pairing: bi!sunghoon x sub!reader x bi!jake || wc: 2.6k || cw: smut! best friends!sunghoon and jake, voyeurism, masturbation, threesome, kissing, making out, oral (f and m rec.), handjobs, fingering, breast/nipple play, p in v, unprotected sex (don't.), cum play, mxm, dirty talk, strong language, use of petnames, mentions of alcohol || warnings: +18 content, mdni! || a/n: this was all thanks to this request and i'm unwell haha.
the three of you have always been close — too close, some people say. jake, sunghoon, and you. best friends since the beginning of college, the kind who share late-night snacks, inside jokes that make no sense to outsiders, and secrets that could ruin reputations if they ever got out. but this particular secret is new, and it’s deliciously dangerous.
you’re in jake’s apartment tonight, the one with the big couch and the soft lighting he always leaves on because he knows you like it. you’re dating jake — sort of. it started as hooking up after one too many drunk nights, but it’s evolved into something warmer, more consistent. it feels exclusive, even if you haven’t put a label on it yet. sunghoon knows everything. he always does. he’s seen the hickeys on your neck, heard the muffled sounds through the walls when he crashes on the couch, and never once made it weird.
until tonight.
“i’ve been thinking,” sunghoon says casually from his spot on the armchair, long legs stretched out. he’s nursing a beer, eyes flicking between you and jake on the couch. you’re curled into jake’s side, his arm draped around your shoulders, fingers playing lazily with the strap of your tank top.
jake raises an eyebrow, teeth flashing as he smiles. “dangerous words coming from you, hoon.”
sunghoon’s gaze lingers on you a second too long, then shifts to jake. there’s something darker in his eyes tonight, a curiosity that’s been building for weeks. “i want to watch.”
the words drop like a stone into still water. you freeze, heat flooding your face. jake’s hand stills on your shoulder.
sunghoon nods, not backing down. his cheeks are faintly pink but his jaw is set. “yeah. you two. i know you’re fucking. i’ve known for a while. and i… i’m curious. about how it looks. how you are with her.”
you swallow hard, glancing at jake. he’s watching sunghoon carefully, but there’s no anger there — just intrigue, and maybe a spark of something hotter. jake has always been open, playful in bed. this wouldn’t be the first boundary you two have pushed.
“you sure?” you ask sunghoon softly. “it might… change things, or make them weird.”
“i’m sure,” he says, voice steady. “if you’re both okay with it.”
jake looks at you, searching your face. you bite your lip, then nod. the idea sends a thrill through you — sunghoon’s intense stare on you while jake touches you. you’ve always found sunghoon attractive, tall and sharp-featured with that quiet intensity. knowing he wants to see you like this… it’s intoxicating, to say the least.
“okay,” jake says, grinning that charming grin. “but you stay in the chair unless we say otherwise.”
sunghoon settles back, legs spreading a little wider, beer forgotten on the side table.
jake turns to you first, cupping your jaw and pulling you into a slow kiss. it’s familiar, warm, the kind that always makes your stomach flutter. his tongue slides against yours lazily, deepening it as his hand trails down your neck, thumb brushing your collarbone. you sigh into his mouth, already melting.
sunghoon’s breathing is audible across the room.
jake peels your tank top off slowly, exposing your bra. he kisses down your neck, sucking lightly at the spot he knows drives you crazy. you arch into him, fingers threading through his soft hair. when he reaches behind you to unhook your bra, letting it fall away, you hear sunghoon shift in his seat.
“fuck,” sunghoon breathes. his voice is rough already. “she’s gorgeous.”
jake smiles against your skin. “isn’t she?” he palms one of your breasts, thumb circling your nipple until it hardens. you moan softly, eyes fluttering open to look at sunghoon.
he’s watching intently, lips parted, one hand gripping the arm of the chair. his eyes are dark, fixed on every movement.
jake lays you back on the couch, stripping your shorts and panties down your legs. you’re completely bare now, and sunghoon’s gaze drags over you like he's physically touching you — your breasts, the curve of your waist, the wetness already glistening between your thighs.
“touch her,” sunghoon says quietly. it’s not a demand, but there’s hunger in it.
jake chuckles softly and spreads your legs, settling between them. he kisses down your stomach, then lower, tongue flicking out to taste you. you gasp, back arching as he licks broad stripes over your clit, sucking gently. your hand flies to his hair, hips rolling against his mouth.
sunghoon leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. his eyes are glued to where jake’s tongue is working you open. “does she taste good?” he asks, voice strained.
“so fucking good,” jake murmurs against you, the vibrations making you whimper. he pushes two fingers inside you slowly, curling them just right while his mouth stays on your clit.
you’re moaning louder now, eyes locked with sunghoon’s. the way he’s watching you — like he’s starving — pushes you closer to the edge faster than usual.
but then jake pulls back, stripping his own shirt off. sunghoon’s gaze shifts immediately to jake’s toned chest, the way his abs flex as he moves. jake catches it and smirks, but doesn’t comment. he sheds his pants and boxers, cock hard and leaking as he strokes himself once.
sunghoon’s breath catches audibly. his eyes widen a fraction, pupils blown as he stares at jake’s length, then at the way jake lines himself up with your entrance.
“ready, baby?” jake asks you, but his eyes flick to sunghoon too.
you nod desperately. jake pushes in slowly, stretching you open with that perfect burn. you moan loudly, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottoms out. he starts thrusting, deep and steady, the wet sounds of your bodies filling the room.
sunghoon is breathing harder. his hand presses against the front of his jeans, palming himself openly now. but it’s not just you he’s staring at. his eyes keep darting to jake — the flex of his back muscles, the way his hips snap forward, the sheen of sweat on his skin, the low groans he makes every time you clench around him.
something shifts in sunghoon’s expression. realization. heat. confusion and want all at once.
“jake…” he whispers, almost to himself. his hand slips inside his jeans, wrapping around his own cock as he watches his best friend fuck you. the sight of jake’s cock disappearing into you over and over, glistening with your arousal, combined with your breathy moans — it’s too much.
he’s hard as steel, throbbing in his own grip, and the arousal hitting him while watching jake is undeniable. he always knew he liked you. the little attractions, the lingering hugs, the way he’d get jealous when jake touched you. but this — the way his stomach tightens seeing jake’s flushed chest, the veins on his forearms, the way his jaw clenches in pleasure — it’s new. overwhelming. bi awakening crashing over him like a wave.
“hoon,” you gasp, reaching a hand toward him. “come closer.”
sunghoon hesitates only a second before standing, jeans open, cock heavy in his hand as he moves to the edge of the couch. up close, he can see everything — the way jake’s cock stretches you, the slick sounds, your face twisted in ecstasy.
jake slows his thrusts, looking up at sunghoon with dark eyes. “you like watching me fuck her?”
sunghoon swallows hard, nodding. his voice is wrecked. “yeah. fuck, i do. both of you… i didn’t expect—”
“it’s okay,” you whisper, cupping his cheek. your thumb brushes his lower lip. “touch yourself while he fucks me. or… touch us.”
that breaks the last of his restraint.
sunghoon leans down and kisses you first — hesitant, then hungry, tongue sliding against yours as jake starts thrusting again. you moan into sunghoon’s mouth, one hand on his chest, the other reaching down to wrap around his cock. he’s big, hot, leaking precum as you stroke him in time with jake’s movements.
“shit,” sunghoon groans against your lips. “your hand feels so good.”
jake watches the two of you, hips snapping harder. “he’s pretty when he’s desperate, isn’t he, baby?”
you nod, dazed, squeezing sunghoon’s cock a little tighter. sunghoon’s free hand finds your breast, pinching your nipple while he kisses you deeper. then, almost shyly at first, his other hand reaches out to touch jake’s shoulder, sliding down his back, feeling the muscles move as jake fucks you.
jake shivers under the touch but doesn’t pull away. if anything, he leans into it.
then, the dynamic shifts. jake pulls out suddenly, flipping you onto your hands and knees so you’re facing sunghoon. “suck him while i fuck you from behind.”
you don’t hesitate. you take sunghoon into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head as he groans loudly, hand gently guiding your head. jake thrusts back into you, deeper in this position, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. every thrust pushes you further onto sunghoon’s cock, and the sounds are obscene — wet gagging, skin slapping, broken moans from all three of you.
sunghoon’s eyes are fixed on jake now too, watching his best friend pound into you, hands gripping your hips. “jake… you look so fucking hot like this,” he admits breathlessly, the words spilling out in the heat of it. “both of you. i can’t— i didn’t know i wanted this too.”
jake reaches over your back, grabbing sunghoon’s free hand and pulling it to your hip, then lower, guiding sunghoon’s fingers to where his cock is sliding in and out of you. sunghoon groans at the feeling — the stretch, the wetness, the way you flutter around jake.
“touch me too,” jake says roughly.
sunghoon does, hesitant at first, then bolder — palming jake’s balls, then wrapping fingers around the base of jake’s cock as it moves. jake moans loudly, hips stuttering.
the three of you move together like that for what feels like hours — a messy, perfect rhythm that blurs time and leaves the room thick with the scent of sex and sweat.
you’re on your hands and knees on the couch, mouth full of sunghoon’s cock as you suck him sloppily, spit dripping down your chin while your tongue swirls around the head and takes him deeper with every forward rock of your body.
jake is behind you, fucking you in steady, deep thrusts that punch the breath out of your lungs every time he bottoms out. the wet, obscene sound of his hips slapping against your ass mixes with your muffled moans and sunghoon’s low, broken groans.
sunghoon’s hand is gentle in your hair, not forcing but guiding, his thumb stroking your cheek almost reverently even as his cock twitches on your tongue. his other hand keeps wandering — brushing over your back, then reaching further to touch jake wherever he can reach. fingers tracing the flexing muscles of jake’s shoulder, sliding down the sweat-slick line of his spine, then lower, palming jake’s ass as he thrusts into you. every new touch makes sunghoon’s breath hitch harder, like he’s still shocked by how much he wants this.
“fuck… look at you,” sunghoon murmurs, voice wrecked and awed. “taking both of us so well.”
jake groans in agreement, one hand gripping your hip tightly while the other reaches around to rub your clit in tight circles. “she’s perfect. so fucking wet for us. you feel how tight she gets when you touch me, hoon? she loves it.”
sunghoon nods shakily, eyes locked on where jake’s cock disappears inside you over and over, glistening with your arousal. the sight combined with the heat of your mouth around him is driving him insane. his hips start twitching forward more desperately, fucking your throat a little deeper as his usual cool composure completely unravels.
eventually jake slows his thrusts, pulling out with a wet sound that makes you whine around sunghoon’s cock. he flips you gently onto your back, spreading your legs wide. “your turn, hoon. fuck her while she strokes me.”
sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice. he moves between your thighs, eyes dark and hungry as he lines himself up. he pushes in slowly at first, savoring every inch, jaw dropping at the tight, wet heat enveloping him. “oh my god… baby,” he breathes, the pet name slipping out naturally. he bottoms out with a shudder, staying still for a moment just to feel you clench around him.
you reach for jake, wrapping your hand around his slick cock and stroking him steadily. jake leans down to kiss you messily, tongue sliding against yours while sunghoon starts moving — gentle, rolling thrusts at first, like he’s memorizing the feeling. but it doesn’t stay gentle for long. his control snaps, hips speeding up until he’s thrusting deep and hard, the couch creaking beneath you. every snap of his hips forces broken moans from your throat.
sunghoon pants, moaning both your name and jake’s in the same breath like he can’t separate the pleasure anymore. “feels so good… both of you.”
jake kisses you harder, then pulls back just enough to lean over and capture sunghoon’s mouth in a kiss — tentative at first, testing, lips brushing softly. sunghoon freezes for half a second, then surges forward into it, turning the kiss deep and filthy, tongues tangling as he keeps fucking you harder. the sight alone makes you clench around him.
it’s overwhelming. it's fucking perfect. the air is thick with moans and gasps and the wet sounds of bodies moving together. sunghoon’s hand finds one of your breasts, pinching your nipple while jake’s fingers return to your clit, rubbing fast. you’re caught between them, pleasure building impossibly high until it crashes over you.
you come first with a sharp cry, back arching clean off the couch as your walls flutter and squeeze around sunghoon’s cock. the intensity triggers his own orgasm almost immediately — he buries himself deep, hips stuttering as he spills inside you with a loud, broken moan of your name mixed with jake’s. his whole body trembles through it, face buried against your neck.
jake follows seconds later, stroking himself furiously over your bodies. thick ropes of cum paint your stomach, your breasts, and sunghoon’s chest where he’s still leaning over you. jake groans deeply, milking every last drop as he watches the mess he’s made on both of you.
after that, the three of you collapse in a tangled, sweaty pile on the couch. limbs are everywhere — sunghoon’s head resting heavily on your stomach, breathing hard against your skin, while jake sprawls half on top of both of you, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist and the other draped over sunghoon’s back. the room feels warm and hazy, hearts still racing as the high slowly ebbs.
sunghoon’s breathing is still shaky as he processes everything, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip. after a long silence, he lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh.
“that was… my bi awakening, i think,” he admits quietly, voice hoarse. “i knew i liked her. i’ve liked her for a while. the way she laughs, the way she fits between us… but watching you, jake — fuck. the way you moved, the sounds you made, how you looked fucking her… i didn’t expect to want that too. want you too.”
jake presses a gentle kiss to sunghoon’s temple, then leans over to kiss your forehead, his dimples soft and warm. “good. because we’re not done tonight. not even close. we’ve got all night to figure this out… together.”
you smile sleepily, contentment settling deep in your chest as your fingers card gently through sunghoon’s damp hair. the three of you — best friends who have always been a little too close, a little too intertwined — finally feel like something more. lovers. a unit. whatever this is now, it fits perfectly, like it was always meant to be this way.
and there are many more nights ahead where curious eyes turn into wandering hands, shared pleasure, and something that feels a lot like love.
YAY thank you for the tag zanna! what sucks is that most of my biases have left their groups (in this year ALONE) 😭 that is NOT stopping me from adding them though!!
in order: vernon, dk (svt - ults), martin (cortis), keeho (p1h), hueningkai (txt), maki (&team), hongjoong, yunho (ateez), heeseung (ex-enha), ricky (ex-zb1, and2ble), mark lee (ex-nct, soloist)
tagging @yumangel @parkersroses @realmofclouds @reisdoll and any others who want to join!!
⎯⎯⎯ tag 🏷️; @xominji , @miellette , @boy2kz, @enlov3vampxo , @virtualfangs333 , @sunoovamp sorry if you have alrdy done this or got tagged ! (optional ofc)
⌗prettynailsprettygirl — sunghoon pays for your nails in return you wrap your hands around his cock
( park sunghoon x fem!reader ) • warnings. handjobs, language , cum eating 𓄵 word count. 503 { back to library }
( request ). sunghoon paying for ur nails just to see them wrapped around his pretty cock ..
hearing the ping of your phone immediately as you put it down made you smile. looking down at the new message ‘ for your nails baby get something pretty for me <3’ followed by a cash deposit into your account.
you loved getting your nails done; picking out pretty colors and fun designs — you especially loved going home and showing sunghoon what he spent his hard earned money on.
“hoonie!”
the boy had his phone to his ear talking to jake ; lazily sitting in the chair. his sweats low on his hips , black shirt slightly lifted up revealing his stomach. “hey baby.” he mouthed , you sat down next to him he wrapped his arm around your shoulder.
“jake , ima call you back.” he said. “yeah , she just came in— shut up , i’ll see you tomorrow.” he hung the phone up , ready to give all his attention to you. “you got them?”
“look!” excitedly holding your hands out. “i even got gems this time and a 3d flower.” he watched you go into detail about what exactly you told your nail lady. “aren’t they pretty?”
“so pretty baby , you know i love spending money on your nails every month.”
he held your hands , caressing them; the smell of the vanilla lotion you kept in your car filling his nostrils as brought your hand to kiss your knuckles. “your hands are so soft, baby.”
you knew sunghoon didn’t spend money on your nails every month just to see you bring back different variations of pinks and gossip from the salon. “i know , the lotion is so worth it.” you caressed his cheek , your hands traveling down his neck; down his torso. “fuck.” he sighed as you reached his waistband.
“keep going baby.” he sighed, feeling the warmth of your hand on his stomach. your hand slipped into his sweats , palming his half hard cock. he cursed under his breath as you massaged his cock. “fuck baby , take me out.”
he lifted his hips up allowing you to pull his sweat down enough to free his erected cock; his tip leaking with precum as it sat against his stomach. “touch it pretty.”
he groaned feeling your soft hands wrapping around his cock. “so warm baby , keep going.” you stroked him softly , kissing his neck. his head was thrown back against the couch , eyes half open as your hand moved up and down. “fuck baby , ima about to cum.”
your thumb swiping across his tip; making him cum , covering your hand. “shit.” he sighed as his load spill over your hand , his eyes finally opening, right as you were two of your freshly done nails that were covered in his cum into your mouth , sucking on them.
“shit.” he chuckled breathlessly, throwing his head back. “you’re gonna fucking kill me.” you giggled. “so pretty baby.” he kissed your lips. “i should pay you back.” he gently pushed you on to your back , hovering above you.
you loved getting your nails done , but you loved sunghoons reaction the most
i remember when nctblr was alive every time haechan's birthday was approaching and all the authors released fanfics as a birthday gift i also felt it as a gift for me because i’m a haechan biased who shares a birthday with him💔💔
𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ──── who would’ve thought your random questions would lead to you being fucked by your best friends ..
( 対 ) lee heeseung and sim jaeyun + fem. reader wc. 3k genre smut · contains! unprotected sex , a little mlm ( their tongues touch ) , oral mature content. / back to library
heeseung and jake. they were your best friends , your roommates, they were use to you saying odd shit ; so normally they turned a blind eye with just a head shake — ‘that’s just yn , she says weird shit all the time’ they’d say when someone would ask why they didn’t flinch when you said crazy obscured things.
but this time they couldn’t let it slide; especially when you said it so smoothly they both thought they were sharing some weird dream. “is it possible for two dudes to eat a girl's pussy at the same time?” you said with the blankest face ever. “what crazy choices of words to form a sentence.” jake said , his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “why are you asking this?” heeseung asked.
“well i was watching a video — it was porn.” you started. “and there were two guys and they were eating the girl out at the same time , but they were both in between her legs.” both boys were now turned to you , looking at you and then at each other. “what porn are you watching?” jake asked. “it just didn’t look comfortable , her legs were so spread out and the boys looked uncomfortable and would flinch every time their tongues touched.” you said. “like if you’re gonna eat out a girl together you can’t be afraid to do a little tongue touching , it’s not that much space.”
“i literally have no idea how to answer this question.” heeseung said; for the first time you’ve left them speechless with the shit you say — “obviously it’s possible seeing as you’ve seen a video.” jake said. “but comfortable? i’ve never eaten a girl out with another dude before.” he said. “but you do have a point you can’t be scared of tongue touching the other guy.” you shook your head in agreement , heeseung laughed at the both of you. “what is wrong with both of you.”
“would you do it seung?” you asked. “eat a girl out with another dude?” he let out a light huff like chuckle. “are you okay with a little dude on dude tongue touching?” you said in a teasing tone. “i would.” jake spoke up. “we know you would , you have a lot bisexual tendencies that we’ll address later down the line.” heeseung was staring you down now. “what?” you asked nonchalantly — like you didn’t just ask your best friends the most outlandish question. “it was just a question , i didn’t ask you to co-sign a loan.”
“i think he might be thinking about it.” jake said. “or maybe he’s done it before.” heeseung rolled his eyes. “heeseung.” you drew out his name. “have you done this before , who was it with? sunghoon? jay? oh my god! who?” you were genuinely intrigued now. “i haven’t done it like that with anyone,” he said. “did he just admit to us he’s had a threesome before?” you asked jake. “i think so , did you know about this?” jake shook his head no. “it wasn’t me , must’ve been sunghoon.”
“it was jay.” you both gasped. “you and jay had a threesome?” you basically shouted. “bro why didn’t you tell me.” jake said. “because it happened like a week ago and we were all drunk.” he said. “it just happened me and jay haven't even talked about it.” he said. “why is it awkward , did you two kiss and it made your dick twitch a bit?” a pillow was tossed at your head. “umph-” he picked it up ready to hit you again. “shut up.” you were doubled over in tears; holding your stomach laughing as he continuously hit you with the pillow. “okay , okay i’m done , i’m done.” you held your hand up. “stop whacking me with that damn pillow and get your heavy ass off me.”
you wiped the tears from your eyes. “i can’t believe you had a threesome before jake; if anything i thought you two would do that together.” you said coming down from your laughing session. “i always thought you two would be the ones to do that together.” you shrugged. “us?” jake said. “yeah , i mean you two always spend everything waking moment together so i assumed you two would definitely fuck the same girl.”
“you think about us fucking another girl together?” heeseung said; jake smirked. “i didn’t — is that why you looked that up; wanted to see if it was possible and if we could do it?” jake spoke up. “i don’t like how this turned to me.” you said feeling the shift in the air. “why are you so shy now? you were so bold telling us the porn you goon to.” “it was just a question.” you mumbled , heeseung chuckled. “you were curious; so it had to be a thought you’ve had before am i wrong.”
well he wasn't wrong; maybe the thought had crossed your mind a few too many times for your liking. the look on your face told them everything they needed to know. “ah not another girl.” jake said. “you.” your eyes widen. “no-no that’s not — we’ve been friends for years we know when you’re lying.” he said. “you don’t know anything.” you said trying not to sound like you been caught even though all three of you knew you had. “i thought about it.” heeseung said. “can’t think of a day i didn’t think about it for even a second.”
“what?” before you could even say something about it jake spoke up. “me either , i thought about it the moment you said something earlier.” the look of shock on your face made them laugh. “what , you walk around here shorts tiny as fuck and without a bra , saying sexual shit all the time like it’s normal.” he said. “i’m your best friend but like i’m also a man yn.”
“not to mention these walls are thin as fuck and your room is right next mines , and let’s just say that pillow you bite down on isn’t helping at all.” heeseung said, you gasped jake quickly followed up. “fuck the thin walls i can hear her down the hall , she’s fucking loud , is there ever a day you give yourself a break?”
“well you listen , you don’t have to.” you said turning to heeseung. “and i don’t say anything when you walk around here without underwear like a slut.” he giggled , it was the most attractive thing you’ve heard in a while. “you think i don’t see you looking , you’re not subtle at all , just how we both know you feel jake staring at your ass all the time.” clearly there was some kind of tension that had been looming over the apartment that finally boiled over. “and we never said we didn’t like hearing you , just said we hear you; every single night , and now we finally know what you’re in here watching and what you’re thinking about when you’re in here stuffing yourself with your fingers.”
you bit down on your bottom lip; your thighs pressed together tightly; once again heeseung calling your bluff. “you’re getting turned on?” jake catching on , his eyes trained on your thighs waiting for the slightest bit of movement. “are you?” you were ready for them to get out so you can get rid of this new ache in between your legs. “okay , time to get out.” you said. “why aren’t we having fun?” heeseung pouted. “or is it because you want turn on your porn and goon out?” it felt like they were teasing you now , you whined. “fuck you heard that?” jake said. “told you sounds even better up close , when it isn’t muffled by a useless fucking pillows.”
heeseung tapped your bare thigh; his eyes darker than they were before — full of lust and hunger. “you gonna be a good girl and open them for us or am i gonna have force them open?” he gripped them , this is where you could’ve told them no , and they’d listen you could tell their eyes were also looking for a sign of rejection. but you’d also be a idiot to turn them both down; which is why you don’t say anything, slowly opening your legs. “you said you want to see if it’s possible?” his eyes flickering to jake who was looking at the both of you , mouth dry as he watched. “let’s see.”
jake got the hint; heeseung pulled you down so you were laying on the bed , pushing your legs far apart so they both could sit comfortably in between your legs; you let out a moan , then stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, you were surprised on how flexible you were. “moaning already and we didn’t even do anything yet.” jake who’s eyes hadn’t left your clothes lower region , brought his fingers to your clothed cunt , pressing down. “let me take these off , let’s see that pretty pussy.” you nodded and he quickly grabbed the waistband, pulling them down. “look at that.” heeseung kissed the inside of your thighs. “soaked right through these panties.” pulling them down your leg , your lower half now bare to them both.
“look at that; she’s fucking dripping.” heeseung smirk. “how long have you been thinking about this?” you whimpered , the light feeling of their breath on your cunt. “fuck just touch me.” you huffed frustrated. “oh someone is fucking needy , not even a please.” jake chuckled. “real ungrateful, here we are trying to worship your pussy and this is how you treat us.” heeseung pouted. “i’m upset princess , i don’t think we should give her anything jake.” “you’re right; she doesn’t deserve it.”
“n-no please touch me.” you shifted your body a bit , heeseung holding you down. “say it again.” jake smirked , you would’ve slapped him if you weren’t in this predicament. “pl-please touch me.” you repeated. “please.” heeseung hummed in satisfaction. “i think that’s enough , i feel like she deserves a reward right?” jake nodded. “i think we should test her theory out yeah?” heeseung agreed. “show her that it’s possible right?”
you felt the feeling of both their tongues on you, gasping out. “oh fuck.” you moaned; head falling back against the pillows. “oh my god.” you’ve been eaten out before , but this new feeling of both of them on you was addicting; eye rolling in fact , you had no clue what to do with your hands , but they eventually found themselves tangled in both of their hair yank at both their roots as they licked at your folds.
jake was definitely enjoying himself; just as he thought he would, jake never doubted his attraction to you , he was attracted to you the day you moved in; heeseung as well. they often talked about it together , the things they’d do to you, hearing you moaning and whimpering at night when you touched yourself , of course they've touched themselves to you , both thinking about what it would be like to have you , touch you , taste you — to fuck you. hearing you ask that question just set them both off , they had to have you.
they both were so deep into it , they didn’t even flinch like the guys did in the movies when their tongues touched; if anything it made it hotter to them , hearing your moans up close , not being blocked from the walls , tugging at their hair as you shout out a mixture of both their names and curse words. “fuck , fuck i’m about to cum.”
you felt the stretch of a finger entering your cunt. “so fucking tight , how can you take a cock if you’re struggling to take a finger?” jake cursed. “she’ll take what we give her.” heeseungs burned holes into your skin with his stare , wait for jake to add another finger pressing on your clit. “right.” you nodded. “yes yes , fuck!” you shouted. “you gonna cum yeah?” you nodded. “gonna make a mess.” jake switching between fingering you and licking your folds , heeseung staying up to rubbed your clit , watching your every movements. “i wanna see you cum.” he said biting his lip. “go a head, cum.”
a loud moan ripped from your throat as you came , your legs unable to close , which encouraged them to keep going. “ca-can’t , too mu-much.” heeseung pulled his hand from your clit , slapping in between your tighs , jake had to be pulled away. “calm down , gotta give our girl a break here.” jake’s lips were glossy , licking them. “sorry , she just tastes too good.”
“did you like that?” heeseung asked , you nodded. “it-it felt good , but my legs are a little sore.” you giggled , heeseung let your legs down , jake moving out the way. “it’s achievable for sure , but fuck after a while i thought i was gonna lose feeling in my legs.” you could feel heeseungs hard on pressed against your thigh. “seems like i wasn’t the only one who enjoyed it.” you grabbed his cock , he groaned. “was it me or was it jake.” he scoffed , grabbing both of your wrists. “you’re such a fucking brat.” he turned to jake. “lets do something about that yeah.?”
your shirt was quick to go along with their clothes , heeseung pushed your legs open once more , jake on the side of you. “get a look at these.” the aussie boy grabbed your boob. “been waiting to see these for months now , real nice.” he gave your bust a squeeze, you didn’t have a chance to even react to that because heeseung was pushing himself past your folds. “fu-fuck you’re so tight.” he groaned. “such a tiny pussy -fuck- you’re choking my cock.” cursing as he stretched you out. “heeseung fuck!”
as quick as he entered you , he was moving; his hips slapping against yours. “come here.” jake guided your hand to his cock. “lets put that pretty mouth to use.” helping you guide your mouth down on to his cock. “oh fuck.” he sighed , throwing his head back. “such a good cock sucker.” he held the back of your head , using your mouth to get off. “god damn , such a good cock sucker.” he pushed your head down , gagging on his cock.
it was pure pleasure that you were feeling; heeseung pushed your legs to your chest as he pounded into you. “oh fuck such a good cocksleeve huh , letting us use you like this - fuck - is this what you think about when you’re in here alone?” he grunted. “playing with your pretty pussy while thinking about your best friend use you like this.” your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “look , we’ve fucked her dumb.” jake still using your mouth. “sh-shit , should’ve used this mouth long ago.”
“wait until you feel her pussy , fuck i’m in heaven.” you could feel your orgasm creeping up on you; unable to warn them , your legs shaking as you came— no you squirted , all over heeseungs lower half. “of fuck , she squirted.” he pulled out , stroking his cock. “fu-fuck!” he came directly after ; painting your stomach white. “shit that was too fucking hot.” he huffed.
jake came not soon after; pushing your head down. “gonna let me cum in your mouth? fill your tiny throat with my seed?” you nodded. “good girl -fuck- then take it all the way.” he held your head down, groaning. “ah fuck.” his cock twitching as he came. “sh-shit.” he pulled out , tapping his wet cock on your cheek. “fuck , i’m still fucking hard.”
it didn’t stop there either , the three of you went at it for what felt like hours. sometimes one of them would take a break and you and the other would go at it , it was like the three of you were trying to drain each other of everything you had — and you did , the known but unknown tension in the apartment fueling the three of you until it didn’t any more and the three of you passed out right then and there , covered in sweat; the room smelling of sex.
you woke up last , the sheets were changed; your body covered in a shirt that wasn’t yours and a pair of panties. you slowly got up, the consequences of having your legs open for that long definitely caught up with you in your sleep , trudging down the hallway to the living room. “oh she’s risen.” jake said with a smile. “you’ve been out for 4 hours , i was certain you were gonna sleep the night , really did a number on you.” heeseung smirked to himself. “oh haha , laugh it up , sorry i don’t have the fucking stamina of a high rhino like you two.”
“us two?” heeseung said. “baby you’re the one with the never ending stamina.” he said as you sat down. “we were trying to keep up with you.” jake nodded in agreement. “at one point i was about to tap out completely.” your face was hot. “you’re either really freaked out or you really wanted to fuck us” you scoffed. “you definitely have many talents.” heeseung said. “you were real eager to show us them too.”
“says the only who was overly excited to play tongue twister with his best friend in between my legs.” you bit back. “why am i in it?” jake said. “you and that mouth , gonna get you in trouble.” he said. “really?” jake stood up from the table. “count me out this time , i have nothing left in me.” he left the both of you at he table. “i’d rather tap out now , than embarrass myself by shooting blanks later , you two have fun.”
heeseung burning holes into your skin once again. “what are you looking at?” he didn’t say anything, just got down on his knees under the table opening your legs. “st-stop im sensitive.” you whimpered. “good.” he said.
summary. nerdy sim jaeyun is sweating buckets when the baddie he's been crushing on sits in his lap on a two-hour road trip.
pairing. nerdy!jake x baddie!female reader
genre(s). oneshot, smut, big porn with a small plot
warnings. MDNI, jake is a professional yearner, jake is very shy and repressed (and a bit insecure), masturbation, pervert!jake, unprotected sex (pls don’t), subby switch!jake, top or bottom he's always a sub, reader is a bit mean, jake cries a lot and begs a lot, slight sunsunki if you squint, handjob, blowjob, nose-riding, jake eats her out as well, reverse cowgirl, cowgirl, missionary, BRO WHY IS IT NEVER-ENDING, but like it's messy, EDGING EDGING EDGINGGGG, reader calls him jaeyun, reader is jealous and possessive, implied aftercare, enhypen ensemble, hmm please let me know if i missed anything! not beta read we die like injang
word count. 14,807 words
note. oh boy! this used to be a veeeery old, 8k-word draft, my take on nerdy jake that i decided to polish and give life to. it is also a gift for my bestie and fellow jake's wife: dr. @twocupsofsuga 🫶🏼 congratulations on passing medschool! you're so smart mhm here's my lap dance for you 😏
Women make Sim Jaeyun nervous.
Especially someone as bold and confident like you.
There's something about the soft lilt of your voice that makes him feel ashamed to even speak in your presence. There's something about your enticing eyes that makes him stutter and stumble with his own words, his grammar-police persona flying out the window. There's something about the sure sway of your hips that makes him want to avert his gaze and look more all the same time; like something sinful he shouldn't want but crave for anyway.
You're the kind of woman that makes Sim Jaeyun nervous.
Park Jongseong's cousin from the States that always comes to visit for summer, with that bold show of your body that'll usually often get frowned upon in his neighbourhood, that honey tint of your skin that's far from the local society's beauty standard. You're upfront and so unapologetically you, something he admires and makes him overly conscious if his hair looks nice or not.
It's another summer and you're here again. You're always a welcome addition to their annual trip to Jay's beach house, a road trip that's usually joined by the other five plus you and him. But this year, Nishimura Riki had a last minute decision to cancel his flight to Japan and opted to spend the summer with them instead of with his family.
Which leaves all of you with no space for one person inside Jay's SUV.
"I call dibs on the rear seats," Heeseung says before anyone gets the chance to and disappears into the car. Riki opens his mouth, about to follow the eldest of the group, when Jungwon shoots him a sharp look and blocks his way with his hand.
"No, Riki. You're not getting a seat."
Riki's face morphs into horror. "What?! Am I excluded from this trip?"
"You cancelled your flight this morning. You were never included in the trip."
Seeing the look of hurt on his face, Sunoo actually takes pity on Riki. Peering inside, the blonde mumbles with a pout when he sees a small ice box sitting beside Heeseung. "Surely we can squeeze him into the rear seat, right…?"
"All of his six-feet-one ass? I'd like to see you try, Sunoo hyung." Jungwon shakes his head. He leans on the passenger door, already the assigned co-pilot of the car, in charge of Spotify playlist and Waze and moral support to his Jay hyung. "Either one of you sits in another's lap, or we can Uber Riki to the beach house."
Hearing that, Riki immediately throws his hands. "It's a two-hour drive, hyung, I might just be paying for the Uber's car loan! It's gonna be so expensive!"
"If you can afford cancelling your flight with no refunds, then I think you can afford an Uber to Sokcho."
Riki whips his head to his Sunoo and Jake hyung, jutting out his lips in a pout that's borderline pitiful. Jake mirrors his expression, not really having the power to go against Jungwon's verdict—as if anybody could. Jake pities him, really, but it's Yang Jungwon. There's a whole menace behind those cute dimples and boba eyes.
Beside him, Sunghoon lets out a long sigh. "Then one of us will have to sit in another's lap."
It's an option that has everybody darting their eyes around, afraid that any eye contact with Jungwon will make them become the sacrificial thighs for the two-hour road trip. They're all men packed with mass and muscles, a result of a gym routine that unexpectedly becomes a problem today. Each of them at least weighs one hundred-forty pounds. Jake's sure that if he was chosen, he'd lose his legs by the time they exit Seoul.
Just in time, a loud thud is heard from the car boot. You and Jay walk into the scene, just having finished loading all of their stuff into the car. Jake adjusts his glasses instinctively, unknowingly fixing his appearence when his eyes land on you.
You've abandoned your cardigan, now only wearing a yellow camisole top that only reaches your belly button and a pair of jeans shorts that ends at the bottom swell of your ass. Your outfit choice hides nothing about your figure—your perfect body that admittedly has always been on his mind.
Jake gulps and lets his eyes trail down to your legs. You're seriously one of the most beautiful and hottest girls he's ever seen, and unfortunately, he has a severe problem of having a crush on baddies who are completely out of his nerdy league. You're definitely one of them.
When he looks up, Jake almost faints when your gaze catches his eyes with an unreadable expression. He quickly averts his eyes, adjusting the thick black rims of his glasses that didn't need adjusting.
Did you notice him staring?
"Car seat problem?" Jay asks when he senses the tension among the boys, already foreseeing this issue the moment Riki told him that he was joining their road trip over the phone this morning. They hesitantly nod.
"So what's the solution?"
"Riki takes an Uber to Sokcho—"
"Which will cost him his tuition fees," Jay comments, ever the hyperbole-user.
"—Or someone has to sit in another's lap."
Judging from the expression on Jay's face, he, too, doesn't think it's a comfortable position to be sitting in on a two-hour road trip.
But apparently, someone thinks otherwise.
"Oh, then let's do that!" You pipe in, flashing them with your charming smile. "I don't mind doing it!"
There's an elephant silence that follows your statement. Upon seeing their gaped expression, your smile slowly dies down, unsure if you had said the right thing.
"…Or not."
"Or yes!" Riki interrupts, relief flooding his senses. His eyes lit up as he looks around at each one of his friends. "Guys, she's offered to sit in anyone's lap. We can do that, right?"
Jungwon narrows his eyes. "It's a two-hour drive."
Riki blinks nervously. "But noona wants it."
"Then let Y/N noona sit in your lap."
Now, there's a rosy blush blooming across Riki's cheeks. Jake frowns. Lucky bastard. "I-I mean—"
"Not him," you cut in, a small smile playing on your lips. Jake can feel the exact moment everyone holds their breath, as if the air pauses on its own accord and waits for the rest of your sentence. Either they're anticipating or dreading to be your exclusive seat in the car—he's not sure. He's certain that he's the former, but he's also certain you'd pick someone more your type—Sunghoon or Riki, who are loyal gym buddies that possess strong thighs for you to sit on—or even Heeseung who's abandoned his nap and is eavesdropping the conversation now.
He doesn't know why, but surely someone hot like you would pick someone just as hot, right? And hot in Sim Jaeyun's definition is someone who matches your confidence (not him), someone who has a good body and is not shy to show them (Jake thinks his body is nice, but he's also always wearing long-sleeves), or just anyone but him.
Jay pinches the bridge of his nose. "Then who?"
When your eyes meet Jake's, the brown-haired boy almost loses his breath.
A smile curves up your lips. Jake thinks he's hallucinating because there's no way you are smirking at him.
"With Jaeyun."
There's a ripple of gasps, disbelief and shock mixing with a hint of betrayal (no doubt from Riki). Jay's brow disappears behind his hair.
"Seriously, Y/N? You don't have to—Riki's rich enough to pay for the Uber."
Riki's protest is muffled when Jungwon pulls him into a chokehold and slaps a hand over his mouth. Jake wants to pity him, really, but this time he thinks he's the one who needs help because what do you mean? There's no way—
"I'm serious. Jaeyun-ah."
—Oh my fucking God. Jaeyun. Jaeyun. Who's Jaeyun? Who the fuck is Jaeyun?
Jake has a trouble hearing you over the loud roar of his blood, heart threatening to jump out of his throat. But he manages a small, airy, 'Hm?' when all eyes are on him.
You tilt your head slightly, eyes never letting go of his, holding him hostage in your gaze alone. This, paired with the way you call his government name—a name you prefer over Jake because 'it's cuter' (according to you, not him) when he first introduced himself to you four years ago, and Jake had let you because he could never say no to you—are the most perfect, never-before-seen formula to unravel the physics genius Sim Jaeyun.
Yeah. Jake is a goner. And will soon have a boner if no one stops you from picking him as today's sacrificial thighs.
"Can I sit with you, Jaeyunnie?"
Someone please say no. Someone please stop you. Someone please tell this Jaeyun to say no because—because why him? Is this some kind of a cliché ploy that popular girls do to play with men's feelings, especially a physics nerd like him? Because if it is, Jake hates to admit that he'd be a willing participant (even if it'd break his heart a little).
"Yes, sure," he squeaks, finally recognising that Jaeyun is his name. He's still trying to process that you chose him—not Sunghoon with his ridiculous broad shoulders, or Riki with his ridiculous long legs, or Heeseung with his ridiculous charm—but him, who's sweating buckets and dampening his armpits underneath his long-sleeved T-shirt. His glasses almost glide down his nose from how sticky it is.
"It's settled, then!" Sunoo claps once, already red and irritated from having to stand under the unforgiving sun for longer than necessary. "Jake hyung and Y/N will sit together. So I will be sitting with—"
"Me!"
"Me!"
Sunoo ignores Sunghoon and Riki, and walks straight to the rear seats. "With Heeseung hyung!"
Soon, there's shuffling and then everyone's already inside the car. Riki sits in the middle with a pout, a penalty for causing the minor disruption and losing rock-paper-scissors to Sunghoon and Jake. Sunghoon is happily humming to a song from the 80s, occassionally turning around to tease Sunoo who's been trying to join Heeseung in his mandatory road-trip nap. Jay and Jungwon have settled into their designated seats as the drivers of the day, already talking about the route they're taking and traffic condition. While Jake—well, he's preparing himself for the inevitable.
You're still standing by the door, overseeing the situation at hand, and Jake tries to ignore the way his cheeks burn under your weighted gaze.
"Can I sit now?" You softly ask. Jake hesitates a moment before nodding his head frantically.
"Y-Yes."
You, on the other hand, do not hesitate at all. Jake instinctively spreads his legs when you climb into the car, already aiming his lap as your throne for the next 120-minute of the ride. His senses heighten, overly aware of his friends' eyes watching his every move, and the soft scent of peach from your body wash that invades his nose when your weight finally settles on him.
In a split second, Jake goes from never daring to touch you to having you resting your ass comfortably on his clothed dick, thanks to a certain Japanese who's now queueing songs like he didn't just commit a fatal crime against his Aussie hyung.
His slightly longer thighs bracket your exposed ones in a hesitant cage, every point of your skin meeting his seems to burn through the fabric of his jeans. Your hair and neck are one breath away from his nose now, where he's inhaling lungfuls of peaches and creams and your vanilla-ish perfume, and Jake chooses to blink at the ceiling to avoid looking over your shoulders and possibly flashing himself with the swell of your chest under that thin camisole top. The already-cramped space feels even smaller, and Jake doesn't think he can breathe properly.
While at it, Jake hopes his prayers could break through the car roof and reach the heavens.
God, please have mercy on me and let my other head not have a brain of its own.
God answers him shortly in the form of you shifting around.
"You comfortable?" You ask innocently, adjusting yourself on his lap. Jake nearly inhales his tongue, feeling blood rush to his ears and south. A strangled noise escapes his throat instead.
"Mhm."
From the front, he can hear a snort coming from none other than Jay. "You sound constipated, dude."
'Try having a pretty girl sit on your dick then!', is what Jake wishes he could say to his friend, but he knows that this is more of a him-problem. Someone like Jay won't get flustered in this kind of situation—at least not as bad as he is, who doesn't even fucking know where to put his hands, hovering in the air like he's about to conduct a choral speaking.
So, Jake resorts to conveying his rage through the rearview mirror instead, hoping that his glare and frown are enough to make Jay feel bad. (They don't, Jay finds him cute instead).
Jungwon comes to save the day as he turns to the backseat. "Do you have everything with you?" All of them except Jake hum. He thinks he doesn't have his sanity anymore, but of course the younger boy pretends to ignore him.
Jungwon eyes each one of his friends, his gaze stopping longer at the sight of Jake gripping the leather seat, the white of his knuckles almost matching his face, and you smiling innocently at him. Jungwon badly wants to laugh.
Jake widens his eyes at Jungwon. Help me!
The younger boy gives him an indecipherable look before turning to face the front. "Alright. We're not turning back for you even if you forgot your PlayStation."
Jake wants to say that they might want to leave a certain Sim Jaeyun to save him from this misery, but all words are gone from his mind when the car starts forward with a sharp jolt. Your back meets his chest in a soft thud, punching air out of his lungs. Your ass pushes deeper into his lap and Jake nearly pierces the leather with his nails from how desperately hard he's gripping it.
"Oops, sorry!" Jay chimes from the driver seat, sounding far from sorry.
You straighten up and turn around, looking more sorry than your cousin. "You okay? Sorry about that, Jaeyunnie."
Oh, fuck. Please don't use that voice on him when he's one bump away from kissing your lips. You're so close it feels like you're breathing in the same air he exhales, so close he can see the faint, tiny freckles dusting your cheeks and the bridge of your nose.
"Yeah," he manages, voice hoarse like he's just swallowed a bucket of sand. "I'm okay."
There's a halt in your movement, like you're actually seeing him through the calm façade he's exuding. His breath catches when your eyes drop to his lips briefly, the bitten-red skin tingles under your heated gaze.
Then, after a moment, you smile at him so easily; as if the tension never existed, as if the pull was only one-sided.
"If you say so."
When he's met with your shiny hair again, Jake lets out a breath he unknowlingly held. Your voice fills up the space softly as you begin talking to Jungwon and Jay, all cheery and unrestrained while he's exerting mental training equivalent to physical labour of a building constructor to stop his dick from hardening every time you move.
He hears a snicker from his left and immediately meets with Riki's mischievous eyes. The younger boy mouths something that has Jake closing his eyes and leaning on the headrest in defeat.
'Don't get horny now, Jake hyung.'
Jake is worried that if it's not now, it'll be the next time Jay hits a bump.
Instead of a road bump, Jake's personal enemy turns out to be you.
Ten minutes in, everything is still going fine. Jake is still breathing, alive, and hasn't popped a boner that could traumatise you and get him banned from the car permanently. You also seem okay, still engrossed in a conversation with the cat-duo driving the car, talking about college and your winter trip to Japan.
For a moment, Jake selfishly thinks if his lap was that…sitable, seeing as you haven't shown any signs of discomfort yet. Or, to be fair, it has been barely ten minutes since they're en route, and though those minutes are enough to pull the others into a car nap, ten minutes feel like one round of orbit around the Sun when he has you sitting on his lap.
Jake can feel himself melt into the seat. Maybe this isn't so bad at all. Maybe he can make it to Sokcho without having to cut his dick off before anyone could see his hard-on. He just has to sit really quietly and will his mind to avoid teetering dangerous territory.
Yeap. Everything is fine.
Not until you decide to put your hands on his thighs.
Jake almost jolts at the contact, flexing his thighs instinctively when you place your perfectly manicured fingers on the surface of his jeans. It's a brief touch, one that can pass as accidental, but the lingering heat it leaves behind feels almost physical.
His eyes dart to the back of your head, trembling with nerves nearly frayed at the edges, gauging your reaction, and bites the bottom of his lips when you resume your conversation as if nothing happened. Or nothing really happened to you.
It's just a touch, for God's sake. Calm your dick down.
If a simple touch from you could unravel him this fast, what about other things? What if you hug him, or-or if you hold his hand, or—wait, is he wishing for other things to happen between you and him? (He does, but he knows that it won't happen.)
Jake gulps harshly and decides to enjoy the scenery instead. He stares hard out the window, so intense like he's memorising every species of the trees they pass by, mind lost in a whirlwind of horny thoughts clashing with rationality, when you do something again.
This time, it isn't an innocent touch on his thigh. It's an innocent move to hear Jungwon better. You lean forward, pushing your ass deeper into his lap simultaneously, offering your ear to Jungwon who seems to be sharing a secret about Jay. Jake's breath hitches and his hands almost come up to hold your waist, the friction sending heat through his body.
Fuck. He peels his eyes away from the window forcefully and follows down the dip of your spine to where your ass meets his crotch. Your position highlights the narrow of your waist and the width of your hips, all sinful curves that have him swallowing harder, something inside his pants threatening to stir alive. Jake closes his eyes.
Think of Jesus, Jake. Think of Layla. He absentmindedly fixes his glasses. Think of quantum physics. Think of—
"—Oh!" You squirm excitedly, round butt wiggling slightly against his cock. "Yes, I met her before!"
Jake hisses before he can stop himself, the sound serving like a knife cutting the conversation. You and Jungwon instantly turn to look at him, the latter wearing a mischievous expression when he sees the heat painting Jake's face red.
"Are you okay?" You prompt in concern, noticing how stiffly Jake is nodding at you.
"Y-Yeah. Good. I'm horgoony."
Freudian slip is gonna be the death of him.
Jay and Jungwon burst out laughing, catching the slip as fast as any dirty-minded man would. Jake's face turns a darker shade of red, avoiding your eyes whose brows now pinching in confusion.
"Horgoony?" You echo, pretty confident you have never heard of that strange word spoken before. Jake immediately shakes his head, panic creeping into his chest when Jungwon shows a sign of opening his mouth.
No! Do not let that orange cat speak! Jungwon only cares about his downfall!
"I feel horribly good! Yeah," Jake stammers, to hell with any logical reasoning. "Like, I feel good because we're on a road trip. But also kind of horrible because I get motion sickness sometimes."
Now that the string of the sentences has flowed out of his mouth, Jake thinks he is kind of making sense. Satisfaction blooms in his chest when you nod in understanding, because two conflicting emotions—feeling good and horrible—can exist simultaneously, right? Like the way he wants to push you from his lap and hide in the deepest part of the Sokcho forest forever but also craves to just grab your hips and pull you close and have his way with you—wait stop.
What a horrible, horny, nothing-good man you are, Sim Jaeyun.
"That does sound horrible." Jake snaps out of his thoughts when he registers your voice, nodding fervently to amplify the faux pity that he's just orchestrated.
You give him a sorry look, the one where it pulls the corners of your mouth down into a frown. Jake sighs in relief. You bought it. Thank God for his smart brain.
"Yeah. I think I'm just gonna take a nap," he adds, voice turning softer when you still look at him in concern. He feels a strange need to overexplain.
"Motion sickness happens because your eyes see one thing while your inner ears and muscles feel another. If I take a nap, it'll eliminate the visual stimuli that causes the conflict…" Jake trails off, catching himself before he could go on and on and on on why humans experience motion sickness, and possibly bore you to death. He shakes his head imperceptibly. "So—yeah. I should take a nap."
To his surprise, you only give him a warm smile. "I never knew that, Jaeyun. Then what's the correlation between motion sickness and playing your phone in a moving vehicle?"
Jake blinks behind his glasses, genuinely taken aback that you're actually listening instead of zoning out halfway through his rambling.
"Oh. Um." He clears his throat. "It's kind of the same concept. Your eyes are focused on something stationary—your phone—but your body still feels the movement of the car."
You hum softly, leaning back against him slightly, prompting him to continue. Jake immediately forgets how lungs work.
"S-So your brain gets confused because the signals don't match," he continues weakly. "Your eyes tell your brain you're sitting still, but your inner ears are like, 'No, we're moving.' It's like mixed signals, and our body doesn't like mixed signals."
His ears are warming up from how true the words are to the situation he's having with you.
"And right now you're seeing my stationary body while the car's moving," you continue with a subtle tilt of your mouth, "so you're nauseous and all dizzy now, right?"
Jake almost chokes to death. Did you know about his little problem? He blinks at you rapidly, hand itching to touch his glasses in a fit of nerves.
Oh my God. He's going to die. He's going to die and Jungwon will write 'Sim Jaeyun was a smart friend, died a horny man with a dick that never went down, a standing ovation to his contribution to Seoul National University' as his headstone epitaph. You know about it so Jake is going to die!
He stumbles with his own words. "I-I mean—It's actually—"
You give him a cheeky smile. "I'm just joking with you, Jaeyun. You're probably sick because you're having me on your lap like this."
You start digging into your front pocket, frowning when it's empty. Jake holds his breath when your hands move to your back pocket, looking for whatever it is that gets you so determined and his dick so excited whenever your finger brushes against his crotch. Jake is almost blue from not breathing.
He thinks this time he's really going to die.
"Found it!"
You offer your palm to him, where two mint candies sit idly on the soft surface. Jake's chest slowly feels lighter as air rushes in, no longer collapsing under the pressure of your searching hand accidentally brushing against him moments ago. He clears his throat.
You beam at him. "These will soothe your sickness, Jaeyunnie. Please take them."
Jake studies your face.
Do you know what you're doing to him? Was everything done on purpose, or are you really oblivious to everything?
He swallows and forces a nod, taking the candies from your palm, feeling a spark of electricity in his system when his fingers brush your skin.
"Thank you, Y/N."
You turn your back on him, resuming your conversation with Jungwon and Jay. All sweet and cotton candy, unaware of the turmoil he's going through. Jake stares at the candies in his hand, a mocking sign to his misery, and heaves out a quiet sigh. He glances at his wristwatch.
It feels like two world wars had happened but it's only been twenty minutes into the drive. An hour and forty minutes of horny torture remains for Sim Jaeyun to endure, and he's not sure if he's going to survive.
He slowly closes his eyes. Maybe sleep can help with horniness, too.
It does, but only for a moment, because Jake could swear he just blinked when you tap his shoulder a few times.
Jake blinks, half-groggy and half-alert. Did he have a wet dream of you and get hard in his unconsciousness? Is that why you woke him up?
But he's met with your apologetic face instead. "I'm sorry for waking you up," you whisper, trying not to wake other boys who are fast asleep. "But my back's sore. Can I lean on you for a moment?"
In a flash, all incoherent thoughts fly out the window. Guilt starts lodging in his chest as he realises—glancing at his watch—that you've been sitting straight for one hour. Before he knows it, Jake is already nodding at you, adjusting his seat to accommodate the new position.
"Y-Yes, you can."
God, he's such a loser. The word 'no' seems to disappear from his dictionary whenever you're around.
You reward him with an appreciative smile and waste no time to turn around and lean back softly on him. The moment your back touches his chest, Jake can feel his system kick start, a chemical reaction that he can never understand no matter how hard he studies Biology.
You physically relax into his chest. "This is so much better," you sigh, a dreamy smile on your face, resting your head in the crook of his neck. Then you tilt your head upwards to glance at him. "Is this okay for you?"
Jake hopes you can't feel how fast his heart is beating through the fabric of his shirt. The brown-haired boy nods wordlessly. "More than okay."
For a moment, you just stare at him, brilliant eyes holding his in a soft gaze. It's a silent minute full of everything unspoken, rendering him speechless and even more restless because no matter how smart he is, he could never decipher the meaning behind this look you're giving him. There's something you hide that he feels like he should know, like an open secret waiting for the right time for him to catch.
This time, Jake is even sure that you can hear his heartbeat.
Then, as if that moment never happened, you close your eyes and get comfortable.
"We should sleep, Jaeyun. Don't want you to get carsick again."
You nuzzle closer and Jake holds his breath, feeling the silky strands of your hair brushing against his jaw. His hands hover, not knowing where to land, though the pinch of your waist is where he wants to hold the most. Eventually, Jake settles on his thighs, watching the difference between his veiny hands and the smooth span of your thighs.
Is he still sleeping? Is he dreaming or are you really sleeping on his chest?
It seems that sitting in his lap really tired you out, because you're fast asleep in less than five minutes. The guilt in his chest amplifies at the sight of your closed eyes, breathing evening out as sleep overtakes your being. Jake bites his lips.
He's so shameless, napping to avoid getting turned on instead of caring for your being. He’s so horrible, worrying more about his hard-on than the fact that you’ve been uncomfortable for an hour. Jake wants to cry so bad.
Jake spends the rest of the ride watching you sleep. He fixes your hair when it falls over your face, tucking it behind your ear carefully, and then smiles to himself when he sees your pout. He blocks the sunlight with his hand when it's glaring on your skin through the window, not minding letting his hand redden from the harsh light. He instinctively holds your waist at a sharp turn, firm and secure, though he lets go just as fast as if it burns, afraid that it's not a touch you'd receive had you been conscious.
Other than the carnal desire he has suppressed for you, this road trip also makes him realise the depth of the feelings he actually harbours for you. He's so doomed. He's so doomed because in what universe would a hot, sweet, popular California girl like yourself, return back the feelings of a bland, studious, quiet Korean-Aussie boy like him?
In fictions. In another lifetime. But not in Sim Jaeyun's current universe right now.
However, the Sim Jaeyun in this universe also will never know peace.
Because just as he's getting comfortable with the you-watching routine that he just recently discovered, the road has another plan for him when Jay finally, and actually, hits a bump this time.
The first bump is a mild surprise. Jake gathers it's a small bump, one that Jay overlooks while getting excited over Bon Jovi playing on the rodeo. But the aftermath brings you settling deeper into him, pressing on him in a way that has his breath hitching. Jake holds your waist on instinct.
"Oh my God, I didn't see that," Jay mutters from the front.
Jake tries to steady his breath. That's…a shock. One that shatters the soft atmosphere he created while watching you, now replaced with the same tension he's been fighting the last hour.
Jake lets go of your waist when he assumes that it's just a one-time thing. But then the bump happens again, and instead of a solid, big one—it's shaky, like they're sliding through endless, tiny jagged rocks.
"Damn bro, this road needs fixing," Jay makes another commentary. He glances at the rearview mirror. "You good, Jake?"
Jake doesn't know what to answer. "I think I am," he mumbles, voice clipped.
Is it good that you're practically bouncing in his lap, adding more pressure with almost no interval for him to recover mentally? He thinks not. But Jay doesn't have to know that.
"We're almost there," Jungwon chimes in, navigating the map. There's a shakiness in his voice that comes from the vibration caused by the bumps. "Fifteen minutes at most. We found a shorter route just now and traffic was smooth."
Fifteen minutes.
Jake thinks he might actually die in fifteen minutes.
Another bump sends your body rocking against him softly, your sleeping face scrunching for a brief second before relaxing. His grip tightens.
Fuck.
If Jay doesn't stop the car and fix this damn road himself then he's definitely going to pop a boner soon.
Jake squeezes his eyes shut when another bump rattles through the car, and then again, and again, and again until Jake can barely separate one sensation from another anymore. Until he doesn't know where he starts and where you end anymore. You shift unconsciously, settling heavier against his chest before Jay hits another bump.
This time, Jake makes a mistake of looking down at you.
He didn't notice it before, too lost in his sappy, romantic feelings for you. But right now, it's actually so damn obvious that the angle from where he sits taller than you and you lean against him, he can easily see your cleavage past the neckline of your camisole.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The road doesn't stop shaking beneath the tires, and so does his pulse as he watches your breasts bounce with every bump that comes their way. Jake averts his eyes, so stiff and so strained, but can't help letting his gaze drift back to watch the soft mounds shake.
This is bad. This is very, very bad, and Jake is nothing but a bad fucking pervert.
A particularly rough patch of road sends the entire car jolting. Your body bounces against him harder this time, more pressure and more friction that Jake almost whimpers. He tips his head back, gulping harshly as the line of his long neck glistens with a sheen of sweat.
Inside his jeans, he can feel his cock kick.
Oh, fuck—he's definitely hard now.
Oh my fucking God.
"This is the last one, promise!"
Jake doesn't even register Jay's words, or the way your head hits his jaw from impact, because his internal system is flooded with horny-filled panic. He can feel it: his dick twitching and getting semi-hard from the continuous stimulation from your bouncing. He doesn't even realise that he's now clawing at his own thighs, seeking strength that could neutralise his blooming lust, or that you are finally awake.
"Are we almost there?" You ask groggily, blissfully unaware of the raging boner forming under your ass. You sit up when the coastal view greets your blurry vision, mouth gaping in awe.
"Oh, wow!" You gasp, always excited to visit Sokcho no matter how many times you've been there. "It's beautiful as always!"
The road is smooth now, but Jake's final torture arrives in the form of you bouncing, excitedly and consciously, in his lap. You wiggle in enthusiasm, urging Jungwon to pass your phone that's been charging at the front to take some pictures and send it to the family groupchat.
"Jungwon, Jaeyun, look at those seagulls!"
Jake is seeing no seagulls. He's only seeing white hot, painful pleasure as you move in his lap, his brain dissolving into useless static. His fingers twitch, itching to grab your waist and force you to stay still, but you're so excited that he almost didn't have the heart to do it.
"Did you see that?" You lean to the window, and then shift happily when you spot kites in the sky. "We should do that too! Hey, Jay, do you think you can—"
Jake finally has had enough.
The restraint that he's been holding onto finally breaks like a taut wire getting cut. His hands snap to your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, hips almost bucking up from the delicious friction alone. His lips drop to the shell of your ears, hot, ragged breath brushing the sensitive skin as his voice lowers an octave.
"Y/N," Jake licks his dry lips, the tip of his tongue peeking through. He watches with dark eyes as the hair on your neck stands straight under his unforgiving proximity.
"Stop fucking moving."
And that's the moment you feel it.
A bulge, hard and rigid and big, poking your ass from where you rest in his lap.
Oh my fucking God.
Sim Jaeyun is hard.
You freeze, breath hitching.
Neither of you dare to move. Not even your excitement of being back to your uncle's beach house, or Jay's questioning look from where you cut your sentence, can bring you to move. No.
You couldn't, not when Jake's hard dick is nudging at you right now, so tangible and unmistakably his.
The brown-haired boy is still panting in your ear, shooting tingles through your system. His grip on your waist is almost bruising, like he's trying very, very hard to hold back from overstepping lines that shouldn't be overstepped.
You hadn't meant for this to happen. Sure, Jake is fun to tease. That boy is all broken words and nervous glances whenever you're in his proximity, and it can't be helped when he blushes prettily too.
You just can't stop yourself from seeking his attention in your own way, because aside from being a pretty boy, Jake is also such a sweetheart and so, so smart. And in an age where intellligence is a scarcity, you absolutely adore smart guys.
Especially the one who isn't condescending and is actually eager to help people like him.
So, really—you hadn't meant for this to happen. Offering to become the one without a seat is a decision you made when you consider yourself to be lighter than most of the guys, but offering to sit in Jake's lap is definitely a decision born from personal bias. You kind of knew what it would cause—seeing how stiff and awkward Jake had been—but you let it go halfway through when the soreness in your back outweighs your desire to tease.
Which has now brought you to this situation.
The car's still moving like nothing happened, and the boys are slowly stirring to life one by one. Everything is normal, except for the nails digging into your waist and the deep timbre in your ear.
You swallow harshly, not daring to move. Jake is so close, so close that you can feel every movement of his chest. You sit still in his hold, trying not to wince from how hard he's gripping your hips, and how hot you find the situation is.
His dick, despite no movement is being made, only hardens further. Jake gasps almost imperceptibly, almost matching the way your breath leaves your mouth when you notice, again, just how big he is.
Fuck. Fuck, that's so hot. Sim Jaeyun is so hot and you can feel yourself slowly getting turned on.
Without any warning, as if driven by an invisible force that urges to look at him, you finally turn around.
And Jake looks absolutely wrecked.
Beads of sweat dot on his forehead, the furrow of his eyebrows showing restraint and constraint. His lips are red from how hard he's biting them, and his previously clean, smooth glasses are now fogged up and hazy. His eyes, glazed over with tamed lust, lock into yours, half-lidded and dark.
A breath catches in your throat.
This is not the Jaeyun you know.
Or, more accurately, this is not the Jaeyun he usually shows.
This is another side of him, like seeing Jake wearing short-sleeves and showing his arms for the first time. Gone are his round, puppy eyes, now replaced with this narrowed, slit gaze that makes you shiver under his heated stare. He used to be so nervous around you, and you can feel that he's nervous now, too, but his pent-up sexual frustration seems to outweigh any rational daily-Jake thoughts.
This is still Sim Jaeyun. Just a different, never-before-seen side of Sim Jaeyun.
"Are we finally there?" Riki, the last one to awaken, stretches beside the two of you. You don't even notice that the car has pulled up into the driveway of Jay's ridiculously huge beach house from how piercing Jake's gaze is holding your eyes captive now.
Jake bites his lips, the fog in his head slowly clearing up now that the car has stopped. As if snapping out of a daze, he quickly maneuvers you into Riki's lap instead, showcasing his strength that he often hides. The latter yelps at the sudden weight and grabs your waist on instinct, before Jake darts out of the car without looking back.
"Sim Jaeyun! Bring your own fucking luggage!" Jay shouts from the car boot, but the brown-haired boy has already disappeared behind the door.
You sit, stunned in silence, still frozen and unable to speak. Not until Riki nudges at you, Heeseung and Sunoo impatiently asking the both of you to move so that they can get out.
"Are you okay, noona? Is hyung okay?"
You nod. You give the youngest a strained smile as you slowly move out of his lap and out of the car, careful not to start another war of hormones.
"We're okay."
The lie tastes bitter on your tongue.
Jake is avoiding you.
It's a foreseeable aftermath. It's inevitable. But it pains you regardless.
It gets to the point where he straight up refuses sitting next to you at dinner, which raises some eyebrows and teasing from the boys. But you know better.
He is deliberately avoiding you.
It frustrates you, really. Because every summer, it is your thing with Jake to sit in silence in the morning and read at the porch, enjoying the sunrise over wordless, comfortable silence. But now he purposely sleeps in, waking up later than usual, leaving you alone in the cold of dawn, your paperback copy of The Inheritance Games left untouched on your thighs.
At movie nights, he'll be the last one to join, just to see where you sit first to avoid being near you. He'll become extra quiet when you speak, acting like the floor is more interesting than your face, not even sparing you a glance.
And your patience is wearing thin. Almost thinner than the bikini you're wearing right now.
Fine. He can ignore you all he wants, act like he didn't just pop a boner after letting you sit in his lap. He can pretend like you never affected him, pretend like nothing happened, but one thing you know is that Jake could never betray his attraction for you.
So, be fucking it. You don't care if it's petty to pick the skimpiest bikini you own today, the one in hot pink that always contours the line of your cleavage, perfectly bunching up your tits and making them look rounder. The one that you know will drive Jake crazy from how bouncy your ass looks, basically confirmed when his eyes can't seem to stop trailing after you even after you dive into the pool.
You come to the surface with a gaping mouth, letting the water slide down the lines on your body, and make no show of hiding yourself from looking straight at Jake.
That coward has the nerves to look away after staring at you like a touch-deprived teenager.
"Is Sim Jaeyun single?"
The reason why you always agree to join the all-boys road trip is because it's not exactly all-boys. There are girls who live nearby. Girls you're acquainted with from how often you follow your cousin to his beach house every summer. Spoiled rich girls whose parents come from the same tax bracket as your and Jay's family.
And one of those girls is shamelessly checking Jake out now, hungry eyes drinking in the way his wet, long-sleeved shirt sticks to his torso, outlining the faint lines of his abdomen that he never shows. She's sitting on the edge of the pool, feet-dipping while you take a break from your swim.
You narrow your eyes, an ugly spark of jealousy blooming in your chest. You don't like the implication of the question, and you absolutely hate the way she's looking at him now.
"Don't even think about it."
Your neighbour only shrugs and continues her eye-fucking. "He's so my type. So nerdy, so smart. I wonder how he'll look like without the glasses?"
You will poke her eyes before she gets the chance to. "Use your own imagination," you hiss, almost bitter when you realise that you also have barely seen him without his glasses.
Jake has sensitive eyes that react badly to contact lenses, which explains his preference for thick glasses than going out without them. Even now, when everyone is fooling around Jay's enormous pool, his thick, black-rimmed glasses perch on the bridge of his tall nose—the nose you hope you can put into good use one day.
The girl only hums, half-listening to you. She sighs dreamily. "I can't believe that I have his number."
At this point, the jealousy has turned so ugly you're actually seeing green. Or red. Or whatever that Cortis song sounds like. "You have his number?"
She finally pays attention to you. "Yeap! I asked him yesterday. I don't know what I should say to start the conversation though," she pouts, glancing back at Jake who's now sitting on the side with Sunghoon, sipping on coconut water. "Should I ask him if I can join dinner at your house tonight?"
Jake gave his number to her?
You grit your teeth. The hurt has materialised into a knife, twisting in your chest in a sharp pain disguised in jealousy. So, while Jake's been avoiding you like a fucking plague, he's been spending his time giving away his number to any curious girl? He's been talking with other girls while leaving you with radio silence, one that you didn't deserve because it was him who popped that boner?!
You are the one who's supposed to ignore him—not the other way around!
What a fucking loser.
You can't stop the bitterness from leaking through your voice when you finally speak.
"It's me and Jay that you should ask—not Sim Jaeyun. And no, you cannot join dinner at my house tonight."
You leave her dumbfounded by the pool, seething in anger that the water on your skin could steam from the heat alone. You march to the slide doors, giving Jake and Sunghoon the nastiest side-eye you could ever give when the latter calls out to you, and slam the door behind.
Whatever. Or not whatever. Sim Jaeyun is a fucking pervert and a jerk and a coward, and stupidly hot while being so oblivious to how hot he actually is. Whatever! You don't care.
You don't care that he barely speaks a word to you. You don't care that he leaves any room you walk into. You don't care that he's flirting with other girls and giving away his number willingly when you had his on default for being Jay's younger cousin, and from Jay himself at that.
The corner of your eyes burn.
You wish you didn't care.
You're ignoring Jake.
Jake knows this the moment you no longer come to the porch to read. Instead, every morning is now spent in the garden with Jungwon, tending to Jay's mom's flowers. After, you'll brew some hibiscus tea that you pluck from the garden and share it with Sunoo and Riki.
And when he walks into the kitchen to get some food, you no longer meet his eyes, or save that apple that he knows you know he likes to eat for breakfast. You let Heeseung eat all of them! It's so—so unfair, because he likes apples and you know it!
It sends Jake to the end of a cliff. Why are you suddenly being like this?
His sanity is stretching thin as he tries to work his brain. Why the sudden change? Is it because of his silence? But he's just embarrassed to face you! Or—did you find out about it?
Genuine horror floods his mind when he thinks, oh no, you must've realised how disgusting he truly is. How dirty-minded and perverted he is, that every day he has to take cold showers three times a day whenever he catches a glimpse of you.
You in your sleepwear. You in your casual shirt. You in shorts.
You in bikini.
Jake has fallen out of any point of salvation, because God, could any man get this horny just from a mere look? In the back of his mind, he knows it's the image of you sitting in his lap that ignited the beginning of his undoing, but the continuous hard-on he gets whenever he's around you is definitely, entirely on him.
And Jake, oh so sweet Jake, doesn't dare touch himself to the thought of you. No. He'd rather leave his balls blue, take cold showers every morning, every evening, and every night, and let his dick go from standing tall like a national anthem was being played to becoming flaccid under the cold water without any action. He doesn't even have the guts to touch his own fucking dick, the guilt blocking him from doing anything to relieve himself.
So—did you find out about it? Because if you did, then Jake could understand the cold shoulders you're giving him.
But Jake is a mere man—maybe a bit perverted, and a bit too horny despite his image, so he couldn't stop himself from getting hard the moment he sees you walking into the living room in nothing but an oversized white tee that falls off your shoulder. He grabs the nearest cushion and places it on top of his crotch, blood already rushing south when he sees the strap of your black bra.
This is why he has to go to church sometimes; to balance everything out. Because Einstein never talked about the solution or formula to cure men's (Jake's) sexual desires that seem endless. And sexual desires that come from seeing a strap of a bra alone.
Whatever it is, Jake's soul has almost left his body, already tuning out of his surroundings. He doesn't even realise that Jay and Riki are wrestling for the TV remote, and accidentally sending said remote flying onto the floor just a few feet away from him.
He only comes to when you stand in front of him, back facing him, and bend over to pick up the remote.
You. Bend. Over. In. Front. Of. Him.
In a second, Jake has a full view of your ass. The shirt rides up slightly, revealing white shorts that stretches across the round flesh as you bend over to reach the remote and Jake feels like he's brought back to the car when he was fighting demons as you unintentionally ground his crotch with every movement.
His grip on the cushion tightens, head dizzy from the way you practically shove your butt in his face.
Jake releases a shaky exhale.
He can see the outline of your panties and wonders if it matches your black bra.
And he can see the outline of his doomed future if he stays in the living room any longer.
"Whose turn is it to pick the movie?" You casually ask, now straightening up as if you just didn't flash Jake with your perky ass.
"Jake hyung," Jungwon replies from the center of the long couch, carding his hand through Sunoo's silky hair, the blonde who's now laying down his head on his lap. "It's his turn."
Your face remains expressionless as you turn to the glasses boy. But instead of taking the remote from your hand, Jake stands up, avoiding eye contact and clutching the cushion tight over his crotch.
Then he flees the living room, leaving behind six confused men and one very angry, very upset girl.
Jake thinks he deserves a medal for surviving the living room.
Or perhaps an exorcism.
The moment his bedroom door clicks shut behind him, Jake drops the cushion onto the floor and drags both hands down his face with a groan. His glasses nearly fall off his nose in the process.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
He paces once across the room, then twice.
Outside, he can still hear the muffled sounds of the movie downstairs—Riki yelling dramatically at a character, Sunoo complaining about spoilers, Jay laughing too loudly. Normal sounds. Normal people.
Meanwhile Jake feels like he's one accidental glimpse of your shoulder away from committing a crime.
His eyes squeeze shut.
That white shirt.
The black bra strap.
The way you bent over in front of him so casually, completely unaware that Jake nearly ascended right there on Jay's living room couch.
"Fuck," he whispers weakly to himself.
Jake drops onto the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees.
Maybe he should take another cold shower. That would make four today.
"I should sleep," he mutters to himself, breath shaky. "S-Sleep can help with motion sickness and horniness."
With a newfound resolution, he turns off the lamp and settles under the blanket. His movement is stiff and awkward, overly aware of the tent straining his shorts. Once he pulls the blanket over his chest, Jake closes his eyes, forcing sleep into his system.
Only, the image of you swimming in your hot pink bikini flashes behind his eyelids.
"No, stop. Not that," he whispers, brows scrunching in protest. He shakes his head, as if physically removing the image away, and tries again.
This time, the image of you in his lap comes back, stripped down to heated skin and soft breaths, your body moving against his in ways that make his stomach twist.
His eyes fly open. The image is so clear and vivid, thanks to his photographic memory and insane imagination—the very thing that's been saving him in the academic department now serving as the tool that brings him to his downfall.
His cock twitches involuntarily.
"N-No," he pants, chest moving rapidly. He grips the edge of the blanket, knuckles turning white. "I—Stop—"
Then he remembers just now: you bent over, giving him a delicious access to his ass-shaped sufferings, and Jake almost whimpers from the flashback alone.
The room rises in temperature, the air conditioner doing nothing to tone down the feverish lust spreading through his body. Jake finally relents and discards the blanket, glasses all fogged up as he stares at the bulge under his shorts.
"I'm sorry," he whimpers, slipping off his shorts and boxers until they bunch up around his knees. "I'm so fucking sorry."
His cock springs free, standing tall in the dimness of his room. The tip glistens, already drooling with precum that shows no sign of stopping. With shaky hands, hesitance still edging around his lust, Jake finaly touches himself.
He has to bite down hard on his lips to muffle the sound threatening to escape. His hand stutters, the feeling of finally rubbing some relief after days of holding back comes crashing down on him. His head spins from how heavy his cock is in his hold, veins protuding like they're going to combust.
He slowly starts moving his hand, lathering up precum to ease the glide. His head tips back, a strangled sound catches behind his throat.
"Oh, God," his head spins, sparks of lust bursting at the tip of his fingers. "Oh, fuck—"
Through his hazy gaze of the blurry lenses, Jake tightens his grip slightly. A moan escapes his lips at the force, his cock only getting heavier in his hand. He plays with the mushroom tip of his dick, thumbing the slit and hissing when it sends pleasure up his spine.
"Ngh—" his eyes squeeze shut, brain putting up pieces of his memory of you. His body jerks when the rough pad of his thumb touches the underside of his cock, and as if on cue, the image of your jiggly breasts inside the car flashes behind his closed eyes.
"Fuck—Y/N," Jake sobs, picking up his pace. His wrist turns and flicks, biceps flexing hard at the speed he's going. Guilt starts accumulating inside his chest the more he thinks of you, of your voice, of your gaze, of your scent—but guilt isn't enough to stop Jake from chasing his own release.
"'So sorry," he chokes, letting go of his bottom lip, bitten-red and swollen. He imagines it was your hand instead of his, smaller and softer, with those manicured nails that he loves so much. How tiny your hand would look around his hard dick, trying to grip his length in its fully erect state.
Jake isn't inexpereinced. He's had his own fair share of sexcapades with a few people, and he's always been told that he's bigger than average. The big dick that he hides under his pants, further concealed by his nervous persona that only certain girls find cute.
But seeing his state right now, Jake thinks he's the furthest thing from cute.
He's pathetic.
Pathetic and gross and disgusting, feeling bad for jerking off to the thoughts of you but still unable to retract his hand and stop. The sound of his cries that he fails to hide fills up the space, and for the first time in days he's very glad that he won paper-rock-scissors during room assignment.
"Oh, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N," he chants, mouth gaping open when he can feel himself close. His wrist is already tired and numb from the relentless pace he's set, the slick sound of his sinful act matching the roar of his blood rushing in his ears.
"Please, please, 'm gonna cum," he sobs, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. His hips lift off the mattress. "Please—"
"Do not fucking cum, Sim Jaeyun."
Jake's entire body locks up.
His wrist stills immediately, pleasure crashing into horror so fast it makes his stomach twist. For a second, he genuinely thinks his heart stops beating.
The room goes dead silent except for his ragged breathing.
Through fogged-up lenses and teary eyes, Jake stares at you standing by the door, unable to process the fact that you're actually here.
That you heard him.
That you saw him.
Oh my fucking God.
His hand jerks away from himself like he’s been burned, chest heaving violently as he scrambles to sit up straighter. The blanket tangles around his legs from how abruptly he moves.
"I—"
Nothing comes out.
Jake has never felt this level of humiliation before.
Not when he failed his chemistry olympiad in tenth grade. Not when he tripped in front of his entire lecture hall. Not even when Jungwon found his hidden Pokémon card collection at nineteen.
This is worse. So much worse.
Because it's you.
You, standing there in that oversized white shirt slipping off your shoulder again, eyes dark and unreadable as you look at him sprawled across the bed like something shameful.
Jake feels sick. His face burns so hot he thinks he might actually pass out.
"S-Sorry," he chokes out instinctively, because apologising is the only thing his brain knows how to do right now. "I didn't—I wasn't—I—"
His voice cracks miserably.
Jake is going to cry.
What should he even say in this situation? Sorry that you caught him jerking off to you? Sorry that he's such a nerd, such a loser that the only time he could talk smoothly with you was when he was defining what motion sickness was, but never had the courage to tell you how much he likes you and how much you affect me? Sorry that he's such a pervert that he thinks of you in positions way too inappropriate to be just friends?
The weight of his arousal sits heavy against his thigh, a testament to a newfound, lifelong embarrassment that he'll carry to his grave.
Jake squirms under your heated gaze, and quickly covers his crotch with his blanket when you slip into his bedroom wordlessly. The door clicks shut, the sound amplified by the heavy silence hanging in the air. His body tenses up.
Oh my God—he messed up, didn't he? Jake hangs his head low in shame, tears gathering along his lashlines.
"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to…"
His vision turns blurry. Fuck, you must hate him now.
"I-It's wrong—I know that—I'm sorry—ah!"
Jake looks up in surprise when your bold hand cups his erection. There's angry lines in your forehead, a sneer on your mouth, but the nasty look you're giving him does nothing to soothe down his arousal.
If anything, twisted as it is—it turns him on even more.
"Couldn't even look me in the eye downstairs," you begin, "but you here you are, jerking off to me like I wouldn't find out?"
The venom in your voice hurts him. You're being mean with your words, and it hurts his feelings but Jake couldn't care less. His mind is a messy jumbles of guilt and pleasure and shame, so all he does is cry and shake his head.
"I-I'm sorry, Y/N—"
"Are you really sorry?" you tighten your grip on his cock, one knee dipping into the mattress. "Your dick doesn't seem sorry though."
Jake wants to cry—oh, he's already crying. His hand curls into the sheets beneath him, unable to form coherent words when you start rocking the heel of your palm on his hard-on. The friction from the blanket and the pressure from your hand only spark electric pleasure through his system.
Within seconds, Jake is all hard again—even harder than before.
"Tell me, Jaeyunnie. Did all of this happen because I sat in your lap?"
Jake whimpers pathetically. You knew. Of course you knew. You're not only hot and pretty and kind, you're also smart like him, so in tune with your surroundings. You're a little mean right now, but it's okay because Jake believes that he deserves this after avoiding you without any explanation.
"Answer me, Sim Jaeyun."
"Yes," he croaks, shame burning his face red. His eyes screw shut. The admission sets his being on fire, skin flushed from embarrassment. "O-Oh, God, y-yes."
He cracks one eye open when you don't reply. Instead, he's met with your fiery gaze. The edges have softened with lust, like you're also affected by this, but you're good at keeping your control.
Unlike him, who's unraveling like a loose thread under your touch alone.
Jake almost whines when you retract your hand, but the sound is muffled with a gasp when you yank the blanket open. He instinctively closes his crotch area with his hands, but you're fast to slap his wrists away.
"I'm so pissed off, Jaeyun," you mutter, swinging your leg over his thighs so now you're straddling him. You fix him with your sharp eyes, hand finding his dick again.
"You've been acting like we're strangers and it hurts me so bad."
Jake's mouth hangs open as you gather his precum and start working your wrist around his cock. His brain barely registers your words, too lost in a cloud of lust, but when he finally processes it, he desperately shakes his head.
He wants to apologise again and again and again, because he is truly sorry—he didn't know how affected you were. How could he not, when you're always described as everything out of his league, but he's always described as everything that doesn't fit your type?
"I'm sorry, I was just—fuck—just ashamed—" he gasps, hips bucking into your touch. "Didn't mean to—t-to hurt y—ngh, Y/N, faster please."
You coo at him, feigning sympathy as you set a ruthless pace on his cock. Jake is big—something that isn't a surprise anymore since that day you sat in his lap—but the sheer size of him is enough to make your mouth water and your panties damp.
Damn these nerdy boys. Acting all shy and innocent when they have this monstrousity hiding behind those ugly glasses.
"Faster? You wanna cum, Jaeyunnie?" you tilt your head. Jake nods frantically. "I don't think you deserve it, though. Why not ask from those girls you gave your number to?"
Something sharp twists in his stomach. Jake's eyes fly open, almost cowering when you give him a distasteful look. He grabs your arms desperately and shakes his head.
"N-No! She asked me first—" you put more pressure and Jake damn near loses his mind. "—said she needs—help—w-with Physi—cs—"
You roll your eyes. It's that easy to fool him? Can't he see the way those girls fuck him with their eyes? Without waiting for his sentence to finish, you sink down and take him in your mouth.
"Oh, fuck!" Jake screams, accidentally thrusting up his hips. He bites his lips, glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose as you take him deeper, tracing the line of his veins with your sinful tongue. "Oh, Y/N—please."
You hum around his length, tongue swirling as you hollow your cheeks to deepen the suction. Jake nearly busts from that alone, mind melting into a puddle of your name, the wet heat of your mouth serving as a better pleasure than his own hand.
You start bobbing your head up and down, marveling in the way the weight of his dick sits on your tongue. He's so big that you're so close to choking, but you don't care. You need to remind Jake how stupid he's been acting and how stupid he is if he thinks that you were not just as attracted toward him.
Jake sobs into his hands, hips jerking with every touch of his tip hitting the back of your throat. His head is getting dizzier, he can feel the coil in his stomach getting tighter and he knows that anytime soon, he will come undone on your skillful tongue.
But just as he's about to reach that high, you let go of him with a pop.
"No!" Jake whines, tears sliding down his cheeks. You're so mean. "P-Please let me cum."
"Not yet, nerdy boy." You mutter, red lips slick with saliva and precum. Jake can only sob, dick throbbing in need and desperation.
This is the punishment he deserves for being a jerk. He knows that, but he can't seem to stop crying. God, he's so pathetic.
Then he feels movement on his thighs. He blinks through the foggy lenses and lets out a breathless moan when you lift up your shirt and shorts and discard them away, leaving you in nothing but a pair of bra and panties. His mouth starts salivating at the display of your beautiful body, and Jake swears he almost cums when he sees that you're indeed wearing black panties.
Oh, fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Just as he imagined—God, you're so perfect he wants to kiss you.
But instead of a kiss, you push his at his chest instead. "Lie down."
And like the obedient puppy that he is, Jake follows your word, carefully descending his back onto the mattress. He's still sniffling from the previous denial, but now it's mixed with anticipation of what's to come when you hover above him.
You trace a gentle finger along the tall bridge of his nose, a barely-there touch that makes him shiver. With a slow tap on the tip of his nose, you finally speak.
"Did anyone ever ride your nose, Jaeyunnie?"
H-His nose?
Girls always compliment his nose, but he's never given it many thoughts as to why they did that. "N-No. Never."
There's a wicked smile on your face as you stand on your knees. Jake watches with a mouth gaping open as you make a show of shimmying down your panties, painfully and traitorously slowly that he almost rips it with his hand.
"Ah, what a shame," you sigh dreamily. "Guess I have to be the first one then."
Once your panties are out of the picture, Jake is instanly hit with a wave of your arousal. Your pussy glistens under the moonlight, soaked with slick and dripping with need. Jake inhales shakily, stopping himself from darting out his tongue to get a taste.
Fuck. He's sure he has actually died in the car and this is heaven because not even in his wildest dream did he get to have you like this.
Too lost in his reverie, Jake belatedly notices that you have removed his glasses. Despite your mean words and your mean actions, the caresses of your thumb on his cheeks are so gentle that he thinks he's hallucinating.
"You're so handsome, Jaeyun," you murmur. "But I bet you'll look better buried between my thighs."
You give him no time to recover from your crude words when you slowly move to straddle his head. Then, with a hand in his hair, you descend, letting the tip of his nose nudge at your clit.
And oh my fucking God—you smell so divine.
"Ah, Jaeyunnie," you moan, rocking your hips slowly to test the waters. "Your nose feels so good."
You sound even more divine. Jake's eyes roll to the back, savouring the way your sinful moans fall on his ears as you use his nose to get off. The bridge of his nose slides through your folds—wet and sticky and so sweet that he can't get enough of it.
Jake wraps his arms around your thighs to give you support, and another moan escapes your lips upon seeing his veiny arms around your supple skin. He stares at you through half-lidded eyes, groaning despite your cunt suffocating him, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure to your system.
"Ngh—Jaeyun—"
He can't breathe, and he can't hear properly from how hard you're clamping his head with your legs, but he can't deny that this is the best way to die. Being suffocated by your leaking pussy sounds like a dream death compared to dying in Jay's old SUV.
You keep your rhythm, rocking your hips back and forth, grinding your clit on his nose and dragging your folds on the tall bridge until the sharp tip of his nose catches at your hole. The grip you have in his hair hurts his scalp, but everything is worth the pain when Jake can watch you fall apart on his face, his own cock pulsing with a trembling need to cum.
"Ah—ah—Jaeyun oppa—"
Fuck. Fuck that sacred nickname.
The dynamics between you two often makes Jake forget the fact that he is indeed older than you. Coming from the States, it's uncommon for you to address people with such honorifics.
But right now, using that very honorific against him ignites something inside him; a carnal desire that's been thrumming low in his guts, waiting to be unleashed.
This time, Jake barely stops himself from stealing a taste. He darts out his tongue, prodding your hole with the tip, and hums in satisfaction when your stance falters slightly.
"Don't," you hiss, but there's no heat in it. Jake takes it as a sign to continue, licking more into your weeping cunt until your pace turns sloppy.
He doesn't care. You're probably gonna be so mad at him and punish him more, but whatever it is you have prepared can wait. Right now, Jake is having the best pussy of his life—barely breathing but still eating so, so fucking well.
"Jaeyun—stop—"
"No," Jake protests when you try to get up, pulling you down until the full weight of your body rests on his face.
Oh God, choking on pussy has never felt so good.
"Sim Jaeyun!" You squirm, feeling the stirring inside your belly getting wilder. Despite your weak attempts, your hips keeps grinding on his nose, showing no signs of stopping. You throw your head back.
You knew his nose would be the best thing to ride on, but hearing the slurps of your slick and his saliva—the sinful noises of him feasting on your cunt—makes you almost regret not letting him eat you out first.
"Ngh—Jaeyun—I'm close—"
Jake pulls your hips harder, letting you grind your clit on the tip of his nose as his tongue pushes into your hole mercilessly. You let out a high-pitched scream, muscles pulling tight at his ministrations. The double stimulations are fast pushing you over the edge.
Soon, white hot pleasure crashes into you, your vision turning black momentarily. It's so blurry and messy that you haven't realised that you've been screaming his name raw, hips unrelenting to chase the high. Jake swallows every drop of your sweet nectar, moaning into your spasming hole as he licks it clean.
Fuck. He's already desperate to have another round.
When you come down from your orgasm, hair matted to your forehead, you look down at him furiously.
"Let me go! I told you not to do it!" You attempt to sit up, but Jake doesn't let go, shaking his head with a pout. His nose and chin are drenched with your release, it's so sinful and filthy and you can't lie that you like seeing him so wrecked and fucked over like this.
"Can I have more? Please," he begs, kissing your inner thigh unhurriedly. He's already so addicted to the taste of you, Jake thinks he's gonna die if he doesn't have another fill. "I'll be so good to you, Y/N. Wanna eat you out so bad."
You grit your teeth, pushing away the temptation to save your pride. "No. Get up, Jaeyun."
But Jake is stubborn. He's so desperate to have more of you that he doesn't mind if he's leaving his own cock neglected and balls blue. "Please, I need it bad," he nudges at your pussy with his finger, pupils blown wide at the strings of sticky cum decorating your folds. "Fuck, please, Y/N, I want to eat you out."
"I said get up, Jaeyun."
"Y/N—"
"Jake."
The sharpness in your voice cuts through the haze instantly.
Jake stills immediately.
The desperation in his eyes flickers into something softer, more uncertain, like a scolded puppy finally realising he’s crossed a line. His grip on your thighs loosens at once, chest rising and falling hard beneath you.
The sound of his English name on your tongue feels foreign and almost painful, because it lacks the usual warmth and intimacy that your 'Jaeyun' usually holds. Yet, something inside him pulses harder, liking the change more than he'd like to admit.
“S-Sorry,” he whispers automatically, voice rough. “I just…”
He doesn’t even know how to explain it. How could he? That hearing you moan his name made him lose every coherent thought in his brain? That he’s spent days trying to stay away from you only to end up here, beneath you, completely ruined anyway?
You study him for a long moment before finally shifting off his face.
“Sit up.”
Jake obeys instantly.
The movement is clumsy and needy. His hair is a mess, lips swollen, face still flushed from lack of oxygen and desire. Without his glasses, his eyes look unbearably open like this—too honest, too vulnerable.
You cup his jaw gently, the touch losing its cruelty. Jake melts into it.
"There he is," you murmur softly, fixing his bangs that are obscuring his eyesight.
Jake can feel his heart stutter traitorously. This version of you—tender and sweet—a glimpse of the usual-you, is always more dangerous than any teasing.
Wordlessly, you tug at his shirt, and Jake obediently holds up his arms to let you peel away the fabric. Your eyes flick downward, amusement tugging at your lips.
"You know," you start, fingers trailing slowly down his sculpted chest, "for someone who acted terrified of touching me in the car…"
He groans softly, already embarrassed.
"…You were pretty damn desperate down there, Jaeyun."
His face burns hotter. Fine, he's just a touch-starved man, desperate for you in every way possible. But how could he not? Have you even looked at yourself?
"I-I can't help it…" His eyes drop to your lips. "You tasted so good."
A breathy chuckle escapes you, quiet and fond. But to Jake's ears, he's already hearing the wedding bells chime.
And suddenly the humiliation twisting in his chest eases into something warmer when you climb into his lap again, turning slowly until your back presses against his chest.
The exact same position. That fucking position in the car that has his mind on an endless frenzy that he thinks he was genuinely getting crazy.
Jake goes completely still beneath you.
“Oh,” you whisper, settling against him deliberately. “Now you’re quiet again?”
His hands hover uncertainly near your hips, like he still can’t believe he’s allowed to touch you.
“You’re mean,” he mumbles weakly against your shoulder. You laugh, one hand patting his hair as the other one aligning his neglected cock on your entrance.
"But I know you like it, Jaeyunnie."
At the same time you presses on the nickname, you sink onto his cock slowly, letting the bulbous head of his length spear you open.
The both of you moan simultaneously. Jake's hands find puchase on your waist, trying his best to stop from manhandling you to just fucking bounce on his dick and letting you adjust. You, on the other hand, let the stretch burn, your walls spasming to accommodate his length.
"S-So big," you stutter, taking him inch by inch. Jake drops his head on your shoulder, his own breathing ragged. "So—full—"
When he finally fits inside you to the brim, you let out a long, drawn-out moan. He fills you up so good that you can feel every vein against your walls, every pulse kissing your insides. It's a dizzying experience that prompts you to start moving your hips.
Jake’s fingers dig into your waist, trembling.
Not because he wants to stop you.
Because he’s trying so hard not to lose himself completely.
The position alone is enough to send him spiraling—your back against his chest, your body in his lap exactly like the car ride, except now there’s no seatbelt digging into his side, no boys teasing from the front seat, no restraint left between the two of you.
Just you and him.
And the devastating realisation that you wanted him too.
Jake lets out a broken sound against your shoulder when you move again, his forehead falling against your skin. His entire body feels feverish, overwhelmed by too much sensation and too many emotions crashing into him at once.
"Wasn't this what got you so hard, Jaeyunnie?" You pant between breathless moans. "Me in your lap, bouncing on your cock like this?"
"Ngh—" A strangled noise escapes his throat. Jake watches with bated breath as your hands find the clasp of your bra and finally let the two soft mounds free. Now, he badly wants you to turn around, eager to relive the scene of your bouncy breasts in Jay's car.
"Did you not—ah—crave this?"
You arch your back, pleasure tingling every nerves as his cock drags against your walls. Jake feels his dick throb inside your hole, the same position that ruined him now had him completely at your mercy.
"S-So tight," he whimpers, mouth falling open at the way you clench around his cock and roll your hips. "S-So fucking tight, Y/N, fuck."
Jake clings onto you desperately, bucking his hips to chase your movement. But you hold down a firm hand on his thigh, completely in charge.
"Don't," you warn, grinding down on him in a way that makes your ass ripple. "Or I'll get up and leave."
Jake freezes instantly.
The warning slices straight through him, sharp and effective. His hands tighten on your waist, but he forces his hips back against the mattress despite every instinct screaming at him to chase you harder.
“O-Okay,” he breathes quickly. “Okay. Sorry.”
God, he sounds wrecked.
You can feel the way his thighs tremble beneath yours, the strain in his breathing every time you move your hips slowly against him. Jake drops his forehead between your shoulder blades with a weak groan, like simply holding himself back is physically painful.
"I'm still mad at you," you murmur. You roll your hips again, faster this time, and Jake nearly whimpers into your shoulder. His jaw clenches so hard he might pop a vessel.
"Are you sure you're not the one—" you moan, your thighs burning from how fast you're exerting yourself. The wet sound of skin hitting skin starts getting louder the harder you slam down your hips. "The one who's being—mean?"
Jake sobs into your skin, half-regretting, half-dizzy. The tight heat of your cunt pulses and flutters around his dick and he genuinely feels horrible for only thinking using his other head now.
Even so, he still manages to apologise again. "I'm s-sorry—"
You clench around him on purpose. Jake digs his nails deeper. "Fuck—"
"Stop fucking apologising," you seethe, voice trembling as you feel your release getting near. "Delete her number or I'll sit in Sunghoon's lap when we get back to Seoul."
There's no bite in your threat. It's just a spur-of-the-moment kind of things, one that you say just to rile him up.
But Jake takes your words like a verdict. He snakes an arm around your waist, lips worshipping your skin in desperate, wet kisses.
"I'm sorry, Y/N, darling," he begs, tears clinging to his lashes. He bites his lips in an attempt to stop himself from moaning because he's so, so close. "I will block her. Fuck—I will delete her number. P-Please don't sit with S-Sunghoon—"
His speech is interrupted by a high-pitched whine. Jake hasn't come all night, he's nothing more than a thread waiting to snap. The moment you bounce harder and faster, the supple skin of your butt jiggling wilder, Jake can feel that he's about to come.
"Y/N—ah—p-puh—lease—" he whimpers, voice scratching at his throat. "'M close, 'm g-gonna cum—"
But he should've known that you're so, so mean.
The moment you lift off his cock, Jake genuinely sobs out loud, thrashing under you.
"No! No, please—" he chokes, hiding his crying face behind his hands, too shattered when his orgasm being denied again. "Please, no—I wanna cum, please."
You turn around and the sight of him—red-faced, wet cheeks, lips trembling—it softens your heart. You quickly pull his wrists and rest his hands on your hips, your own cupping his cheeks.
"I'm sorry, baby," you shush him, blowing kisses to the tip of his nose as you take him again. Jake whimpers quietly. "I'm so sorry—I'll let you cum this time, hm?"
Jake weakly nods, then lets out a soft moan at the familiar feeling of your walls enveloping him. You move again, already sore, but you no longer have it in you to torture your poor, poor Jaeyun. This time, you immediately begin with a fast pace, giving him a show of your tits bouncing with every thrust.
"Ah—fuck—Jaeyunnie—" you bite your lips, expression so erotic that it has the brown-haired boy drooling. "Glasses—like you better with glasses."
Jake is too dazed to register your words, so you pick the glasses on your own and put them on him. And there he is—your sweet, sweet boy, your Jaeyunnie that you adore so much, your Jaeyun that thinks it's bad for wanting you this much.
"S-So—handsome, Jaeyunnie," you roll your hips, chest arching into his face. "My nerdy boy, you're mine, hm?"
Jake physically cannot take it anymore. The sight of you on top of him, bouncing on his cock like your life depends on it, putting on his glasses and calling him yours—it's too much for Sim Jaeyun who's never been given this kind of attention and affection.
Especially from you.
His lips move, but you can barely hear him.
"Hm? What did you say?"
"I said I'm sorry, Y/N," his nails dig into your waist. "I'm so fucking sorry, please don't be mad at me."
Your brows furrow in confusion, but before you know it, Jake is already flipping you around, changing your position in one swift movement. You have half a second to gain your breath before the boy hovering over you pulls you closer by your ankles and throws your legs over his shoulders.
"I'm s-sorry," Jake stutters, slipping his dick back into your cunt and starts thrusting fast. "I-I can't hold it anymore."
Despite the showcase of his strength, Jake looks absolutely ruined. There's a flicker of guilt in his eyes, but from the pace he's railing you, you know that his lust ovverrides whatever little guilt he has.
Soon enough, the air smells so thickly of sex. The sound of his balls slapping your ass, accompanied by your high-pitched moans and his groans are the only one filling up the space, to the point that you're sure one of the boys must've heard you.
It's so hot and filthy that Jake's glasses are all fogged up again. His grip on your waist is now leaving bruises, but you don't care because all you can think of is Jake, Jake's big cock, Jake's stupid glasses and just Jake, Jake, Jake.
"F-f-f-fuck," he exhales shakily, splitting you open with his cock. "I-I'm so—close—"
You thrash around, fisting the sheets until it tears from the force of your nails. "Jaeyun—" you gasp when he keeps abusing that spot that has you seeing stars. "Oh, fuck—Jaeyun—harder—"
Jake leans forward, straining his arms on either side of your head. His glasses slide down his slick nose slightly when he bends down to capture your lips in his thick ones. You both moan into the kiss, finally getting the taste of each other, tongues already clashing for more.
Jake licks into your mouth, hips never faltering, and sucks on your bottom lip. You whimper, the sensation becoming too much until you're just breathing against his lips, all heat and teeth and saliva. Jake groans.
"I-I'm gonna—cum—" he gasps against your mouth, face scrunching in pleasure when you clench around him. "O-Oh my fucking God, Y/N, fuck—please let me cum inside."
His hands find your waist again, thrusting harder than before. His head drops to your shoulder as he begs, again and again.
"P-Please let me cum inside, please," he whimpers, voice needy and whiny. "Please—I'm gonna—I wanna—"
"Just cum," you moan when his teeth scrape against your skin. "Jae—Jaeyunnie—"
Jake groans. With last few, deliberate thrusts, he finally cums—a full-body orgasm that has him shuddering, his cock spurting out rope after thick rope of his release, painting your walls white.
You follow him just a second after, vision blurring for a moment as your second orgasm rips through your body. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream, eyes rolling back from how delicious your climax is.
Jake takes a long moment breathing into your ear, grinding his hips slowly before he's finally pulling out. He hisses as he drags out his cock, careful not to overstimulate you, and watches in awe as white fluid flowing out of your pulsing cunt.
"Oh my fucking God."
You breathe out a laugh, sounding breathless and disbelieving. Seeing Jake sitting still by your legs, you open your arms toward him.
"C'mere, Jaeyunnie. Let's cuddle for a moment before washing up—I'm too sore to walk."
Jake perks up at that. Gone is the hungry, lust-driven boy a few moments ago, now replaced with the shy, kicked puppy holding his tail between his legs.
"Cuddle?" he echoes, unsure. "Are you not mad at me?"
"I could never be mad at you for too long," you reply, giving him a reassuring smile.
It gives Jake a flicker of hope. He scoots closer, still cautious and observing, like approaching a scared animal.
"But I avoided you…"
You drop your arms and pretend to think, making a show of tapping your chin with a finger.
"You're right. You were mean for that. Why don't you carry me to the bathroom and clean me up so we can cuddle afterwards?"
Hearing that, Jake finally relaxes, his tight muscles loosening. With an eager smile, he scoops an arm under your knees and your back, and then lifts you up easily as if you weigh nothing.
"Your wish is my command, my princess."
The next morning, you receive knowing looks from the boys. There are lingering stares on your neck from where Jake was mauling your skin last night, but you have no problem showing them off.
Jake, on the other hand, is on the edge of another breakdown.
"So, Jake," Jay starts, already planning a mischievous teasing inside his head. "How did it feel like to get railed—"
"I did not get railed!" he squeaks, ears blushing red. "I-I was the one who railed her! Right, Y/N?"
There's a laugh bubbling inside your chest as you watch Jake squirm under the relentless teasing of his friends. It felt good to be the one in charge, but after that display of strength and the way he manhandled you last night?
You don't mind having him on top of you.
But the both of you know who's truly in charge.
And if you choose to sit in his lap again, this time grinding and shifting on purpose that he gets hard until the car reaches Seoul, nobody has to know that.
𓊆박성훈 x fem reader𓊇 💌 abuse of power, medical kink, doctor/patient, perverted doctor behaviour, so unethical, fingering, oral, pussy licking, jerking off, tits playing, cum on tits, non proofread!
𓆩♡𓆪 this ask! tysm anony~ i love u
you and your gynecologist have a questionable relationship. sure, any normal person would go for a female gynecologist, but you kept coming to… this doctor anyway. and he never once suggested you switch.
the tension in the room is thicker than usual today.
“anything bothering you today?” sunghoon asks, his voice low and smooth. he’s seated on a round stool between your legs, gloved hands resting so close to your thigh.
you swallow, cheeks warm. “um—,” you say softly, voice a little shaky. “i actually came today because… something feels weird with my breasts.”
he pauses. his eyes slowly travel up your body until they meet yours. “weird how?” he asks. he doesn’t pull his hand away, but instead sits back with his hand still resting just beside your thigh.
“they’ve been… tender lately. and i felt a small lump? or maybe i’m just imagining it. i don’t know—i’m sorry, i’m not sure.” you reply, cheeks heating up in embarrassment.
your doctor stays quiet for a second, then slowly pulls his hand away. the latex gloves make a soft snap as he adjusts them tighter around his long, slender fingers. “don’t be sorry, yn—this is what i do,” he hums, getting up. “we should do a check up then. take your top and bra off for me.”
you do as he says, heart racing. you hook your fingers beneath your top before sliding it up past your head—then unbuckles your bra. naturally, your hands come to cover up to cover your bare breasts as soon as the fabric falls away.
he watches you try to hide from his for a moment, the corner of his lips twitching.
“hands off, yn,” he chuckles softly—it almost sounds like a scoff. “how am i supposed to see if you’re fine if you keep covering them?”
his voice is almost teasing, with that hint of amusement. he reaches forward and gently but firmly pulls your wrists down, pinning them to your sides for a second longer before letting go.
“there we go. good girl.”
now fully exposed, the cool air of the room hits your skin. sunghoon’s raise his eyebrows momentarily as his eyes rake over your chest openly, no longer pretending this was clinical. when he moves his hands, the latex crinkle softly.
sunghoon cups your breasts fully, weighing them in his palms before fully squeezing. “mmm… look at you,” he murmurs, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk. he starts kneading them firmly, gloved thumbs dragging over your nipples in repetitive strokes.
the latex slides against your buds, making them harden instantly. he pinches both nipples at the same time, rolling them between his fingers while watching your face closely. your lips part in pleasure, soft moans escaping your lips.
“hah…”
sunghoon hums. “these feel heavier than last time,” he says, pretending to be professional, but his tone is everything but. he squeezes harder, pushing your tits together, then lets them bounce back in his hands. the latex crinkles.
“you’ve been playin’ with them, haven’t you?” he asks, glancing up at you before his eyes fall back on your pretty nipples. “playing with these beauties will make ‘em bigger, you know?” he teases. not like sunghoon has complaints—your tits are the nicest, prettiest he’s ever seen.
you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. his fingers feel crazy on your tits. they’re slender, long, and the thin rubber gloves only make every touch feel so intricate and obscene.
“that’s not so good, yn. i told you you shouldn’t touch ‘em without telling me.”
“how do you play with them? like this?” his gloved thumbs start pressing and circling your nipples again, flicking the sensitive buds repeatedly. he works your tits harder, kneading and massaging them with greed now.
“or do you squeeze them like this?” sunghoon demonstrates—rolling both nipples between his latexed fingers, pinching and tugging them repeatedly, stretching your tits. he then pushes your breasts roughly by your nipples.
his breathing is noticeably heavier as his eyes fixed on your tits, watching as they move in his bigger hands. the bulge in his slacks is even more obvious, straining hard against his slacks.
“ugh, fuck,” he mutters, jaw clenched tight as his cock throbs visibly beneath the fabric.
you can’t help it either—your thighs rub instinctively, trying to ease the aching heat and twitch between your legs. sunghoon notices immediately—then back up to your flushed face with a knowing smirk.
“can’t even keep still anymore, huh?”
without another word, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and panties—tugging them all the way down your legs and off your ankles, dropping them onto the floor.
now you’re completely bare from the waist down, legs still spread open on the patient bed, pussy fully exposed under the exam light. his gaze drops straight between your thighs. “fuck, yn…” he groans, his cock now painfully aching. “you’re dripping all over my paper sheet.”
sunghoon stares at your glistening cunt for a long moment, his throat bobs.
“i need to examine you more thoroughly,” he says, voice husky but still somewhat professional. “these juices… and your tissue look quite swollen. i should check for sensitivity and any irritation, hm?”
he rolls his stool closer, then leans in between your spread thighs. his large hands grip the back of your knees, pushing your legs wider apart.
you bite your bottom lip, sucking the inside of your cheek. you’re twitching and spasming around nothing.
“this is a standard procedure only for you,” sunghoon murmurs, hot breath ghosting over your wet folds. “i need to assess taste, texture, natural response… then i gotta fuck you good.”
before you can even process his weak excuse, sunghoon leans forward and drags his warm, wet tongue up your slit. a deep, satisfied groan vibrates through your core.
“fuck… so sweet,” he mutters, almost to himself. then louder against your pussy. “seems normal… but i need to go deeper.”
his tongue flattens and laps at you again, slower—like he’s fully indulging the taste, savouring every drop. he circles your sensitive clit teasingly with the tip of his tongue, flicking, before closing his lips around it and sucking, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet exam room.
“oh gosh, d—doctor park…” you moan softly, tipping your head back.
one of his bare hands slides up to your tits again, groping and squeezing while his mouth works between your legs. he pulls back just enough to speak, lips shiny with your wet juices.
“does this area feel more sensitive than usual?” he asks, voice rough before diving back in. his tongue pushes inside you, fucking you with it while his nose nudges your clit. “mm—hngh,”
sunghoon eats you out like a starving man—messy, greedy, and hungry—but keeps murmuring fake clinical observations and excuses between licks and sucks.
“nice… it’s so wet. your pussy walls are contracting so strongly.”
lick.
“ugh—and this little clit is so responsive…”
suck.
his other hand grips your thigh hard, holding you open as he buries his face deeper, tongue thrusting in and out before focusing on your clit again with fast strokes. your hands grip around his pretty hair, holding him ground against your puffy cunt.
sunghoon glances up at you between your legs, eyes dark with list, lips glistening.
“yn, be honest with me,” he rasps, voice muffled against your soaked pussy. “has it been this wet every time you think about me?”
his tongue flicks your sensitive bud, the tip dragging between the small folds.
you whimper, hips twitching, and breathe out a shaky—
“mmhm,”
the second the word leaves your mouth, something in him snaps.
“fuck yeah…” he groans deeply, almost relieved. his cock twitches. “good girl—finally admitting it.”
he presses one last messy, open–mouthed kiss to your entrance before pulling back. he rises from the stool, towering over you as he stands between your spread legs. his chest is rising and falling—his hair sticks on his forehead, his lips shiny.
“you have no idea how long i’ve been holding back,” he mutters. “every time you come here, lookin’ so pretty for a patient… drives me fucking insane.”
his hands move quickly to his belt. the sound of the buckle opening and his zipper going down fills the room. he pushes his slacks and boxers down to free his cock—hard, throbbing, flushed, leaking at the tip.
right in front of you, sunghoon wraps his long fingers around his cock and starts stroking himself. his eyes locked on your naked body—your tits flushed from all the gripping and groping, your soaked pussy glistening under the light…
“fuck—look at you,” he breathes out, tightening his grip as he pumps his cock. “so wet—c’mon, touch yourself for me, pretty.”
your hand instantly slides down your tummy. the moment your fingers reach your puffy pussy and start rubbing your swollen clit, sunghoon lets out a groan. he stands tall (both), white coat still on but open. his strokes are deliberate before he picks up the pace.
“that’s it… just like that,” he rasps, jerking himself a little faster. “rub that pretty clit while i watch. fuck, you’re even wetter than i imagined.”
his eyes flick between your pretty flushed face, your tits, and your fingers playing with your wet folds. he squeezes his cock faster, thumb brushing and pressing over the leaking tip, spreading the precum.
“you have no idea how many times i’ve jerked off after you left this room,” he confesses.
sunghoon steps slightly closer, still stroking himself. his free hand reaches down and gropes your tit again, squeezing it roughly before he caresses your cheek.
“put two fingers inside,” he orders, breathing heavier as he nudges his chin up. “i wanna see how desperate that pussy is for me.”
his hand moves faster on his cock, the wet schlick sound mixes with obscene noises coming from your fingers. he looks completely wrecked—flushed cheeks, messy hair, groaning every time his cock twitches.
gosh, that white coat really gives him permission to be this perverted.
“yn…” he groans, eyes half–lidded. “keep going… show how you fuck yourself when you think about me…”
he’s breathing hard, clearly getting closer, but he’s holding back.
you begin fingering yourself—pumping two fingers back and forth, spreading your tight cunt apart. you rub your clit with your other hand—lips never stopping from moaning out his name prettily. sunghoon’s hand moves quicker on his cock, stroking himself hard.
“fuck, that’s it… such a good girl,” he rasps. “i’m close—shit—”
his breathing turns ragged. he steps even closer, aiming his cock at your tits while still caressing your cheek lovingly. his thumb comes to press against your bottom lip, spreading your lips as you suck around his thumb.
with a deep, guttural groan, sunghoon cums—hard.
thick, warm ropes of cum shoot across your tits, painting your flushed skin and hard nipples in messy streaks. he keeps stroking himself through it, milking every last drop onto your chest—his cum hanging from your sensitive nipples.
“ah… shit,” he breathes heavily as he watches the sight with satisfaction. “my gosh—look at that.”
before you can catch your breath, sunghoon leans down, grabs the back of your neck, and pulls you into a deep, hungry kiss. his tongue slides into your mouth instantly, claiming you as his bare cock rests against your cum–covered tits. the kiss is messy and desperate—all tongue and teeth—like he’s been dying.
he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
“you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he murmurs against your lips, voice still rough. he kisses you once more, softer this time, before slowly straightening up.
“i’ll pick you up this weekend for a personal check up,” he says, running his fingers through his sweaty hair. sunghoon’s lips twitch into a charming, doctor smile. “we need to monitor these symptoms very carefully.”
he leans in one last time, pressing a kiss on your cheek.
Since freshman year, you’ve run the university’s anonymous gossip blog, Kiss & Tell. You’ve seen it all: cheating allegations, toxic situationships and at least forty-seven complaints about the cafeteria chicken. But nothing floods your inbox more than posts about PARK SUNGHOON — the university’s resident fuckboy and walking bad decision. So for the blog’s final exposé, you decide to write about him. Too bad Sunghoon’s already in the middle of a bet with his friends: to keep a girl for thirteen days. And somehow, the anonymous girl tearing him apart online becomes the only one he can’t stop thinking about.
pairings. fuckboy!sunghoon x female!reader ┃ wc. 13.2k
content warnings. dual pov · hidden motives · miscommunication · fake dating adjacent · emotional manipulation · pining (both sides, they’re so stupid) · explicit sexual content — oral f. receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, light possessiveness, marking · dramatic irony · this will hurt you and I’m not apologising for it
laceys note // the fic I’ve been most nervous to post… there is SO much happening in this one and I genuinely don’t know how yall are going to react 😋 yes this is heavily inspired by How To Lose A Guy and Gossip Girl x anyway hope yall enjoy and as always thank you for reading 🥰
🤍 kiss & tell
This year I’m giving you something special.
You’ve been asking for it since freshman year. The tips have been piling up in my inbox for three years running — do a piece on him, Kiss & Tell, someone needs to say something, Kiss & Tell, he did it again, Kiss & Tell, Kiss & Tell, Kiss & Tell.
Ask and you shall receive, darlings.
Introducing: 13 Ways To Lose Your Certified Campus Fuckboy.
Thirteen tips. Thirteen days. One subject who has absolutely no idea what’s coming.
We begin next week. You didn’t hear it from me though, because I don’t kiss & tell. x
[1,204 readers. 47 comments.]
FINALLY.
is it who I think it is.
kiss & tell if you’re reading this I have THREE submissions about this man please check ur inbox.
—
The thing about Park Sunghoon is that he is, by every available metric, exactly what the submissions said he was.
You’ve done your research. Three weeks of it, thorough and methodical, the kind of research you’d do for an actual piece — which this is, you’ve decided, this absolutely counts as journalism, your professor would probably disagree but your professor also gave you a C minus on your piece about the university’s dining hall monopoly which was genuinely your best work so his opinion is noted and filed in the bin.
You have a google doc. It has sections. There’s a tab called subjects and a tab called timeline and a tab called tips (working) and another one called notes which is mostly just screenshots of anonymous submissions that all say some version of the same thing: he’s charming, he’s beautiful, he made me feel like the only person in the room, and then he was gone, and I’m fairly certain he didn’t know my name by the end of it.
Seventeen submissions. Seventeen different girls. One name, consistent, at the centre of all of them.
Park Sunghoon. Figure skating scholarship. Second year Humanities, now final year. Shares a house off campus with Jay Park and Lee Heeseung, both of whom feature in the submissions as background characters — his friends were there, they seemed nice, Jay remembered my name even if Sunghoon didn’t appearing in three separate accounts with the specific poignancy of a detail nobody coordinated.
He has a type, according to the submissions. Which is to say he doesn’t have a type. He’ll talk to anyone, charm anyone, make anyone feel chosen — and then the choosing stops, and he moves on, and the girl is left standing in the aftermath wondering what she did wrong when the answer is nothing, the answer is that’s just what he does, the answer is you were never going to be the exception because Park Sunghoon doesn’t do exceptions.
He does this, you’ve established, approximately once every two to three weeks. He’s been doing it since freshman year. He has never, by any account you can find, caught feelings. He has never once, to anyone’s knowledge, repeated a girl.
He is, in short, a certified campus fuckboy, and he has been getting away with it for three years because he’s beautiful and charming and genuinely good company right up until the moment he isn’t, and by then it’s too late.
Not anymore.
You have a plan. The plan is elegant and slightly unhinged and Minji — your best friend, Kiss & Tell’s only reader who knows the writer — has called it both those things and also added extremely on brand for you which you take as the highest possible compliment.
Thirteen tips. The clingy, overwhelming, emotionally catastrophic playbook of everything a man like Sunghoon runs from. You’re going to deploy every single one, document it in real time, post it to the blog, and by day thirteen he’ll have run screaming and Kiss & Tell will have its most-read piece of the year and you’ll have actually done something with your journalism degree that matters.
The only thing you need is an in.
Which is, currently, the one gap in the plan.
You’ve been thinking about this for three days when Minji texts you at 9PM on a Friday: jisoo’s having people over. sunghoon will be there. i heard jay mention it.
You look at the message.
You look at your google doc.
You close your laptop, get up, and start getting dressed.
Jisoo’s apartment is the kind of place that fits thirty people comfortably and currently has approximately sixty, which means the music is too loud and the drinks are wherever you can find them and the air has that particular quality of a Friday night that’s fully committed to itself.
You arrive with Minji at ten, already knowing the layout — Jisoo’s place is a known quantity, you’ve been here before, the kitchen is to the left and the living room is straight ahead and the back patio is where people go when the inside gets too much.
You find a drink. You find a wall. You survey the room with the practiced efficiency of someone who has been reporting on this campus for three years.
You find him in four seconds.
He’s not hard to find. That’s the first thing — he doesn’t try to be found, he doesn’t need to, he simply exists in a room and the room orients around him without being asked. He’s tall, which you knew, and he’s wearing something simple, which you didn’t expect, dark jeans and a plain shirt and the specific ease of someone who has never once had to try very hard.
He’s laughing at something Jay said — Jay, beside him, is grinning with the energy of someone who said something very funny and knows it — and the laugh is real, you can tell from here, unperformed, and this is information you file away because it matters. The charm is one thing. The realness underneath it is something else.
You’ve been looking at him for approximately thirty seconds before Minji says, very quietly, “you’re staring.”
“I’m researching,” you say.
“You have a look on your face.”
“It’s my research face.”
“It’s not your research face,” Minji says, and takes a sip of her drink with the serenity of someone who is going to be right about this and knows it and is content to wait.
Three hours earlier, Jisoo’s apartment is already filling up when Jay Park has his idea.
This is, historically, how most problems begin.
He’s standing with Sunghoon near the back wall, both of them with drinks, watching the room do what rooms do on Friday nights — fill up, get louder, become the kind of atmosphere where things happen that people talk about on Monday.
Jay is on his second drink. Sunghoon is on his first. This ratio is relevant.
“Can I ask you something,” Jay says.
“No,” Sunghoon says.
“When’s the last time you actually—” Jay makes a vague gesture that encompasses a significant amount of meaning. “You know. Stayed.”
Sunghoon looks at him flatly. “What.”
“With someone. Longer than — you know. The usual.”
“I don’t have a usual.”
“You absolutely have a usual,” Jay says. “8 days maximum. You don’t learn their names by the end. You move on. It’s a whole thing.” He tilts his head. “When’s the last time you actually kept someone around?”
Sunghoon is quiet for a moment. He drinks his drink.
“Why,” he says, which is not an answer.
“I was just thinking,” Jay says, with the careful casualness of a man who has been thinking about this for longer than just now, “that it’s been a while. And I was thinking about whether you actually could. If you tried.”
“Could what?”
“Keep someone.” Jay looks at him. “Like. Actually keep her. Not the thing you do. The real version.”
“I keep people.”
“Sunghoon.”
“I do.”
“You kept Chaewon for seven days in second year and forgot her name on day four,” Jay says. “She was in three of my seminars. It was a whole thing.”
Sunghoon says nothing.
“Thirteen days,” Jay says, and the number arrives in the air between them with the particular weight of a challenge that’s been building to its own conclusion. “That’s what I’m saying. Thirteen days. One girl. You actually try. I don’t think you can do it.”
And there it is.
Sunghoon looks at him.
Jay looks back with the grin of someone who has just deployed the one thing that has never once failed to work on Park Sunghoon, which is I don’t think you can.
It goes all the way back to when they were seventeen and Jay said I don’t think you can land that triple and Sunghoon landed it, and then again at eighteen when Jay said I don’t think you can get into that programme and Sunghoon got into that programme, and now they are twenty-two and standing at a party on a Friday night and Jay has said I don’t think you can and the outcome is, as always, inevitable.
“Thirteen days,” Sunghoon says.
“Thirteen days.”
“Fine.”
Jay blinks. Even knowing it was coming, even having built to it, the speed of it catches him off guard. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Sunghoon finishes his drink. Sets the glass down. “Fine.”
Jay opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again with the expression of a man who has just heard the trap click shut and has only just registered that he was also standing in it.
“Great,” he says, slightly less certainly than he’d like. “That’s — yeah. Great.”
“Who loses,” Sunghoon says.
“What?”
“If I lose. What do I owe you.”
“I—” Jay hadn’t gotten this far. “I don’t know. Bragging rights.”
“Bragging rights,” Sunghoon repeats, unimpressed.
“And you do my laundry for a month.”
“And if I win?”
“You won’t.”
“Jay.”
“Fine. If you win I’ll do your laundry for a month and I’ll admit in front of Heeseung that you were right about the Ateez album.”
A pause.
“Deal,” Sunghoon says immediately.
They shake on it. Jay watches him scan the room with the quiet, unhurried focus of someone who has just been given a task and is already approaching it systematically, and feels, somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach, the specific sensation of having made a decision he doesn’t fully understand yet.
He takes a long drink.
He tells himself it’ll be fine.
—
“He’s at the drinks table,” Minji says. “Corner of the kitchen. Jay’s with him but Jay just got pulled into something in the living room so Sunghoon’s alone.”
You look at her.
“You’ve been tracking him,” you say.
“I’ve been observing,” she says. “Go. And look like you’re going for a drink, not like you’re going for him.”
“I know how to walk into a kitchen, Minji.”
“You know how to walk into a kitchen like a journalist on an assignment,” she says. “Which is different. Relax your face.”
You relax your face.
“More,” she says.
You relax it more.
“Good. Go.”
You go.
The kitchen is quieter than the living room, the particular relief of a party room that isn’t the main event — a handful of people, the counter lined with bottles, the window cracked open letting in the cold October air.
He’s exactly where Minji said he’d be.
You clock him in your peripheral vision and do not look directly at him, which is a skill you have developed specifically for this kind of thing — the journalistic sidelong awareness, present without being obvious. You move toward the drinks table with the energy of someone who wants a drink and only a drink and has no awareness whatsoever of the person three feet to her left.
You reach for a bottle.
He reaches for the same one.
Your hands arrive at the neck of it at the same moment.
You look up.
He looks down.
Up close he is — and you’re going to note this for the record and then never think about it again — significantly more than his submissions prepared you for. Which is saying something, because the submissions were not understating it. But there is a difference between objectively good looking as a reported fact and objectively good looking as a thing happening to you personally at close range on a Friday night, and the difference is considerable and you are a journalist and this is a story and you absolutely clock it and file it away and move on.
“Sorry,” you both say, at the same time.
A beat.
He takes his hand off the bottle. “Go ahead.”
“No, it’s—” You gesture. “You were here first.”
“I wasn’t, actually.” Something in his expression is doing a thing — a quiet recalibration, the kind of look that assesses and concludes and moves forward. “I just got here.”
“Same time, then,” you say.
“Same time,” he agrees. He picks up the bottle. Pours two glasses without asking. Hands one to you.
You look at it.
“Bold,” you say.
“You were reaching for it,” he says simply. “Seemed like you wanted it.”
You take the glass. You drink. It’s good — he poured the right thing, which means he clocked what you were reaching for in the half second before you both arrived at it simultaneously, which means he notices things, which is information you file immediately in the subject tab of your mental google doc.
“Sunghoon,” he says.
“I know,” you say, and then catch it. “I think Jisoo mentioned you. She mentioned a few people.”
He looks at you with an expression that suggests he’s heard this kind of recovery before and found it charming rather than annoying, which is somehow worse than if he’d called you out directly.
“Y/N,” you say.
He says your name back, once, quietly. Just to himself. Like he’s storing it.
Something in your chest does something completely unauthorised and you attribute it to the drink.
“Final year?” he asks.
“Journalism,” you say. “You?”
“Literature.” He leans against the counter — not performing it, just settling, the ease of someone completely comfortable in any room he’s in. “And the rink. Early mornings.”
“Figure skating,” you say, as if you’re learning this for the first time, as if it isn’t highlighted in yellow in tab one of the google doc.
“Don’t,” he says.
“Don’t what?”
“Whatever you were about to say.”
“I was going to say it sounds peaceful,” you say. “Early mornings. Quiet rink.”
He looks at you for a moment. Like he was braced for something and got something else instead. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice is slightly different. “It is.”
The kitchen moves around you — people coming in, going out, the ambient noise of a party in full swing — and neither of you moves.
“Can I ask you something,” he says.
“You just did,” you say.
The corner of his mouth does something. Not a smile exactly — the precursor to one, the thing that happens before the decision is made. “Fair,” he says. “Can I ask you something else.”
“Depends what it is.”
“What are you doing tomorrow.”
You look at him. He’s looking back with the steady patience of someone who is used to waiting for things he’s decided he wants, and underneath it something that wasn’t in any of the seventeen submissions — a directness that isn’t performance. He’s not deploying the charm right now. He’s just asking.
You are a journalist. This is a story. Day one begins tomorrow and tip one requires a pet name and you need his number to deploy it.
“I might be free,” you say.
“Might be.”
“Probably am.”
“Can I have your number,” he says, no preamble, just the question, and you think about seventeen girls who probably said yes to this exact question in this exact tone of voice and you think about the google doc and the thirteen tips and the fact that you are not going to be number eighteen.
You are going to be something else entirely.
“Sure,” you say, and take his phone when he hands it over.
You type your number. You type your name. You hand it back.
He looks at the screen. “Just Y/N?”
“You don’t need my last name yet,” you say.
“Yet,” he repeats, and the corner of his mouth commits this time, the full thing, and it gets out before he decides to let it and you think that this specific smile — the unguarded one, the one that isn’t the charm — is going to be the most dangerous part of this entire assignment.
You file it. You move on.
“Goodnight, Sunghoon,” you say, and you take your drink and you leave the kitchen and you do not look back.
In the living room, Minji is waiting with the expression of someone who has been watching through the kitchen doorway for the last four minutes and has formed approximately forty seven opinions.
“Well,” she says.
“I’m in,” you say.
“And?”
You look at your drink.
“He’s worse than the submissions,” you say.
Minji opens her mouth.
“Don’t,” you say.
She closes it. She has the expression of someone who is going to be right about something and has infinite patience.
You drink your drink.
Across the room, through the kitchen doorway, Sunghoon is looking at his phone. You watch him save your contact. Watch him type something. Delete it. Type something else.
Your phone buzzes.
unknown number: it was good to meet you tonight
You save the contact immediately. You stare at what you’ve typed for a moment, then change it.
hoonie 🤍
—
that night, 1:47AM:
hoonie 🤍: it was good to meet you tonight
you: who’s this
hoonie 🤍: you know who this is
you: I might need a reminder
hoonie 🤍: I owe you a drink
you: the one you poured me was actually really good so I think we’re even
A pause. Three dots. Gone. Back again.
hoonie 🤍: what are you doing tomorrow
you: why
hoonie 🤍: no reason. just asking.
you: I’m probably free
hoonie 🤍: I’ll pick you up at 12
you: bold of you to assume you have my address
hoonie 🤍: do I not?
you: …I’ll send it to you
hoonie 🤍: good
you: goodnight
hoonie 🤍: goodnight Y/N
—
🤍 kiss & tell
tip 01: give him a pet name. immediately.
Here’s what nobody tells you about a man who runs on charm — he’s built his whole personality around the way his name sounds in other people’s mouths. He knows how it lands. He’s been watching it land for years.
So take it away.
Give him something else. Something soft and slightly ridiculous, something completely at odds with everything he’s spent three years carefully constructing. Don’t ask permission. Don’t explain it. Just deploy it, directly, and watch what happens to his face.
The goal isn’t to annoy him. The goal is to see who he is when the thing he relies on gets gently, cheerfully removed.
Results to follow
You didn’t hear it from me. x
[1,847 readers overnight. 63 comments.]
she’s actually doing it.
KISS AND TELL THE WAY I SCREAMED.
I know exactly who this is about and I have never felt more seen in my life.
—
He picks you up at twelve.
This is the first thing that surprises you, which you don’t let show — that he said twelve and it’s twelve, exactly, his car pulling up outside your building at eleven fifty-eight and him not texting to say here or outside or any of the things people say when they arrive, just waiting, engine running, until you come out.
You clock this on the way down the stairs. Filed under: he’s punctual. he waited. he didn’t announce himself.
The car is clean. This is the second thing. Not aggressively clean, not the sterile cleanliness of someone performing tidiness — just maintained, looked after, the cleanliness of someone who takes quiet care of things they own. There’s a jacket on the back seat and a reusable coffee cup in the holder and a small air freshener hanging from the mirror that smells like cedar and you are absolutely not going to find this endearing.
“Hey,” he says, when you get in.
“Hi, hoonie,” you say.
A pause.
He looks at you.
You look back.
“Hoonie,” he repeats.
“Mm.”
“That’s—” He stops. Starts again. “Where did that come from.”
“I don’t know,” you say cheerfully. “It just suits you.”
“It doesn’t suit me.”
“I think it really does.”
He looks at you for another moment with an expression that is trying to be flat and not fully succeeding — there’s something underneath it, something that might be the effort of not reacting, which means he is reacting and choosing not to show it, which is more interesting than if he’d just been annoyed.
He puts the car in drive.
“Where are we going?” you ask.
“There’s a place,” he says. “Near the rink. Good food. You’ll like it.”
“How do you know what I’ll like.”
“I don’t,” he says simply. “But if you don’t, we’ll go somewhere else.”
You look at the side of his face.
Filed under: he has a contingency. he’s already thought about what happens if the first plan doesn’t work.
You face forward.
“Hoonie,” you say again, conversationally, and watch his jaw do something in your peripheral vision.
“Please,” he says.
“Please what?”
“Stop.”
“Stop what?”
He glances at you. You are the picture of innocence. He looks back at the road.
“You’re going to keep doing it,” he says. It’s not a question.
“Probably,” you say.
A pause.
“Fine,” he says, and there’s something in it — resigned, but underneath the resignation something else, something that sounds almost like he finds this funny and is refusing to admit it.
You face forward and smile at the windscreen where he can’t see it.
Tip one: deployed.
The place near the rink is small and warm and the food is exactly what he said it would be, which you note because it means he knows what good food is and he knew enough about you after one conversation to make an accurate prediction.
You eat across from each other at a small table by the window and it’s — easy. That’s the thing that keeps catching you off guard, the thing that wasn’t in the submissions. The submissions covered charm, the warmth, the way he makes you feel like the only person in the room. What they didn’t cover was this — the version of him that exists when he’s not performing anything. The version that eats his food without making it an event and asks questions that are short and real and actually listens to the answers.
He asks about journalism. Not oh cool what’s that like but specific things — what you want to do with it, what kind of writing you actually care about, whether you think print is dead or just resting.
“Resting,” you say, firmly.
“Resting,” he repeats, like he’s testing whether he agrees. “Why.”
“Because people still want stories. They just want them differently. The format changed, not the hunger.”
He looks at you across the table. “What do you write?”
“Pieces,” you say. “Long form, mostly. Campus stuff. Culture, people, the way things work underneath the way they look.”
“Anything published?”
“The university paper. Some external stuff.” You take a sip of water. “Nothing that’s set the world on fire yet.”
“Yet,” he says, giving you your own word back, and the corner of his mouth does the thing.
You look at your plate.
Filed under: he pays attention to the exact words you use. he remembers them. he deploys them back.
This is, you think, how he does it. Not the obvious charm — the specific attention. The making-you-feel-like-your-words-matter thing. You’ve been watching for the playbook and this is it, this is the whole thing, and knowing what it is should make it easier to withstand.
It does not make it easier to withstand.
“What about the skating,” you say, because you need to redirect. “How long?”
“Since I was seven,” he says.
“Competitions?”
“Through high school. Regionals, a few nationals.” He says it the way people say things they’re proud of but have learned not to lead with. “Scholarship for university. Now it’s just — mornings. Keeping it.”
“Do you miss competing?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Longer than the other answers.
“Sometimes,” he says. “Not the competing. The clarity of it. When you’re on the ice and there’s a programme to execute, everything else goes quiet.” He looks at his water glass. “I miss the quiet.”
You look at him.
He seems to realise he’s said something more than he meant to, because he looks up and recalibrates slightly — not retreating, just adjusting. “Sorry. That was—”
“Don’t apologise,” you say.
He looks at you.
“It was a real answer,” you say. “Those are better than the other kind.”
Something in his expression shifts. The recalibration stops. He holds your gaze for a moment with the look of someone encountering something unexpected in a place they thought they knew the map of.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I guess they are.” You are a journalist. This is a story. You eat your food.
He drives you back at two-thirty.
Outside your building he doesn’t turn the engine off, just parks, and you sit there for a moment in the particular quality of the end of a first — not a date, this is not a date, this is day one of thirteen and you have twelve tips left to deploy.
“I had a good time,” he says.
“Me too,” you say, which is true, which is fine, which is completely consistent with the plan.
“Tomorrow?” he says.
“What about it.”
“Are you free.”
You look at him. “Why, hoonie?”
The jaw thing again. “Because I’d like to see you again. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” you repeat.
“Is that a yes?”
“That’s a probably,” you say, and get out of the car, and don’t look back, and get into the lift, and press your floor, and the second the doors close you take out your phone and open the google doc.
Day 1 — complete. Tip 1 deployed. He hates the nickname.
You pause.
He also doesn’t hate the nickname.
You close the google doc. You open the blog dashboard. You start writing.
In the car outside your building, Sunghoon sits for a moment after you go in.
He looks at the building entrance.
He thinks about real answers are better than the other kind said with the particular directness of someone who means exactly what they say and has no interest in softening it.
He thinks about hoonie delivered with complete sincerity and zero apology and the way he couldn’t find a single thing to do with it.
He picks up his phone. He opens the text thread.
tomorrow works. I’ll come to you this time.
He looks at what he’s typed. He sends it. He puts the car in drive.
Across town, your phone buzzes.
hoonie 🤍: tomorrow works. I’ll come to you this time.
You stare at the contact name.
You type back: okay. noon again.
You put the phone down.
You pick up your notebook.
You write: tip two. the move-in. start small. a candle.
—
He comes at noon the next day.
You’ve been up since nine preparing, which is not something you will ever admit to Minji, who would make a face that would live in your memory for years. You’ve done your reading and drafted a column and had two coffees and told yourself that the preparation is logistical, it’s for the piece, it has nothing to do with the fact that someone is coming over at noon and you’d like the flat to look — not different exactly. Considered. Like you live here intentionally.
He arrives at noon exactly. Same as yesterday. You are starting to understand that this is just who he is — the punctuality, the quiet reliability of it — and you are filing it accordingly and not finding it anything other than useful data.
He’s in a different hoodie today. Still simple, still worn-in, still somehow doing more than it should.
You let him in.
He looks around your flat with the attention he gives everything — quiet, unhurried, taking it in properly rather than performing interest. He looks at your books, your desk, the organised chaos of a final year journalism student who lives primarily in her own head.
“Nice,” he says, which from him means something because he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.
“Thanks,” you say. “Make yourself at home.”
He sits on your sofa.
You go to the kitchen.
You come back with two coffees — his black, which you know from Minji’s intelligence and are absolutely not going to reveal that you know — and a candle, which you set on the coffee table with the ease of someone simply adding to their space, nothing deliberate about it, just a girl putting a candle in her own flat.
He looks at the candle.
“Cedarwood,” he says.
“Mm.”
“That’s—” He pauses. “That’s what my car smells like.”
You meet his eyes with complete innocence. “Is it? I’ve had this one for ages.”
He looks at you.
You hand him his coffee.
He takes it, still looking at you, with the expression of someone who is doing a calculation and arriving at a result he finds interesting.
“Hoonie,” you say, sitting beside him. “What do you want to do today?”
The jaw thing. “Stop calling me that.”
“I genuinely don’t know what you mean,” you say.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Sunghoon is a lot of syllables,” you say. “Hoonie is efficient.”
“It’s two syllables.”
“Exactly. Same as Sunghoon. But softer.” You look at him with perfect sincerity. “It suits you.”
“It doesn’t—” He stops. Closes his mouth. Opens it again. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know yet,” he says, and his voice is different — not suspicious, more like genuinely curious, the specific tone of someone encountering a puzzle they actually want to solve. “But you’re doing something.”
“I’m drinking my coffee,” you say. “In my flat. That I’ve lived in for two years.”
He looks at the candle. Then at you.
Then, slowly, he smiles. Not the charm one. The real one, the unguarded one, the one that got out before he decided whether to let it. “Okay,” he says.
“Okay,” you agree. You drink your coffees.
He stays for four hours.
This is not planned. The plan was two hours maximum — enough to establish presence, enough to deploy the beginning of tip two’s territorial creep, enough to leave him wanting more rather than enough. Four hours is not strategic.
Four hours happens because he mentions a book on your shelf — something you’ve had since first year, annotated to within an inch of its life — and you end up in an argument about whether the narrator is unreliable or just mistaken, which are different things, which he agrees they’re different things but disagrees on which one applies, and the argument is so genuinely enjoyable that you don’t notice the time until the light through your window has gone from afternoon to early evening and you’ve both moved from the sofa to the floor at some point without registering the transition.
“Unreliable implies intention,” you say, for the fourth time. “He’s not lying. He just doesn’t know.”
“Not knowing is a form of unreliability,” he says, also for the fourth time, from the other side of the coffee table. “Your perception shapes what you report. An unreliable perception makes an unreliable narrator regardless of intent.”
“That’s a really broad definition of unreliable.”
“It’s the correct definition.”
“According to who?”
“According to the text,” he says, and picks up the book and reads you a passage with the ease of someone who has it half-memorised, which means he’s read this book before, which means he recognised it on your shelf, which means—
You stop that thought.
“That passage supports my reading,” you say.
“It supports mine.”
“It doesn’t—”
“It—”
“Hoonie.”
He stops. Looks at you. Something in his expression does the thing — the almost, the precursor — and then he looks back at the book and says, very calmly, “I will concede the passage is ambiguous.”
“That’s not the same as conceding the argument.”
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.”
You look at him across the coffee table, the cedarwood candle burning between you, your annotated book in his hands, and you think about seventeen submissions and thirteen tips and the google doc with its four tabs and the fifth one you opened and immediately closed.
“It’s nearly six,” he says, checking his phone.
“Is it?”
“I should go.” But he doesn’t move. “Jay’s making dinner. He does this thing on Sundays where he decides he can cook and Heeseung and I have to either eat whatever it is or pretend we had plans.”
“Do you ever just tell him he can’t cook?”
“Every time.” He stands, finally, handing you back the book. “He does it anyway.”
You walk him to the door.
He picks up his jacket from the hook — he hung it up when he came in, you noticed, without being asked — and pauses.
“Tomorrow,” he says.
“What about it.”
“I have the rink in the morning. But after.” He looks at you. “Come to ours. Jay will make too much food regardless.”
“You’re inviting me to dinner at your house,” you say.
“Jay’s inviting you to dinner at our house,” he says. “Jay just doesn’t know it yet.”
You look at him.
“So that’s a yes?” he says.
You think about tip two. Move your stuff in. Start small. Establish presence in his space.
“Sure,” you say. “What time?”
“Seven.” He opens the door. Pauses. “Bring the candle.”
He says it completely straight-faced and leaves before you can respond, and you stand in your doorway watching him go down the hall and thinking that Park Sunghoon just made a joke about the candle, which means he knows about the candle, which means he’s paying attention to everything, which means this is going to be significantly more complicated than the google doc accounted for.
You close the door.
You pick up your notebook.
tip two update: he invited me to the house. didn’t even have to engineer it. he did it himself.
You pause. Read it back.
this is either going really well or really badly and I can’t tell which.
That night, after Jay’s food — which was aggressively fine, not bad, not good, aggressively fine — and two hours on their sofa watching something none of you were really watching, you leave the candle on their kitchen counter.
You do it on the way out, smooth and casual, setting it down like you’re just putting something down while you put your jacket on.
Heeseung sees you do it.
He says nothing.
You say goodnight and leave.
In the kitchen, Jay looks at the candle.
“Is that—”
“Don’t,” Sunghoon says.
“I’m just asking—”
“I know what you’re asking.”
“It smells nice,” Jay says. “That’s all I was going to say. It smells nice.”
Heeseung, from the sofa, turns a page of whatever he’s reading.
“She left it on purpose,” he says, to the page.
“Obviously,” Sunghoon says.
Jay looks between them. “And that’s—”
“Fine,” Sunghoon says. “It’s fine.”
He goes to his room.
Jay looks at the candle. Looks at Heeseung. Looks at the candle again.
“He likes her,” Jay says.
“I know,” Heeseung says.
“It’s day two.”
“I know,” Heeseung says again.
Jay pulls out his phone. Looks at the bet, the text thread, the terms. Puts the phone back in his pocket.
“We’re fine,” he says, to nobody in particular. Heeseung turns another page.
hoonie 🤍: you left your candle
you: did I? I didn’t notice
hoonie 🤍: you noticed
you: I’ll pick it up next time
hoonie 🤍: or I could bring it when I see you tomorrow
you: you’re seeing me tomorrow?
hoonie 🤍: apparently
you: bold assumption
hoonie 🤍: is it wrong
A pause. You look at the ceiling of your room. You look at your notebook, open on the bed beside you, tip two update written in your handwriting.
you: no
hoonie 🤍: goodnight Y/N
you: goodnight hoonie
Three dots. Gone.
Then:
hoonie 🤍: I’m not calling you anything back
you: I know. goodnight.
hoonie 🤍: …goodnight.
—
🤍 kiss & tell
tip 02: start moving your stuff in. casually. let him notice slowly.
Don’t announce it. Don’t make it an event. Just — leave things. Small things first. A candle. A jacket over a chair. Let the object do the work while you do nothing at all.
The goal isn’t possession. The goal is presence. The goal is to become a feature of his space so gradually that by the time he notices, you’re already there.
Did it work? He texted me about the candle.
Draw your own conclusions.
You didn’t hear it from me. x
[2,341 readers. 81 comments.]
the CANDLE.
she’s an evil genius and I mean that with full respect.
anonymous: I recognise this man’s entire behavioural pattern and Kiss & Tell you are doing the lord’s work.
—
🤍 kiss & tell
tip 03: cry. in front of him about something small.
Not a breakdown. Not a scene. Something small and genuine and completely disproportionate to the situation — a sad video, a dog, a song that comes on at the wrong moment.
The objective is simple. Men like this have spent years perfecting the art of emotional unavailability. They’ve built entire personalities around not being the one who feels things in public. So you introduce feelings — small, manageable, completely non-threatening feelings — and you watch what they do with them.
Do they run? Do they freeze? Do they do the stiff-shoulder-pat of a man who has never once been asked to sit with someone else’s emotions?
Results to follow.
You didn’t hear it from me. x
—
Day three arrives with the particular energy of something that has already decided what it’s going to be.
You know this before you’re fully awake — the specific quality of the morning, October light coming through your curtains in the thin gold way it does when the weather can’t commit to itself, and your phone already buzzing on the nightstand with a text that came in at seven forty-two AM from a contact saved as hoonie 🤍 which is, you think, perhaps a sign that day three has opinions.
hoonie 🤍: rink was good this morning. you’re up?
You stare at this message for a moment.
He texted you at seven forty-two in the morning, voluntarily, to tell you the rink was good.
You file this.
you: I am now
hoonie 🤍: sorry
you: don’t be. what made it good
A pause. Longer than his usual response time, which you’ve already clocked is short — he’s not a leave-it-on-read person, he responds when he sees it, which means he has his phone nearby most of the time, which means the deliberate pauses are deliberate.
hoonie 🤍: landed something I’ve been working on for two weeks
you: the triple?
hoonie 🤍: you know about the triple
You freeze.
you: you mentioned it. yesterday. when you were talking about the programme.
This is a lie. He did not mention it yesterday. It is in tab one of the google doc, sourced from a submission sent in by a girl who went to one of his morning sessions three months ago and described watching him attempt a triple axel for forty minutes with the specific admiration of someone who has been thoroughly won over against their will.
Three dots. Then:
hoonie 🤍: I don’t think I mentioned it
you: you definitely did
hoonie 🤍: …okay
He doesn’t push it. You exhale.
you: so you landed it?
hoonie 🤍: yeah
you: how does it feel
hoonie 🤍: like the ice gave me permission
You read this three times. You put your phone face down on the pillow. You pick it up again.
you: that’s a really good way to put it
hoonie 🤍: I’m a literature student
you: is that your excuse for everything
hoonie 🤍: it’s not an excuse it’s a qualification
You laugh, alone in your room at seven fifty AM, at a joke made by a boy you are assigned to lose over thirteen days, and you file this too — he’s funny. not performed funny. actually funny. — and you do not examine the filing too closely.
you: come over later?
You send it before you can think about whether it’s too eager, too fast, inconsistent with the planned arc of tip deployment. It doesn’t matter. It’s day three. The scrapbook is day four. Today is the crying, which requires proximity, which requires him to be here.
That’s why you sent it.
hoonie 🤍: what time
you: whenever. I’ll be in all day.
hoonie 🤍: two?
you: two works
hoonie 🤍: see you at two Y/N
You put the phone down. You open the google doc. You open a new document — not a tab, a separate one, private, not part of the Kiss & Tell infrastructure — and you write:
he said the ice gave me permission. I don’t know what to do with that.
You close it without saving.
He arrives at two with food.
Not a lot — just things, from the place near the rink, the good one, without being asked, without announcing it. He comes through the door and sets a paper bag on your counter and shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the hook, which he does automatically now, second time and already automatic, and you think about establish presence from your own tip and feel the specific irony of him doing it back to you without knowing.
“You didn’t have to,” you say, nodding at the bag.
“You had food here last time,” he says. “Fair’s fair.”
“I had coffee.”
“And a candle.”
“The candle was already here.”
He gives you a look that says he absolutely knows the candle was not already there and is choosing not to press it, which is its own kind of move — letting you have the small fictions, not calling them out, keeping the game friendly.
You are a journalist. This is a story. You find this extremely interesting and nothing else.
You eat the food he brought at your kitchen counter, standing, which turns into sitting on the floor with your backs against the sofa because your flat is small and the counter doesn’t have stools and somehow the floor is just where you both end up, plates balanced, talking about — nothing. The specific nothing of two people who are finding out that they can fill time with each other without effort, which is either the most ordinary thing in the world or the most significant, depending on who you are.
He’s telling you about Jay’s latest cooking disaster — something involving rice and a confidence level that was not supported by the actual skill — when your phone, face up on the coffee table, plays a video.
Autoplay. Something from your feed. You’d been scrolling before he arrived and left it open.
You both look at the screen.
It’s a dog. A golden retriever, elderly, being reunited with a soldier coming home. The dog sees the soldier and its whole back half starts wagging and it makes a sound — a specific, desperate, you’re back you’re back you’re back sound — and the soldier gets down on his knees on the tarmac and the dog practically climbs into him.
You watch it for four seconds.
Your eyes fill up.
This is not entirely the plan. The plan was to deploy the crying strategically, with a video you’d pre-selected, at a moment you’d engineered. What is happening instead is that the video arrived without warning and you are apparently the kind of person who cries at dog videos at two forty-five in the afternoon in front of someone you are professionally obligated to remain detached from.
You blink. Hard. Once.
Too late.
Sunghoon looks at you.
He looks at the phone. Looks back at you. Looks at the tear that has made it approximately halfway down your cheek before you get a hand up to intercept it.
“Are you,” he starts.
“I’m fine,” you say. “It’s a dog.”
“I can see it’s a dog.”
“He was so happy,” you say, which is not a sentence you planned to say, which arrives from somewhere entirely outside the tip deployment framework. “He didn’t even — the sound he made—”
“Okay,” Sunghoon says.
“I’m not crying,” you say.
“You’re definitely crying.”
“It’s a dog,” you say again, as if this is a complete explanation, which to you it is.
He is quiet for a moment.
Then he does something you did not put in the google doc, which is that he reaches over and hands you a napkin from the food bag — not with ceremony, not with the performance of someone doing a kind thing, just hands it over, plain and practical, the way you’d hand someone a napkin — and goes back to his food.
He doesn’t say anything else about it.
He doesn’t make it weird.
He doesn’t do the stiff-shoulder-pat. He doesn’t freeze. He doesn’t make a joke or look uncomfortable or redirect the conversation with the energy of someone escaping a situation they don’t know how to be in.
He hands you a napkin and goes back to his food and lets the moment be exactly what it is — small, genuine, completely disproportionate — without making it anything more.
You wipe your face.
You go back to your food.
“He was really happy,” Sunghoon says, after a moment, to his plate.
You look at him.
He is very focused on his food. The tips of his ears are faintly pink.
“Yeah,” you say. “He was.”
You do not put this in the blog post.
You write the tip. You write the strategic version, the one about emotional unavailability and the shoulder-pat and watching what he does with feelings he didn’t expect to encounter. You write it with the detachment of a journalist who has the story under control.
You do not write about the napkin.
You do not write about his ears.
You open the private document — the separate one, the one that isn’t part of the Kiss & Tell infrastructure — and you write:
he handed me a napkin and didn’t make it weird. that’s it. that’s the whole thing. I don’t know why I’m writing this down.
You stare at it.
You close it without saving. Again.
—
Day four arrives and you have a scrapbook to make.
You’ve been thinking about the scrapbook since you planned the tips. It’s the most unhinged one — the most deliberately, strategically overwhelming — and it requires actual effort. You need photos, which means you need photos from the last three days, which means you’ve been taking them.
You have, it turns out, taken more photos than you planned.
The food from the place near the rink, the brown paper bag with its logo. A screenshot of a text exchange that made you laugh. The view from his car window on day one, which you took while he wasn’t looking because the light was doing something through the glass that you wanted to keep. His jacket on your hook — just the jacket, the empty shape of it against the door, which you took on day two after he left and have not examined why.
You print them at the campus print shop on Wednesday morning. You buy a scrapbook from the art supplies place next door — not a nice one, not a proper one, the kind with a flimsy cover and pages that are slightly too thick, which is exactly right. You buy stickers, because of course you do, and some tape, and a marker, and you sit at your kitchen table for an hour and make something that is objectively both ridiculous and, somewhere underneath the ridiculousness, completely genuine.
Because the photos are real. You actually took them. The light through his car window is actually beautiful. The jacket on the hook is actually — it looks like it belongs there, which is the thing you noticed when you took the photo, the way it looked like it had always been there, and that’s why you took it, and you are a journalist and this is a story.
You close the scrapbook.
You put it in your bag.
He comes over at noon. He’s in the hoodie again — different one this time, grey, slightly older, and you’ve started to understand that the hoodies are his version of comfortable, that he dresses for other people sometimes and for himself other times and the hoodie version is the himself version.
“Hoonie,” you say, letting him in.
“Y/N,” he says, with the patience of someone who has accepted this is simply going to happen.
You make coffee. You bring it to the sofa. You sit beside him with your bag and he’s looking at his phone, something about the rink schedule, and you pull the scrapbook out and set it on the coffee table.
He looks at it.
Then at you.
“What’s that,” he says.
“A scrapbook,” you say.
“Of.”
“Us,” you say. “Mostly. The last few days.”
He is very still.
“We’ve known each other for four days,” he says.
“Three and a half,” you correct. “But a lot happened.”
He looks at the scrapbook. At the cover, which has a sticker on it — a small gold star, because you had the stickers and it felt right — and his name written in marker in your handwriting, hoonie, which you did partly for the tip and partly because by the time you were making it you’d stopped thinking about the tip.
“Can I—” he starts.
“Go ahead,” you say.
He picks it up.
He opens it.
You watch him.
He goes through it slowly, which you didn’t expect — you expected a quick flip, the polite skim of someone who doesn’t know how to receive something like this and is looking for the exit. Instead he takes his time. Each page. The food bag photo. The text screenshot. The light through the car window.
He stops on that one.
“When did you take this,” he says.
“Day one. On the way to lunch.”
“I didn’t see you take it.”
“You were driving.”
He looks at the photo. At the light through the glass, the way it caught and scattered, the particular quality of it that made you reach for your phone without thinking.
“It’s good,” he says, quietly. Not performing it.
“I know,” you say. “That’s why I took it.”
He turns the page.
He finds the jacket photo.
He’s quiet for a long moment. Long enough that you stop watching him and look at the coffee table instead, the cedarwood candle — his candle now, in their kitchen, you brought a new one for yours — and the two coffees going slowly cold.
“You took a photo of my jacket,” he says.
“It looked nice on the hook,” you say.
“On your hook.”
“On my hook. Yes.”
He closes the scrapbook. Sets it on the table. Picks up his coffee.
You wait.
“You’ve known me for four days,” he says again.
“Three and a half.”
“Y/N.”
“Sunghoon.”
He looks at you. And here is the thing — here is the thing you didn’t put in the google doc and couldn’t have — he doesn’t look unsettled. He doesn’t look like a man encountering an overwhelming situation and calculating his exit. He looks like a man encountering something he doesn’t have a category for and finding, to his own apparent surprise, that he’s not looking for one.
“You’re something,” he says.
“I’ve been told,” you say.
“I don’t mean it like that.”
“How do you mean it.”
He looks at the scrapbook on the table. At the gold star sticker on the cover. At hoonie in your handwriting.
“I don’t know yet,” he says honestly. “I’ll tell you when I do.”
You look at him for a long moment.
Filed under —
You don’t file it.
For the first time since the google doc, since the seventeen submissions, since the plan that is elegant and slightly unhinged, you look at Park Sunghoon sitting on your sofa holding his coffee with the scrapbook of three and a half days on the table between you and you don’t file it.
You just look at him.
“Okay,” you say.
“Okay,” he says.
You drink your coffees.
He leaves at four. He picks up the scrapbook on the way out, without asking, and you watch him tuck it under his arm like it’s something he’s taking home, which it is, which means it worked, which means tip four is complete.
You should feel like you won something. You mostly feel like you did something real.
“Tomorrow,” he says, at the door.
“Tomorrow,” you agree.
He goes.
You close the door.
You go to your desk. You open your laptop. You open the blog dashboard and you write the tip post — the strategic version, the scrapbook-as-weapon version, the this-is-how-you-overwhelm-a-man-who-runs-from-feelings version.
Then you open the private document.
You stare at the blank page.
You type: he took it home.
Four words. You look at them.
he took it home and I don’t know if that’s the tip working or something else and I think the problem is I’m not sure it matters anymore which one it is.
You close it.
This time you save it.
In the house off campus, Jay finds the scrapbook.
Not snooping — it’s on the kitchen counter, which is where Sunghoon put it when he came in, and Jay sees it because he goes to the kitchen for water and it’s just there, and he picks it up because it has a gold star sticker on it and he’s curious.
He opens it.
He looks at the photos. The food bag. The text screenshot. The light through the car window. The jacket on the hook.
He closes it.
He goes to the living room where Heeseung is reading.
“Heeseung,” he says.
“Mm.”
“We have a problem.”
Heeseung turns a page. “I know.”
“She made him a scrapbook.”
“I know.”
“It’s day four.”
“I know, Jay.”
Jay sits down heavily on the sofa. He looks at the ceiling. He thinks about the bet — the text thread, the terms, thirteen days, one girl, you actually try — and he thinks about Sunghoon’s face when he came home, which was not the face of a man who is running a bet.
It was the face of a man who took a scrapbook home and is not entirely sure why and is not entirely bothered by not being sure.
“We should say something,” Jay says.
“Should we,” Heeseung says, not looking up.
“One of us should—”
“Which one of us,” Heeseung says, “is going to walk into Sunghoon’s room and tell him that the girl who made him a scrapbook on day four is doing it on purpose, and also that you made a bet, and also that we’ve both been watching this happen and said nothing?”
Jay opens his mouth.
“Which one of us,” Heeseung continues, turning another page, “is going to do that.”
Jay closes his mouth.
He looks at the ceiling.
“We’ll give it a few more days,” he says.
Heeseung says nothing.
Which is, Jay is beginning to understand, Heeseung’s way of saying you have made a catastrophic error and I am going to let you arrive at that conclusion yourself.
Jay goes back to the kitchen.
He looks at the scrapbook on the counter.
He gets his water.
He goes to bed.
—
🤍 kiss & tell
tip 04: make a scrapbook. day four. show him.
Physical evidence of a relationship that is three and a half days old.
Print the photos. Buy the stickers. Write his name on the cover in your own handwriting. Make it real enough that he can’t dismiss it and ridiculous enough that he should want to.
The goal is overwhelm. The goal is to be too much, too fast, too sincere — to deploy the kind of gesture that sends men like this running for the nearest exit.
Here’s what happened instead… he took it home.
I don’t have a tip for that. I’ll get back to you.
You didn’t hear it from me. x
[3,102 readers. 114 comments.]
SHE DOESN’T HAVE A TIP FOR THAT I’M LOSING MY MIND.
kiss & tell are you okay.
anonymous: I know who this is and I need everyone to understand that this man has never once taken anything home in three years.
⤷ from Kiss & Tell: …noted.
—
🤍 kiss & tell
tip 05: name it. (as in his penis ;))
Give it a full name. Something formal. Something that requires introduction. Deploy it with complete sincerity and maintain eye contact with him while you do it.
The objective here is simple — men who have built entire personalities around being untouchable tend to have one specific vulnerability, which is being caught completely off guard in a situation where charm is not a useful tool.
This is that situation.
Results to follow.
You didn’t hear it from me. x
—
Day five starts with a text at seven AM.
hoonie 🤍: rink. triple again. landed it cleaner.
You read this lying on your back in the dark of your room, phone screen bright in the early morning, and you think about like the ice gave me permission and the private document you’ve been saving things to and the fact that he texts you about the rink now, voluntarily, without prompting, like you’re the person he tells things to.
You’ve been the person he tells things to for five days.
you: cleaner how
hoonie 🤍: the landing. rotation was right last time but the landing was off. today it was right.
you: what does a right landing feel like
The pause is longer this time. The deliberate kind.
hoonie 🤍: like the ground caught you on purpose
You stare at this message.
You type: that’s a really good sentence
hoonie 🤍: I told you. literature student.
you: qualification not excuse
hoonie 🤍: exactly
you: come over tonight?
You send it before you think about it, which is becoming a pattern you haven’t fully addressed. The plan accounts for frequency of contact — it’s in the timeline tab, maintain consistent but not overwhelming presence, let him initiate where possible. You have been initiating more than the timeline accounts for.
You file this under logistical adjustment and move on.
hoonie 🤍: yeah. eight?
you: eight works
hoonie 🤍: I’ll bring food
you: you don’t have to keep doing that
hoonie 🤍: I know
You put your phone down.
You open the google doc.
You open the private document instead.
he said like the ground caught you on purpose. I’ve been thinking about it for twenty minutes. I should probably stop thinking about it. I’m not going to stop thinking about it.
You close it.
He arrives at eight with food from a different place this time — further from campus, somewhere you don’t recognise the bag from, which means he went out of his way, which you note and do not remark on.
He’s in the grey hoodie again. The himself one.
You’re in your flat in your own version of the himself thing — an old university shirt, jeans, hair that’s been up since this morning and is making its own decisions at this point — and when you open the door he looks at you with the expression he gets sometimes, the brief unguarded one, before he recalibrates into easy and casual.
“Hi, hoonie,” you say.
“Hi,” he says, with the patient resignation of a man who has stopped arguing about the nickname and is choosing to interpret this as winning.
You eat on the floor again. This is simply where you eat now, apparently — sofa abandoned in favour of the rug, backs against the coffee table, food between you. You’ve stopped thinking about whether this is strategic. It’s just comfortable.
He tells you about the rink. About the programme he’s been working on for three months, the one the triple is part of, the way the whole thing builds toward a specific feeling he’s been chasing.
“What feeling,” you ask.
“Like it’s inevitable,” he says. “Like every element was always going to be in that order. Like the programme is just — uncovering something that was already there.”
You look at him.
“That’s what good writing feels like,” you say. “When it works. Like you’re not inventing it, just finding it.”
He looks back at you.
“Yeah,” he says. “Exactly like that.”
The room is quiet for a moment. The good kind, the kind that doesn’t require filling.
You are a journalist. This is a story.
“So,” you say, and something in your voice shifts, and he hears it — you see him hear it, the slight attention change, the orientation. “I’ve been thinking.”
“About.”
“About the fact that it’s day five,” you say, “and we’ve been spending a significant amount of time together.”
“We have,” he agrees, carefully.
“And I think—” You look at him with complete sincerity. “I think it’s time we took the next step.”
He goes very still.
“The next—”
“I want to,” you say, and you hold his gaze, “if you want to.”
A pause.
He looks at you. You look at him. The space between you on the rug is not very large and the lamp is doing something warm with the light and he’s in his grey hoodie and his hair is doing the unstyled thing and his expression is—
“Yeah,” he says, quietly. “Okay.”
The thing about Park Sunghoon, which was in the submissions but which the submissions did not adequately convey, is that he is extremely good at this.
Not in the way you expected.
You expected the practiced version — efficient, warm in a generalised way, the kind of good that comes from having done something enough times that it stops requiring thought. You expected charm applied to a physical situation. You expected to feel, somewhere underneath everything, the low hum of being processed. Another girl. Another night. Another name he wouldn’t remember by the end.
What you get is the opposite of all of that.
He notices things.
He gets your shirt off and looks at you with that expression — the brief unguarded one, the one you’ve been cataloguing — and it doesn’t recalibrate this time. He just looks. Openly, unhurriedly, like you’re something he hasn’t finished figuring out and is in no rush to.
His eyes move over you slowly. Your face. Your throat. Lower.
“Hi,” he says quietly, and it sounds like something else entirely.
“Hi, hoonie,” you say, because you can’t help it, and he makes a sound that is almost a laugh and presses his mouth to your collarbone.
And then he takes you apart.
He gets your bra off and looks at your tits with the focused attention of someone making a decision, and then his hands are on them — cupping, thumbs brushing your nipples — and you inhale sharply and he does it again, watching your face while he does it, filing away the reaction.
“Sensitive,” he says. Not a question.
“Shut up,” you say.
The corner of his mouth does the thing. He lowers his head and closes his mouth over your nipple and your hand goes into his hair immediately, gripping, and the sound you make is embarrassingly immediate. He works them with his mouth and hands — unhurried, thorough, learning what makes you twitch versus what makes you actually make noise — and by the time he starts moving down your body you are already significantly less composed than you planned to be.
He gets your jeans off and looks at you and says “fuck” quietly, to himself, like it got out before he decided to let it, and that single unguarded profanity is what tips you from oriented into something else. Because it’s real. Because he means it. Because Park Sunghoon, looking at you in the lamplight of his room, forgot for one second to manage his expression.
You were not prepared for him to mean it.
He gets your underwear off and puts his mouth on your pussy and you stop being a journalist completely.
He eats you out the way he does everything — with complete attention, unhurried, like there’s a right answer here and he’s going to find it. His tongue works through your folds slowly and then finds your clit and stays there and you grip his hair and he takes that as information and presses closer. Two fingers push into your pussy and curl and you arch off the bed.
“Sunghoon —”
“Mm,” he says against you, which is not words, which is just sound, and somehow that’s worse.
He learns you methodically — finding the specific pressure on your clit that makes your thighs shake, the angle of his fingers against your walls that makes you lose language, and then staying there, patient and relentless, not moving on until he’s got exactly the response he was looking for. You have both hands in his hair and you’re not being careful about how hard you’re pulling and he seems to actively prefer this, his fingers curling deeper when you do.
The first orgasm hits harder than you expected. You cry out properly — loud enough to echo off the walls of his quiet house — and he works you through every second of it and then keeps going and you try to pull him up by the hair.
He ignores you.
“More,” he says against your pussy, simply, like it’s obvious.
“Sunghoon —”
“More.” He looks up at you over your body and his eyes are completely dark and the composed literary student is entirely gone and something about the specific way he’s looking at you — focused, certain, like you are a problem he is enjoying solving — makes heat bloom all the way up your chest. “I want to hear it again.”
You give it to him. The second one builds slower and hits differently — deeper, rolling through you in long waves — and you’re shaking by the end of it, thighs clamped around his head, and he pulls back and looks at you and his mouth is slick and his expression is thoroughly satisfied.
He moves up your body. Looks at you. Checks — actually checks, the same care underneath everything.
“Yeah?” he says.
“Yeah,” you say. “Obviously yeah —”
He kisses you and you taste yourself on his mouth and pull him closer and he makes a low sound and reaches over to the nightstand and then he’s back and lining up and pushing into your pussy slow and —
You understand immediately why seventeen girls kept coming back.
It’s not just the size, though that’s — relevant information, significant information, information you are filing carefully. It’s the way he’s completely there. No part of him is somewhere else. His forehead drops to yours and he gives you a moment, feeling your walls adjust around his cock, and when he starts to move the sound he makes against your neck is low and genuine and nothing like performance.
“Fuck,” he breathes. His hips drive forward and you arch up and he groans. “You feel so good.” He pulls back and pushes in deeper and you make a sound that has no consonants in it. “Yeah.” His mouth finds your ear. “Just like that.”
“Sunghoon —”
“I’ve got you,” he says. “Relax.”
He sets a pace that is deep and thorough and completely unhurried — long strokes that drag against your walls perfectly, his cock filling you on every thrust in a way that keeps short-circuiting coherent thought. His hands move over you while he moves — your waist, your hips, sliding up to your tits and gripping before moving back down — like he wants to touch all of you and is working through the logistics of it.
You are loud. You were not planning to be loud. You are very loud.
“There,” he says, when you make a specific sound, and adjusts his angle and does it again. “Right there?”
“Yes —” Your hands grab his shoulders. “Yes, right —”
“Good girl.” He stays at that angle. His thumb finds your clit and you cry out. “So good for me.”
The words land somewhere that surprises you with how directly they land. Your whole body responds to them — clenching around his cock — and he groans at the feeling and his composure slips a fraction.
“Tight,” he says against your throat. “Tight fucking pussy —” His hips snap forward and you cry out again. “You feel that?”
“Yes —”
“Yeah.” His thumb keeps working your clit, small and precise, and his cock is deep and his mouth is at your jaw and your ear and your throat. “Take it.” He drives in harder. “Just like that. Take it.”
You come on his cock with your nails in his shoulders and your head thrown back and a sound that you will think about with some embarrassment tomorrow and he works you through every second of it — hips maintaining that deep steady rhythm, thumb relentless on your clit — until you’re grabbing his wrist and making incoherent noises.
“Too much —” you manage. “Too —”
“One more,” he says. Not unkind. Just certain, the way he’s certain about everything. “Give me one more.”
“Sunghoon I literally —”
“One more,” he says, and shifts his angle, and you sob, and give him one more.
He comes shortly after, buried deep, his forehead to your shoulder, groaning low against your skin with his hips pressed flush against yours and his cock pulsing and staying buried while he rides it out. His hand at your hip is tight enough to leave something tomorrow and neither of you are thinking about tomorrow.
He stays there after. Breathing. Not rushing the aftermath.
You are not going to put all this in your blog. What you are going to put in the blog is what happens approximately forty minutes in, when you are in his bed — you ended up at his, Heeseung and Jay both absent, the house quiet and warm — and things have arrived at a natural pause, and you look at him and the tip, the one you’ve been planning since the google doc, arrives.
“Hi,” you say.
He looks at you. “Hi.”
You look down. Then back up. Very seriously.
“Hi, Gerald,” you say.
The silence is immediate and total.
Sunghoon stares at you.
You maintain eye contact.
“What,” he says.
“Gerald,” you say. “I think it suits him.”
“You—” He stops. “You just—”
“Formally,” you say. “I wanted to do it formally.”
He stares at you for a long moment. Something is happening in his face — a sequence of things, moving through quickly, surprise and bafflement and something else underneath both of them, something that is fighting very hard not to become what it wants to become.
It loses the fight.
He laughs.
Not a small laugh, not the quiet almost-laugh you’ve catalogued — a real one, full, the kind that takes him by surprise, that gets out before he can decide whether to let it, that turns into another one before the first one’s finished, and he puts a hand over his face and laughs into his palm and you watch this happen and feel something in your chest that is completely outside the scope of the assignment.
“Gerald,” he says, from behind his hand.
“Strong name,” you say. “Classic.”
“You planned that,” he says.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You one hundred percent planned that.”
“I acted on instinct.”
He looks at you from behind his hand, eyes visible above his fingers, still doing the aftermath of the laugh — the residual warmth of it, the particular quality of someone who has just laughed properly and the room is different because of it. “Instinct,” he repeats.
“It felt right,” you say.
He drops his hand. Looks at you properly.
And here is the thing that doesn’t go in the blog, that goes in the private document, that you will think about at seven AM tomorrow when he texts you about the rink: he looks at you like you are the most interesting thing that has happened to him in years. Not in the charming way, not the way he probably looks at everyone. In a specific way. The way you look at something that keeps being different from what you expected and you’ve stopped expecting it to stop.
“Gerald,” he says again, quieter.
“Do you hate it?” you ask.
“Yes,” he says.
“Good,” you say.
He laughs again, smaller this time, and pulls you back in, and the rest of the night is — the rest of the night goes in the private document, not the blog.
What goes in the blog is the tip. The strategic version. The maintained-eye-contact version.
What goes in the private document, at one forty-seven AM, lying in his bed while he’s asleep, phone screen dim so it doesn’t wake him:
he laughed. the real one, the full one, not the almost. I’ve been cataloguing the almost-laughs for five days and tonight I got the real one and it happened because of Gerald and I think I need to be honest with myself about something.
I think I need to be honest with myself about something and then a long blank space where you couldn’t find the words, and then:
the ground caught you on purpose. that’s what he said this morning. and I keep thinking about it and I think I’m starting to understand what he means and I don’t know what to do with that.
You save it.
You put the phone down.
Beside you, Sunghoon sleeps with the specific quality of someone who is completely comfortable, one hand near yours on the pillow, not touching but close, and the lamp is still on because neither of you got up to turn it off and the room is warm and the scrapbook is on his desk, the gold star sticker catching the light, and outside the window the campus goes about its late night and inside this room everything is—
You don’t finish the sentence.
You close your eyes.
In the morning you wake up before him.
This surprises you — you expected him to be the early one, the rink-at-five-AM one, and he will be tomorrow and the day after, but today is not a rink morning and so he’s asleep when the light comes through the curtains and you lie there for a moment in the particular disorientation of waking somewhere that isn’t your room.
Then it lands.
Right. Yes.
You turn your head.
He’s asleep on his back, one arm at his side, hair doing something completely unmanaged, and he looks — he looks like himself. The version underneath everything else. Without the careful ease, without the recalibration, just him, and you lie there and look at him and think about seventeen submissions and the google doc and the private document and Gerald and the laugh and the ground caught you on purpose.
He opens his eyes.
Finds you immediately, without looking — just turns his head and you’re there and he looks at you with the specific expression of someone waking up and finding exactly what they were hoping to find and not trying to manage that expression at all.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi, hoonie,” you say.
He closes his eyes again, briefly. “You’re doing that in the morning now.”
“I do it all the time.”
“It’s worse in the morning.”
“Because you’re less defended.”
He opens his eyes. Looks at you. “Yeah,” he says, quietly. “Maybe.”
The room is morning-quiet. The lamp is still on, pale now against the daylight. His desk has the scrapbook on it, gold star, hoonie in your handwriting.
“Rink tomorrow,” he says.
“I know.”
“Early.”
“I know.”
“You could—” He stops.
“Could what,” you say.
“Come,” he says. “If you wanted. It’s early. You probably don’t want to.”
You look at him.
“What time,” you say.
Something in his face does the thing. “Five-thirty.”
“I’ll be there at five-twenty,” you say. “To be annoying.”
He looks at the ceiling. But his mouth is doing the thing and he doesn’t try to stop it, not this morning, not in this room.
“Obviously,” he says.
Jay is in the kitchen when Sunghoon comes downstairs at nine.
He’s making coffee with the focused energy of someone who has been awake for a while and has been thinking about things and has decided to make coffee because it’s better than the alternative. He looks up when Sunghoon comes in. Clocks his expression. Looks at the scrapbook, which has migrated from the counter to the kitchen table at some point. Looks back at Sunghoon.
“Good night?” Jay says, with the careful neutrality of a man defusing a situation.
“Yeah,” Sunghoon says. He opens the fridge. Gets juice. “You?”
“Fine.” Jay pours two coffees without being asked and sets one on the counter. “She go home?”
“Earlier.”
“Right.” A pause. “She’s—” Jay stops.
“What.”
“Nothing,” Jay says. “She seems good. She’s good.”
Sunghoon looks at him.
Jay picks up his coffee.
“What,” Sunghoon says again.
“Nothing,” Jay says. “I just—” He stops again. He has the expression of a man standing at the entrance to a conversation he should have two days ago and is finding the door very heavy. “I just think she’s good. That’s all. I like her.”
“Okay,” Sunghoon says slowly.
“Okay,” Jay says.
Sunghoon picks up his coffee. Looks at Jay for a moment with the particular look of someone who knows a conversation is being avoided and is choosing, for now, not to push it.
He takes his coffee upstairs.
Jay stands in the kitchen alone.
He looks at the scrapbook on the table. At hoonie in someone else’s handwriting. At the gold star sticker.
He takes out his phone. He opens the bet thread. He stares at it. He puts his phone back in his pocket. He drinks his coffee.
—
🤍 kiss & tell
tip 05: name it.
Full name. Formal introduction. Complete sincerity. Maintained eye contact.
Here’s what I can tell you: it worked. The overwhelm landed. He was, briefly, completely caught off guard in a situation where charm was not a useful tool.
Here’s what I can’t tell you: what happened after.
Not because it isn’t relevant. Because some things are happening in this story that I didn’t plan for and I’m a journalist and I know when a story is going somewhere I didn’t map out and I need a minute to figure out what that means before I report on it.
Tip six is boys night. I’ll be there Thursday.
You didn’t hear it from me. x
[4,891 readers. 203 comments.]
KISS AND TELL WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOME THINGS ARE HAPPENING THAT YOU DIDN’T PLAN FOR.
she’s in trouble.
⤷ we’re all in trouble.
the name reveal is going to be in the comments for the rest of time.
anonymous: I go to this campus. I know who this is about. I need everyone to understand that this man smiled at someone in the humanities building yesterday and it was not his normal smile.
⤷ from Kiss & Tell: …I’m going to need you to expand on that.
laceys note // if you guys made it to the end thank u! and yes before yall ask i do have part 2 in the making 😉
his pretty blue strands give such a nice view from where your hand sits pulling on them. this might be your second favorite color on him blonde being the first. “fuck.” lifting your hips off the bed to bring your cunt a tad closer to his lips if that were even possible considering he was already eating the fuck out of you.
you’re practically engulfing him with the way your legs have him trapped in between your thighs. he doesn’t seem to be complaining though with his own arms wrapped around your thighs, pushing himself in further. “donghyun.”
if anyone were to walk in or peek through the crack in the door they’d be able to see the beautiful sight of you in front of them. legs spread wide, fingers gripping on his hair, head thrown back and mouth agape, moans slipping out. they’d be able to see the way you’re grinding against his face and him moaning into your cunt absolutely devouring you.
“ohmygodohmygod-“ you’re cut off by a sharp gasp, toes curling. you feel the way your body trembles as you come down trying to catch your breath. “oh fuck.” you sigh out. completely spent.
“how was i?” he grins. he definitely gets off on your pleasure and turns absolutely cocky right after.
“insane.” you open your arms as an invitation for him to lie on your chest.
“yeah?” he kisses your jaw.
“i think this is a new tradition.”
“i eat you out each time i come home with a new hair color?” he tilts his head as if pretending to think. “i mean we did start doing this, like, two colors ago. not a bad tradition, though.”
Ego is a crazy thing and you shattering Park Sunghoon’s just makes him more determined to ruin your indifference and reclaim his pride, even if it means losing his mind in the process.
Or the one where Sunghoon can’t wrap his head around the fact that you just wanna fuck.
nsfw warnings ── SMUT, unprotected sex, oral (f rec), face sitting, cum eating, insane power dynamics, desperate sunghoon is the best sunghoon. he’s cocky as fuck, someone humble him. bisexual!sunghoon x nonchalant!reader
word count ── 4.7k
Sunghoon was used to being the prize, matter of fact—he was. As the university's bicon bi-icon he was accustomed to the hushed whispers in the lecture halls and the way people—regardless of gender because they knew he swung both ways—practically tripped over themselves to catch his eye.
Sunghoon was well aware that his beauty was a universal language, he moved through the halls with a cold grace that acted like a magnet for everyone in his orbit. He wasn't picky about the attention either, whether it was the girls in the quad rushing to shove their numbers in his jacket pocket or the boys in the locker room staring at all his glory, Sunghoon drank in their collective thirst with a quiet greed.
He enjoyed the way eyes lingered on the line of his jaw and the curve of his shoulders, absolutely relishing the fact that he was the ultimate prize in every room. He had spent years letting people project their fantasies onto him, taking what he wanted and leaving them wanting more and he was perfectly content being the untouchable standard that no one could actually reach.
The man was perfect—top of his class, a star athlete and a face like that?
So imagine his utter confusion when he brought you back to his dorm after some party, he already had the script written in his head. He'd fucked you into oblivion, with precise movements and be devastatingly thorough, so he’d leave you a shaking and totally breathless mess beneath him. He had fully expected to wake up with you draped over him, perhaps already asking what this meant or clinging to his arm as he tried to get to his eight o’clock class. He was even prepared to be gracious about it, maybe buy you coffee before gently explaining he wasn't looking for anything serious.
But when the sun hit his pillow the next morning and the space beside him was cold. With no note, not even the lingering scent of your perfume, just a neatly made side of the bed and a closed door, Sunghoon didn’t know how to react.
After that came the ghosting.
One week became two and when two became three, Sunghoon found himself checking his phone during practice, scowling at the screen when he saw zero notifications from you. He'd see you in the quad, laughing with your friends and you'd give him this breezy nod as if he hadn't spent four hours exploring every inch of your body twenty one days, six hours, twenty minutes and twelve seconds ago. It was driving him insane, you hadn’t just bruised his ego, you being all blasé had sent him into a full scale identity crisis.
He was sitting in the library, trying really hard to think about anything other than you, when his phone finally buzzed and his heart actually thudded against his ribs.
Y/n: hey. u free tonight? we should link again💋
Sunghoon stared at the screen, willing his irritation to subside. Not even a "How are you?" or a "Sorry I've been MIA." You were just directly requesting for his body, as if he were a some kind of high end vending machine.
He typed back immediately, his thumbs flying across the screen with suppressed fury.
Sunghoon: That's it? three weeks of silence and you just want to ‘link again’?
Your reply came back almost instantly but all it did was make his blood boil even hotter.
Y/n: lol yeah. what can i say? you know how to fuck. my place at 10?
Sunghoon stood up so abruptly his chair screeched against the linoleum floor and drew annoyed looks from the nearby students but he didn't care. He was the most sought after man on campus and you were treating him like a convenient late night snack.
He told himself he should text you back no and protect his dignity by telling you he wasn't interested in being your booty call. But even as he told himself that, he was already packing his bag as his mind racing with the need to get you alone again and it wasn’t just because he wanted to fuck, he was now hellbent on making you look at him as more than just a good time. He wanted to break that casual, indifferent armor of yours until you were the one begging for a second date.
Or at least, that's what he told himself as he drove toward your dorm, his heart hammering with both wounded pride and an inconvenient hunger.
Sunghoon knew his pride was a dangerous thing but at this point his delusion might have been working overtime. As he took the stairs to your apartment two at a time, he adjusted the collar of his shirt and had managed to convince himself that he had cracked the code. She’s not indifferent—he concluded, you were playing a high stakes game of hard to get, you obviously just wanted him to work for it. Fine then. He'd play along but he'd win by making this night so earth shattering that you'd be making him breakfast in the morning.
He had a whole plan, which involved taking his sweet time with you, being romantic in a way that only really special people got to see. He was going to go heavy on the eye contact and sweet words just cause he wanted to see you crumble.
But the second he walked through your door, the plan practically disintegrated. You didn't even give him time for a "How was your day?" or a lingering gaze because you were on him immediately, with your hands already pulling at his belt and your lips kissing down his neck hungry and focused. He tried to reclaim the narrative, pushing you back against your bed to eat you out, too keen on showing you a level of devotion that would force a confession out of you.
He only managed to get his tongue on you for four minutes before you were hauling him back up, you clearly didn't want the slow build—you truly just wanted fuck.
Before he could protest, you somehow had him flat on his back on your bed. You straddled him, tossing your head back in a giggle before guiding his thick and already leaking cock inside your dripping cunt in one stuttering motion. Sunghoon let out a sound that sounded like he was choking, his head hit the pillow as he felt your tight heat sucking him in.
He looked up at you, expecting to see the usual worship every other girl or boy would be giving him by now, he expected the flushed cheeks with the wide eyed adoration he received from everyone else. But your eyes weren't really searching his for a connection, you were looking past him or down at where your bodies joined, with your face all intense and concentrated. You were too focused on the stretch of him filling you up and the way you could make yourself cum by bouncing on him so expertly.
He felt like an object. A very, very expensive tool being used for your personal satisfaction, like…a dildo.
"Look at me," he almost pleaded, his hands flying to your waist to try and slow your manic pace. "Come on, look at me."
You barely glanced down, letting out a huffed breath of a moan as you picked up the speed. Your pussy was incredible, gripping him so tight as you went down and spasming around his tip when you came back up with every downward thrust, it was already making him tilt dangerously close to his limit. His hips began to buck instinctively, attempting to meet your movements as he fought a losing battle against his own pleasure.
He was so conflicted he felt like he was splitting in two. On one hand, this was the best sex of his life—again, your body was a masterpiece and the way you moved was driving him toward an humiliatingly fast orgasm. On the other hand, the silence in the room that was only getting broken by the wet sounds of your squelching pussy and your heavy breathing mix with some occasional moans, was driving him mad.
Why don't you like me? the thought screamed in his head as he felt his cum beginning to stir. I'm Sunghoon. Everyone wants me. Why am I just a body to you?
He gripped your hips tighter cause he knew he was at the very edge and as he finally began to spill inside you, he let out a frustrated growl. He was cumming harder than he ever had, completely ruined by you once again but he couldn’t even enjoy it because he knew with a sinking certainty that as soon as he caught his breath, you'd be pointing him towards the door.
You shifted above him and looked down at your joined bodies, watching as the evidence of his orgasm pulsed out of your cunt and slicked your thighs.
You finally looked at his face and pouted at him. "I didn't even get to cum," you muttered, more to yourself than to him but then your eyes flicked to his like you just got them to focus. "Can I sit on your face?"
Normally, that would have been a hard line for him. The logic of his perfect persona dictated a certain level of decorum and the thought of eating his own cum out of your pussy was something he would have considered beneath him—a massive no in any other scenario. But as he looked at you and he saw the indifference in your expression, the way you were already preparing to stand up and end the night, like you were fine either way, that sent a surge of pathetic desperation crashing over him.
He didn't want to leave, he wanted to stay with you, he wanted you to need him, to realize that no one else could satisfy you like this, that no one was like him. He was one of one.
Without a single word of protest, Sunghoon reached up and used his large hands to manhandle you with a sudden urgency, he gripped your waist and pulled you off him cock with a squelch and down the length of his body until your stuffed heat was hovering directly over his mouth.
You let out a startled giggle as he settled you firmly against his face. The sound cut through his pride like a knife but he didn't care, by now he was too far gone.
He dove in with a fervor that was borderline manic, not minding the mess or the taste. The man just wanted to hear you moan his name instead of looking at him like a stranger. His tongue moved with so much focus, swirling it through the creaminess and the slick of your pussy, he was intent on erasing that pout and replacing it with the kind of broken screams that would prove he finally had a hold on you. He used his hands to spread you wide, his thumbs digging into your hips as he worked, worshiping the very part of you that treated him like an afterthought.
When your moans started bouncing off the walls of your room, his pride started to swell again, it was exactly what he had been fighting for. As you gripped his hair and your back arched when he latched his lips on your clit to suck it into his mouth, he felt that familiar confidence starting to return. He was doing it, he was breaking through that cool exterior of yours, making you lose control the way everyone else did for him.
But then, in the heat of your approaching orgasm, you let out a breathless sob. "Ah—Sungmin! Sungmin, right there!"
Sunghoon froze, lips stopping and all, just laying there for a beat with his lips just an inch from your pussy, he was struggling to process the name that definitely didn't belong to him.
Sungmin? He didn't even know a Sungmin.
He slowly pulled back even further, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked up at you. You were blinking down at him, your eyes glazed with lingering pleasure, looking almost confused by the sudden halt in his ministrations.
"What?" you asked in an airy voice. "Why'd you stop? That was so gooood."
Sunghoon's brow furrowed more he didn't just feel used like a dildo now—he felt completely anonymous.
He suddenly moved and shifted you once again, pushing you down his body so you landed between his legs, before he sat up to look right at you with wounded disbelief. "Who the fuck is Sungmin?"
Your eyes widened in a way that let him know you weren’t just fucking with him, you genuinely thought his name was Sungmin. "Oh…you—No way! Is that not your name?" You laughed right in his face.
"No," he answered slowly with anger and real hurt in his voice. "That is absolutely not my name."
He leaned in closer, his nose almost touching yours, his dark eyes searching your face for even a hint that you were joking. But you just looked back at him with that same casual, slightly bored curiosity.
"This is the second time we’re hooking up," he hissed, his grip tightening just a fraction. "I literally spent the last three weeks wondering why you weren't calling me and you're telling me you don't even know who I am? You don't know my name?"
The fact that the most popular guy on campus was currently having an existential crisis over a booty call didn't seem to faze you. In fact it was like you didn’t know he was the most perfect popular guy in your school. You just tilted your head. "I thought it started with an s. At least I was right?" You offered weakly.
"It's Sunghoon," he snapped. "My name is Sunghoon." He suddenly shifted away from you, throwing his legs over the bed as the wind was completely knocked out of his sails. He looked at you, his eyes shimmering with a vulnerability he hadn't shown anyone since his primary school days. The rejection was now existential and there was no saving him.
"Why don't you like me?" he asked, hoping you didn’t hear the way his voice cracked. He sounded less like the campus heartthrob everyone knew and more like a bewildered boy who had just been told his favorite toy wasn't actually his.
You reached out, your hand trailing down his neck. "What are you talking about? Of course I like you. I like that dick. It's easily the best I've had all year."
"No!" He flinched, batting your hand away and scrambling backward until his back hit the headboard. "Don't...don't touch me. Not if that's all it is." He wrapped his arms around his chest, looking genuinely pained. "Why don't you like me...as a person? Like, as Sunghoon?"
You finally sat up properly, pushing your hair back to giving him a look of unfiltered honesty. "Oh. Well, to be totally fair, I don't really know you that well."
"Well, no fucking shit! Because you ghosted me for three straight weeks after our first time!" he burst out, his voice rising in pitch. "I waited for a text. I was checking my phone every ten fucking minutes. I even walked past your building coincidentally three times in one day and you just...you didn't care!"
You let out an amused laugh and stood up, reaching for your discarded hoodie. "What did you actually expect? Honestly?" You pulled the sweater over your head, looking at him with an arched brow. "Let me guess. You wanted me to be the clingy girl, didn't you? You wanted to wake up and find me in your kitchen making you breakfast and looking at you like you're a god, just so you could get a nice little ego boost before you kicked me out to go to practice?"
Sunghoon opened his mouth to defend himself but his face flushed an embarrassed crimson. "I...I mean..." He stammered, the truth catching in his throat. "Yes! But—no! I mean, not just that!"
He looked away with his shoulders slumping. He couldn't even lie to himself anymore or look you in the eye. He had wanted the validation of your obsession but instead, he'd ended up obsessed with the fact that you didn't have any for him.
"I just wanted you to remember me," he muttered quietly, looking so deflated it was almost cute. "Is it really that much to ask for you to know the guy who’s making you cum?"
"Oh please. Making me cum is a stretch." You rolled your eyes at the wash he gasped. "No! Don’t do that. Your attitude threw me off today. That’s all. I don’t need you to tell me, I know I am a good lay."
"Whatever, bro."
Bro?
You stood over him, silhouetted by the dim light of the bedroom and leaned in close enough to see the real panic in his dark eyes. "Admit it," you said, "You only care this much because for the first time in your life, you're the one being looked past. It's driving you crazy that you can't have me hooked on you the way you want."
The silence stretched thin and his pride battled with the dangerous reality of the last three weeks, until he finally snapped.
"Fine! Yes!" The confession came spilling out of him in a desperate rush. "It drives me insane. I've spent every goddamn day wondering why I wasn't enough to make you want to stay. I don't know what it is about you—if it's the way you look at me or the way you actually don't—but I have never felt like this."
He reached out and curled his fingers into the fabric of your hoodie, to hold you there and make you hear him out. "I'm Park fucking Sunghoon," he whispered but it sounded like a plea. "People literally line up just to look at me and here I am, practically begging for a crumb of your attention. It's fucking humiliating. So please...just stop treating me like an object. Stop treating me like I'm just a body you can call up when you're bored or horny."
He looked up at you and all you saw was someone utterly wrecked. "Talk to me. Ask me a question. Ask about my day. Tell me your favorite color. You can’t just have me leave this room thinking that if I disappeared tomorrow, you'd just find some other guy with an 's' name to replace me."
You let out a low laugh and crawled back over his legs with a hungry kind of grace. "Well," you whispered, closing in until your lips brushed against his heated ear, "maybe you're just going to have to fuck your feelings into me, Sunghoon."
His breath caught at the sound of his name, his actual name finally leaving your mouth. You reached down, wrapping your hand around his soft length and started palming him with a soft touch until he was straining against your hand, thick and pulsing with a newfound grit.
Sunghoon looked up at you with so much desperate devastation, as if he was completely stripped of his usual arrogance. It was the most pathetic he had ever looked and ironically to you, it was the most attractive thing about him.
"You know," you admitted, your voice thick with sudden heat as you guided his tip to your entrance, "seeing you like this...so this ruined over me...it might be the first real thing I actually like about you."
A jolt of something dark and possessive ran in his gaze at your words. You began to sink yourself onto his cock again, the stretch making your eyes flutter shut while he tore your hoodie off you but you didn't get to find your rhythm.
Before you could even settle your weight, Sunghoon's hands shot out like lightning and gripped your waist with an unforgiving force. With something close to an animalistic growl, he flipped you over and your back hit the mattress with a heavy thud that knocked the air from your lungs. He didn't give you a second to recover, he was between your thighs instantly, his body was a nearly suffocating weight as he drove himself into you with a punishing thrust.
"You're a such a bitch," he snapped, sounding completely unhinged as he started pounding into your pussy. He was done being composed and rational, this was straight up anger fueled by three weeks of bruised ego.
He gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head, his hips slamming against yours so hard your headboard rattled against the wall. "Who the fuck is Sungmin anyway?" he hissed, his thrusts becoming even more frantic, more desperate to mark you. "Is he better than this? Does he fuck you this good? Call me his fucking name again while I'm pounding this pussy, I dare you."
You couldn't even get a coherent word out, your was head tossing back and forth against the pillow as your breath came in short sputters. Your brain had turned into complete mush, just entirely focused on the way his cock was ruthlessly bullying its way into your pussy. It felt like he was trying to reach your very soul with every bottoming out thrust, determined to leave a mark that no guy or anyone else could ever erase.
He adjusted your position mid stroke, pushing your legs up until your knees were pinned beside your ears and he was crushing you into a mating press. The shift in angle sent him even deeper inside you and had his cock hitting a spot that made your toes curl and your vision go white.
Sunghoon seemed to have lost his grip on reality entirely. As he pounded into you, his eyes were blown wide and hazy before he started mumbling to himself like a man possessed.
"What the fuck do you mean you don't like me?"
"I'm Park Sunghoon. I'm the Park Sunghoon. You have to like me...everyone fucking likes me. It's supposed to be easy."
His movements were unruly, from both his athleticism and now his ego driven desperation. He reached down between your bodies, making space for his thumb to find your swollen clit and begin to rub it with an unending pressure that synched with the pace he set with his hips.
The double assault was too much and you started trembling violently, the pleasure turning into something so sharp it almost felt like pain. "S-Sunghoon...oh fuck," you sobbed, hot tears finally spilling over as your body began to break under him, making you dig your nails into his back. It was too good—so good it was damn near terrifying.
"Shit, Sunghoon! Sunghoon—Fuck! It’s so deep!" you cried out, your voice finally catching on his actual name, over and over again.
Hearing you scream his name with that much genuine pleasure seemed to flip a switch in him and he responded with a groan, his pace becoming even more eager. "That's it," his sweat was dripping onto your chest as he looked down at your fucked out face.
"Say my name again. Forget everyone else. Just me. You're going to remember this name for the rest of your life."
Sunghoon felt you hit that special peak when the internal muscles of your pussy clamped down on him and you squirted a little, the wetness slicked his thighs but he didn’t let up. Driven by a crazed desire to be the only thing on your mind, he shifted again, leaning back with your legs over his broad shoulders so you were completely open and vulnerable, where you were pinned beneath his heavy body.
He thrusted back in, his thick cock finding that perfect angle again. You started screaming as your head was thrashing against the sheets as well cause you felt yourself teetering right on the edge of you cumming. "I'm close—Right there, Sunghoon! Please, I'm so close!"
But suddenly, the frantic pounding stopped and you seemed to think you’d gone deaf when the sounds stopped before you realize he’d slowed down his movements to an agonizing crawl, transitioning into a slow grind right against your most sensitive parts. He stayed deep inside you, rotating his hips in a way that kept the pressure constant but denied you the friction you needed to actually fall over the edge. You started shaking again, your hands clutching and slapping at his forearms while you begged him to keep going. "No, no, no—Sunghoon, don't stop! Please!"
He looked down at you, his face flushed and his eyes dark with a possessive kind of power.
"Say you like me," he commanded in a steady voice, despite his own labored breathing.
"What?" you gasped, your mind spinning.
"Say you like me or you aren't cumming," he repeated, his hips giving you one more delicious slow roll against your internal sweet spot. "Say you like Park Sunghoon. Not just my dick. Say you like me."
By this point, you're completely delirious and the sensory deprivation of the delayed orgasm is making you sob. You were sobbing and your whole body was vibrating with the need for release. You'd say anything to make him move again.
"I like you! I like you, Sunghoon, I swear!" you cried out, the words tumbling out in a broken rush. "I like everything about you, please just—just let me cum!"
The validation hit him like a drug, he knew you’re probably just cock drunk but that didn’t stop the triumphant smirk that pulled at his lips when he finally resumed his brutal strokes. He didn’t hold back now, hammering into you with everything he had and in no time, he had you screaming his name as you squirted your juices all over his cock, your body arching off the bed in a violent, shrill climax.
Sunghoon watched you cum as his ego was finally fed by the sight of you completely ruined by him, he let out a groan and pulled out, his own cum hitting you hot and thick across your stomach. He collapsed beside you, chest heaving, looking at you with the gaze of a man who finally thinks he's won.
Sunghoon was still glowing from your frantic confession, his heart finally settling into a steady but prideful thrum. He had done it. He'd broken the code.
"My favorite color is blue," you said randomly in an airy and exhausted voice while you stared up at the ceiling.
Sunghoon's head snapped toward you, a boyish expression spreading across his face. He felt a surge of warmth that had nothing to do with the sex. You were finally talking to him, you were actually giving him a piece of yourself, however small.
"Blue," he repeated, committing it to memory like it was the most important piece of data he'd ever acquired. "Okay. That's good to know. We should go on a date this Saturday."
He was practically beaming, already planning the most perfect, over the top date in history to ensure you never ghosted him again.
He reached out to touch your cheek, in an uncharacteristically tender manner.
You let out a mischievous giggle that made his stomach flip. "Okay, Sung—"
You cut yourself off, letting the syllable hang in the air for a painfully dramatic second. Sunghoon felt his entire body stiffen, he swore his heart stopped beating and he felt the familiar prickle of panic rising in his chest. His eyes searched yours, losing his mind over the fact that you’d forgotten his name again, wondering if you were about to shatter his heart all over again.
Hoon? Or...Min
"—hoon," you finished, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.
Sunghoon let out a long breath of relief, his shoulders slumping as he realized you were just teasing him. He rolled his eyes, a huffed laugh escaping him as he pulled you into his side, tucking your head under his chin. "You're a brat," he muttered, though there was no heat in it. "A complete brat. But you're going on that date with me and I'm going to make sure you never forget my name again."
"Mm. We’ll see." You teased
"Please stop that."
nene’s note ── i was fully cackling when i was typing this cause not sunghoon in his kokomi teruhashi era. i’ve had shit wifi/network all weekend so i haven’t been able to complete any of my smaus😔 and i know i said i wouldn’t post but im sure you guys are used to my little white lies by now! enjoyyyyy, you know i love feedback!💋
THE 2026 GREAT SORORITY HIEST ── .୨ৎ yang jungwon one shot
After a month of pressure, Jungwon is left stranded by his best friend on the final night of rush week and now, to earn his place in the university’s top fraternity, he must complete one scandalous, high stakes task before a midnight deadline.
nsfw warnings ── fingering, clit rubbing, dry humping, won is sweet but he’s just a man, they’re both horny as fuck. that’s it i think, lmk if i missed any.
word count ── 4.2k
Standing in the grand hall of this supposedly prestigious fraternity among the palpable desperation of fifty nervous freshmen. One would think Jungwon would be nervous as well but instead he stood there furious with his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his jaw set so hard it ached.
For an entire month, Jake had been insufferable in pitching the so called prestige and the brotherhood of this specific fraternity until Jungwon finally caved. He had survived the sleepless nights, the ridiculous hazing rituals and the physical exhaustion of rush week, all because Jake promised they were in this together. But now, on the final and most important night, Jake was nowhere to be found, cause he bailed at the last second with a half cooked text about a family emergency.
So now, Jungwon is alone in a sea of legacy kids and meatheads, feeling the heaviness of the fraternity's history pressing down on him from the dark wood paneling of the walls.
At the front of the hall, the requirement officer stepped onto a raised platform. He was a senior with a cold smirk that suggested he enjoyed this part of the job a little too much, he definitely enjoyed the way the room went dead silent as he leaned into the microphone.
"Congratulations on making it this far, pledges," he began, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "But before you get your pins, there is one final requirement. A test of charm, stealth and most importantly, this is a test of audacity."
"By midnight, every one of you must retrieve a pair of panties from a girl currently residing in a sorority house. And because some of you cum socks tried to raid a laundry hamper last year, there's a new rule—you must return with the girl in person. If she isn't here with you by the time the clock strikes twelve, do not bother coming back at all."
A collective groan rippled through the hall but Jungwon didn't move. While the other guys started panicking and checking their contact lists, a spark of memory ignited in his mind.
He didn't have many connections on campus yet but he remembered a girl he'd bumped into during a motivational seminar during orientation week. He'd thought you were cute, smart too but in the chaos of that first week, he'd forgotten to get your name or your number. He only knew two things—you were a freshman just like him and you were rushing a sorority on campus.
He checked his watch, it was already 10:50 PM. He had less than two hours to find a girl whose name he didn't know and convince you to participate in a ridiculous fraternity hazing ritual.
Jungwon couldn't stop the rush of pure disbelief he felt thinking of how ridiculous this was, he had expected something difficult, perhaps even something a little humiliating but this was a proper fucking nightmare. He didn't just want to finish this for himself anymore, he also wanted to get through it just so he could hold it over Jake's head for the rest of the semester.
The cool night air hit Jungwon's face as he shoved past the heavy oak doors, his mind already racing through the grid of the greek row. His anger toward Jake hadn't fully dissipated but it was being rapidly replaced by a singular focus.
He knew the top tier houses were clustered on the north side of the row. If you had succeeded in your rush and looking the way you did, he had no doubt yeah no doubt you had, you'd be in one of those three houses.
He reached the steps of the first house, the music from an indoor social thumping through the brick walls. He took a breath, smoothed down his shirt and prepared to start the search. He didn't just need those panties, he also really needed the chance to finally finish the conversation he'd started three weeks ago.
Jungwon didn't waste any time, he was swinging open random doors, bracing himself for screams or a face full of pepper spray but instead he was met with a bizarre sense of normalcy. The girls inside the house weren't even flinching, they were mostly lounging on beds or scrolling on their phones, looking at the sudden influx of frantic freshmen with a mixture of boredom and amusement. He figured there had to be some long standing or unspoken agreement between their houses, from a tradition passed down through years of greek life that made this ridiculous raid an expected annual event.
The house was quickly becoming a circus, with guys everywhere, some attempting smooth pick up lines that fell flat, while others were literally on their knees, begging for a scrap of fabric like their lives depended on it.
Jungwon shook his head, trying not to laugh as he watched a fellow pledge nearly burst into tears over a refusal. He turned to scan the main dining area and that's when the world seemed to sharpen.
Because there you were, sitting at the long oak dining table, tucked into a conversation with another girl. You were leaning back, laughing at the absolute absurdity of the boys swarming the room. The moment your eyes drifted toward him, the laughter stayed on your lips but your expression shifted into a look of genuine recognition.
"Oh," you say, your voice cutting through the chaos of the room as you tilted your head. "Orientation boy?"
Jungwon't heart did a strange skip, he'd spent a month kicking himself for not getting your name or number after that seminar and now, standing in the middle of a panty raid, he felt like he'd finally caught the break he'd been looking for.
"I'm surprised you remember, it's Jungwon, by the way," he said, closing the distance between you, his confidence returning tenfold. He leaned against the table, ignoring the other pledges scrambling around.
"Y/n."
"I've spent the last three weeks trying to remember your name and here you are, laughing at me while I'm in the middle of a crisis."
You let out a soft laugh, resting your chin on your hand as you look him up and down. "I didn't even know you were the fraternity type," you tease. "I figured you were more into...I don't know, overachieving? Since you attended that seminar willingly."
Jungwon scoffs, a hand going to the back of his neck as he shifts his weight. "I'm really not but my friend spent a solid month dragging me into this and swearing it was the only way to survive freshman year, just to bail on me tonight. Now I'm the one standing in a sorority house with a deadline."
"That's tough," you say with a playful look in your eyes. "But hey, if you need a pair of panties that bad...you can have mine. Consider it a favor for a familiar face."
Jungwon's eyes widen, his breath going uneven for a second. A rush of excitement hits him, thinking of how this would probably be the easiest win of the night but then he pauses. He looks at you and the reality of the request settles in. Taking something so intimate from a girl he actually kind of likes, especially under the watchful eyes of fifty other guys, suddenly feels uncomfortable.
"I—uh...I should probably say no," he mutters, his ears turning a faint shade of pink. "I mean, thank you but it feels weird. Like I'm just taking advantage of the fact that we met once."
"Don't be so tense, Jungwon," you say, standing up from the table. You check the time on your phone to see that it's only eleven. You have an hour before he needs to be back in his house.
"Tell you what. We can head up to my room and hang out for a bit. We'll catch up and talk about how much orientation sucked ass and then you can take them when it's time to head back. It'll be less weird if we aren't standing in the middle of a circus, right?"
Jungwon looks around at the chaos, at the begging, the shouting, the sheer desperation of the other guys and then back at you.
The choice is pretty easy.
"Yeah," he says, a small smile finally breaking through his frustration. "That sounds a lot better than standing here."
Jungwon follows you up the stairs, the noise of the chaotic raid downstairs fading into a dull hum as you reach the quiet corridor of the freshman wing. When you push open your door and step inside, the room is dimly lit, smelling faintly of cinnamon and your expensive perfume.
The moment the door clicks shut behind, he's completely stunned that you turn and immediately press your lips to his. It's not even a tentative brush, you press your lips to his in a confident kiss that catches him entirely off guard. Jungwon's eyes widen in shock and his brain panics causing him to instinctively stumble backward. He isn't looking where he's going and so his head connects with the solid wood of the door with a dull echoing thud.
"Ow—!" he winces, reaching up to clutch the back of his head.
"Oh my god! I am so sorry!" You pull away instantly, your hands hovering near him, unsure whether to touch him or keep your distance. "Are you okay? I—I'm so embarrassed. I thought...I completely misread the signals, didn't I? I am so so so sorry, Jungwon."
He groans softly, rubbing the sore spot but he manages to give you a pained laugh. "It's okay, really. My head is just...a bit harder than I thought. You don't have to apologize."
You sink onto the edge of your bed, twirling your fingers into the loose thread of your skirt and looking everywhere but at him. The confidence you had downstairs has evaporated and now you feel extremely vulnerable.
"I'm just...this is really my first time away from home," you admit quietly. You tell him about your strict parents and the years of living under their thumb, where every move was monitored by even your overprotective older brother. "I guess I just thought college was supposed to be like the movies—all about hooking up and being bold. I thought that's what people did here. I didn't mean to make it weird."
Jungwon slowly lowers his hand from his head, his expression softening as he looks at you. The mission for the fraternity feels so silly now. He sees the girl from the seminar again—the one who was just trying to figure out where she fit in.
"Hey," he says gently, stepping away from the door to stand in front of you. "You don't have to put on an act for me. I'm just a guy who got ditched by his best friend and is currently failing a hazing ritual. I think we're both just trying to figure this out."
Jungwon watches the way you're tucked into yourself on the bed and all the frustration from the night, including the anger at Jake and the pressure of the frat completely drains away. He takes a step closer before sitting right next to you, his shadow falling across your lap, and reaches out to gently tilt your chin up so you have to look at him.
"You don't have to follow some movie script," he says with a voice that sounds way steadier than he feels. "And you didn't read the signals wrong. I just wasn't expecting you to be that brave."
He leans in, pausing just inches from your lips to give you every chance to pull away. "Slowly this time," he whispers, a playful smirk on his mouth.
You let out a breathless giggle that vanishes the moment his lips touch yours. This kiss is so sweet, soft enough to make your head spin and you don't want it to end. But as his hands find the back of your neck, pulling you closer, the sweetness quickly catches fire. He darts his tongue out and the kiss turns hot and a little rough.
He moves on had to your waist and you take that as your cue to immediately straddle his lap. Jungwon's breath hitches as he feels the weight of you, your heat radiating through his clothes. He's confident, sure but he was a high schooler only three months ago and he's never had a girl this gorgeous so eager and needy in his lap.
"W—Wait—we should...we should probably slow down," he mutters against your mouth, even though his hands are grabbing at your thighs and ass, his heart is even hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"Please?" you whisper in a shaky plea as you lean down to trail kisses along his jawline. "You're so hot, Jungwon. Please just touch me."
The sound of his name on your lips, followed by a beg like that, snaps the last of his composure. He does what he thinks is ideal, sliding one hand up to cup your breast through the fabric of your baby tee. He's so careful, almost doting but the sensation makes you gasp and you don't let him stay that careful for long.
You reach down, grabbing his other hand and guiding it firmly beneath your skirt to the waistband of your panties. Jungwon's eyes widen in shock but there's a jolt of pure electricity surging through him as he feels dips his fingers past the waistband and feels how slick and wet you already are.
Damn, he thinks, his head falling back as a low groan escapes his throat. You're a horny little thing, aren't you?
He stops overthinking, if this is how you want to spend your first real night of freedom, he's more than willing to be the one to show you exactly what you've been missing. Jungwon finds your flow quickly, his fingers sliding against your damp pussy with a confidence that rivals his own racing heart. He lets out a surprised huff of air against your skin. "You're so wet," he murmurs. "I haven't even really started yet."
He shifts his focus to your neck, his lips and teeth grazing the sensitive skin there while his thumb finds your clit and he begins to rub in steady, firm up and down strokes that make your breath turn into shrieking whines.
The sound of your own voice in the quiet room makes you feel like such a bad girl. You can almost feel the weight of your parents' expectations, their certain disappointment if they could see you now—straddling a boy you barely know in a dimly lit sorority room. But the guilt only seems to highlight the pleasure, making every touch feel forbidden and electric.
"Poor thing," Jungwon whispers against your ear, his voice laced with a sudden and somewhat protective heat. "You've been wound so tight, haven't you? Just waiting for someone to let you loose."
You're already shaking, your thighs trembling against his hips as you involuntarily start to hump his hand, like you can't help yourself. The need is overwhelming, like a physical ache that demands to be satisfied. You're so eager and desperate that you end up overpowering him, your weight shifting until you push him back against the pillows and he lets out a choked groan as he hits the mattress but he doesn't stop his hands.
You're basically riding his fingers now, moving with frenzied jolts that make him see stars. He watches you from below, your hair messy and your eyes blown wide with lust and he can't help but imagine what it would feel like to have you riding his dick with that same horny intensity.
"You're incredible," he gasps, his fingers working faster as he tries to keep up with you, his thumb is still rubbing your clit while another finger is prodding at your hole cause he's unsure whether you're a virgin or not. "Mmm. Just like that—Fuck—You're so pretty."
All it really take his him pinching your nipple a little and you let out a scream muffled against the back of your hand, your body shaking as the sweet friction of his fingers finally sends you over the edge. "Jun—Oh shit! I thi...I'm cumming! I'm cumming!"
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
You look so beautiful thanking him for making you cum that he can't help but smile, he can't help but think of the other things he can get you to thank him for as you collapse against chest, trembling and babbling incoherent sentence while the aftershocks of the orgasm wave through you.
He pulls out his damp fingers from your panties, ready to ask you to put your number in his phone but your gaze is locked on the rigid line straining against the denim of his jeans. You do not hesitate, reaching out to grasp him through the fabric, your fingers curling around the length of his hard cock.
"Wait—wait," Jungwon breathes, his voice cracking as he catches your wrist. He is a man of discipline, yes and despite his raw confidence, a streak of genuine protective instinct flares up. "We really…I don’t think we should go that far tonight. I...I don't want to seem like I'm just using you for a requirement."
But you aren't listening to his logic. You lean forward to bury your face in the crook of his neck, your tongue darting out to lick the pulse point that is hammering wildly. You move to his ear, nipping the lobe before whispering another plea that makes his knees go weak.
Jungwon squeezes his eyes shut, his head falling back against the bed. He is just a man, after all and the combination of your wet pussy, your perfume and the way you are practically begging for him is an impossible force to fight. His grip on your wrists loosens, his hands falling to his sides in a silent surrender.
"You're going to be trouble for me, aren’t you?" He asks in a groan but before he can even process the shift in his own resolve, your hands are at his waist. With a clumsy certainty, you pry his belt loose, followed immediately by the pop of his jean button.
You make quick work of the zipper and Jungwon lets out a jagged breath, even helping you by lifting his hips as well as you, so you can drag his jeans down as much as it can go in this position. He is officially past the point of no return and the fraternity feels like a lifetime away compared to the urgency of your touch.
Jungwon's large hands make their way to your hips, the heat of his palms searing through your skin. "Do you even know what you're doing right now?" he asks you.
When you shake your head and give him an honest "No." He suddenly shifts you with a powerful movement, manhandling you until you are positioned perfectly above him. You are sitting directly over the hard length of his cock but there is still a frustrating barrier, your now damp panties and the cotton of his briefs are the only things keeping skin from skin.
The sensation is agonizingly hot and he can feel the moisture from the orgasm he just gave you soaking through your underwear, rubbing against him with every tiny, involuntary shiver you make. He is already pushed to his limit and it doesn't help that you can't sit still.
He isn't surprised when you begin to move on your own, rolling your hips in a feverish attempt to dry hump him through the layers. He grunts and grips your waist tighter until his knuckles start turning white.
"Shit. You're going to make me lose it," he says while trying to match your erratic pace.
"I can't believe it feels this good," you whine, your voice breaking as you roll your hips against him. You lean down, letting your hair brush against his face as you whisper into his ear, "I just...I can't wait to finally have sex. I've waited so long."
Jungwon's heart hammers a disastrous rhythm, he has never felt this desired before and when he looks up at your face, a possessive thought fills his mind—he wants to be the one.
"You really want this, don't you?" he rasps, his hands sliding from your waist to your thighs then your asscheeks, squeezing firmly to guide your movements. "Move for me. Faster, just like that."
You don't need to be told twice, you’re already moving like a bunny in heat, your damp panties making your clit catch on the ridge of his cock head through his briefs. The sensation is overwhelming and when Jungwon feels the usual tightening in his lower stomach, he almost can’t believe it.
No way, he thinks, trying his best to hold back from how badly he wants to moan out and whine just like you’re doing. What the fuck? Am I really going to cum from just a little dry humping?
"Shit...fuck," he groans again, the curses tumbling from his lips as he loses the battle for composure. He reaches up, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you down into a messy kiss.
"I bet your pussy is so tight," he says against your lips, his hips bucking upward instinctively to meet your rhythm. "Don't stop. God, don't stop moving."
He is completely at your mercy, his fingers digging into your skin but the way you are humping him is stripping away every ounce of his self control is driving him mad. Every time you slide forward, the dampness of your underwear catches against him and sends another jolt of pleasure straight to his core.
"My pussy is tight, I can—I can barely get one finger inside." You whine and that does it, your words couples with the drag of your wet lace against his cock is the final straw. Jungwon's eyes fly shut and his spine arches off the mattress as he lets out whine after whine. He is cursing under his breath, his hands clutching your hips so hard his fingerprints will surely linger, as he cums right there in his underwear. In the dim light of your room, he looks so pretty and flushed—his hair messy and his chest panting cause he’s trying to find his breath again.
You watch him with wide, curious eyes, finding the sight of him so pretty in his undone state. "Is that what happens?" you ask softly, tilting your head.
Before he can even formulate a coherent sentence to give you, you reach over to your nightstand and pull out a box of baby wipes, offering them to him with a shy smile. He looks at the box, then back at you, a half delirious laugh escaping his throat. "You're really something, aren't you?" he rasps, taking a wipe to attempt a quick, awkward cleanup.
Despite the pleasure being over, he notices you haven't made a single move to get off him. You are still straddling his lap, your weight warm and grounding against his thighs. He stops mid wipe to look up at you with a gaze that has softened significantly. He doesn't say it out loud but as he feels your arms wrap loosely around his neck, he finds himself hoping that you are the clingy type.
He holds you for a short second, letting his heart hammer against your own. He pulls back just enough to look into your hazy eyes, his mouth opening to ask for a real date, when his eyes snag on the digital glow of your bedside clock.
11:55 PM.
"Shit!" he hisses, the adrenaline of the mission slamming back into him. "We have five minutes!"
The romantic bubble bursts, replaced by a messy, laughing scramble. You do not hesitate to slide your panties down your legs, they’re completely soaked and heavy from your cum but you shove them into his hand anyway and he doesn't even look at them before stuffing the damp fabric into his pocket as you both bolt out of the room.
The run across the row is a blur of cold night air and your hysterical laughter. You are sprinting in your shoes while Jungwon grips your hand like a lifeline. You burst through the heavy oak doors of the grand hall just as the clock begins its first chime of midnight.
Jungwon is bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air but a victorious smile is etched on his face. He is the last pledge to arrive but he made it. He has the proof in his pocket along with the girl of his dreams by his side and he is so ready to look Jake in the eye and gloat in his face.
The requirement officer from earlier walks down from the stairs, his eyes scanning the room at the less than thirty pledges that managed to make it back with the mission complete but when his eyes land on pair of you. He looks at Jungwon, then his gaze shifts to you and his entire face goes from smug to thunderous in a split second.
"Jungwon," he says in a voice so angry Jungwon has to wonder where he fucked up. "Is that my fucking sister?"
Jungwon's smile disappears, his hand still intertwined with yours. He looks at the officer, then slowly turns his head to look at you, his eyes wide with a horrifying realization.
You offer a weak, not so apologetic wince. "Oops."
nene’s note ── had no real plans on posting this and that’s why there’s no banner, call it ‘enhablr fatigue’ the way i’m so tired of what this place has become. but to those sticking around and rocking with us, thank you and i hope you enjoy this short story 💋 as you know i love feedback.
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