────── you're tired of being princess peach: the perfect life, the perfect husband, the suffocating routine. for months you've been secretly fucking heeseung, the bowser: fake kidnappings that turn into real, filthy nights of rough bondage, his mouth devouring you, his cock claiming you while you pretend to resist.
➛ pairing: bowser! heeseung x princess peach! reader | ➛ genre: mario bros au, smut (mdni!!), i would say crack fic bc come on, cheating, rivals to lovers, pwp, secret relationship | #nowplaying: the sweet escape - gwen stefani | you right - doja cat | big girls don't cry - enhypen | the weekend - sza | bad guy - billie eilish | ➛ word count: 5.8k
➛ warnings: smut (mdni!!!), piv, unprotected sex, monster fucking, kidnapping roleplay, bondage, spanking, oral sex (m & f receiving), deepthroating, rough sex, dirty talk, humiliation (public ish / voyeuristic), anal play, cuckolding, dom brat tamer! heeseung, infidelity, cheating (reader is married to mario loll), consensual dub-con (fake kipnapping roleplay), yandere behavior, mild pain play
➛ ronnie's notes: ok so i just wanted to write heeseung as bowser and make the reader absolutely rail him (or get railed by him whatever floats your boat) idk what else to say tbh but this is a 5k words drabble and not really proofread wrote that in 3 days but we ball..... enjoy i guess lmao
IT'S NOT EASY BEING PRINCESS PEACH. you've been rotting in this castle for months. your castle i mean — with the stained glass windows and the gardens that bloom and the marble floors. it's beautiful, but it's suffocating.
your dress is gorgeous, silk and lace and embroidery that took someone weeks to finish. but it weighs a ton, and the corset digs in just enough to remind you that looking the part isn't the same as wanting to play it. your heels scrape marble when you pace (which you do a lot, especially lately) until the sound gets so deep under your skin you want to scream.
your husband has been gone for a week. some mission in the mushroom forest, maybe, something about goombas. you stopped listening halfway through. the toads check on you every few hours like clockwork. bring tea you don't drink, ask if you need anything. you smile and say no and then they leave. they tried to save you the first few times. they don't anymore. and your husband — god, your husband probably thinks you're still waiting with your hands folded, hopeful, counting on him. but you stopped counting weeks ago.
and then you wait.
because heeseung always comes back. and he doesn't break down the door this time.
he just walks in, boots heavy on stone slowly like he's got all the time in the world. the chandeliers shake a little even though he's trying to be quiet — they always do when he's around, like the whole castle recognizes his presence and tenses up. you hear the clink of metal. he stops in the doorway of your oversized bedroom, with his hands in his pockets, dark hair falling into his eyes. looking at you like he's double checking he's got the right princess, the right tower, the right night.
you don't scream, damn you don't even flinch. you just sit up straighter on the edge of the bed, smooth your skirt once, and say calmly, almost bored:
"you're late."
heeseung grins, lazy and shameless.
"had to wait for your boyfriend to leave first," he says, stepping inside. the door clicks shut behind him but he doesn't lock it. "he's real chatty, you know that? i almost felt bad."
"you don't feel bad about anything."
"true." he walks closer slowly. the floor creaks under his weight and you feel it more than hear it. "but i could pretend, you know, for you."
you tilt your head slightly and let the crown sit crooked. a strand of hair falls across your face and you don't fix it. "the toads are gonna notice i'm gone soon," you say. not worried, just factual.
"good." he stops right in front of you now. close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to look at him. "that's the whole point, isn't it, princess?"
you raise an eyebrow. "remind me again why we're doing this?"
"because," heeseung says, voice dropping lower, rougher, "you man's gotta come save you. and you gotta be stolen. and i gotta be the bad guy." he leans down just slightly. "it's all very tragic."
"right." your lips twitch with almost a smile. "so tragic."
"heartbreaking, really."
"and the part where you tie me up and drag me out of here kicking and screaming?"
his grin sharpens, all teeth. "that's my favorite part, baby."
he doesn't answer right away. just reaches behind him and pulls out rope this time, thick, rough hemp. he lets it uncoil slowly in his hand, dragging across the floor with that low rasp that makes your stomach flip. his hands reach your hips, gripping, and then he turns you around, looping the rope once around your wrists, crossed behind you. his fingers brush your skin as he works.
"last time you used the chain." you muttered.
"last time i wasn't worried about evidence." he tugs the knot tighter. "gotta make it look like you fought back."
you tilt your head so you can see his face. "what if i don't fight?"
he pauses and looks at you with that dark, lazy amusement. "then we improvise." another loop, higher this time, binding your forearms together. "you can scream in the hallway. thrash a little. toads eat that shit up."
you flex your fingers and feel the rope pull. "you like this too much."
"maybe." he finishes the knot at the small of your back, then comes around to face you. crouches down so you're eye level. "but you're letting me. so."
you hold his gaze. "he's gonna see these," you say quietly.
heeseung tucks that loose strand behind your ear with the knuckle of his index finger first — slow drag, rough skin catching lightly on the shell of your ear before he switches to his thumb. it lingers there on your cheekbone, pressing just firm enough that you feel the callus from whatever weapons he swings when he’s not playing villain. "who fucking cares? tell him i was rough," he says, voice pitched low and close. "that you begged me to stop. cried a little maybe." his thumb slides down, traces the curve of your jaw, then hooks under your chin to tilt your face up higher. "and while he’s kissing it better you’ll be thinking about how i tied you up spread out on your own bed, skirt shoved to your waist, while he was out playing hero somewhere stupid."
your breath snags in your throat and he hears it. his eyes flick down to your mouth for half a second then back up. "you’re the worst," you whisper and it comes out shaky.
"yeah." he stands in one smooth motion, yanks the rope upward like it weighs nothing. he steadies you with a hand on your hop, fingers digging in deep enough to leave crescent marks through the silk “but you keep letting me come back right?” he adds.
he steps behind you then. both hands on your wrists now — rough palms sliding up your forearms, checking the rope. he tugs each coil tighter until the hemp bites red lines into your skin. his thumbs press into the pulse points at your inner wrists, feeling how fast your blood’s moving. then he leans in close — chest to your back, hips slotting against your ass — and reaches around to adjust the front of your dress where it’s slipping off one shoulder. his knuckles graze the swell of your breast on purpose as he pulls the fabric back up, just enough to tease the edge of your nipple through the corset.
“i’ll mark you real good tonight,” he murmurs against the side of your neck. hot breath and his teeth scraping once over your earlobe. "he’ll see these tomorrow and think you fought like hell.”
he steps back, grabs the chain from his belt. he drapes it over your shoulder slow — heavy links sliding across your collarbone, cool against flushed skin — then lets one end trail down between your breasts like a deliberate path. his fingers follow it for a second, brushing the valley there, pressing just hard enough you feel it in your nipples. "for effect," heeseung smirks. “and because you like the sound it makes when you move.”
you roll your eyes but the smile’s already there. "so what, you just carry me out screaming?"
"that’s the plan.” he hooks one arm under your knees, the other around your upper back, and lifts you like you’re nothing. the motion forces your thighs apart around his waist, rope pulling your arms tight behind you so your chest arches forward into him. your bound wrists dig into the small of your back; the angle makes your hips tilt up, cunt pressing right against the hard ridge of his belt buckle through your dress. he shifts you higher on purpose — one quick bounce — so the metal grinds against your clit for a split second. you choke on a sound that’s half gasp, half moan.
“you ready?” he asks, his voice wrecked already.
you lean in, lips brushing his ear. “make it convincing. he’s gotta hear it from the next kingdom over.”
he kicks the door open so hard the frame rattles. strides into the hallway, boots slamming marble in steady rhythm. you count two heartbeats and then scream loud and raw, the sound echoing off stone walls like you’re being torn apart. you thrash, your hips rolling against him more than fighting, thighs squeezing his sides, heels kicking once into his thigh. the rope creaks with every twist; the chain clinks against your chest. he doesn’t flinch, just clamps his arm tighter under your ass — fingers splaying wide, one slipping between your thighs from behind to press flat against your soaked cunt through the silk. he rubs once — slow, firm circle right over your clit — while he keeps walking.
“that’s it,” he mutters against your hair, so low no one else hears. “sell it, pretty. scream like i’m ruining you…”
you do, louder. wetter sounds slipping between your fake cries every time his fingers grind against you with his next step. and the whole castle hears the princess being stolen while the monster carries her out like she belongs to him.
heeseung doesn’t slow down until the castle gates are long behind you. the night air hits cold against your flushed skin as he crosses the bridge, then ducks into the shadowed path that leads straight to his domain — the dark, jagged spires of bowser’s keep. the drawbridge groans open without him even asking; the lava moat bubbles low and angry below.
inside it’s warmer and the stone walls pulse with heat from the torches and the underground fires. he carries you through echoing corridors, past chained goombas who don’t even glance up, until he hits the spiral staircase to the tallest tower. he shifts you roughly and flips you over his shoulder. your wrists still tied tight and your ass is up and your thigh is framing his neck.
the first step up the stairs jolts you. his shoulder digs into your stomach, forcing a real huff out of you. then his free hand comes down — hard, open palmed slap right across your bare ass cheek and the sound cracks through the stairwell. you yelp, legs kicking once on instinct.
"quiet down," he growls, but there’s a grin in it. another slap sharper, catching the sensitive underside where thigh meets ass. your cunt clenches hard around nothing; you feel the slick slide down your inner thigh. "here you don’t need to keep screaming for your husband anymore, princess." another slap and this one lingers, his palm stays pressed flat, fingers curling in to squeeze the stinging flesh. he spreads you a little with the grip, thumb brushing the edge of your dripping slit from behind. “no more lying about how wet you get when i take you.” his voice drops darker. “just you, spread out, begging the monster to fuck his pretty little traitor.”
you moan muffled against his back and he laughs mean. he keeps climbing, every few steps another slap, alternating cheeks, building the heat until your skin’s hot and throbbing, every smack sending fresh sparks straight to your clit.
by the time he reaches the top, your thighs are shaking. he kicks the heavy door open and it bangs against the wall and strides straight to the massive four poster bed in the center of the chamber with black sheets and red velvet hangings.
he doesn’t set you down gentle, he throws you. you land on your back with a bounce, wrists still bound behind you, forcing your shoulders to arch, tits pushed up against the tight corset. the dress is a mess — hiked to your hips, soaked silk clinging between your legs. he stands at the foot of the bed with his eyes raking over you slowly. heeseung's chest heaving a little from the stairs, belt already half undone.
"look at you," he says and his voice is rough and mocking. "princess peach, all tied up and dripping in my bed. what would your husband say if he saw his perfect wife like this? legs open, cunt leaking for the monster who just kidnapped her."
you try to close your thighs, more tease than resistance, but heeseung grabs your ankles, yanks them apart, your knees hooked over his elbows. the rope pulls tighter behind your back and you whimper. "don't even try," he warns you as he drops to his knees between your legs. "you're not going anywhere."
heeseung doesn't pull your dress up further, instead, he just ducks his head under the silk skirt, like it's a veil, his shoulder forcing your thighs wider. his hot breath hits your clit first, then his tongue, flat, with a slow drag from your entrance all the way up, tasting every inch of the mess you've made. he groans against you like hés starving. "fuck, this pussy tastes so good," he mutters into your cunt. "sweet and dripping, all f'me."
then he really dives in, his tongue pushing inside you, fucking you open while his nose grinds against your clit. you arch hard and he just grips your hips tighter, nails digging crescents into your ass to hold you down. he sucks your clit into his month, then releases it with a wet pop, only to lick broad stripes again. the sounds are loud, he's slurping and sucking and your own choked moans are mixing with the wet smack of his mouth.
his hands keep your thigh pinned wide, his thumb spreading your lips open so he can get deeper. "scream for real this time," he orders, his voice muffled against your pussy. he pulls back just enough to spit on your clit, then drives back in. "let the whole fucking tower hear hoe much you love getting eaten out by the bad guy."
your hips grind up into his mouth harder now, the rope pining your arms so tight behind your back, that every buck makes the hemp scrape fresh burns into your wrists, but you don't care. you chase it, thighs clamping around his head. "f-fuck heeseung, —" you gasp. "please don't stop—"
he pulls back just enough to make you whine, and he smirks from under the skirt. "who said you get to tell me what do do, princess?" his voice is mean and his fingers dig harder into your ass, bruising. "you're the one tied up, baby. the one cheating on her hero husband with my tongue buried in her cunt. shut up and take it."
you giggle, and kick your heel lightly into his back. "make me."
so he does. he dives back in rougher, his tongue flicking fast and relentless over your clit, two fingers shoving inside of you without warning, curling hard and pumping deep. his free hand slaps your inner thigh and then he holds it open wider. "that's right," he growls against your folds. "keep running that pretty mouth, see what it gets you."
you're responsive now — every lick pulls a sound out of you. moans turn into whimpers, your hips rolling messy and urgent. "harder— hee, please, fuck—" you're begging, thighs shaking harder around his ears. he sucks your clit between his teeth and you shatter. whole body seizing up, cunt clenching around his fingers as you cum hard. a raw cry rips out of your throat and you flood his mouth, your vision spotting white. he doesn't stop, just laps you through it, his tongue slow and filthy now, drinking every drop of you. your hips twitch and even though you're oversensitive you grind down anyway because it hurts so good.
when you finally slump back, he pulls out from under the skirt and stands up slowly, at the foot of the bed. his face was wrecked — his lips were red, his chin dripping, his eyes dark but still fixed on you like a prey. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand but his gaze doesn't leave yours. "look at the mess you've made," he says. "cumming all over the monster's face, while your husband is out there saving the day. how pathetic."
your bratty fire sparks back, so you bite your lip and shift on the bed, pushing yourself up to sitting, your knees together like you're trying to play innocent. "yeah? then why are you so hard?"
your eyes drop to the bulge straining his pants, and heeseung's jaw ticks. he steps closer and towers you from the edge of the bed. he grabs your chin hard, bruising, his fingers still slick with you, and forces your face up. "on your knees," he orders.
but you don't move, instead, you just stare up at him, defiant. "make me."
his grip tightens, he yanks you forward by the chin until you're sliding off the bed, your knees hitting the stone floor with a thud. you're so much smaller like this on your knees, looking up at his bigger frame, his boots plant wide on either side of your thighs, basically caging you in. "yeah, that's better," he mutters. his thumb smears your own wetness across your bottom lip. "brats like you belong down here anyway."
you lick if off slowly, eyes locked on his. "fuck you, heeseung."
"you will." and then he lets go of your chin, his hands moving to his belt, unbuckling it completely. he pulls the zipper down slowly and he shoves his pants open, pulls himself out — he's thick, hard, huge, veins pulsing under your gaze. you almost drool at the sight, pre cum beads at the tip already, and he strokes once, base to head, unhurried. "open," he says.
you make him wait a second longer just to be a brat. "what if he walks in right now?" you murmur, your lips almost brushing the tip of his cock. "sees me on my knees mouth full of his rival's cock?"
heeseung growls and grabs the back of your head, his fingers tangling hard in your hair, and pushes in without warning, filling your mouth deep. "then he would know what a cheating little slut his wife really is," he hisses. he holds you there for a second, feeling your throat adjusting to his size. "now suck this cock, princess."
you moan around him and he starts moving, your tongue swirling messy under his shaft, cheeks hollowing as you take him deeper. your spit slicks him up quickly, dripping down your chin onto your chest. he's thick enough it aches your jaw, but you push through, looking up at him the whole time. "that's it," he mutters, with his hips rocking forward. "choke on it. pretend it's his — but we both know you'd rather have mine." his free hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing into the bulge where he's filling you. "gonna cum down your throat and send you back to him with my taste still on your tongue."
you hum in agreement and suck harder, heeseung's grip tightens on your hair, and he rocks forward letting you feel every thick inch sliding deeper, until the tip of his cock bumps the back of your throat. "relax that pretty mouth," he mutters. "you're gonna take it all princes, you know how, don't you?"
so you try, your throat working, but when he pushes the last inch in, your eyes water instantly. your nose is pressed to his pelvis and you make a muffled wet sound around him, half protest and half moan. he groans with his hips twitching forward. "fuck, that's it — feel how deep i am?" he holds you there a second longer than you can handle, feeling your throat squeezing him. he pulls back just enough for you to drag in a shaky breath through your nose before sliding back in, slower this time.
"look up at me," he orders. so you do, and your lashes are wet, tears clinging, but you blink up at him anyway. "good girl. your husband is never gonna get this version of his princess, is he?"
you shake your head and whine around his cock, and then he starts fucking your mouth for real. every thrust bumps the back of your throat making your gag reflex flutter. spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and drips down onto your chest. "fuck, you're taking it so well." your eyes are rolling back a little when he grinds in deep and holds, but then he speeds up, chasing it. "gonna cum—" he warns. "gonna fill that mouth and you're gonna swallow every drop, you hear me princess?"
you moan in agreement and he loses it, his hips stuttering, his cock pulsing thick on your throat as he comes hard. you swallow reflexively, throat working around him, milking every last bit. when he's done, he doesn't pull out gentle, he yanks your head back by the hair, his cock slipping free with a wet pop. strings of spit and cum connect your lips to the tip for a second.
you gasp, coughing once, your chest heavy. "up," he snaps. his hand is still fisted in your hair and he hauls you up to your feet. your legs shake, your knees weak from kneeling so long but he doesn't care. he spins you around fast, shoves your face down onto the bed. your bound arms twist awkwardly under you; cheek pressed to the sheets, your ass up, dress still bunched around your waist.
he kicks your thighs wider apart. one hand plants between your shoulder blades, pinning you down hard. the other grips your hip. you whimper whiny, your hips rocking back instinctively. "heeseung — please —"
"please what?" he mocks. then he leans over you, his chest to your back, his cock still hard and sliding between your folds. he teases your entrance without pushing in. "please fuck your cheating cunt? please make you forget your fucking husband exists?"
"yes—" you whine, voice breaking. "please, just — i need it, i need you—"
he laughs and slams in in one brutal thrust, bottoming out so deep your breath punches out of you. the stretch burns so good and you're still sensitive from cumming earlier, walls fluttering around his cock. "fuck you're tight," he grits out and starts moving roughly in a punishing rhythm. hips snapping hard enough the bed frame creaks. every thrust jolts you forward, face smushing into the sheets. "taking me so good even after i fucked your throat raw— greedy little thing."
you moan into the mattress pushing back to meet him as best you can with your arms tied. “harder — please, heeseung—”
he slaps your ass once then grips both hips, yanking you back onto him with every stroke. “you want it harder princess?” his voice was strained. “you just take it. take it and think about how you’re gonna crawl back to him tomorrow with my cum leaking out of you.”
your whines turn higher, needier. “gonna — gonna feel you all day—”
"damn right you will." he angles deeper and hits that spot that makes your toes curl. one hand slides up and wraps around the rope binding your wrists and he uses it like a handle, pulling your shoulders back, arching you harder. "scream for me again, let the whole fucking castle know who owns this pussy."
you do, while he fucks you rough and relentless, claiming every inch like he's marking territory your husband will never touch again. heeseung's hips snap harder now, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room like a filthy rhythm. your whines turn desperate, high pitched, every thrust punching the air out of your lungs. "f-fuck — too deep, hee —" you gasp.
he laughs darkly and breathless, one hand sliding up your sweat slick back to fist your hair again. "to deep? you're fucking soaked, princess, dripping down my balls." his voice is wrecked and mean, his hips grinding in deep circles. "bet you never cum this hard on his tiny dick. that's why you keep letting me steal you, huh? you need a real monster cock to stretch this cheating pussy?"
you're right on the edge — walls fluttering tight around him, clit throbbing from the friction every time his hips slam. "heeseung — i'm gonna — please"
that's when the door bursts open and slams against the wall with a crack. in waddles this short, stocky guy, his red hat crooked, his mustache twitching, overalls dirt streaked from whatever dumb quest he was on. his eyes go wide, his face flushing redder than his shirt as he freezes in the doorway. the little gloves on his hands clench into fists but he doesn't move. he just stands there, staring at the scene: you face down on the bed, ass up, bound arms pinned, your dress ruined and shoved to your waist while heeseung fucks you from behind.
heeseung doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down. if anything he goes even harder, his thrusts turning brutal, cock slamming so deep you feel it in your guts, and the obscene squelch of your cunt taking him deep fills the silence in the room. he glances over at the intruder, smirks wide and feral and then he turns back to you like the guy's not even there.
"oh look," he drawls, voice loud and mocking. "your little hero showed up early, probably thought he was gonna rescue his perfect princess." he yanks your hair back harder, forcing your head up so you're looking right at the door, right at him. tears streak your cheeks from the overstimulation and you bite your lip, but a moan slips out anyway, raw and needy. "tell him how good it feels, baby, come on. tell him you're creaming all over my cock instead of waiting for his pathetic ass."
your husband stammers something high pitched italian accented gibberish, his face twisting in horror and humiliation. his eyes dark from your flushed wrecked expression to where heeseung's thick cock disappears into you, slick and shining, his balls slapping your clit with every rough pound. your husband takes a step forward, then stops, his hands shaking like he doesn't even know what to do.
you try to speak, but heeseung cuts you off with a hard slap on your ass. your cunt clenching hard around him from the sting, and you whimper, your hips pushing back on instinct. "heeseung, f-fuck—"
"don't lie to him now baby," heeseung growls, leaning over closer, chest to your back, his mouth hot against your ear. "tell your husband the truth, tell him how you beg me to tie you up and fuck you raw every time. how his wife's pussy milks my cock." he punctuates each word with a deep thrust — in, out, in — making your tits bounce under the corset.
your husband's face crumples and he backs up a step, muttering something and then he spins on his heels and bolts out the door, slamming it shut behind him so hard the torches flicker. heeseung bursts out laughing and immediately pick up the pace, his hips pistoning faster now. "poor little guy," he mocks, chuckling under his breath.
his hand slides down from your hip, his fingers slick with your arousal, and without warning he presses one thick digit against your asshole, slowly at first, circling the tight rim before pushing in knuckle deep in one smooth slide. you jolt forward with a chocked whine, whole body clenching around both his cock and digit. the stretch burns, making everything feel even filthier.
"fuck you just squeezed me so tight," heeseung groans against your ear, finger curling inside you in slow, teasing pumps matching the brutal rhythm of his thrusts. "you like that, huh? my finger in your ass while i fuck this cheating pussy raw?"
you can't form words, just moans and whimpers, face pressed into the sheets now, drool pooling under your cheek. your hips push back chasing both sensations and heeseung laughs again, darker this time and twists his finger deeper. "answer me, princess," he demands. "tell me you love being stuffed full like a dirty little slut while your husband's probably crying somewhere."
"y-yes—" you sob, voice wrecked. "fuck yes — i love it, hee, please don't stop—"
"that's my girl," he hisses, stretching you wider with his finger while his cock pound relentless. "now cum for me, princess, cum hard on this cock."
and you do instantly, walls clamping down like a vice, your whole body shaking as the orgasm rips through you. "heeseung — fuck yes—" you sob, your voice whiny, gushing wet around him in hot pulses. he groans loud and follow right after, burying deep with one last brutal thrust. his cock throbbing, spilling thick ropes of cum inside you, filling you up until it leaks out around him, dripping down your thighs in warm, sticky rails.
heeseung collapses over you for a second, his chest heaving against your back, his cock still twitching inside you as the last pulses fade. his breath fans hot across your shoulder before he finally exhales. he pulls out carefully, watching the thick white spill out of you the second he bottoms out. it drips slow down your thighs, mixing with your own slick. he groans low at the sight, his thumb brushing once over your asshole down your swollen folds just to spread it wider, like he's admiring his work.
"that's my good girl," heeseung murmurs, the mean edge softening. he flips you over gentle, his hands under your shoulders, easing you onto your back so the rope doesn't dig in worse. your arms ache when they finally relax forward and he notices, and his fingers work the knots loose one by one, careful not to yank, rubbing slow circles over the red welts left behind. "fuck look at theses marks," he says. "gonna bruise so pretty tomorrow."
you shiver at the thought. he leans down and presses a slow open mouthed kiss to each wrist, his tongue flicking over the rope burns like he's soothing them and claiming them at the same time. then he hits back on his heels, his eyes raking over the rest of you: corset still half laced, dress a crumpled ruin around your waist, crown long gone somewhere on the floor.
"c'mere," he says, sliding his arms under your knees and back. he lift you like you weigh nothing, cradling you against his chest. your head lolls onto his shoulder, you're boneless and wrecked and still leaking him down your thighs. he carries you across the room, past the heavy velvet curtains into the attached bath chamber.
the tub's massive, black marble, filled and steaming with hot water that smells of something herbal like he planned this part too. he stops at the edge, still holding you, and sets you down on your feet gently, steadying you with his hands on your hips when your legs wobble. "easy there. let's get this off," he murmurs, his fingers finding the laces of your corset, working them loose one by one, slowly pulling out the silk loosen around your ribs. you breathe deeper, and then he peels the ruined dress down, no rush and no roughness. he strips down every last layer gently until you're completely bare.
he stands again, his eyes dark but soft as he takes you in. he doesn't say anything filthy this time, just leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth, soft. he scoops you back and lowers you into the sub carefully. the hot water stings the fresh mark on your wrists and the raw skins of your ask for a moment, then melts into soothing warmth that makes your whole body loosen.
heeseung strips himself next, armor pieces first, his leather straps undone, shirt tugged over his head in one smooth motion, revealing the hard lines on his chest, the faint scars that look like old battle marks. pants down next, kicked off with his boots, and he's bare in seconds, his cock still semi hard, his thighs thick and his skin flushed from everything you just did.
he slides in behind you after, water sloshing over the rim. his long legs bracketing yours, chest to your back, pulling you in until you're resting against him completely. his arms come around you — one hand splayed low on your stomach, the other dipping under the surface to rest between your thighs, possessive but careful.
"relax baby," he murmurs against your ear softly. "let me clean you up, mhm?" he reaches for a cloth on the edge and dips it, squeezes warm water over your shoulders. he watches it run down your collarbone, between your tits and his hand follows, soapy now, sliding over your skin in long strokes. his hands roam over down your arms, careful over the rope marks. across your stomach, and then, between your thighs.
you tense when his fingers brush your cunt still sensitive and swollen but he shushes you. "easy, princess, i'm just washing you." but his touch lingers. two fingers part your folds gently, rinsing away the mess he left, thumb grazing your clit in slow barely there circles. you whimper, hips twitching up into his hand on instinct.
he chuckles low, his breath hot on your neck. "still needy huh? after all that?" he presses a kiss to the side of your throat, then another lower, teeth grazing your pulse. "good, means you're mine."
his hand keeps moving, washing and teasing, never quite enough to make you cum again but enough to keep you trembling. the other hand slides up to your neck, thumb under your jaw, tilting your head back so he can kiss you properly. he kisses you slowly and deeply, his tongue sliding against yours like he's tasting the last of himself on you.
when he pulls back, water dripping from his hair onto your shoulder, his voice drops quieter, rougher. "i want you to be my princess now," he says, his voice raw. "for real this time. not the fake kidnapping bullshit, just… you. here with me, no more going back to him."
you swallow, his fingers are still between your legs, but not moving now, just resting there. "say it baby," he whispers, lips brushing your ear. "say you're mine, please."
your breath hitches. you turn your head just enough to meet his eyes. "i'm yours, heeseung," you murmur, your voice small but sure.
heeseung exhales hard through his nose and kisses you again, harder this time, and his hand finally moves. his fingers slipping inside you slow, curling gentle but deep, his thumb pressing firm on your clit. "good job baby," he growls against your mouth. "now cum for me one more time, mhm?"
so you do — arching back against him, water sloshing over the edge, moaning soft and broken into his kiss while his fingers work you open and claim you all over again.
your husband will never know you spent the whole night tied up and desperate under the guy he thinks is his enemy. at least, it's not that hard being princess peach anymore.
my sister has the most interesting brain i’ve ever encountered, we might have not shared the same womb bc i could never come up with something so brilliant
THE WAY MARIO JUST LEAVES HAD ME CACKLING
also, how the hell does someone writes the most absurd smut ever while excelling at descriptions, ambiance and visioning?? shut up you’re a mad genius
thank you for this one sis, best smut i’ve read on corporate hours love u
» summary: jake was stuck. sex had gotten boring, always the same routine, nothing exciting enough to stick in his head. he wasn’t exactly searching for something new, but when a stupid bdsm test came up in conversation with you, he found himself way too curious. suddenly, he’s researching kinks at 3am, making reddit posts like an idiot, and realizing that maybe he doesn’t just want answers, he wants to try them with you. and maybe all he wants right now is ask: i don’t wanna be just friends, don’t wanna be away from you, can i be a pet?
✰ pairing: jake x fem!reader // ✰ genre: smut (mdni!!), friends to lovers, college au, slowburn-ish #nowplaying » cat & dog - tomorrow x together | mutt - leon thomas | wet dreamz - j. cole | doo wop (that thing) - lauryn hill | mrs. officer - lil wayne | so fresh, so clean - outkast | word count: 28k
!! warnings: smut (mdni), smut, unprotected sex (do not do it!!), petplay, brat!reader x brat tamer!jake, power dynamics, bdsm dynamics, alcohol and weed consumption, anal play, oral sex (m and f receiving), size kink, fingering, squirting, degradation and praising kink, dirty talk, rough sex, bitch the whole thing they are freaky lmao
JAKE SIM HAD THIS REPUTATION AROUND CAMPUS, AND HE KNEW IT. he wasn’t the type to deny it either, he kind of leaned into it. he had the face, he had the charm, the easy smile that worked on almost anyone, and he was well aware that people liked talking about him. he wasn’t shy about the fact that he hooked up with a lot of girls, not in a bragging way, more like he genuinely didn’t see the point of pretending otherwise. if he wanted something, he went for it, and most of the time he got it.
the funny part was that it never really felt like enough. people would assume he was satisfied, like he had it all figured out, but the truth was, after a while, it all started blending together. same kind of nights, same routines, same conversations that ended in the same place. he liked it in the moment, of course, he wasn’t going to lie about that, but he always went home with this weird feeling, like something was missing, and it wasn’t the whole “looking for love” thing either. it was more that he wanted something different, something he couldn’t even name yet.
he wasn’t the type to sit around and analyze himself too much, but he noticed the pattern. no matter how many people he fucked, he’d end up lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking, is that really it?
he didn’t talk about it with anyone, because what was he supposed to say? “yeah i’m sleeping with half the campus but i’m still kind of bored”? that would sound ridiculous. and you knew him enough to know the image he carried, everyone did, but what people didn’t really see was that restless part of him, the part that kept looking for something he couldn’t find. and he hated admitting it, but lately he started realizing that maybe the problem wasn’t the girls or the sex itself, maybe the problem was that he wanted to try things he didn’t even know how to explain without sounding insane.
“you ever feel like… sex is just the same shit over and over?” jake asked, not even looking directly at sunghoon while the fifa match rolled on his tv.
sunghoon paused the game immediately, which already said a lot, because sunghoon never paused fifa for anything. he turned to look at jake dead in the eye. “what the fuck are you talking about?”
“i’m serious,” jake said, sighing. “like, yeah, it’s good, but sometimes i’m just… i don’t know, bored.”
sunghoon started laughing so hard he almost dropped the controller. “you? bored? mr. i-had-sex-in-the-theater-bathroom last week? nah. shut the fuck up.”
“that’s exactly what i mean!” jake argued, leaning forward. “it’s always the same shit. hook up, make out, fuck, pass out. repeat. i’m telling you, i feel like there’s supposed to be more, but i don’t know what the hell that is.”
“okay,” sunghoon said, nodding like he was being thoughtful, but his grin gave him away. “so what you’re saying is… your dick’s tired.”
“that’s not what i said.”
“sounds like what you said.”
before jake could fire back, the door creaked open and heeseung walked in with a bag of chips and a joint between his fingers, looking like he hadn’t slept in two days. he glanced at the tv, took a drag, then looked at them. “you guys talking about gooning?”
“kinda,” sunghoon answered instantly, pointing at jake. “apparently mr. campus heartthrob is bored of pussy.”
heeseung raised an eyebrow, ripped open the chips, and sat down on the armrest. “wow. should we throw you a funeral?”
jake groaned and buried his face in his hands. “you guys are fucking useless.”
“nah, bro, i’m serious,” sunghoon said, nudging him with his foot. “maybe you just need some freaky shit. like, tie someone up, put on a costume, bark a little. switch it up.”
“the fuck are you even saying?” jake shot back, but the way his ears went red didn’t go unnoticed.
heeseung caught it instantly, grinning like a devil. “wait. wait. oh my god. jake wants to bark.”
“shut the fuck up,” jake muttered, ending the conversation.
but the thing is, jake thought sometimes about barking. i mean, not literally standing in someone’s room on all fours going woof, but the thought of something that wasn’t just the usual sex crossed his mind more than once. like, there had to be people out there doing shit that wasn’t just missionary or whatever. he wasn’t about to admit it out loud to sunghoon or heeseung because he knew they’d never let it go, but after that night, the whole “maybe you need to bark” thing kept replaying in his head. and he didn’t immediately shut it down. he laughed in front of them, told them they were idiots, but later that week, lying in bed at two a.m., he actually caught himself googling “unconventional sex stuff.”
that’s how he ended up on reddit. it wasn’t even intentional, he just clicked link after link until suddenly he was in some forum full of people talking about kinks like they were trading recipes. half the stuff freaked him out, the other half made him curious in a way he didn’t know how to process. he didn’t think he was a freak, but then again, maybe he was, because none of this was coming up in regular conversations, and he clearly couldn’t bring it up to his friends without being clowned for the rest of his life.
so one night, after reading through threads for way too long, he gave in and made a throwaway account.
r/TooAfraidToAsk
u/australianlebron127 | 12m
i feel like i’m bored of sex but don’t know what i’m looking for, is that normal?
i’m a 23 year old male and i’ve been pretty active since like freshman year of college. i’ve hooked up with a lot of people, and i guess on the outside it sounds cool, but honestly it all feels the same and i keep thinking i’m missing something. my friends make jokes about “freaky stuff” and once someone even said i probably just need to bark or whatever, which was stupid, but now i can’t stop thinking maybe i actually do need something like that.
i don’t even know what i’m into, i just know regular sex feels kind of… repetitive. i’m not in a relationship and i’m not looking for love advice or anything like that, i’m just wondering if it’s normal to feel like this or if i should be trying to figure out what i like more. and if i should… how do you even start? like i can’t just ask someone “hey wanna let me experiment with you” right? idk.
after he posted it, jake shut his laptop like he just confessed a crime. he honestly thought no one would even read it, but the next morning when he checked again, there were already a bunch of replies. some of them were just people trolling him, like one guy wrote “bro just buy a dildo and stop crying,” which didn’t help at all, but there were also some longer comments from people who actually sounded like they knew what they were talking about.
one person wrote something like, “you don’t have to know your kink right away, just pay attention to what sticks in your head. if something makes you curious, that’s worth exploring.” another person said, “try to communicate with partners, you’d be surprised how many people are also bored of ‘regular’ sex and want to experiment too.” and then there was one comment that just said, “maybe you’re into power dynamics. look into dom/sub stuff, that’s usually a good starting point.”
jake read through all of them with his face buried in his pillow, feeling like if anyone walked in and saw what he was doing, he’d have to transfer schools immediately. but at the same time, it made him feel a little less crazy. apparently, other people were going through the same thing, or at least close enough. he wasn’t the only one who felt like sex got repetitive after a while. still, he didn’t know what to do with that information. he wasn’t about to sit sunghoon down and say, “hey bro, what do you think my kink is?” and he sure as hell wasn’t going to test this out with some random hookup from a party. if he was going to try anything new, he wanted it to be with someone who actually knew him, someone he trusted not to laugh in his face.
and that’s when he remembered you.
he met you through jungwon and sunoo. you were always around, more like part of the background of the friend group. jake thought you were cool, funny without trying too hard, and yeah, obviously really hot, but he never made a move because you weren’t like the other girls he usually talked to at parties. you didn’t even go to half the parties. when he did see you, you were usually laughing with your friends, completely unbothered by whatever was going on around. you never hooked up, never even flirted, but there was this one time that stuck with him.
he was walking past in the middle of a random conversation between you and sunoo, and he caught enough of it to never forget. you were holding your phone, laughing so hard, and you went, “who the fuck gets a hundred percent vanilla on the bdsm test? you have to try to be that boring.”
sunoo immediately grabbed the phone from you, yelling, “shut up! you literally got ninety-six percent petplay, you freak! what are you even talking about?”
jake didn’t even know what to do with that information at the time, but he remembered the way you just laughed and shrugged, like it was nothing. he laughed too, mostly because sunoo looked like he was about to pass out from embarrassment, but the conversation burned into his brain. now, weeks later, lying in bed after scrolling through way too many reddit threads about kinks, that memory hit him again, like his brain suddenly pulled out a file he didn’t realize he kept. and you sounded so comfortable with it, like talking about sex wasn’t this big taboo topic.
jake thought about it more than once after that, and now, with all this restless energy in his head, it started to feel like a sign. maybe you weren’t close, maybe you weren’t the person he texted at two in the morning, but you were the only person he could think of who might not laugh in his face if he admitted he was… curious. so he picked up his phone, scrolled through his contacts until he found your name, and stared at it for a solid minute like the letters might rearrange themselves into “don’t do this.” then, because he was jake, he typed something dumb and hit send before he could overthink it.
jake: yo do u know if the cafeteria is still selling those massive cookies or did they stop
you didn’t answer right away, which made him instantly regret his entire life, but then the screen lit up.
you: why are you texting me about cookies at 11pm
you: and yes they still sell them lol
he grinned, already feeling lighter.
jake: good to know
jake: important info
there was a pause, and then you sent back:
you: you’re so weird sometimes
he laughed out loud at that. it was stupid, but it gave him enough courage to type what he really wanted.
jake: hey random question tho
jake: u remember that bdsm test thing u joked about w sunoo once
jake: do u still have the link perchance
he stared at the message after sending it, suddenly way too aware of how insane it looked. but it was too late, it was out there. his brain was screaming at him that this was either the best idea he ever had or the dumbest one, and he wouldn’t know which until you answered, but your reply came quicker than he expected.
you: LMAO jake why are u asking me this
you: are u abt to send me ur result rn bc i wanna see
you: don’t lie i KNOW ur not 100% vanilla
you dropped the link right after, and jake felt his stomach twist because now he had no excuse. he clicked it. the layout looked ancient, like a quiz someone coded in 2005, but it was apparently the same test everyone online swore by.
he started reading the questions, and it was instantly ridiculous. stuff like “would you enjoy being tied up?” or “would you enjoy tying someone else up?” and the scale went from “absolutely not” to “hell yes.” jake sat there, thinking way harder than he expected. some of them were easy to answer—no, he didn’t want to be whipped until he couldn’t walk—but others made him hesitate, like maybe he’d try it, maybe it didn’t sound that bad.
when the petplay questions showed up, he froze for a second. he could practically hear sunghoon in his head going “bro, bark,” and it made him want to close the tab, but at the same time… he didn’t click “absolutely not.” he thought about it, sighed, and picked “maybe.”
twenty minutes later, the results loaded on his screen in neat little percentages, like it was about to diagnose him with something.
jake stared at the screen. part of him wanted to laugh, part of him wanted to throw his phone out the window, and another part of him just thought: yeah, that actually makes sense. he sat there, debating whether sending it to you would make him look confident or like the biggest clown alive. but you had asked to see it, and he kind of did want to know what you’d say. so he did send you the screenshots, three images of his percentages sitting in your chat, and you answered almost instantly.
you: LMAOOO
you: okay i expected switch 100% bc u give off that vibe
you: but 94% pet?? never in my life would i have guessed that
jake felt his ears burn. he didn’t even know what that was supposed to mean, but the way you typed it made him smile anyway.
jake: bro don’t act like u weren’t the one clowning sunoo abt this shit
you: yeah but i didn’t expect u to be secretly into meowing
jake: i didn’t say i’m into that
you: mhmmm the math says otherwise jakey
he groaned and threw his phone onto his pillow, but then picked it right back up. he wanted to defend himself, but at the same time, it felt good that you weren’t making it weird. you were teasing him, yeah, but it was soft, like the way you’d tease a friend. even though jake didn’t know if friend was the right word.
jake: alright then, where’s urs
you: oh i’m not sending mine
jake: tf why not
you: bc it’s funnier to let u wonder
jake: wtf does that mean
you: it means one day maybe i’ll show u in person idk
jake stared at that message for a solid minute. in person? what do you mean “in person”? he had no idea if you were flirting, being sarcastic, or just messing with him for fun. either way, the thought lodged itself in his brain immediately and refused to leave. he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with that, but his brain decided to run off with it anyway. like maybe, hypothetically, if one day you actually did drop to your knees in front of him and said “meow,” he wouldn’t hate it. actually, he might really, really not hate it.
so that week jake couldn’t stop thinking about it. so naturally, at three in the morning when any normal person would be asleep, he was hunched over his laptop, typing “what is petplay kink” into google like some dad learning how to use tiktok.
the first page of results didn’t help much. there were a bunch of articles that tried to sound educational but were really just people overexplaining, and then there were forums with way too many details he wasn’t ready for. he clicked through anyway, and five minutes later he was learning that apparently some people actually bought collars for this stuff, and leashes, and there was a whole thing about drinking water from bowls. he sat back in his chair, “no way,” he muttered to himself. “there’s no way i’m buying a dog bowl.” but then another part of him was like… okay, maybe not the bowl, but the collar thing? that didn’t sound as insane.
he kept scrolling. one post talked about how petplay wasn’t always about barking or crawling around, sometimes it was just about roles, like playfulness, obedience, teasing. that part made more sense to him. then he fell into another rabbit hole, this time about “brat taming.” apparently it meant dealing with someone who liked to push back, tease, talk back until you had to put them in their place. jake read three different threads about it and had to close the tab because, yeah, he was definitely into that.
he shut his laptop after an hour of scrolling, face buried in his hands, because what the hell was he even doing? one week ago he was just another guy with too much free time, and now he was sitting there seriously wondering if buying a collar off amazon would be insane or just a solid investment. and the kicker was, every time he thought about it, your face showed up in his head.
so when he saw you for the first time after that, he felt something weird going on around his pants. and jake wasn’t a fucking teen anymore, he wasn’t gonna get hard just by looking at a girl, but somehow he was… semi hard. it had been a long time since that happened out of nowhere and he thought it was kind of strange, like his body was reminding him of things he hadn’t thought about in months.
you looked up from your laptop, saw him, and smiled. that smile — bright, easy — made him immediately forget that anything felt weird. you waved, and jake had to remind himself to actually walk toward you instead of standing there like a moron.
“hey!” you called, motioning him over. “come sit.” you were sitting at a table with jungwon and sunoo, laptop open in front of you. jungwon was typing something, sunoo was scrolling on his phone, “so… did you get the giant cookie from the cafeteria or what?” you asked, a playful grin on your face.
jake internally thanked you, harder than he wanted to admit, for not bringing up the test. one, because he would have died of embarrassment with jungwon and sunoo there, and two, because honestly, thinking about it again might have made him get hard all over again in the middle of the library cafe. “uh… no, not yet,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and not make it sound like his entire body was having a meeting about you.
“oh, okay,” you said, opening your laptop wider. “we can grab some after i finish this thing.”
he slid into the chair next to you, careful not to get too close, careful not to breathe like he was dying, and just tried to act like a normal human. which, for jake, was hard work when you were smiling at him like that.
after a while, you both got up and headed to the cafeteria. he was quieter, more reserved, but trying to respond, trying to interact without sounding like he was hyperventilating. by the time you got to the display with all the cookies, it was just the two of you. jake tried to act casual while his brain reminded him that he was, somehow, still semi hard and that his body was apparently having its own agenda today. he felt like a complete freak but the thought made him laugh at himself.
“so… chocolate cookie?” you asked, eyes sparkling, and then paused dramatically. “or are you gonna switch to vanilla?” you emphasized the word switch, looking at him like you knew exactly what you were doing.
jake couldn’t help it. he laughed out loud. “oh, okay, i see what you’re doing,” he said, shaking his head. it was ridiculous, and he felt ridiculous, but in a way that made him feel… funny.
“what? i’m just trying to make cookie decisions fun,” you said, smirking, clearly loving that you got a reaction out of him.
“yeah yeah, sure,” he replied, and then couldn’t resist pushing a little. “sooo… you said you were gonna show me your result personally, remember?”
you tilted your head, mock-serious. “wow, curious, aren’t you?”
he felt his face heat up, part embarrassment, part horniness, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how casual you were about all this. am i really getting turned on by a conversation about cookies and some quiz? he thought, mentally cursing himself, and then laughed a little because, yeah, apparently he was. “i mean… i’m not curious,” he said, though he was. “i just… maybe want to see it. for science.”
“mhmm, for science,” you repeated, grinning, clearly reading right through him. you sat down at a table after paying for the cookies, you opened your laptop casually, and started scrolling through your results. “alright, so… brace yourself,” you said, smiling at him, “here.” jake leaned a little closer, trying not to stare too obviously at your face and also trying not to think about other… possibilities.
jake blinked a few times, and his brain immediately went to the oh shit this is hot mode. he felt his stomach tighten and had to consciously remind himself to breathe. he tried not to picture too much, trying not to lose it right there in front of you. after a beat, he swallowed and forced his voice casual. “yeah… i mean… i kinda imagined your result being something like this.”
you raised an eyebrow, grinning like you knew exactly what he was thinking. “ahh, so you were thinking about my results, huh?”
jake felt his face heat up instantly, but he couldn’t help laughing a little. “shut up…” he said after you teased, clearly enjoying the fact that he was squirming just a bit.
“never thought you’d be into petplay,” you said casually, glancing at him.
“me neither,” he admitted, a little embarrassed. “i’ve never actually done it.”
“oh really?” you teased. “but it’s on your test.”
“yeah… i’m just… assuming i’d like it,” he said, shrugging. “never explored my kinks before. that’s why i did the test.”
you smiled at him, eyes soft. “honestly, i get it. it’s fine. makes sense.”
for some reason, hearing you say that made him feel comfortable, thinking how nice it was to have someone he could actually talk to about it. you kept talking about the results, scrolling through different percentages, laughing at some of the weirder ones, shaking your heads at others, like “who the hell is this person” kind of stuff. jake felt like he could actually breathe a little easier, like maybe exploring this shit didn’t have to be some big awkward thing.
and then he caught himself thinking about it — again, for the hundredth time — that maybe having you actually… participate in some of it wouldn’t be that bad. like, actually being there while you did the petplay stuff or teased him, whatever. and the thought hit him in a weird way that made him grin like a complete idiot, because yeah, it was exciting, and yeah, he could feel that familiar tightness in his pants again.
so after that, jake found himself doing more research about things you might like. he didn’t even know why he was looking this stuff up. he told himself it was curiosity, like he was just trying to understand a phenomenon or something, but deep down he knew it was more than that.
he was intrigued by the kinks, by the way you’d come across as so… private. he’d never seen you with anyone, never heard stories about your experiences, and somehow that made him hornier and more curious at the same time. the weirdest part was that he felt like he knew a lot about you because of that damn bdsm test, but also realized he didn’t know shit—whereas you probably knew tons of stories about him and his past hookups.
eventually he went back to reddit. of course he did. he found a server for kinks and typed out a post, hesitating over every word, trying not to make himself sound like a total weirdo.
r/kink_advice
u/australianlebron127 | 3m
how do i talk to a friend about mutual kinks?
hi, i’m a 23m and i have this friend (24f), she’s cool, funny, super private, and i think maybe we like the same kinks. we’ve talked a little about bdsm stuff and she shared her results on this bdsm test once, which were very similar to mine. i’m curious and want to maybe explore things with her, but i have no idea how to even bring it up without making it weird. any advice?
the replies came fast. some were generic, like “just be honest and communicate,” or “don’t push anything she’s not into.” but then one comment made him stop scrolling for a second.
comment: if she’s into petplay or praising kink, just call her a good girl out of nowhere and see how she reacts, or tell her to behave.
jake stared at that comment for longer than he should have. he couldn’t believe that the solution was potentially so simple, and also so terrifying. he wasn’t sure if it was genius or completely insane.
so he thought about putting the plan into practice that weekend, at the frat party. he already knew you’d be there because you’d mentioned jungwon and chaewon had been bugging you to go, and for jake, that sounded like the perfect opportunity. when he got to the house, sunghoon shoved a drink into his hand before he could even say hi, and riki was already trying to drag him outside to smoke a joint. jake brushed both of them off with a laugh, sipping the drink just to keep sunghoon from nagging, and then he saw you.
you were across the room, leaning against the counter with chaewon, laughing about something. you weren’t dressed overly flashy, nothing insane, just jeans and a cropped tank top that showed a sliver of skin when you moved, and your hair pulled back like you didn’t even try that hard. but for some reason, to jake, it looked better than half the girls in glitter dresses floating around the place.
he felt his stomach tighten in that same way it had the other day, and he had to stop himself from grinning too obviously. you had this golden retriever kind of energy, the kind of person who always smiled when someone waved, always asked how people were doing, and jake had that too, except his version usually came with flirting and ending up in someone’s bed.
he could feel the stares of other girls in the room, some who he’d already hooked up with, some who he knew wanted to. he caught one or two smiling at him, making the kind of eye contact that usually meant come over here later, and he knew he could. he could pick almost anyone in the room if he wanted. but for once, he wasn’t interested. the whole point tonight was you.
jake took another sip of his drink and pushed through the crowd, his eyes flicking back to you every other second. he was hyping himself up in his head, thinking about that stupid reddit comment and whether he was actually crazy enough to try it out. every step closer to you, the thought kept repeating in his head: good girl. just say it once. see what happens.
so he walked up to you, slid into that little circle, and went, “hey,” giving you and chaewon a nod. you both greeted him back, chaewon with her usual dry smile and you with that bright one that always made him feel like you were actually happy to see him, even if it was just a quick hello at a loud party.
the conversation was easy, just small talk but not awkward. eventually chaewon excused herself to get a drink, and right then minjeong walked past. she gave jake a quick once over and stopped long enough to rest her hand on his shoulder, leaning in with a smile that was way too obvious. “jake, later come find me, okay?” she said in that flirty tone that didn’t leave much room for interpretation. he just gave a small nod, polite enough but already knowing he wasn’t going to.
when she walked off, you tilted your head and started laughing under your breath. “wow,” you said, dragging the word out, “how many girls here have you hooked up with?”
jake immediately shook his head, pressing his lips together like he was trying not to laugh. “not that many,” he said, though even he knew it sounded weak.
you raised your brows, clearly amused. “and none of them made you wanna… what was it again? meow?” you asked, grinning at him like you were way too proud of yourself for remembering.
he froze for a second, caught completely off guard, before he tried to play it cool. “you’re not letting that go, huh?” he leaned in a little, lowering his voice like it might soften the blow of how flustered he actually was. “but, i mean, maybe it’s because none of them knew how to behave like you, i think.”
he said it half teasing, half testing, and his smile was trying to cover the way his heart was picking up. you squinted at him, amused but confused, and went, “what do you mean behave like me?”
jake didn’t even hesitate. “uh, it was in your test. brat, sub, pet, you know what i’m talking about.”
you let out this little laugh, shaking your head. “ok, that’s in my test, but you don’t know if i’m actually like that in real life. you literally said you’ve never done petplay, and you’re just assuming you’d like it.”
he shrugged, leaning back slightly, but his eyes stayed on you. “yeah, but have you done it?” his tone was way too direct for the middle of a crowded party.
you laughed again, but this time it was softer, like you were a little embarrassed. “uh… yeah.”
jake grinned, instantly smug. “then there you go. point proven. you do behave.” you didn’t say anything right away, and that threw him off, because you were almost never quiet around him. you just looked at him for a second, like you were deciding something in your head. so he tilted his head and asked, “what?”
“nothing,” you said quickly, then paused. “just thinking if you’ve ever even talked about this with anyone else before.”
he scratched the back of his neck, a little awkward now. “not really. i mean, sunghoon once told me i should bark at someone to see if i’d like it, but i didn’t take him seriously.”
you cracked up at that, covering your mouth for a second. “maybe minjeong would like that. i don’t know. you could always try it on her.”
and that was the moment it hit him, clear as day. he didn’t want to try anything with minjeong. he didn’t want to test it out with some random girl who was already halfway throwing herself at him. he wanted you.
before he could say anything though, you excused yourself, saying you were gonna grab some water or check on chaewon or something, and then you slipped into the crowd. jake stood there for a second, realizing that if he actually wanted this to go anywhere with you, he was gonna have to be more direct about it. no more hiding behind jokes or waiting for you to bring it up.
after a while, jake found you by the drinks table, leaning against it with a plastic cup in your hand. you were turned, and when you noticed him coming over, you gave him this small smile, the kind you always did that looked automatic. “can you fill mine up too?” he asked, holding out his cup.
“sure,” you said, reaching for the tap and tilting his cup under it.
the words came out of him before he even thought about them. “good girl.”
you froze for a second. like, literally stopped mid-pour. then you turned your head slowly to look at him. “what’d you say?”
he didn’t flinch. “i called you a good girl.”
he had no idea where the confidence was coming from. maybe from the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in weeks, maybe from the way you’d been laughing at his teasing earlier, maybe from too much beer, maybe from all of that. but he didn’t look away. you held his gaze for a moment, then nodded once, finished filling his cup, and handed it back to him.
he grinned. “what? did you get flustered at that?”
“shut up, jake,” you said, but you were smiling, trying to hide it, and then you turned and walked off before he could say anything else.
he’d said it once, and you didn’t blow him off, didn’t get weird, didn’t shut it down. if anything, you’d reacted. ok, he thought, taking a sip, i need to be even more direct.
later that night, jake found himself outside, because jake was jake and he couldn’t say no to a blunt rotation with his friends. he was leaning back against the side of the house with heeseung and beomgyu, all of them passing around a joint. heeseung was halfway into some rant about how he thinks all stanley cups are potentially weapons when you came bouncing out the door.
“wow,” you said immediately, spotting them. “look at you guys, stoner squad.” you laughed, light and teasing, but not mean.
jake felt that stupid twitch in his pants he’d been fighting all night right away and he hated himself for it. you weren’t even doing anything. you were just smiling like always, tail wagging friendly, and somehow that was enough to get him semi hard again.
he held the joint out to you. “want some?”
you tilted your head, eyes narrowing like you were weighing it. “hm. it’s been a while. i don’t know how i’ll react.” but you took it anyway. your fingers brushed his as you grabbed it, then you brought it to your lips, inhaling slow. jake couldn’t stop watching the way your chest rose and the way you let the smoke slip out through your lips. then you looked up at him, big doe eyes, blinking like a puppy, and it wasn’t just the weed. that was a look, and he knew that look. he saw it tons of times before from other girls he knew that wanted him to fuck them.
“you did good,” he said quietly, the words almost slipping out of his mouth on their own. his voice was low, soft but steady. praising.
you blinked, eyes widening a little, and then, of course, you smiled. not your usual grin, but this smaller one, just for him. you passed the joint back to him, and didn’t say anything. jake smirked, turned, and shoved the joint back at heeseung and beomgyu. then he leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only they could hear. “you two get the fuck outta here.”
heeseung frowned like he was about to argue, but beomgyu caught on quick, grabbed his arm, and dragged him off with the joint still in his hand. jake barely noticed, his eyes were already back on you. he could feel that edge of nervous energy sitting in his chest.
“you know,” he started, voice little lower than usual, “i’ve been thinking a lot about that test we took.”
you tilted your head, sipping the last of your drink. “oh yeah?”
he let out a quick laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “yeah. like, i’ve always wanted to try some of that stuff with someone, but i never really had anyone to test it out with.”
you snorted, but it wasn’t mean, it was playful. “come on, jake. you’re telling me you’ve had no one to test kinks with? that’s new. that’s not the jake i know.”
he laughed too, shaking his head, stepping just a little closer. “come on, you know that’s not what i mean.”
“how’s it not what you mean?” you asked, raising your brows like you were calling him out. “jake, there are at least ten girls in this house right now that i’ve personally heard say they’d do literally anything you asked. you’ve gotta be more confident.”
“the problem,” he said, this time leaning in slightly, his eyes flicking down to your mouth before back up, “is that i don’t want just anyone.”
you paused, holding his gaze, and your lips tugged into this little smirk. “then be confident and ask the person you actually want.”
you said it so obviously, like you were spelling it out for him, and jake knew you’d already figured it out. you weren’t running from it either, which only made his pulse faster. he forced himself to stay calm, not too flirty, just enough to keep it casual, smug in the only way he knew how to handle this. “look,” he said, “i know this might sound a little out of nowhere, but when i say i’ve been thinking about it, i mean i’ve actually been thinking about it.” you didn’t interrupt, you just watched him, waiting. “and i don’t want it to come off like i’m some fuck boy with weird kinks trying to test them on anyone who’s remotely into the same stuff. that’s not it. but…” he hesitated for just a second, then pushed through, “if you wanted to… if you were down… you could maybe show me the things you’re into sometime. so i can see if i’m into them too.”
he said it steady, without laughing, without looking away, even though inside his stomach was doing flips. you smirked at him, leaning in just enough to make him think that you were about to say something he wanted to hear. “yeah,” you said, dragging it out, “i could try that sometime.”
jake froze for a second, because hearing you actually say that out loud hit him harder than he expected. it had been a long time since he’d felt this type of nervous to hook up with a girl, he wasn’t just anxious but he was also excited, and his brain was already five steps ahead picturing what it would be like. and now you were looking at him with those wide puppy eyes, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t been this gone over someone in a while.
so he leaned in, not even thinking too much about it, just following the way your words had practically given him permission, but right before he got there, you stepped back, smirk still on your face. “sometime”, you corrected, “i didn’t say tonight.”
and then you turned, casually walking off, and jake just stood there, blinking at the back of your head as you went back to the house. he didn’t even know what to do with himself. he could only think one thing: when exactly had he gotten himself this fucked?
after that night, jake couldn’t think about anything else at all. every morning he woke up, the first thought in his brain was basically: when is sometime? it was killing him. his dick was practically on a constant timer, ready to embarrass him at any random moment. he’d see you on campus, just doing normal-ass things, like tying your shoe, talking to someone, sipping your coffee, and then you’d look up, smile at him like you didn’t casually say you might let him try out some kinky shit with you, and instantly his pants got tight. it was torture.
he tried to play it cool, but the truth was his brain was fried. he couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways it could go. you acting like a brat and him finally having an excuse to put you in your place? yeah, he wanted that. you in a collar? he was picturing it. you on all fours, maybe purring at him? his dick didn’t see a problem with it.
the only issue was, he knew there were steps to get there, like he couldn’t just skip straight to “here’s your leash.” but still, he wanted it, and every day it was getting more unbearable. and jake kept replaying it in his head, wondering if you’d been kinkshaming him that night. but no, you didn’t look disgusted. you looked like you enjoyed making him squirm.
so after days of overthinking, he finally just thought, fuck it, i’m texting her.
he stared at his phone for a second, then finally muttered to himself, “fuck it.” jeans went down, dick out, and he just leaned back against the headboard, taking a deep breath. this was the first time he was sexting someone like this, like really trying to push boundaries, and he never imagined he’d get this fucking horny reading messages.
the thought of you was too much. he didn’t even really see your words at first. his eyes were half lidded, mind spinning, imagining you there, acting like you were challenging him to keep control while he was already losing it. your texts were just triggers at that point—he didn’t need them to imagine every little sound, every whine, every little movement you’d make when he told you to behave. his hand moved on its own, faster and harder, and then he felt finally letting go, spilling all over himself, and it hit him how long it had been since he’d actually come like that just from his own hand and a fantasy. it wasn’t some casual fap to random porn. it was you. the idea of you teasing him, bratting him, letting him call you a good girl, and him slowly building you up in his mind.
finally he wiped his hand, leaned back, and looked at his phone again. the last message from you was there:
you: youre jerking off arent you?
you: hope u have fun thinking about me
you: good night jakey 😊
he just froze for a second, grinning like a complete idiot, and then read it again. and again. and again. every time he did, he couldn’t help himself— his hand went back to his dick, and he was off, imagining your voice, your little smirks, the way you’d act bratty and subby and soft all at once. he spent the rest of the night like that, phone beside him, mind completely tangled up in fantasies about you, and every time he looked at those messages he had to jerk off again, like a fucking teenager.
and it kinda turned into a routine before he even realized it. every night, somewhere between brushing his teeth and pretending he was gonna go to bed early, jake ended up texting you. it started light, memes, random shit from his day, but without fail it slid into something else. not always full on sexting, sometimes it was just you pushing him with one-liners that had him hard in minutes. like that one time you just sent:
you: good pets beg nicely, don’t they?
and he actually sat there, cock throbbing in his sweats, typing and deleting five different responses before finally sending something he never thought he’d put in writing.
and yeah, he was screwed. because he did like it, he liked you bratty, needy, whiny. he liked calling you his pet. but the thing that really fucked him up was realizing he’d always end up giving in to you anyway. no matter how much he talked big, if you told him to try something, he’d try it. if you wanted him to push a boundary, he’d push it. he was supposed to be the dom, but half the time he felt like a dog wagging his tail waiting for scraps from you. and yeah, the results saying “switch” were not a surprise at this point.
he even got nerdy about it. he continued reading reddit threads, doing kink tests, scrolling through subs at 3am like he was studying for a final exam (he should be studying for a few, actually). the only problem? he still hadn’t seen you in person. and that was driving him insane.
he could type all the filth in the world, imagine you in a collar, call you his pet until his dick hurt, but at the end of the day you were still just words on a screen. and jake wanted more, he wanted your voice in his ear, your body under his hands, not just a fucking notification making him hard. and the longer it went, the worse it got. he’d go to bed thinking about you, wake up still hard, spend the day waiting for your messages just so he could crash again in that same loop. at some point he realized he was way past curious.
and jake wasn’t even subtle about it. he’d been walking past your dorm for like the third time that week, pretending to be interested in the vending machine in the lobby. he’d already bought a snickers earlier but here he was again, suspiciously pressing buttons like he couldn’t decide between m&ms or kitkat, when the truth was he didn’t give a shit about chocolate. he just wanted to “accidentally” run into you.
and then it happened. you came through the door, head down, digging through your bag for your keys. he froze with a kitkat half dangling from the machine slot, suddenly feeling like he’d been caught doing something illegal. you finally looked up and your face lit up with that same smile you always gave him, like he wasn’t the guy who called you pet and jerked off every night to your bratty texts. he felt that familiar kick in his chest, the one that made him insane because it wasn’t just sexual. sure, you drove him crazy with how much he wanted to fuck you, but there was more. he liked you, like actually liked you, and that was worse somehow. mutt-level disaster, horny as hell but also weirdly in awe every time you looked at him like that.
“what are you doing here?” you asked, eyebrow raised, smile playing like you already knew the answer.
“uh, just grabbing something from the vending machine,” he said, holding up the kitkat like it was evidence. smooth.
you gave a small smirk, clearly not buying it, but you didn’t call him out. instead, you shifted your bag on your shoulder and said, “come on, i need to grab something from my dorm. sunoo is waiting for me at the library”
he followed, trying to act casual even though his brain was on fire. his heart was racing, not just because maybe something could happen, but because he had no idea how to handle actually being around you in real life. so when you opened the door to your dorm, he stepped inside and it was like stepping straight into your head. everything screamed you.
“you want coffee?” you asked, already moving toward your tiny coffee setup.
“i’m good,” he said, hands stuffed in his pockets.
“well, i’m making some anyway. i can’t function without coffee after lunch.”
he leaned against the wall, watching you move around, trying not to think too hard about how bad he wanted something to happen. like, yeah, he could just sit here and drink coffee with you and that’d be fine, but at the same time, every cell in his body was screaming that he wanted more. he was running through a dozen different scenarios in his head, every single one ending with him in your bed.
you sat down on the couch with your coffee, legs crossed, and jake stayed planted against the wall, staring at you. you looked up at him, those doe eyes soft and ridiculous, and asked, “what’s up? you not gonna sit?”
he swallowed, felt his chest flip, and thought, oh my god i’m about to do something dumb, but then he just did it. he dropped to his knees right in front of you, which made you blink, because nobody ever kneeled in front of you unless they were messing around. now you were exactly eye level with him, and that felt like a weird, intense pause. you raised one brow. “what are you doing?”
he gave that stupid smirk he always used when he wanted to sound like he knew what he was doing. “roleplaying,” he said, like it was the most normal explanation in the world.
you laughed, set your mug down on the side table, and then came back to him, serious for a second. “jake… are you sure you want this?”
he blinked, because of course he was sure. “are you kidding? i think i made it pretty obvious.”
you watched him for a beat, like you were checking him out, “i want you to be comfortable testing something you’ve never done before,” you said.
“i’m comfortable,” he answered, eyes locked on yours. “you comfortable?”
you let out a small, low laugh and relaxed against the back of the couch and spread your legs a little so he had room, shifted so your knees were wider, like you trusted him to handle whatever came next. “very,” you said, voice steady, challenge hiding under the calm.
he smiled, the kind that was more confident than he’d felt in weeks, and slid his hand up to rest on your knee, fingers pressing the inside of your thigh as he edged closer. he kept his touch soft at first, like he was checking the water temperature, then moved a little higher, deliberate but not rough, watching you for every little reaction. “you got me down bad for you,” he murmured, a bit proud, but pissed off at how much he wanted you.
you rolled your eyes, amused and dangerous. “then why are you taking so long to take what’s yours?” you teased, voice quiet and sharp.
so the moment he caught your eyes flicking down to his mouth, he decided he wasn’t gonna make this easy for you. in one quick motion he slid his hands behind your thighs, gripped hard, and just picked you up like you weighed nothing. before you could even gasp he’d flipped the whole situation — he was on the couch now, you on his lap, straddling him. you let out this sharp little yelp, more surprise than anything, and the second you realized the position, you went quiet. his hands were holding your thighs tight, his bulge pressed right under you.
“i’ve been dreaming about you sitting on my lap like this,” he said.
“yeah?” you breathed out, lowering your face closer to his, testing him. you shifted your hips just enough to grind against him through the layers of clothes, and that made his fingers dig in, holding you down so you couldn’t keep moving.
“behave, won’t you?” he muttered, his voice flat but loaded.
that made you smirk. “what, jakey? i thought you wanted this,” you whined, tilting your voice into that bratty little tease you knew would get him worked up. and then you were grinding on him again, slower this time, just to push.
his grip on your thighs went rough, firm enough you’d probably see the marks later, and you leaned forward like you weren’t fazed at all. he was smiling now, biting his lip, annoyed and turned on beyond reason. “give me a kiss before i put you in your place,” he said, like it was some casual request, but you both knew it wasn’t.
you were still smirking when you leaned in, noses almost brushing, clearly waiting to see how far you could stretch him before he snapped. jake thought, yeah, this girl is gonna ruin me, but he wasn’t about to let you see that written on his face. he just held you tighter and kept that cocky little grin, watching you lean in with the most torturous pace ever.
and when you did, you kissed him slow, dragging it out like you wanted to prove a point, and he kissed you back like he’d been training for this exact moment, tongue slipping into your mouth like it belonged there. he’d imagined this a hundred times, maybe more, but in reality it was so much better. when you started grinding down on him again, all drawn out and teasing, he caught your lower lip between his teeth, tugged, then went right back in. he didn’t stop until he had to pull away just to breathe, drunk on you, trailing down your jaw with his mouth, nipping and kissing until he got to your neck.
the second he heard that tiny whimper spill out of you, he fucking lost it. his hand came up, not soft, cupping your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to look at him. you smirked at him, and it made him growl out, “you’re so fucking hot.” before you could toss some bratty reply back, he cut you off. “kneel for me.”
you hesitated just a beat, smirking, like you were about to be clever. but then you surprised him, you actually obeyed, slipping off his lap and sinking to the floor in front of him. his chest felt tight watching you like that, hair a little messy, looking up at him from the floor. he leaned forward, spread his legs a little wider, and let out this low laugh. “good girl,” he said, steady. then he added, “hands on your knees. look up at me.” you did it, but with that smirk like you were humoring him, not surrendering. he arched a brow. “what’s with that look?”
“what look?” you asked, voice all fake innocence, eyes wide.
“the one that’s begging me to make you behave,” he shot back. his hand went to your hair, not pulling hard, just testing. you didn’t flinch, you leaned into it. “say please,” he said next.
you tilted your head, lips parting. “please what?”
“don’t play with me,” he warned, squeezing the back of your neck lightly.
you laughed, bratty and breathless. “you don’t even know what you want me to say please for, jakey.”
he groaned, like you were already driving him insane. “jesus christ, you’re a handful.”
you beamed, proud of yourself. “am i not your favorite little handful though?”
he gave a dry laugh, leaning forward, eyes locked on you. “yeah, you are. and you’re gonna regret milking that.” his thumb brushed your lower lip, pressing down just enough to make your mouth part. “open up,” he said. you stuck out your tongue in response, rolling your eyes like you were daring him to do something. “god, you’re such a brat,” he muttered, shaking his head but clearly loving every second. “don’t worry. i’ll train you right.”
jake already knew he was too deep in this to stop now, so when his thumb pressed harder into your lip and you opened wider, he spit right into your mouth without thinking twice. you blinked at him, a little shocked. “swallow it all,” he’d said, and you did, no hesitation. he could see it hit you too, the way your shoulders shifted, that look in your eyes flipping. that was the first time any guy had done that to you, and jake clocked the moment you gave in a little, the brat suddenly turning pliant.
he smirked, dragged his thumb out of your mouth and replaced it with his index finger, pushing against your tongue. “suck.” you did, lips wrapping around it, tongue working slow like you wanted to torture him. he groaned, letting you do it, and then switched it up, making you take his thumb. “good girl. now tell me what you want, pet.”
your eyes flicked up, all teasing again, and you mumbled around his thumb, “it’s hurting, jakey.”
his brain stalled for a second. wow, she’s actually kinky as hell, he thought. he softened, brushing his free hand across your cheek. “what’s hurting, baby?”
you pulled his thumb out just enough to pout at him, voice dripping brat, “i need you so much it hurts.”
that one hit him straight in the gut. he was in awe, just staring at you. “aw, princess,” he said, almost laughing in disbelief. “do you need me to take care of you?” you nodded fast, lips pushing out in a little whine. “but,” he leaned down, pressing his forehead close to yours, “you gotta deserve to be rewarded, you know that, right? will you behave for me?”
your nod was eager this time, quick. “i will, i promise.”
“yeah?” he said, standing up slow, eyes locked on you the whole time while his fingers went to his belt. he tugged it loose, the leather sliding through the loops while he bit his lip. your eyes tracked every movement, wide and hungry, those stupid puppy eyes making him feel feral. but the second you started to lift your hands from your thighs like you wanted to reach for him, he snapped. “uh-uh.” he pointed right at you. “what’d i tell you? hands on your thighs, pet.”
you huffed, clearly annoyed, but put them back exactly where he wanted. “good girl,” he said again, dragging his zipper down nice and slow, making sure you stayed right there, waiting. he tugged his jeans and briefs down in one go, his cock springing free, thick and heavy, and the second your eyes widened he almost lost it. you actually drooled a little, lips parted, and he laughed low, cocky as ever. “yeah, like what you see, huh? big, but you can take it, right baby?”
his hand landed on your head, gentle but firm, fingers threading through your hair. you pouted up at him, whining softly, “i don’t know, jakey.”
he grinned like you’d just said the funniest shit in the world, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “don’t know? c’mon, you’re my good girl. you can take it. i know you can. don’t make me remind you.” and you nodded so fast, eager, like his words flipped some switch inside you. “see? there she is. good girl. now… go slow, pretty. just lick it. like a kitty.” you leaned in, tongue shy at first, just dragging along the tip, and he hissed, hand tightening in your hair. “fuck, yeah… just like that. lap it up for me.”
you licked your way down his shaft, soft little flicks of your tongue, and he was going crazy, eyes screwed shut for a second, trying to hold back. “jesus fuck, look at you. you’re actually licking me like a fucking kitten. do you even know how cute you look right now?”
you hummed against him, pulling back with a wet mouth and whispering, “maybe i just wanna play with you.”
he laughed again, smug but wrecked already, giving your cheek a few pats like he was rewarding you. “play all you want, sweetheart. just remember who owns you now. okay?” your eyes went wide at that, pupils blown, and you nodded, lips pressing back against the base of his cock, licking slow all the way up. he groaned, the sound broken. “fuck, that’s it. my pretty pet, my good little kitty. keep showing me how bad you need it. you’re making your owner so proud.”
jake never pictured himself like this, or saying those things, not with anyone. he’d had his fun before, sure, but the fact that he was seconds away from spilling down your throat from those innocent little eyes alone? yeah, that was new. he was way more down bad than he ever admitted.
so when your tongue started moving faster, when you got bolder, sloppier, sucking him off with that bratty determination like you wanted to prove something, he groaned, hand snapping down to your hair. a sharp tug, a wet pop leaving your lips as his cock slipped free. you looked up at him, eyes wide, bottom lip sticking out in a pout.
“aw, you want more, baby?” he teased, voice ragged, trying to keep control when he was already losing it. you nodded instantly, needy, and his smile widened. “you’re getting it, don’t worry. but for now…” he leaned back on the couch, cock heavy against his stomach, and patted his thigh. “come on, hop on.”
you did exactly that, crawling up into his lap like the little cat he kept calling you, hands pressing into the cushion as you moved, hips hovering just enough that your clothed core brushed his bare cock. the second you started to grind down, though, he didn’t let you have it, he flipped you fast, pressing you down so your cheek met the couch cushion, ass up high for him. “that’s better,” he muttered, sitting under you. the sight alone nearly ruined him, your ass arched perfectly, skirt riding up.
his fingers slid along your thighs before catching on the fabric, tugging at your skirt. “let’s take this off, mhm?” he peeled it down slow, tossing it aside, leaving you in just your panties. he let his palm rest over one cheek, rubbing soft, soothing circles, like he was calming his pet after riling her up too much. “look at you,” he murmured, voice softer now, almost in awe. “all laid out for me. such a good girl.” his hand smoothed over your ass again before giving it a light squeeze. “stay just like this, pet. don’t move unless i tell you to.”
you whined into the cushion, wiggling your hips like you were trying to bait him, and he laughed low, shaking his head. “bratty already? we talked about this, remember? ass up, face down. behave for me, or you’ll wait longer.” his tone was playful, not cruel, but it still made you still, biting down your whines. he leaned in, letting his cock brush lightly against your thigh, teasing. “good. that’s better. see? my sweet pet can listen. and when you listen, you get rewarded.”
his hand drifted down, slow, lazy, like he had all night to play with you. two fingers pressed against the thin fabric of your panties, dragging along the damp spot he already knew he’d find. the second he felt it, he chuckled, low and pleased, rubbing small circles just to hear you react. “aw, you’re soaked right through, baby. that’s so hot.” his tone was teasing.
you whined, pressing your face harder into the couch, your voice muffled but still clear. “only for you.”
that made his cock twitch, he leaned forward, chest almost brushing your back, lips close to your ear. “oh yeah? only for me?” he pressed his fingers harder against the fabric, not slipping inside, just making you squirm. “then tell me, pet. tell me what you want me to do.”
you let out a frustrated sound, trying to grind back against his hand, but he had you pinned with his thigh under your stomach, keeping you in place. “i want your fingers,” you whispered, needy.
“my fingers, huh?” he dragged them along your slit, slow enough to make it torture. “you want me to make you feel good with these?” he brought one up to your lips, letting you see the damp shine of your own arousal. you nodded quickly, pout forming again, and he laughed, patting your ass lightly like he was warning you. “needy little thing. so spoiled. but since you asked so nicely…”
his fingers dipped under the waistband of your panties at last, the fabric dragging down just enough for him to slip inside and find your folds. you moaned loudly and whiny, and he swore under his breath at how wet you were, coating his fingers instantly. “fuck,” he muttered, curling one finger inside you while his other hand smoothed over your hip, keeping you steady. “there we go. my good girl, taking me so easy. stay still for me, pet. let me play with you just like this.”
his fingers started moving faster, curling and dragging in a way that made your whole body jolt against his thigh. you yelped, louder this time, the sound bouncing in the quiet room. jake immediately leaned down, his breath brushing your ear. “quiet, pet. don’t want anyone hearing, do we?” you bit your lip, tried to hold it back, but the next time his fingers pushed deeper, a sharp whimper slipped out anyway. his voice dropped. “i said quiet.”
you tried again, muffling yourself against the couch cushion, but your body betrayed you, another sound ripping through your throat when his pace picked up. and then, suddenly, he pulled his hand away completely. the emptiness made you groan, frustrated, your hips wiggling back in protest. “ill have to punish you now, you know that right?” he said it calm, almost like he was explaining something obvious, but the way his hand smoothed over your ass right after made you shiver.
you tilted your head just enough to glance back at him, pouty and bratty. “maybe i wanted you to stop.”
he raised his brows, amused, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “oh yeah? is that what you’re telling yourself?”
you wiggled again, pushing your hips back against him like you were testing his patience. “maybe i like it better when you’re mad.”
he laughed under his breath, shaking his head, but there was heat in his eyes. “careful, pet. you’re about to get exactly what you’re asking for.”
and then his hand came down. not too hard, but enough to make your body jolt, the sound echoing sharp in the room. you gasped, and then laughed breathlessly, almost taunting. “that all you got, jakey?”
his jaw flexed, and his hand landed again, harder this time, the smack making your skin sting. “you really wanna test me right now?” he let out a low groan, dragging both hands over your ass before landing another quick series of spanks, steady and controlled. each one made your body jerk, and each time you made some sound that only pushed him further. “fuck,” he muttered, “you like this too much.”
his hand smoothed over the warmth he’d left behind, fingers soothing, but then he landed one more sharp smack that made you yelp louder than before. he immediately grabbed your hair, tugging your head back just enough so you couldn’t bury your face anymore. “i wanna hear you beg properly,” he said, his tone firm now, “say you’ll be good for me, and maybe i’ll give you back my fingers. if not…” he squeezed your ass hard, “we’re staying right here until you learn.”
the moment you opened your mouth, ready to fire back with something bratty or maybe even give in and beg, the bell rang. both of you froze, staring at each other wide-eyed.
jake blinked, still holding your hair, then muttered, “i think you were too loud?” but the way he said it wasn’t teasing, wasn’t even part of the game, it was just matter of fact, like he really thought your whines had carried down the hall.
you stared back at him, cheeks flushed, and scoffed. “no, i don’t think so.” and then the bell rang again, even longer this time, and you panicked, scrambling, yelling “i’m coming!” towards the door.
jake almost choked, because his brain short-circuited for a second and he thought, god, i wish she’d say that in a whole other context.
everything after that moved way too fast. one second you were half naked, bent over, bratting about his punishment, the next you were yanking your skirt back up and pulling your shirt down, your hair all messy and your lips swollen from kissing. you grabbed his pants and his wrist and dragged him towards your bedroom. he was stumbling after you, his dick still hard, bouncing against his stomach because he wasn’t even wearing pants anymore, which just made the whole thing ten times more ridiculous.
“stay there, quickly, i’ll be right back,” you hissed at him, shoving him into your room and throwing his pants at him while he caught them in the air.
jake stood there, half dazed, half turned on, thinking this was the most chaotic blue balls situation of his life. his cock was throbbing, his shirt was wrinkled, and he was hiding in a girl’s bedroom like a teenager.
he sat there on the edge of your bed, pantsless, staring at the door and he could hear everything clear as day. suddenly he could hear sunoo’s voice carried through the dorm, cheerful and way too loud for jake’s current situation. “y/n! i was calling you, you didn’t answer. i was waiting for you at the library. i got worried!”
you sounded way too casual for someone who’d just been spread out over the couch whining under jake’s fingers. “oh, sorry, i dozed off. i was so tired.”
there was a pause, then sunoo’s suspicious tone: “why are you red? and your hair looks… what happened?”
you snapped back instantly, “i was sleeping, i told you.”
jake, meanwhile, buried his face in his hands. jesus fucking christ. this was ridiculous. that was his cue, he quickly pulled his boxers back up, then wriggled into his jeans. because as much as his dick hated it, it was way too humiliating to sit there listening in with his bare ass on your sheets.
while he was buttoning up, his eyes wandered. your room was… very you. he noticed sanrio plushies stacked in the corner, a little snoopy mug on the desk with pens sticking out of it, and an actual pink and white gamer setup with a keyboard that lit up like cotton candy. he blinked at that one, he didn’t even know you gamed, but apparently you did, and you did it in the most annoyingly cute way possible. it was distracting, like the whole place was a scrapbook of your personality, and he was sitting there in the middle of it half hard, listening to your best friend interrogate you in the next room.
then he heard you again, your voice a little rushed. “let me just go to my room and fix myself up, i’ll be quick.”
sunoo didn’t sound convinced. “i’ll come with you—”
“no, wait in the living room. were you born glued to me or something?”
“what the—are you crazy?” sunoo shot back, baffled.
“sunoo, let me change alone,” you said, sharper now, but still playful enough to throw him off.
jake had to bite back a laugh, shaking his head. you were juggling this so smoothly, meanwhile he looked like an idiot sitting on your bed, surrounded by stuffed animals, pretending this was normal.
and then the door cracked open and you slipped back in, closing it quickly behind you, leaving sunoo muttering to himself outside. jake was sitting there, finally dressed, looking suspicious. you let out this little laugh, low, like you couldn’t believe how cute he looked sitting there stiff on your bed surrounded by your plushies. he stood up, kind of sheepish, and you just smiled at him like nothing was out of the ordinary, whispering, “im so sorry, i have to go,” with a pout that made you look more like a kid ditching class than someone who just had her ass smacked red ten minutes ago.
he thought you were adorable like that, so he shook his head and said, “it’s okay, i liked distracting you.”
then you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss on his lips. not hot, not horny, not dripping with tension, just a casual kiss. and that’s what fucked him up a bit, because he never did casual kisses like that with anyone.
“i’ll change, leave, and you can stay here, okay? i’ll leave the door open so you can head out whenever. you can even get comfy if you want to, i don’t mind,” you said like you were inviting him to borrow a hoodie or something. easygoing, no stress. he stood there thinking, wow, you really weren’t trying to make him feel embarrassed, even though you could’ve. you could’ve outed him to sunoo in two seconds flat, but you didn’t.
so you turned around, grabbed clothes, changed right there like it was nothing, and then you were gone, chatting back at sunoo.
and jake just sat there on your bed, hands on his knees, staring at the kuromi plush in the corner like it had answers. his dick was still half hard in his jeans, but his brain was louder than his body this time. he thought, holy shit, i just had the kinkiest, freakiest time of my life and somehow my dick never even got inside her once.
after that day, things between you and jake definitely got steamier. he was still jake, pretending he just “happened” to run into you on campus, but really he was timing shit out. he knew your class schedule better than his own. sometimes he’d wait outside one of your lectures and play it off like, “oh hey, didn’t know you had class here,” and then two minutes later he had you pressed against a wall making out. subtle wasn’t his thing anymore.
he started hanging around your friends more too. jungwon, who he already kind of knew, turned into his partner-in-crime somehow. jake was showing up to sit at your table like he belonged there. sunoo kept giving him these looks, like he was three seconds away from calling him out, and jake swore the guy had to know something even though you promised you hadn’t told him a word. it was just the way sunoo looked at him– suspicious as hell.
and the thing was, jake couldn’t really keep his hands off you. you’d be standing in line at the vending machine and he’d pull you aside to kiss you like he hadn’t seen you in a year. in between classes he’d tug you down some hallway and you’d laugh, telling him to chill, but you’d still kiss him back. the parking lot was another story. he kissed you once against your car, his hand already halfway down the back of your jeans, when someone walked by and you had to shove him off, both of you laughing.
the thing is, none of it ever went further than hot kisses and some wandering hands. it wasn’t full-on sex, not yet. and that was what was killing jake slowly. he was losing his mind because you’d give him just enough: enough roleplay, enough teasing, enough touching to keep him hooked, but never the whole thing. every time you whispered something bratty in his ear or let him grab your waist in the middle of campus, he wanted you more. and the more he got, the less satisfied he felt, because it only made him hungrier.
so he came up with this plan. he wanted to make it special, and he couldn’t quite figure out why he cared so much. the timing lined up with jungwon’s birthday, just a small gathering at his place with close friends. jake was invited, obviously, him and jungwon were basically glued at the hip now. so he offered to pick you up.
when you got into his car that night, jake didn’t even wait a beat. you barely closed the door before he leaned over, caught your chin, and kissed you. it wasn’t rushed though, he kissed you slow, deep, like he’d been starving all week. you kissed him back, let him taste you for a second, before pulling away with a laugh. “jake, we’re gonna be late,” you said.
he smirked and said “worth it.” then, just to make your stomach flip, he grabbed your other hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles before starting the engine. jake kept sneaking looks at you, thumb brushing your hand where it rested in his. when you arrived at jungwon’s, jake slipped his hand to your lower back as you both walked inside, guiding you.
the whole night, jake barely left your side. if you went to the kitchen, he was there leaning against the counter, sipping from his cup, making stupid commentary. if you sat down, he took the spot next to you, knee brushing yours. it wasn’t possessive, not even official, but he hovered like a guy on a date, even though neither of you had ever said that word out loud. and the thing was, you let him.
sometimes your friends would tease – sunoo gave you this knowing look across the room at one point – but you brushed it off. the real issue wasn’t what people thought. it was that every time jake leaned in close to whisper something dumb in your ear, every time his fingers brushed against yours under the table, you wanted him so bad it made you dizzy. and judging by the way he kept staring at your mouth all night, he was having the same problem.
when the party ended, he offered you a ride back to your place, and at the elevator going down in jungwon’s building, he already couldn’t hold it. the doors closed, the silence hit, and he cornered you right there, pressing you against the wall before you could even blink. his mouth was on yours, hot and messy, your little whine breaking between the kisses making his head spin. you tugged at his shirt, and he groaned into your mouth like he’d been waiting for this all damn night.
he pulled back just enough to breathe, lips still brushing yours, and whispered, “come to my place, please.” he didn’t even think before saying it. it just spilled out.
you didn’t even hesitate. you just nodded, whispered “okay,” and kissed him again like you couldn’t wait either.
the car ride was a whole other mess. his hand was glued to your thigh, fingers sliding higher and you weren’t doing anything to stop him. he kept smirking at you, leaning close enough to murmur shit like, “you’re so needy, aren’t you?” or “you’ve been teasing me for weeks, baby. you think i’m letting you off easy tonight?” and every time, you’d bite your lip and nod, your bratty side slipping but not disappearing entirely.
by the time he pulled into the driveway, you were both buzzing. he didn’t even bother with slow steps once you got inside. the moment the door shut, he pressed you against it hard, kissing you. one hand held your waist, the other grabbed your wrist and guided it straight to his bulge through his jeans. “see?” he panted against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours. “this is what you do to me.”
and you felt it hard and heavy under your palm, and the way you looked up at him, wide eyed and needy, just about made him lose his mind right there.
he didn’t even give you a second to think. he was now scooping you up, you gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he carried you down the hall like he’d done it a hundred times before. except he hadn’t, and he was going crazy about the fact that it was you in his arms. he kissed you the whole way, sloppy, greedy kisses that landed half on your lips and half on your jaw because he refused to stop even while moving.
by the time he made it to his room, he basically tossed you onto the bed. he climbed on after you, settling between your legs like he was claiming his spot. “open up for me,” he said, and you did, spreading your thighs wide, and the way he looked at you like that nearly made you combust. he grabbed your leg, lifted it, and started kissing up from your ankle, slow and deliberate, leaving wet trails on your skin until he was nipping at your inner thigh.
“i’ve been dying to have you like this,” he murmured against your skin, and then looked up at you, eyes dark, “you’re mine, aren’t you?” you were too far gone to answer, your head falling back, a whimper spilling out instead. that wasn’t enough for him. “answer me, pet,” he demanded, giving your thigh a squeeze.
you nodded desperately, voice breaking as you whispered, “i can’t take it anymore, jakey. i need you.”
he smirked, brushing his lips right where you were the most sensitive but not giving you what you wanted yet. “i got you something,” he said, and just like that, he pulled back.
you blinked up at him, confused and needy, while he turned to his nightstand. he pulled the drawer open and, without much hesitation, pulled out a pair of shiny handcuffs. “oooh,” you laughed, your cheeks heating, but there was excitement in your voice.
the thing was, jake had been planning this longer than he cared to admit. last week, he had walked into the little sex shop near campus and walked out with a small bag of things he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually use. he told himself it was “just in case,” even though deep down he was already picturing you.
the shop itself had been an experience. he walked in like he belonged there, but the second he saw all the shelves stacked with vibrators, butt plugs, leather collars, and some shit he didn’t even know the name of, he nearly turned around. he swore the old lady behind the counter was judging him, even though it was literally her job. jake had grabbed the handcuffs, lingered a little too long in front of the section with leashes and collars, and even picked up a blindfold before chickening out and putting it back.
he paid fast as hell, shoved the bag in his backpack, and prayed no one he knew would walk past the store. and now here he was, finally pulling the cuffs out.
he looked back at you on his bed, all spread out and waiting, and thought, holy shit, i actually bought this for her. i’m really about to do this. “do you want that?” he asked, voice low, holding the cuffs up so they caught the light.
your stomach flipped. you couldn’t stop the bratty little grin curling at your lips, couldn’t stop the way your thighs shifted like you already knew what was coming. “yes,” you whispered, your voice just breathless enough to make his smirk turn sharp.
“fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head like you were too much, “you’re so dirty, aren’t you?”
before you could even think of something smart to throw back at him, he was already climbing over you, grabbing your wrists and snapping the cuffs around them, locking them together above your head. the metal was cool, firm, and you shivered when you felt it click. he spread your thighs wider with a slow push, his hand on your knee like he owned every inch of you.
“stay still, or i’ll punish you,” he said, and it was low, commanding, no room for play in it. you whined, hips already twitching up toward him without your permission. “behave,” he warned, shooting you a look that made you clamp your lips shut, “already told you.”
he reached down, tugged your skirt off, tossing it aside so you were bare under his gaze. he kissed along your inner thigh, slow and messy, lips dragging up your skin, making you squirm even though you tried so hard to stay still like he told you to. when his mouth got close enough to your panties, he pressed his face against the heat of you, inhaling, and you heard him groan low in his throat. “my bunny smells so fucking good,” he muttered, almost like he was drunk on it already.
“your bunny?” you whispered, testing the word, voice shaky.
he smirked against you, looking up through his lashes. “yeah, mine. my pet. my bunny.” something in you melted, and you couldn’t stop yourself from nodding, tugging uselessly at the cuffs. “what does my pet want?” he teased, his voice dropping lower, his lips brushing the fabric of your panties as he spoke. “want me to eat you out, hm?”
you nodded desperately, the words tumbling out of you, “please—jake, please.”
he tilted his head, pretending to think about it, then tapped your thigh. “aw, you deserve it, don’t you? you’ve been so obedient.”
you whimpered, nodding, whispering, “yes, yes, i deserve it, please—”
and then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanked them down in one quick move, tossing them to the floor. “fuck, look at you,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss just above your heat, deliberately avoiding your clit while you squirmed beneath him. “drooling for me already. my perfect little bunny.” you tugged at the cuffs, frustrated, whining his name. he chuckled against your thigh, the sound vibrating through your skin. “patience, baby. i’ll give you what you want when i’m ready.”
and then, finally, he licked a slow stripe up your folds, and your whole body jolted. you moaned, loud and messy, your back arching as his tongue pressed deeper, as he lapped you up like he’d been starving for it. he groaned into you, “that’s it,” he mumbled against you, licking you again and again, “make those pretty noises for me. let everyone know who you belong to.”
his tongue was everywhere, sliding, circling, pressing against your clit just right before pulling away, dragging down to lick into you, greedy and messy. his hands were firm on your thighs, holding them open wide, keeping you spread for him like you had no choice but to take it. you were whimpering, tugging at the cuffs, your chest rising and falling fast. “please, jake—”
he groaned into your pussy, the sound vibrating against you, making your hips jerk. he pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, lips and chin wet. “say it properly, pet. you wanna cum? beg for it.”
your face burned, but the desperation in your voice gave you away. “please let me cum, i need it, i need you, please, please, i’ll be good—”
he laughed low, then pressed his tongue flat against your clit, making your head fall back. “you’re gonna cum when i say, okay, bunny?”
you nodded frantically, whining, “okay, okay, i’ll wait, i’ll wait—”
but your body betrayed you. the way he sucked on your clit, the way he lapped you up like he wanted to drink you dry, it was too much. your thighs shook, your whole body tensed, and then you broke apart, cumming hard into his mouth before he even gave the word. you cried out his name, the cuffs rattling above your head as you tried to ground yourself, and he didn’t stop. he kept licking, messier now, tongue fucking you while you were still trembling, overstimulated, every nerve raw. you tried to squirm away, but his grip was too strong, holding your thighs wide open, his mouth still working you like you were his.
when he finally pulled back, his lips shiny, his breathing heavy, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then crawled up over you. his hand caught your chin, firm and unyielding, forcing your face up to look at him. “did you just cum without my permission?” he asked, his voice dark, his eyes locked on yours.
you bit your lip, trying not to smile, bratty even with your chest heaving. “yeah, what you gonna do?”
his grip on your chin tightened just a little, his smirk sharp, dangerous. “you’re about to fucking find out, bitch.”
the word made your eyes widen, a flash of surprise mixed with the way your stomach twisted with heat. he saw it, of course he did, and it only made his grin curl wider. without saying anything else, he freed you from the cuffs, and then he reached over to his drawer again, sliding it open, and soon after you felt him turn you over, pressing you chest down into the mattress. his hand slid along the back of your neck as he fastened something firm around your throat. a collar.
“if you wanna act like my bitch,” he muttered close to your ear, tugging on it once to test the fit, “maybe i’ll just put a leash on you.” your body shivered at the sound of it, and you let out a whine muffled against the sheets. he gave you a second to breathe before pushing off the bed, standing tall. “get off the bed,” he ordered, his voice steady but sharp. “kneel on the floor. hands on your thighs. like i taught you.”
you moved quickly, scrambling off the mattress, and the second your knees hit the floor, you dropped into position, head slightly bowed, palms flat against your thighs. you felt the weight of the collar with every breath, heavy, real. jake sat back on the edge of the bed, legs spread just enough, elbows resting loosely on his knees. he looked down at you for a long moment, letting the silence sit, letting you squirm under his gaze. then his hand came out, patting the top of your head like he was rewarding a pet.
“you look so fucking pretty in a collar,” he said, his tone low, rough. “acting so obedient now. not so bratty anymore, huh?” your lips parted, but you stayed quiet, because you knew better now. he leaned back a little, watching you stay perfectly still on your knees in front of him. the collar sat snug on your neck, and he let his fingers trace over it like he was reminding you who put it there.
“good girl,” he said slowly, almost teasing. “but let’s see if you actually learned something.” his hand came down, tilting your chin up so you were forced to meet his eyes. “you want me to let you touch me?”
“yes, please,” you whispered immediately, your voice shaky but eager.
he smirked, clearly satisfied with that, but still not giving in. instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your face. “tell me what you are.”
your eyes flickered, nervous but turned on. “i’m your pet.”
his grin stretched wide. “and what does my pet want right now?”
your body squirmed as you shifted on your knees, thighs pressing together, heat pooling low. “i want to please you.”
“hm,” he hummed, tilting his head. “you want my cock in your mouth, don’t you?”
“mhm, yes, so bad.” you said whiny.
he raised a brow, clearly enjoying dragging it out. “why should i let you?”
you whined, the sound spilling out without you meaning to, and he chuckled low. “please, jake… i’ll be good, i promise.”
he leaned forward again, his lips brushing against your ear. “beg properly, pet.”
your hands clenched against your thighs, nails digging into your skin as you whispered quickly, desperate, “please let me suck your cock, i need it, i’ll be good, i’ll do it how you like, just please.”
he smirked like he’d been waiting for that exact moment, thumb dragging over your bottom lip again before pulling his hand away completely. “open my pants.” your hands shot forward instantly, fumbling just a little with the button and zipper, pulling them down slowly, careful, like you knew he was watching your every move. he shifted his hips up to help, letting you slide the fabric down enough, and when his cock sprang free, thick and already hard, he grabbed the back of your head, forcing you to look at it.
“there it is,” he muttered, his tone sharp. “the thing you’ve been begging for.” you licked your lips, eyes wide, but you stayed frozen until he gave the word. he smirked again, tugging your hair gently. “go on, pet. show me how good you can be.”
you started slow, almost too slow, your lips brushing against the tip first, tongue flicking against the slit while your hand wrapped around the base. jake groaned right away, his head tipping back as his fingers tightened in your hair. “fuck… you’re really gonna tease me now?” his voice was low, almost strained, but you didn’t speed up. you flattened your tongue along the underside and dragged it down, taking your time, making him twitch against your lips.
you slowly pushed him deeper into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, but still holding back, pulling off every few seconds just to lick around his head again. drool was already starting to wet your chin, and the sight made him groan even louder. “shit… look at you. on your knees, drooling for me.” he tugged harder on your hair, guiding you back down, and you let him.
he held you there, watching you take him slow, your throat stretching around him as you gagged softly, eyes watering a little. that sound made him grit his teeth. “fuck, you like this, don’t you?” he muttered, his voice harsh now. “mhm? you like choking on my cock like a good little bitch?”
you moaned around him, the vibrations sending a shiver through his body. he pulled you off suddenly, saliva dripping from your lips, and forced you to look at him. “answer me,” he demanded, his grip unrelenting.
you gasped, your voice weak but clear. “yes, yes! i like it.”
he smirked, his thumb smearing your spit over your lips. “damn… you like the whole thing, don’t you? degradation too?”
before you could answer, he pushed you back down, this time not letting you go at your own pace. he thrusted up into your mouth, using your head like a handle, fucking your throat without mercy. your gagging filled the room, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gasped for breath between strokes. “that’s it, baby,” he groaned, his hips snapping up harder, faster. “take it. take it all like the dumb little slut you are.”
you clawed at his thighs, not to push him away but to hold on, and he laughed breathlessly. “jesus christ, you’re sick for this. my obedient pet one second, my dirty slut the next. fuck, i’m never letting you go.” he shoved himself deeper, until your nose pressed against his skin, and held you there, watching your throat work around him. you gagged, choked, saliva spilling everywhere, but you didn’t fight it, you let him use you, collar tight against your neck, and it drove him fucking insane.
he drove himself until he lost it, groaning your name as he came, and the warm, filthy flood hit the back of your throat. you gagged around him, eyes wide, stomach tightening as his hips convulsed, and when he finally slowed and stilled you swallowed reflexively, shaking, tasting him on your tongue.
he watched you the whole time, chest heaving, and then he pulled out. you were breathing hard, cheeks flushed. he scooped you up with this sudden tenderness that almost felt comical after the roughness, picked you up like you were light as a feather and carried you back to the bed.
you lay there as he settled down beside you, and his hands were all soft now. he kissed your face like he was making up for everything, trailing from your mouth down to your collarbone, lingering, then along your arm to your hand where he actually sucked on your fingers for a beat, ridiculous and sweet and wildly out of sync with what he’d been doing minutes before.
“my baby did so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice full of something that wasn’t only lust. “you treated me so well.”
you were breathless and whining, voice small and needy. he smiled into your neck, tasting you again, and you felt both stupid and right to be lost in the softness after the dirty stuff. his praise kept coming, until, in a quick motion that made your heart jump, he shifted behind you so your back pressed into his chest. he folded you into him, one arm wrapping under your ribs, the other finding your legs and holding them open wide.
“i’m gonna reward you now, okay?” he said into your hair, voice steady. “i feel bad for being mean to my bunny.” there was a teasing edge but also actual warmth. you could feel him hard against the small of your back, steady.
he cupped your thighs, fingers warm, and brushed a palm over your slick where he’d made you come earlier, slow, deliberate. you squirmed, he kissed the back of your ear, then whispered, “do you want my fingers again? or do you want me inside you?”
you looked back over your shoulder, eyes bright, tiny smirk slipping through the haze. “i want you,” you breathed.
he hummed, pleased, and his hand slid between your legs, fingers parting you easily. he started with one finger, slow, pressing in and curling gently, testing, then adding a second as you moaned into his shirt. his thumb found your clit, rubbing in easy circles while his fingers worked inside you, a steady, confident rhythm that built you back up from the edges. “that’s it,” he praised, low and rough. “such a good girl. take it for me.”
you were trembling, the combination of his fingers and the proximity of his cock against your back making everything too much. you whined, hips rocking, chasing more, and he laughed softly, biting at your shoulder. “you make the dumbest little noises when i touch you. it’s almost embarrassing how much you need me.”
his thumb pressed harder, fingers curling deep, and your whole body shook, forehead falling against his shoulders. he kissed the back of your neck, lips dragging over the collar around your throat, his breath hot against your skin. then his voice dropped darker, meaner, right in your ear. “do you want my cock inside you, hm?” you whined and nodded, and his fingers slowed, teasing, holding you on edge. “ask me nicely, pet.”
you squirmed, chest heaving, and finally whispered, “please, jake, i want it. i want your cock, please–”
he groaned low, his grip tightening on your waist. “that’s my girl. begging so sweet.” he lifted you up just a little, enough to line himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance. he didn’t push in right away. instead, he held you there, rubbing himself through your folds, letting you feel how hard he was. “feel that? all yours if you behave.” you whined and tried to sink down, but his hands stopped you. he breathed against your ear again. “slow. i’m gonna make you take it slow.”
inch by inch, he guided you down onto him, your body stretching around him, every second dragging out. he held your hips steady, forcing you to feel every bit of him sliding in. your moans filled the room, shaky and raw, and he kissed the side of your neck, whispering, “good girl. you’re doing so good for me.”
he bottomed out finally, keeping you still, cock buried deep inside you while his arm locked you in place. his lips pressed to your collar, then your ear. “stay right here. don’t move. let me feel you.”
you could feel the way his chest rose sharp against your back, the way he was fighting to breathe steady. his forehead dropped to your shoulder, and for a moment he didn’t move at all, just holding you there, stuffed full, his heavy cock twitching inside you. “fuck,” he groaned, low and broken, like he’d been waiting forever for this. his hand dragged down your thigh, squeezing tight. “you don’t know how long i wanted this. how bad.” his hips shifted just a little, not even pulling out, just grinding deeper into you, chasing more of your heat.
when he finally started to move, it was slow, dragging himself out a few inches and sliding back in just as carefully. the stretch made both of you gasp. he kissed your shoulder, your neck, muttering, “fuck, you feel perfect. so tight.” his thighs shifted under you, his body adjusting. he pressed his feet into the mattress, grounding himself, and the new leverage let him sink back in harder. the bed creaked with the movement, his grip on your waist tightening.
his thrusts picked up, still controlled but deeper, faster, each one hitting with more force. the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, his breath rough in your ear. his rhythm built steady, more sure with every thrust, the need he’d been holding back finally breaking through as he fucked into you from below, hips snapping up against you.
“that’s it,” he growled against your ear, voice ragged. “take it. take my cock, pet. bounce on it.” his free hand slid down your front, fingers finding your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make you jolt. you whined, back arching into his chest, and he laughed low, mean but so turned on. “look at you– you love when i rub your clit while i fuck you stupid, don’t you?”
your answer came out broken, just a mess of yes and please, and he rewarded you by pressing harder, rubbing tight circles while still driving his cock into you rough and deep. “good girl,” he panted, his lips brushing the side of your neck, wet from his kisses. “you’re mine. my sweet bunny, taking me so well.”
he slowed just enough to shift you, his hands sliding down your sides as he pulled out of you. you were still shaking when he turned you around, moving you onto his lap so you were straddling him, knees on either side of his hips. his cock brushed against you, wet and hot, as he guided you down onto him again, inch by inch, until you were seated fully, face to face.
his eyes locked with yours, dark and heavy. “that’s better,” he murmured, breathless. “i want to see you while you ride me.” he grabbed your hips, steadying you, then started rolling them forward, showing you the rhythm he wanted. “move, puppy,” he said quietly, voice rough. “show me how you ride.”
you began to move, slow at first, your hands pressed to his chest. his palms slid up your sides, then cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they hardened under his touch. he squeezed, played, tugged gently, making you moan. “look at my pretty pet,” he said, fingers teasing your nipples while his hips pushed up into you. “bouncing on my cock so good. does it feel good, pup?”
you whined in answer, head tipping back, and he reached up and caught the collar at your throat, fingers curling in the strap to pull you back down until your faces were inches apart. “closer,” he ordered. “right here. eyes on me, baby.”
his grip on the collar held you steady as you rode him, your breasts moving in his hands. he pinched your nipples again, rolling them between his fingers while he thrust up into you, forcing another whimper from your throat. your nails dug into his shoulders as you tried to move on him, the stretch making your breath come out in shaky little sounds. your forehead dropped to his, eyes squeezed shut.
“jake–-” you whispered, voice breaking. “it’s too much. you’re too big…”
his smirk flickered, a small groan in his chest as he pulled a little on your collar to make you look at him. “aww,” he said, low. “but you can take it, can’t you? slow down, baby. don’t run from it. let it in.”
you nodded, trembling, and started to roll your hips slower, dragging yourself up and down his length inch by inch. the shift made it even deeper, and you gasped, biting your lip. jake leaned back, eyes fixed on you, and put both hands behind his head, elbows out, like he was watching a show. his cock twitched inside you as you tried to keep the rhythm, struggling a little at how full you felt.
he let out a quiet, cruel laugh. “can’t even take all of it without whining. you love it, though. you love how big i am.” you whimpered, hips moving slower, trying to adjust, and he tilted his head, smirk growing wider. “that’s right. ride it nice and slow. so tight around me. so small. look at you struggling on my cock like that, fuck, so hot—”
you slowed down on purpose, hips rolling even slower than before, your hands pressing against his chest like you were testing him. your eyes caught his as you bit your lip, that bratty look on your face making him groan. he tugged at the collar just enough to make you jolt. “don’t play with me, pup.” his voice was low, sharp. “you think i won’t punish you?”
you tilted your head and moved even slower, your nails dragging down his stomach. “maybe i want you to.” your voice was soft, teasing, a little whine under it.
his jaw flexed. “oh, you want to act up?” he sat up, one hand gripping your hip tight. “you’re just begging for it, aren’t you.” he pulled the collar again, making you lean closer to his face. “say it. say you want me to punish you.”
you let out a small sound and whispered, “i want it.”
he smirked. “good.” with a quick motion he flipped you off his lap and onto the bed, stomach down. his palm pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you down while he shifted behind you. “hands and knees. now.” you scrambled to obey, getting on all fours, the collar still around your neck, your hair falling into your face. his hand slid down your back and squeezed your ass. “stay like that. don’t move until i tell you.”
you were already whining softly, arching a little. “look at you,” he said, voice darker now. “do you want me to punish you for real?” you nodded, still on your hands and knees. “say it.”
“i want you to punish me.”
his palm landed on your ass in a sharp smack, not too hard but enough to make you gasp. “that’s what i thought.” his other hand slid between your thighs, fingers teasing just close enough to where you wanted him but not touching. “my little bunny likes acting up so she can get punished, huh?”
“yes—” you whispered, squirming under him.
“then stay still.” he pressed himself against you, his cock sliding along your folds but not pushing in yet, just rubbing enough to make you moan. “this is what happens when you’re bratty, pup. you get teased until you’re dripping. you want it now? want me to fuck you like this?”
“please,” you whined, pushing back a little.
he grabbed your hips hard. “ask properly.”
“please fuck me, please punish me,” you said, voice breaking.
he chuckled, low and rough. “good girl. now you’re talking.” he gave another slow thrust against you, still not entering, his fingers circling your clit. “tell me what you are.”
“i’m your pet,” you gasped.
“louder.”
“i’m your pet!”
he groaned at the sound, leaning down to speak right into your ear. “fuck yeah you are” his hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he lined himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against you but still waiting, making you squirm even more. his smirk was audible in his voice. “now i’m gonna show you what happens when you’re bratty, pet.”
he slid forward suddenly, both hands gripping your hips hard enough to make you gasp. before you could whine another word he pushed your face down into the mattress, palm on the back of your head, making you arch with your ass up and your cheek pressed to the sheets. “this is where you belong when you’re acting like a brat,” he growled. “face down, ass up.” his other hand came down on your ass again, sharper this time, making you let out a choked moan.
you tried to lift your head but his palm kept you there. “stay down. don’t look at me. pets don’t look at their owner unless they’re told to.”
“fuckk—” you whimpered, voice muffled by the sheets.
he slammed the rest of the way in with one rough thrust, making you cry out against the mattress. “that’s it. take it. you’re just a little bunny for me to fuck, aren’t you?”
“yes—”
he started moving, rough thrusts, his hips slamming into you while his fingers dug into your skin. “fuck, listen to you,” he snarled between breaths. “whining like a toy. you like when i use you like this? you like being my bitch?” he gave another sharp slap to your ass, then slid his hand up to grab your hair, yanking your head back just enough to hear you gasp. “say it.”
“i like being your bitch—”
he groaned and slammed into you harder, his cock hitting deep, his hand still tangled in your hair, and his thrusts picked up pace, rough and unrelenting, his free hand sliding between your legs to circle your clit while he fucked you from behind. “you’re gonna cum when i tell you. until then you’re just a hole for me to use, you understand?” you whimpered something incoherent and he smirked, fingers still working your clit. “what? can’t even talk now? my little pet’s gone all dumb on my cock?”
“yes—” you managed to gasp, hips trembling.
he chuckled darkly and slid his other over until his thumb pressed against your asshole. he didn’t push, just rubbed in slow circles while still thrusting into you. the sound you made was almost a squeak. your hips jerked and he felt it immediately. he pushed a little harder with his thumb, still circling, testing. “ohhh,” he said low, voice heavy with amusement, “you like that too, huh?”
you buried your face in the sheets and nodded. “fucking dirty little puppy,” he growled, pressing his thumb a little deeper, then pulling back to circle again. “getting wet while i play with your ass. you’re so fucking filthy. is that what you want? you want me to fuck your ass too?”
“yes, fuck, jake—” you said again, voice high and shaking.
he leaned down, lips brushing your ear, thumb pressing just a bit harder. “fuck, you’re unreal. begging for more when you’re already full.” you whimpered again, hips pushing back against him without thinking. “tell me how bad you want it,” he ordered, his cock sliding slow inside you while his thumb teased your ass. “tell me you’re my dirty bunny and you want me to take you wherever i want.”
you gasped, “i want you to take me—please—”
“not enough,” he said, thrusting a little harder, his thumb pressing a little deeper. “say exactly what you want.”
“please use me, please fuck me—”
he smirked against your ear. “use you where?”
“fuck my pussy—please—”
“and?” he pressed.
“play with my ass—please—”
his laugh was low and sharp. “you’re fucking unreal.” his thrusts got faster, the sound of your skin slapping together filling the room. his thumb slipped just inside your ass now, shallow, teasing, while his cock filled you completely.
“oh fuck—” you cried out, your voice cracking.
he pulled your head up by your hair, forcing you to arch your back. “look at you,” he muttered, “fucking begging to be filled from both sides. you’re my dirty little bunny, aren’t you?”
“yes,” you whined, “i’m your bunny, please—”
“what do you want now?”
“i want to cum,” you begged, voice shaking. “please, i need to—”
he slowed down, almost stopped, his thumb still moving at your ass. “you’re gonna cum when i say, pet. got it?”
“please,” you cried, hips trembling, “please let me—”
he leaned down to your ear, still holding your hair tight. “ask me right. say you want your owner to let you cum.”
you gasped, “please let me cum, please, please—”
his cock slammed into you again, hard enough to make you cry out. “again.”
“please let me cum,” you sobbed, “please let me cum—”
he finally lost it, his thumb pressing deeper, his cock pounding into you rough. “fuck, you’re so fucking perfect—cum. now. do it.”
you broke with a loud moan, your whole body shaking as you came around him, clenching so hard he had to grip your hips to hold you steady. he didn’t slow down, his thrusts got even rougher while you were still coming. his voice dropped low, almost a growl. “you like this, bunny? you want me to fill you too? want me to pump you full?”
you whimpered a weak “yes—” still trembling.
“say it right,” he said, still thrusting. “say you want me to breed you.”
“i want you to breed me,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “please fill me—”
he bit your shoulder lightly, his thumb still at your ass, his cock slamming into you harder and faster. “fuck—” he groaned, “keep saying it.”
“please breed me, please fill me up, i’m your puppy, please—”
he lost whatever control he had left. his hips snapped hard, one final thrust burying him deep inside you, his breath coming out as a rough moan. “fuck—” he hissed, his cock pulsing as he spilled into you, still grinding against you to push it deeper. he stayed there, pressed against your back, his hand still on your hair, his thumb still teasing your ass while he twitched inside you, panting against your ear. “good fucking girl,” he muttered, voice hoarse.
you were still shaking, whimpering quietly, your body soft under him. he kissed your shoulder once, still holding you there, still buried inside you. “you’re mine now,” he said, low. “so fuckingperfect.”
he stayed there for a while, and kissed the back of your neck, gently, slightly sliding off after a moment. he took off your collar while he still kissed your neck, and both of you went quiet, just breathing. it wasn’t heavy or awkward, it just felt like everything around had slowed down, just quiet in a way that felt right. jake moved first, reaching down to grab the sheet that had ended up at the foot of the bed at some point. he pulled it over you and ran his hand down your arm once, probably making sure you were okay without actually asking out loud yet.
you didn't say anything, just turned your head a little with your eyes half closed. he sat up and reached for his water bottle on the nightstand, the one he always kept there, and handed it to you without a word. you took a few sips and smiled at him, the kind of small tired smile that doesn't need explanation.
he was still catching his breath a little, looking at you like he was trying to process the last hour. it was one of those moments where he seemed caught between wanting to laugh at himself or just stare at the ceiling and think about his life choices. he let out a breath and said, "you good?" you nodded, and for a second neither of you moved or said anything. then he laughed, quiet and almost to himself. "i can't believe i get to do this with you."
you looked at him, a bit confused at first, then smiled. "what, the freaky stuff?"
"no," he said, shaking his head but still smiling. "i mean yeah, that too obviously. but i'm talking about all of it. i never thought i'd actually find someone who'd let me figure shit out without making it this whole weird thing, you know?"
you laughed and turned on your side to face him properly. "jake, we already did enough weird shit to last you the entire semester. i think you've figured plenty out."
"yeah i know," he said, laughing too. "but i'm being serious right now. you make it easy. i didn't know that was even possible with this stuff."
you grinned, half teasing him because that's just how you two worked. "you're getting all emotional on me now."
he grabbed a pillow and threw it at you playfully, and you caught it against your chest while laughing. "shut up," he said. "i'm trying to have a moment here."
"you're doing great," you said, your voice still light but a little softer.
he smiled for real then, the kind of smile that takes over his whole face even when he's trying to play it cool. he leaned over and kissed your forehead, staying there for a second with his hand resting on your side. "just tell me if anything ever gets too much, alright? like anything at all. i don't want to fuck this up."
you nodded, and there was a pause before you said, "you won't. i'd tell you if something was wrong."
that seemed to settle something in him. he laid back down, one arm behind his head and the other still draped over you. the room was quiet except for the sound of the sheets whenever either of you shifted around. you laughed out of nowhere, and he turned his head to look at you with his eyebrows drawn together like he was trying to figure out what was funny. "what?"
"nothing," you said, still smiling. "you just look like you're overthinking again."
he ran a hand through his hair and sighed, then looked back at you. "yeah, i was just thinking about something. i don't ever want to be too rough with you or whatever."
you blinked, a little surprised he was bringing that up now, then smiled. "jake, it's fine. i like it. you know i like it."
“yeah, i know,” he said quickly, his thumb brushing your arm while he talked. “but i don’t want you to think that’s all this is. that i just want that.”
you turned your head toward him, eyes narrowing slightly. “it’s not?”
he frowned, confused that you even had to ask. “no, of course not.”
you stared at him for a second, quiet, and it was the kind of silence where you both realized you might not have been on the same page about this whole thing. he kept tracing these light patterns on your shoulder with his fingers and said, "i mean yeah, i wanted to try stuff and experiment or whatever. but i don't want you thinking i'm just using you for it. that's not what's happening here." you looked down for a second, feeling a little embarrassed but also not really knowing what to say to that. he reached up and tilted your chin with his hand so you'd look at him again. "you know i could hook up with literally anyone else if it was just about trying shit out, right?"
you rolled your eyes and laughed. "okay yeah, i get it. you're very popular and desired."
he smiled but shook his head. "that's not what i'm trying to say."
you laughed again, softer this time and less defensive. "i know."
he watched your face for a moment and said quietly, "do you want to talk about it?"
"only if you want to talk about it," you said, your voice smaller but honest.
and then neither of you said anything for a full minute. it was funny in that awkward sort of normal way, like both of you knew this was one of those conversations that could get too serious too fast, and you were just tiptoeing around it. he started messing with the edge of the sheet and you started tracing random shapes on his arm with your finger, both of you obviously thinking about the exact same thing but pretending to be casual about it.
here's the thing though: jake had started catching feelings for you at some point, it just happened. it wasn't just about the sex anymore, and honestly it maybe never was from the start. he liked that you didn't treat him like he was this thing people whispered about at parties or like he was someone's weird project. you just looked at him like he was a regular person trying to figure himself out, not like he was some reputation that walked around campus. you made him feel like it was okay to be curious and mess up and not have everything figured out right away.
he looked at you again and said, "you okay?" and you nodded, smiling just a little, like you both understood that things were different now but neither of you wanted to ruin the moment by saying too much too soon. he leaned in and kissed your forehead again, even softer this time, and you laughed under your breath.
so you ended up staying there the whole next day. it wasn't really planned or discussed, you both just didn't mention leaving and it made sense to stay. he tossed you one of his shirts when you went to take a shower, this soft worn out one he always slept in, and he grinned like an idiot when you came out wearing it like it was the most normal thing in the world.
you ordered food later because neither of you felt like cooking anything, and he made this whole big production out of picking a place even though he always ended up choosing the same korean spot every time. he let you take the last dumpling and then spent ten minutes complaining about it just to keep the joke going. by the time it got dark outside, there was still some movie playing in the background that neither of you were really watching, and you'd ended up half asleep on his chest while he scrolled through his phone with one hand and rubbed these slow circles on your arm with the other.
it was all very normal and kind of domestic, which was weird because this was jake, the guy who never really stuck around with anyone for more than a night or two. but there he was, asking if you wanted water every twenty minutes and telling you to stop thanking him so much for every little thing.
heeseung and sunghoon had gone out that night, which honestly made everything easier. jake mentioned they'd probably get back late, and they did. you heard the front door open at some point but by then you were already half asleep in his bed with his arm around you, both of you pretending not to hear them trying and failing to whisper in the hallway.
the next morning though, that's when it got funny. you woke up first and stole one of jake's hoodies because the place was freezing, then went to make coffee in the kitchen. sunghoon walked in first with his hair going everywhere and his eyes barely open, and he just stood there for a second staring at you like his brain was buffering.
"morning," you said, trying to act completely normal while pouring coffee into a mug.
he blinked a few times, pointed at the hoodie you were wearing, and said, "is that jake's?"
before you could even answer, jake walked in behind him, yawning and scratching the back of his neck. "yeah, what about it?"
sunghoon just started laughing, but it was that disbelieving kind of laugh. "nothing man, just wow. didn't think i'd ever see this day actually happen."
later that day you headed back to your place, jake drove you back. he kissed you before you got out of his car, one of those slow ones that made you both smile after, and then when you got inside your dorm, he stood there in the parking lot like an idiot, watching you get in.
the thing was, after that morning, jake couldn't get you out of his head. and not just in the way he'd been thinking about you before, when it was mostly about wanting to try things or wondering what you'd be like. now it was different, now it was everything.
he'd be sitting in class, supposedly paying attention to some lecture about marketing strategies or whatever, and instead he'd be thinking about the way you'd smiled at him that morning when you handed him his coffee. or he'd be at the gym with sunghoon, mid set, and suddenly he'd remember the way you laughed when he made some dumb joke, and he'd lose count of his reps. he'd remember your moans, then he had to immediately shut that thought away because he didn't want to get hard in front of his gym bro.
"dude, you good?" sunghoon asked him one afternoon, watching jake stare at his phone for the third time in ten minutes.
"yeah, why?"
"you've been weird all week," sunghoon said, setting down his weights. "you keep smiling at your phone like a psycho."
jake shoved his phone in his pocket. "i'm not smiling."
"you literally were just smiling."
"shut up."
but sunghoon wasn't wrong. jake was down bad, and he knew it. the problem was he didn't know what to do about it. you two hadn't really talked about what you were doing, if this was just experimenting or if it was more than that. and jake, who usually never cared about labels or definitions, suddenly found himself wanting to know.
he thought about texting you constantly. not even anything important, just random shit like "what are you doing" or "did you eat today" but he didn't want to seem clingy. except he kind of was being clingy, because every time his phone buzzed he hoped it was you, and when it wasn't, he felt weirdly disappointed.
it got worse at night. he'd lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, and his brain would just replay everything. the way you looked in his hoodie, the way you fit perfectly under his arm, the way you'd kissed him goodbye. and yeah, of course he thought about the freaky sex too, but it wasn't just that anymore. he wanted to wake up next to you again, wanted to make you coffee, wanted to hear you laugh at his stupid jokes.
"i think i'm fucked," he said out loud to his empty room one night, and then laughed at himself because yeah, he definitely was.
by thursday, he'd seen you twice on campus. once you were walking with chaewon and you'd waved at him, that bright smile that made his chest feel tight, and he'd waved back trying to act normal. the second time you were sitting in the library and he'd sat down next to you without asking, and you'd just looked up, smiled, and went back to your laptop like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"you're distracting me," you'd said after a while, not looking up.
"i'm not doing anything."
"you're breathing loud."
he'd laughed, quiet so he wouldn't get shushed by the librarian. "sorry, i'll stop breathing."
you'd looked at him then, that little smirk on your face. "don't be dramatic." and he'd stayed there for an hour, pretending to study but really just sitting next to you, and when you finally packed up your stuff, he'd walked you to your next class even though his was in the opposite direction.
friday night, the guys wanted to go to some party, but jake wasn't really feeling it. he was lying on his bed, scrolling through unhinged instagram reels, when heeseung knocked on his door. "you coming or what?"
"nah, i'm tired."
heeseung raised an eyebrow. "you? tired of a party? since when?"
"since now."
"does this have anything to do with y/n?"
jake looked up at him. "what about her?"
heeseung grinned. "nothing. just seems like you've been in your head a lot lately." he paused, then added, "she's cool, by the way. i like her."
"yeah," jake said, looking back at his phone. "me too."
"then maybe stop being weird about it and just tell her that."
after heeseung left, jake stared at his phone for a solid five minutes before finally opening your messages.
[jake]: you doing anything tonight
you answered almost immediately.
[you]: was gonna watch a movie probably why
[jake]: can i come over
[you]: sure :))
so the thing is, jake wasn’t planning anything when he texted you. like, actually nothing. he just wanted to see you, sit around, maybe talk, maybe not. that was it. except, obviously, his brain didn’t get the memo. because the second you said “sure :)” he was already pacing around his room like an idiot, thinking about what shirt to wear, and then laughing at himself because why the hell did it matter what shirt he wore if this wasn’t a date.
he kept telling himself it wasn’t like that – that he wasn’t going over to hook up or whatever. so there he was, caught somewhere between i just wanna hang out and oh god what if i end up wrapping a collar on her neck again, and honestly, it was ridiculous.
the problem was, jake had never really done this before. not the whole “liking someone” thing, at least not in a way that made him feel this normal, it was messing him up. his chest hurt sometimes, but in a good way, and it annoyed him how much he liked it. he wasn’t used to missing people. usually, when things ended, they ended. easy. but with you, it was different. he was basically down bad and self aware enough to hate it.
he couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. gone to see someone just to be around them. it had been years, maybe never. he wanted to be near you, which felt ridiculous for someone who used to brag about never catching feelings.
somewhere between grabbing his keys and pulling on his hoodie, he had this thought that made him stop and laugh. maybe this was his actual kink. not any of the stuff he'd spent hours googling at three in the morning or reading about on reddit. his real kink was apparently just wanting to spend time with you. no expectations, no plan, just you existing in the same room as him. which was possibly the lamest thing he'd ever admitted to himself, but also kind of true.
and for jake, that was kind of terrifying. because yeah, he’d done a lot of freaky things, but this? catching feelings? this was new level freaky. he had no idea what the next step was. he didn’t know how to play it cool, didn’t know what it meant if he just wanted to hang out, didn’t even know if you felt the same. all he knew was that when you said sure :) he felt something warm in his chest that no amount of hookups ever gave him.
so he got in his car, sat there for a second with his hands on the steering wheel, and said, “this is so stupid,” before driving anyway. because no matter how dumb he felt, he knew he’d rather feel dumb next to you than cool anywhere else.
when jake showed up at your dorm, he didn’t really know what he was expecting. maybe he thought you’d tease him for getting there so fast, or that you’d joke about him being obsessed, which, honestly, wouldn’t have been wrong. but when you opened the door, hair a little messy, wearing some oversized hoodie and cute kuromi socks, he just smiled. it was automatic, the kind of smile that happened before he could even think about it.
you went back to the couch and sat down, pulling your legs under you, while he hovered for a second like he didn’t know where to sit. then he just dropped next to you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “so,” you said, turning toward him. “did you come here for a reason?”
he looked at you for a second before answering. “i just wanted to see you.”
you raised your eyebrows, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “that’s it?”
“yeah,” he said, and that was the truth. he shrugged a little, but his hand found your thigh without even thinking, resting there gently like it belonged. “that’s it.”
you didn’t say anything right away, but your smile softened. you leaned back into the couch, and he followed your movement like gravity. it wasn’t even about anything physical; he just couldn’t help it. his arm went around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer. it was clingy, yeah, but he wasn’t trying to hide it.
you picked up the remote, flipped through netflix for a while, and he watched you instead of the screen. it was stupid, but he couldn’t help paying attention to the small things, like the way you curled your toes under the blanket, how you made tiny comments about every movie title you didn’t like, how you’d glance at him now and then with that small knowing look like you could tell he wasn’t really watching. “you’re not paying attention,” you said, side eyeing him.
“i am,” he said, though he definitely wasn’t.
“what’s the movie about, then?”
he paused. “uh… friendship?”
you laughed, shaking your head. “it’s twilight, dumbass.”
he grinned, leaning in until his chin was resting against your head. “yeah, but maybe there’s still friendship in there somewhere.”
you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t push him away. he stayed there, arm heavy around you, tracing lazy lines with his fingers on your arm. it wasn’t like him to be this still, this soft, but he didn’t really care. after a while, you said quietly, “you’re weirdly touchy today.”
“you don’t like it?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you.
you thought about it, lips pressed together like you were pretending to consider it. “i didn’t say that.”
“so you do like it,” he said, smirking.
“maybe,” you said, eyes still on the screen. he chuckled and leaned in closer, his nose brushing the top of your head, smelling you. you didn’t move away, just sighed in that way that said you were pretending to be annoyed. his hand stayed resting on your leg, thumb brushing back and forth like a small habit. you glanced at him again and said, “you know you don’t have to act all sweet just to hang out, right?”
he smiled, soft but sure. “i’m not acting.”
you gave him that look, the one that was amused but skeptical, but you didn’t push it. instead, you leaned into him more, your head finding its way to his chest. he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. everything felt slower here, quieter. he liked it more than he’d admit out loud.
later, when you started talking about random things, the class you hated, how the dining hall food was getting worse, how sunoo accidentally set off the dorm alarm again, jake listened like every word mattered. he didn’t even try to hide the smile that kept showing up on his face. and if anyone asked him what that night was, he wouldn’t have known how to describe it. it wasn’t a date, it wasn’t anything official. it was just him and you, a blanket, twilight rants (jake laughed his ass off), and a weird sense that something about all this felt new.
after a while the movie was still on but neither of you were really watching anymore. you were warm under the blanket, leaning against him, and he felt your breathing slow down a little. his own eyes were heavy but he didn’t want to move, not when you felt that close. eventually though you stretched, yawned, and mumbled that your neck was starting to hurt from sitting like that. he nodded and followed you when you got up, both of you kind of quiet but in that easy, comfortable way.
your bed was small, definitely not made for two people, but you didn’t even have to ask him to join you. he slipped in right behind you, pulling you close without hesitation. it was a little awkward with all the shifting around, but once you were both settled under your blanket, it just felt natural.
he tucked his chin against your shoulder, one arm wrapped tight around your waist. you stayed like that for a while, just listening to each other breathe, the silence stretching out in a way that didn’t feel heavy. then he said, voice low like he wasn’t sure if he should break the quiet, “i wanted to see you tonight. that’s all.”
you turned your head slightly, trying to look at him. “i know,” you said softly. “i can tell.”
he let out a small laugh, kind of embarrassed. “good. because i didn’t… like, i wasn’t coming here expecting anything. i just wanted to hang out. i like being around you.”
you felt your chest warm at that, even if you tried not to show it too much. “you’re being really sweet right now.”
“yeah, don’t get used to it,” he teased, then got quiet again. his fingers started tracing light patterns on your stomach, like he couldn’t sit still. “can i be honest about something?”
“always,” you said.
he hesitated, then said, “you know how we’ve been messing around… i really like it, what we're exploring, i don't know.” he laughed at the way he said it, but kept going. “more than i thought i would.”
you blinked, but you didn’t pull away. “okay,” you said, keeping your tone even. “you can just say that. it’s not weird.”
“i know,” he said quickly. “i just don’t want it to sound like that’s the only reason i’m here, because it’s not. i figured it’s better to say this out loud instead of keeping it in my head.”
you nodded slowly. “that makes sense. so what about it do you like?”
he smiled a little, though you couldn’t see it. “the control. the way you look at me when i push you like that. it’s… i don’t know. i didn’t think i’d be into it this much, but i am. and i think i want to explore more of it, but only if you’re into it too.”
you thought about it for a second, then said, “i am. i like it too. and i like that you’re saying this, actually. it makes it easier for me to tell you what i like.”
he squeezed your waist gently. “yeah? tell me, then.”
you turned a little so you could face him better, your noses almost brushing in the dark. “i like when you call me names, but not just mean ones. like, the pet stuff feels… i don’t know, kind of comforting? even when you’re rough. it makes me feel close to you.”
his eyes softened. “that’s good. i want you to feel that way. i don’t want it to ever cross a line where it feels bad.”
“it doesn’t,” you said quickly. “and if it ever did, i’d tell you. but i like that you’re not afraid to be rough and that you pay attention when i push back. it feels balanced, you know?”
he nodded, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “that’s what i want. i don’t want it to just be me getting what i want. i want it to be both of us, figuring it out together.”
“that’s what this is,” you said. “we’re figuring it out.”
he smiled at that, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your temple. “you make it sound easy.”
“it is easy,” you said, settling back against him.
he wrapped you up tighter, holding you close enough that you could feel his heartbeat against your back. “okay, then here’s me being honest again,” he said after a pause. “i’ve never really done this before. not just the kink part, but… like, the after part. i’ve hooked up, i’ve tried stuff, but actually wanting to stay after, wanting to come over just to watch movies? that’s new. and -- it scares me a little.”
you reached back and laced your fingers with his. “i think that’s fine. it doesn’t have to be figured out all at once.”
he exhaled like that was what he needed to hear. “thanks. i… i really like this, i mean.”
you smiled into the dark. “i like this too, jakey.”
for a while neither of you said anything else. his hand stayed tangled with yours, his body warm against yours. you shifted a little, not because you were uncomfortable but because you wanted to see him. when you turned in his arms, he loosened his hold just enough to let you face him, your noses close in the dark. he blinked at you like he hadn’t expected you to move, and for a moment the only thing either of you did was look at each other.
you reached up and brushed your fingers along his jaw, soft and slow. he leaned into your touch without thinking, like it was natural. then you kissed him, and it wasn’t rushed or hungry, not the way you’d kissed before when things were heated and messy. this one was tentative at first, a press of lips that lingered, both of you testing the space.
he kissed you back just as carefully, almost shy in the way he moved his mouth against yours. his hand came up to the side of your face, his thumb rubbing small circles near your temple. it stayed like that for a while, slow and steady, until you tilted your head and opened to him a little more. the change was small but he noticed right away, kissing you deeper, still unhurried but with more intent.
he pulled back just a fraction, enough to whisper, “you feel so good,” before kissing you again.
the warmth built gradually. every time you moved your lips against his, every little sound you made, it drew him in further. he shifted closer until his chest pressed to yours, until there was no real space left between you. you hooked your hand into the collar of his hoodie, pulling him down when he tried to lift his head. when he finally rolled forward, easing his weight over you, it was careful. he braced one arm beside your head so he wouldn’t crush you, letting you feel the solid press of him without it being too much. your legs brushed his, your hands sliding up into his hair, and the kiss turned heavier but not rushed.
he pulled back again, just slightly, breathing against your lips. “you’re perfect,” he said quietly, and it didn’t sound like a line. it sounded like he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.
you kissed him again, harder this time, and he let out a low sound, moving with you, his body lowering a little more until his hips were pressed to yours. still, his pace stayed gentle. every movement was patient, every kiss followed by another, his mouth moving from your lips to your cheek, down to your jaw, then back up like he couldn’t get enough but didn’t want to rush.
“you’re so good to me,” he murmured against your skin, kissing the corner of your mouth again. “i don’t even know if you realize how much.”
your chest tightened at that, and you held him closer, wrapping your arms around him fully now. he pressed his forehead to yours, smiling a little. “i think i could get used to this,” you said, giggling.
“yeah?” he asked, voice low.
“yeah…” you said again, softer this time.
next thing you knew, it was the next morning. sunlight sneaking through your blinds, the both of you tangled up under your blanket, very obviously naked. the night before hadn’t been about roleplay or collars or anything wild. just you and him, a lot of kissing, a lot of laughing in between, and, well, some very unconventional sex. unconventional in the sense that it felt so unplanned and sweet, but also somehow clumsy in a way that made jake whisper “fuck, this might be the best sex i’ve ever had” against your shoulder while you both tried not to laugh.
you both had class that day, but when your alarms went off, you just looked at each other, groaned at the thought of moving, and made a joint decision to skip. you didn’t even say it out loud, jake just reached over, turned off your phone, and pulled you closer.
the day turned into this weird mix of domestic and ridiculous. you made instant noodles together in your dorm kitchen, him insisting he was the “chef” even though he literally almost forgot to put water in the pot. you ended up watching some more twilight movies on your laptop while lying in bed, and he kept pausing it every ten minutes to ask, “wait, so who’s this guy again?” even though you’d explained three times already.
somewhere in the middle of all this, jake got curious and started testing out “soft” versions of kinks he hadn’t gotten around to yet. nothing serious, more like experiments. at one point he asked if he could blindfold you, then immediately ruined it by laughing because he tied it too tight and you complained you couldn’t breathe. another time, he asked if you’d let him feed you chocolate with his hands while calling you “princess,” and you went along with it until you both started laughing so hard the chocolate melted everywhere. he even half joked about barking for you, even though he was actually being very serious.
the point was: it was fun. it wasn’t serious or heavy. just you two being idiots together, seeing what worked, what didn’t, and realizing that sometimes the kinkiest thing was just how easy it felt to try with each other.
when night rolled around, he finally had to leave, which turned into a whole production. you walked him to the door, and he kept stalling like he forgot something: first his phone, then his hoodie, then his keys, even though they were all in his hand. every time you leaned in to give him a goodbye kiss, he found an excuse to kiss you again, until it was basically ten minutes of nonstop kisses.
“okay, i really have to go now,” he said at least four times, and yet he was still standing there, thumb brushing your jaw.
“you’ve said that already,” you pointed out, laughing.
“yeah, but i mean it this time,” he said, leaning down to kiss you again. when he finally pulled back, his voice dropped a little softer. “i had a really good time, you know. like… today. all of it.”
you smiled, brushing his messy hair out of his face. “me too.”
jake kissed your forehead, then your lips one last time, and finally walked out the door. and of course, thirty seconds later, you got a text from him: miss you already.
so obviously you told sunoo about it. what was going on between you and jake. and of course he freaked out, because that’s sunoo. he gasped so loud you had to shush him before someone else heard, then he grabbed your pillow and started smacking you with it, yelling things like i knew it! i knew he liked you! until you had to bribe him with snacks to calm down.
and the thing was, you didn’t even know what you wanted to call it. you’d always kind of liked jake, but in that he’s hot but he’s also kind of an idiot and will probably break my heart kind of way. he’d always been the friend who didn’t take things seriously, the one you swore you’d never catch feelings for because, well, you didn’t want to get hurt. so you built this wall around yourself, kept reminding yourself this was casual, just fun. and you decided you weren’t going to put any labels on it unless jake said he wanted to.
meanwhile, across town, jake had just gotten back to his place. he kicked off his sneakers, flopped down on his bed, stared at the ceiling for a solid five minutes, then pulled out his phone. and, naturally, he opened reddit.
he's typing out a draft for r/Relationship_Advice. the title says friends with benefits situationship except i don't wanna be just friends and i wanna be her pet instead. he’s mid sentence writing about how you wear stupid kuromi socks that distract him way too much, when he decides to scroll the subreddit first.
and then he sees a post. a post that sounds… exactly like you.
r/RelationshipAdvice
u/KeroppiNumber1Lover | 2h
am i overthinking this or is my fwb secretly my boyfriend?
okay so i (24f) have been friends with this guy (23m) for a long time. we were just friends until maybe a month or two ago when he came to me asking for advice about kinks. he remembered i once did that bdsm test thing for fun and thought i’d know more than him, and he wanted to “try some stuff out” and i said fine, why not?? we trust each other, no big deal. so we started hooking up and trying some of those things together.
except now it doesn’t feel like we’re just testing things anymore, it’s different. he still jokes around a lot but when we hang out, it’s not always about sex. sometimes he comes over and we just sit there watching dumb movies. last time we spent hours making fun of twilight together and it was TOO fun. he also keeps doing these little things like he brought me coffee one morning just because???? and then played it off like it wasn’t anything and when i told him i was stressed he hugged me for so long i thought my back would crackkkk sirrrrr that is not fwb behavior omg
the problem is he is kind of known for hooking up with a lot of people in college?? not in a bad way just he never seemed serious with anyone. he’s always been the type i wouldn’t trust to water my plants because he’d probably forget after one day so i’m scared i’ll be stupid if i start to catch feelings for him. but i think i already am?? i do like him, i just don’t know if he feels the same or if this is just me overthinking it. should i say something, or keep my guard up until he says something first?
jake is lying there in bed with his phone basically falling onto his face. he blinks at the screen, rereads it once, then again. “nah… no way. it can’t be… can it??”
then he hits the part about the bdsm test. his brain short circuits. because he did ask that. he literally asked that. he scrolls faster, sees the twilight part, the coffee, the hug. every line feels like a receipt against him. it’s not even subtle. he groans into his pillow. “oh my god. this is literally about me.” then he makes the mistake of reading the comments.
comment 1: “girl if he used to be a fuckboy, protect your heart.”
jake, out loud, also typed: “I WASN’T EVEN THAT BAD. jesus. can y’all move on??”
comment 2: “sounds like you’re already dating, just without the title. either lock it down or walk away.”
jake: “ok see?? finally someone with a brain. pin this comment.”
comment 3: “guys like that just want comfort without commitment. don’t fall for it.”
jake, furious: “i literally brought her coffee at 8am and watched twilight for her. TWILIGHT. what more commitment do you want??”
comment 4: “if he’s treating you like a gf, he probably thinks of you as one already.”
→ jake: “YES. thank you random internet genius. i love you.”
comment 5: “say something before it drags on. if he’s serious, he’ll say yes. if not, at least you’ll know.”
he sighs. “okay. yeah. fine. i get it. i’ll say something. god.”
he ends up throwing his phone down on the bed and just staring at the ceiling, feeling like the universe is laughing at him. like, of all places, reddit?? that’s where he finds out you’re basically calling him your “maybe-boyfriend”?
but deep down, even while he’s cringing at strangers dissecting his love life, he can’t help smiling. because at least now he knows he’s not the only one catching feelings.
so after doomscrolling reddit for like an hour and basically convincing himself he was the main character in your post, jake sat there and thought, ok i can’t just do nothing. he wanted to make a move, but not the usual dumb moves he always made. he started running through everything he knew you liked. movies. you had a letterboxd longer than a textbook, always roasting his “basic” taste but still making him watch stuff with you. sanrio. you had those socks on, like, every time he came over. your little chococat keychain was hanging off your bag right now. the oversized hoodies you lived in. your pc setup that he still couldn’t get over because he never struck you as a gamer, but then he walked into your dorm that one time and saw a glowing pastel keyboard with little frog stickers on it.
he kept trying to figure out: how do i surprise her? he thought about showing up in a full hello kitty hoodie (terrible idea), maybe making you watch every twilight movie in one sitting (he’d die), or even buying you some dumb sanrio plush and pretending he didn’t spend hours looking for it. none of it felt right.
a few days later he was sitting on the floor while heeseung was baked out of his mind, button mashing fifa with sunghoon. jake was half talking to himself when he muttered, “i just… i don’t know how to ask her without making it weird.”
heeseung, not looking up from the screen, said, “why don’t you just ask her out like a normal person.” jake stared at him. “yeah, like, words. say them. ‘do you wanna go out.’ boom.”
sunghoon snorted. “crazy concept.”
jake groaned, but in the end he thought, maybe they’re right. maybe you’d actually take it well.
so the next day, he pulled the dumbest move possible. he memorized your class schedule. you were sitting in one of your electives, sunoo on one side of you, when jake just strolled in and sat down on the other side. no notebook, no laptop, not even pretending. he just leaned back in the chair like he belonged there.
you blinked at him, whispering, “what are you doing here? you don’t even take this class.”
sunoo leaned forward across you, eyes narrowed. “yeah, what are you doing here?”
jake ignored him completely and looked at you, his voice low. “are you free tonight?”
you laughed quietly, shaking your head. “yeah… why? wanna come over?” you asked, teasing him before he could answer.
but jake shook his head, smiling a little. “actually, i’ve been thinking about taking you out.”
sunoo raised his brows, looking back and forth between you two like he was watching a live drama unfold. you just bit back another laugh, a little caught off guard but also clearly not against it. “okay,” you said softly. “where?”
he hadn’t actually planned that far, but he quickly blurted, “there’s this restaurant off campus. i heard it’s good.” it wasn’t fancy, but it was nice enough that it felt like a real step up from eating cup noodles in your dorm.
you tilted your head, still smiling. “so… a date?”
jake nodded, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. “yeah. a date.”
you tilted your head a little, smiling. “yeah, that sounds nice.”
and in his brain, jake basically blacked out. oh my god she said yes we’re going on a date holy shit this is happening. he wanted to fist pump the air like an idiot but instead he just sat there nodding like it was no big deal. he mumbled something about texting you later, then immediately packed up and left the classroom before sunoo could say a word.
the second he stepped out, he pulled out his phone and typed “she said yes” into his notes app like he needed proof it actually happened. then he drove home and told himself to stay calm. he was not calm. he tore through his closet, tried on three different shirts, showered twice, searched “best first date outfits men” on pinterest. eventually he gave up and picked the cleanest shirt he had, some jeans, and sneakers that didn’t look like they’d been through war.
when he went to pick you up, you opened the door and jake’s brain short circuited again. you weren’t overdressed, you just looked nice. too nice for him, he thought. your hair, your perfume, the way you smiled at him, it all hit him at once. he immediately leaned in for a quick peck, lingering a little too long, his hand sliding down to your waist like he couldn’t help himself. “you look really good,” he blurted.
you smirked. “you too.”
the restaurant was this little italian place just off campus. dim lighting, small tables with candles, the kind of spot people actually go to for dates. he held the door for you, pulled your chair out, doing all the things he never thought he’d actually do. the conversation was easy. you both ordered pasta, and while waiting for the food you ended up talking about random stuff, laughing over the couple next to you who were obviously on a bad date, debating which twilight movie was the worst one.
“new moon,” you said confidently.
“nah, eclipse,” jake argued, shaking his head. “that one fight scene was garbage.”
“you laughed the entire time.”
“exactly. it was trash.”
the food came and you both dug in, joking about how unromantic it was to slurp spaghetti. at one point you teased him about how “un-jake” it was for him to plan something like this, and he shrugged with a small grin, admitting, “yeah well… i wanted to do it right.”
after dinner, he drove you back, and when he parked outside your dorm, the air in the car felt a little heavier, charged but not exactly awkward. he glanced at you, smiling. “you know, i had so much fun today.”
“me too,” you said, meeting his eyes.
jake leaned in and kissed you, slow and sweet, his hand finding your cheek. when he pulled back, he looked at you for a second, then smirked. “even though you’re calling me your maybe-boyfriend on reddit.”
you froze. “what— oh my god. you read that??”
he laughed, nodding. “yeah. it popped up. i knew it was you.”
you covered your face with your hands, groaning. “i’m gonna actually die.”
he gently pulled your hands down, kissing your palm, still grinning. “no, don’t worry, i liked it. i even went through the comments. i might’ve called a girl an idiot for saying you should protect yourself from fuckboys.”
“you argued with strangers about it?”
“yep. full on fighting in the replies. i was on your side, by the way.”
you shook your head, laughing. “you were on your side!”
he kissed your cheek, still laughing, softer this time. “maybe. but i like being your maybe-boyfriend.”
you kind of froze when he said it, like it took your brain a second to actually process. your face went a little hot and you looked down, suddenly shy. he noticed right away and leaned in a little closer, still holding your hand. “hey, don’t freak out. i like you. i’m not trying to rush anything, i swear.” you blinked, trying to figure out what to say, and he kept going before you could answer. “like, i know this was supposed to be a friends with benefits thing, right? but every time i’m with you i feel like… i don’t know. like i’m the one chasing you. and i keep calling you my pet in bed, but it kinda feels like i’m your dog instead.”
that made you laugh, like actually laugh out loud, and he smiled because you finally looked at him again. “you’re ridiculous,” you said, still laughing.
“yeah, but i’m serious. i don’t wanna be just friends.” he squeezed your hand and added, a little softer, “i want more than that.”
you let out a small sigh, still smiling but definitely nervous too. “i like being with you. i like you, jake. i just… didn’t know if you felt the same.”
“well, i do.”
your face lit up immediately. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
you smiled tenderly and that was all he needed. he leaned across the console, kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand cupping your cheek while you kissed him back. it was sweet and warm and a little desperate, the kind of kiss that made it pretty clear neither of you were just “friends” anymore.
so the whole week after that, jake was basically living in boyfriend mode without even saying he was, but oh boy, he was. like, he was picking you up from class just because he “happened to be around,” but then he’d have your favorite snack waiting in the car. you two started having this dumb little routine of going grocery shopping together, and he’d put random stuff in the cart just to see you roll your eyes and then sneak it back when you weren’t looking.
at night, he’d call you even if you’d already spent the whole day together. sometimes he’d just be lying in his bed, rambling about whatever, and then suddenly go quiet like he realized how much he liked hearing you breathe on the other end. he’d come over to yours a lot too, and half the time sunoo would be there making fun of him for being “clingy as hell.” jake didn’t even deny it anymore, he was too busy following you around your own place like a golden retriever.
but there was one night where he was acting especially wild. like, from the second he saw you, he couldn’t stop touching you. his hand on your back, his arm around your waist, kissing your shoulder while you were just trying to make popcorn. he looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were actually there with him, which, to be fair, was how he felt most of the time.
you noticed, of course. you kept laughing at how clingy he was being, but he just smirked like he didn’t even care if he was obvious. he leaned in close while you were sitting on the couch, his voice lower than usual. “you know,” he said, fingers brushing over your knee, “i kinda wanna try something different with you.” you tilted your head at him, curious, and he grinned, eyes way too mischievous. “don’t freak out, i’ll explain. but i promise you’re gonna like it.”
later that night, you were in his bedroom, and the whole house was quiet. jake was in one of his moods, where he couldn’t keep his mouth off you. he kissed along your neck, your shoulders, down your chest like he was trying to memorize every bit of you. his hands were slow but firm, holding you in place like you were something he wanted to worship. every time you made the slightest sound, he murmured praise into your skin, all soft but teasing. you looked at him, a little out of breath, and asked, “what is it you wanted to try?” your voice was curious, and that made him grin even wider, like he’d been waiting for you to ask.
he sat back on his knees, eyes glued to you, and said, “i got you something. a little toy.” the way he said it was too casual, like he wasn’t basically throwing gasoline on the fire. “thought it’d suit my puppy.”
the second he called you that, you slipped into it without even thinking. you tilted your head at him, playful, already slipping into that pet energy he loved so much. your hands curled against the sheets like paws, and you looked at him with wide, eager eyes. jake chuckled low, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “see? there she is. my good girl.” he leaned down and kissed you again, slower this time, almost smug at how naturally you fell into the role. “you’re gonna let me try it on you, right?”
the way you nodded instantly made him laugh against your mouth. “of course you will. my puppy always listens.” he kept praising you in between kisses, dragging his hands down your sides, his voice soft but dripping with control.
he reached over to his nightstand, opening the drawer like he was trying to be casual about it, but you could see the way his hands hesitated for a second. jake pulled something out, set it on the bed next to you, and for a moment he almost looked shy. it was a buttplug with a soft little tail attached, and he rubbed the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure if he’d just ruined the mood.
“i, uh… got this for you,” he admitted, glancing at your face quickly, testing your reaction. “it might be a little… freaky. i wasn’t sure if you’d even wanna try it.”
but you didn’t flinch. instead, you smiled at him in that way that always made him feel like his chest was on fire. “i want to try whatever you want to, jakey.”the second you said that, something in his head clicked, the nerves melted into pure want. his whole body reacted before his brain caught up.
he let out a low laugh, shaking his head, but you could see how much hotter he suddenly looked at you. “you’re… insane, you know that? i bring this out and instead of running you’re saying yes. fuck. my perfect puppy.”
he kissed you hard then, deeper than before, one hand cradling your jaw like you were something fragile even while his words were all possession. he left the tail sitting on the pillow beside you, within sight, like a promise for later. “you’re already so good for me,” he kept murmuring against your skin as he started peeling your clothes off piece by piece. every time a new inch of you was bare, he touched it, kissed it, praised it. “beautiful… all mine… such a good girl for me.”
his hands roamed like he couldn’t decide where to stay, gripping your hips, sliding up your ribs, tracing along your thighs. his voice stayed low but steady, every praise making you sink further into the role he loved. “you’re my puppy,” he whispered against your stomach as he kissed lower. “you listen, you let me take care of you, and you make me want you more than anything.”
he stayed there for a second, breathing against your skin. jake looked up at you, and there was that look again, the one he’d had when he showed up in your class, when he asked you out, when he kissed you in the car after dinner.
“you know,” he said, voice softer now but still a little teasing, “when i first started this… all i wanted was to mess around. try things. have fun. i didn’t think it’d turn into… this.” he gestured between the two of you, a small huff of laughter escaping. “you’ve got me completely gone.”
you reached out, brushing his hair back, laughing, “i like being yours. i wanna be yours”. and he exhaled like he’d been holding it in for weeks.
he kissed you then, slow, warm, but still a little desperate. when he stopped, he smiled so wide it almost broke his face, and whispered, “good. because i don’t wanna be just friends. i wanna be yours too.”
the toy stayed on the pillow, forgotten for now. just the two of you, finally admitting what everyone probably already knew.
!! ronnie's notes: i can’t believe i finally finished this fic 😭 i actually started writing it back in june and for some reason it took me forever to get it done lmaoo mostly bc i really wanted to take my time with it and make it feel right. i’ve been planning to post it for kinktober since literally junee, so the fact that i’m managing to post it before october ends feels kinda unreal 😭 this is actually my third kinktober fic this year, i also posted one for jake (which was technically for a sabrina carpenter album collab but it counts 😭) and one for soobin that i wrote like a million years ago. but this one was the fic i’d been planning for kinktober since the beginning, so she’s special to me!!! anyway, i really hope you guys like it. thank you for reading and for sticking around <3
Hii , I just finished reading all parts of Beyond Plus Ultra! and I can't wait for the nest chapter :) your writing is soooooooo good , like I finished all the chapters in one sitting , hope you upload the next part soon . thank you for writing such an amazing fic
hiii anon <3
tysm for the love, it makes my day whenever you guys tell me you binged beyond plus ultra hehe i’m so glad you enjoyed it and had fun reading my work!!
i’m backish… sorry for being mia my life has been crazy as per usual! but i’ll be back to finish beyond plus ultra bc i can’t leave you guys hanging (and i also have some ideas for new stories hehe) <3
Girl. I stayed up until 2 am to read your nerd Soobin AU. You have no idea how much I’ve been liking it! I studied law and play DND on Saturdays and who has always been referenced to by my friends as too weird for the normies and too normie for the nerds. I haven’t read fanfics that aren’t one shots in YEARS and this one undid me (thank you so much for feeding into my delusions, love ya)
HIIIII
so okay i am the worst at checking my inbox and i completely missed this one!! my heart is so full reading this, you don’t understand how happy you made me!!
i have a degree in international relations and i also played d&d with my friends LMAOOO, twins!
i’m so so so glad you enjoyed reading this tysm so much, hope you’re doing well <3
Kim Sunoo has always been one of the girls: soft-spoken, pretty, utterly devoted to the allure of men, men and more men. Women were never his thing, not really—especially not you. You, with your cigarette-drenched, red fucking lips, that wicked mouth always spitting nonsense. He loathed your strut, your cruel tongue, those perfect, infuriating tits that made his cock twitch no matter how hard he tried to look away. And he hated the thought that maybe — he’s starting to think that he swings both ways after all.
content tags/warnings: pansexual!sunoo x bisexual! reader, slowburn, one sided enemies to fubu to lovers, misandry comments, gentle angst, reader is a heavy smoker and have a lots of piercings and tattoos. jealousy, mentions of cheating (past rs). light emotional manipulation, toxic behaviors, second chances, queer coded relationship dynamics. sunoo is a nursing student and reader is a fashion design major. two years age gap, reader is shorter than sunoo. explicit content (smut): plot with porn. four different smut scenes. blowjob, some content might be dubious, pussy eating, fingering, protected and unprotected sex: public sex, rainbow (period) sex, multiple sex positions and places lmao, sunoo have a big dick, also dom! sn <3 WC: 45.4K (long ass ride)
note! this is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend anyone in the lgbt community or to fetishize any identities. the themes and characters are purely imaginative and should not be taken as a reflection of real people or experiences. and if you don't like it? don't read it. :)
KIM SUNOO has never truly identified as a man, not in the way society tries to define it.
He was born with what people like to label as "male," but the label never felt like it belonged to him. He's always been one of the girls. Not because he was trying to be anything other than himself, but because that's where he belonged, where he felt seen, understood, and safe. There's no pride in masculinity for him, no comfort in aligning with a category that has done nothing but let him down. Whatever was hanging between his legs didn't mean he owed anything to the idea of manhood, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start pretending it did.
And yet, for all his clarity, all his softness, all his truth—Sunoo, no matter how sharp his wit or clever his comebacks, keeps getting cheated on. It used to be just the straight boys he rolled his eyes at, but the betrayal has evolved. Gays aren't safe anymore either. There's no longer a clean line between "they'd never" and "they did." Gay, straight, bi, whatever — the problem is not orientation, it's the universal mediocrity of modern manhood. There's a plague of emotional negligence infecting them all. He trusted boys who called him beautiful, who knew how to flirt over text, who said "I'm not like the others" — and then turned out to be exactly like the others, but with worse excuses!
And still, the question haunts him: Why? Why does it keep happening? Why do they always cheat? What is it about commitment that scares them so much? He's been good. He's been better than good! He listens, he nurtures, he gives. He doesn't ask for much. Is that really too much? Because it feels like no matter how much effort he puts in, no matter how present he is, no matter how he softens himself to make space for someone else, it never ends with someone choosing him back. The worst part is how often he wonders if it's his fault—if maybe he's just not enough. Not hot enough, not loud enough, not strong enough, not whatever version of "desirable" men have invented that week. It eats at him.
"Good thing you broke up with him. He's not better for you, anyways." Sunoo rolled his eyes, brushing his hair back as he stared blankly at the colorful crochet pieces arranged neatly in front of him. They were at the National Art Celebration, wandering through the Art Museum's marketplace.
He didn't respond to his friend's comment. What was there to say?
His fingers hovered over a small adorable crochet strawberry keychain, the kind of thing he'd usually buy without hesitation but he didn't pick it up, because his mood didn't match the softness in front of him. It hadn't even been a full week since everything crashed. His ex had been sleeping with more than just one person behind his back. Sunoo had confronted him head-on, shaking with anger, and left. The next day, he was at a clinic, filling out forms with numb fingers, waiting for results that thankfully came back clean. Still, the damage wasn't something that a negative result could fix.
"I hope he chokes on his small dick and dies," Sunoo muttered under his breath, not even trying to sound playful about it. He turned from the crochet booth and walked a few steps over to the next one, where rows of stickers were arranged neatly across a dark velvet cloth.
His lips twitched slightly as he noticed a sticker of a cat holding a cigarette in its mouth. The drawing was a little messy nothing like the soft pastel style he usually liked. The rest of the stickers shared the same energy—guitars, ghost-like figures, strange shapes in heavy red and black tones. The entire table had a darker, rougher feel to it, but instead of pushing him away, it pulled him in. Something about the way the lines were drawn, the way the art didn't try to be friendly, and it felt honest, that honesty intrigued him. He picked up the cat sticker, turning it slightly under the light. "This is so cute. Are you the artist?" he asked, glancing up at the boy behind the table.
The boy shook his head with a small grin. "Thank you, but no. I'm just her cousin. She went to grab some food. I'm babysitting her table for now."
Sunoo nodded, eyes still scanning the stickers laid out in front of him. He wasn't even sure where he'd put them if he bought any—his laptop was already full, his tumbler too—but something about them felt worth having. Maybe he just wanted to support someone who clearly put effort into making something different. Without thinking too much, he picked out five more, dropped a bill in the little payment box, and gave a quick thank you before stepping back into the flow of the crowd.
"I'm gonna get the car. Just wait here. The parking lot's, like, so far and it's insanely hot," his friend said, already fanning her face with a brochure as she walked away. Sunoo just gave her a lazy nod and stayed in the shade, sipping his strawberry soda and lightly tapping the tip of his shows against the concrete to keep himself distracted.
It was Saturday, supposed to be relaxing day, but Sunoo's mind didn't know how to slow down. The breakup still clung to him, but even beyond that, the stress of his return demo for nursing school kept replaying in his head. It was getting close, and he still didn't feel ready. His eyebags were starting to sink into his face again, darkening with every late night he spent crying or spiraling in bed, wondering how things managed to fall apart this fast. He'd thought about going out again, just to dance, to pretend, to flirt with someone but he already knew it wouldn't help.
Just as he was about to take another sip from his drink, he froze. His nose twitched — Was that... cigarette smoke? Sunoo immediately grimaced, pressing his fingers over his nose and mouth. What the hell? Who the fuck smokes around here? The whole place was filled with kids and art booths, and there was a giant NO SMOKING sign that was printed in bold red letters, stuck on a wall not even ten steps away. His eyes scanned the shaded rest area until they landed on the source.
There you were—sitting alone on the bench with one leg drawn up, smoke curling lazily from your lips, completely unbothered.
"The fuck?" he muttered, eyes narrowing as another wave of smoke drifted toward him, already starting to irritate his throat. He wasn't trying to start anything, but the longer he stood there, the more it felt like the smoke was reaching out, wrapping around his skin, sneaking into his lungs, clinging to his clothes. He was already dealing with a bad day, and now this?!
You exhaled again, your gaze flicked toward him, catching the look he gave you but you didn't react. If anything, you just blinked, relaxed, fingers still holding the cigarette loosely between them.
Sunoo stood there, clearly expecting you to look guilty or maybe at least pretend to care, but when you didn't, he clicked his tongue in frustration and glanced at the sign again, like pointing it out. "Do you not see the sign?" he said, irritation in every word. "This is a public area, kids are here, and secondhand smoke—do you even know it's worse than smoking yourself? God, the sign is literally right there. It's huge."
You looked at him again, blinking like you didn't quite catch what he was saying. Your hand, holding the cigarette near your mouth, paused midair. Then, slowly, you turned your head to glance over your shoulder, as if making sure he was actually talking to you and not someone else behind the bench.
When your eyes met his again, they stayed on him a second longer. He stood there with a roughness that didn't match the soft features on his face. You let your gaze move over him without shame, noting the little details—the way his hair was clipped back by a cute pink clip, the pale tone of his skin that looked untouched by the sun, smooth, almost too perfect. His lips had a natural flush, a little swollen like he'd been biting them out of stress, and even with that annoyed look carved into his face, there was nothing harsh about him.
What a beautiful man, you thought, not even trying to hide it. You let the moment hang for a bit longer, then flicked the ash off the end of your cigarette with a small movement. Your voice was unbothered when you finally spoke. "You always pick fights with strangers, or am I just lucky today?"
He blinked, caught off guard by how casually you responded. "Start fights?" he repeated, eyes narrowing further. "You're the one breaking the rules. 'No smoking' doesn't mean smoke quietly. It means don't fucking smoke."
You took another drag without rush, then exhaled away from his direction, watching him. "Right. And you yelling about it in public—real mature. Definitely better than me just sitting here minding my own business."
Sunoo stepped forward slightly, jaw tightening. "You're not minding your business. That's the problem."
You shrugged, leaning back just a little on the bench, clearly not moved. "Then move somewhere else. No one's forcing you to breathe next to me. I don't fucking care."
You saw the way the color started creeping into the tips of his ears, how his hands curled into tight fists at his sides like he was holding himself back from saying something worse. He was clearly seething, barely keeping it together. You smiled to yourself then turned your head away to take another drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling softly from your lips.
"Bitch," you heard him muttered under his breath.
You turned your head back toward him, one brow lifting as you exhaled the smoke without rushing. "Excuse me?"
You started to shift, one foot planting on the ground like you were about to stand, but before anything else could happen, a small car pulled up right in front of you. Sunoo didn't waste a second. He walked straight toward it, yanked the passenger door open, and slipped inside as if the vehicle were his escape hatch. He slammed the door, and through the window, you could see the tension still sitting in his shoulders. But what caught your attention was how he didn't look away. Even as the engine came to life, even as the car rolled slowly forward, Sunoo kept his eyes locked on you. His glare was sharp and it's lingering.
You pressed your tongue into your cheek as you took another slow hit from the cigarette, still watching. When the car passed, you caught his reflection in the side mirror, and there he was—still glaring.
You flicked the smoke away from your face, the faintest smirk on your lips as the car disappeared down the road. Hah. He's such a pretty guy. You liked him already.
"Who's that guy?"
Sunoo didn't even try to hide his curiosity as he pointed across the room, eyes fixed on the one person who'd completely pulled his attention. The music was loud, bass thumping through the floor, and bodies moved around the house party in various stages of drunken celebration. It was supposed to be a simple gathering, just something to celebrate surviving midterms and their return demonstrations. He wasn't expecting anything wild tonight. Honestly, he'd shown up mostly out of pressure and to avoid looking like a killjoy. As someone in healthcare, he was all too aware of the risks, especially when it came to hookups. The rise of HIV cases was something that always lingered in the back of his mind, and the weight of what his ex put him through was still fresh. He wasn't exactly in the mood to relive that. But even so... looking didn't hurt, right?
"That's Park Sunghoon," someone answered beside him, casually sipping from their red cup. "Physical Therapy."
Sunoo's eyes narrowed slightly, studying the guy. He was leaning against the wall, laughing, drink in hand, head tilted just enough to show off a clean jawline and that effortless hair. "Does he have a girlfriend?" Sunoo asked, still watching. His friend shrugged. "I don't know? Maybe? You interested? Go talk to him!"
Sunoo rolled his eyes and sipped from his drink. "I don't even know if he's into men." His friend leaned in, grinning. "Ngeh, I don't know either, but he looks like he's giving off some BL energy. Just try!"
Sunoo didn't respond right away, but his gaze drifted back to Sunghoon, eyes half-lidded from the buzz. There was something about him, the kind of guy who knew he looked good but didn't make a show of it. And okay, maybe there was something about the way he stood that didn't exactly scream masculine authority. There was a softness to it, or maybe just an openness that made Sunoo curious.
He tapped his fingers against his cup, considering. He wasn't looking for anything serious but after everything he'd been through, a little fun wouldn't hurt. And if Park Sunghoon happened to be fun and hot? Well... why the hell not?
With one final sip, Sunoo set his cup down and gave his friend a sly look. "Fine. I'll try."
He took a breath, adjusted his shirt, and began walking through the crowd, weaving past groups of loud classmates and half-finished games of beer pong until he finally reached the corner where Park Sunghoon stood. The table beside them was lined with vodka, soda, and mixers. Sunoo casually took his place beside him, pretending to look through the drink options while stealing a glance at the boy he'd just been staring at across the room.
Sunghoon turned his head slightly, noticed him, and smiled. He raised his cup. "Cheers?" he offered.
Sunoo smiled back, trying not to let it show how fast his heart had just jumped. He reached for a drink off the table, tapping his cup gently against Sunghoon's. "Physical Therapy?" Sunoo asked, trying to keep his tone light, confident and a little sweet.
"Yeah. Nursing?" Sunghoon replied smoothly, and when Sunoo nodded, something about the way Sunghoon smiled deepened, more focused now. That voice—fuck. Sunoo could already feel the heat crawling up his neck. His body wasn't even trying to be subtle about how attracted he was. And God, those hands—Sunghoon reached for the bottle of rum to refill his cup, and Sunoo caught a flash of the veins along his forearm, the easy flex of his wrist, the way his fingers moved with control. For a second, Sunoo lost the ability to form a proper thought. Break my bones. Please. I beg.
They were already halfway through the conversation, and Sunoo could feel himself falling a little too deep for comfort. Sunghoon wasn't just attractive—he was engaging in a way that didn't feel forced. He spoke with confidence in his voice, and Sunoo found himself drawn in with every word. It surprised him how someone could make something as dry as tendons sound this interesting, especially when he usually avoided any talk of lectures once he stepped out of school. But with Sunghoon, it felt different. His voice was soothing, and the way he explained things had a rhythm that made Sunoo want to listen, even if he already knew the topic.
"And you know the tendons that connect from the—" Sunghoon started, his fingers gesturing as he spoke.
Sunoo nodded along, genuinely interested, eyes fixed on him, but then, right in the middle of the sentence, Sunghoon stopped. His posture shifted, back straightening, and his eyes flicked past Sunoo's shoulder like something—or someone—had just pulled his attention. Sunoo frowned, eyebrows drawing together, expecting him to finish the sentence, but instead, he watched as Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, his expression softening in recognition, lips curving upward.
Sunoo glanced behind him, confusion setting in. Then Sunghoon cleared his throat, gave him a polite smile, and said, "Uhh, sorry. If you'll excuse me. Nice meeting you, Sunoo," before lightly tapping his shoulder and walking off.
Sunoo's mouth fell open, completely caught off guard. He barely had time to react before his eyes followed Sunghoon's retreating figure—and then he saw exactly where he was heading. Fuck?!
You were leaning casually against the wall near the hallway entrance, drink in hand, watching the whole interaction. You didn't look surprised to see Sunghoon making his way over. In fact, you barely blinked. The moment he reached you, your body turned just slightly to make space for him. Sunghoon leaned in, said something only you could hear, and your quiet laugh in response said everything else Sunoo didn't want to believe.
Sunoo blinked, chest tight. He could almost feel something short-circuiting inside his brain, like a wire snapping clean. His thoughts were a blur, but one thing was clear—you. His pulse quickened as his body processed the shift, his amygdala practically lighting up with one conclusion: you are a threat.
A threat to his night, his mood, his already bruised ego. God, how was it even possible for someone he'd only met twice to piss him off this much? The universe really had the audacity to let you show up again, and not just exist, but actively ruin his chances at getting laid. Because let's be real—he wasn't looking for love, just something to distract him, and now even that had been snatched by the same cigarette-smoking bitch who couldn't be bothered to respect a no-smoking sign?!
His friend appeared beside him, holding a fresh cup and scanning the room. "Hey, where'd Sunghoon go? You two looked like you were hitting it off."
Sunoo didn't turn to look at her. He just brought the rim of his cup to his lips, finished what was left in a single gulp, and slammed it back on the table. "He went to hell," he muttered. "With someone who clearly lives there." His friend blinked, confused. "Wait—what?"
Sunoo turned to her, face tight with a forced smile. "Don't worry about it. Just remind me next time I say I'm open to meeting new people—slap me."
He exhaled sharply as his eyes drifted back to where the two of you had returned from the hallway. And when he really looked—when he took in your outfit, the way you were dressed like you didn't give a single shit what anyone thought—he almost laughed out loud.
A strawberry shirt? Jorts? Those shoes? That's what Sunghoon left him for? Sunoo scoffed under his breath, shaking his head slowly, barely believing it. He looked down at himself—his carefully styled hair, his clean lines, and then back at you. "Seriously," he muttered, eyes still locked on you. "That's the one?"
He couldn't decide if he was more offended for himself or embarrassed for Sunghoon. Whether you were just a friend, a fling, or something in between, one thing was clear to him now: Park Sunghoon had no taste. And if he did, it was broken.
Anyway, there were plenty of fish in the sea. Sunoo wasn't going to waste his energy sulking over one guy, especially not if you were somehow involved. If Sunghoon had any sort of connection to you then Sunoo would rather tap out early and save himself the trouble. He had enough baggage without adding someone who came with your name attached.
At least, that's what he told himself.
But then again, Sunoo had also said there were so many fish in the sea—yet somehow, it felt like every damn fish was just swimming in circles around you. It was getting ridiculous. He wasn't being dramatic, either. There was always something—some random detail, some little coincidence, and suddenly, boom. You. Right there again.
Date number one: a gym instructor. Hot, yes, a little edgy, had that calm, slow-talking voice Sunoo secretly liked. Things were going okay, until the guy pulled out his phone to show pictures of his niece's birthday party and proudly pointed to a group photo. Sunoo was nodding politely, until his eyes caught on one specific person in the background, holding the cake and grinning. He blinked. Zoomed in. Yup. You. Holding a cake with your horrible strawberry tank top. Niece, cousin, whatever—you were related. Add to that the guy reeked of cigarettes the whole time, and Sunoo was done before dessert.
Date number two: a Med Tech student. Good on paper, clean cut, same healthcare background, probably understood his schedule and stress levels. Sunoo was really trying with this one. But on their second date, as they were walking to a café near the guy's family's shop, Sunoo noticed someone standing out front during a break—leaning against the wall, cigarette between your lips, looking bored out of your mind. You. Again. You even smirk at him! Sunoo didn't even finish the coffee. He went home and ghosted the guy the next morning.
Okay, maybe he was being petty. Maybe, in a community as tight as theirs, having overlap wasn't that deep. But could anyone really blame him? Sunoo could admit it—he was petty, fine. He could own that. His feelings were valid. He was the one showing up, putting in effort, trying to start something new while somehow tripping over you every single time.
And if anyone dared to question why he was so quick to shut people down the moment your name and face got involved, well—he'd like to point them toward basic psychology. According to research, the brain forms first impressions within seconds. These impressions are shaped by appearance, voice, body language, even scent—and they trigger implicit biases, unconscious reactions that color how we feel about someone before they even say a word. And what had his brain learned to associate with you? Cigarettes, interruptions, stolen men, smug grins, and the color strawberry.
So, yes. Sunoo was triggered. And he was allowed to be.
"Damn, my neck is killing me from all these hospital duties. I'm seriously craving mint ice cream right now," Sunoo groaned, letting himself collapse face-first into the couch at Jungwon's dorm. He had no energy left and zero motivation to head back to his own apartment. Everything hurt—his back, his neck, even his brain.
"I'm begging for a break," Jungwon said from his desk, not looking up from his laptop. "God, give me a date."
Sunoo's voice came out muffled, his face still buried in the cushion. "I'm fine with God not giving me a date as long as I get a decent eight hours of sleep."
"What happened with all those dates you went on?" Jungwon finally asked, turning slightly in his chair. "None of them worked out?"
"I'd rather not talk about it," Sunoo muttered, one hand waving in the air like he could physically dismiss the topic. He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Forget it. I'm going to grab ice cream before I start crying about my life again. Want anything?"
Jungwon leaned back and grinned. "Can you buy me some lube?"
Sunoo rolled his eyes so hard. "Get your own, freak."
He stood up, grabbing his wallet off the coffee table and brushing off invisible lint from his pants. He didn't even know if he actually wanted ice cream anymore or if he just needed an excuse to be alone for a bit. Either way, he needed air. And distance. And ideally, a world where you didn't exist in every corner of his social life.
But of course, fate had other plans—because who else would be behind the counter of the convenience store at 10:42 PM but you, punching in his order with that same lazy grin plastered on your face as your eyes dropped directly to the bottle of lube and box of condoms on the counter.
Seriously. How many fucking jobs did you have? Sunoo stared at you, disbelief turning to horror, then to full-blown irritation. "Can you not grin like that?" he snapped, arms crossed. "What happened to discrete and nonjudgmental service? I need to speak to your manager."
You tilted your head slightly and blinked at him with exaggerated innocence, hand pausing over the touchscreen like you were truly offended. The expression only made his eye twitch harder. "That's discrimination," he added, glaring. "I should be allowed to buy whatever I want without being mentally harassed by your face."
Your lips twitched. You tried to play it cool, but the smirk slipped out before you could stop it. There it was again—that look of yours, amused and smug. So ugly!
Honestly, you hadn't expected to see him again so soon. It was the third time now, and at this point, his dramatic reactions were starting to feel like a reward. The moment he walked through the door and made eye contact with you, something in you shifted—your lips curled up instinctively, and the weight of the day suddenly didn't feel so heavy. "Huh?" you said innocently, your voice small as you tilted your head slightly, letting your bottom lip pout just enough to be annoying.
Sunoo looked like he was one breath away from combusting, especially when his eyes flicked to your mouth and you knew he caught the glint of the piercing on your lower lip, because his gaze lingered just a second too long before his face twisted in irritation.
"Huh?" he mocked, eyebrows raised and lips pushed out as he mimicked your expression, only to immediately roll his eyes so hard. Without another word, he reached across the counter and snatched the bag from your hands, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet. He slapped a $50 bill on the counter, pointedly avoiding your eyes.
"Keep the change and never show your face again," he snapped, already turning on his heel. "God, bye," he added with a dramatic flick of his head, tossing his hair back.
You barely held in the laugh bubbling up your throat. Cute! you thought, bracing your hands on the counter as your smile widened. "Enjoy your night, sir!" you called after him, loud and obnoxiously cheerful.
You caught the twitch of his shoulders as he froze for half a second at the door. Then, without turning fully around, he glanced at you over his shoulder, hand lifting to flash you a very clear middle finger before pushing the door open and disappearing.
You leaned back, shaking your head with a quiet chuckle. Yup. Definitely your favorite regular now.
With Sunoo buried in nonstop clinical duties, he was starting to believe that God had decided to personally test his patience. Every day was a cycle of waking up too early, surviving rounds with barely any caffeine, and crashing into bed with a brain too tired to think but still too anxious to sleep. If this was divine character development, he wanted a refund. But fine, he'd give credit where it was due. At least he wasn't in a relationship. He couldn't imagine juggling a partner on top of exams, hospital reports, and constant reminders of his nonexistent social life. That would've been a mental breakdown waiting to happen.
Sunoo still hated men or so he said. But hatred, as he often reminded himself bitterly, was a slippery slope. The more you hated, the more they crawled under your skin. And men, those confusing, beautiful disasters, were impossible to avoid. The way they smiled, the stupid flex of their arms when they weren't even trying, those veiny hands that somehow haunted his imagination late at night—ugh. It was criminal, really. He wasn't desperate, but he wasn't made of stone either. If he said he didn't miss at least a little action, he'd be lying.
So when Jake asked him to tag along to the university gym because he was meeting a friend there for a commission, Sunoo agreed—reluctantly at first. But the moment they stepped into the gym and his eyes landed on the group of basketball players practicing on the court, all thoughts of regret evaporated.
"I was waiting for my friend. Sorry to drag you into it. I have a commission with her, she told me to meet her here. Is that okay?" Jake asked, casually.
Sunoo could barely hear him over the internal scream in his head. Of course it's okay. It's so okay he might cry. His gaze was locked on one specific figure—Lee Heeseung, the captain of the university's basketball team, currently making shots. Sunoo's mouth may not have been literally on the floor, but it was dangerously close. His eyes followed every movement of how Heeseung's shirt clung to his back, how his arms flexed with every jump, how sweat dripped down his neck—
Jake nudged him. "You good?"
"Peachy," Sunoo replied, voice an octave too high as he cleared his throat. "Just... appreciating," his eyes scanned the gym, trailing slowly over the players until, inevitably, they landed on the captain, Lee Heeseung. Sunoo raised his hands vaguely, motioning toward the court as if trying to justify the way he was staring. "...physical education."
But of course, like in some movies he never signed up for, the metaphorical glass shattered the moment you appeared. Just walked right into his field of vision. The air shifted, his stomach dropped, and his brows furrowed. His expression twisted into something between disgust and disbelief as his arms dropped in surrender. What the hell were you doing here?! Oh God?! You and him are in the same university?!
And then, just as Sunoo thought the scene couldn't get worse, Jake stood up, grinning wide. "There you are!" he said before pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss on your cheek.
Sunoo's entire soul left his body. What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Jake was gay—openly and proudly gay—and Sunoo, as judgmental as he sometimes got, couldn't help but squint suspiciously. Are you seriously friends with his friends? Because if anyone was giving homophobic vibes, it was definitely you. Sunoo blinked hard. The math wasn't mathing. Did Jake not feel the same tension he did? Oh no. Jake needed help. Jake needed saving. God, someone had to sit him down and explain a few things before it was too late.
"Oh! Meet Sunoo! He's my best friend from nursing."
And there it was—the inevitable moment where Sunoo had no choice but to lock eyes with you. The second your gaze met his, you smiled so sweetly it made his entire body crawl. You even added a little wave, like this was the friendliest encounter on earth, and not the fourth time you'd popped up in his life. Sunoo felt the twitch in his eye before he could stop it, jaw clenching as he forced the most plastic smile onto his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled with pure performance. He stood up, cheeks already aching from pretending, leaned in for a polite cheek-to-cheek like he wasn't imagining pulling your hair back in pure rage, and was immediately hit with a mix of cigarette smoke and YSL Libre perfume. Ugh.
Jake, completely oblivious to the silent war unfolding, beamed as he gestured between the two of you. "She's a fashion design major! Does commissions too—drawings, paintings, cakes, you name it."
Sunoo nodded stiffly, barely reacting. Inside, he was sighing so loud he could practically hear himself. As Jake went on, clearly proud to know someone like you, Sunoo watched you nod and smile with just the right amount of humility, your tone gentle, polite, soft—like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. This is fake. You're fake. This whole performance is fake. God, Jake deserves better friends. He forced another smile, barely hanging onto his sanity. Because the way you were looking at him right now and you knew he was crumbling inside was enough to make his blood boil.
And worst of all, you looked delighted about it. Bitch. You're a bitch. Sunoo didn't even try to be polite about it in his head anymore. He had fully accepted the fact that you existed in his life for the sole purpose of testing his patience.
But of course, it didn't stop there. Since Jake thought you and Sunoo were getting along just fine, he began inviting you everywhere. Lunch, coffee breaks, study sessions—any time he had a free hour, he'd text both of you like this was some little trio. Fuck him!
And every time you showed up, Sunoo could feel that familiar twitch start behind his eye, the one that pulsed when he was one annoyance away from losing it. Your voice would float into the conversation like you had no idea you were driving him slowly insane.
But the worst part? The absolutely most humiliating part? He was starting to notice things. Little details that stuck with him even though he never asked for them. You smoked Marlboro Reds, but you always kept a strawberry-flavored vape in your bag. You wore outfits like you just rolled out of a punk indie concert, all black with layered chains and boots that could kill a man, but he'd bet money your favorite color was red—based on the red phone case, the red liner under your eyes, the strawberry pins you sometimes wore on your bag. You had a piercing on your tongue—he found that out when you bit into a donut one afternoon and casually stuck your tongue out in surprise because of the powdered sugar.
He didn't mean to remember all of this. He didn't even talk to you. Not directly, at least. Every time Jake tried to bridge conversation between you two, it felt like some weird form of punishment. Sunoo would answer, you'd smile knowingly, and Jake would keep chatting like this three-way exchange wasn't slowly draining Sunoo's soul.
"Jake has a fear of needles, so maybe stop trying to convince him to get a piercing or a tattoo," Sunoo said, not even glancing up from his drink.
He hadn't meant to speak, but with Jake in the restroom and the silence between you two stretching, the words slipped out. His tone was calm but the way his fingers tightened slightly around his cup betrayed the irritation simmering under his skin.
You turned your head, raising a brow slowly as if deciding whether to entertain this or not. "Hmm? I didn't know we were handing out unsolicited advice now," you said, tilting your glass to make the ice clink. "Is that your subtle way of joining the conversation, Ddeuno?"
His jaw flexed the moment the nickname left your lips. He finally looked at you, eyes sharp. "It's not joining if I'm already in it. Jake was talking to both of us. And it's Sunoo. Not that hard."
You smiled, amused by the twitch in his expression. "Sure, Sunoo. But don't you think Jake's capable of making his own choices?"
"He is," he said, voice a touch tighter as he leaned forward and crossed one leg over the other. "Which is exactly why I know he wouldn't have asked if you didn't plant the idea in his head."
You rested your elbow on the table and glanced at him with casual ease. "I didn't plant anything. He saw my piercing and asked. Maybe you're just not used to people being curious about something you can't control."
He scoffed, shaking his head as he stirred his drink, the metal spoon tapping against ceramic. "Right, because nothing screams freedom of choice like peer pressure with a side of aesthetic superiority."
"I never pressured him," you said, eyes locked on his. "But if he wanted to try something new, I wouldn't stop him. You, on the other hand, sound like you'd tackle him to the ground before he could book an appointment."
Okay, fuck this. Sunoo's patience was thinning by the second, and he could feel the irritation rising and rising and rising! He hadn't come here to argue, but the way you kept smiling, like you knew how to push every single one of his buttons, made it impossible to let it slide.
He wasn't trying to control Jake. He was just looking out for him because someone had to. Sunoo had this belief, stubborn as it was, that people who covered themselves in piercings and tattoos didn't exactly value their skin the way they should. It wasn't about being judgmental, it was about keeping things clean, presentable, safe. Sure, he wouldn't tell strangers how to live their lives, but when it came to the people around him? The people he cared about? He preferred them untouched.
He turned to you again, eyes hard. "There's nothing wrong with wanting the people I care about to take care of themselves properly."
You didn't flinch, just tilted your head slightly, like you were waiting for more. "Tattoos and piercings aren't unhygienic if done right," you replied. "But sure, let's pretend this is about safety and not just your obsession with control."
Sunoo laughed under his breath, the sound hollow. "Yeah? And let me guess—you're the expert now because you sat through a couple needle sessions and watched some tattoo TikToks?"
You leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, gaze unshaken. "No. But I'm someone who understands that self-expression doesn't need your permission."
The tension in the air crackled. And just when it felt like one more word would tip things over the edge, Jake returned to the table, smiling. "Miss anything?" he asked, completely unaware.
You leaned back smoothly, picking up your drink like nothing happened. "Not a thing."
That was it. He couldn't keep letting this slide. As much as he tried to convince himself he was just being overprotective, he knew deep down he was past the line of tolerating your presence. You were a bad influence on Jake—he was sure of it—and sooner or later, someone had to say it. That someone was going to be him.
Later that day, when you'd left first and it was just the two of them walking toward the station, Sunoo finally spoke. "Do you... ever feel a certain vibe from her?"
Jake blinked, looking over at him with an innocent confusion that made Sunoo want to scream. "Huh? Vibes? What kind of vibes?"
Bitch vibes, Sunoo almost blurted out. He had to stop himself from saying it out loud. He cleared his throat, trying to sound more composed. "Just... like, the way she talks. She always has something to say, and it's never just casual. It's like everything's meant to get a reaction."
Jake tilted his head slightly, clearly trying to follow. "You mean, like, she's too witty?"
Sunoo narrowed his eyes. "No, like... she's too comfortable? It's weird. And I don't trust it."
Jake just laughed, brushing it off too easily. "She's just chill. That's how she is with everyone. She's a good person, Sunoo. You just haven't gotten used to her yet."
Sunoo sighed, irritated. "That's the problem. I don't want to get used to her. And maybe you shouldn't either." He let the word slipped on his mouth.
Jake glanced at him, and for the first time, his smile faded a little. "She's my friend. You're my friend. Just... try not to be mean, okay?"
Maybe he had sounded a little too harsh, a little too pointed—but it wasn't like he was being mean for the sake of it. Sunoo knew what it looked like, but deep down, it wasn't about jealousy or drama. He was just trying to protect something that mattered to him before it got tangled up in whatever messy situation. He didn't trust easily, and the way you walked into their lives set off every internal alarm. But Jake... Jake wasn't the type to see danger. Not like Sunoo did.
"Sorry," he said quietly, reaching out to gently hold Jake's hand with a small smile. Jake just nodded and gave his hand a soft squeeze in return, the silence between them filled with a quiet understanding even if they didn't see eye to eye on everything.
Meanwhile, from your side of things, things were quite different.
The more time you spent around Kim Sunoo, the more curious you became. You weren't really interested in men. They were too predictable, too performative, too eager to please and too quick to disappoint. They were fun, sometimes, but they didn't hold your attention. But Sunoo was something else. You didn't even notice when it started. Maybe it was the way he carried himself. Maybe it was the way he bit back when provoked, or how he tried so hard to hide that he cared too much about the people around him.
You'd seen beautiful people before. You'd had flings, hookups, distractions. But Sunoo... he stuck. You were clearly interested. and there were moments that he annoyed you, sure. Challenged you. Threw shade but he made your brain work. He made your skin itch in that specific way only people you couldn't quite figure out ever did. And fine, maybe it was because he looked a little like a girl. Soft skin, pouty lips, those lashes that curled perfectly for no reason. You couldn't stop looking at him.
Well, too bad for you, he didn't seem the least bit pleased with your presence. And honestly? The feeling was mutual. He had that almost condescending way of speaking that made everything sound like a warning label. Foul controlling mouth, always ready with a "don't do this," or a "you shouldn't do that." He was a walking killjoy wrapped in pretty skin, constantly policing the air around him like joy was something to be monitored.
It didn't make sense. How could someone so tightly wound be friends with someone like Jake, who floated through life like a balloon one gust away from flying into the sun? What were they even talking about when you weren't around? Did Sunoo lecture Jake on posture and caffeine intake? Did Jake actually listen?
"Are you getting along with Sunoo well?" Jake asked.
You paused mid-hit with your vape, the familiar strawberry taste lingering on your tongue as you raised your leg up onto the bench, shoulders lifting in a shrug. You exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift upward as you looked off to the side. "Define 'well,'" you murmured.
Of course, Jake would ask. And of course, Sunoo had probably said something. It was expected. That boy had a hard time keeping anything off his chest, especially when it came to people he clearly couldn't stand. Jake sighed, slumping back against the bench like your answer had physically disappointed him. "Aww, come on. I really want you two to get along," he muttered, pouting.
You glanced at him, the corner of your mouth pulling into a faint smirk. "Jake, I don't not get along with him. We just don't operate on the same wavelength." You watched as Jake's shoulders dropped a little, disappointment settling in. There was a pause, not long, but long enough for you to notice the way he kept looking at you like he was hoping for a better answer. So you gave him one, even if it came reluctantly. "He's interesting, though."
That made Jake perk up, turning to face you more fully, hope flickering back into his expression. "You think so?"
And with that soft look on his face, that typical sunshine that you could never seem to say no to, you found yourself giving in. Fine. The next time you saw Sunoo, you wouldn't provoke him. You'd leave his nerves alone for once, maybe even make an effort not to smell like smoke. You already knew that Sunoo probably hated the smell of cigarettes. The way he wrinkled his nose when you were near, how he subtly shifted his body away like he didn't want to breathe the same air, said more than enough.
He was the type who liked rules. Cleanliness. Probably thought smoking was a character flaw rather than a habit. So controlling. But if it meant keeping peace with Jake, you could give it a shot. And you really want to get along with him, though. Not just a friend.
If men were animals, Sunoo would absolutely agree they were monkeys but honestly, even that felt unfair to monkeys. At least monkeys had a sense of community. They groomed each other, protected their own, had an instinct to care. Men? Men could barely carry a conversation without twisting it to revolve around themselves, like everything was orbiting their fragile egos. And what did it even say about him that he'd still actually tried to be patient with that last one? The man had poor communication skills, grammar that made Sunoo want to cry, a sense of humor so dry it could choke a cactus, and hygiene that was clearly not taught with enough urgency in his household. Sunoo had still shown up, been kind, understanding, even offered grace where he really shouldn't have.
And he got ghosted. After all that effort, after tolerating body spray that didn't cover the scent of unwashed laundry, and laugh emojis used in places where no jokes existed—Sunoo was the one who got left on read.
And as if the universe hadn't done enough damage, this morning, their Clinical Instructor decided to nitpick his grooming. Said his hair was too long and should be "cleaned up to maintain a professional image." Too long? It was barely brushing his ears!
Sunoo slammed his locker shut, lips pressed into a thin line as he yanked his lanyard off and stuffed it into his pocket. "I need a mango shake," he muttered under his breath, storming out of the building. "Or I need a drink. Or I need to get laid. Honestly, at this point, any of the three will do. Fuck this life."
And as if the day hadn't already tried to ruin him, it just kept going. Sunoo tripped over one of the uneven bricks in the university garden—in front of three freshmen and a couple from Dentistry—and his whole body hit the ground like it had something to prove. The worst part? He was wearing his white clinical uniform, freshly ironed this morning, and now it had mud on the knee, a grass stain on the sleeve, and his shoe was ruined. The sole peeled at the side like it was giving up on life, just like him.
He stood there for a moment, fists clenched, eyes locked on the sky like he was daring it to rain. His pride was already dented, his clothes dirty, his patience snapped and now, of course, not a single damn taxi in sight was stopping. He raised his arm again, waved it with enough energy to summon a ghost, but every car either sped past or pretended not to see him. People were staring. He could hear the soft chuckles, see the sideways glances. He was half a second from screaming into the void or kicking a bush, whichever came first.
And then came the low sound of motorbike. He turned his head, expecting just another person speeding past him like the rest of the universe, but the bike slowed down instead. The helmeted rider stopped in front of him, casually lifting the visor.
His eye twitched instantly. Of course it was you. Like the universe had specially selected you to appear right when he had the least energy to deal with anything, especially you. His grip on his bag strap tightened out of habit, maybe even to stop himself from doing something regrettable. The strap strained against his palm as he imagined how satisfying it would be to swing it straight at your little helmet.
You didn't speak but the amused curve of your lips said everything. Your eyes scanned his state—mud on his uniform, one shoe visibly damaged, face flushed with humiliation and frustration—and that damn smile only grew. "Rough day, pretty boy?"
Sunoo closed his eyes, shoulders rising with a deep inhale of your voice. He hadn't seen you in weeks, maybe months, and yet here you were, showing up when his life was at its absolute worst. He opened his eyes slowly, and instead of giving you the satisfaction of a scowl, he gave you a sweet, polite smile. "Fuck off."
You tilted your head slightly, helmet still on, visor up, as if you were genuinely trying to decide whether his attitude deserved a response. "Hmm," you murmured, nonchalant. "Need a ride, or are you into being publicly humiliated? Because you're doing a great job."
"I'd rather crawl," he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight, and instantly regretting it when his soaked shoe made a gross squish. Disgusting. This day was disgusting.
"Great," you replied, gripping the throttle. "Let me know how far that gets you. Good luck."
The engine growled once beneath you as you rolled the bike forward a little, just enough to make it clear you were ready to leave him standing there. And that should've been fine. He didn't need you. He didn't want your help.
Except he did. Because his legs were aching, his socks were wet, and none of the taxis had stopped for the last fifteen minutes, and to make things worse, he had class at two o'clock sharp. There was no way he could show up looking like this, not with the nursing department's obsession with cleanliness and grooming. One look at his uniform and they'd send him straight home. He didn't have the time or energy to risk that.
So, against every ounce of pride in his body, he swallowed hard and called out, "W-Wait."
The second it left his mouth, regret settled in. You didn't even bother to turn off the engine. You just tilted your head again, that damn helmet catching the light, your eyes already locking on his with that same irritating amusement you always wore around him.
Sunoo's eye twitched. His fingers curled tighter around the strap of his bag. Every part of him wanted to kick your stupid motorbike over and walk away barefoot, but his common sense—the part that knew wet shoes, strict instructors, and a late clinical check-in didn't mix—kept him rooted in place.
You raised your brows. "Changed your mind?"
"No," he snapped. "The universe is just clearly mocking me and you're the cherry on top."
You let out a short laugh. "That's not a no."
He clenched his jaw and looked away for a second, like maybe if he didn't see your face, he could pretend this wasn't happening. Then finally, after a long pause, he muttered, "I need a ride. That's it. Don't talk. Just drive."
You patted the back of the seat, without another word, the engine rumbled beneath you as you steadied the bike, shifting slightly to pull your helmet off and offer it to him. Sunoo blinked, hesitating. "You're not wearing one?"
You tilted your head, brushing your hair out of your face as you balanced the bike with one leg. "You're in a clinical uniform. If we get stopped, guess who they'll blame for not following safety rules? Just take it, Nurse."
He didn't reply, just snatched the helmet from your hand and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, I hate you, though it came out too tired to carry any real hatred. He shoved it on, adjusting the strap a little too aggressively before climbing on behind you.
"Jake said your place is near the Avenue, right?" you asked, eyes already ahead. "I'm going the long way. No checkpoints."
Sunoo gripped the back handle awkwardly at first before giving in and placing his hands lightly on your waist for balance, trying not to think too hard about the contact. "Whatever," he muttered. "Just drive."
The wind wrapped around both of you, warm against his face, tugging at his hair and slipping into the space between his collar and neck. He hated how natural it felt to sit there with you, hated how the scent of your perfume still clung to the inside of the helmet. He hates the smell of the strawberry yet he don't know why it was giving him comfort right now.
"Drop me off at that corner," he said, leaning closer to make sure you heard him, pointing toward the shaded part of the sidewalk ahead.
You didn't say anything—just pulled over smoothly and tapped the brakes until the bike came to a steady stop. The second it did, he got off like the seat had turned hot, quickly removing the helmet and smoothing down his messy hair. He held the helmet out toward you stiffly.
You took it, setting it on the handlebars, and exhaled a breath. "You know," you started, giving him a once-over, "for someone who acts so obsessed with respect and rules, you're really bad at saying thank you."
Sunoo let out a breath that was halfway between a scoff and a sigh. "I didn't ask for your help."
You shrugged, hands settling easily on the handles. "Yeah. But you still climbed on."
He looked at you for a moment, lips twitching like he wanted to say something else but couldn't find the energy. Instead, he turned his gaze away, cheeks flushed from heat.
"Fine," he said, barely above a mutter. "Thanks. For the ride."
Your smile widened, "anytime, pretty boy."
He rolled his eyes, turned around, and walked off before you could enjoy the look on his face any longer. But you were already watching his back as he stormed away, your fingers brushing against the helmet. Cute. So damn cute!
"What do you mean you're not going?" Sunoo asked, frowning as he walked alongside Jake through the hallway.
"I'm busy," Jake replied, reaching for his locker and spinning the lock. "Jungwon's coming anyway, right? Just vibe with him for now. You'll survive a night without me."
Sunoo let out a dramatic sigh and stomped his foot, clearly not in the mood to be reasonable. "But I want you there! It's not fun without you."
Jake pulled out a thick review binder and glanced at him over his shoulder. "I've got a summative test on Monday, remember? It's kind of important. We could just crash at my place after, maybe do a sleepover?"
"Ihhh," Sunoo whined, dragging out the sound. "I don't want to sleep, I want to drink."
Jake raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was headed. "Don't tell me this is about that guy from the other school ghosting you. Again."
Sunoo rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "It's not about that. I just... feel like drinking. That's all."
Jake stared at him for a moment, closing his locker slowly, trying to read beneath the surface. "Right. Totally not about him." He slung his bag over one shoulder and sighed. "Look, let me get through these notes first. If I finish early, I'll come join you. But until then, just go with Jungwon, okay?"
Sunoo pouted but didn't argue further. He hated going without Jake, but sulking alone wouldn't change the plan. He was going out tonight, one way or another and with Jake or not, he was going to forget every bit of bullshit the week had piled on him. Even if it meant dragging Jungwon into whatever he was about to step into.
He swore it was going to be just one drink—maybe two, while waiting for Jake but the moment they arrived, it turned out the party was practically a shrine to drinking games. The music was loud, the lights were low, and every corner had someone yelling "bottoms up!"
Jungwon, despite his initial confidence, was barely holding it together after three rounds of some game that involved slapping the table and chanting nonsense. He stood up abruptly, wobbling slightly as he pressed a hand to his stomach. "Oh my God, I feel like I'm going to vomit. Why am I such a loser?" he groaned, and without waiting for a response, excused himself, muttering something about needing air—or a toilet.
Sunoo, meanwhile, wasn't faring much better. His head was spinning, cheeks flushed, and his limbs felt like they were being operated by someone else. He didn't even realize when the giggles turned into sniffles, and the sniffles turned into full-blown tears. He ended up kneeling by the edge of the marble platform near the open balcony, smacking his fist weakly against the cool surface as the alcohol dragged his emotions right out of him.
"Ehhhhhh," he cried, voice cracking pitifully. "I want a boyfriennnnddd!"
Jay, who had been casually sipping beer on the couch nearby, looked up in alarm as Sunoo stumbled toward him with watery eyes. He stopped in front of him, wiping at his cheeks like it would hide the mess.
"Pleaseee," Sunoo sniffled, leaning close. "Find me a boyfriend. I want to be loved. I'm so soft. I'm so kind. Why am I suffering?! Ugh."
Jay blinked, glanced around the party like someone might swoop in and handle the situation for him, and when no one came, he slowly set his beer down. "...Do you want water?"
Sunoo gasped, "I want love, not hydration!" he wailed, continue to sob.
Before Jay could figure out what to do with that level of emotional spiral, someone approached from behind.
"Jay, the owner's already handing us the money—what the fuck?"
Sunoo blinked through his tears and looked up, vision blurry as your voice rang out. You stood just inside the balcony doorway. Red halter sando clinging to your shoulders, he noticed a tattoo. Ink, in a soft pinkish-red tone, winding delicately along your shoulder and upper arm. The design was detailed floral vines and swirls that traced across your collarbone and around your bicep. It was so beautifully done, it almost looked like it was growing from your skin, and that pissed him off even more. Your baggy jeans low on your hips, your hair twisted into a messy bun. A guitar strap slung diagonally over your body, cigarette hanging loose between your fingers. Your eyeshadow was smudged black and glittery, clashing violently with your red lipstick, but somehow you made it work—though Sunoo would never admit that out loud. Not even if he were dying.
There was no smirk this time, no teasing glint in your eyes. Just a quiet kind of concern as you stared down at him. And he hated it. Absolutely hated it!
So, naturally, he raised his middle finger at you with zero hesitation. Jay glanced between the two of you and awkwardly took a step back. "You know him? Can you, like... deal with that? I need to talk to someone real quick." And just like that, he vanished quickly into the crowd, getting the guitar off on your shoulder to avoid any responsibilities.
Sunoo only sobbed harder. You sighed, dragging your foot across the cigarette to put it out before crouching in front of him. "What the hell happened to you?" you asked, eyeing his flushed cheeks, watery eyes, and hands tugging uselessly at the front of his shirt. "Where's Jake? Did he leave you here like this?"
Sunoo sniffled, bottom lip trembling. "I want to get laaaaaiiiid," he wailed, grabbing your shoulder. "Why can't people stay? What's wrong with me?!"
You blinked slowly, barely reacting to him shaking your shoulder with every word. "Maybe... because you're controlling?"
Sunoo froze, then glared at you, eyes wide and offended. "Fuck you! You can't even give me basic emotional support? What kind of monster are you?"
You let out a breath and sat down fully in front of him. "You want emotional support? Fine. You're hot. You're smart. You've got flawless skin and cheekbones people would sell their soul for. Now stop crying like the world ended. You're embarrassing both of us."
Sunoo sniffled again, staring at you with eyes too round and glassy for his own good. "Do you mean it?"
"Yes, I mean it," you muttered, already unlocking your phone to text Jake. "Now let's get out of here before you sob all over someone else's balcony—"
"No!" he snapped, suddenly snatching your phone and stepping back.
Your eyes widened in disbelief, your fingers twitching in the air where your phone had just been. Sunoo stood tall now, swaying only slightly, the alcohol clearly still sitting heavy in his limbs, but his grip on your phone was surprisingly solid. "Sunoo—" you warned, reaching for it, only for him to lift it higher. Damn his height.
He looked down at you, still flushed, lips pulling into a mischievous little smile that was way too proud for someone who had been sobbing on the floor five minutes ago. "It's my turn to be annoying," he said, tilting his head. "Am I actually hot?"
"Sunoo—" you sighed through your teeth, rising onto the balls of your feet. "Yes, you're hot. Now give me my phone back."
He raised it even higher. "So I'm not ugly?"
"You're pretty, Sunoo. Very pretty," you said, swallowing a dry knot in your throat as you felt your face heat up. His body was too close again, and this was definitely not where you thought the night would go.
Before you could collect yourself, he slumped forward, head landing against your neck with the weight of all his sadness. "Then why the hell does everyone cheat on me?" he wailed, and the force of him nearly knocked you backward until your spine hit the metal railing.
You stood there, half-pinned under a very clingy Kim Sunoo, awkwardly patting his back as you tried to retrieve your phone. But his grip only tightened.
He pulled away slightly, just enough to look at you, eyes still red, but his lashes clumped and wet and his lips trembling. "L-let's drink?" he mumbled. "You're annoying. I still hate you a little but I'll forget it. J-just... just don't smoke, okay? I don't like it when people smoke, okayyy?"
"Sunoo," you exhaled slowly, adjusting your balance as he kept his weight partially slumped on you, "I'm not drinking. I only came here for a gig. And I'm driving my bike. I have work tomorrow—"
"Owww-kayyy?" he cut you off with a lopsided pout.
You stared at him, unblinking. "I'm going to call Jake now."
"Owww-kayyy?" he repeated, holding your phone.
You sighed and pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose. "Okay," you muttered.
That was all he needed. Sunoo let out a soft cheer, grabbing your hand with enthusiasm as he pulled you back into the party. You thought you were just going to drink with him, maybe a shot or two to shut him up, but Sunoo clearly had other plans.
His version of "let's drink" turned out to mean filling an entire cup with whatever was on the table and practically forcing it into your hands. You barely had time to brace yourself before he was tipping the rim toward your lips, eyes wide and sparkling.
You coughed through the first one, gagged through the second, and by the time the third hit your throat, you were wincing with every swallow. It burned all the way down and you already knew you wouldn't survive the night. For someone who smokes like it's your job, your alcohol tolerance was embarrassingly low and hangovers always hit like a truck. But then again, Sunoo was too pretty to say no to when he smiled like that, even with that annoying bratty glint in his eye.
"Party, partehhh! Yeahh!" he shouted, twirling you into the crowd like you were suddenly best friends.
Somehow, you ended up in the middle of the dance floor. Lights spinning, bass vibrating through your chest, and before you could stop yourself, your body had already leaned back against him. His hands found your waist automatically, and you didn't know if it was the alcohol or something else entirely, but your hips were moving, grinding gently against him in time with the beat.
You tilted your head slightly, cheek brushing his jaw as you muttered, "Maybe... men aren't for you, Sunoo."
He blinked down at you, clearly dazed, but still gripping your waist. "What?" he said, almost laughing.
"Swing for girls this time," you slurred with a half-smile, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek, your eyes struggling to focus. "Girls won't cheat on you."
He snorted. "Women were never my thing, bitch."
Your smile faltered just a little, and you pouted up at him, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone. "In a relationship... or in sex?" You tilted your head and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Because girls? They'll treat you right. They'll adore you. They'll give you the kind of head that makes you forget your own name."
Sunoo's breath caught for a second, but he didn't move away. "I know that," he muttered. "I'm one of the girls."
You hummed, dragging your gaze along his features, watching the way he blinked slower now, how his lips parted slightly as your words pressed deeper. "Mmm. But have you ever been treated like that by a girl?" you asked again, your hips shifted, rolling back just enough to press against the heat of him.
Sunoo bit his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark. He wanted to shove you away, curse you out, remind you just how much you irritated him—but something burned hotter in his veins than the alcohol and it was how intoxicating you looked.
He shouldn't be doing this. You were the last person on earth he should be doing this with, but then again, nothing about tonight was going according to plan. And before he could stop himself, his hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you closer as his lips crashed into yours.
The next thing he knew, the two of you were stumbling into the restroom at the end of the hallway, the door slamming behind you. His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling tight as your back hit the sink. He hated the taste of your cigarette on your tongue, but he kissed you harder anyway. Your hands were already under his shirt, nails scraping lightly down his spine, pulling a sharp breath from his throat.
You feel his tongue exploring your mouth, moving slow, tasting you with a hunger that makes your body respond without thinking. A moan slips from your lips as heat builds between your thighs, your panties dampening at the way he kisses you.
When you finally break the kiss, your lips trail down to his neck, licking and sucking lightly until you reach his collarbone. He presses closer, breathing heavily into your hair, hips grinding into you with shaky rhythm. Both of you moan at the friction, your bodies feeding off each other's heat.
Your hand finds his waistband, fingers tracing the bulge that's been growing harder against you. The shocking huge shape beneath makes you sigh, anticipation curling low in your belly. "Fuckkk," you moan, dropping to your knees without hesitation.
Sunoo's body fell back against the sink, one hand gripping the edge, the other running through his hair like he didn't know what to do with himself. His hands were trembling as he tried to undo his belt, and he almost laughed at how clumsy he felt. But the moment was too charged, his head was light, his blood too loud. The part of him that used to think only about what it felt like to be touched was now spinning with curiosity. This—this was different. He never imagined being on the receiving end like this would feel so... unreal.
He glanced down, and the sight of you kneeling for him, eyes locked on his, lips slightly parted and ready—his mind just blanked. The way your tongue pierced glinted under the light, the tip teasing out like you were offering it, patient and inviting, made his stomach tighten painfully. "Shit," he whispered, voice cracking slightly, pulling his pants and briefs down. You stared up at his cock, your lashes fluttering at the sight. Your mouth watered at the sheer size of him, and without hesitation, you leaned closer, resting your hands on your knees like you were waiting for a command.
He couldn't believe this was what guys saw. No wonder they were obsessed with it. The view of you like that, lips ready, eyes dark with need, tongue out with that cold little metal ball waiting to touch his skin, it was pure insanity. No fantasy ever looked like this. "Fuck," he groaned again, gripping the back of your head gently as he pushed his tip toward your tongue. The second the metal touched him, he hissed, his thighs twitching from the shock of cold piercing against the heat of his cock.
And as you looked up, never breaking eye contact while slowly letting him in—he knew. He knew exactly what he'd been missing.
Sunoo had always been the one with his knees pressed down, the one getting grabbed and pulled and used, and he loved every second of it. But this was different. The way your mouth wrapped around him, how you looked so eager, how your tongue pressed and moved with purpose—his stomach was already tightening with every wet glide and suck.
"Ahh, fuck, fuck..." he whined out, head falling back as his fingers tangled in your hair, pushing you down farther. He heard the sound of your throat struggling to keep him in, your soft choking only making his hips twitch with more urgency. It was too wet, too warm, too fucking perfect.
You stayed steady, letting your throat open the best you could as you followed the rhythm of his grip. Your tongue dragged along the underside of his length, right at the base where you knew it would hit different. His moan echoed across the small room, shameless and wrecked, not caring who could hear him anymore. All he cared about was the heat wrapping around his cock and how your mouth didn't stop. You glanced up again, needing to see him, and the view made you moan around him. His skin was flushed, red climbing up to his neck, his lashes low and trembling, mouth open as he gasped through each thrust. He looked completely undone—eyes barely staying open, hands gripping you like he needed you to stay exactly there.
Your throat tightened as he gave you no space to breathe, and still, you didn't pull away. Your hands stayed planted on your knees, nails pressing into the denim as tears blurred your eyes, your breath hitching through your nose. But the way your pussy clenched from it—the helpless feeling, the rawness of it—made it all the more addictive.
Especially when both his hands now gripped your head tighter and pushed until your nose pressed flush against his navel. "I-I'm close... oh fuck, I'm close, I—I'm—" Sunoo cried out, his voice cracking with how intense it felt. His hips were moving faster now. The sound of your mouth choking around him only pushed him over the edge harder. He didn't think it could feel this good, he didn't even know he could feel this way at all.
And you didn't either. You didn't know why it felt so right, so filthy, so addicting. You'd never had anyone this desperate for you before. And Sunoo had never had anyone take him like this.
His moan was loud, body trembling as his legs struggled to keep him upright. His hips kept moving on instinct, grinding into your mouth until he finally came, thick and hot down your throat. You felt it hit the back of your tongue, swallowing quickly as he groaned above you, the pleasure written all over his flushed face.
"God, fuck... it feels so good," he breathed out, chest heaving while his hands held you there, not even realizing how hard you were trying to breathe through it. Your eyes fluttered shut as you swallowed the last of him, head light and lungs burning.
You tapped his thigh with a shaky hand, and after a moment, he loosened his grip, letting you fall back slightly. You coughed a bit, trying to catch your breath, throat sore but mind still hazy from the alcohol and heat. Everything felt like it was spinning a little when you stood up, your body swaying slightly as the room tilted around you.
Sunoo reached out, catching your shoulder to steady you, and turned on the sink. He cupped a bit of water in his palm, guiding it to your lips. You leaned in, letting the cold water cool your mouth, then wiped your lips with the back of your hand. You coughed again, softer this time, and both of you stood there in silence for a beat—still too drunk to make sense of anything, too tired to care.
"I want to sleep," Sunoo mumbled, voice groggy as his arms hung by his sides. You helped him pull his pants back up, your fingers clumsy, and when you looked up, he was already leaning into you. His lips brushed against your neck, then your jaw, then a small kiss landed on your lips softly, a quiet thank-you or maybe just a mistake.
Neither of you said anything as you stumbled out of the bathroom together. Your feet dragged, his weight slumped against you. When you pushed open one of the nearby rooms, the two of you collapsed onto the bed without thinking. His body pressed into yours, your hand resting on the curve of his thin waist, and with a final exhale, his breathing evened out into soft snores.
You stared at the ceiling for a moment, the night still buzzing in your head, and quietly hoped that come morning, Sunoo wouldn't look at you like it was all just a drunken blur he wanted to forget.
Well. You woke up to a loud squeal beside you, the sound shooting straight through your skull. Your head was pounding, every throb pulsing deep at your temples. This was exactly why you preferred smoking over drinking, at least cigarettes didn't make the world spin like this.
"Oh my God! W–why are we cuddling?! Why are you here in the first place?! D–did something happen to us?!" Sunoo's voice cracked in pure panic, his hands clutching the blanket to his chest. Even though he was fully clothed, he looked scandalized beyond belief.
You groaned and squinted against the light, trying to sit up despite the dull ache in your body. Your fingers pressed to your temples, trying to remember what the hell even happened. The room was unfamiliar, the sheets smelled like detergent, and your mouth tasted like cotton.
Before you could even collect a full thought, Sunoo slapped your back hard. You let out a sharp whine and turned to glare at him. "Aww, fuck! What the hell was that for?"
"Did something happen between us?!" he repeated, eyes wide and clearly on the verge of spiraling.
You stared at him for a second, still processing. "How would I know?" you mumbled, rubbing your face. "I drank more than I should have, and my memory's a blur. You're fully clothed, I'm fully clothed. Relax."
But he didn't calm down. In fact, he froze completely, the color draining from his face as something clearly hit him. You watched as his hands slowly moved to grip his hair, fingers tangling at the roots while his expression twisted into disbelief.
"No. No. No no no—" he whispered, and then gasped. "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God."
He wasn't even looking at you anymore. His eyes were somewhere far away as flashes from last night started to crash into him. Your lips on his, your hands tugging on his belt, your mouth sinking down while he leaned back against the sink. The heat. The noise. The way he came so hard he couldn't feel his legs. His whole body went stiff.
"You... you gave me head," he said in a whisper, voice dead with disbelief. "Oh my God. You gave me fucking blowjob."
You blinked, trying to place it. You remembered the bathroom. The taste. The sound of his moaning echoing off the walls. Shit. "Something did happen to us, you fucking bitch!" he suddenly screamed, face flushed red with shock and rage. "I'm reporting you—I'm serious, I swear—"
You screamed when he lunged and grabbed a fistful of your hair, the shock of it making you yell right back. "Fuck! Let go of me, psycho!" you snapped, swatting at his hand, your own hangover making it feel ten times worse.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he screeched, shaking your head like he could shake the memory out with it. "Why would you—?!"
"Why would I?!" you shouted, finally pulling away, hair a mess and heart racing. "You literally moaned like it was the best thing that ever happened to you!"
"Because I didn't know what was happening! I thought it was a dream! I was drunk!"
"So was I, dumbass! You kissed me first!"
Sunoo froze again, mouth open, his chest rising and falling. You watched him in silence, heart sinking a little at the way he looked at you—like he was scrambling to make sense of something that never should've happened.
Your mouth felt dry again. There was this strange weight in your chest, like disappointment settling in even though you couldn't quite figure out why. You were both drunk. He was gay. Of course it didn't mean anything. And, if you weren't drunk, you wouldn't have done it either. You lowered your gaze, biting the inside of your cheek as that silence started to stretch between you.
"L-let's just pretend this never happened," Sunoo finally said, breaking the quiet as he stood up. His voice was shaky, not angry anymore, just desperate to erase it all. He dragged his palm down his face, then pressed it against his mouth like the words were spilling out faster than he could stop them. "I'm gay... and you're... whatever. Uhh... Let's not tell this to Jake, okay?"
You rolled your eyes as you got to your feet, fingers brushing through your hair while ignoring the lump tightening in your throat. "Whatever you want," you muttered, focusing instead on searching for your socks and bag, anything to avoid the way your chest ached for reasons.
"This will never happen again. God. I feel like I just betrayed my own kind," Sunoo muttered, slapping both cheeks with enough force to make you wince. "I need to go. I need to wash everything. This is disgusting. I'm disgusting."
You didn't say anything. Just watched him from the corner of your eye while pulling your socks on, keeping your back straight and blank face.
Sunoo glanced over, eyes catching on the side of your face. Something about the way you sat there so still, lips pressed together, skin marked faintly made his chest tighten. The memory crept in again—your hands, your mouth, the sound of your moan swallowed around him—and it made his stomach twist in the worst way. He shook his head. He was sober now. He shouldn't be feeling this again.
"Let's never see each other again," he said before leaving without waiting for a response.
You stared at the floor for a long second, blinking slowly. Never see each other again, huh? You almost laughed. As if you'd let him go that easily.
Sunoo didn't even understand why the memory was still stuck in his head, looping in the background of every moment like some curse he couldn't shake. It had already been a seven full days and yet the image of your lips, the sound of your moan, the warmth of your mouth still haunted him like it just happened yesterday. Worse, every time he thought about it, his dick twitched like it had a mind of its own, getting hard embarrassingly fast without warning.
He tried to brush it off as stress. He was tired, overloaded with work, and his hormones were probably all over the place. It made sense, right? Wet dreams weren't exactly rare. They were involuntary, normal even, just a sign of the body releasing tension during sleep. But the part that bothered him the most wasn't the act itself. It was who was in them. Why you? Out of everyone, why was it you? He would've understood if it were someone like Byeon Woo Seok. But no. It was your voice in his ear, your mouth on him, your name falling from his lips as he woke up in cold sweat with a sticky cum in his pajama pants. It was fucking humiliating.
He had just started to zone out again when a voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.
"Erection is normal," Jungwon said clearly, standing at the front of the room with a microphone in hand. The school's seminar hall was full of restless teenagers, and he was doing his best to keep the attention. "It's a biological response to arousal or stimulation, often caused by elevated testosterone levels, especially during adolescence. That's why morning wood or even spontaneous erections can happen—it's not always sexual. Sometimes, it's just hormonal regulation or increased blood flow."
Sunoo swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Great. As if he needed that lecture right now.
"It's also common to have sexual dreams," Jungwon continued. "It's the brain's way of releasing suppressed feelings or stress. It doesn't always mean you're in love with the person in your dream—it could just be your mind reacting to unresolved tension."
Sunoo sat motionless, trying not to roll his eyes. He knew Jungwon probably didn't believe half the words he was saying and was just parroting the textbook to get the presentation over with. Unresolved tension? Please. That had to be the most bullshit, overused explanation. Sexual dreams were normal, just a biological function. A reflex. Wet dreams, erections, the occasional stray thought—they were all just part of how the body worked.
It was only men who liked turning every little reaction into some psychological crisis. Like it wasn't enough that your dick got hard at the wrong time, you now had to wonder why. No. He refused to play into that.
Still, he felt hot under the collar. He shifted in his seat as Jungwon kept talking, his voice fading into background noise while Sunoo's thoughts crawled back where they weren't supposed to go. Your mouth. The pressure of his hands on your head. That one sharp breath he let out when your tongue pressed against him just right. The way he swore he could still feel the metal ball of your piercing even when he was lying awake, sweating in bed, trying not to think about it —
"Sunoo!" His whole body jolted forward when someone suddenly slammed into him from behind. He turned sharply, only to see Jake grinning as he wrapped him in a tight hug.
"Long time no see! How've you been?" Jake beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Sunoo blinked, his heart still racing from being startled. He squirmed out of Jake's grip, pulling his arm away from around his waist with a small scowl. "You fake bitch," he muttered, brushing off his uniform. "You said you'd go to the party last week!"
Jake tilted his head and gave him a sheepish grin. "I did! I just didn't come up to you because you were already with someone," he said, voice light but teasing, his smile carrying that knowing edge that made Sunoo freeze on the spot.
The words hit him like a cold splash of water, cutting straight through the fog of his thoughts. Shit! Sunoo's back straightened as his chest squeezed uncomfortably tight. "I-It's not what it looked like, Jake," he said quickly, voice pitching higher than he meant. "I can explain. N-Nothing happened, I swear—"
Jake raised an eyebrow in confusion, his playful smile returning as he slung an arm over Sunoo's shoulder again. "What are you talking about?" he laughed. "I'm just happy you're getting along with her! You know how much I wanted the two of you to be friends. So when I saw you drinking with her, I thought, finally! I didn't want to bother you two."
Sunoo's jaw went slack for a second. He blinked slowly as Jake's words settled in and then his face flushed with heat, the panic collapsing. You two. Drinking. Laughing. And Jake saw it. He saw it and just... assumed it was some innocent bonding moment. Sunoo nodded stiffly, forcing a laugh that came out more like a wheeze. "Y-Yeah... totally. Just... friends."
Jake didn't notice his discomfort, he just kept smiling, talking about the seminar and how awkward Jungwon looked trying to talk about erections with a straight face, but Sunoo could barely listen. If only he knew that every time Sunoo closed his eyes, it wasn't friendship playing behind his eyelids.
All your life, you've gotten things on your own terms. It wasn't about being selfish—it was about knowing what you wanted, and not being afraid to take the steps to get there, even if it meant breaking a few unspoken rules. You never apologized for it. Why should you? The world had never handed you anything easily, so you carved out space with your own hands, shaping your wants into reality.
You liked pretty things. You liked strawberries. You liked painting girls with soft collarbones and delicate fingers. You liked drawing in sharp eyeliner and wearing red lipstick even when it didn't match your outfit. You liked the way women looked in moonlight, skin glowing and bare emotion written on their faces. Women were softness and power and aching beauty, and for a long time, that's all you thought you'd ever want.
Boys were always just background noise. You flirted with them when you were bored, when you needed a distraction or when you were too tired of explaining to everyone why you leaned toward women. It was easier to let boys talk, to let them orbit around you. Most of the time, they never lasted long. They'd get close enough to realize they couldn't figure you out, and then drift away. It never bothered you. You liked being the one who stayed in control anyway.
But Sunoo was too pretty to be background noise. Too loud in your mind, even in his silence. He was sharp and delicate all at once. Sunoo is not boring. He was vibrant. Infuriating. Complicated. Unlike everyone else, Sunoo wasn't supposed to want you. And you weren't supposed to want him. You didn't chase boys. You didn't even like most of them. But with Sunoo, it wasn't about gender—it was about him. His contradictions. His moral high ground that cracked when his lips were on yours.
Now that you got a taste, you wanted to keep him. You wanted to grab him by that pretty throat and tie a little ribbon around it, mark him, stake your claim. All that fire in him, all that sharp defiance, the self-righteous storm he carried — it would be such a waste to let someone else come along and break him in the wrong way. Someone who wouldn't know how to cherish it like you would.
The wanting was dangerous. But so was he. And it was so much fun to want something you weren't supposed to have. And lucky you—Jake, in all his well-meaning sunshine, handed him right into your lap.
"I'm really glad now that you're friends," Jake grinned, arms flinging around both of you as he squeezed you close. "I can finally call us a trio now!"
You blinked in mild surprise. You hadn't even known this was a sleepover. From the way Jake had worded it earlier, you assumed it was just the two of you catching up over snacks and maybe a few drinks. But now here you were, wedged on the couch with Sunoo stiff on your other side, Jake's warmth pressed between you both. How thoughtful of him. You smiled. Jake was far too kind for his own good and far too generous with forcing proximity, but you didn't mind this time.
Sunoo, on the other hand, looked like someone had physically unplugged him. He was hugging his pillow so tightly it, eyes unfocused as he stared at nothing in particular. His face was blank, but you could read the confliction in every inch of him. Like he was holding himself together by a thread.
What you couldn't see was how hard he was trying to think of anything else besides the fact that he could smell your perfume again and it triggered something in his body. He clenched his thighs together subtly, trying to shift his hips so the growing problem in his pants wouldn't become visible. But the effort was a losing game. God, what the hell was wrong with him? He was still angry, still confused, still mortified that it happened in the first place and yet, his body clearly had no loyalty to his conscience.
What made it worse was Jake who had somehow tricked him into showing up for a supposed movie night and now had them sandwiched together like nothing ever happened between you and him. Jake didn't know, of course. And he couldn't know! Sunoo would rather choke on his own tongue than have to explain why his best friend's not-so-favorite person was suddenly invading his dreams at night and, worse, making him wake up soaked and panting like a hormonal teenager.
"What movies should we watch?!" Jake practically bounced on the couch, his grin wide as he looked back and forth.
You leaned closer, sliding your arm around Jake's. Your gaze flicked to Sunoo, who sat stiff on the other end of the couch, his posture awkward, eyes avoiding yours. "What about horror?" you said as you tilted your head, pretending not to notice how Sunoo seemed to sink deeper into the couch cushions. "Sunoo?"
Sunoo blinked, eyes snapping toward you. "Huh?" His voice cracked, his hand subtly dragged the throw pillow over his lap, fingers clutching the edges.
"Horror is gonna be fun! Imagine the thrill!" Jake turned toward you with shining eyes, already fired up. "Remember Sunoo during Evil Dead Rise? He was screeching like someone dipped him in cold water!" He burst out laughing.
You joined in, not because it was that funny but because you liked the way Sunoo glared at you when you did. His eye twitched, lips tightening in a way that made you want to press your thumb against the corner of his mouth just to see if it would twitch again.
"I didn't scream," Sunoo muttered under his breath. "It was a reflex."
Jake leaned forward to grab the remote, still chuckling. "A reflex that shook the entire floor. I had to check if we were having an earthquake."
Sunoo gave a tight, silent laugh that didn't reach his eyes. You stretched slightly, draping one leg over the other, your foot brushing lightly against Sunoo's knee. "So horror it is," you said.
Sunoo immediately jerked his leg away. "I'm not scared," he snapped, voice thin with defensiveness, eyes flicking toward you but never staying long.
"Who said you were?" you asked sweetly, lips twitching. "But maybe I can hold your hand if you get too nervous."
"I'd rather hold hands with a corpse," he muttered.
Jake, oblivious to the growing tension between you, scrolled through the options. "Let's start with Hereditary. That one's a classic."
You leaned back, settling comfortably against the couch cushion, your arm still loosely around Jake's. But your gaze stayed fixed on Sunoo, watching how he tried to keep his composure. The way he looked everywhere but at you made it all the more tempting to push again.
"Oh my God!" Jake screamed, flinging himself off the couch just as the possessed girl on the screen leapt out from the shadows.
Sunoo jumped, too, not because of the film but because Jake's yell had blasted straight into his ear. "Fuck you!" he gasped, swatting at Jake's shoulder. "You're louder than the demon, you idiot!"
Jake laughed breathlessly, holding a hand over his chest. "I told you it was gonna be scary! I warned you!"
"You didn't say you were gonna be the jump scare," Sunoo muttered, rubbing his ear.
You couldn't help laughing from your corner of the couch. It was warm in the living room, the ambient light from the TV casting deep shadows across everyone's faces. The horror movie had wound itself tight with dread, and now, near the end, the tension in the room had shifted.
Jake reached for the remote to pause it. "Okay, okay, let's all take a break. My heart can't take it. I'm gonna set up the bed and grab more snacks before we finish the last part." He stood up with a stretch, already walking toward the shared room.
You watched Jake disappear down the hallway, the sound of his slippers dragging against the floor fading behind him as he excitedly prepped the bedroom with pillows and snacks, then turned your eyes to Sunoo, who had sunk deeper into the couch, hand rubbing his temple.
Your gaze drifted past him, toward the hallway where the bathroom light glowed faintly at the end. And just like that, the tiniest smirk curled at the corner of your lips. Bingo.
You grabbed the water bottle from the table and tipped it back, pretending to take a long drink—only for the opening to "accidentally" spill, the cold splash soaking the neckline of your shirt and running straight down your chest.
"Shit!" you hissed, jumping slightly as you stood up, swiping at your top with both hands in panic. The fabric clung to your skin, the damp cotton tracing the curve of your collarbone and neckline.
From the corner of your eye, you caught Sunoo's head snap toward you. His eyes widened for a moment before narrowing again, his signature glare sliding back into place. "Are you an idiot who can't drink water like a normal person?" he snapped. His eyes flicked from your face to your soaked shirt and back again before he shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the pillow over his lap again.
You scowled. "It was an accident," you muttered, pinching the hem of your shirt and pulling it slightly away from your body to keep the wet fabric from clinging too much. "I'm going to the bathroom." You turned your back, already halfway to the hall, but then paused just before you rounded the corner. You peeked back over your shoulder with a faux-hesitant voice. "Sunoo," you said sweetly, "can you... come with me?"
He straightened in his seat, eyes narrowed immediately. "What are you, five? You can walk to the bathroom on your own."
You turned around fully and gave your best pout. "But I'm scared," you said, dropping your voice. "What if something jumps out of the mirror and eats me?"
His lips parted slightly in disbelief. "It's literally a bathroom, not a haunted house. Get a grip."
You blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching. "I'm telling Jake—"
That was all it took. Sunoo moved fast. His hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist before you could finish the sentence, his grip is tight, more panicked than forceful. "We agreed to forget that already!" he whispered harshly, dragging you toward the hallway with quick steps. His face was already flushed as he pushed the bathroom door open and practically shoved you inside.
He followed, slamming the door shut behind him and twisting the lock.
You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "I meant I was gonna tell Jake you were being mean to me. What exactly were you thinking, Sunoo?"
The color that spread across his face deepened from pink to a furious red, blooming up his neck and across his cheeks. His eyes darted away from yours, jaw clenched so tight you could see the tension ripple along the muscle there. He didn't answer immediately—his thoughts were clearly a mess, the memory of that night dragging up feelings he didn't want to admit were still there.
God, you were such a bitch. A beautiful, infuriating, unreadable bitch. "Fuck you," he muttered through clenched teeth, pressing his back to the door. His arms crossed over his chest, defensive, but it was already too late for that. "What the hell do you even want?"
You smiled, taking a small step forward, head tilting like you were weighing your options. You let your gaze drop slowly—first to his parted lips, then to his hands clenched into fists at his sides—and then back to his eyes.
"Hmmm," you hummed, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the sink behind you as you leaned back, unbothered by how tense he was. "You."
Sunoo's pulse jumped so hard he felt it in his ears, and it really annoyed him.
"I think we're past the point of shyly pretending we're not attracted to each other, don't you think?" you asked casually, your foot tapping against the floor. "I mean, unless you're really going to pretend you don't think about it."
Sunoo swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he forced his expression into a cold and distant. His voice came out with a bite. "I was drunk. Whatever happened, it wasn't real. I'm sober now, and clearly, you're forgetting something—I'm gay." He stepped forward, huffing, defensive, like he needed to say it aloud to remind himself. "Even if I wasn't, even if I magically woke up straight, do you really think I'd be into someone like you? I wouldn't even hold your hand."
You smiled, unshaken. Your gaze dropped to the tile floor for a moment, nodding slowly like you were mulling it over, like you could almost believe him. "Hmmm. Really?" you said again, softly. Then you looked up and held his stare. "That's interesting."
"What happened was a mistake," he pressed. "Stop getting it twisted. You're not going to change anything. I like men—I've always liked men—and if I ever did like women, it sure as hell wouldn't be someone like you."
His words were sharp and cruel, but his voice cracked slightly on the last sentence. Your eyes flicked down to his hands again. Still clenched and shaking, you almost laughed, he was angry because he didn't know where to put this feeling, and his body was betraying him in every way.
"Okay," you said. "Sorry."
You didn't look sorry. You didn't even sound sorry. Then, without warning, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head. Sunoo nearly yelped. "What the fuck?!" he squealed, spinning around so fast. His hands flew up to cover his face. "Are you insane?! Put that back on! Jesus Christ, are you trying to traumatize me?!"
You didn't say anything at first. Just laughed softly, "you said you weren't interested, right? So what are you panicking for?" You rolled your eyes slowly and watched his stiff posture as he stayed plastered to the door. "Relax," you muttered, fingers reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. "I'm wet, Sunoo. I'm not trying to seduce you—I already got my answer. Now, move."
His spine straightened at your words like you'd just smacked him. "What the fuck? Move where?!" His voice rose in panic, still facing away from you.
"I didn't bring an extra shirt. My bag's in the living room," you said flatly, stepping closer. "Now move."
He hesitated, like if he turned around something irreversible would happen. But his curiosity, or maybe his stupidity, got the better of him. Slowly, cautiously, he peeked over his shoulder—and then froze completely.
You were naked from the waist up. Completely bare, with a confidence. Your arms were crossed beneath your chest, body leaning against the sink like you were just waiting for him to get over himself. And God, he should've been used to this. He'd seen breasts before—he had female friends who changed clothes in front of him all the time. It never bothered him. It wasn't a big deal.
He tried to look away and he really, really did, but his eyes kept coming back to you like they were on a leash. Your skin glowed under the light, smooth and warm-toned, shadows carving down your ribs and hips. He noticed the tattoos. The delicate ink on your shoulder had already left an imprint in his brain from that day, but now he saw more. A fine, detailed floral design wrapped along the side of your torso, just above your hip and curling slightly toward your waist. A single lily bloomed in black and soft pink, with gentle shading that made it look almost alive. Watercolor-like strokes trailed from the petals, fading like smoke. The lines followed your curves perfectly.
Sunoo was breathless. He never cared for tattoos, they weren't pretty, but on you, they looked dressed as an art. And fuck, he couldn't stop staring. His gaze flicked to your chest, and a fresh wave of heat rolled through him. Your nipples were tight from the air, drawn and pointed, resting against full, natural curves that made his stomach knot. Why was he getting hard? This didn't make sense. Fuck. You were so hot it pissed him off.
You were staring at him, head slightly tilted, waiting for him to move. "Sunoo?"
Sunoo's fists clenched. He could feel saliva collecting in his mouth, and he swallowed hard like that would put out the fire already crawling down his spine. He blinked quickly, shaking his head. "You—fuck, you need to put something on," he said.
"My shirt's in the living room—"
"I don't care. Put something on," he cut in sharply, brows furrowed and his gaze turned firmly to the wall.
You didn't budge. "Jake already saw my tits, Sunoo. It's not a big deal—"
He didn't even know why it made his stomach flip and his chest burn, but it did. The thought of Jake seeing you like this, made a feeling claw up the back of his throat.
Sunoo was a nursing student. He studied hormonal response, human behavior, and the mind's reactions to stress and desire. But this wasn't in his textbooks. This wasn't just dopamine or misplaced frustration. Human emotions were more complicated than any clinical definition. No scientific framework could fully explain the way you made him feel.
"You're hard."
Sunoo felt his entire body go still. He could feel it too. The tight pressure in his pants, the unbearable way his cock had hardened while his mind scrambled to deny everything. He turned toward the mirror above the sink, refusing to meet your eyes as he muttered, "I-It's normal biological reaction."
The excuse felt paper-thin, almost pathetic in his mouth, but it was the only thing he could reach for. He was clinging to whatever logic he had left, because logic was safer than whatever the hell this was. Logic didn't leave him aching in places he shouldn't be aching. Logic didn't twist his insides just from looking at you.
You were still standing there, unfazed, topless and confident, your arms crossed under your chest like you were waiting for him to catch up. "Sunoo," you said his name softly.
He finally looked at you, eyes glaring. "I told you I'm gay," he said, and he hated how shaky his voice sounded. "This—this shouldn't be happening."
You took a slow step closer, and he didn't move. "You said that," you nodded, voice calm. "But I didn't ask what you are. I just told you what I want."
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to read between your words, searching for an angle, a trick. "So what is this to you? A joke? Some kind of game?"
"No. You're the one making it complicated."
His chest rose and fell unevenly. His mind kept trying to name what he was feeling—confusion, tension, desire, maybe all of it at once—but it was all bleeding together in a way that felt like drowning. "I've never—" he started, then stopped himself.
You waited. "Never what?"
"I've never felt this confused before," he said, eyes searching yours like he was hoping you'd give him a reason to pull away, something to ground him. "I don't even like women. I'm not supposed to want this."
"Then don't want it," you said simply, shrugging your shoulders. "But don't lie about it. Do you want me, Sunoo?"
He hated that. Hated how sure you sounded, how unapologetically honest you were while he was still tangled in his own fear and guilt, still gripping the edge of what he thought was certainty. You made everything seem so simple, so easy to name—want, touch, feel—while he was still trying to unlearn the rules he had been clinging to for so long. He wanted to push you away, wanted to hate you for making him feel like he was coming apart in his own skin. But even as that thought surfaced, his eyes dropped again to your lips, and lingered there too long. He hated how much he wanted you to close the space between you, how much he needed you to.
His breathing grew shallow, his chest rising in uneven waves, and when you leaned forward, he didn't retreat. Instead, his eyes fluttered closed. The second your mouth brushed against his, something inside him cracked open. He kissed you with a kind of desperation that made it clear he'd stopped pretending.
There was no hesitation when he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of your body beneath his hands made his head spin. He held you tightly, anchoring himself to the moment, to the gravity of your touch. His lips moved against yours, his hands trembled as they explored the lines of your back, fingertips pressing into your skin. You knew he was falling, and you welcomed it. You let him cling to you, let him kiss you and when your lips finally parted, you didn't say a word. You just let your hands trail down his chest, eyes locked on his flushed face as you sank down onto your knees before him.
Sunoo's breath hitched audibly. His hands flew to the edge of the sink behind him, trying to steady himself. You looked up at him, gaze dark and patient, and he looked down at you. His cock strained against his pajama, and when you undid the strings, your fingers brushing against him through the fabric, he nearly buckled.
The moment you freed him, he hissed through his teeth. You didn't tease him this time, you took him into your mouth. His hand instinctively reached for your head, gripping your hair too tightly as you slid your tongue over him, slow at first, deepening only when he let out a choked moan that vibrated from somewhere deep in his chest.
"F-fuck..." he whispered, eyes fluttering open, and the sight of you on your knees—bare, hungry, focused only on him. This time, there was no alcohol to blame. No drunken impulse to hide behind. Both of you were entirely sober, breathing the same heavy air. And you were right. You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck...
He bit down on his bottom lip, struggling to hold back the sound threatening to crawl out of his throat when you pulled your mouth off him. The cold air brushed his wet skin for only a second before your hand wrapped firmly around his cock. You were looking up at him with such dark, focused eyes, and the glint of your tongue piercing when you stuck your tongue out made his stomach twist in ways.
His moan trembled out of him, a low, broken thing he tried and failed to swallow. His eyes fluttered shut as you began to stroke him, slow and tight, your fingers knowing exactly where to squeeze, where to drag your thumb. His hips jerked forward against your fist without thought. He was trembling, his thighs already straining, and when his hand moved to your head again, he didn't even register that he was holding you there, like he needed you in that position, grounded and close, while everything else slipped away.
With a choked sound, his release surged forward, hips stuttering as thick, hot ropes of cum spurted from him—painting your face, your tongue, and even your lips. You closed your eyes, but kept your mouth open, breathing heavy, letting it drip and settle across your flushed skin. The sight of you on your knees, panting, tongue out, face stained with the proof of what he'd given you—was too much. He'd never seen anything that fucking beautiful.
Sunoo's breath came out in short, ragged gasps. He couldn't look away. You were absolutely wrecked, eyes half-lidded, mouth still parted, tongue twitching slightly as the last of him spilled from the tip. His knees nearly buckled. And even as shame flickered somewhere in the distance, it didn't touch the way his chest clenched with need.
You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck... in Sunoo's mind— You're really, really, really, attractive. You tilted your head, eyes still soft despite the mess on your face. "It's okay, Sunoo."
And that simple assurance hit harder than anything else had tonight, he had never felt so completely defeated and relieved at the same time.
Sunoo always joked that he was betraying his "gay motherhood," whatever the fuck that meant, but deep down, he was unraveling more than a label. His whole sense of self was spiraling, not because he didn't like men anymore, but because he couldn't stop liking what you did to him.
He was raised sure—sure he liked men, sure of who he was, sure of how the world saw him. But your mouth? Your hands? Your eyes on his body? That changed something. And maybe it wasn't even about gender or attraction or breaking rules, maybe it was just about how good it felt. Because, it did. Every time your tongue slid down his length or your lips curled into a smirk right before you swallowed him whole, he would grip your hair like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.
And he still hated it. Hated you. Hated how easily you pulled those sounds from him, how willingly he spread his legs, how badly he wanted to feel your throat tighten around him when he was too stressed to think straight. But hate was a weak word when it came to you because what he really felt was full of hunger and questions he couldn't answer, of relief he couldn't explain, and of moments when he forgot who he was supposed to be.
Somehow, this arrangement—whatever fucked-up kind of companionship it was—had become routine. He was stressed? You showed up, dragged him onto the bed, and made him forget the weight in his chest. You were tired of people? You'd drop to your knees and pull his pants down, muttering snarky words before your tongue did all the talking. When Jake invited you both for café dates, you'd suck Sunoo off in the bathroom beforehand, as if taking the edge off made you more tolerable in public.
And in between all that, without either of you saying it, you started learning each other. You knew the way his breath caught when you traced the tip of your tongue along the underside of his cock, the way he liked his thighs rubbed when he was overwhelmed, the way he pretended to hate your voice but kept asking you to hum while he was inside your mouth. He knew the difference between your smirk and your real smile, he noticed the way you always fixed his collar before he left for class, the way you paused before walking away like you wanted him to stop you, just once.
"Did you see my guitar pick? I was really sure I left it here." You asked, already half on the floor as you looked beneath his bed, your voice muffled against the floorboards. "My pen? Where did you put my pen?"
Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just scratched the back of his head, eyes skimming over his textbook. "Also, I think I left my hoodie here last week," you continued, lifting his blanket and peeking underneath. You spoke like it was nothing, like this wasn't the fourth time you'd been here this week, like you hadn't sucked him off on this very bed two nights ago while the rain beat against his window. "The red one? Oversized. The one you said was ugly."
"Stop leaving your things here and expecting me to be your lost and found," Sunoo muttered with a sigh, rolling his eyes as he stood from his desk. His hands moved to the drawer beside his bed, fingers quickly rifling through the clutter until he pulled out the small pile of things you'd been searching for.
Your guitar pick. A pen with a chewed-up cap. The scrunchie you claimed you didn't care about but had asked about three times. "Yay!" you chirped, voice bright as you threw your arms around his neck without hesitation. Your enthusiasm was full of sunshine and zero awareness of boundaries—not that he'd set any for you lately. Your body leaned into his, so warm, and for a moment, he didn't pull away. He didn't even stiffen. If anything, he just stood there with his jaw tight and eyes soft, letting you hang onto him.
Sunoo had learned a lot of unexpected things from you, but the first was this: you were clingy. Not in the way people usually mean it. You were clingy in the way a storm was clingy, so loud and unpredictable, but always returning, always right on time. You'd barge into his room to ruffle his hair without asking, leave lipstick stains on the rim of his mugs, and curse while crocheting in his living room.
Despite your sharp tongue, your smug smirks, and that bitchy little smile you wore whenever you knew you had the upper hand, there was something about you that kept curling into the edges of his life. The softness you tried to bury always slipped through—like now, as your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, your breath warm on his collarbone.
You hadn't even fucked, not really. Whatever this was between the two of you, it never crossed that final line. Sure, you'd given him head more times than he could count now, slipping between his knees, sometimes right after class or before dinner. Sometimes with a joke still on your tongue, your fingers working his zipper like it was just part of your daily routine. You'd even played with yourself while looking him dead in the eyes, teasing him, daring him, and yet still somehow managing not to strip yourself bare.
Pleasure was always good. You knew exactly what to do to unravel him. But it confused him on the way you stayed after. The way you talked to him about your professors and complained about your classmates, how you crocheted lopsided sweaters and left your yarn all over his room, like you expected to come back and finish them.
It was how you kissed his cheek when he looked stressed, how you'd fall asleep next to him fully clothed while he studied and pretend not to notice when he pulled the blanket over you.
"You need to stop acting like this is your place," he muttered, trying to keep his voice flat.
You didn't take the bait, instead, you leaned in and kissed his cheek loudly. Sunoo's entire face twitched in immediate response. His hand shot up, rubbing his cheek with the heel of his palm. "Eww," he muttered under his breath.
"Sorry!" you giggled, clearly not sorry at all with that look you always wore when you knew you were testing his patience, and then your hands were on his face again, squeezing his cheeks with affection. "You're just so adorable when you're cranky. I can't help it."
He groaned loudly, swatting at your wrists, trying to pry your hands off. "Stop calling me that."
You didn't flinch. In fact, you leaned closer, squishing his cheeks harder, and making a cooing sound that only made him more irritated. He slapped your arm but when you laughed again, that same light, reckless laugh that always made his ears feel too warm, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged.
"Ow, ow, ow!" you yelped, wriggling in place with a pout. You batted his hand away, fingers tangled in your strands, while your eyes stayed locked on his with a mixture of amusement and challenge.
"Leave me alone. I'm trying to review for my exams," Sunoo muttered, barely glancing at you as he rolled his eyes and turned back toward his desk. His hand reached for the highlighter beside his textbook, the yellow ink already bleeding into the edge of a paragraph he'd probably read four times without actually absorbing anything.
You walked over anyway, you squeezed into the tiny space beside him on a chair meant for one, and Sunoo groaned out loud, shifting his body to the side. The chair creaked beneath your combined weight, and your thigh was pressed flush against his. "I just need a favor from you," you said, casually brushing your hand across his table.
Sunoo let out another sigh. He looked over at you, unimpressed. "Favor? Only friends do favors," he replied flatly.
You turned to him with a gasp, placing a hand to your chest in mock offense. "Wow," you said, eyes wide and sarcastic. "Damn, after all the blowjobs I gave you? After the way we've made out on your bed, your floor, and that one time in your fucking kitchen? After all the hours I spent here telling you about my day while you pretended not to listen? You're telling me we're not even friends?"
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his hand frozen halfway through underlining another sentence. You weren't wrong. You'd been coming around so often that your scent had started to cling to his sheets, your hair ties and red lipstick had begun appearing in random corners of his room, and your laugh had started to echo in his head long after you'd gone home.
You leaned in a little, close enough that he could feel your breath fan across his neck. "If this isn't a friendship," you added softly, "then what is your definition of friendship, Sunoo?"
He made a show of thinking, lifting his eyes like he was searching the ceiling for inspiration, but there was a glint in his expression that gave away how amused he actually was. "I don't know, girl. We haven't even properly introduced ourselves because you were too busy sucking my dick off," he replied, words nonchalant but his ears tinted red. He tried to keep his voice flat, sarcastic even, like that would mask the heat crawling up his neck.
You laughed, unbothered, and leaned your head against his shoulder with a casualness that shouldn't have felt so intimate, but somehow, it did. Sunoo shifted under the contact, scoffing, rolling his eyes, acting like he didn't care but you could feel it in the way he didn't move away.
"Okay, let's do this properly then," you said as you let your hand play with the edge of his sleeve. "I'm twenty. Fashion design major. I work part-time at two different cafés. I play gigs when I can, lead guitarist and vocalist of Jay's band. I crochet, bake, draw, paint—basically anything that can bring in money for tuition. I have three ex-girlfriends, all toxic in very different ways. And I like—"
"Wait," Sunoo cut in, body suddenly stiffening as he pulled back just enough to stare at you. His eyes were wide, lips parted slightly like he couldn't believe what he just heard. "You're gay?!"
Your mouth dropped open, blinking at him as your brain scrambled to rewind what you'd said. "I—I mean, isn't it obvious?" you managed, slightly flustered, though a part of you also found his surprise endearing in a frustrating way.
Sunoo didn't say anything right away. He kept looking at you, brows furrowed, lips parted in a stunned kind of silence like he was trying to piece you together again with this new piece of information you just casually dropped. You watched the flickers of confusion, surprise, maybe even a bit of disbelief in his face, and though you didn't fully understand why it mattered so much to him. "I like girls," you clarified again.
There was a beat of silence. Then Sunoo blinked hard, like he'd just snapped out of it, and his reaction was nothing short of dramatic. "I—I thought you were straight, girl!" he cried out with a squeaky kind of disbelief, and before you could defend yourself, his hand flew out and smacked your arm. Hard. The kind of smack that made your whole upper body jerk slightly from the force. You almost flew off the chair.
"Shit, Sunoo!" you yelped, rubbing your arm and glaring at him with a twisted expression of both pain and outrage.
But Sunoo wasn't listening. He was laughing—loudly, eyes crinkled, hand over his mouth like he couldn't believe what he was hearing and also couldn't stop himself from reacting. "I really didn't like you at first," he gasped between giggles. "Like, genuinely. I thought you were giving homophobic vibes! You were too confident, too flirty, and you stared at me like you were ready to fight or fuck, and I swear to god I thought you were trying to make me your weird little experiment!"
You blinked again, thrown off by the way he said it all so fast. "What the fuck, Sunoo," you muttered, half-offended but also kind of shocked that he thought all that while still letting you suck him off on the regular.
He slapped your shoulder again and kept cackling, his entire body tilted forward as he wheezed through it, completely losing himself in his own joke. "I mean, it makes sense now," he managed between laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "That's why you're such a bitch—because you're gay!"
You didn't hesitate. Your hand landed right on his arm, a loud smack echoing through the room. "Are you forgetting that you're gay too, idiot?" you shot back, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hold back your grin.
Sunoo hissed dramatically, rubbing the spot, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. The teasing should've stopped there—should've stayed in that usual back-and-forth where you both knew the lines and how far to push. But something in his expression shifted. "I still don't get it," he murmured, the laughter dying down to a softer tone, his hand now gently pressing the spot you'd hit. "If you're into girls, then what does that make... this?"
For a moment, you didn't know how to answer. So many things about you didn't fit into the easy explanations people seemed to expect, and honestly, you never cared to try and fit them. "I don't know," you said at last, "I've hooked up with guys before, and it was never really a big deal. I always knew I liked girls more, but that never stopped me from doing stuff with boys when I felt like it." You shrugged, then leaned back a little, giving him space to process what you were about to say. "Sexuality is just a word people use to make sense of themselves. I might call myself bisexual—or gay—but honestly, it never fully explains what I want or how I feel. Labels don't always fit."
He looked at you then, and there was something quiet different in his eyes. It wasn't annoyance or mockery for once. You continued anyway, because you needed him to understand. "All I know is that I like doing things with you. Whether it's talking, teasing, sitting around doing nothing, or yeah... getting on my knees for you. It sounds messy, but it's the only thing I'm sure of."
That made his throat bob. His heartbeat, already unruly from earlier, thudded faster at your words, and he could feel the heat creeping into his face before he could stop it. He wanted to brush it off, wanted to say something sharp or stupid to deflect, but nothing came out.
He forced himself to roll his eyes and gave your shoulder another slap, more gentle this time. "Ewwww," he groaned with an exaggerated squeal, scrunching his nose. "It might be our routine, but could you not say that in my ear? It's still weird hearing you talk so casually about sucking me off!"
You only grinned wider, catching the flush starting to bloom across his cheeks. "What? Are you blushing?" you teased as you reached up and pinched his cheeks between your fingers, delighting in how quickly he tried to jerk away.
He groaned, then reached up to grab a fistful of your hair in retaliation. "You're so annoying," he muttered, tugging hard enough to make you yelp and try to push him off.
"Fuck!" you shrieked through laughter, smacking his arm and trying to wriggle away. But the tangled mess of limbs ended with both of you tipping sideways and falling back into the chair. He hit the floor and let out a long-suffering groan as you collapsed on top of him in a heap.
"Great," he muttered, pressing a hand to his lower back. "Now I'm going to fail my exam with spinal damage." You were still laughing, unbothered as you rested your chin on his chest. Even now, with your weight on top of him and your hair tickling his face, Sunoo couldn't bring himself to shove you off.
Instead, his eyes wandered to the ceiling, mind replaying the words you said earlier. Maybe you were right. Sexuality was just a word. A way to make sense of something that couldn't always be explained. And maybe the way he felt this complicated, frustrating, strangely comforting pull toward you wasn't something that needed a label at all.
"Get off. You're so fucking heavy," Sunoo hissed, snapping himself out of it as he tugged at your hair again, a little rougher this time. But deep down, buried under every eye roll and complaint, he enjoyed doing things with you, whether they were sexual or not. That part, at least, he could admit to himself. Maybe not out loud. Definitely not to you. He'd rather drop dead than say it out loud.
The favor you had asked was to practice your creative makeup on him, get his measurements, and use him as some sort of living mannequin for the designs you'd been working on. It sounded harmless enough when you first mentioned it, though the way you said it—bright-eyed, insistent, and practically buzzing with ideas—made it sound like you were dragging him into something bigger than he could imagine. He hadn't thought much of it back then, especially since hospital duties had swallowed him whole. The weeks stretched on, filled with endless shifts, late nights, and exhaustion so deep he barely had the energy to eat before collapsing into bed.
But still, in the middle of those long nights, he'd catch himself thinking of you. Of how irritating you could be, how you texted him nonsense memes at ungodly hours, how you spammed his phone like you had nothing better to do. He never admitted it, but the absence of your loud presence gnawed at him. The quiet felt heavier without you around to annoy him into feeling alive. That was what made him finally agree to see you again, even if it meant dragging his tired body to your apartment after his shift.
At the bus stop, Sunoo sat slumped beside Jungwon, eyelids heavy as the night air pressed around them. Jungwon let out a long groan, stretching his arms above his head. "Do you want to sleep over at my place instead? Later, I'll order Jollibee. Kinda been craving their spaghetti."
The offer was tempting—comfort food and a soft bed—but Sunoo only shook his head, his lips curving faintly as he pulled out his phone. "Maybe next time. Thanks for the offer, though. I've got some business to attend to."
"Business?" Jungwon repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. "At this hour?"
Sunoo didn't answer right away. His thumb scrolled down the flood of messages on his screen—your name glowing at the top of the chat. Rows of texts, some with too many exclamation marks, others filled with random pictures, all ridiculous enough to make his scrunched-up expression betray him with a small, undeniable smile. Jungwon noticed. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "That's new," he muttered, side-eyeing. "So... where exactly are you going?"
"Just there," Sunoo replied vaguely, sliding his phone back into his bag before Jungwon could ask too much. And then, Sunoo leaned over and kissed Jungwon on the cheek, accompanied by a rare, boyish grin. "I'll get going now. Bye-bye!"
Jungwon froze, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief as he watched Sunoo walk away, his figure retreating down the street with a kind of restless energy. Jungwon's mouth fell open, his thoughts spinning in circles. He looked off to the side, considering whether to press or not, but in the end he only sighed and rolled his shoulders in resignation. "Huh. Weird," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "But whatever."
When Sunoo finally stepped into your apartment, you didn't hold back. You practically launched yourself at him, arms flinging around his shoulders as though you had been waiting for this moment for weeks—which, in truth, you had. The sound of your laughter filled the air immediately, loud and full of the joy that spilled out of you so naturally.
Sunoo, on the other hand, reacted exactly the way he always did when you overwhelmed him with affection. His face scrunched into that familiar look of feigned annoyance as he huffed, one hand coming up to shove your face away. "Geez," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, "it's already ten in the evening and you're still bouncing around? Spare me, please." With a heavy sigh, he slipped his bag off his shoulder and tossed it onto the nearest chair. "I'm just going to change my clothes."
Your eyes widened immediately, and you froze mid-step. "Wait—does that mean you're going to sleep here?"
Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, as if the answer should have been obvious. "What? You really think I'd go home after letting you disturb me at this hour?" he said, his voice dry. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around your apartment for the first time.
It was nothing like his own space. The moment his gaze swept over the room, he felt an odd tug in his chest. Guitars lined one wall, their strings gleaming faintly under the shifting glow of LED lights taped along the corners. The posters that filled your walls, mostly of metal bands he actually recognized—thanks to one of his friends who was just as obsessed with that scene as you seemed to be. There were canvases, too, half-finished and scattered against the sofa. The whole place felt alive, buzzing with your energy even when you weren't moving.
"Missed me?" you teased, leaning closer with a grin.
Sunoo didn't even spare you a proper glance. He rolled his eyes and shoved you lightly away, muttering under his breath as he dug into his bag. "As if. The only reason I even bothered coming here is because your annoying ass wouldn't leave me alone."
You watched him unzip his bag, pulling out a neatly folded set of clothes, and despite his flat expression you noticed the way his shoulders sagged, how exhaustion clung to every movement. He had been working himself to the bone, yet here he was, standing in your apartment at ten in the evening. That alone made your chest warm.
"God, I need to shower," he muttered, already moving toward the hallway without waiting for directions. He pushed open a random door, somehow guessing correctly that it was the bathroom, and slipped inside. The door shut firmly, leaving you behind in the living room with your laughter spilling out in echoes.
You padded after him without hesitation, knocking against the bathroom door with force. "Let me join!" you shouted through the wood.
From inside, there was a short pause, followed by the sound of the shower starting, and then his indignant yell. "Fuck you!"
You laughed so hard you had to lean against the wall for support, the sound echoing through your apartment. There was something deeply satisfying in knowing you could still pull that reaction from him even when he was drained from his long shift.
Sunoo ended up on your bed, sitting stiffly. His eyes moved slowly over your room, taking in the mess sprawl of your belongings. Clothes half-folded, books stacked unevenly, random brushes and palettes scattered across your desk. He bent down with a sigh, picking up a stray eyeliner pencil and a crumpled sheet of paper from the floor before dropping them on the bedside table. "Unbelievable," he muttered, glancing at you. "How do you even live like this?"
You ignored his complaint, too caught up in your own excitement. With the measuring tape in hand, you motioned for him to sit still. He shifted reluctantly, rolling his eyes but letting you circle around him, brushing against his shoulders and arms as you worked. You could feel the weight of his gaze following your movements even though he tried to pretend he wasn't paying attention.
"Our theme is under the sea," you began, your tone lively, words spilling out in a rush. "The makeup I have in mind isn't too heavy—it's soft, glowy, more like a douyin-inspired style, but with hints of shimmer, like reflections on water."
Sunoo raised a brow but said nothing, still trying to sit as if he wasn't secretly curious. "Wait, hold on." You darted to your desk, shoving aside piles of papers and empty cups, searching frantically until you found your sketchpad. The mess you made in the process only made him sigh louder, and when you finally returned, your arms were full of sheets, pencils, and smudged notes. You plopped beside him on the bed without an ounce of care, your hair brushing against his shoulder as you flipped the sketchpad open to the right page.
"Here, look!" you said eagerly, turning the pad so he could see. The drawing wasn't perfect, but it was vibrant, full of details—flowing lines like waves, soft glitter patterns around the eyes, hints of pearlescent tones. You leaned close enough that your knees brushed his, smiling up at him as if waiting for approval.
He glanced at the sketch, then at you, then back again. His face was blank, though his lips twitched as if fighting back a reaction. "You did all this just for practice?" he asked finally.
"Of course," you said without hesitation, tilting your head at him. "You're my muse tonight. Who else would I trust to pull this off?"
That word—muse—hung in the air between you. Sunoo blinked, looking away quickly, pretending to study the messy corner of your room instead. He scoffed under his breath, though his ears betrayed him with the faintest hint of red.
"Whatever, just do your job so I can sleep," he said, voice carrying that familiar sharpness. Still, he didn't shift away when you leaned in, didn't flinch when your hand brushed against his wrist as you measured, nor when you adjusted the tilt of his chin so you could see him better. He stayed still, letting you come closer.
If someone asked you at that moment how you felt, you would have answered easily—you were happy. Happy in a way that was simple yet overwhelming. Happy because lately, it felt like things were turning in your favor, even the little things. Happy because just yesterday you'd gotten a new tattoo for free. Happy because sitting here, in your messy room that never seemed good enough for guests, you had a boy in front of you who was almost too pretty to be real. A boy who had an attitude sharp enough to cut, but whose presence made you feel full.
You weren't known for being soft. People said you were rough around the edges, cunning, always quick with words that made others falter. But with him, it was different. You couldn't help yourself from speaking, from filling the silence with random stories, thoughts, jokes—anything. To most, your voice could be overwhelming, but Sunoo had already grown used to it.
"And Jake was also planning his first date to a hotpot—" you rambled on, your hand steady as you blended shimmer onto his eyelid.
Sunoo let out a heavy sigh, his lips parting slightly as he resisted the urge to open his eyes. He had been sitting there with his lids closed for what felt like an eternity, and still you weren't finished. "Do you ever shut up?" he muttered.
You grinned, your brush tracing along the curve of his brow bone as if you didn't hear the complaint. "Why would I? My voice keeps you awake."
"More like gives me a headache," he countered. You tilted his face to the side, carefully catching the light so you could see your work better. These were just trial runs, after all, and even though you hadn't used foundation or concealer—because his skin was already annoyingly perfect—you still wanted everything to look right. The green-brown lenses had shifted the color of his eyes into softer glow, and with the eyeshadow fanned out at the corners, it gave him a kind of effortless charm that made you pause. There was something about working on his face that always made you fall quiet for a second, like you were afraid any sudden movement might break the moment. His features, up close, were unfairly beautiful—the curve of his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw, the small, barely-there freckles you'd playfully added to give him a more sun-kissed look. Everything about him was pretty in a way that didn't feel delicate, but confident. His lips especially—plump, soft, and just slightly parted while he sat there with his eyes closed.
You turned, rummaging through your pile of lip tints and glosses until you found the shade that instantly reminded you of him. It was a sheer pink with a little bit of shimmer, and you already knew how good it would look. Without warning, you swung your leg over and settled onto his lap, grinning as you balanced your weight. The reaction was immediate—Sunoo's eyes snapped open, brows pulling together.
"Seriously?" he sighed, exasperated, but his hands came to your hips anyway, holding you steady so you wouldn't slip off the edge of the bed. "Are we done now?"
You tilted your head and gave a sheepish smile, not answering as you leaned in to carefully dab the gloss over his lips. The shape of his mouth, the way it gave the tiniest twitch when your finger brushed the edge—it made your pulse jump. You were so close now that his breath brushed against your cheek, and you had to focus hard not to let your hand shake. You wanted to kiss him. The urge sat so close to the surface that it made your chest feel tight, but you didn't. You just pulled back and admired the finished look with a soft exhale.
"Perfect," you whispered to yourself, more than him. You reached behind you and grabbed the mirror without moving from his lap. Sunoo rolled his eyes but took the mirror from your hand. You stayed right where you were, watching with quiet excitement as he looked at his reflection. There was silence at first. He tilted the mirror slightly, studying one angle, then another. He reached up to touch his hair, fixing a stray strand, then let his gaze drift toward his lips. His expression shifted slowly, quiet surprise then the corner of his mouth curled upward.
"Hmm, it doesn't look bad," he murmured.
Still straddling his lap, you leaned in closer until your face hovered just near the side of his neck, taking in the soft scent of his body wash still lingering from his shower. Your voice dropped as you murmured, "You look so much prettier than me."
Without missing a beat, Sunoo gave a soft scoff, his eyes still on his reflection. "Of course. I should be."
That earned a laugh from you. Typical Sunoo. You didn't stop yourself when you leaned forward and pressed your teeth lightly against his neck, a teasing little bite that made him flinch. Sunoo immediately pinched your waist, just hard enough to make you jolt. "Don't leave marks, I swear I'll kill you," he hissed, finally putting the mirror aside and turning to glare at you.
You only grinned wider, pressing closer until your hands slid up to frame his jaw and your nose brushed against his. "What if I want to leave marks?" you whispered. "What if I want people to know you've been thoroughly used?"
He stared at you, deadpan, though the faintest flush started to bloom across his cheeks. "Used?" he echoed, blinking slowly.
You nodded, the tip of your tongue peeking out as you teased, "Yeah. Like a good little stress toy. I could sit on your face"
His jaw clenched in restraint. "You're disgusting," he muttered, but his hands never left your hips. In fact, they gripped a little tighter now.
"That's not a no," you said sweetly, letting your thumb trail along the curve of his throat. "You're holding me so well. Kinda makes me think you like this. You want me to keep going, Sunoo?"
He inhaled sharply and leaned back just slightly, giving himself space to think. The dim light of the room cast a soft glow across his cheekbones. The red LED strip near the ceiling bled into shadows, blending into the yellow hue of your little desk lamp, illuminating parts of your skin in warm patches. Your hair messily pinned up, strands falling out of your bun, wearing that worn-out Hello Kitty sando and those barely-there shorts. He swallowed hard.
And for a moment, he just stared. The edge of lust in his expression softened. The corner of his lip twitched like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. He was thinking, really thinking. and the thoughts weren't just about your lips or your thighs or the heat pooling between you. He was imagining your face twisted in pleasure, not because you were teasing or in control, but because he was the one making you fall apart. He wanted to see that. Wanted to own it.
His body betrayed him first. You both felt how hard he was getting beneath you, the tension radiating off him as you shifted on his lap and rolled your hips in a slow circle against his clothed cock. Your breath hitched as your core dragged over the growing bulge beneath his sweats, and you felt his fingers dig in harder.
Sunoo bit down on his bottom lip and didn't break eye contact. His voice came controlled, but his expression betrayed how much restraint it took. "Sit on my face, then."
Your entire body tensed. The shift was immediate. The teasing smirk that once played on your lips faltered. Your hips stopped moving, stilling right on top of him. You blinked, staring down at him, wide-eyed and visibly caught off guard. "H-huh?" you stammered, breath shallow.
His hand slid up beneath your sando, fingertips grazing over the soft skin of your waist, then higher toward your ribs, slow and unhurried as his gaze didn't flicker. "Sit on my face," he whispered again. "What's the matter? You seemed so eager earlier."
You could barely form a thought. Your pulse thundered in your ears, your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a plea. "I was just joking," you mumbled, already shifting as if to climb off his lap, trying to dismiss the thought. "You don't have to. I mean—vaginal fluid doesn't even taste good..." You avoided his eyes, flustered and scrambling for your scattered makeup products, needing something to shift the atmosphere. But before your fingers could wrap around the nearest compact, Sunoo moved. He caught you by the wrist and pushed you back onto the bed in one quick motion. You let out a small, surprised squeal as your back hit the mattress.
His body hovered over yours, his knees pinning either side of your hips, eyes fixed on you. "I've let you get me off with your mouth more times than I can count," he said in annoyance. "And now you're acting like I don't get to touch you back?"
Your heart kicked harder in your chest, thudding against your ribs as you stared up at him. "I—" you started, but your voice came out small. "Sunoo, I didn't even shave..."
He didn't blink. He sat back just slightly, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. "And?" he muttered, raising a brow as if that wasn't even a detail worth considering. When you moved to stop him, hands fluttering at his wrists, he caught one and pressed it into the mattress. His other hand cupped you through your panties, his palm fitting against the damp heat between your thighs.
Your breath hitched. Your back arched into his touch instinctively, and you saw the way his eyes darkened, how his lips parted ever so slightly. "You're soaked," he said, thumb pressing a little firmer.
You tried to deflect, though your voice wavered. "Do you even know what to do with it?" Your tone was teasing, but your body betrayed you—already trembling under his touch, heat pooling low in your stomach, breath quickening. You weren't expecting his answer.
"No," he said simply, like he wasn't embarrassed by it. Then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging the fabric down your thighs in one slow motion before tossing it somewhere across the room. "So teach me."
He slid a hand under your thigh, lifting and spreading your legs. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing soft kisses along your inner thigh slowly, all while keeping his eyes on you. The contact made your pussy flutter, a pulse of need tightening in your abdomen. Your breath hitched again, your hips twitching with anticipation. The sight of him makeup still intact from earlier, your lip gloss still lingering faintly on his mouth—made your body anticipate.
He dipped his head between your legs and dragged his tongue along your folds, one long, unhurried stroke from your entrance to your clit. The sensation made you jolt, the sudden wave of pleasure catching you off guard. "Fuck," you gasped, one hand flying to his hair, fingers curling in his soft strands.
Sunoo's tongue was slow at first, careful in a way that almost betrayed how new this was to him but he was quick to find what made you tremble. He closed his eyes, letting the taste of you settle on his tongue as he circled your clit with careful strokes before dragging his mouth lower to collect everything your body was offering. For a second, he could barely breathe.
So this is what pussy tastes like. That thought rang in his head, the warmth, the wetness, the way your whole body jerked when he hit the right spot—it was more than he imagined. He'd spent years scoffing at the way straight guys romanticized it, mocked their obsession, swore he'd never enjoy it. But fuck, now he understood why they bragged about it. Now he understood the hype.
His hands gripped your thighs as he dragged his tongue through your folds again, slower this time, savoring it. He moaned into you when he heard you whine his name, your voice shaky and breathless. The vibration of his voice against your pussy made your whole body twitch, and Sunoo's cock throbbed from the sound alone. If he wasn't already half-hard before, he was fully aching now, painfully so.
"S-Sunoo," you whimpered, hips lifting off the bed in a desperate rhythm that told him just how good he was doing. His mouth moved instinctively—less cautious now, more eager, more confident—as he pushed his tongue deeper, tasting you from your entrance all the way up, mouth hot and greedy. You were clenching around nothing, so tight and needy, and he wanted to bury his face even deeper, get drunk off you.
When your thighs began to tremble and squeeze around his ears, he didn't stop—instead, he pressed your legs apart with both hands, holding you open like a meal he wasn't finished with yet. Your slick coated his lips and chin, dripping down, and he didn't care. If anything, it made him hungrier. He licked through it all, mess and all, letting it smear over his tongue and down his throat as he sucked your clit hard, then softened his strokes just enough to tease again.
"Ahhh!" Your body writhed underneath him, moans louder, messier, fingers clawing at his hair. His nose bumped into your clit as he worked his tongue into you again, his face wet with your slick, breathing through his mouth as he chased the way you tasted.
His mind was spinning—nothing existed in that moment except your moans, the heat of your pussy, and the steady throb in his pants that begged for release. And when you cried out his name again, legs shaking harder, nails digging into his scalp as your hips rocked into his face, Sunoo moaned so loud it vibrated against your cunt, eyes rolling back as he thought—fuck, he could come from just this.
Sunoo's hips were already grinding against the mattress, his clothed cock rutting helplessly into the sheets as he kept his mouth buried between your legs, tongue swirling slow, then fast, then slow again as he tested how you reacted to every flick and drag. But it was your clit that made him obsessed, the way it throbbed, the way you twitched whenever he sucked it, the way you squealed when he circled it just right. He focused there now, licking harder, more deliberate, tasting every ounce of you like he was making up for all the time he'd dismissed ever wanting this.
This wasn't just payback for all the times you teased him, for every shameless comment or cocky flirt that came from your mouth. No, this was Sunoo owning you. Silencing you. Making you feel exactly what you put him through—restless, aching, desperate.
Your moans started to rise uncontrollably, your voice shaky, your fingers now tangled tightly in his hair as your hips rolled in sync with the rhythm of his tongue. "Wait! Fuck!" you gasped, thighs twitching as your climax built hard and fast, threatening to snap. But Sunoo didn't let up, if anything, he gripped your legs tighter, keeping them wide open, anchoring you in place so you couldn't run from it.
He looked up at you, flushed and wrecked, your eyes squeezed shut in overwhelmed pleasure, lips parted as your body trembled. His cock throbbed painfully from just the sight, and his tongue moved faster, dragging flat and then curling upward to suck your clit hard before flicking again.
When you came, it hit like a wave crashing through your entire body, your back arched off the mattress, mouth open in a cry you barely recognized, legs shaking hard in his hold. Your breathing turned ragged, stuttering as the orgasm took over, intense and blinding.
But Sunoo didn't stop. He lapped through it, almost like he was trying to drag more out of you, milking the high as long as he could. His mouth was soaked, face buried so deep you had to push at his head with trembling hands, voice breaking as you choked out, "Too much—fuck, I can't—"
He let you go, finally, pulling back with a smile. His lips glistened with your cum, cheeks flushed, and his hair was a mess from your grip but those green contacts made his eyes look almost unreal in the soft red light. And god, the makeup you'd done earlier was perfect. Smudged only a little at the corner of his lids, giving him an edgier look that made your cunt clench again.
Sunoo was pretty. Too pretty. Pretty enough to ruin you without even trying. What made it worse—or better, depending how fucked up your brain was—was the way his tongue slowly dragged along his bottom lip, catching the last traces of you. "How was it?" he asked, tilting his head to seek of your approval.
You couldn't even answer at first. Your legs were still trembling, thighs sticky and wet, your heartbeat thudding too loud in your ears to think straight. You swallowed, chest rising and falling fast as you tried to catch your breath. Then you looked at him again—at the shine on his mouth, the hunger still flickering behind those pretty green eyes, the way he sat back slightly.
"Not that bad," you breathed out, voice shaky as your trembling legs bent down and your fingers slowly pressed against the hard outline of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweats. You didn't even try to hide how your hand lingered, almost testing him—your palm flat, applying a bit of pressure. Sunoo raised his brow at your answer but you didn't meet it. You were too busy fighting off the embarrassment clawing at your chest from the way you moved so eagerly, so unlike how you usually carry yourself.
"Down to fuck?" you asked, forcing a playful smirk as you tilted your head, though your voice cracked slightly at the end and your legs still hadn't stopped trembling. The moment you saw the way he blinked at you, you almost backtracked, your lips parting, about to laugh it off like you were only playing.
But then Sunoo was already pulling down his sweats. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed and angry-looking, the head pink and glistening, practically pulsing with tension. You stared. Your mouth went dry. Then wet. You swallowed thickly, clenching your thighs, heat crawling under your skin and settling low in your stomach. There was no hesitation in him now, no teasing smile, just hunger written across his face as he sat back on his heels. His hand wrapped around himself, stroking slowly as he watched the way your breath caught. You didn't even try to hide your stare.
Your mouth went dry, your legs pressing together out of reflex, and you could feel your whole body heat at the sight of him. He looked desperate, flushed, needy, barely holding himself back. "W-Wait," you blurted, hand reaching out like you meant to stop him, even though your body clearly didn't agree. Your pulse was racing, and your thoughts were already spiraling, too many emotions crashing into each other all at once—desire, fear, anticipation.
Sunoo let out a rough sigh, dragging his eyes up to your face. His brows furrowed and his lips parted like he was going to say something else, but then his jaw clenched tight. You could see the frustration in his eyes. "What more do you need?" he asked, voice low and strained. "Do you want me or not?"
You swallowed hard, because the truth was yes, more than you'd ever expected to. But something about how exposed both of you were now made it suddenly harder to breathe. "I just..." you began, "I don't want to ruin this. You've never done this before and I—what if it's too much?" It was fear—real and sudden fear. The weight of what you were about to do had finally caught up, hitting somewhere deep in your chest. This wasn't just another messy hookup. Not with him.
Sunoo stared at you in silence. You could see the flicker in his eyes, between disbelief and restrained annoyance. He almost looked like he was about to roll his eyes and shove you back down onto the mattress with that sharp tongue of his, throwing some cutting comment about how ridiculous this was when you were both already naked, your legs trembling and his cock painfully hard between them. But he didn't. Instead, he took a breath, he reached out, fingers brushing gently against the inside of your knee. You felt the warmth of his palm slide up your thigh until it rested there. "It's already too much," he said. "It's been too much since the first time you kissed me."
You swallowed hard as you sat still beneath his touch. Then his hand slid a little higher, his thumb brushing softly against the crease where your thigh met your hip. "So..." he tilted his head, the corners of his lips twitching into a slight smirk that couldn't hide the heat still simmering in his eyes. "Are we gonna fuck or not?"
You let out a shaky breath, laughing despite yourself. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his jaw, feeling the slight tremble in his skin. Your hand slid down between you, curling around the base of his cock, hot and twitching in your grip. His breath stuttered, hips jerking slightly. You looked up at him, lips brushing his cheekbone as you whispered, "Lay back for me. Let me take care of you first."
Sunoo obeyed without a word, his body moving almost too quickly. He leaned back against the headboard, chest rising fast, lips parted as he tried to steady his breath. You saw the way his cock twitched in anticipation, pre-cum glistening at the tip, practically begging for friction.
You pulled your sando off, discarding it somewhere off the bed. The bra came next, your bare form revealed under the room's dim lighting. You weren't shy—at least you tried not to be—but you were aware of the way Sunoo's eyes darkened the moment he saw you fully.
Sunoo stopped breathing altogether. His lips parted slightly, stunned, staring at the shape of you, the ink on your skin, the curve of your breasts, and the subtle shimmer of sweat from earlier. Everything about you was too much. Too fucking beautiful.
You straddled him slowly, settling over his thighs as you reached toward your drawer and took out a condom. Sunoo's eyes didn't leave yours, not even when you tore the packet open and rolled it down the length of his cock with deliberate care. His head fell back against the pillows as he let out a groan, hips twitching up into your hand.
"Fuck," he groaned, hips bucking just slightly into your hand. His cock throbbed under your touch, hard and leaking. He couldn't believe how sensitive he was. How badly he wanted this.
You smirked at the sound, giving him a slow stroke just to see him twitch again. "First time?" you teased. "You better tell me later what's better—dick or pussy."
He let out a breathless laugh, but didn't answer. Not when you were already lifting your hips and guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. That wiped the grin from both your faces.
As he breached you slowly, you gritted your teeth, trying to hide the way your body resisted the stretch. Your hands pressed against his chest for support, and you felt his hands move instinctively to your hips, holding you steady but not forcing anything. His grip was trembling. So were your thighs. You widened your legs as best as you could, adjusting inch by inch, trying to take him fully without showing how much it burned on the way in. You tried to play it off—tried to look confident even when your face couldn't hide the pinch of discomfort.
The truth was, you didn't have a lot of experience with men. Maybe just one, and that didn't really count. It was fast, fumbling, and forgettable. You'd never ridden anyone before. You knew how to move your hips with girls—scissoring, grinding, finding the angles—but this was different. This was slower, deeper, stretching you in ways you hadn't prepared for. You didn't want to look clueless. You didn't want to ruin the moment.
Still, you refused to back down. You braced yourself, breathing through your nose, trying to remember every move you'd given and received, every grind and swivel you'd learned with women—just enough to give yourself rhythm. You focused on how wet you were and how turned on he clearly was, Sunoo gasped beneath you, both hands tightening on your waist like he was afraid he'd lose himself the second you sank further.
"Fuck—" he choked, voice cracking. "You're so—tight. Oh my god—don't move yet—just—fuck—"
His head tilted back, lips parted in a perfect 'O' as he moaned, eyes squeezed shut. His reaction made something clench in your chest and between your legs, but you held still, letting yourself adjust, letting him calm down before either of you pushed too far too fast.
You looked down at him, sweat already starting to gather at his temples, and leaned over just enough to press your forehead to his.
You finally managed to sink down all the way, and the stretch was so intense it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your mouth fell open in a breathless moan, your walls clenching tight around him, struggling to adjust. The pain hadn't completely faded, but it was being overtaken by a creeping pleasure that curled low in your belly. Still, your legs were shaking violently beneath you, the burn in your thighs making it impossible to lift yourself.
Sunoo blinked up at you, concern slipping into his dazed expression as his hands rubbed your waist slowly, gently. His fingers were trying to soothe you, but he could feel the tremble beneath your skin, could see the panic flicker in your eyes. "You okay?" he asked quietly.
You couldn't answer right away. You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, hiding the stutter in your breath as your hands gripped his shoulders. You nodded, though it was shaky. "I'm fine," you said but it came out weak, and the moment you tried to lift yourself, your legs gave out again. You choked out a sound, "just... g-give me a minute."
Sunoo stiffened underneath you when he felt the hot tear that rolled down onto his skin. His brows furrowed as he turned his head slightly, lips brushing your temple. He almost felt bad, guilty to be exact. He knew what that stretch felt like, that burn of being too full, and for a second, he almost paused. Almost. But then you clenched around him again, and it told him everything he needed to know.
"You're such a liar," he breathed out, a soft laugh slipping past his lips. "All that talk... and look at you now."
You didn't respond—just let out another breathy moan, face still tucked into his neck, skin hot with embarrassment. He could feel how tight you were, feel how you clenched around him every time he moved even the slightest. Without warning, he planted both feet flat on the mattress and thrust upward, driving himself deeper inside you. Your entire body jolted, and the moan that tore out of your throat was loud and desperate. He clenched his jaw at the sound of it, biting back his own curse.
You tightened around him, body clenching in response, and his hips bucked again, this time slower, more deliberate. His mouth moved to your ear, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there as you trembled in his hold. "Let me take over," he whispered. His arms wrapped around your waist, locking you in place, and his hips moved again—shallow but deep, fucking into you from below.
You both moaned out loud. It was past one in the morning and the silence outside made it worse, like every sound would carry past the walls, but Sunoo didn't seem to care. His rhythm picked up, hips snapping against yours with rising urgency, chasing the high he'd only ever imagined.
His thrust hit that perfect spot inside you and your whole body arched, a sharp cry ripping from your throat. Your hands fumbled to hold onto something—his arms, the sheets, your own sanity—but it was already slipping.
Sunoo didn't pause, didn't even look apologetic as he murmured, "Fuck, that's it," like he'd just discovered your weakness. Your pussy was gripping him so tight he could barely move, but that only drove him further. The struggle made it more satisfying.
And then, he pulled out. You barely had time to protest when he shifted your position, guiding you back onto the bed with your legs spread wide. He stared, breathing hard, hands trailing down your thighs before his fingers spread your folds gently. He took a second just to look at you, to admire how wet and swollen you were for him, how much you wanted it. Then, with two fingers, he circled your clit—light, teasing touches that made your hips jerk and your legs try to close on instinct.
So this is why tops get cocky, he thought, watching the way your eyes fluttered, the way your lips fell open in a silent moan. This is why they hold someone down, grip their legs, call them pretty, beg them to take more. He could feel the power of every thrust, feel the way your body reacted. He never understood it before. He always thought tops just liked being in charge, that they were addicted to control—but it wasn't just about that.
"You always run your mouth," he muttered, watching your body twitch with every motion. "But where's all that attitude now?"
He caught your leg, draping one over his shoulder as he lined himself up again. The stretch was immediate, deeper now in this new position, and he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, dragging his cock along your walls until the tip pressed against the spot that made your back arch on reflex.
"You always talk too much," he muttered, groaning at the way you clenched again. "Guess my dick's the one to shut you up."
You sobbed harder, face turning to the side as your hands gripped the sheets. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, tears streaking your cheeks as you moaned his name. "P-please, Sunoo."
Sunoo's stomach tightened at the sound. He threw his head back, letting out a moan that was nearly a growl. His grip tightened on your thighs before he grabbed both, pushing your knees up beside your head as he leaned in close. His arms braced on either side of you, the shift pressing you into the mattress, trapping you with his weight.
Then, he pulled almost all the way out, letting you feel every inch slip from your body before slamming back in with a force that made your eyes roll back. The bed creaked beneath you, the room filled with the slick, wet sound of skin on skin.
"Fuck!" you screamed, arching harder beneath him, your voice cracking on the edge of a sob. Without a second thought, he dropped his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, precise circles. "G-gonna cum, wait! Wait, wait, wait—" your voice dissolving into a high-pitched wail, so loud and unfiltered that Sunoo instinctively leaned down to kiss you, swallowing the sound against your lips.
The moment his mouth covered yours, your walls spasmed around him, tight and wet and so hot that he couldn't think. Your climax hit, your hips jerking uncontrollably as your pussy clenched around him over and over, fluttering in a rhythm that made his own control snap completely.
Sunoo moaned against your mouth, almost choking on it, his own breath ragged as he held still for a heartbeat but your body pulled it out of him. He couldn't stop moving, not when it felt like this. He gripped your waist tight and kept thrusting, shallow and fast, keeping the head of his cock angled against the soft, spongy spot inside you. He wanted to feel all of it, ride it out, draw it out until you were crying again.
Your legs shook violently as you clung to him, your mouth parting beneath his kiss in gasping, sobbing breaths. You didn't even care that you were a mess now, sweat-slicked, trembling, lips swollen from kissing and crying. You couldn't stop clenching around him, couldn't stop shaking from how intense it was.
And Sunoo, he'd never felt anything like it. That pressure, the way you pulsed around him, the wet squeeze of your walls, the heat, the smell of sweat and sex, the muffled sobs against his mouth—it was too much. He buried his face in your neck as his hips stuttered once, then twice more, before he groaned loud, biting down on a moan that still escaped him in a rush.
"Shit! Ah! Fuck, fuck fuck." He came hard, harder than he ever remembered. His body curled over yours as the orgasm crashed through him, his muscles locking up, breath ragged as his cock twitched deep inside the condom. The sound he made was almost a sob of his own because the moment you clenched around him like that, it was over. He had no chance.
He stayed inside you, breathing hard against your collarbone, trying to get control of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, holding you close. You blinked up at the ceiling, dazed, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. Sunoo pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing hair out of your face with one trembling hand.
"One more?" you asked, voice still breathy as you gave him a weak smile, your lashes still wet with the remnants of your tears. There was a glow in your face from that dazed, post-orgasmic haze.
Sunoo let out a scoff, tossing his head to the side. "My legs feel like noodles. Leave me alone." He covered his eyes with one arm.
You let out a small laugh, too drained to do more than let your body sink deeper into the sheets. You didn't push back with another tease. Sunoo sighed as he finally peeled himself off the bed. He removed the condom carefully, tying it off and tossing it into the trash. His limbs felt too light, a little shaky, and for a second he just stood there, catching his breath with a hand braced against the edge of the drawer.
Most of his exes never really gave a shit after sex. They'd turn their backs, light a cigarette, or scroll through their phones. And Sunoo hated that—hated how cold it used to make him feel, even if he pretended it didn't. He wasn't about to become that kind of person, no matter what this thing was between you two. No matter how casual you both claimed it was. So he pulled on his briefs and then his sweatpants, still trying to recover as he looked at your spent body lying there, eyes fluttering closed, chest flushed and rising slowly. You weren't asleep yet, but you looked like you could drift off at any second.
"Don't pass out on me," he muttered under his breath as he leaned down, arms sliding under your knees and back. His muscles protested immediately. "Shit—what are you eating?" he groaned as he lifted you, stumbling a little. "Why are you so heavy? Fuck, my back hurts."
Your laugh came out as a soft wheeze, your head dropping onto his shoulder. "You're so sweet," you mumbled, not even bothering to open your eyes.
Sunoo let out a sharp, incredulous sound as he adjusted his grip on you. "Sweet?" he scoffed. "Bitch, I'm carrying you to the bathroom so you don't get a UTI. That's not sweet, that's basic sexual hygiene."
You didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed, just groaned and buried your face deeper into the crook of his neck as he trudged down the hall. "Still sweet," you mumbled against his skin, barely audible.
After that night, you truly believed something had shifted between the two of you. And if anyone asked how you felt, you'd say the same thing every time: you were happy. Deeply, undeniably happy.
4 Months Later.
"Ah! Harder!F-fuck, Sunoo!"
Your voice cracked as Sunoo pressed a firm hand against the small of your back, forcing your hips higher while his other hand anchored tight around your waist. He dug his nails into your skin without realizing, the sting only mixing into the heat already flooding your body. His pace grew rougher, steady and merciless, and when your moans pitched too high, he slid his palm up to the back of your neck, pinning your face into the mattress to muffle the sounds.
Sunoo's eyes dropped, gaze fixed on the red lilies etched into your lower back. The ink bloomed outward in delicate, mirrored curves, the lines dark against your sweat-slick skin. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he had become addicted to this view. From behind, with your ass high and that tattoo staring back at him, he always came harder than he thought possible. He'd never say it aloud, of course—he'd just brush it off with some offhand jab about your face being annoying. But deep down, he knew the truth: doggy had become his favorite position because it gave him this sight, this control, and it drove him insane.
His thrusts grew uneven, his groans breaking apart as his orgasm built and finally tore through him. A strangled moan left his lips as he spilled into the condom, his hips stuttering before he slowed to a stop. Breathing harshly, he carefully pulled out, muscles trembling.
He tied off the condom and tossed it into the trash, staring at the small pile already gathering there. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "We should've stopped after the third round. My head feels groggy every time and I still have duty tomorrow."
You collapsed forward onto the bed. "You're the one who kept asking for more," you teased, voice hoarse but playful as you reached for the drawer by your side. You pulled it open and slid your fingers around the familiar box of cigarettes, only to flinch when Sunoo's hand smacked yours away with no hesitation.
"No cigarettes while I'm here," he snapped, eyes narrowing as he shoved the box back into the drawer and slammed it shut.
You turned your head lazily to glare at him, lips jutting into a pout. "Come on, I always smoke outside. Just one, it won't kill me."
Sunoo rolled his eyes and flopped down beside you, his arm heavy as it landed across your waist. "Yeah, and you'll say the same thing tomorrow, and the next day, and then you'll be coughing your lungs out when you're thirty. No thanks, I'm not kissing an ashtray." He buried his face briefly against your shoulder, breathing in your scent, before pulling back with a huff.
You stared at Sunoo for a moment, your palm brushing over his damp hair as you gently pushed it back from his forehead, fingertips catching against the fine strands still slick with sweat. His skin was flushed, chest rising and falling in steady breaths, the aftermath of exhaustion softening his features in a way you rarely got to see. He let out a low sigh at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed just for a second before he opened them again, blinking up at you like he didn't want to move. "Come on," he murmured, "let's take a shower and sleep already. I'm leaving at six-thirty."
You nodded, smiling as you leaned down to nuzzle your nose against his cheek. Your legs slipped around his waist without needing to be asked, body folding into him easily. Without a word, Sunoo shifted and lifted you up, muttering something under his breath about how clingy you were.
It wasn't often he had time like this. With his final year piling up and hospital internships consuming his days, Sunoo was constantly in motion, constantly drained. But when he made space for you, it was always in small, quiet ways—sitting still long enough for you to do his makeup, letting you slip him into the clothes you had designed, experimenting with textures and colors against his skin. He'd roll his eyes, complain about the shimmer on his cheeks or how ridiculous he looked, but he never told you to stop. And more often than not, those moments ended the same way—clothes discarded, skin pressed together, his sharp tongue replaced by soft moans. Always sex.
By morning, you usually woke up first. You'd reach for him half-asleep, sometimes without even meaning to, and he'd let it happen—sleepy eyes cracking open as he let you ride him or even give him a morning blowjob.
He told you to keep things quiet, especially when it came to Jake. Around other people, you played your part, but your restraint never lasted long. When the three of you were together, you couldn't help but lean too close to Sunoo, let your fingers graze over his hand or your palm rest lightly on his thigh. He'd shoot you that withering look, roll his eyes and he'd always yank your hair or slap your hand away.
You yawned as you bent over to pour cat food into Luna's bowl, the dry sound of the kibble clinking against ceramic echoing through the quiet. Your cat was rarely ever home, she rubbed against your ankle before settling to eat, her sleek black fur rising and falling with every breath.
Behind you, Sunoo stepped out from the bathroom, towel draped around his neck, still drying his hair. He passed by silently, stooping to give Luna a little scratch behind the ear before wandering around your room to gather his things. "I ironed your scrubs already," you said, yawning mid-sentence, arms stretching overhead as you turned to face him. "Your bag's on the table."
He paused mid-motion, glancing at you. You weren't the type to hover or fuss over anyone, but with him, it was different. You'd stopped staying at his place, mostly because you knew how little sleep he got. You didn't want to disrupt the hours of rest he did manage to find. So instead, you made sure that whenever he came over, everything he'd need by morning was already in place. Scrubs clean and folded. Bag packed. Sometimes even the lunch you'd made slipped quietly into his bag.
"I bought an energy drink yesterday," you mumbled, already at the fridge, grabbing out a pack of three. "Bring one for your friend. Sungwon, right?"
Sunoo scoffed, eyes narrowing in exaggerated offense. "His name is Jungwon. You've met him—don't act fake now."
You grinned as you handed him the cans, laughing softly as he leaned in and kissed your temple. "Thanks, girl," he muttered against your skin, then he pulled back slightly, still toweling off his damp hair, and gave you a small smirk. "Can you dry my hair and slick it back for me?"
You blinked, a little taken aback. Usually, Sunoo did things on his own, and even when he didn't, he rarely asked for help like this. You nodded without thinking, already reaching for your comb. "Yeah. Sit down," you said gently. "I'll make you look hot so Jungwon doesn't think you crawled out of bed with someone."
"I did crawl out of bed with someone," he quipped back, dropping onto the edge of your bed as you moved behind him, towel still around his shoulders.
You smiled to yourself as you began combing through the strands, towel-drying with care. "Yeah, but no one needs to know she's me."
Sunoo didn't say anything back. His eyes were on his phone, scrolling through whatever filled his morning—probably messages from classmates, schedules, maybe even memes. You didn't ask. You just stood behind him, carefully guiding his hair into a clean, slicked-back style that you knew he preferred when he was headed out for his hospital duty.
The peace felt normal, but something about it pressed against your chest. Still, you stayed silent as he finally set his phone down on the table with a soft clatter and picked up his makeup pouch, moving with ease as he dabbed on light concealer and patted a cushion over his skin. When you finished, you lingered for a moment. Then, without thinking, you leaned forward, wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He groaned in that exaggerated, irritated way he always did when you got too clingy but he didn't push you away.
"I'm just happy," you murmured against his skin in a smile as your cheek rested against his. He didn't respond. Just rolled his eyes and reached for his lip balm, uncapping it with one hand. And even though he didn't say anything, you still held on for a second longer, memorizing how he felt beneath your arms.
Another week passed, and the days slipped by faster than you expected. Between classes, looming project deadlines, and juggling your part-time job, your schedule blurred but you never forgot to check in with Sunoo. You messaged him like always, updates about your day, stupid memes, or little notes like "Don't skip meals." His replies were dry, short, sometimes just an emoji or a thumbs up. But you clung to them anyway.
You were in your living room when Jay flopped down onto your couch, letting out a breath. Your electric guitar rested on your lap, fingers absentmindedly plucking at the strings, trying to memorize the fretwork. "Sunghoon's been asking about you again," Jay said, casually scrolling through his phone. "So, what do you wanna play for the university event this week? You're singing, so it's your call."
You adjusted the tuning pegs, focused on the strings. "Tell Sunghoon I'm not interested," you muttered without looking up. "What about Supermassive Black Hole?"
Jay raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's a hard pick. You really think you can handle both vocals and electric?"
You shrugged, chin tilted slightly as your fingers slid back into place on the neck of the guitar. "I've done harder."
Practice didn't go as smoothly as you wanted. Your mind wandered more than it should have, eyes flicking to your phone every other minute. Jay tried to stay patient, but the third time you missed your cue, he slammed his palm lightly against the back of the couch.
"Can you focus, please? You're the one who wanted this song," he said. "We barely even see you these days."
Kai, sitting behind the drum kit, tossed his sticks onto the floor with a sigh. "You keep zoning out. It's starting to get annoying."
You didn't even defend yourself. Because in that moment, your phone vibrated and your heart jumped. Sunoo was calling! You nearly knocked your guitar off your lap as you scrambled to answer, pressing the phone to your ear before the first ring ended. "Hello!" you said, voice too eager and too bright. It was the first time Sunoo had ever called you.
Kai made a face, motioning to Jay to take over. You turned away, trying to keep your voice low, your heart pounding.
On the other end, Sunoo didn't even greet you. His tone was flat, a little rushed. "I left my record book at your place. Can you get it for me?"
You blinked, straightening a little. "Oh—yeah, okay. Where are you now?"
"I'm on duty," he said, barely giving you time to respond. "At the hospital. Can you make it quick?"
There was no softness in his voice, no hint that he missed you or even cared that you answered. He just sounded tired, and you understand it since being in a healthcare is not a joke. You looked over your shoulder at your bandmates. Jay met your eyes but didn't say anything, just waved you off. "Yeah, okay. I'll head over now," you said quietly, gripping the phone tighter.
"Thanks," was all he said before the line went dead. You didn't waste time. Back in your room, you found his record book tucked between his internship folders and some folded clothes he had left the last time he stayed over. The edges were a little bent from being stuffed into your shelf, and you smoothed them gently with your palm before grabbing your helmet.
Jay's voice followed you from the couch as he sat up, confused. "Where the hell are you going?"
"Something important," you answered quickly, pulling your jacket on. "I'll be back later. Just need to drop this off."
Kai muttered something under his breath, likely a curse about your priorities, but you didn't stop to listen. You slipped out the door and rode your motorbike across town like muscle memory guided your body, even if your mind was still stuck on the way Sunoo sounded.
When you pulled in on the parking lot, the first thing you saw was him. He was leaning against a pale concrete wall near the entrance, half in shadow. Even from a distance, he looked worn down to the bone. His scrubs hung slightly loose on his frame, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were stark against the paleness of his skin. He wasn't even looking at his phone, just staring off, hands limp at his sides.
Your steps were careful as you approached, "Sunoo..." His head turned, eyes sluggish to find you. You stopped in front of him and took a breath, holding the record book out with one hand, the other brushing lightly against his forearm. "Are you okay, baby?" The nickname slipped out unconsciously, concern laced around the softness in your voice.
"I'm fine." He reached out and took the record book from your hand without looking you in the eye. "Just... duty being toxic."
You nodded, swallowing down the worry bubbling up your throat. "Have you eaten yet? You look—Sunoo, you look really out of it." You stepped closer, trying to meet his gaze. "Can I bring you something? Coffee? Bread? I'll wait for you until you're off."
His lips tightened, jaw locking like he was holding something back, but you continued. "What about we go to the—"
"God, can you just stop?" he snapped suddenly, voice louder than it should have been. You flinched. He immediately looked away, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. "I don't want any of that shit. I just needed the damn book."
You blinked, stunned for a second. Not because it hurt—though it did—but because it was the first time he'd ever raised his voice at you like that. Your fingers curled tightly around the edge of your jacket as you tried to steady your breathing. "I know," you said quietly, forcing your voice to stay even, "but you sounded upset. And I was worried."
Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just stood there, shoulders rising and falling as he breathed through whatever storm he was holding inside. "Look," he said, voice lower but still strained. "I just need to get through today. I don't have time for anything else right now."
You nodded slowly, though your chest tightened at the way he phrased it. Anything else. That included you. You took a small step back, out of understanding, even if it stung.
"I'll go," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just... take care of yourself, okay?"
He didn't respond. Just turned and walked back toward the sliding doors of the hospital, the record book clutched in his hand.
You've been meaning to apologize to Sunoo ever since that day, but every time you thought of dialing his number or dropping a message, you paused. He was under so much pressure already, barely sleeping between hospital shifts and classes, and you didn't want to be another thing that made his chest feel heavy.
You sat alone at the campus cafeteria, your fingers working over the delicate rows of yarn as you crocheted slowly, the hook moving again and again. A small collection of handmade tulips lay across the table in a neat cluster—pinks, reds, a few white ones that hadn't taken shape yet. Your brows were furrowed, not from the difficulty of the pattern, but from the thoughts you couldn't seem to untangle from your mind.
"You've been zoning out a lot," Sunghoon's voice cut through the silence. He slid into the seat across from you, his tray untouched. "Jay said he's one tantrum away from kicking you out of the band."
"I'm not zoning out," you answered without looking up, looping the yarn again. "I've just been doing something more important."
Sunghoon leaned in, resting his elbows on the table as his eyes scanned the colorful flowers in front of you. "These commissions? I thought you stopped doing them."
You didn't respond, the sound of yarn slipping through your fingers filling the silence instead. He watched you for another moment before asking, "Are you seeing someone?"
Your hands faltered slightly, just for a second, then picked up again as if nothing had happened. "No," you said quietly, eyes fixed on the work. "It's for a friend."
Sunghoon gave a soft hum, like he didn't believe you but wasn't going to press. "You know I've liked you for a while, right? Since high school."
You finally looked up, just enough to meet his gaze for a brief second before dropping your eyes again. "Sunghoon, I don't have the energy for one of your talks right now."
"I'm not here to make a scene," he said, more gently this time. "I just... I know how you are when you start liking someone. You act like you're fine, like everything's under control, but you start giving too much of yourself without realizing it."
Your jaw tensed, fingers tightening slightly around the hook. "You let your guard down," he continued. "And you start doing all these little things—waiting around, making things for them, dropping everything just to show up. Even when they stop treating you the same way, you keep giving."
"Sunghoon, stop," you muttered.
"I'm not judging you," he said, watching the way your hands moved a little slower. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again."
You didn't bother to look at him. The words weren't new. You shoved the last tulip into the paper bag and stood from your seat, brushing your hands on your jeans as if to shake the weight off. "It's none of your business," you said. "I do what I want to do." You left before he could answer.
Lately, everything felt like a blur. The hospital was suffocating, patients piling up, charts demanding constant attention, the head nurse always finding something to criticize. Sunoo hadn't slept in two days, and even when he did manage to collapse onto his mattress, his chest stayed tight. There wasn't room for anything else. Not for laughter, not for texting back, not even for eating. And eventually, not even for you. He didn't realize how much time had passed since he last answered your messages. He hadn't even opened them. He kept telling himself he would later, when his head wasn't pounding, when he could at least form a sentence that didn't sound like a sigh. But later kept moving farther away.
So when he opened his apartment door and saw you standing there at 9 PM, hands clutching a paper bag with that small, nervous look on your face—he froze. "S-sorry," you muttered, voice soft. "I will not disturb you, just rest. I-I just need to drop this, and wish it make you feel better."
He blinked. Then looked at the bag. Then at you again. He didn't think. He stepped forward and pulled you into his arms before you could even take a step back. The paper crinkled between you, but he didn't care. The second he buried his face into your neck, something in him cracked. A quiet sob escaped before he could hold it in, his hands shaking slightly against your back.
He couldn't remember the last time someone had brought him anything without asking for something in return. "I've never received any flowers," he mumbled. "No one's ever given me anything like this."
You didn't say anything, but your hand was there. The warmth of your touch made his chest ache in a different way. "I'm sorry for being an asshole," he whispered, breathing in your scent, a small comfort in the chaos of his days. "I didn't mean to push you away. I just—everything's been too much."
"I know," you murmured, your chin resting on his shoulder. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."
But he wanted to. You didn't deserve silence. You didn't deserve to be left hanging, wondering if he even cared. He just couldn't bring himself to say it all, but not now, not while his throat was tight and his eyes were stinging and your arms were the first place he felt human all week. "I should've answered. I just... didn't have the energy."
You didn't move away. You didn't scold him. You didn't ask for anything. You just stayed. He pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to look somewhat composed. "Do you want to stay? Just for a bit?"
You nodded without hesitation, and the two of you ended up in his room, laughing your ass out.
He let out another burst of laugh as he leaned over to look at your tablet. "What even is that supposed to be?"
"Wait, I drew you!" you blurted out, your finger swiping across the screen excitedly. You tapped on a picture and turned it to show him—the chibi version of him with devil horns, an exaggerated pout, and glitter under the eyes.
Sunoo squinted, then narrowed his eyes dramatically. "You little shit," he muttered, before slapping your shoulder.
You shifted without thinking, climbing into his lap, your back settling against his chest as you held the tablet up between you. His arms wrapped around your waist loosely, his chin resting over your shoulder
"Wait, you drew this one too?" Sunoo's voice pulled you from the moment. He pointed at a little sticker design on your tablet—a black cat holding a cigarette between its tiny fingers. "I bought this! From the Art Museum's student booth a few months ago. I stuck it on my old clipboard."
You turned your head slightly to meet his stare. "Are you serious? That was my booth. That's literally my design!"
Sunoo's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "What the hell? Why weren't you guarding your own booth?! You're such a bad artist!"
You scoffed, turning to half-face him, "Excuse me, I had a nicotine addiction to maintain. I took a break."
He groaned. "Turns out it was you sneaking off to light up under a 'No Smoking' sign."
"You bought my sticker and called me a bitch. How dare you insult me and support me at the same time?"
"I didn't know it was you!" he defended, laughing again. "But honestly, you deserved it. I hate people who smoke where they're not supposed to."
You twisted slightly in his lap, now facing him more directly. "So do you still hate me?" you asked, teasing, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your fingers played with the hem of his hoodie.
Sunoo didn't look away. He rolled his eyes like he always did. His voice was soft, almost playful. "Yes. Obviously. You're still annoying."
You pouted at his answer, dragging out a whine. His smile lingered, and even though his words were stubborn, his hands had tightened just slightly around your waist. "I'm not joking," he added, resting his forehead against yours. "You're so, so, sooo annoying."
The night ended up your thighs trembling around his head, your hands tangled in his hair, your voice broken from the way his mouth worked between your legs. He made you come three times with his tongue alone, not stopping until you pushed at his shoulders with tear-brimmed eyes and slurred, begging words. Then he let you ride him, your back turned to him, your head lolled to the side as his hands gripped your hips.
The next morning, the weight in your chest had lifted. You didn't feel guilty for smiling. Even when Jay clapped his hands together loudly the moment you walked into the studio and said, "You're in a good mood, thank God," you just grinned wider and grabbed his electric guitar, pretending to tune it like nothing had happened.
"You want a hit?" Kai asked, waving his vape your way.
You shook your head without even thinking. "I already quit smoking," you said casually, even though that choice had been harder than you liked to admit.
You and Sunoo didn't put labels on what was happening—not yet—but things fell into place anyway. There was a rhythm to it. You spent weekends at his apartment, usually coming over late Friday, falling asleep on his couch after watching movies and ordering junk food. Saturday mornings meant waking up tangled together, cooking breakfast with your hair a mess and his arms still lazy around your waist, and Sunday nights usually ended with you riding him slowly before passing out from exhaustion. Mondays, he walked you to your motorbike before his duty started again.
One Sunday afternoon, sprawled on his bed while you were half-scrolling through TikTok and half-dozing on his lap, he suddenly shoved his phone in your face. "I think this type of style suits you more," he said, showing you some random Pinterest board filled with soft, layered outfits—more structured, a little feminine, clean silhouettes with warm tones. "You need to upgrade your wardrobe."
You squinted at the screen, unimpressed. "Hmm. I think you're just projecting your type in girls on me," you teased, nudging his thigh with your elbow.
Sunoo rolled his eyes, clearly expecting that answer. "No. I just think it looks presentable. And it would look good on you."
You looked down at yourself—baggy ripped jeans, an oversized acubi-style shirt, sneakers worn down from all your bike rides. Not exactly the most polished look, but it was comfortable. You shrugged with a small grin. "Okay, I'll try," you said. "Anyway, can we visit that new café that opened last week? I saw it on Instagram and they have a bunch of Bon Jovi albums on display."
Sunoo blinked. "Bon Jovi?"
"Yeah, like actual vinyls. The post said there's a listening booth too." You leaned closer, eyes brightening. "And the interior looks so nice. Real vintage vibe. I figured you'd like it."
He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm... okay, maybe next week?"
You nodded, trying to keep it casual, but the smile that broke out on your face gave you away. Excitement bloomed in your chest like it was something new. It wasn't just another plan. It wasn't just a random meet-up. This one felt different. You kept thinking about it all week. Every small moment your mind wandered, it wandered to that café. To how you'd sit across from him, to the lighting, to the smell of the place, maybe to the way he'd laugh when you'd try to act cool about your favorite album being on display. You weren't even sure if it counted as a real date, but you were choosing to believe it did. That belief made your stomach flutter.
By Saturday, you had cleaned your room twice, even reorganized your crochet materials—something you only did when you were nervous. Your playlist was full of Bon Jovi songs now, looping endlessly while you stared at your closet.
That morning, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection longer than usual. Your piercings were gone—well, mostly. You'd taken out the ones on your face, letting the skin breathe, letting yourself look softer. The change made you feel exposed, a little too bare, but also like you were trying.
"Do you think I look presentable now without the piercings?" you asked, turning slightly in front of the mirror. The floral dress you wore was one of the few pieces in your closet that wasn't oversized, black or red. You smoothed the fabric down nervously, then glanced at Jay who was lounging nearby.
Jay lifted his eyes from his phone, a cigarette loosely held between his fingers. His face twisted slightly like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or roll his eyes. "What's with all this performative energy? You still look like an emo girl who got dragged into church."
You shot him a glare. "I'm being serious."
"So am I." He took a drag, blowing the smoke toward the window. "You look like yourself, just with fewer metal parts. That's not a bad thing, by the way. It's still you."
"You don't get it," you said quietly, adjusting the straps of the dress again. "I need to look like I have my shit together. I'm going somewhere... and I want to be seen a certain way."
Jay rolled his eyes, walked over, and stood behind you, he stubbed out his cigarette on the ceramic ashtray near the window and reached toward you, pushing your hair behind your shoulders without asking. He squinted as he examined your face. "You'll look better if you tie your hair up," he mumbled, the filter of his half-lit cigarette still stuck between his lips. "Ponytail or something. The dress opens your collarbone. It works."
You blinked at him, surprised by how serious he sounded, then reached up instinctively to gather your hair into your hand. You tilted your head, testing the look in the mirror. Something about it clicked. You could see it now—the way your eyes opened up more, how your features looked cleaner without the strands framing your face. A bit bare, sure. A little too soft maybe. "I think you're right," you said with a small smile, already grabbing a scrunchie from your pocket. "That actually helps."
Jay shrugged. "Whatever. You asked."
You turned to face him, grateful even if he looked bored out of his mind. "Thanks, Jay. Really."
"Wow, you look really good, girl."
The compliment came with a spark in Sunoo's eyes the moment you stepped inside the café, and it sent a flush creeping up your neck. His gaze lingered, tracing your figure with genuine awe that he didn't even try to hide. You hadn't brought your motorbike today—not in a dress like this—and walking into the café with heels clicking and your hair tied back suddenly felt worth it.
"Only good?" you teased, pouting as you twirled the hem of your floral dress playfully in front of him. With a soft push of your fingers, you tucked your hair behind your ear and tilted your head, smiling shyly as you searched his face for a better reaction. You wanted him to say beautiful, maybe even breathtaking, but even without the words, the look in his eyes told you everything.
Your heart had been thumping ever since you saw him seated by the window, casually checking his phone. Now, up close, it was worse. The sunlight streaming into the café highlighted the soft brown fall of his hair, the gentle curve of his cheekbones, the way his denim shirt hung open over a simple white tank top. He looked effortless—too effortless for someone who always drove you to such nervousness. And yet, despite that nervousness, you found yourself loosening.
The longer you stayed in his presence, the easier it was to talk, to laugh, to let go of the performance. There was something so calming about talking to him about things you loved, sharing songs you liked, memories from art class, favorite old movies, dumb fashion trends—simple things, but they became important because you were sharing them with him. Talking about your likes with someone you liked—it felt too rare to take for granted.
That's when it hit you. Maybe it was finally time to talk about what was happening between the two of you. The affection, the growing intimacy, the weekends together, the sleepovers that blurred the line between casual and committed—it had all been there. But neither of you had dared to define it. He had always been honest with you. In the four months you'd been tangled into each other's lives, he never lied about what he felt or where he stood. So maybe, it was time for you to take the risk again and ask.
As the two of you wandered near the wooden display cabinet filled with vintage Bon Jovi and Queen albums, your fingers reached for his and laced through gently. He let you. Your hands stayed linked, a quiet statement hanging between you, even while your mouth continued to talk about vinyl sleeves and weird 80s cover art. That peace only lasted seconds before a familiar voice cut through the space.
"Sunoo?"
Sunoo's body tensed before he turned around, his eyes wide in surprise. You perked up too, smiling with recognition, you gasped as you waved at the approaching figure. Jake, lively as ever, grinned brightly as he made his way to you.
But just as you were about to speak, Sunoo let go of your hand. The action was subtle, but it was sharp. His fingers pulled away quickly, and his body leaned ever so slightly to the side, creating distance between the two of you. You tried to ignore the way your smile faltered, tried to hold it together as Jake reached you both
"What are you doing here? Are you two bonding?" Jake asked with his usual exaggerated pout before leaning in to kiss your cheeks in greeting, then doing the same to Sunoo. "Without me?"
Your mouth opened, ready to answer, to explain but Sunoo spoke first. "No, we just ran into each other," he said too quickly, a small nervous laugh escaping his lips. "And we couldn't help but talk for a bit. It's been so long since we last saw each other, you know?"
He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. And your heart sank. Jake, ever the extrovert, nodded along cheerfully, completely unaware. "Ahhh! That's so cute! I'm just glad you two are hanging out again. We seriously need to set up another sleepover, right?"
You forced a small chuckle, brushing your hand along the side of your skirt. "T-that's a great idea," you said, trying to match his enthusiasm. But your eyes flicked back to Sunoo. He was tapping his foot against the floor, fast and impatient, not meeting your gaze.
It was like something had shifted in an instant. And now you were standing in that silence again, not sure if the version of Sunoo who held your hand minutes ago was still there... or if he had just vanished with Jake's arrival.
Even after Jake finally waved goodbye and disappeared down the street, your mood stayed where it dropped. Sunoo stood next to you like nothing happened, releasing a sigh and forcing a new topic as if the tension wasn't heavy in the air. He spoke casually, talking about a song he'd heard recently, about trying a different drink next time, anything to ignore the silence growing between you. But you couldn't pretend like him. You couldn't look him in the eye or laugh at something meaningless when your chest felt like it was being squeezed in slow, deliberate pulses. You kept your gaze down, watching your feet move with every step, barely hearing a thing he was saying.
Sunoo started to notice. His tone shifted—less patient, more irritated. The lightness in his voice faded and was replaced with annoyance. He didn't like when you shut down, and now it was clear he was blaming you for the sudden weight between you.
By the time you reached the door of his apartment, you knew the conversation was inevitable. He stepped in first, then turned, and before you could even take your shoes off, his voice came tight and harsh.
"Are you seriously getting all moody just because I let go of your hand when Jake showed up?" His eyes narrowed, his words clipped. "We agreed to keep this between us, not to say anything to Jake. You knew that. Why are you acting like this now?"
You stayed by the doorway, not moving. "It's not just about that," you murmured, your voice already thin. You didn't want to argue. You didn't want to cry either, but your body was already betraying you, tightening up.
He scoffed. "Then what is it? Because I didn't hold your hand in front of him? That's it?"
"It's just..." you took a breath, and even that was hard to push out. You felt like the words were caught in your throat, slicing through. "You looked—ashamed."
Sunoo didn't pause. He didn't soften. "Of course I'm ashamed," he blurted, not even giving the sentence time to sit. "How the hell are we supposed to explain that we're what—fucking each other? What do you want me to say to him?"
You flinched at his word, you looked up slowly, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears. "It's not that hard to admit, is it?" you said, your voice shaking as you took a step forward, eyes stinging. "People do that all the time. Fuck buddies aren't a secret anymore. It's normal. You think Jake would've been shocked?"
"That's not the point—"
"It is the point, Sunoo!" You cut him off, your voice rising despite the tremble in it. "We've been doing this for months. We spend every weekend together. We sleep in the same bed. We talk like we mean something to each other, so why is it so hard to tell him that we're — something?"
You didn't expect him to shout back, but he did. "Because I'm supposed to be gay! Do you get that? I'm not supposed to feel like this about you!" The words came out angry. "And you keep pushing it like it's that simple."
You stared at him, your face falling, your fists curling. "Who fucking cares if you're gay? I never made you not be." You took a step back, voice cracking. "Just say it. Just say you're ashamed to be seen with me."
Sunoo's face twisted, but he didn't back down. His chest was heaving now, like something in him had snapped too. "You're projecting your insecurity on me! You act like I owe you something just because you decided to catch feelings! I never promised you more than what this was. That was you. That was always you!"
Your breath caught in your throat, and you stumbled back, blinking fast as the first tear broke past your lashes. "You're the one who came back after that night," he went on, voice rising with frustration, like he couldn't stop himself anymore. "You kept showing up, acting like this was something serious, like this was going to turn into something. I just—" he stopped, looking away like he couldn't even look at you when he said it, "I just gave in. You were tempting, okay? You made it hard to say no."
All the blood in your body seemed to rush to your ears, and still, you couldn't hear anything but the sound of your heart breaking. Another tear slipped down your cheek, and your lips parted like you were going to respond—but nothing came out. Sunoo blinked, realizing too late what he had just said. The way he looked at you shifted instantly, as if he wanted to take it back, but the damage was already there. "...Wait," he whispered, reaching for you instinctively. "I didn't mean—"
But you just nodded, slowly, painfully, like someone waking up from a dream they didn't want to end. "I- I get it," you said quietly, stepping past him and walking out his door like your legs weren't shaking. You didn't even turn to look at him. "I'm sorry," you added, trying to keep your voice steady, though the sound cracked anyway. You wiped under your eyes, but the tears kept falling, soft and warm against your skin. "You were right. I was annoying. I was pushy. I caught feelings, I shouldn't have. I thought maybe... I don't know what I thought."
You paused to breathe, your throat tightening as you tried to keep the sob from escaping. "What could I even expect, right? You're still a man. Of course this meant n-nothing."
Sunoo's chest tightened so hard he couldn't breathe for a second. He wanted to stop you, to wrap his arms around you, to tell you it wasn't true—none of what you were saying. That he did care. That this wasn't nothing to him. That he didn't think you were annoying, or a mistake, or something to be ashamed of. But he couldn't get the words out. The fear clenched too tightly around his ribs.
"I'm sorry," you said again, a whisper this time. Another tear slipped free and this time you laughed, short and broken. "God, I sound pathetic. S-sorry, Sunoo. I'll go. I'll leave you alone. You won't have to worry about me again."
You turned, fast, footsteps uneven as you tried to get away before he could see the full collapse happening inside you.
Sunoo didn't stop you. And you broke. You didn't wait to cry. The tears came fast and violent, your chest aching as you stumbled down the street, wiping your face on the back of your hand like it would help. At the bus stop, you sat hunched on the bench, arms wrapped around yourself as if holding your own body could keep you from falling apart. On the bus, you curled near the window, staring out at the dark streets, your reflection barely visible through the glass. You didn't care who saw you. The ache inside you was louder than embarrassment.
By the time you made it to your apartment, your hands were trembling. You didn't even bother turning on the lights. You made your way straight to your room, tugging the dress zipper with shaking fingers. When it wouldn't budge, frustration bubbled up, too hot to contain. You gritted your teeth and yanked, but it wouldn't move, so you grabbed the fabric near your shoulder and ripped it down your back with a cry of frustration. The fabric tore, seams giving way under your rage.
You tossed it to the floor like it burned you. Chest heaving, you stormed over to your nightstand and grabbed the crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds. Your fingers trembled as you pulled one out, jamming it between your lips, and fumbled with the lighter until the flame caught. You inhaled sharply, letting the smoke burn down your throat as you collapsed into the chair near the window.
"Stupid," you muttered under your breath, blinking away more tears that wouldn't stop coming. "So fucking stupid."
You thought you were strong enough not to let this happen again. You thought you could handle it. But what did you expect? You were so obsessed with ruining him when you first met, so fixated on getting under his skin, that you didn't notice he was already getting under yours. You didn't even get the chance to ruined him—he got to you first.
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Sunoo had never experienced a heartbreak that ached like this. He had felt sad before—moments of longing, fleeting attachments—but those had always passed with time, fading within days, maybe a week at most. They never lingered, never left anything permanent behind. So why the hell had he been sulking for nearly a month now, barely able to focus, barely able to sleep, staring blankly at the tulip bouquet on his desk like it could somehow explain what went wrong?
He told himself he should be relieved. There were no more complications in his way, no emotional distractions to deal with. He was finally free to focus on his demanding internship, on his future, on everything he had planned for years. And yet every late-night shift, every quiet weekend, every exhausted morning waking up to silence felt impossibly hollow without you. You used to send him silly selfies while he studied, comfort him through voice notes when he ranted about how hard nursing was, remind him to eat when he was too tired to remember. Now, all he had was the buzzing of lights, the clinking of stainless steel, the silence of the hospital—and that goddamn tulip bouquet collecting dust in the corner.
His eyebags were darker, heavier, like they carried the weight of everything he never said to you. His thoughts were loud, looping over what he should've done differently, what he should've said the moment he saw your face fall.
Fuck. He missed you so much it made his whole body ache. Every fucking night he lay in bed, biting his fist to muffle the cries. Were you okay? Were you eating? Were you still crying? Were you still thinking about him? God, he hoped not. He didn't deserve your thoughts, your sadness, your softness—but deep inside, he still wished he lived rent-free in your head the way you haunted his.
He wanted to hold you again, to collapse into your arms after a hard shift, to hear your voice teasing him when he whined about school. He wanted to kiss your neck like he used to, trace the little freckles on your collarbone, let you thread his hair through your fingers while he laid on your lap. He wanted to watch you feed your cat, complain about his bad taste in coffee, laugh when you purposely messed up his eyeliner just to annoy him. He wanted the boring things with you. The quiet, gentle things he once brushed off like they were nothing. He regretted every time he took you for granted.
"Sunoo!" Jungwon's voice jolted him out of his thoughts. His friend clapped him on the back, grinning. "Congrats! Why do you look like someone just died? We're graduating! Where's the joy, girl?"
Sunoo forced a weak smile, shrugging his shoulders as he kept his gaze locked on the soccer field in front of them, watching the high schoolers running laps, laughing with no clue how cruel it was to grow up. "You've been M.I.A. lately," Jungwon continued, nudging him. "Not cool. You ghosted everyone. No more parties? No more hangouts? We should celebrate. It's not fun without you."
Sunoo exhaled quietly, shoulders sinking. "Jungwon," he said under his breath. "I think I got infected by men's emotional negligence," Sunoo muttered bitterly, eyes still locked on the field, watching a soccer ball bounce and roll across the grass
Jungwon blinked at him. Then snorted. Then burst out laughing so hard he doubled over, hitting Sunoo's back again. "What? What are you saying? You're not even dating anyone! You've been so secretive about your love life lately, I thought maybe you were going through a dry spell or something." He leaned back, grinning. "But don't worry—men are assholes. It's honestly safer to hurt them first before they get the chance to hurt you—"
"It's not a man," he said quietly.
And Jungwon stopped laughing. He stiffened beside him, eyes blinking wide. "Wait. What?"
Sunoo didn't look at him. He just kept watching the field, the blurry shape of a boy chasing a ball, the sun dipping lower behind the school buildings. "It's not a man," he repeated. "I wish it was. It would've been easier."
His lips curled bitterly as he looked down at his white sneakers, scuffed and dirtied from weeks of walking to class in silence. "I miss her. No shit. I miss her so fucking bad."
There was a small and self-deprecating laugh, tugging at the edge of his voice, but it cracked halfway through. "It's stupid, isn't it? It hurts more when you know it's your fault. I keep thinking about all the things I told myself I'd never become. I always talked about how men treat people like shit—how they use and walk away, how they never apologize for the damage they leave behind. How they shrink from softness because they're scared of what it says about them."
He rubbed at his chest with the heel of his palm like it might ease the tightness building there, but the pressure only grew heavier. "I always swore I'd never be like that. And then I went ahead and did it anyway. I made her feel that way, Jungwon. Like she was something to be ashamed of. Like she was just a mistake I wanted to keep hidden. Like the feelings she gave me were inconvenient." He let out a shaky breath, shoulders caving in slightly. "And the worst part? I never even told her how much I liked her. How much she meant to me."
Jungwon's mouth opened slightly, stunned into silence by the sight of Sunoo—the usually sharp-tongued, composed Sunoo—sitting beside him with tears slipping quietly down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," Sunoo whispered. "You can laugh at me now. Tease me. Say I got soft. Say I turned my back on my sexuality. Or that I lost my mind over a girl when I always said I wouldn't—"
"Girl," Jungwon interrupted, his tone softer than as he scooted closer and draped an arm across Sunoo's back. "Relax. Why the hell would I laugh at you for this? You're clearly hurting. I'd have to be heartless to find that funny."
Sunoo sniffled, wiping his face. Jungwon sighed, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "You know, I think sometimes we get so wrapped up in the idea of who we're supposed to be, or what we're supposed to feel, that we forget we're just... human. You always said you didn't want to be like the guys who hurt others, right? Well, maybe you fucked up. Maybe you acted like one of them. But you realized it. You're sitting here crying because of it. That already makes you different from most."
Sunoo didn't speak, but his jaw trembled, and the tears didn't stop. Jungwon tilted his head, speaking more gently now. "Men can be assholes. A lot of them are. But being born with a dick doesn't mean you're destined to be one. What makes someone a real man is taking responsibility. Owning up to your shit. Making it right when you can."
He paused, then smiled faintly. "We might be one of the girls, sure. We squeal, we wear blush, we cry over small things, and we talk too much when we drink—but we also carry the weight of things like this. Of hurting people we care about."
Sunoo's breath hitched again, and this time when he wiped at his face, he was a little slower, a little calmer. "You know what you need to do," Jungwon said, nudging him gently. "If she meant something to you... you owe her more than silence. And you owe yourself more than sitting here pretending you're okay."
"Do you think it's too late?" he asked finally.
"I don't know," Jungwon admitted. "But people forgive stupid things when they see you're actually sorry. And you are. I see it. Maybe she will too."
"You're definitely insane," Jay said. "Because why the hell would you decide to do your nails when you know you have to play electric guitar tomorrow?"
You didn't even look up. Your fingers were too focused on the torn fabric in your lap, guiding the needle carefully through the jagged tear. You tugged gently at the thread, the tension sliding through the cloth as you murmured, "It's just minor chords."
Jay groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Minor chords and you're still skipping practice like you've got this down. God, you're making my head hurt."
"I said I'll show up," you replied flatly.
Jay scoffed in the background, but you ignored it. Let him roll his eyes. Let him sigh and throw another fit about perfection. It wasn't like he'd understand anyway. The nails weren't the problem. Jay and his perfectionist self always had something to complain about when people didn't bend to his rhythm. But you liked your nails. You liked how they shimmered when the light hit them. They made you feel decent—like maybe, just maybe, you were still capable of taking care of yourself.
Except you were too stupid to realize you'd chosen that exact shade of mint green. That soft, sweet color he once said reminded him of summer. The one he jokingly suggested would look cute on your nails if you ever ditched the blacks and reds you usually wore. The color had haunted you since then, just like everything else tied to him.
You stared down at your fingers, freshly painted and curled slightly as you guided the needle through the torn seam of the dress. You had sworn to never touch it again, but here you were, piecing it back together with trembling hands.
Heard from someone that Sunoo made it into the Latin honors list. Top of his class, just as you expected. And good for him. Really. You hoped he was sleeping well, smiling like he always did, charming everyone with that beautiful, soft voice and those ridiculously perfect eyes.
You hoped he forgot you — Because it wasn't fair that you were still waking up thinking about him.
"Fuck," you hissed, jerking your hand back as the needle pricked the pad of your finger. Blood welled up, a small drop blooming at the surface. It smeared faintly against the fabric—right over the seam you'd been trying to fix. "Ugh, shit," you muttered, staring at the new stain forming on the pale material.
Perfect! Just perfect. You sucked on your finger for a second, breathing hard through your nose, trying to hold everything back. "You could've just bought a new dress, you know." Jay said, looking at your face.
"I didn't want a new one," you said quietly, still looking at the ruined thread. "I wanted to fix it."
If someone asked you what exactly you were feeling right now, you wouldn't know how to answer. There wasn't a word that fit—nothing specific. You were functioning just fine. You got out of bed. You drank your coffee. You worked. You smiled when people talked to you, even laughed when the joke was decent enough. So, you were fine, right?
But then why did everything feel so dull? Why did the silence in your room stretch too long, and why did the nights feel colder, even when the fan wasn't turned on?
Maybe it was because you quit your part-time job. Maybe it was because you'd thrown yourself into freelance commissions, desperate to stay busy, desperate to drown out the thoughts by making yourself useful. Drawing until your eyes hurt, until your hand cramped. It worked for a while—until even the deadlines stopped scaring you.
The truth was, you had too much space now. And all that extra room made it harder to ignore the feeling gnawing at the edges of your chest.
Jay had once said, "That's why it's hard for me to watch you fall in love. You're the kind of person who gives everything without realizing it. You show up without fail, but somehow still feel so far away."
You didn't understand what he meant back then. Thought he was being dramatic, maybe too sentimental. But now you did. You were always present, always dependable. But your heart? You'd locked it away for years, guarded and watchful, convinced no one would be careful enough to hold it.
And when you let your walls down. You gave in completely, all at once, as if you'd been waiting your whole life for a reason to. And he didn't stay... Now you sat alone again, trying to rebuild the barricade you'd once worn. You tried patching yourself up with work and distractions, thinking if you filled your days enough, the ache would fade. But some nights, it came back stronger. A ghost knocking on your ribs, reminding you of the softness you once allowed.
You regret letting him see you that clearly. Regret peeling yourself open, showing the tender parts you swore no one would ever get close to. You used to be so good at keeping people at a distance, but you ruined yourself when you made an exception.
"Putting my defenses up, 'cause I don't wanna fall in love."
Your voice rang out, echoing through the crowded room. You stood at the front of the stage, clutching the mic, and the lights hit your face just enough to make everything outside the spotlight blur into nothing.
"Never put my love out on the line..." The lyrics spilled from your lips. Your eyes drifted to the floor where your foot tapped in rhythm, then to the strings of your guitar as your fingers pressed down the chords. "Never said yes to the right guy. Never had trouble getting what I want..."
A faint smile tugged at your lips. "But when it comes to you, I'm never good enough..."
You looked up then, stealing a glance toward your bandmates. They were all focused on their instruments, lost in the music like they always were, eyes down or closed, rocking slightly with the beat. None of them looked at you. You were glad for it. You didn't want them to see the way your hands were trembling on the fretboard, or how your throat threatened to close the moment his face flickered in your mind. "When I don't care, I can play 'em like a Ken doll..."
You swallowed thickly and tried to stay in rhythm, tried to keep your tone playful like the song intended—but your mind was far from the lyrics now. It drifted elsewhere. To him.
"Won't wash my hair, then make 'em bounce like a basketball..." Your breath hitched, but you kept going. "But you make me wanna act like a girl..."
You closed your eyes then. "Paint my nails and wear high heels..." Your fingers slid along the guitar strings automatically. And then, without warning, his face appeared—soft eyes, dimpled smile, that maddeningly gentle voice. Sunoo.
"Yes, you—" You faltered. "—make me so nervous that I just can't hold your hand."
You pushed through the chorus, the words twisting in your throat. The beat thundered in your ears, drowning out the sound of your own thoughts. You didn't miss a note, but you felt every crack forming inside you. And when the song finally ended, the stage lights dimmed and the crowd's cheers erupted like static in your chest, you barely smiled.
You brushed your hair back, exhaling hard as you stepped off the stage. The adrenaline was already wearing off, leaving only the sweat sticking to your skin and the tightness in your throat. You grabbed the water bottle waiting for you and took a few long gulps, letting the cool liquid settle your nerves.
"I thought you hated pop songs."
You turned your head slightly, recognizing Sunghoon's voice before you saw his face. He was already beside you, grinning. You sighed, long and loud, then handed him the water without looking, forcing him to take it. "You're annoying," you muttered, adjusting your loose sando, tugging the strap back up your shoulder and trying to fix your tangled hair with one hand. "You know I didn't pick the setlist."
"But you sang the hell out of it."
"Don't push it," you warned.
Then his voice dropped again, quieter but curious. "You got a new tattoo?"
You stilled for a moment. Your hand went to your nape instinctively, brushing over the still-healing skin just below the red ink etched across your upper spine. You didn't answer, just gave a hum of acknowledgment before slipping your hand down your back. Without shame, you reached beneath your shirt and unhooked your bra, letting your chest finally breathe after hours under the stage lights.
Sunghoon didn't say anything for a moment, but you felt his gaze linger. "Are you free tonight?" he asked. "Thought maybe we could hang out. Talk or something. Just us?"
Another sigh escaped you, this one heavier than the last. You didn't try to hide the exhaustion in your voice this time. "Sunghoon..." you started, turning to finally face him properly. "You're a good friend. You've been sticking around for longer than most people would, and I get it. You think there's something here, maybe because I let you hang around or because I'm too tired to fight your flirting half the time."
He opened his mouth to say something, but you raised your hand. "But I'm not interested," you said, carefully but clearly.
He blinked. The corners of his mouth twitched, like he didn't know whether to frown or fake a laugh, but then his lips settled into a small, almost understanding smile. "You're not interested in boys," he said, a little too quickly, trying to soften the blow for himself.
"No," you cut in, sharper this time. "I'm not interested in you."
Sunghoon looked down, then up, that crooked smile still hanging on his lips. "You know I won't stop, right?" he said, brushing off rejection with a joke.
You raised an eyebrow. "That's your choice," you replied plainly. "But don't expect me to change my mind."
"Okay," He nodded, his gaze dropped before you even finished your sentence, trailing down lazily across your chest.
Your fingers snapped in front of his face. "Seriously?" you said with irritation.
Sunghoon blinked, caught, his mouth twitching up. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled quickly. His eyes flicked back up to your face. "Is that a new piercing?"
You didn't respond right away. You crossed your arms instead, trying to hold onto your patience and bite back the exhaustion blooming across your shoulders. The days had been long, your emotions threadbare. "Ni-ki did it," you said finally, eyes narrowing as your annoyance deepened.
When your gig finally ended, you let out a long breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. You made your way toward the bar where the owner usually handed out the cut for the night, hoping it wouldn't take long because all you wanted was to go home and lie down. But before you could even reach the counter, you were nearly knocked off balance by someone throwing their arms around you.
"Oh my God! I haven't seen you in forever!" You tensed instinctively, blinking as you looked up—Jake. He pulled back slightly, still gripping your shoulders, eyes shining.
You forced a small smile. "Hi. How are you?" you asked politely, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. "I've been... busy. Really busy. You know how it gets."
Jake nodded eagerly, releasing you as he leaned against the edge of the bar. "Yeah, I get it. It's fine. Just figured I'd bump into you sooner or later. Hey—are you attending Sunoo's graduation this week?"
You froze. Your fingers twitched slightly as you curled them into the hem of your shirt, the smile on your face faltering before you managed to hold it steady again. "I—" you started, stumbling over your words. "You know we're not... that close anymore. So..." You trailed off with a shrug, trying not to look too affected even though your heart had suddenly picked up its pace.
Jake tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was about to laugh. Not in a cruel way, but in that clueless, teasing way. You didn't give him the chance. You pushed the conversation forward before he could press further. "But how was he?" you asked quickly, pretending not to care too much even though the question burned on your tongue.
Jake leaned back and sighed dramatically. "I don't know! That bitch is ghosting everyone—just like you!" He chuckled, nudging your arm. "The only time I ever saw him was when he was at the university doing paperwork for his graduation. He's been MIA otherwise. You? Any dating updates?"
You gave another tired smile. "Not really my priorities lately," you replied, brushing your fingers over your wrist, suddenly aware of how cold your skin felt. "I'm glad he's graduating though. That's good for him."
There was a pause. Jake didn't seem to notice, already moving on with a laugh.
"What about you?" you asked before he could dig any deeper. "When's your graduation? I pity you guys. I still have two years."
Jake groaned, rubbing his face. "Ugh, don't remind me. I'm stressing because my coat won't fit."
You laughed softly as Jake rambled beside you, jumping from topic to topic like someone trying to make up for lost time. He was always like this—talkative, friendly, too eager. You tried your best to follow along, nodding when appropriate, giving short answers even though your energy was already hanging by a thread. Every bone in your body felt heavy after the performance, your shoulders stiff from standing so long, your throat dry even after the water.
He launched into another round of questions, asking about your gigs, your commissions, and whether or not you'd finally taken time off. Then, inevitably, he brought up Park Sunghoon.
"People still think we're together? Fuck that shit." You let out a grunt.
"They just like to talk," Jake offered with a shrug, as if that made it any less irritating. "You know how it is."
You rolled your eyes and tucked the bills into your bag, already thinking about what cheap meal you could get on the way home. "Then they should talk about how I'm not interested in anyone right now. Spread that."
"Not even Shin Ryujin?" he said, clearly enjoying how far he could push the conversation. "I swear you used to have the biggest, fattest crush on her. I mean—she agreed to model for you! That's a move, right?"
You tilted your head slightly. "Or maybe she just liked my art."
Jake paused for a beat, as if waiting for you to say more, but you didn't. He smirked, already forming a thought to your answer. You just shrugged, like you didn't care anymore, you wish it did. None of them ever made you feel the way he did.
Let Jake think what he wanted to think. Let people gossip and spread whatever they wanted. You were too tired to keep defending your disinterest, too tired to explain that the only person you'd really wanted was Kim Sunoo. Fucking Kim Sunoo.
And ironically, the universe had its own cruel sense of humor.
Jake didn't expect to see Sunoo the very next day—standing in front of a flower shop. Without warning, Jake squealed and slapped him on the back so hard that Sunoo's entire frame jolted forward. His eyes flew wide, mouth parting in surprise as he turned to glare.
"Fuck you," Jake laughed, hitting him again before he could dodge. "Who's the lucky person, huh? Don't tell me you're finally confessing to someone?"
Sunoo winced, rubbing his stinging shoulder and trying not to groan. "Can you not hit so hard? Shit."
It had taken him three whole days just to muster up the courage. Three days of Jungwon talking sense into him, helping him run through scenarios and worst-case outcomes, of typing and deleting countless drafts of what he wanted to say. Three days of checking your schedule like a lovesick stalker, memorizing the time and place of your fashion show just to make sure he'd catch you when you weren't buried in fabrics or fixing last-minute outfits.
He didn't really know what he was doing. The idea of bringing flowers felt old-fashioned, maybe even stupid, but he clung to it because it gave him something to hold—something to fill his trembling hands with when he finally stood in front of you. Because if he admitted it to himself, he really fucking missed you.
Jake, as usual, wouldn't shut up. He rambled about school, his thesis, some fight in a group chat he got dragged into, asking random questions in between like Sunoo was giving him the attention he wanted. Sunoo tapped his foot impatiently, nodding absently, eyes flicking to his wristwatch. He knew your show was scheduled to start soon. Jungwon had confirmed it just last night. If he moved now, he could probably sneak into the venue and find you. He wasn't sure how it would go, but he knew he didn't want to delay it any longer.
But then, Jake said your name.
"She looked so good last night, by the way. I talked to her after her gig," he said, chewing on his gum, unaware of the way Sunoo's shoulders tensed. "And I think she's dating that model of hers."
Sunoo stopped tapping his foot. Slowly turned to face him. Jake kept going. "You know Park Sunghoon? He really, really likes her! But she's totally into this girl—Shin Ryujin. If Sunghoon finds out he got rejected again for a girl, he's gonna be pissed."
The bouquet almost slipped out of Sunoo's hands. "Wait, what?" he asked.
Jake blinked, startled by the shift in tone. "Well, I mean—not confirmed or anything. But it looked like it, right? I mean, come on! If you know Ryujin, she's hot! They had crazy chemistry onstage."
But Sunoo didn't hear the rest. His pulse pounded so loudly in his ears it drowned everything else. The bouquet in his hands felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, the crinkling paper suddenly unbearable beneath his tightening grip. He could feel that familiar burn in his chest. The weight pressing down on his lungs, stealing the air from him. It wasn't just surprise, or confusion. It was anger.
No. That can't be true. Jake said it wasn't confirmed. He said maybe. But even maybe was too much for Sunoo.
Because that wasn't just anyone. That was you. His you. Even if he hadn't been able to say it properly before, even if he spent weeks keeping his distance, fumbling over his feelings, even if he was too much of a coward to tell you when he should've—he never once stopped wanting you.
And the idea of someone else having you, touching you, making you smile the way he used to, hurt more than he thought it would. His stomach twisted with jealousy. His mind raced with every memory he had of you—your laugh, your stubbornness, the way you always acted like nothing touched you until he looked close enough to see it did. He hated the thought of anyone else getting that close. It didn't matter if it was a guy or a girl. No one else could understand you like he did. No one else deserved to.
"I need to go," Sunoo muttered, already turning on his heel.
Jake blinked again, stepping forward. "Wait, go where? Sunoo—hey!"
But Sunoo didn't answer. He didn't look back. He walked faster, feet moving, bouquet still clenched tightly in his hand.
All he could think about was the image of you standing beside someone else. Laughing for someone else. Looking at them with the kind of softness you used to show only to him. The thought alone made his blood boil. He wasn't just jealous. He was angry. How dare someone else think they could have you like that?
No. That's not how this ends. He wouldn't let it. Even if it was his fault for waiting this long, even if he messed everything up from the beginning—he wasn't going to let someone else win. He wasn't going to stand on the sidelines any longer. Not when he still had something to fight for.
You were his. You've always been his. And he was going to prove it.
Sunoo made his way toward the university, his stomach twisting with every step. Most of the Fashion Design majors were still holed up on campus despite the start of summer break, preparing for the big event. He didn't know fashion shows involved this many people, this much movement, or noise. Navigating through all of it felt like trying to breathe underwater. He should've asked Jungwon for more specifics.
The halls were lined with racks of clothes, students rushing in and out of rooms, arms full of fabrics, makeup brushes, clipboards, and coffee. Sunoo tried to ask where the waiting room was, but everyone was too preoccupied to answer. He turned corner after corner, scanning every face with increasing frustration—until his eyes landed on someone painfully familiar.
Standing outside the theater room, arms crossed and relaxed was Park Sunghoon. Just seeing him made Sunoo's eye twitch. His jaw clenched so tightly he thought it might crack.
"Sunoo, right?" Sunghoon greeted him, smiling as if they were old friends. Sunoo glanced down at the flowers in his hands. Suddenly, they looked ugly. The colors didn't look as soft anymore. The petals looked dull. He couldn't believe he ever fell for a face like that.
He forced a polite sweet smile, his lips twitching with the effort. "Sunghoon," he returned. "Where do fashion majors usually stay? I need to deliver this to someone." His tone stayed casual, but he had to bite down the irritation growing inside his chest.
Sunghoon beamed. "Oh! I was just heading to the backstage area too. Come with me."
Sunoo's jaw ached with how hard he was grinding his teeth behind another fake smile. Every muscle in his body screamed to walk the other way, but he needed to get to you. If that meant dealing with this guy, so be it. Still, it took everything in him not to roll his eyes or punch the smirk off Sunghoon's face. How dare he stand there so casually, acting like he belonged beside you?
"Is the eyelash glue irritating your eyes?" you asked Ryujin, checking the final touches of her makeup. Your fingers hovered near her temples, adjusting the corner of her lashes even though they looked fine. "And your heels? Are they stable?"
"They're fine, I promise. You don't have to worry," she said gently, offering a small smile.
You turned to Beomgyu, voice tighter this time. "The fabric on the lining—is it itchy? Are you uncomfortable at all?"
Beomgyu tilted his head at you like he was trying not to laugh. "You need to stop freaking out. I already told you I feel great in this."
Your chest was heavy with nerves, and your stomach churned, not just with anxiety but with the familiar, dull pain of your first-day period cramps that made everything ten times worse. The weight of responsibility was pressing on your shoulders. What if the seams tore? What if the models tripped? What if the fabric wrinkled wrong under the lights?
And before you could spiral further, a voice cut through your thoughts. One you recognized instantly.
"Sunghoon," you said wearily, not even trying to hide the exhaustion in your voice.
He stood there with a smile too bright for the atmosphere, holding out a bouquet of flowers to you. "Good luck later! I know you're going to get so many compliments for this."
You took the flowers without much thought, fingers curling around the stems as you exhaled through your nose, trying to keep yourself from snapping. You closed your eyes, drawing in a deeper breath. "Why are you here?" you muttered, already rubbing your temple. "This is our waiting room. You shouldn't be—"
"I came with Sunoo!" Sunghoon interrupted brightly. "Didn't know he was your friend too!"
And that stopped you. Your body tensed instantly. The flowers in your hand suddenly felt like they were cutting into your skin. You looked up, already feeling your throat tighten. And there he was.
Sunoo approached you slowly. Without saying a word, he reached out and gently took the flowers from your hand—the ones Sunghoon had just given—and replaced them with the bouquet he brought. Then, with a calm that felt almost too controlled, he handed the previous bouquet back to Sunghoon, whose brows furrowed in confusion.
Your fingers stayed frozen around the fresh flowers now in your hands. Sunoo stepped closer, voice dropping low as he met your eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Can we talk?"
Something in your chest pulled tight. You forced yourself to swallow the lump rising in your throat, jaw tensing as you tried to stay composed. You could already feel Ryujin and Beomgyu watching silently, even as Sunghoon stood there, confused and observant, his brows lifted like he could sense there was something here. "I'll be back," you muttered under your breath, barely glancing at them. Then, turning to Sunoo, you gestured with a subtle wave of your hand for him to follow.
You walked fast, ignoring how your heart was pounding too hard in your chest. The backstage halls were tight and filled with noise, but the moment you stepped into the music room and closed the door behind you, everything else faded out. The silence between you was loud. "What are you doing here, Sunoo?" you asked, turning to face him. You hated how soft your voice sounded. You hated that he still had that effect on you.
Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just looked at you, his lips parted, trying to decide how to speak, what words wouldn't end in a disaster. Then he said, carefully, "Is it true? That you're dating your model?"
You blinked. That's what this was about? You let out a harsh breath and rolled your eyes, pressing the heels of your palms into your forehead. "Seriously? That's why you're here?"
He flinched at the tone. "Is it true?" he repeated, almost like he was afraid to hear the answer. "You and your model. Are you—"
"Where the fuck did you even hear that?" you snapped, your patience finally cracking. "You think I'd seriously let rumors decide who I'm sleeping with now?"
Sunoo opened his mouth to speak, but you didn't let him. "Why are you even here, Sunoo?" you pushed. "To say sorry? To wave some flowers around and pretend like that's enough?"
He didn't answer. He just stood there, looking at you, his silence impossibly loud. You exhaled, your shoulders sinking with the weight you'd been carrying alone since he left. Your voice dropped out of emotional exhaustion. "I'm tired," you whispered, almost like admitting defeat. "I have a show to finish. I have deadlines. People are counting on me. And if all you came here for was a half-hearted apology, then don't bother—because I've stopped thinking about that night."
But your voice cracked on the last word, and you hated that he might've heard it. "I still think about that night." He said and that made your heart clench.
"You were right," he said quietly. "I came here to say sorry." He looked at you fully now. "And to tell you that I want to make you mine."
You blinked, stunned. "What?"
Sunoo stepped forward, his voice trembling even though he tried to sound certain. "I hurt you. I pushed you away. I made you cry and I said things I'll never stop regretting. I ran because I was scared, and I was selfish enough to believe I could come back when it was convenient for me."
And then, to your absolute disbelief, he lowered himself to the floor, dropping to his knees. His hands found yours, gently curling around your fingers, then pressing your palm to his face. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into your touch. "Every time I close my eyes, it's you," he murmured. "Every time I wake up, I hope it's a day I get to see you again. It's always you. "
Even though his voices cracked, Sunoo pushed through it. "I hated seeing that Sunghoon guy give you flowers. I hated thinking about you with your model even if it's not true. Because I want to be the one. I want to be the person you choose, over and over again, even when I don't deserve it. Even when it's hard, and messy, and complicated."
"I didn't come here just to be forgiven," he continued, voice cracking now as his forehead nearly pressed against your hand. "I came because I want you. Because I love you. And because if there's even a part of you—any small part—that still wants me, then I'll do whatever it takes to prove that I'm worth that second chance." He looked up at you, eyes glistening, his knees still on the ground.
You didn't realize you were crying until you felt the tear slide down your cheek. The warmth of it startled you. No matter how much you tried to build walls around yourself, he had always been able to slip through. Even now.
He looked up at you from where he knelt, eyes glassy, red-rimmed. Your fingers trembled in his hands, but you didn't pull away. "You hurt me, Sunoo."
His expression broke completely, a quiet whimper escaping from his lips as he held your hands tighter, desperate. "I know," he choked out. "And I hate myself for that. I'd take it all back if I could. But I can't... so all I can do now is ask you to let me fix what I ruined."
The silence stretched again, before he whispered, almost breathlessly, "...Please?"
That single word cracked something inside you. You sniffled, blinking fast as more tears welled in your eyes, and without thinking, you slowly lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. You leaned in, heart pounding wildly, and kissed him. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was tender—heartbreaking in its softness, and yet full of everything you'd been holding back. The pain, the longing, the anger, the love—it was all there, pressed into the seal of your lips against his.
When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of your eyes closed, breath mingling in the small space between you. "I never stopped wanting you," you whispered, your voice hoarse from the tears. "Even when I tried. Even when I told myself I should."
He shuddered at your words, his breath catching, fingers lifting to cup your cheeks. "I swear I'll spend every day proving I can be someone you deserve," he murmured.
You nodded faintly, your forehead still resting against his. Then, slowly, you leaned in again, brushing your lips against his—soft at first, searching, before you kissed him fully. This time, you didn't hold back. Your lips moved against his with purpose, and he responded just as eagerly, his head tilting to meet you, to match your rhythm.
When you deepened the kiss and your tongue slipped into his mouth, his breath hitched. He moaned softly, the sound catching in his throat as he melted further into you, hands tightening at your sides. "I missed you," he whispered breathlessly between kisses.
You smiled into his mouth, sniffling as your hands cupped his damp cheeks, wiping at the tears that kept trailing down. "Missed you too," you whispered, your voice breaking as you kissed him again, even longer this time. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
He kissed you like he was making up for lost time, like every second he spent away from you had left him starving. His hands slid gently under your arms before he lifted you and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. You could feel the way his breathing picked up as he moved, sitting down on the old couch in the corner of the room, never letting his lips stray too far from yours.
You settled on his lap, knees bracketing his hips, your mouths still moving together in sync. You could feel the way his body was reacting—how tightly he held you, how his hands gripped your back. "I love you," he whispered against your lips.
Your breath caught, your heart thudding as he pressed a trail of kisses down your neck, slow and open-mouthed. His hands, once tentative, slid to your chest, cupping you through your clothes before he gently kneaded one breast in his palm. The sensation made you shiver, your back arching into his touch instinctively as you sucked in a breath.
"Say it again," you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut.
He leaned back just enough to look up at you, both hands still resting on your waist. "I love you. I'm not letting you go again."
You leaned forward to kiss him again, your lips brushing over his. His fingers slipped under your shirt, tugging it up carefully, revealing the curve of your breast and the soft lace of your bra. His breath hitched when he saw your nipple, the silver glint of the heart-shaped piercing catching the light. He paused, stunned, swallowing hard, the outline of his arousal now pressing clearly against his pants.
"W-wait," you breathed, your hands clutching at his shoulders as his face dipped lower. "It's not fully healed yet..."
Sunoo froze, his lips just grazing the swell of your breast. He pressed the gentlest kiss on your areola, lips lingering as his thumb toyed with the other nipple through your bra, tracing slow circles that made your hips twitch above him. Your body reacted, grinding slightly against the solid pressure beneath you. His breath grew ragged against your skin, hands sliding up your back, holding you tighter.
You rocked your hips against him with slow pressure, letting the friction build until the heat between your bodies felt like it might burn right through your skin. His hands moved restlessly, tugging at your waistband, already working to unbutton your pants.
But your hand caught his wrist, halting him. "N-No... we can't," you murmured, your voice ragged from panting. You glanced down at him beneath you—his brows were drawn together in frustration and confusion, his face flushed with heat, sweat starting to gather along his hairline, and his lips—red and kiss-swollen—were parted.
"I... I have my period."
He blinked, then tilted his head slightly like he couldn't understand why that would matter. His hand slid back down, cupping you through the fabric of your underwear, right over your pad. You gasped, the heat of his touch making your body tense with shame and anticipation. Your cheeks flared hot with embarrassment.
"I-It's not clean," you whispered, voice wavering. "It's messy..."
"And?" he muttered, his gaze never left your face. Without waiting for your approval, his hand dipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, carefully maneuvering around the pad as his fingers brushed against your pussy.
His finger slipped in, and your jaw dropped open, a soft cry catching in your throat. The feeling was slow, filling, a deliberate push deeper until he bottomed out and curled his finger inside you, testing your sensitivity. "You know," he began, "orgasms help relieve cramps. The body releases endorphins that ease pain. It's not gross... it's your body asking for what it needs."
You whimpered, unable to argue. Especially not when his finger began to move—slow at first, then building pace, retreating and sinking back in until your hips were grinding helplessly against his palm. Each stroke hit something deeper than just your body, pulling breathy moans from your throat.
"S-Sunoo—" you choked, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. His other hand slid up your shirt again, pushing the fabric away so he could lean in and press his mouth to your chest. His lips wrapped around the soft swell of your breast, and the sharp contrast of your piercing against his tongue made him groan. "I-It's gross."
"No, it's not." He whisper, biting your neck, tongue swirling at it, he mumbled against your skin before adding another finger, spreading you wider. "It's hot. You're hot."
Your only answer was a louder moan, your thighs trembling as you rode his fingers, your body clenching around him. The pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter, until everything snapped all at once. You came hard, body clenching around him as your head tilted back, breath stuttering and vision swimming.
Sunoo shifted you easily, guiding your body until you were bent over the couch, his grip firm and sure as he moved you exactly how he wanted. But then he stilled, breath catching when his eyes landed on your back. His palm slid over your spine, tracing the ink.
"Fuck," he hissed. You felt the way his fingers trembled slightly, how he cupped your hips and coaxed you into an arch, dragging his touch down the trail of black lines and crimson lilies that ran from your shoulder blades to the curve of your lower back. "You always know how to drive me crazy... and now you go and get this?"
You tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sound as he pulled your pants lower, exposing the heat between your legs. He groaned behind you, dragging the tip of himself along your entrance, already soaked and messy, your blood mixing with everything else. It should've made you feel embarrassed but instead, it only made the tension between you burn hotter.
"Please," you breathed, turning your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder.
Sunoo didn't need to be told twice. He eased into you slowly, his body pressing close, chest flush against your back as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, anchoring you to him. His breath stuttered against your skin, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he moved deeper, his other hand gripping your waist so tightly.
Your eyes caught sight of his hand, streaked with red from earlier, and instead of disgust, all you felt was a strange kind of thrill that twisted low in your belly. You clenched around him involuntarily, another moan slipping from your lips.
He kissed your jaw, then your cheek, then finally your mouth again, hungrily this time, tongue sliding against yours as his hips found a faster rhythm. His hands trembled where they held you, but his movements were certain, desperate. "Ah—fuck—I love you," he gasped, his voice cracking open as the pace quickened. "I love you so much. So fucking much."
Your breath caught, heart slamming in your chest. "Sunoo—wait—" your voice was barely audible between moans, "you're not wearing—ah—no condom—!"
He stilled for a second, his breath rough in your ear. But instead of pulling away, he leaned in closer, murmuring, "I know."
Your pussy clenched around him on instinct, as if reacting to the rawness of it all, to the fact that he was really inside you like this. The feeling of his bare cock dragging against your soaked walls was overwhelming, hotter, slicker. Your eyes rolled back as a loud moan escaped your throat, your fingers tightening on whatever they could grab.
"F-fuck," he whimpered, as your walls fluttered around him. Sunoo sounded like he was unraveling in real time. His hands gripped your waist harder, his breath shaking as he slowly pushed back in, deeper this time. He whined against your skin, overwhelmed, almost breathless at how good it felt. "I missed you. Missed this—missed you so fucking much."
His voice cracked, raw emotion bleeding into every word. "Don't leave again, hmm? Please. I'll treat you better this time. I swear—I love you. Fuck, I love you. I'm so fucking in love with you."
He didn't give you time to answer. His fingers slid down between your thighs, finding your clit without hesitation, rubbing slow, dizzying circles that made your knees buckle. His cock hit your g-spot mercilessly and your voice broke into a scream, loud and unfiltered, but you didn't care—the music room was soundproof, and even if it wasn't, you wouldn't have stopped him.
"S-Sunoo—I'm gonna cum," you choked out, your voice hoarse, hips jerking uncontrollably from the way his fingers pressed harder into your clit. Your pussy clenched down around him, and the orgasm crashed into you so fast it nearly knocked you off your feet. Your whole body shook and your thighs quivered, but Sunoo held you tight through it, one hand gripping your waist as the other kept you grounded, kept fucking into you with more force, chasing his own high.
"God, I love you, my baby," he whined. His hips started stuttering, the sound of skin slapping echoing faintly against the padded walls, getting messier, needier. "C-can I cum inside you? Please—let me?"
You couldn't speak at first, just nodded frantically, your fingers digging into his arm where it hugged around your waist. "Yes," you breathed, still panting, "Yes, yes—Sunoo, please—cum in me. I love you."
He let out the loudest, rawest moan of the night, something close to a sob, his whole body tensing as he came hard. You could feel it flood inside you, the warmth of it thick and hot as he kept fucking you through it, like he couldn't stop, like he needed to push it deeper, make sure it stayed.
Even after he was spent, his hips kept rocking slowly into you. His cum leaked around his cock, dripping down your thighs, and still he stayed buried inside, forehead resting against your shoulder, breath warm on your skin.
Neither of you spoke for a long moment, just the sound of ragged breathing filling the space between kisses—gentle ones now. He kissed your neck, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. "I love you," he murmured, then kissed your temple, eyes shut, holding you.
You turned in his arms, legs shaky, body still pulsing from the aftershocks, and cupped his face with both hands, pulling him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. "I love you too," you whispered.
EPILOGUE
Sunoo made his way to the stage with a confidence he hadn't felt in a long time, holding up his medal and certificate for the photographer with a proud grin. Applause echoed through the auditorium, and for a moment, all the weight he had carried over the years—every sleepless night, every self-doubt, every quiet breakdown—seemed worth it. Sitting down on the chair at the side of the stage, his heart swelled with something deeper than relief. He wasn't just happy—he felt fulfilled. Things were finally going his way, and more than that, he had done it on his own terms.
"You look so good—God, I love your makeup!" Giselle said beside him, nudging him with her shoulder. He turned to her with that signature Sunoo smile, wide and sweet. "Your blush is perfect. It suits you so well," she added.
He smiled softly, cheeks glowing with more than just the highlighter dusted on them. "Thanks. My girlfriend did my makeup."
Giselle blinked, then gasped. "Wait—did I hear that right?"
Sunoo didn't respond, just chuckled to himself. When the program ended and the crowd was released into the open hall, he barely waited before slipping into the crowd, eyes scanning eagerly for one person. He weaved through clusters of families and graduates, ignoring the flashes of cameras, until his eyes finally landed on you. His whole face lit up instantly.
Without a second thought, he squealed and ran straight into your arms, wrapping you in a tight, all-consuming hug. You squealed too, and the sound made a few people turn their heads, curious. But Sunoo didn't care. You were in his arms, and that was all that mattered.
"Congratulations, my love!" you beamed, pinching both his cheeks before kissing his forehead.
He immediately slapped your hands away with a playful pout. "Stop! You're gonna mess up my makeup."
You laughed and leaned in. "I could always retouch it, dummy. I was the one who did it, remember?"
Sunoo squinted, finally taking a proper look at you now that he wasn't rushed or nervous. You had left before him earlier, after helping with his look, and now he was seeing you fully—your hair tied neatly in a bun, soft clean makeup that felt too tame for you, and a bright, modest outfit that covered every inch of your skin.
His gaze lingered. "You... took off your piercing?"
You nodded and gave a small shrug, your smile faltering. "Yeah. I figured... maybe you'd want me to look presentable today. Like, for your big day. It felt like the right thing to do."
He tilted his head slowly, eyes narrowing as he looked you over again. "Presentable?" he repeated. "I love the way you look with your piercings on, your tattoos showing, your red lipstick. That's you."
Your chest tightened, emotion catching in your throat so fast you couldn't even respond with words. Instead, you stepped forward and hugged him again, burying your face into his neck as your arms wound around his waist. "I love you," you whispered against his skin.
Sunoo's eyes widened slightly. Then slowly, he melted into your hug, wrapping his arms around you just as tightly. He rested his chin on your shoulder, and for a moment. "I love you more," he murmured softly. Then, pulling back a little to meet your eyes, his brows furrowed. "Wait—did I make you feel like I didn't want you to be yourself? Like I was forcing you to be someone else? I'm sorry."
You shook your head, tears beginning to pool despite the smile on your lips. "No... It wasn't you. I just... I didn't want to mess anything up today. I thought maybe if I toned myself down, it'd be easier."
Sunoo's eyes shone with emotion as he wiped your tears with his thumbs. "You could never mess anything up just by being yourself," he whispered. "Especially not with me. I want you loud, and messy, and bright. I want you with the piercings, with the tattoos, with whatever the hell makes you feel like you. That's the person I want beside me, every day. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I was changing you. Forgive me, hmm?"
You leaned into his touch, forehead resting against his. "Then I'll never tone myself down again."
"Good," he smiled, brushing a kiss to your nose. "Because we've got a lot more milestones coming. And I want all of them with the real you."
You laughed lightly, the tension in your chest finally melting as you cradled his face. "Our only problem now is how to tell Jake without him fainting."
That made Sunoo snort before leaning in again to kiss you properly, his smile still pressed to your lips. You could hear a few surprised gasps from the crowd nearby, but you didn't care—and clearly, neither did he.
"It's fine," he whispered playfully, nuzzling close again. "We'll just plan a sleepover. That way, when he faints, we'll already be somewhere private... and have all the time in the world to celebrate without interruptions."
You smirked, squeezing his hand as it found yours. "I have a gift for you later when we get home."
His eyes sparkled with mischief as he raised a brow. "Hmm... A blowjob?"
You gave his shoulder a soft shove, rolling your eyes with a laugh. "No, not that, idiot."
He broke into a laugh too, the sound warm and carefree, then reached for your waist and pulled you in close again. His hand rested securely there, thumb drawing small circles, grounding you both in that moment. "Thank you for loving me as I am," he whispered against your ear. "Even on the days I forget how to love myself."
You leaned in, letting your head fall against his shoulder, smiling as his lips pressed a kiss to your temple. "I love you in every version of you, Sunoo," you whispered, and you meant every word.
The two of you continued walking hand in hand through the crowd. And if someone had asked you what you were feeling at that exact moment you would've said that you were in love. You were content, completely at peace with who you were and who you were becoming. And more than anything, you were happy, so much more happier than ever. Because Sunoo was beside you.
#SYNOPSIS » you are mostly into girls. everyone knows that. soobin knows that. but that never stopped him from watching you like he knew something you didn’t. he’s your favorite boy, your quietest tension, you flirt with him because you think it’s fun. until one night, a horror movie, and a question you weren’t ready for — are you really not into guys? and maybe it was never about boys. maybe it was just about him.
✰ pairing: soobin x bi!fem!reader … ﹒smut, slowburn, friends to something, power play, pwp ✰ w/c: 15k #nowplaying 1980s horror film - wallows
✰ warnings: explicit sexual content (mdni!!), power dynamics, dom! soobin, oral (m receiving), praise + degradation kink, cum eating, consent is clear but push-pull tension, light pain, confusion around sexuality, reader is bi but leans heavily towards girls
you never really liked boys anyway. except for choi soobin, of course.
which was annoying. infuriating, really. because he was the one boy you let yourself like, just a little, back when college was still new and everything felt like it could be a movie. he was cute in a lazy, floppy-haired way. laughed too loud. had that smug look on his face like he knew girls liked him, and you hated boys like that.
but you liked him, just a little. you liked the way he always saved you a seat. liked the way he looked at you when you talked, like you were saying something important, even when you weren’t. and maybe, once or twice, you thought about kissing him. maybe, if he kissed you first, you wouldn’t have stopped him. and soobin, well, he’s just your friend. even if you’re always in his lap. even if you always call him baby when you’re drunk. even if sometimes he looks at you like he wants to ruin you.
but then you hooked up with that girl from your lit class and remembered: oh. right. you like girls. you’ve always known you were mostly into girls. since before you even had a word for it. barbie made out with other barbie. you had crushes on your best friends. and when you finally kissed a girl for the first time, it felt like everything made sense. you’re bi, technically. but girls were always easier for you. guys were… well, guys. loud, messy, handsy. they talked over you. and every time you tried to “give it a shot” with one, it ended in disappointment. sometimes disgust. you got tired of being disappointed, so you stopped trying.
but then there was soobin.
your friendship with him is… complicated. you watch movies together all the time. mostly 1980's horror films. bad ones, always. you eat from the same bowl of popcorn and scream at the same jump scares. he lets you paint his nails while you ramble about some bullshit while you’re high, and he acts like it doesn’t hurt when you say things like i think i’m into her.
but also, you caught him staring once. not in a gross way. more like… sad? like he wanted to ask something, but didn’t know if he should. well, you didn’t ask either. you just laid your head on his shoulder and said, “you’re my favorite boy, you know that?” and he said, “i better be."
you’ve seen him shirtless more times than you can count. not on purpose, just sleepovers, gym selfies, pool days. but still, his stupid abs live rent-free in your head. and maybe you’ve thought about kissing him. maybe you wonder what it’d feel like to let him touch you, like, really touch you. maybe your brain goes quiet when he calls you pretty. maybe you’re scared of what that means.
maybe you don’t know if you’re confused about him, or just confused about yourself.
and soobin? oh, soobin wants you in ways he can’t say out loud.
it is not sweet, nor soft. no, he wants you in the most carnal way a person can want someone. wants your thighs around his face. wants to hear you whimper. wants to fuck the brat right out of you. and it’s hell, you know, being your friend.
because you’re always touching him. always looking at him like he’s just soobin, your favorite pillow, your emotional support boy. you straddle his lap like it means nothing. call him baby when you’re tipsy. you whisper in his ear at parties like you’re telling him secrets, when really it’s just to feel your lips on his neck. he knows what you’re doing. or maybe you don’t. maybe you’re just like this. maybe you really don’t know what you do to him.
but he does, because he thinks about it way too often. you on your knees. you moaning his name. your lipgloss smeared across his skin. and he hates himself for it, for the way his cock aches just from being around you. for the way he jerks off after you leave his apartment, like some sad, pathetic, friendzoned loser. he wants to blame you, but he can’t. it’s not your fault you’re like this.
and tonight’s the worst. today is taehyun’s birthday party. everyone’s sweating through their clothes and the floor’s sticky and someone’s already puked in the sink. but you look unreal, you always do. little black skirt, bare thighs, something sparkly on your chest. and of course soobin wants to bite you.
you’re drunk, but not too drunk. just buzzed enough to be mean about it. to smile at him with that lipglossed mouth and say shit like: “you know you’re stupid hot, right?”
he freezes. “what?”
you grin. lean in, real close. “you heard me.”
he tries not to react. tries to keep his eyes on your face and not the way your fingers trail down his arm. but his skin’s buzzing, and you’re everywhere. your perfume, your voice, your thighs on his. you’re pressing into him like you want him to do something. and fuck, he almost does. but you’re gone again, like you always are. off to refill your drink, or to dance, or to do whatever the fuck you do when you’re tipsy and glowing and unstoppable.
he finds you later in the kitchen. kissing some girl against the counter, all teeth and tongue and fingers knotted in hair. and he shouldn’t be surprised. he’s not surprised. he’s just, well. soobin is hard.
and ashamed. and dizzy with it. so he turns away. drinks whatever’s in his cup. vodka? piss? who cares.
an hour later, you sit on his lap like nothing happened. like you didn’t just let some other girl bite your neck while he watched. like he isn’t the one unraveling.
“hey,” you whisper. one arm around his shoulders, nails grazing the back of his neck. “you okay?” he doesn’t answer. you tilt your head. “what’re you thinking about?”
he says it before he can stop himself. “don’t know what to say to you,” he breathes. “i feel… you’re always on my mind.”
you freeze for a second. then your face softens. not in the way he wants. “soobin…” you laugh, too gentle. “i’m really not that into guys.”
the words hit like a blade to the gut. or maybe like a jump scare in one of those shitty 1980s horror films you always make him watch. the kind where someone’s about to get gutted, but the music’s still cheerful. like the world doesn’t know something awful is happening.
and he’s sitting there, hard as a rock, hands on your waist, and he can’t even move. just smiles, swallows it down. lets the blood drain from his chest to somewhere lower. because fuck it, right? because he wants you so bad he’ll take anything. even this.
but after that night, things started to change inside you.
you didn’t want to admit it, not even to yourself. you played it off, laughed it off, because that’s what you always do when things get a little too real. but something shifted, something you didn’t know how to name. but you weren’t stupid. you knew what you were doing that night. you were drunk, yes. but not that drunk. just loose enough to let your hands wander. just tipsy enough to call soobin pretty and pretend it didn’t mean anything. just bold enough to climb into his lap and act like you belonged there.
and god, the way he looked at you. he always looked at you soft. like you were something delicate, something sacred. but that night? something in his eyes was darker. heavier. something that made your stomach flip and your thighs press together just a little.
you liked it, you fucking liked it. and then you said it — i’m really not that into guys — and watched it hit him like a punch to the face. you weren’t lying. well, not entirely. you are bi. you always have been. but it’s been a long time since a man made you feel anything. it’s been years since one touched you and your body responded like this. and it’s not like you didn’t try, you did. dates, hookups, situationships. they all fizzled out into nothing. no spark. no heat. just another guy thinking he deserved something just for showing up.
but soobin isn’t like them. soobin is sweet. soobin holds your hand when you’re hungover and makes playlists for your moods and never pushes, never assumes, never demands. he’s soft-spoken, polite, too damn good for his own sanity. and maybe that’s why you liked teasing him so much. maybe that’s why you started testing your limits.
you knew he liked you. he never said it, but it clung to everything he did. the way he lingered when you touched him. the way he looked away when you changed clothes in front of him, but not too fast. the way he let you flirt and flirt and flirt, and never told you to stop.
and well, you’re a little fucked up, you know that. you like playing with fire just to see how long it takes to burn. and with soobin? soobin had this face, all soft lashes and pink lips and that stupid shy smile, and yet you knew he wasn’t innocent, no, not really. you’d catch him looking sometimes, like really looking. not just at your face, but at your thighs. your chest. your mouth. the hunger was there, hiding behind the sweet boy act.
and it did something to you, something ugly. something hot.
so you started to lean in closer when you talked to him. started calling him baby more often, just to see how his ears turned red. you wore shorts that barely covered anything when he came over. you let your fingers linger a little too long on his hand when you passed him things. and when you caught him staring, you smiled.
but you told yourself it was just fun. you told yourself you were figuring things out, seeing if your body could still want a guy. if your brain could still go there. and if it was anyone else, you probably would’ve pulled away already. but it’s soobin, and you trust him. and that’s what makes it worse. because now every time you’re alone together, you can feel it crackling between you. every laugh, every brush of skin, every too-long stare— it all builds and builds until you feel like your bones might snap from the pressure of not doing anything.
you wake up thinking about his mouth. you fall asleep wondering how he tastes. you touch yourself and pretend it’s still just curiosity. you don’t know what this makes you. don’t know if you’re into him, or just into how he makes you feel. don’t know if you want him because it’s him… or because your body is begging for something and he’s the first person to really look at you like he’s starving.
and maybe that’s the scariest part. not wanting him, but not knowing why you want him.
so you text him two nights later.
[you]: hey, movie night?
[you]: u owe me horror and gore
he answers in under five minutes.
[soobin]: omw
you stare at the message longer than necessary, because you don’t know what you’re doing. but also— you know exactly what you’re doing.
you pick the movie carefully, not something classy. the slumber party massacre. a cult slasher soaked in tits and blood and bad acting. the kind of movie that makes you feel sticky just watching it. the kind of movie you’d make fun of together. the kind of movie where sexual tension is part of the plot, of course
you throw on a hoodie and tiny shorts. not for him, not really. you just want to be comfortable. or you just want to see what happens.
and when soobin shows up, he looks like he always does. hoodie, sweats, his hair slightly messed up from the wind. but his eyes flick to your legs when you open the door. just for a second. and that’s all it takes. that second burns straight through you.
“hey,” he says, voice a little too low.
“you brought snacks?” you ask, already turning your back to him, pretending your skin isn’t hot.
“yeah,” he says, and when you glance back, he’s still standing there, holding the chips awkwardly, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
“you ever seen the slumber party massacre?” you ask, flopping onto your bed.
soobin blinks. “uh, yeah. tits and blood, right?”
you grin. “exactly.”
you settle on your bed with the laptop open, lights off except for the screen’s dim glow. he kicks off his shoes and joins you, back against the pillows, a little too far from you. he swears his heart skips. or maybe it’s his dick. hard to tell.
you don’t say anything, you just press play. and the movie starts. basically: girls scream, clothes come off, fake blood splashes across the screen. it’s stupid. you’ve seen it before. but you don’t care. because all you can feel is the space between your bodies.
you stretch your legs out and let one brush against his thigh. you pretend it’s accidental. it’s not. he stiffens a little, but doesn’t pull away. fifteen minutes in, you shift closer. your bare thigh fully pressed to his now. he still doesn’t move, but his breathing changes, though. a little shallower. you don’t look at him, not yet. you lean your head back, neck exposed, hoodie slipping off one shoulder.
you’re not watching the movie anymore. you’re watching him watch the movie. he’s tense and quiet, too quiet. and then one of the girls on screen moans — loud and ridiculous and obviously fake — and you can practically feel soobin’s whole body flinch beside you.
you turn to him, finally, and your voice comes out low. teasing. “you okay?”
he nods, too quickly. “mhm.”
you smile and lean in a little closer. “you’re so jumpy. it’s just a dumb movie.”
he swallows hard. “yeah, i know.”
and then silence again. well, except it’s not silence. it’s the sound of his breath catching every time you shift. the rustle of sheets when your leg slides higher against his. the creak of the bed when you lean into his side and pretend not to notice how he holds himself like he’s about to explode. you rest your chin on his shoulder. your lips brush his neck. again— just pretend.
your eyes are half-lidded as you stare at the screen, though you’ve long since stopped registering anything happening in the movie. he’s so still beside you it’s almost funny, like he thinks if he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe too loudly, the tension will somehow break on its own. but you feel him. the way his thigh tenses beneath yours. the way his hands are clenched, fingers digging into his own leg. the way he keeps his eyes on the screen like he’s being tested. like this is some exam he has to pass.
“you still think this movie’s just tits and blood?” you ask voice low, teasing. your lips graze the curve of his neck just slightly as you speak, enough to make him flinch.
he lets out a sound, half a laugh, half a breath he’d been holding. “that’s literally all it is,” he says, but his voice is tight, a little hoarse, like it’s caught on something he’s not saying. “plot? never heard of her.”
you grin, slow and lazy. “right. because you only watch movies for the plot.”
“i do, actually.” he turns his head a little, just enough to glance at you, and you catch the flicker of something in his eyes, maybe amusement, restraint, a quiet kind of want that makes your stomach flip. “that’s why i’m here. for the deep narrative of slumber party massacre.”
you laugh, you can’t help it. “mm, yeah. so insightful.”
“exactly,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping (not very subtly) to your mouth. “truly… cinematic.”
there’s a beat of silence where neither of you speaks, where the only sound is the girl on screen screaming as a power drill tears through a door. you shift closer again, just barely, and his breath catches. you can feel the way the air between you is thick. the push and pull of something neither of you wants to name.
you smile, almost wicked, and lean into him fully now, your weight settling half across his chest, your hand resting on his stomach, too casual to be casual at all. you can feel the tension in him, the way his body is coiled tight, like he’s holding himself back from something. “hey..” you whisper, voice syrupy and low. “you uncomfortable?”
he swallows hard. “no,” he says, way too fast. “why would i be?”
you let your fingers drag slowly, lazily over the hem of his hoodie. “dunno. you just seem kinda… stiff.”
you know you’re being cruel. you know exactly what you’re doing, and part of you hates yourself for it. and the other part (the louder one) is trying to make sense of the chaos inside you, the confusion, the heat, the sudden ache that’s been gnawing at you ever since that night at the party. you tell yourself this is about clarity, you just want to know.
he exhales sharply, like he’s trying to keep himself from combusting. “you’re really playing with fire right now,” he mutters, half under his breath.
you tilt your head again, wide-eyed and fake-innocent. “me? i would never.”
he turns to you then and suddenly he’s close, so close that his nose almost brushes yours, and all the tension from before condenses into a single, dangerous moment. “are you really not that into guys?” he asks, low and careful, like he’s trying to sound casual but can’t quite pull it off. “or are you just… not into me?”
the words hit harder than you expect. you blink, thrown for a second. you were playing a game, but suddenly you’re not sure what the rules are anymore. and he doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. he’s not teasing now, he’s just waiting. you open your mouth, then close it again. because what the hell are you supposed to say? you could lie. you could laugh it off. you could flirt your way out of it like you always do. but you don’t. because suddenly you feel a little sick, like something’s lodged in your chest.
“i…” you start, but your voice cracks, and you have to look away. you pull back just slightly, your hand slipping off his stomach, and the loss of contact makes you feel cold. “i don’t know.”
and that’s the truth, and it’s the worst answer you could give. but soobin doesn’t respond right away. he just watches you for a moment, eyes sharp, mouth tight. “you know,” he says finally, voice low and calm in that dangerous way, “i can’t keep pretending this is nothing. that you don’t know what you’re doing.”
your breath hitches. “i didn’t mean to—”
“yes, you did,” he cuts in, not harsh, but not gentle either. “you did mean to. you do it all the time.”
you want to argue, but you can’t. because he’s right. “i don’t know what i want,” you admit, your voice small now. “it’s not about you. it’s not— it’s not because i don’t think about you. i do. i think about you more than i should.”
he exhales slowly. “then stop acting like it’s a joke.”
you look up at him, and suddenly he’s too close again, and the space between your bodies feels like it might collapse. “i’m just... scared,” you whisper, and it’s the first honest thing you’ve said all night.
his expression softens, not completely, not enough to erase the frustration and the want, but enough to remind you who he is. that it’s soobin. that he’s not going to take advantage. that he just wants you to be sure. “then say that,” he says gently. “don’t play with me.”
you don’t say anything at first. you just sit there with your hands in your lap like some kind of penitent virgin, like you weren’t half on top of him five seconds ago whispering in his ear like a tease. it’s funny, in a pathetic kind of way. you don’t even realize how obvious it is, how you’re still pressed up against him, still breathing like you ran a mile, still watching his mouth like it might do something terrible. and soobin? soobin’s done pretending he doesn’t notice.
“you know what your problem is?” he says, voice calm in a way that’s somehow more dangerous than yelling.
you blink. “um—”
he leans in just slightly, not enough to touch, but close enough to make you feel it. “you think you can keep playing these games with me and i’m just gonna sit here and take it.”
your stomach flips. “i wasn’t—”
“you weren’t?” he cuts in, tone sharp now. “what was that then? just casual flirting with your friend since you are 'not that into guys’? calling me baby and crawling into my lap and rubbing up against me during a fucking slasher movie? just normal behavior?”
you open your mouth. close it again. because yeah. yeah, okay. you have no argument. he laughs, humorless. “you want to know what i think?”
you don’t, you really don’t, but you nod anyway. he shifts his body, finally, his legs opening just slightly, taking up more space, spine straighter now, eyes locked on you like he’s finally tired of pretending he’s not starving. he doesn’t touch you, not yet, but every inch of his posture says he could. would, if you let him.
“i think you like pretending you’re in control,” he says. “i think you like pushing me just far enough to feel powerful. but you never let it go further, because then it’s real. and if it’s real, you can’t hide behind your sexuality crisis or your drunk-girl flirty bullshit.”
you suck in a sharp breath. “wow.”
“yeah,” he says. “wow.”
there’s a long pause. you don’t move, but your skin’s buzzing, your thighs pressed together like that’ll help. it won’t. your whole body’s betraying you. and the worst part is that he knows. because he continues: “but here’s the thing,” he continues, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “you’re not in control. not anymore.”
“oh?” you shoot back, voice a little thinner than you want. “and you are?”
he tilts his head, eyes dark now, smile lazy. “wanna find out?”
you hate him. you hate that your legs feel weak and your face is hot and your stomach is doing flips like you’re seventeen and he’s the first boy who ever looked at you like he meant it. you swallow hard. “you think i’m scared of you?”
“i know you’re scared of how bad you want me,” he says, and it’s not cocky. it’s not a guess. it’s a goddamn fact.
and you hate that he’s right. so you laugh, mostly to cover the way your heart is slamming in your chest. “you’re full of yourself.”
“maybe,” he shrugs. “but you’re still sitting in my lap like, so.”
you blink. your brain short-circuits a little. “jesus christ.”
“say the word,” he says, voice dropping just enough to make your spine tingle. “say it and i’ll stop. we can finish the movie, you can pretend you’re totally unbothered, and i’ll go home like nothing happened.”
you look at him, and he’s still soobin. your sweet, smart, quietly hot friend who lets you paint his nails and listens to your drunk girl rants and always brings the right snacks. except now his eyes are blown wide, his lips are parted, and he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. you’re not used to this version of him, but god, it’s doing something to you.
“i’m not saying stop,” you whisper, and it sounds like a confession.
he grins, slow and dangerous. “didn’t think so.”
you don’t have time to think before he moves. he’s grabbing your waist and pulling you into his lap like you weigh nothing. just grabs you, shifts you over until you’re straddling him, knees on either side of his thighs, face inches from his. like it’s easy, like he’s done it before.
your breath catches in your throat. your hands find his shoulders out of instinct, grounding yourself, but your head is spinning, because he’s so close. his hoodie smells like laundry detergent and something distinctly him, and you’re hyper-aware of how warm his hands feel on your hips, how his thumbs drag slowly against the waistband of your shorts like he’s barely restraining himself.
“you okay?” he asks, but there’s no softness in his voice this time. just control. “still playing?”
you blink at him, wide-eyed. “i’m not—”
“don’t lie,” he cuts in, eyes dark and steady on yours. “not now.”
your lips part, but no sound comes out. you can feel the tension in your own body of the pull, the ache, the raw want that’s been building for weeks, maybe months, maybe longer than you care to admit. and now it’s all boiling under your skin. he leans back slightly against the pillows, relaxed now, one hand still heavy on your hip. his other arm stretches behind his head, the picture of composure, like he’s not losing his mind with you sitting like this on top of him.
“so,” he says, almost lazily, like this is just another dumb conversation between friends. “what do you like?”
you blink. “what?”
“sexually,” he clarifies, casual as anything, like he’s asking what your favorite color is. “what do you like? do you even know?” you swallow hard and he tilts his head, watching you. “you’ve been playing this game for weeks. teasing me, acting like you don’t notice when i’m hard because you’re grinding on me. so i wanna know. is it just for fun? or do you actually get off on this?”
your cheeks burn. you should get up, you should say something. instead, you shift slightly in his lap, barely, and his hands tighten on your waist in warning. “don’t do that unless you’re ready to take responsibility,” he says, voice lower now, dangerous. “you wanted to know how i feel? this is it.”
you bite your lip, heart pounding. you feel too exposed, even fully dressed. like he’s peeled something open inside you and now there’s nowhere to hide. “you’re being mean,” you whisper.
he grins, sharp and slow. “good. someone’s gotta stop letting you play dumb.” you stare at him, chest tight, skin buzzing. “so,” he says again, voice softer now but no less intense. “what do you like?”
you hesitate. not because you don’t know, but because saying it out loud would make it real. and he watches your face, expression unreadable. and then he leans in again, voice low in your ear. “tell me what you want,” he murmurs. “or nothing happens. i’m not gonna touch you unless you ask for it.”
you don’t mean to move, not really, but your hips shift slightly, like your body’s trying to answer for you. your lips part, and for a second, you just breathe. you’re not sure where your voice went. everything’s tight in your throat, but soobin doesn’t rush you. he just waits, watching you from below with a look that’s way too composed for someone whose thighs you’re currently sitting on.
“i…” you start, barely above a whisper. “i like…”
he arches an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “yeah?”
you glare at him, cheeks burning. “don’t be smug.”
“i’m literally just sitting here,” he says, all innocent, like his fingers aren’t gripping your hips like a fucking anchor. “you’re the one grinding on me.”
you huff, exasperated, but your body betrays you again— your thighs tighten, your nails dig lightly into his shoulders. you lean in closer so you don’t have to look at him full in the eyes when you say it. “i like…” you pause, then exhale hard. “i like being in control. usually.”
he hums. “yeah?”
“with girls,” you clarify, quieter now. “it’s just always been easier. they… let me lead.”
soobin’s eyes flicker darker, but he keeps the same calm expression on his face, his voice steady. “so you’re a top,” he says, teasing, like he’s just making an observation about the weather.
you roll your eyes. “not like that.”
“no?” he tilts his head. “how then?”
you bite your lip, struggling for the words. “i mean— i like the dynamic. i like girls with that…” your voice drops. “with that… innocent face. it’s hot.”
you feel soobin’s breath hitch under you, just barely. it makes your heart spike in your chest. he laughs softly, but there’s something sharp underneath it. “so is that how you see me?”
you finally meet his eyes. they’re unreadable now, but locked onto yours with a focus that makes your stomach twist. “no,” you say, and your voice is firmer this time. “you’re not like that.”
he hums again, this time low and slow. “so what am i like, then?”
you swallow, your hands sliding slightly down his arms. “you’re… harder to read. you play along, but i know you’re not passive. you pretend you don’t care, but i can feel it when you touch me.”
“yeah?” he says, fingers tightening just slightly at your waist. “and what does that make you?”
this time you don’t look away. “i don’t know,” you admit. “i like… control. but sometimes—” you pause, frustrated at how hard it is to say. “sometimes i like giving it up.”
“why?” he asks, and his voice is quieter now. not mean, just curious. like he genuinely wants to know what makes you tick.
you think about it. “it depends,” you say slowly, choosing your words with care. “on how the person treats me. if they make me feel safe or wanted. if they deserve it.”
his gaze doesn’t waver. “and am i treating you like that right now?”
that question hits somewhere deep, somewhere between your lungs and your core, and you can’t tell if it makes you want to run or stay forever, so you nod. and he smirks, not cruel, not cocky. just knowing. “good,” he says, voice low. “because i’m not trying to play pretend with you anymore.”
you nod again, smaller this time, your breath shaky. “i don’t want to play either.”
his thumb strokes gently along your side, slow and steady, grounding you. his other hand moves up to rest lightly against the back of your neck, just holding you there, close enough to feel his breath against your lips. “you like being in control,” he says, like he’s repeating it back just to make sure you know he heard you. “but you don’t need to be.”
you don’t answer out loud. your body answers for you, because your hips are rolling forward slightly without permission, the friction making you gasp. his grip tightens instantly, holding you in place. “ah ah,” he tuts, voice like velvet. “you still haven’t told me what you want.”
your head drops forward, forehead resting against his. “you’re so fucking annoying.”
he grins. “am i?”
you’re burning. your whole body is vibrating with need and frustration and anticipation. you feel like you’re going to scream if he doesn’t do something, or let you do something. “i want you to touch me,” you whisper, barely audible.
he leans in just a bit more. “gonna have to say that louder, baby.”
you grit your teeth. “fuck you.”
he smiles sweetly. “you wish.”
your fingers tighten in the fabric of his hoodie. your thighs are trembling now, and you’re so wound up you feel like your skin might split open. you inhale shakily, close your eyes, and say it again. louder this time. clearer. “i want you to touch me.”
you feel the way his breath catches, like even he wasn’t prepared to hear you say it like that. and then his voice drops, low and hot in your ear.
“good girl.”
you almost moan at his words, but you bite your lips and hold yourself back. his hands rest on your thighs like they live there. his thumb draws slow, absent circles against your skin, barely noticeable if your entire nervous system wasn’t screaming at you. his eyes are on you like he’s watching a storm roll in. and you’re trying not to come apart over a fucking stare. you shift a little, chasing friction, and he smirks immediately.
“comfortable?” he asks, voice too soft to be innocent.
you glare. “you’re enjoying this.”
“obviously,” he says. “you’re so easy to read it’s kind of adorable.”
you roll your eyes, annoyed and flustered, which only seems to please him more. his thumb trails higher, a little closer to the hem of your shorts, but doesn’t go any further. he’s doing this on purpose. you know he is.
“you’re not gonna kiss me?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
he raises an eyebrow, gaze flicking from your mouth to your eyes. “is that what you want?” your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. he smiles, slow and cruel and so fucking pretty. “then kiss me.” you freeze. his voice drops, lower now. “what? don’t get shy now.”
you want to hit him. you want to kiss him. you want to melt into him. mostly, you want him to stop talking. but you don’t move. so soobin leans in and exhales. “or do you just want me to do everything for you?”
you swallow hard. “you’re insufferable.”
he hums, grinning. his hand moves again, dragging up the back of your thigh, slow and deliberate, until he’s cupping the underside of it, holding you just a little tighter. “you gonna kiss me or what?” he asks again, voice practically a purr. “or are you scared of that too?”
“i’m not scared.”
“then what’s stopping you?”
you stare at him. you can feel your pulse everywhere — in your neck, your wrists, between your legs. he’s right there. he’s asking for it. and still, you hesitate. so he keeps going. “you want it to be me?” he asks, fingers now pressing into your thigh a little rougher. “you want me to make the first move? pin you down? take it from you?” you shiver. “i could,” he adds. “but i won’t. not until you ask for it.”
his words hit low and deep, and you can’t tell if your thighs are shaking from nerves or want. maybe both. so you reach up, slow and hesitant, and brush your fingers along his jaw. he doesn’t move, he just waits. and when you finally lean in and kiss him, it’s like biting into lightning.
he doesn’t move at first. lets you kiss him, tentative, searching, like he wants to see how far you’ll go on your own. but when your fingers curl into the collar of his hoodie and your hips shift forward instinctively, he groans low in his throat and grabs your waist tight. his mouth moves against yours like he’s been waiting. like he’s been holding back for weeks and now he’s finally letting himself want. well, because he is. so he kisses rougher, deeper, his tongue slipping into your mouth like it belongs there. and when you whimper, he pulls back just barely, breathing hard.
“that what you wanted?” he asks, voice ragged now. you nod, dazed. he kisses the corner of your mouth. your jaw. down your neck. everywhere but where you’re begging for it. “you’re gonna have to be more specific,” he murmurs against your skin. “i wanna hear exactly what you like.”
your hips grind down again. he grips your thighs harder, holds you in place. “you like being on top?” he asks, almost amused.
you nod, biting your lip. “sometimes.”
“but not tonight?” he asks, tilting his head. “you want me to take over, baby?” you can’t speak. you just breathe and nod. he grins. “you know what to do then.”
you press your forehead to his, shaky and desperate and so ready to say it. “please,” you whisper. “i want you.”
“how bad?” he asks.
“i can’t think,” you breathe. “i need you to do something.”
he chuckles — low, smug, wrecked. “good. now we’re getting somewhere.”
his hand is on your throat before you even process it. not squeezing, just resting there, firm enough to feel the beat of your pulse against his palm. he holds your gaze steady with his, like he’s daring you to pull away. you don’t. your breath comes out shaky and uneven, and his thumb strokes just once along the column of your neck. “say it again,” he murmurs, voice low and unforgiving.
you swallow hard. “need you to do something. please.”
he nods once, like that’s all he needed. his other hand slides up under your hoodie, knuckles brushing the bare skin of your waist. his fingers are cold at first, but the way they move is purposeful, not searching, not unsure. he knows what he’s doing. he drags his hand up slowly, deliberately, until his palm rests just under your bra.
“like this?” he asks, thumb teasing the edge of the fabric. “or do you want more?”
you gasp, breath catching. “more.”
he grins, lazy and infuriating. “thought so.”
he slides your hoodie up, not bothering to take it off, just pushing it out of the way enough to get what he wants. his hands move with a kind of patience that makes you ache, like he’s got all the time in the world to make you lose your mind. he cups your breasts through the thin fabric, thumbing over your nipple until it hardens beneath his touch. you arch into it without thinking. “you like that?” he asks, voice close to your ear.
“yes.”
“say it.”
“i like it.”
his hand dips lower, sliding down your stomach, teasing the waistband of your shorts. his fingers toy with the edge like he’s still deciding if he’s going to keep going. “you want me to take these off too?”you nod, dizzy. he clicks his tongue. “use your words.”
“yes. take them off.”
he drags them down slowly, watching your face the whole time. he wants to see everything— the way your lips part, the way your body tenses when he touches you, the way you shiver when the fabric brushes down your legs. you kick them off and now you’re in nothing but your underwear, straddling him, your hoodie still half pushed up, breath coming in shaky bursts.
“fuck,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “you’re really just gonna sit here looking like that and expect me to behave?”
“i like it,” you manage to say.
he smirks. “of course you do.”
his hands slide down slow, fingers splaying wide as they skim the sides of your thighs, tracing the shape of you like he’s memorizing it. and then they’re under your ass, lifting you just enough so he can shift your panties to the side, fingers brushing over where you’re wet and aching. he whistles low, mouth curling into a grin. “fuck,” he mutters. “you really needed this, didn’t you?”
you let out a shaky breath, gripping his shoulders like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. your whole body jolts at the first real contact, the drag of his fingers through your folds, slow and sure, like he’s testing what you can handle. “so wet for me already,” he murmurs, circling your clit with maddening precision. “and i haven’t even done anything yet.”
he rubs slow circles with the heel of his palm, watching you squirm. your hips jerk instinctively, but his hands pin you down. he keeps you still, makes you feel every slow movement, every teasing glide. he’s not in a rush. you might be desperate, but he isn’t. not anymore. still, he slips a finger inside you, slow, deliberate, and your whole body tightens around him. he groans low in his throat.
“tight,” he mutters, adding a second finger without warning. “jesus. you’d fall apart if i fucked you right now.” you moan, breathless. “you’d let me, wouldn’t you?” he says, curling his fingers just right. “after all that teasing.”
“yes—”
his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing tight, lazy circles as his fingers fuck into you deep and steady. you can’t breathe, can’t think, just clutch at him like you’re drowning. and then he leans in close, voice a growl against your ear. “you need someone to put you in your place,” he says. “you act like you’re in charge, but look at you now. look how easy it is to break you.”
your thighs tremble around his hips, pleasure building sharp and fast, overwhelming. “you like being handled like this, don’t you?” he asks again, his tone dark, laced with smug delight.
“yes,” you gasp, hips twitching.
“of course you do,” he says. “you like being fucked slow. deep. with a hand on your throat so you remember who’s in charge.” his other hand slides up again, fingers wrapping gently around your neck and your whole body tenses in response. “you make everything so difficult,” he says. “all your mixed signals, all your little games. but this? this is simple. this is what you really wanted.”
your walls clench around his fingers as your body tips over the edge, sudden and hard and overwhelming. your mouth falls open in a moan you can’t stop, hips jerking despite the grip he has on you. he doesn’t let up. just keeps fucking you through it, watching your face the whole time.
“look at you,” he breathes. “so fucking pretty like this. i should’ve done this a long time ago.” your body’s shaking when he finally slows down. he pulls his fingers out and brings them to his lips, licking them clean like he’s tasting something expensive. “mm,” he says. “sweet.”
you stare at him, wrecked and speechless, still trying to remember how your lungs work. then he leans in, takes his fingers back to your clenching cunt again, his voice rough in your ear. “tell me how it feels.”
you grip his shoulders tighter, fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie. “it feels good.”
“how good?”
“i don’t know—fuck—soobin—”
he presses a little harder, the friction just right now, and your hips jerk again. “you like when i touch you here?” he asks, eyes locked on yours, no trace of softness in his voice.
“yes,” you breathe. “yes, i do.”
his fingers slide between your folds, slick and warm, and he lets out a low groan. “fuck,” he mutters again. “you’re soaked.” you whimper, forehead dropping to his shoulder. his fingers move with ease, finding your clit again and circling it with infuriating slowness.
“look at me,” he says. you lift your head, barely. your eyes meet his, and the intensity there nearly knocks the air out of your lungs. he curls his fingers inside you, hitting just the right spot, and you cry out before you can stop yourself. your hips grind down, chasing the pressure. “needy little thing,” he says, amused. “so much for being in control.”
you whimper again, half shame, half desperation. he’s relentless now, thrusting his fingers in and out while his thumb circles your clit, pushing you higher, closer. “soobin—”
“tell me you’re close.”
“i’m close,” you breathe, eyes squeezing shut.
he leans in again, lips ghosting over your ear. “then say please.” you hesitate, and his pace slows. “come on,” he murmurs. “you’ve been bossing me around for months. let me hear you beg.”
you’re shaking now, thighs trembling around him, every nerve on fire. “please,” you whisper.
“louder.”
“please, soobin—please don’t stop.”
his mouth curves into a grin, and he gives you exactly what you asked for. “good girl,” he says again, and this time, you fall apart in his fingers, and god, this feeling is smoothing, something you don’t remember feeling it before.
you’re still in his lap, limbs loose, head buzzing, the movie’s looping on the laptop like background noise at a bad dream rave. his hand is parked on your waist—heavy but not pushing, more placeholder than threat—and you can’t decide if you’re melting into him or trying to keep from slipping clean off the planet.
he’s the one who breaks the hush. “you’re thinking again,” he says, voice low.
you don’t look at him. “i’m recovering.”
“that’s what i’m worried about.” his thumb taps a slow beat against your skin. “every time you start thinking, you talk yourself out of wanting me.”
you snort, tired and raw. “i literally just made a mess on your hand. i think the wanting part is confirmed.”
“for now,” he says. “in ten minutes you’ll start reciting the ‘i’m not that into guys’ speech again, and i’ll be back at square one.”
you lift your eyes, glare half-heartedly. “square one was me calling you pretty in a kitchen full of tequila fumes. i’d say we’ve upgraded.”
“fine,” he admits, lips twitching. “square two, then. still a demotion from where i’m sitting.”
you finally meet his gaze, and it is clear, unflinching, annoyingly perceptive, and something inside you trips. the room tilts a millimeter. because you realize he isn’t holding you tighter, he isn’t trying to start round two, he’s just… waiting.
the silence stretches. your brain tries to sprint off a cliff, but your body’s too heavy to follow. so you talk, because you can’t not. “i’m not gonna pretend i’m suddenly into guys again,” you say, words slurred around honesty. “and i’m definitely not in love with you, so don’t get weird.”
“bold of you to assume i want either,” he shoots back, all teeth.
you blink. “you don’t?”
“i like you messy,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “in love is boring. this—” he gestures to the tangle of limbs and shame you’re both stewing in— “this is entertaining.”
you should probably punch him. instead you laugh, breathless. “you are absolutely dirty.”
he smiles, small but real. “dirty keeps you on my lap, apparently.”
you roll your eyes, shift, realize he’s still hard beneath you and freeze. he notices, of course he does, and tilts his head, studying your face. “thinking again,” he murmurs.
“wondering,” you correct, voice thin.
“about?”
“if i should, um… help you?”
his brows lift. “help?” he echoes, amused. “sound mighty altruistic of you.”
“shut up,” you mutter, cheeks burning. “i’m new at this.”
“new at what?”
“wanting a guy enough to… you know.”
he hums, all fake contemplation. “we could have a symposium. ‘introduction to blowing choi soobin.’” you smack his chest; he laughs, catches your wrist, threads your fingers through his. the joke dissolves, but the warmth sticks. “we can slow down,” he says, quieter now. “or stop. or order pizza. i don’t care—just don’t ghost me.”
you stare at him, throat tight. “i don’t want to stop,” you whisper.
his thumb strokes the back of your hand. “good. then tell me how you want to start.”
the question hangs there, simple but also terrifying. your pulse trips a little faster. “kiss me again,” you answer, voice steadier than you feel. “but slow.”
“slow.” he nods, serious. “any further instructions, boss?”
“don’t call me boss,” you mutter.
“princess?” you glare.
“soobin,” you warn.
his grin spreads, wolfish. “see? thinking stopped. progress.”
he leans in (slow, like requested) and kisses you softer than before, mouths parting, breath catching, no rush. your hands slide up into his hair, anchor there; his free hand cups the back of your neck, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. and when you finally pull back, you’re trembling again, but it’s a quieter shake.
his eyes search yours. “so?”
you laugh into his shoulder. “shut up and keep going.”
“sure,” he whispers, mouth brushing yours, “but remember—if you want more, you ask.”
you nod, firm. “i will. i promise.”
you don’t remember when his hands started moving again, but they’re under your hoodie again now. his mouth is still pressed against yours, but the kiss has changed. it’s deeper and slower. and he’s not letting you lead anymore. he tilts your chin up with one hand, holds you there like he’s adjusting the angle of something he owns. his other hand slides along your spine, dragging heat everywhere it touches.
his hands slide back down to your hips, pulling you toward him until you’re close enough to feel everything again. he shifts his leg just slightly between yours and applies the lightest pressure, forcing you to roll your hips against his thigh. your mouth falls open without meaning to.
“feels good?” he asks, low.
“yeah,” you whisper.
he hums, unimpressed. “what was that?”
“yes,” you say again, louder.
his hand moves to the back of your neck. not rough, just enough to hold you still. to keep you looking at him. “you’re gonna do what i say,” he says. “because you want to. not because i make you.” you nod. “say it.”
“i want to,” you whisper.
“you want what?”
“i want to do what you say.”
he smiles. “then take your hoodie off.”
your hands move before your brain catches up. you pull it over your head, toss it to the floor. your chest is rising and falling too fast, and he’s just sitting there, watching you like you’re a puzzle he’s already solved.
his gaze drags over your body, slow and hungry, but he still doesn’t touch. instead, he leans back slightly and says, “take off your bra.”
your fingers fumble a little, but you do it. it joins the hoodie on the floor. he exhales like it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to. and then he looks you in the eyes again. your body’s humming, nerves and heat and need all tangled together. his hands slide up to cup your chest, thumbs brushing over your nipples, slow and deliberate. he watches every twitch of your face as he touches you.
“you like being told what to do?” he asks, voice low, dragging.
“yeah.”
he raises an eyebrow. “say it.”
“i like being told what to do.”
he kisses you slow one last time before pulling back. “then get off,” he says quietly.
you blink, breathless, already lightheaded. “what?”
he tilts his head. “off my lap. on your knees. on the floor.”
you stare for half a second. then your body moves before your brain can argue. you climb off the bed and drop down onto the floor between his legs, palms pressing into the hardwood for balance. your knees hit the floor, and the air shifts.
he exhales like the sight alone is enough to wreck him. his legs spread wider, slow, deliberate, and he leans forward a little, one hand cupping the side of your face. his thumb drags along your cheek, down to your lip. “look at you,” he murmurs. “you ever been on your knees for a guy before?” you shake your head. he smiles. smirks, really. “good.”
his thumb presses against your bottom lip, slipping inside just slightly. your mouth parts for him on instinct. “open,” he says, and you do. he pushes his thumb in deeper, then pulls it out just as slow. “good girl.”
your breath stutters. he leans forward more, one elbow resting on his thigh as he looks down at you. “you’re doing so well for me. on your knees, waiting for what i give you. you don’t even know how pretty you look like this.” his other hand slides into your hair, not hard, but firm. guiding and steady. you can feel how calm he is—like this is just natural for him. like having someone kneeling between his legs is a position he was meant for. “hands behind your back,” he says.
you obey, slowly, feeling the shift in your own body when you do. your balance changes. your chest pushes forward slightly. your breath feels deeper and needier. he smiles. “you want to do something for me?”
“yes,” you whisper.
“then ask.” your throat tightens. he leans closer, almost nose-to-nose, his voice a quiet threat. “ask me what you want, baby.”
“can i…” your voice breaks. you swallow. “can i touch you?”
he leans back, sits up straight, eyes heavy on yours. “you want to touch me?”
“yes.”
“where?”
your cheeks burn. “your cock.”
his breath hitches. he doesn’t show much, but that gets him. a shift in his jaw. a slight flex of his thigh. “say it again.”
you breathe in. “i want to touch your cock.”
he smiles. “then take it out.”
you move carefully, your hands now free again, fingers working his waistband, slow and precise. you don’t rush. he watches you the entire time, like you’re a performance made just for him. and when you finally pull him out, hard and heavy in your palm, his breath leaves in one long, quiet exhale.
you look up, eyes wide. “now what?” you ask, voice barely there.
he smirks again, hand back in your hair. “first, you keep those pretty eyes on mine the entire time,” he says, voice low and dark. his hand tightens just slightly in your hair, not painful, just present. like a reminder: he’s the one leading. “start slow,” he says, voice steady. “get used to the way i feel in your hand.”
you swallow, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. he’s warm and heavy. hard enough to make your pulse spike just from the weight of him in your palm. you glance up. “like this?” you ask.
he nods once, but doesn’t say anything. just watches. the corner of his mouth lifts a little. proud, curious and patient. you start to stroke, slow and careful, your thumb brushing over the head like you’ve done this before—you did, but it’s different with him. he makes it feel deliberate, like every movement matters.
“good,” he murmurs. “tighter. don’t be scared.”
you adjust, hand squeezing a little more, sliding down and back up in a steady rhythm. you’re learning how he twitches, how his breath catches, how his thighs tense a little under your arms when you get the pressure right. he lets out a quiet groan.
“yeah. just like that,” he says, hand sliding to cradle the side of your face. his thumb traces your cheekbone. “you’re so fucking good at this, fuck—” you blush, ridiculous considering the situation, and he smirks. “you like hearing that?” he asks.
you nod. “yeah.”
he hums, thumb brushing your lips again. “then earn more of it.”
your hand speeds up slightly, bolder now. you’re watching him just as much as he’s watching you, studying every reaction. every flicker in his eyes, every tiny breath that tells you yes, this.
“spit on it,” he says suddenly, and your stomach flips. you glance up again. he looks right back, unblinking. “go ahead. don’t be shy.” you lean in, let spit fall from your lips, and he groans when it lands just right, messy and perfect. “fuck, that’s it,” he mutters, hips jerking slightly. “that mouth’s gonna ruin me.”
you stroke him again with your now-wet hand, and his jaw clenches. he leans forward, hand sliding back into your hair, this time with more grip.
“open your mouth,” he says. you do, lips parting obediently. he taps the tip of his cock against your tongue, slow, dragging it over your bottom lip, and you hold still, waiting, not rushing. letting him guide you. “don’t take me yet,” he says. “just taste.”
you lick him, slow and soft, and his eyes flutter half-closed. “again,” he says. his voice is lower now, strained. you lean forward more, lips wrapping around just the tip, sucking gently. “fuck,” he breathes, thumb brushing your cheek. “you keep looking at me like that and i’m gonna lose it.”
you moan softly around him, just enough to make him shudder. his hand tightens in your hair. “you want to keep going?” he asks. you nod, mouth still full, eyes wide. he groans again. “then you’re gonna take what i give you.”
and you do. you let him guide the rhythm, slow thrusts, shallow, letting you get used to the weight, the stretch. his grip is steady, voice low as he talks you through every inch. “you’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “look so fucking pretty on your knees like this. taking it like a good girl.”
you press your thighs together, pulse pounding in your ears. your whole body’s on fire, but you don’t stop. you keep your eyes on his. you let him control the pace. you listen. because nothing’s ever felt quite like this. he’s barely holding himself back now, his hips rolling deeper into your mouth, hand fisted in your hair, jaw clenched tight. your throat’s sore, your lips stretched, spit dripping from your chin, but you don’t stop. you don’t want to stop.
“fuck, that’s it,” he growls, voice sharp. “you like this, don’t you? like being used like this.”
you hum around him, and his whole body jolts. his other hand grips the edge of the bed like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. he’s panting now, jaw tight, eyes locked on yours as your head bobs with the rhythm he’s set.
“look at you,” he hisses. “so fucking obedient now. you’ll take anything i give you, won’t you?”
you nod, gagging just a little as he pushes deeper. his thumb brushes your cheek again, almost tender, but not soft. “shit, baby,” he groans. “just like that. don’t stop. don’t you fucking stop.” his breathing gets rougher. his thighs tense. his grip tightens. “you’re gonna take every fucking drop,” he says, voice low and wild. “don’t even think about pulling back.”
and when he comes, it’s with a broken, wrecked moan, his head falling back, his whole body shuddering. he holds you there, deep in your throat, as his cock pulses between your lips. you stay still. obedient. take every drop, exactly how he told you to. he pulls out slow, panting hard, watching you swallow every bit like it’s a reward.
“fuck,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “you’re dangerous.”
your legs are shaking, your body’s buzzing and your throat hurts. but your eyes are still on him. and he smiles.
he leans forward, grabs your arms, and pulls you off the floor like you weigh nothing. places you back in his lap, one hand still wrapped in your hair, the other gripping your thigh. his voice is calmer now, but darker.
“so?” he asks, breath still a little ragged. “you like praise better?”
you blink. “what?”
“you like when i call you a good girl?” he says, fingers brushing your jaw. “tell you how pretty you look on your knees?”
you nod, a little dazed. “yeah…”
his hand tightens suddenly on your thigh. “or do you like it more when i talk to you like a fucking toy?” your breath catches. his eyes narrow. “like when i say you’re only good for your mouth? that you were made to take cock and nothing else?” you gasp. your body tenses, and he sees the reaction instantly. his smirk spreads slow. “that’s what i thought,” he says.
your voice is barely a whisper. “i like both.”
he raises a brow. “yeah?”
you meet his gaze. “you can do whatever you want.”
his eyes darken completely. something in him shifts. he leans in close, voice like a promise against your skin. “you don’t know what you just agreed to.”
he hasn’t let go of you. your legs are thrown across his lap now, arms limp around his shoulders, your chest pressed to his. and still he’s got one hand curled around your jaw like he’s not done claiming it. he tilts your face up and studies you. not like you’re fragile, but like you’re fascinating.
he chuckles, meanly. “you look wrecked, baby. wrecked and all fucking mine.” his fingers trail down your neck, slow and soft. “you like when i say that?” he murmurs. “that you’re mine?”
you nod, small. “yeah.”
he kisses the edge of your jaw. “you like being good?”
“yes.”
he smirks against your skin. “but you also like when i treat you like a dumb little toy.” your whole body tenses. he chuckles again. “you fucking melt when i talk like that, huh?” he says. “wanna be praised and spat on in the same breath.”
he pulls back just enough to look at you. your face flushed, lips swollen, eyes wide and glassy. “fuck, you’re pretty when you don’t know what to do with yourself,” he says, almost admiring. “bet you don’t even know who you are when i touch you like this.”
his hand slides down your stomach—over the curve of your hip—back between your thighs, over your ruined underwear. you gasp and twitch. he grins. “yeah. that’s what i thought.” he presses just a little harder, fingers rubbing through the fabric. “still this wet for me? even after everything?”
you nod, biting your lip. he tsks, shaking his head. “you don’t learn, do you?”
you swallow, trembling. “i wanna be good.”
he chuckles. “you are. but you’re also a little desperate. greedy. filthy.” his fingers tug your panties to the side and slide against you again, slow, controlled, so light it makes you ache. “should i finger you again like this?” he says. “while you sit in my lap like a good girl? or should i bend you over and fuck the brat out of you?”
your breath catches in your throat. “or maybe i shouldn’t touch you at all,” he adds, tilting his head. “maybe you don’t get to come unless you beg.”
“soobin—”
he grabs your chin again, eyes sharp. “say it.”
you’re panting now. hot and flustered and completely under him. “please,” you whisper. he waits. “please touch me,” you say again, voice cracking. “please make me come.”
his smirk is slow. cruel. gorgeous. “that’s more like it.”he slides two fingers back inside you without warning, and your whole body jolts. “you’re gonna take everything i give you,” he murmurs. “and you’re gonna say thank you when you come.” your legs shake. your grip on his shirt tightens. “say it.”
“thank you,” you breathe.
he kisses you—filthy, fast—and then breaks away, breath hot against your mouth. “don’t come yet.”
he’s not moving fast. he’s not giving you what you want, not really. and that’s the point. he’s watching you, studying you, like he’s waiting for something specific. a crack. a shift. the moment where your body stops trying to lead and just listens. he leans back slightly, his fingers inside you don’t speed up, and they don’t slow down either. just deep enough to tease, never enough to let you lose yourself. he’s giving you nothing and everything at once.
he watches your face closely, eyes scanning your mouth, your eyebrows, the way your breath catches. you’re close, he knows it. he can feel the way your body tightens around him, the way your thighs shake just barely. you’re trying to hold back. trying not to move too much. it’s cute, in a way. respectful, obedient even. but he doesn’t want nice right now.
“you’re doing it again,” he says, voice low, calm.
your eyes flutter open, confused. “what?”
“holding it in,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your waist. “trying to be good in the wrong way.”
you blink, breath trembling. “i thought you wanted—”
he cuts you off with a quiet laugh, not mocking, just amused. “i want you to be good, yeah. but not quiet. not frozen. not careful.” his fingers slide deeper and you gasp, hips twitching. “good doesn’t mean silent.” he leans in, mouth near your ear. “if i wanted a doll, i’d buy one.”
your breath stutters. your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging in just slightly, and that makes him smile. “there you go,” he murmurs. “there’s my girl.” he moves his fingers again, just a little faster now, just enough to make your whole body jerk. you bite your lip hard, trying not to cry out. “still fighting it?” he says. “you think i don’t notice how tight you’re clenching around my hand? you think i don’t feel how close you are?”
you shake your head, desperate. he pulls back slightly to look at you. “look at me.” you do, barely. your vision’s blurry, and your mouth’s open, and you’re so close it almost hurts. “you wanna come?” he asks, calm. direct.
“yes,” you breathe.
“you sure?” you nod. his voice drops lower. “you ready to say thank you when you do?”
you nod again, more frantically. he keeps his eyes on yours as his thumb finally finds your clit, rubbing slow circles while his fingers thrust deeper. your whole body reacts at once, tensing, jerking, then unraveling.
“come for me,” he says, and you do.
it hits hard, sharp and blinding. your legs tremble. your fingers dig into his arms. your mouth opens but nothing comes out except broken gasps and a soft, choked sob. and through all of it, his hand doesn’t leave you. he works you through it, slow, steady, like he’s memorizing every second.
your body slumps against his chest. he holds you there for a moment, his hand still resting between your legs but not moving anymore. you’re breathing hard, face pressed into his shoulder. then his mouth finds your ear again. “thank me.”
you whisper it without thinking. “thank you.”
he exhales, satisfied. his fingers slip out of you, slow and careful. he brings them to his mouth, licking them clean without breaking eye contact. you watch, dazed, and he grins. “good girl.”
he lifts you gently, shifts you until you’re straddling him again, your knees on either side of his hips, your body still shaky. his hands hold your waist firmly, steadying you like he knows you can’t do it on your own yet.
he tilts your chin up, and there’s something new in his eyes now—still dark, still dominant, but softer around the edges. like he’s trying to decide something. “you were made for this,” he says, quiet. “you know that, right?”
you swallow hard. “yeah.”
his thumb brushes your cheek, and then he leans back, legs spread, hands resting on his thighs like he’s just relaxing, like he’s not watching every single twitch in your body. you’re still on his lap, still catching your breath when he says, low and steady, “get on.”
you look at him, confused, dazed. “what?”
he grabs your hips, drags you forward slightly, then leans in just enough for you to feel his breath on your jaw. “you like being on top, right?” he says, voice calm but full of something sharper underneath. “so ride me.”
your heart stutters. your thighs are still shaking. he knows.
“go ahead,” he says. “show me how good you are.”
you shift back slowly, thighs trembling, one hand steadying yourself on his chest while the other wraps around his cock. he’s already hard again—how is he already this hard?—and thick in your palm, warm and heavy. you hold him there, just under the tip, as you line yourself up, and for a second, you hesitate.
you bite your lip. your body’s still sensitive, your legs sore, your mind fogged, and there’s a pressure building low in your stomach that has nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with the way your heart starts to race. it’s been a long time since you let a guy inside you. since you even wanted to. and even now, it feels foreign. like your body’s remembering something it forgot on purpose.
but you want this. you want him. so you press down slowly, barely taking the tip, and your breath catches in your throat. he doesn’t say anything, just watches. his hands resting on your hips, not moving, not pushing. but he’s tense and alert. like he knows you’re struggling and he’s waiting to see how far you’ll go on your own.
you lower yourself more, inch by inch, and the stretch makes your eyes flutter shut. it burns. not unbearable, but tight, too tight. your thighs start to tremble harder, and your fingers dig into his shoulders for balance. his grip on your hips tightens.
“breathe,” he says, calm. “take your time.”
you nod, shaky, and try to relax. you ease down another inch, and your whole body reacts—hips twitching, core clenching, thighs starting to cramp. it’s too much all at once, and not enough at the same time.
he cuts you off gently, one hand lifting to brush your hair from your face. “don’t stop now. you wanted to ride my cock, right? prove you can take it.”
you whimper, breath catching again, and finally sink lower, slowly taking more of him. your legs feel weak. your cunt clenches tight around him, and the stretch still burns, but underneath it, there’s something else. a pulse. a heat that starts to take over the discomfort.
he groans quietly, his jaw tense. “shit. you’re so tight.” you press your forehead to his collarbone, trying to stay steady. “don’t hide,” he says. “let me see you.” you lift your head, barely, and his eyes lock on yours. “good girl,” he mutters. “you’re almost there. just a little more.”
you shift again, forcing your hips down further, until you’re fully seated in his lap. he groans, deep and low, his fingers pressing harder into your skin. “fuck. there you go.”
you’re breathing hard, thighs trembling, everything inside you stretched to its limit. “hurts?” he asks. you shake your head. he smiles, not sweet. “good.” you glare at him, but there’s no strength behind it. “you’ll get used to it,” he says, voice low. you sink down slow, body trembling, and his grip tightens on your hips. “that’s it,” he mutters. “fuck—look at you.”
you start to move, unsure at first. he lets you find your rhythm, lets you work for it, but his hands don’t leave you. he keeps you steady, fingers digging into your waist. his eyes never leave your face.
“you like being in charge?” he says, breath rougher now. “then don’t fucking slow down.” you moan softly, trying to keep the pace, but your legs are tired, your body already wrecked. your movements falter, and he notices immediately. “what’s wrong?” he says, lips curling. “getting tired already? thought you liked being on top.”
you try to keep going, bouncing slow, your hands braced on his chest.
“keep your eyes on me,” he says. you do, barely, and he grins when he sees the look in your face. “you’re falling apart,” he murmurs. “and you’ve barely done anything.”
he doesn’t slow down. he grabs your chin again, makes you look at him. “ride me like you mean it,” he snaps, thrusting up into you suddenly, making your whole body jolt.
“fuck, soobin—”
“no. don’t whine. you wanted this. show me.” you try. you move your hips, faster this time, trying to match him. he watches you closely, hands on your ass now, guiding your movement, controlling the depth. “that’s better,” he says. “now you’re working for it.”
you gasp, leaning forward, forehead on his shoulder. he grabs your hair and pulls your head back up. “no hiding. i wanna see you struggle.” your thighs are shaking so hard it’s hard to keep the rhythm. your breathing’s uneven, your nails digging into his arms. “you can take it,” he says, voice lower now, almost gentle. “i know you can. you’re my good girl, remember?”
you moan again, louder, and he smiles. “there she is,” he murmurs. “knew you’d come back to me.” your hips stutter again, and he slaps your ass once, not hard, just firm enough to make you move. “don’t stop until i say,” he says. “and if you come first, you’re doing it with my name in your mouth.”
your fingers grip his shoulders harder, your thighs are burning now, trembling with effort, but you force yourself to keep going. up, down, again. you’re trying to stay focused, but the stretch of him inside you, the heat building low in your stomach, the pressure of his hands guiding you—it’s all too much, and not enough at once.
he watches you the whole time, eyes fixed on your face. you can’t hide anything from him like this. not the way your brows pinch together, not the way your mouth keeps falling open with each bounce, not the quiet, broken sounds that slip out no matter how hard you try to hold them in.
“you wanted this,” he reminds you, calm. you nod, desperate, hips moving faster now, sloppy and uneven but still trying. he lets you ride him, lets you feel like you’re in control, just for a second, until he shifts beneath you and fucks up into you hard, once, and your whole body folds forward with a gasp. “thought so,” he mutters.
your forehead falls against his collarbone, and he pulls your hair, tilting your face up again. “no hiding.” his mouth brushes yours, not quite a kiss. “you look like you’re gonna cry.”
“i’m not,” you breathe, though your voice is shaking.
“you will if i tell you not to come yet,” he says, like it’s just a thought. you whimper. his hand moves from your hip to your throat, loose but solid, just enough to hold you still. “you like this?” he asks. “being used like this?” you nod quickly, eyes fluttering shut. “don’t lie.”
“i’m not.”
he leans in, lips by your ear again. “you gonna come for me?”
“yes.”
“say my name.” you pause, too close to think. “say it.”
“soobin…”
he groans, deep and low, and that’s all it takes for his rhythm to break. he grabs your waist hard and starts fucking up into you, fast now, with purpose, like he’s chasing the end and dragging you there with him. “come on,” he mutters. “come for me. make it count.”
you do. your whole body shudders, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent moan. everything inside you pulls tight and snaps all at once, and you collapse against him, shaking. he holds you through it, breath heavy against your ear, his arms wrapped tight around your waist like he’s trying to keep you from slipping through his fingers.
then he moves. he lifts you off him slowly, carefully, lays you down on the bed like you weigh nothing. you’re still catching your breath, blinking at the ceiling, when you feel the mattress dip again and his weight settles beside you. his fingers slide down your stomach, soft now, slow. “you like praise,” he says, almost casual. “but i think you like it more when i’m mean.”
you glance at him, lips parted. he leans in close. “so tell me, baby,” he murmurs. “you want me to ruin you with my mouth or just make you cry again first?”
“i can’t,” you breathe, voice shaky. “i can’t take it anymore.”
he tilts his head, like he’s not sure he heard you right. his hands are already back on your thighs, spreading them open again, his body moving lower, slower, like this is nothing for him. like he’s just getting started. “can’t?” he repeats, tone light, mocking. “you sure, baby?”
you swallow hard, legs twitching under his grip. he presses his mouth to your inner thigh, kissing slow, warm, soft, too soft. like he’s pretending to be sweet again. and it only makes the tension worse. “you looked so fucking confident riding my cock,” he murmurs, right against your skin. “and now you’re what? tapped out?” you shake your head weakly, but he keeps going, lips trailing higher, breath hotter. “you want me to stop?” he asks, voice low.
“no.”
“then don’t say can’t,” he says, and bites down on the inside of your thigh, sharp enough to make your hips jerk. “say please.” your breath catches. “say it.”
“please,” you whisper, barely audible.
he smiles against your skin. “thought so.”
he kisses higher, right between your legs now, and you gasp when his mouth finally finds you again, tongue slow, deliberate, dragging over your sensitive skin with zero mercy. you’re already overstimulated, every nerve lit up and shaking, but he doesn’t stop. he knows you’re right there again, and that’s exactly what he wants.
“you’ve teased me for weeks,” he says, voice muffled against you. “walking around in those tiny fucking shorts. sitting on my lap like it’s nothing. saying shit like ‘you’re my favorite boy’ with that little smirk on your face.” you whine, twisting under him, but he holds your hips down with one arm and licks a slow circle around your clit without touching it directly. “you think i didn’t notice? think i didn’t see you bite your lip every time i looked at you too long?”
you’re panting now, legs trembling again. “and now you wanna act all shy?” he scoffs. “now you can’t take it?” his mouth finally closes around your clit, sucking slow and deep, and your hips buck hard, but he doesn’t stop. “you can take more,” he mutters. your fingers find his hair, tugging, trying to anchor yourself to something while your body starts to come undone all over again. “i’ll be gentle,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at you, mouth wet, eyes dark. “but only if you fucking ask.”
you stare down at him, dazed, lips parted. “go on,” he says. “ask for it.”
“please,” you gasp, voice breaking. “please, soobin—be gentle.”
he grins against your skin, slow and cruel. not because he wants to be mean. because he can. because you gave him permission. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he murmurs, lips brushing your thigh. “knew you could ask nicely.”
then he moves again, mouth right where you need him, tongue flat and slow against your clit this time, no teasing now. just heat, rhythm, and pressure. your hands grab at his hair, your back arching off the bed, and he doesn’t stop. doesn’t even pause. “fuck, you’re so wet like this,” he says, voice low, fingers gripping your thighs to keep you wide open. you moan, louder now, hips trying to move against his face, chasing the rhythm. “good girl,” he mutters. “you want to come for me like this?”
“yes—yes, please—”
“then keep your legs open.”
you do. you try. your whole body’s tight, burning, desperate. he knows exactly how to keep you right there, his tongue curling just right, lips pressing just enough, his hand slipping lower, fingers teasing your entrance without going in. “you close?” he asks, voice rough and muffed now.
you nod frantically. “so close—please don’t stop—”
he groans into you, and the vibration alone almost pushes you over the edge. his fingers finally slip inside, two of them, smooth and deep, curling just right, and that’s it. you fall apart.
your whole body spasms, legs trembling violently, a loud moan breaking from your throat as you come hard, everything clenching tight around his fingers. your vision goes white for a second, and you barely register the way he keeps going, slow now, helping you ride it out, dragging every last wave out of you until you collapse into the sheets, twitching and breathless.
he finally pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then crawling up over you, eyes dark and satisfied. “you’re so fucking hot like this,” he says, voice low. “all soft. all mine.” you can’t even speak yet. your chest rises and falls, skin flushed, lips parted. he leans down. “now,” he says, tone shifting—less gentle, more commanding again. “turn over.”
you don’t speak. you just move. your body shifts slowly, limbs still weak, and you roll onto your stomach like he asked, like he told you to. your face sinks into the pillow, and you feel his eyes on your back. you know what he sees: the curve of your spine, the way your legs part instinctively, the way you arch your back so he sees your ass available for him to take it. you hear him exhale, sharp through his nose. a pause, then the bed dips as he moves behind you, knees spreading yours a little more, hands running down your back with purpose, not care. he doesn’t soothe. he positions.
soobin stays still at first, taking his time. watching how you lay there for him, waiting. looking how your shoulders tense like you don’t know what’s coming next, but you want to. he likes that. he likes that a lot.
his hands drag down your back, not to comfort, but to arrange. he touches you like he’s correcting something. a tool out of place. a painting hung crooked. “lower,” he says. you sink deeper into the mattress. his palm lands between your shoulder blades, keeping you there. “stay.”
then nothing. just the weight of his hand. the silence. he takes a deep breath. “you have any idea how long i’ve waited for this?”
you don’t answer. he leans down, lips barely brushing your ear. “how many times i pictured you just like this?” his voice is calm, almost bored. “on all fours for me,” he mutters. “but you talk too much. always making jokes. always pretending like you’re not dying for me to shut you up.” his fingers slide down your side, pausing at your hip. “you don’t get to pretend now.” his grip tightens. “so stop fidgeting.” he forces your hips up, adjusts the angle himself like your body’s just another thing to be handled. “just like that,” he says. “good girl.”
he doesn’t rush. doesn’t say more than he needs to. because he knows you’re listening to every breath, every word, every shift in tone. and when his cock teases your cunt and he watches the way your body twitches. the way you don’t stop him. “still so sensitive,” he mutters. “but you’ll take it.” he presses slow, watching you squirm, watching you try to be still. “don’t you dare move.” you breathe out hard. he can hear it. feel it. “that’s what i thought.”
he pushes deeper. drags it out. makes sure you feel every second of it. then he leans back, sitting tall behind you, hands steady on your waist. this isn’t about what you want. not anymore. so he aligns his cock with your drooling entrance again, and smacks his hand in your ass, and you whimper, a whiny whimper. he chuckles, low and provocative. “you’re not gonna come until i say,” he says. “and if you do, i’ll edge you ‘til you cry.”
you whimper into the pillow. “but if you listen?” he continues. “i’ll let you come so hard you forget your own name.” he rolls his hips forward, just once, just enough to make you scream. his cock makes you feel so full already, especially in that position. your legs shake. “choice is yours. not mine,” he adds. “yours.”
he pauses again. then pulls back, only to snap his hips forward harder this time, controlled and deep. again. again. his pace isn’t rushed. it’s mean. efficient. every thrust timed with precision. he watches your hands claw at the sheets. hears the sounds you’re trying to hold back, and it makes him smile. “you were so sure you didn’t like boys,” he mutters. “but look at you now.” another thrust, harder. “fucked out like a bitch.”
his hand slides to your throat from behind again, just resting there. “you’re mine tonight,” he says. “say it.”
“i’m yours,” you whisper.
he grins. “louder.”
“i’m yours, soobin! please!” you choke out.
his grip tightens, choking slightly, just containing you, grounding you to the moment. then he leans in, breath hot against your ear. “yes, yes,” he says. “you are fucking mine.”
if anything, now that you’ve said it—i’m yours—he settles deeper into it, into you. into the full weight of what it means to have you like this: pliant, spread out, quiet except for the sounds you can’t hold back. it’s not just about the physical now. it’s the power. the permission. and he’s going to stretch it as far as it can go.
his hands stay locked on your hips, thumbs pressing into the dip of your waist as he fucks into you slow and heavy, no urgency in his pace, just control. all of it his. he watches your shoulders tighten with each movement, the way your back arches when it’s too much, the way your face twists into the sheets to muffle sounds you don’t want him to hear. he hears them anyway. he loves them.
your hand reaches for the pillow, gripping tight, but you don’t fight him. you don’t even ask him to slow down. he leans over you again, pressing down on your back with one hand to keep you steady, his chest brushing your spine. his breath fans hot against your shoulder as his hips drive into yours again, firmer now, drawing a helpless cry from your throat.
“you gonna keep taking it like this?” he asks, not because he needs permission, but because he wants to hear the sound of you begging again. “or you gonna fall apart like a little brat who talked too much?” your fingers dig into the mattress. “go ahead,” he mutters, almost laughing. “prove me wrong.”
you let out a shaky breath, half a moan, half something broken. he sits back up, dragging you with him by your hips, making you meet each thrust head-on. he doesn’t slow. he doesn’t give. he stays steady and mean, dragging it out just enough to feel cruel. “you wanted to be in charge, right?” he says. “whatever you tell your little girlfriends.”
he leans in again, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back just slightly. “but you came crawling to me. let me put you on your knees. let me fuck you like this.” he pauses, breath heavy. “so which one is it, baby?” he murmurs. “you like being in charge? or you like being ruined?”
you try to answer, but all that comes out is a moan. his grip in your hair tightens just a little. “nah. use your words.”
you manage to whisper, barely audible: “i like it—like this.”
he smirks. “i know you do.”
he lets go of your hair, both hands dropping back to your waist as his movements grow rougher, rhythm sharper now, like he’s chasing something but refusing to let either of you reach it until he decides. you feel your body tighten again, another orgasm building fast, threatening to take over, but you remember what he said earlier. not until he says.
you try to hold it. try to breathe through it. but your legs are trembling, hands fisted in the sheets, and he’s relentless now. he notices. he always notices. “you close again?” he asks. “tsk tsk… already?”
you nod desperately. he chuckles under his breath, dark and satisfied. “don’t come yet.” you whine, legs shaking harder. “nope. not yet,” he says again, slower this time. “you want it? then beg.”
you gasp. “please, soobin—i—i need it—”
“yeah?” he says, still moving, still holding you right on that edge. “wanna cream my cock again?”
“yes—please—”
“beg harder, angel.”
“please—please, i need it, i need you—”
he groans deep in his throat, and finally, finally, his hands shift, his pace changes, more erratic now, more brutal, like he’s losing his own control right along with you. “come for me,” he growls. “right fucking now.”
and you do, loud and raw and completely undone. your whole body tightens and shakes beneath him, and he doesn’t stop. doesn’t give you time to catch your breath. he fucks you through it, eyes locked on the way you break for him. his name’s the only thing that comes out of your mouth.
he follows seconds later, a sharp curse escaping him as he buries in your cunt deep and stills, hands gripping so tight they’ll leave marks on your hips. he breathes through it, shaky and harsh, chest heaving, body pressed to yours like he needs the contact just as much as he needs the release.
the room is silent for a beat. just the sound of two people wrecked and catching up to themselves. finally, he leans down again, presses a kiss to your shoulder, and murmurs against your skin—
“you really don’t hate boys, do you?”
you let out a laugh, a real one. exhausted and a little horrified. “don’t start.”
“no, i’m serious,” he grins, turning his head toward you, as you switch your body, turning around to face him. “i feel like i just contributed something meaningful to your sexual awakening.”
“that’s… such a weird sentence to say out loud.”
“yeah, well. you’re the one who was like, ‘i’m not into guys’ and then came on my cock like, what? four times or something?”
you groan and cover your face with your hands. “i hate you.”
“you’re literally still shaking.”
“shut up.”
he doesn’t. of course he doesn’t. instead, he sits on the edge of the bed right next to you, and his fingers start tracing light, absent-minded patterns along your spine, featherlight, soothing, almost tender. it’s stupid, really, how soft he is now, after everything. after the way he touched you, took you, like he had no intention of being gentle.
and yet here he is, brushing his fingertips over your back like you might break. and you hate how much you like it. how easily it melts something inside you. because it’s not just the touch — it’s him. the contradiction of him. soobin, with his filthy mouth and his gentle hands.
“listen,” he says, voice dropping into a mock-serious tone, he stretches his arms behind his head, still catching his breath like nothing monumental just happened. and then, in that same too-casual voice, he says, “if you ever feel like exploring your… curiosity more, you know, about your preferences or whatever…” you glance over at him, one eyebrow raised. his expression doesn’t change, except for the little shrug he gives, half amused, half dead serious. “i’m available for educational purposes.”
you exhale, slow and disbelieving. “you’re such an asshole.”
“maybe.” he turns his head toward you, gaze dragging over your bare shoulders, his mouth twitching. “but look where it got me.”
you shake your head, but you don’t move away. you don’t slap his arm or tell him to shut up again. instead, you let your knee knock against his, your breath finally starting to feel like your own again. the air shifts between you, not heavy or awkward like you thought it might be. just… different. charged, maybe. softer around the edges. there’s a quiet comfort in it now that you hadn’t expected.
minutes pass, the movie already ended, the blood-streaked screen frozen in place. then your voice breaks through, low and almost thoughtful. “do you think they survived?”
soobin blinks. “who?”
“the girls,” you say, nodding toward the laptop. slumber party massacre, paused on a cheap shot of cleavage and red corn syrup. “from the movie.”
he tilts his head, gives it a second of actual thought. “nah. they’re all dead. definitely.”
you hum in agreement, a small smile playing at your lips. “yeah. figured.”
there’s another beat of silence, and then he says, “but you would’ve made it.” you look at him, unsure what he means. he keeps going. “you’ve got final girl energy. like… the type who doesn’t run upstairs. the type who waits. watches. stabs the killer with his own weapon.”
you laugh under your breath. “i feel like that’s a lot to project onto me.”
he shrugs. “or maybe you’d flirt with the murderer and confuse the shit out of him until he gave up.”
you grin. “there it is.”
he smirks. “i’d be the dumb hot one who dies first.”
“you are the dumb hot one.”
“thank you for seeing me.”
it shouldn’t feel like relief, this moment. but it does. like something that could’ve broken just… didn’t. like maybe it bent a little, stretched out of shape, but held. and somehow, you’re both still here—naked, slightly dazed, watching a bad slasher movie with blood on the screen and probably some still on your thighs.
you peek at him again. he’s looking at you like he never stopped. “you okay?” he asks, voice quieter now.
you nod. “yeah. i’m good.”
his hand finds your knee again, thumb brushing idly across the bone. it’s casual. but it’s not. you let your head fall onto his shoulder, stare at the screen without really seeing it. plastic knife. overexposed skin. predictable death.
and next to you, soobin. the same soobin who still uses three-in-one shampoo and forgets to charge his phone. the same boy who always lets you pick the movie. who saves you the middle seat on the couch. who carries your bag when you complain and never says anything about it. the same boy you trusted enough to call when your heart was broken. the same one you teased too much and touched too often and didn’t admit you wanted until now.
maybe you were never that into guys. but soobin never felt like just a guy. he felt like a constant, a question mark that stayed open too long. and now, with his hand on your leg and that dumb horror movie frozen in front of you, it finally clicks:
maybe you were never into boys. but you were always, always into him.
author’s note: this might be one of the longest pwp fics i’ve ever written and ngl i was so hesitant to post it. the themes felt a little too specific, a little too personal, and i kept going back and forth like “do i really wanna put this out there??” but then i re-listened to 1980s horror film by wallows and my brain just went: okay but what if this was about beomgyu. or soobin. and suddenly i had 15k words of confused bisexual tension, dry humping, and one very persistent movie night. anyway. if you made it this far, thanks for reading!! and for letting me indulge in a character dynamic that’s messy and horny and kinda tender in all the wrong ways 🖤
✦ synopsis: jake swore he’d never blur the line between work and whatever-this-is. one rule, easy enough. but then you showed up, turning coffee breaks into sharp little dares, late nights into the kind of conversations that feel a little too charged to be harmless. he keeps telling himself it’s work, strictly work, but every glance, every brush past, makes that excuse thinner by the second.
» pairing: coworker!jake x fem!reader // » genre: coworkers to lovers; smut (mdni!); romcom // #nowplaying: tears - sabrina carpenter | self control - frank ocean | diet pepsi - addison rae | unconditional - jaehyun | nonsense - sabrina carpenter // » word count: 13K
#WARNINGS: smut, unprotected sex (do not do it!!), alcohol consumption, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, squirting, daddy kink, degradation / dirty talk, light rough sex (hair pulling, spanking), soft dom jake, bratty!reader
✦ this fic is part of the man's best friend collab ✦
JAKE SIM HAD A NUMBER ONE RULE: DO NOT SLEEP WITH PEOPLE YOU WORK WITH. not because he was some kind of saint or anything, just because he'd watched enough office drama unfold to know that nothing made monday mornings worse than having to pretend your weekend hookup didn't happen. it wasn’t a moral thing, it was just practical. and jake sim was a practical guy.
he wasn’t clueless, though. he wasn't walking around pretending he didn't know what he looked like. sometimes his friends made jokes about how he was wasting his looks by being the responsible one. they told him he could be getting laid every weekend if he wanted to, and maybe he could've been, if that's what he wanted. but the thing was, jake had tried the whole casual thing once before. with a coworker, actually. and it turned out that once he started caring about someone, he wasn't exactly built for pretending he didn't. so that ended about as messily as you'd expect, and jake decided right then that work was work and everything else was everything else.
so yeah, one rule: no coworkers, no exceptions. but then you showed up.
you weren’t doing anything particularly memorable that first week. you were a transfer from another branch, brought in to manage the team, which already put you in a position that demanded a kind of respect. people noticed, because it’s not every day someone new comes in with authority, but you didn’t really walk around like you were trying to prove anything. he figured that would be the extent of it – you'd be the manager, he'd be the guy who knew where everything was, and you'd nod at each other in meetings like professional adults.
but by the end of the week, it was clear you weren’t going to blend into the background. not because you were loud or trying to prove a point, but because you had this way of slipping into situations that weren’t technically yours and making them feel lighter. like in the wednesday meeting, when the boss went on his third rant about “synergy” and jake was half checked out, you caught his eye across the table and raised your brows like you were saying, can you believe this guy? it was maybe two seconds, but jake had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.
then later that same day, you appeared at his desk holding one of those paper cups from the break room, looking like you'd been personally victimized by the coffee machine. "okay, i need insider information," you said. "how do you make that thing work without it spitting hot water everywhere?"
so jake walked you through the whole process: how you had to hold the first button down for exactly three seconds, how the second one only worked if you pressed it twice, how you had to jiggle the cup holder or it wouldn't sit right. you listened like he was explaining rocket science, which was kind of funny since it was just a broken coffee machine. when he was done, you looked at him with this expression that was grateful and amused at the same time.
"let me guess," you said. "you're also the guy who knows how to unjam the printer and make the air conditioning stop making that weird noise."
and the weird part was, you weren't wrong.
thursday you leaned over his desk to ask about some client portal thing, and maybe it was nothing, but you stood close enough that he caught a hint of whatever perfume you wore. friday, when the boss completely butchered a word during his presentation, you pressed your lips together trying not to laugh and immediately looked over at jake like you were checking if he'd noticed too. he hadn't even been paying attention to the presentation, but the second he saw your face, he was fighting his own smile.
it kept happening. small moments that probably didn't mean anything but somehow felt like they did. and before jake really understood what was going on, he realized he was looking for those moments. waiting for them, even.
the thing that got to him wasn't that you were good at your job or smart in meetings – though you were both of those things. it was more like... you noticed him back. when he fixed something that everyone else just accepted was broken, when he remembered details that other people forgot, when he did the kind of small helpful things that usually went unnoticed. you'd give him these looks, curious and a little impressed, like you were seeing something that other people missed.
and jake found himself wanting to be worth looking at. here's the thing though – jake wasn't oblivious, and he definitely wasn't stupid. he could tell when someone was watching him, even when they thought they were being subtle about it. and you? you weren't being subtle at all.
take monday morning. you had some big client presentation in like forty minutes, everything was set up perfectly, and then excel decided to have a complete meltdown. just froze. wouldn't respond to anything, clicking, keyboard shortcuts, so you were quiet cursing under your breath. jake was walking past your desk on his way to the printer, minding his own business, when he heard you say his name in this slightly panicked voice.
he stopped, walked over, and you started talking fast – something about how the file was locked up and if you force-quit it you might lose all the formatting you'd spent an hour fixing. jake didn't even look fazed. just set his papers down on your desk, pulled up the chair next to you, and said "let me see what i can do."
what he did was magic, basically. opened task manager, ran some keyboard shortcuts you'd never seen before, saved a backup, restarted the program, and somehow got your entire file back exactly the way it was supposed to be. took him maybe ninety seconds.
you sat there staring at him while he worked, which probably wasn't smart, but you couldn't help it. he had this focused expression, lips pressed together slightly, eyes moving across the screen like he already knew exactly what was going to fix it. and up close like this, you noticed things you'd missed from across the office – how his eyelashes were unfairly long, how his jaw tensed when he was concentrating, how he had this warm undertone to his skin that made him look like he'd been outside all day.
when he leaned back and said "you should be good now," you were still processing the fact that he'd just saved your entire morning without breaking a sweat. also processing the fact that jake sim was considerably more attractive than you'd given him credit for, which was saying something because you'd already noticed he was good-looking.
you tried to play it cool. "so you're my spreadsheet savior now?"
he glanced over with this half-smile like he wasn't sure if you were joking. "wouldn't go that far."
"no, seriously," you said, spinning your chair slightly to face him better, "i would've had a complete breakdown if i lost that file."
his ears went a little pink, which was adorable and also made you wonder if he wasn't used to people appreciating the fact that he was basically the office problem-solver. "it's just shortcuts," he said, already gathering his papers.
but it wasn't just shortcuts to you. it was jake being completely calm when you were freaking out, knowing exactly what to do, fixing your problem like it was nothing. there was something incredibly attractive about someone being that competent, and jake was getting more attractive by the minute.
especially after what happened during office cleanup day. and mind you, nobody volunteers for office cleanup day. the boss announces that the storage room needs organizing and suddenly everyone remembers urgent deadlines they have to work on. you weren't exactly thrilled about it either, but somehow you ended up in the back room with jake, surrounded by boxes that looked heavier than they had any right to be.
you tried to help at first, grabbed one of the smaller boxes and started dragging it across the floor. before you'd gotten more than two steps, jake was already lifting one of the massive ones like it weighed nothing. just bent down, wrapped his arms around it, and stood up without even straining. carried it across the room and set it down in a neat stack. you stopped what you were doing and watched, because honestly? it was kind of mesmerizing. jake in his button-down with the sleeves rolled up, muscles working under the fabric as he lifted something that probably would've thrown out your back, not even breathing hard. when he turned around and caught you staring, he just looked curious.
"what?" he asked, not defensive or anything, just genuinely wondering why you had that expression on your face.
you leaned against the nearest shelf. "nothing. just didn't realize this job came with a personal moving service."
that got a quiet laugh out of him, and he shook his head. "here, let me get that for you."
he crouched down right in front of where you were standing and reached for the box you'd been struggling with. which was fine, except from this angle – him kneeling on the floor, looking up at you while his hands slid under the cardboard – your brain decided to wander in directions that were definitely not appropriate for the workplace.
"this go with the others?" he asked, nodding toward the corner where you'd been trying to stack the smaller boxes.
you blinked, refocusing. "yeah, that pile."
he lifted it like it was empty and walked it over to the corner. "come on, these really aren't that heavy," he called over his shoulder, and when he turned back, there was this slight smirk on his face like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having.
"easy for you to say," you replied, crossing your arms. "my contribution here is moral support."
he set the box down perfectly aligned with the others and brushed his hands off. "that's not moral support. that's just standing there watching me work."
"watching is important," you said, stepping a little closer. "if one of these falls on you, someone needs to be able to tell hr what happened. you should be grateful."
he laughed for real this time, head tilted as he looked at you. "so you're saying i should thank you for standing around making commentary?"
"exactly. minimum a coffee. maybe lunch, depending on how many more boxes you handle."
"sounds like blackmail," he said, but he was still smiling.
"sounds like a business transaction," you shot back. "unless you'd rather i actually help, but i'm warning you – someone's definitely getting hurt, and it's probably gonna be me."
he shook his head, reaching for another box. "yeah, let's stick with the current system. i'll handle the heavy lifting."
and you let him, because watching jake sim quietly show off was way more entertaining than pretending you were actually useful.
a few days later you were at your desk, not thinking about boxes or how good he looked carrying them, until you realized you had completely missed a deadline. there was an email thread in your inbox – one you'd somehow completely ignored – with your name on it and a timestamp from yesterday. the finance department needed numbers. numbers you were supposed to have sent. numbers that were now officially late.
you were in the middle of a quiet breakdown, digging through your drafts to see if there was anything salvageable, when jake walked by with his coffee. he took one look at your face and slowed down. "what happened?" he asked, and something about his tone made you want to tell him the truth instead of pretending everything was under control.
"i fucked up," you said flatly. "forgot to send the quarterly numbers to finance. completely spaced on it."
jake set his coffee down on your desk and pulled up the chair next to you. "actually, no you didn't."
you turned to stare at him. "what do you mean, no i didn't? the deadline was yesterday."
"yeah," he said, opening his laptop like this was a normal tuesday conversation. and it was, in fact, tuesday. "so i sent them yesterday."
for a second, you couldn't process what he'd just said. "you... what?"
"you seemed swamped this week, so i pulled the numbers and sent them in." he was calmly clicking through his email. "cc'd you in case anyone had questions, but they didn't."
you leaned back in your chair, staring at him. jake sim had not only noticed you were drowning, but had quietly fixed your mistake before you even knew you'd made it. without being asked. without making it into a thing. "jesus," you said, running a hand through your hair. "do you have any idea how..."
"how what?" he asked when you trailed off.
you caught yourself before you said something stupid like how wet that makes me and settled for: "how much i owe you right now?"
"you don't owe me anything," he said, but there was something in his voice that hadn't been there before. something that made you look at him a little longer.
"no, seriously," you said, turning your chair to face him properly. "most people would've let me figure it out on my own. or at least mentioned it."
he shrugged, but his ears were getting pink again. "seemed easier to just handle it."
there was something about the way he said handle it that made your stomach flip. maybe it was the way he was looking at you, or maybe it was the fact that competence was apparently your biggest weakness, but suddenly the air felt different. "you're dangerous," you said before you could stop yourself.
jake's eyebrows went up. "dangerous?"
"yeah." you were committed now, might as well lean into it. "this whole... responsible guy thing you have going on. it's a problem."
"a problem," he repeated, and now he was definitely smiling.
"a big problem," you confirmed, trying to keep your voice steady. "like, i'm trying to be professional here, and you keep doing things that make me want to–"
you stopped yourself, but jake was already leaning forward slightly. "make you want to what?"
the way he asked it, quiet and curious, like he genuinely wanted to know what you were thinking, made heat crawl up your neck. you shook your head. "nevermind."
"nah," he said, still smiling but his voice dropped lower. "finish that sentence."
"absolutely not."
he laughed, but it was different from his usual laugh. warmer. "fair enough."
he stood up to leave, grabbing his coffee, but paused next to your desk. "try not to panic about deadlines anymore," he said. "i'll keep an eye out."
that's not helping the situation at all, you thought. but you were too far gone at this point, especially because of what happened next. hours later, the office was empty except for you and the glow of your computer screen. you'd gotten so caught up in work that you'd missed dinner entirely. when you finally looked up, jake was standing by your desk holding takeout containers.
"you're still here," you said, blinking at him.
"so are you." he set the food down in front of you. "and you haven't eaten."
you stared at the containers, then at him. "did you... buy me dinner?"
"i bought myself dinner," he said, sitting down in the chair next to you. "got extra."
"jake."
"what?"
"you can't keep doing this."
"doing what?"
you gestured at the food, at him, at the general situation. "this. the taking care of me thing."
"why not?"
the question caught you off guard. you'd expected him to laugh it off or make a joke, not ask why not like he genuinely wanted to know what your objection was. "because," you said, scrambling for a reason that didn't sound like because it makes me want to lick your face. "because you don't have to."
"i know i don't have to," he said quietly. "i want to." the way he said it, simple and honest, made your chest tight. you opened one of the containers just to have something to do with your hands. "it's from that place on fifth street," he said. "the one you mentioned liking."
you stopped chewing. "you remembered that?"
"you said their pad thai was better than the place by your apartment."
he'd been listening. not just hearing you talk, but actually listening, filing away random details about your food preferences. you set your chopsticks down and looked at him. "you're doing it again."
"doing what again?"
"being..." you searched for the right word. "responsible. thoughtful. it's making me—"
you stopped yourself, but jake was already watching you with that patient expression, like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to finish your sentence. "making you what?" he asked, and his voice was soft enough that it felt like a dare.
“nothing, it's just, you’re literally the reason half of us don’t get fired,” you said around another bite, trying to sound casual. “you send deadlines, fix the printer, smooth over client emails. you’re basically… office dad.”
he made a face at that, but he was smiling too. “office dad? that’s what i get?”
“well,” you said, leaning back in your chair now, “dad, but… a hot dad.”
he laughed quietly, shaking his head, eyes dropping to the table like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to react. “that’s not a category, you know.”
“it is if i say it is.”
he looked back up then, meeting your eyes, and you could tell he was weighing whether to push the joke further. instead, he went with, “so what does that make you? office trouble?”
“excuse me,” you said, pretending to be offended, but already smiling.
“you forgot a deadline this week and almost had a meltdown over a spreadsheet,” he pointed out, matter of fact, but his tone gave him away, he was enjoying this.
“fine,” you said, stabbing a piece of food with your chopsticks. “office trouble. but fun trouble. like… essential trouble.”
“right,” he nodded, lips tugging at the corner like he was trying not to grin. “essential.”
you held his gaze for a second too long before shaking your head and focusing back on your food. the conversation had been harmless enough on the surface, just work banter, but underneath it you could feel the edges of something else. it wasn’t just joking anymore. it was the way he was looking at you, the way he let your words hang there a little too long, like he was filing them away.
and jake started to notice that you might sound like trouble, because little things kept tripping him up. like when you leaned over his desk to ask about something, standing close enough that he had to concentrate on your question instead of wondering what would happen if he just turned his chair around and pulled you closer. or that afternoon when the coffee machine broke and you smacked it with your palm, cursing under your breath like a mechanic with a stubborn engine. he fixed it in under a minute, but the look you gave him when it started working again, like pure admiration, made something twist in his chest.
"my hero," you'd said, and even though you were obviously joking, the way you looked at him wasn't entirely a joke.
that was the problem. these little comments you kept making – calling him competent, saying he made spreadsheets look good, that whole thing about him being dangerously responsible. it should have been easy to brush off, except you had this way of looking at him when you said it that made his brain go places it had no business going. places like wondering how you'd look if he had you pressed against his desk instead of leaning over it. wondering what other things you'd call him if he gave you the chance.
he told himself it was just harmless attraction, a coworker crush he’d eventually get over. except harmless didn’t usually feel this consuming, and crushes didn’t usually make him want to forget his own rules.
that’s what he kept telling himself, especially at the office happy hour later that month. it was was supposed to be a safe space. neutral territory. but jake should have known better, because nothing involving you stayed neutral for long.
half the team was three drinks deep and getting louder by the minute. jake, predictably, was stone sober and playing designated dad – holding hair back in the bathroom, ordering ubers for people who couldn't see straight, making sure everyone had water. it was routine at this point, the kind of thing he did without thinking about it.
except tonight, he kept catching you watching him. not obviously, but he'd look up from helping sunghoon not fall off his chair and find your eyes on him across the table. you'd look away quickly, take a sip of your drink, but the damage was already done. because that look - curious, almost fond – was making it hard for him to focus on being the responsible one.
when he finally sat down after his latest rescue mission, you leaned toward him with that familiar smirk. "you know you're giving off serious single dad vibes right now, right?"
he raised an eyebrow. "that again?"
"i'm just saying," you continued, eyes bright with amusement, "most people would've stopped babysitting after the first round. but here you are, still making sure everyone gets home safe."
"someone has to," he said, but he was smiling despite himself.
"sure, but..." you paused, tilting your head in that way that always meant trouble. "what would happen if you just let go for once?"
the question hit different than he expected. jake found himself really looking at you – the way the bar lighting caught your eyes, how you were leaning just close enough that he could smell your perfume. "and what," he said, voice dropping lower, "let you handle things instead?"
"maybe i could," you shot back, matching his tone.
"no offense," he said, leaning in despite himself, "but i don't think i trust you with that kind of power."
it was supposed to be a joke, but something in the air between you shifted. you were close enough now that he could see the way your breath caught slightly, close enough that when you whispered "zero faith in me," it felt more like a dare than an accusation.
"not zero," he said, and he meant to keep it light, but his voice came out rougher than intended. "just... not enough to bet on."
your knee brushed his under the table – maybe by accident, maybe not. neither of you moved away. for a moment it was just you and him and the dangerous territory you were both pretending not to notice. "guess i'll have to prove you wrong then," you said finally, picking up your drink with hands that weren't quite steady.
"looking forward to it," jake replied, and the words came out before he could stop them.
later, outside the bar, jake told himself he was just being responsible when he followed you out. making sure you got home safe. that's what he did – he looked out for people. it had nothing to do with the way you'd been looking at him all night, nothing to do with how that conversation had left him feeling like he was standing on the edge of something dangerous.
you were leaning against the wall checking your phone when he approached, and you startled when he got close. "jesus, you can't just sneak up on people like that," you said, but you were smiling.
"wasn't sneaking," he said, letting his arm settle across your shoulders. it was supposed to be casual, friendly, but the moment he did it, he realized his mistake. because having you this close, feeling the warmth of you against his side, was definitely not helping his self control situation. "just making sure that guy across the street doesn't get any ideas."
you followed his gaze to where some random man was definitely staring in your direction, and jake felt you tense slightly under his arm. "my personal security detail?" you asked, trying to keep it light.
"comes with the office dad package," he said. "spreadsheets, technical support, and late night safety patrol."
"so generous," you laughed. "do i tip for this service?"
"depends. you planning on behaving at the next happy hour?"
"i wasn't the one puking in the bathroom," you pointed out, and he had to admit you had him there. your phone buzzed – uber notification. three minutes away. you showed him the screen, and he knew he should step back, let you handle it from here. that would be the smart thing. the responsible thing.
instead, he found himself saying, "text me when you get home."
you looked up at him, eyebrow raised. "what, you don't trust uber drivers either?"
"i don't trust other men, period," he said, and the honesty in his voice surprised even him. "humor me."
for a second, you just looked at him. then you bit your lip – a habit he was starting to notice – and nodded. "fine. i'll text you." you paused, eyes meeting his with something that looked almost like mischief. "daddy."
the word hit jake like a punch to the gut. he'd been expecting your usual smartass comeback, some joke to break the tension that had been building all night. he had not been expecting that. not the way you said it, looking him dead in the eye like a challenge. not the way you bit your cheek right after, like you knew exactly what you'd just done to him.
his brain split in two directions at once. half of him was screaming abort mission, reminding him about his rule, about keeping things professional. the other half was betraying him completely, flooding his mind with images of you saying that word again, but softer, breathier, in very different circumstances.
because the thing was, you hadn't just thrown it out there as a joke. you'd given it to him, deliberate and pointed, and jake couldn't stop wondering if you'd been thinking about it as much as he suddenly was. he managed to keep his expression steady, even smirked a little like it hadn't affected him at all. but inside, he was rattled. the kind of rattled that made him question everything he thought he knew about this situation, about you, about his own rule, even.
when your uber arrived and you climbed in with a little wave, jake shoved his hands deep in his pockets and told himself he was fine. but he already knew he'd be staring at the ceiling later, replaying that moment, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now that you'd gone and changed all the rules. and the worst part is that a piece of him really wanted to find out.
after that night outside the bar, something shifted. you got bolder, but in ways that could fly under the radar if someone wasn't paying close attention. problem was, jake was paying attention to everything now.
like the morning you leaned over his desk with some excuse about a report, your breasts stupidly close to his face. and it shouldn’t have meant anything, except you didn’t move away. you just stayed there, shoulder pressed to his, scrolling on his screen. jake told himself not to stiffen, not to flinch, but every nerve in his body was screaming, hyper-aware of the fact that you were too close. he tried to keep his tone flat, strictly professional, explaining the numbers. but in his head, he was counting the beats of your breathing, wondering if you could feel his chest tighten every time you leaned just an inch closer.
then there was the elevator incident. packed as usual, you slipped in just as the doors were closing, squeezing into the tiny space between him and the wall. instead of grabbing the handrail like a normal person, you hooked two fingers through his belt loop. casual. like it was nothing. like people did that all the time.
jake's entire body went rigid. not because he didn't like it – that was the problem. he liked it way too much. your fingers were barely touching him, but it felt like a live wire. he stared straight ahead at the floor numbers, counting down the seconds until he could escape to his desk and pretend his pulse wasn't racing. you acted like nothing had happened, chatting with someone about weekend plans while your fingers stayed exactly where they were.
every interaction left him more wound up than the last. he'd lie in bed replaying moments - the weight of your shoulder against his, your fingers tugging at his belt, the casual intimacy of anything. all things that should have been easy to brush off, except they weren't. because you weren't just being friendly. you were being deliberate. and jake was losing his mind trying to figure out what to do about it.
the problem was, jake wasn't giving you much to work with. sure, he smiled at your jokes and didn't pull away when you got too close, but he never actually pushed back. never escalated. never gave you a clear sign that he was feeling whatever this was too. so you started thinking maybe you were embarrassing yourself. maybe he really did just see you as the office trouble you joked about being.
especially after that one day in the hallway. he’d just wrapped a presentation to a new client, and you’d sat through the whole thing practically biting your tongue off because it wasn’t fair how good he was at it. calm, sharp, answering questions before they even finished asking, the kind of performance that made everyone in the room look at him like he carried the company on his back. when it was over, he walked out into the hallway, tie loosened, shoulders relaxed, still in that glow of someone who knew they’d nailed it. you didn’t think, you just let it slip. you leaned against the wall and said, casual as you could manage, “you look even hotter when you’re smarter.”
and all he said was "thank you" in the most neutral tone possible, you decided you might have been reading the whole situation wrong.
maybe he really did just see you as a coworker. maybe all those moments that felt charged to you were just normal interactions to him. maybe you'd been making an ass of yourself this entire time. the thought was mortifying enough to make you take a step back, way back. you stopped with the casual touches, the suggestive comments, the lingering looks. kept everything strictly professional. meetings about work, small talk about the weather, nothing that could be misinterpreted as flirting.
what you didn’t know was that jake had spent the rest of that afternoon in a private hell of his own making. because what kind of sane person got hard over a coworker calling them smart? what kind of responsible, rule-following adult nearly lost it in a hallway because someone leaned in and whispered something like that with a straight face? and he’d wanted to laugh, to throw something back at you, keep the banter alive. but the second you said it, his brain had shorted out. his body reacted before he had time to form a response, heat rushing in a way that had nothing to do with the tie around his neck. so he defaulted to the safest word he had, a flat thank you, and walked away before he betrayed himself completely.
jake hated that it was this easy, that the stupidest interactions between you two left him horny for hours. a look, a throwaway comment, your fingers brushing against his when you handed him a file, it all rewired his system like someone had flipped a switch he couldn’t turn off again. and yeah, maybe you thought he wasn’t giving you anything. but jake was giving you everything he had left just by keeping himself from showing it.
but still, you decided to take a step back. you stopped with the offhand comments, the shameless little touches, the smirks that used to land squarely in his chest. you kept it professional, meetings, emails, small talk in the break room, nothing extra. at first, jake thought he was imagining it. maybe you were just busy, maybe he was reading into things again. but after a week, he noticed the silence. no teasing when he fixed the coffee machine (seriously, they need to replace that), no sly grin when he reminded the team of a deadline, no bold comments in the hallway about how good he looked with his sleeves rolled up. you treated him like everyone else, and the absence of it sat heavier than he expected.
after a week of this, he couldn't take it anymore. "hey," he said, appearing at your desk one afternoon with some flimsy excuse about a client file. "got a second?"
you looked up with a perfectly pleasant expression. "sure, what do you need?"
he explained the non-issue, watching your face for any sign of the warmth that used to be there. you answered efficiently, then turned back to your computer like the conversation was over. "everything okay?" he asked before he could stop himself.
"yeah, everything's fine," you said, not really looking at him. "why?"
because you've been avoiding me. because you stopped looking at me like you used to. because i miss the way you'd find excuses to be close to me and now you won't even meet my eyes.
"just checking," he said instead.
you gave him a small smile, the kind you'd give anyone, and that was somehow worse than if you'd been cold. because at least cold would have meant he'd gotten under your skin. this was just... nothing.
jake walked back to his desk frustrated. he'd lost something he never admitted he wanted, and for the first time since you started working there, he wondered if he'd screwed up. if playing it safe had cost him something that actually mattered. he tried reminding himself of the rule that kept his life simple: no coworkers, no exceptions. it made sense. practical, safe, smart. except now it felt less like wisdom and more like torture. what was the point of being disciplined if it left him lying awake thinking about a smile that wasn't even meant for him anymore?
maybe the rule wasn't smart. maybe it was the dumbest thing he'd ever committed to.
he was still thinking about it when he walked into the break room and found you there, back turned, waiting for coffee. you were scrolling on your phone, completely unaware he'd come in. jake realized he had a choice: grab his mug and leave, keep things professional, stick to his rule. or stop pretending that rule was working.
there was a box of mugs on the shelf directly above you – mugs he didn't need, in the most inconvenient spot possible. he reached for it anyway, stepping close behind you, chest nearly brushing your shoulder as he stretched up. the movement caged you against the counter without touching you, but the space felt electric. "excuse me," he said quietly, voice closer to your ear than necessary.
you went still, phone freezing in your hand. he could feel tension radiate through you, the way your breathing shifted. "sure," you managed, voice tight as you moved slightly to the side.
jake didn't step back right away. he took his time lowering the box, letting his sleeve brush your arm. he wanted to see if you'd move away, call him out, tell him he was too close. but you didn't. you stayed still, and something dangerous settled in his chest knowing you were just as affected. he finally stepped back, setting the box down casually. "new machine's working better," he said.
you exhaled slowly, still not turning around. "your expertise is no longer required," you said. it should have sounded playful, but there was an edge now.
"guess not," he agreed, but didn't leave. just stood there another beat, watching you try to compose yourself, before walking out with satisfaction he hadn't felt in weeks.
after that, jake stopped pretending he wasn't interested. not obviously, he was too careful for that, but in small ways that made it impossible to ignore.
like choosing the seat next to you in meetings when the whole table was free. he'd lean over to look at your notes, arm pressing against yours as he pretended to read along. every time he shifted, his sleeve brushed your skin.
or when you struggled with files in the hallway, papers threatening to spill. jake appeared out of nowhere, taking the whole pile from your hands.
"you're going to drop these," he said.
"i had it handled," you replied, but he was already walking beside you, files balanced against his chest, shoulder grazing yours.
"sure you did," he said. when you muttered about him being insufferably competent, he glanced sideways with that almost-smile. "i like helping you out, though."
the comment hung in the air between you, loaded with everything you'd been trying to ignore. and this wasn't the same jake who gave polite thank-yous and professional smiles. this jake was deliberate, testing boundaries, making sure you felt every contact. and the worst part was how much you wanted him to keep pushing.
it wasn't just physical either. he started appearing at your desk at day's end, asking if you'd eaten, if you needed anything before leaving. problems you didn't know existed would solve themselves, and you'd find out jake had quietly handled them before they blew up your inbox. he never asked for credit, never made it obvious, but always made sure you knew. he'd figured out exactly what got to you: competence, reliability, quietly taking care of things. and now he was using it against you in the most calculated way.
it should have annoyed you. instead, it was doing things to you that had no place at work. responsible jake was already attractive, but intentionally responsible jake – jake who knew exactly what he was doing and how it affected you – was devastating. and from the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching, you were pretty sure that was the point.
like later that week, when the office was quiet the way it only got after hours. jake had packed his laptop, was halfway to leaving, but then he noticed the light on in the copy room.
you were at the copier, hip against the counter, flipping through papers as the machine hummed. your hair was messy from the long day, blouse untucked, and your skirt – god, that skirt had been distracting him all afternoon. over the knee, perfectly professional, but every time you shifted in meetings he caught glimpses of skin that made it hard to focus on anything else.
he stood in the doorway watching you sort through copies before stepping inside. "working late?"
you looked up, startled, then rolled your eyes when you saw him. "just making extra copies for the client file. you?"
"same," he said, even though his hands were empty. "making sure you don't get stuck here all night."
you huffed out a laugh, turning back to the machine. "i can handle a copier on my own, thanks."
jake walked closer, taking his time. "funny. last time i checked you liked when i handled things for you."
you went still for a second before glancing at him over your shoulder. "are you really bragging about tech support right now?"
"not just that." he stepped in closer, heat pressing into your space, and reached past you to grab the fresh stack sliding from the tray. his arm brushed yours. "printers, deadlines, babysitting drunk coworkers... you've let me handle a lot."
your throat went tight. you forced a scoff. "so modest."
"just being honest," he said with that smug grin you'd grown too familiar with. he set the papers down, leaning against the counter and blocking your path. "besides... thought you liked it when i played daddy."
the air shifted. he said it low, finally acknowledging what you'd thrown at him weeks ago, but not exactly a joke this time. the copier beeped announcing the job was done, but neither of you moved. the tension hummed between you, and for the first time, jake wasn't pretending he didn't enjoy watching you squirm.
you tilted your head, forcing a smirk. "funny, i thought you liked acting like one."
he didn't answer right away. his eyes dragged over your face slowly, like he was trying to figure out how far you'd let this go. up close, you noticed things you usually tried to ignore. the way his jaw flexed when he held back words. the small scar on his chin. his eyes scanning you like he was reading something there if he looked long enough. your pulse stuttered under the weight of it.
jake leaned in slightly, mouth tugging at the corner. "i'm not a dad," he said steadily. then softer, "i just follow rules."
your lips curved despite your jumping pulse. "yeah? what's rule number one?"
he hesitated like he regretted letting you steer here, but his eyes stayed on yours. when he answered, his voice was lower. "don't hook up with coworkers."
the words landed heavy. you held his gaze, stomach knotting, mouth dry. he looked at you like he was waiting to see if you'd flinch, if you'd laugh, if you'd call him out for drawing that line while standing close enough for his tie to brush your arm. but you didn't flinch. you let the silence stretch, eyes flicking to his mouth before you could stop yourself, and jake caught it. you knew he did because his breath hitched barely noticeably, and the tiniest smirk crossed his lips.
you tilted your head, voice low and sharper than intended. "so you've never thought about breaking that rule?"
his eyes flicked over your face like he was deciding if you were joking, but the smirk came back slow. "are you asking if i've thought about it... or if you're offering?"
your breath hitched but you didn't look away. "maybe both."
he let out the smallest laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes. he stepped closer, the space shrinking until his tie brushed your blouse. "you're gonna get yourself in trouble saying shit like that."
the truth was, jake knew you liked trouble. he'd seen it in how you poked at him in meetings, lingered at his desk for things you didn't need, called him daddy once and looked smug about it. you weren't clueless, you knew exactly how to push, and it was driving him fucking insane. "maybe i want trouble," you said quietly.
something in his expression shifted. darker. "yeah?"
"yeah."
he moved closer, hand coming up to rest on the counter beside your hip, caging you in without touching you. "you know what happens if we do this?"
"we break your rule," you said.
"we break a lot more than that." you tilted your face up at him then, slow, and your hand lifted, grazing the end of his tie at first, like you were testing. then you dragged your fingers along the silk, smoothing it down, winding it loosely between your hands. jake's eyes searched yours, and whatever he found there made his jaw tighten. "fuck," he breathed out, almost to himself.
"what?"
"you," he said bluntly. "you're making this impossible."
"making what impossible?"
"staying professional. keeping my distance. pretending i don't think about you constantly." the admission came out frustrated, like he'd been holding it in too long. "pretending i don't want to–" he stopped himself, but you could see it in his face. how badly he wanted to close the distance. how hard he was fighting it.
"want to what?" you pushed, voice barely above a whisper.
"don't do that," he said, voice dropping as he leaned in, closing the space inch by inch without touching you yet. "you're trouble."
you blinked up at him, lips curving. "me? never. i'm such a good girl."
he let out a low sound, almost a hum. "yeah... that's what you want people to think, isn't it?" his hand lifted slowly, one finger tracing along your jaw. the touch was light, maddening, his thumb barely grazing the corner of your mouth before pulling back. "always so polite. so well behaved."
jake stepped in closer, his thigh brushing yours, then easing between your legs as he shifted his weight. not pressing hard, just enough to make you aware of how little space was left. his other arm braced against the counter behind you, boxing you in. he didn't need to touch more than he already had – the implication was enough. he was in control and you both knew it.
his thumb slid from your jaw to your mouth, pressing against your lower lip. you parted for him instantly, breath hitching at the command in the touch. "i can behave for you," you whispered, voice thin and needy.
jake's jaw flexed. the sound shot straight through him, left his thoughts going places they had no business going at work. behave for me? behave bent over my desk, behave with your knees on the floor, behave with my hand tangled in your hair – he cut the thought before it consumed him, but too late. the picture was already burned in his head.
"fuck – y/n..." his voice was low, warning, but his thumb was still at your lip, pressing harder just to watch you yield. "you don't know what you're saying."
then he shifted, thigh pressing higher, firmer, right where you couldn't ignore it. your body reacted before your mind could, a sharp moan breaking from your throat, breathless and unguarded. that sound nearly undid him. he huffed out a laugh, dark and amused, tilting his head as his lips brushed close to yours. "i fucking knew it."
your hand shot up, grabbing his tie, pulling him down. the silk tightened between your fingers, dragging him closer until his mouth hovered just above yours. he stopped himself there, barely.
"what do you want?" his voice was rough, restraint stretched to breaking.
your eyes were wide, pupils blown, lips parted under his thumb. "don't make me say it."
he ground his thigh higher between yours, smirk curling at the corner of his mouth when you shivered. "do i have to make you beg?"
"please, jake..." your grip on his tie tightened, pulling him down, closer, voice desperate. "kiss me."
that last thread snapped. he closed the gap, finally crashing his mouth onto yours, heat and relief spilling over him all at once.
the kiss deepened fast, his hand sliding from your jaw to the back of your neck, holding you there. you leaned harder into him, lips parting wider when his tongue pressed, and the sound you made, a broken whimper, had his teeth catching your lower lip before he even thought about it. he bit down just enough to make you gasp, then chased the sound with another kiss, hungrier, less careful.
he walked you backward without breaking contact, guiding you until your spine hit the counter with a soft thud, papers crinkling under your hands. the copier hummed beside you, absurd backdrop for how fast the room had narrowed to nothing but him.
his hips pressed into yours and you felt the shift before you realized what he was doing. his hands gripped your thighs, strong and certain, and in one smooth motion he lifted you onto the counter. the skirt that had been distracting him all day rode higher, fabric sliding up your legs as you instinctively hooked one around his waist. he stepped in closer, guiding your knee to lock against his hip, his body pinning you there.
"knew you'd feel good like this," he murmured against your mouth, lips brushing yours as he spoke. you tried to answer but he pressed forward again, stealing the words before they formed. his body boxed you in, his hands spreading wider over your thighs, thumbs dragging against skin.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, lips wet, breathing uneven. "so much for being a good girl," he said, mouth twitching. "you're wrapped around me already." his hips rolled into yours again, slower this time, making sure you felt it. "tell me – this what you wanted?"
his hands were firm at your waist, grounding you. "i've been thinking about doing this for a while," you breathed, head tipping back as his mouth trailed down to your neck.
jake hummed against your skin, lips brushing over your pulse before he bit lightly and soothed it with his tongue. "oh yeah? thinking about me when you were supposed to be working?"
you let out a shaky laugh, fingers tightening in his tie. "don't tell me you weren't thinking about it too."
he pulled back to meet your eyes, that grin curling at his mouth. "yeah. i was." his hands slid higher, palms dragging up the insides of your thighs, thumbs pressing slow circles just shy of where you needed them. he kissed along your neck again, lower, teeth catching the edge of your collarbone before working back up to your ear. when his mouth closed around your earlobe, you whimpered softly, and that made him laugh quietly against you.
"you wanna know what i've been thinking?" his voice was low, teasing, fingers pausing high on your thighs. you nodded, breath uneven, another sound slipping out. he chuckled, the vibration making you shiver. "i've been thinking about all the shit i wanna do to you. days now. every time you push, every time you open that smart mouth of yours like you know i won't bite back, i'm picturing you spread out on my desk, begging me not to stop. picturing what you'd sound like if i fucked that good girl act right out of you."
your thighs opened wider under his words, and he rewarded you with a slow drag of his fingers higher, the pressure maddening. "you know when it started?" he murmured, mouth hot against your ear. "when you called me daddy. thought you were being cute, thought you'd get away with it." his teeth grazed your earlobe before he sucked it into his mouth, making your body jolt. "but i knew right then – you're a fucking brat. and you like it. you want me to catch you being bad so i can put you back in line."
your breath broke on another whimper, nails digging into his shoulder through his shirt. he smirked against your skin, one hand gripping your thigh tighter, pushing you open for him. "see? knew it. you've been dying for me to make you behave."
"jake..." your voice cracked on his name, soft and needy. your nails curled harder into his shirt. "you've been making me crazy."
he stilled just enough to savor it, smirk brushing against your skin as he mouthed at your jaw. "yeah? finally admitting it?"
"mmh," you whined, rolling your hips against his thigh for relief that wasn't enough. "you walk around being so fucking hot." your tone pitched higher, half pout, half tease. "you know what you're doing to me, don't you?"
his fingers tightened on your thigh, digging in just enough to make you gasp. "say it like that and i might think you're blaming me."
"oh, i am blaming you," you shot back, bratty and breathless. "you've been making me want things i'm not supposed to want."
jake leaned in, dragging his teeth down your neck before sucking hard enough to mark. his voice was low, dangerous. "tell me what you want, baby."
you shivered, whining again, dragging his tie tighter between your fingers. "you fucking me until i can't even remember my own name. that what you wanted to hear?"
he laughed against your skin, the sound rough, smug, like he'd just confirmed something he already knew. "that's better." his hand slid higher, fingers brushing between your thighs. "say it again. tell me what i make you think about."
"fuck–" the word slipped out desperate, your thighs spreading wider around him as you ground down against his hand. "i think about you ruining me, daddy–"
the noise he let out was low, feral, his forehead pressing to yours like he needed the anchor. “fuck. knew it.” his mouth crashed back onto yours, kiss biting and messy, his hand finally cupping you through the thin fabric of your your skirt, pressure enough to make your hips buck. he broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against your lips, voice dark, “and you’re gonna learn real fast that if you call me daddy, you don’t get to whine your way out of it. you’re gonna do what i tell you.”
your moan was wrecked, shameless, hips chasing his touch like you couldn’t help it. “that’s it. be a good girl now. show me you can behave when i’ve got you like this.” his hand finally slipped under the hem of your skirt, finding your already ruined panties, and he pressed there first, through the thin fabric, just to feel how badly you were shaking for him. then his mouth curved into a grin against your throat. “fuck, you’re soaked for me.” he said it like a fact.
you whimpered, your grip on his tie tightening as you tried to grind into his hand. “jake—”
“hm?” his tone was smug, steady, fingers brushing right over your clit now, lazy circles that made your hips stutter. “what happened to that good girl composure? thought you could behave for me.”
“i am,” you whined, breath catching. “i’m being good.”
he laughed under his breath, middle finger dipping down to tease your entrance, sliding just enough to feel how wet you were before pulling back. “no, baby, this isn’t good. this is filthy. you’re dripping on my hand in the fucking copy room.”
your moan broke high in your throat, your forehead pressing into his shoulder. he rewarded it with another drag over your clit, firmer this time, his breath rough against your ear. “been dreaming about this pussy for weeks,” he muttered, words harsh but reverent.
his finger pushed in slow, just one, testing, and your gasp went sharp, desperate. “fuck—” you whined, legs trembling around him. “more, please, i need—”
he cut you off with a growl, kissing you hard, his tongue swallowing your broken plea. when he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, his hand working steady between your legs. “greedy little thing. can’t even get one finger before you’re begging for more.”
your hips rolled helplessly into his hand, chasing every stroke. “because it’s you,” you gasped, eyes glassy as you looked at him. “i need you.”
the words almost undid him. his jaw clenched, his cock straining against his slacks, and he pushed a second finger into you, stretching you open, groaning at how easily you took it. “yeah, that’s it,” he rasped, pumping into you, thumb pressing your clit with each thrust. “take me so well. you’re perfect, you know that? perfect little slut just for me.”
your cry was shameless, high-pitched, and he bit down on your neck to muffle his own curse. his head spun with how wet you were, how tightly you clenched around his fingers, how every whimper seemed to feed straight into his cock. he pressed harder, curling his fingers just right, his voice rough in your ear. “look at you—how the fuck am i supposed to let you walk back into that office tomorrow knowing you come undone this easy for me?”
he pulled his fingers out of you slow, and the sound you made at the loss was soft, broken, almost a protest. you shifted your hips forward, chasing him, but his hand was already leaving you. “ah, ah,” jake said, catching your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up until your eyes met his. his voice was low, calm, but sharp enough to cut through your whimpers. “behave. be a good girl for daddy.”
you pouted, lips parted, chest rising fast, but you didn’t move. just stared at him with that wide, sulky look that made him grin. “strip,” he ordered, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip. he slid you off the counter, your fingers working at the hem of your skirt first. his eyes never left you, tracking every button, every inch of skin you revealed. by the time your blouse was gone and your bra hit the floor, he was leaning back slightly, jaw tight, chest rising faster than before.
“fuck me,” he muttered under his breath. he stepped closer, mouth finding the line of your collarbone, kissing down hard. his hands moved over you, and he kissed lower, your nipples, the curve of your breast, the flat of your stomach, until he was sinking down, dropping to his knees in front of you.
his tie brushed against your thighs as he pushed them apart, his hands bracketing your hips with a grip that said you weren’t going anywhere. he looked up at you from there, hair falling into his face, his eyes dark and locked on yours, and something about the sight made your knees wobble. “jesus, look at you,” he said, voice rougher now, almost reverent. “so fucking perfect”
his mouth pressed to the inside of your thigh, hot and wet, and you gasped when he sucked a mark there. then he lifted one of your legs, guiding it up until it rested over his shoulder, his arm sliding under to hold the weight easily, and he was staring at you like he’d been starving for this. “hold on to me,” he muttered, both hands firm on your thighs, steadying you even though you were already trembling.
and then his mouth was on you, tongue flat and slow at first, savoring, before he licked a long stripe up your folds and sucked your clit into his mouth. the sound that tore out of you was sharp, your fingers tangling in his messy hair instantly. he groaned against you, the vibration making you shiver, his grip on your thigh tightening. he pulled back just enough to speak, lips glistening, he grinned up at you from between your legs. “been dreaming about this pussy,” he rasped, voice almost wrecked. “and now i get to taste it.”
his tongue worked fast, flat strokes over your clit before switching to short, sharp flicks. his nose pressed into you when he buried his mouth deeper, tongue fucking into your entrance, sloppy and wet. “fuck, you taste sweet,” he groaned against you, voice muffled. he didn’t ease up; he held you wide open, steady, forcing you to take every flick of his tongue. “dripping all over my fucking face. you like me on my knees for you?”
“y-yes—oh my god—” the words tumbled out, your moans breaking as his tongue circled your clit again. your nails dragged down the back of his head, tugging at his hair hard enough to make him grunt.
he pulled back just for a second, chin slick, eyes blazing up at you. “say it louder.”
“yes, daddy,” you whined, hips rolling against his mouth, your voice pitched so high it cracked.
that made him laugh, before his mouth sealed over your clit again. he sucked hard, his hand sliding lower to push two fingers inside you at the same time. the stretch made you cry out, your whole body trembling as he pumped them in deep, curling them just right while his mouth never left your clit. “so fucking tight,” he rasped, pulling off just long enough to growl the words against your skin.
“please—don’t stop—” you gasped, voice breaking into a sob.
he pinned you harder by the thigh, one big hand wrapped around your leg on his shoulder, holding you in place as you writhed against his face. his other hand kept working inside you, fingers fucking into you fast now, every thrust loud and wet. “i can feel you—fuck—you’re so close, aren’t you?”
your head dropped back, mouth open, moans spilling out sharp and broken. “yes—yes, i’m—fuck—”
he pressed harder, faster, relentless. “cum for me, baby.”
the pressure snapped quick, your whole body shuddering as your orgasm tore through you. you screamed his name, thighs clamping around his head as he held you open and kept working you through it. jake groaned low in his chest, eating it up, tongue lapping at everything you gave him like he was starving. “good fucking girl,” he praised against you, even as you whined and shook, too sensitive, begging weakly for a break.
only then did he pull back, chin glistening, lips swollen, a wild grin on his face. “fuck,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before licking it clean anyway. “you’re fucking addictive.”
jake stood, and when you looked up at him, your legs still trembling, he felt that rush of power go straight to his cock. towering over you, he cupped your jaw in one hand, his thumb pressing against your cheek while the other wrapped loosely around your throat. “are you gonna thank daddy now?” his voice was rough, smug, and you swallowed, lips parted, a weak nod the only answer you managed.
“on your knees,” he ordered, pulling you forward, he guided you down, his hand steady at the back of your neck, until you were kneeling on the floor in front of him.
you looked up, pupils blown wide, jake let out a low groan at the sight, his tie hanging loose around his shoulders now, his shirt rumpled and half untucked. your fingers worked fast at his belt, tugging until it came undone, sliding open the button of his slacks. when you dragged the zipper down and pushed the fabric aside, your breath caught, eyes going wide.
“fuck,” you whispered, and jake smirked, watching your expression with satisfaction.
he was thick, long, the head already flushed and leaking precum, and just the sight of your lips parting made him twitch in your hand. “yeah,” he muttered, running a hand through your hair as you wrapped your fingers around him. “big, isn’t it? but you can take it. come on, be a good girl for me.”
you gave him a bratty little look, lashes fluttering, and leaned in slow, pressing your tongue flat against the tip before pulling back with a smirk. “don’t tease,” he growled, pushing his hips forward just enough to bump against your lips. his hand tightened in your hair, steadying you. “open up. i know you can handle it.” you parted your mouth wider, letting him in, the stretch immediate as you worked your lips down his cock.
his breath hitched, a curse falling out of him as he watched you sink lower, your hand twisting around the base where your mouth couldn’t reach yet. “fuck, that’s it,” he rasped, his grip on your hair guiding you in rhythm. “take this cock. i wanna see that mouth full.”
your moan vibrated around him, and the sound made his head drop back for a second before his eyes snapped down to you again. your lips stretched around him, drool already starting to slick your chin as you tried to take him deeper. jake’s hand held firm in your hair, keeping you steady, but you pulled back just a little too soon, giving him a smug look with your tongue still pressed against his tip.
“seriously?” he laughed, but it came out rough, choked with restraint. “already trying to be a brat with my cock in your mouth?” you hummed in fake innocence, the sound vibrating against him before you licked slowly up the underside of his shaft, eyes locked on his. “fuck that,” he muttered, his jaw clenching as he grabbed the back of your head with both hands now. “open up. i’m done letting you tease.”
before you could smirk again, he pushed forward, guiding himself deeper into your mouth. you gagged softly, your throat tightening around him, and he groaned at the feeling. “yeah. that’s it. take it. you can take more.” he pulled back, then pushed in again, a little deeper this time, setting a rhythm that had your hands clutching his thighs for balance.
his cock slid over your tongue, brushing the back of your throat, and each thrust came sharper, more deliberate. “look at you,” he rasped, watching the way your lips stretched around him. “drooling, gagging, but still so fucking desperate. you love this, don’t you?” your eyes watered as you tried to nod, the motion clumsy with his cock filling your mouth. “uh-uh,” he corrected, voice low, hips pushing deeper until your nose brushed his stomach. “no nodding. say it.”
you pulled back just far enough to gasp for air, spit stringing from your lips to his cock. “i love it—” your voice was wrecked, breathless, “—daddy.”
that snapped something in him. with a growl, he pushed back into your mouth as he fucked your throat harder, faster. your gag reflex kicked, but he didn’t stop, groaning at the way you clenched around him. “fuck, that’s it,” he panted, his abs flexing as he drove deeper, the sounds wet and obscene. “good fucking girl. letting me use your throat like this.”
you moaned around him, the vibration making his hips stutter before he forced the rhythm steady again. spit ran down your chin, onto your chest, but you didn’t stop; you pushed yourself forward into him, taking as much as he gave. he looked down, the sight almost undoing him. your mascara smudged, your lips swollen, drool dripping while you still stared up at him with wide, glassy eyes. “oh, god,” he groaned, voice breaking. “so good, oh, fuck–”
jake’s thrusts grew rougher, he was right on the edge, when he yanked you back suddenly, spit spilling down your chin as he dragged you off him by the hair. you gasped, coughing, lips swollen and wet, but before you could whine he leaned down, his mouth hot on your ear. “i want to be inside you when i cum.”
then he hauled you up, his strength making it effortless, spinning you toward the nearest wall. your palms hit flat against it, your cheek pressing to the cool surface as he pushed you forward, bending you until your back arched perfectly for him. his cock slid heavy against your ass as he muttered, almost to himself, “fuck, i don’t have a condom.”
“i don’t care,” you whined, voice high, desperate. “i need it raw—please.”
that snapped the last of his restraint. “fuck, yeah, okay,” he hissed, his cock slapping hot and thick against your bare skin. he held himself there, grinding slow between your legs, coating himself in your slick before lining up. “you’re insane,” he growled, his chest pressed to your back, his breath ragged. “you’re gonna drive me fucking insane.”
you pushed back against him, needy, whining, “fuck me, please.”
he groaned low in his throat, fumbling for his tie that hung loose around his shoulders. in one smooth motion he looped it around your neck, tightening it just enough that you felt the snug pull at your throat. “there,” he muttered, voice dark and satisfied as he tugged lightly on the makeshift leash. “if you’re gonna act like a needy little pet, i’ll put you on a leash.”
you moaned needy for him, then he thrust into you in one sharp stroke, bottoming out so fast your moan cracked into a cry, your nails scraping the wall for balance. “fuck–so tight,” he groaned, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a brutal rhythm that had the tie tugging against your throat with every movement. “this pussy’s mine now. you hear me?”
you whimpered, eyes squeezed shut, your voice high and broken. “yes—yes, it’s yours.”
his hand gripped your hip hard, the other holding the tie, pulling you back into each thrust. the sound of skin slapping filled the small room, wet and obscene, your cries mixing with his sharp groans. “good fucking girl,” he praised, his voice rough, his thrusts getting faster. “taking it raw for me like this. letting me use you exactly how i want.”
the tie bit tighter against your throat as he yanked, forcing you to arch even more, the angle making him hit deeper, harder, until your knees trembled. “take it,” he growled into your ear, hips pounding into you. “take it all for daddy. you like being fucked like this? on your leash?” your reply was barely words, just high-pitched moans tangled with his name. he smirked against your shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave marks. “yeah, you fucking love it.”
his hand slid from your hip up to your stomach. he pressed flat against your belly, right above your cunt, holding you still while he buried himself all the way in. “feel that?” his voice was dark, low, his forehead pressed to the back of your head. “that’s me. i’m so deep inside you i can feel it right here.” his palm pushed harder on your belly, making you squirm. “fuck, you’re split open around me.”
your cry was sharp, broken, and he laughed against your ear, hips never slowing. “always knew you were dirty,” he said, punctuating it with a hard slap to your ass, the sting making you jolt forward. he grabbed your hip before you could move, pulling you back onto his cock. “knew there was no way that good girl act was real. this is who you are. daddy’s needy little pet, dripping and begging.”
“please—” you gasped, eyes squeezed shut, the tie biting into your throat with every thrust.
he yanked it again, harder this time, pulling your head back so he could look at your face while he pounded into you. your lips were parted, cheeks wet, spit smeared down your chin, and he groaned at the sight. “you fucking love it, don’t you? love when i treat you like this.”
“yes,” you cried, voice pitching higher as your nails clawed at the wall for balance. “yes, i love it.”
he slapped your ass again, harder, the sound sharp. “say it louder.”
“i love it!” you moaned, your voice cracked, raw.
his hand spread across your lower back, pressing you down while his hips slammed forward faster, deeper. the angle made you scream, your whole body shaking as he filled you again and again. “good girl,” he rasped, tugging the tie tight, making your throat constrict. “my perfect little slut, taking daddy’s cock raw. fuck, you’re everything i thought you’d be.”
jake pulled out of you fast, making you whine at the sudden emptiness, but before you could protest he spun you around and lifted you off the floor like you weighed nothing. you gasped, arms looping instinctively around his shoulders as he set you down hard on the counter, your back hitting the edge of the copier. papers scattered to the floor but neither of you cared.
his hands went to his shirt, undoing the buttons quick, his chest slick with sweat when he pushed it open. your eyes dragged over him – broad shoulders, the lines of muscle in his torso, the flex of his arms still holding you steady – and your mouth went dry.
“jesus, jake,” you whispered, almost in awe, eyes wide as your fingers reached to touch him.
he smirked, leaning forward to press the head of his cock against you again, sliding through your slick folds before pushing in slow, inch by inch. the stretch made you whimper, head tipping back, but he caught your chin and forced you to look at him. “eyes on me,” he muttered, voice low but sharp. “don’t look away.”
you nodded weakly, clinging to him as he sank all the way in. the burn of it gave way to a fullness that made your stomach flutter, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. he set a brutal rhythm almost instantly, hips slamming into yours, the copier shaking under the force of each thrust. his eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and hungry, his hand gripping your thigh tight enough you knew it would bruise.
“fuck, you feel unreal,” he groaned, his forehead pressing briefly to yours before pulling back. his gaze flicked to your mouth, to the way it was falling open with every moan, and his grin turned sharp. “ever think about what would happen if someone walked in right now? hm? you ever think about our boss catching you spread out like this?”
your moan was sharp, embarrassed and turned on all at once, your nails digging into his shoulders. “does he know what a good little slut you are?” jake kept going, his thrusts harder now, the tie still looped around your throat swaying with every movement. “sitting in meetings acting all proper, but the second i get you alone you’re begging me to fuck you raw.”
“oh my god,” you gasped, cheeks burning as you clenched tighter around him.
he laughed, but it came out ragged, his abs tightening with the effort of holding himself back. his hand slid from your thigh up your stomach, pressing flat right where his cock was stretching you, making you whimper louder. “bet no one’s ever filled you up like this.”
you shook your head frantically, your breath catching. “no–never–-fuck, jake.”
he slammed into you harder at that, groaning as your cunt squeezed around him. his free hand came down on your ass with a loud slap, the sting making you cry out before he gripped you there, pulling you closer to meet every thrust. “that’s right,” he growled. “mine now. nobody else gets to fuck you like this.”
one of his hands slid lower, his thumb finding your clit. he pressed down hard, rubbing fast circles that had you jerking under him instantly. “fuck—yes—” you gasped, your nails raking down his back. his thumb pressed harder, his rhythm rough and merciless. “daddy—” your voice cracked, high and broken, the word spilling out before you even thought about it.
“yeah, that’s right,” he muttered, hips slamming harder, his teeth grazing your jaw. “say it again.”
“daddy,” you whined, clinging to him, your voice wrecked. “please, daddy–”
his groan was low and sharp, his thumb circling faster. “fuck, i knew you’d sound perfect calling me that.” you clenched tight around him, your whole body trembling, and he praised you through it, voice rough but steady. “so fucking tight. you’re taking me so well. that’s my girl. daddy’s perfect little slut.”
your moans came higher, more frantic, each thrust making your voice catch. the copier rattled beneath you, his chest slick with sweat against yours. he buried his face against your neck, grunting into your skin. “fuck, i can feel you squeezing me. you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?”
“yes—yes, please, i’m so close—”
“then do it,” he growled, thumb rubbing harder, his cock slamming deep. “cum all over me. make a mess for daddy.” your orgasm hit sharp, your cry echoing off the walls as your body arched into him, thighs trembling. your cunt spasmed around his cock, clenching so tight it dragged a curse out of him, his hips stuttering but never stopping. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his voice breaking. “fuck–where do i cum?”
your answer was instant, desperate, screamed high and raw. “inside! please, inside!”
his groan was guttural, his forehead pressing to yours as his thrusts went brutal, chasing his own release. “fuck yeah,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “gonna fill my slut up, make you mine.”
two more thrusts and he was gone, spilling deep inside you with a sharp grunt, his hand still grinding against your clit to draw out every last wave of your orgasm. he held you there, pressed tight, his cock twitching as he emptied himself into you, groaning through the aftershocks. his grip loosened slowly, his thumb brushing your swollen lip before he kissed you hard, messy and breathless. your chest was still heaving when his thrusts slowed to nothing, his forehead resting against yours, both of you catching breath in the silence thick with the sound of the copier’s faint hum.
he stayed inside you for a moment longer, his hand cradling your jaw, thumb brushing across your cheek in a gesture almost too gentle for what he’d just done. “hey,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips this time, unhurried, grounding. “you okay?”
you nodded, still dazed, but a lazy grin tugged at your mouth. "and here i thought you were a responsible guy."
jake laughed, the sound low and rough, pulling back just enough to look at you. "i am responsible," he shot back. "just also happen to be good at multitasking."
before you could answer, he slid out carefully, hands steady on your waist. your legs were shaky when your feet touched the floor, but he caught you easily, pulling you against his chest. "easy," he murmured, one hand smoothing down your back. "you good?"
"yeah," you breathed, leaning into him. "just... need a second."
he kissed your temple, then bent down to help you find your clothes scattered across the floor. handed you your underwear first, then your blouse, watching as you fumbled with the buttons. when you struggled with the third one, fingers still trembling, he brushed your hands away gently and did it himself.
"there," he said softly, fixing your collar. his thumb traced along your jaw. "come on. there's a shower in the executive bathroom down the hall."
"executive bathroom?"
"yeah. the boss never uses it after six." he was already pulling his own clothes back on, tucking his shirt in, taking his tie off your neck with a smirk, and straightening on his neck instead. "it's got an actual shower."
you followed him down the dimly lit hallway, the office eerily quiet at this hour. just the hum of computers left on and the distant sound of the building's ventilation. he kept one hand at the small of your back the whole way, guiding you.
the bathroom was nicer than you expected – marble counters, proper lighting, and a full shower stall in the corner. jake turned on the water, testing the temperature with his hand until it was warm enough.
"get in," he said, then caught your wrist when you reached for him. "i'll be right back. just gonna clean up the copy room real quick."
"jake–"
"five minutes," he promised, kissing your forehead. “kinda hard to explain toner paper soaked in your cum.”
you laughed and grabbed his wrist before he could leave. "nope. not letting you go."
his eyebrows shot up. "seriously? after all that?"
your grin turned sly, fingers curling tighter around his wrist. "can't help it," you whispered, lips brushing his jaw. "i get wet at the thought of you being a responsible guy."
he groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder with a laugh that sounded half exasperated, half turned on. "you're gonna fucking kill me." but he was already starting to unbutton his shirt again, shaking his head. "fine. we'll deal with the copy room later."
he stripped down and followed you into the shower, immediately pulling you under the warm spray. his hands were gentle now, completely different from before, smoothing over your shoulders and down your arms. "you okay?" he asked quietly, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. "i wasn't too rough?"
"i'm perfect," you said, leaning into his touch. "more than perfect."
he reached for the soap, working up a lather in his hands before running them over your skin. careful, methodical, taking his time. washed your back, your arms, even knelt down to do your legs. when he stood back up, water streaming down his face, you caught his jaw and kissed him. slower this time, softer.
"what was that for?" he asked when you pulled back.
"just wanted to."
he smiled, that rare genuine one that made his whole face soften. "yeah?"
"yeah."
after the shower, he grabbed towels from the cabinet, wrapped one around you first before dealing with his own. found you sitting on the counter looking worn out and happy, and stepped between your knees without thinking about it.
"we should probably talk about this," he said, hands resting on your thighs.
"talk about what?"
"about how i just completely destroyed my number one rule."
you traced the line of his collarbone with one finger. "regret it?"
"not even a little bit," he admitted. "which is probably a problem."
"why a problem?"
"because now i can't stop thinking about doing it again." his hands squeezed your thighs gently. "and again. probably gonna be a disaster at work tomorrow trying not to stare at you."
"so don't try," you said simply. "stare all you want."
he laughed, pressing his forehead to yours. "you're terrible for my productivity."
"good."
you stayed like that for a while, just breathing together in the quiet bathroom, steam still lingering in the air. eventually he helped you down, gathered both your clothes, and you got dressed slowly.
"my place or yours?" he asked as you headed back toward your desks.
"presumptuous," you teased.
"realistic," he corrected, grabbing his keys and laptop bag. "because there's no way i'm letting you go home alone after that."
and honestly? you didn't want him to.
#ronnie's notes: i’ve been wanting to write this jake fic inspired by tears literally since the first time i heard the song SO I DID ITTT!!!!! 😭 and yes this was even before his edit with it went viral on tiktok btw lmaooo i’m actually so happy it turned out exactly how i pictured it also shoutout to the anon who said they were shocked i never wrote anything w daddy kink before… well here u go enjoy 🫡 and tysm to my friends @hoonieyun @s1rawb3rry @heeseung64 for the collab on sabrina’s new album!! every single one of their works is insane in the best way and i hope u guys check them out when they drop bc u will NOT regret it <3
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ SYNOPSIS » heeseung moved to los angeles to become a famous comedian, and you moved there chasing an acting career. when you land an audition to play a comedian, you start studying him for the role, turning his awkward sets into practice material. you say there’s nothing here, but in a city full of fools who dream, the two of you stumble into each other’s lives and realize maybe someone in the crowd could take you where you wanna go, if you’re the someone ready to be found.
⟡ pairing: comedian!heeseung x actress!fem!reader ⟡ genre: romcom, strangers to lovers, la la land au, crack, smut (mdni), enemies to lovers-ish, bit angsty #nowplaying >> a lovely night - la la land | pink pony club - chappell roan | lost - frank ocean | everybody wants to rule the world – tears for fears | girl almighty - one direction // ✰ word count: 33k
✰ warnings: smut, unprotected sex (do not do it!!), a little bit angsty, weed and alcohol consumption, the smut scene is long af but it's not important to the main plot, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, squirting, degradation / dirty talk, light rough sex (hair pulling, spanking implied), anal play, unresolved feelings, bittersweet / open ending
HEESEUNG WAS STANDING ON A STAGE THAT WAS BARELY A STAGE. it was more like a piece of wood raised six inches above the bar floor, with a microphone that cracked every time he cleared his throat. there were seven people in the audience, but only two of them looked awake, and one of those was clearly scrolling on her phone. “so… dating in l.a.,” he started, gripping the mic. “it’s great, because nothing screams romance like splitting a twenty-five dollar salad while pretending you’re not both broke.”
no reaction. someone coughed near the back. “and, uh, i went on a date last week,” he continued, ignoring the void in front of him. “she said she loved comedians. then she ghosted me. so technically she does love comedians, she just might’ve thought i was a clown!”
a few heads stayed down, still no laughs. except jake. jake was sitting in the middle row, clapping like he was at a broadway show, his laugh way too loud for the size of the room. heeseung shot him a glare that said please shut up, but jake only leaned forward and shouted, “that’s my boy!” which made it worse, because now everyone knew they were friends. the bartender was drying glasses with the kind of disinterest only a man paid minimum wage could master. one guy near the corner ordered wings in the middle of the set and the waitress carried them in front of the stage like heeseung wasn’t even there. “okay, tough crowd,” he muttered, but he kept going, because quitting halfway through would mean admitting this was a mistake. and maybe it was, but at least jake was still laughing, doubled over now like he’d just heard the best joke of his life.
heeseung had been trying these open mics for a while, long enough to know the bartenders by name. he wasn’t the kind of guy who spent hours writing careful setups and punchlines. he was funny, sure, but more in the way he told stories and stumbled through them until something ridiculous slipped out. it didn’t always land on stage, though. usually it didn’t. but he kept going because all of his friends, for some reason, thought he had something. maybe not a clear plan, maybe not a career path, but something. at home, things weren’t much more glamorous. he shared a cramped apartment with jake and jay, both of them musicians. jay was a producer, and jake called himself a songwriter, though most of the time he was just mumbling melodies that sounded suspiciously like songs that already existed. they were convinced heeseung was destined for a break. he didn’t see it that way, but he appreciated that someone did.
most mornings, heeseung worked the early shift at dunkin’ donuts, handing out coffee to people who didn’t make eye contact. by the afternoon, he was driving uber, driving strangers around in his beat-up car. at night, he found himself on those tiny stages, trying to make people laugh while wondering if it would ever stop feeling like humiliation dressed up as ambition. he wasn’t bitter, though, not really. he laughed about it with the guys, he teased jake for being his only fan, and he told himself that maybe all this was just practice. it was tiring, yes, but it was also the only thing that made him feel like he was moving toward something, even if he couldn’t name what that something was. and well, maybe that something was you, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
heeseung kept going with the set, even though the silence in the room was louder than his own voice. he decided to stay on the dating-in-la theme because at least it gave him material, and material was better than staring at seven people who all looked like they regretted coming. “you know dating apps are a scam, right?” he said, adjusting the mic stand even though it didn’t need adjusting. “like, you match with someone, they say they love dogs, you say you love dogs, and then three messages later they disappear. did the dog die? did they die? or did they just realize i also drive uber?” still no laughs. except for jake, of course. he was clapping again, laughing so hard the guy next to him physically leaned away. “thanks, jake,” heeseung muttered, not even bothering to cover the mic. “every comedian dreams of their roommate being the only person laughing.”
that got a tiny chuckle from someone in the back, but it was more of an exhale than a laugh. still, it counted. heeseung carried on, making fun of how half his dates ended in venmo requests and how no one in l.a. seemed to eat anything besides salads that looked like lawn clippings. it wasn’t killing, not even close, but he’d done worse. and that’s when he noticed you. not because you were laughing, you weren’t, you hadn’t cracked a smile since he started. but you were really watching him, like you were trying to figure him out. and every so often, you pulled out a pen and scribbled something down on the back of a receipt or a folded napkin. it threw him off for a second. most people in the audience weren’t even looking at him, and here you were, taking notes like this was homework. he couldn’t tell if you were judging him or studying him, but either way, it was weird enough to make him stumble on his next line.
“uh, yeah, so… first dates in l.a.,” he continued, trying to shake it off, “sometimes they’re so short you don’t even finish the appetizer. like, i’ve had breadsticks last longer than a date.” jake howled, slapping the table like he’d never heard anything funnier in his life. heeseung gave him a look, but his attention slid back to you almost immediately. you weren’t laughing. you were still just watching, pen tapping lightly against the paper. and for reasons he couldn’t explain, that made him more nervous than the silence from everyone else.
when the set was finally over, heeseung stepped off the stage with the kind of relief you feel when a dentist appointment ends. jake was already on his feet, clapping like he’d just witnessed the next big netflix special. “that was hilarious, man,” jake said, grabbing his shoulder. “the breadstick line? genius.”
heeseung gave him a look. “yeah. seven people in the room and i managed to make one of them laugh, and he happens to pay half my rent.”
jake just grinned, totally unaffected. “a third!” he corrected. “but it doesn’t matter. i’m telling you, you’re getting better.”
heeseung wasn’t convinced. he felt like he was one bad set away from shaving his head and rehearsing joker monologues in front of the bathroom mirror. the joaquim phoenix one, just to be clear. not that he would admit that out loud, instead he just nodded, letting jake’s enthusiasm do the work. but then he remembered you. the girl in the back who hadn’t laughed, hadn’t clapped, hadn’t done anything except watch him. heeseung scanned the room again, but you were gone. no trace, no napkin on the table, nothing. “there was this girl,” he said suddenly, turning to jake. “back row. she was taking notes. didn’t laugh once. just… wrote stuff down.”
jake frowned. “notes? on what?”
“i don’t know,” heeseung said. “me, i guess? the set. it was weird. she didn’t look bored, though. more like… i don’t know, like she was studying me.”
jake smirked, already finding a way to make it sound less serious. “maybe she’s a critic. maybe you’re famous now.”
heeseung rolled his eyes. “yeah, or maybe she just needed a surface to write her grocery list. either way, she’s gone.”
still, he couldn’t shake it. the silence from six people didn’t matter, the loud laugh from jake didn’t matter, but the fact that you sat there scribbling something down and then disappeared before he could figure it out, oh, that stuck. but he had to keep going, because his life was not moving the way he thought it would be. most days felt the same and he caught himself wondering if that was good or bad. he told himself routine was better than chaos, that at least he knew where he had to be every morning and how much money would be in his account by the end of the week. but underneath that, he knew he wasn’t happy with how small things felt.
back at the apartment, he tried not to think too hard about it. jake and jay made the place noisy in a way that distracted him, guitars and half-not-so-half-finished songs everywhere, jay chasing some new beat while jake claimed it was going to be the one that finally made them money. they were confident in him too, always telling him he was getting closer, that he was funnier than he thought. sometimes heeseung believed them, other times he just nodded along, a little bit comforted and also a bit annoyed that they seemed to have more faith in him than he could find for himself.
the days kept stacking up. he wasn’t miserable, but he wasn’t exactly thriving either. but then one afternoon, in between rides, his phone buzzed with a message from a guy he knew on the comedy circuit, beomgyu, and it was an invitation to do a set at a club that was actually known, the kind of place where real comics tried out material and audiences showed up on purpose. it wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t nothing. when he told jake and jay, they reacted like he’d open for chris rock or something. jay asked if he had a plan for his set, and yeah, heeseung didn’t, not yet, but he said yes anyway, because it felt better than admitting he was nervous.
heeseung never really enjoyed the comedy scene in l.a., he thought most of the people in it were arrogant, the kind who laughed at their own material louder than the audience ever could. he hated those bigger shows because they felt more like networking events than comedy, but he also knew he had to be seen. so this time, he tried something different. instead of forcing punchlines, he wrote out a story. “you know how everyone has that one friend who’s constantly in a side quest?” he said into the mic, glancing at the crowd. “like, the main plot of life is just… not enough for them. they always need to be doing something that makes no sense.”
a few people nodded, and he felt encouraged enough to go on. “for me, that friend is niki. funny guy, terrible influence. he used to go around changing everyone’s phone language to something random, just because he thought it was hilarious. one time i finally got him back and switched his phone into the cyrillic alphabet. the man doesn’t read russian, so he spent two days trying to figure it out. you know who fixed it for him? nikola jokic. yeah, the nba player. i don’t know how they even met, but apparently jokic was just like, ‘yeah, no big problem,’ and honestly, easy thing for him to say because he’s six foot ten, nothing is big enough for him.”
there was a ripple of laughter, the kind that made heeseung loosen his grip on the mic. “and that wasn’t even the weirdest part. niki also swears he once went to budapest with john cena. i still don’t know what the hell that means. what do you even do with john cena in budapest? i’m just saying, if john cena orders goulash, does the waiter even bring it out?” the audience actually laughed hard at that one, and heeseung felt the first real wave of confidence. “but my favorite one? niki once got called in to audition for travis kelce. i don’t know how that happened. he’s five foot ten, skinny, japanese, twenty years old. someone made a mistake. i hope they got fired, and i really hope it wasn’t taylor swift.”
the room broke into proper laughs now, people clapping and nudging each other like they’d just heard something worth repeating later. heeseung felt it, that tiny lift that came with knowing he’d actually landed something. and then he saw you. you were there in the crowd, not scribbling this time, not taking notes, just watching him again with that same steady focus. for a second, he almost lost his rhythm, but he kept going, because now he wanted to see how long you’d stay.
heeseung wrapped it up with one more callback that tied his little niki saga together, and when the crowd laughed and clapped this time, it didn’t feel polite, it felt real. a couple people even whistled, and he let out this small laugh into the mic before muttering a quick “thanks, that’s my time.” he stepped off with his shoulders lighter than usual, like for once he wasn’t walking straight into that pit of self criticism he usually carried after every set. and as he came down from the stage, his eyes swept the room, and that’s when he noticed you again. you weren’t laughing or clapping, but you were there, notebook open this time, pen moving quickly across the page. the second he was fully off stage you closed it, almost like a switch flipped, and tucked it away. it hit him for a moment that you weren’t studying comedy at all, you were studying him.
before he could linger on that thought, sunghoon, one of his friends that were trying to make it in comedy scene in l.a., was waiting by the side, arms crossed. he gave him a nod and a pat on the back. “finally,” he said, voice steady. “that’s what you’re good at, just telling shit the way you actually see it.” it was the closest thing to a compliment he’d ever gotten from sunghoon, and it stuck heavier than the applause had. then he dragged heeseung off to meet other people, conversations he wasn’t fully in the mood for.
after a while he slipped away toward the kitchen, grabbed a soda, and leaned against the counter. the chatter was loud, plates clattering, but somehow it felt like the quietest part of the whole place, because that’s when he saw you again. you were crouched down near the snack table, your hair fell forward a little as you reached for snacks, and he hesitated, wondering if he should say something or just keep watching. the notebook was tucked under your arm now, pen still clipped to it, resting instead of racing.
you left the area and started walking toward the balcony, and heeseung didn’t think twice, he just followed. he grabbed another soda on the way out, and by the time he got outside, you were leaning against the railing, scrolling your phone. he stepped up a little closer, cleared his throat, and said, “hey.”
you looked up at him, one eyebrow raised, a little sharp, a little sassy. “hey,” you said back.
heeseung didn’t move for a second, just watched you, with a look that clearly said you’re not going to tell me why you were writing my stuff down? and you didn’t, instead, you blinked at him, calm, and he said a little more directly, “i remember you. i saw you at the open mic bar the other night.” you raised both eyebrows, with a look that said back, yeah, and? so heeseung leaned against the railing, a little frustrated. “look. i know you were taking notes on my jokes. what are you gonna do with it?”
you let out a short, sharp laugh. “your jokes? why would i take notes on your jokes?”
heeseung narrowed his eyes. “so what were you writing down, then?”
you looked at him, straight faced for a second, then said, “i have an audition next week. i’m applying for a role as a stand-up comedian who… doesn’t really make it.”
heeseung paused, squinting. “oh. you’re an actress. okay. have i seen you anywhere before?”
you hesitated a little, a little awkward. “i work at a coffee shop on the warner brothers lot.”
heeseung tilted his head, a little dry. “oh. you’re a barista. well now i see how you can look down on me from all the way up there.” he said that even though heeseung was a barista himself, but he thought it wasn’t really necessary to bring that up right now.
before either of you could react further, beomgyu came around the corner, slapped heeseung on the shoulder. “heeseung, second set.”
he turned to look at you, more serious this time, and you smirked. heeseung shrugged, like he had no choice. “he doesn’t tell me what to do.”
you arched an eyebrow. “he just told you what to do.”
heeseung let it slide. “i let him.” he paused, you paused, and after a beat, he looked back at you. “what’s your name?”
“y/n.”
heeseung nodded once, slow, deliberate. “well, y/n, guess i’ll see you in the movies.”
so he went back up on stage, and he tried to focus on the story he had written, the one he thought might finally land properly. but then he caught sight of you again, across the crowd, tucked in a little corner near the balcony doors, you had the notebook open again. heeseung froze for a second before shaking it off, trying to get back into the text, but his eyes kept flicking back. he could see you writing, like you were copying his brain word for word onto that stupid fucking notebook. it made him annoyed, and he didn’t know why he cared, didn’t know why he wanted to see what you were writing so badly, but he did. and fuck, it threw him off every time he tried to nail a punchline.
the whole set felt both like the best thing he’d ever done and the most distracting thing he’d ever done. when he finally wrapped it up, the claps were real this time, he stepped off the stage, nodding and muttering a quiet thanks to whoever made eye contact, but all he could think about was you. but when the crowd started shifting, laughing and mingling, you were gone, disappeared into the mass of people like you had never been there at all. heeseung walked straight home after that, uber silent, replaying the set in his head but mostly thinking about how you had been sitting there, how he couldn’t stop imagining what the hell you’d written. he lost you to the crowd that night, and for some reason, that annoyed him more than bombing on stage ever had.
heeseung had been keeping himself busy, mostly to keep his brain from obsessing too much about that night at the party. jay had dragged him to an open mic one night, insisting he needed to watch jungwon perform. heeseung didn’t hate it, actually, jungwon had this weird timing that made everything land in a way heeseung kinda envied. after that, he met sunghoon for coffee, and they spent an hour talking about scripts, story structure, and how networking was more about awkward dinners than talent. sunghoon gave him some pointers, told him to focus more on the story than the punchlines, which made sense, even if heeseung hated thinking that way. and well, he thought about inviting sunghoon to grab something at the coffee shop on the warner brothers lot, because curiosity got the better of him like a total idiot, just to see if you were there. he didn’t, though.
the uber shifts were something else, because afternoons spent driving strangers across l.a. gave him material for days. there was the guy who insisted he was a secret agent, the girl who ranted about her cat like it was running for president, and the old man who told stories about losing his toupee in a windstorm. heeseung memorized everything, laughing to himself while steering, thinking, okay, this is gold, i’ll use this someday.
and then, one day, while he was working the morning shift at dunkin’ donuts, he saw you. he was behind the register, handing a bag of donuts to some random customer, and the bell above the door jingled. he looked up, and there you were, walking in, scanning the counters and displays when you looked at him. he froze. you froze. then you raised an eyebrow, smirked, and said, “oh! a barista.”
heeseung blinked at you, because yeah, he probably deserved that, thinking back to that night when he’d made that comment about you being a barista yourself. sure, he’d been joking, but still, he was trying to make it in l.a. too, probably the same way as you. and here you were, leaning over the counter, smirk on your face, and he couldn’t stop looking at you even as he swiped the register screen. he coughed a little and said, “ok, i admit i was a little curt that night.”
you raised an eyebrow, “curt?”
“ok, i was an asshole,” he said, trying to sound casual but failing. heeseung then muttered, “but making fun of a serious comedian like me, that’s a little much.”
“oh my god,” you said, smirk still there, “did you just call yourself a serious comedian?” to which he nodded and mumbled a small yeah, shrugging like it was obvious. you stared at each other for a moment. you tilted your head, voice playful, “ok, serious comedian, i’d like to order a chocolate glazed donut and a medium iced coffee.”
heeseung sighed quietly to himself. he didn’t want this to be happening, didn’t want to feel flustered over a coffee order, but he jotted it down anyway, trying to stay professional. “anything else?” he asked. you shook your head once. heeseung typed it in, glanced at the screen, and said, “that’ll be five and eleven.” you handed him the cash, and then waited, leaning slightly on the counter, eyes on him, silent like you were studying how he moved even now.
he tried to focus, but his brain kept skipping tracks. he was thinking about the way your smirk had this ridiculous effect on him, how calm you looked, how unfair it was that you could walk into a dunkin’ donuts and completely ruin the rhythm of his morning shift without even trying. he cursed himself quietly, telling himself to stay chill, stay professional, but it was impossible. he was halfway through punching in the order, trying to act like a guy who had his life together, but all he could think was, damn, she’s still paying attention, and he didn’t know if that scared him or made him stupidly happy. and then heeseung makes your drink, puts the bag with the donut on the counter, and while he’s sliding it across he says, “i didn’t see you at the bar again, you know, studying me.” he says it pretty casual but inside he’s kind of waiting for your reaction.
you picked up the cup and looked at him, not smiling, “yeah, you actually improved your set. you’re no longer useful as my research subject.”
he blinked at you, not sure if he’d heard right. “research subject?”
you shrugged like it was obvious. “yeah, i was gonna use you as an example of a bad comedian.”
he kept staring, trying to figure out if you were joking, because it sounded way too straight-faced to be a joke. “so… that’s your way of admitting i’m funny now?”
you shook your head, still calm. “i didn’t say i think you’re funny.”
“oh yeah?” he asked, leaning back a little, curious now. “what am i then?”
you grabbed the bag, met his eyes for a second, and said, “just a serious comedian.” then you turned and started walking to the door like the conversation was already done. he stood there watching you leave, the bell on the door ringing as it shut, and just before you were gone, you tossed back, “see you around, funny guy.”
heeseung stayed behind the counter, not moving, trying to figure out what just happened. he had no idea if you meant it as an insult, or if that was supposed to be a compliment, and the way you said it left him standing there like an idiot, wondering why he even cared that much. so after that day, he was kinda expecting you to show up again. he wouldn’t call it waiting, but it was in the back of his head whenever he was working or even when he was driving around doing uber runs. los angeles was too big for coincidences to keep happening, or at least that’s what he told himself, but then again, hadn’t he already seen you like three times in the past month? and he saw plenty of random faces all the time in his car, at dunkin, on the street, people came and went so quickly they blurred together. but you didn’t.
he didn’t think it was fate, though. he wasn’t that type of guy. he’d been in enough relationships to know better than to think some stranger bumping into him more than once meant something cosmic. still, he couldn’t figure out why he kept going over the last time he saw you, replaying the way you’d called him a “serious comedian” like you were poking fun but also not entirely wrong. it bugged him, but it also kind of amused him, and that combination stuck around longer than he wanted to admit.
then came saturday night. jake and jay had begged him to come out because their band with niki and sunoo had somehow booked a pool party gig. it was this random house in the hills, full of neon decorations, retro posters taped to the walls, and people who were way too into the theme. the whole thing was 80s/90s throwback, and the boys were leaning into it hard, blasting through covers like “i ran” and “take on me.” the crowd thought it was hilarious, which was the point, and heeseung was just there to support them because they always supported him when he did open mics.
by the time the set wrapped and people went back to swimming, drinking, or making out in random corners, heeseung figured it was time to leave. he made his way up to the front to grab his car keys from the little plastic tray where everyone had dumped them on the way in. and then he heard someone calling him. well, not by his real name, but something else, loud enough that he knew it was aimed at him. “hey, bo burnham!”
of course, bo burnham, a serious comedian. he froze mid step, keys halfway out of the tray, and slowly turned his head like he already knew who it was. you were standing up the steps near the patio, talking to some guy in a bucket hat. the second your eyes met, you grinned like you’d been waiting for this moment all night. heeseung let out the smallest sigh, then turned fully around, his expression somewhere between annoyed and tiredly amused. of course it was you. of course you’d pop up here, at this random retro pool party. los angeles was supposed to be huge, and somehow he was stuck in a loop where you kept finding him anyway. “what?” heeseung said back, kind of flat.
“can you grab my keys?” you asked, pointing lazily toward the table with a pile of car keys.
he looked at the table, squinting a little. “which one?”
“the prius.”
he turned his head back at you, then back at the table. it was basically all prius keys. “that does not help me at all.”
“the one with the green ribbon,” you said like it was obvious.
he spotted it, picked it up, and held it in his hand for a second before you made your way down, saying a quick half hearted goodbye to the guy you’d been talking to. you didn’t really wait for a reaction, just walked straight up to heeseung, took the keys from his hand, and kept walking like you assumed he’d follow. he didn’t even know why, but he did. after a few steps he finally asked, “why’d you leave that guy standing there like that?”
you shrugged, not even looking back. “he was talking for twenty minutes about the stock market and how los angeles is full of beautiful women. also he was shorter than me and wearing a bucket hat.”
heeseung laughed at that, shaking his head. “wow, now i get why you ditched him for me.”
“see?” you said, smiling, and heeseung looked away because you looked way too good for his own liking. you both kept walking down the street, the noise from the party fading behind you. at some point you slowed down and mumbled, “i don’t really remember where i parked my car.”
heeseung let out a small groan, somewhere between frustration and amusement, and glanced at you. you were unpredictable, and kind of reckless, but there was something about the way you pulled him into things that made him curious enough to stick around instead of just handing over the keys and leaving. so he kept walking next to you, not really sure why. he kept glancing at you while you looked around, clearly trying to remember where you parked, and he noticed how you didn’t really seem embarrassed about forgetting. you just kept scanning the street like it was no big deal, and he realized he kind of liked that about you, how you didn’t try too hard to look put together. it made him want to keep watching, like maybe you’d do something else unexpected.
eventually, after you gave up on actually remembering what street you parked on, you both ended up by this overlook, and the timing was just right because the sun was dipping and the sky had this weird mix of purple and orange. you stopped walking and leaned on the railing, pointing out how nice it looked. “the sky looks really pretty,” you said, squinting at it.
heeseung nodded and looked at it too, but he wasn’t really paying attention to the sky. “yeah, very pretty,” he said, then added without really thinking, “some other girl and guy would love this view.”
you turned to him, frowning a little. “what do you mean by that?”
he scratched the back of his neck, realizing how that sounded but deciding not to take it back. “it’s a perfect view for two and we’ve got no shot.”
you raised your eyebrows, kind of surprised at his honesty, and smirked just a little. “oh, well, let’s make something clear,” you said, looking straight at him now. “i think i’ll be the one to make that call.” heeseung didn’t really know what to say back, so he just stared at you for a moment, and looked at you with that kind of expression where he wasn’t saying anything but his face was basically asking so what’s your call?, and he let you keep going because you clearly wanted to. then you went, “look, i know you look so cute in your polyester suit—”
he immediately cut in, “it’s wool.”
you barely even blinked, just kept talking, “but you’re right, i’d never fall for you at all.”
the sky was this weird purple orange mess behind you, and he was half watching that and half watching you, not sure if you were messing with him or if you actually meant what you said. he tilted his head a little, smirking, and went, “yeah, what a waste of a lovely night.”
you caught the tone and laughed because you knew he was joking, so you shot back, “yeah, i’m frankly feeling nothing about that view.”
he raised his eyebrows, playing along, “is that so?”
and you went even further, “or it could be less than nothing.”
he let out a short laugh, “good to know, so you agree.” and just like that, in the middle of all this bickering, the two of you finally spotted your car down the street. you unlocked it and were about to climb in when he leaned on the door frame for a second and asked, “by the way, did you get the role?” you shook your head and said you hadn’t gotten a callback yet but the audition had been on thursday. he straightened up a little, nodding, then said, “well, now i’m curious to see if it was worth studying a serious comedian like me.”
you got in the car with a smirk, rolled down the window, and tossed out, “let’s see about that, funny guy,” before driving off, leaving him standing in the middle of the street watching your car disappear.
after that night heeseung didn’t really see you around. he was busy anyway, he’d started working on some bigger things, writing comedy bits for shows here and there, and his stand up sets were slowly pulling in more people than before. he figured out people liked it most when he told stories from when he used to drive uber, because the stuff that happened there was just naturally funny, and he had a ton of it. but even with all that going on, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. it wasn’t like he was sitting around miserable or anything, it was just that every time something reminded him of that night, like seeing a prius blocking him on the street, you’d pop back into his head.
then one night after a set, he was sitting at a table in the bar with jake and jay, just hanging out, when this girl walked up. her name was chaewon, and she was definitely into him, like leaning closer, smiling a lot, clearly giving him an opening. but heeseung didn’t really take it anywhere, he was polite but he didn’t follow up, and eventually she wandered off. jake and jay were both kind of stunned. jake looked at him like, “dude, what was that? she was seriously hot.”
heeseung just shrugged, like, “i don’t know, i’m not in the headspace for that right now.”
that’s when jake leaned back with that face like he figured something out. “ah, i get it. you’re upset that your little friend hasn’t shown up to see your sets anymore.”
jay blinked. “what little friend?”
and jake grinned. “some time ago this girl was hanging around, studying heeseung for a role, apparently she was auditioning to play a failed comedian.”
jay just laughed. “that’s the worst pickup line i’ve ever heard.”
heeseung rolled his eyes. “me and her don’t have anything. i barely know her. i just know she’s a barista, works at some café, drives a prius, and has big eyes.”
jake smirked, totally sarcastic. “wow, you know so little about her, like you definitely haven’t been paying attention or anything.”
they all laughed, but heeseung didn’t say much after that. he kept thinking how, honestly, he did want to see you again. it just sat there in the back of his mind, even while he pretended he didn’t care that much. so later that week heeseung just decided to drive over to the warner bros lot for no real reason other than he felt like it. he didn’t even have a plan, he just thought about the coffee shop there and ended up turning into the street. somehow he talked his way past the guard, and the excuse he used was that his car was part of some production. the guard didn’t seem too bothered, waved him through, and suddenly he was actually parked outside the same place you worked at. he walked in like it was nothing, and you froze when you saw him.
he immediately noticed the look on your face, that mix of shock and amusement, and you looked at him and said, “how the hell did you even get in here?”
he just smiled like it was the most normal thing in the world and said, “i told them my car was a prop.”
you raised an eyebrow and asked, “and it actually was?”
he shook his head right away, “no, of course not, i just said that so they’d let me in.” you couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it was, shaking your head while he leaned a little closer to the counter like he was actually here just for coffee.
“so, what would you like to order?” you smiled softly and pretended to act polite while you leaned against the counter to type his order.
he said, “i want an espresso. and also, i want to know what time do you get off?” you went wide-eyed for a second, like you weren’t expecting him to just ask that straight up, and before you could even answer, he added, “for research purposes, of course. i want to write a set about a barista trying to be an actress.”
you smirked and laughed again, clearly knowing he was teasing, and said, “i get off in thirty minutes.”
he nodded like that was enough, then added, “so get me an espresso and a sandwich or something to eat while i wait for you then.”
you grabbed the tablet and typed it down, still smiling a little, and just as you were turning to get his order, you asked, “anything else?” in the exact same tone he had used when he saw you at the dunkin’ donuts a while back. heeseung replied a quick no, smiling softly and cheeky, while he noticed the way your eyebrows lifted for a second, like a little quirk in your face that didn’t go unnoticed, and he saw how your lips curved in a tiny, controlled smile while you typed. he grabbed his order, smiled a little to himself, leaned back at his corner table, and waited. thirty minutes later you finally walked out, pulling your bag over your shoulder. heeseung was leaning against the wall near the side door like he’d been waiting there his whole life, though he tried to play it cool the second you spotted him. you raised an eyebrow like you weren’t sure if you should laugh or ask why he hadn’t just left, but you didn’t say anything, and he just fell into step with you as you both started walking across the lot.
he let the silence hang for a bit, then asked, “so what’s it actually like? being an actress.”
you shrugged like you’d been asked that too many times already. “i mean, i haven’t gotten many roles yet, but i’m trying. auditions, workshops, all that stuff. it’s not glamorous.”
he nodded slowly, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. “still sounds ambitious to me. you sat through my terrible open mics just to study for a part. that’s dedication.”
you laughed, shaking your head. “they weren’t that bad. you’re funny.”
he stopped walking for half a second, turning to stare at you. “wait, finally. you admitted you think i’m funny.”
you shot back, grinning now. “i said you’re not that bad.”
he pointed at you like he was keeping score. “no, you said the f word. i win.”
you rolled your eyes but laughed anyway, you didn’t argue further, and the two of you kept walking until you passed by a live set. a couple crew members waved at you both to keep quiet, and you stopped near the barricade. “we need to wait here,” you whispered.
“i know,” he whispered back, trying not to smile. “they shoot movies on my street.” then, like he was proving a point, he added, “c-stands. apple box. don’t forget to sign out.”
you laughed under your breath, shaking your head, but then the camera rolled and everyone went quiet. you turned your attention to the scene unfolding, the fake living room lights, the actors hitting their marks, the director crouched behind the monitor. heeseung didn’t watch the scene as much as he watched you watching it, noticing how your whole expression shifted into something brighter, like this was the part you really loved. when the director finally called cut, you let out a small sigh. “i love this stuff. makes coming to work easier.”
heeseung looked at you, then nodded. “yeah. i know what you mean. i used to work at this bar that did stand-up nights. every week some big names would roll through. i’d be bussing tables while chappelle or ali wong or whoever was testing new material right in front of me. it was kind of crazy, like being backstage without actually belonging there.” he paused, scratching the back of his neck. “anyway, it’s a samba-tapas place now.”
you turned to him, confused. “a what?”
“samba-tapas,” he repeated with a shrug. “it’s… exactly. the joke’s on history.” you laughed, shaking your head again, and he let the corner of his mouth tug up like he was proud of himself. “anyway, that’s l.a.,” he said. “they worship everything and they value nothing.” you laughed again, but this time it was smaller, kind of embarrassed, like you knew he was right but didn’t want to admit it too fast. he didn’t say anything right away, just watched you for a second while you both started walking again. after a few steps he asked, “how’d you get into all this?”
you looked over at him like you were about to brush it off, but then you didn’t. you just started talking. “oh — i — my aunt was an actress. she was in this traveling theater company. and there was this little library across the street from my house when i was growing up. and one day, my aunt flew into town, and she showed me the library’s old-movie section. we spent a whole day watching one after the other. bringing up baby. notorious. casablanca. i started putting on plays in my garage. i’d write the scripts and print up programs, and she’d give me props to use from wherever she’d just been — new york, london, paris. and then she’d jet off again and i wouldn’t hear from her for another year.”
heeseung kept quiet while you talked, not because he didn’t know what to say but because he was actually just interested, like, genuinely interested. the way you told the story didn’t sound rehearsed, it just sounded like someone remembering something that actually mattered to them. and for some reason, he liked hearing you talk like that. it was the kind of thing that made him want to ask more questions just so you’d keep going. “who would you invite to watch?” he asked after a moment. “your parents?”
“god no — i didn’t invite anyone. that would have been terrifying.” you let out a small laugh at yourself. “honestly, i wish i loved something else. i’ve tried so hard to want other things.” heeseung kept looking at you while you said it, and he didn’t interrupt. he was thinking about how most people don’t admit stuff like that out loud, especially not to someone they barely know. and he liked that you did. you kept going, not even pausing to check if he was still listening. “i left school after two years to come here, my fourth manager just dropped me, and my last audition was for a teen soap pitched as stranger things meets gossip girl.” you paused for a second, then added, completely deadpan, “should’ve been a lawyer.”
heeseung let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “yeah, because the world needs more lawyers.”
you looked at him, still a little serious, and said, “it doesn’t need more actresses.”
and he didn’t have a comeback for that right away, but then glanced at you, a little amused, a little serious. “you’re not just an actress.”
you frowned at him. “what do you mean, ‘just an actress’?”
“you said it yourself,” he went on, hands in his pockets. “you were writing plays in your garage when you were ten. you basically called yourself a child-prodigy playwright.”
you laughed. “that is not what i said.”
“you’re too modest to say it but it’s true,” he said, nodding like he had proof. “so you could write your own roles. write something that’s actually as interesting as you are.” you made a face, half smiling, half annoyed. heeseung continued, shaking his head. “all i’m saying is, richard pryor could’ve just told safe little knock knock jokes. what did he do instead? he made history.”
“ok,” you said, dry, “i’ll stop auditioning and make history instead.” he laughed again, and for a second it felt like that was enough. but then you glanced at him with this tiny grin, like you were holding something back. “anyway — i’m getting a feeling there’s something i should tell you…”
he looked over, curious. “yeah?”
you shrugged. “i hate stand-up comedy.”
heeseung stopped walking like you’d just said the most offensive thing possible. “what does that mean, you hate stand-up comedy?”
“it means when i watch one i don’t like it,” you said, completely straight.
he turned to face you, eyebrows raised. “that’s such a blanket statement. it’s like saying ‘i hate animals.’”
you didn’t flinch. “i do hate some animals.”
he stared at you for a beat, then let out this short laugh, rubbing his face like he couldn’t believe it. after a moment, he dropped his hand and asked, “do you need to be anywhere right now?”
you shook your head, your smile disappearing for a bit, your tummy getting anxious, but that was all it took. heeseung led you out of the lot, and eventually into this old spot in l.a. that looked like nothing special from the outside, but he started talking about it like it was a museum. he said it was one of those places that had hosted open mics for years, and big names used to come through when they were still nobodies. he opened the door and the place was half empty, just a few people scattered around, but he gestured to the stage like it was church. “most people say they hate stand-up comedy because they don’t have context. they don’t get where it came from.”
you tilted your head, sitting down at a booth with him. “i thought stand-up was just, i don’t know, chris rock.” heeseung stared at you with a look that said what?, still he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. you smirked, realizing instantly you’d hit a nerve. “i mean, i associate him with stand-up. it’s dork and easy.”
he leaned forward, gesturing at you like you were out of your mind. “it’s not easy! you know joe rogan once almost got into a fistfight with carlos mencia because he accused him of stealing jokes? that shit went down on stage, in front of a live crowd.”
you blinked, amused. “ok, fine, but chris rock is still the most famous one, right?”
he dropped his head into his hand, groaning. “y/n. these are things you can’t unsay.” you started laughing, louder than you expected, and the way he looked at you only made you laugh harder. he shook his head again, but then he slipped into one of his comedy-nerd rants. he told you about mitch hedberg, how he blew up with his deadpan one-liners but was also one of the most depressed people in the business, and how that mix of funny and broken was basically the soul of stand-up. you didn’t interrupt, you just watched him go off, and you thought it was kind of cute how he lit up when he talked about it, even though he pretended he didn’t care most of the time.
after a while he sat back, the edge of his smile fading into something smaller. “stand-up comedy is dying,” he said quietly. “everybody just wants to go viral on tiktok. you see comedians chasing clips, not sets. no one wants to bomb anymore, no one wants to actually get better. it’s all about what gets likes. the world tells everyone to move on, says stand-up had its moment. but i love it too much. i’m not moving on.”
you didn’t tell him, but in your head you thought it was kind of sweet, the way he cared so much about something that everyone else treated like a throwaway. it was nerdy, yeah, but it was the good kind of nerdy. and maybe that was the first time you admitted to yourself you liked listening to him talk, even if half of what he said sounded like an argument only he could win. the conversation drifted for a while after that, both of you just sitting in the booth like you’d known each other longer than you actually had. you were about to ask him something else when someone showed up at the edge of the table. “heeseung,” the guy said, leaning in a little.
heeseung looked up, surprised, then stood to give him a quick handshake. “soobin. hey, man.”
you watched while they greeted each other, and then heeseung gestured in your direction. “this is y/n,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world to introduce you. “y/n, soobin. he’s a comedian too.”
soobin smiled politely at you before turning back to heeseung. “i saw your set the other night,” he said. “the stuff about your uber rides? that was good. crowd loved it.”
heeseung gave a small shrug, trying not to look too affected. “thanks.”
soobin kept going. “seriously. you’ve been getting sharper. listen—shoot me a text sometime, alright? i might have something for you. like, a spot. could be good exposure.” he pulled out his phone like he was ready to type in a number right there.
heeseung nodded slowly. “yeah, sure. thanks, man. i’ll hit you up.” his voice was polite but not overly enthusiastic, and you could tell he wasn’t putting much weight on it.
soobin clapped him on the shoulder. “do that. anyway, good to see you.” he gave you another polite smile before heading back toward the bar.
the moment he walked away, you turned back to heeseung, eyebrows raised. “what was that?”
heeseung sat down again, opening his soda like nothing had happened. “that was soobin.”
“i gathered that,” you said. “you didn’t look that interested.”
heeseung laughed, shaking his head. “he’s just… one of those guys. he used to do stand-up for real, but now he chops up clips for tiktok, and the industry loves him because he’s marketable.” he took a sip, then added, “he’s fine, but it’s not my thing.”
you studied him for a second, still curious. “so are you actually gonna text him?”
heeseung shrugged again, leaning back in the booth. “probably not. guys like him want you to play the game their way, and i don’t feel like being someone else’s content machine.”
you tilted your head. “he sounded like he was offering you something.”
“yeah,” he said. “but not the kind of something i want.”
and you didn’t push further, but you couldn’t help thinking it was strange. here was this guy who kept saying he wanted a break, and the second someone dangled one in front of him, he brushed it off like it was nothing. then your phone buzzed on the table, cutting through the low hum of the bar and making you flinch a little. you picked it up, saw the missed call, and your face shifted without you realizing. “shit, i missed it,” you muttered under your breath, already standing and excusing yourself as you hurried toward the door.
heeseung watched you leave, leaning back in the booth with his soda in hand, curious but trying not to look like he was eavesdropping even from across the room. he saw the way you held the phone tight against your ear just outside the window, pacing a little as you spoke. he couldn’t hear a word, but he could tell it wasn’t just a casual call. a minute later you walked back in, still holding your phone. you slid into the booth again, and for a second you didn’t say anything. you just stared at the screen before setting it face down on the table. heeseung raised an eyebrow, waiting. you looked at him, hesitated, then finally said it. “i got a callback.”
heeseung straightened up. “really? for what?”
“that show i told you about,” you said.
“the failed comedian one? stranger things meets gossip girl?”
“yeah. well… they’re saying it’s more like rebel without a cause.”
heeseung’s eyebrows shot up, and he leaned forward with this grin you hadn’t seen yet. “that’s huge! ‘i got the bulletssss!’” he dragged out the line in a dramatic voice. you laughed, shaking your head, but he caught something in the way you did it. “wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “you’ve seen it, right?”
“obviously,” you said too quickly, then paused. “...no.”
“what? you’re the movie person.”
“it’s the one i lie about,” you admitted, half embarrassed, half daring him to make fun of you.
he just stared at you, looking almost offended. “you can’t do this audition and never see rebel. come on. the rialto’s showing it. i can take you. for research.”
you hesitated, leaning back in the booth. “for research?”
“yeah,” he said, nodding like it was settled. “10pm monday. the rialto. cool?”
you thought for a second, then smiled. “ok.” you repeated it, slower this time, like you wanted to make sure it was locked in. “for research.” you looked at him, and he looked right back, both of you trying not to show how much that tiny plan suddenly felt like something more.
monday night came quicker than you expected. you had promised him you’d be there at ten, but the day completely slipped away from you. you picked up an extra shift because one of your coworkers called out, and then traffic leaving the lot was worse than usual, and by the time you finally got home you realized you still had to change. you told yourself you had time, but then you got caught up looking for your jacket, and suddenly it was ten already and you were still standing in front of the mirror, annoyed at yourself for running late. you grabbed your keys, rushed out the door, and texted him a quick “on my way” that you weren’t sure he even saw before you shoved your phone back in your pocket.
heeseung, meanwhile, was already inside the rialto. he got there on time, of course, because he thought it would be stupid to be late when he was the one who suggested it. he didn’t know if you’d actually show. he sat down in one of the middle rows, hands in his lap, and tried to look casual, but the truth was he was disappointed when the minutes kept ticking by and you didn’t appear. inside the theater the lights started to dim, the usual hush falling over the crowd as people settled into their seats. heeseung sighed quietly, leaning back, telling himself he should’ve expected this. maybe you got busy, maybe you forgot, maybe you just didn’t want to come after all. the projector flickered on, the opening credits started, and for a moment he was sure he’d be watching the whole thing alone.
then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the aisle. he turned his head, and there you were, walking carefully in the dark, scanning the row numbers. when you finally spotted him, you looked straight at him and gave the smallest smile, like you were half apologizing, half relieved you’d made it. heeseung blinked, then sat up straighter, making sure you could slip into the seat next to him. you leaned in, whispered, “sorry, i’m late,” a little out of breath, and he just shook his head like he wanted to act annoyed but couldn’t actually hide the fact that he was glad you came.
the movie kept rolling, the screen lighting up both your faces, and for a second he didn’t even look at it. he just glanced at you, still catching your breath, your jacket half slipping off your shoulder, and he thought maybe being a little disappointed before made sense now, because it only made this part feel better.
half an hour went by and the two of you had barely spoken since the movie started. heeseung had his arm resting on the armrest, casual at first, but you felt it there and hesitated, your hand hovering like you were debating whether to move closer or stay put. then he shifted slightly to his right, enough that you caught it. you moved back a little too, like it was instinct, the two of you awkwardly negotiating this invisible line between your seats. a few minutes passed, and you edged your elbow onto the armrest. he caught that, the space between you kept shrinking little by little, just small movements that added up. your hands were close enough now that you noticed every twitch of his fingers, and you weren’t sure if it was on purpose when yours inched toward his, but either way they were almost touching. your breath quickened just slightly, and you could feel his attention shift in your direction even if he kept his eyes on the screen. then finally, finally, your hands touched.
then you turned your head, and for the first time that night, you caught each other’s eyes in the dark. the flicker of the screen lit up your face just enough, and suddenly it felt too deliberate, like you were both aware of how close you actually were. heeseung’s chest tightened a little in that kind of way that happens when you realize this might actually go somewhere. so he leaned in, just slightly, waiting to see if you’d do the same. and you did, not all the way, but enough that it was clear neither of you were pulling away.
and right in that exact moment — just as james dean and natalie wood arrived at griffith observatory — the screen burned out. a white flash cut across the film, the sound warped, and then the projector shut down completely. the screen went blank, the theater lights snapped on too quickly, way too bright, and the entire room filled with groans and complaints. people started murmuring, standing up, looking around for answers. heeseung leaned back, blinking like he needed a second to process it. he couldn’t believe his luck. out of all the times for this to happen, it had to be now.
you let out a laugh, not that you thought it was actually funny, but the situation itself was so ridiculous you didn’t know what else to do. he turned his head toward you, annoyed but amused, while you kept shaking your head like you couldn’t believe it either. then you looked at him, eyes brighter now, and said, “i have an idea.”
you left the theater before anyone else, both of you laughing a little at how abrupt it all ended. heeseung followed you out to the parking lot, and by the time you climbed into his car, you were already telling him to just drive. he gave you a look, but then he turned the key anyway. the road up to the griffith observatory was long and curved, the windows were down, the night air cool against your face, and every time the road bent, you caught glimpses of los angeles below, lit up like it was trying too hard to impress someone. heeseung didn’t say much while driving, but you could tell he was focused, maybe even nervous.
when he finally pulled up near the observatory, the place looked mostly quiet, a few cars scattered around, no big crowds. you got out together, walking slow, checking if there was a way in. after circling for a bit, you found an unlocked side door and slipped through like you weren’t sure if you were allowed, but neither of you stopped. inside it was quiet except for the hum of the building, and you wandered past the exhibits like you’d just stumbled into a school trip after hours. the tesla coil sat in the corner, buzzing faintly, sparks jumping every few seconds, and you both stopped to watch it for a moment before continuing up the stairs. when you reached the top floor, the air felt different, the quiet heavier, and heeseung finally broke it. “you know, i always wanted to come here,” he said, looking around like he was trying to take it all in. “just never had anyone to go with.”
you glanced at him, grinning. “so am i good enough company?”
he gave you a look, half smug, half sincere. “you’re the best.”
before you could answer, he reached out and took your hand, like he’d been thinking about it for a while. he didn’t let go as he led you into the planetarium, where the dome ceiling stretched above, filled with stars projected in perfect stillness. you both stood there for a moment, just watching, his hand still in yours, and for once neither of you felt the need to fill the silence. it was just the hum of the projector throwing stars across the dome. you were still holding his hand, both of you looking up, when heeseung suddenly cleared his throat. at first you thought he was about to say something serious, but then you realized he was humming. it was soft, almost like he didn’t want you to notice at first, but after a second the melody was clear. he was mumbling the words under his breath, barely singing, “you must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss…” the tune from casablanca.
you looked at him, eyebrows raised, and laughed. “are you seriously singing right now?”
he shrugged, still smiling and humming. “what? you’re the one who said you love old movies. i’m just trying to set the mood.” before you could roll your eyes at him, he squeezed your hand and gave a small tug, stepping back and turning his wrist so you spun lightly in place. you stumbled into the movement, laughing as he guided you into it, and when you stopped, he was already gesturing for you to keep going, like he was trying to make a dance out of nothing. you were giggling the whole time, trying to whisper “stop” even though you clearly didn’t mean it. heeseung had that serious but playful look on his face, like he was committing to the bit now that he’d started, and he kept his hand firm on yours as the two of you circled the floor slowly.
the “music” was just his voice, still humming the same old tune, slightly off-key but not enough to ruin it. you were shaking your head, laughing at how ridiculous it was, and he was grinning like he couldn’t believe you were actually going along with it. the two of you moved around the empty planetarium, your shoes squeaking lightly against the floor, your free hand clutching at your jacket so it wouldn’t fall off while he tried to spin you again. you almost tripped, caught yourself, and the both of you burst into louder laughter that echoed in the empty dome. heeseung didn’t let go this time. instead of spinning you out, he pulled you in, his hand slipping naturally to your waist like he’d been thinking about it for a while but only just got brave enough to do it. you froze for a second, surprised, but you didn’t move away. so the dancing slowed. no more silly turns, no stumbling. just the two of you standing close, swaying a little to the quiet rhythm of his off-key humming. your hands found their place, one resting lightly on his shoulder, the other still in his.
he looked down at you then, studying your face like he was trying to figure out if you were really okay with this. his voice came low, almost hesitant. “you know, i didn’t actually think you’d come tonight.”
you tilted your head, smiling. “why?”
he shrugged, still holding your waist, his thumb brushing against the side of your jacket. “i don’t know. you just… you have this way of keeping me guessing. i never know if you’re going to show up, or laugh at me, or tell me i’m an idiot.”
you laughed softly. “i can do all three.”
“yeah,” he said, nodding, smiling at that. “and i like it more than i should.” you looked at him, really looked, and he didn’t look away. there wasn’t a punchline waiting this time, no joke to break the silence. you were both standing there, too close to pretend it was still just dancing. his hand stayed steady on your waist, yours hovered on his shoulder like you weren’t sure whether to pull back or hold on tighter. the stars projected above flickered quietly, but neither of you were really paying attention to them anymore.
heeseung was looking at you in this way that made it obvious he was deciding whether to take the step or wait for you to do it. you could feel it in the way his breathing slowed a little, in the way he didn’t crack a joke to cut the tension like he usually did. he leaned in just a bit, careful, and when you didn’t move away, his eyes flicked down toward your lips before going back up to meet your gaze. you leaned in too, just slightly, enough to close the gap between you both. when your lips met his, it was soft and hesitant at first. heeseung let out a small breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his grip on your waist tightening just a little as if to keep you close.
you kissed him back, steady and unhurried, and even though it was quiet in the planetarium, it felt like the whole room shifted around that moment. there wasn’t any orchestra, no audience, no big finish — just the two of you finally giving in to something that had been building for weeks. he pulled back slowly, just enough to look at you again, his forehead almost touching yours. he didn’t say anything right away, but the look on his face was enough, like he was still surprised you hadn’t pushed him away. you were smiling, though, and that was all the confirmation he needed before leaning in for another kiss.
you kissed him again, slower this time, and when you pulled back, you were both smiling in that way that wasn’t polished or practiced, just uneven and real. heeseung didn’t let go of your hand, and instead of saying anything, he tugged lightly, pulling you a step forward. you looked at him like you were waiting for him to explain, but he just gave you this little grin and moved his hand back to your waist, guiding you into another dance even though there was still no music. so you went along with it. the two of you circled the empty planetarium floor again, not fast, not in sync, but close enough that it didn’t matter. your shoes scraped quietly, his shoulder brushed against yours every time you shifted, and he kept humming that same half-forgotten tune under his breath, off-key and casual like he didn’t care how it sounded. you laughed a couple times, mostly at how ridiculous it was to keep dancing after everything, but you didn’t pull away. he held on like he didn’t want to let the night end yet, and you didn’t either. it felt like the kind of thing you’d both always remember. and you did.
more than a month went by, and somewhere in between you and heeseung had accidentally built a routine. it wasn’t official, no one said anything about it, but it was there. heeseung would pick you up after shifts and drive aimlessly just to end up at the same diner you both started going to, the one with fries that weren’t even that good but somehow tasted better at two in the morning. you sat through a couple of his sets, some good, some rough, and every time he came off stage, you were there with the same half-smile that made him feel like it didn’t matter which way it went. one weekend you dragged him to a thrift shop near your place, and he spent an hour trying on the most ridiculous jackets he could find until you were crying laughing. he claimed one of them was “for stage presence” and actually bought it. coffee runs, walks that went on too long because neither of you wanted to go home yet, him showing up at your apartment just to play you clips of old stand-ups you “needed to know.” it was enough that a month later it felt weird to think about not seeing him almost every day.
one night you were at your desk, notebook open, pen moving fast. you’d been scribbling dialogue for the past hour, trying to shape it into something solid. it wasn’t an audition monologue or someone else’s lines this time, it was yours. character headings, scene headings, bits of dialogue stacked on top of each other in your messy handwriting. yunjin, your roommate, wandered in, pajamas on, a bowl of cereal in her hand. she stopped at your door, tilting her head. “what’s that?”
you looked up quickly, almost defensive. “it’s a play. i’m going to put it on myself.”
from her room, you heard sakura, your other roommate’s voice call out, muffled but clear. “a play? you better give us roles!”
you sighed, laughing. “actually… it’s a one-woman show.”
there was a beat of silence and then, from both sides of the apartment, loud groans and mock screams like you’d just committed some crime against theater itself. you rolled your eyes and tried to focus again, but that’s when it came the sound of a the honk. long, sharp, echoing up through your window. yunjin froze mid-bite, spoon still in her mouth. “...is that gonna happen every time?”
you smiled instantly, not even bothering to hide it. “i think so.”
outside, parked at the curb, was heeseung’s car. he was leaning forward over the steering wheel like he always did when he laid on the horn, probably grinning to himself at how annoyed your neighbors must’ve been by now. you rushed out of your building, running down the steps when you saw his car already waiting. heeseung leaned over from the driver’s seat, window rolled down, grinning at you like he’d been planning this moment all afternoon. you didn’t slow down, you yanked the passenger door open and slid right in, throwing your arms around his neck before he could even say anything. he laughed against your lips when you kissed him, the kind of laugh that comes out because he wasn’t expecting it but liked it too much to stop.
when you pulled back, still close enough to feel his breath, he tilted his head and said quietly, “so, where do you wanna go tonight, pretty?”
the word hit you before the question did, and you blinked, caught off guard, smiling because you didn’t know how else to react. “uh… surprise me.”
he smirked at your answer, hand sliding to the gearshift like he was already one step ahead. “good. i was planning on it anyway.”
and for once he wasn’t bluffing. an hour later you were both stepping into a small restaurant tucked away in a quieter part of the city, the kind of place that wasn’t trying too hard but still felt like you should’ve dressed up for it. heeseung had ditched his usual hoodie for a button-up that still didn’t sit right on him, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair pushed back just enough to make it look like he’d actually tried. you wore something simple but nicer than usual, and the second he saw you step out of the car, he stared for a moment longer than he should have before catching himself. inside, you sat across from each other in a booth, menus open but completely ignored. heeseung leaned his chin against his hand, eyes on you instead of the page. “so if i order something really boring, like grilled chicken, are you gonna judge me?”
you shook your head, laughing. “no, but i’ll tell everyone about it.”
he grinned, leaning closer across the table. “what if i order the most expensive thing just to impress you?”
you raised an eyebrow, biting back a smile. “then i’ll know you’re full of shit.”
he chuckled, shaking his head. “okay, fine, maybe i just wanna impress you without going broke. is that allowed?”
the way he said it caught you off guard again, you looked down at the menu to avoid giving him the satisfaction of your reaction, but he noticed anyway. heeseung leaned back, smug in the most harmless way, like making you flustered was the highlight of his night. and honestly, it kind of was. the food came and went, heeseung had been telling you about this one guy who bombed so badly at an open mic last week that he forgot his own punchline and just walked off stage without saying goodbye, and you were still laughing when the conversation shifted.
“you know what i actually want?” he said, pushing his plate away. “like, long term? i wanna open my own bar. but not just a bar — a place where people can come do open mics without it feeling like they’re begging for five minutes.”
you raised your eyebrows, smiling. “so like a safe space for bad jokes?”
he smirked at you. “for bad jokes that turn into good ones. you’d be surprised how much people can do if they’re not terrified of being judged.”
you nodded, playing with your glass. “honestly, that doesn’t sound bad. i’d probably end up writing a whole play about it. i’m working on one now, actually.”
his face lit up, genuine curiosity replacing the usual teasing. “the one-woman show you mentioned?”
“yeah,” you admitted. “i’m trying to finish a draft. it feels stupid half the time, but i can’t get it out of my head.”
he leaned forward, elbows on the table, like he was trying to catch every word. “it doesn’t sound stupid. it sounds like something people would actually show up for. especially if you’re in it.”
you rolled your eyes, heat creeping into your cheeks. “you’re just saying that.”
“no, i’m not,” he said quickly, grinning. “i mean, i’d heckle you a little, just to keep you on your toes. but i’d still buy a ticket.”
you shook your head, laughing. “thanks, that means so much.”
he chuckled, then hesitated. “soobin asked me to do something for him. like, for his youtube channel. clips, sketches, whatever. he said it could get me more traction, but…” he trailed off, fiddling with his napkin.
“but you don’t know if you want to?”
“yeah. it’s like… i don’t want to just be another guy chasing clicks. i want to actually get better at stand-up, you know? like, really work at it. not just throw out for the algorithm.”
you tilted your head, studying him. “then think about what gets you closer to that bar you wanna open. what’s actually going to help you get there. not just what looks good right now.”
heeseung blinked at you, then smiled slowly, almost like he was impressed. “that’s… actually good advice. i thought you’d just make fun of me.”
you leaned back, smirking. “i mean, i can still do that if you want.”
he laughed, shaking his head. “nah, i like this version better. supportive, smart, and still kind of scary.”
“scary?” you raised an eyebrow.
“yeah,” he said, leaning closer again, voice low enough that it sent a tiny shiver down your spine. “because you actually make me think about stuff i’ve been avoiding. that’s dangerous.” you tried to come up with something clever to throw back at him, but the way he was looking at you made your words catch. you just shook your head, smiling into your glass, and heeseung leaned back in his seat like he knew exactly what he’d just done.
the drive back was nothing like the quiet rides you’d had before. heeseung had the windows cracked just enough for the breeze to slip in, and he was messing with the radio like it was some kind of game. every time a song came on, he’d either sing it badly on purpose or change it within the first five seconds, waiting to see your reaction. when you finally told him to just pick one and stick with it, he stopped on some old r&b track and immediately started drumming on the steering wheel, shooting you a grin. “you like this one, right?” he asked, already singing along before you even answered.
you laughed, shaking your head. “you don’t even know the lyrics.”
“doesn’t matter,” he said, leaning toward you a little, his voice dropping into something exaggerated and silly. “i’m making them up as i go. it’s my version.”
you tried to hide your smile, but he noticed anyway, and it only made him sing louder, just off-key enough to make you cover your face with your hand. by the time you pulled into his street, the music was still low in the background, and you were still shaking your head at how ridiculous he was. he parked, turned the engine off, and glanced at you for a moment longer than necessary before hopping out and jogging around the front like he was going to open your door for you. you rolled your eyes but let him do it, and he bowed dramatically when you stepped out, which made you laugh all over again.
inside, the place was dark and quiet. he flicked on the light and set his keys down on the counter. “jake and jay are out tonight,” he said casually, kicking his shoes off, then glanced at you with this little grin. “which means i actually get you all to myself.”
you laughed, trying not to look as flustered as you felt. “is that a good thing?”
“it’s the best thing,” he shot back immediately, closing the door behind you. heeseung didn’t even wait for you to put your bag down. his hand was sliding around your waist, pulling you closer until your chest bumped into his. before you could say anything, he kissed you deeper. your hand grabbed at his shirt automatically, keeping yourself steady while his arm tightened around you. when he finally pulled back, just slightly, his lips still brushing against yours, he was smiling in that way that made your stomach turn over. “see?” he murmured, voice low, almost smug. “told you it was the best thing.” you blinked up at him, catching your breath, and he grinned wider, leaning in just enough to kiss you again, shorter this time, playful. then he tilted his head like he was really thinking about it. “you know, you could’ve just admitted you’ve been waiting for me to kiss you like that.”
you shoved his shoulder lightly, trying not to laugh, but he caught your hand before you could move it away, still holding you close like he had no intention of letting go. his lips brushed your jaw before finding your mouth again, and you let out this small sound you hadn’t planned to, which only made him tighten his grip on your waist. he walked you back a few steps until the back of your legs hit the couch, and you ended up sitting down without even realizing that’s where he was steering you. he leaned over, bracing one hand on the armrest beside your head, and the other trailed along your thigh before tugging gently at your knee so you’d pull him closer. “you’re really not gonna admit it, huh?” he teased between kisses, his voice low, rougher now, but still carrying that smug tone that made you want to roll your eyes and kiss him harder at the same time.
“admit what?” you shot back, even though your hands were already under his shirt, fingers brushing against his skin like you’d been waiting for this moment longer than you wanted to confess.
he let out a soft laugh, kissing down your neck as he murmured, “that you wanted this just as much as i did.” his mouth lingered there, making it harder for you to argue when your breath kept catching. you tugged at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons until he finally leaned back just enough to let you finish, and the second it was undone he shrugged it off, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. your eyes dragged over him before you could stop yourself. his chest defined, his shoulders were broad, his stomach flat with just enough muscle lining the sides, and the light from the room caught on his skin in a way that made you pause longer than you meant to. he caught the look, of course he did, and grinned like he’d been waiting for it. “you’re staring,” he teased, voice low, almost amused.
you smirked back, not even pretending to deny it. “the view’s nice.”
he raised a brow, leaning down again until his face was close enough that you could feel his breath. “oh, yeah?” he murmured, like he wanted you to repeat it. before you could fire back, he kissed you again, one hand braced on the couch beside you, the other sliding along your waist like he was reminding you he was still the one pulling you closer. his hand moved lower, finding the hem of your dress and tugging it up slowly. in one motion he pulled it over your head, tossing it aside with the same ease he’d dropped his own shirt earlier.
he looked down at you then, eyes dragging over every inch of skin he’d just uncovered before settling back on yours. “so fucking pretty,” he muttered, not bothering to hide it, the words half soft and half smug. he bent down again, kissing you harder for a moment, teeth catching your bottom lip, then pulling back just enough to kiss you softer, almost playful. his mouth trailed away from yours, finding your jawline, kissing slow along the curve of it before moving down your neck. his lips lingered there, pressing at the spot just below your ear before working lower, mouth brushing across your collarbone. heeseung’s hand tightened at your side as he kissed down, pressing slow, unhurried kisses across your chest until he reached the line of your bra. he paused there just for a second, his breath warm against your skin, before dipping down and kissing right between your breasts, like he was claiming every bit of space he could get.
“fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured against your skin. he kissed you again there, softer this time, then dragged his lips up the curve of one breast, his hand sliding higher to brush over your shoulder. he caught the thin strap of your bra with his fingers, tugging it down slowly, eyes flicking up to yours with that smug little grin. “so fucking pretty,” he repeated. his mouth followed the path his hand made, kissing over your bare shoulder, then moving back down to press another kiss right at the edge of your bra. he slid the strap the rest of the way down your arm, fingers steady but slow, like he wasn’t in any rush. the other strap followed, and before you could even think about it he had the clasp undone, letting the bra fall away completely. his eyes dragged over you for a second, his grin curving wider as he settled between your legs, letting your thighs wrap tight around his hips like it was the most natural place for him to be.
“jesus,” he breathed out, his hand brushed up your side, pausing just under your breast before he leaned down and kissed over the curve of it, then lower, his mouth closing around your nipple. his tongue dragged slow, teasing, and when he pulled back just enough to suck again, his other hand was already cupping the other side of your chest. he glanced up at you when you let out a small moan, his lips shiny, his voice low. “been trying not to think about this since the first night i saw you.” another kiss, slower, then a small bite before he soothed it with his tongue.
he moved to your other breast, kissing all over before finally closing his mouth around your nipple, sucking gently like he wanted to draw out every sound you were holding back. “look at you,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his words spilling between kisses. “you’re unreal… fuck.” your legs tightened around his waist when he pressed closer, and he let out a quiet laugh against your skin, squeezing your hip with one hand. “yeah, that’s it… i knew you’d feel this good.” he kissed across your chest again, then went back to your nipple, sucking a little harder this time, groaning softly like he was the one losing control.
his hands slid down your sides until they settled on your hips, fingers pressing in a little firmer this time. before you even realized what he was doing, he shifted and pulled you up with him, making you gasp as your legs automatically wrapped tighter around his waist. “got you,” he muttered, grinning like it was no big deal that he’d just lifted you off the couch. you clung to his shoulders, laughing a little under your breath, but he only tightened his grip, carrying you like he’d done it a hundred times before.
he nudged the door to his room open with his foot, and leaned down just enough to kiss you again as he walked, dropping you carefully on the bed, his body following right after so he was hovering above you. he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands sliding up your bare thighs. he trailed his mouth down your neck, slow and unhurried, nipping lightly before moving lower, across your collarbone, over the top of your chest, and further down until he was at your stomach. his palms pressed to your hips as he kissed along the soft skin there, his grin brushing against you every time he glanced up.
by the time his lips reached your hipbone, he tugged at the hem of your panties just slightly, enough to make you twitch. he mouthed over the thin fabric, kissing right where you were already sensitive, his tongue brushing against the cloth in the laziest, most teasing way. “you like this?” he asked, voice muffled against you, kissing again just a little harder through the fabric. his hands squeezed your hips, holding you steady when you shifted under him. “yeah, you do,” he said with that same smug softness, kissing you once more, slower this time, his nose brushing against your skin.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hair falling into his eyes a little, his fingers still firm on your hips. “you’re already fucking soaked through,” he said, not even trying to hide the smug edge in his voice. his thumb dragged across the wet spot on the fabric like he wanted to make a point of it, and then he looked back up at you with that smirk that made your stomach twist. he hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged the fabric down slowly, dragging it past your thighs, tossing it off the side of the bed without bothering to look. he spread your legs wider with his hands, his thumbs brushing over the inside of your thighs as he lowered his head again.
the first drag of his tongue was slow, deliberate, from the bottom up, and he hummed low in his throat like he was tasting something he liked. he kissed right against your clit, soft at first, then sucked lightly, just enough to make you gasp, and when you did, he pulled back with a grin. “yeah, that’s it,” he muttered, lips brushing against you as he spoke. “don’t hold back. i wanna hear it.”
he went back down without giving you space to answer, tongue flicking against you faster, then slowing down just to tease, like he was pacing himself on purpose. every now and then, he glanced up at you through his hair, eyes half lidded, like he was checking to see exactly how wrecked you were getting from just his mouth. “you taste fucking amazing,” he said against you, then sucked on your clit harder this time, one hand sliding up to press your stomach down lightly when you tried to jerk up. your head tilted back against the pillow, your breaths getting shorter, messier, and he noticed, he pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, his lips shiny, his voice low and amused. “you’re close, huh? i can feel it,” he said, his fingers digging in slightly as he pushed your legs wider. then his mouth was back on you, sucking at your clit harder, tongue pressing and flicking until the noises spilling out of you got sharper.
“heeseung—” you moaned, his name breaking out of you half breathless.
he groaned against you at the sound, like it turned him on just hearing you say his name like that, and doubled down, his pace quickening, more focused now, like he wasn’t letting you out of this until you gave in completely. your hand flew to his hair, pulling a little, trying to ground yourself, but it only made him grin against you, his muffled laugh vibrating straight through you. “let go, baby,” he muttered, sucking harder, tongue flicking in perfect rhythm until your whole body clenched and your cry broke out sharp. you came hard, thighs trembling around his head, hips lifting despite his hand holding you down, your fingers clutching his hair. he didn’t stop until you were gasping, only then easing his mouth off, slowing down, kissing you soft through the aftershocks like he was savoring every second of it.
when he finally pulled away, his lips and chin wet, he climbed up your body slowly, pressing light kisses along your stomach, your chest, up your collarbone, until he was hovering over you again. you were still catching your breath, skin flushed, and he leaned down, brushing his lips over your jaw, then your cheek, soft kisses that contrasted how wrecked you felt. “you’re unreal,” he whispered against your ear, his voice low, almost hoarse, and then his tone shifted, smug and obscene all at once. “you just came so hard on my tongue i could fucking drown in you.”
you groaned at his words, your hands immediately moving down, slipping under the waistband of his jeans without even thinking. he didn’t stop you, he let you, his bulge pressing against the fabric obvious now, and the second your fingers brushed him, he smirked, leaning back just enough to watch you. “can’t wait, huh?” he teased, one hand still stroking your side gently while the other braced on the bed. you surprised him when you suddenly pushed at his chest, urging him back until his shoulders hit the mattress. he just let you, smirking like he’d been waiting for this, one arm sliding lazily behind his head like he was comfortable letting you take control, at least for now.
you straddled his hips, fingers already tugging at the button of his jeans, and he raised an eyebrow at you, smug as hell, like he wasn’t going to lift a single finger to help. “go on then,” he murmured, watching you struggle with the zipper. you shot him a look, bratty, but you still tugged his jeans down, peeling them off along with his underwear. he was already hard, his dick was huge, thick and heavy against his stomach, and you paused for a second, eyes flicking up to meet his, and he smirked even wider like he knew exactly what you were thinking. “don’t stare too long, princess,” he drawled, his tone soft but taunting. “you can handle it, right?”
you rolled your eyes, pretending like you weren’t affected, but he caught the way your thighs squeezed tighter around his waist. you leaned down anyway, your lips brushing against his length in the lightest kiss, testing, and he hummed low in his throat, smug and approving at once. “that’s cute,” he said, his voice rougher now, though his arm was still lazily tucked behind his head. “but you’re gonna have to do better than that.” you smirked up at him, deliberately licking along the side of his cock, slow and teasing, ignoring the way he exhaled sharply. then you wrapped your hand around him, stroking once before leaning down to take him into your mouth, slow, not giving him all at once. he groaned, finally moving his free hand to your hair, his fingers curling in loosely like a reminder of who really had the control. “fuck, just like that,” he muttered, his tone both encouraging and commanding. “open wider, don’t be shy.”
you pulled back enough to glare up at him, your lips shiny, and he smirked again, smug and relaxed, still with that arm behind his head like he was enjoying a show. you sank down lower this time, taking more of him in until he hissed through his teeth, his hand tightening briefly in your hair. he laughed, low and breathless, his voice strained but still cocky. “fuck, yeah, take it.” you hummed around him, his hips twitching up slightly before he forced himself to stay still. his voice was ragged now, but he still kept that smug edge. “fuck, you look good like this. keep going, don’t stop.” he let you take your time, but every word out of his mouth, every little tug on your hair, made it clear he was only letting you think you were in charge.
your pace picked up, your hand stroking what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, and heeseung finally lost that perfectly relaxed posture he’d been keeping. his head tipped back into the pillow, his lips parted, and his hips started twitching just a little, betraying how close he was. his breathing got rougher, groans breaking out every time you slid down deeper, and then his hand suddenly tightened in your hair, tugging just enough to pull you back. “fuck,” he hissed, his chest rising and falling hard now, his cock shiny and wet from your mouth. “i have to be inside you when i cum.”
he tugged harder, pulling you up, and before you could protest he was rolling the two of you over, his weight pressing you into the mattress. you looked up at him, a little dazed but still smirking, and said, “couldn’t handle me?”
he barked out a laugh, smug even while catching his breath, his hand pushing your thighs apart. “cute,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss you rough, messy, like he didn’t even care you could still taste him on your tongue. “but you’re mine now.”
he shifted down, the head of his cock sliding against your clit, teasing, making you jolt under him. his grin widened immediately at your reaction, and he did it again, slower, just to watch your face. you grabbed at his shoulder, glaring. “stop fucking around. just do it.”
he raised his eyebrows, his tip circling you again, the pressure maddening. “you’re really still gonna act bratty when you’re literally begging for me?”
your hips bucked against him involuntarily, and you tried to cover it up with attitude. “i don’t know if i can take it,” you shot back, your voice shaking but sharp.
heeseung’s smirk softened into something darker, more certain, and he leaned down, his mouth brushing against your ear as he whispered, “oh, i know you can.” his tone was so confident it made you clench around nothing. but instead of pushing into you right away, he pulled back and slipped his hand between your thighs. his fingers pressed against you, slow at first, rubbing along your slick folds like he was testing how ready you were. he slid one inside, then two, curling them just right, his thumb brushing over your clit as he worked you open.
you moaned loudly, your legs tightening around his hips, your nails digging into his arm. “heeseung—”
he groaned at the way you said his name, his mouth dropping to your neck again, kissing and sucking like he couldn’t help himself. “that’s it. fuck, you’re so wet for me. you were made to take it.” he kept fingering you, faster now, his wrist twisting slightly to hit deeper, his thumb relentless on your clit. your hips were rocking against his hand, chasing it, and he was watching you the whole time. his fingers worked deeper, rougher, curling just right, and you couldn’t stop the way your body arched into him. his lips brushed your jaw, then your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, “yeah, that’s it. i can feel you fucking squeezing me so tight. you’re so desperate for my cock but look at you, already falling apart on my fingers.” your moans came louder, he laughed under his breath, smug as ever, and pushed his fingers harder into you, fucking you fast, messy, relentless. his thumb rubbed rough circles over your clit, and you whined his name again, broken. “moan for me,” he demanded, his pace quickening. “louder, come on.”
“heeseung—please,” you gasped, voice cracking, and his grin widened against your skin.
“fuck, hearing you moan my name like that,” he muttered, low and filthy right into your ear, “you love this, don’t you? letting me wreck you like this.” his teeth grazed your earlobe, and his fingers pumped harder, faster, until the sound of how wet you were was obscene, filling the room. you clenched hard around him, your whole body trembling, and he groaned, smug as ever. “gonna cum for me, huh? be a good girl and cum all over my fingers.” your back arched off the mattress, your cries sharp as the pressure built and snapped. your release hit so hard your legs shook, your thighs pressing desperately against his arm, but he didn’t stop, he kept fucking you with his fingers, driving you higher until you gasped and choked out sounds you couldn’t control. and then it happened — wet, messy, your body giving out as you squirted all over his hand, the sheets, your own skin.
heeseung let out a low groan, smug and thrilled, his fingers still moving through it. “fuck, look at you. you’re soaking everything. i knew you had that in you.” he pulled his hand back just enough to see the mess glistening on his skin, smirking as he wiped his fingers over your inner thigh, teasing, spreading it back on you. “so fucking good for me. you’re mine, oh my god.” you were still trembling, your chest heaving, eyes fluttering half shut, and he kissed your cheek, your jaw, your temple, like he couldn’t get enough of you even while you were wrecked under him. “aw, baby” he whispered against your skin, smug but softer now, “you just made a mess all over me. you know how fucking hot that is? i could watch you do that over and over.” heeseung pulled his hand away slowly, his fingers glistening as he looked down at you wrecked on the bed, your thighs still twitching, your chest rising and falling fast. he leaned over you, brushing his lips against your jawline, soft for just a moment, and murmured, “are you okay?”
you nodded quickly, still catching your breath, but the desperation in your eyes said more than anything. “please,” you whispered, your voice hoarse, “i need you—”
his mouth curved into that smug grin, the one that made your stomach flip, and he pressed a kiss against your cheek, dragging it down to your lips, slow and teasing. “so needy,” he muttered, his voice low and amused, “you’re shaking and you’re still begging for me.”
he shifted, his cock heavy and hard against your thigh. you looked down for a second, your lips parting, and he caught it immediately, chuckling against your skin. “yeah, i know,” he teased, brushing the tip against your entrance, dragging it slowly up and down your folds just to watch you squirm. “you can take it, baby. i know you can.” you let out this desperate little whine, your hands gripping at his shoulders like you couldn’t stand him dragging it out anymore. he groaned low, finally lining up, pressing in slowly, stretching you inch by inch. his head dropped forward, his breath catching, and he cursed, “fuck. that pussy feels so good, baby. so fucking tight for me.” you gasped, your back arching as he slid deeper, the stretch making your nails dig into his skin. he didn’t stop, pushing all the way in until his hips were flush with yours, and he stayed there for a second, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours. “shit,” he groaned again, smugness bleeding into the roughness of his voice, “you’re fucking perfect. i could stay inside you all night.” he gave a small thrust, just enough to make you cry out, and his grin widened.
he pulled out halfway and pushed back in harder, the sound of your body taking him filling the room. his hand slid down your thigh, lifting it higher around his waist, giving him more room to drive deeper, and you whimpered against his mouth, moaning his name. “fuck, heeseung—”
he laughed, breathless but smug, kissing the corner of your lips. “that’s it, baby. say my name just like that. let everyone fucking know who’s inside you right now.” he started moving faster, harder, his cock hitting deeper every time, and each thrust had you clinging tighter, your moans spilling against his mouth. his hand gripped your hip tight, holding you steady, making sure you felt every inch of him. “this pussy’s mine,” he muttered against your neck, kissing, sucking, biting softly between thrusts, “so wet for me, squeezing the fuck out of me. god, i’m never letting you go.”
heeseung slowed down suddenly, pulling out almost all the way and leaving you clenching around nothing. you let out a frustrated sound, half whine and half moan, your hands clawing. he smirked, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth, his voice a low murmur against your ear. “turn over for me, baby,” he said, his tone calm but expectant, like he already knew you’d listen. “on your stomach. i wanna see that perfect ass while i fuck you.” you hesitated only long enough to catch your breath, then you rolled over, pressing your cheek into the pillow as he helped move your hips, lifting you just the way he wanted, your knees digging into the mattress. his hands gripped your waist, holding you steady, and he groaned under his breath at the sight of you spread out in front of him. “fuck, look at you,” he muttered, dragging the tip of his cock slowly along your slit, teasing you without giving in yet. “dripping for me. you want it this bad, huh?”
“yes—please,” you gasped, trying to push back against him, desperate for more friction.
he laughed quietly, his grip on your hips tightening as he pulled you back just enough to stop you. “so impatient,” he teased, leaning forward to kiss along your shoulder blade, his breath hot against your skin. “don’t worry baby, i’m gonna give you everything. but i’m doing it my way.”
he pressed forward finally, sliding into you from behind, inch by inch until he was buried deep. the stretch had you moaning into the pillow, your fingers curling tight into the sheets. “fuck yes,” he groaned, his hands spreading over your lower back as if he was steadying himself. “so fucking tight around me, taking all of it like you were made for me.” he pulled back and snapped his hips forward again, the sound sharp in the quiet room, and before you could catch your breath he lifted one hand and smacked your ass, the sting making you jolt. “you like that, baby? you like me fucking you like this?” he muttered, watching the way your skin flushed under his palm.
you whimpered, your voice muffled against the pillow, “fuck, yes, heeseung—”
he grinned, leaning over your back, his mouth against your ear now, his hips moving in slow, deliberate thrusts that had you gasping with every push. “tell me how good my cock feels inside you.”
“so good—” you moaned, your voice breaking as he thrust deeper, his cock hitting the spot that made your whole body shake.
“that’s right,” he groaned, kissing along your jawline while still driving into you. “no one’s ever gonna fuck you like i do.” his rhythm picked up, his thrusts harder now, his hand on your ass again, another smack echoing in the room before he grabbed you tighter and pulled you back onto him. “fuck, baby,” he gritted out, his breath hot against your skin, “you feel unreal. keep clenching around me like that and i’m gonna lose it.”
heeseung’s thrusts were getting rougher, his hips snapping into you harder, and you could feel the way his rhythm started to falter just slightly, like he was getting close. his groans were deeper now, his grip almost bruising on your waist as he buried himself inside you again and again, and for a second you thought he was going to let himself go. but then he stilled, pulling out all the way, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. you whined immediately, your body arching back, desperate for him, your face pressed into the pillow as you protested with little sounds. “no—don’t stop—”
heeseung smirked, catching his breath as he ran a hand slowly down your back, his voice low. “relax, baby. i’m not done with you yet. i’m not wasting it this fast.” before you could respond, he leaned forward, kissing along your spine, his mouth trailing lower, down the curve of your back until he reached the swell of your ass. you tensed in surprise when he pressed his lips there, first a light kiss, then another, slower, more deliberate, his hands spreading across your hips to hold you steady. “fuck,” he muttered against your skin, kissing one cheek and then the other, his lips hot and wet as he took his time. “you look so fucking hot like this, laid out for me.”
his hands slid further down, gripping and spreading you open, and he looked at the sight of you with that smug little grin that always made you want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. he lowered his mouth again, this time pressing a slower kiss right between your cheeks, then dragging his tongue across your folds, giving you one long lick that made you jolt. you gasped, your breath catching in your throat, and heeseung chuckled against you, his tongue moving again, this time teasing lower, circling your other hole in one quick swipe. your whole body shuddered, your fists tightening in the sheets, a shocked moan falling from your lips. he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice dripping with that smug amusement that only he could pull off. “oh, you like that, baby? you like my tongue on your ass?”
your only answer was another broken moan, your hips jerking against his face like you couldn’t help yourself. heeseung laughed quietly, shaking his head before diving back in, his tongue alternating between licking over your pussy and circling your ass again, slower this time, more deliberate, watching the way your body reacted to every movement. “fuck, you’re losing it already. didn’t think you’d like this so much,” he muttered, his voice rough and teasing before going back to licking you, his grip on your hips keeping you spread wide so he could get everywhere he wanted.
finally he pulled back, lips wet, his hands sliding back up your waist as he pressed himself flush against you. he lined himself up carefully, the head of his cock nudging your entrance before he slid all the way in with one slow push, burying himself inside you again. your walls clenched tight around him and he let out a deep groan, his mouth brushing against your ear as he leaned down close. “fuck, that pussy feels so good around me, baby.” his thrusts started slow, steady, each movement deliberate, grinding into you deep enough to make you lose your breath. as he set the rhythm, his lips brushed your ear again, his voice lower, almost a growl. “are you gonna let me fuck your ass one day, baby?”
you gasped, your face heating instantly, your words shaky but desperate as they spilled out. “yes—please.”
heeseung smirked against your skin, the answer making him groan as his hand slid down your back, his thumb spreading over your ass until he pressed lightly against your hole, just teasing it while still fucking into you. “such a good girl, so dirty,” he muttered, smug and approving at the same time, pushing his thumb in gentle circles over you while he thrust harder, making you take every inch of him. the combination made you lose it, your body twitching under his grip, your moans breaking into needy cries as he worked you open with his cock and thumb at once. he kept whispering filth in your ear, every word more obscene than the last, telling you how tight you were, how good you sounded, how perfect your ass was. his thrusts got deeper, rougher, his pace building as he pressed his thumb firmer against you, teasing like he was imagining what it would feel like to be inside you there too, and the thought alone made his voice raspier every time he praised you.
heeseung was already fucking you deep, his thumb pressing and teasing at your ass while his cock filled you completely, and he felt every squeeze of your body pulling him closer to the edge. his thrusts were steady but rough now, his breath ragged against your neck as he groaned right into your ear. he couldn’t hold back anymore, his voice breaking through in a low desperate rasp, “please let me cum inside you, baby… i need to feel you take it.” the second the words left his mouth you moaned loud, louder than before, your whole body tightening around him as if the sound alone was your answer. he grinned against your shoulder, smug as ever, loving how your voice cracked on his name when you tried to say it. “fuck, you like that, don’t you? you like me begging to cum in your tight little pussy,” he muttered, pushing deeper, grinding his hips until you cried out again.
he pulled back just enough to slam in harder, his hand still gripping your hip tight, and with the other he brought a sharp smack down on your ass, the sound echoing through the room. your moan broke into a scream, your whole body jerking forward, and he laughed breathlessly, fucking you through it. “that’s it, baby, scream for me, let everyone know how good i’m making you feel.” you were completely gone by then, clenching down so hard around him that he could barely keep control. heeseung groaned low, fucking into you harder, chasing the high right along with you. “cum with me, baby,” he growled, biting at your shoulder, his thrusts deep and relentless. “cum all over my cock while i fill you up.”
and you did, your orgasm hitting you sharp and overwhelming, your voice breaking into loud desperate moans as your body shook under his grip. he cursed, almost losing it from the way you squeezed him, and then he buried himself deep one last time, his own release hitting hard as he spilled inside you. his groans mixed with your cries, both of you caught up in it together, his hips jerking until every drop was inside you. he held you tight through it, still grinding shallowly, still muttering filth against your skin even as he kissed the back of your neck and shoulder. “fuck, baby… taking me so good… i could stay buried in this pussy forever,” he said, his voice still smug even as it cracked with how hard he was breathing. his hand smoothed over your ass where he’d smacked it, soothing while still gripping you possessively, his cock still deep inside you while you both tried to catch your breath.
the room was quiet except for the sound of both of you trying to breathe normally again. heeseung rolled onto his back but pulled you with him, one arm still tight around your waist like he wasn’t ready to let you move yet. you were sprawled half across his chest, skin still damp, hair sticking to your face a little, and when you tried to brush it away he caught your wrist, grinning even though he looked just as wrecked as you felt. “don’t even,” he muttered, eyes half closed but his smile smug. “you look way too good like this.”
you snorted, raising your head just enough to look at him. “yeah, you’re really getting the best version of me right now.”
“perfect combo,” he shot back immediately, squeezing your waist just to make sure you didn’t try to roll off. you laughed quietly, settling back down, and for a moment neither of you said much. his breathing slowed, and when he spoke again his voice was softer, almost hesitant. “i like you, you know. like… properly.” you shifted a little against him, not answering straight away, but your hand tightened slightly where it rested on his chest. heeseung didn’t push. he stayed quiet for a beat, his fingers drawing lazy shapes against your back. then, because he couldn’t resist, he added, “and, by the way, you’re never beating that. what you just pulled off? easily the best show i’ve ever been part of. crowd went wild. ten out of ten, no notes.”
you groaned, smacking his chest lightly. “you’re unbelievable.”
“yeah, but you like it,” he grinned, you shook your head, but the smile on your face gave you away, and heeseung noticed, which only made him look even more pleased with himself.
“you really don’t get tired of talking, do you?” you mumbled after a bit, your voice muffled against his skin.
heeseung laughed quietly, his chest shaking under you. “not when it’s you. i could listen all night. though, to be fair, i think i’m carrying most of the material.”
you tilted your head up just enough to give him a look. “material? like you’re workshopping this for your next set?”
“obviously,” he said, grinning. “crowd’s a bit small tonight, but the feedback’s solid.” you groaned, shoving lightly at his chest, but he caught your hand and pressed a quick kiss to your knuckles before you could pull it back. the room was calm again, quieter than before, and after a long pause he murmured, “you’re good company, y/n.” his tone was casual, but you felt the weight behind it, and it made you smile into his chest.
“so are you,” you said softly.
he shifted just enough to kiss the top of your head, then let out a content sigh. “alright. don’t move. i’m staying like this forever.” you rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, letting your body sink into his as the quiet stretched. eventually your breathing matched his, steady and slow, and that was how the night closed — the two of you tangled up, laughing less now but still smiling, comfortable enough that neither of you needed to say another word.
you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, the notebook open on your lap, pages covered in your messy handwriting. heeseung was leaning back against the headboard, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours, listening as you finished reading the last bit of dialogue out loud. your voice trailed off at the end, quieter than before, and you glanced at him nervously like you were already bracing yourself for his reaction. he was quiet for a second, then let out a small laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “it’s beautiful.”
you frowned immediately, closing the notebook halfway. “you’re just saying that.”
“no, i’m not,” he said quickly, and the way he looked at you made it obvious he wasn’t joking.
you let out a breath, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “i don’t know… is the whole thing too nostalgic? like, maybe it’s too much.”
“that’s the point,” he said without hesitation, shifting so he could face you more directly.
you picked at the edge of the page, not convinced. “but do you think people will actually like it?”
heeseung leaned back, smirk tugging at his mouth. “fuck ‘em.”
you laughed, shaking your head. “you always say that.”
“yeah, because i believe it. seriously, who cares if they like it? it’s yours. that’s the only thing that matters.”
you looked at him, smiling despite yourself, and then said softly, “fine. but only if you sit front row, because i’ll probably throw up in the middle of the stage otherwise.”
he grinned, reaching over to squeeze your knee lightly. “i’ll be front row. always.”
you stared at him for a moment longer, the words sinking in, and you realized how much it actually meant to you to hear him say it like that, casual, but also completely sincere. you smiled wider, closing the notebook fully this time, feeling lighter than when you’d opened it. “i made something for you,” you said suddenly, hopping off the bed before heeseung could ask what you were doing. you dug through your tote bag in the corner until you pulled out a folded piece of paper.
heeseung raised an eyebrow, watching you climb back onto the bed with it in your hand. “what’s that?”
“it could be the name design,” you said, unfolding it and holding it out for him. “like, on the door of your bar.”
he took it, eyes narrowing as he read. “‘hee’s’?”
“that’s what you should name it,” you said, trying not to laugh.
“never,” he shot back immediately, shaking his head.
“heeseung, no one’s gonna go to a place called ‘the comedy closet,’” you argued, grabbing the paper back before he could crumple it.
“you don’t get it,” he said, leaning forward like he was about to deliver some lecture. “there used to be this basement spot where every comic in l.a. passed through. it was tiny, damp, smelled like stale beer, but it was history. i want my place to have that same kind of energy. the comedy closet makes sense.”
“no,” you said, laughing. “drop the closet. just drinks and comedy. people don’t wanna feel like they’re cramming themselves into someone’s wardrobe to hear jokes.” he rolled his eyes at you, but you could see the smile tugging at his mouth. “and,” you added, “it’s time to start looking at other spots anyway. you can’t just sit around wishing for the perfect place. make your own perfect place.” heeseung looked at you then, like the words hit harder than you meant them to. he didn’t say anything for a second, just sat there holding the paper you’d drawn on. finally, he let out a quiet laugh. “you know,” you said carefully after a beat, “you could always call soobin. he did offer you a gig.”
heeseung groaned immediately, dropping his head back against the wall. “no way. not happening.”
“why not?” you pressed, nudging his leg with yours. “look, maybe it’s not your dream job, but it could give you something. some money, some connections, whatever you need to actually open your bar one day. better that than bouncing between dunkin donuts shifts, driving uber in the afternoons, and open mics every night. you’re gonna burn yourself out.”
he turned his head toward you, lips quirking into a smile. “you rehearsed that, didn’t you? sounds like a proper intervention.” you shot him a look, but he only grinned wider. “no, seriously,” he added, softer this time, “i know you’re right. i just… hate the idea of being one of those guys chasing clicks. it feels cheap. like i’m selling the bit before i’ve even worked it out.”
“it’s not selling out if it helps you get to where you actually want to be,” you said. “it’s just… picking your battles.”
heeseung let that sit for a moment, then sighed and ruffled his hair, still holding the paper with your doodled name design. “alright, alright. maybe i’ll think about it. just because you said it in your scary-serious voice. otherwise, i’d never cave.”
you rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched up. “you’re impossible.”
“yeah,” he said, leaning closer with that smug little smile that was becoming way too familiar. “but i’m your impossible.” before you could even come up with a comeback, he pressed a quick kiss to your lips, like he was sealing the statement right there. you smacked his arm lightly in protest, but you were laughing against his mouth anyway, and heeseung only leaned back with that same grin, way too pleased with himself for winning the last word.
but after you said that, he decided to give soobin a chance, so he called him. the two of them set up a time to meet, and a couple of days later heeseung found himself standing outside this office-slash-studio space, the kind that looked like it used to be a warehouse before someone threw in a coffee machine, a few couches, and way too many ring lights. inside, it felt both messy and professional at the same time. there were stacks of half-finished props in one corner, camera equipment on tripods everywhere, and a big whiteboard covered with scribbles — lists of sketch ideas, casting notes, dumb inside jokes that only made sense if you’d been there when someone wrote them down.
soobin was waiting for him near the couches. “you actually showed,” he said, grinning.
“you sound surprised,” heeseung muttered, dropping into the couch across from him.
“i am,” soobin admitted, leaning back. “you’ve been brushing me off for weeks. but i get it. stand-up guys don’t usually wanna touch this kind of thing.”
heeseung shrugged, picking at the sleeve of his hoodie. “i mean… i’ve never acted in my life. i don’t even know if i could.”
“that’s fine,” soobin said quickly. “you wouldn’t have to act-act. this isn’t shakespeare. it’s sketches. it’s like stand-up but broken into pieces. you’d help with writing too, which i know you can do, because i saw your set the other night. you’re good at taking the dumbest shit and making it work.”
heeseung narrowed his eyes. “is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“yes,” soobin said firmly. “listen, the channel’s been growing, but we need new voices. new blood. people who don’t just repeat the same tired formats. you’ve got the perspective, you just need a platform. that’s what this is.” heeseung stayed quiet, so soobin leaned in a little, like he was trying to make his point land harder. he didn’t want to admit it, but he felt the words land. soobin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “look, maybe it’s not exactly what you pictured. i’m not saying this is the dream. but it’s a step. and you don’t have to change who you are to do it. i’m not asking you to turn into some corny influencer. i’m asking you to bring your voice to a bigger room. if it’s not your thing, tell me now, and i’ll stop bothering you. but if you want it, the spot’s yours.”
heeseung leaned back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment. he hated the idea of admitting soobin had a point, but he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe you’d been right too, maybe this was a way to move forward without giving up. so in the weeks that followed felt different, like everything finally started moving instead of stalling. heeseung decided to take soobin’s offer, and before long he was spending his afternoons in that chaotic office-slash-studio, brainstorming dumb sketches with the team, rehearsing lines, or sometimes just sitting in front of the camera while someone handed him a wig and told him to improvise. he quit driving uber, and the relief of not checking his phone every two minutes for another ride was written all over his face. he’d come home actually smiling, telling you about whatever ridiculous bit they’d filmed that day, and sometimes showing you the raw clips before they even went online. you, on the other hand, hit a breaking point at the warner bros café. one day you were wiping down tables when you realized you’d rather put all that energy into your script instead of refilling iced lattes for celebrities. so you quit. it was terrifying, but also freeing, and the second you told heeseung he practically picked you up off the ground in excitement. from then on, you gave yourself fully to the play, mornings spent scribbling in your notebook, afternoons rehearsing lines alone in your room, sometimes dragging yunjin in to test out bits even though she laughed through most of them.
the two of you fell into a rhythm together. when you got stuck, you’d text him to come over, and he’d sit cross-legged on the floor of your living room, reading your lines out loud in over-the-top voices until you were crying with laughter. when he had new material, he’d drag you to the studio to watch him stumble through it, looking at you after every punchline to see if it landed. you became each other’s first audience, the safe one, the one that could say “that was awful” without it hurting too much, because you knew the other person would always try again. and then there were the dates. they weren’t fancy, at least not most of them. sometimes it was just walking around griffith park with a bag of chips between you, sometimes it was cheap sushi where he insisted on trying to eat the biggest roll in one bite just to make you laugh. once he surprised you by taking you to a tiny comedy club neither of you had been to before, and halfway through he leaned in and whispered, “i could do better than this guy,” making you snort loud enough that people turned around.
but there were also softer nights, the ones where he showed up outside your apartment honking until yunjin threatened to throw something at him, and you’d climb into his car, both of you a little dressed up, heading to some tucked-away restaurant he’d found online. those nights, he was shamelessly flirty, calling you pretty like it was the most natural word in the world, making you blush even though you tried to play it cool. at home, when it was quieter, you’d show him new pages of your play. he’d listen, really listen, eyes fixed on you the whole time, and then he’d give feedback that actually made you rethink entire scenes. and when he pulled out his notebook, the one where he jotted half-finished jokes, you’d lean over his shoulder and help him stretch them into full bits, tossing lines back and forth until it turned into something solid.
at first it didn’t feel like much had changed, because even when heeseung got busier you still found ways to see each other, but slowly the rhythm you’d built together started slipping. his days at the studio stretched longer, sometimes he’d text that he was still editing a sketch at midnight or that he had to wake up early for some dumb promo shoot, and you’d roll over in bed already knowing he wouldn’t make it back that night. when he did come home, he was usually wired from work, talking fast about whatever chaos happened that day, and then crashing hard like someone had pulled the plug. you split your time between his apartment and yours, never really planning it, just ending up wherever felt easier that week. sometimes you’d wake up at jay and jake’s place, making coffee in the kitchen while heeseung was already gone, his side of the bed cold. other times he’d stay at your place, slipping into your room after a long shoot, trying not to wake yunjin and sakura, but still tripping over the shoes by the door and making you laugh even when you were half-asleep. it wasn’t bad, exactly, just messy, like you were both living out of two apartments without ever fully belonging to either.
the weirdest part was how much free time you suddenly had compared to him. you were still writing your play, filling notebooks with dialogue and scene directions, but there were whole afternoons where you just sat at your desk staring at the page, the silence in the apartment stretching out while sakura binged dramas in the living room and yunjin practiced lines for her own auditions. you’d check your phone, see no new messages from him, and go back to scribbling something down, crossing it out five minutes later. heeseung didn’t mean to be absent, you knew that, but there were nights he showed up late, dropped onto your couch with fast food, and fell asleep halfway through telling you a story. other times he’d cancel plans last minute, calling from some airport to say the team needed him in vegas or san francisco for a shoot. he always promised it wouldn’t be long, that he’d be back before you even noticed, and technically he was right, but it still left you in this strange space where your life felt paused while his was on fast-forward.
and yet, you stuck around each other anyway. even if it meant you sitting on the floor of his room while jay worked on a beat in the corner and heeseung typed half a sketch into his laptop, or him lying on your bed scrolling through emails while you tried to read him a new scene. the energy wasn’t always balanced, but you kept showing up, and so did he, even if sometimes he was too tired to do much more than fall asleep next to you. heeseung called you one night while you were half asleep on the couch. his voice came through the speaker, a little rushed, like he was walking somewhere. “hey, you busy friday?”
you rubbed your eyes, sat up, and mumbled, “probably not, why?”
“we’re doing a live show,” he said, and there was this small pause before he added, “like, with the whole cast. not just filming sketches. real stage, real crowd. you should come.”
you blinked, suddenly awake. “a live show? like a stand up?”
“kind of,” he explained. “it’s improv and bits and some of the stuff we do on camera, but bigger. people actually bought tickets.” then, quieter, “i want you there.”
you smiled into the phone even though he couldn’t see it. “okay. send me the details.”
friday came and you found yourself standing outside this mid size theater downtown. the line stretched around the block, people holding tickets and laughing like they’d been waiting for this all week. you hadn’t expected that many, honestly. you found your seat and before long the lights went down, the host came out, and the cast started doing what they did best — throwing themselves into dumb sketches, playing characters that fell apart halfway through, and somehow making it funnier that way. when heeseung finally walked on stage, the reaction was immediate. the crowd started cheering louder, people stood up, a few rushed closer to the stage like they needed to be right in front of him. he looked different there, not because he was acting, but because everyone else in the room knew who he was too. you’d gotten used to seeing him in messy apartments or asleep on your couch, and now you were watching hundreds of people clap and laugh just because he stepped into the light.
you were proud, really proud, but the more the show went on, the more the crowd pressed forward. the people around you stood up, blocking your view, and you found yourself edged further back without even meaning to move. everyone was craning their necks, shouting, phones out trying to get pictures, and you were the one person who felt like you were sliding out of place. on stage, heeseung was in his element. he was riffing with soobin, stealing the bit halfway through and getting the loudest laughs of the night. the improv moved fast, one game into the next, the kind of rhythm that made the whole room feel electric. but from where you stood now, pushed near the back wall, it almost felt like you were watching from the outside, like you were just another person in the audience.
he didn’t notice, not because he didn’t care, but because he was too busy keeping up with the chaos on stage. you stayed there, watching, your chest tight with this mix of pride and something else you couldn’t quite name. you clapped along when the crowd clapped, laughed when they laughed, but you also kept thinking about how much bigger he looked up there than he ever did sitting across from you on your living room floor. when the show finally hit its closing bit, the whole theater was on their feet. people were shouting, stomping, filming, and the energy was insane. you stood there at the back, eyes on him the whole time, trying to take in the fact that this was really happening, that he was really becoming someone people knew. and even if it stung a little to feel out of place in the middle of all that noise, you couldn’t help smiling, because you knew how hard he’d worked to get here.
so after that week, you were at heeseung’s apartment one night, even though he wasn’t there, sitting at their kitchen table with a half eaten pizza between you and jay, who was scrolling on his laptop with cables stretched across the counter, and jake was leaning back in his chair, strumming his guitar. “where’s heeseung now?” jake asked, plucking at a string.
you shrugged. “i think san diego today. i’m not sure.”
there was a pause. jay looked up from his screen and said, “you should come over more often. we make dinner sometimes, but don’t let that stop you.” he smirked, and you laughed a little, shaking your head. jay studied you for a second before saying, “you miss him,” jay said, not as a question but like he already knew.
you shifted in your chair. “i guess. i’m adapting.” you didn’t smile back right away. “do you think he’s happy?” jay tilted his head. “i mean with all of it,” you said. “the show, the travel, the work.”
jake shrugged. “he worked his whole life in a job he didn’t care about, and every night he’d pull out his jokes like that was the only thing that actually made him feel alive. so when i look at heeseung now, doing comedy and actually getting paid for it, i think he’s lucky. i think we’re happy for him.” you glanced out the window when someone walked by on the street, your thoughts drifting for a second before he turned back to you. “dreams change,” he said simply. then, seeing your face, he added, “don’t think too hard about it. he’ll be back soon.”
you knew that. but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to miss him anyway. so three days later you were sitting at your desk with a plate of leftover takeout next to your laptop. you typed between bites, scrolling back up every two minutes to change a sentence. on the screen was a draft, half finished, where the words “one-woman play,” “one night only,” and “7pm” stood out in the middle of the mess. you paused, read it back, then sighed and reached for your phone. you dialed heeseung. it rang and rang, then went to voicemail.
“hey, it’s me,” you said quietly. “not sure where you are… maybe san francisco? or seattle? i haven’t heard from you in a while. i miss you.” you hesitated, then added, “ok… bye.” you hung up and set the phone face down before going back to typing.
you decided to walk around downtown that day, just to clear your head. when you came back home later that night, yunjin and sakura weren’t home, you walked through the courtyard toward your apartment, juggling your bag and a stack of notebooks. when you opened the door, the first thing that hit you was noise — not the usual quiet of your place but loud music blasting from the living room, some chaotic playlist heeseung had probably put on shuffle. you jiggled the handle, finally got the door open, and froze. heeseung was in the middle of the room, moving around a table that was actually set, with plates and candles. he was rushing back and forth, lighting one candle, adjusting another, and when he spotted you standing in the doorway, he grinned. “surprise,” he said, holding the lighter in one hand like he was proud of himself.
you couldn’t help laughing a little as you stepped inside. “what is this?”
he moved quickly to the table and lifted one of the trays he’d set down earlier. “dinner.” under the cover was roast chicken, and next to it pasta that smelled way better than anything he usually made. then he darted back to the kitchen, pulled something out, and held it up with both hands. “and… apple pie. twenty-five pounds of apples went into this. probably ruined a farm somewhere, but it tastes good.”
you covered your mouth, laughing harder now. “you baked a pie?”
“well, technically i bought it half-baked and then pretended it was mine, but yes,” he said, completely straight faced.
you dropped your bag by the door, still shaking your head in disbelief. “i can’t believe you did all this.”
he set the pie down and looked at you, more serious now. “i’ve been gone a lot. i know. so i wanted to make up for it. at least tonight.” the music was still playing way too loud in the background, but for a moment it felt like the room went quieter. “i have to head back in the morning, but i needed to see you tonight.” you looked at him, your throat tight for a second, and before you could stop yourself you walked and wrapped your arms around him. he hugged you back, and when you kissed him it wasn’t rushed or casual, it was the kind where you both stayed there for a long time. later you sat across from each other at the table, your glasses half full, music still playing low in the background. “feels so good to be home,” he said, exhaling like the thought alone calmed him down. then he looked at you, more curious. “how’s the play going?”
you hesitated, then admitted, “i’m nervous. i’m nervous about being on stage at all,” you said honestly. “i’m terrified.”
he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “they should be lucky to even see it. it’s going to be incredible. i can’t wait.”
you tried to smile but it came out a little strained. “i can.” a pause hung between you. you broke it with, “what time do you leave in the morning?”
“6:45.”
“ugh.”
“yep,” he said, popping the p. “boise.”
you blinked. “boise?”
he nodded. “you should come.”
“to boise?” you asked, almost laughing.
“yeah. you could knock it off your bucket list.”
you laughed for real this time. “wish i could.”
he looked at you for a second before asking, “why can’t you?”
“because i have to rehearse.”
“can’t you rehearse anywhere?”
you frowned at him. “you mean anywhere you are?” he hesitated. “all my stuff is here, and the show’s in a few weeks, and i don’t know… it doesn’t seem practical.”
“right,” he said, leaning back, the edge in his voice sharper now. “i just— we’re going to have to figure something out, otherwise we’ll never see each other.”
you nodded slowly. “i know, but… when are you done?”
his brows furrowed. “what do you mean?”
“when are you done with all this? the shows, the traveling, everything?”
heeseung didn’t answer right away, just stared at you like he didn’t even know what to say. he rubbed his hands together, frustrated. “but as soon as we’re done with this round of shows, we’re back filming for the channel, and then we go straight into another run. that’s how it works.” you stared at him, not sure you understood. “we do live shows so people find the channel,” he continued, “and then we do more shows to keep it growing.”
you let that sink in before saying quietly, “so it’s… the long haul? you’re going to be with this group for a long time. traveling, filming, all of it.”
heeseung frowned. “what did you think was going to happen?”
“i don’t know,” you admitted.
“you didn’t think we’d be successful,” he said flatly.
“no, that’s not what i meant. i just didn’t think it would mean you being on the road for years.”
he leaned back. “yeah. feasibly, i could be doing this for years with just this run of shows.”
you looked at him for a moment, then asked, “do you even like the material you’re doing?”
“i don’t know why that matters,” he shot back.
“it matters if you’re giving up your own dream for this,” you said. “it matters if you’re burning yourself out on sketches you don’t care about.”
he stared at you. “do you like the stuff i’m doing?”
“yes,” you said honestly. “i do. i just… didn’t think you did.” he opened his mouth, then closed it again, shaking his head. “and now i hear you could be stuck in this loop for years, and i’m—”
“what are you doing right now?” he interrupted, voice sharper. “why are you starting this? this is what you wanted,” he said, almost accusing.
“what, you to be in this group?”
“to have a steady job.”
you hesitated, then said, “yes, i wanted you to be stable, to take care of yourself. so you could work toward your own stuff.”
“and i’m doing that. so why aren’t we celebrating?”
“why aren’t you working on your bar?” you asked, your voice rising.
heeseung laughed bitterly. “no one cares about that kind of bar! no one wants to sit through an hour of story-based stand-up—no one cares about stand-up. not even you,” he cut in, not even letting you finish.
“i do care now. because of you.”
but he wasn’t listening. “what am i supposed to do? go back to open mics in half-empty bars, telling jokes about salad prices just so i can save up for some dream no one actually believes in?”
“people will want to see it,” you argued. “people love when someone does what they actually care about.”
heeseung shook his head. “not in my experience.” and silence stretched for a moment. then he muttered, “anyway, it’s time to be realistic. this is what i’m doing. if you had a problem with it, you should’ve said something before i signed the contract.”
you tried again, softer this time. “you had a dream. you were sticking to it. that meant something.”
“this is the dream,” he said firmly.
“but,” you whispered. “this isn’t your dream.”
he exhaled hard, frustrated. “guys like me go their whole lives and never do anything people actually like. i’m finally doing something that works. what’s so wrong with that?”
you looked at him, your voice almost shaking now. “since when you care so much about being liked?”
heeseung’s voice cracked as he finally snapped, louder than before. “you’re an actress! what are you talking about?” the room went dead quiet. the playlist that had been humming in the background had stopped, leaving only the faint hum of the speaker. you could hear your own heartbeat in the silence, and for a second you just stared at him, waiting for him to take it back. he didn’t. instead, he looked straight at you, jaw tight. “maybe you liked me better when i was on my ass because it made you feel better about yourself.”
your chest tightened instantly. you felt your eyes burn, and you tried to swallow it down, blinking fast like you could push the tears back, but it was useless. “are you kidding?” you asked, your voice low but shaking.
“no,” he said, flat.
you couldn’t believe he actually meant it. after all the nights you stayed up listening to him rehearse, after all the hours you spent watching him bomb at open mics and telling him to keep going anyway, after the times you cheered him up when he swore he was wasting his life — and now he was throwing it back at you like you only cared about him when he was failing. it made you feel small, like everything you’d given him didn’t count anymore. you stared at him, and he stared right back. the tension was thick, nothing moving except the sound of your own uneven breathing. and then, suddenly, the fire alarm went off, shrill and piercing, snapping you both out of it. heeseung whipped around toward the kitchen and saw smoke pouring out of the oven. the pie he’d bragged about earlier was burning. he jumped up to open the oven, coughing as the smoke hit him, and when he turned back you were already on your feet, grabbing your bag with shaking hands. “wait—” he started, reaching out.
but you were already at the door. you didn’t want to hear another word, not when your throat felt tight and your stomach was heavy with everything he’d just said. you opened the door, stepped out, and slammed it shut behind you. inside, heeseung pulled the ruined pie from the oven, the alarm still blaring, the smoke clouding the room.
the week after the fight, you kept yourself busy. you told yunjin and sakura you were fine, and for the most part you meant it, but every time your phone buzzed you felt that sting in your chest when it wasn’t him. still, you didn’t want to lose focus, not now, because thursday was the premiere of your play, and you’d worked too long to let the fight swallow all of your energy. you threw yourself into rehearsals. mornings were spent in the theater, running through lines with no one watching, afternoons tweaking small things in the script, evenings talking with the stage manager about props. you were anxious, of course, but underneath that was a strange kind of confidence. you knew the play was good, or at least that it was honest, and you believed in it enough to put your name on the poster outside the building.
the day of the show, you walked up to the theater carrying a box of props. taped to the glass door was the poster with your name on it — “y/n” in bold letters, “one night only.” you stood there for a second, the street quiet around you, and then pushed the door open. inside, the theater was dark and empty, rows of seats disappearing into the shadows. you put the box down and stood still, taking in the silence. it was intimidating, but it was also yours. you breathed in, nodded to yourself, and started setting everything up.
meanwhile, across town, heeseung was finishing a run-through with the rest of the cast. the energy was high, people cracking jokes even after the practice ended, but he wasn’t all there. he stuffed his notebook into his backpack and was halfway out the door when soobin called after him. “you’re good for tonight, right?”
heeseung stopped, frowning. “tonight?”
“the shoot,” soobin said, not looking up from his phone. “seven o’clock. hybe magazine.”
heeseung blinked, confused. “i thought that was next thursday.”
“no, it’s tonight.” soobin finally looked at him, reading his hesitation. “is that a problem?”
heeseung didn’t answer right away. he checked the time on his phone, his jaw tightening, but eventually he just nodded. “yeah. it’s fine.”
that night, people started filing into the theater where your play was set to open. you were backstage, dressed in costume, pacing with your phone in hand. it was 7:04. no texts from him. you set the phone down, rubbed your palms against your pants, and took a breath. on the other side of the curtain, the murmur of the audience grew louder, people settling into their seats, waiting. the house lights dimmed, the hush came, and you closed your eyes for one last second. you could do this. then you stepped out into the light.
meanwhile, heeseung was still at the photoshoot, that was supposed to take an hour, two at most, but it dragged on forever. the photographer kept adjusting lights, telling him to try a different pose, making heeseung swap jackets three times just to decide the first one was better. the rest of the cast was laughing through it, but heeseung kept checking the clock on his phone, doing the math in his head, realizing how late it was getting. he shifted from one background to another, holding a fake microphone, then pretending to laugh mid-shot like he was in the middle of a punchline. every click of the camera felt longer than it should. by the time they wrapped, it was already way past seven. he grabbed his bag, muttered something about needing to go, and bolted out the door, heart pounding.
and you were still on stage, not in costume anymore, just yourself in ordinary clothes. behind you was the small set you’d built: a wallpapered wall, a little window with a projection of a starry night, your props carefully placed, like the globe from your room, an old suitcase, a roll of maps, little things that made the space feel real. the scene ended quietly. you reached for the lamp, switched it off, and the stage went black. then the house lights came up. the silence broke into thin, scattered applause. you forced a smile, bowed, and when you looked out, the sight hit harder than you expected. less than a quarter of the seats were filled. and the one in the front row with the “reserved” sign — the one you’d saved for heeseung — was empty.
you bowed again quickly and left the stage. in the dressing room, you started pulling your things together, not wanting to linger, when voices carried in from the hallway. “if i have to sit through one more wannabe writer talking about nostalgia i’m gonna lose my mind,” someone said. “seriously,” another voice agreed. “she’s not even good. that window bit? awful.” their laughter echoed. you froze where you stood, your hands gripping the costume bag tighter. you couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe right. the words sat heavy in your chest, louder than the applause had ever been. by the time their voices faded down the hall, you sank into a chair, staring at the floor.
later that night, heeseung’s car screeched to a stop outside the theater. he ran to the door, tugging at it, but it was locked. the building was dark now. he spun around, panicked, until he saw you. you were coming out of a side door, carrying the box of props back to your car. “y/n!” he shouted, sprinting toward you.
you turned, your face tired but unreadable. he ran straight to you, wrapped his arms around you, and kissed you like he could erase the distance of the past week in one move. “stop,” you said, pulling back, firm.
he froze, staring at you like he didn’t know what to do with his hands now. “i’m sorry i missed it. i’m sorry for what i said, and for being an asshole. i swear i’ll make it up to you.”
“it’s over,” you said simply.
there was no anger in your voice, just a kind of finality that left him stuck in place. he blinked. “...what do you mean?”
“i’m done embarrassing myself,” you said. your voice cracked a little, but you kept going. “no one came. i can’t even pay the theater back.” his mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out. “i’m going home for a while,” you added.
he swallowed hard. “this is home.”
you shook your head. “not anymore.”
he stood there silent, his jaw tight, his eyes glassy. you didn’t say anything else. you put the box in the car, got in, and drove off, leaving him standing outside the theater alone.
and after you left, heeseung’s life didn’t suddenly crash or fall apart, but it also didn’t really feel right anymore. he still had the shows, the shoots, the group laughing around him like nothing was wrong, but the quiet parts of the day started to stretch out in weird ways. he’d wake up in the apartment and for a second expect your shoes by the door or your notebook on the counter, and when they weren’t there, he’d just stand still for too long before getting dressed. mornings turned into coffee in a rush, a bagel he barely touched, then heading out for whatever meeting or rehearsal was scheduled. he didn’t miss calls because he couldn’t afford to, but he started spacing out in the middle of them, nodding at soobin or the director while his head was somewhere else.
on stage, he looked the same. if anything, he was sharper, because throwing himself into the bits meant he didn’t have to think. the crowd didn’t know the difference. they screamed and clapped, and he smiled back, timing the punchlines perfectly, but backstage he barely lingered anymore. the others would want to celebrate, maybe grab food after a show, and he’d come up with an excuse, say he was tired, and head home. but home wasn’t quiet either. jay and jake tried to pull him out of whatever mood he was in — jay making jokes about how he’d turned into the “brooding guy in the corner,” jake offering to play guitar while he wrote new material. sometimes it worked, but most nights it didn’t. he’d sit at the kitchen table, open his notebook, write a line, cross it out, and just stare at the page until he shut it again.
he didn’t call you. not because he didn’t want to, but because every time he pulled up your name, his chest tightened and he thought about that night at the theater, the way you’d looked at him before leaving. instead, he just kept your contact pinned at the top of his screen, scrolling past it every day like some kind of punishment. the routine became predictable — wake up, work, stage, home, notebook, sleep. except the “sleep” part was usually just lying awake until three, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were actually better off without him.
heeseung was half-asleep on the couch when his phone started buzzing. he almost didn’t answer, figuring it was jay or jake asking if he wanted food, but the number was unknown, so he picked up anyway. “hello?”
“hi, i’m trying to reach y/n.” the voice was polite, a woman’s voice, not familiar at all.
heeseung blinked, sat up straighter. “wrong number,” he muttered, already pulling the phone from his ear to hang up.
“she’s not answering her cell and i was told i might find her here,” the woman cut in before the line went dead.
he froze, phone still to his ear, pulse quickening. “yeah, well… not anymore,” he said, his voice flat but betraying the way his chest tightened just hearing your name out loud.
“ok. if you do talk to her—”
“i won’t,” he cut in quickly.
“—please tell her wonhee at big lift casting is trying to reach her.”
and just like that he was on his feet, grabbing his keys from the counter, not even bothering to put shoes on properly before he was out the door. the drive felt like a blur. he pulled up in front of your place, laying on the horn the way he always did, except this time it wasn’t playful. after a minute, the door flew open and yunjin stormed out, arms crossed, her face unimpressed. “jesus christ, can you not?” she snapped, glaring at him from the top of the steps.
he leaned across the passenger seat and rolled the window down. “where is she?”
yunjin’s eyes narrowed. “she’s not here.”
“then where?”
she took a few steps closer, still glaring. “you really hurt her, you know.”
heeseung exhaled, leaning his head back for a second before looking at her again. “i know i was a dick, okay? you don’t have to tell me twice.” his tone was smug but still admitting defeat, like he didn’t know how else to defend himself. “but i’m trying to fix it. i just need to talk to her.”
“fix it?” yunjin scoffed. “you think you can just show up, honk like a maniac, and fix it?”
“no,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “but she got a call, some casting thing, and they’re trying to reach her. i don’t know the details, but it sounded big. i’m not just gonna sit here while she misses out on that because of me.”
yunjin studied him for a moment, her expression softening just a little, though she still looked pissed. “she went home,” she finally said. “back to her parents. she said she needed time.”
heeseung’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “home,” he repeated quietly, then nodded once. “ok.”
yunjin sighed, arms dropping to her sides. “don’t make it worse.”
“i won’t,” he said, his voice more serious now. he gave her a quick nod, rolled the window up, and pulled away from the curb, already turning the car in the direction of the freeway. the drive was long, longer than he expected, but he didn’t care. heeseung barely stopped, just filled the tank when he had to and grabbed whatever snacks he could from the gas station. the whole way, his head was buzzing with what he’d say when he saw you. half of him was rehearsing lines like he was on stage, the other half was panicking that maybe you wouldn’t even listen. he thought about the fight, about the way your face looked before you left, and every mile he drove he felt that pit in his stomach get heavier, but he kept going anyway.
at your parents’ house, things were quieter. you were sitting at the kitchen table with your mom and dad, a plate of cut fruit between you, trying to convince yourself you felt calmer there. your dad was asking you about the play, your mom asking if you’d thought about grad school, and you were answering half-heartedly, because you didn’t really want to get into it. and then came the sound. a car horn, loud, drawn-out, echoing down your street. your dad nearly dropped his fork. “what the hell…?” he muttered, already standing to look out the window. you froze. it couldn’t be. but when you walked to the front room and pulled the curtain back, there he was — heeseung’s car parked right in front of your house, him leaning across the wheel like he wasn’t disturbing the entire block. a neighbor shouted at him to cut it out, but he didn’t care, his eyes already finding yours through the glass. you blinked, disbelief written all over your face.
a moment later you were outside, standing next to his car. your arms were crossed, your stomach twisted. “why did you come here?”
heeseung was out of the car now, looking at you like he hadn’t slept in days but still managing that smug little smile, like he needed it as armor. “because i have good news.”
you raised a brow, unimpressed. “ok…”
“wonhee,” he said quickly, almost tripping over the name. “the casting director.”
your face tightened. “i know who she is.”
“she was at your play,” he said, eyes lighting up for the first time. “and she loved it. she loved it so much that she wants you to audition for this big movie she’s working on.” he looked genuinely excited, like he’d been holding this in the whole drive.
but you just shook your head. “i’m not going.”
heeseung blinked. “...excuse me?”
“i’m not going,” you repeated, more certain now. “that will kill me.”
“that’s it? that’s your answer?” you nodded. he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “why won’t you come?”
and finally you snapped, all the weight you’d been holding in spilling out. “because it’s another audition!” your voice cracked, louder than you meant it. “i’ve been to hundreds of auditions, heeseung. do you know what happens? they cut me off after two seconds, or they laugh at me while i’m crying, or i’m one of a hundred girls in the waiting room who all look exactly like me. there’s always someone else, always someone better. and maybe—” you hesitated, then said it anyway, “—maybe i’m just not good enough.”
he shook his head immediately. “yes you are.”
“no. maybe i’m not,” you said, softer now, but honest. “maybe i’m one of those people who wants it but never gets there. maybe it’s like you said — maybe i need to grow up. i can go back to school, figure something else out. i tried, it didn’t work, and i don’t want to keep hurting myself over it.”
he shook his head, stubborn as ever. “no. i told them you’d be there tomorrow at five-thirty. i’ll swing by before i head back at eight. either you’ll be outside or you won’t.”
he walked back to his car, and you just stood there, silent, the words still hanging between you. before getting in, you called after him, “how did you even find me?”
he turned, a little bit grumpy and serious, but softer this time. “the house across from the library.”
and sure enough, when you looked up, there it was the same library that had been across from your childhood home, the one that had introduced you to old movies in the first place. you froze, your throat tight, because of course he would notice that. he got into the car and drove off, leaving you staring at the library, your thoughts louder than you wanted them to be.
the next morning, heeseung’s car pulled up in front of your parents’ house right on time. the clock on the dash read 8:02. he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the front door like he could will it to open. nothing. a couple more minutes passed. he shifted in his seat, leaned back, and shut his eyes. 8:10. he looked again. the door was still closed. he sighed, already feeling that weight in his chest, and reached for the keys to start the car. he put it in gear, ready to pull away, when he heard a loud knock on the passenger window. he jumped, and whipped his head around. there you were, standing outside the car with two fresh cups of coffee balanced in a tray and a little paper bag of pastries in your hand. your hair was a little messy from the morning wind, your cheeks flushed, and you looked at him like you weren’t sure if he’d be annoyed or relieved.
heeseung broke into a grin immediately. he leaned over, popped the door open for you, and said, “took you long enough. i was about to leave.” but the smile on his face made it clear he wasn’t serious.
you slid into the seat, setting the coffees down in the holder. “figured if we’re gonna do this, we should at least have decent breakfast.”
“so you’re coming,” he said, more like a statement than a question.
you didn’t answer right away, just handed him the bag. “eat before you get cocky.”
a couple of hours later, the two of you were walking side by side through the studio lot. the sky was overcast, a gray kind of afternoon, but the place still buzzed with people moving around, golf carts zipping past, crew carrying gear across fake city streets. you passed a set that looked like new york, brick facades with fire escapes that went nowhere, and another corner painted with old hollywood posters that looked like they’d been there for decades. neither of you said much. heeseung kept stealing glances at you, like he was waiting to make sure you wouldn’t bolt. eventually you ended up in the waiting lobby. the place was plain, white walls, a couple of framed posters from past films, a long row of chairs against the wall. you sat down, your leg bouncing nervously, and heeseung dropped into the chair beside you. the door to the audition room opened, and an actress walked out, brushing past quickly without looking at anyone. a moment later an assistant leaned out with a clipboard in hand. “y/n?”
you froze, your throat tight, then stood. you glanced at heeseung once, your eyes flickering with panic and gratitude all at once. he gave you the smallest nod, like he was saying, go. you took a breath, squared your shoulders, and stepped inside. inside the room, wonhee sat behind a desk, seated just behind her was taehyun, the director, watching quietly. “hi, y/n,” wonhee said. you answered, your voice careful, polite. “i’m wonhee, this is taehyun. we’re glad we found you.” you nodded, gave a small smile, and sat down. “the movie shoots in paris,” wonhee explained. “there’s no script yet.”
taehyun leaned forward, his hands folded. “we want to build the character with you. it’s a process. three months of rehearsal, four months of shooting.”
you hesitated, nodded slowly. “...ok.”
“so why don’t you just tell us a story?” wonhee asked.
“...about?” you shifted in your seat, unsure.
“about anything,” she said simply. you nodded again, your throat tight. there was a pause. the silence stretched, and for a moment it looked like you weren’t going to find the words at all. “whenever you’re ready,” wonhee added. you sat there in the silence for a moment, eyes flicking between wonhee and taehyun, both of them waiting without saying a word. for a second you thought about telling them the realest story you had, how you once met this frustrated comedian who swore the world didn’t care about him, and how somehow he ended up becoming someone people actually stopped to listen to. it was tempting, almost natural to bring him into the room with you. but then you caught yourself. the film was set in paris. this was supposed to be about a place and a feeling, not him. so you let that thought pass, swallowed it down, and reached for something else you carried with you. you took a breath, let it sit in your chest for a second, and then started.
“my aunt lived in paris for a while,” you started, your voice careful but carrying. “she used to come home with these stories about what it was like to live abroad. i grew up listening to her talk about it like it was this other universe, one that was messy and beautiful at the same time. i remember once she told me she jumped into the seine, barefoot. no planning, no thinking, she just went for it. she said the water was freezing, that she spent a month coughing and sneezing after, but if she had the chance, she’d do it again. that was who she was. she didn’t wait for the safe choice. she believed in doing things that scared her, even if she looked foolish. she said that’s what gives life its color. that a little bit of madness is what pushes us forward, because without it we’d all just repeat what came before. she used to say, ‘they need people like us — the ones who make a mess of things, who fall apart and still try again. because that’s where new things come from.’ so when i think of her, i don’t think of the mistakes or the bad days. i think of that moment she described, smiling with her hair dripping wet, saying she’d do it all again even if it hurt. because she believed that was the point. so here’s to the people who jump without looking, to the ones who try even when it breaks their hearts, to the ones who get it wrong a hundred times but keep going anyway. because maybe they’re the only reason anything changes at all.”
you felt like you were floating on stage. they smiled. you sighed in relief. maybe coming here was worth it after all.
after the audition, you and heeseung ended up at griffith park. the sun was low but not gone yet, the sky breaking open with streaks of orange and pink, the observatory standing behind you like something pulled out of every postcard of los angeles. you both sat on a bench, shoulders close, not really talking at first. it was one of those pauses that wasn’t awkward, just heavy, like the moment needed space to breathe. heeseung finally looked at you, his voice soft. “when do you find out?”
“they said the next couple of days,” you answered, eyes fixed on the view instead of him. “but i’m not expecting anything.”
he shook his head immediately, leaning closer like he couldn’t let you get away with that. “you’re going to get it.”
you let out a small laugh, not really believing it. “no, i’m not.”
“you are. i know these things,” he said, smug as always, but there was no joke in his tone.
there was a pause, and then you asked quietly, “where are we?”
he glanced around, confused for a second. “griffith park.”
you shook your head, pressing. “i mean… where are we?”
heeseung went still, his smile faltering. “i…” he admitted after a beat, rubbing the back of his neck. “i don’t know.”
“what do we do?” you asked, and for the first time your voice cracked a little.
he sat back, exhaling. “i don’t think we can do anything. because when you get this—”
“if i get this,” you cut in quickly.
“when you get this,” he corrected, firm. “you’ve got to give it everything you’ve got.” he held your gaze, no grin now, no flirty remark to hide behind. “it’s your dream.”
you looked down at your hands for a moment, then back at him. “what are you going to do?”
he shrugged, but it wasn’t careless. “i’ve got to stick with my plan. stay here. keep building something for myself. you know…” his voice trailed off. you nodded slowly. he looked at you again, trying for a lighter tone. “you’ll be in paris. good comedy there. and you love comedy now.”
that got a small smile out of you. “right.”
another silence passed, and it wasn’t the same as the ones before. it felt heavier now, almost like if either of you spoke too quickly, the whole thing would snap. heeseung shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, and finally said, “i guess we’re just going to have to wait and see.” his voice was steady, but underneath it was this quiet resignation, like he already knew what wait and see really meant.
your chest tightened at his words. there was something final in the way he said it, even though he hadn’t admitted it out loud. your eyes stung, and you hated that you couldn’t hide it from him. you nodded, but your voice was small when you managed, “you know i’m always going to love you.” it came out almost like you weren’t sure you had the right to say it anymore, but you needed him to hear it.
he looked at you instantly, like the words had hit harder than he expected. he swallowed, his jaw tight, and for a second he didn’t say anything, just blinked like he was trying to hold back too. when he finally answered, his voice was quiet but firm, no hesitation at all. “i’m always going to love you too.” it was simple, but you could feel how much weight it carried, how much he meant it. he smiled then, not wide, not flirty, just soft a smile that was more sad than happy, but still real. he didn’t add anything else because there wasn’t anything left to say. from a distance, you looked like two people just sitting side by side on a bench, the city stretching out below you. but up close, it was clear you were both holding on to every second, trying to memorize it, because you knew the second you stood up, things would never feel the same again.
five years later…
you were back in los angeles. paris hadn’t been forever, but it had been the start of everything. the movie that came out of it wasn’t just good, it was huge. critics called it brave, audiences loved it, and suddenly your face was on billboards you never thought you’d see. after that came more scripts, more roles, and slowly you built a career that didn’t feel like a gamble anymore. now, walking down the familiar side streets near the warner brother’s lot, you moved differently. there was a calmness in you that hadn’t been there before, like you weren’t second guessing every step. you passed façades that looked almost parisian, fake ones from the studio backlot, the kind you used to only dream of walking through, and pushed open the door to a coffee shop you recognized instantly. inside, heads turned for a second — people always noticed now — but you kept moving to the counter with an ease that showed you’d gotten used to it. “hi, iced coffee, please,” you said, your voice steady, polite.
the barista nodded quickly, a little flustered, while the new manager brought your drink over himself. “on us,” she said with a smile.
“no, no, that’s fine,” you replied, handing over a few bills anyway. you dropped another into the tip jar, the barista smiling at you in return, maybe remembering this was once your spot behind the counter, not in front of it. a few minutes later, you stepped back out into the california sun, cup in hand. waiting for you was a studio golf cart, the kind reserved for talent and execs. a crew member waved, you climbed in, and the cart zipped you away down the lot, past sets and murals, like it was all just part of an ordinary day now.
later that evening, you pulled into your driveway. when you opened the door, the first thing you heard was laughter from the living room. your husband was sitting on the couch, your daughter bouncing in his lap, both of them looking up the second you walked in. “mommy!” she shouted, reaching her arms out to you, and you felt your whole body relax as you set your bag down and crossed the room. you scooped her up, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck, and for a second all the noise of the outside world fell away. your husband stood, smiling, and leaned in to kiss you hello. this was your life now. stable, full, grounded. no rushing from audition to audition, no wondering if you’d make rent that month. you had the work you always wanted, but you also had this: a family, a home, and a sense of certainty that had once felt impossible.
that night you and your husband were supposed to go to some dinner. the babysitter was already at your place, your daughter happily distracted with cartoons on the couch, so you left the house dressed up but not exactly excited. within twenty minutes you were stuck in traffic, cars barely moving, your husband drumming his fingers on the steering wheel while you scrolled on your phone. after a while he glanced at you and said, “do you really want to do this dinner?” you shook your head almost instantly, and he laughed. “how about we skip it and just find something to eat?” the idea hit you as relief, so you both agreed, pulled off the main road, and ended up wandering down a quieter street. it was cool out, and walking felt better than sitting in the car. you passed a row of restaurants, most of them crowded, until you heard laughter spilling out of a place on the corner. it wasn’t just a couple of laughs either, it was loud, the kind that carried onto the street and made you curious. your husband slowed down, looking at the entrance. “let’s try here,” he said casually.
you nodded, but when you stepped closer you froze. on the door there was a logo, a simple design, but one you knew immediately. it was the same sketch you’d drawn years ago for heeseung when he’d talked about opening his own bar. the same lines, the same shape, only now printed onto glass and lit up like it had always belonged there: hee’s.
you stood staring at it, your stomach twisting, your husband already reaching for the door. “this looks fun,” he said, oblivious, and pushed it open. then he looked back at you, smiling like he was inviting you to come on, so you followed, still stuck in that weird haze. inside, the place was full, people of all kinds filled the tables, some groups crowded near the stage, others at the bar. laughter rolled through the room in waves, and you realized this wasn’t just some bar, it was a comedy club. your eyes darted around as you followed your husband toward the bar, recognizing little details. photos on the wall of comedians you knew had worked with him, a stool near the side of the stage you’d seen in countless rehearsal rooms. it was his space.
“y/n?” your husband said, snapping you out of it. you nodded quickly and sat beside him as he found two seats near the stage. the set on stage wrapped up, applause breaking out. a young comic waved, thanked the crowd, and left. then another figure stepped up to the mic. heeseung.
the crowd cheered before he even said anything. he adjusted the stand, smiled, and said, “give it up one more time for yang jungwon, everyone.” the audience clapped harder, a few whistles in the mix. he waited, then grinned wider. “i told him to do knock knock jokes, but he didn’t listen.” the room laughed, and as the noise settled heeseung let his eyes sweep over the crowd. it was casual at first, the way performers always do, making contact, checking the energy of the room. then his gaze landed on you. he froze mid-breath. his smile stayed, but something behind it cracked for a split second. it was the first time he had seen you in years, and the weight of that hit him harder than the spotlight. there was a long pause, so long people started shifting in their seats. finally, he forced himself to keep the grin in place and said, “welcome to hee’s.” the audience clapped again, not noticing the way his voice dipped slightly on the words.
he gripped the mic stand like he needed the anchor, cleared his throat, and launched into his set. “so… a few years back, i was really bad at comedy. like, not just unfunny — like, embarrassingly unfunny. i was bombing so hard that people weren’t even booing anymore, they were just politely checking their phones.” the crowd laughed. he let them. “it was so bad that one girl — one actual actress, real famous now — decided to start studying me. i’m not making this up. she told me she was preparing for a role as a failed stand-up. like, joker-level failed. joaquin phoenix without the oscar. and she looked at me and went, ‘yeah, you’ll do.’” people cracked up, a ripple of laughter rolling through the room. your husband laughed too, clapping his hands once. you didn’t laugh. you sat still, your eyes locked on him, because you knew exactly who he was talking about. heeseung went on, pacing a little now, warming into the rhythm. “and the worst part is — she wasn’t wrong. i was the definition of pathetic. i’d get up there, sweat through my shirt, tell a joke about driving uber and the audience would just blink at me.”
the crowd howled again. “but here’s the thing,” he continued, leaning into the mic. “that girl — she stuck around. she told me when my jokes sucked. which was… always. she laughed when i was trying too hard, and somehow that made me want to keep going. and i swear, the first time i got a laugh from her that wasn’t pity, i thought, ‘ok, maybe i’m not completely hopeless.’” a softer laugh moved through the room. he let it breathe, then smiled at the crowd. “so i guess what i’m saying is, if you ever want to be good at something, find someone who believes in you just enough to tell you the truth. or, if you’re me, find an actress who literally thought you were audition material for the role of world’s saddest clown.”
the audience cracked up again, clapping and cheering, the energy lifting with him. you clapped along too, but inside your head something snapped open. it was like watching him there pulled you back to the beginning, and suddenly a reel of every possible version of your life with him started running all at once. you saw the first night again. the open mic party, the smell of cheap beer, the way heeseung leaned against the railing trying to look casual but mostly looking annoyed. “i remember you. i saw you at the open mic the other night,” he said, then he pressed, “look. i know you were taking notes on my jokes. what are you gonna do with it?”
you laughed in his face, sharp and quick. “your jokes? why would i take notes on your jokes?”
but this time, in the version in your head, he didn’t just stand there with his arms crossed. this time he kissed you right there, and you kissed him back, no hesitation. then the reel kept rolling. you saw nights of him showing up at your place, not tired or distracted, but ready, carrying takeout and scripts, both of you sitting on the floor until sunrise, your heads pressed together while you read lines and wrote bits and actually finished things instead of letting them trail off. you saw the premiere of your play, but the seats were full this time, packed with people laughing and clapping at the right moments, and in the front row he was there, smiling so big it almost embarrassed you. afterwards he pulled you into the hallway and kissed you against the poster with your name on it, telling you that you killed it, that he’d never been more proud. you saw his shows too. the same club you were sitting in now, but different. back then, in this version, you were the one rushing to grab the best seat, waiting for him to step out, and when the crowd roared you were the loudest one cheering. afterwards you met him by the bar, and instead of leaving with other people, he left with you.
the reel sped up, mixing real memories with imagined ones. the sushi dinners where he didn’t fall asleep in the car on the way home, the late nights where he didn’t choose rehearsal over you, the mornings you both actually woke up together instead of alone in separate apartments. you saw him meeting your parents, awkward but trying, and you saw yourself with jay and jake, laughing at how messy their apartment was while he tried to cook something edible. it all kept blending, flipping through versions of the same story until you didn’t know which ones were the past and which ones were just the fantasy. you saw a life where you stayed, or that he went to paris with you, where the fight never happened, where instead of walking away that night outside the theater, you listened, he listened, and you figured it out. in every version, you and heeseung ended up together. maybe not perfect, maybe still messy, but together.
the noise of the audience snapped you back. the applause had died down, and heeseung was back on stage, shifting into his next bit, his voice steady, his timing perfect. your husband leaned in, laughing, nudging your arm like this was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. you smiled faintly, but your eyes stayed on heeseung. you weren’t sure if you were watching him now or watching the reel still playing in your head. all you knew was that for a few minutes, you let yourself believe in every version of the story, even the ones that never happened.
the crowd was still buzzing when the lights shifted again. waiters moved between tables, glasses clinking, and the chatter grew as another comic prepared to step on stage. your husband leaned closer, his hand brushing your arm. “do you want to stay for the next set?” he asked, his voice casual, warm.
you shook your head, quiet but certain. “no,” you said softly. “let’s go.”
he nodded, smiling, and stood, reaching for his jacket. you followed, but before stepping away, your eyes drifted back to the stage. heeseung was there, still under the lights, laughing at something one of the other comics whispered, like years hadn’t just folded in on themselves the second your eyes met his. and then, as if he felt you looking, he glanced up. the room was loud, the crowd restless, but for a moment it was silent between you two. heeseung didn’t move, didn’t say anything, just held your gaze. you smiled first, small and certain. he smiled back, not the stage smile, but the one you remembered. the truth was, the two of you had already done what you were meant to do. you’d shown up in each other’s lives at the right time. he had pushed you toward the stage, and you had pushed him toward the mic. the dreams that once felt impossible were now real, solid, standing right in front of you both.
the love had been real too, even if it didn’t last. and maybe that was the point all along. because sometimes it isn’t about staying. sometimes it’s about appearing, about being the person who changes the course, even if only for a while, because someone in the crowd could be the one you need to know, the one to finally lift you off the ground. someone in the crowd could take you where you wanna go, if you’re the someone ready to be found.
» RONNIE'S NOTES: hiiiiii guyssssss i seriously loved writing this fic BRUHHH it’s honestly the longest one i’ve ever written and i had so much fun with it even though the ending is kinda sad lmao i really love how it turned out especially cause i feel like it really fits the la la land vibe which is MY FAV MOVIE BTW if you haven’t watched the movie you might not get it, but if you have, you’ll see the plot is pretty similar. ps in my head the channel soobin is part of that heeseung group is smosh LLMAOOO and honestly yk sometimes life is just like that—people come into your life not to be a romantic thing but to put you exactly where you’re supposed to be and that’s kind of what this story is about (also sorry for totally losing it on the smut scene, i got kinda carried away lol) anyway HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT BYYYYYEEEEE!!!! <3 <3
⋆˙⟡ synopsis: jake didn’t want a roommate, and you weren’t exactly thrilled either. it was supposed to be temporary, simple, nothing personal. except living together made everything personal. every glance, every fight, every late night that ended closer than it should have. there’s no neat label for what happens between you two, no clean line where it starts or ends. it’s messy, it’s reckless, it’s addictive. and once it begins, neither of you really want it to stop.
→ pairing: roommate!jake x fem!reader … ﹒college au, smut (mdni!!), roommate to lovers, slowburn #playlist → stockholm syndrome - one direction | love like this - zayn | i don’t do drugs ft. ariana grande - doja cat | just my type - the vamps | 34+35 - ariana grande // word count: 30k
!! warnings: smut!! minors dni. oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex (don’t do it!!), public teasing, dirty talk, praise and degradation, softdom!jake, bratty!reader, spanking, jealousy, roommates with benefits but not really
jake never really did the whole quiet college life thing. he wasn’t failing classes or anything (he actually pulled decent grades when he cared enough to try) but most of his energy went into parties, half-serious hookups, and making sure he was never tied down to anything for too long. his apartment was a revolving door of friends, girls, and takeout containers, and he liked it that way. no one stayed long enough to know his laundry schedule or notice he slept with the tv on. it was easy, low maintenance, exactly how he wanted it. at least until the housing office screwed him over and dropped you into his space.
the week before had been pretty standard for jake, which meant a lot of nothing. monday night he was at heeseung’s place, half watching a game and half playing fifa with sunghoon until three in the morning. tuesday was drinks with sunoo and niki at that bar near campus. wednesday he skipped his morning lecture, slept until noon, and then spent the rest of the day hanging around jungwon’s dorm because jay had ordered pizza and jake didn’t feel like cooking. thursday was another party (he couldn’t even remember whose) and friday he woke up with a headache and a random girl’s hoodie on his couch.
it was the kind of week he’d been having for most of his college life, just bouncing between his friends’ places and his own small one-bedroom apartment. the lease was almost up, and he’d already decided he wanted to move. not because he hated it, it was fine, but the walls were thin, the neighbors complained too much, and he wanted more space. he’d been looking for a bigger place, just for himself, no roommates, no shared fridge, no awkward small talk.
the plan was simple: find a one-bedroom close to campus, maybe a little more expensive, but worth it for the peace. but then the housing office screwed something up. the unit he’d signed for got pulled last minute because of some “maintenance issue,” and by the time they told him, everything else on his list was already taken. they offered him a spot in a two-bedroom to “hold him over until something opens up,” and he took it, assuming they’d find some random guy to fill the other room eventually.
they didn’t. instead, they gave the second key to you.
“a girl?” heeseung asked, glancing over like he wanted to make sure he heard it right.
“yep,” jake said, “and before you ask, no, i don’t know anything about her. could’ve been some random dude from campus, but no, they put me with a girl.”
“it’s not the end of the world, you know.”
“yeah, except it kind of is,” jake said. “what if she’s, like, one of those people who tells you to keep it down because she’s got an 8am? i don’t need that kind of energy in my space. my place is supposed to be… my place.”
“your mojo dojo casa house?” jake shot him a look while heeseung giggled. “look, maybe it’s good for you,” he continued. “maybe you’ll stop bringing home random girls every other night.”
jake smirked. “or maybe i’ll just have to get better at sneaking them in.”
heeseung shook his head. “do you even know her name?”
“uh… i think it’s y/n? never seen her around campus. at least, not that i remember.”
“you could ask jungwon,” heeseung said. “he knows everyone.”
“yeah,” jake muttered, already half-distracted. “guess i’ll text him later. just… hope she’s not an asshole.”
heeseung gave him a look. “pretty sure she’s hoping the same thing about you. and she is probably right.”
so the rest of that week, jake was milking every last second of living alone. he left dishes in the sink without guilt, blasted music at 2 a.m. and walked around in just a towel after showers. it was good, chaotic and messy, but his kind of good. in a few days, there’d be another person in his space, and even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he wasn’t sure how much of himself he’d have to hide.
by wednesday, he had a lecture he couldn’t skip. attendance was part of the grade, and he’d already missed two. the class was one of those electives that pretended to be chill but always devolved into debates that dragged on way too long. he was used to zoning out, tossing in a comment or two just to keep his participation points. that day, though, the professor brought up some case study about media ethics, and jake, half out of boredom, half for fun, threw in a take that was just controversial enough to get people talking. what he didn’t expect was someone immediately firing back.
“that’s a terrible point,” a voice cut through from somewhere to his left, sharp enough to pull his attention off the professor.
jake turned his head, eyebrows lifting. you were a few rows over, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed like you’d been waiting for him to slip up just so you could pounce. you didn’t look nervous, or even slightly unsure, more like you were daring him to keep going.
“no, it’s not,” jake said easily, because there was no way he was letting some random girl dismantle him in front of the whole class.
“it is,” you said, tone flat, almost bored. “you’re just defending it because you think sounding confident is the same thing as being right.”
he scoffed, leaning forward in his seat. “and you’re disagreeing because you think being loud makes you smarter.”
for half a second, your mouth twitched, like you were fighting the urge to smile, but instead you sat up straighter, eyes locking on him as you launched into a rapid fire breakdown of why his take didn’t hold up. it wasn’t just a counterpoint; it was methodical, and you didn’t give him a second to slip in until you were done. he waited for the last word to leave your mouth before firing back, picking apart your logic, throwing in examples just to push your buttons. you didn’t flinch. if anything, you seemed more energized by the challenge, cutting him off mid-sentence, shaking your head with this smug little tilt that made his jaw tighten. within minutes, the rest of the class wasn’t even pretending to follow along with the lecture — they were watching you and him volley arguments. the professor didn’t step in right away, probably curious to see who would outlast the other. when he finally did, there was the faintest smile on his face. “alright, i think we’ll stop here. thanks to jake and y/n, for the spirited contribution today.”
the name landed like a coin dropping in his head. y/n. so this was you. his new roommate. he sat back in his chair, eyes still on you as you looked away like nothing had happened, like you hadn’t just gone toe-to-toe with him for fifteen straight minutes. for a moment, jake just sat there, letting it sink in. of all the people they could’ve stuck him with, it had to be you: sharp-tongued, unshakable, clearly not the type to let anything slide. he wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or impressed. maybe both. he’d expected his new roommate to be some background character in his life — someone who paid their half of the rent and stayed out of his way. instead, he’d gotten someone who looked him dead in the eye and called him out without hesitation. and now he couldn’t stop wondering if you’d be like that all the time, or if it was just a class thing.
later that day, he found jungwon in the campus café, earbuds in. “yo,” jake said, walking up. “you know a girl named y/n?”
jungwon pulled out one earbud, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to place the name. “yeah, i know her. why?”
“she’s my new roommate,” jake said. “met her today in class. well— ‘met’ is generous. more like she tried to shame me in front of thirty people.”
jungwon’s mouth curled into a small smile. “yeah, that sounds like her.”
“great,” jake muttered. “anything else i should know? is she, like… intense all the time?”
jungwon shrugged. “depends. she’s smart, doesn’t take crap from anyone, so, if you’re expecting her to just let you do your thing without comment, good luck.”
jake sat on the chair beside him, letting that sink in. “awesome. love that for me.”
jungwon smirked. “maybe you will.”
jake didn’t know what jungwon meant by that, but he was annoyed anyway. he was already holding a grudge against you, and not just because you’d tried to embarrass him in class. it was the fact that you were about to invade his space. his space. his mojo dojo casa house. the one thing he’d been looking forward to keeping entirely his own. and he was almost sure you didn’t even know he was your roommate yet. maybe they’d just hand you a key and let you figure it out when you showed up at the door. honestly, part of him wanted to see your face when you realized you were going to be living with the guy you’d gone toe-to-toe with for fifteen minutes straight in class.
except he didn’t get to see it. instead, later that night, his phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:
[you]: hey! this is y/n. i got your number from the housing office
[you]: i’m gonna be your new roommate
he stared at the screen for a second, frowning. the message was friendly, almost too friendly. not at all what he’d expected from someone who’d been ready to verbally fight him to death earlier that day. so he typed back:
[jake]: so i’m guessing you didn’t realize i’m the same jake from that elective class
your reply came fast:
[you]: cool
[you]: so saturday work for you to move in?
that was it. no sarcasm, no smug comment, no acknowledgment beyond the bare minimum. like you couldn’t care less. so jake typed back.
[jake]: yeah
[you]: i was thinking around 8 a.m.
jake blinked.
[jake]: 8 am? seriously?
[you]: yeah that’s usually when people start moving otherwise it gets late and we won’t finish in time
he stared at your last message, already annoyed at how matter-of-fact it was. eight in the morning. on a saturday. clearly, you were going to be a problem. the way you just stated it, like there was no room for discussion, like you knew exactly what you were doing, it rubbed him the wrong way. he could already tell you thought you were smart and sharp, the type who always got the last word. still, he agreed to the time. whatever. it was just one early morning. he’d deal with it. except, on friday night, he found himself in a situation where dealing with it became unlikely.
niki texted first, asking if he wanted to go to a frat party at yeonjun’s. normally, jake could’ve said no, but if niki was going, sunghoon was going too. and if sunghoon was going, sunoo would end up there. if sunoo was going, jungwon would tag along. and if jungwon was going, jay wouldn’t miss it. and once jay was in, heeseung was coming too, which meant heeseung was bringing weed. and if heeseung was bringing weed, jake had no choice. so, yeah, he was going.
the night was exactly what he expected, and every time he thought about leaving, someone shoved another drink in his hand, or heeseung started laughing at something and somehow convinced him to stay another hour. by the time he got home, it was late. way too late for someone who’d promised to be functional by eight a.m. still, he felt pretty good about himself. he’d packed up most of his apartment earlier that week, stacked boxes into his car, even cleaned the kitchen. all that was left was to wake up on time, meet you, and help move. except he didn’t wake up on time. in fact, he didn’t wake up anywhere near eight.
he woke up at— well, “woke up” is generous. it was noon. the sun’s already rude through the blinds and his phone battery’s dying because he forgot to charge it. but when he grabbed his phone, the first thing he saw was the time, and then immediate, gut-level panic set in. he shot out of bed, tripping over the pile of clothes from last night, and threw on whatever was closest: sweats, shirt inside out, mismatched socks. somewhere between shoving his wallet into his pocket and finding his keys, he finally noticed the one missed call from you. and one single text.
[you]: where are you?
with no follow up, no all caps rage, no triple question marks. he had you pegged as the type to spam twenty messages and call until his phone caught fire, so the sheer chill of it threw him off. so he typed back, “sorry, woke up late” and all you did was leave it on read. weird. still, he loaded himself into his car, already stuffed with boxes, trash bags of clothes and drove to the new apartment.
when he got there, the front door was locked. which, okay, fair. except… he didn’t have a key yet. and judging by the silence and total lack of life inside, you weren’t home. he started texting, but nothing. sent a couple more, still nothing. called, rang out. now he was sitting in the driver’s seat, engine off, staring at his steering wheel like it was gonna give him the answers. that was it, he was homeless now. he was alone, in a parking lot, surrounded by his own boxed-up belongings, slowly spiraling because you were ghosting him before you’d even officially met.
after four hours of torture, of sending countless messages to different friends asking if they had a spare couch for him to crash on, you finally pulled into the parking lot. before you could even close the car’s door behind you, he was already out of his own car, walking fast toward you with this mix of relief and frustration written all over his face. “where the hell were you?” he asked, his voice somewhere between annoyed and breathless.
you just glanced at him, locking your car, throwing your bag over your shoulder, and said, “out.” no explanation, no detail, just a flat answer that somehow irritated him even more.
“out?” he repeated, following as you started toward the building. “i’ve been sitting here for hours. i thought you were gonna be here when i got here.”
you shrugged, not even slowing your pace, and said, “i finished my move this morning, then i went to do my stuff. what do you want me to do, sit around all day waiting for you?”
he blinked, because as much as that annoyed him, he couldn’t exactly argue with the logic. “you could’ve at least answered your phone,” he tried again, his tone still sharp but quieter now. “you could’ve told me where you were.” you glanced at him like you couldn’t believe he was making this a big deal.
“jake, you woke up late. that’s not my problem. i texted you once, called you once, you didn’t answer, so i went on with my day.”
he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly, feeling this weird mix of embarrassment and irritation because you were right, he knew you were right, you didn’t owe him a play-by-play of your day, but still, he’d been stuck in the car for hours thinking you’d ghosted him or forgotten he was moving in. so you handed him the key without ceremony, and then you walked him through the apartment, pointing out the light switches and the laundry schedule for the building. it was clear you’d already settled in enough to claim your space, and when he asked about the rooms, you didn’t even try to sugarcoat it — because he hadn’t shown up on time, you’d gone ahead and picked yours, and obviously you’d taken the one with the ensuite. makes sense, he’d thought, even though in his head he was trying to figure out if there was a polite way to argue for it without sounding petty. there wasn’t.
so he just nodded while you explained which cabinet in the hallway was his and which shelves in the fridge he could use, and he kept thinking about how he’d imagined this moment going differently, maybe a little more friendly, or a little less efficient. by the time you were done showing him around, he was still standing there with his bag in hand, realizing you’d already turned back to whatever you were doing before he got here, like the whole moving-in thing was just one more item on your to do list.
and it was weird, the first day. jake was still figuring out where to put his stuff, boxes half open in the living room, one duffel bag sitting on the couch. you were around, but not really. sometimes he’d hear you moving in the kitchen, sometimes a door closing. you kept yourself busy with other things, like tidying up shelves, rearranging stuff in the bathroom, but never really lingering around him. he’d try to make some small comment about anything or how heavy the box was, but you’d just hum or nod without looking up. not rude, just minimal.
around dinner time, he was sitting on the floor, pulling cables out of a box, when you passed by. he decided to try again. “so, uh... is it okay to smoke weed in here?”
you stopped mid-step. “what kind of weed?”
he blinked like he wasn’t sure if that was a trick question. “what kind?”
“yeah. what do you smoke?”
“uh, just some pressed weed i get from a friend.” the friend in question was heeseung.
you looked at him like he’d just admitted he eats microwave fish every day. “no. get hash or something that doesn’t stink up the whole place.”
he stared at you, half surprised you knew the difference, half offended you thought he could casually drop money on that. “you think i’ve got hash money?”
you didn’t bother answering. just kept walking down the hall like the conversation was over. he let it go for a while, partly because he was too tired to argue, partly because you clearly weren’t the type to back down on random rules like this. so later, after he’d unpacked most of his stuff and was starting to feel like maybe the apartment wasn’t a total maze, he found you in the kitchen. you were leaning against the counter, scrolling on your phone, looking way too relaxed for someone who’d just finished telling him his entire stash was trash. “so what if i wanna smoke?” he asked, like the thought had been simmering in the back of his head since you’d walked away.
you sighed. “fine.” you got your bag, pulled out a small pink hello kitty case, unzipped it, and handed him a vape pen. “here. so you don’t make the place smell like cheap weed.”
he took it carefully, holding it between his fingers like it might break. “you’re just giving me this?”
“yeah. consider it a gift. welcome to the apartment.” you didn’t wait for a reaction. you just turned and went straight to your room, shutting the door behind you. he stayed there for a while, standing in the middle of the kitchen with the pen in his hand, staring at it. he couldn’t tell if you were insanely generous, weirdly controlling, or both. all he knew was that he suddenly had a vape pen and absolutely no idea who the hell his new roommate actually was.
and as the first week passed, jake still had no idea who the hell you were. and it passed with a lot of unpacking, awkward silences, and jake slowly realizing that living with you was going to be a whole different kind of challenge. he spent most of his mornings moving boxes, setting up shelves, and trying to figure out which things actually belonged in the apartment and which were just random trash he’d been holding onto too long. you kept mostly to yourself, your own rhythm never really syncing with his. sometimes he’d hear the shower running, the clink of dishes, the sound of you tidying up, but you didn’t really say much. he tried to make conversation here and there, asking if you knew where the extra hangers were, joking about how one of the light bulbs kept flickering. but you’d just hum, nod, or give a short answer before disappearing back into your room. it frustrated him more than he expected, and yet he couldn’t deny that there was something compelling about how unbothered and self-contained you were.
by the end of the week, he’d made more progress with his stuff than he thought he would, but he was still adjusting to the fact that you were this constant, quiet presence that refused to be read. he didn’t know if it was intimidating or fascinating, or maybe both. whatever it was, it made him more aware of how he moved, how he spoke, and how quickly he could lose himself in trying to get your attention, even when you weren’t giving him much to work with. he couldn’t quite place it, but there was a pull there, subtle, like he was slowly cataloguing all the little details about you without meaning to.
“didn’t you say you didn’t want a roommate who’d constantly be in your business?” heeseung caught up with him on campus later that week, walking a few steps ahead before turning with a teasing grin.
jake shot him a look, half annoyed, half exasperated. “yeah, but dude, she’s way too quiet. i can’t tell if she’s judging me or just ignoring me.”
heeseung shook his head, smiling. “so you wanted someone quiet and now you’re mad because she actually is?”
jake ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, knowing full well how ridiculous he sounded. he had spent days complaining about the idea of a roommate, imagining someone annoying, loud, constantly in his space, and now here he was, griping about someone who literally did what he asked: kept to herself, stayed out of his way, didn’t force conversation or attention. and yet, it frustrated him more than he expected.
there was this weird tension in his chest, part irritation, part curiosity, part… something else he couldn’t quite name. he hated admitting it, but he found himself noticing the smallest things about you, and it was confusing, because on one hand he wanted the space, the quiet, the low-maintenance roommate, and on the other hand, he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you did not give a fuck. he was aware he was contradicting himself, and that made him feel unsettled. part of him wanted to shake himself out of it, to remind himself that he wasn’t supposed to care this much, and part of him was quietly, stubbornly intrigued, wondering just how much of you he was going to notice before the week was over.
then, friday night, his phone buzzed. it was a message from minjeong, a girl he sometimes hooked up with, asking if she could come see the new apartment. he stared at the screen, a grin creeping onto his face. of course, no problem. before replying, he hesitated for a second, realizing he should probably check with you first, but the thought of minjeong seeing the place and giving him a little validation was too tempting. he typed a quick yes and hit send, already anticipating how you might react when he mentioned it. he wasn’t sure if you would care or just shrug it off, and part of him was curious to see which way it would go. it was a small test, really, to see where you stood in his world now, after a week of careful observation, silent judgments, and that inexplicable pull he couldn’t ignore.
so he walked out of his room ready to find you and give his very casual, very “oh by the way” announcement, only to be met with an empty apartment. no shoes by the door, no faint sound of your music bleeding through your bedroom walls. you hadn’t mentioned going anywhere — not that you had to, you weren’t friends — but still, it was weird. so jake pulled his phone out, thumb hovering for a second before typing:
[jake]: hey, just so u know, i invited someone over
a beat later, your reply came in:
[you]: ok
just that. his brows knit, an odd twist forming in his chest.
[jake]: where u at?
he typed, almost without thinking. the answer was immediate and annoyingly vague:
[you]: out
he stared at it, something about that one word sticking under his skin. you were out. out where? out with who? and why didn’t you care that he was bringing someone here? so now he’s pacing around the living room for a while. it’s not like he expected you to drop your location or anything, but something about it just sits wrong in his chest. and now he’s overthinking. where could you even be? and why is he suddenly caring this much? he tells himself it’s just curiosity. except he keeps checking his phone like you might send a follow-up.
and by the time minjeong shows up, he’s still in his own head about it. she walks in all confident, tosses her hair, does the whole slow smile thing she always does. “nice place,” she says, already looking him up and down like she’s rating him along with the apartment. he smirks back, plays along, but it’s half-automatic. she leans on the kitchen counter and asks if he missed her. he says “of course” because that’s what he’s supposed to say, but his eyes flick to his phone sitting on the coffee table, dark screen staring back at him.
they sit on the couch, she slides closer, her hand on his thigh, and he’s doing the whole flirty banter thing but it’s on autopilot. every time there’s a sound from the hallway, his head snaps toward the door. minjeong notices after the third time and laughs, “what, expecting someone else?” he shakes his head, “nah, just… thought i heard something.” she raises an eyebrow but lets it go, moving in again. he’s responsive, sure, but his brain keeps circling back to the same two questions: where the hell are you, and why does it bug him so much that you didn’t care about this?
eventually, she’s kissing him and he’s kissing her back, and they’re headed toward his room. he’s still glancing toward the door every few seconds like you’re going to walk in at any moment. when they get to the bed, his phone is still in his hand for a second before he remembers to toss it on the nightstand. she notices and smirks, “you waiting for a more exciting guest?” he laughs it off, pulling her down with him, but his ears are still half-tuned to any noise outside. it’s ridiculous, he knows it, but the whole thing feels a little off-balance, like part of him is still in the living room waiting for the front door to open.
and the front door didn’t open that night at all. unless you count when minjeong left. it was late, way past midnight, after they’d already done enough to wake up the entire building if anyone had been around to hear it. and that was the thing, no one was. or at least, you weren’t. and jake kept coming back to that, the quiet in the apartment that wasn’t just because minjeong was gone. you hadn’t come home. you hadn’t been home all night.
he sat on the couch for a bit after walking minjeong out, phone in his hand like he was expecting some kind of alert, something that would tell him where you were without having to actually ask. he scrolled aimlessly, checked the time, opened and closed your chat three times without typing anything. he told himself it wasn’t his business, you were an adult, you could do whatever you wanted. but the longer he sat there, the more he kept glancing at the door like maybe you’d just appear. so around three in the morning, after deciding he wasn’t gonna sleep unless he knew for sure, he finally gave in. he typed out something short:
[jake]: ur not coming back tonight? do u have ur key? i’m locking up
it didn’t take long for your reply to come through:
[you]: not sleeping at home
[you]: i have my key
short, no explanation as always, just enough to make him stare at the screen for a while. he locked the door like he said he would, but even then, he stayed in the living room a bit longer, phone face down on the coffee table, wondering why the hell it mattered so much. he told himself it was just because he liked knowing who was in the apartment at night. that was all. just basic roommate awareness. nothing else.
when he woke up the next morning, you were already home, the house smelled faintly of coffee. it was quiet, a lived-in silence. he could almost map your movements from his room. you’d been up for a while, moving like someone who didn’t feel the need to announce their presence. he padded into the kitchen barefoot, hair still sticking up from sleep, and found you leaning against the counter with a mug in hand. you were watching the coffee swirl lazily inside it, eyes still heavy but mind clearly elsewhere. for some reason, that annoyed him a little, how comfortable you seemed in your own head. “would be nice if you told someone when you’re sleeping out,” he said, tone casual, but not casual enough. “so no one gets worried.”
you looked up slowly, brows pulling together just a touch. it wasn’t defensive, more like you were trying to understand why he’d say something like that. “why would you be worried? it’s not your problem.”
he blinked at you, caught off guard by how flatly you said it. “it’s… common courtesy,” he said after a beat, shrugging like it was obvious. “worrying about where a woman is. world’s dangerous out there.”
you laughed. it wasn’t polite or restrained, and it was the first genuine sound like that he’d heard from you. light, unguarded, almost surprised at him. “wow. you’re quite the gentleman.” you took another sip of coffee, your mouth curling faintly at the rim of the mug. “did you at least invite the girl from last night to stay over?”
his brows lifted slightly. “how do you know there was a girl here?”
“you said you’d invited someone. i assumed.”
“could’ve been a friend.”
“was it?”
he hesitated. “…no.”
“and you didn’t let her sleep here? sent her home in the middle of the night? what a gentleman you are.” and the way you said it was easy, amused, not mocking exactly, but you knew it would get under his skin. and it did.
you brushed past him then, and you disappeared into your room. he stood there longer than he should have, eyes fixed on the doorway you’d gone through. something about the whole thing stuck in his chest: the way you’d turned his comment back on him, the ease with which you’d disarmed him, that little smile like you were in on a joke he hadn’t been told. and jake wasn’t entirely sure what the hell was going on with him. he didn’t like people poking around in his life, didn’t like having to explain himself, didn’t even like the idea of anyone thinking they could read him. and yet something about you was getting under his skin. it was irritating.
so he told himself it wasn’t that deep. just curiosity, right? he wanted to figure you out. that was it, nothing more. but still, when he realized you had that same morning class together — the one you’d already gone head-to-head in a couple weeks ago — he caught himself planning for it. the class started early, and usually he’d drag himself out of bed last minute, throwing on whatever shirt that didn’t smell and heading out without a word. this time was different, he set his alarm for an hour earlier, got up without hitting snooze, even made coffee before you could. it wasn’t about impressing you (he wouldn’t admit it even to himself if it was) it was about… timing. so by the time you emerged from your room, hair still a little mussed from sleep, jake was leaning casually against the counter, mug in hand, already dressed and ready to go. casual, like he hadn’t been waiting. like this was just how his mornings worked.
“you’re up early,” you said, almost suspicious.
“yeah. felt like it,” he replied, too quickly, then took a slow sip of coffee to make it seem effortless. but the truth was, he’d calculated this perfectly. if he left when you left, that meant you had to walk together. and if you walked together, maybe he’d get another piece of whatever puzzle you were. so you’re halfway through your coffee when you notice he’s still there. jake’s on the couch, legs stretched out, phone in hand, not even pretending he’s in a rush. you’re moving around the kitchen, rinsing the mug, tying your hair back, checking the time, and he’s just sitting there. you give him this look, a suspicious glance, like, shouldn’t you be gone by now? but he doesn’t move.
when you finally ask why he hasn’t left yet, he says he’s waiting. you keep getting ready, slipping on your jacket, and ask what for. he says for the time to go. you stop for a second, frown at him, then keep going. “we have class together,” he adds, like it’s a fact that explains everything.
you shrug. “and?” he looks at you like the “and” is obvious.
“and it’s easier if we go together.” you stare at him a little longer, just enough to make him shift in his seat, then go back to your routine without answering.
in his head he’s already decided it was a bad idea. not the worst one he’s ever had, but bad enough that he’s starting to think he should’ve just left first, slipped out before you were done, because now it’s getting weird. the kind of weird where you’re both in the same room but not really in the same moment. he’s slouched on the couch, not even pretending to do anything else, just letting his eyes follow you while you get your stuff. when you’re finally ready and moving toward the door, you stop halfway like you remembered something. he waits, thinking you forgot your phone, but you just stand there looking at him. “what?” he says, his voice almost casual but not quite.
you blink at him, like you’re surprised he even had to ask, and then you say, “aren’t you coming with me?” and for a second he doesn’t know how to answer, because he wasn’t planning on it, and somehow you asking makes it feel like he should’ve been. you grab your bag, holding the door open just enough to make it obvious you’re waiting. he gets up slower than necessary, like maybe to prove a point, and follows you out into the hallway. you lock the door, check the handle once, then start walking without looking at him. he falls into step beside you, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, posture easy like he’s just strolling instead of heading to an 8am lecture.
and for a while it’s just the sound of your shoes on the pavement and his occasional sniff. the air’s still got that sharp morning chill, and you pull your jacket a little tighter. he glances at you sideways, like he’s got something to say but he’s holding it back until it’ll land the way he wants. “remember the last time we had this class together?” he finally says, the corners of his mouth lifting.
you don’t look at him. “no.”
“yeah you do,” he presses, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “we ended up arguing for, like, half the lecture. i don’t even remember what it was about.”
“then maybe it wasn’t important.”
he laughs under his breath. “probably not. but i remember you getting all serious about it. it was kinda—” he tilts his head at you, “—entertaining.”
you stop at the crosswalk, eyes fixed on the blinking red hand. “you only think that because you never have anything real to say.”
he looks at you shocked. “…what?”
“you heard me,” you say, and it’s not even mean, just matter-of-fact, and jake at this point this is how you always make your point.
the light changes, and you step forward before he can come up with a comeback. he walks next to you, but there’s a pause now, and he can feel it settle in his chest, strange. because you’re not wrong, but you’re also not someone who usually just says things like that. he’s half smiling, but inside he’s turning the comment over, wondering if you’ve always thought that or if you just decided it today. so by the time you’re halfway down the block, he decides to poke at it. “so… you think i talk just to hear my own voice?”
“no,” you say, not looking at him. “i think you talk because silence makes you uncomfortable.”
he lets out a low whistle. “wow. brutal.”
“also true.”
he kicks at a crack in the sidewalk. “and here i thought we were bonding on this nice morning walk.”
“we’re walking to class. that’s all.”
but you say it without any heat, and that messes with him more than if you’d snapped. he’s used to people either feeding into his teasing or shutting it down, but you do neither. you just keep going, like he’s background noise. and the whole time, he’s thinking about how he doesn’t actually know where you stand on… well, anything. he knows the shapes of your reactions, the expressions you make, the way you close off when you’re done with a conversation. but the why behind it? no clue. and for someone like him, who’s so used to reading people, that’s almost infuriating. almost. because if he’s honest, it’s also the most interesting part.
once you get to the class, you’re sitting two seats to the left of him. the class today is some big group discussion thing, and the professor has just announced the topic: social media and whether it’s made society better or worse. jake’s leaning back in his chair, tapping his pen against the desk, already plotting his moment. he doesn’t really care about the actual topic, he just wants to say something dumb enough to make you whip your head around in disbelief. he figures you’ll roll your eyes, maybe sigh loudly, maybe mutter something under your breath. that’s the payoff he’s after.
when his turn comes, he clears his throat, and with this fake casual tone goes, “i think social media’s the best thing to ever happen to humanity. like, if we didn’t have it, we’d still be living in caves or something.” he even throws in a little shrug, like, yeah, obviously. he’s waiting for you to bite. but you don’t. you don’t even look at him. instead, from across the room, some guy he vaguely recognizes — sunghan or sungchan, something like that — immediately jumps in. “that’s literally the dumbest take i’ve heard in weeks,” the guy says, and then launches into this rapid-fire list of points about misinformation, mental health crises, economic inequality, all tied back to the rise of social media. it’s brutal. sunghan/sungchan has stats, examples, quotes from studies. jake tries to cut in once or twice with a “yeah but—” or “that’s not really—” but he gets steamrolled every single time.
the professor looks mildly entertained but doesn’t intervene. the rest of the class is clearly enjoying the free show. by the time the guy is done, jake has been verbally drop-kicked into oblivion and is now just sitting there, staring at his notes like they might save him. that’s when he catches you trying so hard not to laugh. your head is tilted slightly down, your hand covering your mouth, but your shoulders are shaking just enough to give you away. he can see your eyes flick toward him for a split second before you look back at your screen. it’s not loud, it’s not mean, but you’re absolutely laughing at him, and somehow that’s worse than if you’d just called him an idiot to his face.
so when class ended, jake lingered by the door, pretending to check his phone but really waiting to see your reaction. he didn’t quite know why he cared at all, but he did it anyway. you were gathering your bag slowly, methodically, like you weren’t in a rush to leave. he caught your eye for a second, trying to gauge if you were mad or impressed or whatever it was he felt. “so… that guy kind of roasted you,” you said as you slung your bag over your shoulder, not even looking at him. your tone was flat, but there was something in it that made jake pause. probably because he never thought you could possibly initiate a conversation, but you did.
“i was just… making a point,” he said, a little defensively, leaning against the wall. “i thought it would… shake things up.”
you glanced at him, brow slightly raised. “you mean irritate everyone in the room?”
“that’s… partially true,” he admitted, smirking. “but also, come on, he kind of came at me with like ten facts and three graphs and this is, frankly, your fault.”
you finally looked at him, eyes narrowing a fraction. “what? why?”
“erm, yeah,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “you were the only person i wanted to see annoyed.” he paused, realizing he sounded ridiculous, but didn’t care enough to fix it.
you snorted softly, almost a laugh, and jake’s stomach did that weird flip. “you’re really trying to get my attention like that?"
jake blinked at you, caught off guard by how direct you were. he opened his mouth to say something clever, then closed it again, realizing anything he said would sound stupid. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to look casual, like he wasn’t suddenly hyper-aware of every word you were saying. “uh… i mean, no, not really,” he said finally, shrugging in a way that was supposed to be nonchalant but probably came off awkward. “i was just… paying attention, that’s all.”
you just shook your head slightly, a faint smirk playing on your lips, and muttered, “sure, keep telling yourself that,” before turning and walking out of the room without another word. jake stayed where he was, frozen for a second, watching you move. he told himself he was just observing, making mental notes, like a perfectly normal, totally innocent thing to do. but the second he saw you from behind, the way your jacket shifted and the rhythm of your steps, he caught himself glancing lower than he probably should have. he immediately chastised himself internally, straightening up and trying to act casual, pretending he wasn’t noticing anything at all, but the truth was, his eyes had betrayed him, and now he couldn’t stop tracking you. he followed you with a mix of fascination and mild guilt, half annoyed at himself for reacting like that, half unable to look away of your ass. he was trying to convince himself it wasn’t a big deal, that he wasn’t being creepy, that it was just instinct or habit or some excuse he could believe.
jake ran a hand over his face, rubbing at the tension that had built up since he’d watched you leave. heeseung caught up with him in the hallway, leaning casually against the railing, and immediately smirked. “dude… were you checking her ass?” when the fuck did heeseung get here?
jake blinked, caught off guard. “no, not like that, i—i just… it was unavoidable. she walked past me.” he tried to sound convincing, but the explanation sounded thin even to his own ears.
heeseung raised an eyebrow, that teasing grin still in place. “so you did check your roommate’s ass.”
“you’re making me sound like a creep,” jake protested, heat rising to his face despite his attempt at nonchalance.
“you are a little bit creepy, to be fair,” heeseung said flatly, shrugging.
jake groaned, spinning his hand through his hair again, knowing he wasn’t going to win this argument. and yeah, he knew he’d looked. he was painfully aware of it. he couldn’t deny that you were attractive: your build, your posture, the way you moved with this effortless, contained confidence. and then there were your eyes, sharp and perceptive, the kind that seemed to see everything, even if you said nothing. he was aware of all of it, aware that you had this pull on him he didn’t want to admit, aware that your quiet, self-contained presence made every glance he stole more intense than it should be.
heeseung laughed, shaking his head like he’d just figured out jake’s secret. “man, you’re doomed,” he said, nudging jake lightly. “you’re already halfway in over your head.” jake rolled his eyes, but inside he was already replaying the way you’d walked past, how the jacket shifted over your shoulders, the calm, almost indifferent way you moved. he’d caught himself staring, yeah, but he didn’t care to admit it, not to anyone. it was one more thing about you he couldn’t figure out, one more reason he was quietly, stubbornly fascinated, and even though he’d never say it aloud, part of him couldn’t wait to see what else about you would catch his attention.
and that first month after jake checked you out, went by in a weird blur. not weird in the sense that anything dramatic happened, but in the way where jake kept catching himself noticing things he swore he wouldn’t care about. you were quiet, which he expected and knew. what he didn’t expect was how the silence wasn’t awkward, but it was steady. you didn’t give much away, not about your life, not about your family, not even about basic stuff like what you did on weekends before moving in. you always had this wall up, and he couldn’t tell if it was intentional or just the way you were. still, every once in a while, out of nowhere, you’d drop a sarcastic comment that was so perfectly timed it threw him off. it wasn’t often, but when it happened, he caught himself laughing harder than he probably should’ve.
he tried to test the waters sometimes, inviting people over just to see if you’d react. girls, friends, whoever. and honestly, you didn’t. if anything, you were almost too chill about it. you’d disappear into your room, door closed, headphones probably on, and not make a sound. the first time it happened, he thought maybe you’d get annoyed, or passive aggressive, but you didn’t. you didn’t even seem to care. and that made him feel guilty in a way he couldn’t explain. like, you were being way too decent about it for him to even think about making noise on purpose. he considered it once, just to see if you’d snap, but then he imagined how shitty it would be if you did that to him, so he didn’t.
with his friends, you were a little different. sometimes you’d come out and say hi, mostly if jungwon was around, since you already knew him. you talked to him more than the others, and jake noticed that too. you weren’t rude to the rest, but you didn’t go out of your way to interact either. it wasn’t that you were antisocial, more that you just didn’t give out pieces of yourself easily. and that became the part jake couldn’t stop circling back to.
what threw him most was how the tension kept building, even when nothing was really happening. the more you stayed closed off, the more he wanted to know. it didn’t help that every time he called someone over, it felt emptier than it used to. he didn’t know when it shifted, but it did. before, having a girl over was automatic, easy. now, after a couple weeks, it just didn’t feel the same and he didn’t even know why. the excuse he told himself was that he was busy, but deep down he wondered if it was because of you. he hated that thought, so he shoved it down, but it lingered anyway.
some nights he caught himself with the dumbest thing in his head, thinking you were kind of a shadow holding him hostage. he’d laugh to himself, because obviously it wasn’t that deep, but then again, the words fit in a way he didn’t want to admit. he’d think about it when he was lying awake, about how he hadn’t wanted a roommate in the first place, and now that he had one, he couldn’t stop thinking about all the things he didn’t know about you.
and then you told him you were having someone over. first time ever. no warning, no buildup, just said it casually like it wasn’t a big deal. but it was for him, at least. he tried not to make a face, though his brain immediately went into overdrive. someone over? who? what kind of someone? was this, like, a friend situation or more than that? he didn’t know if it was his place to even ask. you’d made it pretty clear from the beginning that there was space between you two, that you weren’t looking to blur lines. and since you never asked him anything about his own business, it felt wrong to pry into yours.
still, the curiosity was eating him alive. he asked the only question that came to his head: if you wanted him to leave. the second he said it, he regretted it, because there was nothing in the world he wanted less than leaving. but he said it anyway, tried to make it sound casual, then added if you wanted him locked in his room instead. you barely looked up from what you were doing. “do whatever you want,” you said, and that got him. it was nothing, just three words, but it stuck like a thorn.
later, when the knock came at the door, he was already in his room pretending to be busy, except he wasn’t. he was standing near the door with his phone in his hand, not even scrolling, just waiting. he opened it a crack when he heard your voice, enough to press his ear to the wood like some kind of loser. the voice that answered you was familiar: beomgyu. of course, it made perfect sense. he knew him from campus, mostly through heeseung, since the two of them were basically glued together in that haze of weed smoke. he wasn’t surprised you knew him too, and it also tracked. he remembered the vape pen you’d handed him the first day you moved in. he’d never actually seen you smoke in the apartment or even outside, but he had the sense you did. actually, jake never really saw you doing anything at all. so he listened in without shame. your voices were close, just muffled enough through the wood to make him lean harder. “you’re not alone?” beomgyu asked at some point.
“no,” you said. “jake’s here.”
there was a pause before beomgyu spoke again, casual, almost nosy: “you guys getting along?”
“it’s not like we interact that much,” you replied easily, like it wasn’t anything. “but i’d say yeah, it’s fine.” and he froze at that. not like we interact that much. it was true, technically. still, hearing it out loud made something twist in his stomach. it wasn’t an insult, not even close, but he stood there staring at the door like he’d just been punched. so he waited for more, but you and beomgyu moved on to something else he couldn’t quite catch. he didn’t realize until then how ridiculous he must’ve looked: half crouched, ear glued to the door, but he stayed there anyway.
eventually, you and beomgyu went to your room. the realization left him with this strange knot in his stomach. he couldn’t tell if it was jealousy or just curiosity, or maybe both at the same time. he hated that he couldn’t put a name to it. he tried to ignore it, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, but the longer he sat there, the worse it got. eventually he gave up and got out of his room. he told himself he just wanted water, and that if he happened to run into beomgyu on the way, it wouldn’t even be weird. as long as beomgyu had his clothes on, it would be fine. he padded out into the kitchen, pretending to be casual, but his ears were tuned to your room. that’s when he heard your laugh. not the polite little chuckle you gave, but a loud laugh, the kind that broke out without you trying to hold it back. and it was beomgyu who made you laugh like that. jake stood there with the fridge door open, not even grabbing anything, just frowning at the sound like it personally offended him.
and then there was the smell. faint at first, but it didn’t take long to confirm. weed. you and beomgyu were smoking inside your room. jake shut the fridge, leaned on the counter, and tried to process that. he could feel himself spiraling, pacing a little, walking back and forth because he couldn’t sit still. the laugh still echoed in his head, mixed with the smoke that somehow seeped into the hall. after a while, the sound died down. no more laughter, no more voices, just silence. that was worse than hearing you laugh. jake went back to his room and then left it again almost immediately, too restless. he didn’t know what to do with himself. he hated the idea that out of every guy you could have decided to let into your room, it was beomgyu.
the thing was, jake actually liked beomgyu before this. he thought he was funny in that stupid way that worked in groups. he wasn’t the kind of guy jake ever thought of as competition, because why would he? beomgyu was the type who got away with everything because no one could ever be mad at him for long. but now that jake knew you were close to him, suddenly all the little things he’d brushed off about beomgyu started to bother him. his jokes weren’t that clever, he laughed at his own comments too much, he had this way of talking like he knew everything, and it grated on jake’s nerves. and the fact that you, out of all people, thought he was worth laughing with made jake’s chest feel tight.
and after a while, beomgyu left your room, you right behind him. jake was sitting on the couch with the tv on, some random show playing, though he hadn’t registered a single line of dialogue. he just wanted to be there, in plain sight, like some kind of silent reminder that this was still his apartment too. beomgyu walked out looking way too comfortable, way too casual for jake’s taste. he greeted jake like they were the best of friends, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. and sure, they weren’t strangers. they’d hung out a couple times, he was funny, easy to get along with. but right now jake didn’t care. he forced a smile, threw out a polite “hey man,” but his jaw was tight, and he knew his expression wasn’t fooling anyone.
you followed close behind, hair a little messy, eyes bright, clearly in a good mood. when beomgyu said goodbye, he leaned down and hugged you, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. “later, we’ll finish severance,” he said casually, like it was already an established ritual.
that one line stuck to jake’s ribs more than he wanted it to. severance. he didn’t even know you were watching that. now apparently you were watching it with beomgyu. his brain started filing through everything he knew about you, like he was trying to build some complete picture and somehow come out on top of it. he knew you had those hello kitty mugs in the kitchen, the kuromi dish towel, the snoopy blanket folded on your bed. so he knew you liked hello kitty and snoopy. he’d seen you drink coffee so watered down he almost called it tea. he’d heard you listening to old one direction songs, he knew you wore vanilla perfume, he knew you were friends with sakura and that once you’d worked on some project with jungwon, and that is how you got to know him. he knew all that. and now he had to add this new thing to the list, you were watching severance with beomgyu. and he didn’t know what you and beomgyu had, or if he even wanted to know. but it gnawed at him anyway, the idea that beomgyu had a piece of you he didn’t.
when beomgyu left, he said “see you, bro,” and jake nodded with the fakest polite smile, jaw tight. he wasn’t mad at beomgyu specifically, not really. but he was mad. he didn’t even know at what. maybe himself. maybe the fact that he didn’t know what the hell was going on in the room next to his.
when the door shut, you came back into the living room, and jake turned his head, voice low and even, like he was casually making conversation. “you were smoking?”
you froze for a second and then shrugged, reaching for something in the kitchen. “yeah. sorry if the smell bothered you.”
“didn’t bother me,” he said quickly. “i smoke all the time and you’ve never said anything.”
you looked back at him, eyebrows raised. “as long as you’re not smoking weed that stinks up the whole apartment, i don’t care.” you laughed a little, and jake felt the sound sit differently in his chest, lighter than before, like the tension had finally shifted. so he just tried to shoot his shot, because you were apparently in a good mood. and he hated that this probably had something to do with freaking beomgyu.
you busied yourself in the kitchen, pulling things out for a late snack, and jake found himself staring, debating if he should shut up or just ask. he leaned back, pretending casual. “so… you and beomgyu, then? i wouldn’t have guessed.”
the second the words left him, you burst out laughing. not a small laugh either, but a full, loud one that echoed through the place. you turned around, hand still holding whatever you’d grabbed from the fridge, and shook your head at him. “jake. beomgyu is my cousin!”
his brain short-circuited. he sat there, stone-faced, but inside he wanted to hit his head against the wall. hours. he’d spent hours stewing, imagining you making out with someone in the room next to his. all that, just for you to be hanging out with family. “oh,” he said finally, trying to keep it cool, but his voice cracked slightly at the end. he cleared his throat. “i—”
you were still laughing, wiping under your eye like you might tear up from how hard it hit you. “you thought—oh my god, you thought we were…?”
“i didn’t think anything,” he cut in, sharp, defensive. “just asked. chill.”
you grinned at him, knowing you’d hit a nerve. “yeah, sure. you didn’t think anything.”
jake pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, eyes flicking back to the tv, but all he could hear was your laugh ringing in the kitchen and the absolute humiliation settling in his stomach. maybe he was losing it. maybe he was reading way too much into things. maybe he just really, really hated not knowing anything about you so he was starting to make things up. so later that night he ended up doing the worst possible thing, which was talking to sunghoon and heeseung about it. and those two should not be trusted with advice, ever. they were sitting around in heeseung’s living room, controllers in hand, when jake let it slip, just needing to get it off his chest. “dude, if you wanna know more about her, it’s not that deep,” sunghoon said, not even looking up from the screen. “just… ask. or, i don’t know, pay attention.”
“yeah,” heeseung added, stretching. “you follow her on instagram, right? that’s step one.”
jake shook his head. “i don’t follow her.”
both of them turned to look at him like he’d confessed to a crime. “but you’ve stalked her, obviously,” sunghoon said.
“yeah,” jake admitted immediately. “of course i did. but she doesn’t have anything posted. she’s super low profile. it’s useless.”
they nodded like this was the biggest tragedy they’d ever heard, and then heeseung leaned in, annoyingly calm. “the only reason you’re going crazy about this is because you don’t know if she’s single.”
“that’s not it,” jake snapped back a little too quickly, a little too defensive. but it was kind of it. not all of it, but a piece. the truth was he’d been catching himself noticing you in ways he didn’t want to admit. at first it was just the obvious things, like your face, the way your hair always looked like you didn’t think about it too hard but it still landed perfectly. then it was smaller things, like the way you tilt your head when you’re listening to someone, or how your hands move when you’re talking, like your words can’t quite keep up. he didn’t want to be one of those guys who sits there cataloging every detail, but he couldn’t help it. he’d catch himself watching the way you crossed your legs, or the way you leaned forward when you laughed, and then immediately look away like he hadn’t been staring. it wasn’t even about being smooth or making a move, it was just the fact that you were magnetic in this casual, almost annoying way. and he hated that he noticed all of it, hated that every time you walked out of a room he was replaying little flashes of how you looked without meaning to.
so yeah, he wanted to know if you were single. he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but it just stuck in his head after the whole beomgyu thing. so later that week, he brought it up to jungwon in the most casual way he could manage, like it was just some random passing thought. he mentioned the whole situation, how he thought beomgyu was something else and how embarrassing it was to find out he wasn’t. jungwon listened, eyebrows slightly raised, and then cut straight to the point. “so you want to know if she’s single?”
jake nearly choked. “no, no, i mean, not really. i was just curious because i thought beomgyu was, you know, something. but i was wrong, so…” he trailed off, trying to look unbothered.
jungwon, who was sharper than he ever let on, tilted his head. “look, i don’t know either. she’s pretty closed off. but i don’t think so. never saw her with anyone.” so that was useless. jake got nothing out of it, except more confusion. but then he remembered something heeseung had said the night before, in one of those stupid conversations they always had. heeseung had said, if you want to know how a girl feels about you, just see how she reacts to your body. which was ridiculous advice, borderline dumb, and jake wasn’t going to actually be weird about it. but the thought stuck in his head anyway.
so on friday, he decided to test it. he walked out of the bathroom with only a towel around his hips, though he had underwear on underneath just in case of a worst case scenario. he slowed his pace on purpose, trying to look normal but also making sure he was giving enough time for it to register. you were on the couch, legs curled under you, your kindle in hand. you looked up the second he stepped out, and your eyes went wide. “what the fuck.”
he froze mid-step, doing his best to look surprised. “oh my god, sorry, i thought you weren’t home.”
you stared at him, unimpressed. “you literally saw me when you went into the bathroom.”
he pressed his lips together, pretending to think. “oh, did i? must’ve forgot.” he said it with that smug little edge to his voice, and then walked off to his room like nothing happened. but he noticed the way your cheeks went a little red. you didn’t choke on air or drop your kindle obviously, but it was a reaction, just this tiny shift, like your body betrayed you for a second. he saw your eyes flicker over his torso quickly before darting straight back down to your kindle, like you hadn’t seen a thing at all. like you weren’t even aware you’d done it. and jake, being jake, stood there for half a second longer than he should’ve, towel secured, trying not to smirk too obviously. because yeah, maybe heeseung’s advice was dumb. actually, no — heeseung’s advice was dumb. but for the first time, jake thought it might not have been completely useless.
so after that day, he started testing it, but nothing obvious, nothing that would make you call him out. he’d come back from the gym and not bother putting on a hoodie, just a loose tank that clung a little too much, shoulders still damp. he didn’t say anything, didn’t try to flex, just walked past you while you were on the couch and pretended not to notice when your eyes flicked up and then back down to your kindle or your phone. and he pretended even harder not to notice the way your ears went pink. sometimes he’d just hang around shirtless longer than necessary, instead of immediately throwing on a t-shirt. and maybe you didn’t say a word, maybe you didn’t even move, but he always caught the tiniest shifts, like the way you swallowed before answering him, the way you suddenly focused harder on whatever was in front of you.
one afternoon you were in the kitchen, standing at the counter making something to eat. he came up behind you to grab something from the cabinet, leaning just close enough to tower over your shoulder. you didn’t turn around, you didn’t step aside, but he noticed the way your shoulders tensed when his arm brushed past. he reached up, pulled down the box he needed, and that’s when he saw the tag sticking out from the back of your shirt. “your tag’s out,” he muttered, and before you could react he just pushed it back in with two fingers. but he felt the way goosebumps rose on your neck, the way your body stilled like you weren’t sure what to do with that touch. he didn’t say anything else, neither did you. he just stood there for a beat longer, holding the box, trying to act normal. but inside, he was wired. because you never said anything out loud, never gave him words to work with, but your body did. and he felt it, he felt it every single time.
and jake was convincing himself he was only doing it because you didn’t react badly. if the first time he’d tried something like that you had rolled your eyes, made a sharp comment, or told him to knock it off, he would’ve laughed it away and never tried again. that’s how it always went with you; if he pushed, you pushed back harder. you had a quick tongue and zero patience for his nonsense, and he’d seen you cut other people down in a heartbeat when they stepped out of line (him included). but with this, you let it happen. and that made him think, it was throwing him off because it didn’t fit the version of you he knew. you were sarcastic about everything, and if you weren’t shutting him down, then maybe he wasn’t crossing a line.
but then, over the next few weeks, he began to notice that it wasn’t just him anymore. or at least that’s what it felt like. little things turned into bigger ones, impossible to write off as accidents. like you’d bend down to grab something off the floor right in front of him, slow enough that his eyes didn’t have anywhere else to go. jake would clench his jaw, forcing himself to look away, but not before heat rushed straight to his ears (and pants). you’d sit on the arm of the couch instead of the empty cushion, your knee brushing his shoulder, your perfume sinking into his hoodie. one night you padded into the kitchen in just a tank top, stretching on your toes to reach the top shelf. jake had to press his palms against the counter behind him, knuckles whitening, because you didn’t ask for help, no, you just let him watch, every line of your body outlined under the dim light.
and jake thought maybe nothing was going on. maybe it was all in his head, even though it didn’t look like coincidence anymore. the way you brushed against him, the way your eyes lingered for just a second too long. it felt like you were teasing him back, in your own quiet, calculated way. and that awareness — knowing full well how fucked he was — made everything worse. because you see, you didn’t let people in. you kept yourself locked tight, doors closed, curtains drawn. he knew barely anything about you outside these four walls. you never volunteered details about your life, never invited him to tag along, never acted like you wanted to be friends. you weren’t close, not in the normal sense. you were just roommates, nothing else. but still… something was shifting.
he remembered the first time he tested the waters when you walked past him in the hall and your perfume lingered long after you’d gone. he’d said it out loud, without thinking, a bold comment about how good you smelled. you froze, and you didn’t even say a proper thank you, you just mumbled something about liking vanilla, your voice a little too quick, a little too uneven. and then you disappeared into your room, shutting the door like nothing happened. but jake stood there for ten minutes after, heart hammering, because that reaction told him everything.
and then came the touch. he’d been struggling with this stupid package, a cardboard box of instant ramen, taped shut like fort knox. he was grunting under his breath, fighting with the seal, when you stepped in. annoyed, you muttered something about him doing it wrong, and before he could argue, your hands were on him. your fingers wrapped around his wrists, guiding his movements until the box tore open with ease. you sighed, and for a moment, all he could focus on was how close you were. the heat of your body pressed into his arm, the faint brush of your hair against his jaw when you leaned in. and then you looked up at him. eyes wide, impossibly soft, lashes catching the kitchen light. there was that tiny smirk ghosting over your lips, playful, smug, like you knew exactly what you’d just done to him. “there you go,” you murmured, almost teasing, before slipping away, leaving him standing there with his pulse thundering in his ears.
after that, he couldn’t stop thinking. he went over it again and again, trying to decide if it meant anything or if he was just imagining things. he told himself it was probably nothing. just you being impatient. just him reading into it too much.
but the confirmation came later. he came home one night, the door clicked shut behind him. his shoes made a sharp sound against the floor as he walked inside. the apartment was still. no tv, no music, no movement. then he stopped, because there was a sound. faint and muffled. it came from the end of the hallway, where your door was closed. he stood still, listening. it came again. a short, broken sound. a soft whimper.
jake first thought he was imagining things. but when you did it again, he froze. this time he thought maybe you were hurt, maybe something was wrong. but the one after came too soft, too broken, too close to pleasure for him to mistake it. he checked the shoes at the door. only his and yours. no one else in the apartment. and there was no way you hadn’t heard him come in. jake knew how loud the door was. you always heard it, you always knew. and still, you were moaning in your room. that pushed it somewhere else entirely. if it was teasing, it was nothing like before.
so he stomped back to his bedroom, jaw tight, every step heavier than the last. he felt like a freak for listening, for even standing there. his head kept repeating this is wrong, this is way past what i thought it was. but his body didn’t match, his pants told the truth. they were tight, uncomfortable. jake was hard. and that was the part that made him feel even worse. it wasn’t just that he’d overheard you; it was that the sound had hit him so fast he hadn’t even had time to deny it. it was automatic. one second he was frozen in the hallway, ears straining, the next his cock was pressing against the front of his jeans like his body had made the decision for him.
he sat on the edge of his bed, hands on his knees, trying to steady his breathing. what the fuck is wrong with me. she’s in there. she knows i’m home. she knows. the thought circled, sharp, louder than the blood rushing in his ears. he pressed his palm over the front of his pants like maybe the pressure would calm it down, but it only made him notice how hard he really was. he wanted to block it out, pretend he hadn’t heard anything. he wanted to tell himself you were just on the phone, or crying, or anything else that would make sense. but the sound was burned into his head already. too clear, too close. there was no mistaking it. and that was what fucked him up the most, that his body had answered to you before his brain could even think.
he leaned forward, elbows digging into his thighs, palms pressed together so tight his knuckles turned white. he squeezed his eyes shut, like maybe if he just forced himself still, forced himself quiet, it would go away. the hardness, the heat, the ache curling low in his stomach. don’t. don’t be that guy. don’t even think about it. but he was already thinking about it. not even a picture, not even a scene, just the sound of you. broken and soft, leaking under your door, and now stuck in his head like it belonged to him. his cock pulsed against his zipper at the memory, like it knew exactly what it wanted. he unbuttoned his jeans, just to breathe. just to make the pressure stop, at least, that was what he told himself. but the second the fabric loosened, the relief hit so hard he nearly groaned. his cock pressed against the thin cotton of his boxers, straining, and his hand hovered there like a magnet.
his breath caught when another sound drifted from your room, faint, muffled, but loud enough, enough to knock the last bit of reason out of him. he doubled over, biting back a curse, his hand slipping under the waistband before he could even think about stopping. the heat of his own skin made him shudder. just the first brush of his palm had his hips jerking up, desperate, like he’d been holding back for hours and not minutes. his head dropped as his fist closed around himself, slow, testing. fuck, this is wrong, so fucking wrong, he thought. but his body didn’t care. it only cared about the sound of you in his head, replaying again and again, and the slick drag of his hand working him through it. his thighs tensed, breath coming out rough and uneven. every time he told himself stop, stop, stop, his wrist only moved faster, harder, chasing after the relief he knew was coming, the one he couldn’t hold back now even if he tried. his hand sped up, and he couldn’t keep quiet anymore, with small, choked sounds slipping from his throat, swallowed quickly into the dark of his room. his other hand gripped the edge of the mattress so tight his knuckles hurt, grounding himself against the pull in his body.
your sounds were all over him now. they weren’t even real anymore, not in this moment, just echoes, broken pieces his brain kept inventing, filling the silence with the way he thought you’d sound. higher, sweeter, sharper. he couldn’t shake it. he didn’t want to. “fuck…” he whispered, teeth sinking into his lip. his hips started lifting off the bed, chasing the glide of his fist, faster now, desperate. every stroke made his cock twitch, leaking into his palm, slicking his movements until he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. his abs tightened, legs spread wider, the knot low in his stomach pulling so tight it hurt. his mind screamed wrong, wrong, wrong but his body begged more. he let his head fall back, throat bared, jaw clenched as his pace turned frantic. he was so close it scared him, his whole body straining, toes curling against the floor, veins standing out along his arm. then a low, guttural sound ripped out of him as he came, hot and messy over his hand, spilling across his stomach in heavy spurts. his body jolted with each pulse, hips jerking up uncontrollably until he had nothing left.
he collapsed back against the bed, chest rising and falling, his hand still sticky and trembling where it rested over himself. for a long moment, he just stared at the ceiling, shame burning behind his eyes, sweat cooling on his skin. what the fuck did i just do. and he spent a solid ten minutes just lying there on his bed, trying to convince himself that it made sense. he told himself he was just hard because he hadn’t had sex in a whole month, that was it, nothing more. it was perfectly normal. of course, he conveniently ignored the fact that the reason he hadn’t had sex for a month was entirely because of you, but no, that part didn’t factor in. he told himself he would only realize that connection in a few months, when he could actually think clearly.
the problem now was practical. he needed to get cleaned up. he needed to go to the bathroom. the thought of leaving his room in this state, cock still leaking, cum smeared across his stomach, was unbearable. the hallway was a risk, what if he ran into you? that was not happening. there was no way he could explain this, and he wasn’t ready to see your face right now. so he grabbed an old, stained shirt, the only thing he could find, and used it to wipe himself off the best he could. it was messy and gross, and he hated every second of it, but it was the only option until it was safe to move. he stayed in his room, waiting until it was late enough that he could assume you were either asleep or completely out of the house. only then did he finally step into the bathroom for a long, careful shower, making sure to clean every part of himself.
all the while, he kept thinking about what had just happened. he knew it was nasty, he knew it was a mess, but he also couldn’t shake the fact that you probably knew he had been there, probably knew he had heard everything, and that knowledge somehow made the situation even more intense. the idea that you had been aware, that you might have noticed, hung in his head, refusing to let him relax. he wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, wanted to convince himself that it was just a random, unfortunate incident, but the truth was stuck there, and now everything about being in the apartment, the quiet, the sounds, even the thought of you, carried a weight he wasn’t ready to deal with.
and in the next morning, jake didn’t expect to see you up this early. when he stepped out of his room, the smell of coffee hit him first, sharp and warm, filling the hallway and pulling him toward the kitchen. there you were, standing by the counter, wearing those stupid short pajama shorts. his blood rushed instantly, and he felt the familiar tension in his pants. he tried to take a deep breath, trying to remind himself to get a grip, telling himself you were doing absolutely nothing, that this was normal, mundane, everyday morning stuff. but the truth was, you had never worn that in front of him before, and the coincidence of it being now, after everything last night, made it impossible to ignore.
he watched you stretch, reaching for a cabinet, the shorts riding up slightly, the way your hair fell around your shoulders as you moved. his mind betrayed him immediately, going places it shouldn’t have. he pictured what you’d do if he bent you over the counter, if you’d make the prettiest sounds, whether you liked being praised or degraded more, if you— what? he had to force himself to stop before getting hard again, before thinking any further, because it was already too much and he couldn’t let it go any further in his head. the thoughts hit him so fast that he had to take a step back and shake his head, trying to stop himself before it got worse. he let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, and that’s when you noticed him. your eyes went wide, and you mumbled, almost under your breath, “oh my god… you scared me.”
“sorry,” he said quickly, voice a little rough, trying to sound casual. “good morning. uh… need to go to the bathroom.” without waiting for a response, he turned and stomped off, moving down the hall as if he owned none of the tension in his body, leaving you standing there in the kitchen with no clue what had just happened in his head.
he could still feel the heat from seeing you like that, the pressure in his pants not going away, the way his brain refused to let it drop. every step toward the bathroom was a fight against his own thoughts, and he kept telling himself over and over: it’s just coincidence. nothing happened. nothing’s happening. but deep down, he knew that wasn’t entirely true.
“bro, i don’t think i wanted to know that,” heeseung said flatly when he and jake met up after class later that week. they’d been walking out together, just talking about random shit, and jake had dropped everything on him like it was nothing. “i don’t fucking care about when you jack off or why you did it,” heeseung added, shaking his head, “but just leave me out of it, man.”
“i need to get this out of my chest, and it’s your fault it happened in the first place,” jake said, frustrated.
“my fault???” heeseung looked at him like he’d just grown a second head. “how the hell is this my fault?”
“you said that i needed to see how she reacted to my body,” jake shot back, way too fast. “so i tested it out, and she started teasing me back.”
heeseung stopped in his tracks and let out a laugh that was half disbelief, half amusement. “i can’t believe i was the butterfly effect to this.” they started walking again, but heeseung kept looking at him like he was ridiculous. “ok, look. if she’s doing it on purpose, if she’s teasing you back, then you have something to begin with. that’s not nothing. she’s not single, right?”
“yeah,” jake sighed, “i think that’s obvious. i would’ve known by now if she wasn’t.”
“so why don’t you just shoot your shot then?” heeseung asked simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
jake didn’t answer right away. he shoved his hands in his pockets, stared at the ground while they walked. he wanted to say something like, “yeah, maybe i should,” or laugh it off, but the words didn’t come. the truth was, he knew exactly why he wasn’t doing anything about it. he wasn’t stupid, he could tell there was tension there, maybe even mutual. but acting on it was a whole other thing. it wasn’t just about making a move, it was about what came after, and that thought scared the shit out of him.
yeah, he wanted you. he couldn’t stop thinking about you. every little thing you did stuck in his head way longer than it should. but then he imagined putting it all out there and being wrong, or worse, being right and not knowing what to do next. it was easier to keep it in his head, easier to let it build up until he was alone. heeseung’s words replayed in his mind even after they split ways. shoot your shot. it sounded simple. to jake, it wasn’t. he wasn’t sure if it was fear of rejection, or fear of what it would mean if you said yes. maybe both. either way, the answer was the same: he was too much of a pussy to do it.
so that week jake decided to do the most mature thing to do: hide. in his mind, the only way to deal with this was to make himself disappear. if he didn’t see you, he wouldn’t have to think about what had happened, and if he didn’t think about it, he wouldn’t have to deal with the way his body reacted every single time you walked into the room. so he avoided you. he knew the time you usually left the apartment in the morning, so suddenly he was waking up earlier just so he could sneak out before you. he knew you usually came back in the afternoon carrying way too many grocery bags for one person, so he started timing his trips to the gym right around then, making sure he wasn’t there when you struggled with the door. if you were in the kitchen, he was in his room. if you were in the living room, he was suddenly showering for the second time that day.
it wasn’t subtle, heeseung probably would’ve told him he was being obvious if he had seen it himself, but jake didn’t care. he didn’t trust himself enough to be around you casually. the worst part was that he couldn’t even look you in the eyes anymore. because if he did, there was this very real chance he’d remember how easy it was for his mind to run away with him, how easy it was to cross that line in his head. and yeah, maybe it sounded dramatic, but the truth was, jake was exhausted. he couldn’t deal with walking around half hard just because you existed near him. the hiding, in his mind, was damage control. it wasn’t him being a coward, it was him protecting himself. at least that’s what he kept telling himself when he ducked out of the apartment five minutes before you got home.
well, that was what he was trying to do before he got a random text from you.
[you]: hey
[you]: is everything alright?
jake immediately froze. you never reached out first, at least, not like this. usually it was him asking if you wanted takeout, or if you’d seen his charger, or if you could please stop leaving your shoes in the hallway before he tripped over them again. but you? starting the conversation? something was definitely off.
[jake]: yeah, why?
[you]: you left the apartment 5 times today already
[you]: do you need anything?
yeah, jake thought. i need you to stop being so fucking desirable all the time so i can concentrate on being a functional human being. but that wasn’t something he could say. and now, on top of everything else, there was the fact that you’d clearly noticed him doing laps in and out of the apartment like a maniac. the whole point of this plan was for you not to notice. so he figured the only way out was the classic jake strategy: an excuse.
[jake]: yeah heeseung went through a breakup so im just making sure he is not miserable so ill just go there everytime he texts smth depressing
the excuse rolled out faster than he could think it through. he just needed something that sounded believable enough. heeseung was safe territory, always the guy to blame when jake needed a reason for anything. if you asked questions, he could throw in a few vague details about ronnie, that girl heeseung’d mentioned ages ago. technically, it wasn’t even a total lie. ronnie had existed. jake could stretch the truth from there if he had to. but you didn’t ask. you just read the message, sat with it for a moment, and then typed back:
[you]: thats a bummer
nothing else. no digging, no casual oh, what happened? just those three words that landed in his chest heavier than they should have. and he felt this weird mixture of relief and panic. relief because you hadn’t pressed him on it, and panic because you’d noticed him enough to text in the first place. he had to admit that part of him almost wanted you to push. almost wanted you to call him out, make him explain himself, force him to say out loud the things he’d been dodging. but you didn’t, and maybe that was worse.
so later that week, niki had dragged jake into saying yes to another party. the way niki put it was, “you either come with me or you keep sulking around your room like a creep,” and honestly, jake couldn’t even argue. he was tired of hearing his own thoughts, tired of looping back to the same memory over and over again. so yeah, fine, a party at yeonjun’s house sounded better than being left alone with his brain. at least there’d be music and people he barely knew to keep him distracted.
and yeonjun’s parties weren’t your typical college movie kind of parties. they always looked like they weren’t supposed to be fun, but somehow were. it was messy but it had its charm, and jake, for the first time in a while, actually felt his shoulders loosen up. he started doing what he usually did at these things, standing with niki, making dumb comments about everyone around them, drinking just enough to not think too hard. and it worked. for a good while, it worked. the noise and the conversations around him felt like a cushion, keeping his thoughts away from you. it wasn’t until he caught a glimpse across the room that it all fell apart.
you were there. of course you were. you stood in the corner, not even trying, and still managing to make everyone else look like background characters. you were wearing this dress that was simple but unfairly perfect, paired with over-the-knee boots that jake knew he shouldn’t be noticing but he did anyway. your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, leaving your neck bare in a way that made him immediately uncomfortable with how much he was staring. and then there was some guy, leaning too close to you, talking about something jake couldn’t hear but didn’t need to. the sight of it landed in his chest harder than he expected. it wasn’t jealousy, or maybe it was, he couldn’t tell. it was more like a sharp reminder of why he’d been avoiding you in the first place. because if just looking at you from across the room was enough to make his chest tighten and his hands curl into fists, then he was in more trouble than he wanted to admit.
so he stood there, trying not to react, pretending to listen to whatever story niki was telling beside him. but his eyes kept dragging back to you, to the way you laughed at something the guy said, to how your body angled slightly toward him. and jake realized, in that exact moment, that no party was ever going to be enough to keep his mind off you. what should he do? it’s not like he had the kind of intimacy to just walk up and say something, so he just stared, completely giving himself away. heeseung noticed, of course he did, and followed jake’s eyes until he landed on you. he laughed, shaking his head. “she’s here?!” heeseung asked.
“i thought i was imagining it,” jake said, almost under his breath. “but yeah, apparently she’s here.”
he kept telling himself to look away, to stop being obvious, but he didn’t. he was stuck there, stuck on the way your hand brushed the guy’s arm when you laughed, stuck on how unfair it was that someone else got to stand in front of you while he sat there pretending not to fall apart. and then you looked over, right at him. your smile dropped just a little, your eyes widened, and it was clear in your face that you weren’t expecting to catch him staring.
so the guy in front of you was still talking, and honestly he might as well have been reading a grocery list because you weren’t paying attention anymore. you nodded at whatever he was saying, but your eyes weren’t on him, they were on jake. and that was enough to make jake’s stomach flip because what the fuck were you doing here? he’d never seen you at one of these parties before, not once. and he would’ve noticed, of course he would’ve noticed. he kept staring, which he knew was weird, but it was either that or look away and pretend you weren’t there, and clearly he didn’t have the strength for that. you were looking right at him, and suddenly the room felt smaller. after a few beats of mutual staring, you let out a small polite smile, muttered something to the guy in front of you, and then walked straight toward him, and jake’s brain short-circuited. don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out, he kept repeating to himself, but his body wasn’t listening because all he could do was stand there like an idiot, face blank, while you got closer.
“hey,” you said, a little breathless, like you’d rushed it out before you could change your mind.
“hey,” jake replied, and his voice cracked just a little, which killed him instantly inside.
“i didn’t know you were coming,” you said.
“i didn’t know you were coming,” jake said back, immediately regretting just copying you word for word, but it was too late. you squinted at him for a second, like you were deciding whether to call him out on it, but instead he just said first, “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you at parties before.”
“maybe you weren’t noticing before,” you shot back quickly, and jake felt that one in his chest. he wanted to respond but his brain was buffering, so the silence hung there until you turned to heeseung, who was standing right next to him. “heeseung, are you feeling better?” you asked softly, touching his shoulder with that concerned look on your face.
the problem was, heeseung had no idea what you were talking about. he blinked at you, confused. jake had completely forgotten he’d told you that heeseung was going through a breakup. he hadn’t exactly mentioned to heeseung that he said that. so now jake was trying to silently signal him, making weird eye contact and tiny nods, but that only made heeseung look more panicked. “uh… yeah, yeah, thank you for asking,” heeseung said finally, with a forced smile that looked more like he had no clue what was going on than confirming he was okay.
you nodded, satisfied with the answer, and jake was standing there next to him, internally screaming. so jake said it without thinking, “i didn’t see you leaving,” and as soon as the words left his mouth he already wanted to take them back.
you didn’t even blink though, you just said, “i went to yunjin’s to get ready,” and he nodded like an idiot, and then of course, right on cue, niki and heeseung decided to wander off and leave the two of you there, which only made everything worse. jake felt the silence press down between you, and it wasn’t like he could suddenly think of something casual and clever to fill it with. he couldn’t, his brain was blank.
it was awkward, no way around it. he kept reminding himself you were his roommate, that was literally all this was supposed to be. you two shared an apartment, you ate the same snacks sometimes, you argued about whose turn it was to take out the trash. that’s what it was. normal. except, yeah, there was the tiny detail where he had jacked off to the sound of you moaning in your room and then couldn’t look you in the eye for two days straight. that was the part he left out of the roommate definition.
you reached over suddenly, grabbed the beer out of his hand, and took a sip. jake just stood there frozen, staring, trying not to think about your lips on the bottle, trying not to think about your throat moving when you swallowed. and when you looked up at him with those wide, innocent eyes, like you hadn’t just completely wrecked his self control in two seconds flat, he actually felt his body betray him. his brain started spiraling in every direction. if he let this go, if he just stood there, he’d be fine. he could laugh it off, make some comment about how you owed him a new drink, let the moment pass. but if he kept staring at your mouth like that, if he noticed the way you leaned your hip against the counter next to him, he was done for. his self restraint was already stretched thin, one more move from you and it was game over.
so he forced himself to say something, anything, even though it came out a little too fast. “you know you can’t just steal my drink like that, right?” he tried to sound casual, but you tilted the beer back into your mouth and handed it back to him like it was yours now, not his, and jake just stood there holding the wet rim of the bottle, looking at the way your lip gloss was now on the glass. and then you moved closer, enough that he felt your shoulder brushing his arm every now and then, and he swore you were doing it on purpose. you were smiling at something across the room, acting so casual, and he kept thinking maybe he was imagining it. but then you looked up at him with that expression, and your lips were parted like you were about to say something stupid, except you didn’t. you just held his gaze long enough that jake started to feel the heat crawling up his neck. he finally leaned in a little and said under his breath, “are you drunk?” it came out a little harsher than he meant, like he was scolding you, but he couldn’t help it.
“no,” you said, almost laughing at the question. “that was literally my first sip of alcohol tonight. from your bottle.” you looked smug about it too, like you knew exactly what kind of effect you were having on him.
jake blinked at you, trying to find something to do with his hands. he ended up holding the bottle a little too tight, staring at the floor, then at you again. “then what are you doing?” he asked, quieter now, like he was testing the waters.
“talking,” you said easily, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and you gave him this small grin that wasn’t helping. you nudged his shoulder with yours again, deliberately this time, and he knew it. he felt his patience thinning, like he was standing at the edge of something dangerous.
and then it slipped out before he could stop himself. “who was that guy?” his tone was sharper than he intended, but he couldn’t stand it anymore. he hated the way he had watched you smile politely at some random dude five minutes ago.
you tilted your head at him, clearly amused at the question. “what guy?” you asked, even though you knew exactly who he was talking about.
“the one you were with when i saw you,” he muttered, eyes narrowing slightly as he tried not to look too obvious.
you let out a soft laugh, not mean, just entertained, like you couldn’t believe he was actually asking. “oh. him. he’s no one,” you said simply, and the way you brushed it off so casually should’ve been reassuring, but it didn’t make him feel any better. and you didn’t give him the chance to respond either. instead, you leaned in just a little closer again, your voice dropping lower. “why? are you jealous?”
jake almost choked on air. he wasn’t prepared for you to throw that at him so directly. his jaw tightened as he tried to think of something to say that wasn’t a dead giveaway. he looked away, shook his head slightly, and managed a quiet, “no.” but the problem was that his ears were red, his hand was still too tight around the bottle, and he couldn’t look you in the eye anymore. and you definitely noticed, you always did. “just looked like you were… into the conversation.”
“you were staring at me,” you countered, not even hesitating.
“and what if i was?” he asked, testing the words out like they might bite back. that made you pause, which was rare, and jake noticed. it pressed on his chest in a way that didn’t feel casual at all. he could’ve laughed, shrugged, deflected like he always did, but instead he leaned in. not a lot, just enough for you to notice, and you did.
you just looked at him, and you were close enough now that he caught the mix of your perfume and the faint smell of your shampoo. “then maybe i didn’t mind,” you said, quiet but steady.
jake’s jaw worked, and he had to glance away for half a second, his thumb tapping at the neck of the bottle. you leaned in too, closing that small gap. he turned back, met your eyes again, and his voice came out low, steady. “you shouldn’t tease me if you’re not serious.”
your head tilted a little, and you didn’t look away. “who said i’m not serious?”
that one hit him harder than he wanted to admit. he froze, his thoughts tangling up, but the silence between you wasn’t awkward this time. it was heavier, charged, and you didn’t back down. you stayed right there, waiting, like you wanted to see what he’d do. his grip on the bottle tightened and he finally said, “you know what you’re doing right now?”
“do i?” you asked, pretending you didn’t, but your tone gave you away.
and jake just stared at you for a moment too long, his chest tight, heat crawling under his skin. he couldn’t decide if you were messing with him or if this was actually happening, but either way, his restraint was hanging by a thread. jake finally swallowed, the tension in his chest making it hard to breathe normally. he shifted his weight, stepping just a fraction closer without realizing it. “i’ve been… i don’t know, noticing things,” he said, voice low, careful. “things you do. stuff that makes me… i don’t know.”
you raised a brow, tilting your head like you were trying to read him, he clenched his fist around the bottle, but it did nothing to calm the heat in his body. “like what?” you said, voice low.
he exhaled sharply. “like… how you look at me sometimes.” he paused, searching your face, seeing no judgment, no obvious teasing. “and honestly, i think you’ve been… i don’t know… teasing me. on purpose.”
you didn’t flinch, you just leaned slightly, so close now that he could feel your presence, the faint warmth radiating from you. “oh really?” you murmured, voice calm, but there was a sharp edge to it, a challenge. “and what makes you think that?”
jake had to stop himself from stepping even closer, from crossing the invisible line that both of you were dancing around. “it’s not subtle, you know?” he said, low. “you know exactly what you’re doing.”
“do you think so?” you whispered, almost a challenge.
he blinked, heart thumping, trying to keep it together. and then he took the plunge, voice rougher than he wanted, trying to gather the courage to ask about the thing he had in his head for weeks now. “the other day… i heard you. you were—” he paused to think, and then continued. “moaning. you knew i was home, didn’t you?”
you held his gaze, calm, unflinching. “yeah,” you said softly.
“so you did it on purpose?” he asked, the words out before he could stop himself. the heat in his chest was thick now, almost painful.
you smirked just a little, teasing but controlled. “did it work?”
“yeah. it worked,” he admitted, voice low. “and it’s not just that. it’s driving me insane.”
you leaned a little closer. “is that supposed to be a warning or a compliment?”
he swallowed, voice tightening. “both,” he said, letting the words hang between you. “i can’t stop thinking about what i’d do if i could do something about it.”
your eyes darkened slightly, unafraid, curious. “and what would that be?”
he stepped closer, close enough that his chest nearly brushed yours, lowering his voice until it was barely above a whisper near your ear. he could feel the tiny shivers running down your neck, the goosebumps rising under his words, and it made his pulse spike in a way he didn’t fully understand. “i’d have you pressed against the counter, hands on your waist, keeping you still… telling you exactly what you’re doing to me. i’d hear you, feel you, watch you react. i’d make you feel like this, just like you make me feel.”
your head tilted slightly, lips parting, your voice dropping low, soft, whiny even, “and would i like that?”
jake’s heart thudded, heat crawling under his skin. he had no idea where this sudden, bold courage came from, why he was standing this close, whispering things he had only imagined a hundred times before. the sound of your voice so small, so caught in the edge between curiosity and teasing, made him feel both terrified and unstoppable at the same time. he was aware of the sharp intake of your breath, the way your body subtly responded to his nearness, and it sent a jolt straight through him, making him realize just how much he wanted you in ways he’d never let himself admit out loud before. “fuck yes,” he admitted, almost hoarse. “i’d hear every little sound you make and i wouldn’t stop until you couldn’t think about anything else.”
you breathed out softly, close enough that he could feel it on his neck. “then maybe i should do it again,” you said, voice low, teasing, confident.
he felt his chest tighten, and the edge of control slipping further. “yeah,” he whispered back, stepping just a fraction closer, the air between you thick. “but you better be ready… because i’m not holding back next time.”
the two of you stood there, close, quiet but tense, words hanging, neither moving away, both testing boundaries, the space between you a trap neither wanted to leave. you stepped back finally, just enough to put some space between you, giving him a chance to breathe again, and smirked just a little. “let’s see about that then,” you said, turning and walking back toward the crowd, letting the music swallow you up. jake watched you go, every step of yours making it harder for him to think straight. he could feel the tightness in his pants, painfully aware of it, and he knew with full clarity that he wouldn’t survive the rest of the party without losing control or wanting to drag you into a quiet corner somewhere.
he sighed and looked over at heeseung, who was laughing at some dumb conversation across the room. jake waved him over, trying to keep his voice casual, even though it wasn’t. “hey… i’m gonna head out,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal.
heeseung raised an eyebrow, obviously confused. “this early?”
he didn’t explain further, and heeseung didn’t press. it was easier that way. jake grabbed his jacket, feeling every second of the walk through the apartment buzzing in his pants, a reminder that nothing had changed, nothing had slowed down. he left the house, the noise of the party fading behind him, and the quiet of the night hitting him immediately. he had gone to the party to stop thinking about you, to get out of his own head, and now he was heading home to do the exact same thing, except this time there’d be no music, no distractions, no crowd, just him and the chaos of his thoughts, and the lingering, infuriating memory of you.
when he got home, jake just stood in the middle of the apartment for a second, staring at nothing, trying to make sense of the mess in his head. he couldn’t figure out what was going on, couldn’t tell if he was coming or going. was this really happening? did he actually just… say all of that to you? the words he’d let slip, the way he’d leaned in, the low whisper, the way you hadn’t flinched but had leaned in just enough to let him feel. that part of his brain that usually kept him grounded was completely gone.
every time he closed his eyes he could see you again, the way you’d looked at him, that quiet, teasing confidence that made him question everything he thought he knew about boundaries. he tried to rationalize it, telling himself he was insane, that he was overreacting, that this was all just a weird, freaked out moment. but no matter what he told himself, the tightness in his pants, the heat in his chest, the way his mind kept drifting back to what he’d whispered, reminded him that rationalization wasn’t even in the room. he flopped onto the couch, arms stretched over his head, staring at the ceiling, heart still racing. part of him wanted to laugh at how completely screwed he was, part of him wanted to throw something, and the rest just wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend none of this had ever happened. except he knew, with full certainty, that pretending wasn’t an option, not after tonight.
so jake had two options at this point: fuck you, or jack off. and obviously, he went with the second option, even though every nerve in his body was screaming for the first. the problem was, he couldn’t just do that. it wasn’t like you were some random girl he’d met at a party, or someone he could just call over without consequences. you were his roommate, the person he shared a space with every day, the one he had to see in the kitchen, on the couch, in the hallway. it was complicated, messy, and borderline ridiculous if he stopped to think about it, which he wasn’t.
so he did what he always did when he was desperate and desperate was now: he went to the bathroom, closed the door, and tried to focus on the one thing he could control. he leaned against the counter, hands moving on autopilot, mind filled with everything he couldn’t have and everything he wanted from you. he imagined every detail he’d memorized over the weeks, the way you moved, the way you sounded, the way you’d leaned in tonight, letting him whisper things he hadn’t even thought he’d have the courage to say out loud.
he kept telling himself this was a temporary solution, a coping mechanism, but the truth was, it was both comforting and torturous at the same time. each movement, each imagined response from you, was a reminder of what he was actually craving and why he couldn’t have it. not yet, maybe not ever. and when he finally stepped out of the bathroom, spent and flushed, he didn’t even try to get more water or check his phone, he just crawled into bed, muscles still tense, thoughts still tangled, finally letting himself collapse completely, knowing he’d wake up with the same tangled mess of desire, confusion, and frustration waiting for him the next morning.
and it did, because when he woke up the next morning, you weren’t home. and that alone would have been enough to throw him off, but then he checked his email and saw a message from the housing office. they’d found an apartment for him to live by himself. right. he remembered now, vaguely, that when he’d moved in, they’d said he’d have to wait and live with you until they found him a spot. he had gotten so tangled up in this mess with you, so wrapped up in every look, every word, every single move, that he had completely forgotten that part.
did he want to move out? he didn’t know. he wasn’t sure about anything right now. all he knew was that he needed to get a grip, a real one, because the way he thought about you all the time wasn’t just distracting, it wasn’t even remotely sane. he felt like his brain had been hijacked, running in circles that always led back to you. even when he tried to picture anything else, any normal part of his life, it always got twisted into thoughts of you leaning over the counter, your voice low, your eyes catching his without warning. like he was living some sort of stockholm syndrome at this point.
and the apartment being empty for the first time in weeks didn’t calm him down. it just made the absence of you even louder. he felt like he was teetering on the edge of losing control entirely, and the only thing he could do was take a deep breath and remind himself that he had to get a motherfucking grip, because otherwise, he was never going to survive another day in his own head without completely losing it over you. he wanted to text you, ask where the hell you’d been, but he knew he shouldn’t. he didn’t know what to do with the knot in his chest, didn’t want to say the wrong thing or make it worse.
it was saturday, so he did what he did best (better than lying, better than hiding, better than making up excuses): he grabbed a joint. he didn’t even bother going to heeseung’s this time. he was just going to do the thing he always did on saturdays when you weren’t a part of his life; smoke a joint, watch some dumb tv show, and pretend his brain was a harmless ball of static for a few hours. that was the plan. just him, the couch, and the faint high that would let him stop thinking about you for a while.
and then, of course, you came back. he was mid-laugh at some ridiculous scene on tv when he heard the door open. he glanced up, half expecting it to be empty hands, bags, nothing of consequence. and then he saw you. same clothes as the night before, casual but somehow, it hit him harder than it should have. your eyes caught his the second you stepped in, and he froze, trying not to read too much into the fact that you’d obviously slept somewhere else.
you paused in the doorway for just a second, like you noticed him noticing, and for a fraction of a second, he thought about asking if you were okay, where you had been, but the words didn’t come. instead, all he could do was sit there, high and stiff in a way he didn’t want to admit, trying to pretend the joint was helping him relax while secretly his chest was tightening. the air between you was a quiet tension, and just that brief meeting of your eyes said more than either of you spoke. he couldn’t tell if it was curiosity, annoyance, or something else entirely, and part of him wanted to lean forward, ask questions, touch, do anything to break the quiet, while another part of him was just terrified of what he might do if he let that part win.
“hey,” you said, closing the door behind you. the sound made him shift slightly, awareness snapping back to the room.
“hey,” he said back, voice low, leaning back on the couch with his arms behind his head, legs spread out in a way that screamed casual but didn’t fool anyone, especially not him. he was staring at you, trying to look effortless, but every part of him was alert, tracking you. “you didn’t sleep home last night,” he added, tone flat, pretending it was nothing.
you let out a small laugh, a sound that made him tense a little despite himself. “yeah, i thought i was going back home with you, but you disappeared.” his eyes went wide. he opened his mouth to say something, probably a defensive excuse, but before he could get any words out, you added, pulling at the hem of your dress like it was too short, “don’t worry though, i slept at yunjin’s. all of my stuff was there as well, so…”
he tried not to notice your bare thighs as you adjusted the dress, but it was impossible. his brain, already foggy from the joint earlier, immediately betrayed him. focus, jake, he told himself. just focus. he hummed something that might have sounded like okay, though he doubted you heard, and tried to put the thought of how you looked out of his head.
“i’m gonna take a shower,” you said, starting toward your bedroom. the movement was casual, natural, but it made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t control. he watched you walk away, the sound of your footsteps fading, and just sat there, legs still spread, pretending the weed made him calm while in reality he was more worked up than he’d been in days. his thoughts were messy. he replayed last night, your eyes meeting his, the way you hadn’t flinched, hadn’t pulled away. the way your voice had carried a teasing edge, subtle but enough to make him question everything about his self control. he exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself, aware that the second you stepped out of sight, every rational thought was already collapsing. he was stuck in that limbo between wanting to reach for you and knowing he shouldn’t, between craving more of the teasing he hadn’t even fully understood and trying to convince himself he was fine.
after a while that felt like hours, you stepped out of your bedroom, hair still damp, a big t-shirt hanging over your shoulders, and the tiniest shorts barely peeking out underneath it. jake tried to slow his breathing, pretending he wasn’t looking at you, though every instinct in his body was screaming otherwise. you moved toward the kitchen to do whatever you were doing, the casual way you carried yourself making him even more aware of every inch of you. he muttered from the living room, more to fill the silence than to communicate anything real. “i got an email from the housing office today,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
“yeah?” you murmured back, barely glancing in his direction. “what did it say?” he asked, exhaling slowly before answering himself, like the words carried weight he wasn’t ready to face.
“they said they’ve found me a new place if i still wanted to move,” he finally said, voice quiet, almost like saying it out loud made it more real.
you walked back toward the living room, stopping a few feet from him, your eyes locking onto his. at this point, jake knew you, he knew your style of responses, knew it would probably be “ok,” or “cool,” or maybe just “let me know if you do.” that was your thing, leaving people guessing. but now, the look in your eyes was different, a little sharper, a little more present. “do you want to?” you asked, soft, but it cut through the space between you.
jake’s chest tightened. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to avoid reading too much into the moment, trying not to let himself drift the way he always did when you were near. “i don’t know… do you want me to move out?” he replied, careful.
“you can’t answer a question with another question,” you shot back, eyes not leaving his. the tension between you was tangible now.
“i don’t know, that is my answer,” he said, voice low, trying to keep casual but failing. he could feel the weight of you standing there, the subtle shift in your stance as if you were reading him, waiting for him to crack, to slip, to give away what he really wanted. and even as he said it, trying to make it sound harmless, he felt himself unravel a little, conscious of the heat creeping up, aware that he wasn’t just thinking about moving out anymore. he was thinking about you, the way you always had this effect on him, the way being near you could make him lose control while pretending he wasn’t already lost.
“i thought you did,” you moved slowly toward the couch where jake was sitting, the way you walked catching his attention immediately. his legs were still spread, casual, confident, and he was leaning back, joint in hand. when he exhaled, he set the joint aside and looked up at you, eyes locked, smirk playing on his lips like he was trying to make a joke out of something far from funny.
“yeah, you see… look what you’ve done to me,” he said, tone serious, but that smirk betrayed the chaos beneath it.
“what do you mean?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, innocent, but there was an edge to your voice that made him pause.
“you know what i mean,” he replied, voice lower now. his gaze was steady, unapologetic, like he was daring you to test him. you stayed there, barely moving, just watching him. jake’s eyes were fixed on yours, smirk fading into something heavier, more serious, like he was holding back a lot of things at once.
and at this point, jake didn’t know that you were confused inside too. he had no idea that every time he did something small, like leaning over to grab something from the fridge, brushing past you in the kitchen, or even just looking at you too long when you were on the couch, he was setting off this whole chain reaction inside you. honestly, it freaked you out. sometimes you caught yourself staring when you didn’t mean to, or laughing at something that wasn’t funny just because he said it, and then you’d have to stop yourself, walk away, act cold, shut down a little, just to keep yourself from completely losing it. it wasn’t that you didn’t like him, it wasn’t even just that he was attractive (he was annoyingly so), it was more like your body and your brain were completely misbehaving around him. that tension had been building, quietly, for months, and it made it hard for you to just be casual, to just be normal.
and now here he was, looking at you like this, voice serious, his eyes holding something you weren’t fully ready to confront. and part of you wanted to melt into him, wanted to say something, anything, that would admit everything, but another part of you freaked out. it was exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. it made you feel alive and ridiculous all at once. and jake had no idea that the reason you sometimes seemed distant or cold was because of this exact thing. not because you didn’t like him, not because you weren’t curious, not because you were bored or uninterested, it was because every time he was around, the tension inside you was so intense that you had to protect yourself from completely losing control. sometimes you’d lock yourself in your room just to stop your mind from spiraling, sometimes you’d act indifferent in front of him, because you couldn’t handle the way your own body reacted. it wasn’t just teasing him, it was trying to survive yourself.
and now, standing there, barely moving, just watching him, feeling the weight of him, you realized exactly how messed up and complicated everything between you had gotten. your instincts screamed at you to do something, but instead, you shut down again. you turned, walked to the kitchen, moving like you’d done a hundred times before. jake’s eyes widened the moment he saw you retreat. he couldn’t help it, he wasn’t going to let this go without pressing, without getting something out of you, anything. so he followed, until you reached the counter, your hands splayed flat against it, looking down like you were trying to disappear. he stopped just behind you, close enough that you could feel him, close enough that your spine stiffened.
“are you gonna still pretend nothing is going on at all?” he asked, voice low and calm. the words hit somewhere inside you, and you felt it immediately, shivering slightly, even though he wasn’t touching you. you didn’t move, didn’t answer, just let the tension hang for a moment. he waited, letting the pause stretch, then asked again. “or are we going to talk things through?”
you tried to speak, voice small and hesitant. “i… i don’t know what you want me to say,” you whispered, and the act of saying it made your chest tighten even more. he shifted closer, and every fraction of an inch made your body react. your muscles tensed without permission, your mind spun with what you should do, what you could say, what you weren’t allowed to admit.
“you don’t have anything to say?” he asked, a little firmer this time, not moving away, letting you feel the presence of him looming just behind. his shadow fell over you without him touching, and you could feel the heat of him, the quiet authority in the way he stood. his body was fully towering behind yours now, your breath catching when you realized just how close he was.
you exhaled, low and shaky. “i… i don’t know,” you whispered again, words barely audible, but enough that he caught them. and even in that tiny confession, there was weight.
“funny, you were pretty bold last night,” he said, leaning in even closer. you couldn’t see it, but you knew he was grinning, could feel it in the weight of him behind you. his breath brushed the back of your neck and made your skin tighten. “why are you acting so shy now?” he asked again, and even though he hadn’t touched you yet, your body reacted like he already had. you were aware of every movement he made, the closeness, the subtle press of his torso behind you.
“i’m not shy,” you whispered, your voice just audible, betraying none of the heat building inside.
“no?” he said, tone sharper now, leaning closer without really moving, letting the space between you shrink even more. “then why don’t you tell me what you want, mhm?” he asked, voice low and teasing.
his body was fully behind you now, pressing into your back in a way that made your muscles tense automatically. his presence alone was enough to make your skin react, goosebumps rising along your arms and down your spine. you arched your back slightly without thinking, just from the sound of his voice, and his body was fully behind you now, and you could feel him, hard, obvious against your ass, and it made your chest tighten. he shifted slightly, pressing more insistently, and the bulge in his pants rubbed against you in a way that made your thighs clench without thinking. a low, rough fuck escaped him, almost a growl, and it twisted your stomach, made your core tighten in response.
“see,” he murmured, his mouth near your ear now, “this is what you do to me.” his hand brushed the counter near yours, fingers curling into the edge. then he pressed a little closer, his body pushing into yours in a way that made you shift automatically. you felt the weight, the pressure of him against your back, the bulge pressing hard against your ass. your head tilted back slightly without thinking, and a small, strained whimper slipped out before you could stop it. “mhm? are you gonna tell me what you want now?” he asked, his voice steady in your ear. the sound, the proximity, the way he was so close, made your brain scramble.
“jake…” you whispered, voice trembling a little as your restraint started to slip.
“yeah?” he replied.
“what are you gonna do?” you asked.
he chuckled softly, leaning just a fraction closer so the tip of his nose brushed your hair. “oh, y/n, you can’t answer a question with another question,” he said, smirking, repeating the exact words you’d used on him earlier. there was a pause, just a beat, as he let the weight of it settle, his body still pressing against yours, still holding back more than he wanted to.
"i want you to do something..." you confessed, your voice almost breaking, low but desperate enough that he leaned closer to hear.
"like what?" he pushed, his tone steady but he moved his hands away from the counter to your hips, the grip on your hips wasn’t steady, holding you not so gently, fingers digging in just enough to keep you against him. you could feel how hard he was, the press of his bulge against you, and before you even realized, your hips started to move, unintentional, but enough to drag against him. his breath caught, almost a groan, and then he pulled you in tighter. "come on," he said, voice rougher this time, "tell me."
"anything, jake, please," you whispered, tilting your head back until the back of your head rested on his chest. you could feel how fast his heart was beating, his breath uneven above you.
his hands moved then, sliding slowly from your hips up to your stomach, hovering lower with each inch, testing how far he could go before you stopped him. your body reacted before you could think, leaning into his touch, chasing it. "tell me," he repeated, his lips brushing so close to your ear now that you shivered, "i need you to say it."
"fuck," you muttered, unable to form more than that, your voice messy with how badly you wanted it.
he chuckled against your skin at your reaction, low and knowing. "that all you got?"
you shook your head quickly, the restraint slipping out of you in pieces. "touch me already, jake, please."
this time, he didn’t hold back the groan that left him, deep and frustrated. "fuck… yeah, okay," he breathed, nodding slightly against your temple like he was finally giving in. his hands moved lower, deliberately slow, teasing you with every drag of his fingertips against your skin. one palm spread across your stomach, keeping you pressed to him, the other inching down, tracing the edge of your waistband like he wanted you to break first.
he let his fingers linger at the hem of your shorts, brushing just beneath the waistband, making you twitch. the other hand was already under your shirt, sliding up your stomach. when his palm reached higher, his thumb skimmed over your breasts until he realized. “fuck,” he muttered under his breath, squeezing a little harder, “you’re not even wearing a bra.” his voice carried a mix of surprise and satisfaction. “you wanted this, didn’t you?” he pushed, hand cupping your breast now, thumb dragging across your nipple slowly, making you whimper. you didn’t answer right away, but your breath told on you. he chuckled softly, enjoying the way you melted back against him.
“go on, tell me,” he pressed, his mouth right by your ear, “where do you want me to touch you, princess?” the name slipped out of him almost too naturally, and it made you shiver. the word clung to your skin, had your knees weakening, and he knew it.
“you know where, jake,” you whispered, voice breaking slightly, “please.”
his free hand slid down, inside your shorts now, the edge of your underwear dragging under his knuckles as he explored lower. he hummed against your ear, satisfied with how easy you gave in to him. “so needy,” he murmured, “tell me… what were you thinking about when you touched yourself for me, mhm?” his fingers flexed lower, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. you froze, shame and arousal mixing fast. “that day,” he kept going, relentless, “when you wanted me to hear you. what did you imagine, baby?”
his question left you dizzy, your head tilting back harder into his chest, your mouth opening but no sound coming out. his hand stilled, deliberately waiting. he wanted you to say it, to give him exactly what he asked for, and you knew he wouldn’t move until you did. “jake…” you muttered, your voice wrecked, your body already giving itself away even without the words.
“yeah?” he prompted, mouth brushing your ear, “don’t go shy on me now. tell me what you thought about.”
you swallowed hard, chest heaving against his hand, every nerve in your body screaming at you to give him what he wanted. his fingers were right there, waiting, unmoving, teasing you with the weight of his patience. “i was…” your voice cracked, almost a whimper, and he squeezed your breast harder, forcing you to spit it out. “i was imagining you touching me. like this.”
he hummed low in his throat, a cruel little sound that vibrated against your ear. “yeah? go on.” his hand slid lower, pressing down, reminding you where he could take this.
your thighs squeezed around his hand but you forced yourself to keep speaking. “i imagined… you putting your fingers inside me.”
he let out a quiet laugh, smug, hot against your skin. “fuck, that’s what you were thinking about? me—fucking you with my fingers while you moaned loud enough to let me know? you wanted me to hear, didn’t you?”
“jake—” your protest melted into a whimper when his fingers finally moved. he propped them under the thin fabric of your underwear, dragging slow circles right where you ached for him.
“so wet,” he muttered, almost in disbelief, “all this because of me? jesus, baby.” he didn’t even rush, dragging his fingers in lazy motions, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to drive you insane before giving you more. “this is what you were thinking about that day, huh?” he pressed, his voice sharp now, almost mocking. “lying there, knowing i was listening, spreading your legs and wishing it was me?”
your mouth fell open, a broken sound leaving your throat as he slipped two fingers between your folds. “fuck—” he hissed when he felt how you clenched around nothing, desperate. “you’re so ready for me. you don’t even need to be prepped, do you? just begging to be filled.” his fingers finally pushed inside, slow, deep, curling just right. you gasped, nails digging into his arm, and he groaned softly, enjoying how you reacted to every move.
“that’s it,” he whispered against your ear, thrusting his fingers in a steady rhythm, “take it. that’s what you wanted, right? me finger fucking you till you can’t even think straight?” your head fell back, a whimper catching in your throat, but he didn’t let up. “go on,” he ordered, curling his fingers again, dragging a broken moan out of you. “say that’s what you wanted me to do to you.”
“yes—” you breathed, desperate, “yes, jake, i need you.”
his smirk pressed into your skin, his pace picking up just a little. “good girl. finally telling me the truth.” every word out of his mouth was filth and command, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “you’re dripping all over my hand, baby. you hear that? fuck—” he drove his fingers deeper, curling hard, his palm grinding against your clit. “look at you,” he whispered, low and rough, “squirming for me. needy little thing.” your body trembled, your words dissolving into broken gasps, and he laughed again, cruel and soft. “don’t worry, princess. i’ll give you exactly what you were begging for.”
he started to move rougher, his fingers sliding in and out of you in a steady rhythm that kept building faster, deeper, harder. the way he pressed into you from behind, his hips flush to your ass so you could feel every bit of his hardness grinding against you, made your whole body tense. your back arched without thinking, desperate to take more, and your arms lifted, searching for something to grab onto, finally tangling in his hair, pulling at the back of his head just to ground yourself. he groaned at the tug, but didn’t slow down, curling his fingers inside you just right, the wet sounds between you filling the kitchen.
your moans grew louder, shameless, every sound spilling out only making him worse. “you make the prettiest sounds.” his lips brushed your jaw, his breath hot as his pace turned merciless, his fingers pumping into you with no pause, no relief. “fuck, look at you,” he said, grinding harder into your back while fucking you with his hand.
you whimpered his name, and he chuckled darkly, his mouth right at your ear. “who would’ve thought, hm? sweet little you, letting me finger you like this.” your body jolted when he curled his fingers deeper, and your grip on his hair tightened, head falling back onto his shoulder. “yeah, that’s it,” he whispered, teeth grazing your skin. “you like that? you like when i fuck you like this?”
you moaned and nodded, and the thought hit you hard: jake was nothing like you expected. way filthier, rougher, better than anything you ever pictured, and it only turned you on more, made you want to give him everything. “fuck, i knew you’d be this good,” he growled, fingers moving even faster, slick and deep. “shit, y/n, you’re perfect.” his pace grew ruthless, relentless, every push making your body jolt against the counter. you could feel your limit building, pressure winding tighter and tighter in your stomach until it was almost unbearable. “do you want to cum for me?” he rasped against your ear, breath hot on your skin. you couldn’t form words, just a broken moan leaving your lips. “say it, baby, or i’ll stop.” his tone dropped, sharp, commanding, even as his fingers kept pounding into you, and your whole body burned at the thought of him actually pulling away.
“fuck—yeah, jake,” you gasped, your voice cracking. “please, let me cum.”
he chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your shoulder as his lips brushed your skin. “aw, such a good girl,” he cooed, his voice dripping with filth. “asking for permission like that.” his pace didn’t slow, if anything, it grew harsher, fingers sliding in and out of you so fast the sound of your wetness filled the room, obscene and loud. his free hand gripped your waist, holding you right where he wanted you as he fucked you with his hand, grinding his cock into your ass with every thrust. “come on,” he urged, his voice rough. “cum on my fingers, baby, give it all to me.”
you cried out his name, trembling, your whole body arching against him. “fuck, your pussy’s clenching around my fingers, baby,” he groaned, his head dropping back for a second, overcome with how tight you felt. “so fucking tight—so desperate for me.”
the way he talked to you, the filth in his voice, the pressure of his cock grinding against you, it all crashed down at once, your body shuddering as you came undone on his hand. it was loud, messy, overwhelming, the kind of orgasm that left you gripping his hair like you might collapse if you let go. jake moaned with you, his fingers still moving deep inside to drag out every last wave. “fuck, that’s it,” he muttered, lips pressed to your neck. “fuck, i could do this to you forever.”
your body trembled against him, still clenching around his fingers, your moans breaking into soft whimpers as he finally slowed, dragging his soaked fingers out of you with a filthy sound. he hummed, bringing them up to his lips just to taste you, his tongue sliding slow over his knuckles before he smirked against your ear. “you taste even better than i imagined.”
he spun you around so fast you gasped, his grip on your hips rough, possessive, like he couldn’t stand another second of not having you face him. your back hit the counter and you stumbled, breath caught in your throat as you looked up at him, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched, his pupils blown so wide it was like he’d lost all sense of restraint. you were flushed, trembling, your ruined underwear sticking uncomfortably between your thighs, but the only thing you could think about was him towering over you, the outline of his cock straining against his pants, pressing against your hip like it was begging for you.
“fuck, look at you,” he whispered, forehead brushing yours as his lips trailed hot kisses along your cheek, down your jaw, to the corner of your mouth, teasing, just out of reach. “ruined, all for me.” his voice broke on the last word, ragged with hunger. “please…” his voice cracked, and for a second you thought you were imagining the desperation in him. but then he said it again, firmer this time, his breath ghosting over your lips. “please, let me kiss you.”
your head tipped back a little, chest rising and falling in erratic waves, and his hand slid up your side to cup your neck, thumb dragging under your jaw. he was trembling, but not from hesitation, from restraint. “you don’t get it,” he muttered, almost like he was confessing something against his will. “you’ve got me fucking obsessed.” his nose brushed yours, lips still barely touching, his words vibrating against your mouth. “come on, please” he demanded, his grip on your neck tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you shiver. “say you want me to ruin you.”
you couldn’t even form the words, too breathless, too lost in the heat of him. but you nodded, desperate, clutching his shirt like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. he groaned, finally smashing his lips against yours, messy, hungry, teeth clashing, tongues desperate. it wasn’t gentle, it was need. pure, raw, suffocating need. his hand dragged back down, pawing at your waist, your hip, like he couldn’t decide where to touch first. he was everywhere, kissing you like a man starved, whispering against your lips between frantic breaths, “my girl. my perfect fucking girl.”
his arms tightened around you, hands firm on the curve of your thighs as he pulled you up with ease, making you gasp when your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. you could feel how strong he was, the way his grip claimed you, as if he’d never let go. his mouth didn’t leave yours, lips bruising, tongue sliding hot and desperate against yours while his chest vibrated with a low groan. by the time he settled onto the couch, dragging you down onto his lap, your pulse was a mess. your body fit perfectly against him, straddling his hips, every shift pressing you harder onto the thick bulge straining through his pants. you whined into his mouth, the friction intoxicating, every grind pulling a deeper sound from his chest.
“fuck,” he hissed, breaking the kiss just long enough to press his forehead against yours, breathing ragged. his fingers dug into your hips, holding you still even as you tried to roll down on him again. “don’t do that. i can’t—” his words broke off into a groan, eyes fluttering shut as your heat pressed against him through the fabric.
you tilted your head, lips brushing his jaw as you whispered, smug and breathless, “can’t what?” and then you rocked against him again, slower this time, deliberately teasing, watching his composure crack.
his eyes snapped open, dark and wrecked, a strained chuckle escaping him. “you think you’re funny?” his grip tightened, pulling your body flush against his, making you feel every inch of his arousal grinding back up into you.
you only grinned, licking your lips, whispering like a dare, “maybe.”
his answer came as a guttural sound in his chest, one hand flying up into your hair, tugging your head back just enough to expose your throat as he kissed it hard. “keep testing me, baby,” your breath hitched as his hand tangled tighter in your hair, guiding you down between his spread legs. his eyes burned into you, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling with ragged hunger. he looked feral, undone, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sight of him like this, so desperate, but still in control, every move deliberate. “on your knees,” he rasped, voice dripping authority. “show me how good you can be.”
the tone made your stomach flip, heat rushing through your body. you sank down slowly, your knees pressing into the carpet, never breaking eye contact. his grip on your hair loosened just enough for him to cup your cheek with his other hand, thumb stroking across your swollen bottom lip. “fuck, look at you,” he groaned, leaning forward just enough to press another bruising kiss against your lips before pulling back. “my pretty girl, already wrecked for me. and i haven’t even fucked you yet.” his words made you whimper, thighs pressing together instinctively. he noticed, of course, chuckling low in his chest, the sound dark and mocking. “needy little thing. you’d do anything i tell you, wouldn’t you?” he asked, tilting your chin up with his thumb.
“yes,” you breathed, without hesitation. “anything.”
“good girl,” he smirked, his thumb pressing against your lips, slipping just enough inside for you to suck. you did, obediently, hollowing your cheeks around him, watching the way his head tipped back with a guttural moan. “shit, you’re gonna ruin me.” he let you go just as quickly, his hand moving to unbuckle his belt. the metallic clink filled the room, sharp, electric, making your pulse race. you licked your lips as he tugged his zipper down, freeing himself, his cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers. he was so hard it almost hurt to look at, and you felt your mouth water instantly.
“is this what you wanted, hm?” he rasped, shoving his boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free, flushed and heavy in his hand. he stroked himself slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on yours. “you grind on me like a desperate little slut, and now look at you—on your knees for it. go on, baby. show me how bad you need it.”
you didn’t hesitate. your lips parted as you leaned in, tongue dragging up from his base in a long, slow lick that had his jaw clenching. his hand shot into your hair, tightening until it stung, forcing your head down so his cock slid between your lips, thick and aching. “fuck,” he groaned, his hips jerking forward despite himself, the sound almost breaking into a laugh at how quickly he lost control. “that’s it. open wide. choke on it, just keep those pretty eyes on me while you do.”
you hummed around him, and the vibrations made his thighs flex under your hands, his breath catching in a sharp curse. his head tipped back for a moment, chest heaving, but then he forced his gaze down again, eyes dark and wild as they burned into you. “jesus fuck,” he groaned, hips rolling steady into your mouth now, using your lips, your throat. he tugged harshly at your hair, pulling you off him with a wet pop. strings of spit clung from your swollen lips to his tip, and he wiped at your chin with his thumb, only to push it past your lips and into your mouth. “that’s it, suck it,” he ordered, voice rough, thumb pressing down on your tongue while his cock throbbed inches from your face. “you’re so fucking messy for me. you like this, huh? like being my filthy girl?”
“yes, jake, god,” you admitted, your lips wrapped around his thumb, tongue swirling around it like you were starving for him.
“fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, fist tightening in your hair as his other hand guided his cock back to your mouth. “open up, baby. take it all.” he pushed deep, his length sliding against your throat until you gagged around him, his groan breaking out into something almost animalistic. “look at you choking on it… messy little slut. you were made for this cock, weren’t you? fuck—yeah, you were. my perfect fucktoy.”
your eyes watered, drool spilling down your chin, and he hissed, hips jerking forward. “god, i could cum just from this… but i need to ruin you first.” with a sharp tug, he pulled you off him again, breath ragged, his cock slick and twitching in his hand. he yanked you up like you weighed nothing. “turn around,” he ordered, voice low and wrecked.
you barely had time to obey before he hooked his fingers into your shorts, dragging them down along with your ruined underwear. the air hit your wetness and he groaned, a filthy, guttural sound. his hand spanked your ass, the sting making you gasp. he leaned in, pressing a teasing, sharp toothed kiss against your ass cheek, his nose brushing dangerously close between them, inhaling like he was drunk on your scent. “fuck, i need that ass,” he muttered against your skin, voice breaking with hunger. his tongue darted out, barely grazing you before he pulled back, spinning you to face him again, eyes black with lust.
“you have no idea what i’m about to do to you, baby.” he didn’t give you a second to settle while you sat on his lap again. he took your shirt off, and his mouth latched onto your nipple with a greedy, wet pressure, sucking and nibbling in a way that made your chest tighten and your hips press down harder against him. every movement, every grind you made sent a low groan vibrating from his chest, his hands holding your hips so firmly you felt every pulse of his desire. you moaned around his mouth, letting your body do the talking, grinding your core down even more deliberately, feeling him react against you. his free hand moved to spank your ass again, rough, making you jump against him. “behave,” he warned, voice low and jagged, “i’ll fuck you when i want to, got it?”
you nodded, breathless, and let your head fall back, exposing your neck and chest to him as he trailed messy kisses down from your collarbone to the swell of your breasts, alternating pressure, teasing, making you writhe in his lap. his hands kneaded, pinched, gripped, every touch driving you wilder, and with every slick, deliberate movement of your hips on his cock, he groaned, muttering your name over and over. “please, jake, i need you to fuck me,” you finally said, voice trembling with urgency.
he chuckled, low and rough. “oh god, you have no idea how much i wanted to hear that,” he admitted, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as his cock pressed against you, teasing your clit, just enough to make your stomach twist and your thighs shake. “fuck, let me grab a condom,” he said, already starting to move, before you paused him.
“no,” you said quickly, pulling him back just a little. “i want it raw, i’m on birth control.”
he groaned, a deep, guttural sound that made you shiver. “fuck… that is so hot,” he muttered, pressing himself against you harder, teasing the entrance slowly, deliberately, as if testing how much more he could make you beg before actually moving. he didn’t waste a second. his hands gripped your hips tighter, tilting you just right, teasing the tip of himself against your slick, already aching center. “you’re so dirty, i had no idea,” he groaned, low and rough, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “all that quiet, all that acting like you don’t care… was that all just a fucking act, huh?”
you gasped, tilting your head, feeling the hot pressure as he pressed in a little further, testing, stretching, making you shiver. “tell me,” he whispered, voice thick with need, “are you gonna be my fucking dirty slut now? gonna let me fuck you raw, make you mine?”
you nodded frantically, voice barely a whisper. “yes… please, jake, fuck me.”
“oh god, yes, fuck, i will” he groaned, slowly pushing inside, inch by inch, letting you adjust, letting you feel every stretch. the heat, the tightness, the slick press of him against you, it stole your breath. your forehead rested against his, breathing shaky, heart hammering, every nerve screaming with sensation.
“i… i can’t,” you whispered, voice shaky. “it’s too big jake,” and he groaned softly, holding you steady, letting you adjust to him.
“fuck, don’t say that,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “you can take it, baby. i know you can.” he shifted slightly, testing the space between you. you gasped, his cock pressed into you, hands gripping your hips, tilting you just right, rolling inside you with perfect precision. your breath hitched, heart racing, every nerve on edge as he stayed close, his cock inside you, his hands steadying your hips, his lips brushing the side of your neck. the tension was unbearable, every touch and shift making it impossible to think straight. “just… breathe,” he whispered, voice tight with need. “i’m right here, baby. i’ll go slow, okay?”
you nodded against him, trying to calm your racing thoughts while your body betrayed you, reacting to every little movement. he groaned low, hips shifting ever so slightly, testing, stretching, making your body writhe instinctively against him. “fuck—you feel so good,” he muttered, voice rough and urgent. “so tight, so wet… just for me.”
you let your hips move against him, grinding, matching his rhythm. “yes… jake… i’m yours,” you murmured, chest rising and falling, breath shaky, body pressed to his.
“yeah you are, aren’t you?” he groaned, a low, desperate sound, sliding his hands from your hips to grip your thighs, holding you steady as he began slow, deliberate thrusts. each one drove pleasure straight through you, a perfect, torturous rhythm. his lips brushed your jaw, neck, whispering filthy praise. “fuck… look at you… trembling all over for me… you’re mine, all mine, my perfect little slut.”
you moaned loudly, arching into him, hands tangling in his hair, body pressed flush against his chest. “jake— don’t stop… please…”
“fuck, don’t tell me to stop, baby,” he growled, shifting your hips with his hands, pressing harder, deeper. “you like this, huh?”
“yes… yes, please,” you gasped, voice breaking as each thrust had you teetering on the edge. your body shivered with anticipation, wet and slick, ready to snap, riding him more deliberate now.
he growled against your neck, teeth grazing your skin lightly, his thrusts relentless but perfectly measured, reading your reactions. “fuck, keep riding me, i’m gonna cum for you, keep going.” you arched back into him, breath coming in ragged gasps, hands clutching his shoulders as your thighs tightened around his waist. each roll of your hips sent his cock deeper, stretching you perfectly, and he groaned low in response, hands gripping your hips.
“you’re so fucking tight, baby…” he chuckled darkly, low and throaty, the sound vibrating straight through you. “i’m gonna fuckling blow a load inside you, keep fucking riding me, oh shit—” he bit lightly at your shoulder as he thrust faster, deeper, every motion precise, worshiping you with his touch. you lost it then, shuddering violently, voice breaking in a scream of his name, body convulsing around him, clutching him close as your release crashed over you in waves. he groaned, holding you, still thrusting, savoring every twitch, every cry, every gasp.
“oh shit, you came so good,” he murmured against your ear, hips still rolling, each movement carefully prolonging the exquisite overstimulation. “let me cum inside this fucking little pussy, please—”
you gasped, arching into him, voice trembling. “yes, god… please, jake… fill me…”
and then he did, groaning your name, every muscle taut as his release filled you, hot and overwhelming. he held you through it, rocking gently, letting you feel every drop, whispering filthy, desperate praise. “fuuuuck, what a good fucking pussy,” he muttered, still buried in you, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling with yours. his hands never left your hips, keeping you flush against him as he slowly rode out the tremors of his own orgasm, groaning your name again and again. your vision blurred, your chest rising and falling, trembling against him, as he guided you through the aftermath.
you clung to him, breathless and trembling, heart racing, he was still holding you close. “so fucking good…” he whispered one last time, lips brushing yours, still warm and soaked from the intensity of what just happened.
you’re still on him, chest pressed against his, both of you breathing like you ran a marathon. he’s sitting back a little now, hands lazily resting on your hips, still gripping just enough to remind you he’s there. you glance up at him, and he’s got that smirk, the one that’s supposed to be cocky but honestly, he looks wrecked too.
“so,” he says, voice low, teasing but tired, “that happened.”
“yeah,” you mutter, trying to catch your breath and failing spectacularly. “that happened.”
jake lets out a low chuckle and runs a hand through his hair. you bury your face in his chest, trying to hide, like somehow hiding there could make everything feel less intense. he tuts softly, holding you a little closer. “mhm, no. look at me,” he says, his tone firm but gentle. you lift your head reluctantly, cheeks still flushed. “no more hiding, okay?” he adds, and you nod, biting your lip, still feeling the heat and the leftover tension buzzing through your body. “you okay?” he asks, eyes scanning your face.
you give a small, whiny “yeah,” nodding, and he chuckles lightly at the sound.
“did you… like it?” he asked next, and you notice the way he paused, the tiniest flicker of nervousness in his expression. he knew that was a cheesy, sure, post-sex ask, but he had to know.
you smirk and giggle, letting yourself relax a little. “yeah, jake. i liked it.”
he exhales slowly, groaning as he slides back, freeing himself from your walls, and you can’t help but look at him, already missing how filled you were a minute ago. he’s wrecked, flushed, hair messy, and it makes you grin. “what you looking at?” he asks, smirk playing on his lips.
“nothing,” you reply, trying to play it cool, though your grin gives you away.
he leans in and presses a quick, small kiss to your lips, catching you off guard. you freeze for a second, then melt just a little into the moment. “so… wanna talk about it?” he asks, tilting his head, still holding you close. you blink at him, caught somewhere between embarrassed and amused, realizing that maybe the talking part is the part you’re not entirely ready for, but also, maybe, you don’t want to run from it this time. he squeezes your hip gently, as if prompting you to answer without forcing it. you take a deep breath, letting some of the tension slip away.
“do you wanna talk about it?” you asked, and he chuckled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were actually asking him this.
“you can’t answer a question with another question,” he said again voice low, amused but tired at the same time.
you laughed awkwardly, your nerves showing. “i just… i don’t know, jake,” you admitted, voice unsure, looking down for a second before meeting his eyes again.
“don’t know what?” he pressed, leaning in, making the space between you feel smaller.
“i don’t know how you feel about me,” you said, letting out a small breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. “so… i just can’t figure out exactly what i’m supposed to do with all of this.”
he blinked once, then laughed low, and it wasn’t like a normal laugh, more like he was trying to process what you just said and couldn’t decide if it was ridiculous, frustrating, or the most fascinating thing he’d heard all week. you watched him run a hand over his face, shaking his head slowly, the kind of shake that made it clear he wasn’t sure if he should be impressed, scared, or both. “okay…,” he muttered finally, half to himself, half to you, voice calm. “but i get it. i think i do.” he paused, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he was enjoying that he had your full attention. “so… you want me to spell it out for you? really tell you what i feel?”
you hesitated, just a little, because you weren’t sure if you were ready to hear it, or if you were ready to admit you’d been hoping for it. you nodded anyway, slowly, watching his face, waiting. he leaned back a bit in his seat, just enough to look at you properly, like he was gathering his thoughts in real time, and you could tell he was about to unload.
“i’ve been crazy about you since the very beginning,” he said, voice a little rough, but completely honest. “back when you didn’t give me a single thing to go on, and i had no idea what you were thinking, i couldn’t stop thinking about you. i was obsessed with figuring you out, learning what made you tick. and the more i got to know you, the more fascinated i became. you’re… you’re insane, in the best way. every little thing about you made me want to know more.”
he paused, swallowing, like he was trying to get the words out without tripping over them. “then, when you started teasing me… when you started pushing and pulling, letting me get close but not giving me everything, i lost it. i thought about you all the time. every day. you, your voice, your smile, the way you look at me… i probably shouldn’t be saying this, but fuck it. i can’t stop thinking about it, and about you. and now, after… that,” he gestured vaguely at the mess of the room and the two of you, “i have no regrets. that was the best sex of my life, no contest.”
you let out a breathless laugh, and he chuckled, shaking his head slightly, like he still couldn’t believe he was admitting all of this. “so yeah… i’m fucked up about you. completely. and i don’t even care.”
you blinked, caught somewhere between stunned, amused, and something else you didn’t have a name for yet. you didn’t know if you should laugh, tease him back, or just sit there and take it all in. but seeing him like this, messy, honest, a little wrecked from what just happened, made it impossible to be anything but completely present with him. jake leaned back a little, still holding you, letting the confession hang in the air. “so… what about you?” he asked, voice quieter now, curious but still casual, like he was afraid of scaring you off but couldn’t not ask. “how do you feel about all this?”
you hesitated again, trying to pull words together, but they kept slipping away. “i’m not good at this,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you expected. “i’m not good at saying things out loud. but you… you get under my skin the same way i get under yours. i don’t know how to say it prettier than that, but it’s real.” you paused, looking at him, almost daring him to make you keep going. he didn’t. instead, he smiled, small but satisfied.
“good,” he said simply.
you blinked, then nodded. “good.”
nothing poetic, nothing rehearsed, just enough for both of you. he kissed you once, soft and short, then got up and tugged you along with him, muttering something about you needing a shower. you were too tired to argue, and honestly, he was right. the two of you had made a mess of the place, and of yourselves. he turned the water on and stepped in first, pulling you by the wrist like he was making sure you wouldn’t back out. it wasn’t some movie scene with steam and passion and soap slipping everywhere. it was domestic, borderline clumsy. he tried to hand you the shampoo bottle with too much force and almost dropped it, then squinted because he’d gotten water in his eyes. you laughed at him, and he pretended to be offended, but he didn’t actually care. he just liked that you were laughing.
you weren’t used to standing this close without tension thick in the air, without second-guessing what the other was thinking. now you were just there, getting clean together, and it felt strangely natural. it felt like the most normal thing in the world, like maybe this was how it was supposed to be all along. by the time you both stepped out and wrapped up in towels, the room smelled like cheap body wash, and the mirror was fogged over. jake glanced at you, hair dripping, and smirked like the whole situation was funny but also a little serious, like he couldn’t believe how quickly things had shifted between you. you didn’t say anything, and you didn’t need to. it was good, just good.
so the next couple of weeks were kind of ridiculous, mostly because you both pretended for about two days that things were the same, and then it became really obvious they weren’t. jake had this new way of looking at you that you kept catching in random moments, like when you were pouring cereal or folding laundry, and it wasn’t subtle at all. he was completely gone for you, and you could tell, but he didn’t even bother trying to hide it.
the first time after that night it happened again, it wasn’t planned. you’d just finished watching something dumb on tv, and he made some joke that had you shoving his shoulder, and the next thing you knew he had you pinned against the couch cushions, kissing you like he’d been holding back for hours. it was messy and fast and you didn’t even bother moving to the bedroom. later, when you were both out of breath and sprawled in opposite directions on the couch, he laughed and said he wasn’t sure he’d ever look at the living room the same way again. you rolled your eyes, but the truth was you couldn’t either. a couple nights after that, he came into your room under the excuse of “borrowing your charger.” he didn’t even bother plugging it in before he was pulling you onto his lap, muttering something about how you were all he thought about during the day. it was slower that time, more deliberate, and he kept touching your face, brushing your hair back, doing all these little things that made it feel different from before. it wasn’t just sex anymore, and you could both feel that shift, even if neither of you said it out loud.
the funniest part was how the domestic side of living together changed too. suddenly, showers weren’t just showers. one night he pulled you in with him, no warning, and spent more time kissing you against the wall than actually washing his hair. you had to kick him out halfway through because you were going to run out of hot water, and he left pouting, soap still in his hair. the next morning, he walked into the kitchen with wet curls and this smug look on his face like he’d invented showering together. he also started hovering more. if you were cooking, he was in the kitchen, stealing bites and pressing up behind you. if you were working on your laptop, he’d somehow find his way onto the couch next to you, stretching until his feet were basically in your lap. and the hot moments were woven into all of it, like they weren’t separate anymore. you’d be brushing your teeth and he’d come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and before you knew it you were pressed against the sink, muffling laughs into his shoulder.
what really gave him away, though, was how restless he got when you weren’t around. he’d pretend to be casual, but you caught him more than once waiting up just to see when you’d get home. sometimes he’d act like it was nothing, asking about your night, but other times he’d just pull you into his room without a word, kissing you until neither of you remembered what the question was. and two weeks in, it was clear jake was completely losing it over you. he didn’t care that you weren’t good with words or that you never gave long speeches about how you felt. he got what he wanted anyway, your attention, your touch, the way you’d grab his shirt first when things escalated. and in return, he gave you everything without holding back. every day, in some new way, he made it obvious. and you didn’t fight it, not really. if anything, you were just as gone as he was, even if you weren’t ready to spell it out.
later that month, he wasn’t even thinking when it happened. you had just walked out of your lecture, holding your bag against your shoulder, half distracted scrolling through your phone, and he was leaning against the wall across the hall, waiting for his own class. he saw you before you saw him, and without even a second thought he was already walking over. you looked up, a little surprised, and he just smiled, leaned in, and pressed a quick kiss against your mouth. it was just a short kiss, the kind you’d gotten used to at home when he was passing by you in the kitchen or when you sat next to him on the couch. but this time, it wasn’t in your living room. it was in the middle of the hallway with people walking by.
the moment it happened, you froze, not because you didn’t want it but because your brain immediately registered where you were. his too. you could feel the second he realized what he’d just done, because he leaned back fast, eyes flicking around like maybe no one saw. except of course people saw. people always saw. his friends were standing just a few feet away, watching everything with that look that said they didn’t need to say a single word. they’d known for weeks anyway. he’d been obvious as hell about it, smiling at his phone all the time, making up the worst excuses just to go home early, and acting different in a way that was so clear he wasn’t fooling anyone. your friends weren’t idiots either. you’d told them enough details already, and they’d connected the dots themselves.
the thing was, none of you had ever brought whatever this was out into the open before. at home it was easy. you were roommates, no one else around, and it didn’t feel like you needed to define it. but here, in front of everyone, a kiss, even a tiny one, meant something else. it meant people would start asking questions. it meant you’d have to talk about it. you laughed under your breath, more out of nerves than anything, and gave him a look that said really? here? and he rubbed the back of his neck like he didn’t know how to explain himself. “sorry,” he muttered, but not in a way that sounded like he actually regretted it. more like he regretted the timing. you didn’t say anything, just shook your head, and the two of you walked out together, trying to act like nothing happened. but the hallway was still buzzing, and you could feel eyes on your back the whole time. his friends were definitely going to bring it up later, and your friends were already blowing up your phone.
a few nights later, you were just sitting on the couch with him watching tv, when jake suddenly turned to you and said, “you know i never actually took you on a date.” it was random, no lead up, just dropped in the middle of whatever episode was playing. you looked at him and asked, “do you want to?” and he didn’t hesitate, just nodded immediately and said, “of course i do.” you laughed at how serious he looked, like he’d been planning that line in his head. then you told him how the two of you had skipped a few steps in this whole thing, and he laughed back, agreeing, saying it was the first time he’d ever lived with a girl before even kissing her. you reminded him he’d done a lot of things with you before kissing you, and that made him smirk. he leaned over, went right for you, and things got heated again in a way that left the rest of the night blurry. it wasn’t anything new for the two of you, but it made the next day stand out even more.
the next day, jake actually followed through. he kept it quiet until later, but you noticed how he was watching you get ready, leaning against the doorframe of your room with his arms crossed and that stupid grin he always got when he thought he was being subtle. you couldn’t put mascara on without him sneaking behind you and stealing a kiss on your cheek or the corner of your mouth. by the time you finally managed to get dressed and say you were ready, you already had to fix your lipstick because he wouldn’t keep his hands off you. he ended up taking you to this restaurant you didn’t even know he was aware of, the kind with dim lights and real cloth napkins, and it felt way more romantic than you were expecting. it was weird because until that moment, you had been convinced that whatever you had with jake was basically roommates who hooked up sometimes (all the times, to be exact). he’d never said anything that pointed in another direction. but sitting across from him, watching the way he leaned in when you talked, how he didn’t even look around the room once, just stayed focused on you the whole time, it hit you that maybe he was taking this seriously. maybe he’d been taking it seriously from the start and you were only just noticing.
that month just blurred into something you couldn’t really label, but anyone watching would’ve called it obvious. you woke up next to him more often than not, even though technically you had your own room. he made coffee for you when he was already in the kitchen, sometimes adding too much sugar on purpose just to watch you complain and drink it anyway. you sat on the couch with your legs across his lap while he absentmindedly rubbed your ankle during whatever show you two were pretending to pay attention to. he kissed you in the middle of conversations, in the middle of you yelling at him, in the middle of you doing literally nothing. the hot moments didn’t go away either. brushing teeth side by side sometimes ended with you pressed against the bathroom sink. “goodnight” kisses had a tendency to spiral until you were both late for whatever you had to wake up for the next day. there were lazy afternoons where he sat at the end of your bed, scrolling on his phone, and you tugged him back under the covers just to see how fast he’d cave. it all felt stupidly natural, like you’d been doing it forever, but also new enough that every time it happened you caught yourself smiling after.
so when sunghoon invited you both to a party, you didn’t really discuss it. you just went together like it was the default. you were getting ready in your room, digging through a pile of clothes while jake sat on your desk chair, spinning slowly and watching you with way too much interest. “i’m kind of excited for tonight,” he said out of nowhere.
you glanced at him in the mirror. “why?”
he leaned back casually, like it was nothing. “because i love showing people how pretty my girlfriend is.”
you froze mid-mascara stroke, nearly poking yourself in the eye, then turned around. “what did you just say?”
he blinked, all fake innocence. “what? i just said—”
“no, no, you said the g word,” you cut him off, pointing at him.
he tilted his head, playing dumb. “g word? what g word?”
“girlfriend,” you said, wide eyed.
he grinned. “oh, that. well, if you don’t like it, i can always call you my roommate instead. the r word.”
you burst out laughing. “roommate is not the same thing.”
“i don’t know, i think it’s got a nice ring to it.”
“shut up,” you said, still laughing. “i actually like the other one better, but if you’re gonna call me that, you should at least ask properly.”
his smirk got sharper. “a proper request, huh? i can do that. but if i do it now, we’re definitely gonna be late to sunghoon’s party.” and before you could respond, he was already standing, already crossing the room, already leaning down into you. whatever thought you had about finishing your eyeliner or getting out the door on time just dissolved, because apparently his version of a proper request involved making sure you completely forgot the party even existed for at least another half hour.
after that night, things just settled into something that felt permanent. he’d hold your bag while you tied your shoes, you’d grab his drink when you went to the kitchen, he’d keep his hand on your back when you walked through crowded places. you were in each other’s space constantly, but it never got heavy, it only got easier. jake realized it later, in this quiet way that hit him when he least expected it. like when he was brushing his teeth and you walked by in one of his shirts, humming some stupid song, and he caught himself smiling with toothpaste foam in his mouth. or when he stayed up too late on his laptop and you fell asleep against him on the couch, your head sliding down his shoulder, and he didn’t even move because he didn’t want to wake you.
he had been stuck on you from the beginning, even when he didn’t want a roommate, even when he told himself it would just be temporary, even when he thought he’d keep a little distance. he couldn’t. every time he tried, you pulled him back without even noticing. it was just the truth: he couldn’t let go of you, even when he thought he wanted to.
one night, you were both stretched out on the couch, the tv running something neither of you were paying attention to, and you asked, almost offhand, if he ever ended up answering the housing office about switching apartments. he glanced over at you, chewing at the inside of his cheek like he always did when he was pretending to think about something serious, and then he smiled in that way that was a little smug but still soft.
“oh, baby, i’ll never leave you if you keep holding me this way.”
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ ronnie's notes: idk i blacked out and wrote 30k of horny roommates fic for addie @jakesimfromstatefarm, don’t ask me how but here we are. she’s jake utted, she loves roommates to lovers, and i guess my brain went okay fine and gave in. this whole thing was actually inspired by stockholm syndrome by one direction (yes, i’m in my 1d phase again) and tbh i was lowkey scared it’d be too cliche at first but honestly i think it turned out to be one of the fics i’m proudest of, especially the smut lmao so yeah this fic is horny, has way too much pining, and accidentally got more feelings than i planned. but it’s also pure fun, and if addie doesn’t scream at me after reading this, i’m officially quitting. THANK UUUUUUU
Beyond Plus Ultra! – The anatomy of falling in love
Chapter 22: Close Enough to Miss (is it an Aerosmith song?)
wc: 3k words
Soobin hadn't planned on seeing her today.
In fact, Soobin hadn’t even showered (yet! a big fat yet!) but he’d at least brushed his hair and thrown on a clean hoodie to hide the minion t-shirt now decorated with a crime scene of spicy ramen stains. Which, in his defense, was more than he’d accomplished in the past 48 hours. His skin felt vaguely sticky, but he decided to think of it as an extra layer, a grimy little force field to shield him from whatever emotional horrors awaited outside. Or at least, that’s what he was trying really hard to believe.
When he cracked open his bedroom door (squinting like a vampire at the hallway lights) and asked, “Hey, do you need to walk Ronnie? Can I come?” Beomgyu dropped his Switch like Soobin had just gotten down on one knee.
“You’re leaving the house?”
“Just the sidewalk.”
“Do I need to alert the news?”
“Beomgyu.”
“Sorry, sorry. I’m proud, Boobie, let’s take the beast.”
Soobin hadn’t even wanted to leave the house, but Taehyun’s “get your shit together” text had crawled under his skin and Beomgyu looked too excited at the prospect of a sad walk with the zombie guy with a minion t-shirt to say no.
Ronnie, Beomgyu’s slightly unhinged mutt that very much resembled a cracked-out raccoon, bounded down the road like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. She nearly clotheslined Soobin with the leash, barking once like they were about to embark on a national rescue mission and not just go pee in the same tree three times.
The air outside was warm and sticky with early summer. The kind of weather that made you feel like a glass of lemonade would solve your life (not that Soobin believed anything would solve his major catastrophe). Ronnie zigzagged along the sidewalk like she was in a Scooby-doo episode solving a mystery, sniffing every trash can and fire hydrant with the urgency of a federal agent.
“Feel better?” Beomgyu asked casually, hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts.
Soobin sighed. “A little. I needed air.”
Beomgyu nodded. “Sunlight helps.”
“Beomgyu I’m not a spanish fever patient”
“You sure look like one,” Beomgyu said as they were crossing the road. “But the truth is you’re just an idiot.”
“Thanks,” Soobin said dryly.
“Like, a real idiot. Also fix your posture, you're hunched like a priest with back issues.”
Soobin sighed. “I do have issues. Like how I want to disappear into the earth every time someone says her name.”
Beomgyu didn’t respond. He just nodded solemnly and tossed a stick for Ronnie. The dog completely ignored it.
“Oh no,” Beomgyu muttered, jerking to a stop.
Just ahead, near a bench shaded by the flowering canopy of a massive tree, stood Y/N and Jake. The soft purple blooms scattered over the sidewalk like confetti, as if nature itself was celebrating their perfect timing. Jake was holding two iced coffees and wearing his usual sleeveless shirt like he’d been born into it, tanned arms, messy hair, posture like he had never once overthought a thing in his life.
But it wasn’t Jake who made Soobin’s chest clench.
It was her.
Y/N stood just slightly turned, the breeze playing with the hem of her sundress. It was one of those soft, summery things, something floral and breezy, effortless in a way that made Soobin’s brain do cartwheels. She wasn’t trying to be pretty, which only made her more devastatingly so.
She was laughing. Her head tilted back just a little, the curve of her throat catching the light. Her eyes crinkled at the corners in that way Soobin had memorized but could never prepare for. Her smile, so real and bright and soft around the edges, hit him like sunlight after too many hours indoors.
And in that single moment, Soobin’s brain did a full somersault. Not a cute, cartoonish flip, a chaotic, emotional cartwheel performed by a boy who had tasted something good, something warm and dizzying, and now wasn’t sure he deserved another bite.
His heart thumped somewhere inconvenient in his chest.
She looked happy.
With Jake.
That realization shouldn’t have stung. Jake was her friend. He knew that. Rationally, Soobin knew. But rationality had nothing to do with the way he was spiraling, already imagining a dozen different scenarios where he’d lost her entirely.
It was one thing to miss someone. Another to see them, barefoot in the grass, sipping iced coffee, looking at ease in a world that no longer included you.
He’d always known she could light up a room. But watching her from afar now, so untouchable, sunlit and smiling, he realized just how much it hurt to have once held that light in his hands, only to be standing in the shade now, unsure of how to get back.
Beomgyu’s voice cut in softly from beside him. “She looks good.”
Soobin nodded, throat tight. “Yeah.”
Beomgyu whispered, “Do we retreat?”
Soobin shook his head, but it wasn’t conviction, it was pure desperation. The kind of small, jerky shake that said please make me disappear but also please don’t move. His legs felt like they were rooted to the spot, but not in any noble, romantic way, more like a deer caught in the headlights of a car that was definitely going to hit him.
Because no matter how badly it hurt, he couldn’t stop looking.
And maybe, deep down, some part of him hoped she’d look back.
“Yeah, not that you have a choice because I think she saw us,” Beomgyu added, his voice climbing just a touch with the kind of panic reserved for she's there but please don't look now, no, no, stop looking!
Soobin blinked once, twice. Slowly, like it might change reality if he did it right.
Y/N’s gaze had, in fact, shifted toward them.
It wasn’t anything dramatic, nor the world had stopped spinning. There was no gasp. Just her eyes landing on his.
And God, that was the worst thing that could've happened to Soobin. It was enough to unravel him.
There was no smile but there wasn’t ice either. It was more like she was taking stock. Assessing. And that made him more nervous than if she’d glared outright.
His pulse kicked up hard in his throat. He could feel Beomgyu glancing between them, clearly living for the drama.
Jake, of course, noticed the tension immediately. He followed Y/N’s line of sight, saw Soobin, and because Jake was Jake, raised his iced coffee in a lazy, almost mocking salute.
Soobin tried to move forward, to close the space, but it came out as this awkward half-step where his shoulder twitched forward and then he stalled, leaning just slightly in Y/N’s direction like he wanted to speak but couldn’t make his mouth cooperate.
She didn’t move toward him either.
Instead, she gave the smallest nod, a polite, distant gesture and turned back to say something to Jake, her hair swaying against her shoulders in the breeze.
Soobin felt it in his chest, sharp and hollow all at once.
“She’s not mad,” Beomgyu whispered. “She’s just neutral. You might actually be screwed, though.”
Soobin swallowed hard, eyes still on her. Neutral felt worse than mad. Because at least when someone’s mad, they still care enough to burn.
Ronnie had apparently had enough of the tense, statue-like standoff.
One moment, she was trotting obediently beside Beomgyu; the next, she was bolting across the short stretch of grass, leash whipping out of Beomgyu’s hand like it had been yanked by a ghost.
“Ronnie—no!” Beomgyu hissed, stumbling forward, but it was already too late.
The little dog made a beeline for Y/N, tail wagging so fast it was basically a blur. She skidded to a stop in front of her, front paws bouncing against Y/N’s shins, whining like she’d been separated from her for months rather than a week.
Y/N automatically crouched down, scooping Ronnie into her arms. The dog squirmed happily, licking her chin, and Y/N’s laugh, quiet, genuine and unguarded, punched Soobin right in the ribs.
He hadn’t heard that laugh in days.
And suddenly, standing there felt impossible.
Because he wanted to go to her, to say something—anything—that could erase the hurt sitting between them like a brick wall. He wanted to explain, to tell her that everything he’d said to Yeonjun was just his stupid brain turning fear into words he didn’t mean. But the memory of her face in that moment—how it had shut down, how she’d turned away—made his legs feel heavier than concrete.
She looks okay, he thought, but what if she’s not? What if I’m the reason she’s not?
Beomgyu sighed and glanced at him. “Guess we’re going over there now.”
Soobin nodded stiffly, and they started walking toward her. Every step felt like walking through water. He could feel his heartbeat in his palms, in the base of his throat. The air between them and Y/N was thick, warm with late-morning sun but somehow still cold in all the wrong places.
Y/N didn’t look up right away. She kept stroking Ronnie’s fur, whispering something to her in that soft, almost secret tone she used when she thought no one else was listening. And God, he missed hearing her talk to him like that.
When she finally did lift her gaze, it landed on him, briefly, like she was testing the temperature of the moment before she committed to stepping in.
Her chest ached in a way she didn’t want to admit. Because no matter how hurt she still was, the sight of him standing there, with his stupidly soft hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, looking like he’d barely slept, made something in her want to close the distance and undo it all.
But wanting and trusting were two different things.
“Hey,” Jake broke in, stepping forward and gesturing toward Ronnie with his coffee. “I think you lost something”
Beomgyu snorted. “More like she lost him.” Jake’s brows lifted, clearly trying to inject levity into the heavy air. “Well, Ronnie’s been having an existential crisis without Y/N. She asked me if love was real.”
Y/N let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but not quite.
Soobin’s eyes stayed on her, quietly pleading in a way he didn’t even realize was written across his face. Please look at me like you used to. Please tell me I didn’t ruin it completely.
But all she did was nod, set Ronnie gently back down, and watch as the dog circled back toward him, almost as if to deliver a message from her arms to his.
And God, he wished he could read it.
Ronnie trotted back to Soobin, leash dragging in the grass like a lazy tail.
Soobin bent to scoop her up, mostly because it gave him something to do with his hands, and because it meant he didn’t have to figure out where to look. But the truth was, every time he tried not to glance at Y/N, his eyes betrayed him.
Her sundress swayed just slightly in the breeze, the hem brushing her knees. The sunlight made the edges of her hair look like they’d been dipped in gold. She was standing close enough that if he reached out, he could catch her wrist, but far enough that the distance felt deliberate.
Beomgyu, sensing the thick tension, jumped in with the social grace of a cat knocking something off a counter. “So… Y/N,” he said, hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “How’s… existing?”
Jake choked on his iced coffee. “That’s your opener? ‘How’s existing?’”
“I panicked,” Beomgyu whispered, dead serious. Then, louder: “I mean, you look good for someone who’s, you know… existing.”
Y/N tilted her head, one brow lifting in a way that made Soobin’s stomach twist. “Thanks, I guess?”
“Yeah, good job, Beomgyu,” Jake said dryly, afraid all his efforts to drag Y/N out of their shared apartment went down the drain. “Next you can ask her about her thoughts on the socioeconomic climate.”
Beomgyu ignored him, leaning forward just slightly. “So, uh, what brings you two out here? Besides fate, obviously.”
Y/N glanced at Jake, clearly amused but trying not to show it. “Coffee run,” she said simply.
Jake gave him a pointed look over Y/N’s shoulder. “You could… I don’t know… comment on her coffee. Or ask what it is. Normal human conversation.”
Soobin’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. His throat felt tight, and he hated it, hated that the right words were always easier when it was just the two of them in some quiet corner, not here in the open with the air between them still bruised from what he’d said days ago.
Y/N’s eyes flicked to him briefly, just enough to let him know she was listening if he did speak.
But in that moment—just that tiny moment—Y/N’s mouth curved into the smallest, quietest smile. Not the kind that forgave him, not yet, but the kind that told him maybe the door wasn’t locked entirely.
And Soobin held onto that look like it was the only warm thing he had left.
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author's note: hey hi hello my angels!! we are 3 chapters away from the ending and i can't believe it and i'm pretending nothing is happening hehe!!! at least things seem to be going better for y/n and soobin right????!! tysm as always <3
once again, i pulled a vanishing act, my bad 😭 honestly, i feel like we all hit those weird phases where everything’s just falling apart in slow motion? yeah, that’s been me for a while now.
super annoyed that i haven’t had a single moment where i can just sit down, vibe with my laptop and gaming lights, and dump my brain onto a page. but hey, that’s life lately.
BUT i will finish Beyond Plus Ultra and i’m definitely cooking up new projects, no doubt about it. writing’s still my favorite thing ever and i’m so grateful y’all somehow enjoy the chaos that spills out of my head. i’ll crawl out of this slump, we’ll be thriving again, and it’ll be glorious don't give up on me LMAOOO
seriously, shoutout to all of you who read my stuff, you have no idea how much it makes my day when you drop comments, ask questions, or just interact with me in any way. y’all are the real MVPs and i appreciate you more than my sleep schedule!!!!!
author's note: omg HIIIIIIII first of all i’m SO SORRY for taking a million years to update this chapter 😭😭 life has been more chaotic than usual lately and the past few weeks were just A LOT but i’m backkkkk and w a new chapter 😌 SECOND OF ALL THEY TALKED.
YES. HEESEUNG AND Y/N FINALLY HAD A FULL CONVO 😭
this is no longer a slowburn it’s just BURN (please pray for me bc i’m fully in love w this heeseung now) i hope u enjoy this chapter & scream in ur pillows like i did!!!! love uuuuuu — me (and tofu1234567)
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