always thinking abt nerd jake who wanna pleases his gf more everyday, so he hv sex with her everyday, asking her to tell him what she likes, hearing her squeals or moans the loudest when he does smt she loves makes him so tight in his pants that he cant contain it anymore so he pounds into her like no tmr. His glasses turns foggy & hving his sweetheart juice on it, back was engraved with crescent moon nail marks from his love, face was filled up lipgloss, lips were swollen from kissing biting so much 🙂↕️
holy shit.
warnings: oral (f rec), fingering, clit play, squirting, p in v, unprotected sex (don't.), creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, praise, slight overstimulation, marking, slight begging, light teasing, use of petnames
jake pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose for the third time tonight, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with that eager, focused look he always gets when he’s studying you like his favorite subject.
“tell me again, baby,” he whispers against your inner thigh, voice hoarse but so sweet. “what felt the best just now? was it here?” his tongue drags slowly over your clit, flat and warm. “or here?” he sucks gently, two fingers curling deep inside you.
you whimper, back arching off the bed. “there— fuck, jake, right there— the sucking—”
he moans like he’s the one getting head, the vibration shooting straight through you. every loud squeal, every broken moan you give him makes his cock twitch hard in his sweatpants. he’s been rock hard for the last forty minutes, leaking steadily, but he refuses to touch himself yet. not until he’s made you come at least twice.
“good girl,” he murmurs, pushing his glasses up again. “you’re so fucking pretty when you moan like that. louder, baby. please. i love hearing you.”
he buries his face back between your legs like a man starved, licking and sucking with messy enthusiasm. his glasses start to fog up from the heat of your pussy, the lenses catching streaks of your wetness every time he grinds his nose against your clit. he doesn’t care. he just keeps going, desperate to memorize every single sound that makes your thighs shake around his head.
“jake— oh my god—” you cry out, fingers digging hard into his shoulders as you come again, hips jerking against his tongue. your nails drag down his back, leaving fresh crescent moons on top of the ones from yesterday.
that’s what finally breaks him.
he pulls back with a wet gasp, lips swollen and shiny, face covered in your gloss and your juices. his glasses are completely fogged, one lens streaked. he looks wrecked. adorable. filthy.
“can’t— can’t wait anymore,” he pants, voice cracking. he shoves his sweatpants down just enough to free his aching cock, flushed dark and dripping. “need to be inside you, sweetheart. please.”
you barely have time to nod before he’s crawling up your body, kissing you messily. his swollen lips smear your own lipgloss everywhere — your chin, your cheeks, your neck. he bites your bottom lip with a needy whine and pushes in with one deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
“fuck— so tight,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours. “you feel so good every single day… i can’t get enough of you.”
he starts slow, like always — rolling his hips deep and grinding against your clit, still trying to be the attentive boyfriend. but then you moan his name all breathy and broken, and something in him snaps.
jake’s glasses slip down his nose as he starts fucking you harder, faster, the wet sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. every thrust punches little squeals out of you and it drives him insane.
“that’s it— fuck, make that sound again,” he begs, voice ragged. “love it when you get loud for me.”
he hooks your legs higher around his waist and pounds into you like tomorrow doesn’t exist — desperate, eager, so focused on making you feel good that his own pleasure almost feels secondary. his back burns deliciously from your nails, fresh marks joining the old ones. every time you scratch him he moans louder, hips stuttering.
“jake— baby— right there— don’t stop—” you cry out, clenching around him.
his glasses are completely fogged up now, sliding down with every hard thrust. he doesn’t take them off. he wants to see you like this — blurry and perfect.
“gonna cum— fuck, sweetheart, cum with me,” he pants, voice breaking into a whimper as he buries his face in your neck, biting down gently.
you come first, nails digging deep into his back as you shake and moan his name like a prayer. jake follows right after with a broken cry, hips jerking sloppily as he fills you up, trembling on top of you.
for a minute the only sounds are both of you trying to catch your breath.
he stays inside you, face hidden in your neck, placing lazy, sloppy kisses wherever he can reach. when he finally pulls back, his glasses are crooked, completely fogged and streaked, lips swollen and red, face shiny with your gloss and your cum.
he looks so proud. so lovesick.
“was that good?” he asks softly, voice shy even after fucking you senseless. “did i do it how you like?”
you laugh breathlessly and pull him down for another messy kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.
“you’re getting too good at this, nerd,” you tease, gently pushing his foggy glasses up his nose. “we’re really doing this every day?”
jake smiles, dimples deep, cheeks still flushed as he rubs his nose against yours.
“every day,” he promises, already grinding slowly into you again, half-hard. “i’m gonna keep learning you until i can make you scream without even thinking. until i know your body better than my own notes.”
he kisses you again — slow, sweet, and a little bit filthy — swollen lips moving lazily against yours.
“now… tell me what you want next, baby. i’m ready to study.”
your boyfriend ragebaits himself and then fucks it out in you!
hey, satoru never claimed to be very sensible when it came to you.
it had started long before you had even agreed to go out with him. back when he still had a big, fat and very poorly concealed crush on you. his mind was his biggest opp, truly.
sitting down in class, staring at the back of your head as he imagined scenarios of some other douche asking you out - and his biggest nightmare - you agreeing.
or, the thought of there being someone else who would snatch you right up before satoru built up the courage to ask you out.
back then, these thoughts gave him the push he desperately needed. he asked you out, you agreed, and he's been living his blissfully happy life ever since.
except...
satoru had his weight pinning you down in a mean mating press, his thick cock particularly hard today as he thrusted inside you like a mad man.
"'t-toruuuu-" you sobbed, your fingers digging in the skin of his back as you held on for dear life as your boyfriend pounded in you. the bed was creaking under the weight of satoru's hurried thrusts, making sounds that were lewder than the symphony of moans and cries leaving your mouth.
"y-y'belong to me," satoru panted, bringing his head to the side of your neck. he bit down on it, making your arch up and cry out.
"p-plea- hngh- haaah," you moaned, trying to twist your neck off his jaw, "s-slo- p-pleas-"
he brought his hand under your thigh, pulling your leg over his shoulder. the angle made you gasp out as satoru's weeping cock hit that particular spot, over and over again.
"say it," he gripped your jaw, turning your face towards his. his cock twitched at the sight of your fucked-out expression, his pupils dilating as he felt a surge of pride.
i did this, he thought, turning his hips up a notch. mine, she's mine.
"s-say it," he repeated, releasing your jaw, "you're mine, ngh-"
you moaned out some gibberish, too far gone to concentrate on what your boyfriend was saying as you tried to survive his relentless thrust, mind more focused on your oncoming orgasm.
"baby," he dipped down, taking your open mouth in a sloppy kiss before biting down on your lower lip, "y'r mine, baby, please, say it."
you nod, tears streaming down your face as you clench down hard on his cock, “‘m- m’yours- hic- youurs—”
“atta girl,” he presses a kiss on your calf, gripping your hips as he slams inside of you, grinning when your mouth falls open in a silent gasp as you cum all over his cock, fists gripping the sheets as you arch off the bed.
“s-so- fuckkk… so pretty,” he doesn’t slow down, fucking you through the orgasm as he bends down, “so pretty.. ngh- a-and all f’me.”
“satoruuuu,” you garble against his mouth as he kisses you again, pressing his entire weight on top of you, “slow down— please— hic!”
“we’ve got a long night ahead, sweetheart,” he pressed a kiss to your tear stained cheek, licking up the salty residue, “need to make sure this pussy moulds to the shape of my cock.”
warnings. mdni. gojo accidentally puts u in a mating press during a playfight, dry huming + cumming in pants.
Satoru Gojo is built like a fucking tank and it’s no exaggeration—broad-shouldered, firm, and heavy. Built with a density that makes the air around him feel thin. It’s most obvious when he’s fresh from the gym, black compression shirt stretched over his frame, tracing the hard line of his chest and the way his biceps coil with the slightest twitch of his fingers.
It’s why you keep baiting him into these meaningless little skirmishes—soft provocations just to feel the sheer, overwhelming force of him. To let him catch your wrists and remind you exactly how easily he can fold you into the floor.
Your lungs burn already. You’re shoving, palms flat against the unyielding fabric of his shirt, straining until your muscles shake. But it’s useless. There’s a pronounced imbalance in physical strength, not that you’re complaining (obviously), but he could at least pretend there isn’t and budge a little, for the sake of your dignity.
“Shit, ‘toru,” you grunt, the words squeezed out of your chest. “How much… do you even weigh? Feels like im trying to push a fuckin’ sumo wrestler off me or some shit.”
He lets out a huff of a laugh then looks down at you with a lazy smirk. His chest’s rising and falling in a steady rhythm that mocks your ragged gasps. You’re throwing your entire weight into him, and it barely registers as a nuisance.
“Baby are you serious? A sumo wrestler? That’s harsh, I’m definitely more aerodynamic than that.” he murmurs, playfully whilst continuing to watch you struggle against his solid frame with a look of secret amusement. “C’mon. Put your back into it, I’m barely even trying y’know?”
He sounds too pleased with himself. Your brows pinch together, jaw tightening as your teeth grind in contained irritation. This was your idea, but your competitive streak is now insisting this was, in fact, a bad idea. Frankly, it’s the tone you can’t stand, speaks like he’s graciously humoring a toddler. You want to hurt him. Or, failing that, at least remind him that gravity is supposed to apply to him, too.
So, you move. You hook your arms around him, your legs following suit as you try to wrench the momentum and roll him. For a split second, he shifts—and there is hope—then his hand, massive and quick, snaps around your ankles mid-air and hope is fleeting.
He forces your legs up and back, folding you like a pretzel until your heels are practically tucked behind your ears. It’s a position you’ve been put in many times, but not outside of the bedroom. It makes your skin crawl with heat. You’re exposed, crotch pressed into his. Your tight athletic shorts cling to your puffy folds and offer zero protection from the pressure of him.
“Okay, Satoru, what the fuck?” you choke out, blood rushing to your head.
“Shit reflex,” he laughs, sending a vibration through your trapped body. His crystalline eyes are dark, tracing the way you’re pinned underneath him. “My bad, baby.”
“You’re a dick. Let go.”
Naturally, he ignores you entirely and does the opposite with an infuriating grin that has him looking way too attractive for someone being this much of a prick.
“How about in a couple seconds, hm?”, His grip on you tightens and he hitches his hips forward, growing cock rubbing right against your clothed-cunt, “She feels soft. Haven’t rubbed up on her like this in a while, miss it.”
You look up and his white hair’s disheveled from and there’s a deep flush on the tips of his ears. He’s so pretty. It sucks how that face lets him get away with being such a degenerate.
“Fine,” you breathe out, the word caught in your throat. “Just make it quick. My legs are gonna cramp if you keep me locked like this.”
You don’t need to tell him twice ‘cuz he’s already humping into your pussy like an animal in heat. His sweats are thick, but they do nothing to hide the rock-hard length of him. Each time he drives his hips home, he’s grazing your clit through the dampening layers. He’s got your pretty pussy leaking like a broken faucet—slick patch spreading on the fabric. Each blunt shove against your folds drags a broken, messy string of moans out of you that you can't even try to swallow.
“Shit, feels so good,” he groans into your ear, body getting heavier, slumping on top of you, “we…fuck—we should play fight more often. Yeah? How’s that sound?”
He presses his mouth against yours, tasting like fruity flavored gum and sweets. You’re swallowing his moans, your own breath hitching as he keeps up his bruising pace. Then one final, harsh shove and he goes rigid. His eyes go semi-wide, pupils blown out and unfocused, fixed on nothing as his brain shorts out. Before you realize there’s already a heavy dampness flooding the space between you, white stringy liquid soaking through the fabric of his sweats and bleeding right into your own clothes.
He doesn't move for a long minute, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Then, slowly, he lifts his head and lets out a long exhale, his chests heaving and his signature smirk replaced by a look of daze.
"Well," he rasps, a lazy, lopsided grin slowly pulling at his mouth. "Think I’ll give you the win on that one. Though, you're a mess, babe. Completely soaked."
He pulls back just an inch, cartoonishly blue eyes tracking the damp mess of your shorts, "Pretty sure you're gonna need a shower to get all that off you.” He pauses, smiling at you cat-like, “Want to go see if I can fit in there with you? I promise to help with the hard-to-reach spots."
+ another dry humping post act shocked. ty sichee 4 proofreading @ouist
Having kids with Yuuji must be a dream. Probably the chubbiest, cutest little babies ever and he's always a considerate baby daddy, changing diapers and feeding them
;-; the ultimate dream !!! yuuji is definitely the guy who plans your future together n from the moment you meet he’s thinking about securing a good job, marrying you, coming home to you n having babies with you eee <3
yuuji’s babies are so round you call them your little dumplings, big heads and chubby cheeks :( do your genes even try? soft pink tufts of hair peak out of swaddled blankets n tiny fingers have a grip strong enough to rival his own. your first baby probably comes straight after the wedding night, one spent tangled in the sheets round after round — you’re fully his and he’s fully yours. so there’s no surprise when a month or two you find yourself expecting. he’s so excited of course, nothing means more to yuuji than you and having a mini you (or mostly him) is probably the best thing to ever happen to him.
the second baby is an accident, almost an irish twin i think. one night where your parents take the baby and you’re on him like white on rice — only because yuuji is so good with your toddler. he’s takes all the late night feeds and sterilises the bottles just right. he pushes the stroller around with one hand (wedding band glinting against it) as though it’s nothing n makes up his own lullabies for your first born it’s no wonder you pounce on him at the first opportunity.
yuuji promises your third baby is the last (lie possibly) when he becomes the hot dad at nursery pick ups with two little ones in his strong arms and you just know you have to prove a point, stake your claim.
he loves your little family unconditionally, there’s always a baby tucked between his pecs snoozing after back rubs and another curled into his side because dad runs warm. they look forward to his dinners because yuuji is unbelievably good at hiding veggies in pasta sauce and momma always makes them eat their greens. yuuji lifts them high above his head when they play rocket ship, two at a time because he’s that strong, before rotating so that everyone gets a chance. he spends hours colouring with them before bed and creates bed time stories from scratch so there’s never a moment where your kids aren’t laughing.
n at the end of the night when he crawls back into bed with you, brown eyes warm like honeyed milk and pleading, you can’t really say no when yuuji kisses a trail down your tummy and asks for a fourth.
satoru gojo with a baby who looks exactly like you.
his genes didn't even try. not a speck of white in his baby girl's hair, not a sliver of crystal blue in her eyes. she's all you—from the eyes to the nose to the laugh. good lord, satoru has been blessed by the gods.
he fell in love with her the moment the doctor handed you the little bundle of joy. and when he first carried her? you just laugh at the way he almost melts to the floor.
everytime he gets home from missions, he goes straight to where you're playing with mini you. his daughter giggles upon seeing her dad. he crashes on top of the two of you, careful not to squish neither of you. first and foremost, he kisses you. then, the baby. then back to you, then back to her—it goes on and on until you go and tell him to shower.
at night when your daughter makes a fuss, it's satoru who gets up and soothes her. he carries her over to your shared room, lays her in the space between, and talks to her about anything—his latest mission, his students, her big brother megumi, how the two of you met, his bestfriend suguru, her uncle nanami, her aunt shoko.
all the while, his baby listens earnestly, eyes wide and curious like yours. she even responds sometimes! no, she can't talk yet, but she's already a good listener.
"maybe we should take you to see uncle suguru. do you miss him? who do you miss more, him or papa?"
"ah."
"there's only one answer to that. why are you hesitating?" he pokes her cheek, and holds back the urge to bite and chomp.
"ba.."
"papa? yes! that's right. you miss papa more, right?"
"ma!"
satoru gasps dramatically, "mama? you're already with her 24/7!" your baby grins, and he's in awe by how much of you he sees in her.
he picks her up with ease, and settles her on top of him. he glances at your sleeping form, "you look like your mom, you know?"
your baby also glances at you, one hand reaching out before satoru grabs her little wrist and holds it to his chest. "mama's sleeping. she's tired, we need to let her rest."
your daughter babbles, "ma-ma-ma."
"yes, mama. you look like mama. that means you're also pretty and beautiful." he kisses her cheek.
"pi. pi!"
satoru nods in understanding, acting like your baby just said something revolutionary. "yes. pretty. that's you," he pinches her nose, she huffs. "and mama. my pretty girls."
"when you grow up, you need to marry someone who'll preach your beauty like how i do to your mom, okay? never date a boy who doesn't tell you how beautiful you are every passing day." satoru whispers, eyes locked onto an identical pair to yours.
his daughter only yawns in response, dropping her head into his sternum. satoru adjusts her so she's laying on her back in the middle of you two. instinctively, your baby wiggles around, searching for your warmth in her sleep. satoru only sighs with a smile. what a velcro baby he's raising.
from jade: self-indulgent dad gojo fic bcuz im ovulating and im sleepy and i got crazy baby fever from spending a few days at my aunt's and her two month old baby boy and i also wrote this instead of stressing out over my groupworks so enjoy tehe
Just yesterday, he was a little baby, defenseless to the world, could barely lift his head on his own and needed either yours or Sae's help to do basically anything. But now that he’s a toddler, he’s getting more and more independent by the day, not to mention he is getting much bigger too. So it’s only normal that his clothes and little baby shoes wouldn’t fit him anymore.
Hence why you two are shopping together this evening, in search of new things for him to wear that will probably not fit in the next few weeks anyways. It was just the two of you today as Sae was playing abroad currently, but his presence was still felt because you kept on sending pictures of all the outfits you’ve built for your son during your little shopping trip, which is being sponsored by your dear husband, of course.
After going to a bunch of clothing stores and getting something that caught your son’s fancy — which was a harder task than you expected. He’s very picky and knows what he likes even at such a young age — you walk into a sports department store, now looking for some new cleats for your son to wear in his football practice.
“[S/N] baby, do you like this colour?” You pick up a pair of cleats that you think he’d like, but when you turn around to show them to him…he’s not there.
And obviously you started to panic.
“[S/N]? Where are you?” you don’t even care that people are looking your way funny right now, all you care about is finding your son. Just where the hell did this kid go? Why does he feel the need to give you random heart attacks like this all of the time? “[S/N], you’re scaring me now. Where are you—”
Just as you were about to really lose your mind, you found him, and you let out a sigh of relief.
You would’ve scolded him for walking away from you and making you worry, but you see him hold onto a cardboard cutout of Sae displayed in the store due to some partnership he has, that anger caused by the small panic episode he gave you fades away.
“Papa? Why are you here…” God he’s so cute…
“Baby, that’s not papa. Papa is in another country now, remember?” He doesn’t seem to listen to you, he keeps on holding onto the cutout and even goes as far as to hug it and that makes your heart melt even more.
Guess you have to take a picture of this too and send it to Sae. Maybe seeing how much his son misses him will make him play better.
an — sae's cutout is hitting the u-20 arc pose iykyk
Qifrey let out a deep deep sigh as he entered his room. The girls were so excited to learn a new glyph that Qifrey and Olruggio had to help them out, a lot. By the time they were done the sun had set. You on the other hand did the small chores around the atelier. Doing laundry, whipping up some lunch, or whatever needed to be done. The girls helped out here and there whenever they got a chance but you were content with how life was. The best part of the day is when Qifrey comes back to your shared room. You had already completed the task you set for yourself today and now you were relaxing on the bed with a cozy book in your hand. You heard a soft groan from the bottom of the steps. Looking over the loft you spot Qifrey walking up the stairs. Stripping his outer coat till he was just in his black turtleneck and his loose pants. He flopped down on the bed, making your body slightly jump off the bed by the sheer force.
“How was today dear?” You asked, smiling as you set the book down. Qifrey didn’t say anything but just a muffled groan. You run your hand through his curly white hair. You smiled as you could see Qifrey’s shoulder slump as his body ease. You thought that this night was going to be like this until you felt a strong hand grab your ankles pulling you down on the bed. You were pinned as Qifrey hovered over you.
“Qifrey?” You asked looking up at him, his face unreadable as he leaned down capturing your lips with his. His lips were soft and warm as you felt his lips trailed down your body.
“I’ve waited so long to do this.” You heard him mumble against your skin, his breath fanned your exposed skin as continued his trail of kisses. You felt his hand play with the belt around your waist. You drape your arms around his shoulder as you pull him closer. Taking in his scent of soft floral and wood. As he started to unbuckle your belt, soft raps on the door made you two paused. It was late, no one except maybe Olruggio would be up at this hour. You felt Qifrey heaved a deep sigh before getting off of you. He muttered an apology before telling the person on the other side of the door to come in. You peered over the loft seeing little coco coming inside. She seemed a little sleepy but still determined.
“Professor, I was trying to work on the glyph we did earlier the day but it seems like it didn’t work.” Coco sounded defeated as she sat on the steps of the loft. Qifrey glanced at you as you gave a soft smile. Silently telling him to deal with his student’s question. Qifrey smiled as he slowly slid down the stairs sitting a couple stairs above Coco. You leaned against your arm as you watched Qifrey expertly explained the glyph again to Coco. It only took minutes after Coco entered the room for her to be out thanking her professor for helping her. When you heard the door close with a soft click, Qifrey was immediately back on you. This time more passionate as he cupped your cheeks, giving you a passionate kiss. He muffled a moan as he silently asked permission to access your mouth. You opened your mouth slightly giving him a silent agreement. You thought Qifrey would go nice and slow but Qifrey quickly shoved his tongue down your throat. You bit back a moan as Qifrey continued his relentless attack on your mouth. He trailed his hands down your sides cupping your bottom as he gently set you down on the plus mattress. Qifrey pulled away from you, you watched as he crossed his arms grabbing the hem of his turtleneck. As he pulled his shirt halfway over his body, getting a sneak peak of his tone chest, another soft rap against his door. Qifrey let out an annoyed sigh as he pulled his shirt back down before telling the person to come in. You could hear Olruggio come in to complain about something. Qifrey tried his best, you can really see, but his face did show some signs of annoyance.
“Alright I’m heading to bed, Goodnight Qifrey,” Olruggio said before leaving, but he stopped before and said goodnight to you. Which made the two of you face flush a bit. Olruggio isn’t dumb, he knows that you're there. Even though you had your own room, ever since you and Qifrey made it “official” you’ve been staying with him. After hearing another soft click of the door you looked up to Qifrey who just sighed settling down on the bed. You watched as Qifrey laid down next to you. You smiled to yourself as you climbed on top of him. Settling on his lap you can feel his bulge against you.
“We’ll try to make this quick.” You mumbled as you slipped your shirt off, Qifrey gently placed his hands against your hips drawing small circles with his thumbs.
“Please.” Qifrey whispered, rocking your hips back and forth, you muffled your moans as you connected your lips with his. The muffled moans filled the quiet room as Qifrey continued to guide your hips against his hard bulge. You sighed as you pulled away. Whispering sweet nothing to Qifrey you moved to remove your bottoms. As you started to slip it off the door swung open. You couldn’t react quick enough but Qifrey did. You let out a small yelp as you were flipped, now your back against the plush mattress and covered by the soft blanket. Qifrey looked down at you with a now annoyed expression. You can tell Qifrey wanted to just spend a nice moment with you. Nice is putting it lightly.
“Richeh is everything okay?” You heard Qifrey asked, a mask of worry was heard from Qifrey.
“Richeh had a nightmare.” You heard Richeh mumble. You frowned slightly, feeling bad for the little witch. Discreetly slipping your shirt back on you sat up and patted on the bed.
“Aw don’t worry Richeh we’re here come on up.” You smiled, Qifrey glared at you, quietly asking you what you were doing. You heard Richeh’s foot softly thumb up the stairs. You watched as the little witch climbed up the bed b lining to you engulfing you in a hug. You quietly stroke Richeh’s head as you lower the both of you back on the bed. Cuddling into her. You glanced at Qifrey who had an not amused look. You smiled at him patting at the open area next to you. You heard Qifrey sighed as he moved next to you. Slipping his arms around your waist. You felt him pull you closer still reminding you that there was still something that you guys were doing.
“Richeh where are you?” You heard another voice called up. Before you two can say anything you spotted Tetia ascending up the stairs.
“What! No fair you get to cuddle with the professor and miss (name)!” Tetia complained, but before anyone can say something Tetia climbed up the bed settling next to Richeh.
“If you guys are gonna have a sleepover then Tetia should be invited!” She exclaimed, You chuckled at how Tetia is. But you felt Qifrey heaved a deep sigh into your back. You can tell he’s trying his best. He loves his students, he truly does, but sometimes he just wants peace and quiet. And some time alone with just you.
Sooner than you thought, somehow some way you had all four girls snuggled up with you and Olruggio sleeping near the foot of the bed. Everyone was fast asleep leaving just you and Qifrey alone…ish.
“I’m sorry things didn’t go as planned.” You whispered to Qifrey, turning to him to play with his hair. Qifrey just sighed into your neck pulling you closer.
“It’s…fine.” Qifrey said but you can tell it still bothered him.
“We’ll get back to it someday.” You whispered, Qifrey just nodded his head as sleep finally took over you both. The soft crickets in the night lure you into a peaceful sleep.
not proofread, i literally just wrote this impulsively because lohen's leaked animations made me feel THINGS.
“that’s a sweet girl.” lohen coos in your ear. there’s something in his eyes that both terrifies you, and also strengthens the heat pooling between your legs. it’s a sadistic gleam - the very same he wears whenever you catch him up close slaughtering hilichurls, whenever he’s sharpening his weapons before a fight.
that look isn’t what’s causing you to tremble beneath him, however. your wrecked state is caused by the knife pressed against your throat, cool, stainless steel that leaves goosebumps in its wake as lohen drags it further and further down. once it reaches your bra, lohen doesn’t even hesitate before he slices it off, freeing your breasts. “you’re so scared… i can tell, you know?” he adds in a quiet voice, only for you to hear, “but you’re not running away. what a brave thing you are.”
the knife finally arrives just above your panties, and just like before, lohen doesn’t bother getting rid of the fabric in the traditional way. he rips the garment off with the knife. instinctively, you attempt to close your legs - but lohen grabs your knee, his grip nearly painful, to keep them open.
“no no, sweet girl,” he says, and though his tone is sickeningly sweet, you can tell he won’t repeat himself if you dare go against his wishes, “keep them open for me. i’m not done yet.”
you can’t even begin to come up with a reply - your attention is onto the cool blade, which leaves your flesh, providing you a short sense of relief. however, said relief is gone when lohen presses it against your clit. your hips hiccup forward, and seeing you squirm makes lohen bite his lip.
he adds more strength to the blade, rubbing circles with the flat side of the knife against your clit. this shouldn’t arouse you so badly, and yet, it very much does, considering how the blade is already glistening with your fluids. seeing you enjoying yourself makes lohen’s grin grow even wider somehow, and he increases his pace. it’s dangerous, and he’s well aware of that - but he keeps his knife at an angle that wouldn’t harm you. he doesn’t want you bleeding, at least not there.
you’re lightheaded with pleasure now, head lolling back and whines escaping your lips when you aren’t begging him for more. but, just as you’re about to cum - the blade is gone. whatever pleasure you were feeling is replaced with aggravation, and you can’t help the groan that leaves you.
your head snaps down to between your legs, then back to lohen. he’s eagerly licking the knife clean, refusing to break eye contact with you. and once he’s done… he laughs. laughs at your frustrated face, at how you were begging him to make you cum just a minute ago…
“i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” he lies, as he leans forward until your foreheads are nearly meeting, “you know i can’t help myself. that look on your face when you can’t cum makes me feel so good, sweetheart.”
the knife is once again brought to your cunt - this time, however, the blade is facing away from it, and instead, you can feel the thick handle probing at your entrance.
“this time, i’ll let you cum… so long as i get to hear you scream.”
𝜗℘ ˖ ࣪ . ˖˙ sheriff!nanami always hurries home towards his pregnant wife to compensate for the time he spends away :: tags. fluff. wild west au. girl dad :: ac. hercaptain on lofter
you’re laying on the couch, nibbling on a piece of bread, when you hear the familiar footsteps on the porch of your cozy home. the front door opens with a faint creak and reveals no one other than your husband, kento, in his uniform. he’s home earlier than he normally would be.
“evenin’, sugar,” kento steps into the house, his tall frame filling the doorway. he looks over at you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he takes in the sight of you sprawled out on the couch.
his eyes soften when they land on the swell of your belly—reminding him of the life you’ve created. both you and the child growing in your stomach are the reason why he works so hard every day. to provide for you and make the pregnancy as easy as possible for your body.
“hi, honey,” you greet him back with a giggle, “how was work?”
it never fails to make you happy; seeing your husband back home after spending the first half of the day alone. knowing kento is out there making sure you and your baby have food on the table at the end of the day is heartwarming.
kento closes the door behind him and the latch clicks into place. “the usual. nothin’ out of the ordinary today. thank the lord,” he answers.
he sets his stetson hat down on the hook near the entrance and starts unbuckling his gun belt, the weight of the revolver and ammunition clinking softly. he hangs it up carefully before taking a couple steps towards you.
“aht-aht, don’t ya go gettin’ up now, sweetheart,” kento chuckles as he notices your attempts to get up to greet him like you usually do. before your belly got this heavy, that is.
he holds out a callused hand towards you, silently urging you to take it. the last thing he wants is for you to pull a muscle.
“i’m right here,” kento reassures you as he kneels down in front of the couch.
you lean in for a kiss and your husband instantly does the same. his lips linger on yours for a good few seconds before he pulls away. he cups your face with one hand while the other comes to rest on your rounded belly, palm molding to the gentle curve of it.
“y’re getting’ more beautiful every day,” kento praises in a low yet soft voice. he dips his head to press a kiss to your stomach and closes his eyes, “our little girl ‘s also growing well in there, hm?”
“of course,” you reply with a giggle. your hand comes to cover the one on your belly, your hand smaller than your husband’s.
your wedding rings shine beneath the sunlight filtering through your windows and it reminds you of the love you share for each other. your eyes meet kento’s and you’re about to lean in for another kiss when you feel your child kick.
kento’s eyes widen the second he feels the small but distinct movement beneath your belly. a sign of your child stirring within you.
a slow smile spreads across his handsome face, his eyes crinkling at the corners before he glances up at you with pure adoration. “that–” the blonde man doesn’t finish his sentence, simply looking back at your stomach with pure love and wonder.
his thumb gently rubs small circles over the spot where your child had just made her presence known.
“that was our little girl saying hi to her daddy,” you comment with a small chuckle. you said it lightheartedly, but kento seems to have taken it seriously.
you’re not sure if he’s fighting the tears, or if he’s just blinking rapidly to contain the emotions playing out on his face. probably both.
kento clears his throat before nodding. he rests his head gently against your stomach, stubbled jaw tickling your bare skin. “hi there, baby girl. You recognised my voice there, didn’t ya?” he chuckles softly, his voice raw.
you can’t see his face like this, only the top of his head, but you’re sure that he’s experiencing all kinds of new emotions at the moment.
you run your fingers through his blonde strands, the hair gel he uses in the morning almost gone by now. a few seconds pass and another faint kick on the side of your belly makes your husband’s breath hitch.
it never fails to fascinate him, to make him feel a great sense of joy.
“i can’t wait to meet ya too,” kento continues, holding a conversation with your unborn daughter like she’s responding to him. in a way she is, with the occasional kick.
he sighs in pure content as his muscular arms wrap around your middle, keeping you close to him while he kneels in front of you.
what he’s feeling is indescribable. a couple moments pass before he tilts his head back to face you again. you cup his face and rub at his cheekbones, smiling at the loving way he’s staring at you.
“ye’re gonna be a great father, ken,” you whisper.
you’re sure of it. he’s a great husband and will be the best father to your child.
kentk smiles back at you and nods. “thank you. I will try my best, for both of you,” he replies with a determined glint in his brown eyes. his large hands massage your belly before giving it a final kiss. “I promise,” he whispers against your sensitive skin.
who knew having two guys wanting you could feel so good, especially when its your hot best friend, park sunghoon, and the new australian transfer student, sim jaeyun. why choose one when you could have both?
park sunghoon + sim jaeyun x fem!reader
genre: college/hockey au
content warnings: smut, very suggestive, jealous/possessive themes, mean dom sunghoon, soft dom (almost sub?) jake, threesome, pussy eating, slapping, fingering, squirting, cum eating, it gets messy. dry humping, boob obsessed jake! teasing, sexting, unprotected sex, slight size kink, morally grey characters, y/n loves the attention (she pretends she doesn’t), they bring her freak out but who wouldn’t for jakehoon? featuring: heeseung and jay, this is pretty much porn with a plot btw..
word count: 15k
Every university has its sport, football, baseball, basketball, you name it. Crimson University has them all of course. But where they really specialize in, is Hockey.
One of the most intense sports played on ice. Especially by your school's team. Aggressive would be an understatement, it's straight up brutal in that rink.
You used to wonder what it felt like, the adrenaline rush. But watching became more your speed. Which is why you’re standing a few feet away from your university's hockey team, the players standing up, sticks banging against the boards, shouting as Park Sunghoon lands a punch on an opponent from the other team.
You shouldn’t even be surprised either, considering he's always been terrible at keeping his anger in, and that this sport is the only way he tends to get it out.
You two have been friends for a while, if 5 years could be considered that. Back when he was bench warming at your high school Hockey teams game as freshmen, you were taking yearbook photos. Funny how it's almost parallel to what's happening at this very moment.
Except, Park Sunghoon is now one of the best players on the team, Hell— maybe even in the country. And you’re majoring in journalism, getting photos for the weekly newsletter.
You thought that once he reached big league status after you both got accepted into Crimson University, he'd maybe forget about you..?
But that's far from the truth, how could he? You were the one person who actually tried to get to know him in highschool, when he was just some twig to snap on the ice.
Yeah, it was for a yearbook interview you had to do. But you always had good intentions, and he looked like he needed someone to sit with at lunch that day. You've both seen each other at your best and worst, deepest secrets tucked in each other's hearts– and since then you two have been pretty much inseparable.
Everyone erupts into shouts, pure chaos in the rink, and out. The other teams student section yelling, and yours mirroring that. The hockey stick in Sunghoon's hand is long forgotten as he slams the other guy against the glass barrier, shaking it completely.
Your team's coach is blowing his whistle, yelling, but it's not enough. You watch as the boys on the rink skate over attempting to separate them, Lee Heeseung; Team captain making it there first, attempting to force Sunghoon off of the poor guy.
Park Jongseong or Jay as the team calls him, takes his other side, yelling at Sunghoon, telling him to stop, and that it's just “going to make shit worse”.
Sunghoon's fist is raised in the air, inches away from the guy in front of him who decided now was the time to make a comment about you. “Hoon— man we need you, don’t fuck it up.” Heeseung says. Placing a hand on his shoulder.
You watch from a distance as Sunghoon lowers his fist, pushing off the guy and stepping back, picking up his hockey stick to skate back to the other side.
The coach doesn’t even have to say anything because Sunghoon goes straight into the penalty box. And he knows he’s going to hear that shit later in the locker room.
You glance over at him a few feet away from you, shaking your head as he takes off his helmet, his sweat clad hair sticking to his forehead. He sets it on the ground more aggressively than needed.
The rest of the team skates back over to the bench gates, gathering around the coach, most likely discussing who they are going to sub in for Sunghoon.
He looks over at you as the boys go back on ice, taking position, you adjust your camera lens, trying to get the best shots you can of your school's Hockey team. You catch him looking from the corner of your eye.
Gesturing to the penalty box he’s sitting in, you mouth the words "That's what you get” before focusing back on your camera, he chuckles, running a hand through his hair. But God knows if anyone else had said that, they’d be in deep shit.
Five minutes later they put him back on the ice, the score now a whopping 5-4, Crimson Ville in the lead of course. One minute left in the third period, there's no doubt they are taking the win. Your eyes drift to the other team and their student section still trying to stay just as hyped as yours even if they know exactly what's going to happen.
Everyone was on their feet, the players making noise, cheers coming from all around as Heeseung passes the puck to Jay, you watch as a player from the opposite team rams into him, attempting to steer him off track, Jay manages to knock it over to another player, who gets it taken by someone from the opposite team.
Sunghoon comes in full force, nearly knocking him off his feet, shoulder ramming into him as he takes the puck, skating across the ice, inching closer and closer, Sunghoon looks for the familiar 07 jersey, spotting him immediately, Heeseung. He's quick to pass it over to him, Heeseung dodges a player coming at him, getting even closer to the goal
Jay covers him, bumping into a player on Heeseung's ass, the shouts grow louder as he gets closer to the Goal, everything is going how they planned the play, just when the goalie thinks Heeseung is going to hit the puck in, Sunghoon comes in on the other side, giving Heeseung a clear opening to pass it to him. It's a flash of Red, black, and white jerseys as Sunghoon knocks the puck into the goal, the opposite team's goalie caught completely off guard by the switch up.
Everyone abrupts into screams and shouts, cheering on, chanting their names, you watch as the boys from Crimson ville step over the boards, skating over to Sunghoon and Heeseung, slapping them on their helmets encouragingly.
Sunghoon looks at the crowd in the stands, before holding up his hockey stick in dramatic victory, smile bright on his face as the crowd cheers even louder, you capture the moment through your camera lens perfectly.
With it being the first game of the season, of course there's a celebration, especially since Crimson Ville won.
Sunghoon insisted on you going, the Party being held in his shared place with Jay and Heeseung. You were familiar with the place considering you came often, and also since it was kind of a hot spot for the parties here at Uni ever since Freshman year.
You try to adjust to the smell of alcohol, sweat, and something else as you enter the house, some loud rap song playing on their obnoxiously big speakers, lights flickering, people shouting, all still buzzing from the win.
The place was packed to the brim, bodies crowded, swaying. You and your friend, who happens to be the coaches daughter, both give each other a look.
“Im gonna find Yunjin and them, you’re gonna be alright?” She asks, standing on her tip toes to somewhat observe the crowd, you offer a nod and smile as she squeezes through, disappearing in the sea of bodies.
“Y/N!” you’d recognize that voice anywhere, some heads turn as none other than Park Sunghoon approaches you, red solo cup in hand, Jersey rolled up to act as a sleeveless shirt, he throws his arm around your shoulder in the way he normally does.
People used think you two were dating—They’d look at you and say “Oh y/n, nah she’d never get with a guy like him. She has too much respect for herself to do that.” since he’s sort of developed a reputation for himself, one that includes fucking girls and never anything more.
You tried to tell him it's wrong to do that, but he tends to give excuses like “I never promised them anything.” You roll your eyes as he guides you to the kitchen where you recognize the other players' faces.
“Aye, look who made it,” Heeseung says, pouring you a drink. “Someone wouldn't stop begging me too.” You eye Sunghoon who raises his hands innocently, not even bothering to hide the grin on his face. You take the drink from Heeseung, sipping a little before nearly gagging.
“God– what did you put in this, its radioactive” You stick your tongue out in a disgusted manner earning a laugh from him, “Jay mixed a bunch of shit together, apparently its one of his famous mixed drinks” Sunghoon mocks, getting a light shove from Jay who sniffs the drink in his cup “Its not even that bad– fuck, okay never mind.” He sets his cup down earning even more laughs.
Some more people fill up the kitchen, you prop yourself up on the counter, Sunghoon leans against it beside you. “So, get any good photos of me?” He asks, looking at you. “If you’re talking about the way you clip farmed at the end, then yes.” You stifle a laugh, “You know my best angles baby” He winks, you shove his shoulder, he holds it dramatically faking hurt making you laugh even harder.
You watch as a girl approaches him, no surprise with that. Dress clinging to her body, his gaze immediately drops to her chest before looking at her face. You take that as your sign to hop off the counter, he opens his mouth to call back for you but the girl already takes her chance, and you definitely don't want to know what she has to say.
You spot your friends on the couch, some clinging to the other players on the team, “-some big shot guy from Australia?” Jay questions, leaning over Heeseung's phone.
“Yeah– my dad said he's like really good, that's why he's transferring here.” Your friend says, repeating the words of the team's coach, You walk over, sitting in the open seat next to her on the couch, Heeseung on the other side. “Who are you guys talking about?” You ask over the loud music,
“Holy shit– He scored 56 goals last season?” Jay exclaims, scrolling on Heeseung's phone, “Man this guys something serious.” One of the other teammates says.
Heeseung leans forward to look at you, “We're getting a new transfer student, some university in Australia, I've been communicating with him a bit over break. He was supposed to be here for today's game but he couldn't make it– pretty sure he flies in on Sunday.”
Heeseung says casually eyes drifting to Jay who is now going through Heeseung's messages where he was in fact communicating with said transfer student. “Wait, is this why we still haven't accepted any offers for the extra room?” Jay asks curiously
“Yeah, he said he’d pay his side of the rent and everything, plus if he's as chill as he seems, he'll get along just right with us.” Heeseung says before snatching his phone from Jay before he sees something he shouldn't.
“Whats his name?” You ask, brow raised. “Jake Sim. Coach already has his Jersey ready, hes excited as fuck too.” Your friend chuckles, “Yeah it's all he's been talking about if it's not you, Jay or Sunghoon.” Your friend mumbles to Heeseung who says something low enough that you can't hear it.
You space out, the name sounds oddly familiar, Jake Sim..
That's when it clicks, you remember reading over the message from the Honors Society, the one where you were chosen to give a tour and help a new student, which is completely normal for those in the Program.
But now you know who that student is, Jake Sim. You don't say anything about it as conversation switches. But you know you’ll definitely look into it later.
Your eyes follow everyone else's as the team whistles, watching as Sunghoon holds the hand of the same girl from earlier, leading her up the stairs.
He offers them all the finger before disappearing. “He better be done by the time it clears out.” Jay mutters, running a hand through his hair, Heeseung chuckles knowingly.
You tilt your head questioning, “Last time he had some chick in there who couldn't keep her mouth shut for the life of her, screaming and shit–” Jay says, you cut him off “Okay, ew–” You make a disgusted face, earning a laugh from your friends.
“Girl, I don't know how you deal with him.” One of your friends say, legs swung over another players lap, you shrug offering a smile as the topic switches.
Normally you don't really stay to clean up at their place, considering it would quite literally be around 2-3 am by the time everyone clears out.
But you wanted to hear more about this Jake Sim everyone seems so eager about. “What made him want to transfer here?” You ask Heeseung curiously, washing the remains in a few used solo cups down the sink.
He throws some empty cans in a trashbag, not bothering to look at you “It was his best option, apparently he's smart as hell too.” He says casually, moving around the kitchen, putting away any extra alcohol leftover. “Oh..” You look down at your feet before washing out the sink.
“Alright backyards good, im not going any further because I dont know what im going to step into, especially with the lightweights who throw up everywhere and shit.” Jay says, shutting the glass slide door behind him.
“Did your friends head out y/n?” He asks, looking around. Heeseung's head pops up at that “Yeah, I wasn't going to make them stay to clean up.” You chuckle dryly.
“Plus, Sunghoon said he’d give me a ride.” You smile at the both of them, they give each other a look, one that you don't see before shutting off the sink and drying your hands off with a paper towel.
“Alright, but if he doesn’t come down in the next 30 minutes, Jay can take you.” Heeseung says, Jay makes an offended expression “Dude, I need my beauty sleep too–”
All three of your eyes shift to the sound of a door slamming upstairs, the culprit coming into sight right after.
The same girl from earlier that Sunghoon had brought up stomping angrily down the stairs, her steps faltering when she sees the three of you watching her with confused faces. Heeseung shakes his head knowingly before focusing back on cleaning up.
Her eyes immeditly land on you, “Fuck are you looking at?” She looks you up and down before moving to the front door, you don't say anything as she slams that one behind her as well.
“I don’t even want to know what he did.” Jay says, rubbing the back of his head.
“I’ll go talk to him.” You brush past both of them, making your way up the stairs. Your hand hovers over the handle, ultimately deciding to knock–just in case.
“Didn’t change my mind.” Sunghoon says, irritation leaking from his tone, your brows furrow before speaking up “Sunghoon, it's me.” He doesn't have to ask who, by now he's recognized the sound of your voice.
He opens the door for you 5 seconds later, you observe his room to see his clothes from earlier now discarded on the floor beside his messy bed. Hockey trophies stacked neatly along his shelf. Your eyes land on him, the grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, the black Calvin Klein branded boxers poking out.
“Put some clothes on.” You move past him, picking up a white tank top hanging on his desk chair and throwing it at his chest. He chuckles before putting it on and shutting the door, laying on his bed causally.
He leans against his pillows, arms resting behind his head as he watches you. “Come’re” He pats the spot next to him, you slip off your sneakers before sitting down beside him.
“She seemed pretty upset.” You look down at him warily, he tries not to smile at your expression “Don’t worry about it, just lay with me for a little.” He says, wrapping his hand around your waist and pulling you flush against him.
You relax into his hold, hand resting on his chest “You still need to drive me home.” You mutter, eyes already feeling drowsy as his large hand flattens on your hair. “Says the one falling asleep.” He chuckles when your hand lightly hits him, practically tickling. “Shut up..” You mumble, curling deeper into his arms.
-
Sunday comes sooner than you expected, you made a note to set your alarm so you could get to the Honors Society building early, collecting the papers you need, including Jake Sim’s printed schedule.
You check your phone, smoothing down the front of your sweater and jeans before walking towards the main lobby.
“-Oh yeah, it's beautiful here. So much more different than home.” Your eyes find the sound immediately, the thick Australian accent cutting through your senses.
You observe him from behind, his dark washed jeans, to the white shirt with the words "Brisbane Hockey Championship" on the back. The girl, who you recognize as another student in the Honors Society smiling ear to ear while talking to him.
You walk closer, folder held in your hand. “Jake Sim?” You question, his eyes fall on you, taking you in. And to say this man was handsome was an understatement, he’s straight up gorgeous
“That's me” He smiles boyishly at you, eyes falling to your lips for a split second. Great, a natural flirt too.
“I'm y/n, you’re here for your schedule and tour right?” You ask, tilting your head. “Nice to meet you, y/n” He holds out his hand, you try not to smile at the formal gesture before shaking his, he holds it a second too long before letting go.
“Ill see you around, yeah?” He turns to the girl sitting down, she nods eagerly earning a chuckle from him before he falls into step beside you.
“So, Australia?” You ask, leading him outside the building, the sun beaming down on the campus. He looks down at you, “Accents that strong huh?” He asks playfully, “It’s not everyday we get a transfer from there.” You smile politely, opening the folder in your hand.
You hand him his schedule filled with the courses he chose, mirroring his credits from Australia, “You’re lucky, a lot of those are in the same area” You lean over, pointing. He nods, catching the faint smell of your peach scented shampoo. “Guess it's better we’re doing this on a Sunday then” He smiles, walking beside you.
After finishing the tour early, you and Jake had moved to the Hockey rink, he asked if he could see it since that's where he was going to be playing until he graduated from here.
You were happy to show him, but being you, wanting to fill the silence, accidentally brought up the story about the time you were sitting in this exact spot with your group of friends. It was freshman year before the first game of the season, which also happened to be your birthday.
Sunghoon decided it was the perfect time to surprise you with the rest of the team, unfortunately with a pink birthday stash and tiara, while encouraging everyone in the stands to sing happy birthday to you.
Jake was cheesing ear to ear at the story, you cringing in embarrassment. “Some friends you got yourself” He had said, chuckling. You didn't tell him it was Sunghoon, you don't know why either.
You don't know how long you two have been sitting here, just talking. Jake was the kind of person you could easily get along with, where conversation flowed.
He had nudged your shoulder jokingly calling you “princess” the nickname making a slight blush coat your cheeks, especially said with his accent.
Jake tries to be a respectful guy, he really does. But one thing about him is that he loves women. God– everything about them, so he was excited to come here, not only for hockey but also to see what this university could provide for him, sex wise maybe.
You lean your head back, laughing at something he said, his eyes trail down your neck, to the curve of your breast beneath your sweater before looking at your face again.
His phone goes off in his pocket, he reads the message across his screen from Heeseung saying that he's free to come by and get settled any time today.
You tilt your head as he stands up, helping you off the stands, you two walk next to each other like it's natural, stepping outside into the warm air. You turn to face him.
“In here is pretty much everything you need to know, if you want to change any of your classes, and I'm sure the Hockey schedule is in there too.” You hand it to him, “I'll see you around, Jake.” You smile, he doesn't think before reaching out for your wrist, you pause, facing him again.
“Do you mind if I get your number?” You raise your brow, “-In case I need help or anything, you seem to know a lot about everything.” He lets go of your hand gently
“Yeah, sure.” You hold out your hand and he swipes through his phone, you put your number in and hand it back to him. “If you need anything just send me a text.” You tuck your hair behind your ear, a part of him wishes he did it for you.
“Thanks for the tour, Princess.” You turn around hiding your face as you walk away from him, he shakes his head smirking before going the other way.
-
“I mean she practically broke the fucking hinges off the door.” Jay exaggerates, helping Jake bring his bags upstairs to his new room. “Nah, you’re just dramatic as hell.” Sunghoon chuckles, setting one of Jake's bags beside the bed.
Heeseung leans against the door frame with a smile on his face. “How about the girls in Australia?” Heeseung asks curiously. Jake whistles low “Man, they get fucking crazy over there. This one time this chick and her friends keyed my friends car because he broke it off, brand new too.”
Jay hisses at words, “All I have to say is don't mess with those Gold Coast girls.” The guys make their way down to the living room after Jake said he didn't want to “hold them up”
“Alright rules.” Heeseung says, dragging the other three's attention to him. Sunghoon rolls his eyes, “First, try to pick up. Which shouldn't be an issue considering how neatly packed your bags are.”
That earns a chuckle from Jake, “Second, if you’re having a girl over, for the love of God– try not to have her screaming and shit, or eating our food.” He emphasizes the last part, Jay eyes Sunghoon, laughing when he flips him off.
“Third.. Uh– pay rent on time.” Heeseung leans back against the couch proudly. Jake nods after each rule, understanding.
“How about now though? Have you seen anyone who interests you?” Sunghoon asks curiously, observing Jake from the other couch.
“I mean not really–” the image of you flashes in his mind “Actually, the girl who helped me out today with the tour and stuff.” Jake says casually, finger absent mindedly tracing the edge of his phone. “Damn, what's her name?” Jay asks, leaning forward.
“Y/n.” Jake replies, running a hand through his hair. Sunghoon stills at the mention of your name.
Out of all fucking people.
Jake notices the sudden change in the room, “Like y/n l/n?” Jay leans forward just to clarify “Yeah.. you guys know her?”
“Since first year, Sunghoons known her since high school though.” Heeseung says Jake's eyes drift to Sunghoon whose lips are tightened, biting the inside of his cheek.
“Those two have been inseparable ever since, Sunghoons like some little puppy, following her around and shit–” Jay starts with a smirk on his face “I don't follow her around dickhead.”
Jake eyes Sunghoon, silently thinking about the relationship you have with him, “Yeah right, she has you on a leash.” Heeseung chuckles, the boys watch as Sunghoon pulls out his phone. “Fine, she can tell you herself.” Sunghoon sends a message to you, watching as the bubbles appear next to your name.
Sunghoon: Come over
You: Why..
Sunghoon: am I not allowed to hangout with my bestfriend
Sunghoon: we can order in from the korean bbq
You: I'm on the way
Sunghoon holds his phone up, victory gleaming in his eyes, “Great, now tell her to invite her sexy ass friends.” Jay says encouragingly, Sunghoon squints at him “You just did that so she would bring them didn't you.” he asks knowingly.
Jay shrugs, earning a laugh from Heeseung. Sunghoon texts it anyway, you replying with a “Jay asked didn't he.”
“Im gonna unpack some of my stuff before anyone gets here.” Jake says, standing up, the boys nod before focusing back on each other, Sunghoon's eyes linger a bit longer before looking away.
You arrive 15 minutes later, still wearing the same outfit from earlier, your hair tied in a loose ponytail. Sunghoon stands up walking over to you, “Hey–”
“Wheres Jake? Did he move all his stuff in?” You ask curiously, peaking behind Sunghoon's shoulder. He scrunches his nose at that
“What? You’re not excited to see me?” He asks, finger tucking a loose strand of hair from your ponytail behind your ear. “Should I be?” You observe his eyes for a moment
“He's upstairs.” Jay says casually, scrolling through his phone. Sunghoon shoots him a glare, watching as you brush past him.
You see him before he notices you, he's unpacking some clothes out of a box, putting them into his closet. You knock on the door lightly, his face softens when he sees you. “Hey, didn’t know you were so familiar with them.” Jake says, you don't catch the tone beneath it. You lean against his door frame.
“Im surprised they even like spending time with me.” you chuckle lightly, he pauses, setting the hoodie in his hand down facing you.
“Why?” He asks curiously, “You’re fun to be around.” He says casually, his honesty making your heart leap in your chest pathetically.
“I–Thanks” You smile, “You don’t have to stand out there” He says, watching the way you linger by his door. You step in, looking around curiously.
Your eyes landing on a photo in a black frame sitting on the edge of his desk, you inch closer to it, bending down slightly to get a better look. “Are these your friends from Australia?” You ask,
“Mhm.” He replies, you didn't realise how close he got to you, his arm brushes yours as he picks the frame up, you straighten. “Hm, cute.” You smile down at the photo of him smiling with his friends, his eyes never leave your face as you observe the photo “Yeah–”
“What do you want from the Korean BBQ place?” Sunghoon's sharp voice cuts through the moment, if it even was one.
You back away from Jake like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn't. He doesn't miss that. “Uh–the..”
“I know what you want y/n.” He looks at Jake expectantly, “Im fine with Samgyeopsal” Sunghoon nods before his eyes are back on you
“Come on. We’re picking it up.” He says briefly, you walk closer to the door, turning down the hallway, you give Jake a small wave before following after him.
“Do you like him?” Sunghoon asks bluntly, you turn to face him “Who? Jake?”
“Yeah, who else.” His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “I literally haven't known the man for more than 24 hours, he’s nice though, and.. Pretty.”
Sunghoon side eyes you for a moment “Pretty?” he spits out, “Yeah.” You reply, leaning your arm on the center console.
“What about me?” The question catches you off guard, you clear your throat. “I mean you have a reputation for being the campus pretty boy, actually your whole friend group does.” You chuckle, he doesn't say anything so you continue
“Yes you’re pretty Sunghoon.” You say smiling, eyes lingering on his side profile.
“Whos prettier then?” Sunghoon asks, he can't believe he's actually asking this right now, but he doesn't care. “You’re ridiculous.” You nudge his shoulder playfully
“Hey, I'm just trying to make sure no one replaces me” He shrugs, “You should know better than anyone, that no one could replace you.” You smile at him all too innocently, the way you say it makes him believe it.
He tries to block out the voice in his head that tells him Jake could be the one to shift that, and he can’t let that happen.
That afternoon was one of those times where you’re happy you didn't plan anything. Your friends mixed with Sunghoon’s all getting along, the discarded Korean BBQ sitting on the table at the center of the living room.
“—Hell no, Lakeview State is ass. I'm betting on a 6-0 score.” Jay says confidently, “I don’t know man, I've been looking at their stats with coach and they cleared Summit Valley last week.” Heeseung says, rubbing his jaw in thought.
Sunghoon sits back down beside you on the couch, arm resting casually behind your shoulders, he hands you a can of soda, “Yeah, yeah, no drinking on school nights.” He rolls his eyes, mocking your words, earning a jab to his ribs.
Your eyes drift to Jake who is now talking to a few of your friends, practically surrounding him like a pack of hyenas closing in on their next meal. “He seems to be doing well” You nod over to Jake, Sunghoon’s eyes follow yours, resisting the urge to pull your face towards his, making you look at no one other than him.
“Yeah.” He replies blandly, fingers twisting the strands at the end of your ponytail casually.
Even when you got home that night, you still tried to make sense of the few minutes spent in Jake's room, then your mind shifted to Sunghoon, the look on his face.
You tell yourself he's just being possessive, which is normal for him since he's always been like that. It's nothing new, right..?
-
“Oh, this is going to be good.” your friend says, watching as the boys from the opposite team stretch on the ice, You look around, shaking your head with a smile at the group of guys behind you, shirtless with the word Crimson painted in red across their chests.
As the boys from your schools team make their way on the ice to warm up, the student section erupts into cheers, The guys saying things like “Lakeview State is fucking cooked.” and the girls practically drooling as the guys start stretching, specifically when they get into the frog pose. (look it up guys trust)
Your eyes land on the brand new #15 Jersey, Jake. As he braces both hands on the ice and rolls his hips, “God he's so hot..” A girl to the other side of you says, someone you don't recognize too well.
“Girl, if he can do that on ice, imagine what he can do in bed.” Her other friend says, you can't help but blush at the statement.
Jake’s all the university has been buzzing about since the beginning of the week. From his sweet personality, to his thick accent, to his absolutely gorgeous face, everyone is obsessed with him.
Rightfully so, I mean just look at him. You unknowingly lick your lips, watching him. His eyes search the crowd mid stretch until they land on you, he gives you that same boyish smile from the day you met him, and you can't help the heat that rises up your neck.
“Omg he totally looked at me? Did you see that?” You try not to roll your eyes at the voice of the girl beside you, “I heard there's a party at Heeseung and them's place tonight.. And he also doesn't have a girlfriend.” Her friend says, you bite down the inside of your cheek, holding yourself back from saying something—
“Hey, you good?” Your friend asks with a concerned look on her face “What–yeah I'm fine.” You chuckle before focusing back on the ice as the boys get into position. Their attention is drawn away as the first period starts and the crowd begins their “oohs” and “ahs”.
To no surprise, Sunghoon scores the first goal of the night, earning slaps on his helmet from his teammates. You laugh at the way he flexes his arms to the student section.
And they were not exaggerating about Jake's skill in this sport. The way he moves on the ice was similar to Sunghoon, but there was something different about it, almost carefree, but also calculated. Which is why he was the second to score a point.
“Jay was not joking about them being terrible..” Your friend says with a yikes expression on her face looking at the other team. You watch as the scoreboard number changes to 4-0 as Heeseung scores a point. “Nah, I think Crimson is just too good.” A guy behind you says.
After waiting for them to finish changing and thankfully showering, you and your friends fall into step with the four boys. Sunghoon throws an arm around your shoulder, his other holding his duffel bag.
“How’d I look out there?” He asks, “How about you ask one of your many admirers." You nod over to the group of girls who giggle when he looks their way. “I'm asking you y/n” He says, stopping at the trunk of his car, opening it to throw his bag in.
“You looked good.” You say casually
“Pretty?” He presses, earning a glare from you.
“You’re so annoying..” He laughs, catching your hand before you walk away. “Are you coming to the party?”
“Yeah actually, Jake–”
“Princess,” Jake calls out, car keys in hand, making his way to you. Sunghoon scoffs,
Princess? Who the fuck is princess?
“Ready?” Jake asks, eyes never leaving yours as you nod. “I’ll see you there m’kay hoon?” You smile, falling into step beside Jake.
Sunghoon stands there in disbelief, partly because you’re not riding with him for the first time in like forever, and he can't help the jealousy that fills his chest knowing you’re going to be in the car alone, with Jake.
The same Jake who can’t keep his eyes off of you, and does anything to get his hands on you.
You take off your sweater, leaving you in a simple black tank top, completely normal to wear especially on a warm night like this. Jake tries not to make it obvious that he's looking at your newly exposed skin.
His fist tightens around the steering wheel when you make a movement to fix your hair, causing your breasts to move, Fuck, he really shouldn’t be thinking these things but he cant stop himself.
He imagines what they would look like all marked up in shades of pink and purple from him licking and biting at them. If he wasn't such a gentleman, he’d go ahead and pull your tank top and bra down just to expose them so he could squeeze them while he drives. His half hard cock throbs at the thought.
“-really good.” you turn to face him, “Huh?” He asks, confused, you chuckle before repeating yourself
“I was saying that you were really good out there, especially for your first game with the team.” You watch his face soften, “Thanks princess, it helps that coach has us working our asses off at practice.” He takes over the wheel with his left hand, placing the other one on the center console.
“I bet, Sunghoon and them always talk about how many repeated reps they have to do.” You let out a small laugh.
He glances over at you when you mention his name, specifically emphasizing him over his other teammates. But he has no right to be jealous, if that's even what he's feeling.. You and Jake are in a good place right now, but it could take one small move to change that, and he’s willing to risk it.
As soon as you walk in you spot Jay yelling over the music “Alright if any of you fuckers throws up in the backyard I swear everyones out!” The crowd growing inside of the house just murmurs and nods, one of the players from the team yelling “Yeah okay– when are the strippers coming?” Jay flips him off, turning back on the music so he doesn't have to hear the way everyone laughs.
Jake lets a smile slip, hand splayed on your waist as he approaches the kitchen, you search for Sunghoon only to find him sitting on the couch, some girl you don't recognize on his lap, his finger casually tracing her thigh.
Did he not see you? How come he didn't invite you in? Maybe you really have gotten used to the princess treatment. You swallow before facing Jake again, only to find him talking to a group of girls who conveniently ended up in the kitchen shortly after.
God you need a drink right now. You look around the counters only to find half empty cans of beer, checking the cardboard box to find none in there as well.
Great, the one time you actually want to drink. Your eyes drift to Sunghoon again, his hand now splayed higher on the girl's thigh, practically brushing along her panties under her dress.
“Princess?” Jake slips a hand around you, splayed on your hip. You hum in response.
He follows your line of sight, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “I finished my room if you want to see?” He says, voice low, lips grazing your earlobe.
A shiver goes down your spine, “Is this your way of getting me in your room Jake Sim?” You smile, turning to look up at him. “Is it working?” He asks through a grin, biting his plump lip.
“Maybe.” You tilt your head, observing the mischievous glint in his eyes, along with something else you can't quite name.
You disappear into the crowd with him, moving past the stagger of bodies, and up the stairs.
It smells like him. So much like him, he closes the door behind him, watching you look around. “It's clean.” You note, eyes falling to his made bed, the dark grey sheets and matching pillows.
“Thought it was going to be messy?” he chuckles, watching you look around his space “Have you seen Sunghoons?” you laugh, looking down at his desk, the computer science textbook right in the middle along with a notebook filled with writing.
“You talk about him a lot y’know.” Jake says quietly, you flip through the pages of his textbook mindlessly, “Hm?”
“Sunghoon.” He mutters, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Jealous?” You ask, closing the distance between the two of you, standing directly between his legs. “Should I be?” He trails both hands up to your hips before pulling you down flush against his lap, facing him. You can’t help the gasp of surprise that leaves your mouth.
You rest your hands on his shoulders, steadying yourself “You smell so good” He buries his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your peach shampoo.
You let your head fall back slightly, exposing more of your neck. Inching one of your hands up, running it through his soft brown hair. His lips ghost across your neck “Mmm..” You press your hips down harder against him, his half hard cock in his sweatpants hitting the seam of your jeans just right. He groans softly into your neck, lips trailing along your jaw.
You tilt his head up, looking down at his plush pink lips, he wets them subconsciously, you lean down, experimenting, lightly pressing yours against his.
You pull back, wanting to see his reaction. “Don’t stop–” He whispers, desperately chasing your lips again, you moan into his mouth, grinding your hips down. His hands slip lower, cupping your ass through your jeans, holding you down harder, dragging you up and down his clothed cock.
“Jake..” You whimper out when he bites down on your lip, he smirks at the way you say his name. “Sounds pretty when you say it like that” He brings his hand up, cupping your left breast, squeezing through your tank top and bra “Ah– fuck..” You bury your face onto his shoulder to hide your reactions. “Shy now, hm?”
He presses his lips against yours again, tongue begging for entry, you grant it—moaning into his mouth, him trying to savor your taste.
He can’t take it anymore, he tries he really does, but his self control can only go so far. He pulls back for a moment, cupping both of your tits in his strong veiny hands before looking up at you.
You nod, not exactly sure why, but whatever it is has to be good. He licks his lips, trying to contain the drool threatening to pool out with how fucking thirsty he is for this.
He frees your tits from your tank top and bra, biting down on his lip at the sight of how full they are. You would probably feel embarrassed maybe, but with the way he's looking at you right now, you feel adored.
He swipes his thumbs over your nipples, watching the way they pebble beneath the touch. “Cute” He looks up at you before squeezing your breasts together, kneading the soft flesh with his hands, you let out small sounds at the feeling, no one's ever paid this much attention to your chest before.
He buries his nose in between dragging his tongue along the middle before popping one of your nipples in your mouth, sucking on it softly. He groans at the taste of you on his tongue. Practically drinking in every sound you let out.
He moves his mouth to the other side, flicking your wet nipple with his thumb as he sucks harder, drawing all kinds of reactions from your sensitive body. “F-feels good..” You say through a light moan, one hand laced in his hair, the other holding onto his shoulder.
He hums in response. “You’ve got the prettiest tits I've ever seen princess.” he sucks on the skin just above your nipple, leaving a faint mark.
You blush at the compliment, heat rising up your already pink cheeks. “Mm, pussies’ probably even prettier huh?” He breathes out, holding your boobs together, your back arches, hips grinding as he shakes his head, tongue flat on your nipples, alternating sucking them every few seconds while his hands squeeze into the warm flesh–
“Y/n?” You freeze, the familiar voice cutting through your senses. Sunghoon. Jake lets out a sound at the interruption as you stand up, fixing your top to how it somewhat was before Jake decided to devoured you.
“Uh– yeah?” You call out, walking over to Jake's door, trying to ignore the wetness pooled in your underwear. Sunghoon swings the door open, eyes falling on Jake who looks composed as ever leaning on his hands on the bed.
Bulge clear in his pants if you squint, which Sunghoon doesn't need to. His eyes fall on you, the flushed expression on your face, the way your bra strap is twisted, his fingers tighten around the door knob when he notices the reddish mark on your exposed cleavage. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know exactly what was going on before he came in.
“Hee wants us to grab some drinks. People are bitching because there's none left.” Sunghoon says, watching the smug smirk on Jake's face. “Us? Can’t you just go?” You ask, grabbing his arm out of instinct.
Jake's eyes follow the contact, his grin faltering a second. “I need you to help me choose the best stuff.” Sunghoon says, finally looking down at your face. You sigh, slipping back on your shoes “We can—talk again later?” You turn, eyes meeting Jakes.
He nods, offering that sweet boyish smile that has everyone on campus wrapped around his finger. “Im a patient man.” He says, you smile back, Sunghoon looks at Jake one more time before shutting the door harshly.
The ride to the nearest gas station is quiet. The only thing filling the empty silence being the faint music playing from his car speakers.
You turn to look at him for probably the 50th time in the last 10 minutes. His sharp features even more defined with the low street lights. “Are you upset?” You finally ask, the words coming out more choked than intended.
“Do I have a reason to be?” His eyes stay focused on the road when he speaks, “Hoon, answer the question.”
He pulls over, making the car jerk to a stop. “Did you fuck him?” He asks bluntly, his full focus now on you. “W-what–” you’re caught off guard,
“Answer the question y/n.” He says, repeating your words. “Sunghoon-” his eyes drop to the faint red mark on your chest, still fresh from earlier. You don't bother hiding it. “We just..” You breathe out once, “We just kissed.”
“On your tits?” He eyes the mark again, your face flushes at the accusation, the very true one. “Yes.” You whisper, shame creeping in slightly.
“Did you like it?” He asks, catching you off guard again. “You don’t have to lie to me.” He says, more comforting.
You nod, unable to form words in this moment. “And did he make you come?” You look up at him, his completely serious face. “No–” He scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “The guy gets you alone like that and can’t even bother to–”
“Well maybe if you didn't interrupt he would have!” you defend yourself and Jake, because you know damn well that man knows how to please a woman.
“Oh, so now I was interrupting you because I wanted to spend time with my friend.” Sunghoon accuses, “Really? You sure this wasn't just to grill me like some– some overprotective boyfriend?” He laughs. He actually fucking laughs in your face.
“That’s actually hilarious– fuck that might’ve been the funniest shit you’ve said all night” You look at him like hes crazy
“Im not even trying to be funny! God—shut up.” You cross your arms over your chest. “Damn, maybe if he actually made you come you wouldn't be acting so pissy right now.” He glances down at the way your arms push up your chest, the roll of your eyes clearly stating you don't know his true intentions.
“Bet your pussy’s all wet from earlier too” He smirks, rolling his bottom lip behind his teeth. This time you scoff, disbelieving.
He continues “Poor baby couldn't get her needy pussy rubbed huh?—Don’t think I forgot about that douche from Senior year who couldn't even get you to come with his fingers.” Sunghoon chuckles.
Your face reddens at the memory, specifically after, when you went to Sunghoon crying because you thought something was wrong with you. You remember him even offering to order some expensive vibrator on amazon just so he could prove to you that you were fine.
“Still use that vibrator I got you for your birthday hm?” It’s stashed away in your bedside drawer, there for when you need some sort of relief. Your silent response is all the answer he needs. “Ah, I see. It wasn't enough was it? Your greedy cunt probably needs some real dick huh, remind me again–when was the last time you got some?”
“Are you trying to make me more mad than I already am?” He rolls his eyes, “Calm down baby, I'm just teasing you like always– Not my fault you can’t take a joke because your pussy’s throbbing for an orgasm.” He says, flicking your shoulder with his finger. “Come on just admit it–”
“Fine! Yes im obviously fucking upset, yes im still wet, and yes it fucking hurts, and its all because you interupted us.” You say, pointing an accusing finger at him.
“Ah, there she is.” He watches you closely, “Always so put together, when I know deep down you’re just as fucked up as me.” His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek as he watches your chest rise and fall. “Bet poor Jakey doesn't even know what he got himself into with you.”
Deep down, Jake knows, likes it even.
“I mean, I’d offer to help but you seem pretty stuck on being pissed at me right now.” He shrugs, resting his arm on the center console. “Some sex toys from amazon isnt–” He levels his gaze on you
“I'm not talking about a sex toy y/n.” You look down at his hand on the center console, the way his long, slender fingers casually rub little circles with his middle and ring finger. Your eyes meet his, trying to process what he’s suggesting.
“Y’know, since Jake's not here, and I can tell when any woman is desperate to come.” His eyes drop to the way your thighs clench together, the same way they've been doing this whole time he was reading you like a book.
You bite your lip contemplating in your mind, but from the way your juices pool even more in your underwear, you know your body’s already decided for you. And who are you to say no to your own needs?
“Fuck–” you let out through a whimper, Sunghoon knows hes already got you. Fuck what all his friends said about you having him wrapped around your finger, funny how he’s about to prove them very wrong. He nods at you to continue, you remind yourself this is your best friend, of course he'd offer to help you, that's what friends do!
You move your hands down, unbuttoning your jeans, wincing at how sensitive your skin is, he watches you closely as you pull your jeans down until they're pooled at your ankles.
“Come on, spread ‘em.” he urges, you shift until you’re leaning against the side of the door, distancing your knees from each other. “Holy fuck–” He lets out a breathless chuckle at your desperate state, eyes locked on the wet spot of your panties.
He can't help the way his cock jumps in his jeans, seeing his best friend like this, spread open, pussy dripping for any taste of release. He pulls your legs farther apart, watching the way the damp fabric stretches across your soaked lips.
“He’s missin’ out.” Sunghoon says, hooking his finger around your panties and moving them to the side. You whimper at the feeling of the air nipping your skin.
He licks his lips, the faint street lights illuminating the sheen that coats your inner thighs. “Knew it’d be pretty too.” He swipes his thumb over your aching clit, drawing a gasp from you.
“Hoon– don't tease.” your hand grips the passenger seat to keep yourself grounded. “Why, you’re cute when you're all needy.” He starts with slow circles on your clit, rubbing with his thumb, spreading your leaking arousal everywhere.
“It’s like you fucking pissed yourself” He laughs, bringing two long fingers down to tease the entrance of your desperate hole. You blush at the observation, he notices your embarrassment.
“Dont be shy baby.” He coos, teasing your entrance, the pads of his two fingers circling it. You roll your hips slightly, wanting more. He doesn't like that. His other hand comes up, holding your hip, keeping you in place. “Stop being greedy.” He hisses.
“It hurts Hoon– fuck, I cant..” You breathe out as his thumb flicks your clit again. He slips one of his fingers in your hole, only the first knuckle “You’re so damn tight” He groans at the feeling of your slick walls pulsing
“You don't finger yourself or something?” He chuckles, still joking around even when you’re spread for him like this “Mmm– shut up and keep going..” Your eyes flutter shut as he pushes his finger in deeper, your wetness acting as lubricant for his very long digit.
“Open your eyes.” He watches your face, the way your eyebrows knit together, “Look at how good your pussy takes it” He curls his finger, brushing a sensitive spot inside you that has you bucking your hips, he shifts his other hand to your stomach, holding you down so you can stop moving.
“Feels good Hoon..” You moan out, taking your hand off the seat to grab your boob through your tank top, touching it the same way Jake did. Sunghoon's mouth falls open ever so slightly at the sight.
He gets you used to the rhythm of his finger, pulling it out completely earning a whine from you. Before you can say anything, he shoves two in, curling just right, You reach your hands out gripping his forearm clawing at the hand that's splayed on your stomach. “Hoon!– yeah, I- fuck!” You cry out, his fingers fucking into you faster, His palm hitting your clit with every brutal drag of his fingers.
“Sucking my fingers in so good..” He licks his lips, thrusting his fingers into you harder, the familiar feel of a pussy fluttering around his fingers telling him you’re close.
“Hoon– Im..” You let your head fall back against the car door as he works his fingers so fucking fast. Your grip on his arm falters as your orgasm comes crashing on you, your legs trembling, pussy drooling on his fingers.
“Fuck thats hot.” His pace turns slow, just feeling up your walls, “mhmm..” He chuckles at your state, “Hm? What was that?”
You can't even get a word out with how sensitive you are, not even sure what you’re trying to say. He pulls his fingers out, you whimper at the emptiness, “What?” He moves his hand from your stomach, fixing your underwear and wiping his wet fingers on his jeans.
Your eyebrows knit together, still trying to process what just happened. He sighs, acting annoyed even though he's anything but that. “Put your seatbelt on, still need to get the beer.” He says causally like he didn't just finish absolutely obliterating your pussy with his fingers.
You lift your hips, pulling back on your jeans with trembling hands. You fumble over your seatbelt, feeling his eyes on you.
“God–” He reaches over, doing it for you. You don't know what to do with your hands, settling them in your lap. He looks over at you again, his hand coming up to your face to make you look at him. “You did good baby, okay?” His hand loosely wraps into your hair, he leans down pressing a kiss to your forehead. The action so intimate, you can't help the flutter in your heart..
Sunghoon places the packs of beers on the kitchen counter, “Damn man about time.” Heeseung says, grabbing himself a beer. “Yeah– traffic was really bad.” Sunghoon says, looking down at you with a faint smirk. “Um, yeah everyone was out.” You add, Heeseung just looks at the both of you before shrugging and making his way to the backyard.
Jake watches the interaction, eyes tracking Sunghoon's hand as he rubs small circles on your hip. He watches Sunghoon lean down to whisper something in your ear before grabbing a beer and following Heeseung out back.
Jake walks over to you slipping a hand on your lower back casually to grab himself a drink, you look up at him, smiling innocently.
Yeah fucking right. “Wanna head out there? I know they have a pretty intense game of beer pong going on, and I heard you’re quite the expert with your aim.” Jake says, toying with the hem of your tank top. “Please tell me they didn't mention the story from first year..” You groan when he tries to stifle a laugh.
You follow Jake outside, watching as Sunghoon downs a shot, wrapping his arm around some girls waist. You swallow, not realizing how dry your throat got.
You shake your head before facing Jake's gorgeous face and smiling. “I guess I'll show you how it's done.” you say through a giggle that has his sweatpants feeling even more confined. “Alright, princess.”
Sunghoon doesnt bother to hide his open flirting with multiple girls, Jake on the other hand can’t help it, its like they’re fucking drawn to him and his every movement.
Constantly touching his arms, “Oh Jakey! You’re so good at hockey, let me suck your dick please!” Okay, that's not exactly what they say, but you can see it in their eyes.
You try to ignore the feeling in your chest when you see Sunghoon lead a girl inside and up the stairs. Like always, except the feeling of.. Jealousy? Feels even stronger now.
That night even when he fucked her into his matress he couldnt get you out of his head, the way your little pussy was squeezing his fingers tighter than any of the whores around campus. And he actually managed to not say your name while coming! Unlike last time..
-
You’ve been hanging out with Jake one on one for the past two weeks, at least whenever he would send you a “Let me see you” text, or a “Lets study together”, which would ultimately lead to him holding you on his lap after he finished his assignments, trying to distract you from your own work, rocking his hips against yours until you finally gave him the attention he so desperately wanted.
Jake was a pervert. But that's a part of him no one really sees, unless he wants them to.
So while pretty boy Jake sweet talks his professors, makes everyone laugh in whatever room he steps into, while also perfectly maintaining his social/ academic life, he's sending you pictures..specifically the one you’re looking at right now.
You’ve never been into receiving nudes from anyone, whenever any of your girl friends would show you the new dick pic some random guy sent them you would close your eyes saying something like “I do not want to see that!” Though you understand why it could boost your ego, because a part of you feels..good?
You’re still hovering over the picture he sent 4 minutes ago, grey sweatpants low on his waist, his veiny hand gripping his thick cock, which isn't even fully hard in the photo.
You bite your lip, because why does it feel so good looking at this. You close your legs together, feeling a heat form in your core.
Jake: -Image attachment-
Jake: He misses you, Princess
You: Giving your dick pronouns lol?
You: How bad does he miss me though..
The next message is a video, only 15 seconds long, but you've never clicked open so fast. You sit up straight in your bed, turning up your brightness on your phone in your dark room with it being 10:38 at night.
“Mmm.. fuck–” Jakes voice cuts through your speakers, his dick is fully hard in his sweatpants and hes rubbing it with his hand, a small wet spot forming where his tip is. He gives his dick a squeeze before the video ends.
Jake: What about you?
You can’t help the nervous excitement surging through you as you lift your baggy sleep shirt slightly, your bare chest exposed to the crisp air of your room.
You squeeze them together with one arm, making sure they look good for the camera before angling your phone and snapping a picture. You honestly don't know if it's good or not since you’ve never really been the type to send pictures of yourself like this. Your finger hovers over the send button before clicking it.
“Told you.” Jake turns the phone around, facing it towards Sunghoon whose disbelieving look washes off his face. “Fuck–” He says, standing up and taking the phone from Jake, zooming in on your hard nipples. “Her tits are actually perfect.” He says to himself.
“Something we can agree on.” Jake snatches his phone back. Typing a reply about how perfect you are.
Sunghoon can’t help the need to one up him when he speaks “Too bad it’s not her pussy though. You should’ve seen it the other night— throbbing and shit.” Sunghoon chuckles at the memory, the same one he’s used to jerk off almost every night since.
Jake rolls his eyes, because it should have been his fingers in you that night.
You didn't have to tell him for him to know what happened. It actually was Sunghoon who said something. Practice had ran late last week, Jake and Sunghon being the last ones there.
And out of all the places, he asks in the fucking communal showers. The only thing filling the room was the sound of the water hitting the tile floor, and the steam surrounding them.
“So, did you ever get what you wanted?” Sunghoon asks casually, letting the water soak into his hair, Jake looks over at him for a second before continuing to wash his arms “What are you talking about–” Jake starts “Y/n.”
“What about her.” Jake turns the heat up, the boiling hot water seeping into his skin. “Did you fuck her yet or not?” Sunghoon asks bluntly, expecting an answer.
Jake opens his mouth, then closes it, the words lost. He remembers implying it, but the farthest you let him go was dry humping until you both were nothing but heavy breathing and moaning, you claimed it was because you ‘didn't want any of the guys to walk in’. Or maybe it was one specific guy.
“Hm. Shame, I can tell she’s been craving some dick lately. Guess my fingers weren't enough.” He shrugs, turning off the water and grabbing his towel to wrap around his waist.
Jake pauses for a moment, processing. Before shutting off the water and following him out, wrapping his own towel around him. “I knew you did that shit on purpose– Fuck, you probably just wanted her to yourself huh?” Jake says, watching as Sunghoon opens his locker, grabbing his clothes.
“I think she wants the both of us for herself.” Sunghoon chuckles, peeling off the towel to put on his boxers, not paying any attention to Jake.
“She’s always been a little greedy, plus I know she’s never had any good dick before in her life so it makes sense.” Sunghoon says, putting on the rest of his clothes and running his hand through his wet hair.
“So what do you want with her then?” Jake asks, “I mean, she's my best friend, I was obviously trying to help her.” Sunghoon mutters. “And you think she really wants both of us?” Jake bites his lip in thought, “I know she wants both of us.” He says before throwing his bag over his shoulder and walking out.
And now he’s here, with Sunghoon, seeing just how far you’ll go.
Sunghoon has to admit hes grown to like Jake more, hes actually chill as fuck. The whole pretty boy thing you said is checking out. “Alright you try then.” Jake mumbles, nodding to Sunghoon's phone in his pocket.
“Fine.” He says, pulling his phone out, he clicks on your contact typing up a casual way to approach you so that it's not too obvious what him and Jake are doing.
Hoon: wyd?
“Dude seriously? That's literally code for ‘you're about to receive a dick pic, 3, 2 ,1 go.” Jake eyes his phone.
“Says the one who sent her one.” Sunghoon mumbles, before reading your reply.
You: in bed. trying and failing to fall asleep lol
Hoon: ik what could help you
You: ??
Hoon: sex ;)
Your hand flies to your mouth, slight disbelief on your face at the message, though a part of you isn't really surprised considering he’s always been suggestive like this
You: that's too bad
Hoon: masturbation works just as good
Hoon: how about that vibrator that I know you still use?
Sunghoon leans back in Jake's chair, tongue poking out his teeth as he waits for your reply. You shift on your bed, glancing at your bedside drawer.
Opening it, you pull out the light pink wand Sunghoon bought you back in Senior year. You still can’t believe he's the one who got you your first sex toy.
Seven minutes pass, still no reply. “Not so confident now are you–” Jake starts, but immediately shuts up when he hears your breathy little moans come from Sunghoon's phone.
“No fucking way.” Jake moves to the edge of the bed, Sunghoons eyes are locked on the way you press the vibrator to your clit, before tossing it aside and running two small fingers through your slick, holding them up to the camera and parting them just so he can see how wet you are. His half hard cock twitches at the sight.
“Come on! Let me see–” Jake reaches forward to grab the phone. “Dude– hold on!” Sunghoon grimaces, before moving forward, holding it out so they both can watch. The video isn't long, but it’s fucking hot.
“Fuck, you hear that?” Jake tries to stifle a groan as he rewinds back, The sound of your messy pussy filling the room, Sunghoon palms himself roughly before swiping out of the video.
Hoon: You sound so pretty baby
Hoon: Can I see your face?
You bite down on your lip before fixing your hair in your camera and taking a selfie, “God–look at her.” Sunghoon says, reacting to the photo with a heart.
“Send me all of this right now.” Jake says, reaching to snatch Sunghoons phone in desperation “Send me her titty picture then.”
“Yeah, yeah whatever.” Jake rolls his eyes.
“Im telling her to come over after the game on Friday." He says, laying back down against his pillows.
“Aren’t the guys gonna be here?” Sunghoon stands up, tucking his phone in his pocket. “Nah, Heeseung wanted to go to the club, Jay’s going with him.” Jake's eyes fall to the message from Sunghoon, the video and picture.
He smirks before looking up again, “Are you gonna watch me jerk off or what?” Jake chuckles, watching as Sunghoon walks out, middle finger held up, knowing damn well he's about to go do the same thing.
-
You’ve always had this need to prove you aren't selfish. Constantly putting other people before yourself, at some point it even became a habit.
Maybe that's why this tension between you, Sunghoon, and Jake feels so good. Maybe that's why you feel like you’re thriving off the attention, How almost desperate they seem for you.
The fun part is that nobody knows either, it's just a shared secret between the three of you. Whatever it is you have going on anyway.
That’s what you’re thinking about as you watch them on the ice. Adjusting your camera lens to perfectly capture Sunghoon's side profile as he moves.
Maybe this isn't what you should be focusing on right now, since you were technically given specific instructions to get more photos of the other team members.
You move to shift your camera, but Jake comes into the frame, patting Sunghoon on the shoulder. You see him lean in slightly to say something and both of their eyes shift to you, you immediately put the camera down with an embarrassed look on your face.
Sunghoon says something back, making Jake let out a chuckle before skating back into their starting positions. You tilt your head at the interaction, interesting.
Even with a simple pair of leggings and hoodie you felt slightly exposed, because every time they looked your way, it felt like they could see right through you.
You wait out in the lobby area, going through the pictures you took on your camera–”Y/n?” Heeseung says, Jay a few feet behind him.
“You’re not going out with us tonight?” He questions
“No– I was going to stay in” You shake your head, “Damn, no one wants to Hee.” Jay says, checking his phone.
“What do you mean?” You ask, tilting your head curiously. “Both Jake and Sunghoon are refusing to go out tonight. Said they were “too tired”.
Jay rolls his eyes. You swallow, clearing your dry throat. “Oh– is Sunghoon in the locker room still?” You look back again, just to see some of the other players walk out.
“Nah, I think he’s in his car, you want us to walk you out or–” Heeseung starts
“No, its okay” You say a little too quickly “You guys have fun!” Heeseung and Jay look at each other as you walk out.
There's no way right? Because you could have sworn Jake said he was the only one not going out so why would Sunghoon be– “Y/n.” you recognize that tone from anywhere.
“Hoon– I thought you were going out with Heeseung and them..” You twist the strap of your camera in between your fingers.
He glances down before looking at your face. “Nah.” He simply says, duffel bag resting on his shoulder. You nod, looking around “I was looking for Jake–”
“He rode with me.” Sunghoon watches your face closely for a reaction, something shifts in your eyes.
“Together?” You question, he nods like it's obvious, like it's totally normal for them. Regardless, you fall into step beside him.
You spot Jake in the passenger seat of Sunghoon's car, he doesn't look up from his phone until the backseat door opens. You move past Sunghoon to get in, but he grabs your waist.
“Not here.” He puts his bag in the seat instead, taking your camera from you and putting it gently beside it. “Where am I supposed to sit then?” he looks down at you, gaze almost—dark, Before opening the passenger side door.
Jake pats his lap twice, signaling exactly what you’re thinking, like you’re some dog to follow orders.
You glance down at his lap, “Go on, there's no room in the backseat anyway.” Sunghoon says, knowing damn well he could have put the bags in the trunk.
Still, you can’t help the heat that surges through your body as you step up and sit on Jake's lap, or more on his thigh. “Good girl.” Sunghoon says before shutting the door and moving to the driver's seat.
Jake rests his hand greedily on your thigh, squeezing ever so slightly. He tries not to whimper at the way your ass spreads on his leg, he can practically feel the heat radiating off of you.
Sunghoon starts the car, pulling out of the parking lot, Thank God his windows are tinted.
“So, how does it feel?” Sunghoon asks, you look over at him, swallowing. “How does what feel?” your voice comes out shakier than intended. Jake can’t help the small laugh that escapes his lips.
“Fucking around with the both of us” Sunghoon says casually, as if he was stating the weather.
You shift on Jake's leg, and he squeezes your thigh harder, hand resting dangerously high. “What–Im not-”
“Damn you were right.” Jake scoops your hair in his hand, moving it to one side so he can see your face fully. “She really does pretend to be clueless.”
“Im still a little sad though.” Jake fakes a pout, puppy dog eyes locked on yours, “You sent him your pussy and not me..” He says, looking over at Sunghoon who can’t hide the smirk on his face. “I was–”
“I don’t want excuses, princess. Plus I got to see it anyway.” You feel your face flush an even deeper shade of pink.
“I bet I could have gotten you wetter though.” Jake whispers in your ear, low and filthy. He lifts his leg slightly, pressing harder between your thighs, your small gasp doesn't go unnoticed by the both of them.
“Dont get all shy now baby, remember you were just coming all over my fingers in this exactly spot.” Sunghoon's eyes leave the rode for a moment, he lifts his hand, brushing it across your bottom lip.
You open your mouth on instinct, letting him slide his finger inside, he groans when you close your lips, attempting to suck on it. “Fuck..” Jake's hand moves higher, he pulls your legs farther apart, making sure your clothed pussy lays flat on his thigh.
“This how you suck dick, baby?” Sunghoon coos, pulling his thumb out, wiping it across your cheek before focusing on the road again. You should feel pathetic, used– but instead, you feel adored.
Experimentally you move your hips slightly, both Jake and Sunghoons eyes fall to the movement.
“That desperate huh? Gonna grind on his thigh right in front of me?” Sunghoon asks, watching the movement of your body, Jake settles his hands on your hips, squeezing the soft flesh.
“You like being watched huh?” Jake nips at your neck with his teeth, you bite your lip at the pinch.
“Do you like being greedy, y/n? Being a selfish little slut.” You whimper at the words coming from his mouth, Jake guides your hips on his thigh, pressing you harder against him.
“Use your words princess.” One of his hands comes up, cupping your breast through your hoodie, you arch against him as one of his large hands guides your hips.
“Y-yes..” you whisper out, barely audible. “Fuck thats hot.” Sunghoon's eyes fall to the way your pussy drags on Jake's thigh, then to the way he squeezes your tit, and your face, those sounds—
“Stop.” Sunghoon demands, Jake brings your hips to a stop, “Since she admitted to being selfish, she can wait to cum.” Sunghoon's hand leaves the center console, giving your thigh a squeeze before delivering a slap to it. You let out a high pitched sound, half pain, half pleasure.
“Fine, but I'm not gonna stop touching her.” Jake says, pulling your hoodie up until it rests just above your chest, and yanking your uncomfortably tight sports bra down, you gasp when both of his hands cup your breasts, squeezing roughly.
His eyes are fixated on the soft flesh molding however he likes, your eyes are half lidded as Sunghoon drives down the familiar bumpy road near their house.
“Look at how fucking soft they are–” Jake says, looking at Sunghoon, he licks his lips greedily drinking in the sight of you like this, just fucking taking it.
The embarrassment is long gone, the only thing clouding your mind is lust, and want–even if it is selfish of you..
“Whose cock you gonna’ suck first?” Sunghoon asks a little too sweetly, his firm hand groping your ass as you follow Jake to his room.
“Come on– don’t be all shy now like you haven't been using the both of us for weeks just to please that little pussy.” Sunghoon says, landing a sharp smack on your ass just to watch the way it moves from the impact.
“Nah, I wanna taste her first.” Jake says sitting on the edge of the bed. Sunghoon sits a space away, leaving room for you to be right in the middle.
“Which one do you want, princess?” Jake asks, Australian accent even heavier than before, “I..I don't know” you say, biting your lip, looking at the both of them.
You close your legs tighter together at the way their hungry gaze settles on you. “Mmm..liar.” Sunghoon says, fingers lazily tracing the bottom of your hoodie, he urges it up slightly, a silent question.
You nod and he fully takes it off you, Jake's eyes fall to your confined breasts immediately. “Which one do you want?” Sunghoon asks this time, wrapping your hair into a ponytail around his fist and pulling it back every so slightly, Jake rests his hand on your thigh, his lips grazing the right side of your neck, “Come on..tell us.” He whispers.
Sunghoon traces his sharp tongue along the underside of your jaw, your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of both their mouths on you.
“Both..” you breathe out, Sunghoon smirks against your neck before pulling back. “Knew it.”
Jake presses a sloppy kiss to your lips, laying you on the bed right on his pillows. He leans back for a moment, just to take in the sight of you like this.
Sunghoon watches, palming himself in his sweatpants. Jake looks back once with a devilish smirk on his face before settling between your thighs, wasting no time taking your leggings off.
“Pink—you owe me $20.” Sunghoon says, now fully groping his cock in his sweatpants. You open your mouth to say something–probably tell him off for betting on what kind of underwear you’re wearing, but Jake's mouth latches onto your clothed pussy too fast, licking the soaked through juices. Instead of talking, you let out a moan.
“Fuck, I knew you’d taste heavenly.” Jake purrs, peeling off your panties like they were never there.
He tosses them at Sunghoon who catches them in his hand, he brings them up to his nose, smelling the center. “Smells it too.” He says, practically burying his nose into the fabric.
You spread your legs wider as Jake's lips wrap around your clit, sucking the eager bud into his mouth. Your hands grip at the sheets beneath you, eyes rolling back at the sensation you’ve never felt before. “F-feels so good..” You say through a moan, toes curling so hard you swear your foot could cramp.
“Yeah baby? You like when Jake eats that sweet little cunt?” Sunghoon asks, sitting back down on the bed, this time right beside your head. You nod brainlessly, glassy eyes looking up at him.
Jake slurps at your pussy, tongue flicking over your clit, “I could eat it for hours–” he mumbles into you, you’re hips jerk up at the vibration and Sunghoon laughs at your desperation.
Sunghoon lowers his pants and boxers, his thick, long cock springing out, you swallow at the sight.
He gives it one stroke, two for good measure. “Stick that tongue out f’me.” He says, tip nudging the side of your face. Jake opens his eyes to watch, his tongue still flicking small circles around your clit, the bottom half of his face completely covered in your wetness.
You stick your tongue out flat for him, Sunghoon tilts your face to the side more, tapping his cock on your tongue, pre-cum coating your taste buds.
“She might be more of a cock slut than I thought–” Sunghoon says, eyes falling to Jake between your thighs, Jake chuckles against you, tongue teasing your entrance, earning an open mouthed moan from you.
You flick your tongue on the underside of his cock, “Ah– fuck baby” Sunghoon grunts, hips jerking forward. “Her mouth feels so fucking good” He mutters, pushing himself deeper into the warm column of your throat, trying to fit as much as you can, curling your toes even more, hands digging into the sheets further to stifle your gags.
Jake plunges his tongue inside of your pussy at the same time, nose bumping your clit, you moan around Sunghoons dick and his hand slams against the wall, trying to keep himself from completely breaking down from this.
“Come on– put those hands to good use” He reaches down, yanking your hand from the sheets, making you cup his balls in your hand. “Yeah– just like that” He throws his head back, his hips thrusting into your warm mouth.
Jake curls his tongue deeper inside of you, nearly moaning into your heat at the taste of you, the one he's been thinking about—dreaming about since the day you first let him touch you.
Your other hand lifts from the sheets, tangling in his hair as his tongue nudges that sweet spot inside of you, his nose adding pressure to your clit.
“Fuck–I can’t” Sunghoon pulls out of your mouth, and you whine at the loss of his heavy length so close to you. “I can’t come yet–” He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before spreading your legs wider.
“She’s close” Jake pants against you, moving over slightly. You attempt to close your legs again, just to keep Jake's head locked between them but Sunghoon grips your thigh– hard.
“I wanna taste.” Sunghoon says with a shit eating grin before settling next to Jake in between your legs.
You attempt to prop yourself up on your trembling arms just to watch them. “Spread her pussy–” Jake breathes, drool practically leaking from his mouth.
They both use their fingers to spread your folds, entranced with watching the way it desperately pulses with need. “So fuckin’ pretty..” Sunghoon says, pressing a thankful kiss to your inner thigh.
They both dive in at the same time, tongues swirling around your clit, Your mouth hangs open as you watch, small “ah’ sounds leaving your lips as their tongues bump each other.
Fuck thats hot. “Just–yeah.. Fuck!” Your hips buck as Sunghoon shoves his sharp tongue into your sopping hole, Jake’s tongue joining him, He groans at how small the space is, but he doesn't care, not with the juices flooding out of you, and the sounds escaping your lips.
“Suck her clit” Sunghoon mumbles, Jake fixes his attention back on the sensitive bud, shifting to give himself enough room to do so.
“Jake!- oh my fuck.. Hoon–” you cry out, your legs spasming from the build up, “Im gonna come– shit! i cant–” You're a moaning mess when you reach your high, your arms practically giving out as your arch off the bed.
Sunghoons hand flies up holding your legs open as your juices coat both of their faces, they slurp at your pussy greedily, trying to drink in as much as possible, groaning, mouths bumping each other through your heat.
Stars– you swear you see stars, your eyes rolling as their tongues slow, “Think she can squirt?” Jake asks, voice low for Sunghoon to hear.
“Oh, I know she can.” Sunghoon says with a smirk, pulling back. Jake stands up, hands quick to take off his shirt, revealing his toned chest.
Sunghoon settles beside you instead, his hand coming down to run through your pussy, collecting your new juices on his fingers. “Look at that–” He shows Jake, spreading his fingers so he can see the strings of arousal breaking.
“You wanna be a good girl right?” You nod immediately, too fucked out to even respond with words.
Jake chuckles, moving to take off his low hanging sweatpants easily. His hard bulge evidently clear in his boxers, you look down at Sunghoon's leaking cock, still wet from your saliva. He catches your stare “Patience.”
He doesn't warn you before dipping his long fingers into your hole, but its not the same measured way he had done in the car– it’s fucking brutal.
He doesn't set a pace, ramming his fingers in and out of you, palm slapping your clit hard with every thrust. “We wanna see if this little thing can squirt” Sunghoon says, he presses his fist against your bladder, your hands fly out, holding onto his forearm
“She’s close– I can feel it.” Sunghoon says, looking at Jake for a split second. Jake settles between your thighs again, waiting.
“S-shit– Hoon! Im gonna pee..I–” Sunghoon curls his fingers harshly before pulling them out, fist still pressing against your lower stomach as the warm liquid comes flying out, Jake opens his mouth, tongue out as you coat his face in your wetness.
Sunghoon slaps his hand down on your pussy “Come on, give him some more baby,” He grunts, slapping his palm down repeatedly, stimulating you until your whole body is shaking.
You look down at Jake between your thighs, your juices splattered everywhere, on his face, neck, the sheets below you.
And he smiles, actually fucking smiles before running a hand down his face. “Knew it.” Sunghoon says, lightly tapping your clit once before retracting his hand. You whimper at the loss and he tsks,
“I’ll tell you what's gonna happen.” Sunghoon says, standing up. You watch with wide eyes as he lifts his shirt over his head, fully pulling off his pants and boxers, you turn to Jake, eyeing his cock, you don’t even know when he got fully undresses.
But it's big. You knew it was big from those times he’d have you warm him up by sitting on his lap, especially from his pictures and videos. But seeing it like this, flushed, angry, veins mirroring the ones on his hands and forearms, has your pussy begging for more.
“Jakes is gonna stretch that pretty hole open, but he doesn't get to come in you. Not before me anyway.” Jake rolls his eyes at that, cursing himself for making that another perk from the ‘underwear color’ bet.
“You can handle it, right baby?” Sunghoon coos, brushing your hair out of your face gently “Yes, I can.” Jake taps his dick on your pussy, smearing your juices
“I need to see those tits–” Jake urges, Sunghoons hand reaches behind your back, lifting your body slightly to unclasp your sports bra, he tosses it aside, hands flying down to pinch your nipples.
“Fuck you’re perfect” Jake groans, tip just add your entrance, he grips your hips, sliding in with surprising ease with how wet you are from coming, twice. He grips your hips harder at the warmth– the tightness.
Your mouth falls open at the stretch, you can feel every ridge of his cock, your walls fully enveloping him, sucking him in greedily.
“She’s so fucking tight” Jake breathes out, eyebrows knitted together as he rolls his hips slowly, deep inside of you.
You moan at how good it feels to be filled like this, Jake watches closely as he pulls out only to thrust back in slowly, Sunghoon pinches your nipples again, enjoying the look on your face.
“F-faster” You moan out, “See, greedy.” Sunghoon says with a smirk on his face.
“You asked for it princess.” Jake's hands dig into your hips deeper, he pulls out before thrusting in, hard. His hand comes up, grabbing one of your tits in his hand as it bounces with each thrust, the wet sounds filling the room.
His hips snapping against yours, he presses down on your stomach and you gasp, Sunghoon smirks at the visual of his cock moving in and out of you, watching as you fall apart
“Oh fuck– fuck-” Jake pulls out quickly, gripping your thigh hard enough to leave a mark. You cry out at the loss– you were so, so close to coming again, this time all over a cock
“Shh, you’ll get what you want baby.” Sunghoon says, this time he settles in between your legs, “Hm.. turn around.”
“Huh?” You ask, looking up cluelessly, making Jake roll his eyes disbelieving. “Turn the fuck around, all fours.” Sunghoon says, You lift yourself up on weak arms, the new position feeling even more vulnerable, he presses down on your lower back, encouraging your arch.
“There we go..so perfect for us.” You can't help but blush at the praise, He lands a sharp smack on your ass, your body jerks as a red spot blooms, he rubs it with his palm gently.
Jake climbs on the bed, settling right in front of your face, he strokes his cock, watching as your eyes meet his, “I'm gonna use this pretty mouth, is that okay princess?”
You nod, sticking your tongue out, nearly screaming as Sunghoon rams into you with a sharp thrust, His long dick hitting deeply. “Oh fuck!” You yell, reaching out to grasp onto something, you claw at Jake's abs and he can't help but laugh. “So damn cute.”
“Look at this ass–” Sunghoon slaps his palm down hard, just to see the way it reddens. He’s not slow when he fucks into you, hands gripping at your hips, palming your ass as he thrusts into you sharply.
Your mouth hangs open and Jake takes it as a sign, shoving his fat cock into the warmth. He chokes on a moan when your lips suction around him “Fuck you were right–” He pants, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail and finding a rhythm of fucking into your mouth.
Sunghoon feels your pussy clamp tight around him, squeezing him relentlessly. You’re moaning around Jake's dick, sending vibrations straight to his tightening balls.
He knows you're close, he knows Jake is too, and he wants it to happen at the same time. “F-fuck..” Sunghoon groans, hips snapping into yours uncontrollably quick, balls slapping against your pussy with every brutal thrust.
You hold on to Jakes thighs as you feel yourself flutter around him, his fingers dig into the soft skin of your ass
“Im gonna come– princess fuck!” Jake moans out, Sunghoon pulls you against him hard, you’re squeezing around him, eyes rolling back as you come on his cock, your juices coating his dick as he shoots his warm come inside of you, painting your insides.
Jake shoves himself deep in your throat, making you swallow every drop he can give. He wipes the tears that managed to escape your eyes before pulling his cock out, Sunghoon flips you over so you’re facing him. “You did so good, baby” He says, rolling his hips once more before inching his cock out slowly, you both wince at the sensitivity.
He watches as his come mixed with yours oozes out of your hole, looking over at Jake. “Next time I'm coming inside of her.” Jake says, holding his phone.
You look at the both of them “Next time?” You ask, voice quiet and rough from Jake fucking your throat.
They look at each other, “You thought this was a one time thing Princess?” Jake asks, genuinely confused.
“I wouldn't be able to forget this if I tried.” Sunghoon says, watching as Jake opens the camera app.
He’s quick to snap a photo of you, capturing your face, the drool and cum on your lips, and the way Sunghoons cum leaks out of your perfect pussy. “Hey you’re not–”
"That's just for us, Princess.” Jake says, typing on his phone, making a group chat with him, Sunghoon, and you.
Sunghoon picks up his shirt from the ground, too lazy to grab a towel, he double checks to make sure Jake got the photo before wiping your pussy gently, you wince at the feeling.
“What should the name be?” Jake turns to Sunghoon, “Let me see—“ you reach up to grab the phone and he gives it to you willingly.
You type out a name for the groupchat and hand it back, they both can't help the smile that coats their faces.
“Sharing is caring.” Sunghoon reads it off, “That's good princess, real good.” Jake smiles leaning down to press a kiss against your lips before laying next to you.
Sunghoon finishes wiping your thighs, settling on the other side of you, fingers twirling your hair like always.
Maybe it's okay to be a little selfish sometimes, especially if this is the outcome.
-
Alright so why arent they both in my bed RN. I also wrote this while ovulating so..
⋆。ﾟ ( 💬 ) one accidental reunion turns “no contact” into emotional whiplash and oh my god why is he still hot.
ex! jake x fem! reader
˗ˏˋ fluff, smut, porn with plot, rom-com, crack, smau, college au, little angst, second chance, lots of profanity, unprotected sex, oral sex, MDNI !
wc: 27 929
p: we almost broke up last night - sabrina carpenter ; loose - enhypen ; tears - sabrina carpenter ; sugar talking - sabrina carpenter ; imgonnagetyouback - taylor swift ; toxic - britney spears ; bad decisions - ariana grande ; knew better / forever boy - ariana grande ; we find love - daniel ceasar
📌💌 sequel of HOW TO SURVIVE BOYS 101 ... but can be a standalone!
disclaimer : the "reader" pics in this smau is only a filler image for layout purposes. reader is poc-friendly and not meant to represent a specific race, appearance, or identity 🪽
Tip #1: Remember how you lost him.
Bullshit repeats itself – is that how the saying goes?
Ever since Jake had gone to college, conversations turned into check-ins, goodnights into apologies, and affection into something scheduled between deadlines. Time and distance were the main culprits behind the crime scene.
You tried staying up later, phone warm in your palm, eyes half-lidded while he talked about university life. You tried not to mind the missed calls, the delayed replies, the way silence began to feel less like rest – from college? Or you?
Jake tried too and you know he did. He promised visits that almost happened but something came up, I’m sorry, baby. He tried coming back on some weekends, but the demands of freshman year doubled in no time and you’re left on delivered for double hours.
He says his phone's broken but he just forgot to charge it.
You try to pull the plug, suddenly verbal about how it felt like you were the only one bending your time around him, about how effort shouldn’t feel like something you had to ask for. You told him that love shouldn’t feel like this.
Jake didn’t argue; didn’t even try because the way you sounded was worse than any petty fight. Instead, he starts working it out at twelve in the morning.
His alarm was already set for an 8am lecture, but that night, he got in his car and drove three cities back to hometown to get you. There was no warning – just the familiar headlights of his Bronco outside your house. He looked tired and concerned, and you immediately apologized before he could say anything, told him it was just a lot – senior year, the pressure, the uncertainty. He listened, arms squeezing you closer, just nodding.
He stayed until four (despite your protests that he should leave earlier), long enough to make sure you’re okay. He's sweet, no others boys would compete – your words run on scraps.
"We almost broke up again last night."
You've been there a thousand times and there's clear selective memory here. All the I love you's and I'm sorry's were said, but they feel futile. It's drifting apart, a big deal you've been in before and will be in tomorrow.
So the actual breakup wasn’t loud, loaded with knowing.
You talked on your couch when he came from uni, the tears coming before either of you could fully start. He kept wiping his hands on his jeans, fidgeting because he didn’t know what to do with them.
“I don’t know how to fix this anymore,” you said, voice breaking on the word fix. Because you’d tried fixing, tried patience, tried understanding, tried being quieter about how much it hurt.
A part of you wished he insists, that he thinks otherwise and this is still fixable. Maybe because a part of you was still willing to fix it even when the odds were out.
But he only nodded slowly. “I think it just got… way too demanding, and I don’t know if I’m ready for something like that.”
That was the worst part.
“I love you,” he said, immediately. “I know,” you replied. “I love you.”
The exhaustion of wanting more and having nothing left to give.
You sat there for a long time after that, shoulders slumped, knees still touching, your hands finding his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles in the way it always did, familiar enough to hurt. He left quietly, making no promises, no maybe someday. Just a long, very long hug at the door, his chin resting on the top of your head, breathing you in like this would be the last time.
You watched him walk down the driveway the same way you always did, only this time, he didn’t turn back.
1 year, 2 months, 15 days, folded neatly in a corner of your room, hidden in your ballerina music box.
Tip #2: Do not use Instagram as a test. It’s dumb.
The summer after senior year was something.
College decisions loomed in the background like unfinished business, and it’s sometimes the very thing you dread just remembering. There was one you waited for specifically and God, you were scared shitless because it’s the very thing you’ve always wanted.
The dream university. The one you’d talked about since forever, with passion and persistence of the 13-year-old you. It’s also the school Jake goes to now – of course, with that kind of grit and intelligence? No doubt.
The email came on an ordinary morning, much to your distress because you were just eating cereal when –
The confetti registered first before Congratulations! itself because the decision portal specifically throws confetti across the screen when you’ve been accepted. That’s what makes you scream and cry and hug your mom and dad buys cake with custom icing and Evan calls you a crybaby, but he’s got a wide smile on his face for you.
Then like muscle memory because your body tends to forget – it comes like instinct when you know it shouldn’t have.
You thought of Jake; your former number one supporter. The first person who’d told you you could do it, who’d sent you links to campus resources, who’d promised about showing you all the best spots when you get in. Back when when still existed.
You hadn’t talked ever since the break-up, as things should be between people with history (11-year-long history, to be precise). Although you still followed each other in social media, only at a distance so deliberate and established even without negotiation. No liking posts, no watching stories, just a quiet agreement to let each other live separately while still being one call away.
Definitely unhealthy – it’s really not good and it speaks a lot about your attachment.
You added the screenshot to your close friends with a caption of “see you”, balancing both the meaning of academic and, maybe, him, which is pathetic but who can blame a yearning (and desperate, clearly) heart. You included him after overthinking it for 35 more minutes which you reason out as “to see what would happen”.
Until a whole day passed and you received nothing.
Fucking hell, you are pathetic.
Of course he wouldn’t check, of course it was a dumb idea. You settled with screaming into your pillow, then you picked yourself back up with the notion that it doesn’t matter because this moment was yours and it didn’t need an audience – much less one from an ex.
The first week of college was easy.
The campus was bigger than you ever thought it was – so you did indeed get lost multiple times and walked in lecture halls late with shame chiming around you. By the end of the week, you learned the schedule, learned shortcuts across campus (for when body and alarm clock betrays you), and discovered a coffee shop that made the best tactic to stay awake for your 8am.
For the next month, weeks blurred, lectures became routine, notes just got less pretentious, assignments demanded attention.
The crazy part — aside from your mind — was that you haven’t seen him yet, let it be in the library after staying there for hours, or in the hallways when you’re trying to get to your next class.
Not that you were hoping but – okay, you were and that’s not a crime, just very self-inflecting and sad. But you go on anyway.
Tip #3: All this tension, baby, let your body loose.
“You have to come!” Mia said, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she had stakes in your social life. “It’s the first real party of the semester. Everyone’s going.”
“Yeah,” Lila chimed in, voice dragging your name out like a cautionary tale. “We deserve a night off.”
You cross your arms, melting back against your friends cushions like ice cream. “I have dues tomorrow,” you muttered, though the thought of seeing new faces – and maybe forgetting about deadlines for a few hours – was tempting. However, saving yourself the hangover for a promised productivity tomorrow seems even more enticing.
“You are so –” Mia basically pounces you and starts tickling your sides, as you shriek and swat your arms in defense, “ – boring!”
Once you finally get her off you, both of you breathless, you glare at her with mock offense.
You truly do think about it, staring at their posters that stuck loosely against the wall while you do. A month in, and everything already felt like a balancing act in the circus – classes, expectations, this new version of yourself you were still figuring out. Maybe a few hours off wouldn’t ruin anything.
Lila nudged you. “Stop overthinking. Just come. It’s a cool, chill night. We’ll keep you safe. We’ll make you dance. We’ll –”
“Fine, fine,” you cut her off, laughing despite yourself. “I’ll go. But I’m not getting drunk.”
It’s still early when you arrive (12am), early enough that the place hasn’t fully filled in yet. There’s space to breathe and move without squeezing past bodies, but the music is already loud and colored lights sweep lazily across the room. Mia spots someone the moment you three managed to move through the crowd. “Oh my god – hey!” she calls out, already waving, and before you can process it, you’re being pulled along. Quick introductions are exchanged over the music – name you only half-catch, smiles that come easy.
He leads your group through the room to an open table near the back, just far enough from the speakers that you don’t have to shout. You slide into one of the couches, the leather smooth against your legs and Lila leans close to say something you barely catch over the music. At some point, you realize Mia isn’t beside you anymore, but before you can even text her, she’s back – grinning, triumphant, weaving through people with three plastic cups in her hands.
“Miss me?” she asks, setting one in front of you.
You blink, surprised. “When did you –”
“Don’t ask,” she cuts in, sliding another drink toward Lila. “Just drink.”
You lift the cup and take a cautious sip because you don’t trust the palate of a drunkard. It’s sweet before the bitter taste of alcohol comes, making you cringe back from the unexpectedness. It’s honestly exciting.
Mia clinks her cup against yours. “To surviving the first month!”
You have no idea yet that this is where things start to shift.
The friend Mia greeted earlier comes back, smiling at all of you. “Uh, would it be okay with you guys if our groups kind of merge? My friends just came.” his hands do gestures and immediately, you all agree before he even finishes the sentence. Lila’s already scooting over to make space, Mia’s cheering over the music.
He looks relieved, flashing a quick thank-you smile.
You take slow sips of your drink, letting the liquid cool the small knot of nerves you didn’t realize had formed in your stomach. You don’t get to be all jumpy and edgy in the function that demanded someone buoyant and convivial.
Though, you definitely should have expected doom – when some already-drunk dude comes and stumbles on your lap that you shriek in pure horror like a lead in Scream. You immediately shove him off and he lands on the floor, wasted and absolutely gone, while his friends apologize with pressed palms. You try to contain the sour expression on your face – but you can’t, because half your drink has spilled on you.
Great. Love that.
Because now you feel sticky and you smell like alcohol before anything real even began, your mood spoiling like you personally invited the bacteria in. Before you could curdle further into deciding to leave and plunge into the comfort and sterility of your bed, Mia’s already pulling you up on your feet to get to the bathroom.
Like some cruel, cinematic twist, the growing crowd press bodies closer and someone knocks into you without meaning to, of course, because you’re God’s number 1 favorite child besides the Redeemer. Either way, you stumble on your heel and you’re pushed into someone else for the nth time tonight, though you don’t really try to bother with a genuine apology. You mutter something half-assed, preparing yourself to squeeze into the crowd until you decide to glance.
Holy. Fuck.
For a split second, your brain stalls. And you’re frozen and you think that this has to be some kind of divine intervention as they like to call it, because this man has to be one of God’s loyal angels with the way the party lights start to uncoil as strobes behind him, and he’s here to announce the birth of some Messiah that will save the world.
Maybe you’re supposed to be expecting soon with the way alcohol isn’t the only thing making you wet now.
Everything rushes in at once – and you’re bombarded with the unfair reality of male supremacy in genetics. He’s taller than you remember, even with your heels on. Broader shoulders, solid in a way that makes it obvious time didn’t just pass him by, it worked on him. He’s filled out, grown into himself that didn’t change him but made him look more mature.
And now, Jaeyun Sim's staring at you like this was exactly what he didn’t expect in some random Friday party, much less in his local university club.
(Backtrack – Jake knows you’re attending the same university after receiving the news from Evan, who, despite the breakup, announces certain things about you as if to keep Jake updated. He never asked and never really stopped him either. So imagine how he feels, when the woman he knew didn’t exactly like parties bumps into him in one after one whole month on campus.)
The guy Mia knows is still talking, introducing his friends, but you can barely process anything past this one in front of you. The music isn’t helping, by the way, because it’s playing ‘Shout Out to My Ex’ by Little Mix.
Then he fucking smiles at you. Casually. Amused.
What the fuck?
“Hi.”
Jake reaches a hand out and you stare at it, well, first at his long fingers, then his wide palm, then the veins that travel all the way through his arms. “Didn’t know you go to parties.” he says and you look up at him through your lashes again, seeing that smile that doesn’t show much, just that he’s seeing you right here in front of him and he doesn’t hate it.
You try smiling too (works out fine; you look hot, he clears his throat), because you can’t be the one flustered while he’s here looking like God’s favorite, and casually reaches out his hand to you like you’re just someone he kind of knew back in high school.
Finally, your hand clasps with his. A dap, a squeeze; he taught you how to do it properly back then when you were together, something you do every after making out.
“I always do,” you reply, clearly pointed. His eyebrows knit for a few seconds, before he realizes what you mean, then he breaks out to a wider smile.
Before anything else can happen, Mia grabs your arm like a lifeline and yanks you through the crowd until you’re finally pressed up against the bathroom wall, the sounds of the party muffled behind the door. “How do you know that guy?!”
You basically scream into your hands once you get inside, while Mia yanks you beneath the hand dryer, pulling specifically the wet patch underneath to let it dry.
Right. You got alcohol on you. You practically forgot how wet you are.
“That was my fucking ex, Mia!” you shriek.
She freezes immediately, eyes going wide when she realizes who you’re talking about.
“Wait. Wait. Wait. That’s… no. That’s the guy? Wait, first or second?”
“Second,” you groan again, slumping against the wall. “The same one. Holy shit, Mia. The same one.”
She grabs your shoulders and shakes you lightly. “And he’s here. At this party. And he’s… what. Hotter? Better?”
You groan again, throwing your hands in the air. “Mia, I can’t. I wanna go home.”
She rolls your eyes and shakes you by the shoulders again to get yourself together because you’re too hot and gorgeous to malfunction like this. After much encouragement from her (it didn’t work, you still feel like a slug against the wall), you two finally get out of the bathroom. She promises a drink just to get you your guts back, and of course, she delivers. She orders you two shots to salt the slug out of you, demanding you drink them now like the alcoholic-maniac she is. And like the disaster you are, you chug the burn down your throat.
The last thing you need right now is to care about your ex.
And to think about how hot he’s gotten after a few months. Like he needed to glow up, like how he looked wasn’t enough.
You know how to handle your drink well, but chugging down two straight shots must’ve fucked you up good because your knees feel weaker and your vision welcomes the lights as streaks that do wonders with feeling afloat.
You steady yourself by the table once you two get back. Your head feels light, but not in a bad way – only like the world softened around the edges and you remember that this isn’t high school; this is something you have to explore and enjoy.
So you do that. You don’t mind the reminder of high school at the corner of your peripheral, sitting on the couch so easily.
You shake hands. You do the half-hug introductions like you’ve been friends for years. You repeat your name more times than you can count, watch it get lost immediately in the music.
Every now and then, you glance.
It follows him; the noise, the lights, the looks, because it’s him. Jake. The handsome guy in the group, the hot one in the team, the golden one even when he’s just smiling. No matter where, even in the corner of the room when he’s not doing anything – not even drowning himself in intoxication like you are.
You know that much – the girl beside you has been eyeing the ‘guy in a leather jacket and eyeglasses at the side’. Jake, of course, who's got his sleeves rolled up like he doesn’t know just what kind of effect his veiny arms have. You admit, your heel might have jabbed her foot a few times, accidentally or not.
Jake’s a few feet away in the other table, leaning back with the natural ease of directing himself through social gatherings without trying hard. He’s talking to someone, head tipped slightly as he listens, smiling at something you can’t hear.
He’s not looking at you
A twinge blooms in the middle of your chest, just between the bones that cage your lungs. But before it worsens, you’re already bottoming out a drink Lila offered to you because you’re not about to orbit someone who somehow had the time for social stuff but never enough time for you.
You wonder about the nights you waited for Jake’s reply while he was out partying. The thought steadies you more than the alcohol does.
You straighten a little, roll your shoulders back, remind yourself that this isn’t a competition, and you look too hot to treat the night like a loss
You don’t realize it at first. That some guy’s flirting with you.
You recognize him though, he’s part of the group that came in with who-shall-not-be-named.
He’s tall, and sometimes he leans down to hear you. His smile’s great and you remember him talking something about engineering. You don’t care, you don’t even try to care. But your own body betrays you because your heels have been slowly killing you, and your legs don’t function the way they do when you’re sober. So when someone accidentally bumps into you again, you stumble back and lean against him. He laughs low, ducks down to whisper how clumsy you are while his hand settles on the small of your back to steady you.
This is stupid. You feel stupid. Not ecstatic in any way at all.
The guy beside you says something again – teasing, light, trying – much of your disinterest. He takes a step closer and says your name like it’s something he wants to remember.
You look around when the guy beside you takes a sip of his drink, letting this moment catch.
But Jake’s eyes are already on you. He’s not laughing nor talking anymore, just watching you.
His expression is unreadable, jaw set tightly, the muscle jumps once and his hand curls around his cup like he’s finally clocking the distance between you and the guy, like he’s noticed the hand at your back.
The guy beside you leans in again. “So,” he says, voice easy, confident. “You're single, right?”
You don’t answer – you don’t even look at him. Your eyes stay on Jake and he doesn’t look away either. He’s looking at you like he’s sick of pretending he does not see you. Like he’s wondering if he’s been too patient waiting for a sign.
He turns away, taking a sip of his drink like he meant for you to catch him too, and now he’s frustrated that he's caught something else he didn't want. His jaw is still clenched, tight enough that the line of it looks sharper under the dim lights when he tilts his head slightly to the side, licking the inside of his cheek in the way he does when he’s mad.
You see that goddamn nose, tall and pointed. And you want nothing but to sit on it in front of this guy.
VIRGINs™.
You close your eyes and pull away like you’re burnt, not even managing a simple polite excuse before you practically shove him away from you and find your way to your friends.
Mia’s there immediately, she grabs your wrist and yanks you back into the safety of your circle. “Come on, babe. Drink up.”
Lila’s already pressing a cup into your hand, eyes sharp, knowing, and they’re assholes for this. Still, it’s comforting, the way they’re holding you now. “Bottoms up!”
You drink it immediately, barely registering the taste before you feel the rush, the way it hits your bloodstream and scrambles everything before they could form something coherent such as Jake’s face and how mad he looked when someone else had you.
“Dance?” Mia asks with an encouraging yell, but she’s already pulling the three of you together into the dance floor.
The music crashes over you again, bass rolling through your chest and loosening something in your knees. The alcohol smooths everything out until moving feels easy and impulsive. You follow Mia and Lila without thinking, letting the rhythm carry you forward like a tide. Bodies blur together around you – all grinding, swaying, hands reaching up toward the lights as they flash and stutter. You drift closer to them, arms brushing, steps syncing, three girls caught in the same pulse, heat and laughter and movement packed into a space too tight and too loud.
You close your eyes. You let the music hold you. And even when you try not to, you feel it; Jake’s gaze lingering on you like a ghost of warmth, woven into the rhythm, impossible to shake.
Tip #4: Think imgonnagetyouback mindset.
It’s 4am.
The music has started to die down. The chaos of the party is reduced to less and scattered laughter, half-empty cups, and people basically fumbling for their coats with wobbly feet and fucked vision. You swear you can smell vomit somewhere near, you’re just not sure if it’s on you and dangerously close by.
You’re halfway gone on the couch, leaning against Mia’s shoulder because it’s the only thing keeping you upright right now. Deadweight, basically. Lila is fussing over you, holding a bottle of water up your lips like it’s a lifesaver. “C’mon, just one sip. You’ll thank me.”
“‘m fine,” you mutter in that slurred way, eyes half-closed, and completely stubborn while you swat her away like a useless baby. “You’re not fine. Look at you, Ms. I’m-not-getting-drunk.”
“‘m fiiiine,” you repeat, muffled against Mia’s shoulder, mostly because speaking more feels exhausting.
You don’t see it, but Jake’s with his friends. He’s laughing quietly, ready to disappear into the cold late hour, early morning. He’s completely normal and okay, sober compared to the disastrous sight of you. Which should be very embarrassing, but you’re way too blacked out to even know what’s happening.
He stops. His gaze flicks toward you. “Hey,” he calls softly.
Mia and Lila immediately exchange a look – half amusement, half mischief – because of course, of course this is happening. And your ass is too drunk to handle your own plotline, so what would these simple women do if not steer it for you?
“Uh… he’s asking about you,” Mia says slowly, patting your leg. You groan softly. “Tell h’m ’m fine,” you mumble, voice battered with alcohol, low and coarse from fatigue.
“Tell him yourself,” Lila says, and you groan again.
Jake’s friends start moving toward the door, laughing under their breath and nudging him along. But Jake stays where he is across from you, doing something he knows he shouldn’t be doing (has been doing for the past few hours anyway), which is staring. Because whatever he’s feeling right now has him frozen in place, ethics slipping through his fingers, all because of you.
And in that second, when he looks at you better and sees just how disheveled you look, the tiniest smirk tugs at his lips, not even attempting to restrain himself. He looks like he’s holding back a joke, like he knows exactly what your stubborn little face is doing, leaning there, stubborn and tipsy and entirely (not) his.
“Is she okay?” he asks, not teasing, just him.
Mia snorts, Lila laughs quietly. Then, you lift your head to shoo away this man, until you see him and freeze, dignity crumbling little by little the more time you spend in this godforsaken club.
Jake. Standing there, relaxed, very much sober, and looking at you. Just you.
“You okay?” he asks again, softer than before.
And you can’t help it. A tiny, annoyed frown slips onto your face, one you didn’t mean to make, because of all the alcohol and the chaos and the mess of people bothering you, you see him and you remember you’re not exactly goody-goody with him, but he’s here asking if you’re okay anyway, acting so concerned about you.
Last time you remember, he can’t make time for you!
“’m fine,” you blurt, slurred, stubborn, mad, and a little breathless.
Then you fall back on Mia’s shoulder, deciding upon yourself that this is just a dream and he will disappear and you can go back to the life he wasn’t a part of.
Of course, he’s not convinced.
Jake’s gaze flicks to Mia and Lila. He knows that you’re stubborn enough to try to walk home on your own if left unchecked.
“How are you getting her home?” he asks them this time, voice calm but with that subtle edge of concern.
Mia straightens a little, gauging just how to strategically use this wild card given to her by the guardian angels themselves like it’s fucking Uno. “Honestly? I don’t fucking know.”
Jake looks at both of them – at you – much in disbelief. Mia firmly believes she made the best choice.
Jake’s gaze shifts back to Mia and Lila, serious now, like now he’s assessing the logistics of this situation. “Where’s… uh, her dorm?” he asks, calm but firm.
Mia smiles and has the nerve to relax against the couch. “Oh… uh, it’s actually a bit farther away,” she says quickly, waving her hands vaguely. “But…it’s 4 am, there’s creeps out, and, you know…we’re all girls.” She lets the last part hang, her eyes flicking to you and Lila for piteous effect, acting the part of damsels in distress.
Jake raises an eyebrow. Before he can even open his mouth, Mia’s already talking again. “So… do you think you can take her? Please? We are soooo tired, it’s sooo late, and she’s basically useless right now.” She glances down at you slumped against her shoulder, half-asleep, barely clinging to consciousness.
Lila’s already nodding emphatically after understanding this turn of events, giving you a little squeeze for emphasis. “Yeah. You’d be, like… her hero or something,” she says, grinning.
Jake lets out a quiet, almost exasperated laugh.
“Guess that’s my job, then,” he says, voice low and soft, almost like he’s talking just to you about something only you’d understand.
Always to the rescue, apparently.
One second you’re warm and hazy against Mia’s shoulder, the next you’re being shifted, hands lifting you under your arms, voices overlapping in a blur of wait – careful – okay, got her –
And then, Oh. This is familiar.
You press into his chest without thinking, forehead tipping forward until it rests just beneath his collarbone. His sweater is warm and smells faintly like detergent and something unmistakably like his perfume – you know because you bought it for him last Valentines.
Jake stiffens for half a second.
Then he exhales, adjusts his grip, one arm sliding more securely around your back, the other settling under your knees. He struggles a little, just a little, shifting his footing, maybe because he’s still registering the reality of you in his arms.
You make a tiny sound in protest, brows knitting faintly in your sleep, and he smiles wider.
Mia points a finger at him immediately, all serious now. “You take care of her. I will hunt you down.”
Lila crosses her arms. “I know where you live.” (she doesn’t)
Jake snorts quietly. “Duly noted.”
He looks down at you again, expression softening, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your side like muscle memory never left him. You shift closer, nose brushing his sweater. “I’ve got her,” he says, steady now.
Mia and Lila exchange a look, satisfied with their contribution to this plot twist and turning the course of events in your life effectively, then step back, already halfway to freedom. The script’s flipped and you’re leaving a dumb party with him, no handcuffs needed.
“Text us when she’s in bed,” Mia adds. “And water. Make her drink water.”
Jake nods. “Yeah. I know.”
With you tucked against him, asleep and unaware, Jake Sim turns toward the door and carries you out into the quiet, early-morning air. He slips you into the passenger seat of his Bronco, which smells like faint cologne and pristine, organized and fixed while – you are basically deadweight, heavy, and uncooperative, completely misplaced in his world. So when you shift in the passenger seat to get more comfortable after he slides you in, your elbow swings out without warning, smacking him lightly in the face while he’s trying to buckle you in.
“Whoa – hey,” Jake mutters, voice low but amused. You groan softly, like you’re the one who deserves to get mad, eyes still half-shut.
You slump further, letting yourself sink into the seat, muttering something that barely comes out as a coherent “sorry” that obviously isn’t meant. He doesn’t say much, just shifts the car into gear, and starts driving.
The next memory hits and you’re in the dorm lobby, blinking at the familiar walls while Jake has you wrapped up in his arms. Suddenly, you notice your own weight again and decide, maybe you can walk on your own.
“Okay, I’m good,” you mutter, pushing lightly at him.
“No, you’re not,” Jake protests, tightening his hold.
“I can walk, thank you very much.”
With an exaggerated sigh, you pry yourself from his clutch and take a shaky step forward, bare feet on the cold marble, instantly a washing regret because it’s freezing. Only then do you realize – you’re not wearing heels, you’re not even holding your bag, and Jake is standing there with basically everything you own, dangling in his hands like some overzealous luggage attendant.
“Really, you’re just showing off now, aren’t you?” you huff.
He gives you an “are you serious?” guise, and he looks fed up if it weren’t for the small smile that says otherwise. Like he’s entertained and he likes this, watching you with the kind of gaze too thrilled for someone who’s supposedly your ex.
Maybe around five steps later, your foot catches and you stumble, losing balance instantly. Before you even fall, his arms are around you again, steadying you — and once again you’re pressed against him. He lets out a soft scoff of amusement, finding you both irritating and adorable simultaneously.
“We should stick to plan A,” he murmurs, the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re too drunk to pretend you’re not.”
You groan into his chest, limbs still heavy. But you don’t protest anymore, letting him guide you to the elevator. He gets you to your room with minimal fighting this time.
The door clicks shut behind you, the familiar quiet and comfortability settling in way too fast because now you just want to sleep pronto. Jake guides you over gently, hands warm and steady at your waist until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You sit down obediently, blinking up at him like you’re trying very hard to stay awake and failing anyway.
“Okay,” he murmurs, already turning. “Stay.”
You do. Shockingly.
By the time he comes back with a cold bottle of water, you’re slouched slightly, hands folded in your lap, hair falling over your face. He presses the bottle into your hands and nudges it toward your mouth.
“Drink,” he says softly, the way he used to – like he knows you’ll listen if he keeps his voice gentle.
You do. You take small sips, nose scrunching at the cold, eyes half-lidded as he watches to make sure you actually swallow. He waits until you’ve had enough, then takes the bottle back and sets it on your desk within reach.
“There you go,” he says, quiet praise tucked into the words.
He thinks he should go now, now that you’re safely in your room and in your bed. Though he hesitates, eyes flicking to your face – your lashes clumped with false lashes and mascara, faint shimmer still clinging to your lids, concealer intact, lipstick smudged. A smile tugs at his mouth, fond, and a little resigned.
“You’re gonna hate it if you sleep like that,” he says lightly, gently poking your cheek. “D’you want to take your makeup off?”
You nod immediately, just small and sleepy, still fighting your way to stay awake.
“Mm,” you hum.
He exhales a soft laugh and heads to your bathroom, carefully of course, cautiously going through your room and locating familiar products on your counter. He comes back with your remover, cotton pads, even your headband.
He places everything carefully into your hands. “Here.”
You stare down at it – long, blank, confused – like you’re waiting for them to work themselves out onto your face. Then you look up at him, brows pinched slightly, lips pouting in concentration like you’re trying to remember a thought you just had.
“‘M just… gonna sleep,” you decide, voice small and stubborn, followed by a yawn.
Jake closes his eyes for a second, pinching his nose bridge before his hands fall on his hips. “Yeah,” he sighs, smiling despite himself. “I figured.”
He gently takes the things from you before you can drop them, then crouches properly in front of you. He tilts your chin up with two fingers, touch feather-light.
“Don’t move,” he murmurs.
He gently and carefully removes your false lashes first. Then he soaks a pad and starts slow, careful, wiping beneath one eye first, one side at a time. His touch is patient like he’s handling something fragile.
“That okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod again, leaning into his hand without thinking. He smiles at that, just gently holds your jaw.
He works in silence, almost reverent in the way he handles you so gently. He’s switching pads, murmuring the occasional “there we go” or “almost done,” wiping makeup away until your face is bare and clean again. His thumb lingers for half a second at your cheek, warm, familiar.
You sway slightly, fighting sleep, eyes drooping.
“Hey,” he says gently, tapping your knee, tipping your chin back with his two fingers. “Stay with me, yeah?”
You hum in response, something content and sleepy, and his chest tightens.
He stands when he’s done, then he sets everything aside and looks at you for a long moment – sitting on your bed, hair messy, makeup gone, eyes heavy but trusting. You’re looking up at him through your lashes, and he really likes you that way.
“Good girl,” he murmurs before he can stop himself.
Your brows knit together, lips pushing into a soft, unhappy pout, like something about this doesn’t sit right with you – because with all honesty, this feels like something you’d look back with regret and hate.
Jake notices immediately. He straightens a little, eyes searching your face. “What is it?”
You blink at him, slow and glassy, like you’re trying to line your thoughts up and they keep slipping away. “…why’re you here?” you ask, voice slurred, small, and drunk.
He shouldn’t engage with you when you’re like this.
Still. He can’t not.
“What?”
You frown deeper, shaking your head slightly, hair falling into your eyes again. “You’re… you’re acting like you care,” you mumble. “Why are you pretending?”
His brows furrow this time. “I’m not pretending,” he says quietly.
You scoff, weak and breathy, clearly unconvinced, clearly drunk. “It’s not fair.”
Jake swallows. “You’re drunk,” he says gently. “You’re tired.”
You nod once, sharply. “Yeah. And you’re here. And you’re… being like this.” Your voice wobbles despite your effort to sound annoyed, you point a finger at him. He glances at it then back to you, not being able to keep himself from smiling. “So which one is it, Jaeyun?”
The way you say his name undoes him. Completely.
When he doesn’t answer you, you frown, trying to focus through the fog in your brain. “Probably like this with all the girls you meet, then?”
He blinks once before he chuckles quietly, very amused with your insobriety. Then, slowly and deliberately, he leans over just enough to tap your forehead with a finger, teasing but gentle. “Aren’t you the one who was flirting with some guy tonight?” he asks, half-smile tugging at his lips. His eyes shine with something you can’t quite name – soft amusement, pride, maybe even jealousy in the right angle.
You let out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t like him.” you mumble, head leaning back, eyes half-lidded when you look up at him through your lashes.
Jake’s smile softens, grows warmer, almost proud. “I know,” he says simply.
Your chest hammers, and it’s not just the alcohol anymore – hasn't been, really – it’s him. He watches you like he’s memorizing every detail – the messy hair, the curve of your hips, the way your eyes drift between amused and annoyed – and you feel seen. Now, you know, you’re hopelessly, irreversibly caught; drunk or not.
You murmur something then, so soft it barely makes it past your lips.
Jake blinks. “What?”
You don’t repeat it. You just stare at him, eyes unfocused, lashes heavy, mouth tight because the words slipped out before you could decide if you meant them.
He leans in a little. “Hey,” he says quietly. “What’d you say?” As he moves closer, his hand lifts on its own. He gently tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear like he’s afraid of startling you.
You both know this shouldn’t happen, that this is beyond the rules of exes and the quiet decency you’re supposed to keep between people who already broke each other once. This look, this closeness, the way his attention lingers like he’s forgotten how to pull it back – it’s all wrong. And yet he’s looking at you like he’s still falling, slow and helpless, like nothing ever ended, and in the quiet of it you realize the worst part isn’t that it’s happening. It’s that you want it to. Drunk or sober.
Sitting on the edge of your bed, you look up at him from under your lashes.
“I miss you,"
Jake's heart? It does a sharp, traitorous jump, like it’s trying to climb into his throat, and for a split second he forgets how to speak. The golden star he is, known for being well-spoken and articulate with his sentences now rot speechless in the presence of the only girl he’s ever loved.
“Oh,” he says, because it’s the only sound he can manage.
His hand drops slowly back to his side, turning into a fist, like he needs the grounding of knowing better than let this thrive.
“Hey,” he murmurs, quieter now, steadier than he really feels. “You’re drunk.”
You nod, breaking away the eye contact. “I know.”
Jake swallows, jaw tightening as he looks down at you. He looks… a bit wrecked, like he’s trying to decide whether this is real or just the cruelty of 4 am and too much alcohol. His hand slides to your jaw again, thumb warm against your cheek, grounding himself just as much as it does you.
Then he leans in.
He dips his head just enough that his lips brush on your forehead. And with hesitance, he presses another kiss at the bridge of your nose.
You let out a small, breathy laugh. It slips out of you, soft, a little incredulous, and you lift your hand to weakly shove at his chest. “What the fuck are you doing.” you say through a breathy laugh, half-protest, half-something else entirely but feels close to intimate.
Jake smiles. The tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction. “Relax,” he murmurs, fond – always fond. “You’re gonna knock me out like that.” His sarcasm makes your blood and chest curl with heat.
You scoff, rolling your eyes, but your hand lingers at his chest instead of pulling away. He glances down at it, then back at you, smile deepening just a little. You try to shove him again, this time with even less force, because you’re everything messy but he likes that anyway. “You’re weird.”
“Yeah,” he agrees easily, eyes warm. “You’ve told me that before.
Bygone will be the bygone’s era, yet they fade into gray, blurry, and uncertain. Because he who should remain obsolete looks the most vibrant in the dull vision of intoxication. You can’t decide whether you’re gonna curse him out or pull him into bed with you – but now, you hate him all the same. Because you can hear the whispers in his eyes – and they sound a lot like late night apologies for not finding time for you.
Jake straightens at last, hands lifting in surrender. “Okay,” he says gently. “That’s my cue.”
You start to fall back on your mattress, head back against your soft pillow from incredulity at what the fuck life has brought you to.
You’re just drunk, you think, for the way indignation (from remembering) and nerves blend into a tarty smoothie in the pit of your stomach. Jake carefully helps you tuck in and pulls the blanket higher around you.
“Sleep,” he whispers. “We’ll talk when you’re not like this.”
He waits until your breathing evens out, which doesn’t take long. Once the tension leaves your shoulders, your lashes finally rest against your cheeks, and your fingers loosen their grip on the blanket. Only then does he move again. Jake slips into the bathroom, opening the cabinet above the sink, and finds what he’s looking for almost immediately. He takes a couple of painkillers then places them beside your water bottle, lined up like a reminder for the morning.
You’re curled slightly on your side now, blanket pulled up to your chin, hair fanned like feathers across the pillow. He dims the light instead of off, and steals one final glance over his shoulder – like he’s imprinting the sight of you into memory.
Then he leaves. That familiar smile lingers on his face – the kind that’s always been yours.
He finds it that he was never not yours.
Tip #5: He’s responsible, proceed with caution.
You wake up with a really shitty hungover. Your head hurts, your mouth tastes like regret, and your brain keeps replaying things it shouldn’t be replaying. Then there’s knocking at 10:17 am, according to your phone, which feels too early for anything.
You consider pretending you’re dead, but Mia has never respected boundaries, not even in theory.
They settle in like this was always the plan, like your room is a recovery ward for debriefs and recollection and greasy sandwich breakfast.
Then they say his name casually like it doesn’t still do things to you.
Jake pretended he didn’t care.
Jake was normal.
Jake was looking at you every time you moved.
Jake was looking when you weren’t.
You don’t know which part makes your stomach twist harder, the fact that you weren’t imagining it or the fact that it changes nothing, because knowing he still looks doesn’t mean he’s allowed to.
You’re feeling everything all at once, which you shouldn’t, by the way, because he’s your fucking ex.
And then the water bottle and the pain killers on your nightstand – a reminder from him and the physical evidence of his tracks that he was here.
You go on to fill their hearts content with what happened last night, about how Jake was so responsibly firm and gentle with you and treated it as if it wasn’t an inconvenience. As if he had the time to do all of it; slowly, carefully, steadily, not in a rush for a deadline he’ll say sorry for later – not anymore. Last night, in your own room while you were drunk and gone, Jake Sim played daddy.
Mia peeks through her fingers. “You’re saying this very emotionally.”
“I’m saying this very hormonally,” you snap.
Right now, you remember the wet patch of alcohol from last night. As well as the tears you’ve shed from high school because he wasn’t able to manage his routine in a way that he can balance his school life and your relationship.
Right now, Jake isn’t that. He can hold you without it feeling like he’s losing time. Right now, you get fucking wet from the thought of him being a responsible guy, treating you like he was supposed to do – and yeah, you remember the tears, except they’re running down your thighs now.
A little “There you go,”, “Drink.”“Don’t move,”, “That okay?”“Stay with me, yeah?”, and of course, “Good girl,”, which is plainly ideal foreplay.
You’re mid-chew when your phone buzzes on the mattress behind you.
Mia manages to snatch it before you can, and you basically start whining for her to give it back. Too late, she’s read the preview and says it out loud,
jake: you alive?
You groan, dropping back on your bed because you’re absolutely emotional and embarrassed and hungover and turned on by your ex.
You can’t believe it. After months of no contact ever since the breakup, specifically 7 months and 2 days ago, he breaks it to ask if you’re alive like he didn't just kill you.
“I hate him,” you mumble.
“You absolutely do not,” Mia says, shoving your phone back to you immediately. “Text him back.”
“No.”
“Yes,” Mia says, already sitting on your legs to pester you.
You stare at the screen. This totally isn’t fair and you know that he knows this is wrong – exes don’t talk to each other and check up on one another and tuck each other in and kiss each other’s foreheads.
Before the girls protest which reponse sounds natural, your phone buzzes again.
jake: drink water btw
You shut your eyes and try to calm down your heart while he tries murdering it with Instagram texts. What is he doing? Why’s he doing it? Does he know he’s actively committing felony?
“Oh my God,” Lila whispers. “He’s still taking care of you."
Mia flops beside you. “Okay. We’re doing this strategically.”
“No strategy,” you say quickly. “I am not opening a door.”
“Too late,” Mia says. “The door is already cracked. He carried you through it.”
Fuck, she has a point.
Your head still aches, but it’s not just the hangover anymore. It’s the memory of his hands steady on your waist while he talks you through it, his voice low and patient. He didn’t rush you. Didn’t take. Didn’t demand anything. Just stayed. Willingly. And smiled charmingly while he did – with extremely good teeth too.
You exhale slowly, then finally type: alive. sorry if i was a lot.
You hit send before you can chicken out, and the three of you stare at the screen like it’s a bomb.
The reply comes almost instantly. Oh wow, now he remembers how to use a phone – how to charge it too.
jake: you werent
That’s it. No flirting, no emotional ambush, no anything else, just a message that makes you think if he’s letting you open a conversation or if he’s closing it himself. He really is messing with your brain, and it’s not good for you – nothing about Jake Sim was ever good for you.
Tip #6: Prepare for the Instagram story.
Your phone stays quiet from his messages for the rest of the following weeks. At first you tell yourself that it’s good. It’s proof that you’re both mature and healthy, because you acknowledged that the night happened, but didn’t see it as an opening for anything else.
Except you, maybe. You’re back to wondering where he is on campus. It’s life playing tricks on you; letting your heart go on a rollercoaster of events only to snatch it and buckle you back in your routine that didn’t include him.
Jake wasn’t an online kind of person ever since college started, only really posted stories when someone else mentions him on theirs. Stalking him through social media is futile, but you always go back to his posts, anyway – like a temporary remedy.
There used to be four posts, three highlights. But for very obvious reasons, your proof of occupation was removed.
It feels like highschool, when you danced this humiliation pirouette around something you wanted but had to pretend you didn’t. To act like you’re not itching even though your concentration has been compromised, which is obviously piteous for someone as bright as you.
So you don’t do anything, more than willing to participate in this game of composure to see who’d break first. You keep your decorum. You keep your dignity folded neatly in your back pocket.
Nothing happens.
‘Til it’s late out and you’ve just finished studying 2 lessons – which obviously immediately means you’re more emotionally unstable and desolate tonight. And you’re not exactly expecting a tragic ambush for the cherry on top, because you're not thinking right now, not when your mind’s running on about limits in Calculus 1 – which is ironic because you're clearly on one.
It’s muscle memory, really – open app, tap, tap, oh. You don’t even register it until the screen loads and the familiar username appears on the top of your screen.
You’ve viewed it 52 seconds after he uploaded the story. Like you were waiting on his proof of life and decided to pounce him, straddling and all, the moment it shows.
And then when you process just what the story is, that’s where your stomach drops. It’s a repost from a girl’s story, who took a picture of Jaeyun leaning against the table, using his phone while she’s holding coffee and sitting really close – as in, legs brushing, overly intimate, something old you would post when he was your boyfriend – that you scoff so loudly and practically fling yourself back against your chair.
So that’s why. That’s why he didn’t text even though he said you’ll talk when you’re sober. He has a girlfriend and obviously, you’re the last thing he’d ever have in mind. And you? You remain lonely and single and pathetic and pining for another man in other girls stories and leg-brushing-tionship.
That’s also when you notice the little caption tucked in the corner. thanks for the coffee ig
Right, and she’s flirting plainly and publicly and clearly claiming territory. You don’t even see her face but you could tell immediately how perfect she probably is, as far as your insecurities are concerned: she’s the same year, probably shares ⅔ of his classes, sees him all the time, and gets free coffee from him.
And your phone’s been suffering lately, attempting to function on 1gb left on your storage. It’s laggy, that’s when it downright betrays you after 2 years together. It lags and your hand probably slips or something, because you like the story.
Shit.
You blink. Then you scream. You unlike it then you throw your phone away after, shrieking against your pillow while you decide whether it’s time to delete your Instagram account for good. You decide on multiple options here actually, but all of it comes to a choice when your phone buzzes.
jake: ?
God you wish you could sleep. But there are monsters in your head called impulse and pride, and they’re tag-teaming you while your phone lights up like it knows exactly how weak you are. You stare at the screen. The single question mark feels louder than any paragraph he could’ve sent and it’s annoying and he feels like the asshole he never was.
you: phone lagged mb
You hit send before you can overthink it into something kinder. In your best efforts to be civil, there’s still a faint aftertaste of not my fault, it’s yours.
Three dots appear almost immediately. Disappear. Reappear. Like it was meant to piss you off. You roll onto your back, arm flung dramatically over your eyes like you’re auditioning for a film about female suffering directed by Greta Gerwig.
When you said ok, you thought he meant on a customary, normal-person time and date. And you should think like what a regular citizen act on this eccentric occasion – such as declining his absurdity and sleeping because you have lecture tomorrow. You ask yourself what you’re doing in this cafe now, in a tee and sleep shorts, arms crossed while you wait for the man who somehow still knows how to summon you with two texts and zero explanation.
You look around like you might recognize another idiot who showed up for emotional closure in pajamas, but there’s no one. Just you, your crossed arms, and the creeping realization that you look like a girl waiting to be let down. You’re not the girlfriend, not even the ex that gets proper boundaries, but the one he can call at 1 am – the punchline practically knows your name.
The bell over the door rings and there he is, exactly as expected, annoyingly composed in a hoodie with sleeves rolled to his elbows – and this time, you’re both sober. You look at each other a second too long, like you’re both checking for signs of intoxication that might excuse whatever happens next. When you find none, you decide that it’s the worse version of the night – clear-headed and intentional: there’s no buffer tonight with excuses to lean on.
Jaeyun gestures toward the counter. “You want coffee?”
You shake your head. “I’m fine,” you say with a sigh. “I have lecture in the morning.”
And then he just nods, tongue poking the inside of his cheek while he decides what to do now. You both sit in a table for two, across from each other – which isn’t anywhere in the safebook because it’s close enough to feel familiar, but far enough to be safe.
“You said things the other night,” he starts carefully. Of course, because he treated your fleeing like a lesson, and he now talks like a man (doesn't make him one, though). “When I helped you home.”
Your stomach tightens and you chew on the inside of your cheek to try for casual. “I was drunk.”
“That all?” His brow cocks up, like he obviously doesn’t believe that’s all. “You didn’t mean it?”
Honesty has always been your downfall with him, even after spending half your life pretending and lying about what you feel for him. “I said I missed you,” you say flatly, owning it before he can dress it up. You laugh under your breath in disbelief of your position now. “There. Are you happy?”
He looks at you then and whatever he sees makes his shoulders drop a little. Jake sighs, fingers fidgeting underneath the table while he thinks of what to say now, just before he swallows and looks back into your eyes. “I didn’t text because I didn’t know if you wanted to talk to me sober.”
“So you waited,” you say. “Until I embarrassed myself.”
Honestly, the phone does work two ways. Maybe he was also pensively standing by for a sign that you’re still willing to let him in solemnly – but for fuck’s safe, was he meant to play hard-to-get while you chase?
Now he smiles, tongue poking the inside of his cheek because clearly you’re being petty and he’s measuring just how much patience he has tonight. Jake says your name quietly, low and firm, which does 7 natural wonders in your abdomen.
“Honestly? I was wondering if you remembered, or if it was just something you said because you were drunk.”
He delayed, he avoided, he compartmentalized, and he resurfaced at this ungodly hour. So yes, you get to be petty in thin sleep shorts because he fucking messaged you at 1am after posting another girl in his story.
When he looks back at you, his expression is composed, which is unusual for someone as emotional as him. “I didn’t say anything back that night,” he says, meeting your eyes.
You nod. “I noticed.”
“Yeah.” He practically huffs out a laughter. “I just didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”
You watch him, unimpressed despite the heartaches that say otherwise; loud and thrumming through your body in the form of your foot tapping.
“I figured if I answered at that moment, it would either sound like I was some guy who’s going to take advantage of a moment just because it’s convenient.” Then he straightens, like now he’s talking out of judicious judgment and not out of the heavy first-love impulses to work it out with you. “I chose time,” his voice steady. “For both of us.”
A minute of silence passes but you don’t try to break it, not that you had the proper words to do it anyway. He sees you though, even when he can’t see your eyes.
When it’s clear that you won’t say anything anymore, Jake swallows, then leans his elbows against his knees to at least try to find your gaze.
“I missed you,”
You look up at him before you can stop yourself, like your body reacts faster than your pride ever could. His eyes are on you already, open and honest and a little scared, despite the composure he holds tight.
“But missing someone,” he continues, “doesn’t automatically mean going back is the right move. And I don’t want to pretend it is.”
The cafe noise swells for a second, people talking about their much jovial nights, but the only words ringing in your head are Jake's.
Dumb and easy, that’s what you are, what always will be. Because you should be mad at him right now, right? You're supposed to curse him out, block him in social media, and never reminisce the past like an aspiring historian.
He leans back in his chair, measuring exactly how much gravity to put on the moment. “I know I messed up,” he admits softly. “Not texting. All of it. I’m sorry.”
You huff a laugh that’s equal parts bitter and incredulous. “That’s just your character, isn’t it?”
He smirks faintly like it’s an inside joke he fully understands, that half-smile that used to make your chest do dumb things when you were 18 and convinced he was untouchable. “Maybe it’s strategic inconvenience?”
You roll your eyes. “Strategic inconvenience,” you repeat, flatly, like it’s a brand. “You mean… you’re an asshole.”
“Point taken,” he says, hands up like he surrenders but he doesn’t flinch when you call him that, doesn’t ask for sugarcoating, doesn’t even try to defend. He just accepts.
“You know, you can't decide I’m already guilty before I finish talking.”
You tilt your head, crossing your arms. “You are guilty.”
A corner of his mouth twitches. “Exhibit A.”
“Don’t make jokes,” you say firmly. “That’s how you get out of things.”
“I’m not getting out of anything,” he replies with a smile that almost mocks. “I’m sitting right here.”
“Bare minimum,” you mutter.
He leans forward this time, elbows on the table, eyes on you. “What do you want me to say?”
Now you feel the aftertaste of bad decisions and ideas, when he’s looking at you that despite how gone pride is in this moment – now just running on want and unhealthy self-management – he looks like he won. ‘Cause sure, he fucked the circadian rhythm and pulled you out in pajamas like hauling a rabbit out a magician's ass and pissed you off again, but he thinks it’s worth it. Because he got to see you.
You scoff, narrowing your eyes at him, "I thought you know the right shit to say now, Jaeyun."
The way you say his name again undoes him. He grins, shaking his head like he can't believe himself for that reaction.
“I’m not here to charm my way back in. I know that doesn’t work on you anymore.”
You raise an eyebrow and he shrugs, long fingers tracing the edge of the table.
“I came because I missed you,” he continues, eyes following the lines of your features. "And because I figured if you were going to be mad, I’d rather you be mad to my face.”
You cross your arms tighter. “That’s not an apology.”
He tilts his head, eyes flicking over you – your crossed arms, your shorts, the way you’re still here despite yourself. "You're sick of apologies. I'd rather show."
You swallow. Annoyed at him, at yourself. “You look way too pleased for someone who’s supposedly guilty.”
He chuckles. “I am guilty.”
Your jaw tightens. “Don’t get comfortable.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” his smile turns stupidly fond. “You’re terrifying when you’re mad.”
This is idiotic and you do feel like one. But that has always been the deal with Jaeyun; always complicated even before you got together. And now you’re in the after being together department, you’re not sure you find yourselves to be… ex-materials.
This is really unhealthy, but he doesn’t see you trying to leave your seat.
Jake smiles, no teeth, just smug, and pulls out his wallet from his pocket like he’s getting comfortable. “So,” he says. “Do you want me to buy you coffee now?”
He's the bad decision – the one you already made.
Oh, this is fucked.
Tip #7: Use your mouth. He likes it.
You know better than to stay up late for a guy – you swore you learned your lesson. But… the conversations were easy and traitorously familiar, exchanging stories and laughter with the natural cadence of people who knew how to do it. And to add to the betrayal, it’s… not awkward. Which is bad, like really really bad, because that means you both still have chemistry.
Jake drives you back to your dorm at 4am again like it’s your personal devil’s hour. You thank him and get down the Bronco, but he gets off too, and meets you on the other side after he rounds from the hood.
You try passing by him but he grabs your wrist and tugs you back. He gives you a once-over, smirking a little at the sight of your bare legs in this cold.
“I’m sorry for not catching up sooner." he suddenly says. You blink, just once, like you’re trying to understand. "and for posting that girl." he adds.
“That’s not my busin –”
“It is.” he cuts you off, thumb now running over your wrist. “You get to be annoyed.”
You force the smile off from your mouth, settling to bite the inside of your cheek instead. “I know better than to pine for someone’s boyfriend.”
Now, Jake smiles like you dropped a good pun. He shakes his head, and pulls you a little closer which you could easily mistake as being clingy if you’re careless with your thoughts. “I haven’t dated or even talked to anyone after you.”
Your heart jumps and your stomach lurches. “That’s sad.” you say, light and dismissive.
He huffs a laugh through his nose. “Yeah,” he says. “Guess I’m a little pathetic.”
He pulls you just a little closer. Then he leans in, just a little. “So am I forgiven?” he says softly.
You scoff, turning your face just enough to avoid how close he is. You're not in the mood to confront just how he's looking at you. “You’re asking like you didn’t keep me up at four in the morning.”
“Strategic timing,” Jake says easily. “You're nice when you're sleepy."
"I am not."
He hums, amused, eyes dipping to your mouth like he’s thinking something he has the decency not to say. “You didn’t say no.”
You tug your hand slightly, testing him. He lets you go immediately but the warmth of where he was lingers, traitorous.
“Have a nice night, asshole.”
Jaeyun looks at you like you’re still his favorite smart mouth. “You too, princess.”
Back in your room, you check your Instagram. Jake removed the story.
Tip #8: He's your ex, there's no slowburn.
Days pass and there’s buildup faster than what you’re used to.
After that day, the campus feels smaller. Now that you know where Jake Sim exists inside it (he shared with you his classes and where they were, just a small thing he mentioned when you guys talked). You’re not tracking it – obviously, come on. At least not consciously. It’s only inevitable, you tell yourself, knowing a place holds meaning.
You start seeing Jake Sim more, also inevitable.
At first it’s coincidence; a glimpse across the quad, a passing figure near the library steps. It’s a quick ‘hi’ and wave. Then it becomes routine – eye contact that happens faster, his hellos that always suggest more conversation. He intends them to be quick but they always takes up more time than necessary, only to end up with him running to get to his next class, you trying not to smile on the way back to your dorm.
Then comes the heart.
You, Mia, and Lila go out for dinner – nothing fancy, just food and girls night. You take a picture, you post it to your Instagram story without thinking. Your phone buzzes less than a minute later.
A very specific like. From him, of course, his username and his profile picture. You stare at the screen for half a second before Mia notices, then Lila notices, then all three of you are shrieking because slowburn doesn’t seem to exist here at all.
Okay. Whatever. It’s fine. It’s nothing. That’s the theme with Jaeyun Sim, and you’re more than adamant to keep it rolling. You don’t think about it – well, you do but you try not to, it’s just that you pause to breathe while brushing your teeth. So yeah, you do think about it way too much for your own good.
Enough that later, you post with more purpose and intention, though you try not to be obvious. It’s just to see.
Sometimes he likes them. Sometimes he doesn’t.
Even when it’s a really cute selfie of you – of course he doesn’t like it. But if it's a random picture of food, he likes it.
Whatever! It probably just means that he’s totally not into you and you should actually start to realize how pathetic it is to post a story for a guy. You have to accept that he’s a player, a real NBA baller with how he manages to flirt with you and turn you over for food.
One night, you’re out again – this time it’s loud and late and sticky with sweat and bass-heavy music. You’re back to a party after a week long of demands, dragged back to blinding strobes and catching names you’ll forget later. You slip into a bathroom stall, mirror fogged, lighting criminal but flattering enough. Mia takes a selfie, and you pose in between them while Lila stands behind you, not really overthinking it. Your outfit shows more skin than usual – not obscene to the point of out-of-character unordinary, but something’s undeniably different this time.
You post it because it’s a good picture. You drink, you exchange names, you drink more – more importantly, you have fun and let loose. You check your phone and other than the usual flood in your inbox, you see a specific username that manages to hitch your breath every time.
A like. And a reply.
jake: i thought u had to be dragged into parties? 😂
Your breath catches so sharply you almost choke on it.
You stare at the message, grin spreading before you can stop it, warmth curling low in your chest – something light and stupid and undeniable. Because yeah, this is happening, he really is starting to be part of your life again, in these dumb ways that mean more to you. You don’t even reply right away, you just sit there for a second, phone in your hands, heart traitorously satisfied.
You don’t go home drunk that night. But you go home with an epiphany that gets you smiling into your skincare like a dumbass, replaying the message in the dark like you find something you’ve once lost.
You physically press the phone to your chest, eyes squeezed shut, a sound leaving your mouth that you will never admit happened. You stare at your screen for a long time, smiling into the quiet of your room, the night suddenly too soft, too full.
This isn’t nothing anymore.
It’s the beginning of something you’ve swam in before.
Tip #9: Post the selfie.
The next few days shift in a way that’s subtle enough to deny, and you still say it’s nothing even when you start to think otherwise. Jake’s messages start coming more. Not in a good morning beautiful way that takes things too fast and icky. You don’t talk all the time, but once a week turns into once every two days, then replies that used to lag start coming quicker.
It starts small.
A reply to something you were meant to send to Mia that accidentally ends up in his DMs instead because you’re stupid and half-asleep and maybe you’ve been backreading that’s why you were in his chat log.
You: omg im sososo sorryyyyy
jake: its aight 😭
jake: seems like my business now tho
jake: tell me 😂😂
Then there’s him reacting to things he never reacted to before – your complaints about deadlines, a blurry picture of your coffee, a story of your notes spread across the table with a self-deprecating caption.
02simjake: liked your story.
02simjake: replied to your story: real
Then one afternoon, when you’re sitting on the steps outside your building finishing up some work, your phone buzzes again.
You shake your head, laughing under your breath, heat crawling up your neck. This easy back-and-forth, this familiarity slipping back into place like it knows where home is – like you know where home is.
Back to the boy who never failed to make your heart thump like a drum.
And on some random night when you finally breathe from the uni demands, you post a simple selfie. It’s nothing. But he messages, and it’s enough to get you back on adrenaline.
simjakee_ replied to your story: go to sleep
You stare at it and type anyway.
You stare at the ceiling, a grin slowly spreading across your face, chest warm and buzzing in that unmistakable way. This is real, your ex is flirting with you on Instagram and you feel as giddy as you did at 13-years-old; back when it was you and him learning how to tie ribbons and landing on skateboards. It’s intention, soft and careful and unmistakably him, with the wisdom that came from learning the past and letting you see just how far it has improved.
The boy who couldn’t balance you and his studies is now a responsible guy with fixed time management, on the way to your apartment – because he wants to see you. With no excuse that he doesn’t have time, or that he can’t because he’s really busy. Now, he’s asking if you have time, and he follows your schedule.
5 minutes after your dumb hoax impatience, he texts again.
jake: im here
If you had good instincts, which you doubt you do, you’d turn away with the defense mechanism of someone with avoidant attachment issues just to protect your heart – but you can’t, not when it feels this… thrilling.
You open the door and there’s your ex; tall, hoodie pulled over his cap, hands shoved into his pant pockets like he’s pretending this is casual, like he didn’t just show up at your door on impulse. You look up at him through your lashes before you can stop yourself and – God. Yeah. This looks exactly like toxic, bad decisions.
“So,” he says quietly, eyes dropping to your face. “Are you drunk?”
“No,” you answer. “Why, were you hoping?”
Jake huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “Just checking.”
Then you let him in before you could decide to shut the door in his face and regret whatever this is. His gaze drifts, just taking in the room like he hasn’t seen it before. When his eyes come back to you, you see them check you out while you try to process that he’s standing in your room at an hour where intentions blur and honesty slips out too easily.
You cross your arms, suddenly hyper-aware of how you’re dressed. “So what do you want to do?”
He shrugs, eyes on yours. “You really wanna ask me?”
And when you blink multiple times, the heat crawling up your neck, he smiles playfully like he didn’t realize how that sounded. He shakes his head before settling on your bed, spreading his legs while he sits on the edge, putting his cap down. “Relax. I’m not gonna do anything.”
You raise a brow. “Bold of you to assume I was worried.”
That earns another smile, warm and dangerous.
“Okay,” he says, amused. “Then what are you thinking?”
You hesitate, shifting your weight, pretending you need to fix something that isn’t actually wrong. You lean against the desk instead of sitting, arms still crossed like they might save you from yourself and your thoughts and the dooming questions. “Why did you come over?” you ask finally, voice lighter than you feel.
Jake looks up, brows knitting together just a little, elbows resting on his thighs. “You invited me.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes like you didn’t fucking know that. “Yeah, but I didn’t force you. It’s not like I dragged you here. What made you come?”
For a second, you think he’s going to deflect, make a joke, or shrug it off the way he used to – but he doesn’t. Right now, he licks the inside of his cheek, before saying, “I wanted to see you.” No overthinking, no qualifiers, just the truth, laid down with pure honesty.
Your mouth curves before you can stop it. You immediately try to swallow the smile, turn your face away like you’re suddenly very interested in the floor.
“Oh,” you mutter. “That’s… dumb.”
“Is it?” he asks, amused.
You glance back at him. “A little.”
He laughs quietly, shaking his head. “You invited me this late and I’m the dumb one?”
“Touché,” you concede, shrugging.
Another pause settles in, thick but not uncomfortable. The kind that only exists when it’s loaded and even though it feels good, it doesn’t make it any less right. Now, again, you’re never the arbiter on what’s correct and not – yet you look at him like you’re battling with your moral compass because wrong looks so fucking hot if it’s Jake Sim.
Jake exhales through his nose, then slowly reaches out – open palm, unhurried. “Come here,” he says quietly, a balance of order and ask.
Your heart stutters, and you hesitate just a second too long only to slip your hand into his anyway. His fingers close around yours gently, and he pulls you toward him with care. You end up standing between his knees. His thumb moves without thinking, brushing slowly over your knuckles, grounding and absent-minded all at once.
"Thought you weren't going to do anything." you whisper. He ignores.
He leans forward, stopping just short of touching you – then tilts his head and rests his forehead against your stomach. He stays there for a moment, eyes closed, like he’s anchoring himself and is starting to realize he needs this more than he’s willing to admit.
"Is this okay?" he asks quietly.
Your stomach drops. "Yes," you answer.
He exhales, relieved, shoulders relaxing as he settles there properly. One hand still holding yours. The other resting loosely at your hip, and it’s a lot like threading dangerously down a line he isn’t sure he should cross.
Your free hand lifts before your brain can stop it. Your fingers slide into the hair at the nape of his neck, which is devastating to Jake, who lets out the smallest sound but it tells you everything.
You shouldn’t be doing this. You know it. And yet, your thumb strokes slowly, guiltily, like muscle memory never really left. Jake doesn’t move, just stays there, forehead pressed to you, breathing you in like this is the quiet he’s been missing.
“God,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I missed this.”
This. Not you.
“Jaeyun,” you call. He only hums, thumb rubbing against your hip and you feel the warmth of his touch through your shorts. Your fingers curl slightly in his hair, grounding yourself as much as he is with your hips.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” you say quietly, half a joke, half a warning. “Doing this.”
His lips twitch, but you don’t see. “I know.”
“The –"
“I missed you,” he repeats, this time not to himself but to you for sure this time. “I really don’t want to fucking pretend I don’t.”
You exhale shakily, shaking your head but you’re smiling. “You’re so annoying.” You huff out a laugh, breathless.
He looks up at you, eyes practically doe before he breaks away and shakes his head. Then he stands, hands fully to himself which fidget at the side of his jeans. At first you're confused, then scared, because you don't want him to leave.
“We can just chill.” he tells you, obviously holding his composure tight while he avoids your eyes.
You cross your arms and stare at his chest, shaking your head because you don't know what you're doing. Clearly, so does he, because when he looks at you, he's trying to read you.
It's silent, save from the sound of your appliances and the casual drive of cars outside. He's looking into you while you pick at your elbow, studying just what you want from him.
You take a step back without realizing it and Jake notices instantly, his body tensing just slightly. “You want me to go?” he asks, careful.
The thought makes your stomach drop.
“No,” you say too fast, shaking your head.
You look at each other like that – like you’re standing at the edge of something familiar and dangerous, both knowing exactly where it leads.
He swallows, throat bobbing, and your gaze follows it before you can stop yourself.
You step forward, still enclosed in your own embrace, and he watches you tensely because you've got the reins and he's just letting you steer. Your fingers curl on his hoodie, eyes refusing to meet his for now as when you tug the fabric, he willingly follows.
You look up, finally, and he's looking into you like he's reading the directions off your gaze.
He knows now, of course, plain in sight, what you need him to do.
Jake leans down slowly and carefully, enough that you feel his breath, warm against your cheek, your nose. He stops there, giving you time. “Tell me to stop,” he says.
Your noses brush and the world narrows down to breath and heat and the memory of how this used to feel.
Jake exhales, slow and shaky. “Fuck.”
Your lips brush his first – just a graze, like you’re both checking if the other will pull away because you know better than to indulge. When neither of you do, he exhales into you, a soft sound of relief, and then ducks down to your height to press his mouth on you. You flinch when his hand finds your hips. Your lips move together like you’re relearning something you never really forgot.
Jake pulls back like he got burnt. “Fuck,” he whispers, breath warm against your mouth. Then, quieter: “I really –”
His hands caress the soft curve of your waist and hips, firm but careful when he pushes you back against the counter of your kitchen – decisive in a way he’s made up his mind and isn’t going to pretend otherwise. You let out a soft breath as you stumble back, the back of your legs bumping the wood. He kisses you again, hungrier this time, hands steady on you while your tongues meet in your mouth.
Your hands find his hair again instantly, fingers threading through it like they always naturally do. Jake groans quietly this time and his hands flatten against your back, warm and grounding, holding you like he can’t handle space.
You can’t help the little sound that leaves you, and he tenses, just a little, catching your bottom lip between his teeth like restraint’s something he’s never known. You tug him down and he follows, ducking down his height just to chase your mouth. His large hands slide underneath your shirt and touches your skin there, fingertips slightly grazing the hooks of your bra.
When you pull back just enough to breathe, your noses brush. Jake rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavy but controlled.
“Shit,” he whispers again, softer this time. “This feels unfair.”
You smile despite yourself. “Do you hate it?”
He laughs under his breath, arms still wrapped around you. “Hell no,” he admits. “I’d do it again.”
You lean in for another kiss, worse than last time because his tongue presses fast into your mouth, and his warm fingers caress the skin underneath your bra hooks. You tear away for a startled laugh, smacking his arm and he smiles, before pulling you back in for another kiss.
It’s almost 3 am when you finally tell him he should go.
Jake doesn’t argue. You walk him down the building, hoodie sleeves brushing your wrist in the elevator, the air between you calmer but heavier obviously.
Outside your building, the street is empty and quiet, in a way that shows the impropriety of this rendezvous.
"Well," he says, rocking back on his heels. "Text me when you’re inside."
You scoff. "You don’t get boyfriend privileges."
He grins. "Worth a try."
You dap him out (because he always he insists you should after making out, just for tradition) and you’re already pulling your hand back when he tugs you forward just enough to press a soft kiss to the bridge of your nose.
"Goodnight," he murmurs.
Back in your room, the silence hits different.
You sit on your bed, staring across you with the post-experience clarity of what you have just done. You laugh under your breath, sharp and humorless because of course he’d do that, of course you’d let him.
This is how it starts. This is how you forget why it ended. This is how you convince yourself this time will be different.
So stupid, you think. So predictable.
So, very, toxic.
Tip #10: Let it become a habit.
For the first day, you two kinda tried pretending nothing happened.
Jake answered texts the way he always had – flirty but polite and measured. He showed up to class, ate, slept – all in time. He even convinced himself that the warmth lingering in his palms was psychosomatic, some delayed response to nostalgia rather than the very real memory of pushing you against the counter he pretended not to remember. You were equally complicit. You waved at him across campus like nothing had shifted tectonically between your bodies. You spoke in full sentences and didn’t stammer once, so it was going pretty great.
This mutual delusion lasted exactly thirty-five hours. Because at precisely 11:07 pm, Jake Sim’s on your door unannounced, looking faintly apologetic and was simply bracing for consequences. “I was nearby,” he said, which was a lie. “I figured,” you replied, which was an acceptance.
He stayed until 1 am. You worked on an assignment but was cut for intervals because he’d pull you in his lap and kiss you.
Jake had always been a creature of habit, as once something entered his routine, it stayed. You slipped back in as if you’d never left. He started showing up with intent disguised as coincidence, your study sessions lasted longer than needed. There’s also late-night drives where the music stayed low and you laugh about stupid things together while munching down on McDonald’s fries.
Weeks passed and there also came the moments when the day’s busy for anything particular, that even hanging out in the same room was a little close to impractical. However, Jaeyun finds the time he couldn’t give before. He makes sure to call when you don’t meet, or a quick snack to hand over between in-between class schedules. Your favorite is when he promises just five minutes to see you after a lecture.
"Five minutes," you say. "You promised."
"I stand by that."
Then he hugs you, chin-hooked-over-your-head hug that immediately eats up about forty-five seconds. After 5 minutes;
“Time’s up.”
He doesn’t move.
“…Jaeyun.”
“Just one more,” he says quietly, arms still locked around you.
In the hallway, you’re walking with your Foreign Language partner, running lines for a presentation due the next day. He laughs at something you mispronounce, leans in to correct you, points at your notes. You don’t even think twice about it until later, until Jake decides it is a big deal.
He’s on your couch now, sprawled while you tell him it was just your partner, he scoffs.
“Yeah, right. Nothing,” he mutters.
“Literally, leave it, Jaeyun,” you say, arms crossed, irritation buzzing under your skin.
He glances at you. “Didn’t look like nothing,” he says, quieter now, sulking like he hates that he noticed at all.
You bite back you don’t get to be mad or anything at all that would turn this to a fight. Instead, you turn to your laptop, pretending to care more about another language than the way his presence tilts your focus off-center.
From the couch, his foot nudges yours absentmindedly, like muscle memory.
“You still need help with that presentation?” he asks eventually, casual, almost bored.
On some random week, Jake has had too much to drink. Now, he loves a good beer and can endure it more than the average man, but clearly, everything's been building up – you, to a great degree actually – that he comes up your building and knocks at 2am and clearly, at the very least, is tipsy.
When you open the door, all he had to do is follow the silhouette of your body underneath your thin sleepwear and listen to your very angry remarks about respect and time or whatever, before he's already letting himself in and kissing you against your bed.
He's respectful, always is, but you feel how tight he holds your hips like he's trying not to touch the skin of your thighs grazing his fingertips.
The morning comes around and you wake up with his chest pressed against your back and his arms around your waist in your bed – no hookup, clothes still on, just messy makeouts – but it's enough for you to groan in disappointment anyway.
"We need to set boundaries." you state while you make your waffles.
Jake hums, trying not to get distracted by the curve of your ass when your back's turned to him.
You look at him, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed. "You're always like that. Always so pushy and breaking boundaries and breaking the rules – "
He manages to chuckle. "That was two years ago."
"And last night! And the nights before!" you scoff, shaking your head while you massage your temple.
It's bad. This is bad.
When you turn to look at him again, he's already in front of you, pressing close while his hand finds the side of your neck. You tilt your head up towards him, meeting his eyes which seem to study your face so closely.
You can't really think properly when he's this near, when he's touching you.
Jake’s thumb pauses at your neck. His voice is softer now, clearer than last night but still low. “I know,” he says. “Tell me to stop.”
You open your mouth, nothing comes out.
He exhales a laugh under his breath, fond and frustrated all at once, then leans his forehead against yours instead.
That's so unfair.
You swallow, and push lightly at his chest. "Stop showing up at 2am, Jaeyun."
“I know.” He nods immediately. “That’s on me. I'm sorry."
When push comes to shove, between self-respect or Jaeyun, you run on drunk impulse on a sober gut.
Your studies? A bit compromised. You still show up and pass and look functional on paper, but there’s a fog where focus should be, thoughts drifting where they shouldn't.
And the thing was – Jake Sim was still exceptional and brilliant. Still building a future with the same relentless precision that once earned him accolades and recognition, but now there was something else threaded into his life, something not quantifiable with the integers he mastered in so well.
You. A variable he no longer tried to control and pretend wasn’t doing mass decimation to his sane meter.
“…Are you serious?” Mia turns to you after what she’s dubbed an essential debriefing, legs tucked beneath her as she stares like you’ve just confessed to crime. Your life odyssey – past tense colliding violently with future tense – has been laid bare between sips of iced coffee. You sink further into her couch, picking at your nails. “I mean. I think so?”
Lila blinks. “You’ve been meeting your ex, who’s been acting like your boyfriend minus the title?”
You think about Jake – about the way he waits for you outside lecture halls, pretending to scroll through his phone like he hasn’t been tracking the time down to the minute. About the way he listens now, really listens, like he’s afraid to miss something important and is completely terrified that you’d have to repeat yourself.
You tell yourself – just this once – that it’s fine not to define it yet. After all, habits take time to name, even the really bad ones called making out with your ex in his Bronco and going on a dinner date in a real lavish restaurant billed in his card after.
Later that night, when you’re back in your room, phone face-down beside you, you wonder when exactly it happened. You wonder if he’s thinking about you too and your phone buzzes like it heard you.
Oh, this is sick. You've become a dog.
Then once upon a time, you were only supposed to be passing through to find Jake and return the borrowed charger, then leave.
He's near the steps of the humanities hall when you spot him, surrounded by friends. He’s leaning back against the railing and there’s a girl beside him whose shoulder brushes his arm when she says something. He laughs at what she says, doesn't really flinch when she touches his arm.
His eyes lift and immediately he's already jogging over. Once he's right there, you reach the charger out but he grabs your elbow instead, then pulls you closer to him.
Jake's eyes search search your face like it's checking damage.
“What,” you ask flatly.
A slow, crooked, and infuriating smile tugs at his lips. “You look like you’re about to murder me,” he says quietly.
“Stop,” you say, low and clipped, even as you tug at your arm. He doesn’t let go, thumb warm against your sleeve to keep you there.
“Relax,” he murmurs, tone easy, almost lazy. Like you’re not two bad decisions away from ending what shouldn't have started. “I’m not doing anything.”
You glare at him. He just watches you, gaze steady in that way that’s always made you feel seen without being put on the spot.
He finally lets your elbow go, hands dropping into his pockets. “Didn’t mean anything,” he adds, glancing briefly back toward where he was standing earlier, then back to you.
Back to you.
"You look so fucking annoyed." Jake laughs, hand reaching up to ruffle your hair.
You shove lightly at his chest, more reflex than force. “Don’t.”
He stumbles back a step anyway, like you’ve wounded him, hand flying to his chest. “Wow,” he says, dragging the word out, eyebrows lifting. “Violence on campus.”
You roll your eyes, but your lips betray you – curling slightly despite yourself.
He catches it instantly even though it's barely anything. His grin widens, smug and triumphant. “There it is,” he says, pointing at you like he’s won something. “I knew you still liked me.”
Then he positions his arm over your shoulders, dragging you to lunch off-campus just to hook you back again.
Fuck. It's fucked.
Tip #11: Give him something to remember.
November is fucking hell. It was the month professors collectively decided that sleep was a suggestion and deadlines were a personality test. They expect submissions on top of other “minor” requirements that demand just as much work anyway, just to reason it out as a growth strategy for the harsh, professional world of jobs. As if the real world operated on 72-hour days and the sustained abuse of caffeine.
You do try to see the good at the end of the tunnel from all the sadism, because in the middle of your aggressively color-coded annotated calendar sat one date circled in ink: Jaeyun’s 21st birthday.
It wasn’t going to be another birthday to pass with simple dinner, much less under the vituperative ultimatum of the endless projects and studies.
You insisted he celebrated it with everyone.
Not just a rushed meal squeezed between deadlines or a quiet “we’ll do something later” promise that later never really comes.
So you booked the fancy restaurant, you sent the texts, and herded his friends like you're the Shepherd Himself. You told them to dress nice, and prayed no one would accidentally ruin the surprise with a dumb slip.
Jaeyun was wearing a simple crisp white button-up with trousers.
The night of, he showed up thinking it was just the two of you, until he walked in.
The table was already full with familiar faces and grins, singing happy birthday the moment Jaeyun's at the entrance like a humiliation ritual. For half a second, he just stood there, blinking, processing – then he laughed, stunned, hand dragging through his hair like he didn’t know what to do with himself and the moment of everyone he loved in one huge ass table.
“What the hell?” he said, turning to you.
You shrugged, way too casual for the amount of effort this took. “Happy birthday?”
The dinner itself was loud and warm and unpretentious despite the restaurant itself being conspicuous of poise. His friends made the space theirs anyway – chairs pulled closer, voices overlapping, utensils clinking. They toasted him for things both sincere and stupid, and his ears end up turning to a color red.
Sunghoon starts first, hand in his pocket and red wine raised high. Riki follows, then Jungwon, then Sunoo who smiles a little bashfully.
His friends told stories you hadn’t heard yet and ones you’d heard too many times, and Jaeyun took it all with that soft, crooked smile like he couldn’t believe he was being celebrated this openly.
Cake came with a candle and off-key singing he definitely didn’t ask for. Jaeyun made his wishes, cheeks warm, eyes bright.
At some point in the night, draped in Jaeyun's coat, you stand near the edge of the balcony overlooking the city below. When he slips behind you, his hands automatically settle on your waist. His cheeks are flushed, eyes bright, smile lazy and unguarded.
“Hi,” he says, like he hasn’t seen you all night.
You laugh, one hand on top of his, and the other hand threading up to the hair on his nape. “Hi, birthday boy.”
He rocks you side to side, barely moving, chin resting against your hair. “You know,” he murmurs, voice low so only you can hear, “I was genuinely okay with just us two. I meant that.”
“I know,” you say.
“But this?” He glances around at the inside, his friends, the calmed chaos. Then his gaze drops back to you. “This is… insane. In the best way.”
You tilt your head up. “You like it?”
He laughs, soft and breathless. “I’m obsessed with it. With you.”
He presses a kiss to your temple first, slow and lingering. Then another to your cheek. He pauses there, lips hovering, like he’s savoring the moment.
“Can I?” he asks quietly, eyes flicking to your lips.
You don’t answer with words. You just turn around, hands settling on his nape.
The kiss is warm and unhurried, his hand sliding up your back, thumb brushing over your spine. It’s full, sweet, and certain. Like this is exactly where he wants to stay.
Jake pulls back just enough to grin. “I love this.”
“Your party?” you ask.
“You.” he corrects easily, like the word belongs there now. Like it always has.
Later, he drags you back onto the dance floor in front of the live musicians.
He dances badly on purpose – spinning you too fast, dipping you slightly too low your back is lowkey bad now, laughing when you squeal and clutch onto him. At one point, he lifts you off the ground just because he can, grinning like he’s won something.
“You’re showing off,” you accuse.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “It’s my birthday.”
Eventually, when your feet ache and your voice is hoarse from laughing, when the night’s adrenaline has settled on your bodies, the crowd starts to thin and some people head out. You thank them for coming, waving as they disappear into the elevator with tired smiles and leftover cake in hand.
As you make your rounds, thanking people for coming, accepting hugs, the night starts folding in on itself.
That’s when you hear it. Something that wasn't meant for you – low, lazy voices carried over by the balcony doors still cracked open.
Jake and Sunghoon are leaning against the edge, sharing what’s left of the wine. Jake’s sleeves are rolled up, posture loose in a way that only happens when he’s had a good night.
Sunghoon tilts his glass, watching the last drops swirl. “So,” he says casually, too casually. “You and her.”
Jake huffs out a breath, not defensive just honest. “No.”
Oh.
Sunghoon looks at him and waits.
“We’re not together,” Jake adds, after a beat. It's not denial, just a fact that still makes your chest curl.
Sunghoon hums. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Jake’s mouth quirks, something complicated flickering across his face. He takes a sip, eyes drifting somewhere distant like he’s replaying moments instead of looking at the present.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Like last time.”
There’s no bitterness in it, not something like regret either. Just that strange, suspended place between was and isn’t clouding over like a storm coming.
Sunghoon clinks his glass lightly against Jake’s. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “you look happy.”
Jake smiles then. “I am.”
You hide behind the wall before either of them notices you lingering, heart doing something uncomfortable in your chest.
When you reappear a minute later, Jake looks up instantly – like he felt the shift in the room.
“Hey,” he says, easy smile snapping back into place.
“Hey,” you reply, mirroring it.
But this time, when he reaches for your hand, his grip is a little tighter.
"Wanna go?" he asks, hand soothing the small of your back.
You nod, giving Sunghoon a hug before you slip behind the doors before Jake. They make their goodbyes and you wait outside, Jake's coat protecting you from the cold.
It rings, that one single word that makes the night cooler than it really is.
No, you're not dating. And he's vocal about it too, probably with all his friends who also asked. You start to realize how stupid you must've looked, sending the invites, kissing his cheek throughout the night while everyone knows that – there's nothing between you two.
Your heel taps against the concrete, lips quivering, getting into your thoughts before his palm finds your lower back and his lips press on your temple.
"I love you." he whispers while he pulls you into him.
No. We're not together.
Could've fooled me.
Yeah. Like last time.
The drive is quiet, the city blurs past, lights streaking softly through the windows. His hand finds your thigh at red lights, thumb brushing slow, absent-minded circles. You try not to think, because it's his day and you'd hate to ruin something this good.
So you swallow and turn to him.
“I don’t really wanna go home yet,” you admit quietly.
He glances at you, surprised for half a second, then smiles. “You can stay with me for a bit.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he says easily. “We’ll keep it chill. I’ll get you home before two.”
It’s only 11.
At his place, everything is hushed. The shoes are off by the door, lights kept low. His apartment is very much him – some legos half-built on a shelf, posters slightly crooked, figurines taking up their space, a hoodie draped over his chair – and you’ve been over a couple of times but it’s only now you really look over his orderly clutter.
You smile. “You never finished that one.”
He groans. “Don’t expose me.”
There’s a pause, comfortable, charged, settling in while you throw your heels somewhere across his floor. You look over the lego cars and books aligned in his book shelf, giving them a better look, until he slips his hand in yours and pulls you towards him. Jake rests his chin on the crown of your head, humming in contentment at your warmth underneath him.
“Thank you for tonight.” he says quietly. You tip your chin up to look at him and simply smile as a silent you’re welcome.
He leans in first, kissing you softly, like he’s testing the water. It’s slow, his hands on your waist with your fingers on the back of his neck.
Then another kiss, lasting longer this time. You shift closer without thinking, pressing, pulling him down to you as he melts in. His hand slides to your hips while your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just slightly.
When you pull away, you press one last kiss on the tip of his nose before telling him you'll just change out of your clothes. He nods and lets you go to his bathroom to slip into the comfort of sleepwear.
You rethink, even though you're trying not to. Let it be not another bad decision you make yet everything about him is – though you can't resist. The reminders echo but the image-driven mind can't lose the way he kisses you so good, and holds you the way you need to be held.
So when you get out, his shirt's still on but more crumpled and loosened. He's talking about something that happened in dinner, rambling the way he always does. Except when he turns to you to tell you what Riki did with the cake, Jake freezes. You look shy but still, you meet his eyes, the same ones that can't even pretend to be respectful as he stares at the imprint of your nipples through your tulle and lace nightdress.
Jake's silent and frozen, eyes wide and jaw slack. You manage a smile, softly padding your way to him. Once in front of him, you stand on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you despite how stiff he is, how careful he is not to touch you.
Still, when you kiss him, he kisses you back.
The kisses deepen naturally, like neither of you really wants to stop. But he feels your rush, when you pull closer like you’re looking for something, how you kiss harder and lick into his mouth. He pulls back suddenly – not far, just enough to look at you. He looks ragged and trying to collect his thinning composure, blinking like it will save him.
You meet his eyes, breath a little uneven, heart loud in your ears. You don’t say anything – don’t really feel like you have to. Whatever he sees in your expression makes his face change, something startled and tensed passing through it like an epiphany for something like he didn’t expect.
His thumb brushes your cheek, slow and careful. “You’re okay?”
You nod, eyes flicking back to his mouth. “Yeah.”
He exhales, leaning his forehead against yours, eyes closed for a second like he’s steadying himself because if he doesn’t, then he’ll lose the thin veil that’s keeping him restrained. When he kisses you again, it’s still slow but more breaths – like he’s losing a part of himself when he’s giving this much to you. He keeps his hands on your waist, pulling you closer without really meaning to but because his body needs it.
And when he finally rests his forehead against yours again, smiling weakly and knowing and wanting but respecting –
“We can just stay like this,” he says, swallowing. “I don’t need anything else.” he reassures because he’s terrified that you think you need to do this for him.
You look up at him through your lashes, nodding. “I know.” you add, “I want this.”
You kiss him again before he can process it – harder and faster this time, with a weight behind it that makes his breath hitch immediately. Your hand slides into his hair, fingers threading through it as if you need something solid to hold onto.
He makes a sound he doesn’t mean to.
It’s quiet, caught in his throat, but you feel the way his hands tighten at your waist, the way his shoulders tense before he gives in. He shivers, just a little, like the kiss reached somewhere deeper than he expected and pulls out a moan from his chest. You pull away, your hands lingering. Jake has to bite his lip, feeling your warm and soft palm move from his hair, down to his shoulders, across his chest, until they finally rest flat against his abs. You feel it, the way his muscles contract from your touch, the way his breath catches shakily against your mouth.
You look up again, your eyes undeniably dark, and you see his restraint breaking as his Adam's apple bob, sweat glistening down his skin. You nudge him back, guiding him with your palms until he sits on the edge of the bed. He lets you. He doesn’t resist at all. His legs hit the edge of the bed and he sits down almost automatically.
He looks up at you then.
His hair is messy, lips pink and swollen, eyes dark and searching – like he’s trying to read you without pushing, without asking for more than you’re giving. His hands slide from your waist to rest at your hips, grounding, reverent. You stand between his knees, letting your fingers comb through his hair.
“Baby,” he says quietly, voice rough, like he’s trying to stay in control.
Your nails graze his scalp just enough to make him inhale sharply. His eyes flutter shut for a second, forehead dropping forward until it presses lightly against your stomach.
He exhales there, like he’s holding himself together one breath at a time – but you know he’s failing. You slide one knee on one side of his hip, followed by the other, your thighs framing him as you settle in place. You straddle him perfectly and fully, hands braced on his chest as his breath stutters beneath you.
He thinks this is fine. Straddling isn’t new. Making out isn’t new. You’ve done this a dozen times.
Until you smile, letting your nose bump against his, and lips brush together. “Hi,”
He clears his throat. “Hi.”
It's just another dress. It's new with intent and purpose, but it was alike to the others – just that you're not exactly wearing a bra underneath. He tries being rational but he can't, not when he can feel just how soft your breasts are against his chest.
You tilt your head, letting your lips glide against his, teasing the birthday boy as he tries catching your mouth with his. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently, and he responds with a low groan that vibrates straight through you. Then you kiss him, harder, claiming, his large hands pulling you closer. You shift slightly, letting the heat of your bodies sink together – until your hips press against his so suddenly that he has to stop you and pull away.
“B-baby,” he gasps, looking up at you, eyes wide and confused and needy. “What are we doing?”
You look at him beneath you, breathless and kiss-drunk, already fucked out before anything has even happened.
“Do you not want it?” you whisper.
He practically chokes on the air. His hands tighten instinctively at your hips.
“I –” He swallows hard, throat bobbing, eyes blinking. A little flustered, very Jaeyun. “I thought we’d wait. Like –” He exhales, embarrassed. “Until marriage.”
That’s true, he thought this is something you’d like to do after passing the eye of God or something like that. Yet you only hou hum softly, sounding dangerously close to something else, his shoulders tensing immensely. Your hands slide up, thumbs brushing his jaw as you lean in, pressing a slow kiss there – right beneath his ear. Again, you’ve never really been for righteousness.
“Do you not want it?” you ask again, slower, deliberate.
He swallows again, and you can feel him think and break, especially when you feel this soft and good in his hands. Because honestly, committing sacrilege feels sweet when it tastes like you.
You don’t wait for an answer anymore, letting your hips rock against his pants that he lets out a soft, strangled whimper. His fingers tighten against your hips, unsure whether to keep you still or press you closer.
“Jaeyun,” you whisper, tugging his hair back gently but enough for him to open his eyes to you again. He looks at you with reverence, like you’re God herself pressing your clothed pussy against his growing erection. “Do you not want it?” you ask again, needing an answer.
He blanks, zeroes, knows enough that this is all he needs to cum.
He thinks about the time he didn’t want it – which goes down to the answer: never. Not ever since he tasted you for the first time almost 2 years ago, his tongue in your mouth, your soft chest pressed against his, your thighs enclosed around him. He always felt guilty, while he fisted his cock after a hangout with you, but couldn’t really help it when he gets horny even just from kissing you.
Things never escalated between the two of you, never anything more than breathless makeouts that always had been respectful and not overly touchy. He thought you’d like it that way, and he liked it too. He knows now, as he finds desire in your eyes, how months of missing and wanting has finally come down to this. As exes that doesn’t know how to be exes, or a situationship that’s more romantic than any other crude paperback.
“Are you sure?” he whispers, husky and suede. You smile from how meek and small he sounds – it makes you clench around nothing.
“Am I sure if I want your dick in me?”
He fucking chokes at how vulgar you are. Gone is the woman who pretended to be annoyed with him, gone is the girl he used to bribe popsicles with.
It’s his 21st birthday, and you want nothing but to make it his most special day ever – you made sure to include this in the itinerary.
You run your hands from his hands on your hips to the length of his veiny arms, until the collar of his top. You slowly start unbuttoning his shirt, and he makes no protests, keeping his eyes on you while he lets you do the work. Once it’s off, the firm muscles of his arms flexes underneath your touch when you let your fingers graze. When you glance up, you see him clearly struggling to breathe.
You’re not rushing this – even when you think you should, just as you think how you have every right to be angry at how respectful Jaeyun Sim is.
You feel like a sex demon because of how much you think about fucking him. Yes, you’ve been masterbating even back when you were together because how could you not. You’ve been drinking pineapple juice these past few weeks. You’ve been stretching out your hole through your own fingers for this moment. You feel crazy and that’s very much an underreaction, considering how hot Jake is.
“Do you not want me?” you ask, voice small, trying to sound pitiful, while you kiss his jaw.
Want you? He’s been having wet dreams of you. When he was fucking you balls deep, or when he had you bent over your vanity, or when you were riding him in his Bronco –
He doesn’t understand why he can’t move now, when you’re still grinding your pussy against his hard cock. He curses himself for not doing anything more than hold your hips against him. So, like the sensible guy he is, his hand trails up your skin. Your breath finally catches when his large hands caress the softness of your side, just when his thumbs innocently graze the underside of your boobs.
He breaks into a grin and before he could say more, you lean in again, kissing his mouth with the intensity of a starving woman. It’s messy fast, his tongue slipping into your mouth, intertwining as he finally finishes unzipping your dress. Your own palm press against the hard lines of his abs, making him gasp and breath shake against your mouth. He makes a sound at the back of his throat – urging you to press harder, feeling the hard bulge against his jeans.
He pulls back, letting out an amused huff of a laugh. “Fuck, baby,” his eyes are completely half-lidded.
You giggle, and you feel like an animal as you lick his bottom lip, plump and swollen.
You push his shirt off him. Once it’s off, you gape at the hard muscles of his torso, broad, and all very yours. He’s lean without being too big, lines of strength visible beneath smooth skin, shoulders wide, waist narrowing just slightly. You let your fingers trace the solid lines, liking the way he reacts at your touch.
You gasp when he suddenly shifts you in his lap, letting you grind against his boner. He reacts too, like he didn’t mean that, but rocks underneath you anyway. His hands – large, veiny hands, rub at the sides of your dress, and you could feel his desperation starting.
“Take this off,” he says, already pulling your dress. “please, baby. Let me see how pretty you are.”
You shift a little on his lap again, just to let the hem of your dress pool around your waist.
“Arms up,” he states, soft but firm.
You follow, putting your arms up as he pulls it off, and just in one go, your breasts spill out in front of him. He smiles and exhales, “There you go,”
His teeth bite down his bottom lip as your nipples stare at him, all hard and practically begging to be put in his mouth. His cock twitches in his tight pants at the sight, pupils dilating visibly.
His hands meet your sides, softly brushing your supple skin, causing shivers to run down your spine. “Damn…”
Then finally, he ducks his head down, pressing his face at the valley between your breasts. He finds the swell through feverish bites and licks, taking his time with his tongue. After, he finally latches his mouth around one nipple after, teeth gently biting down, earning a gasp from you at how good it fucking feels. Then he sucks, tugging even, letting his tongue twirl the bud.
The sight of it should be a sin, at how he seems so content with sucking your breast. At fondling with them like he’s having the time of his life.
It’s his birthday. So you pull away, his mouth detaching with a pop. His eyebrows knit with confusion, large hands tightening instinctively around your hips when you try moving away. “What the fuck are you doing?”
You soothe his hands, prying his fingers off you. “Trust me, birthday boy,”
You press a kiss on his nose, making a mental note to sit on it later – finally.
When he lets loose, you slowly get off his lap. Still on the edge of the bed, he watches you with wide eyes when you sink down on your knees in front of him. Jake breath catches like he hadn’t been ready to see you below him like that – on the fucking floor of his room. You smile at him, eyelashes fluttering as your palm glides over his clothed thigh. He flexes at the contact, blinking like he’s in the midst of trying to survive this, at the way you look on your knees for him. He’s never been this hard in his life, he thinks.
“Baby?” his voice is unbelievably soft and whiny, sitting up to look at you while you keep his knees spreading. Your hand slides over the muscle of his thigh, watching the way he slightly twitches beneath your manicured fingers. You trail further up, and just when he realizes, he takes your wrist.
You know he doesn’t mean it, but his grip’s tight. He clears his throat, and he’s genuinely kind of scared of you. His cheeks and ears are flushed pink. “Y-you don’t have to, do this. For me.”
You’re not sure if this is his way of telling you to stop, or if he’s so overly sweet and cares so much. Well, you care quite little, only really needing that cock in your mouth right now.
“Well,” you pull your hand away, shifting further on your knees as you reach for his zipper. He stares, intently watching how close you are to touching him. “I think…”
You start pulling it down, keeping an eye on the light twitches on his face; biting down his lip, eyebrows knitting closer, breathing uneven. “I think I also deserve to blow… a candle.”
You smile at him, finally pulling the zipper down, and cupping the huge bulge against his boxers. He chokes on his breath, head tipping back at the relief of your hand despite the cloth between. You stop wasting time, tugging the hem down to reveal just how hard he really is.
Jake’s big. And long. And veiny. And pretty.
You eye the way his sharp v-line leads to his cock, all hard and pretty, tip so pink and flushed – you can’t help but lick at your lips, imagining the way it would cry and twitch in your mouth. You pray thanks because pink really is a lovely color.
Jake’s looking down at you like he’s with fever, all flustered and intoxicated, and you could see how scared he is of how excited you look, your eyes are practically sparkling at the sight of his cock.
You wonder if it will fit.
You hold it against your warm palm and he groans, voice rough when it hums against his throat. His hips buck, wanting more of you already – needing more of you because it’s impossible not to. Your thumb meets with the head, toying with the slit that’s already wet with pre-cum while your hand starts a slow stroke.
“Ahh–” Jake whines, and when you look up to see, his eyebrows are furrowed, eyes half-lidded watching you, completely fucked out while he tries rocking into your hand, hips lifting off his bed just a little.
“C-can you…” he tries talking but you squeeze him, biting your bottom lip as you tilt your head slightly to the side to tease him. The sight makes him hum out another whine. “...go faster? J-just a bit, baby, please.” the way he begs makes you wet your panties a little.
He’s fucking sublime and you think you could go on with teasing him, not really giving him what we wants until he’s puddled with tears, begging that you finally put him in your mouth. But, it’s his day, you can’t be mean.
You hum, like you’re thinking about it. You pull his pants and boxers down further, before rubbing his dick just to spread his pre-cum all over. Then, without warning, you lean in to lick his head, your tongue teasing the slit.
He whimpers and his head falls back completely, lips parting and neck glistening with his sweat. He’s flushed and heavy against your hand, finding yourself playing with it with a few kitten licks and rubs at the base. Then you drag your tongue from his base back to the tip with a long lick, earning a moan that sounds close to drowning.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he whines, biting his bottom lip as his large hand shoots into your hair. He grabs a handful from your scalp, although you can tell just how gentle he’s trying to be even when he’s losing all control.
You open your mouth and enclose it around his head first, tongue twirling around it. Then slowly, you take him in, letting him slide further into your lips. “Fuck,” he groans, his hips jerking forward immediately. The head touches the start of your throat and you can’t help but choke at the sudden intrusion, sending vibrations around him. You watch through your lashes, how his bicep flexes while he guides your head down his dick, abs contracting when your nose almost touches v-line, eyes narrowed at how his length disappears into your lips.
“O-oh, fuck, that’s s-so dirty…” he groans, seeing drool spilling from your chin as you cheeks hollow around him. Your hand tightens around the parts you can’t reach, squeezing and rubbing fast. You pull back up, leaving only the head in your mouth before sliding it all back down your throat.
You set a pace, not so fast, but it’s still too much for Jake whose chest is heaving while he forces his gaze on you, burning and dark. “Mmmm,” he moans, trying to keep his mouth shut from all the pathetic noises he’s making. He looks like he’s in heaven, watching you suck his cock on the floor of his bedroom – you can tell that he’s practically finishing already. “Ahh… y-yeah, I like th-tha – ahh–”
He groans, shaking his head at how good and dirty he feels. “Just a-a bit more, mhmm, yeah,” he exhales deep, shaky breaths, using your hair as anchor while he guides your mouth down his cock. “Just like that– ah, o-oh, g-god…”
You see how his eyes are rolling back, teeth biting down his plump bottom lip. That’s when you tug back, pulling off with a wet pop from the tip. You give him a few more kitten licks, rubbing slower until he feels the loss and snaps his eyes back down to you.
“Uh, I was just,” he sits up properly, looking at you confused when you pull away fully. He’s eyeing you with desperation – brows pressed together, lips tight in a line, hair messy and reaching his eyes. Then he shakes his head, blinking while he tries rebuilding his control.
“Are we done, baby?” He forces his eyes away like he’s convincing himself he’s okay with what you’re giving, even if it leaves him with blue balls. He’s still so gentle with you, tone soft and whispered while he watches your face, checking if you’re still okay.
You smile so wide and bright, not needing any convincing to know how much you love this boy.
Then you stand back up, body still bare as the soft lace of your panties is the only thing keeping you, well, completely exposed. He stares at your soft breasts again, swallowing at the way they bounce slightly when you help him out of his pants and boxers. He smiles just watching them, his hand reaching out to fondle with one. His thumb glides over one nipple, playing with the hard bud.
You laugh, taking his wrist when he starts fondling with the swell of your breast, like he’s memorizing how its weight looks on his hand. “Staring is rude.” you say, kicking his pants and boxers away once they’re off. His pretty cock’s still hard against his pelvis, lubricated with your saliva and his own pre-cum.
“They stared first.” he says, keeping his eyes on your nipples, pinching one with his fingers.
You smack his bicep, prying his hand off you with a playful shove. He looks up at you, a small frown on his mouth like you did something mean. “You’re taking away my fun.” he pouts dramatically.
Then, you hook your fingers on your lace panties and start sliding them off you, the fabric gliding over your smooth thighs before pooling around your feet.
Oh shit.
His eyes are glued to the way your pussy glistens for him, slightly amused with just how wet you are too, without being touched. He gently reaches out for you, deciding how far you really are. His palms slide at the back of your thighs, guiding you closer to him as your hands settle at the back of his head, gently caressing through his black silky locks. You’re now standing in between his knees.
“My pretty girl,” he whispers, ducking his head slightly to get a closer look. Although you don’t feel super embarrassed, you can’t help but shift inevitably, closing your thighs when you feel his breath fan in between your legs.
Jake looks up at you, eyes twinkling and an amused smile on his lips. “Don’t do that, baby,”
He spreads your thighs, hands firm against the plush, supple flesh. He gets closer, addicted to the way it smells so sweet and enticing. His nose basically subtly nudges your clit, earning a cracked gasp from you, your fingers tightening against his hair.
“Can I?” his eyes briefly glances up at you before looking back down. When you hum an approval, he leans in further, licking your folds.
“Ah, Jaeyun, wait –” he grabs your thigh and props it over his shoulder suddenly, helping you find your balance before plunging his tongue through the folds, finding your clit almost immediately.
Wow? To think this is both your first time?
“F-fuck–” you caress the back of his head, his tongue lapping up at the hole while his nose pokes against your clit. Cunt-hungry man, he thinks he can do this forever, just latching his lips around your clit and holding your shivering thighs around his head.
“I n-need your,” you tip your head back, words lost in your throat.
“My what, pretty?” he moans against your pussy, his cheeks now messy with your juices and his saliva combined. “God, she’s fucking talking to me. Look at that,” he uses his thumb to spread out your fold, watching the way it shines before using his tongue to tease the hole.
Your things are quivering in strain and pleasure, too much, that you feel your knees buck. He groans when he realizes you’re pulling away, propping your thigh back and forcing your legs up with his hands. “Stay still.”
“Y-your fingers, baby, please.” you whimper, and he likes that sound. He nods, following you obediently, letting the tips of his fingers graze your entrance before suddenly plunging one inside.
Oh God.
His fingers are thicker and longer than yours, so even one feels too much. Your knees are wobbling but he helps you still. Jake keeps it slow, feeling just how your walls squeeze around him, the sweet smell wafting through the tension. Jake can’t help it, wanting that back in his mouth, so he teases your clit with his tongue in tandem with the thrust of his finger. He sneaks in another thick finger inside, thrusting two at the same time, stretching you out definitely. You let out whines, holding tightly on his hair while he fucks you with just his hand and mouth.
“Jaeyun, wait –” you tap his shoulders, just as he speeds up the pace, addicted to the way your cunt squelches around his fingers. “Jaeyun – ah – w-wait, please,” you tap insistently and when he realizes, he stops at once, a bit irritated. Jake pulls away with a bitter exhale, but softly and slowly strokes your thighs, letting you stand on both your feet now. He looks up at you, eyes finding yours, still soothing your thighs with his warm hands. “Why do you keep stopping, love?” He laughs, amused and humorous, but there’s a tone of annoyance tucked in.
Your eyes flick down to his dick, and his gaze follows, looking back at how hard and angry it looks against his abdomen like that. Long and begging to be touched. He huffs, grin widening back up at you with disbelief and lack of control.
He swallows, shaking his head. “I don’t have a condom, baby,” his voice is rough, hands soothing your thighs still.
You scoff, using your palm to push him further into the bed. When he’s moved, you slide your knees on either side of his hips and he has to physically hold himself back from the sight of how close your cunt is to his dick. It makes him twitch against his stomach, bite his lip from making a pitiful sound.
“I want you raw.” you say, leaving a mark on his skin.
“And I want you safe.” he says, softer this time, gently caressing your hips.
You laugh, getting back to his face as you nudge his nose with yours. “Just fuck me, Jaeyun.”
He exhales, both from exasperation and how turned on he is from your straightforwardness. He likes it, he likes you, and clearly he’s torn between fucking you until you’re full of his cum, or being responsible with sex and –
Fuck that.
You stroke his cock underneath you, giving it slow rubs just to lubricate it. He sighs, watching you work on his length like that. Even with just you on top of him like this, bare and looking at him and only him, he’s happy. The wishes that blew his candles do not compare to this; a prayer in flesh and soft breasts and plush thighs and a pretty face – what else could he need if this is not enough salvation. Then you shift closer, aligning his angry tip with your entrance. He watches it all happen, hands still on your hips, half-lidded eyes completely dazed with desire and anticipation of when your cunt meets his cock. His lips are parted, taking heavy shaky breaths.
“Will it fit?” he swallows, looking back up at you with wide eyes.
Just then, his sensitive tip grazes your hole, and he lets out a quiet whimper. You drag the head into your wet folds, pushing the thick tip with a wet pop, and Jake practically jolts up at the feeling – fingers so tight against your hips you know it will bruise. “W-w-wait, baby, y-you’re too – ah–”
It stings so you pause, adjusting to the size first. You rest your forehead against his, catching your breath as he catches his – and something about it is so intimate, at the way he holds you close, hand soothing your back to ground you and himself.
“Y-you okay?” he asks, rubbing your back, pupils blown wide you could practically see hearts form in them.
You smile, weak and soft, pressing a kiss on his mouth. He tilts his head for you, your tongues meeting in his mouth before you pull away. “Perfect.”
Then slowly, you start to sink down his cock, earning grunts while he holds you close. “Sh-shit– tight– fuck–”
He guides you down his shaft, and he really does fight the urge to shove himself inside you in one go. “S-slow down for me, yeah?” Jake holds you, thumb rubbing against your skin. “There, mhm, I-I know you can do it.”
You cry out his name when you bottom down, his leaking tip touches your cervix deliciously and your walls tighten around him so right he’s convinced he’ll finish right here. It’s warm inside you and you’re tense, arms wrapped around his neck, chests pressed together, gummy walls choking his cock. You wrap your legs around his hips closer, squirming slightly while he’s still inside you that he moans loud, feeling just how you vacuum him in and grind against him – he’s done.
Jake’s mind is blank, nothing except the way you look like Sunday worship with how you kneel above him. He knows now, that this is heaven, and that being good does not mean anything to him when you feel like every sin eaten in Eden. He doesn’t mind dying lying this, he thinks, in between your thighs while you introduce what greed truly means, and as you show him just what the fuck Adam betrayed God for underneath that tree.
He’s in so deep and tight that you could feel every vein that throbs inside you. Like he was meant to fill in that space, with how perfect it fits, you can’t help but roll your hips against him a little. Because it’s too good not to, too fucking slow to wait.
Jake though, very much cannot let you move because you look so incredibly hot riding him and taking him in so good that he will come from cockwarming. He grabs you before you can even try again, his hands a paradox of gentle and strong, keeping you still from any ideas. His long fingers run down your spine, shivers trail your skin, inevitably making you clench from the sensation. He exhales, struggling and trembling, huffing out a sick laugh as he licks his bottom lip. “I’ll cum if you move.” he says, rough and no more breaths to give when you’ve taken everything.
Even though his hold is firm, it’s not bruising, so you decide to tease, just a little, by rolling your hips subtly and when he realizes what you’re doing, he grabs your hips quick – tight and strong, his biceps flexing. “D-don’t move, baby, c’mon,” his hoarse voice is soft in contrast to how hard he’s holding and staring at you now. You giggle, leaning in instead to kiss him. It’s slow, the smell of sex so heavy in their air and in between you two.
With an exhale from coming down the high, he finally nods, falling on his back. “Ride it, love.” Then you lift yourself, slowly, showing a white ring at the base of his cock. It’s lewd and better than any pornographic he’s seen.
Leaving just the head inside, you slam yourself back down, a strain moan spilling his lips like confession. “F-fuck– o-oh– so g-goddamn tight…” you do it again, loving the way his eyebrows push together, his lips parting as he moans your name. He whimpers when you squeeze your cunt around him. “H-holy s-s-shit.” he holds your hips as you find the pace, speeding up as you practically bounce on his dick like a mad woman. Every thrust spills a whimper or your name in the form of a gasp. He helps you slam right back down on his cock, touching just the right spot inside you with precision.
“T-that’s it – just like that, baby, f-fuck yeah,” he huffs, abs tightening. Your palms are flat against his chest, admiring just how his hair is now slick with sweat, sticking to his forehead. He runs a hand through it, pushing it back. You go faster, riding him to the point he can’t even talk right. “W-w-wait, s – holy s-shit, please, s-s-slow down,” his words turn into broken moans, hoarse and cracked as you pound yourself down his dick. Skin slapping echoes throughout his room, your breaths merging in this hot air.
Jake can feel it too fast, the way his abdomen and balls tighten because he’s about to cum already. It’s warm and so good. But he sits up and stops you, his strong arms quickly pulling you off him while you grow stunned. “Wha–”
He huffs an incredulous laugh, shaking his head in disbelief of the situation. He was seconds away from cumming, way too fast for how long he wants to spend this moment with you. His grip’s strong, tight compared to how gentle he places you down his bed. You lie chest-first on the mattress, your abdomen tightening with a slight heaviness from not releasing tension. You try asking him again but cuts you off, “Wait for me, yeah?”
He looks over you with hunger in his eyes; from the gentle curve of your shoulders, to the arch of your back, down to the plumpness of your ass. Jake smooths over it, admiring it as his fingers squeeze the fat, just before giving it a smack, earning a gasp from you. “Jaeyun –”
Jake lifts your hips to put you on your knees, chest against the sheets for him, and leans down to press a kiss on your folds. “Need that ass,” he smacks one cheek again, then uses one thumb to spread out your labia and lick one stripe.
And he’d love to keep this going, munching down until your knees would give out and he’ll have to hold you up to continue devouring what your pussy could give him, but the tension in his dick begs otherwise, especially after knowing how it feels to be choked inside. So he flips you, taking your arm and getting you on your back.
Jake spreads your thighs, pressing your knees down against the bed so you’d allow him in between your legs. He props himself there, hovering over you when he puts his hands beside your head. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, sliding his own knees underneath your legs, shifting you against him. He soothes your inner thighs, making sure you feel comfortable.
The coil in your core is too hot for you to talk, mind blank except for the way Jake’s body glistens with his sweat and how he feels on top of you, his presence a clash of need and relief. You just nod, reaching your hands flat against his chest, trailing down towards his abs which tighten from your touch. He chuckles, raspy and rough, leaning down just slightly that you could feel his breath fan your face. “I need words, love,” he smooths over your thighs again, though this time closer to where you need him most. “Can you do that for me, hm?” he purrs.
You whine, biting your bottom lip at the sight of his cock so hard and straight, faintly brushing your entrance. “Jaeyun, stop teasing.” you mewl, reaching down further to let your fingertips graze the slit on his head. He lets you stroke him, smiling down at you as you do.
“Words, come on. I need to know you’re still okay.” he asserts, voice patient but firm.
You sigh. “Put your cock inside me, Jaeyun, please.”
Then he smiles, pressing a kiss on the bridge of your nose. “Good girl.” he coos.
Jake pulls you closer by your thighs, squeezing the fat before he gives himself a few strokes. You watch him eagerly, hips unintentionally squirming at the sight of him touching himself, his own juices spilling just a little to give it slick. Then he shifts, nudges your legs up with his knees before propping himself in between you. You keep your legs up as he aligns his cock with your throbbing clit, giving it a few rubs. Moans fall from your pretty lips. He gets closer, uses his thumb to push back your folds and find your entrance, before finally positioning himself against you. He presses a kiss on your mouth just to distract you a bit, then pushes himself inside, the slick sounds obscene.
You pull away from the kiss because of the stretch, Jake’s big cock squelching inside your pussy. “S-so fucking tight, s-shit…” he groans.
Your hands find purchase on his traps, nails digging down the skin there when he squeezes himself inside you, veins throbbing against your walls. Thick and long, touching your cervix as it did earlier, and you’re addicted to the feeling of him filling you up, kissing every crevice like he’s made for you. You clench, thighs pressing against his hips – he lets a low growl when you tighten. He finds your gaze and for some unknown reason, you get flustered, and he smiles. Jake kisses your warm cheek. “That feel good?” he whispers, waiting for your nod of approval before he starts moving.
Teeth sink into his bottom lip as his hips rocks into yours. It’s slow at first, letting you feel every little detail of his dick inside you. Until he speeds up, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the corners of his bedroom. Low whimpers slip from Jake’s throat, breathing your name against your mouth. It’s vulgar, the smell and sound of cum when he pulls out and slams right back in, at a pace like he can’t handle being apart from you for long.
He loves the way you shove against the bed when he pushes in, loves the way your tits bounce every time, the way your swollen and bruised lips part and moan his name like you’re his. Your moans, sweet and thick like honey, your nails when they dig into his muscles like you’re claiming him.
“C-can you clench, baby? Just – t-there– fuck, baby – f-fuck yeah, just like t-that, ah–” he whines, veins running along his arms beside your head as he grinds into you, head stroking your fucking womb.
His cock drives into you with perfect precision, somehow hitting the right spots, rubbing against your walls so good. His abs taut, muscles flexing above you. “Y-you feel so good, baby, ah– so fucking good,” he coos, stealing your mouth for a kiss.
He speeds up, rutting into you like he can’t handle any more time not cumming in you. And it feels good, for sure, but something about the fact he’s enjoying himself in you, his thick brows knitting together, teeth into his lip, makes it better. Jake looks at you then, and when he finds your wide, innocent eyes gazing up at him like that, his hips suddenly stutter to a slow and his arms falter. His chest tightens, caught off guard from how pretty you are.
You laugh, smacking his arm in amusement. He huffs an embarrassed chuckle, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Shit,” he murmurs against your skin, while your hands run through his hair, scratching his scalp gently. You hum, pressing a kiss on his hair while he holds you closer, sneaking an arm underneath you.
“That’s not fair,” he murmurs against you and you laugh again, softer and quieter. “You’re so perfect.” he whispers, peppering kisses all over your neck. Before you can respond, he pushes into you roughly again, a cracked moan slipping from your lips. You hit his arm for doing that, before squeezing it when pleasure comes back.
He straightens, finding his pace again as you breathe heavy, fisting the sheets behind you. Jake’s hands find your thighs again, pushing your legs back against the bed, stretching you out further. “Fuck, Jake–” you sob, and the name makes him pound into undeniably faster and rougher.
“Again, baby,” he sneaks a thumb against your clit, rubbing it to add into your pleasure, “Say it again, come on,”
You stretch out your arm, your palm pressing against his taut abs. He doesn’t stop, if not his movements become faster, fucking your pussy so aggressively you practically recoil back on his bed every thrust. He hisses at your warm touch, baring his teeth a wolfish grin. “J-Jake, fuck,” yeah fuck him, ‘cause how could someone be so sweaty and still look hot.
Jake adds more pressure, stroking circles on your clit. You practically wail, that knot starting to form and tighten in your core. His other hand presses on your lower abdomen and you feel it – a stimulation in your wall and obviously, his fucking cock bruising your cervix. He leans down, hovering over you closer. “You feel me, baby?” he whispers, pressing harder that you choke on your own moans.
You arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair, his thumb stimulating your pussy continuously. Each push of his hips starts bringing you closer to the edge, that knot tightening harder and hotter – the image itself is pornographic, with how powerful his pelvis wrecks into you.
“Jaeyun, I-I’m gonna –”
“Gonna b-breed this fucking pussy,” he murmurs, rutting harder, his thrusts getting sloppier and losing measure. He flashes you a grin again. “Will you let me, love? Let me cum i-inside – f-fuck –”
You nod, eager and urgent, letting your nails scratch down his back, making him wince in pain and pleasure. He pushes your hips before pulling it back, his own orgasm arriving.
“Jaeyun, p-please– ah–”, one final thrust has you milking him before he does, pussy clenching so tight as you grab his hair to ground yourself when your orgasm washes your vision white. He continues, pounding into you so deep, before Jake whimpers low and loud. You feel the thick white ropes spill into you, hot and full and sticky, hips stuttering. “Shit, b-baby, god– that’s so hot– baby, you’re so hot–”
He rides out the last of your pleasure before you pat his biceps to stop him from overstimulating your sensitive walls. Jake falls on top of you, weight pressing down on you before he could even stop it, muscles tensing before they relax.
You’re both breathless, mixed cum warm inside you and slowly oozing out. Neither of you move just yet, he’s holding you close, resting his forehead against your collarbone. You soothe his back, tracing the outlines of his muscles while you hum, helping each other out to come down from your high.
A few beats stretch out before you tap him, a tired smile on your lips as he musters back his own strength and straightens, his darkened gaze meeting yours when he gets on his hands again. His pupils are in the shapes of hearts, mouth pulled to a sheepish grin, face still flushed with heat and sweat.
Jake practically inhales you like it’s what will bring him back to reality. When he pulls back, he swallows, resting his forehead against yours. “J-just, let me catch my breath,” he huffs out a laugh then lies his head back down your chest.
He listens to the rhythm of your heartbeat, closing his eyes at the calming sounds of it. His cock still is very much inside you, softer than it used to be, twitching and you feel it.
After a few minutes or so, Jake starts shifting and you let him get up, releasing him from your embrace. He then slides out of you, hissing at the feeling, slick oozes out of your hole, but you don’t pay any mind anymore.
For a moment you're frightened, because he just lies there beside you, not touching you. You rethink again, once the high's gone and he's got his fill, whether this is just another bad decision you'll regret –
Until Jaeyun places his blanket around the both of you, arms wrapping around you underneath the weight of it. With your back pressed against his chest, he peppers soft and light kisses on your head, holding you tight. He's muttering sweet nothings that make up of praise and affections, although your mind is too hazy to comprehend any syllable.
His breathing finally steadies, finding himself comforted and grounded with you against him like this.
After 5 minutes, hand rubbing your belly, he calls your name. When you hum and turn to him, he studies your face for a second, eyes warm and attentive.
“Water?” he asks, voice hoarse.
You hum against his chest, voice small. “And chocolate.”
He nods. “Okay,” he says softly, like it’s the easiest decision in the world.
Jake rubs your back, soothing and gentle, pressing light kisses to your temple because he can't really afford to let you go yet. Pressing one long kiss on your forehead, he finally sighs and loosens. “Okay, I’ll go,” he whispers before slipping away, murmuring reassurance that he’ll come back immediately. He stumbles when he attempts to put his sweatpants on fast, making you giggle watching him.
He returns quickly with water and snacks. He settles back beside you, guiding the glass into your hands, watching as you drink like you're deserted dry. “Slow, baby,”
When you’re done, you both curl back into bed and he hands you a piece of chocolate to munch down on. Neither of you speaks for a while, the room quiet except for rustling of sheets, and your chewing.
Jake’s thumb traces lazy, soothing circles against your arm. You rest there together, warm and close, his cheek resting against the top of your head. “Okay,” he murmurs. Then, almost shyly, “Uh… in a bit, you’re gonna have to pee, yeah?”
You let out a small, tired sound, half a laugh. “Okay,” you whisper.
His hand keeps moving along your back, lazy, repetitive, like he might fall asleep doing it. There’s a beat of silence, then he speaks again, words blurring together in that half-awake honesty.
“Hey,” Jake murmurs again, thumb slowing where it traces your arm. His voice is quieter now, careful, shy again. “Was that… okay?”
You tilt your head slightly, enough to look up at him. His brows are knit just a little, not anxious, just attentive like he’s waiting for your answer to matter.
“Yeah,” you say with a smile, honest and warm. “It was amazing.”
He exhales, shoulders easing like he’d been holding that breath on purpose. “Okay,” he says, nodding once. Then, softer, “I just wanted to make sure.”
You shift closer, tucking yourself into him more fully. “You’re really sweet, you know that?”
He lets out a small laugh, embarrassed but pleased, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Only with you.”
His arms tighten around you – not confining, just secure in that way he's grounding himself against you too. He stays like that, no hurry to move, no agenda beyond keeping you comfortable, no plan other than staying right here with you.
You hum, already drifting while his hand still moves in those slow, steady circles. After a beat, he sighs softly and nuzzles your hair, tapping your forearm while sitting up. “Okay… bathroom time.”
He helps you shift gently, sliding an arm under your back while you get on your feet. “Easy,” he murmurs, careful.
Once you’re upright, he walks just behind you, steadying you with a hand lightly on your lower back. “Like a professional escort,” he jokes softly, voice low.
He takes you to his ensuite and you have to smack him again because he’s babying you, acting like you need this much help when in reality, he just wants to stay close. “I can sit on the fucking toilet on my own, Jaeyun.” you laugh in disbelief and amusement.
He frowns but follows through, leaning against the doorframe while you pee. Once you’re done, you two head back, one hand still on the small of your back. He takes his shirt, one too big for your frame, and slides it on you. He also helps you into your panties because your legs are still worn.
"I love you." he whispers, not from post-sex haze, but because it's you. You smile and say it back.
Back in his bed and in his shirt and in his arms – everything that makes this entirely his, you melt into it remembering,
You're not his.
And to Jake, the 4 seconds of silence before you said it back hurts like fucking hell.
Tip #11: Refuse to be simplified.
Nothing about Jake is suddenly different.
He’s always been around – always walking you to class, always waiting. He’s somehow at every corner, leaning against the doorway of your lecture hall when you exit, waiting outside the library when you need to grab a book, showing up at the cafeteria exactly when you do. But now, there’s touches intertwined with them. Fingers immediately finding yours in the hallway, shoulder nudges to tease, quick kisses pressed to your temple or hair.
In your dorm, it’s worse than it is outside. Not all moments or hang-outs transition to heat, sometimes he crashes over just to lie on your lap and sleep there, or he helps you out with laundry and folds your clothes with you. But of course, there are moments when a kiss brushes your lips before you’re even fully aware. Your fingers trace his jawline, catch his shirt, pull him closer, and suddenly he’s already in between your legs, pounding into you recklessly. After your first time, he insisted he’ll use condoms instead, you respond with a pout.
At the last stretch of the first semester’s finals, it’s hectic. Every single day is packed with tests, essays, group reports – sometimes they share the same due date and you try not to collapse under it all. It’s not easy, but you feel that you have some kind of cheat code to steer away from chaos.
Jake finds a way to meet up when the schedule’s too tight for anything else. A text ping between classes: coffee. 5 minutes. i’ll be outside. He shows up just when you need a break, just when the stress is too much to carry alone, he makes sure you know he’s there.
Even if it’s just ten minutes, even if it’s a rushed chocolate handoff, even if it’s just to hold you for 5 minutes – they’re all enough. Enough to feel like he’s keeping the storm at bay, like you’re not drowning in deadlines because he’s always there, tethering you to sanity with soft touches, stolen kisses, and the reassurance that no matter how chaotic, he’ll always find you.
No more begging for time and counting minutes. Now, time finds you both without asking, offered freely and instinctively because he tries.
He plans around you without making it feel like effort, he adjusts his pace to match yours.
There was one week specifically that was busier than any other, all subjects demanded something for their final submissions and the over-achiever in you always had to give everything. Jake says you’re over-stressing and overworking, that you’re going way too hard on yourself even when you didn’t have to. You also did try brushing him off, that this was okay. He brushed you off by unexpectedly coming over and relieving you off your tasks, and you unexpectedly broke down into tears in his arms. After that, once you’re refreshed, he helps with productivity which he doesn’t rush, just eases you into slowly.
You find your rhythm again and lo and behold, your hardwork and efforts have been greatly rewarded with an A that you practically smell the 3.8 gpa coming your way.
And to graciously show your appreciation to his thoughtfulness towards you, you ride him. Jake’s a gentleman as he is kind, but he’s also just some guy. Simple, knows-what-he-wants guy. So sometimes, it’s a gentle switch from kissing to sex on the bed with a pillow under your hips. There are times where he doesn’t even take off your shirt and slip off your underwear and he fucks you from the back while you’re brushing your teeth. Or cooking. He seems to find you in a domestic state completely fuckable and hot. Sometimes it’s in the shower and he spends half the time kissing you and eating you out under the running water than actually cleaning up.
Very, very clingy. Kisses your forehead suddenly, presses some on your knuckles, hands on your breasts and nipples when you’re spooning in your sleep, then later when he’s really stressed with engineering he practically urges you on your knees and slips his cock down your throat.
It’s a duality you don’t mind, obviously. But sometimes you’re caught in surprise just how strong this man’s sex drive is.
He keeps a stack of your clothes in his closet, though he insisted you grab a pile from your dorm. He quite literally bought you clothes specifically for his own place so you don’t keep going back. And in no time, your belongings have infiltrated his entire place; half his closet was yours, the sink’s cluttered with your cosmetics and skincare products with his one single cleanser and toothbrush in a quiet corner. And the bed, of course, where he fights for space because your plushies also had their own. He doesn’t mind it – he loves it actually, the constant epiphany when you walk around his place in nothing but his shirt that yeah, this is his life now, being colonized by your over-the-top possessions.
One night, he comes home kinda late and finds you curled up in his bed, laptop balanced on your thighs, his shirt slipping off one shoulder. For a moment, he just watches. You call him a creep and you throw a pillow at him, but he sneaks in between your legs and takes your clothes off and fucks you in the same minute.
There’s no conversation about moving in. He just presses a kiss into your hair and murmurs, half-amused, half-awed, “You know you basically live here, right?”
Normally, ambiguity didn’t bother him. Jake was built for uncertainty in the academic sense – he lived in probabilities and margins of error. He trusted that if you applied enough rigor, enough time, the answer would eventually reveal itself. Variables could be isolated and noise could be filtered out. Systems, no matter how complex, always collapsed into something legible if you were patient enough.
People, however, were not systems.
You were not something he could model without interference or reduce into inputs and outputs without losing the essence of you. And yet, that was exactly what he did – slotting you into his life with the same quiet efficiency he applied to everything else. You were there when he woke up, there when he came home, there when his brain finally shut down.
And he had also followed through, coming over to your own place and integrating his dominion over your space – his deodorant, some hot wheels he forgot to take home, clothes you both can wear, and sweatpants when you accidentally cum on his pants. Yeah, the setup was nice, but even if ambiguity was something he thoroughly enjoyed exploring in the world of science; you’re not science.
He can’t treat your relationship like a margin of error he can back up from and retry again when shit’s messy – that’s never his intention with you, and he does regret that faulty.
You’re not his girlfriend.
You’re not not his girlfriend.
When the grocery cashier comments how much of a lovely couple you two are, you laugh that sweet laugh he loves, until you say, "he's not my boyfriend" and he tries not to die from a heart attack.
Jake feels sick.
Tip #12: Remember how you got him.
Jake hates it. Didn't realize how bad it actually fucking sounded when it comes from you saying that no, you're not dating, he's not your boyfriend, that you might as well cut his dick and shove it between his lungs.
He spends the weekend in your apartment as some unnamed lover. You both settle with ordering takeout for dinner after much negotiating where to order.
The movie keeps playing, something you just randomly chose to pass time. Snow taps faintly against the window, Jake’s fingers tracing absent-mindedly on your thigh. You’re also in the middle of your face mask when his phone dings, then he says he’ll get the food.
He takes a while. You hear the door first – the soft click of the lock, the familiar drag of his shoes against the floor – and you’re halfway through complaining about how long it took when he appears in the doorway.
With a bouquet of your favorite flowers. And a big, obscenely plush bunny tucked under his arm. And an envelope pinched between his fingers like it’s nothing.
You blink, lips part, jaw slack, completely frozen with a dumb hydrating mask on your face.
“Uh,” Jake says, shifting the bunny like it’s inconveniently large and like he doesn’t understand what this means. “So.” He frowns slightly, then jerks his thumb back toward the hall. “I think the delivery guy is flirting with you.”
You stare at him, still in the middle of processing the sight and reeling back in from the shock of everything. You're in the middle of trying to understand what the fuck this is. “Jaeyun.”
“What?” he says, defensive. “I’m just saying.”
You’re still trying to understand the fact that there is a bouquet and a giant bunny and an envelope in your bedroom when he walks closer and hands you the letter like it’s a receipt he forgot to give you earlier. Like a delivery guy, that’s what he is.
“Anyway,” he adds, too casual. “This is yours.”
You look from the letter to him, still completely confused and startled, handing you the bouquet and bunny next like it’s just something he found in the mailbox. “You’re not even going to explain?”
He shrugs, lips twitching. “Explain what?”
“The –” You gesture vaguely at everything. “All of this.”
He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Delivery guy must’ve felt bad.”
You kick his knee and he laughs. “You’re such a liar!”
You stare at him for a couple of more seconds, biting down your bottom lip from a wide smile. You feel giddy and excited and astonished and hydrated.
Is this it.
Is this the moment you're finally going to rid the expired not-dating label.
"Tell me what this is, dork!" you're being mean because you're skittish, but he loves it, loves how you're mean sometimes.
"I don't fucking know, baby!" he laughs, still pretending before he leans in and presses kisses on your thighs. "Fuck I know why the delivery guy is flirting with you."
You open the envelope immediately and Jake suddenly finds the floor very interesting. He watches you from the corner of his eye, pretending not to, pretending this isn’t a big deal, pretending his heart isn’t doing something stupid and loud.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
dec 1
You and I have never been simple. We never moved in straight lines or clean timelines, and there were breaks and overlaps and wrong timing and a lot of moments where we probably should’ve stopped and didn’t.
You were never simple. You were a really really complicated interpretation.
We’ve tried being nothing. We’ve tried pretending. We’ve tried acting like what we do doesn’t mean what it obviously does. And every time, we end up right back here. I always find myself coming back to you.
I also really hate getting denied at the grocery cashier.
So… can I be this complicated girl’s boyfriend again?
– Jaeyun
━━━━━
When you finish, you don’t say anything right away. You look at him then, at the way he’s trying so hard not to make this a thing while making it very much a thing. At how he stands there like he’s bracing for rejection even though he already knows you’re not going anywhere, not with that face mask you’re not.
Jake shifts. “So… food’s getting cold.”
You throw the face mask away, a wide smile on your face as you tug the end of his shirt. “Come here,” you say.
He doesn’t hesitate. He’s already leaning over you in between your legs, and then he kisses you slowly. It’s warm and nice and romantic and when he pulls away, he’s smiling like he’s in heaven on earth. It just so happens to be right here, right next to you.
You knew it’d come around, this thing called love that comes crashing down.
“So,” he murmurs. “Still think the delivery guy was flirting?”
You smile, playing with his hair. “Yeah.”
Jake sighs, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”
Then he leans in again but before you can kiss him, he stops.
"So is that a yes?" he knits his brows.
You laugh, smacking his arm with no real effort before you smooth over the muscle there, then sensually down to the veins leading down his wrist. He clears his throat and presses closer, pelvis against your ass.
"I don't know," you drag the last syllable to tease him and he groans.
He ducks down, nose brushing yours. "Fuck, baby," he whines. When he kisses you again he totally forgets the food waiting outside.
Guess getting your ex back 101 did work, then? Real genius.
-ˋˏ⚘ genre: neighbors to lovers · single dad au · fluff · angst · smut · found family · slow burn
-ˋˏ⚘ summary: You have lived in apartment 3B for two years. You know your neighbors the way you know background characters — familiar, unremarkable, just part of the scenery. Which is why it’s strange that you’ve never properly noticed the man in 3A. Until 6:58 on a Tuesday morning when someone knocks on your door and you open it to find not him, but her. Small. Round-cheeked. Duck pajamas. Absolutely certain of herself. You fall for his daughter first. Jake is just the complication that comes after. But god, what a complication.
-ˋˏ⚘ word count: 21.1k
-ˋˏ⚘ content warnings: explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, oral sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, praise kink, soft dom/sub undertones, strong language, single parent theme, child abandonment (mother leaving), brief parental guilt, an absent parent reappearing, emotional manipulation attempt, jealousy, mention of custody, legal procedure, alcohol, crying, found family theme, a toddler who will ruin your life in the best way
-ˋˏ⚘ song: You Are The Best Thing by Ray LaMontage
-ˋˏ⚘ authors note: i started this fic because i wanted to write a soft single dad jake but the mia took over everything, she was supposed to be a supporting character but how can i make someone that cute not a main. she picked reader first and she always knew and i think that’s the whole story. jake deserved softness. reader deserved to be chosen. mia deserved a mama who showed up. everyone got what they deserved. if you’re reading this — thank you. comments, reblogs, feedback and likes keep me writing and i am so serious about that. enjoy💛
-ˋˏ⚘ my masterlist
You have lived in Apartment 3B of Wattle Grove Building for two years. You know Mrs. Kim in 1A leaves her recycling out on the wrong day every single week without fail. You know the guy in 2C plays guitar badly but enthusiastically every Sunday morning. You know the building super Danny will fix anything you need as long as you leave a coffee outside your door first.
You know your neighbors the way you know background characters in a movie you’ve seen too many times. Familiar. Unremarkable. Just part of the scenery.
Which is why it’s strange that you’ve never properly noticed the man in 3A. You’ve seen him, obviously. In passing. At the mailboxes. Once in the car park when you were both leaving at the same time and did that awkward thing where you both reached for the door simultaneously and then laughed and said sorry at the same time. He’s tall. Dark hair. Has a nice face in the vague way that you register nice faces without really looking at them.
He moved in about eight months ago. Keeps to himself. Quiet. You’ve never heard a peep through the wall you share, which you appreciate deeply after two years of listening to the previous tenant’s aggressive taste in late night television. You know his name is Jake because it’s on the mailbox.
That’s it. That’s the extent of your knowledge of the man in 3A. Until 6:58 on a Tuesday morning when someone knocks on your door.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
You are not a morning person. You are, in fact, the opposite of a morning person. You are someone who sets four alarms and ignores three of them and considers getting out of bed before eight a personal attack. Your first class doesn’t start until ten. You were planning to sleep until at least eight thirty, mainline coffee until nine, and leave with approximately four minutes to spare.
So when someone knocks on your door at 6:58 AM you lie there for a full thirty seconds convincing yourself you imagined it. Then it happens again. Small. Rhythmic. Insistent. knock knock knock
You groan into your pillow. Drag yourself upright. Pull on the hoodie hanging off your desk chair and shuffle to the door, hair catastrophic, eyes barely open, prepared to be deeply unpleasant to whoever is on the other side.
You open the door. There is no one there. You blink. Look left. Look right. The hallway is empty and quiet and— “Hi.”
You look down. There is a child sitting on the floor outside your door. She is approximately three years old, round-cheeked and bright-eyed, wearing a yellow pajama set covered in tiny ducks. Her dark hair is escaping from two lopsided pigtails. She has a serious expression on her face like she has somewhere important to be and is merely pausing here briefly.
She is, without any competition, the most adorable thing you have ever seen in your entire life. You stare at her. She stares back. “Hi,” she says again, very patient, like she’s giving you time to catch up.
“Hi,” you manage. “Um. Who are you?”
She considers this question with great seriousness. “Mia.”
“Okay. Hi Mia.” You look up and down the empty hallway again. “Where did you come from?” She points at the door directly across from yours. 3A. “Are you—” You crouch down to her level. “Did you come out of your apartment by yourself?”
“Mr. Bunny is lost,” she explains, as if this answers everything. And apparently, in her world, it does. She stands up, remarkably steady on her feet for someone so small, and peers past you into your apartment with undisguised curiosity. “Is he in there?”
“Is who— Mr. Bunny? I don’t think so, sweetheart. I haven’t seen any—”
“Can I look?”
“I— well—” She’s already walking past you into your apartment.
You stand in your doorway, blinking slowly, watching a three year old you have never met toddle into your living room and start investigating with the focused energy of a tiny detective. She checks under the coffee table. Behind the couch cushions. She picks up one of your throw pillows, examines it, puts it back. “He’s not here,” she announces, sounding genuinely disappointed.
“I’m sorry.” You’re fully awake now, adrenaline doing what four alarms couldn’t. “Mia, does your dad know where you are?”
She looks at you. Blinks. And then, for the first time, something flickers across her face that isn’t complete confidence. Something small and uncertain. “Daddy’s sleeping,” she says quietly.
Oh no. Oh no.
“Okay,” you say, very carefully, going into full calm adult mode even though internally you are having a minor crisis. “Okay, that’s okay. Let’s go wake daddy up, yeah?”
You take her hand — she gives it to you immediately, tiny fingers wrapping around yours with complete trust, and something in your chest does something weird and unexpected — and you walk her across the hall to 3A.
You knock. Nothing. You knock louder. A crash. Muffled swearing. Footsteps. The door flies open.
Jake Sim, your neighbor from 3A, looks absolutely terrible. He’s in gray sweatpants and no shirt, hair destroyed, eyes wild with the specific panic of a parent who has woken up to find their child missing. There’s a pillow crease down his left cheek. He looks like a man who has just experienced the worst thirty seconds of his life.
He looks down at Mia standing beside you, her hand still in yours, looking up at him with the expression of someone who has done absolutely nothing wrong. The relief that crosses his face is so profound it’s almost painful to witness. “Mia.” His voice comes out wrecked. He drops to his knees right there in the doorway, gathering her up, holding her against his chest. She pats his back tolerantly. “Mia, I— you can’t— how did you—”
“I was looking for Mr. Bunny,” she explains into his shoulder, very reasonable.
“You can’t leave the apartment by yourself, baby, I’ve told you—”
“But Mr. Bunny—”
“I don’t care about Mr. Bunny right now—”
“Daddy.” She pulls back to look at him, deeply offended. “Mr. Bunny cares.”
You press your lips together very hard to keep from smiling. Jake looks up at you over Mia’s head, and he looks so mortified you almost feel sorry for him. Almost. It would be easier to feel sorry for him if he didn’t look — even rumpled and panicked and creased from sleep — really quite unfairly attractive. You file that observation away to examine later, when a child is not present.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m so, so sorry, she’s never done this before, I don’t know how she got the door open—”
“She knocked,” you tell him. “Very politely.”
He closes his eyes briefly. “Oh god.”
“I used my reaching stool,” Mia informs him helpfully. “For the handle.”
“We’re getting rid of the reaching stool,” Jake tells her.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Daddy, no—”
“Mia.” He pulls back to look at her properly, and his voice goes soft but serious. “You scared me. Really scared me, okay? You cannot leave without waking me up first. Ever. Do you understand?”
She looks at him. Her lip wobbles, just slightly. “I just wanted Mr. Bunny.”
“I know, baby.” He pulls her back in, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I know. But you have to wake me up. Promise me.”
“Promise,” she mumbles into his neck.
He holds her for another moment, and you feel like you’re witnessing something private. Something that belongs to them. You take a small step back. “I’ll let you—”
“Wait.” Jake stands, Mia on his hip, and looks at you with an expression that’s somehow equal parts exhausted and sincere. “I really am sorry. And thank you. Genuinely, thank you for— I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if she’d gone downstairs instead of just across the hall.”
“She was perfectly safe,” you say. “She was very focused on her investigation.”
“Mr. Bunny is lost,” Mia reminds both of you gravely.
“We’ll find him,” Jake tells her. Then to you: “I’m Jake, by the way. Since apparently we’ve been neighbors for eight months and I’ve never actually introduced myself, which is—”
“Terrible,” you supply.
“Yeah.” He winces. “Yeah, it really is. I’m sorry about that too.”
“Y/N,” you tell him. “3B.”
“I know. I’ve seen your name on the mailbox.” He shifts Mia on his hip. She has turned to look at you with renewed interest, the Mr. Bunny crisis temporarily suspended. “I kept meaning to knock and introduce myself properly but then time just—”
“It does that,” you agree.
He smiles. It’s a tired smile, still coming down from the panic, but it’s genuine. It does something to his face that you also file away for later. Mia is still staring at you. “You have pretty hair,” she announces.
“Mia—” Jake starts.
“Thank you,” you tell her seriously. “Yours is very pretty too.”
She reaches up and touches one of her lopsided pigtails, considering. “Daddy did it,” she says, with the tone of someone being very diplomatic about a disappointing situation.
You look at Jake. He looks back at you. The pigtails are genuinely quite bad. “I’m working on it,” he says.
“We could—” You stop yourself. You don’t even know this man. You’ve spoken to him for approximately four minutes. “Never mind.”
“No, what?”
“I was just going to say I could show you. If you wanted. It’s not— it’s easy once you know the trick.” You gesture vaguely. “But you probably have things to—”
“I would love that,” Jake says immediately. “Genuinely. Every morning is a disaster. She came home from daycare last week and her teacher had written a note that said ‘we love Mia’s creative hairstyles’ and I’m pretty sure that was a polite way of saying—”
“Daddy can’t do hair,” Mia explains to you, very straightforward.
“I cannot do hair,” Jake confirms.
You laugh. Actually laugh, fully awake now, standing in the hallway at seven in the morning in your old hoodie with your own hair catastrophic, and it surprises you a little. How easy it is. How natural. “Come over tomorrow morning,” you find yourself saying. “Before daycare. I’ll show you a couple of things.”
Jake looks at you like you’ve offered him something much more significant than a hair tutorial. “You don’t have to—”
“I know.” You crouch down to Mia’s level. “I hope you find Mr. Bunny.”
She studies you with those serious dark eyes. Then she reaches out and puts her small hand on your cheek, very gentle, the way toddlers sometimes do when they’re deciding something important about you. “You’re nice,” she declares.
“So are you,” you tell her. She nods, satisfied, like this has confirmed something she already suspected.
Then she tucks her face back into Jake’s neck, done with the interaction, and Jake gives you a helpless sort of smile over her head. “Thank you,” he says again. “Really.”
“Anytime.” You stand up and take a step back toward your own door. “And Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe put a chain lock on. Up high. Before tonight.”
He looks at the door. Looks at Mia. Looks back at you with the expression of a man who has just realized how many things there are to think about when you’re doing this alone. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, good call.”
You don’t go back to sleep. You make coffee and sit on your couch and think about the way Mia put her hand on your cheek like she was taking your measure. The way she gave you her hand without hesitating, tiny fingers trusting yours completely.
The way Jake held her when he found her safe. Like she was the most important thing in the world, which she obviously was, which was obvious in every single line of his body.
You think about his apartment, which you caught a glimpse of through the open door. The small pair of shoes by the entrance. The sticker on the light switch at toddler height. The general chaos of someone who is managing, but only just. You think about the note from the daycare teacher and the terrible pigtails and the way he said I’m working on it without a single drop of self pity.
You finish your coffee. Make another one. You have a feeling that next door is going to become a lot more complicated than background noise and a name on a mailbox.
You’re not sure yet if that’s a good thing. But when you close your eyes you can still feel the ghost of small fingers wrapped around yours and you think— yeah. Yeah, you’re probably already in trouble.
Mr. Bunny turns up two days later. He is in the freezer. Neither Jake nor Mia can explain how he got there.
You laugh about it for five minutes straight when Jake texts you, and then you look at your phone and realize you’ve been texting your neighbor for two days like it’s completely normal and you’ve known him for years. You put your phone down. Pick it up again. Type back: at least he’s preserved.
Jake sends back a string of crying laughing emojis and then: Mia wants me to tell you that Mr. Bunny says thank you for looking for him
You smile so hard your face hurts. You are, you realize, completely and utterly done for. And you haven’t even properly met him yet.
The hair tutorial happens on Wednesday morning. You hear them before you see them — Mia’s voice carrying clearly through the wall at seven fifteen, a stream of cheerful commentary about something, Jake’s lower voice responding, the particular domestic chaos of someone trying to get a toddler ready for daycare on a schedule. Then a knock at your door.
You open it to find Jake holding Mia like a football under one arm, a hairbrush in his free hand, and the expression of a man who has already lost this morning’s battle comprehensively.
Mia is upside down and completely unbothered. “Hi,” she says, from her inverted position.
“Hi,” you say. You step back and open the door wider. “Come in.”
They troop inside, Jake setting Mia down on her feet in your living room where she immediately begins a thorough reinvestigation of the space, picking up where she left off two days ago. She examines your bookshelf. Touches the small succulent on your windowsill very gently with one finger. “Plant,” she observes.
“His name is Gerald,” you tell her.
She looks at you. Looks at Gerald. Looks back at you with the gravity of someone receiving important information. “Hi Gerald,” she says politely. Jake makes a sound that might be him trying not to laugh.
“Okay.” You take the hairbrush from him. “Sit her up on the couch and I’ll show you.”
What follows is twenty minutes that you will think about for the rest of the week for reasons you can’t entirely explain.
Mia sits between your knees on the couch, remarkably patient once she’s settled, holding Gerald the succulent in her lap because she asked and you said yes and Jake gave you a look that suggested he has learned to pick his battles. You work through her hair slowly, showing Jake each step — how to section it, how to hold the hair so it doesn’t pull, how to make the pigtails sit even.
He watches with the focused attention of someone who is genuinely trying to learn this. Not just nodding along but asking questions, asking you to slow down, watching your hands. At one point he leans in close to see what you’re doing and you’re very aware of how near he is and the fact that he smells like clean laundry and something warm underneath.
You focus on Mia’s hair. “The trick,” you tell him, “is that you do both sides before you tie either one off. Otherwise the first one pulls when you do the second.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing wrong,” he says. He sounds genuinely relieved, like you’ve solved something that’s been bothering him for months. Which, apparently, you have. “I couldn’t work out why they always went lopsided.”
“They were very lopsided,” Mia agrees pleasantly.
“Thanks, Mia.”
“You’re welcome, Daddy.”
You finish, tying off the second pigtail with the elastic, and smooth a hand over her hair. Perfect and even and neat. She reaches up and touches them carefully. “Pretty?” she asks.
“Very pretty,” you confirm.
She twists to look up at you, satisfied. Then she holds Gerald out. “You can have him back.”
“Thank you for taking care of him.”
“He was scared,” she explains seriously. “He doesn’t know me yet.” She places him very carefully back on the windowsill, patting the pot once. “It’s okay Gerald. I’m nice.”
Jake is watching his daughter with this expression — quiet and soft and a little undone at the edges — and when he catches you looking at him he clears his throat and looks away. Picks up the hairbrush from the cushion beside him. “Right,” he says. “We should get going. Daycare at eight.”
“Nooooo,” Mia says, without any real conviction. She’s already moving toward the door with the pragmatic acceptance of someone who knows the schedule.
“Thank you,” Jake says to you. He means it. You can tell he means it in that way where the words are bigger than they sound. “Seriously. This was—”
“It’s just pigtails.”
“It’s not just—” He stops. Starts again. “She talks about you. Since Tuesday. You’re the pretty lady from across the hall.”
Your face warms. “That’s very generous of her.”
“She’s got good taste.” He says it simply, matter of fact, and then looks slightly like he didn’t mean to say it quite like that. “I mean— she’s a good judge of character. Generally.”
“Y/N,” Mia calls from the doorway where she is putting her shoes on the wrong feet with great confidence.
“Yeah?”
She looks up at you. “Will you be here tomorrow?”
Something squeezes in your chest. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”
She nods, satisfied, like this is settled. Like you have made a commitment and she is holding you to it. Then she holds her foot up at Jake. “Daddy. Shoes.”
Jake crouches down to fix them, and you lean against your doorframe and watch, and you think about what Liv said to you once about knowing when something is going to change your life. How you can feel it sometimes. The specific weight of a moment that’s about to matter.
You feel it now, watching Jake tie his daughter’s shoes in your doorway at seven forty in the morning while she holds your door handle for balance and hums something tuneless to herself. You feel it, and you file it away with everything else, and you tell yourself it’s too early for any of this and you need coffee.
You leave cookies outside 3A that afternoon. You don’t examine why. You made a batch because you were stress baking about an assignment and you made too many and they were just sitting there and Jake mentioned once — in the mailbox, months ago, one of those nothing conversations you’d forgotten until now — that Mia liked anything with chocolate.
You leave them outside the door in a container with a post it note that says for Mia (and you, if you want) and then you go back inside and finish your assignment and don’t think about it.
At nine fifteen that night your phone buzzes: jake 3a: she ate four before I could stop her and is now absolutely feral and won’t sleep. I’m blaming you
You grin at your phone. you: that’s fair
jake 3a: they were really good though like genuinely really good. Did you make them from scratch?
you: yes
jake 3a: of course you did
jake 3a: I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means, that came out weird. I just mean they were better than anything I could make. I’m a terrible baker.
you: how terrible?
jake 3a: I made Mia a birthday cake in August and it came out flat and she cried
you: oh no
jake 3a: not because of the cake. She thought it was funny. She cried laughing. It was actually one of the best moments of my life which probably tells you everything about my standards right now
You’re smiling at your phone like an idiot. you: I’ll make the cake next time. You send it before you’ve fully decided to, and then stare at it. It’s October. You’ve just committed to being in this man’s life until at least next August.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. jake 3a: you really don’t have to
you: I want to. she told Gerald not to be scared because she was nice. I feel like she deserves a good birthday cake.
jake 3a: yeah she really does
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
The drawing appears under your door on Thursday morning. You almost step on it when you come out of your bedroom, a folded piece of paper on your doormat. You pick it up and unfold it and find a crayon drawing — several figures of varying heights and proportions, all labeled in Jake’s handwriting because Mia clearly directed and he transcribed.
Mia. Daddy. Gerald. Mr Bunny. And then, on the end, slightly larger than the others, with yellow crayon hair: Y/N. She’s drawn you into her family portrait.
You stand in your kitchen holding a crayon drawing with yellow-haired you standing next to a rectangle that is apparently Gerald and you feel something crack open in your chest so softly and so completely that you have to sit down.
You take a photo of it. You put the original on your fridge. You text Jake a photo of it on the fridge and he doesn’t respond for ten minutes and when he does it just says: jake 3a: she worked on it for an hour last night
jake 3a: kept starting over because she wanted to get your hair right
You stare at that message for a long time. you: tell her I love it
jake 3a: she’s going to lose her mind. also she asked if you want to come to the park with us Saturday
Three dots. Then: jake 3a: I want that too, for what it’s worth. If you’re free.
You look at the drawing on your fridge. Yellow-haired you, standing in a row with Mia and Daddy and Gerald and Mr. Bunny like you’ve always been there. you: I’m free Saturday
Saturday at the park is easy in a way that surprises you. You’d half expected it to be awkward — the three of you, still essentially strangers, trying to fill silence in an open space. But Mia eliminates the possibility of silence entirely. She has opinions about the swings (good), the slide (excellent, requires multiple repetitions), and the ducks by the small pond at the park’s edge (deeply suspicious, do not approach).
“They’re just ducks,” Jake tells her.
“They’re watching,” she says.
“They’re not watching.”
“Daddy.” She gives him a very patient look. “They are watching.”
Jake looks at you. You shrug. “They do look pretty focused,” you offer.
He points at you. “Don’t encourage her.”
Mia takes your hand and pulls you toward the swings, away from the ducks and away from Jake’s protests, and you go because she’s three and determined and her hand is in yours and you’ve decided that’s reason enough for basically anything at this point.
You push her on the swings while Jake sits on the bench nearby, and you watch him watching the two of you. He has his elbows on his knees and his face is open in a way you’re starting to learn is rare for him — in a crowd or with strangers he goes carefully neutral, pleasant but contained. But here, watching Mia go higher and higher and shriek with delight, he looks unguarded. Younger, somehow. Like something in him relaxes when it’s just the three of you. “Higher!” Mia demands.
“You’re already very high,” you tell her.
“Higher.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Please.”
“Nice try.”
She cackles. Pure delighted toddler sound, head thrown back. And you find yourself laughing too, pushing her at this very reasonable height, and when you look over at Jake he’s smiling at you with an expression you don’t quite have a name for yet. You look away first.
After the swings, Mia finds a stick, which becomes the most important object in the world for the next twenty minutes. She examines rocks. She makes Jake carry her on his shoulders. She falls asleep on the walk home with her cheek on his head and one fist clutching his jacket, completely unconscious, utterly trusting.
Jake walks carefully, holding her legs, talking to you in a low voice so he doesn’t wake her. “She doesn’t do this with many people,” he says.
“Fall asleep?”
“Trust people.” He adjusts his grip on her. “She’s friendly, obviously, she’ll talk to anyone. But she doesn’t— she doesn’t hold hands with people she doesn’t know. She doesn’t draw people.” He pauses. “She drew you in four days.”
You don’t know what to say to that. So you say, “she’s special.”
“Yeah.” His voice is quiet. “She really is.”
You walk in silence for a moment, the easy kind. “How long has it been?” you ask. “Just the two of you.”
He doesn’t tense the way you half expect him to. Just exhales, slow and steady. “Since she was four months old. Her mom left.” He says it flat, without bitterness, which somehow makes it worse. Like he’s had a long time to practice saying it that way. “Just— left. Packed a bag while I was at work. By the time I got home it was just us.”
“Jake—”
“It’s fine now.” He glances at you sideways. “It wasn’t, for a long time. But it’s fine now. It’s good, actually. It’s really good.” He looks up at Mia’s sleeping face. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I didn’t know it was possible to love someone this much.”
You look at him. At the way he holds her. At the careful tenderness of it. “She knows,” you say softly. He looks at you. “That she’s loved like that. You can tell.” You hold his gaze. “She knows.”
Something moves through his expression. Quick and unguarded and gone before you can name it. “Thanks,” he says quietly.
You walk the rest of the way home in comfortable silence, Mia asleep above you, the afternoon sun going golden through the trees lining the street. It is, you think, a very good Saturday.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
It becomes a routine without either of you deciding it should. Wednesday mornings, Jake knocks with the hairbrush. You do Mia’s hair while she holds Gerald and narrates her thoughts about the day ahead. Jake makes coffee in your kitchen like he knows where everything is, which after three weeks he does.
Saturdays are the park, or the farmers market two streets over, or just the three of you on one of your balconies eating whatever Jake has cooked because it turns out that while he cannot bake to save his life he is an genuinely excellent cook and he seems to enjoy having someone to cook for.
Evenings sometimes, when Mia’s in bed and Jake knocks quietly and you sit on his couch and watch something and talk about nothing in particular until one of you falls asleep.
It is domestic and soft and easy. It is also, you are increasingly aware, becoming something that would hurt to lose.
Mia calls you her Y/N now. Not just Y/N. Her Y/N, possessive and certain, the way she says her daddy and her Mr. Bunny and her Gerald. You are hers in her taxonomy of the world and the certainty of it does something to your chest every single time.
She tells the woman at the bakery you buy her the jam scroll she likes every Saturday. She tells a child at the park. She tells Mrs. Kim from 1A who coos and looks between you and Jake with an expression that makes Jake find something fascinating to look at on the middle distance.
You’re folding laundry in your apartment on a Thursday evening, three weeks in, when Jake knocks. You open the door. He’s holding two containers of leftover pasta, still warm. He holds one out. “Made too much,” he says.
You take it. Step back to let him in. This is how it goes now. “Mia asleep?” you ask.
“Out cold. She had daycare and then apparently spent an hour reorganizing her stuffed animals by color.” He sits on your couch. “It took everything she had.”
You sit beside him, open the pasta. It’s good — it’s always good. “Did the reorganization meet her standards?”
“She made me come and approve it before bed.” He pauses. “Mr. Bunny is in the orange section even though he’s gray.”
“He has warm undertones,” you say seriously.
Jake looks at you. Starts laughing. Not the polite laugh of someone being friendly but the real one, the one that takes over his whole face, and you’ve been cataloguing that laugh for weeks now, the way it comes out surprised sometimes like he forgot he was allowed to do it.
You’re laughing too, both of you over toddler stuffed animal color theory at eight PM with pasta containers in your laps, and when the laughter settles it leaves something warm and quiet in its place.
Jake is looking at you. Not the quick sideways glances you’ve been trading for weeks. Really looking, steady and open, and you feel it the way you feel a change in weather. The pressure of it. The way the air shifts. “Y/N,” he says.
“Yeah?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks down at his pasta container, turning it in his hands. “Nothing. Never mind. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
He looks at you again and this time he doesn’t look away. “I really like spending time with you.”
You hold his gaze. “I really like spending time with you too.”
“I haven’t—” He exhales. “I haven’t wanted to spend time with someone like this in a long time. Maybe ever. And I don’t know what to do with that.”
The honesty of it lands softly. No performance, no deflection. Just him, telling you the truth. “I don’t either,” you say. “But I don’t think I want to stop.”
He looks at you for a long moment. Then he leans in, slow and deliberate, giving you every opportunity to pull back. You don’t pull back.
His mouth finds yours, gentle at first, questioning, and then you lean into it and it stops being a question. It’s warm and unhurried and it tastes like the pasta and something underneath that is just him, and when you finally break apart you’re both quiet, foreheads almost touching.
“Okay,” he says softly.
“Okay,” you agree.
He pulls back just slightly. His expression is open and a little nervous and more serious than the moment requires, or maybe exactly as serious as it requires. “I need to say something,” he says.
“Okay.”
“If we—” He pauses, choosing his words. “Whatever this is. Whatever it becomes. Mia comes first. Always. That’s non negotiable for me. I need you to know that going in.”
You look at him. At the set of his jaw, the quiet certainty in his eyes. A man who has built his whole life around a three year old with lopsided pigtails and a stuffed rabbit and absolute confidence in the people she decides are hers. “Jake,” you say.
“Yeah.”
“I know.” You hold his gaze. “I love her. She’s— she put her hand on my face the first morning and I was gone. I was completely gone.” You shake your head a little. “I think I fell for her before I even fell for you.”
Something moves across his face. Deep and quiet and undone.“Yeah?” he says, and his voice is rough at the edges.
“Yeah.” He kisses you again. Softer this time. Like something has been settled, like the last lock has clicked open. His hand comes up to cup your jaw and you lean into it and outside the window the city is doing whatever cities do at eight o’clock on a Thursday and in here it is warm and quiet and it feels, very specifically, like the beginning of something.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
The first time Mia is at the babysitter’s overnight, it’s an accident.
Not the overnight part — that’s planned. Sandy, Mia’s regular babysitter three streets over, has been asking for weeks if she can have Mia for a sleepover because her own grandchildren are visiting and Mia and the youngest, a boy named Theo, have formed the specific intense friendship that only exists between toddlers who have decided they are best friends after forty five minutes together at a playground.
Jake agrees because Mia asks with her whole body, bouncing on her toes, and because Sandy has been his lifeline for two and a half years and he trusts her completely. What’s accidental is what happens after.
He drops Mia off at four on a Friday afternoon. You’re not there — you have a late class — but when you get home at six thirty and knock on 3A because it’s become reflex, Jake opens the door and the apartment is quiet in a way it never is.
You’ve been in this apartment dozens of times now. You know its sounds. The particular creak of the second floorboard in the hall. The way the kitchen tap needs an extra turn to stop dripping. The constant ambient noise of Mia — her commentary, her singing, her negotiations with various stuffed animals about bedtime.
The silence is enormous. “Weird, right?” Jake says, reading your face.
“Really weird.” You step inside. “How long has she been gone?”
“Two hours.” He closes the door. “I’ve cleaned the whole apartment and reorganized the pantry and I don’t know what to do with myself.”
You look at the pantry, which is indeed immaculate. You look at Jake, who is in dark jeans and a simple white t-shirt and looks simultaneously very attractive and genuinely a little lost. “Have you eaten?” you ask.
“No.”
“Cook me something.”
Something in him settles. He moves into the kitchen, and you sit on the counter the way you’ve started doing, and he makes pasta — different from the other night, something with lemon and herbs — and you open the wine you brought from your apartment and it is easy, it is so easy, the way everything with him has become easy without you noticing it happening.
You eat at his kitchen table. You talk about your classes and his current project — branding for a new café opening in the city — and the book you’ve both apparently been meaning to read for months and never have. You talk about Mia, because you always talk about Mia, about the things she’s said recently that have floored you both. “She told me yesterday,” Jake says, “that she wants to be a paleontologist.”
“She’s three.”
“I know. I asked her what a paleontologist was and she said ‘a person who finds old bones’ and I have no idea where she learned that word.”
“That’s— that’s genuinely impressive.”
“She then said she also wants to be a cat.” He takes a sip of wine. “So. Range.” You’re laughing, and he’s laughing, and the kitchen is warm and the wine is good and at some point the laughter fades and you’re just looking at each other in the quiet.
It’s been two weeks since the kiss on your couch. Two weeks of nothing changing and everything changing — the same routine, the same easy rhythm, but with this new current running underneath it. His hand finding yours sometimes. The way he says goodbye now, at the door, that takes longer than it used to. The awareness of him that hums in your chest constantly, warm and insistent.
You haven’t had a night without Mia before. You’re both aware of it. “Y/N,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“Can I—” He stops. Starts again. His jaw works slightly, that tell you’ve learned. “I’ve been thinking about this. About us. And I want to— I want to do this properly. Take you on an actual date, not just—” He gestures at the table, the apartment, the comfortable domesticity of it. “Not just this. You deserve—”
“Jake.” You set down your glass. “I like this.”
“I know, but—”
“I mean I really like this.” You hold his gaze. “I don’t need a restaurant. I don’t need— I just want you. This. Whatever this is.” He looks at you for a long moment.
Then he pushes back from the table and crosses to you and kisses you like he’s been thinking about it all evening, one hand cupping your jaw, the other finding your waist. You slide off the counter and into him and he makes a low sound against your mouth that does something devastating to your concentration. “Stay tonight,” he says against your lips.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Okay.”
You end up on his bed.
It happens slowly, the way things happen when there’s no rush, when the whole night stretches ahead and neither of you is going anywhere. He takes his time, unhurried and thorough, like he wants to learn you. Like you’re something worth learning.
He lays you back against his pillows and looks at you for a moment, just looks, and something about being seen like that — careful and wanting and completely focused — makes heat pool low in your stomach before he’s even touched you. “Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi,” you say back.
He leans down and kisses you again, and it’s different from the doorway kisses and the couch kisses. Deeper. More deliberate. His hand slides up your side, pushing your shirt up, warm palm against your skin, and you shiver.“Cold?” he murmurs.
“Opposite.” He smiles against your mouth. Keeps moving, finding the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms and let him pull it off. He sits back to look at you, and his expression is so openly appreciative, so uncomplicated in its wanting, that you feel heat rise to your face.
“Don’t,” he says quietly.
“Don’t what?”
“Look away.” His thumb traces your collarbone. “I want to look at you.” You keep his gaze. He keeps his.
He gets rid of his own shirt and you run your hands up his chest, his stomach, the way you’ve been wanting to since— longer than you’ll admit. He’s warm and solid and he watches your face as you touch him like your expression is telling him something important.
“What?” you ask.
“Nothing.” He catches your hands, pins them gently above your head, leans down to press his mouth to your jaw. Your neck. The soft skin below your ear. “Just thinking about how long I’ve been wanting this.”
“How long?”
He mouths at your pulse point and you gasp, arching up. “Longer than I should admit,” he murmurs. “Probably since the morning with Mia. You opened the door half asleep with terrible hair and you crouched down and talked to her like she was a real person and I thought—” He lifts his head to look at you. “I thought I was in serious trouble.”
“Your daughter was upside down under your arm,” you manage.
“I know. Terrible timing.” He releases your wrists, hands moving to the button of your jeans. “Is this okay?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
He undresses you slowly, pressing his mouth to each new piece of skin like punctuation. The inside of your wrist. Your hip. The soft skin of your inner thigh that makes you grip the sheets and breathe out his name. He looks up at you from there, chin resting on your thigh, expression somewhere between fond and wrecked. “Jake—”
“I’ve got you,” he says quietly. “Okay? I’ve got you.” And then his mouth is on you and your head falls back and you stop being able to think in complete sentences.
He takes his time the way he does everything — with complete attention, reading every sound you make, every shift of your hips, adjusting until he finds exactly what makes you come apart. He slides one finger inside you and then two, curling them just right while his tongue works your clit in slow, devastating circles, and you fist your hand in his hair and try to remember how to breathe.
“Jake— fuck— I’m—”
He doesn’t speed up. Doesn’t change what he’s doing. Just keeps that perfect steady rhythm like he has all the time in the world, like getting you there is the only thing on his agenda, and you come with your thighs clamped around his head and his name on your lips and it crashes through you in waves that don’t seem to stop.
He works you through every second of it, only easing off when you tug at his hair, oversensitive and shaking.
He moves up your body, pressing a kiss to your stomach, your sternum, your mouth. You can taste yourself on him and somehow that makes heat flare through you all over again. “Hi,” he says again, soft and amused.
“You,” you manage, “are very good at that.”
“Yeah?” He looks pleased.
“Don’t get smug about it.”
“I’m not smug.” He is a little smug. You find you don’t mind. “You okay?”
“More than okay.” You reach up, pull him down to kiss him properly, deep and unhurried. “Your turn.”
You get his jeans off, and his boxers, and you wrap your hand around him and he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking slightly.“Sorry—”
“Don’t apologize,” you tell him. You stroke him slowly, learning the weight of him, and he drops his forehead to yours and just breathes. “Tell me what you like.”
“That,” he says roughly. “Exactly that. Just—” He covers your hand with his, adjusts the pressure slightly. “Yeah. Like that.”
You watch his face — the way his jaw goes tight, the way his eyes flutter. He’s trying to stay composed and not quite managing it and you find that incredibly satisfying. “Y/N.” His voice has gone rough. “I want— can I—”
“Yes,” you say. “Please.”
He reaches into his nightstand drawer. You take the condom from him and roll it on yourself, slowly, which makes him close his eyes and exhale hard through his nose.“You’re going to kill me,” he says.
“You’ll be fine.”
He settles between your thighs and you feel him there, pressing in, and you both go still for a moment. He pushes forward, slow and careful, watching your face, and the stretch of him makes you exhale hard, fingers pressing into his shoulders. He stops halfway, checking. “Good?” he asks.
“So good.” You shift your hips, urging him on. “Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t stop. He seats himself fully and you both breathe through it, foreheads together, and then he starts to move and everything else falls away.
He fucks you slowly at first, deep and thorough, finding the angle that makes you gasp and then staying with it. His hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, and you make a sound that you’d be embarrassed about in any other context.“There?” he asks.
“There,” you confirm breathlessly.
He keeps going. Steady and focused and impossibly good, hitting that spot inside you on every stroke while his thumb works you in tight circles, and you can already feel it building again, embarrassingly fast. “Jake— fuck— already—”
“Let go,” he says against your temple. “I want to feel you.”
You come clenching around him, and he groans deep in his chest, the rhythm stuttering, and you feel him follow you over with your name on his lips, buried deep, shaking.
Afterward you lie tangled together in the quiet. He traces absent patterns on your arm. You listen to his heartbeat slow. “Hey,” he says eventually.
“Hey.”
“That was—”
“Yeah.” You tilt your head up. “It really was.” He presses a kiss to your hair. You feel him smile against it.
Outside, the city is doing its Friday night thing, indifferent and ongoing. In here the lamp is warm and the sheets are soft and Jake’s heartbeat is steady under your cheek and you think about the drawing on your fridge and the hand on your cheek and Mr. Bunny in the freezer and all the ordinary extraordinary things that have built this without you quite realizing. “Stay,” he says.
“I’m already here.”
“I mean—” He tightens his arm around you. “Stay. Not just tonight.”
You’re quiet for a moment. “You’re going to have to define that.”
“I know.” His thumb moves slow on your arm. “I’m working up to it.”
“Okay.” You settle back against him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Mia comes home at eleven the next morning. You’re still there.
You’re in Jake’s kitchen making coffee, wearing his hoodie and your underwear, when the front door opens and Sandy’s voice floats through — “here we are, my love, home sweet home” — and small feet thunder down the hall.
Mia appears in the kitchen doorway. She takes in the scene. You, in her daddy’s hoodie. The two coffee cups. The general evidence of your presence. Her face does something complicated and then completely simple. “My Y/N,” she says, delighted, and launches herself at your legs.
You crouch down and catch her, and she wraps around you like a koala, warm and sleep-soft and smelling like Sandy’s house, and you hold her and look up at Jake in the doorway and he’s looking at the two of you with that expression again. The one that’s bigger than his face can hold.
“Hi baby,” you say into Mia’s hair. “How was Theo’s?”
“We found a worm,” she says. “His name is Dave.”
“Did you bring Dave home?”
“Sandy said no.” A pause. “I think that was wrong.”
“Dave is probably very happy in Sandy’s garden.”
She considers this. “Okay.” Then, muffled against your shoulder: “Are you staying for breakfast?”
You look at Jake. He holds your gaze, steady and warm. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m staying for breakfast.”
Mia pulls back, satisfied. “Daddy makes good eggs.”
“I know he does.”
“You can sit next to me.”
“I would love that.”
She takes your hand and tows you toward the table with the authority of someone who has decided how this morning is going to go, and Jake moves to the stove, and outside the kitchen window the Saturday morning is doing its soft unhurried thing, and this— this is everything.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
The weeks that follow are the best of your life. You don’t say that out loud. It feels too large, too exposed. But it’s true in the quiet way that the truest things are — not dramatic, not announced, just sitting solidly in your chest every time you’re aware of it.
The three of you fall into a rhythm so natural it’s almost hard to remember the before. Jake knocks on your door with the hairbrush and leaves with coffee. You come to theirs for dinner more nights than not. Mia insists on showing you everything — every drawing, every discovery, every development in the ongoing organization of her stuffed animal collection.
The farmers market becomes yours. Every Saturday, the three of you. Mia on Jake’s shoulders, small hands wrapped in his hair, pointing imperiously at things she wants to examine. You buy her a sunflower from the flower stall in week two and she carries it home with both hands like it’s precious, and after that it becomes the thing — every week, a sunflower for Mia, who has decided they are her favorite and cannot be argued with on this point.
Jake watches you with her constantly. You catch him doing it — that soft unguarded look — and he doesn’t stop when you catch him, just holds your gaze until you look away first, which you always do because the directness of it does something to your chest that you haven’t found words for yet.
Mia tells her daycare teacher about you. You know this because Jake texts you a screenshot of a drawing she brought home — the same configuration as before, Mia Daddy Gerald Mr Bunny Y/N, but this time you and Jake are holding hands.
jake 3a: her teacher asked who the people were, she said ‘that’s my daddy and my Y/N they’re in love’
You stare at the message. you: she’s three
jake 3a: three and apparently very perceptive
you: what did you tell the teacher
jake 3a: I said she wasn’t wrong
You put your phone face down on the desk and press both hands over your face and sit there for a full minute. Then you pick it up. you: jake
jake 3a: yeah?
you: are you in love with me
A pause. Longer than usual. Your heart does something complicated in the silence. jake 3a: I’ve been trying to find the right moment to say it properly not over text but yes, very much yes. I have been for a while
jake 3a: is that okay?
You read it three times. you: yes, it’s very okay. also I love you too
jake 3a: yeah?
you: yeah
jake 3a: okay, good. I’m going to say it properly tonight with Mia asleep so she doesn’t narrate it
you: she would absolutely narrate it
jake 3a: she would make it about herself somehow
you: she would bring Mr Bunny as a witness
jake 3a: he’d be very moved
You’re smiling so hard your face hurts, alone in your apartment at two in the afternoon, and you think about the morning you opened your door and found a small person sitting on your doormat in duck pajamas looking for her rabbit.
You think about tiny fingers in yours on the way back across the hall. You think about you’re nice delivered with complete certainty by someone who had known you for four minutes.
That night, after Mia is asleep, Jake says it properly. Standing in the kitchen, cup of tea going cold on the counter, both of you knowing it’s coming and neither of you in any rush because there’s no need to rush anymore.
“I love you,” he says. Simple and direct. “I love you and I love that she loves you and I don’t want to do any of this without you.”
“I love you too,” you say. “Both of you. The whole— all of it. Everything.”
He kisses you there in the kitchen and it tastes like coming home, which is a thing you didn’t know kitchens could taste like until now.
Later, in his bed, you press your face into his shoulder and listen to the particular quiet of the apartment at night — the creak of the building, the distant city, the soft sound of Mia breathing through the baby monitor on the nightstand. “Hey,” Jake says quietly. “You know what Mia asked me today?”
“What?”
“She asked if you were going to live with us.”
Your heart turns over. “What did you tell her?”
“I said I hoped so.” He tilts his head to look down at you. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” you say softly. “That’s okay.” He pulls you closer. You close your eyes. Outside, a siren somewhere. The building settling. Mia’s breathing through the monitor, slow and even and completely safe.
In here, you think. Everything is in here. You never see it coming. That’s the thing about a knock at the door when you’re happy. You don’t brace for it. You don’t clock the risk. You’re just— there. In the warm. Thinking about nothing that isn’t good.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
It’s a Sunday. Mia is at Sandy’s. Not overnight this time — just the afternoon, a regular arrangement while Jake works on a deadline.
Except Jake finished his deadline by noon and texted you and you came over and the afternoon became the best kind of afternoon, the kind that starts with coffee and talking and turns into something else entirely when Mia isn’t home, when there’s nowhere to be and no particular reason to leave the bedroom.
You’re in his bed. Late afternoon light coming gold through the curtains. His hand on your back tracing lazy patterns on your spine. You’re boneless and warm and half thinking about nothing and half thinking about whether Mia will want to show you the worm situation at Sandy’s when Jake picks her up.
“Sandy said she asked to bring Dave home three more times,” Jake says, like he’s reading your mind.
“Persistent.”
“She gets it from somewhere.” His hand moves up to the back of your neck, squeezing gently. “You hungry?” “Not yet.”
“Okay.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “We’ve got a couple of hours before I pick her up.” You hum. He pulls you closer. The afternoon light shifts.
Then someone knocks at the door. Jake’s hand stills on your back. “Expecting anyone?” you ask.
“No.” He frowns slightly. “Sandy would call.” He sits up, reaching for his t-shirt. “Probably Danny about the tap.”
You stretch out across the warm space he’s left, drowsy and content, listening to his footsteps down the hall. The sound of the door opening. Silence.
Not the brief silence of oh hi Danny it’s fine. A longer silence. A loaded one.
Then a voice you don’t recognize — a woman’s voice, careful and slightly uncertain — saying his name. “Jake.”
You go very still.
Jake says nothing for a long moment. When he speaks his voice is completely flat in a way you’ve never heard from him before. Like all the warmth has been removed surgically. “What are you doing here?”
“I just— I wanted to—” The woman’s voice. “Can I come in?”
“No. How did you find me?”
“Your mum. She didn’t— she thought I knew the address, I think. I don’t think she realized—”
“Why are you here.” Not a question. A demand.
A pause. “I want to see her,” the woman says. “I want to see Mia.”
The name lands in the apartment like something dropped. You sit up slowly, pulling the sheet around yourself, and the drowsy warmth of the afternoon has gone completely. In its place something cold and alert.
“You need to leave,” Jake says.
“I know I don’t have the right to—”
“You left,” Jake says, and his voice is still flat, but underneath the flatness there is something enormous being held very carefully in check. “She was four months old and you left. You’ve been gone for three years. You don’t get to knock on my door and say you want to see her like it’s a reasonable thing to say.”
“I know.” The woman’s voice cracks slightly. “I know that. I just— Jake, please, I just want—”
“To see her? Or to see me?” Silence. “Yeah,” Jake says quietly. “That’s what I thought.”
You get up. Quietly. You find your clothes in the soft afternoon mess of the room, pull them on, and you stand in the hallway outside his bedroom door and you look at the front door.
She’s standing in the doorway. Tall, dark-haired, pretty in a way that might have been beautiful before whatever she’s been carrying got into her face. She’s looking at Jake with an expression that mixes guilt and want in proportions you don’t have to be a genius to read.
She sees you. Her eyes move over you — your rumpled clothes, Jake’s apartment behind you, the obvious geography of the afternoon — and something hardens in her expression that you recognize. The specific hardening of someone who wanted to find a door open and has found it closed.
Jake turns. He sees you in the hallway. Something moves through his face — protective, apologetic, something else underneath that you don’t have time to read. “Y/N,” he says. “Hi.” You keep your voice steady. “I’ll— I can go.”
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s okay.” You look at him clearly, trying to say with your eyes what you can’t say in front of her: I’m fine. I’m not going far. Handle this. “I’ll be across the hall.”
He holds your gaze. His jaw is set, his eyes tight at the corners, but he gives you the smallest nod.
You pick up your keys from the bowl by the door — yours, in the bowl by Jake’s door, which happened so gradually you can’t remember it beginning — and you step past the woman in the doorway without looking at her.
You go into 3B. You close the door. You sit on your couch and you listen to the muffled sound of voices through the wall, and you hold yourself very carefully together, and you wait.
You sit on your couch for forty minutes. You know because you watch the clock. Not obsessively — you’re not counting seconds — but every time your eyes drift to it another chunk of time has passed and the voices through the wall have not stopped.
You make tea you don’t drink. You open your laptop and close it again. You pick up your phone three times and put it down without texting anyone because what would you even say.
My boyfriend’s ex showed up. The one who left when their daughter was four months old. She’s been there forty minutes and I’m sitting in my apartment trying not to think about the way she looked at him.
You put your phone face down on the cushion beside you.
The thing is — and you know this, you do — you trust Jake. That’s not the part that’s making your chest tight. You’ve watched him for months now. You know who he is. You know the way he holds his daughter and the way he laughs and the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. You know he means what he says.
The part that’s making your chest tight is her face when she saw you. Not guilt. Not embarrassment at the intrusion. Something proprietary. Something that said what are you doing in my space even though she is the one who left. Even though she forfeited any claim to this apartment and this life and this man the day she packed a bag while her four month old daughter slept.
You’re familiar with that expression. You’ve worn it yourself, briefly, watching other women talk to Jake at the market or at the park. You know what it means. She wants him back. Mia is the reason she knocked. But she wants Jake back.
You’re still sitting with that when your phone buzzes. jake 3a: she’s gone, can you come back?
You’re across the hall before you’ve fully decided to move. He opens the door before you knock. He looks terrible. Not falling apart — Jake doesn’t fall apart, you’ve figured that out, he goes very still and very controlled when things get bad, which is almost worse — but there are lines around his eyes that weren’t there this morning and his jaw is set in that way that means he’s been holding something in for a while.
He steps back to let you in. Closes the door. You turn to face him and he looks at you for a moment like he’s checking that you’re real, that you’re still here, that the afternoon hasn’t completely dismantled itself. “You okay?” you ask.
“I should be asking you that.”
“I’m fine. I was across the hall.” You hold his gaze. “Are you okay?”
He exhales. Long and slow. Runs a hand through his hair. “She wants to see Mia. She says she’s been in therapy. That she’s been— working through things. That she made a mistake and she knows that and she just wants—” He stops. His jaw works. “She was here for forty minutes and Mia’s name came up maybe three times.”
Your stomach tightens. “What did the rest of it cover?” He looks at you with an expression that answers the question without words. “Jake—”
“I told her no,” he says. “To all of it. I told her— Mia doesn’t know her. She’s three years old, she has no memory of her, and showing up out of nowhere and announcing herself as her mother would be— I’m not doing that to her. I’m not letting someone walk in and blow up her world because they’ve decided they’re ready now.”
“That’s right,” you say quietly.
“Is it?” He looks genuinely uncertain, and that more than anything tells you how rattled he is. Jake is not an uncertain man. He’s careful, he’s considered, but when he’s decided something he holds it steady. Watching him doubt himself is unfamiliar and uncomfortable. “Because part of me thinks— she’s her mother. Biologically. Does Mia have a right to know her? At some point? And am I—”
“Jake.” You cross to him. Put your hand on his chest, flat over his heart, and look up at him. “You are the most present, devoted, thoughtful parent I have ever seen. You have been both of them for three years. Whatever you decide about this, it comes from that. Not from fear, not from jealousy. From knowing your daughter.” He looks down at you. His hand comes up to cover yours. “She’s not here because of Mia,” you say gently. “You know that.”
“Yeah.” His voice is rough. “Yeah, I know that.”
“So you handle the Mia question in your own time, with proper advice, on your terms. Not because she showed up at your door on a Sunday afternoon.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “When did you get so—”
“Wise?”
“I was going to say steady.”
“Same thing.” You press your palm flatter against his chest. “You’re okay. Mia’s okay. This is just— a thing that happened on a Sunday. It doesn’t have to be more than that right now.”
He looks at you for a long moment. Something in his face shifts — the held-in thing loosening slightly, the lines around his eyes easing. “I really love you,” he says quietly.
“I know.” You reach up, press your hand briefly to his jaw. “I love you too. Go get your daughter.”
He comes back with Mia at five thirty. You’re in his kitchen making dinner — you’d found pasta and vegetables and half a block of good parmesan and it seemed like the right thing to do, to be here, to have something warm happening when they got home.
Mia comes through the door at full speed, as always, and finds you at the stove and absolutely loses her mind with delight. “My Y/N is here!”
“Hi, my Mia.” She barrels into your legs and you crouch down and catch her, and over her head you watch Jake close the front door and lean against it for just a second, eyes closed. Like he’s taking a breath. Like he’s counting the things still here and finding them all present.
Then he opens his eyes and sees you watching him and something in his face goes soft. “Dave update,” Mia says urgently against your neck.
“Tell me everything.”
“Sandy said he moved.” Her voice is full of significance. “She doesn’t know where he went.”
“Dave is living his life.”
“That’s what Sandy said.” She pulls back to look at you. “I think he went to find his family.”
“That’s a very hopeful interpretation.”
“Worms have families,” she tells you solemnly. “Probably.”
“Definitely,” you agree.
Jake has moved into the kitchen. He comes up behind you — Mia still in your arms — and presses a kiss to the side of your head. Quick and quiet. Gratitude and love in a single gesture. “Smells good,” he says.
“Twenty minutes.”
“Can I help?”
“You can set the table.”
“I want to help,” Mia announces.
“You can put the napkins out,” you tell her, and she accepts this responsibility with great seriousness, and Jake sets her down and gets the napkins and she carries them to the table one at a time with both hands like they’re fragile, and Jake catches your eye across the kitchen and mouths thank you and you shake your head slightly because there’s nothing to thank you for.
You’re exactly where you want to be.
Later, after dinner, after Mia’s bath, after two bedtime stories and one negotiation about the structural integrity of a fort she wants to construct in the living room (tomorrow, baby, it’s bedtime), after small arms around your neck and a kiss pressed very seriously to your cheek and night my Y/N into the dark—
You and Jake sit on his couch in the quiet. He has his legs stretched out on the coffee table. You’re tucked into his side, his arm around you. The lamp is the only light. The apartment has the particular peace of a small child asleep in the next room. “She’s going to come back,” Jake says quietly.
“Probably.”
“I’m going to talk to a lawyer. Get clear on where things stand legally before she does.” His thumb moves on your arm. “She signed over custody voluntarily. I don’t think she has grounds for anything. But I want to know for certain.”
“That’s smart.”
“I don’t want Mia to know about this until I do. I don’t want her picking up on anything.”
“She won’t hear it from me.”
He turns his head to press a kiss to your hair. “I know.” You sit in the quiet for a moment. “She looked at you,” he says. “The way she looked at you when she saw you there.” His arm tightens slightly. “I need you to know that whatever she came here wanting, it was never going to— she left, Y/N. She made her choice. There’s nothing there.”
“I know that too.”
“I just—” He exhales. “I don’t want you to have any doubt. About this. About us.”
You lift your head to look at him. His face in the lamplight, tired and earnest and completely, simply honest. “I don’t,” you tell him. “Not even a little.”
He holds your gaze. “Good,” he says quietly. He kisses you softly, and you let yourself melt into it, and outside the window the night is doing its ordinary thing, indifferent and ongoing.
When you break apart you settle back against his shoulder. “Stay,” he says.
“Obviously,” you say. He pulls you closer.
In the next room, Mia sleeps, completely safe, completely loved, completely unaware that someone knocked on the door today and was turned away.
She’ll know, eventually. Jake will tell her, carefully, at the right time, in the right way. That’s the kind of father he is. But tonight she just sleeps. And you and Jake stay on the couch until you both drift off, warm and quiet and whole.
The lawyer’s name is Ms. Park and she is very thorough.
Jake comes back from the meeting on a Wednesday looking lighter than he has all week. He finds you in his kitchen — where you are most afternoons now, it’s become accepted fact — and he leans in the doorway and says:
“She has no legal standing. She relinquished custody voluntarily and completely. If she wants any kind of access she would have to apply through the courts and demonstrate sustained rehabilitation and it would be a long process with no guarantee.”
You set down the mug you’re washing. “Okay.”
“She came here once and I turned her away and she hasn’t come back.” He exhales. “I don’t think she’s going to pursue it. I think she came here for me and when that didn’t work—”
“She has no reason to stay.” You cross the kitchen to him. Put your hands on his chest. “How do you feel?”
He thinks about it genuinely, the way he does. “Relieved,” he says. “And— sad, a little. That it’s this way. That Mia doesn’t have—” He stops.
“She has you,” you say. “She has Sandy and Mrs. Kim and the daycare teachers who love her and Theo the worm friend and—” You meet his eyes. “She has me. For as long as you’ll both have me.”
Something moves through his face. “Forever, then,” he says simply.
Your heart turns over. “Yeah,” you say softly. “Forever works.”
He kisses you there in the kitchen and it tastes like relief and sunlight and something settled and permanent. From the doorway comes a small voice. “Are you kissing again?”
You break apart to find Mia standing in the hallway in her socks, Mr. Bunny under her arm, regarding you both with the patient exhaustion of someone who has seen this many times and has opinions. “Sorry,” Jake says, not sounding sorry at all.
“It’s fine,” Mia says, generous. “You can kiss. But after can we do the fort?”
“We can do the fort,” you confirm. She nods, satisfied. Turns and toddles back down the hall.
Jake looks at you. You look at Jake.“The fort,” he says. You nod in agreement and follow him and your daughter down the hall.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Three months later, Mia stops calling you my Y/N. She starts calling you mama.
It happens on a Tuesday. Not a special Tuesday. Not a significant one. Just an ordinary Tuesday in February where the sky is doing that flat grey thing it does in late summer when the heat hasn’t broken yet and everything feels slightly sticky and slow.
You’re doing her hair. The Wednesday morning routine has migrated — it’s every morning now, most mornings, because somewhere between October and February the question of which apartment are you sleeping in stopped being a real question. You’re here. You live here, functionally, in every way that matters except the technical one. Your toothbrush is here. A drawer is yours. Gerald the succulent has been relocated to the kitchen windowsill where he gets better light and Mia waters him every second day with great ceremony.
Jake is in the kitchen. Coffee is happening. Mia is between your knees on the couch, holding Mr. Bunny, and you’re doing two neat braids because she has decided braids are her preference this week and you’ve been practicing. “Tighter,” she instructs.
“If I go tighter it’ll pull.”
“I want tight braids.”
“You want braids that feel comfortable and also look good.”
She considers this negotiation. “Okay,” she concedes.
You keep going. She hums something to herself, swinging her feet, and you work through the second braid, and it’s quiet in the good way, the way that only exists when everyone in a space is completely comfortable. “Mama,” Mia says.
“Hmm?” You tie off the braid.
“Can I wear the yellow dress today?”
You’re reaching for the second hair tie when it lands.
Mama.
She said it like it was nothing. Like it was the most natural word in the world. Like she’s been saying it her whole life, which — you realize, with your heart doing something enormous and unsteady in your chest — maybe in her head she has been.
“Yeah,” you manage, and your voice comes out almost normal. “Yeah, baby, we can find the yellow dress.”
She scrambles off the couch and heads to her room, completely unbothered, Mr. Bunny trailing from one hand. You sit there. In the kitchen, the coffee maker finishes its cycle.
Jake appears in the doorway with two mugs, takes one look at your face, and stops. “What happened? Are you okay? What—”
“She called me mama,” you say.
The mugs go onto the coffee table. Jake sits beside you and looks at you with an expression that is doing the same enormous unsteady thing yours probably is. “Just now?”
“Just now.” Your voice is not quite steady. “She asked if she could wear the yellow dress and she called me mama and then she just— walked off. Like it was nothing.”
“Y/N—”
“I’m not upset.” You turn to him, urgent, needing him to understand. “I’m not— I’m not upset, Jake, I just—” You press a hand to your chest. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
He looks at you for a long moment. Then he takes your face in both hands, careful and deliberate, and presses his forehead to yours. “I do,” he says quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He pulls back just enough to look at you. “You say yes. That’s what you do. You just— say yes.”
From down the hall: “Found it!” A pause. “Mama, can you do the buttons?”
You close your eyes. “Okay,” you breathe. Yeah.” You open your eyes. Look at him. “Yeah. Okay.”
He kisses you, quick and soft, and then you get up and go down the hall to do the buttons on a yellow dress, and Jake stands in the living room doorway watching and the expression on his face is the most complete thing you’ve ever seen on a human being.
That night, after Mia is asleep, Jake asks you to move in. Not impulsively. Not as a reaction to the morning. You can tell he’s been thinking about it for a while — there’s a particular quality to his stillness when he’s been working up to something, and you’ve learned it the way you’ve learned all of him, gradually and permanently.
You’re on the couch. Late. The lamp on, the city quiet outside. His hand in yours. “Move in,” he says. You look at him. “Properly,” he says. “Not the drawer and the toothbrush. All of it. Gerald and everything.”
“Gerald’s already here.”
“I know.” The corner of his mouth moves. “Consider it a trial run.”
You look at your joined hands. At the apartment that has been yours in every meaningful sense for months. At the hallway where Mia is sleeping with Mr. Bunny and her color-organized stuffed animals and absolute certainty that you will be here in the morning. “Yeah,” you say.
“Yeah?”
“Obviously yeah, Jake.” You lean over and kiss him. “Obviously.”
He pulls you in and holds you there, and you feel him exhale slowly against your hair. “She’s going to lose her mind,” he says.
“She’s going to tell Gerald first.”
“She’s going to tell Gerald, then Mrs. Kim, then Sandy, then everyone at daycare.”
“In that order.”
“In that exact order.”
You’re both laughing, quiet so you don’t wake her, and it settles into something warm and certain. “Hey,” Jake says. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You press your face into his shoulder. “Both of you. The whole thing.”
“The whole thing loves you back,” he says simply.
You tell Mia in the morning. Jake does it, at breakfast, with the careful measured approach of a man who has learned that toddlers receive important news better when they’re eating something. “Hey Mia. You know how Y/N stays here a lot?”
Mia looks up from her toast. Looks at you. Looks back at Jake. “Yes.”
“How would you feel if she stayed here all the time? Like, lived here. With us.”
Mia blinks. Puts down her toast. Looks at you with enormous serious eyes. “Like forever?” she asks.
“Like forever,” Jake confirms.
She stares at you for a long moment with the focused intensity of someone making a very important assessment.
Then she gets down from her chair, crosses to you, climbs into your lap uninvited and completely certain of her welcome, and wraps both arms around your neck. “Okay,” she says into your shoulder. “You can live here.”
“Thank you,” you manage, arms tight around her.
“Gerald will be happy,” she adds.
“He really will.”
She pulls back. Looks at your face. Puts her small hand on your cheek exactly the way she did on the very first morning, in the hallway, four months ago when she was looking for her rabbit. “Don’t cry,” she says kindly. “It’s good news.”
“I know.” You laugh, wet at the edges. “Happy tears.”
“Oh.” She considers this. “Okay.” Then, satisfied, she climbs back down, retrieves her toast, and resumes breakfast.
Jake is looking at you over her head with an expression that could power something. “Told you,” he mouths. You shake your head, still smiling, still blinking hard.
The whole thing loves you back. Yeah. Yeah it really does.
The move takes a weekend. It’s not a big move — your apartment was small and you’ve been migrating things gradually for months without meaning to — but there’s something significant about doing it officially. Carrying boxes across the hall. Hanging your clothes properly in the wardrobe. Arranging your books on the shelves beside Jake’s.
Mia supervises. She is a very involved supervisor, offering opinions on where everything should go and occasionally redirecting items she feels would be better placed in her room. You negotiate firmly on the throw blanket. You surrender the small lamp without a fight because she’s put it next to Mr. Bunny and it does look good there, objectively.
By Sunday evening the apartment is a comfortable chaos of rearrangement and you’re all sitting on the living room floor eating pizza from the box because no one has the energy to locate the table under the moving debris.
Mia is in your lap. Jake is beside you, shoulder to shoulder, pizza slice in hand, looking around the apartment that has shifted and expanded and settled into something new. “Looks different,” he says.
“Good different?”
He looks at you. “Yeah. Really good different.”
Mia tilts her head back to look up at you from your lap. “Can we build the fort now?”
“We live in a fort,” you tell her, gesturing at the surrounding box landscape.
Her eyes go wide. She looks around. Looks back at you. “We live in a fort,” she breathes.
“We live in a fort,” Jake confirms solemnly. She is overcome.
You and Jake look at each other over her head, laughing, and it is — this moment exactly, pizza and boxes and a delighted three year old and the lamp in the wrong place and Gerald on the windowsill — it is everything. Absolutely everything.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
A year later
The morning of the wedding, Mia wakes up at five forty-three AM. You know this because she comes and stands beside the bed and breathes on your face until you open your eyes. “It’s today,” she whispers.
“It is,” you confirm.
“I’m the flower girl.”
“You are.”
She absorbs this with great seriousness. Then: “I need to practice.”
“Mia, it’s not even six—”
“I need to practice.”
Jake makes a sound beside you that is him absolutely not laughing. You elbow him. “Okay,” you say. “But quietly. So we don’t wake the neighbors.”
She nods, solemn and focused, and turns and walks very slowly back down the hallway, scattering invisible petals with great ceremony, narrating under her breath — and then I walk here, and then here, and then I find mama—
You lie there in the early morning grey and stare at the ceiling and think about the word mama the way you have thought about it every day for the past year and a half. The way it still does something enormous to your chest. The way you don’t think it will ever stop.
Jake rolls toward you. Presses his face into your neck. “Morning,” he murmurs.
“Your daughter is practicing flower girl technique in the hallway.”
“She’s been planning this since we told her.” His arm comes around you. “She asked Sandy if she could practice at her house. She practiced at daycare. She made Theo be the groom so she could practice walking toward someone.”
“She’s extremely prepared.”
“She’s extremely her.” He presses a kiss to your jaw. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.” You turn to face him. His face in the early light, sleep-soft and certain and completely, permanently yours. “Really good. You?”
“Best day of my life,” he says simply. “After the day she was born. And the day you moved in. And the day you said yes when I asked.” He pauses. “Top five, at minimum.”
“That’s very good company.”
“You’re very good company.” He kisses you properly, slow and warm, and from the hallway comes the sound of small feet completing another practice lap.
“…and then I find mama, and she’s the prettiest—” You pull back from Jake, blinking hard. He looks at you. Reaches up and brushes his thumb under your eye, gentle.
“She’s not wrong,” he says.
“It’s five forty-five in the morning, I look terrible—”
“You look like the person I’m marrying today.” He holds your gaze. “Which means you look perfect.” You press your face into his shoulder and hold on for a moment.
From the hallway: “Okay I’m ready. Can we have breakfast now?”
Sandy comes at nine to take Mia for hair and getting dressed — a situation Mia has been anticipating with the focused excitement of someone who has been told she gets curls and a flower in her hair and has not stopped thinking about it since.
She submits to the process with remarkable patience, sitting very still while Sandy works, only turning her head twice to update you on developments. “It’s getting curlier,” she reports.
“I can see that.”
“Do I look like a princess?”
“You look exactly like a princess.” She nods, satisfied, and returns to stillness.
When it’s done she stands in front of the mirror in her small white dress — simple, with a yellow sash, because she requested yellow and you would move mountains before you’d say no to that — and looks at herself for a long, serious moment.“I look nice,” she concludes.
“You look incredible,” Sandy says.
“Yeah.” She turns to look at you. Her eyes go wide. “Mama. You look so pretty.”
You’re in your dress — simple, exactly what you wanted, nothing complicated — and your hair is done and you’re holding your bouquet and you’re trying very hard not to cry and failing slightly.“So do you,” you tell her.
She crosses to you. Reaches up and takes your hand, the way she did in a hallway a long time ago, completely certain of her welcome.“Don’t be nervous,” she tells you.
“I’m not nervous.”
“Good.” She squeezes your fingers. “Daddy loves you the most.”
“He loves you the most.”
She considers this with genuine fairness. “He loves us the same,” she decides. “Equal. Like a tie.”
“That’s exactly right.”
She nods. Pats your hand once, settling the matter. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s go get married.”
The venue is small and warm and full of people who love you.
Mrs. Kim is in the third row in her best jacket, already dabbing her eyes. Sandy is beside her. Jake’s parents flew in from Brisbane — his mother cried when she met you and his father shook your hand for a very long time and said thank you for making them happy and you’d had to excuse yourself to the bathroom for five minutes after that.
Your own family. Your friends. The people who have been the walls of your life. And at the end of the aisle, Jake.
In a dark suit, hands clasped in front of him, hair the way you like it. He’s talking quietly to the celebrant and then someone touches his arm and he looks up and sees Mia in the doorway.
His face does what it always does when he sees her. That open, completely unguarded thing. She waves at him. He waves back.
Then he sees you behind her and his face does something else entirely.
The music starts. Mia goes first. She has been told, approximately as many times as you can tell a four and a half year old anything, that flower girls walk slowly. Measured. Elegant. She lasts four steps.
Then she spots Jake at the end of the aisle and she goes — there is no other word for it — feral with excitement, sunflowers clutched in both fists, petals going in every direction except down, grinning so hard her whole face is the grin, half walking half skipping half something entirely her own.
“DADDY I FOUND HER” she announces at full volume to the entire assembled gathering. “I FOUND HER SHE’S HERE”
The room erupts. Not polite wedding laughter. Real laughter, the kind that comes from somewhere genuine, rippling through every row. Mrs. Kim is crying laughing. Sandy has her hand over her mouth. Jake’s mother is gripping his father’s arm.
Jake is crouching down to catch Mia as she reaches him, scooping her up, pressing a kiss to her chaotic curls, the flower in her hair somehow surviving the sprint. “Good job,” you hear him tell her.
“I practiced,” she says, very serious.
“I know you did, baby.” He sets her down. She takes her position with great dignity, as though the sprint did not happen, as though she has been standing here elegantly the entire time.
And then Jake looks up at you. You walk toward him. The room goes soft around the edges — not blurred, just quiet, the way things go when you’re paying attention to the only thing that matters. The faces on either side are warm and familiar and you see them without seeing them because you’re looking at Jake.
Jake, who opened his door on a panicked Tuesday morning and showed you his worst fear and his whole heart in the same thirty seconds.
Jake, who makes coffee before you ask and remembers every small thing and says what he means with a simplicity that still sometimes catches you off guard.
Jake, who watched you fall in love with his daughter before you fell in love with him and let it happen without trying to manage or protect or preempt it, because he trusted you, because he looked at you and knew.
You reach him. He takes your hand and holds it like he’s been holding it his whole life. “Hi,” he says quietly.
“Hi,” you say back.
Beside him, Mia has taken your other hand. She holds it with both of hers, feet planted, present and accounted for, witnessing this with the gravity it deserves.
The celebrant begins. The vows are Jake’s own words. You knew this. You wrote yours too, separately, privately, the way you’d agreed. But hearing them — in his voice, in this room, looking at his face — is different from knowing.
He talks about the morning Mia escaped into the hallway and how he stood in your doorway afterward watching you crouch down to his daughter’s level and felt something shift that he couldn’t name yet and didn’t try to.
He talks about Wednesday mornings with the hairbrush. About leftover pasta and late night texting and the drawing on the fridge.
He talks about the way you love Mia — not as a condition of loving him, not as an extension of it, but first, entirely and separately first, because that’s who you are.
She picked you, he says, before I had a chance to. And she has never once been wrong about anything important. Beside you, Mia straightens slightly at this. You feel her grip on your hand tighten.
I’m not a man who believed in easy, Jake says. I thought love was supposed to be something you work and worry at. And then you moved in across the hall and you were just — easy. Everything with you has just been easy. Not without difficulty. Not without fear. But easy the way breathing is easy. The way I can’t imagine not doing it. His voice has gone rough at the edges.
I love you. I loved you in October and I loved you in February and I love you today and I’m going to love you when Mia is grown and gone and it’s just us and I’m going to love you in every ordinary Tuesday that comes after this one because that’s where you live. In the ordinary Tuesdays. And I want every single one of them.
The room is very quiet. You are absolutely crying. You decided before today that you weren’t going to cry until after the vows at the earliest and you have failed completely. “Don’t cry,” Mia whispers, helpful. “It’s good news.”
Laughter moves through the room like a wave. Jake laughs too, wiping his eyes, and you laugh through yours, and it breaks the solemnity just enough, the way the best moments always do — serious and true and then suddenly full of light.
Your vows. You talk about duck pajamas and a stuffed rabbit and a small hand in yours in a hallway. You talk about a crayon drawing on a fridge and a child who put you in her family portrait before you knew you belonged there.
You talk about a man who carried his daughter on his shoulders through a farmers market and came home to make dinner and knocked on your door with leftover pasta and showed you what it looked like when someone decided that loving people well was the most important thing they could do.
You taught me that, you say. Both of you. You showed me what it looks like when love is a decision someone makes every single day without drama and without conditions. Mia does it for everyone she meets. You do it quietly and completely and I want to spend the rest of my life doing it back. You look at Jake.
I love you. I love our ordinary Tuesdays. I love Wednesday mornings and Saturday markets and bedtime stories and all the Gerald updates and every single version of this life we’ve built in an apartment across the hall from where I used to live alone. I love your daughter.
You look down at Mia. She is watching you with her whole face. Completely still, completely focused, taking this in with the seriousness it deserves.
She is the best thing, you say. She is the absolute best thing, and I promise her, today, in front of everyone who loves us, that I am here. I am not going anywhere. She is mine and I am hers and that is permanent and unconditional and nothing will ever change it.
Mia’s lip wobbles. Just slightly. You watch her decide, with great effort, not to cry, because she is a flower girl and flower girls are professionals and she has a reputation to maintain. She squeezes your hand instead. Very hard. You squeeze back.
I now pronounce you married.
Jake kisses you, and the room rises, and somewhere in the noise you hear Mia announce to no one in particular and everyone simultaneously:
“THAT’S MY MAMA NOW. THAT’S OFFICIALLY MY MAMA.”
And then, apparently satisfied that this has been adequately communicated, she inserts herself between the two of you and takes both your hands and holds on.
Jake looks at you over her head. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.
The reception is everything. Mrs. Kim dances with Mia for forty-five minutes straight and neither of them stops. Sandy cries every time someone gives a speech. Jake’s father gives a toast that makes the whole room laugh and then immediately cry. Your own people hold you and tell you they knew, they always knew, from the moment you started talking about the little girl next door like she’d hung the moon.
Jake dances with Mia first — tradition, he’d decided, she gets the first dance — and you stand at the edge of the floor and watch her stand on his feet, both of them swaying to something slow, her head against his chest, his hand spanning her whole back.
You take a photo. You will look at that photo for the rest of your life.
Then he passes her off to his mother and comes to find you, hand extended, and you take it and let him pull you out onto the floor. “Hi wife,” he says, like he’s trying the word out.
“Hi husband.”
He smiles. Pulls you closer. “How’s it feel?”
“Same,” you say honestly. “Exactly the same. Just— more settled.”
“Yeah.” His hand moves on your back. “Like it’s been true for a while and now the paperwork caught up.”
“Exactly like that.”
You dance. The room moves around you, warm and full of people you love, and Mia is somewhere in it, probably telling someone about Dave the worm or Gerald or the structural integrity of forts, and it is — all of it, every piece — everything. All of it everything.
She falls asleep at nine fifteen. Mid-sentence, apparently — Jake’s mother told you later she was explaining the color organization system for the stuffed animals and then she simply stopped explaining and was asleep, curled in the chair with her flower crown half off and her shoes long since abandoned and the last of her sunflowers still in her hand.
Jake carries her out to the car at the end of the night, limp and certain and completely trusting the way only sleeping children are, and you tuck the seatbelt around her and push the flower crown gently back from her face. She doesn’t wake up.
She won’t remember being carried, won’t remember the drive home, won’t remember being tucked in. But in the morning she’ll wake up and come and stand at the side of your bed and breathe on your face until you open your eyes, and you’ll ask her how she slept and she’ll say good and you’ll ask if she had fun at the wedding and she’ll say yes I was the flower girl with the proprietary satisfaction of someone who performed their role excellently and knows it. And she’ll be right. She was, without any competition, the best part.
Later. Much later. His penthouse — your penthouse, it still catches you sometimes — quiet and dark except for the city light through the windows. Mia asleep down the hall. The flower crown on the kitchen counter. Your bouquet in a glass of water because you couldn’t throw it, it was too pretty.
Jake’s jacket over the chair. Your heels by the door. You and Jake on the couch the way you’ve been a hundred times before, his arm around you, your head on his shoulder, the easy comfortable weight of each other. “Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey.”
“Mia told Theo’s mum today that she picked you.”
You lift your head. “What?”
“At the reception. Apparently she walked up to Theo’s mum completely unprompted and said—” He’s smiling. “She said I picked her first. Before Daddy even knew.”
You stare at him. “She’s four and a half,” you say.
“I know. She’s extremely perceptive,” Jake says. “Always has been.”
You think about a Tuesday morning and duck pajamas and the end of a hallway. The hand on your cheek. You’re nice. The absolute certainty of it. The way she gave you her fingers without hesitating like she already knew. “She did pick me first,” you say softly.
“Yeah.” Jake presses a kiss to your hair. “She really did.”
The city does its quiet nighttime thing outside the windows. Down the hall, Mia sleeps. You and Jake stay where you are, warm and settled, in the ordinary extraordinary life you built one Tuesday at a time.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Three weeks later, on an ordinary Wednesday morning, Mia sits between your knees on the couch.
You’re doing her braids. Jake is in the kitchen. Coffee is happening. Gerald is on the windowsill. Mr. Bunny is in the orange section of the stuffed animal shelf. Everything exactly where it should be. “Mama,” Mia says.
“Hmm?”
“When I’m big can I be a flower girl again?”
“When you’re big you can be whatever you want.”
She considers this carefully. “I want to be a flower girl and a paleontologist and a cat.”
“All three?”
“On different days.”
“That seems manageable.” She nods, satisfied. Swings her feet.
From the kitchen, Jake: “Braids today?”
“Braids,” Mia confirms, with the authority of someone whose hair decisions are final. You finish the first one. Start the second. The morning does its ordinary thing around you.
Mia tilts her head back to look up at you, upside down, grinning. “I love you, mama.”
You smooth a hand over her hair. “I love you too, baby,” you say. “So much.” She rights herself. Goes back to swinging her feet.
Outside the window the morning is doing what mornings do, indifferent and ongoing and full of ordinary things.
In here it is warm. In here everyone is exactly where they are supposed to be. This is just the beginning. And it is everything.
CONTENT WARNING. MDNI, fem! reader, law student! reader, lawyer higuruma, 6.9k words, age gap (24&36), fluff & smut, slow burn? game of thrones references, porn with plot, unprotected sex, office sex, rough? sex, sloppy makeouts, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, higuruma is an EATER, reader lowk a pillow princess, spit, praise, choking, pussy spanking, dirty talk, belly bulge, big dick higuruma, he loves eye contact, dacryphilia? he’s mean & cocky if you squint. enjoy!
your pen sits between your teeth as your eyes switch from the thick textbook splayed open on your kitchen island and your laptop screen.
the cursor blinks for the millionth time in your setup word document. countless words plastered in that irritating format of times new roman size twelve that you’ve done a thousand times over.
words mutter under your breath as you multitask in reading, taking notes, and applying the newfound information to your assignment.
“hey, is your prof still asking you guys to take internships?”
your roommate comes from hibernating out of her room, eyes glued to her phone as she saunters over to the kitchen.
you barely catch the words that fly out her mouth, brows furrowing as you look up from your work for the first time in hours. the swivel stool you sat on creaks as you sit up straighter, cringing from how long you held that crouching position.
“uh…. no.” you shake your head, confused as to why she brought it up. she was never the type to dwell on your life as a law student unless overhearing about a case study that seemed ‘too juicy’ to skip out on. “deadline’s like, next week so they’re just talking about the paper due the week after to describe our experience so far.”
“oh.” she says, sounding surprised. “well, did you find anything?”
you hum. “i’ve got an interview tomorrow. it’s multi-hire so i’ve got a good chance. why?”
“nothing really.” she shrugs, taking a breath as she scavenges the freezer, grabbing the first pint of ice cream she sees. “a friend of my cousin works at this law firm and i think she said they’re looking for a temp since she’s going out of the country for a while.”
you nod, chewing on the end of your pen. “send me their info. i’ll check it out.”
so that’s exactly what you do. your roommate helps you exchange information with this friend who you’ve learned to be is a young woman named shimizu. she worked as a assistant for an independent defense attorney, higuruma hiromi.
you’ve heard his name a few times from news outlets, primarily known to take on difficult cases but nonetheless highly skilled and quite honestly a prime example of what you hoped to become as far as talent.
shimizu was going overseas for a little over half a year. that’s entirely way more than what your assignment calls for but you would be paid well plus it could serve as the perfect job to strengthen your experience in law.
it didn’t take much for shimizu to hire you, her eagerness to hurry up and leave was clear. she sent you an email describing her normal routine, things to keep an eye on that higuruma normally forgets and a warning to just be patient for any cases he picks up.
naturally, you were nervous. palms sweating as you clutched your purse and tucked the folder shimizu provided tightly between your arm.
your heels clack with each step you make up into the building then finally, in bold letters, ‘higuruma law office’. you knock, looking around as you wait for a response.
“come in.”
the voice is so deep it sends chills down your spine. anxiety pools your chest as you twist the handle, making slow hesitant steps into the office.
it’s small but not cramping and fairly neat. you continue forward, making your presence known. who you assume to be higuruma sits at a chair, pen scribbling against a paper at an incredible speed.
he doesn’t look up at first, deeply sighing and too focused on the work in front of him. that is until he takes notice of your silence following your entry. his eyes immediately lift, dragging over your attire for a momentary second. “i’m sorry.” he clears his throat, standing then approaching you with his hand out. “how can i help you?”
“i… uhm… i’m y/n.” you meet his hand with a nervous smile. “i’m filling in for shimizu?” it’s embarrassing how unsure you sound as if you hadn’t met shimizu yourself telling you detail for detail about the duties of the job.
his brows furrow slightly as he slowly slips his hand from your weak grip. he checks his watch then runs his fingers through his hair. “right, right. i forgot about that…” he sighs, moreso to himself and then nods, pointing to the empty cubicle beside his. “take a seat, did shimizu already inform you on what we’re currently working on?”
you nod, carefully setting your belongings down and making yourself comfortable on the chair.
“could i see? if you don’t mind.” he stands over you, watching as you turn the monitor on with quickness and log in to your email account, surfing through the important ones you had starred before finally landing on shimizu’s.
higuruma leans over, his presence immediately makes you feel small and you can slightly feel the weight of his chest as he gently grabs the mouse from your hand.
you keep your eyes on the screen, fiddling with your fingers while he looks at the lengthy details relayed. suddenly, he takes a breath then clicks forward and slides the keyboard over.
“looks good.” he finally stands, eyes dropping down to you. “we’ll just be working on that for today. if anything changes i’ll let you know.”
for the first three weeks of working for higuruma goes the same way. coming into the office, saying hello, and him sharing any updates on the current case. some days call for extremely long hours, others are your typical. then there were days like today where you’d be traveling together and have to stay overnight at hotels.
one room, separate beds.you and higuruma hadn’t crossed that bridge of being comfortable with one another just yet. it was still awkward smiles and brief exchanges of conversation only in relation to work.
with the work day being over, you showered and decided to walk around the hotel for a bit, maybe grab a bite to eat. you also brought your textbooks and laptop so you could use the time to study for the baby bar you have coming up.
you sat at a table, eating as you focus on your studies. no more than half an hour passes when a figure approaches your table.
“mind if i sit?”
your eyes lift at the deep voice, widening for a short second as you realize it to be higuruma’s. he stands there in a plain black t-shirt and same colored plaid pajama pants with a plate of food in his hand.
it was different to see him in a more cosy state rather than being suited up. when you focus on the fact he’s still there, tilting his head as he waits on your response you sit up and nod a bit frantically.
“yes—yes, of course. please sit.” you gesture to the seat ahead of you which he takes.
it’s silent for a moment as you’re more frigid now, eyes glued to your book without reading a damn thing. higuruma pops a fry into his mouth, looking around the semi-packed dining area before returning his attention to you. “you’re still in school?”
you nod, “in my first year.”
he raises a subtle brow at that which you don’t even notice considering you’ve found it difficult to always make eye contact with him.
“first year?” he hums, chewing down on another fry. “you’re young.”
“i guess…” you laugh shyly. “it’s not like you’re old.”
he smiles at that, leaning in with his elbows on the table as he continues to take singular bites of his food. “you don’t think so? how old do you think i am?”
you shrug, finally lifting your eyes to scan the features of his face.
he was obviously older than you but you only deduced that from the way he talks and conducts himself yet he didn’t share any facial features that gave away his age.
“thirty?” you squint, not wanting to guess too high and he gets offended.
he chuckles, shaking his head. “no, but i’m honored you thought that low. i’m thirty six.”
“still young.” you smile, dropping your eyes back down.
“so what’re you learning?” he sighs, leaning back again, spreading his long legs to be more comfortable and points at your books.
“nothing really.” you mumble. “just studying for the baby bar.”
“wow…” he nods partially in shock, suddenly thinking of the age gap between you. it’s been so long since his days of staying up all day and all night long when preparing for that exam. “you think you’ve got it? i could help you out.”
you definitely don’t got it. there were still at least another two months before you’d have to take the exam. all the current information you were learning was still processing and quite honestly you had a habit of doubting your skills and weren’t sure if you’d be able to get the score you’re aiming to achieve.
you shake your head at higuruma’s offer. “no, it’s okay. you already have so much going on. i rather not add to that.”
“i’m offering.” he smiles warmly, wanting to assure that it wasn’t a big deal as he crosses his arms lazily across his chest.
it’s only for second that you ogle the surprising size of his bicep when it’s contracted. you shake your head again. “i’ll be fine. thank you though. i appreciate it.”
higuruma hums not pushing any further on the subject. “do you drink?” he asks after swallowing down a bite of his burger.
“sometimes.” you shrug, clicking through your documents of notes that you were hardly paying attention to with higuruma making small conversation.
“would you like to drink now?”
the second time you look at him you see the teasing look in his own as if he’s urging you to loosen up for the night. he’s clearly in the mood to get to know you. perhaps one night of a few drinks wouldn’t be so bad.
“i suppose…” you sport a bashful smile, clicking out of your tabs and shutting down your laptop. you set it aside with your textbooks as higuruma orders your first round of drinks.
it starts off timid as if he’s testing the waters with some cocktails then began to try a little of everything. tropical drinks, shots, beer, and wine. of course you limited yourself to one of each— aside from the shots due to the fact you had a busy day tomorrow but it was surely enough to get you a bit passed tipsy.
higuruma proved to be holding his liquor better than you, smiling fondly as you babble on about the targaryen family line. at first he was curious about a video you were laughing at from tiktok and had to explain it was from game of thrones. you then learned he never watched the show and thought he’d find major interest in it.
you would yap about the politics, power, family, loyalty, and corruption. though once you got to the targaryens, higuruma had to pause at the mention of inbreeding.
“so what’s the difference between velaryons’s and targaryen’s?”
“velaryon and targaryen are house names.” you giggle, toying with your straw. “family lines. being valyrian is like, their racial background.”
“interesting…” he nods, sipping on his rum & coke. “and what’s the relationship between uh… daenerys? and jon?”
“i really shouldn’t be telling you this.” you laugh. “don’t you want to watch it now?”
“…i guess you’re right.” he grins, followed by a sigh as he stretches his arms over his head. “should we watch it tonight?”
you check the time on your phone, it was late. nearing midnight. it was tempting to indulge in a late night watch of one of your favorite shows but you’d probably regret it by the morning.
you bite down on your bottom lip, hiding the smile that wants to show. “it’s late…” you sigh out. “we probably shouldn’t.”
“then let’s start now.” he urges, opening his wallet and dropping a few dollars to cover the tab and allow the server to end their night with a more than generous tip. “c’mon.” he gestures his head, holding his hand out to you.
even with being a little drunk, you still felt shy coming in such close contact with higuruma. as you lifted your hand to connect with his, he guided you through the hotel and it grew quieter upon reaching the elevators.
he’s still holding your hand, waiting for them to open. you attempt to ignore the way his thumb gently brushes against your skin rhythmically and how this must look to bystanders. the thought is cut short when the doors finally split open and higuruma lets go of your hand to palm your lower back.
higuruma follows you in, pressing the floor number. you stand side by side, him humming a soft tune whilst you stare down at your feet to avoid meeting his stare that you could feel burning into you.
it was like a breath of fresh air upon reaching your floor and seeing the doors open. higuruma places his hand to your back again, guiding you down the quiet hall before reaching your room.
he presses the keycard to the sensor, following you in. you take slow steps inside, dropping your laptop and textbook onto your bed.
“what’s it on?” he huffs, turning on the tv.
you make yourself comfortable under the sheets, sighing in relief from the cold. “hbo.”
he surfs for a few seconds before shaking his head. “i don’t think this tv has that.”
“oh…” you frown then look at your laptop. “i mean, we could watch it on my laptop?”
he turns, thinking on what that means.
you both knew that meant laying down on the same bed, next to each other. he rubs his chin in thought. “only if you’re okay with it.”
your body grows hot but you nod slowly, scooting over to make space for him. he eyes the empty space for a few seconds, making hesitant steps forward. “are you sure? we could always watch it another time.”
“…it’s okay.” you spoke softly. “i want to watch it with you.”
he smiles at that, proceeding to lift up the covers and tuck himself under the covers beside you. the immediate warmth of his skin brushes yours and the two of you look at each other the moment he’s settled.
his eye contact is so intense and… unsettling almost that it has chills run down your spine. you want to look away but higuruma speaks up before you can.
“you’re really shy for a future lawyer.”
your brows furrow at his statement. “m’not.”
“you are.” he chuckles, eyes low as he can feel the crash from all the drinks overtake him.
“i think it’s just you.” you boldly argue.
he raises a brow. “yeah? what about me makes you so shy?”
you open your mouth but nothing can follow through especially with him so close you can feel your stomach churn when you catch yourself looking at his lips. “just… shut up.” you huff, grabbing for your laptop.
higuruma laughs, watching you log into hbo, searching for game of thrones. he steps out of the bed momentarily to turn off the lights before you can press start.
you settle the laptop atop both your legs, sighing as you press play on the first episode.
within the first thirty minutes, you fall asleep, your head rested against higuruma’s shoulder. he stayed up through three episodes, thoroughly enjoying the cause of events but forced himself to go to sleep or else he’d be having a rough day.
by the time the morning comes and your alarm goes off, you groan softly, eyes struggling to flutter open. you aimlessly search for your phone, shutting off the annoying sound before laying back down but then you feel a touch of skin.
you fully open your eyes, face twisting in fear at the sight of higuruma in your bed sound asleep. you weren’t that drunk where you didn’t remember wanting to watch game of thrones together but you weren’t sure why he stayed on your bed through the rest of the night.
you poked him, the action immediately waking him up. he breathes heavily, eyes fluttering open. he turns his head to face you. “good morning.”
“…morning.” you mumble, all the slight confidence you gained last night completely gone. though you did feel a certain comfortability now around him.
“sleep okay?” he husks out, lifting himself from the bed.
you nod, nervously twisting the sheets.
he checks the time. it was still early and you wouldn’t be meeting with your client until the afternoon. “do you want breakfast?”
“sure.”
“anything in particular?” he grabs his keys from the nightstand, swinging them around his pointer finger.
“your choice.” you shrug.
he hums. “go shower. get dressed. i’ll be back.”
you do as he says, showering, getting dressed, then eat breakfast with him once he gets back.
the day follows on as planned, you meet with the client, discuss the case, write down details, aim to search for more evidence and layout options.
for the next few weeks, you spent long hours traveling with higuruma to collect more evidence in support of your case. for a time you were able to juggle all the work but the stress of your bar exam coming up was starting to take a toll.
you wanted more time to study but you also had to sacrifice a lot of time to help higuruma. so you start to force yourself to stay up most nights, hardly getting any sleep, caffeine intake drastically rising.
it not only began to present itself through your physical presence but with the way you interacted with higuruma. at first he could understand having been in your position of working between school, studying, and work but as the weeks passed he noticed your decline was starting to affect your work performance.
he’d allow for a few things to slide but not at the risk of a client's future behind bars. so when he asks you a question and you remain too zoned out to answer, he’ll sigh.
“y/n.”
“hm?” you’ll hum, pen twisting between your teeth, completely focused on the textbook laid out.
“look at me.” he commands, tone still gentle as he waits for your eyes to meet his. higuruma was completely aware of your inability to do so but he couldn’t care at the moment. so when you only lift them for a second as if to show you were listening then drop them back to your computer screen he shakes his head with a sigh.
you don’t even notice him stand then come around to palm your chair until he shuts your laptop closed and snatches the pen from your hand. he ignores your surprised reaction. “is this becoming too much for you?”
you frown, opening your mouth to say something but you can’t follow through. instead you shake your head.
he spins you in your seat, forcing you to face him. “can you look at me when i’m speaking to you, please?”
“higuruma, i’m sorry—” you start with a small pout, not listening to what he asked.
“you don’t need to apologize. just look at me.”
it’s silent for a few seconds and you finally flicker your eyes up to look at him. a hand rests on the chair, the other on your desk completely caging you in. you can smell the strong but warm scent of his cologne that radiates off his skin and clothes.
“is this too much for you?” he asks again. “i can give you a break.”
“n-no.” you deny his inquisition. “the work is fine. it’s just… the studying. i’ve got my exam coming up really soon, i’m sorry.”
“it’s fine.” he assures, “look, on the weekends and on our breaks, i’ll help you study. it’s not nice seeing you like this, okay?”
you nod and he stands at his full height, comfortably squeezing your shoulder then patting your head. “take a nap. you look like you need it.”
there was about one more month left until you’d have to take the exam and higuruma keeps through on his promise and dedicates any moment of extra time he has to help you study.
his methods actually allowed you to gain more sleep, balance work more appropriately, and retain the information easier. you genuinely felt like you were learning. you even complimented higuruma on his skills of teaching, claiming that he’d make a great professor.
this continues throughout the month until it was time for the actual day. he helped you study in the morning for a bit, not too much as he didn’t want to override your brain. he got you breakfast and decided to drop you off at the testing site.
“i’ll be right here, okay?”
you nod, looking at him with a solemn smile. you hesitate at first but overwhelmed by your emotions you reach over the console to give him a hug. “thank you…”
he lets out a breath that sounds close to a laugh, hands coming around to circle your body. his palm rubs up and down your back in a comforting motion. “you’ve got this.” he whispers. “good luck.”
you head into the building, gone for a total of three and a half hours. he fell asleep in the car for about an hour until he hears three rampant knocks to the passenger window.
he sees your figure standing there with other individuals following out the building. immediately, he unlocks the door, watching you hop into the car without a word.
“how do you think you did?” he sighs, turning the ignition of the car.
you can only shrug, anxiety riddled through your body. passing was the only option for you. you opted out in taking it the first month the exam is taken so you’d have more time to study. this was your last chance or else you wouldn’t be able to advance in your studies.
higuruma takes in your worrisome expression, reaching his hand out to gently squeeze your shoulder. “should we go out for some drinks?”
you let out a small laugh, looking at him and nodding.
the two of you settle for some small bar, doing the same as before. indulging in every kind of drink but still keeping limitations. eventually, higuruma suggested to watching game of thrones and you in your slightly drunk state of mind couldn’t deny.
you end up at his home because you were too scared of what your roommate might say if you brought higuruma home. you step into the threshold, eyes wide as you stare around in awe.
“why is it so empty?” you giggle, noticing the lack of… anything.
it was as if he simply bought the house and disregarded buying any furniture, dishes, and utensils. does he even live here? was your initial thought as you scavenged through his pantry, cabinets, and refrigerator only to find nothing that could saturate your hunger.
“i spend most of my time at the office.” he huffs, tugging off his suit jacket and tossing it on his sofa. “i mainly come back here to shower and change clothes.”
you hum, clutching your purse as you continue to look around, dragging your fingers along surfaces.
that’s sort of become your lifestyle too now. you’ve no doubt seen higuruma more than your own roommate— which supported why you definitely couldn’t bring him over without warning.
he steps towards you, pointing to your purse and jacket. “would you like to shower?”
“that’d be nice…” you nod, handing him your belongings to toss with his jacket.
he grabs an extra towel he luckily had and his pajamas for you to wear since you didn’t have any clothes of your own. “i plan to order some food, do you want anything in particular?”
“dealer’s choice.” you smile at him. he nods, leaving you to shower as he picks on what to eat. you shower for about half an hour as you spent half of that time snooping around his restroom for any indication of a woman being here.
it was surely none of your business but you couldn’t help but find yourself intrigued by higuruma. naturally, amongst the things you wondered about was if he shared a life with someone. though it should’ve been obvious with the way he never spends his time at home and the simple fact of you being here.
you dried yourself off, putting on his clothes and unsure of where to put the used towel, you walk into his bedroom searching for a hamper. though you find yourself eager to just look around. there wasn’t much to find except for the basics.
you open his closet and find a wide range of suits all in black and white along with his pajamas that were the same color. he also had a distinct collection of watches and cologne.
you end up spraying the different fragrances into the air, adoring the mixture of them being woody, earthy, and citrusy. you take one, spraying it onto yourself.
“having fun?”
you turn fast on your feet, startled by his voice. he sports a teasing smile and you can’t help but feel your body grow hot in embarrassment. “um… sorry…” you laugh nervously, placing the cap back on to the cologne and settling it back in its original spot.
he shakes his head, fond of how you looked, “it’s alright. i ordered chinese.” he then hands you the remote to the tv and his phone for you to track the food. “log in to hbo. i’ll go take a quick shower.”
you nod, heading back out and taking a seat on his sofa. you log into hbo and as you waited, you ended up using his phone to scroll through tiktok. you definitely could’ve used your own but it felt more fun to use his considering the fact he didn’t even have the app in the first place.
the food arrived and within ten minutes after higuruma was done with his shower, fully dressed. he was wearing the same thing as you with the exception of his clothes looking larger on your frame.
he takes a seat beside you, spreading out the arrangement of food he bought on the mini table he had. you press play on the show and hour after hour you felt happier, completely forgetting that you even had an exam today. forgetting that you spent months worrying about this very day all thanks to higuruma.
you always grew a certain amount of courage after drinking so it went without a thought for you to sigh after feeling full then lean sideways to rest your head on his shoulder.
“thank you for today.” you mumble, eyes glued to the screen.
higuruma’s sprawled back, legs spread until you lean against him.
he doesn’t want to think too hard about the current proximity, simply enjoying the moment as he throws an arm around you so you’d feel more comfortable snuggling up to him.
“you deserved it.” he squeezes you gently and you don’t say anything in response, just cozying up to him some more.
from that day, you and higuruma grew closer than ever and you began to notice that you often thought about him, smiled at him more, opened up, and gained the courage to look at him longer.
with every compliment, touch, and night that you spent at his house watching game of thrones whilst eating food, there was no denying that you shared particular feelings for him.
and as the weeks past, you began to wonder what you should do with these feelings until the time came where the scores for the bar exam were out. the two of you were sat in the office per usual, and you received an email notification describing that the scores for the exam were out and where to check them.
you swallowed thickly, logging in to your admissions portal.
“did you ever get a copy of the prosecution's discovery?” higuruma asks, mindlessly flipping through a file.
his question is followed by silence and he’ll lift his head. “y/n?”
upon the continuous silence, higuruma rolls on his chair, peeking his head over to your cubicle to see you hiding your face and your shoulders shaking. concerned at the sight, he stands, and approaches you to palm your shoulder and that’s when he begins to understand that you’re crying when a fragile sob falls past your lips.
his heart burns at the broken sound. “what’s wrong?” his eyes lift to your monitor and see the familiar page of the exam results. he scrolls through the letter to see you’ve passed.
a laugh of relief spills from his throat, glad that your reaction isn’t due to any devastating news. his hand circles around your wrist and tugs at it. “come here.”
you slowly stand, allowing your emotions to flow upon feeling his arms encircle you tightly. you’ll cry into his chest, managing to thank him through your tears. he’ll shush you, rubbing at your back and cradling the back of your head.
“you did such a good job.” he murmurs into your hair.
he continues to mumble praises into your hair and ear, holding and consoling you until your crying has calmed down. once he hears you letting out small breaths to control your breathing, he pulls back, wiping at your tear stained cheeks. “i’m so proud of you.”
your body grows hot at the compliment paired with his stare as he gently cups your cheek, thumb swiping across the skin.
you let out a shaky breath, not sure if it was from your crying or that feeling pooling between your legs. your eyes drop down to his lips then back up to his eyes. higuruma does the same and you can’t help but curl your fingers around his dress shirt.
both of your breathing picks up and neither of you are sure of what to do in this moment. you can feel his free hand drop from your back then down to your waist as you each exchange flickering looks between your lips and eyes.
“higuruma…” you breathe out and he shakes his head, closing his eyes then pressing his forehead to yours.
“hiromi.” he corrects, switching his hand that cups your cheeks to palm the back of your neck. “my name… say it. that’s all i need.”
you fight the whine that bubbles in your throat, gripping tightly onto him as you open your mouth. “hiromi…”
he gives in at the immediate desperation his name holds, roughly pressing you against him so your lips could meet.
the two of you have your hands moving everywhere along your bodies and a gasp rushes from your lungs as he frantically lifts you onto the desk.
items clatter everywhere as he knocks them away whilst dipping his tongue into your mouth. it’s frantic and eager the way your mouths clash together. soft groans and moans spilling into the air as papers crumble beneath your figure.
you kick off your heels as hiromi hikes your skirt around your hips, pressing your back against the surface and knocking your legs open with his knees, revealing the lace panties hidden underneath them.
he presses himself against you with a rough groan, one hand hoisting your leg at his waist, whilst the other taps your cheek then grips your face to press into them. “open.”
your jaw widens, and hiromi hums before spitting in your mouth then leaning in to connect your lips again.
he’s hard and big.
it’s all you can think of as your tongues mesh together in perfect harmony.
weeks of built up feelings that you both tried so hard to fight all falling at the seams. you reach up to tug at his black roots as he unconsciously ruts himself against your clothed core.
you take advantage when he finally pulls away, a string of saliva following with him. his lips are swollen and covered in spit as he leans down to kiss along your jaw, then suck at the skin of your neck. you pant feverishly against his ear, gripping tighter onto him each time his bulge connects with your clit just right.
deep shaky breaths fly through his nose as rolls his hips, eyes squeezing tightly from the tightness building in his pants. it felt so fucking good to hear those soft whimpers and moans escape your lips. “feels so good.” he groans, pressing his forehead against yours. you two practically rubbing against each other like bunnies in heat without even starting the main course.
you whimper feeling yourself clench around nothing. your hands grasp for higuruma and he hums, kissing just below your ear. “gonna cum?”
you nod, mouth slacked open as he breathes harshly against your neck. “that’s okay, sweetheart.” he huffs, using his free hand to travel down between your bodies. fuck, he thinks the moment his fingers feel how drenched your panties are. your eyes blow wide as he pinches your clothed clit then rubs in tight circles. “you can cum, it’s okay.”
“oh my god.” you tremble and writhe against his lengthy figure, clawing at his back and arms as you feel lost on what to hold on with your orgasm building every second.
he stops the movement of his hips, grasping your neck so you’d be staring straight at him as he picks up the pace of his fingers. “come on.” he licks his lips, maintaining the eye contact he forces you to hold. “i wanna see you. you’re almost there.”
“hiromi—” you choke on the air, threatening to close your eyes but he shakes your head, warning you to keep them open as your body trembles from the euphoria that overcomes you.
“good job.” he wipes at your forehead and cheeks, standing to his full height. you use his tie to lift yourself up, meeting your lips again and immediately sloshing your tongue with his. while he fumbles to unbutton your shirt you do the same then aggressively toss off his tie. his large hands grope at your breast before unclipping your bra to flick and twist at your nipple. you moan into his mouth, fingertips caressing the light muscles of his abs.
he finds it quite amusing how you flinch with each twist and tug but nonetheless you let him continue his worship of your body. he leaves your skirt cinched around your waist, squeezing your hips then slowly tugs your panties down your legs.
you can’t imagine what he plans to do next until he drops both his hands behind your thighs, pressing them down as far as he can before bending down to dip his head between your legs.
his tongue flattens against your leaking hole, sucking up all slick your pussy produced. you reach straight for his hair, choking on a moan. “w-wait, i can’t.” you tell him, quivering at the sudden sensation. it certainly didn’t help with how big his nose is, he had the advantage to nudge it against your clit each lick and suck.
“i just want to taste you.” his voice vibrates against you, eliciting a strangled moan out of you. “is that okay, love?” he pulls back momentarily, mouth and nose coated in your juices as he presses a kiss to either side of your thighs.
what gets you is the fact he genuinely waits on your response. you nod feebly and he presses a kiss to your clit. “thank you.” is all he says before continuing his actions. your eyes immediately squeeze shut and you’re not sure if you’re trying to push his head or pull him closer. regardless, your back arches off the desk, pulling at his hair as he holds you down to prevent any more of your squirming.
a sound of absolute satisfaction rumbles in his chest and higuruma loses himself in your taste. he’s quite filthy really. you would’ve never expected him to be the type of man that relentlessly switches between licking, spitting, and sucking the way he does. a small pool of liquid has likely formed under you by now.
“r-romi, m’ gonna cum.” he hears, feeling the way you buck up against his mouth and quite literally has to force himself off you at the announcement. he seethes in a breath, huffing and puffing, licking around his mouth.
higuruma stands straight again, unbuckling his belt, letting out a soft breath as he no longer feels constricted. your eyes fall when he drops his pants and briefs. shit. i mean, you figured he was big but not that fucking big.
you yelp as he pulls you to the edge of the table, slapping his thick cock against your drooling hole that pulses around nothing.
“can i?” he collects your mess between his fingers, spreading your folds and gliding his shaft between them.
you nod but higuruma shakes his head then grips your neck to pull you up. “tell me, sweetheart. can i?”
“p-please.” you look up at him, all doe eyed and desperate. his hand squeezes your neck and keeps you looking at him as he uses his other hand to pull you closer, prodding in just the tip then slowly pushes himself into your warm, gushing cunt. your mouth slacks open at the stretch, gasping for air as higuruma squeezes tighter from the way you sporadically clench around his length.
he’s only halfway in and it’s taking all his energy to not cum. your pussy is torturously sucking him in, so much so a quivering grunt echoes from his chest. he pats your thigh in response. “ease up, it’s just me, darling.” he tells you, and you want to laugh at how serious he’s being. ease up? not fucking possible when at least eight inches length and formidable girth was pushing itself into you.
once he’s finally filled to the hilt. your legs cross around his hips, grasping his wrist, preventing him from squeezing too tight on your throat. “you’re always such a good girl… so smart and beautiful.” he praises, leaning in to peck your lips then follows with butterflies kisses along your jaw and neck then comes back up to meet your lips again. your mouths twist slower, fiery and brimmed with passion to distract you from the roll of his hips.
“so warm.” he moans against your lips, biting down and sucking on your bottom one. he finally lets go of your neck, pushing you on your back again then clasping both thighs as leverage to pummel himself deep into your pussy. he groans along to your whimpers and moans, dark eyes focused on the imprint that shows itself on your stomach with every thrust.
his light abs glisten with sweat, his brows furrowed as he zones into the way he disappears in and out of your pussy that sucks him in and coats his base white.
papers crumble beneath your fist as your moans are pulled closer together, the indication that your orgasm was fast approaching. the effect likely to be huge since you already had your first and was denied your second. hiromi grunts, fixing you into a mean semi-mating press, legs over his shoulders as his balls mercilessly slap against your skin to echo around the office space.
“gonna cum.” you quiver but higuruma smacks your clit as if that’s supposed to help.
“hold it.”
“i-i can’t.” you look at him, pouting.
his eyes snap up to meet yours and he smacks you again. “hold it.”
he somehow moves faster and harder, harshly breathing with sweat beading down his temple. after a minute, you’re completely spent, eyes watering as you shake your head. “romi, please. i can’t hold it.”
“shhh.” he huffs, pressing his palm over your mouth, viciously chasing the high of his orgasm. he rolls his eyes shut, sticking two fingers into your mouth. “go. hurry up and cum.”
it’s only a few seconds after his command that your waves come crashing down, body yearning to close upon itself due to the overstimulation but higuruma keeps you spread open, still thrusting for what feels like over a minute.
he pulls out, a hand immediately coming to pump at his length, the other angling your body just right so when he forces your mouth open, hot spurts of his cum land on your breasts, chin, and tongue.
hiromi takes a breath that sounds like he’s inhaling fresh air, squeezing at his tip to extract every ounce of his fill. he takes a good and long look at your weak body, collecting his remains that landed on you to push back into your mouth.
“so beautiful…” he cups your cheek, holding you upright since you clearly can’t. “you alright? did i hurt you?”
“no… i’m okay.” you mumble, staring up at him as if he held up the moon and stars. “was i?… okay?”
“absolutely, love.” his brows furrow, gently caressing your skin as he looks at you. “more than okay. perfect.”
you smile shyly at that and he has a similar question on his mind as he helps in cleaning you up. “are we okay?”
“am i okay for you?”
hiromi has begun to understand your naturally shy and timid nature but it also crossed his mind that your sense of overthinking would come into play with your age gap.
it wasn’t drastic of course but he would never want to put you in a position that made you seemingly uncomfortable.
you nod with a small smile, gripping his bicep and pulling him in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “more than okay… perfect.”
NOTE: THESE ARE ALL ACTORS THAT WERE POSTED ON A REGULATED SITE. EVERYTHING IS BETWEEN CONSENTING ADULTS.
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part of my kinktober series!
its ok if as long as it's not inside, right? ᡣ anal + toys ᡣ backshots ᡣ cuddlefuck ᡣ this ᡣ riding ᡣ deeeeep breeding ᡣ (tw) ghostface ᡣ somno ᡣ stuck! ᡣ fingering both holes
pussy eating ᡣ eating you out ᡣ jerking off to you ᡣ toys ᡣ riding ᡣ public sex ᡣ pounding + hair pulling ᡣ hole swap ᡣ groping + rough sex ᡣ 69 ᡣ pussy eating ᡣ the condom broke!
kisses between thrusts ᡣ he won't let you play your game... ᡣ doggy position ᡣ titty fuck ᡣ dryhumping ᡣ thigh fucking ᡣ more thigh fucking ᡣ reverse cowgirl ᡣ ripping your panties
somno pt. ii ᡣ cuddles ᡣ fingering ᡣ this ᡣ mutual masturbation ᡣ more fingering ᡣ tummy bulge ᡣ using you as stress relief after work ᡣ princess treatment ᡣ riding and breeding ᡣ new position ᡣ anal
see more in my main masterlist
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i think that modulo yuuji has you wear his modulo jacket when he fucks you sometimes, zipped down low enough to watch your breasts bounce under the material when he has you flat on your back — grinning all sickly sweet cause your nipples get so so sensitive when the synthetic nylon rubs against them :( maybe he pulls the hood over your face too, watching the tears peek out from underneath it as they roll down your cheeks in a streaking hot path …
“are you crying, baby? tryna hide it from me?”
leaning down, to your height where his palms support his weight over you — peering under the hood with those dark, chocolatey eyes that just eat you up. your thighs shake either side of his waist, where yuuji slots between them like a missing puzzle piece. like he belongs between them. smacking into yours, heavy and hard, pelvis grinding against that aching clit. then he coos and leers down at you as though his dick isn’t deep in your stomach, dragging along your stimulated walls. probably laughs too, pressing down on your tummy where his cock bulges through the unzipped layers of the jacket…
“i know, i know, pretty girl. I’d be crying too if i felt this good…”
it’s like he’s goading you into it, dragging you into your high word by word. leaving you no choice but to let that wound up chord unravel and your juices splash out against his tummy, webbing over pinkish-whitish pubic hair. then yuuji leans back, proud whilst you blubber and whine — pushing a hand through his sweaty faded hair, strands all out of place as he grins.
“that’s right, baby… make a mess of my shit. ruin this dick. ruin my clothes. wanna be able to smell you on it after.”
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 18+ mdni.. Biker!satoru.. Fucking in a laundromat.. Reader lwk shameless.. p in v
“UGH! HEY ASSHOLE, YOU JUST SPLASHED ME!” you yelled at the stupid biker who zoomed down the 30 lane. Disgustingly wiping your white mini slip dress. The splatters of mud were definitely going to stain.
Fuckkk! This tiny dick! You loved this dress, AND it was new. Hope his bike explodes. You mutter random curses at him and his stupid bike under your breath while walking to the nearest coin laundry.
You got stood up on your late, your heel broke, hence why you were holding your shoes and walking barefoot on the dirty floors of your city, your dress got soiled, and you had mud splatters all over your legs. Fucking lovely.
As you made your way down the street, you saw a flickering sign that read ‘1 spin For $1’. Yeah, will do.
You couldn’t help but let your mind wander at your dick of a talking stage who dipped on the first date. Bitch ass bum. Just thinking about it made you want to commit a felony or two.
The door chimed, pushing your way into the empty laundromat.
“At least it’s empty,” you whispered, slipping your dress off your shoulders. Yes, you were stripping, but you couldn’t be bothered. Plus, it’s 1 AM. Who the hell is doing laundry at 1 AM, aside from you?
The mud had seeped through the black sheer pantyhose, but you weren’t going to bother with cleaning these cheap leggings. They would tear if someone looked at them wrong, let alone laundry.
You started your load, sitting on the benches in nothing but black lace trim panties and a matching strapless bralette.
Wow, you might as well have left the strip club.
Your couple of seconds of silence quickly vanished when the door chimed again, a tall, broad man walked in wearing a helmet.
A biker?
Wait.
Was it him?
His eyes instantly caught yours. Or so you assumed they did, basing it on the way his head was tilted in your direction.
“Found you,” the man laughed, his voice didn’t match his looks in the very least. Pulling the black shiny helmet off his head, you were met with a fucking Vogue model. Who the hell was this and why the hell was he straight out of a magazine?
“Umm..?”
You awkwardly said, shifting in your seat. His near-blinding blue eyes trailed down your very exposed body. Lingering a bit too long for comfort, making you wrap your arms around your midsection.
Maybe the whole stripper vibe wasn’t the best choice of action at 1 AM.
“Eyes up here, jerk.” Your voice lacked the confidence you usually spoke with. Maybe because he was drinking in your appearance like wine.
“I came to apologize– I didn’t mean to splash you, sweetheart,” he awkwardly said, avoiding your face, but you could see the bright red painting the corner of his ears. Pervert.
“So it was you,” you sighed, standing up. “You dick, you made my night longer than it should’ve been, and not only that,” you scowled, walking towards him. Each step of yours made him take a step back. Yeah, maybe it wasn’t such a big deal, but you were mad. At everyone and everything, and he was your victim for tonight. “You fucking ruined my $200 dress in 2 fucking seconds, and my legs are dirty because you can’t seem to ride your stupid bike at a reasonable speed, and you–” your chest heaved, finger shoved into the white-haired male’s chest. He had his arms up in surrender, back pressed to the entrance/exit of the laundromat, while your body was a mere cm from being pressed up against his.
He smiled like he was being held at gunpoint.
“I– uh.. I’ll pay for.. It?” He didn’t even know if he knew what he was paying for, that’s how unsure he sounded.
You scoffed, dryly laughing. “Please, you’re such a jerk.” he wasn’t sure what you were even mad about at this point. You felt something graze your thigh, in an attempt to look down, the stranger instantly had his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a tight prototype of a hug. “Don’t.. Don’t look down–” he said, his face seeming more flushed than earlier.
“Why, the hell? Let go of me,” you struggled against his shockingly very hard muscles, but it was no use. “Waitwaitwaitwaitwait– please, stop moving for fuck’s sake,” he groaned, something pressing against your lower stomach.
“What the hell is that! Is that a fucking gun!?” you shoved and stumbled back, finally escaping his grasp. He stood by the door awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands. Your eyes finally met the… gun.
Oh.
“You’re…” your voice trailed off. Both of you flinched at the sound of the washer load ending. Quickly rushing over to take your mildly wet dress out and throwing it into the dryer.
Oh right. You didn’t have anymore change. A pale hand came past your face, putting a dollar into the coin slot, letting the dryer run.
Your body stiffened, and his was stuck in place behind yours. “T-thanks..”
“Can I pay you back?” he said, unmoving. The shadow he was casting over you was enough to send chills down your spine. Not taking into account the fact that you’re still half naked in front of this very much stranger.
“Yeah just– it’s 200.” You might as well take the money since he’s so willing to give it.
“Oh, actually, I don’t have cash on me right now, and my phone is at home.. So..” you sighed, rubbing your forehead. “So you’re here just to piss me off?”
“If you don’t have anything, how the fuck are you supposed to pay me back!?” you half-yelled, turning to face him (his chest) again.
“Well, I was thinking some other forms of payment.”
“What other forms?”
“Mmmfghh– fu-fuckkk” your hands gripped the washer like the man named Satoru had asked you to.
He had torn the back of your pantyhose, pulling your panties to the side to tease your apparently wet pussy with his hard cock. The one that got hard just from staring at you wearing nothing but a matching set.
He was thick, you could tell from his boner, but when he was pushing his tip inside, you could feel yourself being torn in half. No exaggeration. He was thick and veiny and angry.
It would be a shame not knowing how to use such a fat dick, but that wasn’t the case. Satoru knew how to use it. And he knew how to use it well.
His pelvis slapped against your round ass, the weight of him alone, shaking you to your core. Your body came into contact with the hard machine with each thrust. You knew this was going to burn the next day.
“Sh-shittt– Slow it down a–a little will yo-u–” you gasped, the words being knocked out with the heavier and meaner thrusts. This seemed less like a form of repayment and more like a way to get his anger out on you.
He wasn’t saying much. His hands travelled down your ass, snapping at the band of your panties, pulling at the pantyhose, leaving the tear bigger.
It wasn’t hard work to rip such a flimsy fabric, but the way he did it had your pussy throbbing.
“Can’t–” he grunted, dropping his head to your shoulder, catching your gaping jaw in one hand, the other hand came down on your ass, making you jump.
Did he just spank you?
The loud echo of the thwack answered your question.
“Ahhhwait! Fuck– hurts,” you moaned, a desperate plea falling on deaf ears. The loud continuous clapping of skin to skin was driving you nuts.
The way his fat angry tip was pushing and bullying your cervix was enough to make your legs tremble. His hand steadied you, making sure you don’t fall. Keeping you in place with a large palm flat on your stomach.
“It’s… wet,” he groaned, mentioning the lewd, sloppy noises coming out of your pussy. Your face heating up at the perverted remark, making you push back, but you only met his cruel and insane thrusts.
“I–I’m close! Closeimclose!” you cried out, nails digging into the metal of the washer. He moved his lips along your back, down your spine—as much as the position would take him.
“Say my name,” his voice quivered, but he caught it, “say my name and—fuck—i’ll let you cum,” he said in a low, almost dazed voice. You folded under zero pressure. No point in playing push and pull when your orgasm was already at the front door.
“S-Satoru! Satoru– please, please let me cum! ‘M so closeee” and oh he did. He grabbed both your hips, watching you hold on for dear life while he absolutely rammed inside your pussy, each clamp and throb of your hole told him more than your words could.
He couldn’t help but let a moan—and an orgasm—slip free when your cunt choked his cock as you came around it. Pussy tightening around him, he swore his dick would snap off, but thankfully, it didn’t. Though he did end up finishing alongside you. More like inside you.
“Mmffghaafuckk–”
“Your words a–aren’t even audible,” Satoru teased, making you elbow him in the ribs.
“Sorry–I..” he muttered incomprehensibly, moving back just enough to let his softening dick slip free. His load drips down your legs and pussy, leaving you more of a mess than before you entered this place.
“Fuck-” he hissed, grabbing you before your legs could give out on you.
You weren’t even mad that a stranger had stuffed you. Hell, you were in a state of bliss. Your pussy was definitely sore and throbbing and empty but fuck is he a good fuck.
“You’re dropping me home on your bike. I’m not walking the streets with cum dripping out of me while wearing ripped sheer leggings,” your voice came out more tired and hoarse than you had expected. Finally, turning to face him, the man who fucked you into next week. The one who seemed so shy but is currently wearing the biggest shit-eating smirk.
“Will do, sweetheart.” A pretty wholesome moment for both of you, and the blinking camera tucked away in the corner of the shop that had recorded everything.
A/N: angel strikes again at fucking 1 am. absolute bullshit btw, but hope u enjoy
ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.
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