──── in which ︵ two weeks after a one-night stand, late-night loneliness turns into another visit. jaeyun discovers that some habits are impossible to break, and that he's embarrassingly easy to fluster.
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it’s been far too long since sim jaeyun has fucked.
yes, you fucked him that one when you had to figure out who in the hell you fucked because he disappeared before you woke up; you’d eventually remember when you saw his tank-top on the floor.
you remember his pathetic whimpers as he piston into you, the way he fucked sloppy and the way he refused to even pull out once, like it was physically impossible for him to pull out— and in some ways? it was…
and you also remember, oh yeah! you have his phone number now, so of course, when the night is late, when nobody is around and you’re far too horny for your own good? guess he’d do the trick.
and jaeyun, for all of his flaws, has a really good green flag if you ask the right person; he loves when women sit on his face.
he loves getting a face full of pussy, his tongue licking up and down their folds and tasting all of their juices all over his face. he loves feeling trapped under thighs and under someone in full control… and he loved it especially tonight, when he hasn’t gotten the feeling in forever, and you put all your weight on him.
“j-jaeyun!” your moans echo off the wall just like they did two weeks ago as this time, it wasn’t his cock drilling in and out of you, it was his tongue lapping you up and down.
his rough hands grab your waist and keeps you on him, moaning against your cunt as your fingers stroke his hair. “mhm… so good b-baby.” his moans are broken, blushing as he can’t stop his tongue.
“s’so’so good.” he mutters, feeling his cock twitch as his mouth tastes more of of your pussy. “could eat you all fuckin’ night, sweet girl.”
you rock on his face, both of your hands in his hair as he continues to lick and suck on your wet pussy. his legs shake a little, eyes rolling back at the taste of you entering his mouth— you taste so good.
“y-yun! ohhhhh fu-fuckkkk!” you moan out, fingers yanking at his brown hair as you look down at him, shuddering at seeing him.
he didn’t hold himself back— he couldn’t, and suddenly, he feels ropes of heavy semen leave his cock and stain his pants, unloading in his boxers as he cums— just by you sitting on his face.
you feel him tremble under you and you furrow your brows, looking at him with a mouth agape and turn your head, seeing his grey sweatpants become stained in the crotch area. you turn your head back at him and seeing the blush of embarrassment on his face.
“jaeyun!”
“mhm— what?”
you shake your head as you groan at the vibrations against your cunt.
“you— you just came? what- what the fuck?”
he shakes his head in between his thighs, running his hands up and down your back. “…’m sorry… you just t-taste so good… fuck…”
synopsis. jake is hopelessly, embarrassingly in love with his girlfriend. coming home after a long day of practice to find you asleep waiting for him only makes him realize one thing: he’ll never get tired of being loved by you—and he’ll spend the rest of his life loving you right back.
pairings. downbad!bf!jake x gf!reader
cw. tooth rotting fluff, jake is extremely downbad and head over heels inlove with reader like stupidly ^_^
✿𓈒ॱ⬭ᩙ malia’s note. I miss my future bf. n I wish it was downbad obsessed jake. :/
YOUR sweet boyfriend jake had come to three conclusions after dating you for almost two years. the first was that he loved you. the second was that he loved you very much. and the third was that perhaps loving you had made him a little stupid.
he doesn’t think it’s his fault, really.
how was he supposed to act normal when his girlfriend existed?
he couldn’t.
it was scientifically impossible to him.
his best friend, sunghoon, had once told him that the way he talked about you was concerning. even more, it got to a point that riki once threatened to throw jake's phone into the han river if he saw another picture of you as his lockscreen.
which was unfair, because riki simply didn’t understand art when he saw it.
everyone was simply jealous that he had the prettiest girlfriend in the world.
you were currently occupying every single wallpaper on his phone. his notes app was filled with things you liked that you’d casually mentioned six months ago: he was simply a man in love.
a very, very in love man.
but the thing about jake was that he never realized he was being sweet.
remembering how you take your coffee wasn’t sweet, it was common sense. carrying hair ties in his bag because you always lose yours wasn’t sweet either.
that’s just what boyfriends do, don’t they?
at least, that’s what he’d always say whenever you’d point it out.
today wasn’t much different.
practice had ended much later than expected and although jake had told you repeatedly not to wait for him, he should’ve known better than to think you’d actually listen.
you’d sent him a text three hours ago saying:
i’ll wait for my handsome boyfriend!!
i stole your hoodie btw.
ok i miss you :(
his favorite notifications were always the ones from you. unlocking the door to his apartment quietly, jake smiled softly at the sight before him.
there you were, curled up comfortably on the couch wearing his hoodie that looked far too big on you. your laptop remained abandoned beside you alongside a half-finished assignment and two empty snack wrappers.
you’d fallen asleep waiting for him. his expression softened almost immediately.
god.
you were so pretty.
he wondered if people would judge him if he cried at the sheer sight of his adorable girlfriend sleeping on his couch.
probably. he didn't care at all though.
placing his bag down quietly beside the door, he crouched down beside the couch to move a strand of hair away from your face. you’d waited all this time just to see him.
that thought alone made his heart feel impossibly warm. sometimes, jake wonders what he ever did to deserve loving someone as wonderful as you.
and perhaps more importantly, what he’d done to deserve being loved by you too.
you shifted slightly in your sleep, reaching instinctively for his hand the moment your fingers brushed against his.
“…jake?” you whispered sleepily, eyes barely opening.
“go back to sleep, pretty girl.”
“you’re home.”
he laughed quietly at the smile immediately appearing on your face despite being half asleep.
“i am.”
“I missed you.” you let out quietly.
three simple words.
three words that somehow still managed to make his heart skip a beat after all this time.
“i missed you more, pretty.”
“that’s impossible.”
“is it?” he smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “i’ve been missing you since breakfast.” jake chuckled, his hand meeting your face as he cupped your cheek. you giggled sleepily at his response.
you laughed quietly as he sat down beside you, immediately wrapping his arms around your waist while you buried your head against his shoulder.
it was moments like these that made him realize he’d choose this life over and over again if he could.
he took a second to just look at your face, how could anyone be this beautiful? he thought to himself, "my beautiful girl..." he muttered under his breath, his thumb gently stroking your face.
coming home to you. holding you after long days. watching you fall asleep in his arms while rambling about your day.
“did you eat?” you suddenly asked, looking up at him worriedly despite being half asleep yourself.
“i did.”
“really?”
“you know... 'cuz half a sandwich counts, right?”
you sat up immediately.
“SIM JAKE.”
“MY BABY I’M SORRY.”
he smiled helplessly as you began lecturing him about proper eating habits for what was probably the hundredth time this month. he wasn’t listening particularly well, admittedly.
mostly because he was busy thinking about how pretty you looked when you cared about him.
perhaps he was concerning. because if loving you this much was concerning, then he had absolutely no intentions of getting better.
after all, you were his favorite person in the world. and jake thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure you know that.
every single day.
thank you for reading cutie. 🧁I want a bf like this ts aint fair jake pls come into my life bai :/
you went on a blind date for your best friend with one goal: scare him away. but the problem? he doesnt seem too interested in leaving, and neither do you. 02. 03. 04
𓊆박성훈 x fem reader𓊇 💌 cheating, doctor sunghoon, nurse yn, risky sex, exhibism, kissing, blowjob, doggy style, reverse cowgirl, creampie, shameless shameless people... not proofread!
𓆩♡𓆪 it's been a hot minute since i wrote cheating and a smut :") so i'm so sorry if this is half-assed/bad <//3 i'm kinda busy lately, so i'm only able to give you short-short reads like this :< if you love it, pls shower it with love!
“oh! sunghoon ah!”
mrs. kim sat up on bed, her face lighting up despite the iv drip attached to her hand. “my son in law finally came to see me. they said you’re so busy you couldn’t even come and see your mother.”
sunghoon smiled politely, closing the door behind him as he approached the bed. “of course not, mom. i’ve just been swamped back to back. what happened this time? the report said you were admitted for high blood pressure again?”
she sighed dramatically, reaching out to hold his hand. “you know how it is… my body gets so stressed these days. the doctor said my heart rate keeps spiking—but it’s only because i worry too much about this family.”
she gave his hand a gentle squeeze, her thumb brushing over his knuckle. “but seeing you now… i already feel much better.”
sunghoon let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “are you stressed again? you promised me last time you’d take it easy.” his voice dropped into that gentle, concerned son in law, half doctor tone. “you can’t keep ending here. i’ll have to start making house calls.”
the older woman just laughed softly, her eyes lingering on her daughter’s husband's handsome face. “sure, sure. sooha is so lucky to have such a caring husband like you, sunghoon.”
the doctor just chuckled, before turning slightly to face you standing there by the curtain—tablet in hand, wearing your pretty little pink fitted nurse uniform, hair neatly tied in a bun.
“oh,” he said smoothly, placing his larger hand lightly on your lower back to bring you forward. “this is my nurse, yn. i assigned her to your case so she can keep a close eye on you when i’m not around.”
his palm stayed pressed against your lower back the entire time, fingers subtle stroking the fabric of your uniform in small, slow circles no one else could see. the heat from his hand seeped through the thin material.
mrs. kim smiled at you, tilting her head. “aw, you’re such a young and pretty one. how old are you, dear? you look too fresh to be working here.”
you bowed your head, trying to ignore the way your doctor’s thumb was now slowly tracing your spine. “thank you, ma’am… i’m only in my mid 20’s now.”
“only? so young and already so capable,” she said kindly, though her attention quickly drifted back to sunghoon. “i should’ve told sooha to take nursing too…”
you and sunghoon gave each other a look.
sunghoon just hummed in response, his hand still not moving from your back. in fact, he stepped a little closer to you, his body heat now brushing against your side as he pretended to check the monitor beside the bed.
“right—yn’s very capable, mom,” he murmured, fingers brushing over the tubing. his other fingers pressed a little firmer into your lower back, almost possessively. “very attentive. she’ll take care of you well.”
the way he said the last word made your thighs clench involuntarily.
his mother in law only chuckled, completely unaware of the tension crackling between the two of you. “well, if that’s how it is—then i feel much safer now.”
sunghoon smiled, finally sliding his hand down a few inches before he pulled it away.
“then yn, i’ll leave her to your care,” he turned to you with a soft smile. with his eyes still on you, he hummed. “i’ll come back later at night to check up on you.”
——
later that night, the hospital corridor lights had dimmed to the soft glow. the ward was quiet except for occasional beep of monitors.
you were helping mrs. kim settle into bed for the night—fluffing her pillow, adjusting the bed level, making sure her iv line wasn’t tangled. not the usual nurse duty, but this is the mother in law of of the chairman’s grandson, for gods sakes.
she’d been restless for the past hour.
as you tucked the blanket to her, mrs. kim suddenly groaned in pain, her face twisting. “... my chest feels tight again. it hurts…”
you immediately moved closer, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “it’s okay. take slow breaths for me—i’m right here.”
she let out another soft groan, clutching the blanket. you checked her vitals, then spoke in a calm, soothing voice: “i’ll be in this room the whole night, so don’t worry at all. if the pain gets worse or you need anything, just call my name. i’ll be sitting right there on the couch beside your bed, okay?”
mrs. kim exhaled shakily and gave you a smile. “thank you, hun.”
after giving her some pain relief medication as per the chart and dimming the bedside lamp, you moved to the small couch near the window—you sat down with your laptop, updating notes, doing tasks.
the room fell into a heavy silence, only accompanied by mrs. kim’s occasional soft groans as she fall asleep.
twenty minutes passed.
then the door to the private ward clicked openly.
sunghoon stepped inside, still in his white coat, tie slightly loosened. his eyes scanned the darkened room before they landed on you sitting on the couch. a smirk tugged at his lips when he saw you there—his pretty little nurse sitting there with your legs crossed.
he closed the door behind him with a soft click.
“everything alright?” he asked, voice low so as not to wake his mother in law.
you nodded. “i just gave her some acetaminophen earlier.”
sunghoon walked closer, stopping just inches away from where you’re sitting. his tall frame towered over yours as he glanced at his mother in law sleeping form, then back to you. the dim night light cast shadows across his face.
without a word, he leaned down, placing both hands on the armrests of the couch, caging you in. his face was close to yours, and you could smell his clean cologne mixed with the scent of hospital.
“well… what about you?” he murmured, voice deep.
you tilted your head slightly. “what about me?”
sunghoon’s gaze dropped to your lips for a second before returning to your eyes. his arms flexed slightly as he leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“how are you doing?”
a small, shy smile tugged at your lips as you moved your head to whisper back, “aside form missing you… i’m just really bored, i guess.”
the moment the words left your mouth, you felt the shift in him. a low, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest before one of his hands slowly slid up your thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of your pink uniform.
“bored?” he breathed against your ear. “that’s a shame. i’ve been thinking about you all day.”
his fingers continued their slow ascent, teasing the soft skin of your inner thigh as his mother in law slept just a few meters away. his other hand stayed planted on the armrest, keeping you trapped beneath him.
“taking care of my mother in law like i asked…” his lips ghosted along your jaw. you brought your arms up to wrap around his neck, pulling him in. “maybe i should reward you for being so good.”
his hand moved higher, fingertips brushing close to the edge of your panties just beneath your waistband.
“tell me… how quiet can you be?”
without another word, sunghoon cupped your face with his other hand and kissed you.
it wasn’t gentle.
his lips claimed yours instantly, deep and desperate from the long hours of work—starving for you. you whimpered softly into his mouth as he tilted your head back, kissing you harder, tongue sliding against yours with wet, heated strokes. the quiet sounds of your lips meeting filled the dim room—soft and filthy.
“i missed you too,” your doctor whispered between kisses, voice rough. “fuck, i miss you every day, baby.”
sunghoon kissed you again, slower this time, pouring every unspoken feeling into it. his other hand slid into your hair, loosening your neat bun until strands fell around your face. you clutched the front of his white coat, pulling him closer, hearts bearing wildly against each other.
while his tongue tangled with yours, sunghoon’s slender fingers moved down to the front of your pink nurse uniform. one by one, he popped the buttons open, knuckles brushing over the swell of your breasts as the fabric parted. he groaned quietly into your mouth when he saw your lazy bra underneath.
“so fucking pretty…” he breathed, kissing you deeper as he tugged the uniform open wider, exposing your chest and stomach to the aircond. his palm slid inside, cupping your breast over the lace, thumb stroking your nipple until it hardened under his touch.
you moaned softly against his lips—and he swallowed the sound, kissing you like he wished to devour you whole.
“you have no idea how crazy you make me,” sunghoon kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, down your neck while his hands roamed freely over your bare skin. another button came undone—until your uniform was completely open down the front, hanging off your shoulders.
sunghoon pulled back to look at you—flushed, lips swollen, uniform undone, chest rising and falling. his gaze was full of love and lust.
“god, you’re mine,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss you again, pecking all over your cheek and jaw—eliciting a soft giggle out of you. “mine, aren’t you?” he hummed, lips brushing your ear as he kissed you there too. “say it, baby.”
“i’m yours,” you breathed, tipping your head back. “only yours, hoonie.”
even with his wife’s mother sleeping just a few feet away, there was no guilt in his eyes—only that shameless hunger he always had for you. you two had long stopped pretending this was just an affair—not when it felt real. too real.
sunghoon kissed you once more on the lips then stood up, straight in front of the couch. the bulge in his slacks was obvious, straining against the fabric. without saying a word, sunghoon looked down at you with dark, expectant eyes and slowly unbuckled his belt.
the quiet clink of metal made your tummy flutter.
you didn’t need instructions. you pulled his zipper down and freed his hard cock—it sprang out heavy and thick, the tip already glistening with precum.
“fuck… look at it—” he murmured, one hand gently cradling the back of your head. “look how hard i am for you.”
you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the head before wrapping your lips around him, taking him into your warm, wet mouth. sunghoon let out a quiet, shaky breath, jaw clenching as you started sucking him slowly.
“that’s it, shit… just like that,” he whispered, stroking your hair. his other hand rested on your cheek, thumb brushing your skin tenderly. you hummed around his cock, the vibration making his hips twitch. he kept his eyes on you the entire time—watching your pretty lips stretch around him, lashes fluttering, eyes twitching as you tried taking him as deep as you could.
your uniform still wide open and exposing your tits as you move your head.
sunghoon gently began rocking his hips, fucking your mouth with slow, deep thrusts, whispering soft praises the whole time.
“my girl. shit—your mouth feels s’good.”
he groaned quietly, fingering tightening in your hair as you took him even deeper, eyes watering but never breaking eye contact. it’s always hard to give sunghoon a blowjob—not with his size, and now with how hard it is to fit him in your mouth fully.
his hips twitched as he fought the urge to thrust deeper down and fuck your throat. your warm mouth worked him so perfectly.
“baby—fuck, wait,” he brathed, gently pulling you off his cock with a wet pop. a string of saliva connected your swollen lips to his throbbing tip. your eyebrows pinched in confusion, looking up at him. sunghoon breathed in hard, tugging down on his lip. “not yet. i don’t wanna cum in your mouth tonight.”
he helped you up and kissed you filthily, tasting himself on your tongue as he walked you backward. in one motion, sunghoon turned you around and bent you over the armrest of the couch.
sunghoon pushed your chest down against the couch cushion, arching your back nicely so your ass was up and presented to him. he stood behind you, one hand gripping your hip while the other slowly pushed your pants and panties down your thighs.
the position was nasty—risky as hell. mrs. kim was sleeping just a few metres away, and if she woke up even a little, she’d have a clear, first hand view of her son in law fucking his nurse from behind like this.
holy fuck—that’s hot.
sunghoon wrapped his hand around the base, rubbing his thick cockhead between your wet folds, coating himself in your slick. they kissed like lovers too—a string of juice connected from the lips to the tip.
“‘m so wet for you, hoonie,” you moaned, pussy twitching in neediness. sunghoon chuckled, leaning over your back and pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades. “really?” he hummed in satisfactory, nudging his cockhead to your entrance.
“my pretty little nurse is this soaked just from sucking me off?”
he kept rubbing the head in slow, filthy circles, pressing it against your hole only to pull back again, making you whimper in frustration. you pushed your ass back against him.
“please…” you whispered, voice shaking. “i need you inside me already.”
sunghoon kissed the back of your neck, licking a stripe of it. “my mother in law’s sleeping just right there, baby,” he whispered against your neck, clearly enjoying how shameless you both were. “you really do love this cock more than anything, don’t you?”
you groaned softly, hips twitching. “s—stop teasing… i love you more, hoonie.”
with a soft grunt from him at that confession, he finally pushed the head in—stretching you open before pulling out again, repeating the motion until your thighs trembled, and until your pussy was ready to take him whole.
“fuck, you’re so cute when you’re this needy,” he whispered, burying himself deep inside you, stretching your walls around his thick length. you both moaned quietly—yours muffled into the couch cushion, his against the back of your neck.
“so big, you’re s’big,” you whimpered, fingers clutching the fabric. sunghoon groaned, pressing his lips against your skin. “no, baby—you’re just too tight… pussy made for me.”
your doctor started fucking you with deep, steady strokes, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, the wet sounds of your bodies connecting obscenely loud in the quiet hospital room.
your tits were pressed against the couch as he railed you from behind. sunghoon leaned over you, one hand gripping your hip while the other reached around to rub your clit in tight circles.
“you’re fucking dripping, baby,” he breathed hotly against your ear, hips snapping harder. “i can hear how sloppy your pussy is for me.”
you could only moan in response, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts, just as horny and addicted as he was to you. every deep stroke hit that perfect spot inside, making your eyes roll back.
sunghoon bit down on your shoulder, leaving love and teeth marks as he picked up the pace, fucking you a little harder.
“i love you so much,” he rasped, pounding his confession into you. “i don’t give a fuck about anything else, right now.”
your pussy convulsed around his cock, wrapping around him like a vice. sunghoon straightened up slightly, gripping both your hips now as he started giving you nastier strokes—pulling you back onto his cock with every thrusts and watching the way your ass rippled against his pelvis.
you’re trying so hard to stay quiet, but it felt too good. “hoonie,, fuck—” you moaned breathily. “you’re so deep… i can feel you so deep inside me.”
“yeah?” he groaned, pounding into your harder until he swore the couch was going to move. “you like that, baby?”
before you could answer, mrs. kim let out a low groan in her sleep, shifting slightly under the blanket. you both froze for a second, hearts pounding. sunghoon didn’t pull out. instead, he stayed buried balls–deep inside you, slowly grinding his cock against your walls.
when his mother in law settled again, you whimpered desperately.
“hoonie, i’m so wet it’s dripping down,” you whispered, hips trembling. “i get so horny when you’re around.”
sunghoon cursed under his breath at your filthy words. he suddenly pulled out, making you whine at the emptiness—only to turn you around. he sat on the couch and pulled you onto his lap, back against his chest.
your eyes widened—legs spread wide over his thighs as he lined himself up and sank you back down onto his cock. the new position made him feel even bigger.
he wrapped one arm around your waist, the other groped your tits, squeezing and kneading them roughly as he started fucking up into you.
“fuck, i love these tits s’much,” he groaned, lips attacking your neck. he kissed you sloppily, tongue sliding into your mouth as he bounced you on his cock. “i get so pissed off when i think of you doing checkups on men,”
—which was the reason why you became his nurse.
you moaned into the kiss, grinding down on him. your hand held his arm around your waist, the other snaked up to cup his head. “hoonie, ngh—s—she’s going to wake up any time now,” you panted between kisses.
sunghoon shook his head. “it’s fine, she won’t.” he reassured so confidently, one hand massaging and pinching your nipples while the other slid between your legs to rub your clit.
the overstimulation was sending you up to the clouds—sunghoon kept hitting your cervix, his textured cock dragging against your velvety walls. “fuck, right there,” your head fall back against his shoulder. “i—i’m going to cum, hngh—babe”
“do it—cum on my cock,” he rasped against your ear, thrusting up harder. “let me feel this pussy squeeze me.”
“i love you—shit, i love you,” you whimpered, toes curling inwards.
sunghoon groaned deeply, fucking you deep and fast till your tits bounced in his hand.
“i’m close,” he panted, forehead against your shoulder. “‘m gonna cum inside you, baby. want me to fill this pretty pussy up?”
“yes—yesyesyesyes, please,” you whimpered, holding the back of your knees to steady yourself. “cum inside me, hoonie. want it so bad—want you s’bad.”
sunghoon squeezed your cheeks to make you face him—kissing you hard, tongues messily sliding together as his thrusts turned short, desperate, and deep. his other hand kept rubbing your clit, tugging the little pea.
mrs. kim groaned softly again in her sleep, but neither of you stopped. sunghoon just fucked you harder, the wet slapping sounds getting louder.
“fuck—i’m cumming,” he graoned against your mouth. “take it all, baby. take my cum—”
with a deep, shaky thrust, sunghoon buried himself as deep as possible and came hard. thick, warm ropes of cum spilled inside you, pulse after pulse, filling you up completely. he kept grinding, pushing his load deeper while kissing you through his orgasm, moaning into each others’ mouths.
you whimpered at the feeling of being so full, clenching around him as you came right after, pussy milking every last drop.
the doctor stayed inside you even after he finished, breathing heavily as he pressed soft kisses to the side of your cheek.
“i love you,” he hummed, nuzzling into the warmth of your neck. his cum slowly leaking out around his cock.
——
“alright—! you’re all good, mrs. kim!” you smiled, handing the papers to her. “blood pressure is stable, vitals are normal. you can go home today.”
sunghoon smiled as well, standing next to you. “no more being stressed over small things, yeah, mom?”
mrs. kim sighed in relief, but then her face scrunched up slightly.
“thank you, hun… but ugh… i think i had such a strange nightmare last night,” she muttered, rubbing her temple. “is this hospital haunted or something, sunghoon? i kept hearing weird sounds… it felt so real. did you hear it, yn?”
the two of you froze.
a brief, knowing look passed between you two. the corner of sunghoon’s lips twitched upward into the tiniest smirk before he quickly hid it with the back of his hand.
you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling.
“n—no? not at all… there were no such sounds, mrs. kim…” you replied, shaking your head.
sunghoon cleared his throat. “...ah, hospitals can be noisy at night. don’t worry about it, mom. get plenty of rest at home—i’ll come visit soon.”
she nodded obliviously, smiling.
“about time, hm? sooha’s always complaining how lonely she is,” she shook her head, teasing. then, mrs. kim turned to you, extending her arm to rub your forearm. “thank you for taking care of me. i’ll invite you to dinner, sometime soon.”
you nodded, blood creeping up your cheeks. you held her hand fondly, shaking it.
hihihi important question. which of the members do you think would be into making sex tapes 🤔
。ooou yeah… i like this question— a lot ~ yaho (- w - )ゞ
💭 cw : sex tapes, oral receiving, facial, reverse cowgirl, headlock, slight overstimulation mentioned, blow job, perverted behavior, + if i miss any lemme know.
。in no particular order
yuma
he’d be into sex tapes, having you ride him as he holds the camera as a pov type of thing. making sure the camera can hear the sounds that spill from his lips, whimpering hella loud— letting everyone know how good you feel around him. one hand holding the phone, the other guiding your hips as they bounce against his. your back arched curved into the camera's sight, nails fisting into the sheets. he'd stick the camera lower from time to time, capturing the slick dripping from your arousal.
harua
he gives “film me while i eat you out” — making sharp eye contact with the camera before going to town on you, his round eyes always falling back to the lens as his tongue laps at your cunt. he’d give a teasing look when you swore you couldn’t take more, hands fumbling the phone, thighs squishing and trembling with his head between them. he’d guide your trembling hands after you finished, letting the ending bits capture your cum covering his face. he giggle at your pathetic state but still a cutie and assists you afterward.
maki
he’d set up the phone facing the bed, making sure it captured all angles of him ruining you. he’d put you into a headlock as his hips snapped into you, whimpering into your ear, letting the filthy noises filter into the video. he’d also be into trying to make you moan as loud as he could, wanting to replay the tape on tour, get off to how pathetic and embarrassingly desperate you both were to finish.
jo
50/50– he gives quiet pervert… filming the way he fucks into the back of your throat. tears well in the corners, stinging in your eyes as you fit his size down your small mouth, hollowing your cheeks to let the veins drag against them. he listens to the audio of it after practice, never daring to play music, letting the slick sounds of your choking and whimpers carry him over until he gets home. just to fuck you with more intention and desperation than he could handle. a never-ending cycle of the paining tent that grew every drive home after work. mind buzzed with the heavy, raw lust to ruin you.
summary — in which, to his dismay, you ignore your boyfriend for a week straight. how could you!
content n warnings — bf!heeseung x fem! reader. yearninggg. naaasty making out. dom!hee + sub!reader. fingering. handjobs. blowjobs. unprotected p in v (wrap it up!!). squirting. creampie. mean!dom hee if you squint? but lowkey u don’t even have to squint.
8 Days. 8 Whole days since he’s last spoken to you. Heeseung feels as though he might just die. He’s in complete and utter agony without you. Yet, here you were, having the time of your life in Miami. The situation would have been funny under literally any other circumstance, but right now, he’s not in the state of mind to find anything comedic.
How did the two of you end up in this situation, you may ask? Well, it all started when a certain someone hadn’t met a certain compromise.
You’d originally agreed to go on a girls trip, you and 3 other friends on a week-long getaway. In theory, it sounded amazing. The only issue was the “no boyfriends” rule. Now, it wasn’t that you were overly clingy or obsessive. No, never that. Any sane person would miss their boyfriend after a week of being apart!
This is when said compromise came into play. You and Heeseung had agreed to spend as much time together before you had to leave. However, that all went to the dump when he also agreed to spend the rest of the week in the studio. But, in his “defense”, he invited you!
Naturally, you tagged along, trying to make the best of it. But as the week dragged on, your patience wore thin.
It was on the last day that you finally snapped, silently calling an uber and leaving without a word. To say he was dumbfounded was an understatement.
He came home to you packing your luggage, mid squeezing your skincare products into smaller, travel-sized containers and tossing them into your toiletry bag.
“Baby? Do you want any help?” he asked curiously, to which you just walked past him. You were acting as if he wasn’t even there.
“I’m sleeping over at my friends house. We’re going to the airport together in the morning.” you finally spoke, zipping up your suitcase and grabbing your backpack. With that being said, you’re quick to gather the last of your things and exit your shared apartment, leaving him standing there in shock.
And so it goes... the start to his week in hell. He starts off annoyed, finding your avoidant antics a bit childish.
It’s at the 4 day mark that his annoyance simmers into worry. He’s worried sick. You’re in another country and you won’t answer your phone? No yeah, he’s practically spiraling, and he makes that apparent to you. 45 missed calls and god knows how many texts in just an hour.
It’s not until day 5, when you post on your instagram that he realizes everything is just fine.
He instantly clicks on the notification, anxiously tapping his foot as his phone loads. Suddenly, he’s faced with several photos of you having, what seems to be, the time of your life. Photos of you partying, drinking, dancing, swimming, you name it. Not to mention the occasional photos of your pretty face that he wishes you would have sent him first.
It’s when he reaches the second-to-last picture that his heart drops.
To anyone else's endless scrolling, it’d seem like a regular fit check. But the more he analyzes it, the more he notices. The way your tits are practically spilling out your shirt, the way your ass hangs out of your mini-skirt. And if they really looked close enough, anyone could notice the peeking pink lace of your panties. A very petty move on your part, if I may add.
He honestly thinks a photo of you in a string bikini would’ve been better. But he’s not mad, of course not. He could never be mad at you. So why are you still mad at him? And more importantly, why are you torturing him like this?
He manages to survive two more days of agony until you arrive. He’d promised to pick you up from your friend’s place. So, you have to talk to him, he thinks.
Wrong! Your silence doesn’t even resume in the car. You’re too stubborn for that.
The minute he sends a sweet text, a simple “hi baby i hope u had fun. can u send me the address? :)” all you reply with is a pinged address. Not even bothering to greet him back!
Next, he’s pulling up and getting out the car to greet you. Instead, he’s greeted by the sight of your suitcase on the sidewalk while you’re already hopping into the passenger seat. He groans internally, popping the heavy baggage into his trunk and sulking his way back into the car.
You’re focused on the view outside, resting your head against the window as you both drive in silence, when his hand slides over your lap and onto your thigh. You glance down for a split second before rolling your eyes and returning your gaze to the road outside.
He’s insistent, though. Rubbing and kneading at your plush skin the rest of the way home. You try to stay distant but you can’t help the way your thighs clench a few times.
It’s when you both get home that he realizes something. It’s his turn to stay quiet, in order to get what he wants. So, that’s what he does.
Everything he does from now on is calculated. Bringing your stuff down, opening the door for you, letting you walk into the apartment first. He even goes out of his way to put your luggage away and make you something to eat.
With each act of service, you loosen up. The time and distance between the both of you slowly starting to catch up.
You’re sat at the counter, thoroughly enjoying the ramyeon he made you, when he heads to the living area. You watch with wide eyes as he sits, spreading his legs and adjusting his hips. And if that wasn’t enough to get you going, he leans his head back against the couch with a small groan. Your eyes zero-in on the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat and every ounce of self-restraint drains from your body. He knows exactly how to turn you to putty in his hands.
Having had enough, you near stomp over to the living room, stopping in front of him.
He looks up at you with a puzzled expression before raising an eyebrow. "Yes?" he asks casually. Wayyy too casually.
You feel your eye twitch at his audacity but shake your head nonetheless. And to make matters worse, he decides to ask “Was the food okay?”
“It was good, thank you” you answer, taking a seat beside him. He nods and turns his attention back to his phone. A good two minutes of him scrolling passes before you decide to stoop back down to his level.
You move to lay down, opting to rest your head on his thigh, dangerously close to the growing tent in his sweats. He lets out a shaky breath and drops his phone beside him to be able to rake his fingers through your hair.
It should be ridiculous, how you go out of your way to make exaggerated hums and mewls of satisfaction. Instead, it just sends blood rushing to his cock. Oh how he’s missed the sounds you make for him.
“Fuck,” he breathes in frustration. “Do you know what it’s been like without you? Not being able to see you? To touch you?”
It’s so sudden, the way his hand tightens in your hair and pulls you up. A pained gasp falls from your lips that he’s quick to swallow, his lips crashing yours. He laps at your mouth, sucking at your tongue and biting your bottom lip.
God, it’s filthy. Saliva, from both your mouths, leaking down your chin and onto your shirt. You’re struggling to catch your breath when he pulls back, collecting a glob of spit on his fingers and shoving them into your mouth.
Your whines of protest are quickly shut down when he uses his free hand to squish your cheeks, giving him more leverage over your face. Or more specifically, your mouth. His fingers push down and back on your tongue, forcing a choked gag out of you.
You whimper as he drags his fingers out your mouth and you can feel him throbbing beneath you. He must be aching after so long, you think. Poor thing. With a gentle hand, you toy with the waistband of his grey sweats. Your nails graze his lower tummy a few times, making him shiver and twitch under you.
“Baby, f—fuck, please stop teasing” he rasps, looking down at you with those perfect, pleading doe eyes. And you comply. How could you not? Especially when he looks at you like that.
He lifts his hips as you lower his pants, just enough to pull him out. You give him a few, experimental pumps but his cock is so wet and sticky with pre that you’re struggling to get a good grasp on him. You tighten your hold—making a tight, makeshift hole for him to fuck.
Your hand feels like heaven to him. His head is tossed back as strings of loud whines and groans leave his pretty lips. You watch in awe for a second; offering the tip a sticky kiss and smearing his arousal over your lips before taking him in your mouth.
Now, he’s fucking into your mouth, making you gag every time he hits the back of your throat. Your mouth is just so wet and warm that he can’t help it. He’s missed this, missed you.
The sounds he’s making above you have your mind reeling. And before you know it, you’re moving a hand down to play with your achey clit.
“That’s it, s—shit. Play with your pretty pussy just like that.” he urges, twitching in your mouth. You continue to rub tight circles on the sensitive bud, moaning around him and sending vibrations around his length. The feeling leaves him spilling in your mouth with a hand tangled in your hair and a drawn out moan.
You feel your own heat pool in your tummy, the band of your orgasm pulling taut before he pushes you onto your back. Gently, of course!
“Sorry, baby. Need to be inside you,” he huffs, hiking your leg up and lining himself up with your needy cunt. He’s lost all composure, fucking into you with lust-driven thrusts. This must be what it means to be pussy drunk.
He thumbs at your clit, opening you up further to reach deeper. You swear you feel him in your stomach as you’re reduced to a writhing, moaning mess beneath him.
“Hee—! S’too much!” you whine, clawing at his back. He dismisses your concern, licking and nipping at your neck in a way that’s sure to leave marks. Your orgasm washes over you before you can even process. His cock drilling against your cervix leaves you breathless and gushing around him. That’s all it takes for him to finish inside you. It’s not often that you squirt, after all.
The slick squelches and plaps of your mixed arousal should make you cringe. But you’re so drunk off his cock, you can’t bring yourself to think of anything else. And Heeseung? He’s not any better. He’s already came twice. Yet, he’s still fucking into you like there’s no tomorrow. It’s then that you realize you’re in for a looong night.
genuinely just cooked up some bullshit. ALSO, i’m not a big fan of the full-sized text but this one’s pretty long & i didn’t want anyone to be straining their pretty eyes 🙂↕️
idk if you’re up for requests but something been on my mind about F1 racer heeseung and he drives yn home while fingering yn😓
𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴? 𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴! ✇ – 𝙡𝙚𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙪𝙣𝙜
f1racer!heeseung × fem!reader
synopsis: you just saw heeseung win a race!! yay!! but while driving back home... he had other plans for you.
warnings: sexual content, fingering while driving (my brothers and sisters in christ DO NOT do this), dirty talking. minors do not interact!!
you watched your boyfriend, heeseung, win another F1 race. you clapped and screamed loudly the moment he passed through first. gosh, he was such a good driver.
after he was done getting his trophy and talking to his team, you were there, waiting for him. the moment he saw you, you smiled at each other before giving a big hug. you put your arms tightly around his neck. "I'm so proud of you, baby." you said lowly against his shoulder.
he smiled widely, arms around your waist, just as tight. "thank you, doll. it means the world to me."
you pulled your head back to smile at him. "I love you."
heeseung smiled back. "I love you too, baby. so much." he murmured before leaning down, kissing you. you kissed him back, really happy for him.
as you two got back to the car, heeseung turned on the car radio station to the quiet songs and then started to drive. you just crossed a leg over the other unconsciously, eyes going out the window, seeing the city view as he drove. but what you didn't see was heeseung staring at your skirt riding up as you crossed your legs.
he exhaled. "pretty skirt, baby." he commented lowly.
you look at him and then down at the skirt. "thanks. it was one of the ones I bought last week when I went to the mall and-"
you stopped when you saw the bulge forming on his pants. you smirked a bit. "oh, you think it's pretty, huh?" you teased lowly.
heeseung bit his lower lip before sliding a hand down your thigh. your smirk faded a bit, feeling goosebumps form on your legs. he caressed your inner thigh slowly. "what was that?" he asked, being the one teasing now.
you just swallowed hard, already feeling dampness form on your panties. he slid his hand in, rubbing his middle finger over the wet patch. "oh, is my baby needy?" he asked lowly.
you exhaled. "heeseung... you're driving. this isn't safe." you muttered.
he just smirked. "doll, i drive F1. I think I can finger this needy pussy and drive at the same time just fine." he said lowly, voice smooth. you took a shaky breath when he pressed his finger on your clit over your panties. he chuckled again. "such a needy little baby for me." he said before sliding his middle and ring fingers below the material, rubbing your wet folds directly.
you moaned softly, leaning your head back. he pressed those fingers to your clit, rubbing in slow circles, making your thighs shake with how torturous he was being.
heeseung suddenly pulled his fingers off. "take these panties off for me, pretty." he commanded lowly, eyes never leaving the road. you didn't even think, just slid them down your legs and parted your thighs open. he put his fingers back on your pussy, humming. "much better. just sit back and relax, hm baby?" he said, already rubbing your clit again. you let out a breathy moan, just feeling his fingers please you.
he moved his fingers over your clit a bit faster, making you bulk your hips up unconsciously. he chuckled under his breath. "shh, is my pretty doll getting excited?" he teased lowly, stopping on a red light and looking at you.
head back, eyes closed, legs parted wide, his fingers on your pussy, your mouth open in moans. he felt himself getting harder at the view. "fuck, you're so pretty like this, baby." he whispered before having to go back to driving.
just when you moved your hips up again, he slid his middle finger inside you, making you moan a bit louder, clenching around that finger. he smirked and slid his ring one too, making you whimper as he curled them inside you just right. "fuck- hee-" you moaned out, desperate for release.
he chuckled lowly. "shh, babydoll, just relax." he whispered, driving around a roundabout to another street while hitting your g-spot with his fingers.
you started to whimper, breathing fast, getting really close. he just had to curl his fingers a last time before you broke out in a loud moan, thighs shaking as your cum dripped down his fingers. just as he eased his fingers and pushed them out, he parked in front of your shared house.
he brought his fingers to his mouth before smirking at your breathless figure. "come on, doll. let's get inside, hm? can't wait to fuck into that pretty pussy all night." he said before getting out of the car, walking around, opening your door, and picking you up on his arms. you whimpered lowly before he picked your panties up from the car floor and closing the door.
he kissed your temple, walking up to the door and unlocking it before you both got in.
IN WHICH ─── Heeseung teaches you everything that your cheating boyfriend couldn’t. He’s been waiting for the day you would realize that he could do better and much more than his best friend.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : smut (MDNI), porn with a bit of plot
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : switch!heeseung, switch!reader, mention of alcohol, smoking, swearing, cheating, manhandling, heeseung is a gentleman despite his attitude, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, praising, light degradation, oral sex (f. receiving), light edging, orgasm denial, use of nickname : baby, my pretty girl
𝐰𝐜 : 7.9k {7.977}
❕# pheeew I speed run that shii. I goon to the pic on top every night—WHO TFFFFF SAID THAAAT????? Guys I need this man to put me in my place like RIGHT NOW. This song represents him so well. Ugh he’s mister dadaman fr
INSPIRED BY : What You Need - The Weeknd
(+ Slow It Down - Ty Dolla $ign)
What could be worse than going to the restaurant with your boyfriend a week after you found out that he’s been cheating on you? Oh right, you don’t know. Ethan orders for himself without asking what you're having first, catches himself halfway through, and asks you anyway. You already know what you want because you always know what you want here.
His phone sits face up next to his water glass. It lights up twice in the first ten minutes. Both times he glances down, thumb hovering, before setting it back exactly where it was. "Sorry," he says, not looking up from the screen the third time. "Work thing."
You nod like that made sense. You've heard about Heeseung's terrible taste in restaurants, about his coworker’s dog, about traffic on the way here ; three separate stories he's started and abandoned mid-sentence because his attention keeps sliding sideways toward that phone.
"You could put it away," you say, tired enough that it comes out flat.
"I know. I will." He actually doesn't.
The waiter brings your food and Ethan eats fast, he’s already somewhere else in his mind. You ask about his sister's move to Daegu and get half an answer before his phone buzzes again and he actually picks it up this time, thumb moving across the screen, brow furrowed like the message requires real concentration.
You watch him read it. You watch his jaw do a small tightening, and you already know before he opens his mouth. "I have to go in," he says. "They need someone to cover a shift. I'm really sorry, I know we just got here."
Work doesn't call people in at 9:47 at night for office emergencies. You've known things like this for months now, small inconsistencies that don't line up if you actually stack them next to each other, which is why you stopped stacking them.
"Now?" you ask anyway, knowing how it will end up.
"I wouldn't if I didn't have to." He's already reaching for his wallet, already half out of his seat. "I'll make it up to you. Promise."
You tell him it's fine and to go, that you'll finish eating and head home. He kisses the top of your head, distracted, already checking his phone again as he walks toward the door, and you sit there with a plate you've lost interest in and a boyfriend-shaped absence across the table.
Your phone buzzes. Heeseung.
Heeseung [9:54 PM]
you good?
saw ethan's location just switched to "downtown" lol at 9pm
You stare at the message for a second too long before you type back.
Y/N [9:54 PM]
he had a work thing apparently
Heeseung [9:55 PM]
mhm. sure he did
You almost put the phone down.
Y/N [9:55 PM]
please don’t start
Heeseung [9:57 PM]
wasn't gonna say anything. i'm very good at not saying things
Y/N [9:57 PM]
you're the worst at not saying things btw
Heeseung [9:58 PM]
rude.
i've been holding back SO much tonight and this is the thanks i get
You find yourself smiling at your phone, alone at a table for two, food going cold in front of you. Even though you couldn’t care less.
The waiter comes by to clear Ethan's plate and asks if you need anything else, and you're halfway through saying no when your phone buzzes again.
Heeseung [10:05 PM]
where are you?
sending someone to get you before you sit there being sad and pathetic
Y/N [10:05 PM]
wdym I’m not sad and pathetic
Heeseung [10:06 PM]
you're eating alone at a restaurant your boyfriend just ditched. what else could it be?
address please.
You give him the name of the place mostly because arguing about whether you're pathetic or not would take more energy than you have left right now. Fifteen minutes later Heeseung walks in wearing a jacket you’ve seen plenty of times, scanning the room until he finds you, and drops into the seat across from you like he's been there the whole time.
"You didn't have to come, you know." you state.
"I know that very well. I wanted to see you sad and pathetic in person." He picks up the menu even though you're clearly done eating, flips through it without really looking. "Also I was bored."
"Comforting."
"I try." He waves the waiter over before you can stop him, orders a drink for himself, and when the bill comes a few minutes later he reaches over and takes it before you can even move your hand toward it.
"Heeseung."
"Yeah?"
"Give me that."
"No." He's already pulling out his card, not even glancing at the total.
"I can pay for my own food."
"Never said you couldn't." He hands the card to the waiter without looking at you, and something about how easy it is for him : he acts like it costs him nothing and like it’s something he has to do but does it naturally. The inside of your stomach is tingling and obviously not because of the food you had earlier.
"I'm being serious, I don't need you to—"
"I know you don't need me to." He lifts his gaze and looks at you with less joking in it than a second ago. "I want to. Learn how it’s not the same."
"That's not the point."
"What's the point, then?"
You freezes, not an answer or a talk back could reach your mind, and he grins like he's won something.
"Aw, look at that," he says. "I missed that face."
"I fucking hate you."
"You don't. You're just annoyed you can't win an argument about who gets to pay for your dinner, which, by the way, is a very weird thing to be stubborn about."
"It's called having self-respect."
"It's called being difficult for no reason, but sure, we can call it self-respect if that makes you feel better." The card comes back and he signs without checking the receipt, tucks it away, and stands up casually. "Come on. I'm parked badly and I will get towed."
"You fucking asshole."
"You keep saying that like it's news." He holds his hand out, not really an offer so much as an assumption you'll take it, and you do.
He gets in to start the car, and has a cigarette lit before you've even got your seatbelt on. The window cracks an inch, cold air cutting through the smoke smell that's already filling the small space.
"You know those are terrible for you," you say.
"Groundbreaking information. Thank you." He takes a drag, one hand on the wheel, not pulling out of the spot yet.
"I'm dead serious. You should stop."
"I should do a lot of things." He glances at you sideways, smoke curling out the window. "You should stop pretending you don't know your boyfriend's cheating on you. We're both just walking around not doing things we should, I guess."
The car goes quiet except for the engine idling. You look straight ahead at the brick wall of the restaurant, at nothing. "I don't know what you're talking about," you say in a breathy tone.
"Sure you don't." He's not looking at you now either, tapping ash out the window, voice even, done pretending along with you. "His location switches off every other night. He checks his phone at dinner like it's gonna bite him if he doesn't. Tonight he left you at a restaurant for a 'work thing' that doesn't exist, and you didn't even ask him to explain it properly. You just let him go."
"That's not—" You stop and start again. "It's complicated."
"It's really not." He finally pulls out of the spot, one hand on the wheel, cigarette still between two fingers. "You don't want to deal with it. Which, fine, your business. But don't sit there and tell me you don't know, because I’m aware for the phone thing tonight too, and you didn't look surprised. You looked like someone who's done the math already."
There isn't a version of an answer that isn't just agreeing with him. So silence is the best option you could have at this moment.
"I'm not trying to make it worse, okay?" he says, softer, some of the edge gone out of his voice. "I just don't really feel like watching you sit through dinners like that and pretend it's normal."
"Why do you even care?"
He takes another drag and lets it out slow.
"Good question," he says finally without elaborating further, yet you don’t want to know more of it, because you're not sure you want to hear the answer any more than he seems to want to give it.
He drives you around the city for a while then turns left instead of right at the light that would've led back toward your apartment. The road opens up eventually, streetlights getting sparser, and then there's the smell of salt before you see the water. He parks in a mostly empty lot facing the beach, cuts the engine, and the quiet that follows feels different from the quiet in the restaurant parking lot. It’s less loaded.
"Why are we here?" you ask.
"I needed air that doesn't smell like your ex's cologne." He's already pulling his jacket off, tossing it into the back seat. Underneath he's just in a black tank top, and it's warm enough out that it makes sense, summer nights here never really cooling off the way you'd expect. "Also I like it here. Don't make it a big deal."
"He's not my ex."
"Give it time." He says it lightly, already opening his door, not wanting to hear you argue back. "Come."
You get out as sitting in the car alone would feel worse than following him. The sand is cool yet the air isn't, and he walks ahead of you toward the water without checking if you're behind him, hands in his pockets and shoulders loose.
"You could've warned me we were going to the beach," you say, catching up. "I'm in the wrong shoes for this."
"You're in shoes. That's more preparation than I did."
"You're wearing actual sneakers."
"Correct. Preparation." He glances back at you, the corner of his mouth pulling up. "Take them off if you're gonna complain the whole time."
"I'm not complaining, it was just a statement."
"Same thing, coming from you."
You shove his shoulder, and he barely moves as he laughs, low and light, as your annoyance is the most entertaining thing that's happened to him all week. The water's dark ahead of you, waves you can hear more than see, you can feel the knot in your belly loosening up.
"So this is the fresh air you talked about," you say, kicking your heels off like he told you to, sand cold between your toes. "Very noble of you, considering your lungs are probably black at this point."
"They're totally fine."
"You just smoked an entire cigarette in a closed car ten minutes ago."
"The window was cracked."
"Barely an inch."
He stops walking. He turns to look at you, and there's a specific kind of offense on his face, you can see that’s it’s fake. "Okay, you don't get to smoke-shame me and then act like you weren't the one who wanted to eat a hundred tons of sugar last week."
"That has nothing to do with your lungs."
"It's about hypocrisy, Y/N." He's already crossing his arms, which should've been your first warning. "You wanna talk about people ruining their bodies, we can talk about those candies."
"That's not remotely the same thing, and you know it."
"I don't know anything. I'm just a guy with fucked up lungs, apparently, standing here, getting attacked—"
"I didn't attack you, I made a freaking statement—"
"—run," he says, it's not really a warning and it's already happening, he's moving toward you before the word's even fully out. You don't think and you just run, already laughing three steps away, sand slowing you down and you probably look embarrassing and isn't because he's not much faster, both of you stumbling across the beach. He's close behind you, close enough that you can hear him laughing too, breathless, yet you don't look back and just keep going toward nothing in particular, the water loud beside you and your own heartbeat louder, making you forget why you were sad in the first place.
"Slow down!" you yell back at him, though you're the one speeding up. "Your lungs can't take this!"
"They're taking it fine, actually—" He's gaining on you, voice rougher now from the running, the laughing, both. "Better than yours, probably, all that complaining you do about stairs—"
"I don't even complain about stairs—"
"You complained about stairs yesterday. To my face."
"That building has no elevator, that's a legitimate—" You don't get to finish, because his hand catches your arm, hard enough to throw your balance off, and you're laughing too much to fight it anyway.
"Got you—"
"You didn't—"
He did. Your feet tangle in the sand and his do too trying to compensate, and there's a second where it could've gone fine, where you both could've just stopped, but now you're both going down, and he twists at the last second so he hits the sand first and you land half on top of him, knocking whatever air he had left in those apparently terrible lungs straight out of him.
"Okay," he wheezes, staring up at the sky, chest moving fast under you. "Okay, that one's on me."
You're still laughing, you can't stop, face pressed near his shoulder, sand in your hair, in your clothes, everywhere. "You caught me on purpose."
"I caught you very badly on purpose."
"Your lungs are so fucked."
"Please stop talking about my lungs." He's laughing too, you can feel it more than hear it, his chest shaking under where you're braced against him, and neither of you moves to get up right away, and it takes a second before either of you remembers there's a reason you're supposed to pull away from this.
"Great," you say, still not moving off him. "Now I'm covered in sand. This was a bad idea."
"It was my favorite plan I've had all week."
"You've had bad judgment all week, then." You finally push yourself up, brushing sand off your arms, off your legs, a losing battle. He sits up slower, still catching his breath, watching you try to fix your hair with zero success.
"I'm also thirsty," you add.
"There's water in the car."
"Warm water in a car that smells like cigarettes doesn't count."
He stands, holds a hand out to pull you up, and doesn't let go right away once you're on your feet. He looks at you for a second, he seems like he's deciding something. "Come to mine. Shower, water, whatever you need. It’s better than dropping you off covered in sand at eleven at night."
"Heeseung, I don't need—"
"You keep saying that word like it changes anything about what I'm gonna do anyway." He's already walking back toward the car, keys spinning once around his finger. "Come on."
His apartment turns out to be nothing like you expected, which annoys you a little, because you'd built some idea of his place in your head ; messy, small ; and instead the elevator opens straight into something enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows facing the city, furniture that looks like it costs a hundred racks, which does.
"This is insane," you say, standing in the doorway, still not fully inside. "You live here? Alone?"
"Don't sound so betrayed about it."
"I pictured you in, like, a studio apartment with a mattress on the floor."
"Wow. Thank you for that image of me." He drops his keys on the counter, shrugging like the apartment doesn't warrant comment. "Bathroom's down the hall, second door. There's towels in there. I'll find you something to change into that isn't full of sand."
You still haven't moved from the doorway, taking in the size of it, the quietness of a place too clean to belong to someone who bickers the way he does. "How do you even afford this?"
"Very boring answer. Ask me another time." He's already disappearing down the hall, calling back over his shoulder. "Towels. Bathroom. Go before you track sand into my very expensive rug."
You linger by the counter instead of heading for the bathroom yet, arms crossed, sand still clinging to your ankles. "Okay, but—when am I getting home tonight? I have work in the morning."
He reappears from the hallway with a folded shirt and shorts in hand, tossing them onto the couch for you. "Never. You live here now. I've decided."
"Heeseung."
"It's already, what, eleven thirty? You're covered in sand, your options are a shower here or a shower at home in forty-five minutes of traffic smelling like a beach." He shrugs, entirely too pleased with his own logic. "I'll drive you back whenever. Or you sleep on the world's most comfortable couch and I take you home before work. Very generous offer, considering my lungs are apparently on their way out."
"That's not what I asked."
"Yeah, and I answered better questions in my life." He nods toward the hallway, unbothered. "Go shower. I'm not driving anywhere until you stop smelling like low tide."
You get out of the shower first, dressed in the shirt and shorts he left you, both too big, sleeves falling past your hands. When you find him in the kitchen he's just in sweatpants, no shirt, hair still wet, and you stop in the doorway far too long before catching yourself.
"What?" he says, not even looking up from the glass of water he's pouring.
"Nothing. Put a shirt on, it's weird."
"It's my apartment, and it's hot. I'm not putting a shirt on for you." He slides the glass across the counter toward you, finally glancing over, and whatever's on your face makes something shift in his. "Are you flustered right now?"
"No."
"You're a little flustered."
"I'm annoyed." You grab the glass just to have something to do with your hands, and drink half of it too fast. "Some warning would've been nice."
"A warning for what, my own kitchen?"
"For the— " you point directly at him, at the general fact of him, "—situation."
"There's no situation. This is just what I look like." A shit eating grin appears on his face, fully enjoying this, leaning against the counter. "You can look away if it's that distressing."
"I'm not even looking."
"You're looking right now."
"I'm looking at you to argue with you, and you look so dumb right now."
"Sure it is." He pushes off the counter, grabs a pack of cigarettes off the counter, and heads for the balcony door without the will to talk back. You follow, mostly out of spite, and the air outside is warm, the city spread out below, making the apartment's size make a little more sense. He lights up, leaning on the railing, and you stand a few feet away, arms crossed against a chill that isn't really there.
The smoke drifts toward you on the next breath of wind and you cough slightly, covering the lower half of you face with your hand.
His eyes stay on the city while a silent chuckle almost escapes him. He shifts slowly, moving to stand on your left instead, angling himself so the smoke pulls away from you and out over the railing. A quietness installs itself between you.
He flicks ash over the railing, and glances at you. "You want a drink or something? I've got wine, I think there's soju somewhere too."
"Wine would be good."
He disappears inside for a minute, comes back with two glasses and the bottle tucked under his arm, he sets everything down on the small table between the balcony chairs. You sit, and he drops into the chair across from you, pouring without measuring, more in yours than his.
"How did we even meet?" you say, mostly to fill the silence, turning the glass by its stem. "Like, before Ethan and I were even together. I feel like I always just knew you as his friend."
"You did. That's exactly what happened." He takes a sip to give himself time to recoil on the memory. "We met at that party his roommate threw, where it had the terrible speaker system. You spilled something on my shoes and apologized for like ten minutes straight."
"I did not apologize for ten minutes."
"You did. I still remember the shoes, they were new."
"You're exaggerating."
"I'm really not, I still have them." He leans back, glass balanced on his knee. "Then Ethan started talking about you nonstop for like a month before he actually got the balls to ask you out. It was unbearable. I heard about your laugh before I heard you laugh."
You laugh a little despite yourself. "That's embarrassing," you say.
"For him, mostly. I didn't say anything." He swirls the wine, not quite looking at you now. "You were different back then. I mean—Not different-different. I just think that you were, like, less careful about everything."
"Careful how?"
"You used to argue with me for fun. Now half the time you're arguing with me because you're arguing with something else and I'm just the nearest target." He says in a chuckle. "I liked the fun version better. Not that this version's bad, though."
You take your time before replying. Your fingers slowly roll the glass between your palms as you watch the wine reflect the light, letting the silence fill the space while you think.
"I didn't notice it happening," you say finally.
"Fair enough. That's usually how it goes."
He gives you time. He sits beside you in comfortable silence, his glass resting against his knee while the distant sounds of the city soften the moment.
"You know he doesn't deserve the amount of patience you're giving him, right?" he says eventually, not looking at you when he says it, trying to make it easier for both of you. "Whatever he's doing, wherever he's going at nine at night—you're sitting there making excuses for him. I watched you do it tonight."
"It's not that simple."
"It’s obviously not simple, we both know that. I'm saying you deserve someone who doesn't make you rehearse excuses for him in your head before he's even said anything." He looks over at you, his gaze serious. "You're smart. You're funny, when you're not exhausted, which lately is rare. You shouldn't be spending this much of yourself on someone who’s always checking his phone at a dinner with you."
"You don't know everything that's going on, so stop—"
"I don't need to know everything. I already know enough." He sets his glass down, leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "I'm not trying to convince you to do anything, okay? I just don't think you hear it enough, so I'm saying it. You deserve better than what he's giving you. That's it."
You look down at your glass instead of at him, throat tight from what you’ve been holding since you found out.
"Like it matters to you, anyway." you mumble quietly.
He lets the silence settle between you once more. Taking a deep breath, he seems to consider his next words carefully, revealing nothing before he's ready.
"It does," he declares finally. "I'm not gonna make it more complicated than that tonight."
You let the subject rest, and he doesn't volunteer anything more. Together, you sit quietly, listening to the muted sounds of the city while the wine slowly warms in your hands. Somehow, the silence says more than words you could find.
After some time, you both decided to watch a movie to ease everything out. Now, you’re curled up on the couch, the bottle of wine you two polished off leaving a soft warmth in your veins. The TV flickers with some late-night drama that you couldn't force yourself to be invested in even if you wanted to. Your head feels pleasantly light, and whatever usually fuels your arguments has faded, leaving behind nothing more than lazy teasing.
A new scene unfolds on screen : dark lighting, tangled sheets, the actors lost in a heated and sensual moment. The woman arches under her partner’s touch as his hands glide slowly over her body ; caressing, teasing, worshipping. The sounds are low and breathy, filling the room.
You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and the wine makes you bold. You glance at Heeseung beside you. "I…I’ve never done that with Ethan," you murmur, voice coming out as a whisper. "Not like that, at least."
Heeseung’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide with real shock. "Wait—what? Never? Not even close?"
You shake your head, biting your lip as embarrassment and frustration mix with the alcohol. "No. It’s always been…rushed. He never wanted to explore things or try new things. Like he doesn’t have the patience for it." Your gaze lingers on the screen for another second before returning to him. "Do you…know how to do that? Like, really touch someone like that?"
Heeseung keeps his eyes on you, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. Something unspoken passes between you. "Y/N…" he starts, voice low and careful, a flicker of heat in his eyes.
You shift slightly, scooting an inch closer on the couch. "Show me? I want to know everything. Touch me the way he’s touching her. Please?"
He swallows, and finally slowly nods, setting his empty glass aside. "Alright. But tell me when it's too much, okay?" His voice has dropped, rougher now. He reaches out, starting gentle. His fingers brush along your arm, tracing slow lines from your wrist up to your shoulder. "Like this," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "Pay attention to how your skin feels under my hand." His palm flattens against your collarbone, sliding down your side in one smooth caress, mapping the curve of your waist through your shirt.
You shiver, the wine amplifying every touch. Emboldened, you lean into him, and he scoots closer too, until your thighs press together. His other hand joins in, fingertips grazing your neck, then trailing down your chest with feather-light pressure.
"Tell me what feels good," he instructs softly, his hand venturing lower, stroking along your hip and the top of your thigh. "Here?" He squeezes gently, then lets his palm glide back up, bolder now.
The space between you disappears as you both shift nearer, bodies turning toward each other. Your hand finds his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat, and slide up to his neck. His breath grows heavier. His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, caressing bare skin ; warm, exploratory, following the line of your ribs.
You look up at him, lips parted. He meets your gaze for half a second before closing the distance. Tongues meet, slow and deep at first, turning more insistent as your fingers thread into his hair. He pulls you closer, one hand firm on your lower back while the other continues its caress, sliding higher under your shirt.
His kisses grow fiercer, nipping at your lower lip before soothing it, bodies pressing together on the couch as the moment spirals deeper.
You automatically swing your leg over, straddling Heeseung’s lap as the kiss deepens. Your knees sink into the couch on either side of him, bodies aligning perfectly. He groans softly into your mouth, his hands finding your waist instantly, gripping you to steady the sudden movement. "Y/N…" he breathes against your lips, pulling you closer.
His fingers dig in a little too hard at first ; eager, hungry from the built-up tension ; and you yelp sharply against his mouth, a quick flash of pain cutting through the haze of wine and heat. He pulls back immediately, eyes wide with concern, his grip loosening right away. "Shit—sorry," he murmurs. One hand gently rubs the spot on your waist where he’d gripped too tightly. "Didn’t mean to. You okay?"
You nod quickly, still breathing hard, the sting already fading into the warmth. "Yeah…I’m fine. Don’t stop."
Relief flashes across his face, quickly renewed by that same heated look. He leans in again, capturing your lips in another urgent kiss. his time, there's a new caution in the way he touches you. His hands glide slowly along your sides, lingering as though giving you every chance to pull away before one drifts lower. He cups your ass firmly, squeezing with just the right pressure ; possessive, appreciative ; as he pulls you tighter against him.
You moan softly into the kiss, rolling your hips instinctively. His tongue slides against yours, deeper and more demanding now, while his fingers knead your ass, encouraging the movement. The kiss turns messy, breathless, both of you lost in the heat as his other hand stays anchored at your waist, guiding you closer. The undeniable spark between you push everything else away.
You’re both breathing heavily when Heeseung pulls back just enough to speak, his voice low and gentle against your ear. "Come off my lap for a second, baby," he murmurs, hands sliding soothingly along your thighs. "Turn around for me."
You nod, a little dazed from the wine and the intensity, and shift off him. He helps guide you, turning you so your back is to his chest. He settles back against the couch, spreading his legs and pulling you between them until you’re nestled against him, your back flush to his front. His arms wrap around you from behind, one hand resting on your stomach while the other strokes your thigh.
"Spread your legs for me," he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "As far as you can. Let me see you."
You obey, parting your thighs wider, heat flooding your face as the position leaves you open and exposed. Heeseung hums approvingly, his fingers teasing lightly along the inside of your thigh, drawing slow circles that inch higher but never quite touch where you’re starting to ache.
"My pretty girl," he whispers, the praise making you shiver. His hand keeps stroking closer and closer until you’re squirming. "Has he ever fingered you?" he asks almost hesitantly, he already suspects the answer.
You shake your head, voice small. "No…He never did. He only ever made me suck his dick and...he was so rushed to put it in."
Heeseung exhales sharply, a mix of disbelief and irritation flashing through him. "Fuck…alright. I’ve got you."
He’s careful ; painfully so. His fingers slide under your clothes, gently parting you before one fingertip circles your entrance, gathering wetness. "Tell me if it hurts or if you want me to stop," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.
Slowly, he eases one finger inside you, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch. He moves gently, curling carefully, his other arm holding you against his chest. "Breathe, Y/N. I’ll make it good for you."
He adds a second finger only when you start rocking back against his hand, still cautious, focusing entirely on your reactions as he begins to pump them in a sluggish rhythm. His thumb finds your clit, teasing light circles while he fingers you with patient strokes.
You gasp sharply as Heeseung’s fingers suddenly hit harder, the angle shifting and sending a jolt of pain through you. Your body tenses, a small cry escaping your lips.
He freezes instantly, eyes widening in panic. "Shit—sorry, sorry," he blurts, quickly easing his fingers out of you. "I didn’t mean to—fuck, are you okay? I’m so sorry, Y/N." He repeats the apology under his breath, one hand gently rubbing your thigh while the other hovers uncertainly, clearly rattled.
You catch your breath, the sting fading fast in the haze of alcohol. A smirk slowly tugs at your lips as you look back at him over your shoulder. "Are you really sorry?"
"Yes," he says immediately, voice earnest. "Of course I am."
You turn around fully to face him, still sitting between his legs. "Then get on your knees in front of me."
He blinks, then lets out a short disbelieving scoff, assuming you’re joking. "What? Right now?"
Your expression stays serious, eyes locked on his. "I said get on your knees."
The smirk on his face fades when he realizes you mean it. After a beat of hesitation, he slides off the couch and drops to his knees on the floor in front of you, looking up at you with surprise and growing desire.
"Come closer," you order softly.
He shifts forward on his knees until he’s right between your spread legs, hands resting tentatively on your thighs as he waits for your next instruction, breath a little uneven.
You lean back slightly, looking down at him. "Lick it."
Heeseung’s eyes darken instantly. Without another word, he leans in, pressing his mouth to you. His tongue drags slowly through your folds at first ; warm and soaked ; before he settles into long hungry strokes, focusing on your clit with just the right pressure. His hands grip your thighs to hold you open as he licks you with focused intent, the earlier apology shifted by eager obedience.
You let the pleasure build for a few moments, your hand threading into his hair as his tongue works you over with growing confidence. But then you tug gently, pulling him back.
"Stop." you say, voice breathy yet firm.
Heeseung pulls away immediately, lips glistening, looking up at you with hooded eyes and a hint of confusion. His chest rises and falls quickly.
You smirk down at him, still holding his hair. "You’re not going to continue until you say sorry…while you’re eating me out."
He blinks once, processing the command, then an almost amused smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You’re serious?"
You raise an eyebrow, waiting.
He leans back in without further protest. His tongue returns to you before he murmurs the words right against your core, the vibrations sending sparks through you. "I’m sorry," he breathes, licking a long stripe up your folds. "Sorry for being too rough…" Another slow swirl around your clit. "I won’t hurt you again."
He keeps going, alternating between soft apologies and dedicated licks, his voice low and muffled as he eats you out. "Sorry, baby…fuck, you taste so good." His hands grip your thighs a little tighter as he buries his tongue deeper, still repeating quiet "sorry"s between every lick and suck, the blend of submission and hunger making the moment even more intense.
You lean back further, letting him worship you like that ; his apologies vibrating against you with every stroke of his tongue.
You slide your fingers deeper into his hair, gripping it firmly as you pull him closer against you. Heeseung’s eyes flutter half-closed ; sleepy and hazy with lust ; his ears flushed a pretty shade of pink from the heat and the wine. The sight makes something wicked twist in your lower belly.
"Well, would you look at yourself," you tease, voice breathy but filled with amusement. "On your knees, ears all pink, eyes looking half-asleep like a fucking loser."
He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and swollen, a lazy smirk spreading across his face despite the grip you have on his hair. His sleepy eyes narrow playfully. "Loser?" he scoffs, breath hot against your skin. "Says the one who’s been missing out for months and is now dripping all over my face. If I’m such a loser, why are you pulling my hair like you never want me to stop?"
You tug his hair a little harder in response, and he lets out a low, amused chuckle, vibrating right where you need it.
"Keep talking shit and I might actually stop," you warn, though your hips roll forward, chasing his mouth.
Heeseung’s smirk only widens, pink ears burning brighter. "Yeah? Then I guess this loser better shut up and keep saying sorry…" He dives back in with renewed energy, tongue pressing flat and slow, murmuring one last muffled "Sorry, baby" against you before focusing entirely on making your teasing backfire.
You feel it building fast ; the tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core while his tongue works you relentlessly. His sleepy eyes stay locked on yours whenever he pulls back for air, pink ears still burning, that smug little smirk never fully leaving his face even while he’s buried between your thighs.
Your grip in his hair tightens, hips rolling against his mouth as your breathing turns ragged. "Heeseung—fuck, I’m—"
Right as the orgasm crests, right as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls back completely. His mouth leaves you with one last slow, teasing lick before he sits back on his heels, lips glistening, looking far too pleased with himself.
You let out a frustrated whine, thighs trembling. "What the hell—"
He chuckles lowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are sleepy-lidded, but sparkling with mischief. "Not yet," he murmurs, voice rough. One finger lazily traces up your inner thigh, barely brushing where you need him. "You were talking so much shit earlier about me being a loser…thought you could handle a little teasing."
You glare down at him, still panting, the denied orgasm leaving you aching and frustrated. He leans in again, pressing the softest, almost innocent kiss right above your clit, then another on your thigh ; carefully avoiding where you’re throbbing.
"What is it?" he teases, voice low and amused. "All worked up and squirming. Were you really about to cum that fast on my tongue? Cute."
He blows a gentle stream of cool air against your wet folds, making you jolt, then gives you one torturously light lick before pulling away again.
"Beg a little nicer and maybe I’ll let you finish," he says with a smirk, pink ears still flushed as he watches your reaction, clearly enjoying edging you way too much.
Your hand tightens in his hair again, torn between wanting to pull him back in and wanting to throttle him for stopping.
You’re still catching your breath on the couch, legs shaky from the cruel edge, when Heeseung rises from his knees. He climbs over you, hovering above your body with his hands braced on either side of your head. His face is flushed, those sleepy eyes dark with want as he looks down at you.
You bite your lip, heart racing. Slowly, you lift one leg and slide your foot up between his thighs, pressing the sole against the obviously hard bulge straining through his sweatpants. You rub it teasingly with your toes, pressing on it with gentle pressure, feeling him twitch under your foot.
His breath hitches sharply, hips jerking forward into your touch. "Y/N," he warns, voice low and strained.
You look up at him with soft, fakely innocent eyes, a sweet little smile playing on your lips even as your foot continues its lazy; pressing, rubbing, tracing the outline of his cock through the soft fabric.
"What?" you murmur softly, batting your lashes. “You edged me…seems only fair I play with you a little."
He lets out a shaky laugh, forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder for a moment. His arms tremble slightly as he holds himself up, clearly fighting the urge to grind harder against your foot.
"Fuck, you’re evil," he breathes, with only affection and raw desire. His eyes flutter half-closed again as you keep rubbing him so gently, the contrast between your soft gaze and the teasing pressure of your foot making him groan quietly above you.
The air between you crackles, thick with tension as he hovers there, letting you toy with him.
You’re still looking up at him with those soft eyes when he suddenly pulls back. He stands just long enough to shove his sweatpants and boxers down in one motion, kicking them aside. His cock springs free, hard and flushed. Before you can fully process, he’s back on the couch, gently turning you around again so your back is pressed to his chest ; just like earlier.
You blink in confusion, still wobbly. "Heeseung, what are you—?"
While staying silent, he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against him. With his free hand, he guides his cock, rubbing the thick head slowly up and down your soaked core. The pressure is heavy and hot as he glides it between your folds, coating himself in your wetness, letting you feel every inch of his length sliding against your sensitive skin.
"Just feel it," he murmurs against your ear. "Gotta get you used to me first."
The grind makes you whimper, your body tensing as the blunt head nudges at your entrance. Then he pushes in ; slow and gentle. The stretch is intense. You yell out at the burn, your hands flying back to grip his thighs.
Heeseung stops instantly, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "I know, baby, I know," he whispers soothingly, voice dull and tender. "You’re doing so good." One of his hands slides down to caress your lower stomach in comforting circles, trying to ease the discomfort. "I’ve got you, Y/N. I’m right here."
He stays still inside you, whispering sweet nothings against your skin while his fingers keep gently rubbing your stomach. Gradually, the pain starts to melt into a deep ache. When your breathing evens out a little, he begins to move. His thrusts are slothful at first but quickly turn sloppy, messy and uncoordinated from the alcohol and the overwhelming heat of the moment. Wet sounds fill the room as he rocks into you from behind, one arm banded around your waist while the other continues caressing your lower belly.
"Fuck…sorry, it’s—shit, you feel too good," he groans, the pace erratic and desperate, hips snapping up into you with needy and imperfect strokes.
His thrusts are getting sloppier, hips stuttering as the dizziness makes his pace messy and desperate. Next, on one particularly eager push, his cock slips out completely with a wet pop, loud enough to be heard in the entire living room.
You squirm hard in his lap, a needy whimper escaping you at the sudden empty feeling. Your body instinctively rocks back, searching for him again.
Heeseung lets out a breathy chuckle against your neck. "Easy, baby…"
He grips the base of his cock and gives it a couple of lazy slaps against your soaked cunt; wet smacks making you jolt and moan. The head nudges your clit with each tap, fooling you until you’re trembling.
And without warning, he lines himself up and pushes back in with one thrust, burying himself deep into you cunt. You gasp at the sudden fullness, your back arching against his chest as he groans deeply.
"Shit…that sound," he mutters, voice rough. His arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place while his other hand returns to caress your lower stomach. He starts moving again, still sloppy and uncoordinated, but deeper now ; each thrust punctuated by the wet sounds of skin meeting skin.
He kisses along your shoulder, whispering hotly, "You’re so fucking wet…hear how you take me?"
His hips snap up messily, cock sliding in and out as he keeps you pressed tight against him, lost in the pleasure of it all. You’re lost in the flow of his cock sliding in and out of you, the filthy sounds of your pussy filling the room with every sloppy thrust, when your phone starts ringing on the coffee table. The screen lights up with Ethan’s name.
You notice that it doesn't stop Heeseung from doing his work. If anything, his hips snap up harder, driving deeper as he reaches over and grabs your phone. You try to protest through a moan, but he answers the call and puts it on speaker, setting it down nearby.
"Hey, man," he says casually, voice only slightly strained as he keeps fucking you tirelessly from behind. The squelching sounds are loud and clear.
Ethan’s voice comes through, sounding worried. "Heeseung? Where’s Y/N? She’s not home yet and she’s not answering her phone. Is she with you?"
"Yeah, she’s right here," Heeseung replies, one hand gripping your hip tighter as he thrusts up into you again, making you bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. "She’s a little busy though."
You squirm in his lap, embarrassed heat flooding your face even as pleasure keeps building. Heeseung leans closer to your ear and whispers, "Let him hear how wet you are," before picking up the pace.
The obscene, slick sounds of his cock plunging into your soaked pussy echo clearly through the speaker.
Ethan pauses. "What the fuck is that sound? Is she okay?"
Heeseung lets out a low chuckle, still thrusting deeper. "She’s more than okay. I’m fucking her right now, bro. That’s the sound of her pussy taking my cock."
You moan despite yourself as he hits a particularly good spot, unable to stay quiet.
"Can you hear that?" Heeseung asks tauntingly, angling his hips so the wet noises get even louder. "Hear how soaked she is? Those are her moans too. She’s been missing this for a long time."
Ethan’s voice cracks with shock and anger. "What the hell, Heeseung?! Y/N—!"
Before Ethan can finish, Heeseung cuts him off, still buried deep inside you, voice low and possessive as he speaks directly into the phone :
"You might be what she wants…but I’m clearly what she needs."
He hangs up quickly, tossing the phone aside. His arms wrap around you tighter as he resumes fucking you with intensity, mouth pressed to your neck.
"Focus on me, baby," he murmurs hotly. "Just feel how full you are."
The sounds continue as he drives into you, the interruption only making him more eager. You barely have time to process the call ending before your phone starts buzzing repeatedly on the table. Message after message from Ethan lights up the screen ; vibrating angrily one after another.
Heeseung glances at it but doesn’t stop. His hips keep rolling up into you in that same relentless pounding, cock stretching you open with every wet thrust.
"Damn…he’s blowing up your phone," he mutters with a dark chuckle. One arm stays banded around your waist, holding you firmly in place on his lap while his other hand reaches down to rub slow circles over your clit.
He keeps fucking you through the mess. Your phone vibrates again and again ; texts popping up rapidly.
You moan helplessly, eyes fluttering as pleasure overrides everything else. "Heeseung…he’s—"
"I don't fucking care," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. "Let him text. You’re mine right now."
He angles his hips and thrusts up hard, making you cry out as the head of his cock hits that perfect spot over and over. The phone keeps buzzing but Heeseung only fucks you harder, the sounds of your bodies utterly drowning out the vibrations.
His hand on your lower stomach presses down gently, making you feel every inch of him sliding in and out. "Hear how loud your pussy is for me?" he groans, voice rough. "Keep taking it, baby. Just like that."
You’re a mess ; moaning, squirming, gripping his thighs as he continues pounding into you from behind, unbothered by the nonstop stream of notifications. The phone eventually goes silent for a few seconds only to start vibrating again. Both of you wouldn't care less. Heeseung’s only focus is the way your walls clench around him as he fucks you through it all.
So that's what you've been missing out all this time.
synopsis: you're moving into your college apartment when a handsome guy helps you with your heavy boxes on the stairs. He turns out to be Jay, your older neighbor — a lawyer who quickly becomes part of your new life. He listens to you ramble for hours but never offers much about himself, and you tell yourself it's fine, that everyone has boundaries. Being with him feels too right to question, so you let yourself fall anyway, completely lost in him and blind to what's right in front of you until it's too late.
includes: student!reader x lawyer!jay, age gap (not specified), neighbors to lovers (?), lots of domestic fluff mixed with rough sex, slow-burn buildup before the smut, explicit sexual content (mdni), big dick jay, size kink (emphasis on thickness, length, belly bulge, stretching, etc.), cockwarning, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, praise kink, multiple orgasms, spitting in mouth, overstimulation, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, riding, missionary, spooning sex, car sex, doggy, spanking (punishment), manhandling, dirty talk, nipple play, soft dom!jay, brief mean dom jay, aftercare, pet names (princess & baby).
wc: 19.2k ─ a/n: ngl i'm so insecure about this... it took me forever to finish because i was running out of creativity and kept giving up, but i finally did it! really hope you guys like it anyways. i'd really appreciate any feedback! happy reading <33
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You have been waiting for this moment for months, even years. You are finally moving out. It is because of college, but still, it is a new beginning far from home — a brand-new chapter in your own space. A mix of excitement and nervousness settles in your chest, because living alone requires a lot of responsibility, and you are not sure if you are ready to handle it all.
For the past five minutes, you have been staring at the mountain of boxes crammed into the trunk and backseat of your car like a game of Tetris. You are wondering how you are going to carry so many boxes up to the third floor where your apartment is. With a deep breath, you finally grab one of the boxes, and immediately stagger under its weight.
"Maintenance. Sorry for the inconvenience" reads the sign taped to the elevator doors.
Drops of sweat form on your temples, down the back of your neck, and pool on your spine, making your shirt stick to your skin. Of course it would be hot as hell on the day of your move, and of course the elevator wouldn't be working — talk about lucky.
You take another deep breath, hug the box against your chest, and begin climbing the stairs slowly, careful not to lose your balance.
Your arms are trembling and your breathing is almost as heavy as the box by the time you finally reach the first floor, forcing you to set it down for a moment to rest. But just as you pick it up again, mentally preparing for the next flight of stairs, the sound of footsteps coming down from above catches you off guard.
A man is coming down the stairs. He’s tall, wearing a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the prominent veins on his forearms. His jaw is sharp — probably sharper than any knife you’ve ever seen. He looks so put-together that you suddenly feel embarrassed by your sweaty face and disheveled state.
Seeing you, he stops immediately, his eyebrows furrowing with mild concern. "Whoa. Let me help you with that." His voice is low and smooth, the kind of voice that sends a shiver down your spine before you can stop it.
You blush, heat rising from your neck to your cheeks. "Oh, you don’t have to. I can manage—"
"I insist," he replies gently, waiting with his hands hovering, giving you the choice. You let him take the box, and the relief is immediate — your arms practically sing in gratitude. He lifts it as if it weighs nothing, cradling it against his chest with just one arm — the same box you were struggling to carry with both. "I’m Jay, by the way."
You quickly wipe the sweat from your forehead and try to fix your hair because you want to look at least a little presentable for the incredibly good-looking man helping you. "Thank you so much. I’m y/n. I’m moving in today, to apartment 3B."
Jay’s expression softens, and a warm smile spreads across his face. "3B? That’s interesting. I live right next door, in 3A." He nods toward the stairs. "Looks like we’re neighbors." He gestures ahead. "After you."
You both climb the remaining stairs together and your heart still pounding. You can’t tell if it’s from the physical effort earlier or from his company. Because of the nerves, the words start tumbling out before you can stop them.
"I’m starting college this week. I got accepted and everything, and I was so excited when I found this apartment. It’s the first time I’ve ever lived away from home, so I’m really thrilled… but also kind of terrified? Like, what if I get lost on campus? What if my classes are way harder than I expected? I brought way too much stuff, I’m kind of attached to my things, you know?" You let out a breathless laugh. "Sorry, I’m probably talking too much. I get really chatty when I’m nervous."
Jay glances at you as you walk, the box still balanced effortlessly in his arms. He doesn’t look annoyed — in fact, he seems amused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You’re not talking too much. It’s a big change, but you’re doing great."
You bite your lower lip, watching him as you climb. There is something intriguing about him that sparks your curiosity. "And you? Are you a student too, or…?"
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "No, I’ve already graduated. I work at a company downtown." He says it casually, offering no further details — which only makes you even more curious.
You reach the landing of the second floor and have to stop to catch your breath, while Jay doesn’t even seem slightly winded — it’s honestly impressive. "My parents helped me pack my bags, but they’re hours away now. It’s exciting, though. New city, new people. I just hope I don’t ruin everything."
"You won’t," Jay says gently. "Everyone feels like that at the beginning. The nervousness is normal. Besides, you seem like you have a good head on your shoulders. You’ll find your rhythm." He sets the box down carefully in front of your door. "Ready for another round?"
The words hit you like a spark. "Ready for another round." And before you can help it, your mind immediately drifts, imagining Jay on top of you, his strong body pressing you into the mattress, that same low voice murmuring the question against your neck while his hands pinned your wrists above your head. Heat flooded your face and settled lower in your belly.
You quickly shake your head, trying to push the thought away, desperately hoping your blush isn't too obvious. "Yes, let's do it."
He carries the rest of the boxes for you, going up and down the stairs multiple times. Meanwhile, you keep rambling nonstop about what you are studying, where you are from, and how you are feeling about this new phase of your life. He listens as if he genuinely cares, and even though you can’t quite place the age difference between you two, you feel surprisingly comfortable with him.
When the last box finally makes it through the door, you stand in the hallway with a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Jay. Honestly. I don’t know what I would have done without you."
"Glad I could help. Moving is a big step. If you need anything else, I’m right next door." With that, he returns to his own apartment, leaving you surrounded by a sea of boxes that will clearly take hours to unpack.
A few days pass. You unpack — not everything, just the most important things. Your first classes are overwhelming. You get lost twice, accidentally walk into the wrong lecture hall, and sit through an entire lecture on quantum physics before realizing your mistake. But as embarrassing as it was, that mistake ended up leading you to a guy named Jake, who turned out to be incredibly nice and cute.
Now you are standing outside Jay’s door with a plate of cupcakes in your hands, ready to properly thank him for helping you with the move. The thing is, you can’t really bake; you tried making the cupcakes yourself but ended up burning the batch, so you had to go to the bakery on the corner to buy a box of them instead. They look a bit too professional, but since he doesn't know about your complete lack of kitchen skills, you're confident he won't suspect a thing — especially since you took them out of the box and arranged them nicely on a plate just to be extra safe.
You knock on his door, your heart pounding hard in your chest. He opens it a moment later, and his face lights up when he sees you. "Hey, neighbor," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "How are classes going?"
"Good," you reply, pushing the plate forward with a little too much force. "Great, actually. I only got lost twice today, which is an improvement." Your smile widens. "I brought these for you. For helping me with the move. I made them myself."
He looks at the cupcakes, then back at you, this time raising an eyebrow. "You made these?"
"Yes," you say, nodding firmly with your chin held high, trying to look confident. "From scratch. All by myself. I’m pretty good at baking."
He picks up one of the cupcakes and examines it, narrowing his eyes as he brings it closer to his face. You feel your determination starting to crumble.
"Really?" he asks with a smile, clearly testing how long you will keep up the lie. "From scratch?"
You hold his gaze for three whole seconds before you look away in embarrassment. Your shoulders drop and your face turns as red as a tomato. "Okay, fine. I bought them at the bakery on the corner. I took them out of the box so you would think I’m a functional adult who knows how to bake." You laugh at yourself. "I tried making them the other day, Jay. I set off the smoke alarm. I’m a danger to this entire building."
He throws his head back and laughs — not mocking you, but with a genuine, warm laugh that makes you feel less embarrassed about pretending you had baked the cupcakes. "Oh my God, you actually burned them?"
"I once burned noodles. I’m a total disaster in the kitchen."
He steps aside, still smiling, and gestures for you to come in. "Alright, come in. I’ll split one of these ‘homemade’ cupcakes with you. It’s the least I can do for someone who put so much effort into the task."
Your mom’s voice whispers in the back of your mind: "Don’t talk to strangers and definitely don’t go into their apartments, sweetheart." But is he really a stranger? He is your neighbor who carried all your boxes without complaining, and the way he stands there holding the plate of cupcakes with that smile makes you not hesitate at all.
You follow him inside. He leads you to the kitchen, grabs two small plates, and carefully unwraps a vanilla cupcake, splitting it in half before sliding one piece toward you.
"Have a seat," he says, pointing to the stool by the kitchen island.
"So, you mentioned you work downtown? What exactly do you do?" you ask as you sit down.
"I’m a lawyer," he replies, taking a bite of his half and nodding in approval. "Good choice of bakery, by the way."
You laugh, biting into yours. "A lawyer. That makes a lot of sense. You have this… I don’t know how to say it without sounding weird, but you have this organized vibe. Like you’re really good at arguing without even raising your voice."
His smile widens. "People have definitely told me that before that I have a ‘courtroom voice.’ It’s just my normal voice, only lower and slower. People tend to listen when you don’t yell."
"You’ll have to show me someday. If I ever get in legal trouble, I’ll know exactly who to call."
"Please don’t get in legal trouble. But if you do, I’m your guy."
The conversation flows just as easily as it did on moving day, and before you know it, you’re venting about your annoying professor, how massive the campus is, and all the times you’ve already managed to get lost. Between all the talking, the cupcakes completely disappear, leaving the coffee he made to sit cold and barely touched in your mug. There’s just something about him that instantly puts you at ease.
Despite the age gap, he never talks down to you or makes you feel small, which makes talking to him completely effortless. It’s just so comforting to have someone around who listens to you with that much care and attention — especially when he happens to be incredibly good-looking, leaving you totally hooked since the very first day.
As he walks you to the door when you finally get up to leave, he snatches a pen and a post-it note to scribble something down. Before you know it, he’s pressing the paper into your palm, his fingers brushing lightly against yours and sending a sudden warmth to your cheeks as he says, "Here’s my number, in case you ever need anything."
"Thank you," you say, smiling a little too wide.
He nods. "Anytime. Seriously. Don’t be a stranger."
────────
The grocery bags dig painfully into your fingers as you stand in the lobby, staring at the elevator doors that are still under maintenance. You look at them as if a miracle might happen — maybe if you stare for one more second, God will take pity and finally fix it. Nothing happens, of course, which makes you let out a long sigh of frustration. It has been days since you moved in and the elevator is still not working.
Your arms already hurt from carrying way too many bags. You definitely should have made two trips, but stubbornness won.
Reaching the second floor is pure torture; your arms are burning, those plastic handles are digging right into your palms, and the bags keep swinging awkwardly against your legs. Trying to stop and adjust your grip only makes things worse, to the point where you're seriously considering just sitting right there on the stairs and crying.
You finally collapse against the wall at the third-floor landing, letting the bags slide to the floor just to catch your breath. Right then, the door to 3A clicks open and Jay steps out — perfectly dressed for work with that annoyingly handsome lawyer look that instantly makes your stomach do a little flip.
He sees you immediately. For a second, his eyes take in the whole scene — your flushed face, the many overloaded bags, and the way you are leaning against the wall breathing heavily. A light, amused laugh escapes him. It is not mocking, just genuinely entertained, as if he expected nothing less from you.
"Carrying heavy stuff again?" he asks, walking toward you. "You really don’t learn, do you?"
Before you can even open your mouth to protest, he is already reaching for the bags, picking them all up at once as if they weigh absolutely nothing. His strong arms support the weight so effortlessly that his biceps press against the fabric of his dress shirt, making it completely impossible for you not to stare.
He turns and walks toward your door, carrying everything like it is nothing.
At your doorstep, Jay sets all the bags down carefully against the wall and turns to face you. His expression is calm, almost unreadable, but there is something more in it. You understand it the moment he starts speaking in a gently scolding tone. "You really shouldn’t carry so much at once," he says, crossing his arms. "It’s not safe and it’s clearly too heavy for you. Make two or three trips next time. Look at your hands, they’re all red. You were hurting yourself. Why? Because you’re way too stubborn, huh?"
You glance down at your palms, and they are red where the plastic handles dug in. "I was fine," you say, though even you do not believe it. "I almost made it."
"Don’t be stubborn."
"You sound exactly like my dad," you reply, crossing your arms to mimic him. "He’s always telling me I’m too stubborn for my own good."
Jay’s lips curve into a small smile. "Because you really are," he says with so much certainty that you cannot even argue back. "I’m serious. Next time, make multiple trips or just text me. I’d rather help than watch you struggle like that."
There is a protective tone in his voice that makes your cheeks warm with a mix of embarrassment and something else stirring low in your stomach. He is lecturing you like a child, but somehow it sounds kind of hot coming from him.
Then he glances at the grocery bags again. Now that the scolding is over, he seems to actually pay attention to what is inside them. He picks one up and looks inside — it is full of frozen meals, instant noodles, ultra-processed food, and canned goods. "Look, I know you’re in college now, but that doesn’t mean you have to live on processed food. It’s quick, sure, but you need real fresh stuff, not just things that come out of a can. Eating like this long-term isn’t good for you. You could get sick."
You blink, caught off guard by the extra lecture. He is fully in dad-mode now, and there is something strangely attractive about how seriously he takes it, like he is genuinely worried about you. "Okay, okay. I get it… I already told you I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I just grabbed whatever is easiest so I don’t starve."
Jay’s expression softens a little. "I’m not trying to scold you. I just know how easy it is to fall into bad habits when you’re living on your own for the first time." He pauses and adds in a gentler voice, "If you ever need help in the kitchen, you know where to find me. I’m not exactly a chef, but I know how to make real meals."
Your mind wanders again because you can’t help it — you picture him in your kitchen, standing right behind you while teaching you how to cook, his hands guiding yours, the warmth of his body against your back…
"I’ll try to do better, I swear. Thanks for helping again. I think I owe you something now. How about brownies as a thank you this time?"
Jay shakes his head, chuckling softly. "You don’t owe me anything. Just be more careful next time." He glances at the heavy bags one more time. "Need help carrying these inside?"
You shake your head quickly. "I can handle it from here. I bet you’re busy, you look like you’re heading to work."
He checks the watch on his wrist. "Yeah, I have a meeting soon, but the offer stands anytime." Before turning to leave, he gives you one last firm look. "Take care of yourself."
After he leaves, you drag the bags inside, one half first and then the other, just like Jay suggested.
That night, you are sprawled on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you open your contacts. You saved Jay’s number, of course, but you have been telling yourself you don’t need to text him. It is an emergency-only number, but then you think about him carrying your groceries, the effortless way he took them from you, and the gentle scolding in his voice. Before you can overthink it, you are already typing a message to him.
────────
It is already past midnight and you have been staring at the same page of your textbook long enough for your vision to blur. Your brain has officially given up — it is impossible to absorb a single word more after hours of studying.
You are about to slam the book shut to take out your stress on it and drag yourself to bed when a soft knock sounds at the door. Your heart jumps slightly because you were not expecting anyone, especially not at this hour.
Another knock.
You get up slowly, stretching your sore muscles, and walk to the door. When you open it, Jay is standing there, looking different tonight without his formal work clothes and lawyer posture. He is wearing a simple white t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and is barefoot. He looks relaxed, holding a bottle of red wine — as if he made the sudden decision to knock on your door and came straight over without even putting shoes on.
"Hey," he says, his low voice making your stomach flip. His eyes scan over you, taking in your tired face, messy hair, and pajamas. Something in his expression softens.
"Hey," you reply softly, matching his tone.
"Hey," he repeats, then laughs when he realizes what he just did.
"Hey," you answer again, this time with a small smile. "You already said that."
"I know." He laughs again, shaking his head. "I just… it’s late."
"Very late."
"I know." He lifts the bottle slightly. "I bought this earlier today but… it’s no fun drinking alone."
You look at the wine, then back at him. The way he is standing there — messy hair, ridiculously handsome, and a little too soft — makes going back to bed suddenly seem like a very stupid choice. "Are you inviting me to drink with you?"
"I’m asking if you want to take a break. From everything."
The way he looks at you with those inviting eyes makes the decision easy, but you decide to tease him first. "I don’t usually drink with strangers."
"We’re not strangers," he says, his voice soft. Your teasing does not seem to faze him.
"We’re not exactly friends either," you reply, tilting your head and studying his reaction.
The corner of his mouth lifts into a small, almost lazy smile. "Then let’s change that."
You pretend to consider it for a moment, even though you were already fully committed the second you saw him at your door. "Mmm, okay. But let’s do it at your apartment. Mine is a mess."
His smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Alright, whatever you want."
You grab your keys and follow him, also barefoot, to the door next to yours. His apartment is clean and organized as always, which makes the space feel strangely comforting. In the kitchen, he pours two glasses of wine and hands you one, his fingers brushing against yours for half a second and sending a spark through your body.
"Cheers," he says, raising his glass.
"Cheers," you repeat, gently clinking your glass against his.
You take a sip and let out a small, involuntary hum of appreciation — it is much better than you expected, probably the most expensive wine you have ever tasted. He gestures toward the living room. "Come on, let’s sit," he says, leading the way to the couch. You follow and settle onto his couch, trying to look more relaxed than you actually feel.
"This is nice," you say, taking another sip.
He sits on the other end of the couch — close enough to talk comfortably, but far enough to be polite. "It’s just wine." He takes a sip, watching you over the rim of his glass.
"I mean relaxing… not thinking about classes for the first time."
He nods, understanding. "You think about classes a lot."
"It’s pretty much my entire life right now," you admit with an awkward little laugh, taking another sip.
"I remember going through that too. Everything revolving around exams, assignments, and exhausting responsibilities."
You tilt your head, studying him. "You make it sound like ancient history."
"Sometimes it feels like it." He takes a sip, not breaking eye contact. "I still remember when I was in college. I used to think a bad grade would ruin everything." A dry laugh escapes him as he shakes his head. "There’s so much pressure."
Suddenly you find yourself wanting to know more about him, drawn by the experienced tone in his voice and posture. The wine is already loosening your tongue, so you ask. "How old are you, anyway?"
A small, playful smile appears on his lips. "I’m old enough."
You narrow your eyes, trying to hold back a smile. "That’s not an answer."
"It’s the only one you’re getting." He takes another sip.
"That’s annoying," you say, leaning forward slightly and resting your elbows on your knees.
"Maybe I am annoying." He shrugs, but there is a sparkle in his eyes that tells you he is enjoying this.
"You’re avoiding the question," you accuse, pointing a finger at him.
"I’m protecting my privacy."
"From what? Your neighbor?" You laugh, raising an eyebrow.
"Especially from my neighbor."
You pout, pretending to be hurt. "Fine. Keep your secrets."
"Everyone has secrets," he says, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone.
"I don’t." You are not even sure why you say it. Maybe it is the wine, or the way he is looking at you right now.
"Everyone does." He holds his ground. "You have secrets too."
Your pulse quickens. "I don’t."
"Yes, you do."
You swallow hard. The air between you feels thicker now, charged with something you can’t quite name. You shift slightly on the sofa and notice how easy it would be to reach out and touch him. "So you have a lot of secrets, huh?" you ask, curious.
"Yes. Quite a few."
"Like what?" you press, wanting to see what he will give you.
"If I told you, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore." His lips curve into a slow, almost predatory smile.
"Touché." You raise your glass in an ironic toast, making him laugh.
A comfortable but heavy silence settles between you for a moment, thick with tension as you exchange glances and take slow sips. The wine is definitely doing its job — making your words come out slower, your laughter easier, and your body warmer.
"How old are you?" he asks, breaking the silence.
You blink, caught off guard. "Me?"
"Yes, you." He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "You asked me, so I’m asking you back."
You smile, deciding to play his game. "I’m old enough."
A low, surprised laugh escapes him — rich and genuine. "That’s my line."
"I know." You take another sip to hide your smile.
"You stole my line."
You just shrug. "I borrowed it."
"That’s not how borrowing works."
"Yes, it is."
He laughs again. "You’re impossible."
"Am I? What else?" You raise an eyebrow, challenging him.
"You’re something," he says, his voice dropping again.
"What?" You are not sure what he means by that.
"I don’t know yet." He keeps his eyes fixed on you. "But I’m figuring it out."
You feel your cheeks heat up and take another sip of wine to try to hide your reaction. Jay, however, keeps watching you, and you can tell he noticed.
"You know what I’ve noticed?" By now your voice is a little slurred, so you have to be careful with the words that come out of your mouth.
"What?" His wine glass is almost empty. He sets it on the coffee table and turns all of his attention to you.
You lean back on the couch, turning to face him more directly. Your knee brushes against his thigh, but neither of you pulls away. "You don’t talk much about yourself."
He tilts his head, frowning slightly. "Don’t I?"
"No. You listen, but you don’t share. Like, you’re dodging right now. You give answers, but you don’t really answer."
"Well, I’m trying to protect myself," he says simply.
"Protect yourself from what?" You lean forward, genuinely curious now.
"From getting too attached." The words are honest, and you definitely were not expecting them.
You stare at him, your hand frozen halfway to taking another sip. "From what?"
"To you." His voice is almost a whisper, making your pulse race and your skin flush.
"Why would you get too attached to me?"
He stays silent for a moment, his eyes tracing over you as if he wants to memorize every detail. "Because it’s easy to get attached to you."
"No, it's not," you say, shaking your head as a small, incredulous laugh escapes you.
"It is." His voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. "You just don’t see it."
You look away, feeling your entire body grow warmer. "You’re dodging again."
"I’m being honest." He leans forward slightly, and you can smell him now — a masculine scent mixed with the light sweetness of the wine.
You set your glass on the coffee table and turn to face him completely, the wine making you bolder. "You’re giving me half-answers. You’re telling me just enough to make me curious, but not enough."
He stays quiet for a moment, thinking. "What do you want to know?"
You hold his gaze. "Something real. Truly honest."
Silence stretches between you, thick with something heavy and suffocating that you can't quite name. Then he whispers, "I think you’re beautiful."
Your breath catches, and for a second you are not sure you heard him correctly. "That’s not—" you begin, but he interrupts you.
"It’s honest."
"You can’t just say that," your voice barely comes out as a whisper.
"I just did." His gaze doesn’t leave yours for even half a second.
"It’s too… direct."
"You asked for it." He says it simply, like it is the most natural thing in the world.
"You’re a tease," you say, not sure if you are complaining or not.
"Wait until you find out what else I am. You want to know me? Then make sure you’re ready."
You do not know what to say or what to do, so you look away, your face burning.
When he finally walks you to your door, you are a little unsteady on your feet. He steadies you with a gentle hand on your waist, and the touch is enough to send shivers through your body. "I’m fine," you murmur, even though you are swaying slightly.
"You’re drunk," he says, smiling at your messy state.
"I’m a little tipsy," you reply, giving him a blurry-eyed look.
"You’re drunk."
"It’s the same thing," you mutter dismissively.
"No, it’s not." He is looking at you with that warm, steady gaze that makes your knees feel weak.
You smile, light and tipsy. "Yes, it is."
At your door, you miss the lock twice. He laughs softly before helping you. "Thank you," you whisper. "For this, for the wine, the company, and everything."
His lips curve into a small, warm smile. "Good night, old enough.:
You smile again — you seem to always be smiling when he is around. "Good night, old man."
You step inside, close the door, and lean against it with your heart racing and your whole body warm from the wine and his words — still smiling like an idiot.
A few minutes later, you are curled up in bed when your phone buzz on the nightstand.
────────
You have been tossing and turning on the mattress for what feels like hours — shifting positions, turning to the other side, but nothing helps. You can’t fall asleep — you mind refuses to stop, racing with thoughts about exams, deadlines, and the weight of all your responsibilities pressing down on your shoulders. You need air, you need to feel like you are not suffocating in that apartment, surrounded by boxes you haven't even had the time to unpack yet. There are several unfinished notes on your desk that constantly remind you that you are not doing enough, no matter how hard you try.
So you go up to the rooftop. The cool night air hits your face and lets you breathe again.
The city is an endless sea of lights — countless tiny glowing points in the darkness that remind you how small you really are. You sit on the old bench near the edge of the roof, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them like a shield.
Your thoughts slowly begin to calm as the minutes pass, and the knot in your chest loosens just a little.
Then the door creaks open behind you.
You turn quickly, your body instantly on alert and your heart racing. And there he is — Jay. He is wearing sweatpants and a black shirt, something about this casual, almost domestic look makes your heart skip a beat. He sees you immediately and stops. Surprise flashes across his face for a second before it turns into that familiar half-smile.
"Can’t sleep either?" His voice is low, almost intimate in a way that makes you shiver.
You shake your head. "I have too much on my mind right now…"
He nods as if he completely understands — and he really does. Walking toward you, he stops at a respectful distance before sitting on the bench beside you — close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body, but not so close that he invades your personal space. "Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all." You shift over a little even though there is already enough space.
He leans back, looking up at the sky, which is beautiful tonight with a full moon and stars shining brightly. The silence stretches between you. He doesn’t force conversation; he simply sits there observing the sky and the city with you. The silence is not awkward — it is actually comforting, especially when you are with him.
"I can’t sleep," you admit, breaking the silence with words that slip out before you can stop them. "I try, but my brain just won’t stop. Every time I close my eyes, I start thinking about all the things I have to do, all the things I haven’t done, and all the ways I’m probably going to mess everything up."
"What’s on your mind?" His voice is gentle and patient as always, showing that he is ready to listen.
"Everything." You let out a shaky sigh. "College, exams, being away from my family for the first time… It’s a lot. I thought I was ready, that I could handle it. But sometimes it feels like I’m drowning and I don’t know how to swim. Literally."
"I know how that feels," he says after a long moment of silence. His eyes stay fixed on yours, and there is something raw in them — something honest. "I remember feeling exactly like that. Like everything was too much and I was too small to handle it."
"You’re talking about yourself. That’s new," you say softly. "You always ask about me, but you never—"
"You already have enough on your plate," he cuts in gently.
You blink, caught off guard. "What?"
"You’re stressed about college, adjusting to a new city, and far from your family," he keeps his gaze steady on you, his expression sincere. "You don’t need to hear about my problems too."
"That’s not how it works." You shake your head as something warm and confusing blooms in your chest. "We’re supposed to share things. That’s what—" You pause, searching for the right word. "That’s what friends do."
"I don’t want to burden you when you’re already dealing with so much, and I certainly don’t want to make it worse."
You stay quiet for a moment, his words stirring something you cannot quite name — but it feels good. "That’s really… kind," you finally say.
"I try." He shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips.
The silence settles again, and you sit together quietly for a while longer. Then, out of nowhere, he tilts his head and asks, "How’s your succulent doing?"
You laugh at the unexpected question. "You’re asking about my plant?"
"I remember you mentioned it." He turns toward you — fully turning his body — with a small playful smile on his lips. "I bet you gave it a name."
You shake your head, still smiling. "I haven’t named it yet… but it’s still alive, which is honestly impressive."
"You’re supposed to water it," he says in a gently scolding tone.
"I know." You look away, feeling a little guilty about slowly killing a plant.
"But you forget." There is no judgment in his voice, only warm amusement.
"I forget." You laugh — something you always do when you are with him. "I have a lot on my mind, okay?"
"You’re a plant killer." He smiles, making you grin even wider.
"I’m not a plant killer! I’m just… forgetful. It is surviving, which is more than I can say about myself sometimes."
Something in your words changes his expression. It is still gentle, but now there is a hint of concern. "You’re doing better than you think."
You don’t know what to say, so you just look at him, with the words stuck in your throat.
"Does the succulent at least have company?" he asks after a moment, his voice light as always.
You blink, confused by the sudden question. "What?"
"Other plants, maybe some flowers, something to keep it company. Plants get lonely too."
You laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t think it gets lonely. It’s just a plant, after all."
"All living things have feelings. It definitely feels lonely," he says with so much conviction that you almost believe him.
"That’s not scientifically accurate," you reply, not entirely sure if what you are saying is accurate either.
"I never said it was." He shrugs. "I’m a lawyer. I deal with arguments, not facts."
"They’re the same thing."
"Not at all." He shifts closer to you on the bench, making sure you are listening. "Facts are objective. Arguments are subjective. I make a living turning subjective arguments into something that sounds like objective facts."
"That’s… something. And you’re so weird."
"I’m just concerned about your plant’s loneliness." His voice is incredibly serious, showing that he is taking this very seriously.
"You’re worried about my plant," you say, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, just like I worry about you."
You don’t know what to say again — Jay has a way of leaving you speechless. Your cheeks flush and you look away. "I’ve never received flowers before, anyway…" you say softly, the secret slipping from your lips.
Jay is not sure he heard you correctly. "What did you say?"
Even though you hesitate, you repeat it, louder this time. "I’ve never received flowers." You look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. "I had a boyfriend before, but he was an idiot. He never did anything romantic like giving me flowers or taking me for dates."
He stays silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on you while your heart pounds loudly in your ears. He is thinking about something — you can tell by the way his jaw tightens. "Would you want to go on one? With me."
You stop breathing the moment you hear his words and everything around you seems to freeze. "What?"
"A date. A real date where I pick you up, open doors for you, and take you somewhere nice. It doesn’t have to be romantic if you don’t want it to be. It can just be two people spending time together. Whatever makes you feel comfortable."
Your heart is beating so hard you are sure he can hear it, your mouth is dry, your palms are sweaty, and the words feel stuck in your throat again. Jay is asking you out on a date — a real date. The age gap has been on your mind since the day you met — he is a lawyer and you are still trying to figure out how to live on your own, but every interaction with him feels safe, like he truly sees you.
"Jay, I—" You stop, taking a shaky breath.
"You don’t have to answer right now," he says gently, giving you time to think.
"No, I—" You take another deep breath, and this time the words come out steady. "Yes. Yes, I want that."
His face transforms — a slow, warm smile spreads across his lips and reaches his eyes, making your stomach flip and your heart race just like always.
"Great," he says softly. "I’ll plan something."
A shy laugh escapes you as the reality of it sinks in. "What do you like to do on dates? I’m sure you’ve been on plenty."
He leans forward a little, resting his elbow on his knee. "I want to know what you like. That’s what matters right now, tell me your preferences so I can plan something good for you."
As you think for a moment, you suddenly feel embarrassed by how limited your preferences are. "I’m kind of picky, honestly. I like pasta, I hate anything too spicy, and I don’t like overly sweet desserts. Oh, and I’m not a big fan of seafood unless it’s fried. Is that too much?"
Jay listens attentively, nodding as if he is absorbing every detail. "Not at all. Being picky isn’t a problem, it actually makes it easier to get it right." He pauses, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. "You know, for someone who’s a disaster in the kitchen, you have very specific opinions, princess."
The nickname lands softly between you — affectionate and teasing, with a hint of warmth. Your breath catches, your face flushes instantly, and you lower your head to hide the redness in your cheeks and the smile forming on your lips.
"I… You can’t just say that," you murmur, looking at him through your lashes.
"Why not?" He is smiling even more now, clearly enjoying your reaction. "It suits you. You have high standards and you know exactly what you want, even if you pretend you don’t."
You cover your face with both hands for a second, peeking through your fingers. "You’re going to make me regret saying yes."
"Too late," he murmurs, his voice low and affectionate. "You already said yes."
You lower your hands and meet his gaze, your heart racing in the best possible way. Jay stands up suddenly and offers you his hand. "Come on, it’s getting late and you have class tomorrow. Let’s get you back inside before you freeze."
You take his hand — which is so much bigger than yours — and let him help you up. He doesn’t let go afterward, his fingers stay intertwined with yours as you walk together toward your floor. The elevator is no longer broken, but you both take the stairs anyway, wanting to prolong the moment a little longer.
Stopping at your door, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand. “I'll text you about the date,” he says softly. "We’ll pick a night that works."
You nod, still feeling a little shy about everything. "Okay… Good night, Jay."
"Good night, princess."
────────
The next day, you are more nervous than you have ever been. Every notification on your phone makes your heart skip a beat, terrified that it is Jay confirming the date. Your stomach is in knots with a mix of panic and hope, even though you want to go on this date, you are still incredibly nervous about it.
Your phone buzzes while you are in the library trying to study. "Friday at seven? I’ll take care of everything. Just be ready for a proper night out."
The words "proper night out" send a shiver through you. He is taking this seriously, treating it as something special, even though he said it didn’t have to be romantic. Still, it means something. Smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt, you text back agreeing.
When Friday finally arrives, the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. In fact, they become even more restless as the time of the date gets closer. Hours before, you start getting ready — taking your time as you choose an outfit that makes you feel confident and beautiful. You spend extra time on your makeup, keeping it natural but enhancing your eyes and lips, making sure everything is perfect.
Exactly at seven, you take the elevator down. Jay had insisted on waiting outside the building instead of knocking on your door. "I want you to have the full experience," he had texted earlier, and the gesture made you smile despite your nerves. The moment you step out onto the sidewalk, you see him leaning against his sleek black car parked at the curb. He looks unfairly handsome in a tailored dark shirt and pants.
For a moment, he simply looks at you — slowly scanning from your face to your dress and back up again as his smile widens. "You look beautiful," he says, taking a step closer. "Really, truly beautiful."
Your cheeks flush quickly and a smile forms on your lips. "Thank you. You look really handsome too."
Before you can say anything else, he reaches inside the car and pulls out a beautiful bouquet of flowers. "I remembered what you said on the rooftop…"
The bouquet is perfect, wrapped so beautifully that it makes your chest tighten. "Jay…" you whisper as you reach out to take the flowers. "They’re beautiful. I don’t even know what to say."
Without thinking, you give him a grateful hug. His arms wrap around you immediately, one hand resting on your lower back while the other gently caresses the nape of your neck. "You don’t have to say anything. Just enjoy tonight. That’s all I want."
When you pull away, still smiling widely, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and asks, "Ready to go, princess?"
You nod, holding the flowers like a lifeline. He opens the car door for you, waiting until you are settled before closing it gently. When he slides into the driver’s seat, he looks at you with a playful smile. "Seatbelt, please. Safety first."
You laugh and buckle up. "Such a gentleman."
"Only for you."
The drive starts peacefully, soft music playing in the background as you talk. He asks about your day and teases you lightly when you admit that you spent half of your class daydreaming about tonight and that it took you forever to choose what to wear.
You can’t stop stealing glances at him — the way his hands rest easily on the steering wheel, those large hands with long fingers, and the way he looks at you at red lights as if making sure you are still real.
After a few minutes, you notice the city lights fading and buildings giving way to trees. "Where are we going?" you ask curiously, realizing he has been driving for a while — much farther than you expected. "This is pretty far from our building. Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?"
Jay laughs, keeping his eyes on the road. "I’m not going to kill you. I’m just taking you to a place I love, and I think you’ll love it too."
The drive takes about thirty minutes, but when you finally arrive, the restaurant leaves you breathless. You immediately understand why he chose it — it is cozy and elegant, with a stunning view of the city. He reserved a intimate corner table with the perfect view.
He pulls out the chair for you, and as soon as you sit down, he leans in slightly to whisper in your ear, "Relax, okay?"
The dinner unfolds perfectly. You order pasta — creamy, exactly the way you like it — and he chooses a steak dish, offering you a bite from his fork with a raised eyebrow that feels far more intimate than it should. You talk a lot, and he listens as always, head tilted and eyes focused only on you.
You tell him about the friendships you are making in college, about the strange noise your AC is making, and absentmindedly mention the doorman. "He’s nice, I think… but sometimes he looks at me like he knows something I don’t."
Jay’s expression shifts with something unreadable for half a second, but he quickly covers it with a soft chuckle. "He’s probably just in a bad mood. Or maybe he sees how much you’re distracting your poor neighbor."
You laugh. "Poor neighbor? You seem to be handling it pretty well."
His foot brushes against yours under the table. "Barely."
In the middle of the conversation, Jay’s phone buzzes on the table. He glances at it, frowns, and silences it, slipping it into his pocket.
But a few minutes later, it buzzed again. Jay sighs. "I need to take this. It’s probably an emergency with a client. I won’t be long. I’m really sorry."
"Go ahead. I’ll be here judging the dessert menu."
He leans in and gives you a quick kiss on your temple before standing up. "I’ll be right back, princess."
The casual display of affection makes your heart race as you watch him walk away. While he is gone, you take a sip of your wine, observe the people around you, and study the dessert menu.
He returns after about five minutes, sliding back into his seat with an apologetic smile. "All sorted. Where were we?"
When the check arrives, Jay pays without hesitation, even though you offered to split it. Outside, the night air is cold, so he drapes his jacket over your shoulders when he notices you shivering. Then he pulls you closer for a moment, wrapping his arms around you. "Thank you for saying yes," he murmurs against your hair.
You look up at him, smiling. "That was the best decision I’ve made in a long time."
The drive back feels shorter than the trip there, unfortunately — you wish this moment could last forever. Jay keeps one hand on the wheel and the other holding yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles that send shivers down your spine. You arrive at the building sooner than you would like, but instead of stopping at the curb, Jay drives into the underground garage.
You unbuckle your seatbelt. "Thank you, Jay. For everything, the flowers, the dinner, the evening… I had a really great time."
He turns to you, that slow smile playing on his lips. "I’m glad, princess."
You reach for the door handle, but his hand moves quickly, wrapping around your wrist and stopping you. Your breath catches at the unexpected contact. "Wait, aren’t you going to thank me properly?"
You blink, confused. "I just did? The hug outside the restaurant and just now."
Jay chuckles, and his gaze shifts into something hungrier. "That was sweet, but I was thinking of something a little more fitting for the end of a perfect night."
Without overthinking it, you lean across the console and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," you whisper again, pulling back to see his reaction.
His smile widens. "Still not enough, princess. Come here."
He cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer. The kiss starts soft, his lips meeting yours hesitantly, and you quickly melt into it, which makes him deepen the kiss while still keeping a slow, deliberate pace. His tongue traces your lower lip, and you part for him with a small sigh.
What begins as one kiss turns into many, you lose count as they grow more intense, hungry, and urgent.
Somehow, you end up climbing over the console. His hands guide your hips until you are straddling his lap in the driver’s seat. The space is tight and the steering wheel presses against your back, but you couldn't care less right now. His hands roam along your sides, sliding up your dress until they rest on your thighs, his thumbs drawing circles that make you whimper against his mouth.
You kiss him again and again, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging gently, which draws a low groan from him. That only encourages you — hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you. The friction makes you gasp, and Jay clearly loves the sight — he squeezes your thighs, encouraging your movements.
"God, you’re incredible," he whispers against your mouth between kisses. "So responsive… so perfect."
Jay pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, breathing hard. "You deserve better than this, princess. Our first time shouldn’t be in a car like a couple of impatient teenagers."
You kiss him again, more intensely, nipping at his lower lip. "I don’t care, I want you right here."
He groans, sliding his hand into your hair to pull you into another hungry kiss. "You’re so eager, princess… and so perfect grinding against me like this."
His mouth moves down to your neck, sucking lightly and drawing more whimpers from you. Your movements become restless, rubbing harder, chasing friction. "Jay…" you whisper between kisses. "I need you, please."
His hands find the hem of your dress, slowly pulling it up inch by inch with clear appreciation until he discards it onto the passenger seat. "Beautiful," he murmurs reverently as he stares at your tits. "So beautiful." He leans down, pressing hot, wet kisses along the soft skin, then his tongue circles one nipple before sucking it deeply into his mouth.
You arch your back, a moan escaping your lips. He gives the same attention to the other tit, licking, sucking, and grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth while his hand massages and caresses the first. “You taste so good,” he praises, his voice muffled. "These perfect tits in my mouth… you’re already trembling. So sensitive for me."
He kisses lower, along your sternum and ribs, then back up — worshipping every inch of you while you keep grinding against him. Your panties are soaked, and the friction against his hardness only turns you on more.
He waits until you’re trembling in his lap before he finally moves. Reaching between you, he lowers his pants and boxers just enough to free himself, and when he does, your eyes widen. He is big — thick and hard. The sight makes your mouth water and heat pool low in your belly.
Jay reaches into the glove compartment, fumbling for a condom. He tears it open and rolls it down his length with surprising skill while you watch, hypnotized and a little intimidated by his size and thickness. "You’re… really big," you say softly.
Jay notices your nervousness and caresses your cheek, trying to soothe you. "We’ll go slow, princess. I’ve got you. My good girl can take it."
He helps you shift your panties to the side, guiding you as you sink down onto him. The stretch is intense but delicious — you take him inch by inch, breathing deeply as he fills you completely, murmuring praises nonstop. "That’s it, princess… so tight, so good for me… so fucking perfect around me."
You bury your face in his neck as you sink all the way down, taking him completely until your ass is pressed firmly against his lap. "Oh God… you’re so, so big," you moan, still adjusting to the intense stretch.
The age difference flashes through your mind — he is older, more experienced, probably used to women who knew exactly what they were doing. You want to be good for him, so once you feel ready, you start moving — bouncing with almost frantic energy, desperate to please him. Your hips move and grind fast, determined.
"Easy, princess," Jay groans, gripping your hips to slow you down. "Slow… just like that. You feel incredible, but there’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere."
You moan, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. "I just… you’ve probably been with so many others who were better at this. I want to make it good for you. I want to be the best—"
He cuts you off with a deep kiss, then pulls back to look into your eyes while still guiding your movements into a slower, deeper rhythm. "Hey, none of that. It’s just you right now, and you’re already the best, baby. Look at how perfectly you take me." He thrusts up gently to emphasize his words, drawing a moan from you. "You’re my princess."
You relax into his words and the rhythm he sets, moving your hips in deep, grinding motions instead of frantic bouncing. It feels even better this way — his thickness brushing against every sensitive spot inside you. "Like this?" you ask breathlessly, your voice shy but needy.
"Just like that," he praises, his voice rough. "So good for me. So wet… so tight. You’re perfect, listen to those pretty sounds you make."
You keep whispering to him the whole time — shy confessions and soft, breathless questions. "You feel so good, Jay… I feel so full. Does it feel good for you? Tell me if you’re enjoying it."
He groans, his hands roaming over your back, squeezing your ass, then returning to your tits so he can lick and suck them while you ride him. "I love it. I love everything you do. The way you squeeze me… the way you say my name. You’re ruining me, princess."
The pleasure builds uncontrollably, intense and overwhelming, leaving both of you sweaty and breathless. He slides a hand between you to your clit, circling it with his thumb in time with your movements. You tremble hard, moaning and gasping, telling him how close you are, how good he feels, and how much you have wanted this since the day you moved in.
When you come, your walls pulse tightly around his thickness and your body shakes as you cry out his name. Jay follows right after, holding you firmly against him as he finishes into the condom with a deep groan, murmuring endless praises. "That’s it, come for me… so beautiful giving yourself to me completely… my perfect girl."
You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard. He wraps his arms around you tightly, kissing your temple while his hands gently caress your back. "You okay?" he whispers after a while. "Was it too much?"
"It was perfect," you murmur, nuzzling into his neck. "Better than I imagined. Thank you for slowing me down when I got too excited. I probably embarrassed myself, right?"
He shakes his head lightly and laughs, then he gives you one last kiss on your temple and helps you climb back into the passenger seat, watching as you slip your dress back on. "Don’t forget these," he says, reaching for the bouquet.
You take it with a happy smile. "I wouldn’t dare."
He walks around the car to open your door and intertwines his fingers with yours as you walk toward the elevator. Once inside, he pulls you close and kisses you the entire way up to your floor.
"Your place tonight?" you ask against his lips.
Jay’s hand slides to your lower back, pulling you even closer. "Yes, because I’m not done with you yet. I need you in my bed. The thought of you in my sheets, smelling like me when you wake up… it drives me crazy."
The elevator doors open and he pulls you down the hallway toward his door, unlocking it effortlessly. The moment you are both inside, he takes the flowers from your hand, sets them on the counter, and turns to you with hungry eyes. "Come here," he growls, pulling you into a deep, desperate kiss. His hands cup your face first, then slide down your body. "Let me take care of you properly this time."
He leads you to the bedroom and there, he undresses you slowly, admiring and kissing every inch of exposed skin. When you are completely naked, he steps back and looks at you with pure admiration and desire. "Fuck, look at you… so perfect. Every curve, every inch… all mine tonight."
He removes his own clothes and guides you onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs. His warm palms caress them, spreading you open even more. His mouth is on you immediately, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before circling the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, savoring you. "Mmm, already so wet," the vibration of his voice makes you gasp. "You taste so sweet, princess. Like you were made for my mouth."
You let out a shaky moan, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. "Jay… that feels incredible. Oh God—"
He slides a finger inside you, curling it against that sweet spot while his mouth continues sucking and licking. The suction around your clit, the rhythm of his finger stroking that perfect spot deep inside — it all turns the pleasure into something deliciously overwhelming. He adds a second finger, then a third, carefully stretching you as he pumps them in and out.
Your hips move against his face as the pleasure intensifies. "Don’t stop… please, Jay, just like that," you moan, your voice breathless and desperate. He eats you out like a starving man — licking, sucking, and thrusting his fingers into you until your thighs shake around his head and you fall apart with a long, loud cry. You clench and pulse around his fingers as the orgasm crashes through you.
Jay doesn’t stop right away, he keeps licking and fingering you through it, prolonging every sensation until you are limp and panting. Only then he drags his mouth up your body, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, and up your neck. "You taste like heaven," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "I could do this all night, make you come on my tongue until you go stupid."
He grabs a condom from the nightstand and rolls it on quickly over his hard, leaking cock. You reach down, wrapping your hand around his thick, hard length — stroking him slowly, feeling the weight, the pulsing heat, tracing the veins with curiosity. "I want it raw, Jay… I need to feel you, please."
He groans deeply, his hips pushing forward into your fist. "Baby… protection first, remember? I’ll still make you feel good even with the latex between us, I promise." After kissing your forehead, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes in inch by inch, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. You feel a burning stretch as your walls slowly give way to him, every thick pulsing vein dragging against your sensitive insides. When he’s halfway in, you look down between your bodies and see the clear bulge pressing out against your lower belly.
He notices it right after and quickly slides a hand down to press against the bulge, feeling it move under his palm as he sinks deeper. "Fuck, look at that. You see how deep I am? My cock is rearranging your insides, princess. Stretching this tight pussy so you can see it from the outside."
Your hand joins his, pressing against the visible outline, feeling him move inside you from both the inside and the outside. He teases you mercilessly, thrusting slow and deep so the bulge shifts under your combined touch. "You’re taking me so well, like this pussy was made for my cock. So greedy, swallowing every inch."
He sinks the rest of the way in with a guttural groan, bottoming out completely. "Shit… so tight, so hot. You’re already milking me."
His thick cock fills you so completely that every movement presses against sensitive spots that steal the breath from your lungs. His thrusts start controlled and incredibly gentle instead of brutal force. One hand stays intertwined with yours above your head, while the other caresses your cheek, squeezes your breast, and lightly pinches your nipple before soothing it with his thumb. "You look like pure sin wrapped around me… My beautiful princess, creaming all over my cock, taking every inch like a good girl. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else."
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Jay… it feels so good. You’re so deep, I can feel you everywhere." He leans down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss as his hips move faster in a devastating rhythm that pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
You come hard around him, your walls fluttering and clenching tightly as you cry out. He does not stop, thrusting deep and steady, prolonging your orgasm until you are shaking. "Fuck, that’s it, come on my cock, baby."
Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a long, broken groan of your name as he cums, pulsing inside you. He stays buried deep for long moments afterwards, holding you close and covering your face, neck, and shoulders with soft kisses until both of your breathing steadies.
Eventually, he pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and returns from the bathroom with a warm, damp cloth. He cleans you both gently, murmuring more praises the entire time. "You were perfect, princess. So responsive, so beautiful when you come for me." He pulls the sheets over both of you and wraps you in his arms.
Your head rests on Jay’s chest while his fingers trace a lazy path along your spine, down to the curve of your waist. Without a word, you shift, turning onto your side. Jay follows naturally, molding his body against yours from behind in a perfect spoon. His chest presses against your back as he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer. You can already feel him half-hard again against the curve of your ass, sending a fresh wave of heat through your body.
He nuzzles into the back of your neck, placing soft kisses there. "You okay?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough in the quiet room.
"More than okay," you whisper back, pressing lightly against him. "I like feeling you close like this."
Jay reaches for another condom from the nightstand. You hear the faint rustle as he puts it on, then his hand returns to your body, tenderly caressing your side and hip. He lifts your top leg slightly, hooking it over his, opening you up for him. The thick head of his cock brushes against your entrance before he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until he is buried completely inside you.
"So good," he whispers against your neck, sliding a hand up to caress your breast. His fingers massage gently, his thumb circling your nipple until it hardens under his touch.
He starts moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips, thrusting unhurriedly so you can feel every inch of his thick cock dragging against your walls. While he fucks you, his hand on your breast never stops worshipping it — squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, occasionally pinching lightly before soothing it with gentle caresses. And his mouth keeps placing open-mouthed kisses along the back of your neck, back, and shoulder.
You reach behind you, running your fingers through his hair as you move with him. "Jay… deeper like that feels so good."
His thrusts become a little deeper, but still controlled. "You take me so well every single time. Look at how perfectly you fit around me. I could stay inside you forever." His mouth finds the sensitive spot on your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark while he continues playing with your breasts — pinching, rolling, and caressing until your nipples are deliciously sore. Only then he slid his hand down to your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. The combination of sensations is overwhelming and pushes you closer and closer to the edge. "You’re so close… I can feel you squeezing me. Come for me again, princess."
And you do. Your walls contract rhythmically around his thickness as you moan his name, your body trembling in his arms. Jay follows right after you, burying his face in your neck with a deep groan as he comes, filling the condom.
You turn your head slightly to capture his lips in a lazy kiss. "I feel so safe with you," you whisper. "And so wanted."
He stays inside you until the aftershocks fade, then carefully pulls out, discards the condom, and cleans you both once again with gentle care. He pulls the sheets up around you both and draws you back into his arms, spooning you again.
Jay’s hand rests tenderly on your stomach, tracing small circles there. You feel deeply in love and completely at peace as you start to drift off to sleep, safe in his arms.
Sunlight is already filtering through the curtains by the time you slowly wake up the next morning —.only to realize the space beside you is empty, even though the warmth of Jay’s body and the faint scent of his cologne still linger around. You stretch and sit up to look around the room, noticing one of his shirts draped over the back of a chair. Slipping it on, you pad barefoot out of the bedroom toward the kitchen, drawn by the rich aroma of coffee and food already filling the air.
Jay is at the stove, flipping eggs while a plate of toast and cut fruit waits for you on the counter. You walk up to him and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. "Good morning."
He turns off the stove and turns around, settling his hands on your hips. His gaze softens instantly when he sees you wearing his shirt. "Good morning, princess. You look way too good in my clothes."
You laugh softly and tilt your face up, expecting a kiss. He leans in but pauses with a playful look. "Ah, but you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. No good-morning kisses until after breakfast."
You pout and dramatically pull away. "Not even a kiss on the cheek? You’re so cruel."
With a sigh, he gives in — pressing a long kiss to your cheek, then another to your forehead. Before you can say anything, he effortlessly lifts you and sits you on the edge of the kitchen counter, standing between your knees. "There. Now I can look at you properly while I finish this."
As he moves around the kitchen, your eyes wander until they stop on the refrigerator. Something catches your attention — photos are held up by magnets, but one in particular stands out: a Polaroid of Jay smiling with his arm around a woman’s shoulders. You hadn't noticed it on your previous visits to the kitchen — you had been too focused on him. "Who is that?" you ask curiously, nodding toward the fridge. "The woman in the photo with you?"
Jay glances over while sliding a plate toward you. "That’s my sister. We don’t look much alike, I know. We’re actually half-siblings."
You tilt your head, studying the photo for another second. They really do not look very similar, but that is not unusual for half-siblings. "She looks nice," you say lightly, accepting the plate he offers. "Breakfast looks delicious, by the way. You really didn’t have to."
"I wanted to," he replies, stepping between your knees and stealing a quick peck. "After last night, it feels right to take care of you this morning… and maybe every other morning too."
You smile shyly. "Speaking of last night… it was incredible. You made everything feel so good, so right. I keep replaying every part of it in my head."
He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "You were perfect, baby. I loved every second of it." He leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth. "You’re so beautiful when you let go for me."
"You’re going to make it really hard for me to focus in class today." You take a bite of the toast, savoring it. "Oh, by the way, I’m going out with some new friends from college tonight. They invited me to a party, it’s a chance to get to know each other better outside of class."
Jay nods, resting a hand on your thigh and stroking it lightly. "Sounds fun. Just be careful, okay? Text me when you get there and when you’re heading back."
"I will," you say, stealing another quick kiss from him. "I won’t stay out too late anyway. I have an early class tomorrow."
He picks up a piece of fruit from the plate and brings it to your mouth, brushing his fingers teasingly against your lips. "You deserve to have fun… I’ll be here if you need anything when you get back."
You stumble out of your friend’s car a little after 1 a.m., waving goodbye as you sway on your feet. You make your way toward the building entrance and suddenly remember that you promised to text Jay — which you didn’t. So you call him to let him know you arrived and are heading up. In response, he says he is waiting for you.
When you reach the third floor, Jay’s door is already open and he is waiting for you. "Heyyy," you say cheerfully, immediately wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. "I’m back. Just like I promised."
Laughing Jay’s arms wrap around you automatically as he looks at you more closely. "You’re pretty drunk, princess. How was the party?"
"So much fun," you ramble, clinging to him tighter as he guides you inside and closes the door. "We danced, there was a shot game, and my new friends are so funny. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt." You tilt your head up, puckering your lips. "Kiss?"
Instead of a proper kiss, he gives you a quick one on your forehead. "You smell like a distillery and your shirt is soaked, what happened?"
You look down at the sticky stain on your shirt and pout. "Someone spilled on me. It’s gross. But I still want kisses, real kisses." You try to pull his face down, standing on your tiptoes. "I missed you all night. I kept thinking about you during the party… about how nice you were last night. We should do that again right now."
Jay gently holds your wrists to stop you. "Not tonight, princess. You’re drunk."
"But I want you," you beg, pressing closer, but he doesn’t give in at all. "You’re so hot, so gentle, and… big. Please?"
He shakes his head and guides you toward the bathroom. "No. Only when you’re sober and can remember everything clearly. Right now, I’m just taking care of you, okay?"
"Let’s get you cleaned up," he says gently once you reach the bathroom. Reaching for the hem of your wet shirt he carefully pulls it off, followed by the rest of your clothes.
"You’re always so gentle with me," you murmur, watching him adjust the shower temperature. "No one has ever been this gentle. I really, really like you, Jay."
He smiles softly and helps you into the shower, joining you still fully dressed so he can take care of you. Jay keeps one hand on your waist to steady you while the other runs soapy over your shoulders and arms.
The alcohol in your system makes your emotions spill out easily before you can stop them. "I think… I think I’m falling for you," you confess, your tongue loose, making your cheeks flush. "Is that crazy? It feels too fast. I know I’m younger and still figuring everything out, but being with you just feels right. You make me feel safe, wanted, and special."
Jay pauses for half a second, processing what he just heard, but then continues washing you carefully — lathering the floral-scented body wash over your skin. "This smells like… girl stuff," you say, a little curious. "Is it yours?"
He looks away for a moment before answering. "It’s my mom’s. She left some things here the last time she came to visit."
"Ah," You rest your forehead against his chest as the water runs over both of you. "I meant it, though. About falling for you. Even if it’s too soon… I can’t help it."
Jay wraps his arms fully around you under the spray of water, holding you close — voice is full of affection when he finally replies. "Hey… look at me, princess." He gently lifts your chin. "What you’re feeling… I feel it too." Softly, he kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose. "We don’t need to rush or label anything right now. Just know that I’m here and I care about you a lot."
Even in your alcohol-fueled haze, his words calm the part of you that was worried you were moving too fast. "Really? You feel it too?"
"I do." He continues washing you carefully — your arms, your back, your sides — just taking care of you. "Being with you is easy. Natural. So let’s just enjoy it, okay? One day at a time."
Jay finishes rinsing you off and helps you out of the shower. Wrapping you in a towel he dries you gently before dressing you in one of his shirts. By the time he guides you to bed, you are already sleepy. He helps you lie down and you snuggle into the sheets, murmuring one last "I really like you" before falling asleep.
────────
The following days feel almost too good to be real.
You wake up in Jay’s bed, wrapped in his arms and wearing one of his shirts. He always wakes up before you to make breakfast and greet you with a good morning kiss and that smile that still makes your heart flutter. But on some mornings, you pull him back into bed to cuddle before classes and work, and without any argument, he makes time to make you feel loved.
When you get home from class, tired, Jay is already there to greet you cheerfully despite his own exhaustion. He texts you during the day, asking how your classes are going and reminding you to eat. When you are together, he pulls you in for slow, affectionate kisses — the kind that make your legs weak. Some nights you cook together as he tries to teach you how to make proper meals. Other nights he orders takeout and you eat on the couch while you tell him every detail of your day. He still doesn’t share much about himself, always dodging the subject, but you do not push — you don’t want to be invasive.
The sex is frequent — sometimes slow and worshipful, his mouth and hands adoring every inch of you until you are trembling and coming apart. Other times it is faster and more urgent — against the kitchen counter, in the shower, on the couch, in his home office. One night you try baking cookies together, ending up covered in flour and laughing as he kisses the mess off your cheek. Another night you start watching a movie cuddled together, but the movie is forgotten halfway through when clothes come off and he fucks you right there on the couch.
Suddenly everything feels so domestic — he now keeps an extra toothbrush for you, your notebooks are on his coffee table, and some of your clothes are scattered around his apartment. It is undeniable that you are falling deeper and deeper in love.
On a Sunday afternoon, you are studying on his couch while Jay is in his home office, working on a complicated case that demands his full attention. After hours buried in books and notes, concentrating is almost impossible. At this point, your mind keeps wandering to him without permission. When your brain finally gives up, you close the book with a dramatic sigh.
You walk down the hallway and peek into his office. Jay is sitting at his desk with his sleeves rolled up, looking unfairly attractive as he concentrates on reviewing some papers. "Jay?" you call, walking in without waiting for an answer.
He looks up, and the moment his eyes meet yours, the tension in his shoulders softens. "Hey, princess. How are the studies going?"
Boring." You take a few steps closer and don’t ask for permission — you simply climb into his lap, settling on his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. You leave a trail of kisses along his jaw, then his cheek and lips. "I missed you. Pay attention to me? Just for a little while?"
One of his hands rests on your waist while the other continues organizing the documents. "I’d love to, baby, but this case is a nightmare. There are documents everywhere. I’m going crazy with these."
You nuzzle into the curve of his neck and kiss him there. "You’ve been in here for hours… you deserve a break." Your hips move subtly against him, restless, the friction sending a spark through both of you. You feel him twitch beneath you, already starting to respond to your movements.
Jay’s grip on your waist tightens. "Princess…" There is a warning tone in his voice, bordering on frustration. But as you grind against him, you can feel him beginning to harden, and that gives you hope — you think he might give in.
"You’re really testing me today." He pulls you into a kiss, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. When he pulls away, it is with a frustrated sigh.
"That's the point," you whisper, smiling proudly against his lips as you continue grinding, slower this time, feeling him get even harder.
Jay curses under his breath, gripping your hips more firmly. No matter how hard he tries to hold back, he can’t, the desire is uncontrollable. He reaches between you and unzips his pants. "Fine, but you’re going to behave." He frees his hard, throbbing cock and pulls your panties and shorts to the side. This time there is nothing between you — no latex barrier, just him.
You sink down onto him slowly, and the new sensation hits you immediately — it’s different, hotter, more intimate. Every ridge and vein is raw against your walls, the skin-to-skin contact sends a shiver through your entire body and makes you moan as you settle fully onto him. The stretch feels deeper and more overwhelming than ever.
For a moment, it feels perfect — connected, raw.
But then his hands close firmly on your hips, holding you completely still. "Don’t move," he commands, his voice noticeably deeper and rougher. "Stay just like this. No grinding, no whimpering. I’m serious."
His cock pulses hot and heavy inside you, and you can barely focus on what he said. "Jay… oh my God, you feel—"
"I said don’t move," he interrupts, repeating it more harshly this time. His free hand returns to the stack of papers while the other arm stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place.
At first, you try to obey — resting your head on his shoulder and breathing deeply every time his cock twitches inside you, but the longer you sit there, the harder it becomes. You let out a soft moan as your hips twitch involuntarily. "Jay… please, just let me move a little bit."
"I told you not to move. Jesus, you’re really pushing it today." The irritation is clear in every word now, and his grip on your waist tightens even more. "I have a deadline. I can’t afford to get distracted like this."
Again, you try to stay still — you really do, until frustrated tears prick at your eyes — but your body betrays you with small, involuntary movements of your hips. "I’m sorry… I can’t help it. This is driving me crazy. I need you to move, please."
Jay’s jaw is tense and his breathing comes in heavy bursts — clearly fighting the urge to thrust up into you. "You think I don’t want to? You’re so tight and wet around me right now, but I can’t. I have work to do and you’re not letting me focus." His tone grows even harsher. "Stop squirming. Be a good girl for me and just sit there.”
But you do not listen — you roll your hips again, letting out a moan as he rubs against that sensitive spot inside you. "Jesus Christ. I told you I have work and this is fucking important."
"But I missed you and this is torture. Please, please just fu-"
He cuts you off sharply. "You always miss me, always need something. Kisses, hugs, my cock, my fucking attention. You practically live here now, your things are all over my apartment, you sleep in my bed like it’s yours. Isn’t that enough attention? You know what? I need you to get off so I can actually finish this case."
The words hurt, making your chest tighten — tears of frustration turn into something heavier and spill down your cheeks. "I didn’t mean to be annoying… I just wanted to be close to you."
"Yeah, well, wanting to be close to me doesn’t magically make my deadline disappear. I’m already behind because of distractions like this." His hand on your hip tightens even more, holding you completely still, the pressure bordering on uncomfortable. "You have your own apartment right next door. Just give me a few hours alone, for once."
You stare at him in disbelief at what you just heard. Suddenly the intimate position feels humiliating — the way you are still stretched around him while he looks at you like you are nothing but am annoyance. "You want me to leave? Like this… right now"
"I’m telling you to give me some space." With no patience left, he lifts you off him, leaving you empty and trembling. "Go to your place, take a nap, study, whatever. Just let me work."
You stand there with shaky legs, wiping away your tears, feeling small, vulnerable, and unwanted. With a quiet, trembling breath, you whisper, "…Okay."
It's past 9 PM when Jay finally steps out of his office, having finished dealing with that pile of papers. The silence hangs heavy now, normally you would be humming, curled up on the couch waiting for him, or laughing at something silly on your phone. Without you, the space feels too empty. He had been rude — way too rude — and he sees that now. He owes you an apology, so he walks over to your door, but just as he is about to knock, he notices the door is not fully closed — it’s slightly ajar, allowing him to hear low murmurs of voices.
Frowning, he pushes the door open a little more and steps inside, finding a guy standing right at the entrance to your living room, putting on a jacket. The guy turns at the sound of the door, his expression quickly shifting to surprise. "Ah, hi. You must be Jay. She talks about you a lot."
He looks over the other guy’s shoulder toward the couch where you are sitting with your knees pulled up. The guy cleans his throat, sensing the tension between the two of you. "I was just leaving… It was really nice talking to you." He gives you a small wave. "Text me if you need anything else, okay?"
You smile and wave back. "Yeah. Thanks, Jake. Drive safe."
As Jake heads for the door, Jay blocks his path. "Wait. What exactly were you doing here?"
Jake blinks, surprised by the sudden question. "She seemed pretty down when we texted, so I decided to stop by and check if she was okay. Anyway, I’m heading out. Nice to meet you, man."
He steps aside, letting Jake pass. The door closes behind him, leaving just the two of you in the suddenly too-quiet apartment.
You stand up, hugging yourself. "Jay… what are you doing here?"
The regret he felt for being so harsh with you is quickly replaced by jealousy and irritation. "I came because my place was too quiet without you. I started thinking maybe I was too hard on you earlier, but clearly you didn’t waste any time finding company."
You frown, confused by what he means. "He’s just a friend. I told you about him before, we met during my first week on campus when I accidentally walked into the wrong lecture hall. I was upset after you basically kicked me out, so I texted him. We weren’t doing anything, just talking."
Jay lets out a short, bitter laugh and steps closer. "Talking late at night like it’s a casual visit. You mentioned him before, of course, but I didn’t know you two were close enough for house calls."
The hurt from earlier mixes with frustration now. "You were so rude, Jay. You made me feel like I was an annoying pest who can’t function without your attention. I understand you’re stressed with work, but you didn’t have to push me away and kick me out like that. I felt embarrassed."
He closes even more of the distance between you, standing close enough that you can feel the jealousy radiating off him. "You’re the one who can’t sit still for five minutes without demanding something, climbing into my lap while I’m trying to meet a deadline, whimpering and squirming like a spoiled brat because you ‘missed me’."
You take a step back, but the couch hits the back of your legs. "I just wanted to be close to you."
"But the world doesn’t revolve around your need for attention. I love having you around, but today? You made it impossible for me to concentrate, and the second I ask for a few hours to actually get things done, you run straight to this Jake guy?" Jay doesn’t care that nothing happened — the image of another guy in your space, late at night, while you were upset, makes his blood boil.
"I didn’t run to him! I was crying when he got here and he just listened. Unlike you, who basically told me to leave because I’m too much."
Jay’s laugh is harsh this time, completely humorless. "Too much. Yeah, that’s one way of saying you’re a spoiled brat who demands attention every second, and the moment things get difficult, you replace me with whoever is most convenient."
Neither of you speaks for a long moment. You look away, Jay’s jaw clenches, and soon his gaze drifts from your face to the way you are hugging yourself, then lower, lingering on your bare legs. The jealousy is still burning in his chest, mixed with the memory of you sitting on his cock earlier, demanding attention, all needy.
"Come here," he says, nodding toward the couch.
You hesitate, biting your lip, which makes Jay exhale sharply and close the distance. His hand wraps around your wrist, guiding you toward the couch. "We’re not done talking about this."
He sits on the couch and pulls you closer until you are lying across his lap, your stomach pressed against his thighs. Your shirt has ridden up naturally, but he is not satisfied. "This is in the way." His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them down and tossing them aside — leaving your ass completely bare for him.
Jay’s palm rests on one of your cheeks, squeezing the flesh possessively. "You’ve been pushing all day… needing attention, teasing me, and then Jake shows up at your place, and I’m supposed to just swallow that?" His fingers dig harder into the flesh. "You’re mine, and it’s time you learn what happens when you piss me off this much."
His hand makes slow circles over your skin, almost soothing. "How many spanks do you think you deserve for acting like this?"
Your heart races as you try to process his words — head turning slightly to look at him. "What? Are you serious?"
He meets your eyes with a firm, dark expression — one you have never seen from him before. "Very serious. You’ve been spoiled all day, teasing me on purpose. So tell me, how many do you think you deserve?"
You swallow hard, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I don’t know… Five? Maybe?"
Jay lets out a mocking laugh. "Five? That’s way too low, baby. You’re going to take twenty, and you’re going to count each one out loud. If you lose count or mess up, we start over. Understood?"
You hesitate but eventually whisper, "Yes… okay."
"Good girl." His hand lifts and the first spank comes without warning — firm and sharp, the sound echoing through the silence. You jolt, a surprised moan escaping you — heat spreads instantly across your bare skin, the sting stronger than you expected.
"One," you gasp.
He immediately rubs the spot in slow, soothing circles, calming the hot skin where he struck.
"Two," you say after the next spank lands on the other cheek.
Jay keeps a steady rhythm — delivering hard spanks followed by almost tender caresses. Then his fingers slide lower, tracing your wet folds, spreading them teasingly, brushing against your entrance, lightly circling your clit before pulling away.
"What a spoiled little brat," he murmurs during one of the pauses, rubbing your reddened cheeks while two fingers tease your slit again. "You’re already getting so wet… You like this, don’t you?"
You moan instead of answering, which earns you another sharp spank. "Five."
He continues, the spanks leaving marks and building heat across your ass. Now his fingers are dip inside you, moving with slow, shallow thrusts, curling just enough to brush that sensitive spot and make you clench around him desperately. But he always pulls back before you can get close to the edge.
"Six… seven… ah!"
By ten, tears prick your eyes, your thighs trembling as the sting turns into a pulsing heat.
Jay pauses longer this time, massaging your sore ass and spreading your cheeks so he can tease your entrance again. "You’re mine. When you need attention that badly, you come to me, even if I’m stressed, even if I tell you to leave." A finger pushes deep inside you, staying there while his thumb brushes your clit.
You lose track amid the overwhelming sensations and he makes you start over, just as he warned. "Back to one." During the restart, two more fingers slide inside you, moving in a torturous rhythm. "You feel how wet you are? This is what happens when you forget who you belong to."
"You’re mine. Your time, your attention, this body. I don’t share it." Spank. Soothe. Tease. "Say it."
"I’m yours," you moan.
"Louder." Another spank.
"I’m yours, Jay!"
When he finally reaches twenty, you are a trembling mess with tears streaming down your face. Jay finally pulls you up and turns you so you are sitting in his lap. His hands stay on your ass, carefully massaging the sore flesh and you press yourself against the hard bulge in his pants, burying your face in his shoulder. "You did so well, my good girl."
Jay lifts your chin, meeting your eyes. For a moment, he just looks at you — really looks at you — taking in your flushed cheeks and tear-streaked face. Then he leans in and kisses you. One hand remains on your sore ass, squeezing gently, while the other slides into your hair. He kisses you like he needs to claim every part of you — hungry, insistent, his tongue tracing your lower lip before sliding inside. You melt into him, moaning against his mouth as you start slowly grinding your hips.
He pulls back just enough to trail his mouth along your jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot below your ear. "Still so needy… even after all that." Then he kisses you again, deeper and hungrier, tongues sliding together with fervor. The hand on your ass slips between your bodies to tease your wet folds with light circles and shallow dips — keeping you right on the edge.
When he pulls away, a thin string of saliva connects you for a second before breaking. "On your knees, princess."
Obediently, you slide off his lap and kneel between his spread thighs. Jay looks down at you, one hand lazily stroking your hair as he frees himself from his pants — his cock springs out, thick, heavy, and already leaking at the tip.
"Open. Tongue out," he says, tapping your lower lip with two fingers. You open your mouth and obediently stick your tongue out. He leans forward and spits directly into your mouth. The warm, viscous saliva lands on your tongue, degrading in a way that makes you shiver. "Swallow that first," he instructs. You swallow while keeping your eyes locked on his. He nods with a satisfied hum. "Now show me how sorry you are for pushing me today."
You start with kisses along his length before dragging your tongue from base to tip. Jay groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, but he doesn't force you — not yet. His thickness stretches your lips as you finally take him into your mouth. He is big enough that you can only take about half before he hits the back of your throat. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking what does not fit in a steady rhythm.
"Fuck… that’s it," he murmurs, tilting his head back for a moment before his gaze returns to you. He doesn't want to miss a single second of this. "Look at me while you suck it."
You do, looking up at him with teary eyes, and the sight makes his cock twitch in your mouth. When you pull back to catch your breath, he slaps his cock against your tongue a few times, leaving strings of saliva connecting you, before guiding you back down. "Yeah, just like that… good girl."
Between bobs, when you pull back to breathe, you say breathlessly, "I’m sorry for distracting you and for Jake being here." Then he guides you down again.
Jay’s hips start moving, pushing a little deeper and testing your limits. Tears continue to prick your eyes from the stretch, but you keep going, hollowing your cheeks and moaning around him.
When he finally gets close, Jay’s grip tightens, his thighs tense, and his breathing becomes ragged. "I’m going to come. Don’t waste it, swallow everything." You nod around him, doubling your efforts and with a deep groan, he comes down your throat — thick, hot pulses that you swallow eagerly, not letting a single drop escape.
He pulls out slowly, a string of saliva and cum connecting your lips to the tip before it breaks. "Open your mouth. Show me."
You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to prove you swallowed everything. “That’s my good girl.”
He helps you up, pulls you back into his lap, and kisses you, tasting himself on your tongue. Your hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you that makes Jay groan into your mouth, one hand sliding down to grab your bare ass and guide your movements.
"Still not satisfied? Such a greedy little thing." Even though he just came, his cock is already stirring again, hardening beneath you as your wet pussy slides along his length.
You gasp against his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Jay… I need you so bad."
He answers by kissing you again, but soon pulls back to meet your eyes. "Then take what you want."
You don’t hesitate, not even for a second. Rising on shaky knees, you reach down and align the thick head of his cock against your entrance, and slowly you sink down, gasping at the stretch and every inch that fills you. The lack of a barrier makes him feel impossibly thicker than the last time in his office — hotter, more intimate. The spanked skin of your ass burns as you settle fully against his thighs.
"Fuck," Jay hisses, his head falling back against the couch for a moment as his hands grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding you fully impaled on him. "So wet… so fucking tight like this."
You start moving, rolling your hips in a slow, deep rhythm, the angle letting you feel every ridge and vein raw inside you, pulling broken moans from your throat. One of his hands slips under your shirt to caress one tit while the other stays on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh in time with your movements. The mix of pleasure and stinging burn makes everything more intense.
"That’s right," he growls, thrusting up to meet you. "This is what you wanted all day, isn’t it? My attention. My cock." You lean forward, kissing him messily while you bounce, moving your hips faster.
With a low curse, he wraps his arms around you and suddenly flips you, laying you down on the couch cushions, driving him even deeper which pulls a sharp cry from you.
Now he is on top, pinning you beneath him — one of your legs hooked over his shoulder as he starts thrusting into you with deep, powerful strokes — hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt each time and the lack of a condom lets you feel every raw inch.
Clinging to his back, your nails dig in as the pleasure borders on overwhelming. Jay’s face hovers above yours, his hair damp with sweat falling into his eyes. Rhythm falters for a second as he looks at you, something darker flashing across his face, the jealousy from earlier — the image of Jake leaving your apartment — has not disappeared. "Are you on the pill?"
You shake your head, breathless, barely able to form words between moans. "No, I’m not."
He thrusts harder, hitting deep against your cervix as if to emphasize the point. "Good," he growls, eyes locked on yours. "Actually, fucking perfect. Maybe I’ll knock you up tonight, put a baby in you so you won’t even think about another guy like Jake. You’ll stay right here with me, we’ll have a beautiful family, me, you, and our kids. No more distractions."
The words should have shocked you, but in the heat of the moment — with him fucking you raw, his body claiming yours completely — they only send a fresh wave of arousal through you. Moaning loudly, your legs tightening around his waist. "Jay… fuck—"
He groans at your reaction, his hips moving harder. "You like that idea, don’t you? My cum deep inside you, getting you pregnant so everyone knows you’re claimed." One of his hands slides down to press lightly against your stomach, as if he can already imagine it.
The couch creaks beneath you both, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the wet noises of him fucking you filling the room. Jay’s earlier irritation fuels every deep thrust, but so does possessiveness — the need to claim you completely after the stressful day. He presses you deeper into the cushions, his hips moving in a way that grinds against your clit with every stroke.
When you finally come, it is intense — your walls contracting tightly around his cock as you scream his name. Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible, and you feel the hot pulses of his cum filling you, thick and warm.
For long minutes, Jay simply holds you — kissing your neck, your jaw, your swollen lips — his cock softening slowly inside you, but as the minutes stretch on, you feel him coming back to life, pulsing against your sensitive walls. "Already?" There is a playful tone in your voice.
"I can’t help it." He moves, pressing one last kiss to your mouth before slowly pulling out. You moan at the loss, feeling his cum start to leak out of you, but his hand quickly reaches down to push it back inside you with two fingers. "Don’t waste it."
He leans back on the couch, stroking himself until he is fully hard again. "Turn around. Hands on the backrest."
You obey, your body trembling as you shift position, kneeling on the cushions, gripping the top of the backrest and arching your back slightly while Jay moves behind you, his gaze fixed on the evidence of the earlier spanking — your cheeks still red with visible handprints — as one of his palms smooths reverently over the heated skin before squeezing firmly.
"Fuck, look at this… Still so red from your lesson." His cock brushes against your entrance before he thrusts deep inside you in one powerful stroke, the new position letting him sink even deeper as the head of his cock presses against spots that make your toes curl drawing a loud moan from you while you grip the backrest tighter as he bottoms out.
Jay starts fucking you with firm, powerful thrusts — deep and deliberate, the couch creaking beneath you both — as every thrust makes your sore ass bounce and the red marks darken even more with the impact, his eyes unable to leave them while his thumbs press into the soft flesh, pulling you back onto his cock repeatedly.
"These marks… they look so good on you." Without warning, he lands a hard, stinging spank on your right cheek, the already sensitive skin making you cry out and clench hard around his cock as Jay groans at the sensation, his hips stuttering for a moment before he resumes his deep rhythm.
He gives your left cheek another spank, making you writhe and moan again as you push back against him desperately despite the burn — or maybe because of it — the mix of pain and pleasure making you even wetter, the previous creampie turning everything obscenely wet and messy.
"That’s it," he praises, smoothing his hands over the fresh marks he just added. "Squirm for me. I love how sensitive you are right here." He gives you one more spank, lighter this time but still enough to make you shudder, and immediately soothes the area with his hands, massaging the sore flesh while he continues thrusting deep and hard from behind.
Jay leans over you, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside yours while the other reaches down to rub tight circles on your clit. His chest presses against your back, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks between thrusts. "You’re going to take every drop again, princess. I’m going to give you my babies, keep you so full you won’t even think about anyone else."
When you come again — hard, your vision blurring from the overwhelming sensations — Jay follows right behind, burying himself deep with a groan and flooding you with another load of hot cum. He stays inside you for a long time afterward, thrusting slowly through the aftershocks.
Finally, he pulls out carefully and pulls you into his arms, stroking your back in slow, gentle movements. "You’re a mess, princess. Come on, let me take care of you."
He stands up with you in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. Once inside, he turns on the shower, adjusts the temperature, and removes the rest of both your clothes before guiding you under the hot spray with him where the water cascades over you both. Jay takes his body wash, lathers it between his hands, and runs them over your skin — being extra careful around your sensitive ass, massaging the foam in light circles that ease some of the sting.
"Maybe I was a little too rough tonight," he says, his hands moving along your thighs, cleaning away the evidence of the many rounds. "Work stress got to me, and then seeing Jake… I took it out on you more than I should have. You handled it really well, but I’m sorry if it was too much."
You lean back against his chest, letting the water rinse off the soap as you tilt your head to look at him. "It hurt… but it also felt good. In a weird way. I just hated feeling like I was bothering you earlier. I didn’t want to annoy you while you were working. I just… missed you a lot."
After rinsing you, he turns off the shower, wraps you in a towel first, then himself and dries you carefully, paying extra attention to your ass and rubbing some soothing lotion he finds in the cabinet. "There. Better?"
"Much better," you admit, reaching up to touch his face. "Thank you for taking care of me like this."
He leans down and kisses your forehead. "You make it easy to want to take care of you." Pulling you closer, his voice shifting to something even calmer and more sincere. "I don’t know what I’d do without you around. I can’t imagine coming home and not having you here like this. You just… fit. Right here with me."
You hug him tightly, burying your face in his chest. "I feel the same. I always want to be close to you because you make everything feel better."
Smiling against your hair, Jay guides you to the bed and pulls the covers back, lying down beside you to pull you close against his chest. One arm wraps around you securely, his hand rests gently on your ass — not squeezing, just warm and protective over the sensitive skin.
You snuggle even closer, your leg draped over his as exhaustion finally takes over completely. "Stay the night?" you ask sleepily.
"Wouldn’t dream of leaving," His fingers trace lazy circles on your back until your breathing evens out and you fall asleep.
Next morning you stir slowly, feeling the pleasant ache in your muscles and Jay’s heavy arm draped over your waist, his body curled protectively against your back. He feels you waking up and trails lazy kisses along your shoulder before moving up the side of your neck. "Good morning, baby," he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep as his hand slides to your stomach. "Sleep well?"
You turn in his arms, smiling despite the slight soreness when you move, and reach up to brush the messy hair from his forehead. "Yes… thanks to you."
He leans in and kisses you properly — slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes you melt. At this point, he couldn't care less that neither of you had brushed your teeth yet. "You were incredible last night. Let me make it up to you a little more with breakfast."
Jay borrows a pair of your sweatpants that look comically tight on his incredibly nice ass, making you laugh as he models them. In the kitchen, you work side by side like so many mornings before — he cracks eggs for scrambled eggs while you toast bread and slice fruit. Small touches are stolen throughout: a hand on your lower back as he reaches past you, a quick kiss on your temple when you hand him the salt shaker, a playful bump of his hip against yours.
"You’re in a good mood today," you tease, leaning against the counter while he plates the food.
"I can’t help it when I wake up next to you." He sets the plates on the table and pulls you in for another kiss before you both sit down.
After eating, you start getting ready for college and he for the office. Jay kisses you one more time before heading back to his apartment next door to get ready for work. You take a long shower and, once dressed in jeans and a comfortable blouse, you step out into the hallway at the same time he does, looking impeccable in his work clothes.
He quickly pulls you in for a proper goodbye, hands gently cradling your face as he kiss your forehead, lingering there for a long moment. "Have a good day at class. Text me when you’re done." With one last soft kiss on your lips, he pulls away with a smile. "See you later, princess."
College passes in a whirlwind of classes and notes, but your mind keeps drifting back to Jay — the way he holds you, the sweet words, the kisses. He has not sent many messages during the day, which is a little unusual, but you figure he must be busy at work.
When you finally get home in the early evening, you step into the elevator and press the button for the third floor. Just before the doors close, a woman you have never seen in the building before enters, but something about her face seems vaguely familiar.
The woman smiles politely as the elevator starts moving. Curiosity gets the better of you and before you can stop yourself, you ask, "Hi… do you live here? I’ve been in the building for about two months and I don’t think I’ve seen you around."
She nods, laughing lightly. "Yes, I do, but I’ve been away on a work trip. I’m a lawyer and a complicated case kept me out of town longer than expected. I actually got back this morning."
"Wow. That sounds intense… By the way, my name is y/n. Nice to meet you."
The woman’s smile widens. "Nice to meet you too. Jay has already told me about you. He’s mentioned his sweet neighbor a few times."
Your heart flutters with joy — Jay talked about you to the neighbors. It feels special, like proof that you are really becoming a bigger part of his life. "He did? That’s nice to hear."
The elevator dings on the third floor and you both step out together. A small flicker of confusion crosses your mind — she is going the same way — but you don’t think much of it. Maybe she lives farther down the hall.
Then you see Jay standing there and your face lights up immediately. He hadn't texted you all day, and seeing him now makes excitement bubble up inside you. You walk toward him with a radiant smile.
At the same moment, the woman also walks straight up to him. When she reaches him, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him — a deep, familiar, affectionate kiss. Jay’s hands settle on her waist automatically as he eagerly kisses her back.
The world stops.
Your feet freeze mid-step and everything inside you turns cold and numb. It takes a moment for your brain to process what you are seeing, but then the pieces fall into place with painful clarity. That was Jay’s wife. The woman in the Polaroid photo he casually said was his "sister." The late-night calls he claimed were from the office. The feminine body wash he said belonged to his mom. The distant restaurant he took you to on your first date, probably so no one nearby would recognize him. The way the doorman sometimes looked at you with that judgmental expression, like he knew something — he did. All the small inconsistencies you had ignored because you were so blinded by how gentle and attentive he seemed.
Every sweet word, every touch, every promise of "you’re mine" had been built on lies. He was married. His heart already belonged to someone else, and you had been nothing but a convenient distraction from the apartment next door — blind, eager, and so in love with the version of him he showed you that you never saw the truth.
Jay’s eyes meet yours over his wife’s shoulder, and for a fraction of a second, something like panic or guilt flashes across his face. The shock turns into pure pain, making you practically run to your door as you fumble for your keys while hot tears blur your vision.
You lean against the door, sliding down to the floor as sobs begin to escape you. Your chest hurts as if someone had ripped a hole in it. All the cute moments — the kisses, the touches, the date, the bouquet — turn ugly and humiliating in your memory.
You cry hard, knees pulled up to your chest, as disappointment turns into shame for having fallen so completely for the man who made you feel special, desired, and loved… and it was all a lie.
The thin walls allow you to hear muffled voices — his wife asking about his day, the normalcy of their conversation only making everything worse. You press your hands over your ears, trying to block out the sound, but the damage is already done. Your heart is shattered.
The man you had grown so attached to — the one who held you so tenderly after sex, who made you breakfast and promised more comfortable days like that — was someone else’s husband, and you had been the other woman without even knowing it.
contains: edging, degradation, sub!reader, finger sucking, name calling (slut), fingering, reader has two orgasms, he gets sweeter at the end (mdni)
guys this is so short so i might write a part two
your back arched impossibly off the bed as you turned your head to the side and let your mouth fall open in a silent “o” shape. jake kept rubbing his thumb over your swollen clit relentlessly.
almost immediately after coming down from your high you whined "that's not fair jakey- i told you i wanted to come around your fingers"
you could already feel the tears gather at the corners of your eyes as your hand pushed into his chest.
it wasn't fair.
"so fuckin' ungrateful huh?" he grabbed your hand and pinned it above your head. you squirmed.
"maybe if you had held off your orgasm like I told you to..." he looked down at where your body was now pathetically arching.
"stay fuckin still" he slammed your hips down.
"babyyy" you whined again as your legs kicked behind him, where they were wrapped around his waist.
"'s not fair."
"y/n, baby, just quiet down. hm? d' you wanna feel good?" he tipped your chin up so you looked at him.
you nodded.
"just be good for me then. can you do that? he tapped his finger on your chin and forced two of them into your mouth
you sucked.
" there. like that "
he pulled them out and brought them down where he nudged them at your entrance.
" you're a fuckin slut. " he pushed them inside and you gasped.
"is this what you wanted?"
"fuck jakey" you moaned breathlessly.
"you gotta be quiet y/n-"
he pulls them out and continues gently massaging your clit.
you arch into his touch and moan, already feeling that knot start to form in your stomach. It’s not your fault when he looks this good above you, his messy hair falling over his eyes.
jake already realizes this by how you're arching into him.
"gonna hold off f' me okay?" he watches you nod absentmindedly as his fingers rub against your clit.
unfortunately, it's game over when he gathers the wetness leaking out of your hole and resumes stubbornly rubbing your clit.
"fuck" the friction is too much and before you can stop yourself your hips grind back against his fingers and you're coming.
his brows furrow in disappointment but he doesn't stop touching you until you're panting and pushing him away.
you immediately whine and cover your face with your hands, half embarrassed, half disappointed.
he guides them away and presses a kiss to your forehead
"so fuckin' dumb for me. hm?" he searches your gaze and you look away, embarrassed.
you had one job.
"it's not my fault" you pout slightly
he tilts your head back towards him.
"oh is it mine?"
you don’t reply and he can tell you're beating yourself up enough, you don't need another punishment.
he lies down and guides you onto his chest, where you settle with a pout.
"'s okay baby. you'll get better at that" his fingers scratch gently at your scalp, making you feel sleepy.
"we'll just do a ton of practice mkay?" he murmurs as he presses a kiss onto your head.
"don't get sulky on me."
"wanted to come around your fingers" you explain, still sporting that subtle pout that tells him you're not over it.
"i know baby but you gotta learn to hold off f' me"
he sighs as he holds you tighter.
"besides… you look really fucking hot when you come like that. all needy and whining like im not giving you enough. you're so cute" his hand comes to rest on your hip and only then do your eyes dart down and notice his massive boner.
*reminder that interactions, asks, reqs are highly appreciated <33
"OPEN..." Jay cooed, his thumb pushing down on your bottom lip, just enough pressure to part your lips and create and opening just enough for him to see your pink tongue. Jay smirked, proud of how compliant he's made you. Your eyes were glossy as you stared at him, hair fanned around you in a halo of obedience. Your fingers clasped around his wrist loosely, just simply resting there, not resisting any of his touches. Jay smiled widely now, holding your chin in his fingertips delicately, "Good girls get rewarded, yeah? And you've been such a good girl for me, baby."
You nodded, allowing his fingers to slip into your mouth, the pads of his index and middle finger pressing hard against your tongue. They pushed further and further back until you gagged slightly, watery eyes getting glassier.
"Shh, it's okay, baby. Suck them f'me."
You nodded, holding his wrist tighter now, keeping them put in your mouth. Suddenly not wanting to let them go. Your gags turned to little moans, breath heavy as your lips clasped around his fingers and your tongue wrapped around his digits. Jay clicked his tongue, looking down at you from underneath his eyelashes, brown eyes studying you carefully. Jay’s deep black hair fell around his head, longer than normal, framing his face nicely. He looked so good as he stared at you; something about the deepness and slenderness of his eyes made him look like a fox. Carefully studying you as you sucked on his digits diligently like you were told.
"Mm, you like that, yeah? Know you like Daddy's fingers," Jay felt his stomach flip when you fluttered your pretty, watery eyes at him, nodding in adamant agreement. Jay breathlessly chuckled as you sucked harder, "Baby, you're so adorable. Think you can undo my jeans f'me?" His voice was careful and soft, ensuring your compliance.
Not that you ever objected him, you were already so obedient and good for him without him having to struggle for it. You're the furthest thing from a brat with him. It was easy for you both; compliance was never an issue.
Your hands let go of his wrist and came down to his pants, softly whimpering as your hands cupped his bulge for a second; feeling all of his thickness itching to be freed from its denim confines. You were eager, so you quickly fought with the button of his jeans. Eventually getting it unlatched alongside the zipper, pulling them down by the belt loops just enough for his bulge to be free. You blinked from his eyes to your hands cupping his dick but he tutted, "Nope, eyes on me." He reinforced this by shoving his fingers deeper into your mouth, ripping out a little whispery gag from your throat. You nodded in apology and looked back into his deep brown eyes. Shyly, your fingers sunk into his boxers, fishing for his cock. You sighed audibly when your grip latched onto his thick, hot base.
"Mm, take it out, bub." He egged you on further.
You did so, tugging his boxers down further until the rested on his thighs with his jeans; leaving his cock sprung and free. You felt his hot and heavy dick slap against your inner thigh, making you shiver. You could feel drool spill down your face out of the corner of your mouth, embarrassingly pooling at your jawline and neck. Jay didn't mind, in fact he enjoyed it further. Your glossy eyes growing wetter as desperation grew heavier.
"Feel that? Feel how hard I am?" Jay groaned as his tip barely brushed over your clothed pussy. The only fabric stopping him from slipping into you was your white, lace panties. It was frustrating but you remained still, sucking his fingers and obediently waiting for his next command.
"Gonna fuck a baby into you tonight," Jay cooed into your ear, bent up on his elbows as he breathed. His own words edging him further. You nodded desperately, eyes leaking with an embarrassing amount of tears as absolute need filled your soul. "You want that? Greedy baby... just wants to be bred like a slut... fuck, whatever you want, love. I'll breed you as long as you never look away, okay?"
You nodded, one of your hands on his chest, feeling his hot and heavy breaths overtake his chest; your other hand wrapped around his wrist again. Fingers still deep in your mouth.
Suddenly, he pulled them out, leaving your mouth empty, aside from the copious amounts of drool down the sides of your face.
"Need to hear you say it." He whispered against your ear, eyes slender on yours, lidded with lust.
"Daddy, please breed me. Make me a mommy..." You breathed out shakily, thighs wrapping around his waist, the tip of his cock brushing teasingly over your clothed clit. You shuddered, deeply staring into his eyes as he smirked at you in approval.
"You know exactly what to say," Jay chuckled, shaking his head in slight disbelief, "If you actually end up pregnant..." he trailed off, debating the pros and cons. Realizing the weight of both your actions. But something in him told him to just do it; it was dumb, for sure, but he still desperately needed to.
"Gonna breed you all night... fuck," Jay pulled his hair out of his eyes, grasping your hips and aligning the tip of his cock with your quaking hole. You quivered and shook beneath him, sighing as he pushed in then pulled out again. Just giving you a taste of his delicious tip. "Ah, you're so fucking wet... so wet thinking about me breeding you, hm? Dirty girl..." His low tone made your insides swirl deliciously.
"Yes, daddy, s'wet for you," You huffed in relief as he slowly pushed into you again, pausing just as his tip fully slipped inside of you. It was a painful stretch but you loved every second; his thick tip weeping with thick globs of precum, making the slip into you all the more perfect. He fit into you tight but perfectly, "Oh— oh my god, yes!" You whimpered as he began rocking his hips forward, just barely earning the gratification of pleasure.
Jay shook his head, letting it fall to your shoulder so his endless breaths filled your ear and swirled through your pleasured mind.
Jay rocked his hips further into you, allowing more inches to stretch your delicious walls. You clenched hard around him, simply whispering whines as he filled you. You made sure to moan prettily for him with every inch that filled you, showing him how good he's treating you right now. He was so gentle yet the perfect amount of firm. Purposely taking his time filling you because you needed the brief time to adjust to his size. Every inch feeling like an endless mile yet so amazingly so.
"Just a little more..." He praised you with a kiss to your temple, pulling himself up to stare at your contorting face, "Uh-uh, eyes where?"
"O-on you," You breathed, biting your lip as your eyes flickered back up to his face, "Sorry, Daddy."
"Mm, that's your first warning, A-Angel." His voice wavered and you could tell despite his cool, almost nonchalant demeanor he was losing it just as much as you were. You nodded with a slight pout, staring deep into his eyes as he filled you up with the last 2 delicious inches. Flushed to his base with a light smack of his hips meeting the back of your thighs. You sighed, broken by a sharp moan of his name.
"Daddy... so good..."
"Fuck, baby, keep talking like that," Jay groaned, "M' fuckin' losing it. My baby has such a dirty mouth for someone so obedient."
Jay didn't waste time before he was pulling his hips back and smacking them back into you; making sure to enjoy the look of evident pleasure develop on your face, feeling his thick cock drag against your walls and his fat tip poke deep into you. He practically skewered you on the length of his dick, hitting the deepest parts of you even with his shallow thrusts.
"Oh, fuck, you're squeezing me— baby, you're so tight," Jay groaned against your lips. Though his touches and words were soft, his thrusts definitely weren't. Not anymore, he was slamming into you now, making sure you felt every inch. Every wet, lewd slap of his skin meeting yours; there was a burning red mark from how hard he was pushing into you, repetitive motions making your mind spin. You clutched his arms, his neck, his shoulders trying to brace for his movements. But you never could, not with the amount of force he was putting into it.
"S-slow down! Oh, my god," You angled your head backward, struggling to maintain that same eye contact. It was unbearable now. Everything was spinning, everything a bit blurry. But you tried your best, focus fading. Jay tapped your cheek, harsh enough to make you moan and meet his gaze. You struggled to keep it, the only thing grounding you being the hand he kept on your chin and jaw. "You're so— s'deep! Daddy, please..."
Your breath hitched into a high-pitched whine, making Jay's stomach tighten. He didn't listen, obviously, fucking you quicker now. Opting for angling his hips up into you where he knew that little gummy spot of yours laid. The spot that made your entire body shake and eyelids flutter; how it made your pussy clench so tight around him he thought his dick would fall off. It made his arousal heightened, and the faster he went the more lewd your shared sounds were. The wet squelch of your pussy engulfing him, the off-beat panting between deliciously drawn-out moans. He swallowed every breath of yours, his lips grazing yours with each inhale.
"Mm, yeah? But you like it," Jay wasn't soft anymore, far from it. He was taking you like his life depended on it, and in the moment he swore it did. His balls felt so heavy and hot, he felt ready to burst each time they slapped against your ass. He swore his mind was elsewhere; he was thinking with his cock. "That's why your pretty little pussy's taking me so fucking good... h-hah, you're such a naughty little thing." Jay dropped a hand to your throat, first giving it an experimental squeeze before he tightened harder on the sides. It constricted your airway just enough for your breath to shallow and your moans to become carnal sounds of lust. Your hand came back to his wrist again, wrapping around his skin, feeling the pulse of his quick and hot heartbeat.
"I- I'm gonna cum—" You whined, eyes filling with tears of overstimulation, everything about this experience was making your brain mushy. His hand on your throat heightened your senses and now you felt yourself teetering on the edge of your orgasm, and it was crashing down heavily.
Jay panted, erratic pace of his hips endless, "Say please. Where's my good girl? Where's your manners?"
"Please— Daddy, I need to cum," You felt no shame, only want. Jay thought it was adorably pathetic how needy you got when he was like this with you, "Cum with me, p-please! D-Daddy—"
Jay didn't need to think about it anymore, he was close too. Basically holding back his own orgasm now. Jay grinned, "Cum on my cock, Angel, go on." You thanked him, choking back a sob. His eyes fluttered as he felt you continuously tighten around him, pussy gushing cream until it pooled in a thick, disgusting ring of white at the base of his cock. Jay took in your endless moans, placing his lips on yours, a sloppy kiss that felt like it lasted forever. His lips curled in a smirk as he dropped your throat, his two hands coming to lift your limp thighs, shaking in his hands. Jay didn't waste time before he was chasing his orgasm, taking shallow, sharp thrusts into you. Listening to the slosh of your pussy juices leaking out of you with every push. Jay's nails clawed into the back of your thighs, your hands doing the same to his back as you clung to him. Whatever overstimulation you were experiencing earlier was nothing compared to this. This was—
"Fuck, fuck— Daddy, feels funny, stop s-stop!" You panted, suddenly your stomach felt tight, your mind blanking into a white fog of pure adrenaline and pleasure. Jay's tip was hitting your deepest spots; a new spot entirely you've never even experienced before. Felt like he was right up against your womb, like he was in your stomach rearranging your organs.
Jay didn't listen, "F... I'm gonna cum," He fucked into you once, twice, thrice then you felt the overwhelming spill of his cum fill your hole. You screamed out a moan, whiny and lewd. Your entire body pulsed and shook, something felt different, so different.
Your focus came back in after what felt like hours, but in reality was probably more like a minute. Your breath unsteady, ragged and laced with little whispery moans. Jay hovered over you, still balls deep in your pussy, soft now, plugging his sweet release with his cock. But you've never felt a more stimulating experience. He wasn't even moving and you felt overwhelmed. You pushed his chest, a heaving cry leaving your throat hoarsely.
"Did you just fucking squirt?" Jay asked, absolutely flabbergasted. His eyebrows raised, red cheeks and swollen lips adorably bright. Your eyes were sleepy but still wide as you looked down, seeing a sheen of clear liquid coating Jay's entire lower half and your thighs, and the bedsheets beneath you were wet with splotches of your release. Jay chuckled in disbelief, "You squirted."
You huffed, "I-I didn't even know I could do that..."
Jay grinned, pulling back and out of you, making you sharply exhale at the painful sting of him leaving your quaking hole. Jay kept his eyes on your fluttering hole, admiring as his thick release of white liquid crept out of your hole, seeping down your folds and ass.
But he wasn't letting that happen; his fingers scooped the copious amounts of cum and he shoved them back into you. You mewled hoarsely. He plugged you back up snuggly, "I said I'm fucking breeding you, baby. Can't let any of that leak out."
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ sim jake “You don’t have to like her. Just take her out.”
━━ PLEASE JUST TAKE MY SISTER OUT.
(🦮) After seventeen years of surviving his older sister’s constant supervision, Riki Nishimura decides you need a hobby. Preferably one that is tall, charming, and costs him a hundred bucks a week.
paid! jake x fem! reader
˗ˏˋ brother’s friend, paid dating, he falls first, slow burn, romcom, highschool au BUT THEY'RE NOT MINORS they're 19 and 20, mean reader, patient jake, little angst, fluff, smut, porn with plot, crack, profanity, unprotected sex, oral sex, f receiving, MDNI !
inspired by 10 things i hate about you !
Riki was seventeen years old, which by legal law, he understood there were certain things he wasn't supposed to do. He wasn't allowed to drink, gamble, or just make any life-altering decisions with the judgment of someone whose brain was still developing. It was, no doubt, very reasonable and he never tried to argue.
What he didn't understand though, were your laws.
No smoking, drinking, piercing, tattoos.
No driving without adult supervision.
No going out past 10PM.
No girlfriends until eighteen.
No accepting rides from people he didn't know.
No staying out without answering his phone.
The worst part was that none of these rules came from his father — a man who, at first glance, seemed exactly like the kind of parent who'd enforce discipline, high standards, high expectations, strict curfews, and strict grades. Except he wasn’t.
These rules came from you, his older sister. Scratch that — his terrifying older sister that’s also been known as a heinous bitch. You somehow managed to be nineteen years old and forty-seven years old at the same time, right after hearing Beyonce talk about girls running the world, and ultimately decided to make it your entire personality.
You remembered appointments, you knew where every important document in the house was, you made sure groceries appeared in the fridge, and you knew the hardware store. That was a good thing, especially since your Mother is a long story and has been gone from the picture since you turned eleven. It should be a good thing, because while your father forgot that he was meant to be a parent, you managed to step into the role for the then nine-year-old boy.
The bad part was that you also happened to be ruining his life.
"Don’t drink." you state.
Riki looks up from his phone, brows furrowed and eyes wide with confusion. "Why?"
You roll your eyes. "Because you're seventeen."
He stands up, his hands raised in even more confusion. "So are half the people going!"
You didn't even look up from your laptop, just continued on with your academic duties as the poster-child and perfect student you exactly are. Everything that Riki isn’t (he doesn’t give a fuck, he’s actually glad he isn’t as tense as you are). "Be home by ten."
He groans. "It's a party."
You narrow your gaze at him. "Then leave at nine-thirty."
He had barely been there twenty minutes before somebody handed him a drink and accepted it immediately. He didn't even know what was in it, but it was blue and it was something that would give you an MI, which practically made every sense for him to take it.
A hand suddenly smacked the back of his head. "Ow — what the fuck?!"
Riki turned around to find Jay looking unimpressed and clearly annoyed, arms crossed like he was already embodying your spirit for you. “Your sister would freak the fuck out if she saw you.” he says.
Riki scoffs, shaking his head before taking more sips. “Good thing she isn’t here.”
“Wow, someone’s bold.” Jungwon snickers.
Sunoo lets out a laugh from where he's leaning against the counter. “I can already count the amount of times she’ll call me tonight because you won’t be answering your phone.”
The worst part was that none of them were exaggerating. Most people heard the words overprotective older sister and pictured somebody mildly annoying that decided the takeouts. You were something else entirely, you were a mean person with good intentions, who treated Riki like a highly intelligent houseplant that couldn't be trusted unsupervised. Which, admittedly, was only a little unfair.
Jake looks significantly less invested in the conversation than everyone else, which makes sense considering he'd never actually met you before. He knew who you were, obviously. He had seen you around school a handful of times, though only in fragments, passing through hallways with your books tucked against your chest, standing behind podiums during assembly speeches, moving through student events with a clipboard in hand, and occasionally appearing in Riki’s house whenever his friends came over, though never long enough for Jake to understand what everyone meant when they talked about you like you were a natural disaster.
You didn’t hover during those visits, maybe because Riki was already home and therefore safely within the borders of your net, which meant Jake never had any firsthand evidence of the so-called atrocity people kept describing, no grand personal encounter with the hornless devil of a woman they swore you were. To him, you were just Riki’s older sister, put-together, sharper than most people, and clearly the kind of girl who knew how to keep things from falling apart.
He shrugs as if the entire conversation had been blown wildly out of proportion. “Honestly, she can’t be that bad.”
They all try and fail to hide the biggest smiles, until Riki finally let out a laugh so unhinged it sounded like Jake had just said the stupidest thing ever invented. “You’ve never met her, then.”
Jake frowned. “I mean, she just sounds responsible.”
That only made the laughter worse, because how exactly did someone describe you without sounding dramatic? How did anyone explain a girl who could build furniture, schedule doctor’s appointments, cook dinner, maintain perfect grades, and still somehow have enough energy left to lecture her younger brother about road safety, curfew, peer pressure, and why riding in a car with anyone named Jay was apparently a preventable tragedy?
“She’s like…” Riki started, then stopped, because there genuinely wasn’t a normal word for you, only some abstract painting of red and black, wrathful but organized, terrifying but color-coded.
Jay stepped in with both hands raised, like he was trying to translate a myth. “Imagine your mom, but if she had anxiety.”
“And a planner,” Riki added immediately, “and a superiority complex, and an attitude, and the ability to track your location and all your friends’ locations. She has everyone’s number saved, too, just so she can call around and make sure I’m actually where I said I was.”
Riki smiles though, because the way Jake shrugs it off and doesn’t think you’re that bad makes a terrible idea begin forming in his head. If he felt that way about you, maybe some things could be arranged.
The thing was, if anyone could survive you, it would probably be Jake. He was patient enough, he was also the kind of person teachers liked, parents trusted, classmates voted for, and strangers somehow ended up telling their life stories because he was just so easy-going. He was responsible enough to get good grades without making it his entire personality.
It was weird how the two of you had somehow never interacted despite orbiting the same school, same academic events, same kind of reputation, and yet somehow the universe had kept you separated for years. Now potentially united because of a very dumb idea.
Riki takes another sip of his drink while the idea starts taking shape. If Jake was as patient as he seemed, maybe he could handle you, if Jake could handle you, maybe he could distract you, and if somebody distracted you — Riki's life would finally begin.
Riki clears his throat, staring directly at Jake, with the kind of focus that makes Jake slowly lower his cup and narrow his eyes in suspicion.
"Why are you looking at me like tha —"
“Have you ever considered dating my sister?”
Jake simply stares, because a question that insane and honest has never landed on him before. The more Riki thinks about it, the better the idea becomes, which is unfortunate for everyone in the room because his expression slowly shifts from impulsive desperation to genuine, terrifying conviction.
“No.”
“Why not?” Riki asks, genuinely offended, like Jake is the unreasonable one here.
Jake looks at him as if he has lost his mind. “Because she’s your sister.”
Riki waves a hand, dismissing the concern as if family relation is just a minor technicality on a form. “You don’t have to like her. Just take her out.”
Jake shakes his head, “What?”
“Take her out,” Riki repeats, slower this time, like Jake is the one struggling with basic comprehension. “Dinner, coffee, whatever girls like. Somewhere outside the house where she can’t govern my life.”
And for all the ridiculousness of the conversation, something in his face turns a little more serious. “Look, she’s always busy. Always. If she’s not studying, she’s doing house stuff, and if she’s not doing house stuff, she’s worrying about me, and ruining my life. Anyway, I think she needs to go outside and be a normal nineteen-year-old.”
“I’m not dating your sister because you want fewer curfew checks,” Jake says, though his voice has lost some of its earlier horror.
Riki stares at him for a long second, and whatever dignity he has left seems to lose the fight somewhere between desperation and the thought of another month spent being interrogated. So he will compensate. “Okay, fine,” he sighs, “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks weekly,”
Unfortunately, the offer is not completely ridiculous in the financial sense. Your father might have forgotten how to parent somewhere along the way, but he had certainly remembered how to compensate for it by making sure money was never a scarce resource in the household. You're both pretty spoiled.
Jake was not desperate, of course, and he was not exactly suffering in the financial department either, because the Sim family had enough money for philanthropy. He did not need a hundred bucks a week, did not need to be paid to sit across from a girl at dinner, and definitely did not need to accept what was less like a favor and more like an internship. Still, there was something almost offensively easy about the idea of it — a challenge.
The proposition is ridiculous, the girl in question sounds even more ridiculous, and yet the more Riki talks about you, the more Jake finds himself wondering what kind of person could make everyone so terrified.
Jake exhales slowly, then shakes his head like he is disappointed in himself before finishing the rest of his drink. “When do I start?”
By the time the party began thinning out and people started calling rides home, Riki had graduated from slightly irresponsible to actively incapable of functioning like a normal human being. By his fifth blue drink, he started a speech about oppression that was very clearly about you and was dangerously starting to sound like a prick to the hard-earned established feminism that Jungwon had to cover his mouth. Jake was also unfortunately present for all of it, because he has to drive Riki home.
"You're a good man, Jake."
"I'm aware."
"No, like, a really good man."
"Thank you."
"The best."
Jake adjusts his grip on him, while Riki is leaning heavily against his shoulder, forcing most of his weight onto the former as they make their way up the front path of your house. Every few seconds he stumbles, nearly dragging both of them into the bushes.
"You know what my problem is?" Riki asks. "My sister."
Like he managed to summon you with a single call, the front door opens. And for the first time in his life, Jake finally sees you and not as a passing figure. The first thing he noticed was that you looked nothing like the distant, polished version of yourself he had seen around school. Those glimpses had always been quick and incomplete, a neat figure behind a podium during assemblies with your hair done properly and your expression fixed into something polite enough. Standing on your front porch at midnight, however, your hair loose, a few loose strands escaping around your face, and you're in sleeping clothes. The porch light caught the irritation on your face clearly, and you exactly had a face that looked like it had been designed to ruin a person’s confidence.
Your gaze landed on Riki first, and whatever thin thread of patience you had left snapped immediately. “You’re dead.” you said, voice flat enough.
Riki, drunk and useless, pointed at you before looking back at Jake. “See?”
Jake could see, yes, but not exactly what everyone else seemed to see.
“I told you not to drink,” you said, already stepping forward.
“Technically,” Riki started. “You said I couldn’t drink too much, and I think —”
“No.”
Riki shut his mouth, which Jake found impressive considering he had spent the entire car ride arguing. You reached them and immediately took over, not gently, but not aggressively either. One second Jake was supporting most of Riki’s weight, and the next you had somehow taken your brother’s arm, and dragged it over your shoulder.
“You are seventeen years old,” you muttered. “Seventeen. Not grown enough to survive every stupid decision your friends encourage.”
Riki groaned and sagged against you, deciding, with the cruelty only younger brothers possessed, to become completely boneless. You nearly stumbled beneath his weight, and your annoyance sharpened so visibly that Jake almost took half a step back. “Stand properly,” you snapped. “I swear to God, Riki.”
“Uh,” Jake said, because apparently he was articulate, just not under porch lights and direct eye contact.
You paused, like you had forgotten he was there, then turned your head just enough to look at him. “What?”
“I can help.” The words left his mouth before he could fully decide whether he meant them, and for the first time that night, your attention shifted from Riki to him.
It lasted maybe two seconds, three if he was being generous, but it was enough for Jake to finally get a proper look at you and realize, with a strange and deeply inconvenient sense of betrayal, that nobody had mentioned the tyrant had pretty eyes.
You looked at him like he was another problem that had arrived, taking in his face, his clothes, and his car behind him. Your expression did not soften, in fact, it became even more unimpressed. “No,” you said. “I’ve got him,”
You turned away before he could say anything else. The door closed a moment later, leaving Jake alone on the porch with the cool night air, and the silence of having been dismissed by a girl who had barely given him enough time to become charming.
For several seconds, he just stared at the closed door.
That was it? That was his grand introduction to the infamous sister everyone had sworn was some terrible, unbearable monster? He had spent the entire night hearing stories about you, had driven your drunk brother home, had offered to help, and all he got in return was a death sentence aimed at Riki, two seconds of eye contact, and a rejection so cold.
Wow. Okayyy.
You’re sitting alone beneath one of the trees lining the courtyard, legs crossed neatly at the ankle, a planner open on your lap. Your attention is fixed on whatever system of color-coding you have, your neat cursive filling the page in careful lines. Even from across the courtyard, you look overwhelming. The Miu Miu loafers, the Bottega Veneta resting beside you, like you were deliberately trying to repel anyone who didn’t belong in the same tax bracket as your family.
Jake walks over easily, casually, friendly in the way he usually is without trying.
“Hey.”
You look up, not startled nor pleased, just disturbed. He smiles automatically, the kind people return before they even realize they’re doing it, because he has the sort of face that makes friendliness look charming instead of invasive. Your eyes move from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes, slow and blatantly judgmental, before returning to his face.
He waits, yet you close your planner, stand up, pick up your bag, and leave.
For a second, he just stands there while every gear in his brain grinds to a halt. Nobody has ever dismissed him that cleanly and efficiently, like he had been a minor scheduling conflict you decided to remove from your day. Obviously, he follows. You hear his footsteps behind you but you don’t react, your pace remains even, your expression unchanged, and by the time he catches up beside you, you still don’t give him so much as a glance.
“So that’s how this is gonna be?” he asks, amused despite himself. “You pretending you don’t hear me?”
You finally look over briefly. “Hi.”
Jake practically lights up at that; his smile widening, eyes brightening like he has just won something ridiculous, considering all you did was say hi. Still, he takes it as progress, watching your profile as you keep walking with your attention already returned to your planner.
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you remember me?”
That barely gets your attention. “Yes, Jake Sim,” you say, your voice stays perfectly even. “You’re one of Riki’s friends.”
The answer comes instantly, and Jake has no idea why you saying his name feels satisfying. “So you do know me.”
You only look back down at your planner as he flashes another smile, the one that usually makes people start talking, or laughing, or tucking their hair behind their ear because what is anyone supposed to do with all of Jake Sim’s attention? Unfortunately, you aren’t looking at him at all.
He exhales a quiet laugh through his nose. “Have you always been this friendly?”
“No.”
He frowns. “So it’s personal.”
“No.”
Before he can decide whether to be offended or impressed, you push open the door to a classroom. He follows one step too close, only for you to stop at the threshold and turn around, leaving him outside. Your eyes land on him properly, sharp and unreadable, and his thoughts stumble over themselves for half a second.
“What exactly do you need?” you ask. Your tone is calm, but somehow it feels like an insult wearing perfume.
Technically speaking, he needs nothing. This becomes obvious the longer he stands there saying absolutely nothing, and from the way your eyes narrow, you reach the same conclusion at the exact same time. “If you’re looking for assistance regarding academics, facilities, or student concerns,” you say politely, “I suggest you start by talking to a member of the student body.”
He opens his mouth, but you continue before he can speak. “Although,” you add, giving him one last slow once-over, “the nurse’s building might be more appropriate.”
For a second, Jake genuinely cannot tell if you’re joking.
You are not. You offer him the smallest smile imaginable, neither warm nor friendly, but decorative at best. Then you shut the door directly in his face — which, for the record, is the second time you have done that since he met you. He stands there, staring at the wood, while inside the classroom he can already hear you speaking to someone else in a perfectly normal voice, as if he had never existed at all.
Jake spots you three days later in the library, clearly because he was looking, but this time he has a plan, and for some reason, he still believes plans work on you.
Afternoon sunlight slips through the tall windows and stretches across the desks in pale strips, and Jake finds you near the history section, seated at a wide table with your laptop open and your papers arranged so neatly. Your curls are pinned back from your face, loose pieces framing your cheeks, your eyeshadow soft and precise in a way that makes you look even more put together. You are highlighting something when he sees you, chin resting lightly on your hand, completely absorbed and completely unreachable.
Naturally, he walks straight toward you. The chair across from yours screeches when he pulls it back, loud enough that two people at another table look up. Your eyes lift immediately, widening at the earsplitting sound before narrowing at him with such open irritation that he almost feels proud for earning a reaction at all.
“What are you doing?” you ask, voice low.
Jake drops into the seat with the confidence of someone who has already survived two doors being shut in his face and is somehow eager for a third. “Studying.”
Your gaze moves from him, to the empty table behind him, to the empty seats beside you, then back to him. The silence that follows is not confused, just judgmental. “And you chose the only occupied table in this section?"
“It had the best lighting.”
“It has me.”
“Exactly.”
You stare at him for another second, face unreadable except for the small, unimpressed lift of your brows. Then you look back down at your notes, clearly deciding he is not worth the strain of further expression. For about twelve seconds, Jake pretends to open his textbook for a real reason — flips one page, glances at your highlighter, then at your face. “Can you help me with something?” he whispers.
You don’t look up. “No.”
Jake’s mouth parts slightly, then closes. He has been rejected before, technically, but never with so little effort. It bothers him more than it should, especially when you do not even look pleased with yourself. You simply continue highlighting, lips slightly parted in concentration, as if dismissing him is just another item on your to-do list.
“Fine,” he says, leaning back. “I need help with economics.”
Your highlighter stops moving, and for one hopeful second, Jake thinks he finally got you. Then your eyes lift from the page, slow and suspicious. “You got a ninety-four.”
He blinks. “So?”
“You have the second-highest grade in the class.”
“You know my grade?”
“I’m the TA,” you say flatly. “That isn’t special.”
It lands with embarrassing accuracy. His smile falters for half a second before he recovers and leans forward again, lowering his voice like the two of you are sharing a secret. “Maybe I want to be first.”
This time, you do smile, but it is not warm. “No,” you say, “Because I’m first.”
The corner of his mouth rises before he can stop it. “Then I definitely need your notes.”
“You need attention,” you correct, closing your highlighter with a soft click. “There’s a difference.”
You turn a page, your tone still calm after shutting him up. “You ask questions you already know the answers to. You sit where you clearly aren’t wanted. You make jokes because you think being charming is the same thing as being interesting.” Your eyes lift to his again. “It’s not.”
Jake stares at you. Around you, the library stays quiet, and the air feels suddenly too still, like everyone else has been kind enough not to watch him being quietly dismantled. He tries to laugh it off. “Wow.”
“You asked for help.”
“I asked for economics.”
“And I gave you something useful.”
His mouth opens, but nothing decent comes out of it — the worst part of it all. Usually, he has a joke, a grin, a way to make people soften, but with you, every easy thing he reaches for turns useless in his hand.
You begin packing your papers into your bag with that same infuriating grace, not rushed, not flustered, not even angry. You stand, bag over your shoulder, eyes catching the light when you tilt your head slightly. “Also, next time you want to sit with me, try having a reason that isn’t your ego.” Then you walk away.
For a long moment, Jake just sits there, staring at the library doors after they close behind you. The silence settles back into place around him, heavy and humiliating. He exhales slowly and comes to one devastating conclusion: he can’t do this.
“Come on, dude! It’s barely been a week and nothing happened yet. I already gave you the cash!” Riki practically begs on his knees.
Jake frowns from the other edge of the pool table as he chalks the cue, the crumpled bills still existing somewhere in his pocket because, technically speaking, he hadn't earned them. At this point, the arrangement felt less like a job and more like repeated exposure therapy that would actively ruin his psychological welfare rather than heal it.
“No.”
Riki stares. “No? Jake.”
“No.”
Across, Jungwon looks up after his turn in billiards, with the expression of someone witnessing a familiar trainwreck but still expecting it from a mileway anyway. “What happened?”
Jake isn’t entirely sure where to begin. Maybe the front porch, then the devastating situations after it. Collectively, all encounters had taught him one important lesson: you’re impossible, not in the fun way people usually meant when describing someone to be cute — but actually a pain in the ass.
“She’s difficult,” Jake finally says while adjusting the cue against his purlicue. Jungwon just shrugs because such inference wasn’t surprising at all, I mean it’s you.
“She doesn't want anything,” he adds. “There's usually something. People want you to laugh, they want you to like them, or they want attention. Dude, people want conversation — or literally anything.” Jake scoffs. “And she doesn't.” he exclaims, coming out more frustrated than he intended, resulting in a miscue.
Social interactions followed a pattern and Jake knew that well, even if he wasn’t the most outgoing person on this planet, he still spent his entire life understanding that pattern. With you, it felt like throwing pebbles at a castle wall that decides public embarrassment for his punishment. Normally, being Jake Sim worked. He was hot, smiley, handsome, smart, well-spoken, and had great, healthy hair too. You treated all of that the same way you'd treat a weather report; filed away and forgotten before opening up an umbrella.
The more Jake thought about it, the more absurd you seemed. You’re nineteen years old and somehow functioning as a parent, a student, a volunteer, and whatever terrifying responsibilities that you could have stowed in that pink planner. There was probably a reason you looked perpetually exhausted, and why every conversation felt like you were mentally checking a to-do list. Also probably why you looked at Jake the way someone looked at a pop-up advertisement — unnecessary.
“Please,” Riki says, and for the first time all afternoon there was genuine desperation in his voice. “Just keep trying.”
Jake groans. “No.”
“Please.”
Jake rubs a hand down his face, because he already knows he’s going to lose this argument. Not through Riki’s annoying persuasion, but because somewhere between getting his face ignored at the Humanities building and getting dissected in the library, Jake had become painfully curious. Every interaction left him feeling like he'd only managed to scratch the surface of an entire unearthing no one yet has discovered. He hated that a lot, the mysteries and the unfinished conversations because you just can’t seem to bear him.
Most of all, of course, he hated that he was already wondering where he'd find you next.
A few days later, Jake finds himself in a bookstore three blocks away from campus, flipping through a poetry collection he absolutely does not want to buy. His teacher has insisted on physical copies because apparently PDFs are destroying the educational experience, while Jake personally believes the educational experience would improve significantly if the book cost less than a decent meal.
The bookstore is small, old, and crammed from floor to ceiling with shelves. It smells like paper, dust, and someone’s grandmother’s living room. He is still pretending to care about Shakespeare when the front door chimes, and he barely looks up until he hears your voice. You step inside with a headband pushing your hair back, still dressed like you came from school, except this version of you looks nothing like the girl he has been trying and failing to understand. For one thing, you are smiling, which isn’t polite smile you use like a weapon, but something real and easy.
“Hi, Mrs. Park,” you greet.
The elderly woman behind the counter brightens immediately. “There you are.”
Jake stares because, apparently, his brain has decided blinking is no longer necessary. A fat orange cat sprawled across the counter lifts its head when you approach, and you reach over to scratch beneath its chin. The cat melts instantly, stretching into your hand while you coo at it under your breath. He has seen you annoyed, composed, sharp, and dismissive, but this version of you, smiling at an old woman and whispering sweet nonsense to a cat, feels almost impossible to place beside the girl from campus.
It startles him how much he wants to keep watching.
After telling Mrs. Park you are only going to browse, you turn toward the shelves and move right into his aisle. Jake steps back instinctively, half-hidden behind a row of books, but the sensible part of him lasts for about four seconds before he decides, unfortunately, to bother you.
“You come here often?” he asks, leaning against the shelf like this is a normal thing to say and not the opening line of someone who has clearly run out of better ideas.
Your hand pauses on the spine of a novel, expression already rising from irritation. Slowly, you look at him, then around the aisle, then back at his face. “What are you doing here?”
He blinks, as if the answer should be obvious. “To read books.”
You stare at him for a second before your expression flattens. “Wow. I didn’t know you knew how to read.”
His face shifts into immediate offense. “I know how to read.”
You hum, entirely unimpressed, and continue walking down the aisle. “Coloring books don’t count.”
He laughs under his breath, dragging a hand over his face like he is trying very hard not to look too entertained. Or annoyed at how plainly rude you are without masking it. “Wow,” he mutters, following after you. “For the record, real books. Little Women. The Bell Jar. Percy Jackson.”
You stop walking and turn to him properly, huffing once through your nose. “Percy Jackson is new. Is that a thing now? The male campaign for feminism?”
His eyebrows lift. “All I’m hearing is you also read Percy Jackson and that we have something in common.”
Your eyes lift to his, flat and unimpressed, but there is the faintest twitch at the corner of your mouth. “Right, how exciting it is to bond over a children’s fantasy series.”
“Well,” he says, smiling. “It’s a start.”
You turn away, but he catches the tiny pause in your movement, the almost-smile you refuse to let happen. It feels ridiculous, how much that small reaction does to him even though he has won games in front of cheering crowds and accepted medals in crowded auditoriums, yet somehow, getting half a smile out of you in a dusty bookstore feels more victorious. “Since we’re apparently literary equals now, do you want to get coffee?”
You just stare at him, brows drawn together, lips parted slightly, as if you are trying to understand what series of events in his life has led him to think that was an appropriate thing to say to you. “No,” you say.
The answer comes cleanly, and he just blinks. “What? Why not?”
“I have coffee at home.”
For a second, he just stands there, disbelieved and a little done. You turn back to the shelf like the matter is settled, fingers skimming over another row of spines while he processes the fact that you have somehow rejected him without remorse or politeness.
“That’s not the point,” he says.
You scoff. “Then why did you ask?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Instead, he exhales a laugh, softer this time. “Because most normal people actually understand that getting coffee means spending time together.”
You hum, still not looking at him. “Then you should have asked that.” You reach for a book on the higher shelf, and when you glance at him again, there is the faintest flicker of amusement in your eyes.
He laughs under his breath, and this time, he doesn’t even bother hiding how entertained he is. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable.”
“Fine,” he says, straightening a little. “Go out with me?”
You stop moving for barely a second, but Jake sees the tiny pause in your hand against the shelf, the way your face goes still like the question landed somewhere you didn’t expect. For once, he doesn’t grin.
Then you pull a book from the shelf and shove it against his chest. “No,” you say, coming out quieter than before, less mean than before. “Read your book.”
Jake catches it automatically, turning it a little to see that it’s the poetry collection he came here for.
By the time he looks back up, you’re already walking away, but not before he catches the smallest curve at the corner of your mouth. And, unfortunately for him, that feels a lot like a maybe.
The annual charity gala occupied all three floors of the Grand Ballroom, transforming an expensive venue into something that looked less like an event and more like a display of wealth (though, yes, it is). Guests emerged draped in custom couture and tailored suits, while somewhere near the entrance, a string quartet played softly enough not to interrupt conversation. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead in cascading tiers, fresh floral arrangements towered from the center of each table (imported blooms flown in specifically for the event, you coined in the suggestion of peonies). Waiters moved soundlessly between guests carrying silver trays lined with champagne flutes.
You had spent your entire life in diamond rooms where people discussed acquisitions over appetizers and spoke about money like it was weather. You'd sat beside CEOs at dinner because they were family friends, and investors shared laughter with your father over barbecue in your backyard. Without the pretense of acting remotely impressed, you boredly made your way through the halls as you passed by familiar faces. You smile, greet, remember names, and pretend you enjoy hearing about quarterly growth projections — your father did tell you to learn from what the older ones tell you, but now you learn to breathe deeply through your nostrils so as to not yawn.
The Elie Saab Spring 2003 gown skimmed against your legs as you moved through the ballroom, pale fabric catching the chandelier light whenever you turned. It was just something your father had pulled from storage for tonight, another piece of old couture that had spent more time preserved in garment bags than actually being worn. The fabric itched, the fit was annoyingly snug around your hips, and entirely wasted on you considering all you could think about how little room it left for dessert.
You'd just escaped a conversation about market expansion into the rural regions of the country when you reach for a glass of champagne from a passing tray.
"Wow."
You freeze immediately. Because you know that voice. Know it well enough that your eyes roll before you even turn around. Jake Sim stands a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets, looking entirely too entertained by something.
Specifically you.
"What?" The question leaves you sharper than intended, but he has always had a talent for earning it.
His gaze sweeps over you once, slowly. It isn’t enough to be inappropriate, just enough to be annoying. "Nothing."
You narrow your eyes. Jake, unfortunately, appears completely unbothered by this, like he’s finally used to it and finds it amusing rather than frightening.
For a moment, the two of you simply stand there, shoulder to shoulder, watching guests drift across the ballroom that it almost looks normal — respectable, even, as if you’re two people attending the same charity gala with poise and tact instead of a high school bizarrerie of a situation this has become.
"You clean up well." His gaze drifts back to you for a brief second before returning to the ballroom.
You turn so quickly towards him he actually laughs. "I always clean up well."
"Right."
"I do."
He bites the inside of his cheek, clearly trying not to smile. You take a sip of champagne as he steals a glass from a passing waiter, mirroring your movement to sip from his. "What are you doing here?" you shoot back under your breath.
He blinks at the question, looking almost offended on behalf of his own presence. "Are you asking why I'm at a charity event," he begins slowly, "or are you accusing me of stalking you?"
You practically glare at him but quickly shift to a warm smile when a familiar older face greets you, wrinkly and your father’s acquaintance. Once she leaves, you clear your throat and shrug casually. "I’m starting to think it's reached concerning levels."
That earns you a look — a long, disbelieving stare. He gestures vaguely to himself, as though presenting evidence before a jury, and that he clearly belongs here about as much as anyone else in attendance. "Come on." he chuckles as his eyebrows rise. "I look like this and your conclusion is that I trespassed just to see you?"
You hate how your eyes give in to immediately flicking toward him because, God, he's annoyingly right.
The black suit fits him unfairly well. His hair, usually left to do whatever it wants, has actually been styled for once, pushed neatly away from his face save for a single strand that has somehow escaped and fallen across his forehead. Standing beneath the chandeliers with a champagne glass in hand, he looks less like the guy who regularly shows up during the most random times and a prince, unfortunately.
You clear your throat and look away before that thought can do any more damage. "You make it hard not to think that way."
You almost forgot just how affluent the Sim’s are — that is, in your defense, was just a detail you overlooked. He isn't some random idiot who keeps appearing in your life through increasingly unlikely circumstances, his family name actually appears in newspapers and annual reports and conversations your father has over dinner.
You drain the rest of your champagne before he can say anything. "Well," you say, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from your gown, "it's been lovely speaking with you, Mr. Sim." The title earns an immediate snort, and you continue before he can interrupt. "Please extend my regards to your family." Satisfied with yourself, you offer him the sort of polished smile that had been drilled into you and turn to leave, as you’ve decided that you will stop entertaining the jest.
A hand settles lightly at your shoulder. “There you are.”
You turn at the sound of your father’s voice and immediately straighten. It happens before you can stop it, your spine aligning, your expression smoothing, every loose, irritated part of you folding back into place like a napkin at a five-star restaurant. “Hi, Dad.”
He then guides you aside with the kind of effortless authority. “You’ve been doing well tonight,” he says.
The compliment should feel nice, and it does for half a second until you remember who it’s coming from and how rare it is, and suddenly it feels less like praise and more like something you have to catch carefully. “Thank you,” you say.
His eyes drift past you, scanning the room. “Where’s Riki?”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the stem of your champagne glass. The room remains warm with bodies and lights and expensive alcohol, but somehow you feel cold all at once. “He probably forgot. He had practice earlier, and his workload’s been heavy.”
Your father looks at you then, and you immediately hate the expression on his face. Because it’s disappointment dressed up as responsibility, one you know too well. “You’re his older sister,” he says. “You know how he is. You should have made sure he came.”
For a second, you only stare at him, at the neat way he fixed his hair and made his collar. Somewhere near the stage, the host tests the microphone and the feedback screeches faintly through the room. “I can’t force him to come,” you say carefully.
Your father’s mouth presses into a thin line. “You’ve never had a problem controlling him before.”
Something hot sparks behind your ribs. You didn’t care for anyone to think that way about you, but the way your father had borrowed the notion feels shitty. “He’s seventeen, he’s going to be careless — that’s expected. But you know better.” he looks at you this time. “So do better.”
For a moment, you can’t speak. Because how can you be nineteen, and somehow old enough to be held responsible for everyone else’s failures. “I should talk to some friends,” you say as you take a step back.
Your father nods, already looking toward another guest who has begun approaching him. “Good.”
You turn before your face can betray anything and walk away, heels clicking against the marble floor. By the time you reach the hallway leading away from the ballroom, irritation has burned through whatever hurt came first — your jaw aches from clenching and your chest feels tight with things you can’t say. You turn the corner too quickly and a hand catches your wrist, a gasp spilling as you’re pulled backward, your shoes skidding slightly against the polished floor before another hand steadies you just enough to keep you from stumbling.
Then you look up to see Jake.
“What the hell?” you hiss.
He raises both hands immediately, though one stays close in case you lose your balance again. “Okay, bad approach.”
You stare at him, breath uneven. “Are you insane?”
“A little,” he admits. “But I just came from the restroom and you came out looking very mad.”
Your expression shifts before you can stop it. “Move,” you say, trying to step past him.
However, he doesn’t move. “You need air,” he says.
“I need people to stop telling me what I need. And I need you to stop appearing everywhere.”
His mouth twitches. “Fair.”
You narrow your eyes again. “Then move.”
He glances behind him toward a side door at the end of the corridor and you follow. Beyond it, you can see the faint spill of garden lights through the glass, and when you look back at him, you can see the words in his eyes. “Two minutes,” he says.
“No.”
“Then one.”
“Jake.”
“You can yell at me outside.”
You should go back into the ballroom, smile at executives, pretend your father didn’t just hand you responsibility for a brother he barely remembered to parent. Instead, when Jake gently reaches for your wrist again, you let him anyway.
The garden outside is cooler, quieter, and beautiful. Tall hedges line the stone pathway, trimmed carefully beneath strings of warm lights while white roses climb the trellises, their petals pale and some aging. The distant sound of the ballroom fades behind the closed door until it becomes nothing but a muffled noise as you walk further.
The cold reaches you almost immediately, slipping through the thin fabric of your gown and settling against your skin, but you refuse to shiver in front of him. For a while, neither of you says anything as you only tighten your arms around yourself, pretending it’s irritation and not the cold making your shoulders rise. He watches you for a second, like he’s debating whether saying anything will get him killed faster than staying quiet. Then, with both hands tucked into his pant pockets, he nods toward the stone path. “Walk with me?”
You stare at him, unimpressed, but eventually follow because the alternative is going back inside and smiling until your face cracks in half. The two of you move beneath the garden lights in silence, your heels clicking softly against stone while his steps stay slower than usual, like he’s matching your pace without making it obvious. You keep your arms crossed tight, eyes fixed on the roses ahead, while Jake walks beside you with his hands still buried in his pockets. For once, he doesn’t fill the silence just to fill it.
Which lasts forty-seven seconds.
“Riki told me he wasn’t going.”
Every strange thing that had happened to you recently could be traced back to your brother tonight. When you open your eyes again, Jake is looking ahead, hands still tucked in his pockets. “Right. You’re friends.” you say as you remember. “So he just tells you things.”
He shrugs. “Occasionally.”
“About me?”
He looks like he already regrets opening his mouth, but only halfway. “Not that much.” He falls into step beside you again, catching up with your pace. “Him not showing up must be why you’re upset?” he says carefully.
You turn your head slowly and he immediately lifts both hands, palms out, although the smile pulling at his mouth ruins the surrender. “I’m just asking.”
“You’re nosy.”
“Well, yes.”
You stare at him for a second longer, trying very hard to remain annoyed. Unfortunately, Jake has this terrible habit of making honesty look harmless. Although, he is very much a threat, maybe not the loud or dramatic kind, but the sort that slips past defenses because it smiles and asks questions and walks slower beside you when your feet are hurting.
You look away first, only for him to take that as permission, because he continues. “Let me guess. Your dad’s pissed because he didn’t show up.”
“No.” Still, your jaw tightens. And he notices. His expression shifts slightly, amusement dimming into something quieter. “You’re shitty at guessing.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He nods like he’s accepting the challenge. “Then maybe it’s the champagne. Bad year?”
You give him a look. “It’s champagne.”
“So yes.”
“No.”
“Is it the gown? You keep tugging at it.”
Your hand immediately stills at your hip, growing a little insecure. “I am not.”
“You are.”
You glare at him, but there’s a traitorous twitch at the corner of your mouth that you immediately force away. He catches it anyway and his eyes brighten. “There it is.”
“There’s nothing.”
“Well, I think there is something. The garden’s very enchanted tonight.” he sighs in relief, looking very pleased with himself.
“You are so annoying,” you mutter, turning your face away before he can catch the smile fighting its way onto your mouth.
“I’ve been told.”
“Frequently, I hope.” You roll your eyes and keep walking, but the anger inside your chest has loosened slightly, enough that breathing doesn’t feel like swallowing flute glass anymore. It irritates you a little that he helped without doing anything grand, only so much as walking beside you, filling the silence with stupid guesses, making it impossible for you to fully sink into whatever your father had left behind.
He looks at you again. “Is it one of the donors?”
“No.”
“Board member?”
“No.”
Then, because Jake really is bad at guessing, he says, “Or maybe it’s about a guy.”
Your head snaps up. “A guy?”
He shrugs, trying for casual and failing spectacularly because there is something too deliberate in the way he doesn’t look directly at you. “Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe a boyfriend.”
You actually laugh, disbelieving. “A boyfriend?”
“A shitty boyfriend,” he clarifies, like that makes it a more reasonable theory to hypothesize tonight. “Maybe he said something stupid. Maybe he’s the reason you look so grumpy in couture.”
You stare at him before you scoff, shaking your head as you look away. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
The silence that follows is immediate and loud. He doesn’t say anything, and because he doesn’t say anything, you look back to see he’s looking ahead now, with the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly.
“Good.”
Your heart trips over itself. You stare at him, horrified by the fact that your face feels warm. “Good?”
His mouth twitches. “Yeah.”
“You’re being weird.”
He turns back to you then, eyebrows raised. “How?”
You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Explaining it would mean admitting that you noticed the difference between his usual and this one; it would mean admitting that you were paying attention to the boy that’s making space for himself in your life, little by little. So instead, you do the mature thing of looking away and walking.
He hums, pleased with himself, and the sound makes your hands tighten around your arms again without the cold having to do with it at all. For a few steps, neither of you speaks as the garden path curves around a fountain, water spilling quietly over stone. Out here, your hair has loosened from its pins and the night air has cooled your cheeks after learning warmth a little too much tonight.
“You know,” he says after a while, softer now, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think Riki skipping tonight is your fault.”
Your throat tightens before you can stop it, continuing to stare ahead. “I didn’t ask.”
For once, he doesn’t tilt his head with that pleased little smile, doesn’t turn your sentence into something lighter just because he can. He only keeps walking beside you in silence, letting the water from the fountain grow louder as you near it. You almost wish he would say something annoying, just so that it would give you something to swat at, something easy to roll your eyes over, something that didn’t require you to stand there with all the ugly feelings still sitting in your chest like stones.
A bench sits just in front of the fountain, tucked between two rose trellises and half-hidden from the ballroom windows. One second you’re walking, the next you’re lowering yourself onto the bench, careful with the fabric of your gown, your hands folding tightly in your lap like you’re trying to hold yourself together through posture alone. He stops a few feet away and after a careful pause, he sits on the opposite end of the bench, far enough that there’s a whole stretch of cold stone between you, choosing to understand that closeness right now might make you run.
He isn’t looking back when you look at him, his hands are clasped loosely in front of him as he stares at his fidgeting fingers instead, giving you the sort of space he knows you need. The kindness of it is small. A boy sitting a respectful distance away from you in a garden at a charity gala, saying nothing while you pretend you don’t feel miserable.
You bite your bottom lip, contemplating whether you’ll entertain words sitting at the back of your throat, heavy and stubborn, and you tell yourself not to say them. You don’t even know him like that because he’s not your friend; he’s Riki’s friend, an irritating hallway apparition, a boy who somehow knows too much and still not enough.
Your eyes stay on the building across the garden, right where you both came from. When you speak, your voice is quieter. “It’s not just because Riki didn’t show up.”
Jake remains still, but you notice the way his attention sharpens a little. “I told him about tonight,” you say. “I reminded him. I even texted him this morning.” Your fingers tighten around each other in your lap. “And he didn’t come. Which is annoying, yes, but it’s also just Riki. He forgets things, gets distracted, acts like nothing bad can happen to him.”
The fountain fills the silence for a moment, the ballroom doors open briefly, spilling faint music and laughter into the garden before closing again. “I don’t do it for fun,” you say, almost under your breath. “The controlling thing.”
You hate that word and how easily people use it, like it explains everything, like you woke up one day and decided being difficult was easier. “I don’t know how to parent,” you admit. “I know he’s my brother, not my child, but somehow it became my job anyway.”
Jake does not interrupt, he only looks at you, steady and quiet, and that makes it worse because it makes you want to keep talking. “My mom’s a long story, and my dad…” You laugh softly, but there is no humor in it. “He pays for things. He’s not cruel. He just doesn’t know the small things. When Riki has practice, or when he has exams, or when he’s sick and pretending he isn’t.”
You look down at your hands. “He doesn’t know who to call when Riki doesn’t answer his phone.” Your throat tightens. “And I do.” The words sit between you, heavier than you meant them to be. “I just did what I thought was right. I’m not a mom. I don’t know what I’m doing. But then my father looks at me tonight and tells me to do better, like I haven’t been trying since I was eleven.”
For a moment, Jake doesn’t say anything. His expression shifts again, losing the last of its teasing until all that’s left is something quieter, something you don’t quite know how to hold without feeling embarrassed.
He looks down at your hands. “Is that why you’re upset tonight?”
You press your lips together before you nod. His gaze lifts to your face again, his voice gentle when he asks, “Is that why you’re upset every day?”
The question catches you so off guard that you laugh, a soft and helpless sound that slips out before you can stop it.
Then you nod again and he smiles a little too. “Okay.”
You huff, wiping beneath your eye quickly before anything can happen there. Somehow sitting beside Jake Sim in the cold garden after admitting the worst parts of yourself feels less humiliating than it should. Maybe because he hasn’t moved closer, even though some terrible, traitorous part of you wonders what would happen if he did. Instead, he stays on his side of the bench, careful and warm from a distance.
You look at him finally. “Do people really think I’m a bitch?”
He freezes instantly, so immediate that you sigh for even asking. His eyes flick to you, then away, then back again, like he is suddenly trying to navigate a conversation with several live wires tucked into it.
You raise your brows, but you’re smiling. “So yes.”
“No.”
He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, looking genuinely shy, which is oddly enough to distract you from your own misery. “I mean, I don’t think that.”
You tilt your head, amusement softening your face. “Okay, so what did you think?”
His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. “I thought you were scary.” He looks at you, then immediately adds, “I still think you’re scary.”
Your eyes narrow, almost to a glare. “You’re scared of me?” You try to make it sound like a joke but it doesn’t quite work.
His mouth tilts. “The first time you shut the door in my face? Yeah.”
A breath of laughter escapes you as you remember a very irritable night of a brother coming home drunk. “You should’ve stopped then.”
“I considered it.” He leans back slightly, looking at the fountain instead of you now. “But then you smiled at a cat named Chicken.”
Your head snaps toward him. For a second, he looks like he wants to physically pull the words back into his mouth after saying it too easily and comfortably, like the memory had been sitting there the whole time and slipped out before he could decide. He exhales, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “I saw it,” he admits. “You were with Mrs. Park, and then the cat got up, and you just...” He stops, suddenly aware of how much detail he is giving. “You looked different.”
Your face warms despite yourself, but you keep your expression sharp. “So you were watching me.”
He lifts one hand like he is surrendering in court. “I know how it sounds. I just mean I noticed you before you noticed me.”
You fold your arms, still looking at him like he has committed some minor felony against your privacy. “And you remembered the cat’s name?”
“You called him Chicken.”
“Because his name is Chicken.”
“Which is insane, by the way.”
You almost smile at that, but you press it down immediately. Unfortunately, Jake sees the attempt; fortunately, he has enough survival instinct not to mention it, and to choose his words with more care this time. “I guess I just didn’t expect you to look less angry.” His gaze flicks to yours.
You scoff, but there is barely any bite in it. “So you watched me because I looked less angry?”
“No,” he says, then pauses. “Maybe. A little. I don’t know.” He exhales, looking down at his hands. “Everyone talked about you like you were this impossible person. Then I met you and, yeah, you were mean to me.”
A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, quiet and a little disbelieving. “Yeah, well,” you say, looking away first, “I wasn’t exactly making myself likable.”
His smile softens at that, not teasing this time. “I’m not saying you made it easy.” His eyes stay on you, steady enough to make your chest feel weird. “I’m saying I still wanted to get to know you.”
For once, you don’t have anything sharp to say back. You study him, searching for the joke, the little loophole where he gets to wriggle away from accountability. But he only sits there on the far end of the bench, shoulders slightly hunched, looking embarrassed enough that it almost feels unfair to keep glaring. The two of you listen to the fountain where water spills over stone, soft and repetitive, while the ballroom continues humming in the distance like another life waiting for you to come back and behave.
“You know,” you say slowly, “normal people introduce themselves.”
He glances at you. “I did.”
You give him a look. “You followed me through campus.”
“I said hey.”
“That is not an introduction, that was stalking.”
He laughs, and you roll your eyes, though the smile threatening the corner of your mouth makes the whole thing less convincing than you probably want it to be. He turns his body slightly toward you, still careful not to crowd your space, his expression shifting into something softer beneath the amusement.
“Okay,” he says. “Then let me redo it.”
He straightens a little, smoothing one hand over his suit jacket like he is preparing for something far more formal than a conversation beside you. It should look ridiculous, but then he looks at you with an earnestness that makes your guard hesitate before you can stop it.
“Hi,” he says, offering his hand. “I’m Jake Sim. I’m Riki’s friend. I have a border collie named Layla. I play soccer, I’m good at math, and I’m apparently terrible at approaching girls who scare me.”
You stare at him. Surprised. Confused. Heart fluttering a little.
His smile softens, but he keeps going, quieter now, like the next part matters more than the joke. “I also know I made a bad first impression. And I know you had every reason to think I was annoying.”
“You are annoying,” you say automatically while your hand reaches his to shake.
“I know.” His smile grows a little. “But I’m trying to be less annoying.”
“Unlikely.”
“Probably,” he admits. “But I’d still like to try.”
For a second after that, neither of you says anything. Your hand slips out of his, and both of you look away at almost the same time, like you’re both processing that you’ve just held hands. Jake clears his throat and fixes his posture, sitting up straighter as if that might undo the way his smile is still refusing to leave his face.
“Well,” you say after a moment, folding your hands over your lap, “you’re the first person who’s actually lasted this long with me.” You say it lightly, almost dismissively, but your eyes stay in front of you. “Most people usually give up before this part.”
His smile fades just a little, not into sadness exactly, but into something more attentive. “Because you push them away?”
You huff out a small laugh. “Friends, mostly.” Then your mouth twists, like you’re deciding whether to soften the words or not. “Apparently, people can’t handle a heinous bitch for very long.”
He huffs a small laugh, looking down at his fidgeting hands. You glance at him, confused. “What?”
He shakes his head once, like he’s amused by something private. “Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
His gaze lifts to yours again. There’s a strange look on his face now, which isn’t teasing exactly, but not shy either.
Then he says, “I’m not trying to be your friend.”
The sentence lands so cleanly that, for one impossible second, your entire brain goes quiet. You stare at him and Jake stares back.
Somewhere behind the doors, people are still drinking champagne and discussing donations and waiting for you to return as the version of yourself they understand, while here, on this bench, Jake Sim has just said something far too simple to be misunderstood.
Your mouth parts slightly. “What?”
His confidence seems to flicker only after he realizes he has actually said it out loud and not something he kept in his head. His ears go faintly red, but he doesn’t look away, keeping his legs crisscrossed on the bench like an idiot prince, looking at you like he knows exactly what he meant and is terrified by it anyway.
“I mean,” he starts, then stops. He exhales, laughing under his breath, embarrassed now. “I mean, I can be. Your friend.”
“That is not what you said.”
“I know.”
“You said you weren’t trying to be my friend.”
“I know what I said.”
Your face feels hot. Horribly, unmistakably hot.
His eyes drop for half a second to your mouth before returning to your face so quickly you almost think you imagined it. You look away first because if you keep looking at him, something very stupid is going to happen to your composure.
You clear your throat. “I should go back.”
His gaze lifts immediately, but he doesn’t argue. “Yeah.”
You expected a joke, a dramatic sigh, maybe some irritating line about how tragic it is that society needs you more than he does. Instead, he only nods and begins unfolding himself from the bench. “You’re not going to convince me to stay?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
Jake stands, brushing one hand over his trousers. “Do you want me to?”
He looks at you, and something in his expression grows rigid again when he realizes what he just asked. So he corrects himself. “I mean,” he says, “I can. But I can also walk you back.”
You look away, pretending to adjust the fabric of your gown. “Fine.”
His mouth curves. “Fine?”
“Yes.”
He laughs under his breath, and you hate that you smile. You stand carefully from the bench, smoothing the skirt of your gown with both hands, only to freeze to find the pale fabric is stained. It’s not ruined, necessarily, but definitely marked where the garden path must have turned soft near the fountain, with a faint smear of mud that darkens the edge of the gown, and when you glance down at your shoes, the thin straps and pointed toes have flecks of dirt on them. You’ve spent all night holding yourself together, only to end up in a garden with Riki’s friend, exposing everything you’ve kept to yourself, and now covered in mud at your father’s charity gala.
“I can’t walk back in like this.” you can only sigh.
He grins, then his eyes drop again to your shoes, while the amusement fades into thoughtfulness. “Do you want me to carry you?”
You look at him so fast your neck nearly protests. “What?”
His face changes instantly and his ears go red again. “Sorry. I mean, not like that. I just meant because of the mud, and your heels, and the dress, and the path is kind of wet. It might get worse. Aren’t your feet tired?”
You stare at him as he exhales, glancing away for a second before looking back at you, steadier this time. “I can carry you back.” The correction is soft, because it’s not a question that leaves you to decide whether accepting makes you ridiculous. It’s an offer.
“In front of everyone?”
“No,” he says quickly, then gestures toward the side path. “Not everyone. There’s another entrance near the hallway, right? The one we came out of. I can take you there.”
You blink and the idea is absurd, too much for everything that has happened tonight. “I’m not letting you carry me.”
“Okay.”
You shake your head, but you’re smiling again, and this time you don’t try to hide it anymore.
The two of you start down the side path slowly, your steps careful over the damp stone and softer patches of grass. The garden seems colder now as the breeze slips beneath the thin fabric of your gown, crawling across your bare shoulders until you can’t stop the small shiver that runs through you. You tuck your chin, tighten your arms around yourself, and keep walking like your body hasn’t just betrayed you in front of the most observant boy alive.
One second he is walking beside you in his perfectly fitted black suit, and the next, warm fabric settles around you, heavy and soft, falling over your bare shoulders with a carefulness that makes your breath catch. You stop walking, letting his hands hover for half a second near your shoulders to make sure the jacket doesn’t slide off before he pulls them back.
You look down at the jacket, then back at him with a glare of concern. “You’re going to get cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re in a dress shirt.”
“And you’re shivering.”
“I was not.” You glare at him, but it has no teeth now, no bite, which he seems to know that too, because his smile turns softer.
“Just wear it.”
The two of you continue toward the side entrance, slower than necessary, slower than you have ever been. Your gown brushes against the grass, stained hem gathered slightly in one hand, while his jacket hangs around your shoulders.
You should worry about the mud, the whispers, your father, the fact that Jake Sim’s jacket is currently covering your gown in a way that feels too intimate for something so practical. But you haven’t cared even though the vintage and expensive dress you wear is dirty. Instead, you laugh again when your heel sinks slightly into the damp ground. Your heels click against the marble as you step back into the hallway, the sound suddenly too clean after the wet grass and stone path outside. You can already hear the faint swell of conversation beyond the ballroom doors waiting at the end like a mouth full of gold light and noise; the clinking glasses, the polite laughter, the entire world you are supposed to return to with your posture fixed and your expression arranged.
You reach for his jacket before you can think too much about it. He takes it carefully, his fingers brushing the fabric where your hands had been. You smooth the front of your gown, trying to rebuild yourself enough to step back inside. “If you tell anyone what happened...”
“I won’t,” he says, before you even finish. “I won’t.” he repeats, softer.
For some reason, you believe him immediately. So you nod once, gathering yourself before pushing the doors open. The warmth and noise rushes back in at once, golden light spilling over your face as you step into the room again.
It takes less than a minute for your father to find you, and once he does, his eyes move over you, first your hair, then the faint mud near your dress, then your shoes. His brows draw together. “What happened to you?”
Normally, you would straighten, explain and apologize, but this time, you only shrug. “I had a bit too much champagne,” you say lightly.
By the time you returned to your room that night, the mud had already dried along the hem of your gown, your hair had loosened almost completely from its pins, and even though Jake Sim’s jacket had been returned before either of you stepped back into the ballroom, the warmth of it still seemed to sit stubbornly across your shoulders — surreal until beneath the covers.
That was the irritating part, really. Things were supposed to end when they ended. Jackets were returned, doors were opened, conversations were folded away with the rest of the evening, but the garden did not leave with the night, nor did the memory of him sitting across from you on the bench, careful with the distance, looking at you like he had seen the worst parts and somehow decided they were not enough to scare him away.
Neither of you talked about it after. Not properly.
There were moments where it almost happened, which was perhaps worse than if nothing had happened at all, because the next morning at school, when you saw him across the courtyard with Riki and the others, laughing at something Jay said, his eyes found yours through the movement of students and sunlight, and for one strange second, the entire campus seemed to narrow into the space between you — before Riki shoved his shoulder like a dumbass.
Jake learns fairly quickly that he is feeling (concerned, of course, that’s all) for you. And it’s inconvenient.
At first, that is the only word he lets himself use, because it sounds harmless enough. It is easier to call you inconvenient than admit that somewhere between a porch light, a bookstore cat, and a garden bench, his original reason for approaching you has started to rot quietly in the back of his conscience.
Riki had paid him.
Not in a serious way, or in a way any adult would consider legally binding or morally sophisticated, but still enough that Jake sometimes thinks about the crumpled bills and feels something unpleasant crawl under his skin. At the beginning, it had meant a task, this whole idea of keeping you occupied so Riki could have room to breathe. You were a challenge then, a sharp-tongued older sister with a reputation, a schedule, a glare that could salt the earth, and a list of rules for a brother who needed to survive for his benefit.
It was getting harder to think of you as a job when you showed him what you thought were the ugliest parts of yourself, and he could only think you still looked pretty.
He is also actively trying not to think about it on the pavement when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
“Bro,” Riki says the second Jake answers, voice low and hurried. “I need you to take my sister out tonight.”
He pauses with one hand still on Layla’s leash, standing on the sidewalk outside his house while the dog sniffs a bush. Jake’s starting to think that Riki’s a bit more insane than you are, because he always asks the most unhinged favors. “What?”
“You know,” Riki says quickly, then seems to think about it. “Our deal. I need it badly tonight. I have plans.”
Jake’s expression flattens. “What plans?”
“A date.”
There is silence — one awkward silence.
Layla tugs at the leash and Jake lets himself be pulled two steps forward before asking, very carefully, “Does your sister know?”
“No, obviously not.”
“Riki.”
“It’s not bad,” Riki insists immediately. “I’m just going out with this girl from school, and I’ll be home early, but if my sister’s home and I’m not, she’s gonna start calling people and asking questions again. It’s part of her rules that I’m not allowed to date ‘til I’m eighteen.”
Jake rubs a hand over his face, already feeling the shape of the problem and disliking how familiar it has become. Especially not when he was just trying to control his little growing trouble that made up of you and your pretty eyes and adorable smile. “So your solution is to make me distract her.”
“I pay a hundred bucks a week for that!”
Jake almost laughs, because three weeks ago he might have been amused enough to play along with the joke, but now the whole thing sits differently in his chest. There is the old agreement, of course, the stupid one made at a party over drinks and Riki’s desperation, but there is also the garden, your face under the lights, your voice beside the fountain, your hand taking his jacket before you stepped back into the ballroom, and the way you had looked at him like you did not know whether to trust him but might have wanted to.
“I’m not doing this because you asked,” Jake says.
Riki makes a confused sound. “But I did ask.”
“I know.” Jake says, watching Layla sit neatly at his feet and look up as if even she understands this is going badly. “I’m saying if I take her somewhere, it’s because I want to.”
Then Riki says, with the kind of slow horror that proves he has begun realizing his plan may have developed organs and free will, “Oh.”
By the time evening settles over the city, you are in your room with your hair clipped back and a half-finished movie open in front of you when your phone lights up with Jake’s name, which is already annoying because he has apparently become someone whose name makes your attention trip over itself before you can discipline it with strict rules and bad parenting.
You stare at the screen for two rings. Then you answer. “What?”
There is a brief pause, and you can almost hear his smile through the phone. “Hi to you too.”
His voice slips through the speaker in a way that makes your room feel a little more warm than it did a second ago. You hate that he can do that now, that he can enter a space and rearrange the air without even being physically present, as though your life has become embarrassingly vulnerable to boys with good timing and probably bad intentions, because who calls at 9PM?
You lean back against your headboard. “Why are you calling me?”
“Because I’m going to the night market across town,” he says. “There are food trucks, stalls, probably overpriced shit,”
You cock a brow at relevance. “Okay?”
“Come with me.”
The sentence is too simple. Not do you want to come, or are you free, or any kind of question you can fold neatly into an excuse and return unopened.
Your fingers tighten around your phone. “No.”
He doesn’t answer right away, and you expect him to push immediately, because that is usually what he does. He appears in hallways, sits at your library table, follows you through conversations until you leave, but now he only lets your answer sit there for a second.
Then he says, “Okay.”
You blink. The movie on your laptop continues playing in the background, but your attention has already abandoned it entirely. “Then why are you still calling?” you ask.
On the other end, there is a small pause.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I guess I don’t really want to hang up yet.”
The movie keeps playing in front of you, bright colors moving across your laptop screen, but the sound has become nothing. You stare at the monitor instead, and try to ignore the way your face has warmed.
“That’s a terrible reason,” you say quietly.
“Yeah.” he laughs after. Neither of you speaks for a second until he breathes out softly. “I just thought you might like it.”
You smile down at your phone, suddenly brave because he can’t see your face. “You sound nervous.”
He goes quiet for half a second before answering, softer, “I am nervous. A little.”
You press the phone closer to your ear without meaning to. “Why?”
Then, quieter, “Because I asked you to come with me and you said no.” he lets out a soft chuckle, like he can’t believe himself for what he’s about to say, “But I’m going to be there,” he says. “And I’d rather go with you.”
There it is again, that careless honesty of his, the kind that does not ask for anything too loudly. Despite the oddity of the situation, your brain is less of a shamble than it is mellowed out — which you should probably question and panic about. Later.
You stare at your laptop for a long second. And for reasons you cannot fathom, you wonder what’s so bad about going somewhere tonight. With Jake. “How far is it?”
He does not answer immediately, maybe busy weighing in what that means already. You can practically feel him trying not to sound pleased. “Across town,” he says carefully. “Twenty minutes, maybe.”
You still for a moment, playing with your blankets in between your fingers while you think this through. And like he can sense your hesitance, he helps you. “Give me one hour,” he says. “If you hate it, I’ll take you home.”
You shake your head, still smiling. “You’re very confident for someone I haven’t technically agreed to go out with.”
The silence that follows is immediate as your eyes open wide, just realizing it at the exact same time he does. You sit up straighter, heat rushing to your face because you didn’t mean it like that. “I mean go out to the market.”
“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter now. “I know.”
Fifteen minutes later, you step out of the house in comfortable clothes, locking the door behind you before you can think too hard about the fact that you came out at all. The night air hits your face immediately, cooler than expected, and you hug your arms loosely around yourself as your eyes find him near the curb.
Jake is leaning against his car with his hands in his pants pockets, head slightly lowered, looking unfairly casual in a hoodie layered beneath a jacket, his hair falling over his forehead like he did not spend even one second thinking about how he looked before coming here. Which is ridiculous, because some people look better when they try, but Jake Sim has apparently been designed by nature to look the most when he appears completely unaware of himself.
His gaze travels over you once, slow to take you in. You usually look like you’ve been assembled by clothing that make people feel underdressed by association, but tonight you’re in sweatpants and a fitted tank top beneath a jacket, hair loose, face bare. He looks at you like he is taking in the fact that you came downstairs for him.
“What?” you ask, already defensive.
He shakes his head, but the smile gets there before his denial does. “Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
He pushes himself off the car, one hand already reaching for the passenger door handle. “You look cute.”
You physically jerk to a stop and your face warms immediately. “You’re weird.”
“I’ve heard.”
“You can’t just say things like that.”
He opens the passenger door and looks at you, smiling in a way that is trying to be innocent and failing by a devastating margin. “Get in.”
You narrow your eyes. “You’re bossy tonight.”
“Please get in,” he corrects, still smiling.
You stare at him for another second, mostly because your pride requires a brief fight before surrender, then walk past him and slide into the passenger seat with as much dignity as possible. He closes the door once you are settled, and through the window, you catch the small smile he tries to hide as he circles around the front of the car.
The ride’s quiet with the memory of Jake flirting with you in the gala garden — it makes you feel warm despite how cold the night is. You look out the window, watching streetlights slide over the glass, trying not to notice how different this feels from every other time you have been near him. The night market appears before you in scattered pieces first, a line of cars, a spill of warm lights, people crossing the street in groups, then the whole thing opens up beyond the parking area in a bright, crowded stretch of stalls and food trucks and lanterns strung overhead.
You step out of the car and immediately pause, because it’s loud and crowded, which means it’s not your thing. There is smoke from grills twisting into the cold air, music blasting everywhere, laughter rising and falling in waves — which feels less like a market and more like a small fair.
You look at the crowd, then up at Jake. “This is busy.”
He closes his door and comes around the car, following your gaze. “Yeah.” He laughs, but softly, and when you look at him, he is already looking at you with that careful smile again, the one that does not make fun of you for being cautious. He looks at the crowd, then back at you, and for a second you think he might offer to leave, which would be considerate and therefore deeply inconvenient, but instead he reaches over and gives the sleeve of your jacket a small tug.
“Come on,” he says.
Before you can decide whether to argue, he starts walking, slow enough that you can follow without feeling dragged into the crowd. You hesitate for another second, but then the smell of something fried and warm cuts through the smoke, and your stomach chooses betrayal.
At first, you keep maneuvering to avoid everyone. You move through the crowd with shoulders turning at sharp angles, arms tucked close, stepping aside whenever someone comes too near. He notices after the third time you dodge a stranger by nearly stepping into a potted plant.
He laughs and you sigh without looking at him. “People have no spatial awareness.”
“People are walking.”
“Badly.”
Jake looks like he is trying very hard not to enjoy you, which makes the smile on his face even worse. You are halfway past a food truck with skewers smoking over a grill when you stop so abruptly that Jake nearly walks into you.
He catches himself at the last second. “What?”
You are staring at a small stall tucked between two larger ones, steam curling from bamboo baskets stacked in neat towers while a woman behind the counter folds dumplings quickly with practiced hands.
“I’ve been craving dumplings.”
The sentence leaves you softer than intended, and his expression changes in a way you do not have time to analyze because you are already in front of the stall. He follows without comment. A few minutes later, the two of you are walking again, slower this time, both eating from your trays with the market moving around you in bright, noisy pieces.
For a while, neither of you says anything, though it is not uncomfortable. You take another bite, then he glances at you. “Do you want a drink with that?”
You nod, mouth still full, and he’s already turning toward a nearby cooler display. He comes back with two cheap glass soda pops, the kind with bright labels and caps that need to be opened on the side of the stall counter, and hands one to you without making a thing of it.
You take it, fingers brushing condensation. “Thanks.”
“Was that gratitude?”
You look at him over the rim of the bottle. He lifts both hands in surrender, still holding his own drink.
You walk with him after that, and slowly, your shoulders unintentionally begin to loosen. The crowd is still loud, still too close, still full of strangers with elbows and sauce and terrible directional instincts, but it becomes less unbearable now. He notices when your attention starts catching, but he never comments, which is the only reason you allow yourself to drift toward a booth crowded with little trinkets and charms. There are cats, dogs, bears, strawberries, cherries, tiny books, moons, stars, and one orange cat keychain with a round face and a deeply unimpressed expression.
You pretend your decision is practical, of course, like owning a tiny orange cat charm is somehow a necessary purchase. He watches quietly while you pay, your expression focused and pleased in a way that makes him look away for half a second because apparently he has some survival instincts left.
You attach it to your bag immediately. He looks at it, then at the rest of the display, and his mouth twitches. “That one looks like you.” You follow his gaze to a small cat charm with narrowed eyes, pointed ears, and an expression so deeply displeased it almost feels personally designed to insult you.
Your face flattens. “No, it does not.”
He picks it up. “It does.”
You glare at him and he smiles at the charm. “See? Same expression.” he says as he holds it up beside your face to compare.
“Put it back.”
Instead, he pays for it and you stare at him. “Why did you buy that?”
He looks at it once, and then pockets it without explanation. “Come on.”
“No, why did you buy it?”
“I liked it.” He keeps walking, and you have to follow because the crowd is moving again. For some reason the gesture bothers you more than the teasing does.
The next booth that caught your attention is almost obnoxiously catered to your weaknesses, with neat stacks of sticker sheets, tiny memo pads, washi tape, highlighters in soft colors, planner tabs, bookmarks, stamps, and pens arranged in little acrylic containers. You stop so completely that Jake has to step aside to avoid blocking a passing couple.
For the next several minutes, you become very busy with the most random things, all as Jake stands slightly behind you, holding his soda and yours because at some point you handed it to him without looking, and he accepts this responsibility without saying anything. The two of you keep walking after, and you look more relaxed now than you did at the entrance, less like you are bracing for the world to touch you and more like you have forgotten that you disliked it. You stop at stalls, drift toward anything cute or useful, and Jake continues to follow at your side with no complaint, carrying your soda when you need both hands and slowing whenever you slow.
Then, just as you lean slightly toward a booth selling handmade bookmarks and tiny pressed-flower frames, a pair of kids comes rushing through the gap between stalls, chasing each other with glowing toys in their hands. He moves before thinking, his hand finds the space near your lower back, hovering as he shifts closer to keep the children from bumping into you. His other arm angles subtly between you and the crowd, and he looks over his shoulder just long enough to make sure they pass without catching your side.
You do not notice because you are too busy looking at a bookmark with a little painted cat on it. For some reason, that makes him smile to himself as he lets his hand fall away before you can feel the absence of it.
You turn to him a second later, holding up the bookmark. “This is cute.”
He looks at the bookmark, then at you, still smiling faintly. “Yeah.”
At some point, the crowd gets worse, which you didn’t even notice at first, but then the path in front of you disappears almost entirely, swallowed by families, couples, groups of students, people stopping without warning, people cutting through gaps that do not exist — just people. For a moment, both of you stand at the edge of the crowd, watching everyone press forward in a messy current of shoulders and laughter and swinging shopping bags.
You sigh. “This is ridiculous.”
He looks thoughtful for a second, then makes a decision you do not see coming at all. His arm lifts slightly, hovering behind your shoulders, and you immediately turn your head to look at him.
Jake, to his credit, only looks mildly nervous. “It’s practical.”
Your eyes narrow. “Is it?”
He glances toward the crowd like it might help him build a better defense. “There are a lot of people.”
He presses his lips together, fighting a smile, but his arm stays there, careful and waiting rather than assuming. It should not feel like such a big thing, but it does, mostly because he looks like he is giving you every chance to refuse. “You don’t have to,” he says after a second, already starting to lower his arm.
You hate that the consideration makes it worse. So before you can think too much about it, you roll your eyes and step closer, letting his arm settle around your shoulders like this is somehow the most casual thing in the world (it is not). Jake goes very still for half a second, like he did not actually expect you to allow it, and the brief pause is so obvious that your face warms immediately.
“This is practical,” you say, staring straight ahead.
“Yeah,” he answers, voice lower than before. “Very practical.”
You glance up at him despite yourself, and he is already looking away, but the corner of his mouth is lifted, and his ears have gone faintly pink beneath the market lights.
“Are you blushing?” you ask.
Jake looks at you then, and the smile finally breaks loose. “No.”
“You are.”
“It’s cold.”
You should move away after that because the path opens slightly, enough for you to walk without being separated, and there is no official reason for his arm to stay around your shoulders anymore. But he keeps it there, loose enough that you can step away anytime, steady enough that no one can push between you.
So you stay.
He walks half a step beside you, not dragging you, only guiding when the crowd tightens again. His shoulder angles gently through the busiest parts, his arm drawing you closer whenever someone cuts too near, and each time it happens, your side brushes against him.
You stare ahead and try to remember that this is for crowd navigation, nothing else. Then someone with a swinging tote bag steps backward without looking, and Jake reacts before you do, pulling you in carefully until your shoulder presses against his chest for one quick, breathless second.
“Sorry,” he says near your ear, already loosening his hold. “You okay?”
You nod too quickly. “Fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
You hate how much easier it becomes after that. Not the crowd, because the crowd is still awful, still shifting and pressing and stopping without warning, but moving through it with him is easier. He notices gaps before you do, and he shifts when people come too close. At some point, without asking, he takes the unfinished cake cup from your hand too, tucking the little wooden spoon beneath the lid and holding it in his free hand like carrying your dessert is normal.
You do not protest, and that is the truly alarming part. For once, your brain gets to go quiet. Not completely, of course, because you are still you, but some strict part of you loosens just enough to let him lead. It should bother you more. It does bother you. But it also feels good.
By the time you finally return to the car, the one hour has become more than one hour by a margin neither of you mentions — you both had stopped checking the time altogether.
He only opens the passenger door for you, takes your bags long enough for you to get in comfortably, then hands them back once you are settled like this is all very normal. You start to think that’s the kind of person who knows where your hands are too full and fixes it without asking (which is bad because it detangles the wires in your brain). The drive back is quiet because you’re both tired, and the city slips past the windows in streaks of light while you sit with your head turned slightly toward the glass. He keeps one hand on the wheel and the other resting loosely near the gear shift, his posture relaxed now, his eyes on the road.
When he finally pulls up outside your house, you both sit there. Then Jake unbuckles first, getting out already, and by the time you open your door, he is already there with your things gathered carefully in his arms.
“I can carry my own stuff,”
“I know.”
He hands you the paper bag first, then the little pouch from the trinket stall, then your phone, which you had somehow left in the cup holder without realizing. With your things in your hands, you stand across the passenger door while he leans back against it, spine resting against the car, hands slipping into his pockets after he has nothing left to hand you. He is closer like this, enough that the porch light catches the tired softness around his eyes.
Jake looks at you for a moment, and for once, he does not seem like he is trying to come up with anything clever. Then his voice goes soft. “Did you have fun?”
You look down at the paper bag in your arms, thinking that you could say it was fine, or tolerable, or simply that dumplings were good. Instead, you think about his hand around yours in the crowd, his laugh when you dragged him away from the flowers, the way he never made you feel strange for relying on someone.
“A little,” you say.
His smile appears slowly, like he is trying not to let it happen too fast. “A little?”
“Don’t get greedy.”
“I feel greedy.”
Your face warms immediately, but he seems to hear himself a second later because his smile widens just slightly. “I had fun,” he says and you hold his gaze.
Your fingers tighten around the handles of your bag. “You’re very easy to entertain then,” you say.
“Only tonight.”
“Because of the market?”
“Sure.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “What was it then?”
He leans his head back lightly against the window, still watching you through half-lidded eyes, his smile barely there now. “You really wanna know?” he asks.
You smile despite yourself, shaking your head before he can answer. “No.” because you know what he’ll say, and it feels dangerous to hear it out loud.
He laughs softly, head still leaned back against the window, the porch light catching the slope of his cheek and the tired softness in his eyes. For a second, he looks less like someone trying to win an argument and more like someone who would be perfectly fine just standing there with you until the night runs out. “I figured.”
You lift the paper bag in your hand. “The dumplings were good.”
He sighs, disbelieving but still completely okay with it anyway. “I’ll take it,” he says. Then he straightens slowly, pushing himself off the car like he has finally accepted that the night has to end, but even after he says, “I should go,” he does not actually move.
You nod. “Yeah.”
Neither of you moves.
You should say goodnight, walk up the steps, unlock the door, and pretend the whole drive home had not gone quiet in a way that felt different from tiredness. But your feet stay planted near the passenger side, your bags looped awkwardly over your fingers, your phone pressed against the paper bag in your arms. The porch light spills softly over the driveway, catching the side of Jake’s face, and he looks tired in the gentlest way, hair slightly messy from the night air, hoodie sitting loose on his shoulders, eyes still on you like he is waiting for something without wanting to ask for it.
That is the worst part: he does not push, he does not tease, he does not make some stupid comment that would make it easier for you to roll your eyes and leave. He just stands there, patient in a way that makes your chest tighten.
“You should go,” you say, even though you are the one not stepping away.
His mouth curves faintly. “I know.”
“You’re not going.”
“Neither are you.”
You look away first, irritated by the truth of it. This is awful.
It is awful because you are used to handling things yourself, used to needing no one, used to being sharp enough that people stop trying. And then Jake Sim shows up, too warm, too persistent, too easy to like when he stops trying so hard, and suddenly your own brain feels like it has been rearranged.
He watches your face, his smile fading into something softer. “What is it?”
You shake your head. “Nothing.”
“Okay.”
He says it like he believes you have the right to keep it, and somehow that makes it harder to keep anything at all. You glance at him again, and he is still there, hands tucked into his pockets now, shoulders relaxed, giving you every chance to go inside.
You hate that. You hate him. You hate that you don’t hate him at all.
“You’re thinking really loud,” he says quietly.
You let out a small breath, almost a laugh, but not quite. “You’re very annoying.”
“I’ve heard.”
“No.” You look up at him properly this time, and your voice comes out softer than you meant it to. “You’ve been very inconvenient.”
He tilts his head, confusion crossing his face. “Inconvenient?”
You hate that he genuinely does not seem to understand. It makes the whole thing worse, somehow, because of course he would stand there looking at you like that, soft-eyed and patient, after spending the entire night making it harder and harder for you to pretend he was still just Riki’s friend.
“Yes,” you say, almost sharply. “Inconvenient.”
His mouth opens, probably to ask another stupid question, but you cannot handle another second of him being careful with you. So you drop your bags at your feet, step forward before you can change your mind, grab the front of his hoodie, and pull him down.
Then you kiss him.
He goes completely still beneath your hands, so still that your heart drops almost immediately. The courage leaves you as quickly as it came, replaced by a sharp rush of embarrassment that burns all the way up your neck. You pull away before he can even react, fingers slipping from his hoodie as your eyes fall anywhere but his face.
“I —” You swallow, already stepping back. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have —”
But you’re already turning before you can finish. You barely make it half a step before his hand catches your wrist, gentle but certain. The next second, he turns you back toward him, and you stumble straight into his chest.
Jake is looking at you now like he has finally caught up with himself. His hands find your waist, careful for only a heartbeat before his grip firms, pulling you closer, and he kisses you back. It is warm and firm and breathless, like he is making up for the second he lost, like he cannot believe you almost walked away again.
Your hands grab at his hoodie again, more out of surprise than anything, and he leans into you just enough that the whole world seems to narrow down to his chest against yours, his fingers at your waist, and the quiet night around you. He towers closer, holding you tighter when your knees buckle underneath you, especially when a gasp slips out of your lips and his tongue enters your mouth.
When he finally pulls back, he does not go far. For a moment, both of you just stand there, close and silent, breathing unevenly under the porch light. Then Jake lets out the smallest, stunned laugh, his forehead pressed against yours.
“You have no idea,” he says quietly with his hands steady at your waist. “How long I’ve wanted you to stop walking away from me.”
For once, there is no sharp answer on your tongue, no insult, no eye roll, no clean little exit you can use to save yourself from the way he is looking at you. There is only Jake and you.
“You froze,” you whisper, because it is the only thing your pride can still manage.
His laugh comes out breathless. “You surprised me.”
“That’s your excuse?”
His hands tighten at your waist, like even now he cannot believe you are still arguing with him. “That’s my apology.”
You lift your chin slightly. “It wasn’t very good.”
His eyes drop to your mouth for half a second before coming back to yours, and this time, the smile he gives you is softer than it is teasing.
“Then let me do better,”
You barely have time to pretend you are annoyed before he kisses you again. This one is slower at first, like he is giving you the chance to pull away, but your hands are already gripping his hoodie and pulling him closer before either of you can pretend otherwise. You feel him smile against your lips as he deepens the kiss.
When you part again, your face is warm, his hair is a little messed up from where your fingers had caught in it, and both of you are breathing like the night has tilted beneath your feet.
You look toward the door, then back at him, suddenly shy now that the night has become quiet again. “Do you want to come in?”
His gaze lifts to yours, and the look on his face changes so quickly it makes your breath catch. The teasing is gone now, the stunned smile from earlier fading into something quieter, heavier, like he understands exactly what you just asked and is trying very hard not to make you regret saying it.
For once, he does not say anything clever. He only looks at you and nods.
You unlock the front door carefully, as if the sound itself might become suspicious, then step inside with him following after you. The house is dim, only the soft light over the staircase left on, and for a second the two of you stand in the entryway like you have smuggled the whole night in with you.
He closes the door quietly behind him as you slip off your shoes. Neither of you says anything, but when you glance back, he is already looking at you. You step toward him first, his expression shifting like he has not fully learned what to do with you when you are the one closing the distance. For once, he does not move first. He only stands there, still and watching, as your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie. You pull him in and his breath catches softly, then you reach up and kiss him again. He responds after half a second of surprise, hands lifting to your waist, like even now he is keeping some part of himself gentle.
The kiss is still sweet, still careful, but there is less hesitation in it this time. Your hand stays fisted in his jacket, and when he leans closer, you feel his smile against your mouth before he kisses you back properly.
He pulls away just enough to breathe, his face still close, eyes warm and slightly dazed in a way that makes your stomach turn uselessly soft. “You’re getting very bold,” he whispers.
You glare at him, which is difficult when you are still holding onto him. “Are you complaining?”
His smile breaks wider. “No. I’m not.” Then he kisses you again before you can argue, which is unfair because arguing has been your only reliable defense against him and he has apparently discovered a much better strategy. His hands stay at your waist, warm and steady, not pushing, only holding you close enough that you forget to keep track of where the hallway ends and where he begins.
Somehow, between one kiss and the next, your back meets the front door. You do not notice right away because all you notice is him, the warmth of his mouth, the careful way he keeps slowing down like he is reminding himself to let you breathe, the way his thumb shifts at your waist when your fingers tighten in his jacket. The whole house is quiet around you, but your heart is being so loud it feels impossible that he cannot hear it.
Then he pulls back just enough for his words to brush against your mouth. “I want to be your boyfriend.”
You go still, and his eyes open, searching your face. You look at him for a second, breath still uneven, then whisper, “Think you can wait a little bit more?”
His expression softens immediately. The shift is quick; the want in his face makes room for patience again, how fast he understands. He nods once, small and serious, his hands loosening at your waist like he would let go the second you asked him to. “I can wait,” he says quietly.
And he looks like he means it. Like he would stand there in your hallway with your lipstick slightly smudged on his mouth, with his heart in his hands, and let you kiss him while still waiting for you to decide what to do with it. Like he would take every almost, every maybe, every not yet, and still look at you like you are not being cruel for needing time.
Your hands slide up from his jacket to his hair, fingers threading carefully through the soft strands at the back of his head, and his eyes flutter like that small touch just ruined whatever patience he had left. You lean in again and he goes still for one startled breath before he melts into it, a quiet laugh slipping against your mouth as he realizes, too late, that you were not saying no. Your hands stay curled in his jacket, keeping him close, and this kiss feels different from the others, still soft, still careful, but warmer now, more certain, like an answer you are not ready to say out loud.
When you pull away (barely), he is smiling so openly that you almost regret letting him have this much evidence. His smile turns stupidly happy. “That sounds like a yes.”
“It sounds like you should kiss me again before I change my mind.”
He laughs, quiet and breathless, and does exactly that. Somewhere between the hallway and the kiss after that, the two of you become very bad at making responsible decisions.
In whispered laughs and careful footsteps up the stairs, with your hand around his wrist and him following behind you like he is trying not to smile too loudly. The house stays dim around you, every creak in the floorboards suddenly dramatic enough. By the time you reach your room, your heart is doing something ridiculous again. You open the door slowly, letting the faint light from the hallway spill over your bed, your desk, the half-finished planner still open from earlier, the ordinary pieces of your life that suddenly feel less ordinary with him stepping into them behind you. He looks around for half a second, not nosy, just quietly taking it in.
You step toward him before he can say anything worse, catching the front of his jacket again, and he lets you pull him down with an ease that makes your stomach turn soft. The kiss starts as a way to shut him up, or at least that is what you tell yourself, but then his hands find the small of your back to steady you, careful and familiar now, and suddenly the room feels smaller.
You back up without thinking, until the backs of your legs meet the edge of the bed, and he stops immediately. He pulls away just enough to look at you. “Okay?”
You hate that he asks. You love that he asks.
Instead of answering, you sit down on the edge of the mattress and tug him gently. He follows, careful even when he looks like every bit of caution in him is being tested. The bed dips beneath both of you, your knees brushing first, then your hands finding his jacket again, pulling him close enough that he has no choice but to lean over you when you lie back against the pillows.
For a second, he just looks at you. It is almost funny, how still he goes, hands planted beside your shoulder like he has forgotten what to do with himself now that you are the one inviting him closer. His eyes move over your face, not rushing anywhere else, and something about that makes your chest feel warmer.
“You’re overthinking,” you whisper.
Jake lets out a quiet laugh, but it sounds strained in the softest way. “Yeah.”
“You usually have more to say.”
His smile appears, small and helpless, before he leans down and kisses you again. It is still gentle and careful, but being this close makes everything feel bigger. The quiet room, the faint light from the hallway, the warmth of him above you and being in between your legs, the way his breath catches when your fingers slip to the back of his neck.
He pulls away, not far, just enough to look at you properly, his eyes searching yours. “Still okay?” he whispers.
You nod, but he does not move immediately, like he wants the answer to be something you choose twice. So you smile, softer than you mean to. “I’m okay.” The relief on his face is quiet, but obvious.
“You’re very careful.”
His mouth lifts faintly. “With you? Yeah.”
You look away for half a second, because that is a terrible sentence to hear while he is this close. He sees it, the way the gears turn inside your head, the way you’re suddenly pushing his jacket off him and your knees are tightening against his waist. He swallows, struggling as he keeps himself over you, trying not to dive into something he’s not sure you want.
Except, you do. And it is very obvious.
You pull him down again, kissing until you know you’ve bruised his plump lips, until his tongue finally slips into your warm mouth as you make a sound against him. You gasp when you feel his hips press in between your thighs and his breath hitches, like he’s in between behaving and giving in. He pulls away abruptly, mouths detaching with a pop, and you visibly grow annoyed.
“God,” he lets out an airy and startled laugh, “What the fuck.”
He hates that he really likes the way his growing bulge is pressing against your ass. The warmth of his body makes you so needy, embarrassingly enough, though you only pull him closer. “Why are you so far away?” you whine.
“We should probably stop,” he says, but it comes out more like a breathless laugh, his forehead dropping for a second.
But you frown. You grind your ass against his hips, feeling the imprint of his cock. “Your dick says otherwise,” God, you are so mean, and he loves it.
A hand lifts from the mattress and slips towards your bare thigh that’s pressed against his waist, squeezing the soft fat there. You practically melt at the sight of veiny hand smoothing over the skin, until the tips of his fingers carefully disappear into the fabric of your shorts. You squirm against him and he shoots his eyes back up at you, eyebrows furrowed down to his lids.
“I don’t have a condom,” he says lowly, voice made of velvet and restraint.
You smile, evil and insatiable. “I don’t care.”
He sighs, disbelieving of how you’ve completely turned to a 180. “I’m trying to be good,” he says. “You’re making it impossible.” Yet he slips his shirt off his body, exposing the toned muscles of his abs, the deep grooves carved. His chest is flat and broad, expanding to the sculpted arms that are solid without looking heavy, just all quiet strength.
“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly, “And I will.” right before he bows down to kiss you again. His tongue brushes into your mouth, meeting yours as your hands find the privilege of slithering down his exposed skin, fingers grazing against the muscles that twitch from your soft touch.
He kisses your cheek next, then your jaw, until his lips reach the soft skin of your neck. He sucks there, until it’s littered with hickeys. “This isn’t good, baby,” he whispers, contradicting himself when he continues to bite the flesh above your pulse. You can only smile and moan, fascinated with the way he’s quickly losing composure.
He helps you out of your sweater next, carefully lifting your upper body up. “Arms up,” you follow, staring into his eyes once he takes it off you. His hand slides to your back, leaning down a little where his lips ghosts above your forehead, then presses a kiss there as he unclasps your bra, the black material slipping off you. You grow a little shy, lips pressing to a line while your own arms curl around yourself. He chuckles softly, then reaches for your wrists with careful fingers and gently uncrosses them. “Where did all that attitude go now, hm?” he murmurs before leaning down to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist, then another just above it, slow enough to make your breath catch.
He circles your arms back around his neck and you pull him closer to you, so he presses a soft kiss to your lips right before he bends down to your chest. “You’re making this too easy,” he whispers. “I thought you liked arguing with me.” You can only bite down on your bottom lip when he takes your perked nipple into his mouth, all wet and warm, before he sucks and bites down gently.
“Shut up.” you somehow still manage, and you can feel him smile against your breast.
His tongue swirls around the bud before he pulls away, then takes the other one into his mouth next. After he fondles your breasts, caressing you gently but firmly, he moves down your belly, his soft tongue trailing down your skin slowly. He presses kisses on the swell of it, smiling when you tense against him. His large, veiny hands tightens on your waist, attempting to memorize the way the dip feels under his palms. They find your hips next, thumb teasing the hem of your thin shorts, slipping into the fabric just to feel how soft you can get underneath.
“Miss Attitude is so fucking soft,” he murmurs. “They have no idea.”
He hooks his fingers over the hem of your shorts and slides it off you along with your panties. You’re already feverish when his face meets your cunt after, his breath fanning your folds, large hands holding your thighs so tightly you know it’d mark.
He can smell how sweet you are, your wetness glistening with so much arousal. He looks over you, sharp eyes through the hoods, like he wants to make sure you’re watching him. “I’ve got you.” Then, because he’s so cruel and careful at the same time, he presses soft kisses on your folds first. Then he kisses your clit next, a deep breath spilling out of you, your hands locking through his hair, attempting to pull him closer.
He licks a stripe this time, from your hole to your clit, your sensitivity reaching an all time high. “Fuck, Jake, come on,” you practically whimper.
With a prideful grin, he pins your thighs back against the bed. Then he buries his face into your cunt, his tongue laps inside your folds like you’re his favorite meal. He kisses the flesh, then sucks on it like he’s mad, sounds so wet and frenzy.
“Oh my God — Jake, fuck —” Your eyes shoot to your ceiling before your eyelids shut. He groans against you, sending vibrations through your pussy, his moans muffled while yours echo in your bedroom. He stuffs his face in, tongue slurping your entrance before his lips latch onto your clit next, sucking it dry. Your fingers tug at his roots, while your thighs threaten to clench around his head.
He pushes his long tongue into your hole next, the tip of his nose nuzzling your clip as he buries himself deeper, making sure to coat his face with your sweetness and his saliva. He thinks he can do this until the sun sets again and again, just latching his lips around your clit and holding your shivering thighs around his head.
He shakes his head slightly, just drinking your juices and moaning into your cunt, not being able to have enough of you. When he pulls away, he’s breathing heavily and you’re pouting, unsure why he’s stopping. Though the sight’s going to kill you still anyway, black hair soaked in sweat, brushing over his eyes while his plump pink lips and chin glisten with your juices.
“I want more, please…” you sigh, attempting to reach for him.
His hand lowers from your thigh to your cunt now, thumb gently grazing over your clit before spreading the folds apart. Practically glimmering with how drenched you are, he teases by pushing his thumb in and pulling back right after. He watches your face, at the way your brows knit together and how you flush into a puddle for him.
He smiles, all of his teeth showing, before he leans back down. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” Then he inserts his middle finger in, impossibly longer than yours, stealing a gasp from your throat when he pushes his digits so deep inside, reaching his pink knuckles.
The squelch of your walls squeezing around him should be sin, as he feels just how soft you are. He sneaks another one in, two fingers buried deep into your pussy that you clench so tightly. “S-shit — s-so fucking good…”
“Fuck,” he huffs a chuckle. “So tight. How would my cock fit you?”
He licks his lips, swallowing the remnants of you from his mouth. Then he dives back down, open mouth attaching on your clit while his thick fingers pull, push, and curl inside you. Your legs spread for him while you whine his name as if in a desperate prayer.
He continues to retract his digits before pushing it all back inside, carefully picking up the pace with the thrusts. He sucks on your clit hard, the sheer overstimulation of both his mouth and hand working on your pussy makes you a whining mess, loud and fucked, that you have to cover your mouth with your palm.
Though it’s no use, your brother definitely knows now just who’s fucking you with just his fingers and tongue. After a few more thrusts, the tips of his fingers touches that spot that makes your cunt clench tighter and your spine curve against your sheets.
“I-I’m gonna cum — Jake, c-cumming —” He drinks up all your liquid but then abruptly pulls back, fingers leaving your entrance and his mouth detaching with a wet pop, leaving you so bare.
You feel empty without him filling you up, that you’ve got to open your eyes and look over your breasts and belly, where he sits up, adjusting his weight on his knees while his face and fingers are sopping with your arousal, somehow still making you embarrassed. He licks it off clean, making sure not to waste any of you that you’ve given to him, and you sheepishly curl a little in your bed.
He leans forward now, propping himself on his hands as he hovers over you. Your hands reach up to soothe over the muscles of his traps, warm and bulky under your palms, before you find his hair again, stroking through the black locks. “You’re such a fucking tease,” you mumble, soft and spent.
Jake only has to bite his bottom lip to keep from grinning, eyes soft with the kind of fondness that makes you want to look away. Your gaze falls on the veins protruding from his arms, trailing up to his elbows that you just have to turn away again because is his dick just as veiny? When you look back up at him, there’s something unbearably gentle in his eyes, like he’s looking at the prettiest thing he’s ever been allowed to keep close. Without any words, he leans down, kissing you again, soft but firm, but he presses you deeper into the bed.
He lifts your leg again, spreading you wider than your dignity lets you, taking your thigh against his hip before he jerks forward, pushing his clothed bulge against your exposed pussy. Your kiss stutters and he pauses a little, pulling away suddenly to let out a shaky breath. “S-shit…”
You whine, weak but pitched. “Take it out, Jake, please,” You buck into his cock, feeling the heavy outline of it slide into your folds.
He doesn’t even argue this time, he just nods, breath uneven, eyes fixed on yours like whatever fight he had left in him disappeared the second you said his name. His hand finds your waist like he’s been waiting for permission all night, squeezing you tightly.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low and completely gone. “Okay.”
He lets go of you for a bit to push his sweatpants off, revealing his boner so prominent and practically hanging in his boxers. You can see his hands shaking a little as he takes his boxers off next, before throwing them into a corner of the room.
His cock practically springs forward to you, desperate and leaking. He’s thick, long, veiny. And pink at the tip.
You don’t even pretend you’re not staring anymore, and you don’t notice the tips of his ears flushing pink this time, a little hint of sheepishness. You’ve never really considered yourself a sex addict, much less even lustful, but the way your pussy throbs at the sight of his pretty cock makes you think maybe you’ve been wrong about yourself in many ways. You want nothing more but to see how he tastes, or how it’d slap against your tongue. He strokes himself, thumb playing with his own slit, spreading his pre around his thick head.
“No condom, baby, I’m so sorry,” His mouth twists into a pout before he can stop it, eyes wide and miserably apologetic. “I’ll pull out, I promise.”
“I don’t give a fuck, Jake,” you urge him closer to you, hands roaming down his abs. “I need you inside me, please — “
If his cock wasn’t twitching in hand, begging to be inside you, he’d probably let out a chuckle at how cute and eager you look right now, practically squirming and begging underneath him. But he’s no better than you, so he adjusts himself forward, leaning once again before aligning the head against your pussy. He nudges your clit, a gasp tumbling from his mouth at the contact.
“It will only hurt for a second,” he warns and you swallow, staring at his dick as you wonder if it will even fit at all. “Breathe, baby, okay?” You nod, biting down your lip.
You lift your hips slightly with the help of his hand against your hip, letting the tip nuzzle against your entrance. He’s breathing heavily, taking one final inhale before he pushes forward and lets the head of his cocks slide past your folds, meeting your gummy walls. You gasp as the stretch, making you tense up and clench around him.
“Fuck, t-that’s so tight — ah —” Jake’s forehead rests against yours, the feeling of your pussy squeezing him in, practically sucking his cock inside until you feel him brushing your cervix. He finally sinks in fully, and all he can think about is trying not to fucking cum right now. Not even 10 seconds in and he’s gone like a horny loser, but seeing you so spread open just for him is undoing him anyway.
He sets a pace, slow to stretch you out, having to bury his head against your neck just to suppress his groans, shallow thrusts getting deeper and deeper. The way his member touches rubs on your walls draws the prettiest whines from you, his name coming out as uneasy breaths as his rhythm picks up. Your hands thread through his hair, pulling him down for another kiss, and so his veiny hand settles beside your head, balancing himself on top of you. You claw at his back when his tongue slips into your mouth, his thrusts growing faster.
“J-Jake,” you whimper, just as he pins your thighs down the bed. Your legs spreading wider pretty much heightens the feeling in your pussy, letting you feel his cock as he begins to pound into you. He shifts slightly, grinding on that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back and whine his name again.
“Y-you’re clenching — shit, you’re clenching too hard, baby —” he moans, sweat dripping down his neck to his chest. His hips snap forward harder and faster, breath coming in ragged gasps.
Your brain is short-circuiting and your skin is on fire, hot coil tightening in your abdomen. He continues rutting into you, bodies warm and sweaty, while your nails dig deep into his back. “I-I’m coming, Jake — fuck, I’m — “
He steals your mouth for another kiss when you finish, your orgasm striking through you, pussy clenching tight around his dick as you feel white ropes spill into you, full and so fucking hot. “S-shit…” he breathes against your mouth, riding out the last few seconds of your pleasure.
Jake rests his forehead against yours, catching his breath while his hand caresses your waist so firmly, soothing the skin up and down like a lover. His panting slow down, breathing matching yours as the height of your drives lower, his twitching cock coming to a stop inside you. He pulls out, drawing a wince from him, his cum oozing from your hole as he does.
“Fuck,” he curses, licking the inside of his cheek. You can only laugh tiredly, wiping the sweat from your forehead.
“I did not fucking mean to,” he clears his throat before looking back up at you, “cum in you.”
You hit his arm without any real force, a tired smile etching on your face as you pull him back down. He kisses you, and you try not to melt at how slow he does it, at how much deeper it is compared to the others. When he pulls away, he presses a softer one on your forehead. He straightens on his knees, sharp yet weary eyes looking over your naked body, enjoying every dip and curve, hand somehow never separating from your thighs and hips. You get sheepish, despite it all, giving a quiet groan when he admires you shamelessly. “Stop staring,”
He can only smile, his hand reaching for yours in which you give. His thumb moving slowly over your knuckles, then he lifts it to his mouth and presses a quiet kiss to your fingers before leaning over to kiss your forehead. He kisses near your temple after, voice low when he speaks again. “I’m gonna go to the store.”
Your brows draw slightly, “Now?”
“Yeah,” he gives you a sly smile, “For Plan B.”
You give him a look, but it barely has any strength behind it. Then you laugh, shaking your head at how ridiculous it sounds. Jake gives you a look back, brows lifting slightly. “What?”
Before you can give a proper answer, you sit up and place your palms against his shoulders, pushing him down the bed. He follows obediently, eyes on yours as you find yourself climbing on top of him, legs bracketing either side of his hips once he’s laid down. His cock twitches against your pussy, slowly growing again.
“I’m trying to be a good boyfriend,” he says under his breath, uneven and clearly strained.
Your lips twitch before you can stop them. “Boyfriend, hm?” you hum as your hands feel his abs underneath your palms, taut at your touch.
Jake throws his head back, Adam's apple bobbing before he mutters a quiet curse. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, almost laughing under his breath. “You’re gonna kill me.”
Your face heats, not being able to stop the smile that creeps to you. Your hands slide to his chest, and your ass rubs against his hardened length, a soft moan coming out of you when it slides against your wet folds.
“Later, okay?” is all you say before you manage to slide his cock back inside you, stealing a startled gasp from his throat.
The next few days have been… a turn.
Not an immediate one, because you are not the kind of person who wakes up one morning and becomes soft just because a boy fucked you to make your thoughts trip over themselves. It starts with stupid things, like letting Jake carry the heavier paper bag when you leave the convenience store instead of wrestling it back from him on principle, or handing him your empty cup before you can think too hard about why your fingers already moved toward him, or looking up from your phone in a parking lot and realizing he has already stepped to the side closest to the road.
The first few times, you still fight it, naturally, and there are moments when you hear your own voice sharpen before you can stop it, asking him whether he thinks you are incapable of holding a bag, opening a door, ordering your own drink, or to even function as a person, but Jake never flinches when your tone gets mean. He never waits for you to become easier. He only looks at you with that patience of his, and says, “I know you can,” like your competence was never in question, and the entire point is not that you cannot do it yourself, but that someone else can do it for you too.
You are used to being needed, to people looking at you when something breaks, when Riki disappears, when your father needs something handled, and you are used to stepping in so quickly. Needing someone has always felt too close to failing, and depending on someone has always felt like handing them a knife and hoping they do not use it on you, but Jake does not treat your reliance like victory, does not look smug when you finally stop arguing, does not make a monument out of every time you let him help. He just helps, and it gives you nothing to push against.
The hot stuff hasn’t ended either. At first, you both did try to be normal for the sake of your upheld pride of refusing to be easy, even to your own boyfriend, and his respect for your decision. It does come to an end right after 4 days it happened, when he comes over again and your father’s never home and Riki’s somewhere you don’t know, having a hot boyfriend in your room would always mean he’d end up pounding into you. Or that you graciously ride him so well that he has to run to the store for Plan B again.
Jake never ever made you feel like you have to do things for him, nor did he ever urge you to have sex with him. There were a few occasions though, when you two might have went against your own moral code when he fucked you in his car in the school parking lot — did you regret it? No. Would it happen again? You hope not.
You might have had a hidden trait that’s been opened after a few nights together. There were a lot of moments when Jake had to take a pause because he genuinely gets scared at how you look at his cock, all excited and famished (sorry for the lack of better term). And his nose, just before he lies down on your bed and lets you sit his face.
You never have prioritized sex, nor did you think there was anything good about having a wet pussy 24/7 other than it was pure lust. You did, however, also find out that you really liked being pushed against Jake’s desk and fucked at the back.
After that, things get a little more cliche, of course. You start expecting his hand at the small of your back when a hallway gets crowded, start assuming he will keep track of where you left your phone, when you start sending him photos of readings with a single question mark and receive back highlighted screenshots, voice notes, and brief explanations. You start asking him to pick you up without building a whole argument on why it’s practical. You start trusting him with the ugly middle parts of your day, not only the polished version you usually hand people.
Then, because you are still princess-y, petty you, you also start getting annoyed when he does not anticipate things fast enough.
One evening he sits beside you at a café and does not immediately take the extra books from your arms because he is answering Sunghoon’s text, and you feel offended — makes no sense, of course. Now you stand there with your books pressing into your chest, glaring at the side of his head until he finally looks up and pauses. “What?”
“Nothing.”
His gaze drops to the books, then returns to your face, and the slow realization that crosses his expression is so unbearable. Jake reaches for them anyway, careful enough to give you time to refuse, smug enough that you want to kick him, and when you let him take the stack from your arms, he murmurs, “My bad, baby. I’ll be faster next time.”
With Riki, the change makes him jump quietly (of course) in glee. You do not stop worrying, because that would require medical intervention, but you stop overthinking every hour. Sometimes you don’t ask where he is until he tells you first. Riki starts texting more because the texts no longer feel like constant interrogation, and you start responding less as you remember that seventeen is not the same as helpless.
Then one day passes without you talking to him at all. You do not realize it until you are brushing your teeth and your phone lights up with a message from Riki that only says, alive btw. You stare at it for a long second, toothpaste foaming at your mouth, and the first thing you feel is panic because how did you go an entire day without checking — someone will kill you, for sure, right? Then the panic fades into the shape of relief. He is fine, he told you, comfortably at that too.
When you tell Jake later, expecting him to make some joke, he only nods and says, “That’s good.” then reaches for your hand like it is the easiest thing in the world. “You did good.”
You don’t have to be soft all at once, nor do you have to surrender your sharpness just to wake up as some easier version of yourself because someone decided to stay. Embarrassingly, it makes your brain turn off when your boyfriend takes the problem from your hands and solves it before you can turn it into another reason to hate yourself. You can still be competent, still be difficult, still be the girl who knows what to do in a crisis, while also being the girl who lets Jake highlight her readings, carry her books, order her coffee, pull her away, and hold her against his chest when she finally remembers it’s okay to be tired.
He does not make you less capable, he just makes you less alone with it. Most importantly, he does not act like the softer version of you is the only one worth liking.
Jake and Riki manage to convince you to go to a house party on a Friday night, which doesn’t take much, weirdly enough.
Riki starts first, of course, he says you never do anything fun, which makes you refuse again. Jake, unfairly, does not argue the same way, who only leans against your kitchen counter with one hand curled around a glass of water, watching you over the rim with that calm expression he gets when he knows you are already halfway annoyed. He tells you “it does not have to be a big thing, we can leave whenever you want. I’ll stay with you the whole time if you want me to”, and if you hate how kind he is. Which makes you say yes.
The house is already full by the time you get there, music pressing through the walls before Jake even parks. Cars line both sides of the street, voices spilling through the open windows, laughter breaking over the bass in uneven bursts — you’re not exactly uncomfortable, only uneasy in a way that this is not something you’re used to, not like how Riki and Jake soothes right in.
Then Jake’s hand settles at the small of your back. “You okay?” he asks, voice low enough when he leans down to you.
You look at the room in front of you, then at Riki, who is already greeting someone. “This is loud.”
“Because that’s how parties usually work,” Jake’s mouth curves when you give him a look, before his hand rubs the small of your back up and down. “But we can leave.”
That is annoying, mostly because it is thoughtful, and you have learned there is very little to do with Jake’s thoughtfulness except either accept it or be a bitch about it and watch him keep being thoughtful anyway. You glance away before he can catch whatever your face is doing and mutter, “We’ll stay.”
He gets you a drink from the kitchen, not from one of the abandoned cups on the counter but from an unopened bottle in the cooler, twisting the cap and you take it without arguing.
His friends find you almost immediately. Jungwon lifts his brows when he sees you beside Jake, then smiles. Sunoo says your name with delighted surprise, Jay gives you an exaggeratedly respectful nod that makes you narrow your eyes, and Sunghoon and Heeseung offers you a small, careful smile. They are nicer than you expected them to be, or maybe they have always been nice and you were too busy seeing them as Riki’s friends (with connotation, at that).
Jake does not leave your side at first, and tries to make sure not to make you feel tense. He notices when the kitchen gets too crowded and nudges you toward the living room without making you feel like he is moving you. He notices when someone you barely know tries to pull you into a conversation you clearly do not want and cuts in so smoothly that they don’t even realize.
For a while, you stay like that, your back against his front, his mouth near your ear every now and then as he leans down to murmur things meant only for you. His eyes flick toward Jay guarding the snack table like a personal estate, toward some boy near the speakers dancing with more confidence than rhythm. You laugh quietly at first, then more openly later on, your head tipping back slightly against his shoulder for half a second as you both judge people’s tipsy decisions.
Someone nearby starts setting up beer pong on a long table, cups arranged into triangles, people crowding around with immediate excitement. You take one look at the cups, the ball bouncing once against the floor, the wet ring marks on the table, and the enthusiasm dies on your face so visibly that Jake folds forward against your shoulder with silent laughter.
You stop paying attention to the shape of the night, and your guard lowers enough for the party to become just a party, not a list of potential disasters. With his hand on your hip, even when Riki’s off your field of view, you’re less anxious.
He brushes his fingers lightly against your wrist, making you turn to him slightly. “I’ll be quick,” he says. “I’ll just get another drink.”
For a minute, you stand alone near the edge of the living room, watching him disappear through the crowd. You decide to find his friends, partly because they are people you know now, partly because you are not yet the kind of girl who can stand alone in a house full of strangers.
The hallway is too crowded, so you head for the front door instead, slipping past two people arguing over someone’s car keys and stepping out into the night air. The music dulls behind the walls as you walk down the porch steps and follow the narrow side path around the house. You only remember seeing Jungwon and the others near the backyard earlier, and going through the side seems easier than forcing yourself through the crowd. The side of the house is dim except for the spill of light coming from the backyard, and voices grow clearer the closer you get.
A voice says something you do not catch, followed by a louder laugh, and you stop before fully turning the corner, half-hidden behind the hedge lining the side yard. You do not mean to listen, but you hear Riki first. “Dude, I’m just saying,” he says, laughing carelessly. “I should’ve done this months ago.”
Someone snorts, Jay, probably. “You mean hiring Jake?”
Your steps slow before you fully reach them, deciding to still behind a stupid bush.
Riki laughs again. “I mean, clearly the money worked.”
“He really put those hundreds to use, huh?”
There is laughter, easy, stupid, and thoughtless laughter from boys who have no idea that the joke is standing right there, turning rigid again.
“Taming the lion,” someone says.
Your throat goes dry as the laughter grows again, freezing completely when someone says your name next.
The scary sister, the impossible girl, the controlling bitch with a curfew and a brother who apparently thought your entire life could be negotiated down to a payment and one patient boy you thought saw you differently — yet each memory with him reaches backward for a new shape, forming into one joke shared by teenage schemes.
Someone inside says, “Nah, but seriously, Jake deserves a raise. She actually smiles now.”
Riki says something you cannot fully make out, but it does not matter because your mind has already started blurring.
Then Jake’s voice cuts through, appearing through the patio door. “Hey, have you guys seen her?”
“There he is,” Jay says, too loud, too cheerful. “Man of the hour.”
“What?” Jake asks, distracted.
Then there is the sound of palms meeting, boys greeting him the way boys do, easy and stupid and physical. Someone daps him up, someone else claps his shoulder, someone mentions how great he did for convincing you to go to a party.
“Congrats, bro,” one of them says, laughing. “Hundreds well spent.”
Jake does not speak. Maybe he is processing, maybe his face has changed in some way you cannot see yet. Maybe, he would push the hand off his shoulder and tell them to shut up. But you do not get that far, because you turn a little to see him, and his eyes finally lift past them and land on you.
He sees you standing there, one hand around the bottle he opened for you, your face completely still. For one impossible second, you look at him and he looks back.
And it is awful, how quickly his expression breaks, because it isn’t confusion nor innocence, just the face of someone who knows. His eyes widen, his mouth parts slightly, and panic moves across his face so plainly that it feels like another admission you’re not supposed to hear.
Behind him, Riki turns and the color drains from his face when he sees you. Your name leaves Jake’s mouth once, low and ruined but you’re already stepping away.
You turn and walk.
Someone laughs from the inside, someone trying to go to the back bumps your shoulder and apologizes, but you do not answer. It’s a little shitty how your whole body feels strangely calm now, the way it does in emergencies, when adrenaline doesn’t need you moving your feet to handle something first.
You can hear Jake behind you, cursing under his breath, sharp and panicked, nothing like the careful voice he used when he told you to let him take care of you.
“Wait,” he calls, closer now. “Please, just wait.”
The front yard is crowded, so you shove through them and into the night air with your lungs burning and your hands cold around the bottle you forgot to leave behind. The street outside is quieter, only then do you realize how badly you needed it, how trapped you had been inside that house with all those walls and all that laughter and every memory of Jake rearranging itself into something ugly.
You make it halfway down the front path before his hand catches your wrist, not hard but you pull away like it burns.
He stops in front of you, breathing unevenly, hair messier than before, eyes wide in a way you used to love, but now it only makes something sharp twist in your chest. Behind him, Riki stumbles out onto the porch, face pale, panic written all over him like a child finally realizing the stove is hot after touching it, even after you told him no.
Jake takes half a step forward, then thinks better of it. “I can explain.” His jaw tightens. “It’s not what they made it sound like.”
“Really?” Your voice stays calm. “Because it sounded like my brother paid you to distract me, and your friends think you deserve congratulations for doing it well.”
Jake’s face goes white. Riki moves down one step. “It was my idea.”
You look at him then, not with the sharp little look you usually give him when he says something stupid, but actually look at him. For one strange second, he looks like the nine-year-old boy who used to stand in your doorway, the one who would deny crying even while his eyes were swollen, the one you learned how to comfort while you comforted yourself because mom is gone and dad is never home.
That is what does it, your eyes water before you can stop them. “You paid someone to get me out of the way?”
He shakes his head too quickly. “No. I just wanted you to have something else,” he says, and the words come out in a rush now, messy and panicked. “I thought if you were busy, if you were happy, maybe you’d stop worrying about me all the time. I didn’t know how else to get you to stop. You never listen to me. You never believe me.”
Your eyes return to Jake, and the worst thing is that part of you still wants him to fix it. Some pathetic, exhausted, newly softened part of you wants him to say the exact right thing, wants him to reach for the memory of every night you trusted him and pull it back from the edge.
You hate that part of yourself instantly. You hate that it exists because of him.
“Is that true?” you ask.
His eyes flick down, then back to your face, desperate now. “At first,” he says, voice rough. “At first, yes, but it stopped being that.”
You stare at him.
“But I gave the money back,” he continues, voice rough. “I told him I was done. I told him I didn’t want any part of it anymore.”
Your throat tightens. “After I slept with you?”
He goes still.
That is the answer.
You stare at him, waiting for him to save it anyway, because some stupid part of you still wants him to. You wait for him to say no, to say you got it wrong, to say there was some other version of the story where he did not let you give him that much of yourself before telling you the truth. But Jake only looks at you with his mouth parted slightly, eyes wide and ruined, and every second he does not speak feels like another hand closing around your throat.
You shake your head once. “You let me think,” your voice is low and calm, “that for once, someone just wanted to be there. You let me trust you with the parts of myself I don’t even like,” you say. “And you knew. You knew what they didn’t.”
The gala. You see the memory land in him, the garden lights, the fountain, your stupid dress, the way you sat on the far end of a bench and told him things you barely knew how to tell yourself. Your mother being gone, your father being absent, Riki being more yours than he should have been. You remember how carefully he listened, how he stayed far enough not to scare you off, how safe his silence felt then, how you laughed with him because he saw you and didn’t think you were cruel at all.
He takes a step toward you. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice breaking around it. “I should have told you that night. I know I should have.”
“I thought you chose me,” you say.
“I did.” His eyes go red. “I did choose you.”
Your mouth trembles once, then stills. “For a hundred bucks?”
He looks like the words hit him somewhere physical.
“No,” he says, too quickly, too desperately. “No, not like that.”
You nod once, not because you believe him, but because your body needs to do something other than fall apart in front of them. “I want to go home.”
Jake straightens immediately. “Okay. I’ll take you home.”
You turn away from him and reach for your phone with shaking fingers. “No.”
His breath catches. “Please.”
You unlock your screen and open the app, feeling stupid because you can’t see through the blur as you type it in.
“I can drive you,” he says, voice quieter now.
You keep your eyes on the street until the headlights appear at the end of the road, the car pulling toward the curb. You get inside and do not look back.
You hate men.
Enough that you can prepare a presentation on the subject with credible sources, historical examples, and a conclusion about betrayal as a gendered epidemic. Evidence would be your absent father, your fraudulent ex-boyfriend, your seventeen year old brother, and his demonic friends.
Hating your brother is inconvenient because he lives in your house, eats your food, leaves his stuff everywhere, and now lives without you telling him what to do. For the first time in years, you do not ask what the hell he’s up to anymore. You simply sit at the kitchen island with your laptop open, spoon in hand, eating directly out of a tub of ice cream at seven in the morning.
Historically, you have always cracked first when it comes to him. Historically, you cannot help yourself. Historically, your entire body starts to prepare for anything if it concerns Riki.
But history is dead. Men killed it.
Jake is hard to ignore only because he is not physically in the house, which means he tries to get creative. He texts first, of course, just once in the morning, once at night, and sometimes in the middle of the day — because he knows exactly how to overwhelm you. Then he leaves an iced latte with your name on top of your desk in one of your classes. You stare at it on your desk for a full minute, before you give it to your seatmate.
By the fourth day, you have finished the second tub of ice cream — not your proudest moment, but it is also not your worst, which says more about your week than your character. You have attended classes with perfect notes, no late submission, reorganized your planner, ignored messages from Jake, and pretended not to notice that Riki has started texting you when he arrives places without being asked.
On Friday night, Riki finds you on the couch in your oldest pajamas, hair tied messily back, third tub of ice cream open on the coffee table, watching a documentary about deep-sea creatures with the blank focus.
“Jake’s been driving me from and to school,” he says carefully.
Your spoon pauses in the ice cream, before you resume. Onscreen, a glowing fish drifts through the dark, hideous and peaceful, which feels aspirational. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then sets his bag down properly.
“I’m sorry,” he says but does not step closer. “I know sorry doesn’t fix it. I just wanted to say it.”
You keep staring at the television, where the ugly little fish continues glowing alone in the dark, refusing to pay him any mind.
By Saturday morning, Riki had started acting like a ghost. He moves quietly around the house, closes cabinets softly, and pe picks up his shoes before you can even see them. At one point, you find him wiping the kitchen counter after making toast, which is very disturbing.
At school, Jake looks worse than he ever did. He waits by your classroom once, but you walk past him without slowing down, your expression polished into something calm. He says your name but you keep walking, because you refuse to give pieces of yourself to men, more than you already have.
Riki has also learned that you are not going to pack his lunch, remind him about assignments, ask whether he has practice, or save him from his own time management. This would be liberating for him if freedom did not apparently require the ability to know where his own socks are.
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and your eyes slide toward the screen, just long enough to see Jake’s name there before the notification fades and the room goes dim again. A few seconds later, there is a knock on your door. It does not open but Riki’s voice breaks through. “Jake’s here,” he says. “He has food. He said he’ll wait ten minutes, and if you don’t come down, he’ll leave.”
Riki stays there for another second, clearly wanting to say something else, but maybe he has learned enough to know that pushing right now would only make you worse. For a while, you do not move and only tell yourself you are not thinking about it, that you do not care what food Jake brought, whether it is something you like, whether it’s because he’s making sure you ate.
At eight minutes, you sit up.
At nine, your feet touch the floor.
At ten, you stay where you are.
Then outside, his car starts. You sit at the edge of your bed with your hands curled into the blanket, listening until the sound disappears completely down the street.
The week passes, and you remain committed to silence. You do not speak to Jake. You do not speak to Riki unless it is absolutely necessary.
That night, Riki knocks on your door. You do not answer, but unfortunately, he opens the door anyway and stops at the sight of you buried in bed, laptop balanced near your knees, looking at him like you have been for the past weeks: exasperated.
“What?”
He stays by the doorway, one hand still on the knob. “I’m hungry.”
You stare at him for a second, then look back at your screen. “Then order something.”
“I don’t want delivery.”
“Then make something.”
“I want to go out.”
You pause, because that is exactly the kind of sentence he used to say before you started the lectures about curfew, rides, locations, and whether he had enough sense to come home alive. This time, you only shrug against your pillows. “Then go out.”
Riki shifts his weight. “No,” he says, quieter. “With you.”
You keep your eyes on your laptop, even though the movie has become impossible to follow, because looking at him would mean seeing guilt, probably; hope, maybe. Both would be extremely inconvenient because you learned to soften when he used it.
“It’s late,” you say.
“I know.”
“And you have Jake, apparently.”
He flinches a little, and the guilt on his face finally becomes too obvious to ignore. You hate that it still gets to you, how young he looks when he is sorry, like some part of him has folded back into the boy who used to stand outside your room when he was scared and he had no one else but his older sister.
He swallows. “I don’t want Jake.”
You hate men. You hate your brother. You hate that the sentence works.
With a long, irritated sigh, you close your laptop. “Get your shoes.”
The drive is quiet, Riki sits in the passenger seat with his hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, looking out the window instead of at you. You keep both hands on the wheel and do not ask if he has eaten lunch, even though the question sits on your tongue the entire way there. The diner is still open when you pull up, its neon sign glowing red against the dark.
When the food comes, the table fills with baskets and paper-lined plates, greasy burgers, fries, and mozzarella sticks with marinara sauce in a plastic cup between you. Riki burns his fingers because he has never once believed in waiting, and you call him an idiot before you can stop yourself. The two of you eat in silence after that — not the awful one from the house, but not comfortable either. It sits between you, filling the space while both of you act invested in fries and melted cheese.
Then Riki clears his throat. “I have a girlfriend.” Your hand freezes halfway to the basket.
For a second, the entire diner seems to mute itself around that one sentence. You look up slowly, genuinely caught off guard, and Riki looks terrified in the way only someone who has been hiding something huge.
“What?”
He shifts in his seat. “I have a girlfriend.”
You lean back against the red vinyl booth, trying to process this new piece of information without immediately becoming the girl who asks for her full name, address, grades, family background, and emergency contact. The questions rise anyway: Who is she? How long? Does she treat you well? Does she know you are stupid? Does she have standards? Does she encourage you to drink blue things at parties? Does she know about dad?
Riki looks down at his plate. “When Jake started taking you out, I was also taking her out.” His fingers pick at the edge of the paper liner. “That’s why I wanted more time and freedom. I know that doesn’t make what I did okay.”
You look at him, face unreadable.
“It was bad,” he says, before you can say it for him. “I know it was bad. But something good came out of it too. You were happier. I know you hate hearing that, but you were. You weren’t always watching me like something bad was about to happen. You went out and laughed and you had someone.”
You look down at the untouched mozzarella stick in front of you. “Right,” you say quietly. “So much for a hundred bucks.”
Riki’s face falls. “No,” he says, then stops himself because even he knows he cannot deny the beginning. “I know I can’t decide which parts hurt for you, but I thought I was helping both of us. That doesn’t make me right, I know that. But please don’t think that I wasn’t considering you along the way — because I did, I really did.”
The answer is too ready, too practiced, and for a moment you think that maybe he’s being foolish again. But now that you’re looking at him, you realize that he’s old enough to make cruel decisions, young enough to look shattered when he finally understands.
“I know you wanted me to stop controlling you,” you say. “I know I was too much.”
He exhales, miserable. “Okay. Sometimes. But not because you were bad. You raised me,” he says, quieter now. “And I hated it because I wanted you to just be my sister, but I also knew you were the only one checking. That’s why it felt so messed up all the time.” He wipes his palms on his hoodie. “I’m sorry I made you feel like something I had to escape.”
The waitress passes by with a coffee pot, and both of you sit there pretending you can steal breathe without feeling hot wax at the back of your throat. You reach for a mozzarella stick because your hands need something to do, and Riki pushes the marinara closer without thinking.
You dip the mozzarella stick and take a bite. “I’m still mad,” you say. “But I’d like to meet your girlfriend.”
For a second, he just stares at you, like he is not sure he heard you correctly. Then his face shifts, slowly, carefully, into the smallest smile. “Okay.”
For the first time all week, your mouth almost curves. The rest of dinner is still quiet, but not as sharp. He tells you her name eventually, softly, and you do not ask for details yet, only nodding. Outside, the air is colder than when you arrived. You make it three steps toward the car before Riki stops behind you.
“I really am sorry,” he says.
When you turn around, his eyes are red, standing there with his shoulders tight and his face crumpling despite how hard he is trying to hold it together. The sight pulls at something old and exhausted inside you, the same place that has always answered him before pride can interrupt.
“Riki,” you say, but it comes out cracking.
He shakes his head, wiping his face too fast. “I’m sorry. I know I ruined it. I know. I’m sorry.”
You cross the space before either of you can think too hard about it and pull him into a hug.
For a second, he is taller than you and somehow still the little boy from your doorway, the one who had no one else, the one you loved badly because nobody taught you how to do it gently. His arms come around you tight, and the first sob he lets out breaks something open in your chest.
“I hate you,” you whisper.
“Fuck you too,” he says, crying harder.
“You’re so stupid.”
“A dumbass, I know.”
You hold him tighter anyway. Eventually, he pulls back first, wiping his face with his sleeve. His nose is running slightly, and he looks so devastated that you almost call him gross just to make the moment easier.
“I don’t get to tell you what to do,” he says.
You look at him, already tired. “Great start.”
He lets out a shaky breath. “Especially not about Jake.”
Your face changes before you can stop it. He sees it and immediately raises both hands a little, like he is approaching an animal with a history of biting. “I’m not defending what happened. I’m not. But,” he continues carefully, “he did give the money back.”
Your eyes narrow at him.
“I know that doesn’t fix it,” he says quickly. “I know it doesn’t make the beginning less awful. I just… I was there, and I saw when it changed.”
The words sit there, too quiet and too heavy for the sidewalk outside a diner. You do not answer, only staring past him toward the parking lot, where your car waits under the lamppost.
He swallows. “At first, he was doing it because I asked him to. Then he started asking me things about you. What books you liked, where you went after school, if you were always that tired.” His voice gets smaller. “And then he stopped asking me altogether.”
Your throat tightens, which is infuriating.
“He didn’t need me anymore,” he says. “Not for you.”
“Riki.”
“I know. I’ll stop.” He wipes his face again, then nods like he is trying to obey before you even say anything mean. “I just wanted you to know that part.”
You stare at him for a long second.
“And what am I supposed to do with that?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “Get mad — at me, at him, at dad too. Do nothing. Eat more ice cream. I just don’t want you to think every good part was fake. Because I know I messed it up, and he messed it up, but you were happy. And I don’t think that was fake.”
You hate him a little for saying it.
You hate him more because it makes you think.
The worst part has never been that Jake lied and everything after became nothing. The worst part is that it still feels real and they happened, regardless the truths and the lies, the half-truths and wrong intentions. All of it still sits somewhere inside you, refusing to rot properly no matter how badly the beginning wronged it.
You wipe under your eye with your knuckle. “You’re very annoying.”
“I know.”
You sniff, looking away before your face can crumple again. “I’m not forgiving him just because you feel guilty.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“I’m not forgiving you either. Not yet.”
“I know.”
You look at him.
He looks back, eyes still wet, but this time he does not look like he expects you to fix it for him. He only stands there, accepting it, which feels new enough to hurt.
Then he says, quietly, “But can I still ride home with you?”
Your mouth almost curves.
“Unfortunately,” you say, walking toward the car.
That night, you cannot sleep.
It is annoying, because you are exhausted enough to sleep. Your body is tired, your eyes hurt, and your head has been heavy since you drove home from the diner. Still, you lie there staring at the ceiling, turning one thought over and over until it stops feeling like a thought and starts feeling like a pulse breathing beneath your weight — your brother’s words alive there.
You hate that Riki said it and that he might be right. You hate that all week, even through the anger, you still kept thinking about Jake when you made coffee, when you passed the hallway where he used to wait.
You are still in your sleep shorts, an old shirt, and house slippers when you grab your car keys. You do not bother changing, which should have been your first sign that you are not making a dignified decision at all. You only go downstairs without turning on too many lights, and leave before you can talk yourself into being a sensible woman.
The drive to Jake’s house feels longer than it should.
When you pull up near the curb, you keep your hands on the wheel for a second, staring at the front of his house like it might tell you what the hell you are doing here. Yet it only sits there, quiet and expensive and familiar.
The front door opens when you’re about to reverse. Jake steps out with his keys in one hand, dressed in sweats and a hoodie, his hair messy and soft around the mouth in the way you used to love. Still the boy who made you feel, for the first time in years. He locks the door behind him and turns toward his car, already halfway down the path when he sees you.
For a second, neither of you moves.
Then, because apparently you have already abandoned all pride tonight, you get out of your car. The cold hits your legs immediately, so you hug your arms around yourself and stand there on the sidewalk in slippers, trying to look like a person who’ll stand on this and not someone whose feelings drove her here.
“Where are you going?” you ask.
His hand tightens slightly around his keys. “Store.”
You nod once. “Right.”
“I was just going to buy something,” he adds, quieter, like even he knows that does not matter.
You nod again, because now that you are here, you have no idea what comes after arriving — which is excessively dumb. The whole thing suddenly feels ridiculous; you in your sleep clothes and him standing by his car.
“Okay,” you say, then you turn back toward your car.
You barely make it one step before he says your name, not loud nor desperate, just in that Jake way that makes your knees buck and feet stop.
He takes one careful step forward. “What are you doing here?”
You keep your eyes on your car door. “I don’t know.” The answer is embarrassing because it is true, and you’re glad you can’t see his reaction.
“Okay.”
You almost laugh, but it gets stuck somewhere in your throat. You look back at him with enough courage. “Riki talked to me.”
He goes still.
“I’m not here because of that,” you say quickly.
“Okay.”
“I’m still mad.”
“I know.”
“And you still hurt me.”
His jaw tightens, but he nods. “I know.”
You look away, because his face is making this harder. “I don’t even know why I drove here.”
He’s quiet for a long second, still careful as to not step on a mine. Then he says, “I was hoping you would.” He looks almost embarrassed by the honesty, but he does not take it back, not even when you look back at him. “I just kept thinking maybe one day you’d show up, or text, or yell at me, or anything.” His mouth pulls faintly, but it is not really a smile.
“That’s pathetic,” you say, but your voice has no bite.
He lets out a breath. “Yeah. I know.”
You hate how gentle the night feels around the two of you, how gentle he still is, how easier it is to stand here than it was to stay in your room while your throbbing heart gnaws on your ribcage. You hate that even now, after everything, being near him makes some part of you calm.
Your fingers curl against your own arms, holding yourself tighter, because if you don’t, you might do something worse. Like forgive too fast or maybe even slap him or admit the thing sitting in your chest that looks a lot like a picture of you two.
Jake moves slowly, just before he stops in front of you, close enough that you can see the tiredness beneath his eyes, the way his mouth parts slightly like he wants to say something and knows better than to crowd you with it.
“I tried,” you say, barely above a whisper. You blink hard, still looking down. “Not thinking about you.”
He does not answer.
“I tried being angry enough that it would cancel everything else out,” you continue, and the words start coming before you can stop them. “I tried making all of it ugly. I tried telling myself that every good thing only happened because of a bad reason.”
Your voice shakes, and you hate it, but you keep going. “But it didn’t work.” You finally look up at him, and his eyes are already on you, wide and quiet and so full of hope because that’s just who he is. Your own mouth trembles once before you still it.
“I can’t not be in love with you, Jake.”
For one terrifying second, he says nothing, and your face burns so badly that you almost step back. But then his expression breaks, not with panic this time, not like the party after you find out — just something like relief and careful in one.
He says your name so quietly it barely reaches you. He lifts his hand slightly, then stops.
“Can I?” he asks.
You know what he means and you should say no — but instead, you nod once. His hand closes around your elbow softly, barely a grip at first, before he pulls you toward him.
You step forward before you can decide not to, and then you are close enough to feel the warmth of him through the cold night air. His hand slides from your elbow to your arm, then pauses there, carefully first. His eyes search your face, and you hate that he still looks at you like that, like all that matters to him is not to hurt you.
“You can still be mad,” he says quietly. He swallows, his thumb moving once against your sleeve. “I don’t want you to think I’m asking you to stop being hurt just because you still love me.”
You look down, because that is the exact kind of thing that makes your chest go weak in a way you cannot afford. “Then what are you asking?”
He is quiet for a second, and when he answers, his voice is lower, rougher. “For whatever part of you drove here.”
Your eyes lift to his, just to see he’s nervous after saying it, knowing it’s too honest and too close to wanting too much. But he does not take it back, his hand still on your arm, gentle enough that you could pull away, firm enough that you know he does not want you to.
“I hate you,” you whisper.
His mouth barely moves, not quite a smile. “Good.”
“You’re unfair because you hurt me, and then you still know how to hold me like this.” Your voice turns softer, more frustrated than sharp.
His face changes. “I don’t know how to hold you any other way.”
For a second, you just stare at him, feeling your anger and your want and your stupid, impossible love all sitting inside your chest together, refusing to separate into anything clean and correct. You reach for him first, your fingers curling into the front of his hoodie, but he goes still and his breath hitches.
Your fingers tighten. “I hate the way I don’t hate you.”
He lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, but it sounds too shaky to be amused. “Yeah,” he says, voice low. “I’ll take that.”
You blink. “What?”
He looks down at your hand, then back at you, and his mouth does this stupid little almost-smile that makes your chest hurt. “I mean, it’s not ideal,” he says carefully. “But it’s better than you hating me normally.”
You glare at him, but it barely has any strength. “You’re not funny.”
“I know.” His eyes stay on you. “I’m nervous.”
He swallows, his hand hovering near your arm like he wants to touch you and is trying very hard to behave. The silence after that is small, not empty. You can hear the faint sound of a car passing somewhere down the street, the soft buzz of the porch light, the uneven way he breathes when you still do not let go of his hoodie.
Then Jake says, quieter, “I kept thinking about what I’d say if you ever looked at me again.”
The smallest, most traitorous shift at the corner of your mouth. His eyes drop to your mouth, lasting half a second before he looks back up, but it is enough to make your face warm. You swallow, “And what did you come up with?”
He stares at you like the answer should be easy, but now that you are standing in front of him, hand still curled in his hoodie, it looks like every version he practiced has abandoned him. His mouth parts once, then he lets out a quiet breath. He tilts his head down, close enough that his nose brushes yours first, and your breath catches anyway.
“I want you,” he says.
He swallows, eyes still on yours, voice lower now. “No deal, no money, no Riki asking me to.” His mouth moves like he wants to smile, but he looks too nervous to fully let it happen.
For a second, you forget how to be angry properly.
Even after everything, he says things too simply, too honestly, like he does not know that a few words can walk straight past every wall you spent weeks rebuilding. You stare at him, close enough to see the way his lashes lower when his eyes flick to your mouth againe
“You’re very annoying,” you whisper, because anything softer would ruin you completely.
His mouth twitches, but his eyes do not leave yours. “Then be annoyed at me,” he says quietly.
His hand finally settles against your arm. “Be mad at me. Yell at me if you want. Look at me like you hate me.” His voice drops a little, and something in it turns almost helpless. His face is close enough now that you can see how badly he is trying not to look at your mouth again. “To my face,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “So at least I know you’re still there.”
You forget your slippers, your car parked badly by the curb, the fact that you drove here with no plan and no dignity. All you can focus on is the boy in front of you, looking at you as he says your anger is better than your absence, and even the worst version of you would be easier to survive than no version at all.
For a second, you only stare at him, and then, because your body has apparently lost all sense of loyalty to your anger, you laugh. Just something that slips out because Jake Sim is standing in front of you looking genuinely wrecked over the possibility of you never glaring at him again, and somehow that is the stupidest, most unfairly sweet thing he could have said.
His eyes flicker, like the sound surprises him. “What?”
“You’re very stupid,” you whisper.
His mouth softens. “Yeah.”
You shake your head, but your fingers are still curled in his hoodie. You hate that your whole body seems to understand him before your brain can decide what to do, because all week you have been telling yourself to stay angry, stay away, stay untouched, and then he says one stupid honest thing and you are standing here in slippers, holding onto him like you were always going to come back.
His hand shifts at your arm, careful still. “I won’t ask for more than you want to give me.”
You tug him down and then your mouth is on his.
The kiss is soft at first because he makes it soft, because even now, even with your fingers pulling at his hoodie and your face tilted up to his, he still kisses you like he is waiting for you to change your mind. Then his hand slips from your arm to your waist, warm and steady, and he kisses you back like he has been trying not to think about doing this for weeks and failing every single day. He does not rush, does not take too much, but the relief in him is obvious in the way his breath leaves against your mouth, in the way his fingers tighten just slightly at your side like he cannot believe you are letting him hold you again.
Then he takes one step forward without thinking, and you take one back because he is close and warm and kissing him is already making your brain fuzzy. Your slipper catches the edge of the curb before either of you notices and you stumble. A small gasp slips into the kiss, immediately followed by a laugh you try and fail to swallow. His arm tightens around your waist at once, pulling you back against him before you can lose your balance properly, and he breaks the kiss only enough to look down between you.
“Careful,” he breathes, like he has any right to sound concerned when he is the entire reason you forgot how sidewalks work.
He kisses you again before you can complain further, and this time it is less careful, tugging at his hoodie until he has to bend closer. The cold air slips around your legs, and your car is still parked badly by the curb.
When you pull away, barely, Jake follows for half a second before stopping himself. His eyes open slowly, and the look on his face is so dazed and soft that your own face heats.
“Do you want to go somewhere?”
You blink. “Right now?”
“Yeah.” His thumb moves once at your waist. “I mean, not as a date if you don’t want it to be a date. Or it can be. Or it can be something else. I don’t know.” He winces slightly. “I’m doing badly again.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to smile. “Very badly.”
For a second, he only looks at you, still smiling a little, then he tilts his head like he has decided to be brave in the worst possible way. “I’m buying. I have cash.” he says. “Got it from some dumb seventeen-year-old who asked me to take his sister out.”
Your jaw drops. He starts laughing before you can even form a sentence, and that makes it worse. “Oh my God.” You immediately turn away from him, deeply offended, and manage half a step before his hand catches your wrist, enough to stop you before you can escape with what little dignity you have left.
“Okay, sorry,” he says, but he is still laughing.
Your back meets his chest, his arm slips around your waist again, and his laugh drops into something softer near your ear.
“I’m sorry,” he says, quieter now. “Bad joke.”
His hand slides down from your wrist to your fingers, and before you can say anything else, he lifts your hand. His lips press softly against your knuckles, and every insult waiting on your tongue disappears like it never had a chance.
You hate him. You hate him a lot.
You sigh, like this is a great sacrifice and not exactly what you want. “Fine.” His smile grows. “But if you mention the money again, I’m breaking up with you. Again.”
He nods seriously. “Okay. No more money jokes. I can’t afford to lose my girlfriend twice.”
you really don’t know how it happened. one moment you were asking your sweet boyfriend to take pictures of you on your new camera and the next he has you pinned down, skirt tossed up, with his face buried in your cunt.
“nghh, y-yun please!”
jake peers up at you from between your thighs, his fluffy brown hair a tangled mess from your fingers and his big pointy nose glistening from your heavenly juices. he only groans in response, his focus on your throbbing clit that he is currently suckling between his plump lips, causing you to thrash beneath his grasp.
“please what, bunny?” his slender fingers tug your panties farther to the side, granting him more access to your needy cunt. “ya keep beggin’ but not telling me what for, hm?” he hums into your folds, the tip of his skilled muscle dragging down from your sweet bundle of nerves towards your entrance without breaking eye contact.
“mm p-please i. . . i want you inside,” you whine out pathetically, covering your flushed face in embarrassment which only makes jake chuckle lightly in response at your cuteness. his eyes flicker towards the digital camera propped against the nightstand, the red dot flashing at you almost tauntingly.
his gaze wanders up with a thoughtful expression, lips curled in a small pout — but you could already tell he was merely pretending to consider your request.
“nah, i have a better idea.”
“fuck— fuck! hold still babydoll,” jake pants as his thick, veiny cock disappears into the makeshift hole he ripped in the bottom of your little panties. the large print of his shaft bulging through the soaked thin fabric from your mixed arousal.
his red, weeping tip catches against your clit on every upward stroke, making you writhe beneath him and cry out borderline pornographic moans as the room fills with the obscene sound of wet skin rubbing together. your poor, swollen lips hug the underside of his shaft so perfectly while he continues his assault between them.
jake runs his fingers through the damp strands of his hair, pushing it back as his free hand brings the camera up towards your fucked out face. the bright flash from the camera making you squint.
“smile, my pretty girl. . .” he cooes, before lowering the lens down to your joined areas molding and squelching together.
you are so slick that your panties have practically become a second skin, sticking to you in a way that allows for jake to see the outline of your puffy lips through the material as he slides his cock through the tight pocket he’s created, glans rubbing between your smooth folds oh so deliciously.
“jakey. . . ah- put your cock in my pussy please,” you plead.
“shh, be a good girl and take what i give you, angel,” he taps your lips with his middle and ring fingers, signaling for you take them into your mouth as he brings the camera back up to your face to capture the way your damp, doe eyes look up at him so innocently and drools slips from the corner of your lips.
“fuck— you are beautiful, all fucking mine.” he turns the camera lens towards himself and flashes it a boyish grin, wiggling his eyebrows as he angles it to catch both your spread silhouette and his face perfectly.
he dips his head, lips latching onto the soft peaks of your breasts, a soft, wet popping sound emitting in the space as he lets each of them go.
you only moan in response, unable to form any coherent words as you are overwhelmed by all of the sensations he provides. you instinctively tilt your hips upwards in attempt for the ridge of his cockhead to catch against your creamy, ringed entrance on his downward stroke. a small whimper escapes when you succeed, feeling the tip sink in ever so slightly.
he quickly pulls away with a hiss, grabbing your face with his free hand while the camera stays focused on his cock teasing your pussy. “say it.”
he leans down to lick the hot tears streaming down your cheeks before crashing his lips against yours in a wet, salty kiss. his tongue dragging across your teeth hungrily. “mmph— all yours,” you moan back into his lips.
“yeah, you are,” he moans, jaw slack as his grip on the camera tightens a fraction while he fucks his cock between your folds. it’s become such a sticky mess that he slips out every now and then. his relentless press against your clit makes the coil in your belly unwind fairly quickly. “cum for me, yeah?”
his words send you over the edge as your walls clench around nothing and a gush of thin clear juices seep from your cunt, coating his dick.
“s-shit baby! fuckfuck— ‘m gonna fuckin cum!”
you gasp when you feel the warm splatters of his sticky semen spurt across your folds, the milky cream slowly oozing down your slit and out of the hole from your ruined panties. his hips roll forward slowly, body twitching as his balls empty his load all over your labia, spread open like a pretty little flower from the shape of his cock molding them for so long.
jake smacks his teeth with a low tsk. biting his lip until he tastes blood as he grabs ahold of his heavy, throbbing cock and smears his hot seed along the mushroom tip. he nudges the head between your lips and drags downward until he finally dips inside of your aching hole, which swallows him up greedily.
the initial stretch of his thick cockhead entering your warm pussy makes your back arch of the bed and your toes curl in satisfaction. he moans at the warm envelope from your cunt, eyebrows knitting together as he slowly fucks his seed within your gummy tunnel.
“s-shit doll— still so fuckin’ tight no matter how many times i fill you. hah— now, what do you say baby?”
“ohmygod yes! baby— t-thank you!” you cry out, eyes rolling back.
“fuckin’ cockdrunk already,” he laughs, stroking half of his length inside of you at cruel pace before bottoming out until his deflated balls rutt against your ass, “this tiny cunt is all f’ me, hm?” he thrusts slowly, dragging his length up and down your velvety walls.
jake only continues to praise you through strokes, being sure to spear against that spongey patch and ripping yet another messy orgasm from you. he follows, pulling his hips back slightly so only the tip remains as he pumps hot cum at the entrance of your pussy.
“haa-ah, ngh n-no more jakey,” you whine, hips still rolling to meet his thrusts despite yourself.
he chuckles, littering soft kisses to your cheeks, forehead, nose and then lips until he notices a white frothy ring around his shaft. finally, he withdrawals with a wince, his softening cock slipping out with a soft, wet pop.
jake spreads your pussy lips with his fingers and brings the camera closer to witness the fresh creampie he delivered as it slowly dribbles out from between your swollen lips and down your ass. he watches as your hole opens and closes, forcing another glob of his love milk out when he commands you to push.
“yeah, good girl. fuuuck baby— you’re stuffed so full like a pastry. thats so hot, can’t wait to beat my cock to this later. my personal little pornstar.”
