đđđđđđđ âŽïž Your fantasy to tie a ribbon on your husband's cock, took you to him where he gave you the permission to do it, but also made the ribbon tied on him hit your nose every time you deepthroated him.
Warning : đŹđđđđđđđ đđđđđđ đđđđđđđ : oral [m rec] ribbon tying on dick teasing blowjob deepthroating gagging cum eating rough sunghoon face fucking praises
đȘ·Â°Â   Haze' notes : Yall- don't judge me after reading this- I just love a rough hubby Sunghoon. Happy reading!!
You had always loved ribbons. They were the one thing you were completely obsessed with. Ribbons on your hair, on your wrist, on your dresses, and sometimes when you dress up like a doll for Sunghoon, you like wearing ribbons on your neck too.
You have had that obsession since you were little. Finding them incredibly fascinating. In your eyes, ribbons could be transformed into anything you like. Ties, bows, laces, ropes, and so many more things.
So when you started dating Sunghoon, it was no secret that you loved ribbons. Your entire apartment was decorated with them. Sunghoon loved them of course. Finding them to be uniquely you. And after the both of you got married a year ago, his house was now transformed and decorated with ribbons everywhere.
What you loved the most about ribbons was how you could tie them up on Sunghoon's biceps. It had been a little fantasy of yours that came to light a few months after you both had started dating. When you shyly asked him if he would let you tie ribbons on his bicep.
Sunghoon was delighted with the idea, having no problem with it. Since that day, it had become a little ritual between the two of you. But at times, your mind wandered to images of how his cock would look like with a soft pink ribbon.
About how it would feel when you would deepthroat him. Your nose rubbing against your own ribbon which you tied on him. Your ribbon. Your mark. âHoon?â You slowly open the door to his study, peeking your head inside to look at him.
He was working on his laptop, eyebrows frowned with focus. He was wearing a simple black tee with gray pants, your favourite combination on him. âHmm?â He didn't look up from the screen, fingers flying on the keyboard as he replied to you.
âCan you.. take a rest for a while?â You slowly walked in, shutting the door behind you gently to not disturb the peace of the room. âDoll, I have to finish this âmkay?â He gave you a quick smile, his eyes darting to the small link ribbon bows on your hair. âYou look pretty.â
The compliment bloomed warmth inside you but the husk in his voice shot pleasure straight to your core. You slightly squirm on the spot before walking beside his desk, placing your hand on top of his on the keyboard to stop him from typing.
âPlease hoon? I miss you..â You pout, your fingers curling in his. You knew he could never deny when you plead with him, always giving into your cuteness. âI want to tie a ribbon on your cock..â As soon as those words left your lips, your husband choked on air uncontrollably. âWhat?!â
âDoll you can't say things like that if you won't follow through.â
âWho says I won't? I really want to..â You felt Sunghoon freeze under your touch, his breath hitched. He looked up to read your face, making sure you weren't joking and actually wanted to do it. âOk.. do it.â You squeak and hug him tightly, murmuring quick thank yous before you push his desk chair back slightly so you get enough space to kneel before him.
Sunghoon's fingers tightened on the hand of the chair, his heart pounding. He had dreamt of this for so long, wondering how you would look with his cock deep in your mouth. Your lips parted to their maximum at his size and your nose nuzzling with the base of his shaft, where your ribbon would reside.
âBaby lift your hips,â You squeak excitedly, your hands trembling with pure joy as you pull the pink ribbon from your back pocket and tug his pants down till it hits the floor. Your mouth watered at the sight of his bulge. âMay I?â You whisper, not taking your eyes off his bulge. With a single hum from him, you pull his boxers down enough so his cock springs out.
You gasp looking at its size. He was honestly very big and that at times has left you feeling extremely nervous about taking him. But he has trained you enough so you could wrap your mouth around him without choking. You gently play with the base of his skin, feeling it twitch by your touch.
âAre you excited, hoon?â You smile eerily, looking up to meet his eyes. He groaned at the view in front of him. You are on your knees, between his thighs with his massive shaft right in your face. It was too much for him. âYes, babyââ You chuckle and bring the ribbon forward to play with his cock, rubbing it at the base. He let out a low groan, throwing his head back.
His eyes squeezed shut as his cock twitched at the touch and friction of your ribbon. âFuckâyou are so cuteââ You giggle playfully and press a teasing kiss on the tip, tasting the salty precum. His hands twitched to grab your head, force your mouth open and just shove his cock down your throat but held back so you could do what you wanted to do.
You wrap the silk around the base of his shaft, lining it up perfectly as you tied the ribbon into a bow. Wrapping your fingers around his cock while teasing him with light brushes of your fingertips. âBaby, stop teasinââ You hear Sunghoon hiss, his hips jerking into your face.
âIâm just making this bow look pretty~ Look hubby,â He simply didnât care anymore. He had his angry cock right in your face, red and throbbing while all you thought about was the bow? âOpen your mouth.â The low vibration from his voice sent electricity straight down your core, making you squirm uncomfortably.
You obediently opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue just like how he likes it. You lick the base of his cock, his hands wrapping around the base of his dick, playing with your ribbon as he slaps it on your tongue. âFuck, just like thatââ You wrap your lips around the head, looking up to make eye contact with him. His face was flushed and needy, pupils blown out with his thick eyebrow frowned.
You smile and push deeper, hollowing your cheeks to suck him, your mouth already aching at the size. âFuckkâyou look sâ good baby.â You picked up your pace at his praises, your pussy already drenched with need. You place your hands on his thigh as you bob your head faster, swirling your tongue around this throbbing shaft, driving him insane.
Without warning, he grabbed your hair in his fist and started thrusting in your mouth, throwing his head back with deep grunts, chasing his pleasure. Your throat burned at the friction he was using you with, your eyes tearing up. But determined to please him, you take him even deeper, relaxing your throat until your nose nuzzled with the ribbon you had tied.
He picked up pace, using you like a plastic toy, hitting the back of your throat repeatedly while spewing praises towards you, a complete contrast to how his cock pistoned in and out of your warm mouth. You gagged around his length, gripping his thighs so you could be balanced while your own wetness leaked down your thigh.
âFucâhoney âm close. Donât you dare pull back,â Not like you could even if you wanted to. He had his hands on your hair, trapping you between his knees. Your eyes rolled to the back of your mind, saliva leaking down the corner of your lips as you tried to take breaths from your nose.
You felt him tense up under your fingertips, his moans getting louder and his movements getting sloppier. âFuckââm cominâ!â Before you could realize, his body tensed under your fingertips as he exploded inside your mouth. Hot spurts of cum filled your mouth as he kept pumping, pushing his release to the back of your throat as you gag violently around him.
Few drops escaped your mouth, leaking from the side of your lips as he slumped back on the chair of his desk, pulling out his now softening cock out your mouth. âSuch a good mouth.. Always ready to be filledâ You swallowed it all down, your tears falling from the abuse your mouth just went through.
âMy wife.. Come here, love.â He picked you up from the floor and placed you on his lap, wiping his cum off your lips with his thumb before he pushed it back in your mouth. âDonât waste anythinâ, you look so pretty being cock drunk, love..â You moan and clean his finger, his thumb leaving your mouth with a pop.
His cock rested on your stomach and you whimpered and leaned in to kiss him, âMy wish is complete..â he smiled and kissed you back, his thighs flexing beneath you. âIâm glad, love.. I will always give in to your fantasies.â He gave you a wink, making you shy. âNow come on, I have to take care of my beautiful wife now, I need to make her watch as my cock enters her pussy, even the ribbon she tied.â
SYNOPSIS âââ After a car accident that costed you 3 years worth of memory, you find yourself trying to start a new beginning in a new city with "new" people. Only God knows why would the universe make you cross paths with the cute guy nextdoor.
đ đđ§đ«đ : neighbor AU, fluff, slight angst, smut (MDNI)
đđšđ§đđđ§đ : yearner!jake, swearing, loss of memory, mention of a car accident, unprotected sex, p in v, oral sex (f. receiving), jake is an ass grabber, praising, creampie, mutual orgasm, switch!jake, loss of virginity, jake and reader's first time, fingering, riding, domestic scenes
đ°đ : 25.5k
â# this is my goodbye gift !! Hope youâll all like it :)
You wouldn't have thought that the cardboard box in your arms would be heavier than it has any right to be, given it's mostly filled with towels and a lamp that probably won't survive the move. You shift it against your hip, phone tucked between your ear and shoulder as Jungwon's voice crackles through the speaker.
"âand the landlord said the water pressure is good, but you should still check the boiler room, okay? Just in case. Mom keeps asking if you've eaten."
"I've eaten," you say, dumping the box onto the kitchen counter. The sound echoes in the empty space. "I ate a granola bar on the drive."
"That's not eating. You usually eat much more than that, Y/N."
You almost laugh. The corners of your mouth twitch, yet the energy to actually produce the sound feels too expensive. The new apartment is small, already making you hyperaware of your own breathing. White walls, beige carpet, a window that overlooks a fire escape and the back of a laundromat. It's nothing like your old place. And that's totally the point.
"There's a coffee shop down the street," you say instead, peering through the smudged glass of the window. "I saw it when I pulled in."
"Good, you should go there. Drink something with sugar and call me if you need anything."
"I will."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
The line goes dead, and the silence in the apartment rushes back in to fill the space. You stand there for a minute, only breathing, letting your new life settle into your bones. New city with a new apartment, and no memories of the last three years to trip over on your way to the bathroom.
You grab your keys and head out. The neighborhood is weirdly quiet even in the afternoon, it feels like everyone is holding their breath. Old brick buildings line the street, their facades streaked with years of rain. A bodega on the corner, a laundromat, and there, wedged between a bookstore and a clothing shop, the coffee shop. It's decorated with mismatched chairs and a counter cluttered with jars of homemade pastries. You order a black coffee because you don't trust your brain to make decisions, and you take it to a table by the window. You're halfway through the cup, watching a pigeon peck at a discarded wrapper, when the sky opens up. The rain comes down in sheets, loud and violent, rattling against the glass like it's trying to get in. You watch it for a while, then check your phone. It's already 5 PM.
"Excuse me," you say, approaching the counter. The barista, a tired-looking woman with flour on her apron, looks up. "Do you have an umbrella I could borrow? I just moved in across the street, I'll bring it back."
She blinks at you before she disappears into the back, returning a moment later with a flimsy black umbrella. It looks like the one you buy at a bodega for five dollars and immediately regret. "Keep it," she says. "We have like twelve of these."
The rain hasn't let up by the time you step outside. You pop the umbrella open, holding it tight as the wind tries to wrestle it from your grip. The street is a river now, the buildings blurred through the curtain of water. You walk quickly, splashing through puddles, your sneakers already soaked.
The apartment building is a relief when it comes into view. You duck into the alcove of the entrance, shaking water from your hair, and fumble with the umbrella to close it. The mechanism catches on something, and you jerk it, frustrated, only to have it flip open in a violent snap. A spray of water arcs outward, catching the person passing behind you square in the chest.
You freeze.
He freezes.
For an agonizing long moment, neither of you dare to move. He's standing half in the rain, half out, his white t-shirt now clinging to his torso with a growing dark patch. His hair is damp at the ends, dark brown and curling slightly. His eyes ; wide and startled ; scan your face with intensity, making you want to quickly apologize, but the words get caught somewhere in your throat.
His expression falters for the briefest moment. The certainty in his eyes gives way to hesitation, his gaze tracing your features as though something refuses to add up. His head tilts slightly, thoughtful rather than confused. You brace yourself for annoyance. For the kind of clipped anger that would be entirely justified.
Rather than that, he blinks, and a smile touches the corner of his mouth. It's not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one, uncertain and clumsy. "Hi," he says. His voice is a little rough, maybe from the cold. "Sorry, I wasâdo I know you?"
You shake your head, clutching the umbrella tightly. "I don't think so. I just moved in. I'm sorry about your shirt."
He glances down at the wet patch before looking back up at you. "Don't worry about it. It's just water." He's still looking at you, though. Too fucking long. His gaze lingers, waiting for...something. Whatever it is never comes. With a shake of his head, he drags a hand through his wet hair before a tiny smile finds its way onto his face, warming the corners of his eyes. "I'm Jake. I live in 9C down the hall."
"Y/N," you say. "5C."
"Welcome to the building."
"Thanks."
The rain continues to fall, filling the space between you with noise. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and you realize you're both just standing there, awkward and dripping, with nothing else to say.
"Well," he says, "I should probably go change. Before I catch a cold."
"Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry again."
"Don't be."
He heads for the elevator, and you watch him go, his wet footprints staining the floor. He pauses with his hand on the button, and for only a second, you think he might turn back or might say something else. But then the door swings open, and he disappears inside.
You stand there for another minute, the broken umbrella dangling from your hand, the rain hammering against the awning above you. The feeling of his gaze on your face lingers, unsettled, like a half-remembered dream.
You close the apartment door behind you and lean against it. The key is still in your hand. The broken umbrella is still in the other. Your socks are soaked through because you forgot to wipe your feet.
None of that registers.
Because Jake ; apartment 9C, white t-shirt, gray hoodie, hole in his jeans ; had a face that shouldn't exist outside of Renaissance paintings and the occasional fever dream. Sharp jaw and messy hair that looked intentional even though it definitely wasn't. And his eyes, soft and curious, doing that slow scan of your features like he was reading something he couldn't put down.
You slide down the door until you're sitting on the floor.
This doesn't happen to you.
Noâcorrection. This has never happened to you. You've read about it, sure. Pages in secondhand paperbacks where the protagonist trips and falls into a stranger's arms and he just happens to have cheekbones that could cut diamonds. You've rolled your eyes at those scenes and called them unrealistic. You told yourself that real life doesn't come with lighting cues and slow motion. However, standing on those steps with rain dripping off his chin and an animal shelter's worth of grime on his wrist, he had no business being that striking. That disarming. That stupidly attractive.
Your brain caught on the way he'd looked at you. Not like he was checking you out but more like he was searching for something. A flicker of recognition that didn't meant nothing if you recoil on it. And after that the shrug, and the introduction so smooth it had to be accidental.
Jake.
You press the heels of your palms against your eyes. Are you freaking kidding me ?
"You're being ridiculous." you tell the empty apartment.
Three hours later, you've unpacked exactly one box ; where it cointained your sheets and a single mug shaped like a cactus that Jungwon bought you as a joke three birthdays ago. The mug is now sitting on the kitchen counter, empty, staring at you judgmentally.
He keeps finding his way back into your thoughts. Not because you're trying to hold on to him, and surely not because you can't move on. It happens almost absentmindedly, the way your brain revisits familiar things when it's left alone. How his voice sounded slightly wrecked, like he'd been yelling or laughing or both. The smudge on his wrist ; potting soil, probably, if the canvas bag full of clinking jars was any indication. Pickles? Jam? The man had twelve jars of something and dirt on his hands and he lived four apartment next to yours.
You catch your reflection in the bathroom mirror and frown at yourself.
"Girl, you don't even know his last name." you say.
You go to bed early because there's nothing else to do. The new apartment sounds are unusual, there's more creaks and fewer sirens. At 2:17 AM, someone in the building starts playing the guitar badly. You fall asleep to a mangled rendition of "Wonderwall".
âââââââââ
The alarm drags you from sleep sharply. You bat at your phone until the noise stops, and lie there, blinking at the still unfamiliar ceiling, reacquainting yourself with the fact that this is your life now. Everything was going to be new now.
By the time you've wrestled yourself into something presentable, you're already running five minutes behind. You skip breakfast, grab your bag, and lock the door behind you.
The elderly home sits at the end of a tree-lined street, a squat brick building, you almost mistook it for a community center. The receptionist gives you a visitor's badge and points you toward the common room, where a handful of residents are scattered across armchairs, some dozing, some staring at a muted television, one engaged in a heated argument with a plant.
You're barely through the door when a woman appears at your elbow, small and bright-eyed, with a name tag that reads Hanni in cheerful block letters. "New hire?" she asks, already steering you toward a supply closet. "Thank god. I've been doing double shifts for three weeks. I'm Hanni. You're Y/N. I read your file. It said you have experience with dementia patients. That's good, because Jacob over thereâ" she jerks her chin toward a man in a cardigan who's now trying to feed his coffee to the plant, "âthinks he's a squirrel."
You blink. "A squirrel?"
"Don't ask. Just go with it. If he offers you acorns, take them."
The day unfolds. You help Mrs. Han find her glasses (they were on her head), you listen to Mr. Eom's stories about a bakery he ran forty years ago, and you learn the exact difference between the "good" applesauce and the "bad" applesauce. Hanni works beside you with effortless competence, cracking jokes under her breath and seamlessly redirecting residents who wander toward the exit. "You're pretty good at this," she says during a break, as you both stand at the nurses' station, scribbling notes. "Most new people get that deer-in-headlights look for at least a week. You just sort of absorbed it."
You shrug, not sure how to explain that this ; the slow pace, the gentle repetition, the small dignities of helping someone remember their own name ; it feels like the only thing you're certain about these days. "It's not that hard. They just want to be seen."
Hanni studies you for a moment, something curious flickering behind her eyes. Then she nods, and the moment passes.
Your shift ends, your feet ache and your brain feels pleasantly fuzzy, which doesn't leave room for anxiety. You change out of your scrubs, say goodbye to Hanni, and step out into the evening air.
The street is calm, the rain from yesterday reduced to a thin dampness on the pavement. You're walking toward your building, hands shoved in your jacket pockets, when you round the corner and nearly collide with someone coming the other way.
Fuck, it's him.
Jake.
He's wearing a different shirt ; navy this time, sleeves pushed up to his elbows ; and he's carrying a cardboard pack of beer tucked under one arm. His hair is dry, pulled up in a little ponytail at the back, and the sight of him in the golden light of early evening hits you like a delayed punch.
"Oh," you say. Why now?
He stops. For a heartbeat, something unsettles his expression, his eyes lingering on you a fraction too long. Then, it melts away, something softer taking place. "Hey. Y/N, right?"
"Oh, you remembered." The words come out flatter than you wanted them to be, yet your pulse is doing a ridiculous drum solo again.
"I remember a lot of things," he says, there's a strange weight to the phrase, like he's saying something else underneath it. He gestures with the beer. "You're heading back?"
"Yeah. I just finished my first day at the elderly home down the street."
"How was it?"
"Exhausting. Good, though. I think. One of the residents offered me a fake acorn, so I'm taking that as a sign of approval."
He laughs, low and surprised, you can see that he didn't expect to find it funny. "That's a pretty solid endorsement. I'd trust fake acorn guy over most people."
You fall into step together, and you notice how he adjusts his pace to match yours, shortening his stride just slightly. The street stretches ahead, lined with those old brick buildings, the sky above streaked with pale orange and lavender. You nod toward the beer. "Expecting company, or is that just for personal purpose?"
He glances down at the pack, a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. "I'm having friends over tonight. A couple of guys from the shelterâI work at the animal shelter a few blocks over. We do this thing every other Thursday. It's mostly just eating takeout and arguing about which dog breed is objectively the best."
"Which one is?"
"Rescue," he says immediately. "All of them."
You snort. "I think so too."
"Right? This is why we're going to get along." He says it casually, the words land in your chest with an unexpected weight.
The building comes into view, its facade warm in the fading light. He holds the door open for you, and you step into the foyer, the familiar smell of old carpet and someone's cooking drifting through the hallway. At your door you fumble for your keys, and he lingers, shifting the beer from one arm to the other.
"Good first day," he says. "At the job, I mean."
"Thanks." You find the right key, fit it into the lock. "Have fun with your friends. Try not to let the argument escalate into a physical altercation."
"No promises. We're very passionate about this." He's already turning, already stepping back toward his door, when something makes you call out : "Jake."
He stops and looks back.
"Thanks for walking me," you say. "Even if you didn't have to."
A small shrug. "It's fine. I wanted to, anyway." And he's already gone, his footsteps echoing in the corridor, and you're left standing in your doorway, keys still in hand, watching the space where he was.
You unlock the door, step inside, and close it behind you. The apartment is mostly empty, since your laziness won over you to unpack the rest of your stuff. You press your back against the door and stare at the ceiling.
This, you think, is exactly the kind of thing I'd roll my eyes at in a book.
Regardless, you can't stop the smile that spreads across your face, slow and helpless and embarrassingly real.
You're sprawled across the couch, legs tangled in a throw blanket, the glow of the television painting your face in shifting blues and reds. Some reality show about people competing to bake things that look like other things. It's mindless and perfect, exactly the sort of programming that requires zero cognitive effort. Your oversized t-shirt hangs off one shoulder with Justin Bieber's face from his Purpose World Tour, faded and cracked from years of washing. Below that, nothing but a pair of plain cotton panties. Your hair is messy, and there's a half-empty mug of tea growing cold on the floor beside you. You're comfortable. Vulnerable, maybe, but in the privacy of your own space, and that's all that matters.
Your gaze wanders into the kitchen and lands on the trash bin that is overflowing with flattened boxes and crumpled packing paper, the remains of a move youâre still halfway through. It doesnât look like much, but you know itâll be the first thing to irritate you in the morning if itâs left untouched. You weigh the options. Get dressed and actually put on pants, find a bra, the whole tedious ritual, or justâŠgo. It's a quick trip. The trash chute is at the end of the hallway, maybe twenty steps from your door. The corridor has been empty all evening. And Jake has friends over. He's occupied. He's not going to be lurking around corners, waiting to ambush you with his inconveniently-timed presence.
Nobody will see you, you tell yourself. It's fine. You're fast as fuck.
You pad to the door, press your eye to the peephole. The hallway stretches, empty. Clear. You crack the door open, just wide enough to slip through, and you're out, barefoot, the cold floor sending a shiver up your legs. The trash bag is heavier than you expected ; you hoist it against your hip, jogging in that awkward, flat-footed way of someone who's both in a hurry and deeply aware of their own exposure. The chute is a metal hatch in the wall. You heave it open, shove the bag inside, hear it clatter down into the abyss. Mission accomplished.
You turn, already planning your retreat, andâ
He's standing three feet away. Oh fuck off.
Jake.
He's holding a bulging trash bag of his own, the clink of glass bottles audible as he adjusts his grip. His eyes travel from your face down to the faded Bieber shirt, then back up, and there's a beat of silence where neither of you move. Your brain short-circuits and your mouth opens. What comes out is a garbled mix of syllables that might have been intended as "hey" but emerges as something closer to "hehâuhâIâ"
He blinks. Slowly, the corner of his mouth twitches. "Didn't mean to startle you," he says, and his voice is level, calm, almost like he's trying to soothe a startled animal.
"You didn'tâI mean, I was justâ" You gesture clumsily at your attire, then at the trash chute, then back at yourself, as if this chain of context will explain everything. "The trash was full. And I didn't think anyone would beâI mean, you said you had friendsâ"
"Friends," he confirms. "They left about ten minutes ago. I was just cleaning up."
"Of course you were. That makes sense." You're still standing there, bare-legged, the shirt barely grazing your thighs, and the hallway suddenly feels like a wind tunnel. You cross your arms over your chest, which does absolutely nothing to help the situation. Jake doesnât leer nor does he joke. He meets your eyes with that same searching look, softened now into quiet amusement. "You know," he says, "you have a habit of running into me in unexpected situations."
"This is your fault," you say, and the words come out sharp without real bite behind them. "You're supposed to be busy. That was the whole point."
"Sorry to inconvenience you by taking out my trash."
"You're not sorry, are you?"
"No," he admits, his half-smile edges into fuller one. "I'm not." He steps past you toward the chute, and you catch a whiff of a clean and comforting scent, the ordinary scent of someone who's recently showered. He drops his bag in, closes the hatch with a metallic thunk and turns back. "See you around, Bieber," he says, the warmth in the nickname makes your stomach flip.
He's walking back toward his apartment door, and you're standing once again, your face heating in an inexorable crawl. You wait until his footsteps fade before you scurry back to your door, slip inside, and press your back against the wood. The television is still playing, some contestant weeping over a collapsed trompe-l'oeil. You stare at the screen, unseeing.
Bieber.
You look down at the faded face on your shirt, at your bare legs, at the utter mess of your appearance, and you press the heels of your palms into your eyes like the day before. You're still standing with your back against the door, willing your face to return to a normal temperature, when the knock comes.
Three sharp raps.
Your entire body goes still. The television babbles on, oblivious, as you press your eye to the peephole. Jake. Of course. He's standing there, hands in his pockets, looking down at the floor, he's waiting for something. He's changed into a gray sweatshirt, hood down, hair slightly mussed. You don't open the door. You can't, not after what he just witnessed. Not with this shirt still on.
"What?" you call through the wood, and your voice comes out higher, strained.
"Y/N," His voice is muffled but clear. "I know you're in there."
"I'm not opening the door."
A pause. "I'm not asking you to."
"Why are you here then?"
He pauses again. You can hear him shift his weight. "I just wanted to sayâ" He stops, and you imagine him running a hand through his hair, figuring out how to phrase something. "The shirt. I really like it."
You press your forehead against the door. "You're lying."
"I'm not. I had that exact one in middle school and I wore it until the print started peeling off."
"That doesn't make it better."
"Maybe not." His voice carries a smile, you can hear it, the slight lift in the vowels. "I thought you should know, though. That's all."
You stay silent, unsure how to answer. The pause settles in, comfortable rather than tense, and you notice he isnât hurrying to fill it.
"Anyways," he says finally, "goodnight, Y/N."
You hear footsteps, receding. You wait until the sound fades completely before you let out a breath you were holding deeply. Your reflection stares back at you from the peephole's warped glass, only a blur of color, but you can feel the heat still lingering in your cheeks. You push off from the door, walk back to the couch, and collapse into the cushions. The reality show contestants are still crying about pastries. You look down at Justin Bieber's faded face. At the cracked screen print and the worn collar.
He had this exact one in middle school, what a coincidence.
You pull the hem of the shirt, stretch it, let it snap back. A small, involuntary sound escapes your throat. It might be a laugh or anything else. You grab your phone, open your messages, and type out a single line to Jungwon.
Y/N [11:52 PM]
I think I'm in trouble.
But you delete it, toss the phone aside, and stare at the ceiling until your heartbeat settles to normal again.
It takes a while.
âââââââââ
The morning came faster than you thought. You grab the umbrella on your way out ; the same flimsy black one that started this whole foolish chain of events ; and stop by the coffee shop before your shift. The barista barely glances up as you set it on the counter.
"Thanks," you say. "For letting me borrow it."
She waves a hand, already reaching for a pitcher of milk. "Keep it next time. We've got a whole graveyard of those things in the back."
You almost tell her there won't be a next time, yet the words feel like tempting fate, so you just nod and head out.
The elderly home is already rumbling when you arrive. Hanni greets you with a coffee cup thrust into your hands and a breathless update about Mr. Eom's missing dentures. You take a sip, let the caffeine do its work, and fall into the cadence of the morning.
By early afternoon, the sun is actually warm enough to justify a walk. You round up three residents ; Mrs. Han, who's having a good day and remembers your name, Mr. Chen, who doesn't say much but mumbles tunelessly under his breath and Jacob, who offered you the fake acorn. He's wearing a different cardigan today, mustard yellow, and he keeps patting his pockets like he's checking for something. The path behind the building winds through a small garden, past benches and bird feeders and a sad little fountain that hasn't worked in years. You walk slowly, matching their pace, letting Mrs. Han point out flowers she's identified incorrectly and pretending to take Jacob's commentary seriously.
It's peaceful, nearly meditative. A moment like this makes you wonder if this new life really is as bad as you thought.
Abruptly, a dog comes out of nowhere. A golden retriever ; young, gangly, all oversized paws and manic energy ; bounds across the grass with the focus of a missile. It's not aggressive and not even barking. It's excited, and its excitement is directed straight at Jacob, who is the slowest-moving, most startle-prone member of your little group. The dog lunges up before you can react, front paws slamming into Jacobâs chest. He rocks back, arms windmilling, then drops in a slow heap, feeling like itâs happening in two conflicting speeds at once.
"Jacob!" You're at his side in an instant, dropping to your knees, hands hovering unevenly. "Are you okay? Did you hit your head?"
Jacob blinks up at you, more confused than pained. His glasses are askew. "I dropped my acorn," he says.
"I'll find it. Justâstay still. Tell me if anything hurts."
A voice cuts through the chaos, alert and breathless. "Oh godâI'm so sorryâ"
You look up. Jake is sprinting toward you, the dog's leash trailing behind him like a forgotten flag. He's in work clothes ; a navy polo with the shelter's logo, dirt smudged on his forearm ; and his face is veiled with unguarded panic.
The dog, oblivious, is now trying to lick Jacob's ear.
"Leo, down!" Jake grabs the dog's collar, hauls him back with a firm yet gentle tug. "I am so, so sorry. He got looseâI was just bringing him out for a walk and he saw theâare you okay? Is he okay?"
You're already helping Jacob sit up, checking his wrists, his neck, the back of his head. No swelling or bleeding. He's still patting his pockets for the acorn.
"He's fine," you say, your voice flat. "He's just disoriented."
"Thank god." Jake exhales, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. "I really amâI should have had a better grip on the leash. He's young, he's still learning, but that's not an excuseâ"
"You're right." You stand, brushing grass from your knees. "It's not."
The silence that follows is stiffling. Mrs. Han is watching with curious eyes, Mr. Chen has stopped mumbling, and Leo is now sitting at Jake's feet, tail excitedly wagging. You turn to Jake fully. "You work at a shelter. You know how unpredictable dogs can be. Especially around elderly people. One wrong jump, one fall, and it's a broken bone or a concussion. That could actually hurt someone."
Jake meets your gaze without a trace of defensiveness or excuses. He simply nods slowly, his jaw tightening in restraint. "You're right," he says. "I wasn't careful enough. I got distracted, and I let him pull ahead, and I should have anticipated that this could happen." He glances at Jacob, who is now patting Leo's head with a delighted smile. "I'm really glad he's okay. And I'm sorry you had to deal with that."
The words settle with an unexpected weight, disarming you. You were ready for deflection, for something casual and rehearsed. Regardless, he stays still, accepting it without trying to cushion the blow.
You let out a breath. The adrenaline is fading, leaving behind a shaky residue. "Be more careful," you say, and your voice is quieter now. "Please."
"I will." He holds your gaze for another beat, and crouches down to Jacob's level. "Hey, sir. That was my dog. He's really sorry. Are you okay?"
Jacob looks at him, then at Leo before his gaze goes back at his empty palm. "I lost my acorn," he says, there's a note of genuine distress in his voice. Jake doesn't miss a beat. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small smooth stone and presses it into Jacob's hand. "Here. I found this, it must've been yours."
Jacob stares at it. His face splits into a wide, gap-toothed smile. "Thank you," he says, and clutches it like treasure.
You watch it unfold, something uneasy tightening in your chest. Jake stands and meets your gaze again. A flash crosses his face ; rueful, or closer to hope. "I'll make sure he's more secured next time," Jake says, nodding toward Leo. "And if there's anything I can doâ"
"There isn't," you say, but the sharpness has gone from your voice. "But still...keep a closer eye on him."
"Always." He turns and walks back toward the path, Leo trotting obediently at his heel. You watch him go, the way his shoulders are slightly hunched, how he glances back once before rounding the corner.
Mrs. Han sidles up to you. "He's cute," she states. "The boy. Not the dog."
You open your mouth, not a sound escaping your mouth. You try again.
"Mrs. Han," you say, "you're supposed to be on my side."
"I am on your side," she says, patting your arm. "That's why I'm telling you."
You help Jacob to his feet, find his acorn in the grass, and start the slow walk back to the building. Your thoughts drift elsewhere, replaying Jake crouching down to Jacobâs level, finding the stone without hesitation, saying 'I will' like he truly meant it.
You shake your head, focus on the path ahead.
After you end your shift, you walk back to your apartment. The sky has gone hazy, and you keep your hands in your pockets, replaying the afternoon in fragments. You unlock your door, kick off your shoes, and collapse onto the couch. The television is still on from last night. You turn it off, let the silence settle.
You decide to pull out your phone and call Jungwon. He picks up, but the background noise is a wall of bass and overlapping voices. You can hear a bunch of voice shouting "CHUG CHUG CHUG!!!" and loud cheers. You hear a door slam, the noise muffles.
"Y/N?" His voice is slightly breathless. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine," you say, and you mean it. "I just wanted to check in. You sound busy, though."
"I'm at a mixer party with my house and sororities. It's loud so I stepped outside." He stops for a second. "Are you sure you're okay? You never call this late."
"Late? It's like seven."
"Yeah. You're usually asleep by now."
You fairly laugh. "I've been more awake lately. I had a long day."
"Tell me about it."
So you do. You tell him about everything. You don't want to mention Jake.
"You sound good," Jungwon says when you finish. " Really good. Not just saying you're good."
"I think I am," you say, the words surprise you with their honesty.
"That's all I needed to hear." There's a muffled shout from behind him, someone calling his name. "I should get back. But call me anytime, okay? Even if it's just to complain about old people and dogs."
"Old people and dogs. The two pillars of my existence now."
"Don't let the dogs jump on you," he mentions, you can hear the smile in his voice.
"I won't. Have fun at your party."
"Love you."
"Love you too."
The line goes dead. You hold the phone for a moment before setting it aside, letting the quiet wrap around you. You stand, stretch, and gather your clothes for a shower, a clean towel, a change of underwear, the softest pair of sweatpants you own. You pad toward the bathroom, already anticipating the hot water, the steam, and the small escape from your own head.
You're two steps from the bathroom door when the lights flicker.
Once. Twice. It dies.
The apartment plunges into absolute darkness. No sound from the refrigerator, no glow from the microwave clock, just black, thick and total. You stand there, motionless, one hand gripping your towel, the other reaching for the wall. You feel along the switch, flick it up and down. There's nothing.
You step to the window to peer out. The streetlights are on. The building across the way is lit, warm rectangles of gold in every window. The coffee shop's neon sign still glows. You check your phone to see your battery at 60%. You switch on the flashlight, sweep it across the room. So it's only your apartment. The refrigerator is dead. The outlets are dead. The overhead light, the bathroom ; all dead. You flip the circuit breaker in the tiny panel by the door. Shit. You try the main switch. Nothing.
You stand there in the beam of your phone, your reflection ghostly in the dark window glass, wearing that stupid Justin Bieber shirt and holding a bundle of clean clothes, and you realize you have no flashlight, no candles, and mostly, no backup plan.
The silence presses in. 9C. A certain neighbor who might have a working outlet and a willingness to share. A part of you notes, almost critically, that this would be the kind of contrived convenience youâd hate in a book.
You sigh, grab your keys, and head for the door.
The hour stretches like taffy. You've tried the circuit breaker three times, called the landlord four times, and texted him twice, giving you no results. The voicemail picks up on the first ring, a generic recording without a name. You sit next to your door and consider your options. There's a motel two blocks away. There's the coffee shop, but they close in fifteen minutes. It got to be a joke.
And there's the door at the end of the hallway.
You pace. You argue with yourself. You list all the reasons this is a terrible idea ; all the incidents that happened and degraded your confidence, the fact that you've known this man for approximately forty-eight hours and he's already seen you at your most unguarded multiple times. But the need for a shower wins. You smell like old people and grass, with the sublte tang of anxiety sweat. You can't go to work like this tomorrow and you can't sleep like this tonight. So you put on a pair of shorts ; the longest ones you own ; and a different shirt, and you walk toward his door with the weight of your own dignity dragging behind you.
His door is at the end of the hall. You knock before you can talk yourself out of it. The door swings open. Jake stands there in a faded gray t-shirt and sweatpants, hair slightly damp, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. He's holding a half-eaten apple. His eyes land on you. Travel down to your shorts, back up to your face.
His mouth curves into a smile so wide, so unapologetically amused, that you feel it like a punch right in your guts.
"Bieber," he says. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Don't call me that." The words come out weak, deflated. "My power's out. The landlord won't answer and I absolutely need a shower."
He takes a bite of his apple. He chews slowly, considers you.
"Just the shower," you add, and you can hear how defensive you sound, how utterly transparent.
"I didn't say anything." He steps back, holds the door open. "Come in."
His apartment is small too, but lived-in. A couch with a blanket draped over the back. A stack of books on the coffee table. A guitar propped in the corner. The kitchen is visible from the living room, dishes drying on a rack, a pot of something that smells like garlic and tomatoes simmering on the stove. "Bathroom's down the hall, second door on the left," he says, pointing with the apple still in hands. "Towels are in the cabinet. Use whatever you need."
"Thanks." You pause at the threshold, suddenly aware of the absurdity of this. "I'll be quick."
"Take your time." That smile again, softer now. "I'll keep the apartment from burning down while you're in there."
You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it, exhaling. Hot water, steady pressure, a luxurious flow that makes you forget every indignity that led you here. You stand under the spray as long as you can, letting it beat against your shoulders, your neck, the tension you've been carrying since yesterday. When you finally step out, wrapped in a towel, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Wet hair and pink cheeks. A stupid smile that you can't suppress.
Stop it. You wipe the steam from the mirror, and that's when you notice it. On the edge of the sink, next to a half-empty bottle of cologne, is a keychain. A small, plastic orange. Slightly faded, the paint worn at the edges.
Your breath catches. You have that exact same keychain. It's been on your keys for as long as you can remember. Well, as long as your memory goes back, which is not even a year. It's one of the few objects that survived the move, one of the small constants in the fog of your past.
You pick it up and turn it over. It's identical, even the little chip in the paint near the stem matches. You stare at it for a long moment. You dress quickly, step out into the hallway, and find Jake in the kitchen, stirring the pot on the stove. "Everything okay?" he asks without turning.
"Where did you get this?" You hold up the keychain.
He turns and sees it. For an instant, his expression falters into recognition before it smooths itself back into neutrality. "Oh, that." He sets down the spoon, wipes his hands on his sweatpants. "I found it, actually. A few years ago, on the street, I think. I kept it becauseâ" He pauses, and you notice the way his eyes shift, slightly, like he's rearranging words in his head. "It reminded me of something. I don't know. I just liked it."
The explanation comes out too smooth and too rehearsed. You're wondering if he's said it before, practiced it, polished it until it sounded natural. You're not even sure why, something about how he said it, but you don't have the energy to interrogate right now. "Funny," you say, pocketing your own keys, where your matching orange dangles. "I have the same one."
He looks at you. You feel like you're standing on the edge of a cliff, for a jump you're not ready for.
"That is funny," he says, and his voice is softer now, almost distant. "Small world."
You nod, not trusting your voice. The moment stretches, fragile, and you're the one who breaks it. "I should go. Thanks for the shower."
"Anytime." He walks you to the door, and the teasing smile has returned. "If the power's still out tomorrow, you know where to find me."
"Bold of you to assume I'll survive that long."
"I have faith in you."
You roll your eyes, yet you're smiling as you step into the hallway. The door clicks shut behind you. You stand there for a moment, your keychain warm in your palm, and wonder what exactly you've just walked into. It's probably nothing, you tell yourself.
Oh it's definitely something.
âââââââââ
A few days pass, you're unpacking one box at a time, learning where the light switches are without having to think about it, catching the same bus at the same time each morning until the driver starts to nod at you like an old acquaintance.
You see Jake in the hallways more often than coincidence should allow. Tuesday morning, you're leaving for work and he's coming back from a run, sweaty and out of breath, and he raises a hand in greeting without breaking stride. Fuck he's hot.
Wednesday evening, you're carrying a bag of groceries and he's hauling a bag of dog food toward the elevator, and you end up walking side by side without discussing it. Thursday, you don't see him at all, and you catch yourself checking the peephole before bed like a woman waiting for something she won't admit to wanting.
Friday arrives with gray skies and the particular exhaustion of a full week. You've just changed into sweatpants.
Three taps. You know who it is before you look. Jake is standing in the hallway wearing a knitted sweater and he's holding his keys in his hand. He looks different at night ; softer, somehow. The hard angles of his jaw blurred by the low light.
"I'm heading to the convenience store," he announces.
You lean against the doorframe. "It's eight o'clock."
"I'm aware. That's why I said convenience store and not, like, a sit-down restaurant." He jingles his keys. "You want to come?"
You hesitate for a second too long, and he catches it. His expression shifts into something hesitant. "For the accident," he adds. "Last week, with Jacob. I've been meaning toâŠI don't know. Make up for it, in a small way. This is the small way."
"You're making up for catastrophe with a trip to 7-Eleven?"
"Don't call it that. I'd rather call it a restitution." He pauses. "Also they have those frozen slushies that turn your tongue blue, and I don't want to drink one alone because that feels sad even by my standards."
You look down at your sweatpants. "Give me two minutes," you say.
"You look fine."
"I know I look fine. I want to look like I didn't just spend an hour lying on my floor thinking about nothing."
He blinks. "That'sâ"
"Two minutes." You close the door and change into jeans. You don't know why. It's just the convenience store after all. Although you put on real pants anyway, and you run your fingers through your hair, and when you open the door again, he's still standing there, checking his phone. "Cute," he says, not looking up.
"Shut up."
The walk is short ; five blocks, past the coffee shop with the broken umbrellas, past a laundromat, and past a house with a porch light that flickers like it's sending morse code. The air is cold enough to see your breath, and Jake walks on the street side of the sidewalk without making a thing out of it.
You two arrive at the convenience store, with the buzzing lights overhead. A bell dings when you walk in. The guy behind the counter is watching a small TV mounted in the corner, some sports game apparently.
You grab a basket and Jake grabs another. "This is a competition now," he says.
"It's always been a competition."
The snack aisle is narrow, forcing you to stand closer than necessary. You reach for a bag of chips. He reaches for the same bag. Your hands collide, and he lets you take it without a fight, which is suspicious. "You're being nice," you say.
"What do you mean? I'm always nice."
"No but, like, you're being strategically nice."
He grins. It's crooked and quick, making your chest tighten. "I just want you to let your guard down so I can steal the last bag of sour stripes."
"I don't even like sour stripes."
"Everyone likes sour stripes. That's like saying you don't like breathing."
You move down the aisle, scanning the shelves. Your fingers hover over a bag of shrimp crackers ; the spicy kind, bright red packaging, which Jungwon used to make fun of you for buying in bulk. You reach for them at the same time he does. "These," he says, pushing the bag toward you. "Get these."
"I was going to."
"They're your favorite, right?"
You stop. Your hand freezes over the bag. "I didn't tell you that."
He's already looking at the next shelf, picking up a pack of chocolate cookies, turning it over to read the nutrition facts. His expression doesn't change. His voice is casual, almost bored. "Everyone likes spicy shrimp crackers," he says. "It's not some niche preference. It's a classic. Like salt and vinegar. Or barbecue."
"That's notâ"
"I'm getting these," he interrupts, holding up the cookies. "You want a drink? They have that weird melon soda. Everyone says that it tastes like liquid gummy bear."
You stare at the back of his head in confusion. He's walking toward the drink cooler, shoulders relaxed, like the conversation is already over. You grab the shrimp crackers and follow him.
The park is two blocks from your building, a small wedge of grass with three benches and a set of swings that face a community garden. The swings are old, their chains rusty, seats scratched with names and dates, but they hold your weight when you sit. Jake takes the swing next to yours. The plastic bags dangle from his wrist, crinkling every time he moves. You've split everything down the middle ; your shrimp crackers, his chocolate cookies, two bottles of the melon soda, a shared bag of sour striped that he claimed were for everyone, still you've noticed he keeps eating.
The soda fizzes when you open it. The park is empty except for the two of you and a cat sitting on a bench across the grass, watching like it's waiting for something to happen. You swing a little, just enough to rock. The chains squeak.
"My brother," you say, because the silence feels good but you want to fill it anyway. "He's the reason I moved here. Not because he lives hereâhe doesn't. He lives like four hours away. He helped me find the apartment and with all the packing."
Jake doesn't say anything. He's unwrapping a chocolate cookie, breaking it in half.
"He's in college now," you continue. "Fraternity guy, and heâs so serious about it, which is funny because he's also the least intimidating person I've ever met. Once he cried because I didnât want to go with him at the dentist."
"Thatâs cute."
"He's sensitive." You shrug. "He'd kill me if he knew I was telling you this."
"I won't tell."
The cat on the bench yawns. The swings creak. You take a sip of your melon soda and watch the clouds move past the streetlights.
"Jungwon," Jake says.
You almost choke.
"What?"
"Your brother." He's looking at his hands, turning the cookie over and over. "His name. You said it. Jungwon."
You frown. Your brain backtracks through the last thirty seconds, replaying your own words. You definitely didn't say his name. You've been careful about that by habit. Jungwon is precious to you. His name is something you keep close, like a photo in a wallet. "I didn't say his name," you say slowly.
His chewing stops. His throat moves as he swallows. The openness on his face is convincing enough to pass for genuine, if not for the faint impression that he's worn it many times before.
"You didn't?"
"No."
"Huh." He dusts cookie crumbs off his fingers. "Maybe I heard it wrong, or you mentioned it before and I remembered. I don't know."
"I've never mentioned his name."
The silence stretches. The cat on the bench stands up, circles once, lies back down. He sets the cookie down on the plastic bag between you. He wipes his hands on his jeans. For a moment, he looks like he's going to say something else that might explain the way he looked at you that first night on the steps, like he was trying to place you.
His shoulders drop. "He came by," he declares. "Before you moved in. Your brother, Jungwon." He says the name carefully, testing each syllable. "He was checking out the building and making sure the landlord wasn't sketchy. I ran into him in the hallway."
You stare at him.
"He asked me about the neighborhood," Jake continues. "Whether it was safe. Whether people were friendly, and all that stuff." A small smile, almost self-deprecating. "I think he was doing a background check on all the tenants."
"That sounds like him."
"Yeah." He picks up his soda to take a long drink. "He mentioned you, and that you were moving in. I remembered."
It fits, itâs plausible. Jungwon would absolutely do something like that ; interview strangers in hallways, gather informations, build a mental map of everyone who might cross your path. He's been doing it since you were kids, since before the accident, before you forgot a quarter your life.
Nonetheless, something about how Jake tells it feels off. The words are right and the timing is too. Yet, his hands are still, and his hands are never still on the daily basis. He's always tapping or fidgeting or running his fingers through his hair, and right now, sitting on this swing in the dark, he's perfectly motionless. You want to push further. There's something in the back of your mind, a nagging feeling that you couldnât put a finger on. You canât, the evening is too nice, and he's bought you snacks. You let it go.
"Small world," you say, echoing his words from the night when you took a shower at his place.
"Small world," he agrees.
âââââââââ
You walk into the elderly home with your hair still damp and the taste of the spicy shrimp crackers lingering at the back of your throat. Hanni's already at the nurses' station, flipping through a clipboard with focus, sheâs been here for hours. "You look less dead than yesterday," she says without looking up. "That's progress."
"I slept." You hang your jacket on the hook and grab your name tag. "Almost eight hours. Uninterrupted."
"Must be the neighborhood atmosphere." She finally glances at you, there's a knowing tilt to her mouth. "Or something else."
You ignore that last part. The morning unfolds like every other morning ; the slow parade of residents who need help finding their glasses or their dentures or their way back to their rooms. Mrs. Han asks you three times if you've met her son, and you say yes each time, and each time she looks satisfied and moves on. You're in the common room, helping Mr. Chen with a puzzle he's been working on for weeks, when your gaze drifts toward the window. The street outside is quiet, the morning light still pale and thin. And there, on the other side, is Jake. Can he not look hot for just one day?
He's walking three dogs at once ; a golden retriever, a wiry terrier, and a bulldog that seems to be leading the pack. The leashes cross and uncross as the dogs weave around each other, and Jake's holding them with the practiced looseness of someone who's done this a hundred times. He's wearing a worn denim jacket and a few strands of hair are falling on his face, and when he glances up and spots you through the glass, his whole face shifts. He lifts his free hand to give you a small wave, fingers wiggling. You wave back, your brain couldnât catch.
The bulldog tugs him forward and he's gone, swallowed by the next block. You turn back to the room. Hanni's standing beside you, arms crossed, watching the empty street with an ambiguous expression plastered on her face. "Thatâs him?" she asks.
"Yeah."
She hums in a considering sound. "He's fucking hot."
You snort, but it comes out wrong, sounding a bit too defensive. "Yeah. He knows it too, I think."
"He doesn't seem like the type who knows it." She shrugs, uncrossing her arms. "He's unaware of his own face."
You don't respond. You're already looking back at the window, though he's long gone. "His nose," you say, the words stumbling right out of your head. "That's the thing. I can'tâ" You stop yourself, shake your head. "It's nothing."
Hanni could only nod, she understands and hands you a stack of folded towels. "Focus on the towels," she says. "The nose can wait."
You take the towels and get back to work. The image of him across the street stays with you for the rest of the shift.
The sidewalk cracks under your feet as you walk, the sky a pale gray that threatens nothing in particular, hopefully not rain. You pull out your phone, scroll to Jungwon's contact, and press call. He picks up after some time, which means he's either not busy or he's avoiding something.
"Whatâs up?" he says. "You're calling at a normal time. That's kind of suspicious."
"I'm walking home from work and I thought I'd fill the silence."
"Fill away."
As you ramble on everything, you donât allow yourself to bring up Jake yet.
"Yeah." You kick a pebble off the curb. "It's weird, though. Sometimes I forget I'm supposed to be starting over. It just feels likeâI don't know. Like I've been here longer."
"You have been there longer. In a way." His voice drops, careful. "You lived there before. Remember?"
You stop walking. A car passes, its headlights cutting through the dusk. You do rememberâfragments, not really. The knowledge that you'd been in this city before the accident and the three-year gap in your memory. You'd chosen to come back because something about it felt familiar, even if you couldn't know why.
"Yeah," you say. "I keep forgetting that part."
Silence on his end. You start walking again. "There's this guy," you say carelessly, and you already regret it. "In my building. His name is Jake. We keep running into each other."
"What kind of running into?"
"Literally and figuratively. He nearly killed one of the old folk at my work. Long story." You suddenly pause. "He has this orange keychain. The same one I have. You know, the little fruit thing on my keys."
You can hear him breathing, he's seems like measuring his response. "That's weird," he says. "That's a weird coincidence."
"Yeah, I know." You wait for him to say more but he doesn't. "He also said he met you when you came to check out the apartment before I moved in. You talked in the hallway, isnât it?"
"I did talk to someone. I don't remember his name, though."
"Jake," you repeat. "You don't remember him?"
"Lot of people in that building. I was there for like an hour." He laughs but it sounds flat. "Why are you asking?"
You don't know why you're asking. The question hangs there, unanswered, as you round the corner and your building comes into view. "Pure curiosity," you say. "He's nice. We went to the convenience store last night."
"The convenience store at night. Like a date?"
"Not a date, it was an apology. His dog knocked over an old man at my work."
Jungwon is quiet for a beat before talking again. "Donât tell me that you like him."
"It's not like that."
"It's exactly like that. I can hear it in your voice."
You stop at the front door of your building, hand on the handle. Itâs cool under your palm. "I don't even know him. We've talked, like, four times."
"And you're already calling him by name. That's more than you do with most people."
You leave the question unanswered. The door opens, and the smell of aged carpet and lingering cooking oil greets you before anything else. "I'll talk to you later," you say.
"Okay. But Y/Nâ"
"What?"
"Be careful, okay? Justâ" He stops. "Just be careful with yourself. You're still figuring things out. I love you."
"I know. Love you too." You hang up and stand in the foyer, phone warm in your hand. The hallway stretches ahead, empty and quiet as usual. You climb the stairs slowly instead of taking the elevator, each step slow. What is happening? Something doesn't add up.
âââââââââ
The banging comes from somewhere down the hall. Sharp and insistent, the sound of a fist against wood or maybe a shoulder against a frame. You freeze mid-step, your keys still in the lock, heart lurching into your throat. The apartment building is usually calm at this hour with the muffled sound of someone's guitar upstairs or television, but nothing like this.
You press your eye to the peephole but the angle is wrong, the fish-eye view showing only the empty stretch of hallway directly outside your door. The banging continues, punctuated by a voice. Itâs raised, female, too muffled to make out words but carrying an obvious edge of distress.
The smart move would be staying inside, lock the door, call 911 and wait it out. The sound carries a note of despair that makes you pause. Your mind drifts to the building's elderly residents and the possibility that someone is in trouble. Before the thought has time to settle, you're unlocking the door and pulling it open.
You step into the hallway.
Jake is there, about twenty feet down, his back half-turned to you. A woman stands in front of him, her posture stiff, her hands gesturing in jagged movements. She's undeniably pretty ; dark hair pulled back, a denim jacket, boots that look expensive. Her face is flushed, and even from here you can see the tension in her jaw. "It's not fair," she's saying, her voice cracking. "You can't justâI've been trying for months, Jake. Months. And you justâ"
"Luna." Jake's voice is low, placating, his hands raised in that universal gesture of de-escalation. "I've told you. It's not like that. I'm notâ"
She scoffs, loud and bitter. "Not what? Not interested? You've made that fucking clear."
You're frozen in the doorway, unsure whether to retreat or announce your presence. The woman's head snaps toward you, her eyes widening for a split second before narrowing.
"Oh," she says, the word dripping with annoyance. Her eyes scan you for approximately 5 seconds. "Great. Sheâs back." She brushes past you without another word, her shoulder colliding with yours hard enough to make you stumble back a step. The elevator doors close behind her, and it's just you and Jake in the hallway now. He's still standing there, hands lowered now, his face a mingle of exhaustion and embarrassment. He runs a palm over his jaw, lets out a long breath.
She's back. What?
"That," he says, "was not how I wanted you to meet my coworker."
You blink at him. "Coworker?"
"Luna." He points loosely toward the elevator. "She works at the shelter with me. We've known each other since we were kids."
You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms. "She seemed upset."
"She's been upset for a while." He rubs the back of his neck. "She's had a thing for me. For years. And I keep telling her I don't feel that way, but she doesn'tâ" He exhales again. "She doesn't take it well."
You raise an eyebrow. "So she followed you home and banged on your door?"
"She showed up unannounced. I was trying to calm her down. She's not a bad person, she justâ" He hesitates, searching for the right words. "She's stubborn, and she doesn't like hearing no."
You study him. His shoulders are still tense, his hands are shoved deep into his pockets. He looks genuinely rattled, not like someone who's been caught in a lie. "Childhood friends," you repeat. "she's been flirting with you, and you felt bad for her."
"First, Iâm not flirting with her and Iâm not planning on it. I felt bad because I know she's lonely. She's been through some stuff. But I can'tâ" He looks at you, his expression transforming invisibly. "I can't give her what she wants. It wouldn't be fair to her. Or to anyone else."
"Iâve never seen you so flustered," you declare softly. He huffs a laugh, short and breathy. "Yeah, well. You bring out the best in me."
You push off from the doorframe. "She seems like she'll be fine."
"She'll be fine. She always is." He pauses. "Thanks for not assuming the worst."
"I assumed the worst," you admit. " A girlfriend and an angry breakup."
"Not a girlfriend," he says. "Not even close."
You nod, and the moment stretches between you, comfortable but charged. "Goodnight then, Jake."
"Sleep tight, Y/N."
You close the door behind you and lean against it, listening to his footsteps retreat down the hall.
Not a girlfriend. Is he lying?
You don't know why that detail settles in your mind the way it does. Youâd rather sleep it away.
âââââââââ
You're coming back from a late shift, leaving your feet sore and your brain half-fogged, when you round the corner to your floor and find the hallway occupied. Four of them, clustered around Jake's door like they're waiting for someone to let them in. You recognize Jake immediately ; he's leaning against the wall, arms crossed, laughing at something one of the others said. The other three are strangers, but they have that easy familiarity with each other, displaying years of friendship.
Jake spots you first. His face shifts, the laugh settling into a smile that's more reserved but no less warm. "Y/N," he says. "You're back late."
"There was a lot of work to do." You slow your pace, your keys already in hand. "I wasn't expecting to see a lot of people today."
One of the strangers ; tall with sharp features and a casual slouch ; he steps forward, extending a hand. "Jay. I've heard about you."
"Good things, I hope."
"Debatable." The one next to him grins, softer, with eyes that crinkle at the corners. "I'm Heeseung. This is Sunghoon, and that's Jenna, his girlfriend."
Jenna waves from where she's tucked under Sunghoon's arm. She has a face that immediately puts you at ease, round and open and curious.
"We were about to have a drink," Jake announces. "You want to join?"
You hesitate. The exhaustion is tugging at your limbs, but the alternative is your empty apartment and the leftover convenience store chips you've been picking at for days. "Sure," you say. "Why not."
His apartment is the same as before, but with four extra bodies it feels smaller, more alive. Jay immediately claims the couch, sprawling like he owns it. Heeseung perches on the armrest. Sunghoon and Jenna take the floor, backs against the coffee table, and Jake gestures for you to take the single chair by the window.
"Drinks are in the kitchen," he says. "Help yourself."
You grab something from the fridge ; a cheap beer, nothing fancy ; and settle into the chair. The conversation flows around you, natural and unforced, as they talk about work and mutual friends and an inside joke about the shelter.
After two or three drinks, someone suggests a game. "Chug or dare," Jay announces, the glint in his eye makes you immediately suspicious. "You know the rules. Pick chug, you finish your drink. Pick dare, you do whatever we come up with. But youâre forbidden to back down."
"Really?" you say. "This is how you treat your guests?"
"Guests are the most fun," Heeseung says. "You're fresh meat."
Jake shoots them a warning look, veiled with exasperation. "You don't have to play. They're idiots."
"Weâre not," Sunghoon protests. "Jake, itâs been years since we know each other. Donât be surprised."
You look around the room. The faces watching you are expectant, amused, a little bit reckless. The knot in your chest loosens. "Iâm in. I'm taking Jake down with me, though."
The first few rounds are tame. Heeseung chugs three times in a row and declares himself champion. Sunghoon dares Jay to do a handstand, which he fails spectacularly. Jenna picks dare and has to call her mom and tell her she loves her, which she does with zero hesitation and an extreme level of sincerity.
After that, the bottle lands on you. "Y/N," Jay says, rubbing his hands together. "Chug or dare?"
You weigh your options. Your drink is half-full. "Dare."
Jay leans forward, eyes glittering. "I dare you to tell us what you first thought when you saw Jake."
The room goes quiet. Jake's hand stops mid-reach for his bottle.
"That's not a dare," you say. "That's kind of embarrassing."
"It's the correct functionality of a dare." Heeseung is grinning now, too. "Answer the question."
You look at Jake. He's watching you with a curious expression.
"You want the honest answer?" you ask.
"Always."
"His nose." The words come out neutral. "I thought it was ridiculous how perfect it was. Itâs like someone sculpted it. It's annoying, honestly."
A beat of silence. Then Jay doubles over, slapping his knee. Heeseung lets out a wheeze of a laugh. Sunghoon is covering his mouth, eyes wide. Jenna just shakes her head, grinning. Jake's face has gone slightly pink. He looks down at his bottle, then back at you, and his face softens. "That's not what I expected," he says.
"I had to be unpredictable."
The game continues. Jenna gets dared to chug and does it with ease. Sunghoon gets asked if he'd rather fight a bodybuilder or five horses, and he spends five minutes arguing the logistics. Heeseung picks chug three times in a row and is visibly struggling to stay upright, his ears turning bright pink.
It's Jake's turn. "Chug," he says immediately.
"Whoa, not too fast." Jay says. "You're not getting out of it that easy. I'm changing the rules. You have to pick dare."
"Since when can you change the rules?"
"Since I'm the one asking." Jay grins. "Dare : show us the most embarrassing thing on your phone."
Jake's eyes narrow. "I'm not doing that."
"Then you have to answer a question instead," Sunghoon offers. "From anyone in the room. You pick who."
Jake considers this. His gaze scans the room, passing over Jay and Heeseung, settling on you for a moment before moving to Jenna. "Jenna. Ask me anything."
Jenna tilts her head, thinking. "Why did you move back to this city?" The question lands differently than the others. The light atmosphere falters slightly. Jake's jaw tightens, and for a second you see an unguarded expression crossing his features.
"Personal reasons," he says. "I needed to be back here."
"That's vague," Heeseung notes.
"It's still an answer." Jake picks up his bottle. "I'm drinking now." He finishes his drink in one long swallow, and everyone lets it go.
The bottle spins again, lands on you. Jay's turn to ask. "Chug or dare?"
You're feeling the warmth of the alcohol now, loose and careless. "Dare."
"I dare you to kiss Jake."
The room goes dead quiet. You hear someone inhale sharply ; maybe Jenna or yourself. Jake's head snaps toward Jay, disbelief and uncertainty show on his features.
"Jay," he mumbles, his voice has an edge to it. "That's notâ"
"Too late," Jay cuts him off. "She already picked. Rules are rules."
You look at Jake. He's sitting across from you, one arm draped over the back of the couch, his bottle dangling from his fingers. The light from the kitchen catches the lines of his face, the curve of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. That stupid, perfect nose. Lord, why would you make me cross paths with a guy that I obviously canât have? Heâs going to be fucking weirded out since I havenât kiss a single soul in my entire life.
"I don't have to, right?" you say. "I can chug instead."
"You're not chugging." Jay's tone is firm. "That's not how the game works."
The silence lingers. Jake holds your gaze, his expression betraying him ; hesitation, or resolve masquerading as it. Whatever it is, it stays unspoken.
"Jake," you say, and your voice comes out steady. "What do you think?"
He studies you in silence for what feels like an eternity. Then he sets his bottle down with delicate care, rises, and slowly closes the distance between you. "Okay," he says lowly. "If you're okay with it."
You're not sure if you're okay with it. I mean, heâs hot for sure. You're lost right now, while his hand finds the back of your chair, he leans down, his breath is warm and smells faintly of beer. His lips brush your cheek. Soft, quick, almost unsure. It's not a kiss, not really ; it's the ghost of one, lingering just long enough to leave a hot mark. He straightens up and steps back. The room erupts into wolf-whistles and laughter.
"Cheater," Jay yells. "That's not a kiss."
"Mind you, those are my favorite kind." Jake says, and he's looking at you, not at Jay. You touch your cheek, where the warmth of his lips still lingers. Your face is burning, you're not sure if it's embarrassment or something else. "You're a coward," you say, your tone weak.
He smiles, slow and crooked. "Youâre going to thank me later."
The game dissolves after that, the energy beginning to loosen, more rambling. Jenna falls asleep against Sunghoon's shoulder. Heeseung starts recounting a story about one of his high school exes. Jake moves to the floor, leaning against the couch, and you find yourself beside him, your shoulders almost touching. Your head starts to pound.
The game continues. The bottle spins, lands on Jay, then Heeseung, then Jenna. People chug or dare with increasing abandon, the alcohol loosening tongues and lowering inhibitions. Sunghoon admits he once cried while arguing with Jenna. You're on your fourth bottle, maybe your fifth. The edges of the room have gone soft and blurry, and you're laughing at something Heeseung said that you're not entirely sure was a joke. Your face feels warm, your limbs loose, and when you lean back against the couch, your shoulder brushes Jake's once again.
The bottle spins again to land on you. Jay's turn, because it's always Jay. "Y/N. Chug or dare?"
"Dare." You're feeling bold, the alcohol humming in your veins. Jay's grin is wicked. "I dare you to spend ten minutes locked in Jake's bedroom. Just the two of you, with no phones."
The room erupts. Sunghoon lets out a low whistle and Heeseung chuckles while nearly passing out on the couch.
"You cheated earlier," Jay cuts him off. "Youâll have to make up for that."
You glance at Jake. His expression gives nothing away, even though the tightness in his jaw wasn't there a moment ago. He watches you closely, waiting for your reaction.
"Ten minutes?" you say. "That's it?"
"That's it."
You stand, and the room tilts slightly. You steady yourself against the arm of the couch. "Fine."
Jake stands too, as hesitant as before. He leads you down the short hallway to his bedroom, and you hear the hoots and catcalls from the living room as the door clicks shut behind you.
The room is small and neat. A bed with rumpled sheets, a dresser with a lamp, a window overlooking the street. And on the nightstand, next to a half-empty glass of water, a photo frame turned face-down.
Jake leans against the door, arms crossed. "You don't have to do this. We can just sit here and wait it out."
"Where's the fun in that?" You're already wandering around, peering at books on the shelf, a guitar propped in the corner. Your eyes keep drifting back to the photo frame. You walk toward it, curiosity tugging at you. "What's this?"
Jake's body goes still. Before you can reach for it, he's there, his hand catching your wrist, turning you toward him. "No, please donât," he says, and his voice is urgent.
"Why? Is it embarrassing?"
"Something like that."
You're close now, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his eyes, his pupils are dilated, thereâs a slight sheen on his lower lip. The alcohol has made you bold and afraid of nothing.
"I want to see," you say.
He leans in for his lips find yours. The kiss is warm, lingering, carrying a soft urgency that feels almost like a plea. Even though you thought you had no experience in kissing, doing it with him nearly felt natural, as much as muscle memory. The world seems to melt around you. Your thoughts dissolve, and the photo frame slips from your mind as completely as if it had never been there. You stumble backward, your calves hitting the edge of the bed, and you fall onto the mattress, pulling him with you. He catches himself on his hands, hovering over you, but your legs are tangled and the momentum shifts and suddenly you're in his lap, straddling him, your knees on either side of his hips.
His hands find your waist, then slide down, settling on your butt. He squeezes, and you gasp against his mouth. He kisses you again, deeper and slower, his tongue brushing your lower lip. You arch into him, your fingers threading through his hair, and he groans, low and rough.
The kiss breaks for a moment, both of you breathing hard. He's looking up at you, his eyes pleading, his lips parted. "Y/N," he murmurs, your name sounds different in his mouth, sounding like it means something more.
You finally get the hang of it and you kiss him again. His hands tighten on your ass, pulling you closer, and you feel the heat of him through both your clothes. The world outside this room fades into static.
Ten minutes pass. Even longer than that.
You feel him shift beneath you, his hips rolling upward in a slow motion, sending a jolt through your entire body. His hands are still firm on your backside, guiding you, and you follow the movement without thinking, your own hips tilting to meet his.
The kiss breaks just long enough for you to gasp, and he takes the opportunity to press his mouth to your jaw, your neck, and the sensitive spot just below your ear. Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you feel the low vibration of a sound that might be his voice or yours, you can't really tell anymore.
He grinds up into you again, and you feel the full heat of him through the denim, the friction of it making your head spin. Your breath is coming in short, uneven bursts, and his is the same ; harsh and ragged against your skin. His hands slide up from your backside to your waist, then back down, pulling you closer, harder, like he's trying to fuse you to him. You're not sure who moves first, but suddenly you're both lying back on the bed, him beneath you, your legs still straddling his hips, the kiss deepening into something messier. His fingers find the hem of your shirt and slip beneath, grazing the bare skin of your lower back, and you shiver.
Someone bangs at the door. Insistent knocks on the bedroom door. Heeseung's voice, muffled but audible. "Time's up! Ten minutes are over! You're not dead, are you?"
You both stop in your tracks. Your foreheads almost touching, your breath mingling in the small space between. He laughs from half-exasperation and half-relief. He drops his head back against the pillow, and you feel the tension in his shoulders subtly ease.
"Ignore him," he says while he's already loosening his grip on your waist, giving you space to pull back. You sit up, your thighs still bracketing his hips, and run a hand through your tangled hair. Your face is burning. Your lips feel swollen. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between you.
"We shouldâ" you start, yet you don't know how to finish the sentence.
"Yeah." He's watching you from beneath half-lidded eyes, a slow smile spreading across his face.
Heeseung bangs again. "I'm not leaving until you open the door! Jay's timing you!"
Jake groans without real frustration in it. He sits up slowly, his hands finding your waist and steadying you as you climb off his lap. You stand, smoothing down your shirt, and he gets to his feet, adjusting his jeans with casualness.
He opens the door.
Heeseung stands there, arms crossed, a triumphant grin on his face. "Took you long enough. What were you doing in there?"
Jake steps past him into the hallway. "Mind your own business."
You follow, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor, you catch Jenna's teasing glance and Jay's eyebrows have shot up past his hairline. You already have to resist the urge to hide behind Jake's shoulder.
"Drink," Heeseung says, shoving a fresh bottle into your hand. "You've earned it."
You take it carelessly. You stand there, feeling the phantom weight of Jake's hands on your waist, the lingering heat of his mouth on your neck. How the fuck am I going to face him after that?
Or any day after.
âââââââââ
A week passes.
Seven days of routine, of work and sleep and the occasional text from Hanni about something absurd a resident did. You walk the same hallways, take the same elevator, pass the same doors. But you don't see Jake ; not in the corridor, not at the coffee shop and not on the street. It's like he's vanished into the walls of the building, existing only in the memory of that night ; the heat of his hands, the press of his mouth, and how your name rolled over his tongue in such a delicate way.
You tell yourself it doesn't matter, that it was just a game, just alcohol, just ten minutes in a locked room that somehow stretched into something you can't stop replaying. You tell yourself you're not looking for him when you walk past his door nor listening for his footsteps on the stairs.
You canât even lie to yourself.
Jungwon arrives on Friday afternoon, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a grin that takes up half his face. He hugs you in the doorway, squeezing too tight, and you let him because you've missed him more than you realized.
"Damn. Itâs smaller then I remember," he announces, dropping his bag on the floor. "Like, really small. How do you live here?"
"I manage."
"Barely, by the looks of it." He peers at the stack of boxes still in the corner, the ones you haven't touched since you moved in. "You haven't unpacked everything."
"I'm getting to it."
"Yeah, right."
The weekend unfolds. You take him to the park, to the coffee shop, to the elderly home to meet Hanni and Jacob and Mrs. Han. He charms everyone, that's what he does the best, and by the end of the first day he's already promised to visit again.
Sunday afternoon, you're walking back from the park, the sun warm on your shoulders. Jungwon is telling you about a girl in his sociology class, someone he's been dancing around for weeks, he met her that one mixer party, and you're listening with half your attention, the other half occupied by the streets and the weight of your keys in your pocket. You round the corner into your building's corridor.
No way.
Jake.
He's standing by his door, keys in hand, like he's just coming back from somewhere. He looks up as you approach, and for a moment, A subtle change passed over his face. His eyes lit with recognition, followed by a fleeting trace of relief that was quickly replaced by his usual impassive stance.
"Y/N," he says. "Hey."
"Hi."
Jungwon's gaze flickers between you, sharp and assessing. "You're Jake," he says, there's a weight to the words that makes you look at him. Jake's posture shifts, almost imperceptibly. "Yeah. And you're Jungwon."
"You remember me."
"I remember a lot of things." Jake's voice is calm, yet there's a tension in his jaw that wasn't there before. You look between them, suddenly aware that you're missing something. "You two already know each other. From before I moved in, right?"
"Briefly," Jungwon says, and the word is clipped. He turns to you, his expression softening. "Y/N, can you go inside? I want to talk to Jake for a minute."
"What? Why?"
"Iâ" He hesitates. "I'll explain later. Please."
You look at Jake. He's watching Jungwon with an expression you can't read, and when he meets your gaze, there's something almost apologetic in it.
"Please," Jungwon repeats.
You hesitate, the key in your hand feeling heavier than usual. Jungwon has never asked you for much, and the look on his face is earnest in a way you rarely see. "Fine," you say, and you don't miss the way both of them exhale just slightly. "You better tell me later."
You slip into your room and quietly shut the door behind you. Remaining still, you lean close until your ear rests against the wood, listening for the hushed conversation outside. Only faint murmurs reach you, too muffled to make out.
You stand in the middle of your apartment, staring at the closed door, your hand still resting on the handle. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, broken only by the distant sound of traffic from the street. You count the seconds, then the minutes, your mind spinning through possibilities you can't figure out.
When the door finally opens, Jungwon steps inside and closes it behind him with a soft click. He doesn't meet your eyes immediately, and his shoulders are set in an unusual way ; the tension he carries when something is bothering him but he doesn't want to talk about it.
"Everything okay?" you ask.
He runs a hand through his hair, exhales slowly. "Yeah, itâs fine. It wasâ" He stops, shakes his head. "He's a little weird. That's all."
"Weird how?"
"I don't know." He shrugs too quickly. "Itâs just the way he talks. He sounds like he knows more than he's saying. It's probably nothing."
You study him. His jaw is tight, and there's a crease between his brows that he's trying to smooth away. You've known him your whole life, or at least the parts you remember, and you can tell when he's holding something back. "Jungwon." You keep your voice level. "What did you talk about?"
He moves past you toward the kitchen, opens the fridge, and stares inside with focus. "I just wanted to get a read on him and make sure he's not some weirdo who's going to cause problems for you."
"And?"
"And he's not." He pulls out a bottle of water, twists off the cap to take a long drink. "He seems fine. Genuine, even. I justâ" He pauses and sets the bottle down. "I don't know. There's something about him that feels familiar, and I can't figure out what it is."
Your stomach tightens. "Familiar how?"
"I don't know." He says it again, more frustrated this time. "It's probably nothing. I'm probably just being overprotective."
The unease that's lingered since the moment you saw the keychain resurfaces with renewed force. Jake's searching gaze keeps replaying in your mind, refusing to be ignored. Questions crowd your thoughts, but one look at Jungwon's guarded expression tells you this isn't the time to press him. You know he'd only withdraw further.
"Okay," you say. "If you say it's nothing."
"It's nothing." He meets your eyes, something in his gaze that's almost pleading. "Drop it, okay? For now."
You nod, even though every instinct is telling you not to. He relaxes for a bit, and the moment passes. Something is happening. Something you don't understand. And you're starting to think that the answers might not be as simple as you hoped.
âââââââââ
As the door shuts behind Jungwon, the apartment returns to its usual calm. You stand quietly, replaying the fragments of a conversation you were never meant to hear. Whatever Jake said has stayed with him, but his expression is firmly closed off.
You wander into the living room, grab your phone and scroll through notifications. A news alert catches your eye ; an article about the sequel to that movie you've been waiting for, the one you've watched half a dozen times since you moved. Your stomach drops as you read the date. The premiere was last week. You missed it.
You're already moving toward the door before you fully decide to go. Your shorts are fine. The hoodie is fine. It's just a movie, and the theater is only a few blocks away. You don't bother changing or checking your reflection. You grab your keys and step into the hallway.
Jake is at the elevator, walking out as you're heading down. He stops when he sees you, his gaze traveling over your outfit, the urgency in your stride.
"Whoa," he says. "Where's the fire?"
"Movie." You're already past him, one hand on the buttons. "The sequel to that film I've been waiting for. I missed the premiere. I'm trying to catch a showing."
He watches you for a beat, then his hand lands lightly on your arm, stopping you. "Wait. Which movie?"
You tell him the title. His eyebrows lift.
"I like that one too," he says. "I actually have it. The original, I mean. On my laptop. I downloaded the sequel the day it came out."
You blink at him. "You downloaded it?"
"Yeah. I was going to watch it tonight, actually." He drops his hand and shoves it into his pocket. "If you want, you could watch it with me, at my place. Instead of running to the theater in shorts."
The simplicity of his offer makes it harder to dismiss. You think about the movie theater and everything that comes with it, but those thoughts are quickly overshadowed by the past week without him, the lingering uncertainty between you, and the rush of your heartbeat. "That's not weird?" you ask. "Watching a movie with your neighbor you haven't talked to in a week?"
He shrugs, a small smile playing at his mouth. "It's a good movie. And I promise I won't talk during the quiet parts."
You consider it. The hallway is dark, the evening light filtering through the window at the end. He's standing there, patient, and waiting for your answer.
"Okay," you say. "I donât want to share my snacks, though."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
You follow him to his door, your footsteps echoing in the hallway. His apartment is just as you remember it ; the guitar, the books, the soft warm lights. He gestures toward the couch while he grabs his laptop from the coffee table and plugs it to the TV. You settle into the cushions, pulling your knees up, the hoodie swallowing you. The screen lights up, the opening credits rolling. He sits at the other end of the couch, a respectful distance between you, and hits play.
You barely register the moment his arm comes to rest along the back of the couch. The small brush of his fingertips against your shoulder goes unnoticed too. It's only when his hand settles there, warm and reassuring, his thumb lazily drawing slow circles over your hoodie, that you become aware of just how close he is. The blanket is draped over both of you, a thin barrier against the cool air of the apartment. His other hand slips beneath it, finding your thigh, resting there with a casualness that feels anything but like it. You lean into him, your head drifting toward his shoulder, the conversation fading into comfortable silence.
The movie continues, although you can feel your eyes becoming heavy. The warmth of his hand on your thigh, the rhythm of his breathing, the low murmur of dialogue from the TV ; it all blends into a haze of contentment. Your eyelids droop, flutter, close.
"Y/N." His voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "You're falling asleep."
"Mmm." You don't open your eyes. "I know."
"Do you want to go back?"
The room stays quiet as his words linger. Beyond the door waits a dark hallway, an empty apartment, and a bed that has already gone cold. The image settles over you like a burden, leaving you with little desire to leave.
"I don't want to move," you murmur, the words slurred with sleep.
He's quiet for a moment before he decides to speak. "You could stay here if you want. I have an extra blanket, orâ" He pauses. "The bed's big enough."
You lift your head, blinking at him. His face is so close, his eyes soft in the low light of the screen. There's no expectation in his expression, no pressure. Itâs an offer.
"Okay," you say.
He stands, extends a hand, and pulls you gently to your feet. You both walk shortly to his bedroom. He pulls back the covers, and you slip in, the mattress dipping under your weight. He climbs in behind you, his arm finding your waist, pulling you close. His chest presses against your back, his legs tangling with yours, and you feel his breath warm against the curve of your neck.
"You smell so good," he murmurs, the words a low vibration against your skin.
You laugh, low and drowsy. "I haven't showered."
"Don't care." His nose brushes your hairline. "You always smell good."
His arm tightens around you, his hand splayed across your stomach. His lips press a soft, absent kiss to your shoulder, then another, barely there. "Your skin is so soft too," he confies, you can hear the smile in his voice. "I wanted to tell you that before. When you got out of the shower at my place, that first time. But I didn't want to be weird."
"You're being weird now," you mumble, but you're smiling too.
"Keep acting like you donât like it." He nuzzles into your neck. "I'm okay with it."
You feel his hand slide from your stomach to your hip, his thumb tracing slow circles against the bone. His breath evens out, his body relaxing behind you, and you feel yourself sinking into the warmth of him.
"Jake," you say, barely audible.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for letting me stay."
He squeezes you gently, his lips pressing against your hair. "Anytime, Y/N."
Curled against his chest, you slowly surrender to sleep. His arm remains securely around you, its warmth grounding you until the last of your thoughts dissolve.
âââââââââ
The sunlight filters through the curtains, and you blink awake slowly, your mind still thick with sleep. The bed is warm, the sheets tangled around your legs, however, the space beside you is empty. You reach out, your hand finding only cool fabric.
You lie there for a moment, orienting yourself. Jake's room. Jake's bed. The events of the night before trickle back in fragments. You check your phone on the nightstand. Saturday, 9:47 AM. Two days off stretching ahead of you, unplanned and open. You pad out of the bedroom, still in the oversized hoodie you wore last night, your hair a mess and your eyes half-opened. The smell of coffee hits you brutally. Jake is standing at the kitchen counter, a mug in one hand, his phone in the other. He's in a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his hair still sleep-tousled, and he looks up when he hears your footsteps.
"Morning," he says, his voice so soft and reassuring. "I didn't want to wake you. You looked comfortable."
"You're still here," you say, your voice scratchy. "Don't you have work?"
He shakes his head. "Day off. I figured I'd take it easy."
You close the distance without giving yourself time to hesitate. Slipping your arms around his waist from behind, you rest your cheek between his shoulder blades. Warmth radiates through him, and you feel his entire body go still beneath your embrace. He stays still. His breath barely catches, and you feel the tension ripple through his shoulders. After that, his hand comes down to rest over yours, his thumb brushing across your knuckles.
"Y/N," he says, and his voice is rougher than before. "You're going to make me drop my coffee."
"Put it down, then."
He does as you say. You hear the mug clink against the counter, and then he's turning in your arms, his hands finding your waist, his face close to yours. A flush is creeping up his neck, pink and noticeable, the sight of it makes thousands of sparks flicker in your stomach.
"You're blushing." you observe.
"Iâm not," he says, his ears are red now, and he's not meeting your eyes. "I just wasn't expecting a hug. First thing in the morning. From someone whoâ" He stops, clears his throat. "Never mind."
"From someone who what?"
He finally looks at you, vulnerability filling his gaze completely. "From someone I really didn't want to wake up alone."
Words fail you, so you simply stay where you are. He pulls you into him, holding you with gentleness before resting his forehead against the top of your head. As he breathes in deeply, the strain he'd been carrying begins to slip away.
"Your hair smells like my shampoo," he mumbles into your hair.
"Your shampoo smells good."
"It's just generic stuff from the convenience store."
"Still smells good."
He laughs, soft and warm, and his arms tighten around you. "That sounded stupid, doesnât it?"
You smile and chuckle against his chest. "A little bit."
You only eat eggs, toasts and drink coffee, but it feels like more than that. You sit across from him at his small kitchen table, the soft light of the sun landing on his face, and the conversation flows easily between bites.
He tells you about the shelter and problems that he had when he took care of a dog for the first time, and you do the same.
"It's a good job," you say, stirring your coffee. "Exhausting, but good. They make me laugh sometimes."
"They sound like characters."
"They are." You pause, watching him over the rim of your mug. "Can I ask you something personal?"
He looks up, a hint of wariness in his eyes, but he nods. "Sure."
"Why did you move back here? You said that night at the gameâpersonal reasons. But you didn't elaborate."
He's quiet for a moment, his fork hovering over his plate. "I had some things to figure out," he says slowly. "Things I couldn't figure out anywhere else."
"Like what?"
He meets your gaze, something you canât quite read passes across his face. "Like whether some things are worth coming back for."
The answer is vague and careful, yet there's a weight to it that makes you not want to know more about it. So you don't.
"Your turn," you say instead. "You can ask me anything."
He sets down his fork, considering. "What made you choose this city? Out of all the places you could have gone."
You look down at your coffee. The steam rises in slow spirals. "I used to live here. Before the accident." You say it matter-of-factly, you've learned to say it over the past year. "I don't remember it, but something about it felt right. Like I was supposed to come back."
"The accident," he repeats, and his voice is measured now. "You've mentioned it before. The memory loss."
"Yeah." You wrap your hands around the mug, let the warmth seep into your palms. "Three years. Just gone. I woke up in the hospital and suddenly I was 22, and I didn't remember being 21, 20 and even 19. My brother had to tell me who I was friends with, where I'd worked, what I'd done." You pause. "It's strange. Knowing there's a version of yourself out there that you'll never meet."
Jake is watching you intently, his breakfast forgotten. "That must have been hard," he says quietly.
"It was. Still is, sometimes. There are things I know I'm supposed to rememberâpeople, places, momentsâand I just can't access them. Itâs like a locked door I don't have the key to."
He's silent for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is softer than before. "Do you ever feel like you're close to remembering? Or that something triggers it?"
You consider the question. "Sometimes itâs little things. A smell, a song, or an object." You think of the keychain, the one that matches his. "But it never sticks. It's justâthere and itâs gone."
He nods slowly.
"Sorry," you say. "That got heavy."
"Don't apologize." He reaches across the table, his hand covering yours. "Thank you for telling me."
You look at his hand on yours, warm and soft. "Your turn," you say, trying to lighten the mood. "Ask me something else."
He thinks for a moment. "What's your favorite thing about this city? Now that you're back."
You smile, the tension easing. "The coffee shop on the corner. They have terrible pastries but really good lattes."
He laughs, and the sound fills the kitchen. "I'll have to try it sometime."
"Maybe I'll take you." The words come out before you can stop them, and you feel a flush creep up your neck.
He squeezes your hand. "I'd like that."
The morning stretches into a lazy afternoon. You've migrated to the couch, your phone in one hand, scrolling through nothing in particular. Jake is stretched out beside you, his head resting on your thigh like it belongs there, his own phone held above his face. The weight of him is warm and familiar now, and you've stopped overthinking how his hair brushes against your bare knee.
He's quiet, focused on whatever he's reading, his thumb occasionally swiping. You're half-watching a video on your own screen, the sound muted, when you feel his body shift. A pause. His thumb stops moving.
Then his free hand moves, quick and unexpected, his fingers finding the spot just above your knee. He digs in lightly, and you jolt, your phone nearly slipping from your grip.
"Jake!" Your voice comes out loud, a mix of surprise and laughter. "What are you doing?"
He grins, an unapologetic grin, and his fingers keep moving, dancing along the sensitive skin of your thigh. You try to twist away, but his head is still heavy on your lap, pinning you in place, and he's using his other hand to trap your leg.
"Stopâ" You're laughing, breathless, trying to grab his wrist. "I'm seriousâ"
"Are you?" His voice is teasing and low. His fingers find your ribs, and you arch, a helpless sound escaping you.
"You're the fucking worst." You manage to grab his hand, but he's stronger, and he uses the momentum to roll slightly, shifting so he can reach your side. The tickling intensifies, and you're squirming, your free hand batting at his shoulder.
"Say I'm the best," he says, his voice muffled against your stomach.
"Never."
He doubles down, and you dissolve into helpless laughter, your phone clattering onto the floor. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
"Okayâokayâyou're the best." The words come out in a wheeze. "You're the best, Jake. I surrender."
He stops, his hand stilling, still he doesn't move away. His face is close now, hovering over you, his eyes bright with amusement and softness beneath.
"That was easy," he says.
"Fuck you."
"You wouldn't," He settles back down, and you slap his arm for the comment. His head finding your lap again, his hand resting loosely on your knee. "Don't worry. I'll go easy on you next time."
You pick up your phone with your heart is still racing, and you can feel the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of your shorts.
A random movie starts on the laptop screen, playing as background noise to fill the silence. You're sitting on the floor between Jake's legs, your back against the couch, your head tilted back slightly as his fingers work through your hair. He's been at it for a while now, separating strands, twisting them together, muttering under his breath when they slip apart.
"Like this?" he asks, his voice close to your ear.
"Tighter," you say. "You're not pulling enough."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't. Justâhere." You reach up, your hand finding his, guiding his fingers to the right section. "Hold that one. Now cross it over the middle. Yes, like that."
He follows your instructions with concentration and that makes you smile. His fingers are careful, delicate, and you feel the gentle tug as he works through a tangle.
"You've done this before, no?" you say.
"Never. I'm just naturally talented."
You snort. "We'll see about that."
Another minute passes. He's quiet, too focused, and you can feel the slight movement of his hands as he continues his work. You're both lost in the small intimacy of the moment.
"Okay," he says finally. "I think I got it."
You reach up, your fingers brushing against the braid he's made. It's lopsided, uneven, with strands sticking out at odd angles. You tug at it gently, and a section comes loose.
"It's bad," you say, and you can hear the laughter in your own voice.
He lets out a mock-offended sound. "I spent ten minutes on that."
"Ten minutes and this is what I get?"
"I'm a beginner. Tell me Iâm doing good. Please."
You turn your head to look up at him. He's pouting weakly, his bottom lip pushed out, his eyes looking down with exaggerated hurt.
"Okay," you relent. "You did great."
His expression shifts instantly, the pout melting into a pleased smile. "Really?"
"For a first try. It's not completely terrible."
"High praise." His hand finds your shoulder, squeezing gently. "I'll take it."
You settle back against the couch, your head still tilted to look at him. He's looking down at you, his gaze soft, unguarded, letting you see something he usually keeps hidden.
"These past few days," he says, his voice quieter now. "They've beenâI don't know. I've been comfortable. More than I have in a while."
"You're not going to get all sentimental on me, are you?"
He laughs, low and warm. "Maybe a little. Is that okay?"
You wait and watch him, the light catches his eyes, the slight curve of his mouth. The air between you feels heavier now. He leans forward, his face hovering above yours, and you feel a pull ; something that tugs at the edges of your memory. The feeling is fleeting, gone before you can grasp it, yet it leaves a warmth in its wake.
"Y/N," he says, your name sounds different on his lips.
Suddenly, his mouth is on yours, gentle and upside down, his lips soft against your own. You lean into him, your hand reaching up to cup his jaw, and the kiss deepens. His fingers thread through your hair, careful not to pull the messy braid loose, and you tilt your head further to meet him. The angle is awkward, the position of him behind you and you below making it clumsy, but you don't want to stop.
When he finally pulls back, his face above yours by an inch, his breath is uneven.
"Youâre so pretty that it hurts," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I could handle a little pain, though."
"You don't look bad yourself." You chuckle softly, close your eyes and let yourself feel it ; the warmth of him, the pace of his heart against your back, the small certainty that this is exactly where you're supposed to be.
Now, the movie has ended, the credits scrolling silently across the screen. Silence remains in the living room. You've shifted positions, no longer on the floor but curled together on the couch, your back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you. His legs bracket yours, and your head rests in the crook of his neck, the warmth of him seeping through your t-shirt.
His lips find your temple first, light and sweet, a barely-there press of skin against skin. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your eye. Each kiss is soft, as he's memorizing the geography of your face. You feel the slight stubble on his jaw brush against you.
"Are you still going to kiss every inch of my face?" you murmur, your eyes closed.
"Every single one." He punctuates the words with another kiss, this one on the bridge of your nose. "I have a list. It's very thorough."
You laugh, tired and content, and his arms tighten around you. His lips trail down to your jaw, then your chin, then the spot just below your ear.
"Getting distracted?" you ask.
"Completely." Another kiss, this one on your neck. "This is your fault for being here."
"I didn't do anything."
"Youâre existing right now, so deal with the consequences."
You tilt your head back, giving him more access, and he takes the invitation, his mouth trailing along the curve of your throat. His kisses are still gentle, almost reverent, but they linger a little longer now.
His fingers find your hand, lace through yours, squeeze once. You feel the weight of his lips on your shoulder, your collarbone, the soft skin just above the neckline of your hoodie. Then back up, retracing the path, pausing at your cheek again.
"You're very thorough," you manage, your voice dreamy.
"I told you. I'm a man of my word."
He presses one last kiss to the corner of your mouth, soft and sweet, and then settles his chin on the top of your head, his arms still wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear.
You donât want to move. The afternoon light has shifted, growing gold, and the room feels suspended in a bubble of warmth and intimacy.
"Jake," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For today. For all of it."
He presses his lips to your hair, a silent reply, and you feel his smile against the strands. The last kiss lingers, right against your hair, and then you tilt your head up, catching his mouth with yours. It's not the upside-down kiss from before, this one is direct and utterly intentional, your lips finding his with unexpected certainty. He responds immediately, his hand cupping your jaw, angling you toward him.
You feel his other hand slide from your shoulder down your side, settling on your hip. You shift, twisting in his arms, and before you know it, you're turning to face him properly. Your knees find the cushion on either side of his thighs, and you settle into his lap, straddling him, your chest pressed against his.
His hands find your waist immediately, gripping you through the fabric of your t-shirt, his fingers splaying across the curve of your hips. He pulls you closer, and you feel the strong warmth of him beneath you, his breath hitches slightly as you settle your weight against him.
"You're going to make it hard to stop." he murmurs against your lips while he's smiling.
"Thatâs too bad." you whisper back, you could feel the vibration of his laugh.
âââââââââ
Itâs been an hour. Youâre still straddling Jake, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips as your mouths move together in a heated, urgent kiss. His lips are warm and demanding, although thereâs a delicious clumsiness to the way he kisses you ; teeth grazing a little too eagerly, his tongue sliding against yours with more hunger than precision. Heâs so turned on he can barely focus, and it shows in every shaky breath and muffled sound.
His large hands slide down your back and grip your ass firmly now, fingers digging into the soft flesh with possessive strength. He squeezes and fondles you without restraint, kneading your cheeks as he pulls you harder against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. A low throaty moan echoes from his chest into your mouth, raw and needy, sending a rush of heat straight through you.
He breaks the kiss for half a second to gasp for air, forehead lightly pressed to yours, before diving back in even sloppier than before ; lips wet, tongue eager, hands still greedily massaging and spreading your ass as he rocks you against him. His grip is tight enough to leave marks, but the way he groans your name between kisses makes it impossible to care.
You pull back to catch your breath, your hands resting on his chest as you look down at him with flushed cheeks. His eyes are veiled with want, lips slightly swollen from the messy kiss, and his hands are still firmly anchored to your ass, unwilling to let go.
âSorry,â you whisper, voice a little shaky. âIf Iâm bad at thisâŠitâs my first time doing any of it, really.â
Jake blinks up at you, his breath still ragged. For a moment his grip on your ass loosens slightly, but then he squeezes again, almost reassuringly. A soft surprised chuckle escapes him before he leans in and presses a gentler kiss to the corner of your mouth.
âItâs okay,â he murmurs against your lips, his voice husky and sincere. âIâve never gotten past a kiss either. SoâŠweâre both figuring this out.â
He pulls you closer again, one hand sliding up your back while the other stays possessively on your ass, and kisses you slower now ; still clumsy with need, still moaning softly into your mouth, but now with a shared nervousness that somehow makes everything feel even hotter.
You smile softly against his lips at his confession, a warm flutter of relief mixing with the heat in your belly. Boldness comes through you, you slide one hand down his chest, slowly tracing the ridges of his abs through the thin fabric of his shirt. Your fingertips press lightly, exploring the firm muscle beneath, and Jakeâs entire body jolts under you.
He gasps sharply into your mouth, hips twitching upward as a shiver runs through him. Heâs incredibly sensitive there ; every slow drag of your fingers makes his muscles tense and twitch. Another involuntary moan slips out of him, breathier than before.
âS-sorry,â he blurts out by reflex, cheeks burning as he pulls back just an inch, eyes half-lidded and embarrassed. His hands tighten on your ass again, almost like heâs grounding himself. âIâm justâŠreally sensitive. Fuck, that feels good.â
He leans in quickly to kiss you again, clumsier now from the rush of sensation, his abs contracting under your exploring touch as he rocks you gently against him, clearly fighting the urge to apologize a second time.
You keep tracing his abs, feeling them flex and twitch under your fingertips, when his breathing grows even heavier. His hands squeeze your ass one last time before sliding up to your hips. He leans in close, lips brushing your ear as he whispers softly, voice rough with arousal.
âTake your panties off for meâŠplease?â
The words send a fresh wave of heat through you. You hesitate, suddenly shy, cheeks burning as you bite your lip and glance away. Jake notices immediately. A small affectionate smirk tugs at his lips despite how flustered he is.
âWhatâs wrong?â he teases gently, voice playful, his fingers tracing slow circles on your hips. âDonât get all shy on me nowâŠIâm dying here.â
You swallow hard, heart racing, but the way heâs looking at you ; equal parts desperate and sweet ; makes you brave. Instead of taking them off completely, you reach the hem of your shorts and throw them next to the couch, hook your fingers into the side of your panties, and push the damp fabric aside, exposing yourself to him.
âYou can touch me,â you whisper, voice barely audible.
Jakeâs eyes widen slightly. He nods slowly, one hand sliding from your hip down between your bodies. His middle finger gently traces along your slick folds, testing, before he slowly pushes it inside you ; careful, inch by inch, watching your face the whole time to make sure itâs okay. His breath catches at how warm and wet you feel around his finger, and he lets out a shaky moan, forehead dropping to your shoulder.
âFuckâŠis this alright?â he murmurs, voice trembling with restraint as he holds still, letting you adjust.
You let out a shaky breath, hips shifting slightly against his hand as his finger moves inside you.
âThat feels good,â you whisper, voice breathy and honest. âReally goodâŠâ
Jakeâs eyes light up with relief and hunger. Encouraged, he slowly pulls his middle finger back, then carefully pushes two fingers in this time ; his middle and ring finger ; stretching you more. Heâs clumsy about it, his movements a little uncoordinated from how turned on he is, but the gentle pressure feels incredible as he works them deeper.
He starts to pump them slowly, trying to find a rhythm, when suddenly his breath hitches.
âWaitââ he says quickly, almost like he remembered something.
Before you can respond, he curls his fingers upward, searching. The moment he hits that sensitive spot inside you, a loud, involuntary moan escapes your lips, loud and needy. Your thighs tremble around him as pleasure jolts through your body.
His face flushes deeper, a proud but clumsy grin breaking across his face even as he keeps awkwardly pumping and curling his fingers, trying to do it again. His free hand grips your ass tightly for balance, his own breathing ragged and uneven while he watches you react, completely lost in how you sound and feel.
Youâre still trembling from the sudden rush of pleasure when he slows his fingers, keeping them buried inside you. He looks up at you with those wide, needy eyes, his cheeks flushed and his breathing ragged.
âTell me Iâm doing goodâŠâ he whispers, voice deep and a little vulnerable as he searches your face. âPlease?â
You cup his face gently in both hands, thumbs brushing over his warm cheeks. Leaning down, you kiss him softly, tenderly, your lips lingering against his for a long moment. When you pull back just enough to speak, you gaze softens.
âYouâre being so good to me,â you murmur. âIt feels really good, JakeâŠkeep going.â
A relieved moan slips from him at your words. His eyes flutter half-closed, and he presses into your touch like heâs starving for the praise. His fingers start moving again ; still a little clumsy and eager ; pumping slowly in and out while curling every few strokes to hit that spot that make you squirm. His free hand squeezes your ass tighter, pulling you closer as he kisses you back, messy and grateful.
You keep kissing him, slow and sweet, when Jake suddenly pulls his fingers out of you with a wet sound that makes you both blush. He shifts underneath you, breathing hard, and hurriedly works open his jeans.
âI need to feel you more,â he mutters, voice thick with desperation.
He lifts his hips and shoves his pants and boxers down just enough to free himself. His cock springs out, hard and throbbing, already leaking at the tip. You barely get a look at it before he pulls you back down onto his lap, lining you up so your bare, soaked pussy presses directly against his length. You start moving again, grinding with your panties still pushed to the side. The hot, velvety shaft of his cock slides perfectly between your slick folds, the head bumping against your clit with every roll of your hips. Jake groans loudly, head falling back against the couch as his hands return to grip your ass, guiding you faster.
âFuckâŠyou feel so good,â he moans, clumsy and desperate. Heâs getting impossibly harder beneath you, his dick twitching and throbbing with every grind. His hips jerk up to meet yours, uncoordinated and eager, making wet sounds every time your slick heat drags along his entire length.
He looks completely wrecked already ; lips parted, eyes hazy with desire, fingers digging into your ass as he rocks you harder against him, chasing more of that delicious friction. You keep grinding against him, the slick sounds growing louder as both of you get messier. Your panties are completely soaked, the fabric clinging wetly to your folds, and his boxers ; now bunched around his thighs ; are dark with your arousal too.
Jake lets out a frustrated groan and lifts you just enough to shove his boxers the rest of the way down his legs, kicking them off. He reaches into his pocket, tears open a condom with shaky hands, and rolls it on quickly, his cock twitching hard as he does. You move to slide your panties down, but he catches your wrists gently, stopping you.
âWaitââ he breathes, voice hoarse. His eyes drop to where your soaked panties are still pushed to the side, the pretty fabric framing your glistening pussy. âDonât take them off. Theyâre too pretty on you like thisâŠlooks so fucking hot.â
He pulls you back down onto him, guiding the head of his cock to nudge against your entrance through the shifted fabric. His hands return to your ass, squeezing firmly as he looks up at you with doe, desperate eyes, clearly waiting for you to take the next step while his throbbing length presses impatiently against your heat.
You brace your hands on his shoulders and slowly sink down onto him, taking every inch of his cock inside your tight, soaked heat. The stretch is intense, making you gasp and pause halfway before you breathe through it and slide all the way down until your hips meet his. Jakeâs head falls back with a deep, broken moan, his fingers digging hard into your ass.
But after a few seconds, the latex feels uncomfortable and distant. You lift yourself off him, quickly peel the condom away, and sink back down onto his bare cock before he can protest. The raw heat of him makes you both moan.
His eyes fly open in panic. âWaitâfuckâbabyââ he stammers, hands gripping your waist tightly as his cock throbs hard inside you. His face is flushed with alarm even as pleasure clouds his expression.
You canât help but laugh softly at his wide-eyed reaction, the sound breathy and fond. âItâs okay,â you whisper, leaning down to kiss him.
You start moving ; not bouncing, but grinding slowly in deep circles with him fully buried inside you. The pressure against that sensitive spot makes you whimper, but it completely wrecks Jake. He moans loudly, the sound raw and uncontrolled, his whole body tensing beneath you.
Suddenly, his hands clamp around your waist and he lifts you straight up, pulling out of you with a wet pop. You blink in confusion, hovering above him as his cock twitches angrily in the open air, slick with your juices.
âI was about to cum,â he pants, voice strained and embarrassed. âYouâre too warm and tightâŠand Iâm really sensitive right now. Fuck, I almost didnât stop in time.â
He looks up at you, chest heaving, cheeks burning red as he tries to catch his breath, still holding you suspended above his lap.
You hover above him for a moment, still catching your breath, then bite your lip shyly and whisper, âItâs okayâŠif it happens and you cum inside me, I can take the morning after pill.â
Jake looks up at you, eyes glassy from the pleasure, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. He swallows hard, then nods, his hands gently squeezing your waist. âOkayâŠbut Iâll still try to be careful,â he murmurs. âI donât want to mess this up for you.â
You smile softly at his sweetness and slowly sink back down onto his bare cock, taking him all the way inside again with a soft gasp. Once heâs fully buried, you resume grinding on him in deep circles, your soaked pussy clenching around his thick length.
He groans loudly, his head tipping back for a second before he looks down to where your bodies are joined. His hands slide firmly onto your hips, fingers digging in as he starts guiding you harder against him. He pulls and pushes you in longer, more insistent grinds, forcing your clit to rub against the base of his cock with every roll.
Sloppy sounds fill the room as your soaked folds slide back and forth along his shaft. The harder he makes you grind, the louder the sounds get, your arousal coating him completely. Jakeâs moans turn ragged and desirous, his abs flexing under your hands while he stares at the way your pretty panties, still pushed aside, frame your pussy taking every inch of him.
You keep grinding on him, the wet sounds growing filthier with every roll of your hips, when Jake suddenly sits up straighter. One of his hands slides up your back, pulling you closer as his mouth finds your neck.
He starts licking and kissing the sensitive skin there, sucking gently at first, then harder, while his hips snap upward. He shifts from letting you grind to actively pounding into you, thrusting deep and fast from below. Each rough stroke makes you whimper, your fingers clutching his shoulders as pleasure spikes through you.
âIâm sorryââ he whispers hotly against your neck, voice strained and weak between open-mouthed kisses. His thrusts grow erratic, sloppy, and frantic. âFuck, Iâm so sorryâŠIâm gonna cum inside you.â
His grip on your hips tightens almost painfully as he buries himself as deep as he can, moaning loudly into your neck while his cock throbs hard inside your tight heat. His body trembles beneath you, clearly fighting it for only a second longer before he loses control.
You cry out as the intense rhythm pushes you over the edge right along with him. Your orgasm crashes through you hard, walls clenching and fluttering wildly around his cock as waves of pleasure rip through your body. At the same moment, Jake groans deeply into your neck and starts cumming, pulsing hot and thick inside you with every thrust.
Still trembling and moaning from your climax, you gasp out quickly, âFinger meâpleaseââ
You donât need to tell him twice. He lifts you off his cock with a wet sound, lays you back on the couch, and slides two fingers deep into your dripping pussy. He keeps them buried inside you, pumping slowly and softly, curling them gently against that sensitive spot while his thumb rests lightly on your clit.
âFuckâthatâs it,â he whispers soothingly against your ear, voice gentle even as heâs still catching his breath. âYouâre doing so good. Let it all out for me.â
His fingers move in slow strokes, drawing out every last pulse of your orgasm as he kisses your neck and jaw. âSo pretty when you cumâŠkeep squeezing around my fingers, baby. Iâve got you.â
He stays close, murmuring soft praises while his fingers continue their gentle rhythm inside your soaked heat, helping you ride through the aftershocks.
An hour later, youâre sprawled on the couch with your legs spread wide, one draped lazily over the armrest. Jake kneels between your thighs, his hands resting on your inner thighs to keep you open.
He starts with broad strokes of his tongue, licking up and down your slick pussy, tasting the mess you two made earlier. Then he dives in deeper, pressing his whole mouth against you and kissing your folds like heâs making out with them ; soft, wet, hungry kisses that make filthy sounds echo in the living room.
A deep moan escapes you as his tongue swirls around your clit.
Jake pulls back just enough to grin up at you, lips glistening. âHey, you gotta be quiet,â he teases in a joking tone, eyes sparkling with mischief. âI canât hear the TV show if youâre moaning like that. Rude.â
You try to focus on the screen, but the pleasure is making you sleepy and relaxed. Your eyelids start to flutter, growing heavier as you sink deeper into the couch.
Without warning, Jake tightens his grip on your thighs and thrusts his tongue straight into your pussy, fucking you with it in deep, firm strokes. Your eyes snap open with a sharp gasp, hips twitching against his face as the sudden intensity jolts you awake.
He pulls back for a second, smirking. âThere you go. Canât have you falling asleep on me already,â he murmurs playfully, before diving right back in, tongue thrusting into you again while his nose nudges your clit.
His hands hold you firmly in place as he eats you out with renewed energy, clearly determined to keep you wide awake and moaning.
You canât hold back anymore.
The steady thrust of Jakeâs tongue inside you, combined with the way his nose keeps rubbing against your swollen clit, pushes you straight over the edge. Your second orgasm hits hard and fast. Your thighs clamp around his head as you cry out, back arching off the couch while waves of pleasure crash through you.
While youâre still cumming, he quickly pulls his tongue out and replaces it with two fingers, sliding them deep into your clenching pussy. He curls them gently against that sensitive spot, pumping them slowly and steadily to draw out your orgasm even longer.
âThatâs itâŠcum on my fingers again, baby,â he murmurs against your thigh, voice low and husky as he watches you fall apart. âFuck, youâre squeezing so tight.â
He keeps fingering you through every pulse and shudder, soft and deep, never rushing. His thumb moves up to circle your clit lazily, prolonging the pleasure until your moans turn into breathy whimpers and your body finally starts to relax.
Even then, he doesnât pull his fingers out right away. He leaves them buried inside your warm, fluttering heat, gently stroking your walls while he kisses the inside of your thigh, looking up at you with a satisfied, slightly smug smile.
âââââââââ
Both of you cuddling in his bed, and sleep finally gets to you. You're both tangled in his sheets, limbs intertwined, the warmth of his body a grounding presence against your back. His arm is draped over your waist, his breath slow and even against your neck, and you can feel the occasional press of his lips against your shoulder ; delicate, absent, as he's kissing you even in his sleep.
You should be content and you are content. Nevertheless, there's a dull ache beginning to throb behind your eyes, a persistent pressure that makes you wince when you shift against the pillow.
"Jake," you murmur, your voice rough. "I have a headache."
He stirs behind you, his arm tightening around your waist. "Mmm?"
"A headache. Do you have any painkillers?"
He blinks, his eyes still heavy with sleep. "Bathroom cabinet on the top shelf. There's a bottle."
You start to untangle yourself, but his arm holds you for a moment longer, pulling you back against him. "Don't go," he mumbles, his nose brushing your ear.
"I'll be right back." You press a kiss to his knuckles, and he loosens his grip.
You pad out of the bedroom, the cool air of the apartment raising goosebumps on your bare skin. You grab the shirt he'd left on the floor ; his shirt, the one he'd worn earlier ; and pull it over your head. It falls to your thighs, soft and worn, and you feel a small thrill at the intimacy of it.
The bathroom is as small as you could remember the last time you took a shower, the light harsh when you flick it on. You find the painkillers easily, shake two into your palm, and turn to get water.
You pause.
The drawer next to the sink is slightly open, just a crack, and something inside catches your eye. You don't know why you reach for it. Curiosity, maybe. The same instinct that made you want to see the photo frame by his bed.
You pull it open.
The drawer is filled with photographs ; loose, some curled at the edges, same as snapshots you'd find in a shoebox under a bed. But these aren't random. You recognize the faces.
Your hands are shaking. You dig deeper, pulling out more photos. One with your parents. Your mother's arm around you, your father's hand on Jake's shoulder, and the four of you are smiling at the camera like a family.
Another with Jungwon. He's younger, his face rounder, and he's giving a thumbs-up while Jake ruffles his hair.
You drop the photos. They scatter across the floor, and you stumble back, your back hitting the bathroom wall.
This doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. You don't remember any of this. You've never seen these photos before in your life. But your face is there, your smile, your eyes. And Jake is there too, always beside you, he's always been part of the picture.
The memory loss. The three years.
You feel the world tilt beneath you, the edges of your vision going fuzzy. The photos on the floor stare up at you, silent and damning.
"Y/N?"
Jake's voice. He's at the doorway, his eyes still sleep-soft, and he's holding a glass of water. He takes one step into the bathroom, then stops. His gaze drops to the photos scattered around your feet.
The glass slips from his fingers. It shatters against the tile, water spreading in a river across the floor.
"Y/N," he says again, and his voice is different now, sounding afraid.
You look at him. At the face you've come to know over these past weeks. The face you've kissed, laughed with, let hold you. The face that has been hiding everything from you.
"You knew me?" you say, and your voice comes out flat, hollow. "You knew me before?"
He doesn't answer as the look on his face says it all.
"All this time," you continue, the words spilling out now, unstoppable. "You knew everything. You knew me. You knew me and you didn't say anything."
"I was going to tell you." His voice is low. "I was trying to find the right time. I didn't want to scare youâ"
"Scare me?" A broken laugh escapes you. "I've been living in a fog for a year. I've been trying to piece together who I am, and youâyou've been standing right there, holding all the pieces, and you didn't tell me."
The rain starts outside, a sudden downpour that hammers against the window. You don't remember putting on his clothes, but you're moving now, past him, through the apartment, toward the door. He calls your name without you turning back.
You barge into the hallway. The stairs are a blur beneath your feet. You burst out into the rain, and it hits you like a wall ; cold, merciless, soaking through the shirt, your hair and your skin.
You don't know where you're going, and you know you can't be near him, nor look at his face and see the truth you were too blind to notice.
The street is empty, the rain turning the pavement into a river. You walk, then run, your bare feet slapping against the wet ground, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind you, you hear a door slam. A voice calling your name, distant and helpless.
Your legs donât seem to want to stop. Your bare feet slap against the wet pavement, each step sending shocks through your legs, but you don't stop. You actually can't stop because if you do, you'll have to think, and thinking means facing what you just saw.
Your fingers fumble with your phone, slick with rain, and you manage to pull up Jungwon's contact. It rings once, twice, three times, and then the automated voice cuts in. Voicemail. Full. You try again and itâs the same result.
"Come on," you mutter, your voice cracking. "Come on, pick up. Pick upâ"
The phone slips from your grip, clattering onto the wet ground. You leave it behind and keep walking, your arms wrapped around yourself, the thin fabric of his shirt doing nothing to ward off the cold.
"Y/N."
His voice. Behind you. Closer than you expected.
You keep walking faster, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Y/N, pleaseâjust stopâ"
"I don't want to talk to you." Your voice is barely audible over the rain. "Go away."
"I can't do that." His footsteps are closer now. "I can't let you run out like this. It's not safe."
"You don't get to decide what's safe for me." You finally stop, spinning around to face him. He's there, a few meters away, soaked through, his hair plastered to his forehead, his chest heaving. He's stopped too, keeping his distance like you're a wild animal that might bolt.
"You don't get to decide anything," you continue, your voice rising. "You knew me. You knew me and you lied. Every single day, every single conversationâyou looked at me and you knew exactly who I was, and you let me stumble around like an idiot trying to figure it out."
"I didn't lieâ"
"Hiding the truth is lying." You're shaking now, from cold and anger. "You kept all of it from me. The photos, the memoriesâ" You gesture wildly. "Everything. You let me think we were strangers." Your voice cracks. "You let me fall for you like you were someone new."
"I had to." His voice is raw. "I had to keep it from you. It was the only wayâ"
"The only way for what?" You're yelling now, the rain muffling the sound but not the anger. "The only way to protect yourself? The only way to make sure you didn't have to deal with the mess of my broken brain?"
He flinches like you've struck him. "No. That's notâ"
"Then what? What the fuck is about?"
He's quiet for a long moment. The rain falls between you, heavy and cold, a curtain that separates you from him. When he speaks, his voice is quieter, barely above a whisper.
"Because I was scared."
You laugh, a hollow, broken sound. "Scared of what?"
"Of this." He gestures between the two of you. "Of you remembering and looking at me like you are right now. Like I'm a stranger. Like I'm someone who hurt you."
Your chest tightens. "GodâJake do you even care about me?"
"I fucking do." He takes a step closer, and then stops himself. "I loved you, Y/N. Before the accident. We wereâ" He runs a hand through his wet hair, his voice cracking. "We were together. For three freaking years. We lived together. We had a life."
You stare at him, the words hitting you like blows. "I don't remember."
"Iâm aware of that." He's crying now, his tears mistook for rain drops. You can't tell. "Iâm aware that you don't. And that'sâthat's the worst part. Because I've been standing here, watching you rebuild your life, and every time you looked at me like I was a stranger, it felt like losing you all over again."
"Why did you stay, then?" Your voice is barely a whisper. "Why didn't you just leave?"
"Because I made a promise." He meets your eyes. "A promise to your brother, to Jungwon. After the accident, when you couldn't remember anythingâhe came to me. He said that if I really loved you, I would stay away. That seeing me, remembering me, would confuse you. That it would hurt you more than it would help."
"So you justâwalked away?"
"I tried. I moved to another city. I told myself it was for the best. But I couldn't." He stops, his voice breaking. "I couldn't stay away. When I heard you were coming back here, I told myself I wouldn't interfere and that I'd keep my distance. But then I saw you with that stupid umbrella, andâ"
His words trail off, lost in the rain. You stand there, shivering, the weight of everything pressing down on you.
"I was scared," he continues, his voice still barely audible. "I was scared that if I told you, you'd run. That you'd look at me and feel nothing. That the person you were beforeâthe person I lovedâwas gone forever, and I couldn't bear that. So I kept it to myself. I told myself I was protecting you. But really, I was protecting myself."
The silence stretches between you.
"You should have told me," you finally say, and your voice is weak, drained of emotion. "You should have trusted me to handle it."
"I know." He looks down at the ground. "I know. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you. I justâ" He stops, his shoulders shaking. "I just wanted to hold onto the part of you that was still mine. Even if you didn't know it."
Your chest is heaving again and you feel the tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. You're not sure when you started crying or maybe you've been crying this whole time.
"When?" Your voice cracks once again. "When did weâwhen did we first meet?"
He looks up, and you see the tears streaming down his face, indistinguishable from the rain. "Nineteen," he says, his voice raw and broken. "We were nineteen. You were wearing that oversized Bieber shirt, and you tripped over your own feet walking into that library, and Iâ" He pauses, a sob tearing from his throat. "I fell in love with you right there."
You feel the sob building in your chest, unstoppable and devastating. "Iâm sorry."
"Itâs okay." He's crying openly now, his shoulders shaking. "IâI needed you to know that you were loved. That you are loved. By me. Always."
Your legs give out. You don't realize it until you're sinking, your knees hitting the wet pavement, your hands bracing against the cold ground. The sobs are torn from you now, ugly and loud, your entire body shaking with the force of them.
Heâs already moving. His feet splash against the wet ground, closing the distance between you in seconds. He drops to his knees in front of you, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you against his chest. His body shields you from the rain, his hands cradling the back of your head, pressing your face into the warmth of his neck.
"I'm sorry," he's saying, over and over, his voice broken and fragile. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Y/N."
You feel his tears against your skin, his body shaking with the same sobs that are tearing through you. He holds you tighter, afraid you'll disappear, and you grip the wet fabric of his shirt, your fingers twisted in the material.
"I don't remember," you choke out. "I don't remember any of it."
"That's okay." His voice is a whisper, trembling. "That's okay. We canâwe can start over. We can make new memories. Whatever you need. I'll give you whatever you need."
You pull back just enough to look at him. His face is streaked with rain and tears, his eyes red-rimmed, his expression open and completely unguarded.
You let him hold you, his arms wrapped around you like a shield against the world, and you feel something shift in your chest. The rain continues to fall, but you barely notice it anymore.
All you feel is him.
âââââââââ
The next morning. You're sitting on the edge of the couch, your legs stretched out in front of you, the bruises on your knees a mottled purple from the fall the night before. The rain has stopped, but the world outside is still wet, the streets glistening under the gray sky.
Jake is kneeling in front of you, a small first-aid kit open on the floor beside him. His movements are gentle, careful, as he dabs at the scrapes with an antiseptic wipe. You flinch slightly at the sting, and he murmurs an apology, his fingers light against your skin.
"I could do it on my own." you say, your voice hoarse from crying.
"Let me do it for you. Please." He doesn't look up, his focus on the cut on your knee. "I should have done this last night, but you wereâ" He stops, swallowing. "You were upset. I didn't want to push."
You watch him as he works, the furrow of concentration between his brows, his lower lip catches between his teeth. His hands are steady despite everything, carefully smoothing the edges of a bandage over your skin.
"There," he says softly. "All done."
You're about to say something when the door slams open.
Jungwon stands in the doorway, his chest heaving and his eyes wild. He's still in his clothes from yesterday, his hair disheveled, his phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline. He must have come straight from wherever he was, must have run the whole way. His gaze sweeps the room and takes in the two of you. Jake kneeling at your feet. The bandage on your knee. Your tear-streaked face. And mostly, the visible tension in the air.
He looks at Jake and at you while shifting his gaze between both of you.
"Fuck." he says, the word heavy, loaded with remorse.
Jake rises slowly to his feet. He stands there, his hands at his sides, his face blank.
"Jungwon," he starts, but Jungwon cuts him off.
"What the fuck, Jake." He steps into the room, the door swinging shut behind him. "I told youâI told you to stay away. I told you it would be better for her. And for everyone. And youâ" He stops, his jaw tight. "You couldn't keep your promise for even a year?"
"It wasn't like that." Jake's voice is steady yet a tremor is present beneath it. "I didn't plan this. It just happened."
"It just happened?" Jungwon scoffs. "You see her in the hallway and suddenly all your promises mean nothing?"
"Jungwonâ" you start, both of them turn to look at you, and the weight of their gazes makes the words die in your throat. Jungwon's expression softens slightly. "Are you okay?" he asks, the question is directed at you, not Jake.
You don't know how to answer that. Are you okay? You're sitting in the apartment of a man you've known for weeks, who apparently knew you for three years before that, who you still can't remember, who you cried in the rain with, who bandaged your knees this morning because he cares about you. And you canât understand any of it.
"I don't know," you say honestly.
Jungwon runs a hand through his hair, exhales slowly. "I should have told you," he says with regret in his voice. "I should have told you about him. About everything. I thought I was protecting you, but Iâ" He pauses and shakes his head. "I made it worse."
"He knew," you say, voice flat. "He knew and he kept it from me. You both did."
Jake flinches and Jungwon looks away.
"I had to," Jake says quietly. "I had to see if you could remember on your own. If there was any part of you that stillâ" He swallows, the words caught in his throat. "I needed to know if you could love me without the memories."
Jungwon's head snaps toward him. "That's not why you did it."
"Isn't it?" Jake's voice is raw. "I wanted to believe that if I just gave you time, you'd remember, and I know that it sounds stupid. That you'd look at me and see all the years we had. But you didn't. You never did." He looks at you, his eyes glassy. "And I had to accept that the person I loved might never come back. But I still loved you anyway."
The silence in the room is suffocating. You look from Jake to Jungwon, the weight of their secrets pressing down on you, and you feel something crack inside your chest.
Jungwon is the one to break it. "I'm sorry," he says, the words are directed at both of you. "I was scared. I didn't want to lose you again, Y/N. And when I saw the two of you starting to know each other I panicked." He confesses, his composure cracking. "I just wanted to protect you and I failed. I failed both of you."
Jake stays silent, his eyes fixed on the floor.
You take a breath. The air is thick, but you force yourself to speak.
"I don't remember him," you say, looking at Jungwon. "I don't remember any of it. But Iâ" You stop, your voice catching. "I know I felt something. Even when I didn't know who he was. That has to count for something, doesn't it?"
Jungwon meets your eyes. Then he nods, slowly.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "It does."
âââââââââ
The afternoon has settled in, the earlier tension slowly unwinding like a knot being picked apart. Jungwon left an hour ago, his goodbye awkward but not hostile, a promise to call later that felt more like a question than a statement. You'd watched him go, the door clicking shut behind him, and then you'd turned to find Jake standing in the middle of the living room, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes uncertain.
Neither of you had spoken for a while. Then you'd walked to the kitchen, pulled out a cutting board and some vegetables, and started preparing something that might become dinner. He'd followed, hovering at the edge of the counter, until you'd handed him a knife and told him to chop the onions.
Now you're standing at the stove, stirring a pan of vegetables, while Jake sits on a stool behind you. His fingers are in your hair again, separating strands, twisting them together with a concentration that's become familiar over the past few days. The braid is better than yesterday ; still not perfect, but recognizable.
"You're getting better at this," you say, your voice quiet.
"I've had practice." An incredible softness in his voice. "Also, you're very patient. That helps."
You stir the vegetables, watching them sizzle and soften. The silence is comfortable, however, there's something sitting between you, a question you've been turning over in your mind since last night.
"Jake," you start, and you feel him pause, his fingers stilling in your hair. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
You keep your eyes on the pan. "Last nightâwas that our first time?"
You feel him go still behind you. His hands are frozen in your hair, and for a moment, you think you've overstepped. You feel his breath, a soft exhale, and his hands resume their work.
"Yes," he says, and his voice is careful. "That was our first time."
The words hang in the air. You nod slowly, processing. "So we never had sexâŠbefore the accident?"
He shakes his head, even though you can't see him. "We were close, and we lived together. But we never did those kind of things." He pauses, his fingers continuing to work through your hair. "We were waiting. I don't know what we were waiting for. The right moment, maybe." His voice drops. "I never really thought about it. I just knew I wanted it to be right."
You set down the spoon, turning to face him. He's watching you, his hands hovering where your hair falls against your shoulders. His eyes are searching, cautious.
"Jake," you say. "How long did you go without doing it?" You stop, not sure how to phrase it. "Without being with anyone?"
He understands. His jaw tightens, and he looks down at his hands. "Itâs been a year. Since the accident." He meets your eyes again. "I couldn't. I tried toâŠtalk to girls, once. It didn't feel right. I mean, I didn't feel right. I couldn't even hold someone's hand without feeling like I was betraying you."
You feel your breath catch. "Even when you didn't know if I'd ever remember?"
"Especially then." His voice honest. "It didn't matter if you remembered me or not. I remembered you. I knew what we had, andâŠI couldn't replace that. I really didn't want to."
You look at him, this man who's been carrying this weight for three years, who stayed loyal to a ghost he didn't know would ever come back. You look at his hands shaking slightly, his eyes are glassy.
"I didn't know," you say.
"How could you?"
You reach out, your hand finding his. He looks down at your fingers intertwined, and you feel the dull trembling in his grip.
"Thank you," you say, your voice almost a whisper. "For waiting. Even when you didn't have to."
He looks at you with vulnerability in his gaze. "I never really had a choice. It was always you. It's always been you."
You pull him closer, your arms wrapping around him, your face pressing into his shoulder. He holds you back, his arms tight around your waist, and you feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest.
The vegetables are still burning. You're still wrapped in his arms, your face pressed into his shoulder, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your shirt. His hand is cradling the back of your head, his fingers gently threading through the braid he'd just finished.
He pulls back to look at you. His eyes are red-rimmed, his face still carrying the traces of the tears you'd both shed.
"I love you," he says.
The words are simple, unadorned. Only three words, spoken as they've been sitting on his tongue for years, waiting for the right moment to be released. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your throat is tight, your chest aching with the pressure of everything you don't know how to say.
Noticing your silence, he leans in, his lips pressing against your forehead, lingering long enough for you to feel the slight shaking in his breath.
Then your cheek. The corner of your eye. The bridge of your nose. Each kiss is slow, like he's tracing the contours of your face with his mouth, memorizing every inch. His lips brush your temple, your jaw, the base of your neck.
"You don't have to say it back," he murmurs against your skin. "I just needed you to know."
You feel the tears pricking at your eyes again, yet they're not the same as before. "You've been carrying this for a year," you manage, your voice thick. "And you stillâ"
"Still love you." He presses another kiss to your cheek, then your other cheek, then the corner of your mouth. "Yes. I do. And I'll keep saying it until you're tired of hearing it."
"I won't get tired."
He pulls back, his eyes searching yours.
"Thatâs good for me." he says softly, the smile that tugs at his lips is small and tentative. His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that have escaped down your cheeks. He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, and you feel the warmth of him surrounding you.
"Jake," you whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Stay with me. While I try to remember. While I figure this out." You swallow. "Don't leave again."
He doesn't hesitate once. "I won't."
His lips find yours, soft and gentle, and when he pulls back, he presses one last kiss to the tip of your nose.
You were ready to rebuild your life, with everything youâve shared from now, with him.
ouuu shiii request đ€€đ€€ reader has a habit of sleeping with one leg up and lifts it while laying on jungwon one day đ€Łđ€€let your imagination run free goat
warnings áŻ. bsf!jungwon, reader is clueless af, smut, mdni, foul language, bigdick!won, dry humping, p in v, unprotected (donât), 18+ .
. . . your eyes fluttered open to the muffled sounds of the city filtering through the apartment window. it wasnât anything you werenât used toâ but jungwonâs apartment sat much closer to the heart of downtown, where the city never really seemed to sleep.
you blinked away the last traces of sleep, taking in the faint glow of the full moon spilling through the curtains. the digital clock on his nightstand read 4:01 a.m. too fucking early.
with a quiet sigh, you shifted, searching for a more comfortable positionâ or at least you tried to. your brows pinched together. why couldnât you move?
you squinted your eyesâ attempting to see in the darkness, slowly collecting that the pillow you normally hook under your leg was radiating warmth. it wasnât a pillow. it was your best friend.
jungwons arm was thrown around your waist, your leg thrown over his lap and hooked around him. memories of staying up too late watching obsession and pausing every second to make funny comments came flooding back to you.
you slowly began to pull your leg off of him, trying way too hard not to wake him.
âmmm⊠donât.â jungwons eyes stayed closed, his voice rough with sleep as he absentmindedly rested a hand on your knee, holding it exactly where it was. âcomfy.â
your mouth fell open. you lay back down, readjusting your thigh over himâ jesus. heâs fucking bricked.
âjungwon,â your breath hitched, still looking at him.
âhm?â he propped his head up, eyes pulling open, laced with sleep.
âyouâreâŠâ you looked down then back at jungwon, who was now smiling lazily.
âmorning thing,â he dragged his words on, clearly tired. âhelp me with it, hm?â
your eyes widened. did he mean what you think he did? âyou mean like-â
âonly if you want.â
you were dumbfounded. sure, youâd had sex. but with jungwon? you were sure you would never have a chance with himâ you gave it up years ago when he started throwing around the âbest friendâ title. âyeah,â your voice came out strained.
he sat up against the headboard, pulling you onto his lap and rolling his hips against yours, earning a low moan out of both of you.
he put his hand on the nape of your neck and slammed his mouth against yours and continuing to guide you against him, his grip on your hips growing tighter.
you tore your shirt off before continuing the kiss, your hips still rutting against the tent in his sweatpants.
âshitââ you panted, digging your nails into jungwons shoulders as the knot in your stomach grew needier.
the friction brought a low whimper out of jungwon that only made you wetter. he gave in, pulling his boxers down just enoughâ cock springing free while you lifted off him to discard the rest of your clothes.
he groaned at the feeling of your entrance. a small wet squelch noise filled the room as you whimpered, adjusting to the stretch.
a ragged trail of red runs down his cheeks, his eyes filled with lust watching your walls surround his cock. it was a beautiful sight, even in the dark.
you whined, sitting in place and looking down, his size causing pain that was hardly allowing you to move yourself. âsorry,â you felt bad making him wait, slowly getting used to the new feeling.
he chuckled lowly, tracing comforting circles in your arm. âitâs ok,â he reassured. âwhen youâre ready.â
you started slowly pulling on and off of him, both of your uncontrollable noises from years of yearning filling the room. ânnghâ fuck!â your arm flew to grab his bicep as your pace grew faster.
your vision grows hazy at the extreme amounts of bliss, lashes fluttering and jaw slack.
your slick covered the base of his cock, slowly dripping down with every thrust until it reached his lower stomach.
he whimpers through his teeth, bringing a desperate hand to your tit and throwing his head back. âshitâ mâ gonna-â
you grinded down one last desperate circle, crying out as your walls clenched hard around him and you both tipped over the edge, his hips instinctively jerking upward into you.
âdid that help?â you said mockingly, pulling yourself off and falling beside him.
- - -
a/n: sorry this took so long anon i have too many drafts
staff notes: consider this part two of peeping riki? also, to the person who sent the req , itâs nearly done â just wanted to get this out real quick âĄâžâž
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.
heâd 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 himâaccident or not.
it had gotten so bad to the point he couldnât 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 shouldâve 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.
âfuckâŠâ 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.
âniki? you in there?â
fuck.
âyeah, shit, just give me a second!â he called out, tripping over his blanket while trying to pull his shorts up. âiâll be right there.â
you werenât 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 roomâand 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.
âheyâŠâ he ran his fingers through his hair. "everything alright?"
âyeah, wanna watch a movie?â 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 lightsâthat desperately needed replacingâin 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 wouldnât 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.
nikiâs hands traveled down your body, one hand slipping under your shirt, the palm of his hand hot against your skin. âplease,â 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 didnât 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.
âall this for me, baby?â 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.
âniki- wait.. fuck,â 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.
order notes: was supposed to be working on a request but i got distracted with this idea and couldnât sleep without writing it
ê°àŸàœČ toxic fwb!niki ê±àŸ who you met night one night at a party after you had an argument with your boyfriend. you both hit it off immediatelyâso well that the night ended with you straddling him in his car outside your boyfriendâs dorm, grinding down against niki until he came.
ê°àŸàœČ toxic fwb!niki ê±àŸ who never cared about getting caught. you could tell him your boyfriend was almost home from work or class and itâd only make him fuck you harder.
âyeah? let him see his pretty girlfriend spread out for me,â he grunts, voice steady. and you can hear the smirk on his face when you clench around him at the words.
ê°àŸàœČ toxic fwb!niki ê±àŸ who always records whenever youâre on your knees, pretty lips wrapped around his cock, tears staining your cheeks. heâd never send the videos to your boyfriend but it doesnât stop him from teasing you with the idea of doing it.
âso fucking pretty like thisâŠâ he breathes, lifting his hips in shallow thrusts, zooming in on the way you were swallowing every inch. âare you this needy of a slut for your boyfriend?â
ê°àŸàœČ toxic fwb!niki ê±àŸ who loves bullying your cervix. he'd have your back pressed against the mattress, gripping the sheets like they were your only anchor as his hips slammed into you relentlessly.
ê°àŸàœČ toxic fwb!niki ê±àŸ who hates whenever you stop answering his messages. youâd go ghost when you and your boyfriend made up. he knew youâd be back and when you do, he makes sure to remind you to never do that shit again.
ê°àŸàœČ toxic fwb!niki ê±àŸ who swears whatâs between you and him is purely transactional but fucks you like he loves you.
âfuckâ god, I love youâlove this pussyâŠâ he pants, his body pressed against your chest, one hand gripping your waist while the other holds your hand as he pounds into you.
ê°àŸàœČ toxic fwb!niki ê±àŸ who is definitely territorial. heâd leave hickeys and marks all over your body, not caring the struggle youâd have trying to cover all of them.
ê°àŸàœČ toxic fwb!niki ê±àŸ who would make you pick up the phone whenever he was rearranging your guts. heâd see your boyfriend calling and answer it, forcing you to speak while trying to hide what you were really doing.
ê°àŸàœČ toxic fwb!niki ê±àŸ who came to your dorm in the middle of the night, drunk and soaked from the rain. he couldnât stop thinking about you, about the way he felt with youâor the fact you werenât fully his.
âI love youâi really do,â he hiccups, voice slurred to the point every word is bunched together, but you understand everything. âjust please⊠l-leave him⊠Iâll be betterâi am better.â
taglist: @cuteyjjwonnnn @nota10butadefinite8 @sstrawbxrry @kristynaaah (ignore how I havenât done my taglist in a while heh.. I forgot until now)
đŠđđđđđđâ â ⶠyou hold it for him while he pees but things get out of hand . . .
đđđ«đ§đąđ§đ đŹ : explicit sexual content âź đșđ¶đ»đŒđżđ đ±đŒ đ»đŒđ đ¶đ»đđČđżđźđ°đ âż mommy kink Ë piss kink Ë dirty talk Ë praise kink Ë edging Ë cum swallowing Ë very clingy jake Ë sub jake donât like? donât read.
Everytime Jake wants to pee, heâll squeeze his legs together and try to hold it in because he canât bear being away from you for 2 seconds.
The two of you are on his couch, the TV flickering across the living room; your legs are draped over his lap, one arm wrapped around his shoulders while your fingers idly trace slow circles along the nape of his neck. Jakeâs head rests against your chest, his warm breath ghosting over the fabric of your shirt with every contented sigh. Heâs been like this all eveningâ clingy, needy, pressing himself closer every chance he gets, as if the slightest distance might make him cry.
The movie plays on, but his attention has long since drifted; you can feel the subtle tension building in his body, the way his thighs press together just a little tighter than before.
âY/nâŠâ he murmurs after a long stretch of silence, voice small and shy against your skin. His cheeks are already flushed, that pretty pink that always spreads when heâs fighting his own desperation. âI⊠I need to go. But I donât wanna move. Canât I just stay right here with you?â
You smile softly, threading your fingers through his hair and giving it a gentle tug. âPoor baby. Youâve been squirming for the last twenty minutes. Come on, letâs get you to the bathroom. Iâll go with u so youâre not alone.â
Jakeâs eyes light up with relief and he nods quickly, letting you help him up from the couch. His movements are careful as you guide him down the short hallway to his bathroom. The tile is cool under your bare feet, and he clings to your side the whole way, one arm looped around your waist like he might topple over without the contact.
Inside the bathroom, Jake stands in front of the toilet, shifting from foot to foot, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. You step in close behind him, pressing your body against his back, your arms wrapping around his middle. âLet me help, baby. Youâre too worked up to do it yourself, arenât you?â
He whimpers softly in agreement, nodding as you reach around and carefully unbutton his pants. The zipper slides down with a quiet rasp, and you ease his underwear down just enough to free him. Jakeâs already half-hard from the anticipation, his cock warm and heavy in your palm as you cup him gently. Heâs sooo sensitiveâ twitching at the first brush of your fingers. You guide him forward, aiming the head toward the bowl.
âGo ahead, baby.â
Jake exhales shakily, burying his face into the crook of your neck the moment the first trickle starts. You can feel the heat of it pulsing through his cock in your hand, the subtle vibrations as his bladder empties. His belly, exposed as he shyly lifts the hem of his shirt with trembling fingers, rises and falls with each ragged breath. The skin there is soft and smooth, muscles fluttering under your other hand as you stroke slow, lazy circles over his abdomen.
âThatâs it⊠good boy,â you praise in a low, soothing murmur, your lips brushing his ear. Your fingers wrap more firmly around his shaft, stroking ever so slowly from base to tip in time with the flow. The wetness makes everything slickâ his own warm piss coating your palm just enough to ease the glide. Jake moans into your neck, the sound muffled and needy, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. âLook at you, letting mommy hold it while you pee. Youâre so pretty like this, all desperate and trusting.â
He hardens fully in your grasp, the stream continuing even as his cock swells thicker nd heavier. The contrast is deliciousâthe way his body fights between relief and building arousal. You keep stroking, slow, thumb occasionally teasing the underside of the head. Jakeâs knees tremble; he presses harder against you, face buried deeper, inhaling your scent like itâs the only thing grounding him.
Then you press your thumb firmly over his slit, right as another spurt tries to escape. Jake gasps sharply, body jolting. âM-Mommy..â The pressure makes the flow stutter, a few warm drops escaping around your thumb and trickling over your fingers, down his shaft. His cock throbs hard against the pad of your thumb, trapped and denied for a blissful second.
âShh, hold it inside for me, baby,â you coo, voice soft but commanding. You cup his balls with your other hand, feeling them draw up tight and full, warm and heavy in your palm. You roll them gently, massaging as you keep the thumb pressed. âMommy wants you to stop now. Can you do that for me? Be a good boy and hold it all in.â
Jake whines, high and broken, trying so hard. His belly tenses under your hand, the muscles contracting as he squeezes. The stream cuts off abruptlyâbut not perfectly. A few erratic spurts escape, splashing against the rim of the bowl and onto the floor in warm, glistening droplets. His face burns hotter against your neck, embarrassed and overwhelmed, but he keeps pushing, muscles straining.
âHold it,â you repeat firmly, stroking his shaft again in long, praising glides. âThatâs my sweet boy. Youâre doing so well.. clenching so tight for Mommy even though itâs hard. Feel how full you still are? All that warm piss trapped inside because I told you to. You love when Mommy controls it, donât you?â
He nods frantically, whimpering, âYesâyes, Mommy. Feels⊠feels so good. Canât⊠canât stop it allââ Another small leak dribbles over your fingers, hot and slick, but he fights it back with a full-body shudder. His cock is rock hard now, flushed dark and leaking precum that mixes with the remnants of piss. You keep cupping his balls, squeezing them rhythmically, feeling them pulse with the effort.
âSuch a good, obedient puppy,â you murmur, kissing along his jaw, nipping softly at his earlobe. Your hand never stops its slow, torturous strokingâup and down the slick length, twisting gently at the head. âYouâre making such a pretty mess for me, but youâre trying so hard to hold it. Iâm so proud of you. Let a little more out if you need to, but only when Mommy says. Understand?â
Jakeâs breathing is ragged, hot puffs against your skin. His belly keeps fluttering, contracting and relaxing as waves of desperation roll through him. You praise him endlesslyâsoft whispers of âperfect boy,â âMommyâs favorite,â âso needy and sweetââwhile you edge him right there, thumb playing over his slit again to tease another tiny, denied spurt.
Time stretches. Minutes pass nd you let him release a few more controlled streams when he begs so prettily, each one accompanied by your stroking and praise, until heâs trembling on the edge of orgasm and total surrender. His legs shake, balls tight in your palm, cock throbbing wildly.
âMommy⊠please,â he gasps finally, voice wrecked. âIâIâm gonnaââ
You smile against his hair, squeezing his balls just right. âCum for me, baby. Let it all go while Mommy holds you.â
He shatters âthick ropes of cum mixing with the last warm leaks of piss, spilling over your fingers and into the bowl in messy bursts. Jake clings to you like youâre his whole world, moaning your name between broken âthank youâs,â body spent.
đŠđđđđđđâ â ⶠyou hold it for him while he pees but things get out of hand . . .
đđđ«đ§đąđ§đ đŹ : explicit sexual content âź đșđ¶đ»đŒđżđ đ±đŒ đ»đŒđ đ¶đ»đđČđżđźđ°đ âż mommy kink Ë piss kink Ë dirty talk Ë praise kink Ë edging Ë cum swallowing Ë very clingy jake Ë sub jake donât like? donât read.
Everytime Jake wants to pee, heâll squeeze his legs together and try to hold it in because he canât bear being away from you for 2 seconds.
The two of you are on his couch, the TV flickering across the living room; your legs are draped over his lap, one arm wrapped around his shoulders while your fingers idly trace slow circles along the nape of his neck. Jakeâs head rests against your chest, his warm breath ghosting over the fabric of your shirt with every contented sigh. Heâs been like this all eveningâ clingy, needy, pressing himself closer every chance he gets, as if the slightest distance might make him cry.
The movie plays on, but his attention has long since drifted; you can feel the subtle tension building in his body, the way his thighs press together just a little tighter than before.
âY/nâŠâ he murmurs after a long stretch of silence, voice small and shy against your skin. His cheeks are already flushed, that pretty pink that always spreads when heâs fighting his own desperation. âI⊠I need to go. But I donât wanna move. Canât I just stay right here with you?â
You smile softly, threading your fingers through his hair and giving it a gentle tug. âPoor baby. Youâve been squirming for the last twenty minutes. Come on, letâs get you to the bathroom. Iâll go with u so youâre not alone.â
Jakeâs eyes light up with relief and he nods quickly, letting you help him up from the couch. His movements are careful as you guide him down the short hallway to his bathroom. The tile is cool under your bare feet, and he clings to your side the whole way, one arm looped around your waist like he might topple over without the contact.
Inside the bathroom, Jake stands in front of the toilet, shifting from foot to foot, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. You step in close behind him, pressing your body against his back, your arms wrapping around his middle. âLet me help, baby. Youâre too worked up to do it yourself, arenât you?â
He whimpers softly in agreement, nodding as you reach around and carefully unbutton his pants. The zipper slides down with a quiet rasp, and you ease his underwear down just enough to free him. Jakeâs already half-hard from the anticipation, his cock warm and heavy in your palm as you cup him gently. Heâs sooo sensitiveâ twitching at the first brush of your fingers. You guide him forward, aiming the head toward the bowl.
âGo ahead, baby.â
Jake exhales shakily, burying his face into the crook of your neck the moment the first trickle starts. You can feel the heat of it pulsing through his cock in your hand, the subtle vibrations as his bladder empties. His belly, exposed as he shyly lifts the hem of his shirt with trembling fingers, rises and falls with each ragged breath. The skin there is soft and smooth, muscles fluttering under your other hand as you stroke slow, lazy circles over his abdomen.
âThatâs it⊠good boy,â you praise in a low, soothing murmur, your lips brushing his ear. Your fingers wrap more firmly around his shaft, stroking ever so slowly from base to tip in time with the flow. The wetness makes everything slickâ his own warm piss coating your palm just enough to ease the glide. Jake moans into your neck, the sound muffled and needy, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. âLook at you, letting mommy hold it while you pee. Youâre so pretty like this, all desperate and trusting.â
He hardens fully in your grasp, the stream continuing even as his cock swells thicker nd heavier. The contrast is deliciousâthe way his body fights between relief and building arousal. You keep stroking, slow, thumb occasionally teasing the underside of the head. Jakeâs knees tremble; he presses harder against you, face buried deeper, inhaling your scent like itâs the only thing grounding him.
Then you press your thumb firmly over his slit, right as another spurt tries to escape. Jake gasps sharply, body jolting. âM-Mommy..â The pressure makes the flow stutter, a few warm drops escaping around your thumb and trickling over your fingers, down his shaft. His cock throbs hard against the pad of your thumb, trapped and denied for a blissful second.
âShh, hold it inside for me, baby,â you coo, voice soft but commanding. You cup his balls with your other hand, feeling them draw up tight and full, warm and heavy in your palm. You roll them gently, massaging as you keep the thumb pressed. âMommy wants you to stop now. Can you do that for me? Be a good boy and hold it all in.â
Jake whines, high and broken, trying so hard. His belly tenses under your hand, the muscles contracting as he squeezes. The stream cuts off abruptlyâbut not perfectly. A few erratic spurts escape, splashing against the rim of the bowl and onto the floor in warm, glistening droplets. His face burns hotter against your neck, embarrassed and overwhelmed, but he keeps pushing, muscles straining.
âHold it,â you repeat firmly, stroking his shaft again in long, praising glides. âThatâs my sweet boy. Youâre doing so well.. clenching so tight for Mommy even though itâs hard. Feel how full you still are? All that warm piss trapped inside because I told you to. You love when Mommy controls it, donât you?â
He nods frantically, whimpering, âYesâyes, Mommy. Feels⊠feels so good. Canât⊠canât stop it allââ Another small leak dribbles over your fingers, hot and slick, but he fights it back with a full-body shudder. His cock is rock hard now, flushed dark and leaking precum that mixes with the remnants of piss. You keep cupping his balls, squeezing them rhythmically, feeling them pulse with the effort.
âSuch a good, obedient puppy,â you murmur, kissing along his jaw, nipping softly at his earlobe. Your hand never stops its slow, torturous strokingâup and down the slick length, twisting gently at the head. âYouâre making such a pretty mess for me, but youâre trying so hard to hold it. Iâm so proud of you. Let a little more out if you need to, but only when Mommy says. Understand?â
Jakeâs breathing is ragged, hot puffs against your skin. His belly keeps fluttering, contracting and relaxing as waves of desperation roll through him. You praise him endlesslyâsoft whispers of âperfect boy,â âMommyâs favorite,â âso needy and sweetââwhile you edge him right there, thumb playing over his slit again to tease another tiny, denied spurt.
Time stretches. Minutes pass nd you let him release a few more controlled streams when he begs so prettily, each one accompanied by your stroking and praise, until heâs trembling on the edge of orgasm and total surrender. His legs shake, balls tight in your palm, cock throbbing wildly.
âMommy⊠please,â he gasps finally, voice wrecked. âIâIâm gonnaââ
You smile against his hair, squeezing his balls just right. âCum for me, baby. Let it all go while Mommy holds you.â
He shatters âthick ropes of cum mixing with the last warm leaks of piss, spilling over your fingers and into the bowl in messy bursts. Jake clings to you like youâre his whole world, moaning your name between broken âthank youâs,â body spent.
ኞ đđđđŸđđâđ đđđ!đđșđđŸđ§ đœđŸđ đđđđŸđđ!đđŸđșđœđŸđâ â 22.3k â ËÌ”áŽËÌ”â first times NSFW corruption kink religous allusionsă € reblogs&kisses
You hated the town long before you learned its name.
Your father insisted that hatred was a strong word, one that people reached for too quickly whenever life refused to accommodate them. Still, he had never understood that some places possessed the uncanny ability to reject you before you had even crossed their borders. Hatred, in your opinion, implied familiarity; this feeling was stranger than that. It was instinctive, immediate, almost animalistic, settling somewhere beneath your ribs the moment the highway dissolved into narrow country roads lined with skeletal oak trees and weathered fences whose peeling white paint looked as though it had been touched by every season except change. The farther the city disappeared in the rear-view mirror, the more oppressive the silence became, until even the hum of the old Ford sounded intrusive against the vast stretches of open fields and endless blue sky.
Chicago had always been loud enough to drown out your thoughts.
This place seemed determined to make you listen to every single one of them.
The moving truck rolled slowly down Maple Street, its engine grumbling as though it, too, objected to the destination, and you rested your forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window while watching the neighbourhood reveal itself slowly. Every lawn had been trimmed within an inch of perfection. Every mailbox stood upright instead of leaning drunkenly toward the road. American flags fluttered from polished porches despite there being no holiday worth celebrating, and flowerbeds burst with arrangements of roses whose petals looked too immaculate to have survived wind or rain. Even the children riding bicycles seemed strangely choreographed, calling cheerful greetings to neighbours who knew each of their names, their laughter carrying through the warm spring air before disappearing beneath the distant toll of church bells.
Your father finally slowed the truck in front of a modest two-storey house with pale blue shutters and a wraparound porch. He turned off the engine without saying anything, gripping the steering wheel for several seconds while cigarette smoke drifted lazily from the one balanced between his fingers. The divorce had split everything neatly down the middleâhouse, furniture, bank accounts, holidaysâbut no one asked where eighteen-year-old daughters wanted to go. Your mother stayed in Chicago with the apartment she'd fought tooth and nail to keep. Your father accepted a new job three states away because "there was nothing left" back home.
"You can take whichever room you want," he said eventually, still looking through the windshield instead of at you.
It was such an ordinary sentence that it almost made you laugh.
Not Are you okay?
Not I'm sorry your life fell apart because ours did.
Typical.
You climbed out before he could say anything else, letting the truck door slam harder than necessary, and inhaled air that smelled overwhelmingly of freshly cut grass and damp earth instead of gasoline, hot concrete, and rain-soaked asphalt. The breeze carried the scent of lilacs from somewhere nearby, sweet enough to become cloying after only a few breaths, and the oppressive neatness of the neighbourhood wrapped itself around you with the suffocating gentleness of a freshly washed bedsheet.
It didn't feel real.
It felt staged, like someone had built an entire town from the collective memories of people who believed America had once been simpler than it actually was.
Your father lit another cigarette almost immediately after finishing the first.
"Apparently," he muttered, exhaling smoke toward the afternoon sky, "the pastor lives next door."
You followed his gaze without much interest.
The neighbouring house was much older than yours, its white clapboard walls softened by decades of climbing ivy that curled around the porch railings in thick emerald vines. Rose bushes bloomed beneath every window, their crimson blossoms almost unnaturally vibrant against the white paint. While rows of lavender swayed gently beside a stone pathway leading toward the front steps.Â
A woman emerged from the garden carrying a wicker basket balanced against her hip, and even from across the lawn there was something effortlessly graceful about the way she moved, brushing loose strands of dark hair behind her ear before looking toward the moving truck with an expression that immediately softened into a welcoming smile.
She waved.
Your father waved back with awkward enthusiasm.
You offered the smallest possible nod.
The woman didn't seem offended by your lack of warmth. If anything, her smile only widened before she disappeared inside the house, leaving the front door open behind her as though expecting someone else to follow.
"You could try being polite," your father remarked.
"I nodded."
"You looked like you were attending a funeral."
"I kind of am."
The words escaped before you could stop them.
Your father didn't answer; he simply looked away, crushing the cigarette beneath his shoe with more force than necessary before opening the truck and beginning to unload boxes in silence.
âÖč  đ ֎ Ő
Your bedroom overlooked the street.
It wasn't particularly large, but the slanted ceiling and wide window gave it the illusion of space, and if you ignored the floral wallpaper left behind by whoever had lived there before, it might even have been pleasant. You left every box untouched, stepping instead toward the window where the neighbourhood stretched beneath the late afternoon sun in quiet perfection. From here, the church dominated everything.
It stood only a short walk away, its white steeple rising confidently above the rooftops until it became the highest point in town, casting a long shadow that crept slowly across the surrounding streets as the sun drifted westward. The stained-glass windows caught the light in fractured colours, spilling ribbons of sapphire, crimson, and gold across the stone walls, and every hour the bell announced itself with unwavering certainty, as though reminding the entire town exactly where its heart resided.
You had never been particularly religious.Â
Your mother claimed belief was something people found when they were desperate enough. Your father claimed nothing at all.
Still, there was something undeniably magnetic about the buildingânot welcoming, exactly, but impossible to ignore. It possessed the quiet confidence of institutions that had existed long before the people inside them and fully expected to remain standing long after everyone currently alive had become names carved into marble.
The longer you stood there, the more impossible it became to convince yourself that the church was simply another building.
Every street curved toward it, every sidewalk appeared to lead back to its weathered stone steps, and even the houses seemed arranged in quiet deference, as though generations of families had built their lives around its presence without ever questioning why. It reminded you less of a place of worship than of a watchtower, standing silently above the town with the patient certainty that everyone, eventually, regardless of where they wandered, would find themselves returning to its doors.
With a quiet sigh, you stepped away from the window and looked around your bedroom for the first time. Brown cardboard boxes towered against one wall with your mother's handwriting still scrawled across the tape in black markerâBOOKS, WINTER CLOTHES, BEDROOMâsmall pieces of a life that no longer existed packed away as though memories could be folded as neatly as sweaters. For a fleeting moment, you considered unpacking, imagining where your records might sit or which shelf your novels would occupy, but the thought felt strangely disloyal, as though arranging your belongings meant accepting that this house was something more permanent than a temporary stop on the way back home.
Because that was what you kept telling yourself.
You weren't staying.
Your father might believe in fresh starts, but you believed in endings, and sooner or later, this one would end too.
You left the boxes where they were.
Downstairs, the muffled scrape of furniture drifting across hardwood floors reminded you that your father had continued working without you. You could picture him perfectly without even lookingâthe sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled to his elbows, another cigarette dangling absentmindedly between his lips despite promising your mother years ago that he'd quit, moving through the house with the determination of someone who believed staying busy was easier than admitting he didn't know what else to do with himself.
He had always been good at pretending. Pretending as if the shouting matches hadn't rattled the windows, that your mother's packed suitcases hadn't sat untouched by the front door for nearly a week before she finally carried them downstairs herself, that signing a stack of divorce papers in a lawyer's office on an unremarkable Tuesday afternoon was no different from signing for a parcel at the post office.
Some people cried when their marriages ended.
Your father had simply bought another pack of cigarettes.
You wandered downstairs without thinking much about where your feet were taking you, trailing your fingers lightly along the polished banister as unfamiliar floorboards creaked beneath your weight. The house carried that peculiar scent all recently vacated homes seemed to share, a mixture of fresh paint and old timber.Â
Your father was standing in the kitchen with his back to you, staring blankly into an open cupboard that contained nothing except two chipped mugs the landlord had apparently forgotten to remove. For several moments, he didn't move at all. He simply stood there with one hand braced against the counter, cigarette smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling while the afternoon light spilled through the sink window and painted long rectangles across the floor.
For a fleeting second, he looked impossibly older than you remembered.
Not because of the grey beginning to thread through his dark hair or the pull of his permanent frown that exemplified a network of deep wrinkles, but because loneliness had a way of ageing people unevenly. It hollowed them out from the inside until they carried themselves like houses after a fireâstill standing, somehow, but unmistakably changed.
He noticed you only when the floorboard beneath your foot groaned.
"There's a diner a few blocks over," he said, reaching automatically for his wallet. "I figured we'd get dinner there. Saves unpacking the kitchen tonight."
You leaned against the doorway.
"Sure."
He hesitated.
"You hungry?"
"I guess." You sighed.
Another silence settled between the two of you, stretching just long enough to become uncomfortable before he cleared his throat and slipped the wallet into his back pocket.
"People say the pie's good."
The comment felt almost painfully rehearsed, like something he'd read in a brochure on how fathers were supposed to speak to daughters after destroying their lives.
"That's reassuring."
"I thought so."
You almost smiled.
Almost.
Instead, you looked past him through the kitchen window.
The church steeple was visible even from here.
It rose above the rooftops in the distance, brilliant white beneath the lowering sun, impossible to escape no matter which direction you faced. The cross at its peak caught the fading light so intensely that for a moment it seemed suspended in the sky itself, detached from the building below, watching over the town with quiet indifference.
"Everything around here revolves around that place, doesn't it?" you asked without turning away from the window.
Your father followed your gaze.
"I suppose it does."
"That's depressing."
"It depends who you ask."
You let out a quiet hum.
"I wasn't asking."
âÖč  đ ֎ Ő
The diner sat on the corner of Main Street, tucked between an old hardware store and a tiny bookshop whose faded sign looked as though it hadn't been replaced in decades. A little brass bell chimed above the door as you stepped inside.
It looked exactly how diners always looked in old American films, with red vinyl booths polished smooth by generations of customers, spinning chrome stools lined neatly along the counter, and waitresses who somehow remembered every regular's order before they'd even sat down. A jukebox stood silently in one corner, its coloured lights flickering despite no one feeding it coins, while framed photographs of local baseball teams and town parades crowded every inch of the walls.
The conversations stopped. Not all at once, but you felt it nonetheless.
Heads lifted almost imperceptibly from steaming coffee mugs and half-finished meals. Eyes lingered a fraction longer than politeness allowed before drifting away again, only to return moments later under the pretence of looking elsewhere.Â
You were no longer just another girl.
You were the new girl.
The divorced man's daughter.
The strangers from Chicago.
Your father either didn't notice or chose not to. He slid into a booth near the window, picking up a laminated menu, prompting you to sit down too. Your fingers drifted absently over the frayed edge of the laminated menu, though you weren't really reading it. The words blurred together into an endless procession of burgers, meatloaf, club sandwiches and slices of homemade pie, all priced cheaply enough to suggest the recipes had remained unchanged for decades. It struck you that this diner, like everything else you'd seen since crossing the county line, seemed entirely uninterested in becoming something new.
A waitress appeared beside the table with two glasses of water balanced expertly on a round metal tray tucked against her shoulder. She looked to be in her late fifties, her greying hair pinned into a loose bun beneath a paper hat embroidered with the diner's name, and she smiled with the effortless familiarity of someone who had spent most of her life recognising faces before names.
"You folks must be the Parks," she said brightly, setting the glasses down without needing to ask whether you wanted lemon. "We've all been expecting you."
Your father looked up in surprise. "You have?"
"Oh, honey." She laughed softly, her voice oozing with honey. "Nothing much happens around here. New neighbours are practically headline news."
You lowered your eyes to the condensation gathering on your water glass, tracing a fingertip through the droplets before they slipped onto the tabletop. Somehow, hearing it confirmed felt infinitely worse than merely suspecting it.
The waitress scribbled something onto her notepad before looking between the two of you again.
"Your daddy's taking over at the engineering firm, isn't he?"
"That's right," your father replied politely.
"Well, we're happy to have you both. Lord knows this town could always use a few fresh faces."
Your father offered the strained smile he'd perfected over the last year. "Thank you."
She turned to you then, her expression softening almost instinctively.
"And you'll be starting at Saint Augustine's on Monday?"
You blinked. "I guess."
"You'll like it there."
The certainty with which she said it made something inside you churn.
"What if I don't?"
She paused for the briefest moment before smiling again, as though she believed every difficult thing could be solved with enough kindness.
"Oh," she said gently, "I'm sure you will."
When she finally wandered off toward another table, your father reached automatically for the sugar dispenser despite drinking his coffee black.
"You didn't have to answer like that."
"I answered."
"You know what I mean."
"No," you replied, lifting your glass. "I really don't."
He sighed quietly, rubbing a hand across his jaw before staring out the window instead of arguing further. It had become another habit of his lately, abandoning conversations the moment they threatened to become honest. You sometimes wondered whether it was because he genuinely wanted to avoid conflict or because he no longer trusted himself to say the right thing.
Outside, Main Street basked beneath the last warmth of the evening sun. A teenage boy wheeled his bicycle past the diner's window, one hand balancing a paper bag hooked over the handlebars while an older woman called after him from across the street, reminding him not to forget choir practice tomorrow evening. He lifted a hand in acknowledgement without even turning around, clearly having heard the reminder a hundred times before.
Choir practice.
You almost smiled to yourself; of course, there was choir practice.
Of course, there were church picnics and Sunday bake sales and Christmas pageants where everyone knew every line before the first rehearsal. You could already picture the bulletin boards covered in handwritten notices, casserole dishes appearing mysteriously whenever someone fell ill.Â
The waitress returned with a steaming mug of coffee for your father and a basket of warm dinner rolls that she insisted had "just come out of the oven."
"They're on the house," she said with a wink. "Welcome to Maple Creek."
Your father thanked her.
You stared at the basket for a long moment before pulling one apart absentmindedly, watching gasps of steam escape into the air. The bread was still warm enough to burn your fingertips, tasting like someone's grandmother had been making them exactly the same way for fifty years, refusing to write the recipe down because she'd never needed to, measuring ingredients by instinct rather than teaspoons, and somehow producing the same perfect result every single time. You truly hated how good it was.
Your father noticed the expression that crossed your face before you had the chance to hide it, the smallest flicker of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth as he reached for one himself. "See?" he said quietly, tearing his own roll in half. "The pie probably isn't lying either."
You looked up just long enough to roll your eyes.
"Don't get ahead of yourself."
"I'm just saying," he replied with a shrug that felt almost familiar, "the place has potential."
"The bread has potential."
"I'll take that as progress."
"It isn't."
He smiled anyway.
It was briefâgone almost as soon as it appearedâbut for the first time since you'd crossed the state line, your father looked a little more like the man you remembered. Before the lawyers, before the cardboard boxes stacked shoulder-high in your old living room, before every conversation between your parents had become another carefully measured negotiation about who got what and when. There had been a time when he laughed easily, when Sunday mornings meant burnt pancakes and classic rock playing too loudly through the house while your mother complained that neither of you knew the meaning of an inside voice. Sometimes it frightened you how difficult it was becoming to remember those versions of them.Â
The waitress returned, balancing two heavy plates against her forearm, a skill that could only come from years of doing the same job every single day. She placed your father's meatloaf before him first, thick slices drowned in peppered gravy beside a generous mound of mashed potatoes. She then set your cheeseburger and fries in front of you with a smile.
"Everything looks alright?"
"It looks fine," your father answered politely.
"You just let me know if you need anything. Ketchup's already on the table, and don't be shy about asking for more fries. Earl always makes too many."
She drifted away before either of you could respond, stopping at another booth to refill an elderly couple's coffee cups without needing to ask. The old man thanked her by name. She asked after his wife. Two booths over, someone else called her over just to tell her that his grandson had finally gotten into college, and she clasped both hands over her heart as though the news belonged to her own family.
You watched the exchange for longer than you meant to.
You had the uneasy feeling that, by tomorrow morning, half the town would know exactly where you'd eaten dinner on your first night. By the end of the week, they'd know which house you lived in, what car your father drove, and probably the fact that you'd barely spoken through the entire meal. In a place this small, stories didn't spread because people were cruel. They spread because there simply wasn't much else to talk about.
âÖč  đ ֎ Ő
You learned later that the woman from earlier was Mrs Sim, the pastorâs wife. She arrived with a still-warm peach cobbler, which your father accepted with a gratitude that seemed genuine, the lines around his eyes softening as she spoke to him about the community, the quiet, the good schools. You lingered in the doorway of your new bedroom, arms crossed, watching the performance of small-town benevolence. Mrs Simâs eyes eventually found yours. âYou must be y/n,â she beamed. âMy son, Jake, is about your age. Iâll send him over later to help with the heavier boxes. Itâs so nice to have young people in the house next door again.â
Jake.
The name meant nothing to you; it was simply another piece of information about a place you hadn't asked to know.
A pastor's son.
Someone who probably belonged here in the same way everything else seemed to.
You imagined someone polite, someone with perfect manners and neatly folded clothes, someone who had grown up knowing exactly where he fit in the world because everyone around him had spent his entire life reminding him. The kind of person who would wave at strangers while driving, volunteer on weekends, and probably know every verse of every hymn before he was old enough to understand why he was singing them.
Someone who would look at you and immediately know you didn't belong.
"That's nice," you replied.
Your father gave you a look, but you ignored it.
Mrs Sim only smiled. "You'll meet him soon enough."
Mrs Sim's words lingered in the air even after she had finished speaking, though you weren't entirely sure why. There was nothing particularly significant about them. She had simply mentioned her son in passing, the same way someone might mention a neighbour's dog or a nearby restaurant or which grocery store had the freshest produce. It should have been forgettable, another harmless detail about a town you had no intention of becoming attached to. Yet somehow, the certainty in her voice bothered you. You'll meet him soon enough. Not if you want to. Not if you happen to. Just a quiet assumption that, eventually, your lives would cross because that was how things worked here. Everyone knew everyone. Everyone belonged to someone. Everyone had a place already waiting for them.
You wondered if that was what made small towns feel so comforting to the people who loved them. There was no uncertainty. No endless possibility of becoming someone entirely different from who you were yesterday. In places like Chicago, people disappeared and reinvented themselves all the time. They changed schools, changed neighbourhoods, changed friend groups, changed everything about themselves until sometimes even the people who knew them best couldn't recognise who they had become. Here, it seemed impossible to escape the version of yourself that other people had already decided existed. Your family history, your mistakes, your reputation, your nameâall of it followed you down every street and through every doorway.
Maybe that was why everyone here smiled so easily.
They had never needed to wonder who they were.
The conversation continued downstairs, though you stopped listening. Your father asked Mrs. Sim about the school district, and she answered with the same gentle enthusiasm she seemed to offer everything else, explaining which teachers were wonderful, which streets were safest, which shops had been around for generations. She spoke about Maple Creek as though it wasn't simply a town but a living thing, something delicate that required care and loyalty. You watched your father absorb every word, nodding along with an expression of relief that you recognised immediately.
He wanted this to work.
That was the part you hated most.
If he had been miserable, if he had admitted he regretted moving, if he had looked around this unfamiliar house and said that maybe he had made a mistake, then perhaps you would have felt less alone in your resentment. But instead, he seemed lighter here. Not happy exactly, but closer to it than he had been in months. The possibility that this place could become something good for him felt unfair somehow, because while he was finding a reason to believe in a future here, you were still grieving the one you had lost.
You quietly stepped back into your room before either of them noticed, closing the door without making a sound.
The peach cobbler sat untouched on the kitchen counter.
You could smell it even from upstairs.
Another thing this town seemed determined to make impossible to dislike.
You hated that. You hated that the houses were beautiful, that the neighbours were kind, that the diner food was good, that your father looked slightly less broken every time someone welcomed him. You had spent the entire drive here building a version of Maple Creek in your mindâa place where you could justify being angry, where every smiling face could be dismissed as fake and every gesture of kindness could be interpreted as pity.
But what were you supposed to do when people were genuinely nice? Anger was easier when you had something to fight against.
You sat down on the edge of your bed, staring at the unopened boxes surrounding you, and pulled your knees toward your chest. The room was quiet except for the faint sounds of movement downstairs, the occasional creak of floorboards beneath your father's footsteps, and the distant hum of traffic passing along the main road.
Somewhere outside, a church bell rang.
You looked toward the window instinctively. You had never understood the comfort people found in places like that.
The idea of faith had always seemed strange to youânot because you thought people were foolish for believing, but because certainty itself felt like something you had never possessed. Some people moved through life convinced there was a plan waiting for them, that every heartbreak had meaning and every loss had a purpose. They believed things happened for a reason.
You had never been able to understand how.
Your parents had loved each other once.
At least, everyone said they had.
There were photographs proving it. Old videos, memories you carried from childhood of them dancing in the kitchen, laughing over burnt dinners, holding hands while walking through crowded streets. There had been a time when their marriage had seemed as permanent as the church standing at the centre of Maple Creek.
And then one day, somehow, it wasn't.
So what exactly was faith supposed to do with things that broke?
What was the point of believing something was sacred if it could still be destroyed?
The question followed you as you unpacked only the things you needed for the night. A toothbrush. Clean clothes. Your phone charger. The essentials required to pretend that tomorrow would be normal, even though nothing about your life felt remotely familiar anymore.
You avoided opening the box marked BEDROOM, avoided touching the photographs, avoided anything that felt too much like admitting you were staying.
Downstairs, your father eventually called goodnight, and you answered automatically.
Then you were alone.
The first night in the new house was quieter than you expected. Not peacefulâpeace implied comfortâbut quiet in a way that made every small sound noticeable. The pipes shifting behind the walls. The wind moving through the trees outside. The occasional footsteps of your father crossing the hallway below.
And beneath everything else, faint but unmistakable, the church bells. They rang once more before midnight.
You lay in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling, listening as the sound travelled through the darkness.
You didn't know anything about Maple Creek.
You didn't know its streets, its people, its traditions, or the boy whose name had been casually introduced to you before you had even met him.
For now, though, all you knew was that you were eighteen years old, three states away from everything you had ever known, living beside a church you didn't believe in, in a town that seemed determined to believe in you before you had even decided whether you wanted to believe in anything at all.
âÖč  đ ֎ Ő
The next morning, Maple Creek looked almost deliberately beautiful.
You resented it immediately.
The sky was clear, the kind of bright blue that seemed almost too perfect to be real, and sunlight spilled across the streets as though the entire town had been carefully arranged for someone else's happiness. Birds moved between the trees, children walked toward school in groups, and neighbours greeted each other from opposite sides of the street with the casual familiarity of people who had been doing the same thing for years. There was something almost offensive about the way everything appeared untouched by the chaos that had brought you here. The lawns were freshly cut, the gardens were beginning to bloom with the first signs of spring, and every house seemed to sit peacefully beneath the morning light as though heartbreak, divorce, and starting over were things that happened somewhere far away to other people.
It was impossible to hate something that looked like it belonged in a memory.
You stood in the kitchen drinking coffee your father had made before getting ready for work. m He had already unpacked half the kitchen, organised the cupboards, and somehow found the patience to locate the coffee machine among dozens of unopened boxes that still crowded the dining room and hallway. It was such a typical thing for him to do that, despite everything, it almost made you smile. Your father had always dealt with uncertainty by creating order wherever he could. When things became unpredictable, he cleaned. When conversations became too difficult, he focused on practical tasks. When emotions became too overwhelming, he found something that could be measured, arranged, or fixed. He had spent the last year losing control over nearly every aspect of his life, and now that he had a new house with empty shelves and rooms waiting to be filled, he seemed determined to rebuild everything piece by piece.
You watched him move around the kitchen, placing mugs into cupboards and checking his work schedule on his phone, and you realised that this was probably the first time in months that he had looked like he knew what he was doing. It was strange seeing him like this. You had grown used to the version of him who sat silently at the dinner table, who stared at paperwork longer than necessary, who seemed to carry the weight of conversations he never dared to start. The divorce had changed both of your lives, but you had always been more focused on what you lost than you had forgotten he had lost something too.
That did not mean you were ready to forgive him for bringing you here.
It only meant you understood him slightly more than you wanted to.
"You should probably leave soon if you don't want to be late," he said, breaking the silence that had settled over the kitchen as he reached across the counter for his keys. He glanced briefly toward the clock hanging above the stove before looking back at you, his expression carrying the same quiet concern he had been trying to hide since the move. "First impressions are important."
You took another sip of your coffee, letting the warmth distract you from the uncomfortable feeling building in your chest. You glanced toward the clock above the stove, even though you already knew exactly what time it was.
"You already checked my schedule, didn't you?"
Your father paused for half a second, his fingers still wrapped around his keys, and that tiny hesitation gave him away immediately. He had always been terrible at pretending he wasn't overly involved. He tried to act casual, as though he hadn't spent the previous night reading through your school information or memorising your timetable, but you knew him too well. When he was worried, he disguised it as preparation.
"You need to admit that you would forget something important if I didn't."
You looked at him over the rim of your mug, unimpressed.
"I wouldn't."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind that suggested he had been waiting for you to say exactly that.
"You forgot your passport before our flight to Florida."
You looked away.
"That was one time."
Your father leaned back against the kitchen counter, folding his arms across his chest.
"You forgot your wallet at a restaurant last summer."
"I got it back."
"After I drove back twenty minutes to get it."
You opened your mouth to argue, but he continued before you could.
"You left your phone on top of the car."
You immediately looked away.
"That happened once."
Your father's smile widened slightly, and for a moment, the heaviness that had followed both of you since the divorce disappeared. It was such a small thing, barely noticeable, but it reminded you of the person he used to be before everything became complicated. The father who teased you about losing things, who laughed when you became stubborn, who knew exactly when to push and when to leave you alone.
He picked up his briefcase from beside the kitchen table and moved toward the front door, but before he stepped outside, he stopped.
The hesitation was subtle. Most people probably wouldn't have noticed it, but you did.Â
"Are you nervous?"
The question was simple, almost too simple, and that was what made it difficult to answer. You looked toward the front window instead of at him, watching a neighbour across the street wave to someone passing by. Everyone here seemed so certain of themselves, so comfortable in a world that already knew their names. Meanwhile, you were standing in a kitchen that still smelled like cardboard boxes and unfamiliar paint, preparing to walk into a school where nobody knew you except as the girl who had just arrived.
You could have lied.
You almost did.
"No."
Your father didn't say anything, he didn't need to.
The look he gave you carried the quiet disbelief of someone who had known you your entire life and could tell when you were pretending.
You sighed, setting your coffee mug down on the counter.
"Maybe a little."
It was the closest thing to admitting the reality that you were willing to offer.
His expression softened immediately, and for a second, you prepared yourself for the kind of speech parents always gave in moments like this. Something about how everything would be okay. Something about making friends and giving people a chance and remembering that everyone felt nervous sometimes. You expected reassurance because reassurance was what adults usually offered when they didn't know how else to help.
Instead, he simply nodded.
"That's normal."
You looked back at him, almost surprised by how little he said.
"That's it?"
He shrugged slightly, his fingers tightening around the handle of his briefcase.
"What do you want me to say?"
You looked down.
"I don't know."
The honesty of the answer seemed to surprise both of you.
Your father let out a quiet breath, his gaze drifting briefly around the house. The unopened boxes stacked near the hallway. The unfamiliar walls. The unfamiliar kitchen. For the first time, he looked less like someone who had brought you here with a plan and more like someone who was simply trying to figure everything out alongside you.
"Neither do I," he admitted.
The words settled between you. And strangely, they helped more than any perfect speech could have.
Because your father had spent so long trying to make everything seem manageable that you had almost forgotten he was also struggling. He didn't have some hidden answer for how to rebuild a family after it had fallen apart. He didn't know the secret to making a new town feel like home or how to erase the memories you had left behind. He was just another person standing in unfamiliar surroundings, hoping that somewhere along the way, he had made the right choice.
"I'll see you after school," he said eventually.
You nodded.
"Okay."
He opened the front door, letting in a rush of cool morning air that carried the scent of grass and flowers from the neighbouring garden. He stepped outside, then paused with one hand still resting against the doorframe.
"Y/n?"
You looked up.
"Try not to get suspended on your first day."
You stared at him.
"Seriously?"
A small smile appeared on his face, the first genuine one you had seen that morning.
"I'm just saying."
"I haven't even been there yet."
"I know my daughter." He smiled as you watched him walk down the front steps and toward his car, his briefcase held loosely in one hand while the morning sun stretched across the driveway
You grabbed your bag from beside your stool and checked your phone one last time before leaving. There were still messages from Chicago, but fewer than yesterday. The group chat that had been impossible to ignore during the drive had become quieter overnight, conversations naturally shifting toward things you weren't there to experience. Someone had posted a picture from a coffee shop you used to visit after school. Someone else had mentioned a teacher you had complained about for years. Tiny pieces of your old life continuing without you.
You stared at the screen for longer than you should have.
Then you locked your phone.
There was no point in torturing yourself with reminders of somewhere you couldn't return to.
At least, not yet.
You stepped outside, locking the front door behind you, and immediately became aware of the house beside yours. The pastor's home stood exactly as it had the previous evening, peaceful and untouched beneath the morning sunlight. The garden that had seemed almost excessive yesterday looked different nowânot less perfect, but more alive. The roses beneath the windows moved slightly in the breeze, and the ivy climbing along the porch railing cast delicate shadows across the white wooden walls.
You wondered briefly what kind of person grew up in a house like that.
Not because you were interested, you reminded yourself of that.
It was just simply curiosity.
A house like that came with expectations. You knew enough about people to understand that. The pastor's son probably had a reputation before he was old enough to create one himself. People probably knew him as a child before they knew him as a person. They probably expected kindness from him, patience from him, goodness from him. They probably looked at him and saw his father's occupation before they saw anything else.
You wondered if that ever became exhausting.
The thought disappeared quickly.
You adjusted your bag over your shoulder and started walking toward school.
The route was shorter than you expected, which somehow annoyed you. You had imagined getting lost, having an excuse to turn around, having some dramatic reason to delay arriving at a place where you knew nobody. Instead, Maple Creek made everything inconveniently simple. The streets were easy to follow. The sidewalks were clean. The school appeared at the end of the road exactly where the map on your phone said it would be.
Even the town was refusing to give you a reason to hate it.
The school building was larger than you expected, though it carried the same old-fashioned charm as everything else in Maple Creek. Red brick walls covered in climbing greenery, tall windows reflecting the morning sunlight, neatly maintained gardens surrounding the entrance. It looked less like a school and more like a place people took photographs of during graduation.
You stood at the edge of the school grounds for a moment longer than necessary, letting the flow of students move around you as though you were standing still in the middle of a river. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going, which hallway they needed, which friends they were meeting, which teachers they needed to avoid before the first bell. There was a strange confidence in the way people moved through familiar places, the kind that only came from years of repetition. They weren't thinking about where to turn or whether they belonged there. They simply existed within the routine of it.
You missed that.
Not the school itself. Not the crowded hallways or the endless assignments or the people who had somehow made every small inconvenience feel like a personal crisis. But you missed knowing what to expect. You missed walking into a building where you knew which staircase was always empty between classes, which vending machine stole your money, which teachers would let you hand things in late without a lecture. You missed the comfort of being a person who already had a place, even if that place wasn't perfect.
Here, everything was unfamiliar.
And unfamiliar meant vulnerable.
You hated that feeling.
You followed the signs toward the main office, your shoes making quiet sounds against the polished floor as you entered the building. It was exactly what you expected inside. Framed photographs lined the walls, displaying graduating classes from decades before you were born, sports teams holding trophies with proud expressions, theatre productions captured mid-performance, students who had once walked through these same hallways and eventually left to create lives somewhere beyond the town.
It was strange seeing so much history preserved.
Back home, schools changed constantly. Posters were replaced, rooms were renovated, people came and went so quickly that it was easy to forget anyone had existed there before you. Here, the past seemed carefully protected. Maple Creek held onto things. It held onto houses, traditions, names, and memories with the kind of devotion usually reserved for things people were afraid of losing.
The thought followed you into the office, where a woman sitting behind the front desk looked up immediately. She had the same welcoming expression everyone here seemed to possess, the kind that made you suspicious because you couldn't understand why a stranger would look genuinely pleased to see you.
"You must be Y/n."
You stopped.
It was becoming unsettling how often people knew who you were before you had introduced yourself.
"Yeah."
The woman smiled and reached for a folder beside her computer. "I'm Mrs. Li. We spoke briefly with your father yesterday when your enrolment paperwork came through. Everything has been processed, and your schedule is inside.
She handed the folder across the desk.
You accepted it carefully, glancing down at your name printed neatly across the front.
"Thank you."
"You'll find everyone here is very welcoming," Mrs Li added.
There it was again.
The phrase everyone seemed determined to use.
Welcoming.
You wondered if there was a meeting where the entire town agreed on the same vocabulary.
You forced a small smile.
"I'll keep that in mind."
Mrs Li didn't seem offended by your lack of enthusiasm. If anything, her expression softened slightly, as though she understood more than you had said.
"Your first class is English. It's just down the hall and to the left. If you have any trouble finding anything, ask someone. We have a wonderful group of students here."
You nodded.
"Okay."
The hallway had become busier now, students moving between lockers and classrooms as the first bell approached. Conversations blended together around you, creating a constant stream of voices that you tried not to focus on. You kept your eyes on your schedule, pretending you didn't notice the occasional glance in your direction.
You knew what they were thinking.
Who is she?
Where did she come from?
Why is she here?
You had been the new girl before, but never like this.
In Chicago, being new meant being one person among thousands. There were always other transfers, other unfamiliar faces, other people trying to figure out where they belonged. Here, you felt like the entire town had watched your moving truck arrive. You weren't just a student who had transferred schools.
You reached your classroom and paused outside the door, hearing voices from inside. The urge to turn around was immediate and irrational. Not because you were afraid, but because walking through that door meant admitting this was real, that you were actually here and not on some sort of visit. You werenât just passing through; this was your life now.
Eventually, you pushed the door open.
The classroom was brighter than you expected, sunlight spilling through the wide windows and casting shapes across the desks. Students looked up briefly as you entered before returning to their conversations, their curiosity subtle enough to be polite but obvious enough that you noticed. You had become aware, almost immediately, of how visible you were here.Â
You made your way toward the empty seat near the window and placed your bag down, grateful for the small distance it gave you from everyone else. For the first few minutes, you simply sat there, watching the classroom. The teacher arranged papers on her desk. Students exchanged conversations that seemed to continue from yesterday, last week, and years ago.
The rest of the morning passed in a way that felt strangely unreal, as though you were watching yourself move through someone else's routine rather than actually participating in your own. Every classroom had its own rhythm that you didn't understand yet; every teacher seemed to know exactly how much time to spend explaining something, exactly when to move on, exactly which students would answer questions before they even raised their hands.Â
You found yourself observing more than listening, studying the small details that revealed how deeply connected everyone was to this place. The girl in front of you had a sticker on her notebook from a local charity event. The boy beside the window wore a jacket with the school emblem stitched neatly onto the chest. Two students passing your desk exchanged a joke that clearly referenced something that had happened years ago, something you could not possibly understand because you had not been there to witness it.
By the time you checked your schedule again before your next class, you were already expecting another subject you would have to pretend to care about, another room where you would sit quietly and allow people to decide what they thought of you. Instead, your eyes stopped on the words printed beneath the next period.
Chapel.
You stared at it for several seconds, convinced that maybe you had misunderstood.
You looked back at the schedule.
Still there.
A mandatory chapel period.
Not an optional gathering. Not a once-a-week event. Not something students attended only if they wanted to participate. It was built directly into the school day with the same certainty as mathematics, English, or science, another requirement that everyone accepted without question.
You almost found it impressive.
Only a town like Maple Creek could create a school where religion was not simply something people practised, but something embedded so naturally into everyday life that nobody even considered questioning it.
Of course, they had a chapel.
You followed the other students toward the chapel building, trying not to let your expression reveal exactly what you were thinking. Nobody else seemed bothered. That was what caught your attention more than anything. They weren't walking there reluctantly. They weren't whispering complaints about having to attend. They weren't rolling their eyes or joking about finding a way to escape.
They simply went, like it was normal.
The chapel itself was beautiful, which added to your growing irritation. The building was old but carefully maintained, with dark wooden beams stretching across the ceiling and rows of polished benches facing a raised platform at the front. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows, breaking into fragments of blue, red, and gold that shifted slowly across the floor as the morning passed.
You took a seat near the back, naturally, the safest place for someone who had no intention of becoming involved.
The teacher at the front began speaking about faith, purpose, and community, and you tried to listen. You genuinely did. You weren't there to mock anyone or disrespect something that clearly mattered to the people around you. But there was a difference between understanding why something was important to others and feeling it yourself.
People always talked about faith like it was something that remained when everything else fell away, but what happened when the things you believed in failed you first? What happened when the people who promised they would always be there were suddenly the reason you had to leave your home? What happened when forever turned out to be something people said only because they wanted to believe it at the time?
Maybe that was why religion had always felt so distant to you. It wasn't because you hated it, and it wasn't because you thought people were foolish for believing in something greater than themselves. You understood the appeal of having something permanent to hold onto when everything around you felt temporary. The problem was that belief required a kind of trust you no longer knew how to give. You had spent too much time watching things people promised would last forever eventually fall apart, watching something that was supposed to be unbreakable become fragile enough to disappear. It was difficult to surrender yourself to the idea of certainty when your own life had become proof that certainty could be taken away without warning.
The clock above the doorway seemed to move more slowly with every passing minute, each second stretching longer than the one before it. You tried to convince yourself that you could sit there until the period ended. It was only one class. Forty minutes of listening, pretending, and doing what everyone else seemed completely comfortable doing.
But the longer you remained in that room, the more aware you became of how different you felt from everyone around you.
The chapel, which seemed to offer comfort to everyone else, began to feel strangely suffocating. You felt as though the room itself was asking something from youâsome kind of acceptance, some willingness to belong, some acknowledgement that this was now your world too.
You looked around one more time, almost hoping to find someone else who looked as uncomfortable as you felt.
You didn't.
Every student seemed exactly where they were supposed to be.
Everyone seemed to have a place.
Except you.
The realisation irritated you more than it should have, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you quietly gathered your notebook and slipped your bag over your shoulder. You waited until the teacher turned her attention toward the front of the room before standing, moving carefully between the rows of benches and making your way toward the side exit. Nobody stopped you. Nobody questioned where you were going. For a moment, you wondered if that was because nobody noticed, or because in a place where everyone seemed to know everyone, you were still too new to matter.
Either option was strangely comforting.
The moment the chapel doors closed behind you, you exhaled.
The hallway outside was empty, and the sudden absence of voices felt like stepping out of a crowded room after holding your breath for too long.
You walked without a destination, following instinct rather than any actual plan, letting your feet carry you away from the main buildings where students gathered and teachers watched.
The further you walked, the quieter the school became.
Eventually, the polished pathways and carefully maintained gardens gave way to a less noticeable section of campus behind the sports fields. It was the kind of place people probably passed without ever really seeing, hidden behind a line of tall trees that separated it from the rest of the school grounds. The branches stretched overhead, creating patches of shade across the grass, while the old maintenance building stood quietly against the edge of the property, its brick walls worn by years of changing weather.
It wasn't somewhere students were supposed to be, which immediately made it somewhere you preferred.
There was something comforting about finding a place that hadn't been perfected. Unlike the rest of Maple Creek, which seemed determined to preserve every detail and present itself as something untouched, this corner of the school existed without trying to impress anyone. The grass grew unevenly. The walls carried marks left behind by time. Nobody had placed flowers here or added signs explaining its importance.
It was simply there.
And for the first time that morning, you felt like you could be too.
You leaned back against the wall, pulling the cigarette from your bag with the familiar ease of someone who had done this too many times to feel guilty anymore. You knew exactly what people would say if they saw you. You knew the assumptions that would immediately follow. The new girl from Chicago who couldn't even make it through her first day without breaking a rule. The divorced man's daughter who clearly had an attitude problem. The outsider who had arrived and immediately proved everyone right.
You almost laughed at the thought.
People loved being right about others.
It made them feel like they understood the world.
The lighter flickered in your hand, and for a moment the small flame was the only movement around you. You watched the cigarette catch before lowering your hand, allowing the smoke to disappear into the cool morning air. The irony wasn't lost on you.
You had escaped a chapel full of people searching for meaning only to find yourself hiding behind a building with a cigarette in your hand.
Maybe everyone had their own way of coping, and yours was just less socially acceptable.
For the first time that morning, you felt like you could breathe properly. There was no teacher watching you. No receptionist smiling at you like she already knew your entire story. No students glancing over and wondering where you came from.
Just complete silence.
You closed your eyes briefly, letting yourself enjoy the rare moment where nobody expected anything from you.
Then you heard footsteps.
At first, you assumed they belonged to another student who had discovered the same hiding place. You didn't bother moving. If anything, you were slightly annoyed that even your one quiet corner couldn't remain yours for longer than five minutes.
The footsteps came closer, slow and unhurried.
Not the hurried steps of someone trying to sneak away.
Someone who knew exactly where they were going.
You opened your eyes.
A boy stood a few feet away, one hand resting casually in the pocket of his uniform trousers, his expression difficult to read. He wasn't wearing the usual look people gave you when they caught you doing something wrong. There was no immediate judgement, no smug satisfaction, no excitement at having discovered someone breaking a rule. He didn't have the expression teachers usually wore when they found students somewhere they shouldn't be, that careful mixture of disappointment and authority that suggested they had already decided what kind of person you were before you had the chance to explain yourself.
Instead, he simply looked at you.
He appeared to be around your age, dressed in the same Saint Augustine's uniform as everyone else, though somehow he carried it differently. The other students you had seen that morning wore their uniforms like an extension of the school itself, every shirt neatly tucked, every tie perfectly adjusted, every detail reflecting the careful order that seemed to exist everywhere in Maple Creek. This boy didn't look careless, but there was something less deliberate about him. He looked comfortable, as though the uniform was simply something he wore rather than something he used to prove that he belonged.
His eyes briefly moved toward the cigarette between your fingers before returning to your face, and you waited for the inevitable reaction. You waited for the sigh, the disapproving expression, the comment about rules and responsibility and how this was not the kind of behaviour expected at a school like Saint Augustine's.
Instead, when he finally spoke, his voice was calmer than you expected.
"You know, I'm pretty sure this isn't exactly where you're supposed to be during chapel."
You stared at him for a moment, caught slightly off guard by the fact that his words sounded more like an observation than an accusation. The cigarette remained between your fingers, smoke curling lazily upward before disappearing into the cool air surrounding the trees.
"I'm aware," you replied.
Your tone was sharper than necessary, but you had already spent the entire morning surrounded by people who were trying to make you feel like you were being welcomed while simultaneously reminding you that you didn't belong. Defensiveness had become easier than politeness. It was a habit you had developed without realising, something you reached for before anyone had the opportunity to hurt you.
The boy didn't seem bothered.
If anything, he looked slightly amused.
"Good," he said simply.
You frowned.
That wasn't the response you were expecting.
Most people would have continued. They would have taken your attitude as an invitation to argue, because people often mistook defensiveness for a challenge. They liked proving they were right, especially when they believed they were helping.
You studied him for a moment before asking the question you already knew the answer to.
"Are you going to report me?"
The question came out automatically, almost like a test. You weren't actually interested in whether he would tell someone. You were interested in seeing what kind of person he was. Whether he was the kind who followed rules because they mattered to him or because breaking them gave him a reason to feel superior.
For a moment, he didn't answer.
His gaze moved briefly toward the school building in the distance, where students were still sitting inside the chapel, probably listening attentively to whatever lesson you had decided you couldn't endure.
Then he looked back at you.
"No."
The simplicity of the answer made you hesitate.
"Why?"
He shrugged slightly, his expression remaining thoughtful rather than dismissive.
"Because I don't think getting you in trouble is going to change anything."
You tilted your head slightly. "What does that mean?"
"It means," he said, looking toward the ground for a moment as though choosing his words carefully, "that if someone doesn't want to be somewhere, making them feel worse probably isn't going to make them suddenly want to be there."
You looked away, taking another slow drag before exhaling toward the trees.
"You're surprisingly understanding for someone at a religious school."
There was a slight pause, then he smiled faintly.
"Is that supposed to be an insult?"
You shrugged. "I'm not sure yet."
That earned a quiet laugh from him, and the sound surprised you because it wasn't the kind of laughter you expected from him.
"You thought I was going to give you a lecture."
"I mean, you're standing behind a church school talking to someone who skipped chapel and is smoking," you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you as though the situation itself explained everything.
His eyebrows lifted slightly, not in disbelief, but in genuine thought, as though he was actually considering your words rather than waiting for his turn to respond. It was a strange reaction, and you found yourself watching him more closely because you couldn't figure out what he was trying to do.
"Do people usually do that?" he asked.
The question was so simple that it almost confused you.
You glanced away for a moment, looking toward the empty field beside the building where the morning sunlight stretched across the grass. "Usually."
You didn't need to explain what you meant.
He seemed to understand anyway.
"And does it work?"
The question caught you off guard.
Not because it was difficult, but because you had expected him to ask something else. You expected him to ask why you smoked, why you skipped chapel, why you seemed so determined to reject everything about the place you had just arrived in. You expected him to focus on the action itself, because that was what people usually did.
You looked back at him, studying his expression carefully.
"What?"
"Does it work when people lecture you?"
For a moment, you didn't answer.
The cigarette slowly burned between your fingers, the ash growing longer before falling quietly onto the ground beneath you. You opened your mouth, ready to give him the easy response. The sarcastic one. The answer you usually gave whenever someone asked a question that felt too close to the truth.
Something like depends who's asking.
Or clearly not, considering I'm still here.
But the words didn't come.
"No."
The answer came out quieter than you intended.
The boy didn't look surprised. He didn't look pleased, either, like he had somehow won an argument. He simply nodded slowly, as though your answer confirmed something he had already suspected.
"Then I don't see the point."
There was something unusual about the way he spoke, like he wasn't trying to convince you of anything. He wasn't saying it because he expected you to suddenly agree with him or because he wanted credit for being understanding. He said it like it was an obvious conclusion, like forcing someone to listen to advice they had no intention of accepting was just another way of making yourself feel useful.
You watched him carefully, trying to figure out what kind of person said things like that.
It was difficult because he didn't fit neatly into any of the categories you had already created for everyone in Maple Creek. You had expected people here to be predictable. You had expected the students at Saint Augustine's to be polite in the same rehearsed way the rest of the town was polite, carrying themselves with the quiet confidence of people who had never had to question whether they belonged. You expected judgment hidden beneath kindness, because that was what you had grown used to.
Before you could stop yourself, you spoke.
"You know, I don't think I ever got your name."
For a moment, something almost amused passed across his expression, like he hadn't realised until then that you had been standing there having an entire conversation without knowing who he was.
His eyes softened slightly, and he shifted his weight away from the wall, extending his hand in a gesture that felt strangely normal considering how unusual the circumstances were.
"I'm Jake."
You looked at him for a moment, your fingers still holding the cigarette as you tried to place where you had heard it before. It sounded familiar, but the thought disappeared before you could catch it. There were too many new names, too many new faces, too many pieces of information being thrown at you since arriving in Maple Creek.
You would remember eventually.
"Y/n." You replied.
He repeated your name quietly back to you, almost absentmindedly, like he was making sure he remembered it.
And you hated how much you noticed.
âÖč  đ ֎ Ő
The walk home felt strangely shorter than it had that morning, and you found yourself resenting that more than you probably should have. The Sim house came into view as you turned onto Maple Street, standing beside yours exactly as it had the day before.
You looked at it only briefly before turning toward your own house.
You didn't have the energy to think about anything else.
The day had already been long enough.
You dropped your bag beside the stairs, kicking your shoes off before walking further inside. The living room looked slightly different from when you had left that morning, although you couldn't immediately identify what had changed. Your father had clearly spent the day trying to make the space feel more lived in. A few boxes had disappeared, the curtains had been opened, and the empty shelves that had made the room feel like a stranger's house were slowly beginning to fill with pieces of your old life.
It was strange watching him rebuild everything so quickly.
Your father had always been good at practical things.
He knew how to assemble furniture without reading instructions. He knew how to fix things that broke. But making it a home was something else entirely, it required something you couldn't unpack from a cardboard box. It required time, memories.
You found him in the kitchen, standing at the counter with his sleeves rolled up while sorting through paperwork beside a half-empty mug of coffee. He looked up when he heard you enter.
"You're home."
You leaned against the doorway.
"Unfortunately."
A small smile tugged at his mouth before disappearing almost immediately.
It was one of the things you noticed about your father. He rarely laughed properly anymore. Since the divorce, happiness seemed to appear in brief moments before he remembered there were still things to worry about.
"How was school?"
You knew what he wanted. He wanted some kind of reassurance that this hadn't been a mistake. That moving three states away hadn't made everything worse. That his decision to leave Chicago, to take the job, to start over, had actually been the right one.
You could have given him the answer he wanted.
You could have complained about everything and proven yourself right.
Instead, you placed your bag down beside the counter and shrugged.
"Fine."
The word was deliberately vague, and you knew it the moment it left your mouth.
Your father knew it too.
He looked up from the papers he had been sorting, his expression changing only slightly, but you noticed the shift anyway. He didn't look angry or disappointed. He didn't even look surprised. If anything, he looked like someone who had expected that answer before he had even asked the question.
"Fine?" he repeated, leaning back against the counter.
You opened the refrigerator door, more to give yourself something to do than because you actually wanted anything inside it. The shelves were organised with the same careful precision that seemed to define everything your father had done since arriving. Groceries were arranged neatly, containers were stacked, and everything had already found a place despite the fact that you still hadn't decided where half your belongings belonged.
"Yeah."
You could feel him watching you.
"You know, most people would probably use more than one word to describe their first day at a new school."
You didnât reply, and he didn't ask again.
Instead, he simply returned to the papers on the counter, allowing the conversation to move on without forcing you to explain something you weren't ready to explain.
After a few moments, he glanced down at the papers before speaking again.
"The Sims stopped by earlier."
You glanced back at him, immediately recognising the name. The woman from next door had already made more of an impression on your first day than most people had managed to in years, mostly because she seemed almost impossibly comfortable in a way you couldn't understand. She had arrived with a warm peach cobbler, spoken to your father as though they were old friends rather than strangers who had only just met.
"The neighbours?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer.
Your father nodded, placing the papers aside and leaning back against the counter. "Yeah. They invited us over on Sunday."
There was something about the way he said it that immediately made you cautious. Not because you disliked the Sims specifically, but because you had started to understand that in Maple Creek, every friendly gesture seemed to come with some deeper connection to the town itself.Â
You looked at him carefully.
"For what?"
Your father hesitated only briefly, but it was enough for you to notice. He had always been terrible at hiding things from you, especially when he knew the answer would probably annoy you. There was a certain expression he got when he was trying to approach a subject carefully, like he was mentally preparing himself for the reaction before the conversation had even started.
"Church."
You stared at him, waiting for him to laugh or explain that he was joking, but his expression remained completely serious. Of course, he was serious. This was Maple Creek, after all. You should have expected that the first invitation from the neighbours would involve the very building that seemed to watch over the entire town from its place above the rooftops.
Your father watched your expression carefully, already knowing exactly what you wereÂ
"I don't know why we have to go," you said, trying to keep your voice neutral, although your father clearly heard the resistance underneath it.
He set his mug down slowly, and for the first time since you walked through the door, you saw the patience he had been holding onto begin to weaken. You knew your father well enough to understand that the church was not the real issue. The issue was everything that had come before it â the constant rejection of every attempt he made to make this place feel less unfamiliar, the way you had spent days insisting that Maple Creek was a mistake before you had even given it a chance.
"They're being kind," he said.
"I know."
"Then why does it bother you so much?"
You looked away because you didn't have a simple answer. It wasn't that you thought Mrs Sim was a bad person. She wasn't. It wasn't that you thought your father was wrong for wanting to meet people. He wasn't. The frustrating part was that everything about Maple Creek was making it harder for you to stay angry.
Your father watched you for a moment before letting out a quiet breath, the kind that carried more exhaustion than frustration. "You know, I understand that you're upset."
You stayed silent.
"I understand that you didn't want this. I understand that you miss Chicago and your friends and the life you had before everything changed. I understand that you feel like you were dragged here because of choices you didn't make."
"But you have to understand something too."
You looked back at him.
"I didn't choose this either."
The words made you pause.
Because you had spent so much time thinking about what you had lost that you had forgotten your father had lost something too. He had lost the same home, the same routines, the same version of your family that you missed. The difference was that while you had been angry, he had been trying to make sure there was still something left to save.
"I am trying," he continued, looking around the kitchen that still didn't quite feel like yours. "I'm trying to make this work. I'm trying to make this place feel like somewhere we live instead of somewhere we ended up."
The honesty of it made you uncomfortable because you didn't know what to do with it. Anger was easier. Anger gave you something to hold onto. But your father's frustration wasn't coming from a desire to control you. It was coming from the fact that he was tired of feeling like he was the only person willing to believe things could get better.
"I'm not asking you to love Maple Creek," he said after a moment. "I'm not asking you to suddenly become someone you're not. I'm just asking you to stop deciding that everything here is against you before you even know what it is."
The kitchen fell quiet again, filled only by the distant sound of the town outside and the faint ringing of the church bell in the distance. You hated that the timing almost felt intentional, as though Maple Creek itself was reminding you that it was still there, waiting patiently for you to stop fighting it.
But after a long moment, you finally sighed and looked back at your father.
"One Sunday."
The surprise that crossed his face was immediate, and you regretted agreeing almost as quickly as you saw it.
"Don't make it a big deal," you warned.
A small smile appeared on his face, the first one you had seen since the conversation started.
"I won't."
You narrowed your eyes slightly because you both knew that wasn't entirely true.
"You will."
He laughed quietly, shaking his head as he picked up his mug again.
"Maybe a little."
You grabbed your bag and headed toward the stairs before he could say anything else, still uncertain about whether agreeing had been a mistake. You still weren't looking forward to Sunday. You still didn't understand why this town seemed so determined to pull you into its routines, its traditions, its carefully preserved little world where everyone seemed to know exactly where they belonged.
But as you entered your bedroom later that evening and looked out through the window toward the church steeple standing above the rooftops, you found yourself wondering what exactly waited for you there.
âÖč  đ ֎ Ő
The Sunday you were dreading seemed to come faster than you wished.
The pews creaked under the weight of the congregation as you sat rigid beside your father, the stiff collar of your dress scratching at your neck. The sermon droned on, the pastor's voice booming from the pulpit, but your attention drifted until the side door opened. A boy about your age slipped in late, Bible tucked under one arm, and took the empty seat two rows ahead. The moment his profile turned, your stomach dropped. It was himâthe same guy who had caught you behind the school last week, cigarette between your fingers, smoke curling from your lips.
Jake.
For a moment, you wondered if he had noticed you, but he seemed completely absorbed in the service, carefully opening the worn Bible beneath his arm before offering a quiet apology to the elderly woman beside him for arriving late. She smiled as though she had forgiven him before he'd even spoken, patting his arm affectionately before turning her attention back toward the pulpit.
Every movement he made carried the unconscious ease of someone who had spent years within these walls. He knew exactly when to stand, when to sit, when to join the hymns without needing to glance at the page numbers announced from the front. Even the people around him seemed to move naturally around his presence, greeting him with small smiles whenever the congregation shifted or the peace was exchanged, as though he wasn't simply another student from school but somebody they had watched grow up.
You couldn't imagine what that felt like.
The service continued, the pastor's voice echoing beneath the high timber ceiling while coloured light from the stained-glass windows drifted slowly across the polished wooden floor. You triedâgenuinely triedâto pay attention, but your concentration wandered almost immediately yet again, your gaze drawn back toward Jake every few minutes despite yourself. It wasn't curiosity anymore, at least not entirely. It was something closer to disbelief. The boy who had found you smoking behind the maintenance building somehow looked exactly the same here, yet completely different at the same time.Â
Eventually the pastor closed his Bible, offering a final blessing before the congregation answered in practiced unison. Almost immediately the atmosphere changed. The solemn quiet dissolved into conversation as people rose from their seats, hymn books slid back into their holders, and families gathered in the aisles with the familiar ease of people who had repeated the same ritual every Sunday for decades. Children darted between rows of pews while older couples lingered to catch up.
Your father stood beside you, smoothing invisible creases from his shirt before offering you a hopeful glance.
"Come on," he murmured. "We should say hello."
You resisted the urge to sigh.
Instead, you followed him reluctantly through the growing crowd, offering polite nods whenever another unfamiliar face introduced themselves. Everyone smiled. Everyone seemed genuinely pleased that you were there.
It was exhausting.
Across the room, you caught sight of Mrs Sim weaving effortlessly through the congregation with the same warmth she'd shown the day she'd arrived at your house carrying a peach cobbler. The moment she noticed the two of you, her face lit up, and she crossed the room with surprising speed before your father had any chance of escaping.
"I'm so glad you came," she said brightly, clasping your father's hands between hers before turning that same smile toward you. "And you must be surviving your first week at school."
"Barely," you replied.
Mrs Sim laughed, apparently choosing to interpret your answer as a joke.
"I'm sure it'll get easier."
You weren't convinced.
"Oh," she said suddenly, looking over her shoulder. "Jake!"
You followed her gaze instinctively.
Jake had been speaking with an older man near the front of the church, but at the sound of his mother's voice, he excused himself immediately and made his way over, offering the man a polite smile before crossing the aisle. Up close, he looked exactly as he had behind the school, except for the blazer he'd pulled on over his shirt and the Bible still tucked beneath one arm.
"Jake," Mrs Sim said warmly as he reached the group, resting a gentle hand against his arm. "I'd like you to meet our new neighbours."
He turned obediently toward your father first, offering a polite smile before extending his hand. "Hi, sir. I'm Jake."
"Nice to meet you, Jake," your father replied, returning the handshake. "I'm Daniel, and this is my daughter." Only then did Jake's attention shift towards you.
Recognition crossed his face almost immediately, so brief that anyone else would have mistaken it for an ordinary pause, but you caught it anyway. His eyes widened the slightest fraction before settling, the corners of his mouth threatening a smile he seemed to think better of almost as quickly as it appeared.Â
He hadn't expected you to be here.
You hadn't expected him either.
"Hi," he said after the briefest hesitation, extending his hand towards you exactly as though the two of you had never spoken before.
You looked at his outstretched hand for a second before taking it.
"Y/n."
"Jake."
The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, "It's... nice to meet you."
You caught the tiny pause before meet, and for a moment you wondered if anyone else had noticed it. Judging by the bright smile spreading across Mrs Sim's face, they hadn't.
Mrs Sim's smile widened with obvious satisfaction as she looked between the two of you, entirely convinced she had just witnessed the beginning of a perfectly ordinary introduction. "Isn't that lovely?" she said, clasping her hands together for a moment before turning her attention back to your father. "I've been telling Jake all week that he should properly come over and welcome you both, but between school and helping his father prepare for Sunday, we simply haven't had a moment."
Jake withdrew his hand slowly, offering his mother a small, almost sheepish smile that suggested this was hardly the first time she'd volunteered his time on his behalf. "Sorry about that," he said, his attention returning to you for only a moment before politely addressing your father again. "I should've introduced myself sooner."
"It's been a busy week for everyone," your father replied easily. "We're still finding boxes we forgot to unpack."
"I can imagine."
The conversation settled into an easy rhythm almost immediately, though you found yourself contributing very little. It wasn't intentional; there simply wasn't much to say. Your father and Mrs Sim seemed strangely well suited to one another's company, discussing the town with the comfortable enthusiasm of two people standing on opposite sides of the same experienceâone eager to tell stories, the other grateful to hear them. Your father listened with genuine interest, asking questions whenever she paused, and you realised with some surprise that he was smiling more than you'd seen him smile since leaving Chicago.
"You survived your first week."
Jake's voice came quietly from beside you. You turned your head just enough to find him standing beside you, close enough to speak without raising his voice but careful not to crowd your space. He wasn't looking directly at you. Instead, his attention rested somewhere across the sanctuary where a little girl in polished black shoes chased her younger brother between the pews before their mother caught both of them with an exasperated laugh. The corners of Jake's mouth lifted ever so slightly at the sight, his expression carrying the quiet amusement of someone who had probably watched the same scene play out countless Sundays before.
"Barely," you admitted, your answer escaping with a dry honesty that surprised even you.
A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it, dissolving almost as quickly as it appeared. For a brief second, the carefully composed image everyone seemed to have of Jake dissolved, revealing someone your age rather than the pastor's son everyone else appeared to see.
"I figured," he said, the smile lingering faintly as he glanced down for a moment before looking back toward the sanctuary.
You studied him for a second, curiosity getting the better of you.
"You figured?"
His attention finally shifted towards you, and there it was againâthat impossibly gentle expression that somehow never felt rehearsed. "Most people," he said with the faintest trace of amusement colouring his voice, "don't decide to skip chapel on their first day."
You couldn't help the quiet smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth, the memory arriving almost uninvited. You could still picture the look on his face when he'd stepped around the maintenance building and found you leaning against the brick wall with a cigarette balanced lazily between your fingers. You had been so certain you knew exactly how that conversation would unfold. You had expected disappointment, a lecture rehearsed from years of Sunday sermons, or at the very least the smug satisfaction of someone catching another person doing something they shouldn't.
"No," you replied, folding your arms loosely across your chest. "I figured I'd make an impression."
Jake's head dipped as another quiet laugh escaped him, this one accompanied by the smallest shake of his head. "You definitely managed that."
"Oh?" you asked, unable to resist. "I was under the impression you were trying very hard not to think about it."
"I was."
"But?"
"But..." He hesitated, searching for the right words with the same care he seemed to give everything he said. "You're not exactly easy to forget."
The admission seemed to surprise him almost as much as it surprised you. The words hung between you for a moment before a faint flush climbed slowly across his cheeks, and you watched the realisation dawn on him that he'd spoken aloud instead of keeping the thought to himself.
"I didn't meanâ"
"I know what you meant."
His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, grateful that you hadn't chosen to make things more embarrassing than they already were. A sheepish smile tugged briefly at the corners of his mouth before he ducked his head, his fingers absentmindedly tightening around the worn spine of the Bible tucked beneath his arm. It was strangely endearing, watching someone who seemed so composed unravel over a sentence as innocent as that.
For a moment, neither of you spoke, then Mrs Sim's voice drifted across the sanctuary before either of you had the chance to say anything else.
"Jake, sweetheart," she called, waving him over with an affectionate smile. "Would you mind helping your father carry the coffee urn into the hall?"
Jake glanced over his shoulder toward his mother, then back at you, and for a moment he looked almost reluctant to leave.Â
"I should probably..." he began, his voice trailing off as he nodded toward where his mother was waiting.
You glanced in the same direction before looking back at him.
"Go," you said, unable to hide the amusement in your voice. "Before she sends someone else over here to get you."
He adjusted the Bible beneath his arm, his fingers brushing over the worn leather cover as though he needed something to do with his hands.
"It was..." He paused, searching for the right words, and the hesitation was so unlike the confident, composed version of him everyone else seemed to know that it almost made you smile. "It was nice to officially meet you."
You looked at him for a moment, letting the irony sit between you.
"We're still pretending that's what happened?"
A small smile appeared on his face, one that he tried and failed to hide.
"...It was nice to officially meet you too."
Something about your answer seemed to genuinely please him. His smile widened, then he disappeared into the crowd, moving easily between familiar faces and Sunday conversations, stopping every few steps to greet someone who knew him by name. You watched him for a moment longer than you intended.
âÖč  đ ֎ Ő
The weeks after that passed slowly enough that you almost didn't notice when Maple Creek began feeling less like a place you had been sent to and more like somewhere you actually existed.
You still missed Chicago in ways you didn't always admit. You missed the noise of the streets outside your old apartment, the constant movement of people who didn't know your name and didn't care enough to ask. In Maple Creek, everyone knew everything, or at least they acted like they did. The neighbours waved whenever you walked past. Teachers remembered your name. People asked how you were adjusting with genuine concern, and you never quite knew what to do with their kindness.
It wasn't that the town had suddenly become home. It hadn't. There were still mornings when you woke up convinced that if you looked out of your bedroom window, the familiar skyline of Chicago would somehow have returned overnight, replacing the church steeple that stood stubbornly above the rooftops. There were afternoons when you found yourself reaching instinctively for your phone to text friends who were no longer part of your daily life, only to remember that conversations became difficult when they were separated by three states and an entirely different routine. Life back home continued without you, just as yours continued without them, and there was something quietly devastating about how quickly people adapted to absence.
School settled into something resembling routine before you realised it had happened. The novelty of being the new girl faded as other distractions claimed everyone's attention, and the curious glances that had followed you through the corridors during your first week gradually disappeared. Teachers stopped introducing you to every class. People no longer whispered your name after you walked past.Â
To your surprise, you found yourself sharing more classes with Jake than you had expected.
English, where the seating plan placed him one desk beside you after Mrs Henderson announced she wanted "fresh perspectives" before rearranging the entire room. History, where he somehow managed to answer questions without sounding like he was showing off, speaking only when the teacher called on him and never a moment longer. Even Chemistry, where your assigned lab partners changed every fortnight until, through what you suspected was extraordinarily bad luck, you ended up standing opposite him at the same scratched black laboratory bench.
"You look disappointed," he observed one afternoon while measuring chemicals into a graduated cylinder with infuriating precision.
"I was hoping for someone who'd let me do absolutely nothing."
The corner of his mouth lifted, though he kept his attention on the clear liquid slowly rising against the measurement lines.
Your eyebrows rose.
"You did?"
"No."
You let your head fall back with exaggerated disappointment.
"There goes my entire plan for the afternoon."
Jake finally glanced up, the faint smile still lingering on his face.
"You had a plan?"
"I usually don't," you admitted as you leaned against the bench, absentmindedly spinning an empty beaker between your hands. "That's probably the problem."
"I noticed."
You looked at him suspiciously.
"Was that supposed to be an insult?"
"No."
"It sounded like one."
"It wasn't."
"You didn't even deny noticing."
"I didn't think I had to."
For a second, you simply stared at him before a reluctant laugh escaped you. Jake smiled in return, before returning his attention to the experiment.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember why talking to him had once felt awkward.
The strange thing about Jake was that conversations with him never felt like conversations you had to win. He never treated your sarcasm like a challenge or an invitation to argue. Most people responded to your remarks by trying to outmatch them, determined to prove they were cleverer or funnier or somehow immune to the walls you built around yourself. Jake simply accepted them for what they were, answering with the same gentle humour every time until, before you realised it, you found yourself talking without thinking quite so carefully about every word.
You hated how easy that was becoming.
One morning you arrived at English to find the teacher running late, and Jake had absentmindedly saved the empty seat beside him without either of you acknowledging it. You would steal half his fries at lunch because, according to you, "sharing was a Christian virtue," and he'd sigh with theatrical disappointment before sliding the carton a little closer anyway. Another afternoon you discovered your pen had run out halfway through a history test, and before you could even ask, another one appeared silently on your desk. He never made a point of it. By the end of the lesson, he'd simply asked for it back with an absent-minded, "I only own two."
Neither of you ever spoke about it.
There simply came a point where being around one another stopped requiring an invitation.
By the time October settled over Maple Creek, the trees lining Main Street had begun surrendering their leaves one by one, covering the sidewalks in deep shades of amber and burnt gold that crunched beneath your shoes on the walk home. The afternoons grew cooler, sunlight fading earlier than it had only weeks before, and your routine settled into something that almost resembled normality. School. Home. Homework you pretended to hate. Dinner with your father, who looked a little less exhausted every evening.
One Friday evening, you arrived home to find the house smelling faintly of rosemary, garlic and something roasting in the oven. Music drifted quietly from the old radio your father had finally unpacked, filling the kitchen with the familiar sound of Fleetwood Mac while every available surface had somehow become covered with bowls, chopping boards and ingredients.
"What happened?" you asked, eyeing the organised chaos spread across every available surface.
Your father looked over his shoulder, the wooden spoon still resting in his hand, his brow creasing with mild confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"You cooked."
A quiet laugh escaped him as he returned his attention to the saucepan.
"I do know how."
"You ordered takeaway four nights this week."
"I was busy."
"And now?"
He hesitated for only a second before a small, almost satisfied smile settled across his face.
"I invited the Sims over for dinner."
The words landed with enough force that you straightened instinctively.
"You... invited them?"
"I did."
You stared at him for a long moment, trying to decide whether he was joking. Judging by the calm expression on his face as he sprinkled herbs into the saucepan, he wasn't.
"The pastor's family?"
"Our neighbours," he corrected gently.
You let out a slow sigh, dropping into one of the kitchen chairs as you rubbed a hand across your forehead.
"You really expect me to survive an entire evening of polite conversation?"
Your father smiled to himself as he stirred the sauce once more.
"I think you'll manage."
You narrowed your eyes at him.
"I think you're overestimating me."
His smile only grew. "Dinner's at six tomorrow."
You groaned quietly, letting your head fall back against the chair.
"I wasn't asking."
âÖč  đ ֎ Ő
The following evening arrived with surprising speed, carrying with it the kind of nervous anticipation you refused to acknowledge. By half past five, the house had been transformed into something almost unrecognisable. The dining table, which had spent the better part of a month buried beneath unopened mail and half-unpacked boxes, now sat neatly arranged with your father's best plates and polished cutlery that hadn't seen daylight since Chicago.Â
Your father had changed shirts twice.
You knew because you'd watched him do it.
The first one had apparently been "too wrinkled." The second, according to him, made him look like he was trying too hard. Eventually he'd settled on a navy button-down you'd seen him wear exactly twice before, smoothing imaginary creases from the sleeves every few minutes as he checked the oven for what had to be the sixth time.
"You know they're only coming for dinner," you observed from where you leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching him fuss over the table with growing amusement.
Without looking up, he adjusted one of the forks by what couldn't have been more than half a centimetre.
"I know."
The doorbell rang precisely at six.
Your father disappeared into the hallway before you had a chance to move, and moments later the sound of warm greetings drifted through the house, accompanied by the unmistakable laughter of Mrs Sim. You remained exactly where you were for another moment, taking a steadying breath before reluctantly following.
The Sims stood just inside the front entrance, autumn coats folded neatly over their arms after escaping the cool evening air. Mrs Sim was the first to notice you, her face brightening instantly as she crossed the hallway with the same effortless warmth she seemed to carry everywhere, wrapping you in a brief hug before you had any real opportunity to avoid it.
"Oh, sweetheart," she said, stepping back to admire you with an approving smile. "It's lovely to see you again."
You returned an awkward smile, still adjusting to people who expressed affection so freely.
"You too."
Pastor Sim stood nearby, extending a firm hand toward your father while thanking him again for the invitation. He carried himself with the same quiet authority you'd heard in his sermons, though stripped of the pulpit and formal robes, he seemed considerably less intimidating than he had on Sunday morning. He laughed easily, spoke gently, and thanked your father three separate times before stepping inside.
Jake lingered near the back of the group, waiting until everyone else had entered before quietly closing the front door behind them. Unlike church, where he'd worn pressed clothes and carried a Bible tucked neatly beneath one arm, tonight he looked comfortably ordinary. Holding a charcoal knit jumper over his arm, he wore a pale collared shirt whose sleeves had been rolled casually to his forearms, and his hair, usually kept neatly in place throughout the school day, had begun to curl slightly around his forehead in the cool evening air.
His eyes found yours almost immediately.
A small smile appeared before either of you spoke.
"Hi."
"Hi."
The greeting was simple, almost laughably so after weeks of sharing classrooms and conversations, but somehow it felt different here. There were no teachers nearby pretending not to overhear you, no church congregation moving around you, no hurried walk between classes limiting the conversation to a few passing words. This was your house. He was standing in your hallway.
"So..." you said, leaning casually against the hallway wall as the adults disappeared into the dining room. Your eyes moved over him with deliberate curiosity, taking in the fact that the boy who spent his days looking perfectly composed at school was now standing in your house looking slightly out of place. "This is how you spend your Saturday nights?"
Jake glanced towards the dining room before looking back at you, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. He seemed caught between defending himself and admitting you had a point.
"Apparently."
Before you could say something back, Mrs Sim called for both of you from the dining room, and Jake gestured for you to go ahead.
You looked at him suspiciously as you walked past.
"Just manners?"
He smiled.
"Just manners."
Dinner was easier than you expected.
You had prepared yourself for an evening of uncomfortable silence and forced conversation, the kind where every question felt like an interrogation and every answer had to be carefully chosen. Instead, the night moved naturally. Your father and Pastor Sim carried most of the conversation, discussing the town, work, and everything you had missed during your first few weeks in Maple Creek. Mrs Sim filled in the quieter moments with stories about the neighbourhood, laughing whenever your father admitted something embarrassing about adjusting to a smaller town.
You mostly listened. Jake sat across from you, occasionally catching your eye when the adults became too invested in their conversation. Each time, there was a quiet understanding between you bothâa shared amusement at the fact that neither of you had expected the evening to be as normal as it was.
By the time the dinner had ended, the plates were cleared away, the last traces of conversation drifting from the kitchen as your father and the Sims continued talking.
You had just started relaxing into the evening when your father returned from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel as he glanced between you and Jake.
"You know what?" he said, wiping his hands on a towel. "You should show Jake your vinyl collection."
You looked up immediately.
"My what?"
Your father ignored the disbelief in your voice, leaning casually against the doorway.
"You spent all that time organising them last week."
You narrowed your eyes at him, already knowing exactly what he was doing.
Jake glanced towards you, a small smile forming.Â
"I'd like to see them." He responded.
"Fine.", you sighed, standing from your chair.Â
Your father smiled in victory.
"But if you judge my music taste," you added, pointing at Jake, "I'm making you leave."
A quiet laugh escaped him as he followed you towards the stairs.
You led the worn wooden stairs creak under Jake's weight as you guided him up to your room. You could feel the heat of his gaze on the back of your neck, a palpable thing that had nothing to do with the heat of the evening. "My dad has a few old gospel records," he said, his voice softer than it had been downstairs. "But they're predictable. The same messages."
You pushed your bedroom door open, "Predictable is boring," you stated, your tone leaving no room for argument as you gestured for him to enter. He stepped over the threshold like he was crossing into another world, his eyes wide as they took in the turntable on your desk.
You watched his throat work as he swallowed.
You pulled a record from its sleeve, toying with the black disk in your hands. "This one," you said, not asking, as you placed it on the platter and lowered the needle. A slow, grinding bassline filled the room, something primal that seemed to push against the walls. Jake flinched, just slightly. "Listen," you instructed, standing close enough that your arm brushed his. You didn't move away. "Hear the difference?."
He stared at the spinning record, but his attention was fractured, pulled to where your skin met the crisp cotton of his polo shirt. "It's intense," he managed, his voice tight. You turned to face him fully, closing the small distance. You saw the conflict in his eyes, the lifetime of doctrine warring with a raw, waking curiosity.
"You don't have to analyse it, Jake," you murmured, your hand coming up to not quite touch his cheek. You let it hover. "You just have to experience it." His breath caught. His eyes fluttered shut for a second, and when they opened, the look in them was one of surrender. You finally let your fingertips graze his jawline. He leaned into it, ever so slightly.
Your other hand found his, prying his fingers open from the fist he hadn't realized he'd made. You guided his palm, placing it flat against the album cover on your desk. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" you asked, the music swelling around you both. He didn't speak. He only nodded, a slow, deliberate dip of his chin, his eyes locked on yours.
The song ended with a final, resonant thrum, and the sudden silence felt louder than the music. Jakeâs hand remained on the album cover, his knuckles pale. You watched him, the rise and fall of his chest beneath his starched shirt a little too quick. You didnât move your fingers from his jaw. The air in the room grew thick, charged with the things heâd been taught to confess and repent.
You finally broke the contact, turning back to the turntable. You lifted the tonearm, the click of the switch cutting off the faint surface noise. âThereâs more,â you said, your voice a low murmur, not looking at him as you flipped through the crate, the cardboard sleeves stacked against each other. You could feel him watching you, his eyes following your every move.
You selected another record, this one with a stark, abstract cover in deep reds and blacks. âThis one builds slower,â you explained, your back still to him as you slid the vinyl out. âIt takes its time. It makes you wait for it.â You placed it on the platter, setting the needle down with care, and a single, clean piano note echoed through the speakers, followed by another, spaced apart by a breath of silence. Jake let out a slow exhale behind you. You heard the soft rustle of his clothes as he shifted his weight.
You turned then, leaning back against the edge of your desk, crossing your ankles. You studied him openlyâthe way his hair fell a little too perfectly over his forehead, the rigid set of his shoulders that was beginning to soften. His eyes were fixed on the record as it spun, but you knew he wasnât really seeing it. He was listening, truly listening, to the music.
âDo you understand now?â you asked, your voice barely above the level of the unfolding melody. His gaze flickered to yours, and in the low light from your desk lamp, you saw the first crack in his composure, a fine, hairline fracture. He gave another small, silent nod. You held his look for a long moment, then let your eyes drift back to the spinning black disk, letting the music fill the space where words would have been a trespass.
His fingers slowly curled, lifting from the album cover. He brought his hand back to his side, but it didnât hang with its usual relaxed posture. It was a fist again, though looser this time, as if holding onto the ghost of the sensation. The piano melody wove around a slow, deliberate drumbeat. He took a half-step forward, then stopped, as if an invisible line on your floor marked a boundary he wasnât sure he was allowed to cross.
You didnât invite him closer. You simply watched, your expression neutral, giving him nothing but the space to choose. His eyes traveled from the turntable to your face, then down to your lips, before snapping back up, a faint flush coloring his neck. The music built, layer upon layer, a sonic cathedral of something entirely secular. It was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous to him, you could tell.
âWhere did you find this?â he finally asked, his voice rough. It was the first question heâd dared to ask since entering your room. It wasnât about the music, not really.
âA little shop downtown,â you answered, your tone casual. âThe owner knows what I like.â You uncrossed your ankles and stood up straight, taking a single, slow step toward him. He didnât retreat. The distance between you was now just a matter of a few inches. You could see the rapid pulse at the base of his throat.
âIt doesnât sound like anything Iâve ever heard,â he admitted, the confession seeming to cost him something. His gaze dropped to your collar, to the hollow of your throat, before he forced it back to your eyes. He was trying so hard to be polite, to maintain eye contact, even as every instinct was pulling him elsewhere.
You reached out again, this time not towards his face, but towards the stiff collar of his polo shirt. You didnât grab it. You merely hooked a single finger under the fabric, just beside his neck, and gave the slightest tug. His breath hitched audibly, a sharp sound swallowed by the swelling music. His entire body went still, a deer caught in headlights.
A slow, wry smile touched his lips, a flicker of his usual self breaking through the tension. âChecking the thread count?â he asked, his voice a rough whisper that carried a surprising hint of humor. It was a defense mechanism, a quick-witted retreat into something safe and mundane, but it faltered as your finger remained, the back of your knuckle resting against the pounding pulse in his throat.
You released the collar, your finger brushing the warm skin of his collarbone as you withdrew. âJust seeing if itâs as ruined as your demeanor,â you replied, matching his tone but letting your gaze drop meaningfully to his lips. The color in his cheeks deepened, but he held your look. The music built around you, a complex tapestry of sound that felt like it was weaving the two of you together in the dim light.
He swallowed, his Adamâs apple bobbing. âMy mom insists on a specific laundry routine. Says a crisp appearance reflects a⊠an ordered mind.â The words were a confession and an offering, a glimpse into the world of rules that shaped him. He was letting you in, piece by piece, even as his body trembled on the precipice.
Your hands came up to frame his face, your thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. He leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. You kissed him, your mouth demanding against his, and after a moment of stillness, Jake responded with a desperate, hungry fervor that shattered his careful composure. His hands came up, hovering awkwardly at your sides before finally settling on your waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt. A low groan vibrated from his chest into yours. You walked him backward until his legs hit the edge of your bed, and he sat down with a soft thump, breaking the kiss only because he had to.
You stood between his knees, looking down at him. His lips were swollen, his breath coming in short pants. You reached for the hem of his polo shirt again. This time, you didnât tease. You pulled it up and over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. His chest was pale and smooth, his skin heating under your gaze. Your fingers went to the button of his chinos. He watched, mesmerized, as you undid it, then the zipper. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his pants and his briefs. âLift,â you commanded softly.
He obeyed instantly, raising his hips so you could strip the last barriers from him. He was fully, beautifully exposed, sitting on the edge of your bed. You let your eyes travel over him, a slow, appreciative look that made him shiver. Then you sank to your knees on the floor before him. His eyes widened, a soft âohâ escaping him. You didnât make him wait. You took him into your mouth, your tongue sweeping a broad, wet stroke along his length. His whole body jerked, a choked cry tearing from his throat. His hands flew to your hair, not pushing or pulling, just tangling in the strands as if he needed to hold onto something solid.
You set a slow, deep rhythm, your mouth a warm, slick haven. His hips began to move in tiny, helpless thrusts, a rhythm as old as time but entirely new to him in this context. His breaths were ragged prayers, gasps of âpleaseâ and âGodâ that had nothing to do with the divinity heâd been raised to worship and everything to do to the sinful paradise you were building with your lips and tongue. You could feel the tension coiling tightly in him, his thighs trembling against your shoulders. Just as he was teetering on the edge, you pulled back, leaving him gasping and bereft. You looked up at him, your chin glistening. âMy turn,â you whispered, and you rose to guide him back onto the bed.
He hesitated for only a second, his face flushed with shame and arousal. âI⊠I shouldnât,â he whispered, voice trembling. âThis is wrong⊠I was taught to resist this kind of temptation.â Yet his body betrayed him. His cock twitched visibly, already leaking at the tip, and he didnât resist when you pushed him onto his back. He lay there obediently, arms at his sides, fingers clutching the sheets like he was praying for strength. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, wide and pleading. âTell me what to do,â he said softly. âIâll do it. Iâll be good for you.â
You guided him onto his back, and he went without resistance, settling against the sheets with his arms loose at his sides. His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. His cock lay hard against his stomach, flushed dark and twitching with every pulse of his heartbeat. You climbed over him, straddling his hips, and his eyes followed your every movement like he was watching something forbidden yet irresistible.
"I shouldn't," he whispered again, the words catching in his throat. "It's a sin. I've prayed against this... against wanting it." His voice cracked on the last word, but his hips lifted slightly, seeking contact even as he spoke against it. His hands stayed where they were, fingers digging into the bedding, waiting for your command.
You leaned down until your lips brushed his ear. "Then pray while I use you," you told him. A soft, broken sound escaped him, half a whimper and half a moan. You reached between your bodies, wrapped your fingers around his cock, and lined him up. His whole frame tensed as the head pressed against your entrance.
"Please," he breathed. "Tell me I'm allowed. Tell me to take it."
"Push up," you ordered.
He obeyed at once. His hips rose in one smooth thrust, sliding into you with a single, desperate motion. The moment he was buried to the hilt, a strangled prayer tore from his lipsâhalf-formed words of repentance mixed with raw need. You stayed still above him, letting him feel every inch of your heat gripping him, while his thighs trembled beneath you.
"Move," you said.
He started with shallow, careful thrusts, trying to keep some measure of control, but it quickly unraveled. His hips snapped upward harder, chasing the slick friction, each stroke punctuated by soft, guilty gasps of "God" and "forgive me." His hands finally left the sheets to grip your hips, not to guide you but to hold on as if you were the only thing anchoring him. Every time he bottomed out, his eyes squeezed shut like he was both praying for strength and begging for more.
You leaned forward, pressing your chest to his, and whispered against his mouth, "You're being so good for me. So obedient."
A shudder ran through him. "I want to be good," he panted. "I want to please you. Even if it's wrong. Even if I have to confess later." His thrusts grew faster, more urgent, the wet sound of your bodies meeting filling the room. Pre-cum leaked steadily from him inside you, mixing with your own slickness. His abs flexed with every movement, the muscles in his arms standing out as he held you.
You sat up again, rolling your hips in a slow circle that made him cry out. "Don't come yet," you warned.
He nodded frantically, biting his lower lip hard enough to leave marks. "I won't. I won't until you say. I'll hold it. I'll be good." His cock throbbed inside you, right on the edge, but he forced his hips to slow, following your command even as his entire body shook with the effort. Sweat beaded on his forehead and chest. His eyes stayed locked on yours, wide, glassy, and completely surrendered.
You stayed seated on him, savoring the way his cock pulsed inside you with every desperate heartbeat. His grip on your hips tightened, but he kept his thrusts shallow and controlled exactly as you ordered. Sweat glistened across his pale chest, and his lips moved in silent prayer even while his body betrayed every word of it.
"Good boy," you murmured, rolling your hips in a slow grind that dragged a broken moan from his throat. "Keep praying. Let me hear it."
His voice cracked as he obeyed. "Forgive me... Lord, forgive me for this... for wanting it so much..." Each word dissolved into a gasp when you clenched around him. His thighs quivered beneath you, and his cock twitched hard, threatening to spill, but he fought it back with visible effort.
You leaned down and kissed him hard, swallowing the next plea. When you pulled back, a thin strand of saliva connected your mouths. "Now fuck me properly," you told him. "Hard. Don't stop until I tell you."
The permission hit him like a command from above. His hips snapped up in one powerful thrust that drove the air from his lungs. He buried himself to the hilt again and again, the wet slap of skin filling the room. His fingers dug into your flesh hard enough to leave marks as he used every ounce of strength to obey. Each stroke punched a ragged sound from himâhalf curse, half prayer.
"Yes... yes, use me," he panted. "I'm yours... I'm so sorry, God, but I'm yours right now." His eyes stayed locked on yours, glassy with guilt and lust. Pre-cum leaked steadily from him, mixing with your slickness and making every thrust louder, filthier.
You reached between your bodies and rubbed your clit in tight circles while he pounded into you. The sight of himâflushed, sweating, desperateâpushed you closer. "Don't come," you warned again. "Not until I do."
He nodded frantically, jaw clenched, veins standing out in his neck. His rhythm never faltered even as his whole body shook with the effort of holding back. "I won't... I promise... I'll be good... I'll wait..." His cock swelled inside you, so close to the edge it hurt to watch, but he kept driving upward exactly as you wanted.
You rode him faster, chasing your own release while he suffered beautifully beneath you. His prayers had dissolved into wordless, broken sounds. Every thrust hit deep, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you until your thighs started to tremble.
"Now," you gasped. "Come with me."
The permission shattered what little control he had left. His hips jerked upward in one final, brutal thrust as he came hard, flooding you with hot pulses. A loud, guilty cry tore from his throatâyour name mixed with another broken apology to God. His cock throbbed violently inside you, emptying everything he had while his body arched off the bed. You clenched around him and came right after, your walls pulsing and milking every drop from him.
He kept thrusting weakly through both orgasms, unable to stop even after he was spent. When the last aftershocks faded, he collapsed back against the sheets, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut in shame and relief. His softening cock still twitched inside you, sensitive and overstimulated.
You stayed on top of him, letting him feel the mess he'd made. After a long moment he opened his eyes, looking up at you with raw, wrecked devotion.
"Thank you," he whispered. "For... for letting me. Even though I shouldn't have."Â
âÖč  đ ֎ Ő
You hadn't expected Jake to become so desperate for you. Then again, you couldn't argue against it since the boy had never touched anything until that night in your bedroom. That night had been your experiment, a little game to see if the golden boy preacherâs son would crack, and he had shattered. Now, three weeks later, the crack had become a canyon, and he was falling through it daily, reaching for you.
He appeared at your usual smoke spot, his crisp button-down looking absurd against the scarred wall. His hands were shoved deep in his khaki pockets, his shoulders tense. "The archives in the library basement," he said, his voice low and urgent, skipping any greeting. "The theology section. No one goes there on Wednesday afternoons." His eyes, usually so clear and certain, were clouded with a need that looked like physical pain. You took a long drag of your cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly, watching him flinch. Not from the smoke, but from the delay.
It became a pattern. A folded note tucked into your sociology textbook with a time and a location scrawled in his neat handwriting: *Boiler room, 3 PM.* A text message that just read *Empty classroom, second floor, east wing. Now.* He never asked if you wanted to. He simply presented the opportunity, a sinner offering his own temptation, his voice always carrying that same ragged edge. Youâd find him there, pacing or standing perfectly still, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break. The moment he saw you, the calm would evaporate, replaced by a frantic energy as he fumbled with his belt, or yours, his prayers forgotten, replaced by whispered pleas against your skin.
You met him in the designated broom closet. It was cramped, smelling of lemon cleaner and dust. He had you pressed against the shelves before the door clicked shut, his mouth hot and demanding on yours, his hands pulling at your clothes with a clumsy haste. "I can't stop thinking about it," he gasped against your neck, his hips already moving against you. "About you. That's all I think about." His confession was torn from him, as he learned your body with a fervor he'd once reserved for scripture, each touch a new verse in a gospel of his own damnation.
Afterward, he would help you dress with trembling hands, his fingers brushing your skin as if memorizing it. Heâd smooth his own hair, try to rearrange his face into something resembling the composed Jake everyone else saw. But the look in his eyes gave him awayâa hollowed-out, hungry thing. "Tomorrow," he'd say, not as a question, but as a statement of fact, a necessary appointment for his survival. "The photo development lab. During the yearbook committee meeting."
You saw him at a campus ministry barbecue two days later. He was flipping burgers, laughing politely, the perfect picture of clean-cut devotion. His eyes scanned the crowd, found you leaning against a tree at the edge of the lawn. He held your gaze for a fraction of a second too long, and the plastic spatula in his hand snapped clean in two. He looked down at the broken pieces, then back at you, a slow flush creeping up his neck. He turned back to the grill, abandoning the ruined burger, and walked away from the crowd without a word to anyone.
The broken spatula was the first public crack. He didn't come to the smoke spot for two days, and you assumed maybe the guilt had finally won, that the prayer circles and his fatherâs disappointed eyes had rebuilt the wall. You were almost disappointed. Then, on the third day, as you were leaving a late class, a hand closed around your wrist from the shadow of a doorway. It was Jake, but he looked ravaged. Dark circles smudged under his eyes, his hair was uncharacteristically messy, and his collar was undone.
"Walk with me," he said, his voice hoarse. It wasn't a request. He didn't let go of your wrist as he steered you away from the main paths, toward the old greenhouse at the edge of the botanical gardens. It was locked for the night, but he produced a key from his pocket. Inside, the air was thick and humid, and he finally released you, turning to face you under the ghostly light filtering through the glass ceiling. "I tried," he breathed out, the words sounding ripped from his chest. "I prayed. I read. I went to confession." A harsh, humorless laugh escaped him. "It just made it worse. All I could think about was the smell of your skin in that closet."
He reached for you then, but his touch was different. It wasn't the frantic groping of before. His hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks with a terrifying tenderness. "You ruined me," he whispered, his forehead leaning against yours. "Do you understand that? Completely. And I don't want to be fixed." His mouth found yours, and this kiss was a slow, deep claim, devoid of its earlier panic. It was a surrender. He guided you down onto a bed of soft peat moss behind a tray of orchids, his movements deliberate.
He took his time. He peeled your clothes away with a reverence that was more unsettling than his prior desperation. He mapped every inch of you with his lips and tongue, whispering things that sounded like prayers but weren't. "This is my communion," he murmured against your stomach, his breath hot. "This is my only truth." When he finally entered you, it was with a slow, devastating roll of his hips that made you cry out, the sound swallowed by the dense air. He moved with a focused intensity, his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure on your face as if studying for a final exam.
After lying tangled together on the borrowed jacket heâd spread beneath you, he didn't scramble to leave. He traced idle patterns on your arm, his head on your chest. "My father is giving the sermon at the downtown mission on Friday night," he said, his voice quiet in the humid dark. "The office in the back will be empty. The door locks." He stated matter-of-factly. The dependency had crystallized into something calm and absolute.
âÖč  đ ֎ Ő
Your father stood at the stove, absently stirring a saucepan while an old Fleetwood Mac song played softly from the radio, the familiar melody blending with the quiet clink of cutlery as you wandered in to grab your jacket from the back of a chair.
"You've been going out a lot lately."
His voice was casual, almost conversational, though you could feel him watching for your reaction.
You shrugged one shoulder as you zipped up your jacket.
"So?"
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he looked back at the saucepan, stirring it slowly.
"I don't know..." he said after a moment, choosing his words carefully. "You just seem happier."
Your hand paused around your keys, turning to look at him properly, a faint crease appearing between your brows, "Really?"
He nodded once, meeting your eyes for only a second before his attention drifted back to dinner, "I think so."
You let out a quiet breath, leaning your hip against the counter as though considering the possibility for the first time.
"...I didn't notice."
"I don't think you were supposed to."
The silence that followed settled easily between you, neither awkward nor heavy. The saucepan continued to bubble softly on the stove while somewhere outside, a car rolled slowly down Maple Street.
You pushed yourself away from the counter, slinging your jacket over your shoulders.
"You're not going to ask where I'm going?"
Your father smiled to himself, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.
"I thought about it." He admitted.
"And?"
He looked back at you then, amusement warming his expression.
"I figured you'd tell me it was none of my business."
A slow grin spread across your face, "See you later."
"Don't stay out too late," he called after you, though there wasn't much authority behind it anymore.
You glanced back over your shoulder, a teasing smile still lingering on your face.
"No promises."
The downtown mission was cold and smelled of old wood and candle wax. He was waiting for you in the dark, a silhouette against the faint light from the stained-glass window depicting the crucifixion. He didn't speak, he simply took your hand and led you to the low, padded kneeler at the front of the small room. He guided you to kneel, then knelt beside you, not before the altar, but facing you. His hands trembled as he reached for the hem of your skirt, pushing the fabric up your thighs.
His repentance began with his mouth between your legs, there on the kneeler, his whispered prayers lost against your skin. Each flick of his tongue was a plea for forgiveness, each deep, worshiping stroke a confession of his weakness. He drank from you like communion, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady as he sought his own form of absolution in your taste. When your back arched and a stifled moan escaped your lips, he only pressed closer, his own need evident in the desperate sounds vibrating against you.
After, as you trembled, he rose to his feet. He unzipped his dress pants with a soft hiss that was obscenely loud in the quiet. He took your hand and wrapped your fingers around him, his own hand covering yours, showing you the rhythm. "Do it," he breathed, his eyes clenched shut, his head tilted back toward the vaulted ceiling. "Let me feel you⊠take your penance from me." Your hand moved on him, slow at first, then faster at his urging, his hips jerking into your fist. His other hand came up to cover your mouth, muffling the sound of his own ragged, broken gasps as he spilled over your fingers, his release hot and sudden in the dim, holy space.
He sank back onto his heels, breathing heavily, his forehead resting against your shoulder. The silence returned, thick and heavy. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket, the kind he always carried, and carefully wiped your hand clean. Then he wiped himself, folded the soiled cloth, and tucked it back into his pocket without a word. He stood, straightened his clothes, and ran a hand through his hair. He looked at you, still kneeling on the padded bench, your skirt rumpled, and in his eyes was a profound, unsettling peace. The crisis had passed. The sin was complete. He offered you a hand up, his touch now steady.
Sunday night found you in the back pew of the very same church, the evening service sparsely attended. Jake was at the pulpit, his voice clear and strong, speaking about grace and the burden of temptation. He looked every inch the devoted son, his suit crisp, his expression serene. His eyes scanned the congregation and landed on you. There was no flicker of recognition, no secret smile. His gaze passed over you as if you were a stranger. The sermon ended. The final hymn was sung. People filed out, offering him quiet greetings which he returned with gentle nods.
You waited until the last person had left, until the sexton had dimmed the lights and exited, leaving only the eternal flame flickering near the altar. The heavy door clicked shut. Jake remained at the front, his back to you, staring up at the cross. You stood and walked down the center aisle, the sound of your footsteps swallowed by the cavernous space. He didn't turn. You stopped a few feet behind him. For a long moment, there was only the faint hum of the building's electricity.
"Tell me you're sorry," you said, your voice soft but echoing slightly in the empty church.
He finally turned. In the dim light, his face was unreadable. He took a step toward you, then another, closing the distance. He didn't touch you. He simply looked down at you, his expression a mask of perfect, placid devotion. "I am washed clean," he stated, his voice low and even. Then his hand came up, not to your face, but to the top button of his own shirt. He undid it. Then the next. He took your hand and placed it flat against his bare chest, over the frantic, hammering beat of his heart. His skin was fever-hot. His eyes never left yours. The lie was a physical thing between you, trembling under your palm.
"I haven't been able to sleep," he rasped, his voice sounding ruined. "Every time I closed my eyes, I felt you. Every time I spoke of purity, I could taste you on my tongue."
He didn't kiss you softly. He claimed your mouth with a bruising intensity, his tongue demanding entrance as if he were trying to consume you. There was a desperate edge to him now; the seal had been broken, and the floodgates were wide open. He wasn't just a man resisting temptation anymoreâhe was a man who had tasted the forbidden fruit and found he couldn't survive without it.
His hands were frantic, sliding up your thighs with a familiarity that made your heart race. He knew exactly where you were most sensitive, exactly how to touch you to make you arch your back and moan his name into the silence of the church.
"You've ruined me," he groaned against your skin, his lips trailing fire down your neck to the swell of your breast. "I go to the altar and all I can think about is the way you scream when I'm deep inside you. I'm a liar. A hypocrite. And I don't care."
He reached down, his fingers trembling slightly as he freed himself from his trousers. He was already rock-hard, pulsing with a need that eclipsed any sense of divine duty. He gripped your hips, pulling you to the very edge of the table so he could align himself with you.
He looked you in the eyes, his expression a mix of agony and ecstasy. "Tell me you want this," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous vibrate. "Tell me you want me to forget everything but the way you feel."
As you whispered your consent, he drove into you in one fluid, powerful motion, filling you completely. He let out a guttural soundâhalf-sob, half-growlâas he buried himself in you, his forehead crashing against yours. The rhythm was savage, a relentless pounding that shook the heavy table, the sound of your colliding bodies echoing through the hallowed halls.
For Jake, this wasn't just sex; it was a desecration, and every thrust felt like a deeper plunge into a beautiful, shimmering hell. He clung to you as if you were the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth, his movements becoming faster, more desperate, as he chased the blinding peak that would leave him shattered and ruined once again.
The sound of the mahogany table groaning under the weight of their colliding bodies filled the room, a rhythmic, visceral thud that drowned out the distant chiming of the church bells. Jake was no longer the composed man of God; he was a storm of sweat and desperation, his breath coming in jagged, ragged gasps that sounded like prayers to a different kind of deity.
He gripped your hips so hard his fingers left crescent marks on your skin, anchoring you as he drove into you with a relentless, punishing force. Every thrust was deeper than the last, hitting a spot that made your vision blur and your toes curl. You could feel the sheer size of him filling you, stretching you, the friction building a heat that threatened to consume you both.
"I can't... I can't stop," he groaned, his voice a guttural wreck. He shifted his angle, lifting one of your legs and hooking it over his shoulder to plunge even deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, a piercing, electric pleasure that radiated through your entire body.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down, your nails digging into his shoulders through the thin fabric of his shirt. You whispered his nameânot as a plea, but as a commandâand the sound of it seemed to break the last shred of his restraint.
Jakeâs movements became frantic, a blur of motion and heat. He was chasing a release that felt like it would tear him apart. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, his voice a low, shaking moan of "Oh God, oh God..."âthough now, it wasn't a prayer. It was a surrender.
The tension reached a breaking point. You felt the first wave of your orgasm crash over you, tightening your walls around him in a series of rhythmic, pulsing contractions. The feeling of you gripping him was the final trigger. Jake let out a loud, unrestrained cryâa sound of pure, unadulterated releaseâas he thrust one last time, buried as deep as he could possibly go.
He shuddered violently, his entire body locking up as he spilled himself inside you in hot, heavy bursts. He collapsed against you, his chest heaving, his heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. For several long minutes, the only sound in the vestry was the sound of two people trying to remember how to breathe.
As he slowly pulled away, the cold air hit your skin, but the heat between you remained. Jake didn't move immediately. He stayed there, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes clouded with a mixture of absolute bliss and a crushing, lingering guilt.
He looked down at the wreckage of their clothes, then back at you, a dark, hungry smile playing on his lips. He leaned in, kissing you softly.
"I'm condemned," he whispered, "And I think I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure we both burn for this."
àšà§ from ⥠đđđđđđđŒâ â„ïž à§
this is the longest fic i have ever wrote... so it is kind of proofread... i rlly hope you guys like this because i put so much effort into this and im scared u guys wont!! also im not trying to offend anybody with this fic, its purely for entertainment and entirely fictional!!!
+ this layout is inspired by katsuiki
GENRE â romance. established relationship. intimacy. childhood friends to dating.
synopsis âą youâre in a happy relationship with professional football star â sim jake⊠but dating an athlete comes with its own challenges, especially when he canât seem to keep his hands off you.
CONTENT & WARNINGS : sexting (written) explicit sexual content, mature language, consensual intimacy, smut with plot, 18+
ââââââââââââââââ
Jake is sprawled across his bed, shirtless and restless, his usual post-practice routine of stretching or gaming abandoned entirely because all he can think about is you. As always. The clock on his nightstand mocks him: 5:47 PM. Only thirteen minutes until your tutoring session ends, and heâs counted every minute like a prisoner.
Youâre the schools smartest girl. Top grades, student council president, valedictorianâŠeverything one could aspire to be. Because of this, the school forces you to tutor lower grade students every Friday after school for two hours. Jake is ridiculously proud of you, of course. But he also hates Fridays with a passion. Those two hours belong to someone else instead of him, and in Jakeâs eyes, thatâs two hours too many.
He doesnât like it. At all.
His phone lights up with another ignored notification, the fifth in ten minutes, and he groans loudly frustrated, tossing his head back against the pillows. His bare muscular chest rises and falls quickly; his sweatpants are riding low on his hips, straining slightly from where heâs been shifting restlessly for the past hour. The room smells like him, warm skin and that stupidly expensive cologne he bought last month that he only wears when he knows you guys are having sex. Heâs extra needy today, fuck all day heâs been absolutely craving you. Your beautiful face beneath him, your beautiful moans, your everything.
He grabs his phone typing for the fifteenth time this hour alone.
jakey đ¶
miss u so bad rn
A pause. He adds a photo: one hand braced above his head while the other rests on his toned stomach near the waistband of those sinful sweatpants. No shirt. Just smooth muscle, which is half threat half plea because holy shit does it take effort not to palm himself through these sweatpants right now. Instead, he shifts onto his stomach with a groan, muscles tense from holding back all day and grabs another pillow to press against the growing heat between his legs. A whine escapes him as friction teases through thin fabric before stopping himself completely. No. Not until youâre here where he belongs inside you not some stupid pillow pretending be your pussy.
Heâs been good. so good.
No touching himself yet, because that would be cheating. He wants you , not some pathetic substitute when your body is so much better at making him come undone anyway. But fuck if it isnât hard (in more ways than one). His sweatpants hang dangerously loose on his hips; there's a very obvious tent forming beneath them as he shifts again just thinking about how long it's been since he last had you pressed under him or above him or bent over (itâs only been two days. but thatâs way too long for him anyway.)
The silence from your end makes frustration coil tight inside his stomach, but itâs quickly swallowed by something worse. That loneliness clawing its way up his chest whenever heâs away from you for too long. Too long without seeing you, hearing your voice, touching you, holding you, loving you.
Your phone vibrates again and again⊠and again.
jakey đ¶
myâŠ. cock âŠ.
On your hand, you finally finish tutoring and the first thing you see is the 50+ messages from jake mentioning his dick. God. This is what you get for dating an athlete.
pretty girl đ
what the hell are u on about
Jake practically launches off the bed the second he hears your text notification, phone nearly flying out of his grip as he scrambles to check it. His heart is already pounding, blood rushing south at just seeing your name pop up on his screen after what felt like an eternity. The second he sees your name, that stupidly eager grin splits across his face, all frustration forgotten in an instant because finally, youâre texting him back.
He reads: âwhat the hell are u on about", and for a solid two seconds, his brain short-circuits. Because you ignored him for two fucking hours, Two hours of nothing but needy texts and zero replies. And now youâre acting confused? Like heâs the weird one here? His face screws up in a mix of frustration and desperate amusement. He literally sent you 87 needy texts, 10 photos of his dick and about 5 voice notes that are basically just breathy whimpers and moans for an hour straight.
"You're kidding me," he mutters under his breath in disbelief, âshe really justâ"
jakey đ¶
my cocckkuugggghhhh
ahh itâs twitching
if only i had my pretty girl sucking on it⊠â€ïžâ€ïž
The fifth message follows instantly with another photo: this time zoomed in slightly lower, his sweatpants stretched tight across his thick thighs and a very obvious outline straining against the fabric. No subtlety whatsoever. Just raw desperation. The second he hits send, he flops onto his back again with a groan, one muscular arm slung over his eyes dramatically while the other hand drifts lower on instinct⊠only to freeze halfway there. No. Not until youâre here, in his arms, where you belong.
But holy shit, he needs you so bad it hurts. He would come pick you up as usual, but heâs too hard to even drive. Heâd probably crash remembering how you feel riding him. So laying in his bed like a fucking pornstar it is.
You canât help smiling to yourself. This is what you have to deal with every single day, your ridiculously clingy (and horny) boyfriend. Itâs impossible to stay annoyed at him for long, not when heâs always been like this. Ever since you were little, youâve called him puppy because thatâs exactly what he reminds you of: your own golden retriever, always wanting your attention. You quickly type out a reply, already on your way to his house.
pretty girl đ
yeah okay đ
iâm omw
patience puppy
Jake practically vibrates with anticipation the moment he reads your text, your adorable "patience puppy" making his chest swell and his cock throb in equal measure. The nickname alone is enough to melt him into a puddle of goo all the time, You called him that when you were kids playing tag in the park after school, back when he'd chase after you just to tackle-hug and make dumb kissy noises at your cheeks until you giggled too hard to run anymore. Even then, even as children... it was clear: Jake belonged right by your side. Your clingy, over affectionate golden retriever who just happens to also be insanely good at fucking you stupid.
The second he processes "i'm omw,â his entire body tenses like a spring loaded toy. He scrambles off the bed so fast it feels like it spins beneath him, his bare feet hitting the floor as he bolts towards the bathroom without another second wasted.
Shower. Now.
He can't have you arriving to some sweaty post-workout mess (even though honestly? Youâd still ride him if that was the case, and have before, but we donât talk about that). But no, he always wants to smell nice for you. Wants every inch of himself clean and presentable when those pretty hands finally touch him again after hours too long apart.
The water hits scalding hot, the way you always say helps relax tight muscles, and Jake groans as steam fills up around him quickly; scrubbing himself down with frantic efficiency while muttering under his breath about how long this drive better not take⊠A record time of seven minutes later: dripping wet and towel slung low on his toned hips, already half-hard again just from imagining all things theyâre gonna do tonight.
Puppies don't wait patiently.
Especially not ones starved for their favourite person all day long.
ââââââââââââââââ
The second the front door clicks shut behind you, jake is on you. No hesitation, no patience left in his body. His large hands immediately find your waist as he crashes his lips onto yours with a hunger that makes your knees weak. Thereâs no greeting, no soft usual âhey babyâ, just pure need as his lips slant over yours in a messy kiss that steals your breath away before you can even form words.
You barely manage to mumble against his starving lips, âWhat about- â
Jake doesn't even let you finish your sentence, your muffled protest gets swallowed by his hungry kiss. The bedroom door gets shoved open with more force than necessary. His large hands are everywhere at once, impatiently tugging at fabric like it's personally offending him that there's still clothes separating your skin from his.
"Parents gone," he rasps against your swollen lipsâvoice wrecked beyond recognition already just from tasting you again after hours apart. "Two days."
Meaning? You're not leaving this room unless it's for food or water, and even then? Only if he carries you there himself so no time is wasted being separated.
A trail of discarded clothing leads straight to the bed, your shirt flung over a chair, skirt dropped somewhere near the doorway, shoes kicked off haphazardly. He breaks the kiss only long enough to yank his own towel off (it hits the floor with a wet slap) ; that thick length of him springing free and already leaking against your thigh. No patience. Not when it's been hours since he felt you wrapped around him. He breaks the kiss only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, nipping at sensitive spots that make you whimper, as one large hand slides between both of your thighs, fingers spreading through your slickness instantly.
"Fuck," he rasps against your lips, "already so wet for me?" Two fingers push inside without warning, hitting the spot deep within has your toes curling instantly while your hips jerk upward into his touch greedily, before heâs meanly pulling out and on you again, mouth hot and demanding against yours while walking backward toward his bed.
He stumbles forward slightly before gently laying you the onto soft sheets already rumpled from earlier when anticipation had him rolling around waiting for this exact moment. The second your back hits the mattress, heâs on you like a man starved: hands yanking at fabric, teeth grazing your lip before diving back in for another searing kiss. There's a hunger in the way his tongue slides into your mouth, possessive and demanding as he devours you in desperate, needy little whimpers.
Jake lets out a low,filthy groan against your lips as you arch into him, his large hands immediately gripping the back of your thighs to wrap them around his bare waist. His tongue swipes over yours in rough, possessive strokes while his hips grind forward desperately against yours.
"Fuck- " he rasps between kisses, "missed you so much..."
A sharp thrust of his hips pins you harder to the bed as the same hand snakes between your bodies again, just needing to feel how wet and ready for him you are already. His thumb circles over that sweet pussy once before sliding two fingers inside without warning just because watching those pretty eyes flutter shut makes him see stars too.
His fingers curl, impatient, and desperate, to be inside you, now but also to tease like the man has all the self-control in the world, and his lips move to your neck, tongue laving over the sensitive skin in hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses. His teeth graze over that sensitive spot just below your ear, nipping playfully where it always makes you whimper as those fingers pump and curl inside you lazily with practiced familiarity. Jakeâs breath comes in ragged bursts, his forehead pressing against yours as he watches your face, every flicker of pleasure, every hitch in your breathing*
âLook at me baby,â he demands hoarsely, âWanna see those pretty eyes when you come on my hand.â
The second your thighs instinctively tighten around his fingers, that barely-there whimper catching in your throat, âJake-â, his grin widens, sharp and hungry, as he takes your small hand in his free one as he takes your fingers inside his mouth, tongue pressing flat against your palm in one long, deliberate drag. He slows down his fingers under you, on purpose as his tongue drags over your fingertips with torturous precision, swirling around each one before. His tongue darts between your fingers quick mimicking the exact rhythm he uses when heâs buried between your thighs before pulling them from his mouth in a way that makes you swallow.
âAlmost whined for me didnât you baby?â His voice is rough, dripping with smug satisfaction as he leans in his lips brushing your ear with every word. âBet youâre remembering how good this tounge feels somewhere else hm?â
He pulls back just enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze dark and hungry before dragging his tounge slowly over his bottom lip as his fingers continue sliding through your slick with ease.
Gosh heâs so shameless with you.
He presses a kiss to your jaw, chuckling when your hips jerk against his hand for more, but because heâs a tease, he pulls his fingers from your soaked core before you come just to make you suffer for leaving him dry for those two hours.
You groan already wrecked, pupils dilated, he just knows how to get you all needy and wet before he even does anything. You tug him closer on top of you by his neck, pouting up at him, knowing thatâs his biggest weakness. âYouâre so mean you know that?â
Jakeâs eyes already dark with lust and affection, lock onto yours, pupils swallowing the warm brown as he watches your reaction, your pupils blown wide, lips slightly parted as you stare up at him with that perfect mix of innocence and hunger he loves unraveling. He loves this. Loves unraveling you, piece by piece, until the sweetest girl on earth is reduced to a trembling mess under him.
Without warning, Jake immediately claims your mouth in another bruising kiss. This time itâs messy, all teeth and tongue and barely-contained hunger as if trying to steal back every moan you just made around him. One large hand grips under your thigh while the other tangles roughly into your hair tilting your head back further in the position he loves, owning every inch offered painting a clear message heâs never let you once forget: I own every part of you.
His free hand grips your hip hard enough that bruises might bloom later (not that you guys care because heâll kiss them better later) while grinding himself shamelessly against you.
âFuck,â he grits out between filthy kisses. âNeed inside right now.â
No more waiting.
He pulls back just enough to look down at you-his breathing ragged, his lips swollen from kissing you senseless. His eyes burn into yours flickering between hunger and love because even now? Even during moments where lust takes over completely? There's still so much love shining through every glance. His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, smearing the saliva there as he studies your face-the flushed cheeks, the dazed eyes full of want that only ever appear for him. The sight punches straight through his chest like always. He knows what comes next. He's done this a thousand times: teasing until you're a writhing mess beneath him, then demanding those little letters like they're oxygen and he's drowning without them. His voice drops lower, a velvet rasp laced with playful dominance as his other hand trails down your side possessively.
âSay it.â
He knows. Of course he knows you want this. He can feel it in the way your body arches toward him, in the heat between your thighs pressing against his hard length, but he needs to hear it. Always has. Itâs not control, not really. It's devotion. A ritual only you two share. Him hovering over you like this, breath ragged with restraint even though every muscle is coiled tight with need⊠and waiting for those three little words from your lips before he claims them properly.
"Say yes," he murmursâvoice thick and low like velvet dragged over gravel, âC'mon baby⊠tell me."
The request isnât demanding or impatient, never is, it's soft a whisper of devotion disguised as a command because saying "yes" isn't just permission for him⊠it's worship. Every time those syllables leave your mouth? His soul fucking ignites. Not because he doubts how badly you want this. Never that. He knows. Youâre always wet for him. Your body arches into his touch like a prayer answered without words.
But hearing it? Hearing you say you want him just as much as he wants you? That's everything.
You whisper so quietly he almost doesn't catch it, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. That familiar innocent expression settles on your face, the one that always makes him smile because he knows you better than anyone else.
"I want you, Jake."
The words steal the last of his patience. It's unfair how much power you hold over him without even trying.
One second, heâs hovering above you, the next? He opens your thighs to lay in between them, pinning your back against the bed as he nudges himself in your entrance.A slow, filthy grind of hips has him sinking into that tight heat inch by agonisingly perfect inch, groaning like a man receiving salvation itself when you clench around him on instinct.
âFuck⊠always so fucking perfect.â he rasps as he finally sinks in home. His hands grip under your thighs hard enough to bruise, as he starts moving in a brutal pace from the start because patience has never been his strongest suit when it comes to being inside of you.
The slap of skin echoes off the walls mixed with gasps and choked moans ripped from both their throats every time he bottoms out inside you, that sweet spot inside you, he knows you love, getting hammered relentlessly on each forward drive.
âLook at me baby,â he demands again through gritted teeth, his free hand lifting your chin, âWant those pretty eyes watching how good I wreck this pussy.â
A particularly sharp thrust knocks a high moan from your beautiful lips which only makes him growl possessively before crashing his mouth onto youâre again - swallowing every sound you make while fucking up into dizzy bliss. His breath comes in rough, uneven bursts as he pounds into you with his usual relentless stamina, every snap of his hips a claiming thrust with each ragged groan torn from his chest, the sound muffled only by the bruising kiss he keeps stealing from your lips between filthy promises. His hands grip your thighs tighter, not enough to hurt. Never that. But firm enough to leave his possessive imprints on your soft skin. Every time he bottoms out inside of you, a broken moan spills past his lips because that perfect clench of yours around him his fucking maddening. Like heaven squeezing down just for him.
âFuck- fuck, oh baby,â he rasps against your lips in breathy whimpers. âYou were made just- fuck, just for me..â
A particularly deep grind has him seeing stars behind his closed eyelids, the wet heat surrounding every inch of his cock is too much and not enough all at once. A sharp cry escapes you as one particularly brutal thrust nails that spot deep inside you and instantly Jake locks onto it like predator scenting blood.
There.
Thatâs where Iâm gonna make my girl come first today.
"Right there baby?" He growls darkly before repeating the angle over and over again with no mercy whatsoever. "Gonna feel this dick everywhere tomorrow."
Jakes hands grip your hips with bruising intensity as you arch into him, each movement sending waves of pleasure through him. His eyes, dark and hungry lock onto yours, watching every flicker of ecstasy on your face like itâs the most sacred thing in the world. Because to him? It is. He was always obsessed with you. From the moment he realized love existed beyond crayons and playgrounds, it was you. The sweet girl who shared her snacks with him when he forgot lunch. The one who held his hand during thunderstorms because she knew he hated them.
But then puberty hit, and suddenly Jake wasnât just a clingy kid anymore; he was a teenage boy burning for you in ways that made his chest ache at night, a hunger so intense he practically lost training time studying porn tutorials quietly online beforehand so that heâd be able to give you everything the first time because youâre everything to him. (not that heâd ever admitted to you). He waited (barely) until they turned 18 before claiming what had been his since childhood: your body.
That summer night, when he finally kissed you properly after years of chaste, innocent pecks, and then ruined your innocence in the best way possible. Back when his hands trembled with awe and worship, holding your waist for the first time bare beneath him. Now? Heâs a seasoned lover, every thrust precise, every touch designed to unravel you completely. But that same desperate devotion lingers; how his breath hitches whenever your walls flutter around him, how he murmurs sweet nothings between filthy commands.
A groan tears from his throat as you clench around him mid-thrust. that sinful pulse that never fails to wreck his self-control even after all this time together (which says something given how often they fuck). He taught you everything: how to kiss properly against lockers between classes, where hands go during makeout sessions, eventually leading up to this, your first time taking every inch of him.
His fingers dig into your flesh, urging faster movements even as sweat drips down both their bodies. The contrast is everything: this gentle man who brings you breakfast from your favourite cafe every morning without fail, who worships the ground you walk on since they were five⊠the same one currently growling above you like a feral beast because you clench him so perfectly.
"Fuckâyes," he grits out through clenched teeth, "Take it all baby."
And you do.
ââââââââââââ
Ę ËáČđŒâ yayaya first post chat how do we feel about it đ«Ș this was my first time writing smut so lmk what i need to improve on !!
Jake has been your best friend for years, the quiet, blushing guy who always sits a little too close on the couch during movie nights. Heâs subby as hellânever makes the first move, stutters when you tease him, and looks at you like you hung the moon. But behind those nervous smiles is a mind so filthy it would make a porn addict blush.
Heâs completely obsessed with you, jerks off to you every single day, sometimes even multiple times! The second he gets home after hanging out with you heâs ripping his pants down, wrapping his hand around his throbbing cock and moaning your name into his pillow. Heâs got a massive collection of your stolen pantiesâevery pair he can get his hands on. He raids your laundry hamper when heâs at your place, shoving the crotch of your worn, musky panties straight into his mouth while he furiously strokes himself. He cums so hard he sees stars, then carefully folds them back and puts them away like a good boy.
His oral fixation is insane. He stares at your mouth when you talk, watches your lips wrap around straws or spoons, and has to excuse himself to the bathroom to palm his leaking dick because heâs imagining those lips stretched around his cock. He daydreams about burying his face in your cunt for hours, licking and sucking your folds until youâre shaking.
Size kink hits him hard. Even though heâs shy about it, heâs obsessed with how much bigger he is than you. He fantasizes about how tiny your cunny would look stretched around his fat cock, how your belly would bulge when heâs balls-deep. He measures his dick against his hand while thinking about how deep he could reach inside you.
Jakeâs so pervy he starts leaving little âgifts.â A random pair of your panties will go missing for a week, only to reappear clean and neatly folded. You never suspect a thing. Meanwhile heâs been sleeping with them wrapped around his cock every night, humping them until he makes a mess.
Eventually the tension snaps. Mayb you catch himâred-handed with your dirty panties pressed to his face, cock out and leaking, eyes wide with panic and desperate lust. Heâs so subby he immediately drops to his knees, begging you not to hate him, telling you heâs been obsessed with your cunt for years.
Once you give him even the slightest green light, shy Jake turns into the filthiest, most eager pervert youâve ever seen.
Heâs obsessed with making you squirt. Heâll spend hours between your thighs, tongue fucking your hole, sucking on your clit like itâs his lifeline. When you finally gush all over his face he moans like a whore, drinking it down and grinding his aching cock against the mattress. He cums untouched the first few timesâjust from the taste and smell of your squirting cunt soaking him.
Premature ejaculation is his constant struggle and he kinda hates it but you looove it. The second he pushes inside your tight, wet heat heâs whining and shaking, cock twitching as he spills too soon. âS-sorry⊠your pussyâs too perfect⊠fuck, I canât hold itâŠâ He gets hard again almost immediately though, desperate to keep going.
He begs you to use a cock ring on him tho. Loves when you slide it on tight, making his cock throb and turn purple while you ride him. It keeps him from cumming too fast so you can use his dick as a toy, bouncing on it until your juices are dripping down his balls. When you finally let him cum he explodes so hard he nearly passes out, thick ropes painting your insides.
Masturbation is still constant. Even after you start fucking, he canât stop. Heâll send you videos of him furiously pumping his cock in your bathroom while youâre in the other room, whispering filthy things like âyour smell is driving me insane⊠gonna cum in your dirty panties again.â
Heâs still shy in publicâblushing when you whisper dirty things in his earâbut the second youâre alone heâs on his knees begging to bury his face in your mounds, desperate to taste you. He calls your pussy his âpretty little cuntâ even when heâs balls-deep and whimpering, telling you how obsessed he is, how heâd do anything for you.
His piss kink is intense and filthy: Jake s obsessed with peeing inside you. He gets all shy and red-faced when he finally confesses it, mumbling about how he fantasizes about keeping his cock buried deep in your cunt after he cums and just letting go, flooding your warm, used hole with his hot piss. The thought of marking you from the inside, filling your belly with his cum and piss mixed together, makes him leak like a faucet.
Once you let him do it, he becomes addicted. Heâll fuck you senseless, pump you full of his load, then stay balls-deep while whimpering and shaking. âPlease⊠can I⊠I need to pee⊠fuck, let me fill you up moreâŠâ You feel the warm rush as he releases inside you, his cock twitching while he floods your sloppy pussy with stream after stream.
He loves pulling out after and watching his piss and cum leak out of your stretched cunny, pushing it back in with his fingers like the obsessed pervert he is. Sometimes heâll do it while youâre riding him, gripping your hips and moaning as he empties his bladder deep in your guts.
Jake has been your best friend for years, the quiet, blushing guy who always sits a little too close on the couch during movie nights. Heâs subby as hellânever makes the first move, stutters when you tease him, and looks at you like you hung the moon. But behind those nervous smiles is a mind so filthy it would make a porn addict blush.
Heâs completely obsessed with you, jerks off to you every single day, sometimes even multiple times! The second he gets home after hanging out with you heâs ripping his pants down, wrapping his hand around his throbbing cock and moaning your name into his pillow. Heâs got a massive collection of your stolen pantiesâevery pair he can get his hands on. He raids your laundry hamper when heâs at your place, shoving the crotch of your worn, musky panties straight into his mouth while he furiously strokes himself. He cums so hard he sees stars, then carefully folds them back and puts them away like a good boy.
His oral fixation is insane. He stares at your mouth when you talk, watches your lips wrap around straws or spoons, and has to excuse himself to the bathroom to palm his leaking dick because heâs imagining those lips stretched around his cock. He daydreams about burying his face in your cunt for hours, licking and sucking your folds until youâre shaking.
Size kink hits him hard. Even though heâs shy about it, heâs obsessed with how much bigger he is than you. He fantasizes about how tiny your cunny would look stretched around his fat cock, how your belly would bulge when heâs balls-deep. He measures his dick against his hand while thinking about how deep he could reach inside you.
Jakeâs so pervy he starts leaving little âgifts.â A random pair of your panties will go missing for a week, only to reappear clean and neatly folded. You never suspect a thing. Meanwhile heâs been sleeping with them wrapped around his cock every night, humping them until he makes a mess.
Eventually the tension snaps. Mayb you catch himâred-handed with your dirty panties pressed to his face, cock out and leaking, eyes wide with panic and desperate lust. Heâs so subby he immediately drops to his knees, begging you not to hate him, telling you heâs been obsessed with your cunt for years.
Once you give him even the slightest green light, shy Jake turns into the filthiest, most eager pervert youâve ever seen.
Heâs obsessed with making you squirt. Heâll spend hours between your thighs, tongue fucking your hole, sucking on your clit like itâs his lifeline. When you finally gush all over his face he moans like a whore, drinking it down and grinding his aching cock against the mattress. He cums untouched the first few timesâjust from the taste and smell of your squirting cunt soaking him.
Premature ejaculation is his constant struggle and he kinda hates it but you looove it. The second he pushes inside your tight, wet heat heâs whining and shaking, cock twitching as he spills too soon. âS-sorry⊠your pussyâs too perfect⊠fuck, I canât hold itâŠâ He gets hard again almost immediately though, desperate to keep going.
He begs you to use a cock ring on him tho. Loves when you slide it on tight, making his cock throb and turn purple while you ride him. It keeps him from cumming too fast so you can use his dick as a toy, bouncing on it until your juices are dripping down his balls. When you finally let him cum he explodes so hard he nearly passes out, thick ropes painting your insides.
Masturbation is still constant. Even after you start fucking, he canât stop. Heâll send you videos of him furiously pumping his cock in your bathroom while youâre in the other room, whispering filthy things like âyour smell is driving me insane⊠gonna cum in your dirty panties again.â
Heâs still shy in publicâblushing when you whisper dirty things in his earâbut the second youâre alone heâs on his knees begging to bury his face in your mounds, desperate to taste you. He calls your pussy his âpretty little cuntâ even when heâs balls-deep and whimpering, telling you how obsessed he is, how heâd do anything for you.
His piss kink is intense and filthy: Jake s obsessed with peeing inside you. He gets all shy and red-faced when he finally confesses it, mumbling about how he fantasizes about keeping his cock buried deep in your cunt after he cums and just letting go, flooding your warm, used hole with his hot piss. The thought of marking you from the inside, filling your belly with his cum and piss mixed together, makes him leak like a faucet.
Once you let him do it, he becomes addicted. Heâll fuck you senseless, pump you full of his load, then stay balls-deep while whimpering and shaking. âPlease⊠can I⊠I need to pee⊠fuck, let me fill you up moreâŠâ You feel the warm rush as he releases inside you, his cock twitching while he floods your sloppy pussy with stream after stream.
He loves pulling out after and watching his piss and cum leak out of your stretched cunny, pushing it back in with his fingers like the obsessed pervert he is. Sometimes heâll do it while youâre riding him, gripping your hips and moaning as he empties his bladder deep in your guts.
*pairing: pervy wolf hybrid Jake x human student girl
*trope: popular playboy x nerdy girl-tutoring
*inspiration: off campus book 1
*synopsis: Jake only had one problem: History. He's always been good at any subject, especially since balancing being the captain of the football team and studying engineering is no walk in the park, but his lack of history could compromise everything, and when he saw a girl holding the text with the word 100 written on it, he realized that you could be his only chance of getting through that damned subject.
But what would it sweat if tutor sessions began to become moments where he could be himself, where you began to open up after a long time to a person and discover that jake wasn't as much of a womanizer and you weren't as broken as you thought you were?
*tags: Jake is a playboy at first but after a while you arouse his curiosity, Y/n at first is skeptical of letting Jake into her life, Y/n suffered violence in high school (I won't write anything about this act also because my stories have to be a fun) many kisses, Jake is a wolf hybrid and little by little he will become territorial but also clingy with Y/n, Y/n thinks she's broken but Jake will trust her both intimately and physically, visual masturbation, protected sex, unprotected sex (dont' horny ppl) knotting, jealousy, possession, sucking to claim Y/n, declaration, +18, little bit angst, pet names (jakey) (baby, sweetheart)
banner by: @eightnyn *wc: 37k
The Contemporary History classroom was packed with students, and Jake was there, neither at the front nor at the back, but right in the middle, where he could observe everyone.
His knee wouldnât stop bouncing with anxiety, his wolf ears were perked up, and his tail, just like his knee, twitched with every breath he took and youâre probably wondering: ears and a tail? Well, yesâhe was a hybrid, specifically a wolf hybrid. For decades now, humans had shared everything with hybrids: from everyday jobs to school lessons, from apartments to entire neighborhoods where humans and hybrids lived side by side without resistance. Mixed couples were even trendy by nowâno, more than trendy, they were fully accepted in society, especially in big cities. You could see them everywhere: in malls, restaurants, or parks, with hybrid children, kids with rabbit ears or fox tails playing alongside human ones and that sight warmed Jakeâs heart more than anything, because hybrids had endured so much racial discrimination and persecution but finally, things were changing, and he had played a small part in that revolution.
In that classroom, humans were still the majority, but that was normal, especially at the university, where hybrids like him had only been admitted a few years earlier. Jake, however, was an exception: about a year ago, heâd been elected captain of the soccer team, the first hybrid to ever hold that position. Thanks to him, the number of hybrids in both recreational and competitive sports had risen. One of his best friends, Heeseung a hamster hybrid had even followed in his footsteps and become captain of the basketball team.
But back to the present: Jake was in that half-anxious state because the professor was handing back the history exams. Letâs just say that, as an engineering student, he didnât care much for the subjectâespecially since it was just an elective. But it carried a lot of credits, and the reason he disliked it was simple: his engineerâs mind thrived on logic, formulas, structural calculations, and precise physical dynamics things with no room for interpretation. History, with all its dates, nuanced socio-political contexts, and long texts to memorize, just felt like a waste of time to him⊠even if he did find the revolutions between humans and hybrids fascinating.
Still, he needed to pass all his classes to stay captain of the university team and to catch the attention of scouts from the big professional leagues, who didnât tolerate academic slippage. He had to be the perfect student and the perfect player. So when the professor approached his desk, her expression was almost apologetic, as if she knew the potential of the young man in front of her. Jake did have excellent grades in every subject⊠except hers.
The test paper slid across the wooden desk, and at the topâcircled in red marker (a color that, unfortunately for him, was not in his pendant) was a glaring 45 out of 100 and to make matters worse, it wasnât even close to passing.
The professor peered at him over her glasses and said, âJake, I hope for your sake that next time you at least manage a basic passing grade. Otherwise, Iâll have to report this to Coach, and we all know how strict Coach Smith is about academic performance.â
He nodded, and his tail suddenly stopped moving, drooping down and tucking itself under the chair. He nearly slumped over his desk, staring at that disastrous grade. His right hand fidgeted nervously through his soft hair, right at the base of his tense ears, as if trying to ease the tension. He sighed heavily, racking his brain for solutions but there were none. All his closest friends were in different majors, and if he didnât find a fix fast, his soccer dream would be over before it even began.
Unbeknownst to him, just a few rows away sat a girl twirling her pen, completely unbothered about her history test grade. She watched the professor intently as she moved between the desks, papers in hand.
Suddenly, you felt a sharp elbow nudge from your best friend. âStop staring at the professor!â Allie hissed. âShe probably saved your test for last, one of the first three sheâs handing out just so she can praise you in front of everyone. We all know youâre the biggest nerd in here.â
You rolled your eyes, exasperated but amused, as Allie sat there sipping her fruit smoothie her latest attempt at this âfructarianâ diet, while her own test, a modest but honest 70, lay forgotten beside her. With absolute nonchalance, she scrolled through an online sexy shop store, browsing through undeniably sexy sets at prices that would make any other girlâs wallet tremble...but not hers.
âStop looking at your phone,â you whispered back, giving her a light shove. âIf the professor saw you scrolling through a sex shop right now, sheâd have a heart attack. I bet she doesnât even know the difference between a thong and a Brazilian.â
Allie let out a snort, nearly spitting her drink all over the guy in front of her. She slammed her phone down on the desk just in time, because the professor finally stopped in front of you, her face breaking into a full, thirty-two-tooth grin.
âY/n, Iâm not even surprised anymore,â she said. âBut you know I struggle to give out perfect scores. Still, this last test of yours on the Cold War and the geopolitical dynamics of the Soviet bloc⊠itâs simply flawless. The knowledge youâve shown, the historical interpretations, even the extra research you included on the Cuban Missile Crisis...itâs all perfect. Iâm so proud to have you in my class. Itâs a shame youâre not majoring in history, because if you were, youâd be unstoppable.â
You smiled, thinking about how everyone had always told you to study history or political science but your love for music was stronger. âWell, itâs my job to study, get good grades, and give it my all especially in history, since you know itâs one of my favorite subjects,â you said shyly, feeling the eyes of half the class turn toward you.
Then the paper slid onto your desk, revealing a bold, perfect 100 in red ink. Allie, ever the dramatic one, blurted out way too loudly: âHoly shit, you actually got a 100?! We studied together the whole time...how the hell did I only get a 70? Okay, Iâm not complaining, but damn, Y/n!â She stared at you, eyes wide, lower lip jutting out like a wounded puppy. You shrugged, suddenly self-conscious under all the attention, and tried to cover the test with your hands but Allie was fasterâshe snatched it right out from under you, held it up to her face, and before you could protest, sheâd already pulled out her phone, snapped a crystal-clear photo of the red 100, and sent it to your friend group chat, roasting you for being such a nerd.
Your phone buzzed nonstop with the incoming messages from your friends, all teasing you affectionately. Meanwhile, a few rows back, a pair of wolf ears suddenly perked up, drawn by the noise and the word â100.â Who the hell had gotten a 100? It was practically impossible in an elective class. His amber eyes locked onto your back, and in that moment, he realized heâd just found his only lifeline to passing Contemporary History.
Jake couldnât look away. Not even when the bell rang, signaling freedom. His mind was consumed by a single thought:Â He had never seen anyone get a perfect score in his entire university career and when he saw you stand up, followed by the blonde girl he assumed was your best friend, his instincts flared to life. The wolf in him, the one that drove him to chase, to track down what was vital for his survival (or in this case, his scholarship) awoke with a jolt. Because letâs be real: in his life, there was only room for one thing:Â Soccer
And at the thought, a surge of adrenaline shot down his spine, making his ears snap forward and his tail muscles twitch back to life, swinging wildly with excitement at the idea of meeting you.
He shot to his feet, shoving his notebook haphazardly into his bag without even zipping it shut. Weaving through the maze of wooden desks, he spotted you stepping into the universityâs main atrium. Jake quickened his pace, using his athleteâs stride, until he was just a few steps behind you, right in the middle of the chaos: students switching classes, others heading to the campus bars.
âHey, Chloe!â he called out, loud enough to be heard, throwing out a random name heâd picked up somewhere in the classroom. The truth was, he had no idea what your name actually was and, honestly, heâd never seen you at one of his famous Friday night parties, nor cheering from the stands during league matches. That fact unsettled him a little⊠but it also piqued his curiosity.
Of course, you didnât turn around, because, obviously, your name wasnât Chloe. You just kept walking and talking to Allie. But Jake wasnât about to give up. He took two quick steps forward and tried again, this time stretching out a hand to intercept you.Â
âHey, Chloe! Iâm talking to you!â he said, a little louder this time.
Finally, you spun around. And that was the moment Jake saw you up close for the first time, no filters, no distance of desks between you. A lightning-fast thought shot through his mind: Damn. Not only is she a terrifyingly smart nerd, but sheâs also ridiculously cute. He took in your eyes, framed by a faint shadow of annoyance, as they swept over him from head to toe, far from impressed by the figure smiling at you.
âYou mean me?â you asked, pointing at your chest with one finger, while Allie stopped beside you, staring at him in confusion.
âYeah, you,â Jake confirmed.
You rolled your eyes. âWell, for starters, my name is Y/n. Not Chloe⊠you werenât even close.â You looked at him bluntly, and at those words, Jakeâs wolf ears drooped slightly, flattening against his soft hair in embarrassment. Before he could apologize or come up with one of his usual ready-made excuses, a sharp, ironic voice cut in from beside you.
âJake Sim is seriously talking to Y/n? Whatâs this, did you come here to ask for more signatures to sponsor your precious soccer team? Or were you sent by your little basketball buddy, Heeseung, to do his dirty work? Because if youâre here for charity signatures, weâre not interested. The universityâs already cutting tons of funding from both the theater and music majors because of you and your best friend,â Allie said, her expression dripping with disdain.
Jakeâs head snapped toward the blonde, annoyed by the intrusion but forcing himself to keep his cool. âNo,â he replied, straightening up and turning back to you, locking his eyes onto yours. âIâm here because I need to talk to Y/n. About something important.â
At his direct statement, you instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, pressing them tightly as if creating an invisible shield between you and him, a gesture born from deep insecurity and the trauma you still carried inside. The sudden movement didnât go unnoticed by the hybrid in front of you.
Jake distinctly felt your heartbeat speed up. At the same time, his nose picked up the sudden shift in your scent: the clean aroma of your skin was abruptly overpowered by a sharp, acidic trail, the unmistakable feromone signature of discomfort, mixed with a warm, suffocating note of pure embarrassment. The unwanted attention and physical proximity of an alpha male, especially one like him, had triggered it.
He ran a hand through his brown hair, furrowing his brow deeply as he studied your reaction with a mix of perplexity and concern. His wolf side picked up on your distress like an alarm signal. Why does my mere presence make her feel so threatened or uncomfortable? He wondered. Usually, girls fell over themselves to get a word or a glance from him.
Left alone with him in the atrium, you immediately took two steps back, putting more distance between you and Jake. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, clutching your books against your chest, and fixed your gaze on him.
âSo, Jake Sim, youâve got two minutes. Tell me what you want.â
Jake studied you carefully, analyzing every tiny movement. His tail gave a slight, excited wag from side to side at finally having your attention, but he stopped it instantly, not wanting to reveal even that small loss of composure. He cleared his throat and said:
âYeah, well⊠sorry for calling you Chloe. I just didnât remember your name.â
You merely responded with a sharp nod, and Jake realized he needed to get to the point before time ran out. So, he decided to pull out the big guns: he unleashed his full Playboy charm, squaring his muscular shoulders and tilting his head slightly to the side with a crooked, magnetic smile. Along with his posture, his hybrid nature did the restâwithout realizing it, he released a subtle but intense trail of reassuring pheromones into the air around you. A warm, clean scent filled the space, a mix of citrus and something salty, blended with his natural hybrid scent. It was the kind of biological chemistry wolves used to charm people, lower their defenses, and make them instinctively feel safe and drawn to them, but he didnât yet know that with you, it would be extremely difficult.
âI saw you got a 100 on that test earlier, and first of all, congratulations. Seriously⊠not everyone can pull off a score like that in an elective class,â he said, taking an almost imperceptible step closer to you. âAnd second⊠I was wondering if youâd be willing to tutor me. I know a lot of people do it for academic credits, but I figure youâve probably got enough of those already, if you scored a 100, youâre probably acing all your major classes. Or maybe for money? So I was wondering if youâd give me private lessons. I desperately need to pass Contemporary History. Especially since itâs an extra-curricular subject for me, and itâs worth double the structural credits. If I donât pass⊠Iâm screwed.â He finished with a crooked little smile, but you didnât take the bait.
The trauma youâd experienced in high school had made you completely immune to the shameless charm of popular guys, and your mind rigidly resisted even his wolf pheromones, pushing them away like a self-defense mechanism. You looked at him with no emotion at all. âThanks for the compliment on my grade, but no. I donât tutor anyone. And as youâve already figured out, Iâve got all the credits I need, and even if weâre talking about money, which, sure, every student could useâIâve got a ton of studying for my own classes. Plus, Iâm in the university choir, and that takes up a lot of time because Iâm studying music.â You said all this while keeping your gaze lowered, almost avoiding his face, focused instead on the colorful bookmarks invading your notes. This total indifference deeply unsettled him.
Jake was used to humans hanging on his every word, to girls who would pay just to spend an hour alone with the team captain. Being rejected like this without so much as a glance wounded his alpha male pride and confused him. Sensing that you might not even like his presence, he took a step back, furrowing his brow, and blurted out in one breath:
âIs it because Iâm a hybrid that you donât want to tutor me? Or because you think that, as the soccer team captain, Iâm just another shallow idiot who canât balance engineering studies with training?â
At those words, your eyes widened, struck by how suddenly vulnerable and frustrated his voice sounded as he looked at you. You responded with a flurry of gestures: âNo, no! Itâs not that at all!â you exclaimed sincerely. âEven if a human had asked me, I wouldâve said no, Jake. Iâm really sorry⊠especially because I know balancing engineering studies and being the soccer team captain comes with a lot of pressure ut if you check the bulletin board in the atrium or the universityâs official forum, in the history section, I bet youâll find a tutor way better than meâŠIâŠIâve got to go now, yeah, Iâm meeting Allie.â
You said this with slightly flushed cheeks, still not looking him in the face, and began walking quickly down the hallway, almost hunching your shoulders as if afraid he might follow you or reach out to stop you. His fully matured wolf instincts immediately picked up on something strange in your sudden flight. His nose caught that your scent was no longer just annoyed; now it carried a clear trail of fear, and maybe even something vulnerable, and Jake didnât understand why.
They called him the golden boy of campus for a reason, no one had ever run away from him before. In fact, it was usually the opposite. He stood frozen, watching you disappear into the faculty crowd, his ears perked up, his mind racing at a hundred miles an hour. Your terrified reaction intrigued him, drove him wild. Because Jake Sim, when he wanted something, always got it and his wolf side had just decided that you, sooner or later, would be his tutor, no matter the cost and maybe, over time, something more than just a tutor. But that was something youâd both discover laterâŠÂ certainly not today.
The university campusâs main bar was nearly closing by that time, but you still had another half-hour left before your afternoon shift behind the counter ended. To pass the time and get ahead on your assignments, youâd set your laptop directly on the counter, trying to focus on your next project, studying music. You needed to dive deep into the acoustic composition of sounds and the various instrumental timbres to create balanced arrangements, ensuring the sound was perfect. Your dream was to become a singer, but youâd also love to work as a songwriter or composer. Your hearing was hyper-developed, and youâd already received requests from music agencies.
However, at that moment, music theory was the last thing on your mind. Your eyes kept wandering from the screen, drawn to the brightest corner of the bar, where Soobin was sitting. He was a Communication Sciences student specializing in Digital Media, and he played on the campus basketball team. Letâs just say you had a slight crush on him. Your head was lazily resting in the palm of your left hand, while your right hand sipped through a straw on a refreshing seasonal drink youâd made for yourself. You couldnât help but admire how incredibly cute Soobin was: he was tall, over 185 cm which was probably why he was on the basketball team, you thought as you took in his lean, athletic build. His hair fell messily across his forehead, giving him a constantly sweet, approachable vibe and then, suddenly, his infectious laughter echoed through the bar, and an involuntary little pout formed on your face when you saw his famous dimples appear on his cheeks, giving him an irresistible puppy-like aura.
Seriously? Soobin?â Jakeâs bright, ironic voice cut through the air. âWhatâs so charming about that guy? Heâs always half-clumsy and doesnât even know which way a door swings unless heâs on a basketball court.â
At those words, your drink nearly went down the wrong pipe. When you straightened up, there he was, Jake, standing right in front of you. His worn-out soccer bag was slung over one shoulder, his dark hair still slightly damp from his post-training shower, and that usual smirk of his that always got under your skin. Caught red-handed, you blushed furiously and stammered:
âSoobin? I...I have no idea who youâre talking about!â You pointed at yourself, then frantically looked around to divert attention, but Jake just flashed that crooked grin of his, his eyes sparkling with pure amusement.
âOh, come on! I could help you get to know him, you know? And especially get noticed. Did you know he plays on the same team as my best friend Heeseung? He comes to almost all our weekend parties.â He turned to glance at Soobin, and you shot him a dirty look.
âHard pass. Now⊠what drink or food would you like to order, Jake?â As you said it, your fingers pressed a little too hard on the barâs computer keyboard.
âEasy: tutoring from you in history to pass the next two exams,â he said with nonchalance.
You stared at him, exasperated, and let out a long sigh. âYou really donât like hearing âno,â do you?â
At that, his wolf tail, which was peeking out from under his sports hoodie gave a slight, rhythmic wag. You didnât know much about hybrid anatomy or behavior, but to Jake, that involuntary movement meant one very clear thing: he was incredibly stimulated by your resistance toward him. It was almost like a challenge, and it excited him to no end. Jake loved competition, and right now, you were a very compelling one.
âMmm, I knew you were a sharp girl, sweetheart,â he said with total nonchalance. Your cheeks burned, and you stammered, âSweetheart?!â
He chuckled, thoroughly amused. âWell, yeah, itâs a cute nickname. Though, to be honest, thereâs not much âsweetâ about you right now.â He gifted you one of his perfect smiles.
âTell me what you want to drink or eat, or just leave,â you said sharply, crossing your arms over your chest, annoyed by the way his eyes had briefly flicked to the neckline of your shirt. Jake raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning.
âFine, fine. A hot caramel macchiato and a slice of Black Forest cake. Youâll bring it to my table, right? Especially since⊠Iâve decided Iâll go sit right across from Soobin.â He pointed at the guy youâd been admiring earlier. With that, he tapped his phone on the card reader, paying with a quick beep, leaving you standing there, stunned and speechless. You muttered a low curse under your breath: âI hope the cake chokes him.â
You watched as Jake sat down with absolute ease right at Soobinâs table, and you huffed in frustration. But before you could do anything, the two guys exchanged a quick, athletic handshakeâa sign of brotherhood among teammates. You knew Jake could help you get closer to Soobin, who smiled at him. A moment later, Jake turned his head slightly toward the counter, catching your gaze, and shot you a smug, triumphant grin.
In just five minutes, Jakeâs order was ready. With the tray clutched in your slightly trembling hands, you walked toward the table where Jake and Soobin were sitting. Trying to keep your voice as professional and detached as possible, you said:
âHey, guys. Hereâs the Blackforest cake and the caramel macchiato.â You set the plate and cup down in front of Jake, who watched you intently. âThanks, Y/n,â he said.
You hoped to turn on your heel and flee as quickly as possible, but Jake, of course, spoke up immediately to keep you there, so Soobin would notice you and remember your name.
âSoobin, this is Y/n. Weâre in the same Contemporary History class, and sheâs a total genius. She scored a terrifying 100 on the last test,â Jake said, addressing not just Soobin but also the other basketball players sitting around the table, who proceeded to compliment you. Soobinâs eyes widened, clearly impressed, and he looked at you with that gentle, heart-melting way of his. âYou seriously got a 100 in that extracurricular class? Wow⊠whatâs your major? You know, Iâve been struggling with those geohistory exams too. We could study together sometime, you could give me some pointers, and weâd help each other out,â he said with a shy smile.
Your cheeks instantly turned a deep burgundy, embarrassed by the unexpected compliment from the guy you liked. You just managed a timid smile and a nod.
Jake, observing the scene with the precision of a predator, knew full well that Soobin had taken the bait. With total nonchalance, he interrupted the moment before Soobin could elaborate, speaking in a tone that was falsely apologetic but incredibly possessive:
âSoobin, I hate to disappoint you, but sheâs already taken. You know Iâm a disaster in history, and the team desperately needs me to be up to date with all my classes for the championship⊠so Iâve already asked Y/n to give me private tutoring. I couldnât possibly pass up an opportunity like having the best tutor around.â He looked at you with that crooked grin of his, and you shot him a furious glare, clenching your fist so tightly against your apron that your knuckles turned white.
âI study music⊠but if youâre having trouble, Soobin, I could still find time to...â
But Soobin shook his hands and cut you off with a sincere smile. âNo, no, donât waste your precious time on me! I only play basketball for fun, to help the team. Iâll never be a professional athlete like Heeseung or Jake. You absolutely should tutor Jake. Guys, if he doesnât have all his classes in order, the federation will exclude him from the university championship and right now, there are scouts from the national leagues watching him...theyâre carefully evaluating whether his public and academic image is perfect before offering him a contract in a higher soccer league.â
At those words, you furrowed your brow, and your eyes widened slightly. You knew Jake was good at soccer, he was the captain, after all but you hadnât realized how serious the situation was. There were actually professional scouts involved, and his entire future depended on those damn history tests?
Jake, as he nibbled on his slice of cake, savoring his victory, doubled down: âSee, Y/n? Even Soobinâs asking you. I seriously need your help. And remember⊠if you ever wanted to ask me for anything in return, or needed some special help with someone, Iâd be more than happy to return the favor.â As he said this, he gave you a knowing wink, subtly nodding his chin toward Soobin. You rolled your eyes, was he blackmailing you under the guise of helping?
âIs your tail always moving like that?â You pointed at it with one finger.
Jakeâs mouth fell open in embarrassment, completely caught off guard, no one had ever asked him something so direct before, especially not a girl calling him out on an uncontrollable reflex tied to his hybrid nature. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. âLetâs just say my tail and generally, the tails of hybrids who have them reflects our emotions. We canât control it. Itâs an involuntary reflex of our nervous system,â he explained, trying to relax.
You looked at him, curious. âAnd what emotion are you feeling right now, Jake? We literally just left a bar and are walking toward campus. I donât think youâre feeling some great emotion⊠especially not in my company,â you muttered under your breath, almost to yourself but his wolf ears picked up every single word, even the way youâd said it. Jake furrowed his brow but decided not to make a big deal out of the fact that heâd heard. He looked you straight in the eyes and said:
âAnxiety? Anxiety over your verdict. Sorry if Iâm being pushy, but history is literally the only subject Iâm bad at, and youâre my last hope⊠I already checked the university forums like you suggested, but no one has your grades, and honestly, none of them inspire much confidence. So my tailâs wagging like this because Iâm anxious to know if youâve changed your mind. Is that okay?â
You sighed deeply, clutching your books to your chest, and stayed silent for a few steps as you walked along the campus paths lit by streetlamps. You thought it over, weighing the importance of his future and the veiled blackmail about Soobin, until you finally said:
âI decide when and where the tutoring sessions happen. Obviously, weâll have to work around our academic schedules. And I donât want to be messed around: if you want to pass history, you actually have to commit. No excuses...neither about soccer nor anything else and I want you to be honest if you donât understand something. In addition to our sessions, you need to study on your own at home. Iâm not doing all the work for you. Just like in soccer, you have to put in the effort in this subject too.â
You said it all in one breath, setting down ironclad rules to protect your boundaries. Jakeâs eyes widened, his ears snapping straight up in surprise. âWait⊠does this mean⊠youâll tutor me for the next few months?â he asked. This time, his tail moved differently, and you wondered if it meant he was happy.
You nodded resignedly, bringing a hand to your face. âI just hope itâs worth it⊠and that I donât lose my patience with you by the first session,â you muttered.
At your confirmation, Jake, overwhelmed with relief and happiness, completely lost control of his human inhibitions. Without realizing it, he lunged forward and pulled you into a tight hug. He pressed you against his broad, warm chest, wrapping you completely in his strong, athletic arms. You froze, stiff as a block of ice, and your heart skipped a beat from the sudden physical contact.
Why was he hugging you? God, you hated physical contact, especially with people you didnât know or trust. The memory of what youâd gone through in high school came rushing back like a slap. Your hands began to tremble slightly against your books, and you couldnât bring yourself to place them on Jakeâs back to reciprocate. You stayed motionless, breathless.
Jake, being a hybrid, immediately noticed how rigid you were in his arms. His body sensed your instant stiffness, but it was your scent that changed in a millisecond under his hyper-developed nose. The sweet, clean strawberry scent of your skin was literally overpowered by an intense, acidic trail, the unmistakable signature of negative emotions: primal panic, terror, and shock. It was the scent of someone who felt attacked, not just surprised by a hug. His wolf instinct, which never failed when it came to deciphering pheromones, picked up on that internal danger signal. It forced him to pull away from you immediately. Seeing you silent, your hands shaking, your expression blank, and your eyes wide and empty, Jake felt a pang of guilt, he was afraid heâd crossed a line with you.
Oh God, Iâm sorry⊠I⊠I didnât mean to,â he said, slightly embarrassed, running a hand through his hair and messing it up nervously as he saw you still standing completely stiff in front of him.
âI⊠I really like physical contact when Iâm happy or relieved. Itâs a hybrid thing...we tend to be pack-oriented⊠I didnât mean to scare you,â he said, gesturing with his hands. You swallowed hard, trying to regain control of your breathing, and gave a weak nod. âYeah⊠well, I donât know much about hybrids, but please⊠just donât do it again with me, okay? No hugs.â You shifted even farther away from him.
Seeing how shaken you still were, he nodded seriously, his ears lowering in a sign of submission and respect toward you. âOkay, okay, no hugs. Iâll message you on Instagram later, alright? So we can exchange numbers and set up our first lesson.â
You nodded one last time with a quick motion and hurried toward your apartment, desperate only to close the door behind you and sink into a long, hot bath.
Jake stood frozen on the path, watching your figure disappear into the dim light. His ears were tense, motionless, and his tail was completely still. His predator and protective wolf instincts took over everything else because that drastic and terrifying shift in your scent wasnât normal for a girl your age. As he furrowed his brow, the wolf inside him had just caught the scent of a painful secret you were trying to hide.
What are you hiding thatâs so serious, sweetheart? he muttered under his breath. Who reduced you to this?
Without realizing it, Jakeâs instinct had just vowed that he would uncover the truth and whoever had hurt you would be gone, long before you even saw it coming.
You had arranged everything with Jake down to the last detail in your messages: the library, west wing, at 4:00 PM sharp. He had replied with a thumbs-up, promising heâd be there. But now it was nearly 4:15, and there was still no sign of him. Curious, youâd even checked the official team schedule to see if he had practice but Monday was marked as a full rest day for the soccer players.
That excuse, then, couldnât possibly justify his lateness. You sat there, nervously tapping your pen against the table, your laptop open to your notes and the heavy Contemporary History textbook splayed open to the chapter on World War I. You glanced around every three seconds, but there was still no trace of Jake. Finally, you huffed in frustration, running a hand through your hair.
âWhat the hell⊠why did I agree to this?â you muttered under your breath and just at that moment, you heard the study room door swing open with a little too much force. There he was: Jake, zigzagging hastily between the empty tables, his gym bag slung over one shoulder. His dark hair bounced against his forehead with every quick step, and his fluffy wolf ears swayed with the movement. When he finally reached you and leaned over the table to set down his bag, your senses immediately picked up on something that made you stiffen. Beyond his usual wild, warm scent, the air was filled with an unmistakably sweet, almost floral note...a girlâs perfume that was definitely not yours.
âDonât tell me youâre 23 minutes late because you were hooking up with some girl,â you said, staring him straight in the eyes with a look that could have killed him. At those words, you watched his wolf ears drop instantly, flattening completely against the sides of his head in a clear sign of surrender and submission. Even his tail, peeking out from under his hoodie, dropped abruptly and went still between his legs. You caught a glimpse of his cheeks turning a deep red with embarrassment. His hybrid sense of smell must have already told him you were furious, and Jake swallowed hard, he knew heâd been caught red-handed.
âI...I⊠no, not a girl! Itâs just⊠the elevator in the guysâ dorm got stuck, I swear! And, um, there just happened to be a girl in there with me⊠thatâs why I smell like thisâŠâ he said, giving you his best puppy-dog eyesâbut he knew instantly it wouldnât work on you.
âI wasnât born yesterday, Jake, and I know perfectly well you donât have practice today,â you said, crossing your arms firmly over your chest. âI saw in the universityâs official vlog that soccer players rest on Mondays. So why do you have your soccer bag?â
Backed into a corner, Jake tried to play it cool to lighten the mood, smirking as he curled his lips into that usual crooked smile that drove girls wild. âOh, so youâve been stalking me? I didnât know you were already this interested in my routine, sweetheart.â
Your eyes widened, stunned by his audacity. You seriously wanted to slap him, but the only thing stopping you was the fact that you were in a public place.
âI havenât been stalking you! I just wanted to know if you were late for a valid reason, like soccer. But apparently, thatâs not the case,â you said, pointing with a sharp flick of your pen at his hair, which was far too disheveled to be the result of just running down a hallway.
He rolled his eyes slightly, then lowered his voice and stretched his hands across the table toward you. âCome on, Y/n, Iâm sorry⊠I lost track of time, okay? It wonât happen again, I promise. Now letâs sit down and open the books. Iâm all yours for the next few hours,â he said, winking at you. But you stopped him immediately, you were really angry, and even though your voice was a whisper to avoid getting kicked out of the library, your tone was unmistakably sharp.
âNo, Jake. Listen carefully. This is exactly why I didnât want to tutor anyone, especially not someone like you. You have zero respect for the time someone else is giving you, sacrificing their own studies to help you. If your absolute priority on this campus is to play the playboy, show up late to every lesson, and take my help for granted, then know this: this will be the first and last session we ever have. Consider this goodbye. You can say hello to failing that test, losing your captainâs armband, and kissing goodbye to every professional league scout watching you! I donât waste my time on people who wonât commit to something they asked me for. I donât recall chasing you down, begging to tutor you!â
For the first time in a long time, Jake felt corneredânot just by the harshness of your words, but by the fact that you werenât like all the other girls who fell at his feet. For the first time, the team captain had found someone who wasnât willing to let him off the hook for anything. Deep down, he knew he had to step up, and perhaps, beneath the surface, he felt the need to get his act together.
âIâm sorry, Y/n. From now on, Iâll always be on time. I promise,â he said seriously, extending his pinky finger to make a childish âpinky promiseâ in an attempt to lighten the mood. You studied his expression carefully to see if he was sincere, then said:
âIâll let it slide this time, but itâs the last warning, Jake.â
Then you looked at his outstretched finger, and though reluctant, you wrapped your pinky around his. In that brief moment when your skin touched, you both felt something an adrenaline rush that stole your breath, while for Jake, it was yet another confirmation that his wolf side responded intensely to your presence. Deep down, he found himself wanting more.
âToday, weâll start with the triggering causes of World War I and the European alliances of 1914. First, youâll read the text on your own, and Iâll do the same. Then, Iâve prepared five questions here that will help you summarize the entire first chapter about ten pages, to help you understand it better.â
Jake nodded, carefully looking over the first chapter.
âGo ahead and read the chapter first, and if you donât understand something, just ask. Iâm here to help,â you said gently this time. You noticed his tail swaying slightly from side to side under the table, this time with slow, lifted movements.
âGot it, Professor!â he said, saluting like a captain. You sighed, shaking your head, it was maddening how he could act like such a kid.
So, you both began silently reading the first chapter. Thanks to your study habits, you finished in just ten minutes. When you looked up, you expected Jake to be done too, but you realized he was only halfway through the fifth page. You tried your best to look away so as not to stare and make him self-conscious, but Jake had that kind of magnetism anyone within his radius was almost forced to look at him and he was truly handsome, even that day, dressed in just a loose, dark hoodie and comfortable cargo jeans.
His face perfectly embodied the proud aura of a wolf: thick, black hair that created a stunning contrast with his soft, slightly dark gray ears, which occasionally twitched or moved at the slightest sounds in the library. His eyes still had a hint of puppy-like charm, framed by long, dark lashes, a large, pronounced nose that suited his facial features divinely, and slightly full but not overly so lips.
And then there were his hands: truly beautiful, large, and well-kept. Your eyes lingered a little too long on the prominent veins on the back of his hands, a testament to the physical strain of his training, adorned with several silver rings.
As you watched him, you saw Jake make a small pout that you found incredibly cute. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair to mess it up nervously.
âStruggling?â you asked softly, and he didnât even look up from the page, answering almost defeatedly: âA little.â
You asked if heâd underlined anything in the book, and he shook his head. âItâs really hard⊠mostly, I struggle to remember all these names of ministers, archdukes, and tsars, and which territories belong to each one,â he sighed. Moved by a sudden wave of understanding, you said something without even realizing it: âYou could use colors as a visual aid, or associate historical dates with the jersey numbers of famous soccer players you know.â
At those words, Jake suddenly looked up, surprised and intrigued. âYouâre telling me to try memorizing historical dates using soccer jersey numbers?â
âYes, and you could also use a different color for each era or nation, so it sticks better in your mind. You can mentally link it to a team. Soccer teams all have different jersey colors, right? The German Empire could be the black jersey, Russia the red one, and so onâŠâ you said, picking up the highlighters. His eyes widened slightly, and a genuine smile lit up his face.
âWow⊠I never thought of that. In engineering, we never use colors, but it actually makes perfect sense for a subject like history!â
At that point, he started asking you a series of general questions to better understand how to apply the trick: he asked for explanations about the year of the Triple Alliance, the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and how the European balance had collapsed. You listened, and finally told him:
âAlright, now try to answer at least two of the five questions I prepared for you. But before you write, you need to highlight the parts of the text you find truly important, using the colors we decided on.â
After an hour and a half, youâd covered two chapters, and Jake seemed fully absorbed in his studiesâthanks both to your help and your company. Heâd finally found a rhythm with your color and soccer association method. Then you glanced at the time on your phone screen and sighed loudly. Jake immediately looked up, his ears perking up curiously.
âEverything okay?â
You nodded, starting to gather your things. When he saw you stand up, something inside him snapped he wanted to stay with you, but he didnât understand why.
âYeah, sorry, but I have to go to work. I wouldâve stayed here studying a little longer, but not all of us have a scholarship secured thanks to soccer!â you said, slipping your laptop into your bag. Jake stretched in his chair, the muscles in his shoulders tensing under his loose hoodie, and curled his lips into a smirk.
âWas that a dig at me or at athletes in general?â he asked, pointing at himself. You shrugged. âTake it however you want.â
But Jake wasnât the type to back down easily, and he loved having the last word. So he leaned forward on the table, looking at you intently: âSpoiler: I donât have an athletic scholarship, sweetheart!â
You stared at him with wide eyes, freezing with your bag strap halfway over your shoulder, and stammered, clearly shockedâit was extremely impossible. âH-Howâs that possible? Youâre the team captainâŠâ
He rocked slightly in his chair, and even from there, you could tell that despite being 23, he still acted like a kid. âI was just too good at both sports and school, even back in high school. I didnât need an athletic scholarship, I got in on my grades,â he said smugly. Your mouth snapped shut, and you sighed, running a hand over your face, almost embarrassed.
You chuckled, amused by his excess of self-confidence, and gestured with your hands to tone it down. âDonât be such a know-it-all egotist, Jake! But⊠take it as a personal challenge⊠who knows, maybe not for the next test, itâs too soonbut for the one after that, you might even beat me⊠if you start liking the subject,â you said, openly teasing him with a challenging smile youâd never given any other guy before. Jake lightly bit his lower lip and muttered under his breath: âChallenge accepted, sweetheart.â
You said goodbye with a quick wave and turned, walking briskly to exit the west wing of the library and rush to the bar for your shift, your heart beating suspiciously fast.
As you walked away, Jakeâs hybrid instincts were literally rejoicing inside him. Under the table, his tail began to wag frantically, and his ears stretched forward to catch the sound of your footsteps. His wolf instinct was celebrating a double victory: not only had he managed to get you to give in and tutor him, but heâd just discovered that behind your cold, defensive armor, there was a girl capable of challenging him and holding her own with wit and that drove him wild. But what made him gloat the most was the scent youâd left in the air when you said goodbye: your smell of fear had faded, replaced by something sweeter and he couldnât wait for the next lesson.
You and Jake had been studying together for two weeks now, and you would NEVER have imagined that, deep down, he wasnât actually so bad. Sure, he was still a living jester...no lesson passed without him trying to tease you but there was one thing that had really stuck with you, something that had made your heart flutter more than once: he strictly respected physical distance. After that hug heâd given you, and after sensing how cold youâd been in returning it, Jake had never tried to touch you or get too close again. Heâd limited himself to verbal provocations and to you, that meant a lot, because for so many guys, the word "no" simply didnât exist in their vocabulary.
That morning, though, heâd sent you a WhatsApp message that had left you a little taken aback, though you understood why. The campus had erupted in chaos after the soccer team won an away game, and heâd asked if you could come to hisplace to study insteadâheâd gotten back late last night and was completely wrecked.
At first, youâd been pretty reluctant, but heâd quickly reassured you, saying you wouldnât be alone because there were six other people in the house, and at least one of his roommates would be there. So youâd agreed and now here you were, standing in front of⊠a house? No, this looked more like a villa. You thought you mustâve gotten the address wrong, but when you stepped closer to the intercom, you read the names of the seven guys who lived there: Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Jungwon, Ni-ki.
So you rang the bell, expecting Jake to answer immediately, but instead, a stunning guy with chiseled features and an incredibly charming vibe opened the door. You immediately noticed his dark ears and sleek, glossy tail: he was a black cat hybrid.
âYouâre Y/n, right? Come in, Jakeâs upstairs,â he said with a smile. You nodded, but before you could even respond, you heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, a tall guy with brown hair and slightly almond-shaped eyesâunmistakable black panther earsâpeered into the hallway.
You thought this place was less of a student house and more of a model recruitment center...
The panther hybrid looked at you and pouted like a child, sighing:  âOh, no⊠I was hoping my takeout had arrived.â You smiled timidly, a little intimidated by his size, but the pantherâs eyes widened as soon as he met your gaze. Pointing at you, he said: âOh my God, wait! Are you the famous Y/n? Jakeâs tutor? Damn, lately he hasnât stopped talking about....â
But before Ni-ki could finish, all three of you heard Jakeâs loud voice call out:Â âNi-ki!â
Like a bolt of lightning, Jake appeared at the top of the stairs and slid down the steps, stretching out a hand to yank Ni-kiâs shirt sleeve and silence him instantly. Ni-ki just laughed, completely unfazed, and said:Â âOh, hyung! Youâre here too, with us at home!â
Jake really wanted to strangle him, but he loved his little brother too much. When you finally looked up at Jake, you noticed he was dressed extremely comfortably: gray sweatpants, an oversized university T-shirt, his dark hair still damp from the shower, and a white towel draped over his shoulders, giving him a cozy, domestic vibe and at the same time, he looked at you and gave you a genuine smile, saying:
âHey, Y/n. Donât mind this bunch of lunatics. Follow me, weâll study in my room so itâs quieter.â
But the second he said those words, you froze on the spot. Your mind went into overdrive:
His room? Alone?
Your brain short-circuited, and you stood completely still on the doormat, clutching your books to your chest like a protective shield. You did not want to go into a room alone...especially not with a guy.
Both Jay (the black cat hybrid) and Ni-ki turned to look at you strangely, since all three of them were predator hybrids, their senses instantly picked up on the drastic shift in the air, as well as the sudden change in your clean scent, which had just been overpowered by a sharp trail of embarrassment mixed with a strong, clear note of defensive fear and panic.
Hybrids had incredibly strong olfactory instincts, and Jake froze on the spot. His smile vanished, replaced by something he didnât often feel or see. But with you, heâd smelled that scent before: the first time heâd spoken to you, and again when heâd hugged you. With an incredibly gentle and reassuring tone, he said:
âWeâll keep the bedroom door wide open, okay, Y/n? If that makes you feel more comfortable and you two⊠no nonsense from now on, got it?â He directed this mostly at Ni-ki, who rolled his eyes, while Jay, understanding the situation, gave a serious nod and walked toward the kitchen: âDonât worry, Iâll go make a snack.â
Jake looked at you again, giving you a soft nod to invite you to follow him up the stairs. Before you moved, you took one last look at Ni-ki and Jay, who returned your gaze with warm, welcoming smiles. You let out a small sigh of reliefâthose guys didnât seem dangerous at all⊠in fact, they seemed really nice and Jake⊠Jake was proving to be far more attentive and protective than youâd ever wanted to admit to yourself.
When you stepped into Jakeâs room, you were immediately enveloped by a mix of warm, inviting scents: the fresh aroma of pine-scented body wash heâd just used, a rich note of cedarwood, and that signature musky scent unique to his hybrid natureâwhich, over time, had begun to make you feel strangely safe.
Your eyes landed on the center of the room, where a large, slightly unmade king-sized bed sat with its gray sheets tangled. Nearby, a desk was buried under stacks of calculation sheets and heavy structural engineering manuals. The shelves, on the other hand, were packed with frames, photos of Jake as a child, and you smiled at the sight of him with his wolf ears still too big for his head. There were pictures of him hugging the other six hybrids from the house, all grinning with mud-streaked jerseys, and beside the photos stood rows of gleaming trophies and medals. Your eyes widened, and you let out a quiet whistle at the sight of so many merit certificates for math Olympiads.
 âWow⊠I knew you were good, but not this good,â you said, picking up a certificate with his name printed in gold letters. Jake shrugged, but you noticed the smirk tugging at his lips, his ears perking up with pride he knew he was smart, and damn good at what he did.
âI told you I wasnât bad. Historyâs just my one weak spot,â he said.
You nodded, setting the frame down. When you saw him move toward the bed and stretch out comfortably on his stomach, with history notes scattered in front of him, you couldnât help but comment:Â âYou know, normal people study sitting in a chair, facing a desk.â
But he just waved a hand dismissively, burying his face in the pillow for a second. âOverrated. If I can stretch out on my bed and study, why not?â Jake lifted his head to look at you, and in that moment, your scent: a delicate blend of fresh strawberries, cream, and a clean trail of vanilla filled the room, mingling perfectly with his hybrid scent. Jake went still for a second, breathing deeply, his expression shifting into something he didnât let show. That scent⊠itâs heavenly, he thought before he could stop himself. Then he shook his head slightly, unsettled by the spontaneous thought.
Heavenly? Damn, Jake, what the hell are you saying? Itâs⊠itâs just a nice smell, thatâs all⊠focus.
Oblivious to his thoughts, you took the desk chair, turned it around, and sat sideways, balancing your notes on your knees. âOverrated or not, this is how Iâm used to studying. If you want to stay there, fine, but I donât want to find you snoring in five minutes,â you said with a half-smile. Jake chuckled, and you saw his tail, peeking out from under his hoodie thumping eagerly against the mattress, a clear sign he genuinely enjoyed your company.
âFirst of all, I donât snore. Second, Iâve never fallen asleep during a study session and I bet that soon, even youâll end up sitting on this bed⊠itâs amazing, sweetheart. Memory foam with built-in massage tech, you know, as a soccer player, I need the best for my body,â he said, shifting slightly onto his side, teasing you with a mischievous grin and a wink. âEveryone who tries it wants to come back to sleep in it⊠thereâs plenty of space⊠and Iâm an excellent human heating pad, you know as a wolf hybrid, my body heat is way higher than yours. Perfect if you get cold in the winter!â he added with another wink.
You wanted to smack him with the history book for his audacity, but instead, you just blushed and shot him a glare. âStop talking nonsense and letâs start studying. Weâve got the first exam on Friday, and if you fail, I fail as a tutor.â
You and Jake had been studying for over two hours, and in that time, Jay had brought you delicious snacks to the room, and youâd even met Sunghoon, another one of the roommates. Youâd already heard about him on campus: he was the famous captain of the hockey team, and he, too, was a hybrid, specifically a snow fox, as well as one of the most popular athletes at the university. He also worked as a model for brands like Adidas, and everyone talked about him.
After the intense review session, you stood up for a moment to stretch your back and arms. Your eyes kept wandering around Jakeâs room, and he watched you carefully from the bed, noticing the tension in your body. âCome on, Y/n, I bet your back is killing you from sitting on that wooden chair. Just sit with me on the bed for five minutes, I promise Iâll keep my hands to myself,â he said.
To prove his intentions, he laced his fingers behind his back, looking up at you with a sweet, slightly reluctant smile. Knowing how wary you were, you finally gave in and sat on the edge of his bed. You immediately felt how incredibly soft it was.
Jake patted the large, dark fabric headboard, inviting you to get comfortable. So you settled in, half-sitting with your back resting against it, while he stayed stretched out beside you, his laptop and a pile of notes in front of him as he continued underlining according to your schemes.
After a little while, the exhaustion from the previous days caught up with you, and you yawned widely. Jake lifted his gaze from the papers. âAre you tired, sweetness?â
âA little,â you admitted, tilting your head back. He stretched slightly, letting out a sigh. Then, before you could predict it but driven irresistibly by his hybrid nature, which, in moments of tiredness or when wanting to make someone feel safe, instinctively sought contact with its âpackâ to share warmth and relax, Jake turned onto his side and, with complete naturalness, rested his head on the upper part of your legs, using them as a soft pillow.
Your eyes widened because his face was so close to your stomach. You immediately felt the impressive warmth of his body against your skin through your jeans just like that time heâd hugged you. He radiated an almost feverish heat, typical of wolf hybrids. From this close position, you could perfectly see how long and dark his lashes were, how his ears had partially lowered backward and deep inside, you felt a sudden, almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and touch them, they looked so soft and fluffy at the same time, and you wanted to know if they felt like a normal dogâs or catâs.
Jakeâs body relaxed completely against you, and you, having no idea what to do and with your heart beating a mile a minute, said his name softly: âJakeâŠâ
He just let out a low murmur, keeping his eyes half-closed because he liked feeling your body against hisâuntil you spoke.
âWhy did you rest your head on my legs?â you asked, slightly curious. He gave a light shrug against your thigh.
âI know you hate sudden physical contact⊠and Iâm not squeezing or openly touching you with my hands, so you can see I donât want to hurt you. You can trust me. Itâs just for support,â he said as his eyes opened fully, and two amber pools looked up at you, smiling. As your head tilted toward him, in that moment of absolute closeness, Jakeâs sharp sense of smell picked up on something that left him breathless: your strawberry and vanilla scent suddenly intensified in the air, growing sweeter. There was no trace of the acidic note of fear, nor the detachment of embarrassmentâbecause you were starting to trust him.
Without even realizing it, you lifted a trembling hand, and your fingers barely brushed one of his fluffy ears, right where the fur transitioned from light gray to the super-dark shade at the tip.
You froze instantly at that sound, blushing all the way to the tips of your ears, and stammered:
âJ-Jake⊠God, Iâm sorry! Did I hurt you? I didnât mean to⊠I didnât know...â But Jake burst into genuine laughter, and you caught a glimpse of his dimples, thinking he looked damn cute.
âNo, donât worry, you didnât hurt me, sweetness,â he said, slowly reopening his eyes. âItâs totally normal that I growled. I told you the other day, both our ears and tails are the most sensitive parts of our hybrid bodies. If theyâre touched the right way, they stimulate a huge amount of pleasure, even strong excitement inside us⊠itâs just a biological reflex. We canât help it.â He said this almost shyly, and at those words, you immediately pulled your hand away from his ears but Jake immediately pouted in protest, letting out a small, annoyed whine his sense of smell had instantly noticed the loss of your skinâs warmth. He looked up at you with an almost pleading expression.
âCan I take your hand, Y/n?â
You stared at him as you leaned over him, and though hesitant, you offered him your hand. Jake, however, was incredibly gentle. He didnât interlace his fingers with yours but instead wrapped his large, warm fingers around your wrist, guiding your arm upward until your hand rested again at the base of his gray ears.
âWe hybrids are very sensitive to both smells and touch,â he explained, watching you carefully. âAnd if someone becomes part of our circle, our life⊠well, we quickly become much more insistent with physical contact. Letâs just say we have an almost physical need for it. Thatâs why I stretched out with my head on your legs. My wolf just wanted to be close to you.âHe said this without realizing it, but he didnât say things like that to just anyone⊠in fact, he hoped you wouldnât fully understand what he was implying. For your part, you just nodded.
âI⊠well, I donât know much about hybrids. Iâve always attended all-human schools before university, so this is the first time Iâve been in close contact with one of you.â
Jake studied your reactions from below, sensing that you were relaxed, and said: âWell, there are many first times in life, and this is a new first for you. Donât be shy about touching me, sweetness⊠I can sense it, your scent, your instinct, they tell me you want to.â
You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your embarrassment at being caught, and said:Â âSometimes it bothers me, this thing. You sense and understand things through smells that we humans will never be able to comprehend.â
He chuckled but didnât move, and when he felt your fingersânow moving with more confidenceâbegin to stroke the base of his ears again, Jake let out a long sigh of pure relief and closed his eyes. He felt so relaxed in that moment, a feeling he hadnât experienced in years. Only his mom and grandmother could calm him with just a touch. He felt how his body was vibrating with total submission to your touch, but he quickly shook that thought from his mind. You smiled because you liked the idea of being able to relax someone as energetic and hyperactive as him. With the tips of your fingers, you moved from his ears to his thick, black hair, gently ruffling it, and asked, slightly shy:
âWhy do you hybrids love physical contact so much? Is it something that comes from your puppy-like nature, orâŠ?â
Jake opened his eyes, staring straight into yours. âYes, it partly comes from when weâre pups. But actually, all hybrids need constant physical contact, both as kids and as adults, especially during heat. It can be suppressed with medication, of course, but doctors say itâs not good for our health or mental balance. And then⊠when a hybrid finds his mate, there are specific ways he uses to be with her.â
Curious, you tilted your head slightly to the side and asked:Â âAnd what are these ways?â
âWell⊠besides being touched by his mate, the hybrid loves to touch her in return. Itâs a little embarrassing, but in the early stages of a relationship, itâs constant: holding her hand, hugging her, squeezing her⊠but the most important thing for us is to make sure our scent completely soaks into her. We want our chemistry to stay on her skin, on her clothes, so the whole pack and other males know who she belongs to.â
You were slightly shocked by this possessive and biological revelation, your eyes widening as you struggled to respond, unable to fully grasp the nature of hybrids. Jake, seeing your petrified face and sudden confusion, didnât miss the chance to tease you.
âOh God, you should see your face, sweetheart! Whatâs wrong? Are you afraid Iâll rub my wolf scent all over you any second so youâll smell like me all over campus? Donât worry⊠for today, Iâll settle for your legs as a pillow, but I wonât make any promises for our next lessons!â
You huffed, looking away to hide the heat still burning on your cheeks, and said:Â âI definitely donât want your scent on me, especially if I want to have any chance with Soobin.â
At those words, Jake froze on your lap. His ears snapped backward, stiffening, and his tailâs movement stopped instantly, youâd almost forgotten about it. The only reason youâd accepted this compromise and were helping him with Contemporary History was his deal: using his influence to get Soobinâs attention. For a second, his possessive, territorial animal instinct pressed to emerge and growl at that name, but his human side quickly regained control. He slowly lifted himself from your legs, sitting on the edge of the bed, and looked at you intensely, saying:
âRelax, the only way a hybridâs scent spreads to a girl is if they do sexual thingsâwhich means undressing and sniffing each otherâor if the guy bites her. So donât worry, you wonât run that risk with me, Y/n.â
You frowned at his answer, then checked the time on your phone and said it was getting late and that you absolutely had to go. Jake returned to being his usual carefree self, wearing a mask of indifference. He nodded and asked if you wanted a ride, but you refused, explaining that Allie would pick you up.
Just as you reached the entrance hall, the front door swung open, and Heeseungâthe basketball team captain and an adorable hamster hybridâburst in, beaming as he held dark streamers in his hands, shouting at the top of his lungs: âFriday, I want all six of you dressed up for Halloween because weâre throwing a legendary party here! No excuses!â He looked at all his friends, and a chorus of reactions immediately rose from the kitchen and living room:
Jungwon and Sunooâa cat hybrid and a fox hybrid with huge earsâgroaned at the idea of chaos in the house. Ni-ki enthusiastically exclaimed, âAwesome!â Jay muttered that heâd prepare amazing cocktails for the occasion, while Sunghoon, still sprawled on the couch, just rolled his eyes because he wasnât a fan of parties at all.
As you watched the scene, you suddenly felt warm breath right next to your ear. Jake had leaned toward you, his lips just millimeters from your skin:
âThis is the perfect excuse for us to be seen together by Soobin, sweetheartâŠâ he whispered, sending shivers down your spine. âTell me how youâll dress for the party⊠because you are coming, right? Heâll definitely be there.â
You turned abruptly, finding his challenging smile just a centimeter from your face. And if there was one thing you hated, it was crowded partiesâbut the idea of finally talking to Soobin pushed you to do something crazy.
âYes, Iâll be there⊠but only if Allie can come too.â
Jake nodded, widening his sly grin. You said goodbye to all the guys with a wave and finally left that villa. As soon as you got into Allieâs car, you told her everything in detail. But your best friend could tell deep down that you wanted to go to that party to be with Jakeâbecause for the entire ride, you hadnât even mentioned Soobin.
As soon as the door closed behind you, silence fell over the entire living room. Jake turned to go back upstairs but froze on the spotâall six of his friends were staring at him with their arms crossed, wearing smiles that were half-amused and half-suspiciously knowing. All six hybrids in that room were literally breathing in the pheromones Jake had unconsciously released over the past two hours.
Jake felt his cheeks heat more than they should, turning bright red. He wanted to deny everything, but then Heeseung, the oldest in the group, twitched his hamster ears with a mix of amusement and curiosity, shook his head, and dropped the final bombshell, looking at the others:
âGuys, I think the first one to find his lifemate is actually one of the two biggest playboys and frat boys in the entire university⊠Who wouldâve ever thought that the great Jake Sim would fall at the feet of a nerd who didnât even know he existed a few weeks ago?â
Jakeâs blush deepened, spreading under the fur of his ears, which twitched nervously. He growled, baring a hint of fang to hide his panic: âShut up, you donât know what youâre talking about! Sheâs just my tutor, and Iâm just keeping my end of the deal. At the party on Friday, youâll see...sheâs into Soobin.â Jake then bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
But as he stormed up, his tail....always the traitor, began wagging frantically at the thought of seeing you dressed up for Halloween and his friends were absolutely right⊠the wolf inside him knew it all too well.
The house of the seven hybrids had been completely transformed for the Halloween party. Thick cobwebs hung from the ceiling corners, ghost-shaped sheets floated mid-air, and witch hats seemed to fly on their own thanks to invisible wires. The place looked like it had stepped straight out of a horror cartoon rather than a university party. Soft, rhythmic music played in the background as people from the campus began filling the hallways and living rooms of the villa.
You and Allie had arrived together. Allie was wearing a sexy pirate costume that suited her perfectly, while you had gone with the plan youâd agreed on with Jake: a lilac and purple dress inspired by Rapunzel. According to your friend, it looked divine on you, and to be honest, even you felt pretty looking at yourself in the mirror. However, you couldnât help but notice that the corset was a little too tight, accentuating your curves in a way you usually disliked but tonight, it gave you an extra boost of self-confidence. Deep down, you were a beautiful girl, but the only thing that made you wrinkle your nose a little was the cleavage, which made you feel a bit uncomfortable under the gazes of the people you passed. The rest of the outfit, though, was perfect: your hair was gathered in a soft braid decorated with tiny fake flowers, and you held a lightweight plastic frying pan, artfully stained with fake blood. You seriously hoped Jake had kept his word about dressing as Flynn Rider.
When your eyes finally spotted him near the bar corner, a small, spontaneous smile appeared on your face. Allie, who had been watching you carefully out of the corner of her eye, noticed that spark in your eyes as you looked at Jake. Deep down, your friend had already figured it all out, but she chose to stay silent, driven by a strong protective instinct toward you.
Jake, for his part, looked simply perfect. He wore the typical blue vest over a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, showcasing his powerful biceps and the prominent veins of his athletic arms. Dark pants completed the look, but what truly took your breath away was his hairstyle: his dark hair was perfectly parted in the middle with Flynnâs signature rebellious tuft. You thought he should opt for that fluffy, middle-parted hair more often. On his cheeks and neck, he had drawn small, fake red scratches, as if he had just barely escaped the clutches of the law.
When Jake turned and saw you, he froze mid-step for what felt like an eternity. His wolf nose instantly picked up your scent in the airâa heavenly, thick aroma of fresh strawberries, powdered sugar, and a warm note of pure vanilla. At that olfactory contact, his tail twitched violently under his costume, swaying so hard from side to side that he had to restrain himself to keep it from breaking free of the fabric.
His wolf instinct gave a primal jolt: he thought you looked incredibly beautiful, and at the same time, he almost didnât recognize you. He had never seen you so exposed, with your figure and curves so visibly on display. Jake swallowed hard at the sight of your shy smile and ran a hand through his hair, momentarily ruining the perfect part. His animal instinct was literally screaming at him to reach out, grab you by the waist, and carry you away from all those people to keep you close to him. But he knew he had to rein in that urge, you werenât his, and besides, you were interested in another guy. Damn, you looked stunning, and his eyes couldnât stop drinking you in.
He closed the distance between you with feline steps, leaning slightly toward you, and whispered directly into your ear in a low voice that sent shivers down your spine:
âDamn, sweetheart⊠I knew you were hiding something under those hoodies or sweaters, but I didnât expect all this,â he said, unable to stop rambling because he couldnât take his eyes off you, especially not from the line of your cleavage. You blushed violently, and in self-defense, you crossed your arms over your chest, clutching the frying pan to your side.
âIn your dreams, Sim. I only came here because you asked me to, and because we have a deal. Otherwise, Iâd be comfortably in my room right now trying to compose music for my class⊠but Iâm here because you promised me something. You have to help me get to know Soobin⊠speaking of which, where is Soobin? You promised heâd be here.â
At the sound of that name, Jakeâs smug smile vanished in a millisecond. His wolf ears twitched slightly backward, flattening almost imperceptibly against his hairâa clear sign of pure annoyance and territorial jealousy. His body stiffened for a moment, irritated by the fact that your first thought had gone to another guy just as he was devouring you with his eyes. He gave a vague nod toward the kitchen. âHeâs in there, in the kitchen with Heeseung and the other basketball guys but donât rush, sweetheart⊠first, you need to loosen up⊠and have a drink.â
Before you could tell Jake you had no intention of drinking alcohol, he turned and started walking toward the kitchen with confident steps. Following him inside, you were immediately greeted by three enormous glass bowls filled with rum punch and chopped fruit. At the sight, your instinct screamed at you to run out of the room...high school memories threatened to resurface, and you feared theyâd ruin what could have been a fun night.
Jake, unaware of your internal struggle, grabbed a ladle and poured himself a glass of the reddish liquid. From the note pinned to the table, you read that it was a cocktail made with rum, prosecco, and berries. When he turned and held out the glass to you, you looked up at him and said in a thin voice: âThanks, Jake, but⊠I donât drink alcohol⊠I donât like it.âYou tried to hide it, but Jake wasnât stupid. His hybrid sixth sense was far too sharp, and he saw the slight but unmistakable tremor in your hand as you refused the glass. He noticed how your posture had suddenly stiffened, and, intrigued, he tilted his head, studying your reaction.
âMmm, okay. Wait here a second,â he said without teasing you or trying to pressure you. You simply nodded, clutching the plastic frying pan to your chest, and watched him disappear behind the door of a pantry at the back of the kitchen.
Left alone, you turned to look around. You saw Allie talking or maybe arguing with Heeseung, and your heart literally leapt into your throat when Soobin walked into the kitchen. He was dressed as Cullen from Twilight in a baseball game versionâwhite and blue jersey, a backward cap, and even a baseball glove tucked into his left hand. You immediately thought he looked cute, especially when he noticed you, and his famous dimples deepened in his cheeks. Your eyes, however, instinctively searched for Jakeâs figure.
Where the hell did he go? Soobin was walking straight toward you, and you thought, half-panicked: Where the hell has that wolf gotten himself? Why is he leaving me alone right now?!
But then a part of you forced yourself to reason after all, this was the plan, right? Jake was supposed to give you the chance to meet Soobin and make an impression. Yet deep down, you wanted him there with you so badly, and you didnât understand why.
When Soobin reached you, he gave you a sweet smile. âOh my God, Y/n? Is that you? Jakeâs tutor, right? Damn⊠you look stunning tonight. The costume suits you perfectly,â he said, even stumbling slightly over the last word as his eyes lingered inevitably on the line of your braid and the lilac corset. Your cheeks burned, turning burgundy in a millisecond from compliments you werenât used to hearing. You said:
âYou⊠you donât look bad either⊠I mean, you look really cute,â and a second later, you wanted to slap yourself in the face. You had no idea how to flirt, and having a decent conversation with the guy you liked felt like a titanic task.
But just at that moment, Jake reemerged from the pantry, holding both a sealed glass bottle of Coca-Cola and a bottle of water. The scene before him, however, made him freeze on the spot. Seeing you blush, smelling your strawberry scent grow more intense and vulnerable for another male, literally drove him wildâand he didnât understand why.
Okay, you were cute. Many times, you drove him crazy. Many times, heâd sought you out in class but you werenât his type....you were too⊠well, a little too shy. You usually gave as good as you got, but you preferred to keep to yourself or stick with a few people, while he loved being almost the center of attention. He didnât understand why he felt so strange when he was with you.
A wave of pure, territorial jealousy burned in his chest. Under his costume, his tail tensed instantly, becoming as rigid as a poker, and his ears flattened. But when his eyes met yours, Jake read your silent plea for help and your embarrassment. He understood that this was the exact moment to step in and play his card.
Jake hurried over to you, and without touching you, you immediately felt his presence as he stood in front of you with a serious expression. âHey, sweetheart, I got you a Coca-Cola and a sealed bottle of water, so you know exactly what youâre drinking,â he said, smiling warmly as he handed them to you. Once again, you were caught off guard by how well Jake could read you. It was incredible how this guyâwho, just a few weeks ago, youâd considered nothing more than a shallow, heartbreaking athleteâcould pick up on every subtle nuance of your discomfort and protect you in such a quiet, precise way.
You thanked him shyly, taking the cold glass bottle in your hands. It was at that moment that Jake turned toward the other guy.
âOh, Soobin, youâre here too,â he said with a crooked grin. Soobin wasnât intimidated by Jakeâs predator-like aura and met the soccer captainâs gaze head-on. âWell, you know Iâm here every weekend. And when I saw your tutor alone in the middle of this pack of hybrids, I came over right away to see how much sweetness and beauty she had as Rapunzel.â
Jake glared at Soobin, then shifted his gaze to you, as if expecting a reaction. Feeling caught in an invisible grip and wanting to ease the tension, you said: âWell⊠it was my idea to dress as Rapunzel and Flynn. Jake doesnât look bad tonight either, to be honest.â
At those words, a wave of immense pride washed over the wolf hybrid. Jake chuckled, visibly pleased by your unexpected compliment. He drastically closed the distance between you, eliminating the personal space youâd established, and you watched as his large hand lowered and gently brushed against yours. You bowed your head for a moment, watching his fingers slowly spread across your palm, ready to welcome yours. Driven by a sudden, overwhelming sense of security from the fact that heâd thought to protect your drink and the primal warmth radiating from his presenceâyou interlaced your hand with his, fitting your fingers between his. It was a spontaneous gesture that made your heart race, because youâd never thought that this Jakeâthe one everyone talked about as a playboy or someone who only thought of himselfâcould be like this.
Jake tightened his grip around your handâyour fingers were ridiculously cute and small compared to hisâand lifted his chin toward his rival. With a possessive tone that brooked no argument, he said:Â âIt was a pleasure, Soobin. But Y/n is with me tonight, and I need to show her around the house.â
Without giving Soobin time to respond, Jake started walking toward the villaâs stairs, gently pulling you behind him. As you climbed the first wooden steps, you leaned toward him and whispered: âDo you think itâs right to leave him already? He seemed really into talking to meâŠâ You felt bad for cutting short the only real conversation youâd started with the guy you had a crush on. But Jake couldnât have cared less about what you thought in that moment or what Soobin might have been thinking. His only goal was to get you away from the other malesâ gazes and claim you for himself, because damn, that night he wanted all your attention. So he took you to the very top of the stairs, to a raised and partially shadowed spot from which you could perfectly see the entire party belowâthe crowded living room and the music echoing off the walls.
âHeâs still watching us, sweetheart,â he murmured against your ear, his warm breath on the bare skin of your neck making you shudder. Instinctively, you tried to turn your head downward, toward the kitchen, to look for Soobinâs figure. But Jakeâs free hand shot lightning-fast to your face, his long, warm fingers caressing your cheek as he firmly held your face in place, preventing you from turning. You werenât supposed to let Soobin see you flustered by the guy you liked.
âDonât give him the satisfaction of having your eyes on him. Otherwise, heâll realize youâre interested and that he has control over you,â he warned in a low voice, his gaze fixed on your lips. You swallowed hard at how well Jake could embody his character, and trapped between his hand on your face and the stair railing, you stammered in confusion: âA-and what the hell am I supposed to do, Jake? I⊠Iâm not good at this stuff. Itâs already a lot if I managed to talk to him for two minutes straight without making a fool of myself.â You said this with a half-smile, and Jake looked at you intensely, his ears lowering slightly in an unexpectedly tender shade of sweetness.
âBut with me, you donât have a problem talking, Y/n. You donât freeze up. You hold your own, you answer back. Maybe⊠maybe you need to find someone you actually feel comfortable with, not someone your mind just thinks is cool, but who ultimately just makes you feel a little⊠constant anxiety?â Jake said this without fully realizing what heâd just admitted. For him, those words carried immense meaningâalmost a declaration of intent tied to his biological nature. He wanted you to understand that love or attraction shouldnât be a mental effort or an ideal of perfection to chase (like Soobin). Instead, it should be a natural chemistry based on loyalty, security, teasing, and a safe harbor where your body and soul felt protected and free to express themselves without fear. And those feelings? You definitely didnât feel them with Soobinâbut you did with him. He wanted you to understand that the wolf in front of you was the only one capable of naturally breaking down your protective barriers. He knew you were hiding something that had happened to you, and he couldnât wait to see you lower your guard and let go with him.
But you didnât have time to process the concept or respond, because Jake had closed the last millimeter of distance between you and pressed his lips firmly against yours, catching you completely off guard at the top of those stairs.
Jakeâs full lips pressed against yours, and your brain completely short-circuited at the sensation of that physical contact between you and him.
What the hell was he doing? Why was he kissing you like this, in front of everyone, and especially under Soobinâs gaze? But before your mind could even formulate a protest or find the strength to push him away, the devastating warmth of his body enveloped you. As if by magic, the anxiety that had been gnawing at you since before you even entered their house vanished. After just a few seconds, almost as if moved by an involuntary reflex, you parted your lips slightly. Jake let out a warm, trembling sigh right against your mouthâa sound of pure reliefâbecause you hadnât slapped him in front of everyone, even though he knew you hated being touched. Damn, heâd been dreaming for a while now of knowing what it was like to kiss you. And he began to kiss you with a disarming gentleness.
It wasnât the rough or arrogant kiss you would have expected from the soccer team captain. His lips moved against yours softly, as if he were afraid that at any moment, you might pull away. Jake gently sucked on your lower lip, savoring every single millimeter of your mouth, and you tasted the sweetness of the Coca-Cola mixed with the fruity flavor of his alcoholic aperitif. You would have never imagined that the campus playboy could kiss a girl with such care and reverence. Your cheeks burned as you felt his hand gently caress your cheek. Without realizing it, your handsâwhich had been timidly resting against his chestâslid upward, settling firmly on his broad shoulders, gripping the fabric of his white shirt. Jake leaned even closer into you, pressing you gently against the railing at the top of the stairs, isolating you from the rest of the world.
When your strawberry and vanilla scent suddenly became even sweeter and more intense than usualâa clear sign that your body had surrendered to him and that you no longer felt any fearâJake broke the kiss for a millisecond. He growled in an incredibly rough, low voice: âDamn⊠you smell so good, Y/n. Stay like this⊠please.â He said this against your lips, and you didnât understand the meaning of that comment. You tried to pull your head back to protest and ask for an explanation, but Jake, seeing your deliciously parted lips, didnât waste time. He took advantage of that moment and slid his warm tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss against your lips, which were increasingly drawn to him.
At the same time, his hand slid down from your face, settling firmly around your waist, gripping the lilac fabric of your Rapunzel dress. In that moment, Jake held his breathâhe was afraid that this contact might trigger your usual resistance. He hoped with all his heart that you wouldnât pull your hand away or break free from him. But to his surprise, you kissed him back. And you did it in a way that left him completely stunned: your fingers tightened with more force on his shoulders, and your tongue responded to his with an initial shyness that quickly turned into a desperate, hungry rhythm, as if you had found a secret refuge in this guy you thought you couldnât stand. You pressed yourself closer to his chest, forgetting about Soobin, the people below the stairs, and everything else.
Jake literally smiled against your lips, savoring your total surrender, while the wolf instinct inside him screamed at the top of its lungs that you were his mate, that he should never let you go, and that he should especially not let other guys have you.
Jakeâs human side forcefully pushed back the animal instinct that wanted to take control. He didnât want to scare youâhe just wanted to savor this incredible moment with you. Your tongues continued to seek each other relentlessly, as if it were just the two of you in that house. And maybe it was, because from where you stood, only someone climbing the stairs could see what was happening.
Then, seized by a sudden boldness you didnât even know you possessed, you lightly nibbled on his lower lip. Jake was completely caught off guard by such an intimate, unexpected, and boldly provocative gesture from you. He wanted more, and a low, rough moan escaped his lips. At that sound, you felt your cheeks burn damn, Jake was kissing you and moaning in the middle of a packed party!
This realization set off an alarm bell in your mind, jolting your rationality back to life. This was not part of the deal youâd made with him. Breathless, with your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst, you pulled away from him by just a few millimeters, breaking the kiss. Even though, deep down, you wanted his lips against yours again, you quickly pushed that thought away. Both of you had glossy eyes, your lips visibly redder and fuller than usual.
Embarrassed and adrenaline-fueled, you lowered your gaze and started nervously fiddling with the lilac tulle of your Rapunzel dress, trying to compose yourself. Jake, on the other hand, simply couldnât stop looking at you. His chest rose and fell rapidly under his Flynn Rider shirt. When you finally looked up again, your eyes locked once more, unable to pull away, as if they were always searching for each other. You stammered:
âI⊠I⊠why did you kiss me, Jake?â
Jake gave a small, crooked smile and repeated softly the same words from earlier:Â âHeâs still watching us, sweetheart.â
This time, though, he didnât bring his hand to your cheek to block your face, leaving you free to check if Soobin was indeed watching. When you slowly turned toward the living room below, your eyes immediately caught Soobinâs figure. He was standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, with a hint of obvious jealousy mixed with frustration in his gaze. Once again, Jake had wonâbecause he hadnât expected someone like Jake to claim you so boldly in front of everyone, especially since you werenât his ideal type of girl.
As you spun back toward Jake, confused, he looked down at you, stretching his wolf ears with a proud air. Then he murmured:
âGive it less than a week⊠youâll see, Soobin will come looking for you and ask you out. Because very soon, everyone here will know I kissed you. But theyâll also know youâre not my girlfriend. And youâll officially be the girl who stood up to Jake Sim. And believe me, sweetheart⊠every guy on campus will become terribly curious to find out who you are.â
Was Jake Sim a fortune teller? Or maybe a genie? No, because ever since youâd set foot on campus that Monday morning after the Halloween weekend, his prophecy had come true 100%: people couldnât stop staring at you. Every time you walked down the hallway, there were whispers as you passed. Classmates and even complete strangers looked at you differently nowâall because theyâd spotted you with the universityâs golden boy.
âCome on, stop looking at that phot, itâs embarrassing, please!â you whispered, glancing sideways to make sure no customers heard you. But Allie couldnât stop staring at the picture, and her tone suddenly turned more serious and dreamy as she looked at you and Jake: âBut seriously⊠you and Jake look so good in that photo. In a way I never wouldâve imagined: you, the down-to-earth girl who works double shifts to pay for university and build a future in music, kissing the campus golden boy, the soccer team captain with his path already paved to some famous club⊠Itâs a perfect match. Admit it, just a few months ago, you never wouldâve imagined ending up in a situation like this!â she concluded with a mischievous smile. But you scolded her immediately, slamming the coffee tamper on the counter and glaring at her: âStop it right now, Allie! Thereâs no match, no romantic movie. It was just⊠a setup to get Soobinâs attention, and Jake just wanted to help. Itâs a 50% help for both of us,â you said, trying to sound convincing. Yet your eyes couldnât pull away from that photo on the screen.
Looking at it, you almost didnât recognize yourself: pressed against his chest, your hands gripping his shirt, and the way Jake was looking at you as he held your waist radiated an energy that could give butterflies to even someone like Allie, whoâd been in a relationship forever. Even though the photo wasnât high quality, you could still see both you and Jake smiling at each other. And just the memory of his lips against yours made your stomach clench.
Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by someone arriving at the counter. You heard a familiar voice, and when you looked up, you found Soobin standing there with his usual shy smile. That morning, he was in full ânerd modeâ: he was wearing an oversized sweater that made him look even softer, round glasses with thin black frames, and his dark hair was slightly messy on his forehead. But it was strangeâuntil that moment, you wouldâve gone crazy at the sight of him. Now, you were happy, but you couldnât understand why your mind kept drifting to JakeâŠ
âHey, Y/nâŠâ he said in his usual shy way, and you gave him a timid smile. Soobin glanced quickly at Allieâs phone in her hand and then back at you. âMmm⊠did you see the photo of you and Jake kissing too?â The question came out of his mouth with a slightly casual, almost detached tone, but his eyes were hungry for your reaction. You nodded, feeling the blood rush straight to your cheeks, and immediately tried to downplay it by waving your hands in the air:  âYes, I saw it⊠but I swear, Soobin, itâs nothing serious! Jake is just a show-off. We were just⊠joking. There was so much confusion at the party, andâŠâ You tried to say something, as if you owed him an explanation, but he stopped you by raising a hand: âThe other night, I was really shocked when I saw you dressed like that and I noticed right away how your cheeks turned red when you saw me next to you,â he said, looking down at you from his nearly two meters of heightâSoobin was truly imposing, unlike Jake, who, despite being muscular, was only a couple of centimeters taller than you.
âJake took you away, and⊠well, we all know him, heâs a show-off. But I bet that kiss was just for show, right?â And then, leaving you completely shocked, he leaned a little further forward, lowering his voice: âWould you like to go out for a serious coffee with me this afternoon? Just you and me, I promise.â He took a sip of his drink, and you stood there, literally paralyzed with the milk jug in your hand. Was he seriously asking you out? Youâd wanted this moment for months. Youâd spent entire nights hoping Soobin would notice you. But now⊠Jakeâs image kept tormenting your mind. And with startling clarity, you remembered the warmth of his full lips, how heâd gently held you close, afraid you might pull away, and especially that damn moan that had escaped him when youâd bitten his lip and what scared you the most was the realization that, next to Jake, your body hadnât felt the slightest bit of anxiety.
With Soobin, however, you felt like you were under examination, and your instinct told you to take it slow with him, not to rush. But a part of you wanted to seize the moment, to not waste this opportunityâyouâd already wasted so many because of what happened to you as a teenager. Yet, accepting his invitation for that afternoon would mean canceling your study session with Jake. So you took a deep breath and, forcing a sweet smile, said:
âSoobin, Iâd really like to⊠but as you know, Iâm tutoring Jake. He has his Contemporary History test on Friday, and we absolutely need to meet at his place this afternoon to review the last chapters. But⊠this weekend, yes, we could go out for breakfast together, if youâd like.â
Allie, who had been silently pretending to clean a nearby table the whole time, rushed over as soon as Soobin was out of earshot. She looked you straight in the eyes, her usual playful demeanor gone, and said in a low voice:
âY/n⊠if you really wanted to go out with him this afternoon, Jake can wait. Or he can study for the test on his own. But please, be honest with yourselfâbecause you just turned down a date with the guy of your dreams to lock yourself in a house with a jock who, until recently, you claimed to detest, and who practically kissed you passionately in front of half the university. Are you sure Soobin is still the only one on your mind?â
She asked, watching you carefully and at those words, you honestly didnât know what to say.
As you walked briskly toward Jakeâs house, Allieâs words still echoed in your head. You tried to shake them off, Jake was just a⊠a "friend"? You didnât even know how to define him, to be honest. You were his tutor, end of story. What happened at the Halloween party was just a staged scene to get Soobinâs attention and land a date and it had worked. That was allâŠÂ right?
When you stood in front of the massive door of the seven hybridsâ villa, you typed in the code Jake had kindly given you a few days earlier so you wouldnât have to wait in the cold. But out of politeness, you knocked anyway. No one answered, so you pushed the door open. The living room and large kitchen were completely empty. It was really strange, the place looked almost eerie compared to the chaos of the last time youâd been there, for the Halloween party. So you walked in and, reaching the bottom of the stairs, called out: âJake! Iâm here!â
But there was no answer. You assumed he was in his room, as usual when he wanted to avoid chores. So you climbed the wooden steps one by one, looking around. All the doors on the landing were closed except one. When you reached Jakeâs door and saw it was half-open, you knocked lightly with your knuckles on the wood and said: âSorry Iâm late, Jake, but we really need to review three chapters of Contemporary History on the post-war period and the peace treatiesâŠâ
But the words died in your throat.
Jake was there but he wasnât alone. He was leaning back against his messy desk, and between his legs stood a girl you recognized all too well: one of the most popular and beautiful girls on campus. She had her nails buried in Jakeâs dark hair, kissing him passionately, her hips moving against his. And yet, you noticed immediately that Jake wasnât touching her at all. His hands were lazily resting on the desk, as if he didnât even have a girl kissing him in front of him. His ears were slightly lowered, and his tail, beneath his pants, was completely stillâno twitch, no movement. It was strange because with you, Jake was always the opposite. The way they were kissing seemed almost mechanical, especially on Jakeâs part⊠as if he were bored. There was none of that desperation to touch you like at Halloween, none of that devastating heat, none of that deep, rough moan heâd reserved for you at the top of the stairs just a few days earlier.
And yet, despite his obvious detachment, the sight of Jake wrapped around another girl hurt, badly. You suddenly felt stupid, like a total fool. But stupid for what? Jake wasnât your type at all⊠and yet, watching him share his personal space and his lips with someone else filled you with a sharp, cutting disappointment that quickly turned into burning anger toward him.
In the shock of that vision, you abruptly took a step back to leave, but the sudden movement made your heavy backpack bump against the wooden doorframe. At such close range, Jakeâs wolf hearing instantly picked up the noise but more than that, he caught your scent. He pulled away from the girl almost immediately, as if pushing her off, and his eyes widened when they landed on you in the doorway. His nose wrinkled instantly because heâd just caught your scent in the airâbut your usual sweet strawberry fragrance was gone. It had turned sour, sharp, and not goodâit reminded him of the early days when you couldnât stand him being near you at all.
âY/n! Wait!â Jake exclaimed, taking a decisive step toward you but you had no intention of staying there to be humiliated. You spun around on your heel, your cheeks literally burning with embarrassment.
Jake gently grabbed your wrist in an attempt to stop your rush down the stairs: âHey! Stop for a second!â he exclaimed, looking at you but you spun around abruptly, yanking your wrist free from his grip especially from his touch and said:
âLet go of me, Jake! Donât touch me! I knew you were irresponsible, but I didnât think youâd go this far! We have a test in three days, and I rearranged all my plans today just to come here and help you pass the exam and what do you do? Not even trainâwhich would make more senseâbut kiss one of your many girls who throw themselves at you with a snap of their fingers?!â You glared at him, and Jake looked at you carefully, almost caught off guard by the vehemence of your words. His wolf ears lowered slightly, betraying a hint of regret or perhaps confusion about what was happening. His nose wrinkled imperceptibly as he sniffed the air around you, sensing how your scent was becoming sharper, more acidic as if every fiber of your body was screaming how much you disliked the situation. It reminded him of the scent you gave off when you couldnât stand being near him.
Trying to take a step toward you to calm you down, Jake said in a low voice:Â âY/n, we werenât doing anything serious. She just came to return a hoodie to me and...â
But you didnât care at all about his justifications. You cut him off abruptly with a wave of your hands: âI donât care what you were doing! It just bothers me that I wasted my time with a guy who doesnât have his head on straight, who only thinks about having fun and showing off! You know what? Figure it out yourself. Iâll send you the notes online from now on because I have no intention of setting foot in this house again to waste time with you!â
At those words, a spark flashed in his eyesâno way was he going to lose you. He⊠he wanted to be with you. Seeing you every day kept him mentally stable, and he always found an excuse to see you or be near you. So Jake took a decisive step closer to you because he didnât rationally understand what was going through your mind at that moment but his animal natureâhis primal wolf instinctâspoke to him, suggesting a fucking precise idea:
Could it be⊠that sheâs jealous of seeing you with someone else?
In that moment of high tension, his animal side took over completely without him realizing it. His usual cocky smirk reappeared on his face, and tilting his head slightly toward you, he said in a rough, teasing tone: âAre you mad because Iâm not studying, sweetheart⊠or because the lips on my mouth werenât yours? Do you miss me that much already after the other night?â
At those words, your eyes widened. Did he seriously just say that out loud? You were completely shocked and wounded in your pride by what heâd just dared to say. Feeling your cheeks burn even redder, you forced yourself to laugh and, lifting your chin, looked him straight in the eyes with a shamelessly defiant air: âYouâre completely crazy! I donât care at all who you kiss, Jake Sim! In fact, Iâm even happy youâre so busy with your âfriendsâ that way, you wonât interfere in my life this weekend when I go out with Soobin!â You said with a small smirk.
At the sound of Soobinâs name, Jakeâs earlier smirk vanished completely. His ears snapped backward, almost stiffening, and his jaw tightened slightly at seeing you so bold with him. In a low voice, he said:Â âWhat did you say?â
You looked at him before leaving and said: âYou heard me. He asked me out today at the bar, but I told him no to come here and study with you because Iâm a responsible girl and stupid me, but weâll see each other this weekend. So try to do well on the history test because I finally got what I wanted.â
With that, you pushed him slightly, taking advantage of his moment of shock, opened the villaâs door, and walked out, slamming it behind you. You left the universityâs golden boy alone in the hallway, furious and jealous for the first time in his life.
After you left Jake, leaving your notes in plain sight on the table, the atmosphere inside that house had become literally suffocatingâespecially for Jake. When the other six members of the pack returned, they found Jake sulking, half-stretched out on the large, dark leather sofa in the living room. The younger ones almost laughed at the sight, but the older ones immediately understood that something had happened. Every second, Jake ran his fingers through his thick hair, ruffling it furiously, or hurled a stress ball against the wall in front of him, catching it mid-air with his reflexes before throwing it again.
Jay and Sunghoon exchanged an exasperated glance. Jay, the black cat hybrid, ran a hand over his neck, annoyed by the negative energy dominating the room.
âCan someone tell me what happened with your tutor? Why isnât she here in a chair, making you memorize dates or the names of generals? God, this house stinks so much of your bad pheromones. Thereâs a sour, wet-dog smell coming from you that I havenât smelled in I donât know how longâŠâ said the cat hybrid, wrinkling his nose. Sunghoon did the same, but Jake, at the mere word "tutor," jolted upright on the couch, hurling the ball onto the floor with such force that it bounced off the ceiling. He almost growled, nervously running his hands through his hair:
âNothing! Nothing happened! Sheâs just a stubborn little girl who says she doesnât want to come here anymore because⊠and sheâs going out with that damn Soobin this weekend.â
Sunghoon coughed in a half-laugh, unable to hold it back, and a cynical, amused grin appeared on his lips. âOh, so Choi is seriously interested in Y/n⊠who wouldâve thought! Heâs been practically chasing her for weeks. And well, on the other hand, you were busy getting kissed by one of your groupies five minutes before Y/n arrived, right? You donât care if Y/n goes out with another guy...especially Soobin, do you? You know, we saw her on the path as she was leaving, and human girls donât work like hybrids, who dream of finding their mate 90% of the time just to be knotted and not claimed. Human girls donât have a pack instinct. They donât accept sharing, and above all, you canât have your foot in two shoes with them.â
Jake rolled his eyes because everyone had warned him not to play around, especially with human girls. He covered his face with his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. âI donât know what bothers me more...that she doesnât want to come here anymore to study with me⊠or that sheâs going out with another guy. Sheâs not⊠sheâs not my type at all, you know! Sheâs a simple, down-to-earth girlâall about home, work, and musical scores and what pisses me off the most is that sheâs almost as much of a know-it-all as I am. But damn, if I even think for a second about her laughing, walking, or looking at Soobin with those sweet eyes⊠my wolf side goes completely blind with rage, and I donât understand why. Me? Jake Sim only cares about getting signed by a national team and living for soccer, not romantic drama. But if I imagine her with another guy, I feel like somethingâs being ripped away from me something that, technically, isnât even mineâŠÂ I just want to go out there and make everyone understand that sheâs mine.â
At those words, Jakeâs eyes widenedâbecause⊠because he shouldnât be thinking those things. Those were things people said when theyâd found or were with their mate, not with a simple girl who gave them tutoring. Jay and Sunghoon stopped laughing, and their expressions turned serious, almost severe, as they watched their roommate crumble under the weight of a feeling he refused to admit but had just confessed a few seconds earlier. They exchanged another glance and, almost in unison, took a step forward toward their best friend, placing their hands on Jakeâs shoulders.
âWe told you to be careful with her, Jake,â Sunghoon said, with a rare note of seriousness in his voice. âBut above all, we warned you right away that she was the one⊠the one who could calm the beast inside you without you having to pretend to be the king of the campus.â
Jay nodded in agreement, gently stroking the lower part of Jakeâs ears this time: âYour tutor isnât playing hard to get, Jake. She saw what you always do: using people out of boredom, for sport, to confirm to yourself that you can have anyone. But this time, you chose the wrong person. Y/n isnât one of your fans who hang on your every word and accept your leftovers. If your wolf feels sick and is howling inside your head, itâs because he knows perfectly well that youâve ruined the only good, real thing youâve encountered in years. The few times Iâve seen you together, sheâs the only person who looks at you for who you areânot for the captainâs armband, your beauty, or your status.â
âSo get your ass off that couch,â Sunghoon concluded. âApologize to her and please, donât let her get away, because the true âmateâ only comes once in your life⊠donât make the mistake so many others do of not letting go.â
Jake had one clear mission: he never wanted to see you angry with him again, even if it meant swallowing his pride. So, between one soccer training session and another, he took his studies deadly seriously.
He locked himself in his room and spent hours poring over the pages of Contemporary History youâd worked on together. He started bombarding your phone: sending you photos of his summary diagrams late at night, voice messages over five minutes long (which were practically illegal in your book) answering the open-ended questions youâd left him as homework before your fight. And at the end of every voice message, heâd always try to make it personal, asking in a low voice: âHey⊠how are you? What did you do after class today? Do you want to meet up before the test on Friday afternoon?â
But you were categorical: you never replied to those personal questions, leaving him brutally on read. And for the study messages, you responded with an icy coldness that wasnât in your nature but deep down, you knew you were jealous of him, so you tried not to think about him, not to give in. Youâd look at the photos or listen to the voice messages, and youâd respond simply by leaving a reaction: a thumbs-up đ if the answer was correct, or a thumbs-down đ if heâd messed up the dates. No written messages. No âOkay,â no âGood job, you got six out of ten right.â Just absolute silence from you. And this was literally driving Jake crazy because no one in his entire life as an alpha hybrid and soccer captain had ever treated him like he was invisible.
As you stirred the coffees or steamed the milk, he wouldnât stop teasing you for a second: tilting his head, barely moving the tips of his ears to catch your eyes, and whispering with a crooked smile: âGood morning, sweetheart. Did you know WhatsApp was created as a messaging app, not an app for one-word replies or simple đđ? I preferred it when you actually spoke to me when I got distracted⊠are you sure you donât want to review together tonight?â
But you had become almost mute with him. You didnât give in even a millimeter to his antics. You kept your gaze fixed on the coffee machine and, slamming his receipt on the counter with a sharp tap, you responded every day with the same detached chant: âThatâs four dollars and fifty cents for the oat milk cappuccino, Sim. Move it, thereâs a line behind you.âYouâd point with one finger at the long line behind him, and Jake would almost always pout. The scene was so ridiculous that, a few tables away, his pack never missed an opportunity to enjoy the showâespecially the younger members, like Sunoo, who would burst out laughing, covering his mouth with his hands, absolutely loving the drama between you and his hyung.
Next to him, Ni-ki would shoot Jake an amused glance and comment in the group chat that youâd refused to speak to Jake again. Even Jungwon, the cat hybrid who was usually the calmest, would chuckle under his whiskers, shaking his headâthough it was nice to see Jake, for the first time, thinking hard and working seriously on something that wasnât soccer.
The door in front of Jake was still closed, but his ears picked up the sound of the history professor arranging the tests on the desks inside. There were still five minutes until the exam started.
This was shaping up to be the most important weekend of his entire academic year: not only was there the Contemporary History exam weighing on his mind, but on Sunday, he had a crucial league match. In the stands, scouts from some of the countryâs most famous soccer teams would be watching, and Jake was hoping with everything in him to be chosen by one of themâto finally take off toward a professional career. Yet, despite the pressure of the upcoming match, the thing that had made him relax his shoulders and feel genuinely better that morning was your message.
After endless days of receiving nothing but cold thumbs-up or thumbs-down, your message had lit up his phone screen as soon as he woke up, his eyes still heavy with sleep:
âHi. Donât mix up the peace treaties from the various international assemblies, especially between World War II and the Cold War (P.S. I know there will be at least 2 questions on this topic). Good luck, Jake. Show them what youâre worth. :)â
At the sight of it, a smile, his first in a long time, crept onto his lips. He had reread that message all morning, and he was still staring at it now, just outside the classroom.
His inner wolf, which had been curled up, dull and listless for days in a corner of his mind, suddenly woke up at the news. His tail began wagging incessantly all day, and his animal instinct spoke clearly or perhaps it seriously hoped he still had a chance with you and said:
âIf she didnât care about you at all, she wouldnât have written⊠especially today, when she knows how important this day is for your future. Thereâs still hope, Sim Jaeyun. Embrace it.â
Thatâs exactly why, gripping his phone between his fingers, Jake decided not to reply to you right away. For once, he wanted to avoid making a wrong move. He didnât want to ruin that tiny bit of closeness with one of his usual bold responses. He wanted actions to speak for him.
So when the door to the lecture hall finally swung open and the students began pouring in, Jake took a seat at one of the central desks. And as soon as the Contemporary History test paper was placed in front of him, with a determination his classmates had never seen on his face before, he began answering all the questions. He didnât want to disappoint you. He couldnât allow himself to waste all the hours youâd spent writing him summaries, explaining every single chapter in detail even when you were angry with him. Or the fact that, despite everything, youâd taken a minute to wish him good luck.
So he put his head down and focused for the full two hours of the test, isolating himself from the rest of the world and concentrating on the answers he had to give.
After two grueling hours of the exam, Jake could literally not wait to find out his score. He was hoping with all his heart that the electronic system or the professors would give him the result immediatelyâhe wanted to know if all that crazy studying you and he had done together had paid off. But the professor had decided to grade the tests on the spot, and all the students, Jake included, were stuck in their seats. He rested his face against his arms, trying to calm himself and imagine how you would react if heâd passed.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity to his wolf, the professor stood up from the desk with a stack of papers in her hands and began handing them out. When she reached Jakeâs desk, she stopped and looked at him with a sincere and slightly surprised smile:Â âI donât know how Y/n managed to make you âlikeâ Contemporary History, Sim, but Iâm truly happy and proud of you.â
The professor handed him his test, and Jake lowered his eyes. There, written at the top in bright green marker, was a 75/100, accompanied by a small smiling face. He was literally shockedâhis tail began wagging, and his pheromones started filling the air with his scent. He had never gotten a grade this high in that subject before. Without wasting a second, he pulled out his phone, took a photo of the test, and sent it immediately to the WhatsApp group he had with the other six members of the villa. They all praised him, but all he wanted was to hear you or see you. So as he strode out of the classroom, he opened your private chat and was about to attach the photo of his 75 to brag to you tooâuntil he froze halfway down the hallway.
His wolf senses suddenly kicked in, and he caught an unmistakable trail of your sweet, unmistakable strawberry and cotton candy scent in the airâthe one he had loved discovering so much. Jakeâs head snapped around twice until his eyes locked onto you. There you were, just a few meters away, leaning against the hallway wall as you waited for him outside the classroom. At the sight of you, his hybrid nature rejoiced: his gray ears perked up happily on his head, and his tail, beneath his tracksuit pants, began moving in a frantic, enthusiastic rhythm, thrilled that you were there for himâeven though he hadnât asked you to be.
You gave him a small, shy smile, and Jake closed the distance between you in a flash, almost running until you felt his strong, large arms wrap tightly around your waist. Before you could even realize what was happening, Jake lifted you off the ground, nearly taking you into his arms mid-air in the middle of the hallway.
âJ-Jake! What are you doing?! Put me down, are you crazy?!â you stammered, your heart in your throat, as you instinctively clung to his broad back to avoid falling. But Jake ignored your protests and buried his head right near the hollow of your neck, breathing in your scent deeply. He whispered with a voice rough with emotion and adrenaline: âY/n⊠I got a 75. I did it⊠thanks to you.â
Your smile widened involuntarily at hearing him so happy, and you gently caressed the back of his neck. âI knew youâd do great things, Jake. Remember, you told me that by the end of the course, youâd get a 100 if you applied yourself! But now put me back down, seriously!â
Jake chuckled, only then realizing that all the students left in the hallway were staring at you. With extreme slowness, he let you slide back down but when your feet touched the ground, he didnât pull away instead, his face stayed just a few centimeters from yours, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. You swallowed, feeling your cheeks turn red, and he loved seeing you so close to him again. He studied you with an intense gaze, lowering his eyes to your lips for a second before meeting your eyes again.
âAnd now⊠whereâs my reward?â he asked in a provocative tone, watching you with a challenging look.
âYour reward is that the history box on the register finally has a green checkmark instead of a red one, and that maybe you wonât fail⊠thatâs your reward, Sim,â you said, as if it were obvious.
Jake pouted cutely, shaking his head, and teased you by reaching out to give you a light tap on the tip of your nose: âReally, sweetheart? Thatâs it? Youâre a ruthless tutor. I was hoping for something much more⊠this weekend⊠we haveto celebrate, Y/n. Tomorrow evening is one of the most important matches of my life....there will be scouts from national and global teams watching. Please come watch me play in the stands.â He said, almost pleading with his hands.
You immediately tried to shake your head and protest, crossing your arms: âJake, no, I told you⊠I have plans this weekend⊠I mean, I have to meet Soobin for breakfast, and then I have to study for my exams. I canât spend the evening in a pubâŠâ
But he, being the skilled manipulator he was when he wanted something from you, took half a step closer, reducing the space between you even more. You felt his pheromones teasing your body, and he said: âBreakfast is Sunday morning. My match is tomorrow evening. You have to come to the stands to cheer me on, Y/n. You sent me that message this morning, tomorrow, you need to be there in person. You helped me get through the hardest part of the week⊠you donât want to leave me alone right at the finish line, do you? Iâm only asking you to come tomorrow, okay?â
Jake Sim was seriously a thorn in your side, and he knew exactly how to get a âyesâ out of someone at any cost. You rolled your eyes, feigning fake exasperation, and started nervously fiddling with your backpack strap to avoid looking at him. âOkay, fine⊠Iâll come to the match with Allie,â you conceded in the end, hinting at a small smile. But then your tone turned more serious and low. âBut⊠you know I donât drink alcohol, Jake. So there wonât be much for me to do at the pub, and I want to leave at a decent time so I can be awake and on time Sunday morning.â
Jake immediately noticed that sudden shift in your mood. His wolf instinct picked up on a different nuance in your voice, and he desperately wanted to know what had happened to you in the pastâwhat was the reason behind your total refusal of alcohol, or why you trusted people so little and disliked physical contact so much. But he knew he had to take it one step at a time.
He took a deep breath, looking at you with a rare seriousness, and said: âI know youâre still hesitant about me⊠and Iâm sorry for the other day,â he said, almost mentally cursing himself for letting that third-year girl kiss him. âBut weâve known each other for a while now, and at the Halloween party, you trusted me. We worked as a team⊠so I thought that tomorrow evening, you could try drinking something with me and my friends. They might seem like a bunch of lunatics, but all six of them are curious to meet you, Y/n.â
You looked at him, stunned, your eyes wide, and opened your mouth to protest. But Jake immediately interrupted you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder to reassure you. âI just want you to feel safe with me. When youâre with me, nothing bad will ever happen to you, I promise. If youâre afraid of drinking for some reason⊠well, youâll tell me about it, when and if you want to. But tomorrow evening, Iâll stay right by your side, without drinking a single drop of alcohol, so I can stay 100% sober. You can have fun without touching a drink, obviously but I also want you to understand that you can trust me blindly and if you want to try drinking, you can do it in complete peace of mind, because after the party, Iâll pick you up, put you in my car, and take you home safe and sound, ready for your date with Soobin the next day,â Jake said, the last part reluctantly, running a hand through his thick hair and betraying a hint of jealousy at the innocent mention of your date. But he wanted, above all, to make you understand that he wasnât selfishâheâd loved making people like him since his scout days, loved being known for who he truly was. But between his reputation as the golden boy of the soccer team and knowing he was a good-looking guy, many girls wanted him, and he had fun with it. Now, though, he wanted to see if things could work with you.
You stood still because youâd never heard a guyâlet alone a fiery, popular hybrid like himâsay something like that to you, or put himself completely at your disposal just to make you feel protected.
You lowered your gaze, feeling your cheeks burn, because deep down, you knew it was true: despite his flaws, his arrogance, and his distracted kisses with others, with Jake, youâd felt safe almost from the first day. And with him, the anxiety that usually clenched your stomach always disappeared. This had to make you realize that there was something more to Jake. When you looked up again, you said softly: âThank you, JakeâŠâ
He smiled at you and said: âI promise you, Y/n. If you want to drink something, Iâll always be by your side⊠and even if you decide not to drink, itâll be the same for meâIâll be there to protect you,â he thought the last part in his mind, while his inner wolf growled with pride at the idea of being your shield against the rest of the world. âEverything will be fine, I promise,â he said, reaching out his hand toward you, lifting his pinky finger in a solemn and slightly childish vow. You looked at him for a second, then smiled, and linked your pinky with his, squeezing it.
âOkay⊠Iâll come to your match⊠and maybe Iâll drink something at the party.â
At that contact and those words, Jakeâs smile grew enormous. He pulled you close, even if only through that link between your pinkies, because he couldnât wait for you to discover and get to know the real Jake.
The stands of the university soccer field were literally packed with people: some were leading the university chants, others were playing drums and trumpets, blasting the university anthem, and there were countless screams from fans cheering on all the players but one name echoed louder than all the others: number 5, Jake Sim.
You and Allie were sitting in a kind of covered VIP box, a reserved area where the other six hybrids from the villa were also watching the match. You were sitting right next to Jay, the black cat hybrid, who was watching the game with his arms crossed and his tail lazily swaying behind his backâhe wasnât part of any sports team, but for his best friends or hyungs, he would never miss a thing. To Allieâs left was Heeseung, the hamster hybrid, who, true to his sweet but incredibly magnetic nature, hadnât stopped flirting with her for a second, making her giggle while she kept rolling her eyes.
At one point, Allie turned to you, her eyes wide, and pointed at the crowd below: âWow, Y/n⊠I knew Jake was the âgolden boyâ of the university and the soccer team, but look how many girls are wearing his jersey!â Looking down, you noticed that almost 90% of the female fans were wearing the number 5 jersey with Sim printed on the back. Out of pure spite, you had decided to leave the original jersey heâd given you the other day with a cocky smile in your closet but to avoid freezing from the evening wind, you had accepted wearing only his team scarf, which still smelled intensely of him. You werenât entirely sure if it bothered you to see so many girls with his name on their backs. After all, you didnât like Jake⊠right? And besides, the next morning, you had a special date at one of the best bakeries in the area with Soobin. So you didnât understand that annoying itch that was creeping through your body at the sight of so many girls talking about Jake.
But those confused thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the booming voice of the university commentator over the speakers, who shouted: ââŠAnd thereâs Anton with a perfect pass to Jake from the corner kick! Sim breaks free in the shooting zone⊠he jumps higher than everyone else and⊠HEADER! GOAL! ITâS A GOAL FOR OUR UNIVERSITY!â
A crazy roar spread across the entire field, and the stands almost trembled from the crowd of people screaming, jumping, and recording videos. Caught up in the adrenaline of the moment, both Jay and Heeseung leaned toward you. You felt Jayâs muscular arm wrap around your neck, pulling you into a brotherly hug while Heeseung did the same with Allie, jumping and cheering. You burst out laughing, infected by that insane energy you never thought youâd enjoy, exchanging an amused glance with Allie as you saw her lean into Heeseung.
Jay, noticing your laughter, looked down at you and gave you a light, teasing nudge with his elbow. âLook at you⊠You didnât want to wear his jersey to play it cool, but youâre clutching his scarf around your neck, sniffing it every two seconds like you miss him. And you canât stop rolling your eyes when some girl comments on Jake, yet you canât take your eyes off him during any of his plays! I bet if Jake knew you were smelling his scent while he scores, heâd jump around like a puppy!â He said, observing you. You blushed instantly and retorted, giving him a playful shove to his chest: âStop it, Jay! Iâm only wearing it because itâs freezing up here, not because of⊠I only smell it because⊠because Jake has a nice scent.â Jay nodded, shaking his head with a smirk.
At that moment, your eyes returned to the field. Jake was running like crazy on the green pitch, but instead of heading toward the ultrasâ curve, he ran straight under the VIP box where you were sitting. He slowed his pace, making a slight theatrical bow with his arms open to the crowd. And as soon as his eyes found you in the crowd, he winked at you and gave you a cocky smile. You felt your cheeks burn completely, and Allie immediately brought her hands to her chest, striking a totally dramatic pose like a true actress: âOhh! Jake Sim winked at me! Iâm about to faint!â Heeseung immediately interjected, leaning toward her ear with a half-smile: âI donât think so, doll⊠I donât think that wink was meant for youâŠâ Allie, however, let out a small huff and said, âOh, come on, let me dream!â before giving you a knowing nudge.
You watched Jake as he turned to run back and let himself be swallowed by the embraces of his teammates. But when you tried to turn away to hide your embarrassment, you realized that the atmosphere in the box had suddenly changed because all six hybrids left there were staring at you.
In their gazes, there wasnât just happiness for the goal. Their eyes (feline, canine, or wild) shone with an intensity and a protective, almost possessive warmth in the way they looked at you. Because in a hybrid culture, the bond forming between you and Jake was terrifyingly similar to an imprinting, the sacred recognition of their âfemale. and in the pack, you were the first female even if you hadnât yet been knotted or bitten by Jake.
The pub where the victory party was being held was literally packed with students who had been in the stands, all dancing and drinking. The space on the small sofa in the pub was so limited that you were half-stuck to Jake, his shoulder pressed against yours. You were leaning over, scrolling through the drink menu, while Jake was telling you which one he thought youâd like best but in reality, your eyes werenât really looking at the names on the menu at allâthey were completely captivated by him.
You observed his backward baseball cap, from which a few strands of dark hair escaped, falling rebelliously across his forehead. His cheeks were still slightly flushed from the physical exertion of the game, but also from the heat of the room. Jake was really too handsomeâa lethal mix of hybrid charm with his large hands and ears that wouldnât stop moving, but also a sweetness in the small dimples on his face or his tired eyes⊠not to mention his full lips, which he bit every now and then. You realized it was a ticâpartly a nervous reflex, but also something personal, slightly explicit, directed at you.
Your thoughts dissolved instantly when you felt his warm voice against your ear, so close it sent shivers down your spine: âSo, sweetheart? What are you getting?â he asked, watching your every reaction closely. Snapping out of your trance and having barely read anything, you pointed to the first combination that caught your eye: a cocktail with grapes, lime, currants, and a vodka base.
Jake added your drink to the order and then ordered a simple Coca-Cola for himself. Looking at him, you realized he was dead seriousâhe wouldnât touch a drop of alcohol all night, giving up toasting to his own victory just to keep his promise of protecting you.
When the drink arrived at the table, Jake picked up the glass, adjusted the straw, and gently turned it toward you. You leaned slightly forward to take your first sip, and he whispered:Â âDonât drink too much at once, okay? Take small sips, or your body wonât handle the impact.â
You looked up at him as you drank, watching him from below. At the sight of your lips wrapped around the straw and your bright eyes locked on his, every rational thought in Jakeâs head vanished. His alpha hybrid instinct short-circuited at the realization of just how damn beautiful you were. His senses picked up the warmth spreading across your skin, and your strawberry scent, mixing with the fruity smell of the drink, created an intoxicating, addictive blend for a hybrid with such a developed alpha side as his.
After sliding that first drop of alcohol into your body for the first time in years, you pulled away from the straw and said with a fake challenging tone:Â âIâm not a child, Jake!â
He sighed, shaking his head with a crooked smile, and said: âI know youâre not a child⊠but you told me youâve barely ever drunk in your life, and I just want this fear of alcohol to fade, even thanks to me and I want you to have a great night. So yes, Iâll keep an eye on you, Y/n.â
At those words, you bit your lip, playing with the straw, and leaned even closer to him. Slowly reaching out, you gently caressed the base of his wolf ears, feeling them soft and warm under your fingers knowing it would make him more sensitive. âI like this drink⊠but maybe there isnât that much alcohol in it,â you whispered close to his face.
Jake sniffed your glass, his ears twitching pleasantly under your touch, and nodded: âGood. I certainly wouldnât have started you off with aged gin or century-old grappa!â he said, smiling at you. You laughed and, leaning even closer to his cheek, whispered against his lips: âYouâre such a good boy, JakeâŠâ
Jakeâs inner wolf couldnât tolerate being called a "good boy" when every single fiber of his body was screaming the opposite. His breath suddenly became heavier, and he fixed his gaze directly into your eyes. For perhaps the first time, driven by something even you didnât think you had, you were teasing him, rendering him more inert in his hybrid nature than his human one.
âStop saying things like that, sweetheart⊠you have no idea what it does to a hybridâs mind,â he hissed, his mouth a millimeter from your ear. You pouted slightly, openly challenging his gaze, and said with a tone dripping with fake innocence that shattered his self-control: âWhy not, Sim? Are you afraid your bad-boy reputation might get tarnished by me? What would happen if I went around saying youâre not actually a show-off? That you love taking care of people, and that in your pack and on your team, you act more like a protective father figure rather than just an older brother?â
At that declaration, Jake realized you knew him better than some people heâd known for years. It was trueâyou saw through him, past the arrogant athlete mask heâd stitched onto himself. He was a good guy, always had been with the people he loved but in that precise moment, with you so terrifyingly close on the pubâs small sofa, the warmth of the vodka beginning to melt your anxieties, and the scent of your skin shifting to reveal a growing excitement that his predator nature picked up with millimeter precision, Jake was having thoughts far too obscene to be defined as a "good boy."
His inner wolf was wide awake. It wanted to spin you around and kiss you in front of the entire pub. It wanted to push your head back and drag his nose along your neck, lingering on the scent glandâthe most sacred area for hybrids like him, where a femaleâs scent was most concentrated. He wanted every last hybrid on this earth to smell his scent on your body.
But his hybrid mind went even further, imagining much darker, wilder fantasiesâdefinitely not the kind a "good boy" would have. In his head, he pictured you straddling him, completely naked, your breasts bouncing with every movement, gasping as you clenched your fingers in his dark hair and bent his ears backward with pleasure. He wanted to see you trembling with pleasure beneath or above him as he thrust deep inside you, claiming you not as a human, but as an animal claiming his mate he had finally found and the most depraved image of all was seeing you swollen with his knot. He imagined pushing all the way inside you, swelling in your belly to lock himself inside your body, forcing you to stay bound to him while his pheromones marked you from within. At the same time, he wanted to hear you cry and moan his name like a sick prayer, trapped in his knot.
So no⊠Jake was not a good boy in that moment but until he officially went into heatâthat time of year when hybrids completely lost their minds or until you became his female in every sense, he would force himself to be good. He would keep the beast that had been pulsing inside him for months whenever he was near you on a tight leash.
The overwhelming beats of Scream & Shout blared at full volume, literally shaking the walls of the pub. You were in the middle of the dance floor, the alcohol coursing through you giving you the confidence to sing and dance with Allie, arms raised, hips swaying in rhythm, a few sweat-dampened strands of hair sticking to your forehead and face as you laughed and hopped but every so often, your eyes instinctively snapped toward the small sofa where Jake had stayed seated next to Heeseung.
He hadnât danced or drunk, staying true to his promise to be your shield. He kept his large hand tightly wrapped around your third drink of the nightâa deep pink Cosmopolitan and he hadnât taken his eyes off you for even a second. That gaze, both sweet and magnetic, had sent shivers through you all evening. When the song ended, you pushed your way through the crowded, overheated bodies, and when you finally reached the table, you practically collapsed onto the sofa next to them, smiling radiantly especially at Jake.
You swept your hair behind your back with a fluid neck movement, and Jake couldnât stop watching you. You leaned forward to grab the straw of your Cosmopolitan, and as the cool, alcoholic liquid slid down your throat, you gave him a sweet but incredibly sly smile. âItâs⊠itâs so good,â you slurred slightly, your cheeks flushed. âI⊠I definitely want another one!â you said, giggling.
Heeseung burst out laughing, turning to Jake and slapping him on the shoulder: âWow, Sim⊠I think tonight youâve awakened a completely new personality in Y/n! This party is going to cost you a lot if she keeps this up.â
Jake shook his head with a half-protective smile curving his lips. He leaned toward you and whispered in your ear:Â âYou still have to finish this one, sweetheart. But the answer is no...no fourth drink. Itâs already a lot that I let you get to this Cosmopolitan.â
You immediately pouted, disappointed by his refusal. Driven by a sudden, bold audacity youâd never have had while sober, you stretched toward him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You leaned forward, pressing your face right where his neck met his shoulderâexactly above his wolf scent gland.
At that contact, Jake froze instantly, stiffening as if heâd been hit by an electric shock. His breath caught because, without realizing it, by moving there against him and breathing in his skin, you were literally marking him with your strawberry and vodka scent. For a few seconds, your pheromonesâless sharp because you were humanâmixed with his, and for his wolf, that gesture was both ecstasy and exquisite torture.
âPlease, JakeâŠ?â you whispered against his neck. âYou know⊠yeah, well, Iâm really having so much fun tonight!â You raised your hands in the air to emphasize, giggling again. âAnd besides, you were⊠you were so good at soccer tonight. Youâre a champion, so we have to celebrate big, right?â
Jay, who was sitting on the sofa across from you, watched the whole scene and put a hand on his face, shaking his head though with an amused smirk. âJake, my friend, listen to me: maybe you should take her home now,â the black cat said. âOtherwise, tomorrow morning, when she wakes up, sheâll be mortified by everything sheâs doing and saying with just three drinks in her!â
You turned toward Jay, exaggerating your pout: âNo, Jake, donât listen to him! I⊠I want to dance more, and I want another drink! We could⊠we could share it, what do you say? One sip each⊠there are so many drinks Iâve never tried.â
But Jake, struggling to regain control of his instincts after that close contact on his neck, slid his large hand down your back, steadying you, and looked you straight in the eyes. With a low, incredibly gentle tone, he said: âY/n⊠earlier, you said I was a good boy, right?â
You looked at him for a few seconds, enchanted by his lips, and slowly nodded, almost hypnotized.
âExactly,â he continued, gently rubbing your back. âGood boys always take their girls home safe and sound. Itâs a promise I made you, and Iâm not breaking it. So game over for tonight.â He said, standing up and gently pulling you up by your arm. âPut on your coat actually, take my team hoodie too. Itâs freezing outside.â
As you weakly protested because you seriously wanted to go back to the dance floor and have fun, and most of all, you wanted his eyes glued to your body again, Jake helped you slip your arms into his enormous hoodie, which completely wrapped you in his scent
The notes of Into It filled the car, and you closed your eyes slightly, smiling. âIâd love to write a song like this⊠I love alternative R&B and synth-pop,â you said, leaning back against the seat. Jake smiled at the sight of you so relaxed in his car. He knew perfectly well that both you and he loved Chase Atlanticâthey were one of the many things that connected you without needing too many words, something heâd discovered about you almost by accident.
âWell, who knows⊠maybe one day, at the Champions League final, youâll be the one opening the ceremony with your own song, and Iâll be on the field with my team, walking down the tunnel,â he said, shooting you an amused glance but also offering encouragementâfor both of you. Heâd make a pact with the devil himself to become an elite soccer player, but at the same time, he wanted to see you fulfilled. At that statement, you almost shot upright, clapping your hands enthusiastically: âThat would be amazing! Even if in three or four years, youâll probably have even more girls wearing your jersey⊠You know, today at the stadium, almost all of them were wearing it, and I donât blame them, because youâreâŠâ
Jake furrowed his brows, not understanding where you were going with this, your cheeks still flushed from the alcohol. âIâmâŠ?â he asked, turning the steering wheel. At the sight of his veined hands gripping it, you bit your lip slightly and giggled, shifting in your seat to trace a finger over his hand resting on the gear shift. With your cheeks incredibly red, you whispered: âYouâre really gorgeous, Jake. But not in a⊠âsexualâ way. In the way that youâre gorgeous inside and out, and it kills me that youâre ashamed to let people see that, hiding behind your bad-boy mask.â
Jake smiled softly. âWell⊠I think thatâs the most genuine and deep compliment anyoneâs given me in years,â he said sincerely, squeezing your fingers for a second before putting his hand back on the wheel.
You clapped your hands again, happy, and started humming softly along with the rhythm of the music until the car turned onto the driveway of the hybridsâ big villa. Jake took you straight to his room to avoid waking the others who hadnât come to the party. With infinite patience, he took care of you, as heâd promised, helping you take off your coat and his oversized hoodie, turning away respectfully when you unclasped your bra to be more comfortable. He handed you a clean T-shirt and a pair of soft sweatpants to wear as pajamas. Like a good boy, he waited outside the bathroom while you washed your face. When you came out, heâd changed too.
Without his team jacket and the daytime clothes that often made him look over the top, in his pajamas, he looked like the classic boy next doorâjust an ordinary, accessible, and incredibly sweet guy. But this wasnât the real Jake youâd come to know, was it? With that question in mind, you sat on the edge of the padded headboard. When Jake sat down right next to you, you turned your face abruptly and stared at his profile under the soft light of the bedside lamp. Your eyes traced the perfect lines of his profileâJake had a beautiful nose, straight and large, typical of his hybrid nature. Without even realizing it, guided by the alcohol and a sudden urge to touch him, you reached out, placing a finger on the bridge of his nose and gently traced its entire outline down to the tip.
Jake turned his head, letting you do it as his wolf ears twitched slightly and a small smile formed on his lips. âEarlier⊠I also wanted to tell you that youâre beautiful, Jake,â you said softly as you met his eyes, pulling your hand back and looking up at the ceiling with a small huff. âBut I already knew that⊠every girl tells you that every single day of the week.â
At that, Jake rolled his eyes, and his hybrid nature kicked in instantlyâbecause this was the second time youâd subtly let him know you were completely jealous of all those stupid number 5 jerseys the other girls wore in the stands. A small grin took over his lips. âDamn⊠If Iâd known that with three drinks in you, youâd be this chatty and admit things like that, I wouldâve taken you to every party this season, sweetheart,â Jake said with an amused tone.
In the strange euphoria of the alcohol, you almost knelt on the soft mattress, leaning over him as he lay partially stretched out on the bed. Neither of you could stop looking at each other, unfiltered and guided only by instinct. You whispered in a low voice: âI⊠Can I kiss you, Jake?â
Jakeâs eyes widened, completely caught off guard by such a direct request. Where the hell had the girl who hated being touchedâespecially the one who was mad at himâgone? His tail began wagging frantically on the mattress, betraying his wild excitement. When he saw you leaning in even closer, he made a huge effort of willpower, lifting a finger and gently pressing it against your mouth. âSweetheart⊠Iâd pay gold to do it again and kiss you right now,â he said in a low voice. âBut damn, as you said earlier, right now Iâm a âgood boy,â and I canât take advantage of you like this. You have to ask me when youâre sober, Y/n. When youâre sober, you can ask me for anythingâŠÂ anything. And if tomorrow morning you still want me, you can ask me for whatever you want...but not now.â
You made an adorable pout, visibly disappointed by the refusalâyouâd never expected it. âAnything?â you murmured. Jake nodded slowly. âAnything.â
âWell⊠fine, then tomorrow morning,â you whispered, your fingers already lazily playing with his big wolf ears again. You continued, your voice shy and your eyes heavy with sleepiness: âI⊠I want to ask you something tomorrow, but I wonât spoil it now.â
Jake gently caressed your flushed cheek with the back of his hand, tender and dying of curiosity about what you might ask him. âYou should try to sleep now, Y/n. The bed is all yours,â he said. You nodded weakly, exhausted from the day, and curled up against him, nestling on his side and resting your head on the pillow.
Jake reached over to turn off the bedside lamp. Despite the wolf inside him screaming with the impulse to pull you close, trap you under his body for the whole night, he forced himself to respect your space. He didnât yet have the official right to hold you or keep you close as if you were his mate. So he settled for stroking the back of your hand with warm, protective fingers all night, letting you rest. As he felt your breathing become steady, Jake stayed awake in the dark, his heart pounding in his chest. He was so curious and impatient to find out what you intended to ask him the next morning.
In his hybrid mind, he wondered if that mysterious question had to do with your fear of being touched by others.
Jake woke up stretching, his nose catching your faint scent of strawberries and something sweetâmaybe a hint of cotton candy, or perhaps a sugary note from one of the drinks youâd had the night before. As he stretched to see if you were still asleep, he placed a hand on the part of the bed where you should have been. It was still warm, but you werenât there. His heart started pounding, and he sat up almost abruptly, lazily running a hand through his hair. When he opened his eyes, at that exact moment, he saw you entering his room, still wearing his clothes, with two steaming cups of coffee in your hands.
You smiled at him shyly, and he thought you were 100% back to the girl heâd met months agoânot the teasing version of you from last night, the one who had asked if you could kiss him or who had looked at him with eyes full of excitement. When you handed him the cup, he responded with a rough, small âThanks,â and you sat down in front of him. As you sipped your coffee, you couldnât stop looking at him, and Jake chuckled into his cup.
âStop looking at me like that, sweetheart. Spit it outâŠtell me what you wanted to say last night,â he said. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words got stuck on the tip of your tongue, and your cheeks turned even redder. âYou⊠you, forget it, Jake. Itâs⊠itâs nothing, what I wanted to ask you. Please, just forget it,â you said.
Jake tilted his head, observing you, and he could sense how embarrassed your body was. Teasing you, he said: âNo, no, beautiful. Now you tell me what you wanted to ask me. And I certainly canât forget you begging to kiss me!â You opened your mouth to retort, rolled your eyes, and said: âWhy are you always so shameless? Itâs not even 8 in the morning.â Jake chuckled and replied, still in a low voiceâit was in his nature. You pouted and said: âIâll ask you this thing, but first, donât laugh, donât tease me, and donât make a scene, okay? Donât yell or act like a clown, okay?â
Jake was seriously curious about what you wanted to ask him. He stretched out his pinky finger as a promise, and you squeezed it tightly. âOkay, well, I wonât beat around the bush⊠you⊠do you want to have sex with me?â
Jake thought he was still asleep. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? But when he spat out half the coffee in his mouth onto his pajama shirt, the burning contact of the liquid on his warm skin made him cough violently. You jumped up and started patting his back for a full minute. Neither of you said a word. Jake placed his coffee on the nightstand, and as he turned to you, he looked at you carefully and said, perhaps too loudly: âARE YOU KIDDING ME? ARE YOU STILL DRUNK, OR⊠DID YOU GET A HIGH FEVER IN THE FEW HOURS YOU SLEPT?â
You glared at him and almost growled his name. He lowered his voice, but his hand pressed against your foreheadâyou were coldâŠÂ damn. You were serious.
âIâm not feverish, and Iâm not drunk. Damn, I wasnât even drunk last night, Jake, and⊠and Iâm not joking. But if you donât want to⊠I understand,â you said, fiddling with the strings of your pajama. Jake was extremely restless at that moment. He ran his hands through his hair countless times, and after what felt like endless minutes, he said: âI want a reason, Y/n. I want a damn reason for why you asked me something like that. Whereâs the girl who hated my physical contact? Whereâs the girl who was even afraid to sit next to me? Whereâs that girl? That girl wouldnât have asked me to kiss her in the first place, let alone to have sex with me. So excuse me, but I want the fucking truth. And then weâll consider it. But I want⊠the truth about why you were and still are afraid of being touched or drinking a drink with a little alcohol in it.â
You sighed because only your family and Allie knew the truth about what had happened to you in your last year of high school. You closed your eyes for a moment and tried not to relive all the pain that night had caused you, or the rumors that had spread about you and your parents. Then you said:Â
âOkay, Iâll tell you the truth. But please, this has to stay between you and me. It must not leave these four walls, and you⊠Please donât say or do anything until Iâve finished telling you what happened.â
Jake nodded and shifted slightly closer, trying to calm you with his pheromones, but it didnât work. When you started telling him that in your last year of high school, you were dating a guy from the soccer team, and you thought he was the right one for you, because he was the perfect guy: good grades, part of the best studentsâ club, and loved by your entire town because he did volunteer work. You had built a clear image of him in your mind. But everything changed one night⊠You and this guy had been together for a couple of months, and you went to a party together. He had drunk a little too much, and you werenât completely sober either. Jake immediately understood what had happened to you: an assault.
His hybrid nature wanted to know who this guy was and make his life a living hell, especially when you started crying. He pulled you into his arms, and you buried your entire body against him. For endless minutes, he held you, gently stroking your hair and telling you it wasnât your fault. But you didnât stop crying and sobbing until you said:Â
âI⊠Iâm broken, Jake. Every time someone tries to make me feel good, I freeze and go into this cold trance. Thatâs why I asked you⊠because itâs hard to admit, but I trust you. And youâve made me realize that so many times these past few months.âYou said this with tears in your eyes, and Jake gently wiped them away with his thumbs, closing his eyes for a moment because he never would have imagined finding himself in a situation like this.
Jake wanted to make you happy, so he gently shifted you away from him, lifted your chin, and looked deeply into your eyes. âYouâre not broken, Y/n. You went through something horrible that no one in this world should ever experience. So itâs normal for your body to be afraid, for you to go into a negative, protective mode. Therefore⊠my answer is yes.â
You gave him a 32-tooth smile and hugged him even tighter than before. âYou⊠youâre serious? Youâll help me overcome this?â Jake nodded and wiped away another tear sliding down your face. He whispered in a low voice: âI never want to see tears of sadness in you again, Y/n. These⊠these tears should only be of joy or excitement. So yes, Iâll help you. But on my conditions.â
You nodded and said, âWhat conditions will we adopt?â. Jake tried to show his most human side, not the dark hybrid one, and said: â
First, you need to start taking the anti-hybrid pill. I donât want to accidentally knot and impregnate you when we⊠You know, have sex. And Iâll take it too, as long as this is safe.â You tried to speak, but a finger pressed against your lips. âLet me talk, Y/n. Second, we will not have sex right away. Before sex, there must absolutely be awareness and enjoyment of what weâre going to doâespecially for you, since youâve told me you canât let yourself go or be touched by others. So there will be a lot of foreplay, both for me to discover your body and for you to discover mine. Third, you must tell me at any moment if you want to stop or if you donât like something. There will be no safe wordâif you tell me NO, it will be a NO. If you tell me you like it, Iâll continue. If you want to stop, I will stop. But if you beg me to continue, I will continue⊠because I have two natures, Y/nâboth the human one and the animal one. These are my conditions, Y/n. If youâre up for it, weâll do this together. But if you donât agree with even one of these things, my answer will be a NO.â
You swallowed and nodded, still sitting on top of him, continuing to play with the strings of his pajama. After a while, you said, âThese conditions are perfect for me. Itâs clear that deep down, youâre a good guy!â You said this, trying to ease the tension that had built up. He gently caressed your side and, looking at you, said: âIâd like to suggest another condition. From the moment this starts⊠Iâd like for you not to be with other girls, and obviously, the same will go for me. I know it might seem trivial to you, but Iâd feel more comfortable. And when⊠well, if it ends, we could⊠yes, go back to our lives,â you said, a little embarrassed.
But in Jakeâs mind, it was already settled that this wouldnât end because you were his mate, and he would make you understand that in any way possible. You would never be with another guy except him, and the same went for him.
Were you a bad person for forgetting about your date with Soobin while crying in Jakeâs arms, finally sharing what had happened to you? Maybe⊠but at the same time, after years of silence, you had finally told someone the truth. And perhaps, thanks to Jakeâs words, his touch, and the growing realization that you might have found someone you could trust completely, you didnât feel like a bad person at all.
âIâm really sorry I didnât show up at the bakery. I woke up super late because the night before, I went to the soccer teamâs party with Jake and his friends, and Allie wouldnât leave me aloneâshe kept making me dance with her. Before I knew it, it was maybe 2 AM by the time I got home. And in the morning, when I woke up, I texted you right away,â you said, winking. Soobin, 99% convinced by your story, took a sip of the new winter recipe youâd added to the seasonal menu and nodded. But you heard him mutter under his breath: âOf course you were at Jakeâs party.â
At the sound of that name, something inside you twitched. And as if on cue, your phone lit up. You saw Jakeâs name at the top of your notifications. It wasnât news that Jake and Allie usually topped your chat list. You glanced at the message:
-> Jakeâœïžđș: Come over at 6 PM. There wonât be anyone around for a good two hours, so you can relax! Iâm heading to practice. See you later, sweetheart :)
You froze at those words. The day had arrived. Obviously, as heâd said, it wasnât about sex...it was aboutâŠÂ physically getting to know each other. Oh my God, what had you gotten yourself into? But he was the only manâbesides your dadâwho didnât make you anxious. Youâd thought and reasoned so much before asking him that question, and now the moment was here.
Two fingers snapped in front of your face, and you jumped. Soobinâs voice cut through your thoughts: âSeems like you just read a notification about a good grade or something amazing happening. Did something good happen?â he asked, looking at you. You quickly lied: âYes, the music production company Hybe wrote to me⊠they want a meeting. You know I write music, and they want to get to know me and the drafts I have on my computerâthere are over 100 of them.â
Soobinâs eyes widened. âDamn, Y/n, thatâs huge news! I know Jay works under that label too, you could ask him about itâŠâ You cut him off before he could finish, raising your hands. âI⊠please, donât tell anyone. I donât want to get contacts or opportunities because of someone else. I want them to want me, to like my lyrics and my melodies. So could you⊠not tell anyone? Only you, Allie, and my family know.â
Soobinâs ego swelled a little at the thought that you hadnât even told Jake yet. âDonât worry, my lips are sealed,â he said, miming a zipper over his mouth with his fingers. You thanked him.
Soobin wasnât a bad friend, he was funny, seemed like a calm guy, and had his head on straight. But to your defense⊠he didnât make you feel anything anymore. Or maybe youâd never really felt anything for him at all.
Your low-rise jeans hugged your legs perfectly, and your slightly snug sweater accentuated the curves you usually disliked but had started to appreciate as part of who you were. You had light makeup on, but your signature strawberry gloss never missed your lips, and your hair was softly wavy. You felt pretty, but anxiety was eating you up inside as you entered Jakeâs house using the code you knew. This time, Jake rushed down the stairs, and when he saw you dressed so nicely to spend time with him, a small smile formed on his face.
âHey, damn, sweetheartâif Iâd known youâd dress this well, I wouldâve spent a little more time on my outfit too!â he said, licking his lips slightly. You rolled your eyes, but when he offered his hand, you looked at it carefully before taking it. As he led you to his room, you felt a wave of anxiety, and Jake knew it. âY/n, I donât want to force you to do anything, okay? Before you got here, I thought maybe you could get comfortable in my clothes, and then we could listen to some music, do some LegosâIâve got a ton or we could watch a movie. Whatever helps you relax is fine with me. I know youâve never been with a hybrid before, but I can smell your scent notes, and right now, I can sense that sour, persistent note in you. So you choose what you want to do,â he said, giving you a small smile.
You lowered your head at the sight of his clothes because you knew youâd never meet another guy like Jake again. At first, you had to admit, you didnât particularly like him. But as you got to know him over the months, you realized Jake was the kind of guy every mom would want as a partner for their daughter. Yes, he often acted like a show-off, but deep down, he had a huge heart and you knew, deep down, that he was opening it up to you.
âItâs a great idea to wear your clothes. I donât even know why I dressed up so nicely. Weâre just staying in your room, so yeah, Iâll put on your stuff, and then maybe we could⊠listen to some music? And what do you think about dancing?âJakeâs eyes widened slightly, and he said in a low voice: âDancing?â You nodded, slightly amused, because you wanted to see if heâd get embarrassed. But Jake understood your gaze immediately and said: âYou said that before doing anything, we need to get to know our bodies. I donât want a dance-off, Jake. I just want some closeness between our bodies with the music, and yes⊠you can touch me, and obviously, I can touch you too,â you said. Jake noddedâif thatâs what you wanted, it was fine with him.
When you came out of his bathroom, you were wearing one of Jakeâs soccer jerseys, of course, with his number and last nam âand a simple pair of pajama pants. At that sight, something inside Jake clicked. Heâd been disappointed on game day when he hadnât seen you in his jersey, but now he thought it was a thousand times better to see you in his room, wearing his jersey, with only his eyes on you. In his hybrid nature, it was a beautiful victory.
He knew he was a little possessive by nature, but seeing you in his jersey, in his clothes, with his scentâthe beast inside him rejoiced fiercely. He couldnât wait to see you without them, at his mercy. But he had to push those thoughts away immediately. After what youâd confided in him, he wanted to give you all the time you needed. He wanted you to understand that only he could have you, desire you fiercely⊠because only he would listen to your body 100%.
You and Jake stared at the open Spotify screen on his laptop, scrolling through song options.
âWhat song could we listen to that we could both dance and sing to?â you asked, tilting your head as you read through various titles that were also in your own playlist. Jake made a small, thoughtful pout, running a finger over his chin until his eyes lit up. âHow about âDancing with Myselfâ? Itâs super rhythmic, I used to listen to it all the time with my dad. Itâs got that â80s rock beat that makes your feet, body, and head move all at once. What do you think?â
You beamed and hit play on the computer resting on his desk. Immediately, the iconic, overwhelming drum intro filled the room through the speakers. You didnât need to be told twiceâyou started swaying your hips and bouncing on the rug, following your own rhythm. Meanwhile, Jake brought a hand to his face, perhaps out of embarrassment? His wolf ears bent slightly backward, betraying a hint of shy embarrassment at seeing you so unleashedâjust for him. But at the same time, he was thrilled to see you so at ease in his company.
âCome on, Jake! Donât tell me youâre embarrassed to dance a little with me!â you laughed, your hair swaying slightly with every movement. Seeing his gaze on you, you approached himâhe was still sitting on the edge of the bed and teased him, holding up your pinky finger. âThereâs no one else here. I wonât tell anyone!â Without thinking, you grabbed his wrists with your hands and playfully but firmly urged him to stand up and dance with you.
He closed his eyes for a second, sighing to compose himself in the situation heâd gotten himself into just to make you happy and help you understand he was the right one for you. When he opened them again, he saw your contagious laughter ringing out with the music, and a resigned but incredibly sweet smile spread across his lips. He, too, began to sway his body, following your movements, which were clumsy but magnetic to him, because in that moment, it was just you.
âCome on, Jake, loosen up a bit! Whereâs the fearless campus bad boy whoâs afraid of nothing?â you teased, pulling him even closer. âWeâre just dancing and trying to⊠trust each other.â You swayed your hips, and at the mention of trust, Jake took a deep breath. He placed his large hands with extreme gentleness on your waist, moving to the rhythm of the song.
You laughed happily, and with a burst of joy, you did a little spin, gracefully slipping out of his grip and stepping a few paces toward the center of the room, perhaps on purpose, because you definitely wanted his attention and those eyes always on you.
Jake made a small, frustrated pout at being deprived of your touch and walked with feline grace to close the distance again. When he reached you, you threw your arms around his neck, stopping his advance but staying very close.
âDonât try to touch me like you already own me, Jake,â you whispered, looking him straight in the eyes with a mix of challenge and vulnerability. âTry to let go⊠and touch me like Iâm something completely new.â
At those words, Jakeâs animal nature took over for a moment. The wolf inside him growled softly, eager to grab you tightly and press you against his chest, to show you that every single cell of your body already belonged to him. But he shook off that overpowering thought with a shake of his head and muttered in a low voice: âEasy for you to say⊠when you already own my entire body, Y/n.â
Jake prayed you hadnât heard him and maybe you hadnât. So he slowly slid a hand behind your back, caressing the fabric of the jersey right where the large number 5 was printed. You let him, returning to your gentle dancing in front of him, completely wrapped in his scent. But seeing him completely lost in you, you turned your back, still following the rhythm of the music. Your body inevitably pressed against his chest, and thatâs when you clearly felt Jake losing patience with you⊠his self-control was crumbling because of you. You felt the warmth of his nose press directly against your exposed throat, inhaling your scent until it gave you shivers, while his hands tightened decisively around your waist, anchoring you to him.
As you continued to move against his warm body, Jake exhaled a trembling sigh against your skin, breathing in your sweet scent, which had finally softened and become extremely sweetâa sign that you were completely trusting him.
âDamn⊠theyâll have to make me a saint for how Iâm holding back tonight, Y/n,â he said roughly against you in a low voice. You giggled, finding his frustration incredibly adorable, especially because you knew all the girls heâd been with had thrown themselves at him without a second thought. Heâd never had to fight for anything when it came to girls. Seeing him so vulnerable sparked something in you. So you moved your hips even more against him.
But Jake, sensing his limit was almost reached, abruptly stepped back. When you turned to look at him, confused, he shook his head, his breath short and his ears lowered, trying to recover that last shred of âgood boyâ dignity he had left.
This time, you took a step forward. You walked toward him with determination as the first notes of Enrique Iglesiasâ I Like It began to fill the dimly lit room. Driven by a sudden rush of adrenaline and the desire that had been building for weeks, you rose slightly onto your tiptoes, grabbed the collar of his T-shirt, and pulled him down forcefully, eliminating any remaining distance. You pressed your lips against his in a wet, sweet, and desperate kiss
Your lips tasted like strawberriesâa sweet, sugary flavor that revealed your obsession with the fruit. Jake was completely hypnotized by it. It was only the second time youâd kissed, but his mind instantly registered how your lips fit and locked perfectly with his, as if they were made for that exact embrace.
In the room, lit only by the glow of the computer screen, the wet sound of your mouths meeting echoed clearly, amplifying the tension that had built up between you over weeks. When you slightly parted your lips to catch your breath, Jake took the opportunity. With extreme slowness, he used the sharp tip of one of his wolf canines to gently nibble on your lower lip. A weak, excited moan escaped your throat, making both Jakeâs human and hybrid sides tremble.
âAhhâŠâ you moaned, and Jake smiled against your lips, pleased by your reaction. He moved on to gently sucking that spot while you began to sway and wiggle in his arms, pushing your hips against his body out of pure instinctâto get closer to him, to tease him in return. Not wanting to give him all the control, you slid your hands into his hair, reaching the base of his wolf ears, where you knew, from the beginning of your acquaintanceâthat ears and tails were the most sensitive parts for a hybrid. You began to caress that ultra-sensitive spot with your fingertips, and Jake let out a deep, almost growl-like moan that escaped as your lips were still just millimeters apart:
âMmh⊠Y/nâŠâ
In retaliation, this time you smiled between his lips, continuing to move your fingers over those soft, warm ears, making him shiver. Jake was restraining himself with every single cell of his body because his wolf nature was literally howling from the sensory overload of everything happening in just a few moments. His instinct screamed at him to pin your wrists above your head, to use his canines to mark your skin, and to take everything he desired. But before the beast could take over, you took two steps back, pulling him with you. You tripped over the edge of the bed, and you both tumbled together onto the soft mattress, with you lying on your back and him on top of you.
Jake quickly planted his forearms on either side of your head, using all the strength in his muscular arms to avoid crushing you with his weight. He lowered his gaze, and at that sight, he seriously thought he was a dead man. You were fuckingbeautiful lying there on his pillow, your hair messy and framing your face, your lips visibly swollen and glossy from the kisses, your cheeks flushed with excitement.
Damn. He never would have thought you, of all people, would be his mate, the human who would bring his wolf to its knees. He had to mentally admit that Jay, Heeseung, and all the other pack members had been rightâtheyâd realized from the very first moment youâd stepped through the door of their house that you were his destined mate.
Your hands trembled slightly as they continued to caress his ears. Jake, noticing that tremor and seeing how your eyes kept searching for his, asked in a rough whisper:Â âWhat do you want to do, sweetheart?â
You stayed silent for a few seconds while his eyes continued to devour your body, careful not to cross that invisible line youâd drawn after telling him what had happened to you. âCould you⊠could you, I donât know, kiss me again?â you finally murmured, looking away in embarrassment. âBut⊠not on the lips. I donât really know what to do, Jake⊠Honestly, I donât want this to be embarrassing for you.â You tried not to feel at fault in that moment, and Jake released one hand from its grip on the mattress. He passed it with infinite gentleness over your cheek, lifting your face to force you to look at him. He whispered against your lips:
âSweetheart⊠you canât make anything embarrassing with me. Itâs all in your head. Whatever we do tonight wonât be anywhere near embarrassing. You just have to tell me when you feel overwhelmed, just tell me to stop, and Iâll do it instantly⊠I promise.â You instinctively nuzzled into his warm hand, pressing your cheek against his palm, and closed your eyes.
âPlease⊠please, kiss me, Jake.â
Jake didnât need to be told twice. He leaned over you and kissed you again, but this time, it wasnât a kiss charged with urgency like the previous one. Instead, it was an incredibly slow, wet, and protective contact to make you understand that you could trust him.
Then, he slowly slid downward, and his nose pressed directly against the hollow of your neck. He inhaled deeply, your sweet scent now even more intense with your heated skin. He wondered how heâd managed to survive 23 years without noticing that scent.
âDamn, Y/nâŠâ he murmured against your skin, and those words sent shivers down your entire spine. âThis scent is driving me literally crazy. You smell like warm strawberries, something like cotton candy, and clean skin⊠I swear I could spend the whole night just breathing you in here.â
You let out a weak giggle at that declaration because you knew those words came more from his animal nature. But your laughter died in your throat when Jakeâs warm lips finally pressed against your bare skin, and the wolf began to place light, wet, slow kisses along the entire line of your neck, moving up to the base of your jaw and then back down toward your collarbone.
Small, muffled moans echoed in the room every time Jakeâs mouth moved, placing wet kisses and light, gentle bites from your neck down to your chest, just above the hem of his T-shirt. His hybrid nature clearly sensed how his wild scent was covering your skin, marking you minute by minute beneath him. Feeling his scent blend so intimately with yours sent a wave of even denser, more primal excitement through him. He never thought it would feel so incredible to have his scent anchored to his mate, and this realization drove him wild.
Your eyes were slightly closed, your fingers still weakly tangled in his hair. Everything was going incredibly wellâuntil Jake slightly pulled away from your neck and slid a hand under the hem of the T-shirt, caressing the bare skin of your stomach. Small shivers of pure pleasure bloomed on your skin as he continued to kiss you lightly and tease your throat. He asked in an incredibly sweet and rough whisper:Â âIs this okay, sweetheart? Do you like it?â
You simply nodded, but that wasnât the answer youâd agreed on to maintain control. So Jake stopped a millimeter from your lips: âWords, sweetheart⊠use those beautiful, plump lips Iâve been kissing to answer me. I want to hear your voice,â he teased. So you lifted your eyes to his and murmured: âYes⊠itâs all good, Jake. You can keep going.â
At that confirmation, a smile lit up his face, and he praised you shamelessly, making your blood rush: âThatâs how a good girl behavesâŠâ You rolled your eyes at that statement, but then his hand slid slowly lower, slipping out from under the T-shirt to gently press against the inside of your thigh. At that pressure, you swallowed hard, feeling your heart race. But you trusted Jake blindly, so as he kissed you again to distract you, you felt his hand slide under the sweatpants. He began with just one finger to brush against the thin fabric of your lace panties. But as soon as you felt even the slightest real pressure of that intimate contact, your body short-circuited. You froze instantly, stiffening like a piece of ice beneath him. You tried to speak, to say something, but your throat tightened as if blocked by a thread pulling tightâone of the things that had happened to you on that damn night.
Jake, whose hybrid senses were tuned to every millisecond of your reactions, immediately noticed the drastic change in your heartbeat and the tension in your muscles. He stopped instantly, pulling his hand back. As he lifted his gaze to you, he whispered your name: âY/nâŠ?â
You didnât answer, but he saw how your wide, fixed eyes on the ceiling were beginning to fill with silent panic, making you feel vulnerable in front of him. Without a hint of hesitation, Jake completely moved away from you, shifting to the side to free you from his weight. âHey, hey⊠little one, nothingâs happening. Look at me, itâs all okay,â he said in an incredibly gentle voice, opening his arms. You slowly sat up and immediately took refuge in his arms.
You hugged him as if he were your living shield, hiding your face in the hollow of his warm neck, breathing in his scent to at least ease all the bad thoughts resurfacing in your mind. For the second time in just a few days, you whispered against his skin, barely holding back tears of frustration: âSee, Jake⊠I⊠Iâm broken. I trust you, I really do⊠but I just canât do it. And thatâs the worst part⊠feeling like this.â
His large hands began to gently caress your back, tracing circles over your T-shirt to calm you. But inside him, the wolf was growling furiously because he had a mad desire to find whoever had hurt you in the past and punch them, leave them to rot somewhere. But his human, rational side took over because he knew he had to handle the situation with extreme delicacy.
After a few moments of silence, he caressed your hair and asked, with a slightly embarrassed but extremely serious tone: âWhen youâre alone⊠do you feel safe giving yourself pleasure? Or is it a situation that blocks you, whether youâre alone or with other people?â
You slightly widened your eyes, still with your chin resting on his shoulder, because the question caught you completely off guard. It was the kind of question your therapist asked, not a guy youâd known for only a few months. But you answered: âSometimes⊠I feel safe alone, but other times, no,â you said in a low voice. Jake pulled back just enough to look at your face. âSo, when youâre alone and feel safe⊠can you give yourself pleasure, or not?â
You lifted your chin slightly, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment at the conversation because you didnât understand where he was going with this. âAre⊠are you asking if I can masturbate, Jake?â
Jake chuckled, and you saw his cheeks redden as he shrugged, running a hand through his thick hair. âDamn, sweetheart⊠you asked me to have sex with you a few days ago. I donât think youâd be scandalized if I ask if you can give yourself pleasure! I just want to understand,â he said, trying to be the most serious guy in the world at that moment. You looked away and said: âYes⊠I can give myself pleasure, butâŠâ
You couldnât finish the sentence, but Jake answered right away, anticipating the truth: âYou can give yourself pleasure, but you canât come, right? You block yourself at the last moment, right?â You nodded slowly, lowering your head. A deep, calm silence fell over the room, interrupted only by the sound of light rain beginning to patter against the window. Suddenly, you saw Jake get up from the bed.
A shiver of terror ran down your spine because you feared he wanted to end things there, that he was tired of your blocks and complexities, that you had to hurry up and figure it out on your own or with a good therapist: âWhere are you going?â you asked in a thin voice. But Jake wasnât running away. You watched him walk to the desk, grab the swivel chair, and place it against the desk. The distance wasnât much, but at the same time, you felt alone sitting on that bed. You watched him sit down right in front of you, and you didnât understand what he wanted to do.
âYou can give yourself pleasure, but at the same time, you canât reach orgasm. And itâs all in your head, Y/n. Itâs a matter of trustâin yourself, but also in the other person whoâs there with you in that moment,â he explained calmly. Then, with a slightly cheeky smile, the corners of his lips curled upâone of those smiles youâd started to recognize right away, and you didnât know whether to trust it.
âSo⊠hereâs my idea: why donât we pleasure ourselves together, but each on our own?â
You widened your eyes, struck by the proposal because youâd never thought of anything like that. âYou try to make yourself come by yourself, touching yourself the way you usually do when youâre alone in your safe space⊠and Iâll try to make myself come by myself, but right here in front of you. Itâll be a test of total mutual trust, Y/n. Weâll both be vulnerable, both exposed, but without either of us touching the other or forcing anything. Weâll just watch each other. What do you think?â
You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out for a full minute. Jakeâs proposal had never crossed your mind in all these years it was definitely too intimate for two people who werenât even officially together, yet it was also incredibly mature.
âY/n? Are you there?â he asked as you tortured your lips, biting them. You looked at him carefully, searching his eyes for any trace of irony. âYouâre not teasing me, are you, Jake?â you whispered. He shook his head decisively. âIâve never been more serious in my life, Y/n.â
âIt could work⊠I usually donât do things like this...actually, Iâve never seen anyone masturbate in front of me,â you admitted, your cheeks literally burning. After all, youâd never even watched porn, so you had no idea what to expect.
âBut I think we could try, like you saidâitâll be a test of self-trust. Youâll see me vulnerable, but Iâll also see you exposed, âinertâ in a way⊠and I think itâll be an important step for when, one day, we have sex for real,â you said, convincing yourself that it was a good idea to see each other vulnerable. Jake nodded, and with a crooked, amused smile, he commented: âSee? Iâm not so bad⊠I told you I was smart, Y/n!â
You rolled your eyes but hinted at a smile: âDonât count your chickens just yet, Jake. Letâs see if it works first,â you said as you both stared at each other for a moment. You felt the tension in the room start to rise again, and you bit your lip, embarrassed, asking: âWho⊠who takes their clothes off first?â
Jake shrugged with total nonchalance at your question and said: âIâll go first. Iâve got nothing to hide⊠quite the opposite,â he teased. You closed your eyes slightly until you saw him stand up. With a fluid movement, he pulled his T-shirt over his head. Without that fabric covering him, you couldnât help but count the ridges of his abs, sculpted and defined, four perfect muscular hills on his toned stomach until your gaze fell on the obvious V-line that descended symmetrically, disappearing into the waistband of his Calvin Klein boxers.
His arms, though not excessively massive, were marked by bulging veins that stood out under his skin, giving him an incredibly athletic appearance. Deep down, you understood why everyone said Jake was gorgeous, and you literally felt your mouth water as you watched him lazily grab the strings of his sweatpants. Jake noticed immediately how your eyes were practically worshipping him with a hint of mischief. He shot you a complicit look, feeling his hybrid nature rejoice with pleasure. âCan I take off my pants and boxers too, sweetheart?â he asked, and you murmured: âYesâŠâ
With a smirk on his face, he let his sweatpants slide down, revealing his muscular, athletic thighs. But it was when he completely dropped his boxers that your eyes widened, and a shiver ran down your spine. Jake had no issues with his bodyâin fact, he was extremely comfortable in his own skin. At the sight of his erect member slapping against his lower abs, you nearly lost your breath. Youâd never seen anything like it before: it wasnât excessively long, but it was incrediblythick, hard, marked by prominent veins, and already covered in a slight pearly sheen on the tip. You realized it was seriously wild and not entirely human.
Seeing you so captivated and curious, Jake enjoyed the show of your wide eyes and loved seeing you open-mouthed for him. âDo you like what you see, sweetheart?â he asked with a cheeky tone. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to lift your gaze to his face so you wouldnât get too distracted by all that perfection just a few meters away. You desperately wanted to touch him, but you knew that first, you had to trust him completely.
âWow⊠besides being beautiful on the inside, I have to admit youâre beautiful on the outside too, Jake. But you already know thatâeveryone tells you so,â you said.
He made a small, disappointed pout, as if that compliment wasnât exclusive enough for him. To tease you, he took a slow step toward you, wrapping his hand around his shaft and moving it just slightly with a single, slow slide of skin just to show you how responsive he was to your gaze.
âThey might say that to me, but I only care if you like it,â he whispered in a rough voice. Then, with a nod of his chin toward your clothes, he concluded: âBut enough talking⊠Your turn, Y/n. Take your clothes off.â
At that commandâwhich couldâve been interpreted in a way far different from how you saw itâJake couldnât wait to discover the beauty of your body, judging by the way he was looking at you. You felt your cheeks literally burn, and a sudden heat dyed your face a deep red, which he found adorable.
âIâll⊠Iâll obviously take off my pants and the shirt, but Iâd like to keep the bra on, if thatâs okay with you,â you said in a barely audible voice, almost afraid of his objection. But Jake looked at you with his hands trembling slightly along his sides, betraying the immense effort he was making not to pounce on you and touch you, smell you.
âDo whatever makes you feel most comfortable, Y/n,â he replied in an incredibly gentle tone, though his tail couldnât stay still for a second. His nose picked up every scent of yours, ranging from sweetness to something teasing due to your anxiety. âThereâs absolutely no problem for me. Take all the time you need.â
Reassured by his words, you nodded. You werenât sure what to take off first, feeling his eyes on you, not missing a single millimeter of your movements. You wanted to scream at him to close his eyes or turn away, but sooner or later, Jake would see you naked. So you slightly rose from the mattress, and with somewhat uncertain, maybe awkwardânot entirely sexyâgestures, you let the sweatpants slide down your legs.
At the sight of your toned thighs and fair skin, Jake visibly swallowed, clenching his fists against his hips. When his eyes caught the purple lace trim of your panties peeking out from under the hem of his oversized T-shirt, a mix between a moan and a sigh escaped his lips, which heâd been torturing with his teeth. He wanted to touch you in that exact momentâit was a damn devastating temptation, the idea of getting up from the chair and crawling back onto the bed to trap you beneath him. But he forced himself to stay still because he didnât want to ruin anything, especially seeing how your hands were trembling.
After minutes of staring at each other, you took a deep breath and murmured: âOkay⊠Iâm taking off your shirt now.â
Jake nodded slowly, unable to tear his eyes away from your body. âDo it, sweetheart. Youâre so damn beautiful⊠donât be afraid to let me look at you. I bet thereâs a body to worship under there, not one to hide from my eyes,â he said in a low voice. Those words gave you courage, and you crossed your arms, lifting the fabric over your head. In the exact moment you stood in front of him wearing only a damn purple Victoriaâs Secret set, decorated with small embroidered flowers that framed your body like you were a work of art on a canvas, the hybrid inside him lost his mind completely.
Jake let out a low growl that came entirely from his animal instinctâa purely wild sound. It was the very first time youâd heard him growl like that, so wild and primal. That sound made your entire body tremble, but not out of fearârather, it was a mix of physical and mental connection between you. Youâd discovered that hybrids both purr and growl: they purr in acts of pure docility with their mate, while growls can serve as a warning of danger, a sign not to touch their mate or their pack, or in a sense of pure excitement. And thatâs what Jake was feeling in that moment: he was growling at the sight of the bliss of your body just a few meters away from him, but he couldnât even brush you with a finger.
His eyes widened at that sound because you hadnât expected it, and Jake couldnât stop staring at you, open-mouthed, devouring your body with his hungry eyes. He studied carefully how the curve of your breasts seemed to try to escape from the bra cups, pushed upward. Heâd always known you had an abundant chest, but at that sight, his mindâwhich was currently running on purely animal and instinctive tracksâwas flooded with dark, possessive thoughts. He thought about how much he wanted to grab that soft flesh in his hands, how he wanted to suck on those warm nipples until you screamed his name. He even thought about how beautiful it would be to see them swollen and full of milk, watching it gush out as he filled you with his seed to bring your pups to life.
He shook his head to chase away those intense fantasies, running a hand over his mouth before complimenting you in that typical hybrid tone of hisâshameless and lewd: âDamn, Y/n⊠youâre a fucking work of art. That purple against your fair skin is driving me crazy. I knew you had perfect breasts, and I swear, if I werenât confined to this chair, Iâd have already consumed your skin with bites and kisses.â He said this while biting his lips, which were almost bleeding from how much heâd been nibbling on them in the last few minutes.
You sat back down on the edge of the bed with your legs curled up, trying to calm your racing heart. Now that you were both almost completely naked, you had to start what youâd agreed to do.
At those words, you swallowed hard and closed your eyes for a moment. Youâd never done anything like this before, and you wanted the earth to swallow you whole. But when you opened your eyes again, Jake was there, watching you intently. âYou donât have to be afraid right now, Y/n. Itâs just you and me. Slide your panties aside gently if you donât want to take them all the way off. Let me see how wet you are⊠I can smell it from here, youâre already soaked.â
Your cheeks burned at his words. With trembling hands, you slid your fingers toward your panties, already feeling the heat of your arousal. You pulled the edge down just enough to reveal your lips to Jake. At the sight, he groaned, and you instinctively closed your eyes but that wasnât what he wanted.
âOpen your eyes, sweetheart,â he said, his voice a mix of command and tenderness. âItâs not just me who gets to watch you pleasure yourself. You need to watch too.â
You obeyed, and what you saw took your breath away: his hands wrapped around his shaft, moving up and down in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The tip, flushed and glistening, grew thicker with every stroke, and a bead of pre-cum slid down the length. You crossed your legs, the desire burning inside you. âPlease, Jake⊠Please talk to me. I feel⊠lost,â you mumbled, your eyes fixed on him.
Jake sighed, his patience stretched thin. âSlide your panties all the way down your legs,â he ordered, his voice a contained growl. âUse your middle finger on your clit and start rubbing. But donât you dare close your eyes.â
You sighed in response and did as he said. Your panties slid off, and you shifted slightly higher on the bed, spreading your legs under his hungry gaze. Jake cursed under his breathâthe sight of you naked and ready to touch yourself without needing his command pushed him to the edge. It was as if, little by little, you were starting to understand the situation youâd gotten yourselves into⊠and that you could trust the man in front of you.
Jake watched as your trembling finger found your clit, already swollen and sensitive. âIs this okay?â you asked softly. He nodded, his dark eyes filled with desire. âRub. Slowly. Let me hear you moan.â
And so you did. Your clit was already hypersensitive, and the touch of your fingers made you let out a small moan. Little by little, you felt more at ease, more daring. âDonât stroke your cock so much, Jake⊠or youâll come first,â you stammered, your lips parted, your breath ragged. âI⊠I want to come with you.â
Jakeâs eyes widened at your confession, but he nodded. You saw his abs clench as he slowed his rhythm, rubbing his cock slowly in the grip of his hand. It was an incredible sight, youâd never imagined how exciting it could be to see a guy like him, just sitting there, watching you, while at the same time pleasuring himself just to make you feel at ease.
He realized that without his guidance, you wouldnât dare go further. And at the sight of your naked body at his mercy, he could have come at any moment like an inexperienced teenager. But that was exactly what you did to himâyou made him weak, and that both frustrated and reassured him, confirming that you were his mate. He adjusted himself on the chair, spreading his thighs, and said in a rough voice: âSweetheart, your clit is swollen and ready. Now, with your eyes on me, try sliding a finger inside you. Any finger is fine, as long as it goes into those beautiful lips of yours. Let me see⊠let me hear your sounds, little one. Otherwise⊠I wonât last much longer.â
At his confession, you bit your lip. This was the hardest part: letting go without thoughts, without fears. But the sight of Jake, his honesty, his vulnerability, pushed you to want to give yourself pleasure⊠and to give him something deeply intimate. You spread your legs a little wider, took a deep breath, and slid a finger between your wet folds. The intrusion was a new sensation, different from the solitary games you played under the covers. You moaned, surprised by the pleasure coursing through you, both mentally and physically.
The wet sound of your finger moving in and out of you made Jake groan your name. You felt completely at ease under his gaze, which never left you for a second. You saw how his cock grew thicker and thicker, how droplets of fluid escaped with every movement.
âKeep going⊠keep going like that, little one,â he urged, his voice a growl. âYouâre doing so well. Now that youâre nice and stretched, try sliding another finger in. And at the same time, rub your clit. That way, youâll come soon⊠and Iâll come with you.â
As Jake had instructed, you slid another finger inside yourself. A deep, throaty moan escaped your lips, and his name spilled out like a broken sigh: âJaaakeâŠâ The way you said it was desperate, sweet, and rawâlike he was the only lifeline in a sea of overwhelming sensations. At the sound of his name, Jake cursed under his breath, a guttural âFuckâŠâ rumbling from his chest as he watched you completely lost in pleasure. He couldnât hold back anymore. His arm muscles tensed as he began stroking himself harder, his fist gliding up and down his thick, throbbing shaft.
The room was thick with the sounds of your muffled moans and ragged breaths. It echoed with the wet, rhythmic sounds of your fingers pumping in and out of you, the creak of the chair beneath Jake amplifying every tiny noise. The scent was intoxicatingâmusky, sweet, and sharp all at once. Jakeâs heightened hybrid senses picked up on how your fragrance grew richer with every passing minute, a heady blend of strawberry, arousal, and a hint of sweat. âDamn, Y/n⊠youâre so fucking sexy,â he growled, his voice rough and low, his eyes glued to you as he watched you writhe, pleasure coiling tighter inside you. âLook at how wet you are⊠how perfect you look.â
You closed your eyes, and with your free hand, you clutched Jakeâs blanket, gripping it tightly between your fingers. Your voice trembled as you stammered, âJake⊠itâs too muchâŠâ
He paused for a moment, his hand still wrapped around his cock, and asked with a mix of concern and desire, âWhatâs too much, sweetheart?â
You moaned, breathless, and confessed, âEverything⊠itâs all too much⊠and I⊠I want to come.â
At those words, Jake smiledâa hungry, satisfied grin. âYou will in a few minutes, trust me. Now, tease your clit more and let go. But open those fucking eyes and watch what youâre doing to me,â he commanded, his voice a contained growl.
Embarrassed, cheeks flushed and lips parted, you obeyed. You opened your eyes and saw Jake barely holding back, his muscles taut, his breath ragged. With a whisper, you dared to say to him, âLet goâŠâ
His eyes darkened slightly at your boldness, as if he hadnât expected you to take control. But he didnât say a word. Deep down, that small act of defiance only turned him on even more.
Your walls began to tighten around your fingers, and your clit throbbed with pleasure as small, breathy moans escaped your lips. âI⊠Iâm about to come,â you whispered, your eyes half-lidded and glistening. At the sight of you so lost in pleasure, Jake gripped his shaft tighter and pumped harder, his voice rough as he urged, âCome on, sweetheart⊠let me see you come.â
You cried out, pleasure crashing over you like a wave. A few moments later, shivers raced through your body. You clenched the sheets of his bed tightly, your fingers still pumping and teasing your clit as your orgasm tore through you first. At the sight, Jakeâs abs clenched, and with a groan of your name, he came too. Thin streams of white cum spilled from the tip of his cock, and he moaned in pleasure at the release. But honestly, he didnât care much about his own climax. His eyes were locked on youâsprawled out on his bed, your stomach rising and falling rapidly with each ragged breath, your lips parted in a perfect O, your hair wild, and your legs trembling.
Jake slowly stood up, wiping away the remnants of his release before pulling his boxers back on. At the sight of you lying there, relaxed and half-lidded, he asked, âCan I⊠can I come closer to you, little one?â
You opened your eyes and tried to sit up slightly, but the sticky wetness began to seep out of you, and you moaned at the sensation. At the sight, Jakeâs smile returned, and he said, âSee? I told you I could make you come without even touching you, sweetheart.â
You let out a weak, breathless giggle, still trembling from the last waves of pleasure. You watched Jake stretch his arm toward the nightstand to grab a tissue, then lean toward you on the bed with a naturalness and care that left you breathless. You felt his large, warm hands settle firmly but gently on your thigh to keep you still, and then he cleaned you slowly, with no rush or malice in his gaze, treating you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. Your eyes never left his, not even for a millisecond, captivated by the sweetness in his expression.
When he finished and tossed the tissue into the trash can beside the bed, you shyly tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear, your cheeks still warm from everything that had just happened. Seeing you so timid, Jake leaned toward you again, offering you the T-shirt youâd taken off earlier. He knew perfectly well that youâd just taken giant steps, having been half-naked and vulnerable in front of him, and he didnât want to ruin the magic of the moment by rushing things.
âLift your arms, sweetheart,â he said softly, and you did as he asked. He slid his oversized T-shirt down over your body, dressing you completely. As soon as the fabric covered you, moved by an impulse of gratitude and affection, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him forcefully toward you to kiss him.
Jake hadnât expected you to kiss him of your own free will at all. Heâd expected that, once the moment had passed, you might tease him or hide under the covers. Instead, you leaned forward and gently pulled his lower lip between your teeth, trapping it between your lips almost as a victory for everything that had happened.
Jake groaned against your lips a mix of a surprised grunt and a deep, pleasure-filled moan that vibrated in the back of his throatâas he instinctively placed his large hands on your hips to steady both of you on the mattress. Your mouths sought each other with a new urgency every time you had to pull apart to catch your breath. When you timidly slid your tongue against his, tasting him, you felt Jake smile against your mouth.
âFuck, Y/n⊠youâre really driving me crazy tonight,â he whispered against your lips, unable to pull away from you. Heâd become a full-on clingy boy with you. After a few seconds, Jake slowly pulled back to give you space, and you looked at him with infinite sweetness. âThank you, Jake,â you said.
He smiled almost timidly, for the first time since youâd known himâand opened his arms on the bed in a silent invitation to hug you again. You didnât need to be told twice. You nestled against his massive chest, inhaling his reassuring scent of pine, and pressed your head into the warm hollow of his neck.
Jake pulled you close, wrapping you completely in his strong, protective body. For long minutes, you both stayed there, still and embraced in the silence of the room, lulled only by the sound of your heartbeats slowly returning to normal and the patter of rain against the roof of the house. Eventually, you pulled back slightly from his chest and lifted your chin to look at him.
Jake was there, watching you from above, his ears relaxed and his gaze attentive. In that moment, he would have given anything for the ability to read your mind and know exactly what was going through that little head of yours.
Suddenly, though, he noticed your eyes growing glossy, filling with tears ready to spill down your cheeks. Jakeâs heart literally skipped a beat, and his face painted an expression of pure panic, he thought he might have done or said something wrong.
âHey, hey⊠little one, no, donât cry!â he exclaimed, gently squeezing your shoulders. âDid I⊠was I too rough? Did I do or say something you didnât like? I swear, I just wanted to...â
Before he could finish, you pressed a finger directly to his lips to silence him, cutting off the stream of anxious apologies.
âYou⊠you made me realize that I need to talk to people, Jake. But most of all, you taught me that, after a while, I need to start tearing down my own protective walls⊠and thatâs exactly what I managed to do tonight with you,â you said, looking him straight in the eyes. âI really donât know how to thank you. Youâve been so patient with me, you never backed down from anything, and youâve respected me from the very first moment I walked into this house. So⊠no, donât be sad. These tears are just pure joy,â you concluded, weakly giggling as you wiped your face with the edge of his T-shirt sleeve.
Jake sighed deeply, feeling a knot of tension finally dissolve in his chest. A small smile formed on his lips as he lifted his hands to caress your face, using his thumbs with infinite gentleness to wipe away the last tears wetting your cheeks.
For days, since youâd confessed you wanted to have sex with him and shared everything that had happened to you, heâd feared he was too overbearing, too abrupt, or simply âwrongâ for a sensitive girl like you. But in that moment, lulled by your strawberry scent, now free of any trace of fear, Jake finally felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.
âI only did what any guy worthy of being by your side would have done, Y/n,â he murmured softly and sincerely, looking at you with a tenderness he rarely showed outside the walls of that room. He was only ever this sweet with his family and his pack⊠not even with his teammates, with whom he spent hours training, had he ever been this honest in his life. But you shook your head, pressing your cheek against his warm palm.
âNo other guy would have done thisâŠâ you said quietly, meeting his gaze. Then, feeling embarrassment creep back in but determined not to lose that beautiful harmony, you continued with a clearly shy but resolute tone: âNow⊠yes, for next time, Iâd like things to be less planned. Iâd like them to flow more naturally between us. When they happen, theyâll happen⊠though, obviously, I expect it to happen again as soon as possible!â You said this while playing with the sleeve of his T-shirt, hoping heâd understand what you meant.
Jakeâs eyes widened slightly, surprised by that sudden burst of boldness, and he burst into laughter as he watched you make yourself smaller. At the sight, he gently pinched your side, knowing you were ticklish, and said: âDamn⊠Whereâs the shy, reserved girl who struggled to even look me in the eye gone? Donât tell me Iâve created a creature whoâs greedy for my touch, or that now you canât do without me?â
You laughed heartily when his fingers started lightly tickling your sides, making you curl up against him on the mattress. To defend yourself, you rolled your eyes dramatically and teased him, playfully tapping his muscular chest:Â âOh, please, Sim! Donât get a big head. Youâre the âgolden boyâ of the team, the âfrat boyâ everyone dreams aboutâI think that guy disappeared a while ago thanks to me. So before you talk, think about how you canât stop finding excuses to touch me!âYou laughed as Jake intensified the tickling.
Without stopping his smile, he leaned over you, pressed his soft lips to your forehead, and then moved up through your hair, leaving a reassuring kiss on you. When he pulled back slightly, his eyes shone with a hopeful light, finally making you understand that you could trust him.
âWill you stay tonight, Y/n?â he asked this time, stopping his teasing. You made a thoughtful pout and then slowly nodded, pulling him back to you by the shoulders, welcoming him into your embrace again.
But that happy ending hadnât yet provided the right answers: What were you and Jake? How would he balance university, your constant presence in his routine, and being the captain of the soccer team, which was under the spotlight of scouts looking for the best striker for their teams? How would he balance his human nature with his hybrid one, with you getting closer and closer to him? And how would he get through his first heat as a hybrid, knowing you were his mate and that he wanted you for himself forever?
hey, I wanted to split this story into 2 parts, I know there's a lot of slow born and I didn't think so but I think it's better this way, now I will always post a story that connects with this one featuring one of the members (try to guess who!!) to thank you for the 3k.
For part 2 I think it will be released in August but I'm already writing it so always keep yourself on your toes, I hope you enjoyed it:)
IN WHICH. . . Your beloved puma hybrid: Nishimura Riki, has reached his limits of restraining himself. Under the influence of his heat combined with his pent-up feelings for you, he decides the best way to let you know was by showing than saying it out loud.
5.7k wcâ âââ non idol & university au âȘâȘ puma hybrid! nishimura riki x fem! reader đ§ explicit mature content, porn without plot, unprotected sex, knotting, breeding kink, jealous riki, riki has a tail & claws, feral & possessive riki, fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), pussy slapping, breast play, coming untouched, face-sitting, mild choking, size difference, hung riki, mean! riki.
from author: i love puma riki. that's it. that's the plot.
Riki has been acting weird recently.
The puma hybrid is more clingy than usualâwhich wasn't anything new at first glance. Ever since he came into your life, the hybrid with the height of six foot something, toned arms, impressive abs that's hidden under the layers of his clothes with tattoosâone on near his hipbones, one on his side and the last on his back, Riki will be on you the moment you came back.
He didn't care if you haven't removed your shoes or dropped the keys. Riki wastes no time in pulling you into his arms, head buried in your neck with him nuzzling his nose against your skin. He ignored your futile, weak attempts of prying him off, his body practically melting once he inhaled your scent, like it's an antidote for his illness.
His illness of being separated from you for way too long.
But now? Now his clinginess only got even worse. If you were smarter, you would've been able to connect the dotsâhow your beloved puma hybrid kept following you around, his long, black tail swishing side to side ever since you told him you got a boyfriend. You've been dating for the past five months and he's everything you wantedâloyal, kind, faithful, funny, understanding and the list goes on.
When you broke the news to Riki, you were too deep in love, already rambling about your oh so perfect relationship to notice how he stilled. How his tail dipped immediately. How his ears flattened against his head. How his jaw clenched, tongue poking the insides of his cheek. How his eyes narrowed into silts. How he clenched his left hand into a fist that rested on his lap, hidden from your view.
Ever since that dayâfive months ago, Riki made it a point to cling onto you at every chance he gets. He doesn't care if you're in public. The moment you're in his sight, he has his tail wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him while subtly scenting you at the same time. As he's tall enough, it's enough to scare off anyone who's foolish enough to look your way. If that doesn't worked, he'll resort to glaring at them, which proved to be useful many, many times.
Right now, you're seated on the couch in the living room with your laptop perched on a cushion, using it as a temporary stand. Your fingers flew across the keyboard, lips unconsciously pursed in a thin line while working on your assignments. Being a university student meant you're constantly bombarded with never-ending assignmentsâessays, group projects, reports, tests and exams.
It got so bad to the point you haven't contacted your boyfriend for the past two weeks. You felt remorseful at first, not wanting any misunderstandings to be formed. But when your lecturers thought it was a great idea for them to throw an unreasonable amount of work to their students, the thought was washed down the drain as you threw yourself into study mode, working on them nonstop.
You were so engrossed with your current task that you remained blissfully unaware of your surroundings. Of how a certain puma hybrid was heading your way, his footsteps light and barely making any noise, like he's stalking his next prey. You finally looked down, features softening to see it's none other than Riki resting his head on your lap, eyes fixated on your face.
You reached down, brushing his dirty ash blonde hair away from his forehead, drawing a soft, pleased sigh from him. Your heart squeezed, getting a rush of cuteness aggression when he turned, rubbing his cheek against your stomach through your shirt. You knew what he wants and also knew if anything, he's extremely shy when it comes to demanding for your attention.
You being you, decides to tease him.
"Riki, do you need something?" You asked, hovering your hand in the air.
The hybrid stopped rubbing his cheek, cracking one eye open to glare at you, his thick and plump lips curling down in a pout. "You know what I want."
You hummed, plastering a fake thoughtful look on your face, well-aware of how he's watching you. "Do I? I'm not a mind reader. If you want something, you need to tell me."
Your words drew a frustrated and annoyed growl from him but you weren't fazed or afraid. You merely chuckled, wriggling your fingers in the air. "I'm waitinggggg."
He closed his eyes, seemingly sending prayers to whoever's listening before opening them. "âŠCan you pat me, please?"
You cooed out loud and Riki scrunched his nose, sending you death glares at the revolting noise. "You're so cute! If that's what my precious baby puma wants."
He was about to get up when you started patting his head, occasionally flicking his ears. The moment you laid your hands on him, his shoulders sagged with relief and his eyes fluttered shut. He made himself comfortable, face squashed into your stomach with his arms loosely wrapped around your waist, locking you in place while you returned to working on your assignment.
Thirty minutes of comfortable silence past and your phone started ringing, vibrating vigorously from its spot on the couch's armrest. You didn't want to wake Riki upâwho had been lulled to sleep by your comforting scent and warmth, subtly stretching your arm to pick up your phone. One look at the screen made your heart dropped when you saw the contact name.
You accepted the call, bringing your phone to your right ear.
"Hello?"
"(Name), let's break up," your boyfriend said, his tone steady and firm.
Your heart stopped beating, shattering into pieces the moment you heard his words. You felt cold, like someone had dumped a pail of cold, freezing water over you. You stared ahead of youâwide eyes and tuning out your surroundings, until the only thing you can hear was the blood rushing through your ears.
"W-What? Why?" You stammered, unaware of Riki stirring to life, his ears perking up, clearly trying to eavesdrop.
A sigh. "It's no hard feelings, really. I just don't feel the same way anymore. And you've been busy lately. You didn't answer my texts or my calls. It's like you've forgotten about my existence."
"That's notâ"
"And that hybrid of yours. It's clear there's something going on between the two of you, with how possessive he is," he interrupted, having no intention of hearing you out or letting you speak.
Hearing this, you stilled. Your fingers that were previously threading through Riki's hair came to an abrupt halt. Your eyes instinctively flicked down to him, breath hitching when you made eye contact and how he has been watching and listening the entire time. His eyes were now narrowed to silts. He doesn't care that he was caught red-handed, showing no ounce of remorse or shame.
But rather, he looked⊠smug, like he knew this will happen.
Your lack of response earned a bitter huff from your boyfriendâor ex-boyfriend, in this case. "See? This is what I meant. Forget it, there's no point trying to talk to you. We're over. Don't contact me again."
"Waitâ"
He ended the call and you moved it away, staring at it like it had personally offended you. Riki took that as his cue to push himself up, stretching his arms above his head. The action made the gray hoodie he worn to be dragged up, showing off an inch of his skin and the kiss mark tattoo he got. Your eyes darted towards it without warning, only for you to look away immediately ignoring how your heart skipped a beat and heat pooling in your stomach.
"Who was that?" He asked casually and innocently, running a hand through his hair.
"My boyfriend," you chuckled, placing your phone on your side, "well, ex-boyfriend."
He frowned. "Ex?"
"Yeah, he just broke up with me, over the phone."
Riki sucked in air from his teeth, his tail neatly resting over his lap. "Oh⊠I'm sorry to hear that."
You shook your head, sinking further into the couch. "It's fine, I kinda deserve it."
"Why? You didn't do anything wrong," he replied without missing a beat.
You glanced at him, startled by how fast and firm his response was. "Because I might have forgotten to contact him? I didn't make any efforts to call or text him."
"And? You're busy with your assignments. You don't have to bend your back for someone who's insecure," he retorted, draping an arm across the back of his couch, his hand directly behind your head.
You snorted. "He's not insecure, Riki. Don't be mean to him."
For a brief moment, the hybrid seemed like he wanted to say something but thought better of it, choosing to keep his mouth shut. He got up from the couch, the tip of his tail grazing your bare ankleâdeliberately and lightly before he walked away. You remained seated on the couch, watching as he disappeared into the comfort of his own room, closing the door behind him.
What was that?
~
You noticed a slight change in Riki two weeks later.
The hybrid started spending more time in his room, only coming out when it's absolutely necessary. Heck, he didn't step out even when you announced you were leaving for your classes, leaving you utterly confused. You did knock on his door, asking him questions about his health but all you got was him telling you to go away.
If there's one thing about you, it's that you never give up.
Knock knock.
"Riki? Hello? Are you still alive?" You asked, pressing your ear against the door, trying to catch the smallest sounds.
That's when you heard itâa low, slow and warning growl. Hearing it sent shivers down your spine and you rubbed your thighs together, feeling the all-too familiar sensation of arousal blooming in your stomach.
"Go away."
The two words were said with such conviction and coldness that it rendered you speechless. Never in your life have you heard Riki growling at you, like the true puma he is. You should listen to him. Should turned around, walked away to leave him alone. Ignoring the invisible alarm bells going off in your mind, you took a deep breath, twisted the door knob and pushed it open.
The door moved aside to reveal Riki's room. The curtains were drawn closed, shutting him out from the rest of the world. Your eyes locked in on the bump on his bed. A bump that you easily identified as the owner of the room. You stepped in, wary to not step on anything that could potentially scared him or set him into fight-or-flight mode.
Once you were close enough, you sat on the edge of the bed, turning slightly so you can face him without straining your neck. You reached out, ready to pull the sheets away when he moved.
One moment you were seated and the next, you were pinned against the bed. You gasped, startled by the abrupt change of position. Both of your wrists was held over your head, held down firmly with Riki's one hand while the other was braced on the wrinkled sheets. The sight before you made your breath hitched.
Riki's face was flushed, cheeks covered in a light shade of red. His eyes turned into slits, borderline glowing and his forehead glowed in a layer of sweat, hair sticking to his face. His lips were parted, exhaling at an unsteady pace, like he had ran a marathon. This wasn't the usual Riki you're used to. Someone who always keep his cool. Someone who noticed everything about you.
"Riki, whaâ!?"
You stopped when he ducked, nosing along your neck and he breathed in, deeply. You strained your ears, picking up what sounded like⊠purring? You felt the vibrations coursing through his body and his sharp, fluffy ears twitched.
"Your scent⊠it's driving me crazy," he rasped out, voice low and deep.
You swallowed, your heart hammering against your chest rapidly. "Seriously, what's wrâmmpfh!"
You didn't finish your sentence, not because your voice gave up on you. But rather, it was because of the hybrid, who captured your lips in a hot, demanding and intense kiss. Unlike your ex who takes his time, Riki was different. He kissed you harshly, further pushing you into the sheets with him fully settling his weight on you, like he wants you to blend into it.
You squeaked when he nipped at the plush, soft flesh of your lips with the sharp tip of his fangs, the searing pain striking you like a lightning bolt. He released his grip on your wrists, supporting your head with one hand on your neck while the other gripped onto your waist, his touch possessive and firm.
You could feel the warmth from his body, how he's a walking heater. The closeness of this combined with him kissing you with such desperation made you whined into his mouth. Riki groaned, swallowing the delicious sound, treating it like it's an sacred offering. The kiss deepenedâhim forcing you to grant him entrance and he sucked on your tongue, hard enough to make you pushed your chest up against his.
It's filthy and lewd, with spit trickling down your chin. Seeing this, Riki broke the kiss and licked it up with his rough tongue, leaving your skin feeling damp and sticky before he kissed you again, unable to get enough of your sweet, addictive taste.
"Rikiâ"
You moaned against his lips, arching your back off the bed as his other hand traced your silhouette, creating a map out of your body. He pushed your oversized shirt up until the hem of your bra was shown, drawing a ragged, broken moan from him, like seeing your clear, unblemished skin does something to him.
He pulled back, staring at you as he takes in the mind-blowing sight before himâyour dazed eyes, your swollen, bruised and spit-covered lips and the light flush on your cheeks. Seeing you like thisâall wrecked and breathless, drew a dark and pleased purr from the depth of his throat.
"So pretty for me," he breathed out, his breath fanning across your lips, savoring the way you shivered involuntarily at his words.
Riki moved down, busying himself in leaving wet and messy kisses along the expanse of your neck, ensuring to lick at your skin, able to get a faint salty taste at the tip of his tongue. He slowly lowered himself, spreading your legs apart with one handâthe action effortless and requiring close to zero strength, aligning your cores together and oh, you can feel him.
Feel his long, thick and heavy cock straining against the poor restraints of his sweatpants, begging to be freed. You swallowed, feeling your underwear sticking against your pussy at the thought of him filling you up. Riki stilled above you, his nostrils flaring before he growled, staring you down with nothing but desire written all over his face.
A loud ripping sound pierced through the bedroom. You squeaked, hands moving to cover yourself when the puma hybrid ripped your clothes with his sharp claws but he was faster, pinning your hands above your head with one hand while the other gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him.
"Don't hide from me," he snarled.
You made a pathetic soundâa sound you didn't know you were capable of in the first place and it made the puma smirked proudly. When it's clear you're not planning to move, Riki shifted down, giving attention to your freed breasts. He wrapped his lips around your left hardened nipple, alternating between licking and sucking on it while pinching and twisting the other nipple with his free hand.
"Ngh!"
You cried out, throwing your head back as you tangled your hand through his hair while the other blindly grabbed the sheets, twisting and turning it beneath your fingers. You squirmed about on the bed, which pissed Riki off, judging from the feral snarl he let out as he held you down by your hips, his grip hard and vice-like with his claws borderline digging into your skin, hard enough for thin, red-lined marks to be imprinted.
He continued abusing your poor nipples until they were bruised red and covered in a layer of his thick spit, leaving it glistened in the dim room. Riki shifted further down until he dropped to his knees on the floor. You yelped when you were roughly yanked forward by his tail until your lower half hovered in the air. Your legs trembled as they were slung over the hybrid's firm, broad shoulders.
"Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you," he murmured, nosing along your inner right thigh, occasionally nipping at your skin until it turned reddish-purple.
The possessiveness in him gleamed in pride at the thought of you walking around, wearing pants or anything long to hide the marks he left behind on your body, like he's claiming, marking and branding you. Keeping you away from any potential suitors too. Riki continued his adventure until he reached where you're desperately aching for him. He blew hot air, watching with pure hunger at how your pussy throbbed.
"Sensitive already," he huffed, amused.
"P-Please.." You whimpered oh so beautifully for him, further twisting the sheets.
"Please what, doll? C'mon, be a good girl and use your words," he coaxed.
You squeezed your eyes shut, not having the courage to look at him but your action only made him clicked his tongue in disapproval.
Smack!
Your body visibly jolted, taken aback at the sudden stinging pain landing squarely on your bare pussy. Interest flickered across his face at your reactionâhow you bit down on your lip and how you got even wetter. Deciding to put his theory to the test, he did it again. Not once. Not twice. But thrice, back-to-back.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Your body trembled like a taut wire, clenching down on nothing as violent shockwaves traversed through you from head to toe. Riki, on the other hand, paused. His mind spun, reeling from what just happened. He didn't give you time to regain your composure, dragging his left index finger along your puffy, soaked folds, making you whimpered from the sensitivity.
"Fuck, you came just like that?" He murmured, in awe.
"W-Wha.."
You mumbled blearily, looking at him with half-lidded eyes, already exhausted. The only form of warning you got was the puma hybrid inching closer until something rough, hot and flat licked a stripe up, from your clit to entrance. You screamed, the sound high and loud that you're certain your neighbors will launch a noise complaint soon.
The thought left your mind as quickly as it formed when Riki moaned, his face buried between your legs. He ate you out messily and sloppily, paying special attention to your clit peeking out. Your body twitched, nearly yanking the sheets freed when he circled it with the tip of his tongue, the sensation driving you up the wall.
Your legs trembled in the air but you couldn't closed them, not when they were hoisted on his strong, muscular shoulders. You hooked your ankles around his neck, tugging him closer and let out a wonton moan when the tip of his nose pokes your clit. He didn't care, pushing further and further in, like he wants to be suffocated between your legs, tasting your sweet, addictive slick on his tongue.
"F-Fuck, soâhngh, good," you panted, back arching off the bed as he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking on it. The suction was enough for your stomach to tighten, about to cum again, only for him to pull away, letting your clit fall limp against your pussy, all sore and red.
You watched with your head laying on the sheets, chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath as Riki rose to his full height, gently dropping your legs down onto the solid floor. He didn't look away, locking eyes with you while he stripped, starting with the white, tight tank top that does nothing to hide his arm muscles. Once it was gone, his toned and tattooed chest was revealed. Your hands twitched, tempted to trace your hand over it.
He smirked, catching your reaction and hooked his fingers through the hem of his sweatpants that's hanging dangerously low around his hips. He shoved it down, his black Chrome Heart boxers falling as well until its brunched around his ankles. His cock sprung free from the restraints, proudly standing upright, thick, long and veiny.
Your breath stuttered, unable to tear your eyes away from it. Hybrids isn't built very different from humans but despite that, he's⊠huge. Probably bigger than anyone you've slept with, which was just one personâyour ex-boyfriend. The fat, mushroomy tip had turned a ferocious shade of reddish-purple, practically screaming for attention. A fat, thick bead of precum rested on the slit and Riki wrapped a hand around himself, thumb pressing down on the slit.
"FuckâŠ"
He cursed, eyes fluttering shut and he threw his head back as he fisted his own cock, forming a tight circle with his hand, fucking into it without any shame. You watched from where you wereâstill laying on the sheets with wide, unblinking eyes. Riki's fangs dug into his plump lips, his slitted eyes were squeezed shut, ears flattened against his head and his tail swished side to side frantically.
You chewed on your bottom lip, snaking your hand down between your breasts, down your stomach and to your pussy. However, before you could reached your destination, Riki let out a feral, hostile and beast-like snarl. He surged forward, grabbing your wrist, holding it in place with a vice-like grip, tight enough to draw a wince from you.
"Don't touch yourself. If you do, you can't cum," he warned you.
His firm words and authoritative tone made you whimpered, feeling unusually smallâhim as the predator and you as his prey that he managed to catch. Riki shifted, climbing onto the bed and he forced you to shift upward a little. The hybrid crawled forward on his knees, a hand now loosely wrapped around the base of his cock.
He grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head backward. You knew what his intentions was, obediently opening your mouth and let him pushed his cock in. The hybrid purred in pleasure, feeling how tight and warm your cavern was. You made a muffled gagging sound, tears brimming in your eyes at his tip hitting the back of your throat.
He's big and thick, forcing you to further slacken your jaw muscles while covering your teeth with your lips, not wanting to injure him. You had to resort to breathing through your nose, savoring the heavy weight of his cock resting on your tongue. Riki cupped your left cheek, thumb gingerly wiping away the singular tear droplet that slipped, action all sickeningly sweet and oh so mean at the same time.
"Look at you, so pretty and wrecked for me. You're taking me well, aren't you?" He cooed, voice lowering an octave lower.
It's obvious you can't speak, not when your mouth was stuffed full of his cock, which is the reason why he used that condescending and belittling tone with you. Riki smirked, pushing forward a little, picking up the strangled moan you let out and how your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You let him used you like a toy as he fucked your throat, pushing in and out of your mouth at a slow, lazy and borderline teasing pace.
You did your bestâtracing the protruding veins with your tongue and hollowed your cheeks for better suction. But god, he's too big. And judging from the knowing, dark glint in his eyes, Riki can tell you're struggling. Which was why he made a faux sweet coo, using his free hand to clasp it around your neck and gave it a light squeeze.
It's not enough to completely cut off your oxygen supply. You knew he wouldn't kill you, not with how smitten he is with you but it's the implication of it. The thought of him possessing both the capability and talent to snap your neck into half, to kill you immediately, made you even wetter, if that's possible.
Riki's eyes darted down, hissing under his breath at the large, dark stains beneath you. "You're one messy and needy slut, aren't you? Can't be satisfied even with your mouth full?"
"Mmpfh."
The hybrid groaned, mouth dropping open at the vibrations running down the length of his cock. "Shit, c-close."
He pulled you closer until his entire cock is in your mouth, your nose rubbing against his bare stomach. You gagged as he cum, painting it in the shade of his thick, hot cum. The hybrid groaned, releasing his grip from your hair and pulled his cock out of your swollen, sore mouth with a loud "pop" sound.
"Swallow it," he demanded, gripping your chin and you obeyed, even opening your mouth to let him see.
He purred, satisfied and tapped your right cheek twice. "Good girl. You deserve a reward, don't you?"
You sniffled, frantically and eagerly nodding. "P-Please.. I've been good."
He chuckled, flipping your position with him now laying on the bed, head on one of his pillows. You squeaked when you ended up on his lap, hands braced on his bare chest, soaking his toned stomach with your slick. Riki patted your thigh, dark eyes drinking in your naked figure shamelessly.
"Come up," he instructed, doing the "come here" gesture with his fingers.
You gulped, complying and crawled upward with shaking knees and hands. Resting one hand on the headboard and the other on your lap, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the puma's mouth. However, you were being too slow, earning an impatient growl from him.
"Riki!"
You cried out when he yanked you down, making you sit squarely on his face. He parted your folds with his left fingersâindex and middle, plunging his long, rough and slimey tongue into your gaping entrance, tracing it along the walls and occasionally twisting it. A series of moans and whimpers left your lips at his relentless assault on your poor pussy.
It didn't help that you're still sensitive, which only further heightened the toe-curling sensations. Riki alternated between sucking and licking, like a famished beast that hasn't feasted for three months. He ate you out messily, spit trickling down his chin. You grinded your hips against his skillful tongue, moaning out loud as he pushed two fingers in, pumping them in and out of you.
The double penetration of his fingers and tongue made you further grind into his mouth, craving more. He purred, drunk on the taste of your slick and his tail snugly wrapped itself around your waist, the tip grazing your still-sensitive nipples, drawing a strangled, broken cry from you.
"R-Riki, c-can't.. too much, ngh," you keened, stars exploding behind your vision as he curled his fingers, easily locating that one spongy spot that made your thighs trembled vigorously.
"You can take it, baby," he moaned, voice muffled, tongue gliding along the seam of your folds.
You sobbed, the final straw comes with him sucking on your beyond clit and you cum with a soundless cry, mouth dropping open in an "O" shape, violent shockwaves coursing through your body. You weren't aware you even squirtedâtransparent, warm liquid gushing everywhere, landing on your sweaty, tangled bodies and the sheets.
Riki groaned, tongue lapping up what you have to offer, not wanting to let a single drop go to waste, ignoring how you squirmed and thrashed about, pussy weakly squirting a few more times before you went limp, bracing both hands against the wall to balance yourself. The hybrid finally detached his lips from you, the lower half of his face completely covered in your slick, practically glistening.
His ears twitched, tongue darting out to lick up your slick covering his lips, moaning at the taste. Your pussy throbbed at the lewd sight and you acted without thinking, scooting down until your cores made contact. At first, Riki was confused, furrowing his eyebrows but it was replaced with realization as he watched, not bothering to helpâone hand on his lap while the other is held behind his head and between the headboard.
His breath hitched, watching how you collected your dripping slick, using it as lube before stroking his cock with your slick. It didn't take long for him to fill up and thicken in your grip. He had dreamed of thisâhaving you beneath him as he fucks you, stretching you wide open with his cock, reducing you into a flushed and moaning mess with his name being chanted like a sacred prayer.
But dreams could never come close to the real thing.
The only form of assistance you got was Riki steadying you by your hips when you swayed to the side dangerously. With you holding the base of his cockâfingers barely touching, you aligned him to your stretched-out entrance and sank down in one go.
Both of you moaned in unison at the blinding feeling. The feeling of being connected on an intimate level. The stretch was no doubt painful, enough for your vision to blur slightly. You didn't move, struggling to accommodate to the size and grith of his cock as the pain gradually subsided until it's replaced with a numbing, consistent pleasure.
Riki, on the other hand, had to restrain himself at all costs. He nearly cum right there and then the moment he slides in. His eyes locked in on the prominent bludge on your stomachâright where his cock laid and he saw red.
He acted on instinct, the instinct of a wild, feral beastâmanhandling you until your face was shoved into the pillow with you on your knees, your ass raised up high as your back was arched in an seductive arch. Riki wasted no time in pounding into you from behind, his heavy balls slapping against your inner thighs, creating a series of loud "plap, plap, plap" sound that echoed among the four walls of his bedroom.
"Think that pathetic ex-boyfriend of yours can't fuck you better than I can? He can't," he snarled, leaning forward to plaster his chest against your back, one hand grabbing and kneading your left breast within his palm while twisting and pinching your hardened nipple.
You wailed, unable to form a coherent sentence, with how good he's stretching you and how he's filling you up, reshaping your insides to the shape and outline of his cock. The hybrid purred, slowing down his pace as he fucked you slow and nice, ensuring to circle his hips every time he bottomed out, savoring the blissed sigh you let out.
"M-MoreâŠ" You babbled, head tilted forward with drool running down your chin.
He purred, nosing along your neck as he breathed in your scent. It's mixed with different smellsâsweat, your body fluids and sex. But to him, there's no perfect combination other than this.
"More?" He echoed. "You're so greedy, baby. I'm already fucking you and you still want more?"
"M-Mhm!"
"What do you want? Tell me."
Now, you weren't thinking straight anymore, too fucked out to think about anything. So it's normal for Riki to be surprised by the words that left your mouth without you processing it.
"K-Knot me, please," you begged.
Riki's tail straightened, shooting up and his ears flicked upward.
Knot. Knot. Knot.
That was the only word he captured. The only word out of your short sentence. With a deep and guttural growl, he pounded into you with newfound determination. The thought of knotting you until your stomach swells, you waddling around in the house with a swollen baby as you born his children, makes him feral.
You keened as he angled his cock slightly, the tip now hitting that one delicate, spongy spot hidden between your gummy walls. It's enough for your knees to tremble, giving way as you fell into the sheets, trapping his hand between the bed and your chest. Riki clicked his tongue, hoisting you back up with his tail that's around your waist and his free hand grabbing a fistful of your hair, making a temporary ponytail to hold you upright.
He continued fucking into you, quickening the pace and the sound of skin slapping against skin gets louder and louder. You couldn't register the kind of sounds you're letting out but whatever it was, it can rival against a professional pornstar. You had to support yourself with your elbows resting on the sheets as sweat rolled down your cheeks.
"Gonna knot you, pump you full so you can carry my children," he snarled, his slitted eyes locked onto the way your ass cheeks jiggled at every thrust.
You whined out loud at his words, clenching around him and it didn't go unnoticed by him. You snaked your hand between your legs, tracing your fingers around where you're connected before rubbing your clit at the same pace as his thrust.
"G-Gonna cum, hah," you whimpered, your fingers gradually getting soaked from your own slick.
Riki cursed, slapping your hand away and replaced it with his own, drawing a loud, startled cry from you. "Then cum, baby. Let me see you fall apart."
He gave a harsh twist to your engorged clit and that was it. You cum while chanting his name like a sacred prayer, your walls violently convulsing around his cock as your juices ran down the paths of your inner thighs. Riki grit his teeth, sweat landing on the sheets as he felt his knot growing bigger and biggerâa sign he's reaching his climax.
With one last, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and released his hot, thick semen inside while he fucks you through your orgasm, forcing your pussy to milk him dry. You grimace at how incredibly full and sated you felt, stomach bloated with his hybrid cum. His knot remained lodged in your cunt, reaching the entrance to your womb.
Your elbows and knees gave way for the second time as you collapsed into the sheets, wincing at the uncomfortable feeling of you covered in body fluids and sweat. You thought it was finally over and that you could get a break.
However, Riki didn't have the same idea in mind.
"Riâ!?"
You made a sound when he thrusted into you from behindâhis knot showing no signs of detaching itself from your womb, drawing a hoarse moan from you. You looked over your shoulder, swallowing nervously at the wild, intense look on his face. His dirty ash blonde hair was messed up, some strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. But it was his eyes that made your stomach tightened.
The lust and desire gaze, making you unconsciously clenched down on him, on his cock that's still buried deep inside you.
"We're not done yet, doll," he purred, lips curling up in a promising, dark smirk.
You gasped when he did an experimental thrust into you, creating a loud and wet squelch sound that made your ears heat up. But the embarrassment was gone when Riki pushed your head down into the sheets, rendering you immobile.
"We're not stopping until you take every single drop," he continued, leaving you swallowing, heart beating anxiously as you knew you're in for a long, wild and rough night.
Genre(s): Smut, domestic, established relationship, fluff, comfort
Word Count: 1.5k
Content Warnings/Tags: Explicit sexual content (18+ only/mdni!), strong language, frequent intimacy, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex (be safe irl!), rimmimg, lap dance, mentions of past employment as a stripper, age gap (Y/N is in her early 20s and Jeno is in his mid to late 20s), glasses!Jeno, use of petnames (baby, angel, kitten etc.), occasional manhandling, breeding kink, daddy kink, reader innocence kink, size kink/difference
Summary: Jeno thinks you're the cutest person alive, and honestly? He's probably right. Between lazy mornings, university assignments, affectionate nicknames, and far too many distractions whenever you're supposed to be studying, the two of you have perfected the art of being hopelessly in love.
Author's Note: This short fic is powered by mutual obsession. Jeno thinks you hung the moon, and you happen to think the exact same about him. You're both ridiculously in love with each other. Please read responsibly and enjoy!đ€
The Sunday tradition in your shared apartment is the heartbeat of your relationship, but the magic starts long before the lingerie comes out. For you, every moment spent with Jeno is a dream. You love the way he looks at youânot just as a beautiful woman, but as his everything.
The morning had started softly. You woke up before him, the sunlight filtering through the curtains, illuminating his sleeping face. Without glasses, Jeno looks almost vulnerable, his sharp jawline softened by sleep. You couldn't resist. You slid down the bed, your small frame disappearing beneath the duvet, and carefully freed his massive, thick cock from his boxers. It was already semi-hard, pulsing with a slow rhythm. You spent an hour just worshipping him, your tongue swirling around the broad head, sucking the pre-cum from the slit with a devotion that always makes him moan in his sleep. By the time he fully woke up, he was already leaking into your mouth, his hand finding your hair and gently tugging as you took him as deep as your throat would allow.
"Good morning, baby," he had rasped, his voice thick with sleep and lust, his eyes fluttering open to see his little angel taking care of him.
The afternoon was spent in a more domestic haze. You were struggling with a particularly dense module for your early childhood education degree, your brow furrowed as you stared at your laptop. Jeno, ever the supportive partner, sat behind you, his broad chest acting as a backrest for your tiny body. He guided you through the assignment, his voice calm and intellectual, the software engineer in him breaking down the complex parts into something you could understand. But as he spoke, his hands weren't staying still. He began to massage your shoulders, his strong fingers kneading the tension away, before his hands wandered down to squeeze your breasts through your thin t-shirt.
"Jeno, I'm trying to study," you giggled, though you were already arching your back into his touch.
"I'm helping you, kitten," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "But you're distracting me just by existing."
The study session, as usual, devolved into a frantic make-out session on the desk, books sliding to the floor as he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He didn't ask if you wanted to stop; he just took you right there, your small frame dwarfed by his power, filling you up until you were sobbing his name.
Now, it is Sunday evening, and the atmosphere has shifted from sweet to electric. Youâve transitioned into your role as his private dancer. Youâre wearing a set of lingerie that is barely thereâa sheer, crimson lace number with strings that tie precariously at your hips and a top that barely covers the peaks of your breasts. You know exactly how much he loves it. You know how the sight of your small, curvy frame draped in something so slutty makes his pupils blow wide, stripping away the "gentleman" persona and leaving only the possessive man who wants to claim every inch of you.
"Jeno, look! Do you like it?" you chirp, spinning around for him. You love the way his name feels on your tongue, and you love the way he looks at youâlike you're the only thing in the world that matters.
He doesn't answer immediately. He just stands there, his glasses gone, his dark eyes scanning your body with a hunger that makes your toes curl. Heâs towering over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the light, making you feel even tinier than usual. You barely reach his chest, a fact that Jeno absolutely adores.
"Come here, baby," he rasps, his voice low and commanding.
You glide toward him, your hips swaying, and begin your private show. You move with the grace you learned at the club, but this is different. This isn't for a crowd; it's for him. You grind your plush hips against his thighs, your small hands roaming over his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. You sink to your knees, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes while your tongue darts out to lick your lips.
You start with his cock, the centerpiece of your worship. Even through his trousers, the sheer size of him is intimidating and intoxicating. You fumble with his belt, eager to free him, and when his massive, thick shaft springs free, you let out a soft moan. Itâs monstrous, veiny, and pulsingâa heavy slab of meat that you are absolutely addicted to.
"So hungry for it already, kitten?" Jeno chuckles, his hand coming down to ruffle your hair, his fingers gripping the strands just firmly enough to tilt your head back. "You're such a needy little slut for this dick, aren't you?"
"Yes, Jeno... please, I want it," you whimper, leaning forward to swirl your tongue around the broad, leaking head of his cock. You spend a long time on the tip, sucking the pre-cum from the slit, treating him like a god. You take him deep, your throat stretching to accommodate his girth, your eyes fluttering shut as you focus on the taste and feel of him.
Jeno groans, his hips twitching. He loves how you worship him, how you treat his cock like the most precious thing in existence. But as the dance continues and you move back up to give him a lap dance, his patience snaps.
As you straddle his lap, grinding your tight pussy against his thigh, Jenoâs hands suddenly clamp onto your waist. With a sudden, violent tug, he rips the crimson lace of your lingerie. The sound of the fabric shredding fills the room, leaving you completely naked and exposed.
"Enough dancing," he growls.
He manhandles you effortlessly, lifting you up and slamming you back onto the bed. He doesn't ask; he just takes. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, his grip like iron, while he uses the other to spread your soft, creamy thighs wide. He spends a few moments just staring at youâyour tiny waist, your wide hips, and the pink, dripping slit of your pussy that is already pulsing for him.
"You're so fucking small, Angel," he whispers, his voice a mix of tenderness and raw lust. "I can't believe how tight you are. It's like you were made specifically to be stretched out by me."
He doesn't go straight for the kill. He wants to taste you first. Jeno flips you over, shoving your face into the pillows and hiking your round, firm ass high into the air. He lets out a low hiss of approval at the sight of your backside. He leans in, his broad tongue licking your tight little ring, swirling around the entrance of your ass with a precision that makes you scream into the mattress.
He sucks your asshole into his mouth, the vacuum pressure sending electric shocks through your spine. You've come just from his suction before, and today is no different. Your walls clench and release as he tongue-fucks your ass, his fingers sliding into your pussy simultaneously. He pushes one, two, three, and then four fingers deep into your tight channel, stretching you wide, mimicking the girth of his cock.
"You're taking it so well, baby," he praises, his voice guttural. "Such a good little slut for Daddy."
Finally, he can't take it anymore. He pulls his fingers out with a wet pop and lines himself up. He doesn't use a condom; he never does. He wants to feel every ridge of your internal walls. He thrusts forward in one singular, devastating motion.
A loud, piercing cry escapes you as he buries himself to the hilt. You are so tiny, and he is so massive, that it feels like he's splitting you in half. The sensation is overwhelmingâa mixture of intense pressure and an agonizingly beautiful heat. He fills every single millimeter of you, his thick shaft stretching your pussy to its absolute limit.
"God, you're so tight," Jeno pants, his face contorted with pleasure. He begins to pound into you with a rhythmic, punishing violence. Every thrust is a blunt force, his heavy balls slapping against your plush ass with a loud, fleshy sound. He loves the jiggle of your cheeks with every hit, the way your body bounces under his weight.
He reaches around to grab your breasts, squeezing them firmly, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples as he hammers into your womb.
"I'm going to breed you, baby," he roars, his voice primal. "I'm going to fill you with so much cum that you'll be leaking me for days. I want four of them, Angel. Two boys, two girls. I want a whole house full of little versions of you, all belonging to me."
The thought of being bred by him, of carrying his children, sends you over the edge. You scream his name over and over, "Jeno! Jeno! Please, Jeno!"
He hits your cervix with a final, bone-deep slam, his entire body locking up. He erupts inside you, hot, thick jets of seed flooding your womb. He doesn't pull out; he stays buried deep, pulsing and throbbing, ensuring that every drop of his breeding is deposited deep within your conquered body.
As he slowly collapses on top of you, his weight crushing you into the mattress, he kisses your neck softly, his rough demeanor shifting back to the man who adores you.
"I've got you, baby," he whispers, ruffling your hair. "Daddy's got you."
what if both ideas combine like hoon asking his girl for threesome/open relationship in which is girl ended up agreeing to but in one condition, he needs to use condom then he'll try to purposely break the condom
unedited. contains themes of infidelity/dubcon/threesomes.
donât like, donât read.
+++++
Throughout Sunghoonâs life, heâs always gravitated towards nice girls.
Theyâre nice, easygoing, and itâs never been hard for him to date girls when he looks as handsome as he does. His girlfriend knows this very well after being with him for the past year and a half. Sunghoon is just as nice and respectful as she is. He didnât know much else other than the quiet girls who match his introverted tendencies.
The sex is just fine. Sunghoon puts his dick in a wet pussy and cums every time. Sex before bed and on special occasions feels like heâs making sweet love to his loyal girlfriend who enjoys being some kind of trophy girl in proximity to someone as eye catching as Sunghoon.
Heâd whisper sweet nothings in her ear and hold her hand while she orgasms around his thick cock. Sheâs content with him suffocating her body against the mattress and how his hands roam her naked chest until heâs squeezing and pinching her nipples. He was fine with it too, until meeting you at a bar one Saturday night.
Sunghoon swears it was just a one time thing. He was with his friends with two beers in his system when you brush against his arm at the bar. Sunghoon looks down to see you standing beside him, seemingly paying no attention to him. He turns back to try and get the bartenderâs attention (unsuccessfully doing so until you wave your arm out to flag one, who tells you heâll be with you in a minute).
âWhatâs your poison?â You ask him.
âHm?â Sunghoon leans down to hear what youâre saying. That was his first mistake. You grin and step on your toes so he can hear you better and put your hand on his bicep.
âWhatâs your poison?â You repeat. Sunghoon blushed at your touch and hopes you donât see because of the dark light in the bar.
âBeer for tonight.â
âAny specific kind?â
Sunghoon looks at you like heâs confused until the bartender comes back. He diverts his attention when you order and open a tab. Heâs surprised when you tell the bartender to put whatever he wants under your tab. Itâs the first time a stranger bought him a drink.
He knows he should probably say thank you and walk away, but heâs so grateful to save $15 on beer that he follows you to the dance floor and tries not to drop his drink in the process. Itâs packed and warm, and the cool bottle in his hand isnât doing anything to soothe him. Your body being so close to his own isnât helping either.
Sunghoon doesnât know how it happens. He drinks half of the beer while you dance on him and the two of you get to know each other just a little more before your hand slides down his abdomen. Sunghoon doesnât stop you when your hand touches his belt, and he doesnât stop you when you cup his crotch.
He isnât thinking about his girlfriend. Instead, Sunghoonâs thinking about the fact that heâs rock hard for someone he met twenty minutes ago. Being touched by you in public is exhilarating for him. He doesnât think heâs ever experienced a high quite like this.
You kiss on his neck and grope him through his pants until heâs gripping your body like heâs scared youâll stop. You donât, though. You squeeze his hard on and push your hand underneath his shirt to feel his toned abs and tell him you live ten minutes from this place.
Against his better judgment, Sunghoon follows you into a taxi and restrains himself from public indecency until the two of you are in the confines of your apartment. The kisses are wet and messy. You let him shove his big dick in your mouth and he experiences fucking a tight throat for the first time. It makes him cum so hard that he feels sorry when your mouth gurgles the cum and spit. Something about the way you smile at him makes his dick twitch.
Sunghoon eats your pussy like heâs starved on your bed until you squirt and fucks you like heâs got some pent up steam he needs to let go of. The sex is hot, raw, and nasty between the loud moans and realizing that heâs fucking without a condom for the first time.
When you sit on top of him and glide his swollen tip against your pussy, Sunghoon says something he might regret.
âI have a girlfriend.â
Your hands, which are steady on his shoulder, grip him just as youâre about to sink on his cock. You look down at him and heâs looking right back up at you, wondering if youâll kick him out and leave him to fist himself to the memory of your naked tits and ass when he gets home to his girlfriend, who is no doubt asleep at this hour.
But you donât. You sink halfway down on him and feel his fingers dig into your asscheeks.
âShe must not satisfy you.â
When your ass touches his thighs as you bounce on top of him, Sunghoon finally realizes what heâs been missing all along. Youâre so much tighter than his girlfriend. Youâre wetter and nastier than she is with your sharp words and aggressive touch. It encourages him to grope your body disrespectfully until you moan into his mouth, tongues clashing until spit falls from between you two.
He ends the night by fucking you from behind with his hands spreading your ass as he watches himself disappear into your tight little hole. Sunghoon doesnât think when he cums. He doesnât think to ask you if youâre on birth control, and quite frankly, he doesnât care (and neither do you).
Sunghoon leaves that night with your number in his phone and doesnât feel an ounce of regret when he walks into his apartment and sees his girlfriend sleeping on her side of the bed. All this time, heâs been missing out on incredible, controlling sex. The porn he watches when heâs alone doesnât satisfy him anymore. Heâs unlocked a new version of him and doesnât want to go back to regular, vanilla sex, and decides to start seeing you a few times a week.
Maybe part of him feels guilty for cheating on his girlfriend. Maybe he shouldâve broken it off the first time. Itâs too complicated and you donât seem to be bothered by it, so why should he change his life if heâs having mind blowing sex?
Heâs extra touchy with his girlfriend one evening, pressing his crotch against her ass and caging her boys between his arms and the counter. Sheâs caught off guard because heâs never been like thisâperverted, touching her body without asking first. Sunghoonâs hands glide from her shoulders to her ass as he kicks her feet apart and bends his knees enough to slot his semi-hard dick between her asscheeks.
âLetâs have a threesome,â he mutters while kissing her neck. His lips are so gentle, a contraction to his wild request.
âYou want to invite another person into the bedroom?â
âMhm.â Sunghoon ruts his hips into her ass and she grips the counter for stability. âDonât you think that would be hot?â
âI donât knowâŠâ
âOh, come on. Donât tell me youâve never thought about it.â
âWellâŠI havenât.â
âNever?â
She shakes her head. âNever.â
âHmm, well, Iâve been thinking about it for some time now.â
âWhat?â
âYeah. It would be hot to fuck two people at the same time.â Sunghoon pulls her shorts down and pulls his sweatpants just low enough to make his hard dick spring free, where he spits on it until she hears him jacking off behind her.
âW-Where is this coming from? Youâre not usually so forward.â
Sunghoon doesnât tell her much about why heâs thinking about it. Maybe itâs the thought of making excuses to have sex with you with his girlfriendâs permission, or maybe Sunghoon wants her to know exactly how he likes to have sex. No more of that vanilla shit. He wants rough, creamy sex that leaves them both sweaty and spent.
His girlfriend gasps when he breaches her hole and pushes half of himself inside of her. Sunghoon holds onto the counter and starts to thrust in and out, and all his girlfriend can do is keep her legs open to welcome his cock.
âH-Hoon, you need a condom.â
âShh.â He turns her jaw and kisses her lips. âJust enjoy it.â Sunghoon pushes the entirety of his dick inside of her until she jolts forward.
âIâm serious. Fuck.â
âFeels so good,â he moans. Her wetness splashes onto him and he fucks her faster, thrusting his hips right against her ass until sheâs squeaking.
âToo much!â She moans.
âBut so good, right? Think about how good the sex will be if we invite someone else.â
âDo you have someone in mind?â
Sunghoon moans. âYeah, I do. Youâll like her.â
âHer?â
He pulls out when he cums and leaves her ass with his hot seed dripping before pushing it around with his tip.
His girlfriend relents to the threesome, eventually.
Itâs a bit awkward when you come to his apartment on the night it goes down. His girlfriend looks like sheâs uncomfortable with the fact that her boyfriend is letting another girl touch his body, but neither of them are paying much attention to anything but sex.
The three of you are in the spacious bedroom and Sunghoon canât help but stare at you when you take off the dress you wore for tonight, revealing exquisite lingerie that barely hides your chest and pussy. His girlfriend feels a bit unprepared in her lacy short nightgown that once used to entice Sunghoon because of how her breasts spilled from the top. Has she worn this too much? Does Sunghoon not like this dress anymore?
Itâs almost like Sunghoon is in his own little world when you push your tits together in front of him. His cock springs to life against his boxers and doesnât shy away from his girlfriendâs touch when she pulls them down his legs. Your hands glide all over his sculpted body as she sinks to her knees and take him in his mouth, but itâs not enough.
Itâs never enough. Sheâs too polite with it and never takes the risk of choking on his dick. Heâs big and girthy, and he knows his girlfriend wonât ever indulge him when it comes to throat fucking. But she does her best and bobs her head halfway down his cock in an attempt to get Sunghoon to focus on her instead of watching you touch him. It barely works.
âWhy donât you kiss Sunghoon while I blow him.â You pull her off of his cock and she sits there, stunned at how a stranger could ever command her when in the presence of her boyfriend. Sheâs too shocked to fight back when you push her body aside to kneel in front of him and shove his cock inside of your mouth.
She looks up at Sunghoon for some kind of reassurance. He beckons her up from his knees and surges forward to kiss her while your mouth sucks on his balls as your hand strokes him, thumb swiping his sensitive slit. He loves that you pay attention to his sack and make a mess of him there. He loves your tight throat and the way you tease his too by gliding your tongue without pushing yourself too hard until youâre ready.
Sunghoon is lost in the feeling of your mouth and drools against his girlfriendâs mouth. Itâs messy and drips onto her chest. She wipes it with her hand and focuses on the way heâs moaning directly into her, but a pang of jealousy echoes in her heart when he realizes heâs moaning because of you.
Too little too late to realize, though. Your headâs pushing and pulling away from his crotch at a rapid pace and heâs tipping his head back while grunting at the feeling of you choking on his fat dick. Heâs moved his hands from his girlfriendâs waist to lock your head in place. Sunghoon parts his legs and thrusts deeply into your throat, letting the sounds of your loud gags ring through his ears as he chases his first orgasm.
âStay still.â He says. âRelax your jaw and let me fuck you.â
His girlfriend pulls away, shocked with his command and the tone of his voice. She watches with tears nearly brimming in her eyes when he watches her boyfriend lose himself in your mouth and when he wipes the spit spilling out. Blowjobs with him are always sweet and sensual. They never look or sound like this.
âWhat a good girl.â Sunghoon mutters with his eyes closed shut. âIâm gonna cum.â
Thatâs your only warning. He pushes himself all the way to the back of your throat and cums deep, his hot seed making you choke with every breath you take. Your mascara is beautifully smudged. Sunghoon takes his thumb and wipes underneath your eyes with his cock still lodged in your throat.
He kisses you when you stand up and gropes your ass. The girlfriend stands a bit awkwardly to the side, pussy wet from seeing Sunghoonâs monster cock, but jealous that heâs kissing you like that. Heâs barely touched her all evening. She has to pry a hand from your body for him to touch her.
Sunghoon pulls away from both you and her eventually to lay down on the bed with his cock still rock hard. It stands tall and he beckons you over his face with a sly grin that makes his girlfriend quirk an eyebrow, but he pays no mind when your pussy is right in front of his face.
When you take a seat, Sunghoonâs moan vibrates against your body. Heâs gripping your ass and leaving indents in your skin while you moan and grab onto the headboard for stability. His tongue prods and thrusts inside of your wet entrance and precum erupts from his tip.
His girlfriend strokes him with her tiny hand delicately like itâs a foreign object to her now that sheâs seen your throat on him. She thought she knew Sunghoonâthey lost their virginity to each otherâbut he just let another woman suck him off. The thought of giving him a blowjob when heâs engrossed in you doesnât sit well with her. Might as well reclaim her rightful spot and cum on his cock, right? She grabs a condom from the desk and puts it on him, experimentally touching his balls the way she watches you do it earlier.
She sinks down on him and uses his thighs as leverage, bouncing on his dick until heâs reaching her cervix. His girlfriend moans alongside the two of you and tries to ignore the painful scene of your pussy on top of his face as she chased her orgasm.
She clenches her pussy around him and fucks herself onto his cock. The rubber doesnât feel as good now that she knows what it feels like to fuck without one. But she moans anyway because his cock is huge and her boyfriendâs body is sinful.
âSunghoon.â She whimpers. When he doesnât respond because heâs too focused on making you cum, she whimpers his name again, a sick feeling of ache and pleasure dwelling in her chest.
She rides him until she cums and stills her body as the shocks override her senses. His girlfriend holds onto him for stability as she finishes and carefully slides herself off of him, pulling the condom off and discarding it in the trash.
You come with a loud moan when she looks back and heâs grunting like a madman against you as you do. Back arched in ways sheâs never been able to before, Sunghoonâs girlfriend walks back to the side of the bed as you get off of his body and as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
âCanât wait to fuck you.â Sunghoon says shamelessly as he stares at your bare body once youâve taken the bra off. He tugs on himself when you lay on your back and spread your legs, pushing his tip inside of you until his girlfriendâs hands pull him back.
âWe agreed on using condoms.â She says, looking at Sunghoon like sheâs pleading with him. He sighs and pulls out of you reluctantly before putting the rubber on himself. His girlfriend nods in satisfaction, but her body remains frozen when Sunghoon eagerly climbs back on top of you.
Your hole winks at him the more he stares at it and plunges right back into you.
âI needed this.â He groans as he sinks the entirety of his cock into you.
Sunghoon bends down and places his arms next to your head while he spreads his legs wider on the bed, knees digging into the mattress. His warm balls slap against your ass when he pulls himself back to thrust into you at a brutal pace that makes you feel like heâs trying to get you pregnant.
The skin slapping echoes in the room while you rush to wrap your arms around his muscular shoulders and claw your nails down his back. His girlfriend sits on the edge of the bed, naked. She watches as Sunghoon pounds his fat dick right into your pussy and feels a pang in her chest when he focuses all of his attention on fucking you.
He can feel your wetness splashing onto his abdomen the more he fucks you. Sunghoonâs purposely moving roughly in an attempt to break the stupid protectionâitâs not like the two of you use it when you have sex anywayâbut fears his girlfriend will end this before he can cum.
So he does. He fucks, and fucks, and fucks. Sunghoon groans like an animal when your tight walls clean around him like youâre trying to entrap him in your pussy forever. Itâs so warm and wet, so slippery. Youâd feel better if he wasnât wearing a condom.
âGet on your knees.â Sunghoon tells you, only for you to clamber into position when he pulls out. You hear him tugging on himself over the condom until he plunges back into you with one feet planted on the mattress while he has his other knee in the air.
âYeahhh. What a nice fucking pussy.â
His balls push against your clit and spanks you in a way that makes a string of moans echo throughout the room. His girlfriend watches with a mixture of terror and intrigue. Why is Sunghoon never like this with her? Whatâs gotten into him that heâs barely paying attention to anything but you?
Sunghoon grips your body and slams himself into you, pulling you against him and pushing you away to chase his high. He looks like a king when he fucks like this. It makes her wish she was in your place.
Your body collapses onto the bed from his sheer force and Sunghoon keeps having sex with you like that even though you lay limp beneath him. Your hole accommodates his girthy size and heâs long given up on trying to break the condom when your pussy feels this good.
He moves you to your back once more and pushes his chest down to yours. Your tits squish against his pecs while he captures your lips in a searing kiss, his own hips slanging against your own.
âHoon, stop.â His girlfriend says while sheâs hesitantly putting her hand on his upper back in an attempt to remove him from you. âI-I donât like this.â
âFuck, Iâm so close.â He moans right with you when he feels you cream around him. The rubber is so slippery.
âSunghoonâŠâ she pleads.
He doesnât listen. She watches like a pathetic voyeur and doesnât have the strength to pull him back even though she tries her best to pull his body off of you. Sunghoon refuses to give up when heâs so close to cumming inside of you and tries to shrug off her attempts to stop him from fucking you even more.
âIâm gonna fucking cum.â
âNo, pleaseâŠâ his girlfriend whispers. âSunghoon, please.â
âTaking this cock like a champ.â He mutters against your lips. âWhat a good girl, huh?â
âFuck!â You moan.
âHere it comes, baby. Fuck, fuck, Iâm gonna fill you up. Take it. Fucking take it.â
Sunghoon pushes himself to the hilt and clenches his ass when heâs shooting his load right into the condom. His girlfriend watches you clamber to hold him tightly against your chest and as he closes his eyes shut and keeps his mouth wide open when he cums.
His girlfriend watches as he returns to your mouth to kiss you. Her heart shatters at the sight of him kissing another woman, but this is what she agreed to, right? Isnât this normal?
âIâm gonna get us water.â She croaks. Sunghoon pulls away and out of you to look at her briefly.
âGood idea.â
He returns his attention to you and she gets up, dresses herself without panties and walks out of the room to fetch three glasses.
It isnât until she hears you giggling that she peeks her head around the door and watches Sunghoon remove the condom. His cum drips down his cock while you sling your legs over his lap and sink down on him, his white cream spreading between the two of you.
She nearly chokes when Sunghoonâs hands grip your asscheeks and help you ride him like heâs done to her a million times before.
But she promises to get water, so thatâs what she does.
"Riki's supposed to be grinding rank but instead he's face-deep between your legs."
pairing: è„żæć Ă f!reader
cw: pure filth, soft dom riki, creampie, 18+ (mndi)
Wc: around 1.5k
The low hum of his PC fans filled the small dorm room, RGB lights casting soft purple and blue glows across the walls. Riki was slouched in his chair, legs spread, black hoodie half-zipped over a plain white vest that reveals the lean muscle he hid under baggy clothes. His messy black hair fell into his eyes as he stared at the monitor, fingers tapping the mouse absentmindedly.He knew youâd come over straight after your last class.
âBaby,â he muttered without looking up at first. âGimme a sec, this patch just dropped and the metaâs fucked.â
You didnât answer with words. Instead you crossed the room, sliding onto his lap sideways, thighs bracketing one of his. The chair creaked under the shift. Rikiâs breath hitched, one hand instinctively landing on your waist, fingers pressing into the warm skin where your top rode up.
âFuck⊠hi,â he breathed, finally tearing his eyes off the screen. His gaze dragged over you slow, like he still couldnât believe this was real. You felt the way his cock twitched under you through his sweats, already half-hard just from you sitting on him.
You leaned in, brushing your lips against his jaw. âYouâve been staring at that monitor for hours. Take a break.â
He swallowed, Adamâs apple bobbing. âYeah⊠yeah okay. Just the new championâs kit is actually insane, the way the passive scales withâ shit, nevermind.âHis hand tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you into a deep, messy kiss his tongue sliding against yours.
His hands moved then, sliding under your top, palms warm and a little rough from all the hours spent on his keyboard. He pushed the fabric up, exposing your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they peaked. You arched into the touch and he took the invitation, mouth latching onto one, sucking slow and wet while his other hand squeezed your ass, pulling you tighter against him. You rocked your hips once, grinding down against the growing bulge in his sweats. Riki groaned into your mouth, the sound low and wrecked. âYouâre so fucking hot,Donât even know how youâre mine.â
You tilted his chin up, forcing his dark eyes to stay locked on yours before you kissed him messily. Riki let out a groan into your mouth when you tugged his sweats down, freeing his cock. It slapped heavy against his stomach, already leaking.
You took his length into your hands, thumbing the wet bead at the tip before smearing it down the shaft. Your fingers curled tight around the base, and you began to slide your hand up, guiding him right up to your face so he could watch exactly what you were doing.
Rikiâs head dropped back against the headrest exposing the long, tense line of his throat as you took the entire head straight into your mouth, lips stretching around the thick head to accommodate the thickness,tongue swirling as you sank down. Saliva pooled fast, dripping from the corners of your mouth as you bobbed, taking him deeper each time until he nudged the back of your throat. Tears pricked your eyes but you kept going, hollowing your cheeks, slurping loud and wet around him. Your hand worked what didnât fit, twisting slick with spit.
Riki cursed his voice shaky from the pleasure you're givingâFuck⊠just like that.â You pulled off for a breath, strings of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his cock. You gathered the mess, spitting it back onto his length before diving down again, messier this time. Saliva dripped down your jaw, onto your tits. You poked the head against the inside of your cheek, letting it bulge visibly before slurping it back in, tongue pressing along the underside.
Riki's watching every second, hips twitching like he was fighting not to thrust. You kissed along his hip bone, leaving a glossy print of your lips, then took him deep again, gagging softly spit running everywhere. When you pulled back to breathe you spit on his dick once more, smearing it with your hand, stroking fast and sloppy while your tongue flicked the tip.
âShitâ Iâm gonna get your lip mark tatted right here,â Riki rasped, thumb brushing the wet spot you left on his hip. His voice cracked a little. âRight where you just kissed. Fuck, youâre such a good girl for me."
He dropped his head back against the chair, his mind completely short-circuiting as you kept your mouth wrapped tight around him. He started mumbling nonsence ,his voice strained and desperate, "shit, baby, slow down or Iâm gonna cum already." You didnât slow you took him deeper crying pretty tears that mixed with the drool, slurping and spitting and playing with his cock. Rikiâs hand eventually tangled in your hair, just holding on while his thighs tensed.
The chair wasnât built for this,So he pulled you off gently before he lost it, breathing hard.âCâmere.â He stood, lifting you onto the bed in one smooth motion. His sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
"I saw you walking past the library earlier," he rasped, forehead resting against your collarbone for a second before he kissed down to your shoulder. "Wanted to just grab you and bring you back here right then." His hands slid to your waist, fingers undoing your jeans and tugging them down along with your panties in one go. The cool air hit your skin and you shivered.
He sat back on his knees for a second, just looking, eyes dark behind his glasses. âSo wet already⊠thatâs insane.â Two fingers dragged through your folds, spreading the slick, circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your hips jerk. He pushed one finger in, then two, curling them just right while his thumb kept rubbing lazy circles. wet heat of you swallowing him to the knuckles as he started a slow, rhythmic pump. He angled his hand, curling his fingers upward to hook against your sweet spot, making you gasp as his thumb kept grinding lazy, heavy circles against your clit.
Before you could even process the stretch of his fingers, Riki leaned down, burying his face between your thighs. He parted you with his free hand and ran his tongue over you giving you two slow, incredibly wet, sliding swipes right over your clit. You arched completely off the mattress, a breathy sob catching in your throat from the sudden contrast of his hot tongue.
With a low, guttural groan, Riki pulled his fingers out, dripping with your fluids. He sat back up and brought his hand to his mouth, slowly licking his fingers clean with a heavy scrape of his tongue, his dark eyes locked onto yours the entire time before he finally lined himself up.
He pushed in slow, his jaw clenching as he stretched you open. His eyes never left yours, wide and dark behind his glasses, tracking every twitch of your face. "Fuck, you're so warm baby, so sexy," he breathed, his voice cracking a little under the tension. He sank all the way in and just stopped, buried to the hilt, his chest heaving against yours while you took a trembling breath to adjust. When his hips finally gave a slow, lazy tilt grinding his pelvis hard against your clit it dragged a ragged gasp straight out of your throat.
Then he started moving. Deep, steady thrusts that made the bed creak. Not fast at first he liked to drag it out, make you feel every single slide of his cock. One hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your thigh, spreading you wider. The angle let him hit that spot inside you perfectly.
âGod, look at you,â he murmured, voice hoarse. âTaking me so well. My pretty girl. I can't believe you're mine, hahâ then his pace picked up , the friction turning fast and messy as he drove into you, cutting off your breath with every hard shove. Riki leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck and biting down on the sensitive skin just below your jaw. He sucked a dark, bruised mark there, his thumb tracing the spot like a proud little bitch.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, urging him deeper. Riki cursed under his breath, shifting to hook one of your legs higher. The new angle made everything sharper. His cock dragged against that perfect spot with every thrust and his pubic bone ground against your clit.
BâFuckâ youâre squeezing me so good. Gonna make me lose it.â The ramble slipped out again between thrusts. âThe way your pussy flutters⊠itâs like that one boss fight in Elden Ring, the timing window is so tightâshit, baby, Iâm close already.â
You were close, heat coiling tight in your belly. He could feel it, the way you clenched around him. Riki reached between you, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing firm circles while he fucked you harder. âCome on, cum for me. Wanna feel it.â
It hit you fast, back arching off the bed, thighs shaking as you came around his cock. Riki groaned loud, hips stuttering but keeping the rhythm through it, drawing it out until you were gasping. Only then did he let himself go, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a broken moan, hips grinding through the pulses.
He didnât pull out right away. Just collapsed half on top of you, cock still twitching inside, warm cum leaking out around him. His face pressed into your neck, breathing hard. âLove you⊠so much. Donât know what I did to deserve this.â
You ran your fingers through his messy hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He hummed, content, pressing a lazy kiss to your collarbone.
After a minute he finally slipped out, rolling to the side and pulling you against his chest. Cum dripped down your thigh in warm spills. Riki pulled his comforter draping it over you both keeping his arms wrapped tight around your waist.
âStay the night?â he asked softly, already sounding half-asleep. âWe can watch that new episode⊠or just nap. Whatever you want.â
You nodded against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
He pressed one last kiss to your temple, fingers tracing lazy patterns. on your back. â love u my angelâ he whispered, almost to himself. Then his breathing evened out, warm and steady against your skin.The PC fans kept humming in the background, RGB lights still pulsing soft colors across the room.
"sweet love, all night long" or "hot summer nights, mid-july"
SUMMARY: you had always envisioned having a perfect wedding night; and how lovely of your husband to make it a reality :) (5.8k)
PAIRING: newlyweds! riki x afab!reader
CONTAINS: smut (mdni) unprotected sex, creampie, light spanking, newlyweds, wedding night anxiety, romance, fluff, switch!ki, petnames, gentle praise.....both reader and ki are kinda whiny ngl, mostly proofread!
NOTES: another husband ki fic bc i am a sucker for it!!! can be read as their first time as a married couple, or their first time together: left it up to you guys, lmk what you think !! :)
you eyed the woman in the mirror with an expression of sheer determination.
in a matter of moments, she would inevitably have to leave the comfort of the porcelain sinks and granite counter of the double vanity. the familiarity that came with the reflection of oneself before stepping into something entirely new, and everything that would come with such. this, unlike the scrunch of her brow or nerve-bitten lips, could not be known as well, or determined as confidently.
because....how could one visualize such a thing, anyway? begin to picture the start of something so broad and vast as the future. measure or begin to fathom something as magnificent as the start of forever? you could ponder the thought of it all day and become none the wiser. the only thing you knew for certain, was that the start of it lay on the other side of the door, with a heart in sync with yours and a promise along his finger to match.
you held up your own ring to the light, heart fluttering at how even the dimmest of such could make the diamonds along the band shimmer in radiance. how you wish its brilliance could somehow kindle a spark of your own.
it wasn't that you weren't excited; you were rather enthralled, really. still had a substantial amount of spunk despite the afterparty running later than intended (no doubt due to jake's challenge to jay on the dancefloor), and had been waiting for what felt like ages for this night specifically.
this sentiment, however, did not negate the anxiety that came with it. the feeling seemed to cling to you from the moment you entered the honeymoon suite; remained there as you freshened up from the night's events, as if insulted by the thought you could simply wash it away. it was amazing, really; how persistent nerves could be.
though the feeling had been ever so relentless, it is with a swift turn from the mirror that you ground yourself in the moment. the band along your finger had no doubt come with a lot; you simply hoped that it would somehow grant you enough courage to not only enjoy the night, but own it.
so, just before you exit the bathroom in the suite-provided silk robe, you bring the gold to your lips, and give the door a push.
your heart thuds in anticipation as you cross the threshold into the rose-petaled main room, already feeling the presence of eyes along your figure.
it's only when you meet the dark orbs from across the room, that you swear it nearly stops altogether.
he sits on the edge of the bed in loose-fitting clothing and with a dew of blond hair that refuses to completely dry. he'd only taken a few minutes in the shower earlier, one you convinced him to take alone while you'd rested up your feet âtruly, it was to steady your nerves, and albeit a fruitless attemptâ and now remained hunched over, twisting his own jewelry in hand.
you wondered if the same thoughts floated around his mind. if he wondered what the events of tonight would entail, and so on. if he had been confident about the transition from mere lovers to lifemates, and how it would show up in aspects of life big and small: from tonight to forever.
if he does ponder the thought, a soft smile etches its way into his features in response to it; or perhaps it is the trail of vanilla and cocoa you leave in your wake that does it. nonetheless you watch as he straightens his figure out in your presence, dropping the finger from the band as you near the edge of the bed.
"hey baby," he says, the darkness in his eyes as deep as the tone of the voice that brings the words. "you look nice."
you offer a small smile back, a larger one threatening to spill from the growing anticipation of his words. you nearly need to bite it back as you watch his eyes dance along the thin fabric of your robe. "thank you, ki,"
"mhm," he hums, extending his arms to snake around your waist when you stand before him at the satin-dressed mattress. "looked so nice all day, today," he says. "beautiful."
"so did you," you say, and nearly feel your breath hitch at the way his arms tighten around your waist. or perhaps it's at the days recollection, the velvet suit he'd worn as he spoke his vows. the tears, with pride in his eyes as you'd spoken yours in his native tongue. the smile he'd worn on the ballroom floor at the reception. it was the happiest you think you'd seen him to date. "my handsome husband."
"my lovely wife," the warm light of the suite; just as with the diamonds, does nothing to dull the sparkle in his eyes as he looks up at you. "my gorgeous girl."
his words cause a stir in your chest, and you feel the pressing thud of your heart against it. you liked how both words sounded, vastly different, yet somehow synonymous. "wife," you repeat, the smile on your lips stretching ever so slightly. then, curiously: "still girl?"
a chuckle leaves his lips, warm and low. "still my girl," he utters, placing a kiss along your waist in between words. "always my girl."
a pooling sensation at his touch accompanies the thrum against your chest. you let yourself bathe in his gentle words, willing the heat of the pressing anxiety to see itself out. always sounded as lovely as forever on his lips, but it's as if your mind could not fathom that it all began tonight.
as his hands steady themselves along your hips, you wonder how he would remember this evening. would the passage of time change the memory as easily as it had titles? would he look back at this moment, and hold it with the same reverence as he did you?
he seems to pick up on your silence, because the syllables of his concern emit in a low hum along your sparsely clothed skin. "that okay, hun?" he asks. "hm?"
you only nod, willing the shake in your fingers to steady as they find solace in the damp hair of your husband. a hum of acknowledgment leaves your lips in response, not low enough to be unheard; hopefully loud enough to rival the sound of your heart.
no matter, though. it seems as if the vague noise hadn't been enough to satisfy his thoughts. "talk to me, pretty." he pauses, looking up at your eyes so dark you could lose yourself in them. "what's wrong?"
you bite your lip, bringing your hands from his hair toward yours. "it's not.....it's nothing, really." you say. "i....i justâ" you start, in a defeated tone, as the preposition had been ridiculous. "i feel......nervous?"
as soon as the words leave, you wish you could stuff them back in. "it's silly, i know, butâ"
riki's grip loosens from your body, and he shakes his head at the words, as if to affirm they are indeed frivolous, though not for the reason you insist. "s'not silly," he cooes, bringing his hand up to cup your warm cheek. "not at all."
he breathes along your skin, speaking the words back ever so gently. "i am, too." he says, a tinge of color dressing his cheeks. "been nervous all day."
it understandably had been a mutual feeling throughout the day, of course. after having planned out the event for up to a year, to hoping every intricate detail unfolded as well as it did on paper. from the vows, to the wardrobe, to the songs of the choir.
but that was just it; you could plan a wedding; choose how many tiers a cake would have, what flavor it would be; how many guests there were and who would sit with whom. you could not plan down to a t how the night of your wedding would go. could not predict how you'd feel after the weight of the event, the accumulation of every intricate choice and painstaking decision from over the past year. how unorthodox or traditional the night would be after everything. all you knew was that just as the event had been, you needed everything that followed to hold the same glint of glory.
"but also," riki adds, bringing his hand from your cheek to grab yours and bring it down to hold. "i've been very excited."
you nod in agreement, feeling the weight lift only some. "this is...our wedding night," you say, swallowing at the thought. "everyone remembers their wedding night."
it's true; the good and the bad, the pretty and ugly. the fostered promises and catalyst for many more. tonight was completely ceremonial, a display of true devotion, and one to remember. was it so much to hope that this, just as the wedding day had been, would be perfect?
he swipes his thumb across your hand. "we will, too," he says, a hint of pride in his tone. "whether we end up shaking the bed or....." he raises a brow, joy in his features. "ordering a pizza."
a laugh leaves your lips at that, and you feel a bit more of the tension slip from your body. it's only furthered when he picks up your ringed hand, before bringing the cool sensation to his lips. then, as if reading your mind: "tonight will be memorable and perfect, because it is ours," he says, in a tone reminiscent of the vows he made earlier, tinged with the intimacy of the words belonging solely to you. "because i am me, and you are you."
as he trailed kisses along your waist, you drank in his words like a potation. if the very essence of them was what brought him peace, it was no surprise that you began to feel the same way. tonight had been reserved for you both, and that alone. not to exist in a memory; not merely for older, and wearier versions of yourself to look back on with pride; but for you both, here and now.
so, rather than shying away from the persistent thud in your chest, you use it as an anchor. allow the anticipation of the night to guide you; or in this case, your fingers into the strands of his hair.
he hums at the contact, the vibration spreading along your belly as you scrunch at the dampened blond. the heat that rests within your core threatens to spill when his low-lidded eyes find yours again, a newfound question about them.
it's only when his hands meet your sides again, before offering a possessive squeeze, that he decides to verbalize it. "this alright?" he asks. "wanna keep going?"
you nod slowly, tugging at the hair between your fingers. it's nothing more than a gentle one, of course, though it's enough to emit a groan from riki that makes your already struggling chest ache. "mm," he lets out, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.
when they open again, they are filled to the brim with something heavy. his hands tug at your hips, willing your body closer. "c'mere,"
so you do. slowly hook your leg over his to lower yourself into a straddle along the edge. when you're seated upon his lap, he shifts backward a bit, as to make space, before running his hands along your sides. his touch is slow, reverent, despite the slipping restraint prevalent in his features.
you watch as he eyes the slip of your robe, his fingers tracing the fabric, as if teasing the thought of letting it unravel. to both your surprise, however, it's you who ends up reaching to loosen the strap first, letting the silk robe fall in a pool along his straddled legs.
he doesn't say much at first; simply bites his lips as he devours you with his gaze. then, his hands shift from your sides to your back, supporting your frame to bring you closer, the peaks of your chest to his clothed one. he beckons you down further, inviting your lips to his in a single swoop.
when the pair meet his in a dangerous dance, the pressure moves to a firmer, more certain tempo. he lets out another groan, a deep one into your mouth that begets a pool of need below your belly. unintentionally, you find yourself whining into the way his lips move against your own.
there's a soft chuckle you let out at the noise, pulling away only briefly to offer gentler pecks in between. "mm, that's it," he utters, a smile in his voice. "sound so pretty,"
a shiver runs along your spine in the same manner his fingers do, before he opens his mouth to explore more of yours. you ground yourself into his lap, feeling and needing to kiss to deepen. and as the heat of the moment expands, you find your very inhibitions slipping, too.
you feel your weight shift as he leans back into the mattress, pulling you with him. he hurriedly pushes the swan-rolled towel out of the way to make space for the entangled bodies that chase each other's end at an agonizing pace.
hovering over his body, you tug at the hem of his shirt to free him from the fabric. he lifts up to follow the lead, a flex in his abdomen as you pull the garment from his chiseled figure. after the brief break in the kiss, the shirt is immediately disregarded, riki taking not a second longer to bring your bare chest flush to his.
his fingers find themselves curling into your back, not with enough fervor to leave marks, though a clear signal that it is to come. the pressing tent of his pants beneath you aids in the thought as he grunts, murmuring sweet praises and gentle 'love you's' between kisses.
when you're nearly breathless from the lustful haze, he pulls back some, positioning your body so that you remain at a height above his own. a gasp leaves your lips when the warmth of his mouth finds your peak, tongue twisting and teasing around the nipple.
he breaks apart only to engulf the other, eyes trained on every squint of bliss, tremble of lip, and pleased microexpression you have to offer as he suckles. the warmth spreads as he moves his licks and flicks in decadent circles along your breasts, enough so as to ignite a flame. and when you grip the sheets for support, it only propels him forward, as if lapping up every crumbling edge of your disposition.
"ri.....ki," you moan, vision blurring in a haze as pleasure tears at the seams. "that feels......"
he continues to stroke along your bare back, one hand drifting down to the curve of your ass. "that good, pretty?" he gives a squeeze of the sensitive flesh, then a low smack. "hm?"
"mhm," you whimper back, willing your arms to remain steady. it's nearly useless, the attempt, when his hands drift further down, past your ass to rest the palm there. his fingers pluck at the flimsy thong you wear, pulling it to the side to run a soft touch along your folds.
a gasp frees itself from your lips, and you unconsciously push back into the digits, aching for more pressure. "shitt," you hiss, the growing need shifting from a low heat to a gentle throb at your core. "ki, that's.....fuck,"
a scrunch finds his brows as he nibbles along your skin from beneath your body. one you'd count as taunting if it hadn't been paired with such gentle eyes. "huh, baby?" he cooes, tracing gentle circles along your sweet spot. "tell me what you need, mm?"
pressing deeper into his touch is the answer you give, a low whimper stuck in your throat as the slick along your slit audibly dresses his fingers. "m....more," you manage to squeak out between shaky breaths. "more press...ure, please."
the shockwaves that follow his grant to your plea are instant, a burst of bliss spreading from your center along every string of nerves below your waist. the pressure builds to your liking, the pace speeding to a tactful rub along the bundle of nerves. you feel your jaw drop at the euphoria his hands move, swipe, and twist around your clit. "shit ki, fuck,"
his eyes don't leave yours, despite the way they flutter with every stroke of his touch. "like that, baby?"
you nod shamelessly, growing dizzy with every flick of his hand as he moves. "that's......perfect.....god, ki,"
moans leave your lips freely now, only encouraging the movement of his digits between your legs. the sound of your moisture clicks through the air as he presses a finger inside your warmth, offering a slow push that has your toes curling at the sensation it offers.
he chases this reaction, watching as you tremble and twist under his touch as he alternates between finger-fucking and drifting along your clit with precision. he pauses his nibbles along your skin to chew at his own lip, as if in awe by your undoing. "damn, baby." he utters, brows drawn in veneration. "look so good like this,"
his words are the tipping point to your high. because in mere moments, as he hooks his nimble fingers around the slick spot of your heat, you feel a growing tide threaten to spill as he moves. "oh.....my.....fuck, ki," you moan, knuckles straining at the grasp of cotton fabric. "i'm.....gonnaâ"
he grunts at your choked words, his fingers flattening to splay your arousal around your sensitive nub in a devastatingly quick pace. "atta girl," he says. "let go for me,"
you clench uncontrollably around his finger that plunges into you again, mouth agape and freeing jagged breaths as he pushes. riki pulls out of your tightening cunt just before the spasm attacks, back to rubbing wet, messy circles as the wave crashes down.
"huh.....hnggh!" you squeal, trembling as your orgasm takes you, spilling over your body, just as swears do from your lips. "f....fâfuuuck!"
riki's chest rises and falls at your high, as if soaking in all he'd earned. he presses gentle kisses between whispers along your chest, steadying your body with firm hands along your sides. "easy, hun."
you only whimper in agreement, nearly dropping to his chest from the weight of it all. he only tightens his hold, offering support from below as you return to your body.
and when you do, âor rather, mostly soâ there's a hyperawareness of the very clothed growing member beneath you. it sends a jolt through you when you press down, as if aching to give pressure to his need.
he lets out a hiss at the friction, your slick dampening the cotton fabric of his pants in the slow movement. his eyes peer up at yours with a look of fraying restraint, before he brings his ringed hand up to your chin. the gentle orbs swim with a question, as if to make sure everything is still okay.
despite the way your heart trips, you answer by grinding harder onto his lap, earning another low rumble from his chest. you press your chest against his to capture another kiss, this one slower, though not at all delicate.
he moans into your mouth, moving your body toward his abs to tug at his pants. his underwear slips with them, as evident by the way his member slaps against your heat the second it is freed. you gasp at the pressing length, and the sound is enough for him to break the kiss.
he brings his hand up to your face again, verbalizing the concern. "still nervous?"
with the pressing need below your waist, you'd like to say no. but as riki, with dark eyes and tinged hair; your husband, in all his glory, looks back at you, you can't be so sure.
perhaps there would come a day when eyeing him wouldn't send a flutter of butterflies to your belly. maybe soon another when a gentle flush would not coat his cheeks as he eyed your body. perhaps only time would tell how your reactions would shift as life made its way around you.
and though many inhibitions had slipped in the heat of the moment, your heart does not stop its thunderous melody as you stare at the thousands of possibilities within your husband's eyes. nervous could not begin to cover the wave of emotion you felt for him in this moment. you couldn't think of a word that truly could, as you took his hand from your face, and into your own. not here, and maybe not even for years to come.
and for tonight, that was okay.
you bend down to take his lips again, finding your anchor in him to continue. you offer a hum that tells all; while ringing with the truth you decide to whisper. "i want this," you say. "want you."
riki hums at the declaration, a burning ache of his own at your entrance beading with precum. despite the pool of want that surrounds you both, he takes his time, clutching your hand back as if to ease the flutter in your core.
"that's right, pretty," he speaks, acknowledging the words, as well as the tinge of reservation behind them; all in a gentle tone that breathes comfort into you. then, bringing your hand to his chest. "s'just me, yeah?"
he was, himself, the man you'd known for years; yet wasn't. as of tonight, someone new altogether; not a mere lover, but something more permanent, to have and to hold. a husband, you think. a title that too, would fluctuate and blend into another, as boyfriend did to lifemate; and now did till the end of time.
perhaps the pleasure had not been with the familiarity of one, but in getting to know each version over time. and though you well knew the man before tonight, it had been an honor to get to know this version, too, who comfortably carries your love along his hand.
you return a gentle smile back to him, and there's a new feeling that clouds all prior nerves and drenches them in something entirely different. it isn't quite comfort, nor its opposite that follows. it is, instead, an aching feeling that rests in your chest, your core, the essence of you.
it feels like a welcome and a goodbye, this moment. the end of your lives prior to this point, full of juvenile ventures and blissful ignorance of such, and the welcoming of a new one with him. like a beginning and end, one that would find you both, as husband and wife.
there's no relief to the thud of your heart as he lifts you up from the seated position. nor in the way his six-foot stature gets to his feet to allow the remaining fabric âhis pants, your robeâ to pool around his feet. his nimble fingers then help tug away at your panties, somehow more miraculously than the way you'd envisioned he would over hundreds of times on this night.
he does so all without so much as dropping your hand, nor his gaze; as if letting go of even the smallest tether to you would undo him completely. his eyes carry such reverence that you nearly wonder if it is both the first and the last time he'll have seen, caressed, and made love to you.
you can't help the way your eyes drift along his figure, either; the warm light from above spilling in soft sections along it. you capture each dip in his abs, the pigmented portions of his tattooed skin in vivacious colors; print along his side, love on his waist, the trail of moles along his arms. it is like the first and last time, you think, as you take in the image towering over you.
you kick away your underwear, and when you are bare before each other, riki is the first to move. you follow him with your eyes as he dips onto the mattress, hands held all the way. a flush dances about his cheeks when you offer a head tilt at the way his back eases onto the same spot, as if posing a question.
"want you on top, pretty." he says, his words just as much a confession as your last had been. as if the earlier position had been more than intentional. "need you there."
one glance at the way a glistening trail along his tip is enough to aid in his words, and send a jolt through your still pulsing clit. you nod in submission, no doubt sure in your heart that he would too, want to remember the night with deep awe. and if what he needed was for you to set the pace and look good doing it; you'd happily oblige.
so as swiftly as you had gotten off, you climb back onto him, settling there. his arms move to encircle your body, pulling you up only slightly this time, so as to let your legs rest properly on the mattress. he kicks away the last of the material while you rest atop his figure, the warmth of your arousal threatening to mesh with his.
before you can do so much as shift about, his eyes catch yours in a look that recount his words from earlier; as if to say: you know me, and i, you. and though he does what he can to bring you comfort, it is your body that moves to break the building tension in one slow, long-awaited shift.
a hiss leaves his throat when you push back, sinking onto his erect cock without so much as a need for guidance. it's like he made for you, the way his body molds against yours as you move. "fuck," he swears, his hands flying to grip your hips as you sink further.
there's a satisfying sting of pain that comes with the stretch as you press further against him, willing your pelvis to meet his. a series of soft whimpers spill as you adjust to his size, the throbbing need at your center pulsing as you take him. the width is glorious; foreign and familiar all at once, as if you'd always been destined to know him.
and god does he feel like home.
he twitches from within your cunt, as if adjusting to the snug fit himself. and for a moment, you two simply lie there, lips parted in bliss between gasps, and soaking in each other's pleasure-riddled bodies, as if to commit it all to memory.
riki's eyes swim with a sea of emotion as he holds you in his gaze, his lips twisting to find the words that will encapture them as he clings to you. but just like before, when you'd tried the same âto come up with even one word to startâ the task proves nearly impossible. but it's not even seconds later when he decides to make an attempt in lieu of such, in three words rather than one.
"i love you," he says, the truth so evident in his trembling voice you nearly feel it in your bones. "i love you so much,"
you feel the emotion swell in your throat as you offer the same words back, with a gentle caress of his angular jaw. "i love you, riki."
a moan rips out of him as you grind down, further molding your body to his. "oh, my.....fuck, baby," he grunts, throwing his head back against the mattress. "fuu...uck, c'mere." he tugs at your figure, as if being inside of you hadn't been close enough. "c'mere please,"
there is no thought that follows; only sheer obedience as you bring your chest to his, grinding all the way. you press your forehead to his, short breaths leaving you he holds you in place.
he plants gentle kisses along your face as you rock a low rhythm, uttering words of want and desperate need along your skin. you can only moan in response, fingers snaking their way back to his hair as your pussy swallows his length. "sshhiitt, ki,"
"fuckk hun, i know," he brings one hand around your waist as to offer an embrace, the other finding your ass with a sharp slap. "just like that, baby."
his words ignite a spark in deep heat; one you chase by lifting up your waist to bring it back down along the ridge that connects you. you find a faster, yet deeper rhythm against his base as you ride rather than grind along his cock.
"that's it, that's fuckâ" he groans, the accumulated moisture of shared desire backing him as you bounce. "takin' me so good, hun, fuuck,"
he spreads his legs for support, then, as if guided by the light that is your heat, he thrusts up to meet the pace you've set. the way his cock drags along your walls has you seeing stars, and you can't help the way your head falls into his shoulder at how he splits you. "mmghh!" you moan, clutching as his slick skin as if he'll slip away. "riki!"
he clutches you right back, the cool sensation of the promise around his finger resting against your thigh as he thrusts. when the gold momentarily disappears, it meets your skin again with another slap of your bottom that echoes within the suite.
your clench around him at the strike, the tension only aiding in the pleasure his drag brings as he stretches your needy cunt. your eyes squeeze shut as you take him, âevery desperate thrust, jagged twitch of his cock that lets you know he's nearing his end; and you can't help but moan his name like a spell into his salt-dressed shoulder.
"mm," he affirms, lowly, choked; as if in a daze. "all yours, fâ" he gasps at the clench you offer around him. "fuâfuck, all yours, baby."
his words encourage a deeper movement as you ride. a newfound confidence as you look to nothing more than him -not a ring, a thud in your chest, nor the night- as an anchor for time spent on the satin-dressed bed. you somehow feel lighter at that; while heavy with lust as you grind further down with each press. his name tumbles from your lips in stretched moans as you take his length. "kiiii!"
he tightens his grip as he meets every bounce with an ever-growing desperation; each thrust becomes a deep pounding you aren't sure your pussy can handle. his words even more so, as they spill mindlessly from his tongue.
"my pretty girl," he grunts in response, babbling now, lost and found all at once. "my beautiful wife,"
you feel your core swelling at his words, the persistent slap of his balls against your essence with each press to the hilt. his lips press against every trace of your features, as if he could mark you with them. the old frame of the bed does indeed shake, as riki rocks into your pussy almost ritualistically, the hunger for this moment undeniable.
his lips search for something deeper, finding solace in taking yours in a messy, uninhibited kiss, rather than mere presses against your skin. he moans freely into your mouth as he moves against it, sucking and nibbling and biting along the feature as he drives into you. "my girl," he utters, the words shaky with pleasure and at the awe in their truth. "all mine,"
and before you can stop it or even register its effects, the wave comes crashing down, your orgasm drawing out a long moan as your legs succumb to the weight of delight. "riki, i'mâ" you let out something between a choked gasp and cry as you twitch around him. "ki i'm coming!"
your spasms around his cock earn a shudder from him as he continues to fuck you through it. a series of shocks ensues, yours from the burst of euphoria that floods your veins, and his from the sensation the ridges of your slick walls bring. "oh, baby, i'm rightâ" he starts, eyes rolling back before squeezing shut with a groan. "i'm right fuckin' there,"
he chases his high in a desperate dance, breath hitching as he slams your body down to meet his thrusts. "fuuuucck!" he cries out, reaching nirvana as he spills his heat into you. his fingers claw what will surely be crescents along your hips in his final movements in you, before slowing to something near a still, a series of broken shudders. "mm, fuuuuck, baby," he moans, coming down from it all.
upon the warmth that spreads inside your cunt, you feel yourself clenching at the essence with gentle whimpers, as if to cling to any part of him should he pull away.
only he doesn't; not right away at least. in fact, in a flash, his hands leave your hips rather quickly, to wrap around you in a warm embrace.
the jagged breaths he offers do nothing to hide the familiarity of his racing heart as you press against his skin. the tempo brings about a comfort so surreal that you feel a smile creep into your features as you both resign from the bliss.
he lifts his fingers to your scalp, raking the digits through the strands as he drifts from cloud nine. there's a soft silence momentarily before he looks down at you, biting back a soft smile under the dim light. then, in a tone tinged with a gentle pride. "first night as a wife," he cooes, pressing his lips to your head. "rather okay?"
you chuckle in his arms at the question; at the notion of you worrying about it in the first place. "perfect," you correct dreamily, eyes tracing his flushed features. then, almost playfully, "is pizza still on the table?"
he raises a brow briefly, then eyes the dim light of the suite, as if truly in thought before responding. "it is, but," he utters, the suggestion in his voice overtaking that of mischief. "maybe i......still had an appetite for something else."
the innuendo is enough to ignite another flame within you, skin tingling at the way his promised finger traces circles from scalp to neck, dipping to the curve of your back. only this one, as you bite back another smile is nearly free of nerves, stirring nothing more than the want of what is yours; the man with dampened hair and dark eyes for only you, here and for years to come.
and if it somehow resting in the bliss after falling apart near the edge of the bed hadn't been memorable enough, you'd have all night to make it so. all week, amidst the honeymoon. and always, as forever finds its place between you both. as his girl, his wife, and each passing title time had to bring; his, and his alone.
