IkueSimSimp @ikuesimsimp - Tumblr Blog

The Learning Curve

⋆｡°✩ Part two: Falling⋆｡°✩

Synopsis: As the campus sex legend, you’re unofficially appointed as an.. intimacy tutor. Your typical clientele consists of virgins, clumsy nerds, eager frat boys and even the occasional girl. So when Jake Sim— quiet, shy, nerdy— shows up at your door for lessons, you’re not exactly surprised. That is, until, he starts looking at you like you’re worth more than what you can teach. Love isn’t in your curriculum. Jake seems to think he can pencil it in.

CW: MDNI!!! Porn WITH plot! Porn WITH FEELINGS! Fluff, angst, making out, swearing, weed, alcohol, fingering, oral (f & m receiving)p in v protected, p in v unprotected (ZONT ZO IT) extreme dirty talk, cream pie, sub Jake, overstimulation, tit play, pet names, gagging, squirting, cum swallowing, whining/whimpering.

authors note ; first— thank you SO much for all the love on part one! I hope you guys liked the smut in it bc this picks up right there off the bat. But— this one is more emotion based! I have a set theme in mind for each parts ♡ dw they all contain smut heehee

Pairings ; nerd!virgin!Jake x fem!reader

14k wc

Fucking • Falling • Fracturing • Failing

The sun cuts through your blinds in a sharp, golden line, painting across the pillows. Jake stirs against you with a sleepy groan, his arm tightening around your waist as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His voice is rough with sleep, muffled against your skin.

“Five more minutes, professor... don't make me get up for class yet.”

He nuzzles deeper into your neck, his morning erection pressing insistently against your thigh. His hand slides from your waist down to your hip, fingers splaying possessively over your skin.

His eyes flutter open, blinking slowly as he registers the morning light and the fact that he's still in your bed. A slow, dazed smile spreads across his face. “Fuck. It wasn't a dream.” He shifts his hips, grinding against you lazily. “Morning, pretty. Sleep okay?”

His thumb strokes slow circles on your hip bone, his gaze tracing the marks he left on your neck and collarbone. He looks utterly content, hair messy and glasses still on the nightstand.

His voice drops to a low, sleep-rough murmur. “Woke up hard thinking about you.” He grins, unapologetic. “You're gonna ruin my GPA, buuuut, fuck it. Worth it.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm against your skin as he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “Too early for a wake-up call, but perfect timing for a morning lesson, hm?” His hand slides down your hip, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “You know what they say about studying before breakfast. Better retention.”

He shifts beside you, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him so you're draped across his chest. His morning hardness nudges against your stomach as he settles his hands on your waist, thumbs stroking idle circles into your skin.

His voice is still rough with sleep, but there's a teasing lilt to it. “'Course, if you're not awake enough for round four, I could always make you some coffee first. But I'm not promising I'll keep my hands to myself while it brews.”

You mumble something about breakfast to deflect and roll away, still half-asleep, your mind catching up with the fact there’s a man in your bed. Men aren’t supposed to be in your bed this early.

A soft, disappointed noise escapes him as you roll away, his hand hovering in the air where your waist just was. He watches you burrow into the pillow, a fond, amused smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, alright. I get it. Breakfast first.”

He sits up slowly, the sheet pooling around his waist as he stretches, his spine cracking with a series of satisfying pops. He looks around your room for a moment, taking in the scattered clothes and the rumpled sheets, before padding barefoot toward your kitchen. You hear the clatter of cabinets opening, as he apparently helps himself to your mugs and coffee grounds, the hum of the coffee maker starting up.

You take this time to blink the sleep from your eyes, memories of last night coming back less like fragments and more like a bucket of ice water. Sure, it was nice and you definitely needed it but what do you do now? Do you make an excuse and kick him out, or do you let him stay and see where things go? Both options seem messy, which is exactly why you have a rulebook.

A few minutes later, he returns with two mugs, setting one on the nightstand beside you. The rich smell of fresh coffee cuts through the lingering scent of sex in the room.

His voice is soft, gentle as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Hey. I made you coffee. Cream and sugar, right?” He pauses, a little sheepish. “I guessed. You strike me as a two-sugar kinda girl. Maybe even three.”

You usually take it black, but you don’t correct him on this. Coffee preference knowledge is for people who stick around. You haven’t decided yet.

He sits on the edge of the bed, his knee brushing your hip, his hand resting warm on your shoulder. “No rush, but drink it while it's hot. And then...” He trails off, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. “Maybe we can revisit that morning lesson plan.”

You sit up and take the coffee, eyeing him over the rim of the mug, silently, trying to decide whether you’re going to give him the boot or not while he’s apparently already decided for both of you.

Before you can come to a decision, he settles back against the headboard, his own mug cradled between his hands. A lazy, self-satisfied smile plays at his lips. “I'm gonna take that look as a good sign.” He couldn’t be more wrong.

He takes a sip of his own, his hungry eyes never leaving you. “Though if you're giving me that look for a different reason—“ He lets the sentence hang, a raised eyebrow doing all the work. Still, wrong.

He sets his mug down and reaches over, brushing a thumb across your lower lip. “You got a little bit of— no, it's gone. Sorry. Just wanted an excuse to touch you.” He grins, unrepentant. “You can't blame a guy for being greedy first thing in the morning.”

His hand drops to your knee, thumb tracing a slow, lazy circle on the inside of your thigh. The morning light catches in his messy brown hair, turning it golden at the edges. Outside, the campus is starting to come alive— distant voices, a car door, the faint sound of a lawnmower somewhere— but inside, the world narrows to just the two of you and the steam curling up from your mugs.

His voice drops, softer now, almost thoughtful. “So... what's the protocol for after breakfast? Do I get my gold star and a pat on the head? Or do I get to keep you a little longer?”

You narrow your eyes and take another sip from your mug before choosing your words carefully. “You get to wake up in my bed and drink my coffee. Further protocol is yet to be determined.”

He barks a laugh, shaking his head as he lifts his mug in a mock toast. “Determined to remain a mystery, huh? Fair enough. I'm just glad I made the cut off for the part of the morning that gets coffee.” He takes a sip, but his eyes are warm over the rim. “You know I'm not gonna stop trying to earn a repeat invitation, right?”

This much, you are certain of. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that.

His phone buzzes insistently on the nightstand— once, twice, three times. He ignores it for a moment, but it keeps going, and he finally glances at the screen with a grimace.

He mutters a low curse under his breath, thumbing the screen. “Shit. Jungwon's blowing me up. Says I missed a group study sesh and now they're threatening to send a search party.” He locks the phone and sets it face-down with a heavy sigh, but when he looks back at you, there's that familiar, hungry glint behind the tiredness.

“I could tell them I found extra credit elsewhere.” He slides his hand a little higher up your thigh, his tone dropping to a low, teasing drawl. “Or I could stay for that coffee refill, see if we can't come up with a better excuse.”

You raise a brow, apparently coming to a decision without giving it a second thought. “I don’t know who Jungwon is, but tell him to kiss your ass. You’re mine until lunch.” Guess you aren’t ready to let him go just yet.

His eyes light up at your words, a slow, almost giddy grin spreading across his face. He lifts his phone and types out a quick message, then flips it to show you the screen— a reply from Jungwon reading "u lucky bastard."

He tosses the phone aside and turns back to you, sliding closer. “Yours until lunch, huh?” His voice is a low, playful murmur. “That's the best damn deadline I've ever heard. Guess I'll have to make the most of it.”

His hand slides up your thigh, fingers curling into the soft skin there. He leans in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze warm and wicked behind the steam of his coffee mug.

He takes a slow sip, never breaking eye contact. “So what's on the syllabus for the next four hours, professor? You wanna get breakfast first, or should I just get on my knees and show you what I learned about being a good student?”

You set your mug down and pull him back into bed. “Forget breakfast.”

He lets out a low, surprised laugh as you tug him back down, the coffee mug nearly slipping from his grip before he sets it on the nightstand. “Just like that, huh? No negotiation?”

He's grinning as he hovers over you, his hands landing on either side of your head. “I like this side of you, pretty. All decisive and shit.”

His weight settles over you, warm and solid, the scent of coffee mixing with the lingering musk of last night. His cock is already half-hard against your thigh, and he rolls his hips down with a slow, deliberate grind, a low sound escaping his throat.

He dips his head, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice a rough, hungry whisper. “God, I want breakfast. But I want you more.”

His hand slides down between you, fingers teasing at the waistband of the underwear you'd thrown back on before bed. “Can I have a taste first? Want to wake you up properly... with my tongue on your pretty little clit until you forget your own fucking name.”

You shiver at his words, your pussy now fully awake and starting to throb at the implications. “Fuck Jake—“

He grins against your skin, a low, wicked sound vibrating through his chest as his fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear. “There she is. There's that pretty little desperation I love. You say my name like that and I'm already hard as a rock.”

He pulls the fabric down your legs slowly, deliberately, watching your face the whole time. “You gonna let me eat you out until you're dripping down my chin? Or do you want me to take my time and make you beg for it first?”

He settles between your thighs, his breath hot against your skin. “Your call, baby. But know I'm already starving.”

You spread your legs wider and grab the back of his head, urging him on. “Less talkin, more eating.”

He chuckles low against your thigh, the sound vibrating through you as he drags his mouth up your inner leg. “So demanding. I love it.”

He presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the crease where your thigh meets your hip, his tongue tracing a slow, teasing path. “I'm gonna taste every inch of you until you're squirming and begging for my cock.”

He shifts lower, his breath hot against your core as he nuzzles into you. His hands slide beneath your thighs, pushing them wider, his fingers digging into the soft skin with a possessive grip. He drags his tongue through your slick folds in one long, slow stroke, a low, hungry groan rumbling from his chest.

He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips shiny with your wetness, his voice wrecked. “Fuck, you taste even better in the morning. Like salt and honey.”

He dips back down, his tongue circling your clit with teasing precision. “I could eat you all day, beautiful. Every damn minute of it.”

You arch your back, hips lifting to meet his tongue desperate for more friction. “Don't tease, Jake...”

He hums against your clit, a low, smug sound that vibrates right through you. “Fine. I won't. But I'm gonna make you come on my tongue and then I'm gonna slide up and fuck you until lunch. Deal?”

He presses the flat of his tongue hard against you, laving in broad, wet strokes up to your clit before sucking it gently between his lips, his hands keeping your thighs wide open as he devours you with slow, deliberate hunger.

You whimper, hands tangling in his hair. “Make me come first, then I'll let you take what you want.”

His breath hitches at your promise, a dark, hungry flash crossing his eyes. “That's my girl.“

He dives back down with renewed purpose, his tongue flat and broad against your slit before focusing in tight, relentless circles on your clit. His fingers slide down to press two inside you, curling upward in a come-hither motion, matching the rhythm of his tongue.

His voice is muffled against you, sending vibrations through you. “C'mon, pretty. I can feel you tightening. Give it to me. Let me taste it.”

His pace turns punishing, his own breathing ragged as he works you toward the edge, his fingers thrusting deeper, faster, curling against that spot that made you gush last night.

“Fuck, right there— I'm close—“

He lets out a ragged, desperate noise against you, his fingers curling harder inside you, his mouth sealed to your clit. “That's it— let me feel it. I want every bit of it on my tongue.”

He drives his two fingers deep and crooks them sharply, pressing against that spot with ruthless precision as he sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking fast and dirty. His own hips grind down against the mattress, needy and desperate, chasing friction he’s denying himself.

He pulls back just long enough, voice shot, breathless, “Come for me, baby. I’ll catch every drop.”

“Fuck— Jake— I'm gonna—“ You barely get out the warning before your orgasm crashes over you, less harsh than last night, more slow and syrupy this morning.

His fingers curl harder, his mouth sealed to your clit, his whole world narrowed to the way your body tenses and pulses against his tongue. He doesn't let up for a second, working you through the first wave of your release, swallowing everything you give him.

Jake's grip on your thighs is iron as he rides out every last tremor, and your body finally goes slack against the sheets. Yet, he’s not stopping.

He stays there, head dipped between your thighs, fingers lazily dragging in and out of your now sopping pussy. “Fucking beautiful.”

He presses a soft kiss to your clit and flicks it with his tongue, sending a jolt through you from the overstimulation. He hums in satisfaction at your reaction, doing it a second time, and a third, before moving his tongue lower to lick at you slow and languidly.

“Jake, pleaaasee” you mewl, thrashing your head against your pillow.

He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your skin. “Sorry, pretty. Can’t help it. Fuckin’ obsessed with this pussy.” He licks a broad stripe up you once more, and seals it with a lingering kiss over your clit before finally pulling back.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a wicked, satisfied grin on his face, his chin glistening.

His voice is rough, wrecked, but there's a dark, smug edge to it. “Best damn breakfast I've ever had.”

He crawls up your body, his lips dragging over your stomach, your sternum, the curve of your breast, until he's hovering above you, his hips settling between your thighs. “Now remember what you promised— I take what I want.”

His cock is already thick and leaking against your thigh, and he reaches down to guide it to your entrance, pressing just enough to make you feel the pressure before holding still, waiting for your nod.

Catching your breath, you shoot a witty remark at him. “You better make it count, nerd.”

His eyes flash at your challenge, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face as he presses his hips forward just enough to sink the head of his cock inside you. “Make it count? Oh, I plan on making it unforgettable.”

He pulls back, then slams in with one brutal, grinding thrust, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan. “That count, pretty?”

He doesn't give you time to answer. He sets a punishing pace immediately— fast and deep, angled to hit that spot dead-on, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. The bed creaks in protest, the headboard knocking against the wall as he fucks you with a raw, desperate hunger.

His voice is broken, wild, through ragged pants. “You feel that? Feel how deep I am? I'm gonna fuck you 'til you forget your own name, pretty. 'Til all you know is my cock and my name on your lips.”

He drops his head, mouth latching onto your neck as his hips piston into you, his rhythm turning sloppy and frantic. His hand slides down, thumb pressing hard against your clit, not gentle— deliberate, driving you back toward a new crest before you've even caught your breath.

He drags his mouth up to your ear, his voice a wrecked, filthy rasp. “Come on, y/n. Let me feel you break again. I want it dripping down my thighs before lunch.”

Your hands come up to claw at his back as you moan his name, eyes threatening to roll back in your head before you force them to look at Jake.

A low, guttural sound tears from his chest as your nails dig into him, his rhythm stuttering for just a moment before he slams back into you with renewed force. “Fuck, that's it. Mark me up. Wanna walk around campus with your scratches all over my back like a goddamn trophy.”

He shifts his angle, grinding deep against that spot before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in, each thrust punctuated by your own broken, desperate sounds. “You feel so fucking good, baby. Like you were made to take my cock. Say my name again— wanna hear it like that when I make you come.”

He drives into you relentlessly, his thumb still pressing hard against your clit, his body slick with sweat as the morning light catches the curve of his shoulders. The bed frame knocks a steady, frantic rhythm against the wall, and his breathing is ragged, almost pained, like he's holding back just enough to drag this out.

He drops his forehead to yours, eyes blown wide and dark, his voice a wrecked, trembling whisper. “I'm close. Fuck, I'm so close. You gonna come with me? Gonna soak me one more time 'fore I fill this pussy up?”

You pull him down into a messy, desperate kiss, hoping it distracts him just a bit longer before you pull back just enough to rasp a demand against his lips. “Don't you dare stop.”

He groans into your mouth, a desperate, broken sound, his hips stuttering as he fucks into you with renewed frenzy. “Never— fuck, never gonna stop—“

He breaks the kiss with a gasp, throwing his head back as his hips pound into you with brutal, punishing precision. His thumb works your clit in tight, frenzied circles, his body slamming against yours as the pressure builds to a breaking point.

And there’s that feeling again, low in your stomach, or maybe it’s your cervix, you really can’t tell. It snaps with no warning to you, or Jake, soaking him just like he had begged as you gasp for air and your legs tremble violently.

A broken, guttural cry tears from his throat as you gush around him, the feeling of you soaking his cock sending him over the edge. He slams in one last time, hips locking against yours as he spills deep into you with a ragged, trembling groan.

“Fuck— y/n—“ His body shudders through the aftershocks, his weight collapsing onto you, his face buried in the sweat-slick curve of your neck.

He stays there for a long moment, breathing in harsh, uneven gasps against your skin. When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are dazed, his hair plastered to his forehead, a lazy, wrecked grin tugging at his lips.

He presses a clumsy, reverent kiss to the corner of your mouth, his voice shot and hoarse. “Lunch can wait.” He nods, a weak laugh escaping him. “I think I need a year to recover from that one.”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, speaking almost absentmindedly. “Yeah, you’re not going anywhere for a while.”

He hums low in his throat, eyes half-lidded as he shifts just enough to look at you properly, his hand still tangled in the sheets near your hip. “Yeah? You saying I'm your new permanent fixture?” His voice is rough, teasing, but there's a soft, cautious edge underneath. “Cause I could get used to that. Real used to it.”

You card through his hair, registering the words you’ve shared as best as you can, now attempting to dance around them. “Mmm, I wouldn’t say permanent, but we’ll see.”

He lets out a soft, breathless laugh, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip. " ‘We'll see,’ huh? That's the best damn maybe I've ever gotten.” He lifts his head, a genuine, unguarded smile softening the usual mischief in his eyes. “I'll take it.”

He lets out a contented hum, his body still heavy and warm against yours, but his fingers keep tracing those idle patterns on your skin, like he can't bear to stop touching you. “You know, I think I could get used to being a ‘maybe.’ “ He yawns, the sound cracking mid-word.

“Though if you're gonna keep me around, I'm gonna need a real breakfast eventually. My stomach's starting to file a formal complaint.”

His phone buzzes again from the nightstand, a quick succession of notifications that have him groaning. He reaches over, squinting at the screen, and a look of mild panic crosses his face.

He sits up slightly, running a hand through his messy hair. “Shit. Jungwon sent a follow-up. Apparently the study group's moved to the coffee shop on campus, and he's threatening to camp outside my door if I don't show.” He glances at you, a hopeful, almost boyish expression on his face. “You think I could bribe him with the fact that I'm currently in bed with campus legend y/n l/n? Or should I just tell him I'm busy being thoroughly educated?”

He's already shifting, reaching for his discarded boxers on the floor, but his movements are unhurried, like he's waiting for you to give him a reason to stay.

This works well in your favor, because now you don’t have to be heartless and kick him out, nor do you have to suffer through the awkward post-coital ‘what now’. “‘S okay. You can go. I’ve got lecture in an hour anyways.”

He pauses mid-reach for his boxers, turning back to look at you with a soft, almost surprised expression. “Lecture, huh? What're you taking? Or are you the one teaching?” He grins, but there's a genuine curiosity underneath it as he pulls the boxers on.

You stretch lazily in bed, curling onto your side to watch Jake. “English Lit. Nothing exciting.”

He pads over to the pile of discarded clothes, searching for his shirt. He finds it crumpled under the edge of your bed, and he shakes it out with a rueful laugh before pulling it over his head.

He sits on the edge of the mattress, fingers lacing his own as he looks back at you, his voice softer now. “Thanks. For... all of it.” He gestures vaguely, a self-conscious smile tugging at his lips. “The lessons. The coffee. The... you know.” He clears his throat. “I'll text you later? If that's cool.”

“Yeah, that's fine.”

He nods, a little too quickly, a flicker of something soft and warm passing through his eyes before he masks it with a lopsided grin. “Cool. Cool, cool. Definitely cool.”

He stands, running a hand through his messy hair, and grabs his phone off the nightstand, thumbing out a quick reply to Jungwon.

He pauses at the doorway, looking back at you— still tangled in the sheets, hair wild, marks blooming on your neck. For a moment, his expression softens, almost vulnerable, before he clears his throat and steps through the door.

His voice carries back, casual but with a hint of warmth. “Hey, y/n…?” He pops his head back in, meeting your eyes. “That was never just a lesson to me. Just so you know.”

He's gone before you can respond, the apartment door clicking shut behind him. The quiet settles in— a plush silence that smells like coffee and him. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. When you glance at it, it's a text from Jake:

Gonna see you again soon, pretty. Count on it.

Followed by a second one:

Also, save me a slot in your syllabus. Consider this my official enrollment.

You don’t respond to the texts, rolling out of bed to start getting ready for your lecture, but your thoughts keep drifting back to him. You replay last night and this morning with him, over and over trying to decipher if there was a single moment when you felt your walls crack or if it was a slow fracture.

Maybe it was just your body, finally relaxing and finding genuine attraction to someone for the first time in forever. Maybe it was the way he went from stumbling over his own words, seeking reassurance in every move he made to this quiet confidence you seemed to unleash in him.

Maybe it was the way he kept looking at you like you were something worth looking at.

That’s the part that’s hardest to think about. No one has ever looked at you with anything other than lust. Your body doesn’t get worshipped— it gets used. It’s a tool you’ve weaponized, turning around and utilizing it into something worthwhile. It’s what you tell yourself, at least.

—

You get dressed almost mechanically, fixing your hair into a messy bun and sling your bag over your shoulder, as you head towards the living room.

Yuna is perched on a barstool at the island counter, sipping a coffee and presumably typing up some last minute essay before she takes off. You weren’t expecting her to be home still. Fuck.

“Hey babes. Crazy, I just saw the cutest little nerd leave here looking utterly smitten.” She looks at you with a smug knowing expression. “Thought we didn’t do overnight lessons?”

So you’ve been caught red-handed. You try to act nonchalant, mumbling an excuse about a ‘late lesson’ and lie saying Jake was too tired to walk home.

“Oh, I’m sure he was too tired to walk home. You know, we live in an apartment, love. The walls are paper.” She winks, grinning. “ ‘oh Jake, right there, don’t stop’ “ She mocks your voice with exaggerated moans “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you make noises like that in my two years of knowing you.”

You feel your face instantly heat up down to your neck, and you’re sure you’re red as a tomato right now. You hiss at her to stop, swatting at her half-playfully. “It’s not— it was just—“

She cuts you off with a motorboat of her lips. “Liar liar, panties on fire.” She crosses her arms, raising both eyebrows at you expectantly. “Spill. Everything.”

You sigh and drop your bag on the ground next to the counter, leaning against it. She wasn’t going to let this go.

“Fine. He made me horny, I let him hit, and then he slept over. Happy?” Not entirely a lie, but you’re definitely leaving some key details out, which she of course picks up on.

She shakes her head squinting at you like a tricky puzzle she’s determined to solve. “Hmm. Nope. There’s more. You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

Her grin turns almost Cheshire Cat wide, like she was hoping you’d ask. “The ‘I just got fucked within an inch of my life and I let my guard down’ look. You’re practically glowing, babe.”

You look down at your own hands as if you can see this magical glow Yuna’s talking about. You can’t. But nonetheless, her words are a bit too true for your own comfort.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. It was a one time thing.” You say, now getting a bit defensive.

Yuna looks personally offended by your statement. “One time? Y/n, that kid did not look like he was aware of that when he left here. He looked like he was already counting down the seconds till seeing you again.”

You roll your eyes, sighing. “I haven’t broken the news to him yet. I didn’t—.. I didn’t want to have to see the look on his face when I told him it was a one-off.” You say the last part almost ashamedly, avoiding eye contact.

Yuna whistles low, and shakes her head at you. “That’s cold, y/n. You’re gunna break his poor nerdy heart. Why?”

Why? That’s a hell of a question. And the answer is pretty damn obvious.

The things Jake said this morning? The way he looked at you? Those were feelings.

And you don’t do feelings.

You’re emotionally stunted. It’s no secret to anyone, especially not yourself. You tell yourself it’s because you don’t have time for it— you have classes and tutoring which already leaves you with sparse free time for anything else. But if you had to be honest with yourself.. It’s likely the fact that you’ve never done feelings.

In a way, you’re a virgin yourself. The worst kind.

Shocker, right? The girl who’s done it all, who’s so experienced she brings men to their knees, has never been in love.

You plop down in the empty barstool next to Yuna, incapable of lying or deflecting anymore. You needed to get it off your chest, anyways.

“He said it was more than just a lesson to him, before he left. And.. he kept looking at me. Like I was something worth looking at. Someone worth staying for.”

She goes completely still, her smirk dropping. She stares at you for a long, silent moment, then lets out a low breath. “Oh. Oh, honey.”

She shakes her head slowly, a rueful smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You know, for someone who's literally the most confident person I know, you're absolute shit at handling anyone being genuine with you.”

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “Don’t scold me, Yuna.”

She holds her hands up in mock surrender, but her eyes stay soft. “I'm not scolding. I'm just saying... maybe don't punish him for actually caring. That's a rare thing, y/n. Even for you.”

“I’m not trying to punish him…” your voice is small, and quiet “I just don’t know what to do with it. With him. I just met him yesterday and he managed to unravel me in— what— less than 24 hours?”

She hums, nodding her head. “Well, the way I see it,” she tilts your head up to meet her gaze, looking at you almost motherly, “You've got two options here. You let the messy feeling eat you alive and you move on, pretend he didn't see through you. Or... you keep seeing him. Feel things. Open the fuck up for once.”

She raises an eyebrow, waiting. The silence stretches, but she doesn't push— she just watches you, letting you sit with your own thoughts.

You bite the inside of your lip, and shake your head slowly. “I don’t know if I can do that…”

She lets out a soft, understanding sigh, rolling onto her back again. “You know, I've known you for a long time. I've watched you teach so many nervous kids how to be confident, how to feel good about themselves. But you've never once let anyone teach you anything back.”

“Maybe that's the actual lesson here, babe. Not the sex. The letting someone in part.” She reaches over and squeezes your hand once, a brief, grounding pressure, before letting go. The room feels quieter now, the weight of her words settling into the space between you.

Yuna pushes up off the stool, closing her laptop and sliding it into her bag. “I’ve got a class to get too. Just think about it before you make any rash decisions, okay?” She grabs her coffee off the counter, walking away.

She pauses at the door, hand on the frame, and gives you a long, searching look. “And y/n?” her voice drops, losing its usual teasing edge. “That boy looked wrecked when he left. Not in the hot way. In the ‘she just ruined me for anyone else’ way.”

She slips out, pulling the door closed behind her. The quiet that settles over your apartment is oppressive, suffocating almost.

—

The lecture hall buzzes with the usual pre-class chatter, but you catch a few eyes flicking your way as you settle into your seat near the back. A girl two rows ahead nudges her friend, whispering behind her hand. The professor hasn't arrived yet, but the room's already half-full with the Wednesday morning crowd— mostly hungover, mostly nursing coffees they're desperately clinging to.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. When you glance at it, there's a new text from Jake:

Update: Jungwon says I look 'suspiciously well-rested' and he's demanding to know my secret. Ignoring him. Thinking about you instead. Specifically that sound you made when you came on my fingers. Just so you know.

The professor walks in, shuffling papers, and the room settles into a familiar quiet hum. But your phone buzzes one final time, Jake again:

Btw, I already looked up your lecture schedule. Don't worry, I won't be a stalker. But I might swing by the library later. Just in case you need a study break. Or a study partner. Or just me.

You bite back a smile, softly shaking your head and put your phone down without responding.

You try to focus on the professor's droning lecture about post-modern literary theory, but your mind keeps drifting back to the warmth of Jake's body against yours, the possessive way his hands felt on your hips, the raw hunger in his voice. The marks on your neck feel like a brand under your collar.

The lecture drags on, but your focus is shot. Every time you try to concentrate on the professor's words, your mind replays the morning— Jake's sleepy grin, the weight of him pinning you to the mattress, the filthy promises he whispered in your ear. The girl in front of you keeps glancing back, a knowing smirk on her face.

Your phone lights up silently on your desk. Another text from Jake, this time a picture: it's a blurry, close-up shot of his own shoulder, where a faint, red mark from your teeth is clearly visible. The caption reads:

Proof of extra credit. Jungwon just asked if I got into a fight with a feral cat. Told him something like that.

Before you can think of a response, a familiar presence slides into the empty seat next to you, smelling faintly of weed and cheap energy drink. Sunoo. “Hey. You look… thoroughly educated.” He grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “Yuna’s texts are too vague. Spill. Was he a quick learner or what?”

The professor glares in your general direction, and Sunoo slouches lower in his seat, pulling his hood up but keeping his eyes on you, waiting.

You sigh quietly. Here we go again. “He was… surprisingly capable.”

Sunoo lets out a low whistle under his breath, his grin widening as he leans closer, keeping his voice down to avoid the professor's glare.

" ‘Surprisingly capable’ she says. Look at you, all coy.” He nudges your shoulder with his. “Yuna said you were being closed-off about it, apparently she wasn’t joking.”

He pulls out his phone, texting a reply to presumably Yuna under the desk. You catch a glimpse of the message: "she's blushing. i repeat, Y/N IS BLUSHING. code red."

You swat sunoo on the arm discreetly, taking on a slightly defensive tone again. “I am not blushing.” You reach a hand up to touch your cheeks like you might be able to feel it. “I don’t blush. Right?” You’re not convinced at this point.

Sunoo just raises an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he watches you touch your own cheek. The professor drones on about deconstructionism, completely oblivious to the whispered drama in the back row.

“Sure, sure. You're not blushing. And I don't smell like a dispensary.” He leans in again, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, ‘surprisingly capable,’ huh? Does that mean he's getting a repeat performance? Because if he is, Yuna's gonna need a full report. She's invested.”

Your phone buzzes again on your desk. Another text from Jake:

Okay, full disclosure: I'm outside your lecture hall. Not stalking, I swear. Just... happened to be in the building. And I may have brought you a coffee. In case you needed a refill after this morning's... workout.

Sunoo notices you looking at your phone and peeks at the screen. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit. Is that him? Is he outside right now?” He cranes his neck to look toward the lecture hall doors, a grin splitting his face. “This is better than reality TV.”

You sigh under your breath, turning your phone face down on the desk. “Mind your business, Noo.”

Sunoo lets out a low, delighted chuckle, shaking his head as he slouches back in his seat, but his eyes remain fixed on the lecture hall doors.

“Fine, fine. My business is officially minded. But you can't blame a guy for being curious.” He pulls out his phone again, typing rapidly under the desk, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “Just sending Yuna a little update. ‘Subject is defensive. Possible blushing confirmed. Mr. Surprisingly capable is currently loitering outside with coffee. Situation: escalating’.”

The professor finally dismisses the class with a wave of his hand, and students immediately begin shuffling out, the room filling with the sound of scraping chairs and zipping backpacks. Sunoo stands, stretching lazily.

“Alright, I'm out. But I expect a full debrief later.” He winks, then melts into the crowd heading for the exit.

As the room empties, you spot Jake leaning against the wall just outside the open doors, holding two coffee cups. He's trying to look casual, but there's a nervous energy in the way he shifts his weight, his eyes scanning the crowd for you. When he spots you, a slow, hopeful smile spreads across his face.

He pushes off the wall as you approach, his smile turning a little shy around the edges as he holds out one of the cups. “Hey. I, uh... figured you might need a caffeine top-up.” He runs a hand through his already messy hair. “Two sugars, right? I remembered.” You still have yet to correct him.

He's wearing a clean shirt, but his glasses are slightly askew, and there's a faint, fresh scratch visible on his neck just above the collar. He shifts his weight, the toe of his sneaker scuffing the floor.

His voice drops, a little huskier. “I know I said I wouldn't be a stalker, but my next class is in this building and... well. I was hoping I'd run into you.” He glances down at the coffee in his hands, then back up at you, his brown eyes warm behind his glasses. “Is this weird? It's not weird, is it?”

The hallway is clearing out, leaving the two of you in a bubble of relative quiet. He takes a small step closer, the scent of his soap—something clean and simple— mixing with the rich smell of coffee.

He lets out a soft, self-conscious laugh. “Okay, maybe it's a little weird. But the good kind of weird. The ‘I-can't-stop-thinking-about-you’ kind of weird.” He offers the coffee again, his fingers brushing against yours as you take it. “So. How was lecture?”

You take a small sip of the coffee. “It was fine. You’re a distraction.”

A slow grin spreads across his face, pleased but trying to play it cool. “A distraction, huh? I'll take that as a compliment.” He takes a sip of his own coffee, watching you over the rim. “Good. 'Cause I was hoping to be a recurring distraction. One with a syllabus and everything.”

You take on a teasing, sarcastic tone. “Oh really? A syllabus? Thats rich, coming from the guy who talked me into throwing out my entire curriculum in one night.”

He lets out a low, appreciative laugh, shaking his head as he takes another sip of his coffee. “That's a fair hit. I did kind of bulldoze your carefully planned curriculum, didn't I?” He tilts his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But, in my defense, you made it real easy to want to throw it all out.”

A group of students pushes past you on their way to the stairwell, jostling Jake's shoulder and forcing him a step closer to you. His hand brushes your waist as he steadies himself, and he lets it linger there just a breath longer than necessary before pulling back.

His voice softens, the teasing edge fading into something more earnest. “Look, I know I'm probably coming on strong. But I meant what I said this morning— that was never just a lesson to me.” He watches you, a quiet vulnerability in his eyes. “I just... I don't want to mess this up by being too eager or not eager enough. So if you need me to back off, just say the word. But if you're feeling it too... I'd really like to see where this goes.”

Your conversation with Yuna lingers in your mind, about how you had two options. Let it eat at you, and never know what could’ve been, or throw caution to the wind for once in your meticulously planned life.

On a whim, you opt for the second, saying a silent prayer that it doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass.

You decide to be half honest with Jake, not over-sharing, but not deflecting either. “Well, I’m not feeling nothing, which says a lot. But let’s just.. take it slow.”

His breath catches at your words, a quiet, almost shy smile breaking through his usual confidence. “Take it slow. Yeah. Yeah, I can do slow.” He exhales, visibly relieved, but there's a warmth in his eyes that lingers. “I'm good at slow. I can be patient. For you.”

Somehow you doubt that, but you don’t say anything on it for now, giving him the opportunity to prove himself.

His thumb nervously taps against his coffee cup, the only sign of his restlessness. He glances over his shoulder as the next wave of students starts trickling in for the following lecture.

He looks back at you, a determined softness settling in his expression. “How about this— tonight, I cook you dinner. Nothing crazy. Just me, a pan, and my grandma's spaghetti recipe. We can talk, or we can just sit in silence. Slow, but solid.” He shifts his weight. “What do you say?”

You loosen up a bit at the thought, smirking. “You cook, huh? Alright, I'm curious.”

His grin turns boyish, almost giddy, as if you'd just handed him a gold star. “Yeah? Okay. Good.” He clears his throat, trying to reign in his excitement. “Seven o'clock? I'll text you my address. It's a tiny place off-campus, but I promise the stove works and there's no roommates to bother us.“

A tall guy with dark hair and a jean jacket rounds the corner, spotting Jake immediately. He jogs over, slinging an arm around Jake's shoulders with a knowing grin.

“Bro, there you are. I've been looking for you for like ten minutes.” His eyes flick to you, and his grin widens. “Oh. This is who turned you into a ghost this morning?” He gives Jake a pointed look. “Dude, you're a legend now. Make sure you text me back before she makes you forget your own name again.”

He groans, lightly shoving the guys arm off his shoulder. “Jungwon, this is y/n. Y/n, this is my idiot friend who doesn't know what boundaries are.” He shoots you a quick, apologetic look. “Sorry about him. He's harmless, mostly.”

“Harmless and correct.” He gives you an appraising nod. “Good luck with this one. He's been insufferable all morning.” He claps Jake on the shoulder before wandering off toward the stairwell.

He turns back to you, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “So. Seven. I'll see you then?” He takes a half-step back, then pauses, his gaze softening. “And if you change your mind by then, no hard feelings. But I really hope you don't.”

You cross your arms playfully, giving him a pointed look. “You better be as good at cooking as you are at other things.”

He lets out a low, appreciative laugh, the sound warm and unguarded. “Oh, I plan on holding myself to a very high standard. Grandma's recipe hasn't failed me yet.” He takes a step back, still holding your gaze. “Seven o'clock. I'll text you the address. Don't be late— the sauce takes three hours to simmer, and I'm putting my best apron on for the occasion.”

He gives you a final, lingering look before turning and jogging down the hallway after Jungwon, his hands shoved in his pockets. The coffee cup is still warm in your hand, and a faint, pleased hum settles in your chest as you watch him disappear around the corner. Your phone buzzes once more—a text from Jake:

Just realized I never asked if you're allergic to garlic. Emergency info. V important.

You text back sarcastically, a bit of your rare genuine personality shining through:

Yes I’m allergic to garlic. And the sun. And you have to invite me into your house when I get there.

A moment later, his reply comes through, quick and playful, perfectly matching your energy:

Garlic allergy noted. I'll be careful. Also, I was gonna invite you in anyway, but now I'm legally required to say the words out loud at the door. 'Y/n, please enter my humble abode.'

A beat passes, then another:

Though if you're allergic to the sun, maybe we should stick to indoor activities. Just saying. I'm flexible.

A third text, almost immediate:

Genuinely excited about this. Hope that's not too much. My brain's just—yeah. Dinner. Good. See you soon.

The lecture hall empties around you, the hallway filling with the distant chatter of students moving between classes. The coffee in your hand is warm, the rich scent curling up through the paper lid. Across campus, a clock tower chimes eleven—seven o'clock suddenly feeling both too close and impossibly far away.

Sunoo appears out of nowhere, sliding in beside you as you head for the exit, his voice low and teasing, apparently having overheard. “You know, I was gonna give you a hard time about that whole ‘letting a virgin nerdy himbo cook you dinner’ thing. But honestly? I'm kind of jealous.”

He gestures vaguely toward the direction Jake disappeared “He looked at you like you hung the damn stars, y/n. That's not just ‘surprisingly capable.’ That's ‘I'd let this girl wreck my whole life’ energy.” He takes a long sip of his energy drink, watching your face. “So, question: you gonna wear something cute, or are you gonna show up in a hoodie and ruin all his romantic illusions?”

You blink, partially stunned as if you hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I— I don’t know? I’ll have Yuna pick something out. She’s good at that kind of stuff. I’m…not.” Translation? You haven’t been on a proper date in years, let alone one as intimate as ‘home cooked family heirloom recipe dinner at his place’.

Sunoo snorts, elbowing you gently as you walk “Yuna? Girl, she's gonna put you in something that leaves nothing to the imagination and call it casual. You want my advice? Wear that black sweater. The one that's too big and falls off one shoulder. Drives everyone crazy and you don't even have to try.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Trust me. I know these things.”

Sunoo's advice hangs in the air as the two of you step out into the campus quad, the midday sun warm on your skin. He's already typing on his phone, presumably updating Yuna on the situation, but he glances up at you with a knowing look.

He lowers his phone, taking on a more serious expression. “And hey— if he fumbles the pasta, that's on him. But if he fumbles you?” he points two fingers at his own eyes, then at you “I'll find out. And I'll make him regret it.” he grins, softening the threat “But something tells me he won't.”

You check the time on your phone, refusing to think about that right now. “I should head home and start getting ready.”

“Damn, look at you, all responsible and shit.” He checks the time on his own phone. “Alright, go get prepped. I'll cover for you if Yuna starts blowing up the group chat demanding a live fashion show preview.”

He winks, already backing away toward the student center. “But seriously, y/n—“ his voice softens just a fraction ”—have fun tonight. You deserve something... real.”

Sunoo disappears into the crowd, leaving you alone on the quad. Your phone buzzes one last time as you head toward your apartment — a text from Jake:

Update: I've burned two batches of garlic bread already. My kitchen smells like a crime scene. Please still come.

You text back to reassure him:

I’ll be there ♡

A full minute passes, then his reply comes through, a little breathless:

That little heart emoji just short-circuited my brain. I'm gonna be useless for the next hour. Good luck with whatever you're doing.

Another message follows, quicker:

Door's on the left. There's a blue mat that says 'welcome' but I’ve tripped on it twice. Don’t let it get you.

—

Your phone buzzes on your dresser as you're digging through your closet for that black sweater Sunoo mentioned. It's Jake again, a voice note this time. You tap it, his voice crackling through the speaker, low and a little sheepish.

His voice is muffled, like he's holding the phone close to his mouth “Okay, so... I know I said I'd be chill about this, but I'm not. I'm pacing. I've rearranged my spice rack alphabetically. I checked my hair in the toaster reflection.” A pause, a nervous laugh “This is just... really nice. The whole thing. So if I'm being too much, just... tell me to shut up and I will.” Another pause, softer “Can't wait to see you.”

The voice note ends. Outside, the afternoon light is slanting golden through your blinds, and your phone still buzzes with a follow-up text:

Update: I found the good olive oil. This is serious. I'm pulling out all the stops.

You text him a picture of the sweater laid out on your bed.

I don’t do stuff like this. Is this too much? Not enough? What do people wear on a spaghetti dinner date?

He responds almost immediately and you can feel the warm sincerity through his words:

it’s perfect. Anything you wear is perfect. Are you overthinking a sweater? Stop it, that’s my job.

As you get ready, a weird feeling settles into your stomach. Something that can only be described as ‘pre-date jitters,’ or more so, anxiety. You’re definitely overthinking everything now. What do you talk about? What do you do after the foods eaten? Is he expecting more after? Would it be wrong for you to expect more after? In a hasty decision, you decide to call Jake.

The line clicks, and his voice comes through a little husky, like he's been humming to himself while he cooks. There's a soft clink of glass in the background— maybe a wine glass, maybe a jar of something. “Hey. You're calling early. That either means you're already on your way, or you're having second thoughts and want to negotiate terms.” A pause, then a warm, playful murmur. “Please let it be the first one. I put on my good jeans and everything.”

You blush like an idiot at your own reflection in the mirror while proceeding to touch up your light makeup. Apparently, you do blush after all. “Don’t worry, I’m still coming, nerd. Just… wanted to talk to you before I head out soon.”

The sound of him moving through the kitchen pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer, warmer. “Yeah? I'm glad you did.” A beat of silence, then a low, genuine hum. “I've been thinking about you all day. Not in a creepy way— okay, maybe a little. But mostly just... looking forward to this. To seeing you smile in my kitchen, not just in my bed.”

In the background, you hear the sizzle of something hitting a hot pan, and Jake lets out a soft curse under his breath.

He mutters, half to himself “Shit—sorry, the water was over boiling.” Then, back to you, his voice a little rushed but still warm “Okay, I gotta focus for like five minutes so I don't burn the place down. But I'll text you when the sauce is ready. And y/n?” He pauses, his voice dropping to something almost tender. “Wear that sweater. The black one. I have a feeling it's gonna look good on you.”

The line clicks, and the silence that follows feels charged with something new—something that wasn't there before.

You finish getting ready, a little more giddy than anxious now.

By the time you're slipping on that black sweater, the sun has started to dip low enough to paint your apartment walls in shades of amber. Your phone buzzes on the bed— another text from Jake with a photo attached. It's a slightly blurry shot of a small table set for two, complete with mismatched plates, a bundle of wilting wildflowers stuffed in a mason jar, and two wine glasses catching the kitchen light. The caption reads:

I have no idea what I'm doing. But the garlic bread survived round three. Victory.

Another text follows almost immediately:

Okay, the door's unlocked. Come in when you get here— I'm mid-sauce and my hands are covered in garlic. If you hear me singing badly, no you didn't.

A third and final message:

Also, I may have bought candles. Is that too much? I'm asking for a friend. The friend is me.

You shake your head fondly and text him a quick “omw” before pocketing your phone and slipping through the door.

—

When you get to Jake’s apartment, you stand outside, feet planted on the blue welcome mat, steeling yourself. Itsjustadateitsjustadateitsjustadate. From the hallway, you can hear faint music drifting from behind Jake's door— something mellow, a vinyl crackle beneath it. The door is slightly ajar, warm light spilling through the gap. You catch the scent of garlic, tomato, and something sweet, like vanilla. His silhouette moves past the doorway, a dish towel slung over his shoulder as he hums along with the record.

You take a tentative step inside quietly and take in the cozy scene. His place is very home-y, warm amber lighting and through the scent of dinner you can faintly smell something that’s distinctly him.

You clear your throat softly, and Jake turns from the stove, spatula mid-air, his face breaking into a wide, unguarded grin. “There she is.” He gestures dramatically at around the room. “Welcome to Casa del Sim. Please ignore the flour handprint on the cabinet, that's modern art.”

He wipes his hands on the dish towel, then crosses to you, his eyes sweeping over you once— warm, appreciative, lingering just a second too long on the way the sweater hangs off your shoulder. He doesn't hide the soft exhale.

His voice drops, almost reverent. “Okay. Yeah. That sweater was a good call.” He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your jaw. “You look...” He shakes his head, a small, helpless laugh escaping. “I forgot every word I rehearsed. You look like a whole lot more than I deserve.”

Somehow you feel the opposite.

The record crackles softly in the background, something old and slow. He seems to remember himself, stepping back with a sheepish grin.

He gestures toward the tiny kitchen. “Dinner's almost ready. Sauce is doing its thing. Bread's out of the oven. I even opened a window so the smoke alarm doesn't rat me out.” He tilts his head, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “You want the full tour? It's just the one room, so it'll be quick. Or you can sit and let me pretend I have my life together for a few minutes.”

You smile softly, poking fun at him. “I'll take the tour if you promise to keep singing.”

He laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes your heart do something odd, as he turns back toward the stove to give the sauce a stir. “Careful what you wish for. I only really know the chorus to like three songs, and I've been cycling through them all afternoon. You're gonna get sick of me real fast.”

He gestures with the spatula toward the tiny living area. A worn couch, a stack of textbooks on the floor, a guitar propped against the wall. His cheeks are faintly flushed from the heat of the stove, or maybe from the possibility of you being here.

He gestures around with a mock-serious tone. “And this is the bedroom.” He points to a doorway, then grins. “Aka where I paced for twenty minutes trying to figure out if the candles were too much. Spoiler alert: they're on the table, so I clearly decided they weren't.”

He moves back to the sauce, giving it another stir before turning down the heat. He glances over his shoulder at you, a softer look replacing the joke.

His voice is quieter now, more sincere. “I'm really glad you came. I know I'm a lot, but... I wanted this to be good for you.” He gestures vaguely at the whole scene. “The candle thing, the record, the three batches of garlic bread— all for you.”

You take it all in, nodding. Maybe it is a lot. Maybe to other girls it would be seen as ‘doing too much’ but you’ve never had anyone do anything for you. So, “It is a lot. But I kind of like it.” The words catch you off guard just as much as they do Jake.

He pauses mid-stir, the spatula frozen over the pot. When he looks back at you, there's something raw in his eyes, something he can't quite hide behind the grin. “Yeah?” His voice comes out a little rough. “Good. 'Cause I been trying real hard to play it cool, but the truth is, I was a nervous wreck until you walked in.”

You run a finger over the spines of his books on the shelf, absentmindedly. “To be honest with you, I was a little nervous, too.” You say softly. You’re not sure why you’re admitting these things out loud, especially to him. He has a way of pulling that from you.

He laughs softly, shaking his head in disbelief. “You? Nervous? I’m having a hard time imaging that.”

You just hum in response, making your way towards the kitchen entrance to watch him as he moves around his space.

The record shifts into a slower track, something with a low saxophone that fills the small room with a lazy warmth. Jake turns off the burner completely, setting the spoon down with a soft clatter.

He wipes his hands on his jeans, stepping closer to you, close enough that you can smell the garlic and something cleaner underneath, his cologne. “You're staying after dinner, right?” He asks it lightly, like it's casual, but his fingers find the hem of your sweater, tracing the fabric. “I mean— not to assume anything. Just wanted to know how long I get to look at you in this light.”

You smirk, relieved that he asked first. Even so, you like to keep that mysterious edge you’ve always worn to protect yourself. “Depends on how good the food is.”

He lets out a low, appreciative laugh, shaking his head as he steps back to the stove. “That's a fair challenge.” He plates the pasta with a practiced flick of his wrist, twirling it neatly onto two mismatched plates. “Good thing I've been stress-cooking all day. I've had three test runs. This batch's the best one.”

He carries the plates to the little table, setting yours down first before settling across from you. The candles flicker between you, casting warm shadows across his face. He pours you both a glass of red wine without asking, pushing yours toward you with a small, hopeful smile.

He picks up his fork, twirling pasta around it, but pauses before taking a bite. “Okay, full transparency— my grandma's recipe is mostly just garlic, tomatoes, and love. But I added a pinch of something my mom used to put in hers.” He takes a bite, chews, and lets out a satisfied hum. “I think it works. Try it. Tell me if I should never touch a stove again.”

You take a bite and hum approvingly. Maybe it’s the fact that you haven’t had a home cooked meal in almost a year, constantly living on take-out or leftovers, but it’s one of the best meals you’ve tasted. “Not bad, Sim.”

His whole face lights up at your approval, a boyish, unguarded grin breaking through. “Yeah? You're not just saying that to spare my feelings?” He watches you take another bite, his own fork forgotten. “Because I will absolutely add ‘approved by Y/n L/n’ to my cooking resume. I'll put it on a t-shirt. Frame it. Make it my dating profile bio.”

He watches you eat for a moment longer, the candlelight flickering in his eyes. He takes a sip of wine, his gaze thoughtful as he sets the glass down.

His voice softens, the teasing replaced by something quieter, more earnest. “I could get used to this. You know… Sitting across from me, eating my food, making that little humming sound when you like something.” He traces the rim of his glass. “It's different. In a good way. I keep expecting you to be... I don't know, untouchable. But you're just here. Real. Eating my pasta.”

Your words come out smaller than intended, almost vulnerable. “I usually am untouchable. I don’t really do… Stuff like this. Be real. It’s… different. But.. it’s kind of growing on me.”

He goes still, his fork hovering halfway to his mouth. For a moment, he just watches you, the candlelight catching the soft uncertainty in his eyes. “Yeah. I get that.”

He sets his fork down slowly, his tone low and careful. “You've got that whole ‘cool, untouchable legend’ thing down to a science. But I like this version of you too. The one that's real.” A small, honest smile tugs at his lips. “I'm glad you're letting me see it.”

The record crackles as it reaches the end of the side, the needle lifting with a soft click. The room settles into a quiet hum, broken only by the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the kitchen. Jake leans forward slightly, his elbows on the table, his gaze steady on you.

His voice drops, almost conspiratorial. “You know, I've been thinking about something all day. Not just the obvious stuff— though, trust me, there's a lot of that.” A flush creeps up his neck. “But also about how you said you usually keep a wall up. And I just... I want you to know, you don't have to be ‘Y/n L/n, sex goddess’ with me. You can just be y/n. Messy, real y/n. I'm not going anywhere.

You reach for your wine, quiet for a moment as your walls crack just enough. “And what if messy, real y/n scares you off?”

He holds your gaze, unflinching, a quiet steadiness settling over his features. “Then I guess I'll get scared. But I'll stay scared and still be here.”

He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing yours, warm and calloused from guitar strings. “Messy, real, whatever…I've seen you fall apart in my arms and I didn't run. I asked for more.”

He withdraws his hand slowly, a soft, self-aware smile touching his lips as he picks up his fork again. “Besides, you're forgetting something. I'm the guy who brought a spiral notebook to a sex lesson. I'm not exactly built for running.” He takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I'm built for showing up. Repeatedly. Even when it's awkward.”

The joke fades into sincerity, and your body relaxes a bit more, tension slowly draining from your shoulders.

The candle on the table gutters, dipping low before steadying. From outside, the distant sound of a car passing filters through the window. Jake's phone buzzes on the counter but he ignores it, his attention entirely on you.

You let out a shaky breath. “Careful, Sim. I might start believing you.” You say it with a crooked smile, as if it could mask the quiet certainty beneath it.

He sets his fork down, his gaze steady and a little too knowing. “Believe it, then. I don't say things I don't mean.” He reaches across the table, his thumb brushing over your knuckles once before he pulls back, letting the warmth of the gesture linger. “You're not gonna scare me off that easy, y/n.”

He takes a slow sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving yours. He glances at his empty plate, then back at you, a quiet challenge softening his features.

His voice is low, almost a murmur. “So. You wanna stay for dessert? I didn't buy anything fancy, just some ice cream from the corner store. But I'm hoping the company's the real draw.”

You give him a mischievous smile, “I’ll stay for the ice cream. Verdict is still out on the company part.”

A low, amused chuckle rumbles from his chest as he rises, collecting your empty plate with his. “Vicious. Absolutely vicious. Lucky for me I've got thick skin and a freezer full of rocky road.” He pauses mid-step toward the kitchen, glancing back at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “The company verdict might take a while to come in, so I'll just have to keep buttering you up. Figuratively, then literally— I'm grabbing the ice cream scoop.”

He calls over his shoulder, voice tinged with dry humor. “Okay, small confession.. I bought three pints because I don’t know your favorite flavor. There's strawberry, mint chip, and rocky road.” He returns, balancing all three in his hands, a sheepish grin on his face. “Pick your poison.”

“Mint chip, obviously.”

He grins, already reaching for the mint chip container. “Should’ve known. You've got that cool mint vibe. Refreshing, a little sweet, but with a bite if someone gets too close.”

He scoops two generous servings, sliding one bowl across the counter toward you and leans against it, taking a slow bite of his ice cream, watching you with a quiet, unreadable expression. The kitchen light casts a soft glow over his features, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer, less teasing.

“So, I was gonna ask you something earlier, and it's been sitting in my throat all night, but my brain keeps second-guessing itself.” He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. “You've done this whole mentor thing for a while. Taught a bunch of people. Do you... ever keep in touch with them?…Or am I just another file in the cabinet that's gonna gather dust?”

You shrug nonchalantly, even though your choice of words are anything but. “No ones ever wanted to keep in touch. So, no…But none of them have ever slept in my bed and made me dinner the next day, either.” The room seems almost quieter after you speak.

He goes very still, the spoon halfway to his mouth. For a long moment, he just looks at you, something shifting behind his glasses—a quiet, unguarded warmth that he doesn't bother hiding. “Yeah?”

He sets his spoon down slowly, like he's afraid the moment might shatter if he moves too fast. The ice cream melts in his bowl, forgotten.

His voice is rough, low, barely above a whisper. “So what does that make me? The first one?”

The kitchen light hums. Outside, a car door slams. He doesn't look away from you.

You shake your head slow, fondly. “ ‘First one’ implies there’ll be more. I’m… kind of banking on that not being the case.”

The words hang in the air between you, the weight of them settling into the quiet kitchen. His breath catches, and he sets the ice cream bowl down entirely now, both hands braced on the counter behind him. “Yeah?” His voice cracks slightly, and he clears his throat, trying to regain composure.

“So I'm not just a… A student file? I'm the guy you threw your rule book out for. The guy you let sleep in your bed. The guy you're standing in my kitchen with, eating ice cream like it's the most natural thing in the world.”

He pushes off the counter, closing the distance between you until he's close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. His hand comes up, hesitant, curling around the edge of your bowl to set it aside on the counter beside his.

His voice drops to something raw and honest. “Y/n. I don't know what this is yet, but I know I want to find out. All of it. The messy parts. The parts you keep locked up.” He swallows, his thumb brushing the edge of your wrist. “You said you're banking on me being the last one. Good. 'Cause I'm planning on making sure you don't need anyone else.”

You meet his gaze, searchingly, and your voice comes out soft almost child-like. “Just don’t make me regret this, Sim.”

His thumb stills against your wrist, his gaze holding yours with a gravity that makes the kitchen feel smaller. “I won't.” His voice is quiet, steady, like a vow. “I've been waiting my whole life for someone worth staying for. You're the first one that's made me want to try.”

He releases your wrist slowly, gesturing with a tilt of his head toward the living area. The record player sits silent, the needle resting in its cradle.

He moves past you, picking up your bowls of forgotten ice cream and tipping the melted remnants into the sink. When he turns back, there's a softer edge to his grin. “Now. You gonna let me show you the rest of this place, or are we standing in the kitchen all night like two idiots who forgot how to use a couch?”

You follow him into the living room, your steps soft but steady behind him. The worn couch dips under your weight as you settle beside him. The room is warm, smelling faintly of garlic, vanilla, and the clean scent of his laundry. He turns to face you, one arm slung along the back of the couch behind your shoulders.

“This is nice.” His voice is low, intimate. “Better than I pictured, and I’ve been picturing it all day.” His fingers brush against the fabric of your sweater where it slips off your shoulder. The touch is light, almost hesitant, but his gaze is anything but.

His thumb strokes a slow, absent circle on your shoulder. “You know, when I woke up this morning with you curled into me... I thought maybe I'd dreamed the whole thing.” He shakes his head, a small, wondering smile on his lips. “But you're real. And you're here. And I'm not letting you go anytime soon.”

You lean into his touch, any last remnants of tension draining from you. “This is better than I expected, too. Easier.”

His breath hitches at your admission, his thumb stilling for a moment before resuming its gentle motion. “Easier. Yeah.” He shifts closer, his knee brushing yours. “That's the word. It shouldn't be this easy, should it? With you being you and me being... me. But it is.”

The streetlamp outside casts a soft glow through the window, painting stripes of light across the floor. The only sounds are the distant hum of the city and the soft rustle as Jake adjusts his position, his arm settling more firmly around your shoulders.

He leans his head back against the couch, watching you with a soft, unguarded expression. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize I'm just a nerdy kid who got lucky.” His voice drops to a whisper. “But then you look at me like that, and I forget to be nervous.”

“Look at you like what?” You ask softly.

His eyes soften, a slow, vulnerable smile spreading across his lips. “Like I’m more than a lesson…Like I'm someone you could get used to having around. Like I'm not just a project.” He shifts, his hand moving from your shoulder to gently cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your jawline. “You look at me like you're actually seeing me. Not Y/n L/n’s latest student. Just... Jake.”

The silence stretches, comfortable and warm. His thumb continues its slow, soothing motion, and the intensity in his gaze is tempered by a deep, quiet sincerity. From the kitchen, the refrigerator hums to life, a soft background noise to the moment.

He lets out a soft, shaky breath, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “It's a good look on you. Letting someone in.” He leans in slowly, his lips brushing your forehead in a feather-light kiss before he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “I'm gonna do everything I can to keep earning that look.”

You lean in, closing the distance to kiss him properly. He lets out a soft, surprised gasp against your lips before melting into the kiss, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His touch is gentle but sure, his mouth warm and tasting faintly of rocky road and red wine. When he pulls back, his breath is shaky, his eyes hazy behind his glasses. “Wow. Okay.” He rests his forehead against yours, his voice a low, reverent murmur. “That was... yeah.”

His fingers trail from your cheeks to the back of your neck, tangling gently in your hair. The streetlight outside catches the dust motes dancing in the air between you, the room feeling suspended in time.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. “I've been wanting to do that all night. Since you walked in, honestly. Maybe since I woke up this morning.” A slow, genuine smile spreads across his face. “You're kinda ruining my whole ‘taking it slow’ plan, you know that?”

Your gaze meets his, serious and intimate. “I’ve been moving slow my whole life. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

His expression softens, the playful grin fading into something deeper, more raw. “Then don't.” His voice is a low, earnest murmur. “We don't have to wait for anything. Not if you're sure.”

His hand slides from your cheek to the nape of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair as he draws you closer. The distance between you vanishes, and this kiss is different from the first— slower, deeper, full of a quiet intensity that makes the air feel thick.

He breaks the kiss, his breath warm against your lips. “I'm not going anywhere, y/n.” His other hand finds your hip, his grip firm but gentle. “You're stuck with me. The guy who burns garlic bread and buys three kinds of ice cream just in case.”

He shifts, guiding you back against the cushions until you're lying half beneath him, the worn fabric of the couch creaking softly. He lowers his mouth to yours again, this kiss tasting of promise and something dangerously like devotion.

You pull him closer by his shirt, breaking the kiss to whisper against his lips, “Show me what happens when we don’t wait.”

A low, rough sound escapes him at your words, his eyes darkening with immediate, hungry intensity. “Fuck. Okay.” He kisses you again, deeper this time, his hands sliding from your hair down your sides, gripping your hips. No waiting.

He shifts, settling more fully over you, one knee pressed between yours on the couch. The soft fabric of the cushions gives beneath your weight, and the room seems to shrink until it’s just the two of you, the city lights a distant blur outside the window.

His hands are already moving, one sliding under the hem of your sweater, his palm warm and certain against the skin of your stomach. The other tangles in your hair, tilting your head back just enough for his mouth to find the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

He murmurs against your skin, his accent thickening with desire. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. How you’d feel under me outside of a lesson. Just because you wanted me there.”

His hips press down, a slow, deliberate roll that leaves no doubt about his readiness. The air is thick with the scent of him, of dinner, of the faint vanilla candle still burning on the table.

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his gaze fierce and vulnerable all at once. “Tell me this is real. Tell me I’m not just another chapter in the textbook.”

“You’re the whole damn syllabus, Jake.”

♡ ⋆｡˚🎧

A shudder runs through him at your words, his eyes closing for a moment as if absorbing them. “Fuck.” He opens his eyes, and the look in them is pure, unadulterated want. “That's all I needed to hear.”

He doesn't hesitate anymore. His mouth finds yours in a kiss that's all heat and hunger, his hands sliding under your sweater, pushing the fabric up until his palms are flat against your bare skin. The couch creaks softly with your combined weight.

He breaks the kiss, breathing ragged, and yanks his own shirt over his head in one swift motion, tossing it to the floor.

His body covers yours again, skin to skin now, the warmth of him a solid, comforting weight. He kisses a trail down your neck, his hands working your jeans open with a practiced urgency that belies his former nervousness.

The last of your clothes are pushed aside, and he settles between your thighs, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. He looks down at you, his expression utterly wrecked with affection and lust.

His voice is a broken whisper., “You're everything, y/n.” And then he's moving, joining your bodies together with a single, deep thrust that feels like coming home.

You run your fingers through his hair, tangling in the soft locks, guiding his mouth back to yours.

He moans into the kiss, his hips setting a slow, deep rhythm that feels less like fucking and more like claiming. His hands slide under your back, arching you into him. “God, you feel…”, he breaks the kiss, panting, his forehead pressed to yours. “I can’t get enough of you.”

The couch cushions shift with each deliberate thrust, the fabric whispering against your skin. His movements are sure, practiced— a confidence born from hours spent learning your body the night before, but now fueled by something far more intimate.

His voice is ragged, hushed against your ear. “Tell me you feel this. Tell me it’s not just me.” You can only manage a small nod against him in response, afraid your voice will fail you.

His pace quickens, driven by your reassurance. One hand slides down to grip your thigh, hiking it higher around his waist, changing the angle until each stroke brushes that spot deep inside you with unerring accuracy.

He groans, a low, broken sound. “You’re so perfect. So fucking perfect for me.”

The candle on the table flickers, casting shifting shadows across his sweat-slicked back. He’s moving with a focused intensity, every thrust punctuated by a soft, desperate sound torn from his throat.

The raw intimacy of it all seems to break something in you, a door opening to your heart you didn’t even know existed. You’re so caught in the moment, in Jake, you don’t even realize the small tracks of hot tears spilling down your temples.

Jake realizes though, of course he does. He stills abruptly, his hips freezing mid-thrust as he sees the tears glistening on your skin in the dim light. His expression shifts from raw desire to immediate, gut-wrenching concern, and feels like your chest is going to crack open. “Y/n?” His voice is a hushed, worried whisper. “Hey, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head rapidly, your breath catching in your throat. “No. I just—“ you cut yourself off, unable to find words, “Just don’t stop, please.”

His thumb gently wipes a tear from your temple, his touch achingly tender. “Okay. Okay, I won't.” He presses a soft, reassuring kiss to your lips. “I've got you.”

He begins to move again, but the rhythm has changed. It's slower now, deeper, each thrust a deliberate, soothing press rather than a frantic chase. His hands cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks as he watches your expression.

His voice is a low, steady murmur against your skin. “It's just us. However you need me. However you feel. I'm right here.”

He shifts, wrapping his arms around you and rolling so you're lying on top of him, your bodies still joined. The new position is intimate, vulnerable— his chest a solid warmth beneath you, his hands running slow, comforting circles on your back.

He looks up at you, his eyes soft and full of an emotion too big to name. “You don't have to say anything. Just feel it. I'm not going anywhere.”

You lean down and kiss him deeply, trying to pour every unspoken feeling into it. He returns the kiss with a devastating tenderness, his hands framing your face as he drinks in the emotion you're offering. When you break for air, he keeps his forehead pressed to yours, his breathing ragged. “I love you.”

The words hang in the air, quiet and unshakable. He doesn't seem surprised he said them, just holds your gaze, his thumb stroking your cheek where a tear track dried.

His voice is rough but steady. “I've known since you let me stay for coffee. Maybe before.” He shifts beneath you, his hips rolling in a slow, deep circle that makes you both gasp. “And I'm gonna keep loving you. Through all the messy parts.”

The city hums outside, a distant siren wailing then fading. The candle on the table gutters one last time and goes out, leaving the room lit only by the streetlamp's glow. He moves inside you with a rhythm that feels like a heartbeat, like a promise.

His hands slide down to your hips, guiding your movements, his eyes never leaving yours. “Come with me, pretty. Let go. I've got you.”

The tension builds not like a storm, but like a sunrise— slow, inevitable, washing over you both in warm, gentle waves. He trembles beneath you, his release quiet and profound, and his arms wrap around you, holding you close as you fall apart together.

He holds you for a long time after, his breathing slowly evening out. When he finally speaks, his voice is thick with sleep and wonder. “Stay tonight.” A soft kiss to your shoulder, “Stay tomorrow, too.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, broken only by the sound of your breathing and the distant city. His heartbeat is a steady rhythm under your ear. His arms stay wrapped around you, warm and secure.

He shifts slightly, pulling the throw blanket from the back of the couch over both of you. The fabric is soft and smells like him. The room is dark now, lit only by the pale orange glow from the street.

He kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering. “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, you know that?” His voice is thick with emotion, but he says it simply, like a fact.

You just snuggle in closer to his chest, the weight of everything settling into you with a quiet certainty.

His arms tighten around you, a soft, happy sound rumbling in his chest. “Yeah. Okay.” He shifts, settling you more comfortably against him, his chin resting on top of your head. “This is... this is really good.”

The city's distant sounds fade into a soft hum. His breathing slows, matching yours, and his hand rests warm and heavy on the small of your back. The couch is cramped, but neither of you seems to mind.

His voice is a drowsy murmur, already half-asleep. “G'night, pretty.” A final, soft kiss to your hair, “Love you.”

You don’t say it back. Not because you don’t feel the same, you think you do. But because saying it out loud would mean every wall you’ve spent years carefully constructing around your heart would finally be rubble in the storm of the last 42 hours. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t utterly terrified.

You drift off wrapped in each other's warmth, the faint sounds of the city a distant lullaby. The night passes in a haze of shared body heat and the soft rhythm of Jake's breathing beneath your ear.

taglist

@noisywonderlandphantom-blog @hii01mii @nknshnaz @yumjyun @zeeontheroad @jaeyunluvr14 @meowseongg @luucortis @lucenthoney

ikuesimsimp

The Learning Curve.

⋆｡°✩ Part One: Fucking⋆｡°✩

CW: MDNI!!! Porn WITH plot! Porn WITH FEELINGS! Fluff, angst, making out, swearing, weed, fingering, oral (f & m receiving)p in v protected, p in v unprotected (ZONT ZO IT) dirty talk, cream pie, sub Jake, overstimulation, tit play, pet names, gagging, squirting, cum swallowing, whining/whimpering. (Not all mentioned content will be in one part/same part— this for all 4 parts)

— authors note ; not an insta-smut. It’s got plot. But TRUSTTT when it gets there, it’s TEW GEWD. Four part story. Not proofread btw! Sorry if there’s any spelling/grammar errors!

Pairings ; nerd!virgin!Jake x fem!reader

28k wc, the others will not be as long

Fucking • Falling • Fracturing • Failing

It’s a little after four on a Thursday when you finally make it back home after your classes.

When you open the door to your shared apartment, Yuna is perched on the couch painting her toenails a god awful neon green, and Sunoo is sprawled out on the beanbag in the corner smoking a blunt.

You set your bag on the counter, grab a water from the fridge and join your friends in the living room chit chatting about your day and upcoming classes, parties, the norm.

“So— I have a new student for you. Nerdy, virgin, cute in that doesn’t-really-know-it way. Interested?” Yuna asks, finally caping her polish.

“Who is he?”

“Jake Sim. Comp Sci major, basically lives in the campus library.”

You’re pretty sure you know who she’s talking about. You don’t know him, but you’ve definitely seen him around a time or two on campus. Thick framed glasses, khaki pants and always wearing a tie like he’s going to an important meeting instead of lecture hall.

He’s your usual student type, nothing new or exciting.

“Yeah, okay. Send him my way.”

Yuna grins and claps her hands together before pulling out her phone, rapid fire texting. “Good, because the kid is eager, I made the mistake of giving him my number to let him know what you’ll say and he’s been texting like, non stop.”

Pretty typical, honestly. When people hear of your services it usually goes one of two ways— either people genuinely want to learn from you, or, people want to take advantage of you and think it’s a free chance to fuck you. But that’s why you made a curriculum. The first few lessons will focus on more vanilla things like kissing, body touching, groping… Until you feel they’ve earned their right to work up to the heavier stuff by being patient.

“He already responded. I’m not reading all this out loud so, here.” Yuna thrusts her phone at you, screen lit up with a paragraph from presumably Jake.

Thank you SO much. When is she available for the first lesson? I can be free anytime. Even right now. Seriously. Also should I bring anything? Like a notebook? I usually like to take notes. Is there a dress code? Should I wear something specific? Is just regular clothes fine or should I wear something more comfortable? Where do lessons take place? Do we like meet somewhere public like a cafe the first time or do I come to her? Sorry I know this is a lot I just want to make sure I get everything right.

Holy shit, dude. This kid is eager. You take a deep breath and shake your head, typing a response back to him.

Be here in an hour. Apartment building 24 on campus, second floor, door 4B. Wear whatever you want. Bring water and an open mind.

You hit send and toss Yuna her phone back, heading for the kitchen to rummage through the fridge for food.

“Oooh, an hour?” Yuna calls out, having obviously read your response to Jake. “Water and an open mind. That’s so vague, y/n. I love it.”

Sunoo chuckles. “She’s always been like that. I remember my first lesson from her, she told me ‘Sex is what you make it’. When I asked what that meant she just shrugged and said ‘what do you think it means?’ So mysterious.”

Yes, you’ve taught Sunoo. And Yuna. And probably half the campus at this point. That doesn’t mean you’re a slut— you don’t always teach hands on. In fact, a majority of your students have explicitly asked for just verbal lessons, which is perfectly okay with you. Some physical lessons stop at kissing, some at foreplay, and few go all the way. But even so, you’d say your body count is pretty much the same as any other college aged persons, considering you’re always so busy with regular class, your tutoring business, and regular life, you don’t really have time for real hookups, and definitely not relationships. You’re not even sure if you could get horny anymore, your body constantly in ‘professional’ mode.

—

An hour later, you’re lounging on the couch with Yuna, Sunoo already snoring in his own room taking a weed nap, rewatching another episode of ‘Jersey Shore’ with a belly full of leftover pizza from two nights ago. Your intercom buzzes. Must be Jake. You grab the remote off the table and turn the TV off.

“I’ll get it!” Yuna jumps up from her spot making her way to your front door to buzz him in. Two minutes later there’s a knock on the door— soft, almost hesitant. Yuna flings the door open. “You must be Jake! Come on in.”

She leads him through the entry way, past the kitchen and to the living room, stopping in front of the couch presenting him to you with a grin like he’s a stray dog she caught.

“Ta-da! This is Jake. Virgin, nerd, cute in the doesn’t-know-it way.” And he is, really. Messy brown hair, tall, sharp jawline, plump limps, even his nose is kinda cute. He’s wearing his glasses, and what appears to be regular clothes for once. Light wash jeans, a slightly baggy grey tshirt, no khakis or tie in sight. He is, however, holding a notebook to his chest like a shield.

Jake instantly blushes at Yuna’s comment, eyes growing a little wider before reaching a shaky hand out towards you. “H-hi. Y/n. It’s… really nice to meet you.”

He wants to shake your hand? Of course he does. Look at him. You bite back a smirk and reach your hand out to shake his, which he practically flinches at like he wasn’t expecting you to do it. You pull your hand back and pat the spot on the couch next to you.

“Alright, baby. Take a seat.” You sit up a little straighter, tucking one leg under you on the couch. He looks from you, to the spot, back to you. “Right. Sit. I can do that.”

“Don’t break him y/n!” Yuna calls back at you as she heads towards her room for the night to give you and Jake some privacy.

He takes a seat on the couch, keeping an anxious gap between you both. “So how does this work? I don’t know where to start. I brought a notebook. It has… things… I’ve listed. That I want to learn.” He lowers the notebook from his chest to rest on his lap, fingers nervously fidgeting with the edges.

“We can start with that if you want. It’s good to know what your expectations are for lessons so I can plan and teach accordingly.”

He nods and opens to the first page. “Right. Okay. I want to… Actually, maybe you should just look.” He says angling the open notebook towards you, avoiding eye contact. He seems almost… Ashamed?

You lean over a bit, eyes skimming the page. But then you force yourself to blink hard and start over because— wait? What the hell was all that? You were expecting things like “kissing”, “how to flirt”, and maybe even “how to please a girl.”

Instead, the list is (mostly) as follows:

- making out with tongue

- Groping / grinding

- Oral pleasure (giving / receiving)

- Dirty talk

- Sex positions (doggy, missionary, riding, 69)

- Praise / degradation

- BDSM

- Edging

And the list just… keeps going. You furrow your eyebrows and look up at the trembling, flustered nerd sitting next to you who is still currently avoiding eye contact. “This is uh… pretty descriptive, Jake. Edging? I’m a little surprised you even know what that is. You are a virgin aren’t you?”

He bites his lip and risks a glance at you before immediately looking back down at the page. “Yeah, I am. But… That doesn’t mean I don’t know things. I’ve… watched stuff. I have a pretty good imagination, too.”

Ahh, okay. So he’s a porn enthusiast. Makes sense.

“So, is it okay? The list, I mean. It’s not… too much?” He asks.

“No, it’s fine. Like I said, it’s good to know what you want to learn. We can start with the basics and work our way up. Sound good?”

Jake nods and closes his notebook, keeping it on his lap. “Yeah. Good. So… Kissing, right? How does—.. how do I..” he trails off.

“Depends. I always have to ask— are you looking for hands on lessons or just verbal description?”

Jake flushes a deep a red and bites his lip, considering your question. “H-hands on… if that’s okay.”

“Of course. Just let me know if you ever feel uncomfortable, we can always change how we do things.” You reassure him. Your number one priority is always making sure people know this is a safe place. You might be a bit intimidating but you’re not trying to scar anyone.

“So, Jake, have you ever kissed anyone before? Any kind of kiss.”

He thinks for a moment before speaking. “Not really. I kissed a girl in high school once, but it was mostly awkward. And then there was this girl, Chloe, at a party last semester but… I think she was just trying to eat my face.” He says this with the most serious expression ever you have to bite back a laugh.

“Okay. So, no, not really. That’s okay. I like working with a clean slate.”

Jake nods and continues fidgeting with the edge of his notebook. “Okay. Cool. So.. do I just like, go for it, or is there more to it?”

He’s practically on the edge of the couch, breathing a little unsteady and flushed to the heavens. Poor kid looks like he’s going to explode just from the thought of kissing you.

“First, I’m going to have you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Relax a bit.” You take a deep breath to demo for him and nod for him to join you. He closes his eyes and takes a long shaky breath in, then out. “Good. Keep doing that.” You instruct. He takes another, then another. By his fifth one his breathing has gotten steadier and his fingers have stopped fidgeting. His body visibly relaxes in the small bubble of safety you’ve created. “Good. When you’re ready, you can stop. Then I’m going to touch you— just your face. Okay?”

He takes one more deep breath in and opens his eyes, meeting your gaze head on for the first time since he arrived, and nods. “Okay.”

You slowly lift a hand and cup the side of his face, your fingers resting on his neck below his ear and your thumb on his cheekbone. You give him a second to adjust to the feeling, to which he slightly leans into, eyes fluttering closed before reopening to meet yours. “That feels… really nice.”

“Good. Now I’m going to lean in, and I’m going to kiss you. Don’t worry about anything but feeling it, okay?”

He nods against your hand and takes another steadying breath before you slowly close the distance and let your lips meet his.

He softly exhales against your mouth, leaning into it. The kiss is a little stiff, a little too careful, but it's earnest. His hand comes up to rest awkwardly on your shoulder, his fingers curling slightly into the fabric of your shirt. After a few more seconds his movements become softer, more exploratory as he physically loosens up, likely remembering your instruction to ‘just feel’.

You stroke your thumb over his cheekbone, a small grounding movement which seems to calm him even more as his head tilts toward the pressure, allowing you better access to slightly deepen the kiss. Your freehand comes up to where his is on your shoulder and you guide it down to your waist, resting his palm over your shirt below your ribs. A soft, surprised noise escapes him as his fingers curl tentatively into the fabric of your shirt, and he seems to melt a little closer, his lips pressing against yours with a bit more intent now. You let the kiss continue for a few more seconds before pulling back to let him breathe.

His eyes are hazy behind his glasses, his cheeks flushed a deep pink. “That was… Wow.” He keeps his hand on your waist, his thumb now absentmindedly stroking small circles into the fabric. “Can we.. do it again?”

You nod and lean back in, letting him close the distance and take the lead this time. He lets out a soft, relieved sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he leans in too. This time, he moves even slower, his lips meeting yours with a gentle pressure that's more deliberate than before. He lingers there, tasting the moment, his hand shifting slightly on your waist to pull you just a fraction closer. He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, his voice hushed and a little breathless. “You taste like mint. And something sweet.” He nudges your nose with his gently before leaning in for another kiss while his free hand comes up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch feather-light.

This time you tilt your head a bit, giving him permission to deepen the kiss, but he doesn’t really get the hint, his lips still moving in the same soft exploratory motion against yours. You take matters into your own hands, gently sliding your tongue against his lips and he instinctively parts them. When your tongue enters his mouth, he tries and fails to stifle a soft whimper, and you swear the sound goes straight to your core because, oh— you didn’t know he did that. You bring your other hand up, the one not resting on his knee, and place it on the nape of his neck, gently threading through his hair. He leans back into it, not bothering to stifle the noise that escapes him this time, and you all but swallow it, almost forgetting that you’re mid lesson with a virgin nerd, and not just casually kissing someone.

He breaks the kiss with a shaky inhale, his eyes wide and dark behind his glasses. “Fuck. That's... that's different. In a really, really good way.” He leans his forehead against yours, his breath warm and a little unsteady. “Can we do that again? Please? I want to... I want to try it properly this time. Not just sit there and let it happen to me.” His eagerness is palpable, a raw, hungry thing barely contained beneath his nervous exterior. His fingers tighten slightly in your shirt, a silent plea.

You take a deep breath for yourself before giving him the okay. “Go ahead, baby, show me what you’ve got.”

His eyes darken with intent, a flicker of confidence breaking through the nerves. He doesn't hesitate this time, leaning in and capturing your lips with a newfound determination. His tongue meets yours with a shocking boldness, mimicking your previous movements. One hand comes up to your neck, his thumb pressing gently against your pulse point, the other on your waist sliding around to your back, pulling you even closer, until there's barely any space between you. He's a quick study, his movements becoming less clumsy and more deliberate with each passing second.

He pulls back again to gasp for air, his lips swollen and glistening. “I think I’m getting it. And I think.. I really like this.” His voice drops to a low husky whisper, laced with a hint of whiny desperation. “Can we keep going? Please? I don’t want to stop.”

“Yeah, of course. As many times as you want until you feel confident, that’s what I’m here for.” And then you make a small mistake. You instinctively pull him closer by his hair, not expecting the reaction he gives. It’s like that small tug opened a flood gate of want in Jake, because he whimpers softly and his hand tightens on your side gripping you almost bruisingly. “Oh— fuck. Do that again.” His voice is a breathy, pleading whisper, “Please, y/n. I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, just please do it again.”

His eyebrows are knitted, his expression begging in a way and— wait? Do you lowkey have a thing for needy nerds?

You tug his hair again, testing. He makes the same noise as he surges forward to capture your lips again, his kiss deeper, more insistent now. His tongue slides against yours with a newfound confidence, and one of his hands drifts from your side to tentatively brush against the curve of your breast. His words slur against your lips, “Is this okay? Should I stop?”

You place your hand over his guiding him to cup your breast more fully, “You’re doing so good, Jake. You don’t have to stop.” Your praise is a usual professional guidance, but telling him not to stop isn’t something you usually do. See, at this point, you would usually call the lesson and send the student on their way to sit with what they’ve learned and experienced so far before overwhelming them with things that come next. But at some point between his first whimper and his pleading words, your common sense was stripped away leaving behind a girl who hasn’t felt true arousal in god knows how long.

A shudder runs through him as your hand guides his, his palm pressing more firmly against your breast. His fingers curl, exploring the shape through your thin shirt and you’re suddenly grateful you didn’t wear a bra today. His thumb brushes over your nipple experimentally, his voice dropping to a hushed, awed whisper. “Fuck, you're so soft. I didn't think— I mean, I imagined, but...”

His eyes dart down to your chest, then back up to meet yours, a mixture of nerves and pure hunger in his expression. The hand on your breast squeezes gently, almost unconsciously. “Can I… can I try something else? I want to touch more.” His voice takes on that whiny pleading tone again, “please? I’ll be careful.”

Your fingers curl around his wrist, guiding his hand slowly up under the hem of your shirt. The air is thick with anticipation as his cool fingertips brush against the warm skin of your stomach. He inhales sharply, his eyes wide and fixed on yours. “Oh, wow.” His fingers tremble slightly as they creep upward, his touch hesitant but incredibly deliberate. When his palm finally cups your bare breast, a soft, choked sound escapes him. “Fuck. You're... you're so warm.”

His thumb strokes over your nipple, his touch feather-light at first, then firmer as he gains confidence. He leans in, his lips finding yours in a slow, deep kiss that's full of newfound reverence. His other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek. The kiss deepens, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that's quickly overshadowing his initial shyness. “I want to taste you. Everywhere. I’ve been thinking about it since I walked in here. Can I? Please?”

You nod quickly, pulling your shirt up over your head and tossing it aside, the cool air of your apartment hitting your exposed skin, sending a small shiver down your spine. You bite your lip and raise your eyebrows at Jake, silently daring him to continue now that you haven’t backed down.

His eyes go wide, his breath catching audibly as your shirt comes off. For a moment, he just stares, completely frozen, his gaze dropping to your bare chest before snapping back to your face. “Holy shit.” Leaning in slowly, his voice drops to a hushed, reverent whisper. “Can I... can I use my mouth? I want to kiss you there.” His thumb brushes over your nipple again, his touch growing more confident.

He doesn't wait for an answer, his mouth finding your nipple with a soft, experimental lick. A shudder runs through him, and he lets out a muffled whimper against your skin. His lips close around your nipple, sucking gently at first, then with more pressure as he finds a rhythm. His free hand slides up to cup your other breast, his thumb stroking over the peak. “Is this... is this how you like it? Tell me what to do.”

His glasses are fogging up slightly, and his movements are a little clumsy, but the raw enthusiasm is undeniable. He's completely lost in the sensation, his hips shifting restlessly against the couch cushions. You reach for the hem of his shirt, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric. Jake lifts his arms obediently, his eyes never leaving your face as you pull the shirt up and over his head. It joins yours on the floor. The air between you feels charged, intimate.

He doesn't hesitate this time, surging forward to capture your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. His bare chest presses against yours, skin to skin, and a sharp, pleased gasp escapes him. “Oh, fuck. That's... that's so much better.” His hands roam your back, pulling you flush against him. His hips shift, grinding against your thigh almost unconsciously. “I can feel your heart beating. It's so fast.” And fuck, it is. You can’t remember the last time your heart was pounding in your chest like this.

Breaking the kiss, he buries his face in your neck, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His voice is muffled against your throat, thick with want. “I don't think I can do slow anymore. I need... more. Please, y/n?”

You lean back on the couch, pulling him down to hover over you and guide one of his hands lower, towards the waistband of your jeans. A sharp, eager intake of breath escapes Jake as you guide his hand and his palm flattens against your stomach, fingers splaying over the waistband. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, fixed on yours with a mixture of shock and raw hunger.

You press your hips up against his, a deliberate, firm motion that makes him gasp sharply. The friction is immediate, electric, and his entire body shudders against yours. A choked, desperate sound escapes him, his eyes squeezing shut for a second before he looks down at you, dazed. “Oh, god. That's— fuck.” His hips buck against yours instinctively, a clumsy, eager thrust. His hand on your jeans trembles, his fingers fumbling with the button. “I'm gonna... I'm gonna undo this. Okay? Tell me if I should stop.” You don’t.

He manages to pop the button open, the sound loud in the quiet room. The zipper comes down with a shaky, hesitant pull. He's breathing like he's just run a mile, his chest heaving against yours.

His voice is a wrecked, husky whisper, full of that whiny need. “I can feel how wet you are. Through your jeans. Is that... is that because of me?” He grinds down against you again, slower this time, more deliberate, his eyes locked on yours. “I want to make you feel so good. I want to be the reason you're like this.” His hand cups you through the fabric, his palm pressing down firmly. “Please tell me I can touch you for real. I need to. Please?”

Your fingers curl around his wrist again, guiding his hand firmly down past the open waistband of your jeans. The fabric is tight, and his knuckles brush against the damp lace of your underwear as his palm presses flat against your mound. He freezes for a second, his breath catching audibly.

“Fuck. You’re… you’re so warm. And wet. Really wet.” His fingers curl tentatively, pressing against the lace, exploring the shape of you through the thin barrier. His hips stutter against yours, a helpless, grinding motion. “Is this... is it okay if I touch you here? Like this?”

His thumb finds your clit through the fabric, applying a gentle, circling pressure that makes you arch into his hand. You weren’t even sure he knew where a clit was. He watches your reaction intently, his brown eyes dark and wide behind his fogged-up glasses.

His voice is wrecked, whiny whisper, “You're moving against me. Does that mean it feels good? Tell me it feels good. Please?” His fingers slide lower, hooking into the waistband of your underwear. He glances up at you, his expression a mixture of pure need and nervous hesitation. “Can I... can I take these off? I want to feel you properly. With my hands. With my mouth. Please, y/n?”

You nod eagerly, grabbing the waistband of your jeans and helping Jake slide them down your hips, kicking them off to the floor leaving you in just your panties. Jake's gaze drops to your lace-clad hips, his breathing shallow and fast. He looks utterly transfixed, his hand still hovering where your jeans were just moments ago. “Fuck you’re— you’re really letting me do this.”

His fingers tremble as they brush against the lace of your panties, tracing the damp patch in the center. “I can't believe this is happening. I've thought about this so many times.” His fingers hook into the sides of your underwear, his touch hesitant but determined. He glances up at you one more time, a silent plea for confirmation, before slowly starting to slide them down your hips. As the panties clear your hips, and he pulls them down your legs, his breath hitches. “Oh god… you’re so beautiful. And… soaked.”

Tossing the underwear aside, he stares for a moment, completely awestruck, before his eyes meet yours, dark and desperate. “Can I... can I touch you now? Please? I need to. I've been dying to.”

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Jake trails a hand up your thigh then lightly grazes your slick center with his knuckles, whispering another “fuck” under his breath. The light contact sends a jolt through you, which Jake of course notices. He presses his full palm against you, the length of his middle finger nestling between your folds, the tip pressing against your clit. You push your hips up against his hand seeking for friction and he takes the hint, sliding his finger down and back up through your slick, coating his fingers. He doesn’t push in yet, letting you rock against his hand, your pussy dripping and clenching around nothing, as he watches with rapt attention.

You’re beginning to feel a little desperate and irritated. “Jake, come on.”

Your broken plea snaps Jake out of whatever trance he was in, realizing he’s practically torturing you. “Fuck, sorry. You’re just so..” he trails off. He looks back down at where his hand is, covered in your arousal and make a gun motion with his fingers. “Like this?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, sliding his pointer and middle finger into you slowly. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, but his mouth is hanging open in awe. “You’re tight.” His hand pulls back and he thrusts his fingers back in, going knuckles deep this time until the heel of his palm is pressed against you, eliciting a gasp from you. “Yeah? That feels good, huh? Fuck. I bet it does.” He sounds almost proud of himself.

He picks up the pace of his fingers, thrusting in and out of your sopping pussy, his gaze torn between watching your every reaction, and watching where his fingers keep bottoming out inside you, slick bubbling around his knuckles.

He pulls out fully without warning and brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean and humming, pleased. “Sorry. I just really wanted to know what you taste like. Which is fucking amazing, by the way.” He thrusts his clean fingers back in without even asking, resuming his pace and experimentally curls his fingers against your spongey walls, pulling a deep moan from your lips. “Oh. Like that. Got it.” He mumbles to himself.

Jake would be lying if he said he was focused on pleasing you. Really, he was just lost in the sensation of finally feeling a wet pussy in his hands. And you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t turning you on. Usually when you get to this point with other students they’re so intent on trying to make you come (which you never do) that they aren’t even retaining any information. Jake is almost… Clinical, about it. Of course he wants you to feel good, and he’d love to make you come, but he also wants to learn exactly what makes you feel good, storing the information away like your pussy is going to quiz him after.

“Hey, can I use my mouth?” The casual tone in which he asks catches you off guard.

“Uh— yeah, fuck, go ahead.”

“Mm.” He shifts on the couch, without pulling his fingers out, and settles between your legs using his free hand to push your thighs apart further. He leans in, his tongue darting out for a tentative, experimental lick. A shudder runs through him, and he lets out a muffled groan against you. “Tastes even better from the source.” His mouth closes over you, sucking gently at first, then with more confidence as he finds a rhythm. His hand grip your hip, holding you steady as his tongue explores you with an eager, hungry curiosity, his other hand still pistoning his fingers in and out of you.

His glasses are askew, fogged up completely now, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s completely lost in the sensation, his hips grinding restlessly against the couch cushions as he tastes you. His hand leaves your hip only to slide up to your breast, thumb circling your nipple almost absently. He pulls back just enough to gasp for air, his lips and chin glistening, “I don’t ever want to stop. I could do this for hours.” Hours? Fuck, you’d probably let him at this point.

He dives back in, his movements growing a bit more sloppy but it’s turning you on even more, the way he laps at your whole pussy like a starving dog. He eventually pulls his fingers out replacing them with his tongue, licking in as far as he can, thrusting and swirling his tongue around your insides. You grind against his face, and a low groan vibrates against your core before he pulls back to speak, “You’re so fucking responsive. I love it. Love feeling you move against my mouth.” He slides a hand from your hip down your thigh, hooking it over his shoulder to open you up wider. His other hand continues to knead your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple.

His tongue circles your clit, sloppily at first, but then more firm and insistent as he gains confidence from your moans and hip twitches. He keeps his focus on your clit, thrusting his fingers back inside you. The dual sensation has pleasure building in your core faster than you’d like to admit, and your walls start to tighten around him.

“Oh, fuck. It feels like you’re sucking me in. That’s good right?” He’s a quick study, adjusting the pressure and speed based on your subtle cues. His hips are grinding rhythmically against the couch, a clear sign of his own building arousal. The air is thick with the sound of his eager mouth, your ragged breathing, and the obscene wet squelching sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you. Pulling back for a sharp gasp, his eyes are glazed and unfocused, “I’m so close. Just from tasting you. Fuck.” He doesn’t wait for a response, diving back in to now suck your clit between his lips, flicking his tongue over it.

“Hhhnn— J-jake..? Don’t— don’t stop doing that.” You cry out, your hips slightly lifting off the couch, your hands now gripping his hair to hold him in place. You weren’t expecting to actually be able to come, but the tension coiling in your stomach is undeniable at this point.

A desperate, muffled whimper escapes him at your words, his whole body trembling with effort. He doubles down, his tongue working you over with a frantic, worshipful intensity. His fingers dig into your thigh, holding you open as he devours you. His hips are fully rutting against the couch cushion beneath him now, a frantic, helpless motion. He's completely lost in you, every ounce of his focus on bringing you to the edge. His hand slides from your thigh up your stomach, fingers splaying possessively over your skin. His entire body is tense, vibrating with the effort of holding back his own release.

The pressure builds steadily inside you until it crashes over, your back arching off the couch and into his mouth as you cry out, your walls fluttering and clenching around his fingers as you come.

The sound of your cry seems to snap something in him. He moans deeply against you, his body shuddering as he feels you climax. His tongue doesn't stop, gentling its movements but continuing to lap at you through the waves of your release, drawing out every last shudder.

He finally pulls back, panting heavily, his face glistening. He looks utterly wrecked, his glasses completely fogged, his hair a mess from your grip. He stares up at you with wide, dazed eyes. “Was that... was it good? Did I do okay?” His hips give another helpless grind against the couch, a soft, frustrated whine escaping him. “I'm so hard it hurts. But that was... that was everything. For you, I mean. Was it everything for you?” He rests his forehead against your inner thigh, his breathing slowly starting to even out. His whole body is still trembling slightly, buzzing with the aftermath and his own unmet need.

You lay there for a moment, chest heaving as you catch your breath. “Yeah— it was.. it was good, Jake. Really good.” Honestly, post-nut clarity is hitting you like a bitch now. You’re a little dumbfounded at the fact that you just let a nerdy virgin make you come on your own couch, throwing your own rules out the window, just because he whimpered and said ‘please’ repeatedly. So, maybe you’re a little ashamed. Just a little. But as you tilt your head to look down at where Jake is still resting between your legs, head nuzzling your thigh it’s like the air is sucked right out of your chest.

The best way to describe what you’re feeling now would be cuteness aggression. His hair is all mused, glasses askew, lips all shiny and swollen and his eyes… My god, his eyes. Like a fucking puppy. You want to reach down and squeeze his cheeks, coo at him and plant a hundred tiny kisses all over his face. But then you remember how he just said he was so hard it hurts and, oh poor baby, you absolutely have to help him now.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and lazily point down the hall. “See that door on the left, at the end?” He looks up at where you’re pointing and nods. “Thats my room. Go wait on my bed. I’ll be there in a sec, okay?” He looks from you, to the door, and back again confused until realization dawns on him and then he’s scrambling up off of you and the couch. “Oh— okay, yeah. Sure.”

He heads towards you room, sparing one last glance behind him before slipping through the door.

You pull your panties back on and grab a shirt off the floor— Jake’s shirt— and slip into the bathroom to clean up, running a soft washcloth under warm water and wiping all the evidence from between your legs.

When you enter your bedroom, closing the door behind you, Jake is sitting on the edge of your bed palming himself through his jeans, eyes squeezed shut. You’re not even sure he heard you come in, he’s so lost in the sensation of his own hand, so you take a moment to watch him. His chest if flushed and blotchy, sweat glistening on his forehead, and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

You quietly pad against the hardwood floor and sink to your knees in front of him. When your hands land on his inner thighs he flinches, eyes jolting open and he makes a startled noise.

“Oh— fuck, I—.. sorry.” He got that ‘caught doing something I shouldn’t’ look on his face. “I didn’t uh.. didn’t hear you come in.”

“ ‘S okay, baby.” You slide a hand up, covering his where it rests on his cock straining against his jeans. “Want some help with that?”

His eyes go wide and his mouth falls open a little before he swallows hard. “You wanna… Fuck— yes, please. Please.”

And there’s that magic word again, like music to your ears. You pull his hand away, replacing it with yours gently stroking him through his jeans. He’s bigger than you expected.

A shaky exhale rattles out of him, his hips twitching upward chasing your touch, and his head falls back with a soft thud against the mattress. “Fuck. Your hand feels... way better than mine.” He gives a self deprecating laugh.

He watches you with dark, glazed eyes, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. His fingers curl into the sheets on either side of him, gripping tight. “Can you… can you take them off? Please?” He’s practically pouting at this point, hips rutting up against your palm desperately.

You hum in response, popping open the button of his jeans, sliding the zipper down. “Lift your hips for me, baby.” He obliges and you hook your fingers into his waistband, pulling them down his legs till the denim pools around his ankles. You hook into his briefs next, “these too, hm?”

He nods eagerly lifting for you again and you pull them down just enough to free his length. It smacks against his lower stomach, flushed deep red with need and the tip is already heavily slicked with precum.

He swallows hard, his knuckles going white as he grips the sheets. “You're really gonna touch me? For real? Please don't stop. Whatever you're about to do, don't stop.”

You wrap a hand around his length, and start stroking slowly, running your thumb over his tip to smear precum over it.

A strangled, punched-out sound escapes him and his hips buck up involuntarily, his eyes going wide open behind his fogged glasses. “Fuck— oh, fuck, that's—“ his voice cracks, dissolving into a breathless, whiny moan as your hand strokes him slow. His head drops back again, exposing the long line of his throat, and his fingers claw at the sheets. “I didn't— I mean, I knew it'd feel good, but not like this.” His thighs are trembling against your knees, and a thin sheen of sweat has broken out across his chest. He's gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles have gone white, every muscle in his body taut with the effort of holding still.

His voice drops to that desperate, wrecked whisper, “can you go faster? Please? I wanna feel it. I wanna feel you make me come.”

“Mmm, you want faster, baby? I’ve got something even better.” Before he can respond, you’re leaning down taking him into your mouth, wrapping your lips just below his tip and swirling your tongue over it.

A broken, keening sound rips out of him, his whole body convulsing. His hand flies down, fingers threading desperately into your hair but not pulling— just gripping, holding on like you're his anchor to reality. “Oh— oh, god. Y/n. Fuck.” His voice is a wrecked, breathless mess, words tumbling out between shuddering gasps “Holy shit, that's— that's not fair. You can't just do that without warning.”

His hips twitch, a helpless, abortive thrust toward your mouth before he freezes, trembling violently. “I'm sorry— I didn't mean to. You just feel so good. Please don't stop. I swear I'll be good.”

His thighs are shaking against your hands now, his breathing ragged and uneven. The grip in your hair tightens briefly before loosening, as if he's fighting every instinct to hold you in place.

His voice cracks, whiny and desperate, “you're gonna make me cum. Fuck, I'm gonna come so hard. Is that— is that okay? Can I? Please?”

You haven’t even put the whole thing in your mouth, and he’s already a mess on the brink of his orgasm. You pull off with a dramatic wet pop that jolts him. “You can come whenever, baby. You can fuck my mouth too, if you want.” You spit on his cock and spread it down his length with your hand for lubrication and then push it back in your mouth taking him all the way to his base, his tip hitting your throat and your nose nudging against his pelvis.

His entire body jerks like you've electrocuted him. A raw, guttural moan tears from his throat, and his hips buck forward once— shallow, instinctive, barely controlled. “Fuck— you said I can— I can actually—“ he drags in a ragged breath, glasses completely fogged now, lips parted and trembling. “You have no idea how long I've wanted this. How many nights I've thought about someone— about you— doing exactly this.”

His hand tightens in your hair, not forcing, just holding. His hips start to move in small, tentative thrusts, testing the boundaries. Each one is followed by a breathless, apologetic sound, like he can't quite believe you're letting him, and honestly you can’t either.

His voice is wrecked, barely above a whisper, high and whiny, “I'm not gonna last. I'm— I'm already so close. You feel too good. Your mouth is— fuck.”His thrusts grow slightly bolder, his grip in your hair firming as he loses himself in the sensation. “Please don't stop. Please. I'm gonna come— I'm gonna come right now—“

His hips stutter, a sharp, desperate thrust pushing him deeper into your mouth before he freezes completely, a guttural, broken sound tearing from his throat as he spills thick warm spurts into your throat. “Fuck— y/n— oh, god—“

He shudders through it, his grip in your hair going white-knuckled as waves of release roll through him. When he finally comes back to himself, he's panting hard, slumped against the mattress, his chest heaving. “I— I'm sorry. That was so fast. I didn't mean to..”

You swallow every last drop, pulling your mouth off him with a bit of saliva connecting you to his tip. You stroke him slow and soft through the last waves of his climax, until he’s twitching beneath you from overstimulation.

He slides a hand down to cup your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his hazy, reverent gaze. “You're incredible. I don't think I've ever felt anything like that in my life. No— I know I haven’t, actually.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, fix his briefs back in place, and rest your chin on his knee. “That’s the point, baby.”

Jake's cheeks flame impossibly redder at your casual dismissal of his apologies. He watches you wipe your mouth, a strange mix of awe and something hungrier flickering behind his fogged-up glasses.

His hand is still cupping your jaw, thumb tracing a slow, absent line along your cheekbone. His voice is raspy, still catching his breath, “you're really something else, you know that? Most people would've been annoyed by how fast I…” he cuts himself off, his gaze drifting down your body again, lingering on the curve of your hip where you're still kneeling between his spread legs. His own spent cock twitches against his thigh, a stubbornly persistent interest shining in his eyes.

His voice drops to that whiny, clinging register again. “So... what's next? Is there a lesson two? Because I feel like I still have a lot to learn.” a pause, his fingers tighten on your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “I'm a fast learner. I promise I'll be a good student.”

You laugh breathlessly at his eagerness. “Already thinking of round two? Cute.”

He bites his lip, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I mean... yeah. Kinda” he shifts, his hand sliding from your jaw down to your shoulder, fingers tracing the slope of your shoulder. “You said you'd teach me everything, right? I don't want to miss any of it.”

He swallows, his grip on your shoulder turning a little more possessive as he tugs you up toward him on the bed. When you're settled on his lap, his hands find your hips, thumbs stroking slow circles into your skin. “I don't want a round two just because of the lesson. I mean—“ he huffs out a frustrated breath, his brows knitting together. “I want round two because I can't stop thinking about the way you looked at me when I made you cum. Like you were actually surprised I could do that.”

You practically flinch at his words, blinking in surprise. He… noticed that? Fuck. “I mean.. I guess I was, yeah. Not because I thought you were incapable but because—“ you cut yourself off this time, realizing you’re oversharing inside thoughts.

He catches your cut-off sentence, his eyes narrowing just a fraction behind his glasses. A slow, understanding smile spreads across his face that's far too knowing for a virgin. “But because what?” His thumb traces the dip of your hip, patient. “You can tell me. I already know you're not as cold as you pretend to be.”

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I noticed the look. I noticed the way you said my name like it surprised you too.” His hands slide up your back, fingers tracing the line of your spine through his shirt you’re wearing. The air in the room feels heavier, charged with something that goes beyond simple tutoring.

You exhale a deep breath, choosing your next words carefully. “I don’t… usually let that happen. In lessons.. like, let myself feel.”

His hands still on your hips, his gaze softening. He doesn't push, doesn't pry—just waits, letting the weight of your confession settle between you. “I noticed. That you were holding something back. Even when you were in control, there was a wall up.” He leans in again, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “You don't have to let me in all at once. But I'm not going anywhere, y/n.”

His thumb traces a slow, soothing line along your hip, his touch grounding rather than demanding. Behind his glasses, his eyes are warm, patient, waiting for you to decide what comes next.

You deflect with a soft scoff, feigning indifference. “What makes you think I’ll let you in at all?”

He huffs shaking his head slowly. His hands slide up your sides, settling just beneath your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through his shirt. “I don't know. Maybe the fact that you haven't kicked me out yet. Or the fact that you let me come down your throat when you could've stopped me at any point.”

His voice drops, that whiny edge creeping back in, but there's a sincerity underneath it that catches you off guard. “You don't have to let me in. But you can't pretend I didn't see that look. And I'm not gonna forget it.”

He shifts beneath you, his hands sliding down to grip your hips again. His cock is already stirring against your thigh, a stubborn reminder that his appetite hasn't been fully satisfied. He tilts his head, a small, almost challenging smirk curving his lips. “So— are we doing lesson two, or do you need a minute to think about that look?”

If he was anyone else— if he hadn’t just unraveled you on your own couch, if you weren’t wearing his shirt, if you hadn’t just swallowed his load— yeah, a lot of fucking ‘if’s’.. He would be out on your doorstep before he knew what hit him. But as much as you’re stubborn, and refuse to admit it out loud, that was different. He is different. And the cocky bastard knows it now.

“You know, you’re awfully bold for a virgin.”

He grins at that, a flash of something confident breaking through his usual shyness. “Yeah, well. You made me bold. Kind of hard to stay a shy little virgin when I just had you moaning under my tongue.”

His thumb hooks under the collar of your his shirt, tugging it down just a fraction, exposing the curve of your shoulder. He leans in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the newly bared skin, his breath hot and unsteady against you.

His voice is muffled against your shoulder, “I really do wanna learn everything. But mostly I just wanna keep making you feel good. That's the best part.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuuuuck.

You lean in and kiss him slow, just to see if you still feel anything. And of course you do.

When you pull back you search his gaze, losing your internal battle. “What do you want to learn next, then?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, then back up to your eyes, a slow soft smile spreading across his face. “Actually... I was thinking about something else entirely. Something I've been too nervous to ask for.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued, urging him to go on.

He takes a shaky breath, his cheeks flushing again, but he holds your gaze. “I want to... be inside you. For real. Not just my mouth or your mouth. I want to know what it feels like when we cum together.”

His hands tighten on your hips, his thumbs stroking slow circles into your skin. “I know it's a big step. And I know I'm not... experienced. But I want it to be with you.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his glasses bumping gently against your skin. His breathing is shallow, warm puffs of air against your lips.

In a whisper, so quiet it's almost a plea, “Will you teach me how to fuck you, y/n? Not just for the lesson. For real.”

“That’s.. A huge skip in lessons, Jake. You sure you’re ready for that?”

His expression shifts instantly at your tone, the vulnerability vanishing behind a familiar, hungry glint. His hands grip your hips tighter, pulling you flush against his hardening cock. “Ready? Fuck, y/n, I've been ready since I walked in here. My brain's been nothing but a porno reel of all the ways I want you.”

He grinds up against you, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips that makes both your breath catch. “I want to feel what it's like to be buried inside you. I want to know if you get even tighter when you cum. I wanna hear what sounds you make when I'm fucking you properly.”

He leans in, capturing your lower lip between his teeth for a brief, sharp tug before releasing it. His hands are roaming now, sliding down to squeeze your ass, pulling you harder against his erection.

His voice drops to a filthy, whining whisper. “So are you gonna teach me or not? Because my dick's about to break through my fucking boxers again just thinking about it.”

He nips at your jaw, his breath hot against your ear, “C'mon, y/n. Show me how to make you feel good for real. I'll be your best student. I promise I'll do exactly what you say.”

You know you should say no. He’s skipping the whole fucking curriculum in one lesson. But you were already dripping at his words again. All you did was exchange oral and the nerd was oozing with this insatiable desire for you and a nonchalant confidence, and with how little genuine action you get, your pussy was practically purring for him.

“Fine. But we do this my way. I’m in control. If I tell you to do something, you do it. If I say you need to leave after, you leave. If I tell you stay, you stay. Got it?” You tease the waistband of his boxers, running your finger under the hem and brushing against his leaking tip. You pull them back just enough for his tip to poke out, running your thumb over the slit.

A shudder runs through him, his eyes darkening with immediate, eager submission. He nods quickly, his grip on your hips tightening. “Yes. Fuck, yes. Anything you say. Your way. Always your way.”

He leans in, capturing your mouth in a messy, desperate kiss, all teeth and clumsy urgency. When he pulls back, he's panting, his lips swollen and wet. “Tell me what to do. Please. I want to be good for you.”

He's already shifting, trying to maneuver you beneath him on the bed, his movements eager but controlled waiting for your command.

His voice is a rough, breathless whisper against your neck, “Do you want me on top? Or do you want to ride me? I don't care, just tell me where you want me. I'll do anything.”

You push him back on the bed, and he lands with a soft thud. His eyes are wide and fixed on you. “Okay, yeah. Right here. Got it.”

He watches, transfixed, as you rise to your feet beside the bed. His gaze travels down your body, lingering on the curve of your hips, the damp patch on your panties. His cock twitches against his stomach, already fully hard again, a fresh bead of moisture forming at the tip.

His eyes dart to the nightstand, then back to you, a nervous but eager tension in his shoulders. “Do you... have protection? I brought some, just in case. It's in my wallet. I didn't want to assume, but I hoped.”

You half-scoff, half-laugh, shaking your head and pull open your nightstand top drawer revealing an array of boxes of condoms. “Baby, I’m a sex tutor. Of course I have condoms. Take your pick.”

Jake looks at the drawer with wide eyes, reading all the bold labels; Trojan, Magnum, Non-Latex (for allergies), Flavored, Ribbed.

A slow, dirty grin spreads across his face as he scans the selection. “Fuck, you're prepared. I like that.” He picks up the ribbed box, turning it over in his hands. “These ones... do they really feel different for you? I wanna make sure it's good for you too.”

You shrug in response. “I dunno, never had a chance to try ‘em. Let’s find out.”

A low, appreciative groan rumbles in his chest as he tears the box open with slightly shaking fingers. “Fuck, you're gonna let me be the first to try them on you? That's...” He fumbles a condom out, his gaze hot and fixed on you. “That's so hot. I'm gonna make sure you feel everything.”

He rolls the condom on with a surprising deftness, considering his nerves. His eyes never leave your body as he does it, drinking in the sight of you standing over him. Once he's sheathed, he lies back against the pillows, spreading his legs wider in invitation.

He reaches for you, his hand trembling as it finds your hip, guiding you gently toward him. His other hand grips the sheet beside his head, knuckles white with anticipation.

You pull his shirt up over your head, discarding it on the floor and slide your panties off, kicking them aside. “You still sure? Cus once we start, I’m not stopping.”

He nods frantically, his throat working as he swallows. “Fuck, yes. I've never been more sure of anything in my life. Please, y/n. Don't stop. I want all of it.”

He reaches for you again, his hands settling on your hips with a firm, guiding pressure, pulling you toward him. His cock stands rigid against his stomach, the condom gleaming under the soft light. His thighs are trembling with anticipation, his whole body coiled and ready.

You climb over the bed, straddling his hips. You don’t take him inside of you immediately, instead rolling your hips against his, his twitching cock dragging against your wet core, tip nudging your clit.

His eyes roll back slightly, a low groan vibrating through his chest as you grind against him. His hands slide up to cradle your hips, guiding the rhythm with a surprising confidence. “Oh— god, that feels.. You're gonna kill me like this.” His voice drops to a husky whisper, “fuck, y/n, please. I need to be in you.”

His hips buck up involuntarily, his cock sliding through your wetness with a slick, desperate sound. His fingers dig into your hips, his knuckles white. “Please, please baby, let me— fuck, let me fuck that pretty pussy, hm? I’ll be so good f’ you.”

A sharp, choked-off gasp escapes him as you begin to sink down. His eyes widen, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully. “Oh— fuck.” His head falls back against the pillows, a shudder wracking his frame. “You're so tight.”

You take him in, inch by inch, and the stretch is nothing short of delicious. You can’t remember the last time a cock felt so good inside you.

His chest is heaving, flushed and blotchy, as you settle fully onto him, his tip kissing your cervix. He lets out a long, shaky exhale, his fingers flexing against your skin. His cock twitches inside you, a full-body jolt that makes him groan, and you suck a sharp breath between your teeth.

His voice cracks, high and whiny. “You can move.. Please, move. I wanna watch you ride me. I wanna see how you take me.”

You roll your hips, a slow teasing drag. “Like this?” The ribbed condoms were definitely a good choice, the texture rubbing against your spongey walls with every move.

“Yes, fuck— just like that.” His hips begin to match your rhythm, shallow, tentative thrusts that deepen with each roll.

His voice is a broken, breathless rasp as you take him even deeper. “Slow— wanna fuck you nice and slow. I don't wanna—“ He cuts himself off with ragged moan. “I'm not gonna last long— You're too much. I wanna make you cum first. Tell me how. Tell me what to do.” He looks up at you with pleading eyes, eyebrows knitted tight together with the effort of holding back.

The look on his face just makes you want to ride him even harder, to push him right over the edge. But a girls got needs too, and you didn’t throw your whole rule book out the window to not come tonight.

“Fuck— okay, baby. Flip us over. I need you on top.”

He moves instantly, hands gripping your hips as he rolls you both in one smooth, surprisingly coordinated motion. “Fuck, yes. Whatever you want.”

In a heartbeat, you're beneath him, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress. He settles between your legs, his cock still buried deep inside you, and lets out a shaky, overwhelmed breath. His glasses are askew, his hair messy, his chest flushed and heaving.

He braces himself on his elbows, framing your face, his gaze locked on yours. “Is this okay? Tell me if it's too much.”

Without waiting for an answer, he begins to move—slow, deep thrusts that make your breath catch. “You feel so good. Fuck, I'm never gonna forget this.”

His rhythm is unsteady at first, but it quickly finds a hungry, desperate pace. He drops his head to your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin with each thrust, your soft moans filling the small space between you.

His voice is muffled, ragged against your neck. “Tell me what you like. Harder? Slower? I'll do anything. Just wanna make you feel good.”

You grab one of his wrists, guiding it between your bodies, and press his thumb against your clit. “Need you— need you to fuck me harder, Jake.” You rasp out between strokes.

A sharp, desperate sound escapes him as you guide his thumb to your clit. His hips stutter, then slam into you with renewed force, driven by your command. “Harder— fuck, yes. Like this?” His voice is a ragged, broken thing, his thumb pressing in firm, frantic circles. “Gunna fuck you so good, pretty, promise.”

He braces himself above you, his thrusts becoming deeper, more punishing, each one punctuated by a grunt or a whimper. “You’re so tight— I can feel you squeezing me. Are you close? Please tell me you’re close.”

His rhythm is relentless now, his body trembling with the effort. Sweat drips from his brow onto your chest, his glasses fogged beyond repair. He’s completely lost to the sensation, every nerve focused on pleasing you.

The combination of his relentless thrusts, his thumb working your clit, and the way he’s looking at you hanging on your release— it’s enough for the tension to start coiling tight in your stomach.

You grip his shoulders, nails biting into his soft skin. “ ‘m close, Jake— don’t—*nngh*— don’t stop”

His rhythm becomes frantic, hips pistoning into you with a desperate, raw intensity. “That's it— come for me, pretty. Let me feel you.” His thumb presses harder against your clit, circling wildly.

He drops his head, panting hot and open-mouthed against your neck, his thrusts growing sloppy and uneven. “I can feel you— fuck, you're getting tighter—“

His body tenses above you, every muscle coiled. A low, guttural groan rumbles in his chest as he feels you begin to clench around him. “Now— please, now—“

His broken plea is enough to send you over the edge, your body arching up off the mattress to meet his. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in impossibly deeper, leaning in to bite his shoulder as you cry out, muffled against his skin.

A sharp, pained gasp escapes him as your teeth sink into his shoulder, but it's swallowed by the raw, guttural groan that follows when you clamp down around him. His hips stutter, losing all rhythm as he drives into you one last, deep time. “Fuck— y/n— I'm coming—“

His body convulses above you, a series of ragged, helpless thrusts as he spills into the condom. He collapses against you, his weight heavy and warm, his face buried in your neck as he shudders through the aftershocks. His breathing is harsh and uneven against your skin.

After a long moment, he lifts his head slightly, his voice a wrecked, breathless whisper. “Holy shit. That was...” He shakes his head, unable to find words, and drops a clumsy, open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone. “You're fucking incredible.”

He stays like that for a while, just breathing against you, his cock still twitching softly inside you. Eventually, he shifts his weight to his elbows, looking down at you with hazy, dazed eyes.

He brushes a sweaty strand of hair from your forehead, his thumb stroking your cheek. “So... was I a good student?”

You huff out a breathless laugh. “Yeah… Good student.” You mumble lazily, brain still foggy from your release.

A slow, smug grin spreads across his face at your words. He shifts his hips slightly, still buried inside you, and lets out a soft, contented sigh. “Good enough for a gold star? Or maybe... extra credit?”

He leans down, pressing a series of lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. His hands slide down to your hips, fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

His voice is low, teasing, “I think I could get addicted to this. To you. My personal sex tutor.”

He finally pulls out slowly, wincing slightly as he ties off the condom and tosses it in the general direction of the trash can. He collapses back beside you, turning on his side to face you, propping his head on his hand.

His gaze drifts over your flushed, spent body, a possessive warmth in his eyes. “So... what's the curriculum for next time? Because I'm already ready for lesson three.”

You muster up all your strength to push him playfully, scoffing. “Already planning the next one, hm?”

He catches your hand, lacing his fingers through yours and bringing your knuckles to his lips with a soft, grinning kiss. “Can't help it. My brain's already running through the list.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand, slow and possessive. “Bondage, maybe? Or shower sex? I heard that's... slippery.”

He shifts closer, his bare leg brushing against yours under the sheets. His eyes are bright behind his still-fogged glasses, a mix of exhaustion and pure, unadulterated hunger.

His voice drops to a low, teasing whisper, “Or we could just... stay right here. See how many times I can make you come before you kick me out.” He nips gently at your earlobe. “Your rules, though. Always your rules.”

His hand slides from yours to your waist, palm warm and steadying. He's watching you with that same intense focus, like he's memorizing the way you look right now—flushed, satisfied, and just a little bit unraveled.

He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Sorry. I'm being greedy. But you're just... fuck. You're everything I thought you'd be. And more.”

You roll lazily over on top of him, straddling him and propping yourself up on your elbows. “Greedy looks good on you.”

His hands immediately come to settle on your hips to steady you. His gaze darkens with fresh interest as you straddle him again.” So... what's the plan for round three then, professor?”

His cock is already stirring against your thigh, half-hard again despite how recently he came. He watches you with a mix of awe and pure hunger, his chest still rising and falling a little too fast.

He grinds his hips up slowly, deliberately, his gaze locked on yours. “How many rounds do you think I’ve got in me, y/n? Wanna find out?”

Tongue in cheek, you scoff lightly narrowing your eyes. “You’re an insatiable little pup, aren’t you?”

He grins up at you, a little sheepish but utterly unapologetic as he reaches up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? You're like a five-course meal after a lifetime of starvation.”

His hands slide back down to your hips, holding you firmly in place as he rocks up against you. “So... are you gonna teach this pup a new trick, or just let me beg for a while?”

You arch an eyebrow at him, smirking. “Oh yeah? What kinda tricks you wanna learn, baby?”

His grin turns wicked as he suddenly sits up, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you flush against his chest. His mouth finds your ear, voice dropping to a filthy, conspiratorial whisper. “I wanna learn how to make you beg for it. You’re always so in control— what if I pinned your wrists and fucked you so deep you started pleading for more?”

He nips your earlobe, his hardened length pressing insistently against your stomach. “Think you could take me like that, pretty?”

“You think you can make me beg? That’s ambitious.”

He chuckles darkly, his hands sliding from your waist to your wrists, fingers wrapping around them with a firm but gentle pressure. “Ambitious? Maybe. But you’re the one who taught me how to use my mouth.”

He guides your wrists behind your back, holding them there with one hand while the other slips between your legs, fingers stroking through your slick folds.

“And you’re already fuckin’ dripping f’ me again. Maybe you’re more desperate than you let on.”

His touch is confident now, no trace of the fumbling virgin from earlier. He teases your entrance with two fingers, pushing in just enough to make you gasp, his thumb circling your clit with a slow practiced precision.

His voice is a low, hungry murmur against your neck. “I wanna hear you lose it. I wanna feel you come on my fingers before I even slide my cock back in.” He pushes his fingers in further till he’s palm deep.

“You taught me where you’re sensitive, remember? Now I’m gonna use it.” He curls his fingers inside you, hitting that spot that made you arch off the mattress last time.

“Fuck Jake—“ you moan out, resolve slipping.

His breath hitches at your moan, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face. “That's it. Let me hear you.” He quickens the pace of his fingers, curling them deep inside you while his thumb works your clit in tight, frantic circles. “You sound so fucking pretty when you fall apart.”

His grip on your wrists tightens just enough to remind you who’s holding you, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. He’s watching your face intently, waiting for any sign of surrender.

His voice drops to a raw, desperate whisper. “I’m not stopping until you’re begging, y/n. I want it too much. I want you too much.”

You squirm against his grip, fighting for any last shred of control you can manage. “You’re getting cocky, pup.”

He laughs, a low, breathy sound against your neck as you squirm. “Cocky? Nah. Just a quick learner.” His fingers push deeper, crooking just right to make you jolt. “You taught me how to find this spot. Now I’m just… putting in the practice.”

His free hand slides up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. “Come on, pretty. Let me fuck you stupid, hm? Wanna see you all pliant and spent beneath me.”

His fingers curl relentlessly inside you, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he feels your body start to tense. “That's it... I can feel you getting closer. Just let go f’ me.” His voice is rough with want, his own breathing coming in sharp pants.

He shifts his hips, his hard cock rubbing against you, leaving a slick trail. His grip on your wrists is firm, holding you in place as he works you toward the edge with single-minded focus.

He leans in, his lips brushing your ear. “Beg for it, y/n. Just once. I wanna hear you say it.”

His movements become more urgent, his fingers pumping faster, his thumb circling your clit in tight, frantic patterns. He’s watching your face, eyes dark with hunger, waiting for you to break.

But still, you refuse, rapidly shaking your head even though your hips have started moving against his hand in rhythm with his thrusts, seeking release. “Fuck— Jake, I don’t—*mmf*— I don’t beg.”

A dark, possessive grin spreads across his face as he feels your hips buck against his hand. “You don't have to say it. Your body's begging for me right now.”

He increases the pressure, his fingers hitting that sweet spot with every thrust, his thumb rubbing firm, fast circles. “You're so close, I can feel you clenching around my fingers.”

He leans in, his voice dropping to a husky, taunting whisper. “C’mon then. Come for me without begging. Show me how good I make you feel.” He nips at your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “I wanna watch you fall apart just from my hand.”

His rhythm becomes relentless, his own breathing ragged as he focuses entirely on your pleasure. His cock is painfully hard against your leg, but he ignores it, completely consumed by the task of making you come.

You clench around him harder, your pussy practically sucking him in further with every thrust. Except this time it feels different— the coiling in your stomach is tighter than usual, a building pressure in your cervix you’ve never felt before.

His voice cracks with desperation, “That's it— fuck, you're gonna come— I can feel it—“

“Fuck— fuck— Jake?” You cry his name out, confused, but he just pistons his fingers in and out harder, faster, deeper.

Before you can tell him to stop, the tension in your stomach snaps, your thighs trembling around him, as you gush hot fluid, coating Jake’s hand, arm and lap in your release. You cry out again, a high pitched keen repeating his name like a broken mantra.

His eyes widen in shock as you gush over his hand and lap, his fingers stilling deep inside you. A low, awed groan rumbles in his chest. “Holy fuck— did you just—“

He pulls his fingers out slowly, staring at the slick coating his hand with a mix of reverence and pure lust. “You squirted. Fuck, baby, you squirted all over me.”

He brings his wet fingers to his mouth, tasting you with a dark, hungry gaze locked on yours. “You taste even better like this.” His voice is rough, wrecked. “I didn't know you could do that.”

You’re still gasping for air, chest heaving, shocked. “I didn’t— I’ve never done that”

He shifts his hips, his cock rubbing against your thigh, now slick with your release. His grip on your wrists loosens, his hands sliding up to cradle your face instead, thumbs stroking your cheeks.

He leans in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your lips, his tongue sweeping inside to share the taste of you. “Guess you’re just full of surprises, pretty.” His voice drops to a filthy whisper. “But now I really wanna see what happens when I'm inside you and you do that.”

He guides your hips down, his cock nudging your entrance, now wet with your slick. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with want. His voice is a broken, whining plea. “Can I? Please? I need to feel you come around my cock like that.”

You nod breathlessly, highly curious of this new self-discovery. “Yes, do it.”

A shudder runs through him at your breathless permission. He guides your hips down, sinking into you with one slow, deep thrust that makes both of you gasp. He’s completely raw inside you, no rubber barrier this time, heightening both of your senses. “Fuck— you’re so wet. I can feel you everywhere.” His voice is ragged, his hips already moving in a shallow, desperate rhythm.

His gaze is locked on yours as he sets a punishing pace, each thrust hitting deep. “I wanna feel it again. I wanna be buried inside you when you lose control.” His hands slide down to grip your hips, pulling you harder onto him. “Come on, baby. Give it to me.”

His movements are relentless, his body slick with sweat and your release. He’s watching your face intently, his own expression a mix of awe and raw hunger. Every thrust is aimed perfectly, driving you closer to that edge again as he fucks up into you.

You brace your arms over his shoulders, your hands threading through his hair, and your words slurred with pleasure. “You feel so good inside me, Jake…”

“‘S fuckin’ deep, hmm?” You hum lazily, your words almost incoherent.

You look down at where he’s buried inside you, moving to press one of your hands against your lower stomach. You can feel his cock against your palm as he slides in and out of you. “*hhng*— it’s, fuck— right there, Jake.”

He looks down at your hand and coos. “Yeah, pretty? Can feel me that deep, hm? Am I filling that pretty little stomach up with my cock?”

His thrusts become slower, deeper, more deliberate, aiming for that spot you’re pressing against. “That’s it— right there. You feel how deep I am?” His voice is thick, wrecked. “Fuck, I’m hitting your cervix, aren’t I? You’re taking me so good.”

He shifts his angle slightly, grinding his hips in a way that makes you gasp, his cock rubbing insistently against that sensitive inner spot. You mewl as your hand on your stomach presses harder, as if trying to keep him there.

He leans in, his lips brushing your ear, voice dropping to a filthy, trembling whisper. “You like that, baby? Feeling me stretch you open? You’re so tight— I can feel every fucking pulse.” His hips snap forward, hard. “Gonna make you come like this. Gonna feel you gush all over my cock. And then I’m gunna fill you up, exactly this deep.”

His pace quickens again, becoming frantic, his breathing ragged. He’s completely lost in the sensation, his eyes glazed over with pleasure, watching your face for any sign you’re close.

“Harder— fuck me harder, Jake!” You plead, that new tension building in your cervix again.

A sharp, guttural sound escapes him at your plea, his eyes flashing with pure triumph. “You got it, baby.”

His grip on your hips tightens, his thrusts turning brutal, each one slamming deep into that sensitive spot. “Hard enough to feel me in your throat? Fuck, you're taking it sooo good.”

His voice is ragged, broken by the force of his movements. “Your cunt's clenching around me like you're trying to milk me dry, baby.” He drives into you with a particularly sharp thrust, grinding his hips to rub against that spot. “Come on, pretty— give me that second round. Soak my cock for me.”

“Do it, y/n. Fuckin’ drown me.”

And you do. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, literally and figuratively, spraying out of you, all over Jake with enough force to almost push him out of you, but he just fucks into you relentlessly now chasing his own release from the sight.

A choked, guttural groan rips from his throat as you gush around him, his hips stuttering wildly. “Fuck— yes— that's it, soak me, baby” His thrusts become sloppy, frantic, driven over the edge by the feeling of your climax. “I can't— fuck, I'm gonna come—“

His body locks up, a series of ragged, helpless thrusts as he comes with a broken cry, his cock pulsing deep inside you. He collapses against you, his weight heavy and trembling, face buried in your neck as he shudders through the aftershocks.

After a long moment, he lifts his head, breathing harshly against your skin. He looks down at the mess between your bodies with dazed, reverent eyes. “Holy shit. You're a fucking fountain.” He lets out a breathless, shaky laugh, dropping a clumsy kiss to your shoulder. “That was... fucking incredible.”

He slowly lifts you off his lap pulling out of you, and sets you down before collapsing back onto the pillows beside you. He turns on his side, propping his head on his hand, his gaze tracing the slick trails on your stomach and thighs.

His thumb strokes your hip, his voice low and husky. “So... was that a passing grade? Or do I need extra credit to clean this up?” He grins, a wicked, exhausted spark in his eyes.

You roll your eyes, and scoff lightly. “Help me to the shower, nerd.”

He lets out a low, satisfied groan as he sits up, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “You’re gonna be the reason I fail all my classes tomorrow, you know that?” He scoops you up into his arms with a surprising show of strength, careful not to jostle your spent body too hard. “But totally fucking worth it.”

He carries you toward the bathroom, his steps a little unsteady but his grip firm. He nuzzles into your hair, breathing in deeply. “You smell like us. I kinda like it.”

He sets you down gently in the shower stall, the cool tiles a contrast to his warm skin. He reaches in to turn on the water, testing the temperature with his hand before guiding you under the spray.

The warm water envelopes you, soothing your sore muscles, relaxing you. You hand Jake your body wash, a silent vulnerable permission you clean you up.

He pours a generous amount in his hands, lathering it into suds before running his hands over your arms, shoulders and chest, working his way down gently.

He pays extra attention to your lower stomach and between your thighs, his touch gentle and reverent as he washes away the evidence of your intense session with him.

His touch is thorough, worshipful, as he rinses you clean. His own body is still flushed, muscles relaxed but eyes bright with lingering arousal and affection.

He turns you gently to rinse your back, his lips brushing your shoulder blade. “I'm never gonna get tired of this. Of you.” His voice is soft, almost vulnerable beneath the dirty talk. “You ruined me, and I fucking love it.”

“Careful, or I’ll keep you.” The words shock even you as they leave your mouth, the syrupy post coital haze still lingering along with the relaxing hot steam and Jake’s methodical gentle hands on your skin.

His hands still on your back, the water cascading over both of you. He goes quiet for a long moment, then turns you gently to face him, his expression unreadable through the steam-fogged shower stall. “Keep me?” His voice is soft, a little rough. “You mean that?”

He searches your face, his thumb brushing a droplet of water from your cheek. A slow, hopeful smile tugs at his lips. “Cause I’m not going anywhere, y/n. Not unless you kick me out.”

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Your rules, remember? But if the rule is keeping me… fuck, I’d be the happiest nerd on campus.”

He continues washing you with a newfound tenderness, his movements slow and deliberate. The water runs clear, washing away the last traces of your intense encounter, but the warmth between you remains. His touch lingers, tracing the curve of your waist as he rinses the soap away.

His voice drops to a murmur, almost shy beneath the steam. “For the record… I’ve never wanted to be kept more in my life.”

You don’t respond for now, turning the thought over in your head as you pick up the body wash, lathering Jake up now. You use the same tender pressure, washing over his hard muscles, lightly massaging over the likely sore spots.

He leans into your touch, humming. “Mmm, feels nice.”

Once you’re both clean and rinsed you stand under the warm spray together for a moment, quietly leaning against each other.

After a few more moments the water starting cooling down, so Jake shuts off the water and reaches for a towel, wrapping it around you carefully. “So. What’s next, professor? Do I get to stay the night?”

“We’ll see.” You already know the answer.

You dry yourselves off, leading Jake back to your bedroom in just your towels. The air is still thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the sheets still tangled and damp. You crack open your window, light an inscense and start rummaging through your closet for clean bedding as Jake peels back your comforter and sheets.

He helps you make the bed, the act feeling oddly domestic after what conspired here just moments ago.

Once the bed is ready he collapses onto the mattress with a contented sigh, pulling you down beside him and immediately curling around you, his arm slung possessively over your waist. “This is better than any A+ I’ve ever gotten.”

He nuzzles into the back of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re not gonna wake up and regret this, are you? ‘Cause my heart might actually break.”

His voice is half-teasing, but there’s a genuine vulnerability underneath. He shifts, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at you, his brown eyes soft without his glasses, which he’s finally taken off and set on the nightstand.

His fingers trace idle patterns on your hip. “For the record, that was… the best night of my life. And not just ‘cause of the sex. Okay, mostly ‘cause of the sex.” He grins, a little sheepish. “But also ‘cause it was you.”

He settles back down, tucking you against his chest with a sigh that’s pure, unadulterated satisfaction. Within minutes, his breathing evens out into the deep, slow rhythm of sleep, his body warm and heavy against yours.

Your phone buzzes against the nightstand for the fourth time in as many minutes, the screen lighting up the dim bedroom. Yuna's contact photo— a blurry selfie of her flipping off the camera— glows in the dark. You don't reach for it. Instead, you watch the slow rise and fall of Jake's chest, the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks in sleep, the faint red mark your teeth left on his shoulder. Something warm and unfamiliar settles in your ribs, and you press your palm flat against your sternum like you can push it back down.

It doesn't go anywhere.

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@noisywonderlandphantom-blog @hii01mii @nknshnaz @yumjyun @zeeontheroad @jaeyunluvr14 @meowseongg @luucortis @lucenthoney

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Gunna post p2 tn! 🫶🏻

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Jake Kitty Eater Drabble

MDNI ⋆୨♡୧⋆ Mature audiences intended

In which ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Jake just really wants to live between your thighs. Forever. At any cost.

ꨄ Jake was an eater, no doubt. He could spend hours between your legs, and would. Honestly he’d take it however you gave it to him. Face down between your tighs, on his knees while you stand above him, bent over while he eats it from the back, and quite possibly his favorite— on his back while you ride his face. He especially loved it when you just sat there, full weight on his face, thighs on either sides of his head like earmuffs.

ꨄ He was convinced he didn’t need oxygen. He liked to think of himself as some super being that only needed your cum dripping down his throat, his cheeks, his chin to survive.

ꨄ He’d lay there, eyes locked on your face, drinking in every expression, noise and drop leaking from your soaked cunt.

ꨄ He especially knew how much you loved his nose, when he’d nuzzle it up into your clit completely unbothered by your slick pooling towards his nostrils. He loved the smell of you anyways. He’d rub it back and forth over your sensitive bud, tongue licking up into your cunt as deep as he can stretch it, convinced if he tried hard enough he could lick straight to your core. (Spoiler: he can’t.)

ꨄ If Jake would get any possible body modification, he had already decided (hypothetically) it would be surgery to elongate his tongue. He wished he could lick all the way up to your cervix, taste your gummy walls and that spot only his cock could reach that always made you squeal and squirt for him.

ꨄ But that’s a hypothetical of course, so instead he’ll just have to suffice for his long bony piano fingers, pistoning and curling inside you, probing at that spot inside sure to make you gush for him.

ꨄ And when you finally do, legs clamping his head so hard it could bust like a watermelon, hot clear fluid spraying out of him enough to literally drown him, he just drinks it in thankfully, greedily, lapping at your cunt like a dog who hadn’t drank in days, swallowing every bit till his stomach was full of your release.

ꨄ But does Jake stop there? No, of course not. Because he’s fucking obsessed with your pussy, but he knows his poor baby needs to lie down, catch your breath.

ꨄ So instead he carefully lifts you off his face, laying you back against the bed in a dry spot (he’ll change the sheets later, this was more important). You think he’s done, he couldn’t possibly keep going for more, as he turns on your favorite movie, lights turned off and a fresh glass of cold water on your nightstand.

ꨄ He makes sure you’re all set for the night, and then crawls under the blankets, riiight back between your legs like your pussy is some magical beacon constantly calling to him.

ꨄ You try to protest, but it’s no use. “Please baby. She needs me. I need her.” He slips one finger inside, gentle and soft knowing you’re sensitive right now. “See baby? She’s crying for me. Soaked. Gunna take care of her, okay?”

ꨄ He talks about your pussy like it’s some all powerful sentient being of its own.

ꨄ And then his mouth is back on you, licking slow broad stripes over your whole pussy, up and down while his single digit just sits inside you, not probing, just so you can feel the slight fullness of something inside you.

ꨄ And he’s such a mess with it too, slobbering all over your pussy ignoring the absolute obscene sounds of your wetness combined with his own drool, literally pooling between your legs on the sheets. So much, it’s definitely soaking through to the mattress. (He’ll be scrubbing it out tomorrow, using the steam cleaner you bought specifically for nights like these.)

ꨄ He doesn’t even care if you’re enjoying it. Not in a bad way, obviously he wants you too, but he’s also perfectly content if you just go about your business, watch your movie, do your homework or even fall asleep while he just… keeps eating.

ꨄ And sometimes you do. Sometimes your so cummed-out, your pussy has officially given up and you watch your movie, occasionally peeking under the covers just to see Jake completely blissed-out nose deep in your pussy like it’s the only place he belongs.

ꨄ Sometimes you do your homework, laptop perched on your stomach just above where Jake is focused on his own work, between your thighs of course. And sometimes, you’ll get stuck on a problem, asking Jake for help. He’ll pull the blanket back, lifting his cum-soaked face long enough to tell you the answer, and before you’re even writing it down he’s back under the covers.

ꨄ Sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, you fall asleep, the gentle lapping of his tongue and soft humming between your legs lulling you to sleep. You’ll wake up an hour later, and Jake is still there, still eating, almost half-asleep himself placing sleepy kitten licks to your cunt, breathing slow and heavy against you. When you wake in the morning Jake is still between your legs, fully asleep with his head against your plush thigh, lips swollen. At least he slept at all.