone, and the laptop screen has gone dark, and the only light in the room is the faint, blue-white glow of the moon through the curtains, painting everything silver and soft and half-dreamed.
Jake's breathing evens out beneath you, slow and deep and steady, and you know he's falling asleep, because that's what Jake always does after, he crashes, his body giving out before his mind can catch up, and you let him, you hold him through it, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on the warm skin of his back under his shirt.
You'll move eventually. You'll clean up and change the sheets and complain about the hotel's thread count and steal all the pillows and fall asleep properly, like normal people, instead of tangled together in a pile of blankets and limbs and each other.
But not yet.
Not yet.
⭐️ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
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💿 ࿐ . . nothing by bruno major
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
ROOM FOR RENT — ONE FEMALE ROOMMATE WANTED
Cheap rent, expensive consequences, first come, first served, unless you're too busy getting railed to answer the text!
No refunds!
RULES ON THE FRIDGE:
-Panties banned after 8 p.m.
-Movie nights on someone’s lap.
-Counter sex while dinner cooks.
-Daily spankings, gropes, throat-fucks, and creampies like it’s rent payment.
INSPIRED BY 'YOUR TURN' STARRING @mssishipi!
MAKNAE LINE VERSION!
pairing: roommates!hyungline x reader !
warnings: poly relationship strong language possessiveness jealousy alcohol mild power imbalance crashing dates fights slight drama between the guys porn with plot
warnings (smut): read if you're okay with filthy shit (mama them men are real big idiots) free use spit roasting gangbang creampie breeding kink cumplay degradation size kink squirting overstimulation edging spit play choking unprotected sex double penetration anal sex aftercare cumplay titjob titplay blowjob handjob cunnilingus oral (both f and m rec) mean doms choking manhandling rough sex recording overstimulation aftercare heavy
playlist: High for This by The Weeknd [] Friends by Chase Atlantic [] Oxytocin by Billie Eilish [] Swim by Chase Atlantic []
likes and reblogs for a cookie!
☆ WORD COUNT: 24.9K!
(Masterlist)
THE FLYER WAS TAPED CROOKED TO THE COMMUNITY BOARD in the lobby of your old building, curling at one corner like it had tried to escape and given up halfway through. The corkboard itself was a graveyard of desperation, lost cats with blurry photos, guitar lessons from a man named Reginald who swore he toured “almost professionally,” a babysitting offer written in glitter pen. But this one, this violently neon pink rectangle, felt different.
Black Sharpie, pressed hard enough to dent the cardstock.
ROOM FOR RENT — ONE FEMALE ROOMMATE WANTED
- 5-bedroom apartment downtown. Utilities split 5 ways. No pets, no drama, no bullshit.
- Must be clean, chill, and okay with guys. Serious inquiries only.
- Four guys already here, all employed, clean(ish), no drama. Serious inquiries only.
- Text 82-10-XXXX-XXXX. First come, first served.
Don't waste our time.
No photos. No bullet points about ‘respectful boundaries’ or ‘shared Netflix password.’ Just that blunt, cocky little block of text, like they knew exactly what kind of person would bite anyway. The rent figure was unreal, half what you'd been paying for your shoebox studio that smelled faintly of regret and yesterday's takeout. You stared at it for a full minute, thumb hovering over your phone screen, heart doing that stupid flutter thing it does when you're about to make a decision that's either genius or catastrophic.
And then there was the line written in red pen, scrawled untidily, looking like a disastrous attempt at cursive.
“She better be hot lol”
Crossed out once, aggressively. Then underlined twice, like whoever wrote it had second thoughts about the shame and decided to recommit. You stared at that part the longest.
Your current apartment smelled like damp carpet and stale air no matter how many candles you burned. The windows rattled every time the train passed. Your landlord had the audacity to send out a mass email about a “maintenance fee adjustment” that was definitely just code for I bought a new car and you’re helping pay for it.
Rent had started to feel like a chokehold. And this, four guys, one girl, big downtown apartment, utilities split five ways, was a stupidly good number. Too good. Which should have been your first red flag.
Your reflection in the lobby mirror looked tired. A little reckless. The kind of girl who was one bad decision away from either ruining her life or improving it dramatically. You took a picture of the flyer. You hesitated.
You zoomed in on the red scribble. You told yourself you were an adult. That you could handle four random men in a shared space. That this was just housing, not a horror movie opening scene. Then you texted the number before your common sense could wrestle your thumbs away.
You: Hi, saw the flyer for the roommate spot. Still available? Interested if the details match up. What's the move-in date?
The three dots appeared almost instantly. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Your stomach did that awful, fluttery dip it does before you step into something you can’t undo.
Unknown: yeah it's open. u got a name sweetheart?
Sweetheart. You actually rolled your eyes. You told yourself you rolled your eyes. But something warm slid low in your stomach anyway. Casual ownership. Teasing. A test.
You: Y/N. And yeah, I do. When can I come see it?
The typing bubbles came back. Stayed. Disappeared. Came back again. Then your phone vibrated with a voice note instead of text. You stared at it for a full second.
Who the fuck sends voice notes to strangers?
You slipped in one earbud like you were about to overhear something you weren’t meant to. You hit play. Chaos. Not the polite kind. Not the muffled, distant kind. The kind that sounds like bodies moving and furniture scraping and too many voices in one space.
“—told you the flyer was too obvious, dumbass—”
“Shut the fuck up, she texted, didn’t she?”
“Bet she’s mid. Fifty says she’s mid.”
“Fifty says she’s a freak who’ll cry after one night.”
Explosive laughter. Low and rough and layered. Someone swore. There was a thud like someone got shoved into a couch. Another voice yelling, “Give me the phone—”
Your pulse was in your throat. It felt intrusive. Intimate. Like you were already inside their space, hearing something raw and unfiltered. Then the chaos snapped. Cut clean. A different presence took over. Closer to the mic. Lower.
“...Y/N, right?” Your name sounded slower in his mouth. Like he’d rolled it around once before saying it.
“This is Heeseung.”
The way he said it wasn’t introduction. It was declaration. The background noise dimmed, not because the room got quieter, but because he stepped away from it. You could picture it without trying: him turning his back to the others, leaning against something, one hand braced on a counter, phone lifted close enough that his breath ghosted the mic.
The kind of voice that didn’t rush. The kind that didn’t need to. “Place is still open. Come by tomorrow. 7 p.m. sharp. We’ll be here.”
We’ll be here. Not I’ll be here. A collective. A warning. There was a beat of silence. Not awkward. Deliberate. “Bring your shit if you like what you see. We don’t do second viewings.”
And then it ended. No goodbye. No emoji. No softening. Just the click of the recording stopping, leaving his voice hanging in your ear like smoke in a closed room. You sat on your sagging futon with the cheap springs poking through the cushion and replayed it. Twice.
The arguing in the background. The laughter. The careless comments. The way he had cut through all of it like a knife sliding into silk. You told yourself they sounded like idiots. You told yourself this was exactly the kind of environment you’d sworn you’d never put yourself in. But your thighs pressed together anyway, tension curling low and restless, not quite fear and not quite excitement.
You imagined the apartment. Exposed brick. Too much space. Music playing too loud. A kitchen that actually had room to breathe in. Four men who moved through it like they owned it. And one empty room.
Waiting. You should have blocked the number. Should have deleted the thread. Should have found a nice, quiet girls-only share in the suburbs where the biggest drama would be someone stealing your almond milk. Instead, you typed back.
You: 7 p.m. tomorrow. Address?
The reply came faster this time.
Heeseung: [pinned location]Don’t be late, sweetheart. We hate waiting.
You read that last line more than once. We hate waiting. It sounded less like a preference and more like a rule. You packed that night with a strange kind of calm. One duffel bag. Just enough clothes to rotate for a few days. Toiletries. Charger. The essentials. You folded each item slowly, like you were preparing for something bigger than just a new address.
Your studio looked even smaller with your things missing. The walls felt closer. The air heavier. You stood in the middle of it and imagined tomorrow. The elevator ride up. The door opening. Four sets of eyes. The apartment smelling like expensive cologne and something darker. Smoke, maybe. Leather. Ego.
You imagined him. Them. All four of them. Either unfairly good-looking men who were complete assholes, or unimpressive men who were still complete assholes. The asshole part was a constant. The hotness was the only variable.
Not that it mattered. Of course it didn’t.
You didn’t know his face, but you knew the voice. Low. Steady. Amused. The kind of voice that didn’t rush for anyone.
You imagined the smirk you’d heard through the speaker, lazy, confident, practiced. Probably rich, too. Not new-money loud, but old-money careless. Daddy’s money had a look. It looked like never checking price tags.
You zipped the duffel closed. This was reckless. Stupid, even. The kind of decision that looked sensible only from far away, like a bruise that passed for lavender in low light. Rent had been pressing in for months, a dull gray weight at the base of your skull, constant as weather. You told yourself that was all this was. Survival. Logistics. Math.
But that wasn’t the whole truth. There was something about his voice. Not the depth of it, not even the amusement. It was the contrast, the velvet laid carefully over something serrated. Chaos humming behind glass. Control presented like a gift.
It had sounded dark blue through the speaker. Not navy. Not midnight. Something electric and expensive. The kind of blue that didn’t apologize for swallowing light. You should have been afraid of it.
Maybe you were. But the risk didn’t feel like falling. Falling was abrupt. Colorless. Final. This felt different. It felt like stepping across the gold line in a painting, the one the artist never meant anyone to cross. Like touching wet paint just to see if it would stain. Like walking into a story that had already decided what to do with you.
7 p.m. Sharp. You arrive at 6:58 p.m.
Not because you’re punctual by nature, but because something about Don’t be late. We hate waiting. lodged under your skin and stayed there all day.
The building is taller than you expected. Glass-fronted. Industrial. The kind of place that tries to look effortless and ends up looking expensive instead. The lobby smells faintly of artificially scented cleaner, probably lemon, and polished concrete. Exposed brick climbs one wall in a deliberate, curated way that says urban charm instead of structural compromise.
You stand in front of the elevator with your duffel bag hooked over one shoulder and a medium-sized suitcase at your side. You told yourself you’d bring only what you needed for a week.
You lied.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft metallic sigh. You step inside. Your reflection in the mirrored walls looks smaller than you feel. Lip gloss reapplied in the car. Hair brushed back into place. A quiet, deliberate choice in your outfit, effortless enough to pretend you didn’t try, fitted enough to know you did.
The numbers climb. Your pulse climbs with them. You tell yourself this is housing. Just housing. Four men sharing rent in a five-bedroom apartment isn’t unheard of. This isn’t a cult. This isn’t a frat house. This isn’t—
The elevator dings. The doors part. And the first thing you hear is laughter. It spills into the hallway like it lives there. Low, overlapping, careless. The door to their unit is already open. You don’t knock. You step inside.
The apartment is bigger than the pictures could’ve shown. High ceilings with steel beams running across them. Floor-to-ceiling windows pouring in late afternoon light that turns everything gold. A massive sectional couch in charcoal gray dominates the living space. There’s a long dining table made of reclaimed wood, scuffed in places that look intentional.
Music hums low from somewhere, bass-heavy, lazy. And then, you see them. All four of them. Shirtless. You stop walking. They’re scattered across the living area in a way that suggests they were doing something physical, lifting, maybe, but not something that required shirts. One is crouched by a stack of flattened cardboard boxes. Another leans against the kitchen island with a bottle of water tipped to his lips. Someone else stands near the couch, forearms flexed as he adjusts the hem of his joggers.
They notice you at the same time. Conversation dies. It’s not dramatic. Not loud. It just… stops. Four pairs of eyes land on you. And stay there. You feel it before you process it. The weight of being looked at. Not glanced. Not politely assessed. Looked at. Slowly. Thoroughly. Like you’re an answer to a question they’ve already been debating.
The one by the kitchen island lowers his bottle first. He’s tall. Lean muscle, not bulky. Collarbone sharp under the light. Damp hair pushed back from his forehead like he’s just showered or run a hand through it too many times. His gaze drags over you without apology. From your shoes. Up your legs.
To your waist. Your chest. Your mouth. Your eyes. He doesn’t look away when you meet his stare. That has to be Heeseung. The voice fits.
“Y/N.”
It isn’t a question. Your name sounds different in the open air of the apartment. Deeper. Warmer. More tangible. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out steady, which surprises you.
He pushes off the island and walks toward you. The other three follow slower, not crowding but not retreating either. You become aware of everything at once. The quiet click of your suitcase wheels settling. The way your fingers tighten around the strap of your duffel. The faint sheen of sweat along their collarbones.
They must’ve been moving furniture. Or maybe they just wanted an excuse to be shirtless when you arrived. The thought hits you uninvited. And then, you realize you’re staring, too. One of them, broader shoulders, dark hair falling into his eyes, lets out a low whistle.
“Not mid,” he mutters.
The guy beside him elbows his ribs. A cocky grin already spreading over his lips nonetheless before he disrupts it by caging his lower lip between his teeth. “Shut up.” Heat crawls up your neck.
Heeseung stops about three feet in front of you. Close enough that you can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. Close enough to smell something clean and subtle, soap, maybe, or skin warmed by movement. He tilts his head slightly.
“You’re on time.”
“I said I would be.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. Behind him, one of the others steps forward and grabs your suitcase handle before you can protest. “We’ll take that.”
It’s said casually, but there’s something about the way he says we again that makes your stomach dip. The fourth one finally speaks. “You bring everything?”
“Just enough to survive a week,” you reply.
He laughs. “Smart.” They move around you with unsettling ease. Not touching you. Not yet. But close enough that the air shifts when they pass. You step fully into the apartment as your suitcase is rolled toward the hallway. The door shuts behind you with a quiet click that feels louder than it should. You turn slowly, taking in the space.
The kitchen is massive, marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, open shelving that somehow looks organized despite the presence of four men. There are plants near the windows. A guitar propped casually against the wall.
This isn’t a mess. It isn’t chaotic. It’s lived-in. Comfortable. Dangerously comfortable. “Room’s down the hall,” Heeseung says. “Last one on the right.”
You nod, but you don’t move yet. Because they’re still looking at you. Not in a way that feels crude. But undeniably… interested. Assessing. One of them, taller than the rest, sharper features, leans back against the wall and crosses his arms. His eyes crinkle, “So,” he says slowly. “You cool living with guys?” The question isn’t innocent. You lift your chin slightly.
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
His gaze flickers, approval, maybe. The broad-shouldered one smirks.
“You get easily offended?”
“No.”
“You snore?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Got a boyfriend?”
The question lands differently. You glance at Heeseung. He hasn’t spoken. He’s watching you. Waiting. You meet his eyes and answer evenly, “No.”
The silence that follows is subtle, but it shifts something. Like a door quietly unlocking. Heeseung gestures down the hall. “Come see your room.”
You follow. The hallway is lined with closed doors. Music grows fainter as you move away from the main space. Your suitcase wheels roll softly against polished concrete. He opens the last door and steps aside to let you in first. The room is bigger than you expected.
Large window. Soft gray walls. A queen-sized bed frame already assembled. A desk near the corner. Closet doors sliding open to reveal empty hangers. It doesn’t feel like someone just left it. It feels like it was waiting.
You step inside. He follows. The others hover at the doorway, leaning casually against the frame like they’re watching a show. “Well?” one of them asks. You set your duffel down on the bed.
“It’s… really nice.” Heeseung walks to the window and pulls the curtain slightly, letting more light in.
“Told you. No bullshit.” He turns to face you fully. There’s something different now that you’re in a smaller space. More contained. More charged. You can feel the other three just outside the room. Listening. You cross your arms loosely.
“What’s the actual catch?”
One of the guys snorts from the hallway. Heeseung’s lips twitch. “No catch.”
“Four guys, one girl, cheap rent, no second viewings. There’s always a catch.”
He steps closer. Not enough to trap you. Just enough to make you aware of proximity. “We don’t like flakes,” he says quietly. “We don’t like drama. We don’t like people who pretend they’re chill and then aren’t.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then you won’t last.”
The words aren’t cruel. They’re factual. You swallow. “Is that a threat?”
His gaze drops briefly to your mouth. Then back up. “It’s information.”
The other three laugh softly behind him. “You scared?” someone calls.
You step closer instead of back. “No.” And that’s the truth. You’re not scared. You’re wired. There’s a difference. He studies you for a long second. Then nods once.
“Good.” He steps back, creating space again. “You can move in tonight if you want.” Your heartbeat stutters.
“That was the deal.” One of them pushes off the doorframe. “Guess we’ve got a new roommate.” The broad-shouldered one grins. “Welcome to the madhouse.”
They disperse slightly after that. Not fully. But enough to let you breathe. You kneel on the bed to unzip your duffel, aware of eyes tracking the movement. A shirt comes out. Toiletry bag. A pair of heels you probably won’t need but packed anyway.
From the hallway, a voice says quietly, “She’s staying.”
“Obviously,” another replies.
You pretend not to hear. But your skin hums. Because beneath the jokes. Beneath the cocky questions. There’s something else. A tension that hasn’t snapped yet. An understanding that this isn’t just about splitting rent. You don’t know the rules. You don’t know the lines. But you feel them. Drawn. Invisible. Waiting. You stand and smooth your hands down your sides.
“I’ll bring the rest tomorrow.” Heeseung leans against the wall now, arms crossed. “Take your time.”
Your gaze locks again. The eye contact lingers too long to be accidental. Too steady to be polite. It’s not crude. It’s not rushed. It’s slow. Deliberate. Like he’s memorizing you.
And maybe, you’re memorizing him, too.
Friday night settles in outside the window, the sky deepening from gold to blue. You came here for cheap rent. For square footage. For practical reasons. But as the music in the living room turns louder and someone calls your name like you’ve always belonged here, you realize something quietly, dangerously simple. This wasn’t just a listing.
It was an invitation. And you accepted it. The kitchen island becomes your first battlefield.
Someone, Jay, you learn later, has already spread out a chaotic spread of takeout: greasy fried chicken in red-and-white buckets, japchae tangled in sesame oil, bulging containers of tteokbokki still steaming, a few lonely mandu that look like they've been fought over. Plastic forks and chopsticks clatter. No plates. No pretense of civility.
You slide onto one of the high stools, thighs sticking slightly to the leather from the heat still clinging to your skin after the move. Your thin white tank clings in all the wrong-right places, damp from nerves and the apartment's lazy, cold thermostat. No bra underneath because you'd changed into "comfy" clothes after unpacking the bare minimum. Big mistake.
Or the best one you've made all week. They circle like sharks who've already scented blood. Heeseung claims the stool right beside you without asking. His bare knee knocks yours under the island the second you settle. He doesn't move it. Neither do you. Jay drops onto the one across from you, broad shoulders taking up too much real estate. He leans forward on his elbows, forearms corded, watching you like you're the next thing on the menu.
Jake sprawls next to him, legs spread wide under the counter, one foot hooking casually around your ankle like it's always belonged there. He grins, pretty, boyish, filthy.
Sunghoon perches at the end like a king on his throne, long legs stretched out, one hand already tearing into a chicken wing. He licks sauce off his thumb slowly, eyes never leaving the front of your tank.
"Alright," Heeseung says, voice low and amused as he pops open a beer and slides one toward you without asking if you drink. "Introductions, since you're staying."
He drags a knuckle down your bare arm, slow, deliberate, like he's testing how soft you are. Goosebumps erupt instantly. "I'm Heeseung." His fingers linger at your wrist, thumb pressing your pulse point. "You already knew that." You nod, throat dry. Take a sip of the beer. It's cold. Sharp. Does nothing to cool the heat pooling between your legs.
Jay jerks his chin up. "Park Jongseong. Jay." He reaches across the island, grabs a piece of tteokbokki with his fingers, holds it out to you. "Open." You hesitate half a second. He raises one brow. "Don't make me feed you like a baby, sweetheart."
Your lips part. He pushes the sticky rice cake inside, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he pulls back. Sauce smears. He doesn't wipe it off. Just watches it glisten there.
"Jake Sim," the one with the foot around your ankle says. He leans in, elbow on the counter, chin in hand. His gaze drops blatantly to your chest. Your nipples have pebbled hard against the thin cotton, traitorous little peaks begging for attention. He bites his lip, lets out a soft, appreciative hum. "Fuck, you're not wearing a bra. Bold move, roomie."
Heat floods your face. Also lower. Sunghoon doesn't bother with words at first. He just stares, cold, assessing, predatory. Then he speaks, voice velvet and mean.
"Park Sunghoon." He drags a fry through sauce, offers it to you the same way Jay did. When you lean forward to take it, he pulls it back at the last second, makes you chase. You feel ridiculous. Wet. "Good girl." The praise lands like a slap. Your thighs clench.
Heeseung chuckles low beside you. His hand finds your knee under the island, big, warm, possessive. Slides up your inner thigh slow enough that you could stop him. You don't. His fingers stop just shy of where your shorts end, thumb stroking the crease where thigh meets hip. Back and forth. Lazy. Teasing the edge of your underwear.
"So," Jay says around a mouthful of chicken, eyes locked on the outline of your nipples like they're speaking to him personally. "What's your deal, Y/N? You always this easy to read?"
Jake snorts. Leans closer. "Bet she's already soaked just from us looking."
"Shut up," you mutter, but it comes out breathy. Weak.
Heeseung's thumb presses harder. "She is," he says quietly, like it's a fact he's confirming for the group. His other hand reaches up, casual, like he's reaching for more food, and brushes the side of your breast through the tank. The pad of his thumb grazes your nipple. Circles once.
You gasp. Small. Involuntary. Sunghoon smirks. "Told you. Instant slut for attention." Jay exchanges a look with Jake, dirty, conspiratorial. They both laugh under their breath.
"Pass her the spicy one," Jake says. "See if she cries."
Heeseung finally pulls his hand from between your legs, only to slide it around your waist instead. Tugs you closer until your side is flush against his bare chest. Skin on skin. Heat on heat. "Eat," he murmurs against your ear. Breath hot. "You're gonna need the energy."
You pick up a piece of chicken with shaking fingers. They watch every bite like it's porn. Sunghoon leans forward. "Question." You meet his eyes. Dark. Unblinking.
"You gonna pretend you're not dripping for us all night, or can we skip the bullshit and get to the part where you spread on the counter?"
Your chopsticks freeze halfway to your mouth. Jake groans softly. "Hyung—"
"What?" Sunghoon shrugs. "We're all thinking it. She's sitting here with her tits out, clit probably throbbing, acting like she didn't come here to get fucked stupid by four guys who don't even know her last name."
Heeseung's hand slides higher again, this time under your tank. Palm flat against your bare stomach. Fingers splay wide. Claiming territory. Jay licks sauce off his lips. Slow. "Rent-free, remember? That pussy's been ours since you texted back."
Jake's foot slides higher up your calf. "Bet she clenches just hearing that." You do. They know. Heeseung's thumb finds your nipple again, pinches lightly through the fabric. Rolls it.
"Finish eating," he says, voice deceptively gentle. "Then we're gonna show you how we collect rent around here."
The words are disgusting. The way your body responds is worse. You swallow hard. Sauce still sticky on your lip. They wait. Patient. Filthy. Certain. Because they already know, you're not leaving this island until every inch of you is marked.
And the food? It's barely started getting cold. The takeout disappears faster than it should, mostly because your mouth is never empty for long.
Jay keeps tearing off pieces of chicken, dipping them in sauce, holding them to your lips like it's his personal mission to keep you full. His fingers linger every time, brushing your tongue, smearing gloss and grease across your chin until you're sticky and flushed. "Good girl," he murmurs once, low enough that only you hear it, but loud enough that the others smirk.
Heeseung never stops touching. His hand starts at your knee again, then climbs, slow, shameless, until it's high on your inner thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles over the damp cotton of your shorts. When you shift, trying to close your legs, he just spreads them wider with his knee. Casual. Like adjusting furniture. His other hand stays under your tank, palm flat against your stomach, fingers occasionally drifting up to pluck at your nipples like he's testing how hard they can get before you whimper.
They do get hard. Painfully so. The thin fabric does nothing to hide it.
Sunghoon leans back, legs spread, one hand lazily palming himself through his sweats while he watches. "Bet she's clenching every time Jay feeds her," he says, voice dripping. "Like a little hungry bird. Open wide, princess, here comes the next load."
Jake laughs, soft and filthy, leaning so close his breath fans your ear. "You're so fucking cute when you're pretending not to like it, baby. Look at you, your body is begging, thighs shaking. You gonna come just from us looking at you like the slut you are?" He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear. "Say 'please' and maybe we'll let you grind on the stool till you soak it."
You don't say please.
You just swallow another bite Jay pushes past your lips, choke a little when Heeseung's fingers slip under the leg of your shorts and graze the edge of your folds, wet, swollen, traitorous. They all hear the tiny, broken sound you make.
Sunghoon groans. "Fuck. That's the sound I wanna hear when she's choking on my dick later."
Dinner ends like that, messy, humiliating, electric.
When the last container is shoved aside, you mumble something about needing to unpack. Your voice is wrecked. Legs unsteady as you slide off the stool.
Heeseung's hand finally leaves your body, but not before he gives your ass a firm, possessive squeeze. "Go on, sweetheart. Get settled."
Their laughter follows you down the hallway, low, overlapping, knowing. "She's dripping down her thighs, I can smell it from here."
"Bet she locks the door and fingers herself thinking about us."
"Door stays unlocked from now on. House rule."
You shut yourself in the bedroom anyway. Heart hammering. Cheeks burning. Cunt throbbing so hard it hurts. You tell yourself you're just going to unpack. You don't.
The apartment feels smaller now, the air thicker, like the walls themselves are breathing. You’re still sprawled on the edge of the mattress, knees wide, thin cotton shorts shoved down just far enough that the waistband bites into the tops of your thighs. Your tank top has ridden up under your breasts, nipples stiff and visible through the damp fabric. Two fingers are buried inside you, knuckle-deep, curling, pumping, while your thumb mashes frantic, messy circles over your swollen clit. Every stroke pulls a slick, obscene sound from between your legs. You can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.
The apartment is quiet for maybe ten minutes. Then you hear it. From the living room, muffled at first, then unmistakable. Low grunts. Wet, rhythmic sounds. Skin on skin. "New roommate's pussy looked so fucking tight," Jake's voice, breathy. "Bet she'd cry if I went in raw."
Jay, rougher: "I'd make her ride me reverse so I could watch that ass bounce while Heeseung fucks her throat."
Sunghoon, colder, meaner: "I'm breaking that little cunt open first. Gonna make her squirt all over the couch before the night's over."
Heeseung's voice cuts through, low, controlled, dangerous. "We're breaking her in slow. Let her think she has control for a day or two. Then we take turns stretching her till she forgets her own name."
More groans. Faster strokes. Someone swears. Someone moans your name, your actual fucking name, like it's already theirs. Your cunt clenches hard around your fingers at the memory. A fresh gush of wetness coats your palm. You’re dripping onto the sheet now, dark spot spreading beneath your ass. You try to muffle the next whimper by biting the inside of your cheek, but it still leaks out, high and broken.
You come hard. Silent at first, then a choked whimper slips out when your fingers push inside, chasing the aftershocks. Your thighs shake. The bed creaks. The apartment has been dead silent for thirty seconds.
Then, floorboards creak. Not fast. Not rushed. Slow. Measured. One deliberate step after another. Your heart slams against your ribs so violently you’re sure they can hear it through the thin walls. You freeze, fingers still stuffed inside you, walls fluttering helplessly around them. You don’t dare pull them out. Don’t dare move. Every nerve feels peeled open, raw, screaming.
The footsteps stop right outside your door. You hold your breath. The knob turns. No knock. No warning. The door swings inward on silent hinges. Heeseung fills the frame.
No shirt. Sweatpants slung obscenely low, the thick ridge of his cock still half-hard and outlined against the gray cotton like it’s trying to tear through. A faint sheen of sweat glistens along his collarbones, down the cut of his abs. His hair is wrecked, fingers-raked, damp at the temples. His eyes are black, pupils blown, and the corner of his mouth curls in something that isn’t quite a smile. It’s possession wearing amusement like a mask.
He doesn’t step inside. Not yet. He just leans one bare shoulder against the doorframe, arms loosely crossed, and lets his gaze drag over you, slow, deliberate, filthy. From the way your thighs tremble, to the hand still buried in your shorts, to the wet spot darkening the sheet, to your bitten-raw lip and glassy eyes.
“Caught you,” he murmurs. Voice so low it vibrates in your chest. Your fingers twitch involuntarily inside yourself. A tiny, helpless pump. You can’t help it. His voice alone is enough to make your cunt spasm. He notices. Of course he notices. His head tilts. “You didn’t even lock the door, baby.”
The endearment lands like a slap and a caress at once. Your mouth opens, maybe to deny, maybe to beg, maybe just to breathe, but nothing comes out except a shaky exhale.
He takes one step forward. The floor creaks under his weight. Another step. Your pulse is in your throat, your clit, your fingertips. You’re so wet it’s obscene, every tiny shift of your hips makes a slick sound you’re sure he can hear.
He stops at the foot of the bed. Close enough that you can smell him, clean sweat, faint cologne, the dark musk of arousal still clinging to his skin from whatever they were doing out there.
“Look at you,” he says softly. Almost tender. “Legs spread like you were waiting for an audience. Fingers stuffed in that greedy little hole while you listened to us talk about ruining you.” His eyes flick to where your hand disappears into your shorts. “Did you come thinking about Sunghoon splitting you open? Or Jay making you bounce on his cock while I fucked your throat raw?”
You make a sound, half sob, half moan. Your hips jerk up without permission, chasing your own fingers. Heeseung’s gaze darkens. “Don’t stop.”
Your breath hitches. “Keep fucking yourself,” he orders, voice dropping into something darker, quieter, more dangerous. “Let me watch how desperate you got listening to us plan all the ways we’re gonna break you.”
Your fingers move before your brain catches up, slow at first, then faster, wetter, louder. The heel of your palm grinds against your clit with every thrust. Your other hand claws at the sheet. Your thighs shake so hard the bed frame rattles. Heeseung doesn’t touch you. He just watches.
Eyes heavy-lidded. Breathing slow and controlled while yours comes in ragged little pants. The outline of his cock has thickened again, straining harder against the sweats. A dark spot blooms at the tip. "You were moaning our names," he says, tilting his head. "Heard you clear as day."
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. He walks closer. Stops at the edge of the bed. Looks down at you, spread, flushed, fingers still glistening.
"First rule of the house," he says, voice velvet and final. He reaches down, grips your chin, tilts your face up so you have to meet his eyes. "If we hear you moaning our names, if you touch that pretty pussy thinking about us, you don't get to come alone anymore."
His thumb drags across your bottom lip, collecting the spit and gloss there. "You finish with one of us inside you. Or on you. Or watching. Your choice."
He leans in until his mouth is a breath from yours. "But tonight?" He smirks, slow, filthy, victorious. "Tonight you go to sleep wet and aching. No more touching. That's rule two."
He straightens. Steps back. "Get some rest, sweetheart."
He turns for the door. Pauses. Looks over his shoulder. "And tomorrow?" His smile is all teeth. "Rent's due."
The door clicks shut behind him. You lie back on the bed, heart slamming, thighs slick, body screaming. You don't touch yourself again. Not because you don't want to. But because you know, he's right outside. And they're all waiting for the next time you break.
Your gasp rips through the dim bedroom like a blade, but it’s not fear that claws up your throat, it’s the raw, electric shock of Jake’s iron grip clamping around your upper arm, yanking you upright so violently the mattress squeaks in protest. Your eyes fly open to the sight of his wicked grin, teeth flashing white in the pale morning light filtering through half-drawn blinds. The sheets are torn away in one savage sweep, cool air slamming against your overheated skin like a slap. Your thin tank top is already bunched uselessly under your tits, the fabric twisted tight around your ribs, while your tiny sleep shorts have ridden so high they barely cover the swell of your ass cheeks, the crotch seam digging intently into your folds.
“Morning, roomie,” Jake purrs, voice dripping with mock sweetness and pure venom. He drags you out of bed like a ragdoll, your bare feet scrambling for purchase on the icy concrete floor, toes curling against the chill. His free hand instantly mauls your left tit, thick fingers sinking deep into the soft, heavy flesh, squeezing so hard your nipple hardens between his knuckles like a ripe berry. His thumb flicks it once, twice, three times, fast and brutal, like he’s punishing a disobedient little button. Pain blooms hot and sharp, shooting straight to your clit, and you hiss through clenched teeth, back arching involuntarily, pushing your chest further into his greedy palm.
He laughs, low, filthy, delighted, and crashes his mouth against your cheek in a wet, sloppy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. The flat of his tongue drags slow and deliberate across your flushed skin, leaving a thick trail of spit that cools instantly. He pulls back with a loud smack, lips shiny, eyes glittering with mischief.
“Breakfast’s waiting, princess. And you’re the main fucking course.”
He hauls you down the hallway, your legs stumbling, tits bouncing freely under the ruined tank, shorts still tangled around one thigh. The living room hits you like a fever dream: thick with the scent of fresh-brewed coffee, printer ink, and the unmistakable musk of four horny men who’ve already been stroking themselves thinking about this exact moment. Jay’s lounging like a king on the massive sectional sofa, legs spread wide in nothing but gray sweats that do nothing to hide the monstrous bulge tenting the fabric, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, the other lazily palming his cock through the material. He doesn’t even stand. Just crooks two fingers at you, slow and commanding, a lazy smirk playing on his full lips.
Jake shoves you forward hard. You stumble straight into Jay’s waiting hands, rough, calloused palms gripping your hips like vices, and he yanks you down onto his lap in one fluid, possessive motion. Your bare ass cheeks land flush against the scorching heat of his massive morning wood, the thick ridge of it nestling perfectly between your cheeks through the thin sweats. He groans deep in his chest and rocks up once, grinding his fat cock against you so you feel every throbbing inch, every vein, the blunt head nudging right against your folds like a promise.
“Sit pretty for me, slut,” Jay growls hot against the shell of your ear, breath smelling like mint and sin. One thick arm snakes around your waist, locking you down like a seatbelt made of steel. His other hand shoves up under your tank top, claiming your right tit fully, squeezing, kneading, rolling the nipple between rough fingers until it’s swollen and aching. You squirm helplessly, already leaking slick down your thighs, but he just chuckles darkly and pinches harder. “That’s it. Feel how hard you make me first thing in the goddamn morning?”
Heeseung leans against the kitchen island like a statue carved from ice and hunger, arms crossed over his broad chest, black tank stretched tight across his muscles, sweatpants slung low enough to show the deep V of his hips. His dark eyes drink you in with that calm, terrifying amusement, lips curled in the barest smirk. Sunghoon’s perched on the arm of the couch like a predator in repose, long legs dangling, one hand already shoved inside his boxers, slowly fisting his long, pretty cock, tip flushed angry red, leaking precum in shiny beads that he smears down the shaft with lazy twists.
A single crisp sheet of paper is taped to the stainless-steel fridge, bold black Arial bullet points screaming authority.
Roommate Rules.
Jake claps once, sharp and theatrical, the sound cracking through the room like a whip. “New roommate orientation, baby! Time to learn the house rules. Stand up, oh wait.” He grins viciously as Jay’s arm tightens, keeping you impaled on his lap, grinding slow circles so the ridge of his cock drags deliciously against your dripping cunt. “Never mind. Stay right there.”
Jay doesn’t let you move an inch. Jake rips the paper free and slaps it into your trembling hands. “Read it. Out. Loud. Every word.”
Heeseung’s voice cuts through like velvet over steel. “And don’t you dare stop.”
Your fingers shake so badly the paper rattles. Jay’s free hand dives straight down, past the waistband of your shorts, two thick fingers spearing into your soaked cunt without mercy, no teasing, no warmup. They curl viciously against your G-spot instantly, pumping in and out with wet, filthy squelching sounds that echo obscenely. Your walls clamp down greedily, sucking him deeper, and you choke on the first syllable.
“R-Rule… one…” Your voice cracks into a broken moan as Jay adds a third finger on the next thrust, stretching you wide, scissoring brutally. “N-No panties… in the apartment… after 8 p.m. Fuck—ahh!”
Sunghoon hums low, shoving his boxers down to his thighs, his long cock springing free, veiny, curved slightly, glistening as he strokes faster, thumb swiping over the leaking slit. “Louder, whore. Let us hear how wet that rule makes you.”
Jake drops to his knees between your spread thighs like he’s worshipping at an altar. He rips your shorts down your legs in one violent yank, tossing them across the room, leaving you completely bare from the waist down on Jay’s lap, pussy lips puffy and shining, clit throbbing visibly. He spreads your thighs wider with both hands, thumbs digging into soft flesh, and leans in. His tongue, hot, flat, and obscene, drags from your dripping hole all the way up to your swollen clit in one long, sloppy stripe. He sucks your clit into his mouth like it’s candy, tongue flicking rapid-fire while Jay’s fingers keep moving.
“Rule two,” you sob, hips jerking wildly, trying to ride both sensations at once. “You… sit on someone’s lap… during movie nights, oh god, Jake, please—ahh!”
Jake pulls back just enough to spit a thick glob of saliva right onto your clit, watching it drip down to mix with your juices coating Jay’s knuckles. “Good fucking girl. Keep reading while I eat this sloppy cunt like breakfast.”
Your voice is pure wreckage now, high, breathy, broken. “Rule three… Whoever cooks… the others get to fuck you… on the counter… while dinner’s in the oven, fuck, I’m gonna—”
Jay slams his fingers deeper, adding a fourth, stretching you to the burning limit. Your pussy gushes around him, slick squirting out in messy pulses that soak his sweats and the couch beneath you. The wet sounds are pornographic, schlick-schlick-schlick, loud enough to drown out your whimpers.
Heeseung is stroking himself now, thick, heavy, perfectly shaped, veins pulsing as he strokes slow and controlled, eyes locked on your face like he’s memorizing every twitch of humiliation and pleasure. “Almost there, sweetheart. Finish it. Then we give you the welcome gift you’ve been dripping for since you moved in.”
Jake stands, shoving his shorts down. His cock slaps heavy against his abs, thick, girthy, the head red and angry, already drooling precum in long strings. He strokes himself right in front of your face, the wet sound of his fist mixing with Jay’s fingers destroying your cunt. The tip keeps brushing your cheek, smearing precum across your skin like war paint.
You force the last words out between guttural moans, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaking your face. “First… official use… read the rules out loud… while being used—nnngh! And… and it ends with all four… cumming on your face… and tits… as welcome gift, please, I can’t—!”
Silence crashes down for half a second, only the obscene sounds of fingers plunging into soaked pussy and four men stroking their cocks. Then Jay rips his fingers out with a wet pop. You whine pathetically at the sudden emptiness, pussy clenching around nothing, a gush of your own slick dripping down your thighs onto the carpet.
Heeseung steps forward first, voice calm as death. “On your knees, cumdump.” Jay lifts you like you weigh nothing, strong arms tossing you onto the floor between them. The rough carpet bites into your knees as you kneel, back straight, tits heaving, cunt visibly throbbing and empty. They circle you like wolves, four towering, muscular bodies, cocks hard and leaking, surrounding you in a filthy halo of dominance.
Heeseung speaks, low and final. “Welcome to the house, sweetheart. Open that pretty mouth and take what you earned.” They don’t ask permission. They just ruin you.
Jake goes first, groaning loud and theatrical, fist flying as thick, ropey jets of cum erupt across your face. One stripe lands right across your open mouth, coating your tongue in salty heat. Another paints your left cheek, dripping down to your jaw. A third splatters across your forehead, sliding into your hair. He milks every drop, slapping his spent cock against your lips. “Swallow what you can, baby. The rest stays.”
Sunghoon’s next, quiet, intense, eyes dark as midnight. He aims low, long powerful spurts painting your tits in pearly white. Thick globs land on your left nipple, sliding down the curve of your breast like icing. Another heavy rope coats the valley between them, dripping down your stomach. He keeps stroking through it, smearing the head of his cock through the mess on your skin, marking you deeper.
Jay growls your name like a curse, “Fuck, look at you”—and unloads across the right side of your face. Hot cum hits your cheekbone, your eyelid, your lips, mixing with Jake’s in sticky rivers that drip off your chin onto your cum-glazed tits. One stray shot lands directly on your tongue and you moan, swallowing reflexively.
Heeseung saves the best for last. He steps closest, tipping your chin up with two fingers so your teary eyes lock onto his. “Eyes on me while I paint my new toy.” His strokes stay slow, deliberate, until the first powerful pulse shoots straight across your lips, forcing you to taste him, thick, bitter-sweet, coating your tongue. The next stripes your chest, adding fresh layers over Sunghoon’s mess, dripping off your nipples in heavy rivulets. He keeps coming, pulse after pulse, until your entire face and tits are a glistening, ruined masterpiece of four loads, cum sliding down your body in obscene trails, pooling in the hollow of your throat and between your thighs.
When they finally step back, you’re a trembling, kneeling wreck, face and chest absolutely drenched, lips parted, tongue still out like a good little cumslut, thighs shaking, pussy clenching and dripping onto the carpet in desperate need.
Heeseung crouches, thumb scooping a thick glob of mixed cum from your bottom lip. He pushes it deep into your mouth. “Suck. Clean every drop like the rules say.” You do, hollowing your cheeks, sucking his thumb clean with a wet pop, eyes fluttering as the salty, musky taste of all four of them floods your senses. He smiles, slow, dark, satisfied. “Rules are rules, baby.”
Jake laughs, tucking his cock away with a satisfied sigh. “Shower’s down the hall, princess. But we won’t mind if you don’t shower today. Or ever again.”
Jay leans down, pressing an almost tender kiss to the top of your cum-matted hair. “Welcome home, roomie.”
Sunghoon just stares, licking his lips as you instinctively drag your tongue across them, chasing every stray drop. “Rent’s cheap as fuck now, huh? But you are gonna pay every single day.”
You can’t speak, voice wrecked, body owned. But your cunt is already fluttering, aching, dripping for the next rule they’ll break you with. And they know it. They always will.
The rest of the day unravels like a slow, deliberate fever dream, every ordinary second laced with the kind of casual, relentless violation that makes your pulse thunder and your cunt throb like a second heartbeat. You try so fucking hard to pretend it’s just another lazy Saturday. That the thick, salty ghosts of their cum aren’t still drying in flaky trails across your tits and cheeks no matter how hard you scrubbed in the shower. That the taste of all four of them, bitter, musky, addictively filthy, doesn’t coat the back of your throat every single time you swallow.
The shower is a war zone. Scalding water pounds against skin still blooming with faint red handprints and fingertip bruises, steam thick enough to choke on. You soap yourself raw, trying to erase the evidence, but every glide of your own hands over your sore nipples, your swollen clit, your tender skin just reminds you how easily they marked you. When you finally step out, the oversized black tee you pull on clings to your still-damp skin like a surrender flag, hem barely skimming the bottom curve of your ass, nipples already stiff and obvious against the thin cotton, pussy lips puffy and exposed every time you move. No bra. No panties. It’s not even close to 8 p.m., but the rule is already branded into your brain like a collar. You tell yourself it’s just comfort. Practicality. Not the first step in learning to live with your holes on permanent display.
They let you cling to that lie for exactly twenty-three minutes.
You’re in the kitchen, stretching up on tiptoes to grab a glass from the top shelf, the tee riding all the way up to expose the full, bare globes of your ass and the slick shine already coating your inner thighs, when the first crack lands.
Jake’s palm connects with your right cheek like a gunshot, sharp, loud, viciously playful. The sound ricochets off the marble counters. Your whole body jolts forward, glass clattering against the shelf, and a hot bloom of pain explodes across your skin. Before you can even gasp, he’s right there, chest pressed to your back, hips grinding his half-hard cock against the cleft of your ass through his sweats.
“Careful, princess,” he drawls, voice syrupy and mean. Both hands shove up under the tee from behind, claiming your tits like they were built for his palms, squeezing the soft, heavy flesh until it bulges between his fingers, thumbs and forefingers rolling your nipples in tight, cruel pinches that send lightning straight to your clit. “Wouldn’t want you breaking shit on your first full day. Or maybe we should make you clean it up on your knees.”
You white-knuckle the counter, breath sawing out of you, thighs pressing together uselessly as fresh slick drips down your legs.
Heeseung strolls past like he’s fetching orange juice, not even sparing you a glance, until his arm snaps out mid-stride and his open palm cracks across your left cheek so hard the sting blooms white-hot and immediate. Your knees buckle. He keeps walking, cool as ever, but you catch the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Jay’s waiting when you bend over to grab a yogurt from the bottom drawer of the fridge. The oversized tee flips up completely, baring your dripping cunt and the pink handprints already decorating your ass. His bare foot hooks your ankle, yanking your legs apart with zero warning. Then his hand comes down, once, twice, three brutal, stinging slaps in rapid succession, each one harder than the last, the wet smack of skin on wet skin echoing obscenely. Your pussy clenches visibly with every impact, a humiliating string of slick stretching from your hole to the floor.
“Good reach, roomie,” he mutters, already back to scrolling his phone like he didn’t just turn your ass into a throbbing, cherry-red masterpiece. “Keep bending over like that and I might have to test how deep that pretty throat is before dinner.”
Sunghoon doesn’t bother with words. He simply appears behind you while you’re loading the dishwasher, hips slamming forward to pin you bent over the open rack, his massive erection grinding slow and filthy between your spread cheeks. One arm bands around your waist, the other shoves under the tee to grope your tits with lazy, proprietary thoroughness, palms rolling the soft mounds like ripe fruit, fingers tugging and twisting your nipples until they’re swollen, aching peaks. He pinches so hard you cry out, then releases you with a low whistle, walking away like he just checked the mail.
It never stops.
Every single movement is an invitation they cash immediately. Reaching for the remote? Jake’s fingers plunge between your thighs from behind, two thick digits sliding through your soaked folds just long enough to coat themselves before he pulls away, sucking them clean with a wink. Bending to pick up a dropped spoon? Jay’s palm cracks down again, then stays, middle finger dipping into your cunt, pumping once, twice, curling against your G-spot until your knees shake, then withdrawing with a wet pop and a casual “oops.” Stretching up to dust the top shelf? Heeseung’s mouth finds the back of your neck, teeth grazing, one hand sliding between your legs to flick your clit in rapid, teasing circles until you’re whimpering, then he’s gone, leaving you edged and gasping.
By late afternoon you’re a walking wreck, skin flushed scarlet, ass a lattice of overlapping handprints burning with every step, nipples raw and hypersensitive against the cotton, cunt so swollen and empty it aches like a bruise. Your thighs are shiny with constant slick. Your brain is fogged with need. You’re trying, failing, to fold laundry on the living room couch when Jake decides he’s done playing.
He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t warn. He simply drops to his knees in front of you like a man starved for weeks, hooks your trembling legs over his broad shoulders, and buries his face in your dripping pussy with a guttural groan that vibrates straight through your clit.
No warmup. No mercy.
His tongue is everywhere at once, broad, flat, filthy laps from your clenching hole all the way up to your throbbing clit, then sucking the swollen bud between his lips like he’s trying to pull your soul out through it. He alternates, hard, punishing suction that makes your back bow off the cushions, then soft, fluttering licks that leave you sobbing. Two thick fingers spear into you without resistance, curling viciously against that spongy spot inside while his tongue flicks your clit in rapid, relentless strokes. The wet sounds are deafening, your slick gushing around his knuckles, dripping down his chin, soaking the couch beneath you.
You grab fistfuls of his hair, half trying to rip him off, half grinding your cunt against his face desperate for release. “J-Jake, fuck—too much—ahh!”
He growls into your pussy, the vibration making your vision spark white. Three fingers now, stretching you wide, pumping brutally, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit while his tongue spears inside you, fucking you in shallow, messy thrusts. Your thighs clamp around his head like a vice. Your back arches so hard you nearly levitate. The orgasm rips through you like lightning, violent, shattering, squirting messily all over his face as you scream, walls convulsing, vision whiting out completely.
He doesn’t stop. He rides you through it, through the aftershocks, through the oversensitive whimpers and the frantic pushing at his head, tongue and fingers relentless until you’re a sobbing, twitching wreck, another smaller orgasm crashing over you before the first even fades.
Only then does he pull back, face glistening, lips swollen, chin dripping with your cum like he just won a war. He climbs up your body slow, caging you against the cushions with his powerful frame, cock heavy and leaking against your thigh through his sweats. Then he kisses you. Not the brutal, claiming way you expect after he just devoured your cunt like a starving animal.
Sweet. Devastatingly soft. His mouth moves against yours like a promise, gentle, coaxing, tongue sliding in lazy, velvet strokes that taste like your own slick and his spit. One hand cups your cheek with shocking tenderness, thumb stroking your jawbone like you’re fragile, precious. The other rests low on your belly, warm, possessive, fingers splayed like he’s claiming the space where his cock will eventually live.
It breaks something in you. Filthy-sweet. Disorienting. Dangerous. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, breath mingling, eyes half-lidded and shining. “Good girl,” he whispers, so soft it feels like a secret. “Tasted so fucking sweet. Could eat this pussy for every meal.”
Then he’s gone, standing, wiping his shiny face with the back of his hand, flashing that boyish, wicked grin like he didn’t just ruin you twice in five minutes. You lie there panting, legs still hooked open and shaking, lips tingling, cunt still fluttering and leaking onto the ruined couch. The others don’t even pretend to look away anymore.
Heeseung glances over from the armchair, dark eyes gleaming, one brow raised in quiet approval. Jay keeps scrolling, but his free hand is palming the massive bulge in his sweats. Sunghoon licks his lips slowly, deliberately, like he’s already tasting his turn. You yank the tee down over your trembling thighs with shaking hands, trying to catch your breath, trying to remember how to be a person.
The clock on the wall glows 7:42 p.m. Eighteen minutes until the first rule locks in for the night. And every single one of them is watching the seconds tick down with hungry, patient eyes.
The day was “normal.”
But normal in this house means your body is their favorite toy, teased, slapped, groped, eaten, and edged until you’re dripping and desperate. The night hasn’t even started.
The apartment is shrouded in that heavy, post-midnight hush, only the low, constant hum of the AC and the faint, faraway pulse of city traffic bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The clock on the wall glows 12:34 a.m. Your panties have been gone for hours, the rule now a permanent, throbbing law between your legs. Every step you take reminds you: bare, slick, exposed, owned.
You’re trying to ghost down the hallway like a shadow, bare feet silent on the cool hardwood, oversized tee clutched in one fist to keep the hem from riding up, when Heeseung materializes out of nowhere. His long fingers wrap around your wrist like a steel cuff, firm but not cruel, and he yanks you sideways without a single word. The door to his room swings open, swallows you both, and clicks shut with the finality of a prison gate. The lock engages with a soft, damning thunk.
The second the bolt slides home, the mask drops. Heeseung spins you around and slams you back against the door so hard the wood rattles in its frame. His mouth crashes into yours, teeth clashing, tongues battling, no sweetness, just raw, starving hunger. One big hand fists your hair, yanking your head back so he can devour your throat, sucking bruises into the skin while the other shoves up under your tee and finds your already dripping cunt.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he growls against your pulse point, two thick fingers spearing straight into you without warning. “Been walking around all night with this greedy little hole empty? Bad girl.”
You moan brokenly, hips jerking into his hand. He adds a third finger instantly, stretching you wide, scissoring brutally while his thumb grinds hard circles on your swollen clit. Your knees buckle; he doesn’t let you fall. Just pins you to the door with his body and finger-fucks you so viciously the sound echoes louder than your gasps.
He rips the tee over your head in one motion, leaving you completely naked. Then he’s spinning you again, bending you over the edge of his massive bed, face pressed into the black silk sheets that smell like him, dark, expensive, masculine. He kicks your legs wider, slaps your ass once, twice, hard enough to make the flesh jiggle and bloom pink.
“Look at this pretty cunt clenching for me,” he snarls, lining up the fat, leaking head of his cock and slamming in to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The stretch burns so good you scream into the mattress. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, just grips your hips hard enough to bruise and starts pounding.
Skin slaps skin like thunder. His heavy balls smack your clit with every savage thrust. The bed creaks violently under the assault. He fucks you like he’s trying to split you in half—deep, punishing strokes that drag against every sensitive ridge inside you, the thick head battering your cervix on every inward slam.
“Take it,” he grunts, one hand fisting your hair to arch your back, the other reaching around to slap your clit in time with his thrusts. “This is what you signed up for, roomie. This cunt belongs to the house now, belongs to me tonight.”
You’re sobbing, drooling onto the sheets, pussy gushing around his cock so loudly it’s embarrassing. He reaches down and spreads your ass cheeks wider, watching his thick shaft disappear into your stretched hole, the creamy ring of your arousal coating every inch.
“Fuck, look at that. Greedy little slut sucking me in.”
He pulls out suddenly, flips you onto your back, and hooks your legs over his shoulders. The new angle lets him drive even deeper. His hips snap forward like a machine, relentless, punishing, perfect. Your tits bounce wildly with every thrust. He leans down and sucks one swollen nipple into his mouth, biting hard enough to make you wail, then soothes it with his tongue before moving to the other.
You come first, hard, screaming, walls clamping down on him like a vice, squirting messily around his cock as your whole body seizes. He doesn’t slow. Just fucks you straight through it, growling praises and filth into your ear.
“That’s it, milk my cock, baby. Give me another. Come on this dick again like the house whore you are.”
You do, second orgasm ripping through you even harder, vision whiting out, nails raking bloody lines down his back. Heeseung follows with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt and flooding you with thick, hot ropes of cum, pulse after pulse until it’s leaking out around his cock, dripping down your ass and soaking the sheets.
He stays buried inside you for a long moment, both of you heaving, sweat-slick bodies glued together. Then he pulls out slowly, watching with dark satisfaction as his cum pours from your ruined hole in a creamy waterfall.
But the brutality ends there.
Heeseung rolls off you with surprising grace, chest still rising and falling hard. He sits up, runs a hand through his wrecked hair, then stands, completely naked, still half-hard and shining with your combined mess. You lie there boneless, thighs trembling, cum leaking steadily onto the bed, mind completely blank.
He disappears into the attached bathroom. You hear the faucet run, the soft clink of glass. When he returns, he’s carrying a warm, damp cloth and a small bottle of something. You flinch when he kneels between your spread thighs again, instinct, not fear, but he just shushes you softly.
“Easy, baby.”
The cloth is blissfully warm. He starts at your inner thighs, wiping away the sticky trails of cum with slow, careful strokes. Then higher, between your folds, dabbing gently at your swollen, puffy entrance. You hiss when the fabric brushes your oversensitive clit; he pauses instantly, waiting until you relax before continuing. He cleans every inch of you with the patience of a man who’s done this before, thorough, reverent, almost worshipful. When he’s satisfied, he sets the cloth aside and pours a small amount of cool, soothing lotion onto his fingers, massaging it gently into the red handprints on your hips, your ass, the bite marks on your breasts.
You can only stare at him, wide-eyed, lips parted, heart hammering in a way that has nothing to do with the orgasms.
Heeseung meets your gaze, those dark eyes steady, unreadable for a heartbeat, then the corner of his mouth lifts in something softer than a smirk. “I may be an asshole, baby,” he says, voice low and gravel-rough from how loud he’d moaned your name, “but I know how to treat what’s mine right after I break it.”
He finishes with the lotion, then grabs a clean, fluffy towel from the dresser and drapes it gently over your hips like a blanket. Pulls the black silk sheet up to your waist, tucking it around you with careful hands. Finally, he leans down, brushes sweat-damp strands of hair off your forehead with his knuckles, light, almost sweet, and presses the softest kiss to your temple.
“Get some sleep,” he murmurs against your skin. “You’re gonna need every ounce of strength for what the rest of them have planned tomorrow.”
He doesn’t stay. Just stands, flicks off the bedside lamp with a soft click, and pads out of the room, leaving the door cracked just enough that a thin, golden line of hallway light spills across the floor like an invitation… or a warning.
You lie there in the dark, body aching in the most delicious, ruined way, pussy still fluttering with aftershocks, skin tingling from his gentle hands, mind spinning in dizzy circles.
Because he is an asshole. A cruel, rule-making, cum-painting, pussy-destroying asshole. But tonight, for the first time since you moved in, you’re terrifyingly certain that’s not all he is. And that single, dangerous crack in the armor?
It scares you more than every filthy rule they’ve written on that fridge. Because if Heeseung can fuck you like a toy and then care for you like something precious…
What the hell are the other three capable of? You get your answer somewhere around an hour after Heeseung leaves.
The apartment has gone quiet, city lights bleeding through the blinds in faint orange stripes, the distant hum of traffic like white noise. You’re half-asleep in your own bed again, body still humming from earlier, skin too sensitive, mind too full of everything that’s happened since you walked through the front door. The sheets feel cool against the faint bruises blooming on your hips.
You don’t hear the door open. Just feel the mattress dip behind you, slow, careful, like whoever it is doesn’t want to startle you awake. Then warmth. Jay’s chest presses to your back, not crowding, not possessive in the usual way. Just… there. Solid. His arm slides around your waist from behind, palm flattening low on your stomach. Fingers splay wide, covering as much skin as they can without gripping.
He doesn’t speak at first. Just breathes, slow, even, against the nape of your neck. His nose brushes the baby hairs there once, twice. Then his thumb starts moving.
Slow circles. Lazy, deliberate swirls over the soft skin just below your navel. The kind of touch that feels like he’s tracing something fragile. Like you’re made of blown glass, or spun sugar, or something that might crack if he presses too hard.
It’s nothing like the way they’ve touched you all day. No slaps. No gropes. No mocking whispers or filthy promises. Just this. Quiet. Steady. Almost reverent. You tense for half a second, waiting for the punchline, the shift into something meaner.
It doesn’t come. Instead, his lips find the curve where your shoulder meets your neck. Not a kiss. Just a resting place. Warm breath fanning over your skin in time with the slow rub of his thumb. “You okay?” he murmurs eventually. Voice low, rough from sleep and whatever else he’s been doing in the dark. Not demanding an answer. Just… checking.
You don’t know what to say. Your throat feels tight. You nod once, small, barely there. His hand keeps moving. Same rhythm. Same gentleness. Circles widening a little, then tightening again, like he’s memorizing the shape of you under his palm.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says against your skin. “Any of it. Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever.”
The words hang there, simple, quiet, sincere in a way that doesn’t match the asshole roommates who printed rules on the fridge and came on your face like it was a housewarming tradition. You swallow. “I’m… okay,” you whisper. It’s the truth, mostly. The rest is too tangled to name.
He hums once, soft, approving. His arm tightens just enough to pull you closer, back flush to his chest. No grind. No wandering hands. Just holding. The circles don’t stop. Slow. Soothing. Like he’s trying to rub the tension out of you molecule by molecule. You feel your breathing start to match his, deeper, slower. The ache between your legs dulls to a low throb instead of a sharp pulse. Your eyelids grow heavy again. Jay doesn’t move to leave.
Doesn’t push for more. Just stays. Palm warm on your waist. Thumb still drawing those endless, careful circles. Like you’re something worth being gentle with. Even here. Even now. You fall asleep to the rhythm of it, his heartbeat steady against your spine, his breath even against your neck, the soft scrape of calluses on your skin.
And for the first time since you moved in, the apartment doesn’t feel quite so dangerous.
Sunlight slices through the half-open blinds in thin, golden bars across your bare back. You wake slowly, first to the sensation of heat, then weight, then the unmistakable press of something thick and heavy sliding past your lips before your eyes are even open.
Heeseung. He’s already there, kneeling at the edge of the mattress, one hand braced on the headboard, the other cradling the back of your skull with surprising care. His cock is hard, morning wood, thick and flushed, veins prominent under the skin, and he’s feeding it to you slowly, not thrusting, just… settling. Like he’s been waiting for you to wake up around him.
Your lashes flutter. A soft, sleepy sound escapes your throat, half protest, half surrender, as your mouth stretches to accommodate him. He doesn’t push deeper than you can take. Just holds still once the head bumps the back of your tongue, letting you adjust.
“Shh,” he murmurs above you, thumb stroking the hinge of your jaw. “Morning, baby.”
His voice is gravel-rough from sleep, softer than it has any right to be. You blink up at him through damp lashes. He’s shirtless, hair a wreck, eyes dark but not cruel. There’s something almost apologetic in the way he looks down at you, like he knows exactly how many times he’s already used this mouth, this body, in the last forty-eight hours and still can’t stop.
You don’t pull away. Instead, you flatten your tongue along the underside, hollow your cheeks just enough to make him hiss quietly. His hips twitch once, small, involuntary, then still again.
“Good girl,” he breathes. Not mocking. Quiet. Almost reverent.
That’s when you feel the mattress dip on either side. Jake slides in behind you first, warm chest pressing to your back, knees nudging yours apart. His cock, already leaking, slides between your thighs, not inside yet, just rocking slow and lazy along your folds. He kisses the nape of your neck, open-mouthed and gentle, like he’s tasting sleep-warmed skin instead of claiming territory.
“Morning, princess,” he whispers against your ear. One hand slips under you, cupping your breast, not squeezing, just holding. Palm warm. Fingers splayed. Thumb brushing the nipple in slow, soothing circles.
Sunghoon appears on your other side, long limbs unfolding gracefully. He doesn’t speak at first. Just watches your face while Heeseung rocks shallowly into your mouth. Then he leans in, presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. The gesture is so unexpectedly tender your breath hitches around Heeseung’s length.
Sunghoon’s hand finds your hip. Strokes down the curve of your waist, then back up. Like he’s memorizing every dip and swell. Like he’s sorry for every bruise he’s left there. Jay’s the last to join.
He’s fully dressed, gray sweats, black tee, hair still damp from a shower, sitting in the armchair across from the bed with a steaming mug of black coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. Vertical hold. Red recording dot blinking steadily.
He doesn’t say anything filthy. Doesn’t bark orders. Just watches. Sips. The corner of his mouth lifts when your eyes meet his over Heeseung’s shoulder. Not a smirk. Something quieter. Almost fond. “Pretty,” he mouths. No sound. Just the shape of the word.
Heeseung starts moving then, slow, shallow rolls of his hips. Never deep enough to choke you. Just enough to fill your mouth, to let you taste the salt and musk of him. Your hands come up instinctively, fingers curling around the base he can’t fit, stroking what your lips can’t reach.
Jake shifts behind you. Lines himself up. Presses in, slow. So slow. The stretch is lazy, unhurried, like he has all morning to sink into you. When he bottoms out, he stays there. Doesn’t thrust. Just grinds in tiny, rolling circles, letting you feel every inch pressed against that spot inside that makes your toes curl.
Sunghoon’s hand slides between you and the mattress. Finds your clit. Circles it with the same gentle pressure Jake’s using on your nipple. No frantic rubbing. No pinching. Just soft, steady friction that builds slow and syrupy.
You moan around Heeseung, muffled, needy. The vibration makes him groan low in his throat.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “That’s it.”
They move like they’ve rehearsed it. Like they’ve agreed, silently, somewhere in the dark hours after Jay held you last night, that today they won’t break you. Not more than they already have.
Jake rocks into you in time with Heeseung’s shallow thrusts. Sunghoon’s fingers never falter, patient, coaxing. Your body starts to tremble, not from overstimulation, but from the slow, relentless climb they’re building together.
Jay’s phone stays steady. He tilts it slightly, capturing the way your back arches, the way Jake’s hand splays protectively over your stomach, the way Sunghoon’s lips brush your shoulder every few seconds like he can’t help himself.
Heeseung’s breathing grows ragged first. “Gonna come,” he warns, voice strained, almost pleading. “Where do you want it, baby?” You can’t answer with words. Just tighten your lips around him, suck harder, look up at him with wide, glassy eyes.
He swears under his breath. Pulls out at the last second, strokes himself twice, and spills across your tongue in thick, warm pulses. You swallow what you can; the rest drips from the corner of your mouth. Heeseung catches it with his thumb, pushes it back between your lips.
“Good girl,” he whispers again. This time his voice cracks. Jake’s rhythm falters behind you. His forehead drops to your shoulder. “Fuck—can I—inside?”
You nod frantically, around Heeseung’s softening cock still resting on your tongue.
He groans, long, low, broken, and buries himself deep. Comes with a shudder that rocks through both of you. Hot. Thick. Filling you until it leaks out around him, down your thighs. He doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays seated, grinding lazily through the aftershocks, letting you clench around him like he’s trying to keep every drop where it belongs.
Sunghoon’s fingers speed up just enough, still gentle, still careful, and you come like a wave breaking slow. No scream. No violent shaking. Just a long, trembling release that leaves you boneless, whimpering softly into Heeseung’s thigh.
They don’t rush to move.
Jake stays inside you, softening but not leaving. Sunghoon keeps petting your clit through the aftershocks, light, soothing touches now. Heeseung strokes your hair back from your face, tucking strands behind your ear.
Jay finally lowers the phone. Stops recording. Sets the mug on the side table. Walks over. He kneels on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed, and cups your cheek. Thumb swipes away the last trace of Heeseung from your lip.
“You okay?” he asks quietly. You nod. Eyes heavy. Body humming. He leans down. Kisses your forehead, soft. Lingering. Then he looks at the others. “Group chat,” he says simply. “She’s gonna want to see it later.”
Jake chuckles, soft, breathless, against your neck. “She’s gonna come again just watching.” Sunghoon finally pulls his hand away. Presses one last kiss to your shoulder blade. Heeseung helps ease you onto your side, careful, like you might shatter. Jake slips out slowly, both of you hissing at the loss. Cum leaks immediately, thick, white, obscene. Jay grabs a clean towel from the nightstand, wipes between your thighs with the same gentle care Heeseung used last night.
No one speaks for a minute. Just breathing. Skin cooling. Hearts slowing. Then Heeseung breaks the quiet. “We were… a lot,” he says. Voice rough. Eyes on yours. “Yesterday. The day before. If it’s too much—”
You shake your head before he can finish. Reach up. Curl your fingers around his wrist. “I’m here,” you whisper. “I’m staying.” Something flickers across his face, relief, maybe. Guilt, definitely.
Jay’s hand finds yours. Squeezes once. Jake presses his lips to the back of your neck, soft, apologetic. Sunghoon just watches you. Then leans in. Kisses the corner of your mouth. Slow. Sweet. “Breakfast,” Jay says eventually. “In bed. No rules for the next hour.”
You laugh, small, wrecked, real. They move like they’ve been given permission to be soft. And for the first time since you moved in, you let yourself believe they might actually mean it. The rest of the day unfolds like something borrowed from another life.
No one touches you. Not in the hungry, claiming way you’ve come to expect. No wandering hands under your shirt while you’re making toast. No casual spanks when you bend to pick up a stray sock. No one pins you against the counter or drags you onto a lap. The rules, those printed, obscene bullet points on the fridge, might as well be written in invisible ink for how irrelevant they feel in the soft, lazy hours that follow breakfast.
They just… stay.
All four of them orbit you without crowding. The living room becomes this strange, sunlit island: blankets dragged from bedrooms, pillows piled into a makeshift nest on the sectional, takeout containers from last night still scattered like evidence of a truce. Someone puts on music, low-fi beats, nothing aggressive, just enough rhythm to fill the quiet without demanding attention. Jake sprawls across the floor with his head in your lap, scrolling memes on his phone and reading the funniest ones out loud in increasingly ridiculous voices until you snort-laugh and accidentally knee him in the ribs.
“Ow, princess, you trying to murder me?” he whines, but he’s grinning, grabbing your hand to press a dramatic kiss to your knuckles before going right back to his phone.
Jay sits cross-legged at the other end of the couch, one of your feet in his lap. He massages your ankle absentmindedly while he argues with Heeseung about whether the new season of some crime drama is trash or genius. Every time you shift, he squeezes your calf once, gentle, grounding, like a silent check-in.
Heeseung’s on the armchair opposite, legs kicked up on the coffee table, nursing the same lukewarm coffee from this morning. He catches your eye every so often and just… holds it. No smirk. No heat. Just a small, almost shy tilt of his mouth, like he’s still surprised you’re still here.
Sunghoon is the quietest. He’s tucked into the corner of the sectional, long legs stretched out, one arm slung over the backrest behind you. He doesn’t say much, just watches. Watches you laugh at Jake’s dumb jokes. Watches the way your shoulders slowly unclench. Watches the way the afternoon light turns your skin gold.
You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every time someone shifts closer, every time a hand brushes your arm or knee, your body tenses on instinct, bracing for the grab, the grope, the inevitable slide into filth. But it never comes.
Instead: Jake starts a pillow fight that lasts exactly thirty five seconds before Jay declares himself referee and tackles Jake into the cushions. Heeseung orders fried chicken and insists on feeding you the first piece, holding it to your lips like Jay used to, but this time there’s no sauce-smeared thumb, no dirty promise in his eyes. Just a soft “Open up, baby,” and when you do, he smiles like you’ve given him something precious.
Sunghoon eventually migrates closer. Not crowding. Just enough that his thigh presses warm against yours. You glance at him, skeptical, guarded, still half-expecting the mask to slip. He notices. Of course he does. His hand lifts, slow, telegraphing every movement so you can pull away if you want. You don’t.
Fingers gentle, he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingers there, knuckles grazing the shell lightly, before he lets his palm cup the side of your face for half a heartbeat. You freeze. He smiles. Not the cold, cutting one he usually wears. Something smaller. Softer. Almost sad.
“You are our friend, sweetheart,” he says quietly. His voice is low enough that the others have to strain to hear, but they do. The room quiets around the words like they’re something fragile. You blink. Throat tight. Sunghoon’s thumb brushes your cheekbone once, barely there.
“We fucked this up from the start,” he continues, softer still. “We saw you walk through that door looking like you were ready to bolt at the first wrong move… and we made sure every move was wrong. On purpose.” His gaze drops to where his hand still rests against your skin. “Thought it’d be easier if you hated us. If you left on your own. If we never had to admit we wanted you to stay for more than just—”
He stops. Swallows. “—for more than just the easy parts.” The confession hangs there, heavy and unpolished. Jake’s head is still in your lap; he’s gone unnaturally still, staring up at the ceiling like he’s afraid to interrupt. Jay’s thumb has paused on your ankle.
Heeseung sets his coffee down. Slowly. You look around at them, all four, and for the first time you see it: the guilt. Not performative. Not a tactic. Real. Raw. Sitting under their skin like a bruise they’ve been ignoring. Sunghoon’s hand finally drops from your face, but he doesn’t move away.
“We’re not asking for forgiveness,” he says. “We don’t deserve it. Not yet. But we’re not gonna keep treating you like—” He exhales through his nose. “—like you’re disposable. Not anymore.” Silence stretches. Then Jake, sweet, chaotic Jake, breaks it by pressing the softest kiss to the inside of your wrist.
“Friends can still cuddle, right?” he mumbles against your skin. “Because I’m not moving. My head’s too comfy.” A tiny, surprised laugh bubbles out of you. Jay squeezes your calf once. “We’ve got time,” he says simply. “No rush. No rules today.”
Heeseung leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Tell us what you want,” he says. “Right now. Anything. We’ll listen.” You look at them, really look. The assholes who printed rules on the fridge. The ones who marked you, used you, laughed while they did it. The ones who just spent an entire day proving they know how to be gentle when they choose to be. You swallow.
“I want…” Your voice is small at first. Then steadier. “I want to believe you.” Sunghoon’s eyes soften. “Then we’ll keep showing you,” he says. “Until you do.”
Jake nuzzles closer into your lap like a cat claiming territory. Jay resumes the slow massage on your ankle. Heeseung picks up the remote, queues up some mindless comedy you’ve all seen a hundred times.
And Sunghoon, quiet, beautiful, regretful Sunghoon, leans in just enough to rest his forehead against your temple. “Friends,” he whispers again. Like a promise.
Like a beginning. The afternoon bleeds into evening. No one fucks you. No one even tries. They just stay. Laughing. Joking. Touching you like you matter. And for the first time since you moved in, you let yourself lean into it.
Just a little. Just enough to see what happens when the rules stop mattering and the people start to.
The apartment feels different when the others are gone, quieter, yes, but not the hollow kind of quiet that echoes off the walls. It’s softer, warmer, like the whole space exhales once Heeseung, Jay, and Sunghoon finally slip out the door with their jackets half-zipped and promises of “real food” still lingering in the air. Twenty minutes ago they each pressed a kiss to your forehead, Heeseung’s lingering the longest, his thumb sweeping slow circles over your cheekbone as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were letting all four of them stay, Jay’s quick and teasing with a wink, Sunghoon’s almost shy, lips brushing your skin like a secret. They told Jake to behave, and the second the door clicked shut behind them, Jake’s grin turned wicked, golden-retriever energy dialed up to eleven, like the instruction itself was foreplay.
He’s been orbiting you ever since, turning half-hearted chores into an excuse to stay glued to your side. You’re folding laundry on the couch, and he keeps “helping” by snatching shirts out of your hands just to hold them up like trophies before tossing them back in a messy pile. In the kitchen he hip-checks you every time you reach for a dish towel, laughing low and bright when you swat at his chest. The late-afternoon sun pours through the big windows in thick golden slabs, catching on the fine hairs of his arms, turning his skin warm and honeyed. You’re both a little sweaty from moving around, the faint scent of his cologne, something clean, mixing with the laundry detergent and the leftover smell of last night’s fried chicken still clinging to the air.
“You’re terrible at this,” you say, watching him wrestle a fitted sheet into something that vaguely resembles a rectangle. The elastic corners keep snapping back at him like they have a personal grudge.
Jake flashes that devastating, all-teeth smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m excellent at distractions. Watch this, baby.”
Before you can protest, he shakes the sheet out with dramatic flair, like a matador taunting a bull, then whips it over both your heads in one smooth motion. The world narrows instantly to white cotton filtered sunlight, the fabric draping around you like a private tent. You’re both laughing before you can stop it, deep, helpless belly laughs that make your ribs ache and your eyes water. The sheet muffles everything, turning the sound intimate and close. Jake’s body is right there, heat radiating off him, chest brushing yours with every breathless chuckle. He tugs you deeper under the fabric, arms wrapping loosely around your waist, and suddenly the playful game shifts. His nose nudges yours. You feel the brush of his lashes against your cheek. The laughter fades into something heavier, warmer, the air between you thickening like honey.
“See?” he murmurs, voice low and rougher now. “Masterclass in procrastination.”
You roll your eyes, but your hands are already sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You don’t push him away. You pull him closer.
The sheet eventually slips to the floor in a crumpled heap, forgotten. You move down the hallway together, the basket of clean clothes balanced on your hip, Jake trailing so close his fingers keep ghosting the small of your back. You bend over to grab a stray sock that’s escaped onto the floor, nothing exaggerated, just a natural lean, your thin cotton shorts riding up just enough to expose the curve where thigh meets hip. Behind you, Jake sucks in a sharp, punched-out breath, like the sight physically winds him.
You freeze.
His hand settles on your hip, palm broad and hot, fingers spreading wide over the soft flesh through the fabric. Not a slap, not a grope. Just… claiming. Resting there with deliberate weight, thumb stroking a slow, lazy circle that makes your skin prickle. You feel every callus on his fingertips, the faint tremble in his touch like he’s fighting the urge to squeeze harder. Heat blooms low in your belly, liquid and slow.
You straighten up slowly, deliberately, and his hand stays glued to you, sliding with the motion so it ends up cupping the full cheek. He turns you around with the gentlest pressure on your hip, like you’re made of glass he’s terrified of cracking. Your back meets the cool wall of the hallway with a soft thud. Jake crowds in immediately, but not aggressively, his body cages you without trapping, one forearm braced beside your head, the other hand still kneading your ass with slow, possessive squeezes that make your breath hitch.
His eyes have gone dark, almost black, pupils blown wide. Not the usual playful hunger. Something deeper. Hungrier. Worshipful.
“Hey,” he breathes, voice gravel-rough. “You good? Still with me?” You nod, small and shaky, because the air has turned thick, syrupy, every inhale dragging like molasses. Your nipples are already tight against your shirt, and you know he can see it. He leans in like he’s giving you every chance to stop him. The first kiss is feather-light, barely a brush of lips, testing, asking. You answer by tilting your head, parting your mouth just enough, tongue flicking out to taste him. That’s all the permission he needs.
Jake kisses you like he’s been starving for it since the day you moved in, like every shared glance and late-night movie marathon has been foreplay leading to this exact second. Slow. So fucking slow. His lips are plush and warm, sliding against yours with wet, deliberate pressure. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, tongue tracing the seam until you open wider, then he licks inside, deep, lazy strokes that map every inch of you like he’s memorizing the taste. You moan softly into his mouth and he answers with a low, guttural groan that vibrates straight down to your clit. His hand on your ass tightens, pulling you flush against him so you can feel exactly how hard he already is, thick, heavy ridge straining against his sweatpants, pressing right against your lower belly.
One of his hands cradles your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone while the other slides up under your shirt, palm flat and scorching against the bare skin of your stomach. He doesn’t rush. His fingers splay wide, stroking up your ribs, tracing the underside of your breasts with reverent touches. When his thumb finally brushes over your nipple, already pebbled and aching, he circles it slowly, pinching just hard enough to make you gasp and arch into him. He swallows the sound, kissing you deeper, tongue fucking into your mouth in filthy, rhythmic strokes that mimic exactly what you wish his cock was doing somewhere else.
You’re grinding on his thigh now, small, helpless rolls of your hips that drag your soaked pussy along the hard muscle. The thin fabric of your shorts is useless; you can feel how wet you’ve gotten, the slickness coating your inner thighs, probably leaving a damp spot on his sweats. Jake breaks the kiss only to drag his open mouth down your jaw, sucking wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. He bites down gently, then soothes it with his tongue, leaving faint red marks that bloom under his lips. You tilt your head back against the wall, exposing more of your throat, and he takes full advantage, licking a hot stripe down to your collarbone, sucking hard enough that you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow, little purple galaxies only the four of them will see.
“Fuck, you taste so fucking good,” he groans against your skin, voice wrecked. “Sweet. Like you’ve been waiting for me to do this all day.”
His hand leaves your breast only to slide down, cupping your pussy through your shorts. He doesn’t push inside, just rubs the heel of his palm in slow, firm circles right over your clit, feeling how soaked the fabric is. You whimper, hips jerking, and he chuckles darkly into your neck.
“Yeah? That feel good, baby? You’re dripping for me already.”
You can’t answer with words, just a broken moan as two of his fingers slip under the hem of your shorts, tracing your slick folds without pushing in, spreading your wetness up to your clit and rubbing tight, teasing circles. Your hands are frantic now, one fisted in his hair, the other palming the thick length of his cock through his sweats, squeezing and stroking him until he’s panting against your mouth, hips twitching like he’s fighting not to rut into your hand.
You kiss for what feels like hours, messy, spit-slick, tongues tangled and sliding. Your lips are swollen and tingling, jaw aching in the best way. He keeps breaking away only to come right back, sucking on your tongue, biting your bottom lip, whispering filthy little praises between kisses.
“So fucking pretty when you’re desperate like this… making those sweet little sounds for me… gonna ruin me, baby, you know that?”
Your legs are trembling. He notices, always notices, and presses his thigh harder between yours, letting you ride it properly now, the friction perfect and relentless. His fingers keep working your clit in lazy strokes, dipping just inside your entrance to gather more slick before sliding back up, never giving you enough to come, just keeping you right on the edge, trembling and whimpering into his mouth.
When he finally pulls back, forehead resting against yours, both of you are breathing like you’ve run miles, chests heaving, lips shiny and red, his hair a complete mess from your fingers. His eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed, cock throbbing visibly against your palm.
“Shit,” he laughs, breathless and shaky. “I didn’t mean to… fuck, I just—”
You cut him off with another kiss, slow, deep, pouring everything you’re feeling into it. When you pull away, you whisper against his swollen lips, “I know. I wanted it too.”
He smiles, that crooked, boyish, heart-stopping smile, and kisses the tip of your nose, then your forehead, then pulls you tight into his chest. His arms wrap around you completely, one hand still cupping your ass possessively, the other stroking soothing circles up and down your spine. You can feel his heart hammering against yours, his cock still hard and insistent between you, but he doesn’t push. Doesn’t grind. Just holds you there in the hallway, the distant hum of the fridge and the faint city traffic the only sounds left.
You stay like that for a long, indulgent stretch of minutes, bodies pressed together, breaths syncing, the ache between your legs still pulsing but somehow perfectly satisfied by the simple fact of being wrapped up in him. His lips brush your temple.
“Friends can make out, right?” he murmurs, echoing the joke from earlier, voice warm with affection and something deeper.
You laugh softly against his chest, the sound muffled and content. “Yeah, Jake. Friends can definitely make out.”
And for now, for this golden, sun-drenched afternoon, that’s more than enough. The others will be back soon, but right now the apartment is yours and his, and he just keeps holding you like he never wants to let go.
The hallway still smells faintly of Jake’s cologne, clean and warm skin, and the soft, powdery scent of laundry detergent clinging to the crumpled clothes you never quite finished putting away. His lips are swollen and glossy from the long, lazy make-out against the wall, cheeks flushed a deep pink, pupils blown so wide the pretty hazel is almost gone. He’s breathing hard through his nose, forehead pressed to yours like he needs the contact to stay grounded, hands still shoved up under your shirt, palms hot and broad against the small of your back, thumbs tracing slow, idle arcs that make your spine tingle.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked and soft all at once, raw like he’s been shouting your name for hours even though he hasn’t. “I need you on me, princess. Need to feel that pretty pussy sliding down my cock right fucking now.”
The words drop straight into your belly, heavy and molten. You swallow hard, thighs pressing together on instinct, and he feels the tiny clench, grins against the side of your neck, boyish and filthy at the same time.
He doesn’t beg. Doesn’t grab. Just brushes his mouth over the shell of your ear, hot breath ghosting, voice a low rasp that curls straight between your legs.
“Ride me. Please. On the couch. Slow. Let me feel every inch of you taking me like you own it.”
Your cunt throbs at the plea. You nod before you even realize you’re doing it.
Jake laces his fingers through yours, gentle, almost sweet, and leads you back down the hall like you’re going for a Sunday stroll, not about to fuck him stupid in the middle of the living room. The late-afternoon light has shifted, pouring across the big sectional in thick, golden rivers; the cushions are still dented from earlier folding sessions, the air warm and lazy. He drops onto the couch first, sprawling wide, legs splayed, grey sweats already tented, the thick outline of his cock straining against the fabric like it’s trying to escape.
He then hooks his fingers against the edge of your shorts and drags them down, along with your panties. His eyes darken as he gulps and looks up at you.
He pats his thigh once, slow, inviting, eyes locked on yours with that crooked, heart-melting grin.
You don’t hesitate. You climb on, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips, and the first slow grind of your bare, soaked cunt against the hard, hot length of him through the thin material rips a twin hiss from both your throats. You’re dripping, have been since he pinned you to the hallway wall, and the fabric is already darkening under you, slick. Jake’s hands settle on your hips, not guiding yet, just holding, thumbs stroking the skin right above the waistband of your shorts like he’s memorizing the feel of you.
You start slow. Torturously slow. Tiny, rolling rocks of your hips that drag your swollen clit along the rigid ridge of his cock again and again. The friction is perfect, wet, hot, teasing. Every pass makes the fabric cling tighter, the head of his dick bumping right where you need it. Jake’s head falls back against the couch, throat working on a low, broken groan, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Goddamn, baby… look at you. Already so fucking wet you’re soaking through my sweats. That little pussy weeping for me.”
You giggle, breathless, giddy, almost embarrassed at how turned on you are, and lean down to kiss him. Soft at first, just lips brushing, then deeper: tongues sliding lazy and messy, tasting the faint salt of his skin and the sweetness of the iced americano he had earlier. His hands slide back under your shirt, palms scalding against your ribs, thumbs circling the undersides of your breasts in slow, reverent strokes until your nipples are tight, aching peaks. He pinches them gently, rolls them between thumb and forefinger, and you arch into his touch with a whimper that makes him smile against your mouth.
“You’re so fucking soft,” he mumbles between kisses, voice thick. “So perfect. Been dreaming about this tight little cunt wrapped around me since the second you walked through that door and smiled at all of us like we hung the moon. Gonna let me feel it now, princess? Gonna sit on my cock and ride me nice and slow?”
You lift just enough to shove his sweats down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick, flushed dark, veins standing out, the tip already glistening with a fat bead of pre-cum that streaks down the shaft when you wrap your fingers around him. One slow, firm stroke from base to head has him groaning, hips twitching up into your fist. You line him up, notch the blunt head against your dripping entrance, and sink down.
The first inch is heaven.
You both moan, long, filthy sounds, as he stretches you open, thick and hot and perfect, splitting you so deliciously slow you feel every ridge, every vein. Your mouth falls open, eyes fluttering shut. He bottoms out with your ass flush to his thighs, balls pressed tight against you, and the fullness is so overwhelming your walls flutter around him like you’re already close.
“Fuuuuck,” Jake breathes, hands flexing hard on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to bruise. “That’s it. Take every fucking inch, princess. Look at you, swallowing me like you were made for it. So goddamn tight and wet and perfect.”
You start riding him properly, long, deliberate lifts and sinks, rolling your hips on every downstroke so your clit grinds against his pelvis. The sounds of your cunt taking him echo in the quiet apartment: slick, filthy squelches every time you drop down, his cock glistening with your arousal when you rise. Jake’s eyes are glued to where you’re joined, watching himself disappear inside you over and over with something like awe.
“Listen to that,” he groans, voice cracking. “That sloppy little sound every time you take me. You’re dripping down my balls, baby, making such a pretty mess all over me. Gonna stain the couch and I don’t even care.”
You bury your face in his neck for a second, flushed and turned on beyond words, then bite down on the skin there, light, teasing. He jolts, cock twitching hard inside you, and groans louder.
“Fuck, do that again. Mark me up, princess. Want the others to see who got to have you first.”
You do, sucking a faint pink bloom into his throat while you ride him harder, faster, breasts bouncing under your thin shirt. His mouth finds your nipple through the fabric, sucking hard, teeth grazing, soaking the cotton until it’s transparent and clinging. You cry out, high and needy, hips snapping down faster now, chasing the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your belly.
Jake’s losing it beautifully, head thrown back, throat exposed, hands gripping your ass and spreading you wider so he can watch every inch of his cock sliding in and out of your greedy cunt.
“Shit, ride it harder, baby. Fuck yourself on me. Use my cock like the greedy little slut you are. Come all over it, wanna feel this pussy milk me dry.”
The filthy words spoken in that sweet, reverent tone send you spiraling. You slam down harder, clit grinding relentlessly, thighs burning. He slides one hand between you, thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, firm circles.
“Come on, princess. Give it to me. Soak my cock. Make it messy. Wanna feel you gush.”
You shatter with a broken cry, head thrown back, back arching, clamping down around him in hard, pulsing waves. Your vision whites out. Thighs shake violently. You gush around him, slick flooding out around his base, soaking his balls and the couch beneath you. Jake swears, low and guttural, hips stuttering up once, twice, burying himself to the hilt as he comes, thick, hot ropes of cum painting your walls, filling you so full it leaks out immediately around his throbbing length.
He holds you flush against him through every aftershock, arms banded tight around your waist, forehead pressed to your collarbone, breathing ragged and shaky. You stay like that, sweaty, trembling, his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum slowly trickling out, while he kisses your shoulder, your neck, the corner of your mouth with soft, lazy presses.
“Best fucking ride of my life,” he mumbles, voice hoarse and sated, nuzzling into your hair.
You laugh, soft, spent, glowing, and nuzzle back. “Friends can do that too, right?”
He chuckles, kissing your temple. “Friends can do whatever the fuck they want.” You’re still seated on him, his cock twitching occasionally inside your cum-filled pussy, when the front door clicks open.
Neither of you moves fast enough. Sunghoon steps in first, grocery bags dangling from one hand, keys in the other, the faint scent of fresh produce and restaurant takeout wafting in with him. He freezes mid-step. Eyes lock on the scene: you straddling Jake on the couch, shirt rucked up to your collarbones, thighs spread obscenely wide, Jake’s cock still half-hard and buried inside you, thick white cum already leaking in slow, creamy rivulets down his balls and onto the cushion.
The bags hit the floor with a heavy, forgotten thud. A carton of eggs probably cracks, but no one cares. Sunghoon’s jaw tightens so hard you hear the sharp click of his teeth. His eyes, usually cool and calm, go black, dangerous, glittering with something possessive and furious.
“What. The. Fuck.”
His voice is ice wrapped in velvet. Low. Deadly calm. Jake startles, arms tightening around you protectively, but he doesn’t dare pull out. Doesn’t even try to cover you.
“Hyung—wait, it’s not—”
Sunghoon crosses the room in three long strides, towering over both of you. He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t shove Jake. Just reaches down, grips your chin between thumb and forefinger, firm, not bruising, and tilts your face up to meet his gaze. His thumb drags slow and deliberate across your bottom lip, then presses inside. You suck instinctively, tongue swirling around the digit, tasting the faint salt of his skin.
His eyes flick to Jake, cold as winter.
“Get out from under her. Now.”
Jake hesitates half a second. Sunghoon’s voice drops even lower, lethal.
“I said now.”
Jake lifts you carefully with a wet, filthy sound that makes Sunghoon’s nostrils flare. The moment he slips free, a thick gush of his cum pours out of you, sliding down your inner thighs in white trails. Jake stays seated on the couch, chest heaving as he watches warily.
Sunghoon never looks away from you. He steps closer, one hand sliding to the nape of your neck, thumb pressing right over your racing pulse, while the other grips your hip hard enough to anchor you. “You let him fuck you the second we walked out the door?” he murmurs, voice velvet and venom, lips brushing your ear. “Spread this pretty pussy for whoever was home first? Without waiting for me? Without even texting?”
You shake your head, small, instinctive, breath caught in your throat. “No?”
He leans in closer, breath hot against your skin. “Then why the fuck are you stuffed so full of him, hmm?”
Two of his long fingers dip between your thighs without warning, sliding deep into your cum-slick cunt with a wet squelch. You gasp, knees buckling. He curls them slowly, deliberately, scissoring, feeling the warm, sticky mess Jake left behind, pushing it deeper before dragging it out again. When he pulls his fingers free they’re coated thick and white. He holds them up between you, shiny, dripping, then brings them to your mouth.
“Clean.”
You open obediently. Suck his fingers clean, tongue swirling, tasting yourself and Jake and the faint metallic tang of Sunghoon’s skin, moaning around them while he watches with dark, unblinking eyes.
“Good girl,” he praises, voice low and rough. Then, suddenly, he yanks you forward by the neck and kisses you, hard, possessive, teeth clashing, tongue fucking into your mouth like he’s erasing every trace of Jake’s kisses. When he pulls back his lips are wet, eyes blazing with jealousy and hunger.
“Bedroom. Now.”
He doesn’t wait for you to walk. Just scoops you up like you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck, cum still dripping down your thighs and onto his shirt. Jake scrambles up and follows, sweats tugged up haphazardly.
Sunghoon kicks the bedroom door shut behind the three of you with a bang that rattles the frame. He drops you onto the bed, gentle enough not to hurt, rough enough that you bounce, thighs splaying open automatically. He looms over you, tall and broad and radiating controlled fury.
“Strip. Everything off. Let me see exactly what he got to play with while I was gone.”
You obey instantly, tugging your shirt over your head, shoving your shorts down, kicking them aside until you’re completely bare, pussy puffy and glistening.
His gaze rakes over every inch of you, slow, possessive, furious, hungry. He licks his lips. “You’re mine tonight, princess. All fucking mine. And you’re going to feel exactly who this cunt belongs to until you can’t remember anyone else’s name.”
He glances at Jake, standing frozen by the door, eyes wide and cock twitching in his sweats.
“You can watch,” Sunghoon says coldly, voice like a blade. “But you don’t touch. Not until I say so. You sit there and watch me take back what’s mine.”
Jake swallows hard. Nods once. Sinks into the chair in the corner, hand already palming himself through his sweats like he can’t help it.
Sunghoon turns back to you. Grabs your thighs in both hands and spreads them wide, wide enough that your folds spread, dripping. He lowers his head slowly, eyes locked on yours the entire time.
The first long, vicious swipe of his tongue through your folds is punishing, hot, wet, claiming, licking every drop of Jake’s cum straight out of you like he’s erasing the evidence. You arch off the bed with a sharp cry, hands flying to his hair. Sunghoon doesn’t stop. He eats you like a man starved, tongue fucking deep inside your cum-filled hole, sucking noisily, swallowing every filthy mix of you and Jake with low, possessive growls that vibrate straight to your clit. He sucks your swollen folds into his mouth, tongue flicking mercilessly over your clit, then dives back in to lap at the creamy mess still oozing out of you.
You’re moaning, loud, broken, shameless, hips grinding against his face while he devours you, chin and lips shiny with cum and your fresh slick. He pulls back just long enough to growl against your thigh,
“Gonna lick every last drop of him out of this pussy until it only tastes like me. And then I’m going to fuck you so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow when the others take their turns.”
His mouth seals back over your clit, sucking hard, two fingers plunging deep, and the jealousy is only just beginning.
The bedroom is thick with the sounds of Sunghoon’s mouth devouring you, long, filthy drags of his tongue through your cum-slick folds, sucking Jake’s release out of your fluttering hole like he’s personally insulted by every drop. He’s relentless, humming low against your clit, two fingers curled deep inside you, scissoring and stroking that spongy spot that makes your thighs quake around his ears. Your back is arched off the bed, hands fisted in his dark hair, moans spilling out broken and shameless as another orgasm teeters right on the edge.
Then the door bangs open.
Heeseung fills the frame like a storm cloud, broad shoulders tight, jaw locked, one hand fisted in the back of Jake’s t-shirt. Jake looks wrecked already: lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed crimson, cock still half-hard and shiny with your slick, the cocky little grin from earlier completely wiped away. Heeseung doesn’t even glance at you at first. His voice is low, calm, the kind of calm that makes the air feel heavier.
“Living room. Now.”
Jake opens his mouth, probably to whine, to joke, to try and charm his way out of it, but Heeseung’s grip tightens, fabric stretching across Jake’s shoulders. Jake stumbles forward instead, casting one last wide-eyed look at you before they disappear down the hall. The living-room door shuts with a soft, deliberate click that somehow feels louder than a slam.
You’re left panting, chest heaving, Sunghoon’s tongue still lazily circling your clit like the interruption was nothing more than background noise. He presses one last open-mouthed kiss to your dripping pussy, then pulls back slowly, lips glossy, chin glistening with a messy mix of you and Jake. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, slow and deliberate, eyes dark and glittering with dark amusement as he rises to his knees between your spread thighs.
“Looks like someone earned himself a timeout,” he murmurs, voice velvet-rough, thumb brushing a lazy stripe up your inner thigh to collect the fresh slick still leaking out of you. His gaze flicks toward the hallway, then back to your flushed, trembling body. “Guess that leaves the three of us to remind you exactly how this works, princess.”
Jay appears in the doorway a heartbeat later, arms crossed over his chest, shoulder propped against the frame, eyes raking over you with that cool, assessing hunger that always makes your stomach flip. He takes his time stepping inside, shutting the door behind him with a quiet snick, the lock clicking into place like a promise.
You try to push yourself up on your elbows, instinct, nerves, the sudden awareness of how exposed and messy you are, but Sunghoon’s large hand plants flat on your sternum and pushes you right back down into the mattress. Firm. Unyielding. Possessive.
“Stay right there,” he says softly, almost sweet, but the edge underneath it makes your cunt clench around nothing. “We’re not done with you yet.”
Jay stops at the foot of the bed, looking down at the obscene picture you make: completely naked, skin flushed pink, thighs shiny with slick and cum, nipples tight and begging, pussy puffy and still leaking. He reaches out, fingers threading through the hair at your scalp, tightening until your breath hitches. He yanks your head back just enough to expose the long line of your throat, thumb stroking once over your racing pulse.
“You let him fuck you raw the second we left,” Jay says, voice low and dangerously even. “Without asking. Without waiting. Without even a text to let us know our pretty little slut was getting her cunt filled.”
His free hand slides down your body, possessive, claiming, cupping your soaked pussy like it belongs to him. Two thick fingers push inside without warning, rough and deep, curling hard against that spot that makes white sparks burst behind your eyes. You cry out, hips jerking, walls fluttering greedily around the intrusion.
Sunghoon watches with a mean little smile, one hand lazily stroking his own thick cock. “This pussy,” Jay continues, voice dropping to a growl as he pumps his fingers faster, “is ours. All of ours. You don’t get to decide who fills it first when we’re not here. Understand?”
You nod frantically, tears of overwhelming pleasure already pricking your eyes. “Y-yes—fuck—yes, it’s yours—”
Sunghoon’s hand replaces Jay’s on your throat, long fingers wrapping around the column, squeezing just enough to make the edges of your vision sparkle and your cunt gush around Jay’s fingers. Not cutting off air. Just reminding you who’s in control.
“Good girl,” Sunghoon breathes against your ear, leaning down to bite your earlobe. “Now prove it.”
They move like they’ve choreographed this a hundred times in their heads.
Jay flips you onto your stomach in one smooth motion, face pressed into the sheets that already smell like sex, ass up high, back arched deep. He keeps one hand fisted tight in your hair, yanking your head back until your spine bends in that perfect, aching curve. Sunghoon shoves your thighs wider apart, knees sinking into the mattress as he kneels behind you. His cock is flushed dark, angry, veins throbbing, pre-cum beading at the tip as he lines up and slams in, deep, brutal, one single punishing thrust that punches the air straight out of your lungs.
You scream into the sheets, the stretch burning so good it borders on too much. Sunghoon doesn’t give you time to adjust. He sets a ruthless pace immediately, hips snapping forward, balls slapping wetly against your clit with every brutal drive, the wet squelch of your cum-filled pussy echoing obscenely. Jay releases your hair only to wrap his hand around your throat from the front instead, squeezing in perfect time with Sunghoon’s thrusts, thumb pressing under your jaw so you feel every heartbeat.
“Take it,” Jay growls, voice rough with arousal. “Every fucking inch. You wanted cock so bad you couldn’t even wait for all of us? Then you’re gonna take everything we give you, princess. Gonna let us ruin this greedy little hole until you remember who it belongs to.”
Sunghoon leans over your back, chest slick with sweat against your spine, one hand fisting your hair now while the other reaches around to slap your clit, sharp, stinging little taps that make you clench and sob. Jay’s free hand comes down hard on your ass, once, twice, three times, each smack leaving a bright red handprint that blooms hot across your skin.
“Whose pussy is this?” Jay demands, voice low and filthy.
“Yours—” you sob, voice cracking. “Yours—fuck—yours—Sunghoon—Jay—please—”
Sunghoon yanks your head back harder, lips brushing your ear as he pounds into you. “Say it louder. Let the whole fucking apartment hear who owns this cunt.”
The rhythmic slap of skin on skin, your choked moans, Sunghoon’s low possessive growls—“This tight little pussy is fucking mine”—carry clearly down the hallway.
In the living room, Heeseung has Jake pinned against the wall by the collar, fist raised, knuckles white with restraint. The first muffled scream from the bedroom makes them both freeze. Then another, higher, broken, needy. The unmistakable wet slap of Sunghoon’s hips. Jay’s dark chuckle. Your desperate, gagged whimpers around whatever they’re doing to your mouth now.
Heeseung’s fist slowly lowers. Jake’s eyes go wide, cock twitching visibly in his sweats.
Heeseung turns toward the bedroom door, expression unreadable but eyes burning.
Then they’re both moving, fast.
They burst through the door just as Sunghoon buries himself to the hilt with a guttural groan. You’re a complete wreck: face down, ass up, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, tears streaking your cheeks, ass glowing red from Jay’s handprints, cunt stretched obscenely around Sunghoon’s thick cock, creamy cum from Jake and your own slick coating your thighs.
Heeseung stops at the foot of the bed, takes one long, possessive look at the scene, then climbs on without a word.
“Move,” he tells Sunghoon, voice low and lethal.
Sunghoon slows just enough to pull out with a wet, filthy pop, thick strings of cum and slick connecting his cock to your gaping hole. Heeseung grabs your hips, flips you onto your back like you weigh nothing, and hooks your legs over his arms, folding you in half until your knees are by your ears. He lines up and slams in, harder, deeper, angrier than Sunghoon, bottoming out in one brutal thrust that makes you scream his name.
Jay pulls back from where he’d been feeding you his cock, letting you gasp for air, then moves behind you. Sunghoon shifts to your side, hand wrapping around your throat again, thumb stroking your pulse almost tenderly now.
Jay presses the blunt head of his cock against your ass, already slick from the mess dripping down, and pushes in slow, relentless, the burn intense and overwhelming as he stretches you open around him. Heeseung stays buried to the hilt in your pussy, holding perfectly still while Jay sinks deeper, until both of them are fully seated inside you, rubbing against each other through the thin wall, filling you so completely you can feel them in your throat.
You’re sobbing, overwhelmed, stretched to your limit, pleasure so sharp it hurts, in the best possible way.
“Breathe, baby,” Sunghoon murmurs, voice softer now, fingers loosening just enough on your throat. “You’re taking us so fucking well. Such a good girl for us.”
They start moving, slow at first, testing, letting you adjust to the impossible fullness. Then harder. Deeper. Alternating thrusts, Heeseung driving in while Jay pulls out, Jay slamming home while Heeseung retreats, until the rhythm syncs and they’re both fucking into you at the same time, stretching you open on two thick cocks with every synchronized thrust.
Jake stands frozen by the door, cock rock-hard again, hand wrapped tight around it, stroking himself slow and desperate, eyes wide and glassy with guilt and raw arousal. Sunghoon notices. His voice cuts through the wet sounds of flesh. “Watch, Jake. You started this. Now you get to watch how we remind her exactly who she belongs to.”
Jay’s fingers find your swollen, oversensitive clit, rubbing fast, rough circles that make your vision spark white.
“Come,” he orders, voice rough. “Come on both our cocks. Milk us. Show us who this perfect body belongs to.”
You shatter harder than you ever have, screaming, back bowing, spasming violently around both cocks, gushing slick down Heeseung’s shaft as your orgasm rips through you in endless waves. Heeseung comes first with a deep, broken growl of your name, flooding your pussy with hot, thick pulses. Jay follows seconds later, burying himself deep in your ass and filling you with rope after rope until it leaks out around his base. Sunghoon strokes himself twice, fast and rough, then spills across your stomach and tits in long, creamy stripes, marking you visibly.
They don’t pull out right away.
Just stay buried deep inside you, panting, sweating, chests heaving, holding you between them like something precious and thoroughly, beautifully ruined.
Heeseung leans down first, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your tear-streaked cheek. “Mine,” he whispers against your skin.
Jay echoes it against your shoulder, lips brushing the fresh bite mark Sunghoon left earlier. “Mine.”
Sunghoon’s fingers loosen completely on your throat, turning into gentle strokes along your jaw. “Mine too, princess. Always.”
You’re trembling, wrecked, full to overflowing, claimed in every possible way. And Jake, still standing by the door, cock leaking in his fist, eyes shiny with regret and desperate need, looks like he’s never wanted forgiveness more in his life.
The entire room smells like sex and sweat and something deeper, something dangerously close to devotion. None of them move to let you go. Not yet.
The room is thick with the aftermath, sweat, sex, the faint metallic tang of overstimulation hanging in the air like smoke. Your body feels liquid and heavy, every muscle spent, every inch of skin marked in some way: fingerprints blooming on your hips, faint red lines from Sunghoon’s grip on your throat, the slow leak of them all still inside you, warm and obscene between your thighs.
No one moves right away.
Heeseung is the first to shift. He eases out of you carefully, slow, deliberate, hissing softly at the drag. Jay follows, pulling out with the same measured gentleness, both of them watching your face for any flicker of pain. Sunghoon’s hand leaves your throat last, fingers trailing down your sternum in a soothing path before he sits back on his heels.
You’re trembling, small, involuntary shivers that ripple through you like aftershocks. Jay notices first. He reaches over the side of the bed, grabs the soft throw blanket that’s been kicked to the floor sometime in the last hour. Drapes it over your lower half, tucking it around your waist like he’s wrapping something fragile.
“Easy,” he murmurs. Voice low, rough from use. “We’ve got you.”
Heeseung slides off the bed, still naked, still glistening, and disappears into the en-suite bathroom. Water runs. A minute later he returns with two warm, damp cloths. One for your face, one for between your legs.
He kneels beside you. Presses the cloth to your cheek first, gentle swipes over tear tracks, then your swollen lips. You lean into it without thinking. Heeseung’s free hand cups the back of your head, thumb stroking the base of your skull in slow circles.
Sunghoon moves to your other side. Takes the second cloth from Heeseung when he’s done with your face. Parts your thighs carefully, murmurs a soft “shh” when you flinch at the cool air, and cleans you with careful strokes. Between your folds, down your thighs, over the sticky mess on your stomach and chest. He’s thorough. Patient. Every pass of the cloth feels like an apology he doesn’t know how to say out loud.
Jake is still hovering near the door, shirtless now, sweats low on his hips, looking like he’s not sure he’s allowed to come closer. Heeseung glances at him once. Sharp. Then softer.
“Water,” Heeseung says. Not an order. Just a word. Jake nods, quick, grateful, and bolts. Heeseung turns back to you.
“Can you sit up a little?” You nod, weak, but willing. Jay helps, arm around your shoulders, easing you against the headboard. Pillows get rearranged behind your back until you’re propped comfortably. The blanket stays tucked around your waist; someone (Sunghoon) pulls the sheet up to cover your chest without smothering you.
Jake returns with a tall glass of water and, somehow, a small tray he must have grabbed from the kitchen. On it: a bowl of cut fruit (strawberries, mango, grapes, someone’s idea of “recovery food”), a few pieces of the chocolate they keep stashed in the fridge, a packet of electrolyte powder already stirred into a second glass.
He sets it on the nightstand. Doesn’t try to climb on the bed yet. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, looking at you like you might vanish if he blinks.
Jay picks up a strawberry first. Holds it to your lips.
“Open.”
You do. The fruit is cold, sweet, bursting on your tongue. Jay feeds you slowly, another strawberry, then a piece of mango. His fingers brush your bottom lip each time, wiping away juice with his thumb.
Sunghoon takes over with the chocolate. Breaks off a small square, places it on your tongue. Watches you melt it slowly, eyes dark but soft.
“You did so good,” he says quietly. Almost to himself. “Took everything we gave you.”
Heeseung handles the water, holds the glass to your lips, tips it carefully so you can sip without spilling. When you’ve had enough, he sets it aside and wipes your mouth with the edge of the sheet.
Jake finally moves closer, slow, like he’s approaching something skittish. He perches on the very edge of the mattress.
“I’m sorry,” he says. Voice small. “For earlier. For not waiting. For—” Heeseung cuts him off with a look. Not angry. Tired.
“Later,” Heeseung says. “She needs rest now.” Jake nods. Swallows hard. Jay reaches over, squeezes Jake’s shoulder once, firm, forgiving, then turns back to you.
“More?” he asks, nodding at the tray.
You shake your head. Full. Heavy-lidded. The ache between your legs has dulled to a low, satisfied throb; your limbs feel like warm honey.
Sunghoon takes the tray away. Sets it on the dresser.
Heeseung pulls the covers up higher, tucking them around your shoulders, smoothing the fabric over your chest. Jay adjusts the pillows again so you’re lying flat but elevated just enough. They surround you, four bodies, four sources of warmth, without crowding.
Heeseung lies on your left. Arm draped loosely over your waist. Not possessive. Protective. Jay on your right. Hand resting on your hip under the blanket. Thumb stroking idle arcs. Sunghoon stretches out at the foot of the bed, long legs hanging off the edge, head pillowed on your thigh like it’s the most natural place in the world.
Jake curls up against your legs, face tucked into the crook of your knee, one arm thrown over your shins like he’s anchoring himself there. No one speaks for a long minute. Just breathing. Slow. In sync.
Heeseung’s fingers find yours under the blanket. Laces them together. Squeezes once. “Sleep,” he murmurs against your temple. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Jay presses a kiss to your shoulder, soft, lingering. Sunghoon’s hand strokes down your calf, slow, soothing.
Jake mumbles something sleepy against your skin, too quiet to catch, but it feels like “thank you.” Your eyes flutter closed. The room smells like them, all of them, mixed with clean sheets and the faint sweetness of fruit. Just warm bodies. Gentle hands. Quiet promises. And the steady rhythm of four heartbeats lulling you under.
The idea starts innocently enough.
It’s been three days since the jealousy the three had that they claimed was just ‘heat of the moment’ but you knew better, and the apartment has settled into something dangerously close to domestic. Mornings are soft now, coffee passed hand-to-hand, lazy kisses traded over toast, rules quietly ignored unless someone’s feeling particularly mean. The fridge note is still taped up, but no one’s enforced them. It’s almost… normal.
Almost. Jay is the one who brings it up first. You’re sprawled across his lap on the sectional Sunday afternoon, legs tangled with Sunghoon’s, Jake’s head pillowed on your stomach while Heeseung scrolls through takeout apps from the armchair. Jay’s fingers are tracing idle patterns on your bare thigh, higher than friendly,lower than any action, when he says it.
“I want to take you out.”
The room stills. You lift your head from Jake’s hair. “Like… a date?” Jay’s mouth quirks. “Yeah. A date. Just you and me. Dinner. Somewhere nice. No roommates crashing.”
Sunghoon snorts without looking up from his phone. “Good luck with that.”
Heeseung glances over the top of his screen. “You’re asking permission?”
Jay shrugs. “I’m telling you. Friday night. She’s mine for the evening.”
Jake sits up slowly, blinking sleep from his eyes. “Wait—solo? Like, no sharing?”
Jay’s hand tightens on your thigh. “No sharing. One night. My rules.”
You feel the shift immediately, the air thickening with something possessive and unspoken. Heeseung’s jaw ticks once. Sunghoon finally looks up, eyes narrowing. Jake just pouts. But no one argues. Friday comes fast.
Jay picks the restaurant himself, small, upscale Italian place downtown. Dim lighting, velvet booths, candles that cost more than your old rent. He texts you the address at 6:45 p.m. sharp.
Jay: Wear something pretty baby ;) preferably no panties sweetheart
You roll your eyes at the winky face and the last obligation, but you obey anyway.
The dress is black, silk, short enough to make you nervous when you sit. Heels that click satisfyingly on the pavement. Hair down, lips red. When Jay arrives to pick you up, he stops dead in the doorway.
“Fuck,” he breathes. Steps close. Cups your face with both hands and kisses you slow, deep, claiming, tasting like mint and want. “You’re killing me.”
The drive is quiet. His hand rests high on your thigh the whole way, thumb stroking the inside seam, never quite reaching where you’re already wet. He doesn’t speak. Just smiles every time you squirm.
The restaurant is perfect.
A corner booth. Wine list thicker than a novel. Jay orders for both of you, pasta, seared scallops, tiramisu for later. His knee presses against yours under the table. His fingers brush yours when he passes the bread. It feels… romantic. Normal. Like you’re a real couple on a real date.
You’re laughing at some stupid story he’s telling about Sunghoon trying to cook once when the first text comes through.
Jake: picture of him pouting on the couch
Jake: miss u already princess 😩
You snort. Show Jay. He rolls his eyes. “Ignore them.”
Another buzz.
Sunghoon: timestamped selfie, him shirtless in the kitchen, knife in hand, looking bored
Sunghoon: hurry up. food’s getting cold here
Jay exhales through his nose. “They’re children.” Heeseung’s text is last.
Heeseung: Enjoy your date. We’ll behave.
Heeseung: …mostly.
Your not sure what that means, you’re not sure if you want to find out. You laugh, soft, nervous, and slip your phone face-down. Jay reaches across the table. Takes your hand. Laces your fingers. “I meant it,” he says quietly. “Tonight’s just us. No crashing. No rules. Just you and me.”
You believe him. For about seven more minutes. The scallops arrive. Perfectly seared. You’re mid-bite when the restaurant door opens. And four familiar silhouettes step inside. Jake first, grinning like he invented mischief. Sunghoon behind him, hands in pockets, expression unreadable. Heeseung last, calm, collected, scanning the room until his eyes land on you.
Jay’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth.
“Motherfuckers,” he mutters.
They don’t hesitate. Jake slides into the booth beside you first, arm slung casually over the backrest, fingers immediately finding the nape of your neck. “Hey, princess. Fancy seeing you here.”
Sunghoon takes the seat next to Jay, long legs stretching out, forcing Jay to shift. “Nice place. Bit pretentious, though.”
Heeseung pulls up a chair from a nearby table, unapologetic, sits at the end like he owns the booth. “We were in the neighborhood.”
Jay’s jaw is so tight you’re worried it’ll crack.
“You said you would behave.”
Heeseung shrugs. “We are. We’re not fucking her on the table. Yet.”
Your face burns. Jake laughs, bright, delighted, leans in and kisses your cheek. Loud. Wet. “You look so pretty. Red lipstick’s a nice touch.”
Sunghoon reaches across Jay to steal a scallop off your plate. “He’s right. You do look fuckable.” Jay slams his fork down.
“That’s enough.” The table goes quiet.
Jay’s voice is low. Dangerous. “I said one night. Just me and her. You had your turns. Back off.”
Heeseung leans forward. Elbows on the table. “We’re not here to take her. We’re here to watch you try to have her all to yourself.” His gaze flicks to you, dark, heated. “And see how long it takes before she’s begging for the rest of us.”
Jake’s fingers tighten on your neck. “C’mon, hyung. Don’t be dramatic. We can share the appetizer.”
Sunghoon smirks. “Or the main course.”
You’re throbbing under the table. The silk dress feels too tight. The wine too warm in your veins. Jay looks at you, really looks. “Are you okay with this?”
You swallow. Meet his eyes. Then glance at the others. Then back to him. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “But… maybe we skip dessert here.”
Jay exhales, half-laugh, half-snarl. “Bathroom,” he says. “Now.” He stands. Pulls you up with him. The others don’t move. They just exchange knowing glances. Jake just grins. “We’ll keep watch.”
Jay drags you through the restaurant, hand firm on your lower back, past the bar, down the narrow hallway, into the single-stall bathroom at the end.
He locks the door. Spins you around. Pushes you forward until your palms slap the sink. The mirror is huge. You watch your own reflection, lips parted, chest heaving, dress already rucked up to your hips.
Jay’s behind you, fly open, cock hard and leaking. He doesn’t speak. Just yanks your dress higher, notches himself at your entrance, and thrusts in, hard. Deep. One brutal stroke that makes you cry out.
“Quiet,” he growls against your ear. Hand clamps over your mouth. “They can hear.” He fucks you like he’s proving a point. Fast. Rough. Hips snapping. The sink rattles. Your tits bounce with every thrust. His other hand fists your hair, yanks your head back so you’re watching yourself in the mirror.
“Look at you,” he pants. “Taking it so good. Even when they crash. Even when I try to keep you to myself.”
You moan into his palm, muffled, desperate.
He reaches around. Finds your clit. Pinches. Rolls. Hard.
“Come,” he orders. “Come on my cock before they barge in.”
You do, fast, violent, clenching around him so hard he swears. He follows seconds later, burying deep, spilling hot inside you with a choked groan.
He doesn’t pull out right away. Just holds you there, chest to your back,breathing ragged. Then he kisses your shoulder. Soft. Apologetic. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t help it.” You laugh, shaky, wrecked.
He pulls out slowly. Fixes your dress. Wipes between your thighs with paper towels from the dispenser. When you open the door, Jake’s leaning against the opposite wall. Arms crossed. Smirking. “Took you long enough.”
Jay glares. Jake pushes off the wall. Steps close. Kisses you, quick, filthy, tasting Jay on your tongue. “My turn to watch the door,” he says. “Go wait in the car. Round two’s on us.”
Jay takes your hand. Leads you out, past the hostess who definitely knows what just happened, into the cool night air.
The car is parked in the back lot, tinted windows, engine already running. Sunghoon’s in the driver’s seat. Heeseung in the passenger. Both turn when you climb in the back. Sunghoon’s eyes drop to the wet spot on your dress. Smiles, slow, predatory.
“Missed the show?” Heeseung reaches back. Pulls you onto his lap. “Plenty of time for round two,” he murmurs against your neck. Jay slides in beside you. Jake climbs in last, locks the doors. The engine starts. And the night? The night is far from over.
The black SUV idles in the shadowed back lot behind the restaurant, engine a low, steady rumble beneath the distant pulse of music leaking from the outdoor speakers. Tinted windows seal the interior into a private world, leather seats already radiating warmth, the air heavy with Jay’s cologne, the sharp bite of expensive whiskey on their breath, and the unmistakable, intimate musk of sex that still clings to your skin.
You’re straddling Heeseung in the center of the back seat, silk dress shoved up around your waist, thighs spread wide over his hips. His dark jeans are damp where your leaking cunt has pressed against him. Heeseung doesn’t flinch. His hands are beneath the fabric, broad palms cupping your bare ass, fingers spreading you open with deliberate care, holding you exposed and vulnerable in the dim glow filtering through the windows.
Jay sits to your left, shirt untucked, collarbones still flushed, lips swollen and red from the way he’d fucked you against the marble sink in the bathroom minutes earlier. Sunghoon occupies the right side, long legs stretched out, one hand already working the thick outline of his cock through tailored slacks, eyes fixed on the sight between your thighs. Jake has twisted around in the front passenger seat, forearm braced on the headrest, gaze dark and unblinking.
For several long seconds, no one speaks.
Only the rhythm of heavy breathing, the soft creak of leather as bodies shift, the faint metallic tick of the cooling engine. Then Heeseung’s voice, low, gravel-rough, breaks the silence against the shell of your ear.
“You’re still dripping him,” he murmurs, one hand sliding from your ass to slip between your legs from behind. Two fingers push into the slick, swollen heat of your cunt, gathering Jay’s release and pressing it back inside with slow, unhurried strokes. The wet sound is obscene in the confined space. “Can feel it leaking out. Can’t let that go to waste.”
Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, inner walls fluttering, a soft, helpless whimper slipping past your lips as your hips twitch forward. Jay’s hand joins Heeseung’s without hesitation. Four fingers now, stretching you wider, scooping the thick cum deeper, curling against the front wall until your breath hitches sharply.
“He’s right,” Jay says, voice quiet but edged with something darker, more possessive. “We should keep you full. All night. Every time one of us finishes, the next one pushes it right back in.”
Sunghoon leans in closer, breath ghosting hot along the side of your neck. His voice is velvet and steel. “Full until it takes. Until you’re so thoroughly bred there’s no question who put it there.”
The words hit like a physical blow, low in your belly, sharp and electric. Your cunt clenches hard around their fingers, a fresh gush of slick coating their knuckles.
Jake’s eyes widen in the front seat. “Fuck—did you just—”
“I said,” Sunghoon repeats, slower, darker, each syllable deliberate, “full until it takes. Until this perfect little cunt is swollen and leaking and carrying exactly what we give it.”
Heeseung’s free hand slides up to cradle the front of your throat, not squeezing, simply holding, thumb resting over your racing pulse. “You like that thought, don’t you?” he asks softly, lips brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear. “All four of us pumping you full, one right after the other. No pulling out. No wasting a single drop. Just letting it stay deep until your body has no choice but to keep it.”
You nod, frantic, tears already gathering at the corners of your eyes because the fantasy is suddenly too vivid, too real, too close to everything your body has been silently begging for.
Jay’s fingers crook harder, pressing ruthlessly against that spot that makes your vision blur. “Use your words.”
“I want it,” you gasp, voice cracking. “Want you to, to breed me. Fill me until I can’t take any more. Until it’s all inside me. Please—”
A chorus of low, guttural groans fills the car. Heeseung lifts you just high enough to shove his jeans and briefs down his thighs. His cock springs free, thick, flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. He doesn’t tease. He simply guides you down onto him in one long, controlled descent, stretching you open around his length until your ass meets his hips and he’s buried to the hilt.
You cry out, head falling back against his shoulder, nails digging into his forearms.
“That’s it,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Take every inch. Take every fucking drop I’m about to give you.” He begins to move, deep, rolling thrusts that grind the head of his cock against your cervix with punishing precision. Jay’s hand stays between your legs, fingers circling your clit in tight, relentless loops while Heeseung fucks up into you with measured force.
Sunghoon has already freed himself completely, long, elegant fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking slowly, eyes never leaving the place where Heeseung disappears inside you over and over. “My turn comes next,” he says, voice low and certain. “I’m going to add to it. Make sure nothing escapes.”
Jake’s hand is inside his own pants now, stroking himself in perfect time with Heeseung’s rhythm, breath coming in short, ragged pants. “Look at her,” he mutters, almost reverent. “So fucking desperate to be filled. Greedy little thing.”
Heeseung’s pace builds, hips snapping up harder, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the car. “I’m going to come inside you,” he warns, voice strained. “Going to flood this tight cunt until it’s overflowing. You ready for it?”
“Yes—please—Heeseung—”
He buries himself as deep as possible and comes with a long, broken groan, hot, thick pulses painting your walls, filling you so completely you feel the pressure build behind your navel. Even as you clench down hard, trying to keep it all in, the excess begins to leak out around his base, coating his balls and dripping onto the leather.
He doesn’t pull out. He simply holds you there, still hard, still buried deep, while Jay shifts.
Jay moves to kneel on the seat beside you, one knee braced against the cushion. He nudges Heeseung’s softening length aside just enough to press his own cock against your already-stretched entrance. The stretch is immediate, two thick cocks forcing their way inside the same slick channel, rubbing against each other through the thin barrier of your walls. You scream, muffled against Heeseung’s shoulder, body shaking violently.
Jay fucks into you with short, brutal thrusts, the friction almost unbearable. “This pussy is going to take all of us tonight,” he growls, voice rough with possession. “Going to be so full of cum you’ll feel it moving inside you every time you breathe.”
Sunghoon reaches over, fingers finding your clit again, pinching, rolling, tugging, pushing you higher and higher while Jay pounds relentlessly.
The orgasm crashes through you without warning, sharp, blinding, walls spasming so violently around both cocks that Jay swears under his breath. His hips stutter, then slam forward one last time as he comes, hot spurts mixing with Heeseung’s release until you’re overflowing, thick rivulets running down your thighs and soaking the seat beneath you.
Sunghoon doesn’t give you time to recover.
He yanks you off both of them, strong hands manhandling you onto all fours across the wide back seat, ass presented high, face pressed into Heeseung’s lap. He lines up and drives in with one punishing thrust, burying himself to the hilt in a single motion that forces the air from your lungs.
“This cunt is getting bred tonight,” he snarls, voice low and dangerous. “I’m going to pump you so full you’ll be leaking for days. Every step you take tomorrow, you’ll feel us still inside you.”
He fucks like it’s a claiming, like he needs to imprint himself deeper than the others. One hand fists your hair, yanking your head back until your spine arches sharply. The car rocks with the force of his thrusts.
Jake climbs over the center console into the back, kneeling in front of your face. He guides his cock to your lips. You open for him immediately, taking him deep, sucking with sloppy, desperate hunger while Sunghoon rails you from behind.
Sunghoon comes with a guttural sound, hips locked flush against your ass, flooding you with another hot load until it spills out around his base and runs in sticky trails down your inner thighs.
Jake pulls free from your mouth, strokes himself twice, and spills across your lower back in thick, warm ropes, marking your skin. They rotate again, Heeseung sliding back in, then Jay, then Sunghoon, each one adding more, fucking it deeper, pushing it against your cervix with every thrust until you’re trembling, sobbing, body overwhelmed and exquisitely full.
When the final round ends, Sunghoon pulling out with a wet, filthy sound, a fresh gush of cum following, your legs give out completely. You collapse forward onto Heeseung’s chest, shaking, panting, utterly spent.
Jay reaches into the center console and withdraws a small black velvet pouch. Inside are three plugs, smooth black silicone, flared bases, graduated sizes. Heeseung selects the largest, coats it generously in the creamy mess still leaking from you, then presses the blunt tip against your swollen entrance.
“Gonna keep every drop where it belongs,” he murmurs, voice soft now, almost reverent. He works the plug in slowly, watching your face the entire time, until it pops past the rim and settles deep, the weight immediate and grounding.
Jay takes the smaller one, slicks it with the same care, and presses it gently but firmly into your ass. The dual fullness is overwhelming, possessive, complete.
Sunghoon cleans between your thighs with a packet of wipes from the glovebox, slow, careful strokes that feel almost tender after everything. Then he helps you sit up, smoothing your dress back down over your hips, fingers combing gently through your tangled hair. The car falls quiet again. They surround you, Heeseung’s arms wrapped securely around your waist, Jay’s hand resting warm and steady on your thigh, Sunghoon’s fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm, Jake leaning over the seat to press close from the front. After a long stretch of silence, Jake speaks, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “We don’t want anyone else,” he says simply. “Not ever. Not like this.”
Jay nods once. “You’re not just something we fuck. You’re ours. Completely. For everything.”
Sunghoon’s fingertips brush the line of your jaw, tilting your face toward him. “We thought we could keep it light. Keep some distance. Pretend it didn’t matter.” He exhales, the sound almost pained. “We were wrong.”
Heeseung’s hold tightens, lips brushing your temple. “No one else touches you. No one else fills you. No one else gets to love you the way we do.” The word, love,lands soft and heavy, undeniable. You turn your face into the warm curve of Heeseung’s neck, feel the first tear slip free, not from pain, not from overwhelm, but from the sudden, terrifying certainty that this is exactly where you want to be.
“I don’t want anyone else either,” you whisper against his skin. They exhale as one, like they’ve been waiting weeks to hear it. Jake leans farther over the seat, presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “Good.” Jay draws you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin.
Sunghoon drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders, still warm from his body, carrying his scent. Heeseung climbs over the console, settling in the driver’s seat, he glances up at you through the rear view mirror, starts the engine, and pulls out of the lot with careful precision. The drive home is quiet. The plugs shift inside you with every turn, constant, heavy reminders. Their hands stay on you, gentle now, grounding.
When you reach the apartment they carry you inside, Heeseung’s arms strong and sure, straight to the largest bed. They undress you slowly, silk peeled away, heels slipped off, every movement careful and deliberate. They clean you again, warm washcloths, soft touches that linger.
Then they slide into bed around you, skin on skin, bodies fitting together like they were made for it. Heeseung at your front, chest pressed to yours, one leg thrown possessively over your hip. Jay at your back, arm wrapped securely around your waist, lips brushing your shoulder. Sunghoon curled lower, head resting on your thigh, long fingers tracing soothing circles. Jake pressed to your side, fingers laced tightly with yours.
No words. Just the slow, even rhythm of their breathing syncing with yours. Until the plugs feel less like possession and more like quiet promise. Until sleep finally claims you, safe, full, irrevocably claimed. Your dreams aren’t about running. They’re about staying.
⟢ a simple favor by @abriizeyday ⋮ wc ?? ♯ smut, handyman!shotaro, neighbours, possible switch!shotaro?
anton
⟢ always yours by @imsosoheee ⋮ wc 4.8k ♯ smut, long distance bf!anton, angst, emotional make up sex
·˚TXT
soobin
⟢ distraction by @calumcxke ⋮ wc 9.1k ♯ smut, best friends to lovers, reader is scared of thunder, rough comfort sex
⟢ midnight spirit by @filmsbyun ⋮ wc 17k ♯ smut, strangers to lovers, festival guide!soobin, mutual pining, lantern festival
⟢ chapter seven by @monoceros-in-ink ⋮ wc 10k ♯ smut, puppy hybrid!reader, heat, overstimulation, cum play
⟢ dream team? more like cream team by @st4rstudd3d ⋮ wc 1k ♯ smut, best friends to lovers, confession, dry humping, cumming in pants
(๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) these were just some fics i have saved in my notes app lol :p i will keep updating this list! i couldn't include everything since i can't find some users anymore sadly :( i will soon add recs for james as well! keep coming back to see my updates if you wanna :3
synopsis: in which your new roommate is stupidly hot, fucks a different girl almost every other night, and the walls between your rooms are painfully thin. now you’re stuck listening to heeseung ruin someone else while slowly losing your mind… and your sanity.
genre/cw: roommate au, fuckboy!heeseung, heavy sexual tension, slow burn, smut, angst, mutual masturbation, voyeurism (accidental), dirty talk, possessiveness, jealousy, multiple smut scenes, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, marking, slight corruption kink, heeseung is a massive tease, reader is sexually frustrated, strong language, minors dni.
a/n: hii loves <3 this fic took over my brain in the best way possible. the tension was too good to keep it short so here we are. thank you for waiting and i really hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡
Now playing -
♪ One Of The Girls — The Weeknd, Jennie, Lily-Rose Depp
♪ Heaven — Julia Michaels
♪ Slow Down — Chase Atlantic
The apartment smelled like stale beer, cheap cologne, and regret.
It clung to the walls.
To the couch.
To the cracked kitchen counter littered with empty cans and takeout boxes that had been sitting there long enough to become part of the furniture.
You stood in the doorway of your bedroom with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, fingers digging into your sleeves while your roommate stumbled through the apartment like a ghost haunting his own bad decisions.
“Fuck,” Minho muttered, kicking an empty soju bottle across the floor.
It slammed against the wall with a sharp clatter that made you flinch. “Where’s my phone…”
It was 2:47 a.m.
Again.
He laughed at absolutely nothing, swaying slightly as he checked under couch cushions and inside cabinets as if his phone had magically teleported into the kitchen sink.
You closed your eyes for a second.
Four nights in a row.
Four nights of drunken strangers crowding the living room.
Four nights of loud music vibrating through the walls.
Four nights of Minho getting too close when he talked to you, his breath heavy with alcohol while he leaned against your bedroom doorframe saying things that made your stomach twist.
You’d started locking your door every night.
Started sleeping with headphones in.
Started memorizing the quickest route from your room to the apartment exit just in case. And maybe that sounded dramatic, but fear had a way of making everything feel sharp around the edges.
You couldn’t do this anymore.
The next morning, you called Jake while speed-walking to work, coffee sloshing dangerously in your cup.
“Dude,” you said before he could even say hello, “I need a new place. Like immediately.”
Jake snorted. “Good morning to you too.”
“I’m serious. My roommate is a drunk disaster and I genuinely think I’m one bad night away from becoming a true crime documentary.”
That got his attention.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” you said quickly. “That’s the problem. I keep waiting for something to happen.”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
Then-
“Actually…” Jake dragged the word out thoughtfully. “I think I know someone.” You nearly cried from relief right there on the sidewalk.
“My friend Heeseung’s roommate moved out recently. Moved in with his girlfriend or something. He’s looking for someone to take the spare room.”
“Is it affordable?”
“Shockingly.”
“Is it clean?”
“Very.”
“Does he murder people?”
Jake laughed. “Not that I know of.”
“Perfect. Send me the address.”
“Wait,” Jake said quickly, “there’s something you should probably know first—”
“Jake, I love you,” you interrupted. “You’re a lifesaver.” And then you hung up before he could finish.
The apartment building was only twelve minutes away from your office.
Twelve.
You almost wanted to kiss the sidewalk.
The building itself was modern and quiet-looking, all clean windows and soft lighting in the lobby. The kind of place where people probably recycled properly and didn’t blast EDM at three in the morning.
Already an upgrade.
You stood outside apartment 407, suddenly aware of your heartbeat.
Then you rang the bell.
A few seconds later, the door opened. And your brain stopped functioning entirely.
Oh.
Oh no.
Jake had failed to mention that his friend looked like that. Tall enough that you had to tilt your head slightly upward. Broad shoulders filling out a black t-shirt that looked soft enough to ruin lives. Dark hair falling messily over his forehead like he’d pushed his fingers through it one too many times.
Sharp eyes.
Really sharp eyes. The kind that lingered.
“You’re Jake’s friend?”
His voice was low and rough around the edges, like he’d just woken up.
You swallowed.
“Y-yeah.”
Smooth. Very smooth.
“I’m here about the room.”
For a second, he simply looked at you. Not in a rude way.
Just… quietly observant. Then he stepped aside.
“Come in.”
The apartment was nicer than you expected.
Warm lighting.
Clean counters.
A gray couch facing a large TV.
Plants near the windows that somehow looked alive, which meant someone here was capable of responsibility. Probably not you.
“Kitchen’s yours whenever,” Heeseung said as you walked further inside. “Bathroom cabinet’s split down the middle. And the room’s this way.”
You followed him down the hallway, hyperaware of how close he was.
The room itself wasn’t huge, but it was perfect, Enough space for your bed and desk.
A decent closet. Big window. Natural light.
Heeseung leaned against the doorframe while you looked around.
“It’s not anything fancy,” he said. “But it’s decent.”
You turned toward him immediately. “I’ll take it.”
One eyebrow lifted slightly. “You don’t want to think about it first?”
“Nope.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.
“Alright then.”
You signed the papers that same evening.
Heeseung explained the basics while you filled things out at the kitchen counter.
Rent due at the beginning of the month.
No smoking inside.
Take your shoes off near the entrance because apparently the downstairs neighbor complained about footsteps once and never emotionally recovered from it.
Simple. Easy. Normal.
Before you left, Heeseung glanced at his phone and sighed quietly.
“I won’t be home tomorrow,” he said. “Work thing. So you can move in without me getting in the way.”
“That’s actually perfect.” He nodded once. Then his gaze flicked toward you again briefly, unreadable.
“See you tomorrow.”
—
Moving day felt like breathing properly for the first time in months. You unpacked everything slowly, taking your time decorating your room exactly how you wanted. String lights. Soft blankets. Your favorite books stacked neatly beside the bed.
By evening, your room finally looked like yours.
After a long shower, you changed into oversized sleep clothes and nearly melted into relief when you crawled into bed.
No yelling. No music. No drunk strangers.
You were halfway to your bedroom door after grabbing water from the kitchen when the front door suddenly opened.
You froze.
Heeseung walked inside.
But he wasn’t alone.
A girl was wrapped around him before the door had even fully shut, kissing him like she’d been starving for it. Her hands tangled in his hair while his gripped her waist hard enough to pull a gasp from her mouth.
“Oh my god,” she breathed against his lips. Heeseung laughed softly — low and dangerous.
Your face immediately burned. You should leave.
Instead, your feet stayed rooted to the floor for two horrifying seconds while Heeseung backed her against the wall and kissed her again, slower this time.
His hand disappeared under her shirt. She made a sound that went straight through you.
Then his eyes lifted.
And met yours.
Everything stopped.
For half a second, neither of you moved.
The girl was still clinging to him, too distracted to notice. You felt heat crawl violently up your neck.
“Sorry,” you blurted out.
You practically fled down the hallway and locked yourself in your bedroom like your life depended on it.
What the actual fuck. What the fuck was that?
Maybe he didn’t even see you properly. Maybe—
A muffled moan echoed through the wall. Your eyes widened. Oh, you had to be kidding.
You threw yourself into bed and pulled a pillow over your head.
It did absolutely nothing. Every sound slipped through them effortlessly. The couch creaking rhythmically. Soft gasps. His voice — lower now, rough enough that it curled strangely in your stomach.
“Yeah?” you heard faintly. “That feel good?” You nearly died on the spot.
You shoved your earbuds in so aggressively one almost fell out.
You tried to sleep.
You really did.
But the walls were thin.
Extremely thin that You could hear everything. Her breathy moans.
His deep, husky groans.
The wet sounds.
This could not be your life.
And yet somehow, despite your embarrassment and horror and genuine desire to evaporate into dust—Your heart wouldn’t calm down.
—
The next morning, sunlight spilled across the kitchen while you stood half-awake beside the coffee machine. You were still mentally recovering from the previous night when the hallway door opened.
A gorgeous girl walked out.
Behind her came Heeseung.
Shirtless.
Fresh from the shower.
Your brain short-circuited for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. Water still clung to his skin. His dark hair was damp, pushed loosely away from his forehead, and gray sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips.
You stared at your coffee like it had personally betrayed you.
“Text me later,” the girl said with a grin. Heeseung leaned down and kissed her lazily.
“Drive safe.” Then the door shut behind her.
Silence settled.
And slowly—Heeseung turned toward you.
There it was again. That stupidly attractive half-smile.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” you squeaked..
He walked toward the fridge completely unbothered by the fact that he looked like a problem specifically designed to ruin your peace.
“How was moving in yesterday?” he asked casually while grabbing a water bottle. “Sorry I couldn’t help.”
“It’s okay. I managed.”
“Good.” He twisted the bottle cap open, taking a long drink before glancing at you again.
“I hope I didn’t disturb you last night.”
You nearly inhaled your own tongue.
“I didn’t hear anything.” A pause. Then one corner of his mouth lifted slowly.
Like he knew you were lying.
“Right.” Heat flooded your face instantly.
Heeseung leaned against the counter across from you, arms crossing over his chest. “We should probably set some roommate rules.”
You nodded quickly.
He started listing them casually.
Laundry schedule. Cleaning rotation. No surprise guests for longer than a week.
Then you cleared your throat awkwardly.
“I’d also appreciate,” you said carefully, “if there weren’t drunk people screaming in the apartment at three a.m.”
His expression softened slightly.
“Fair enough.” You relaxed a little.
Then he added casually: “I do bring girls over pretty often, though.” Your spoon stopped moving.
“The walls are thin,” he continued, voice smooth. “So you might wanna invest in better headphones.”
The way he said it felt intentional.
Teasing.
Dangerously close to flirting.
You looked up despite yourself.
Big mistake.
Heeseung was already watching you.
Completely focused. Like he was waiting to see how you’d react.
“I’ll survive,” you said.
His smile deepened slowly.
“We’ll see.” The words followed you like a promise.
—
The apartment was quiet for most of the evening since you returned from work. You tried not to think about him while unpacking the last few boxes scattered around your room. Tried not to think about the way his wet hair had curled slightly at the ends this morning. It irritated you. Mostly because your body seemed determined to betray you every single time he walked into a room.
By midnight, you were buried under your blankets scrolling mindlessly through your phone, half-asleep already.
Then you heard the front door open.
Your stomach dropped instantly.
A girl laughed softly from the hallway. Heeseung said something too low for you to hear, followed by another laugh — quieter this time, more breathless.
Then came the sound of kissing. Your thumb froze against your screen. It was impossible not to hear.
The kind of kissing that sounded like they’d barely made it through the front door before losing patience completely. You squeezed your eyes shut. Ignore it.....Just ignore it.
A soft thud hit the wall outside your room, followed by a muffled gasp. “Fuck,” the girl whispered breathlessly.
Your heartbeat stumbled. You could practically picture it without meaning to — Heeseung pressing her against the hallway wall, one large hand on her waist while she tangled herself around him. His head tilted down. His mouth moving slow and filthy against hers.
“Someone’s impatient tonight,” he murmured. His voice traveled through the thin walls far too clearly. Heat pooled embarrassingly low in your stomach.
You threw your blanket over your head like that would somehow help.
It didn’t.
Their footsteps moved toward the living room. Then the couch creaked loudly. You stared at the ceiling in horror.
No way.
Not again.
A breathy moan slipped through the wall. Another...
Then his voice again, softer now — the kind of tone that made your skin prickle. Your entire body went rigid.
You should put your headphones in.
You should turn on music.
You should literally do anything except lie there listening.
Instead, you stayed perfectly still beneath your blankets, pulse racing harder with every sound that drifted down the hallway. The couch shifted rhythmically. The girl let out another broken moan. Every noise felt vivid enough to crawl beneath your skin.
And the worst part? Your body reacted before your brain could stop it. Heat spread slowly between your thighs. You pressed them together immediately, horrified.
No....
You were not getting turned on by your roommate having sex ten feet away from you.
Another sharp gasp echoed through the wall.
God.
The walls really were thin.
You buried your face into your pillow with a frustrated groan, trying desperately not to imagine his hands, his mouth, the way he probably looked hovering over someone with that same dark stare he always gave you. The sounds only continued..
By the time the apartment finally fell silent, your heart was still pounding hard enough to keep you awake for another hour.
—
The second night was somehow worse. Maybe because now you knew exactly what to expect. Or maybe because Heeseung seemed completely aware of the effect he had on people.
Including you.
Which was deeply unfortunate.
You had just stepped out of the shower when you heard the apartment door unlock around midnight. Steam still clung to your skin as you rubbed your towel through your damp hair. You wore nothing but an oversized t-shirt and panties, too tired to bother finding actual sleep shorts yet.
Then laughter drifted into the apartment.
Female.
Oh my god...Again?
You took exactly one step toward your bedroom before the front door swung fully open.
And there he was.
Heeseung walked inside with a girl wrapped around him like she physically couldn’t stand being more than two inches away from him. Long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Sharp eyeliner. Tiny black dress hugging every curve of her body.
Wait - isn't that minjeong?
Heeseung barely managed to kick the door shut before kissing her. The girl gasped softly as he backed her against the wall, one hand gripping her waist while the other slid down her thigh.
“Missed you,” she whispered against his mouth.
Heeseung laughed quietly. “Yeah?” Then he lifted her leg around his hip effortlessly.
You nearly stopped breathing.
You should leave.
Instead, you stared. Mesmerized in the worst possible way. Heeseung’s head dipped toward her neck slowly, lips brushing her skin while she tilted her head back with a soft moan. Then he guided her toward his bedroom, fingers hooked around her thigh possessively as they disappeared behind the door.
Silence lasted exactly three seconds.
Then—“Oh my god—” And then the real torture began.
Minjeong was loud. Shamelessly loud. The headboard hit the shared wall with a loud bang. Your eyes widened. You had to be cursed.
“Heeseung—”The moan echoed shamelessly through the apartment. You grabbed your pillow aggressively and screamed into it. It did nothing. Nothing could save you from this. The wet slap of skin. His low groans breaking occasionally into quiet curses that made your stomach tighten embarrassingly hard.
And his voice—God, his voice.
You physically felt your thighs press together. Your body betrayed you instantly. Heat spread lower and lower until your entire face burned with humiliation.
You hated this. Hated how easy it was to picture him. The broad shoulders. The messy black hair falling into his eyes. The silver necklace resting against tan skin while he hovered over someone else. Your breathing turned uneven. You shifted beneath your blankets restlessly, squeezing your eyes shut.
Ignore it.
Ignore it.
Ignore—A loud moan cut through the wall.
Without fully meaning to, your hand slipped slowly beneath the blanket. Just for relief. Just enough to stop feeling so painfully aware of your own body. Your fingers brushed between your thighs and you nearly choked. You were soaked.
Heat flooded your face instantly. “Oh my god,” you whispered to yourself.
You imagined those hands touching you instead. Imagined his voice in your ear instead of through the wall. Your fingers moved carefully at first, hesitant and embarrassed, but the sounds coming from his room made it impossible to think properly. The pace of the bed grew faster. Minjeong’s moans turned louder, more broken. Your body followed helplessly. Every sound pushed you closer to the edge.
You bit down hard on your lip to stay quiet, trembling beneath your blankets while pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your stomach. Your orgasm hit hard enough to make your thighs shake. You buried your face into the pillow immediately to muffle the sound that escaped you, chest heaving while frustration and humiliation crashed together inside your ribs.
Because this was insane.
Actually insane.
You had known this man for less than a week. And somehow he was already ruining you without even touching you...
—
The next morning, you woke up determined to avoid him. Which should have been easy. Except fate clearly hated you. You shuffled into the kitchen quietly, hoping to grab coffee before escaping to work unnoticed. Instead, you nearly walked directly into Heeseung.
Your brain stopped functioning instantly. He stood near the stove shirtless, flipping toast lazily in a pair of gray sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips.
The silver Chrome Hearts necklace resting against his chest caught the morning light every time he moved. Your eyes lingered for one fatal second too long. Because his chest was unfair. Broad shoulders. Defined stomach. Tan skin scattered with faint red scratches that disappeared beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. Evidence of last night. Your face immediately heated.
“Morning,” he said casually. Like he hadn’t completely destroyed your sanity through a shared wall six hours ago.
“Morning,” you croaked. He glanced over his shoulder at you while reaching for a mug. And then—His eyes narrowed slightly. A slow smirk appeared.
Oh no.
“You look tired.” You nearly dropped your phone.
“I’m not.”
“Hm.” He sounded unconvinced. Very unconvinced. You moved quickly toward the coffee machine before he could say anything else. Unfortunately, Heeseung seemed to enjoy your suffering. A lot.
“Sleep okay?” he asked lightly.
“Yes.” Lie.
A soft laugh left him. You refused to turn around. The smell of toast drifted through the kitchen while silence stretched between you awkwardly.
Then Heeseung spoke again..
“By the way… you froze last night when I came in with Minjeong. Looked like you saw a ghost.” Your heart skipped.
You hesitated, then muttered, “I… used to know her. We made out once. A few years ago.”
Heeseung choked on his coffee. He set the mug down, staring at you with wide eyes. “You what?”
Your face burned instantly.
“It was years ago,” you muttered quickly. “At a party.” Heeseung was staring at you differently.
Not badly.
Worse. Interested. Something unreadable flickered behind his dark eyes as he set his mug down carefully.
“Wow,” he said softly. Heat crept slowly up your neck.
“You say that like it’s shocking.”
“I mean…” His mouth curved slightly. “Didn’t expect it.” You rolled your eyes immediately.
“What does that even mean?” His eyebrows lifted slowly.
“Wait… so you’re into girls?” You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant even though your face was burning.
“Let's say I’m bisexual. It was three years ago. Not that deep.”
For a moment, Heeseung just looked at you, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes. Then his lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
“Woah… that’s hot. I didn’t know you were like that.” He stepped closer, voice dropping.
“Tell me… what did you two do?” he asked casually.
Your eyes widened.
“Oh my god.”
“What?” he said innocently.
“You’re such a pervert.” He laughed quietly. Deep.
“But now I’m curious.”
“You do realize that’s weird, right?”
“Probably.” He stepped even closer. Close enough that you could smell his body wash again — clean and expensive underneath the faint trace of last night lingering on his skin. The necklace resting against his chest shifted slightly when he leaned against the counter beside you.
“But you look so straight the way you were staring at my abs earlier,” he murmured, thumb brushing your hip.
“Or was that my imagination?” Your breath hitched. You could feel the heat radiating from his body. For a second, neither of you moved. Then you pulled away abruptly.
“I was not.”
“I could never be attracted to someone who changes girls every night,” you mumbled, grabbing your toast and heading for the door.
“You were.” His voice dropped lower.
“Pretty sure your eyes were glued right here.” He tapped lightly just below his ribs.
“That’s literally not true.”
“Hm.” His fingers brushed suddenly against your waist. Barely there. But enough to make your breath catch. The touch felt deliberate. Testing. Your stomach tightened violently. Heeseung noticed immediately. A slow smile spread across his face.
“Interesting.”
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“This.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Flirting.” His eyebrows lifted slightly.
“You think I’m flirting with you?” The question made your chest tighten unexpectedly. Because suddenly you weren’t sure. You opened your mouth. Closed it again. And Heeseung smiled like he’d won something.
“You’re cute when you get nervous,” he said softly. Your brain short-circuited. You stepped back so quickly you almost bumped into the counter.
“I could never like someone who changes girls every night,” you blurted out. The words hung awkwardly in the air. For a second, Heeseung just looked at you. Then he laughed. Low and amused. Not offended in the slightest.
“Cute,” he repeated. Your face burned hotter. You grabbed your toast aggressively before escaping the kitchen as fast as your dignity would allow.
The days blurred into a dangerous routine. You threw yourself into work at the advertising agency, designing campaigns late into the evening just to avoid being home when Heeseung returned. But no matter how late you stayed, you always came back to the same apartment. And almost every other night, he brought someone home. a new girl — different hair, different voice, same desperate moans that pierced straight through the thin walls. You started keeping earphones on your nightstand like a weapon, but more often than not, you found yourself abandoning them. Because the ache had become unbearable.
One particularly bad Friday night, after listening to Heeseung fuck a girl so thoroughly that she screamed his name loud enough to wake the neighbors, you couldn’t take it anymore.
You opened a new tab on your phone with trembling fingers and searched for “quiet vibrator.” Thirty minutes later, you were standing outside a 24-hour convenience store near the station, buying the discreet pink bullet vibrator with flushed cheeks and a racing heart.
When you got home, the apartment was finally quiet. Heeseung’s door was closed. You slipped into your room, locked the door, and pulled the small toy out of the packaging.
You felt ridiculous. Pathetic, even. But the frustration had been building for weeks.
You lay back on your bed, pulled your shorts down, and turned the vibrator on the lowest setting. The soft buzz filled the room. The moment it touched your clit, your back arched off the mattress.
“Fuck…” you whispered. You closed your eyes and let the fantasies take over. It was Heeseung’s hands instead of silicone. His long fingers. That necklace dangling above you as he hovered over your body. His low, raspy voice whispering filthy....You turned the speed higher. Your hips rolled against the toy, chasing the pleasure as you remembered every moan you’d heard through the wall — the way he groaned when he was close. Your free hand gripped the sheets as the pressure built fast and overwhelming. When you came, it hit you like a wave — thighs shaking, lips parted in a silent cry, back bowing off the bed.
For a few blissful seconds, the frustration finally eased. But the relief never lasted long.
The next morning, you woke up late.You rushed into the kitchen, still half-asleep, hoping to grab something quick and leave.
Heeseung was already there, as usual.
Shirtless. His hair was damp, and there were fresh scratch marks on his shoulder.
“Morning,” he said casually, pouring himself coffee. His eyes flicked over you slowly. “You look… flushed. Rough night?”
Your heart skipped. “I’m fine.”
He stepped closer, setting his mug down. The scent of his body wash wrapped around you. He reached past you to grab a banana from the counter, deliberately brushing his bare arm against yours.
“You sure?” His voice dropped. “Because I could’ve sworn I heard something interesting last night.”
Your stomach dropped. Heeseung smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. He didn’t push further, but the knowing look in his eyes stayed with you all day.
From that night on, something shifted. Heeseung started getting louder. Deliberately louder.
One night, you heard him tell the girl he brought home, “Don’t hold back, baby. Let the whole apartment hear how good I’m fucking you.” The headboard slammed harder.
Heeseung’s groans were deeper, rougher, like he wanted you to hear every single sound. You hated how much it affected you. You used the vibrator almost every night now. Each time, the fantasies grew more vivid.
One evening, you came home exhausted from a long day at the agency. Heeseung wasn’t there yet. You took a long shower, then decided to relieve some stress before he came back with another girl. You were lying on your bed, completely naked, legs spread, vibrator pressed firmly against your clit on the highest setting. Your hips bucked desperately as you chased release.
“Heeseung…” you whimpered quietly, lost in the fantasy. “Fuck— please…” The pleasure built fast and intense. Your free hand pinched your nipple, back arching as the vibrator buzzed relentlessly against your clit. You were so close — right on the edge —The front door opened.
You froze for a moment. But it was too late to stop. Your orgasm crashed over you hard, a broken moan escaping despite your best efforts. You bit your pillow, body shaking violently as waves of pleasure rolled through you.
You didn’t hear Heeseung’s footsteps pause in the hallway. Or the way he stood there for a long moment, listening.
One morning you were searching for the vibrator that you lost because you were so comfortable playing with it in the couch last night since you were alone and when you heard the door open you fled to your room forgetting it. So you walked into the kitchen praying he’d already left.
No such luck. Heeseung was leaning against the counter as usual.
He was holding your pink vibrator. Twirling it between his long fingers with a dark, amused smirk.
Your soul left your body. when did he get that?
“Looking for this?” he asked casually, voice low and teasing. He held it up, eyes locked on yours. “Found it on the couch while I was looking for my charger. Interesting choice, princess.”
You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Heeseung stepped closer, backing you against the kitchen counter. The necklace swayed between you as he leaned in, breath warm against your ear.
“Been using this while listening to me fuck other girls?” His voice dropped to a whisper.
“Moaning my name like that last night… you’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be, are you?” Your face burned with humiliation and arousal. You couldn’t speak. Heeseung pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark with something dangerous and hungry. The vibrator still dangled from his fingers like a taunt.
“So…” he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip.
“How long are we going to keep pretending?”
You stepped away from him and took the item from his hand and walked away without answering his questions. You can hear his chuckle behind you. You were so embarrassed.
The next few days passed in a haze of unbearable tension. Until one Thursday evening, everything changed. You came home from work earlier than usual, exhausted from a long client meeting. The moment you stepped inside, you froze. Heeseung was already home. He was sprawled on the couch in black sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt, his necklace visible against his collarbones. His hair was messy, cheeks slightly flushed, and he looked… unwell.
“You’re home early,” you said, surprised. Heeseung glanced at you, voice raspy. “Caught a cold. Boss sent me home.” He coughed lightly, looking miserable but still unfairly attractive. You didn’t say anything. You simply went to the kitchen, rolled up your sleeves, and started cooking. Thirty minutes later, you placed a steaming bowl of warm chicken soup in front of him. Heeseung stared at it for a long moment, then looked up at you with genuine surprise.
“You made this… for me?” You shrugged, suddenly shy. “You look like shit. Eat.” He smiled — soft, almost boyish — and ate slowly while you sat across from him. For the first time, you two had a real conversation. He told you about his work at the studio, how stressful deadlines were. You told him about your annoying clients at the agency. The atmosphere felt strangely… domestic.
When he finished, he leaned back and murmured, “Thank you. That was really good.” You nodded, about to stand up when his next words stopped you cold.
“So…” Heeseung smirked, eyes darkening. “Why did you need a vibrator?” Your face exploded with heat.
“I— I don’t use it. It was just… there.” Heeseung laughed, low and amused. He stood up slowly and walked around the table until he was right in front of you.
“If you’re that horny or stressed,” he said, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “you can use me instead.”
The air thickened instantly. Your heart slammed against your ribs. “Heeseung…”
“Trust me,” he murmured, stepping closer until your back hit the counter. “I’m very good at relieving stress.”
Before you could respond, his hands were on you. One slid around your waist, gripping firmly. The other dipped into the waistband of your low-rise pants, long fingers slipping beneath your panties. You gasped as he found you already wet.
“Fuck… so soaked already,” he breathed against your ear, the Chrome Hearts necklace brushing your chest. “All this time listening to me… and you never said anything?” Two fingers circled your clit slowly, teasingly, before sliding down to your entrance. He pushed one finger inside you, then another, curling them perfectly against that spot that made your knees weak. You moaned softly, gripping his shoulders. Heeseung worked his fingers expertly — slow and deep at first, then faster, thumb pressing against your clit with every thrust. His mouth hovered near your neck, breath hot as he whispered filthy praises.
“You’re so tight around my fingers, princess.” Your hips rocked against his hand desperately. The pleasure built fast and overwhelming. When you finally came, clenching hard around his fingers, Heeseung watched your face the entire time, eyes dark with lust. He pulled his hand out slowly, bringing his glistening fingers to his mouth and licking them clean.
“Goodnight,” he whispered with a smirk, then turned and walked into his room, leaving you trembling and empty against the counter.
You couldn’t sleep. An hour later, frustration and need burned through your body.You pulled out the vibrator again. You lay on your back, legs spread, and turned it on. The buzz filled the room as you pressed it hard against your swollen clit. Your hips bucked immediately.
“Ah— fuck…” You started slow as usual, then faster, moaning freely as pleasure coursed through you. You were so lost in it that you didn’t hear the door open.
Heeseung stood in the doorway, eyes pitch black with hunger. “Don’t stop,” he said hoarsely. “Please… keep going. I just want to watch.”
You froze. He walked closer, watching every movement.
“Or…” he murmured, climbing onto the bed, “should I help you?” He took the vibrator from your hand, locked eyes with you, and pressed it back against your core. He turned it on high. The sudden intensity made you cry out. Heeseung leaned down and kissed you deeply, swallowing your moans while working the toy against you with perfect pressure. His tongue explored your mouth as he whispered between kisses:“I couldn’t sleep because of the sounds you were making… I was so fucking curious.” You were shaking, so close again.
“I’m— I’m close—” Right as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled the vibrator away.
You glared at him, frustrated and desperate. “Heeseung—”
He smirked, pushing his sweatpants down. His cock sprang free — thick, hard, and leaking at the tip.
“Not yet, princess.”
He teased your entrance with the head of his cock, rubbing it against your clit, coating himself in your wetness. You were practically begging. “Please…”
Heeseung finally pushed in. The stretch was intense. He sank into you slowly at first, letting you feel every inch, groaning deeply as your walls clenched around him.
“Fuck… so tight,” he hissed. Then he started moving. He fucked you hard and deep, hips snapping against yours with rhythm. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room. Heeseung’s necklace swung above you with every thrust as he gripped your thighs, spreading you wider.
“Look at me,” he growled, pounding into you relentlessly. You moaned his name like a prayer, nails digging into his back. Heeseung kissed you messily, biting your lip as he drove deeper, hitting that perfect spot over and over. When you finally came around him, clenching hard, Heeseung followed right after with a broken groan, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you.
The next morning felt like a slap to the face. Heeseung acted like nothing had happened. He moved around the kitchen with the same effortless confidence as always — When you walked in, he glanced at you with a casual smile, like he hadn’t spent the previous night buried deep inside you.
“Morning,” he said lightly, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Want some?” You stood there frozen, heart squeezing painfully. What did you expect? He was a fuckboy. This was what fuckboys did. They fucked you senseless, made you feel wanted for a few hours, then acted like it was just another Tuesday. The realization hurt more than you wanted to admit.
You forced a small nod. “Yeah… thanks.” Heeseung handed you the mug without another word. No teasing. No lingering touches. No acknowledgment of the way you’d moaned his name just hours ago. You drank your coffee in silence, feeling cheap and stupid. Of course he doesn’t care. You’re just another girl who lives next door. The thought stung.
To your shock that evening, Heeseung brought another girl home. You heard the front door open, followed by giggles and sloppy kissing.
This time, it wasn’t just arousal you felt — it was pure anger. Jealousy burned hot in your chest as you lay in bed listening to him fuck her. Every moan, every creak of the bed, every “Fuck, Heeseung, you’re so good” felt like a personal insult. You hated how much it affected you. You hated yourself for caring.
So the next night, you decided you were done being pathetic. You went clubbing. You didn’t drink much — just two cocktails to take the edge off. You danced, flirted, and eventually left with a guy named Jihoon. He was tall, charming enough, and seemed genuinely interested.
You brought him back to the apartment.
When you walked through the door, Heeseung was already there, sitting on the couch in the dark, scrolling through his phone. His eyes snapped up when he saw you with another man. Shock, then something darker, flashed across his face.
You didn’t care.
You pulled Jihoon straight into your room and closed the door with a loud click. You made sure to be loud. You moaned exaggeratedly as Jihoon touched you, even though his hands were clumsy and he finished embarrassingly fast.
He didn’t make you cum. Not even close.
But you kept moaning anyway — loud, breathy, dramatic — making sure every single sound traveled through the thin walls.
Heeseung lost it.
A few minutes after Jihoon collapsed beside you, loud knocking echoed through your door. You quickly threw on a robe and opened it. Heeseung stood there, jaw clenched, eyes burning with barely contained fury.
“What the fuck are you trying to do?” he hissed, voice low.
You lifted your chin defiantly. “I’m just having a good time. Is that a problem?”
His eyes darkened. “You’re being too fucking noisy. And we both know that guy isn’t making you moan like that.”
You laughed bitterly. “How would you know?”
Heeseung stepped forward, grabbing your wrist and pulling you out into the hallway. He shut your door behind you, trapping you against the wall.
“Did he make you cum?” he asked, voice deadly quiet, eyes locked on yours.
You stayed silent.
He smirked, dangerous and knowing. “Exactly. See? I can make you cum with just my fingers.” Before you could respond, he kissed you — hard, possessive. His hands gripped your waist as he whispered against your lips, “Let that idiot sleep. Come enjoy yourself with me.”
He dragged you into his room. And started undressing...
Heeseung pushed his pants down, revealing his hard, throbbing cock, then lay back on the bed.
“Come here, princess. Ride me.”
You wanted to say no but you couldn't resist so you straddled him, grinding your soaked pussy along his length. The raw, hot contact made both of you hiss. Heeseung’s head fell back, eyes squeezed shut.
“Fuck… don’t tease me like that,” he groaned.
You sank down slowly. He was so thick it burned in the best way. The moment you took all of him, you clenched hard around his cock. Heeseung whimpered — a broken, beautiful sound — his hands gripping your waist tightly. You started riding him desperately, tits bouncing with every movement. Heeseung stared like he was hypnotized, one hand holding your waist while the other squeezed your breast, thumb brushing your nipple. When your pace faltered from exhaustion, he thrust up hard, fucking you deep while you were pressed chest to chest.
“You kept moaning so loud because you wanted me to hear it, right?” he growled, hips snapping up relentlessly. “You wanted me to know how badly you needed my cock.”
You came hard around him, as pleasure ripped through you. Heeseung didn’t stop. He flipped you onto your stomach, pulled your ass up, and slammed back into you from behind.
His stamina was insane.
He fucked you like he was punishing you — deep, powerful thrusts that made your eyes roll back. You came again, burying your face in the pillow to muffle your screams as he gripped your ass and pounded into you. Only then did he finally let go, burying himself to the hilt as he came with a deep groan.
After you both caught your breath, Heeseung pulled you into his arms, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder.
“I hope we didn’t disturb your guest,” he said, smirking. You let out a tired laugh despite yourself.
Then his voice turned serious.
“I was waiting for you,” he admitted quietly. “I wanted to apologize for acting like nothing happened after we… you know. But when I saw you come home with that guy… I lost it.” He brushed your hair back, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.
“I don’t want anyone else hearing you moan.”
You looked up at him, heart racing, unsure what this meant for the two of you. But for tonight, you let yourself stay in his arms.
｡･ω･｡♡｡･ω･｡
The morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains. You woke up tangled in Heeseung’s sheets, his arm slung over your waist and his necklace cool against your bare back. He was still asleep, breathing steady, looking far too peaceful for someone who had ruined you multiple times last night.
A loud knock on the front door made you jolt.
Then another. Then a very confused voice:
“...Hello? Is anyone there?”
Your stomach dropped.
Jihoon.
The guy you had completely forgotten about in your room.
Heeseung stirred beside you, cracking one eye open. A lazy, mischievous smirk spread across his face the second he registered what was happening.
“Oh no,” he whispered, voice raspy with sleep and amusement. “You left your little toy in the other room.”
“Shut up,” you hissed, face burning as you scrambled for clothes. You threw on one of Heeseung’s shirts and rushed out, trying to fix your messy hair on the way.
When you opened the door to your bedroom, Jihoon was standing there awkwardly, fully dressed, looking equal parts confused and concerned.
“Hey… um,” he scratched the back of his neck.
“I woke up and you were gone. I thought maybe you got kidnapped or something.”
Behind you, Heeseung appeared in the hallway. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, looking entirely too satisfied.
Jihoon’s eyes flicked between you two. The pieces clicked slowly in his head.
“Oh,” he said, voice flat. “...Okay.”
You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
“I’m really sorry,” you said quickly. “Last night was… a lot. I didn’t mean to ditch you like that.”
Jihoon let out a weak laugh, clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah, no worries. I, uh… heard a lot. Through the wall but I thought it was just in my head. Turns out you guys are… very enthusiastic.”
Heeseung coughed to hide a laugh.
Jihoon gave you one last awkward nod. “I’ll just… see myself out. Nice meeting you. Both of you, I guess.”
The second the front door closed behind him, Heeseung burst out laughing, pulling you back against his chest.
“Poor guy,” he chuckled. “He came here thinking he was getting laid and ended up listening to me fuck his date all night.”
You groaned, hiding your face in his neck. “I’m never bringing anyone home again.”
“Good,” Heeseung murmured, voice dropping as his hands slid under your shirt. “Because the only person moaning in this apartment from now on is you. And I want to hear every single sound.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face.
[ ༯ ] pairing - experienced, gentle and dom heeseung x fem, virgin and sub reader
[ ༯ ] a few words to describe the story - smut, 18+, first-time sex, loss of virginity, orgasm, coaching, vulnerability, breeding, dirty talk, thrusting, grinding, mutual desire, possessive, begging, needy, flirty, guided submission, praise, gentle dominance, caring heeseung, tender touch, size kink, creampie, oral praise, reassurance, emotional intimacy, emotional dependency, penetration, innocence kink, body worship, clit stimulation during penetration, sensory focus, aftercare, trust
[ ༯ ] 𝒹ℯ𝒹𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹 𝓉ℴ: 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃
“𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝐾𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑆𝑖𝑛”
As the sun was setting down painting the sky in subtle orange and pink colours in the approaching evening hours it was assured to say that for you - today was one of the best days you've ever encountered primarily because you were spending time with your best friend after long-awaited weeks. Right in this very moment, Heeseung was holding your hand, fingers intertwined with yours. It wasn't one of those casual hangouts you had. You took a long walk, ate snacks together, brought your favorite cold beverages, shared deep conversations and overall he wasn't JUST a friend. He carried your purse, spoiled you often, and looked after you more than anyone else you encircled yourself with.
He had always had a thing for you but in deep secret. You would often catch him staring deeply, as if he frequently gaped at how you dressed, how you communicated, how you carried yourself and that, furthermore wasn't something you didn't relate to. You also had those unidentified intense feelings for him but you didn't wish to feel embarrassed and confess them out loud. You would scan him often, play with his rings sticking to his fingers, rattle his hair, and merely share affection you generally wouldn't with anybody else. But the timid feelings always swayed your boldness. You also tended to look down on yourself and constantly tell yourself that even though Heeseung was single and you could confess, in the end: he deserved better. Someone more to his level of attention. But you had no hint he was head over heels for you too.
“You zone out often, Y/N” Heeseungs voice was audible now, letting out a low laugh. He gazed down at you. He was really tall standing next to you.
“Right— I’m sorry—, I was just… lost in thought” The moment the sentence initiated passing through your teeth, you let out a stutter. This was caused by his fierce gaze. Always that gaze that left your heart racing a certain way.
You could sense his eyes on you and then drift away. By now, you were getting closer to your house. Heeseung was also a student like you and he asked you two days before your planned hangout to print out some papers for him. The plan was for you to pass them to him when you arrive there.
But... you felt a certain pull this time.
“Are you sure you don't wanna stay over? Maybe we can play some games?” You proposed, voice hardly audible, and eyes coming across his sharp side profile. His gaze didn’t meet you this time.
“You know I’d love to but I really gotta get home, Y/N. I got this project due Monday” he declined, your heart sinking for a moment.
“But— you have 4 days until then… and—” you realised you were pushing it in that moment, lips pouting. You saw Heeseung’s expression shift to something indistinct. He beamed at you and then squeezed your hand a little bit harder in his grasp. That implied only one gesture and something inside you stirred up further to the thought of him switching his mind.
When you arrived at your place, your parents were on a work trip so it was calm. The same neat aroma of the hallway filled Heeseung’s lungs. You both took off your shoes and Heeseung strolled towards you in your cozy bedroom. His eyes immediately drifted towards the teddy bear snuck in between your cushions on the bed. Heeseung placed your purse down on your makeup desk area.
“I’m not sure where I put them..” you muttered as you were searching through the papers. You could feel his presence waiting.
Heeseung put his hands in his pockets awkwardly standing there trying not to stare at your back hunched over the desk. That made your figure more prominent which attracted him further. He saw you scanning your laptop and going through some files. He fixed his throat.
“It’s alright, I can come back another time?” Heeseung uttered in a more delicate tone this time. But you didn't want to miss the opportunity now that he was in your room.
“Yeah—.. Uh..” you paused, face disappointed as you realised you completely forgot to print them out. How can you forget out of all the things that existed on your mind to get HIS request done?
“It’s fine, it’s fine, Y/N seriously” He soothed one more time.
Now, you took a step back from the laptop and sighed unaware of the uncertainty Heeseung was sharing. He couldn't lie to himself - the entire day you spent together, a few inappropriate thoughts struck his mind. Even when he was chucking heavy flirting at you, making a few jokes here and there, and acting playful you never figured out. You were so innocent and adorable that he couldn't help but start to visualize many dreams. And in your head, you were anticipating him to leave as he said. But you didn't desire that. You refused to let the day end.
The tension grew instantly, and you made eye contact with him. The moment you did Heeseung took a step closer, shutting the distance.
“You don’t want me to leave, do you?” His voice dropped to a whisper. His lips are looming over yours and you couldn’t actually doubt it. To respond to his question you reached up and smooched him. Your lips are pressing stiff and unfamiliar, having no actual idea of what it feels like to kiss somebody. Your arms wrapped around him, holding yourself, and you realised Heeseung responded to it with a quiet sigh.
He smirked when you struggled, your ass pressed against the desk, now a few items tumbling to the push of your weight. Your inexperienced tongue tried to taste his lips, saliva coating them, taking Heeseung by surprise. He had his eyes closed trying to really appreciate the moment because who knows what might happen next. He didn’t dare to touch anywhere else except your waist because he also didn’t want to cross boundaries without approval. Your underwear was sticky with the rushing wetness you felt when you finally kissed your best friend. Unexpectedly your mouth pulled back leaving both of you breathless with thudding hearts.
“I wanna know how it feels like” You melted into his palms on your waist, words hardly coming out. “It’ll be my first time, Hee..” Another sentence followed after the first one, attempting to convince him now. His eyes couldn’t stop searching inside yours the entire time, making sure that u really wanted this. And he saw it, but he also wanted to make certain. He didn’t even say anything, he looked down, inspecting your outfit, and swallowed his curiosity about you under these clothes. You saw his Adam’s apple bobbing and then glanced down at him as well. You lifted his shirt, revealing his somewhat softer abs, and felt your mouth water.
“Turn around, Y/N.” Abruptly, Heeseung hissed and bit his lower lip. His hardness was now painful in his jeans. You attended intently, body language slightly hesitant as you didn’t know how to precisely stand. When he noticed, he exhaled patiently. You listened to him undoing his belt and the sound of the zipper followed by.
“Arch your back a little” He couldn’t take his eyes off your ass. He slipped your bottoms down, together with your panties. His member sprang up, ready to fulfill your curiosity. Your skin hit the cooler air and you felt your entrance contract when there was no fabric pressing against it.
“If you feel any sort of pain, you tell me” Heeseung licked his lips and placed a palm on your waist. Fingers slipping under your shirt starting to caress you with his thumb. He could hear your heavier, nervous breathing.
“Relax, I want you to completely relax..” With his free hand, he wrapped the tips of his fingers around the base of his member and aimed the tip against your entrance. He could feel your trembling thighs against him in a very weak vibration. When he scanned your expression from the side he saw your eyes shut and lips mashed nervously. When he pressed the plump tip against your core and started pushing, you let out a squirm. Your thighs were spread enough, all you had to do was loosen up.
“It’s okay.. It’s okay..” He retreated. His eyes gazed down. Your pussy was aroused, but too tense. He continued caressing you with his thumb the entire time.
“He—Heeseung.. wha..what if it doesn’t fit?” You asked, your virgin mind was so eager and needy but also uneasy.
“It will, Y/N.. breathe in.. breathe out..” Heeseung presently reassured you. He started pushing one more time. This time he could feel you were more flexible. You were still learning. He could feel the stretch granting him the stinging sensation but he could also hear your persistent breathing. You were trying your best. And he was also carrying it slowly and gently. Every tiny squirm made him stop.
After a few minutes, Heeseung finally began to feel you differently. He went past your opening and started to feel a different kind of heat circling his foreskin and tip.
“Relax more, I’m in” He exhaled, his eyes squeezing as he was sliding gradually. Making sure that you felt comfortable. This position was perfect for your first time and he already had experience. He felt your gummy walls accept every single inch. Now, he was halfway there but he quit pushing. He must let you adapt to every single movement. You did as he told, reciting in your mind that there was zero to fear from.
Soon, he shoved a little bit deeper. His member is still pulsating hard to eventually feel the friction happen. He was starving.
“I’m going to start moving now, okay?” He alerted as his eyes met your side profile, his hips giving a gentle roll against your ass. You froze wholly, your walls plowed, almost like they didn’t really want him there. Your body was in a mini amazement. You rolled your eyes only to a second of bliss. Heeseung penetrated deeper and reached a different texture more smoothly now because of how soaked you were evolving. He could feel your heartbeat against your walls.
“You.. You are so big, Heeseung” The words fell off your mouth mixed with little concern but also pleasure. The stretch hurt but only when you weren’t calm completely. You concentrated and then let out a moan.
“Yeah? It’s okay.. you’ll get used to it, baby” Heeseung named you a pet phrase that turned your buttons on further.
Now, Heeseung started to move consistently. A slow-tender motion grinding in your walls that made your tummy turn and your mouth hang open. You felt full but so satisfied from every single roll he did. Heeseung noticed and let out a sharp grunt. His palm is still caressing you while the other one finally lets go of his member and lets the hips do the work. His other hand reached to hold your right ass cheek, squeezing just enough to feel it.
“Mm..” You moaned, a little bit louder this time. You both realised how extraordinary it started to feel in this very moment. The burn wasn’t there anymore, just your sealed walls around Heeseung’s hard thick dick. He locked his eyes with the friction of your pussy coating him with gliss and let out a soft moan as well, making your gut fill with butterflies.
“Yeah, Y/N? You like that, baby?” He questioned, pace still polite as he honestly astonished himself: that the slower you fuck a girl, the deeper you feel her.
You started to try to push your hips unevenly together with his, the deeper the better. You made pauses, totally unpredictable, and then abruptly slapped your entire weight revealing to him how good it made you feel. Your eyes rolled once again and your whimpers got louder. Heeseung snapped altogether. He felt so turned on from that kind of body language you were having. He bit his lower lip, HARD, your walls clutching but he yearned to take it sluggish and delicate.
“S..Slow..” He stuttered, throat going dry as he clasped you in place. Your skin is soft against his. He never imagined a sweet and innocent girl like you would be into him like this. He was interested but never knew it could take off like this.
When the steady clash lasted for over 5 minutes now, Heeseung felt your walls become packed with juices and his orgasm approaching. He wanted to make you orgasm too so he softly tugged you back completely, your back arching as he slipped his hand to your wet clit. He directly felt your walls clench as he began to rub you in circles with the tips of his fingertips.
“Ooohh—! M..Mnnyesyes!” You tingled on the inside, your thighs starting to shudder. You felt Heeseung’s chin press against your shoulder and listened to his breathing evolve heavier.
“Fuck, Y/N you are so loud” He honored, you could hear his grin in his voice. Heeseung’s stamina was balanced but it satisfied all of his needs. He felt your pussy’s warmth while provoking your clit to a jiggling vibration. You thought you were going to gush right there from his insane combo and skill. He could do both with no uncertainty.
“I’m.. I’m g..gonna-.. f..feel weird..” Your mouth gasped open to speak. You bit your lower lip to the verge of charm.
“You are.. You are gonna orgasm, baby.. relax.. it’ll feel so good, baby” Heeseung deeply moaned, he felt his own orgasm coming any second. “I’m.. I’m gonna cum”
“Heeseung.. Heeseung—“
Your legs jerked and your brain rushed with dopamine and ecstasy. Your legs went fragile, knees almost died out as you held with all your resilience against the desk. Your head is thrown back and your moans are in tiny, speechless gasps. You could hear a small gasp from your best friend too.
To Heeseung, this was the hottest moment. He instantly spilled inside of you in an audible husky moan. His own body grew vulnerable, muscles relaxing in his legs and hips as he dragged out both of your orgasms. His hand left your clit to save your weak body on both sides, his grasp tight and powerful. Your hair was slipping over his face as you were both catching your breath. Your eyes are closed entirely now, arms are powerless as well.
“Th..That felt so good” You managed to voice out, your voice cracking, thirsty from all the breathing and moaning. You felt Heeseung coated fully when he slowly took his member out in a loud pop. Your hole was still wide and loose, remembering he was inside moments ago.
“Oh yeah.. I definitely wanna do this again another time..” Heeseung smirked, his member going soft as he held you close. “You okay? Wanna lie down?”
You shook your head, finally meeting his gaze. Heeseung helped you pull your bottoms. He also pulled his pants up, zipping them up and fixing his belt.
“I'd better get going now, Y/N..” He found your cheek and placed a soft kiss on it, followed by your lips. You held him close, fingers going through his hair not wishing for that.
“Alright, alright.. I’ll stay.”
ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ
evanshyangel: did this during exam week <\3 im sorry if its short. did the best i could
genre: roommate au, heavy sexual tension, smut, angst
wc: estimated 16k+ (currently 6k)
☞synopsis:
Your old roommate had become a nightmare — stumbling home drunk every single night, talking nonsense, and making you feel unsafe in your own apartment. Desperate for peace, you begged your friend Jake to help you find a new place. Affordable. Quiet. Safe.
He told you his friend was looking for a roommate.
The second the apartment door opened, you were face-to-face with Lee Heeseung — dangerously handsome, tall, with sharp eyes and a lazy smirk that made your stomach flip. The apartment was perfect. Clean, affordable, and close to your workplace. You moved in the very next day without hesitation.
On the very first week, Heeseung laid down his rules with that same infuriating smirk: he sometimes brings girls home. Different girls. Multiple nights a week. He hoped you wouldn’t mind.
You told him it was fine.
But the walls were paper thin.
Night after night, you were forced to listen as Heeseung fucked a new girl senseless — their loud, shameless moans, his deep, husky groans, the relentless creaking of his bed, the filthy things he’d growl to them. You tried to ignore it. You really did.
But soon you found yourself lying in the dark, thighs clenched, desperately touching yourself to the sound of him ruining someone else. The more you heard him, the more you craved him. You started fantasizing about being the one under him. The one moaning his name. The one he was fucking so good that the entire apartment could hear.
How much longer can you pretend you’re okay… when all you can think about is what it would feel like to be the girl screaming his name through those thin walls?
______________________________
warnings: 18+ content, explicit smut, voyeurism (accidental), masturbation, sexual tension, slight possessiveness, heeseung is a fuckboy (but falls hard), reader is sexually frustrated, minors dni.
a/n: this teaser is unedited so things might change once i write the full chapter. the fic is getting longer than i planned but i’m having too much fun with it <3
going to school after arguing with your boyfriend heeseung. afab reader x senior boyfriend!heeseung
song recommended : love me harder
No amount of makeup could hide the dark circles and swollen redness around your eyes as you cursed your best friend Sunoo for recommending a cheap-ass concealer from Olive Young that was supposedly meant to hide every discoloration on your skin which at this moment was doing nothing but making your skin look even more cakey and miserable. Fucking scammers.
You muttered some godforsaken gibberish at your brother Jungwon, who was now full blown pounding on the bathroom door.
“Hello???? Are you wiping your shit on the walls?” His annoying voice at seven in the morning pissed you off even more. “you’ve been in there for forty minutes!”
He flinched a little when you violently kicked the door open, your wobbly lips meeting his squinted eyes.
“Are…you wearing makeup?”
You ignored your brother and walked past him to grab your backpack, leaving him fighting invisible comments inside his head ranging from insults to curiosity. But as much of an asshole as Jungwon was, he knew everything had a place and time, and currently your situation came before everything else. Most importantly, chasing after someone just to prove you didn’t care about standing your ground when something was wrong was pathetic. But unfortunately, this time you were wrong.
Small arguments and bickering between you and the senior you had started seeing almost six months ago were very normal, something Jungwon had always witnessed. As skeptical as he was about Lee Heeseung—the very person he looked up to, whether as the head boy of school, captain of the baseball club, or just the dreamiest senior as titled by almost every girl—actually liking you and ending up as your boyfriend, he realized at the end of the day it wasn’t his business. He knew you were fake as hell when it came to your feelings.
Even before dating Heeseung, you used to boast about how you never understood what was so special about him anyway, but the sight of you practically melting whenever he came to your class for choosing club volunteers or catching up with his brother Jeno, who was your classmate, was noticeable to literally everyone. The truth was, even you didn’t know how or why Lee Heeseung had started liking you. And you weren’t even interested in knowing. I mean, let’s just have some fun before both of us graduate, right?
But oh boy, you soon realized it was a lot more than just fun.
As much as you hated it, Heeseung loved riling you up just to get those little reactions out of you, which he thought were cute for some reason. Cute?! How dare he? You were almost the same height as him ( after tiptoeing a little, but that still counted! ) and you swore you weren’t any less hotter than all those badass female characters from movies Karina rented during sleepovers at your house. How dare he call you, the brother beater, cute? And you were so damn adamant about making Heeseung believe you weren’t just some cute girl he was dating. If he really wanted a cute girl, he could go date the pretty captain of the cheerleading team, Risa, who was practically waiting for you to slip up.
The one sided argument went on until you overdid it last weekend, right after heeseung lost an important match. He had just been trying to rest his head on your shoulder, teasing about how it was easy because of your “model like height,” but your already wounded heart took it as an insult and started arguing out of thin air. Heeseung expected you to understand he was only teasing, but you were also expecting him to realize you were tired of being insecure and wanted him to just pull you close already like he always did. But pushing the baseball team captain’s buttons was something only his girlfriend was capable of.
So you and Heeseung went practically no contact. And even when you expected him to text first like he always did, there was nothing. The next update you got was from Jeno’s Instagram story, a picture of Heeseung and Risa posted together, holding the new trophy Heeseung had won during Sunday’s match. There was a match on Sunday, and you weren’t even aware of it.
Karina scooted a little away from you, followed by a glance at Sunoo, who looked equally terrified noticing the metaphorical black smoke coming out of your ears.
“hey so… about the movie—”
“Go to hell,” you whispered, and that was enough to shut both of them up.
In the middle of classes, Heeseung came into your classroom exactly five times for five different reasons, which eventually annoyed even your homeroom teacher, who was usually a fan of the older boy. But everyone knew those were all pathetic excuses because whether he was asking Jeno for an extra pen, checking Riki, Jake, and Jungwon’s free schedules for baseball practice, complimenting Karina’s shit handwriting, or asking Sunoo if the movie plans were still on, everyone noticed how his eyes always glanced toward you just to see your reaction. The actual reaction came from Karina and Sunoo when you showed up in front of the movie plaza wearing a sleeveless dress that reached your mid-thigh.
“Girl, you look bomb but look at the weather,” Karina shivered while checking you out up and down. You ignored the goosebumps on your skin while kicking her leg lightly and turned to Sunoo.
“When is the movie starting?”
“We still have time, but Heeseu—oh, here he is!” Sunoo cut himself off and waved at the taller boy crossing the road. You gulped the moment you dared to look at Heeseung and immediately felt your throat drying up. How does he make casual clothes look so good on him? He took long strides toward your group, and then your heart dropped when you realized the figure behind him. Fucking Risa.
“Sorry, guys! Hope we’re not late! I’m kind of crashing y’all’s date!” she chirped, rubbing her palms together as a blush spread across her cheeks. Soon her eyes fell on you. “Oh my god, Y/n, aren’t you cold?”
You ignored her and grabbed Sunoo’s hand “let’s go.”
From the corner of your eye, you saw Heeseung open his mouth, but you ignored him completely. He could shove his questions up his ass. The movie was infuriatingly slow, and you cursed both Karina and Sunoo for choosing a romance genre knowing damn well you hated revealing your obsession with cute stuff and pda—especially when Lee Heeseung was sitting right next to you. You noticed Risa glancing his way, and you couldn’t help but feel weird.
Did he and Risa really grow close during these few days? Was your absence exactly what Heeseung needed to realize who his true love was?
There you went again with your overactive imagination. Your eyes welled up despite hating the fact everyone could hear you sniffle.“bitch why are you crying? This isn’t even a sad scene,” Sunoo whispered behind you.You replied by letting out an even louder sob. Karina looked around worriedly to see if people were getting annoyed, but she stopped soon after noticing Heeseung forcefully or maybe not so forcefully pulling you against him, your face pressed into his arm while your shoulders shook slightly. She smiled to herself, and her eyes met a very wide eyed Risa staring directly at her.
The movie ended with you missing more than half the plot and crying on Heeseung’s arm.
Burning with embarrassment, guilt, and ego, you stood up as soon as the credits rolled and started walking toward the exit with Risa trailing behind you.
“Y/n, wait!!”
You stopped in your tracks hearing her voice as she stood in front of you, panting a little from running.
“Oh my god you walk so fast!” You rolled your eyes “no shit, Sherlock. I’m tall.”
She flinched slightly at your aggressive tone but quickly broke into a shy smile again “I—hey, so I actually needed some advice from you…”
Your breathing sharpened as you tried calming your racing heart. What was it? Was she going to ask if you and Heeseung were still together? Or tell you to leave him because you clearly weren’t suited for him at all? Or worse…What if she asked how to impress Heeseung? Oh no no no no. Lord, this can’t happen.
“Is Karina single?”
“No, I can’t tell you! He’s mine!!”
Both of you stared at each other in shock as you recollected what you just muttered and what your ears picked up.
Risa was the first to break the silence with a gasp “oh no–no! You got the wrong idea! I—I…” she stammered while you mentally facepalmed. Oh my god. How stupid could you be??? Suddenly, you heard faint laughter of Karina and Sunoo behind you. Risa grabbed your hand desperately. “Text me once you reach home safely! I’ll be waiting for your answer!” You barely managed to give her a slow nod and watched her disappear into the crossing.
“Where did Risa go?” Karina asked, whipping her head left and right. As much as you were bubbling inside, you cleared your throat and sighed “her mom called her for some emergency. Speaking of which, I need to return home too…”
Karina and Sunoo exchanged knowing smiles immediately. “Aye aye captain,” Sunoo nodded. “We’ll leave you and your personal home walker alone.” he winked at you ignoring your fake ass scoff. As they walked away, Heeseung’s figure became visible again. He started walking toward you, making you take a deep breath, ready to settle whatever unfinished business you still had with him.
Once he stopped in front of you, you crossed your arms.
“Take off your jacket. I’ll give it back after washing it tomorrow.”
He immediately started taking off his jacket, making you irrationally irritated. You were just trying to act cute! How were you even supposed to wash that heavy ass leather jacket? Whatever. You were down to do anything for your stupid boyfriend anyway—You let out a shriek when Heeseung suddenly wrapped the jacket around your shoulders, warmth immediately engulfing your shaking figure “tomorrow’s a holiday baby.”
“Don’t call me that! I know!” you squeaked despite feeling your heartbeat thunder inside your chest. Heeseung giggled. Oh now he's giggling after stressing you out for days.
“You’re so cute when you do that by the way…” he whispered, instantly earning a smack on the arm from you. “Again? I told you not to call me tha—”
You got cut off when he grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer, noses bumping effortlessly “—and so hot when you keep riling me up like this.”
Blood rushed to your face so quickly and you felt your ears turning hot.“W-whatever…” you muttered before lightly kicking the pavement. “You’ve lost all your boyfriend privileges to call me any of those after choosing not to tell me about your baseball match last Sunday.”
“But I’m blocked on every platform” he buried his face into your neck, and squeezed you tight. You prayed he stay like that until the abnormal smile on your face was completely gone. Ugh he smelled so obnoxiously good too.
“yes and it’s going to stay like that”
Heeseung pulled away with wide eyes “the postal system is fucked up here, and I don’t own any pigeons. My baby please have some mercy,” he pleaded, his round eyes meeting yours and leaving your stomach in complete chaos.
“Fine…” you mumbled “not until you act cute in front of me.”
“Y/N.”
“I don’t wanna hear anyyyy excuzezzzz,” you sang while turning away and felt Heeseung’s arms wrap around you from behind.
“Seriously? You’re making me do this in the middle of the road?”
You burst into laughter when he awkwardly made a pathetic kitty ear pose. Then you tiptoed slightly and pressed a soft kiss against his lips.“Try harder,” you whispered against his mouth. “You’re almost there.”
