Saint’s Dream - Sex!addict!Jake x ChurchGirl!Reader
Content & Trigger Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Mention of religion and sins, our boy discover he's an obsessed sadist, reader with inferiority complex and anxiety/Panic attacks, coercion smh, fingering, dry humping/grinding, cum play, Two-faced Jake Sweet → Menace, Obsessed Jake/reader, sub/dom dynamics, soft dom, degradation+praise, kink mention of paraphilia, Overstimulation (r), Slight mind-breaking (r),public, edjing, Dubcon? (mostly in Jake’s head), messy heads, tits lover, marking, breedingkink m, morally gray jake, blasphemous language
WC: 13k~ (didn't really proof read I was sleepy and ovulating on top...enjoy)
You hate Jake Sim. Oh god how you hate this man.
Obviously you do. Because if you didn’t, then every humiliating, small, invisible thing you feel around him would just be…
You.
It’s a thing as old as the day both of you met. This strange inferiority thing you have, that made his kind gestures poison. Cause he’s just so… Jake coded. “Need a hand?” this. “Let me do it for you.” that, always said with that hand-over-heart sincerity. Like some benevolent little saint sent down to rescue the less fortunate. Which, apparently, is you.
And you…
You never refused. or gave him attitude. Cause refusing a guy like Jake would require admitting you resented him. That something about you was wrong.
That you can’t stand the way he outshines you without even trying. That you feel defective standing next to him.
After all, saints are meant to be loved. And Jake was loved by everyone. Everyone, except maybe by you. And eve’ this is not his fault.
It’s yours.
Because that poor Jake was charming in that infuriatingly unconscious way. Soft smiles, careful manners, a body sculpted like God spent extra time on him. Handsome, but acting like he has no idea. Perfect, but almost apologetic for it. Like: Sorry I’m everything you’re not.
He says your name when people praise his grades. Bumps his shoulder against yours when he takes first place and you settle for second. As always.
He leans in too close and murmurs, “Next time, for sure,” with those earnest, pity-puppy eyes, while you fell the anxiety eat you alive.
Even his family, is so aggressively perfect it almost feels satirical.
Rich, but the kind that doesn’t flaunt it because they don’t have to. The kind that somehow raises children with “healthy expectations” instead of generational trauma. No dramatic pressure to be extraordinary. No threats of disappointment. Just effortless excellence, passed down like heirloom silver.
Of course he’d turn out like this.
Perfect.
A saint.
A saint who’s soccer team captain. Your science club president. First seat in violin after school, always a damn chair ahead. Debate club’s crowned prince. The only person you can’t out-argue no matter how long you stay up preparing weeks before. First on the merit board like it’s a birthright to be above yours.
Choir member. Church darling. While you’re just… there. Another girl in a modest skirt trying not to sing off-key.
Even most cited youth volunteer. Which is impressive. Truly. Especially considering you were the president for the past two years.
Two years…
And still it’s his name the pastors say during sermons. “Well, look at Jake,” they’ll say, smiling at him in the third pew. “That’s the kind of young man you should all aspire to be, bla, bla, bla…”
And everyone nods.
You nod too.
Because what else are you supposed to do?
It’s not his fault he excels at everything you bleed for. It’s not his fault people light up when he walks in. It’s not his fault that when you stand next to him, you feel like a smudge on a polished surface.
But it’s easier to think it just is. And in some kind of outragious way it is, because Jake doesn’t even try. That’s the worst part.
He just exists. And somehow, that’s enough to eclipse you.
Because Jake is just everywhere your eyes linger. Everywhere, that’s the problem.
Everywhere you try to excel, every space you polish yourself into something worthy of praise, he appears with effortless and radiant victory, just to cut the grass you were saving for yourself. That brief, intoxicating thrill of being seen, favored, recognize? He reaps it first. Always… first.
You wanted to be him somehow. You mean like him. Perfectly perfect. Still being around him too long made you feel sick—like you were about to throw up and spiral straight into a panic attack.
You were just too much obsessed by him to realize your own outstanding value and charms.
For you, if Jake is virtue, then you are an inventory of sins. If he is modesty, you are secret pride. If he look content, you are greedy.
And if he is purity, sealed neatly behind that chastity ring gleaming on his finger and cross on his neck, then you are pure lust on any kind of attention you could get.
The kind that makes you reckless especially.
The kind that pushes you toward the forgettable fuckable boys at debate regionals. That you let stand a little too close, just to prove you can be wanted too.
The kind that makes you accept wandering hands because it feels good. Because being desired, even just cheaply … Is still being desired?
Sunghoon, for example.
The priest’s youngest assistant. The youth center instructor. Technically too old to look at you the way he does.
But he does. Just now, from the side of the nave, while Father prepares his sermon, his gaze drags over you like he’s already decided he’ll need help moving furniture later at youth session, as always.
You readjust the thin strap of your summer dress, whipping sweat from your neck, boxed into the corner of a wooden pew near the aisle, in that too hot, too old damn of a church in that too small of a town.
The priest clears his throat. Then, almost ceremonially says:
“Anyone under seventeen is dismissed.”
Wood creaks. Shoes scrape. A ripple of confused laughter moves through the congregation as teenagers are herded out, faces pink from heat, whispers louder and louder.
The doors close. The lock sounds heavier than it should. The priest lifts his head.
“Tonight,” he says, “we will speak of the subject of sexuality.”
Your fingers freeze mid-twist in the hem of your dress. Mindlessly exposing your knees.
Half the room low gasps. Someone snorts. Others laugh a bit too loudly, people your age crane their necks, searching for accomplice in embarrassment. Even you turn your head, looking for your friends to share an amused, disbelieving smile with.
And all of you are suddenly curious and aware, and maybe a little dumb.
After it’s the kind of subject we only speak about once a year.
That’s when you see , him. Jake. From the corner of your eye.
Jake’s sited two rows back across the aisle, just behind your friends and their families. Spine straight. Hands clenched on his thighs. Face calm, reverent, unreadable. The saint at rest.
Except—
He look a bit more tired than usual. His eyes dip, just for a second—
To your knees.
To the wrinkled fabric you’ve been worrying on. Then his gaze snaps up, colliding with yours. you don’t even stand it a second and just directly turn back around, that “sorry for existing typa behavior” that you hate about yourself.
It couldn’t have been more than two seconds. Two awkward, desert-dry seconds.
When you risk a quick glance, His attention is back to the priest like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t been looking at you at all. Like you imagined it.
Jake? No way. He doesn’t look at you like that. He actually doesn’t look at anyone like that.
Suddenly you feel wrong. Like maybe your dress is stained and no one told you. Maybe there’s something on your face. Maybe your knees look awkward. Too bare. Too obvious. Too much.
You resist the urge to check. To wipe at your mouth. To smooth your dress again. To twist around and confirm whether Jake’s still looking — or if he ever was.
Good girl. Be still. Be quiet. You don’t turn around. You don’t look for Jake. At Jake. You don’t ask yourself why your pulse hasn’t settled.
Because the priest has begun.
“Desire,” he says, as you take your deepest breath, “is not a sin in itself. It is a trial.” His voice is calm and practiced. “The body,” he continues, “is a battlefield. What you do with it determines whether you rule it or whether it rules you.”
You swallow, lowering your eyes fading in your cogitations.
“There is submission,” he says, “and there is domination. Both exist in God’s design. The danger lies in confusing control with righteousness.”
Your thighs press together before you realize you’ve moved, wrinkling the white fabric of your dress some more.
“Purity,” the priest continue, “is not ignorance. It is discipline.”
You listen.
But do you really? Yeah, god made everyone imperfect, yeah there’s a plan. yeah, the doctrine. Original sin and all that. Maybe yours is that ugly, gnawing need to be wanted. To be looked at and not overlooked. To be desired down to the bone.
And somewhere between the pulpit and the pew—wedged awkwardly between your faith and that gnawing little knot of guilt in your chest—you start to wonder if you’re really the only one here fighting off thoughts that have absolutely no business being inside a church.
Surely not. Statistically, that would be ridiculous. But—-your eyes scan discretly around you—if there are secret perverts sitting politely between the hymnals and the folded hands, and somehow it isn’t you… then who, exactly, is it?
You caught the priest assistant, Sunghoon lingering a look on you at that right fucking moment, as you regain consciousness and stop bit your lower lip. He’s giving you that one look that tells : you’re doing a remarkably poor job of pretending purity princess.
You’re asking for it, huh, he’s probably thinking.
You try to get it together, while your thoughts misbehave. Spectacularly sharing them thru eyes contact with that Sunghoon guy.
Maybe you’re ovulating. That has to be it. Because why else would your mind go there—imagining him in those same church clothes he’s wearing now, backing you into the confessional, crowding that small space until there’s nowhere left for you to escape. Just to force his hand under your already humid and smiring with anticipation panties, like he has some right to check. To make sure you’re still what you’re supposed to be. Still a good girl. Still unprepared, unready, unstretched.
Just to leave you, legs parted, wanting more, with your juice drying on his finger for his own fun.
you can almost feel those cold, veiny hands on you—enough to make your back oh so lightly arch before you can stop yourself.
Reality comes crashing back the moment your parents stand up. The sudden rustling of people around you breaking your… very unchurchlike train of thought.
Incredible. Truly. Your brain picks church—of all places—for that.Fucking get a grip.
Most of it, you missed. You rise in a too quick move, smoothing your dress with hands that are too sweaty, slipping into the current of families clustering together, voices overlapping in familiarity.
You’re fine with this part. This is not the reason you take three type of diferent pills to calm your anxiety. You greet people automatically. Smile where expected. Nod at the right moments. Ask polite questions you don’t really care about.Your normal social self.
It’s only when you notice who your parents are greeting now that something in you tightens.
Jake’s parents.
Of course…
Your mother hugs his with the kind of warmth she reserved for people she’s already decided are good and above, and his father easily laughs with yours.
And you? You angle your body away on instinct, already planning your escape to the youth group, when your mother’s voice cuts in.
“Don’t just hover,” she says. “Say hi, love.”
“Ms Sim, Mr Sim” you reply smoothly bowing your head, with that shy smile, greeting and chatting as you try hard not to look at Jake, “…I’ll go catch up with friends, have safe trip home.” You bow, almost excusing yourself.
but your mom raises an eyebrow.
“You’ve been ‘catching up’ for weeks. Stay here. It’s impolite.”
Before you can try countering, Jake’s mother steps closer as elegant and unhurried as always, smiling like she knows exactly how things are supposed to go.
“Jake,” she says gently, resting a hand between his shoulder blades. “Why don’t you to go join the group too. Walk her over, okay?” It’s perfect. Kindness, handled exactly how you wished you mom would have.
His mother gives you the“good girl eye” the one in between “if I had a daughter like you…” and “my poor child…” you’re used of reiveving from her since childhood.
Jake turns to you. You meet his eyes too late, then look away too quickly.
There it is. This, is the part you’re bad at. Not people. Not conversation. Just him. Just Jake freaking Sim.
Because around Jake, you’ve always felt this… The gap. Since middle school. Since spelling bees and gold stars and teachers comparing you with soft smiles.
Your effort, his ease, you studying until 2 a.m, and him just existing.
“Sure,” he says, like there was never another option.
Shit, shit, shit. You start feelling it… The anxiety.
Jake falls into step beside you down the aisle, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, shoulders close enough to look friendly, far enough to stay saintly, just socially acceptable. An d you only want one thing : get away. Just to calm that thing that is going on in your stomach.
You don’t realise, but Jake can feel your tension radiating like heat. Your shoulders rigid, your eyes everywhere except on his face, and your stomach probably hollowing out with that familiar unconfortable churn you get whenever he’s near.
He’s memorized it by now: the way you try to straighten your spine, pretend you’re fine, pretend he doesn’t make you want to puke from nerves and something else.
God, it’s pathetic.
And it’s perfect.
You, are so perfect.
He sees everything you try to hide, enjoy every little bit. The awkward fidget, the way your eyes dart anywhere. Every stutter, every forced smile, he catalogs it all.
Fuck, Jake wants to do you so bad it hurts; wants to shove you against the nearest pew, yank that dress up, and fuck until you’re crying his name instead of choking on it.
Keep it together, Jake. Golden boy. Church darling. You can’t let the mask crack.
“You alright?” he asks, voice light—like he’s just the nice guy checking in, as if he wasn’t getting off on your every reaction.
“Hm?” You blink up at him, wide-eyed, caught off guard.
It’s brilliant, that deer-in-headlights thing you do, it just, never gets old.
His gaze drops. Lower. To those fingers you’ve been white-knuckling since the sermon started. “You’ve been clenching your hands all night.”
Your eyes snap down. Fingers guilty half-second too late. And your anxiety rize. Jake can practically see it takes form…
Good.
“I… didn’t realize,” you mumble, voice barely there, with that akward smile.
“I know...” Jake is mesmerized, he watches your breath hitch. You’ve been doing this all service, twisting those fingers like they’re your only anchor. And yeah, he’s been watching. Longer than tonight actually. Longer than you’ll ever guess. “I mean,… I thought maybe you weren’t feeling well,” he continues, “You looked tense.”
A small, strangled laugh escapes you—like you’re one wrong breath from vomiting. Fuck. That sound shoots straight to his cock. He wants to push harder, make it a bit worse, make you dizzy with it maybe. But he need to control himself, If you ever realise, if you ever guess that he’s getting off on your disconfort it’s the end.
“No, I—it’s just a bad habit.” Your hands flap uselessly. Awkward smile plastered on. Stop, he imagines you screaming internally. He almost smirks.
He hums instead. “You should stop.” Another beat. Thin and charged. “I mean…” his eyes drop to your dress. “Look here.”
Jake brushes the threadbare spot you’ve been torturing. Two fingers. That’s all. No grab, no force, just the lightest graze, and your reaction is immediate.
He watches it ripple: pressure sinks through fabric, heat blooms, shiver rockets up your thigh. Goosebumps explode across your legs. Breath snags hard. Thighs twitch in the slightliest way together, desperatly, before you clamp them still.
Fuck. He wants to spread those thighs so bad right now, make you twitch for hours—-Stop! Keep it together, Jake. Control it.
He should stop, he need to. But teasing you is so addicting. “Look,” he murmurs, with that softer smile tilting, almost fond. “its thinner here… than here.”
His veiny hands doesn’t retreat. His fingers slide, slow, deliberate, along the curve of your thigh. Fabric bunches between histhumb and forefinger. His knuckles drag bare skin for three perfect, torturous second. Warm and rougher than you expected from him.
You hadn’t noticed the wear. But he did. On every spot of every cloth you were around him.
“Oh,” you breathe. “Right…” You say taking a step back.
hm? Are you trying to get away? Maybe he did go a bit far, he think. but…
“You’ll stop?” Jake say gently enough to make you doupt if it is a question or a soft command.
And you nod, more like a reflexive. But to him it’s like you’re being obedience, a pathetic state of you that make his dick twitch. You, doing everything he order you to.
He doesn’t move. Tempted to try a bit more.
“Don’t just nod.” It’s almsot imperseptible but his voice drops lower.
“Say yes.”
Your mouth goes dry—he sees the swallow stick. Another traitor nod slips out that make him wanna grab on your jaw, but the word scrapes free finally.
“Y—yes.”
Fuck, Jake fucking loves it. His smile blooms full. The polite one everyone love, yeah. But in this case, he’s just satisfied. Pupils flaring wide for half a heartbeat.
His hand twitches toward your head, like he wants to pat you, like a good pet, but suddenly he snaps out of his little ego trip and reroutes it to your shoulder, remembering he’s not supposed to be this blatant… but oh how he wants it.
Fuck it. It’s not the agreement that gets him half hard. Not even close. It’s the surrender in your personality. The way you surrender without a word, without a fight. How can you be this submisive, angel ? The way you don’t fight back. The way those doe eyes almost beg him to leave you alone… somehow that makes him go harder. Makes him need it.
At first, he didn’t get it. Why this pulls him in so much. Why the simple fact that you’re uncomfortable makes his brain—and apparently his dick—start running the show.
You too don’t get it yet.
Key word : yet.
To say all of this started with pity-hatred would be putting it mildly.
It was the first time in his entire fucking life Jake’s ever felt something so disgustingly potent crawl inside his chest. He still remembers the exact second you got him hopelessly addicted to the sick thrill of having power over you.
Two years ago, at the regional spelling bee auditorium, behind the scenes while everyone was rehearsing—the perfect little prodigy with your too-neat hair and modest knee-length skirt who was supposed to be untouchable— was in some other school senior's arms, pressed against a dark corner backstage’s curtain. His mouth on the side of your neck, leaving wet marks.
His hand shoved so far up under your skirt Jake could see the skin of your inner thigh flexing. And you moaned, a shy whimpering that punched straight through Jake’s balls, as your hips rocked forward shamelessly chasing for more.
That was that. The day Jake realized hate and want could live in the same heartbeat and feel exactly the same.
His first public hard-on. Right there sitting on folding chairs in front of hundreds, cock throbbing painfully against the zipper of his khakis while he watched you sitting down silently next to him. You, the only girl he’d ever really wanted, who got finger-fucked like she was starving for it minutes ago, and then spelling: Floccinaucinihilipilification.
You were his first real crush. His stupid, innocent puppy love.
His first heartbreak.
And—most importantly—his first real taste of rage.
How could you fucking dare give those sounds toa stranger. For days he observed you, just to realise his pure crush on you turned you into an angel you actually weren’t.
Those moans looped in his skull for weeks. The way your cheeks flushed such a violent pink. The glassy, faraway look in your eyes right before you came. The shuddering, thighs trembling, the tiny, broken cry slipping out as you soaked that bastard’s hand.
Jake came so hard that night he saw stars. Ropes of thick cum painting his stomach while his brain short-circuited, replaying nothing but your wrecked face over and over.
First time he’d ever jerked off thinking about someone specific.
First time he experienced the pleasure of rolling over and fucking a pillow thinking of a girl inner thighs while begging for repentance.
And first time he understood what it meant to want to own someone.
From that day forward it stopped being about trophies, debate medals, perfect report cards, or the endless parade of “suitable” playdates his mom tried to arrange. None of it hit the same as the urge to touch you.
Nothing got him stupidly, painfully hard like the fantasy of finally cornering you—maybe in the back stacks of the library where you always fall asleep with your cheek smushed against an open textbook, or in an empty chem lab after hours.
He daydreamed to wash your mouth out with his tongue until you tasted like him. Wanted to bruise the skin that should’ve always belonged to him.
Wanted to be the first—and only—one to rip new sounds and reactions out of that pretty face. He wished to experiment his new obsessions on you.
And suddenly he realised that every time he smiled that gentle, angelic, good-boy smile while quietly dismantling your confidence, your eyes would go glassy, stomach visibly clenching like you were trying not to cry right there.
And fuck, that made him leak in his briefs.
It was weird. And it was scary. The thought of being purposely bad to someone was against everything he believed in.
Still, no award ceremony, no valedictorian speech, no other girl ever gave him that same feral rush. Nothing got him harder, faster, than watching you shrink under his saintly cruelty.
It’s your fault. He persuaded himself. You, turned him into a sinner.
By the time you reach the youth group, voices overlap and the moment dissolves. You both join your friends suddenly aware of your own body in a way that feels like a low vibration under your ribs.
The group is seated in a loose circle, attention focused on Brother hoon, who sits on a low chair at the end of the circle, hands folded, expression impassive.
“As Father mentioned tonight,” he says, “desire is not something to fear. Strong feelings do not make us bad people.” He smiles softly. “They make us human. What matters is how love and understanding the path of god guides them.”
He looks around the circle.
“Does anyone have a passage they think speaks to that?”
Silence.
People avoid eye contact. Someone shifts. But Jake raises his hand without hesitation.
“John 3:16,” he says evenly. “It reminds us that love is intentional. Chosen. Sacrificial. And that sacrifices vanish a lot of sins.”
Nods ripple through the group. You hesitate, then speak before you can stop yourself.
“First Peter,” you say quietly. “4:9.” You swallow, then continue. “It says that above all, we should have fervent love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins.”
Brother Sunghoon's smile deepens.
“That’s very good,” he says looking at you, “both of you.” You lower your gaze, warmth creeping into your face. Heat floods your cheeks. Oh, how pathetic it feels to crave that tiny scrap of recognition, like a dog waiting for a pat on the head. But from him? It's everything. You drop your gaze to your lap, fingers twisting the hem of your dress, a stupid smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.
Across the circle, Jake watches. He sees it all: the way your eyes light up for Sunghoon, the flush that creeps up your neck, the shy curve of your mouth.
Head over heels, aren't you? For that guy?.
Jake's jaw tightens. Your lips... His nails dig into his palms without him realising until he feels the warm trickle of skin tiring. Your lips, could smile at him instead. Why couldn’t they he’s always so good to you. So gentlmen. You could at least thank him for always having you in his mind. those same soft lips of yours you btting nervously could be parted around his cock as a thank you, no? You could look at him with those same shy eyes, through those long lashes, begging for that guidance he will surely give you better than anyone else. He’d be so good to you if you letted him. He clenches harder.
You have no idea the storm you're stirring in him, do you? All innocent and fluttering for the wrong man. Fuck he’s doing it again…
Jake reajust himself in the chair, hopping no one noticed, and study keep going until brother Sunghoon claps his hands once, gentle but decisive.
“Let’s do this, for this week exercise” he says. “I want you to pair up with someone,” he gesture, encouraging. “talk together about a desire, something, anything. that is stuck within you and let the other one show acceptance and understanding. It’s about recognizing when it isn’t ours to indulge, and how understanding it helps us accept it, then guide it. Not repress it as a danger. But how to dominate it.”
Murmurs spread. People already turn toward safe friends, prepping harmless confessions: I procrastinate so much…, I love junk food, I desire to skip Bible study sometimes, oops, haha. You do too, wayving at your friend, already scripting something bland and forgivable in your head. Something oh so harmless, that anyone could say “it‘s okay! How about journaling about it?” to.
Then Brother Sunghoon adds, almost offhand adds“Let’s keep it simple… I’ll pair you.” He starts calling names. Your heart drops with each one. Until he reaches you.
“You… With… Jake.” He smiles.
NO.
No,no,no,no.
Your breath catches, sharp and shallow. The room tilts a little. Why you? What could you possibly tell him? Something safe, or... God, what if anything slips out? He’s that good at talking people thru… Your hands tremble, chest tightening like a shrinked shirt. Air feels thin. It’s is a trap, isn't it? Another way for him to see how beneath him you are—frumpy little you, with your buttoned-up blouses and anxious fidgeting, spilling your soul to perfect Jake. Why does it have to be him? Your pulse hammers in your ears, vision blurring at the edges. Breathe. Just breathe. But your lungs won't cooperate, and the panic coils tighter.
He flashes that pure, trustworthy smile everyone melts for, raises his hand in a small, casual hi~ wave. Your friends shoot you those smug, giddy looks—“You’re so lucky!”—like this is some divine rom-com moment.
For one wild second you consider faking illness. Clutching your stomach, bolting for the bathroom, anything. God must be punishing you. This is divine retribution dressed in flannel and soft brown eyes. Or maybe Jake engineered it, whispered to Sunghoon, pulled strings. No, that's paranoid. But the thought makes your stomach churn harder.
“Keep in mind,” Sunghoon adds brightly, “accept with open arms. Show your partner grace. Try to find healthy paths forward together.”
Open arms…
Everyone stands.
You hesitate half a beat too long—long enough that Jake notices—then force your legs to move. Chin up. Shoulders squared. You flash him the smile you’ve practiced in mirrors a hundred times: sweet and polite, that you think look effortless. No one would ever guess how much it costs you, how your heart's racing like it's trying to escape your chest.
You meet him halfway across the room.
“So,” he says quietly, leaning in just enough that his voice stays private, “where do you wanna do this?”His tone is light. Curious. As if the answer doesn’t matter at all. and some jaleous girls side eyes you.
But, the answer genuinely doesn’t matter,.
No it actually does.
It matters so much your throat is closing around it. You need open space. People. Fresh air. A clear line of sight to the bathroom so you can bolt when the panic claws up your esophagus and you have to puke your shame into a toilet stall. Anywhere but—
“I think…” You chew the inside of your lower lip raw, teeth catching skin. Your hand drifts up, nails slidding between your teeth before you even register the motion. Bite. Release. Bite again. You scan the room like there’s an escape hatch nobody told you about. “Anywhere. Anywhere’s fine…”
Jake watches the whole pathetic performance. A second too long. His eyes darken, pupils swallowing the soft brown until they look almost black. He’s already picturing it: those same nervous teeth replaced with something thicker, your lips stretched and glistening, shy eyes flicking up at him while you choke on praise and drool. Fuck. He’ll break that nail-biting habit one day. Replace it with better habits. On your knees. Swollen mouth. Full of him.
“Study room, downstairs then.”
No.
No!!
The word screams in your head but your mouth stays shut. Those coffin-sized side rooms. No windows. No air that isn’t recycled through his lungs first. No witnesses. Bathroom a whole hallway away. You’ll suffocate. You’ll die in there. You’ll—
You nod too fast. Legs move on autopilot. You trail half a step behind him like a scolded puppy…
Inside, the room is smaller than you remembered. Sterile. Dim. One lamp throwing long shadows. Just a table against a the wall. Two chairs. Jake fucking Sim.
And your heart hurts. You want to go home…
Jake let's you go in first and the room is small you can just smell the clean cotton of his shirt and the faint cedar of whatever cologne he wears. He pulls out your chair, oh so gnetlemenly, and you drop into it so fast the legs scrape. You curl your hands into fists so he won’t see the trembling.
When Jake joins and sit… he’s too damn close. His knees bracket yours, because there isn’t anywhere else to be. You decide to make an exercice out of trying to keep yours sealed tight long enough not to touch his.
You fold your hands on the hem of your dress and suddenly flash back to when Jake told you to stop hits.
You stop.
He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing. And you stastically are. Because it’s hard to calm your heart by pointing at five things in a room where the. things you see are a lamp and Jake. The silence settles, not really awkward. but as present as a third person you almost count.
Your eyes locks on the door handle behind him. He locked it. Of course he locked it. Why did he locked it? And why is there no window in the room. why is there no ventilation too? No other sounds than your breathing slowly catching.
Your vision blur in the corners.
Shit, shit, shit.
Jake tilts his head, gets closer, concern creasing his brow in that perfect, practiced way. “Hey… you okay? You look…” He pauses, voice dropping softer. “You look a bit stressed.”
Liar. He’s not concerned. He’s enjoying every seconds. You can’t feel it too much in your own head, to see the way his gaze drags over your flushed cheeks, your bitten lip, the slow frantic rise and fall of your chest. Your panic is turning him on and he hates himself for it and he loves it more.
“I—I’m fine,” you whisper. Your tongue feels thick. “Just… It’s hot. In here.”
fuck it’s almost summer, and the church can’t have a window or some kind of fan in a corner.
“You sure?” He leans forward. Elbows on the table. Closer. “Your hands are shaking. You’re pale.” His fake worry drips from every syllable like honey. “Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”
You want to scream leave me alone. Instead your mouth opens and closes like a dying fish. His finger shyly catch on chin to makes you look at him. And nausea surges, hot climbing your throat. The room spins. You lurch to your feet.
Bad idea, angel.
Your legs give out like wet paper. You don’t even stumble gracefully, you literally crumple forward, knees hitting the floor hard between Jake’s spread thighs, nails scraping at the wood between his leags. The impact jars up your spine, but the real pain is the way your chest locks tighter, air refusing to come in more than frantic little sips.
He freezes for half a heartbeat. Eyes wide. Then something darker flickers across his face.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Hey—hey, I-I think you’re having a panic attack.”
He should call for Sunghoon. He knows he should. Yell. Open the door. Get the saintly brother in here to lay hands and pray he can calm your allergy to him.
But he doesn’t move.
Instead his hands shoot out.One clamping around your jaw, firm enough to tilt your face up to his, the other slids to cradle the back of your neck just like he’s been rehearsing in his dreams for months.
“Easy,” he murmurs, thumb stroking once along the edge of your lower lip—almost tender. “Breathe for me, okay? You’re safe. Just breathe.”
You try. God, you try. But your lungs are made of stone. Your vision swims. Tears already sting the corners of your eyes because everything feels too loud, too close, too him.
Jake’s jaw ticks. His voice drops lower. “Come here.”
He hauls you up, not roughly, but with purpose, straight into his lap so you’re straddling him face-to-face. Your knees bracket his hips on the narrow chair; your dress bunches high on your thighs. His hands stay where they are: one still gripping your jaw, the other curled possessively around the back of your neck, keeping you from looking away.
You’re close enough to see the flecks of brown in his dark irises, the tiny scar on his upper lip, the way his pupils have blown wide. Close enough to feel every ragged exhale fan across your mouth.
“Still not breathing right,” Jake says, voice low, almost disappointed. His thumb strokes once along the seam of your lips, “open your mouth, angel.”
Your lips and eyes tremble, stay sealed. Terror and humiliation glue them shut.
He exhales sharply through his nose. Then two thick fingers push past your teeth without preamble. They hook over your tongue and press, stretching the soft inner skin of your cheeks until they pull tight, until your jaw screams from the angle. You gag hard, helpless, the sound is wet and obscene in the room you’re ashamed.
“Fuck,” he hisses, hips twitching once beneath you. His cock is already straining against his jeans, pressing insistently against your core through thin fabric. “Breathe, thru your mouth. In through your nose… out slow. Come on.”
You try—God, you try—but every inhale shoves his fingers deeper, every failed exhale drags more saliva spilling over his knuckles, dripping down your chin and his hand. Your tears stream freely now and a choked, broken whimper vibrates around the intrusion.
He groans low in his throat, head dropping back a bit to enjoy the show.
“You’re fucking killing me like this.”
His free hand slides down—under the hem of your dress and you jolt when it goes past the lace edge of your panties, until his palm flattens over your lower belly. Big. His hand is big. Spanning so much skin you feel tiny, fragile and kind of owned. He presses firm rhythmics. Up on the inhale, down on the exhale. Forcing your diaphragm to obey.
“Like that,” he whispers, breath mingling with yours. “Good girl. Follow my hand. In… out…”
The pressure make your insides wierd, his fingers stretching your mouth, petting your tongue like something precious turn your brain mushy. His palm grinds slightly more possessive, close enough to the fabric of your panties that your clit drags on the friction you can’t ignore. His head tips; his lips brush your temple once barely there.
“If you need to puke,” he rasps, voice cracking with restraint, “tell me, I don’t give a fuck.”
The words hit meaner than he usually speaks. He’s diferent more dominating. A soft, shattered sound tears from your throat: half sob, half plea. Drool glistens on his fingers, strings of it connecting to your swollen lips when he finally, agonizingly, slowly, withdraws them.
Three minutes. Maybe four. Your breathing stuttered, catched, steadied and now ragged gasps smooth into something almost even.
His hand stays splayed on your belly. You feels your hands again finally, resting on your thighs, when you look at them you catch on the buldge of is cock throbing beneath you with every shaky inhale you take. But you don’t look away, and not at him.
And jake doesn’t speak for a long beat.
Then, barely audible he says: “Better?”
Your tongue still tastes like the salt of his skin. You can’t answer too everwelmed, and suddenly fresh tears slip down your cheeks.
His thumb strokes once over your lower stomach, just gentle now.
“Shhh, Good girl,” he breathes. And the praise sinks into you like a cold patch on your fever, even as you tremble in his arms, with nowhere left to hide, “There you go,” he murmurs, voice all honeyed, post-crisis soft. “You’re okay, angel. Just breathe. It’s alright. Everything’s alright.”
Jake speak in the same tone people use on scared puppies or crying kids. Like he handed you a participation trophy for almost blacking out in his lap.
You’re calm(ish). Breathing steady. Heart still hammering, sure, but no longer trying to punch through your ribs.
Jake, though?
Jake is not calm.
The thick, insistent ridge of him presses up against your core through his jeans and your bunched skirt. Hard enough that every tiny shift of your hips drags a low hiss from between his teeth. You feel it twitch when you swallow. Feel it throb when your breath hitches. He’s leaking through the fabric—you’re almost sure of it—and the realization makes fresh heat flood your face.
You can’t look at him.
Not for the next two minutes that stretch into a miserable eternity.
So you do the only thing your body knows how to do when cornered: you tuck your face into the warm crook of his neck. Hide there. His skin smells like cedar and clean sweat and something faintly metallic—like he’s been biting the inside of his cheek too. Your nose presses against his pulse. It’s racing faster than yours.
His hand slides up. Fingers card gently through your hair—slow, soothing strokes from crown to nape. Petting you like you’re fragile porcelain.
His other hand drops and settles high on your bare thigh, thumb resting just under the hem of your panties. Not moving. Just… there. Claiming space. Testing how long you’ll let it stay
How the fuck are you this cute? Jake thinks, jaw tight. Hiding in his neck like a scared little cat. All flushed and messy and still trying to be good.
But the next thought comes faster and uglier:
How do he turns this into you coming completely undone under me?
He turns it over in his head like a Rubik’s cube he already knows the solution to. Every angle. Every justification.
You’re already so wet. Jake can feels it. you’re shaking because you wants it too, you’re just too shy to admit it. I could fix that. He thinks. I could make you need me so bad you’d forgets how to breathe without my permission. Make you crawl. Make you beg. Make you thank him for every things.
This is toxic as hell.
But what if it’s good for both of you?
What if Jake could give you exactly what you’r too scared to ask for, and once he’d you experience it, maybe these sick thoughts will finally shut the fuck up? Like finally playing that one game you’ve been obsessing over for years, beating it in one all-nighter, and then never touching it again because… meh. Done. Satisfied.
Yeah… He’s bad at lying to himself…
“You feel better?” he asks quietly, lips brushing your temple.
You nod against his neck. Tiny. Barely there.
He exhales like he’s been holding the breath for centuries.
“You know…” His voice drops lower, almost confessional. “I get like that too. Around you.”
You freeze.
“Not… not exactly like that,” he adds quickly. “But I feel… off. Not myself. Wired. Like my skin’s too tight.”
Silence. But you can hear his heartbeat so distinctly.
You shift barely an inch, and realize too late how it looks: the straps of your dress fallen off your shoulders, hair a wrecked halo, cheeks stained and humid. You look fucked already and he hasn’t even kissed you nor touched you.
Jake’s bangs are messy now, falling into his eyes. He looks… different. Maybe hungrier. Less like the golden youth-group Jake and more like some guy who’s been starved and have his. first meal in front him.
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Jake half-smiles anf it’s devastating. You never saw him like that.
The thoughts flood back so fast he almost groans out loud.
He never really watched porn. Didn’t need to. But his brain’s been running a private channel starring you for months. You biting your lip when you’re nervous? Jake wants those lips on his cock instead. You tugging your hair when you’re frustrated? Jake want his fist wrapped in it while he fucks you till you cry. You fidgeting with your skirt hem? Jake wants to flip it up, spread you open, pull out dripping and smear the mess across your panties until you’re glazed and whimpering his name.
Jake’s fingertips graze a stray strand from your cheek. Your breath stutters. He smirks every time your eyes dart away.
“You’re uncomfortable around me, hm?”
You shake your head so violently your hair whips his chin.
He chuckles softly and dark. “It’s okay.” His humb traces your cheekbone now, slowly, deliberatly, cataloging every twitch. “I don’t mind. Actually… I kinda like it.”
His eyes follow his own touch like he’s hypnotized.
“You hate me?”
Another violent head shake.
“I won’t believe you if you don’t speak, angel.”
“I…” Your tongue darts over dry, bruised lips. You swollow dry.“I don’t hate you…” The whisper is so quiet it barely exists.
But it’s enough.
He readjusts under you. A deliberate grind that makes you gasp. and he smiles, soft and so fucking fond it hurts.
“You know…” His thumb drags over your bottom lip, pressing just enough to part it. “I tried everything to not think of this. Doubled prayer time, knelt till my knees bruised. Ran till I puked. Anything to exhaust my body, starve my mind. But the harder I tried to kill it… the clearer the pictures of you got. You. Just you. Every fucking time.”
“…What?” you whisper.
“I’m doing the exercise right now,” he says, voice cracking just a little. is head drops to your neck this time. He inhales deep your perfume, your fear-sweat, your arousal. “Fuck, it’s weird saying it out loud.”
Your heart skips a beat painfully.
“It’s just… I keep fantasizing. Obsessing. You’re the only one I think about when I—” He cuts himself off, lips brushing your skin. “I don’t know what to do. What should I do, hm? Tell me.”
Brother Sunghoon’s voice echoes in your skull like divine intervention gone wrong: Accept with open arms. he said Show your partner grace. he said. Try to find healthy paths forward together. He said.
Your hands fly to his shoulders gripping like he’s rock on your chest.
“You… what kind of thoughts?”
He fights the grin. Loses. It spreads slow and victorious across his face.
Got you.
He leans in until his mouth ghosts your ear.
“When you bite your lip? I want to replace your teeth with mine. Want to suck that plump little mouth till it’s swollen and you’re whimpering into my tongue.”
Your thighs clench involuntarily.
“When you chew your nails? I want them scratching down my back while I’m buried so deep you forget your own name.” You swallow. “Want to see those same fingers wrapped around my cock, slick and trembling, guiding every inch down your throat till you gag and swallow every drop I pump into you.”
His hand slides higher on your thigh—fingertips grazing the damp edge of your panties. Fuck what a pool.
“When you tug your hair? I want my fist in it. Pulling just hard enough to make your eyes water while I fuck your mouth slow. Pull out to wipe the mess across your lips like the lips balm you always put on and ends up licking. I want to make you taste how wrecked you make me.”
Jake’s touching you everywhere he shouldn’t under your dress. Grazing his way up your hips, teasing the small of your back, mapping out every spot he’s dreamed about ruining.
“Ahhh, sorry… it’s probably just wierd,” he lies smoothly, voice shy and coaxing. “I think it’s like, hormones and curiosity. Once I… do it. Once I get it out of my system, it’ll stop. I’ll be normal again.”
So that what it is. That’s what Sim Jaeyun had in his head all allong.
“You’ll accept this part me, hm?”
“Hm?”
He’s eyes are doing this puppy thing “…That’s what the exercise is for, right?”
Fuck… The exercice…
Your panties are soaked. You can feel it all hot and sticky, more than the fabric can hold. Your clit throbed in time with his words and he just don’t shutted up. You’re dizzy again, but for a different reason.
Maybe you’re trying to help. Maybe you’re just that far gone. Maybe you just want that buldge that much… And it’s okay.
Cause love and acceptance erase a lot of sins, no?
“You… want to try?” you whisper.
Jake thrives. His eyes darken and travel everyplace he want to touch, mark and own. “Will you let me?”
For a second you almost see that shadow behind the soft dark of his eyes, the part you never saw before, and think not anyone ever saw.
You’re too wet, too shaky and too lost in the heat radiating between you, to be able to think twice so—-
You nod.
“Say it.” His eyes beg, lips tasting your with a graze.
“Ok…Yes.”
He exhales like the war is finally over and he’s the only soldier left standing. “Good,” he breathes, thumb dragging slow across your bottom lip one last time, bitting his, like he’s sealing a contract.
And just like that, his daydream becomes reality.
Jake’s eyes go black, his pupils swallowing everything soft and church-boy-ish about him. They rake down your body like he’s already mapping every place he wants to bruise, bite, own. His hands flex and fingers twitching with the too many impulses that come at him in once: rip that dress? pin your wrists? spread you wide? make you cry his name? God itself shouldn’t witness the thoughts he’s having right now.
He’s still trying to convince himself that, this, is just hormones. Just a phase. Just the exercise.
But the lie is thinning fast as his dick take control over his brain.
“It’s your fault… I wasn’t like that before you,” he mutters, voice low and cracked. “You sat there with your smile, biting your lip, tugging your hair, fidgeting like a nervous little thing—and it’s like you’re begging me—to… Take control. You think that’s fair?”
You blink up at him, chest heaving. “Wh… why am I the problem? It’s your—”
He cuts you off by hauling you up effortlessly, spinning you until your ass hits the edge of the table. He lifts you like you weigh nothing, lays you flat on the cold wood. and yanks one of your legs high, hooking it over his shoulder.
He bites down on the inside of your calve and you iss, teeth sinking just enough to make pain bloom brightly and hot.
You yelp, and the sound bounces off the walls. He smirks against your skin, tongue flicking over the fresh mark. “Why so uncomfortable around me, hm? Allergic?”
You squeeze your eyes shut. Shaking your head. Too shy. Too overwhelmed. Too wet. He lets your leg fall. Steps in closer, with one leg on the table, and leans down for your mouth.
You panic, your hands fly up, palms flat against his mouth, pushing him back an inch.
“What?” His voice drops dangerously soft against your palm.
You shake your head again. No. Not that. Not yet maybe.
“You said I could try anything,” he reminds you, eyes narrowing like a sad puppy.
“Not… not that.”
He looks unhappy. Jake jaw ticks, then his hand shoots to your jaw firmly, tilting your head to the side.His lips find the nape of your neck instead and sucks hard. He marks you, and you feel the bruise blooming already.
“I’ll make you beg for a kiss,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “I’ll make you crawl for it.”
His fingers hook the thin straps of your summer dress and with one smooth tug the fabric slides down your arms, pools at your waist, then drops to the floor entirely. You’re left in nothing but damp cotton white panties and your red Converse and white socks, shivering.
His palms cover your breasts too hard at first. You wince, brows pinching. He watches your face like it’s scripture. Adjusts. Squeezes again. Just a bit softer. Then harder. Jake is testing and learning every twitch, every hitch in your breath.
You finally open your eyes and meet his.
To realise he’s gone. Gone gone.
Not Jake anymore. Something trance-like. Pupils blown. Breathing shallow. Mouth parted like he’s receiving a vision.
“Jake…?”
“Let me see,” he rasps. “All the kinds of faces you can make.”
He drops his mouth on your nipple with his dark eyes on you. ANd feel his thick lips, fangs grazing. Tongue swirling slow, then flicking sharp. He captures everything: the way your fingers dig into his shoulders to push him away, the helpless rock of your hips against his bulge, the little space between your parted lips where silent cries keep slipping out.
He’s addicted.
He tries for your mouth again. And you block him. Again. He growls like an unhappy dog in his throat. Grabs your hips and jsut forces them down hard against his cock to make grind you along the length until you yelp and yelp and yelp again.
His thumb traces your lips. Slips inside. Hooks your cheek. Fuck, he loves this view: your brows bending in that perfect needy arch, eyes watering, lashes clumping. His favorite expression. The cry-baby you.
“God bless you for being such a perfect little cry baby,” he mutters. “He made you for me. Look at you. You’re built to fall apart under my hands, hm?”
Your brain short-circuits. What the hell is he saying? This isn’t Jake. This is—
Three fingers shove past your lips. Stretch your mouth wide. He hyperfixates—watching the way your tongue flattens, the drool that pools, the way your throat works around the intrusion.
“I always see it,” he says, voice wrecked. “You biting your crayons, your nails, your lips... Every little anxious quirk. Makes me want to replace them all. Want to fuck your mouth until you’re choking on me instead of anything else .”
You hear his zipper.
He’s stroking himself now, slowly, his head bumping against the drenched cotton between your thighs. Soft whimpers escape you both.
He stops everything. Focuses on the wet patch. The sticky mess you’ve made.
“Fuck… how can you be this wet?”
His thumbs presses and stroke everywhere you wet yourself, traces the shadow of your entrance through the fabric, firmly, slowy. And you slap a hand over your mouth, eyes darting to the door.
“Jake—someone could—”
He doesn’t hear you. He’s too far gone.
He keeps smearing your slickness, adding his own leaking precum until the white cotton is translucent, clinging, buried between your folds.
Both your breaths come faster, heavier.
“I want to fuck you so bad.” He notches the head against your clit with forces pressure. You jolt—whole body arching.
You stare at him, and a sudden realization hits: he’s touching a pussy for the first time. No?
He’s acting like he want to force it inside, but he doesn’t even know where and what it really looks like up close. He’s on instinct, hunger mode.
It’s thrilling. And it’s terrifying. He won’t listen. Won’t stop. So your trembling hand slides down. Brushes him. He’s veiny, swollen. So hard it hurts to touch.
He snarls. Grabs your wrist. Forces your fingers around his shaft. Makes you strock it.
“Fuck—”
You line him up—head nudging your entrance, with only the soaked fabric between.
He thrusts so shallow and desperate. The head pushes in stretching the cotton, stretching you. You arch violently. His breathing is obscene, so freaking loud and ragged.
“I’ll fuck you… fuck, I wanna fuck you so bad.”
He slams a palm on the table beside your head.
“Fuck—we can’t—” he say, but doesn’t stop. His thrusts turn erratic. Wet sounds fill the room rhythmic. Every shallow push forces the fabric deeper, almost tearing, almost letting him in.
“I want inside—fuck—I want to fuck you so bad.”
“I want to go so deep you scream.”
“I want to feel your clench around me.”
You’re close—too close—from the friction, from his wrecked expression, from the way he’s losing every shred of control. You grab his wrist, with your still trapped between his hand and his cock’s hand, and guide his fingers.
He follows. And memories flash him: the day he caught you getting fingered in secret. The way your hips bucked. The sounds.
He laughs dizzy, “I forgot… you’re a little slut, right?”
Two fingers shove inside you. No preamble. He just fuck your inside roughly. He curls. Scissors. Pumps. No pattern. Just chasing every reaction. Every flutter. Every jolt.
“How can a dick even fit in here, hm?” he mutters, completely out of his mind. “Fuck—”
Your orgasm builds terrifyingly fast. You try to fight it. Try to stay quiet. But the more you clench, the harder it hits. Your legs snap shut around his hand.
He watches from above, literally transfixed, as your body contracts, back bowing, thighs trembling.
Right when you’re about to tip over—
He pulls out. Completely.
You jolt. Thrash. Palm slams the table. Other hand clamps over your mouth. Legs convulse, and you see white for a second. The denial is stronger than any full orgasm you’ve ever had. And Jake drinks in every second—your arched back, your shaking thighs, the way you’re offering yourself without words.
Your back…
He grabs your leg. Flips you onto your stomach, the cold table shocks your nipples.
“Wait—”
He yanks your panties up so hard you’re forced onto tiptoes.
His cock slides between your fabric and ass. Its hot, thick, fucking the crease hard. Jake’s palm clamps the back of your neck and it cuts oxygen just enough to make your brain fuzzy, make everything narrow to the drag of him against you.
He grinds. Strokes your clit with the soaked cotton pulling. Faster. Faster. Meaner.
You both break at the same time. He groans and bites on the arm that hold you down, as hot and thick ropes of cum paint your back. Your legs buckle a bit a,d your orgasm crashes as silently as possible, shattering, legs trembling so hard you almost collapse.
Both of you are shaking. Breathing like you’ve run marathons.
It’s over.
But he grabs your arm. Pulls you down. You fall to your knees. “Let me see your face.”
He brushes sweat-damp hair back. You look exactly like his dream: wrecked. Lips swollen. Eyes glassy.
He towers over you. Cock still half-hard and leaking. You lean forward. Press your lips to the head, with your tongue flat against the thick vein underneath.
“Ahh—-” he snaps. One hand fist your hair. Thrusts shallow, fucking the last of his cum into your mouth, to gradually fuck the back of your throat.
You gag. Tears spill. And he loses it completely, watching the tears track down your cheeks, feeling your throat work around him.
“Fuck… that’s it. Take it all.”
ANd you take it all. Every shallow thrust into your mouth, every pulse against your tongue, every drop he spills down your throat, he watches like it's the holy prouf that he’s in fact one of god’s favorite. Your eyes water and tears track hot down your cheeks. You gag softly once, twice, but you don't pull away.
Jake groans low, wrecked, fingers tightening in your hair. "I love you," he rasps, voice cracking on the words like they've been clawing at his throat for months. "Fuck—I love you so much it hurts. I want you bad. So fucking bad."
He releases with one last shudder, flooding your mouth. You cough, choke a little, saliva and cum dripping from the corner of your lips as you gasp for air. Before you can even wipe your chin, he yanks your head back by the hair, sharp enough to make you gasp, and tries to crashes his mouth to yours—-
Then his phone buzzes—sharp, insistent, vibrating against the table like a slap back to reality. He. literally freezes. His lips one millimeter away.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
He wanted this to never end. He pulls back slowly, breathing ragged, passing a frustrated hand in his hair and answers the call with shaking fingers.
You sink back onto your knees, dazed, chest heaving, trying to piece yourself together while the world rushes back in too loud, and too fast. You can't hear Jake’s conversation: just muffled voices, his low "yeah, Mom," "okay, got it." His free hand reaches for yours, squeezing once, grounding.
He mouths at you silently, puppy eyes soft again: You okay? With his phone still hooked between ear and shoulder, he reaches out, rearranges your tangled hair with careful fingers, wipes the tear tracks and spit from your cheeks with his thumb and sleeve. Jake helps you too, tug your dress back up over your shoulders like nothing happened.
The call ends, and you don’t even realise it. There’s only that strange feeling of calm in you, like the anxiety is gone. And maybe too much of Jake’s presence. There’s nothing. You just don’t think anymore. And it feels somhow so pleasing.
"Hey." Jake’s hand slides to the back of your neck, with a gentle pressure turning your face to his. "My mom called. Your parents got an emergency thing from work. We're taking you home."
"Hm?"
He studies your expression, you’re in the stars right now, and oh how he wish he could keep you there. A soft, fond smile tugs at his mouth. His eyes drop to your lips. He bites his own. Leans in. But you suddnely flinch, almost dodge again.
But he goes for your cheek instead. With a soft, chaste kiss. Just a brush of lips.
"It's okay," he murmurs against your skin. "I won't do anything you don't want me to." He shrugs off his jacket, drapes it over your shoulders. Leans close again, breath warm against your ear. "Sorry… for your back."
And the rest of that. damn night is blurs. Like a lucid dream.
You vagly get the church bathroom mirror, your lips swollen, neck marked you hidded under his jacket, the sticky mess on your lower back cooling under. If this wasn't church, if it wasn’t jake… And you, anyone with eyes would know exactly what happened.
The ride home… you don't remember words. Just the echo of Jake's mom asking if you have a fever, calling you "angel" in that sweet-mom voice while your thighs stick together and your pulse won't settle.
One solid fact was that he slipped a Snickers bar into your pocket—his pocket, technically his yeah, since you forgot to give his jacket back when you bolted from the car and ran hometo shower.
It's still on your nightstand weeks later. Melting slowly in its wrapper. Proof the fever dream was real. That the reasons your wetting your panties since, is Jake. Jake and the way used you.
And if you thought that one night would kill the anxious buzz you get whenever Jake's within five meters… Wrong.
Now it's worse. One look from him across the youth group room and you're rushing to the bathroom to wipe the insane rush of wetness between your thighs. And the slapping the idea of literally eating your nails in front of him with the expectation that he ends up fucking you hard some place.
Jake's side isn't better.
That night he slept better than he ever had. First weeks of summer felt golden. He thought he had you and basta. But you went from anxious-around-him to full avoidance. If it weren't for church services, the country club brunches, the upcoming youth group trip—he wouldn't even catch your shadow.
The dreams came roaring back. but Stronger. More vivid. More real.
He needs to see you. Hold you. Now.
The country club brunch is packed, linen tablecloths, clinking silverware, parents laughing too loud. And jake half-hard, eyes in void thinking of fucking you doggy style and bend you until you scream for him to stop.
You see him first. He catch you second trying to regain consciousness with his meter long eyespack. You’re across the lawn, through the crowd, eyes locked. Neither of you looks away. But in Jake head it might as well be an halucination.
His mom calls yours over and he snap. You’re here, like really here. More plates are insisted upon. "We need another setting—Jake, scoot over, sweetheart."
Your heart slams so hard you taste copper. By some divine cruelty (or blessing), you're seated right next to him at a table too small for five. Everyone chats: weather, golf scores, your perfect tenis perfs, college plans for both of you.
And—-
Jake's hand slides under the table. Under your tennis skirt. You freeze mid-sentence. His palm is bigger than you remember, rougher, hoter from whatever secret workouts he does to punish himself.
He squeezes your thigh hard. And you know what it is. A punishment. You try to keep your face neutral. Smile at someone's joke. His hand creeps higher. You yank his wrist away and bolt upright.
"Sorry—restroom."
You walk—fast—to the farthest one possible. When a hand catches your wrist near the doors. He drags you into some ladies' room stall. Locks it.
"Jake—what are you—"
"Why are you avoiding me?"
You're stunned silent.
Why? WHY?!
"You're even avoiding me now…" He crowds you against the wall. The stall is spacious and tiny at the same time. His body heat is everywhere. "I accepted you. You accepted me. For who we are. So why avoid each other?"
"What… what are you talking about?"
He bends. Mouth at your ear. "That you're a needy little slut…" Voice calm, natural, like he's reading the weather. "And I have weird… fucked-up desires about you."
You meet his eyes. And the scariest part is that he's not even trying to hide it. Just says it like fact.
"Are you… Jake…"
His head drops to your shoulder, kissing your neck. a hand slides to your hip. "I'm hard."
Your brain short-circuits.
"I still dream about you. It didn't go away. I fuck my hand remembering your throat squeezing me. Your insides clenching. I even got hard in the last days of school just because you finally stopped biting your nails."
You're breathing too loud and he straightens and locks eyes. His thumb grazes your lips. "Have you let someone else touch you?"
Head shake.
"Sunghoon?"
Shake.
"Any of the guys at the club?"
Shake.
His smile blooms slowly, victorious. "I knew it. So we're good to each other?"
"Hm?"
"I've been thinking about it, angel. About God's plan. Maybe we're meant for each other. Don't you think?"
You bat your lashes in pure incomprehension. He slides a hand around your neck, gently but possessive.
"I like to bully you…" He says as his thumb strokes your pulse. "And you love it when I use you. Right?"
He looks at you like a kid begging for the one toy he can't live without. And now the toy… Is you.
You've circled it in your head too. Mostly terrified he'd tell his friends, or confess it to father or any brother from the church. But once the panic faded with rationality… you realized… That, maybe, you never hated him.
You just wanted to be special. To someone. To him. The person everyone loves, and you couldn’t reach. To have something only you get from Jake. His dark dreams. His secret desires. Let that be yours. Only yours. The saint's secret dreams.
You nod.
He smirks. "Say it."
"…Yes."
His expression lights up brighter than when he won valedictorian last spring.
"You'll be mine?"
You shy half-nod. Eyes on his. "…hm."
"Good girl. My angel." He attacks, soft kisses everywhere except your mouth. Jaw. Cheek. Temple. Collarbone. Throat. Shoulder. Each one reverent. Worshipful. You melt. Your legs get weaker and weaker, but Jake wedges a thigh between yours to hold you up. He stops at your lips, with his thumb traces them.
"Why won't you let me kiss you?"
You whisper: "I… wanted to give my first kiss to my boyfriend."
He clicks with starry eyes, searching. "You've never been kissed?"
Another head shake. His pupils blow dark. Saint Jake is gone.
"Let me kiss you then."
"Why would I?"
"Let's date." He almost order you simply and logical. "How can I let someone else have you if you're mine? Let's tell our parents later. Let's tell everyone—so no one tries anything. wierd with you."
Very rich coming from him.
"I'll take such good care of you." He kiss your jaw. "I'll let you have anything you want." Kiss your neck. "I'll reward you when you're good. I'll help you with… everything…"
Anything? Really anything?
"Would you…” you hesitate, “Would you withdraw from head of youth group? Give my name?"
Jake smirks. "If you're mine… anything."
He closes the toilet lid and sits. Drags you forward slowly by the wirst. "Then… will you let me kiss you?"
You half-nod, but then whisper: "…Okay."
You lean in for a peck, but he pulls back.
"I want to see you on your knees. Come here… and beg me for a kiss."
Your heart jackhammers. But the idea… You don't hate it. So you execute. You sink on your knees on cold tile, yyes up at him. And just like that he exhales hard. Head falls back against the wall for a second.
"God… your eyes from this angle." His hand runs through your hair until his fingers find the rubber band and he slides it off. Jake twists it around his own wrist like a trophy. "I love how wrecked you look already."
You beg him for the first time, shy and softly trembling. "Please… kiss me."
He don’t even makes you wait of act up, Jake just pulls you up. And gives you your first kiss. His. No one else's. He's hungry. Hungrier. His lips bite yours, all gentle then sharp. His tongue sucks yours into his mouth like he's starving. It’s wet, and you try to move and wipe your mouth, with one hand Jake cups your jaw. The other fists your hair.
"No one would ever believe what's happening right now. Because it's me. And it's you."
He doubles down. Grabs the unspent hem of your skirt—the one you didn't realize you'd stopped fidgeting with, and stuffs it into your mouth.
"They could never imagine you're about to show me how wet you are by sliding these panties down and spreading your legs for me, right angel?"
"Or that you're gonna fuck yourself on my hand after."
an electric shock runs through your whole body. "And after I taste you… I'll keep your panties. So when I miss my angel, I can remind myself until I catch you again. Hm?"
He sits back. Stroking himself slow. Pulling your hair just enough to keep your eyes on his.
No one would ever guess.
He's right.
The end ~
Afterstory :
Just note that these two Never go all the way until their wedding night lmao. They got very creative but never really do it! (And yes five years into marriage, during one very drunk games night with the boys, Jake get cocky, lost a bet, and “lent” his wife to Jay for like… 15 minutes. He watched. He hated it. Never happened again. Lesson learned: some fantasies look better in his head than in real life. And keeps her all to himself like the possessive prayer-boy he still is. 😏
Anyway thanks for riding this rollercoaster with me at first the plot was reader turns 18 and can suddenly hear people desires (any cherrymagic lover in the room???) but then one day she try to wake up sweet pure ikeu and discover he's obssesed by her and somehow it turned into this shit tada.
Sleep tight, dream dirty love y'all and can't wait to hear you hehehehehe 💕
I'm tired... Lassiie...
MASTERLSIT
I summon the holy TG : Thk u so so much to my girlypop @jayjw16enxp@nithxhoon, @ikeuatic @puphees @raven-unkind @hoondrop @heekolazz @thesundys @w2hoonki @jaerisdiction @keuri @v-irtujake @moasshi @wonnies-girl @seungiesdoll @jakeintoit @s4eungie @scarett-lover23 @loveminlive @isagistar @aarriiaa1
✶ ˚｡⋆ when jay saw you, he fell in love. you were everything he wanted. beautiful, smart, funny and mature. well, you were maybe a little clueless. but that doesn’t hurt, right? … right?
꧖ warnings: cursing. crack. jay is a completely yearner and a little jealous lmao. threats (as a joke). no use of yn. readers user is stardust. — masterlist.
𓏲 ⊹ one ⋆ two ⋆ three & more …
note: so… this wasn’t planned as a series but here we are! it’s not gonna be a long smau tho, just a few parts because the limit is 30 photos 🥲. if you want a tag for the next part, you can let me now in the comments!! thank u 🤍
in which you accidentally let jungwon know he’s been cheated on, and instead of killing the messenger, he…falls in love with you?
pairing senior center director!jungwon x preschool teacher!fem reader genre crack, raunchy, neighbors au, angst(ish?), fluff warnings profanity, crude humor — note SSC is short for sunshine senior center, though i’ll probably mention that later 🙂↕️🙂↕️ anw first chapter hey!! and THANKS FOR 300 FOLLOWERS 😭😭💖💖💖
synopsis: what started as a crush on someone you didn’t know became the one thing that mattered to you the most.
content warnings: suggestive jokes so if they bother you you’re free to scroll , kys/kms jokes , secondhand embarrassment , toxic ex gf , jealousy , chaotic behavior , yujin is really bitchy (sorray😓) , miscommuncation , lmk if i missed anything!!
note: ive been wanting to make an smau for so long but my job has been kicking my ass but its okay! anyways ill try my best to post more because i love you guys. Hope you enjoy this series baii☺️!!
in which - you drunkenly message your bestfriend asking him to pick you up from the bar only for him to send his friend.
silde count - 21
masterlist // 0.1 , 0.2 , 0.3
warnings!! - this one might be kinda confusing so make sure to look at the times one the previous one and this one, language, barely even suggestive jokes between friends.
authors note! - hiiii! i really apologize that this one is so boring but i swear the next ones are going to be soooo juciyyy i promisee. i wont be able to post cus im not going to be busy with work and family for the next few days so im really sorry!! also some tags wouldnt work on my taglist so im also really sorry about that!
synopsis: Where Ni-ki doesn't do anything more than one nights and you just can't forget the blond.
cw: masturbating, voyeurism, choking, stalking, lap dance, kissing
one | two (here) | three
The stage was already occupied with Lyra and her match as you guided Heeseung backstage, his fingers intertwined with yours, following you around without any objections.
“What’s your name?”
“Crimson”
“The real one”
You just glanced at him over your shoulder, “Crimson, you’re up!” The madam shouted a smirk graced your lips “Lucky timing” you answered as you pulled Heeseung onto the stage. The crowd erupted in screams, the girls were cheering you on as you brought the man to the center of the stage where the chair was placed.
The lights dimmed, the music picked up, you slowly dragged your hand up Heeseung’s shirt, feeling the mans muscles flex, he swallowed, his eyes scanning your figure. You pushed him down, his body obeyed your command, he was completely relaxed under your touch as you slowly turned around and let your hands trace your curves. You then turned towards Heeseung again slowly raising your leg up and placing it between his legs, he spread his legs even more.
He sat there, manspreading and leaned back, arms crossed just watching you with a smirk, you slowly raised your leg up to his chest and pressed it, he grabbed your ankle with one hand and placed a kiss on your leg before trailing upwords towards your knee.
You fisted his hair with one hand and leaned down, your lips brushed against his, you slowly smiled before turning around and sitting on his lap fully, Heeseung’s hands immediately came around your hips, his warm hands tracing your ass as you grinded on him.
You bent over, whining and twerking as his hard on poked you. You wrapped your legs around the chair and let yourself fall back in between his legs, you hair sprawled all across the floor as Heeseung groaned, you let your hand grab a bunch of cash and place it between your tits.
Everyone was watching— you could feel the eyes on you. The attention of men women and him. You couldn’t see him yet you could swear he was watching, you raised yourself back up and Heeseung was waiting for you with open arms, you raised your hips up slightly and Heeseung slammed you down immediately.
You moaned slightly, rocking your hips back and forth, dry humping the guy who was kissing all over your tits was a great way to forget pretty much anything. The track ended and cheers begun, the madam called another girl onstage and you dragged Heeseung to the back, when you guys were alone in the dressing room you guys both looked at each other.
He chuckled first and the you begun giggling before you could name the emotions that were surging through you, you both were laughing. “You are one hell of a woman Crimson” Heeseung whispered “Thank you” you just answered back in a whisper.
Suddenly the door banged open making you flinch, Heeseung lost all his humor as he turned to the door, it was the blond. Ni-ki stood there, his hand was on the door, he looked at Heeseung dead in the eyes— ignoring you “Let’s go” you looked back at Heeseung, he now had a gun in his hand that you didn’t feel on him before.
You’re eyes widened slightly “Later sweetheart” Heeseung said now seemingly angry too, you just nodded as Heeseung passed Ni-ki and walked down the corridor, you turned around to take of your makeup for the night as you looked into the mirror you saw Ni-ki standing behind you.
You gasped, shock coursed over you as his hand wrapped around your throat and your back slammed against his body. He didn’t say anything as his brown eyes searched yours, his hand wasn’t letting go, you felt your breath slowly fading away.
You stepped on his feet with your heel, elbowed him in the stomach and yet he didn’t move even an inch, he just clenched his jaw, he didn’t say anything as he bent his face down towards yours and bit your lip, the same place Heeseung bit you before letting you go.
You turned around ready to scream at his face but he wasn’t there. “Fucking prick” you ran your hands thru your hair but your heart kept beating, there was a pink tint that sat on your cheeks, you closed your eyes— fuck.
Later that night when you arrived home, Lyra had already fallen asleep, she arrived home sooner than you, after the whole situation you had you threw back a few shots at the bar, making sure you had enough for a good nights sleep.
When you got out of the shower your phone rang, you didn’t look at it, drying your hair and applying your night cream first. Only when you got into the bed you checked your phone, it was an unknown number.
“Did you go home?”
You stared at the message, fear and thrill coarsed through your veins, could it be…
“Ni-ki?”
Three dots appeared and disappeared.
“Good”
“You know who you’re talking to”
“You’re crazy, how did you get my number?”
“Never do that shit again”
“?”
There was silence from the other side, you stared at the screen for a minute before the message appeared.
“Don’t pull that shit you pulled with him again”
You furrowed your brows, a kid wasn’t going to be telling you what you could or couldn’t especially after kid whom berated you.
“I don’t know what you have confused here Ni-ki, stripping is my job and I’d be fucking damned if I stopped for a 19 year old kid.”
“20”
You scoffed in disbelief as you threw your phone somewhere on the bed, you didn’t care for whatever the fuck he had to say anymore, what a weird kid.
Your phone vibrated with a few more messages before it begun to buzz, you ignored it once, twice, the third time you reached for you phone to put it on dnd.
“Answer the phone”
“Last time I’m warning you Crimson”
You answered the phone, Ni-ki was silent, you just sighed before muttering “What do you want Ni-ki” he chuckled, his voice was deeper over the phone you closed your eyes a shiver ran down your spine, “I still haven’t heard you say it” you rubbed a hand over your face “Say what?” He answered in a heartbeat. “Say that you won’t be fucking entertaining random men on stage kissing them” you sighed.
“That’s my job Ni-ki, those men pay my bills, those men fund my life style” it was Ni-ki’s turn to scoff “You know, I’m far more capable of doing that and more compared to any man at that club” you laughed, it wasn’t a cute laugh— you didn’t intend for it to be. “How old were you again” you asked “Twenty” he answered, you laughed some more.
“You think I’m gonna stop working and let a kid take care of me?” There was a silence that made you feel even more giddy “You think twenty is a kid?” You chuckled “Sorry, a baby” you corrected yourself. “You were offering to give a baby a lap dance then?” His tone was mocking, you felt that weird feeling in your gut again.
“That was my mistake, you’re right. You looked young I shouldn’t have.” Ni-ki clearly didn’t expect this answer out of you. “In the end it all happened with Heeseung anyway so it all worked out but I won’t approach you anymore.”
Ni-ki scoffed “Even if you approached me nothing would have happened— I don’t date, much less strippers.” You could hear the anger in his tone “So what you just sleep around with a girl and fund her life?!” His answer came in fast “If I want to yeah, mostly sleep around.”
“Goodbye Ni-ki.”
With that you hung up the phone, you were fuming— you put your phone on airplane mode and closed your eyes, you were going the fuck to bed. Fuck a blond asian men with dark brown eyes and deep voice. You knew men never took you and the girls who worked in the industry too seriously but it didn’t make you much less of a human then any other highly educated lady.
Whenever you talked with him, it made you insecure, the feeling never really went away, you didn’t understand what it was. His sharp eyes and cold demeanor or his ego that made you so interested in him. Was it his voice that made you get wet or was it the reminder he left on your neck, soft bruises that were throbbing now that you focused on it.
Was it his soft warm lips that made you slip your fingers inside your panties or his brooding height that made you imagine how being under him would look. Your fingers rubbed circles around your clit as your eyes fluttered closed. You could smell his cologne, hear his voice, feel his strong hand around your neck, you fastened your speed up “oh fuck, ni-ki” you whispered. His name slipped out so easily, your back arched off the bed and your breath was knocked out your lungs.
You closed your eyes and sighed, what a fucking asshole, making you cum even when he wasn’t there.
Ni-ki could forgive you for hanging up the phone to his face after that little show you put on, just for him.
⊱SYNOPSIS: when a casual compliment during a livestream sends the internet into meltdown, nobody expects it to be the start of K-pop’s newest obsession.
❤︎ Idol AU social media AU ENHAOT7 KASTEYEOT6 y/n is in KATSEYE
note!! this is all fiction also included my awful attempt at humour, I was gonna maybe make this a series… maybe if it gets enough love??? IDK anyway enjoyyy
── synopsis: everyone on campus knows Heeseung’s rules — no commitments, no second chances, and no girl stays long enough to matter. As basketball captain he collects hearts like trophies and leaves them broken behind him without a second thought. You watch him from far away, knowing you should stay away, but you don't just want to be another name on his list. You want him to choose you and see only you. The problem is you're completely inexperienced, a virgin in every sense, while the girls around him know exactly how to move, how to flirt, and how to keep him hooked. So you make a plan: practice with other guys, learn the skills you're missing, and completely reinvent yourself to finally make Heeseung notice you — and choose you over everyone else.
warnings: explicit sexual content (mdni), popping cherry, fingering, oral (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat, panty gag, nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, riding, missionary, doggy style, against the wall, overstimulation, pussy slapping, spanking, hair pulling, choking, spitting on pussy, praise kink, light degradation, dirty talk, begging, edging, possessiveness, manhandling, public/risky sex (library + locker room), risk of getting caught, use of pet name (babe, doll, angel, baby, slut, good girl), mostly dom!members with a bit of dom!reader.
wc: 18k ┆ a/n: I know some of you are waiting for part 2 of teacher's pet, but I was just so excited to write this one that I decided to work on it first (the idea actually came to me while listening to drake's 'practice') this ended up being way longer than I expected, but anyway... I hope you guys like it. happy reading!
Heeseung is the sun around which the entire campus orbits.
He’s the captain of the basketball team, the big star whose name echoes through the packed arena during every game. With his lean yet athletic build, dark hair that falls over his sweaty forehead after a match, and that lazy half-smile that screams trouble while charming every girl in sight, he moves like he’s always being watched — and he is. Every head turns when he walks by, the crowd in the hallways parting like the sea for him and his teammates. He loves the attention.
Everyone knows the stories about Heeseung. He doesn’t do relationships — he rotates. A new girl every week, sometimes every day if he’s in the mood. They’re often seen leaving his apartment late at night, or early in the morning if he feels like letting them stay over, hair messy and wearing his team jacket like a trophy.
He usually doesn't appear with them in public, but it doesn't take long for the chosen girl to start gossiping in the hallways about how she's being fucked by him. That doesn’t last long though, because once the thrill fades he ignores them completely, never answering their messages once the weekend is over. "Let’s just have fun," he says, and the girls always agree, secretly believing they’ll be the one to change him.
You’ve been watching him from afar for months, studying the way he laughs too loudly at parties with his arm around whatever girl he’s with at the moment, the way his hand rests on her lower back as he guides her through the crowd, and how his eyes scan the room like he’s already searching for the next target while the current one is still pressed against him. It should disgust you — the casual way he uses people, the trail of broken hearts he leaves behind without remorse. But it doesn’t disgust you. It feeds you.
Deep down, in that secret place where you allow yourself to be completely honest, you want to be one of them. Not just another weekly girl — you want to be the one who breaks the pattern, the one so unforgettable, so incredible in bed and out of it, that Heeseung, the campus player, finally chooses you for good.
The problem is you have no idea how to make that happen.
You’re a virgin, completely untouched. The closest you’ve ever gotten to intimacy was an awkward, too-long hug with your best friend Jake after a tough week of exams. Approaching Heeseung as you are now — inexperienced, nervous, and clumsy — would never work.
"He likes confident girls, experienced ones who know how to dominate and be dominated in equal measure, because he doesn’t waste time teaching the basics. He expects you to already know how to please him." That’s what you heard from one of his teammates.
So after watching him leave the court with yet another girl on his arm, you make a decision.
You’re going to practice.
You’re going to transform yourself into the perfect girl for him — experienced enough to impress him, confident enough to stand out, and irresistible enough that when he finally notices you, he won’t be able to let you go.
────────
You stand outside Jake’s dorm room long enough for your legs to start aching. Your best friend’s room has always been your safe haven — the perfect spot for late-night study sessions, movie marathons, and listening to him ramble excitedly about sci-fi. Jake is kind, a bit nerdy in the best way possible, like a golden retriever with brown hair, a sweet smile, and glasses.
With a deep breath, you knock on the door.
Jake opens it almost immediately and breaks into a wide smile the moment he sees you. "Hey, what took you so long? Come in— wait, are you okay? You look tense."
You step inside and sit on the edge of his bed, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. Jake drops into his desk chair and pulls it closer so he’s facing you directly, his knees almost brushing against yours. "Jake… I need to talk to you about something kind of crazy, embarrassing, and probably really stupid."
He tilts his head, curiosity sparkling behind his glasses. "You know you can tell me anything. What’s going on?"
You tell him everything — how you’ve been watching Heeseung for months, how every time you see him with someone new, something deep in your chest twists, not exactly with jealousy, but with desire. You share the rumors you’ve heard about how he likes girls who know what they’re doing, girls who can match his intensity. Finally, you admit that you want to be the one he chooses — not just for a week, not for a fling, but for good.
"But I’m a virgin, Jake," you whisper, your cheeks burning. "I’ve never even… I don’t know what I’m doing. So if I tried to approach him like this, he’d probably laugh."
Jake’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t interrupt.
"So I’ve decided… I’m going to practice. I’m going to get experience so that when I finally have my chance with Heeseung, I’ll be good enough that he won’t want anyone else."
Silence stretches between you as Jake stares at you for a long moment. He pushes his glasses up, his expression soft — not mocking, not disgusted. Just… Jake. "Wow. That’s… a lot. Heeseung, huh? I mean, I get it, but you’re really willing to do all that for him?"
Biting your lip, you nod. "I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t stop thinking about it. And… I was hoping you’d help me with the first part."
Your voice drops until it’s almost inaudible. "I want you to be my first. I want to lose my virginity with you. You’re my best friend and I trust you. I know you’ll be gentle, you won’t laugh at me or tell anyone. Please, Jake?"
His cheeks flush pink and for a second it looks like he might say no. "You… you want me to what? Oh my God. I don’t even know what to say."
He lets out a nervous laugh, a mix of surprise and something he’s always kept hidden. "I’ve never thought about you like that before or… okay, maybe I have, a little. But you’re serious? This is all for Heeseung?"
"Yes, but right now it’s about learning with someone safe, someone who cares. And that someone is you."
Jake stays quiet for a moment while he thinks, then reaches out and takes your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. "Okay… if we’re really going to do this, I want it to be right for you. Not just jumping in headfirst." His thumb keeps tracing slow, soft circles on the back of your hand. "You’ve never done any of this before, right? Not even… by yourself?"
You swallow hard, staring at your intertwined fingers, and admit softly, "No… I mean, I tried rubbing against my pillow once and it felt good, I think? But I got scared and stopped. I don’t know what I’m doing, Jake. That’s why I need you to help me learn."
Jake nods, adjusting his glasses — a nervous habit — with flushed cheeks, but his voice stays as gentle and patient as always. "That makes sense. But before anyone else touches you, you should get to know your own body first. What feels good, what you like. It’ll make everything easier later… for him and for you."
He hesitates for a second, then adds with a small reassuring smile, "Do you trust me enough to try this now? With me here?"
Your heart races with a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. "Yes, I trust you. Just… tell me what to do, please."
Jake stands up slowly and sits beside you on the bed. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple, then to your cheek. "Start by getting comfortable. Lie back, and maybe take off your sweater if you want to and feel okay with it."
You do as he says, pulling off your sweater and setting it aside so you’re left in just your tank top and jeans. "Good," he murmurs. "Now touch yourself under your clothes first, over your stomach, along your thighs… feel how your body reacts."
You slide your hand beneath the thin fabric of your tank top. Your fingers graze the soft skin of your belly, then move higher, gently caressing one of your breasts. It feels strange doing this while he watches, but his gaze isn’t hungry or demanding — it’s warm and encouraging, like he’s looking at something precious. When your fingertips brush your nipple, a small sigh escapes you.
"Right there. That’s good. Circle slowly and squeeze just a little."
As he speaks, his own hand drifts down to the front of his sweatpants and then he starts touching himself gently over the fabric, not even trying to hide it. Knowing he’s getting hard just from watching you makes your breath hitch.
Following his instruction, you circle and lightly pinch your nipple, feeling a warm sensation build low in your belly. "Jake, it feels so good…"
"Tell me," he encourages, his hand moving in slow strokes that match the rhythm of your breathing. "Does it make you wet between your legs?"
"Yes," you sigh.
"Keep going, slide your other hand into your jeans and touch yourself over your panties if you’re not ready for more yet."
With your free hand you obey, unbuttoning your jeans and slipping inside. The fabric of your panties is already damp when you press your fingers against yourself and rub lightly, drawing a soft whimper from your throat.
Both of your breathing grows heavier with every second. Jake pushes his sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free himself, stroking slowly while he watches every movement of your fingers.
"Fuck, that’s beautiful," he breathes, the words slipping out like he can’t hold them back. "Rub your clit. Find the spot that feels best."
You circle your clit, experimenting with pressure and rhythm, rolling your hips when you finally discover the perfect way to touch yourself. Jake’s eyes stay locked on your hand while his own speeds up, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock with every stroke.
"Inside your panties now," his voice still gentle but strained. "Feel how wet you are. Explore your body, learn what it likes so you can show someone exactly what you need."
You push your panties aside and slide a finger along your slick folds. "Slide a finger inside, babe," he says and when you do, a moan escapes your lips — it’s tight, but not uncomfortable. Jake groans with the sight, his hand moving faster on himself.
"Add another finger and curl them a little. Yeah, just like that. You’re doing so good, babe." His praise makes you bolder, so you start pumping your fingers slowly, rubbing your clit with your thumb at the same time, while your free hand keeps playing with your breast, pinching harder as the pleasure rises.
"You’re getting close, aren’t you? I can tell by the way you’re breathing. Let it happen. Imagine how good it’ll feel when I’m inside you." His words push you over the edge.
Moaning Jake’s name, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation, your body tenses and your thighs tremble uncontrollably as the orgasm crashes through you. Waves of heat pulse around your fingers, deeper and stronger than you ever imagined.
"Fuck, don’t do this to me." His hand strokes faster until he groans and comes too, spilling over his fingers with a shaky breath.
For a moment, the room falls quiet except for your shared breathing. Jake leans in and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, his glasses tilting slightly. "Hey… you still with me? How are you feeling after that? Overwhelmed?"
You shake your head and let out a small giggle. "I’m good. Really good, actually." Reaching up, you gently fix his glasses and whisper, "Thank you for being so patient with me, Jake. I know this is probably weird for you too."
He smiles, and it makes you smile back naturally. "It’s not weird. At least not with you. Honestly, seeing you like that… it was beautiful. You’re beautiful." He leans in and kisses your forehead, then your cheek, giving you time to calm down while his hand rests on your hip and his thumb draws slow circles on your skin. "If you want to keep going, I’m right here."
You bite your lip, the mix of nerves and curiosity warms your body all over again. This is supposed to be practice — each new sensation is another skill you’re learning — but right now, with him, it feels like something more.
"I want more," you admit, cheeks burning. "Can you… use your mouth on me? I’ve heard it feels really good, but I don’t know what to expect."
Jake’s eyes widen for half a second. "Yeah, I’d love to do that for you." He moves carefully on the bed, helping you adjust the pillows behind your head so you’re comfortable. "Just relax and tell me what feels good, okay? If anything is too much or not enough, say so. Promise?"
"Promise." You extend your pinky toward him and he does the same, linking them together to seal the promise.
He starts with soft kisses on the inside of your knee, then higher up your thigh. Every touch of his lips sends shivers across your skin. "Your legs are already shaking," he murmurs with a low chuckle against your thigh. "That’s so cute."
When his mouth finally reaches your center, it’s feather-light at first — just his lips brushing against your folds — but it’s enough to make you draw in a sharp breath and grip the sheets tightly.
Then his warm tongue drags upward in one long, torturous lick from your entrance all the way to your clit. The feeling is wet, hot, and incredibly intimate, the texture of his tongue adds a new layer of friction that makes your hips jerk involuntarily.
"My God, Jake…" The words slip out before you can stop them.
"Good?" he asks, pulling back just enough for you to see his glistening lips as he looks up at you.
"Yes… really good. Do that again, please."
With more confidence this time, he explores every inch of you — licking along your folds, circling your clit, then moving down to taste your entrance. The wet sounds of him pleasuring you only heighten the arousal building in your belly.
Jake hums in satisfaction as he finds the rhythm you like best, reading it from your moans. "You taste incredible… so hot and wet."
You reach down and thread your fingers through his soft hair. "Right there, when you suck on my clit, it feels so good."
He listens immediately, sealing his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and applying gentle suction while his tongue flicks against it, making the pleasure intensify, stronger than before.
The smooth glide of his tongue, the occasional careful graze of his teeth, and the way he alternates between lavishing attention on your clit and licking down to dip inside you make heat spread through your core — it radiates outward until even your fingertips feel warm. You grow even wetter, and Jake groans in appreciation, licking up every drop like he can’t get enough.
"Jake, I think I’m getting close again," you gasp, your voice breaking into a loud moan as he sucks harder on your clit. Your hips move against his face instinctively, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he doubles down with his tongue. This orgasm builds differently — deeper, more overwhelming — and when it crashes over you, it hits with a full-body shudder.
You cry out his name, fingers tightening in his hair as waves of pleasure pulse through your center. Jake keeps licking you through it all, drawing out every tremor until you’re panting and oversensitive.
He finally lifts his head, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand before leaning over you again. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes shine behind his glasses, and a proud little smile plays on his lips. "You okay? That looked like it felt really good."
You laugh breathlessly. "It was incredible… I didn’t know I could feel so sensitive down there."
Jake chuckles softly. "Good. That’s kind of the point of all this practice, right? Learning what you like." His hand slides over your body again, stopping just above your mound as his fingers trace lazy patterns across your skin. "Are you sure you want me to take your virginity? Your body’s already experienced so much tonight. Maybe you need a break."
You shake your head, caressing his face. "I don’t need a break. I just want to feel your cock inside me, please."
One of his hands drifts lower until his fingers reach your wet entrance, circling it slowly. "I need to make sure you’re ready for me. I don’t want to hurt you. Relax and breathe out for me."
You do as he says, and he slowly presses two fingers inside you.
His longer fingers create a different sensation. The stretch borders on discomfort at first, making your walls clench tightly around the intrusion. "Ah— it’s tight," you whisper, gripping his shoulder. "It burns a little."
Jake freezes immediately. "Want me to stop? We can wait."
"No! Keep going. I want to get used to it."
He nods and presses a soft kiss to your temple. "You’re doing so well… so warm and snug around my fingers. What if I curl them just a little?" He demonstrates, stroking your inner walls gently until he brushes against a spongy spot that sends sparks shooting up your spine.
"Oh!" Your eyes widen. "Right there… my God, that feels so good."
"I found your g-spot," he says, clearly proud of himself. He keeps the movements shallow and slow, pumping his fingers in and out while his thumb draws gentle circles over your clit. The initial burning fades, turning into something hotter, slicker, and far more pleasurable.
"Add another one, Jake," you say after a few minutes, voice breathless. "I think I can take it."
Jake carefully slides a third finger in, the pressure increases and your walls flutter as they adjust to the stretch. Every curl of his fingers against that perfect spot sends waves of pleasure through your entire body, while his thumb on your clit keeps the arousal building higher.
"Talk to me, babe," he says, eyes fixed on your face. "How does it feel now? Too much?"
"It’s full… stretching me," you moan, your hips starting to move in time with his hand. "But it’s turning into something really good. Faster on my clit— yes, like that. God, Jake, your fingers are so deep."
He picks up the pace a little, thrusting more firmly and creating an overwhelming sensation in the best way possible. The pleasure keeps intensifying until your breathing comes in short gasps and your thighs tremble uncontrollably. "I’m getting close again. Please don’t stop."
Jake leans down to kiss your stomach, murmuring encouragement. "Come on, come on my fingers. Let go for me, babe."
You moan loudly, back arching as the orgasm hits you harder than the ones before. A deep wave crashes through you, making your inner walls clench rhythmically around his fingers. Jake keeps pumping slowly and carefully until the spasms ease, then gently pulls his fingers out and brings them to his mouth. "Your taste is addictive."
Smiling you reach up to brush a messy strand of hair from his forehead. "Jake… I want to go all the way. I want to feel you inside me, please."
Jake’s breath catches, then he sits up properly and reaches into the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom.
"You actually have these," you say with a light teasing note in your voice.
He looks at you with a shy smile as he opens the packet and rolls the condom down his length. "Hey, Heeseung isn’t the only one on campus who has sex, you know? A guy can be prepared even if he’s not out at every party." Jake hovers over you, supporting his weight on his elbows so he doesn’t crush you. "You look so beautiful like this," he whispers, leaning closer and gazing at your lips.
"Can I?" When you nod, he captures your mouth in a slow, deep kiss filled with desire. His lips move to your cheek, your jaw, and then trail softly down the side of your neck, leaving a wet path that makes you shiver. He takes his time, giving attention to every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth and fingers. Only when both of you are breathing heavier does he settle between your legs and position himself.
"Breathe with me, okay? Slow and easy." You nod, inhaling as he begins to push inside.
The initial pressure is intense — a wide, stretching fullness that makes your breath hitch. Your walls stretch around his thickness in an overwhelming way and your body tenses as he sinks into you inch by inch, giving you time to adjust. "Oh my God…"
Jake stops immediately. "Hey, hey… look at me," he says, his voice full of concern. He kisses you softly on the lips, then your nose and forehead. "Is it too much? We can wait. I hate the idea of hurting you, even for a second."
You shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to ease the discomfort. "It’s a lot… really full and there’s some burning, but I want this."
To distract you from the stretch and help your body relax around him, he kisses you again. It works — the pain slowly turns into pressure, and then into something hotter and more intimate. "Okay, you can move a little more now."
Jake slides forward inch by inch until he’s fully inside you — every part of him is wrapped tightly in your heat, making you feel so connected, so completely filled, with a pleasant throbbing where your bodies meet.
"God… you feel incredible," he breathes, staying still for a moment while buried deep inside you. He covers you with more kisses. "So warm and tight around me. Tell me how you feel, babe."
"Full," you sigh. "So deep… it’s starting to feel really good."
Smiling against your skin, he begins rocking his hips in small, gentle movements. Each shallow thrust glides along your inner walls, brushing that sensitive spot and sending sparks of pleasure through your whole body. Jake keeps his eyes on yours, watching carefully for any sign of discomfort.
You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer. "More kisses," you whisper softly, and he gives them freely — deep, passionate kisses that match the slow rhythm of his hips. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers beside your head as he sinks a little deeper and a little firmer. The pleasure builds gradually, a warm wave spreading from your center outward.
"You’re doing so well," he praises between kisses, his voice full of affection. "Look at you… my best friend, letting me do this. You feel perfect, so hot and slick around my cock." His free hand caresses your breast through your tank top, his thumb brushing your nipple in time with his movements, pulling more moans from you.
"Faster… just a little," you ask, voice breaking. "I want to feel more."
Jake obeys, finding a slow but steady rhythm that lets every thrust fill you completely, the head of his cock brushing that sweet spot over and over again. "Does this feel good for you too?" you ask between moans, wanting to make sure he’s enjoying it.
"God, yes," he groans. "You’re squeezing me so tight, but right now it’s all about you. I want you to come like this if you can."
You roll your hips to meet his thrusts, learning the rhythm and experimenting with how it feels to clench around him. Jake’s glasses are completely fogged up and slipping down his nose, he pauses just long enough to take them off and set them aside, then kisses you deeply as he resumes his movements.
"I’m getting there," you moan against his mouth. "Please don’t stop, Jake."
"I’ve got you." He shifts slightly, sliding one hand between your bodies to rub gentle circles over your clit. The extra stimulation pushes you right over the edge. Your walls flutter and clench hard around his cock as the orgasm crashes through you. You moan loudly, nails digging into his back while your body pulses around him.
Jake keeps thrusting softly through your climax, murmuring praises. "That’s it… so good. You’re incredible." Only when you start to come down does he let himself go. His hips snap a few more times before he buries himself deep and comes with a low, shaky groan, filling the condom.
For a long moment afterward, he stays inside you while both of you catch your breath. Then he pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and cleans you both with a warm cloth from the bathroom. "You okay?" he asks, his voice soft and full of concern. "No pain? I tried to be as gentle as possible."
You snuggle into the sheets, feeling a pleasant soreness between your legs and a deep sense of satisfaction. "I’m perfect. A little sore, but in a good way. You made my first time really special, Jake. You’re the best friend I could ask for."
The next morning, you wake up in his bed. The ache between your legs reminds you of everything — the careful way he touched you, the gentle thrusts, the tender kisses. It had all been perfect for your first time.
But as you slip out of bed carefully so you don’t wake him, a realization settles in your mind. It wasn’t enough. Not for what you really want.
Heeseung isn’t gentle. From the rumors, girls get pinned against walls, left breathless and marked. He likes control, intensity, rough hands. Jake would never give you that, even if you begged. He’s your best friend who worries about every little sound you make. He would never push your limits the way you suspect Heeseung would.
You also need to practice that side — the rougher kind of sex that leaves you deliciously sore, the kind that teaches you how to take and give back. You can’t show up to Heeseung soft and inexperienced if you want to stand out, if you want him to crave you for more than one night.
So you leave Jake a note on his desk. "Thank you for last night. Let’s talk soon," and head back to your dorm with a new determination.
────────
That weekend, the hockey team is throwing a big party at their off-campus house — an event that always draws a different crowd from the basketball scene. There’s no explosive feud between the teams, just a quiet rivalry and enough tension that basketball players rarely show up at hockey parties and vice versa. It’s perfect. No chance of running into Heeseung or his circle, and you need that space to level up without any complications.
You take extra time getting ready because you want to be noticed. You choose a short black dress that hugs your curves, the hem riding high on your thighs. It’s simple but dangerous — low neckline, thin straps, the kind of outfit that makes you feel powerful when you look in the mirror. You add a bit more makeup than usual, nothing too dramatic, and slip into heels that make your legs look longer.
The hockey house is already packed when you arrive. Hockey players in their varsity jackets, girls in tight dresses, and red solo cups everywhere. You grab a drink and wander through the crowd, heart racing with anticipation.
That’s when you see him.
Sunghoon, the captain of the hockey team, is standing near the kitchen island, leaning against the counter like he owns the place — and he does. He has a cold, almost untouchable aura that makes people shiver when he walks by. His teammates laugh around him, but he only offers a slight, distant smile, like he’s above it all.
Your eyes meet across the room and he doesn’t look away. Instead, his gaze slowly travels down your body, taking in the dress you chose so carefully, before returning to your face. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips — not warm like Jake’s, but something sharper, more predatory. It sends a shiver down your spine.
You don’t look away either. After all, that’s exactly why you came.
He pushes off the counter and makes his way through the crowd toward you. The suffocating tension hits you the second he stops right in front of you, like all the air has been sucked out of the room. "You don’t usually come to our parties," he says, his voice low as he tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s already halfway to solving. "Or are you from the basketball crowd, doll?"
You take a sip of your drink to steady yourself. "Maybe I was waiting for the right night… Plus, hockey parties have a certain reputation."
A faint smile tugs at his lips as he steps a little closer, invading your space enough to make your pulse race. "Reputation for what, exactly?" He’s so close now that you can smell his cologne — something fresh and expensive that makes your head spin.
You shrug, trying to look calm. "Good music, strong drinks… You’re Sunghoon, right? The captain of the team. I’ve heard a lot about you." The words come out bolder than you expected, but they hit something in him and his gaze darkens.
He raises a thick eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest, making his impressively attractive biceps stand out. "I hope they’re good things."
You smile slightly. "Depends on who you ask. Some say you’re intense. Others say you’re… hard to keep up with."
Sunghoon studies you like he’s deciding something. The air between you grows heavier, and you can feel the pull — the way his eyes drop to your mouth, then lower, before sliding back up. "And what do you think? Do you think you could keep up?"
The question makes your breath hitch. "I think it depends," you reply, taking a small step closer, letting the tension build until it feels almost unbearable. "Are you offering to find out?"
He leans in even closer, his lips hovering near your ear so only you can hear him, his warm breath brushing your skin and sending shivers down your spine. "Careful. Talking like that might get you more than you bargained for."
You turn your head just enough that your cheeks nearly touch. "Maybe that’s exactly what I’m looking for."
His hand settles on your lower back, firm and guiding, pulling you subtly closer. "Come upstairs with me," he says, his voice steady as he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again. "There’s a room up there. Quieter. We can… talk more."
This is it — the next step.
You nod, letting him guide you through the crowd toward the stairs with his hand still resting on your back as you climb the steps.
The door clicks softly shut behind you, and the room instantly feels much quieter than the chaos downstairs, lit only by the soft glow coming through the open window. Sunghoon leans back against the door without saying a word, simply watching you with a playful smile on his lips.
"So," he begins softly, pushing away from the door and walking toward you, "you showed up at a hockey party dressed like that, with your eyes on the captain. You’re either really brave or really curious. Which one is it?"
"Maybe both."
Your back hits the wall before you even realize you’ve been moving backward. "Bold. I like that, I don’t waste time with girls who don’t know what they want." He towers over you, his presence intense and dominant.
You swallow hard. "I know exactly what I want tonight. Someone who won’t hold back."
He leans in closer, one hand settling on your hip, fingers pressing firmly enough for you to feel his strength. "Careful what you wish for… You look like the type who melts easily, and I think I’d really enjoy finding out."
His gaze drops to your mouth, then returns to your eyes, dark and hungry. Without another word, his lips crash against yours in a deep, overwhelming kiss right from the first second. Sunghoon doesn’t take it slow like Jake — he claims your mouth completely, his tongue sliding against yours with raw intensity while his free hand moves up to caress the back of your neck, tilting your head exactly the way he wants.
You try to match the intensity of his kiss, but it’s overwhelming — he devours every sigh and gasp that escapes you. When he finally pulls back enough for you to breathe, his eyes are darker, his lips slightly swollen. "Not bad," he murmurs, voice rough. "But you can do better, doll."
Before you can respond, he kisses you again, slower this time, pressing his body against yours so you can feel the hard line of his cock straining through his jeans. Your stomach tightens with a mix of nerves and excitement.
"Come here." He takes your hand and guides you away from the wall toward the bed. Sitting on the edge, he pulls you close until you’re straddling his lap, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs, your dress riding up as you settle against him.
He pulls you into another deep kiss while one hand slides up your body and the other grips your thigh. You rock lightly in his lap, feeling him grow even harder beneath you, and he lets out a low groan into your mouth. "You’re so fucking hot. I want to see what else that pretty mouth can do." His fingers trace your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "Get on your knees for me. Show me what that mouth is capable of."
Your heart stutters because his words hit you hard — part excitement, part panic. On your knees. Sucking him. You’ve never given a blowjob before.
You slide slowly off Sunghoon’s lap and drop to your knees, your hands shaking as you reach for the button of his jeans and try to pull down the zipper. Reality crashes over you: you’re on your knees for the hockey team captain, about to give him head with zero experience.
His eyes narrow the moment he notices the tremor in your hands and the hesitation in your movements. A low, cruel, mocking laugh escapes him. "Wait." He reaches down, gripping your chin with two fingers, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You’ve never done this before, have you?"
Biting your lip, you shake your head. "No… I’ve never done it."
Sunghoon’s expression doesn’t soften with pity. Instead, it sharpens with something darker — satisfaction mixed with pure control. He releases your chin and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, looking down at you like you’re a player who needs to learn the drill.
"Good, I like honesty. So you’re going to listen carefully. I’m not in the mood for guessing games tonight. You want to learn? I’ll teach you, and you follow my instructions. Got it, dol?"
You swallow hard and nod again.
"Words," he commands, cold and firm. "Use your words when I ask you something."
"Yes," you repeat, your voice steadier this time. "I understand."
He gives a small nod of approval. "Good girl. Now unzip me."
You obey, slowly pulling the zipper down. Sunghoon lifts his hips slightly to help you tug his jeans and boxers low enough to free his cock. It springs out, hard and heavy, the tip already glistening with precum.
His hand rests on the back of your neck, not pushing, but guiding. "Look up at me when I’m talking to you. Don’t just stare at it like you’re lost. Wrap your hand around the base and feel the weight."
Your fingers are still trembling as you obey, curling them around his thick length. He feels incredibly warm and heavy in your palm, the skin smooth over steel. You give an experimental squeeze, watching his reaction.
"Yes, just like that," he praises coolly, like he’s directing a teammate on the ice. "Now stroke up and down. Keep a firm grip. That’s it— good. Don’t be shy."
You pump your hand firmly, finding a rhythm that makes Sunghoon’s breathing grow a little deeper, but he keeps complete control, his eyes locked on you the entire time. "Spit on it, get it nice and wet. Good girls make it sloppy."
You gather saliva and let it drip onto the head, using your hand to spread it all over his length. The wet sounds that follow make your face burn even hotter, but the way his cock twitches in your grip sends a shiver through you.
His fingers twist into your hair with enough force for you to feel it, then he pulls you closer to his throbbing length. "Now use your mouth. Start with the head, wrap your lips around it, no teeth. Suck gently while you swirl your tongue."
Your heart races as you wrap your lips around the tip, tasting a man’s cock for the first time — slightly salty, but surprisingly good. Your tongue moves in slow, hesitant circles, trying to find the rhythm you think will feel best for him.
"Eyes up," he orders sharply. "Look at me while you do it. That’s good, but take me deeper now. Relax your throat, don’t force it. Move your head slowly and keep stroking the part you can’t reach."
You open wider and take him deeper. It feels strange at first — the stretch of your jaw, the way he fills your mouth, the occasional gag when you go too far, causing tears to gather at the corners of your eyes.
"Relax your jaw and breathe through your nose. Faster with your tongue on the underside. Use your hand in sync with your mouth."
You follow every instruction carefully, the clear commands making it easier despite your inexperience. The room fills with wet, obscene sounds as your mouth works on him — licking, sucking, and your hand sliding smoothly along his cock. Sunghoon’s thighs tense under your free hand, and his voice grows a little rougher, though still tightly controlled. "Hollow your cheeks more when you pull back. Take me deeper whenever you can, I want to feel the back of your throat."
Pushing yourself, you take him deeper until your nose brushes his stomach, triggering a light gag. You try to hold it, but end up sliding back up, gasping for air. A thick string of saliva connects his cock to your mouth, and his grip tightens in your hair, the slight sting only heightening the moment.
"Not bad for your first time. Now focus on the head again. Suck harder while you move faster. Yeah— just like that. You’re gonna make me come if you keep going."
You throw yourself into it completely, determined to get better so you can do this perfectly for Heeseung one day. Your hand and mouth work together, faster and sloppier now, until Sunghoon’s breathing turns heavier and his abs tighten visibly.
"Fuck— keep your eyes on me," he growls, his voice dropping lower. "I’m close. When I come, you swallow. Every drop. Understand, doll?"
You murmur something unintelligible around him, the vibration drawing a low groan from deep in his throat. His hand guides you with a little more firmness now as his hips begin to rock, meeting your mouth with each movement. His dominance is intoxicating — no endless questions, no overthinking, just clear and commanding direction that pushes you exactly where he wants you.
With one last deep thrust into your mouth and a low groan, he comes. Hot spurts hit the back of your throat as you swallow desperately, trying not to gag while you take everything he gives you, your hand still gently stroking him through it.
Sunghoon holds you there for a few more seconds before finally releasing your hair and letting you pull back. You release his cock with a wet pop, your lips swollen and glistening. He looks down at you with that same cool satisfaction, his thumb brushing a stray string of saliva from your chin. "Clean every inch with your tongue."
You nod and obey, licking him carefully with slow, deliberate strokes of your tongue until he’s completely clean.
"Good," he says, his voice satisfied. "Now come here."
He pulls you up from your knees and back onto his lap, guiding you into a deep kiss that’s slower and less aggressive than the one against the wall, yet still possessive. His tongue slips into your mouth, tasting himself on you, letting out a soft groan against your lips.
"You did well for your first time," he praises quietly as he pulls back, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. "A little messy, but eager. I like that. You look even better with that flushed face after sucking me off, doll."
The praise sends a warm flutter through your stomach, and before you can respond, Sunghoon moves, flipping you onto your back on the bed. He hovers over you, one hand braced beside your head while the other slides up your thigh, pushing your dress higher. "You’ve never sucked a cock before… so I’m going to ask. Are you a virgin?"
You shake your head quickly. "No, I’m not."
A flash of relief crosses his face, quickly replaced by a darker, almost predatory smile. "Good. That’s actually perfect. It means I don’t have to be gentle with you." His hand glides along your inner thigh, spreading your legs apart. "I hate holding back."
Two of his long fingers press against your entrance, finding you already soaked from everything that’s happened. He pushes your panties aside and slides them inside you in one smooth motion. His fingers are noticeably longer than Jake’s, reaching places that instantly make your breath hitch.
"Fuck, you’re so tight. You sure you’re not a virgin, doll? Because you’re squeezing me like one." He starts moving right away, no slow buildup, no endless questions about how you feel, just his fingers thrusting in a steady rhythm — faster and deeper — while his thumb rubs firm circles over your clit.
You gasp, arching your back off the bed as his long fingers reach so deep that they stroke that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust. "Sunghoon—" you moan, clutching his shoulders.
"Eyes on me." His free hand pins your wrists above your head while the other moves faster, scissoring his fingers to stretch you further. He watches every reaction on your face, adjusting the intensity until you’re writhing beneath him. "You’re already soaking my hand, doll. Come on, let me feel you come around my fingers."
He adds a third finger, pushing deeper and curling harder against that spot while his thumb presses firmer circles on your clit. The combination is overwhelming — fast, deep strokes that tighten the pleasure in your core until your thighs start trembling around his hand.
"I… oh God…" Your words dissolve into a moan as the orgasm crashes over you. Your walls clench hard around his fingers, pulsing with every wave, but Sunghoon doesn’t slow down, he keeps going until you’re shaking and gasping, hypersensitive and completely spent.
Only then does he pull his fingers out, bringing them to his lips for a quick taste while he looks down at you with dark satisfaction. "You taste so good, doll."
Without wasting another second, he shoves the rest of his pants and boxers down and climbs fully on top of you. "Arms up." You lift them without hesitation and he pulls your dress off, tossing it aside somewhere in the room. Your bra follows immediately, exposing your breasts to the cool air. In the same motion, he squeezes one firmly, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens, then leans down to suck it, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.
"These are perfect," he murmurs against your skin before moving to the other. His free hand yanks your panties down your legs in one swift pull, leaving you completely naked beneath him. Sunghoon sits back for a moment, his eyes slowly roaming over your bare body with cool appreciation. "Perfect. You’re perfect, doll."
He positions himself between your spread thighs, one hand gripping your hip while the other guides his cock to your entrance. Only then do you realize there’s no condom. This is going to be the first time you feel someone raw. "Wait, Sunghoon…"
"I’m clean," he says dryly, reading your hesitation perfectly. "We’re good." He doesn’t say anything else, simply pushing forward and sinking the thick head of his cock into you with one precise thrust.
With no latex barrier, you feel every inch of him — hot, hard, and completely bare. The stretch is more intense than it was with Jake, deeper and fuller in a way that makes your walls flutter and clench tightly around him. A low moan escapes you as he sinks even deeper, filling you completely until his hips press flush against yours.
"Fuck, you feel so good," Sunghoon groans, closing his eyes for a brief second before locking his gaze on your face again. He doesn’t give you much time to adjust, starting to move with long, deep strokes that brush every sensitive spot inside you while he watches your every reaction, every gasp, fucking you with firm control.
You grab onto his arms, your nails digging crescent moons into his skin. "Sunghoon… it’s so deep like this." Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs.
He kisses you hard again, swallowing your moans as his hips snap forward faster, growing more intense. The pleasure feels stronger than your first time because there’s nothing between you, but after a few minutes, Sunghoon suddenly pulls out, leaving you empty and whimpering.
"On your knees. Face down, ass up," he orders. "I need to go deeper. I want to watch this ass bounce while I fuck you stupid."
You get on all fours, feeling incredibly exposed with your ass up and back arched. The vulnerability of this new position you’ve never tried before sends a fresh wave of nerves through you. Sunghoon kneels behind you, his hands spreading your cheeks slightly as he lines himself up again.
He thrusts into you hard, burying himself to the hilt in a single stroke. The new angle lets him go incredibly deeper, the head of his cock pressing against spots you didn’t even know existed. You cry out, fingers clutching the sheets tightly. "Oh my God, it’s so much deeper like this."
Sunghoon groans in satisfaction. "That’s exactly what I wanted." His hands grip your hips firmly as he starts fucking you with more intensity. His thrusts are relentless, hips snapping forward with a force that makes your entire body shake.
One hand slides up your back and fists in your hair, pulling your head back sharply and arching you even more. "Fuck, look at you taking it so well like this."
His other hand comes down hard on your ass, a firm slap that makes the flesh jiggle and sting deliciously, drawing a loud moan from you. He spanks the other cheek, then again, alternating while he keeps pounding into you.
Without a condom, you feel every vein, every ridge, the way his cock stretches and fills you completely with every powerful thrust. "This ass looks even better when it’s moving for me," he says, landing another harder slap. Your arms tremble, barely able to hold you up as the pleasure builds hotter and tighter in your core. "You’re clenching so fucking hard. You like it rough like this, don’t you?"
"Yes," you moan, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. "Harder, please."
He obeys without hesitation, fucking you with punishing force that makes the bed creak beneath you and his balls slap against you with every deep stroke. "Touch yourself, rub your clit while I fuck you."
You slide a hand between your legs, circling your swollen clit. Another sharp slap lands on your ass, the sting spreading hot across your skin and making you clench hard around him. "Fuck, do that again, doll." He delivers one more firm spank, then squeezes the reddened flesh possessively. "You’re dripping all over my cock, soaking the sheets like a good girl."
His words, combined with the relentless rhythm, the sharp tugs on your hair, the stinging slaps, and the overwhelming depth of this position, push you straight over the edge. Your orgasm hits hard, your walls pulsing and contracting tightly around his bare cock as waves of pleasure crash through you. You moan loudly into the mattress, your whole body shaking.
Sunghoon doesn’t slow down at all — he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, chasing his own. "I’m gonna come," he growls. After a few more deep, powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt and groans as he fills you with hot pulses of cum, spilling deep inside you for the first time. The sensation is new and overwhelming — warm, wet, and so intimately raw that it makes your mind spin.
Sunghoon collapses beside you on the bed and pulls you against his chest, lazily stroking your back. "You should come to our parties more often. Those basketball idiots don’t deserve someone like you at their parties."
────────
Not everything is about the plan. After all, you are still in college — assignments pile up and deadlines approach without caring about your personal obsessions. When the professor pairs you with Jay for the next project, you don’t think much of it, you just need to finish the work as quickly as possible so you can get back to your plan.
The second-floor library was strangely quiet that night. Most students have already left, and the few who remain are buried in their books. You and Jay sit at a secluded table in a corner, surrounded by tall bookshelves that give you a sense of privacy.
Jay sits across from you, looking effortlessly attractive in a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his veiny forearms. You’ve been discussing the project for nearly an hour, but the conversation slowly drifts away from the assignment and becomes more personal.
"You always seem so put-together," you say with a small smile. "Even during finals week. How do you do it?"
Jay chuckles softly, leaning back in his chair. "Coffee. A lot of coffee… You’ve been glowing lately. There’s a new confidence in class. It looks good on you."
Your cheeks flush slightly. "Thank you. I’ve been pushing myself out of my comfort zone lately."
"I noticed and it’s honestly really attractive." The compliment is light, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. Jay’s voice drops lower as he continues. "You know, it’s easy to talk to you… and easy to look at, too."
You laugh, quickly glancing around to make sure no one is nearby. "You’re not bad yourself. Always so polite and charming... It’s kind of dangerous."
His smile widens, and then he reaches across the table, lightly brushing his fingers against yours. The touch is gentle but sends a spark through you, making the library feel even quieter now, like the rest of the world has disappeared and only the two of you remain behind the shelves.
Before you can overthink it, Jay leans forward over the table. "Come here."
You meet him halfway, and the kiss starts soft and sweet at first — a gentle brush of lips that quickly deepens as he tilts his head. Jay kisses with care and skill, one hand gently cupping your cheek while the other rests on the table for balance. It feels good, warm, and surprisingly right.
When he finally pulls back, breathing a little faster, he whispers. "No one’s around… Come sit with me."
He gently pulls you around the table and onto his lap. Your legs part over his thighs, the skirt riding up as he settles you against him and wraps one arm securely around your waist.
"Jay," a nervous laugh escapes you as you glance at the shelves surrounding you. "We’re in the library… Someone could walk by any second."
"It’s okay," his hand traces slow circles on your lower back while the other rests on your thigh. "Look around, it’s almost empty, and the shelves block most of the view." He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw. "We’ll be quiet. I just want to be close to you for a little while… if you’re okay with it."
Sitting on his lap like this in a public place feels incredibly bold, but Jay’s gentle confidence makes your hesitation melt away. "It’s okay," he whispers, kissing you again, slower this time. "Just relax. It’s just us right now."
You kiss him back, and it doesn’t take long for your hips to start moving almost on their own, grinding against the growing bulge in his jeans. The friction feels good even through your clothes — a slow, delicious rhythm that builds heat between your legs. Jay lets out a low hum of approval against your mouth, his hand squeezing your thigh encouragingly.
"That’s good… really good." His hips continue moving in deliberate circles, letting you feel him hardening beneath you — the thick outline pressing right against your core.
The kiss deepens as he traces your lower lip with his tongue, seeking entrance, and you open for him. "Yeah… keep doing that." One of his hands slides up to your cheek, tenderly stroking it with his thumb, while the other guides your hips, helping you find a rhythm that feels even better. "You’re driving me crazy doing this… it feels so good."
Jay pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again, his gaze is dark with desire but still incredibly gentle. "Do you want to do this here?" he asks, thumb caressing your hip. "We don’t have to… but if you’re comfortable, I need you right now."
You quickly glance around — there’s still no one nearby. "Yes." The certainty in your voice surprises even you. "I want to."
He pulls you into another kiss, deep and reassuring, before reaching between your bodies to push his pants and underwear down just enough to free himself. His cock springs out — long and incredibly thick, the head flushed red and already glistening. It’s bigger than you expected, heavy, with prominent veins.
Your eyes widen in surprise and nervousness. "Jay… you’re really big. I don’t know if I can take all of that."
He cups your face with both hands, noticing your nerves. "Hey… look at me. We don’t have to rush anything, and if it’s too much, we stop, I promise." A soft, caring expression takes over as thumbs gently stroke your cheeks. "We’ll go really slow… I’ll make sure it feels good for you."
You nod, biting your lower lip. "Okay. I trust you."
One hand stays on your waist while the other guides his thick cock, rubbing the head against your soaked panties, teasing your entrance through the fabric. "Move your panties to the side for me."
With trembling hands, you hook your fingers under the fabric and pull it aside. The cool air hits your wet folds, making you shiver. Jay helps by tugging your skirt up until it’s bunched around your waist. Only then does he position himself at your entrance — the blunt head of his cock brushing against your slick pussy. "When you’re ready."
You take a deep breath and start sinking down, the stretch is immediate and intense — almost too much. His thickness slowly pushes your walls apart as you lower yourself, inch by inch. A soft moan escapes your lips from the burning sensation and the way he fills you so completely. It’s deeper than anything you’ve felt before, his huge size presses against every sensitive spot inside you.
Jay groans, tilting his head back for a moment. "Fuck… you’re so tight. Take it slow, angel. You’re doing so well."
You pause halfway, breathing deeply to ease the burning feeling. It’s almost uncomfortable, but the raw heat of him, bare and deep, sends sparks of pleasure through the stretch. Determined, you continue lowering yourself until you’re fully seated on his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside you, your walls fluttering as they try to adjust to his enormous length.
For a few seconds, you stay still, adjusting to the feeling of his cock pulsing deep inside you. Jay’s arms wrap around you, holding you close as his lips brush your temple. "You’re perfect, angel. Taking me so well... Tell me when you want to move."
You start experimenting, at first moving simply — rising and sinking as you’ve seen in porn videos. The motion drags him along your walls, creating delicious friction, but it feels a little awkward. It feels good for him, his groans make that clear, but it isn’t quite hitting the right spots for you.
"This is incredible," he says honestly. "But I want you to feel good too. You don’t have to just go up and down. Grind on me… roll your hips in circles, and when you bounce, use your whole body. Let me guide you, angel."
He gently guides you with his hands on your hips, and you follow, shifting from simple up and down movements to a smooth, rolling grind. The change is instant — his thick cock now rubs perfectly against your front wall, pressing hard into that sensitive spot with every circle of your hips, making a sharp moan escape you. "Yes, just like that. Feel how deep I am when you roll your hips? Now try bouncing while you do that."
You combine the movements — lifting and dropping while rolling your hips on the way down. Each bounce takes him incredibly deep, his cockhead dragging against places that make your toes curl. The stretch remains intense because he’s almost too big, creating a delicious burn.
Jay groans louder, and one hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck as he kisses you again. "Yes… fuck, you’re riding me so well. Look at you, angel." His other hand stays on your hip, guiding you to bounce harder.
The praise makes you bolder. You brace your hands on his shoulders for balance and start bouncing faster, moving up and down while grinding. Jay is so big that you can feel his cock reaching deep into your stomach, creating a profound pressure that makes your head spin.
Your newfound confidence makes him throb inside you as Jay starts thrusting up to meet you, the added force sending waves of pleasure through your core. "Deeper… like this," you moan.
Jay’s hands roam all over your body — squeezing your ass, caressing your breasts over your shirt, pulling you down for more kisses. He doesn’t take full control, letting you lead while offering guidance and praise. "That’s it… move just like that. You’re getting so wet for me. You look so beautiful riding my cock."
The pleasure builds quickly, a deep, spreading heat that consumes your entire body. You lean forward, changing the angle, and cry out when you hit an even more sensitive spot. Jay groans, holding you tighter. "Right there? Good girl. Keep going, take what you need."
You moan loudly, burying your face in his neck as the orgasm crashes through you violently. Your walls clench uncontrollably around his cock, pulsing and milking him while you keep bouncing, pushing him over the edge right after. He groans, thrusting his hips up against you as he cums deep inside, filling you with hot, thick pulses of cum.
Once you both come down, Jay lifts your chin and kisses you again, his tongue moves lazily against yours, savoring the moment. You kiss him back, feeling his cock still twitching softly inside you.
"You were incredible, angel," he whispers between kisses, smiling against your lips. "So beautiful riding me like that."
Jay’s hands run gently down your back, his gaze dropping to your chest. "Can I see more of you?"
You nod, and he doesn’t waste a single second, pulls your blouse up just enough to free your breasts. The cool air of the library makes your nipples harden instantly. "Perfect,” you sigh softly as he takes one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.
He sucks harder, then grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud with a careful bite that makes you moan and clench around his cock, which is still buried deep inside you. Switching to the other breast, he gives it the same attention — kissing, licking, sucking, and biting. You roll your hips slowly in his lap, savoring the way his cock twitches inside you every time he sucks harder.
"You’re so sensitive here," he murmurs against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses between your breasts. "I could spend hours doing this."
You let out a soft, needy sound, holding his head closer to your chest as he continues marking you with his mouth — sucking hard enough to leave hickeys that will remind you of this moment later. He’s getting hard again inside you, growing thicker and longer, pressing against your sensitive walls.
"Fuck, you’re making me hard again. The way you squeeze around me while I suck on these… you’re driving me crazy." Suddenly, Jay’s arms tighten around you and, in one swift movement, he stands up.
"Jay—!" you gasp, clutching his shoulders.
"I’ve got you," he says carefully, sitting you on the edge of the table with his cock still buried deep inside you. "I need to move for a bit. Okay, angel? Tell me if it’s too much."
Before you can respond, he starts fucking you at his own pace — deep, powerful thrusts that make your body shake on the table. The angle is perfect, making his thick cock drags along every inch of your walls with each stroke.
You try to stay quiet, but the pleasure is overwhelming, and moans far too loud for the silent library keep escaping. "Ah— Jay!"
He quickly covers your mouth with his hand while continuing to thrust firmly. "Shh, angel." His hips snap forward a little harder, testing your silence. "You have to stay quiet… someone might hear."
Even with his palm muffling your sounds, the deep thrusts still pull muffled but audible moans from you. Jay glances around nervously, unsure what to do because stopping isn’t an option, so he makes a quick decision. He pulls his cock out, reaches for your panties, which was pulled to the side this whole time, tugs the wet fabric free and then he pushes it between your lips.
"I’m sorry," he whispers immediately as he slides back inside you with a deep thrust. "I hate doing this… but I don’t want us to get caught, okay?"
You nod slightly, eyes watering from the intensity, but the gag works — your next moan comes out completely muffled. "You’re being so good for me, so wet and tight." Jay returns to your breasts, sucking on one nipple while he continues fucking you senseless.
His pace quickens, hips snapping harder against yours as he tries to keep control. The risk of getting caught and the feeling of you around him push him closer to the edge. "Cum for me. I’m close too… let go, angel."
You scream into the gag, your body shaking in his arms as you cum hard, and the sensation of your walls pulsing around him sends Jay over the edge right after. He buries himself as deep as possible and cums inside you with hot, intense pulses.
Still buried inside you, he strokes your hair and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You were incredible… so responsive and beautiful."
A shy smile tugs at your lips. "You were incredible too."
He runs his thumb across your flushed cheek. "I’d love to do this again someday… if you want. Maybe somewhere more private next time, so I can take my time with you."
Biting your lower lip, you nod. "I’d like that. A lot, actually."
That night, back in your dorm, you realize something: during those hours with Jay, you didn’t think about Heeseung even once because you were completely lost in the moment — in his gentle touches, his warm voice, and the way he made you feel so good.
────────
The basketball team has just won a home game. The crowd is still roaring and the players are celebrating in the middle of the court. Sitting in the stands, you spot Ni-ki — Heeseung’s close friend and teammate. He’s younger than the others but carries himself with an easy, playful confidence.
When the court finally quiets down and the players start heading toward the locker rooms, you walk calmly through the internal hallways of the building, following the path that leads to the locker room area. To avoid being seen by Heeseung, you hide behind a pillar. From there, you have a perfect view of anyone leaving the locker room, while people passing through the hallway are unlikely to notice you.
A few minutes pass before the door opens. A group of players steps out, talking loudly, and Heeseung is right in the middle of them. You press yourself tighter against the pillar, holding your breath as he walks by, laughing at some joke.
More athletes leave after that until the hallway falls completely silent. Knowing most people have already gone and the risk of seeing Heeseung has passed, you finally step out of your hiding spot and walk to a brighter, more visible part of the corridor, right near the door.
When Ni-ki comes out, his eyes land on you almost immediately. He slows his steps, tilting his head with clear interest and a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "No way. You actually waited? Most girls chase after the captain." He stops right in front of you, looking you up and down without even trying to hide it. "Damn, you look dangerous."
You feel a flutter in your stomach but smile back at him. "I thought the guy who kept stealing the ball and grinning like he owned the court deserved some attention tonight."
Ni-ki laughs, running a hand through his damp hair. "You’re bold, huh? I like that." He steps a little closer, his eyes sparkling with playful curiosity. "So what’s your deal? Are you a basketball fan or did you just come here to make my day way more interesting?"
There’s a seductive tease in his voice — arrogant but fun. He clearly likes what he sees and isn’t shy about showing it. "Because if you’re here for me, you should probably tell me your name before I start calling you ‘mine’ in front of the whole team."
If you play this right, he might casually mention you to the team later, and Heeseung would hear your name and maybe get curious. But if you mess up and come across as too eager or awkward, Ni-ki could joke about it in the locker room and ruin everything before you even get close. Still, you trust yourself. "It’s y/n."
"y/n," he repeats, like he’s savoring the sound. "Nice. It suits you. So, y/n… do you always wait outside the locker rooms after games looking this good, or did I just get lucky today?"
"Only when the player on the court is showing off like he’s trying to impress someone."
Ni-ki moves even closer. "Ah, so you were really watching me? Careful, I might get too cocky." He tilts his head, his eyes tracing your face before dropping to your lips. "Or maybe that’s exactly what you want. To make me arrogant enough to do something about the pretty girl who showed up just for me."
His gaze continues sliding down from your lips, appreciating the way your top hugs your body. Suddenly, Ni-ki glances around, checking if anyone is nearby. The hallway is empty. Without warning, he grabs your hand with a grin. "Come with me for a second."
He pulls you into the locker room, but not near the entrance. He keeps guiding you deeper inside, past a small entryway and around the corner of the main area, where he presses your body against the wall. The tension that has been building finally snaps. Cupping your face with one hand, he kisses you with raw hunger — his lips moving against yours with confidence as his tongue teases yours, deepening the kiss almost instantly.
He pulls back just enough to breathe, a cocky little smirk on his face. "Fuck… you taste even better than I imagined."
He presses you harder against the wall and slides one thigh between your legs, creating just enough pressure to make you gasp into his mouth. "You’re so fucking addictive." His hands slip under your top, warm palms gliding over your skin and sending shivers through you.
Suddenly, Ni-ki drops to his knees in front of you, looking up with an even more mischievous smile. "I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you waiting outside." His hands move quickly, unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down along with your panties. He lifts one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder, opening you up to him.
Ni-ki presses his mouth against your pussy like he’s starving for it — voracious and rough. His tongue licks long, wet stripes from your entrance up to your clit before swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves.
"Oh my God — Ni-ki…" you moan, one hand flying to his messy hair.
He moans against you, the vibration shooting pleasure straight up your spine. "You taste so good." His tongue dives inside you, licking and savoring every inch like he can’t get enough. Messy and eager, his lips suck on your folds before focusing back on your clit with small, hungry sucks and licks.
He eats you out like he wants to memorize every taste, every reaction — switching between long, slow licks that make your toes curl and faster movements that force you to bite your lip to stay quiet.
"Ni-ki… that feels so good." He looks up at you while his mouth works, eyes gleaming with satisfaction and desire, clearly loving the way you’re falling apart for him.
Ni-ki murmurs in response and doubles his efforts, sucking your clit into his mouth while his tongue moves fast. "Ni-ki… fuck, right there," you gasp, fingers tightening almost painfully in his hair as your hips start grinding against his face.
He slides two fingers inside you while his tongue keeps working your clit, curling them instantly against that perfect spot.
Your breathing turns ragged, your thighs trembling uncontrollably around his head. "I… I’m gonna—" you try to warn him, voice breaking, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he sucks harder on your clit and pumps his fingers faster.
Your whole body locks up for a second before a violent tremor runs through you. Your pussy clenches hard around his fingers as your clit pulses wildly against his tongue.
Ni-ki groans proudly against you, licking you through every wave, addicted to the way you fall apart. He keeps going until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and shaking. Only then does he finally pull back, lips glossy and swollen. "Shit, you come so beautifully."
He rises to his feet with a satisfied smirk and pulls you into another kiss so you can taste yourself on his tongue, his hands grip your waist, pressing your body against his. "You’re so sweet. I could eat you every day, all day long."
You open your mouth to respond, but the metallic click of the main door handle cuts through the air.
You both freeze and footsteps echo on the tiled floor, accompanied by a familiar voice humming something.
It’s Jungwon — another teammate, the point guard.
"Shit." Ni-ki quickly grabs your hand and pulls you toward the shower area with its open stalls and curtains. Yanking one curtain aside, he guides you inside, and presses your back against the cold tiled wall.
The footsteps grow louder, closer. "Hey, is anyone still in here?" Jungwon’s voice sounds casual, like he heard something and decided to check.
Ni-ki presses a finger to your lips, leaning in so close that his warm breath brushes your ear. "Don’t make a sound," he whispers, almost inaudible.
Your heart pounds hard against your ribs, but Ni-ki doesn’t seem bothered at all. In fact, the risk seems to excite him even more. Jungwon’s footsteps get closer, and right at that exact moment, Ni-ki pushes two fingers inside you without any warning. Your eyes widen and a sharp gasp almost escapes before you bite down hard on your lip.
He curls his fingers instantly, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside you with ease, a small mischievous smirk on his face as he watches your reaction. He pumps them slowly at first, then faster, while his thumb presses firmly against your swollen clit.
Trembling violently, you bury your face in his neck, desperately trying to muffle the moans threatening to spill out. "Shhh," Ni-ki whispers right against your ear, but his fingers don’t stop — deep, curling thrusts that make your knees buckle. "You’re squeezing me so tight. Does almost getting caught turn you on?"
You nod frantically and bite down on his shoulder through his shirt to stay quiet as Jungwon moves just a few meters away. Ni-ki’s thumb presses harder on your clit while his fingers thrust faster, making your thighs shake and your walls flutter uncontrollably around him as you fight to stay silent. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes from the effort.
Jungwon’s voice echoes again, closer this time. "I heard noises coming from here. Who the hell is in here?"
Noticing Jungwon getting closer, Ni-ki curls his fingers harder, rubbing your sweet spot relentlessly while his thumb works your clit in fast, precise circles. You dig your nails into his back, letting out a silent scream against his neck as pleasure peaks. Your pussy clenches violently around his fingers, dripping as waves of spasms run through you.
Finally, Jungwon’s footsteps retreat. The door opens and closes again. The second it does, Ni-ki pulls his fingers out and kisses you hard, swallowing the broken moan that finally escapes you.
Without breaking the kiss, he tugs down his basketball shorts and boxers in one quick motion, freeing his hard, thick, flushed cock. It’s already leaking at the tip from how turned on he is after eating you out and fingering you.
You reach for him without thinking — and without really knowing what you’re doing — wrapping your hand around his length and stroking slowly at first. You feel the heat and the way he pulses hot against your palm as your thumb brushes over the head, spreading the precum. "You’re so hard… I can feel how much you want this."
"Yeah? Then let me have you." He quickly helps you pull your jeans and panties all the way down your legs, kicking them aside before pressing you against the cold tiled wall of the shower stall. One hand grips your thigh as he lines himself up and with one smooth thrust, he pushes inside, burying his cock deep into your still-sensitive pussy. The stretch makes you gasp at the sudden, overwhelming fullness after everything that’s already happened.
He fucks you against the wall with firm, deep thrusts, his hips snapping forward while he holds you in place. "Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good," he groans, burying his face in your neck as he drives into you harder, each movement pressing you against the tiles. "So wet and tight."
"Ni-ki… you’re so deep," your voice trembles with pleasure as he hits that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. "Don’t stop… it feels so good."
He keeps going like that for a while, fucking you firmly against the wall with his hands gripping your ass. But soon the position isn’t enough for him, with a low grunt, he suddenly lifts you as if you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, and you let out a muffled cry as he starts bouncing you on his cock, thrusting up with hungry movements that make your breasts bounce inside your top.
"Yes, like that… it feels so good," you moan while he fucks you in the air, your back pressed against the wall for leverage as he holds you like you’re weightless. The sensation is intense, every thrust hits so deep it makes your head spin and your toes curl.
"Open your mouth." He brings two fingers to your lips. "Suck them for me. I want to feel that pretty mouth while I fuck you."
You part your lips obediently and take his fingers into your mouth, sucking them eagerly while he keeps thrusting into you. His cock twitches at the feeling of your warm mouth around his fingers, the taste of you still lingers on them from earlier, making you moan around them.
"That’s it," he says, eyes locked on your face as he watches you suck his fingers while bouncing you on his cock. "You look so fucking hot like this. Keep sucking just like that."
You do exactly that, swirling your tongue and sucking harder as he drives deep inside you, clearly losing himself in how good it feels.
You pull off his fingers with a wet pop and gasp, "Ni-ki… I’m so close again. I’m gonna come."
With a mischievous smirk, he pushes his fingers back into your mouth, moving them in time with his cock as he fucks you harder against the wall. "Then come for me again. I want to feel you squeezing my cock while you suck my fingers."
The dirty words combined with his relentless pace finally push you over the edge. You moan loudly around his fingers as your legs tighten around his waist. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes through you, making your entire body shake in his arms.
Ni-ki groans at the feeling of you coming and his thrusts turn erratic. He buries himself as deep as possible and comes hard inside you, pulsing with hot spurts while holding you firmly against the wall.
After a moment, he finally lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor again, but he doesn’t pull out immediately, he stays nestled inside your heat, kissing you slowly and almost lazily, like he isn’t ready to end the moment yet. "Fuck… that was incredible. And honestly? That was the best post-game sex I’ve ever had. No joke. I’m gonna be thinking about this pussy for days."
You let out a soft giggle, cheeks burning. "Really? I don’t think I’ll be able to walk properly after this."
Surprisingly gentle, he laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek before finally pulling out slowly. Both of you hiss at the loss. "That’s actually great. Means you’ll be thinking about me too. When can we do this again? After the next game, or maybe after every practice?"
────────
The basketball team had crushed their biggest rival that night, and the victory party at the massive off-campus house is going to be loud, chaotic, and packed with people. This is the moment you’ve been carefully preparing for with every practice session and every new experience. Tonight is the night.
You choose a bold black dress that clings to your body like a second skin, short enough to show off your legs and thighs, with a neckline that reveals just enough to be daring. Your hair is styled exactly the way you like it, and your makeup is flawless, enhancing your features in a way that makes you feel powerful. When you look in the mirror, you look like someone who belongs in Heeseung’s world.
When you arrive at the party, the music is already pulsing through the walls, bodies are moving everywhere, and the air smells like alcohol and sweat. Your eyes scan the room until they find him.
Heeseung is sitting on the large couch in the main room like he owns the place — which he basically does. Two girls are practically draped over him. One is half in his lap, her hand resting possessively on his chest, while he has one arm casually around the other girl, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder as he talks to his teammates.
Spotting Ni-ki nearby, chatting with some of the other players, you walk toward him with confident steps because you aren’t going straight to Heeseung. No — you’re going to make him come to you. Ni-ki’s eyes light up with immediate recognition and interest.
"I can’t believe you’re here," he says with a grin as he pulls you into a side hug that lasts a second longer than necessary. "You look dangerous tonight. Come here, I want you to meet some of the guys."
You laugh softly and stay close to him, letting him introduce you to some of his teammates, including Jungwon. Your cheeks heat up as you remember that moment in the locker room, and when you glance to the side, Heeseung is watching — the girls are still around him, but his eyes are locked on you, following every move you make.
Ni-ki leans in and whispers in your ear, "You know, I still can’t stop thinking about that day in the locker room. Jungwon almost catching us… My fingers buried so deep inside you while you tried so hard not to moan. I’ve been replaying that shit all week."
Your face flushes instantly and the memory makes your thighs press together in a rush of heat. "Ni-ki…" you whisper back, half embarrassed and half turned on, "you can’t just say that here."
You’re too focused on Ni-ki to notice Heeseung pushing the girl off his lap, standing up, and walking over with his usual confidence. He stops right in front of you, his gaze shifting between you and Ni-ki, who is still grinning widely.
"What’s so funny over here?" Heeseung asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "You two look like you’re sharing secrets."
You freeze for a second before answering quickly, a little too fast. "Nothing."
"Nothing? Come on. Nothing stays hidden from the captain, especially when my teammate is standing here grinning like an idiot and you’re looking all flustered." He steps closer, his full attention now on you. "Gonna tell me what got you so worked up, pretty?"
Ni-ki’s playful smile fades, replaced by something closer to jealousy as he watches the captain focus entirely on you. "We're just messing around. It's fun talking to y/n, that's all."
Heeseung looks you up and down slowly, taking in the way the dress hugs every curve of your body. "Want a drink? I can’t have you standing here empty-handed."
"Yeah… I’d like that."
Ni-ki’s jaw tightens as he glances between the two of you, clearly not happy about being sidelined, but he knows better than to push it with Heeseung. "Catch you later, y/n," he says, giving you one last look filled with a mix of jealousy and desire before disappearing into the crowd.
Now it’s just you and Heeseung.
He guides you toward the kitchen, his hand lightly brushing your lower back. “So… y/n,” he says, savoring your name like he’s testing how it feels on his tongue. "You show up at my party looking like sin, talking to my boy while wearing this little dress that makes everyone wonder what you’re hiding underneath." A mischievous smile curves his lips as his eyes flick to your mouth for a moment. "You gonna let me find out, or are you just here to tease?"
You feel yourself getting wet just from the way he’s looking at you — that hungry stare and confident tone making your panties stick to you. "Talking about what I’m hiding under this dress already? We just got to the kitchen… but yeah, I might let you discover it." Your voice comes out bold because you refuse to sound nervous now, after waiting so long for this moment.
Deep down, all you can think about is how badly you want him to stop talking and just fuck you senseless.
Heeseung’s smile deepens, a flash of satisfaction crossing his face. He glances around to make sure no one is paying too much attention, then leans in even closer, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks. "There’s an empty room upstairs. Third door on the left, go up in a few minutes. I’ll follow right after so no one notices."
He pulls back, sliding his hand slowly along your waist before disappearing into the crowd. You wait a few minutes, taking a sip of your drink to calm your nerves, but it barely helps — the ache between your legs only grows with every passing second. After exactly five minutes, you head up the stairs and find the third door already slightly ajar. You step inside with shaky, anticipatory breaths.
Moments later, Heeseung appears. He closes the door firmly behind him and locks it.
The second the lock clicks, he’s on you.
There’s nothing gentle about the way his mouth crashes against yours in a hungry, intense kiss. He bites your lower lip, tugging it between his teeth before sucking it into his mouth, then does it again harder just to hear you whimper.
His hands slide down to grip your ass firmly under the dress, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you flush against him, letting you feel the hard outline of his cock through his pants.
"Fuck, this ass feels even better than it looks in that dress," he growls against your mouth, squeezing harder and spreading your cheeks. The kiss deepens, his tongue dominating yours while he continues kneading and groping your ass like he can’t get enough.
Heeseung’s mischievous smirk returns when he hears you moan into the kiss. He doesn’t break it as he walks you backward toward the bed. When the back of your knees hit the mattress, he pushes you down and climbs on top of you.
A string of saliva connects his lips to yours when he pulls back to strip your dress off in one quick motion, leaving you in just your bra and panties, his eyes darkening with lust as he takes in every inch of your body.
"Look at you… such a pretty little slut, all dressed up for who? For me?" His hands make quick work of unclasping your bra and tossing it aside before he drags your panties down your legs and throws them away too, leaving you completely naked and exposed for him.
With a firm hand, Heeseung spreads your legs wide, getting a perfect view of your glistening, dripping pussy. "Already so wet for me, but it’s not enough." Suddenly he leans down and spits directly on your pussy, the warm string of saliva hitting your clit and dripping down your folds. The sight makes his rock-hard cock twitch inside his pants so he does it again, spitting a second time, then spreads it with two fingers, rubbing the wetness all over. "Gonna get this pussy nice and sloppy for me."
You moan loudly at the filthy feeling of his saliva sliding through your folds — hips jerk while your pussy clenches around nothing.
Heeseung drags his tongue slowly up your pussy, licking from your entrance to your clit in one long, deliberate stroke that makes you gasp. When you do, he laughs against you — the vibration sending shivers through your entire body.
"You taste so fucking good," he says before diving back in. He eats you out messily, his tongue swirling around your clit before dipping down to push inside you, savoring every drop of your arousal mixed with his spit.
Your hands fly to his hair, gripping it tightly as the overwhelming sensation hits you. "Heeseung, that feels incredible…"
He keeps going, licking deeper inside you while his nose brushes against your clit, but suddenly he pulls back, looking up at you with a devilish smirk. Without warning, he brings his hand down in a sharp, wet slap against your soaked pussy, the sting mixed with pleasure makes you cry out loudly. "Holy fuck, Heeseung."
"You like that too?" He slaps your pussy again, harder this time, hitting your folds and swollen clit. "Such a dirty girl, getting even wetter when I slap this pretty pussy."
"Yes— God, yes," you moan, thighs trembling. "It burns, but it feels so good at the same time."
That encourages him to give you another slap and right after, he buries his face between your legs again, sucking hard on your clit while two thick fingers push inside you. He fingers you mercilessly, curling them to hit that sweet spot over and over as his tongue works your clit. "Fuck, you’re so tight. Taking my fingers like a good little slut for me."
He spits on your clit again, spreading the saliva with his tongue before adding a third finger, stretching you deliciously while pumping them faster and harder. All you can do is moan, your thighs shaking violently around his head. "Heeseung, I’m getting close… please don’t stop."
He obeys, alternating between long licks, hard sucks on your clit, deep thrusts of his fingers, and firm slaps that make your pussy burn and throb. "I’m gonna come," you moan, arching your back off the bed.
"Then come for me." Your entire body tenses, your walls clenching hard around his fingers as spasms rip through you. You come hard with a loud cry, thighs trembling violently around his head. But Heeseung doesn’t stop, he keeps licking and fingering you through every pulse, drawing out your pleasure until you’re oversensitive and whimpering.
When he finally pulls back with glossy lips and chin, he kisses you again so you can taste yourself on his tongue. "Get on your knees for me," he commands against your lips. "I want that pretty mouth around my cock."
It’s time to put into practice what Sunghoon taught you about sucking dick.
With a confident little smile, you gently push him so he lies on his back. Once he does, you position yourself between his legs and reach for his belt, slowly unbuckling it. He lifts his hips to help as you pull his pants and boxers down, freeing his cock. It springs up thick, hard, and leaking precum, making your mouth water at the sight.
You wrap one hand around the base of his cock, lean in, and press a soft kiss to the tip before dragging your tongue slowly along the underside, drawing a shaky breath from Heeseung. "That’s it… suck me like a good girl."
Feeling confident, you take him into your mouth and slowly suck on the head, swirling your tongue around it while savoring the precum there. Then you take him deeper, bobbing your head as your hand strokes what doesn’t fit, your movements growing smoother as you find the right rhythm. "Fuck… your mouth feels so good."
His praise encourages you to take him even deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, making you gag. A wet choking sound escapes as your eyes water, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you stay there for a moment, breathing through your nose the way Sunghoon taught you, before sliding back up and sinking down again.
Heeseung grabs your hair and tightens his grip as a needy groan escapes his throat. "Shit, that’s… ahh—"
You keep going, moving your head faster and sucking harder while your hand twists around the base, making his thighs tense and another desperate moan slip out.
It’s hard to believe that Heeseung, the guy everyone on campus talks about, the one with a reputation for being experienced and dominant, is moaning and whimpering under your mouth. It’s unexpected, but not in a bad way, especially because your pussy clenches around nothing every time he makes those sounds.
You pull back a little, sucking on the head while stroking him faster with your hand, which draws another broken moan from him. "Yes— fuck, yes, baby."
Wanting to pull even more reactions from him, you take him deep into your mouth again, gagging softly around his length as your head moves faster. Saliva drips down his entire shaft and onto your hand, making everything slick and messy.
Heeseung’s moans grow louder, breathier, and more frequent. "Fuck, I… I’m gonna come. Please don’t stop… I’m so close, baby."
You moan around him and suck harder until his thighs start to tremble. "Fuck… fuck—!" His voice cracks as the orgasm finally hits him.
His cock pulses hot and hard on your tongue, releasing thick jets of cum into your mouth. You try to swallow as much as you can, continuing to suck him through every last spasm and moan.
When you finally pull off his cock with a wet pop, Heeseung moves fast. He flips you onto your back and hovers over you — the whimpering guy from moments ago is gone. Now his eyes are filled with raw hunger.
"I’m not done with you yet." With a firm hand, he spreads your thighs, exposing your dripping pussy, begging to be fucked. "Now I’m going to fuck you properly."
You blink at him, confused and surprised by the sudden shift because seconds ago he was moaning and almost begging under your mouth, and now he’s trying to act like the dominant guy everyone talks about.
He lines up the head of his cock at your entrance, rubbing it up and down your wet folds, coating himself with your arousal. Without warning, he thrusts into you hard in one brutal stroke, stretching you around his thick length.
The sudden fullness makes you cry out loudly, your back arching off the bed. "Oh my God — Heeseung!" The stretch feels so good, especially while you’re still sensitive from coming earlier.
He fucks you hard and deep from the very first thrust, his hips slamming against yours with relentless strokes that make the bed creak beneath you. "Fuck, this pussy is so wet and greedy," he groans, leaning down to capture your lips in a messy kiss while one of his hands wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. He holds it for a few seconds before loosening his grip, letting you gasp for air. "Look at you, sucking my cock like a good little slut. You love being used like this, don’t you?"
"Yes, fuck, yes," you moan, your voice breaking under the pressure of his hand. "You’re so deep inside me. It feels so good, Heeseung."
He chokes you again, a little harder this time, and the mix of pleasure and lack of air makes your head spin deliciously.
Heeseung pushes your legs back toward your chest, folding you in half so he can fuck you even deeper. The new angle makes his cock hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, causing your eyes to roll back.
When he finally releases your throat, you gasp desperately for air, moaning loudly as he keeps hitting that sweet spot over and over. "Please… harder. I can take it."
Heeseung lets out a needy groan at your words, his hips stuttering for half a second before he gives you exactly what you asked for. He fucks you harder, rougher, driving his cock into you with punishing depth. The sound of skin slapping against skin grows louder and wetter as he pounds into you, pressing your body into the mattress.
Just as your next orgasm starts to build, he suddenly slows down, keeping his cock buried deep inside you but barely moving. "Not yet. You don’t get to come until I say so, slut."
You whine desperately, trying to lift your hips for more friction. "Please, Heeseung… I need to come. I’m so close already. Don’t stop— I’ve been so good."
He smirks wickedly, shaking his head as he starts thrusting with slow, teasing rolls of his hips. "Beg better than that, baby. I want to hear how badly you need it."
You’re a complete mess underneath him, tears of frustration and pleasure gathering in your eyes. "Please… I’ll be so good for you. Just let me come on your cock, please. I need it so bad— I can’t take this teasing anymore."
Heeseung groans, but the sound turns into a needy moan as your walls clench around him. He starts fucking you harder again, his hand returning to your throat. But he isn’t done teasing you yet, so he edges you two more times — bringing you right to the brink with deep, brutal thrusts only to slow down and leave you whimpering and empty.
On the third time, you’re crying and babbling nonstop. "Heeseung… please, I can’t take it anymore. It hurts so good… I need to come. I’ll do anything you want. Just let me come on your cock."
"Fuck… you look so pretty when you beg," he groans, his voice rough with his own need to come. He thrusts into you with brutal force, tightening his hand around your throat again while his hips move relentlessly. "Come then. Come all over my cock like the desperate slut you are. Let me feel you."
Your entire body seizes underneath him. Your walls clamp down hard around his thick cock, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as you soak his cock and the sheets beneath you, screaming his name.
Heeseung fucks you through your orgasm, groaning as your pussy milks him. "Fuck, that’s it. Good girl… you’re squeezing me so tight." A few more brutal, deep thrusts and he buries himself as deep as possible, coming hard inside you with thick, hot pulses.
Lying under him with your heart racing and breath coming in short, heavy bursts, his cock still buried deep inside you, your mind keeps returning to the sounds he made minutes ago — those desperate, broken moans and whimpers when you had him in your mouth.
Something about hearing him lose control like that makes heat pool low in your belly. After a few seconds of hesitation, you gather your courage, place a hand on his chest, and push him gently but firmly. "My turn to break you now. I want to hear you moaning under me." You say as you swing your leg over his waist, straddling him.
Heeseung’s breath hitches as his cock, already hardening again beneath you, shows just how much he likes the shift in power. "Baby… fuck," he gasps, his hands reaching for your hips.
"Don’t touch unless I say so." You slap his hands away, then wrap your fingers around his thick cock, stroking him slowly and teasingly while rubbing the head up and down your cum-soaked pussy. "Look at you. The captain of the basketball team. Everyone on campus thinks you’re this untouchable stud who ruins girls and never gets ruined."
You sink down onto him in one slow motion, taking every inch until your ass meets his thighs — the stretch making both of you moan. You stay completely still, clenching around him just to watch him squirm, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. Then you start moving your hips slowly, rubbing your clit against his pelvis. "Ahh— fuck… please don’t tease me."
You begin riding his cock properly, using everything you learned — deep movements, tight squeezes, and powerful bounces that make your ass slap against his thighs and your clit grind deliciously against his pelvis.
"Fuck, baby," he hisses, his hands flying to your hips, but you grab his wrists and push them away. You lean down so your breasts brush against his chest and his cock hits even deeper. "Don’t touch. Just take this pussy like a good boy. Got it, captain?"
Heeseung’s cock twitches hard inside you at your words, and a low, surprised moan escapes his throat. "Shit… yes," he groans, clearly turned on by the way you dominate him. "Use me, baby. Fuck me."
So this was the real Heeseung? A whimpering mess when someone takes control. All that arrogance on the court, all those girls throwing themselves at him, and here he is — moaning and shaking underneath you like he can’t handle how good your pussy feels around him.
You watch every reaction closely, mesmerized by the way his lips part, his breath coming in short, needy gasps every time you bounce and grind on him, and the broken moans slipping from his throat when you clench hard around his cock.
'God, he really is a whimperer,' you think, amazed by the sight as you bite your lip and ride him harder. "All that reputation and you’re crying because a girl is riding you. That’s kind of pathetic… but so fucking hot."
Heeseung lets out another broken moan, his hands desperately gripping the sheets since you won’t let him touch you. "Fuck— you’re killing me. Your pussy feels too good, I can’t… ah— slow down a little, please."
You laugh softly and keep riding him mercilessly, clenching around his cock rhythmically, rolling your hips in tight, dirty circles while bouncing faster and faster, making sure he feels every movement. "You’re going to take this like a good boy, captain."
Heeseung moans louder, letting his head fall back against the pillow as his body trembles beneath you. "Shit, you’re so mean. Please don’t stop. Your pussy is squeezing me so tight— fuck, I’m losing my mind."
You lean back, bracing your hands on his thighs so he has the perfect view of his cock disappearing into your dripping pussy. "Look how deep you are," you moan, rolling your ass on him in small, obscene movements. "You like watching me use your cock like this, don’t you? Such a big, strong captain… and now you’re moaning under me."
The pleasure and the delicious sight of the untouchable Heeseung moaning and whimpering push you toward your own orgasm. "I’m gonna come," you gasp, leaning down to kiss him messily while still bouncing on his cock. "And you’re going to come with me, crybaby."
Heeseung moans loudly, the nickname making his cock twitch hard inside you. "Fuck… I’m coming!" His hips buck up to meet your bounces as thick jets of cum spill deep inside you once again.
You follow right behind him, your orgasm crashing over you as you keep riding him through both of your peaks, milking every last drop from his cock.
"Don’t tell anyone about this," he begs breathlessly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "That I’m… like this. Please. This is our secret, okay? Just between us."
────────
Jake’s hands grip your hips tightly, you clench around his cock and roll your hips in those filthy, perfected movements. His broken moans fill the room as you bounce faster, grinding harder against him. Suddenly, your phone starts ringing on the nightstand, Ni-ki’s name lighting up the screen.
You slow your movements, reaching over to answer the call while still sitting on Jake’s cock. "Hey," you sigh, slightly breathless.
Jake groans, his hips twitching desperately. "Babe… please don’t stop," his voice is full of need. "I was so close… keep going, please."
You cover his mouth with your hand to silence him to continue the call. Ni-ki sounds frustrated on the other end. "You free right now? We lost tonight and I’m pissed. Come to my dorm… I need that pretty pussy to help me forget this shit game."
"I can come over soon," you say, trying to keep your voice steady while rolling your hips on Jake. "Give me a bit."
"Good. Don’t take too long. I really need to fuck you," Ni-ki says before hanging up.
You drop the phone and start riding Jake again. "Sorry about that. Now be a good boy and come for me.
Later that night, you’re on all fours in Ni-ki’s dorm as he fucks you hard from behind. His hips slam against your ass with deep, aggressive thrusts.
In the middle of a particularly rough stroke, he suddenly asks, "I saw you leaving the hockey rink the other day. What the hell were you doing there?"
You moan and push back to meet his thrusts. "None of your business."
Ni-ki’s hand comes down hard on your ass with a loud smack. The sharp sting makes you clench around his cock and moan louder. He slaps you again, even harder. "Wrong answer."
"Again," you moan, arching your back. "I like it."
Ni-ki laughs darkly and keeps spanking you repeatedly while fucking you harder, his palm leaving red marks on your ass as he pounds into you until both of you come hard.
The next afternoon, you’re on your knees in Jay’s dorm with his huge cock stretching your mouth as you suck him. Jay has one hand gently stroking your hair, looking down at you with proud eyes.
"You’re doing so well. Taking me so deep like this… you look so beautiful with my cock in your mouth, angel."
You relax your throat, taking him as deep as you can, sucking harder, using every technique you’ve learned. Jay groans, his fingers sliding gently through your hair.
"Fuck… you’re incredible. Such a good girl for me. Keep going, you’re making me feel so good."
He keeps praising you the whole time, soft and sincere, until he finally comes down your throat with a soft, shaky groan, lovingly stroking your cheek as you swallow everything.
When you leave Jay’s room, still a little flushed and disheveled, you run straight into Sunghoon in the hallway. He looks at you, then at Jay’s door behind you, and his expression darkens instantly.
"What the fuck were you doing in there?"
You don’t answer, trying to walk past him, but he doesn’t let you. Sunghoon grabs your wrist and pulls you into his own dorm, slamming the door behind you. He fucks you hard and jealous, bending you over the desk, taking you from behind with brutal, possessive thrusts.
"You’ve been fucking everyone lately, haven’t you?" he growls, driving deep and angry. "Greedy little slut."
You moan loudly, loving the jealous tone in his voice.
During the rough thrusts, your phone starts vibrating on the desk — it’s Heeseung sending message after message.
Heeseung:
I can’t stop thinking about that night with you.
Come over.
Baby, answer me.
I know you’re getting these.
Don’t play games with me.
Stop fucking ignoring me.
Sunghoon notices the constant buzzing, picks up the phone, uses your face to unlock it, and opens the chat. With a dark, possessive smile, he takes a photo of your flushed, teary-eyed, moaning face while he fucks you hard from behind and sends it to Heeseung with the caption: "She’s busy."
He tosses the phone aside and fucks you even harder after that.
────────
You finally understand why Heeseung never wants to be tied to just one person. Having options is liberating. Jake, Sunghoon, Jay, Ni-ki, and Heeseung — each one offers something different: different rhythms, different kinds of pleasure, different versions of yourself. You don’t have to choose just one because you can have them all. Now you understand Heeseung’s lifestyle — it’s freeing.
And you realize you want that freedom too.
Thank you for reading! and a special thanks to everyone who asked to be tagged <3
Synopsis:Your best friend was back in town after almost 10 years. And fuck did he get hotter than hell.
Pairing: rancher!Jake x baker!reader
Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, p in v, unprotected sex (not for you), virginity loss (f), cum eating, corruption kink, fingering, semi public sex (in a car), ab riding, oral (m and f receiving), head pusher jake my beloved, use of blindfold, use of sex toy (vibrator ring), chocolate sauce (dont ask), dom!jake, sub!reader, breast play, me and my romantic endeavours, best friends to lovers, not proofread
A/N: final installment!!! no because i died whilst reading this fic SIM JAEYUN MY HUSBAND GIVE HIM TO ME JEBAL JEBAL. As always, a big kiss to my baby @wichujunseo I hope she enjoys the ab stuff I wrote specifically for her. I had a shit ton of fun doing this and I hope you guys enjoyed it as well! 💝💝mmwah mmwah now go get eaten out by jake
Word Count: 12.7k (yes its longer than jayhoon's and WHAT)
Series Masterlist
The world says love is a sweet thing—cream, honey, sugar, stuff like that.
Never in your life had you heard such absolute bullshit.
And you’d know! You were a baker after all. A baker with no such sweet things in her life other than the pastries she’d line up on her counters everyday, sugar spun into soft peaks and piped into rosettes.
Tying your hair back, you washed your hands, stepping into the kitchen attached to your bakery. The scent of yeast and flour clung to the walls as you struck a match and lit the ovens. Somewhere far off, a lone coyote called against the horizon and you shook your head.
“Those damned things.” You swore under your breath, flour dusting your cheeks and apron. Outside, the sky bled from indigo to bruised violet to pale gold, sunlight crawling over the dunes.
They said it was strange for a woman to own a shop, stranger still for her to run it alone. But you had inherited the place after your father’s debts swallowed everything else, and you had kept it alive with stubbornness and blistered hands. People could whisper all they liked, but hey, they still lined up for your bread and tarts.
You stepped out front as dawn finally broke, unlocking the door and flipping the wooden sign to OPEN. You set about arranging the small wooden tables and chairs, adjusted the lace curtains and laid out the morning’s pastries in neat rows behind the glass.
Tarts glazed in apricot, cinnamon rolls coiled like sleeping cats, honey cakes brushed with syrup that caught the light. You stared at them for a moment, hands resting on the counter.
The world said love was like this, soft, golden and sweet.
Absolute bullshit.
When you were small, you believed it, watching your parents move around each other in the narrow kitchen of your childhood home, your father’s hand on your mother’s waist and her sweet laughter. The way they would lean close, speaking in murmurs you weren’t meant to hear. It seemed like magic.
You remembered thinking that love must be something glowing, something sacred. Something that made people look at each other the way they did.
But you were older now. Old enough to remember the way your father’s eyes began to wander to other distractions, the way your mother’s laugh grew brittle.
Old enough to understand love wasn't magic. Call it heat, call it touch, call it bodies drawn together by something temporary. Call it lust.
Love, you decided, was simply lust dressed up in prettier words. You had never even been kissed, but you had heard enough whispered confessions from women who came into your shop and lingered over tea.
A gust of wind rattled the door, snapping you back to the present. You exhaled slowly and straightened a tray of sugared biscuits, the idea of ‘I am not lonely’ running through your mind, as you shook your head over your low supply of sweet rum
The bell above the door jingled, and you looked up, arranging your face into polite warmth, to greet the customer. More customers trickled in as the sun climbed higher, cowboy hands with dust clinging to their boots, a pair of young boys sent by their mother for rolls, the postman, who always bought two apple tarts and claimed they were for someone else. You calmly wrapped up packages, counted change with the air of a mathematician and offered your smile, your movements extremely precise, as good after good kept getting sold. All was calm as it ought to be, you thought.
“—told you he’d have that stallion down by noon,” A loud voice pierced through the air, as the bell rang again and a cluster of familiar ranchers entered together.
“Don’t know how he does it.” Another replied, as you kept your head down and sliced their usual order of bread, “Gonna put us all out of business, I’m sure.”
“Ten years gone and he comes back like that.” The first voice continued. Your knife slipped slightly, only slightly. You adjusted your grip and kept cutting, sliding the bread into paper and folding the corners more aggressively than usual.
“He stopped by the smithy yesterday,” One of them said. “Needed new horseshoes, spoke real respectful. Not like some.”
“He always was decent,” another one with silver hair said. “even back then.” A low whistle followed and your heart tightened.
“That’ll be six cents, sir.” You lifted your gaze just long enough to offer a polite expression as you handed over the package, taking the coins the man handed over.
You watched them move out of the building as swiftly as they had entered, waiting for them to fully cross the street before slumping against the wall with a heavy sigh. It was finally the late afternoon, which meant rush hour was over and you’d be free for a few hours before closing up.
Ten years gone and he comes back like that.
Your heart tightened again. You didn’t need clarification, there was only one “new rancher” in town. Only one who had left a decade ago and returned broader, steadier and harder around the edges.
It had been three weeks since he’d returned. Ten years gone, and now three weeks back in town—and he still hadn’t stepped foot in your shop.
Sim Jaeyun.
Why did the Gods ever give you Sim Jaeyun?
You tried not to think of his name too often. It felt dangerous somehow, like pressing on a fresh bruise. You thought back to last week, when you’d heard some older women talking about him, joking about how he wasn't married yet, but he’d probably have women lining up for him at his door soon. You had ignored them—old wives talk—but something churned in your stomach.
Women lining up.
Of course they would. You imagined them—fixing their hair, adjusting their skirts, inventing reasons to wander near the edge of town at his ranch. You imagined him tipping his hat politely, offering that small, slow smile of his.
Did he smile differently now? The boy you remembered used to grin wide, boyish and careless. The man you had glimpsed outside the smithy had smiled like he’d seen things. You sighed as you reached for the sweet vanilla extract.
Jaeyun has always been sweet. Too sweet, all elbows and laughter and earnest promises. He used to bring you wildflowers—dry, stubborn little things that somehow survived in the desert. You would stick them in jars on the counter and pretend they were exotic blooms from some distant land.
He had come back taller now, broader to be precise, sun-browned and all sharp edges. You had seen him from a distance on his first day—riding in at the edge of town, hat low over his eyes.
To be short and straight, he had come back looking like a damn five course meal.
His shoulders filled out his shirt in a way that made it pull across his back when he moved. And those gorgeous hands, veins like a network of rivers, visible and pulsing when he adjusted the brim of his hat. Jaeyun had always been handsome even when he was a boy. But god damn was he a hot piece of…something now.
You told yourself you were too busy to seek him out and that he was busy too, setting up the new ranch he’d bought on the edge of town.It was reasonable that he hadn’t come by yet, but something deep in you was kicking up a storm about it.
You couldn't help but remember your childhood, scraped knees, shared canteens, him carrying sacks of flour twice his size just to prove he could help you, sitting on overturned crates in the back stables of his father’s ranch, listening to you talk about anything and everything. You remembered the joy back then.
Back then.
Your hands stilled for half a second before you reached for the icing sugar.
You had been children, and you had loved him in the way children do—carelessly, completely, foolishly, as if the world were small and safe and permanent. Then his father had sold their land, and Jaeyun had left with the promise that he would come back one day.
“I’ll build you a proper place when I come back.” He said before he left, 15 year old hands wiping away your tears. “With windows that look out over fields.” You had laughed at him. Fields in the desert. What a romantic idea. But he had said it like a promise and you believed him.
Somewhere along the lines of 19, you lost your hope. Your parents weren't getting any better and after your brother left, the house felt carnivorous and brittle, and you found yourself standing in a kitchen staring at hands that were capable of more than sitting still, looking pretty and listening to arguments.
The bakery had always been there, a modest place on the corner, owned by an old widow whose children had long since moved north. When she finally agreed to take you on as an apprentice, you knew that it was your chance to escape.
And it wasn't like you were completely useless either. The old woman admitted that you were quite the Picasso when it came to baking and when she passed, there was no question of ownership; your ties with your parents were already cut and dissolved and you needed a source of income, even if it meant sleeping in the bakery for a few months before you could save up enough to buy a house of your own.
The work was comforting too, in the manner that it was predictable—something that at that point you desperately needed in life. And of course the praise you got for your baking gave you the ego boost. So much so that even the travelers passing through made detours after someone mentioned the girl who made desserts that didn’t taste like dust and disappointment.
“Honey! You there?”
Ahh of course. The friends you made were the best part of it all.
“Coming!” You peeled off your apron, dusting your hands and moving out front to see your friend, who owned the bar downtown.
To be honest, you didn't even remember how you two became friends, only that the incident definitely involved a lot of wine and two drunk women passed out on the front porch of the sheriff’s house.The next morning had arrived with the disapproving, but faintly amused expression of the sheriff’s wife.
“You look alive.” She remarked now, eyes swapping over you critically before softening, “Barely.”
She leaned against the counter on her elbows, sunlight framing her figure. There was always something faintly reckless about her smile, as though she knew exactly how far she could push the world before it pushed back.
“I’ve been up since before the sun,” You leaned back against the wall. “Some of us run respectable establishments, you know.”
“I’ll have you know my establishment is very respectable.” She scoffed lightly, though her cheeky smile remained, “The men merely forget that after their third drink.” Her eyes wandered towards the display shelf behind you, inspecting the newer pastries, “You’ve been holding out on me honey.” She pointed towards one of the darker muffins, “That’s a new one isn't it?”
You reached up and pulled it off, twirling it in your hand, “Ran out of rum so I made this one with scotch.” You handed it to her, “Think it needs a quality check?”
She giggled and took it from you with a little curtsey, immediately attacking the soft side with her teeth. She closed her eyes and sighed.
“I’m so glad I convinced you to make these.” She said through a mouthful of muffin, “I love you so much.”
“I’m a woman in love unfortunately.” You laughed, warmth creeping into your chest, “Speaking of which, I’ll need another delivery of sweet rum by tomorrow. I’m nearly out.”
“In love?” She raised a brow, “With who, I wonder?”
“I ask you for a delivery and that’s the first thing you ask?” You sighed, “One day you’ll admit you’re a thorough romantic.”
She laughed with her whole stomach and so did you. You relaxed around her in a way you rarely did with anyone else, the one person who had seen you in all colours—hungover, furious, exhausted, triumphant. Your friend leaned her elbows on the counter and studied you with a look that made you wary.
“What?” You asked, crossing your arms.
“Oh, nothing.” She replied far too innocently. “Just wondering how long you plan on pretending you don’t give a hoot.”
“About who?” Your spine stiffened slightly.
“Aha.” She said triumphantly, “I never said it was a who.” She tilted her head, waving the half eaten muffin in front of you, “Jaeyun’s back in town.” Your heart betrayed you immediately, thudding harder against your ribs.
“I don’t know what you mean.” You said with the air of a royal butler, or in other words—not giving a fuck. But of course you weren't going to admit your innermost thoughts to her, about how you imagined the bell ringing.
Imagined looking up and seeing him there, filling the doorway, hat in hand, sun outlining the breadth of his shoulders, those hands resting briefly against the frame before he stepped inside. Would he stop in his path when he saw you? Would he smile that slow smile? Would he say your name the same way he used to? Your throat tightened unexpectedly, as you pressed your palms flat against the counter to ground yourself.
“You do spill a lot when you’re drunk, you know.” Your friend hummed in disbelief, “And you’ve been staring at that door ever since I came in here.”
“I—”
“If he does come in,” She leaned forward, elbows on the counter, “what will you say to him? Because from our last time, I recall you crying about how much you’d love to slap him across the face if he ever came back.” She grinned, “To quote ‘for leaving me alone all these years’.”
“Oh please.” Heat flared in your cheeks, “That was years ago.”
“Six months but alright.” She said, as you shot her a look sharp enough to slice bread but she only looked on, seemingly delighted, “Just to be sure, you’re not heartbroken are you honey?”
You opened your mouth to answer, and then closed it again to ponder on the question for a minute. You weren't heartbroken, not in the romantic sense at least. You just felt…abandoned. Left behind in a town that felt too small and too loud all at once, left to shoulder things you hadn’t been ready for, left with a promise about windows and fields that had slowly begun to feel foolish.
“It's stupid.” You said finally, “He’s probably busy anyways, he doesn't have time to visit.”
“You’re his best frien—”
“Was.” You corrected her, “Was his best friend.” Your gaze flicked to the door once more and then away, “We’re not children anymore, it's not like he’ll still consider me as his best friend.”
“You’re very good at pretending you know.” She replied gently, earning a groan from you.
“I’m not pretending!” You defended, “Cross my heart, if he comes in front me I’ll just say hello and go on my merry wa—”
It was a miracle your heart hadn't given out yet.
The bell above the door jingled, the sound slicing clean through the air and cleaving through you. Both of you turned at once. And for a split second—just a heartbeat—you thought of what would have happened if he never left town.
Would the man filling the doorway in a way that made the bakery feel suddenly small have been yours? Yours to cherish and love? Yours to plant fields in a desert with?
The first thing you noticed was the breadth of him. The boyish angles you remembered had settled into solid lines, his shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt; his sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms marked by sun and work. His jaw was sharper, dust shadowing it faintly as if the desert had etched itself into his golden skin. God was he a hot piece of something.
“Ladies.” Jaeyun tipped his hat and sauntered in, gait still as careless and cocky as back then. Your body reacted before your mind could reason, your breath catching, your heart leaping violently against your ribs.
Love is lust, you thought.
“Well well well.” Your friend drawled lightly, “I’ve been wanting to catch a glimpse of the new rancher in town." She turned towards him with an easy smile, extending a hand, which he shook, “I’m surprised I haven't seen you by my bar yet, Jaeyun.”
“I’d introduce myself, but it seems you already know me.” Jaeyun laughed lightly and for half a second you forgot how to breathe, “I’ve been meaning stop by Miss, new friend of mine sang a lot of praise about your place.”
“New friend?” Your friend glanced at you briefly before turning her interrogating gaze back to him, “Well, Mr. Jaeyun, three weeks in and a friend already. My my, I’m curious.”
“Said his name was Sunghoon.” Jaeyun removed his hat, running a hand briefly through hair that had grown darker with age. “You know him?” His voice was rich and smooth like melted chocolate.
“Oh don’t I.” Your friend said through gritted teeth, “Oh don’t I know that damned cowboy.”
The words barely registered, as you remained rooted behind the counter, your palms tingling, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. He laughed softly at something she said, the sound low and warm and you felt yourself fall deeper into the void you were traversing.
Your gaze traced him without permission. The way he stood, the way his hands rested against the counter when he leaned slightly forward, fingers long and calloused, a faint scar near his wrist you did not recognize, the line of his throat when he tilted his head.
And those eyes.
Those beautiful eyes. Two galaxies you wanted to dive into and rest your little tired heart in. He was no longer the boy you once ran through the wildflowers with. He was unmistakably a man. And here he was. In your bakery. Skillfully avoiding your gaze.
Your friend’s eyes flickered toward you briefly, sharp and knowing. She reached back without looking and squeezed your hand where it rested against the counter, the contact jolting you back into your body.
“I’ll send someone over with that sweet rum, honey.” She said casually, withdrawing her hand. “Well, it was nice meeting you Mr Jaeyun. I’d recommend the lemon tarts for today.” There was mischief in her tone and something gentler beneath it, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go..….thank Sunghoon.”
Before you could protest, she stepped past him, offering a parting remark about expecting to see him at the bar soon. The bell jingled again as she exited, leaving behind a quiet that felt almost tangible.
And then it was just you and him.
He turned fully toward you and for a moment, neither of you spoke.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“So…..”“So?”
The air felt tight in your lungs. You became acutely aware of everything at once—the ticking of the cooling oven in the back, the faint hum of wind outside, the scent of citrus and sugar lingering between you.
“Is it really you?” Jaeyun said, running a hand through his hair again. By god, you wanted to slap him across the face.
And then hug him and never let go.
“It is.” Your throat felt tight, as you diverted your gaze to the floorboards.
“You look the same, love.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. Love, how long has it been since you’d heard that beautiful word dance at his lips?
“We both know that’s a lie.” You forced yourself to straighten as though you weren’t acutely aware of every inch of space between you. “I hear you’ve been busy.”
Something flickered behind his eyes as he traced his gaze over you, as if remembering the lines to his favourite poem, something that he’d read long before, whose emotions he’d never forget even if he forgot its words.
“Getting the ranch set up. Took longer than I expected.” His gaze drifted around the bakery. “Nice place you got.”
“Thank you.” You said politely, as if your pulse wasn't stumbling at the moment.
Jaeyun leaned forward, both hands braced against the counter now. The wood creaked faintly under his weight. The movement brought him closer, you could see the faint scar along his jaw.
“Why won’t you look at me, love?” He asked quietly. Your breath hitched. You had been studying the floorboards again, as if they held answers.
Jaeyun’s slender fingers came up carefully, brushing beneath your chin, gripping it with the softest touch just guiding your face upward with a gentleness that felt almost reverent. Slowly and reluctantly, your gaze lifted to his. Your pulse thundered in your ears.
“Hmm, maybe I was wrong.” His eyes held yours with an unwavering intensity, “You do look different.” His fingers smoothed from your chin to cup your cheek in his palm, “You look stronger, love. What happened to that girl I knew all those years ago who’d hide from sheepdogs hm?”
To hear those words felt like stepping into sunlight after years indoors—blinding, warm and overwhelming. Quite akin to feeding a starved angel ambrosia. All they’d do is throw it all up, having accustomed to the feeling of hunger.
“She died when you left her.” You heard yourself say, the sentence slipping out before you could soften it. There it was. A fucking slap to the face. His expression shifted, something heavy clouding behind his eyes.
“I didn’t have a choice,” he said quietly.
“I know.” You did know. You had always known. But knowing wouldn't erase the emptiness, "Couldn't have written me a damn letter, Jaeyun?” Your vision blurred before you could stop it. You hated that your eyes burned, that after all these years of building up your walls, one look from him could destroy them.
“Love I—’
“You don’t get to call me that.” You laughed crudely. You shook your head, stepping back a fraction, breaking the contact. Your hands came up defensively, not against him, but against the swell in your chest. Jaeyun studied you as though searching for something familiar beneath the years.
“You left.” You said, and your voice trembled despite your efforts. “You left and you didn’t write. You didn’t come back. And I kept thinking—” Your breath hitched. “I kept thinking maybe you forgot about me.”
“Love, don't say that.” Jaeyun’s expression changed, hurt, immediate and unguarded. “I could never forget you.”
“Then why did it feel like you did, Jaeyun?” The tears spilled fully now, quiet and hot down your cheeks, “Why did it take you three fucking weeks to come see me?” Your hands trembled, “Do you know what it was like? Watching everyone move on like you were just another boy who left? I didn’t even get to be angry properly because I knew you didn’t have a choice.”
“I was alone,” The words scraped their way out. “Everything was falling apart at home. My brother was gone. My parents were—” You stopped, shaking your head. “And I kept thinking you’d walk back in any day to hand me a stupid flower and tell me a stupid joke.”
Your chest heaved. You wiped your eyes, though they filled up again when you looked at him. Your heart stuttered again, the absolute beauty of him knocking the air from your lungs.
“I needed my best friend,” You whispered, “and you weren't there.” You took a deep shuddering breath in, “So forgive me if I don’t let you call me what you used to all those years ago, Jaeyun.”
The space between you felt unbearable. Yes, you wanted to go to him. Yes you wanted to throw yourself at him and cry your heart out. You wanted to do all that. So what was it that held you back?
Was it the hatred you had for him leaving you? The fear of breaking down the walls that had kept you safe all these years?
Or was it the tiny tug at your heart that wanted him, needed him, to step to you first?
Jaeyun moved then, rounding the counter quietly, boots soft against the floor. The familiar scent of sun and leather and something unmistakably him drifted closer, making your pulse trip. For a split second, you thought he might stop short.
He didn’t, stepping into your space slowly as if giving you enough time to retreat
You didn’t, hands coming to rest on his shoulders, as if this was routine.
His arms came around you with a firmness that stole the breath from your lungs. One arm wrapped high around your shoulders, pulling you fully into him, sliding up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently into your hair. The other anchored at your lower back, spreading warm and solid against you as though afraid you might disappear.
Heat bled through your clothes where his chest pressed against yours. His heart was beating hard; you felt it against your cheek as your forehead tipped forward without permission.
You clutched at the back of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric like you were afraid of falling. The material bunched beneath your grip and he tightened his hold in response, pulling you impossibly closer until there was no space left between your bodies.
It was the kind of hug that wasn’t polite and sweet. It was desperate, like a wolf clawing at the sheep it once loved.
Years folded in on themselves, the ache of waiting, the nights you pretended you didn’t care, the empty space beside you where he used to sit—all of it seemed to press into that single embrace.
Your face buried against his chest, breath shaking as it hit the cotton of his shirt. He was warm in a way that steadied the world beneath your feet. His chin rested against the crown of your head like it had always belonged. One of his hands shifted, splaying against your back, fingers flexing slightly as if reassuring himself you were real.
You felt him exhale—slow and heavy—against your hair. Your tears soaked into his shirt, but neither of you moved to pull away. His grip didn’t loosen when your shoulders trembled. If anything, he held you tighter, arms firm and protective, he was bracing against a storm and choosing to stand in it with you.
Your heartstring tugged again.
You hadn’t realized how cold you’d been until you felt warm again.
“I’m sorry.” His voice went to your soul, “I know it won’t do anything, but I am sorry.” His fingers curled gently at the nape of your neck, thumb brushing once against your hairline, “I missed you so much, love.” His forehead brushed yours, as you clung to him harder, “Not a day passed where I didn't think about you.”
You let out a broken laugh that dissolved into another sob. “I was so damn angry,” You confessed. “And I missed you so much it felt stupid, Yeun.”
His arms tightened around you at the sound of that nickname. Yeun, he never knew his own name to sound so melodic.
“I’ll make it up.” Jaeyun said into your hair, “I swear I’ll make up all that time we lost, love.” The words vibrated through his chest into you, breaking something slightly open inside you, “Pinky promise?”
A small, watery laugh escaped you. “You’re so stupid.” You muttered into his chest.
“That I am.” He replied softly.
His hand moved slowly up and down your back in reassurance, softening the ache that had settled in your chest.
Love is lust, you thought.
Were you willing to allow him to make it feel kinder?
______________________
The next few days felt like a fever dream.
Jaeyun came in the next morning. And the morning after that. And the one after that.
Always at different times, as if trying to convince both of you that it wasn’t routine, sometimes just before the lunch rush, leaning casually against the display case while you boxed pastries, sometimes late afternoon, when the sunlight slanted gold and painted him in honeyed light.
Jaeyun slipped back into conversation as if the years were only a misplaced afternoon, cracking his silly little jokes, nudging at you when you got too serious and teasing you about your frazzled hair after attending to a lot of customers at once (“Didn’t know a witch lived in this town.” “There is a knife in my hands Sim Jaeyun.”)
He was a lingering presence at your bakery, sometimes perched on one of the stools near the counter, boot hooked on the rung, sometimes helping carry a flour sack in without asking. Once, you caught him sweeping near the doorway after a group of teenagers tracked dirt across your clean floor.
“You don’t work here,” You muttered.
He shrugged. “Looks like you could use the help.” It was infuriating how good he looked doing simple mundane things.
It was infuriating how much you wanted to jump on him and bite his arms.
As if to push the knife in deeper, customers began to expect him. The sheriff, Jay, asked if he was on payroll. Your friend only smirked every time she walked in and saw him there, like she’d predicted this outcome long ago. By the end of the week, his presence no longer startled you. It settled around you instead like background music.
But perhaps the most terrified person in the entire town was Jaeyun himself.
When the bakery quieted and you were turned away from him—reaching for a jar on the highest shelf or bending slightly over the counter to scribble an order—Jaeyunfound himself forgetting whatever he was about to say.
You had changed. Of course you had.
The girl he used to race through wildflowers with had grown into something softer and sharper all at once. There was confidence in the way you moved now, your laughter slow and warm. And it did something dangerous to him.
The first time he truly noticed it was when you stepped into the sunlight by the window, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ears, the late afternoon glow catching along the curve of your cheek. He had meant to make a joke. Instead, his breath had stalled in his chest.
By god, were you gorgeous.
The second time was when you bent over in front of him to pick up something on the floor and Jaeyun had to drag his eyes away from the slightest peek of your ass in your panties when your skirt lifted up.
By god were you so fucking gorgeous.
Of course he had always known you to be pretty, even back then, beautiful in a way that almost felt unfair. Jaeyun often found himself thinking about you at inconvenient times. Out at the ranch, reins loose in his grip, staring across dry land, the image of you looking up at him through your lashes would pop into his mind and he’d have to go inside to take care of his little……problem.
It stole the air from him every single time and sometimes, when you weren’t looking, he would study you with a kind of stunned reverence he didn’t dare let you see. Every curve of your body, every single line and dot that shaped you, every detail that he longed to see up close.
And your legs of course.
What he would do to be suffocated by those legs.
The realization that he was thinking such thoughts about you—his best friend—did something complicated in his chest. Awe, regret, desire all tangled together. There were moments he had to drag his gaze away just to breathe properly again.
But god damn those fucking legs.
One evening, just before closing, you found him leaning against the doorway, sleeves rolled up, forearms (veins, veins, veins) dusted faintly with flour from helping you knead dough.
“You know,” Jaeyun said lightly, “if you keep feeding me like this, I’m going to start expecting benefits.”
You snorted. “You get a free croissant and suddenly you think you’re staff?”
“I think I deserve at least a name tag.”
You wiped your hands on your apron, failing to hide your smile. The sky outside was streaked with deep pinks and purples, when you finally locked the door and flipped the sign to Closed, he was still there, leaning against the fence, hat in hand, hair gently blowing in the wind.
“Where are you rushing off to today?” Jaeyun drawled in that tone that always had butterflies flying in your stomach.
“Nowhere.” You hummed slowly, stepping onto the street, “Just got a bottle of wine at home that’s calling my name.” His gaze lifted to yours, steady but careful as he joined you in walking down the street. “I can share.” You added, as if it were an afterthought.
“I’d like that,” Jaeyun said, grinning his goofy grin.
And that was how you ended up here.
The wine caught the light, deep and red and slow as it filled your glass again, third glass of the evening to be precise. The laughter bubbled up between you, warm and easy, as Jaeyun leaned back against the sofa cushions, his arm stretched out along the backrest, fingers dangling just close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
The glass of wine sat heavy in your hand, the deep crimson liquid swirling as you took a slow sip, letting the tartness linger on your tongue. His stories from the ranch—tales of stubborn horses and endless sunrises—had you both in stitches, the kind of joy that felt like slipping back into an old, comfortable rhythm after all those years apart.
But as the evening deepened, the conversation shifted, meandering from the lighthearted to something more personal. Marriage came up first, Jaeyun mentioning offhand how some of the ranch hands back west had tied the knot, settling down with women who'd followed them into the dust.
“Never seemed like my path thought.” His voice dropped a notch, eyes flicking to yours with a curiosity that made your pulse quicken. “And you, love? Anyone ever catch your eye?”
You did, you idiot.
His hand, which had been resting innocently on his thigh, shifted slightly, the tips of his fingers now brushing the edge of your knee through the thin fabric of your pants. It was accidental—or so it seemed—but the contact sent a spark up your leg. You swallowed, setting your glass down on the coffee table, the clink echoing in the sudden quiet of the room.
“Not really.” Your voice was softer than intended, “But you know ten years is a long time. You must have met some women too.”
Jaeyun's grin faded into something more thoughtful, his gaze drifting to the window where the streetlights cast faint shadows across the floor. He paused, and in that moment, his mind wandered to the women he'd known—fleeting encounters in dusty motels or under starlit skies, bodies pressing close in the heat of the night.
But as he thought of them, their faces blurred, replaced by yours: the way your lips curved when you laughed, the flush creeping up your neck now. He imagined pinning you down, thrusting deep until you gasped his name, writhing beneath him, your melodic moans filling the air. The thought stirred something low in his gut, his cock twitching faintly against the confines of his jeans.
“A few.” Jaeyun said, hand inching just a fraction closer to your thigh. “Nobody that stuck though. Just... passing through, you know?”
He turned the question back, his fingers now fully resting against your leg, a light pressure that made your breath hitch. “You haven’t answered my question though, love. Who's been making your heart race while I was gone, hmm?”
You gasped softly when his hand squeezed your thigh gently, his eyes raking up and down your body. The rancher life had sculpted him into something powerful, his muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt, veins tracing paths along his forearms as he sipped his wine, his lips faintly stained red.
Snap out of it!
“You think you’re the only one who can make my heart race?” You asked, pressing your arms together. His eyes flickered down for half a second to your cleavage in your tank top, bingo, “Really Yeun?”
“Am I not?” Jaeyun said, running a tongue over his lips, oh fuck him, “Isn’t that why you’re not answering my question, love?”
“Hmm maybe.” You giggled, “I’ll admit it, there’s no one yet.” You sighed and tipped your head back against the headrest, closing your eyes, making sure to curve your body just right so he could see your chest properly, “Never even kissed anybody you know.” The wine had loosened your tongue, “I’ve read about it of course, sex and all that.” The warmth of his touch had emboldened you, “Do you think it feels good, Yeun?”
Jaeyun's eyes darkened with desire as he took in your words, his gaze lingering on the swell of your breasts before snapping back up to meet yours. His hand slid further up your thigh, fingers digging into your soft flesh possessively.
“It feels amazing, love.” He rumbled, his voice a deep, seductive purr. "You have no idea how good it feels." He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, “Tastes juust as sweet as your pastries, if you want a comparison so badly.”
You shivered at his words, pulse pounding in your ears. You'd never been touched like this before, never felt someone’s hands on you with such blatant hunger. It felt intoxicating.
The room went still, save for the soft hum of the clock on the wall. Jaeyun's hand stilled on your leg, his thumb tracing a slow circle that sent shivers racing across your skin. He searched your face, his expression a mix of surprise and something deeper, tender.
“Would you like to, angel?” He murmured voice low and intimate, “Be kissed I mean.”
Your heart pounded, a rush of nerves flooding through you. Your cheeks burned as you met his gaze, was it really a sin to have your best friend be your first? Just two days ago you two were sweetly baking cookies together. And now you were here, your mind screaming at you to get onto that sweet, sweet lap of his.
Lust had never felt so damn euphoric.
Your movements were slow and careful as you moved, propelled by a desperate need to feel his lips on yours. With a sudden burst of courage, you climbed onto his lap, straddling his hips as you threaded your fingers through his hair. Jaeyun's eyes went wide with surprise, then darkened with desire as he took in your position, setting his glass down, but not touching you yet.
“And if I said yes?” You kept your gaze on him, eyes hooded, “What would you do if I said yes, Jaeyun?” His hand slid up to cup your cheek, rough palm gentle against your skin, which then traced down to cup your jaw, thumb tracing your lower lip.
“Then I suppose….” His voice was smooth with unleashed desire, “I’d do this.”
Jaeyun’s lips met yours softly at first, a brush of warmth that made your eyes flutter shut. The kiss deepened slowly, his mouth moving against yours with a deliberate tenderness, tongue teasing the seam of your lips until you parted them, letting him in.
He tasted of wine and sugar, mixed with the faint salt of his skin. Your hands found his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle there as the kiss grew hungrier, his free hand settling on your waist, pulling you nearer.
“Fuck…” He mumbled into the kiss. He tore his mouth away from yours only to blaze a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his teeth scraping delicately over your racing pulse.
“Yeun—ah…” You said, immediately slapping a hand over your mouth at the foreign noises coming from your mouth. Jaeyun only chuckled into the curve of your neck.
“That feel good, love?” He cupped your breast through your top, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak, “My pretty angel likes when I touch her like that hmm?”
“Yeunnn” You whined, hips moving against his hard length unconsciously.
“What happened, my sweet angel?” He lifted his head to meet your gaze, “Tell me what you want, love.”
“I–” You found yourself squirming beneath him as his mouth explored your throat, his hands teasing your body with expert touches that had you aching for more, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer, “want you to fuck me.” Your words were barely audible, only spurring Jaeyun on.
“What was that?” He said, hand reaching up to grip the back of your head, "Couldn't hear you, love, say that again.”
“I want you to fuck me!” You whimpered, cheeks burning at his words, “Please?” Jaeyun silenced your pleas with a kiss, lips claiming yours as he jut his hips up. You shuddered at the feeling, so big and hard and hot against you.
"Bedroom," Jaeyun said, his eyes blazing. "Now."
With a jerky nod, you let him guide you off the couch and lead you towards your bedroom, anticipation and arousal building with each step, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that sent your pulse racing anew. The room was dimly lit by the bedside lamp, the bed inviting with its rumpled sheets.
Jaeyun turned to you, his hands framing your face again as he kissed you once more, slower this time, savoring. His fingers trailed down your neck, over your collarbone, slipping under to brush the bare skin of your stomach.
You shivered, arching into his touch, and he broke the kiss to murmur against your ear, “Tell me if you want to stop.”
“I don't.” You replied, voice steady despite the tremor in your limbs. Emboldened, you tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head to reveal his chest, tanned and marked with faint scars. Your hands explored him, tracing the ridges of muscle, the warmth of his skin under your palms.
He helped you out of your clothes next, patient and reverent, top discarded, then pants sliding down your legs until you stood in just your underwear. His eyes roamed over you, appreciative and hungry.
“You're so gorgeous, love.” He said simply, stepping closer to kiss your shoulder, then your chest, lips lingering on the swell of your breasts through the fabric.
His mouth found yours in a brief, heated makeout—lips pressing firm, tongue slipping in to taste you, exploring with a gentleness that made your knees weak. It was electric, his stubble grazing your chin as you reached for his jeans, fumbling with the button, and he assisted, kicking them off along with his boxers.
God he looked so perfect thick and hard, curving slightly upward, the head already glistening with precum. You stared, curiosity and desire mixing in your core, an ache building between your thighs.
“Staring are we?” He chuckled, setting you down gently on the edge of the bed, kneeling between your legs.
“N-No.” You muttered, acting as if you weren't on the verge of having a heart attack with how hard your heart was beating.
“Calm down, love.” Jaeyun's hands were everywhere and nowhere at once, soft and reverent, “We’ll go slow yeah?” He cupped your face first, kissing you deeper now, slower, his tongue coaxing yours in lazy circles.
“You're beautiful, angel.” He breathed, trailing kisses down your neck, nipping lightly at your collarbone. He was so careful, like you were something precious, “Tell me if it's too much.” But you shook your head, pulling him closer.
His mouth descended, lips closing around one nipple, sucking gently while his tongue flicked over it. You moaned, low and surprised, your back bowing as heat pooled between your legs. Jaeyun laid you back on the bed, hovering over you, his weight on his elbows to keep from crushing you. You felt so vulnerable under his gaze—your books had never said anything about this odd feeling in your chest.
“Need to stretch you out first, yeah?” He settled between your thighs. His hand cupped your pussy, fingers parting your folds gently, and you tensed, unused to the touch. “Relax for me angel. I've got you.” One finger pressed against your entrance, slick with your growing arousal, and he pushed in slowly, “Ever touched yourself like this, love?”
Your fingers were nothing compared to his, you couldn't even answer him, mind already hazy. The stretch was unfamiliar, a burn that quickly melted into pleasure as he curled his finger inside you, stroking that sensitive spot.
“Yeun…oh! Oh godddd that’s…amazing.” The sensation built, waves of heat radiating from your core, your walls clenching around his digit. You writhed beneath him, moans spilling freely, amazed at how your body responded—wet sounds filling the room as he pumped his finger deeper, preparing you.
“Like that?” He added a second finger, scissoring them to open you up, his thumb circling your clit in firm, steady motions, “My pretty angel likes my fingers?”
“Yes—oh, Jaeyun!” The words dissolved into a whimper as he curled his fingers, hitting a spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
“You're so tight, love.” He groaned, watching your face, his free hand stroking your thigh. “Gonna feel incredible around me.” The praise sent shivers through you, and in the heat of the moment you reached down, palming his cock.
“Tch tch.” Jaeyun clicked his tongue, “So impatient.” He worked you steadily, thumb on your clit, building the rhythm until your breaths came in pants, body tensing, “Cum for me first, love.”
When you shattered, it was with a guttural cry, pussy pulsing around his fingers, cum coating his hand in a rush of warmth. He didn't stop, drawing out the waves until you were trembling.
“Yeun Yeun—oh ohhhhh” You whined, already feeling your bones give out. Jaeyun withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean, tasting you with a groan.
“So fucking sweet, angel.” He settled between your thighs, hands gripping your hips as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, then higher, breath hot against your core, “Taste like heaven for me.”
“Ahh—Yeun…” You moaned loud, propping yourself up by the backs of your elbows to see just what he was doing. You caught sight of his drunken eyes between your legs, “Yeun what—oh fuck!”
His tongue pressed, pressed, pressed flat against your pussy, lapping up the remnants of your earlier release. He sucked your clit gently, then delved deeper, tongue fucking into you, exploring every inch. Your hands fisted the sheets, thighs quivering as he ate you out with focused intensity, nose brushing your clit, lips sealed around your folds.
“Jaeyun!” You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue circled your clit, flicking it with teasing licks that sent jolts of ecstasy up your spine, “Yeun oh god—right there right there!”
Your pleas made him moan desperately into your folds, his dick straining, aching to plunge into your tight heat. He added a finger alongside his tongue, pumping it in and out while he sucked harder on your clit, pushing you closer to the edge, but he held back just enough, savoring your begging as your arousal dripped down his chin.
“Oh god, Yeun, please.” Your voice broke, your body was on fire, every nerve lit up, thighs trembling around his head. The pressure built fast in your belly, coiling tight, but it's not enough—you needed more. “Fuck me, please!” You begged, your words tumbling out needy, hips grinding against his face. “Want you in me Yeun please please—ahh fuck fuck!”
Jaeyun lifted his head from between your thighs, his lips shiny with your juices, eyes dark and feral as he stared down at you. Your pussy throbbed from his tongue's relentless assault, clit swollen and sensitive, the ache deep inside you screaming for fulfillment. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a smug grin curling his lips as he heard your ragged breaths and saw the desperation etched on your face.
“Look at you, love.” He murmured, voice husky and low, “Begging like that……driving me insane angel.” He rose, kissing you deeply so you tasted yourself on his tongue, “Pretty girl wants my cock so bad hmm? What have you been reading while I was gone, sweetheart?”
You didn’t have it in you anymore to answer, instead staring at his cock, long and girthy, veins pulsing along the shaft, the head already leaking pre-cum. He was built like everything else about him, overwhelming and powerful. Jaeyun positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the tip through your slick folds.
“Ah—Yeun…feels so good.” You whispered, a mix of awe and nerves in your voice. Jaeyun smiled softly, leaning down to kiss you softly.
“We’ll go slow angel.” He promised, reaching down to place both your hands on his shoulders, “Ready?”
At your shy nod, Jaeyun smiled and then pushed in, the head breaching you with an agonizingly slow thrust. It split you open, the stretch intense, bordering on pain as your pussy yielded to his thickness.
God this man was so fucking big.
“Yeun!” You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, but he paused, kissing your forehead and your cheeks.
“Breathe, love. You're doing so well.” Inch by inch, he sank deeper, filling you completely, your walls fluttering around his cock as it bottomed out, stilling to let you adjust, forehead pressed to yours, breaths shared in the intimate space.
The fullness was indescribable—every ridge, every pulse of him inside you. “Yeun—feel so full fuckkk.” You had no idea what you were saying at that point, every single thought just Jaeyun Jaeyun Jaeyun. He groaned, burying his face in your neck, holding still until you adjusted, your hips starting to rock tentatively.
“So tight, angel.” He whispered, “You doing alright?”
“Mmhh…” You sighed, “Feel so good Yeun.” You slowly wrapped your legs around him, nails digging into his back, “Move….please.”
When you urged him on, he began to move—slow thrusts, pulling out almost to the tip before sliding back in, his cock dragging along your inner walls. The friction built pleasure steadily, your amazement turning to bliss as he fucked you softly, hips rolling in a gentle rhythm.
“Feel—hah fuck you’re so tight—-feel good love?” He asked, voice strained, and you nodded, tangling your fingers into his hair. His hands roamed your body, one pinching your nipple, the other gripping your hip, but always tender, like he was savoring every moment.
The pace stayed languid, his thick cock stretching you with each pass, hitting spots that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Sweat beaded on his muscular chest, dripping onto your skin as he leaned down to kiss you, tongues tangling in time with his thrusts. Your climax built gradually, coiling tight in your belly, and you clenched around him, crying out his name.
“Close—Yeun I’m, fuck..…close” You felt him speed up, just a fraction, grinding against your clit.
You shattered first, pussy spasming around his cock, waves of ecstasy crashing over you soaked him with your release. Jaeyun kissed you through it, murmuring your name like a prayer, pace quickening as his own release neared.
He followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, his cock pulsing as he filled you with hot cum, groaning your name like a prayer.
“Fuck, love……so perfect.” He panted, still buried inside, holding you close as you both caught your breath, the aftershocks trembling through your joined bodies, “You ok sweetheart?”
“More.” You mumbled, eyes half shut but god you wanted to feel that again and again and again, “Want moreee Yeun, please?”
“More?” A breathy chuckle came from him, “You sure, love? Don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Just fuck me already, Jaeyun."
He didn't hesitate this time. Flipping you onto your stomach, he hiked your hips up, slamming back into your cum-slick pussy with a forceful thrust. The gentleness evaporated, replaced by raw power—his muscular body driving into you hard, cock pounding deep, splitting you wider with each brutal stroke.
“Like that, love?” The bed creaked ominously, headboard thumping against the wall as he fucked you relentlessly, one hand fisting your hair, the other slapping your ass lightly to spur you on.“God, sweet little pussy looovess me so much.”
You moaned into the pillow, the intensity overwhelming, pleasure bordering on too much as his thick shaft battered your cervix. “Yes, Jaeyun...harder! Fuck!”
He obliged, hips snapping faster, balls slapping against your clit, the room filling with the wet sounds of him railing you. Sweat slicked your skin, his muscles flexing with every plunge, and you pushed back, meeting his thrusts, chasing another high. The bed groaned louder, springs protesting, and you felt it—the frame shifting under the force.
With a final, savage push, he drove in deep, and the bed gave way, one leg buckling with a sharp crack. You both tumbled slightly, laughing through gasps as he kept fucking you on the tilted mattress, undeterred.
Jaeyun flipped you to face him, his cock hammered into you, stretching your pussy to its limits, and you came again, screaming his name as your walls milked him. He whined high, pumping another load of cum into you, hot and thick, collapsing as the bed fully surrendered beneath you.
“Oh god.” Jaeyun panted, slowly but surely pulling out of you after a few minutes of hard breathing, “Oh my god I am so sorry.”
“Yeun just—” You said, eyes fluttering close as exhaustion washed over you, “—just shhhh.”
“I broke your be—”
“Shhh.”
In the aftermath, tangled in sheets on the broken bed, he pulled you close, kissing your temple as you surrendered to the warmth of his bed, not giving a fuck about anything other than the sleep that was threatening to overtake you.
“Good night, my angel.”
_____________________
A few days had passed since that unforgettable night in your bedroom, you two had fallen back into the easy rhythm of best friends, but now laced with stolen glances and lingering touches that sent sparks through your skin.
The desert sun beat down relentlessly as you helped him out at the ranch that afternoon, hauling feed buckets under the vast, cloudless sky. You had offered to help mostly to prove—to him and to yourself—that you could exist in his world as easily as he had begun to exist in yours. So you had tied your hair back with a ribbon that was already slipping loose, rolled your sleeves to your elbows, and followed him out.
The land stretched wide and gold around you, wind combing through tall grass in lazy waves. It was quieter than the town, open and airy.
You tried not to stare at the way his shoulders shifted beneath his shirt when he lifted a saddle or how easily he handled the tools laid out near the fence or how his shirt clung to his torso.
He explained something about new horseshoes—how the ground out here had been rougher than expected, how he wanted to make sure the fit was right before taking the horse too far and you were nodding away like you hadn't been watching his hands for the past 30 minutes.
You'd chosen your outfit carefully that morning: a particularly short skirt that barely skimmed your thighs, the fabric light and teasing against your legs. Every time you bent to pick something up, you caught Jaeyun's eyes flicking downward, his jaw tightening. You could tell from the way his gaze darkened, how he adjusted his stance when you brushed past him, why did no one tell you the art of seduction felt so amazing?
And god, you were turned on too, mesmerized by his veiny hands gripping the tools, the cords of muscle standing out as he worked, and those defined abs peeking from under his hem when he stretched. The memory of them under your fingers from that night made your core ache.
The horse—a tall chestnut mare with a white blaze down her nose—snorted softly as he ran a steady palm along her flank. She stamped once, impatient but not wild.
“Well she’s certainly got spirit.” You said lightly, trying to sound braver than you felt.
“Reminds me of someone else I know.” He glanced at you, amused. “You’ll be fine.”
He tightened the girth, checked the stirrups, then swung himself up into the saddle in one smooth, practiced motion. The movement was effortless, and for a brief second you simply stared. From atop the horse, he looked unfairly at home, sun catching in his hair, one hand resting loose on the reins. He leaned down slightly, extending his hand toward you.
“Come on.” Your stomach flipped at the sound of his voice. You stepped closer, boots crunching against dirt. His hand wrapped around yours—warm and calloused and before you could overthink it, he tugged.
You let out a small startled breath as your feet left the ground. The world tilted and then you were lifted, guided up and over, settling onto the saddle in front of him.
Your back pressed against his chest. It was an accident at first, a byproduct of space.
But then he adjusted you gently by the hips, positioning you more securely, and the contact became deliberate.
Close.
Far too close.
You were acutely aware of everything, the heat of him at your back, the solid line of his torso. The steady rise and fall of his breathing that brushed against your shoulder blades. Your hands hovered awkwardly before settling at the front of the saddle.
“Comfortable?” He asked. You nodded, though your voice felt lodged somewhere in your throat. The horse shifted beneath you, muscles coiling with contained energy. Jaeyun’s boots nudged lightly at her sides, and she began to move—slow at first, a careful walk around the paddock.
The rhythm was unfamiliar. Each step rolled through your hips, gentle but undeniable. You felt it everywhere—through your thighs, your spine, the space where his legs bracketed yours. His arm came around you loosely to guide the reins, forearm brushing against your waist, a highly practical thing.
It did absolutely nothing to steady your pulse.
The wind lifted strands of your hair, carrying the scent of leather and grass and him. You could feel the warmth of his chest through your shirt.
“You’re stiff, angel.” He murmured, voice close to your ear. You exhaled, trying to relax your shoulders.
“I’m not used to this.” You said, “More of a baker myself.”
“Of course you are.” Jaeyun chuckled, “I’ve got you.”
Highly simple words and they were making you go insane.
The mare picked up into a slow trot. The change jolted you slightly, and instinctively your fingers tightened on the saddle. The motion was sharper now, bouncing you subtly back against him. He adjusted without hesitation, his hand sliding more securely around your middle. Your breath hitched.
Every small shift brought you into closer contact, his chest against your back, his thigh firm along yours, the brush of his chin briefly grazed your hair when the horse’s stride lifted you both.
You tried to focus on the horizon, on the open sky, on anything but the heat blooming under your skin.
“She’s moving well.” He said, more to himself than to you. You nodded again, though your thoughts were far from horseshoes. The mare startled then, a sudden surge forward when something rustled near the fence.
Why were the gods never on your side?
The trot snapped into something faster, tearing your breath from your lungs as the ground seemed to blur slightly. Your body pitched forward, unprepared for the speed.
Jaeyun’s arm shot firmly across your torso, locking around your waist. In one fluid motion, he pulled you back flush against him, your back colliding with his chest. His other hand tightened on the reins, guiding the horse back under control, but his arm never loosened.
You felt the strength in it, the tension, the protective instinct that had flared without a second thought and you were absolutely dead.
What an extraordinary person you were, you thought, this man had taken your virginity and this was what you were bubbling over.
The mare slowed after a few heartbeats, settling once more into a manageable pace. But he didn’t release you. His forearm remained braced across your middle, palm splayed firmly at your side. You could feel the pressure of each finger through the fabric of your shirt.
Your entire body was pressed to his now—hips aligned, shoulders pinned gently back against him. His chest rose and fell against your spine, slower now, but still charged with the remnants of adrenaline.
“You’re okay.” He said, low and close. You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure what ‘okay’ meant in this context, “I think that’s enough for one day.” The arm around you softened slightly but stayed in place, his thumb brushing once against your side.
You became painfully aware of how perfectly you fit there. The world seemed smaller now, narrowed to the space between his heartbeat and yours.
You were fucked.
As the sun began its slow descent, painting the dunes in oranges and golds, you two slowly walked back to his truck, having taken him up on his offer to drop you home. Your legs were a little wobbly from the unfamiliar rhythm of the saddle, and he noticed immediately, offering his arm without comment when the ground dipped unevenly.
Neither of you spoke much, not because there wasn’t anything to say, but because the quiet had become strangely comfortable. You climbed into the passenger seat with a small sigh, leaning your head back against the cushion while Jaeyun slid into the driver’s seat and sat there for a moment, forearms resting on the steering wheel, catching his breath.
You glanced over at him. A strand of hair had fallen across his forehead and there was a flush high on his cheekbones. How very handsome.
“You know,” You said after a moment with a lazy giggle, “I always carry chocolate sauce in my purse.”
Jaeyun blinked. He turned his head slowly toward you, brow creasing in confusion.
“You what?”
You reached into your bag with theatrical seriousness, rummaging around until your fingers wrapped around the small bottle you kept tucked away, holding it up triumphantly. “For emergencies.”
“Refreses me.” You nodded sagely, “Kinda like lemonade.”
“I don't think that’s how it works, sweetheart.” He laughed, the sound of a gentle midnight drizzle.
“It absolutely is.” You leaned back in the seat again, dangling the bottle between your fingers. “You never know when you’ll need a little sweetness.”
Jaeyun huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. But then—unfortunately for him—his brain betrayed him.
An image of you arrived immediately, chocolate on your lips, your mouth glistening sweet while you laughed the way you were laughing now.
And suddenly his throat felt dry and his dick felt a bit harder.
“You’d look good like that.”
Great fucking job, Jaeyun.
Silence fell as his words slipped out before he realized they had. Your hand stilled in mid air as he froze. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then your head turned slowly toward him.
“…What?” You asked softly. His eyes widened slightly, like he’d just realized he’d stepped directly into a trap of his own making.
“I’m so sorry—that’s not what I meant, I just—” But the explanation died halfway out with a shuddering breath as he saw the way your eyes traced over him.
There was something in your gaze now that hadn’t been there a second ago, something curious, and maybe hazardous.
“Just what, Yeun?” You said, the sound light, moving your thigh closer to his so your skirt hem brushed his leg, “You think I’d look good with chocolate all over my lips?” His breath hitched, pupils dilating as he glanced at your short skirt again, then up to your breasts straining against your top in the heat, “You think you want to kiss it off my lips, hm?”
The dare hung in the air, your eyes locking on his, his grip on the steering wheel hardened. He swallowed hard, clearly imagining it—your mouth on his skin, the absolute sweetness of you—his sweet angel.
“Love, just—” He murmured, but your hand grazed his thigh and the tension snapped like a taut rope.
“Yeun…” You whispered, your hand on his thigh, feeling the muscle tense under your palm. “Can you lie back for me, please?”
It was safe to say you had zero idea what you were doing—hell the art of seduction just meant getting yourself lost in the haze of your own horniness. But the way Jaeyun’s breaths came a little too quick and the way his dick strained against his pants was driving you bat shit insane.
His eyes burned with desire, fixed on your breasts as they rose and fell with your breaths. He was obsessed with them—the way they bounced slightly when you moved, the soft curves pressing against the fabric.
You climbed onto him without any hesitation, skirt riding up your thighs as you settled onto his lap, giving one experimental shift of your hips. Jaeyun groaned, shifting to recline the driver's seat fully, his back arching against the leather as his shirt pulled up, exposing his chiseled abs, each ridge etched deep.
You ran a tongue over your lips as you clicked open the cap of the bottle, drizzling it slooowlyy over his stomach, watching it pool in the valleys between his abs, trailing down toward his navel. The scent filled the air—rich cocoa mixing with his musky sweat. Jaeyun hissed at the cool touch, his cock twitching visibly in his jeans.
“Angel... that's cold.” But his voice was thick with arousal, his veiny hands gripping the seat edges to steady himself.
Straddling his hips, your short skirt hiked up completely, exposing your panties to the air between you. You leaned down, breasts brushing his chest, and he groaned again, eyes glued to them, one hand reaching up to cup one through your top, thumb rubbing your hardening nipple.
“So fucking perfect.” He muttered, squeezing gently, turned on beyond words by their fullness, the way they filled his palm, “How did I get so lucky hm?” You moaned softly, the sound muffled as you lowered your mouth to his skin.
“Lucky?” Your breath ghosted over his stomach, “Still haven't asked me to be yours, properly Jaeyun.”
Your tongue flicked out, lapping at the chocolate sauce on his lower abs first, the flavor bursting sweet and bitter against the salt of his body. You licked in long strokes, tracing each defined muscle, sucking lightly to clean the sauce from the ridges.
Jaeyun's abs contracted under your mouth, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he fought to stay quiet—the truck's windows were up, but the open desert could carry sounds.
“Shit, love….feels so good.” He whispered hoarsely, his free hand tangling in your hair, guiding you without pushing.
You worked upward, swirling your tongue around, then flattening your tongue broad against his upper abs, licking firmly to savor every inch. The chocolate smeared slightly on your lips, but you didn't care—his skin was hot, tasting of him beneath the sweetness, and you hummed in pleasure, the vibration making him buck his hips.
Your hand slid down, palming his clothed cock through his jeans. It was rock-hard, thick and straining, the outline clear as you rubbed along the length, squeezing the head. He throbbed under your touch, pre-cum likely soaking his boxers, and he bit his lip to stifle a moan, his veiny hand clamping over his mouth for a second.
“Quiet, Yeun.” You teased in a breathy whisper, your own arousal building as you ground your soaked panties against his thigh.
But you were struggling too—the wet sounds of your licking, the slick slide of your palm over his bulge, it all threatened to echo. You licked higher, cleaning the last traces from just below his chest, your breasts pressing fully against him now, nipples draaagging over his skin. He growled low, the hand on your breast kneading harder, pinching your nipple through the fabric until you gasped, your mouth pausing on his abs.
“Can’t get enough of you, angel.” Jaeyun rasped as he watched you, his cock jerking under your stroking hand. You resumed licking, slower now, savoring the way his muscles jumped, the chocolate fully gone but your tongue reluctant to stop. Finally, you sat up, lips shiny, and met his gaze—dark, hungry, tension crackling between you like the desert heat. But instead of pulling away, you shifted forward, positioning your core directly over his abs.
The skirt bunched at your waist as you rocked against him, your panties drenched, clit throbbing as it rubbed over the hard ridges of his stomach.
“Need you so bad Yeun.” You whimpered, hands on his chest for leverage, palming his cock again with one hand, the friction making him hiss. He nodded, abs flexing deliberately under you to increase the pressure, his veiny hands gripping your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh just below your skirt.
“Fucking hell you’re so wet.” His voice came strained, “Use me aaall you want, my angel.”
You started slow, hips rolling in a steady grind, your pussy lips spreading over his skin through the thin barrier of your panties, the chocolate residue making everything slicker. Each forward sliiide dragged your clit along a peak of his abs, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.
You bit your lip hard to stay quiet, but soft whimpers escaped, your breasts bouncing with the motion, drawing his eyes like magnets. He was mesmerized, one hand sliding up to push your top higher, exposing them fully—your nipples peaked, begging for attention.
“God, angel, look at you….…” His cock pulsed under your palm as you stroked him faster, unzipping his jeans just enough to rub over the fabric of his boxers, feeling the heat and girth.
The pace quickened, your hips bucking now, riding his abs with desperate thrusts. The ridges provided perfect friction, hitting your clit repeatedly, your arousal soaking through your panties onto his skin, mixing with the faint chocolate stickiness.
“Yeun….feels so good.” You gasped, voice a hushed plea, struggling not to cry out as the pressure built.
“Pussy’s drippin all over me.” He thrust up subtly, abs clenching to grind back against you, his own breaths labored, grunts muffled behind clenched teeth, “My angel’s going to make herself cum?”
Sweat beaded on his torso, making the slide even smoother, and you leaned forward, breasts dangling over his face. He captured a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, tongue lashing the sensitive bud while his hand palmed the other, rolling it between his fingers.
The dual sensations overwhelmed you—his mouth on your breast, the relentless rub of his abs against your core. You palmed his cock roughly now, fingers tracing the veins along the shaft through the cloth, squeezing the base as it leaked more pre-cum.
The truck filled with the hushed symphony of your bodies—wet grinds, stifled moans, the creak of the seat under his shifting weight. Your thighs trembled, skirt flipped up completely, exposing everything as you rode him faster, clit swollen and pulsing.
“Yeun—hah—gonna cum.” You whispered urgently, nails digging into his shoulders. He released your nipple with a pop, eyes locked on your bouncing breasts, then down to where your pussy dragged over his abs.
“Go on love. Soak me like a good girl.” His words pushed you over, and you shattered, pussy clenching on nothing as waves of pleasure crashed through you, juices flooding out to drench his stomach, your body shaking with the intensity.
You collapsed forward, panting against his neck, still palming his cock in lazy strokes as aftershocks rippled. He held you close, one veiny hand stroking your back, the other cupping your ass under the skirt.
“Fucking hell.” He breathed, voice rough with his own unspent need, but content in the intimacy, “Where the actual hell did you learn that sweetheart?”
“Told you I read a lot.” You kissed his jaw, “Wanna head home?”
“We’ll be doing way more than that, love.”
__________________
Sim Jaeyun was a fucking flirt.
Of course, you had expected it fully when he came into town looking like that. But ever since your three nights of constant lovemaking, you were sure he was only yours. But of course this bastard chatted up the women in town, his easy charm drawing them in like moths.
So what else was a girl supposed to do other than retaliate?
Your bakery buzzed with the usual morning rush, the scent of fresh pastries mingling with the dry desert air filtering through the open door.
You laughed a little too brightly at the compliments from a couple of regular customers who lingered at the counter, their eyes appreciative as they ordered their usuals. It was harmless flirting but you revelled in knowing it stung him; you saw the flicker in his expression, his veiny hands gripping his coffee tightly as he watched from the doorway.
You couldn't wait to get back home.
“Nice show you were putting on, angel.” Jaeyun scooped you up with effortless strength, carrying you straight to the bedroom, the repaired bed waiting like an invitation.
“You started it, Yeun.” His dark eyes bored into yours, as you bit your lip, heat flooding your cheeks—and lower—as you met his gaze, “Can’t blame a girl for trying can you?”
“Oh trust me I can.” He laid you back, his abs brushing your stomach through his shirt, “Let me show you how, yeah?” You felt the familiar ache of desire twist within you, his breath hot as he rummaged in his pocket. He pulled out a small black box, flipping it open to reveal a….peculiar shaped silicone ring. “You wanna know what this is, angel?” You nodded your head a meek no and he chuckled.
“Friend of mine back in the city gave it to me.” He slowly pulled away from you, opening the drawer next to the bed and pulling out your silk scarf, why ever did you tell him where you kept those things, “And we’re going to play a game with it.”
His thick cock strained against his pants as he blindfolded you with the soft scarf. The world went dark, heightening every sensation—the rustle of clothes, the dip of the mattress as he stripped you both bare.
You settled back, heart pounding, the cool sheets contrasting the air on your naked skin. Jaeyun's hands traced your body reverently, starting at your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they pebbled hard.
“So beautiful, angel.” His voice was thick with arousal, “I’m going to fuck you with my fingers and my cock, and you’re going to guess which is which.” His tone was playful yet commanding, making your pussy clench in anticipation, “Ready to play, love?”
You meekly nodded again as he settled between your legs, the bed creaking under his weight. He slipped the ring onto his index finger, the vibrator hummed to life at a low setting, a deep buzz that vibrated through the air.
You gasped as he pressed the tip of his finger against your entrance, circling your clit teasingly before pushing inside. The vibrations pulsed against your inner walls, intense and unrelenting, stretching you just enough with the girth of his digit. He curled it, rubbing that spot deep within, the buzz amplifying every nerve.
“Which one is it, love?” He asked, voice husky, his free hand palming your breast, pinching the nipple. You arched, blindfold somehow heightening the pleasure.
“F-Finger?” You whimpered, hips bucking instinctively. He chuckled, low and satisfied, thrusting his finger deeper, the ring's vibrations making your toes curl.
“Good girl.” He withdrew slowly, leaving you aching, then positioned himself. His cock, veiny and oh so much larger, nudged your folds, the head parting you before he sank in inch by inch.
The stretch was exquisite, his size splitting you open just like that first time, filling you completely. No vibrations yet, but the raw girth dragged along your walls, hitting every sensitive point, “Which one, sweetheart?”
“Cock—cock oh god Yeun!” You moaned loud, your hands fisting the sheets, “Yeun you’re so big!” The words tumbled out, stroking his ego; you heard his sharp intake of breath, felt him throb inside you.
“Fuck, angel, yeah…..keep—ah—keep talking like that.” He rocked his hips slowly, a gentle fuck that built the tension, his abs flexing against your thighs, “Dirty little angel.”
He pulled out almost fully, then switched—plunging his finger into your soaked pussy. The buzz hit harder this time, higher setting, vibrating wildly as he pumped two fingers now, scissoring them to open you wider.
“Guess.” He demanded, leaning down to suck a mark on your neck, his cock sliding along your thigh. The dual penetration of his fingers plus the relentless thrum had you writhing, clit pulsing untouched.
“Finger—oh hahhhh….” You gasped. He hummed in approval, twisting his wrist to grind the vibrations against your g-spot, your juices coating his hand.
And then back to his cock—he thrust in deep, bottoming out with a groan, your mind leaving you as you felt every ridge, every vein.
“Feel so full Yeun….filling me up so gooood…” You praised him breathlessly, blindfolded eyes imagining his smug grin, the way his muscles tensed.
He fucked you with measured strokes, slow and deep, pulling whimpers from your throat. The alternation continued, a torturous rhythm: finger with the ring buzzing furiously, curling and thrusting until your walls fluttered; then his cock, bare and powerful, pounding in with raw force that made the bedframe groan.
Each switch blurred the lines, your guesses growing desperate—“Cock! No, finger... oh fuck, Jaeyun!”—as pleasure layered upon itself. He amped the vibrator higher during finger turns, the buzz echoing through your core, while his cock thrusts grew harder, chasing your reactions.
The build was relentless, coiling tighter with every alternation. His finger—buzzing deep deep deep, stretching your pussy with twists that made stars burst behind the blindfold. His cock—plunging thick and unyielding, the head battering your cervix in the best way. '
“Yeun, ‘m gonna cum!” You cried, legs wrapping around him. He growled, switching faster now, the game dissolving into pure sensation.
Finally, on a deep cock thrust, combined with his thumb on your clit, you shattered—squirting hard, fluid gushing around his shaft, soaking the sheets as your pussy clenched in waves of ecstasy.
“Fuck, angel, that's it…..squirt for me, pretty baby.” He praised, riding out your orgasm with shallow pumps before pulling out, breathing ragged.
You collapsed, trembling, the blindfold damp with sweat. He removed it gently, his dark eyes soft with affection amid the lust, kissing your forehead. “So beautiful when you let go, angel.”
You lay there, chest heaving, body still humming from the intensity of your release, the sheets beneath you damp and twisted. Jaeyun's warmth pressed against your side, his arm draped possessively over your waist as he nuzzled into your neck, planting soft kisses along your sweat-slicked skin.
The blindfold was now discarded on the nightstand, and the room felt charged with the afterglow, the air thick with the scent of your combined arousal.
“Yeun?”
“Hmm?”
You turned your head to meet his gaze. His eyes, dark and sated, locked onto yours, a small smile playing on his lips, “Can I ask you something?” He nodded and you took in a breath, “Can you teach me how to suck you off?”
And that was the day Sim Jaeyun lived his last.
You looked so fucking innocent like this, widened eyes asking him so sweetly such a devilish thing. And it was destroying all his remaining brain cells.
He paused, surprise flickering across his features before it melted into a heated grin, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. “You sure, angel?”
“I want to.” You insisted, propping yourself up on one elbow, your free hand trailing down his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, “Wanna make you feel good.”
Jaeyun’s breath hitched at your touch, his cock already stirring to life against your thigh, half-hard from the remnants of your shared pleasure. He nodded, shifting to sit up against the headboard, legs spread wide to make room for you.
“Come here.” He said, voice low and encouraging, patting the space between his thighs. “We’ll go slow.”
You crawled forward on your knees, the mattress dipping under your weight, positioning yourself between his legs. His cock lay heavy against his stomach, thickening as you watched, the shaft veined and flushed, the head still glistening from your earlier release.
A bead of precum formed at the tip, and you felt a fresh wave of curiosity and desire pool in your core. Your hands rested on his thighs, fingers digging into the firm muscle as you leaned in closer, inhaling his musky scent—earthy and intoxicating.
“First, use your hands.” Jaeyun instructed gently, reaching down to guide one of yours to his base. His fingers wrapped around yours, showing you how to grip him loosely, stroking upward in a slow, firm pull that made him groan softly, “Feel how hard I am baby? That's exactly what you do to me, my sweet angel.”
You mimicked the motion on your own, hand sliding along his length, marveling at the velvety smoothness over the rigid heat beneath. Precum smeared under your thumb as you circled the head, and Jaeyun's hips jerked slightly, his hand threading into your hair.
“Good girl.” He praised, voice roughening, “Now your mouth—just lick first.” He instructed softly, his cock bobbing heavy before your face, pre-cum beading at the tip.
You leaned in, tongue darting out to lap at the slit, salty and musky, making him hiss. Your lips parted to suckle the crown, tongue flicking the sensitive underside. He threaded fingers through your hair, not pushing yet, just encouraging.
“Relax your jaw and breathe through your nose. Yeah, just like that.” Inch by inch, you slid down, his thickness stretching your mouth, the veins pulsing against your tongue. His cock fully hardened now, standing proud and thick, curving toward your mouth like an invitation.
“Open up, angel.” He murmured, guiding you with a gentle nudge. Your lips stretched around the bulbous head, the fullness pressing against your tongue as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked.
Jaeyun moaned, low and deep, his free hand gripping the sheets. “That's it, angel—god, your mouth’s fucking heaven. Bob your head a little for me, thaat’s it.”
You eased down further, inch by inch, your jaw relaxing as you accommodated his girth. Saliva pooled in your mouth, dribbling down his shaft as you sucked and licked, the wet sounds filling the room alongside his ragged breaths.
Your hand twisted at the base, following the rhythm of your mouth, while your other hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently as he'd shown you earlier in the heat of the moment.
“Look at me.” Jaeyun rasped, and you glanced up through your lashes, seeing the raw hunger in his eyes, the way his chest rose and fell. It spurred you on, making you take him deeper, until the head bumped the back of your throat. You gagged but didn't pull back, breathing through your nose, tears pricking your eyes from the effort.
“Easy, sweetheart.” He soothed, thumb stroking your cheek. “God, you’re a—ah ahh—a fuckin natural.”
The praise sent a thrill through you, your pussy clenching emptily as you worked him, alternating between deep sucks and teasing licks along the frenulum. His hips began to rock subtly, fucking your mouth in shallow thrusts, but he kept control, letting you set the pace. Drool escaped the corners of your lips, slicking your chin and his balls, the messiness only heightening the intimacy.
“Can I... faster?” You pulled off briefly to ask, voice muffled and breathless, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock.
“Fuck yes.” He said, guiding your head back down, “Gonna make me cum down your throat, love.”
You redoubled your efforts, bobbing quicker, hand flying along the slick length you couldn't reach. He pushed your head down, guiding you faster, cock sliding deeper into your throat with each thrust. You relaxed, letting him use your mouth, the wet glucks filling the room as he fucked your face. Tears pricked your eyes from the depth, but the thrill of pleasuring him—seeing his abs clench, hearing his moans—kept you going.
You felt him swell, the telltale pulse against your tongue, and hollowed deeper, urging him on with a hum that vibrated through him.
“Take it, baby—all of me.” He grunted, pace quickening. His veiny hand held you steady, pushing until your nose brushed his pelvis, then pulling back just enough for air before plunging again. You sucked harder, tongue working the underside, hand cupping his sack to massage.
You chose to stay, sealing your lips tight as he thrust once, twice, then erupted. Hot spurts of cum flooded your mouth, thick and bitter-salty, coating your tongue as you swallowed convulsively, some dribbling past your lips despite your efforts.
Jaeyun's hand held you there gently through it, body shuddering, a guttural moan tearing from his throat, as he forced you to gulp it all down. Not that you were complaining though.
When he softened, you released him with a pop, licking your lips clean, a shy but satisfied smile breaking across your face as you looked up. Cum glistened on your chin, and he reached down to wipe it away with his thumb, pushing it back into your mouth for you to suck.
“Did I do good, Yeun?” You murmured. He kissed you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue.
“Perfect.” He breathed, pulling you up into his lap for another kiss. You smiled against his lips as he pulled you into his warm arms, feeling sleep take over you.
Love is lust, as it always had been.
But maybe your Yeun could make both of them feel as sweet as cream.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ sim jake “You don’t have to like her. Just take her out.”
━━ PLEASE JUST TAKE MY SISTER OUT.
(🦮) After seventeen years of surviving his older sister’s constant supervision, Riki Nishimura decides you need a hobby. Preferably one that is tall, charming, and costs him a hundred bucks a week.
paid! jake x fem! reader
˗ˏˋ brother’s friend, paid dating, he falls first, slow burn, romcom, highschool au BUT THEY'RE NOT MINORS they're 19 and 20, mean reader, patient jake, little angst, fluff, smut, porn with plot, crack, profanity, unprotected sex, oral sex, f receiving, MDNI !
inspired by 10 things i hate about you !
Riki was seventeen years old, which by legal law, he understood there were certain things he wasn't supposed to do. He wasn't allowed to drink, gamble, or just make any life-altering decisions with the judgment of someone whose brain was still developing. It was, no doubt, very reasonable and he never tried to argue.
What he didn't understand though, were your laws.
No smoking, drinking, piercing, tattoos.
No driving without adult supervision.
No going out past 10PM.
No girlfriends until eighteen.
No accepting rides from people he didn't know.
No staying out without answering his phone.
The worst part was that none of these rules came from his father — a man who, at first glance, seemed exactly like the kind of parent who'd enforce discipline, high standards, high expectations, strict curfews, and strict grades. Except he wasn’t.
These rules came from you, his older sister. Scratch that — his terrifying older sister that’s also been known as a heinous bitch. You somehow managed to be nineteen years old and forty-seven years old at the same time, right after hearing Beyonce talk about girls running the world, and ultimately decided to make it your entire personality.
You remembered appointments, you knew where every important document in the house was, you made sure groceries appeared in the fridge, and you knew the hardware store. That was a good thing, especially since your Mother is a long story and has been gone from the picture since you turned eleven. It should be a good thing, because while your father forgot that he was meant to be a parent, you managed to step into the role for the then nine-year-old boy.
The bad part was that you also happened to be ruining his life.
"Don’t drink." you state.
Riki looks up from his phone, brows furrowed and eyes wide with confusion. "Why?"
You roll your eyes. "Because you're seventeen."
He stands up, his hands raised in even more confusion. "So are half the people going!"
You didn't even look up from your laptop, just continued on with your academic duties as the poster-child and perfect student you exactly are. Everything that Riki isn’t (he doesn’t give a fuck, he’s actually glad he isn’t as tense as you are). "Be home by ten."
He groans. "It's a party."
You narrow your gaze at him. "Then leave at nine-thirty."
He had barely been there twenty minutes before somebody handed him a drink and accepted it immediately. He didn't even know what was in it, but it was blue and it was something that would give you an MI, which practically made every sense for him to take it.
A hand suddenly smacked the back of his head. "Ow — what the fuck?!"
Riki turned around to find Jay looking unimpressed and clearly annoyed, arms crossed like he was already embodying your spirit for you. “Your sister would freak the fuck out if she saw you.” he says.
Riki scoffs, shaking his head before taking more sips. “Good thing she isn’t here.”
“Wow, someone’s bold.” Jungwon snickers.
Sunoo lets out a laugh from where he's leaning against the counter. “I can already count the amount of times she’ll call me tonight because you won’t be answering your phone.”
The worst part was that none of them were exaggerating. Most people heard the words overprotective older sister and pictured somebody mildly annoying that decided the takeouts. You were something else entirely, you were a mean person with good intentions, who treated Riki like a highly intelligent houseplant that couldn't be trusted unsupervised. Which, admittedly, was only a little unfair.
Jake looks significantly less invested in the conversation than everyone else, which makes sense considering he'd never actually met you before. He knew who you were, obviously. He had seen you around school a handful of times, though only in fragments, passing through hallways with your books tucked against your chest, standing behind podiums during assembly speeches, moving through student events with a clipboard in hand, and occasionally appearing in Riki’s house whenever his friends came over, though never long enough for Jake to understand what everyone meant when they talked about you like you were a natural disaster.
You didn’t hover during those visits, maybe because Riki was already home and therefore safely within the borders of your net, which meant Jake never had any firsthand evidence of the so-called atrocity people kept describing, no grand personal encounter with the hornless devil of a woman they swore you were. To him, you were just Riki’s older sister, put-together, sharper than most people, and clearly the kind of girl who knew how to keep things from falling apart.
He shrugs as if the entire conversation had been blown wildly out of proportion. “Honestly, she can’t be that bad.”
They all try and fail to hide the biggest smiles, until Riki finally let out a laugh so unhinged it sounded like Jake had just said the stupidest thing ever invented. “You’ve never met her, then.”
Jake frowned. “I mean, she just sounds responsible.”
That only made the laughter worse, because how exactly did someone describe you without sounding dramatic? How did anyone explain a girl who could build furniture, schedule doctor’s appointments, cook dinner, maintain perfect grades, and still somehow have enough energy left to lecture her younger brother about road safety, curfew, peer pressure, and why riding in a car with anyone named Jay was apparently a preventable tragedy?
“She’s like…” Riki started, then stopped, because there genuinely wasn’t a normal word for you, only some abstract painting of red and black, wrathful but organized, terrifying but color-coded.
Jay stepped in with both hands raised, like he was trying to translate a myth. “Imagine your mom, but if she had anxiety.”
“And a planner,” Riki added immediately, “and a superiority complex, and an attitude, and the ability to track your location and all your friends’ locations. She has everyone’s number saved, too, just so she can call around and make sure I’m actually where I said I was.”
Riki smiles though, because the way Jake shrugs it off and doesn’t think you’re that bad makes a terrible idea begin forming in his head. If he felt that way about you, maybe some things could be arranged.
The thing was, if anyone could survive you, it would probably be Jake. He was patient enough, he was also the kind of person teachers liked, parents trusted, classmates voted for, and strangers somehow ended up telling their life stories because he was just so easy-going. He was responsible enough to get good grades without making it his entire personality.
It was weird how the two of you had somehow never interacted despite orbiting the same school, same academic events, same kind of reputation, and yet somehow the universe had kept you separated for years. Now potentially united because of a very dumb idea.
Riki takes another sip of his drink while the idea starts taking shape. If Jake was as patient as he seemed, maybe he could handle you, if Jake could handle you, maybe he could distract you, and if somebody distracted you — Riki's life would finally begin.
Riki clears his throat, staring directly at Jake, with the kind of focus that makes Jake slowly lower his cup and narrow his eyes in suspicion.
"Why are you looking at me like tha —"
“Have you ever considered dating my sister?”
Jake simply stares, because a question that insane and honest has never landed on him before. The more Riki thinks about it, the better the idea becomes, which is unfortunate for everyone in the room because his expression slowly shifts from impulsive desperation to genuine, terrifying conviction.
“No.”
“Why not?” Riki asks, genuinely offended, like Jake is the unreasonable one here.
Jake looks at him as if he has lost his mind. “Because she’s your sister.”
Riki waves a hand, dismissing the concern as if family relation is just a minor technicality on a form. “You don’t have to like her. Just take her out.”
Jake shakes his head, “What?”
“Take her out,” Riki repeats, slower this time, like Jake is the one struggling with basic comprehension. “Dinner, coffee, whatever girls like. Somewhere outside the house where she can’t govern my life.”
And for all the ridiculousness of the conversation, something in his face turns a little more serious. “Look, she’s always busy. Always. If she’s not studying, she’s doing house stuff, and if she’s not doing house stuff, she’s worrying about me, and ruining my life. Anyway, I think she needs to go outside and be a normal nineteen-year-old.”
“I’m not dating your sister because you want fewer curfew checks,” Jake says, though his voice has lost some of its earlier horror.
Riki stares at him for a long second, and whatever dignity he has left seems to lose the fight somewhere between desperation and the thought of another month spent being interrogated. So he will compensate. “Okay, fine,” he sighs, “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks weekly,”
Unfortunately, the offer is not completely ridiculous in the financial sense. Your father might have forgotten how to parent somewhere along the way, but he had certainly remembered how to compensate for it by making sure money was never a scarce resource in the household. You're both pretty spoiled.
Jake was not desperate, of course, and he was not exactly suffering in the financial department either, because the Sim family had enough money for philanthropy. He did not need a hundred bucks a week, did not need to be paid to sit across from a girl at dinner, and definitely did not need to accept what was less like a favor and more like an internship. Still, there was something almost offensively easy about the idea of it — a challenge.
The proposition is ridiculous, the girl in question sounds even more ridiculous, and yet the more Riki talks about you, the more Jake finds himself wondering what kind of person could make everyone so terrified.
Jake exhales slowly, then shakes his head like he is disappointed in himself before finishing the rest of his drink. “When do I start?”
By the time the party began thinning out and people started calling rides home, Riki had graduated from slightly irresponsible to actively incapable of functioning like a normal human being. By his fifth blue drink, he started a speech about oppression that was very clearly about you and was dangerously starting to sound like a prick to the hard-earned established feminism that Jungwon had to cover his mouth. Jake was also unfortunately present for all of it, because he has to drive Riki home.
"You're a good man, Jake."
"I'm aware."
"No, like, a really good man."
"Thank you."
"The best."
Jake adjusts his grip on him, while Riki is leaning heavily against his shoulder, forcing most of his weight onto the former as they make their way up the front path of your house. Every few seconds he stumbles, nearly dragging both of them into the bushes.
"You know what my problem is?" Riki asks. "My sister."
Like he managed to summon you with a single call, the front door opens. And for the first time in his life, Jake finally sees you and not as a passing figure. The first thing he noticed was that you looked nothing like the distant, polished version of yourself he had seen around school. Those glimpses had always been quick and incomplete, a neat figure behind a podium during assemblies with your hair done properly and your expression fixed into something polite enough. Standing on your front porch at midnight, however, your hair loose, a few loose strands escaping around your face, and you're in sleeping clothes. The porch light caught the irritation on your face clearly, and you exactly had a face that looked like it had been designed to ruin a person’s confidence.
Your gaze landed on Riki first, and whatever thin thread of patience you had left snapped immediately. “You’re dead.” you said, voice flat enough.
Riki, drunk and useless, pointed at you before looking back at Jake. “See?”
Jake could see, yes, but not exactly what everyone else seemed to see.
“I told you not to drink,” you said, already stepping forward.
“Technically,” Riki started. “You said I couldn’t drink too much, and I think —”
“No.”
Riki shut his mouth, which Jake found impressive considering he had spent the entire car ride arguing. You reached them and immediately took over, not gently, but not aggressively either. One second Jake was supporting most of Riki’s weight, and the next you had somehow taken your brother’s arm, and dragged it over your shoulder.
“You are seventeen years old,” you muttered. “Seventeen. Not grown enough to survive every stupid decision your friends encourage.”
Riki groaned and sagged against you, deciding, with the cruelty only younger brothers possessed, to become completely boneless. You nearly stumbled beneath his weight, and your annoyance sharpened so visibly that Jake almost took half a step back. “Stand properly,” you snapped. “I swear to God, Riki.”
“Uh,” Jake said, because apparently he was articulate, just not under porch lights and direct eye contact.
You paused, like you had forgotten he was there, then turned your head just enough to look at him. “What?”
“I can help.” The words left his mouth before he could fully decide whether he meant them, and for the first time that night, your attention shifted from Riki to him.
It lasted maybe two seconds, three if he was being generous, but it was enough for Jake to finally get a proper look at you and realize, with a strange and deeply inconvenient sense of betrayal, that nobody had mentioned the tyrant had pretty eyes.
You looked at him like he was another problem that had arrived, taking in his face, his clothes, and his car behind him. Your expression did not soften, in fact, it became even more unimpressed. “No,” you said. “I’ve got him,”
You turned away before he could say anything else. The door closed a moment later, leaving Jake alone on the porch with the cool night air, and the silence of having been dismissed by a girl who had barely given him enough time to become charming.
For several seconds, he just stared at the closed door.
That was it? That was his grand introduction to the infamous sister everyone had sworn was some terrible, unbearable monster? He had spent the entire night hearing stories about you, had driven your drunk brother home, had offered to help, and all he got in return was a death sentence aimed at Riki, two seconds of eye contact, and a rejection so cold.
Wow. Okayyy.
You’re sitting alone beneath one of the trees lining the courtyard, legs crossed neatly at the ankle, a planner open on your lap. Your attention is fixed on whatever system of color-coding you have, your neat cursive filling the page in careful lines. Even from across the courtyard, you look overwhelming. The Miu Miu loafers, the Bottega Veneta resting beside you, like you were deliberately trying to repel anyone who didn’t belong in the same tax bracket as your family.
Jake walks over easily, casually, friendly in the way he usually is without trying.
“Hey.”
You look up, not startled nor pleased, just disturbed. He smiles automatically, the kind people return before they even realize they’re doing it, because he has the sort of face that makes friendliness look charming instead of invasive. Your eyes move from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes, slow and blatantly judgmental, before returning to his face.
He waits, yet you close your planner, stand up, pick up your bag, and leave.
For a second, he just stands there while every gear in his brain grinds to a halt. Nobody has ever dismissed him that cleanly and efficiently, like he had been a minor scheduling conflict you decided to remove from your day. Obviously, he follows. You hear his footsteps behind you but you don’t react, your pace remains even, your expression unchanged, and by the time he catches up beside you, you still don’t give him so much as a glance.
“So that’s how this is gonna be?” he asks, amused despite himself. “You pretending you don’t hear me?”
You finally look over briefly. “Hi.”
Jake practically lights up at that; his smile widening, eyes brightening like he has just won something ridiculous, considering all you did was say hi. Still, he takes it as progress, watching your profile as you keep walking with your attention already returned to your planner.
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you remember me?”
That barely gets your attention. “Yes, Jake Sim,” you say, your voice stays perfectly even. “You’re one of Riki’s friends.”
The answer comes instantly, and Jake has no idea why you saying his name feels satisfying. “So you do know me.”
You only look back down at your planner as he flashes another smile, the one that usually makes people start talking, or laughing, or tucking their hair behind their ear because what is anyone supposed to do with all of Jake Sim’s attention? Unfortunately, you aren’t looking at him at all.
He exhales a quiet laugh through his nose. “Have you always been this friendly?”
“No.”
He frowns. “So it’s personal.”
“No.”
Before he can decide whether to be offended or impressed, you push open the door to a classroom. He follows one step too close, only for you to stop at the threshold and turn around, leaving him outside. Your eyes land on him properly, sharp and unreadable, and his thoughts stumble over themselves for half a second.
“What exactly do you need?” you ask. Your tone is calm, but somehow it feels like an insult wearing perfume.
Technically speaking, he needs nothing. This becomes obvious the longer he stands there saying absolutely nothing, and from the way your eyes narrow, you reach the same conclusion at the exact same time. “If you’re looking for assistance regarding academics, facilities, or student concerns,” you say politely, “I suggest you start by talking to a member of the student body.”
He opens his mouth, but you continue before he can speak. “Although,” you add, giving him one last slow once-over, “the nurse’s building might be more appropriate.”
For a second, Jake genuinely cannot tell if you’re joking.
You are not. You offer him the smallest smile imaginable, neither warm nor friendly, but decorative at best. Then you shut the door directly in his face — which, for the record, is the second time you have done that since he met you. He stands there, staring at the wood, while inside the classroom he can already hear you speaking to someone else in a perfectly normal voice, as if he had never existed at all.
Jake spots you three days later in the library, clearly because he was looking, but this time he has a plan, and for some reason, he still believes plans work on you.
Afternoon sunlight slips through the tall windows and stretches across the desks in pale strips, and Jake finds you near the history section, seated at a wide table with your laptop open and your papers arranged so neatly. Your curls are pinned back from your face, loose pieces framing your cheeks, your eyeshadow soft and precise in a way that makes you look even more put together. You are highlighting something when he sees you, chin resting lightly on your hand, completely absorbed and completely unreachable.
Naturally, he walks straight toward you. The chair across from yours screeches when he pulls it back, loud enough that two people at another table look up. Your eyes lift immediately, widening at the earsplitting sound before narrowing at him with such open irritation that he almost feels proud for earning a reaction at all.
“What are you doing?” you ask, voice low.
Jake drops into the seat with the confidence of someone who has already survived two doors being shut in his face and is somehow eager for a third. “Studying.”
Your gaze moves from him, to the empty table behind him, to the empty seats beside you, then back to him. The silence that follows is not confused, just judgmental. “And you chose the only occupied table in this section?"
“It had the best lighting.”
“It has me.”
“Exactly.”
You stare at him for another second, face unreadable except for the small, unimpressed lift of your brows. Then you look back down at your notes, clearly deciding he is not worth the strain of further expression. For about twelve seconds, Jake pretends to open his textbook for a real reason — flips one page, glances at your highlighter, then at your face. “Can you help me with something?” he whispers.
You don’t look up. “No.”
Jake’s mouth parts slightly, then closes. He has been rejected before, technically, but never with so little effort. It bothers him more than it should, especially when you do not even look pleased with yourself. You simply continue highlighting, lips slightly parted in concentration, as if dismissing him is just another item on your to-do list.
“Fine,” he says, leaning back. “I need help with economics.”
Your highlighter stops moving, and for one hopeful second, Jake thinks he finally got you. Then your eyes lift from the page, slow and suspicious. “You got a ninety-four.”
He blinks. “So?”
“You have the second-highest grade in the class.”
“You know my grade?”
“I’m the TA,” you say flatly. “That isn’t special.”
It lands with embarrassing accuracy. His smile falters for half a second before he recovers and leans forward again, lowering his voice like the two of you are sharing a secret. “Maybe I want to be first.”
This time, you do smile, but it is not warm. “No,” you say, “Because I’m first.”
The corner of his mouth rises before he can stop it. “Then I definitely need your notes.”
“You need attention,” you correct, closing your highlighter with a soft click. “There’s a difference.”
You turn a page, your tone still calm after shutting him up. “You ask questions you already know the answers to. You sit where you clearly aren’t wanted. You make jokes because you think being charming is the same thing as being interesting.” Your eyes lift to his again. “It’s not.”
Jake stares at you. Around you, the library stays quiet, and the air feels suddenly too still, like everyone else has been kind enough not to watch him being quietly dismantled. He tries to laugh it off. “Wow.”
“You asked for help.”
“I asked for economics.”
“And I gave you something useful.”
His mouth opens, but nothing decent comes out of it — the worst part of it all. Usually, he has a joke, a grin, a way to make people soften, but with you, every easy thing he reaches for turns useless in his hand.
You begin packing your papers into your bag with that same infuriating grace, not rushed, not flustered, not even angry. You stand, bag over your shoulder, eyes catching the light when you tilt your head slightly. “Also, next time you want to sit with me, try having a reason that isn’t your ego.” Then you walk away.
For a long moment, Jake just sits there, staring at the library doors after they close behind you. The silence settles back into place around him, heavy and humiliating. He exhales slowly and comes to one devastating conclusion: he can’t do this.
“Come on, dude! It’s barely been a week and nothing happened yet. I already gave you the cash!” Riki practically begs on his knees.
Jake frowns from the other edge of the pool table as he chalks the cue, the crumpled bills still existing somewhere in his pocket because, technically speaking, he hadn't earned them. At this point, the arrangement felt less like a job and more like repeated exposure therapy that would actively ruin his psychological welfare rather than heal it.
“No.”
Riki stares. “No? Jake.”
“No.”
Across, Jungwon looks up after his turn in billiards, with the expression of someone witnessing a familiar trainwreck but still expecting it from a mileway anyway. “What happened?”
Jake isn’t entirely sure where to begin. Maybe the front porch, then the devastating situations after it. Collectively, all encounters had taught him one important lesson: you’re impossible, not in the fun way people usually meant when describing someone to be cute — but actually a pain in the ass.
“She’s difficult,” Jake finally says while adjusting the cue against his purlicue. Jungwon just shrugs because such inference wasn’t surprising at all, I mean it’s you.
“She doesn't want anything,” he adds. “There's usually something. People want you to laugh, they want you to like them, or they want attention. Dude, people want conversation — or literally anything.” Jake scoffs. “And she doesn't.” he exclaims, coming out more frustrated than he intended, resulting in a miscue.
Social interactions followed a pattern and Jake knew that well, even if he wasn’t the most outgoing person on this planet, he still spent his entire life understanding that pattern. With you, it felt like throwing pebbles at a castle wall that decides public embarrassment for his punishment. Normally, being Jake Sim worked. He was hot, smiley, handsome, smart, well-spoken, and had great, healthy hair too. You treated all of that the same way you'd treat a weather report; filed away and forgotten before opening up an umbrella.
The more Jake thought about it, the more absurd you seemed. You’re nineteen years old and somehow functioning as a parent, a student, a volunteer, and whatever terrifying responsibilities that you could have stowed in that pink planner. There was probably a reason you looked perpetually exhausted, and why every conversation felt like you were mentally checking a to-do list. Also probably why you looked at Jake the way someone looked at a pop-up advertisement — unnecessary.
“Please,” Riki says, and for the first time all afternoon there was genuine desperation in his voice. “Just keep trying.”
Jake groans. “No.”
“Please.”
Jake rubs a hand down his face, because he already knows he’s going to lose this argument. Not through Riki’s annoying persuasion, but because somewhere between getting his face ignored at the Humanities building and getting dissected in the library, Jake had become painfully curious. Every interaction left him feeling like he'd only managed to scratch the surface of an entire unearthing no one yet has discovered. He hated that a lot, the mysteries and the unfinished conversations because you just can’t seem to bear him.
Most of all, of course, he hated that he was already wondering where he'd find you next.
A few days later, Jake finds himself in a bookstore three blocks away from campus, flipping through a poetry collection he absolutely does not want to buy. His teacher has insisted on physical copies because apparently PDFs are destroying the educational experience, while Jake personally believes the educational experience would improve significantly if the book cost less than a decent meal.
The bookstore is small, old, and crammed from floor to ceiling with shelves. It smells like paper, dust, and someone’s grandmother’s living room. He is still pretending to care about Shakespeare when the front door chimes, and he barely looks up until he hears your voice. You step inside with a headband pushing your hair back, still dressed like you came from school, except this version of you looks nothing like the girl he has been trying and failing to understand. For one thing, you are smiling, which isn’t polite smile you use like a weapon, but something real and easy.
“Hi, Mrs. Park,” you greet.
The elderly woman behind the counter brightens immediately. “There you are.”
Jake stares because, apparently, his brain has decided blinking is no longer necessary. A fat orange cat sprawled across the counter lifts its head when you approach, and you reach over to scratch beneath its chin. The cat melts instantly, stretching into your hand while you coo at it under your breath. He has seen you annoyed, composed, sharp, and dismissive, but this version of you, smiling at an old woman and whispering sweet nonsense to a cat, feels almost impossible to place beside the girl from campus.
It startles him how much he wants to keep watching.
After telling Mrs. Park you are only going to browse, you turn toward the shelves and move right into his aisle. Jake steps back instinctively, half-hidden behind a row of books, but the sensible part of him lasts for about four seconds before he decides, unfortunately, to bother you.
“You come here often?” he asks, leaning against the shelf like this is a normal thing to say and not the opening line of someone who has clearly run out of better ideas.
Your hand pauses on the spine of a novel, expression already rising from irritation. Slowly, you look at him, then around the aisle, then back at his face. “What are you doing here?”
He blinks, as if the answer should be obvious. “To read books.”
You stare at him for a second before your expression flattens. “Wow. I didn’t know you knew how to read.”
His face shifts into immediate offense. “I know how to read.”
You hum, entirely unimpressed, and continue walking down the aisle. “Coloring books don’t count.”
He laughs under his breath, dragging a hand over his face like he is trying very hard not to look too entertained. Or annoyed at how plainly rude you are without masking it. “Wow,” he mutters, following after you. “For the record, real books. Little Women. The Bell Jar. Percy Jackson.”
You stop walking and turn to him properly, huffing once through your nose. “Percy Jackson is new. Is that a thing now? The male campaign for feminism?”
His eyebrows lift. “All I’m hearing is you also read Percy Jackson and that we have something in common.”
Your eyes lift to his, flat and unimpressed, but there is the faintest twitch at the corner of your mouth. “Right, how exciting it is to bond over a children’s fantasy series.”
“Well,” he says, smiling. “It’s a start.”
You turn away, but he catches the tiny pause in your movement, the almost-smile you refuse to let happen. It feels ridiculous, how much that small reaction does to him even though he has won games in front of cheering crowds and accepted medals in crowded auditoriums, yet somehow, getting half a smile out of you in a dusty bookstore feels more victorious. “Since we’re apparently literary equals now, do you want to get coffee?”
You just stare at him, brows drawn together, lips parted slightly, as if you are trying to understand what series of events in his life has led him to think that was an appropriate thing to say to you. “No,” you say.
The answer comes cleanly, and he just blinks. “What? Why not?”
“I have coffee at home.”
For a second, he just stands there, disbelieved and a little done. You turn back to the shelf like the matter is settled, fingers skimming over another row of spines while he processes the fact that you have somehow rejected him without remorse or politeness.
“That’s not the point,” he says.
You scoff. “Then why did you ask?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Instead, he exhales a laugh, softer this time. “Because most normal people actually understand that getting coffee means spending time together.”
You hum, still not looking at him. “Then you should have asked that.” You reach for a book on the higher shelf, and when you glance at him again, there is the faintest flicker of amusement in your eyes.
He laughs under his breath, and this time, he doesn’t even bother hiding how entertained he is. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable.”
“Fine,” he says, straightening a little. “Go out with me?”
You stop moving for barely a second, but Jake sees the tiny pause in your hand against the shelf, the way your face goes still like the question landed somewhere you didn’t expect. For once, he doesn’t grin.
Then you pull a book from the shelf and shove it against his chest. “No,” you say, coming out quieter than before, less mean than before. “Read your book.”
Jake catches it automatically, turning it a little to see that it’s the poetry collection he came here for.
By the time he looks back up, you’re already walking away, but not before he catches the smallest curve at the corner of your mouth. And, unfortunately for him, that feels a lot like a maybe.
The annual charity gala occupied all three floors of the Grand Ballroom, transforming an expensive venue into something that looked less like an event and more like a display of wealth (though, yes, it is). Guests emerged draped in custom couture and tailored suits, while somewhere near the entrance, a string quartet played softly enough not to interrupt conversation. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead in cascading tiers, fresh floral arrangements towered from the center of each table (imported blooms flown in specifically for the event, you coined in the suggestion of peonies). Waiters moved soundlessly between guests carrying silver trays lined with champagne flutes.
You had spent your entire life in diamond rooms where people discussed acquisitions over appetizers and spoke about money like it was weather. You'd sat beside CEOs at dinner because they were family friends, and investors shared laughter with your father over barbecue in your backyard. Without the pretense of acting remotely impressed, you boredly made your way through the halls as you passed by familiar faces. You smile, greet, remember names, and pretend you enjoy hearing about quarterly growth projections — your father did tell you to learn from what the older ones tell you, but now you learn to breathe deeply through your nostrils so as to not yawn.
The Elie Saab Spring 2003 gown skimmed against your legs as you moved through the ballroom, pale fabric catching the chandelier light whenever you turned. It was just something your father had pulled from storage for tonight, another piece of old couture that had spent more time preserved in garment bags than actually being worn. The fabric itched, the fit was annoyingly snug around your hips, and entirely wasted on you considering all you could think about how little room it left for dessert.
You'd just escaped a conversation about market expansion into the rural regions of the country when you reach for a glass of champagne from a passing tray.
"Wow."
You freeze immediately. Because you know that voice. Know it well enough that your eyes roll before you even turn around. Jake Sim stands a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets, looking entirely too entertained by something.
Specifically you.
"What?" The question leaves you sharper than intended, but he has always had a talent for earning it.
His gaze sweeps over you once, slowly. It isn’t enough to be inappropriate, just enough to be annoying. "Nothing."
You narrow your eyes. Jake, unfortunately, appears completely unbothered by this, like he’s finally used to it and finds it amusing rather than frightening.
For a moment, the two of you simply stand there, shoulder to shoulder, watching guests drift across the ballroom that it almost looks normal — respectable, even, as if you’re two people attending the same charity gala with poise and tact instead of a high school bizarrerie of a situation this has become.
"You clean up well." His gaze drifts back to you for a brief second before returning to the ballroom.
You turn so quickly towards him he actually laughs. "I always clean up well."
"Right."
"I do."
He bites the inside of his cheek, clearly trying not to smile. You take a sip of champagne as he steals a glass from a passing waiter, mirroring your movement to sip from his. "What are you doing here?" you shoot back under your breath.
He blinks at the question, looking almost offended on behalf of his own presence. "Are you asking why I'm at a charity event," he begins slowly, "or are you accusing me of stalking you?"
You practically glare at him but quickly shift to a warm smile when a familiar older face greets you, wrinkly and your father’s acquaintance. Once she leaves, you clear your throat and shrug casually. "I’m starting to think it's reached concerning levels."
That earns you a look — a long, disbelieving stare. He gestures vaguely to himself, as though presenting evidence before a jury, and that he clearly belongs here about as much as anyone else in attendance. "Come on." he chuckles as his eyebrows rise. "I look like this and your conclusion is that I trespassed just to see you?"
You hate how your eyes give in to immediately flicking toward him because, God, he's annoyingly right.
The black suit fits him unfairly well. His hair, usually left to do whatever it wants, has actually been styled for once, pushed neatly away from his face save for a single strand that has somehow escaped and fallen across his forehead. Standing beneath the chandeliers with a champagne glass in hand, he looks less like the guy who regularly shows up during the most random times and a prince, unfortunately.
You clear your throat and look away before that thought can do any more damage. "You make it hard not to think that way."
You almost forgot just how affluent the Sim’s are — that is, in your defense, was just a detail you overlooked. He isn't some random idiot who keeps appearing in your life through increasingly unlikely circumstances, his family name actually appears in newspapers and annual reports and conversations your father has over dinner.
You drain the rest of your champagne before he can say anything. "Well," you say, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from your gown, "it's been lovely speaking with you, Mr. Sim." The title earns an immediate snort, and you continue before he can interrupt. "Please extend my regards to your family." Satisfied with yourself, you offer him the sort of polished smile that had been drilled into you and turn to leave, as you’ve decided that you will stop entertaining the jest.
A hand settles lightly at your shoulder. “There you are.”
You turn at the sound of your father’s voice and immediately straighten. It happens before you can stop it, your spine aligning, your expression smoothing, every loose, irritated part of you folding back into place like a napkin at a five-star restaurant. “Hi, Dad.”
He then guides you aside with the kind of effortless authority. “You’ve been doing well tonight,” he says.
The compliment should feel nice, and it does for half a second until you remember who it’s coming from and how rare it is, and suddenly it feels less like praise and more like something you have to catch carefully. “Thank you,” you say.
His eyes drift past you, scanning the room. “Where’s Riki?”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the stem of your champagne glass. The room remains warm with bodies and lights and expensive alcohol, but somehow you feel cold all at once. “He probably forgot. He had practice earlier, and his workload’s been heavy.”
Your father looks at you then, and you immediately hate the expression on his face. Because it’s disappointment dressed up as responsibility, one you know too well. “You’re his older sister,” he says. “You know how he is. You should have made sure he came.”
For a second, you only stare at him, at the neat way he fixed his hair and made his collar. Somewhere near the stage, the host tests the microphone and the feedback screeches faintly through the room. “I can’t force him to come,” you say carefully.
Your father’s mouth presses into a thin line. “You’ve never had a problem controlling him before.”
Something hot sparks behind your ribs. You didn’t care for anyone to think that way about you, but the way your father had borrowed the notion feels shitty. “He’s seventeen, he’s going to be careless — that’s expected. But you know better.” he looks at you this time. “So do better.”
For a moment, you can’t speak. Because how can you be nineteen, and somehow old enough to be held responsible for everyone else’s failures. “I should talk to some friends,” you say as you take a step back.
Your father nods, already looking toward another guest who has begun approaching him. “Good.”
You turn before your face can betray anything and walk away, heels clicking against the marble floor. By the time you reach the hallway leading away from the ballroom, irritation has burned through whatever hurt came first — your jaw aches from clenching and your chest feels tight with things you can’t say. You turn the corner too quickly and a hand catches your wrist, a gasp spilling as you’re pulled backward, your shoes skidding slightly against the polished floor before another hand steadies you just enough to keep you from stumbling.
Then you look up to see Jake.
“What the hell?” you hiss.
He raises both hands immediately, though one stays close in case you lose your balance again. “Okay, bad approach.”
You stare at him, breath uneven. “Are you insane?”
“A little,” he admits. “But I just came from the restroom and you came out looking very mad.”
Your expression shifts before you can stop it. “Move,” you say, trying to step past him.
However, he doesn’t move. “You need air,” he says.
“I need people to stop telling me what I need. And I need you to stop appearing everywhere.”
His mouth twitches. “Fair.”
You narrow your eyes again. “Then move.”
He glances behind him toward a side door at the end of the corridor and you follow. Beyond it, you can see the faint spill of garden lights through the glass, and when you look back at him, you can see the words in his eyes. “Two minutes,” he says.
“No.”
“Then one.”
“Jake.”
“You can yell at me outside.”
You should go back into the ballroom, smile at executives, pretend your father didn’t just hand you responsibility for a brother he barely remembered to parent. Instead, when Jake gently reaches for your wrist again, you let him anyway.
The garden outside is cooler, quieter, and beautiful. Tall hedges line the stone pathway, trimmed carefully beneath strings of warm lights while white roses climb the trellises, their petals pale and some aging. The distant sound of the ballroom fades behind the closed door until it becomes nothing but a muffled noise as you walk further.
The cold reaches you almost immediately, slipping through the thin fabric of your gown and settling against your skin, but you refuse to shiver in front of him. For a while, neither of you says anything as you only tighten your arms around yourself, pretending it’s irritation and not the cold making your shoulders rise. He watches you for a second, like he’s debating whether saying anything will get him killed faster than staying quiet. Then, with both hands tucked into his pant pockets, he nods toward the stone path. “Walk with me?”
You stare at him, unimpressed, but eventually follow because the alternative is going back inside and smiling until your face cracks in half. The two of you move beneath the garden lights in silence, your heels clicking softly against stone while his steps stay slower than usual, like he’s matching your pace without making it obvious. You keep your arms crossed tight, eyes fixed on the roses ahead, while Jake walks beside you with his hands still buried in his pockets. For once, he doesn’t fill the silence just to fill it.
Which lasts forty-seven seconds.
“Riki told me he wasn’t going.”
Every strange thing that had happened to you recently could be traced back to your brother tonight. When you open your eyes again, Jake is looking ahead, hands still tucked in his pockets. “Right. You’re friends.” you say as you remember. “So he just tells you things.”
He shrugs. “Occasionally.”
“About me?”
He looks like he already regrets opening his mouth, but only halfway. “Not that much.” He falls into step beside you again, catching up with your pace. “Him not showing up must be why you’re upset?” he says carefully.
You turn your head slowly and he immediately lifts both hands, palms out, although the smile pulling at his mouth ruins the surrender. “I’m just asking.”
“You’re nosy.”
“Well, yes.”
You stare at him for a second longer, trying very hard to remain annoyed. Unfortunately, Jake has this terrible habit of making honesty look harmless. Although, he is very much a threat, maybe not the loud or dramatic kind, but the sort that slips past defenses because it smiles and asks questions and walks slower beside you when your feet are hurting.
You look away first, only for him to take that as permission, because he continues. “Let me guess. Your dad’s pissed because he didn’t show up.”
“No.” Still, your jaw tightens. And he notices. His expression shifts slightly, amusement dimming into something quieter. “You’re shitty at guessing.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He nods like he’s accepting the challenge. “Then maybe it’s the champagne. Bad year?”
You give him a look. “It’s champagne.”
“So yes.”
“No.”
“Is it the gown? You keep tugging at it.”
Your hand immediately stills at your hip, growing a little insecure. “I am not.”
“You are.”
You glare at him, but there’s a traitorous twitch at the corner of your mouth that you immediately force away. He catches it anyway and his eyes brighten. “There it is.”
“There’s nothing.”
“Well, I think there is something. The garden’s very enchanted tonight.” he sighs in relief, looking very pleased with himself.
“You are so annoying,” you mutter, turning your face away before he can catch the smile fighting its way onto your mouth.
“I’ve been told.”
“Frequently, I hope.” You roll your eyes and keep walking, but the anger inside your chest has loosened slightly, enough that breathing doesn’t feel like swallowing flute glass anymore. It irritates you a little that he helped without doing anything grand, only so much as walking beside you, filling the silence with stupid guesses, making it impossible for you to fully sink into whatever your father had left behind.
He looks at you again. “Is it one of the donors?”
“No.”
“Board member?”
“No.”
Then, because Jake really is bad at guessing, he says, “Or maybe it’s about a guy.”
Your head snaps up. “A guy?”
He shrugs, trying for casual and failing spectacularly because there is something too deliberate in the way he doesn’t look directly at you. “Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe a boyfriend.”
You actually laugh, disbelieving. “A boyfriend?”
“A shitty boyfriend,” he clarifies, like that makes it a more reasonable theory to hypothesize tonight. “Maybe he said something stupid. Maybe he’s the reason you look so grumpy in couture.”
You stare at him before you scoff, shaking your head as you look away. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
The silence that follows is immediate and loud. He doesn’t say anything, and because he doesn’t say anything, you look back to see he’s looking ahead now, with the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly.
“Good.”
Your heart trips over itself. You stare at him, horrified by the fact that your face feels warm. “Good?”
His mouth twitches. “Yeah.”
“You’re being weird.”
He turns back to you then, eyebrows raised. “How?”
You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Explaining it would mean admitting that you noticed the difference between his usual and this one; it would mean admitting that you were paying attention to the boy that’s making space for himself in your life, little by little. So instead, you do the mature thing of looking away and walking.
He hums, pleased with himself, and the sound makes your hands tighten around your arms again without the cold having to do with it at all. For a few steps, neither of you speaks as the garden path curves around a fountain, water spilling quietly over stone. Out here, your hair has loosened from its pins and the night air has cooled your cheeks after learning warmth a little too much tonight.
“You know,” he says after a while, softer now, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think Riki skipping tonight is your fault.”
Your throat tightens before you can stop it, continuing to stare ahead. “I didn’t ask.”
For once, he doesn’t tilt his head with that pleased little smile, doesn’t turn your sentence into something lighter just because he can. He only keeps walking beside you in silence, letting the water from the fountain grow louder as you near it. You almost wish he would say something annoying, just so that it would give you something to swat at, something easy to roll your eyes over, something that didn’t require you to stand there with all the ugly feelings still sitting in your chest like stones.
A bench sits just in front of the fountain, tucked between two rose trellises and half-hidden from the ballroom windows. One second you’re walking, the next you’re lowering yourself onto the bench, careful with the fabric of your gown, your hands folding tightly in your lap like you’re trying to hold yourself together through posture alone. He stops a few feet away and after a careful pause, he sits on the opposite end of the bench, far enough that there’s a whole stretch of cold stone between you, choosing to understand that closeness right now might make you run.
He isn’t looking back when you look at him, his hands are clasped loosely in front of him as he stares at his fidgeting fingers instead, giving you the sort of space he knows you need. The kindness of it is small. A boy sitting a respectful distance away from you in a garden at a charity gala, saying nothing while you pretend you don’t feel miserable.
You bite your bottom lip, contemplating whether you’ll entertain words sitting at the back of your throat, heavy and stubborn, and you tell yourself not to say them. You don’t even know him like that because he’s not your friend; he’s Riki’s friend, an irritating hallway apparition, a boy who somehow knows too much and still not enough.
Your eyes stay on the building across the garden, right where you both came from. When you speak, your voice is quieter. “It’s not just because Riki didn’t show up.”
Jake remains still, but you notice the way his attention sharpens a little. “I told him about tonight,” you say. “I reminded him. I even texted him this morning.” Your fingers tighten around each other in your lap. “And he didn’t come. Which is annoying, yes, but it’s also just Riki. He forgets things, gets distracted, acts like nothing bad can happen to him.”
The fountain fills the silence for a moment, the ballroom doors open briefly, spilling faint music and laughter into the garden before closing again. “I don’t do it for fun,” you say, almost under your breath. “The controlling thing.”
You hate that word and how easily people use it, like it explains everything, like you woke up one day and decided being difficult was easier. “I don’t know how to parent,” you admit. “I know he’s my brother, not my child, but somehow it became my job anyway.”
Jake does not interrupt, he only looks at you, steady and quiet, and that makes it worse because it makes you want to keep talking. “My mom’s a long story, and my dad…” You laugh softly, but there is no humor in it. “He pays for things. He’s not cruel. He just doesn’t know the small things. When Riki has practice, or when he has exams, or when he’s sick and pretending he isn’t.”
You look down at your hands. “He doesn’t know who to call when Riki doesn’t answer his phone.” Your throat tightens. “And I do.” The words sit between you, heavier than you meant them to be. “I just did what I thought was right. I’m not a mom. I don’t know what I’m doing. But then my father looks at me tonight and tells me to do better, like I haven’t been trying since I was eleven.”
For a moment, Jake doesn’t say anything. His expression shifts again, losing the last of its teasing until all that’s left is something quieter, something you don’t quite know how to hold without feeling embarrassed.
He looks down at your hands. “Is that why you’re upset tonight?”
You press your lips together before you nod. His gaze lifts to your face again, his voice gentle when he asks, “Is that why you’re upset every day?”
The question catches you so off guard that you laugh, a soft and helpless sound that slips out before you can stop it.
Then you nod again and he smiles a little too. “Okay.”
You huff, wiping beneath your eye quickly before anything can happen there. Somehow sitting beside Jake Sim in the cold garden after admitting the worst parts of yourself feels less humiliating than it should. Maybe because he hasn’t moved closer, even though some terrible, traitorous part of you wonders what would happen if he did. Instead, he stays on his side of the bench, careful and warm from a distance.
You look at him finally. “Do people really think I’m a bitch?”
He freezes instantly, so immediate that you sigh for even asking. His eyes flick to you, then away, then back again, like he is suddenly trying to navigate a conversation with several live wires tucked into it.
You raise your brows, but you’re smiling. “So yes.”
“No.”
He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, looking genuinely shy, which is oddly enough to distract you from your own misery. “I mean, I don’t think that.”
You tilt your head, amusement softening your face. “Okay, so what did you think?”
His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. “I thought you were scary.” He looks at you, then immediately adds, “I still think you’re scary.”
Your eyes narrow, almost to a glare. “You’re scared of me?” You try to make it sound like a joke but it doesn’t quite work.
His mouth tilts. “The first time you shut the door in my face? Yeah.”
A breath of laughter escapes you as you remember a very irritable night of a brother coming home drunk. “You should’ve stopped then.”
“I considered it.” He leans back slightly, looking at the fountain instead of you now. “But then you smiled at a cat named Chicken.”
Your head snaps toward him. For a second, he looks like he wants to physically pull the words back into his mouth after saying it too easily and comfortably, like the memory had been sitting there the whole time and slipped out before he could decide. He exhales, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “I saw it,” he admits. “You were with Mrs. Park, and then the cat got up, and you just...” He stops, suddenly aware of how much detail he is giving. “You looked different.”
Your face warms despite yourself, but you keep your expression sharp. “So you were watching me.”
He lifts one hand like he is surrendering in court. “I know how it sounds. I just mean I noticed you before you noticed me.”
You fold your arms, still looking at him like he has committed some minor felony against your privacy. “And you remembered the cat’s name?”
“You called him Chicken.”
“Because his name is Chicken.”
“Which is insane, by the way.”
You almost smile at that, but you press it down immediately. Unfortunately, Jake sees the attempt; fortunately, he has enough survival instinct not to mention it, and to choose his words with more care this time. “I guess I just didn’t expect you to look less angry.” His gaze flicks to yours.
You scoff, but there is barely any bite in it. “So you watched me because I looked less angry?”
“No,” he says, then pauses. “Maybe. A little. I don’t know.” He exhales, looking down at his hands. “Everyone talked about you like you were this impossible person. Then I met you and, yeah, you were mean to me.”
A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, quiet and a little disbelieving. “Yeah, well,” you say, looking away first, “I wasn’t exactly making myself likable.”
His smile softens at that, not teasing this time. “I’m not saying you made it easy.” His eyes stay on you, steady enough to make your chest feel weird. “I’m saying I still wanted to get to know you.”
For once, you don’t have anything sharp to say back. You study him, searching for the joke, the little loophole where he gets to wriggle away from accountability. But he only sits there on the far end of the bench, shoulders slightly hunched, looking embarrassed enough that it almost feels unfair to keep glaring. The two of you listen to the fountain where water spills over stone, soft and repetitive, while the ballroom continues humming in the distance like another life waiting for you to come back and behave.
“You know,” you say slowly, “normal people introduce themselves.”
He glances at you. “I did.”
You give him a look. “You followed me through campus.”
“I said hey.”
“That is not an introduction, that was stalking.”
He laughs, and you roll your eyes, though the smile threatening the corner of your mouth makes the whole thing less convincing than you probably want it to be. He turns his body slightly toward you, still careful not to crowd your space, his expression shifting into something softer beneath the amusement.
“Okay,” he says. “Then let me redo it.”
He straightens a little, smoothing one hand over his suit jacket like he is preparing for something far more formal than a conversation beside you. It should look ridiculous, but then he looks at you with an earnestness that makes your guard hesitate before you can stop it.
“Hi,” he says, offering his hand. “I’m Jake Sim. I’m Riki’s friend. I have a border collie named Layla. I play soccer, I’m good at math, and I’m apparently terrible at approaching girls who scare me.”
You stare at him. Surprised. Confused. Heart fluttering a little.
His smile softens, but he keeps going, quieter now, like the next part matters more than the joke. “I also know I made a bad first impression. And I know you had every reason to think I was annoying.”
“You are annoying,” you say automatically while your hand reaches his to shake.
“I know.” His smile grows a little. “But I’m trying to be less annoying.”
“Unlikely.”
“Probably,” he admits. “But I’d still like to try.”
For a second after that, neither of you says anything. Your hand slips out of his, and both of you look away at almost the same time, like you’re both processing that you’ve just held hands. Jake clears his throat and fixes his posture, sitting up straighter as if that might undo the way his smile is still refusing to leave his face.
“Well,” you say after a moment, folding your hands over your lap, “you’re the first person who’s actually lasted this long with me.” You say it lightly, almost dismissively, but your eyes stay in front of you. “Most people usually give up before this part.”
His smile fades just a little, not into sadness exactly, but into something more attentive. “Because you push them away?”
You huff out a small laugh. “Friends, mostly.” Then your mouth twists, like you’re deciding whether to soften the words or not. “Apparently, people can’t handle a heinous bitch for very long.”
He huffs a small laugh, looking down at his fidgeting hands. You glance at him, confused. “What?”
He shakes his head once, like he’s amused by something private. “Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
His gaze lifts to yours again. There’s a strange look on his face now, which isn’t teasing exactly, but not shy either.
Then he says, “I’m not trying to be your friend.”
The sentence lands so cleanly that, for one impossible second, your entire brain goes quiet. You stare at him and Jake stares back.
Somewhere behind the doors, people are still drinking champagne and discussing donations and waiting for you to return as the version of yourself they understand, while here, on this bench, Jake Sim has just said something far too simple to be misunderstood.
Your mouth parts slightly. “What?”
His confidence seems to flicker only after he realizes he has actually said it out loud and not something he kept in his head. His ears go faintly red, but he doesn’t look away, keeping his legs crisscrossed on the bench like an idiot prince, looking at you like he knows exactly what he meant and is terrified by it anyway.
“I mean,” he starts, then stops. He exhales, laughing under his breath, embarrassed now. “I mean, I can be. Your friend.”
“That is not what you said.”
“I know.”
“You said you weren’t trying to be my friend.”
“I know what I said.”
Your face feels hot. Horribly, unmistakably hot.
His eyes drop for half a second to your mouth before returning to your face so quickly you almost think you imagined it. You look away first because if you keep looking at him, something very stupid is going to happen to your composure.
You clear your throat. “I should go back.”
His gaze lifts immediately, but he doesn’t argue. “Yeah.”
You expected a joke, a dramatic sigh, maybe some irritating line about how tragic it is that society needs you more than he does. Instead, he only nods and begins unfolding himself from the bench. “You’re not going to convince me to stay?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
Jake stands, brushing one hand over his trousers. “Do you want me to?”
He looks at you, and something in his expression grows rigid again when he realizes what he just asked. So he corrects himself. “I mean,” he says, “I can. But I can also walk you back.”
You look away, pretending to adjust the fabric of your gown. “Fine.”
His mouth curves. “Fine?”
“Yes.”
He laughs under his breath, and you hate that you smile. You stand carefully from the bench, smoothing the skirt of your gown with both hands, only to freeze to find the pale fabric is stained. It’s not ruined, necessarily, but definitely marked where the garden path must have turned soft near the fountain, with a faint smear of mud that darkens the edge of the gown, and when you glance down at your shoes, the thin straps and pointed toes have flecks of dirt on them. You’ve spent all night holding yourself together, only to end up in a garden with Riki’s friend, exposing everything you’ve kept to yourself, and now covered in mud at your father’s charity gala.
“I can’t walk back in like this.” you can only sigh.
He grins, then his eyes drop again to your shoes, while the amusement fades into thoughtfulness. “Do you want me to carry you?”
You look at him so fast your neck nearly protests. “What?”
His face changes instantly and his ears go red again. “Sorry. I mean, not like that. I just meant because of the mud, and your heels, and the dress, and the path is kind of wet. It might get worse. Aren’t your feet tired?”
You stare at him as he exhales, glancing away for a second before looking back at you, steadier this time. “I can carry you back.” The correction is soft, because it’s not a question that leaves you to decide whether accepting makes you ridiculous. It’s an offer.
“In front of everyone?”
“No,” he says quickly, then gestures toward the side path. “Not everyone. There’s another entrance near the hallway, right? The one we came out of. I can take you there.”
You blink and the idea is absurd, too much for everything that has happened tonight. “I’m not letting you carry me.”
“Okay.”
You shake your head, but you’re smiling again, and this time you don’t try to hide it anymore.
The two of you start down the side path slowly, your steps careful over the damp stone and softer patches of grass. The garden seems colder now as the breeze slips beneath the thin fabric of your gown, crawling across your bare shoulders until you can’t stop the small shiver that runs through you. You tuck your chin, tighten your arms around yourself, and keep walking like your body hasn’t just betrayed you in front of the most observant boy alive.
One second he is walking beside you in his perfectly fitted black suit, and the next, warm fabric settles around you, heavy and soft, falling over your bare shoulders with a carefulness that makes your breath catch. You stop walking, letting his hands hover for half a second near your shoulders to make sure the jacket doesn’t slide off before he pulls them back.
You look down at the jacket, then back at him with a glare of concern. “You’re going to get cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re in a dress shirt.”
“And you’re shivering.”
“I was not.” You glare at him, but it has no teeth now, no bite, which he seems to know that too, because his smile turns softer.
“Just wear it.”
The two of you continue toward the side entrance, slower than necessary, slower than you have ever been. Your gown brushes against the grass, stained hem gathered slightly in one hand, while his jacket hangs around your shoulders.
You should worry about the mud, the whispers, your father, the fact that Jake Sim’s jacket is currently covering your gown in a way that feels too intimate for something so practical. But you haven’t cared even though the vintage and expensive dress you wear is dirty. Instead, you laugh again when your heel sinks slightly into the damp ground. Your heels click against the marble as you step back into the hallway, the sound suddenly too clean after the wet grass and stone path outside. You can already hear the faint swell of conversation beyond the ballroom doors waiting at the end like a mouth full of gold light and noise; the clinking glasses, the polite laughter, the entire world you are supposed to return to with your posture fixed and your expression arranged.
You reach for his jacket before you can think too much about it. He takes it carefully, his fingers brushing the fabric where your hands had been. You smooth the front of your gown, trying to rebuild yourself enough to step back inside. “If you tell anyone what happened...”
“I won’t,” he says, before you even finish. “I won’t.” he repeats, softer.
For some reason, you believe him immediately. So you nod once, gathering yourself before pushing the doors open. The warmth and noise rushes back in at once, golden light spilling over your face as you step into the room again.
It takes less than a minute for your father to find you, and once he does, his eyes move over you, first your hair, then the faint mud near your dress, then your shoes. His brows draw together. “What happened to you?”
Normally, you would straighten, explain and apologize, but this time, you only shrug. “I had a bit too much champagne,” you say lightly.
By the time you returned to your room that night, the mud had already dried along the hem of your gown, your hair had loosened almost completely from its pins, and even though Jake Sim’s jacket had been returned before either of you stepped back into the ballroom, the warmth of it still seemed to sit stubbornly across your shoulders — surreal until beneath the covers.
That was the irritating part, really. Things were supposed to end when they ended. Jackets were returned, doors were opened, conversations were folded away with the rest of the evening, but the garden did not leave with the night, nor did the memory of him sitting across from you on the bench, careful with the distance, looking at you like he had seen the worst parts and somehow decided they were not enough to scare him away.
Neither of you talked about it after. Not properly.
There were moments where it almost happened, which was perhaps worse than if nothing had happened at all, because the next morning at school, when you saw him across the courtyard with Riki and the others, laughing at something Jay said, his eyes found yours through the movement of students and sunlight, and for one strange second, the entire campus seemed to narrow into the space between you — before Riki shoved his shoulder like a dumbass.
Jake learns fairly quickly that he is feeling (concerned, of course, that’s all) for you. And it’s inconvenient.
At first, that is the only word he lets himself use, because it sounds harmless enough. It is easier to call you inconvenient than admit that somewhere between a porch light, a bookstore cat, and a garden bench, his original reason for approaching you has started to rot quietly in the back of his conscience.
Riki had paid him.
Not in a serious way, or in a way any adult would consider legally binding or morally sophisticated, but still enough that Jake sometimes thinks about the crumpled bills and feels something unpleasant crawl under his skin. At the beginning, it had meant a task, this whole idea of keeping you occupied so Riki could have room to breathe. You were a challenge then, a sharp-tongued older sister with a reputation, a schedule, a glare that could salt the earth, and a list of rules for a brother who needed to survive for his benefit.
It was getting harder to think of you as a job when you showed him what you thought were the ugliest parts of yourself, and he could only think you still looked pretty.
He is also actively trying not to think about it on the pavement when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
“Bro,” Riki says the second Jake answers, voice low and hurried. “I need you to take my sister out tonight.”
He pauses with one hand still on Layla’s leash, standing on the sidewalk outside his house while the dog sniffs a bush. Jake’s starting to think that Riki’s a bit more insane than you are, because he always asks the most unhinged favors. “What?”
“You know,” Riki says quickly, then seems to think about it. “Our deal. I need it badly tonight. I have plans.”
Jake’s expression flattens. “What plans?”
“A date.”
There is silence — one awkward silence.
Layla tugs at the leash and Jake lets himself be pulled two steps forward before asking, very carefully, “Does your sister know?”
“No, obviously not.”
“Riki.”
“It’s not bad,” Riki insists immediately. “I’m just going out with this girl from school, and I’ll be home early, but if my sister’s home and I’m not, she’s gonna start calling people and asking questions again. It’s part of her rules that I’m not allowed to date ‘til I’m eighteen.”
Jake rubs a hand over his face, already feeling the shape of the problem and disliking how familiar it has become. Especially not when he was just trying to control his little growing trouble that made up of you and your pretty eyes and adorable smile. “So your solution is to make me distract her.”
“I pay a hundred bucks a week for that!”
Jake almost laughs, because three weeks ago he might have been amused enough to play along with the joke, but now the whole thing sits differently in his chest. There is the old agreement, of course, the stupid one made at a party over drinks and Riki’s desperation, but there is also the garden, your face under the lights, your voice beside the fountain, your hand taking his jacket before you stepped back into the ballroom, and the way you had looked at him like you did not know whether to trust him but might have wanted to.
“I’m not doing this because you asked,” Jake says.
Riki makes a confused sound. “But I did ask.”
“I know.” Jake says, watching Layla sit neatly at his feet and look up as if even she understands this is going badly. “I’m saying if I take her somewhere, it’s because I want to.”
Then Riki says, with the kind of slow horror that proves he has begun realizing his plan may have developed organs and free will, “Oh.”
By the time evening settles over the city, you are in your room with your hair clipped back and a half-finished movie open in front of you when your phone lights up with Jake’s name, which is already annoying because he has apparently become someone whose name makes your attention trip over itself before you can discipline it with strict rules and bad parenting.
You stare at the screen for two rings. Then you answer. “What?”
There is a brief pause, and you can almost hear his smile through the phone. “Hi to you too.”
His voice slips through the speaker in a way that makes your room feel a little more warm than it did a second ago. You hate that he can do that now, that he can enter a space and rearrange the air without even being physically present, as though your life has become embarrassingly vulnerable to boys with good timing and probably bad intentions, because who calls at 9PM?
You lean back against your headboard. “Why are you calling me?”
“Because I’m going to the night market across town,” he says. “There are food trucks, stalls, probably overpriced shit,”
You cock a brow at relevance. “Okay?”
“Come with me.”
The sentence is too simple. Not do you want to come, or are you free, or any kind of question you can fold neatly into an excuse and return unopened.
Your fingers tighten around your phone. “No.”
He doesn’t answer right away, and you expect him to push immediately, because that is usually what he does. He appears in hallways, sits at your library table, follows you through conversations until you leave, but now he only lets your answer sit there for a second.
Then he says, “Okay.”
You blink. The movie on your laptop continues playing in the background, but your attention has already abandoned it entirely. “Then why are you still calling?” you ask.
On the other end, there is a small pause.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I guess I don’t really want to hang up yet.”
The movie keeps playing in front of you, bright colors moving across your laptop screen, but the sound has become nothing. You stare at the monitor instead, and try to ignore the way your face has warmed.
“That’s a terrible reason,” you say quietly.
“Yeah.” he laughs after. Neither of you speaks for a second until he breathes out softly. “I just thought you might like it.”
You smile down at your phone, suddenly brave because he can’t see your face. “You sound nervous.”
He goes quiet for half a second before answering, softer, “I am nervous. A little.”
You press the phone closer to your ear without meaning to. “Why?”
Then, quieter, “Because I asked you to come with me and you said no.” he lets out a soft chuckle, like he can’t believe himself for what he’s about to say, “But I’m going to be there,” he says. “And I’d rather go with you.”
There it is again, that careless honesty of his, the kind that does not ask for anything too loudly. Despite the oddity of the situation, your brain is less of a shamble than it is mellowed out — which you should probably question and panic about. Later.
You stare at your laptop for a long second. And for reasons you cannot fathom, you wonder what’s so bad about going somewhere tonight. With Jake. “How far is it?”
He does not answer immediately, maybe busy weighing in what that means already. You can practically feel him trying not to sound pleased. “Across town,” he says carefully. “Twenty minutes, maybe.”
You still for a moment, playing with your blankets in between your fingers while you think this through. And like he can sense your hesitance, he helps you. “Give me one hour,” he says. “If you hate it, I’ll take you home.”
You shake your head, still smiling. “You’re very confident for someone I haven’t technically agreed to go out with.”
The silence that follows is immediate as your eyes open wide, just realizing it at the exact same time he does. You sit up straighter, heat rushing to your face because you didn’t mean it like that. “I mean go out to the market.”
“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter now. “I know.”
Fifteen minutes later, you step out of the house in comfortable clothes, locking the door behind you before you can think too hard about the fact that you came out at all. The night air hits your face immediately, cooler than expected, and you hug your arms loosely around yourself as your eyes find him near the curb.
Jake is leaning against his car with his hands in his pants pockets, head slightly lowered, looking unfairly casual in a hoodie layered beneath a jacket, his hair falling over his forehead like he did not spend even one second thinking about how he looked before coming here. Which is ridiculous, because some people look better when they try, but Jake Sim has apparently been designed by nature to look the most when he appears completely unaware of himself.
His gaze travels over you once, slow to take you in. You usually look like you’ve been assembled by clothing that make people feel underdressed by association, but tonight you’re in sweatpants and a fitted tank top beneath a jacket, hair loose, face bare. He looks at you like he is taking in the fact that you came downstairs for him.
“What?” you ask, already defensive.
He shakes his head, but the smile gets there before his denial does. “Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
He pushes himself off the car, one hand already reaching for the passenger door handle. “You look cute.”
You physically jerk to a stop and your face warms immediately. “You’re weird.”
“I’ve heard.”
“You can’t just say things like that.”
He opens the passenger door and looks at you, smiling in a way that is trying to be innocent and failing by a devastating margin. “Get in.”
You narrow your eyes. “You’re bossy tonight.”
“Please get in,” he corrects, still smiling.
You stare at him for another second, mostly because your pride requires a brief fight before surrender, then walk past him and slide into the passenger seat with as much dignity as possible. He closes the door once you are settled, and through the window, you catch the small smile he tries to hide as he circles around the front of the car.
The ride’s quiet with the memory of Jake flirting with you in the gala garden — it makes you feel warm despite how cold the night is. You look out the window, watching streetlights slide over the glass, trying not to notice how different this feels from every other time you have been near him. The night market appears before you in scattered pieces first, a line of cars, a spill of warm lights, people crossing the street in groups, then the whole thing opens up beyond the parking area in a bright, crowded stretch of stalls and food trucks and lanterns strung overhead.
You step out of the car and immediately pause, because it’s loud and crowded, which means it’s not your thing. There is smoke from grills twisting into the cold air, music blasting everywhere, laughter rising and falling in waves — which feels less like a market and more like a small fair.
You look at the crowd, then up at Jake. “This is busy.”
He closes his door and comes around the car, following your gaze. “Yeah.” He laughs, but softly, and when you look at him, he is already looking at you with that careful smile again, the one that does not make fun of you for being cautious. He looks at the crowd, then back at you, and for a second you think he might offer to leave, which would be considerate and therefore deeply inconvenient, but instead he reaches over and gives the sleeve of your jacket a small tug.
“Come on,” he says.
Before you can decide whether to argue, he starts walking, slow enough that you can follow without feeling dragged into the crowd. You hesitate for another second, but then the smell of something fried and warm cuts through the smoke, and your stomach chooses betrayal.
At first, you keep maneuvering to avoid everyone. You move through the crowd with shoulders turning at sharp angles, arms tucked close, stepping aside whenever someone comes too near. He notices after the third time you dodge a stranger by nearly stepping into a potted plant.
He laughs and you sigh without looking at him. “People have no spatial awareness.”
“People are walking.”
“Badly.”
Jake looks like he is trying very hard not to enjoy you, which makes the smile on his face even worse. You are halfway past a food truck with skewers smoking over a grill when you stop so abruptly that Jake nearly walks into you.
He catches himself at the last second. “What?”
You are staring at a small stall tucked between two larger ones, steam curling from bamboo baskets stacked in neat towers while a woman behind the counter folds dumplings quickly with practiced hands.
“I’ve been craving dumplings.”
The sentence leaves you softer than intended, and his expression changes in a way you do not have time to analyze because you are already in front of the stall. He follows without comment. A few minutes later, the two of you are walking again, slower this time, both eating from your trays with the market moving around you in bright, noisy pieces.
For a while, neither of you says anything, though it is not uncomfortable. You take another bite, then he glances at you. “Do you want a drink with that?”
You nod, mouth still full, and he’s already turning toward a nearby cooler display. He comes back with two cheap glass soda pops, the kind with bright labels and caps that need to be opened on the side of the stall counter, and hands one to you without making a thing of it.
You take it, fingers brushing condensation. “Thanks.”
“Was that gratitude?”
You look at him over the rim of the bottle. He lifts both hands in surrender, still holding his own drink.
You walk with him after that, and slowly, your shoulders unintentionally begin to loosen. The crowd is still loud, still too close, still full of strangers with elbows and sauce and terrible directional instincts, but it becomes less unbearable now. He notices when your attention starts catching, but he never comments, which is the only reason you allow yourself to drift toward a booth crowded with little trinkets and charms. There are cats, dogs, bears, strawberries, cherries, tiny books, moons, stars, and one orange cat keychain with a round face and a deeply unimpressed expression.
You pretend your decision is practical, of course, like owning a tiny orange cat charm is somehow a necessary purchase. He watches quietly while you pay, your expression focused and pleased in a way that makes him look away for half a second because apparently he has some survival instincts left.
You attach it to your bag immediately. He looks at it, then at the rest of the display, and his mouth twitches. “That one looks like you.” You follow his gaze to a small cat charm with narrowed eyes, pointed ears, and an expression so deeply displeased it almost feels personally designed to insult you.
Your face flattens. “No, it does not.”
He picks it up. “It does.”
You glare at him and he smiles at the charm. “See? Same expression.” he says as he holds it up beside your face to compare.
“Put it back.”
Instead, he pays for it and you stare at him. “Why did you buy that?”
He looks at it once, and then pockets it without explanation. “Come on.”
“No, why did you buy it?”
“I liked it.” He keeps walking, and you have to follow because the crowd is moving again. For some reason the gesture bothers you more than the teasing does.
The next booth that caught your attention is almost obnoxiously catered to your weaknesses, with neat stacks of sticker sheets, tiny memo pads, washi tape, highlighters in soft colors, planner tabs, bookmarks, stamps, and pens arranged in little acrylic containers. You stop so completely that Jake has to step aside to avoid blocking a passing couple.
For the next several minutes, you become very busy with the most random things, all as Jake stands slightly behind you, holding his soda and yours because at some point you handed it to him without looking, and he accepts this responsibility without saying anything. The two of you keep walking after, and you look more relaxed now than you did at the entrance, less like you are bracing for the world to touch you and more like you have forgotten that you disliked it. You stop at stalls, drift toward anything cute or useful, and Jake continues to follow at your side with no complaint, carrying your soda when you need both hands and slowing whenever you slow.
Then, just as you lean slightly toward a booth selling handmade bookmarks and tiny pressed-flower frames, a pair of kids comes rushing through the gap between stalls, chasing each other with glowing toys in their hands. He moves before thinking, his hand finds the space near your lower back, hovering as he shifts closer to keep the children from bumping into you. His other arm angles subtly between you and the crowd, and he looks over his shoulder just long enough to make sure they pass without catching your side.
You do not notice because you are too busy looking at a bookmark with a little painted cat on it. For some reason, that makes him smile to himself as he lets his hand fall away before you can feel the absence of it.
You turn to him a second later, holding up the bookmark. “This is cute.”
He looks at the bookmark, then at you, still smiling faintly. “Yeah.”
At some point, the crowd gets worse, which you didn’t even notice at first, but then the path in front of you disappears almost entirely, swallowed by families, couples, groups of students, people stopping without warning, people cutting through gaps that do not exist — just people. For a moment, both of you stand at the edge of the crowd, watching everyone press forward in a messy current of shoulders and laughter and swinging shopping bags.
You sigh. “This is ridiculous.”
He looks thoughtful for a second, then makes a decision you do not see coming at all. His arm lifts slightly, hovering behind your shoulders, and you immediately turn your head to look at him.
Jake, to his credit, only looks mildly nervous. “It’s practical.”
Your eyes narrow. “Is it?”
He glances toward the crowd like it might help him build a better defense. “There are a lot of people.”
He presses his lips together, fighting a smile, but his arm stays there, careful and waiting rather than assuming. It should not feel like such a big thing, but it does, mostly because he looks like he is giving you every chance to refuse. “You don’t have to,” he says after a second, already starting to lower his arm.
You hate that the consideration makes it worse. So before you can think too much about it, you roll your eyes and step closer, letting his arm settle around your shoulders like this is somehow the most casual thing in the world (it is not). Jake goes very still for half a second, like he did not actually expect you to allow it, and the brief pause is so obvious that your face warms immediately.
“This is practical,” you say, staring straight ahead.
“Yeah,” he answers, voice lower than before. “Very practical.”
You glance up at him despite yourself, and he is already looking away, but the corner of his mouth is lifted, and his ears have gone faintly pink beneath the market lights.
“Are you blushing?” you ask.
Jake looks at you then, and the smile finally breaks loose. “No.”
“You are.”
“It’s cold.”
You should move away after that because the path opens slightly, enough for you to walk without being separated, and there is no official reason for his arm to stay around your shoulders anymore. But he keeps it there, loose enough that you can step away anytime, steady enough that no one can push between you.
So you stay.
He walks half a step beside you, not dragging you, only guiding when the crowd tightens again. His shoulder angles gently through the busiest parts, his arm drawing you closer whenever someone cuts too near, and each time it happens, your side brushes against him.
You stare ahead and try to remember that this is for crowd navigation, nothing else. Then someone with a swinging tote bag steps backward without looking, and Jake reacts before you do, pulling you in carefully until your shoulder presses against his chest for one quick, breathless second.
“Sorry,” he says near your ear, already loosening his hold. “You okay?”
You nod too quickly. “Fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
You hate how much easier it becomes after that. Not the crowd, because the crowd is still awful, still shifting and pressing and stopping without warning, but moving through it with him is easier. He notices gaps before you do, and he shifts when people come too close. At some point, without asking, he takes the unfinished cake cup from your hand too, tucking the little wooden spoon beneath the lid and holding it in his free hand like carrying your dessert is normal.
You do not protest, and that is the truly alarming part. For once, your brain gets to go quiet. Not completely, of course, because you are still you, but some strict part of you loosens just enough to let him lead. It should bother you more. It does bother you. But it also feels good.
By the time you finally return to the car, the one hour has become more than one hour by a margin neither of you mentions — you both had stopped checking the time altogether.
He only opens the passenger door for you, takes your bags long enough for you to get in comfortably, then hands them back once you are settled like this is all very normal. You start to think that’s the kind of person who knows where your hands are too full and fixes it without asking (which is bad because it detangles the wires in your brain). The drive back is quiet because you’re both tired, and the city slips past the windows in streaks of light while you sit with your head turned slightly toward the glass. He keeps one hand on the wheel and the other resting loosely near the gear shift, his posture relaxed now, his eyes on the road.
When he finally pulls up outside your house, you both sit there. Then Jake unbuckles first, getting out already, and by the time you open your door, he is already there with your things gathered carefully in his arms.
“I can carry my own stuff,”
“I know.”
He hands you the paper bag first, then the little pouch from the trinket stall, then your phone, which you had somehow left in the cup holder without realizing. With your things in your hands, you stand across the passenger door while he leans back against it, spine resting against the car, hands slipping into his pockets after he has nothing left to hand you. He is closer like this, enough that the porch light catches the tired softness around his eyes.
Jake looks at you for a moment, and for once, he does not seem like he is trying to come up with anything clever. Then his voice goes soft. “Did you have fun?”
You look down at the paper bag in your arms, thinking that you could say it was fine, or tolerable, or simply that dumplings were good. Instead, you think about his hand around yours in the crowd, his laugh when you dragged him away from the flowers, the way he never made you feel strange for relying on someone.
“A little,” you say.
His smile appears slowly, like he is trying not to let it happen too fast. “A little?”
“Don’t get greedy.”
“I feel greedy.”
Your face warms immediately, but he seems to hear himself a second later because his smile widens just slightly. “I had fun,” he says and you hold his gaze.
Your fingers tighten around the handles of your bag. “You’re very easy to entertain then,” you say.
“Only tonight.”
“Because of the market?”
“Sure.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “What was it then?”
He leans his head back lightly against the window, still watching you through half-lidded eyes, his smile barely there now. “You really wanna know?” he asks.
You smile despite yourself, shaking your head before he can answer. “No.” because you know what he’ll say, and it feels dangerous to hear it out loud.
He laughs softly, head still leaned back against the window, the porch light catching the slope of his cheek and the tired softness in his eyes. For a second, he looks less like someone trying to win an argument and more like someone who would be perfectly fine just standing there with you until the night runs out. “I figured.”
You lift the paper bag in your hand. “The dumplings were good.”
He sighs, disbelieving but still completely okay with it anyway. “I’ll take it,” he says. Then he straightens slowly, pushing himself off the car like he has finally accepted that the night has to end, but even after he says, “I should go,” he does not actually move.
You nod. “Yeah.”
Neither of you moves.
You should say goodnight, walk up the steps, unlock the door, and pretend the whole drive home had not gone quiet in a way that felt different from tiredness. But your feet stay planted near the passenger side, your bags looped awkwardly over your fingers, your phone pressed against the paper bag in your arms. The porch light spills softly over the driveway, catching the side of Jake’s face, and he looks tired in the gentlest way, hair slightly messy from the night air, hoodie sitting loose on his shoulders, eyes still on you like he is waiting for something without wanting to ask for it.
That is the worst part: he does not push, he does not tease, he does not make some stupid comment that would make it easier for you to roll your eyes and leave. He just stands there, patient in a way that makes your chest tighten.
“You should go,” you say, even though you are the one not stepping away.
His mouth curves faintly. “I know.”
“You’re not going.”
“Neither are you.”
You look away first, irritated by the truth of it. This is awful.
It is awful because you are used to handling things yourself, used to needing no one, used to being sharp enough that people stop trying. And then Jake Sim shows up, too warm, too persistent, too easy to like when he stops trying so hard, and suddenly your own brain feels like it has been rearranged.
He watches your face, his smile fading into something softer. “What is it?”
You shake your head. “Nothing.”
“Okay.”
He says it like he believes you have the right to keep it, and somehow that makes it harder to keep anything at all. You glance at him again, and he is still there, hands tucked into his pockets now, shoulders relaxed, giving you every chance to go inside.
You hate that. You hate him. You hate that you don’t hate him at all.
“You’re thinking really loud,” he says quietly.
You let out a small breath, almost a laugh, but not quite. “You’re very annoying.”
“I’ve heard.”
“No.” You look up at him properly this time, and your voice comes out softer than you meant it to. “You’ve been very inconvenient.”
He tilts his head, confusion crossing his face. “Inconvenient?”
You hate that he genuinely does not seem to understand. It makes the whole thing worse, somehow, because of course he would stand there looking at you like that, soft-eyed and patient, after spending the entire night making it harder and harder for you to pretend he was still just Riki’s friend.
“Yes,” you say, almost sharply. “Inconvenient.”
His mouth opens, probably to ask another stupid question, but you cannot handle another second of him being careful with you. So you drop your bags at your feet, step forward before you can change your mind, grab the front of his hoodie, and pull him down.
Then you kiss him.
He goes completely still beneath your hands, so still that your heart drops almost immediately. The courage leaves you as quickly as it came, replaced by a sharp rush of embarrassment that burns all the way up your neck. You pull away before he can even react, fingers slipping from his hoodie as your eyes fall anywhere but his face.
“I —” You swallow, already stepping back. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have —”
But you’re already turning before you can finish. You barely make it half a step before his hand catches your wrist, gentle but certain. The next second, he turns you back toward him, and you stumble straight into his chest.
Jake is looking at you now like he has finally caught up with himself. His hands find your waist, careful for only a heartbeat before his grip firms, pulling you closer, and he kisses you back. It is warm and firm and breathless, like he is making up for the second he lost, like he cannot believe you almost walked away again.
Your hands grab at his hoodie again, more out of surprise than anything, and he leans into you just enough that the whole world seems to narrow down to his chest against yours, his fingers at your waist, and the quiet night around you. He towers closer, holding you tighter when your knees buckle underneath you, especially when a gasp slips out of your lips and his tongue enters your mouth.
When he finally pulls back, he does not go far. For a moment, both of you just stand there, close and silent, breathing unevenly under the porch light. Then Jake lets out the smallest, stunned laugh, his forehead pressed against yours.
“You have no idea,” he says quietly with his hands steady at your waist. “How long I’ve wanted you to stop walking away from me.”
For once, there is no sharp answer on your tongue, no insult, no eye roll, no clean little exit you can use to save yourself from the way he is looking at you. There is only Jake and you.
“You froze,” you whisper, because it is the only thing your pride can still manage.
His laugh comes out breathless. “You surprised me.”
“That’s your excuse?”
His hands tighten at your waist, like even now he cannot believe you are still arguing with him. “That’s my apology.”
You lift your chin slightly. “It wasn’t very good.”
His eyes drop to your mouth for half a second before coming back to yours, and this time, the smile he gives you is softer than it is teasing.
“Then let me do better,”
You barely have time to pretend you are annoyed before he kisses you again. This one is slower at first, like he is giving you the chance to pull away, but your hands are already gripping his hoodie and pulling him closer before either of you can pretend otherwise. You feel him smile against your lips as he deepens the kiss.
When you part again, your face is warm, his hair is a little messed up from where your fingers had caught in it, and both of you are breathing like the night has tilted beneath your feet.
You look toward the door, then back at him, suddenly shy now that the night has become quiet again. “Do you want to come in?”
His gaze lifts to yours, and the look on his face changes so quickly it makes your breath catch. The teasing is gone now, the stunned smile from earlier fading into something quieter, heavier, like he understands exactly what you just asked and is trying very hard not to make you regret saying it.
For once, he does not say anything clever. He only looks at you and nods.
You unlock the front door carefully, as if the sound itself might become suspicious, then step inside with him following after you. The house is dim, only the soft light over the staircase left on, and for a second the two of you stand in the entryway like you have smuggled the whole night in with you.
He closes the door quietly behind him as you slip off your shoes. Neither of you says anything, but when you glance back, he is already looking at you. You step toward him first, his expression shifting like he has not fully learned what to do with you when you are the one closing the distance. For once, he does not move first. He only stands there, still and watching, as your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie. You pull him in and his breath catches softly, then you reach up and kiss him again. He responds after half a second of surprise, hands lifting to your waist, like even now he is keeping some part of himself gentle.
The kiss is still sweet, still careful, but there is less hesitation in it this time. Your hand stays fisted in his jacket, and when he leans closer, you feel his smile against your mouth before he kisses you back properly.
He pulls away just enough to breathe, his face still close, eyes warm and slightly dazed in a way that makes your stomach turn uselessly soft. “You’re getting very bold,” he whispers.
You glare at him, which is difficult when you are still holding onto him. “Are you complaining?”
His smile breaks wider. “No. I’m not.” Then he kisses you again before you can argue, which is unfair because arguing has been your only reliable defense against him and he has apparently discovered a much better strategy. His hands stay at your waist, warm and steady, not pushing, only holding you close enough that you forget to keep track of where the hallway ends and where he begins.
Somehow, between one kiss and the next, your back meets the front door. You do not notice right away because all you notice is him, the warmth of his mouth, the careful way he keeps slowing down like he is reminding himself to let you breathe, the way his thumb shifts at your waist when your fingers tighten in his jacket. The whole house is quiet around you, but your heart is being so loud it feels impossible that he cannot hear it.
Then he pulls back just enough for his words to brush against your mouth. “I want to be your boyfriend.”
You go still, and his eyes open, searching your face. You look at him for a second, breath still uneven, then whisper, “Think you can wait a little bit more?”
His expression softens immediately. The shift is quick; the want in his face makes room for patience again, how fast he understands. He nods once, small and serious, his hands loosening at your waist like he would let go the second you asked him to. “I can wait,” he says quietly.
And he looks like he means it. Like he would stand there in your hallway with your lipstick slightly smudged on his mouth, with his heart in his hands, and let you kiss him while still waiting for you to decide what to do with it. Like he would take every almost, every maybe, every not yet, and still look at you like you are not being cruel for needing time.
Your hands slide up from his jacket to his hair, fingers threading carefully through the soft strands at the back of his head, and his eyes flutter like that small touch just ruined whatever patience he had left. You lean in again and he goes still for one startled breath before he melts into it, a quiet laugh slipping against your mouth as he realizes, too late, that you were not saying no. Your hands stay curled in his jacket, keeping him close, and this kiss feels different from the others, still soft, still careful, but warmer now, more certain, like an answer you are not ready to say out loud.
When you pull away (barely), he is smiling so openly that you almost regret letting him have this much evidence. His smile turns stupidly happy. “That sounds like a yes.”
“It sounds like you should kiss me again before I change my mind.”
He laughs, quiet and breathless, and does exactly that. Somewhere between the hallway and the kiss after that, the two of you become very bad at making responsible decisions.
In whispered laughs and careful footsteps up the stairs, with your hand around his wrist and him following behind you like he is trying not to smile too loudly. The house stays dim around you, every creak in the floorboards suddenly dramatic enough. By the time you reach your room, your heart is doing something ridiculous again. You open the door slowly, letting the faint light from the hallway spill over your bed, your desk, the half-finished planner still open from earlier, the ordinary pieces of your life that suddenly feel less ordinary with him stepping into them behind you. He looks around for half a second, not nosy, just quietly taking it in.
You step toward him before he can say anything worse, catching the front of his jacket again, and he lets you pull him down with an ease that makes your stomach turn soft. The kiss starts as a way to shut him up, or at least that is what you tell yourself, but then his hands find the small of your back to steady you, careful and familiar now, and suddenly the room feels smaller.
You back up without thinking, until the backs of your legs meet the edge of the bed, and he stops immediately. He pulls away just enough to look at you. “Okay?”
You hate that he asks. You love that he asks.
Instead of answering, you sit down on the edge of the mattress and tug him gently. He follows, careful even when he looks like every bit of caution in him is being tested. The bed dips beneath both of you, your knees brushing first, then your hands finding his jacket again, pulling him close enough that he has no choice but to lean over you when you lie back against the pillows.
For a second, he just looks at you. It is almost funny, how still he goes, hands planted beside your shoulder like he has forgotten what to do with himself now that you are the one inviting him closer. His eyes move over your face, not rushing anywhere else, and something about that makes your chest feel warmer.
“You’re overthinking,” you whisper.
Jake lets out a quiet laugh, but it sounds strained in the softest way. “Yeah.”
“You usually have more to say.”
His smile appears, small and helpless, before he leans down and kisses you again. It is still gentle and careful, but being this close makes everything feel bigger. The quiet room, the faint light from the hallway, the warmth of him above you and being in between your legs, the way his breath catches when your fingers slip to the back of his neck.
He pulls away, not far, just enough to look at you properly, his eyes searching yours. “Still okay?” he whispers.
You nod, but he does not move immediately, like he wants the answer to be something you choose twice. So you smile, softer than you mean to. “I’m okay.” The relief on his face is quiet, but obvious.
“You’re very careful.”
His mouth lifts faintly. “With you? Yeah.”
You look away for half a second, because that is a terrible sentence to hear while he is this close. He sees it, the way the gears turn inside your head, the way you’re suddenly pushing his jacket off him and your knees are tightening against his waist. He swallows, struggling as he keeps himself over you, trying not to dive into something he’s not sure you want.
Except, you do. And it is very obvious.
You pull him down again, kissing until you know you’ve bruised his plump lips, until his tongue finally slips into your warm mouth as you make a sound against him. You gasp when you feel his hips press in between your thighs and his breath hitches, like he’s in between behaving and giving in. He pulls away abruptly, mouths detaching with a pop, and you visibly grow annoyed.
“God,” he lets out an airy and startled laugh, “What the fuck.”
He hates that he really likes the way his growing bulge is pressing against your ass. The warmth of his body makes you so needy, embarrassingly enough, though you only pull him closer. “Why are you so far away?” you whine.
“We should probably stop,” he says, but it comes out more like a breathless laugh, his forehead dropping for a second.
But you frown. You grind your ass against his hips, feeling the imprint of his cock. “Your dick says otherwise,” God, you are so mean, and he loves it.
A hand lifts from the mattress and slips towards your bare thigh that’s pressed against his waist, squeezing the soft fat there. You practically melt at the sight of veiny hand smoothing over the skin, until the tips of his fingers carefully disappear into the fabric of your shorts. You squirm against him and he shoots his eyes back up at you, eyebrows furrowed down to his lids.
“I don’t have a condom,” he says lowly, voice made of velvet and restraint.
You smile, evil and insatiable. “I don’t care.”
He sighs, disbelieving of how you’ve completely turned to a 180. “I’m trying to be good,” he says. “You’re making it impossible.” Yet he slips his shirt off his body, exposing the toned muscles of his abs, the deep grooves carved. His chest is flat and broad, expanding to the sculpted arms that are solid without looking heavy, just all quiet strength.
“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly, “And I will.” right before he bows down to kiss you again. His tongue brushes into your mouth, meeting yours as your hands find the privilege of slithering down his exposed skin, fingers grazing against the muscles that twitch from your soft touch.
He kisses your cheek next, then your jaw, until his lips reach the soft skin of your neck. He sucks there, until it’s littered with hickeys. “This isn’t good, baby,” he whispers, contradicting himself when he continues to bite the flesh above your pulse. You can only smile and moan, fascinated with the way he’s quickly losing composure.
He helps you out of your sweater next, carefully lifting your upper body up. “Arms up,” you follow, staring into his eyes once he takes it off you. His hand slides to your back, leaning down a little where his lips ghosts above your forehead, then presses a kiss there as he unclasps your bra, the black material slipping off you. You grow a little shy, lips pressing to a line while your own arms curl around yourself. He chuckles softly, then reaches for your wrists with careful fingers and gently uncrosses them. “Where did all that attitude go now, hm?” he murmurs before leaning down to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist, then another just above it, slow enough to make your breath catch.
He circles your arms back around his neck and you pull him closer to you, so he presses a soft kiss to your lips right before he bends down to your chest. “You’re making this too easy,” he whispers. “I thought you liked arguing with me.” You can only bite down on your bottom lip when he takes your perked nipple into his mouth, all wet and warm, before he sucks and bites down gently.
“Shut up.” you somehow still manage, and you can feel him smile against your breast.
His tongue swirls around the bud before he pulls away, then takes the other one into his mouth next. After he fondles your breasts, caressing you gently but firmly, he moves down your belly, his soft tongue trailing down your skin slowly. He presses kisses on the swell of it, smiling when you tense against him. His large, veiny hands tightens on your waist, attempting to memorize the way the dip feels under his palms. They find your hips next, thumb teasing the hem of your thin shorts, slipping into the fabric just to feel how soft you can get underneath.
“Miss Attitude is so fucking soft,” he murmurs. “They have no idea.”
He hooks his fingers over the hem of your shorts and slides it off you along with your panties. You’re already feverish when his face meets your cunt after, his breath fanning your folds, large hands holding your thighs so tightly you know it’d mark.
He can smell how sweet you are, your wetness glistening with so much arousal. He looks over you, sharp eyes through the hoods, like he wants to make sure you’re watching him. “I’ve got you.” Then, because he’s so cruel and careful at the same time, he presses soft kisses on your folds first. Then he kisses your clit next, a deep breath spilling out of you, your hands locking through his hair, attempting to pull him closer.
He licks a stripe this time, from your hole to your clit, your sensitivity reaching an all time high. “Fuck, Jake, come on,” you practically whimper.
With a prideful grin, he pins your thighs back against the bed. Then he buries his face into your cunt, his tongue laps inside your folds like you’re his favorite meal. He kisses the flesh, then sucks on it like he’s mad, sounds so wet and frenzy.
“Oh my God — Jake, fuck —” Your eyes shoot to your ceiling before your eyelids shut. He groans against you, sending vibrations through your pussy, his moans muffled while yours echo in your bedroom. He stuffs his face in, tongue slurping your entrance before his lips latch onto your clit next, sucking it dry. Your fingers tug at his roots, while your thighs threaten to clench around his head.
He pushes his long tongue into your hole next, the tip of his nose nuzzling your clip as he buries himself deeper, making sure to coat his face with your sweetness and his saliva. He thinks he can do this until the sun sets again and again, just latching his lips around your clit and holding your shivering thighs around his head.
He shakes his head slightly, just drinking your juices and moaning into your cunt, not being able to have enough of you. When he pulls away, he’s breathing heavily and you’re pouting, unsure why he’s stopping. Though the sight’s going to kill you still anyway, black hair soaked in sweat, brushing over his eyes while his plump pink lips and chin glisten with your juices.
“I want more, please…” you sigh, attempting to reach for him.
His hand lowers from your thigh to your cunt now, thumb gently grazing over your clit before spreading the folds apart. Practically glimmering with how drenched you are, he teases by pushing his thumb in and pulling back right after. He watches your face, at the way your brows knit together and how you flush into a puddle for him.
He smiles, all of his teeth showing, before he leans back down. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” Then he inserts his middle finger in, impossibly longer than yours, stealing a gasp from your throat when he pushes his digits so deep inside, reaching his pink knuckles.
The squelch of your walls squeezing around him should be sin, as he feels just how soft you are. He sneaks another one in, two fingers buried deep into your pussy that you clench so tightly. “S-shit — s-so fucking good…”
“Fuck,” he huffs a chuckle. “So tight. How would my cock fit you?”
He licks his lips, swallowing the remnants of you from his mouth. Then he dives back down, open mouth attaching on your clit while his thick fingers pull, push, and curl inside you. Your legs spread for him while you whine his name as if in a desperate prayer.
He continues to retract his digits before pushing it all back inside, carefully picking up the pace with the thrusts. He sucks on your clit hard, the sheer overstimulation of both his mouth and hand working on your pussy makes you a whining mess, loud and fucked, that you have to cover your mouth with your palm.
Though it’s no use, your brother definitely knows now just who’s fucking you with just his fingers and tongue. After a few more thrusts, the tips of his fingers touches that spot that makes your cunt clench tighter and your spine curve against your sheets.
“I-I’m gonna cum — Jake, c-cumming —” He drinks up all your liquid but then abruptly pulls back, fingers leaving your entrance and his mouth detaching with a wet pop, leaving you so bare.
You feel empty without him filling you up, that you’ve got to open your eyes and look over your breasts and belly, where he sits up, adjusting his weight on his knees while his face and fingers are sopping with your arousal, somehow still making you embarrassed. He licks it off clean, making sure not to waste any of you that you’ve given to him, and you sheepishly curl a little in your bed.
He leans forward now, propping himself on his hands as he hovers over you. Your hands reach up to soothe over the muscles of his traps, warm and bulky under your palms, before you find his hair again, stroking through the black locks. “You’re such a fucking tease,” you mumble, soft and spent.
Jake only has to bite his bottom lip to keep from grinning, eyes soft with the kind of fondness that makes you want to look away. Your gaze falls on the veins protruding from his arms, trailing up to his elbows that you just have to turn away again because is his dick just as veiny? When you look back up at him, there’s something unbearably gentle in his eyes, like he’s looking at the prettiest thing he’s ever been allowed to keep close. Without any words, he leans down, kissing you again, soft but firm, but he presses you deeper into the bed.
He lifts your leg again, spreading you wider than your dignity lets you, taking your thigh against his hip before he jerks forward, pushing his clothed bulge against your exposed pussy. Your kiss stutters and he pauses a little, pulling away suddenly to let out a shaky breath. “S-shit…”
You whine, weak but pitched. “Take it out, Jake, please,” You buck into his cock, feeling the heavy outline of it slide into your folds.
He doesn’t even argue this time, he just nods, breath uneven, eyes fixed on yours like whatever fight he had left in him disappeared the second you said his name. His hand finds your waist like he’s been waiting for permission all night, squeezing you tightly.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low and completely gone. “Okay.”
He lets go of you for a bit to push his sweatpants off, revealing his boner so prominent and practically hanging in his boxers. You can see his hands shaking a little as he takes his boxers off next, before throwing them into a corner of the room.
His cock practically springs forward to you, desperate and leaking. He’s thick, long, veiny. And pink at the tip.
You don’t even pretend you’re not staring anymore, and you don’t notice the tips of his ears flushing pink this time, a little hint of sheepishness. You’ve never really considered yourself a sex addict, much less even lustful, but the way your pussy throbs at the sight of his pretty cock makes you think maybe you’ve been wrong about yourself in many ways. You want nothing more but to see how he tastes, or how it’d slap against your tongue. He strokes himself, thumb playing with his own slit, spreading his pre around his thick head.
“No condom, baby, I’m so sorry,” His mouth twists into a pout before he can stop it, eyes wide and miserably apologetic. “I’ll pull out, I promise.”
“I don’t give a fuck, Jake,” you urge him closer to you, hands roaming down his abs. “I need you inside me, please — “
If his cock wasn’t twitching in hand, begging to be inside you, he’d probably let out a chuckle at how cute and eager you look right now, practically squirming and begging underneath him. But he’s no better than you, so he adjusts himself forward, leaning once again before aligning the head against your pussy. He nudges your clit, a gasp tumbling from his mouth at the contact.
“It will only hurt for a second,” he warns and you swallow, staring at his dick as you wonder if it will even fit at all. “Breathe, baby, okay?” You nod, biting down your lip.
You lift your hips slightly with the help of his hand against your hip, letting the tip nuzzle against your entrance. He’s breathing heavily, taking one final inhale before he pushes forward and lets the head of his cocks slide past your folds, meeting your gummy walls. You gasp as the stretch, making you tense up and clench around him.
“Fuck, t-that’s so tight — ah —” Jake’s forehead rests against yours, the feeling of your pussy squeezing him in, practically sucking his cock inside until you feel him brushing your cervix. He finally sinks in fully, and all he can think about is trying not to fucking cum right now. Not even 10 seconds in and he’s gone like a horny loser, but seeing you so spread open just for him is undoing him anyway.
He sets a pace, slow to stretch you out, having to bury his head against your neck just to suppress his groans, shallow thrusts getting deeper and deeper. The way his member touches rubs on your walls draws the prettiest whines from you, his name coming out as uneasy breaths as his rhythm picks up. Your hands thread through his hair, pulling him down for another kiss, and so his veiny hand settles beside your head, balancing himself on top of you. You claw at his back when his tongue slips into your mouth, his thrusts growing faster.
“J-Jake,” you whimper, just as he pins your thighs down the bed. Your legs spreading wider pretty much heightens the feeling in your pussy, letting you feel his cock as he begins to pound into you. He shifts slightly, grinding on that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back and whine his name again.
“Y-you’re clenching — shit, you’re clenching too hard, baby —” he moans, sweat dripping down his neck to his chest. His hips snap forward harder and faster, breath coming in ragged gasps.
Your brain is short-circuiting and your skin is on fire, hot coil tightening in your abdomen. He continues rutting into you, bodies warm and sweaty, while your nails dig deep into his back. “I-I’m coming, Jake — fuck, I’m — “
He steals your mouth for another kiss when you finish, your orgasm striking through you, pussy clenching tight around his dick as you feel white ropes spill into you, full and so fucking hot. “S-shit…” he breathes against your mouth, riding out the last few seconds of your pleasure.
Jake rests his forehead against yours, catching his breath while his hand caresses your waist so firmly, soothing the skin up and down like a lover. His panting slow down, breathing matching yours as the height of your drives lower, his twitching cock coming to a stop inside you. He pulls out, drawing a wince from him, his cum oozing from your hole as he does.
“Fuck,” he curses, licking the inside of his cheek. You can only laugh tiredly, wiping the sweat from your forehead.
“I did not fucking mean to,” he clears his throat before looking back up at you, “cum in you.”
You hit his arm without any real force, a tired smile etching on your face as you pull him back down. He kisses you, and you try not to melt at how slow he does it, at how much deeper it is compared to the others. When he pulls away, he presses a softer one on your forehead. He straightens on his knees, sharp yet weary eyes looking over your naked body, enjoying every dip and curve, hand somehow never separating from your thighs and hips. You get sheepish, despite it all, giving a quiet groan when he admires you shamelessly. “Stop staring,”
He can only smile, his hand reaching for yours in which you give. His thumb moving slowly over your knuckles, then he lifts it to his mouth and presses a quiet kiss to your fingers before leaning over to kiss your forehead. He kisses near your temple after, voice low when he speaks again. “I’m gonna go to the store.”
Your brows draw slightly, “Now?”
“Yeah,” he gives you a sly smile, “For Plan B.”
You give him a look, but it barely has any strength behind it. Then you laugh, shaking your head at how ridiculous it sounds. Jake gives you a look back, brows lifting slightly. “What?”
Before you can give a proper answer, you sit up and place your palms against his shoulders, pushing him down the bed. He follows obediently, eyes on yours as you find yourself climbing on top of him, legs bracketing either side of his hips once he’s laid down. His cock twitches against your pussy, slowly growing again.
“I’m trying to be a good boyfriend,” he says under his breath, uneven and clearly strained.
Your lips twitch before you can stop them. “Boyfriend, hm?” you hum as your hands feel his abs underneath your palms, taut at your touch.
Jake throws his head back, Adam's apple bobbing before he mutters a quiet curse. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, almost laughing under his breath. “You’re gonna kill me.”
Your face heats, not being able to stop the smile that creeps to you. Your hands slide to his chest, and your ass rubs against his hardened length, a soft moan coming out of you when it slides against your wet folds.
“Later, okay?” is all you say before you manage to slide his cock back inside you, stealing a startled gasp from his throat.
The next few days have been… a turn.
Not an immediate one, because you are not the kind of person who wakes up one morning and becomes soft just because a boy fucked you to make your thoughts trip over themselves. It starts with stupid things, like letting Jake carry the heavier paper bag when you leave the convenience store instead of wrestling it back from him on principle, or handing him your empty cup before you can think too hard about why your fingers already moved toward him, or looking up from your phone in a parking lot and realizing he has already stepped to the side closest to the road.
The first few times, you still fight it, naturally, and there are moments when you hear your own voice sharpen before you can stop it, asking him whether he thinks you are incapable of holding a bag, opening a door, ordering your own drink, or to even function as a person, but Jake never flinches when your tone gets mean. He never waits for you to become easier. He only looks at you with that patience of his, and says, “I know you can,” like your competence was never in question, and the entire point is not that you cannot do it yourself, but that someone else can do it for you too.
You are used to being needed, to people looking at you when something breaks, when Riki disappears, when your father needs something handled, and you are used to stepping in so quickly. Needing someone has always felt too close to failing, and depending on someone has always felt like handing them a knife and hoping they do not use it on you, but Jake does not treat your reliance like victory, does not look smug when you finally stop arguing, does not make a monument out of every time you let him help. He just helps, and it gives you nothing to push against.
The hot stuff hasn’t ended either. At first, you both did try to be normal for the sake of your upheld pride of refusing to be easy, even to your own boyfriend, and his respect for your decision. It does come to an end right after 4 days it happened, when he comes over again and your father’s never home and Riki’s somewhere you don’t know, having a hot boyfriend in your room would always mean he’d end up pounding into you. Or that you graciously ride him so well that he has to run to the store for Plan B again.
Jake never ever made you feel like you have to do things for him, nor did he ever urge you to have sex with him. There were a few occasions though, when you two might have went against your own moral code when he fucked you in his car in the school parking lot — did you regret it? No. Would it happen again? You hope not.
You might have had a hidden trait that’s been opened after a few nights together. There were a lot of moments when Jake had to take a pause because he genuinely gets scared at how you look at his cock, all excited and famished (sorry for the lack of better term). And his nose, just before he lies down on your bed and lets you sit his face.
You never have prioritized sex, nor did you think there was anything good about having a wet pussy 24/7 other than it was pure lust. You did, however, also find out that you really liked being pushed against Jake’s desk and fucked at the back.
After that, things get a little more cliche, of course. You start expecting his hand at the small of your back when a hallway gets crowded, start assuming he will keep track of where you left your phone, when you start sending him photos of readings with a single question mark and receive back highlighted screenshots, voice notes, and brief explanations. You start asking him to pick you up without building a whole argument on why it’s practical. You start trusting him with the ugly middle parts of your day, not only the polished version you usually hand people.
Then, because you are still princess-y, petty you, you also start getting annoyed when he does not anticipate things fast enough.
One evening he sits beside you at a café and does not immediately take the extra books from your arms because he is answering Sunghoon’s text, and you feel offended — makes no sense, of course. Now you stand there with your books pressing into your chest, glaring at the side of his head until he finally looks up and pauses. “What?”
“Nothing.”
His gaze drops to the books, then returns to your face, and the slow realization that crosses his expression is so unbearable. Jake reaches for them anyway, careful enough to give you time to refuse, smug enough that you want to kick him, and when you let him take the stack from your arms, he murmurs, “My bad, baby. I’ll be faster next time.”
With Riki, the change makes him jump quietly (of course) in glee. You do not stop worrying, because that would require medical intervention, but you stop overthinking every hour. Sometimes you don’t ask where he is until he tells you first. Riki starts texting more because the texts no longer feel like constant interrogation, and you start responding less as you remember that seventeen is not the same as helpless.
Then one day passes without you talking to him at all. You do not realize it until you are brushing your teeth and your phone lights up with a message from Riki that only says, alive btw. You stare at it for a long second, toothpaste foaming at your mouth, and the first thing you feel is panic because how did you go an entire day without checking — someone will kill you, for sure, right? Then the panic fades into the shape of relief. He is fine, he told you, comfortably at that too.
When you tell Jake later, expecting him to make some joke, he only nods and says, “That’s good.” then reaches for your hand like it is the easiest thing in the world. “You did good.”
You don’t have to be soft all at once, nor do you have to surrender your sharpness just to wake up as some easier version of yourself because someone decided to stay. Embarrassingly, it makes your brain turn off when your boyfriend takes the problem from your hands and solves it before you can turn it into another reason to hate yourself. You can still be competent, still be difficult, still be the girl who knows what to do in a crisis, while also being the girl who lets Jake highlight her readings, carry her books, order her coffee, pull her away, and hold her against his chest when she finally remembers it’s okay to be tired.
He does not make you less capable, he just makes you less alone with it. Most importantly, he does not act like the softer version of you is the only one worth liking.
Jake and Riki manage to convince you to go to a house party on a Friday night, which doesn’t take much, weirdly enough.
Riki starts first, of course, he says you never do anything fun, which makes you refuse again. Jake, unfairly, does not argue the same way, who only leans against your kitchen counter with one hand curled around a glass of water, watching you over the rim with that calm expression he gets when he knows you are already halfway annoyed. He tells you “it does not have to be a big thing, we can leave whenever you want. I’ll stay with you the whole time if you want me to”, and if you hate how kind he is. Which makes you say yes.
The house is already full by the time you get there, music pressing through the walls before Jake even parks. Cars line both sides of the street, voices spilling through the open windows, laughter breaking over the bass in uneven bursts — you’re not exactly uncomfortable, only uneasy in a way that this is not something you’re used to, not like how Riki and Jake soothes right in.
Then Jake’s hand settles at the small of your back. “You okay?” he asks, voice low enough when he leans down to you.
You look at the room in front of you, then at Riki, who is already greeting someone. “This is loud.”
“Because that’s how parties usually work,” Jake’s mouth curves when you give him a look, before his hand rubs the small of your back up and down. “But we can leave.”
That is annoying, mostly because it is thoughtful, and you have learned there is very little to do with Jake’s thoughtfulness except either accept it or be a bitch about it and watch him keep being thoughtful anyway. You glance away before he can catch whatever your face is doing and mutter, “We’ll stay.”
He gets you a drink from the kitchen, not from one of the abandoned cups on the counter but from an unopened bottle in the cooler, twisting the cap and you take it without arguing.
His friends find you almost immediately. Jungwon lifts his brows when he sees you beside Jake, then smiles. Sunoo says your name with delighted surprise, Jay gives you an exaggeratedly respectful nod that makes you narrow your eyes, and Sunghoon and Heeseung offers you a small, careful smile. They are nicer than you expected them to be, or maybe they have always been nice and you were too busy seeing them as Riki’s friends (with connotation, at that).
Jake does not leave your side at first, and tries to make sure not to make you feel tense. He notices when the kitchen gets too crowded and nudges you toward the living room without making you feel like he is moving you. He notices when someone you barely know tries to pull you into a conversation you clearly do not want and cuts in so smoothly that they don’t even realize.
For a while, you stay like that, your back against his front, his mouth near your ear every now and then as he leans down to murmur things meant only for you. His eyes flick toward Jay guarding the snack table like a personal estate, toward some boy near the speakers dancing with more confidence than rhythm. You laugh quietly at first, then more openly later on, your head tipping back slightly against his shoulder for half a second as you both judge people’s tipsy decisions.
Someone nearby starts setting up beer pong on a long table, cups arranged into triangles, people crowding around with immediate excitement. You take one look at the cups, the ball bouncing once against the floor, the wet ring marks on the table, and the enthusiasm dies on your face so visibly that Jake folds forward against your shoulder with silent laughter.
You stop paying attention to the shape of the night, and your guard lowers enough for the party to become just a party, not a list of potential disasters. With his hand on your hip, even when Riki’s off your field of view, you’re less anxious.
He brushes his fingers lightly against your wrist, making you turn to him slightly. “I’ll be quick,” he says. “I’ll just get another drink.”
For a minute, you stand alone near the edge of the living room, watching him disappear through the crowd. You decide to find his friends, partly because they are people you know now, partly because you are not yet the kind of girl who can stand alone in a house full of strangers.
The hallway is too crowded, so you head for the front door instead, slipping past two people arguing over someone’s car keys and stepping out into the night air. The music dulls behind the walls as you walk down the porch steps and follow the narrow side path around the house. You only remember seeing Jungwon and the others near the backyard earlier, and going through the side seems easier than forcing yourself through the crowd. The side of the house is dim except for the spill of light coming from the backyard, and voices grow clearer the closer you get.
A voice says something you do not catch, followed by a louder laugh, and you stop before fully turning the corner, half-hidden behind the hedge lining the side yard. You do not mean to listen, but you hear Riki first. “Dude, I’m just saying,” he says, laughing carelessly. “I should’ve done this months ago.”
Someone snorts, Jay, probably. “You mean hiring Jake?”
Your steps slow before you fully reach them, deciding to still behind a stupid bush.
Riki laughs again. “I mean, clearly the money worked.”
“He really put those hundreds to use, huh?”
There is laughter, easy, stupid, and thoughtless laughter from boys who have no idea that the joke is standing right there, turning rigid again.
“Taming the lion,” someone says.
Your throat goes dry as the laughter grows again, freezing completely when someone says your name next.
The scary sister, the impossible girl, the controlling bitch with a curfew and a brother who apparently thought your entire life could be negotiated down to a payment and one patient boy you thought saw you differently — yet each memory with him reaches backward for a new shape, forming into one joke shared by teenage schemes.
Someone inside says, “Nah, but seriously, Jake deserves a raise. She actually smiles now.”
Riki says something you cannot fully make out, but it does not matter because your mind has already started blurring.
Then Jake’s voice cuts through, appearing through the patio door. “Hey, have you guys seen her?”
“There he is,” Jay says, too loud, too cheerful. “Man of the hour.”
“What?” Jake asks, distracted.
Then there is the sound of palms meeting, boys greeting him the way boys do, easy and stupid and physical. Someone daps him up, someone else claps his shoulder, someone mentions how great he did for convincing you to go to a party.
“Congrats, bro,” one of them says, laughing. “Hundreds well spent.”
Jake does not speak. Maybe he is processing, maybe his face has changed in some way you cannot see yet. Maybe, he would push the hand off his shoulder and tell them to shut up. But you do not get that far, because you turn a little to see him, and his eyes finally lift past them and land on you.
He sees you standing there, one hand around the bottle he opened for you, your face completely still. For one impossible second, you look at him and he looks back.
And it is awful, how quickly his expression breaks, because it isn’t confusion nor innocence, just the face of someone who knows. His eyes widen, his mouth parts slightly, and panic moves across his face so plainly that it feels like another admission you’re not supposed to hear.
Behind him, Riki turns and the color drains from his face when he sees you. Your name leaves Jake’s mouth once, low and ruined but you’re already stepping away.
You turn and walk.
Someone laughs from the inside, someone trying to go to the back bumps your shoulder and apologizes, but you do not answer. It’s a little shitty how your whole body feels strangely calm now, the way it does in emergencies, when adrenaline doesn’t need you moving your feet to handle something first.
You can hear Jake behind you, cursing under his breath, sharp and panicked, nothing like the careful voice he used when he told you to let him take care of you.
“Wait,” he calls, closer now. “Please, just wait.”
The front yard is crowded, so you shove through them and into the night air with your lungs burning and your hands cold around the bottle you forgot to leave behind. The street outside is quieter, only then do you realize how badly you needed it, how trapped you had been inside that house with all those walls and all that laughter and every memory of Jake rearranging itself into something ugly.
You make it halfway down the front path before his hand catches your wrist, not hard but you pull away like it burns.
He stops in front of you, breathing unevenly, hair messier than before, eyes wide in a way you used to love, but now it only makes something sharp twist in your chest. Behind him, Riki stumbles out onto the porch, face pale, panic written all over him like a child finally realizing the stove is hot after touching it, even after you told him no.
Jake takes half a step forward, then thinks better of it. “I can explain.” His jaw tightens. “It’s not what they made it sound like.”
“Really?” Your voice stays calm. “Because it sounded like my brother paid you to distract me, and your friends think you deserve congratulations for doing it well.”
Jake’s face goes white. Riki moves down one step. “It was my idea.”
You look at him then, not with the sharp little look you usually give him when he says something stupid, but actually look at him. For one strange second, he looks like the nine-year-old boy who used to stand in your doorway, the one who would deny crying even while his eyes were swollen, the one you learned how to comfort while you comforted yourself because mom is gone and dad is never home.
That is what does it, your eyes water before you can stop them. “You paid someone to get me out of the way?”
He shakes his head too quickly. “No. I just wanted you to have something else,” he says, and the words come out in a rush now, messy and panicked. “I thought if you were busy, if you were happy, maybe you’d stop worrying about me all the time. I didn’t know how else to get you to stop. You never listen to me. You never believe me.”
Your eyes return to Jake, and the worst thing is that part of you still wants him to fix it. Some pathetic, exhausted, newly softened part of you wants him to say the exact right thing, wants him to reach for the memory of every night you trusted him and pull it back from the edge.
You hate that part of yourself instantly. You hate that it exists because of him.
“Is that true?” you ask.
His eyes flick down, then back to your face, desperate now. “At first,” he says, voice rough. “At first, yes, but it stopped being that.”
You stare at him.
“But I gave the money back,” he continues, voice rough. “I told him I was done. I told him I didn’t want any part of it anymore.”
Your throat tightens. “After I slept with you?”
He goes still.
That is the answer.
You stare at him, waiting for him to save it anyway, because some stupid part of you still wants him to. You wait for him to say no, to say you got it wrong, to say there was some other version of the story where he did not let you give him that much of yourself before telling you the truth. But Jake only looks at you with his mouth parted slightly, eyes wide and ruined, and every second he does not speak feels like another hand closing around your throat.
You shake your head once. “You let me think,” your voice is low and calm, “that for once, someone just wanted to be there. You let me trust you with the parts of myself I don’t even like,” you say. “And you knew. You knew what they didn’t.”
The gala. You see the memory land in him, the garden lights, the fountain, your stupid dress, the way you sat on the far end of a bench and told him things you barely knew how to tell yourself. Your mother being gone, your father being absent, Riki being more yours than he should have been. You remember how carefully he listened, how he stayed far enough not to scare you off, how safe his silence felt then, how you laughed with him because he saw you and didn’t think you were cruel at all.
He takes a step toward you. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice breaking around it. “I should have told you that night. I know I should have.”
“I thought you chose me,” you say.
“I did.” His eyes go red. “I did choose you.”
Your mouth trembles once, then stills. “For a hundred bucks?”
He looks like the words hit him somewhere physical.
“No,” he says, too quickly, too desperately. “No, not like that.”
You nod once, not because you believe him, but because your body needs to do something other than fall apart in front of them. “I want to go home.”
Jake straightens immediately. “Okay. I’ll take you home.”
You turn away from him and reach for your phone with shaking fingers. “No.”
His breath catches. “Please.”
You unlock your screen and open the app, feeling stupid because you can’t see through the blur as you type it in.
“I can drive you,” he says, voice quieter now.
You keep your eyes on the street until the headlights appear at the end of the road, the car pulling toward the curb. You get inside and do not look back.
You hate men.
Enough that you can prepare a presentation on the subject with credible sources, historical examples, and a conclusion about betrayal as a gendered epidemic. Evidence would be your absent father, your fraudulent ex-boyfriend, your seventeen year old brother, and his demonic friends.
Hating your brother is inconvenient because he lives in your house, eats your food, leaves his stuff everywhere, and now lives without you telling him what to do. For the first time in years, you do not ask what the hell he’s up to anymore. You simply sit at the kitchen island with your laptop open, spoon in hand, eating directly out of a tub of ice cream at seven in the morning.
Historically, you have always cracked first when it comes to him. Historically, you cannot help yourself. Historically, your entire body starts to prepare for anything if it concerns Riki.
But history is dead. Men killed it.
Jake is hard to ignore only because he is not physically in the house, which means he tries to get creative. He texts first, of course, just once in the morning, once at night, and sometimes in the middle of the day — because he knows exactly how to overwhelm you. Then he leaves an iced latte with your name on top of your desk in one of your classes. You stare at it on your desk for a full minute, before you give it to your seatmate.
By the fourth day, you have finished the second tub of ice cream — not your proudest moment, but it is also not your worst, which says more about your week than your character. You have attended classes with perfect notes, no late submission, reorganized your planner, ignored messages from Jake, and pretended not to notice that Riki has started texting you when he arrives places without being asked.
On Friday night, Riki finds you on the couch in your oldest pajamas, hair tied messily back, third tub of ice cream open on the coffee table, watching a documentary about deep-sea creatures with the blank focus.
“Jake’s been driving me from and to school,” he says carefully.
Your spoon pauses in the ice cream, before you resume. Onscreen, a glowing fish drifts through the dark, hideous and peaceful, which feels aspirational. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then sets his bag down properly.
“I’m sorry,” he says but does not step closer. “I know sorry doesn’t fix it. I just wanted to say it.”
You keep staring at the television, where the ugly little fish continues glowing alone in the dark, refusing to pay him any mind.
By Saturday morning, Riki had started acting like a ghost. He moves quietly around the house, closes cabinets softly, and pe picks up his shoes before you can even see them. At one point, you find him wiping the kitchen counter after making toast, which is very disturbing.
At school, Jake looks worse than he ever did. He waits by your classroom once, but you walk past him without slowing down, your expression polished into something calm. He says your name but you keep walking, because you refuse to give pieces of yourself to men, more than you already have.
Riki has also learned that you are not going to pack his lunch, remind him about assignments, ask whether he has practice, or save him from his own time management. This would be liberating for him if freedom did not apparently require the ability to know where his own socks are.
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and your eyes slide toward the screen, just long enough to see Jake’s name there before the notification fades and the room goes dim again. A few seconds later, there is a knock on your door. It does not open but Riki’s voice breaks through. “Jake’s here,” he says. “He has food. He said he’ll wait ten minutes, and if you don’t come down, he’ll leave.”
Riki stays there for another second, clearly wanting to say something else, but maybe he has learned enough to know that pushing right now would only make you worse. For a while, you do not move and only tell yourself you are not thinking about it, that you do not care what food Jake brought, whether it is something you like, whether it’s because he’s making sure you ate.
At eight minutes, you sit up.
At nine, your feet touch the floor.
At ten, you stay where you are.
Then outside, his car starts. You sit at the edge of your bed with your hands curled into the blanket, listening until the sound disappears completely down the street.
The week passes, and you remain committed to silence. You do not speak to Jake. You do not speak to Riki unless it is absolutely necessary.
That night, Riki knocks on your door. You do not answer, but unfortunately, he opens the door anyway and stops at the sight of you buried in bed, laptop balanced near your knees, looking at him like you have been for the past weeks: exasperated.
“What?”
He stays by the doorway, one hand still on the knob. “I’m hungry.”
You stare at him for a second, then look back at your screen. “Then order something.”
“I don’t want delivery.”
“Then make something.”
“I want to go out.”
You pause, because that is exactly the kind of sentence he used to say before you started the lectures about curfew, rides, locations, and whether he had enough sense to come home alive. This time, you only shrug against your pillows. “Then go out.”
Riki shifts his weight. “No,” he says, quieter. “With you.”
You keep your eyes on your laptop, even though the movie has become impossible to follow, because looking at him would mean seeing guilt, probably; hope, maybe. Both would be extremely inconvenient because you learned to soften when he used it.
“It’s late,” you say.
“I know.”
“And you have Jake, apparently.”
He flinches a little, and the guilt on his face finally becomes too obvious to ignore. You hate that it still gets to you, how young he looks when he is sorry, like some part of him has folded back into the boy who used to stand outside your room when he was scared and he had no one else but his older sister.
He swallows. “I don’t want Jake.”
You hate men. You hate your brother. You hate that the sentence works.
With a long, irritated sigh, you close your laptop. “Get your shoes.”
The drive is quiet, Riki sits in the passenger seat with his hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, looking out the window instead of at you. You keep both hands on the wheel and do not ask if he has eaten lunch, even though the question sits on your tongue the entire way there. The diner is still open when you pull up, its neon sign glowing red against the dark.
When the food comes, the table fills with baskets and paper-lined plates, greasy burgers, fries, and mozzarella sticks with marinara sauce in a plastic cup between you. Riki burns his fingers because he has never once believed in waiting, and you call him an idiot before you can stop yourself. The two of you eat in silence after that — not the awful one from the house, but not comfortable either. It sits between you, filling the space while both of you act invested in fries and melted cheese.
Then Riki clears his throat. “I have a girlfriend.” Your hand freezes halfway to the basket.
For a second, the entire diner seems to mute itself around that one sentence. You look up slowly, genuinely caught off guard, and Riki looks terrified in the way only someone who has been hiding something huge.
“What?”
He shifts in his seat. “I have a girlfriend.”
You lean back against the red vinyl booth, trying to process this new piece of information without immediately becoming the girl who asks for her full name, address, grades, family background, and emergency contact. The questions rise anyway: Who is she? How long? Does she treat you well? Does she know you are stupid? Does she have standards? Does she encourage you to drink blue things at parties? Does she know about dad?
Riki looks down at his plate. “When Jake started taking you out, I was also taking her out.” His fingers pick at the edge of the paper liner. “That’s why I wanted more time and freedom. I know that doesn’t make what I did okay.”
You look at him, face unreadable.
“It was bad,” he says, before you can say it for him. “I know it was bad. But something good came out of it too. You were happier. I know you hate hearing that, but you were. You weren’t always watching me like something bad was about to happen. You went out and laughed and you had someone.”
You look down at the untouched mozzarella stick in front of you. “Right,” you say quietly. “So much for a hundred bucks.”
Riki’s face falls. “No,” he says, then stops himself because even he knows he cannot deny the beginning. “I know I can’t decide which parts hurt for you, but I thought I was helping both of us. That doesn’t make me right, I know that. But please don’t think that I wasn’t considering you along the way — because I did, I really did.”
The answer is too ready, too practiced, and for a moment you think that maybe he’s being foolish again. But now that you’re looking at him, you realize that he’s old enough to make cruel decisions, young enough to look shattered when he finally understands.
“I know you wanted me to stop controlling you,” you say. “I know I was too much.”
He exhales, miserable. “Okay. Sometimes. But not because you were bad. You raised me,” he says, quieter now. “And I hated it because I wanted you to just be my sister, but I also knew you were the only one checking. That’s why it felt so messed up all the time.” He wipes his palms on his hoodie. “I’m sorry I made you feel like something I had to escape.”
The waitress passes by with a coffee pot, and both of you sit there pretending you can steal breathe without feeling hot wax at the back of your throat. You reach for a mozzarella stick because your hands need something to do, and Riki pushes the marinara closer without thinking.
You dip the mozzarella stick and take a bite. “I’m still mad,” you say. “But I’d like to meet your girlfriend.”
For a second, he just stares at you, like he is not sure he heard you correctly. Then his face shifts, slowly, carefully, into the smallest smile. “Okay.”
For the first time all week, your mouth almost curves. The rest of dinner is still quiet, but not as sharp. He tells you her name eventually, softly, and you do not ask for details yet, only nodding. Outside, the air is colder than when you arrived. You make it three steps toward the car before Riki stops behind you.
“I really am sorry,” he says.
When you turn around, his eyes are red, standing there with his shoulders tight and his face crumpling despite how hard he is trying to hold it together. The sight pulls at something old and exhausted inside you, the same place that has always answered him before pride can interrupt.
“Riki,” you say, but it comes out cracking.
He shakes his head, wiping his face too fast. “I’m sorry. I know I ruined it. I know. I’m sorry.”
You cross the space before either of you can think too hard about it and pull him into a hug.
For a second, he is taller than you and somehow still the little boy from your doorway, the one who had no one else, the one you loved badly because nobody taught you how to do it gently. His arms come around you tight, and the first sob he lets out breaks something open in your chest.
“I hate you,” you whisper.
“Fuck you too,” he says, crying harder.
“You’re so stupid.”
“A dumbass, I know.”
You hold him tighter anyway. Eventually, he pulls back first, wiping his face with his sleeve. His nose is running slightly, and he looks so devastated that you almost call him gross just to make the moment easier.
“I don’t get to tell you what to do,” he says.
You look at him, already tired. “Great start.”
He lets out a shaky breath. “Especially not about Jake.”
Your face changes before you can stop it. He sees it and immediately raises both hands a little, like he is approaching an animal with a history of biting. “I’m not defending what happened. I’m not. But,” he continues carefully, “he did give the money back.”
Your eyes narrow at him.
“I know that doesn’t fix it,” he says quickly. “I know it doesn’t make the beginning less awful. I just… I was there, and I saw when it changed.”
The words sit there, too quiet and too heavy for the sidewalk outside a diner. You do not answer, only staring past him toward the parking lot, where your car waits under the lamppost.
He swallows. “At first, he was doing it because I asked him to. Then he started asking me things about you. What books you liked, where you went after school, if you were always that tired.” His voice gets smaller. “And then he stopped asking me altogether.”
Your throat tightens, which is infuriating.
“He didn’t need me anymore,” he says. “Not for you.”
“Riki.”
“I know. I’ll stop.” He wipes his face again, then nods like he is trying to obey before you even say anything mean. “I just wanted you to know that part.”
You stare at him for a long second.
“And what am I supposed to do with that?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “Get mad — at me, at him, at dad too. Do nothing. Eat more ice cream. I just don’t want you to think every good part was fake. Because I know I messed it up, and he messed it up, but you were happy. And I don’t think that was fake.”
You hate him a little for saying it.
You hate him more because it makes you think.
The worst part has never been that Jake lied and everything after became nothing. The worst part is that it still feels real and they happened, regardless the truths and the lies, the half-truths and wrong intentions. All of it still sits somewhere inside you, refusing to rot properly no matter how badly the beginning wronged it.
You wipe under your eye with your knuckle. “You’re very annoying.”
“I know.”
You sniff, looking away before your face can crumple again. “I’m not forgiving him just because you feel guilty.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“I’m not forgiving you either. Not yet.”
“I know.”
You look at him.
He looks back, eyes still wet, but this time he does not look like he expects you to fix it for him. He only stands there, accepting it, which feels new enough to hurt.
Then he says, quietly, “But can I still ride home with you?”
Your mouth almost curves.
“Unfortunately,” you say, walking toward the car.
That night, you cannot sleep.
It is annoying, because you are exhausted enough to sleep. Your body is tired, your eyes hurt, and your head has been heavy since you drove home from the diner. Still, you lie there staring at the ceiling, turning one thought over and over until it stops feeling like a thought and starts feeling like a pulse breathing beneath your weight — your brother’s words alive there.
You hate that Riki said it and that he might be right. You hate that all week, even through the anger, you still kept thinking about Jake when you made coffee, when you passed the hallway where he used to wait.
You are still in your sleep shorts, an old shirt, and house slippers when you grab your car keys. You do not bother changing, which should have been your first sign that you are not making a dignified decision at all. You only go downstairs without turning on too many lights, and leave before you can talk yourself into being a sensible woman.
The drive to Jake’s house feels longer than it should.
When you pull up near the curb, you keep your hands on the wheel for a second, staring at the front of his house like it might tell you what the hell you are doing here. Yet it only sits there, quiet and expensive and familiar.
The front door opens when you’re about to reverse. Jake steps out with his keys in one hand, dressed in sweats and a hoodie, his hair messy and soft around the mouth in the way you used to love. Still the boy who made you feel, for the first time in years. He locks the door behind him and turns toward his car, already halfway down the path when he sees you.
For a second, neither of you moves.
Then, because apparently you have already abandoned all pride tonight, you get out of your car. The cold hits your legs immediately, so you hug your arms around yourself and stand there on the sidewalk in slippers, trying to look like a person who’ll stand on this and not someone whose feelings drove her here.
“Where are you going?” you ask.
His hand tightens slightly around his keys. “Store.”
You nod once. “Right.”
“I was just going to buy something,” he adds, quieter, like even he knows that does not matter.
You nod again, because now that you are here, you have no idea what comes after arriving — which is excessively dumb. The whole thing suddenly feels ridiculous; you in your sleep clothes and him standing by his car.
“Okay,” you say, then you turn back toward your car.
You barely make it one step before he says your name, not loud nor desperate, just in that Jake way that makes your knees buck and feet stop.
He takes one careful step forward. “What are you doing here?”
You keep your eyes on your car door. “I don’t know.” The answer is embarrassing because it is true, and you’re glad you can’t see his reaction.
“Okay.”
You almost laugh, but it gets stuck somewhere in your throat. You look back at him with enough courage. “Riki talked to me.”
He goes still.
“I’m not here because of that,” you say quickly.
“Okay.”
“I’m still mad.”
“I know.”
“And you still hurt me.”
His jaw tightens, but he nods. “I know.”
You look away, because his face is making this harder. “I don’t even know why I drove here.”
He’s quiet for a long second, still careful as to not step on a mine. Then he says, “I was hoping you would.” He looks almost embarrassed by the honesty, but he does not take it back, not even when you look back at him. “I just kept thinking maybe one day you’d show up, or text, or yell at me, or anything.” His mouth pulls faintly, but it is not really a smile.
“That’s pathetic,” you say, but your voice has no bite.
He lets out a breath. “Yeah. I know.”
You hate how gentle the night feels around the two of you, how gentle he still is, how easier it is to stand here than it was to stay in your room while your throbbing heart gnaws on your ribcage. You hate that even now, after everything, being near him makes some part of you calm.
Your fingers curl against your own arms, holding yourself tighter, because if you don’t, you might do something worse. Like forgive too fast or maybe even slap him or admit the thing sitting in your chest that looks a lot like a picture of you two.
Jake moves slowly, just before he stops in front of you, close enough that you can see the tiredness beneath his eyes, the way his mouth parts slightly like he wants to say something and knows better than to crowd you with it.
“I tried,” you say, barely above a whisper. You blink hard, still looking down. “Not thinking about you.”
He does not answer.
“I tried being angry enough that it would cancel everything else out,” you continue, and the words start coming before you can stop them. “I tried making all of it ugly. I tried telling myself that every good thing only happened because of a bad reason.”
Your voice shakes, and you hate it, but you keep going. “But it didn’t work.” You finally look up at him, and his eyes are already on you, wide and quiet and so full of hope because that’s just who he is. Your own mouth trembles once before you still it.
“I can’t not be in love with you, Jake.”
For one terrifying second, he says nothing, and your face burns so badly that you almost step back. But then his expression breaks, not with panic this time, not like the party after you find out — just something like relief and careful in one.
He says your name so quietly it barely reaches you. He lifts his hand slightly, then stops.
“Can I?” he asks.
You know what he means and you should say no — but instead, you nod once. His hand closes around your elbow softly, barely a grip at first, before he pulls you toward him.
You step forward before you can decide not to, and then you are close enough to feel the warmth of him through the cold night air. His hand slides from your elbow to your arm, then pauses there, carefully first. His eyes search your face, and you hate that he still looks at you like that, like all that matters to him is not to hurt you.
“You can still be mad,” he says quietly. He swallows, his thumb moving once against your sleeve. “I don’t want you to think I’m asking you to stop being hurt just because you still love me.”
You look down, because that is the exact kind of thing that makes your chest go weak in a way you cannot afford. “Then what are you asking?”
He is quiet for a second, and when he answers, his voice is lower, rougher. “For whatever part of you drove here.”
Your eyes lift to his, just to see he’s nervous after saying it, knowing it’s too honest and too close to wanting too much. But he does not take it back, his hand still on your arm, gentle enough that you could pull away, firm enough that you know he does not want you to.
“I hate you,” you whisper.
His mouth barely moves, not quite a smile. “Good.”
“You’re unfair because you hurt me, and then you still know how to hold me like this.” Your voice turns softer, more frustrated than sharp.
His face changes. “I don’t know how to hold you any other way.”
For a second, you just stare at him, feeling your anger and your want and your stupid, impossible love all sitting inside your chest together, refusing to separate into anything clean and correct. You reach for him first, your fingers curling into the front of his hoodie, but he goes still and his breath hitches.
Your fingers tighten. “I hate the way I don’t hate you.”
He lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, but it sounds too shaky to be amused. “Yeah,” he says, voice low. “I’ll take that.”
You blink. “What?”
He looks down at your hand, then back at you, and his mouth does this stupid little almost-smile that makes your chest hurt. “I mean, it’s not ideal,” he says carefully. “But it’s better than you hating me normally.”
You glare at him, but it barely has any strength. “You’re not funny.”
“I know.” His eyes stay on you. “I’m nervous.”
He swallows, his hand hovering near your arm like he wants to touch you and is trying very hard to behave. The silence after that is small, not empty. You can hear the faint sound of a car passing somewhere down the street, the soft buzz of the porch light, the uneven way he breathes when you still do not let go of his hoodie.
Then Jake says, quieter, “I kept thinking about what I’d say if you ever looked at me again.”
The smallest, most traitorous shift at the corner of your mouth. His eyes drop to your mouth, lasting half a second before he looks back up, but it is enough to make your face warm. You swallow, “And what did you come up with?”
He stares at you like the answer should be easy, but now that you are standing in front of him, hand still curled in his hoodie, it looks like every version he practiced has abandoned him. His mouth parts once, then he lets out a quiet breath. He tilts his head down, close enough that his nose brushes yours first, and your breath catches anyway.
“I want you,” he says.
He swallows, eyes still on yours, voice lower now. “No deal, no money, no Riki asking me to.” His mouth moves like he wants to smile, but he looks too nervous to fully let it happen.
For a second, you forget how to be angry properly.
Even after everything, he says things too simply, too honestly, like he does not know that a few words can walk straight past every wall you spent weeks rebuilding. You stare at him, close enough to see the way his lashes lower when his eyes flick to your mouth againe
“You’re very annoying,” you whisper, because anything softer would ruin you completely.
His mouth twitches, but his eyes do not leave yours. “Then be annoyed at me,” he says quietly.
His hand finally settles against your arm. “Be mad at me. Yell at me if you want. Look at me like you hate me.” His voice drops a little, and something in it turns almost helpless. His face is close enough now that you can see how badly he is trying not to look at your mouth again. “To my face,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “So at least I know you’re still there.”
You forget your slippers, your car parked badly by the curb, the fact that you drove here with no plan and no dignity. All you can focus on is the boy in front of you, looking at you as he says your anger is better than your absence, and even the worst version of you would be easier to survive than no version at all.
For a second, you only stare at him, and then, because your body has apparently lost all sense of loyalty to your anger, you laugh. Just something that slips out because Jake Sim is standing in front of you looking genuinely wrecked over the possibility of you never glaring at him again, and somehow that is the stupidest, most unfairly sweet thing he could have said.
His eyes flicker, like the sound surprises him. “What?”
“You’re very stupid,” you whisper.
His mouth softens. “Yeah.”
You shake your head, but your fingers are still curled in his hoodie. You hate that your whole body seems to understand him before your brain can decide what to do, because all week you have been telling yourself to stay angry, stay away, stay untouched, and then he says one stupid honest thing and you are standing here in slippers, holding onto him like you were always going to come back.
His hand shifts at your arm, careful still. “I won’t ask for more than you want to give me.”
You tug him down and then your mouth is on his.
The kiss is soft at first because he makes it soft, because even now, even with your fingers pulling at his hoodie and your face tilted up to his, he still kisses you like he is waiting for you to change your mind. Then his hand slips from your arm to your waist, warm and steady, and he kisses you back like he has been trying not to think about doing this for weeks and failing every single day. He does not rush, does not take too much, but the relief in him is obvious in the way his breath leaves against your mouth, in the way his fingers tighten just slightly at your side like he cannot believe you are letting him hold you again.
Then he takes one step forward without thinking, and you take one back because he is close and warm and kissing him is already making your brain fuzzy. Your slipper catches the edge of the curb before either of you notices and you stumble. A small gasp slips into the kiss, immediately followed by a laugh you try and fail to swallow. His arm tightens around your waist at once, pulling you back against him before you can lose your balance properly, and he breaks the kiss only enough to look down between you.
“Careful,” he breathes, like he has any right to sound concerned when he is the entire reason you forgot how sidewalks work.
He kisses you again before you can complain further, and this time it is less careful, tugging at his hoodie until he has to bend closer. The cold air slips around your legs, and your car is still parked badly by the curb.
When you pull away, barely, Jake follows for half a second before stopping himself. His eyes open slowly, and the look on his face is so dazed and soft that your own face heats.
“Do you want to go somewhere?”
You blink. “Right now?”
“Yeah.” His thumb moves once at your waist. “I mean, not as a date if you don’t want it to be a date. Or it can be. Or it can be something else. I don’t know.” He winces slightly. “I’m doing badly again.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to smile. “Very badly.”
For a second, he only looks at you, still smiling a little, then he tilts his head like he has decided to be brave in the worst possible way. “I’m buying. I have cash.” he says. “Got it from some dumb seventeen-year-old who asked me to take his sister out.”
Your jaw drops. He starts laughing before you can even form a sentence, and that makes it worse. “Oh my God.” You immediately turn away from him, deeply offended, and manage half a step before his hand catches your wrist, enough to stop you before you can escape with what little dignity you have left.
“Okay, sorry,” he says, but he is still laughing.
Your back meets his chest, his arm slips around your waist again, and his laugh drops into something softer near your ear.
“I’m sorry,” he says, quieter now. “Bad joke.”
His hand slides down from your wrist to your fingers, and before you can say anything else, he lifts your hand. His lips press softly against your knuckles, and every insult waiting on your tongue disappears like it never had a chance.
You hate him. You hate him a lot.
You sigh, like this is a great sacrifice and not exactly what you want. “Fine.” His smile grows. “But if you mention the money again, I’m breaking up with you. Again.”
He nods seriously. “Okay. No more money jokes. I can’t afford to lose my girlfriend twice.”
content: smau ⟡ ceo!jay x assistant!reader ⟡ profanity ⟡ jealousy ⟡ girl dad jay ⟡ jay lowkey a freak ⟡ mature (minors dni!)
a/n: this takes place a few years after part 7! also i hope the time skips are easy to understand :)
go follow my insta @ nishimmortal ! i post teasers and polls for future posts on there so check it out :)
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NOTICE: second, third, and fourth taglists have been moved to my side blog @ nishimmortalreblogs so please check your tag settings and follow that blog if needed!
masterlist ⟡ part one ⟡ part two ⟡ part three ⟡ part four ⟡ part five ⟡ part six ⟡ part seven ⟡ epilogue
you accidentally ended up with the luggage of a michelin star chef 4 years ago (and now you're married with a daughter!)
content: smau ⟡ chefhusband!jay x reader ⟡ jay is cocky as shit ⟡ jay is a girl dad ⟡ suggestive ⟡ mature (18+)
a/n: that's a wrap on this series 🥹 definitely one of my favourites i've written and i'm glad you all enjoyed it <3
go follow my insta @ nishimmortal ! i'll probably be posting teasers and polls for future posts on there so check it out :) (i currently have a poll up so def check that out and vote!)
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part one ⟡ part two ⟡ part three ⟡ part four ⟡ part five ⟡ epilogue
content: smau ⟡ tattooartist!riki x reader ⟡ profanity ⟡ suggestive ⟡ mature (minors dni) ⟡ riki lowk a freak
a/n: that's a wrap on aftercare yippee! onto the next series...
go follow my insta @ nishimmortal ! i post teasers and polls for future posts on there so check it out :)
to be added to my taglist, please visit my taglist post!
areudirty
germansingergirl
snowghoul
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
