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@makeastoryforme
Hey evil guys, how are you all doing? I hope you're well, and ready for another audio? Well, I've been gone for a while, but I'm back to make you happy, enjoy!
Please use headphones 🎧
Heejake áudio 🔞 (For all listeners)
Heeseung and Jake sleep in the same dorm, and every day they have sex; sometimes Heeseung has sex with Jake and sometimes Jake has sex with Heeseung, of course without any of the members suspecting.
jakey audio 😇 i found while making a moodboard for my twt!
whiny jake😵💫
Truth or Desire? - y.jw + p.js
Pairings: Roommate!Jungwon x Fem!Reader x Best Friend!Jay
IN WHICH... your roommate Jungwon knows you're down bad for his best friend, Jay. He loves watching Jay flirt with you until you're a flustered mess, so why not spice things up with a little game?
WC: 7.3k
Content/Warnings: MDNI, Truth or Dare, Alcohol Use, Cuddling, Stripping, Edging, Teasing, Threesome, Fingering, Handjob, Multiple Orgasms, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Aftercare (oral), Cuckolding, Praise Kink
A/N: I know Truth or Dare is a bit overused...BUT I WANTED TO WRITE IT, OK. Anyways, live, laugh, love JayWon. This is pretty filthy; enjoy ;D
Jungwon glanced at you, sprawled on the couch with your feet propped in his lap like you always did after a long day of classes.
He smiled to himself, rubbing soothing circles on your ankles as he glanced at his messages.
Jay was coming over in thirty minutes, and you had no idea.
He imagined the look on your face when he walked through the door— eyes wide and cheeks flushed, smiling too much, laughing too loudly.
It was adorable.
He loved seeing you turn into a flustered mess around his best friend. So he took every opportunity he could to put you two in the same room, watching from the side as you tried and failed to appear cool and relaxed.
Jay was a good sport about it, smiling when he was supposed to, keeping his flirting just subtle enough to drive you insane without crossing a line.
Jungwon watched it all, pulling you into his chest after getting home, as you babbled about how hot Jay was. You let him run his hands down your arms and bury his face in your neck, too distracted by thoughts of Jay to realize just how much your roommate loved to touch you.
Another message popped up on Jungwon’s phone.
Jay was ten minutes away.
He looked at you again, your face relaxed as you stared at your phone, your mouth curling slightly at the corners at something on the screen.
It was going to be a fun night.
You looked at Jungwon as the doorbell rang. “Are you expecting someone?”
He shrugged, gently removing your feet from his lap as he stood up. “Nope, I’ll check.” He got up and walked to the door, his figure disappearing down the hall.
You heard the door open, and a familiar voice trailed into the room.
You froze.
No, it couldn’t be.
You bolted upright, looking down in horror as you realized that you were in pajamas: an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts that rode up your thighs. There was no time to change, no time to hide in your room. You ran your fingers through your hair, adjusting the shorts on your hips as you assumed a normal sitting position on the couch.
Jay walked into the room, and you glanced over your shoulder as casually as you could manage. “Oh, hey, Jay.”
His characteristic side-smile appeared on his face: “Hey, y/n, how are you?”
You smiled, “I’m good, just…relaxing.” You tried not to let your eyes wander. He was wearing a loose button-up shirt and baggy jeans. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to his elbows, with two buttons undone at the top, so his collarbone was on full display.
But the worst (best) part? A thin pair of black glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, perched lazily as if he threw them on in a rush.
Was he trying to kill you?
You turned away as you felt heat creeping up your neck, scrolling absently on your phone.
Jungwon’s voice wafted through the space: “Can I get you something to drink, Jay?”
“Water’s fine.”
Your eyes were on your phone, but your attention was solely focused on Jay’s every movement. You heard him shift on his feet before he walked over and took a seat on the couch next to you, only a cushion between you.
“You look comfy.” He said.
You sucked in your bottom lip, pulling your bare legs under you as you shot him a half-smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were coming over.”
He chuckled lowly, the sound triggering a warm ache between your legs. “It’s ok, I don’t mind.” He paused before adding, “It’s cute.”
A smile worked its way to your mouth as you fiddled with the bottom of your shirt. This kind of comment was normal for Jay, subtle but said at just the right moment to make you squirm. No matter how many times he did it, you never got used to it.
Jungwon came over with a glass of water for Jay, setting it on the table in front of him before sitting on the other side of you. He put his arm over your shoulder and practically pulled you on top of him, drawing a surprised yelp from your lips.
You gave him a sharp look, feeling a blush settle on your cheeks. He was never this touchy when Jay was around, always opting to hover on the sidelines and hold you later after you were done being a flustered mess.
But now his arm casually rested over your waist, your back against his chest as he traced your stomach through your shirt.
Jay’s eyes flicked to Jungwon’s arm over you, but he said nothing, his face unreadable. He leaned over and brought the water glass to his lips, his throat bobbing as he drank.
You couldn’t help but stare.
“Should we watch something?”
Jungwon’s voice interrupted your thoughts, and you tore your gaze away from Jay and to the TV, where Jungwon was already scrolling through movies.
Ten minutes later, you all settled on some rom-com you’d never seen, the studio fanfare echoing through the room.
Jungwon rested his chin on your head, his arm tightening around your waist as he shifted to pull you closer.
You didn’t move; you couldn’t move, because pulling away from him would mean moving closer to Jay, which was not an option. So you leaned back, letting yourself relax against Jungwon. You felt him smile behind you.
Throughout the movie, Jungwon’s hands got bolder. He traced circles on your thigh, brushed his knuckles against your arm, and played with the edge of your shirt so his fingers were just centimeters from the bare skin of your stomach.
You tried to ignore it, but with Jay on the other side of you, every touch felt different—charged. You knew that Jungwon was enjoying this, a hum vibrating from his chest every time you shifted under him.
At one point, he put his lips next to your ear, hot breath fanning over your neck as he whispered, “Comfortable?”
Your skin shivered, and you let out a breath, “Yeah.”
“Really? Because you’re moving a lot.”
You glanced at Jay to see if he was listening, but his face was turned towards the TV, seemingly totally unaware of your conversation.
“I know what you’re doing,” you hissed.
Jungwon let his hand rest at the top of your thigh. “What am I doing?”
“Being annoying.”
He laughed softly against your hair, which drew Jay’s attention. His dark eyes flicked to his friend's hand on your thigh, and this time—just barely—his eyes narrowed.
Jay stood up. “I’m going to grab a beer; anyone want one?”
“Ooh, yes, please,” Jungwon said
Jay looked at you, “y/n?”
You nodded, “Sure.”
The second he left the room, you wiggled out of Jungwon’s arms, climbing out of his lap.
“Hey,” he whined, reaching for you.
You ignored him. “What’s gotten into you? You’re so…clingy.”
“Can a guy not cuddle with his roommate?”
“Uh, not in front of the guy you know I like,” You said.
“I’m helping you; this will make him jealous.”
“Or it will scare him off, because Jay’s a good guy who wouldn’t steal the girl his best friend is fondling.”
Jungwon shrugged, “Fine, if you don’t like me touching you, I won’t.” He crossed his arms.
“I-,” you stopped. Of course, you liked it—being held by him. After a long day, Jungwon was always the person who could help you relax. Always the person who made you feel safe.
But this was different, at least—that’s what you told yourself.
You were still staring at Jungwon’s pouty expression when Jay walked back in.
He handed you both a beer and took his old seat, eyes darting between you and Jungwon.
You sighed and sat between them, your knee now barely brushing against Jungwon’s. He didn’t look at you.
The TV droned on, and you kept telling yourself that this was what you wanted. To be around Jay and embarrassingly flirt with him until (you hoped) he would finally make a move. But he was quietly watching the movie, and Jungwon was looking ahead with an expression like a stone, ignoring you regardless of how many apologetic glances you sent him.
You sank into the couch cushions and chalked the night up to a failure.
When the movie ended, you immediately got to your feet, planning to hide in your room for the rest of the evening.
“Tired already?” Jay said.
You laughed nervously, “Yeah, well I have a lot of studying to do tomorrow.”
“You didn’t even finish your drink.”
You looked down at the coffee table where your barely touched beer sat, the one you’d abandoned after Jungwon had given you the cold shoulder.
“You can finish it.” You said.
“y/n.”
You stopped, because no matter how hard you tried, Jungwon was your weakness. You turned, and almost smiled in relief when you saw that his cold expression had been replaced with a teasing smirk.
“How about we play a game?”
Your eyes narrowed. “What game?”
“Hmm,” he put a finger on his lip, “Would You Rather? Never Have I Ever? Truth or Dare?”
“What are we, thirteen?” Jay snorted.
“Come on, Jay Hyung, it’ll be fun. Have you ever even played them?”
Jay tapped his foot. “I guess not.”
Jungwon grinned at you. “y/n? Don’t make me force you.”
You tried to resist. Tried to make the words “no” come out of your mouth because the idea of playing any of those games with Jay in the mix made your heart race. But you still felt bad for shutting down Jungwon earlier, and he looked so cute right now with his hair flopping over his forehead…
“Fine.” You plopped back onto the couch. “Would You Rather sounds the least painful.”
“What do you say we introduce some shots into the mix, Jay?” Jungwon said.
Jay smiled, “In that case, Truth or Dare is best.” He looked at you, “That way you have an out.”
You groaned, “Why ask me if you’re not gonna listen?”
Jungwon laughed and ruffled your hair before heading to the kitchen. “You were outvoted y/n; it’s totally fair.”
“Whatever.”
Ten minutes later, the three of you sat on the ground around the coffee table, a shot glass in front of each of you with a bottle of vodka in the center.
“You'd better actually play the game, Wonie. I’m not in the mood to deal with you being drunk right now.” You grumbled.
He waved his hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll play, I promise.”
Jay just chuckled and poured each of you a shot. “One to start?”
You didn’t even wait for them. Just grabbed your glass and downed it, wincing as the bitter liquid hit the back of your throat.
Both of them stared at you with surprise etched on their faces.
“What?”
“Someone wasn’t lying about the long day,” Jay said, downing his too.
You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just start.”
After taking his shot, Jungwon turned to you. “Ok, y/n, truth or dare?”
You hesitated. This game was new for Jungwon, a step beyond the teasing comments and subtle hints. To make things worse, you could tell from the way he looked at you that he was feeling risky. Neither option was safe.
“Truth.”
He smiled sweetly. “What do you think about Jay Hyung?"
You froze. The question was simple enough, and Jungwon asked it with a casual lightness to his voice that could fool everyone. Everyone except you. You glanced at Jay, who seemed to be trying to hold back a smirk.
“Jay is…nice. He’s respectful and caring and…plays the guitar really well.”
Jungwon raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?”
You nodded quickly, avoiding Jay’s eyes that you felt burning into the side of your face. “Yup.”
He shrugged. “Ok, your turn then.”
“Truth or dare, Jungwon?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Dare.”
You bit your lip, flying through a list of potential dares. They all felt so boring, and you were starting to feel a bit vengeful. He loved making you squirm; maybe it was time for him to get a taste of his own medicine.
“I dare you to let me text your ex.” You smirked; it was perfect. He hated talking about her. You’d met her once, and she was that annoying type who was painfully clingy and controlling. If she wasn’t with him, she was texting him—often about her complete disapproval of you—saying how “improper” it was for a guy to have a female roommate. He had to block her for his own sanity. He would definitely take the shot; no way would he open up that can of worms.
Jungwon pulled out his phone and held it out to you with zero hesitation. “Go ahead.”
You stared at him, pushing down your shock as you slowly took it out of his hands. “Really?”
He shrugged.
You pursed your lips and decided to take a different route. You stood up and walked over to Jungwon, lowering yourself into his lap. You felt him exhale sharply, and Jay chuckled from the other side of the table. You took Jungwon’s arm and wrapped it around you, then pulled up his phone camera. You shifted until the picture looked as couply as possible, then took it, the frame showing nothing but his large hand palming your stomach.
You stood up and sent it before looking back at Jungwon.
He looked genuinely flustered, the most you’d ever seen him. His face was bright red, his pupils wide, and he couldn’t quite meet your eyes.
You cocked your head. He touched you like that all the time and never looked more than vaguely amused. But the second you initiated, he looked just like you after a few hours of talking to Jay…
Wait.
No.
Jungwon’s phone buzzed in your hand, ripping you out of your thoughts. You opened it to the message you’d sent, eyes widening at the texts that flooded the screen.
I fucking knew you liked her. You asshole, how long were you cheating on me?? That bitch can’t give you HALF of what I could!!
They went on and on and on… and you half-threw Jungwon’s phone back at him before sitting back down, feeling slightly dizzy. Were you really that oblivious?
Jungwon looked between you and the messages lighting up his phone, his eyes a storm of concern and satisfaction.
Jay wasted no time. “Jungwon, truth or dare?”
“Truth,” he said, trying to catch your eye.
“Did you really choose to room with y/n over me because you thought ‘space would be good for our friendship’?”
Your head snapped up, looking between the two boys before settling on Jungwon, who was shooting Jay a death glare.
“You told me Jay had already found a roommate.”
He laughed nervously, “Well, Heeseung was looking for a place.”
“But I asked him first,” Jay said. “He turned me down almost immediately.”
“Listen…” Jungwon tried.
“Answer the question or drink,” Jay said.
You were staring at Jungwon like he was a different person, and you assumed he noticed, because one look at you and he was reaching for his shot glass. After he drank, he leveled an annoyed expression at Jay.
“Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” Jay said.
Jungwon worked his jaw, studying Jay carefully. “I dare you to take your shirt off.”
Jay snorted, his eyebrows raised. “Really?”
“Do it or drink, Jay Hyung.”
You stared at your lap, wanting nothing more than to hide in your room. You knew if Jay did that, you’d be a blushing mess, and Jungwon knew it too.
But if he liked you, why did he keep pushing you towards Jay? Shouldn’t he be possessive or something? Although now that you thought about it, he was possessive—at least around everyone who wasn’t Jay. He never let you out of his sight at parties, and within minutes of a guy approaching you, he was always by your side, a light hand at your back as he subtly told the guy to fuck off.
You thought he was looking out for you, making sure you were safe. But now, you saw it for what it really was: a claim.
And for some reason, Jay was the only exception.
Jay glanced at you, his eyes dropping down to the way you were wringing your hands. He nodded slightly, and slowly—torturously—unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. He let it slip off his shoulders and tossed it behind him, leaving his chest completely bare.
It should be illegal how good he looked. Messy black hair, tan skin, black glasses sitting crooked on the edge of his nose. You tried not to stare. You really did. But you’d been imagining this exact image for months, and now that it was in front of you, you couldn’t look away.
Jay caught your eye and smirked, leaning back onto his hands behind his back and looking smugly at Jungwon.
But your roommate’s eyes were locked on you. He studied you with a hunger you’d never seen in him, watching the way your eyes were pulled to Jay like a magnet, and the way you crossed your legs, trying to calm the hot pressure building in your core.
“It’s your turn, y/n,” Jay said.
You stared at the bottle of vodka on the table, not wanting to look at either of them. The tension in the room was palpable, hovering around you like a raincloud ready to burst.
You forced yourself to look at Jay, trying with your entire being to keep your eyes on his face. “Truth or dare?”
He tilted his head, a slight smile on his face as he took in the blush on your neck. “Truth.”
“Um.” You looked between him and the vodka. “Do you…really think I’m cute?”
You watched as Jay’s eyes darkened, his gaze briefly dropping to your lips. He leaned forward, his muscles flexing as he rested his forearm on the table. “I mean what I say, y/n.”
The way he was looking at you was doing unholy things to your brain. You felt like he was undressing you with his eyes, his stare lingering on every shift of your hips as you squirmed under his attention.
You wanted him to touch you so bad it hurt.
Jungwon cleared his throat, snapping you both out of your trance. A muscle in his jaw was clenched as he looked between the two of you, his fingers tapping against his knee in a steady rhythm.
You bit your lip, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes. “Go ahead, Jay.”
“Truth or dare y/n?”
You were quickly losing your ability to look Jay in the eye without every thought in your head immediately dissolving into warm emptiness. Your thighs clenched involuntarily every time his low voice slipped from between his lips, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold it together.
“Dare.”
Jay exhaled softly, and you saw his hand clench. He looked at Jungwon, whose cheeks were already flushed, and pupils wide as he looked at you, a half-contained neediness in his eyes.
“I dare you to sit in my lap.”
You felt your mouth fall open as the words left his mouth, a rush of blood going straight between your legs. His eyes traced the parting of your lips the same way a cat looked at a toy, drinking in your shock like it was fuel. He shot you the crooked half-smile he knew drove you crazy. “You can drink, you know.”
You knew you should. It was one of those dares that was supposed to make you drink, but the thought of your back pressed against Jay’s bare chest…it was everything you’d been dreaming about.
Jungwon’s gaze bore into you like a physical pressure, and as you turned your head, you prepared yourself for jealousy, even anger. But instead, when your eyes met his, you found only anticipation.
You stared at your shot glass, every thought in your brain screaming at you to fill it, but your desire was winning, and your body was being pulled towards Jay as if he was your center of gravity.
Slowly, you got to your feet and moved towards Jay. His eyes were almost completely black as he watched you, and when you lowered your butt to sit squarely in his crossed legs, his hands found your hips, holding you firmly against him.
He took off his glasses and placed them on the table, then shifted so his chin rested on your shoulder, his breath hot on your neck as he whispered in your ear. “Good choice.”
You had to hold your breath to stop from whimpering. His skin felt electric whenever it touched you, and his hands weren’t helping. His fingers traced gentle strokes in the bend between your hips and thighs, one of them occasionally brushing up your bare leg.
You cursed yourself for wearing shorts; the skin-to-skin contact was going to be the end of you.
“Jungwon, go.” Jay’s low voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t stop yourself from exhaling softly.
You felt him smile against your ear.
Jungwon licked his lips, gaze locked on the way you chewed on your lip to keep from making a sound you knew you’d regret.
“y/n, truth or dare?”
“Truth,” you said quickly.
His question was instant and slightly breathless. “Are you turned on right now?”
You tensed, and at that moment, Jay’s hand drifted towards your inner thigh.
You gasped, pressing your back against his chest as the pressure in your core tightened.
Jungwon smirked, his expression almost predatory.
Jay chuckled. “I feel like that answers it.”
“I want to hear her say it,” Jungwon said.
You knew there was no getting out of this one, but you tried to sound at least a little put-together as you said it. “Yes…”
“Yes what?” Jungwon asked.
You clicked your tongue. “Yes, I’m turned on.”
Jay nuzzled his nose behind your ear, his lips brushing over your hot skin, sending a shivering jolt down your back.
“Jay…” you sighed.
He made a sound similar to a purr. “Oh, I like it when you say my name like that.”
The ache between your legs was so intense it hurt, and you were about five seconds away from grinding on Jay’s lap. You couldn’t take it anymore; you needed to be touched.
Then you realized you had the power, because it was your turn.
Jungwon had moved closer, taking your old spot as he watched the way Jay traced your neck with his lips, his fingers playing with the necklace around his neck.
“Jungwon, truth or dare?”
His eyes darted up to yours. “Truth.”
You sighed because it was not the one you wanted him to pick. Luckily, you still had plenty of questions. “Why do you like watching Jay flirt with me?”
You saw them exchange glances.
Jungwon rubbed the back of his neck. “I liked…that he distracted you. I could see you get flustered and nervous around me since it wasn’t about me. You’d let me hold you and comfort you, something that would never happen if I-”
He stopped, and you noticed the growing tint of red on his cheeks.
“If you what?”
He leaned back on his hands, a teasing smile on his face. “You’ll have to wait for your next turn.”
You rolled your eyes, momentarily forgetting where you were sitting until Jay’s hand slipped under your shirt.
You inhaled sharply as his hand palmed your stomach, the contact making your hunger flourish with a new intensity.
Jay’s voice sounded close to your ear. “I guess it’s my turn now. Are you ready?”
You nodded, your head feeling heavy.
His breath made your skin tingle as he spoke. “Truth or dare y/n?”
Frankly, you were done playing games.
“Dare.”
He smiled against your neck, and a few seconds passed before he declared your fate.
“I dare you to kiss Jungwon.”
The room went silent.
You looked at Jungwon.
He was staring at Jay with wide eyes, all of his playful confidence gone as his carefully guarded desires were revealed to the world.
“You can still drink y/n,” Jay said, his voice smug.
You realized you didn’t want to, and even though Jay was the one who made your knees weak, you were so horny you didn’t particularly care who was doing the touching.
Your eyes flicked down to Jungwon’s lips, and you felt a spark of pleasure in your brain when you saw his eyes visibly darken with need. Plus, it was about time that Jungwon took his turn being the flustered one.
You moved to climb out of Jay’s lap, but his hands gripped your hips, holding you down. “Nope, he has to come to you.”
Jungwon didn’t hesitate. He moved until he was directly across from Jay’s legs, looking up at you with nervous anticipation.
Slowly, you hooked your hand behind his neck, playing with the ends of his hair as your eyes scanned his face.
You’d barely touched him, and he looked wrecked. His pupils were blown completely wide, his skin was hot, and his breathing came out in quick, shallow gasps. He kept looking between your eyes and your lips, like he was scared they’d disappear if he looked away for too long.
You smiled because you were starting to understand why Jungwon enjoyed seeing you like this. The way he was looking at you made your core ache just as much as Jay’s rogue fingers, and you wondered how many of the nights that he held you after watching you lose your mind over Jay ended with him stroking himself in his room.
Now, you could help each other.
You leaned in, and you felt him tentatively brush his nose against yours, his hot breath ghosting over your mouth before your lips finally touched.
His lips were soft, familiar like you’d kissed them thousands of times. You felt a warmth bloom in your chest like a campfire—intense but safe. Jungwon made a sound, and you felt his hand instinctively rise to brush your waist, like he wanted to hold you but didn’t want to overstep.
You grabbed his wrist and moved his hand the rest of the way, smiling against his lips as his fingers dug gratefully into your side.
That’s when you felt a finger press on your clit.
You gasped into Jungwon’s mouth as a surge of pleasure swept through your body, your grip on his hair tightening, causing a groan to slip from his lips.
“Don’t mind me,” Jay said, pulling your hair back from your neck and leaning down to kiss the sensitive skin, his finger still pressed firmly on your clit through your shorts.
Your focus was narrowed until all you could feel was the painful pressure between your legs and the warmth of Jungwon’s lips. But in that moment, it didn’t matter whose lips were whose, or whose hands; all that mattered was that you wanted them on you.
So you kissed Jungwon as if your life depended on it, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him as close as physics allowed, because on that floor—sandwiched between two boys that’d been devouring you with their eyes for hours—it felt like it did.
Jungwon responded to your sudden eagerness like he’d been waiting for it all his life, opening his mouth and letting your tongues dance like fated lovers, his hands gripping your waist with a claiming force.
Jay hadn’t stopped kissing your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin like he wanted to spell his own name in bruises. His fingers had started making light circles over your clothed core, the slight pressure driving you even crazier than direct contact. You shifted on his lap, trying to grind against his finger and increase the pressure. Every time, his other hand would pinch the skin on your inner thigh, making you arch and tremble against his back.
You desperately wanted to feel your skin pressed against his bare chest, so you moved one arm from around Jungwon’s neck and gripped the bottom of your sleep shirt, tugging it up against Jungwon’s hands. He got the message and detached from your lips with a wet pop, ripping your shirt off your body and tossing it to the side.
A broken groan escaped his lips as he took you in bare before him. “You’re more than I ever imagined.” He reached out and rolled one of your hard nipples between his thumb and index finger, smiling as you moaned at the contact.
“Do you like it when I touch you y/n?”
“Yes!” You gasped. “I love it when you touch me, Wonie.”
“God, you sound so pretty,” Jay said, teeth grazing over your ear.
You leaned your head back on his shoulder, sighing as your skin met his.
“Fuck Jungwon,” Jay said, his hand on your hip moving up to cup your other breast. “How did you hold back for so long?”
Jungwon took your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sensitive bud. “I wanted her to beg for it.”
Jay smiled and forced your chin towards him, drinking in your wrecked expression with hungry eyes. “I don’t hear much begging.”
“Jay,” you breathed, “I want you so bad.”
“How bad?”
“I want you to fuck me.”
“Yeah?” He sighed, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb.
You continued, the pressure in your core so intense it was making you delirious, Jungwon’s persistent mouth on your chest not helping. “I’ve wanted you for so long, I dreamed of you inside me, please.”
The sentence had barely left your mouth when he kissed you.
His lips were hungry, firm, devouring your mouth like a wild animal. One of your hands found his hair, and he growled, holding your chin towards him with an almost painful grip.
The room was filled with the sound of clashing tongues and wet licks, your strained moan occasionally cutting through the filth.
Jay’s hand had migrated under your sleep shorts, running up your folds through your soaked panties.
Your hips jerked against him with every stroke, begging for more.
He just smiled against your lips, never giving you the pressure you craved.
He was just as bad as Jungwon, preferring to watch you slowly come apart, much more than the end goal. You wondered if your roommate had learned it from him.
You were vaguely aware of Jungwon removing his hoodie and t-shirt, moving forward until you were basically straddled between them. His hands found your waistband, pulling your shorts down completely until you were naked besides your panties. He watched Jay’s hand run over your core with glazed eyes, his erection growing painfully in his pants.
When you felt Jungwon’s hand on your wrist, pulling it towards him, you broke the kiss with Jay to look, breathing heavily.
Jungwon placed your palm over his bulge, groaning as you squeezed softly.
You leaned forward, watching every twitch of pleasure on Jungwon’s face as you rubbed him. “How long have you been hiding this from me, Jungwon?”
He tilted his head back, moaning softly. “So long, baby.”
The pet name made you smile. “You should have just asked; you know how much I like to make you happy. My sweet Wonie, my perfect roommate. I could have helped you.”
His face was strained as he looked at you. “Really? You would have…?”
You lowered your voice, keeping your eyes locked. “Anything for you, Jungwon.”
That was enough to make him buck against your hand, and he pulled away from your touch, gasping as his legs trembled. “I almost came right there, and you barely touched me.”
“Take it off, Jungwon.”
He nodded, pulling at the waistband of his sweats, stripping down his pants, and his boxers in one motion. His cock sprang free, already dripping and angry with arousal.
You licked your lips and reached for him.
Jungwon sat back down, and when your fingers made contact, he groaned.
You slowly stroked his shaft, watching his face contort in pleasure at your touch.
You heard Jay sigh behind you, the sound sending a vibration through your back. “Need to see your face look like that,” he whispered.
Then his fingers slipped under your panties.
“Jay!” You moaned, pressing your back harder against his chest.
His finger swiped through your wet folds, the sound so filthy it made you arch against him.
You continued your strokes along Jungwon’s shaft, speeding up slightly when Jay’s fingers made your control slip.
Jungwon was a moaning mess under you, keeping himself propped up on his elbows as he watched you touch him while Jay made you squirm.
Jay put his other hand back on your breast, pinching your hard nipple as he continued to tease your entrance.
You brushed your finger over the slit on Jungwon’s tip; his sounds were the only thing keeping you grounded as Jay edged you.
“Fuck!” Jungwon groaned. “Talk to me, y/n; I want to hear your voice.”
“Wonie,” you gasped, trying to grind against Jay’s fingers. “I’ve always loved it when you touched me; you always made me feel good even when I was miserable.”
Jay’s thumb pressed against your clit, drawing a high-pitched moan from your throat. You pumped Jungwon’s dick with desperate speed, feeling the pressure in your core building.
Jungwon’s breathing was ragged. “y/n, I’m close!”
“Jay!” You sobbed, turning your head to bury your face in his neck.
Jay chuckled lowly and finally slipped two fingers past your entrance, a scream streaming from your lips as he curled up to hit your G-spot.
Your orgasm hit you like a truck, exploding through you like a parade of fireworks. You let go of Jungwon and gripped Jay’s knees with an iron grip as pleasure wracked your body.
Jungwon came right after, gasping as hot ropes of his cum shot out over your stomach and even Jay’s hand, which was still moving inside you as he helped you through your orgasm.
You ground on Jay’s hand as you rode out the aftershocks, your chest heaving as the hours of buildup were finally released.
When you were slumped against him, Jay removed his hand, eyes going to Jungwon as he studied the remnants of cum on his arm.
Jungwon lay on the ground with a lazy smile on his face. “Sorry, Jay Hyung.”
Jay just smirked and put his arm in front of your mouth. “Open up.”
Your mouth dropped open, too spent to be anything but obedient.
Jay put his hand on the back of your head and pushed you towards his arm, sighing as he watched you lick up the white substance. “Good girl.”
When you were done, you fell back onto Jay’s chest, finding solace in his warmth.
He chuckled. “You ok?”
You nodded, your eyes closed as you nuzzled your cheek into his neck. “I’m perfect.”
“Yeah, you are,” Jungwon said, watching you curl into Jay with nothing but adoration in his eyes.
“But I feel bad that you didn’t get to feel good, Jay.”
Jay stroked your hair. “Don’t feel bad; watching you was reward enough.”
You traced his collarbone with your finger, his skin so warm and smooth it was intoxicating. You remembered what you’d said to him earlier when he’d asked you to beg. You hadn’t lied; they weren’t just words spoken in desperation. You wanted Jay fully, and the fresh ache in your core told you that you weren’t ready for the night to end.
You put your lips next to his ear and lowered your voice into a whisper. “Jay, I still need you.”
He tensed under you, his hands that had been wandering over your waist stilling.
“y/n…” he said, his voice strained.
“What?” You pouted. “Do you not want me?”
He stared at your plump lips, and you could see the battle of restraint in his eyes. His expression alone answered your question, but you wanted to hear him say it.
“It’s not that, I just…” A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he looked at Jungwon, who was watching the two of you closely. “Jungwon has liked you for so long and I can’t-”
Jungwon cut him off. “It’s ok, Jay, do what she asks.”
“What?” Jay said.
You looked at your roommate, whose back was already propped against the table, his hand drifting to his hardening cock. “Fuck her, Jay Hyung.”
Jay searched your face for confirmation, his hand drifting down to your ass.
So you kissed him.
Jay groaned into your mouth, his lips moving with a new intensity now that the unspoken boundaries had been stripped away. One of his hands tangled in your hair while the other hooked under your thigh, holding you flush against him. He gently lowered you off his lap, pushing you onto your back on the carpet. He stood up and grabbed at the zipper on his jeans, sighing as his hard length finally sprang free.
“Jay,” you moaned. Your walls clenched at the sight of him, and you watched with bated breath as he slowly sank to his knees before you.
Beside you, Jungwon had started to stroke himself. His eyes were glassy as they flicked between Jay’s dick and your face, pupils widening as he watched your lips part in a needy whine. The effect your sounds had on him was almost concerning. He thought that he could spend the rest of his life hearing them and never get tired of it. He reminded himself to ask if he could record you next time.
Jay grabbed your legs and hooked them over his shoulders, smirking when you gasped at the sudden change in position. He hissed as he let his tip run through your folds, your wetness coating his length.
You clawed at the floor, fingers curling in the carpet as shockwaves of pleasure coursed through you in intense bursts. Your vagina clenched around nothing, wanting so desperately to be filled.
“You feel so fucking good.” Jay groaned. He teased your entrance, hovering at the rim of your hole, moving in small circles.
You tried to push yourself onto him, but he pulled back every time, watching with brutal satisfaction as a few tears spilled down your face.
“Jay!” You sobbed, so frustrated you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You didn’t think you’d wanted anything more in your life.
“Shh, it’s ok, baby.” Jungwon appeared by your head. He stroked your hair and peppered kisses down your face. “Just a little longer, ok?”
You reached for him; his voice a beacon in the dark, more comforting than you could put into words.
Jungwon interlaced your fingers and leaned down to kiss your lips.
You gripped his hair, holding onto him like a lifeline.
His kiss was deep and claiming, full of unspoken confessions and pent-up desires. With every move of his lips, you remembered the way he held you to his chest after a long day, or the way he hovered near you at a party, only a step away whenever you needed him.
You were lost in it, lost in him, and then you felt a pressure between your legs, and with a strangled groan, Jay pushed inside of you.
You cried out, ripping your mouth away from Jungwon as you threw your head back, the stretch so good you were seeing white.
Since you were still wet from earlier, Jay wasted no time. He moved inside of you in eager thrusts, his rhythm hard and devastating.
“You’re so tight,” he growled, “so fucking perfect for me.”
Jungwon kept stroking your hair, his other hand on his cock as he pumped himself in time with Jay’s thrusts. “Keep going, Jay Hyung, she’s so pretty right now.”
Jay’s grip tightened on your hips as he deepened his thrusts, studying the pleasure on your face with the same care and intensity he studied his F1 races.
You were a moaning wreck, your sounds getting higher and more frequent as you felt your orgasm building.
Jungwon removed his hand from your hair and shifted towards where Jay was slipping inside of you. With one hand never leaving his dick, his gaze turned towards you; he reached down and pressed two fingers on your clit.
You screamed, tears streaming down your face as he started making firm, consistent circles over the sensitive bud.
He pumped himself harder, his breaths turning ragged as he approached his climax.
Jay had started slamming into you with frantic snaps against your pelvis, his eyes wide as short gasps stumbled from his lips.
You were all close, all chasing a release you’d been thinking of the second Jungwon turned down Jay’s roommate offer. Beginning the slow-burn cycle of stolen glances and loaded words that left you all aching by the end of the day.
You came first.
A broken cry ripped from your throat as you felt your walls clamp down around Jay, spasms of pleasure flowing through your body in waves.
Jay followed you, gasping as his hot seed filled you to the brim, your pussy milking him dry. He slowed his thrusts as he helped you through it, the two of you moaning in harmony.
Jungwon was last. He jerked himself off with quick strokes of his hand, wrecked whines slipping from between his lips as he came for the second time that night. He aligned himself so most of it landed around your mouth, and you licked up as much as you could, finding the way he followed the flicks of your tongue addicting.
The smell of sex lingered over the room like a cloud, the only sound the heaving of your mingled breaths.
Jay pulled out of you, groaning as your bodies came apart with a wet squelch. He collapsed next to you, eyes closed as he caught his breath.
Jungwon crawled to the vacant space between your legs, licking his lips before leaning down to clean up Jay’s cum leaking down your thighs.
You whimpered, oversensitive and spent, too weak to shove him away.
“Jay, would you get her face?” Jungwon said, voice muffled between your legs.
Jay sighed, opening his eyes and leaning over you. He kissed away the remains of Jungwon’s mess, tongue flicking over your skin as he licked up every drop. When he was done, he kissed you softly, and you moaned when you tasted Jungwon’s cum on his lips.
He smirked, “You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”
You kissed him again, a smile on your lips. “Only for you.”
When Jungwon was finished, he lay down on your other side, his hand moving to your waist as he pulled your back against his chest. He kissed your shoulder. “How do you feel?”
You placed your hand over his on your waist, brushing his fingers. “Tired.”
“But a good tired?” Jay asked.
You laughed. “Yeah, pretty good.”
“So I didn’t ruin our friendship?” Jungwon asked, face buried in your hair.
You smiled. “No, Wonie, I think you made it better.”
“So…we can do this again?”
You giggled at the hope in his voice. “All three of us?”
Jay pushed a strand of hair out of your face. “If you want.”
You ran your hand down Jay’s chest, smiling when his muscles flexed under your touch. You could get used to this.
“Yes, I’d like that.”
Jungwon made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, peppering kisses down your neck, his lips curved into a smile against your skin. “Now I can stop pretending everything you do doesn’t drive me insane.”
Jay leaned in and kissed you softly. “You know, at first, I only flirted because Jungwon asked me to, but somewhere along the way, I started believing what I was saying.”
You grinned, brushing his cheek with your thumb. “So you’re in?”
He smiled. “All the way.”
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Whiny jake solo audio with lots of wet
sounds pls :>
careful what you wish for, love.
NSFW 18+ MDNI
WARNING: just see for yourself ;)
note: yes! i know i said that i don’t do requests, but i too, cannot resist the thrilling temptation of whiny jake audios. so! enjoy this one my fellow little sluts :p
my best friend played this in my ear while i was trying to fucking fake sleep...
sub jake begging for you and calls you mommy.
first audio!
Minors DNI!
reposting some peak cuz i lowi played in yalls face 🥳🥳🥳
someone said... drunk sex
I'll upload another audio later as an apology for not uploading it yesterday...
SMUT AUDIO- ENHA JAY (Audio #1)
MINORS DNI
Jay fucking you after a long night
RED HAIRED GUY!
✰stranger!redseung x fem!reader
IN WHICH:..you go out with your friends to clear your head after an intense argument with your ex boyfriend and end up getting distracted by a stranger who seems entirely too comfortable looking at you for that long.
warnings-> nsfw, MDNI, smut, non-idol au, one night stand, strong language, oral sex, unprotected sex (DON'T especially in this context! DO NOT! please stay safe), overstimulation, creampie, dom!heeseung, sub!reader, revenge sex, porn with a bit of plot :p, multiple positions, dirty talk, pet names (use of the words "good girl", kissing, grinding, heavy praise, riding, voyeurism, answering the phone during sex, no strings attached (could be more) -> (w/c:6.5k)
The bass hits you before you even get through the door. It reverberates up through the floor, through the soles of your shoes, through your chest, loud and relentless and exactly what you need tonight.
Your friend Yuna squeezes your hand as you push through the crowd, the heat of too many bodies and too many drinks wrapping around you immediately, and you let yourself exhale for the first time in hours. Your ex boyfriend's face flickers into your head completely uninvited but you shove it back out.
Not tonight, you think, not today. He's not going to ruin your fun too. Yuna grabs your hand and drags you along, following your friends down onto the dance floor. Where you stay for a long time. And God, it feels good.
The kind of good that starts in your chest and moves outward, through your shoulders, down your arms, into the way your hips find the beat like they've been waiting for this all week. Your friends are beside you, laughing, and the music is loud enough to drown out everything that isn't this exact moment.
You feel beautiful tonight. Your hair is right. Your outfit is right. You don't even regret the bold choice of red lipstick you have on. The way you move feels effortless in the way it only does when you've stopped thinking about moving and just let your body flow to the beat.
Someone across the floor is watching you but you barely notice. You throw your head back and laugh at something your friend shouts in your ear and let the bass do the rest. This is what you came for. This exact feeling…alive and unbothered and completely, entirely yours.
You feel it again somewhere in the middle of a song. A gaze. Steady and unhurried, coming from the direction of the bar, not the usual kind that skims past and moves on. This one stays. Specific enough that it prickles at the back of your neck, makes you want to glance over your shoulder even though you resist it.
You don't look. Not yet. You let the song finish, let your friend spin you around, let another beat drop. Then casually, like it's nothing, you look.
He's at the bar. Leaning against it with the particular ease of someone who has never once been uncomfortable in a room in his life, one hand wrapped loosely around a glass, dark jacket, red hair catching the light above the bar in a way that looks almost deliberate. His eyes are already on you when you find them. He doesn't look away.
Not embarrassed, not caught. Just watching. Like he'd decided to and saw no reason to pretend otherwise. You hold his gaze for exactly two seconds. Then you turn back to the dance floor and say nothing to anyone, but something about the song feels different now. The awareness of it sitting warm at the back of your neck for the rest of the song.
You come off the dance floor flushed and breathless, your friends already splintering off in different directions, toward the bathrooms, toward a group they'd spotted across the room, toward the small outdoor terrace at the back. Yuna promises to find you in ten minutes and you wave her off and push toward the bar because you're thirsty, the night is young and you feel fucking great.
The bar is crowded but you find a gap and lean into it, scanning for the bartender. "Decided to come say hi after all," the voice says from your left. Low, cutting through the noise with an ease that suggests it's done this before.
You turn, already knowing who you're going to find. He's exactly where he was, still leaning against the bar, still holding that glass, still completely at ease. Up close the red hair is more vivid, the dark eyes more intense and direct. He looks at you like he has all the time in the world and has decided to spend some of it here.
You know who he is, or at least you'd heard about him. Lee Heeseung, your girlfriends had spoken about him before, he's not really what you were expecting though, which you can't help but find a little bit intriguing. "I was thirsty," you say, turning to flag down the bartender. "Mm." He takes a sip of his drink. "You dance like you know everyone's watching" You glance at him. "Do I?" he gives a curt nod, "Not a criticism," his eyes are steady on yours, dark and entirely unbothered. "Just an observation."
"You were watching me?"
"Hard not to" he says it plainly, like a simple fact. You watch him, ignoring the heat burning up your face, still caught off guard by his admission. When the bartender appears, you quickly clear your throat and place your order. Heeseung doesn't look away.
"I'm Heeseung," he nods, when you glance back at him again. "Y/N" you say. “And I know who you are, I think” Something shifts in his expression, the faintest flicker of interest, like you've said something unexpected. "Do you?"
"You have a reputation"
"Most people do." He tilts his head slightly. "What's mine?"
You consider him for a second, the easy sprawl of him against the bar, the way he holds eye contact like it costs him nothing, the red hair, the dark eyes, the jacket, the irritatingly calm expression and the fact that standing this close apparently means becoming aware that he smells really good. Basically the overall unfair construction of him as a person. "The kind people warn you about" His eyebrows lift slightly. "That bad?" You shrug, "Depends on who you ask.”
He smiles, slow, unhurried, like everything else about him. Your drink arrives and you wrap your hand around it, taking a sip as you try to decide whether you're annoyed or entertained, which is a harder question than it should be. "You come here a lot?" you ask. "Not really, sometimes" He shrugs slightly. "You?"
"Not usually." You look out at the dance floor, at the mass of moving bodies and colored lights. "I needed a night out."
"Bad day?" he raises brow.
"Bad week," you scoff. Then, because something about him invites honesty in a way you hadn't anticipated, you continue, "Bad enough." He doesn't push. Doesn't do the thing people do where they tilt their head and say do you want to talk about it? In a voice that suggests they're already composing their response. He just nods, once, and lets it sit there. You appreciate that.
"For what it's worth," he says, after a moment, "You look beautiful."
You glance at him. The compliment lands strangely, too factual and yet heat creeps up your neck anyway. "Thank you" His eyes flick to you for half a second longer than necessary. You look away first and the corner of his mouth lifts. "You're welcome.”
His smile doesn't disappear, making you narrow your eyes a little. "Don't look so pleased with yourself." His eyebrows lift. "I'm not.”
You shake your head and glance away again, suddenly very interested in absolutely anything else in the room. His voice comes softer this time. "You get shy when people compliment you?" Your eyes snap back to him "No." He nods once. "Right"
"I don't."
His mouth twitches, “then why won't you look at me?" Your lips part but nothing comes out. His expression changes, not smug exactly, more entertained than anything. A beat passes and he doesn’t move away, you don’t either. “You’re staring,” you manage, a very familiar sensation creeping up your body. “Yeah,” he simply agrees. “I am.”
He's crazy, you think. You look at him for a second, the complete ease of him, the way he occupies space like it's never occurred to him to make himself smaller, the faint smile that suggests he finds most things mildly interesting and very little genuinely surprising. "You always like this?" you ask. "Like what?" "Like-" you gesture at him vaguely, "this."
"You're going to have to be more specific, sweetheart."
"Unbothered," you say, trying to ignore the nickname. "About everything. Like nothing ever lands." He considers this, which you think is cool, he doesn't just deflect or turn it into something smooth. He actually thinks about it. "Things land," he says finally. "I just don't make it everyone's problem."
There's something underneath that which you don't quite have the context to unpack, but it sits in the air between you and feels true in a way that catches you slightly off guard. Your phone buzzes in your pocket. But you ignore it. He notices, you can tell by the way his eyes drop for a fraction of a second but he doesn't say anything. "So," he glances at you, "what else does a person do after a bad night?"
"They go clubbing," you say, "and let a strange man talk to them apparently."
"I'm not that strange," he smiles, "the night is young," you shrug. He laughs at that, a low, genuine sound, nothing performed about it. It does something slightly unreasonable to the atmosphere between you.
Your phone buzzes again. And again. You reach into your pocket, glance at the screen out of reflex.
BF♡: where are you? BF♡: send me your location BF♡: y/n
You stare at it for a second, annoyed that you forgot to change his contact name, then you sigh, disliking the heavy feeling settling in your chest. Not quite anger, not even hurt, just the familiar exhausting weight of him wanting your attention on his terms and his timeline, the same way he always did.
And so you turn your screen face down on the bar. Heeseung is watching you when you look up. His expression hasn't changed, still easy, still steady but there's something attentive in his eyes that suggests he's caught onto more than you intended. "You were saying?" You say, like nothing happened. He holds your gaze for a moment. Then he lets it go, smooth as anything. "I was asking what you do after a bad night," he says. "And I told you."
"Strange men at bars," he agrees. "Bold strategy."
"It's working so far,” you nod."Is it?" He answers, not a question exactly, more like he's tasting the answer. “You're not all that bad I guess” you shrug "High praise." He looks at you over the rim of his glass. "Don't push it."
Heeseung smiles warmly and leans in just slightly, not enough to crowd you, but just enough to close some of the distance between you, deliberate in the way everything he does seems deliberate. "Despite having an awful night," he says, low enough that it doesn't carry past the two of you, "you're doing pretty well."
"I had a good teacher," you say. "First five minutes." Something genuinely pleased moves through his expression. He leans back, a smile pulling at his lips like he's satisfied with that. And then your phone goes off again but you don't look at it this time. Heeseung watches you ignore it. "Persistent," he observes. "Very," you agree.
"Must be important."
"Must be." You pick up your drink. "Doesn't feel like it right now."
His eyes stay on yours for a beat longer than necessary, reading something there, whatever you're letting show, and then the corner of his mouth curves up slowly. The air between you is doing something you don't really have a name for. Close and charged but subtle all at once, like neither of you is in a particular rush to get anywhere and you've both quietly agreed on this without saying so.
He shifts slightly, angling toward you, his arm brushing yours against the bar. But he doesn't move it away. "So," his eyes drop to your lips for just a fraction of a second before coming back up. "Tell me something."
"Like what?"
"Anything." He tilts his head. "Something true."
You look at him, the red hair and the dark eyes and the complete infuriating composure of him and feel something loosen in your chest that had been pulled tight all evening. "I almost didn't come out tonight," you say. "But you did." "I did."
He holds your gaze. "I'm glad you did."
You open your mouth to say something, but Yuna's voice cuts through the music. "Y/N!" Your friend materializes at your elbow from somewhere in the crowd, slightly breathless, eyes bright. "There you are, come on!, they're playing the song, we have to go!" She grabs your arm before you have time to process, already pulling you towards the dance floor.
You go, because you're being moved by a force of nature and there's very little to be done about it, but you turn your head as you're dragged away. Heeseung is still leaning against the bar, watching you go with that same calm expression and he raises his glass slightly in your direction, holding your gaze for one second, two, then you're completely swallowed by the crowd and the music swells back around you.
Yuna is saying something you're not fully processing because you're still thinking about the way he'd looked at you right before your name was called. ‘I'm glad you did’
Your phone buzzes again in your hand but your mind is already elsewhere. Yuna hands you a drink and you down it in one go. And just like that you let the music do what it does and your body go with the flow. The song changes twice more before Yuna finally lets you go, laughing, already being pulled toward the group by the terrace doors. "Ten minutes, I mean it this time!" she calls over her shoulder, blowing you a kiss. Even though you know you're probably not going to see her again for the rest of the night. And then she's gone, swallowed by the crowd same as everything else tonight.
You mean to go find the terrace. You mean to. But instead you find yourself drifting back toward the bar, telling yourself it's because you never finished your drink, which is a lie you don't even bother committing to.
He's not where you left him and the disappointment lands before you can stop it, sharp and unreasonable, and you're still cataloguing it when a hand finds the small of your back. "Looking for someone?" His voice, close to your ear this time, close enough that you feel it more than hear it over the music.
Your breath catches and you turn around slowly, the moment your eyes meet his again, up close like this, something in your brain short-circuits. God, he’s unfairly beautiful.
His red hair looks even richer under the now pink club lights, a deep, vivid shade almost burgundy, that catches every flash of color. His dark eyes hold yours without hesitation, framed by lashes that should be illegal, and there’s the faintest trace of a smirk playing at the corner of his heart-shaped lips.
Your eyes fall to the sharp line of his jaw, the easy slope of his shoulders under that jacket. And you’re suddenly very aware of how warm the room feels, how close he is and how your pulse is now louder than the music. Heeseung’s hand lingers for a second longer before he lets it fall, but he doesn’t step back. He just watches you, that calm confidence radiating off him in waves.
“Yeah,” you manage, voice a little breathless. “Guess I found him.” His smirk deepens, slow and pleased, he leans one elbow back against the bar, angling his body toward you so the two of you create a little pocket of space amid the chaos. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?” You finally realize what you said and laugh softly, the sound surprising even you. “Don’t flatter yourself too much. I was just um…thirsty again.”
“Right” His gaze drops to your mouth for a beat, then lifts back up. “And here I thought you missed my charming conversation.” The way he says it, so relaxed, so teasing, makes heat bloom low in your stomach and you take a small step closer without meaning to, drawn in by the way he looks at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the room.
He doesn’t push, doesn’t crowd you but every little movement feels so intimate. The brush of his arm against yours. The way his fingers tap lightly against his glass. The quiet intensity behind that laid back smile. You talk for a few more minutes, easy, light banter that somehow feels heavier than it should.
He asks what kind of bad week you had, not prying, just offering the space for you to answer if you want. But you deflect with something vague and sarcastic that makes him chuckle, low and amused. His voice is like warm velvet over gravel, and every time he calls you “sweetheart” in that casual drawl, your stomach flips. You shift uncomfortably, pressing your thighs together as a very specific thought creeps into your head, and suddenly it feels very hot in here, almost suffocating.
Oh God…you're truly in trouble.
The music pulses around you, the lights shift across his face, your heart is hammering and you can't help it anymore. And then, somewhere in the middle of him telling you about his very chill week, the words tumble out before you can stop them.
“Can I kiss you?”
The question hangs there, raw and honest in the thick atmosphere with the way he’s been looking at you like he wants to devour every second of this. Heeseung blinks once, clearly surprised, eyebrows lifting just slightly. For the first time tonight, that perfect composure cracks open, revealing a flash of genuine intrigue. His lips part, then curve into a dangerous smile. “Yeah,” he says, voice dropping even lower. “You can.”
You don’t wait for the moment to pass. You reach up, fingers brushing the front of his jacket, and press your mouth to his. One of his hands slides to your waist to pull you closer while the other cups the side of your face with surprising gentleness. His lips are warm, soft at first and then firmer, deepening the kiss like he’s been thinking about it since the moment he saw you on the dance floor.
The taste of his drink lingers faintly, mixed with something distinctly him. He kisses like he does everything else, completely in control, but generous with it, coaxing your lips apart and making your knees feel weak. It’s easily the best kiss you’ve ever had. Slow and consuming and perfect, the kind that makes the rest of the club disappear.
Heat floods through you, head to toe, as his thumb brushes your cheek and he tilts his head just enough to take it deeper. Tongue stroking yours in lazy, hungry strokes that send liquid heat pooling between your thighs. A soft, needy whimper escapes you and you feel him smile against your mouth. When you finally pull back, gasping for air, your forehead rests against his. Your bold red lipstick, smeared at the corner of his mouth, staining the edge of his lips in a messy, erotic streak.
His eyes are dazed, pupils blown wide with lust, that usual collected composure cracked just enough to show how badly he wants you. His breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling against yours. “Fuck,” he whispers, voice rough as his thumb drags gently over your swollen bottom lip, smearing your red lipstick even more. You stare at him, eyes glazed with lust. Heeseung lets out a low breath, almost reluctant. “Y/N… look, I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t really do relationships.”
The words hang between you for half a second. You think about it for a second and then decide that you don’t care, you just need a release. You grab his arm and pull him toward a shadowed corner of the club. He follows without hesitation, that lazy grin returning to his lips as the blue lights wash over you both and the pounding music fades into a distant throb.
Heeseung presses you against the wall, his body flush against yours. His heavy breathing fans hot across your neck as he slots one thigh between your legs. “Go on,” he whispers, voice low and commanding, lips brushing your ear. “Use me.”
You can’t help the desperate moan that spills from your lips as you grind against his thigh, the friction delicious against your soaked core. He watches you the entire time, dark eyes fixed on your face, drinking in every roll of your hips, every gasp. His hands grip your waist, steadying you as the pleasure builds fast and sharp. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he praises softly, lips brushing your ear. “Look at you…you look so pretty riding my thigh like this.”
The orgasm hits you like a wave, shattering through your body so intensely your legs give out. Heeseung catches you easily, holding you up with strong arms as he kisses you through it, swallowing every loud moan and whimper until you’re trembling and spent against his chest. He lets you catch your breath for a moment, forehead pressed to his, before intertwining your fingers with his.
“Come with me,” he says, low enough that it vibrates through your chest. You don’t hesitate. He guides you through the crowd, grip warm and sure. Your legs are still shaky from the intense release, and halfway up the narrow staircase he notices. With a soft chuckle, Heeseung turns the corner and the bouncer gives him a knowing nod as you pass and you don't care to think about anything else because you need his lips on you again.
The second floor is quieter, dim lights, velvet booths, and several closed doors lining a hallway. Heeseung opens one without pause, pulling you inside. The room is private, luxurious in a hazy club way. Low lighting, a large bed against one wall, a mirror across from it, and a leather couch by the window through which the moonlight shines in.
The faint thump of music still vibrates through the floor and there's a sweet scent in the air. Heeseung turns to you, backing you gently against the door. His hands settle on your hips as he leans in, kissing you again, deeper this time. Slower, like he’s savoring every second. You melt into it, fingers threading through his red hair, tugging lightly. He makes a low sound of approval against your mouth.
“You sure about this?” he asks, lips brushing yours. Even now, he’s giving you the choice, calm and gentle, but his body is pressed close enough that you can feel how much he wants this. “Yes,” you breathe. “I want you to fuck me. Please”
That’s all he needs.
His hands slide under your top, peeling it off with practiced ease. Clothes come off in a heated rush, his jacket hitting the floor, the skirt of your dress pushed up around your waist, his shirt unbuttoned just enough for you to run your hands over the hard lines of his chest. His hands roam, possessively sliding under your clothes until you’re both shedding them in a heated trail toward the bed.
He lays you down and drops to his knees between your spreaded thighs, that same soft dominance radiating off him as he hooks your legs over his shoulders. “Still so wet,” he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. “Let’s see how many more times I can make you fall apart tonight.”
His mouth is on you in the next breath, tongue sliding through your folds, sucking gently on your clit while two fingers push inside you. He eats you out like he has all the time in the world, every teasing lick and curl of his fingers pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “You taste so fucking good,” he groans against you, “I knew I had to taste you the second I saw you on that dance floor” he rasps.
You’re loud, moaning shamelessly as another orgasm builds fast. He groans as his nose brushes against your clit, the sound vibrating against your core. Your hips buck against his mouth, another loud cry tearing from your throat when his tongue slips inside you. Heeseung presses his hand firmly over your mouth, muffling your cries while he works you through it with long, lazy strokes of his wet tongue.
“Easy baby,” he kisses against your slick skin, eyes flicking up to yours with amusement. “Can't have everyone hearing how you cum on my tongue, be quiet for me…or I'll make you” he spits on your pussy, dragging his tongue across your mess.
His words combined with the feel of his tongue and his fingers curling into you, push you over the edge fast. You come hard, thighs shaking around his head, the sound muffled against his palm as the pleasure whites out your vision. He doesn't give you much time to recover.
Heeseung stands, shedding the rest of his clothes, his dick hard and flushed. You slide off the bed onto your knees almost instinctively, wrapping your hand around him. He threads his fingers gently through your hair, guiding but not forcing. “That’s it… fuck, you look so good on your knees for me,” he breathes, voice rough with pleasure. “Open up for me, baby. Let me feel that pretty mouth.”
You take him eagerly, licking a wet stripe around the head before sinking down as far as you can. Tongue swirling and hand stroking what you can't fit. His praises make you wetter, make you moan around him as you grind your clit against his leg like an animal in heat. He tightens his grip in your hair, his head falling back with a low groan.
"You're such a good girl… just like that. Taking me so fucking well.” You moan around him, the vibration pulling another curse from him. He fucks your mouth with controlled thrusts, never too rough, eyes locked on the way your smeared red lipstick leaves marks along his shaft. Before he can finish down your throat, he pulls you off and lays you back onto the bed.
Your chest rises and falls in anticipation as you hear the hurried rip of foil before he lines up, rubbing the head of his dick over your clit until you're panting helplessly.
You look him in the eye, tugging at the condom until he understands what you're suggesting. "I have an IUD..." you look up at him through your lashes, "besides, I want to feel you" you whisper. "All of you" Heeseung stares down at you, his chest rising heavily. "You're fucking crazy" he rasps, tugging it off before he crashes his lips against yours, suddenly unable to control his want for you.
He takes his time, but there’s nothing lazy about it, exploring your body with confident hands, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, lower until you’re arching into him, gasping his name.
When he finally sinks into you, slow and deep and perfect, the stretch is exquisite. "F-fuck, you're so deep" you moan, overwhelmed by the intrusion. He watches your face the entire time, eyes locked on yours, drinking in every reaction like it’s better than the love song playing downstairs. “Fuck, you feel incredible,” he groans, voice rough around the edges. His hips roll against yours in a steady, devastating rhythm, hitting every spot that makes your toes curl. One hand grips your thigh, spreading you wider as he drives deeper, the other braced beside your head.
It’s overwhelming in the best way. The way he moves like he already knows your body, like he’s determined to make you feel everything. Confident, unrelenting and attuned to every moan and shiver. He angles his hips just right, grinding against you with each thrust until pleasure coils tight and blinding in your core.
You come hard again, crying out against his shoulder, nails digging into his back as you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your scream. He doesn’t stop. He rides you through it, murmuring filthy praises in your ear “so tight, fuck that’s it, sweetheart…let go for me again” You’re very loud, whimpering and crying out his name with every thrust that hits that sweet spot deep inside. Heeseung smirks and presses his hand over your mouth again, leaning down to bite at your neck while he fucks you harder. “Quiet down baby. Do you want the whole club to know how hard I’m making you come?"
Your phone suddenly starts ringing on the bedside table, the familiar ringtone cutting through the heavy breathing and the wet sounds of skin on skin.
incoming call...BF♡
Heeseung glances down at it, then back at you with a wicked glint in his eyes. He doesn’t stop moving, just slows to deep, grinding rolls that make your toes curl and your walls flutter around him. "Answer it,” he commands softly, voice dripping with lust as he picks up his pace again, fucking you harder. “Answer the phone, baby. Let him hear how well you’re getting fucked.” His voice is full of challenge and dark amusement.
He moves his hand from your mouth just enough for you to speak. You shake your head, but he leans down, lips brushing your ear as he thrusts particularly deep, his thumb rubbing against your clit and you cry out as the orgasm crashes into you without warning. Your legs shake violently, vision blurring as intense pleasure rips through your body. A broken moan tears from your throat before you can stop it, your release gushing around his dick as you clench down on him.
“Fuck…fucking hell, you cum so good,” he groans, sweat dripping down his chest as his eyes drop to where his thick dick is pumping in and out of you, slick with your release. “Look at that. Soaking me like a good girl.” You gasp sharply, eyes rolling back as he keeps thrusting through your orgasm, brushing against your sensitive spot with every stroke.
The phone keeps ringing, insistent and shrill. Heeseung’s hand returns to cover your mouth, muffling your cries as he fucks you through the waves of pleasure. With his other hand, he grabs the phone and presses it into your palm, his hair falls over his eyes, his sharp gaze locked on yours in a silent, filthy order.
Fingers trembling, you swipe to answer just as another thrust makes your voice crack. “H-hello…?” It comes out wrecked, breathy, and dripping with lust. Your ex’s voice explodes through the phone, angry, demanding to know where you are, why you sound like that. But Heeseung doesn’t let up. He leans down and kisses your neck, biting down gently as he drives into you with sharp, punishing strokes, his hand still firmly over your mouth between your broken replies.
You try to speak, but every thrust pulls another muffled whimper from you. Heeseung’s breath is hot against your ear. “Tell him you’re busy,” he whispers, voice low and teasing. “Tell him how full you are right now, baby…how deep I’m buried inside this pretty pussy.”
The risk, the pleasure, and his relentless praise push you dangerously close to the edge again. You manage a few shaky, incoherent words “L-Look, stop calling me…d-don't call me anymore. We're done-” before you drop the phone, letting it fall onto the sheets as another orgasm rips through you.
Heeseung swallows your loud cry with a deep kiss, hips stuttering at how hard you're clenching down on him, He flips you over and pulls your hips up, taking you from behind with the same devastating control.
The new angle is even deeper. He fucks you hard and fast, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks. The headboard slams rhythmically against the wall with every powerful thrust. His balls slap loudly against your ass, dripping with your juices as your moans grow shamelessly louder, echoing throughout the room.
“Listen to you,” he growls, voice rough with lust. “So fucking loud for me. You love getting ruined like this, don’t you?” He leans over your back, teeth grazing your shoulder as he drives into you even harder. “One more, pretty, let me feel you.”
The filthy sounds of skin slapping skin send you spiraling. Your most intense orgasm of the night washes over you, legs shaking, walls pulsing around him as you cry out into the sheets. Heeseung follows right after, burying himself to the hilt with a deep, guttural groan, filling you completely as his hips jerk against your ass.
For a few long moments, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the distant thump of the club music. Heeseung stays draped over you, pressing soft kisses along your spine as he pulls out. He collapses beside you and pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around your trembling body.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, voice warm and slightly amused. His fingers trace lazy circles on your back, gentle now after the intensity. “Did I break you, pretty girl?” you let out a weak, breathless laugh, burying your face in his neck. The red lipstick you left all over him is still faintly visible in the low light. “In the best way possible.”
Heeseung chuckles softly, tilting your chin up to kiss you, his touch soft and tender. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.” His hand slides down to squeeze your ass possessively. “Give me ten minutes I want to watch you lose it while you're on top of me, still dripping with my cum.” he looks down at you, “Unless you need me to call your boyfriend back and really rub it in.”
You playfully smack his chest, a breathless laugh escaping you. “You’re terrible.” He catches your wrist easily, bringing it to his lips to kiss your pulse point, “You like it,” he teases. And true to his word, it doesn’t take him long to recover. Heeseung leans back against the bed, pulling you on top of him with effortless strength. His hands settle on your hips as you straddle him, guiding you down onto his dick again. The stretch is delicious, especially with the added slickness of his earlier release still leaking out of you.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, head falling back as you sink all the way down. "You take me so well.” You start moving, rolling your hips experimentally at first, then faster as confidence and need take over. Heeseung watches you with hooded eyes, hands roaming your body, squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples, then gripping your waist to help guide your movements.
“That’s my pretty girl,” he praises, voice rough. “Ride me just like that. You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re cuming all over my dick.” The angle lets you grind your clit against him with every roll of your hips. Your moans grow louder again, and Heeseung sits up slightly, pulling you closer so he can kiss you messily while you ride him. One hand stays on your hip, the other slides between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit.
“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your lips. “Let me feel you cum again. Spill for me like the good girl you are.” The combination of his praise, his lips trailing your neck, and the deep drag of his dick inside you sends you over the edge quickly.
You cry out, clenching hard around him as another powerful orgasm washes over you. Heeseung groans loudly, thrusting up into you to chase his own release, filling you once more as he holds you tight against him.
You collapse onto his chest, both of you slick with sweat and breathing hard. He runs his fingers through your hair, pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder as the aftershocks fade. “Still having an awful week?” he asks, voice low and satisfied.
You smile against his skin, too blissed out to do anything else. “Best week ever.” He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Stay with me a little longer, yeah? The night’s still young… and I’m nowhere near done with you.” You do stay, for hours.
He takes you again and again. Slow and deep on the bed, then against the wall, on the floor with you on your hands and knees, rutting into you until you come apart. With you on your back, at the edge of the bed as he stands holding your legs over his shoulder, seated so fucking deep in you that you can feel him in your stomach. Then once more, you ride his face, his nose brushing against your clit with each movement before he pulls you over him to ride his dick until your thighs burn and your voice grows hoarse. Every time he praises you, every filthy whisper and gentle command, carves itself deeper into your memory.
Eventually the sun begins to rise and the club begins to empty. Heeseung kisses you one last time at the back exit, the feel of his lips lingering, his thumb brushing your smudged red lipstick like a secret. “Tonight was fun, sweetheart,” he winks, that mesmerising smile on his lips again. “Take care of yourself,” he starts to pull away.
A sudden spike of panic hits you, your fingers tighten in his jacket before you can stop yourself. “Wait…” Your voice comes out smaller than you want. “Will I…see you again?” Heeseung pauses. For a moment his eyes soften, just slightly, as he studies your face. Then that calm expression returns. He leans in, pressing one last lingering kiss to your wrist.
“Maybe,” he says softly, voice low and honest. “But even if not…you’ll remember me.” He brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, one final time, that beautiful smile making your heart ache a little. “And I'll definitely remember you.”
With that, he steps back, gives you one last look that sends heat rushing through you all over again, and disappears into the early morning streets.
In the weeks that follow, you think about Heeseung far too often. You try to move on, you go on dates, you let other men kiss you, touch you, take you home. But it’s never the same.
No one else makes your body respond like that, no one else fills you with that overwhelming, toe curling pleasure. No one else looks at you with those sharp, steady eyes while calling you their good girl in that low, velvet voice. Sex with anyone else feels… mediocre, mechanical and disappointing.
Your mind always returns to the red-haired guy.
Late at night, when the ache becomes unbearable, your hand slips between your thighs. You close your eyes and picture him, his vivid red hair between your legs, the way his strong hands gripped your hips, the filthy praise he groaned against your neck as he fucked you senseless. You remember how he felt stretching you open, how he kissed you through your orgasms, how he made you cum harder than you ever had before.
You touch yourself desperately to those memories, moaning his name into your pillow as you shatter again and again. The orgasms are good, but they’re never quite enough, just echoes of what he gave you that night.
He ruined you for anyone else.
And the worst part? You don’t even regret it. Sometimes, when you’re out at clubs or parties, you catch yourself scanning the crowd for a flash of red hair and that effortless, laid-back confidence. But he never appears again.
He was a one-night storm…beautiful, devastating and unforgettable. And all you have left is the memory and the quiet, delicious ache every time you think of him.
-> made by @taexvan ●RULES ●MASTERLIST ●TAGLIST ☆taglist! @baekgufx @melodisic @evelynevie1009 @hooniepatootie @xonlyifyousayess @gyubdaengi @marylovedaspiders
NSFW MDNI!!🙅🏻♀️
[Heeseung Audio#2]
𝗛𝗲𝗲𝘀𝗲𝘂𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗼 𝗯𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻'𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂.
Hey y'all, my apologies for ghosting you hehehe I can't find an audio to post here🥀💔 So here you go, I hope you can still forgive me hehe, enjoy :)
and also, thankyouusomuchieee and I'm so happy you guys were supporting me, happiiee 1k followers!!>.< i love y'all, mwuahhh!!🫂💐🫶
enhypen is seven.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ 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.”
“Jake.”
“Sorry. Done. No more.”
short sequel
I CRODE OH MY DAYSSS
the devil wears prada キ lhs
pairing ₊ runway model fem!reader ♡ jerk idol!heeseung
in which you can't stand heeseung. unfortunately for you, both of you are under the same brand - at a prada afterparty, you and him get into a fight - leading to messy kisses, hurtful words, and confessions.
content warning ₊ unprotected sex, pain infliction/spanking (f!recieving), creampie/breeding, nipple/breast play, tit job, brat ♡ brat tamer, oral sex (f!recieving), big breast reader, i made heeseung a little mean, choking, dry humping, thigh fucking, dirty talk, bickering
ⓘ wc 4.4k
| now playing ₊ 2 am ₊ dollhouse
excelsior hotel galli - a luxury hotel in milan, where they’re hosting the private after party dinner for prada after milan fashion week reaches it’s end tonight. music is blasting, people are dancing - some way too close to each other -, people talking, having fun.
you sit tall alone at a table far back away from eyes. your cupcake sits untouched in front of you, too busy admiring the night lights of the city from the extravagant roof top bar.
your feet sting, tonight was rough. you walked the runway, stood for hours in stilettos, and practiced your walk over and over again in the mirror. the tension in the air is thick, and even though you purposefully sat far away from where everyone is gathered - you can still feel someone looking.
a certain someone staring.
only one person comes to mind. you tear your eyes away reluctantly from the pretty view - lee heeseung - standing tall next to his band members - looking right at you. you glare at him and he raises an eyebrow, you’re already annoyed without him having to mutter a word.
you hate him, really hate him. every interaction you had with each other has always been snarky comments, him teasing you endlessly - how it drives you crazy how much he teases you - you snapping at him, him smirking at you all smug.
he stands confidently in a customed tailored black suit. the inverted triangle prada logo shining underneath the bright lights. still making eye contact with you, he leans over towards jay, whispering something. probably whispering something about you, gosh fuck him. not literally. though he is strikingly good looking, so much that you just want to punch him in his pretty face.
for as long as you could remember, this is how it's always been between you guys. you’ve been a runway model for prada for a few years now, and everything was going well - until enhypen became brand ambassadors in 2023.
now in 2026, every time you guys are at the same gathering, it’s always the same thing over and over again. it’s not that you have a problem with enhypen in general, you actually quite like their music. it’s just him you can’t stand.
he’s always making some sort of comment to you - then getting pissed off whenever you flirt with some random guy for some reason. like “really? him? that’s the best you could do?”
he laughs wholeheartedly at something sunghoon says, the sight makes your chest tighten. you twirl your head away so fast you’re sure you’re getting neck pain later - you just want this night to end already.
if the music wasn’t so fucking loud maybe this moment would be peaceful, just the sound of wind blowing - your brows furrow in frustration.
“if you keep doing that, you’ll end up with forehead wrinkles.”
you thought this night couldn’t get any worse, you were dead wrong. you don’t even turn to face him. heeseung moves around to the opposite end of the table and pulls the chair across from you, taking a seat. making himself comfortable.
you glare at him. he glares at you.
“what do you want this time, heeseung?”
“just wanted to say hi to my favorite girl.”
sarcasm.
you can’t hide the disgust in your face, neither the eye roll that comes almost naturally.
he laughs at your expression. “you look good, i enjoyed seeing you walk. it never gets old.” he places his elbow on the table, holding his face with his palm. looking all nonchalant and laid back, it pisses you off. he looks good, too good.
“they look good too.” he nods towards your tits - he’s checking you out - does this man really have no shame? so openly? “seriously?” you respond, the irritation clear in your voice.
“easy, i’m complementing you.”
“you’re staring at my tits.”
“i wouldn’t say staring, more like appreciating. they are nice.”
you kick him underneath the table with your heels. he hisses and staggers a bit.
“you’re so gross.” you mutter. he’s a little annoyed that you just kicked him, but he still manages a grin.
he glances down to your untouched plate, the singular plain sad cupcake just taking up space. “didnt know a girl with such a temper like yours could like something so sweet.”
you almost kick him in the leg again. “i can be sweet.”
he does not buy it at all. “of course.”
“aren’t you gonna eat it?”
“was planning to but your face ruined my appetite.” you snap back quickly, a lie - his face was majestic - but still.
“ouch.” he chuckles, and it unsettles you. why on earth is that funny? “then you don’t mind if i eat it?” he says, already pulling the plate towards him.
“go ahead.” you lean back in your chair, arms crossed. he smirks, his eyes right back on your tits.
“if you didn’t know, you’re supposed to be eating the cupcake right now. my boobs aren’t the edible ones.”
he tears his eyes away from your cleavage, taking a small bite. “you know, if you stopped hating my guts for a minute i could show you how edible they could be.”
“what is wrong with you?” your cheeks flush, despite how much you don’t want them to.
“relax, i was only joking.” he takes another bite nonchalantly almost taunting you, just fishing a reaction from you.
oh you’ll show him a reaction.
“no really, tell me then. what’s your deal with me? why do you always have to say some bullshit to me - can’t anything good ever come out your mouth?”
he didn’t expect you to talk back to him - especially here - where there’s press, cameras, people recording live, and so so many eyes. “y/n, relax a bit yeah? let’s just have fun.”
you don’t let up. “or what? not like you’re gonna do anything about it. i say what i want and i do what i want.”
his jaw clenches, now he’s really annoyed. “i fucking told you to relax already, what’s with the attitude huh?” you open your mouth to make a another snarky comeback, but he doesn’t let you get a word in. “you know what it is?” he starts.
“it’s because no guy has ever fucked you properly - that’s why you’re always so pissy with me right? you want me to put you in your place.”
your mouth shuts quickly. you don’t even know what to say.
he smirks, knowing he just won.
gosh, that fucking smug ass smirk, it makes you want to rip your hair out. you hate losing the most. and you’re not going to let him get the last word.
without even thinking about it, you palm a bunch of frosting into your hand and lean over the table to smear it all over his face, bits of it falling on his expensive suit.
“fuck - seriously, y/n? that’s how you wanna play?” he spits, standing up immediately. “what the fuck.”
he’s suuper pissed. like the most you’ve ever seen him. though you can’t lie, his expression he makes when hes mad is sexy.
he walks away from the table quickly, striding back inside the hotel. you roll your eyes - dramatic much?
your manager comes into view a few moments afterwards, with a disapproving look on her face. “y/n, you have to fix what you just caused.”
“why? he brought this upon himself.” you huff, not wanting to take any accountability. damn him.
“don’t be like that, go after him and apologize. this could look really bad, there’s a bunch of press and this could taint your image.”
“you could lose your spot.”
fine.
you stand quickly and start to trail him, your heels loud against the pavement - you’re trying your best to not to make eye contact with anyone right now. you speed up when you past his members, hoping they didn’t see what just happened.
you hurry through the large doors, “heeseung! i was out of line, stop please.” he doesn’t even slow down his steps or look back, just keeps walking towards the elevator with purpose. he steps inside, pressing a floor quickly.
not wanting to lose him - you speed up - barely making it time before the doors close.
he huffs in annoyance. “why’re you in here? why’d you follow me?”
you really don’t want to apologize. you? accepting defeat ? especially to heeseung? never. but this is more for you than him. “look, i’m sorry-”
“don’t lie to me. you aren’t sorry.”
welp, you tried it.
“you’re right. i’m not sorry.” you say, “you said i never been fucked properly - you provoked me - you can’t seriously be this pissed because i gave you a reaction.”
he takes a step closer. you take a step back. “tell me it isn’t true then. go on. prove me wrong pretty.” he waits. his eyes shooting daggers into you.
you can’t even deny it, because he’s right. you don’t really have sex often because the guys don’t make it enjoyable for you.
“fuck you heeseung.” you respond defensively.
he bites his lip, you can see a vein on his neck from how pissed off he is.
you smirk. “oh no, did that make you maddd? awww.” you nudge at his chest with your finger.
“i hate you y/n. seriously.”
“i hate you more.”
“stop being a brat.” his voice low and rough.
“make me.”
you taunt him, and he sticks two fingers between your cleavage and dress, pulling you towards him roughly. “wha–” he crushes his lips onto yours roughly - his large hand comes up to wrap around your neck, applying pressure - choking you.
you reach for his tie, pulling it roughly, making him come down onto your harder.
the kiss is all teeth and tongue, he bites down harshly on your bottom lip, making you hiss. it’s desperate, fierce, full of everything you’ve both been holding back for years; anger, frustration, and no doubt sexual tension.
his free hand wanders underneath your thigh, lifting it up to snake around his hips. your heel falls flat with a thud. he pushes you harshly against the cold wall, making you shiver slightly.
the elevator is moving up slowly, and. he starts to grind his erection into you. you whine - and his hand tightens around your neck - he moves his hips in up and down motions, everytime he moves the friction making your clit all the more sensitive.
he breaks away only to come up for air, panting slightly. he loosens his grip on your neck just enough to let you catch your breath. you’re panting heavily.
he pulls down your dress enough to release your big tits. they bounce, and he swallows at the sight of it. he palms one boob roughly, making you whimper. he leans down to bite down on your nipple harshly, then licking the teeth marks he just made.
“how about that? still wanna be a brat?” he says, breathy.
“you really think you’re in control here?” you retort. not backing down. “you’re gonna have to do better than that.”
he’s does not like that response, he’s pissed.
the elevator comes to a stop and the door opens, and he lets your leg down. heesung doesn’t even let you grab your shoe from off the floor, he just drags you out the elevator out by the arm into the hallway.
“heeseung - my fucking shoe!” you smack his arm. “we’ll worry about it later. come on.”
heeseung slows after a few steps, stoping at room number 1009. he punches in the code to the door and opens it hastily, pushing you in first, you almost fall making your way in.
he closes the door behind, beginning to unbutton himself. “hey what the fuck?!” you shout at him.
“watch your tone with me, darling.” he responds calmly. he disgards of his clothes, leaving him in his boxers and socks.
heeseung walks towards you, strides quickly eating up the distance. you step back, but it only makes him push closer. “wearing that short ass fucking dress around me” - he grabs you by the waist, turning you around so your back is pressed against his chest. “acting like such a diva, like you own the place. it turns me on, but don’t you think you need to be put down?”
he pushes forward, guiding you to the bedroom - but he doesn’t stop at the bed. he walks towards a tall mirror to the side, your reflection staring right back at you.
“stay still.” he unzips your dress, and helps you shimmy out of your panties - letting them both fall to the floor. you kick off your other shoe, stepping out the dress, kicking it also to the side.
you can hear him freeing himself from his boxers, yet you can’t see anything because you can only see yourself in the mirror and the outline of heesung standing right behind you.
he lines himself up, his thick head pressing against your entrance. you bite your lip, mentally preparing yourself.
“you want me to fuck this hole? beg for it.”
“like i’d do that!” you huff, shimmying on the head, your ass scooting back against him to push the head inside of you - attempting to take control yourself.
you begging? never.
heesung kisses his teeth. “ah-ah-ah.” he pulls out, his head glistening with your wetness. “if you think i’ll let you off the hook that easily, you’re wrong.” he thrusts once, his length rubbing against your clit. you can’t help the moan that releases from your voice.
your eyes look down between your legs, and his tip peaks out from between your thighs. he moves his hips slowly, thrusting, his length rubbing against your clit. what a tease. he groans at your warm wetness.
you feel like cumming just from his voice alone. you start to rub your thighs tightly together, rubbing his dick against yourself. “hurrryyyy” - you whine - “put it inside!!”
“is that how you ask me?” he begins to thrust roughly, the violent sound of skin slapping each other filling the room. the friction of his length makes you whimper non-stop.
“look at yourself, look at those fuckin’ dirty expressions you’re making, nasty girl.”
he drops of one of your arms - letting it fall to the side - grabbing your chin roughly to guide your face up. forcing you to look directly at your reflection.
it’s lewd, the face you’re making, your mouth is slightly agape, moans coming flowing out freely, your lips a bit swollen from the kiss earlier and your cheeks are flushed pink.
it’s humiliating, seeing how much you’re all worked up like this.
especially because of heeseung.
you can’t stop moaning and whining at the stimulation. your thighs are being used like his personal own sex doll.
“say you want me to cum inside you, go on.” he lets out a breathy chuckle, still thrusting between your plump soft thighs.
“in-” - you gasp when he thrusts harder - “in your dreams.” you retort with what little strength you have left. the fire you have inside still burning hot. your hips begin to move on their own, using his long dick to please yourself.
“tch.” he pulls away from you, leaving you needy.
“what’re you doing?”
he plops down on the lush king bed nearby, his legs spread open. you turn to finally see him, and holyy. that thing was going to be inside you? you can’t even fathom how he carries himself with that third leg.
heeseung reaches out to grip your wrist, pulling you to stand in front of him. his adam apple bobs at the sight of your huge tits jiggling in his face.
you wiggle them, they bounce tauntingly in his face. “don’t do that.” he mutters.
“stop. seriously, y/n.”
you giggle.
his jaw clenches - annoyed - again.
he pulls you down roughly on top of him, pushing you stomach flat over his lap. he pushes you up so your bare ass is on his lap.
heeseung wastes no time - his hand flying down sharply to smack you on your cheek. you bury your head in the sheets, moaning.
another slap - “dirty girl, you think you can just mess with me? especially when i have you moaning like this?” another slap - your eyes begin to sting. he doesn’t let up - slapping again - making you gasp loudly. “who do you belong to?” hand coming down again.
''not you-" he slaps again - tears are prickling your eyes.
“wrong answer. tell me how much you want me to bend you over and fuck this pretty cunt.” you pant desperately, trying to catch your breath.
you can’t respond, the words won’t come out. you shake your head, still defiant. he delivers a sharp slap to your untouched cheek. despite the stinging burning pain on your ass cheeks, you can’t help but respond with lewd noises. it feels good.
heeseung slaps you right on the pussy, your clit sensitive. your eyes roll back, the tears start flowing freely. "you like that?" he asks.
you nod. "more." you whine, moving your ass against his fingers.
you’re so close, you’re rubbing your clit desperately against his fingers. "im gonna, mmh..."
heeseung laughs, and pulls his hand away. you were so close. you pout, annoyed. "noo don’t stop-" you whine.
if only you could see how you looked through his eyes right now, you look so fucking cute to him when you're like this. he’s enjoying this a lot.
he places his fingers back on your clit, circling, before taking them away again. "you wanna cum so bad huh? too damn bad." he slaps your pussy again.
you sniffle, annoyed and horny. fuck him, you’re so needy and he wants to treat you like this?
"come on angel, i know you know what you have to do." his hand hovering over your heat. waiting for your response.
you bite your lip, reluctantly swallowing the bitter pill of your pride. "please heeseung.."
"please what? use your words. i don’t know what you want."
damn him to hell. he obviously knows, he just wants you to submit.
"please let me use your hand to get off. i want to cum now. i want to cum all over you." your voice shakes, tears streaming down your face.
"atta girl."
he helps you up off his lap. laying down flatly, he guides you on his face. he pulls you down, and you sit on his face with all your weight.
heeseung begins lapping at you desperately, like a thirsty puppy. your hands reach into his hair for stability.
he nibbles on your clit - you whine - moving your hips upwards slightly to you rub your nub all over his nose, riding the tip of it. "fuck yeah y/n, ride my face like that. use me for your own pleasure." his hand comes down to deliver another sharp slap on your ass.
your hips stutter - you feel warm streams of liquid come out. he licks it all up, leaving no mess - no traces behind.
you flop over, thighs twitching. he sits up and straightens quickly, pulling you back to hover right on top of his tip - not yet pushing inside. "come on baby, i know you aren’t tapping out on me now."
heeseung guides you to sink down on his dick slowly, helping you down all the way. your eyes twitch at how big he stretches you - it stings in the best way.
he guides you up and down his long length, moaning at how wet and tight you are.
he reaches down to pinch your clit - if anyone was listening - it would sound like it a straight porno the way you can’t stop making such cute lewd noises.
“i can feel you clenching around me, you want to milk me dry don’t you? greedy girl.”
you bite your lip, pouty. “i can’t get enough of your warmth.” he moans, his free hand reaching up to play with your breast. heesung’s eyes can’t tear away from the sight of them bouncing up and down in his face.
"i’ve always loved your tits, so pretty, so mesmerizing."
before you know it, he buries his head in your tits. you can only see the top of his hair, and feel his warm tongue licking your boobs. you tilt your head back, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders to support you as you continue to ride him.
he sucks your tits, leaving marks all over your soft boobs. occasionally nipping and licking the hard nipple.
the tripe stimulation overwhelms you. his dick inside of you, his finger on your clit, and his mouth on your tit all at once.
you can’t even form coherent thoughts or words, head completely empty, you’re just riding the wave of moment. literally.
"tell me how much you want me to fill you up." he looks up from beneath your boobs, his eyes peaking up at you, still buried in your titties.
"fill me up completely - so much that I still feel you tomorrow." you say between moans.
heeseung groans. his hands move to your waist - gripping tightly - helping you up and down him faster, riding sloppily. "yeah, you’re gonna take all of it, don't spill a single drop."
“how does it feel when I say that hm? you like when i talk dirty to you don’t you?”
he knows. he knows you can’t talk back because it’s true. and because hes fucking you so good - hitting all the right spots - that you don’t even have any more strength to make a snarky comeback anymore.
your hips are just moving on their own, even if you wanted to stop you couldn’t.
"i love you." you blurt.
"what was that baby? speak up, i couldn’t hear you darling." he teases - he for sure heard you.
when you don’t repeat it, his hip snaps up harshly, meeting your downward motions with his own thrusts. "i said. i fucking love you, dick."
he laughs. your hips stop moving, letting him take control.
heeseung thrusts roughly, and it doesn’t take much longer until you start to feel warm liquid fill your walls.
you pull off, panting - trying to keep his cum still inside you. it feels good, knowing his kids are flowing inside you.
you flop to the side - exhausted.
キ
the sunlight nearly blinds you, it wakes you up from your deep slumber. your thighs ache like hell. heesung is awake right next to you, having been watching you sleep for the past hour.
"rise and shine." he smirks. "was wondering if sleeping beauty would ever wake up."
you glare at him.
he laughs at your state, eyes drowzy from sleep, hair tousled from tossing and turning, he thinks you look so sexy like this. especially with that annoyed expression on your face.
"back to hating me again? after you told me you loved me last night?"
right.
the memories come back to you now - you did say that.
"shut up! you push at his chest, he rolls you on top of him." you sit up on top of him, throwing weak punches.
"what? it was cute i can’t lie. you gonna say it again?" he says, the smug look on his face making the fire light up in your eyes. you fucking hate this man. "i hate your guts."
"i know you do. just wait til i’m in your guts. you wont hate me so much then."
this man. lee fucking heeseung.
he gets off on this - on you two bickering - you can feel his bulge pressing right underneath you.
"why am i still naked but you have sweats on?"
"you would’ve been pissed if i put you in my clothes, so i decided why not enjoy the view more?" his eyes flicker to your tits.
you move your hips on his bulge as a retort. he hisses, his eyes flashing dangerously. you’re dry humping his clothed dick, loving the look of pleasure on his face. you smirk.
"brat."
"jerk."
he sits up - you move off him suddenly - he glares - talking with his eyes - saying "where do you think you’re going?"
you shimmy his sweats down just enough til his dick springs out. you shift your position a bit, leaning down. you grab both your tits from the side, sandwiching his dick between them.
"fuuuuuck." he nearly drools at the sight. he can’t stop staring at his work on you, the teeth marks from when he bit you, the diverse sizes of hickies on your breasts, this is like his dream come true.
"how do you like that hm?" he shakes his head at your mocking tone, reaching down to pinch your nipple harshly. you gasp.
"how about that?" he retorts.
you pout. he smirks.
"i always loved your boobs, did you know that? i’m obsessed with them."
"you told me."
"did i?" he responds, clearly stuck in a trance from how your tits bounce on his dick.
"yeah. it’s almost cute - you’re like a little boy, wanting milk." you laugh in his face, and he hates it. he hates how sexy the idea is, but he hates looked being down on more, especially when he’s being compared to a child.
he flips you over suddenly, putting you on on your side. he lifts your leg up and pushes inside you from behind with no warning. you whine loudly.
"yeah? i’m like a little boy? how about when i’m burried in you so deep like this? am i little then?" he moans, his pace slow - a stark contrast from how he was last night - his thrusts are deep and passionate - he’s not really mad, he just loves this game between you two.
you meet his thrusts with your own, fucking him right back.
he cums surprisingly fast this time - groaning - burying himself in your shoulder.
“don’t pull out."
"wasn’t planning on it. i want to stay buried in your warmth forever."
"i want my cum to stay inside you like this.”
the room falls into a comfortable silence.
"i love you too." he says.
"what was that? oh i couldn’t hear." you tease.
he kneads your tit roughly, irritated.
"okay okay jeez."
the tall large windows show the beautiful morning sky of milan, the sun feels good on your skin.
"heeseung?"
"mmm?"
"what about my shoe? in the elevator."
"fuck, i forgot.. i'll buy you new ones i swear."
you roll your eyes. "i hate you."
"love you too, y/n."
authors note ₊ this was a request by an anon but i accidentally deleted the inbox so i couldn’t reply to the ask sorry </3 i hope u guys enjoyed this fic! i really had fun with this one bahaha
edit: why after 1 year of stanning enhypen I realize heesung is actually HEESEUNG, how could I have been so damn blind?? thanks to the anon that pointed it out. 😭
My fav one
Sunki Audio
Minors DNI
Contains moans, whimpering, groans, vibrating
sub!sunoo x dom!ni-ki (m/m)
Biggest Fan - l.hs
Pairings: Brother's Best Friend!Heeseung x Fem!Reader
IN WHICH you start an OnlyFans to pay for your parents' damaged car after an accident that was most definitely your fault. Little do you know that your biggest fan is none other than your childhood crush and your older brother's best friend: Lee Heeseung.
WC: 4.1k
Content/Warnings: MDNI, Brother's Best Friend, Childhood Friends, Reader is Jay's Little Sister, Reader is Spoiled, Sprinkle of Fluff, Cursing, Mentions of Drug Use, Smut, Kissing, Unprotected Sex, Aftercare, Bathroom/Counter Sex (trying very hard to be quiet).
A/N: In honor of our Heeseung's (second) debut ❤️
You tilted your head back on the bed, moaning as you ran your fingers through your folds, wet sounds filling your room.
The red recording light of your laptop blinked in front of you, pointing directly at the spot where your fingers dipped into your entrance and cutting off above your bare chest. You never showed your face.
The friction sent jolts of pleasure down your back, the tight coil of heat between your legs growing with every second.
Your free hand gripped the sheets, fingers turning white as you felt your climax approaching. You put your thumb on your clit, rubbing fast and hard circles as your orgasm crashed over you, drawing a silent gasp from your lips as your mouth dropped open.
You arched on the bed, your breasts bouncing as you collapsed onto the mattress with a spent thud. Your breaths were ragged as you panted, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before sitting up and ending the recording. You dragged it to your drafts folder before closing your laptop and heading for the shower.
After half an hour of edging yourself on camera, you were always a sticky mess. But it was all worth it for the money. Three weeks on OnlyFans, and you were already halfway to the 1k you owed your parents for fucking up your dad's car. You had insisted that a cat ran in the road, and you just had to swerve, but your older brother Jay smelled the weed on your breath before you’d even finished your carefully constructed cover story. He’d sold you out without a second thought, almost as angry as your parents at your recklessness.
They said you were an embarrassment, a damper on the Park name. But you knew from the tinge of fear in your mother's eyes that they were mostly just scared. Scared that they could have lost you.
You swore that you’d never do it again, but it wasn’t enough. So your dad decided the best way to learn would be to take it out of your bank account. The only problem? You were hopelessly broke.
As much as you were embarrassed to admit it, you had always relied on your parents' money. While your friends all held part-time jobs in high school, you would go to the mall, dragging Jay around to buy the newest designer purse or jar of face cream you didn’t need.
And now you were months away from going to college, and after the car situation, your parents made it painfully clear they were done spoiling you.
So you tried. You tried looking for a job, handing in your meagre resume at fast food places and clothing stores. But no one ever called you back, and you were starting to think you’d be living at home for the rest of your life.
But then, one night, at 12:23 AM, you were staring at your phone, scrolling through Instagram comments, when you saw them: a strand of those sex bots begging for followers.
A light bulb went off in your head like a spotlight, and you looked down at yourself in your oversized shirt and underwear. Why work when your best source of income was right in front of you? Your body.
By 1:00 AM, you had made an OnlyFans account, and by 2:00 AM, you had posted your first video, your skin hot and flushed after touching yourself. You watched as subscribers and tips flooded in, and by the end of the week, you had $200 in your bank account.
It shocked you how easy it was. Play with your tits, do a bit of moaning, and bam, money.
Men were so easy.
But after a few days, you noticed that one particular account kept popping up in your feed. It always left the biggest tips and was one of the first viewers to pop up on every video. The username was simple, designed like it was meant to blend into the background: zedlover01
You didn’t think much of it; it made sense that people would have favorite creators as they do on any social media site. But you couldn’t help but be curious. Who was he? A 40-year-old man in his mom’s basement? A run-of-the-mill pervert? Or maybe he was like you, a college kid looking for a bit of a thrill.
You were sitting on the couch in the living room, brainstorming ideas to spice up your content, when the front door opened.
Jay’s voice filtered into the room, accompanied by the voices of his annoyingly attractive college friends, Jungwon and Heeseung.
You’d always crushed on them in that quiet, thrilling way, blushing if they met your eyes too long, stomach fluttering if they said your name a certain way. It helped that they were sweet, especially Heeseung. He’d always ask if you wanted to join whatever game they were playing on the TV, if you wanted a ride somewhere, or if you wanted him to make you an extra ramen packet. Every time, his warm eyes would brush over you like gentle lapping waves on a beach, making your legs feel weak under you.
You wondered how they’d react if they knew what you did in your room every night.
“Hey y/n!” Jungwon said, plopping onto the other couch next to Jay. “How’s the job search?”
You pursed your lips, keeping your expression neutral. Of course, Jay had told them. The day Jay kept a secret from Jungwon would be the day you won the lottery.
“Ok, I’m still looking.”
Heeseung sat on the couch next to you, keeping one cushion spaced between you. “My brother works at the dollar store by the mall. I could ask him to recommend you.”
His gentle voice swept over you, making you feel strangely relaxed. You smiled politely. “Thanks, Heeseung, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Jay snorted from across the room. “y/n wouldn’t be caught dead in a dollar store. Her tastes are way too expensive.”
You glared at him. “That’s not true! Dollar stores are…nice.”
“Have you even been in one before?” Jay asked, his eyebrows raised.
You looked down at your lap. “No…”
Jay smiled. “I rest my case.”
Heeseung chuckled. “It’s ok, y/n, no pressure at all, just thought I’d ask.”
“No, no, I really appreciate it; I’m just…keeping my options open.”
For just a second, something on Heeseung’s face shifted. His eyes narrowed, an almost imperceptible flicker of knowing behind his pupils, as if—just briefly—he could see right through your lie. But then it was gone, and his easy smile returned. “Of course, I understand.”
Pretty soon, the boys had shifted to playing games. Jay pulled up Mario Golf, fitting, since the other unspoken part of your punishment was going to the course with Jay a few times a week. Your parents called it ‘sibling bonding time,’ clearly meant as a way to tame your delinquent brain, as they hoped to have your brother's sense of responsibility rub off on you. (although they didn’t say that last part out loud).
Like always, Heeseung offered you a controller, but you declined, not wanting to embarrass yourself any more times than you could control in front of him. When you played with Jay, you always ended up hitting the ball into the bunker.
The three of them took turns swinging with their Joy-Cons, the room filling with a mix of curses and celebrations as the balls either completely missed the hole or flew straight towards it.
Heeseung was surprisingly good, and every time he stepped up to swing, your eyes traveled from the flex of his bicep up to the focused intensity in his eyes, his hair falling softly over his forehead.
He’d swing and get his ball right next to the hole, causing Jay to groan and Jungwon’s eyes to widen. Then he’d turn around, a laugh stumbling from his lips as he met your eyes. You would nod at him with an equally giddy smile, finding its way onto your face, and for just a second, you swore his gaze dropped down to your lips.
It was so brief you thought you’d imagined it, but the damage was done, and a swell of heat traveled up your neck as he sat back down next to you, the single cushion between you suddenly feeling way too small.
As you watched Jay and Jungwon take their turns, you realized you were hyperaware of Heeseung’s movements. You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing over every time he ran his fingers through his hair or bounced his leg, making the couch tremble under you. You just kept wondering how soft his hair was, or how much you wanted to bounce on his lap…
You inhaled sharply, wiping the image from your mind. This was not the time to be having fantasies about your brother’s best friend.
But Heeseung noticed.
His Bambi eyes flicked over your face, watching the way you pursed your lips and shifted in your seat. Even though you felt his gaze like a brand on the side of your face, you didn’t look at him, instead forcing yourself to watch the screen, letting Luigi’s disappointed face distract you from the needy pressure between your legs.
Then, Heeseung stood up for his last turn. He got into position, chest turned towards you, and face tilted towards the screen as he readied his shot. While the others held their breath as they looked at the screen, your gaze lingered on the slight parting of his lips, wondering how they’d taste.
Jay’s voice cut through the room. “Let’s go, zedlover01.”
You watched Heeseung’s entire body go still.
It took a few seconds for the familiarity of the name to click, but when it did, you momentarily stopped breathing.
Slowly, you raised your eyes to Heeseung’s. He had been staring at you, clearly assessing your reaction, but the second he saw the cold shock of realization on your face, he tore his eyes away like your gaze burned him.
The action alone ruled out any coincidence.
He glanced at Jay. “Don’t call me that.”
Jay cocked his head, clearly confused. “But it’s your name; you use it on every game we play.”
“Is Heeseung Hyung embarrassed?” Jungwon said teasingly, noticing the line of red creeping up Heeseung’s neck.
He ducked his head, jaw tight as he looked at the screen. “Just…let me focus.”
The boys went quiet, shooting each other bewildered glances.
You were staring at your lap, a roar of emotions running through your head that you weren’t sure how to acknowledge. Heeseung—your brother’s best friend, the boy you’d been crushing on for half of your life—had been watching you fall apart in front of a camera for weeks. And not just watching, but paying, obsessing, treating your videos like the newest episodes of his favorite show.
He’d seen you naked, he’d heard your moans, and he’d liked it.
If Jay ever found out, he’d murder both of you. Heeseung out of anger, and you out of disappointment.
But what Jay thought was the least of your concerns. Because now Heeseung was sitting back down on the couch after he botched his shot, his cheeks the same shade as his pink hair as he scraped his palms up his thighs.
You felt like you couldn’t breathe, the space between you so thick with tension you thought you could cut it with one of Jay’s specialty knives. You had to escape; you had to get away from him. Just to get one second to catch your breath and process everything away from your brother's watchful gaze.
So while Jungwon was taking his shot, you moved. You slipped off the couch and headed straight for the bathroom, feeling Heeseung’s eyes on you the entire time. Your surroundings were a blur as you moved through the house, and the second your feet hit smooth tile, you shut the door behind you, leaning your back against it and breathing deeply.
The sounds of your panting echoed through the large bathroom, the quiet helping to calm the rapid beating in your chest. You closed your eyes, imagining Heeseung’s gentle smile curved into a silent gasp as he watched you touch yourself. You imagined him sitting with his back propped against his headboard, fingers running over his shaft as he listened to you—the girl he’d practically grown up with—fuck herself on her bed. And here he was, talking to you like nothing had changed, even though everything had.
You cursed as you realized that just thinking about it made you wet.
A familiar, needy heat gathered between your legs, making your finger tremble as you thought about relieving yourself. You couldn’t deny that Heeseung’s face had popped into your mind a few times as you filmed—nothing detailed—just glimpses. Flashes of his hand or his warm smile, sinking into a smirk as he ran his hand up your thigh.
You forced yourself to your feet, trying to ignore the aching pressure as you splashed some water on your face.
That’s when a gentle knock sounded at the door.
“Hello?” You said.
A soft voice sounded from the other side. “It’s me.” He paused, then added like an afterthought. “Heeseung.”
You sighed. Of course, it was him. You wanted to tell him to go away. To go back to his friends and pretend none of this ever happened. But the way his voice made your panties dampen said otherwise. You dried your face, and before you could stop yourself, you were reaching for the door.
The second you turned the lock, he was slipping inside, closing it behind him with a firm click, his back leaning against the polished wood as he stared at you.
You felt like you were looking at a different person. Gone was the polite smile and the caring eyes, replaced by a firm stare and barely contained desperation.
“y/n, listen, I found your account by accident, and I didn’t even know it was you until a few days later…” He trailed off, eyes drifting to your lips like they were hypnotizing him. “Then I just couldn’t stop.”
Your breath caught, the ache between your legs pulsing like a reminder.
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I wanted to, but I didn’t really know how without freaking you out.”
“I’m not freaked out.”
“You aren’t?”
You snorted. “Well…maybe a little. I’m just surprised.”
He sucked in his bottom lip, looking at you shyly. “In a good way?”
The words made your stomach flip. You bit back a smile. “How’d you know it was me?”
Heeseung stepped towards you, fingers twitching at his sides as if he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure he should. He smiled softly. “The Weeknd poster above your bed. The bottom half was showing in one of your videos, and I recognized it instantly.”
Your eyes narrowed, but a smile tugged at your lips. “How do you know I have that poster? Are you sneaking around my room?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Jay went in to grab your hairdryer or something one time, and I might have taken a peek.”
You gasped, putting your hand on his chest and shoving him slightly. “You creep.” But there was no venom in your voice, and you didn’t pull back your hand.
Heeseung looked down at it, his eyes darkening slightly.
You felt his heartbeat against your palm and could swear it was speeding up with every second.
His hand drifted up and rested over yours, holding it against his chest. He looked at you, his eyes searching. “When I realized it was you, something…changed.”
You bit your lip, the air in the bathroom humming with the tension. “How so?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard the sounds you made in those videos, and wanted nothing more than to be the one causing them.”
You exhaled slowly, unknowingly moving closer to him.
He continued. “When I heard about the accident, I told myself I was giving you money to help you out, but I never skipped a single upload.” Heeseung’s other hand cupped your face, tilting your chin up so you were meeting his eyes. “It’s like you unlocked a part of myself I didn’t know was there, and now that it’s awake…I don’t know if I can ignore it.”
He was so close that your breaths mingled in the air, intertwining like twin flames. The pressure in your core was so intense that you could feel your inhibitions slipping away, fading until the only thought in your head was Heeseung’s lips.
“What if I don’t want you to ignore it?”
Heeseung made a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan, his eyes glassy and dark. “Don’t say what you don’t mean y/n.”
“Heeseung, just kiss me.”
His lips crashed onto yours before you could blink, and just like that, everything vanished. You didn’t think about Jay and Jungwon being in the other room, or what it meant to kiss your brother’s best friend; there was only Heeseung: his mouth, his hands. They roamed over you like they’d been reaching for you as long as they could move, your skin tingling wherever he touched.
Your lips moved together in a desperate clashing of teeth and tongue, and when his hand found your waist and a soft moan escaped your lips, he swallowed it, enveloping your mouth under his with claiming intensity.
He moved you until your back hit the sink, and braced himself against the counter with one hand while the other moved up to tangle in your hair. Heeseung kissed you like he was sick, and your lips were the antidote, smiling as you moaned into his mouth.
He pulled back to bury his head in your neck. “Your sounds are so beautiful, baby. I never want them to stop.”
“Heeseung!” You gasped. The coil of heat between your legs was twisted so tight you wanted to cry. It wasn’t a question anymore. You needed him, and you needed him now. “Heeseung, please, need you inside me.”
You felt him still against your neck, and he leaned back to press his forehead against yours, eyes glazed as he panted. “Are you sure? Once I start, I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.”
You nodded, channeling every bit of need into your voice you could muster. “I’m sure, Hee, it hurts so bad.”
He smiled, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Ok, baby, I’ll help you; don’t worry.” He tugged at the zipper on his jeans, groaning as his erection sprang free, a drop of pre-cum already gathering at the tip.
Your eyes widened at his size, and just the image of him filling you up made you whimper.
Heeseung’s hands found your waistband, pulling down your shorts and panties in one fluid motion. He cursed when he saw your glistening lips, already soaking wet and aching for him.
“How long have you been like this?” He breathed.
“All day. The second you walked in the door, I was wet for you.”
“Fuck.” He hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you onto the counter, your bare ass hitting the cold surface, sending a shock up your spine. He gripped your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him. “As much as I love hearing you, you need to be quiet ok? If your brother hears us, we’re dead.”
You ran your hands up his chest, the pressure so dizzying you could barely hear him. But somehow, you choked out a yes, and finally, torturously, he aligned himself with your entrance.
When he pushed into you, you had to bite your tongue to keep yourself from moaning. You buried your face in his neck, taking in air in shallow gasps as you fought to stay quiet. The way he filled you was agonizingly good, eons better than using your own fingers on camera. You had no words to describe it, nothing to say except his name as you murmured it into his ear over and over again: “Heeseung, Heeseung, Heeseung…”
When he finally bottomed out, he stopped and sighed, breathing in time with you as he brushed sweaty strands of hair out of your face. “Still ok?”
“Yes.” You breathed, “more than ok.” You tangled one of your hands in his pink hair, pulling him into a messy kiss as your hips trembled under his grasp.
He groaned, melting into your touch, and as his tongue slipped into your mouth, he moved. It wasn’t gentle; it wasn’t testing; it was brutal.
Heeseung pulled out almost fully before slamming back into you. You couldn’t stop a choked sob from ripping out of your throat, but he was ready. He put his hand behind your neck and kissed you hard, creating a sealed chamber with your mouths that muffled every sound. He moved against you mercilessly, the friction of his shaft scraping against your walls so overwhelming you thought you were going to pass out.
You clutched at his shoulders, feeling the lean muscle flex under your fingers as you searched for something to ground you. He moaned as your thumb drifted over his nape, sending a fresh wave of pleasure down your back.
Somehow, you were being quiet, with your muffled moans mostly drowned out by the slapping of skin and the squelch of your juices around his cock.
But you weren’t done, the coil in your core still being twisted to its limit. You hooked your legs around his back and pulled him closer, causing both of you to groan into each other's mouths as the angle deepened.
You could feel Heeseung’s thrusts getting shaky, his breathing more ragged, and you knew he was close. You began to grind against him in tune with his thrusts, your bodies rocking against each other in a filthy image.
Heeseung’s groans turned into desperate whimpers as you rocked against him, and you disconnected your lips as his thrusts became a rapid chase, both of you breathing hard as you held on to each other.
“You’re so fucking perfect.” He said, his eyes wide and wrecked. “Like you were made for me.”
You were too far gone for words and were halfway through saying his name when your orgasm swept over you. It was like the breaking of a dam, a rush of wetness dripping between your legs as your walls clamped down with a sudden snap.
Heeseung buried his face in your neck to muffle his moan as he came apart after you, his back spasming as you milked him dry. You held onto him through it, kissing his sweaty neck as your bodies trembled and twitched together, still connected as a sticky mess tumbled down between you.
His hands braced the counter around you as his breathing slowed, and for a few seconds, you stayed there, existing in the moment when you’d crossed the line and become as close as your bodies allowed.
Then Heeseung pulled out of you, exhaling sharply as he left the warmth of your walls. Without a word, he grabbed some toilet paper and started cleaning you, his soft hands brushing down your thighs as he sopped up every drop of his cum.
When he was done, he stepped between your still-open legs and kissed you. This time, the kiss was gentle and sweet, full of possibilities and an uncertain future. You felt a stirring in your gut, but it wasn’t arousal; it was excitement. Anticipation for a relationship you had yet to consider, and a life that now felt more livable with Heeseung in it.
Suddenly, nothing felt impossible.
He smiled as he pulled back, eyes tracing your face like he was trying to memorize it. “Would it be bad if I said I’m glad you messed up your parents' car?”
You laughed. “Maybe a little?”
He kissed your nose. “Even if it led me to you?”
“I’ve always been here, Hee.”
“But you weren’t mine.”
You smiled, studying the face of the boy who’d always been familiar but now felt like home. “Is that dollar store job still on the table?”
He tilted his head, a strand of hair falling over his eye. “You actually want it?”
“Well, I can’t really keep doing OnlyFans…”
Heeseung leaned into your arms, burying his head in your chest and wrapping his arms around your lower back. You could feel his grin against your shirt. “I’ll call my brother tomorrow.”
You giggled and stroked his hair, letting the moment sink over you like the heat of the sun on a chilly day.
There was only one problem: How the hell were you going to tell Jay?
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JAY AUDIO.
༒
Bouncing like a shameless slut on your English professor.. You’re a vicious, filthy distraction for making him cheat on the woman waiting for him at home. Look at you.. keep that pussy slapping against his thighs like a good little pet, until he finally breaks and leaks all over his leather chair, in a heavy, hot creampie.
⚠︎︎ ︎ ︎
all content is intended for 18+. dont like? scroll.
Jay audio
He was so turned on so he started jerking off desperately and humping his pillows then he finally cums hard
Sorry guys it's so long ik but enjoy 💗💗
hee audio plsss aaa i needd
21+ nsfw audio - MDNI.
dom heeseung kissing your nipples x sub fem listener
he was stressed out, so why not help him out with a blowjob?
