hiiiiiii ok soo...this may or may not be the crazyass anon from before who didn't check if reqs are open👀👀 who also requested good boy jakey and bad boy riki with ynnie in the middle n shiiii- 🥺🥺 but yes, only if you're okay with writing that,, okloveyoubyeee 😚😚🫰🏻
THE SIN: GREED ✦ YUNKI
SYNOPSIS ⋮ a simple tutorial on how to get your lovely, obedient boyfriend to open your relationship up, and have his hot best friend fuck you in the process. yay!
PAIRING ⋮ boyfriend!jake x best friend!ki x fem!reader
CONTENT WARNINGS ⋮ 18+ smut. mdni. morally grey characters (?) threesome (duh!). piv. unprotected sex. college!au. frat boys yunki emotional cheating (i guess) half-assed plot sorry! creampie oral (m!rec) mentions of god, heaven, etc. don’t like, don’t read.
AN ⋮ i kinda blacked out while writing this so like Forgive me ? 😂😂😂 u can probs tell exactly when i lost it LOL
PLAYING ♫ ⋮ needy — ariana grande.
WC ⋮ ~6k
@KISSUED have you ever thought that one boyfriend wasn’t enough? has your one, faithful yet painfully busy partner ever disappointed you—left you waiting, needy, aching?
have you ever wished for more? grabbed that desire by the throat, shove it deep inside of you because suggesting a third person might hurt your lover’s feelings?
here are three, easy-to-follow steps you can follow that might help them change their mind!─────────────────────────
01. GUILT.
jake has always been… kind.
you knew it from the moment you met him—heart of gold, expressive face that could tell you anything he’s feeling, practically incapable of keeping any secret from you. he goes out of his way for others; the kind of boy who’d give up his seat for a bratty kid on the train, and nod politely when their mothers would apologise.
this, naturally, extended to you. he’s done so much that you can’t help but feel a little guilty when you’re cooped up in your apartment, alone, for the 5th time tonight, thinking of how indescribably empty your insides feel while he’s juicing his brain dry on campus.
you could’ve been a little more selfless. you could have. but for some peculiar reason, your mind’s drifting to someone else entirely—that blonde kid in jakey’s frat, with more piercings than you could count and a stare that was equatable to daggers.
nishimura riki.
that’s when you knew that you and jake sim were different. while he’s racking his brains, you’re rubbing circles on your clit thinking of his dear friend, eyebrows pinched together in that look only jake manages to pull from you.
it’s disgusting. it feels sinful. and yet, you can’t help but imagine the curve of nishimura riki’s cock, the angle of his hips while he’s pounding into your dripping cunt, and the cocky smirk he’d wear on his face taunting you for doing this behind dear jakey’s back.
“o-oh, you’re fuckin’ filthy,” he’d spit, rough thumb circling your swollen bud, “greedy little slut. jake know about this? about how i fuck you like a whore?”
and in an attempt to make yourself feel a little better about this whole… fantasy, you decide to wait by the front door for jake; staring at the intricate wood designs, counting the chips in the material, keeping track of the ticks on the clock before the moment you hear keys jingling outside.
“jakey!” you smile, wide, which wasn’t an unusual sight for your lover. “i missed you sooo much, baby.”
jake lets a tired sigh slip through his lips, more content than anything, before dropping his bag by the entryway and kicking his shoes off. he doesn’t say a word—making his way to you, as he’s always done for the past year you’ve been together, slugging into your touch as you embrace him.
“missed you too, y/n.”
you’re not very sure where you’re going with this. this literally might be the end of your relationship as you know it—jake’ll pack his shit up, storm out, because he knows his worth and you clearly don’t.
“jake, i’ve been thinking… y’know,” you whisper into his ear, your gentle fingers coming up his back to run through his soft locks. “you’re always so busy.”
jake hums along like he knows, because it’s just so obvious with the way the sheets barely smell like him anymore—his mugs sitting upside down on the counter, unused for days, toothbrush missing because he’s learnt to just bring it along with him, in case he was studying at the frat. again.
you blame it all on that damn brotherhood. if not for them, jake would be studying at home, working at home, doing sleeping at home.
…and you wouldn’t have known of nishimura riki’s existence.
jake’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in tighter, cologne filling your nose. it’s worn down by the heaviness of the day, the hint of sweat making you breathe deeper.
“i know, princess,” he mutters, voice low and deep and truly laced with sorrow in the way it carries over to your ears. anyone with functioning hearing could tell he was absolutely heartbroken over this, over you: leaving his poor girl alone in this lonely apartment, where he should’ve made himself permanent. “you must’ve been so lonely without me, huh?”
and it clicks, then—how easily his guilt settles into place. how fast he reshapes the situation until it makes sense, until it’s something he can fix. jake has always been good at that: finding the flaw in himself before ever questioning you.
his gentle thumb rubs circles into your waist, grounding you to whatever this conversation is evolving into; two bodies pressed together, warm, almost as if it was an innocent ‘welcome home’.
there’s an apologetic look on his face. as if he’s sorry for what you’re going to say—as if any of it is his fault.
“i should’ve been around more,” he adds quietly, mostly to himself. “i hate that i leave you like this, baby. alone. and i’m always missing your calls.”
he is. your throat tightens anyway, watching the worried, pained expression on jake’s face take over his entire posture.
the way he’s leaning into you for reassurance—for that confirmation you’re not going to push him away. you never do, and you never will, but it somehow makes you want to storm out of the room regardless.
you pull back just enough to get a good look at him, hands still fisted in his shirt like you might lose him before you get the words out of your mouth. his eyes are exhausted, red at the edges, searching yours for something you don’t have.
“it’s not that, jakey,” you smile, as reassuringly as you can. the most you can manage. “i just. . . don’t want you feeling bad all the time, and i don’t want to feel like i’m waiting, either.”
jake’s eyebrows knit together. “waiting for me?”
“school’s important, baby, i know that.” you sigh, gentle hands moving to cup his jaw like it might soften the blow to his chest. “there might be a way that’s better for both of us, you know?”
and yes, jake knows that whatever you might suggest would obviously make you happier than this current situation—so what more does he need to think about? as long as his girl is smiling, happy as can be, he has no real reason to object, does he?
“tell me,” he says. “i wanna know.”
god. if heaven is real, please extend your grace to the greedy.
“what if. . . we tried opening up? y’know, just to keep me company while you’re gone.”
the words hang in the air, each second burning, causing you to hold onto him just a little tighter—in the case he were to bolt. rightfully. he’s stunned by the proposal, face frozen in time, eyes wide like he’d never expect something so… promiscuous from you.
he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stiffen. just blinks, once, twice, like he’s replaying your dialogue like it’s a quick-time event, and he’s trying not to pick the wrong answer. like this is a problem he needs to understand before he can even begin to solve it.
“opening up,” jake repeats softly.
there’s a pause—brief, almost imperceptible—where something tight passes through his expression. the quiet recalibration of a boy who’s spent a year learning how to bend without breaking, faltering, before coming back to you.
“when i’m not here,” he says, careful. like you’d be the one to storm out of this place if he so much as looked at you accusingly.
you nod, just once.
“only then. i don’t want to replace you, jake. i just—i don’t want to be alone,” and then, you’re looking away, as if it’ll erase the guilt.
you thought you’d at least have the guts to maintain eye contact with your boyfriend—especially after all this trouble of asking to fuck another man—but for some peculiar reason, it’s all gone when you’re actually here, in his grasp, in his loving embrace that he refuses to end because you’re you, and he’s jake.
jake, who loves you.
“okay.”
even if it means having to share you.
─────────────────────────
02. REFORM.
introducing jake sim to the man you’ve been fantasizing about was the hardest part of it all.
firstly, they were in the same brotherhood: shared drinks. ate from the same plates. probably—accidentally—swapped briefs at one point. you could definitely find nishimura’s instagram from just two clicks, skin glowing under the flash of some random’s kodak gold, sitting one person away from jake.
if not, right next to him.
he’s known riki since freshman year—back when they were still pledges under a completely different set of men, stumbling through hazes so stupid they don’t even happen anymore, not after heeseung almost got someone hospitalized.
riki survived all of it with them. steady, sharp, reliable, stubborn when it mattered. if jake had to choose someone, in which he does now, it would be nishimura.
though, if jake really stopped to think about it—he could say the same for the other five. they were all cut from the same history, the same long nights and shared damage, collective trauma and all that nonsense.
it’s just… circumstance. a lucky, or unlucky one that nishimura riki is the only one without strings attached. no jealous girlfriend of his own. no crazy stalker that’ll be waiting to jump you in a random alleyway for eyeing him. no complications waiting to surface at the worst possible time, which is now, when you’re voluntarily shoved between two of seven of the hottest guys on campus.
that’s besides the point. as far as jake sim knows, riki is free.
thank sunghoon for that information—or thank that random sunday night, consisting of casually rifling through nishimura riki’s bedside drawer and reporting back, half amused and half mortified about the lack of condoms tucked away inside. proof enough, apparently.
the difficult part was getting nishimura riki to be okay with this. okay with touching on his best friend’s girl. okay with the way jake would probably stare daggers into him for even agreeing with something you brought up.
to reform, one must adjust. jake sim tells himself that, anyway. it’s how he’s framing things so he doesn’t end up tearing his hair out at the expense of your happiness.
it happens late, when most of the frat’s cleared out of most of it’s inhabitants—everyone’s out drinking at bars, rambling on that the end of exam season means sunoo’s treat. the house is stripped down of it’s noise, it’s junk, it’s constant laughter and screams of jungwon chasing jay around with a blindfold on, just for fun.
the air is stale. music’s playing on the audio system, a justin bieber 2010 classic. jake can’t be bothered to hum the lyrics like he usually does. his mind’s plagued with something else, his eyes scanning riki’s as they sit on opposite ends of the worn leather couch.
he’s scrolling on twitter. thumb flicking up, lazily, not really watching anything in particular. likes and retweets some videos about the new jujutsu kaisen season, jake tells from the audio.
“bro,” riki mumbles to himself, “this naoya guy is soooo fucking annoying. holy shit, he’s a fraud.”
jake snickers, fumbling with his phone in his hand. his palms feel clammy, and it almost feels like he’s confessing his fucking feelings for nishimura riki with how his pulse sputters and skips.
when a response doesn’t come, riki finally looks up, turning his head towards jake. “you good, dude?”
of course not. his girlfriend wants to fuck another man. his best friend, out of all options.
“nope,” jake lets a soft sigh out, sinking further into the backrest. riki raises an eyebrow at his friend, finding the change in mood unusual, considering how he was all sunshine and rainbows when heeseung was showing him a reel. “girlfriend troubles. that kinda thing.”
riki hums, leaning back into the couch, stretching his arms along the top like he’s got all the time in the world. “figures. don’t know much about that, though.”
jake huffs a quiet laugh.
bend. before you snap.
“you might, actually,” jake states, tone a little too condescending for riki to miss. “i need your help.”
the song ends, and the next one comes on. it’s ariana grande, needy, if he remembers correctly—the first song on your playlist, tailored for your ‘one and only’, replayed more times than he could count on both hands, if only for the sake of never forgetting it.
jake turns to riki for the first time tonight. eyes blank, expressionless, lips twitching into a small smile that he tries his best not to let falter. riki’s staring back, that teasing look now washed away, concern creeping in as jake lets the silence stretch for a tad bit longer than normal.
“the fuck is up with you?” riki tries to laugh, expecting jake to break out into a fit. a sort of gotcha moment that’ll kill whatever tension that’s poisoning the oxygen in here.
“i’m serious,” jake says quietly, unclear if out of shame or something else—as if there was a secret third person in the room, watching him. “about you helping me. . . with her.”
riki freezes, eyes narrowing. his heart’s thumping so hard that he thinks it’s trying to claw it’s way out of his ribcage. “helping you. . . how?”
“keeping her happy,” jake says, simply, because that’s truly what it’s about. stripping the weight and implication of it all just so it’s easier to swallow. “i’m getting busy, man. she’s lonely.”
there’s a long pause. the kind where the walls of the house feel like they’re closing in, and there’s just too much quiet and not enough alcohol to numb his thoughts.
riki exhales slowly, jaw tight. “what the fuck?”
he leans into the couch, chest heaving at a rate that he can’t exactly call casual. riki’s eyes are sharp as they scan jake’s expression: anything that tells him that this is a joke, and the punchline has yet to come.
it doesn’t.
riki lets one arm drape over the back of the couch, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “so. . . you want me to. . . what? play house while you’re gone? the fuck’s gotten into you?”
jake swallows, pulse spiking, hands tightening on his phone like it’s an anchor to this very embarrassing conversation. “i just want her to be happy. that’s all. you’d know how to make sure of that.”
“she some project?”
“don’t.” jake sighs, “listen. it’s you, or sunghoon. and we both know that sooha would kill y/n if it came down to that.”
riki throws his head back, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. he’s not hearing jake right—he can’t be.
now, you see, riki’s thought of this before.
that night when jake first brought you by, calling you his girl. you were wearing that gorgeous dress when you pulled up to the frat, the music booming behind him as he pulled the front door open—but all he heard and saw was you, asking if this was sigma alpha eta—and your flushed face when riki responded, “can’t you see the fucking flag hanging outside?”
it was only after he went upstairs to fuck his fist like a stupid, horny teenager that jake finally said your name out loud: “this is my girlfriend, y/n.”
“if it’s too weird for you,” jake mutters, gaze dropping to the floor, “i’ll just go to hoon. he’s gonna leave sooha, anyway—”
“nah.” riki cuts him off, sharp and immediate. “does she want this? like—really want it?”
the question lands like a blow. jake squeezes his eyes shut for half a second, a brief, vivid, terrible yet equally indulgent fantasy of slamming his head into a brick wall pops up behind his eyelids.
he exhales slowly, and lifts his head. “she wants to be happy.”
riki studies him in the silence that follows—the way jake says it like that’s the only thing that matters. like happiness is currency enough to buy absolution, enough to forget the weight that’ll follow him for the rest of his life if he goes through with this.
the music hums low in the background, the house breathing around them. it’s more calm than riki’s own mind, for sure.
“fuck,” riki says finally. “okay.”
─────────────────────────
03. FRICTION.
the first night that jake’s gone, he calls you to tell you that his physics professor held him back—something about his thesis. you don’t know. you couldn’t really hear him clearly, with the way nishimura riki’s groaning into your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your thighs as you squirm under his touch.
he’s so loud. not in the way jake is. never whining, never moaning outright. just low grunts that tell you that you taste exactly how he thought you would, as sweet as his mind’s made you out to be.
“so fucking pretty,” he smiles before getting up from his knees—hands slithering up your sides, running along your hips, hooking his fingers onto the hem of your tee. “most perfect slut i’ve ever seen.”
you sigh when riki peels your shirt off you. the cold air hits your skin, nipples perked, staring at him the way he stares at you. everything moves quickly: the tent in riki’s sweats rubs against your slick entrance, a wet patch blooming where his tip leaks for you, all while his touch explores every crevice of your body.
your hips, waist. your ribs, your heartbeat under his fingertips. your neck that smells like damp shampoo, your lips that’ve been bitten raw from riki not knowing how to hold himself back.
“rikiii. . .” you drag, watching him loop his thumb into the waistband of his sweatpants. he tugs it downward, cock springing free, weighed down by how heavy and thick he is. his tip is flushed, up to his shaft, angry and red and swollen, calling your name with every twitch.
his dick glistens under the light. shiny, slick with pre running down the shaft, and it makes your pulse race just knowing that you get him like this.
“not a virgin, are you?” he tilts his head. riki’s arms loop around your thighs, pulling you closer to him, your ass brushing against his thighs as he pries your legs open. “you and jake. . .”
“n-no, i’m not—“ you answer, blinking. you peek at him through wet lashes, pretty irises making riki’s head spin in combination with your visibly flushed cheeks. he kisses his teeth before sliding his own shirt off: sharp v line being the first thing that peeks through, contoured abs stealing the breath out of your lungs.
you could run your fingers against it and get cuts.
“can’t promise i’ll be gentle then, baby.”
those words are exactly what leads you to fucking your boyfriend’s best friend—your stomach flips, and so does your body, eventually—nishimura riki has you bent over, spine arched underneath his large hand that leaves red handprints all over the fat of your ass.
he’s so rough. mean. completely disregarding any and all tears that stain the sheets, your screams and cries that tell him to slow down—because wasn’t this what you wanted?
more than jake?
“h-hngh. . . fuck, riki—!”
and it’s odd how you start to miss your boyfriend’s gentle touch, his soft praises, every question of “are you alright?” and “does it hurt?”, while his friend fucks you into the next century.
“just a fuckin’ slut, damn—“ riki retracts his hand, only to land a harsh slap! to your right ass cheek. the skin blooms red immediately, the shape of his loving hand taking it’s place, jiggling while his hips piston into yours. “s-shit, now i know why jake’s always fuckin’ talking about you.”
you moan when the head of his cock kisses your cervix. your walls clamp down on him, refusing to let him drop the pace; his hands glued to your hips as he brings your body flush against his, driving himself deeper in, wanting to feel every part of you to the point where he could remodel your figure in his dreams. down to the curve of your hips, the magnetic pull of your lips, the way you blink like you’ve done nothing wrong in this life of yours.
you’re sin topped with a pretty bow.
“mm. . . s-so big, ki,” you drawl, drool seeping from the corner of your mouth. riki can’t help but let a snicker out, seeing this side of you: all he’s been used to is innocent, faithful y/n rubbing her chest against jake sim’s arm, asking when you’d finally be able to leave this ‘shitty party’ and be alone together. “feels so good.”
“yeeeah? o-oh fuck,” riki groans, head dropping to watch the way his cock slides in and out of you with ease. you’re sucking him back in every time he pulls out. the soft slaps of skin, the recoil of your ass, your shameless moans as his balls smack against your clit with every stroke; all of it’s getting to his head. “you arch like this for jake? pussy so tight, must’ve felt sooo lonely without him, huh?”
you can’t even speak with how ruthless he is. his hand is splayed over your upper back, keeping you bent all nice and pliant—zero chances of you squirming, crawling away as he makes you see constellations. your fists ball into the sheets, knuckles white, trying desperately to ground yourself before your soul takes it’s exit from your body.
for a moment, he forgets you’re not his.
until the door creaks open.
“you let yourself in?”
your heart sinks. riki’s body goes cold.
“jake—fuck,” riki mumbles, and you’re choking up before you can even call out for your boyfriend. riki doesn’t stop, too busy drowning in the wetness of your cunt, leaking like a broken faucet around his thick length as his strokes become sloppier. wet squelches makes jake’s ears ring, head spinning as he watches the sight before him: you, bent over for his best friend, face smushed into the sheets in the way only he had you, up until now. “shit. . . thought you’d be gone the whole night—”
“it’s fine,” jake sighs, like this was just another casual thursday night for him. he throws his bag onto the floor before unclasping his watch and ruffling his hair, disheveled from a day’s work. his eyebags peek through his dark brown locks, glassy eyes meeting yours temporarily in a soft, understanding smile. “you like it, baby?”
your skin crawls, feeling riki’s grip tighten, still pounding into you like jake wasn’t watching. “y-yes, jakey, i love it—”
“she’s cute, isn’t she, riki?” jake laughs, more a scoff than anything else. “such a good girl.”
and before riki can actually form a coherent sentence, jake’s making his way towards the shared bed—sighing when he finally makes himself comfortable next to you. your eyes screw shut, too embarrassed to meet your lover’s loving gaze when his best friend is pinning you down. riki’s smiling behind you, watching how you squirm underneath his touch, as if that’d make anything less humiliating.
“h-holy shit, fuck,” riki’s jaw goes slack when he sees jake’s hand caressing your hair, gentle strokes a stark contrast to the chaos riki’s pace delivers. something bubbles inside of him, slow, simmering underneath his skin as he watches his best friend’s hands trace your jaw, guiding you up, face no longer slobbering against the sheets.
riki’s not very sure why he’s letting it happen. he likes seeing you cry, whimper, drooling like a stupid slut all over the linen. it’s not like he’s familiar with it, but he knows it’ll be a favourite once he is—no, it’s the way jake brings your chin to the bulge in his pants. the way you nuzzle your nose against the fabric, settling for small, pathetic kitten licks where his tip would be.
it makes him ache.
“greedy girl,” jake titters, shoulders finally relaxing once your hands reach for the button on his jeans. undoing, unzipping, before your warm hands start to palm at his length, separated only by thin spandex. “look at her, riki. she wants to suck me off, too.”
the headboard thuds against the wall. jake doesn’t utter another word. riki groans as he throws his head back, blonde streaks of hair falling with the gravity, sweat rolling down his chest in thin lines as you milk him for everything he’s got.
“you’re dating a fucking slut,” riki smiles, wicked, head tilted to get a better view of your head. “shit, she just got tighter.”
the two men watch you carefully, burning your expression into their memories. one moment, you’re whining about how it’s all too much, and the next—you have jake’s flushed cock shoved down your throat, saliva trickling down his shaft like raw honey, taking him tip to tonsil. you gag, choke, tears running down your cheeks as jake’s hand guides your head up and down, all while nishimura riki continues to abuse your throbbing hole.
“doing so good, princess,” jake’s eyes flutter closed, his head tipped against the wall as you work your way up and down. you relax your throat as he pushes you further down: your nose grazes his pelvis, tongue running circles around and through the tip during the short breaths he gives you. “who’s cock is better, hm? mine? his?”
“cat got her tongue,” riki sneers, and all jake does is pout when you really don’t respond. “answer him, y/n.”
you gasp when jake loosens his grip, finally allowing you to pull away and take a deep breath in. his hand is still knotted in your hair when he brings your face closer to his, yanking at the roots.
“you heard him, sweet girl,” jake coos. “answer. say my name.”
shit, you can barely even say your own name.
jake’s looking into your eyes like you’re filthy: eyebrows knit, a slight frown plastered onto his pretty face, eyes devoid of the light that it’s always had whenever he had you folded in half for him.
“say my name,” he repeats, your head unstable as you try to hold yourself up—riki’s pressing into you, deeper now, more carefree. “come on.”
and just as the words ‘jake sim’ are about to roll off your tongue with tremendous effort, riki’s hand lands a blow to your ass, panting all hot and bothered when he catches jake’s jaw visibly twitch. “ooops,” he mumbles, half-assed, “say you’re sorry, y/n. say ‘i’m sorry, jakey’, like a good girl.”
and jake’s eyes sparkle, for a fleeting moment, when your fingers claw at his thighs—like you needed him to save you, to hold you, to pull you away from riki’s rough hands that don’t know a single thing about your body in the way his do.
yet, he doesn’t.
he leaves you there, in his lap, with his hand still tangled in your hair—whining and crying as his best friend fucks you stupid.
“i-i’m sorry, jake, i’m sorry!” you sniffle, vision blurry with tears, which only serves as a cue for jake to have you drooling all over his dick again; he brings your glossy lips to his swollen tip, and you part them like clockwork, tongue pressing flat against his pulsing veins.
jake’s moaning shamelessly now. your warm, loving mouth bobs up and down, choking when riki slams his hips a little too hard—he feels sick for it, for enjoying the way his cock twitches when riki’s treating you like a stupid fucktoy, and all he can think about is how pretty you look when another fat tear trickles down your cheek and drips onto his thigh.
but instead of comforting you, he just gives you a look that says ‘this is what you wanted’.
it’s simply too much. you feel them both too deep, too fast, too rough, and yet it feels too good for you to plead ‘stop’.
“i’m close, fuck—gonna cum,” riki chokes, eyes locked on the way your lips wrap around jake, so perfect and plump and soft-looking that he almost considers pulling out and demanding jake to swap positions. as hot as that’d be, he’s so achingly close to filling the perfect pussy swallowing him whole, so forgive him if he can’t be that greedy just yet. “shiiit, gonna milk me dry, baby.”
the petname makes your throat tighten around your boyfriend—and of course, that doesn’t go unnoticed. it’s almost comedic how jake feels himself immediately unravelling at it; cock starting to throb, blood rushing to his face watching you still struggle to take the two of them.
you’ll have to practice a little more often. a girl as greedy as you needs to learn to reap what she sows.
“god, jake, can’t believe you’ve kept this from me.” riki pants, jaw hung as he hammers deeper, harder. you can barely hear their conversation, your voice now a muffled mess from the way jake pushes your head down. you hear snippets, though the thoughts quickly dissolve as you feel your orgasm impending—hot and fast, tension stretching thin inside your belly as you feel both of their cocks dragging, mouth and pussy plugged and stretched out.
“didn’t know she was this much of a whore,” jake sighs dreamily, feeling his cock throb, hitting the back of your tight, slick throat. he’s frantic in the way he moves your head, chasing his own high, while riki’s angling his hips just right—brushing against that soft, spongy bundle of nerves that’s learnt a new name tonight. “gonna cum, baby? two’s too much for you?”
riki’s fingers rush to your clit, and the way your body immediately locks up, throat and cunt tightening in tandem… it makes them both groan, and the room soon fills with a cacophony of animalistic groans and muffled whimpers from the girl sandwiched between.
“fuck, yeaaah. take it,” riki gasps, feeling your walls clench around him, like a fucking vacuum. you’re pushing your hips back, meeting him halfway, and for a moment, riki wishes he’d fucked you earlier—even if you were with jake. even if you were with anyone else.
jake’s thighs tense up. his breath stutters, and he feels so fucking dizzy because he can just tell you’re cumming by the way your hands squeeze his.
“good girl,” jake mutters, though it’s barely audible to anyone but himself. “taking us s-so fucking good.”
you’re so cute. searching for him even when you’re full of someone else.
he holds your head down, nose now pressed against the base of his cock, pulsing hard against the back of your throat before his thick, sticky cum paints your mouth in spurts. he feels himself ascend, if only for a moment, as you force yourself not to choke and spit all of him out.
meanwhile, riki rolls his hips, cock bringing you through your high—you’re twitching, thighs tensing as it hits you like a truck, and you swear you start to see an entirely new galaxy when riki finally buries himself to the hilt, tip pressed flush against your womb, his hair a mess as he falls forward, chest warm against your back.
jake watches it all: you, shaking uncontrollably as his best friend fills you up with his own cum—and it should make him sick. it should make him want to punch riki and pry him off of you.
it should. it’s supposed to be filthy. this is supposed to be wrong.
but jake’s eyes are half-lidded, glazing over the two bodies in front of him, scanning. his heart sputters when he sees nishimura riki press a sloppy kiss to the back of your shoulder, sucking, leaving a memory in the form of a purple bruise—oddly enough, his cock only throbs harder, especially when your nails dig into his knuckles.
god, if there is a heaven, let your grace extend to the greedy.
the room is spinning. everything’s hazy, blurry, and your chest heaves in an attempt to even out your breathing. you swallow all of jake’s cum, the thick fluid moving down your oesophagus, slow. riki lies on top of you, big arms caging you in, pressing gentle kisses along your shoulder and upper back.
“my turn.”
you can’t even tell who’s speaking anymore—but it doesn’t really matter, does it?
you feel it all happening: how jake slides your beautiful mouth off of him, hand letting your hair loose. your head drops to the mattress, hips still up in the air when you feel riki’s cock pulling out, both of your cum spilling out of your empty hole. just begging for for him to plug you back up.
god, if there is a heaven, let your grace extend to the greedy.
you find yourself repeating this, over and over.
when you feel jake’s cock plunging into you, haphazard, no longer gentle like he’s always been—and when riki taps his tip against your bottom lip before prying your mouth open with his fingers.
when you end up taking a shower after it’s all done, only to feel two bodies shut you in.
when you’re on your back, hanging off the kitchen counter, face stuffed full of one of the two while the other rolls his hips against yours.
and especially, when you’re beginning to question if you can ever go back to having just one of the two.
I'd love to suck Sunghoon's heavy and cock and balls right after he arrives home at the doorstep until he comes on my face and pours his cum down my throat 🤤
You in nothing but a pair of see-through panties, legs resting against the hardwood floor with your back arch and tits facing Sunghoon as he walks through the door.
Like the good girl you are, there’s nothing you love more than to service your mouth to Sunghoon’s dick like it’s a personal chore you need to fulfill every single day. He merely looks down at you with a full on smirk, dropping his bag and coat on the sofa next to the door before his big, veiny hands unbuckle his belt. The metal clanks against one another, making you drool at the sight.
His cock is soft when he pushes his pants down to his ankles. Sunghoon doesn’t bother stepping out of them. Instead, you feel it touch your knees. He pushes his crotch right in front off your face, enough for you to stick your tongue out and lick his soft cock from his tip to his base.
“Get me hard with your mouth,” Sunghoon commands, hands behind his head as he presents himself to you.
You don’t know who the bigger percent is—you or Sunghoon.
It doesn’t take that long either. You spit your saliva onto him, tongue tracing the veins of his cock as he grows harder with every passing lick. He hums in satisfaction from above you, closing his eyes when he feels your mouth engulf his hardened cockhead. “This is exactly what I need when I come home. I need your slutty mouth to make me cum. You’re so good at sucking my dick. Filthy whore.”
You moan around him, back arching and pussy leaking at the dirty insults. Sunghoon peeks down at your tits and sees the way they slightly bounce when you bob your head to take in more of his fuckstick to the point where he groans and shoves the entirety of his length into your tight and narrow throat.
“Fuuuuck. Such pretty titties. Lemme fuck your mouth. I know my bitch can take my cock down her deep throat.”
You don’t object. Not when Sunghoon widens his stance to better accommodate his powerful thrusts, feet planted on the hardwood floor as his hand grabs your hair into a makeshift ponytail. He shoves his hard, wet dick into your mouth and pulls it out in quick succession until the tip hits the back of your throat repeatedly.
“You sound so fucking good when you gag on it,” he grunts, looking down at you to see you drooling. “Drool on my dick, whore. I wanna see your tits shine with it. Fuck the sounds you’re making… you love my dick, don’t you? Love it when I fuck your small mouth like this?” He pounds right into your throat, the sheer rawness making your pussy ache. You’d give anything to feel him inside of you.
Sunghoon pushes your head until your nose reaches his pelvis and doesn’t let go. Not when you’re gagging and choking around him. He doesn’t care that you can’t breathe and doesn’t give a fuck that you’re drooling all over your chest, his sack or the floor. No, Sunghoon’s throbbing inside of your mouth and moaning into the quiet of the foyer.
He pulls his dick out of your mouth eventually before jerking his cock with his dick, presenting his big, heavy balls that bounce in front of your eyes. Like a desperate girl, you chase his balls with your mouth and stick your tongue out to lick them all over, swelling up the precum and spit that’s traveled down his body. “Suck my balls. Fuck yeah, just like that. Take my big balls in your mouth and suck on ‘em until I cum.” Sunghoon jerks his dick with his hand while he looks down to see you devouring his sack on by one, harshly sucking at the skin as your tongue traces every single side of him like a dirty affair. “Suck my balls harder, fuckfuckfuck. Just like that. Oh God, my balls are so wet. You’re making them so fucking wet with that tiny mouth of yours. Fucking hell. I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking CUM!”
Sunghoon pulls away to jerk off, his tip facing you. His semen spills across your cheeks and nose until he forces your mouth open with his dick, pushing past your teeth and tongue until he’s shooting his hot load down your throat. It throbs, you choke and ache, but goddamn, your pussy’s leaking.
~~~~~~~~~~
i love balls sm i could write a love letter to worshipping a guy’s balls 🤤🤤🤤 sucking on sunghoon’s big warm balls when he cums and sucking on his load 🤤 wanna feel them slap against my pussy when he fucks my doggy so bad 🙏🏼 even better if they’re coatedddd in cum and they SMACK
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.
staff notes: consider this part two of peeping riki? also, to the person who sent the req , it’s nearly done — just wanted to get this out real quick ♡⸝⸝
niki felt like he was going insane.
ever since he saw you that night, the only thing that filled his mind was the sounds of your moans and the way his name sounded slipping from your mouth.
he’d zone out whenever you said his name, tense up if you sat too close to him on the couch, and practically lose it whenever you touched him—accident or not.
it had gotten so bad to the point he couldn’t even shower without fisting himself there. one hand resting on the cold tiles while the other wrapped around his dick as he pictured that night all over again.
and even now, when he should’ve been asleep or doing literally anything else, he was in bed, pillow folded around his dick, slamming his hips into it. wishing and needing it to be you instead.
“fuck…” he shuddered, lazily lifting his hips into the pillow, building that pressure again.
he was almost there, on the brink of cumming again when a knock sounded at his door.
“niki? you in there?”
fuck.
“yeah, shit, just give me a second!” he called out, tripping over his blanket while trying to pull his shorts up. “i’ll be right there.”
you weren’t supposed to be home. he was sure that he had the house to himself, that you were supposed to be out on some date.
niki grabbed one of the small air freshener cans he kept in his nightstand and sprayed the room—and himself for safe measures.
he opened the door, his chest heaving as sweat beaded on his forehead, hands slightly shaking. he had his body angled to cover the scene behind him.
“hey…” he ran his fingers through his hair. "everything alright?"
“yeah, wanna watch a movie?” you asked, eyes tracing him up and down as if you had a good idea of what he was just doing.
"yeah, sure," he smiled, slipping through the crack of the door and closing it behind him. "but weren't you going somewhere tonight?"
"oh. i got stood up," you said, like it meant nothing.
inside the living room, the tv was already paused on a random movie, while the dim red hue from the led lights—that desperately needed replacing—in the kitchen, filled the space.
niki sat down next to you, his arm slung over the back of the couch, fingertips brushing your arm. you leaned into his touch, settling in his arms.
the movie started and everything seemed to be going fine, at least on your end it was. for niki, it was slowly becoming hell, because the tent growing in his pants was noticeable.
he tried to shift away from you, sit up a little bit, just enough to cover up but you wouldn’t move. instead, you moved closer to him, sinking your body into the cushions. your thigh was pressed against his.
he was doing it to himself at this point. the fabric of his shorts were thin enough that he could feel the heat from your skin and it was driving him mad.
niki froze, his breath catching in his throat.
you suddenly froze, and he started wishing he could just hide. you felt him tense, your eyes darting from his lap up to his face.
"...niki, are you okay?" you whispered, your voice trailing off once you realized what was going on.
before you knew it, his lips were on yours, hands cupping your face as he pressed his body against yours. he waited damn near two weeks to do this. to kiss you, to have his hands all over you.
niki’s hands traveled down your body, one hand slipping under your shirt, the palm of his hand hot against your skin. “please,” he muttered against your lips.
you nodded, helping him lift your shirt. he pressed a kiss against the corner of your lips, down to your chest, lingering there before lowering himself between your legs. niki hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans. he didn’t waste a second, dragging them down your legs and carelessly tossing them onto the ground.
his hands were wrapped around your thighs, pushing them back to give himself a good view of your already flushed and soaked pussy.
“all this for me, baby?” he asked, dragging a finger down your folds before he leaned forward. his tongue traced slow along your folds, before inserting two fingers. his mouth worked skillfully, focusing on your clit, fingers curling just right.
“niki- wait.. fuck,” you breathed, moving your hand to cover your mouth as your head fell back against the armrest.
embarrassingly enough, you were about to cum already. your fingering treaded through his hair, grabbing a handful of his hair as your hips rolled against his tongue. before you could have that release, he pulled back his tongue and stilled his fingers.
you let out a whined, needy gasp, eyes snapping open to look down at him. "...why did you stop?"
he looked up at you, his gaze hungry and full of desire. "i need to feel you around me," he whispered, rising to his knees, the cushion dipping beneath him. he pushed down his shorts, his dick already hard and leaking.
his hands slid under your knees, pushing them back until they reached your chest. he pushed inside you slowly and started moving. it was slow at first like he was allowing you to adapt to him but that didn't last too long.
"fuck- you feel so good," he groaned, his hips snapping into yours. he leaned down, catching your lips in a kiss before pulling back again. "c'mon.. let me hear you, baby."
all you could do is moan, your walls clenching around him as your nails clutch at his shirt. niki placed his thumb in your mouth, pulling out until only the tip was inside before slamming his hips again. "let hear me that pretty voice like last time."
"niki... shit, i'm gonna-" you gasped, the pleasure pooling in your stomach, not even registering what he said. "don't," you choked out, voice trembling. "don't stop. please."
niki picked up his pace, using his thumb to circle your clit. "you sound so good like this... so fucking pretty," he took one deep thrust, burying himself as deep as he can inside you.
"cum for me, baby. i got you... let go," he breathed, pulling back before doing another deep thrust, then another and another one. until you let out a silent cry, trying to catch your breath.
it didn't take long for your orgasm to hit. it shot through you, leaving your legs shaking, clenching around niki. he started to slow down once his own orgasm hit, his chest heaving.
he leaned down one final time, burying himself in your shoulder and let out a shaky breath. still inside you on that cramped couch.
staff notes: “what’s your favorite curse word?” “probably fuck,” that video was all i could think abt while editing bro 💀
# | store disclaimer: all work is fictional and is not a real depiction of our staff outside the store !
( 박성훈 ) ⓘ 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻! ⋆ bfs!sunghoon ⋆ first time ⋆ bigdick virgin!sunghoon ⋆ size kink ⋆ clit play ⋆ mention of porn ⋆ unprotected sex : 1070
──── in which ︵ teaching virgin sunghoon about sex seemed easy enough, until he ended up between your thighs, completely obsessed with the way you felt around him. turns out, inexperienced doesn’t mean innocent.
✩now playing - call out my name | the weeknd | - ✩viewmasterlist to check out my other works!
“fuck, okay..." sunghoon breathes out, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips out of habit. his eyes are glued to your glistening pussy on full display in front of him, his dick throbbing painfully at the sight of you so wet for him. he’s holding (more like gripping) his dick firmly in one hand, the other is on your thigh, fingers digging into your flesh.
his tip is already wet with his own precum, throat so dry he has to swallow thickly every few minutes. he cannot believe this is actually happening. he never even imagined you’d let him touch you this way, let alone look at you this way.
you wait patiently, legs spread as far as they can go, making sure to give him easier access to your core since this is his first time after all.
and he’s grateful you’re letting him set the pace, because truthfully? he’s scared. terrified he’d fuck it all up. it doesn’t help that his dick is bigger than average, something he’d taken pride in until this very moment.
sunghoon shifts on the bed, the mattress creaking under him, as he gets closer to you. his hand trembles ever so slightly as he slowly runs the fat head of his cock through your drenched folds, hissing softly at the feeling of your warm slick coating his throbbing cockhead.
his eyes dart up briefly to look at your face, and seeing the arousal in your expression as you look down at your own pussy being teased by his dick almost sends him over the edge. he’s a virgin after all—even if he’s not so innocent.
being dirty minded but inexperienced is one of the few things you’ve always teased him about but look at you now, spread open for him to take you.
the feeling of his tip pressing against your entrance makes you both suck in a sharp breath, hearts pounding and bodies burning with unadulterated desire. sunghoon looks up at you from your core, eyes searching for any signs of hesitation. when he finds none, he slowly pushes inside, his thick head stretching you wide open.
your brows furrow almost immediately, face contorting in pleasure and slight pain from the burn of how much he’s opening you up.
sunghoon’s jaw is clenched tightly but his expression mirrors yours otherwise—full of unbridled pleasure.
only half way in is enough to make sunghoon feel that warm, tightening feeling inside his stomach. “fuuck... you’re so tight,” he moans, a low, breathless sound, and it only makes you tighter around him, eliciting a hiss from sunghoon.
he bottoms out with a soft grunt, sparks exploding behind his eyes at the sensation. he’s never felt anything so warm and wet and tight. his hand doesn’t even come close to how good your pussy feels. and he’s wondering why he hasn’t done this sooner.
it’s almost out of instinct when he begins moving, hips rocking back and forth in a slow rhythm, still finding his pace. his hands tighten under your knees where he’s holding you open, pushing your legs further into your chest and almost folding you in half.
he almost loses it when your eyes roll back briefly, the sweetest moans leaving your pouty parted lips as he fucks into you slowly but deeply, thick length stretching you so good. sunghoon grits his teeth, jaw muscles ticking as he tries to focus on your pleasure rather than the feeling of his orgasm approaching awfully quickly.
in his mind, he’s begging himself to not cum so quickly. fortunately for him, you’re getting close quickly too—despite the slowness of his thrusts. It’s like his dick is hitting everything all at once; every sweet spot is being stimulated because he’s just that big. it almost feels like he’s in your guts, hitting so deep your moans mix with breathless gasps.
just like he’s seen in porn, his hand leaves your leg to rub your clit with his thumb, circling the swollen little nub in tight circles.
shocks of pleasure shoot up his spine when he feels you tighten like a velvet vice around his pulsating cock.
“f-fuck, hoon…! right there! don’t stop- please, don’t stop--!" your moans of pleasure, the sight of your perfect breasts pushing out as your back arches, and the feeling of your pussy beginning to flutter around him, almost makes him nut.
with a surge of desire, sunghoon shifts his position and pulls your legs over his shoulder instead, arms wrapping around your thighs. when he starts moving, he doesn’t go slow like before—he pounds into you.
the sudden change in pace fucks with your head, your hands scrambling for purchase on his bedsheets. despite being a virgin just minutes prior, he seems to get the hang of it quite quickly.
the way he’s hitting your sweet spot just right is mind-blowing in more ways than one—because he’s not supposed to be this good at sex.
it doesn’t even take long for you to come all over his big dick, moaning in ecstasy as waves of pleasure crash over you.
sunghoon’s hips jerk, his head dropping, hunching forward as he gasps softly.
despite his best efforts to hold back the inevitable—the feeling of your pussy milking him so greedily is his undoing. and he’s coming inside you before he can even warn you.
you moan, a raw, needy sound clawing out of your throat, as his hot semen fills you to the brim, cock throbbing desperately inside you as he keeps fucking you slowly. he groans low in his throat as he slumps forward, body slick with a thin sheen of sweat and forehead pressing against the pillow next to your head.
“you came inside." you breathe out, still slightly breathless.
sunghoon’s arms let go of your legs and instead he braces them on either side of your head, hips twitching occasionally, face still buried in the pillow, ears flushed pink, dick throbbing.
“sorry... couldn’t help it,” he murmurs apologetically, still catching his breath. he shifts slightly so his face is buried in your neck instead of your plush pillow, inhaling your sweet scent. “i’ll go get a morning after pill..."
“you better,” you poke his side, making him laugh into your skin, lips brushing against your neck so softly and intimately it almost feels like a kiss.
written for the heart’s mailroom event ! ༊
⌗ in which . . . in order to make enough money to support yourself, you become a cam girl, only to find out your most devoted viewer is your next door neighbor, park sunghoon
流星 ໑ . . older!sunghoon ⋆ fem!reader
⌗ includes . . . smut (18+), oral sex (m. & f. receiving), unprotected sex (don't), fingers, praise kink, dirty talk, body worship, tit shot, voyeuristic themes, obsessive behavior, parasocial dynamics, possessive behavior, choking, consensual recording during sex, thigh kink, markings, masturbation references, explicit language throughout, reader is 22 while sunghoon is 26, ➜ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ♡ purely a work of fiction, none of this reflects reality | wc: 11.7k
໑ part 1 | part 2
♪ el’s bubble: thank you sooo, so much for the request (storyline sounded too familiar so you just know i had to put that first) 🤗 very, very, veeerryyy heavily inspired by mask girl 😼 currently working on a bunch of requests simultaneously but i jumped up from my bed seeing that request because president el is a sucker for thriller films ! not my best work (imo) but i’d definitely redeem myself in the future . . enjoy — likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply appreciated on here ♡ requests are open if you want to see me write something specific ۫ ׅ
now playing . . . shameless by the weeknd
Was moving far away from home at 18 the best decision a financially unstable dumb teenager, a.k.a you, could make?
Fuck yes and fuck no.
You absolutely hated the school environment you were in back in your hometown. Sure, you had a lot of friends, got to experience the popular “high school love” thing, and made a lot of memories that even until now are still worth talking about.
But high school always had its fair share of drama. Rumors that spread faster than facts, snitches who always seemed to know something you did not, fake screenshots of fake text messages, secret animosity sitting quietly behind group photos, and inside jokes that did not feel as funny anymore once you thought about them too long. It all drained the life out of you in a way you did not fully recognize until you were already too exhausted to care.
It was not loud. No, it was way worse than that. It was constant.
Which is why in the last few years of high school, you made the decision to take your studies a bit more seriously. You sacrificed the time you had saved up for doomscrolling and scrolling through nothing in particular, and replaced it with studying that actually made your head hurt in a different way. You started staying at least two hours later in the library, sometimes more when the building was already half empty and the janitors had started their rounds.
At first it felt forced. Like you were pretending to be someone disciplined just because you were tired of everything else falling apart around you. But slowly, it became routine. Familiar. Almost comforting in a strange way, like at least that part of your life made sense.
And in the end, all of it paid off. You got accepted into a pretty well known university with your dream program on the other side of the country, and with a 40 percent scholarship.
You still remember how unreal it felt when you saw it. Not excitement first, but disbelief. It’s like your brain needed a second to catch up to the idea that you were actually allowed to leave, actually chosen to leave.
To say that the last four years of your life were the best you have ever had would be an understatement.
New friends who did not know your old reputation. New organizations that did not care what you were like in high school. New school, new city, new hangout spots that slowly replaced the ones you used to think were irreplaceable. Cafés where you studied at midnight, convenience stores you started recognizing by heart, metro rides and late-night walks that made you feel like you belonged somewhere completely different.
Everything was literally amazing in a way that almost felt suspicious when you were in it.
You would be lying to yourself though if you said you did not still get homesick. It was not dramatic, not the kind where you cried every night, but more like small hits of it at random times. Hearing your hometown accent in public. Smelling food that reminded you of your kitchen. Seeing group chats light up during holidays you were not physically part of yet.
You went home at least four times a year, for summer, for Christmas, and whatever else came up that required you to get your ass back to the other side of the country. Every time, the airport felt like a strange in-between space, like you were not fully leaving or fully arriving, just switching versions of yourself.
It did not help that you were so, so used to your parents handing you everything on a silver plate. Not in a spoiled, careless way, of course, but in a way where you never really had to think about the weight of things. Problems were solved quietly, decisions were made for convenience, and responsibilities were always softened before they reached you.
Now it was different.
Now you had to think before you acted.
Now everything had edges you could not ignore anymore.
Everything in your life recently had been going pretty well, but there was always one thing you could not quite wrap your head around fully.
Being financially independent.
Not in the exaggerated broke college student stereotype people joke about, but in the quiet, constant awareness of it. The way you mentally subtract expenses before you even agree to plans. The way you pause slightly longer in front of anything that is not strictly necessary. The way even small purchases feel like tiny negotiations with yourself.
It showed up in the smallest places. Your phone bill reminder. Grocery runs that used to feel simple but now required actual planning. Random cravings that turned into calculations instead of impulses. Even going out with friends sometimes came with a quiet mental checklist of what you could afford without regretting it later.
It was not that you could not survive. You were surviving just fine.
It was just that nobody really prepares you for the feeling of realizing that freedom does not just mean leaving home.
It also means learning, very slowly, that every version of independence has a price tag you are now responsible for reading.
You were absolutely horrible at managing your own finances, despite studying economics.
The irony was not lost on you.
You could explain inflation in a classroom setting, could break down opportunity cost in neat little definitions, could even sound annoyingly confident about budgeting theory.
Yet, in real life, you once nearly maxed out your own credit card buying a new set of clothes because you told yourself it was a “one-time reset” for your wardrobe and personality.
It was not a reset. It was quite literally a financial mistake wrapped in good lighting and impulse control issues.
So instead of minimizing your expenses like a normal, responsible person would do, what did you decide to do?
Simple. Pick up a new side hustle.
You had so many options to begin with, but none of them really resonated with you that much.
Working part-time at a restaurant? Cool in theory, but you did not want to leave your 5 p.m. classes and immediately hop on a bus ride to what you privately called the establishment of doom and dishes. The idea of standing for hours after sitting through lectures already made your soul feel tired.
Online tutoring? You were capable of it, technically. You knew you could do it. But the thought of spending your already limited free time slowly losing your mind over someone else’s academic problems felt like a different kind of exhaustion you were not willing to sign up for.
Being an online affiliate for something? Almost. Definitely closer. But you could only say so much for someone who was somehow shadow banned on every single platform the internet had to offer. Even algorithms seemed to look at you and decide you were not meant for conventional monetization.
So what exactly did you pick up?
You chose to become a webcam model, or more commonly known as a cam girl.
That might have been the biggest plot twist in your entire life. You would have never expected yourself to take up that kind of work, not even in the most chaotic alternate timeline version of you.
But who were you to complain?
It paid.
And more importantly, it paid in a way that actually made your financial anxiety quiet down for once. You did not have to do much beyond curating an online presence, following the boundaries you set for yourself, and listening to the odd requests of your viewers while maintaining full control over what you chose to show and what you did not.
It was structured chaos, in a way. Controlled attention. Anonymous interaction. Predictable unpredictability.
And you were not even that hesitant at first, because even before you started, you made one decision very clearly for yourself.
You were going to wear a mask.
Partly because you were not particularly fond of seeing your own face on screen. It felt too direct, too real, too easy to recognize yourself in a way you did not enjoy.
But more than that, it was because you did not want any traceable version of you floating around the internet. No clear identity. No direct link back to your real life. No possibility of some random video resurfacing in the future and landing in the wrong hands.
Especially not your parents.
You could already imagine it. The silence. The confusion. The question that would never need to be fully spoken out loud: why the hell did we not just sleep that night?
So you built the separation carefully. Deliberately.
A mask. A name that was not your name. A version of yourself that existed only behind a screen and only when you allowed it to.
And slowly, without you fully noticing when it became real, your alter ego stopped feeling like a joke or a backup plan.
It became something people recognized.
A persona that lived in the gaps between anonymity and attention.
Ultimately, your alter ego was eventually known as:
Mask Girl.
Everything about it felt incredibly surreal, both in a good and somewhat bad way. But with money popping up in every single crevice of your life, you never said a single thing about it.
It was not something you bragged about. It was not something you explained. It just became part of your life in the same quiet way everything else did once you stopped questioning it too much.
In your last year of university, you finally saved up enough money and moved out of the cramped university dorms into an apartment complex just three stations and a two-minute walk away from your university. It sucked that you had to wake up a bit earlier just to make it on time for your first class, but it was so worth it.
The difference was immediate.
No more thin walls that made you hear every conversation, every laugh, every slammed door from three rooms away. No more shared bathrooms that always somehow felt busy when you needed them most. No more cramped space where your life was basically folded into a bed, a desk, and a small corner of “existing.”
Even up until now, now that you have finished university, you are still living in that same apartment complex.
Some things just became permanent without you realizing it.
The apartment itself was quietly perfect in ways you only noticed after living there for a while. It had really nice tenants who mostly kept to themselves, the kind of people you only ever saw in passing in elevators or hallway nods. There was a café downstairs that sold incredibly good carbonara, the kind you pretended was a “treat” but ended up ordering more often than you should have. A convenience store sat dead smack beside the building, which made late-night cravings dangerously easy to act on. And there was a laundry room in the basement that always smelled faintly like detergent and warm metal.
It was functional, but it never felt cold.
And somehow, you got blessed with Unit 110.
It was slightly bigger than the other units due to some measurement errors the architect made during the planning, something that felt almost too trivial to matter but ended up changing everything about how the space felt. It did not feel like a typical studio that forced you into corners. It felt like it breathed a little more.
There was a window that overlooked the entire city, especially beautiful at night when everything turned into scattered light instead of structure. A really good air conditioning unit that actually worked without negotiation. And just so much space for one person that you sometimes forgot how quiet it could get until you stopped moving.
At first, you filled it with the usual things. A bed that you chose more for comfort than aesthetics, a desk that slowly became your work zone, a small kitchen area you only fully used when you were motivated enough to cook something that was not instant food.
But over time, it became more than just a place you stayed.
It became yours.
Your routines lived there. Your silence lived there. The version of you that did not need to perform for anyone lived there.
It was your little paradise, and you loved it to bits.
Your apartment unit had three rooms aside from the main living space. Your room, your bathroom, and what was formerly the guest room, because you had turned it into your little recording spot.
It looked like a bar inside, in a way. Not in a literal sense, there were no drinks, no bartenders, nothing like that. But the atmosphere of it felt like one. Dim lighting. A long table pushed against the wall. A computer setup taking up most of the space like it had always belonged there. Everything arranged just enough to feel intentional, but still slightly improvised.
It was a space that existed in its own time zone.
Your costumes were there too. Cosplays of characters you wanted to wear. Outfits you picked up over time because they looked interesting, or because you thought they had potential for the screen. Tight corsets that shaped your silhouette the way you wanted it to be seen. Mini skirts that felt like they belonged to a version of you that only existed online. An incredibly short pair of shorts you found in a thrift store because, in your words, it had “immaculate potential.”
Your accessories sat neatly on a small table beside a huge mirror. Earrings, chains, small details that changed nothing and everything at the same time.
And most importantly, your mask.
It was always there, always waiting.
Every night, you would step inside that room, close the door behind you, and switch.
You would change into something curated, something intentional. A tiny corset that hugged your waist in a way that looked almost too precise. Accessories layered just enough to complete the image. You would spend five minutes debating between shoes or slippers like it actually mattered in the grand scheme of things, before eventually choosing based on comfort more than aesthetics.
Then you would strap your mask on and become someone else.
Just like that, you would stream for a long stretch of time, slipping into a version of yourself that felt separate but familiar.
To say that the moment you went online, a huge sum of people would immediately enter your stream was an understatement.
They came in fast. Consistently. Predictably. Names stacking on top of names. Messages flooding the side of your screen until it became more noise than words. Virtual gifts appearing in bursts that made the interface light up in ways you had long since stopped reacting to.
They sent you money. Always.
They complimented your body. They begged for a face reveal. They asked random questions about your day like they had any real access to it. They asked about your workout routine, your meals, your life outside the screen, as if you were something they could slowly piece together if they paid enough attention.
Most of it passed through you like background static.
But there was always something, or someone, that stood out.
A viewer with the username tiramissulatte.
You never really understood why.
They were not different in any obvious way. Just another name in a flood of usernames. Just another presence in a space filled with thousands of people watching you at the same time. Just another atom in a molecule you were never supposed to examine too closely.
Yet you did.
Maybe it was because they stayed longer than most. Always one of the last few to leave, lingering quietly in chat even after the noise had thinned out. Sometimes asking how you were, in a way that felt less like curiosity and more like checking in. Maybe it was because they always sent more than you expected, consistently, like it was habitual rather than performative. Maybe it was because they complimented you in a way that felt oddly grounded, never exaggerated, never overly loud. Or maybe it was because every now and then, when you would randomly slip into talking too much about your life after a long stream, half joking, half not, he would respond like he was actually listening.
Maybe.
But you never let yourself think too hard about it.
Because at the end of it all, he was still just another viewer.
Right?
Just another person you did not know personally, sending money into a screen because you existed behind it.
Someone you would never recognize in real life. Someone who did not know you either. Just another name in the system.
That’s all it’s supposed to be.
You never thought much about the people behind the walls.
Not the ones in your building, and definitely not the ones behind usernames.
Because why would you?
People were just there.
There’s a family living in the unit directly above yours because their kid once gave you a loaf of banana bread. There’s an old grandma living in Unit 108 who goes out for a stroll at exactly 6:15 every single morning. Your childhood friend’s ex surprisingly lives two floors below yours.
You only know a handful of people in the building, mostly just by their first name and face, faces you see every single time you stride through the apartment complex for yet another side quest.
One of them would be the specimen residing in Unit 109, a.k.a your next-door neighbor, Sunghoon.
You do not know him personally. You never really had the time to bond with your neighbors because you were socially awkward, and the outdoors constantly had to beg for your attention if you were not busy doing provocative dances in front of your computer.
You have heard about him in passing conversations though, the first being some girl in the convenience store openly thirsting over him while you were trying to decide between two donut flavors.
He is at least four years older than you, loves working out, and has a dog named Gaeul.
Aside from that, you mostly just knew him as someone who lived beside you, someone who kept odd hours sometimes, and had this strange presence that made silence feel slightly more intentional rather than empty.
You saw him in fragments of your life quite frequently though.
In the laundry room during the evenings. In the convenience store early in the morning when you were cooking up cup noodles and caught him casually stuffing protein bars into his pockets before paying for them. Even on metro rides sometimes, though for most of the trip, he always got off before you did.
It was never anything important.
A familiar face in passing. A quiet presence standing a few feet away from you while waiting for the dryer cycle to finish. Someone you occasionally shared silence with in the most unremarkable parts of your routine.
Nothing more, nothing less.
At the end of the day, Sunghoon was just your next-door neighbor.
And you were just another stranger living behind the wall beside his.
Meanwhile, somewhere else entirely, thousands of people knew you only as Mask Girl.
It was a Thursday night when you were on stream once again.
You had just wrapped up your dancing for the night and sat down on your chair in front of the computer, ultimately deciding you just wanted to interact with your viewers now instead of exhausting yourself any further.
Your room glowed in shades of pink and warm yellow from the lights you had set up earlier. The fairy lights hanging near the ceiling reflected faintly against your wings every time you moved, making them shimmer slightly whenever you leaned back in your chair.
Tonight’s theme was inspired by Flora from Winx Club.
You actually went all out for this one.
Your hair was down, and you had curled the ends earlier after finally deciding to put your neglected curler to use. You wore a green corset with pink highlights that hugged your waist perfectly, paired with a flowy pink skirt that was short in the front and longer at the back, the fabric swaying every time you shifted around in your seat.
Gold jewelry with tiny white and green details wrapped around your neck, arms, and fingers. A pink flower bracelet rested around your wrist, while little green and pink accessories were pinned carefully into your hair.
And most importantly, your wings.
The fairy wings that cost at least eight sacrificed café visits.
You still thought about that every time you wore them.
Your wedged sandals with green straps were another financial tragedy entirely. You literally had to outbid someone else for them on Instagram at one in the morning while half awake and emotionally attached to the idea of completing the outfit.
Worth it though.
Absolutely worth it.
Your stream was calmer tonight. Less dancing, more talking. The kind of stream where you just sat there and let conversations drift wherever they wanted.
One moment you were debating spice tolerance levels for hotpot, and the next you were somehow explaining how embarrassingly average your science grades were back in high school despite currently holding an economics degree.
The chat moved so quickly you almost stopped reading half of it.
stargirl222: NEED the fit details immediately omg 😩💳
luv4maskgirl: your hair looks sooo pretty tonight whattt thr fuck 😭
user1028199171681: I LOVE YOUU MASK GIRL HOPE YOU HAD A NICE DAY 😖❤️🩹 MUAH MUAHH
purplefairydust: flora wishes she looked like this btw
jaeyunsleftsock: no becausr the wings actually EATTTTTT 👅
You laughed quietly to yourself, adjusting one of the bracelets around your wrist while reading through the flood of comments.
Then another message appeared.
From a username you had unconsciously started recognizing faster than the others.
tiramissulatte: ouhh shii 👀 are those new nails? they look gooood 😉 like really good im not glazing
Your eyes flickered toward the message almost immediately.
A small smile spread across your face before you could really stop it.
“Finally, someone appreciates my financial sacrifices,” you joked, leaning closer to the camera.
Carelessly, you lifted your hands toward the screen to show them off properly.
They were white nails with green and pink polka dots, with tiny detailed designs scattered across different fingers. Flowers, stars, butterflies, little details that took way longer at the nail salon than you originally planned for.
You turned your hands around slightly beneath the light so the designs would catch the camera better.
In the process, something else became visible too.
The moles on your hands.
Not one or two.
Seven.
Four on your left hand, three on your right.
Tiny dark marks scattered delicately across your skin in a pattern you never really thought much about because they had always been there, as familiar to you as your own fingerprints. They sat between the soft pink and green tones of your nails, small against the glow of your ring light, almost hidden unless someone was really paying attention.
And your viewers apparently were.
The chat immediately flooded again the second your hands filled the screen.
angelkisses: OH MY GODDDD THOSE NAILS ARE SO PRETTY 🥹
maaaskg1rluver: the butterflies??? hello??? 😍your nail tech ate the whole thing up girl drop the social media asap
cherrysoda88: whoever your lover was in your past life definitely had a hand fetish because wtf these are gorgeous 😭
chwenotchewtrainfan5: SO CUTE STOPPPPP
1bubbleberry: the flower details are literally perfect omg
You laughed at the comments, rotating your wrist slightly so the tiny charms and glossy polish would catch the light better.
The designs looked even prettier on camera than they did in real life.
Little flowers painted carefully onto the white polish. Tiny stars scattered across two fingers. Butterflies detailed so delicately that your nail technician nearly went cross-eyed trying to finish them.
And beneath all of it, the moles.
Visible for only a few seconds whenever your hands shifted beneath the light.
If someone looked closely enough, if they mentally connected them together in the right order, they formed something that almost resembled a heart.
A slightly uneven one.
A wobbly little heart stretched across both your hands.
You never thought much about them yourself. They were just there, little marks you had grown up seeing every single day.
Nothing special, nothing memorable, it was something a bit more insignificant if you were to have a say in it.
The chat continued moving quickly anyway, people far more focused on the nails themselves than anything else.
Then another message popped up.
tiramissulatte: nails are so cute wth, next time i’m paying for the appointment ✌️
You laughed immediately after reading it out loud.
“Please do actually, because these nearly cost me my dignity and apartment unit,” you joked dramatically, leaning back in your chair.
The chat spammed laughing emojis almost instantly.
You stayed online for a little longer after that, talking about random things that barely connected to each other anymore. Someone asked about your favorite late-night snacks, another person asked if you preferred rainy weather over sunny weather, and somehow the conversation spiraled into whether or not cereal counted as soup.
Eventually though, exhaustion began settling into your shoulders.
The clock at the corner of your monitor was getting embarrassingly close to midnight.
You stretched slightly in your seat before sighing.
“Okay, I think I’m finally ending stream before I accidentally start saying things that’ll haunt me forever,” you said, laughing softly.
The chat immediately flooded with dramatic goodbyes and begging.
“Goodnight everyone,” you added, lifting your hand toward the camera one last time. “Eat something good tomorrow, don’t annoy people online too much, and drink water or whatever.”
You smiled faintly before finally ending the stream.
And just like that, Mask Girl disappeared for the night.
The next day, the clock on the wall blinked 5:28 PM in sharp, slightly harsh light, like it was reminding you that time was still moving even if your life had just shifted into something unfamiliar.
Fresh graduates. No more classes. No more campus schedules. Just you, your apartment, and whatever came next.
You were already in the laundry room.
Basket balanced on your hip, half your attention on your phone, half on the machine that kept making that uneven humming sound like it had opinions about your clothing choices. You were doing laundry early because your university friends had dragged you into weekend plans again, something about drinks, pictures, and “celebrating freedom now that we have reached unc status and are unemployed.”
Honestly, you needed it.
Especially because your digicam friend was pulling up to the function.
Which, of course, meant every outfit mattered more than it should have.
You were already mentally building combinations while dumping clothes into the washer, thinking about lighting, angles, whether your green top would match the vibe or if you should just default to black like usual. Graduation had not made you any less image conscious, it had just given you more time to overthink it.
The laundry room was almost empty except for the steady rhythm of machines and distant echoes of footsteps somewhere above.
A second basket appeared in the doorway a moment later, slightly heavier than the sound of it suggested. The person carrying it shifted it once, like adjusting their grip without really looking down.
You didn’t look up at first. Just slid a shirt off your arm and dropped it in. “You can take that one,” you said, moving your basket slightly so the space next to you was clear.
There was a pause before the response came. Not long, but just enough to register that it wasn’t immediate.
“Thank you.”
You recognized the voice before you even looked. Not from conversations, more from repetition. From hearing it in passing often enough that your brain had filed it under familiar without attaching anything to it.
Sunghoon stepped in fully a second later, basket shifting against his hip before he set it down beside the machine next to yours. He didn’t rush the movement. Just placed it, glanced at the row of washers, then chose one without hesitation.
You finally glanced over properly. “You’re early too.”
“Not early,” he said, opening his basket. “Just on time for this one.”
“That sounds like you planned it.”
He gave a short look that didn’t quite become a reaction. “It’s laundry.”
Fair enough.
You went back to your machine, pressing clothes down a little more than necessary, like they needed convincing to fit. The detergent bottle sat between you both on the counter, cap already slightly sticky from use.
Sunghoon reached for his machine lid, paused, then leaned slightly toward the detergent shelf. His hand stopped before it even got there. The shelf sat higher than it needed to.
He looked at it for half a second, then at you.
You were already half on your toes again without thinking about it. “It’s fine, I totally got this in the bag.”
“You don’t.”
“What do you mean I don’t, I definitely do. If you believe it’ll be, then it’ll be.”
He didn’t argue. He just stepped closer, reached up once, and pulled the bottle down like it had always been in the wrong place. He set it down between you with the same quiet efficiency he used for everything else.
“Here.”
“Oh my goodness, thank you so much,” you said, taking it. Your fingers brushed his without either of you adjusting for it.
He didn’t comment. Just moved back to his machine and started sorting clothes in a way that looked practiced, not careful.
You poured detergent into the cap, watching the liquid rise. “My friends are already arguing about outfits,” you said after a moment. “We haven’t even left our places yet.”
“Sounds normal,” he said.
“Pfft, it’s not normal. It’s so, so messy, but it works out.”
“Sounds like it.”
You huffed lightly, like that was not helpful but also not wrong.
Behind you, a machine somewhere finished a cycle and clicked open with a soft mechanical sigh. Someone walked past outside the room, footsteps fading quickly.
Sunghoon loaded his machine without looking rushed, each motion unremarked, like he had done it too many times to treat it as anything new.
You capped the detergent and leaned slightly against the counter for a second, scrolling again. “They’re threatening me now.”
“Who is?”
“My friends. Bro, they said I’m not allowed to show up looking underdressed.”
“That seems manageable. You have a whole sea of clothes with you here.”
“It’s not when everyone has opinions.”
He paused briefly, then closed the machine lid. “Wear something you already like.”
“That’s just your own advice.”
“It works for others.”
You looked at him for a moment longer than intended. He was already facing his machine again, like the conversation had ended without needing closure.
The laundry room kept its rhythm around you. Water running. Metal shifting. That low hum that never really actually stopped.
You turned your attention back to your clothes, still thinking about colors that would photograph well, still weighing options that didn’t need that much thought.
Sunghoon didn’t look over again, but his timing stayed the same as before. Quietly matching the space without making it obvious he was doing it.
His gaze flicked once, briefly, not to your face this time, but lower, where your hands moved as you sorted through fabric. It lingered just long enough to register something small there, something familiar in a way he didn’t react to out loud. Then it was gone again, like it hadn’t happened at all.
The cheesecake was an impulse buy, the kind of decision made early in the morning when the lights of the 24-hour grocery store hummed too loudly, and the exhaustion made everything seem like a good idea.
It sat in its little plastic container now, slightly off-center on the middle shelf of the fridge, the condensation on the lid catching what little light seeped in from the open door.
"Don't you dare melt," you muttered, poking the container like it might argue back.
The fridge motor wasn’t running. You’d noticed that immediately when you got back, the absence of its usual background buzz making the apartment feel eerily hollow. The overhead light hadn’t worked either, and after flipping the switch three times just to be sure, you’d sighed and dug through the junk drawer for the flashlight you swore you’d left there. The beam was weak, the batteries probably older than your last relationship, but it was enough to see the disaster zone that was your kitchen.
The flashlight beam flickered as you jostled it, casting shaky shadows across the countertop where your phone lay.
You thumbed the screen awake, squinting at the sudden brightness, and opened your socials.
˗ˏˋ mask girl 🎭: hey ya’ll !! hope all are doing well ^^ unfortunately won’t be hosting a stream tonight due to unforeseen circumstances (a power outage) 😞 thank you sooo so much and i love you all 🤍 take care lovelies, will be back soon :) mwa
You hit post before you could second-guess the excessive cheerfulness, then immediately watched as the first like popped up — tiramissulatte. Of fucking course. Leave it to them to be online at the exact moment your life decided to fall apart.
The cheesecake container slipped slightly in your grip as you turned back to the fridge, its plastic surface slick with condensation. "Listen," you told it solemnly, as if the dessert could comprehend the gravity of your tone, "I'm not abandoning you. I just—I can't eat you right now. It's not you, it's me."
The silence of the apartment made the whole exchange feel even more ridiculous. You glanced toward the front door, then down at the cheesecake again. Unit 109 had power. Unit 109, where Sunghoon lived.
"Okay, come with me," you muttered to the cheesecake, grabbing your keys with your free hand.
The hallway was dim, emergency lights casting long shadows, and you hesitated for only a second before knocking on the door. It swung open faster than expected, revealing Sunghoon in a faded band tee, his hair slightly mussed like he'd been running his hands through it. He blinked at you, then at the cheesecake in your hands, then back at you.
"Uh," you said intelligently, suddenly hyperaware of how ridiculous you must look. "So… you're kind of like, one of the lucky three with electricity on our floor. And I have this cheesecake. Which is going to melt. And I was wondering if—"
Sunghoon’s eyebrows shot up, and for a terrifying second, you thought he might laugh at you. Instead, he just grinned, stepping aside with a sweeping gesture. “Cheesecake emergency? Come on in.”
You hovered awkwardly in the entryway. “I swear I’m not usually this weird,” you blurted out, then winced. His living room was tidy but lived-in, a half-finished puzzle on the coffee table, a laptop open on the couch. “I mean… the power’s out in my unit, and I panicked. About the cheesecake. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he echoed, deadpan, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. He reached for the container, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and you tried not to notice how warm his hands were. “You know, most people would’ve just eaten it,” he mused, peering at the dessert like it held the secrets of the universe. “But no, you apparently didn’t.
“It’s a good cheesecake,” you defended, though your voice cracked a little. “Also—um, I wasn’t in the mood earlier, but now I’m emotionally attached. It’s quite complicated.”
Sunghoon snorted, shaking his head as he carried the cheesecake toward his kitchen. "You named it yet?" he called over his shoulder, and you could hear the grin in his voice.
You hesitated near the door, suddenly unsure if you were supposed to follow. The absurdity of the situation hit you all at once, standing in your neighbor's apartment at god-knows-what hour, debating the sentience of a dessert. "I might have whispered 'Chessie' to it when I took it out of the fridge," you admitted, shuffling forward when he gestured for you to come in.
He laughed outright at that, the sound warm and effortless as he slid the container onto a shelf in his fridge. "Chessie," he repeated, like he was testing the name. "Cute." The fridge light bathed his face in a soft glow, and you caught the way his nose scrunched slightly when he smiled.
The silence stretched for a beat too long. You cleared your throat, nodding toward the fridge. "So, uh. Thanks. For saving Chessie's life."
Sunghoon leaned against the fridge door, arms crossed. "You know, if you're going to stage a dramatic rescue mission, you could at least stay for the victory celebration." He tilted his head toward his living room, where a half-eaten bag of chips and two cans of soda sat on the coffee table. "I was just rewatching Bladerunner with questionable subtitles. You in?"
Your stomach chose that exact moment to growl loudly. You pressed a hand to it, mortified, but Sunghoon just grinned wider. "That's a yes from the jury," he said, grabbing one of the sodas and tossing it to you. You fumbled the catch, the can clattering against the counter before you snatched it up. Smooth.
The couch dipped under your weight as you settled in, putting a careful distance between yourself and the spot where Sunghoon flopped down. The laptop screen flickered back to life, casting eerie blue light across his features. "Subtitles are in... Filipino, I think?" he mused, squinting at the text. "I don’t know, it’s pirated. Either way, Harrison Ford's dialogue makes zero sense right now."
You snorted, popping the soda tab. "So you're telling me this is artistic interpretation? I see."
The soda fizzed against your lips, tart and sweet, and you let out a tiny, involuntary sigh. Sunghoon shot you a sidelong glance, his mouth quirking. "That good, huh?" he teased, nudging the bag of chips toward you with his elbow.
You grabbed a handful, crunching loudly just to fill the silence.
Onscreen, Harrison Ford mumbled something that the subtitles translated as "the electric sheep dreams of disco," and you burst into laughter so abruptly that you nearly choked.
Sunghoon thumped you on the back, his hand lingering just a second too long before he pulled away, pretending to focus very hard on the movie. "See? Art," he said solemnly, but his voice wobbled with suppressed laughter.
A gust of wind rattled the windows, and you both jumped. The power in your unit was still out, but here, in Sunghoon’s apartment right next door, it felt like a different world, warm and alive, as you curled your legs under you and stole glances at the way the laptop light caught the curve of his jaw, until he caught you looking once and smirked, tossing a chip at your face, which you immediately retaliated by flicking a crumb at his eyebrow.
The subtitles grew progressively worse.
At one point, Rutger Hauer’s monologue was translated as "my hemorrhoids ascend beyond mortal pain and into legend," and Sunghoon wheezed so hard he had to pause the movie.
"This," he gasped, wiping his eyes, "is the worst pirated copy I’ve ever seen." You grinned, nudging his shoulder with yours.
Then the laptop screen flickered. The lights dimmed for a heartbeat, just long enough for your stomach to drop, before steadying again. Sunghoon went very still, not at first in an obvious way, but in that quiet pause where something in him shifted and locked into place.
His eyes weren’t on the screen anymore. They drifted past it, past the noise of the movie, toward the courtyard outside. Your unit stayed dark. His stayed lit. The contrast sat there a little too clearly now, and what had felt like a coincidence earlier started lining up into something more deliberate in his head.
“Hey,” you said, nudging him again, lighter this time. “You okay?”
He exhaled through his nose, forcing a small laugh as he leaned back slightly. “Yeah,” he said. “Just thought we were about to join the blackout club.” But even as he said it, his eyes flicked once more toward your building, slower this time, like he was checking something he already suspected.
He shoved the half-empty chip bag into your hands a little too quickly. “Eat. Before Chessie gets jealous.”
You obliged, crunching loudly just to annoy him, while back on screen, Harrison Ford pressed his face against a foggy window, and the subtitles just practically declared bullshit. You laughed, nearly dropping the chips, and Sunghoon laughed too, but it came a fraction late, it’s as if his attention had split somewhere else and was only half returning.
His gaze drifted again, not obvious, not lingering, just brief enough to feel instinctive. Your hands when you reached for the chips. The way you talked. Small details he had seen before, in passing, in fragments, never important enough to name until now when they started stacking together.
Seven marks. Four on the left, three on the right. He didn’t need to count them again. He already had, earlier in his head without realizing it, and now the memory of it sat differently, like something that had quietly stopped being random.
Outside, the rain picked up, tapping unevenly against the glass. Across the shared courtyard, the apartment blocks faced each other in uneven light, his unit still glowing while yours stayed swallowed in darkness.
“You think it’ll come back on tonight?” you asked, mostly to fill the silence.
This time, Sunghoon didn’t answer right away. His thumb rolled slowly over the dented soda can, the pressure steady, controlled, like he was keeping something from showing on his face.
He already knew which unit had power and which didn’t. He’d heard the older woman from the next unit earlier, complaining loudly in the hallway about the outage on your side of the building. Somewhere between those facts and everything else he had quietly noticed over time, the pattern had stopped being accidental.
“Probably not,” he said finally. Then, a beat later, softer but still casual enough to pass, “I mean, the building super hates overtime pay. Doubt they’re calling electricians this late.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty anymore, just heavier, like something unspoken had settled into it and refused to leave.
The movie kept playing, distorted and ridiculous, Harrison Ford apparently mourning the fate of electric sheep in neon skies, but Sunghoon wasn’t really watching it now. He was watching you the way you didn’t notice being watched, in fragments and reflexes and habits you never thought twice about.
The way you laughed without thinking. The way you leaned back like this space belonged to you. The way your hands moved when you spoke, careless and familiar in a way that now felt too specific to ignore.
Seven marks.
You tossed another chip at him, hitting his chest before it fell into his lap.
“You’re a terrible liar,” you said suddenly. “What’s up with you?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer, just looked at the chip like it had interrupted something bigger than it should have.
Then he looked back at you.
Something in his expression had already shifted, not obvious enough to name, but no longer as loose as before. Still calm. Still controlled. But no longer fully empty of thought.
“Nothing,” he said.
It wasn’t exactly a lie.
It just wasn’t the truth either.
Because whatever had clicked into place earlier wasn’t gone. It was sitting there now, quietly unresolved, replaying itself in fragments he couldn’t fully ignore anymore.
If he was wrong, it was coincidence.
If he wasn’t, then he had already noticed too much to walk it back.
The movie kept running, but neither of you was really watching it anymore. The screen flickered through scenes that didn’t matter, dialogue dissolving into background noise. The apartment still felt warm and familiar, but something in it had shifted in a way neither of you acknowledged directly. It wasn’t sudden or dramatic. It was subtle enough to sit underneath everything else, like attention had quietly split into two layers without either of you deciding to notice it.
You felt it first in Sunghoon’s timing. Not absent, not distracted, just slightly delayed. A laugh that came a beat late. A glance that moved away too cleanly. A pause between movements that didn’t used to exist. Nothing obvious enough to call out, but consistent enough that once you noticed it, it stayed. There was restraint in it now, like every reaction was being filtered before it reached his face.
Outside, rain traced uneven lines down the glass, splitting the courtyard into two mirrored halves again. His unit stayed bright while yours remained dark, and the contrast no longer felt incidental. It sat at the edge of your vision like something that had always been there but only now mattered. You rolled a chip between your fingers, watching him more than the screen.
“Okay,” you said lightly, but it came out more carefully than intended. “Why do I feel like you’re overthinking something?”
Sunghoon didn’t answer right away. His thumb stopped moving against the dented soda can for just a moment, long enough to be noticeable if you were already watching him closely. Then he exhaled and gave a small shake of his head. “I’m not,” he said, but it was too controlled to fully relax the air again. The answer fit the question, but it didn’t dissolve anything.
You hummed like you accepted it, but your eyes stayed on him. The way he sat hadn’t changed in any obvious way, still leaned back, still casual, still comfortable in theory. But there was a difference now in how he occupied the space. Less looseness. More awareness. Like part of him had shifted slightly inward, even while everything outward stayed the same.
Onscreen, something dramatic happened and neither of you reacted. Instead, his gaze drifted briefly, not toward the movie but toward you. It wasn’t long enough to be called staring, but it wasn’t accidental either. Your hands when you reached for chips. The way you shifted your weight into the couch like you belonged there without thinking about it. Then his attention moved away again, too smoothly, like he had corrected himself.
“You’re weird tonight,” you said, softer now, less teasing than before.
That made something in him tighten just slightly. Not visible in a dramatic way, but enough to change the timing of his next breath. “Call my friends, I’m always weird,” he said, but it didn’t land with its usual ease. The space between you didn’t open or close, it just stayed held in place longer than normal.
The silence after that wasn’t empty. It felt measured, like both of you were circling something without naming it, careful not to step directly into the center of it. The movie kept going in the background, but it had become irrelevant, just movement and sound without focus.
Then you stood up.
It was casual, unforced, like nothing had changed in the last few minutes. You stretched slightly as you got up from the couch, already turning your attention toward the door. “I should go get my charger,” you said, like it was the most ordinary reason in the world. “My phone’s going to die.”
Sunghoon looked up immediately. Not sharply, but fully, like his attention had already been waiting for that exact shift. “Now?” he asked.
It wasn’t challenging. It wasn’t questioning in a confrontational way. It was simply confirming the timing, like he was checking whether this was already decided or still flexible. You nodded once. “Yeah. Before my phone dies and I disappear socially forever.”
A beat passed.
He didn’t move from the couch, but something about his stillness changed. It wasn’t passive anymore. It was present in a more deliberate way, like he was choosing not to interrupt something he could technically stop. The air between you felt slightly more focused now, like it had narrowed.
“Wait,” he said.
It was quiet, but it held.
You paused with your hand near the doorframe, not fully leaving yet, just caught in the space between intention and action. When you looked back at him, he hadn’t changed position. Still seated, still relaxed on the surface, but his attention was fully on you now in a way that didn’t drift.
“I mean,” he added after a moment, voice steady but less casual than before, “you don’t have to go right now.”
It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t a command either. It was something in between, stated simply enough that it could pass as nothing, but placed carefully enough that it didn’t feel like nothing.
You held his gaze for a second longer than expected. The joke you were about to make didn’t come out immediately. Instead, the space between you tightened just slightly, not uncomfortable, but no longer fully casual either.
“It’s literally right next door,” you said finally, lighter than what you were feeling.
“I know,” he replied.
The silence after it didn’t stretch, it snapped into place.
You exhaled sharply, something between disbelief and irritation, and your grip on the doorframe tightened. “Okay, fuck, cut it out. What’s wrong with you and what do you want from me?” you huffed out, voice edged now, done with whatever this half-game had turned into.
Sunghoon didn’t react right away. Not startled, not defensive. Just still for a beat too long, like he’d already passed the point of deciding whether or not to say it.
Then he stood up.
Slow. Controlled. No hesitation, but no rush either. The space between you stopped feeling like a living room and started feeling smaller than it was meant to be.
“I’m not guessing,” he said quietly.
That alone made your expression shift slightly.
He took a step closer, closing the distance he’d already been measuring all night. His eyes stayed on you the entire time.
“I’ve seen your hands,” he continued, tone even. “The nails. The moles. I’ve seen them enough times to remember them.”
A pause.
Then, flat and certain—
“I know you’re Mask Girl.”
A beat.
The words didn’t land loudly.
They landed precisely.
For a second, nothing in your expression moved. Just a quiet freeze, like your brain had to catch up to something that had already finished happening.
“No wait,” you blurted out too fast, voice cracking at the edges. “That’s not, no, you can’t just say that like it’s—what are you even talking about?”
You shook your head once, then again, like repetition could undo it. “You’re wrong. That’s not real. That’s not possible.”
Sunghoon didn’t move. He didn’t interrupt. He just watched you, steady in a way that made your own words feel less solid the longer you spoke.
“I’m not guessing,” he said again. “I’m not joking either.”
Your breath caught, sharp and involuntary. Your hand slipped off the doorframe without you noticing. The space behind you stopped feeling like an exit.
“No,” you said again, but quieter now. Less certain. “You don’t know that. You can’t—”
"You don't know that," you said again, but your voice cracked on the last word. Quieter now. Less certain. "You can't—"
"Can't what?" Sunghoon stepped closer. His voice stayed low, steady, the same tone he used when he talked about the movie earlier — except now there was something underneath it. Heat. Conviction. "Can't recognize the waist I've watched for six months? The way you tilt your head when you're reading chat? That mole just above your collarbone?"
Your hand came up instinctively, pressing against your own skin where he was looking. That tiny brown mark you'd forgotten about. That you never thought to hide.
"I've watched every stream," he said, and he wasn't stopping. He was right in front of you now, close enough that you could smell the fabric softener on his hoodie, see the way his jaw tightened when he spoke. "Every single one. I know the sound you make when you're stretching after a long stream. I know you bite your lip when you're nervous even though no one can see it. I know your hands, how you move them when you're talking about something you actually care about. I knew it was you the moment the power went out and you knocked on my door."
Your throat was so tight it hurt. "That doesn't mean—"
"I've wanted you," he said, cutting you off, and the raw honesty in his voice made your breath catch. "Before I knew it was you. Before I realized you were next door. I'd lie in bed after your streams ended and think about what your voice would sound like if you said my name. What you looked like under that mask. I've wanted you so fucking badly it's kept me up at night."
Your mouth opened. Closed. Nothing came out.
And then his hand was on your waist.
It wasn't tentative. There was no hesitation in the way his fingers curled against the curve of your hip, tugging you forward until there was no space left between you. His other hand came up to your jaw, tilting your face toward his, and the look in his eyes made your stomach drop, dark, hungry, months of wanting compressed into a single second of eye contact.
"I'm going to kiss you now," he said, voice rough. "And you're going to decide if you kiss me back."
He didn't wait for an answer.
His mouth was on yours, hot and insistent, and every logical thought you'd been holding onto scattered like ash in wind. You knew you shouldn't. You knew this was insane — your neighbor, your viewer, someone who had seen parts of you that no one in real life was supposed to see. But his lips were moving against yours like he'd been starving for it, and his tongue traced the seam of your mouth and you opened for him without thinking, without deciding, just pure instinct and want flooding through your veins.
He groaned into your mouth when your tongue met his. His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you harder against him, and you felt it, the solid press of his cock through his sweatpants, half-hard already and thickening by the second. He ground against your hip without breaking the kiss, a low, needy sound rumbling in his chest.
Your fingers found the hem of his hoodie. Then his shirt underneath. You pushed both up, needing to feel skin, and he broke the kiss long enough to let you pull them over his head. The hoodie landed somewhere on the floor. His shirt followed.
And then you saw him.
God. Fucking. Damn.
His chest was broad, shoulders wide, with a defined line of muscle running down his stomach that you could trace with your eyes. His arms were corded, veins visible where they wrapped around the bone. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, and the way his dark hair had fallen across his forehead made him look wrecked already, and you'd barely touched him.
"You're so hot," you heard yourself say, the words falling out before you could stop them.
The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Yeah?"
"Shut it, weirdo."
You dropped to your knees.
The sound of fabric rustling filled the small space between you as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled. They slid down his hips, catching briefly on the thick swell of his cock straining against his boxers, and you had to bite your lip at the sight. Even through the cotton, you could see the shape of him, long, thick, already pressing against the fabric like he was out of room.
You pulled his boxers down too.
His cock sprang free, and your mouth went dry.
He was big. Not in a modest way, not in a "it'll probably fit" way. He was big — thick at the base, curving slightly upward, the tip already flushed and wet with pre-cum. Your fingers wrapped around him instinctively, and you couldn't even close them all the way. The heat of his skin against your palm made your thighs press together.
"Fuck," you breathed.
"Problem?" His voice was strained above you.
You looked up at him through your lashes, and the sight almost made you forget how to breathe, him standing there, bare from the waist down, watching you with half-lidded eyes, his chest rising and falling too fast, his jaw tight with restraint.
"No problem," you said. And you leaned forward.
The first contact was just your tongue, flat against the underside of his shaft, tracing a slow line from base to tip. He hissed, his hand finding your hair, fingers threading through it but not pulling. Not yet. You took the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, and the taste of salt and skin flooded your senses. He was warm. Heavy on your tongue. Precum spread across your taste buds, bitter and clean.
You sank lower.
It was a struggle. Your jaw protested immediately, he was too thick to take easily, too long for you to fit more than half without working for it. Your hand gripped the base, stroking in rhythm with your mouth, saliva already starting to drip down your chin. The sounds you made were wet, messy, obscene.
"Shit," Sunghoon breathed above you. His fingers tightened in your hair. "Look at you. Taking me so deep already."
You moaned around him, and his hips twitched.
"Fuck—yeah, just like that. Keep going."
You tried. You really did. But your jaw was already aching, and you had to pull back, gasping, a string of spit connecting your lower lip to the tip of his cock. You looked up at him, breathing hard.
"You're really hot, you know that?" Your voice was hoarse. Raw. "And big. Like—really fucking big."
He laughed, a short, breathless sound that dissolved into a groan when you stroked him while you talked.
"You have no idea how long I've thought about that mouth," he said. "How many times I watched your streams and wondered what it would feel like to have those lips around my cock."
Heat shot through you. Your fingers tightened around his shaft.
"Now you know."
"Not yet," he said, and there was something in his voice that made your stomach flip. "I'm not done with you."
He bent down, hooked his arms under yours, and lifted you like you weighed nothing. Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically, your back hitting the wall for a second before he carried you to the bedroom. His mouth found yours again, kissing you deep and dirty, tasting yourself on your lips. You bit his lower lip and he groaned into your mouth, his cock pressing against the soaked fabric of your shorts as he moved.
He dropped you onto the bed.
The mattress bounced under you, and before you could push yourself up, he was there, crawling over you, caging you with his arms, looking down at you with an expression that was equal parts reverence and hunger.
"Can I record this?"
The question caught you off guard. Your heart hammered.
"You want to—"
"I want to watch it later," he said, and his voice was so low it vibrated through your chest. "I want to see what you look like when I make you come. I want to see the way your body moves when I'm inside you. I want to hear those sounds you make from the other side of the wall and know I was the one who put them there."
Your panties were soaked. You could feel the slickness pooling against the fabric, could feel the way your thighs wanted to press together to relieve the ache building between them.
"Yes," you said, and your voice shook with want. "Fuck, yes. Record it."
He reached for his phone on the nightstand, set it up on the dresser facing the bed, and hit record. The little red dot blinked at you from across the room, and somehow, knowing he was watching you through that lens, knowing he wanted to keep this, made you wetter.
He settled between your legs.
"Fucking look at you," he murmured, hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your shorts and panties down in one smooth motion. The cool air hit your bare skin and you shivered. "I've thought about this so much. Every night after your streams, I'd lie in bed and imagine what you'd taste like."
His mouth found your inner thigh. A kiss. Then another, moving higher. His breath was hot against your skin, and you could feel your own arousal slicking your thighs, could smell yourself in the air between you.
"Please," you heard yourself say. "Sunghoon—"
He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips. Then his mouth was on you.
His tongue slid through your folds in one long, deliberate stroke, from your entrance to your clit, and the sound you made was almost animal. Your back arched, your hands fisting in the sheets as he licked into you like he was trying to memorize the taste. His nose pressed against your clit, and he moaned against your cunt like he was the one being pleasured.
"Taste so fucking good," he said against you, the words vibrating through your sensitive flesh. "Knew you would. Knew it."
His tongue circled your clit, flicking over it in quick, precise movements that had your hips bucking against his face. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, and you felt one of his fingers circle your entrance before sliding inside.
You cried out.
"Shh," he murmured, mouth still working you. "Let me hear you. Your voice is the sexiest thing I've ever fucking heard."
He added a second finger, curling them upward, and the pad of his fingers pressed against that rough patch of nerves inside you. Your vision went white at the edges.
"Right there," you gasped. "Don't stop, don't—"
He didn't. His fingers pumped into you, steady and deep, while his tongue worked your clit in rhythm, and you could feel yourself building, that coil tightening in your gut, your thighs starting to tremble around his head.
"Come on my face," he said, pulling back just long enough to breathe the words against your aching clit. "I want to taste it. Want to feel you fucking dripping down my chin."
That was all it took.
You shattered, crying out his name, your hips grinding against his mouth as the orgasm ripped through you in wave after wave. He moaned against you, drinking it down, working you through it with his tongue until you had to push his head away because it was too much, too sensitive.
He came up, grinning. His chin was wet, slick with you, and he wiped it with the back of his hand like it was nothing.
"Beautiful," he said. The way he said it, like a fucking prayer, made your chest ache.
But he wasn't done.
He positioned himself between your legs, and you felt the thick head of his cock pressing against your inner thigh. He didn't push inside. Not yet. Instead, he slid himself along the slick skin of your thigh, his cock leaving a trail of pre-cum against your flesh.
"These thighs," he said, voice wrecked. "I've watched you walk through the hallway in those shorts and wanted to bite them. Wanted to feel them wrapped around my head while I ate you out. Wanted to come all over them."
He rutted against your thigh, the head of his cock catching against your slick folds but not entering, just sliding through the wetness, teasing both of you.
"I'd stroke my dick to your streams," he admitted, and the confession made you clench around nothing. "I'd watch you stretch on your bed, watch you laugh at something in chat, and I'd imagine you knew. Imagined you were doing it for me. That you wanted me to watch."
Your hands found his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
"Sunghoon. Damn it, you asshole, just put it in."
"Not yet." He leaned down, kissing your collarbone, your chest, your sternum. "I want to enjoy you first. I've been waiting months."
His mouth found your nipple, tongue circling the hard peak before sucking it into his mouth. His hand found your other breast, thumb working the nipple until it was just as hard. He switched sides, giving each one the same attention, and you could feel the echo of his mouth everywhere.
"Your tits are perfect," he said against your skin. "When you wore that low-cut top last week, the gray one, I couldn't think about anything else for three days. I watched your stream that night and I couldn't even focus on what you were saying. I just kept staring at your chest."
You moaned, head falling back, and he took the opportunity to mouth at your throat, sucking a mark into the sensitive skin just below your jaw.
He pulled back, finally, and the head of his cock nudged at your entrance. You both froze.
"Ready?" he asked, and there was something almost tender in his voice, even through the roughness.
"Fuck me," you said. "Please."
He pushed in.
The stretch was immediate and overwhelming, his cock filling you inch by inch, spreading you open, and you felt every single millimeter. Your fingers dug into his back, your mouth falling open in a soundless cry as he seated himself fully inside you.
"Fuck," he breathed, forehead dropping to yours. "You feel—god, you feel so fucking good. So tight. So wet."
He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel the weight of him inside you. His breath was ragged against your lips.
"Open your eyes," he said.
You did. He was looking at you, dark eyes boring into yours, and the intensity of it made your heart stutter.
"I've wanted this," he said. "So badly. You have no idea."
Then he started to move.
The first few thrusts were slow, deep, grinding against that spot inside you with every roll of his hips. His breath hitched with each stroke, and the sounds he made, low groans, muttered curses, mixed with the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of you.
"Look at you," he said, picking up the pace. "Taking my cock so well. Like you were made for it."
Your hands found his ass, pulling him deeper, and he groaned at the contact.
"Yeah? You want more?"
"Yes—fuck, yes—"
He drove into you harder, and the headboard started to hit the wall, a rhythmic thumping that you were sure the neighbors could hear but you didn't care. His hand found your throat, pressing gently at first, and you moaned.
"Harder," you said.
His grip tightened.
His thumb pressed against the side of your windpipe, not cutting off air but making you aware of every breath you took, every inch of control he had. His other hand grabbed your hip, angling you so he could go deeper, and the new position had him hitting a spot that made your vision blur.
"Right there," you gasped. "Don't—don't stop—"
He didn't. He fucked you harder, his pace relentless, his hand on your throat squeezing just a fraction tighter. His mouth found your ear.
"You have no idea how many times I came to the thought of this," he rasped. "How many nights I lay in my bed, listening to you move around in your apartment, wondering if you were touching yourself too. Wondering if you'd let me watch."
You were so close. You could feel it building, that pressure coiling tighter with every thrust.
"I'm going to come inside you," he said, and the words sent a jolt through you. "No—I'm going to come on your tits. I need to see it. I need to see you covered in my come and know you're mine."
He pulled out suddenly, and you whimpered at the emptiness. But then his hand was on your stomach, pushing you flat, and he climbed up your body, straddling your chest. His cock was slick with you, glistening in the dim light, and the sight of it, thick, hard, wet with your arousal, made your mouth water.
He stroked himself above you. Once. Twice.
"Gosh, this is for you," he said. "Every time I watched your streams. Every night I came thinking about you. This is all for you."
His hand moved faster, and you watched his stomach tighten, watched his jaw clench, watched his eyes lock onto your tits like he was memorizing the sight. And then he came.
Hot stripes of come hit your chest, your tits, your collarbone, a splash on your chin. He groaned through it, his hips jerking with each pulse, painting you white. His cum was warm and thick, dripping down the curve of your breast, pooling in the hollow of your throat.
He collapsed beside you, breathing hard.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Your skin was sticky, your thighs wet, your body aching in the best possible way. The only sound was both of you panting, trying to remember how to breathe.
Then he reached over, and with his thumb, he wiped the drop of come from your chin. He looked at it for a second, then brought his thumb to his own mouth, licking it clean.
"Stay," he said, his voice rough and soft at the same time. "Tonight. Tomorrow. I don't care. Just—stay, please."
He pulled you against his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist, his face pressing into your hair. His heart was hammering against your back.
"We'll figure out what this is," he murmured. "Together. But I'm not letting you walk back to your apartment and pretend this didn't happen."
You turned in his arms to face him. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing across your skin.
"Okay, okay," you said, breathless, your voice finally giving out on the edge of a laugh that didn’t have any real protest left in it.
⭐️ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
tags: @simsimluver @maishee @grdientlips @psychicdazestrawberry @kristynaaah @heesroses @vmpiricou @seungiesdoll @malibluess @stwryun @hooniluhv @rikisn @hazeheart12 @exclipszz @melancholatte @bluepains @gojopolo @jasmineeeee1009 @ming1luvr @ni-k1ttie @enzsstuff01 @ixnotmee @emvss @simjaeyunslut @luvlyjaemin @kikizzz0 @ilovhoonie | send an ask if you’d like to be added ˙𐃷˙
🗯️ 内容 explicit sexual content ♫ 18+ ⸝⸝ intended for mature audiences | minors do not interact ᯓ established relationship, emotional vulnerability, teasing, heavy kissing, cosplay themes, petnames, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, degradation kink, praise kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, creampie !
໑ part 1 | part 2
EL’S ✷ BUBBLE : ouuhh shi is that .... mask girl part 2 !!?! goodness this took me a whole ass year and i thought this would be one of the last few things i'd finish but damn this is literally just 6.4k words of smut (i'm sorry this shit was nasty asl 🥀 mbmb) . . . (´。＿。｀) this request, thank you so muchi ! on my life the other ones won't be super half-assed ! :b
It had been a year and a half since you impulsively fucked your neighbor.
Let's rewind.
Park Sunghoon, unit 109. You, unit 110. He'd been living there longer than you, had the place before you even moved in, had been a fixture of the hallway and the elevator and the building's quiet ecosystem since well before you became a part of it.
Your apartment was bigger by a bit, and you had a balcony, and so did he, and for about a year that was the extent of what you knew about each other, parallel lives separated by one wall, coexisting in the same building without ever really intersecting.
You'd run into each other, of course.
That was inevitable.
The elevator, always the elevator, because there was only one and it was slow and you'd both developed the habit of timing your commutes to avoid waiting, which meant you ended up waiting together more often than not, standing in silence with your coffee and your headphones and the unspoken acknowledgment that you recognized each other but hadn't progressed past nodding. The laundry room in the basement, where you'd once spent twenty minutes folding clothes across from each other and he'd held the door open for you when you were struggling with an overstuffed basket and you'd said thanks and he'd said of course and that was the most conversation you'd ever had. The cafe downstairs in the complex, the little one with the good matcha and the barista who always spelled your name wrong, where you'd both ended up at the same window table on separate laptops and caught each other glancing over and looked away fast.
He was so, so hot. That was the thing you couldn't get around, the fact that sat in the center of every interaction you'd ever had with him like a stone in your shoe, impossible to ignore.
Park Sunghoon was tall and broad and bulked up in a way that made it very clear he spent a terrifying number of hours at the gym, his shoulders filling doorframes, his arms thick with visible muscle even through his jackets, his chest and abs a sculpted landscape that you'd caught glimpses of during the summer when he'd come back from the building's gym in a tank top, skin glowing with sweat, and you'd had to physically remind yourself that staring was rude and you were a grown adult with self-control.
But here's the part that made it complicated, the part that turned this from a simple story about wanting the hot guy next door into something that still made your head spin when you thought about it too hard: you were a cam girl.
Mask Girl, that was your name on the site, your persona, the faceless, nameless fantasy that thousands of people tuned in to watch three nights a week.
You wore a delicate mask that covered your face, and you performed with a confidence that belonged to someone else entirely — someone bold, teasing, and untouchable, someone who did provocative things on camera without ever fully touching herself, who built tension like architecture, who made her audience desperate for a glimpse of more without ever giving them everything.
One of those viewers, your most loyal, most generous, most dedicated viewer, was Park Sunghoon.
You didn't know this at the time.
How could you?
On the site, he was just a username: tiramissulatte.
A name that made you smile when it popped up in chat, always early, always staying late, always sending money with a casualness that suggested he either had a lot of it or didn't care about spending it on you, maybe both.
He talked in your chat more than anyone else, complimenting your outfits, reacting to your teases, and the things he said were so specific, so filthy, so attuned to exactly what you were doing that sometimes you wondered if he could read your mind through the screen. You'd arch your back a certain way and tiramissulatte would type something about the curve of your spine that made your stomach flip. You'd wear a new set and he'd describe the color against your skin with a precision that felt intimate, like he was writing you a letter instead of typing in a chat box.
You didn't know tiramissulatte was Sunghoon. Sunghoon definitely didn't know you were Mask Girl, not for sure, not until he did.
Eventually, a blackout forced you to ask Sunghoon if he could keep your cheesecake in his fridge before it melts. He lets you stay while the power’s out, and what starts as a normal movie night slowly becomes tense when he starts acting a bit too strangely — staring too long, seeming distracted, like he’s hiding something.
When you try to leave for a moment, he stops you and reveals that he knows your secret identity as Mask Girl after recognizing the moles on your hand from your streams.
Damn it.
The realization completely changes the atmosphere between you, especially once you understand just how long he’s known.
Everything after that gets pretty blurry in your head.
He kissed you.
Then he was suddenly walking you backward, guiding you, and your back hit his bedroom door and then you were through it and then you were on his bed and his body was over yours, heavy and warm and so much broader than you'd allowed yourself to imagine, and he fucked you.
Right there, in his bed, in unit 109, with the movie still playing in the living room and your cheesecake still safe in his fridge and the power still out in your unit, he fucked you like he'd been waiting for it his entire life, and you let him, you wanted it, and the fact that it was impulsive and confusing and absolutely insane didn't matter because nothing had ever felt that right.
The morning after was complicated.
You'd woken up in his bed, in his t-shirt, with his arm around your waist and your brain full of static and the overwhelming, terrifying, exhilarating realization that you'd just slept with your neighbor, your viewer, tiramissulatte, Park Sunghoon, and you had no fucking idea what came next.
But you talked, really talked, for hours, lying in his bed with the morning light coming through his balcony doors, and you told him about the cam work and how it started and why you did it and how it made you feel, and he told you about finding you on the site and becoming a regular and the slow, consuming obsession that had taken root the more he watched, and by the time the conversation wound down you both understood that this wasn't a one-night thing, that it couldn't be, that something real, specific, and undeniable had been growing between you for months and the sex had just been the match that lit it.
He courted you.
Eight months of it, deliberate and traditional and so awfully Sunghoon it made your chest ache — showing up with food, learning your schedule, being there when you needed him and stepping back when you needed space, never pushing, never presuming, just steadily, patiently, beautifully making it clear that he was serious about this, about you, about whatever this was becoming.
You said yes.
Of course you said yes, because you'd been halfway to yes since he opened his door on that power-outage night and said of course, come in, and the eight months had only confirmed what you already knew.
Now here you were. Still in your respective units, him in 109 and you in 110, because you'd talked about moving in together and decided there was something sweet about maintaining your own spaces while being close enough that you could see each other whenever you pleased.
Your apartment had the bigger couch and the setup for your streams; his had the nicer kitchen and the balcony with the view. Between the two of you, you had everything you needed, and the wall between your bedrooms had become less of a barrier and more of a technicality.
You'd found work as an economic consultant about five months ago — real, professional, respectable work that used your actual degree and paid actual money, though not as consistently and not as well as Mask Girl did, so you kept the streams going, three nights a week, the same schedule, the same persona, the same teasing and provoking and driving your audience insane without ever giving them everything.
Sunghoon still watched. He still tipped. He was still tiramissulatte in your chat, still your most loyal viewer, except now when you read his messages you knew exactly who was typing them, and you'd smile behind your mask at the screen and think, that's my boyfriend, that's my man, that's the person who makes me coffee in the morning and carries me to bed at night, and the secret knowledge of it was the most delicious thing you'd ever tasted.
He absolutely loved it. Having his favorite cam girl all for himself — that's how he described it, with that quiet, possessive certainty that he rarely let anyone else see, the side of him that was reserved for you and only you. Your audience didn't know you were taken. They didn't know that the Mask Girl they fantasized about went home to the most beautiful man in the building, that the fingers they watched trail along lace edges were the same fingers that carded through his hair while he fell asleep, that the voice that whispered filth into the camera whispered his name into his pillow every night. It was your secret, yours and Sunghoon's, and the exclusivity of it, the intimacy of it, drove him absolutely insane in the best possible way.
Sometimes he'd help you get ready. Your outfit, your hair, your accessories, he'd sit on the edge of your bed and watch you sift through your closet with that quiet, observant gaze, and he'd point to things and say, "That one," or "The red tonight," and he was always right, always knew which combination would look best on camera, which color would pop against your skin, which silhouette would drive your viewers insane. He'd zip you up and adjust your straps and step back and look at you with this expression that was equal parts pride and hunger, like he couldn't believe you were his but he was going to appreciate every second of it.
He'd help you get unready too. After every stream, when the adrenaline had faded and the exhaustion had set in and you were soft and pliable and murmuring about nothing in particular, he'd carry you to bed, literally carry you, one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, like you weighed nothing, like his gym-honed body had been built specifically for this, for scooping you up and holding you close and making you feel safe and utterly, completely cherished, then he'd tuck you in and play with your hair and listen to you mumble about the cute pair of boots you'd found on your Pinterest feed or the drama episode you'd missed or whatever random thought was drifting through your tired brain, and he'd smile at you with that rare, private, just-for-you smile and press a kiss to your forehead and say, "We'll get the boots, princess. Go to sleep."
Sometimes both of you would get freaky. On stream, off stream, in the gray area in between, it didn't really matter, because whatever was happening between you in those moments was real and so intensely, perfectly attuned that it felt like you'd been made for each other. You were absolutely perfect for one another, you and Sunghoon, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
Christmas had been a milestone.
You'd brought Sunghoon back to your hometown, your family's house with the creaky porch and the too-small dining table and the chaos of too many relatives in too little space, and he'd fit right in like he'd always been there.
Your little cousin, the one who blasted Brazilian phonk from his portable speaker at all hours and had zero volume control, had clung to him like a koala, dragging him around by the hand to show him his room, his art projects, his collection of shiny rocks he'd found in the yard, and Sunghoon had gone along with all of it with a patience that made your mother watch the two of them with a soft, knowing smile.
He went grocery shopping with your dad, the two of them coming back with twice what was on the list because your dad had kept saying "one more thing" and Sunghoon had kept saying "of course, sir" and apparently they'd bonded over the pickle aisle in a way you were never going to understand.
He helped your mom set the table, folding napkins into little triangles with the same precision he brought to everything, and when she'd thanked him he'd said, "It's my pleasure, Mom," and your mother had stood frozen with a serving spoon in her hand and looked at you with eyes that said this is the one, this is the one right here.
And then there were your old friends. Or rather, the girls from middle school who had been mean to you in the way that middle school girls are mean, not overtly, not cruelly, just in that slow, grinding, undermining way that chips away at your self-esteem over the course of years until you graduate and realize you never want to see them again.
You'd run into them at the mall, of all places, and they'd swarmed you with those too-bright smiles and air-kisses and "oh my god, how have you been"s, and then Sunghoon had appeared beside you with two iced americanos and a bag from the bakery your mom liked, and their jaws had literally dropped.
Not figuratively. Literally. Jaw-dropping, eye-widening, conversation-stopping shock, because Sunghoon was just that handsome, tall, sharp-featured, bulked up in a black coat, and a scarf your mom had knitted him, his shoulders spanning the width of the hallway like a goddamn billboard for genetic superiority, and he was yours. The way he'd slid his arm around your waist and said, "Ready to go, baby?" without even noticing the effect he was having on everyone around him was the single most vindicating moment of your entire life.
It was a regular night, as regular as nights got when your boyfriend was the Park Sunghoon and your side hustle was Mask Girl.
You'd both just gotten home from shopping, or more accurately, from the nail salon and the subsequent wandering-around-the-city that had become your ritual.
True to his word, the word he'd given you in chat before either of you knew who the other was, when you'd shown your nails on stream and tiramissulatte had mentioned he’d pay for your next set and you laughed at him — he'd paid for your nails. Not just that first time. Every single appointment up until now, each and every time, pulling out his card before you could even reach for your wallet, and when you'd protested he'd just tilted his head and given you that look, the one that said don't argue with me on this, and you'd learned to stop arguing because arguing with Sunghoon about things he'd already decided was like arguing with a very handsome, very stubborn wall.
It had become a tradition now. Whenever you got your nails done, you both always had to do something afterwards — eat, take cute photobooth pictures together, catch a movie, cafe hop, wander through museums, just a lot of things, a rotating menu of date activities that turned a routine errand into something you both looked forward to.
Today had been ramen, at the little bar around the corner from the salon that you'd been going to for months, the one where the owner knew your order by heart and always gave Sunghoon extra chashu because she said he was too thin, which was absurd because Sunghoon was built like a weapon, all dense muscle and broad shoulders and arms that could bench press your body weight without breaking a sweat, but you’d never argue with free chashu.
Your nails were spring themed now — short French tips in green, yellow, and pink with tiny hand-painted florals and an obscene amount of sparkle that caught the light every time you moved your hands.
You'd held them up for Sunghoon to see when you'd walked out of the salon, wiggling your fingers in his face, and he'd taken your hand in his and examined each nail with the same careful attention he gave to everything and said, "Pretty. They suit you," and the casual sincerity of it had made your chest flip in a way that nine months of being together hadn't even begun to diminish.
After ramen, you'd strolled through the city park, the one with the duck pond and the willow trees and the cobblestone paths that wound through flower beds that were just starting to bloom, and there'd been a big, sprawling, unavoidable puddle right in the middle of the path, and you'd stopped and whined to Sunghoon that you didn't want your ballet flats to get wet, and he'd looked at you with that tiny, barely-there smile that passed for a grin on his famously stoic face, and he'd pressed a kiss to your forehead and then bent down and scooped you up with one arm, one arm, like you were a bag of groceries and not a grown adult woman, his bicep flexing against your thighs, the sheer strength of him so effortless and so absurd that you'd clung to his neck and laughed, and when he set you down on the other side he'd flexed on you, both arms, and said, "I'm so strong," with such deadpan sincerity that you'd laughed so hard you'd snorted, and he'd smiled, really smiled, the crinkly-eyed one that you lived for, and you'd grabbed his flexed arm and kissed his bicep and told him he was the strongest man alive and he'd said, "I know," and you'd walked home with your hand in his back pocket because you could, because he was yours and you were his and everything was exactly as it should be.
That was earlier. That was the good part.
Now, Sunghoon was face-down on your gigantic unicorn plushie, the one you kept by the couch because it was the size of a small car and served as both decor and emotional support, and he hadn't moved in ten minutes.
You'd noticed something was off the second you'd walked through the door, though you couldn't pinpoint exactly what.
Sunghoon's expression was a masterpiece of neutrality, that stone-cold, impenetrable mask he wore like armor, the one that made strangers think he was aloof and made you think he was the most beautiful mystery you'd ever tried to solve. He'd been quiet on the walk home, quieter than usual, which was saying something because Sunghoon was a man of few words on his most talkative days, but this was a different kind of quiet, a weighted kind, like there was something pressing down on his chest that he couldn't name or wouldn't share.
He'd dropped the shopping bags by the door, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed face-first onto the unicorn without a word, and now he was just lying there, his long legs dangling off the edge, his face buried in the plush, his body completely still, and you watched him from the kitchen with a growing knot of concern in your stomach.
You walked over and crouched down beside him, your freshly done nails catching the lamplight as you reached out and combed your fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead, scratching gently at his scalp the way he liked. His hair was soft and slightly damp at the roots from the humidity outside, and you leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.
"Hoon? Baby? What's wrong?"
Nothing. Not a word, not a grunt, not even a shift of his body to acknowledge that he'd heard you. Just that still, heavy silence that was so unlike him, because even at his most tired, even at his most withdrawn, Sunghoon always responded to your touch, always leaned into your hand, always gave you something.
"Sunghoon-ah," you tried again, softer now, your voice dropping into that honeyed, babying register that you only used with him, the one that made his ears go pink on the rare occasions he let himself be soft in return. "Awww, poor baby. It's okay. I'm right here. Tell me what's wrong, yeah? Let me make it better."
You carded your fingers through his hair again, slower this time, tracing the shell of his ear, the back of his neck, and you felt the tiniest shift, his shoulders releasing a fraction of their tension, his body turning a centimeter toward you, but still no words. He wasn't crying. He wasn't even close to crying, you could tell. He was just upset, in that quiet, internalized way he had of being upset, where something was wrong and he either couldn't articulate it or wouldn't, and the not-knowing was its own kind of agony because all you wanted was to fix it and you couldn't fix what you couldn't understand.
"My poor baby," you murmured, and you leaned down and kissed his temple, his cheekbone, the corner of his jaw. "It's okay. You don't have to talk. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Awww, look at you, all sad and pouty on the unicorn. It's okay, baby, I've got you."
He shifted again, a small, subtle movement, his body orienting toward you just barely, like a flower turning toward warmth, and that tiny response was enough to tell you that he heard you, that he appreciated you, that whatever was weighing on him wasn't about you, it was about something else, something he was keeping locked behind those beautiful, guarded eyes of his.
An idea sparked in the back of your mind.
It was a ridiculous idea. It was a dramatic, over-the-top, absolutely unhinged idea, and it was exactly the kind of thing that would either make him laugh or make him forget whatever was bothering him entirely, and either outcome was acceptable to you at this rate.
"Hey," you said, and you smoothed his hair back one more time. "Wait here. Don't move. I'll be right back."
He didn't respond, not verbally, not with any visible reaction beyond a subtle shift of his body that might have been acknowledgement or might have been nothing, and you took it.
You stood up quickly, your knees protesting the crouch, and you padded down the hallway toward your office — the room you used for your Mask Girl streams, the room that held your setup and your lighting and the closet that held every costume, every prop, every piece of carefully curated fantasy that you'd accumulated over your career.
You opened the closet and surveyed your inventory. Rows of costumes on hangers, organized by color and theme, each one a different persona, a different fantasy, a different way of becoming someone else for the camera. You sifted through them methodically — the nurse, the cat girl, the maid, the schoolgirl, the devil, the angel — until your fingers landed on something you hadn't worn yet, something you'd ordered months ago and never had occasion to use, something that was still in its garment bag with the tags attached.
A bunny girl cosplay.
Oh shit.
You unzipped the bag and let it fall to the floor, and the costume unfurled in front of you like a promise. It was stunning. It was obscene. It was exactly what you needed. The ears were tall and pointed, covered in soft black velvet with wire inside so they could be posed, attached to a headband that sat securely on your crown. The stockings were sheer black thigh-highs with a lace trim at the top and a seam running up the back. The gloves were elbow-length satin that matched the ears. And the body — the body was the main event.
It was a bodysuit shaped like a corset, boned and structured, in thin black fabric with lace overlay that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The breast area was tight, padded just enough to push your tits upward and together until they were practically spilling over the top, and the cut of it was so low that it bordered on illegal. The bottom half was high-cut on the hips, the kind of cut that made your legs look endless and your waist look impossibly small, and the whole thing fastened with a ribbon at the back that, when untied, would cause the entire structure to fall apart like a house of cards.
If this couldn't cheer Sunghoon up, you didn't know what would.
You dressed quickly, pulling the bodysuit on first and adjusting yourself within it, tucking and shifting and arranging until your cleavage looked like it had been sculpted by a renaissance artist with a very, very specific agenda. The stockings came next, rolling them up your legs with care, the lace sitting high on your thighs, the seam straight and precise. The gloves, satin-smooth against your skin. The ears, positioned just right on top of your head, one tilted slightly forward for that playful, coquettish look.
You checked your makeup in the mirror, you'd had a full face on from earlier, and it was holding up fine, just needed a touch-up. More blush, a sharper wing on the eyeliner, a swipe of the deep red lip color that you knew for a fact made Sunghoon lose the ability to form coherent sentences. You fluffed your hair, adjusted the ears one more time, and looked at yourself in the full-length mirror.
Ooh la la. You looked good. You looked better than good, you looked like a fantasy, like a wet dream wearing bunny ears, and the sight of your own reflection was enough to make you feel the first flutter of confidence that this was going to work.
Before you left the room, you grabbed one more thing, a length of black silk cloth from your prop drawer, soft and supple and long enough to serve as a blindfold. You tucked it behind you, took a breath, and headed for the living room.
The air conditioning prickled at your bare skin as you walked down the hallway, raising goosebumps on your arms and the exposed tops of your breasts, and you shivered, partly from the cold and partly from the adrenaline of what you were about to do.
When you rounded the corner into the living room, Sunghoon was still there, still face-down on the unicorn, his body in the same position you'd left him in, and a surge of tenderness so fierce it almost knocked you sideways washed over you at the sight of him, this beautiful, stubborn, infuriating man who wouldn't tell you what was wrong but who trusted you enough to stay exactly where you'd asked him to.
You crossed the room and crouched down beside him again, and this time when you touched his hair, you felt him lean into your hand, just barely, just enough.
"Hoon," you said, and your voice was soft and honeyed and full of the kind of warmth that was reserved exclusively for him. "Lift your head up for me. Just a little. And close your eyes. I have a surprise for you."
He didn't look at you. He didn't turn around. He just obeyed, lifted his head just enough for you to access his face, and closed his eyes, and the simplicity of it, the immediate, unquestioning trust of it, made your heart squeeze so hard it almost hurt.
You reached behind you and pulled the silk cloth free, and you wrapped it around his head and tied it carefully at the back, snug enough that he couldn't peek but loose enough that it didn't hurt, and the black silk stood out against his pale hair and his sharp features and you wanted to take a photo of him like this, blindfolded, trusting, and yours, but that would have to wait, unfortunately.
"Okay," you said, and you placed your hands on his shoulders and stood up, guiding him with you. "Stand up for me. Come on. Up."
He stood, and you led him by the hand to the couch, guiding him around the coffee table, and when the back of his knees hit the cushion you pressed gently on his chest and he sat, and you could feel the tension in his shoulders, the faint furrow between his brows beneath the blindfold, the way his hands gripped the edge of the cushion, he was surprised, caught off guard, not sure what to expect, and the uncertainty of it was almost endearing.
You climbed onto his lap. One knee on either side of his hips, your hands on his shoulders, your weight settling onto his thighs, and for the first time since you'd gotten home, he spoke.
"What are you doing, princess?"
His voice was low and rough and slightly muffled by the blindfold, and the word princess hit you like a jolt of electricity, the way it always did, because Sunghoon called you princess like it was a title he'd invented just for you, like you were royalty and he was your most devoted subject, and the roughness in it, the hint of curiosity beneath the exhaustion, gave you the opening you needed.
"Go see for yourself," you said, and you reached up and undid the blindfold with one hand, pulling the silk away from his eyes, and at the same time you shifted your hips forward on his lap, grinding down onto him in a slow, deliberate roll.
His eyes opened.
And you watched, in real time, as every thought in Sunghoon's head evaporated.
His gaze dropped to your chest first, because of course it did, your tits were right there, pushed up and out and practically begging for attention, the lace edge of the bodysuit cutting across the upper swell of your breasts in a way that made them look like they were about to escape entirely, and you weren't wearing a bra underneath, weren't wearing anything underneath, because the whole point of this was to leave as little between you and him as possible.
Then his eyes traveled down, taking in the corset, the stockings, the gloves, the ears, and then back up to your face, to your red lips and your sharp eyeliner and the mischievous, knowing smile that you were wearing like a weapon, and his mouth opened and closed and opened again and no sound came out, and you had never felt more powerful in your entire life.
"What—" he started, and his voice cracked, actually cracked, and you felt the vibration of it in your thighs where they pressed against his.
"Shhh," you said, and you rolled your hips again, slower this time, a grinding motion that pressed your core against the growing hardness you could feel through his jeans. "I saw my baby was upset, and I couldn't figure out why, and you wouldn't tell me, and I thought—what's the one thing that always makes my Sunghoon feel better?" You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear, your breasts pressing against his chest, and the bunny ears tickled his cheek. "And then I thought—me. I make Sunghoon feel better. So here I am."
You ground down on him again, and this time you were shameless about it, rolling your hips in a slow, tight circle that dragged your clothed center against his length, and you could feel him hardening beneath you, could feel the heat of him even through the layers of fabric, and you made sure to be loud about it, a breathy, exaggerated moan right against his ear, followed by a smaller, more genuine one when the friction hit your clit just right, and the combination of performance and real pleasure made the sound so convincing that you felt his hands tighten on your hips.
"Awww, poor baby," you murmured, and you pressed your lips to his jaw and kissed a slow path to his ear while you kept grinding. "So stressed. So tense. Let me take care of you, yeah? Let me make it all better. You've been so good today—carried me over the puddle, paid for my nails, flexed those big arms for me—you deserve a reward, don't you, baby? Don't you think my baby deserves a reward?"
His hands came up to rest on your hips, and his grip was firm and warm and just this side of desperate, and you could feel the war happening inside him, the part that wanted to stay upset, to hold onto whatever was weighing him down, fighting against the part that wanted to let go, to sink into you, to let you take all of it away. You made the decision for him. You kissed him.
You kissed him like you were trying to drink him, like his mouth was the only source of water in a desert, and you rolled your hips at the same time, grinding down onto him with a deliberate, rhythmic pressure that left no room for anything else, and you were extra noisy about it, so noisy, so shameless, gasping and whimpering into his mouth, making sounds that were pure performance and pure need all tangled together, the kind of sounds you made on camera when you knew your audience was watching, except this audience was just one man and he was the only one who mattered.
"Mmmph—oh—" you gasped against his lips, and you ground down harder, the friction against your clit sending a spark of genuine pleasure through you, and you let the sound come out filthy and breathless and completely unhinged. "Goodness, Hoon, you feel so good already, and I've barely started—you're getting so hard for me, baby, I can feel you through your jeans—you're such a slut for me, you know that? One little grind and you're already this hard—"
He kissed you back. That was the turning point. His hands tightened on your hips and his mouth opened against yours and his tongue slid between your lips and he kissed you like he was drowning and you were air, and the sound he made was this low, broken, desperate thing that vibrated through his chest and into yours, told you that you'd won. Whatever wall he'd built around himself tonight, you were scaling it, and he was letting you.
You kept grinding, kept kissing, kept being noisy and slutty and shameless about it, rolling your hips with purpose now, pressing down onto the length of him, letting him feel the heat of you through the thin fabric of the bodysuit, and the sounds you were making were absolute filth, breathy moans and high-pitched whines and his name over and over like a prayer, like you couldn't help yourself, like riding him through his clothes was the most overwhelming sensation you'd ever experienced.
"Baby," he groaned against your mouth, and his voice was wrecked, barely holding together, and the sound of it sent a bolt of heat straight between your legs.
"Shh," you said again, and you pressed your forehead to his and smiled, soft and fond and so full of love it almost hurt. "Let me take care of my baby. Let me make you feel good. You're so pretty when you're stressed, you know that? All broody and quiet and I just want to climb you like a tree—wait, I already am climbing you—" you giggled against his lips and ground down particularly hard and his breath stuttered, "—I want you so bad it makes me stupid, Park Sunghoon, you and your stupid big arms and your stupid handsome face—"
Your hands went to the back of your bodysuit, where the ribbon was, and his eyes tracked the movement, dark and hungry and slightly dazed, like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.
You held his gaze as you pulled the ribbon loose, and the bodysuit went slack around your torso, the structure collapsing, and you shrugged it off your shoulders and pulled your arms free of the gloves and the bodysuit peeled down your body and fell to your waist, and then it was off entirely, kicked to the floor, and you were sitting on his lap in nothing but the stockings and the ears because you hadn't been wearing panties underneath, hadn't even thought to, because the whole point of this was to leave as little between you and him as possible.
He stared at you. His eyes swept over your bare chest, your bare stomach, the dip of your waist and the swell of your hips and the wet, glistening evidence of how turned on you were, and his throat worked around a swallow that was almost audible.
"Baby," you said, and you leaned back slightly, putting yourself on display for him, and you brought your hands up to your breasts and cupped them, squeezing gently, your thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you watched his eyes go dark, so dark, like someone had pulled a shade over the warm brown and left nothing but heat behind. "You've been so stressed today. Let me help."
You touched yourself the way you would on stream, which was to say, not fully, not completely, just enough to tease, just enough to build the tension to an almost unbearable pitch. Your hands on your breasts, kneading, rolling your nipples between your fingers, and you let the sounds come easy, soft, breathy moans that you knew drove him insane, little gasps and whimpers that were only partially performance. One hand drifted down your stomach, down between your thighs, and you rubbed lazy circles at your clit and your head fell back and you moaned, long and low and shameless.
"Mmmgh, Sunghoon, baby," you whined, and you rubbed yourself slowly, obscenely, your wetness coating your fingers, the slick sound of it filling the quiet room. "You feel so good—fuck—how I wish that dick could be inside me right now. Been thinking about it all day. Every time you looked at me. Every time you touched me. Every time you picked me up with those stupid big arms—I just kept thinking about how bad I want you inside me—"
You leaned forward deliberately, pressing your chest close to his face, and you moaned into his hair, your lips brushing his temple, and you let the sound vibrate through you and into him. "God, you're such a slut for me, Park Sunghoon. My own personal slut. All mine. Nobody else gets to see you like this, nobody else gets to make you this hard, just me—and you love it, don't you? You love being a slut for me, baby?"
"Princess—" His voice was rough, almost pained, and his hands were on your hips again, gripping hard, and you could feel the restraint in him, the effort it was taking him to let you lead, to let you set the pace, and you loved it, you loved the way his fingers dug into your flesh like he was holding on by a thread, like one more tease would be the thing that snapped it.
"I love it," you said, answering your own question with a grin that was equal parts wicked and adoring. "I love that you're such a slut for me. I love that all I have to do is put on bunny ears and grind on you and you're already falling apart. I love that my favorite viewer is also my favorite person to ride—"
"Princess," he said again, and this time it was a warning, or maybe a plea, or maybe both tangled together into a single word that couldn't decide what it wanted to be.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, and his eyes were so dark they were almost black, his lips parted, his chest heaving, and the flush on his cheekbones was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. "Let's get you out of these," you said, and your hands went to the hem of his shirt.
You undressed him slowly, or as slowly as you could manage when your hands were shaking and your heart was hammering and every inch of skin you revealed made you want to skip ahead.
His shirt first, pulled over his head and tossed somewhere behind you, and you ran your hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp cut of his V-line, tracing the defined muscles that he spent hours at the gym building, and you pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his pectoral and murmured, "Gym rat. Look at you. All this for me? You're so hot it's actually annoying," and he huffed a laugh that was half breath and half disbelief. Then his jeans, unbuttoned and unzipped and pushed down his hips along with his boxers, and his cock sprang free, hard and flushed and thick and leaking at the tip, and you looked at it and then at him and then back at it and licked your lips.
"Oh, baby," you said, and you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock and squeezed, and his hips jerked up into your touch and a strangled sound escaped his throat. "Look at you. So hard for me. All this from a little grinding? And you call me the slut—you're dripping, Hoon, you're making a mess already and I've barely touched you—"
You weren't going to ride him. Not yet. You had other plans first.
You shifted off his lap and settled between his knees on the floor, the carpet soft beneath you, and you looked up at him through your lashes, the bunny ears still perched on your head, your lips red and swollen from kissing, your bare chest heaving, and the image you made was so pornographic that you half-wished your camera was running. But this wasn't for the camera. This was for him.
You leaned in and spat on his cock. A thick, deliberate string of saliva that landed on the head and dripped down the shaft, and you spread it with your hand, slicking him up, and the wet, obscene sound of your fist sliding along his length made you clench around nothing. You looked up at him and spat again, more this time, letting it drip from your lips onto him like you couldn't be bothered to swallow, and the sheer filth of it made his jaw go slack and his cock twitch in your hand.
"Oh, you like that?" you said, and you stroked him again, spreading the spit and precum, your grip firm and twisting. "You like when I'm messy? When I spill spit all over this big fucking cock? God, you're so big, Hoon—I never get used to it. Every time I see it I'm like, how does that fit inside me? And then it does and I lose my goddamn mind—"
You stroked him fast, your grip firm and twisting, your hand flying up and down his shaft while your thumb dragged across the sensitive ridge beneath the head on every upstroke, and his thighs were tensing and his abs were clenching and the sounds he was making were the most beautiful music you'd ever heard.
Then you slowed. You slowed way down, and you leaned in and took just the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, licking into the slit, tasting the salty bead of precum there, and you sucked lightly, so lightly, and his hand flew to your hair and gripped.
"Fuck—" he breathed, and it was barely a word, more of an exhalation shaped like one, and you looked up at him through your lashes with his cock in your mouth and watched his eyes flutter and his head fall back against the couch, and the power of it, the sheer, intoxicating power of having Sunghoon at your mercy, made you moan around him, and the vibration of it made his hips buck.
You took him deeper, relaxing your throat, letting him feel the wet heat of your mouth inch by inch, and when you pulled back you did it slowly too, your lips tight around him, your tongue pressed flat against the underside of his shaft, and you popped off the head with a sound that was deliberately, pornographically wet.
"Such a pretty cock," you murmured, and you stroked him again, fast and tight, your spit and his precum making everything slick and obscene. "My favorite cock. The only cock I ever want in my mouth ever again. You know that? I'd be happy just doing this forever, just sucking you off whenever you're stressed, keeping you warm and wet and happy—would you like that, baby? Want me to be your little stress relief? Your personal slut?"
"Princess—" His voice was wrecked, barely a voice at all, just friction and heat and need, and you could tell he was getting close, could feel it in the way his cock throbbed in your hand, in the way his thighs trembled, in the way his breathing turned ragged and shallow.
You pulled back. Not yet. Not like this.
"Enough," you said, and you climbed back onto his lap, settling over him, and you reached down and positioned the head of his cock at your entrance. "I need you inside me. I need to feel you. You've been patient, baby, you've been so good—let me reward you."
You sank down onto him slowly, torturously slowly, and the stretch of him was so much, so overwhelming, that your mouth fell open in a silent moan and your eyes squeezed shut and your nails dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave crescents.
He filled you completely, thick and hot and so deep that you could feel him everywhere, could feel him in your stomach, in your chest, in the tips of your fingers where they gripped his skin, and when you were fully seated on him, when he was buried to the hilt inside you, you both just stayed there for a moment, breathing, adjusting, feeling.
Then you started to move.
You rode him slowly. Nice and slow, the way you'd promised yourself, rolling your hips in a languid, grinding rhythm that let you feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein and the way he pulsed inside you when you clenched around him. His hands were on your waist, letting you set the pace, and his eyes were on your face, dark and burning and so full of want that it made your breath catch.
"Mmmgh," you moaned, and you rolled your hips harder, grinding down onto him, and the new angle meant his cock was dragging against that spot inside you with every movement, and your voice came out breathless and broken. "Daddy—you feel so good—so big and warm for me—I'd love to be filled up all night—just like this—keeping you inside me forever—"
You felt the shift in him the second the word left your mouth. His whole body went rigid, his fingers digging into your waist so hard, and his jaw clenched and his eyes went wide and then narrowed and something dark, hungry, and absolutely feral crossed his face, and you knew damn well that you'd just lit a fuse and you were about to find out what happened when it burned down.
"Daddy?" he repeated, and his voice was low, lower than you'd ever heard it, a rumble that you felt in your bones, and there was a dangerous edge to it, something predatory and barely controlled. "Say that again."
"Daddy," you said, and you rolled your hips and pushed your chest forward, your tits bouncing with the movement, right in front of his face, and you watched his eyes lock onto them like they were the only thing in the world. "You're literally daddy, Park Sunghoon. You pay for my nails, you carry me over puddles, you put me to bed after my streams—you're so daddy it's insane—you're the daddiest man I've ever met in my entire—mmmph—"
He took one of your nipples into his mouth and you forgot how to speak.
His tongue was hot and wet and relentless against the sensitive bud, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, and you cradled his head against your chest and rode him harder, faster, chasing the feeling, and the sounds you were making, wet, desperate moans and breathless repetitions of daddy and yes and please and more, and you could feel him getting close, could feel the tension coiling in his body, the way his thrusts were getting jerkier, more urgent, his cock pulsing inside you—
And you slowed down.
You slowed way down, nearly to a stop, just a slow, lazy grind that kept him right on the edge without pushing him over, and you looked down at him with half-lidded eyes and a smile that was equal parts love and wickedness, and you said, "Not yet, daddy. You gotta wait. You've been a bad baby, keeping secrets from me, not telling me what's wrong—bad babies don't get to come yet—"
Something in him snapped.
It happened so fast you didn't have time to process it.
One moment you were on his lap, in control, setting the pace, and the next his arms were around you and he was standing, lifting you like you weighed nothing, and your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct and your arms wrapped around his neck and you barely had time to register the movement before your back hit the glass door of your balcony, the cold surface shocking against your bare skin, and the city lights were spread out behind you through the glass, and you hadn't closed the curtains, and you didn't care, you couldn't care, because Sunghoon was spinning you around and pressing your front against the glass and his cock was inside you again, from behind this time, and the new angle was so deep, so impossibly deep, that the sound you made wasn't even a moan, it was something more primal, something torn from a place you didn't know existed.
He didn't start slow. He didn't ease into it. He rams into you with a force that makes the glass rattle in its frame, his hips slamming against your ass, his cock hitting so deep inside you that you can see galaxies, and one arm wraps around your throat, holding, just claiming, a headlock that pins you against him while he fucks you, and his other hand comes down hard on your ass, a sharp, stinging slap that makes you gasp and clench around him, and then the hand is moving, sliding around to your front, finding your clit, rubbing it in tight, firm circles that have you seeing white.
"Daddy—" you gasp, and the word comes out broken and desperate and so far gone that you barely recognize your own voice. "Daddy, I'm—ah—daddy, please—harder—fuck—daddy, I love you—"
"Say it again," he growls against your ear, and his voice is so low and so rough and so utterly wrecked that it sends a shiver down your entire body, makes your walls clench around him so hard he groans. "Call me daddy again. Keep saying it. You wanted to tease me, princess? You wanted to edge me? Bad babies get fucked, you hear me? You don't get to tell me when I come—I come when I want—and I'm gonna come so deep inside you you'll feel me for days—"
"Daddy—oh god—daddy, you feel so good—you're so deep—daddy, I'm so close—"
"That's right, baby." His hand moves from your clit to your breast, grabbing it, kneading it roughly, his fingers pinching and rolling your nipple, and the combination of him inside you and his hand on your tit and his arm around your throat and his breath hot against your ear is so overwhelming that you feel like you might shatter into a million pieces.
"I'm your daddy. Say it louder. Let the whole building hear who you belong to. You're such a slut for me, aren't you? Putting on that little outfit, grinding on me, calling me daddy—you wanted this, didn't you? You wanted me to snap, wanted me to fuck you like this—"
"I did—I wanted it—daddy, please—I wanted you to fuck me like you hate me—I wanted—ah—I wanted you to ruin me—"
"Oh, I'm gonna ruin you alright. I'm gonna ruin you so good you won't remember what was upsetting you—wait, that's me—I won't remember what was upsetting me—fuck—" and he laughs, breathless and slightly unhinged, and the sound of it, the fact that he's laughing while he's balls-deep inside you and his hand is on your clit again and the city lights are glittering through the glass, it's so perfectly, absurdly, beautifully you-and-him that you feel the orgasm building like a tidal wave.
"Daddy—yes—right there—daddy, harder—I love you—I love you so much—fuck me harder, daddy, please—"
"I love you too, princess—fuck, I love you so much it makes me crazy—" His hips are snapping forward with a rhythm that's becoming erratic, desperate, his breath ragged against your ear, and his hand is working your clit faster now, harder, and you can feel yourself barreling toward the edge. "Come for me. Come on daddy's cock. Let me feel you."
The orgasm crashes through you like a wave breaking, your walls clenching around him in pulsing waves, your body arching against the glass, his name and daddy and yes and please all spilling from your lips in a breathless, desperate litany, and you feel him follow you over the edge a moment later, his hips jerking against you, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he comes with a groan that's muffled against your shoulder where his teeth are pressing into your skin, not hard enough to break but hard enough to mark, hard enough to claim.
"Oh yes, baby, I'm your daddy," he groans against your shoulder, and his voice is strained and breathless and so full of filthy, desperate need that it makes your cunt clench around him in another aftershock. "Keep saying that and I'm gonna stuff you up with my cum until it's all you'll ever be able to feel for days. You want that? You want daddy to fill you up so good you'll be leaking me all week?"
But he's not done. Before you've even fully registered the words, he's pulling out of you and scooping you up into his arms, and you're too wrecked to do anything but wrap your arms around his neck and let him carry you, and he walks with purpose down the hallway to your bedroom, and he kicks the door open and deposits you onto the bed, and he looks at you with those dark, burning eyes and you know what he wants and you want it too, and you reach for him and pull him down onto the bed with you.
You push him onto his back and straddle him, and you can feel his cock, still half-hard, pressing against your entrance, and you sink down onto him again and start to ride, and this time you don't go slow, you go fast, so fast, so desperate, your hips bouncing on his cock at a pace that's almost violent, your hands planted on his chest, your tits bouncing with every movement, and the sound of it fills the room — skin slapping against skin, wet, and so, so good.
"Daddy," you gasp, and you're riding him so fast that you can barely catch your breath, can barely form words, but you force them out anyway because you know what they do to him, you know the power you hold when you call him that. "Daddy, come for me—come inside me—fill me up—I want it—I want all of it—come more, baby, fill me up—give me every drop—you're such a good slut for me, coming inside me like this—you love filling me up, don't you, daddy? You love stuffing me full—"
His hands grip your hips so hard you know there'll be fingerprints tomorrow, and his head is thrown back against the pillow and his jaw is clenched and his abs are trembling, and you can feel him getting close again, can feel the way his cock throbs inside you, the way his breathing turns to gasps, the way his hips jerk up to meet yours, and the fact that he's still half-hard and getting hard again and you're making him come twice in the span of ten minutes makes you feel like a god.
"Come," you command, and your voice is firm and breathless and absolutely certain, and that's all it takes.
He comes with a broken groan of your name, his cock pulsing inside you, his cum spilling hot and thick, and you keep riding him through it, slowing only slightly, milking every last drop out of him, and you're babbling, encouraging him, praising him, "Yes, daddy, that's it, give me more, fill me up, so good, you're so good for me, such a good daddy, my good little slut—come more, baby, I want it all—"
When you finally stop, when you finally lift yourself off him, you can feel the mess — his cum and your slick dripping down your inner thighs, the evidence of everything you'd just done, and you crawl up his body and press a kiss to his lips, soft and sweet and so full of love that it makes your chest ache.
You reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, oversensitive and messy with both of you, and you stroke him slowly, spreading the mixture of your arousal and his cum along his length, the slick, filthy sound of it filling the quiet room, and you look down at him with a smile that's equal parts tender and satisfied.
"Does my baby feel better now?"
He smiles. A real smile, not the barely-there quirk of his lips that most people got, but the full, genuine, slightly dopey smile that was yours and yours alone, the one that made his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunch and made you fall in love with him all over again every single time.
"I do," he says, and his voice is rough and wrecked and warm, and you're about to lean in and kiss him again when his hand moves.
His hand comes up between your thighs, and before you can react, before you can process what's happening, his fingers are sliding inside you, two of them, then three, stretching you open with a suddenness that makes you gasp against his mouth, and your eyes go wide and you pull back and stare at him and he's looking at you with that dark, hungry look again, the one that says he's not done with you yet, the one that says you started this and he's going to finish it, and the shock of it, the sheer audacity of Sunghoon shoving three fingers inside you when you thought you were done, makes a sound escape your throat that's somewhere between a gasp and a laugh and a moan.
"Sunghoon—what—I—you—"
"I won't be the only one who comes twice," he says, and his voice is rough and completely matter-of-fact, like he's stating the weather, like this is simply how things are going to be, and his fingers curl inside you and press against that spot and your brain short-circuits, your protest dissolving into a broken whine that you can't control.
He pulls you over him, positioning you so you're straddling his face, and his mouth finds your breast at the same time his fingers are fucking you, his tongue hot against your nipple, sucking and biting and licking while his three fingers stretch you open and curl and press and find that spot over and over and over, and everything is too much that your hands fist in his hair and you arch your back and you can't breathe, you can't think, you can't do anything except feel.
"Come for me," he says against your breast, and his voice vibrates through your nipple and straight down to your core, and the filth of it, the way his mouth is still on you and his fingers are still inside you and he's commanding you like it's totally normal, "Come for daddy."
You come so hard your vision whites out. Your walls clench around his fingers in pulsing waves, your entire body trembling, your voice breaking on his name, on daddy, on a sound that isn't even a word anymore, and he works you through it with the same steady, devastating rhythm, his fingers curling and pressing inside you while his mouth stays on your breast, and you can feel him smile against your skin when you clench around him, can feel the satisfaction radiating off him like heat, and he fingers you through it, through every aftershock, through every pulse, until you're pushing at his wrist and gasping from the overstimulation and your thighs are shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up.
When it subsides, when the aftershocks have faded to small, trembling ripples, he gently lifts you off of him and lays you beside him on the pillow, and his fingers slide out of you slowly, and you whimper at the loss, and he brings his hand up to your face.
"Open," he says, and his voice is soft now, gentle, a command wrapped in tenderness, and you open your mouth without thinking, without questioning, because you're his and he's yours and this is what that means, and he slides his fingers inside, the ones that were just inside you, covered in your slick and his cum, and you suck them clean, your tongue swirling around each digit, tasting both of you on his skin, and his eyes are on your mouth and his expression is so raw and so full of something that looks like reverence and hunger and love all tangled together that it makes your chest hurt.
He pulls the blanket over both of you. The soft, heavy duvet that smells like your laundry detergent and his shampoo and home, and he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in close, your back to his chest, his breath warm and slow against the back of your neck, and the room is quiet except for the sound of your breathing slowly returning to normal.
"That was amazing," he says, and his voice is muffled against your hair, sleepy and satisfied and so soft that you almost miss it.
"I'm sorry," he says after a moment, quieter now, the sleepiness giving way to something more vulnerable. "For not telling you. For shutting you out."
You turn in his arms, because you need to see his face, because you need him to know that whatever was bothering him earlier doesn't change anything, doesn't diminish what you have, doesn't make you love him even one fraction less.
You're still too wrecked to form proper sentences, the sensation still running through you like electricity, making your muscles twitch and your breath catch and your skin tingle everywhere he touched you, but you manage a smile and whisper, "It's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay. You'll tell me when you're ready."
He looks at you for a long moment, and his eyes are clear now, no longer dull or guarded or shut off, and something in them shifts, softens, opens, and he pulls you in tighter by the waist and presses his forehead to yours, and you reach up and wipe the sweat from his forehead with your thumbs, gentle and so full of tenderness that it makes his breath catch.
And then he starts to talk.
Slowly, hesitantly, the words coming out in fits and starts, like he's testing each one before releasing it, like he's not sure how to give shape to the thing that's been sitting heavy in his chest all day. You don't push. You don't ask questions. You just lie there in his arms, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, your thumb still brushing his temple, and you listen. You listen like you've always listened, with your whole body and your whole heart, and the words come, slowly at first and then faster, and the weight on his chest lifts piece by piece, and by the time he's done the room feels lighter and his arms feel tighter and his forehead is pressed to yours and he's saying, "Thank you. Thank you so, so much. For being patient with me. For—um, for all of this."
And you smile, because that's all you can literally do, smile and hold him and know that whatever it was, whatever it is, you'll face it together, the way you face everything — side by side, wall to wall, unit 109 and unit 110, close enough to touch, and way too in love to leave.
⭐ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
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💿 ࿐ . . touch by cigarettes after sex
✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !
IN WHICH : Sunghoon finally convinces you to film your first sex tape.
⚠︎ WARNINGS : explicit content - smut (mdni) including: consensual recording of sex, shy/embarrassed reader, dirty talk, degradation ("slut", "desperate"), praise, fingering, spanking, hair pulling, nipple play and creampie.
NOTE: english is not my first language! this is also my first time writing something like this, so some parts might not make perfect sense.
Sunghoon carefully places his Canon camera on the small pile of books on the nightstand. You told him to just use his phone, but he insisted the camera had better focus and quality.
"All set." He says after adjusting the camera to an angle that captures almost the entire bed. "It’s recording."
"This feels weird, Hoon." You’re already lying on the bed, nervously playing with the hem of your tank top, feeling watched. "It’s just a camera, but I feel like millions of people are staring at me."
He chuckles softly as he sits beside you on the bed. "You said we could do it, baby…" His hand slides up your bare thigh. Your shorts had already been discarded a while ago.
"We can, but…"
The idea of recording sex had originally come from Sunghoon. He mentioned it casually after one of your sessions — you were still trembling and breathless — and he asked if it was okay. Just to be sure, he brought it up again later, not wanting to pressure you. He only wanted to make sure you were truly comfortable.
Even though you felt unsure and knew it would be strange the first time, you didn’t hesitate. You were curious. Sunghoon always praised you during sex, telling you how beautiful you looked and how well you took him. You wanted to see what he saw. The idea was hot.
"You know no one but us is ever going to see the final video." His fingers now trace circles on the inside of your thighs, moving slowly upward, getting closer and closer to your covered core.
A shiver runs down your spine, your body already reacting to his touch."I know, I just feel embarrassed."
The corner of his mouth lifts into a mischievous smile. "Is my poor baby embarrassed?" Finally, his fingers brush against your already wet pussy through your panties."Relax for me, baby."
You swallow hard and try to close your thighs, pressing them together, but he doesn’t let you. He grabs your thigh with his other hand and spreads your legs again. "I said relax."
"I’m trying, Hoon." Your cheeks are burning. You glance at the camera again before looking back at Sunghoon, who has a smug smile on his lips.
He clicks his tongue in fake annoyance."Look at you, acting all shy because of a camera." His thumb circles your clit while two other fingers rub along your folds, soaking the cotton fabric even more.
"Hoon, please," you whimper.
Sunghoon laughs, clearly entertained by the whole situation. "Putting on a show for the camera, huh? When we both know you’re just a desperate little slut for my cock."
You let out a pathetic, embarrassed sound, and he laughs again — not gentle or comforting, but clearly mocking you.
"Open up for me." It’s not a request, it’s a command, and you obey without hesitation, just like you always do. "There’s my good girl."
Sunghoon pushes your panties to the side, finally exposing your dripping pussy to the cool air of the room. You protest and try to close your legs again, feeling even more embarrassed. "Don’t you dare hide from me or the camera."
He stretches one arm out to grab the camera, holding it at chest level. Looking at your image through the viewfinder and fuck, you look so good.
"Open wider. Yeah, just like that." His thumb slides up and down your slit, spreading your wetness. You bite your lower lip, trying to hold back any sounds that threaten to escape. "It’s embarrassing."
"You know what’s really embarrassing? How wet you are, clenching around nothing, desperate to have me inside you." Sunghoon is usually a patient guy — or at least he tries to be — but he’s starting to get annoyed with how shy you’re acting.
He lets out an irritated groan before placing the camera back on the pile of books. You know he doesn’t give up easily, even if you’re being difficult.
Without warning, he pushes two fingers inside you. He doesn’t go slow — he starts pumping them deep and fast right away. His fingers curl, brushing against that sweet spot inside you.
Your eyes widen and you gasp, your mouth forming a perfect “O” as your back arches off the bed. "Ah! It’s too much, Hoon."
"Forget about the fucking camera and take it." He adds a third finger, stretching you more, his pace remaining fast and rough.
You can feel his fingers pumping deep, curling and rubbing that perfect spot every time until your legs are shaking uncontrollably. Your pussy gets wetter and wetter, making a mess on his hand. "It feels so deep, oh my—"
He circles your clit slowly, teasing you with just enough pressure to feel good but not enough to satisfy. "Please, I need more."
Suddenly he pulls his fingers out, leaving you needy and empty, clenching around nothing — completely limp, breathing fast and shaky.
Then he hovers over you with that wide smile that shows his sharp canines. Without saying a word, his lips crash against yours in a messy, hungry kiss. His hand slides under your tank top, his warm palm groping your breast while his fingers pinch your already hard nipple.
Your back arches and you whimper against his lips as he plays with your sensitive nipple. "Hoon, please… I need you."
He pulls back to catch his breath, a thin string of saliva connecting your lips. "So needy…" His index finger and thumb roll your nipple before pinching it again, making you gasp.
Without warning, he yanks your panties down to the middle of your thighs. "Turn over. Face down, ass up." You hesitate for a second but obey, getting on your hands and knees. Back arched, ass up, everything on full display.
The sight makes Sunghoon’s cock twitch painfully inside his sweatpants. "Fuck, so beautiful." He gives your ass a hard slap, the sharp sound echoing through the room — loud enough for the camera’s microphone to catch.
He pushes his sweatpants down past his hips, groaning in relief as his cock is finally freed. Both of his warm hands grab your trembling thighs and spread them wider.
Then he uses one hand to line up his cock with your dripping heat. He doesn’t push in right away — he teases you first. The head of his cock slides between your folds, brushing against your entrance.
"Just fuck me already, Sunghoon," you whimper.
As much as he wants to fuck you hard and fast enough to melt your brain and leave you shaking, he also wants to savor it — to go slow so you feel every inch, every pulsing vein inside.
He starts pushing in slowly, making you gasp at the delicious stretch. When he bottoms out, he stays still for a few seconds, letting you feel all of him. In this angle, he feels even bigger, even deeper.
"So fucking tight," he groans before starting to thrust into you hard. His hips slap against your ass with every deep stroke. Your walls clench around him, driving him even wilder.
The sound of skin against skin fills the room as you push your ass back to meet his thrusts. The head of his cock kisses your cervix every time he buries himself fully inside you.
"So deep, oh my God."
His hand slides from your hip up your spine, scratching lightly over your tank top before his fingers tangle in your hair and pull it back, making your back arch even more as he reaches even deeper.
"This pussy was made for me, squeezing me so fucking well." Still gripping your hair, he turns your head toward the camera, not wanting to miss how pathetic and wrecked you look with his cock inside you.
At this point, you’ve completely forgotten the camera is even there. Honestly, you couldn’t care less now that his cock is buried so deep inside you, hitting that sweet spot perfectly.
"Listen to how sloppy your pussy sounds taking my cock." He spanks you again, the sting spreading across your skin making you tremble.
"So fucking pretty when I’m wrecking this tight little pussy." He fucks you harder, your moans becoming loud and broken, your legs shaking uncontrollably.
"Too much! Too much!" you cry out, the pleasure building rapidly in your belly.
One of his hands reaches down to rub your clit. The combination of his fingers and his cock is overwhelming. Your walls flutter around him as you moan nonstop.
"That’s it, baby," he watches your face — flushed cheeks, parted lips gasping for air — and fuck, he’s close. "Cum for me. Be a good girl and cum around my cock."
"I’m cumming—" The orgasm crashes over you. Your pussy squeezes him tightly as your body shakes and you moan loudly.
"Fucking hell," he groans."You squeeze me so fucking good… Gonna fill this greedy pussy up."
In one rough movement, he flips you over. Your back hits the bed with a thud. He pins both of your wrists above your head and starts fucking you again with fast, deep thrusts, chasing his own release.
He fucks you mercilessly in a punishing rhythm. Your body is pushed up the bed with every powerful thrust, sinking deeper into the mattress.
He slams into you one final time, cumming deep inside you, filling you until his cum starts leaking out.
Sunghoon stays buried inside you for a moment while you both catch your breath. Then he slowly pulls out, and a hot trickle of his cum runs down your thigh.
He lies down beside you and pulls you onto his chest, gently tracing circles on your spine. "You okay, baby?"
You nod. Then something inside you snaps — you suddenly turn toward the camera in a quick motion. "Holy fuck."
-
You step out of the bathroom after a quick shower, wearing nothing but one of Sunghoon’s shirts. Your skincare routine is done, and you look cozy and refreshed. In the bedroom, Sunghoon is sitting against the headboard with his laptop on his lap. You don’t even have to ask — it’s pretty obvious what he’s doing.
"Just fuck me, Sunghoon." Your own voice comes through the laptop speakers. You rush over to close it.
Sunghoon laughs and pulls you onto the bed beside him. "Should I buy those Meta glasses? We could try a first-person take. Fuck, that would be so hot."
Omg I’m so sorry if this sound weird but as request maybe Jake as readers best friends teaching her how to fuck, but readers innocent and confused 🤭🫣
𓂃 don't hide from me
𖦹 𝑗𝑎𝑘𝑒 & 𝑓𝑒𝑚!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 , 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡 ꫂ
You sit on the edge of Jake’s bed in his apartment, your heart pounding as you fidget with the hem of your short skirt. He’s your best friend for years, the one guy you’ve always trusted with everything, but tonight feels different. You confessed over text how embarrassed you were that you’d never been with anyone, how clueless you felt about sex, and he offered to teach you. No strings, just helping his favorite girl out. Now he’s standing in front of you, tall and muscular, his eyes dark with lust as he looks down at your innocent face.
“Relax, baby,” Jake says softly, his voice low and reassuring. “We’re gonna take it slow. You trust me, right?”
You nod, cheeks burning hot. “I do, but… I don’t even know where to start. What if I mess up?”
He chuckles and steps closer, cupping your chin so you look up at him. “You won’t mess up. I’ll guide you through every fucking step. First, stand up for me.”
You obey, legs shaky as you rise. Jake’s hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist and pulling you against his hard body. You can already feel the thick bulge in his jeans pressing into your stomach, and it makes your pussy tingle with nervous confusion.
“Feel that?” he murmurs, grinding slowly against you. “That’s my cock, sweetheart. It’s gonna stretch that tight little virgin cunt of yours tonight. But don’t worry, I’ll make it feel so good.”
Your breath hitches, eyes wide. “It’s… really big. Will it even fit?”
Jake grins and leans down to kiss your neck, sucking gently on the sensitive skin. “It’ll fit. Your pussy was made for this. Now take off your top. Let me see those pretty tits.”
You hesitate, biting your lip, but his encouraging nod makes you pull your shirt over your head. Your bra comes next under his gaze, and your full breasts spill out, nipples already stiff from the cool air and your growing arousal. Jake groans at the sight.
“Fuck, look at you. Such innocent little tits, just begging to be sucked.” He bends his head and captures one nipple in his hot mouth, swirling his tongue around it before sucking hard. You gasp loudly, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight to your core.
“Oh god, Jake… that feels weird but… good,” you whimper, your hands instinctively grabbing his shoulders.
He switches to the other nipple, biting it lightly while his fingers pinch the first one. “Good girl. Your nipples are so sensitive. Bet your pussy’s getting wet already.”
He drops to his knees in front of you and slides your skirt and panties down your legs, leaving you completely naked. His face is right at eye level with your smooth, shaved pussy. You try to close your thighs in embarrassment, but he spreads them apart firmly.
“Don’t hide from me. This right here is your sweet little cunt,” he says, running a thick finger along your slit. You’re soaking wet, your juices glistening. “So fucking pretty and dripping for your best friend. Spread wider, baby.”
You do as he says, confused by how much you ache for his touch. Jake leans in and licks a long, slow stripe up your pussy, flicking your clit at the end. Your knees buckle.
“Ahh! Jake, what are you… oh fuck,” you moan, completely overwhelmed.
He laps at you hungrily, sucking your clit into his mouth while sliding a finger inside your tight hole. “Tastes like virgin honey. I’m eating this pussy until you cum on my tongue. Relax and let it happen.”
The sensations build fast—his tongue working your swollen clit, his finger pumping in and out, curling to hit a spot that makes stars explode behind your eyes. You grab his hair, hips grinding against his face without thinking.
“I’m… I’m gonna… something’s happening!” you cry out.
“Cum for me,” Jake growls against your pussy, sucking harder.
You shatter, your first real orgasm ripping through you as you flood his mouth with your juices. He drinks it all, licking you clean while you tremble.
He stands up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and strips off his clothes. His cock springs free—thick, veiny, and rock hard, the head already leaking precum.
“Now it’s your turn to learn how to handle a dick,” he says, taking your small hand and wrapping it around his shaft. “Stroke it up and down, nice and firm. That’s it… fuck, your hand feels so good on me.”
You pump him awkwardly at first, eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of fear. “It’s so hot and hard. Does this feel okay?”
“Better than okay, baby. Twist your wrist a little on the head. Good girl. Now get on your knees and put it in your mouth. Suck your best friend’s cock like the eager student you are.”
You sink down, staring at the massive dick in front of your face. You open your mouth and take the head inside, sucking gently while your tongue swirls around it. Jake moans and threads his fingers through your hair.
“Deeper, sweetheart. Relax your throat. Yeah, just like that. You’re a natural little cocksucker. Choke on it for me.”
You gag as he pushes further, tears pricking your eyes, but you keep going, bobbing your head and slurping noisily. Spit drips down your chin as he fucks your mouth with shallow thrusts.
“Fuck yes. Look at those innocent eyes watering while you suck me. Pull off now.”
He helps you up and lays you back on the bed, spreading your legs wide. His cock rubs up and down your soaked slit, teasing your clit.
“Ready for me to pop that cherry?” Jake asks, pressing the thick head against your entrance. “It’s gonna hurt a little at first, but then it’ll feel like heaven. Tell me you want it.”
You nod frantically, confused by how empty you feel without him inside. “Please, Jake… I want you to fuck me. Teach me how to take cock.”
He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching your virgin pussy wide open. You cry out at the burn, nails digging into his back.
“Shit, you’re so fucking tight. Halfway in, baby. Breathe for me.” He kisses you deeply, swallowing your whimpers as he bottoms out, balls deep in your cunt. “There we go. All the way inside your best friend’s pussy. How does it feel?”
“Full… so full,” you gasp, adjusting to the huge intrusion. “It hurts but… I like it.”
Jake starts thrusting, slow and deep at first, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. “Good girl. Your cunt is gripping me like a vice. Gonna fuck you harder now.”
His pace picks up, pounding into you with wet, filthy sounds. He grabs your tits, pinching your nipples while he rails you.
“Play with your clit while I fuck you,” he orders. “Rub that little button. Feel how my cock owns this pussy now.”
You reach down, rubbing circles on your clit as he slams into you. The pain fades into pure pleasure, your moans getting louder and dirtier.
“Harder, Jake! Please fuck my pussy harder!” you beg, innocence melting away.
He grins and hooks your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half as he destroys your cunt. “That’s my slutty best friend. Taking every inch like a champ. Your virgin hole is creaming all over my dick.”
The pressure builds again, your pussy clenching around him. Jake reaches down and rubs your clit fast.
“Cum on my cock, baby. Milk me with that tight cunt.”
You explode again, screaming his name as your orgasm rips through you, juices squirting around his thrusting shaft. Jake groans loud and buries himself deep, flooding your pussy with thick ropes of hot cum.
He collapses on top of you, both of you panting. His cock stays inside, plugging his load in your freshly fucked hole.
“You did so good,” he whispers, kissing your forehead. “Lesson one complete. Ready for round two? We’ve got all night to teach you how to fuck like a pro.”
You lie there on Jake’s bed, panting and covered in a light sheen of sweat, his thick cock still buried deep inside your freshly creamed pussy. His cum leaks out around his shaft as he twitches inside you, and the feeling of being so full and claimed makes your head spin with confused pleasure.
“Lesson one complete,” Jake murmurs against your ear, kissing your forehead tenderly. “Ready for round two? We’ve got all night to teach you how to fuck like a pro.”
You nod shyly, your cheeks flushed. “I… I think so. It still feels so weird having you inside me, but I don’t want you to stop.”
Jake pulls out slowly with a wet pop, and a thick glob of his cum drips from your stretched hole onto the sheets. He watches it with hungry eyes. “Look at that messy little cunt. My cum looks so good leaking out of you. But we’re not done filling you up.”
He flips you over onto your stomach and pulls your hips up so you’re on all fours, ass raised high like an offering. His hands spread your cheeks wide, exposing your dripping pussy and tight little asshole.
“Fuck, this view. Your virgin holes are both so perfect.” He slaps your ass hard, making you yelp. “Next lesson, doggy style. This position lets me fuck you deeper. Reach back and spread your pussy for me, baby. Show your best friend how much you want more cock.”
Your hands tremble as you obey, pulling your slick folds apart. Jake lines up and slams back into you in one brutal thrust, bottoming out instantly. You cry out, the new angle hitting spots that make your toes curl.
“Oh my god, Jake! It’s so deep like this… I can feel you in my belly,” you moan, face pressed into the pillow.
He grips your hips and starts pounding you hard, his heavy balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin smacking and your wet pussy squelching around his thick shaft.
“That’s right, take it like a good little student. Your cunt is sucking me in so greedily. Rub your clit again while I wreck this pussy.” His hand comes down and spanks you again, harder this time, leaving a red handprint on your ass cheek.
You reach between your legs and rub your swollen clit fast, the pleasure building even quicker than before. Jake leans over you, one hand wrapping around to squeeze your swinging tits while the other fists your hair, pulling your head back.
“You’re not so innocent anymore, are you? Moaning like a cock-hungry slut while your best friend ruins your tight hole.” He thrusts even faster, grinding deep on every stroke. “Tell me how it feels.”
“It feels dirty… and amazing,” you gasp between moans. “Your cock is stretching me so much. I love it, Jake. Fuck me harder, please!”
He growls and gives you exactly what you beg for, slamming into you with raw power. Sweat drips from his chest onto your back as he rails you mercilessly. Your second orgasm crashes over you without warning, your pussy clamping down on him like a vice as you scream into the pillow.
“Fuck yes, cream on my dick again,” Jake groans, not slowing down. He pulls out suddenly and flips you onto your back once more. “Now ride me. Time to learn how to bounce on cock.”
He lies back and pulls you on top, guiding his cum-slick shaft back into your aching pussy. You sink down slowly, whimpering as he fills you completely in this new position.
“Move your hips, baby. Grind on it first, then bounce. Use your legs.” His hands grip your ass, helping you find the rhythm.
You start rocking awkwardly at first, but the way his cock drags against your walls quickly makes you bolder. Soon you’re bouncing properly, your tits jiggling with every rise and fall. Jake watches with dark eyes, reaching up to slap your breasts lightly.
“Look at you riding your best friend’s cock like a natural whore. Faster, sweetheart. Slam that pussy down on me.” He thrusts up to meet you, driving even deeper.
Your moans grow louder and filthier as you lose yourself in the feeling. “It feels so good… your cock is hitting everything inside me. I’m gonna cum again!”
“Cum then, you dirty girl. Flood my balls.” Jake rubs your clit roughly with his thumb while you ride him frantically.
You shatter for the third time, your juices squirting out around his cock as your body shakes violently. Jake grabs your hips and holds you down, pumping up into you with short, powerful strokes until he explodes again, pumping even more hot cum deep into your womb.
You collapse onto his chest, both of you breathing hard. His cock softens slowly inside you, but he doesn’t pull out.
“Such a quick learner,” he praises, stroking your hair. “But we’re far from finished. Next I’ll teach you how to take it in that tight little ass of yours… after I eat my cum out of your destroyed pussy.”
He rolls you off him and pushes your legs wide open again, lowering his mouth to your cum-filled cunt. His tongue dives in, licking and sucking his own load mixed with your juices while you whimper and twitch from overstimulation.
“Jake… that’s so nasty,” you moan, but your hips lift toward his face anyway.
He looks up with a wicked grin, lips shiny with your combined mess. “Nasty is just the beginning, baby. By morning, you’ll know exactly how to fuck, suck, and beg like the perfect little cumslut you were always meant to be.”
His mouth returns to devouring you, and you know the night is only getting started.
heavy makeout with riki while bouncing on his hard clothed dih 🤤🤤
making out is a lost art nowadays. thank you for the request anon, i hope you'll enjoy it <3
—
𐙚 ENHYPEN NIKI bouncing
The air between you and Niki was heavy with the heat of kisses. His mouth moved against yours, tongue sliding deep, tasting you with a low groan that vibrated against your lips.
His hands were everywhere, one wide across the small of your back, pressing you closer, the other sliding down to grip your ass, fingers digging through the fabric of your leggings.
He squeezed, pulling you hard against him, grinding his erection against the heat between your thighs. You gasped into his mouth, your own hips rolling forward, seeking pressure.
"Feel good, baby?" Niki murmured against your lips. His eyes searched yours. You could only nod, your breath catching as he shifted his hips again, his hard cock rubbing perfectly against your pussy through layers of clothing.
A needy whimper escaped you. "Yeah?" he breathed, a grin touching his lips. He thrust upward deliberately this time, the thick bulge in his jeans pressing firmly against your clit.
"Feel how fucking hard you make me? All for you." His words sent a wave of wetness flooding your panties. You moaned, loud and shameless, grinding down onto him.
The sight of you lost in sensation, riding the hard line of his cock made him groan.
His gaze raking over your flushed face, your parted lips. "Fuck, look at you," he rasped, his hand on your ass kneading harder, urging your hips faster. "So fucking perfect. Taking it so good for me. My good girl." His praise ignited something inside you.
"Come on, baby," he urged. "Bounce for me. Show me how much you want it." His eyes dropped to your chest. "Put those pretty tits right here."
You braced your hands on his shoulders and lifted yourself up, then sank back down hard onto his lap.
Your breasts moved with each movement, swaying right before his face. Niki’s groan was pure appreciation. "God, yes," he choked out, his eyes glued to the bounce of your chest.
"Fuck, watching them move…" His hands flew to your waistband, fingers hooking into the fabric of your shirt and bra. In one swift, desperate motion, he yanked them both down, freeing your breasts completely. The cool air hit your stiffened nipples for only a second before his hot mouth closed over one.
You cried out, arching your back, pushing your breast deeper into his mouth as you kept bouncing on his lap. His tongue swirled roughly around your nipple, sucking hard, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight to your throbbing pussy.
The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming. You could feel the damp patch spreading in your panties, soaking through to where his hard cock strained against the denim beneath you.
He switched to your other nipple, sucking just as fiercely, his moans vibrating against your sensitive skin. "So fucking good," he gasped between sucks, his hips bucking up to meet your downward thrusts, driving the hard length of him harder against your clit with every desperate, bouncing grind.
Money, sex, and a lifetime of feeling like luck was never really on your side—until the universe decided to fuck with you in the most inconvenient way possible. What started as simple coexisting turned into something more when you paid a little too much attention to your quiet, awkward, painfully responsible roommate—who, on paper, is a complete fucking loser. But, hey, he’s not that bad!
In which Sim Jaeyun becomes the only genuinely good, unfairly lucky thing that’s ever happened to you… and just like everything else in your life, good things have a way of slipping right through your fingers. So now you have to figure it out, fix it, or risk losing the only thing that ever felt right before you run Out of Luck.
2: FORTUNE'S FAVOR
content tags and warnings: roommate au! romantic comedy, jake is an engineering student x volleyball varsity player reader, light angst, angst and fluff and fluff and a happy ending! complicated feelings, mentions of SUPERTITIOUS BELIEFS, tarot reading, luck, fate etc! 10k wc of reader avoiding jake and the rest will be jake 's pov (he yap and yap), mentions of social anxiety and self harm, jake is such an awkward introverted baby he needs a hug i swear, jake is yearning :(, embarassment, 2nd hand embarassment, public confession, awkward erm moments, jake is secretly a simp and he's pathetic, slice of life, kissing hehe. ft. heeseung as jake's best supportive friend, 02z as jake's hs friend, kazuha as jake's ex gf, karina, ryujin, other kpop idol as reader's volleyball team, robots and fish as side characters. mild smut: masturbation, still MDNI! (WC:34.6K)
Fate is a power believed to predetermine events, some unavoidable bullshit that people love to hold onto when things go wrong. A little explanation so they don't have to admit that sometimes things just fall apart because people make stupid choices, or because shit just happens for no good reason at all.
And right now? You think fate is complete fucking nonsense.
If fate was real, then maybe you wouldn't have been dumb enough to let things spiral the way they did. Maybe you would've stopped yourself before crossing the line.
Maybe if people weren't idiots, if they just paid attention for one goddamn second, things wouldn't end up worse than they needed to be. Like, for example—if someone didn't decide to throw a basketball straight to your fucking face like they had zero brain cells to work with.
Geez. Fate. Luck. Doom. What kind of bullshit logic even ties those things together? The more you think about it, the more it just pisses you off. People are so fucking dumb sometimes, acting like everything is written in the stars when half of it is just bad decisions stacked on top of each other.
"Hehe... I'm so sorry."
You glance at Karina from where you're sitting on the bench, an ice pack pressed against your already bruised nose, your face still sore from everything that's happened over the past few days. Her hand hovers mid-air, like she wants to check on you but isn't sure if you'll snap at her or brush her off.
She just got back from Japan and of course, Ryujin had already filled her in. Not just about how, three days into recovery of your accident, some dumbass from the basketball team managed to add another bruise to your already fucked-up nose during practice like it was some kind of sick joke.
But also that you got your heart broken. Well. You didn't want to tell her. You didn't want to tell anyone, if you were being honest. Saying it out loud makes it real in a way that just thinking about it doesn't. It turns it into something people can react to, something they can pity, something they can talk about. And you're not in the mood for that shit.
So you just exhale slowly, leaning back a bit, eyes drifting away from her. "It's fine," you mutter. Karina doesn't look convinced. She's not stupid. But for once, she doesn't push immediately. Thankfully.
She lowers her hand slowly, sitting down beside you, her shoulder brushing lightly against yours and you know exactly what she's trying to do—comfort, soften the edges, make it easier for you to crack open and talk. But you don't. You just let out a quiet sigh, leaning back slightly as if nothing about this is affecting you. You let her stay there because it's easier than pushing her away and dealing with the questions that would follow. You've always been good at this anyway—pretending. Acting like you're fine.
And weeks pass like that. Quietly. You make it a point—no, a fucking mission—that you and that man-who-shouldn't-be-named never cross paths.
You adjust your schedule, leaving earlier, coming home later, avoiding the living room at certain hours, listening for any sign that he's around before stepping out of your room. It's exhausting, honestly, but you do it anyway because the alternative—seeing him, talking to him, pretending like nothing happened or worse, acknowledging it—feels ten times worse.
You even considered moving out at one point, scrolling through listings late at night, checking dorm prices, calculating your budget over and over again like maybe the numbers would magically change.
They didn't.
Because you're broke. Like, actually fucking broke. Rent is insane, dorms are worse, and on top of that, your training for regionals has been eating up your time and energy like crazy. Your appetite has doubled—no, tripled—and now you can't go a day without stuffing yourself full or you start feeling like shit. And all your money? Gone. Straight into food. Food, food, and more fucking food.
You click your tongue in annoyance just thinking about it, dragging a hand down your face. Fuck this. Why did that man even cook for you so much before? Why did he set that stupid standard? Now your body's used to actual meals, and you can't even go back to your old habits without feeling like you're dying. It's irritating. It's inconvenient. It's— NO. You cut the thought off before it goes somewhere else.
You swore you wouldn't like anyone anymore. That shit is done. Over! Finished!
And honestly? All those stupid things people made you believe in? Complete bullshit. The grapes you ate during New Year's for luck? Fucking scam. The bracelet they made you wear in February because it's supposed to bring love or whatever the hell? Garbage. You should've thrown it away the moment you got it. And that horoscope reading? "2026 will be your year"—yeah, right. Biggest scam of them all!
"I miss you, please don't be angry at me!"
Karina wraps herself around you from behind, her arms locking tight around your shoulders. The impact makes you jolt forward slightly, your whole body stiffening as irritation immediately flashes across your face. You try to pry her off, fingers digging into her forearms.
"What's with you? I'm not angry, the hell?" you scoff, twisting your shoulder and swatting at her arm, but it does nothing. If anything, she tightens her hold, pressing her cheek against yours.
"I know you would say that," she whines, dragging every word out dramatically, completely unfazed by your resistance. Her voice softens just a little as she nuzzles closer. "But there's some kind of tension you have with me. I can feel it. I promise I'm not gonna push you with some other guy again, just talk to meeee."
"Karina!" you snap. You twist harder this time, trying to break free, your voice rising with both annoyance and disbelief. "I am not angry, what the—?!"
But she doesn't let go. "Really?" she shoots back immediately, her tone shifting to show she's not buying your shit. Her arms stay locked around you as she leans her chin on your shoulder, peeking at your face. "Then why won't you talk to me?"
"I'm not talking to anyone because I'm broken-hearted!" you fire back with sarcasm. You stop struggling for a second, your hands dropping uselessly to her arms as you huff out a breath. "Of course it's normal to be this way! You're the one who pushed me, remember?"
"Huhuhu, I'm so sorry!" Karina immediately wails, completely switching gears as she stomps her foot against the ground while still hugging you. The movement jostles both of you, but she doesn't loosen her grip. "Promise, I'll help you get over him. God, I hate him!" Her voice sharpens, her real irritation slipping through. "Do you want me to sabotage his project?! I heard his club is organizing some event with Architecture. Just say it. I'll definitely do it!"
You finally manage to grab her wrists and yank her arms off you, turning around to face her fully with a look that screams what the fuck is wrong with you. "No—what the fuck?" you snap, staring at her like she just suggested arson instead of whatever the hell that was. You roll your eyes, dragging a hand through your hair as you try to calm yourself again. "I just want to focus on Regionals. Just... don't mention him anymore." Your voice drops a little. "It's better to move on when I don't have updates or news."
Karina watches you for a second, her expression softening as she processes that, then she nods slowly. "Soooo... are we good?" she asks, immediately looping her arm around yours again.
You click your tongue, glancing at her from the corner of your eye. "Of course we are always good. What's with you?"
"You sure?" she presses, squinting at you like she's trying to catch you slipping.
"Yes."
"Then I have a gift for ya!" Her mood flips instantly again, energy shooting back up as she lets go and starts digging through one of her paper bags.
You watch her with mild suspicion, arms crossing over your chest as you wait—and then your expression completely breaks when she pulls out a clear plastic bag filled with water... and a tiny fish swimming inside.
"What the—"
"My guppy gave birth and I don't have a tanks anymore!" she beams proudly, holding it up like it's the best gift in the world. The fish wiggles inside the bag. "Take this as a gift for ya. It will help you clear your mind!"
"No. What the fuck?!" you hiss immediately, recoiling slightly. Your brows knit together in pure disbelief, staring at the tiny creature. "Karina, I'm not taking responsibility for a living thing right now—are you insane?!"
But she just grins wider, already trying to shove the bag toward you anyway.
And that was how you ended up bringing a fish
You are absolutely, undeniably, one hundred percent going to fucking kill Karina.
You stand in the middle of the kitchen, one hand gripping the plastic bag with a tiny fish inside, while your phone is awkwardly wedged between your shoulder and your ear. You open cabinets with your free hand, shoving things aside in search of anything that could pass as a container. It's 3:00 in the fucking afternoon, the heat pressing down on you like you are in hell, sweat already forming at the back of your neck. The aircon hums uselessly somewhere behind you, doing absolutely nothing. Why the hell is it not cooling? Is it broken? Did someone mess with it? Did he— NO.
"The fuck?!" you snap out loud when the call suddenly drops, the silence hitting immediately after Karina's last words—calm down, guppy don't need oxygen——before cutting off completely. You pull the phone away, glaring at the screen. No signal nor an Internet.
Of course! Jake is the one assigned to the internet payment. You remember clearly—you left the damn money on the center table days ago where he couldn't miss it. And now this? No connection, no help, no fucking instructions on how to keep this tiny living thing alive.
"God! The worst roommate ever!" you mutter under your breath, shoving your phone onto the counter with more force than necessary. Worst roommate! Worst fucking roommage! Not paying that damn internet, overheating the air conditioner since he was the one who is staying so damn long in the living room, rejecting your feelings— Hold on. Stop. Moving on remember?
You exhale sharply, like you're physically pushing the thought out of your system, and look back down at the plastic bag in your hands. The tiny fish wiggles inside, completely unbothered by your internal crisis, its small body flicking through the water.
"How am I supposed to know how to build your environment?!" you hiss at it. You let out a long breath, shoulders dropping slightly. "Okay... okay..." you mutter to yourself, trying to calm the fuck down. It's just a fish. A tiny, stupid fish. People take care of these things all the time. You can't be that incompetent.
You finally grab a glass jar from the cabinet, a clean one, at least, and set it down on the counter. It's not ideal, probably, but it's better than leaving it in a plastic bag forever like some kind of moving takeout.
Your eyes wander, and they land on that stupid little robot sitting lifelessly on the edge of the table. An idea sparks, ask Bumble for help! Of course! Jake's little tech toy could totally—well, theoretically—make this easier. You lean down, plastic bag in one hand, glass jar in the other, carefully lowering the fish into the water. The liquid sloshes around, tiny ripples forming, and the fish flicks its tail nervously.
Your fingers hover over the robot, hesitating a moment because the thing looks impossibly flat and dumb, and yet... Jake had somehow made it work before. How? How the fuck did he do that?
"Bumble, open," you command. The robot doesn't move. Not a single servo whir, not even a twitch. You frown, crouching lower to get a better look at it, poking at the flat surface with your fingertip. Nothing. You blink at it, confusion mixing with irritation as the anger starts to simmer back up again, fueled by the memory of that stupid, infuriating boy who made it work so effortlessly. His stupid braces flashing whenever he smiled, that crooked, perfect grin, his stupid, clueless, nerdy self who somehow made everything look so easy. Stupid boy.
You can't help it. You shake the robot lightly, as if your rage can transfer through it, make it activate, make it do something other than sit there mocking you.
"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" you hiss under your breath, frustration bubbling past the point of reason.
You can almost feel the heat of your blood rising in your cheeks, your heart hammering faster than it should over a stupid fish and a stupid robot. And yet, beneath all that —why are you this bitter? NoOOo! It's valid! He's a fucking idiot. That robot is a fucking idiot. And yet—and yet—you can't stop thinking about him, about the way he made you laugh, the way he made you feel, the way he lingered in your thoughts like a permanent ghost.
"Stupid, useless robot," you mutter under your breath, your grip tightening around Bumble. You shake it again. "Why the fuck won't you open? What, are you trying to act like your owner too? Just shut down and ignore people?"
The sudden creak of the door makes your whole body jolt. You stiffen instantly, your heart jumping straight to your throat as your head snaps toward the entrance. Jake was frozen in place, just a few steps inside, like he didn't expect to see you either. His hand is still on the doorknob, the other clutching his bag loosely. His eyes flicker—first to Bumble in your hands, then to the jar on the counter with the fish awkwardly floating inside, then finally to you. And when his gaze settles on your face, it stays.
You see it happen in real time—the shift. His eyes widen, and it pisses you off. He takes in the fading bruises along your cheek, the slight discoloration near your nose, the healing cut on your chin with its visible stitch. His brows knit together, concern flashing across his face so quickly it almost looks painful, like he doesn't know what to do with it. "W-What happened?" he asks, voice stumbling over itself as his hand lifts halfway, like reaching toward your face before stopping mid-air.
That—that right there—makes your chest twist wrong.
You straighten up immediately, forcing your expression to do it's own neutral controlled thing, dropping Bumble back. You avoid his eyes like they burn, turning your attention back to the fish. Geez. Two fucking weeks. Two weeks of silence, of avoidance, of pretending he didn't exist—and now he wants to ask questions like he still has the right? Like nothing happened?
"When are you planning to pay for the Wi-Fi?" you cut in flatly. You keep your back partially turned to him, fiddling with the jar, adjusting the plastic inside even though it's already fine. "I already left the payment."
There's a pause behind you. You can even feel it without even looking — the hesitation, the shift in his breathing, the way he probably opens his mouth and then closes it again like he always fucking does.
"Uh... I was actually busy... that's why..." he answers as he steps further inside and lets his bag drop to the floor.
You let out a small, humorless scoff under your breath, still not looking at him. Busy. Of course he was busy. Bet he was also busy avoiding you.
"Right," you mumble, eyes fixed on the water in the jar, watching the fish move in slow, careless circles.
"Are you... okay?—"
Your head turns sharply, eyes locking onto him with a glare. "Why the fuck do you even care if I'm not?" you shoot back. But just as quickly, you feel that ugly edge, that bitterness creeping. Shit you hate it. You hate how it makes you sound. You hate how it makes you feel like the one who's losing control.
So you pull back. You look away first, breaking eye contact and reach for your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. The jar with the fish inside the plastic crinkles softly as you pull it close to your chest. "Just..." you click your tongue, your jaw tightening as you force your tone back. "Pay that damn Wi-Fi."
You walk past him without waiting for a response, your shoulder brushing the air near him but never quite touching. Your hand grips the doorknob of your room, pausing for just a second before you push it open.
You inhale deeply, and without turning back, you add, "and fix the AC." Then you step inside and shut the door behind you.
Silence follows immediately. You lean back against the door, eyes squeezing shut. "Stupid boy," you mutter under your breath, your voice cracking just slightly despite your effort to keep it together. You drag a hand down your face, exhaling sharply, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on you. You really wish you could rewind everything. Back to when things were simple. When you were just minding your own damn business, not expecting anything, not hoping for anything. No stupid feelings.
Because what the hell were you even thinking? A fairytale? Really? You let out a dry, almost bitter laugh, shaking your head as you push yourself off the door and move further into your room. "What could possibly go right with a man disguised as a loving prince?" you mutter. "They're all the same. Fucking villains." You huff, running a hand through your hair. "Witches, even. Pretending to be kind, then dragging you down, poisoning you—"
You stop mid-step, blinking at yourself like you just caught your own bullshit. "...Why the fuck are you thinking about fairytales again?" you mutter, almost annoyed.
And you need to place this fucking fish outside your room!
You threw yourself into training as though it was the only thing keeping you from completely losing your shit.
Regionals wasn't just some school-level game anymore, you carried your city's name on your back whether you liked it or not. The drills were stricter, harsher, less forgiving. Coaches didn't care if your legs were shaking or your lungs felt like they were about to collapse; they pushed anyway, barked orders like you were machines instead of people. It was exhausting, and so brutal, kind of relentless—and somehow, you welcomed it. Because every second your body ached, every moment your mind focused on the game, it left less room for him.
Unluckily—luckily—you weren't stuck in one place either. The team moved from city to city, different courts, different environments, different faces. New people, new opponents, new distractions. You met players who were just as aggressive, just as desperate to win, some even worse. It forced you to stay sharp, forced you to adapt.
At night, when your body finally gave out and you collapsed into unfamiliar beds, there was barely enough energy left in you to think. Barely enough energy to remember anything, and yet... somehow, in those quiet moments right before sleep took you, your mind still slipped. Back to him.
One night while packing your things for another early call time, your hands moving automatically as you zipped your bag. Your thoughts drifted. What is Jake even doing right now?
You frowned, shoving your clothes harder into your bag like that would shove the thought away too. Before you left the apartment earlier that week, the fridge was nearly empty. Barely anything inside except leftovers that didn't look touched and random shit that didn't make sense together. It's not like you were cooking. Hell, you barely ate at home anymore. You never even did heathy groceries in the first place. That was always—
You stopped.
Is he eating properly now? Is he still organizing everything like some obsessive little nerd? Or did he just... stop?
Oh, dude. What the actual fuck! You shake your head, physically rejecting the thought. Why the hell do you even care? Why does it matter if he's eating or starving or turning into a complete mess? He made his choice.
"...Yeah, right," you mutter under your breath.
Because the truth is simple, and it pisses you off more than anything—you still like him.
Despite everything. Despite how he looked you in the eye and said he didn't feel the same. Despite how fucking humiliating that moment was. The feeling didn't just disappear. It didn't magically shut off like a switch. It stayed, always clinging to you no matter how much you tried to drown it out with training, exhaustion, or distance. It's normal. Feelings don't just go away overnight. You're not broken for still thinking about him.
...Are you crazy?
Not really. You've always been like this—your mind drifting back to things you once liked, replaying moments like they meant more than they probably did. You remember those stupid, simple days when it was just a harmless crush. When you'd catch yourself staring at him across the room, noticing the way his braces flashed when he smiled, how his eyes would light up behind his glasses whenever he talked about something he liked. It was easy back then. It was safe... nothing is complicated
And yeah—fuck it—you're not blind. He's not ugly. Not even close.
But the moment that thought settles, your expression twists, your own bitterness creeping back in like a bad habit you can't shake. Your mood shifts so fast it almost gives you whiplash. One second you're remembering something soft, the next you're clenching your jaw, your hands curling into fists. "God, how I hate nerds..." you mutter. "Stupid, fucking... face." You let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through your hair as you lean back, staring at the ceiling.
Because no matter how good he looked, no matter how nice he seemed—You still kind of want to punch him. Hard.
"This card represents the burning love that you have right now. The two of you will communicate well, and maybe in the near future, both of you will not take the same path—but it will not be a reason for any separation. Either way, the fire around you will ignite and make your relationship stronger."
"Awww."
A chorus of coos makes your eye twitch. Rei actually sniffs, her hand hovering over her chest as her eyes glued to the three cards laid out in front of her. You stand there, arms loosely crossed, staring at the whole thing with a thinly veiled cringe, your lips pressing into a line as you take in the scene. The setup is just a small booth with a cloth-covered table, a deck of worn-out cards. It's part of the open house happening around Decelis, booths were scattered everywhere — whatever. You only ended up here because your coaches had some sudden emergency meeting, leaving you all with a free hour to waste. And somehow, this is where your team decided to spend it.
"Is that legit-legit?" Winter asks, wiggling her eyebrows as she leans closer to the table. The rest of your teammates crowd around too, forming a semi-circle, their attention completely hooked. You can already tell this is about to go south for you. They look too entertained.
"Take what resonates, leave what doesn't," the tarot reader replies calmly. You bet she said that line a hundred times already today. "I am just reading the cards and interpreting what it says."
"Well then," Winter grins, clearly already plotting something, "I'll pay three dollars and read my friend's love life!" Before you can even react, she drops the money into the jar and without hesitation, shoves you forward into the seat right in front of the table.
"Huh—?"
You barely get the chance to protest before hands are suddenly everywhere. Winter, Giselle, Ningning, and Karina are all close in, clapping their hands over your mouth, pushing you down into the chair as they giggle. "Don't ruin it!" "Just sit!" "We're curious!" they whisper loudly over each other, completely ignoring your muffled protests.
You glare at them, trying to pry their hands off, but they're annoyingly persistent. The tarot reader raises an eyebrow at the display but doesn't comment. Instead, she calmly begins shuffling the deck, her eyes flicking toward you for a brief moment—like she's assessing you, reading more than just your face. The cards slide smoothly between her fingers. Eventually, your teammates let go, though they stay close, practically leaning over your shoulders, their eyes glued to the table like.
Three cards are drawn and placed carefully in front of you. Two upright. One reversed.
You finally manage to sit properly, rubbing your jaw where they had covered your mouth, shooting them one last annoyed look before your attention drifts—despite yourself—back to the cards. You don't even believe in this shit.
"I see..." the girl starts, she leans slightly forward, studying the spread. Her brows knit together just a little, like something caught her attention. "Your partner is a very loving person... with genuine feelings."
Your nostrils flare almost immediately, your lips parting as your face twists into disbelief and annoyance. You don't even bother hiding it, and the way you can already feel the shift around you too—the girls who were leaning in with excitement just seconds ago are now deflating, their interest dropping as fast as it came. There's a collective sigh, obvious with disappointment. Of course. Because what partner? You don't have one. Everyone here knows that. This is exactly why you don't believe in this shit. It's all vague, all bullshit.
"The images around the cards represent someone who pays close attention to you... someone who puts in a lot of effort," the girl continues, unfazed by the obvious shift in energy. Your teammates exchange looks but no one interrupts her. Not yet. Well, there's still that tiny thread of curiosity keeping them quiet.
And then, unexpectedly, she pulls another card.
"Is your partner a Scorpio?"
"Hm." You respond flatly, barely even thinking about it, your attention already drifting as you inspect your nails.
"Right..." she murmurs anyway. "You're lucky. He is intensely passionate and deeply loyal to you—incredibly loyal and devoted. The kind of person who gives everything, but expects the same level of commitment in return."
You let out a short, dry snort at that, the word lucky hitting your ears wrong. Lucky? Yeah, fucking right. Every person who reads zodiac signs, tarot cards, whatever the hell this is—they always say the same shit.
"As expected with this reversed card," she continues, tapping the last one lightly, "it also reflects your partner's nature. Hesitant to open up. Someone who tests potential partners before fully letting them in... That's all!"
"God, I can't believe I wasted my three dollars," Winter mutters under her breath, already turning away with an annoyed huff. "She doesn't even have a boyfriend."
There's a ripple of agreement, the group starting to lose interest completely now, the moment clearly not living up to their expectations. One by one, they begin to shift away from the table, their attention already drifting to the next booth.
You don't move right away. Your eyes stay on the cards, before snorting. You push yourself up to the chair, breaking whatever stupid spell you almost fell into.
"Hope you had a long, healthy, happy relationship. Both of you deserve it. Thank you!" the girl chirps, already reaching for her jar. You watch her fingers flick through the bills. You huff under your breath, shaking your head as you step away.
Loving? Effort? Loyal? Hesitant? And what the fuck was that—Scorpio? You roll your eyes hard enough it almost hurts. You don't even know someone who's a Scorpio. Not a single one. The whole thing was a scam, and somehow people were eating that shit up like it was gospel. Good for them. Couldn't be you.
Your attention shifts fast—thank fuck!—dragged away by something actually worth your time. Wagyu barbecue. Your eyes light up, stepping closer like you're being pulled in. "Holy shit," you mutter under your breath, staring at the display, the marbling on the meat, the way it sizzles on the grill. And then you squint slightly. "That's a black sausage?" you mumble, half-confused, half-intrigued.
Food. At least food makes sense. You shift your weight, already pulling out money, already thinking about how that three dollars should've gone here instead of that tarot bullshit. You take a bite of something you bought, chewing absentmindedly, letting the flavors comfort you.
"What's with ya booth?" you ask casually as you drift along with your team, your voice blending into the noise as you hop from one stall to another, not really caring about anything except eating and not thinking. You clutch your food, biting, chewing, swallowing, moving. The others are loud, curious, energetic, and you are actually keeping up with them, as long as you have your food.
"Oh! The Civil Engineering Booth! What's the catch?!" Winter suddenly calls out.
Your drink goes down the wrong pipe, your throat burning as you cough, eyes watering as you bend slightly forward, one hand clutching your chest. "Shit—" you rasp, trying to breathe, but it's already too late. Because when you look up, he's there.
Jake was standing right there!
Your mouth falls open slightly, breath catching again but for a completely different reason this time. He looks... different. Not drastically, not in a way that anyone else would probably point out, but you see it. Of course you fucking do, duh. His hair's a bit longer now, falling just slightly differently around his face, softening him in a way that makes your chest tighten. He's wearing this gray long sleeve under a blue polo, something that looks weird, considering the hot weather... Of course it is weird! But it doesn't. On him, it just works. It always fucking works. There's a camera slung over his nape too, resting against his chest.
Fuck. Your heart stutters. It actually fucking stutters. God, why is he so handsome, you wanna cry — STOP!
"Uh... we now have some kind of, you know... furniture and displays around your house?" Jake says, voice a little shaky, and you can hear it even from where you're standing. You hate that you can still recognize every little change in his tone. His eyes flick around, scanning the group, pausing briefly on jerseys, on faces—getting closer, closer—
And when you realize he's about to look at you— You turn your back, shoulders stiffening as you stare straight ahead. Your grip tightens around your food, knuckles whitening slightly as your heart starts pounding like it's trying to break out of your chest.
Stupid. Why the fuck did you turn your back? Your jersey has your surname printed on it! Dumb bitch!
You squeeze your eyes shut for half a second, internally cursing yourself out. Great. Fucking great. Out of all the booths, all the places, all the fucking timing—this is where you end up. You can feel it crawling under your skin, that restless, suffocating awareness that he's right there, that if you just turn your head a little, you'd see him clearly.
"Do you want to get out of here?" Karina whispers beside you. Her eyes are on you and it pisses you off a little because it means you're not hiding it as well as you thought. You don't answer immediately. You just stare ahead, blinking and forcing your breathing to even out.
"—Wow! A zodiac sign bracelet?! Where did you bought it?!" Winter suddenly blurts out, loud as hell. Just like that, the attention shifts, your teammates swarming forward like curious idiots, drawn to something shiny and new.
Jake attention is split. He's opening his lips to answer but his eyes keep dragging back to your turned back.
"I-It's fine. We had an agreement that we stick together so when we go back we don't have to message those who is missing—" you whisper back to Karina quickly. It sounds reasonable. It is reasonable.
"Uh... my friend from the Art Major booth, gave it to me..." Jake answers, still looking back and fourth to you.
"What sign is this again?" Giselle asks, reaching out to touch his wrist and raising it up to observe the bracelet.
"It's a— uh... a Scorpio." Jake replies.
"It's so obvious, babe! God, you are such a dumb sometimes." Ningning snorts.
"Shut it, girls! Well, Mr. uhh..." Rei cuts in, she squints down at the tag clipped to his shirt, leaning just a little too close. "Jake! Mr. Jake," she repeats with a grin, clapping her hands. "Can you take a picture of us as a team? We're off to Regionals in the next few weeks! And we look so fresh. Maybe we could use it for the journalist page if they upload a good luck post!"
Jake's attention was being dragged away again, redirected, and forced into your teammates again.
"Uh... sure..." Jake answers, his voice hesitant, or maybe it's just you hearing it differently now.
You don't turn. You don't dare turn. But you can imagine him nodding slightly, adjusting that stupid camera strap on his shoulder, probably pushing his glasses up out of habit.
"Great! Are you gonna upload it on your page?" Rei continues without missing a beat, already hyped and already moving.
"...The creatives are..." he starts, clearly trying to explain.
"That's great!" Rei cuts him off anyway, not even caring about the details, and turning her attention back to the group.
When is this gonna fucking end?
You shift your weight, foot tapping against the ground in small, impatient movements to distract you from the other thing—the bigger thing—you're trying so hard not to face. God! You can feel your teammates moving, adjusting, forming some kind of formation.
"Hello?! Number 9?!" Rei suddenly calls out, her voice snapping directly at you.
Fuck you! You want to curse out loud.
You inhale slowly, forcing your neutral expression before turning to move, not fully facing him yet, not looking at him, just stepping into position.
You settle at the side, arms crossing loosely, trying to make yourself smaller, less noticeable—
"Stop— what are you doing?!" Winter hisses immediately, grabbing your arm and dragging you without hesitation. "You should be in the middle! You're a libero and you had a different color of your jersey!" She pushes you right into the center.
Your feet plant as your body going stiff for a split second. You're right in front now, visible and now exposed. You were absolutely going to kill your teammates.
You don't look at him. You keep your gaze forward, somewhere just above the lens.
Jake bites his lip awkwardly, adjusting his stance behind the camera, fingers fumbling just slightly as he brings it up.
"Okay... uhm..." he mutters, trying to gather everyone's attention. "Just— stay still..."
Your chest tightens. You don't know why this feels harder than confronting him. You've faced him before. You've yelled at him. You've cried in front of him!
Standing here, pretending like nothing happened while he looks at you through a lens— God, this feels worse!
"Smile," he says.
You let yourself look straight at the camera, at the lens, at him behind it. Your lips lift automatically, forming a smile you've practiced a thousand times for games and pictures.
One second. Two. Five. Ten.
There's this weird stretch of silence beneath the noise, like something's off, like the moment isn't ending when it should. You don't move at first, still holding the pose out of habit, but then your brows knit slightly, your smile starting to falter at the edges. He's not lowering the camera. He's just... there. Watching through the lens like he forgot what he was supposed to do next.
"Uh... is it finished?" Ryujin finally asks, confused, a little impatient as she shifts her weight beside you.
That's when Jake seems to snap out of it.
"Oh—... sorry. Yes, we'll just upload it later," he says quickly, his voice stumbling over itself as he lowers the camera in a rush. He doesn't look at anyone because he turns his back almost immediately.
Your smile drops the second the camera is no longer pointed at you.
"Thank you!" your teammates chorus, already moving on, already distracted, their attention bouncing to the next booth.
"He looks so familiar, right? Had he participated or watched on VIP?" one of them asks absentmindedly as they walk.
You glance at Karina, and she's already looking at you. There's a split second where neither of you say anything. Her lips press together, holding it in, not saying shit for once, and you mirror it, your own mouth tightening as you look away first.
You bury it.
You bury him under the loud whistle of your coach that keeps ripping through the air and it's trying to split your skull open. Training hits harder than usual, or maybe it just feels that way because you're forcing yourself not to think about anything else. Your body moves on—run, receive, dive, stand, repeat. You're tired.
The coaches don't give a shit.
"Again!" the whistle blows, and you barely have time to straighten your back before another ball comes flying at you. Your arms sting from the impact, your knees burn from the constant drops, and your breathing is uneven, chest heaving as you try to keep up. They said you already had your break. One whole hour earlier, like that was supposed to be enough to carry you through the rest of this hell. Fucking hell.
You try to sneak a second to grab your water because your throat dry as shit, your hand already reaching for the bottle. You tilt it, barely getting a sip—
The coach slowly called out your name. You freeze mid-action, glancing up slowly. He was staring at you with his arm crossed, an obvious disappointment carried in his eyes.
You lower the bottle immediately, swallowing hard, your shoulders straightening as you put it down. "Sorry," you mutter under your breath, even if he didn't ask for it, even if he didn't say shit. You already know.
You're fucked.
"Oh my God! I can't imagine what will be the training if we actually win that and proceed to National. I'm gonna die," Ningning whines later as she collapses onto the bench like her soul just left her body.
You barely respond. You're sitting there, hunched slightly, pressing an ice pack against your bruised arm, then your thigh, then somewhere near your ribs where it hurts the most. The punishment was stupid. Straight up stupid. The coach made the team aim at you like you were some kind of target practice, all because you slipped up.
Dull throbs spreading under your skin, your body overly aware of every ache, every sting. It's not unbearable. But it's a lot.
"I'm so sorry," Karina says. She wraps her arms around you carefully, her hand hovering before gently touching one of your bruises.
You huff quietly, shifting a little but not pulling away. "It's okay," you mumble with your tired voice. You adjust the ice again, pressing it harder this time. "I just want to go home."
God, your body feels like absolute shit. Every step on the way home feels heavier than the last, like your muscles are dragging behind you instead of actually working with you. Your shoulders ache, your thighs burn, your arms feel like they've been beaten raw—and honestly, they kind of have. All you can think about is food. Then sleep—eight hours minimum, ten if the universe suddenly decides to stop screwing you over with morning classes. Maybe even a massage, yeah, that sounds fucking perfect, you'll drag Karina and Ryujin to a spa, waste money you probably shouldn't, just to feel human again.
By the time you get back to the apartment, your brain is running on fumes. You don't even bother turning on all the lights, just enough to see where you're going before you drop your bag onto the sofa with a dull thud. It's already 7:45 PM, you don't make it any further than the living room before you just... collapse. Your body gives in immediately, sinking into the couch, your head tilting back as you stare blankly ahead.
That's when you see it the jar. It was sitting there on the table like it's been waiting for you this whole time.
"...Oh, shit," you mutter under your breath, pushing yourself up just enough to look at it properly. The guppy swims lazily inside, existing in its own tiny world while you've been out getting your ass handed to you for days straight. You slide down from the couch to the floor, dragging yourself closer until you're sitting there, elbows on the table, your head almost resting against it as you stare at the fish.
"You're getting fat," you mumble, eyes half-lidded as you watch it move in slow circles. Your finger taps lightly against the glass. "Are you eating well?" you ask again, like it's actually going to answer you. You let out a quiet, tired laugh, shaking your head slightly. "Who's feeding you? That nerd is feeding you?"
You keep staring, your gaze softening despite yourself. "You better not have some kind of attachment issues," you add, "or you'll end up swimming in the river." Another quiet huff of laughter leaves you, but it's weak, fading quickly as exhaustion starts to take over again.
Your eyes slowly close. You don't even notice the small movement behind you. Bumble moves slowly, navigating its way toward you. It bumps lightly against your leg.
Bump. You don't react. It pauses, tilting slightly, then nudges you again, a little firmer this time, its rounded head pressing against your calf like it's trying to get your attention.
Bump. Still nothing. Your breathing has already evened out, your body too tired to respond, your mind slipping somewhere between awake and asleep.
"Hi?" it chirps. It waits patiently its little frame angled toward you like it expects something back. But you don't move. Not even a twitch.
After a few seconds of nothing, Bumble shifts, turning its body slowly toward the hallway, toward that door—the one that isn't yours, then it starts bumping into it. Soft, repetitive taps against the wood. The sound blends into your half-conscious state, like it's happening underwater.
The door creaks open.
And everything after that feels... wrong. Or maybe not wrong... just unreal. Your body feels too heavy, like it's sinking or like gravity suddenly decided to double its pull on you. Your thoughts drift in fragments, slipping away before they can form properly. Did you pass out?
It feels like a fever dream. Like you're floating, but also not. Like your body is there, but your mind is somewhere else entirely.
Cold. It's cold. There's something cold against you. It presses gently, carefully, and your body reacts before your brain does, leaning into it without hesitation. Your eyes try to open but they can't. Your limbs are now unresponsive, but the sensation continues, there was something so smooth brushing against your skin. It moves along your hair first, fingers...no, something like fingers—threading lightly through it, pushing it away from your face. Then your temple. Then your cheekbone.
Good. It feels good. You let out the faintest breath, your body instinctively leaning closer, chasing that touch without even realizing it. Your head tilts slightly, giving in, surrendering to the sensation. You need more.
When you wake up the next morning, the first thing that hits you isn't confusion—it's just this dull, heavy awareness that your body still fucking hurts. Your eyes crack open slowly, light slipping in through the curtains, and you blink at the ceiling like you're trying to remember something important... but nothing comes. There's no clear memory of how you got here, no moment of climbing into bed, no dragging yourself under the covers. You just... woke up here. Lying flat on your back, blanket half-thrown over your legs like you'd been placed there instead of settling in yourself.
You stare at it for a second. Then you shrug it off.
God, you don't even have the energy to question it.
What matters is—you actually slept. Your muscles still ache, your bruises still sting when you stretch, but it's manageable. "Fuck... I could've slept more," you mumble under your breath, dragging a hand over your face as you sit up slowly, joints protesting but not as violently as yesterday. You swing your legs off the bed, feet hitting the floor, and just sit there for a moment, letting yourself exist before the day starts kicking your ass again.
Routine pulls you out of your room without much thought.
You end up in the living room, eyes automatically landing on the jar sitting on the table. The guppy swims lazily inside, completely fine. You crouch down, tapping the glass lightly before feeding it, watching it dart toward the food.
"Geez, you're greedy," you mutter, a small huff leaving your nose.
Your gaze shifts slightly—to the side, and there you saw Bumble. Sitting there quietly beside the jar, completely still.
You stare at it for a second. "...Weird," you mumble under your breath, brows pulling together slightly. Your shoulders lift in a small shrug, brushing it off. "Whatever."
You stand up, grabbing your things, pushing the thought aside as quickly as it came. There's no point overthinking stupid shit this early in the morning.
"Morning!" Rei greets the second you step into the court, her voice bright despite the early hour as she stretches her arms above her head.
"Morning... what's for breakfast?" you ask lazily, dropping your bag onto the bench before stretching your arms out.
"Hm?" Rei glances at you, thinking for a second before her face lights up. "I think 7/11 just restocked their Spam Kimchi Fried Rice, want to get some?"
You pause mid-stretch, considering it for half a second. "Okay... that's tolerable," you say with a small nod. "Let's grab some after stretching."
More of your teammates trickle in, chatter overlapping, energy building as you all go through warm-ups. By the time you finish, the decision is already made—food first.
The convenience store is crowded as usual, cold air hitting your skin the second you step inside, a welcome contrast to the heat outside. You grab a slurpee almost immediately, sipping from it as your teammates scatter around, grabbing whatever they want, talking over each other like always.
"Oh!" Karina suddenly exclaims, pointing toward a standee near the entrance. "They got Park Jongseong standee!"
You glance over briefly, unimpressed, sipping your drink. "Who the fuck is Park Jongseong?" you mutter, already looking away.
Karina gasps. "God, are you that outdated?! Park Jongseong is a rising actor! He's studying in Decelis and about to graduate!"
"Good for him," you mumble, clearly not giving a shit, taking another sip.
"Oh—look, the Engineering posted our photos!" Rei suddenly says, grabbing your attention as she waves her phone around.
All of you crowd around her immediately, squeezing in, shoulders bumping as you lean closer to see. The group photo pops up first. When Winter swipes to the next photo, her thumb dragging across the cracked screen with zero care, Karina gasps. Your brows knit together immediately.
"What?" you mutter, stepping closer, leaning in just enough to see the phone without fully committing to caring. But then you do see it—and... the fuck?
Ningning whined, completely missing the shift in your expression. "It's so unfair! How come you're always the favorite of photographers and sport journalists?!" she complains, nudging your shoulder.
You didn't even answer at all. Your eyes stay glued to the screen, locked onto that photo. It's you. Just you. Not the team, not the formation, not even a candid group moment—it's fucking you. Zoomed in. Cropped so tightly that Karina's arm is barely visible at the edge, Ryujin completely gone. You're smiling in it, relaxed, unaware. It's not a stolen blurry shot either—it's clear, it was focused... Intentional.
"What the fuck..." you breathe out.
Karina leans closer, squinting. "The man who took our photo isn't even a photographer or a sports journalist," she mutters, more to herself now, her voice dropping as her brain starts connecting dots you don't even want to acknowledge. "Oh God..." Her head slowly turns toward you, eyes widening.
"Don't start," you cut in immediately, your glare snapping to her before she can even open her mouth properly. You already know. You fucking know what she's about to say, and you're not in the mood for it.
But of course, Karina being Karina, she doesn't stop. "He likes you!" she blurts out anyway, her finger practically stabbing toward the screen.
Your jaw clenches so tight it almost hurts. "Are you fucking serious right now?" you snap, heat rising up your neck, not even sure if it's anger or something else. "I told you. He literally said he doesn't feel the same. Did you forget that part or—"
"Who likes who?" Giselle suddenly cuts in, sliding into the conversation, eyes bouncing between you and Karina with interest.
"Wait... so you had a talking stage but it failed? Tell us more!" Winter jumps in right after, leaning forward with way too much excitement, completely missing—or ignoring—the way your expression tightens.
Your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out at first. It's like the questions start stacking too fast, overlapping, tangling together until you can't even grab one to respond to. The noise builds again—voices piling on top of each other, reactions, assumptions, teasing—and suddenly it feels too loud for something that should've stayed quiet.
"So that guy who took our photo was the one you said that won't talk to you?" Ryujin adds, her brows lifting as she studies your face more carefully, like she's trying to confirm something she already suspects.
"...Wait," another voice cuts through. "You know Jake?" Yunjin asks with confusion as she looks at Ryujin first, then shifts her gaze to you. There's a pause, a beat where her expression sharpens slightly. "You know Jake?" she repeats.
Your mouth goes dry instantly. That name, coming from someone else, hits different. Your thoughts trip over each other, questions forming faster than you can process. How does she know him? Why does she sound like that? Why does it suddenly feel like you're missing a part of the story?
"Who's Jake?" Giselle tries to jump back in, but Ningning immediately slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide like she just realized this isn't just casual gossip anymore.
"J-Just... my roommate," you manage to say, the words coming out more stiff than you intend, your grip tightening around your drink again.
"So you know the guy that took our photo and didn't say anything about him?" Karina presses, throwing her hands up in disbelief.
Before you can even respond, Yunjin lets out a short, disbelieving scoff, stepping in. She raises her brows, one hand lifting slightly as she gestures midair. "It's so random to bring him up, duh?" she says in a mocking tone. "And he's boring as hell. What do you want me to say? How he dated one of my best friends in high school and completely turned into a distant asshole with zero emotional intelligence?"
"Ohhhh," the girls around you gasp almost in sync at the gossip.
Your stomach twists, you remember that conversation the way he mentioned he dated someone before, how it "didn't work out." He didn't elaborate. You didn't push. It felt unnecessary back then.
"Oh my," Yunjin continues, shaking her head like she's already over the topic, even though she's the one who dropped the bomb. "I didn't know you'd fall for that whole nerdy, quiet, introverted charm thing too." Her lips press. "He's a good guy, sure. I'll give him that. But he's not a good partner."
Your fingers loosen slightly around your cup. You find yourself staring at nothing—some random spot past Rei's shoulder, past the glass doors, past everything—because your mind is already somewhere else. Back to the quiet moments, the stupid small things, it pisses you off, because it shouldn't matter this much. It wasn't even anything official. It wasn't even real, right?
"It was just like a one-time thing," you say, forcing your voice to come out normal. You shrug one shoulder, like it's nothing. "He's just my roommate." Your lips stretch into something that resembles a smile. "I didn't like him that much. Don't worry, girls."
The silence that follows lasts barely a second before it gets filled again. "Well, you better not like him!" Ningning cuts in quickly, narrowing her eyes at you. She nudges your shoulder, then slaps your back lightly, the others chiming in with similar reactions. "With Yunjin's side story background, he's not a perfect match for you!"
"Yeah, seriously," Winter adds, shaking her head like she's already made up her mind about him. "We don't support bad decisions."
You nod along anyway, letting them have it, letting them believe it. It's easier that way.
But Karina doesn't let it go. "Wait—no, that doesn't make sense," she hisses, leaning closer to you. "It was obvious that he likes you!" Her finger taps against Rei's phone again, like she needs to remind you of the evidence sitting right there. "I mean, look at that picture alone! That's not normal!"
You roll your eyes. "It's just a picture, Karina. Stop overthinking—"
"And what if he does?" Ryujin suddenly cuts in. She flicks Karina's forehead lightly, making her hiss in protest. "Stop pushing her again if it's just going to hurt her more."
Karina frowns, rubbing her forehead, but she doesn't argue back immediately. Ryujin's gaze shifts to you. "It doesn't matter if he likes her or not," she continues. "He already caused enough damage." She pauses for a second, like she's choosing her words carefully, but the bluntness is still there. "He's not man enough to stand by whatever the hell he's feeling right now."
You let out a small breath through your nose, shaking your head like you're brushing it all off, even if it doesn't actually go away. Whatever. They're right. All of them, in their own loud, messy way—they're right. You shouldn't be this stressed over something that was never even labeled, never even defined. It wasn't a relationship. It wasn't anything serious. It was just... something that happened. Something that ended. That should be it.
He made his point right there, standing in front of you. It shouldn't matter anymore after that. It should've killed whatever stupid hope was growing inside you before it even had the chance to become something real.
So why the fuck does it still hurt like this? You're just lonely. That's it, right? That's the easiest explanation. You got used to him being there—his presence, his voice, the small routines you didn't even notice forming until they were gone. You got used to someone paying attention, even in his awkward, quiet way. Of course it's going to feel empty now. Of course it's going to sting.
It doesn't mean it was love. You're just lonely.
Feed the fish, eat a lot of protein, train until your legs feel like they're about to give out, drag yourself to class, pretend you're listening, go home, sleep like you're dead. Avoid Jake.
Feed the fish, eat a lot of protein, train harder, push through the soreness, ignore the bruises blooming under your skin, keep your head down, don't think too much. Avoid Jake.
Feed the fish, eat a lot of protein, train, study, sleep, avoid Jake.
"I know you're busy but the... uh... water bill payment is due..."
Oh. Right.
Bills. Responsibilities. Actual life shit that doesn't revolve around your messy, unresolved feelings. Not everything is about you spiraling over some guy who couldn't even look you in the eye after fucking you.
You click your tongue softly under your breath and bend down to tie your shoelaces, using the motion as an excuse to avoid looking at him. Your fingers move quickly, even if your chest feels tight again just from his presence being this close. Without thinking too much about it, you reach into your wallet and pull out crumpled bills, extending your hand toward him without lifting your gaze.
"Here," you mutter, handing him the fifteen dollars.
There's a split second where your hand lingers midair, and you mentally curse yourself for even noticing it. You pull back immediately, wiping your palm against your shorts. Your eyes drop back to your wallet, flipping it open again out of habit—and that's when it hits you. It's fucking empty. Well, not completely empty, but close enough. You stare at it longer than you should, your brows knitting together slightly. All that extra food, all the random shit you've been buying just to distract yourself—it adds up.
You don't even realize Jake's looking at it too. When you finally glance up and catch him staring, your expression shifts instantly. You snap the wallet shut and clear your throat like you've been caught doing something embarrassing.
"That would be enough, right?" you say nonchalantly, like you didn't just expose how broke you are. You sling your training bag over your shoulder, adjusting the strap. "I mean, I'm mostly at the city meet anyway. I didn't even use water for, like, almost two weeks."
Jake blinks behind his glasses. His gaze flickers from your face to your bag, then back again. "Y-Yeah... sure," he answers.
You're the one who looks away first. "Okay," you say quickly, already stepping back. "I'll get going." You turn slightly, ready to leave.
"Actually—"
His voice stops you mid-step. You pause, slowly, you turn your head, glancing back at him over your shoulder, one brow lifting just slightly, your expression already guarded like you're expecting something you won't like.
"N-N-Nothing," he stutters, the word tripping over itself the second your eyes meet his.
He folds into himself again. His shoulders draw inward, his posture shrinking like a snail going back to it's shell. His gaze drops almost as quickly as it met yours.
You purse your lips, holding back whatever reaction tries to surface, and give him a small, absent nod instead. For a brief moment, his eyes linger on your face, like he's searching for something in your expression that isn't there anymore. That's the part that hits him the hardest—that look you used to give him when things were still normal, when you were still figuring each other.
Are you... okay now?
The door shuts behind you. Jake doesn't move right away. He just stands there, staring at the empty space where you were a second ago.
Then suddenly, like something inside him snaps, he steps back and lets his head hit the wall. His breath comes out uneven, his fingers curling into fists before loosening again, like he doesn't even know what to do with his own body. Then he does it again. And again. And again. Each impact a little harder. Why can't he talk? Why the fuck can't he just say something when it matters?
His jaw tightens, teeth grinding as frustration builds in his chest. He pulls back once more and this time hits the wall harder than before, the sting shooting through his skull—and that's when it hits him. A flash of memory flodded into his mind.
Suddenly, he's not here anymore. Suddenly, he's back at high school.
"I know I'm not like the best partner either," Kazuha says. Jake's mouth goes dry as he stares at her, his brain lagging behind the moment like it's refusing to process what's happening.
It's a random Tuesday. And yet here she is, standing in front of him, ending something he didn't even realize was breaking.
"You're a good guy, Jake," she continues, her hands clasped together in front of her. "I appreciate and love every moment we spent with each other. Thank you for that..." She pauses. "But it's better if we part ways."
Her words just... float there, Jake goes completely still. His shoulders draw in, shrinking instinctively, an action he always do if he's trying to make himself smaller. His eyes flicker away from her for a second, scanning the space around them—the hallway, the passing students, the distant chatter. What if they were listening?
His fingers start fidgeting again, restless, rubbing against each other over and over. His heart is beating too fast. His head is too loud. There are too many thoughts forming all at once, piling up, overlapping, choking each other out before they can even become words.
"Are you..." Kazuha starts, her brows pulling together slightly as she looks at him. "...not gonna say anything?"
Jake looks at her then. Her eyes are glossy—not crying, not yet, but close enough. Waiting. Expecting something. Anything.
And fuck, he wants to say something. He wants to ask why. Wants to understand what he did wrong. Wants to tell her he tried—that he followed everything right, didn't he? He carried her bag, walked her home, remembered dates, bought flowers during monthsaries, gave her chocolates even when he didn't know if she liked them. He paid attention. He listened. He stayed. He liked her. Wasn't that... enough?
The words pile up in his throat, pressing, pushing, demanding to be let out—but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes. His mind goes blank.
Completely, fucking blank. Jake swallows, his hands starting to sweat, his fingers twitching uselessly at his sides. Panic creeps in, tightening around his chest as the silence stretches too long. He knows he should speak. He knows this is the moment. He knows if he says nothing, it's going to end like this.
And still, he can't. His lips part slightly, but instead of words, all that comes out is a shallow breath. His gaze drops, unable to hold hers any longer, and slowly, almost helplessly, he shakes his head.
Not because he doesn't care. But because he doesn't know how to say that he does.
"Bro, you fumbled a baddie so bad. Tsk, tsk, tsk."
Sunghoon's leaning back on the bench. The ice rink behind them glows under harsh white lights. It's normal. Everything is normal.
Except Jake. He's sitting there, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. Jay walks in not long after, still dressed from whatever commercial shoot he just wrapped up, dropping his bag beside them. He takes one look at Jake and already knows something's off, his brows pulling together slightly before he exhales.
"You don't even try to chase her?" Jay asks. He leans forward a bit. "You know girls like that. If you show any effort, she might come back."
Jake doesn't respond. His gaze stays locked on the floor. His fingers twitch again, restless, picking at nothing, repeating the same useless motion over and over.
"Actually..." Sunghoon cuts in, shifting his posture as he glances between them. "You know ballet and figure skates train together, right? I overheard something..."
Jake's fingers pause for a second.
"...like uh..." Sunghoon continues, scratching the back of his neck, "she said you don't initiate anything. Like—holding hands, saying stuff... you're just too quiet." He glances at Jake briefly before looking away again. "She said she doesn't feel the 'love'." He even does the air quotes, emphasizing the word.
Jake's chest tightens, but he still doesn't move.
"I mean, I can see you putting in effort," Sunghoon adds quickly, like he's trying to balance it out. He leans over and throws an arm around Jake's shoulder, giving him a brief squeeze. "You do shit. You're there. That counts." He exhales, shaking his head. "Social media standards are ruining relationships, I swear."
"No, don't say that," Jay glares at Sunghoon. "Of course women are sensitive. Sometimes they just... misunderstand actions if we don't say anything. That's normal."
"Yeah, but that's what they call 'words of affirmation', right?" Sunghoon scoffs, pulling his arm back. "What if our Jekjek here just sucks at that? Not everyone's built like that." He shrugs, leaning back again. "They should accept that too. We're not all gonna be talking sweet 24/7. That shit's exhausting."
"Yes, we can," Jay replies without missing a beat, "If we love our girl, we can." His eyes flicker to Sunghoon briefly. "You're just saying that because you're not in a relationship."
"Hey—"
Ever since he was a child, Jake already knew there was something off about the way he spoke—or more like, the way he couldn't. It wasn't that he didn't have thoughts. Fuck, his head was always loud, always full of things he wanted to say, things he wanted to ask, things he wanted to explain. But the moment it had to pass through his mouth, it got stuck somewhere in his throat, tangled, choked out before it could even become words.
He remembers it too clearly, standing in front of the class, small hands clenched at his sides, his teacher smiling patiently while the rest of the room just... waited. Five minutes. A full five minutes of silence just because he couldn't say his own name. He could feel their eyes on him, hear the faint shifting of chairs, the quiet whispers starting to build. His mouth opened, closed, opened again—but nothing came out except shaky breaths. It felt like drowning without water.
And yet... he wasn't bullied.
That's the part he always comes back to. He was lucky. Somehow, he was lucky. The kids didn't tear him apart for it, didn't laugh in his face the way he feared they would. Some of them even waited for him, awkwardly, patiently, like they didn't mind the silence as much as he did. He carried that with him growing up—that quiet kind of relief. By the time he reached high school, he even managed to find people who stayed. Friends who filled in the gaps when he couldn't speak fast enough, who didn't push him too hard when he shut down. He had Sunghoon. He had Jay. He had... something close to normal.
And somehow, somehow, he even got lucky enough to have a pretty girlfriend. Pretty, warm, expressive—everything he wasn't. Someone who chose him despite the way his words always came out broken, incomplete, late. It felt unreal. Like he had somehow skipped steps, like life handed him something he didn't fully know how to hold. But he tried, he really did. In the ways he knew how.
He remembers the Art Therapy sessions clearly too. The therapist had a soft voice that didn't rush him, didn't pressure him into speaking when he couldn't. If you can't say it, they told him once, show it. There are other ways to communicate. And Jake held onto that.
Now it feels like a fucking lie. Because if that was enough... then why does it keep ending like this?
Maybe out of all things, love was the most unlucky thing he'd ever stumble into. Everything else in his life had eventually fallen into place—his academics were solid, his routines were structured, his small circle of friends stayed consistent. He knew what to expect, knew how to function, knew how to exist without fucking things up too badly. It wasn't perfect, but it was stable. He was content with that kind of life, the kind where nothing felt too overwhelming, where nothing demanded more from him than what he could actually give.
And somewhere along the way, after high school, after that quiet, unresolved breakup that still lingered in the back of his head, Jake made a decision without really announcing it to anyone.
He wasn't going to fall in love again.
Not because he didn't believe in it but because he clearly didn't know how to do it right.
"And with that, Number 9 saves the day with her vampire speed! Decelis Academy earns another point!"
Jake remember he was 18, on his 12th Grade. The gym was loud that day, packed with students, and huge energy that Jake wasn't used to being around. He didn't even plan on being there. Jay practically dragged him along, insisting it would be "good exposure" or whatever reason he came up with as the school ambassador. Jake didn't argue. He just followed, sitting stiffly on the bleachers, hands resting awkwardly on his knees as he tried to ignore how overwhelming everything felt.
Until he saw you.
It was sudden. Like his brain just locked onto you without asking for permission. A beautiful you in a white jersey and short shorts.
You were already in motion when his eyes found you, your body low to the ground as you received the ball. Your movements were sharp but fluid, fast in a way that made it hard to follow. One second you were on one side of the court, the next you were diving—literally throwing yourself onto the floor without hesitation, arms stretched out, saving a ball that should've been impossible to reach.
Jake blinked. Then leaned forward slightly without realizing it.
You got back up like it didn't hurt. And then it kept happening. You ran. You slid. You split just to receive the ball with your foot, and the crowd lost it. Your teammates shouted your name, your energy feeding into theirs, your presence pulling the entire court together like you were the center of it all. There was nothing hesitant about you. Every move you made had purpose, had confidence, had this raw, fearless intensity that Jake couldn't even begin to understand.
You looked... unreal. Not just pretty. Not just attractive. You looked alive in a way he had never seen before.
Your hair stuck slightly to your face from sweat, your jersey clinging just enough to show the strain of your movements, your legs marked with faint bruises like proof of how hard you played—and still, you kept going. You jumped, arms raised, eyes locked on the ball like nothing else in the world mattered in that moment.
Jake couldn't look away. It's just admiration. Nothing more. The kind of thing people feel when they see someone good at something, someone... bright in a way that makes the rest of the room feel dimmer. That's all it is.
Jake had no plans to actually talk to you. No plans to get closer.
Because it was funny, almost ridiculous, to even imagine it. You—this gorgeous varsity player everyone seemed to orbit around—talking to him? Someone who usually blended into the background unless someone actively looked at him.
When the game finally ended, the noise of the crowd didn't immediately fade. Jake followed Jay down from the bleachers toward the court level. People were already gathering around, phones out.
And there you were. Right in the middle of it.
Jake remembers that part clearly—not just seeing you, but watching you. The way your eyes moved around like you were trying to process the sudden attention instead of expecting it. You looked slightly confused, as if you didn't fully understand why everyone was crowding you. There was a faint awkwardness in the way you smiled, rubbing the back of your neck as people kept approaching.
"Can we take a picture?"
"Just one more!"
"Hey, great game!"
And you didn't refuse any of it. You just... accepted it. Laughing awkwardly here and there, nodding too quickly sometimes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as your teammates got pulled into other groups of students. You weren't dismissive. You weren't annoyed. You didn't act like it was a burden. You just went along with it, like it hadn't fully registered yet that this level of attention was normal for you.
Little kids tugging at your sleeve. Students from other schools calling your name. Boys—more boys than Jake expected—hovering nearby, waiting for their turn like it was something they had to earn.
Jay nudged him. "Want to take a picture with her?" he asks casually. Jake's eyes almost widen immediately. His entire body stiffens for a second. Heat creeps up his neck as he quickly shakes his head.
"H-Huh?" he stutters, voice cracking slightly, before he shakes his head more firmly this time. "N-No."
Jay just grins at him like he already knows. "Come on," Jay says, tapping his back lightly, dragging him forward with easy confidence. "Let's take a picture. She might get famous internationally one day. Did you see her skills?"
Jake doesn't answer. But his feet still move. His eyes—no matter how many times he tries to pull them away—keep drifting back toward you. It's frustrating in a quiet way, like his focus is being stolen without permission. Every time he looks away, he ends up looking right back again.
"Hey, my name is Jay. Nice game, by the way."
Jay steps forward first as he approaches you, holding out a hand. Jake lingers half a step behind him, suddenly aware of everything—his posture, his breathing, the fact that he probably looks like he doesn't belong anywhere near this interaction. You turn toward them, still slightly flushed from the match. Even like this, even when you're clearly tired, there's something about you that doesn't soften. Beautiful. God, you were do damn beautiful.
"Hi, Jay. Thank you? I guess?" You give a small smile, polite but slightly awkward.
Oh God. Up close, it's worse. Not in a bad way—no, not even close. You're intimidating, so fucking pretty! Jake can feel himself shrinking without moving. It doesn't make sense logically—he's taller than you, standing right there, physically closer than most people in the crowd—but mentally, he feels small, your presence fills the space too easily. Like there's no room left for him to exist normally inside it.
"Mind if we take a picture?" Jay asks again, gesturing lightly between the three of you.
"Sure."
Jay immediately shifts closer, guiding the position. And then it happens, you lift your arm and swing it around Jake's back as you settle into place for the photo.
Jake freezes for half a second. Your hand is warm through the fabric of his shirt, you're completely unbothered. But to him, it feels like something entirely different—like a switch being flipped inside his brain. His posture stiffens immediately, shoulders locking up, breath catching slightly as he tries very hard not to react in a way that would make this weird.
But you don't seem to notice. You're just standing there, in the middle of them, smiling naturally now as the camera is raised. Jay is talking about angles or something, adjusting positions, but Jake can barely process it. His mind is too focused on the fact that you are there. Close enough to touch. Close enough to hear breathe. Close enough that if he turned his head slightly, he would be looking directly at you instead of trying not to.
And somehow—completely out of character for him—Jake finds himself smiling.
The camera clicks.
And for a fraction of a second, everything feels suspended—like the world pauses just long enough for him to exist in that moment without overthinking it.
Afterward, Jay steps back, already shifting into casual conversation again, but Jake stays still for a beat longer. His eyes flick briefly toward you again, then away, then back again like a broken reflex he can't fix.
This is nothing. He will eventually forget you. He is sure of that. This feeling—whatever it is—temporary.
Years passed, and Jake ended up exactly where everyone expected him to be—Engineering, decent grades, still had a stable routine. He had a scholarship that eased the financial pressure on his parents. His life, for the most part, had become structured in a way he could actually manage: classes, assignments, study sessions. His parents were still supportive, calling every now and then, reminding him to take care of himself.
Sunghoon was still skating, still grinding through competitions under Decelis. Jay, on the other hand, had started shifting into modeling, acting, random opportunities that slowly turned into actual industry attention. It was strange watching them all move forward in different directions while still somehow staying within reach. Jake stayed in touch with them.
The only thing that didn't quite fit into place was the dorm situation inside Decelis.
It was strict. Too strict in some ways, and ironically not strict enough in others. There were rules—curfews, schedules, restrictions—but somehow the environment still felt messy. People breaking curfew, doors opening and closing late at night, voices echoing down hallways when he was trying to study. His sleep schedule was constantly getting disrupted, his focus breaking at the worst possible times. He couldn't properly revise after a certain hour, couldn't rest when he needed to, couldn't even sit in silence without someone disturbing it in some way.
The only dormmate he had ever managed to properly communicate with was Heeseung.
They weren't close in a dramatic sense, but they understood each other in a way that made living together tolerable. Same academic field, similar mindset—a little detached from the noise around them. Heeseung was the kind of person who could spend hours building something without feeling the need to fill the silence with unnecessary conversation.
"Apartment complex on the streets of the Avenue," Heeseung said one afternoon, barely looking up from the small robot he was dismantling on his desk. "There's a lot of listings for people looking for roommates. Pros—two to three rooms, so you can have your own space."
Jake listened quietly from his bed, one hand resting on his notes, the other scrolling lazily on his phone without really absorbing anything. He tilted his head slightly at the explanation, already interested at the idea.
"Cons," Heeseung continued, pausing to adjust a tiny wire, "it's expensive. And there's like a ninety percent chance you end up with a girl roommate."
Jake blinked. Then looked up properly. "What's wrong with having a girl roommate?" he asked, genuinely confused, like he had missed a very important piece of information somewhere in the logic.
Heeseung finally glanced at him, expression flat, like this was obvious information that didn't need elaboration. "Tension will be too high," he said simply, shrugging one shoulder as he went back to his work. "You might fuck and then everything gets complicated emotionally."
Jake stared at him for a second."...What?"
Heeseung didn't even react much, just continued tightening a screw. "It happens."
Jake leaned back slightly, processing that in the most literal, disconnected way possible. His brain tried to compute it like a formula—input, output, consequence—but it didn't really connect to anything in his actual life experience. He had never thought about roommates in that way. Never even considered that possibility as something that could happen just because two people shared a space.
All he wanted was simple.
A place where he could breathe. A place where no one slammed doors at midnight, where he could actually study before eight without interruptions, where silence wasn't something he had to fight for. The gender of the roommate didn't matter to him.
"Isn't it better than five guys in a dorm anyway?" Jake muttered after a moment, more to himself than to Heeseung. "At least it's quieter."
Heeseung gave a short hum in response, still focused on the robot in his hands. "Probably."
Oh boy—Jake should've listened to Heeseung's cons.
Because the moment he signed the roommate application, everything somehow spiraled into something wayyyyy more complicated. Peace was all he wanted. That was all it was supposed to be. But then reality hit in a way he didn't calculate for, because he didn't know—he genuinely didn't know—that the roommate he'd been assigned was you, until the interview.
And the worst part was how his eyes kept betraying him. He'd look away too late, glance too long, get caught in places he shouldn't be looking at all. Your body, it was like how visible everything felt to him. And yeah—your ass included.
God, you looked different. It was accumulation. Your arms—stronger, more defined, muscle sitting tight under your skin. Your back was broader, posture solid, like you were always mid-motion even when you were just standing there reaching for something in the kitchen. It made sense. You were an athlete. This was normal. Of course, you train, you look like that. That's just how bodies works.
Every interaction made it worse, not better. There was no adjustment period, no gradual easing into comfort, he was stuck being watched even when you weren't looking at him.
The day you walked into the living room and caught him sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scattered Lego pieces, he felt the spike of embarrassment that didn't fade. You didn't even say anything weird, just paused, looked, maybe a little curious. But to Jake, it meant too much.
Same with the time your eyes drifted over his Hot Wheels lined up on the shelf. It wasn't judgment, not really, but his brain filled in the gaps anyway.
And then the conversations—if they could even be called that. Something as stupid as the water bill turned into a full-body experience for him. Words sticking, fingers twitching, shifting his weight like he couldn't find a stable position to stand in. He'd rehearse sentences in his head and still mess them up the second they came out. And every time, without fail, there was that lingering thought afterward: You thinks he's weird. Or worse—you knows he's a loser.
No. People could think whatever they wanted; it didn't change anything... But this didn't sit the same way. Not when it came to you. Because for some reason, he didn't want you filing him away like that, reducing him to the guy sitting on the floor snapping LEGO pieces together or lining up Hot Wheels. There was more.
If he could just say it properly, without his words tripping over themselves, he could explain it. He could tell you about his grades, how he ranked near the top without making noise about it, how he could cook actual meals. He could show you something real.
But instead, all of that stayed stuck in his head, piling up into this silent, useless argument that never reached his mouth. And —why did it even matter enough for him to sit there mentally listing reasons like he had something to prove to you?!
"Wow, lucky you."
Heeseung's mouth literally dropping open as Jake pointed toward the massive tarpulin hanging across campus with your face printed on it.
"She's my roommate."
Heeseung looked back at him, then at the tarpulin again. But Jake... Jake didn't react the same way. His posture straightened just a little. His expression shifted without him realizing it, mouth pulling into something that edged too close to pride—almost arrogant, like he had some kind of claim. He didn't even notice it happening. Didn't catch the way the idea of being linked to you—even in something as basic as living in the same apartment—make him feel good.
"So, did you two fuck?" a question that exactly the kind of thing Heeseung would throw out without thinking twice. And just like that, whatever expression Jake had dropped instantly.
"N-No, what the—?!" Jake voice cracking slightly as his face heated up in seconds. The flush spread across his cheeks, down his neck, his brain short-circuiting in the worst way possible because his thoughts betrayed him, flashing something he didn't ask for. He physically flinched, hand coming up to smack the side of his own head like he could knock it out. "What the hell are you even saying?"
"I embarrassed myself because she caught me messing with Whitey," he added quickly as he shot Heeseung a glare, redirecting the conversation to something else. The robot sat unfinished in his mind.
Heeseung didn't miss a beat. "Okay," he snorted, shaking his head with a grin, "good to know you are never gonna get fucked by that girl."
Of course not.
You were intimidating—still intimidating in the exact same way you were the last time he saw you a year ago, except now it felt worse because you were closer. It wasn't just that you were attractive. It was the way it came with presence that made it hard to relax around you. Your eyes didn't help either— too easy to get lost in if he looked too long. And that was the problem. He wanted to look, to hold it for more than a second, to prove to himself he could act normal—but every time he tried, something in him pulled back too fast.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" You ask him too blunt as he just handle you the advance payment.
"H-huh?" His face went red almost instantly, color blooming across his cheeks as he fumbled with the fabric of his pajama pants, wiping his hands over and over. "I—I don't have..." he said quietly, trailing off as if the sentence itself embarrassed him.
Wait—why would you even ask that? Followed by another question. Are you... interested? Or just curious? That didn't make sense. There was no reason for you to be interested. He barely talked to you, barely functioned normally around you. So why ask? Unless it didn't mean anything. Unless he was reading into it again. It was random. You weren't even that close, barely past basic conversations....
Jake tried not to think about it, tried to force his attention onto anything else, but you cut straight through that fragile effort by suddenly starting another conversation, casually asking what you both should order for dinner while he adjusted Whitey. You were so fucking close. It is overwhelming, scrambling his thoughts. Oh fuck. You were too close—it was going to make him lose his goddamn mind, and all he could think, over and over, was how you smelled—sweet, distracting, pretty, pretty, pretty.
He was barely breathing, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder like looking at you directly might short-circuit him. "Uh... I already ate," he repeated, voice dropping smaller.
"Oh."
Before you could say something, he stood abruptly, movement jerky, still refusing to meet your eyes as he pointed vaguely toward his room. "I—I need to, uh... I have something to do," he said, bowing slightly out of pure habit before retreating.
The moment the door shut behind him, Jake nearly let out a broken whine, his hands went straight to his hair, fingers gripping hard. He exhaled shakily, trying to calm himself, but it wasn't working. His dick was fucking hard— it got fucking hard!
And the third time you initiated something, Jake swore he was probably seconds away from going completely brain dead. He'd been crouched over another half-disassembled robot that Heeseung had dropped off earlier. You appeared again, stepping into his space. Jake would never forget the way you set the ramen down beside him with those pretty smile, and how easily you started talking about your life like none of the tension from before had ever existed.
"Sometimes I wish I was smart instead of just... sport-inclined," you admitted with a half-laugh, slumping your shoulders for emphasis. "Like, what the hell am I supposed to do after I decide I'm done with volleyball?"
Jake wanted to respond. He wanted to tell you that being sport-inclined wasn't something lesser, that there was nothing wrong with it, nothing lacking or incomplete about who you were. He wanted to say he envied you, in a way—your strength, the way you moved through things without hesitating, how you seemed fearless and independent in ways he couldn't quite reach. He wanted to tell you that if you ever got tired of volleyball, there were still so many things waiting for you, paths you could take without losing yourself—but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.
"I'm done for now," you said abruptly, when you notice he isn't talking, you clacked your chopsticks against the plastic before snapping the lid shut, forcing a smile that felt stiff on your face. You stood, shoved the ramen into the fridge with more force and retreated to your room, closing the door behind you.
Jake stayed exactly where he was, staring at nothing, and again, he let out a frustrated exhale, dragging a hand down his face.
When you stopped talking to him, Jake felt it like something collapsing inward. The last time you asked him anything beyond the bare minimum was when he'd come out of the shower early, and you'd only glanced his way long enough to ask if he was done. And after that... nothing. You slipped back into your usual colder distant self—only asking about rent, keeping your eyes anywhere but on him, cutting off any chance for conversation before it could no even start.
"Well, what do you expect?" Heeseung scoffed from across the room, not even bothering to look up at first as he leaned back in his chair, one leg stretched out while he worked on programming the robot in front of him—Bumble, Jake's old Grade 12 project that he'd decided to mess with again. "She's basically just talking to a wall, you want her to keep trying? You think you're that special?" He finally glanced over then, eyebrow raised, unimpressed.
"No! I—I understand her," Jake shot back quickly, his shoulders slumping almost immediately after as if the effort alone drained him. His hands fidgeted uselessly in his lap, fingers curling and uncurling as he struggled to keep his thoughts from tangling. "I just... I wish I could talk about things too... you know... like, actually say stuff... share..." His voice trailed off toward the end, shrinking.
"Booo," Heeseung dragged out mockingly, not missing a beat as he tilted his head back with exaggerated disappointment. "Stop wishing and actually try for once. Jesus, it's not that deep." He flicked a small tool across the desk toward Jake, though it stopped short, clattering uselessly against the surface. "You're just making excuses at this point."
"Why would I?" Jake asked, stubborn in a way that felt more defensive than confident, his gaze dropping to the floor. "It's better this way."
Heeseung's eyebrow lifted slightly at that. And the truth was, Jake had already accepted it—accepted that talking, is... super hard . His social anxiety had settled into him so deeply that the people around him had just adapted, learned to expect less, learned not to wait for him to say anything. Sometimes he wished it wasn't like that, wished he could just... function normally, speak without overthinking every word—but wishing didn't change anything, and he knew it.
So who the hell was he kidding? Himself, apparently.
Because the moment he started working on improving Bumble—adding a small camera, linking it directly to his phone so he could control what it saw and how it moved—he found himself doing something he couldn't even justify. Sitting on his bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen like an idiot while waiting for the front door to open. It was 7:30 PM. You usually got home around that time. The second he heard the faint click of the lock, he straightened up instantly, heart kicking a little harder as his eyes locked onto the live feed.
The door opened, and there you were—stepping inside, unaware and Jake immediately triggered the robot.
"Hi," he said softly into his phone, knowing the word would come out through Bumble in that slightly distorted.
He stayed hidden where he was, safely out of sight, using the robot as a shield between him and you. On the screen, you paused, your expression shifting into confusion as you looked down at Bumble, clearly not suspecting anything, because why the hell would you? To you, it was just a small, harmless robot—not him.
Jake let out a quiet, breathy giggle, biting down on his fist to keep himself from smiling too wide as he watched you respond. Sometimes you greeted it back, and other times you crouched down, kneeling in front of Bumble as your fingers gently brushed over its surface. And every time you did, you ended up looking straight into the camera without realizing it—your eyes filling his screen so suddenly it made his chest tighten. God, your eyes were so fucking beautiful. You were so beautiful. He kicked his feet lightly against the edge of his bed, barely containing the energy buzzing through him, his grin hidden behind his hand as he watched you a little longer than he probably should have.
One time, Jake watched you through his screen as you stepped into your room and quietly closed the door behind you. He lingered there for a moment, thumb hovering over the controls before he slowly guided Bumble away, sending it rolling through the hallway in slow, absent circles.
He kept moving, turning corners, drifting past furniture with no real direction. But then your door creaked open again, and Jake reacted instantly, fingers tightening as he jerked the controls, turning Bumble around so fast it almost tipped before he steadied it and followed you.
The movement was too uncoordinated—he wasn't paying attention to anything except you—and his phone slipped right out of his hand, dropping straight onto his face with a sharp, painful smack.
"Nghh—!" he choked out, the impact rattling his teeth as one of the brackets on his braces snapped loose, sending a jolt of pain through his jaw. But he barely had time to even react, because the screen was still on, angled just enough for him to see.
You were in the kitchen now, dressed in short shorts and a loose crop top that rode up just enough when you moved, exposing more than he'd ever seen before.
You bent slightly over the counter, focused on your phone while absentmindedly eating snacks, completely unaware of the tiny camera pointed in your direction. From that angle—he could see the curve of your body so clearly it made his head spin, the fabric of your shorts riding up just enough to reveal the soft outline of your ass.
"No..." he breathed, his chest tightening as his eyes stayed glued to the screen.
His gaze flickered downward for a second, and that only made it worse, because his body had already reacted before he could stop it. His dick was hard. Fucking hard.
"No—no, no..." he muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a second like it might erase the image that was already stuck in his mind. His face throbbed where the phone had hit him, his teeth aching from the loose bracket he knew would cost a shit ton to fix, but none of that compared to the way his body refused to calm down.
"I'm sorry," he whined under his breath, almost desperate as he grabbed his phone again with shaky hands. He didn't even look properly this time—just caught a brief, blurry glimpse of you still there on the screen before he fumbled with the controls and shut Bumble off completely. The feed cut to black instantly, leaving him staring at his own reflection instead, wide-eyed and flushed, breathing unevenly.
Jake's hands moved quickly, tugging his pajama pants down in a rush. He hadn't even bothered with boxers, and the cool air hitting his skin only made everything feel more intense than it already was. His toes curled against the sheets as his hand wrapped around himself, eyes squeezing shut like that might dull the image burned into his head—but it didn't, not even a little.
If anything, it made it worse, the memory replaying in fragments, the way you bent slightly, the way your body looked so fucking sexy.
His breathing turned uneven until it was harder to control as his grip tightened on his cock. The thought of grabbing his phone again, to open Bumble, tempting. But it feels morally wrong, of course he has a conscience!
A quiet whine slipping out as the image of you catching him—actually realizing what he'd been doing with Bumble—flashed through his head.
"Oh God," he breathed, the words breaking unevenly as his stomach clenched hard at the thought. Why is he getting off at the thought of being caught?! Now he really felt like a fucking weirdo.
His hand stilled for a second before he reached blindly for his phone, unlocking it with clumsy fingers as he opened his messages with Heeseung. His friend had always had this habit—sending pictures of you from games, from practice, from random moments on the court. Jake used to ignore them, but now, he was actually looking, thumb dragging slowly across the screen as he took them in one by one, most of them taken by sports journalists and reposted on the university page.
He kept scrolling faster now, a restless feeling building under his skin as his patience thinned, his hands are getting faster until his eyes landed on one that made him stop completely.
A selfie. He didn't know where the hell Heeseung got it, but there you were, up close, biting lightly onto your medal with a small, tired smile, sweaty and hair slightly messy like it had been taken right after a game. Jake stared at it longer than he should have, his chest rising and falling unevenly, his fingers working through the tip, spreading the precum. God. He wish you could also bite him, everywhere, his neck, his lips, his nippl— bite WHAT?!
His head tipped back slightly, eyes fluttering for a second as he exhaled through his teeth. "Haaa..." he whispered again, his gaze locked onto the screen as everything else faded out around him.
After a few uneven breaths and one last helpless glance at your photo, his body finally gave in to the overwhelming tension he'd been holding onto for too long, his dick keep twitching as it spurts continous cum on his stomach.
He was slumped there in silence, staring at the screen like he didn't know what to do with himself anymore.
heeseung | lol why'd you ❤️ react now to the picture i've sent 2 months ago????
heeseung | that sweaty picture haha nice taste😏
heeseung | you're welcome
Jake's entire face flushed instantly, the heat crawling up from his neck to his ears. It felt wrong, no it's actually wrong! You and him barely even talked, what the fuck is he thinking?! Jake let out a frustrated groan before tossing his phone across the room without even looking, the device hitting the floor near his desk.
It's just attraction. You were pretty—that wasn't something he could deny, not even if he tried—and his body reacting like that... it wasn't unusual, not really. He knew that. He knew it was a normal response!
Jake grew restless as the days dragged on, a quiet agitation settling into him that he couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried to distract himself. He kept checking the time without realizing it, his focus slipped whenever he tried to work on anything else. But also,
it didn't still change the fact that he is looking forward to one specific moment every night.
Well, greeting you through Bumble had turned into a routine.
But one day, that routine cracked without warning. The second Bumble rolled into the living room and the camera adjusted, Jake's small, anticipatory smile faded instantly, his entire expression dropping. You were sitting there, not moving the way you usually did, not reacting the way he expected.
You were crying. His hands lifted slightly toward the screen without thinking, fingers hovering uselessly in the air, as if he could do anything at all from where he was.
You leaned back against the sofa, your body sliding down slowly until you were sitting on the floor, shoulders slumped, exhaustion written all over you. "Everyone has someone," you whispered. "Why... am I such a fucking loser?" you let out a short laugh after that.
Jake just sat there on his bed, staring at his phone. He watched you like this without knowing how to respond.
He wanted to tell you it was okay, that you weren't whatever you thought you were in that moment, that you didn't have to sit there alone like that. He wanted to apologize too—for all the times you tried to talk to him and he shut down, for how absent he must've seemed, how useless he felt now thinking back on it.
Most of all, he wanted to tell you that you had him.
Action speaks louder than words, right? If you thought you were lonely, then he'd prove you wrong—not by saying it, because he clearly couldn't, but by doing something, anything that might reach you in a way his words never could. So he started small, practical, something he could control. If you were hungry, then he'd cook.
"I—I always... uh... cook food f-for dinner..." he managed to say when you walked in. His heart was pounding so loudly it made it hard to hear himself think. He saw the way you paused mid-step before turning your head just slightly, not fully facing him. Jake's gaze dropped instantly, locking somewhere near the floor, his fingers twitching uselessly at his side.
"I-If you want to eat," he added quickly, the words stumbling over each other in his rush to get them out before he lost the nerve entirely, "uh... it's on the table..." His voice faded at the end. He didn't wait for your response and before you had the chance to say anything, he turned and walked off quickly.
By the time he reached his room, he was practically speed-walking, shutting the door behind him a little too fast before leaning back against it with an exhale. "No..." he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to calm himself down, his pulse still racing from something as simple as speaking to you. He paced once, twice, restless energy buzzing under his skin, before grabbing his phone. The familiar motion steadied him a little as he connected to Bumble again, pulling up the camera feed with shaky anticipation.
The moment the screen lit up and he saw you sitting at the table, actually eating eagerly, without hesitation—something in his chest loosened all at once. A wide smile spread across his face. He leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on the screen. He had spent hours researching what athletes usually ate, scrolling through articles and videos, and seeing you enjoying it without knowing any of that, made it feel worth it in a way he hadn't expected.
Jake kept cooking for you after that. Sometimes you came home later than usual, the house already dark and settled, and he'd just leave the food covered on the table without saying anything. And every morning, when he stepped into the kitchen and saw the empty tupperware neatly rinsed and the dishes cleaned and set aside, something in him eased just enough to carry him through the day.
"Sooo, you're not actually talking? That's lame," Heeseung said one afternoon, watching Jake from across the scattered parts on the floor. "You're seriously not even gonna try talking to her?" he added, tilting his head slightly, like he was waiting for Jake to say something less disappointing.
Jake paused mid-motion, the screwdriver hovering awkwardly in his hand as he stared down at the loose panel he'd been working on. "Uh..." he started, hesitating as his eyes flicked up briefly toward Heeseung before dropping back down just as quickly. He shifted his shoulders in a small shrug. "I think it's okay...? People don't need conversations all the time," he said.
Heeseung made a face immediately before he pushed himself forward and sat down next to Jake on the floor. "Are you even hearing yourself?" he asked, brows raised as he nudged one of the scattered tools aside with his foot. "You'd rather just... what, keep cooking for her like some silent fucking ghost? That's it?" He leaned back on his hands, glancing at Jake from the side. "Why don't you try something normal for once? Like eating together at the table?"
"I-It's not needed," Jake replied quickly, a bit too defensive as his grip tightened slightly around the screwdriver. "What are you even pointing at?"
"I swear that girl likes you," Heeseung said, sitting up straighter now. "You literally told me she asked if you had a girlfriend, right? People don't just ask that shit for no reason. She wouldn't even bring it up if she wasn't interested."
Jake just stared at him, his mind spinning in slow, uneven circles as he tried to process what Heeseung was saying. It didn't line up cleanly in his head. His lips parted slightly like he was about to respond, but nothing came out, instead, he reached for the water bottle beside him, unscrewing the cap just to have something to do.
"For you to even sit at the same table, you need to ask her to eat dinner with you," Heeseung continued. "And to do that without fucking it up, you need courage—and a script. Yeah, a script," he added, nodding to himself. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee as he spoke, already thinking steps ahead while Jake was still stuck at the starting point.
Jake paused mid-sip, the bottle hovering awkwardly in the air as he slowly turned his head to look at him, eyes narrowing just slightly in confusion. Heeseung, meanwhile, looked completely serious.
"Let's practice some, okay?" he said, already shifting closer. "But when you say it, don't mumble like that—say it straight, no stuttering, and looook..." he dragged the word out, lifting a finger for emphasis, "at the person's eyes when you're talking. That part is important."
Jake swallowed slowly, nodding once. He lifted the bottle again, taking another quick drink but then Heeseung reached out suddenly, grabbing Jake by the shoulder and pulling him just enough to face him directly. "Practice it with me," he said, eyes locking onto Jake's with zero hesitation.
Jake barely lasted a second.
The moment their eyes met, something in him short-circuited completely. The water he'd just taken in stayed in his mouth for a split second too long before it came spilling out in the worst possible way—right onto Heeseung's face.
"You fucker," Heeseung hissed, he wiped his face with the back of his hand, water dripping down his jaw and onto his shirt. He lunged forward, grabbing Jake by the collar and immediately hooking an arm around his neck, choking him.
The next day, Jake decided he should've just ignored everything Heeseung said. All of it. The advice, the assumptions, the stupid "script"—it all felt ridiculous now that he was actually thinking about it on his own. It wasn't necessary. He didn't need to prove anything, didn't need to suddenly change how things were going between you and him. Things were... working, in their own quiet way. He had his routine, you had yours, and there was no risk of him messing it up as long as he didn't push it any further.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face as he tried to settle into that thought again.
Sigh.
You were so fucking pretty.
He clicked his tongue softly in frustration, shifting his weight where he stood in the kitchen. Maybe... maybe inviting you to eat together wouldn't be that bad. He swallowed, his chest tightening slightly as he stared down at the food he'd already prepared, his fingers flexing at his side like he was trying to gather whatever courage Heeseung kept talking about.
"H-Hey."
The word came out before he could stop it. You had just gotten back from practice, heading straight toward your room without really looking around. Jake set the plate down carefully on the table. Eye contact, he remembered. Right. His shoulders tensed slightly as he forced himself to look up when you paused.
And for a moment, he actually held your gaze. Really held it.
The way your eyes locked onto his without hesitation, clear and focused in a way that made his chest tighten instantly. You were even prettier up close! And just like that, it became too much. His gaze broke, darting off to the side as his composure slipped, the brief confidence he had collapsing under the weight of it.
"Let's—I-I cooked dinner," he said quickly, the words tumbling over each other as he gestured vaguely toward the table, his hand a little stiff. "There's a-a lot, so l-let's share."
The moment you sat down and really talk. All of Jake nervousness and loud mind begun to be quiet.
Oh—and it really... felt nice.
Talking to you about random things—music, mostly—like Cigarettes After Sex, of all things, wasn't something he ever pictured himself doing out loud, but it just... happened. And then the next day, you came back holding a bottle of chocolate almond milk, setting it down in front of him, and he just stared at it for a second, genuinely thrown off. For him?! You bought it... for him? there was no way—you knew his favorite drink without him ever saying it!
And fuck, you were cute too. In the little things he kept catching himself noticing more and more. The way you reacted to food, especially the ones he cooked, wasn't something you tried to hide or tone down, and he liked that more than he expected. You weren't picky, didn't hesitate, didn't pretend—you just ate, genuinely, like you enjoyed it without overthinking it. And that smile you always had while eating. Damnnn. You were cute. You were really fucking pretty.
And somehow, without either of you pointing it out, things started to settle into something new. You and him eating together when your schedules lined up, sitting across from each other at the table. Conversations came easier now, sometimes you'd watch movies after, sometimes you'd just sit there, talking about nothing in particular. But most of the time, it circled back to the same thing—eating. You ate, and he cooked. Over and over again. He cooked, cooked, and kept cooking.
Well... of course, with everything he'd been doing lately, someone was bound to question it eventually—even if he hadn't properly questioned it himself yet. From the outside, the things he was doing maybe it didn't look that simple.
"And you're doing all of that because...?" Heeseung asked.
"Because... I'm a... good roommate?" Jake replied almost immediately, the words coming out before he had time to think them through.
"You mean you're doing all of that because... you want to be a good roommate?" Heeseung repeated, his eyebrow lifting even higher as he stared at him. Jake glanced at him briefly, then looked away, his gaze drifting upward like he might find a better answer somewhere above them.
"...Yes?" he said again.
"Dude?" Heeseung's voice jumped, he straightened up, staring at Jake like he'd just said something completely insane. "What do you mean you cook for her all the time, talk with her, watch movies with her—just because you want to be a good roommate? You're literally leading her on."
"Leading her on... on what?" Jake asked, his brows pulling together slightly, the confusion in his voice genuine as he turned back to look at him.
"Leading her on into thinking you like her," Heeseung shot back immediately, his hands coming up as he gestured. "Do you not like her at all?"
...
Jake didn't answer right away. His thoughts slowed, circling around the word. It felt too big, too defined. He knew you were attractive, that wasn't even a question. You were cool, confident in ways he couldn't replicate, and there was a part of him that looked up to you without fully realizing it at first. But stepping past that, into something more specific—it didn't come easily to him.
Was he actually leading you on?
Suddenly he remember his last relationship back in high school. The awkwardness, the pressure, the way everything had fallen apart in a way that left him feeling small, like he'd completely mishandled something he wasn't ready for in the first place. He remembered the expectations he couldn't meet, the quiet disappointment that followed—and how it all ended with him promising himself he wouldn't put himself, or anyone else, through that again.
Maybe that's why he rejected your invite to watch your finals game.
At the time, it felt like the right decision. It was better this way, it would stop you from expecting anything from him, stop things from becoming something more complicated than he could handle. If you didn't hope for anything, you wouldn't be disappointed.
Later that day, after class, when he stopped by to grab food for what he half-considered a small, quiet way to celebrate for you anyway, he saw the ticket. Crumpled in the trashcan . Jake paused mid-step, the takeout bag hanging loosely in his hand as he stared at it.
And just like that, the certainty he'd been holding onto didn't feel so...solid anymore.
What the hell was he even doing? Building you stupid little lego flowers, cooking for you almost every day, sitting across from you and actually talking—even if it took everything in him just to keep the words coming. What was the point of all that? What was he trying to get out of it? Good roommate? That sounds ridiculous!
A good roommate remembers details.
Because Jake remembered things—too many things. He hadn't cared much about sports before, never bothered to look into it beyond surface-level noise, but you... you were something else.
You were everywhere.
Articles, photos, interviews—your name kept showing up in places he didn't expect. A second-year student from Basic Education, sure—but that wasn't the part that stuck. It was everything else. The way sports journalists talked about you like you were something unpredictable, something hard to pin down. The libero who didn't just receive but shut down plays, you who managed to block one of the most well-known spikers from another university! And your high school team? Representing the region at nationals!
Because you never talked about it.
Not once. You never bragged and yet there it was, laid out in front of him in article after article. MVP awards, recognition, comments about your presence on the court—how your looks alone distracted opponents, how your movements were unpredictable enough to throw off entire plays, how you stayed focused on keeping the ball alive no matter what. With the school reputation, you were often called as a Decelis Vampire with your great speed and agility. It didn't sound like the same person who sat across from him eating quietly, smiling over the food he made!
Sports were complicated but you?
You were so fucking cool.
That's why he felt so fucking dumb—so unbelievably dumb for letting things get this far without stopping himself sooner. Every small thing he did stacked up until it stopped being simple and started turning into this mess he didn't know how to handle. Heeseung had warned him and Jake brushed it off as if it didn't apply to him—but now it all circled back.
Living with you, being around you like this, letting things blur—it created tension he wasn't equipped to deal with. Because if he let himself go any further, if he actually gave in to those impulses—to the urge of wanting more, to get closer, to touch, to kiss, to do things he knew he wouldn't be able to take back—he'd regret it. He knew he would.
So avoiding you felt like the only right decision left after having sex. He knows it wasn't fair but Jake has been good at avoiding things, especially confrontation, because he knew how those situations ended for him.
But he underestimated you.
Because of course you weren't just going to let it sit like that. Of course you were going to push, to corner him when he thought he could quietly slip away from it. And that was exactly the kind of situation he wasn't ready to face—the kind where there was no escape, no easy way out.
"Talk to me, fuck it!" you snapped suddenly, your voice breaking as it rose. Jake flinched hard, his shoulders tensing as the sound hit him that made his thoughts scatter even more. Why would you do that? Why would you push him into something he clearly couldn't handle?
Because the truth was—he didn't even fully understand what he felt.
"Sorry... Jake... please," you said again, your voice dropping, almost pleading in a way that made something twist in his chest. Your hands were still there to hold onto him but he moved them gently, guided them off him.
"I like you too much, is that wrong?" you asked.
Yeah.
It is wrong.
You shouldn't feel that way about someone like him, not when he knew he couldn't give you what you deserved. Jake didn't deserve you.
"S-sorry..." he said, shaking his head slightly, his gaze fixed somewhere else, anywhere but your face. "I—I... I don't think I feel the same way, that's why I—I feel guilty... about what happened... sorry."
That's what he felt.
That's what he told himself he felt.
The sound of plastic hitting the floor suddenly made him cut through his thoughts. You got those for him.
And before he could even react—before he could say anything—you were already moving, already turning away and walking out, leaving everything behind.
Jake stood there, frozen, staring at the scattered toys on the floor. His chest felt tight, his thoughts loud and empty at the same time, a heavy stone settling deep in his gut as though he wants to vomit.
Because it felt like his world just... crashed. And the worst part? It felt like he had just lied straight through his teeth...Even though he knew, somewhere deep down, he had tried to be honest.
"You're an asshole." Heeseung didn't even hesitate when he said it. Jake clenched his teeth immediately, his jaw tightening as his eyes shut, trying to ignore everything around him. But it didn't help. All he could see was your tear-streaked face and it kept replaying, over and over again.
Yeah. He knew.
He'd known the moment the words left his mouth, the moment you dropped those stupid fucking toys and walked out without looking back. Guilt stayed in his chest, making it hard to think straight without it twisting everything. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He told himself he was avoiding problems, preventing something worse from happening—but it felt like he just created something worse instead.
Maybe he should just switch buildings again. He was ashamed. He hurt you, badly, and he didn't even mean to—but intent didn't change shit.
But then—
If he left... who the hell would be there for you?
Who would take care of you in the small ways he'd gotten used to? Who would cook, who would notice the little things, who would sit across from you at the table? Would you just find another roommate? Probably. Someone better. Someone who could actually talk without shutting down, someone who wouldn't say the wrong thing at the worst possible moment... What the fuck is he thinking right now?
Did he... actually like you?
Jake frowned slightly, his brows pulling together. Did he like you because you remembered something as small as his favorite milk without him ever saying it out loud? Because you talked a lot, filling spaces he usually left empty, and somehow that didn't annoy him the way it should've? Was it because you were pretty and because people looked at you like you were something hard to reach? Or was it the way you balanced that—how you could be intimidating on the court, but still soft in these quiet, unguarded moments he got to see?
None of it felt... enough.
Or maybe it felt too scattered, too shallow when he tried to list it out like that. Because liking someone was supposed to be deeper than this, wasn't it?
"Hi! We are from Decelis Sport Management! We're handing out flyers to support the Women's Volleyball team—they're leaving the city next month!" A small group stood near the cafeteria entrance, passing out glossy flyers one by one. "If you want to be part of the VIP section with the Decelis Band, feel free to stop by our office!" one of them added, extending a flyer toward a passing student who barely hesitated before taking it.
Jake paused mid-motion, his hand hovering over his notebook as his attention shifted without him meaning to. His eyes locked onto the flyer in someone else's hand—the bold colors, the team name printed across it. Across from him, Heeseung noticed immediately, his brows lifting as he followed Jake's line of sight, then slowly leaned back in his chair, expression flattening.
"What?" Heeseung said, lips twitching just slightly as he tilted his head. "Interested in watching?"
"H-Huh?" Jake snapped out of it quickly, his head turning toward Heeseung as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. He looked back down at his blueprint right after. "No..." he muttered.
"So are we watching Decelis vs. Isabella again?" a nearby student chimed in, leaning over slightly to look at the flyer with interest. "You gonna buy for Day 3?"
"Of course Decelis is making it to Day 3, have you seen their defense?" his friend shot back immediately, already slinging his bag over his shoulder as he stood up. "Come on, let's just grab tickets for all three days now before they sell out." He didn't even hesitate, already walking off with the flyer in hand.
Jake stayed quiet. His eyes flickered up again, catching another glimpse of the flyers being passed around. He doesn't care. He doesn't care.
He found himself standing in front of the Sports Management office later that day, stuck in the middle of a long, slow-moving line. Jake kept his head slightly lowered, shoulders tense, eyes avoiding anyone who might recognize him. Because if Heeseung found out about this he'd never hear the end of it. Probably get smacked in the head too.
"What am I doing..." he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight awkwardly as the line moved forward inch by inch.
To distract himself, Jake glanced toward the bulletin board nearby, his eyes scanning over the countless posters and printed articles pinned up in messy layers. Interviews, game highlights, team features—it was all there. Huh Yunjin—the captain. Aeri Uchinaga. Ning Yizhuo — middle blockers. Faces he'd seen in passing, names mentioned in articles he skimmed through, most of it—
Most of it was you.
Photos of you mid-play, interviews where your expression looked calmer, more composed than he'd ever seen in person. It filled the space in a way that made it impossible to ignore, impossible to pretend you were just... normal, just his roommate. Jake stared longer, his chest tightening with every second he didn't look away.
Oh God.
Jake likes you.
The thoughts slammed into him, so hard and disorienting, like someone had cracked him across the head without warning— No... something did actually hit his head.
"—Oh! S-sorry!" a guy with glasses and messy brown hair blurted out, his voice pitching up in panic as his bag swung awkwardly and smacked straight into Jake's head, his hand coming up instinctively to rub the spot as he blinked a few times. The guy looked mortified, clutching his strap.
Every weak explanation he used to convince himself otherwise—it all crumbled in that moment. Because no matter how much he tried to deny it, no matter how many times he told himself it wasn't that deep.
It all fell apart the second he showed up here, standing in line like an idiot, pretending this was just curiosity.
It all fell apart the second he decided to go to your game, even though he didn't understand shit about volleyball, even though he had no real reason to be there—except you.
And it completely shattered the moment he saw you cry.
It fucking hurt.
"Y-You're bleeding?! H-How is that possible?!" the guy suddenly stammered, his voice jumping in panic as he pointed straight at Jake's face. Jake blinked, confused for a second before lifting his hand again, only now noticing the faint smear of red against his fingers. His brows pulled together slightly, still slow to react, while the guy behind him gasped loudly, grabbing onto his friend's shoulder.
"W-What the hell?! Did you put this in my bag, Keonho?!" the guy who hit him earlier yelped, frantically unzipping his bag and pulling out a chunk of stone that definitely didn't belong there. The guy turned to the other boy beside him, who immediately started denying it just as loudly. The two of them spiraled into a messy argument right there in line, drawing attention from a few others.
His focus had already drifted.
His eyes moved past them, scanning the rest of the line, taking in the small details he hadn't noticed before. People were talking excitedly about you—your last game, your plays, your reputation. The way they spoke about you wasn't just any casual conversation. It was admiration.
There were so many people here for you.
People who weren't awkward. People who didn't hesitate. People who would actually step forward instead of pulling back.
Jake's gaze drifted back to the boy in front of him, still panicking over the situation, completely unaware of the way Jake was staring right through him. Because even then, his attention wasn't fully there—
There were people better than him.
And wasn't that what you deserved?
Someone who would take care of you properly, not just in small, quiet ways but openly, confidently. Someone who would love you without second-guessing every word, someone who would cherish you without needing to hide behind half-efforts.
If you found someone like that... he'd step back.
He'd admire you from a distance, the way everyone else here probably already did, without expecting anything in return. And yeah, if that person hurt you, it would fucking hurt him too. But if that person treated you right—if they gave you everything... That would destroy him.
Because deep down, he knew—
He could've been that person too.
No—fuck that. He wasn't going to just stand there and accept that kind of ending! That felt worse—way worse—than anything else he'd been afraid of. Now that Jake knew, now that the feeling had a name, there was no way he could pretend it didn't exist anymore. Oh my God—he liked you.
Jake let out a sudden laugh, sound like a little unhinged as he stepped forward without thinking. The boy in front of him barely had time to react before Jake grabbed his shoulder, gripping it, his eyes a little too bright. "Thank you," he said, smiling wide in a way that didn't quite match the situation, ignoring the faint line of blood still trailing down the side of his face. "Fuck—thank you!"
The two guys stared at him like he'd lost it—and maybe he had, a little — Before they could even process what was happening, he reached out, snatched the ticket straight from the boy's hand who he saw at the ID was named as Juhoon, and stepped back.
He pushed through the line without looking back, ignoring the confused voices behind him.
Jake wasn't suddenly different.
He still struggled to talk. Still froze at the wrong moments. Still didn't know how to say things the way he meant them.
And even if he didn't know how to say it yet, even if the words never came out right—he wasn't going to just disappear and let things end like that. He'd have to face you again, one way or another, and deal with whatever came with it.
Not perfectly.
But honestly—this time, for real.
"Why is there always some kind of event in Decelis? And why the hell are we attending another seminar?" you muttered under your breath with clear irritation as you shifted your weight in line. The hallway outside the Audio Visual Room felt suffocating, packed too tight with bodies and noise, the air barely moving as heat clung stubbornly to your skin. You closed your eyes for a second, exhaling sharply through your nose, trying to ignore the way your shirt stuck to your back and how every inch of space felt invaded. Students around you fanned themselves with whatever they had—folders, papers, even their hands—but it barely helped. "For what?" you added under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else, your patience already running thin.
"Hey! Hey!"
You cracked one eye open at the familiar voice, already knowing who it was before you even turned your head. Karina stood a few feet away in the opposite line, somehow managing to look energized despite the heat, waving at you like she hadn't just walked into a human oven. Your lines moved in opposite directions, slowly dragging both of you closer until you met halfway. You gave her a look—half disbelief, half annoyance—because honestly, how the hell was she still that cheerful in this kind of weather?
"Did you see Ningning at the end of the line?" she asked immediately.
You blinked at her, unimpressed. "What kind of question is that? It sounds like we're not seeing each other later for training or something," you shot back with sarcasm as you wiped at the sweat gathering near your temple. Your mood had already dipped, and she wasn't helping.
Karina just laughed, completely unfazed, pointing at your face before pulling out her small turbo fan and aiming it straight at you. The sudden blast of air hit your skin instantly. "Come on, smile!" she teased, her grin widening as she watched your expression soften just a bit. "We're heading to Santiago next week! Aren't you excited?!"
You made a face at that, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, mostly because the heat was still unbearable and your patience was already gone. Before you could say anything else, your lines started moving again, pulling you apart just as quickly as you'd met. The cool air from her fan disappeared instantly, leaving you with nothing but the same suffocating warmth. You huffed again, this time breathing through your mouth as you tilted your head back slightly, trying to catch whatever little air you could.
"Oh my—hi! Hey—! That's the legendary vampire of Decelis!"
You groaned quietly, dragging a hand down your face as you already knew exactly who that was before even looking. Turning your head slightly, you spotted Ningning, Giselle, and Winter near the edge of the other line, all of them way too loud, way too energetic for this kind of environment. They waved like they hadn't seen you in years, calling out just enough to grab attention from people nearby.
"What the fuck did you all take to have that kind of energy?" you muttered under your breath as you stepped closer when your lines aligned again. Ningning immediately reached out, offering you a pack of gummy bears.
"The weather's so nice, what do you mean?!" Ningning said, completely serious, which only made you stare at her harder. "We saw the band earlier—I'm excited to see Karina do her serve with them!"
"D-E-C-E-L-I-S! GO! GO! GO! GO!" Winter and Giselle suddenly broke into the university chant, and completely unbothered by the stares they were getting. You looked at all three of them with a flat, unimpressed expression, not even trying to match their energy.
"Come on, have a little life! Fix your face!" Winter said, pointing directly at you before reaching over to wipe the sweat from your forehead. "What if someone confesses to you and you look like that? They'll remember that face forever."
You scoffed lightly, brushing her hand away as your line started moving again, pulling you forward inch by inch with the rest of the crowd. "Then they should've picked a better time," you muttered, rolling your eyes as the heat continued to cling to you. By the time you finally reached the doors of the AVR, your patience was hanging by a thread. But the second you stepped inside, the cool air hit you all at once and you almost groaned from relief. You and your classmates didn't waste time, quickly settling at the back near the AC unit, claiming the best spot before anyone else could. It took a few long, dragging minutes before the seminar actually started.
You leaned your face into your palm, elbow pressed against the armrest as you stared blankly toward the front of the room. The spokesperson clicked through slides that looked painfully dull, filled with text that didn't even try to be engaging. Around you, the quiet wasn't peaceful, broken occasionally by soft whispers or the very obvious sound of someone snoring a few seats away. Your eyelids started to droop slightly, blinking slower as your attention slipped further away from whatever was being said. Your thoughts drifted elsewhere—like food. What would they even have after training later? Something decent, hopefully. Or maybe not. Then your mind jumped again, landing on what Karina said earlier—Santiago. Meals. You wondered what they'd serve there, silently hoping it wouldn't be bland, dry, or just straight-up disappointing. You missed good food. Real food. You exhaled quietly. God, you were so fucking bored.
"I guess all of us believe in horoscopes and luck, aren't we?" the spokesperson's voice cut through your thoughts. There was a scattered response from the audience—some murmurs, a few half-hearted replies—and she let out a small chuckle like she expected it. "I see some of us don't..."
You didn't move, your expression unchanged as you stared forward, barely processing the question.
"I guess we can say that fortune happens for a reason," she went on, gesturing lightly with her hands as she paced a little across the front. "It doesn't necessarily mean it's bad, right? Some people believe that fortune favors good people, or that you have to do certain things to gain luck..." She paused briefly, her smile softening just a bit. "But sometimes, what we call bad luck or misfortune—it's just a way of letting us make mistakes."
She let out a small breath, her expression calm as she looked over the room. "Because what is a person," she added, "without flaws or mistakes?"
God, this is so fucking boring. You shifted in your seat, jaw tightening slightly as you stared at the front, not even pretending to listen anymore. Your stomach twisted faintly—not even out of hunger at this point, but just the need to do something else. So you stood up, already preparing a half-assed excuse about needing to pee, not even caring if it sounded convincing. But instead of just letting you slip out quietly, one of the organizers immediately stepped in, lowering their voice as they gestured toward the side. "You can use the bathroom backstage," they said politely. You blinked at them, unimpressed. What the fuck? Why was everything so damn controlled here?
You let out a quiet huff, resisting the urge to argue as you turned and made your way toward the indicated path. The walk felt longer than it should've, your footsteps muted against the flooring as you passed behind the curtains, the noise from the seminar dulling slightly the further you went. You scratched your head absentmindedly, shoulders a little tense as you caught one of the organizers briefly watching you pass. You met their gaze for a second, giving them a look that said yeah, I'm actually going to the bathroom, relax, before looking away again. It felt stupid, the whole thing—like even stepping out for a second needed supervision.
The moment you pushed past the curtain into the backstage area, the atmosphere shifted. It was quieter here, less suffocating, the hum of equipment replacing the droning voice from the seminar. You immediately reached for your phone, already opening your messages and texting Karina without hesitation—how many fucking hours is this seminar again? Your thumbs moved quickly. You leaned against the wall, exhaling sharply as your thoughts spiraled again. Luck. Fortune. Fate. Why were people so obsessed with that shit?It just felt repetitive. Empty. You'd been unlucky most of your life—so what, was that the universe teaching you something? Letting you "grow"? You almost scoffed at your own thoughts.
"O-Oh."
The voice came out of nowhere that make you freeze mid-thought. Your body stiffened instantly, your head turning slightly to the side as your heart picked up faster than you wanted it to.
Jake was sitting near the technical setup, half-hidden behind equipment, like he'd been there the whole time and you just didn't notice.
"H-Hi," you said quickly, forcing your tone to sound casual, like your chest wasn't suddenly tight for no reason. What the fuck was wrong with you? You already knew how this went. You liked him—fine. But he didn't like you back. He made that clear. So why the hell was your heart still reacting like this? It was annoying! You looked at him for a second too long before forcing your gaze away, but it didn't stop your brain from noticing everything anyway—his messy brown hair, the way his glasses sat slightly crooked, those wide eyes that never seemed to know where to settle, his lips pressed together. Even the way his oversized white shirt sat under that black jacket—it all just... fit in a way that pissed you off.
You huffed quietly, trying to steady yourself as you pointed vaguely toward the other side. "I was about to use the bathroom," you said. "You part of the organizers?" Why the fuck were you even talking? You should've just walked!
"Uh... yeah..." Jake replied, eyes flickering toward you before immediately darting away again. "The whole Engineering department... we're volunteering." His words came out uneven, like he wasn't fully confident in them, and for a brief second, both of you glanced at each other—
—and looked away at the same time.
"Ah..." you responded, as you dropped your gaze back to your phone, your thumb moving aimlessly across the screen just to have something to do. You weren't even reading anything—just scrolling, unlocking, locking it again—anything to avoid looking at him for too long. The silence stretched awkwardly between you, uncomfortable in a way that made your shoulders tense slightly. You could still feel his presence there, just a few steps away, like it was pressing in on you even without him saying anything.
"D-Do you need a-anything more?" he asked, his voice hesitant, uneven, like he wasn't even sure if he should be speaking at all.
You let out a quiet sigh, shaking your head quickly without looking up. "No," you replied shortly, already done with whatever this interaction was supposed to be. There wasn't anything left to say—at least, not anything you were willing to entertain right now. So you slipped your phone into your pocket, turning slightly toward the curtain again, reaching for the fabric as you prepared to head back into the AVR. Walking away was always easier.
"W-Wait, please."
You paused, your fingers tightened slightly around the curtain as you stopped, your back still facing him, your body going still even as your thoughts immediately tensed. Shocked by the sudden call.
"I-I—..." he started, his voice catching on itself, like the words refused to come out properly. You heard the faint rustling of paper behind you, something unfolding, shifting in his hands. Slowly, you turned your head, then your body, just enough to look back.
Jake stood there, holding a folded piece of paper that he was now struggling to keep steady. His hands were shaking—actually shaking—as he tried to open it properly, his other hand repeatedly wiping against his pants like they wouldn't stop sweating. He looked... off. Nervous in a way that felt more intense than usual, like he'd been building up to this moment for a while and was now barely holding it together.
"I know I have treated you t-this badly and t-there's no such an e-excuse for that action..." he read, his voice stumbling over the words, each one forced out.
What... the hell was he doing?
Your expression didn't change. Not immediately. You just stood there, staring at him, your face flat, unreadable despite the quiet shock settling in your chest. It didn't match the situation—didn't match the way he looked, the way his hands gripped the paper tighter when he finally glanced up at you.
And when his eyes met your completely unimpressed expression—his fingers tightened even more around the paper, the edges crinkling under the pressure like he might just tear it apart without meaning to. For a second, it looked like he was going to keep reading, like he'd force himself through whatever he had written no matter how bad it got. But then something shifted. His jaw clenched, his grip snapped—and the paper crumpled in his hands. Your lips parted slightly, not quite a reaction, not quite indifference either—just caught somewhere in between as you watched him abandon whatever script he thought would save him.
"I'm sorry," he said. It came out raw this time, stripped of the careful structure he was trying to follow earlier. "I'm so sorry for pushing you away after...that," he continued, the words coming faster now, like he didn't trust himself to stop. "I'm so sorry for hurting you... and I'm so sorry for being a coward." His eyes stayed on yours this time, not darting away, not avoiding like he always did—and that alone felt off, enough to make you stay still without realizing it. But his hands betrayed everything else, wiping over his sides again and again, like he couldn't get rid of the sweat.
"I'm so... sorry for taking too long to realize my feelings for you."
You didn't move. Didn't speak. You just stared at him, your mind lagging a second behind everything he just said. It didn't settle right away—it couldn't. Not when it sounded like something you weren't expecting to hear again, not from him.
"I—I really don't know how to talk without fumbling," Jake continued. He dragged a hand up to his hair, scratching at it in frustration, his shoulders tense in a way that made it obvious how hard this was for him. "My thoughts..." he trailed off, almost whining under his breath, like he didn't even know how to explain what was going on in his head. And that's when you noticed his eyes were glassy now, the faint shine of tears building up faster than he could control.
"It's a lot," he admitted. "I—I wish... whatever my mind says every time you talk, every time you share something..." He sniffed, his nose scrunching slightly as he tried to steady himself, but it didn't really work. "I wish you could hear that instead." His fingers curled slightly at his sides, restless. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."
"Because..." he swallowed, his voice dipping just slightly as his eyes stayed locked on yours, refusing to look away now. "I really like you."
Your breath caught immediately, the shift so sudden it almost hurt, your lungs stuttering as if they didn't know how to adjust. Your mouth opened on, ready to respond—ready to question, to say something—but he didn't give you the chance.
"I know it's sudden," Jake rushed out, panic bleeding into his voice as he stepped forward. "I know I hurt you—yes, I hurt you, I-I-I..." His voice faltered, catching on itself as his thoughts tangled, his mouth parting again before nothing came out for a second. He swallowed hard, forcing it through. "I like you a lot, please," he added, more desperate now. "I like you in a way that doesn't... shut up." And then he moved closer again.
"Jake—"
"I want to be your boyfriend!" he blurted out, louder this time, cutting straight through you before you could even finish his name. It was like he didn't even think before saying them. "I want to be the man for you!" he continued, his voice shaking but determined. "I know you're probably thinking I'm not in the right mind for wanting this after everything I did, after all of that—but those things, they just made me realize how much I actually... wanted to be there." His breath came uneven, his chest rising as he tried to keep going. "With you. Around you. Talking—even if I suck at it."
"Wait—"
"You're so pretty it hurts!" he cut in again. "I realized it even before all this—I like cooking for you, I want to be the only one cooking for you. I also like feeding your fish, I—" He paused for half a second, just enough for something worse to slip out. "I love staring at you through Bumble—"
"You're Bumble—?"
"—I love everything about you!" he rushed over you again, not even realizing what he just admitted, completely overriding your question. His face flushed deeper, his hands clenching as he stepped closer again without thinking. "I can be someone you need," he said as though he was trying to convince both you and himself at the same time. "I can take care of you properly, not just... small things, not just hiding behind stuff like cooking or fixing things. I can actually be there, I swear."
His voice cracked slightly, but he didn't stop. "I know I'm late. I know I already fucked this up once," he said, his breathing stayed uneven. "I-I don't have any experience in relationships. I don't even know what I'm doing half the time," he admitted. "But I know I can be someone who shows up to your every tournament—"
Your eyes widened immediately at that, the words hitting you harder than expected. You never told him that. "Jake, I think you need to shut up—"
"I can be someone who listens," he pushed on, cutting over you again, his voice desperate but weirdly hopeful at the same time. "Someone who wouldn't freak out when you're exhausted or pissed or quiet. Someone who'd talk to you through the hard days," he added, a shaky smile forming despite the tears still slipping down his cheeks, his hand coming up to wipe them away messily. "I can learn what you like, what you need—I can—" he stumbled again, words spilling faster again than his brain could filter them. "I'm not experienced at sex at all though, but I—I can learn! I can fuck you hard to knock those stress— I can do that!—"
You moved faster than him this time. Your hand shot up, covering his mouth firmly before he could finish whatever the hell he was about to say next. "Jake..." you said, your eyes locking onto his immediately.
He froze. Completely. His body went still under your touch, his wide eyes staring at you like you just put him in place, a soft and almost stupidly affectionate shining in his stare. And for a second, neither of you moved—your hand still pressed over his mouth, his breath warm against your palm.
"You accidentally pressed the speaker for the backstage, you idiot," you hissed. Your hand was still half-frozen in front of his face, your embarrassment crawling up your neck as the realization fully sank in. From the other side of the curtain, the sudden silence from the spokesperson had already been replaced by laughter, whistles, loud cheering echoing from the AVR like the entire room had just turned into a stadium. Your stomach dropped even further at the thought of everyone hearing whatever Jake had just been saying.
God, you were so embarrassed. Worse than embarrassed—this was catastrophic. You could still hear fragments of reactions outside, like people replaying the moment for entertainment, and it only made your face burn hotter. Jake, meanwhile, had gone completely still for a split second before abruptly pulling your hand away from his mouth like he'd finally rebooted.
"I like you," he said again, suddenly firm, like the embarrassment outside didn't even register anymore. "Let me? Let me prove my feelings to you?" He stepped closer again, not in a rush, but with intent. "Let me prove that I deserve a second chance?"
"Jake, aren't you embarrassed?" you whispered urgently, leaning in just enough to keep your voice from carrying, your eyes darting toward the curtain where the noise was still going. "Press that button and we'll talk later—just stop the audio first—" You were trying to salvage whatever dignity was left in this situation, your tone a mix of panic and disbelief. "It's a yes but press those buttons—"
"I like you!" Jake repeated suddenly, cutting through your sentence again—but this time he laughed right after, like the chaos outside somehow made everything lighter instead of worse. Your eyes shut for a brief second, overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of it all, but you couldn't ignore the way your chest tightened at the sound. "I like you so much!" he added, louder than before, like he couldn't contain it anymore.
That was when the door to the backstage swung open.
"Sim Jaeyun." The voice was strict that instantly enough to kill whatever remaining chaos was left in the room. The dean stood there, eyes locking onto Jake like a warning shot. "Office. Now."
You covered your face with both hands, mortified all over again as the reality of everything hit at once. Jake, however, didn't look away from you—not even for a second. He stood there, biting his lip slightly, eyes still fixed on you like the dean wasn't even the main concern. You peeked through your fingers just in time to see it—him still looking at you like that, like nothing else mattered.
And somehow, against all, you smiled. Just a little.
Jake saw it immediately. His expression softened, a small, breathless laugh slipping out of him like he couldn't help it. But then the dean cleared their throat again, sharper this time, and Jake straightened instantly, forcing himself to move. Still, even as he turned to leave, his eyes lingered on you one last time before he finally followed after the dean.
The controversy of what happened spread faster than you expected, like someone had lit a match and thrown it straight into dry grass.
Your group chat blew up almost instantly, messages stacking, names tagging you repeatedly. Even Karina's name popped up more than once, her messages sitting there unanswered alongside everyone else's, but you didn't feel like responding to any of it. When you showed up for training later, you acted normal enough—smiling faintly, shrugging when people nudged you for answers, letting them complain when you stayed quiet. But it was obvious, even to them, that something had shifted in you. You weren't irritated anymore. If anything, you felt... lighter.
By the time you got back home, you slowly pushed the apartment door open, not expecting anything unusual, and paused the moment your eyes landed on him. Jake was in the kitchen, moving carefully between the stove and counter. Soft music played in the background—Cigarettes After Sex. For a second, it felt like déjà vu, like your life had looped back. But this time, it's more real.
"So you give him a second chance and it's all good?" Karina's words echoed in your head. Of course not. It wasn't that simple. It couldn't be that simple after everything that happened. You stayed still near the doorway for a moment longer, just watching him move around the kitchen like he wasn't even aware of how much your world had tilted in the past day. He didn't look up right away. He just kept cooking, focused.
But it wasn't "all good." Not yet.
You were still figuring him out again, piece by piece, like retracing steps you once ran through too fast. There was hesitation in it, still uncertainty. But now there was something else too. An understanding. He likes you. You like him. That much was no longer buried under confusion or denial.
Maybe it wouldn't fall apart the way you once feared. Maybe it wouldn't be as complicated as it looked from the outside. Or maybe it would be exactly that—and you'd still choose to stay in it anyway. The thought of horoscopes, luck, fate drifted back into your mind again. Fine. Maybe they didn't control anything—but they nudged things in directions you weren't always ready for. The universe didn't have to be loud about it. Sometimes it just placed people in your path and let everything else unravel from there.
Without needing certainty yet, you stepped inside anyway.
"Me Gustas Tu."
Jake always like the stars.
He found himself thinking about how they didn't need to be closer to matter—they just existed, shining anyway, without asking for anything back. It reminded him of how some things in life just... stayed.
He likes fire too.
Not the kind that destroyed things carelessly, but the kind that spread slowly, beautifully, like it had intention behind every movement. The kind that didn't just burn—it transformed, left traces, changed the space it touched. He thought about how it looked when it moved, unpredictable but alive, impossible to ignore once you noticed it.
He likes the sea. The rain. Things that never really stop moving.
And if he had to turn all of that into something—if he had to explain what it felt like when you were around—it wouldn't come out neatly. It would probably sound messy, like him. Maybe he'd say you were like the brightest star he couldn't stop looking at. Or maybe he'd say you were like fire—something that made him burn. Or maybe he'd compare you to the sea, endless and overwhelming in the best way, pulling him in even when he should stay back.
Silly Jake—he really couldn't stop thinking about you, could he?
It was almost annoying how constant it had become, like your presence didn't need you physically there anymore to take up space in his head. Every small pause in his day somehow circled back to you, as if his thoughts had quietly rearranged themselves. Realizing that even silence now felt different when you weren't part of it.
The Volleyball Team had already made their way to Santiago City for the Regional Tournament, and Jake found himself trailing behind the group with a distracted mind. He stared down at his phone more than once, rereading your message that said you had arrived safely at your destination. It was just a normal update—but he kept looking at it anyway. You two weren't anything official yet, not even close enough for anything sweet, still stuck in that uncertain thing of figuring each other out. And before you left, things had been awkward again, the kind of awkward that made conversations shorter than they needed to be. Still, despite all of that, he missed you.
And that was the part that frustrated him the most.
Did everything that happened recently make him more desperate, or just more aware? He didn't even know anymore. It was like the absence of you had made everything louder—his thoughts, his habits, even the smallest pauses in his routine. He found himself wanting things he didn't used to think about before, like hearing your voice without a reason, or seeing you just standing there. God, he sounded pathetic in his own head. A total loser, really, the kind he would've rolled his eyes at if it was someone else.
Jake was almost restless for the entire three days, like his body had forgotten how to sit still without thinking about you. At one point, he ended up just staring at your fish tank for nearly an hour, watching the small movements. It was ridiculous, honestly, the way his attention kept drifting back to anything even remotely connected to you. You were busy the whole time—training, interviews, constant schedules—only messaging him late at night right before you slept, and even then it was brief, tired updates. Your phone had even been grounded by your coach at one point, and Jake nearly dropped his own phone in the bathroom when it suddenly rang with your notification tone. Jake was pathetic, and he knew it.
By the time the university bus was heading to Santiago, Jake had already made himself the first one there, sitting far too early with a bag that he kept checking unnecessarily. He dragged Heeseung along too, who looked half-dead already, yawning nonstop while leaning against his neck pillow. The rest of the group was still boarding, but Jake didn't care much about that part—his mind was already elsewhere, looping back to you even as the city started fading behind the bus windows. The road stretched out ahead, scenery shifting in slow motion, but all he could think about was seeing you again in person. It made him sit straighter without realizing it.
Jake is a loser and Jake is pathetically in love with you.
"I-I heard there's a lot of strong offense on the other team," Jake suddenly said as he leaned closer to the window, watching the scenery blur past. "I'm actually worried about her... what if they hit too hard and she gets bruises again?" he added, already picturing things he had no control over.
Heeseung beside him just let out another long, tired yawn, slouching deeper into his seat. "It's part of the competition, Jake," Heeseung replied flatly, voice dry and uninterested, like he'd answered this kind of concern too many times already. (He actually did)
Jake didn't seem reassured.
"Do you think I can talk to her after one of the matches?" he continued anyway, ignoring the lack of enthusiasm beside him. "Do you think they'll let them eat properly? What if the food is bad? I packed extra food too, and a first aid kit—just in case, so I can help if her hands get worse." He said it all in one breath.
Heeseung only yawned again, louder this time, barely even looking at him. "The sports management already said we're not allowed to talk to the team, Jake," he said lazily. "Not even pictures unless they don't make it to Day Three—which, honestly, I doubt."
Jake's lips pressed together slightly, his shoulders sinking just a little at that. By the time the bus finally arrived at the hotel, Jake was already holding his phone again, thumbs hovering over the screen before he typed out a quick message telling you that the university cheering squad had arrived safely and would be ready for the match. The hotel itself was only walking distance from the stadium—close enough that just knowing you were somewhere nearby made his chest tighten stupidly all over again. But your reply never came. Jake stared at the unread message for a few seconds longer than necessary before locking his phone with a quiet sigh. Of course you were busy. It was your first match, your focus should be there. Still, it didn't stop the anxious feeling crawling around in him anyway.
"Stop fidgeting," Heeseung muttered later as they handed over their tickets to the organizers, watching Jake bounce his leg nonstop while they waited to be stamped in. The entire stadium already felt loud before they even reached their seats, filled with students, chants, instruments, and that made Jake's ears ring almost immediately. They ended up seated near the front together with the band and the cheering squad, surrounded by noise that felt overwhelming enough to swallow him whole. Jake rubbed at his ear absentmindedly, trying to adjust to the volume, but the second his eyes landed on the court—on you—everything else faded anyway.
"Dude, sit down! She's not going anywhere," Heeseung hissed under his breath after Jake practically stood up the second he spotted you. He grabbed Jake's sleeve and forced him back into his seat before he embarrassed himself further. Jake awkwardly fixed his posture, shoulders stiff as he looked toward the court again—and then your head turned in his direction.
For one terrifying second, your eyes met his. Jake smiled immediately, awkward, his braces flashing while his entire face heated up from the attention. You only gave him a small smile in return before going right back to stretching like nothing happened. That tiny interaction alone was enough to make his chest feel full.
Heeseung was right about one thing though—the university wasn't exaggerating when they invested so much into Decelis' Women's Volleyball Team. Jake barely understood the game itself, but even he could tell the difference in level almost immediately. The coordination, the defense, the sheer pressure your team put onto the other side. The match didn't even last an hour before it was over, the crowd exploding into cheers while Jake sat there stunned, staring at the scoreboard like he couldn't believe how quickly everything ended.
And then, just as fast as it ended— you were gone again.
The sports organizers immediately started ushering the cheering squads and students toward the exits before anyone could crowd around the athletes. Jake instinctively stood again, craning his neck over people's shoulders, tiptoeing just to catch one more glimpse of you. He spotted you briefly near the sidelines, shaking hands and getting congratulated by the opposing team before staff quickly surrounded your group again, escorting all of you away toward the restricted areas.
Jake's shoulders dropped immediately after. Jake is pathetic. And right now, Jake felt fucking miserable.
That was exactly what happened on Day Two. Jake barely even noticed Santiago City despite everyone else talking about how beautiful it was, how lively the streets were at night, how there were places they should visit before heading home. None of it stayed in his attention for more than a second because his eyes kept falling back to his phone every few minutes. You would appear at the court for a couple of intense hours, completely alive, and then disappear again. Jake wasn't even allowed to properly approach you. Not a greeting. Not a quick conversation. Nothing. He was expected to just sit there like a normal supporter and wait for Day Three like everyone else. But Jake already knew what would happen tomorrow too—maybe you'd win, the crowd would swarm, organizers would rush your team away again, and he'd end up watching your back disappear for another fucking day. The thought alone was enough to make him restless.
By the time they got back to the hotel that night, Jake looked like he was losing his mind slowly. He kept rolling around on the bed, flipping his pillow over, grabbing his phone every two minutes only to stare at the same screen with no new notifications. His leg bounced nonstop, fingers fidgeting against his stomach while his thoughts kept circling back to you again and again. Heeseung eventually got fed up with the constant movement and straight-up kicked Jake's ass from the other bed.
"For fuck's sake, stop moving!" Heeseung groaned, half-asleep and irritated as hell. "You're making the entire bed shake."
Jake only huffed under his breath, glaring briefly before grabbing his bag and quietly leaving the room instead. Staying still clearly wasn't happening tonight.
Jake was determined now. Tomorrow was the finals, and it was already 10:17 PM. There was no way your team was still doing heavy training this late, right? Maybe you were already asleep. Maybe not. Maybe you were still stuck in some team meeting or recovery session. Jake didn't know, and the not knowing was making him itch. So against all common sense, he made his way toward the other venue building where the sports organizers and volleyball teams were staying. He walked carefully, shoulders tense, sneaking around like he was committing an actual crime before crouching near the grassy area outside when he heard voices nearby. He stayed there awkwardly for almost ten whole minutes, slapping mosquitoes and insects away from his arms while trying not to make any noise.
"Did that bitch literally threaten you?" a voice snapped somewhere ahead. "Just because they won last year doesn't mean we can't beat their ass tomorrow!"
"Giselle," another voice sighed immediately after. "Be the bigger person."
Jake instantly lowered himself further into the grass, nearly flattening his face into the ground before carefully peeking upward. Your team!
His eyes immediately found you among them without even trying.
You walked quietly beside the others, wearing oversized training clothes while lazily eating from a cup of ice cream, your expression tired. You scooped another spoonful slowly before lowering it again, staring into the cup like your mind was somewhere else entirely. Even looking exhausted, even standing half-awake— Jake still thought you looked so so so pretty.
"No, because why the hell would they threaten Yunjin and then give you a dirty look too?" Winter complained loudly, pointing at you with disbelief still written all over her face.
You only shrugged one shoulder lazily, taking another bite of ice cream like it genuinely didn't bother you. "Probably because I stared back," you muttered flatly.
"That's not helping your intimidation allegations," Ningning snorted from the side.
Jake had to physically press his lips together to stop himself from smiling too hard into the grass like a complete fucking idiot.
"I can't wait to beat their ass tomorrow!" Rei shouted dramatically, pumping her fist into the air. Jake stayed crouched awkwardly near the bushes, trying to remain hidden while still watching you from afar like a complete creep. His knees were starting to hurt from squatting too long, insects still attacking him from every direction, but he ignored all of it because you were right there. Then, in the middle of shifting his weight slightly—
Crack. Jake accidentally stepped on a dry branch.
Your entire team immediately went quiet. Jake froze so hard he almost stopped breathing, eyes widening as every single head turned toward the dark garden area where he was hiding.
"D-Did you guys hear that?!" Karina squeaked instantly, grabbing onto Winter's arm dramatically while looking around in panic.
The girls started screaming over each other almost immediately, some backing away while others started speed-walking toward the entrance. Jake slapped both hands over his mouth to stop himself from making another sound, shoulders tense while he watched the group scatter in pure confusion.
"T-there's a bear!"
"Shut up, why would a bear be here?!"
"Then what the fuck was that?!"
Jake stayed completely still for what felt like forever after they disappeared inside, barely even blinking as he listened carefully to make sure nobody was coming back with security.
Then suddenly he heard a one pair of footsteps approaching slowly. Jake squeezed his eyes shut briefly, already preparing himself mentally for getting caught by some staff member or organizer.
"Jake," your voice called quietly through the dark. "Did you know that if you get caught, the sports organizers would probably ban you from joining tournament cheering teams forever?"
Jake's eyes immediately opened again. He slowly peeked his head upward from behind the bushes and found you standing there alone now, arms crossed loosely while staring down at him. He stood up quickly, brushing grass and dirt off his pajama pants awkwardly before giving you the most painfully guilty smile possible.
"H-Hi."
"Hi," you replied, a small half-smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.
Jake scratched the back of his head immediately, avoiding your eyes for a second before forcing himself to look again. "U-Uh... I couldn't sleep," he explained quickly, stumbling over the excuse. "T-That's why I went for a walk... you know..."
You stared at him flatly for a second, eyes slowly moving over his messy hair, oversized hoodie, his bag, and pajama pants that still had grass stuck to them. "How did you even get inside?" you asked finally, brows raising slightly in disbelief.
Jake let out an awkward little laugh under his breath. "Heh..." He rubbed his neck sheepishly. "I... climbed the back gate."
Your lips twitched immediately before you burst out laughing. It caught Jake completely off guard. He stood there frozen, staring at you while your shoulders shook lightly. His chest tightened stupidly at the sight. God, you looked so good laughing at him. Honestly, if this was what it took, Jake felt like he'd climb ten more fucking gates just to hear you laugh like that again.
"Why?" you asked between laughs.
Jake bit the inside of his cheek, his face already turning red under the dim lights. "I..." He hesitated for half a second before forcing himself through it anyway. "I wanted to see you," he admitted quietly.
You blinked at him. "Eh?" Your laughter faded as you tilted your head slightly. "You saw me during the tournament though. Besides, tomorrow's literally the last day. What's the catch?"
Jake immediately started fidgeting again, rubbing his palms repeatedly against his pajama pants like he didn't know where to place his nervous energy. "I miss you," he blurted out quickly before he could overthink it. The second the words left his mouth, his entire face heated up even more. God, that sounded corny as hell. Jake felt like some pathetic high schooler confessing to his crush behind the gym after class.
You stared at him quietly for a moment after that. At the way he kept fumbling with his hands. At the way he couldn't stay still. At the way he looked so genuinely nervous despite already confessing to you in front of an entire auditorium days ago. Cute. So fucking cute.
Your gaze slowly lifted away from him afterward, drifting upward toward the sky above the hotel grounds. The night had settled calmly over Santiago, the stars faint but visible around the huge glowing moon hanging overhead. The breeze was cooler now compared to the daytime heat, soft enough to make the leaves around the garden rustle quietly.
"The moon is beautiful, right?" you asked suddenly, softer in a way that made Jake immediately straighten.
"Huh?" He blinked before quickly following your gaze upward. "Ah—yeah. Right." He nodded awkwardly, staring at the moon, trying very hard to process what was happening.
But while he looked upward, you looked at him instead. At the way the moonlight softened his features, the way his messy hair moved slightly with the wind, the nervousness still written all over his face despite trying to hide it. A small smile slowly formed onto your lips before you finally called his name again.
"Jake."
Jake turned toward you immediately, almost too quickly, eyes wide and attentive as if he'd been waiting for you to say something else.
"I miss you too."
Jake stiffened instantly before the biggest smile slowly spread across his face, so wide it almost looked ridiculous. He looked down for a second, biting his lip like he was trying to stop himself from grinning too hard, but it clearly wasn't working. Even the tips of his ears were red now. God, he looked so stupidly happy over four words.
Somehow, the two of you ended up sitting together on one of the benches in the garden afterward. The awkwardness was still there, but it no longer felt painful. You found yourself telling him random things about your day without even realizing it—complaining about the freezing showers in the athlete dorms, the way Giselle almost started a fight earlier, how your coach yelled at the team because someone forgot their jersey during practice.
Jake listened to every single word carefully.
And somewhere in the middle of your rambling, he suddenly started pulling snacks out of his bag one after another.
"W-What?" he mumbled shyly when you stared at the pile forming beside him. "I thought... maybe the food here sucks."
"You packed this much?" you snorted, staring at the ridiculous amount of food. Chips, bread, bottled drinks, chocolate bars, even packed containers wrapped carefully inside towels to keep warm.
Jake only shrugged awkwardly. "I thought you might get hungry."
Now your legs were comfortably stretched across his lap while the both of you shared snacks. Jake sat there quietly rubbing mint oil carefully onto the bruises forming around your calves and hands after today's match, his touch gentle despite how concentrated he looked. His brows furrowed slightly every time his fingers passed over darker bruises.
"Does this hurt?" he asked softly at one point, thumbs carefully pressing against your calf.
"A little," you admitted honestly before shoving another chip into your mouth.
Jake immediately eased the pressure after that. The silence afterward felt comfortable enough that your thoughts wandered again, eyes lifting toward the dark sky while the cold minty feeling spread across your sore skin. "Do you think people lose because they don't train enough?" you asked suddenly. "Or just because that's their fate?"
Jake's hands paused briefly on your leg before continuing slower this time. You huffed softly, tossing another chip into your mouth while staring at the stars. "If we lose tomorrow... does that mean we didn't work hard enough?" you continued. "Or maybe fortune just doesn't favor us."
Jake hummed quietly under his breath, clearly thinking carefully before answering. His eyes lifted toward the sky for a second too before he looked back down at your legs again. "I..." He hesitated slightly. "I guess that's what life is?"
You turned your head toward him while he continued massaging your calf slowly. "Life is unfair," he murmured quietly. "But that's just... how it works sometimes. We don't always hold the fortune. We don't always hold our own fate either." His fingers slowed absentmindedly against your skin. "Some people work hard and still lose. Some people barely try and somehow still win."
The breeze shifted softly around the two of you, carrying the distant sounds of traffic somewhere outside the hotel grounds. You looked at him carefully for a moment before asking quietly— "Do you believe in luck?"
Jake paused for a moment. His hand slowed slightly on your skin before he gave a small shrug of his shoulder. "I don't know?" he admitted honestly. "Sometimes it makes sense, sometimes it doesn't." He glanced down at your leg again while continuing to massage it gently. "But I got my horoscope read once... they said luck favors me," he added with a faint, awkward smile. "Dunno if it's true though."
That familiar half-smile formed on his face again after he said it. You stared at him quietly while he focused back on your bruises, fingers pressing lightly in slow, careful circles. In that moment, something in your chest tightened again. It felt stupid and obvious all at once, like your thoughts had already made up their mind. An unlucky you sitting here beside someone who casually talked about luck like it followed him around. What were the odds of that, really?
Ooooh, you're foolishly in love with this boy.
You exhaled softly. "I guess I just need to stick with you," you muttered with a small, almost teasing smile
The stadium was completely packed, like the entire city had decided to squeeze itself into one arena just to watch this match. The energy felt heavier too, everyone already knew this wasn't going to be an easy game. Jake could feel his ears ringing nonstop from the overlapping chants, drums, and screams echoing from every direction. Compared to Day One and Day Two, today felt sharper somehow. Heeseung, sitting beside him, kept laughing at the absurdity of it all—especially how the Decelis band and Isabella's band had basically turned into competing sound systems, blasting music louder and louder just to outdo each other while waiting for the teams to arrive.
"Today we are here to witness another rough battle in the Region!" the commenator announced through the speakers.
The crowd immediately exploded into noise again, shaking the entire structure. Jake flinched slightly at the volume, but he didn't look away from the court even for a second. The introductions began, one team after another stepping into the court under flashing lights and roaring applause. When Isabella's team was introduced, something about the atmosphere shifted.
"It's them! It's them! Oh my God, it's going to start!" the cheering squad beside them squealed loudly, practically jumping in their seats.
Your team walked out. The moment you appeared with the rest of the players, the crowd somehow got even louder, people waving banners, shouting names, and snapping photos like crazy. You moved confidently across the court, waving casually at the audience.
The moment your eyes landed on his direction, Jake reacted instantly without even thinking. He yanked off his hoodie in one quick motion, revealing the shirt underneath that had your face printed on it. For a split second, the entire section near him went quiet in shock. Your mouth literally fell open on the court, frozen mid-step, while even Heeseung slowly turned his head toward him with disbelief.
Jake caught sight of your lips curling into a bright smile as you stretched on the court, rolling your shoulders and loosening your arms. Without even realizing it, Jake found himself smiling too.
The game started almost immediately after introductions. Isabella's team was exactly what everyone warned about, a way that made every rally feel like a fight for survival. The difference between the two teams was small on the scoreboard, but on the court it felt massive, like every point was being ripped out instead of earned easily. Jake could feel himself tensing up more and more with each exchange, leaning forward in his seat without realizing it, breath catching every time the ball flew too close to your side. And every single time you dove—actually threw yourself across the floor to save a point—Jake reacted like he was the one getting hit. Ouch!
He grabbed Heeseung's arm at one point without thinking, squeezing too hard as he watched you slide across the court to receive a brutal spike. "Oh my God—she's gonna break something!" Jake muttered under his breath. You just got up like it was nothing, brushing your hands off and getting right back into position like your body didn't even register pain the same way normal people did.
"D-E-C-E-L-I-S! GO! GO! GO! GO!" Jake and Heeseung shouted together every time your team scored. He barely even noticed his voice getting hoarse, or the way his hands kept clenching the balloon tighter every time you made a play. All he knew was that you were out there, and everything else in the world felt like it was moving too fast to matter except that.
In the middle of the match break, Jake stayed frozen in his seat, eyes locked on your back as you stood near the sidelines. The number nine on your jersey stood out clearly. Your coach was talking to you at a steady pace, gesturing toward the court while you drank water from your bottle, nodding along with full focus even though your attention still seemed half on the ongoing match. Jake noticed everything—the way your shoulders rose and fell with controlled breathing, the way your grip tightened slightly around the bottle, and especially the way your eyes kept drifting back toward his direction every few seconds.
Something about it made his entire body feel strange.
The atmosphere in the stadium was still heavy, but inside Jake's chest everything suddenly felt... lighter. He didn't fully understand it, just that his thoughts slowed down in the middle of all the noise, like someone had briefly turned the volume of the world down just enough for him to breathe properly. Even his grip on the balloon loosened slightly without him noticing. And then, just as you turned away from your coach and started walking back toward the court, you gave him a soft smile.
Outside of this moment, people might've laughed at him for it, told him he was just being stupidly emotional, maybe just too deep in whatever this feeling was. They'd probably say it was just excitement, or he was just being corny in love. But Jake knew it wasn't that simple. It didn't feel chaotic the way nerves usually did.
It felt like the universe was saying something without using words.
He watched you step back onto the court, adjusting your position, rolling your shoulders once like you were resetting yourself completely. The light caught your face again, the sweat, the focus, the calm intensity in your eyes that made you look even more unreal than before. Pretty wasn't even enough of a word for it anymore in his head—it didn't feel big enough. Jake swallowed slightly, and his chest still felt oddly calm despite everything happening around him.
If passing down luck was possible, he'd give it all to you without hesitation.
But then again... you didn't look like someone who needed it.
Jake leaned forward slightly again, eyes tracking your movement as the whistle signaled the return of play.
Because deep down, he already knew it. One hundred percent. You were going to win.
"Oh ho ho ho! The Decelis Vampire is everywhere!"
The commentator's dramatic voice echoed through the stadium the moment you made another impossible receive, earning an explosion of screams from the audience. Jake breathed out shakily from his seat, fingers tightening around the edge of the banner resting on his lap as he stared at the scoreboard again. The difference between the two teams was still small enough to keep everyone tense, but something had clearly shifted after the last timeout. The second the whistle cut through the court again, Decelis moved like a completely different beast—every point started stacking one after another until even Isabella's side looked rattled trying to keep up.
You barely even felt your body anymore at this point.
The ball flew toward your side again and your feet moved before your thoughts could catch up, reacting after nearly two hours of nonstop rallies. Your hips still throbbed from the brutal spike you received earlier. Your knees burned too. Your shoulders felt heavy. One hour and forty minutes of constant passing, diving, receiving, running—it was exhausting enough to make your vision blur briefly every time the whistle paused.
You wanted to lie down. Just for a little while.
You turned your head for during the rotation shift and your eyes immediately found Jake again in the crowd. He wasn't screaming now like the others. He was sitting there quietly, staring at you with that same soft expression that always made your chest feel strangely warm no matter how exhausted you were. His hoodie was gone, exposing that ridiculous shirt with your face on it while his glasses reflected the lights.
And suddenly, more than resting— you wanted to go home. Home with him.
God knew what Jake probably sacrificed just to be here. You knew how sensitive he was with noise, how he usually avoided crowds because they overwhelmed him too quickly. He probably already missed his strict eight o'clock sleep schedule too, and judging from the dark circles faintly visible under his eyes even from the court, he was definitely running on pure determination alone right now.
Your chest tightened briefly at the thought.
Then the ball came flying toward your side again.
You inhaled sharply through your nose and threw yourself forward immediately, diving hard against the court floor to receive it cleanly before it could touch down. The impact stung violently against your body, but the sharp whistle blowing right after mixed instantly with the deafening screams erupting around the stadium.
"With the score of 58 and 61!" the announcer shouted over the roaring crowd. "Decelis advances their way to Nationals!"
Your teammates screamed immediately, some collapsing onto the floor while others tackled each other into hugs near the net. But while everyone else got swept into the excitement, you pushed yourself upright almost immediately, one hand clutching your hip as the pain shot through your side. Your entire body ached violently now that the adrenaline was wearing off, but you barely paid attention to it. Your eyes were already searching through the crowd.
Searching for one person.
Jake froze in his seat the second he realized you were walking directly toward his section.
At first, he genuinely thought maybe you were heading somewhere else. Maybe toward the cheering squad. Maybe toward your managers. But then you kept coming closer, eyes locked onto him so directly that his stomach immediately flipped hard enough to make him dizzy. Jake stood up hesitantly, nearly fumbling the balloon in his hands in panic.
"H-Hey—what are you—"
One of the sports organizers instantly moved when they noticed you approaching the spectator bounds, clearly about to stop Jake from stepping forward too far. But before they could say anything else, Heeseung grabbed the organizer by the shoulder with a grin already forming on his face.
"About fucking time." Heeseung snorted.
Jake barely even processed any of it, because the next thing he knew— you grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him.
Hard.
The entire stadium around him exploded louder somehow, a mixture of screaming, cheering, and scandalized reactions crashing together while cameras immediately started flashing toward your direction. Jake's brain completely short-circuited on the spot. His eyes widened for half a second in pure shock before he melted into it almost instantly, hands shakily grabbing your waist despite how badly they trembled.
He kissed you back immediately. Like he'd been wanting to do it forever.
The kiss wasn't neat either. It was breathless and messy. Jake could barely think properly through the pounding in his chest, through the warmth of your lips against his, through the realization that this was actually happening in front of thousands of people. Somewhere behind him, Heeseung was screaming like a maniac while the Decelis cheering squad lost their minds completely.
The moment the kiss broke, reality crashed back into your body all at once. The sharp pain shot through your hips agin, forcing a quiet wince out of you as your hand immediately clutched at your waist. Jake noticed instantly. His entire expression changed from happiness to panic in less than a second, hands carefully moving to steady you before you could lose your balance.
"What's wrong?" he asked immediately as he held you closer against him.
"I want to go home," you muttered quietly instead, your forehead falling against the side of his neck as your body sagged closer to him.
Jake's breath caught instantly. The simple weight of you leaning into him like that nearly made his heart stop despite the worry crawling all over him. He adjusted his hold carefully around your waist, supporting more of your weight without even thinking about it.
"Let's get your hips checked by the medic first," he said softly, already glancing around for staff. "Y-You landed hard earlier..."
But before he could keep rambling nervously, you whisper tiredly against his neck. "I didn't expect to feel this much for you, Jake."
Everything inside him went warm, so suddenly that he physically felt it in his chest, that overwhelming fluttering sensation exploding all over again until his stomach twisted painfully with it. Jake swallowed hard, blinking rapidly behind his glasses while trying to process the words properly. God, you were going to kill him like this.
Carefully, almost shyly now despite the public eyes around you, Jake leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your forehead. "Me too...me too." His hand rubbed gently against your side afterward, thumb moving in slow comforting strokes while he silently lifted his other hand to signal one of the medics nearby for assistance.
EPILOGUE
It took you a long time to actually sit down and reflect on everything that had happened.
For years, you kept convincing yourself that luck was random—that some people were simply born under better stars while others just had to survive whatever scraps the universe threw at them.
Unlucky with money, unlucky in your love life, unlucky in your sex life.
Things never came easily for you. Even when people admired you—your skills, your looks, your confidence on the court—they never really saw the exhausting parts underneath it. The loneliness. The constant feeling that you always had to fight twice as hard just to keep your head above water while pretending you were doing perfectly fine. Maybe that was why you became so cynical about all those stupid talks about fate, fortune, and luck. Maybe it was easier to roll your eyes and call everything bullshit rather than admit that deep down, you were terrified the universe simply wasn't built in your favor.
But maybe luck wasn't random at all.
When you really thought about it, you had spent so much time expecting disappointment that you stopped recognizing the good things while they were happening. You focused too hard on what was missing instead of what stayed. Sure, being broke sucked. It absolutely fucking sucked. And no amount of positive thinking magically fixed empty wallets, bruised feelings, or difficult lives. But somewhere along the way, you realized you had also started carrying your own unhappiness like proof that life owed you something cruel.
Maybe you lacked optimism. Maybe you lacked faith in anything getting better because the universe kept throwing the same shit at you over and over again until you got tired of trying to hope differently. That feeling was valid too. You had every reason to become guarded after everything. Every reason to distrust happiness when it rarely stayed long enough before. But lucky people... they weren't always lucky because life was easier for them. Sometimes they were lucky because they allowed themselves to reach for things anyway. To risk failure. To risk doing something. Even when they are afraid.
"Open! Open! Daily cleaning at 9:00 AM!"
A long groan dragged out of your throat as the tiny robotic voice echoed outside the bedroom for what felt like the tenth time already. The curtains were still completely shut, the blackout fabric drowning the room in soft darkness despite the late morning sun outside, and you had been enjoying every second of sleeping. The apartment was comfortable and so warm, and honestly, you would rather die than get out of bed right now. But the damn robot kept knocking itself repeatedly against the door with persistence, its tiny speaker chirping louder every few seconds.
"Jake," you mumbled sleepily, eyes still closed as you reached behind you to tap the arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his legs tangled carelessly with yours beneath the blanket. You felt him stir a little, burying his face deeper into the back of your neck while muttering something under his breath, but the knocking outside only continued. "Jake, make Mo stop," you complained softly, but instead of moving, he only tightened his hold around you and pulled you closer against his chest with a sleepy little sigh.
"Open! Open! Daily cleaning at 9:00 AM!"
"Jake, baby," you called again, dragging the word out this time while lightly smacking his wrist. He groaned lowly against your shoulder, clearly refusing to leave the bed, and his hand slowly slipped underneath your shirt just to lazily trace circles against your stomach. The touch made you exhale softly despite yourself.
Outside, the robot continued its relentless banging, but Jake ignored it completely, pressing slow kisses against the side of your neck instead. His morning voice came out quieter than usual, rough and soft all at once as he whispered, "Can I touch?"
You groaned again but gave him a small nod anyway. The second he got permission, his hand slid higher, squeezing gently at your chest while his lips continued wandering across your skin with lazy affection. You tilted your head back slightly, giving him more room, and he took full advantage of it immediately, kissing along your jaw before lifting his sleepy eyes toward you. His glasses were missing somewhere on the nightstand, his brown hair sticking out everywhere. "Kiss, please," he whispered lazily, already leaning closer before you could even answer.
You kissed him just to shut him up.
Jake immediately melted into it with a soft whine. His lips moved slowly against yours, still half-asleep, but it quickly deepened when his hand tightened around your waist and pulled you on top of him. The blanket shifted around your tangled bodies while the robot outside continued yelling about cleaning schedules. Jake kissed like he was addicted to it now, messy and affectionate and greedy all at once. Even after years together, he still kissed you with the same overwhelming softness that made your chest ache.
And honestly, both of you already knew one thing for sure. Jake absolutely loved kissing you.
"Open! Open! Daily cleaning at 9:00 AM!"
You groaned softly against Jake's lips before finally pulling away from the kiss, your forehead still resting briefly against his while you tried to gather enough energy to function properly. "Open the door for Mo," you muttered lazily as you pushed lightly at Jake's chest to make him move. Jake only huffed in protest, clearly offended at being forced out of bed, scratching messily at his hair before reaching around blindly for his glasses on the nightstand.
You stayed sprawled across the bed while watching him stand up with slow sleepy movements. His oversized white shirt hung loosely over his frame, exposing his legs beneath the thin black shorts he had thrown on before sleeping, and you couldn't help staring for a second as he shuffled toward the door. The moment he opened the bedroom door, Mo immediately rolled inside without hesitation, spinning once before beginning its programmed cleaning route across the floor.
"You seriously need to stop adopting Heeseung's robots," you complained while sitting up properly, stretching your arms above your head until your back cracked pleasantly. "We can literally clean by ourselves."
Jake yawned loudly while adjusting his glasses up the bridge of his nose, already turning around to drag himself back toward the bed with clear intentions of trapping you there again. Before he could grab your waist, you quickly stood up and reached for your shorts from the floor. "Jake, it's already nine," you reminded him while pulling them on. "Training starts at one. I still need to fix my stuff and prepare."
A long miserable whine immediately left his throat at that.
Jake had become even clingier than before. Not that you were complaining. Things had changed between the two of you. Jake no longer slept exactly at eight in the evening because most nights ended with both of you curled together on the couch watching movies until late, stealing kisses during slow scenes, or getting distracted halfway through and stumbling into the bedroom instead (sex). You did feel a little guilty sometimes since he used to be so strict with his routines, but Jake always brushed it off immediately whenever you brought it up.
Honestly, the man acted like a giant koala now.
The second you moved too far away from him, he would cling right back onto your side without shame. While you were fixing your hair in front of the mirror, Jake wrapped both arms around your waist from behind again, pressing his face against your shoulder while Mo continued cleaning nearby. "Stay in bed," he mumbled weakly against your skin, still sounding sleepy. You snorted softly at the feeling of him practically hanging his whole weight onto you, but your hand still reached up automatically to fix the messy strands of his hair away from his glasses.
"You say that every morning," you muttered.
"Because every morning you leave me," Jake replied dramatically, tightening his hold around your waist while you laughed quietly under your breath.
Your eyes drifted past Jake's shoulder toward the wall, landing on the collection of medals, framed certificates, and trophies lined neatly across the shelves. Some were old awards from high school, others were from university tournaments, and a few still had ribbons tangled together because you had been too lazy to organize them properly after Nationals. Jake had insisted on displaying every single one of them anyway, even the participation plaques you thought looked ugly. You smiled quietly to yourself before looking back at your boyfriend standing in front of you,. Sometimes it still hit you unexpectedly—how impossible this whole thing used to feel.
Who could thought? You had your six months of sharing an apartment with someone who barely looked you in the eyes.
Back then, you genuinely thought Jake would remain nothing more than the quiet engineering student that have an addiction to legos and hot wheels. And now? Now he stood in your apartment kitchen every morning half-asleep while cooking your meals, whining whenever you left the bed too early, kissing your forehead.
Jake became your person.
You stepped closer and pressed a quick kiss against his lips before walking past him toward the living room. Jake immediately followed after you without hesitation, dragging his feet lazily across the floor while scratching the back of his neck. You crouched beside the fish tank to feed your fish while listening to the familiar sounds of him moving around the kitchen behind you. Jake had developed this habit of cooking both your breakfast and lunch every single training day no matter how many times you told him he didn't have to. He always answered the same way too.
"I want to."
After feeding the fish, you returned to your bedroom to finish packing your things for training, tossing extra clothes and towels into your duffel bag while mentally checking your schedule for the day. You were halfway through folding your jersey when something bumped gently against your ankle. Looking down, you immediately recognized the small robot staring up at you with glowing blue eyes.
Bumble tilted slightly like it was waiting for attention, the tiny camera blinking while its mechanical voice chirped softly. "Hi!"
"Jake, the food," you called out immediately while staring directly at the robot's camera.
You heard his laugh from the kitchen almost instantly.
A few seconds later, Jake appeared in your doorway with that stupid soft smile on his face, walking straight toward you just to lean down and steal another kiss. He adjusted the whistle hanging around your neck afterward, fingers brushing gently against your skin before stepping back. "Ay yay, captain," he teased quietly, earning an immediate scoff from you despite the smile pulling at your lips.
Nationals still sat heavily in your chest sometimes.
Third place. Not first. Not the championship everyone had dreamed about during those exhausting practices and sleepless nights. It had hurt watching the seniors cry after the final match, hurt even more realizing that people like Karina, Winter, Ryujin, Yeji, and Yunjin were really leaving now that graduation had finally caught up to them. Every practice lately carried this strange emptiness that you still hadn't fully adjusted to. You missed them badly if you were being honest. No future teammates, no future victories, no future season would ever replace the bond all of you built together.
But endings did not always mean loss. That was something life had slowly forced you to understand.
After finishing your packing, you wandered out of your room and toward Jake's almost absent one out of pure habit. The door was slightly open already. It had honestly been a while since Jake actually slept here properly considering he spent nearly every night tangled in your bed instead. Still, the room looked painfully like him—organized in his own way and filled with little traces of the things he loved.
Your eyes drifted toward the transparent shelves mounted carefully against the wall. Hot Wheels lined up in neat rows beside completed Lego builds he had spent hours working on during stressful nights, some of them gifts from you, others things he proudly bought himself after passing difficult projects or exams. Mo sat charging quietly near his desk now beside scattered engineering blueprints, and one of your old volleyball wristbands was looped carelessly around its antenna. You smiled softly at the sight before dropping yourself onto his bed with a tired sigh, sinking into the familiar mattress while staring up at the ceiling.
It only took a few seconds before the bed dipped beside you.
Jake crawled in next to you without a word, immediately wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin rested against your shoulder while his legs tangled with yours. "It's honestly useless renting a separate room when you basically live in my bed now," you muttered with amusement while turning slightly toward him. Jake only hummed quietly in agreement, tightening his hold around you instead of denying it. "And both of us are graduating soon too... oh my God."
No more university tournaments. No more scrambling through deadlines and practices and late-night study sessions with Jake. Life was shifting again, slowly moving forward whether you were ready or not. For a moment the room fell quiet and when you looked back at Jake, you noticed him staring at you strangely.
You frowned slightly under the weight of his gaze. "Is there a problem?"
"I love you," he said immediately, without hesitation, like breathing.
The words came out so naturally now compared to before. No stuttering. No panic. No fumbling over syllables while avoiding eye contact. Jake said it softly but confidently, eyes fixed completely on yours. Your expression softened almost instantly, and you moved closer to wrap your arms around him properly. "I love you too, silly," you murmured while caressing his cheek gently with your thumb.
Jake leaned into your touch immediately.
"Remember when you told me before..." he started quietly. "About not knowing what to do after volleyball?" Your brows lifted slightly at the sudden topic change, but you nodded anyway while continuing to stroke his hair back from his forehead. Jake swallowed before continuing. "I wanted to say a lot back then. I just couldn't." He laughed weakly at himself before looking back at you again. "But you can literally do anything. You could teach, or coach, or maybe start some weird fish business—"
You snorted softly.
"Jake," you interrupted with a smile. "I already told you. I'm planning to continue volleyball professionally. I'm aiming for the league now. I'm not stopping."
"—Or maybe..." Jake suddenly cut in quietly.
His arms loosened around you.
"Live with me."
Your smile faltered slightly in confusion as you slowly pushed yourself upright on the bed. Jake followed your movement immediately, but instead of sitting beside you again, he slid off the mattress completely. Your eyes widened the second you realized what he was doing.
Jake was kneeling on the floor.
"Jake," you said slowly, staring at him in complete disbelief while your heartbeat immediately started climbing into your throat. He looked nervous all over again for the first time in years, hands visibly shaking while he pushed his glasses higher up his nose. His cheeks were already bright red, his breathing uneven, but he still kept looking directly at you despite how terrified he obviously was.
Then he reached into his pocket.
"Oh my God," you whispered instantly.
"I have a proposition to make," Jake breathed out nervously. His fingers shook so badly while opening the small velvet box that you were half afraid he was going to drop it onto the floor entirely. But the second the lid flipped open, your breath caught hard in your throat. A ring rested inside, and the sight of it hit you so suddenly that your eyes immediately started burning with tears.
Jake noticed instantly and panicked a little.
"I-I will support you through everything," he rushed out quickly, voice trembling while he looked up at you from the floor. "Your league, internationals, all of it. I swear I will. I-I'll keep loving you, deeply, openly..." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his own eyes glossy now behind his glasses. "I know you'll probably think this is too early—"
"Jake, no," you interrupted immediately, shaking your head so fast your vision blurred slightly. The tears were already slipping down your cheeks now, but he misunderstood the reaction immediately because of course he did. Jake's face fell for a split second, panic flashing all over his expression before he hurriedly continued speaking again.
"But it doesn't mean we have to do everything immediately," he said quickly, almost pleading now as he shifted closer on his knees toward the bed. "I just... I want a future with you... Live with me? Not as roommates anymore, but really with me. As my lover. My person." His voice softened shakily near the end, his eyes refusing to leave yours despite how emotional he looked now. "And someday... as my wife."
The room suddenly felt too small for your heartbeat. For a second, all you could do was stare at him kneeling there beside the bed—the same quiet boy who once could barely survive a single conversation with you now looking at you like you were the center of every future he wanted. Jake's hands were still trembling around the ring box while he waited, breathing unevenly, clearly trying not to completely spiral if you stayed silent too long.
A wet laugh escaped your mouth suddenly as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand. "You're so fucking unfair," you whispered shakily, which immediately made Jake look even more nervous. His lips parted like he was about to apologize again, but before he could spiral into another overthinking breakdown, you grabbed his face with both hands.
"Jake," you said softly.
He froze completely beneath your touch.
"You are already my home."
Jake's eyes widened so much it almost made you laugh again through your tears. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again uselessly while staring at you like he couldn't process what he was hearing. You smiled weakly before leaning down until your forehead rested against his.
"Yes," you whispered.
Jake blinked once. "...Yes?" he repeated weakly, sounding completely stunned.
"Yes, idiot," you laughed through your tears, and the second the words fully registered in his brain, Jake let out the most broken, overwhelmed noise you had ever heard from him before immediately grabbing your waist and pulling you into him. The ring box nearly fell from his hands from how hard he hugged you, his face burying against your stomach while his entire body shook with relieved laughter.
"Oh my God," he kept mumbling breathlessly against you. "Oh my God, oh my God..."
You buried your fingers into his messy hair while laughing softly yourself, overwhelmed and emotional and ridiculously happy all at once. Jake pulled back just enough to shakily slide the ring onto your finger, his hands still trembling the entire time. The moment it settled perfectly in place, he stared at it like he genuinely couldn't believe it was real.
Then his eyes slowly lifted back toward you again. "My fiancée," he whispered, sounding completely in awe of the words alone.
Unlucky with money, unlucky in your love life, unlucky in your sex life. The same "bad luck" that used to follow you around had somehow led you here anyway, step by step, mistake by mistake, person by person.
Those were bad luck. And bad luck is temporary.
You smile and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss against Jake's forehead. Ha, you're not out of luck either, aren't you?
You have Jake. Your good bestest luck.
And a good bestest luck lasted a lifetime.
NOTE: you reached the end, yay! thank you for loving the lucky family! (reader, jake, whitey, pinky, bumble, guppy and mo hehe) :) this is not really my best story but i definitely enjoy writing nerd jekjek and building their world! i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoy writing. love lots!!! - shi
𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙶 𝚃𝙾𝙿𝙸𝙲⎯ Space dedicated to the 02z's Line. Here you’ll find content related to Jake, Sunghoon, and Jongseong.
𝚁𝙴𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚃𝚂 ⎯ I do accept requests; they’re currently open. I will make every effort to follow the order of submission; however, some drabbles can take me more time than others. To deliver a result that fully aligns with your expectations, please specify the desired style in detail (e.g., fluff, smut, etc.). The more precise your request, the more accurately I can capture your idea!
𝚄𝙿𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳 𝚂𝙲𝙷𝙴𝙳𝚄𝙻𝙴 ⎯ I usually publish new content on a weekly basis (one drabble per week).
║A series of short smut one-shots inspired by ENHYPEN's members random clips/pics.
pairing : soft dom!jake x f!reader
genre : smut (mdni), established relationship.
content : fingering, overstimulation, praising.
wc : 0.3k
note : when i saw that clip of Jake saying "we gotta communicate" oh loooord I’m so easy for him, I JUST KNOOOOOW HE TALKS YOU THROUGH IT. I was immediately thinking of making a series of smut inspired by enhypen's random clips that make me ARGHHHH. Enjoy pookies ;) THERE'S MORE TO COME.
Your vision was swimming, a messy blur of tears and sweat. You lay sprawled on the sheets, your body a trembling wreck, completely oversensitive. He was still there, his fingers buried deep inside you, relentless and slow, teasing that spot that had already brought you to the brink three times tonight.
"Don't close your legs," Jake commanded softly, his voice vibrating against your inner thigh. He held your legs open with his shoulders, his dark eyes locked onto your face, searching for every reaction. "Look at me."
You tried to focus, but your mind was shattered. The pleasure was a heavy ache that spiked every time his thumb brushed your clit. "Jake..." you choked out, your voice barely a whisper. "Too much."
"Too much?" He chuckled, a low sound that made your toes curl. His fingers curled slightly inside you, crooking just right to drag a ragged moan from your throat. "You came three times, baby. You can take a little more."
He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that tasted of desperation. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy. "Does it feel good?" he asked, his thumb stroking your cheek. "Tell me."
You couldn't form words. You just nodded frantically, your head turning into the pillow.
"Yes or no, Y/N," he insisted, his tone shifting from sweet to demanding. He stopped moving his fingers for a second, just holding you open, which was absolute torture. "We need communication here. I need to know what you're feeling."
"Yes," you gasped, your hips bucking up against his hand involuntarily. "It feels...oh god, it feels so good."
"That's my girl," he praised, his thumb pressing hard against your sensitive bundle of nerves. "But you look like you're about to pass out. Are you okay?"
"I'm...I don't know," you cried out as he started a rhythm again, fast and shallow. "I can't...I'm so full."
"You're so fucking tight around me," he groaned. "Look at how you're clenching. You love it, don't you?"
"I do," you whimpered, your back arching off the bed. "I can't stop."
"Then don't," he commanded, kissing your neck, his teeth grazing the skin. "Just let it happen. Let me take care of you. We can do this all night if you want. Just tell me you're okay, baby."
─── you want a good girl that does bad things to you⋆˚꩜｡
OR where sunghoon's friends thinks that you're too innocent and he doesn't get the pleasure he needs. however, he knew that you already had him wrapped around your finger and you were ready to prove his friends wrong.
pairing: bf!sunghoon x innocent(ish)!reader
content + warnings: just pure smut and filth what's new atp, jake and jay are kind of cocky and pervs, switch!sunghoon, switch!reader, whiny sunghoon nghh, unprotected p in v (cap before you tap), bondage using tie, oral (m receiving), cowboy, light choking, taking photos/filming during sex - lmk if i missed anything!
word count:2.4k / 2,447
bea speaks! wait bc i actually have so many drafts that i just want to post them all but this one has to be my fav yet so far
♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ
SUNGHOON LEANS BACK IN HIS CHAIR, the low hum of the bar around him with a glass of whiskey in his hand. A few drinks in, his friends are already laughing louder than they should, teasing each other, joking about their upcoming trip to Taipei.
"So... are we bringing our girlfriends along or what?" Jay asks, swirling his beer.
"Yeah, I mean, Taipei sounds like a perfect couple's getaway," Jake chimes in, smirking. He gives Jay a knowing look, knowing that their girlfriends are going to get along well.
A pause. Then Jake glances at Sunghoon, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "What about you, man? You gonna drag that little angel of yours along?"
Sunghoon stiffens, nearly spilling his drink. "Guys, come on. Don't start with that."
Jay laughs, shaking his head. "She's too innocent right? Doesn't do anything wild?"
"Yeah," Jake pipes in, leaning back. "Best she doesn't even like... let you, you know... get your fun."
Sunghoon groans, running a hand down his face. "I swear, stop. That's my girlfriend you're talking about. She's perfect whether she does or doesn't."
Jay and Jake exchange a glance and laugh, taking casual sips of their drinks. "Perfect, huh?" Jay teases, smirking. "Bet she's really something in private."
Jake snickers, "Yeah, man, I'm curious how she really is."
Sunghoon narrows his eyes, a grin tugging at his lips despite his flushed cheeks. "Guys, please? You wouldn't last two minutes if you had someone like her."
The door clicks open and Sunghoon steps inside, a faint grin on his lips and hair slightly tousled from the night. Before he can even take off his shoes and jacket, you're practically flying across the living room, arms wide.
"Finally, you're home!" you exclaim, wrapping your arms around him from behind and burying your face in his back. "How was hanging out with the boys? Don't tell me they worked you up again."
Sunghoon chuckles, the sound low, and then sighs as he turns around to embrace you in his arms. "You have no idea. They, well—they teased me. About... you."
You freeze for a split second, not because you doubt him, but because of how they teased him. Your brows knit together. "They teased you? About me? About what specifically?"
He laughs softly, shaking his head, obviously still embarrassed. "Said you're too innocent. That I don't... get enough. I tried to stop them, I swear, but..."
You tilt your head, eyes sparkling with amusement, and press a quick kiss to his jaw, teasingly. "Too innocent, huh?"
His breath catches, a low chuckle escaping him as he felt relief wash over him. He knows the truth: you've got him right where you want him, and now you're teasing him while pretending to scold him.
You slide a hand down his chest, letting your fingers brush down to land on the waistband of his pants, voice dipping just low enough for him to feel it in his bones.
"You know, maybe they're wrong," you murmur, tilting your head to meet his eyes.
Sunghoon swallows, his eyes darkening. "Oh really? And how would I know that?"
You bite your lip, leaning closer until your lips graze his ear. "You'll have to see for yourself."
You pull back just enough to look at him before running away into the bedroom. He shakes his head and smiles to himself before chasing after you.
Sunghoon catches you easily, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground as he enters the bedroom. He throws you on the bed, eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and desire.
"Oh, I'll definitely find out for myself," his playful mood turning into something hungrier. He climbs onto the bed, crawling over you on his hands and knees.
"They think you're too innocent to fuck me the way I want, huh?" he leans down, caging you in with his arms, his face inches from yours. "Let me check something real quick."
He captures your mouth in a deep, dominant kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips to claim yours. HIs hands slide down your side, resting possessively on your hip.
"Sunghoon, let me..."
Without protesting, he immediately lets you take over. You sit up and push him down onto the bed, watching as his eyes widen. He's never seen you take over like this; only ever seeing you be as equally sexual whenever he's on top.
You straddle his hips as you bend down to kiss him, deep and intoxicating. He watches you with hungry eyes, his hands gripping the bedsheets instead of reaching for you as you grind down on his growing erection. He's wants to see what you'll do, curious to see if you really can fuck him the way he wants.
A pit of fire flowed through you as an idea hit. You grab onto his tie, slowly untying it as you continue to grind on him. Once it was undone, you pull away, grabbing his wrist and tying them to the headboard.
His breath hitches as you tie his hands above his head, a shocked laugh turning into a groan. He pulls experimentally at the tie, finding himself truly restrained.
"Where did you learn how to do that?" he moans, eyes flicking down to your face, then lower to where you're still straddling him.
When you begin to undo his belt, slow and teasing, he swallows hard with his chest rising and falling rapidly. You're completely dominating him right now, and he loves it. His restrained position makes his biceps flex attractively as he watches you, waiting for your next movie.
His cock is now fully hard, tenting in his pants.
"Baby..."
Sunghoon was almost sure you were going to continue to touch his hard cock, but then you unbutton his shirt, revealing his toned chest. He arches into your touch, his skin burning where your fingers trail. Once his shirt is open, you push it aside, running your hands over his muscular chest and abs, scratching lightly.
"Fuck, just like that..."
You finally unbuckle his bet and unzip his trousers, revealing his hard cock straining against his boxers. He sucked in a breath, completely at your mercy. His cock springs free as you pull the waistband of his boxers off. It slaps against his stomach, thick and already leaking.
"I've seen this cock so many times, but it's so big," you whisper, fingers wrapping around him. His hips buck up, seeking more friction.
"You're killing me here—"
His cock twitches against you as you continue to pump him, maintaining eye contact. Once you could tell he was about to beg, you lick a strip up from the base to the tip, making him curse and tug against the tie. You wrap your lips around the head, sucking gently while one hand grips his thigh.
He groans loudly, his head falling back against the pillow. The sensation of your mouth wrapped around him is overwhelming, especially with his hands restrained. He can only lie there and take it.
"Baby, slow down," he chokes out, his gaze coming back up to watch you as you look up at him through wet eyelashes. He starts to thrust up into your mouth, but you pull away.
"No, wait!" he whines when you pull off, his cock red and dripping with your saliva. He looks desperate, chest flushed as he's panting. He clearly is enjoying this.
You climb back up his body, pressing your small frame against his larger one. He can feel your soft curves against his hard muscles, your tits pressing against his chest. He lifts his hips, trying to rub againt you.
"Baby, I'm begging you..."
You silence him with a kiss, your tongue pushing into his mouth aggressively. He kisses you back eagerly, his tied hands pulling at the restraints out of frustration. You grind down on him slowly before taking off your pants, but leaving your panties on to tease him.
You continue to grind on his cock, letting it rub against your clothed pussy. He groans, feeling the thin fabric between you both. His cock slides against you, the tip pressing against your clit through the panties.
He thrusts up helplessly, his hips bucking again. "Let me inside, please?" he whines. His voice is breathy and desperate, completely under your spell. You keep grinding, your pussy soaking through the thin fabric and making a quiet, wet sound as you rub against him.
He can smell your arousal, seeing how turned on you also are. His cock twitches, wanting nothing more than to sink into you, but you're controlling everything.
"Baby, I swear to god—" he pants, eyes rolling back slightly when you lean down to leave wet, open—mouth kisses on his chest. Beads of sweat drop down his neck as veins begin to pop out, and you're loving the way he's under you right now.
You circle your hips slowly, teasing him further. Sunghoon's hands are fidgeting against the restraints, wanting to reach out and grab your hips to help you ride him, but he couldn't.
Sitting up, you finally pull your panties to the side to let his cock slide through your wet folds. A small moan escaped your lips as his tip rubbed against your clit, and you swear Sunghoon's body tensed at your sweet sound.
The head of his cock catches on your entrance as you position him to your hole, and he almost sobs with relief. He's never been this turned on in his life, neever felt so desperate to be inside someone. His hands tug uselessly at the tie above his head.
"Please, baby. I've been good."
You slowly lower yourself, taking his entire length in one slow, torturous movement. He feels your tight pussy stretch around him, swallowing his cock inch by inch until you're fully seated fully on his lap. His eyes roll back, a long moan escaping him.
When you begin to move, you whimper, chest heaving. Even though you've been teasing Sunghoon this whole time, you were worked up yourself from being so used to him being on top.
You bounce on him slowly, almost completely pulling off before going back down. Once you're fully impaled on his cock, he takes a moment to savor the sensation. You're so tight, so wet, so warm—it's heaven. His hips jerk involuntarily, trying to thrust up into you.
Your hands reach forward to lightly wrap around his neck, a sign for him to behave. He swallows hard, his throat working against your hand. You lift your hips again again before sliding back down and grinding at the bottom. The pace was so slow, even if you were getting frustrated.
You lean down to kiss him, then another idea pops up.
Sunghoon watches curiously as you reach for his phone beside him, his brow furrowing slightly. He has no idea what you're planning, but the way you continue to ride him despite being accompanied by something else makes him lose his mind.
You turn his phone towards him, letting his FaceID open it.
"Baby... what are you—?"
You quickly found his messages, opening the group chat with Jake and Jay before snapping a photo of Sunghoon under you, hand around his throat, his wrists restrained.
His eyes widen in shock as he realizes what you're doing, but then you grind against him roughly, his eyes rolling back. He opens his mouth to protest, but then you take another picture, capturing the perfect image of him. It was clear evidence that you weren't just some innocent girl.
Sunghoon [11:42 PM]: [1 image attached]
You toss his phone aside, giving your full attention back to him. He watches his phone, frozen in horror, but some part of him was excited, knowing he just proved his friends wrong. The notification sounds came in quickly.
The sheer humiliation of his two friends seeing him like this—tied up, choked, dominatd by you—makes his cock throb inside you involuntarily. Before you could continue, you felt his hands grip your hips tightly.
He freed himself.
His hands are free now, but instead of pushing you off or reaching for his phone, he flips you over in one swift motion.
"You sent that to Jake and Jay?" he asks in short breaths.
"Had to prove them wrong," I moan as he thrusts back into you, rough. His arousal spikes even higher as your nonchalant response, almost wanting to fuck the small smirk off your face. You didn't even bother to hide it.
He starts to thrust harder, fucking you as he imagines his friends seeing this picture. His hands grip your hips tightly as he pounds into you, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. He's completely lost in the moment, almost on the edge of an orgasm.
Suddenly, his phone buzzes with incoming messages.
Jay [11:45 PM]: Bro??????
Jake [11:46 PM]: I told you he was a bottom lmao
Sunghoon laughs breathlessly, feeling a strange rush of embarrassment that actually makes him thrust deeply inside you.
"They're never letting me live this down."
He continues thrusting, completely unfazed by his friends' reaction. In fact, their messages only fuel him. He leans down to capture your lips in a messy kiss, hips slamming rougher against you.
A loud moan escapes you, your thighs twitching as your hands go to scratch his back. He moans at the sensation, clearly reaching his high soon.
With one hand still holding your hip, he grabs his phone again with the other and starts recording you, a complete mess under him. The camera captures every thrust, every moan, every second of you crying his name and begging him to slow down. He made sure to angle the camera so your expressions are clear: brows knit together, lips parted, tits bouncing with every thrust.
Sunghoon [11:53 PM}: [1 video attached]
He watches as the message gets delivered, then tosses it aside as his friends' quick replies become background noise.
"S—Sunghoon, slow down, please," you beg, hands gripping onto his biceps as your thighs quiver, your high almost crashing down. He slams into you hard, making you gasp as his free hand rubs your clit in rough circles.
His hips jerked, thrusts becoming erratic as he slows down. When he leans down to kiss your neck, biting your collarbone, you feel the wave wash over you, your vision turning white as you see stars. Sunghoon continues to fuck you through your orgasm as he reaches his, spurts of his thick cream coating your walls.
Pairing : Park Sunghoon x fem!reader ( ft Heeseung)
Warnings: 18+ Minors dni
Synopsis: Deciding that you’d had enough of Sunghoon's teasing and wicked mind games, you set out to beat him at the very game he created and try not to give into your heart in the process.
Contains: angst, smut, eventual romance, teasing, raw/unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), creampie, jealousy, fingering, big dick sunghoon, mean sunghoon, teasing, arguing, kinda enemies to lovers, Sunghoon is an asshole in this- he does redeem himself ( we love character growth), Heeseung is a sweetheart.
A/N: Hii, this is my first fic on here, this will be a chaptered fic, not sure how long exactly yet but I’m going with the flow. Thank you to my twin @hoonievan for helping me w this and essentially being my beta reader.
Please let me know you’d like to be added to the taglist
w.c : 2.5k
You’d always kept your inner circle small, hanging out with the same few friends you’d had since college, but that all changed when your best friend started dating Jake; the cute guy who lived a couple of doors down the hall from her apartment.
Now, you often found yourself forced into larger group settings, even if you had become accustomed to it- maybe even enjoyed the added company.
Jake had a lot of friends, who, through association with your best friend, had eventually also become your friends … or perhaps acquaintances is the better term.
They were all nice enough, including you in things, inviting you to places and you even found yourself growing quite close to Sunoo, bonding over a shared love of mint choco ice cream and marvel movies- but of course it couldn't be all good.
There was unfortunately one person who was not nice or welcoming at all.
In fact, you'd go as far as to say he was horrible to you.
That wouldn’t have been as much of an issue If it wasn't for the fact that you were unfortunately very drawn to him, harbouring what could only be described as a crush, as childish as that sounded.
Park Sunghoon with his thick eyebrows, plump lips and those biceps… god those biceps.
—
“Hello, earth to y/n” Sunoo said, nudging his elbow into your side in an attempt to snap you out of your daze.
You realised that you were staring right at Sunghoon who was standing across the room, drink cup in hand and talking to some girl you didn’t recognise.
“Shit” you muttered to yourself and quickly looked away, turning towards Sunoo and suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you were sitting on the couch in Jake’s apartment.
Sunoo shot you a questioning look but just as he was about to probe, someone called his name from across the room and then he was gone.
You felt the couch dip and another figure taking up the now available spot next to you.
You already knew who it was, his arm brushed against yours and you felt the goosebumps bloom across your arms, you fought to keep a neutral expression in a feeble attempt at appearing indifferent to his presence.
Your body, however, had other plans and betrayed you almost immediately.
Your legs clamped shut as soon as his manly, musky scent filled the air between you and went straight to your core.
You were itching to get a quick peek of him but tried to fight the urge, instead, opting to stare right at the potted plant in the far corner of the room as if it was the most interesting thing you had ever seen.
Unfortunately, you were just a woman and a very weak one evidently, you couldn't help yourself and made a discreet attempt to get a look by feigning a yawn and stretch.
Beginner move… you were met with him looking straight back at you smugly, one eyebrow raised, as if taunting you, as though he knew how turned on you currently were, all from a simple brush of arm and at how downright manly he smelled.
You snapped your head back but the damage was already done, he had seen you and how affected you were by his presence and you know he wouldn’t miss the chance to use this against you somehow.
—
Being on the receiving end of that look wasn’t new to you, he would always tease you, smirk wide and eyes full of mischief.
Sometimes the teasing would go too far, would leave you embarrassed in front of the others but he didn’t seem to care, he didn’t falter.
You were barely even friends but he still had a lot to say about you, none of it good. The occasional personal digs, disguised as harmless teasing would hurt the most.
Of course you’d play it off, not wanting him to know just how much it hurt, but the dull ache in your chest remained no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself he was just messing around.
You just wished he’d think of you as something more than just someone who was fun to poke a reaction out of.
You wished he would see you the way you saw him…
-
“you ok there? you look like you’re about to blow up, can’t handle me sitting so close to you?” He said cockily, pulling you away from your thoughts.
A short laugh fell from his lips before he brought his cup to his lips and took a swig of his drink.
“Shut up Sunghoon, I’m not in the mood for your shit.”
You snapped back and he quickly swallowed his drink, that stupid smirk still on his face again, clearly confident that what he was about to say next would really tip you over the edge.
“Sure y/n, clearly you’re in a different kind of mood” he snickered, eyes flickering down to your still clamped together legs- your heart dropped at the realisation that he had noticed that.
You just hoped he didn’t notice your jaw physically drop in shock too.
-
After taking a minute to process what had just happened, you decided you needed to get away from him, the shift from the standard childish teasing to this… whatever this was, proving to be too much.
You ended up in the kitchen, which was thankfully empty, and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge suddenly feeling extremely thirsty.
The small apartment now felt like an oven and boy were you roasting.
The universe was not favouring you today, you hadn’t even had 5 minutes to yourself when you noticed Sunghoon following you into the kitchen.
“Are you following me or something?” you questioned, annoyance loud and clear in your voice.
“Don’t flatter yourself love” he paused, gave you a once over and then looked you right in the eyes, eyes full of mischief but also something deeper.
“Fuck you Sunghoon” you shot back, cringing at how basic that comeback was as soon as the words left your lips.
“Oh you’d love that wouldn’t you?” He replied, his breath fanning over your ears, voice now bordering a whisper.
You hadn’t even realised when he had gotten so close to you, your bodies now so close that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.
“you’re so insufferable, I let you say whatever you want because I know you love getting a reaction out of me but that stops-“
Your rambling was cut short by Sunghoon pushing you up against the wall behind you, gripping your chin with one hand and crashing his plump lips on yours.
It took you a few seconds but after the initial shock wore off you reached out to grip his shirt and pulled him impossibly closer, returning the kiss with just as much vigor.
You pulled back momentarily, out of breath and confused.
“what are you doing” you asked breathlessly.
“Kissing you, what else?” He replied
“Yeah but why”
“Come on you know you want me” he paused and then followed with “you want me to stop?”
You went through all the options in your head and ultimately decided that he was right, you did want him, and if he was here initiating this then who were you to refuse?
.
“No, don’t stop”. The second the words left your lips he dove back in.
Taking your bottom lip between his teeth, he bit lightly, making you gasp and taking this as an opportunity to slip his tongue in.
Things were quickly turning hot and messy, the kiss now a full blown makeout.
Bodies pressed so close that you could feel his bulge heavy against your thigh,
The sensation went straight to your pussy, which was now dripping with need.
“Sunghoon please” you moaned out when you had the chance to finally breathe again, all inhibitions were now thrown out the window and replaced with a newfound hunger for him.
“What is it baby?” he grunted out. You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at the term of endearment and gave into the hunger that could only be satiated by having Sunghoon inside you, fucking your brains out, your mouth watered at the mere thought.
“Need you please” you almost whispered, desperation clawing at you, the reality of where you were currently long forgotten.
“Oh really, what do you need?” Sunghoon pulled back, hands still tightly around on your waist, his signature shit eating grin adoring that stupidly handsome face.
“just do something already Sunghoon, please touch me”
Annoyed and still extremely turned on, you urged him to get a move on.
His eyes darkened at your words and something in him snapped, he roughly manoeuvred you so that you were now pressed against the wall and lifted up your dress, fingers finding your panties and roughly yanking them down.
His fingers went straight to your pussy, rubbing them along your folds, he let out a sharp breath when he realised just how wet you were for him.
“You’re dipping, all this is for me yeah?” Not waiting for a reply he frantically undid his belt and pulled his trousers down just enough to pull his dick out.
Your eyes widened at the sight, he was big, and veiny - just how you liked it.
Too horny to worry too much about how it was going to fit, you were about to tell him to just fuck you already but he beat you to it.
“I need you to be quiet for me ok, you don’t want someone walking in on us do you?” you managed a brief nod before he lined up his cock and brushed a stray piece of hair out of your face - a fleeting moment of something more than just lust that was over in a second as pushed all the way in with a single deep stroke.
Maybe you did want people to see but now was not the time to bring that up, not when he had just knocked the air out of your lungs and had started rearranging your insides with fast and deep thrusts.
His hand snaked down your thigh and hooked under your knee, lifting up your leg to allow him to thrust even deeper, you had to slap a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from screaming out loud.
He locked eyes with you then, a small semblance of a smile on his face-
“You feel so good, pussy’s just sucking me in” he said in between thrusts.
His filthy words elicited a loud moan from your lips and you could feel a familiar pressure building inside you
“Please” you managed to croak out,
“Please what?”
“Please make me come” and with that he sped up again, your body moving up the wall with each powerful thrust.
“You gonna come just from my dick?”
You frantically nodded in response, your words failing you.
You took in the image in front of you, a sweaty sunghoon, brows furrowed and biceps bulging from the way he was holding you and you felt your heart swell.
“Shit” he gritted out, giving one last hard thrust that had you both coming undone at the same time.
You felt his cum filling you up, the warm sensation adding to the pure bliss you were feeling and causing your body to arch back as the most powerful orgasm you had ever experienced ripped through you.
He rested his head on your shoulder as you both caught your breaths, and then just as quick as this had all happened, he pulled away from you, tucked himself back into his trousers and started walking away.
Stopping in his tracks momentarily, he looked over his shoulder, threw you a "Not too bad" and then he was gone, leaving you just as you were, confused and in a compromising position.j
You stared after him, horrified by what a momentary lapse in judgement had resulted in; you knew he was an asshole and yet, you let lust take over and allowed him to fuck you senseless and then walk away like it was nothing, like you were some sort of easy whore.
The feeling of his still warm cum trickling down your legs snapped you out of your thoughts and back to the sick and twisted reality you were currently in. You thanked your lucky stars that you just so happened to be taking birth control currently or things would be getting complicated really quickly.
You reached out to grab a wad of tissues from the worktop, frantically wiping up as much of the mess as you could and disposing of it, all while mentally apologising to Jake.
Then, you quickly pulled your panties up, tugged your dress down, and tried to make yourself look presentable enough to go back out and face everyone knowing what had just happened... in poor Jake's kitchen of all places.
You were seething, the ache in your chest was still deep but you were now also astronomically pissed off, the audacity of that man was absolutely insane.
Not bad?... NOT BAD?
How dare he?
There was no way he didn’t know of your crush on him, hell, he obviously had used that knowledge to woo you over enough to let him hit it without any hesitation from you.
Embarrassment and humiliation barely scratched the surface of the emotions you were currently feeling.
There was a special place in hell reserved just for Park Sunghoon and you were going to make sure he would get there.
—
You avoided Sunghoon the rest of the night, forcing yourself to actively engage with others to appear indifferent and to above all else, distract yourself.
You didn’t let the sound of laughter coming from Sunghoon and whichever girl he was currently entertaining bother you.
So what if their bodies were pressed close together? So what if he had his lips close to her ear, telling her things that had her giggling and shooting him heart eyes…
Oh if only she knew what an asshole he was.
“Hey y/n are you listening?” your best friend asked,snapping you out of your daze yet again.
“You’ve been acting weird today, what's going on?” chimed in Sunoo, from beside her.
Inspiration hit in that moment, you knew what you were going to do.
“Nothing i’m fine, but hey i was thinking about that friend of yours, do you think you can still set us up on a date?”
Their eyes widened at that, confusion written all over their faces
“Umm sure” Sunoo hesitated.
“Perfect” and for the first time that night you smiled.
