── It’s not part of the leader's job description that you had to accompany the youngest member to lose her virginity in her boyfriend’s dormitory. Clearly, you didn’t sign up for this, but you’re not going to let the youngest walk into a boy’s dorm alone either. So for the upcoming rumors this night might spark; you just hope that her boyfriend’s dick game would be good.
Unfortunately, you’re not the only one who’s babysitting their hornball youngest, and fortunately, it seems like your co-member wasn’t the only one who’s going to get dicked tonight.
Idol! Heeseung x Idol! Reader
word count: 9.6k
listen to: secrets by the weeknd, if walls could talk by 5sos, heaven and back by chase atlantic, acquainted by the weeknd.
tags: smut, porn with little plot, attempt humor, a bit of fluff, one night stand, kinda strangers to something, unnamed characters, kinda manhater! Reader, inexperienced but not a virgin! Reader, Heeseung’s still in enhypen (ouch), Riki being a menace, Heeseung is on babysitting duty too, fictional group and name. Usage of korean words for formality.
cw: smut, porn with little plot, p in v sex, softdom! Heeseung x sub! Reader, service dom! Heeseung, protected sex (yay!) oral (f receiving), fingering multiple orgasms, hair pulling, make-out, dry humping, praise, petnames, subspace, squirting, #evanmonstercock. I might have forgotten other tags though.
Asul’s note: this has been in my gdocs drafts since february, abandoned it, and then…. March 10 happened LMAOOOO i was thinking whether to abandoned this completely or change heeseung’s character but fuck it, this is fiction so let me live. Also I revised this with a hangover, so inaccuracies, grammars and shits are really off. Not proofread, shitty smut ahead, but oh well, enjoy.
But you were their choice. You were the oldest. The trainee with the longest training period. The ace, all-rounder — you name it. You’re that mysterious trainee who had garnered quite a popularity during your pre-debut days. Appearing in your senior’s music video and modelling for brands gave you exposure. It made everyone anticipate your debut and you actually have been preparing for a debut — they just needed the right members for you.
As soon as you debuted in a six-member group, you immediately carried the weight of being the leader and center of the group. It was a responsibility that was given to you without a second thought.
There was pressure, of course. You have to guide your members in music shows, interviews, and variety shows, give them advice and such, and be that someone who they can lean on. The good thing was, the adjustment felt natural, given that you’ve been taking care of them during your trainee days.
Your members looked up to you. You’re the eldest member. Their loving and caring sister who listened to their worries. The one who gives them advice whether it be improving their skills or just something small or irrational, you’re there to listen to them. You assure them that you’ll be there for them, no matter what happens.
Well, except for one thing.
You have boundaries too. You didn’t mind going out late-night for some snack run or listening to their worries despite the lack of sleep — but becoming one’s babysitter when it comes to unnecessary side quests that could ruin the group’s image? That’s where you draw the line.
But here you are, parking your manager’s car (which you borrowed and hopefully don’t get recognized by your fans) in the underground parking of a dormitory building. You could feel your hands cold and sweaty, nervous about what you’re about to do — actually, what your member is about to do.
The youngest, whose smile was wide, giggled as she removed the seatbelt of her seat. She looked at you like you hung the stars in the skies and you’re internally cursing yourself why her cuteness is your weakness.
“Thank you so much, unnie! I’ll be back before twelve I promise —”
“What do you mean? I am coming with you,” you cut off, which made her excited expression turn into something horrified.
“But you didn’t need to!” she exclaimed, ears red in embarrassment, but you rolled your eyes.
“I agreed on one condition, and that is I am coming with you inside their dorm, there’s no way I am letting you walk into a boy group’s dorm alone,” you explained.
“But they’re nice! You’ve met them!” she defended and yes, you did meet them, numerous times, at music show hallways and show festivals but those were just a few seconds greeting and bowing to each other.
In that scale, you barely know them at all.
“They’re still boys,” you pointed out before removing your seatbelt and glancing at her once again. “What? Are you going to sit there or do you want to go up?”
“This is embarrassing,” she mumbled under her breath as she opened the door of the car and left.
“Just be thankful that I had agreed to this,” you snarled at her and although your tone was filled with irritation, you’re not mad at her, of course, you could never be mad at your members. The situation was just annoying and too surreal for you.
Your group’s youngest is finally now an adult and the next thing you knew, she wanted to experience sex — with a boy group member of all the people out there, of course, why are you even surprised? It’s a common event in the industry. The hidden romance, one-night stands, and hookups within idols.
It shouldn’t surprise you at all. After all, you had that same experience too, during your rookie days with a senior who’s two years older than you. Let’s just say that the experience was disappointing enough that you never did it again and at the same time, you had to warn your members about boy group members.
Despite that, you’re not in total control of them and their bodily desires. Mistakes happen and experiences differ, giving them a heads-up and advice should suffice. If ever their first time would be a failure, that’s not your problem at all, at least you told them so.
The other members had gone through the same thing too, results differed from each of them but now, it’s the youngest member’s turn to do so. You couldn’t fathom the thought but she’s already twenty! Things like this are pretty normal and yet, your leader instincts convinced you to be more protective of her compared to the rest.
Maybe, you just couldn’t accept the fact that the youngest is not your baby anymore. It seems like yesterday you’re helping her with her homework during trainee days but now she’s going to have sex with a male idol. It’s like putting a gun on your head.
Oh well. You convinced yourself that this is bound to happen either way. The only thing you should worry about is for her to not be caught, hence why you insist on accompanying her…all the way to the dorm. It was a reach but you’re not going to let her enter a boy group’s dormitory alone too. A boy group’s dormitory feels like a den of lions in reality.
You watched as she pressed the ringbell of the door, shaking on her feet like a child filled with sugar rush. She was giddy and excited, her smile was wide and bright that it reminded you of the first time you went to your ex-boyfriend’s dormitory.
You just wished that she doesn’t end up like you.
The door opened a minute later. Revealing to you a tall man wearing a casual loose shirt and sweatpants. His eyes landed on your co-member and you saw how his smile brightened as he greeted her.
“Come in,” he said, opening the door wider, letting the two of you in, wherein he greeted you for formality and you reciprocated it immediately.
“I hope you don’t mind that I brought her with me,” your youngest shared, her voice high-pitched and sweet, obviously, sweetening her way to her boyfriend.
“Oh, it’s okay — please, make yourself at home,” Riki said to you before he guided you towards the couch. You sat there, the leather creaking against your weight.
You watched as Riki went to the kitchen area, and returned with a bottle of water, some sweet pastries and a fruit cup. He told you that he had bought it for you, which you find sweet. Thanking halfway, Riki told you that you’re free to watch movies or maybe play games on their tv — just feel at home. He repeated.
“We'll be in Riki's room now,” your fellow member said, excited and jumpy as she held her boyfriend’s hand, and just like her, Riki seemed giddy about what they’re going to do.
God, looking at them, you feel like a parent whose daughter is going out on her first date, except she’s going to do something worse. The image probably’s going to scar you for life.
“Okay, be safe,” was the only thing you said, before you watched them go to the first door in the left hallway which you assumed was Riki’s room.
Silence immediately follows through. You were accompanied by the stillness that devoured you in just a minute. The only thing you could do was grab the fruit cup and eat it. Hoping it’ll ease your tense body that’s nervous for your youngest. She said they’d be done around twelve — which means you have four hours to kill time.
Your peaceful moment was cut-off when you heard the door open. You freezed when footsteps became louder and louder until from the other hallway, a man stepped out, confused and surprised to see you.
The first thing you did was stand up, bow and greet him, since he was your senior. He seemed surprised by you but immediately greeted you and gave you a bow too.
“Heeseung, from Enhypen,” he introduced, exiting out of the hallway and going within your proximity.
“I know, I’m y/n from Krave,” you introduced back, and his eyes widened.
“Oh! You sang ‘more’ right? That song’s been in my playlist since then,” Heeseung shared with a smile.
You smiled at the thought. “Thank you for listening to our songs sunbae.”
“Please, drop the sunbae, we’re in our dorm — also you can talk to me casually, we’re same-aged right?” the man replied casually.
You nodded, “right. Okay.”
“You wanted something to eat? I’m going to make ramen, do you want some?” he offered and you shook your head.
“It’s okay, I already had a fruit cup, and I’m on a diet too,” you told him.
He eyed the food on the table for a second before he remembered. “So I supposed the girl Riki’s with, is your member?”
You chuckled before nodding, “Yeah, I couldn’t let her go here alone, it kinda scares me.”
“I understand your sentiments, but Riki’s a good kid,” he pointed out.
“I know, I was just being careful, she’s our maknae, that’s why I’m too protective towards her,” you explained.
“Of course you are.” he smiled before going towards the kitchen. That made you sit on the couch and focus on your cup but minutes later Heeseung showed up once again.
“I felt lazy cooking tonight, so might as well accompany you,” he sat casually next to you like you two were friends. You were startled, but Heeseung didn’t seem to notice your flustered self as he opened the pack of gummy bears that he grabbed instead, then offered you some which you declined.
You took the water bottle and took a few sips on it. The living room was quiet and serene, a deep contrast to whatever the hell was happening inside Riki’s room. You couldn’t help but to look at your watch, it’s barely an hour passed — why is time slow here suddenly?
“You alright?” Heeseung asked, and you only smiled bitterly.
“Yeah, I’m good,” you lied before taking another few sips and then placing it back on the table. You focused on the fruit cup while Heeseung’s halfway with his candy. The two of you fell into an awkward silence once again.
“Can I ask why you are here?” you asked out of nowhere, curiosity lingering in your mind. “Are you and Riki, dormmates?”
“Well, I’m on babysitting duty too,” Heeseung said with a chuckle. “Everyone else is in the other dorm but Riki insisted that I stay in case of…emergencies, I don’t know what he meant but maybe he felt more at ease if I’m around.”
“That’s kinda sweet, he looks up to you,” you pointed out but Heeseung laughed at your words.
“It feels surreal that he’s going to do the deed. It seems like yesterday, he’s this small duckling who sleeps on my bed because he couldn’t sleep in his bed alone.” Heeseung shared, and you nodded, sharing the same sentiments that he does.
“I feel the same way,” you agreed. “They’re growing up aren’t they? It’s kinda scary. Growing in this industry isn’t helpful either.”
“I get you, that’s why it’s better to guide them and be always there right?”
“Right,” you nodded, ending the talk with you shoving another slice of apple into your mouth. Heeseung shoved a few jellies in his mouth, letting both of you settle with the dead air that came suddenly.
“So…do you do this with your other members?” Heeseung asked out of nowhere, and you shook your head as an answer.
“Only to her, you could see how protective I am, right? How about you? I’m sure your other members have brought girls in your dorm,” you asked him back and just like you, he shook his head in response.
“Numerous times, but this is the first time I did babysitting duty, which is weird since I thought Riki would like some privacy like the others, so I’m surprised that he asked me to stay,” he explained.
“His first time right?” Heeseung nodded at your question and you were a bit relieved since that means they’ll be each other’s first. The thought was kinda cute for you.
“Well, it’s her first time too, I guess they’re still scared…but determined,” you stated, earning a short laugh from Heeseung.
“I like how you described it that way,” he pointed out, making you chuckle.
But your conversation halted when a bunch of lewd, sinful noises came out of Riki’s room. Your eyes widened as the filthy sound slid inside your ears.
“Oh my god,” that was the only thing you could say, while Heeseung laughed at your reaction.
“Here, this should help us cover up the noise,” Heeseung opened the television and clicked whatever channel’s available. He turned on the volume louder, hoping that it’ll muffle the noise.
But it was still too loud. Their dirty talks, the incoherent sounds, and how the bed banged against the wall. It made you extremely uncomfortable that you were frozen in your place.
“Why are they so loud!?” you huffed in annoyance. “Oh my god! I couldn’t bear to hear it.”
“I guess Riki got some game,” Heeseung chuckled and you scoffed.
“That is such a boy respond of you.” you told him and he looked at you, offended.
“Woah hey, that hurts you know?”
“You seemed not offended by it.”
“A little, but I do admit it’s kinda gross hearing them do ‘it’” Heeseung answered.
You didn’t say anything but instead, turn on the volume louder but still, the sounds wouldn’t leave your ears, making you groan in annoyance again.
“I wanted to tell them to lower it down but that’s too much,” you complained once again before rubbing your face in hopes to remove all of the sinful sounds your ears had heard.
Heeseung’s eyes never left you. He noticed how inaudibly uncomfortable you were. He couldn’t help but to look for a solution to it.
That is if you’re willing to agree to it.
“I know this might sound like a sketchy suggestion, but do you want to come to my room?” Heeseung asked out of nowhere.
You turned your head towards him, surprised. “What?”
“My room? It’s on the opposite side, so the sound would be muffled but we can just turn on some music so that it’ll bury the noise further.” Heeseung pointed to the other hallway that contained a few doors. It was far from Riki’s room but you hesitated to answer.
It’s a fucking trap. You insist. Heeseung may look all-innocent with his soft voice and bambi-like eyes but you have to constantly remind yourself that he is still a guy at the end of the day. God knows what he’d do to you in his room.
But for desperate measures? Maybe it’s not that bad at all, he did say that it’s a sketchy suggestion, Heeseung knows that his offer sounded weird to you. But would you rather listen to your co-member get dicked for the following hours? No fucking way.
“Fine,” you answered and you noticed how Heeseung’s eyes widened.
“Really?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes, but just so you know, I know hapkido,” you told him that it made him stop, stared at you, and nodded slowly.
“Thank you for the heads up.”
You stood up first before he did. You followed him towards the opposite hallway, away from Riki’s room, and fortunately, his room is at the end of the hallway.
“It’s not that cool, just giving you a heads up,” Heeseung shared before opening the door and letting you inside.
It was huge yet minimalist. The typical room setup — a bed, closet, drawer cabinet, and of course, a pc setup complete with a computer chair. There weren’t any decorations, the only odd thing about his room was the stack of gaming keyboards on his floor.
“Nice…room,” you commented. It smelled like his perfume along with some fabric conditioner which you didn’t mind at all. You stood at the corner awkwardly before Heeseung closed the door then proceeded towards his pc.
“I’ll play some music, see? You could barely hear them,” Heeseung said as he opened a music browser and looked for some songs. That’s when you noticed the noise was barely audible — it was almost mute which made you relax for a moment.
“Any suggestions?” he asked as he scrolled through Spotify.
“...Maybe some pop music?” you answered.
“I’ll just play some The Weeknd,” he clicked one of his playlist, and a familiar song from the said artist filled the whole room, completely burying the obscenity that’s happening a few rooms away.
“You listen to him?” you asked.
Heeseung nodded with a smile. “Huge fan — oh, you could sit on my bed, I don’t mind,”
“Only if you don’t sit beside me,” you said as you made your way towards his bed. It was soft and clean, Heeseung looked like he didn’t mind that you were in your outside clothes too.
“Don’t worry about that, I’ll just relax here,” he insisted, sitting on the gaming chair. He made himself relaxed, with his legs criss-cross on the seat while he leaned against the backrest.
Silence devoured you two. The only noise you could hear was the song playing from his speaker. You two stared at each other, not moving nor talking, which you found relaxing and yet, you couldn’t help but to notice how Heeseung stared at you way too long than he should.
“You seem guarded,” he observed and that made you let out a nervous chuckle.
“Why should I not? I am in a boy group member’s room,” you shared.
“First time?”
“No, of course not, just reminds me of my first time though,” you answered honestly.
“Care to share?”
You pondered for a moment. “You won’t laugh?”
“I promise, scouts’ honor,” Heeseung said, even crossing his heart which made you laugh.
“Are you even one?”
Heeseung faintly shrugged, “Well, we did an en-o’clock episode about it, does that count?”
“Whatever but long story short, I dated a senior of ours, been going out for months and then decided to just let him be my first…but it was so fucking bad then he dumped me three days later.” you shared.
“What the fuck?” it was the only thing that came out of Heeseung’s lips. Disbelief written on his face.
You nodded at his reaction, “after that I cursed every boy group member and their ability to charm girls but underperformed when it comes to sex.”
“...You didn’t get to cum, I assume,” you nodded at his words.
“Aside from that, it didn’t feel intimate to me, it’s like, he’s just using me to get off,” you added.
“Wow, and he had the audacity to dump you?”
“Yeah, it was so bad that it didn’t even last an hour, no foreplays, just a short makeout — he was just eager to get his dick wet!”
Heeseung laughed at your story but you didn’t feel embarrassed nor offended by his laugh, he seemed amused by how you detailed your experience. That’s when he finally understood why you’re so protective over your co-member, you just didn’t want them to experience the same thing that happened to you.
“You didn’t meet anyone after that?” Heeseung asked.
You shook your head as answer. “Well, obviously, he broke my heart. So I rejected any idols who asked for my number, plus with the continuous tours and comebacks, I didn’t have any time at all, my focus was on my group.”
“So, that was the last time you had sex, I’m assuming,” Heeseung pointed out.
“Yup.”
“Never thought about it again?” he asked.
“You heard my story, if I’d do it, I’d do it with…I guess someone who’s not an idol?” you said with uncertainty.
“His dick game was really that bad?”
That’s when you agreed. “So fucking bad, I’d like to think that all male idols are that bad.”
“Not me though.” Heeseung casually replied.
His words made you scoff in disbelief. “Of course you’d say that,”
“Well, you wouldn’t know unless you actually tried it,” he pointed out.
You halted for a minute. Eyebrows furrowed at him. “What?”
Heeseung looked at the clock, “we have a lot of time to spare before midnight, I was suggesting that you might want to, relax for a bit,”
You stared at him appalled while Heeseung seemed so casual about what he just said.
“Are you asking me to have sex with you?”
“You could say no if you want to, but the offer’s open,” Heeseung answered and you rolled your eyes before another scoff escaped your lips.
“You’re just like any other male idol,” you stated.
“Have you slept with other boy group members?” Heeseung asked tauntingly that it made you quiet for a moment. He smirked, infuriatingly and yet, you remained seated.
“Right, so why would you stick with that one experience? Come on, not attached to this one, unless you’re the type to have emotional attachment when it comes to sex, I’ll let you off the hook,” Heeseung convinced.
Has the room always felt warm? You don’t know why there’s chills on your nape and your hands clamming with sweat. Why is there a sudden shift in the air and your heart’s racing rapidly, that in a blink, you felt convinced.
“What’s in for me?” you muttered.
“Like I told you, maybe you should relax for a moment, you’re tense and guarded,” Heeseung pointed out.
“I should be tense, my youngest’s having sex with her boyfriend, I’m in Enhypen’s dormitory — specifically inside your room, who knows your sasaengs are lurking around your place and caught us sneaking,” you explained.
“You’re safe here, don't worry, and right now, just think of yourself, just for four hours, think of yourself not the eldest and leader of Krave, just you,” he insisted and something about the way he talked almost made you fold for him.
“I’m starting to wonder how many girls have you persuaded and slept with by just how you convince me,” you said.
The smirk on his lips widened, teasing. “Oh, so you’re convinced? Don’t worry sweetheart, you’re the second girl I’ve ever slept with.,"
You stared at him for a moment. Heeseung tilted his head sideways, observing you and yet his stare didn’t have any weight on it. He looked at you like you’re the brightest moon tonight — not just a girl he seemed to eager to fuck.
That thought made you spin. He looked so alluring that you’re lost for words. Then he gestured to you to come to him. You don’t know why but you stood up, went to him and your hands intertwined with his.
“I’m not gonna push you if you don’t want it, you could take a rest on my bed and I’ll wake you up after they’re done, but you know, I could make you release stress in some other ways too,” he explained, tone filled with genuinity that your heart betrayed you that moment because sleeping with him is just an option.
You can say no to him. He’s giving you a choice to say no, but he’s also offering you to relax, let yourself melt and remove all the tense feeling in your shoulders. Just you. Heeseung said. Not the eldest member of your group, not the leader who’s on babysitting duty tonight.
“Are you sure about that?”
“A hundred percent, I won’t ask you if I am not sure,” he smiled. “And don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”
“You better give me a good reason to trust you Lee Heeseung.” you whispered to him.
“And if I told you that once you got a taste of me, there’s no turning back now?”
You hummed and he pulled you close, losing your balance and hoisting you up to straddle on his lap. You gasp at his boldness and yet, you didn’t move nor struggle.
Because a part of you was dying to feel what good sex feels like. Hearing your fellow member’s sex life and stable, healthy relationships with their significant others, you wonder when you will experience that same kind of bliss again.
If Heeseung, one of the popular k-idols in the industry, is offering you good sex especially with that body and face, who are you to say no?
“You’re with me?” he asked, brushing the stray hairs away from your face. You nodded, staring at him made you bite your lip and he seemed amused by how you’re still maintaining your composure.
“I need words sweetheart, do you want this?” he repeated.
“I…do, please,” you muttered, almost mute, and yet, you felt determined.
With your words, Heeseung’s smile turned into a smirk, hands brushing your cheek as his stare lingered for too long. “Good, let’s take it slow baby.”
Heeseung closed the gap first. Your breath halted the moment his lips landed on yours. It was soft, thick, tasting sweet and citrus like the gummy bears he was eating earlier. His arms wrapped around yours tighter as he pushed himself deeper against you, earning a choked sound from you.
He broke out of the kiss, worried as he looked at you to find any discomfort. “Too fast?”
“No, just surprised,” you answered, giving him a smile, in which he sighed and chuckled.
“Good, that’s good, just follow my lead, alright?” With that, he kissed you once again, same as the pace earlier, giving you time to adjust and sink everything that you’re here, on Heeseung’s lap, making out with him.
That’s when you moved, hands finding security on his shoulder as you moved your lips to respond to his. You could feel him smirking against you, but you pay no attention to it but instead, let your lips move along the rhythm he made.
Suddenly, the room felt hot and you became more hyperaware of Heeseung. It wasn’t just his mouth that’s moving around, you could feel his arms that used to be around your waist, slowly caressing every skin it could trail, making you flinch when his cold hands went underneath your shirt, just around your back then returning to the soft plush of your waist.
Your heart was racing at what would come next, especially when you could feel something rigid and hard underneath. The sudden awareness made you shift your position, earning a groan from Heeseung.
“Sorry —” he shuts you off with a kiss before darting his attention towards your jawline, wet, loud kisses planted over your neck where you were most sensitive. You whine at his action, hands gripping his shoulder hard and still, you didn’t push him but instead, you let yourself fall under his touch.
“No marks please,” you whispered to him as you felt him sucking the skin near your collarbones. You felt him laughing against it before he lifted up his head towards you.
“Don’t worry baby, I won’t cause you any trouble,” he winked at you after his words and you could swear you felt your cheeks flush.
“It’s getting hotter here isn’t it?” Heeseung teased as he played with the hem of your shirt. “Would it be nice for us to loosen up, right?”
“Right,” you croaked before slowly, your shaky hands found the end of your shirt and without any thought, you stripped it off, leaving you in your bra.
You noticed how Heeseung’s eyes stayed on your chest for a good minute, clearing your throat, he shifted his look towards you before a chuckle left his lips.
Heeseung did the same, throwing his shirt somewhere, baring to you his lean, naked torso and defined muscles that seem well-cared by him. You’re not new to male idols and their tendency to expose their body, but seeing Heeseung’s naked body this close made you flustered all of the sudden.
“Can I?” he asked as his hands played with the strap of your bra. You didn’t answer him but instead unclasped the clothing all by yourself. Your heart was loudly pounding and tightening as you shrugged off your bra before letting it fall on the ground.
Heeseung captured your lips once again, and this time he was more impatient — there was a sudden strike of hunger in the way he kissed you. Torrid, reckless but still, it ignited the heat pooling inside you, hence, you battled against his lips. It felt more dangerously addictive that you couldn’t help but to lean downwards on him, hands cupping his cheeks to get a better taste.
Heeseung seemed pleased with your hunger, letting you dominate him as he busied himself with your breasts. Playing with the right side, he felt how you mewl on his lips, giving him a more plea to play with it. Heeseung flickered the hardened buds with his thumb, making you gasp as you felt the shock traveling towards your body.
The sensation slowly turned you into a needy collection of nerves. Everything’s burning and painful, especially on your core, that you couldn’t help but to buck your hips against Heeseung’s thighs. The sudden thrust halted Heeseung — and so did you.
“Shit,” you cursed, embarrassment washed all over you because of the act. “Did I — sorry, I couldn’t —”
“Hey, it’s okay, just surprise,” he assured, biting his lips because your eagerness actually felt wondrous for him. He could feel his sweats tightening, and there’s that urge for him to free his cock from its strain, but with you, he wanted to take things slow and messy.
“Do that again for me, pretty, can you?” he asked, hands on your waist as if he was guiding you to move your hips once again.
You rolled your hips slowly this time. A loud gasp left your lips as your core grinded directly on his hard cock. Your clit was getting rubbed against your wet panty that you couldn’t help but to move once again, finding friction despite the clothed barrier between you two.
“Fuck — more, harder baby, feel how hard cock against you right?” Heeseung moaned, making you move harder and deeper, too lost in the sensation that you never felt before.
“It’ll be better if we take off our clothes baby, is that okay?” Heeseung suggested, making you stop.
“Oh…if that’s okay with you,” you told him.
“Whatever you want, baby, I’d like that too,” he answered and you found yourself getting off his lap.
You unbutton your shorts and push it down in an awkward manner, kicking it off along with your socks while Heeseung stood up from his seat and untied the drawstrings of his sweats. He left himself in his playboy boxer and your eyes wouldn’t leave the sight.
The print indicated that he was big. His cock was already standing tall, hard and straining against the cloth but it seemed like Heeseung didn’t care about it, not when he pulled you towards his bed and made you sit on his lap again. Now, in a more thinner barrier of both undergarments, you could feel him further — the length, its hardness, and how warm it is against your clothed cunt.
“Have you ever tried this one?” he asked, making you burst out in a fit of laughter.
“Did you say that on purpose?” you raised an eyebrow, hands brushing his messy blonde hair.
“You looked nervous, hope it’ll lessen the tension,” Heeseung observed and your lips thinned into a small smile.
“Well maybe I am slowly starting to be convinced,” you whispered to him, you felt him shift underneath, hands tightening on your waist while your hands caressed his face.
He smirked, “Convinced what?”
“That your dick game is good,” you teased before closing the gap. Heeseung reciprocated it immediately, kissing you like there’s no tomorrow as you started to move your hips in a slow, precise motion where your cunt grinds through his thick shaft.
“Can I?” he asked in between your kisses, his hands trailing around the curve of your ass, and you nodded eagerly, letting him squeeze the soft flesh as he guided you to hump further on him.
The anticipation heated in your body further. There’s that weird churn that slowly rises from your stomach that you could no longer ignore. Moving on your own, you humped on Heeseung’s lap like a rabbit in heat, while simultaneously capturing his lips in a more torrid and passionate manner.
You could feel it, your body getting sticky with sweat, Heeseung’s deep groans every time your cunt brushed on his shaft. He felt you on the edge that his hands found its way towards your waist and helped you move more precisely on his lap.
“Want to see you get off just from humping on my cock,” Heeseung stated in between your kisses. He stopped and looked up to you, and you observed how starstruck he was. The thought made you whine as your hips never stop, chasing after that broiling heat on your core.
“Shit! — H-heeseung,” you whimper, already a mess as your eyes turned glassy while your body’s becoming too sensitive. You shifted yourself higher, nudging his head with your clit, making both of you moan in unison.
“Right there baby — fuck! Look at your panties, all wet and ruined for me.” Heeseung taunted as he kissed the shell of your ear, the act felt sweet and fluttering against the obscene act you two were doing.
“O-oh! oh my god — I —”
“Go on baby, come for me,” his words felt like a command because in just a second, something snapped inside your stomach and a never-felt sensation took over your body. You freezed at the sudden feeling, holding tightly on Heeseung’s shoulder while he watched you fall apart on top of him.
“Great?” he asked while you were sinking in what just happened.
“I — wait…wow,” you muttered, catching your breath while your body tense around him. Slurring mindlessly as you still haven't processed your orgasm while Heeseung watched you patiently.
“You alright? Do you want to rest for a bit?”
“What about you?” you asked, seeing that he’s still hard and aching.
“Oh me? Don’t worry, I’m just giving you time to rest and process everything,” from there, his gaze sharpened, something on him shifted. “We were just getting started after all.”
“I should get you off too,” you convinced but he shook his head.
“Y/n, this is all about you alright? Don’t worry about me,” he insisted.
“That sounds unfair.”
“We have hours for me to get off sweetheart, but for now, let’s just help you relax,” he didn’t let you rebut more. The next thing you knew, your back thud against his bed’s mattress before he hovered over you.
Your heart stopped for a moment, gazing at him who’s naked, sweaty, yet insanely, godlike as he stared at you as if you’re his meal tonight.
“Just lay there and be pretty for me,” he smirked and your heart was beating at the thought of what he was about to do.
You watched as he gazed upon you for a second before rolling out his tongue, and started flickering your nipples while his other hand rolled the other side — all while maintaining eye contact with you.
“Hee —” you weren’t able to finish your sentence when he latched his mouth on the right mould of your breast. Sucking the nipples hard and needy before releasing it with a loud pop.
Heeseung abandoned your breast that moment. Leaving a lighthearted kiss in the middle before he started kissing your underboobs, then darting towards your stomach, until his mouth reached your navel — and then he stopped, eyeing on your panty before looking at you as if he was asking for permission.
Oh.
“You’re gonna go down on me?” you asked, flustered.
“Do you not want me to?” he asked you back.
“No, just — fine, I trust you,” you answered, nervous and yet, curious at the feeling of someone going down on you.
“If it’s too overwhelming just tug my hair twice or thrice,” Heeseung instructed and that made you let out a chuckle.
“Why does it sound like you want your hair getting pulled?”
But Heeseung quickly hushed you, “that’s between you and me sweetheart.”
Without a word, his hands trailed on the waistline of your panty, tugging it down in one swift movement, leaving you completely naked. Instantly, you closed your legs but Heeseung casually grabbed your thighs, pushing it open for him.
He stared at your puffy, still sensitive pussy, twitching at nothing before glance at you, looking naive and innocent as you lay gorgeously in his bed. Heeseung swore he almost cum at the sight. He could feel his hard cock aching to be released, twitching harder due to its sensitivity, but he chose to ignore it as he lay down flat on his stomach.
You weren’t able to do anything when he grabbed your legs and pulled you closer to him. His fingers found their way to your entrance, sliding on its lips up to its clit where he felt your legs shudder at the sudden contact.
Heeseung didn’t say anything — the next thing you felt was his tongue swiping upright on your cunt. The sudden action made you moan so loud that it echoed inside the room. You slapped your mouth hard in embarrassment while Heeseung chuckled faintly before giving your core another fat stripe.
“Don’t cover those sounds pretty, let me hear it,” Heeseung ordered, looking up to you with his eyes sharper than earlier. Your heart started to pound as you quickly nodded to his words. Heeseung seemed satisfied, lowering his head once again to devour your cunt with much devotion — leaving you breathless and spewing a series of breathy moans.
The sensation felt new to you, more intimidating yet hot to the core. It didn’t help that you could hear how lewd and loud Heeseung fucks your cunt using his tongue. The wet, slurping sound should’ve disgusted you but the feeling was undeniably heavenly that it made your toes curled.
“Holy shit, Heeseung!” you screamed, too loud and whiny as you grabbed a fistful of his hair before tugging it once. The action made the man groan against your pussy, sending shockwaves on his cock — feeling it more needy and aching against the flat surface of his bed, Heeseung could help but to grind his cock against it. It was begging for release that his hips started to move on its own.
The two of you are too lost in chasing one’s pleasure. Heeseung’s tongue never left your pussy not once, burying his face further as he focused on flickering that little bundle of nerves, and at the same time, his hips continued rocking back and forth chasing his own high. It didn’t help that you’re pulling his hair harder than before, the sensation only made his cock throb harder as everything’s becoming too much on his side.
You came first, in a soft high-pitched whine as Heeseung removed his tongue and instead, sucked your clit hard. His tongue rolled around the bud as his lips drank every juice your cunt released. He didn’t stop, not even when you’re tugging his hair too tight that his scalp’s burning, it just edges him off, grunting against your cunt as his hips continue rocking against his bed.
Just in a snap, his orgasm came unexpectedly and he visibly shook, cum staining his boxers as he released nonstop after all that painful edging. His grunts were held back as Heeseung held on to your thighs tight enough that it’ll leave a bruise. You didn’t even notice that he had come, so immersed in your own pleasure that the next thing that only occurred in your almost sane mind was how Heeseung sat up on his bed, messy yet satisfied.
“Can you take more, pretty?” he asked, smirking as he moved to take off his soiled boxers, not even giving you a warning about his next move.
Your eyes went wide that it might pop out of its socket.
To say that he’s big is an understatement. Heeseung’s huge — hung, fucking hung that you froze at its sheer size. You barely remember your ex-boyfriend’s cock but suddenly, he doesn’t matter anymore, not when this one night stand had given you more than one orgasm compared to him.
“You look scared,” he teased and you didn’t react immediately.
“Will that fit?” you said, stuttering.
“We’ll make it fit,” he said as he sat next to you and before you could complain, Heeseung placed you in between his legs, his hard cock poking your back that you’re very hyperaware of.
“Think you could give me more pretty? Let’s relax that silly head of yours, alright?” he whispered to yours as his hands trailed on your breasts, cupping it lightly while the other one stretched its way towards your pussy.
Heeseung didn’t ask for any permission at all, using his hind legs, he pushed your legs open for him, trapping your still shaking legs along with your sensitive pussy.
The first touch was light, featherlike, ticklish that a contented moan escaped your lips. Heeseung’s hands traveled on your clit, rubbing circles around it — not too rough nor too fast, just the right amount of tease that you resisted against it.
“Don’t struggle baby, just relax, are you still sensitive?” he asked softly, cooing as he rested his cheeks on your temples.
You nodded, and yet, your pussy’s still throbbing. It still hurts, gaping for something big enough that it’ll fill you completely.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No, I want it inside,” you answered.
“My fingers?” he asked, his delicate digits gathering slick around your pussy, protruding your entrance, almost teasing that you sighed in annoyance.
“Your cock…Heeseung, please,” you told him.
“Oh baby, as much as I want to, we got to prep you pretty girl,” he gives you a kiss on the temples before plunging one finger inside — completely contrasting the action earlier.
“We have to make sure it’ll fit your tight pussy, don’t we?” he teased, chuckling dark and low, as his finger thrusts in and out of your cunt, before sliding another one, catching you off-guard as his slender digits did scissoring actions to open your walls more.
With your cunt still sensitive from the previous orgasms, every move and curl gave nothing but continuous spasms on your body. You were squirming like a worm around Heeseung, breathing heavily as your hold on his arms tightened.
“Heeseung please,” you cried, not knowing what your plea was until he poked a specific area that made you arch your back naturally — that’s when he knew, chuckling like a tease he was before he hushed you by kissing the tears rolling down on your eyes.
“Is it too good pretty?” Heeseung asked and you don’t know what to say other than to cry louder. Whining like a kicked-out puppy as your nails dig on his skin deeper.
“You’re still tense baby, I could feel you clamping on my fingers,” he said with a gentle tone and yet his fingers were curling that area nonstop, faster and hastily that it’s bringing another intense feeling inside your cunt.
“I don’t think I could do it anymore,” you whispered to him before another moan knocked out of your lips.
“You can,” he said with confidence. “You’d do it for me, right?”
“Heeseung —”
“You’ll do it for me,” he ordered and his words did nothing but to push something out of you.
That’s when Heeseung felt it. The warm gush of liquid that your cunt released, completely messing his fingers.
“Fuck,” he said in disbelief as the smile on his face became wider.
“Oh my god, I’m really sorry, I didn’t know — god —” you weren’t able to finish your words when Heeseung kissed you hungrily, teeth clashing and tongue tasting every skin his lips could feel, making you whine at his intensity.
And as he broke out, he could see how red and swollen your lips were, making him satisfied as he leaned down for more, that’s when you held onto his shoulders, reciprocating his hunger while his fingers continued thrusting inside your cunt.
“Make a mess for me pretty, keep fucking doing that,” he commanded, curling that spot that made you squirt nonstop. He continued abusing that spot until his bed’s completely wet and your thighs were nothing but a mess, mixed with every slick and juice your pussy had released.
Without any words, you’ve reached your orgasm. A high-pitched scream echoed inside his room as your legs shook at the intensity. Heeseung didn’t stop even when your eyes were turning white, in fact, he was humming teasingly as he saw you all worn-out and melting under his touch.
“Don’t sleep on me pretty,” Heeseung said as he pulled out his fingers out of your sensitive pussy, making you cry at the sudden loss. He gently lays you down as he lets you rest for a moment, giving you ample time to breathe and relax before the real deal.
Heeseung reached out on his side table, opening the second drawer, he pulled out a strip of condoms and with much precision, snapped one and ripped the wrapper open.
He rolled the condom around his length, moaning in satisfaction as he began stroking his hard shaft, preparing himself as he crawled back to you who seemed to be still in the high of your previous orgasm.
Heeseung relaxed you for a moment, leaving soft, short kisses on your jawline and downwards your neck, giving off a ticklish sensation that made you moan quietly.
“Ready pretty?” he whispered while continuing to leave kisses on your sensitive skin.
“Hmm,” you hummed unknowingly but Heeseung didn’t stop at all.
“Words pretty, come on,” he gestured and the only thing you did was hold onto his shoulders as another whine left your lips.
“Ruin me Heeseung,” you said to him and something about what you said shifted something in Heeseung’s mind.
“Baby, you don’t know what you’re asking,” he said with a smirk. “You’re already ruined, look at you.”
He didn’t let you say another word. Heeseung pulled you into his grasp, his hard length, standing tall and proud, poking your inner thighs that you were suddenly jolted into reality.
“You don’t know that I’m just holding back from ruining you further,” Heeseung taunted, stroking his cock on your entrance. The fat tip slides teasingly on your entrance. It was warm and fuck — does it feel wondrous yet dangerously teasing. It didn’t help that Heeseung’s rubbing it at your clit at any chance he could have, making you whimper at his actions.
“Put it inside please, please Heeseung,” you whimpered, almost a cry as your hands tightly held onto his bed’s sheets.
“Relax for me first,” he ordered, spreading your legs further before gently nudging the blunt head of his dick on your entrance. He almost cursed. He could feel how his tip’s barely inside and yet, your cunt’s already hugging it tight.
Heeseung pushed it in, slow and careful, stretching your cunt open for his cock. He slides slowly, letting you adjust to its girth while your hands had crumpled the sheets hard, absolutely clueless that his fat cock’s going to rip your walls apart.
He went all the way, completely filling your pussy all the way to the end. The thought of it gave nothing but severe chills on you, and yet, you never felt this level of bliss before.
“You with me?” he asked and you nodded feverishly.
“You’re big,” you babbled, and Heeseung only stared before letting out a soft laugh.
“I’ll start moving, alright?” he said.
“Hmm, please move,” you told him.
Heeseung slowly moved his hips. You could feel him thrusting inside you slow and gentle, careful not to hurt you as slowly, the pain inside your core was being replaced with the pleasure of how his cock penetrated your walls all the way in.
“More please,” you blurted out.
“More?” Heeseung teased as he grabbed your legs, placed the right one on his shoulder and the other one wrapped around his waist. The new position gave him more leverage to pound inside your tight pussy, and this time, Heeseung’s not holding back anymore.
The room’s hotter than before, and everything smelled like perfume, and body fluids. Everything’s becoming too much for you as your moans and the lustful sounds coming from Heeseung’s mouth mixed along with the way his thighs slapped on your cunt hard — additional to that, The Weeknd’s still playing in the background.
You don’t know that you’d be able to reach this level of high. Suddenly, you couldn’t think of anything other than how Heeseung pounded on you senselessly like an animal in heat, and yet, it feels so damn heavenly. You could feel your body melting on the bed, grip on his sheet loosened and your eyes were getting drowsy, drowned in the ecstasy of the act, while Heeseung didn’t say a word as he kept on ramming his cock inside your tight cunt.
Christ. Your head’s spinning and you’re slowly levitating with the way Heeseung’s cock slides in and out of your tight pussy. Heeseung noticed it quickly, how light you feel now, only soft moans and whines escaping your lips. You were getting numbed and that only made his cock twitch in satisfaction as he pounded inside you harder than before.
“Feels good angel? Look at you drunk on my cock, you’re barely even moving,” Heeseung taunted. Seeing you unmoving, eyes turning white as your body shakes, his mind is slowly getting into him. He thrusted harder, more precise at a certain spot that had you moaning unknowingly.
Heeseung’s fucking you into oblivion. You don’t have total control of yourself anymore. You just placed every single amount of yourself into him while he continued to plunge his cock all the way. Both of you were already messy. Sweat mixing, and obscenity could be heard with how his cock squelched as he pounded on your dripping pussy.
If that wasn’t enough, Heeseung reached for your clit, stroking it lightly that you jolted at the pleasure. You screamed hard and loud, shouting his name as the churn in your stomach became too hard to deny at all.
“Going to come now angel?” Heeseung asked, hovering at you, almost folding the leg on his shoulder. His thrust never stopped, pounding inside you at that sharp yet precise movement that it’s the only thing you could sense despite being overstimulated.
A whimper was your answer and that was his only cue, he focused on ramming your cunt. Bruising your cervix at every brush it makes. Your walls became more tighter and warmer, clamping around his cock that Heeseung could feel his orgasm brewing too.
“Fuck pretty —” a mixture of groan and whimper escaped his lips as he bites his lips hard, wounding it as his cock twitch sensitively.
“Heeseung —”
“Gonna come too baby, you with me?”
You nodded, eager and greedy to chase your high. Heeseung’s hands grabbed your waist and without any thought, lifted your torso as he pounded inside you nonstop as if you were just a fleshlight to him.
The coil snapped and in just a second, both your orgasms came. Echoes of moans and cries filled the room, as your body shook feverishly at the intensity. Your legs had lost its strength, falling on the side while Heeseung gripped on your waist tight, releasing his cum inside the condom before pulling out without any thought.
He stroked his cock messily, rubbing his slit to release more of his cum, completely staining his hands and your stomach while you catch your breath. You didn’t complain further as you felt his warm cum mark you completely.
Seconds turned, minutes passed and Heeseung laid on his back next to you. Both of you were totally ruined. Hair disheveled, bed wet with the mixture of fluids, as the high remained in your body and mind.
“You with me?” Heeseung asked out of nowhere.
You hummed as an answer. “I don’t want to move.”
That’s when Heeseung sat up from his place, glancing at you whose eyes were drowsy.
“Go take a rest, I’ll just get you some water,” Heeseung said, brushing your hair so lightly that you couldn’t help but to lean onto it.
Slowly, your eyes closed and as Heeseung watched you fall in your deep slumber, he gave you a short kiss on the cheeks before standing up to clean himself.
-
You don’t know what time you woke up.
All you know is that you’re clothed now, the sheets were already cleaned and replaced, and there’s even a blanket thrown over you.
You tried to sinked-in where you are right now, recalling everything that happened earlier as you glance at the person who’s sitting on his computer chair, mixing some tunes on his pc — that’s when it hit you.
“Oh my god,” you mumbled, and yet, that’s enough for Heeseung to turn around and look at you.
“You’re awake,” he said, relieved.
“What time is it?” you asked, looking around his room for a clock.
“It’s two-thirty,” Heeseung casually replied and yet, your eyes widened.
“What!?”
“Well, you were knocked-out dead after we…and Riki also let his girlfriend rest, so we didn’t want to bother waking you up.” Heeseung nonchalantly explained.
“Shit, my manager’s going to kill me,” you said before standing up but almost stumbled because your legs were numb and your pussy’s sore. If it wasn’t for Heeseung who caught you immediately, you were probably on the floor now.
His arms were on your waist, helping you stand carefully while you muttered curses under your breath.
“Huh, I guess the sex didn’t help you relax at all,” Heeseung observed, seeing how agitated you were.
You stopped, remembering why you ended up oversleeping. The two of you stared at each other for a second, and that’s when you felt your heart beating fast again as the rush of blood flushed on your cheeks.
Then you remembered how he was earlier. The sex, his dick — and how he took care of you after the act. You couldn’t believe that Heeseung’s real, and you just had sex with him earlier. He really didn’t lie when he said his dick game was good.
“Sorry, I overreacted again, where is she?” you asked, guilt washing on you.
His hand loosened on your waist. He hummed, “She’s still asleep, Riki said if you woke up, we could wake her up now, would you like that?”
“Of course, thank you.”
“No problem, let’s wait outside, alright?” he suggested and you nodded. Immediately, you two went outside, returning to the living room where it’s audibly quiet now.
“Heeseung,” you called out, almost stuttering. Heeseung turned around and looked at you.
“Thank you, the sex did help me, I slept like a baby afterwards, thank you,” you said softly, almost embarrassed and yet, Heeseung smiled sweetly.
“Dick game that good?” he teased and you only chuckled.
“Yeah, fortunately,” you admitted and Heeseung laughed at your answer.
Not a few minutes later, Heeseung returned to the living room with your co-member and Riki. your worries fade out when she looks happy and satisfied that you didn’t pry further. She bid goodbye to her boyfriend, hugging him as if it’ll be the last time they’ll see each other.
Young love. You thought, watching them, that you didn’t notice Heeseung standing beside you.
“Hey,” he said, making you glance at him.
“Hi,” you smiled.
“Here,” he handed you a folded paper and you looked at it confused.
“What’s this for?” you asked, opening it and seeing a number and Heeseung’s name on it.
“Just in case you have babysitting duty again,” he winked. “Or not, you know where you’ll contact me.”
You stared at him and he gave you a smile, you returned it immediately as you placed the paper in your short’s pocket, because who knows, maybe you’ll do another babysitting duty again, so might as well inform him beforehand, right?
( 심재윤 ) In which - Your blind-date stands you up, but your bartender has other plans for the night. After all, there's no way he's letting an outfit like that go to waste.
~ 4.4K
Warnings / Tags: smut, mature content, dirty talk, one night stand, heavy sexual tension, oral sex (male and female rec), size kink, rough sex, fingering, aftercare, drinking/alcohol
I finally broke up with my toxic boyfriend of 3 years a few months ago. After that I moved across the country to the big city; NYC to start over again. I finally took the job me and my ex got into multiple arguments about and which I firstly declined for my ex.
Now a friend of mine set me up on a blind-date with one of her colleagues. Because she said; “you need to go out more! Gosh you’re; young fun and beautiful! You can’t wait your 20s here in an office!”
Me and Ryan (my blind-date) had agreed on 9pm at 'Chelsea' a popular restaurant in the city. I got there 20 minutes earlier; 23 if we’re being correct. I like being on time. I'm always on time. I'm a type A kind of person (ONE other reasons me and Sam my ex broke up.)
I wore a cute elegant silky black mini dress that moved beautifully with every step I took, with some knee high boots.
I walked into the quiet busy restaurant. “Good evening Miss; did you have a reservation?” The Hostess asked me kindly. “Hello, I'm here for a first date…still waiting on the other person; I'm a little early.” I said nervously looking around. “Okay, you can take a seat at the bar and I’ll grab you when the table is ready.” She said. “Thank you.” I said walking inside to the bar.
I took a seat on an empty bar chair. It was quite busy; but it was a Friday night so I can't be annoyed. People looked happy like they can finally take a breath after the busy week of work.
I was looking around the restaurant when I got interrupted. “Good evening ma’am; what would you like to drink?” one of the bartenders asked.
He scared the living shit ou of me with the sudden words. “GOD!!” I said under my breath quickly turning around hand on my chest. “Sorry! didn't mean to startle you.” The bartender said. “No worries!” I said still catching my breath a little.
“Jake!” The bartender said smiling and offering his hand. Okay? This is something I still need to get used to. “Aria.” I said shaking his hand. “So Aria what can I get you to drink?” Jake asked smiling drying some glasses.
“Um… Just a water please.” I said still nervously looking around. “A water?!” Jake asked as if I didn't know what I just asked for. “Yes just a simple still water please.” I said now turning to him. “Well that's boring.” He said. “Well what can I say; I just like a good plain boring glass of water.” I said turning away and looking around again. “Okay whatever you say!” Jake said grabbing me my water.
“Soo Tinder or Hinge?” Jake asked putting my water in front of me. “Pardon?! I'm sorry?!” I asked turning back fast to him, in shock of what he just asked me. “Sorry; your just- first date right?” Jake asked. “How did you-“ I got cut off.
“Nervously looking around? sitting at the bar alone at 8:48pm? Fidgeting with your rings?” Jake said looking at my rings. “Am I that transparent.” I asked kind of embarrassed.
“No-no… Well yes but-“
“GOSH” I yelled putting my hands in front of my face.
“It’s not something bad!” You definitely not the only one and also not the last” Jake said going further drying some glasses. “See that woman right there in purple?” He asked me kinda hanging over the bar whispering. I nodded.
“That’s Ms Wyatt. She comes every month with a new first date. They hit it off for about 3 weeks, then a week later she comes in and orders a red wine bottle for herself. Then the next week it starts all over again! It’s kinda sad…she’s very sweet tho!” Jake said leaning back again. I looked over to see a middle age woman in a purple blouse and some skinny jeans; she looks around 40 but her face says max 30 on a good night… gosh maybe I should also start with botox.
“I just moved here and this is my first date after my last relationship of 3 years.” I said holding my head in my hand. “ 3 years?! How did that end?” Jake asked kinda nosy.
“Well if you want to know; he cheated so now I'm here on a blind date with my friend college.” I said.
“AND a blind date… you know you asked me for just a water right… you sure you don't want a cocktail?” Jake asked looking almost concerned for me. “I don't want to look like an alcoholic in front of my blind date ordering a drink while still waiting.”
“Whatever suits you.” Jake said walking away. Well that was kind of rude.
10 minutes past its 9pm now. I looked around and open my phone… I’ll wait 5 more minutes before messaging him. Maybe traffic?
“Running late?” Jake asked as he walked by. “Traffic.” I said bitterly after 5 minutes I message him. No answer. Rude.
It was now 9:15pm so I decided to call him.
“Mr blind-date is not coming?” Jake asked as he walked by again. “Probably some NYC subway problem.” I said taking the last sip of my water.
It was now 9:45pm
“Manhattan.” Jake said. Putting a cocktail in front of me.
“I didn't order-“ “neither did your blind-date who stood you up so here. From the house, from me; I’m the house.” Jake said walking away again.
After some time i decided to called Lily; the friend who set me on this blind-date to begin with.
“O M G. I'm sooo sorry! I thought Ryan was different. I'm so sorry Aria!” Lily said again. “No worries. It’s nothing you could have done.” I said looking around. I saw Ms Wyatt sitting at a table with a VERY Young looking man. Jealous.
“I think I'm going to make a botox appointment” “WAIT WAT?!-“ I hear Lily yell over the phone before I Hung up.
I finished the last sip of my Manhattan, the sweet burn sliding down my throat as the ice clinked against the glass. I was about to stand when Jake walked over, wiping his hands on a towel.
"I'm sorry for your date standing you up." he said, voice low.
"Well, it's not your fault, just... your species." I muttered, rolling my eyes.
"Ouch! But still not cool of him." he replied.
"Well, I can't do anything about it… it's just I got all dressed up for nothing. That's honestly sadder." I said, glancing down at my silky black mini dress.
Jake hesitated, then leaned in. "Um—I—ugh. I get off in like ten minutes. If you want, I could bring you to a midnight bar to grab a drink so the outfit doesn't go to waste."
"Oh, thank you Jake, but you don't have to—"
"I want to! You said you just moved here, right? Let me introduce you to the real nightlife. Give me five!" He walked off fast before I could argue.
"O-okay?" I said more to myself.
Seven minutes later he was back, changed out of his work clothes, hair freshly styled, chewing gum in his mouth. He looked like a god.
"You clean up nice…" I managed to say.
"Well thank you. Let's go!" He grabbed my wrist gently but firmly.
We walked fifteen minutes to 'The Loft.' It was louder, wilder, packed with people in casual clothes. I felt a bit overdressed in my elegant dress. The bartender spotted Jake and grinned.
“HEY Jake!” he said, dabbing Jake up. Great, so he comes here often… I’m probably not the first girl he’s ghosted on a first date and then taken out. Pathetic Aria!
“oooo and who is this? You've never brought a girl!" he said glancing at me… oh.
“Ummm” Jake said now looking at me. Because WHO am I?! We just met.
"He- He's the guy who stepped up… my date ghosted me." I explained.
"WOW, that's fucked up. Welk you're in good hands! Jake's the best!" the bartender said. "What can I get you two?"
"Just give us something good." Jake answered.
"You know I love that answer!"
One drink led to another. Hours passed. We talked, laughed, and I got tipsier than I'd ever been with a guy.
"Gosh, I've never been this tipsy while with a guy!" I giggled. "Why is that?" Jake asked. "Umm… I don't know, just never got that comfortable?"
"Well, I'm honored!" He bowed dramatically. I laughed.
“Well this is mine.” I said as we reached my front door, I turned to him. "I really enjoyed tonight, Jake. Thank you."
"Me too, Aria." He stood close, his cologne wrapping around me; something woody and warm, mixed with the faint scent of his skin.
Without thinking, I grabbed his face and kissed him. The second our lips touched, I sobered up and pulled back.
"Fuck- I'm so sorry—"
Before I could finish my sentence Jake's hand wrapped around the back of my neck and he kissed me again, harder.
I melted into it, a small moan escaping as his grip tightened on my waist. His tongue swept across my lower lip, asking for entry, and I granted it without hesitation.
The kiss deepened, hungry and desperate, like we'd been holding back all night. I let out a little moan.
"Fuck." he growled against my lips. He pulled back just an inch. "Can I—can I come in?"
I didn't answer with words. I opened the door and he followed, kicking it shut behind him. His mouth claimed mine again as we stumbled inside.
The hallway was dark, lit only by the faint glow from my living room light. I didn't bother with the lights.
His hands slid down my back, gripping my hips, pulling me flush against him. I could feel the hard outline of his cock through his pants, pressing against my stomach.
"Fuck, I've been thinking about this all night." he murmured against my neck. My pussy was already throbbing, a slick heat pooling between my legs.
He kissed me again, walking me backward until my shoulders hit the wall. His thigh pressed between my legs, and I ground down against it, feeling the friction through my dress. The thin silk did nothing to hide the wetness soaking my panties.
“Can I?” Jake asked, his fingers fidgeting with the straps of my dress. I nodded. “Words.” Jake said slowly, his voice husky. “Yes, please.”
Jake's hands found the zipper of my dress. He pulled it down slowly, deliberately, the sound loud in the quiet room. The fabric loosened around my shoulders, and he pushed the straps down. The dress slid down my body, pooling at my feet.
I stood before him in my red lace lingerie set; a matching bra and panties, delicate and bold. The deep crimson contrasted against my skin, the intricate patterns of the lace hugging my body. The bra pushed my breasts up, my nipples already hard, visible through the sheer fabric. The panties were high-cut, making my legs look longer, the lace barely covering the triangle between my thighs.
Jake took a step back. His eyes roamed over my body, dark and hungry. He let out a low whistle.
"Damn," he said, his voice thick with appreciation. "God. I'm glad your blind-date set you up. Now this is all mine."
A shiver ran through me at his words. The possessiveness in his tone made my core clench. He stepped forward, his hands sliding up my sides, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts. He leaned in, kissing my collarbone, then down to the swell of my chest.
"You're even more beautiful than I imagined." he said, his lips brushing against my skin.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties and pulled them aside, exposing my wet pussy to the cool air. I gasped as his fingers found my folds, sliding through the slickness. The lace was already soaked.
"So fucking wet," he growled. "All for me? Tell me this pussy's been dripping for me all night."
"All for you," I breathed. "I've been wet since you stond next to me ready to leave Chelsea."
"Yeah? You were thinking about my cock while we talked? Thinking about how I'd fuck you?"
"Yes—God, yes."
He pushed one finger inside me, and I moaned, my head falling back against the wall. The stretch was immediate, my walls gripping him. He added a second finger, pumping slowly, curling them to find that sensitive spot inside me. The sound of his fingers sliding in and out of my wetness filled the silence.
"God, you're tight." he said, his thumb finding my clit. "Your pussy's gripping my fingers like it's begging for more. I can feel how desperate you are; how much you need a real cock in you."
I whimpered, my hips bucking against his hand. He worked me relentlessly, his fingers fucking me while his thumb circled my clit. The sounds of my wetness filled the hallway; obscene, slick, perfect.
"Please," I begged. "I need more. I need your mouth, your cock— Fuck; anything."
He pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth, licking them clean. "Taste so good. I need to taste you properly. I want to drink every drop of your cum."
We slowly made our way to my couch. It wasn't big, but it was cozy.
He carefully pushed me onto it while dropping to his knees in front of me. He pushed my legs apart, my back still against the couch. He pulled my panties aside again, exposing my pussy fully. His breath was hot against my folds, and I trembled. Then he leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe from my entrance to my clit.
"Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined," he muttered. "I could eat you all night."
He didn't hold back. His tongue dove into me, fucking me while his nose ground against my clit. He licked and sucked, alternating between deep, probing strokes and quick flicks against my swollen nub. His fingers slid back inside, two this time, curling and stroking my G-spot. I was already close, my legs shaking.
"That's it," he murmured against me. "Come for me. Let me taste you. I want to feel your pussy clench."
He focused on my clit, sucking and flicking, while his fingers curled and stroked. I shattered, my climax crashing through me. I screamed his name, my pussy clenching around his fingers, my cum coating his tongue. He lapped at me through it, drawing out every wave of pleasure, groaning as if he was savoring the most exquisite meal.
When I came down, he kissed his way up my body, leaving a trail of wet kisses over my stomach, between my breasts, up my neck. I could taste myself on his lips when he kissed me. He lifted me easily, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He carried me now to the bedroom, laying me down on the bed.
I reached for his belt, unbuckling it with clumsy fingers. He helped me push his pants down, and his cock sprang free. It was massive! Thick, long, veiny, the head already leaking precum. My mouth watered.
"Holy shit," I whispered.
He grinned, dark and predatory. "Think you can handle it? I'm gonna stretch that tight little pussy until you can't walk straight."
I sat up, pushing him onto his back. I wanted to taste him. I lowered my head between his legs, wrapping my hand around the base of his cock. It was so thick my fingers didn't meet. I licked the tip, tasting his precum, then opened my mouth wide and took him in.
He groaned, his hand finding my hair. I bobbed my head, taking as much as I could. He was so big I gagged, my throat struggling to accommodate him. I used my hand on the part I couldn't fit, stroking in rhythm with my mouth.
"Fuck, Aria," he groaned. "Your mouth feels incredible. Suck it, Pretty. Show me how much you want it."
I looked up at him, my eyes watering, and took him deeper. I relaxed my throat, swallowing around the head, and he cursed. I sucked hard as I pulled back, then took him again. His hips bucked, pushing deeper. I let him fuck my throat, spit drooling down his shaft, the sounds obscene.
"Look at you," he said, his voice strained. "Taking my whole cock in your throat like a good girl. You love choking on it, don't you?" I moaned in response, the vibration making him hiss.
"I'm gonna come if you keep that up." he warned. "But I want to save this load for your pussy. I want to fill you up until you're dripping with it."
He pulled me off, a string of saliva connecting my lips to his cock. I was panting, my lips swollen.
"Not yet," he said, breathless. He flipped me onto my back, settling between my legs. He didn't remove my panties. Instead, he pulled them aside, exposing my pussy; wet, swollen, ready. The head of his cock nudged against my entrance, and I held my breath.
"Tell me if it's too much," he said. "But I know you can take it. You love the stretch."
"Yes," I whispered. "I need it." Then he pushed in.
The stretch was blinding. I felt every inch, every ridge, every vein as he slid inside me. My walls stretched around him, struggling to accommodate his girth. I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders. He paused, letting me adjust, then pushed deeper. The feeling of being split open was overwhelming; pain and pleasure tangled together.
"Fuck, you're tight." he groaned, his forehead dropping to mine. "So fucking tight around my cock. I can feel every inch of you gripping me. You're squeezing me so hard, Pretty."
He inched deeper, giving me time to adjust. When he was fully seated, his hips pressed flush against mine, I felt impossibly full. I could feel him in my stomach, a deep, aching pressure. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
"Move," I begged. "Please. Fuck me."
He started slow, long strokes that pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in. My pussy clung to him, not wanting to let go. The drag of his cock against my walls was exquisite; every ridge and vein rubbing against my sensitive flesh. He watched my face, watching me feel every inch of him.
"You feel that?" he asked, voice low. "Feel how big I am? Stretching your little pussy? Look at how your lips spread around my cock."
"Yes," I whimpered.
"Yeah? You like it? You like feeling me split you open? Tell me how much you love it."
"I love it—fuck—I love your big cock in me."
"That's right. You'll be feeling me for days."
He picked up the pace, pounding into me. The bed creaked beneath us. My moans turned into cries, each thrust pushing the air from my lungs. He leaned down and kissed me, swallowing my sounds. His hand slid between us, thumb finding my clit through the lace of my panties.
"You feel so good." he growled against my lips. "Such a tight, wet pussy. Made for my cock. I could fuck you forever."
His thrusts grew erratic. He grabbed my legs and pushed them back, folding me in half, the new angle letting him go deeper. He slammed into me, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind my eyes.
"Right there," I sobbed.
"Yeah? Right there, Pretty?" He drilled into me, his thumb working my clit. "I can feel you clenching around me. You gonna come? Gonna cum on my big cock?"
"Yes—yes—please—"
"Come on my cock. Let me feel you come around me. Squeeze me tight."
I shattered. My orgasm ripped through me, my pussy clamping down around his thick length. I cried out, my entire body convulsing. Jake groaned, his hips stuttering, but he didn't stop. He kept fucking me through it, drawing out every spasm.
"Fuck, I'm gonna fill you up," he growled. "Fill this tight pussy with my cum. Pump it deep inside you so you can feel it dripping out of you all night."
"Come inside me," I begged. "Please. Fill me up."
His hips jerked, and I felt him pulse. Hot cum flooded me, filling me in waves. He kept thrusting, pushing his load deeper, groaning through his own climax. I felt every spurt, every twitch of his cock inside me, his cum coating my walls.
We stayed locked together, breathing hard. He finally pulled out slowly, cum leaking from my stretched pussy. He kissed my forehead, then my lips.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle.
"More than okay," I whispered.
He collapsed beside me, his weight a comforting pressure. We lay there, panting, our bodies slick with sweat.
I expected him to roll over and go to sleep even leave. But instead, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. Then another. He brushed my hair out of my face, looking at me with those dark eyes.
"Stay, Please." I whispered.
He smiled against my mouth. "I'm not going anywhere Pretty."
synopsis ⨾ resellers aren’t really that annoying . . . right? wrong! when you repeatedly miss out on clothes from your usual source, only to see the exact pieces you wanted pop up on different girls online, it doesn’t take long to realise a mysterious reseller has been beating you to it every time. after some digging, you discover the account belongs to not only a man, but one of your favorite mutuals — nishimura riki.
content warning ⨾ kms joke, mentions of drugs
𐔌ㅤ complete
notes : hey so i actually know nothing about reselling and i don’t know anything about the sources either so lwk ignore that ?
In which… one thing leads to another after helping the meanest guy at school through an anxiety attack.
wc: 1.7k
based off this request!
contents/warnings: making out, cursing, smoking, slight angst, use of she/her pronouns, use of Y/N.
The school bell echoed throughout her 3rd-period classroom, signaling that class was now over, and it was lunchtime for the students. But for Y/N, that bell signaled ‘go out behind the school building and smoke’ time.
On the way to her destination, she saw two things, two dudes making out in the empty science classroom, which she saw as she walked by the window, and Finn Blake crouched down beside the dumpster, breathing like he just ran a marathon with his hands raking through his hair.
Finn disliked her, so she had no choice but to pretend the feeling was mutual. The truth is, Y/N thought he was like, the coolest person ever, but being ‘friends’ with Amy Yamada meant her and Finn would never cross paths.
She walked toward him, her first bad decision of the day. Cleared her throat, and then asked him;
“Are you alright?” Dumbass. Of course he's not.
At the lack of response, Y/N crouched down beside Finn and gave him the water bottle she had in her backpack. “I’m fine.” he said sharply through labored breaths. “Finn, no you’re not, let me help you.” She put her hand on his shoulder, she wasn’t sure what nurturing spirit possessed her, but this was an out-of-body experience.
Y/N wanted to burst into tears about how scared he looked at nothing in particular.
She tried again to give him her water, and again he refused. She had experience with this and wanted to help, but knew he wasn’t going to accept shit from her.
“When this would happen to me, my mom used to give me these exercises. To help focus on something else, y’know?” She moved her hand to his back, rubbing circles to help calm him down.
Finn nodded, still breathing heavily and trembling, but less than when she’d found him. “Okay, so the first one I do, it’s called the 5-4-3-2-1 method.” Finn side-eyed her. “I know, I know, sounds stupid. But it works, I promise.”
“So first you name 5 things you can see.” she said, awaiting his answer. “Uhh,” he looked around, thinking. “You.” he paused,
“The dumpster, that banana peel over there,”
He paused again and looked around.
Which allowed her to look at him, like really look at him. ‘Jesus, he’s hotter than I remembered.’ to which she internally reprimanded herself, but she was right, from the fluffy brown hair, to the slope of his nose and the hard look in his eyes, to the beauty mark on his cheek.
And before she knew it, he was looking back at her. “So… What do I do next...?” he said, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “Oh- um…” Y/N fumbled her words, feeling heat rush up the back of her neck. “Now, you name four things that you can touch.” Her brain winced at how unintentionally sexual that came out.
“Okay…” he responded, then poked Y/N’s cheek, “You. Again.” which elicited a chuckle out of her. “Uh, the pavement, the dumpster, and my jeans, I guess.” he looked over at her, and Y/N could’ve sworn she saw a ghost of a smile crossing his face.
She knew that Finn was doing fine now, and the thought of him going along with this because he maybe actually enjoyed Y/N’s company made her heart swell.
A few minutes passed of them just sitting there, Y/N still rubbing calming circles on his back, Finn spoke.
“Question. How do you know all that stuff? About how to calm yourself down and whatnot.” he suddenly asked.
“Well, you remember Bruce Yamada, right? One of the grabber's last ‘victims’ I guess?”
he nodded. “Yea, didn’t know you knew him.” he responded quietly. “He was my best friend in the world, we did everything together.” she paused, thinking of all the memories they had. “And I always had anxiety and weird dreams and imagination shit, and that all multiplied by, like, a thousand when they found out he was dead.” Y/N blinked back tears as she pictured the day her mom told her they had found Bruce. Not in the way they wanted to.
“i’m really sorry.” Finn finally said, his hand on her shoulder. “You’re the last person that should be sorry, they wouldn’t have ever found him if not for you and your sister.” she smiled, and if she weren’t paying attention, Y/N wouldn’t have seen Finn’s eyes flicker to her lips for a split second.
Her cheeks warmed up, quickly looking away. “And I'm really sorry that Amy Yamada is a bitch to your sister. I don’t like hanging out with her, but I guess I feel responsible for her in a way.” She looked back at him, a small smile on her face, and now it was her turn to glance at his lips. Which he noticed, he definitely noticed, and the smirk that crossed his face was like something out of a cheesy rom-com, making her pause for a minute.
“Y’know if I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually want to be around me.” Y/N quipped, pulling your pack of cigarettes out of her backpack and taking one from the carton. “You smoke?” Finn asked “Mhm.” She said as she lit her cigarette, “Do you have a problem with it?” exhaling the smoke as she asked.
“No, you just seem kinda… prissy I guess.”
“Prissy? Seriously?!” she laughed in shock
“If I’m prissy then you’re just a delinquent, how about that?” he laughed at her words.
“Okay, okay,” he put his hands up in mock surrender, “not prissy, just- I don’t know, ‘girly’ I guess?”
“Finn, that’s even worse.” she giggled, which was music to his ears. “You want one?” Y/N asked, extending her cigarette to him, which he took. As he exhaled the smoke, she couldn’t stop looking at him, thinking about how gorgeous this boy was. ‘fuuuck shut up shut up shut up!!!!’ her brain was telling itself, and she sighed to dispel her thoughts.
She went ahead and lit another cigarette, letting him have the one she previously used. “You come out here often?”
“When everyone around me’s acting like a whiny bitch, yeah.” Y/N said, sharper than she meant to. “Some friend group you have.”
She only chuckled bitterly in response.
“What do you do for fun, anyway? Not so sound rude but, y’know…” Y/N asked,
“Smoke weed and fight assholes. It’s a very eventful life I have, Y/N” he said sarcastically, but she could only focus on the way he said her name, not very fast or slow, just soft, like the word belonged in his mouth.
She stared at him through the sides of her eyes, head still facing onward so she didn’t exhale smoke in his face. ‘He would probably find that hot though- shut the fuck up!!’ her brain fought with itself, which made her want to turn around and bash her head into the brick wall she sat by.
Finn did the same, giving her that look that only a guy as good-looking as him could give, which made her turn her gaze back ahead of her at supersonic speed. Finn chuckled, low and quiet, and her stomach did somersaults at the sound. “You get flustered easily, y’know?” “Shut up.” she shot back, though her words had no real bite.
“You’re just proving my point, Y/N.” he said, leaning closer to her, and she could feel his breath on her ear, which she quickly composed herself, Y/N knew he knew what he was doing, and she also knew that two could play that game.
Y/N turned her head to look at him, so close that the tips of their noses almost touched as she looked at him through her eyelashes,
smirking slightly, trying to pretend her heart wasn’t hammering in her chest at the proximity.
She wasn’t sure who leaned in first, but before Y/N knew it their lips had connected,
The kiss was soft at first but then turned hungry, years of unspoken tension breaking loose, Finn’s hand on the base of Y/Ns neck and hers tangled in his soft brown hair.
Finn leaned forward closer, deepening the kiss which made her have to put her hands on his chest to stabilize herself “You almost knocked me over, dumbass.” she whispered against his lips, then she pulled away briefly and stood up, pulling him to stand with her and continuing their little ‘moment’.
Y/N wrapped her legs around Finn’s waist as he pinned her back to the wall of the school building, she had kissed boys (and girls on occasion) before, but none of them felt like this, real. Noses bumping, heavy breathing, hands trailing wherever they can.
And Y/N didn’t need to be drunk out of her mind to conclude that Finn Blake was the hottest guy she’s ever seen.
Finn angled his neck down, peppering kisses along her jaw and neck as his hands stayed steady on her thighs to hold her up. “Don’t give me a hickey, jackass, we still have half a school day left.” She snickered. “Just give me a minute, it’s fine.” He mumbled against her neck as Y/N tangled her hands in his hair, trying to pretend that every kiss he placed on her neck didn’t leave a trail of fire beneath her skin. “Finn, I’m serious, lunch is almost over.”
The brunette boy sighed while she unwrapped her legs from his torso, her converse hitting the ground with a soft thud. The two teens pulled away from eachother, lips swollen and breathing heavy, but they wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Same time tomorrow?” The boy asked jokingly, stealing another kiss from her lips. “That’s depressing if you need to schedule a makeout, prettyboy.” She quipped back as she wiped her lipgloss off Finn’s lips with her thumb. “Is that a yes or no?” He replied quizzically, “it’s a yes, dumbass. See you later.” Y/N said with a crooked grin, picking her backpack up off the pavement and starting her walk back to the front of the school building.
A/n: Sorry this took me so long yall writing kissing scenes is hard😓
Unfortunately for you, no man has ever given you some good head. Fortunately for you, your best friend is more annoyed by it than you are. It’s just a favor, right?
or the one where your best friend jake eats you out as a way to admit his own feelings for you, also, apparently sunghoon existing is an issue.
minors dni! | kindly leave feedback and reblog to give bestie jake conflicting feelings
WORDCOUNT― 16.1 k
PAIRING― jake x afab reader (ft. sunghoon)
CONTENT― a lot of waiting, like to the point it even annoyed me, very fluffy stuff , typical best friends to fuck buddies to “actually, I had feelings this whole time”, jealousy, jake is whiny and needy when he’s horny, reader thinks it’s cute. angst if you’re a baby about it
OTHER CHARACTERS― sunghoon as the mutual friend who bangs reader
NOTE― this was originally written by me on my other blog [@/ncteez], if you’ve read it before, that’s why!
smut tags under cut::
smut tags― BIG DICKED BESTIE, pussy eating (he gets IN THERE), masturbation in the form of dry humping a mattress and then into his hand, finger fucking, cum eating, sunghoon hook up, morning sex, lazy fingering, lazy fuck, dirty talk , unprotected sex, awkward build up,raw grinding, no blowjob in sight sorry lmao, deep penetration, cream pie, kind of cum stuffing but like not entirely intentional, cheesy love stuff
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“What? Again?” Jake says, leaning back against the couch with a groan and a smack to his own forehead.
“Yeah, so basically he went down on me for less than a minute but expected me to, like, go long enough to ‘swallow’ or whatever.” You continue the story in a frustrated huff, shaking your head in self-pity.
Jake groans louder, leaning himself forward again and swiping his drink from your coffee table to take a long and thoughtful sip.
“How many times is that, then?” He says between sips, glancing around the room as if he’s in deep thought. “I can’t help but think you pick these kinds of guys on purpose at this point.”
You look at him in mock pain, grabbing his drink and taking your own thoughtful sip of it.
“I dunno, they always talk big game during phone sex and stuff. I figure eventually one of them will live up to it.” You drone on, internally marking your recent date’s name off of your call-back list.
“Be honest with me, have you ever actually gotten good head? Like how would you know if they’re bad if you have nothing good to compare them to?” Jake asks, letting you mindlessly drink his beverage.
It’s not weird to be having these types of conversations with him, if at all, something would seem off if you didn’t. He’s the only person in your life that you’ve ever felt this close to. At this point, you think he’d have to chase you down with a bloody hatchet for things to be awkward. Which is…kind of interesting, you guess.
“Well, I mean,” You think for a moment too long for his liking, but he gives you the space to finish your answer. “It feels good and all but it’s not like I’ve ever gotten off by it.”
“Correction –” Jake starts, blinking right at you. “You’ve never been given the chance to get off on it.” His bright smile shows through his words, and you’re sure he’s mocking you at this point.
“Yeah, yeah. Yada, yada. I have terrible taste in sexual partners but to be fair, it’s not like the pool is that big to choose from.”
He nods in agreement, humming as if to end the conversation and still watching you sip at his drink.
“Would you be opposed to–” He pauses, making eye contact with you. “Y’know, I could do it for you.”
You pause, nearly dropping his drink out of your hand but thankfully your grip actually tightens on it instead. You swallow as you look at him, searching his face to see if this is some kind of joke.
“Jae-fucking-yun,” You deadpan, sitting his cup back down on your coffee table and leaning toward him, staring him down. “You’d really do that, for me?”
You bat your eyelashes at him, mostly playing it off as a half-joke just to see if he’s fucking with you or not.
“How else are you gonna experience it?”
You stare him down harder.
“You say that like you’re some sort of pussy-eating-god,” You narrow your eyes. “Are you?”
He shrugs casually with his little smile, leaning back on your couch and stretching his arms out. One of his hands lands behind your shoulder and you lean into it.
“I’d let you be the judge of that if you’re up for it.”
Finally, you decide that he’s definitely not joking and you’re definitely gonna do it because like, that’s your best friend. Experiencing your firsts with him comes almost as naturally as walking. You had your first kiss with him, albeit it was a dare. You experienced your first concert with him, your first break up, your first failed exam, and even your first legal drink in a club. What’s so bad about letting him eat you out?
“Right now?” You ask, quirking your brow and tilting your head.
“Now, tomorrow, next week. Whenever.” He runs his hands through his hair as he says it and only now are you starting to really tune into his features that you’ve already found handsome.
Day after day you’ve seen him on this couch and in other states of dress without really thinking twice about how his lips would feel on you (despite that short first kiss). You’ve seen him kissing all up on other people, you’ve seen him in the club with wet lips from alcohol, you’ve seen him all messy and eating spaghetti at his parent’s house– but for some reason, his lips seem different now. His sleepy eyes seem different, his messy hair seems like something that should be tugged on, his fucking jawline–
“Why’re you staring at me like that?” He looks at you up and down as if he’s judging. “You wanna go right now?”
You nod slowly, letting the traces of any lusty thoughts you’ve had about him in your life come to the front in waves. Then you quickly shake your head.
“Wait, no,” You roll your eyes more at yourself than him. “I haven’t showered since my date, maybe I should, uh…”
“Uh – yeah. Please do.” He grimaces, that same dopey smile coming back after a moment.
“Fair.” You roll your eyes. “Gonna go shower then.”
Part of you wonders if like, he’s being totally legit. For all you know, you’ll get out of the shower and he’ll be too busy doing something else, or like, he’ll go home or something. No hurt in seeing though.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
In the bathroom, you can’t help the feeling in your chest at even the thought that this may be about to happen.
Excitement. That’s what you feel. Not because it’s Jake. Well, maybe a little bit because you wanna see what his tongue is all about but more so because you’re about to get some presumably good head.
You shower thoughtfully, cleaning every part of your body and feeling little goosebumps rise and fall with each sensation of your air conditioning snaking its way past your shower doors. When you get out, you lotion your body so you’re all nice and soft and brush your teeth just in case things go a little further. You’re not expecting it to, but y’know, nothing wrong with having fun if it comes to it.
After all, he’s doing you a favor by going down on you, the least you can do is smell good, be soft, and totally prepared for if he were to suggest more, right? Right. Anyway, you’re all showered up and opt to just let your hair do its own thing as you throw on your shirt and shorts. You ignore the panties at this point, because why not?
When you get back to the living room, Jake isn’t there. Naturally, you check your bedroom and there he is, still his normal self and lounging against your headboard while flipping through videos on his phone.
“And she’s back,” he comments, reaching a hand out as if to invite you to your own bed. “Change your mind yet?”
“Not even for a second,” you smile as you take a spot in front of him, your entire body facing him as you pull your knees up and lay your chin against your arms. “Have you?”
He seems to fall into a more serious tone now, locking his phone before tossing it to the side and flicking his eyes up to look at you, scanning your legs in the shorts.
“No,” he chokes back, shocked to see straight between the gap of your shorts and actually lay eyes on the point of this whole situation for the first time. “And you’re not wearing anything under those shorts.”
You watch his face and the way it turns from your best friend into something you’ve seen time and time again from men you’ve gone home with. It’s sexy on him though, for some reason.
“Figured I’d save you the trouble?”
He smiles, now moving himself toward you and reaching a hand behind to cradle your head.
“Lay back,” he says softly, in a voice you’ve only heard a few times from him, “you could have left the shorts off too though.” He adds with an even softer laugh.
For some reason, it makes you feel shy. His hand guiding you to lay back all while grabbing the pillow from behind him and placing it under your head so that you’re nice and comfortable. You watch him look at you and honestly, it’s in a way you can’t remember him ever looking at you before. If this is how he looks at other women, you may be a little jealous.
It feels more intense right now than you thought it would.
“You’re being weird.” You say offhandedly, looking away from him and trying to keep the heat from flushing to your cheeks.
“You’re letting me eat you out, how am I being weird?” He leans up from you, putting two hands on your knees but still waiting for your eyes to meet his again. “You want me to act like the other dudes? Dip my tongue in then wrap it up?”
You groan, rolling your eyes back to him and analyzing the way his big hands drape over your knees.
“Okay, fair.” You admit defeat, feeling his warm palms move down the back of your thighs and to your ass.
“Lift up,” He says, quickly pulling the shorts off of you when you do as he asks.
“Oh–” He gasps quietly. “Damn.”
He stares directly between your legs, bracing his hands back at your knees and spreading your legs a bit. He angles his head in different ways to really look at you, seemingly enamored with your pussy as a whole.
“Look who’s staring now.” You chuckle, instinctively hiding your face from him despite knowing he isn’t looking up at you.
“Yeah– I am,” he admits, now adjusting himself on the bed to lay down, his head easily slotting between your legs as he rests his chin on your lower belly and looks up at you. “You can pull my hair or do whatever, I’m just gonna…like, start I guess. Tell me if it’s something you don’t like.”
As normal as this isn’t, he’s speaking similar to how the two of you had taken on projects before. He typically takes the lead but offers you control more often than not. All you can do is nod at him, trying to comprehend that it’s your best friend’s head between your legs right now.
When he pulls his head back up with one last nod of confirmation, the first thing you feel is his fingers slipping up your folds, the other braced on your thigh and holding your legs open. You release a short sigh of relief at the feeling and he instantly smirks at it.
“I haven’t even started yet,” He whispers, glancing up at you before fixing his eyes back on the expanse of your pussy. He uses his ring and pointer finger to spread your lips open, and the middle finger to rub against your hole only for a brief moment before he licks his lips and releases his own sigh of relief. “God, Sunghoon would be so jealous right now.”
You look down at him, wanting to ask him what the fuck he’s talking about and why he’d bring up Sunghoon right now, but you find yourself staring at him instead. Breath caught in your throat with the way his eyes meet yours before letting his tongue hang from his mouth as if presenting it to you in a cheeky way.
He’s so fast with it too, with the way he replaces his middle finger with his tensed tongue, forcing you to swallow your words and hold your breath even more. You can feel him lick and nibble against each of your lips before moving inward, flattening his tongue to lick one long, languid, and wet stripe up until meeting your clit.
He wraps his lips around it, sucking once, hard, before releasing it and pulling back to look at you.
“This okay?”
Goddamn him for making you have to talk right now. You’re still trying to comprehend the fact that he said Sunghoon, fucking Sunghoon of all people would be jealous that he’s doing this right now. That’s definitely a question for later, because yeah, it’s fucking okay.
More than okay.
You nod to him, throwing your arm over your eyes and instinctively bucking your hips up towards his hovering mouth.
“Oh, that was hot,” He groans out his compliment, watching the way you hide your face before he pulls his eyes back down and uses his fingers to spread your pussy open wider, enough to see your hole pulsate when he dips down to blow against it, “I can see how wet you’re getting, Is it because of me or is it just because someone is playing with your pussy?”
You half groan half moan at that, mostly because hearing these words from him is something that feels entirely too sexual. As if he hasn’t already tasted you, as if you’re not spread out by his fingers right now. You ignore his words, yet, your brain holds onto them with white knuckles and your hips buck toward him again.
“Not a talker, got it.” He notes, watching your hips chase his breath.
He watches for much longer than you’d like for him to, and you’re about to lift up and accuse him of being just like the other guys but he shuts your thoughts off so fucking fast when you feel his lips on you again.
His tongue explores every part of you, licking and sucking against areas you didn’t even know would feel good until his mouth lands against your clit again. This time, you can’t help it, you grind up and he hums at it as he braces your legs open just enough to skew his head and move his tongue back down.
He’s slurping. Lost in the moment as he does it. Tasting you in full and getting a warm, pleasant feeling each time your legs try to close and your hips buck up for more. He…can’t believe this is finally happening. Fucking finally.
Unsure if you’d let him, he tries anyway. He stiffens his tongue, circling your hole before pressing just a bit, giving you just enough pressure that you feel frustrated. So frustrated that you’re the one who ends up finishing his attempt at something new. You reach down and lace your fingers in his hair, and let out a soft, needy little moan for him.
That sound forces one from his chest too, he can’t help it, really. With the way you’re grabbing his hair and holding his head in place, pressing yourself against his mouth so much harder than before. Ah, he really, really loves doing this for you.
To think any man would already be done? To think anyone could like, not wanna eat you out? Insanity. Stupid, stupid fucking men.
He can taste how wet you are now, truly taste it as he stretches your hole as much as he can with his tongue and another groan of his own. It’s probably embarrassing, truly, but he doesn’t care.
Both of you are moaning at this point as you hold his head in place and grind your hips harder than you think you are. He loves it, you love it. So much that you really are barely comprehending that your best friend could do this the whole time?! And never told you until now?!
Jake is just as drunk on the moment as you are though. Totally lost in the scent and taste of you as he continues to lap away, constantly trying to prove that you can and will get off from his mouth alone. And honestly? It’s at the point that he figures he can use his fingers now too considering you let him spread you open with his tongue. What’s a little more gonna hurt, anyway?
The taste of you alone has him in heaven, cursing any man who didn’t take advantage of your pussy against their mouth. He can easily slip a finger into a hole this wet and needy, gasping in awe before glancing up at you.
God, the way you immediately ride his finger, no huff or sound of irritation that he’s pulled his tongue back now. Your face. Fuck.
He watches as you shamelessly chase the small amount of pleasure he can offer in terms of just head and fingering. He can imagine how hot you’d be without that shirt on, with your legs around his hips, with your mouth wrapped around him. You look blissed out, soaking his finger and keeping your hand in his hair, mindlessly grabbing and scratching at him.
Making quick work, he goes back for your clit, circling his tongue around the bundle of nerves and noticing how you ride his finger harder. He can’t help but smirk against you when you do it either.
The movement of your hips constantly humping against him is enough, and he can’t help but groan at the sound of your slick squelching out of you and warming his chin, he can’t fucking help but grind his own hips forward when you act like this. His cock is so painfully hard for you right now, at the taste of you, that all he can do is chase the mattress beneath him. Tensing his muscles and moaning against your clit shamelessly at the jolts of pleasure he gets from it.
He slips another finger in with ease, feeling how much wetter you’ve gotten in the way the slide is filthy and audible. You groan out at that too, feeling his tongue flick relentlessly against your clit and only now moving your free hand from your face and trailing to your stomach.
You can’t even talk, so you don’t. You lift your shirt up until you can at least rub against your nipples, just to heighten the pleasure your best friend is so graciously giving you.
His eyes roll back when you do that, only to fall back on you and get a frustrated grunt from him. He’s a bit annoyed that the shirt is still covering you despite your hand under it, fondling yourself. He’s thinking with his cock, so fucking aroused that he doesn’t think twice when he aggressively lifts your shirt up to your chin and watches the way your fingers poke and prod at yourself.
He inhales a sharp breath at the image, and his hips fuck harder against the mattress at that. His fingers speed up and now he’s focused. You feel him all over you from the waist down, his tongue flicking and lips sucking against your swollen clit, his fingers relentlessly fucking into you, your fingers heightening those sensations by playing with your own tits– then, oh, then you notice.
Jake, you’re best fucking friend, is so goddamn horny that he’s dry humping against your bed and whining out moans against your clit. Probably to avoid asking for more, to avoid making you feel obligated to get him off too, to avoid anything you may not want or consent to. And that’s why he’s your best friend.
It doesn’t take long after that, your hips come to a stop as you watch him get himself off all while getting you off, and you find your orgasm bubbling up much faster than if you’d have imagined solely because of the image in front of you.
“Jake, you’re fucking whining.” You groan almost as needy as he does, rolling your hips up in a stutter.
He was almost gonna stop, because yeah, he is whining. Gasping for air but only tasting you, only swallowing up the moans you give to him, only inhaling the dull scent of the fruity soap you used when you showered. But, you moan louder after you say that. You like it. You like seeing him act so desperate. So he continues, shamefully reaching one of his hands between himself and the bed and quickly shoving it down his pants, circling around his cock and continuing to fuck into it.
If he thinks hard enough, you’re what he’s fucking right now, and technically, he is. With his fingers and mouth at least. When your hips stutter more, he fucks harder against his hand and holds his fingers inside of you as deep as he can get them. There, he sucks against your clit until you’re the one whining louder.
You’re shocked at how quickly you’re getting off. Releasing a splash against him in a breathy, choked up sob. Nearly squeezing his head between your thighs to the point he almost misses the way you breathe out strings of praises toward him. But he hears them.
He definitely heard you say that he looks sexy with your hand in his hair, and god, did he ride off of the fact that you encouraged him to get off with you. Regardless of if you knew if he could or not, regardless of if you knew his hand was providing just enough pleasure for him to do just that.
There, as your orgasm subsides with his tongue still flicking your sensitive clit, you watch him writhe his hips against your mattress, his eyes slammed shut, and his breath coming out in pornographic moans. So this is what Jake looks like when he cums. It’s desperate, but somehow, it feels passionate too.
You’re all dazed after the fact, pussy pulsing and tingling from the loss of his lips and fingers once he pulls back and lays against your bed with a lazy smile. His pants are uncomfortable, but he doesn’t mind as he wipes his hand across his shirt and watches the way you catch your breath.
“So,” He tries to say, clearing his throat. “I– um– hope that’s what you needed?”
You’re shy. You’re never fucking shy, especially towards Jake, but god.
“Um, yeah,” you sigh out, lifting from the bed and looking back at him. Part of you wondering if that’s what it’s supposed to be like when someone gives you good head, or if that’s just…what it’s like when Jake gives head.
For some reason, you genuinely don’t think another man would ever eat you out to that level again. There’s no way, based on experience.
“It was definitely what I needed.”
He nods in a shy way, reminding himself that his pants are fucking nasty right now. So, he goes to stand up and extends a hand out to you.
“Let’s go clean up.”
You shake your head, not at all wanting to move from this bed. He nods again, pulling your shirt back down for you and leaning to look at you.
“I’m gonna bring you something to clean up with, and I’m gonna shower.”
You smile at him, a bit dazed as you make yourself comfortable on your messy sheets as you think hard about the fact that this dopey motherfucker really never told you how good he was at this? Rude.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Jake looks all proud of himself when he comes back to your room and cuddles into bed with you much like he always has.
“I didn’t expect to sleep over, I have work in the morning.” He whispers in a rasp against your back, curling around you like the perfect big spoon.
You’re quick to turn on his work alarm on your phone, like you always do when he crashes during weeknights. Because, what best friend doesn’t have alarms set for each other anyway?
After a few more long moments of silence, you try to talk. Mostly because your brain is swimming with the fact that, like, you’re not sure but it’s just– wow.
“Hey, um–”
“Hmm?” He hums out in a sleep-heavy voice.
“Did you actually enjoy doing that?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I literally came in my pants.” His sudden louder voice causes you to jump, but you relax back into his gasp.
“Oh,” You think hard. “Is this gonna change stuff between us?”
“Probably, but not in like, a bad way. More like in the can-i-eat-you-out-all-the-time-way.” He responds with mock-confidence, shifting a bit and hugging you closer to him, as if to hide the way he’s trying to make this sound like a joke. For his own comfort, really.
You smile.
“And don’t tell other dudes my secrets.” He adds.
“I won't.”
Jake has his own smile from behind you, wondering if he really is just that good at eating pussy. The truth is, he’s done it a handful of times but he was just really really interested in doing it for you. For…reasons.
・・・・・・THIS WAS ORIGINALLY TWO PARTS, NOW IT’S ONE. YOU’RE WELCOME・・・・・・
“Hey, um,”
“Hmm?” Jake hummed out in a sleep-heavy voice.
“Did you actually enjoy doing that for me?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I literally came in my pants.” He responded in a sudden, louder voice.
“Oh,” You think hard. “Is this gonna change stuff between us?”
“Probably, but not in like, a bad way. More like in the can-i-eat-you-out-all-the-time-way.”
You remember the conversation that happened after he went down on you like it was yesterday, and he’s a goddamn liar. Nothing changed in your friendship with him, and he certainly doesn’t ask to eat you out all the time either. If anything, you’ve felt disappointed time and time again with the aftermath of that night.
It’s weighing on you in a strange way. At first, the weeks following the first and apparently, only time Jake went down on you, you almost expected him to ask for a repeat. You wanted to return the favor. You wanted him to ask but he never did. Even when he came over to hang out, even when you tried to lay down hints.
Nothing changed.
In fact, he doesn’t even talk about it. He doesn’t look at you as if he’s tasted you, and he doesn’t act like he came in his palm against your bed, right in front of you. He’s just…Jake. Sweet, caring, aloof, Jake. And you’re just you. Except you want to be someone else at this point. Someone that he does feel differently around after that.
Maybe you weren’t a memorable event for him when it comes to intimacy. Maybe he prefers to pretend it never happened? Maybe he was really just doing you a favor and intending for it to never go past the initial act. Even with his sweet words after the fact. Maybe, that was just to reassure you so it wouldn’t be awkward.
You’re a version of you who wants to know what the fuck he’s thinking about. Did it taste bad? Did he get cold feet about it all? Arguably, if things did get weird after what happened, you’d feel more comfortable than you do with the situation as it stands.
It is weird now, but only because it’s not weird for him.
Even now, as you lay across the same bed where he had his head nestled between your legs, you can almost feel the tingle of what it felt like. The way his hair tickled your thighs, and the way his fingers laid against the flesh of your legs. The sun is beaming in through your windows and it still doesn’t feel as warm as it did when he cuddled against you that night. It’s been weeks and your heart is sick for him by this point. Sick with confusion, angst, lust, maybe even love if you think hard enough.
You miss him a lot more than before as you throw your hand up to your face in a gentle slap as if to knock yourself out of it. This is insane. Every day you wake up feeling this way, thinking of him, and where you stand with him. It wasn’t like this at first, you truly expected him to come back for more and now you’re just sitting here with a loop of reasons as to why he never did.
Insane. You’ve gotten head from so many people and didn’t think twice about them the next day, Jake is different though. You knew he would be too.
Why is Jake any different? Why do you miss him so badly right now? Why couldn’t he pick up on it either? Even worse, why do you feel like doing that with him was a mistake?
He’s with his parents for the weekend, and you’re here still thinking about shit that should have been released with your orgasm.
You haven’t gone on any dates since that day, you haven’t met up with any one other than him to hang out, and at this point you’re starting to feel a little pathetic for falling in so deep. It’s entirely one sided, he makes that very clear.
So, naturally, you hop up with the confidence of a damn lion and decide that today, it ends. You will stop making it weird between the two of you, if he has even noticed anyway. You’re gonna get dressed, look hot as fuck, and sit on your couch swiping left and right until you find a hot piece of man that’s willing to take you out tonight.
That’s when something dawns on you. You remember Jake briefly mentioning Sunghoon to you, which seemed more like an implication if anything at the time.
Why would Sunghoon be jealous of what happened? You can admit to being attracted to him but it’s not like the two of you hang out often or anything, and it’s also kind of a rule for yourself that you don’t fuck within the friendgroup. Jake was an exception, solely because that’s your best friend. Or, well, was your best friend.
Now though? Who cares about these little rules you create for yourself? You need a confidence boost. You need your mind to be taken off of this little spiral you keep falling into. Most of all, you need to be proven wrong that you can still get off without it being him.
So, texting Sunghoon? Easy.
Thankfully, Sunghoon texting you back at lightning speed seemed even easier for him.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Well, Sunghoon sure did a great job at getting your mind off of Jake for the past couple of hours.
You lay here in his bed, feeling your body tingle from the sensation of just how well he lived up to the promise of a good time. For hours he touched you, licked against you, fucked you. And yeah, you did fucking enjoy it.
But why now? Why did you only just decide to give Sunghoon a shot? Why are you lying in his bed, with his heavy arms thrown across you as he snores gently behind you, feeling the need to cry? Why do you wish it was Jake, your best friend who seemed so eager to please and then suddenly leaped ten feet back as if he never suggested it in the first place?
Your brain is confused despite your body relaxing itself from the state of bliss you were able to experience. You really did enjoy this time with Sunghoon and think that maybe, if you continue to make late night visits to him, the need for your best friend will weaken in time.
God, if only Jake would just talk about it.
And you fall asleep thinking about that. About how you’ve let your feelings weaken you to the point that it’s genuinely hard to enjoy being pleasured by someone who actually has the capability.
And, well, you wake up much the same, except Sunghoon was quite quick with his fingers upon waking up himself. Showing you that even if the person you want doesn’t have a thing to do with you, he sure does.
“Good morning,” He rasps in a sleepy voice, fingers already traveling down your stomach as he hugs up against you from behind. “Glad you finally came through for me.”
You quirk a brow. Right, Jake is the whole reason you're here. If not for mentioning him, at least.
“I finally came through?” You chuckle, your body jolting at the ticklish sensation of his lips brushing the back of your neck. “You knew I was single, why didn’t you call me?”
You feel a harsher kiss against your neck, and his fingers only travel further down now.
“Bro code.” He whispers, dipping his fingers between your still naked thighs. “I’m not overstepping if you’re the one asking for it.” He slides his fingers gently back and forth between your legs, trying to work you up. “And you did.”
You think hard about that. Bro code, overstepping limits, not coming onto someone unless they do first solely because someone must have asked him not to. And you’d think even harder about who that someone might be, but instead your brain is quickly thrown into the morning sex routine Sunghoon must offer to all of his lovers.
You enjoy it too, the small moments of bliss where you’re not in your head about what you could have possibly done wrong with Jake for you to end up feeling this way. It’s a brief moment of numbness though, feeling his fingers pleasure you gently can only do so much to quiet your thoughts.
“Are you saying one of your friends had dibs on me or something?” You laugh in a half-joke, arching your back to rub your ass up and against the bigger and warmer man behind you.
“You could say that, I’m assuming he missed his chance though–” Sunghoon whispers snidely, now satisfied with how you already drip for him and sliding one of his fingers into you. His other hand, being used to hike one of your legs up and against his hip to open you up for him. “You wouldn’t be here doing this if he didn’t.”
You clench around his finger unintentionally, pretending you don’t know who you’re both referring to. Mostly because there’s no way in hell it’s your best friend, seeing as how he’s acting like you don’t exist outside of platonic friendship with him. Then again, who else could it be? Jay? Heeseung? Fucking Jungwon? As fucking if.
“I guess he did miss his chance–” You breathe, now allowing yourself to give into the lazy and slow pleasure being offered. “Deeper.”
And he listens. Sunghoon goes deeper and deeper with one finger, then two, then three, up until you slip his fingers out of you and plead through your body to have more. Deeper still, holding you from behind, plunging in as if to intentionally fuck the confusion out of you. As if to, maybe, prove that Jake isn’t the only man who can please you now.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
When you eventually find yourself walking through your front door, you do feel better. Sunghoon did have some type of capability to make you feel as desired as Jake did. After all, it’s not often that you sleep over with a man, better yet get fucked again as soon as you wake up with him.
Even so, you know Jake will be back tomorrow, wanting to hang out yet again as if nothing happened. Thankfully, with Sunghoon around, maybe you can pretend alongside him. Maybe even forget it ever happened.
You can argue that for the first time, you’re even a bit annoyed when you see his name pop up in your notifications with a call as if you’re not right in the middle of texting Sunghoon. It’s not that you were trying to go back over to his house or anything, but man, he sure is trying to get you to come back for a third round already.
Maybe you just like when people are eager to please you, or maybe you don’t like to feel as if you’re the one chasing another person. Still, you answer Jake, seemingly releasing all of this resentment you’ve built up for him in an instant.
“What?” You huff into the phone, feeling it vibrate with another text from Sunghoon and wanting nothing more than to see what his fourth reason would be for you to come over not even two hours after you left.
“What?” Jake responds in confusion to you. “What do you mean ‘what’?”
“I mean what do you want? I’m busy.” You huff again with a roll of your eyes, flopping back on your bed.
“Oh god, something happened.” Jake groans, though he was simply calling you because he missed your voice. “What’s wrong?”
“No, not really. Was just trying to figure out what I’m doing tonight when you rudely interrupted me.”
Something is off, Jake can feel it. Your voice has a bite to it, one that feels like you’re mad at him. Not to mention, he knows what you mean when you say you’re trying to find something to do for the night. He tries to reserve his feelings though, despite wanting that something to be him.
“Oh, I know there’s an event at one of the clubs downtown tonight I think. Jay mentioned it–” He pauses briefly to hear another annoyed breath from you. “You’re not gonna go with him?”
“Nah,” You wave off dismissively. “I think I’m just gonna go hang out with Sunghoon.”
You don’t notice at all the brief and panicked silence for a solid second and a half before Jake reacts.
“Wait, what?” He says quickly after managing to process those words, trying not to sound as panicked as he knows he feels. “Sunghoon? Why?!”
God, he knew he shouldn’t have said anything about Sunghoon that day, but his confidence was overflowing and he couldn’t help but boast at the time. It’s come back to shoot him in the dick, knowing full well that Sunghoon has been trying to get you into bed since he fucking met you. Hearing you ask for him in this context is something that makes his blood run cold.
“Relax, I was with him last night. It’s kind of like, maybe gonna be a normal thing now.”
You refuse to pick up on Jake’s tone. He had all the time in the world to make you feel something other than confusion, and this is just fucking petty at this point. He clearly doesn’t want to have anything with you, so why in the hell should you just sit around hoping? Waiting?
“Sunghoon? You want to fuck Sunghoon?” He asks in a lower tone, trying to convince himself that he has to be mishearing you. You can hear him shuffle around and close a door behind him, showing that he doesn’t want his parents to hear him. But the frustration showing blatantly in his voice is somehow…satisfying.
“I already did. I figured he would show me a good time since no one else can, and he did.” You shrug with slight disobedience. Resentment bubbling up in your gut to the extent that you almost want to grill him for having any type of opinion about it.
Jake hangs on those words for a second. “Since no one else can.”
He really thought he was the one who could do it for you.
“Yeah, but–” Jake starts, feeling like a child almost in the way he protests despite not being in a position to have a say in who you sleep with. “You know what? Nevermind. Do what you want.” He adds blankly, hanging up before you can get another word in.
Honestly, he doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong because you acted like he was fully capable of doing everything right. Hanging out with him consistently after the fact, not making it weird, flirting with him, asking him to sleep over.
He wasn’t sure if he should ask you for more or if he should ask you to be his girlfriend first. The whole reason he’s with his parents right now is because he felt the need to run home to his Mom for girl advice. Embarrassing? Yes, but he really wanted to do things right. He cares about you.
He needed just one single weekend away, and the second he’s gone you’re out fucking other dudes? Fucking Sunghoon?
By now, that asshole is probably feeling like he’s on top of the world for getting to touch you. Not even he has done what Sunghoon managed to do with you by now and he can’t help but feel pissed about it.
Whether you’re his or not, Sunghoon never should have been a fucking option.
So, he calls you right back, pushing back the feeling of how pathetic it seems considering he’s the one who hung up on you. Then, when you don’t pick up, he immediately feels his stomach drop.
You must be talking to Sunghoon, you must be setting up a time and place to meet with him. And Jake has heard that Sunghoon knows how to fuck. Other people have said he’s good in bed. Surely, if you’ve already been with him once and you’re still wanting to go back to him, those other people weren’t lying.
To Jake, it feels like he’s losing you to his own friend with each passing second, and it’s weighing so heavy that spamming your phone with calls to interrupt whatever it is you’re doing right now feels like the right thing to do. In fact, it feels like it is the best thing in the world to do.
He calls again. You don’t answer.
Again.
“What?!” You answer, annoyed.
“Why would you even want Sunghoon?! Is he really that much better than I am?” He doesn’t think before he says it, because if he did, he wouldn’t have been able to say it at all.
It’s his turn to experience that awkward silence because in all fairness, you don’t know how to respond to that. You feel annoyed now, you feel confused and quite frankly, blind sided. Since when did he care?
“What’s that supposed to mean? You came onto me once and then never followed up.” You dead-pan at yourself in the mirror across your bedroom, speaking into the phone with a voice that seems scolding. “I don’t see why you’re mad that I’m hanging out with Sunghoon. We aren’t dating, Jake.”
“Since when? Who said I didn’t want to do it again?” Jake argues back in a whispered voice, showing you that he still can’t be as loud as he’d like to be. He chooses to ignore that last sentence though, pretending as if it doesn’t strike him in the center of the heart.
“Nobody! That’s the thing, you haven’t said anything about it. Not that you want to, not that you don’t. You’re just being you and it’s driving me up a fucking wall.”
Pause.
“You’re mad because I didn’t make it weird?” It’s like his brain clicks.
“Pretending it didn’t happen somehow makes it worse.” You lower your voice, ignoring the string of texts Sunghoon is sending you and listening closely to what Jake might say next. Your heart is racing through this hushed argument, and it feels good to admit that you kept thinking about it, even if he hasn’t.
“I wasn’t pretending that it didn’t happen,” He pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I just wasn't sure what the next step was.”
You’re fucking appalled.
“Jake, I have been flirting with you since it happened because I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You’re the one who didn’t make any moves, so I figured you wanted it to end there.” You sigh loudly, but somehow feel a bit lighter. “Do you have any idea how that fucked with my confidence?”
Jake sighs along with you on the other end of the line.
“That’s why I was annoyed earlier, and that’s why I’m going to Sunghoon’s tonight.”
“What?” Jake’s voice raises a bit higher. “Still?!”
It’s the fact that he’s trying to explain himself. Had he known that you were confused by his lack of, um, touching you, he would have done it every day since it happened! Yet, you’re still considering Sunghoon an option? Knife to the heart, honestly.
Or maybe he’s not being clear enough with you about this.
You, on the other hand, nod your head as you hum a confirmation to him, smiling and wondering if this conversation will turn into an event that would, perhaps, have you cancel the hook-up with Sunghoon.
“Why? Are you jealous?” You pry.
“You really called him, and now I’m just sitting here in my old room trying to find a way to get to you before he does….again.” An inhale. “ Yes! I’m fucking jealous!”
You remain silent, trying to pretend that your pettiness isn’t solely to confirm what he seems to be implying to you. Then, an unintentional chuckle leaves your lips.
“Why are you laughing?!” His voice is raised again, and he doesn’t seem to stop spilling what he needs to say. “I wanted to do that for you for years and you somehow still didn’t know?” He pauses. “I always made it weird between us, what? You thought I treated all of my friends like that?”
You just listen, feeling your heart beat in time with each word he speaks. Strings of sentences like, “I’m going to kick his ass.” and “You thought I’d just eat you out as a friend?! You’re insane.” and “I would have come home last night if you wanted to feel good so badly, why did you have to go see him, of all people?”
The confirmation of Jake being the friend who forbade Sunghoon from making a move on you is right there, clear as day.
“Ah, so the Jake I know isn’t the Jake everyone else knows?” You respond, trying to force the tingling feeling in your gut to calm itself. Hearing him be so blatant to you has your heart doing flips, and it’s not an easy task to make it stop.
“Of-fucking-course not!” He rolls his eyes, you can definitely tell. “You had me wrapped around your pinky from day one.”
“And you really thought that, with the way you seemed so uninterested–” You pause, processing his words. “I would have asked you to come home from your parent’s house to get me off? For what? Funsies? You thought I'd be brave enough or selfish enough to ask such a thing?”
Jake sighs deeply, seemingly fed up with the situation.
“It wouldn’t be because you are selfish.” He breathes out, almost angrily. “And for the last time, I’m not uninterested. I was just trying to do things right. I don’t just want to fuck you, you know.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me until weeks after you ate me out?” You smile harder, trying to contain the heat flushing over your cheeks. “Until after I thought I had a pH imbalance and maybe you were just grossed out by me?!”
“I’m genuinely shocked you didn’t know already. Made me think you weren’t interested enough to like–” He pauses, not wanting to be too telling. “I guess waiting and being polite isn’t really your style. I should have known that though.”
You let him continue, because you can tell he’s simply taking breaths and small pauses to figure out how to express his thoughts to you.
“You can’t tell me that over the years, you never once noticed how often I stared at you.” He lowers his voice again, softening it to an extent that you actually feel the butterflies fly from your belly to your chest.
”The fact that I jumped in head first and offered to do that for you? I didn’t think I had to tell you at this point…”He breathes out a chuckle through the line this time. “And for the record, I couldn’t get enough of it. I was just trying to like– I don’t know.”
You listen to him breathe deeply, again.
“I didn’t want you to think I was in it just for the sex, I guess.”
There. There it is. You’re nearly kicking your feet, feeling him confirm feelings and erase any hint of doubt within you. Despite never truly noticing that he treats you differently compared to his other friends, despite never thinking too hard about the way he looks at you.
“You acted like it wasn’t a big deal, Jake. I’m not joking. If that’s how you act when you like someone, you shouldn’t blame me for not noticing.”
“I literally tongue fucked you.” He dead-pans. “Friends don’t just do that.”
“I thought we were friends who could do that.” You argue. “But I guess you’re not quite looking to just remain friends, are you?”
“No,” Jake sighs. “Mom told me I needed to take you out on some extravagant date and express my undying love for you with a handful of red roses, but I guess this is just how it’s gonna be. After all, this is you.”
“And this is you.” You confirm.
“I was going to come home tomorrow and try to lie our way to the restaurant, which I still can, if you want. You kind of fucked up my plan though.”
You pause at his words, suddenly feeling like shit for not realizing sooner. In your defense though, if he really did like you from day one, you didn’t exactly have a chance to see how he would have acted without feelings. The Jake you know is your best friend, and someone you trusted with everything, you thought he treated everyone as well as he treated you. That’s why, when he didn’t change, you couldn’t read him anymore.
Then again, all of this could have been fucking avoided if he had just voiced it to you.
“Romance is dead and it’s your fault.” Jake tries to joke, his soft tone somehow coming out even softer as he waits for some type of response from you.
“So, are we done fighting?” You ask meekly, tapping your finger against your phone and looking up at the ceiling with a smile that by now, you can’t escape. “Since you’ve just expressed your undying love for me and I very much wouldn’t mind going on a date with you so we can work this out face to face?”
“Are you still going to fuck Sunghoon?”
You laugh.
“Oh yeah, for sure–” To his silence, you immediately take it back. “Oh my god, relax. It’s a joke.”
“Get better jokes, asshole.”
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
“What the fuck?” Jake deadpans into the phone, his heart beating far too fast for his health, but vibing with it anyway because by tomorrow night, he’ll be next to you again. “You seriously had sex with her?!”
“Hey, she’s the one who called me.” Sunghoon shrugs as he listens. “To be fair, Jake, I did tell her that someone else had dibs on her.”
Jake slaps his forehead and rolls his eyes.
“You’re such a dick– I told you at least three hundred times that I like her! I don’t have dibs.” He gripes, trying to pretend that he’s not imagining Sunghoon with you, the person he wants the most.
“Damn right you don’t, because she seemed to have a great t–”
“Sunghoon, stop. I don’t want to know what happened, but like, stop texting her.”
Sunghoon’s brow raises in curiosity.
“Ah, did you finally make a move?”
If there’s anything Jake knows Sunghoon won’t do, it’s go for a woman that is actually unavailable. He has his fun, and he’s not one to turn anyone down if he has an interest in them, bro code be damned. And yeah, he’s still a little pissed at him for hooking up with you…but, it is true, Jake made you feel like he wasn’t even an option in his attempts to be a gentleman.
Still, boundaries need to be set now. Real boundaries.
“I did, and I would really appreciate it if you back off. I’m trying to make something out of this, you know?”
Sunghoon lightens up, sighing at his loss of a would be fuck-buddy that seemed more promising than some he’s had in the past.
“Jesus, you’re serious about her aren’t you?” He smirks as he speaks, feeling proud of Jake for finally stepping up for himself. “I mean, I can totally see why. Please excuse me as I mourn that sweet, sweet, pu-”
“Sunghoon.” Jake warns. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Relax, jesus.” Sunghoon plays it cool, though he actually is mourning it a little bit. “Good on you though. I’ll back off, don’t worry.”
Jake rolls his eyes yet again, his love-hate relationship with Sunghoon becoming more fond than ever by this point. Only because the confidence he had in himself before all of this wasn’t entirely where it needed to be. It’s true that he wasn’t exactly a pussy eating god before, nor could he even say he’s amazing at sex but, when it comes to you, he can’t help but be excited. He wants to do it all, be it all for you.
Never in his life has he eaten pussy like that, and never in your life have you felt a mouth so eager to please between your legs.
Sunghoon could have been something, but he couldn’t have been Jake, ever.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
The day couldn’t go by any slower than it already has.
Jake comes home tonight, and by home, you mean to your apartment where he doesn’t live.
Your mind goes in loops on what could possibly happen. Scenarios of him getting cold feet and ignoring that any of this happened at all again. Scenes of him unlocking your door, closing in on you, and kissing you before you can even say “hello”. Images of his hands on you, his mouth on you, what it would feel like if he were to…well, oh.
You snap yourself out of it, every bad scenario in your head gets replaced with one where you’ve got Jake working himself on and inside of you. It’s making you feel hot, insane, and entirely too horny for the proposed date night full of talking that needs to be had first.
Then you freeze, your hand on the handle of your mug as you wonder a bit too hard.
What if he doesn’t show up at all?
You did run off the second he left the city and fuck one of your mutual friends. Arguably, you were equally as bad at communicating with him as he was to you during the past few weeks. Sure, you flirted, but was that even enough when he literally put his tongue inside of you “as a friend”?
God, he’d have every right to not show up. To move on, to never speak to you again.
You’ve been so stupid. Both of you have, stumbling together but apart into something neither of you could even begin to navigate. For you? Sex is easy. Feelings though? That’s where it gets complicated. Yet, still, you find yourself more willing than ever to let these feelings roam free if he accepts them at face value.
Solely because of how shitty it felt when you were trying to pretend that Jake was nothing but a one time thing for his sake.
And when the time comes, after hours of brooding, getting worked up, and feeling insane, you’re looking like a mess when he knocks on your door. So much for looking good for him. You’re an absolute fucking wreck when you open that door and dead-pan stare at him and his bags.
“Hi,” He smiles, not quite making eye contact because he really is kind of embarrassed by all of this. “I’m here.”
You step back from the door, eyes remaining on him.
“You’re here.” You say quietly, watching him step into your apartment and drop his bags.
You feel his breath before you hear his voice. So much closer than just moments before, right up against your ear, and his arms wrapping tightly around you.
“Felt like I was gone for too long–” He whines slightly against you, breathing in a breath and taking in your scent. “Didn’t know I could miss you like that.”
You fucking melt. Out of all of those scenarios and fantasies in your head, this wasn’t one of them. Which goes to show that Jake is the one person in this world who can surprise you time and time again. You’ve hugged him like this hundreds of times, but this one, oh this one. He feels so close after feeling so fucking far away.
“You were gone for two days,” You smile, nuzzling against him and gripping his waist in your own hug.
“Two days too long, though.” You feel him smile, that little upturn of his lips pushing his cheek up and against you as he chuckles and pulls back. “We don’t have a lot of time, but we can still make it to the restaurant if you still want to go? I can shower when we get back.”
You pull back, offering him a small nod and feeling a bit let down. You wanted more, especially after that hug. The fact that he can contain himself right now feels isolating. Are you the only one who has a vibrating brain right now? He really wants to have the conversation at the restaurant?
He really wants to do this the right way?
You look like shit, but arguably he might think he looks worse considering the long trip back to you. Still, the restaurant is the chosen option to have this conversation, and you’re ready to get it over with so that finally the two of you can take a step forward.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
The restaurant is nice. There’s a buzz of conversations surrounding the two of you but most of it feels muffled because the only sound you can truly hear is Jake’s hushed and awkward attempts to get the ball rolling.
“So, I guess that’s why I went to my parent’s house. It’s embarrassing, I know–” He says before you cut him off.
“Tell me how you felt the past few weeks when we were together.” You say boldly, wanting so badly to have the confirmation that he really does want this, and that he suffered much like you did.
You watch a fan of rosy tint cross his cheeks as he breaks eye contact with you, looking to the table and then back up at you.
“Okay, um–” He stiffens a bit, glancing around to make sure no one is looking or listening in. “When we weren’t together, it was a lot easier for me to think, but when we were together, I could only really think about one thing.” He admits, nodding to himself.
You look at him curiously before you see his eyes light up in panic.
“No! No, no. Not like, sex…” He looks down. “I mean, yeah maybe sex too but mostly I just couldn’t stop thinking about ways to make you want me more than anyone else.”
Your heart swells at his panicked save, and then the words that follow.
“I think I already did want you more than anyone else.” You admit back to him. “Even if I didn’t know I had feelings until you did that to me– I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”
He smiles, reaching over the table as if to ask for your hand.
“What about you? What did you think about when we were together after that night?” He asks for his own confirmation now.
“Sex. Mostly, I guess. I felt like no one else would ever be able to make me feel that good again.” You look away, feeling ashamed and seen. “Goddamn, I sound so dramatic.”
Jake snorts, laughing at how he should have expected this but the confidence boost is a happy surprise to him.
“To be fair though, Jake, I think I had my feelings and my lust for you mixed up.” You continue. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I still feel both of those things every time I see you, or even think of you.”
“Feelings and lust?” He nods with a smile and wiggling his eyebrows, his eyes glistening in the warm lighting of the restaurant.
You nod in confirmation, side eyeing the waitress who walks over to take down your order.
Both of you are somehow dissociated outside of each other, there’s no way you’re not because you don’t recall what you ordered, nor what he ordered, and he appears to be feeling much the same. The moment she walks away, he’s continuing.
“I was really that good, huh?” A smirk from him, and a nod from you.
“What about right now then? How do you feel when you look at me?” He follows up, looking down at the table.
“Both of those things.” You dead-pan, squeezing your legs together as you look at him and feel the warmth radiating from even this far away. The confirmation of feelings is enough by itself to have your thoughts in the gutter about him, especially after weeks of wanting him.
Especially after having to be in this stupid fucking restaurant in the first place.
He quirks a brow before lowering his voice, his eyes drooping a bit.
“Do you have any fucking idea how badly I’ve wanted to get my mouth on you?”
God, there he is. That same bold best friend who originally suggested eating you out in the first place. Not entirely unfounded that he said it, but fuck, your cheeks are searing.
“Jake, we’re in public.” You warn, knowing damn well that you’ve not been able to think of anything else either, but for the sake of the foundation of this relationship, you want to tame yourself a little bit.
“Since we started hanging out, every fucking time.” He continues, ignoring your warning. “I would get so mad when you’d go to your little hook-ups. Sometimes I even wondered if you did it intentionally to piss me off.”
Your cheeks are still hot, but now there’s a bit of guilt filling you.
“You really had no idea how badly I wanted that to be me?” He continues with his streak of confidence, unintentionally dirty talking to you solely because he, genuinely, cannot deny his attraction or his feelings for you by this point. “Even right now, I want nothing more than to have you to myself.”
You pause, the guilt leaving you in an instant as it’s fully replaced with Jake’s eagerness to have you in full, finally.
“Why–” You sigh, dropping your head into your hands to hide your face from him. “Why are we at this restaurant again?”
You feel his hand reach back over to you, removing your hands from your face and dipping down to look at you.
“It’s so fucking hard to contain myself right now. I can admit that.” He whispers, blinking at you. “If you feel satisfied with where we stand, I’d be more than happy to leave this table now and prove everything to you.”
An instant nod from you, and an instant confirmation from Jake.
You’re both out of the restaurant before a single sip of water, before a single visual inspection of the forgotten food the two of you ordered, and before any doubt could creep in to ruin the electrifying atmosphere you were indulging in with him.
For Jake, his self control wavers with each passing moment as you sit next to him in the car. You look so calm as he drives as quickly and safely as possible back to your apartment, shaming himself for ever considering the two of you go in the first place. Still, the outcome is somehow more satisfying. Both of you wanting to leave just so you can truly be alone together? He couldn’t ask for a better night.
Still, your calmness contrasts the way his insides vibrate the closer he gets to your place, and he wonders how the fuck you manage to do it. If you were to simply glance at him at the right moment, you’d see his entire body melt in the fantasies of what the two of you may be willing to do tonight.
Years worth of pining in his head and heart are bubbling up now. You’re inviting him in, you’re accepting him, you’re wanting him back.
What he doesn’t know though, is that you are quite literally imagining yourself wrapped in chains to this seat. Why? Because if it weren’t for those astral chains, you’d be on top of him in an instant, reassuring him that if there’s anything in the world you’ve wanted within the past few weeks, it’s him. You’d be apologizing for never taking note of his feelings before, and kissing away all of the moments he wished he could have had with you before, replacing them with very real, firm, hot kisses.
Thankfully though, you manage to tame the beast from within and somehow, so does he. Up until you get through your apartment door and the electrifying atmosphere sizzles away in an instant.
You expected to have the confidence to, quite literally, jump on him as soon as your door closed. Instead, you find yourself standing in awe at the entryway.
Jake, on the other hand, would love nothing more than to have you right this moment, speeding and parking crooked be damned, he will not allow it just yet.
“Listen,” He reaches out to you, pulling you up and against his chest. “I need to shower before I let myself do anything.”
You breathe a sigh of relief, noting that the awkwardness came from the fact that Jake’s energy is seeping out of him, lust and worry for possibly not being as clean as he’d like to be for this.
It feels strange, actually. You can imagine you’ve had many hook-ups with men who wouldn’t even consider a shower before inviting you over.
“Hurry up then, before I decide to call Sungh-”
“Don’t you fucking dare make that joke right now,” Jake squeezes you tighter against you, hating himself for constantly bringing up reasons to wait.
“If we are going to like,” He pauses, struggling to say it out of pure nervousness that you might change your mind. “You know, be exclusive, Sunghoon’s name is forbidden.”
You chuckle against him before shoving him back in a playful way.
“Deal. Now, can you fucking hurry?” You roll your eyes playfully, internally a little thankful for the short moments you will have to prepare yourself for this.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Damn this shower for feeling so good. Jake could fall asleep under the warmth if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been half-hard this entire time and truly fighting with himself on how to approach this situation.
It’s kind of awkward, actually. Knowing exactly what the two of you are about to do but having to wait even for fifteen minutes makes it seem like you both have a scheduled hook up and nothing more.
It’s not a hook up though. Jake is finally where he’s always wanted to be with you, in your shower priming his body to go absolutely fucking insane on you. Before, when he ate you out, he really was controlling himself. He wanted to do more with you so bad, and now? God…
He’s flushed as he finally makes his way out of the shower, length still stiffening and softening with each thought that passes. He can barely look at himself in the mirror without wanting to laugh at how embarrassing he truly is.
You’d probably laugh too, and he’d love the sound of it.
Then, he’s faced with a dilemma.
You, on the other hand, find yourself lying quietly in your bedroom after doing your best to fix the mess of yourself for whatever Jake may offer. Waiting for him, and ultimately wondering what the fuck is taking him so long when you finally hear the bathroom door open.
Faintly, you can smell your shampoo and body wash that he used as you hear him make his way to the living room and not find you.
Then, you hear him making his way to your room. He doesn’t open the door any further than it already was and instead, stands behind it quietly before muttering out.
“Um,” He starts, putting his hand on your door and only peeking his head in. “I wasn’t sure if there was a point to putting my clothes on–”
Fucking pause.
God, he must sound so stupid saying that, especially after looking into your room and seeing you lying against your bed changed into the exact same pajamas you put on the night he initially made a move on you through the guise of friendship.
Well, now it’s not even a question and he was right to assume that all he needed to do was wrap a towel around his waist and come to you.
You watch his eyes travel your body curiously, a smile forming on his face.
“If you’re wondering if I put panties on this time too,” You smile, reaching a hand out as if to invite him to open that door and come have at it. “I didn’t.”
That’s all it takes, really, to have him pushing the door open and not-so-calmly making his way to your bed.
Seeing his naked and damp chest is one thing, but smelling your scent all over him is another, especially when the first thing he does is practically envelop you with his body and plant his lips straight on your own.
The first real kiss. Despite his lips having been on you before, you melt into it and find yourself forgetting how differently he’s acting now compared to before. He was so confident, so cocky, and now he’s almost docile. Meek.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” He leans back to whisper, adjusting his body so that he’s more comfortable and leaning down on one arm while the other holds your cheek. “Can’t believe you let me eat you out before ever letting me actually kiss you.”
Your face heats up at the comment, making you feel more scandalous than you ever truly tried to be. But he’s not wrong, and you regret making him feel like eating you out was the only way to get to your heart.
Strangely though, it was the way to your heart. Him doing that for you practically threw you into the deep end in search for more, from him, specifically.
“Can’t believe you decided that you should just eat me out rather than admit your feelings for me.” You counter with a smile, lifting your head to kiss against him again and pretending you can’t feel the weight of his length under the loosely knotted towel on his waist.
“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” He says through the kisses, quickly losing the ability to speak when you lick against his bottom lip and, ultimately, take control of the act.
He wonders what your mouth could do to him. His entire body reacts to the way your tongue flicks and licks against his own, it takes everything in him to try and control himself from pushing too far too soon– until he realizes that there is no reason to control himself now.
Never has making out gotten him this turned on, and it’s not a surprise because it’s you.
He half moans, half chuckles into your kiss when he does it, pressing his hips down and against your thigh much like he did previously to the very mattress he’s got you lying against.
“There’s so much I want to do,” He finally admits, pulling back from the kiss and hanging his head to feel how his cock reacts to the flesh of your thigh. “Please, let me do all of it.”
You sigh, somehow feeling a pang of arousal radiate between your legs despite not yet being touched there. The weight of him on you is enough, and all you can do is nod and await the ways he intends to relieve himself with you.
Hours of head, he could give. Even more hours of burying his cock between those pretty lips and watching you return the favor for him. His confidence grows as your body moves under him, waiting, waiting, waiting for what he will do next.
First, he plants another kiss to you, pressing his hips hard against your thigh with a breathy sigh before moving his lips down, against your neck.
At the same time, his hands work their way up your loose shirt, cupping one breast in his palm and easily teasing your nipple with his fingers. He works his lips down the center of your clothed chest, down to your stomach, and then up again. His nose nudges your shirt up with each kiss, until his lips replace his fingers and he’s sucking your nipple into his mouth.
You’ve never felt so wanted in your life with the way he appears to be savoring you. Leaving his own pleasure neglected once again, his entire focus is on you. You arch your back up a bit, hands shooting to his head and cradling it there against your breast.
He groans when you scratch against the nape of his neck, wiggling your hips under him and chasing the sensation that his mouth manages to send to your clit. He groans again when your nipple remains firm between his lips, and he begins to nibble.
And this time, he moans when he manages to trail one of his hands down just to see how much it will take of this to get you wet. He tucks one hand under your shorts, only to find that you’re already dripping, soaking his fingers with a mere single slide up your folds.
“Fuck,” He sighs as if it’s a compliment when he pops his mouth off of you, flicking his head up to look at your already dazed eyes. “Already?”
You glance away, embarrassed by how badly you want the man who was once your best friend, and is now….more than that. You can feel his fingers graze and gently play around with the heat your body has already released for him, rolling your eyes back each time he pretends he’s going to offer pressure to your clit.
He’s fucking teasing you, and you know it.
He knows it too, because of fucking course he is. After years of torture, wondering if you’d ever manage to get wet at all with the thought of him, here you are, dripping under him when all he’s done is kiss you and fondle your nipples.
Briefly, he remembers how needy your hips were when his tongue was seeping into you. He remembers the taste of each thrust you pressed against his face, and the smell of how badly you needed him at the time.
As used as he was by you that night, he wants nothing more now than to pull those same desperate moans from you, to taste the wet inside of you that no man ever managed to release for you.
“I feel like I’m going insane,” He finally breathes out, still toying with your folds and keeping an eye on the way your eyes glare back at him. “I want you so fucking bad–” He stutters now, instantly sliding his fingers into you and scooting down on the bed at lightening speed, pressing your loose shorts to the side just to get the taste of you against his lips again.
Your legs instantly shoot over his shoulders, and one of his hands reaches up to hug your thigh against him as his tongue immediately laps at every dip and crease of your cunt. His eyes nearly roll back at being able to experience this again, his fingers holding firm without a single movement just so he can feel your body confirm that you want him just as much.
The clench around his fingers are enough, and he licks around them only for a moment before returning his lips to your clit and giving you all he’s got.
All he can feel is your legs tightening around his head, nearly lifting your ass up and off of the bed, all he can hear is his own moans vibrating through him each time he hears you react.
Arguably, even after that brief moment of teasing from him, feeling his mouth so eager, much like before, sent you straight into a blissed state and made you forget about the restaurant, the shower, the weeks of pining before this. His mouth is so warm, and his vibrating moans sooth your clit through its desperate attempts to beg for more.
You can’t help the fact that your legs hug his head, or the way your hands shoot down much like before, scratching through his hair before dropping down and spreading yourself open with two fingers solely to expose your clit in full to the assault of his tongue he’s giving you.
He missed you so much, he missed this so much. Never again will he leave you wondering, from this point forward, you should be well aware that if you so much as pushed him to his knees and lifted a leg over his shoulder, he’d be eating like a fucking king.
Still, even with his immense love for kissing your pussy until your legs shake, there’s more to be experienced here than just this. His pace slows with the reality of that, and only now does he move his fingers with intent, and he pulls back to see how you’re spreading yourself for him, even as your legs fall from his shoulders.
“Fuck.” He rasps, lips glistening with a mixture of his own saliva and your slick.
You lend him a drunken smile, nodding slowly as you focus in on the way his fingers scissor you open. Within a blink though, his face is right there hovering above you, staring intently at the way you react to his fingers.
“You look so good right now, you know that?” He compliments, leaning down again to plant a kiss against you, only pumping his fingers in faster when your kiss appears to be more hungry than his own. “God, I can feel you squeeze my fingers–”
And it’s true, he’s seeing stars solely because he can feel the clench of your pussy walls pushing his two fingers together, almost pushing against his attempts to scissor you open and curl them into the spot inside he knows you have. He can only imagine how good that would feel if he were to…
His eyes squeeze shut in a drawn out moan at the thought, his own kiss growing more hungry as he releases the towel from his waist and quickens the pace of his fingers inside of you.
You can feel him press his cock against you, and the weight of it only becomes heavier when his fingers pause inside of you just so he can slip them out and use those same slick-coated digits to hold his length down and against you before he slides it between your lips. Now coating himself in the same wet sensation.
You listen closely to his moan, knowing that he seems fond of neglecting his own pleasure to the point of doing near-embarrassing things to get it back when he needs it the most. It’s strangled, almost. You can hear him swallow around it when he slides up harshly, bumping your clit and causing your shorts to stretch against the crease of your thigh.
He seems so…desperate. Yet, he can have anything he wants.
“Keep it spread open–” He mutters when he feels you try to remove the hand that had been holding your pussy out on display for him. “I want to feel all of it.”
God, you’ve never heard him say something so sexy. Easily you do as he says, now using both hands to hold either side of your pussy open for him, and feeling the underside of his length slide against your hole.
You let out a pleased sigh, despite your shorts becoming a nuisance at this point. It’s easy to forget you’re still wearing them though, because they only become drenched more and more as the moments pass with Jake.
You can genuinely just assume that his cock must be aching as he does this, leaking all over you. That’s something you don’t mind at all, because the stimulation is far beyond what you could ever ask for.
“Jake–” You try to speak, only to be cut off by his hand sliding under your head and his lips attaching yet again to you.
There, you can’t help it when you remove your hands and shoot them up to his face. Holding him there, feeling the way his jaw moves when he licks into your mouth in a desperate attempt to get as much of you as he can in this moment.
His hips fuck forward much like they did into his palm all those weeks ago, and the anticipation of if or when he finally plunges it into you drives you to kiss him just as hard as he does you.
There is nothing but the sound of kissing in the room save for muffled moans from both of you, entirely tangled up together as he does nothing more than grind himself against you. His hand cradling your head and the other still pressing his length down and against you as close as he can manage. Yours, cupping his cheeks as he kisses you, up until you run one hand down to take over for him.
In that moment, with his free and now shaking hand, he pulls back entirely and just looks at you.
He’s out of it, entirely gone from this world as he stares down with his hair drying by the minute from that shower, messy as all hell with darkened hooded eyes. He continues to stare, each thrust against you becoming pointed to the extent that it almost feels like he’s already fucked you for hours.
And then, you feel it. The weight lifting, your shorts being stretched until they’re sliding down your thighs and off of you, and then the warmth as he adjusts his hips just barely enough to line up with your quivering hole, practically begging for him to stretch you out for the first time.
His eyes falter only for a moment when he realizes that this is a moment he will never forget. The way you look up at him with glassy and needy eyes, out of breath, seemingly loving him as much as he’s always loved you.
“Yeah?” He whispers, not breaking eye contact even for a moment.
“Please.” You mutter out, not fully intending for it to sound so broken.
And as broken as your voice was in that instance, he grows much weaker by it. Dropping his head with a deep sigh, a smile, and then a chuckle.
“You really, really, can’t look at me like that and expect me to be gentle…” He pauses to look at you again. “For your sake, please tell me to slow down.”
You can barely comprehend a word he’s saying when you can feel the head of his cock teasing where you need it the most.
“Please.” You rasp out again, wrapping your legs around his waist and forcing his body forward, ultimately sliding the tip of his length into you yourself.
“Oh, fuck–” He chokes out before sucking in a breath and letting out a moan at the feeling. His body jerks at the sensation, the sound of your voice, the way you pulse around him. “Fuck, so good.” He continues to mutter, controlling himself for only a few seconds longer just to see if you have the ability to understand that he truly and honestly will not have the ability to go easy on you at this point.
“Deeper.” You plead, squeezing your legs tighter around him, uncaring of his attempt to control the situation.
That’s all it takes. Your broken voice already had him shaking, and now he’s giving up any and all control that he could have possibly hoped to have.
Right there, with your legs hugging his waist, your hands gripping the pillow behind your head, and his hands finding purchase on either side of your shoulders, he sinks himself into you as deep as he can go and feels as if the life is being choked out of him over how fucking good it feels.
He throws his head back in an erotic and attractive moan of relief, allowing you a glimpse at the expanse of his stretched neck, naked of any marked territory. Still, your vision goes white when the stretch hits you.
So big, so strong on top of you. You can imagine he really could fuck you hard, you hope he doesn’t go gentle on you at all, actually
“Shit, please,” You moan brokenly again, releasing your pillow and gripping his forearms. “Jake, god–” You have no words to describe how good he feels inside of you, you couldn’t begin to fathom trying to explain to him how perfect he is.
It feels deep, deeper than you ever could have imagined. His length alone should have been enough to tell you that, but you hadn’t yet factored in the girth of it. So heavy inside of you, touching each soft and sensitive surface your pussy has to offer.
Your body jolts in adjustment, knocking the breath out of you despite him not moving just yet.
“Shh–” He soothes, not at all actually wanting to hush your cries for him. In fact, he’s simply saying it because he could quite literally release at any moment if you continue to speak and clench him like this. And when he finally looks down at you, he can’t fucking help it.
His hips move at their own volition, and he was right in believing there is no gentle fuck to be had here. He slides out only slightly, with the intent to fuck you as full of him as he can. He wants to stay deep, because you asked, and he wants to keep you feeling stretched around him because he can truly never get over the way you look and sound right now.
You shake at the feeling of him pressing impossibly deeper into you, keeping his hips flush against you before snapping his hips back more now. A slightly empty feeling inside of you being filled once again within a second.
His moans sound beautiful, he feels beautiful, and all you can do is stare up at him with watery eyes and a slack jaw, wondering why it took him so long to do this with you.
Wondering why it took you so long to want it at all, when now, you think you could never feel this good with another person again.
His arms flex in your grasp with each thrust, and his eyes land on each visible part of your body before he weakens his stance and lowers himself to you, hips still fucking you open at a pace that’s only becoming more and more rapid, more and more fucking blinding.
“Yeah, yeah–” Jake suddenly chimes with out of breath words, kissing you before you can comprehend or respond to those words. “No one has ever reacted like this for me–” He continues, pointing his thrusts harder into you. “Feels so good, so tight around me.” He chokes up at the last few words, stuttering his and picking up a different pace.
This time, those harsh thrusts pull back further, emptying you before slowly pressing into you again.
“I want you to remember how this feels,” He continues, seemingly rambling against your lips with each slow thrust. “No one will ever fuck you like I will.”
Your hooded eyes shoot open with arousal at his confident boasting. Those words feel so final, as if it isn’t even a rule, but a logical fact that only the two of you could ever find to be true.
You can’t even manage a response, and instead moan before tucking your lips up and against his neck, using one hand to grip his hair and skew his head.
That once naked and markless neck is no more. He is yours, and you’re lucky enough now to know that this is exactly how he wants you to feel.
“Ahh, you like that?” He questions your reaction to his words, feeling your hips make attempts to meet him halfway with each thrust. “You like when I talk?” He continues to urge your sucking lips to speak out to him, to answer him, to boost his ego just a bit more.
“So much,” You nearly whimper against his neck, moving your lips to another spot. “Love when you’re confident like this–”
He’s in heaven hearing those words. As if it’s a confirmation that he wasn’t just talking dirty. You both truly take those words and will fuck by them from this point forward. He truly doesn’t want anyone else, and hopefully, you’d never give another person the chance to make an attempt to fuck you the way he does.
And then the room falls silent again, as if Jake is focused on reminding you with each passing second that he’s never been more sure or right of something in his life. Despite you already believing him, the way his cock pulses inside of you is enough of a reminder even if he had never said it in the first place.
His pace quickens again, and then slows, and then stutters. Only to fall back into a good rhythm before his entire body starts to shake through the act.
You wonder if this is it. Is this how his body reacts when he’s about to cum? Is this what his face looks like? Is this what his eyes do? Did his arms strain like this the first time? Did his moans come out as choked and desperate?
None of that matters, because as quickly as it started, he buries himself into you again and stays in that one spot, shaking and timidly looking down at you.
“Don’t move, please, don’t move.” He practically begs, losing himself to the way your hips chase the feeling of constant stimulation. “Stop moving.” He pleads again, pulling his chest from you and sitting up on his knees, keeping his cock in place deep within you.
You watch him, unable to keep your hips still, and he watches you– trying to keep his orgasm under control before seeing your fingers trail down your stomach and to your clit.
There, he loses himself, watching you rub the soft spot just above where his cock stuffs you full.
“I can’t,” He chokes out, snapping his hips back and allowing himself to get lost in the feeling. “Fuck, I really can’t.” He continues to mutter out, pressing his strings of cum ever deeper inside of you as he feels every muscle in his body tense.
It feels so sensitive, but he can’t stop moving, feeling his cum fill you up to the point it’s surely being pressed out of you by his desperate length wanting nothing more than to stay inside of you.
You moan through it with him, encouraging him to lose himself inside of you, and he’s so beautiful when he does it. The fact that he does it at all has your body tensing on its own. Teetering on the edge of your own orgasm with the way your fingers almost aggressively chase after the feeling he appears to still be releasing inside of you.
And then, emptiness. You are left empty and dripping, fingers still chasing your release before–
“What the fu–” You moan, squeezing your eyes shut at the feeling of his tongue instantly back on you. As if he’s looping back to the beginning of it all, uncaring of tasting himself solely because through it all, he can still taste you. “Jake, Fuck–yes, right there.” You continue to groan when he replaces his tongue against your hole with his fingers, fucking into you as quickly as he can before nudging your fingers away and taking over the chase of your orgasm.
You’re entirely amazed by how eager he is to pull it from you, and that alone is enough. The desperate ways in which he decided to pleasure you right in this moment, it’s enough.
Your hands instantly reach for his hair, gripping so tightly that you can hear the pained sound he lets out at the sheer force behind it. You very nearly rub his nose in the mess he’s made of you out of the sheer arousal you feel through your orgasm.
You’re seeing white, feeling his fingers expertly work you open and somehow don’t feel disappointed at all that you didn’t get there before he pulled out of you. You can still feel him dripping out, fingers squelching and sliding through the mixture of both orgasms inside of you. And his tongue, good lord his fucking tongue, licking up every bit and eagerly flicking your clit at a pace much faster than he offered before.
And now, you find your legs nearly kicking him across the room. As soon as the orgasm subsides, your body goes into overdrive with the overwhelming sensitivity between your legs and all he can do is laugh at the way you practically do kick him.
Right off the bed, actually, he tumbles.
You lay there, staring into space as you attempt to bring yourself back to reality when you see his messy hair and glistening eyes peek from the edge of your bed at you. His shoulders huffing with each deep breath he takes.
“Jesus fucking christ.” You manage to gasp out, spread eagle and almost completely naked on your bed save for the forgotten shirt that’s still pushed up to your collarbone.
He makes his way back up to you, pressing your legs together, lowering your shirt, and planting his heavy dead-weight right on top of you.
A solid ten minutes pass as the two of you lay there in the mess you’ve both created. Heavy breaths turn to easy, balanced breaths together. You can barely hold your eyes open when he finally rolls off of you and right up against your side.
“Can I ask you something?” He mutters, throat dry and stomach growling embarrassingly loud.
“Hm?” You hum out, entirely ready to just sleep in the mess.
“Are you always like that?” He questions, a little hint of doubt breaking his confidence. “Like, did Sunghoon see you act like that too?”
You crack your eyes open and instantly turn to face him.
“You’re insane if you think Sunghoon is that good. I’ve never used the word ‘please’ in my life.”
Jake glances away, thinking to himself and letting those words sink in.
“Well,” He starts, pausing and feeling that little pit in his stomach return. “That’s a lie because I’ve heard you use your manners at least twice in the years I’ve known you.”
You smile, loving that the two of you can still be somewhat catty and playful even after the fact that you just realized how insanely in love with him you are.
“Jake, no one has ever made me act like this in bed.” You try to reassure him. “I don’t think anyone else could, besides you.”
He smiles with a nod, running his hands down your body before pausing at the half dried cum that managed to make its way up to your stomach. And then? He groans.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
It’s insane really, that all it took for you to fall in love with the person you think you were always meant to love was him admitting it. Even more insane that he decided to take the route that involved faux playful head, with no feelings attached despite his feelings being deeply fucking attached.
Still, the route taken to get to this point, he thinks, is fitting for the two of you. Especially now that he can look at Sunghoon without wanting to strangle him, and he can look at you knowing you’d very much invite him to strangle you, you know, considering the fact that you’re now trying to explore every sexual realm in the fucking universe with him.
Even with the desperate need to have you under him any chance he gets, and the fucking, and the arousal, none of it shines brighter than the small intimate moments he has with you that aren’t weighed down by pining or lust.
As playful as the two of you are together, there is so much love here. So much love to still be discovered too, and he can’t help but feel excited by it.
Romance isn’t dead, despite how the two of you tried to fucking butcher it.
You thought the worst thing that could happen after your breakup was running into your cheating ex. Then you got pregnant by JAKE SIM. Captain of the Caldwell Wolves, campus golden boy and the most notorious heartbreaker on campus. He’s the last person you’d ever trust. Unfortunately for you, he’s also the father of your baby.
𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: Delicate - Taylor Swift // Kiss Me Right - keshi // Sugar Talking - Sabrina Carpenter // It Ain’t Over ‘Till It’s Over - Lenny Kravitz // Please - BTS // striptease - carwash
𝐋’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐞: i genuinely had the best time writing this fic and getting way too emotionally attached to these characters! please feel free to leave a comment, scream or simply stare into the void thinking about these idiots (i know i will be). your support means more than you know and every notification makes me kick my feet like a Victorian lady seeing an ankle. i hope this fic made you experience at least one completely unnecessary emotion. thank you for ready and PLEASE enjoy!
The party is Mina’s idea. It always is. You’ve stopped pretending otherwise — stopped doing the thing where you spend twenty minutes debating whether you’re really feeling it before Mina gives you the look and you both know you’re going regardless.
It’s a Friday in late September, the air outside finally tipping from warm to something with a bite in it, and you’ve been in your dorm room since two in the afternoon staring at the same paragraph of Middlemarch without absorbing a single word.
“You need to get out of this room,” Mina says from your bed, where she’s been watching you not read for the past hour. She’s already dressed — black top, dark jeans, the gold hoops she only wears when she’s decided the night is going to be worth the effort. She decided before she came over. The last hour has been a courtesy. “You’ve been staring at that book like it cheated on you.”
The word lands between you, briefly. Mina’s face doesn’t change “George Eliot is a menace,” you say.
“You love George Eliot.”
“I love George Eliot when I’m not trying to produce fifteen hundred words on her narrative voice by Monday morning.” You close the book. It’s not like you’re reading it anyway.
The thing about Delta Kappa parties is that they are, by any objective measure, too much. Too loud, too hot, the bass sitting somewhere in your sternum, red cups and bodies everywhere you look. Mina thrives. You tolerate it with the specific resignation of someone who knows they’re going to have a good time despite themselves and finds this faintly irritating.
You’re on your second drink when you see Sunghoon. He’s across the room near the kitchen doorway, mid-conversation with someone you don’t recognise, laughing at something. Head tipped back the way he always did — that particular way, unhurried and a little private, like whatever amused him was his alone. You used to love that about him. You watch it for maybe three seconds before you look away, which feels like a victory of some kind.
Four months. Four months since you’d found out, since you’d sat on your dorm room floor and read a conversation thread you were never supposed to see, since everything you thought you’d built with him had turned out to be built on something rotten underneath.
Two years of your life. Your first real relationship. You’d thought it would last.
You look away. You drain the rest of your cup.
“He’s here,” Mina says, appearing at your elbow with the precision of someone who has been watching.
“I know.”
“Do you want to leave?”
“No.” You mean it. “I’m not leaving a party because of Sunghoon Park.”
She studies you for a moment with that particular look — the one that measures the difference between actually fine and performing fine with uncomfortable accuracy. Whatever she finds seems to satisfy her, because she clinks her cup against yours and says, “Then let’s get another drink.”
You’re at the makeshift bar — someone’s kitchen counter pressed into service — when you become aware of someone standing beside you. Not waiting for the bottle. Something else. A specific quality of attention that you register before you’ve consciously clocked it. You look up. Jake Sim looks back.
You know who he is the way you know most things about the people who exist in Caldwell’s uppermost stratum — passively, through cultural osmosis, without ever having chosen to learn. Captain of the Wolves. Dean’s son. The name that comes up in a specific tone of voice, like a warning dressed as gossip.
Up close he is, unfortunately, exactly as good-looking as that reputation implies. Tall, built through the shoulders and chest in the way that years of hockey builds — not showy, just solid, like his body was designed to take up space and does so without apology. Dark eyes. A jaw that should probably be illegal. A mouth curved at the corner like he’s already three steps ahead of the conversation and finds this mildly entertaining.
“You’re doing maths,” he says.
You blink. “What?”
“Your face.” He nods at you, vaguely. “Very intense for someone just standing at a bar.”
“I’m making a drink.”
“You’ve been staring at that vodka for forty-five seconds.”
“I didn’t realise I was being timed.”
“You weren’t.” He reaches past you for the bottle — close enough that you catch something clean and faintly expensive — pours his own cup, sets it back.
“I’m Jake.”
“I know who you are.” Something moves through his expression. Amusement, maybe, or the specific satisfaction of a fact confirmed.
“Most people do,” he says, and there’s no arrogance in it, just a statement of observable reality, which is somehow worse. “And you’re—”
“Also a person,” you say.
That gets a real smile. Brief, but actual. “Fair enough.”
You should find Mina. You’re aware of this the way you’re aware of the coursework due Monday and the fact that it’s past midnight — true, noted, irrelevant. Instead you stay where you are and let the conversation go where it goes, and it goes somewhere you didn’t expect.
He’s good at this. That’s the thing you clock first and keep clocking — the way he makes conversation feel like it has momentum, like you’re building toward something together, the timing of his humour landing slightly off-beat in a way that catches you. He asks questions and actually listens to the answers. You know it’s a formula. You know it has worked on an uncountable number of girls at an uncountable number of parties exactly like this one, and knowing that should make you immune to it, and it doesn’t.
Mina finds you at some point, clocks the situation in under a second, raises her eyebrows precisely two millimetres — a full paragraph in two millimetres — and disappears back into the crowd.
At some point his hand finds the small of your back. Light. Questioning. You don’t move away from it. At some point, close enough that you feel the words more than hear them, he says: “We could get out of here.”
You think about Middlemarch, which you’re not going to read tonight regardless. You think about the two years you spent being someone’s person and the four months since that have felt like learning to walk in a body that’s been subtly rearranged. You think about Sunghoon somewhere in this house with his head tipped back, laughing.
“Okay,” you say.
His room is in the east block upperclassmen housing — a single, because of course, because Jake Sim has probably never had to negotiate space with anyone in his life. It’s tidier than you’d have guessed. You file this away without meaning to, the way you’re still filing things even now, even when you’ve told yourself you’re not doing that anymore.
He closes the door and you’re already turning toward him and then his mouth is on yours and it’s nothing like how he acted downstairs — no charm, no ease, just heat and intent, his hands gripping your face and kissing you like he’s already decided exactly how this goes.
You grab his shirt and walk him backwards and he turns you instead, smooth and immediate, your back hitting the wall beside the door hard enough to knock the breath out of you and you don’t care, you’re already pulling at his shirt and he’s already got your top halfway up your body.
He strips it off you and his mouth drops straight to your throat, open and hot, and then your bra is unclasped and gone before you’ve fully registered his hands at the back of it.
Then his mouth is on your tits and he makes a sound low in his chest like the sight of them was specifically designed to ruin him. His hands cup them, squeezing, thumbs dragging slow over your nipples and watching your face while he does it. You feel your cheeks go hot because his expression is entirely too focused, too attentive, like he’s cataloguing your reactions and filing it away for later use.
He bends his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, tongue working in slow wet circles. Your head drops back against the wall on a moan you didn’t mean to let out that loud.
“Yeah,” he says against your skin, rough and pleased, “get loud,” and bites down lightly you gasp and your nails find his shoulders through his shirt.
He marks you up like he has all the time in the world — mouth dragging from your tits to your throat to your collarbone and back again, teeth and tongue, leaving his work on your skin with a thoroughness that should feel like too much and instead just makes you want more.
His hips grind into yours against the wall, the hard line of his cock pressed against your core through clothing, slow and deliberate, the friction makes you roll up into it and he does it again to which you make a sound that’s honestly embarrassing.
“Bed,” you manage, and he pulls back just enough to look at you — mouth-bitten, dark-eyed, satisfied with himself in a way you don’t have the capacity to be annoyed about right now — and walks you to it.
You land on the mattress and he’s over you immediately, his mouth back on your tits before you’ve stopped bouncing on the mattress, you’re pulling at his shirt until he lets you get it off him and then his jeans are gone and yours are gone and he’s settled between your thighs in just his boxers and the weight of him is — a lot, in the best way, solid and warm and pressing you into the mattress, his hips grind down slow as his cock drags against your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties, you grab his shoulders to hold onto something.
He does it again. Slower.
His mouth is still at your nipple, tongue working it stiff while his hips keep that maddening rhythm, grinding into you with enough friction to make your thighs clench around him but not enough to give you anything real, you can hear how wet you are, can feel it and judging by the way his jaw tightens he can too.
“Jake,” you say, and it comes out more desperate than you intend.
“I know,” he says, like that’s an answer, and then he’s moving down your body.
He hooks your underwear off, throws it somewhere and finally puts his mouth on your pussy. Your back comes off the mattress.
He licks into your folds slowly, taking his time, his tongue dragging from your entrance up to your clit in one long stroke and then doing it again, his hands are spread flat on your inner thighs holding you open and still and there is nothing to do but take it.
He’s good — infuriatingly good — like he’s genuinely interested in making you cum, like this is something he wants to do rather than something he’s doing to get to the next thing. You’ve got one fist in the sheets and one pressed to your own mouth to which he pulls your hand away from your face without looking up. “Don’t,” he says against your cunt, and goes back to work.
His tongue finds your clit and stays there, tight focused circles, two fingers then press at your entrance and push in slow, curling immediately, finding the spot that makes your hips jolt and working it with patience that feels almost cruel.
The sounds coming out of you are loud and continuous and undignified and he hums against you like he approves, the vibration travelling straight up your spine, and you can feel yourself getting close embarrassingly fast, your walls clenching tight around his fingers, your whole body chasing it.
“Don’t stop,” you manage, “don’t — please —“ and he doesn’t, his tongue relentless on your clit and his fingers curling deep, and you cum on his mouth with your thighs shaking, his name coming out broken and too loud for the room.
He works you through every second of it, tongue gentling, fingers slowing until you’re twitching and oversensitive and pulling at his hair to get him off you, he comes back up your body looking composed in a way that feels like a personal attack. There’s something dark and satisfied in his expression as he looks down at you and kisses you before you can say anything, slow, and you taste yourself on his tongue.
His cock is hard against your hip, straining against his boxers, you reach between you and wrap your hand around him and feel him shudder. He’s thick and heavy in your palm, already slick at the tip and when you stroke him his composure cracks — hips pushing into your grip, jaw tightening and a low rough sound forming against your mouth.
You work him slow and watch his face and feel something warm and powerful settle in your chest. “Condom,” you say.
“Yeah,” he says and reaches for the nightstand.
He pushes in slow and you feel every single inch. The stretch of him opening you up, thick and relentless, your walls giving way around his cock, you dig your nails into his back and breathe through it until he’s fully seated. You’re so full it sits somewhere between pleasure and pain and then he rolls his hips and it tips firmly into the first one.
He starts slow — deep, grinding strokes, his cock dragging against every nerve of you, the weight of his hips pinning yours into the mattress and his mouth finds your tits again immediately, like he can’t help it, tongue working your nipple while his hips keep their deep rhythm and you stop being capable of thoughts that go anywhere.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he says against your breast, low and rough, and bites down on the swell of it and soothes it with his tongue and does it again somewhere else.
“Jake—”
“I know,” he says, his thumb finds your clit. The added pressure makes you gasp and your hips jolt up to meet his and he makes a sound that isn’t quite a groan and picks up the pace.
The slow grind gives way to something sharper. His hips snap against yours and the headboard knocks the wall and the wet sounds of it fill the room. You have completely stopped caring about anything except the way his cock fills you on every stroke, deep and thick, the drag of him pulling back and driving in again setting off a chain reaction of sensation that climbs fast.
He shifts your leg up higher over his hip and the angle changes, deeper, and the sound you make at that is genuinely obscene. “Yeah?” he says, doing it again, deliberate. “There?”
“Yes,” you manage, “there, don’t stop, please—”
“Dirty when you want something,” he says, low and pleased, and fucks you harder.
His thumb circles your clit without stopping, his cock drives into your cunt again and again and his mouth marks your throat. The build crests too fast to catch — you cum for the second time harder, walls clenching rhythmically around him, his name coming out wrecked and he follows you over with his hips buried deep and his face pressed to your throat, low broken sounds against your skin as he cums.
The room goes quiet. You stare at the ceiling. Your body has been taken apart and put back together slightly differently and everything feels warm and loose and heavy.
That, you think distantly, was either the best or worst decision you’ve made in months.
Possibly both.
Jake disposes of the condom, comes back, drops onto the bed beside you. The quiet settles. It’s almost comfortable — the dark, the warmth, both of you just breathing. And then…
“You can go whenever,” he says. Flat. Casual. Already looking at the ceiling like you’re no longer the most interesting thing in the room. Like you’ve been downgraded, in the last thirty seconds, from a person to an inconvenience that’s resolved itself.
You blink. You can go whenever. Not you don’t have to rush, not do you want some water, not even basic human decency. Just — you can go. Door’s there. Thanks for coming.
Something cold moves cleanly through the warmth in your chest and extinguishes it. You sit up. “Right,” you say. Your voice comes out level. You’re proud of that.
He says nothing. He is staring at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head like a man with absolutely no awareness that he’s just been profoundly rude, or perhaps perfect awareness and total indifference, which is worse.
You find your clothes in the dark with quiet methodical efficiency — jeans, top, shoes, bra shoved into your bag because life is short. You do not look at him while you dress and he does not look at you. At the door you pause, and you genuinely don’t know why, some reflex kicking in from a life spent being polite to people who haven’t earned it.
“Bye, then,” you say.
“Mm,” says Jake Sim, at the ceiling not even at you. You want to scoff in his stupidly hot face.
You close the door behind you.
The walk back across campus takes twelve minutes and you spend all twelve of them with the cold night air doing its best against the heat in your face. Not embarrassment — or not only that. Something sharper. The specific anger of someone who knew exactly what they were walking into and walked into it anyway and is now annoyed at themselves for being annoyed.
I knew, you think, with each step. I knew what he was. Everyone knows what he is. I just—
You’d let the hour at the bar do its work. You’d let the conversation and the hand at the small of your back and the dark eyes and the unfair jaw do their work, and you’d told yourself it was fine because you were going in clear-eyed, and the sex had been — god, the sex had been amazing — but then he’d opened his mouth and reminded you exactly who he was and now here you are, at one forty in the morning, crossing the quad with your bra in your bag.
You text Mina. still up?
The reply is immediate. obviously. how was it?
You stare at your phone for a moment. come to mine, you type back.
Mina is sitting up in your bed when you get back, laptop open, a bowl of cereal balanced on her knee that she definitely made while waiting. She takes one look at your face as you come through the door and sets it on the nightstand. “Tell me.”
You drop your bag, toe off your shoes, and sit on the end of the bed. You press your fingers to your eyes for a moment. “The sex,” you say carefully, “was genuinely incredible. Like — top three of my life, Mina. Easily. Potentially top two.”
“Okay—”
“And then, the moment it was over, he looked at the ceiling and told me I could go whenever.” You drop your hands. “In the tone of someone dismissing a tradesman. Like I’d come to fix his boiler.”
Mina’s expression moves through several stages. “He did not.”
“He absolutely did.”
“What did you say?”
“I said bye then and closed the door.”
“Bye then?”
“I panicked and defaulted to manners.” You flop backwards onto the duvet. “I knew. That’s the thing. I knew exactly what he was before I ever spoke to him and I did it anyway because—” You gesture at the ceiling. “I don’t know. Because I’m tired of being careful. Because Sunghoon was across the room being beautiful and I wanted to feel something that wasn’t about him.”
Mina is quiet for a moment. Then: “Was it, at least something that wasn’t about Sunghoon.”
You consider this with the ceiling. “Yes,” you admit. “Annoyingly, yes. Right up until he opened his mouth.”
“He really is the worst,” Mina says, with the conviction of someone delivering a verdict.
“He really, genuinely is.” You stare upward. “He’s got such a good cock though, Mina. Like. I’m annoyed about it. I’m actively annoyed.”
Mina puts her face in her hands. You watch her shoulders shake. “It’s not funny,” you tell her, and then you’re laughing too, and the tight mean thing in your chest loosens by a fraction, and outside the window Caldwell goes on being loud and indifferent and fully lit up, and you are fine.
You’re fine. You’re completely fine.
The week after the party you are, by any reasonable measure, completely fine.
You turn in the Middlemarch essay on Monday morning — fifteen hundred words on narrative voice, mostly written Sunday afternoon in a single focused stretch that you attribute to having gotten something out of your system.
You go to your Tuesday seminar and your Wednesday lecture and you have coffee with Mina on Thursday at the place near the English building where they do the good almond croissants, and you do not think about Jake Sim.
Or you think about him the normal amount. The amount that is appropriate for a person you slept with once at a party and will probably never speak to again, which is to say occasionally and without weight, the way you might think about a film you watched on a plane — enjoyable in the moment, not something you’d seek out again, largely irrelevant to your actual life.
This is what you tell yourself. Mina does not challenge it, which means she’s either convinced or she’s decided to let you have it, and knowing Mina it’s the second one.
Sunghoon texts you on Wednesday. Just — hey, saw you at Delta Kappa Friday. you looked good. You stare at it for a long time. You don’t reply.
You see Jake on Monday. You’re crossing the main quad, coffee in hand, bag over one shoulder, running approximately four minutes late for your seminar, and he’s coming the other direction with Jay Park and someone you don’t recognise, all three of them in Wolves gear, clearly post-practice.
He’s laughing at something Jay said, head tilted back, and he looks — easy, and loose, and completely unbothered by anything in the known universe, which you knew, which is exactly what you expected, and yet something about seeing it in person at ten forty-three on a Monday morning makes your jaw tighten anyway.
He doesn’t see you. Or he does and gives no indication of it, which amounts to the same thing. You look straight ahead and keep walking and do not think about it for the rest of the morning.
You think about it a little bit in the afternoon. By evening you’ve filed it away under irrelevant and moved on, which is the correct and mature response and you’re proud of yourself.
The sickness starts on Wednesday morning. You wake up with your stomach doing something wrong — not dramatic, not the sharp unmistakable rebellion of food poisoning, just a low persistent nausea that sits behind your sternum like it’s made itself at home. You lie still for a moment, waiting for it to pass.
It doesn’t.
You get up, make it to the bathroom, sit on the edge of the tub for ten minutes breathing carefully, and then it eases enough that you can brush your teeth and get dressed and tell yourself you’re fine.
You’re not fine by Thursday morning.
The nausea is worse — still not acute, still this low insidious wrongness, but it’s there when you wake up and it doesn’t fully lift, and your coffee tastes like something burnt and metallic and you push it away after two sips which Mina clocks immediately from across the table at the place near the English building.
“You’re not drinking your coffee.”
“I’m not feeling it today.”
Mina looks at the cup. Looks at you. “You have never in three years of knowing you not felt like coffee.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” She watches you for a moment with that look. You look back at your laptop and don’t say anything else.
By Saturday you feel actively, genuinely terrible.
Not sick-sick — no fever, no aches, nothing you can point to as a specific illness — just this relentless creeping nausea that is worst in the morning and fades by afternoon and makes the idea of eating before eleven o’clock an abstract and unpleasant concept.
You cancel your Saturday morning coffee with Mina, which you have never done, and she’s at your door by noon with a container of crackers and a forensic expression. “Talk,” she says.
“I think I’m coming down with something.”
“What kind of something.”
“I don’t know, Mina, a virus. A bug. Something that’s going around.”
She sits down on your bed and opens the crackers and holds them out to you and you take one because the sight of them is, somehow, the most appealing thing you’ve encountered all week. You eat it slowly. Your stomach does not immediately rebel. You take another one. “How long?” Mina asks.
“Since Wednesday morning.”
“And it’s worst in the morning.”
“Yes.”
“And you can’t drink coffee.”
“It tastes wrong.” Mina is quiet for a moment. You eat another cracker and look at the wall. “I’m sure it’s just a bug,” you say.
“Yeah,” Mina says, in a tone that means something else entirely. “Probably.”
The conspiracy theories start that evening, though. It’s the two of you on your bed with Mina’s laptop open and a bag of pretzels between you, and it begins reasonably enough — you googling nausea worse in morning possible causes and working through the list with the detached efficiency of someone who is definitely not spiralling. Stress. Acid reflux. Inner ear issues. Viral gastroenteritis. Dietary changes.
“Have you eaten anything different lately?” Mina asks.
“No.”
“Stressed about something?”
“When am I not stressed about something.”
“Fair.” She scrolls. “It says here inner ear problems can cause—”
“I don’t have inner ear problems, Mina.”
Mina scrolls further. You eat a pretzel and watch her face and wait for it. You know it’s coming. You’ve known since Saturday morning, if you’re being honest, since she’d sat on your bed with that specific expression and said probably in that specific tone, and you’ve been not-thinking about it with considerable effort for the past several hours.
“Okay,” Mina says, carefully, still looking at the screen. “What if.”
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything yet.”
“You don’t have to.” You pull the laptop toward you and close the tab. “It’s been less than two weeks. It’s too early for that. It’s a bug.”
“You used a condom?”
“Obviously.”
“They’re not a hundred percent.”
“It’s a bug,” you say. “It’s a completely normal bug that normal people get and it has nothing to do with — it’s a bug.”
Mina looks at you with the expression of someone who has several more things to say and has made a strategic decision to not say them yet. “Okay,” she says. “Bug.”
By Sunday you can’t keep breakfast down. You sit on your bathroom floor at eight in the morning with your back against the tub and your forehead against your knees and you think about the party, and Jake’s room, and the nightstand, and the condom, and you think no very firmly and repeatedly and it doesn’t help at all.
You text Mina. can you come over
She’s there in seven minutes. She doesn’t say anything when you open the door, just looks at your face, and you nod back at her.
The Caldwell campus drugstore is a five minute walk from your building and has, blessedly, a single-occupancy bathroom at the back that Mina sweet-talks the Saturday cashier into letting you use on the grounds that you’re not feeling well, which is at least entirely true. It’s a very small bathroom.
The two of you fill it completely — you on the closed toilet lid, Mina with her back against the sink, the test sitting on the edge of it between you with three minutes on Mina’s phone timer counting down. Nobody says anything.
The tile is white. There’s a motivational poster on the back of the door — you’ve got this! in yellow letters — that you stare at with a feeling you can’t fully name.
Two minutes.
“It’s probably negative,” you say.
“Probably,” Mina says.
“The condom—”
“Yeah.” “And it’s been less than two weeks. Like. The timing—”
“The timing is actually about right,” Mina says, gently, “for symptoms to—”
“Stop,” you say.
One minute.
You watch the timer. The timer watches back. Your hands are completely still in your lap which surprises you — you’d have expected them to shake, but instead you feel very calm in the specific way that you get sometimes when something is about to happen and your body has decided that panic is a resource to be conserved.
The timer goes off.
Neither of you moves for a second. Then Mina picks up the test and looks at it. Her face does something — a flicker, fast and controlled, there and gone — and she hands it to you without speaking.
Two lines.
You look at it for a long time.
“Okay,” you say, finally.
“Yeah,” Mina says.
The motivational poster on the wall says you’ve got this! in yellow letters and you stare at it and think about Jake Sim telling the ceiling you can go whenever and feel something move through you that is too big and too complicated to have a name yet.
“Okay,” you say again. Like if you keep saying it, it’ll start meaning something useful.
—
You don’t go to him straight away. That feels important somehow — that you don’t just spiral out of that drugstore bathroom and make a beeline for the Hargrove Center in a panic, that you go back to your dorm first and sit with it for a while like a person with some degree of self-possession.
You and Mina order food you mostly don’t eat and sit on your bed with the test face-down on the nightstand like if you can’t see it it’s less real, and you talk around it for a while before you talk about it directly, which is its own kind of processing.
“You don’t have to decide anything today,” Mina says.
“I know.”
“You don’t have to tell him today either.”
“I know.” You pull your sleeves over your hands. “But I feel like — I don’t know. He should know. Like in or not he’s — it’s his. He should know.”
Mina is quiet for a moment. “Okay,” she says. “But eat something first.”
You eat half a portion of noodles. It’s the most you’ve managed in days and your stomach accepts it cautiously, like it’s making no promises. Then you change your top, put your shoes on, and look at Mina.
“Don’t come with me,” you say.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were absolutely going to.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Text me the second you’re out.”
The Hargrove Center is a twenty minute walk across campus and you use all twenty minutes to rehearse what you’re going to say, which turns out to be a complete waste of time because the moment you push through the side door and the cold air of the rink hits you — that particular sharp smell of ice and equipment — your prepared sentences evaporate entirely.
Practice is just wrapping up. You can see them from the entrance, the Wolves coming off the ice in clusters, helmets off, sticks in hand. Jay Park says something that makes Riki Nishimura laugh. Jungwon Yang is already halfway to the boards.
And Jake is — there, centre ice, still, talking to one of the assistant coaches with his helmet under his arm and his hair pushed back from his face, and even from here he looks like someone who has never had an uncontrollable variable in his life.
You wait.
You’re good at waiting. You’ve spent the last two weeks being good at things you didn’t choose to be good at.
He sees you when he comes off the ice — clocks you in the way that people clock something unexpected in a familiar space, a brief recalibration. Something moves across his face, too fast to read. Then it’s gone and he’s walking toward you with the easy unhurried stride of someone who has decided to be unbothered and you stand your ground and wait for him to reach you.
“Hey,” he says. Like you’re an acquaintance. Like he’s mildly surprised to see you and finds it mildly unremarkable.
“I need to talk to you,” you say. Something shifts.
The easy expression doesn’t disappear exactly but it adjusts, becomes more guarded. He glances around — Jay is watching from the boards with open curiosity, Riki less subtly — and then jerks his head toward the corridor off the main rink.
You follow him into it. It’s quieter here, the noise of the rink muffled, the overhead lights slightly too bright. He turns and faces you with his arms crossed and his weight back, and waits. You had sentences. You had very good sentences, all the way across campus.
“I’m pregnant,” you say.
The corridor goes very quiet. Jake looks at you. His expression does several things in quick succession that he doesn’t quite manage to keep off his face — shock, and something that might be fear, and then a shuttering, a closing, something careful dropping down over all of it.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay,” you repeat.
“That’s — okay. How far—”
“I just found out today. So.” You fold your arms across your chest. “Not far.”
He nods slowly. His jaw is working. He looks at the floor for a moment and then back at you and the careful expression is fully in place now, composed and unreadable, and you don’t know whether to be relieved or furious about it.
“Are you sure it’s mine,” he says.
The corridor goes even quieter somehow.
You look at him. “What did you just say.”
“I’m just—” He shifts his weight. “We don’t know each other. I don’t know who else you’ve been—”
“Are you calling me a slut.” It comes out flat. Not a question.
“I’m not calling you anything, I’m just saying I don’t know—”
“You’re the only person I’ve slept with in four months.” Your voice is very level. “I was in a relationship. It ended. I haven’t — there’s been no one else. There’s only been you.” You look at him. “And I can’t believe I’m standing here explaining that to you.”
“I’m not trying to—”
“You literally just implied I could have slept with someone else.” The level voice is beginning to fray at the edges. “You literally said that. To my face.”
“Look, I just—”
You slap him.
You don’t plan it. Your hand moves before the decision has fully formed, the sharp crack of it landing across his cheek, and then there’s a ringing silence and your palm is stinging and Jake’s head has turned with the force of it and he’s looking at you now with an expression you haven’t seen on him before. Not angry. Something more complicated than angry.
“Don’t ever,” you say, quietly, “imply something like that to me again.”
He says nothing. His hand has come up to his cheek, not pressing, just — there. His jaw is tight.
“I thought you should know,” you say. “That’s all. I thought you deserved to know because it’s yours and you deserved to know. I haven’t decided anything yet and I’m not asking you for anything.” You pull your bag higher on your shoulder. “Okay?”
“Okay,” he says. Low. You walk back out into the cold. You text Mina out and she sends back seventeen question marks which is fair.
You tell her you’ll explain when you get back and spend the walk home feeling the particular hollow exhaustion of someone who has done the thing they needed to do and now has no idea what comes next.
You’re back in your building, one flight up, when you hear him behind you. “Hey—”
You turn. Jake is in the stairwell, still in his practice gear, slightly out of breath like he walked fast to get here, and you have absolutely no idea how he found out which dorm you’re in and you’re going to have questions about that later.
“How did you—“
“Jay knew,” he says, which explains nothing and everything.
He comes up the last few steps and stops on your landing and runs a hand through his hair and looks like someone who has been having a very difficult internal conversation at speed. “Can I—”
“No,” you say.
“Two minutes.” You look at him. He looks back. The mark from your hand has faded from his cheek but his expression is still doing that thing — complicated, unreadable, something working behind it.
“Two minutes,” you say, and unlock your door. Your room is small and suddenly smaller with him in it. He stands just inside the door like he’s not sure he’s allowed further in, which is the most uncertain you’ve seen him, and you sit on the end of your bed and look at him and wait.
He reaches into his jacket. He puts a stack of bills on your desk. You look at the money. You look at him. “Jake.”
“It’s enough to cover — whatever you decide.” He’s not quite meeting your eyes. “I’m not — look. I don’t want a kid. I’m not in a place for that. We don’t know each other. But I’m not going to just—” He stops. Starts again. “Take it. Whatever you need it for.”
You stare at the money for a long moment. “Are you going to want to be involved,” you ask. “If I decide to keep it.”
Something crosses his face. “I don’t — I haven’t—” He exhales. “I don’t know.”
“Okay,” you say. “That’s honest at least.”
“Are you going to keep it,” he asks. Quietly. Like he’s not sure he has the right to ask.
You look at the money on your desk. You look at him — standing in your doorway in his practice gear, jaw tight, trying very hard to look like someone who has this handled and not quite managing it — and you think that this is the first time he’s looked like a person to you. Not the reputation, not the corridor composure, not the ceiling of his bedroom. Just a person who is as blindsided as you are and coping with it badly.
“I don’t know yet,” you say. “I’ll let you know when I do.”
He nods. He looks at you for a moment longer than necessary. Then he picks up the money from your desk and puts it on your nightstand instead, like the desk was somehow wrong, like the four feet of distance makes a difference, and you don’t say anything about it.
“I’m sorry,” he says, at the door. “For what I said. At the rink.”
You look at him. “Which part.”
“All of it.”
He closes the door behind him and you sit on your bed in the quiet of your room for a long time, the money on your nightstand and the weight of everything pressing down, and then you pick up your phone and call your sister.
She picks up on the third ring. “Hey, you.” Hannah’s voice is warm and slightly distracted in the way it always is — you can hear one of the kids in the background, the particular high-pitched negotiation of a five year old who wants something and has decided now is the time. “Give me two seconds.”
Then, away from the phone: “Lily, baby, I said after dinner. After. Yes. Because I said so, that’s why.” A door closing.
Then: “Okay. Hi. Sorry. What’s up?”
You open your mouth. You’ve been sitting on your bed for forty minutes since Jake left, the money on your nightstand and your phone in your hand, and you’ve composed this conversation approximately thirty times in your head and all thirty versions started more coherently than what actually comes out, which is: “I did something kind of stupid.”
“How stupid.”
“Significantly.”
A beat. Hannah has always been good at letting silence do its work, at not rushing in to fill it with the wrong thing. It’s one of the things you’ve always loved about her. “Okay,” she says. “Tell me.”
So you tell her. All of it — the party and Jake and the test and the corridor and the slap and him in your room with the money — and Hannah listens through all of it without interrupting, which is its own kind of gift, and when you’re done there’s a moment of quiet that feels like her sorting through it.
“Okay,” she says again. “First question. Are you physically okay?”
“Yes.”
“Second question. Do you have someone with you?”
“Mina’s coming over in an hour.”
“Good.” You can hear her moving around, the soft sounds of her kitchen. “Third question, and I want you to actually think about it before you answer — not what you think you should say, not what’s practical, not what he wants or what anyone else wants. Just you.”
She pauses. “Do you want to keep it?”
You look at the money on your nightstand.
You think about the question the way she asked it — stripped of everything else, just you, just the truth of it underneath all the noise.
The thing is, you already know. You’ve known since the bathroom floor this morning, since you sat with your back against the tub and your forehead on your knees. It’s why the knowing has been so terrifying — not because you’re uncertain but because you’re not, and being not uncertain makes it real in a way that uncertainty would have postponed.
“Yeah,” you say. Quietly. “I do. I just — I don’t want it to be his. I don’t want to be tied to someone who—” You stop. “I don’t want the situation. I just want—”
“The baby,” Hannah says. “Yeah.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Those are two separate things,” she says. “The situation and the baby. They feel like the same thing right now but they’re not.”
You hear her sit down somewhere. “Marcus and I — when I had Lily, things with us were not good. You remember. We were not in a good place. And I thought about it the same way — I want her, I just don’t want this. And it was hard. It was genuinely really hard. But she’s five now and she’s the most annoying, amazing person I’ve ever met and I can’t — I can’t imagine.”
You press the back of your hand to your mouth.
“I’m not telling you what to do,” Hannah says quickly. “I promise I’m not. Whatever you decide I’m with you. I just — you asked.”
“I know,” you manage. “I know you’re not.”
“Is he terrible?” she asks. “This Jake person.”
You think about the corridor. The money. I’m sorry. For what I said. All of it. “I don’t know yet,” you say. “He’s — I don’t know what he is.”
“Okay.” Hannah’s voice is careful and warm. “You don’t have to know yet. You don’t have to know anything yet except what you want. Everything else gets figured out.”
You sit with that for a moment. “I’m keeping it,” you say. Out loud, to another person, for the first time. It lands differently than it did in your head — more solid, more real, like something that has been decided rather than something being considered.
“Okay,” Hannah says, and she says it the way Mina says it — not okay as in fine but okay as in I’ve got you. “Then we figure out the rest.”
You tell Mina when she comes over and she holds your hand and doesn’t say anything for a long moment and then says “okay, what do we need to do” in the tone of someone rolling up their sleeves, which is exactly right, which is why she’s your person.
You tell Jake two days later.
You find him after morning practice on a Wednesday, same side entrance to the Hargrove Center, and this time he sees you coming and something in his posture adjusts — not quite bracing, just becoming more careful, more deliberate, the way he gets when he’s paying attention. “Hey,” he says.
“I’m keeping it,” you say.
He goes very still. You watch him process it — the stillness and then the almost imperceptible movement of his jaw, the way his eyes go somewhere internal for a second before coming back to you. He looks like someone doing rapid and complicated mathematics. “Okay,” he says finally.
“You don’t have to be involved. I meant that when I said it. I’m not — I’m not asking you for anything except to know. You deserved to know and now you know and whatever you decide to do with that is up to you.”
“I said I’d provide,” he says. “I meant that.”
“Money isn’t the same as involved.”
“I know.” He shifts his weight. His hands are in his pockets and he’s looking at you with that careful expression, the one you can’t fully read. “I don’t — I’m not going to be the guy who just throws money at it and disappears. That’s not—” He stops. “I don’t know what I am yet. But I’m not that.”
You look at him for a long moment. There is, underneath the practice gear and the careful composure and the history of the last two weeks, something that might be decency in there. It’s buried. It’s inconsistent. You’ve seen it appear and disappear enough times already to know better than to trust it yet. But it’s there. “Okay,” you say. “Then figure out what you are and let me know.”
You turn to go. “Can I—” He stops. You look back. “Can I have your number,” he says. “Properly. So we can — so it’s easier to—”
“To what.”
He looks, briefly, like someone who hasn’t thought this far ahead. “Talk,” he says. “If we need to.”
You look at him for a moment. Then you take out your phone and hold it out. He puts his number in and hands it back and you save it under Jake Sim (do not text unless necessary) which you do not show him. “I’ll be in touch,” you say.
Jake doesn’t mean to tell his friend— or he does, but not like this, not in the locker room with his gear half off and Riki eating a protein bar on the bench across from him and Jay taping his wrist in the corner and Jungwon doing something on his phone. It comes out the way things come out when you’ve been holding them too long and the effort of holding them finally exceeds the effort of saying them.
“I got someone pregnant,” he says.
The locker room goes quiet. Riki stops chewing. Jay puts down the tape. Jungwon looks up from his phone. “I’m sorry,” Jay says, with the careful enunciation of someone who wants to make sure they’ve heard correctly. “You what?”
“You heard me.”
“I heard you, I just want to make sure I—” Jay sets down the tape fully and turns to face him. “Who.”
“Girl from Delta Kappa. Three weeks ago.” Another silence. Jay is looking at him with an expression that Jake doesn’t particularly enjoy — something between concern and the specific look of someone doing the maths on how this could have happened and arriving at several uncomfortable conclusions about Jake’s general life choices.
“Are you—” Jungwon starts.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I was going to ask.”
“Then what.”
Jungwon looks at him steadily. “Is she okay.”
Jake opens his mouth. Closes it. Thinks about you in the corridor at the rink and your voice going flat and your hand cracking across his face, and then you in your dorm room — calm and certain and telling him you weren’t asking him for anything, which was somehow the part that landed hardest. “I think so,” he says. “She’s — yeah.”
“Do you like her?” Riki asks, with the bluntness of someone who has not yet learned that some questions require more runway.
“I don’t know her,” Jake says.
“That’s not what I asked.” Jay shoots Riki a look. Riki shrugs and takes another bite of his protein bar.
“What are you going to do?” Jay asks, turning back to Jake.
Jake leans his elbows on his knees and looks at the floor. The locker room smells like it always does — ice and rubber and effort — and it’s familiar in a way that is almost destabilising right now, how normal everything around him is when nothing feels particularly normal. “I don’t know yet,” he says. “Be there, I think. As much as she’ll let me.”
“As much as she’ll let you,” Jay repeats. Something in his tone.
“She’s not — she’s not soft.” Jake looks up. “She’s not going to make it easy.”
“Should she?”
Jake looks at him. Jay looks back, steady and unhurried. “No,” Jake says, after a moment. “Probably not.”
Jay nods once. Picks the tape back up. “Then figure it out,” he says, like it’s simple, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Jake sits with that in the familiar smell of the locker room and thinks that he probably needs to.
—
The truce, when it forms, is not announced. It happens gradually over the following week — a text from him checking if you need anything, which you respond to with I’m fine thanks and nothing else. A text from you three days later telling him your first appointment is booked for the following week, which he responds to with do you want me there and you respond with not yet and he responds with okay and that’s it, that’s the whole exchange, and somehow it’s the most civil conversation you’ve had.
He doesn’t push. You note this without letting it mean too much. You’re not friends. You’re not anything with a name. You’re two people who made a mistake that turned into something neither of you planned for, and you’re figuring out how to exist in the same orbit without either of you combusting, and most days it feels manageable and some days it feels impossible and on the days it feels impossible you call Hannah, who answers on the third ring and lets the silence do its work.
It’s something, you think. It’s not much but it’s something. For now, that has to be enough.
The thing about Caldwell though, is that it’s a big campus until it isn’t.
Thirty thousand students, four faculties, two libraries, a quad the size of a small park — and yet somehow the people you most want to avoid have an unerring instinct for occupying the same coffee shop, the same corridor, the same stretch of pavement at the same time.
You’ve been navigating this for four months with Sunghoon and you’ve gotten good at it. You know his schedule well enough to avoid it without meaning to, the way you learn the shape of someone after two years and can’t quite unlearn it.
Which is why it catches you off guard when he’s just — there. The library café, a Tuesday afternoon, three weeks after the test. You’re at a corner table with your laptop and a cup of tea you’ve been nursing for an hour because coffee is still wrong and probably will be for the foreseeable future, and you’re halfway through a close reading of Middlemarch chapter forty-two when someone pulls out the chair across from you and sits down and you look up and it’s Sunghoon.
He looks, as he always looks, like something assembled with unreasonable care. Dark hair, clean jawline, the particular quality of stillness he has that used to make you feel calm and now just makes you feel tired.
“Hey,” he says.
You look at him. Then at the chair he’s sitting in. Then back at him. “I didn’t say you could sit.”
“I know.” He doesn’t move. “I just wanted to talk.”
“Sunghoon.”
“Five minutes.”
You close your laptop. Not because you’re agreeing, but because whatever he’s about to say you want to be looking at him when he says it. “Five minutes,” you say. “And then you’re going to go away.”
Something moves through his expression — not quite hurt, but adjacent. He folds his hands on the table. He has nice hands. You spent two years noticing his hands. “I saw you at Delta Kappa,” he says.
“I know. You texted me.”
“You didn’t reply.” He looks at you steadily. “You were talking to Jake Sim.”
There it is.
You keep your face very neutral. “I was at a party. I talked to a lot of people.”
“Jake Sim isn’t a lot of people.” Something in his voice shifts — not quite possessive, not quite jealous, threading that needle with the precision of someone who knows he doesn’t have the right to either and is trying to disguise it as concern. “He’s not a good person to get involved with.”
“Thank you for that,” you say. “I’ll bear it in mind.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” You look at him. “Sunghoon. You don’t get to come sit at my table and tell me who I should and shouldn’t talk to. You gave that up.”
His jaw tightens. “I know I did.”
“Then why are you here?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Outside the café windows the quad is grey and overcast, students moving across it with their heads down against the wind, and Sunghoon is looking at you with an expression you know — you’ve catalogued it, the way you’ve catalogued everything about him, two years of accumulated knowledge you can’t seem to put down. It’s the expression he gets when he wants to say something and is choosing his words with care.
“I miss you,” he says.
You look at him for a long time. The honest answer is that you miss him too — or you miss the version of things you thought you had, which isn’t exactly the same as missing him but lives close enough to it that the distinction is hard to maintain on a grey Tuesday afternoon with him sitting across from you looking like that.
You miss having a person. You miss the shape of your life before it got complicated in every possible direction.
But you also know what he did.
You know it with the specific clarity of something you’ve gone over enough times that it’s stopped being sharp and started being just — true. A fact about him. A fact about what he chose. “I know,” you say. Carefully. “But that’s not my problem to fix.”
He nods. Slow. Like he expected it and it still costs him something. He stands up, pushes the chair back in, and then pauses with his hands on the back of it. “Are you okay?” he asks. “Actually? You look—” He stops.
“I look what.”
“Tired,” he says. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine,” you say.
He looks at you for a moment longer. Then he goes, and you open your laptop, and you stare at Middlemarch chapter forty-two for a while without reading any of it.
You don’t tell Jake about Sunghoon.
There’s no reason to.
You and Jake are not — whatever you are, it doesn’t include telling each other things. It includes occasional texts, one appointment you went to alone where a doctor confirmed what you already knew and gave you a due date that made it real in a new and specific way, and a strange careful politeness that exists between you like a temporary structure neither of you fully trusts.
He texts you on a Friday evening. how are you feeling
You look at it for a while. Fine. Less sick this week.
that’s good
A pause. Then: do you need anything?
You think about your sister’s voice. You don’t have to know anything yet except what you want. You think about Jake in your dorm room, the money on your nightstand, I’m not going to be the guy who just throws money at it. You think about how many times in the past three weeks he’s almost been decent and then done something to complicate it.
I’m okay, you send back. Thanks.
He sends a thumbs up and you put your phone face down and tell yourself this is fine, this arrangement is fine, and mostly you believe it.
You find out about the girl on a Saturday night.
You’re not looking for it — you’re not the kind of person who goes searching for things they don’t want to find, you learned that lesson with Sunghoon — but Caldwell is a big campus until it isn’t, and Mina’s friend group overlaps with the hockey crowd in the specific way that happens at schools where athletes are their own ecosystem but not a fully separate one.
It’s Mina who tells you, with the careful expression of someone who has been sitting on information and decided you’d rather hear it from her. “I heard Jake hooked up with someone last weekend,” she says. Not leading with it, not burying it either. Just: here is a thing that is true.
You look at your coffee. You’ve graduated back to coffee this week, weak and milky, which feels like a victory. “Okay,” you say.
“You’re allowed to have feelings about that.”
“We’re not together, Mina.”
“I know.”
“He can do whatever he wants. We’re not — there’s nothing between us. We’re just—” You move your hand in a vague gesture that encompasses the entire situation. “This.”
“I know,” Mina says again, in the tone that means she has more to say and is choosing not to. You continue to drink your coffee.
The thing is — and this is the part you don’t say out loud, the part you turn over privately in the quiet of your own head — the thing is that you know she’s right.
You are allowed to have feelings about it.
You do have feelings about it, somewhere underneath the very reasonable and correct observation that Jake Sim owes you nothing beyond basic decency and whatever co-parenting arrangement you eventually figure out.
You have feelings about it the way you have feelings about a lot of things lately — in the muffled, at-a-distance way, like they’re happening to someone slightly removed from you and you’re watching through glass.
You’re pregnant with his baby and he’s sleeping with someone else and you’re not together and you have no claim on him and all of that is true simultaneously and you’re not sure what to do with the fact that it still sits in your chest like something uncomfortable.
“I don’t care,” you tell Mina. She looks at you with the expression that means I know you and I know that’s not entirely true but I love you so I’ll let you have it.
“Okay,” she says.
—
Jake texts you on Sunday.
heard you’ve been doing better. that’s good
You stare at the message for a long time. Yeah, you type back. Thanks.
A pause. Then: can I take you to your next appointment?
You put the phone down. Pick it up. Put it down again.
The question sits there, simple and direct, and the thing about it is that it isn’t nothing. It’s not the gesture of someone who is just throwing money at a situation. It’s — something. Small and tentative and probably not enough and something nonetheless.
It’s in two weeks, you send back. I’ll let you know.
okay, he says. no pressure.
You put the phone down and look at the ceiling and think about a girl you don’t know and a Saturday night you weren’t part of and the specific stupidity of having feelings about either, and then you think about your next appointment and the due date the doctor gave you and the small impossible reality of all of it, and you decide that you are going to take a nap and deal with every single one of these things later.
Later, you think. All of it later.
He comes to the appointment, in the end you let him. You texted him the details the night before — time, building, room number — and he’s there when you arrive, standing outside the health centre with his hands in his jacket pockets and his breath fogging in the cold, and he looks up when he sees you coming and something in his expression does that thing, that complicated unreadable thing, and he falls into step beside you without saying anything.
Inside, in the waiting room, you sit next to each other in plastic chairs with a magazine between you that neither of you reads. A couple across the room are holding hands. You and Jake sit with six inches of space between you like a demilitarised zone.
“You okay?” he asks, quietly.
“Fine,” you say. “You?”
“Fine,” he says.
The nurse calls your name and you both stand up and Jake follows you in and stands slightly to the side while the doctor talks and asks questions and pulls up the scan on the screen, and you look at it — the small impossible blur of it, the heartbeat a flickering certainty on the monitor — and you feel the thing in your chest that you’ve been keeping at distance move closer without permission.
Beside you Jake goes very still.
You don’t look at him. You look at the screen.
“Everything looks perfect,” the doctor says.
You nod. You don’t trust your voice.
In the corridor after, walking back out into the cold, Jake is quiet for a long time. Longer than usual even for him.
You’re almost at the path that splits — his way, your way — when he says, without looking at you: “That was—”
“Yeah,” you say.
He nods. Puts his hands back in his pockets. “I’ll walk you back,” he says.
You think about the girl he slept with. You think about Sunghoon in the library café. You think about the scan on the monitor and the heartbeat that is real and certain and not theoretical anymore.
“Okay,” you say.
He walks you back. You don’t talk much. It’s not uncomfortable exactly — it’s something more complicated than that, something neither of you has a name for yet, and when you reach your building he stops at the bottom of the steps and looks at you and opens his mouth and then closes it again.
“What,” you say.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just — take care of yourself.” You look at him for a moment.
“You too,” you say, and go inside.
—
Sunghoon doesn’t give up. You’d half expected him to — one conversation in the library café, you’d said your piece, he’d said his, and you’d thought that would be the end of it. Sunghoon has always been precise about things, economical, not the type to repeat himself unnecessarily. You’d thought he’d take the answer and file it and move on.
Instead he texts you on a Wednesday. Just — how are you doing. No punctuation, which for Sunghoon is practically shouting.
You don’t reply.
He texts again on Friday. can we get coffee sometime? just to talk?
You stare at it for a long time.
You show it to Mina, who makes a face. “Don’t,” she says.
“I’m not going to,” you say.
He finds you on campus on Monday — the English building, your own territory, which feels deliberate. He’s waiting near the entrance when you come out of your seminar and you see him before he sees you and for one uncharitable second you think about turning around and going back inside.
You don’t. You keep walking. “Hey,” he says, falling into step beside you.
“Sunghoon.”
“I just want to walk with you.”
“I didn’t say you could.”
“I know.” He walks with you anyway, hands in his coat pockets, quiet for a moment in the way that used to feel comfortable and now just feels like pressure. “How are you feeling?”
You glance at him. “Fine.”
“You look better than last time I saw you. Less tired.”
“Thanks,” you say, flatly.
He’s quiet again. The path curves toward the quad and you keep walking and he keeps pace and you’re aware — acutely, uncomfortably aware — that you’re starting to show. Not dramatically, not in a way that’s obvious under your coat, but enough that you know. Enough that it’s a matter of time.
“I meant what I said,” Sunghoon says. “In the library.”
“I know you did.”
“I’m not trying to pressure you.”
“You’re walking next to me uninvited,” you say. “What would you call that?”
He stops. You stop too, half a beat later, and turn to look at him. He’s standing in the middle of the path with that precise, careful expression and something underneath it that isn’t quite what he’s performing, and you know him well enough to know the difference and wish you didn’t.
“I made a mistake,” he says. “I know I did. I know what I did and I know it was—” He stops. Starts again. “I just want a chance to—”
“Sunghoon.” You keep your voice even. “I can’t do this right now. I genuinely cannot — there is too much happening in my life right now for me to also be doing this. Okay? Please.”
He looks at you. Something in his expression shifts — a question forming, something he’s noticed that he can’t quite place. “What’s happening?” he asks. Carefully.
“Nothing that’s your business,” you say. “Please just — let me go.”
And he lets you go.
But the problem is that Caldwell is a big campus until it isn’t.
The problem is that two weeks later you’re at a party you didn’t particularly want to attend — a smaller thing, a friend of Mina’s, an apartment off campus — and both of them are there. Jake and Sunghoon.
You don’t notice Jake first. You notice Sunghoon, across the room with his circle, and you note it and move on, you’re good at that now. You get a drink — water, the specific reality of being the only sober person at a party hitting — and find Mina and settle into the corner and decide you’ll stay an hour and then leave.
You notice Jake about twenty minutes in.
He’s near the kitchen with Jay, and there’s a girl — tall, dark-haired, laughing at something he’s said with her hand on his arm and her body angled toward him in the specific way that means something. You see him lean in to say something close to her ear. You see her laugh again. You look away.
You look back to Mina, who is mid-conversation with someone and hasn’t clocked it, and you drink your water and you are fine, you are completely fine, this is exactly what you knew was happening and seeing it in person doesn’t change anything and you are fine.
You last another twenty minutes before you decide you’re going to get some air.
The problem is that getting air requires passing the kitchen. Jake sees you at the same moment you see him and something in his expression shifts — that recalibration, that adjustment — and the girl’s hand is still on his arm and you keep walking, eyes forward, almost past— “Hey.”
His voice.
You stop. You turn. He’s stepped slightly away from the girl, who is watching with a politely curious expression. “Hey,” you say.
“You’re here,” he says, which is not his most articulate moment.
“Briefly,” you say. “Don’t mind me.” Something moves across his face.
“You okay?”
“Fine.” You smile at him — pleasant, neutral, the smile of someone who is absolutely fine. “Enjoy your night.” You keep walking.
The air outside is cold and you stand on the small concrete step outside the apartment and breathe it and tell yourself the tightness in your chest is just the stuffiness of the party and not anything else.
You hear the door behind you. “Hey—”
You turn, expecting Jake, and it’s Sunghoon. Of course it’s Sunghoon.
He’s in his coat, hands in his pockets, and he looks at you with that careful expression and says “I saw you come out” like that explains what he’s doing here, which it does, which doesn’t make it better.
“I needed air,” you say.
“I know.” He comes to stand beside you. Close, but not touching. “You looked upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
“You have a face,” he says, gently, and you hate that he’s right, hate that after four months and everything that happened he can still read you like that. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Is it Sim?” Something in his voice changes — not quite hard, not quite angry, threading the needle. “Are you involved with him?”
“That’s not your business.”
“I’m asking because I’m worried about you, not because—”
“Sunghoon.” You turn to face him. “Please stop. Please just—”
The door opens behind you. Jake comes out. He takes in the scene — you and Sunghoon, close, Sunghoon’s expression, yours — in about half a second and his jaw tightens in a way you’ve learned to read as something being suppressed.
“Everything okay?” he asks. Looking at you, not at Sunghoon.
“Fine,” you say, for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.
“She said she’s fine,” Sunghoon says. His voice is even. “So you can go back inside.” Jake looks at him. Something passes between them that has nothing to do with you — some older, unnamed thing.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Jake says.
“Then walk away.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Jake.” Your voice is sharper than you intend. “It’s fine. Go inside.”
He doesn’t go inside.
He stays where he is with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on Sunghoon, and Sunghoon stays where he is with that precise stillness, and the cold air between all three of you is doing a lot of work.
“You’re the one she’s been seeing,” Sunghoon says, to Jake. Not a question.
“That’s not your business,” Jake says.
“It is when you’re—” Sunghoon stops. Something has crossed his face — he’s looking at you, at your coat, and the realisation moves through his expression slowly and then all at once.
His eyes find yours. “Are you—”
“Don’t,” you say.
“Are you pregnant?”
The step goes very quiet.
Jake goes very still.
You look at Sunghoon and there is a specific kind of exhaustion that moves through you — the exhaustion of someone who has been managing too many things for too long and has just watched one of them slip out of their hands.
“That,” you say, carefully, “is none of your business.”
“It’s his, isn’t it.” Not looking at Jake. Looking at you. Something in his voice that you don’t have a name for — not anger, not hurt, something more complicated and less clean than either. “You hooked up with Jake Sim at a party and now you’re—”
“Sunghoon—”
“What were you thinking?” And there it is — the composure cracking, the precision slipping, something rawer underneath. “What were you actually — with him, of all people—”
“Hey.” Jake’s voice is hard. “Watch yourself.”
“You stay out of it—”
“She told you it’s none of your business—”
“I’m talking to her—”
“Then talk to her with some respect—”
“Oh that’s rich, coming from you.” Sunghoon turns to Jake fully now and the precise stillness has sharpened into something else. “Everyone knows what you are. Everyone knows how you treat—”
“And everyone knows what you did,” Jake says, low and flat. “So don’t stand here and act like you’ve got the moral—”
“Stop.” Your voice cuts through both of them. They both look at you. “Both of you. Stop.”
A beat. “I’m going home,” you say. “This is—” You gesture at the three of you, at the step, at all of it. “I’m not doing this.”
“I’ll walk you—” Both of them, simultaneously.
“Neither of you will walk me anywhere.” You pull your coat around you. “I want to go by myself and I want both of you to leave me alone tonight. Okay?”
Sunghoon opens his mouth.
And then — later, when you try to reconstruct the exact sequence, it’s hard to isolate the moment it tips — he reaches for your arm, a gesture, just trying to stop you leaving, and Jake moves at the same time, stepping forward, his hand coming out to push Sunghoon back, and Sunghoon turns, and the angles are all wrong, and Jake’s elbow catches you across the side of your face.
It’s not hard. It’s not a real blow — it’s the edge of the motion, glancing, the kind of thing that in any other circumstance would be an accidental knock in a crowded corridor that you’d shake off and keep walking.
But you make a sound and stumble back.
Jake turns and sees your face and goes completely white. “Fuck—” He reaches for you.
“Don’t touch me.”
Your hand comes up. Your voice has gone very quiet. The side of your face is throbbing, low and dull, and underneath it everything else — the tiredness, the party, Sunghoon’s face when he realised, the girl’s hand on Jake’s arm — all of it presses in at once and you are so, so tired.
“I didn’t — it was an accident, I didn’t mean to—”
“I know it was an accident,” you say. Still quiet. Still very controlled. “I know that.”
“Are you okay? The baby—”
“I’m fine. It was my face, not—” You stop. Press your fingers briefly to your temple. “I’m fine.”
Jake is looking at you with an expression you haven’t seen on him before — something undone about it, all the composure gone, something almost desperate. “Let me take you home—”
“No.”
You look at him. Then at Sunghoon, who has gone very still and very pale. “I’m going to get Mina. I’m going to go home. And I don’t want either of you to contact me tonight.”
You take out your phone. You text Mina. You wait on the step with your back to both of them until she comes out, takes one look at your face, takes your arm, and walks you away without saying a word.
Behind you, you don’t look back.
Jake texts at midnight. I’m so sorry. please tell me you’re okay
You look at it for a long time. I’m fine, you send back. Goodnight Jake.
He sends: I’m sorry again
Those two words, and you put your phone face down and stare at the ceiling of your dorm room and Mina is asleep in your desk chair with a blanket over her because she refused to go home and you love her for it, and the small dull ache in your temple has faded to almost nothing, and the baby is fine, you’re fine, everything is fine.
You don’t text him back.
He tries on Sunday.
A text at nine in the morning — can we talk please? — that you look at and put face down without replying.
Then at eleven: I know you’re angry. you have every right to be. I just want to talk.
Then at two in the afternoon, which shows either impressive persistence or a complete inability to read a room: I’m going to keep texting until you tell me to stop.
You text back: stop.
He texts back: okay. I’m sorry.
You put the phone in your drawer.
He doesn’t stop.
Well, he stops texting — he respects that, or he tries to, mostly — but he finds other ways. There’s a bag outside your dorm room door on Monday morning: crackers, the specific brand you’d been eating in the early weeks, ginger tea, a punnet of the green grapes that you’d mentioned once in passing to him that you’d been craving. No note. Just the bag.
You stand in your doorway looking at it for a long time.
You bring it inside. You eat the grapes. You do not text him to say thank you and you do not text him to say stop and the not-texting feels like its own kind of answer that you’re not ready to examine yet.
On Tuesday he’s outside your building.
Not lurking — he’s sitting on the low wall by the entrance with his hands between his knees and his jacket on against the cold, and he stands up when he sees you come out and he doesn’t move toward you, just — stands there, and waits, and lets you decide.
You stop on the steps. “Jake.”
“Five minutes,” he says. “I know I don’t deserve them. Five minutes and then I’ll go and I won’t — I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.”
You look at him. He looks back. He has, you note, the specific appearance of someone who hasn’t been sleeping well — not dramatic, just a tightness around his eyes, a quality of having been somewhere difficult in his own head for the past two days.
Good, says a part of you.
The other part steps down off the steps and stands in front of him and crosses her arms and says: “Five minutes.”
He exhales. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For Friday night. For — all of it, the whole night, but specifically for—” He stops. His jaw works. “I should never have let it get to that point. I should have walked away from him the second it started and I didn’t and you got hurt and you’re — the baby could have—” He stops again. Something in his face that isn’t composure. “I will never forgive myself for that. I need you to know that. It keeps me up.”
You look at him. “It was an accident.”
“It was an accident that happened because I couldn’t keep my head.” His voice is flat with self-assessment. “Same difference.”
“It’s not the same difference.”
“It’s close enough.” He looks at you steadily. “I’m also sorry for the girl at the party. I know you saw. I know we’re not — I know you don’t have any claim on me and I don’t have any claim on you and technically I didn’t do anything wrong but I’m still sorry because I saw your face and I knew and I did it anyway and that’s—” He stops. “That’s not who I want to be. With this. With you.”
The wall by the entrance is cold and grey and a girl from your floor passes you both with her earphones in and doesn’t look up and the world keeps moving indifferently around this conversation.
“You hurt me,” you say. Not the elbow. The other thing. The girl at the party and the ceiling of his bedroom and the weeks of almost-decency that kept getting complicated. “Not — not physically. You just keep—” You stop. “Every time I think maybe you’re a person you do something that reminds me why I shouldn’t think that.”
He takes that. Doesn’t deflect, doesn’t explain, just takes it. “I know,” he says.
“I need you to be consistent,” you say. “I can’t — I’m going to have your baby, Jake. We’re going to be in each other’s lives for a very long time. I need you to be someone I can rely on or I need you to be completely absent because the in-between is—” Your voice doesn’t shake. You’re proud of that. “It’s too hard. I can’t do the in-between.”
He’s quiet for a moment. The wind moves across the quad and he looks at you with that expression — the undone one, the one without composure — and says: “I don’t want to be absent.”
“Then be consistent.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it? Okay?”
“What else do you want me to say?” He’s not defensive — it’s a real question, earnest in a way that sits oddly on him, like a piece of vocabulary he hasn’t used much. “Tell me what you need and I’ll do it. Specifically. I’m not good at—” He moves his hand. “Guessing. Feelings. Whatever this is. But if you tell me what it looks like I’ll do it.”
You look at him for a long moment.
“No more girls,” you say. “Not while we’re — not while this is what it is. I know I have no right to ask that but I’m asking.”
Something shifts in his expression. “Done,” he says. No hesitation.
“And show up. When you say you’re going to show up, show up.”
“Done.”
“And don’t fight people on my behalf. I can handle my own situations.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “That one’s harder.”
“Jake.”
“Done,” he says. “Okay. Done.”
You look at him. He looks back. The five minutes has long since passed and neither of you has moved and the cold is starting to get into your fingers.
“The grapes were good,” you say finally.
Something in his expression — brief, warm, gone almost immediately. “I’ll get more,” he says.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” He says it simply. No performance in it.
You nod. You pull your coat tighter. “I have a seminar,” you say.
“I know. Go.” He steps back, hands in his pockets. “Thank you. For the five minutes.”
You go.
He tells his father that evening.
He doesn’t plan to. He goes to his dad’s office on the east side of the admin building for what is ostensibly a standing weekly dinner that they do on Tuesday evenings — a thing they’ve done since Jake’s freshman year, his dad’s attempt at maintaining something normal in the specific abnormality of being the dean’s son at your own father’s university. They go to the Italian place two blocks off campus. They talk about the team, the season, coursework, the usual rotation.
Except tonight Jake sits down across from his father and picks up the menu and puts it down again and his dad looks at him over his own menu with the steady, unhurried attention that has always been the most disarming thing about him — the way he looks at you like he has all the time in the world and means it — and says:
“What’s going on.” Not a question. His dad has never really needed to make them questions.
Jake puts his menu down. He looks at the table. He thinks about you on the steps this morning saying every time I think maybe you’re a person and the specific accuracy of it, the way it had landed not like an attack but like a diagnosis.
“I got someone pregnant,” he says.
The restaurant is quiet around them — mid-evening, not full yet, the soft noise of other people’s conversations providing cover. His dad sets his menu down with the deliberate care of someone who is choosing his response carefully.
“How far along,” he says.
“About eight weeks.”
His dad nods slowly. He’s a big man — Jake has his build, the same broad shoulders, though his dad carries more grey now at his temples and something steadier in his face, something earned. He looks at Jake with the expression that Jake has never been able to fully decode — not anger, not disappointment exactly, something more complicated and more patient than either.
“Tell me about her,” he says.
Jake blinks. Of all the things he’d expected — “What?”
“The woman. Tell me about her.”
Jake opens his mouth. Closes it. He thinks about you — the flat voice in the corridor at the rink, your hand cracking across his face, I can’t do the in-between. The grapes. The way you’d said the grapes were good like it cost you something to admit it.
“She’s—” He stops. Tries again. “She’s a third year. English lit. She’s sharp. Like — she doesn’t let me get away with anything, she just looks at me and calls it and moves on. She’s not—” He shifts. “She didn’t want this to be mine. She told me that. She wants the baby, she just didn’t want it to be complicated, and I’ve made it complicated.”
“How.”
Jake looks at the table. Lists it. The slap he deserved, the money that was clumsy, the girl at the party, Friday night and the elbow and her face and the specific look she’d had, controlled and exhausted and done.
His dad listens to all of it without interrupting. When Jake finishes there’s a pause — his dad picks up his water glass, drinks, sets it back down.
“Do you like her?” he asks.
Jake looks up.
“It’s a simple question,” his dad says.
“We don’t — I don’t know her. Not really.”
“That’s not what I asked, son.”
Jake is quiet for a moment. He thinks about you outside your building this morning, arms crossed, giving him five minutes you didn’t have to give. The way you’d said I need you to be someone I can rely on like it was the most reasonable thing in the world, like you weren’t asking for anything extraordinary, just — consistency. Basic human consistency. The thing he has never had to be for anyone.
“Yeah,” he says. Quiet. “I think so.”
His dad nods. Like that’s the piece he needed. Like everything else was context and that was the information.
“Then be someone worth liking,” he says. Simply. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s the only thing that matters and everything else is just logistics.
Jake looks at him.
“You’ve never had to work for anything,” his dad says, and it’s not unkind — it’s just true, delivered with the directness of someone who has been watching this coming for a long time. “Not really. Not the things that count. You’re talented and you’re smart and things have always — moved for you. And that’s partly my fault.” He meets Jake’s eyes. “But she’s right. You can’t be the in-between. You’re going to be someone’s father. That’s not a thing you can be inconsistent about.”
Jake absorbs this.
“I know,” he says.
“Do you?”
“I’m trying to.”
His dad looks at him for a long moment. Then he picks his menu back up. “Good,” he says. “That’s the right answer.” He glances over the top of it. “Order something. You look like you haven’t eaten good in a while.”
Jake looks at the menu.
“Dad,” he says.
“Mm.”
“I really—” He stops. “I’ve really made a mess of this.”
His dad lowers the menu slightly. Looks at him with that steady, unhurried attention. “Yes,” he says. “But messes can be cleaned up.” He raises the menu again. “The carbonara is good tonight.”
Jake picks up his menu.
He end up ordering the carbonara.
—
The thing about consistency is that it’s quiet.
It doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t arrive with a gesture or a speech or a moment you can point to and say — there, that’s when things changed. It just accumulates, slowly, in the background of your ordinary life, until one day you look up and realise the weight you’ve been carrying has shifted without you noticing.
Jake shows up.
That’s the only way to describe it. He shows up in the small ways, the unglamorous ways, the ways that don’t make for a good story but add up to something anyway. He texts when he says he will. He’s outside your building on Wednesday mornings because you have a seminar and the walk takes you past the science quad where the wind is brutal and he started walking with you three weeks ago without asking and has not stopped. He brings food — not always the crackers and ginger tea, sometimes just the grapes, sometimes something from the good Thai place near the rink that you’d mentioned once you were craving and didn’t expect him to remember.
He remembers things.
This is, you find, the most disarming thing about him. More than the jaw and the shoulders and the specific quality of his attention when he’s fully in a conversation.
He remembers that you take your tea with one sugar and that you’re writing your dissertation on George Eliot and that your sister’s youngest is called Lily and that you cannot watch medical dramas right now because they make you anxious in a way you can’t fully explain. He files things away and uses them with a quietness that suggests he’s not doing it to impress you — he’s just paying attention.
And god, it’s harder to be angry at someone who pays attention. You’re still trying.
Your bump begins appearing at eleven weeks.
Not dramatically — not one morning you wake up transformed, just a gradual undeniable softening of the line of your stomach that means your jeans sit differently and your favourite hoodie, the oversized one you’ve worn for three years, suddenly doesn’t hang quite right. You stand in front of your mirror on a Thursday morning and put your hand flat against it and stay there for a moment with the strange doubled feeling that has been following you for weeks now — the unreality of it and the complete reality of it, existing simultaneously, refusing to resolve.
Mina notices before you say anything. She’s been noticing for two weeks, you suspect, and has been waiting for you to bring it up, which is one of the reasons she’s your person.
“You’re showing,” she says, on Friday afternoon, without preamble.
“A little,” you say.
“How do you feel about that?”
You think about it genuinely. “Weird,” you say. “Good weird. Mostly good weird.”
Mina nods. “Have you told Jake?”
“He’ll notice,” you say. “We’re — we’ve been spending time together. He’ll see.”
Mina looks at you with the expression that means she has registered the significance of we’ve been spending time together and is choosing, for now, not to make anything of it. “Okay,” she says.
“Don’t,” you say.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I really wasn’t,” she says, in the tone that means she absolutely was.
He notices on Saturday.
You’re at this Thai place — his suggestion, your agreement, the two of you in a corner booth with menus neither of you needs because you’ve been here enough times now that you already know — and you’ve taken your coat off because the restaurant is warm and you’re wearing a fitted top and when you reach across the table for the soy sauce you catch him looking.
Not rudely. Not in a way that makes you want to cover yourself. Just — looking, with that attentive expression, taking in information.
“Don’t,” you say.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You have a face.”
“I have a face,” he says, which is almost a smile. “You’re showing.”
“I know.”
“You look—” He stops. Considers his word choice with unusual care. “Good,” he says finally. “You look good.”
You look at him across the table. “That was very diplomatic.”
“I meant it.”
“Jake.”
“I genuinely meant it.” He meets your eyes. “You look good. You’ve looked good for a while. I just—” He stops again. “Didn’t say it. You looks beautiful actually.”
The restaurant is warm and smells like lemongrass and the couple at the next table are arguing quietly about something and the ordinary world is going on all around you and Jake Sim is sitting across from you saying you look good with an expression that has nothing performative in it, no angle, no formula.
You pick up your menu that you don’t need and look at it. “Thank you,” you say, at the laminated page.
He goes back to his menu too. Neither of you says anything else about it. But the air between you has shifted by some small degree and you both know it and neither of you is ready to name it yet and that, you think, is okay.
For now that’s okay.
The not-naming becomes its own kind of language eventually.
He walks you to your seminar on Wednesday and waits fifteen minutes in the wrong direction from the rink to do it, which you know because you’ve looked at the campus map, which you will not be telling him. You bring him coffee one morning — just once, without explanation, the specific order you’ve heard him give three times now — and he takes it without making anything of it which is exactly right. You text him a photo of a onesie Mina finds online that says future hockey player as a joke and he sends back a voice note that is mostly him laughing, genuine and unguarded, and you listen to it twice.
You do not examine why you listen to it twice.
Sunghoon texts once more — I hope you’re okay. I mean that.
You look at it for a long time. You think about the library café and the step outside the party and the way his face had looked when he realised. You think about two years and what they were and what they turned out to be underneath.
I’m okay, you send back. Take care of yourself.
He sends a single: you too.
And that, you think, is the end of that chapter. It doesn’t feel like closure exactly — closure implies a clean line, and there is no clean line, just a gradual and mutual putting down of something that had gotten too heavy to carry. But it feels like something finished. Something that needed to be done.
You feel lighter, after.
Jake finds out about the dissertation.
Not in a dramatic way — you’re in the library one afternoon, the two of you at adjacent tables because you’d both ended up there independently and moving would have been more pointed than staying, and he leans over at some point and looks at your screen and reads two sentences and says: “You write like this normally?”
“Like what.”
“Like—” He gestures at the screen. “Like that. Like it means something.”
You look at him. “It’s an academic paper.”
“I know what it is.” He looks faintly annoyed, the way he gets when he’s trying to say something and the words aren’t cooperating. “I’m saying it’s good. It sounds like you.”
You turn back to your screen. You are not going to make anything of this. You are a reasonable and self-possessed adult and you are not going to sit in the library and catch feelings because Jake Sim said your writing sounds like you.
“Thanks,” you say, at your laptop.
“I’m serious. It’s—” He picks up his pen. “Good.”
“You said that.”
“Because I mean it.”
You look at him. He looks back, pen between his fingers, entirely unaware that he’s just done something dangerous, and you look back at your dissertation and breathe carefully and remind yourself of all the reasons this is complicated.
There are many reasons. They are good reasons. You know them all.
The night it almost becomes something, it’s late November and it’s cold enough that your breath fogs and Jake has walked you back from the library and you’re standing at the bottom of your building’s steps in the dark and neither of you is moving.
“I should go in,” you say.
“Yeah,” he says.
Neither of you moves.
You’ve been doing this — the standing, the not-moving, the conversations that go slightly longer than they need to — for three weeks now. It has a shape, this thing between you, even if it doesn’t have a name. It has weight. You’re both aware of it and both moving around it with the particular carefulness of people who have been burned recently and are not in a hurry to be burned again.
“Jake,” you say.
“I know,” he says. Like he already knows what you’re going to say. Like he’s been having the same conversation in his own head.
“I just need it to stay—” You gesture between you. “Like this. For now. Okay? I need it to stay manageable.”
He looks at you. “Is it not?”
You look back. “Less and less,” you admit.
Something moves through his expression. Warm and complicated and controlled. “Okay,” he says. “We’ll keep it manageable.”
“Okay.”
“I just need you to know—” He stops. Starts again. “I’m not going anywhere. Whatever this is, whatever speed it goes. I’m not going anywhere.”
The cold is sharp and the steps are lit by the yellow glow of the entrance light and you are eleven weeks pregnant and standing in the dark with the father of your baby who is looking at you like you’re something worth staying for, and you think about all the reasons this is complicated and you think about your sister’s voice — those are two separate things — and you think that maybe, maybe, the situation and the feeling don’t have to be the same thing.
“Goodnight, Jake,” you say.
“Goodnight,” he says. You go inside.
At the top of the first flight of stairs you take out your phone.
You open his name — Jake Sim (do not text unless necessary) — and you look at it for a long moment.
You change it to Jake.
Just Jake. Nothing else.
You put your phone in your pocket and go to bed.
—
He asks you out on a Tuesday.
Not dramatically — not with any of the ceremony you might have expected from someone who has spent the better part of four months being alternately infuriating and disarming. He just falls into step beside you on the Wednesday morning walk to your seminar and says, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes forward: “Let me take you to dinner. A real one. Not Thai because we’ve done that.”
You look at him. “Are you asking me on a date?”
“Yes.”
“Just like that.”
“Did you want me to make it complicated?”
You look back at the path ahead. The quad is grey and cold and a girl on a bike nearly takes out a first year near the fountain and life goes on all around you, indifferent and ordinary. “No,” you say. “I didn’t want it complicated.”
“Friday,” he says. “Seven. I’ll pick you up.”
“I know where the restaurants are, Jake. I go here too.”
“I know you do.” He glances at you sideways. “Let me pick you up though.”
You look at him. That expression — patient, certain, not performing anything. Just asking.
“Friday,” you say. “Seven.”
He nods. Looks back at the path. The corner of his mouth does something that isn’t quite a smile and is better than one.
The restaurant he takes you to is small and Italian and not the kind of place you’d have expected from him, which you’re finding is a theme — Jake Sim consistently failing to be what you expect in the specific ways that make him hardest to keep at distance. It’s candlelit without being try-hard about it, the kind of place where the pasta is made that morning and the wine list is handwritten and the tables are close enough that you’re aware of his knee near yours under the table for the entirety of dinner.
You talk. That’s the thing — you just talk, the way you have been talking for weeks now on walks and in the library and over Thai food, except tonight there’s no pretence of it being anything other than what it is. He asks about your dissertation and actually listens to the answer. You ask about the season and he tells you about the conference standings with genuine animation, hands moving, and you watch him and think about the ceiling of his bedroom in September and the corridor at the rink and the bag outside your dorm door and all the distance between those things.
“What,” he says, catching you looking.
“Nothing,” you say. “You’re different.”
“From what?” He laughs.
“From who you were in September.”
He’s quiet for a moment. He turns his wine glass slowly on the table. “Yeah,” he says. “I think I am.”
“Is that — do you mind that? Being different?”
He looks at you. “No,” he says. Simply. “I don’t mind it at all.”
You look back at your pasta.
Under the table his knee settles against yours and stays there and you don’t move away from it and neither does he and you eat your dinner in the warm candlelit ordinary of it and let yourself be there, fully, without managing it from a distance.
Outside afterward the cold hits and you’re pulling your coat around you when his hand finds yours. Not reaching, not making a thing of it — just his hand finding yours in the dark like it already knows the way, fingers threading through, warm and certain.
You let him.
You walk back across campus like that, not talking much, and when you reach your building you stop at the bottom of the steps and he turns to face you and you look at him in the yellow entrance light and you think about goodnight, about all the goodnights, about the careful distance you’ve been keeping.
“Come up,” you say.
His expression does that thing — complicated and warm and something that isn’t quite controlled anymore. “You sure?”
“I just asked, didn’t I?”
He follows you up.
Your room is warm and small and familiar and he’s been in it before but not like this — not with the door closed and the lights low and both of you knowing exactly what this is. He stands just inside the door and looks at you and you cross the room and kiss him.
It’s different from September.
September was heat and momentum and two people who didn’t know each other doing something that felt like a decision.
This is — slower. His hands come up to your face the way they did at the party but gentler, more deliberate, like he’s paying attention to something he nearly missed before. He kisses you like he has something to say and this is the only language that fits, and you feel it move through you differently than anything has moved through you in a long time.
“Hey,” he says, against your mouth.
“Hi,” you say back.
He pulls back just enough to look at you — really look, the way he does now, the full attentive weight of it — and his thumb traces your cheekbone and he says, quietly: “You’re so beautiful. Do you know that?”
“Jake—”
“I mean it.” You can tell he means it. It’s in his face, unguarded and certain. “I’ve been — I should have said it a long time ago.”
You look at him for a moment. Then you pull him back down.
He undresses you slowly, which is new — September was efficient, purposeful, barely stopping. Now he takes his time like he’s making up for it, his mouth following the line of your throat, your collarbone, his hands sliding your top off with a care that makes your breath catch. When he gets to the soft curve of your stomach he stops.
He goes to his knees.
You look down at him, breath held, and he puts both hands flat and warm against your bump and just — holds them there. His forehead drops forward to rest against you. The room is quiet. You put your hand in his hair without thinking about it.
“Hey,” he says softly. Not to you.
Your throat tightens.
He turns his head and presses his lips to the curve of your stomach, gentle, then again, then moves his hands slowly like he’s learning the shape of it, and you feel something in your chest come undone quietly and without ceremony.
“Jake,” you say, and your voice is not entirely steady.
He looks up at you. His eyes are dark and very serious. “Okay?” he asks.
“More than okay,” you manage.
He stands back up and kisses you again and walks you back to the bed.
He lays you down and settles over you and his mouth goes back to your tits immediately — you’d forgotten, or you’d tried to forget, the specific focused obsession of it — his hands cupping them, heavier now, thumbs dragging slow over your nipples until you’re arching up into his mouth.
“Perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, “you’re so perfect,” and the praise lands warm and low in your stomach and you pull at his shirt until he lets you get it off.
He’s as good-looking as you remembered, which is annoying.
His mouth works down your body and his hands slide your underwear off and then he looks up at you from between your thighs with an expression that makes your brain go briefly offline. “Okay?” he says again.
“If you don’t—” you start.
He puts his mouth on your pussy and the rest of that sentence evaporates.
He goes slower than September. That’s the difference — the same precision, the same devastating accuracy with his tongue on your clit and his fingers curling deep into your walls, but slower, like he wants to take you apart carefully this time, like he’s paying attention to every sound you make and adjusting accordingly.
Your hands find his hair. Your hips roll up. He holds them down with one forearm across your hips and doesn’t stop, doesn’t change pace, just keeps that steady merciless rhythm until you’re shaking and pleading and your walls are clenching around his fingers and you cum on his tongue with his name coming out wrecked and too loud for the room.
He comes back up your body looking — different than September. Still composed, still that infuriating ease, but underneath it something open. Something that wasn’t there before.
He reaches for his jacket on the floor. Finds his wallet to grab a condom.
You start laughing.
He looks at you confused. “What.”
“Jake.” You press your lips together. “We don’t — I’m already pregnant.
He looks at the condom in his hand. Looks at you. Something crosses his face and then he laughs too — real and unguarded, the laugh from the voice note, the one you listened to twice — drops it back on the floor and comes back to you.
“Fair point,” he says, against your mouth.
“Incredible,” you tell him. “You’re incredible.”
“Shut up,” he says, warmly, and kisses you.
He flips you over.
Not roughly — carefully, one hand at your hip and one at your shoulder, mindful, and you end up straddling him and looking down at him and his hands settle on your hips and he looks up at you like you’re the best thing he’s seen.
“You good?” he asks.
“Very,” you say, and sink down onto him.
The sound he makes is low and immediate and deeply satisfying. You feel every inch of him filling you, your walls stretching around his cock, and you go slow — partly because of the bump, partly because you want to, partly because watching his face as you take him is something you want to draw out. His jaw is tight. His hands on your hips are firm but not directing, just — there, holding on.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel—”
“I know,” you say, and roll your hips.
His head drops back.
You find your rhythm — slow, deep, the grind of your hips meeting his, and his hands tighten and his hips push up to meet you and his mouth falls open and he is, you think, the best-looking thing you’ve ever seen like this, undone and flushed and completely present, all the composure stripped away.
“Perfect,” he says, rough and low, watching you move. “You’re so perfect, look at you—”
The praise moves through you like heat and you move faster, his thumb finds your clit and you gasp and his other hand spreads warm and careful over your bump and the gesture — the gentleness of it, the instinct of it — tips something over in your chest that you’re not going to examine right now because you’re busy, but you feel it, you feel it clearly.
You cum the second time with his cock buried inside you and his thumb on your clit, his hand on your stomach and his eyes on your face. He follows you not long after with his hips driving up and your name in his mouth, said like it means something, said like he’s been saving it.
Afterward you lie tangled together in your narrow dorm bed, which is not really built for two people but is managing. His hand is resting on your stomach with a naturalness that would have been impossible three months ago and you’re staring at the ceiling and feeling the particular peace of someone who has been braced for a long time and has just, finally, put it down.
“Come to my game next week,” he says.
You turn your head to look at him. “What?”
“Home game. Friday.” He’s looking at the ceiling too. Casual. Except you know him well enough now to know when the casual is covering something. “Come watch.”
You look back at the ceiling. “Okay,” you say.
He turns his head. “Actually?”
“Don’t make it weird,” you say. “Yes. I’ll come to your game.”
The corner of his mouth. That almost-smile that’s better than a real one. “Okay,” he says, and looks back at the ceiling, and his hand stays where it is, warm and certain.
—
The following week is small moments.
Tuesday he brings you the grapes and stays to help you outline your next dissertation chapter, sitting on your floor with his back against your bed and your notes spread between you, and he asks better questions than you expect and you don’t tell him that.
Wednesday the walk to your seminar, his shoulder bumping yours, the coffee he brings without asking — your order, exact, without you saying anything.
Thursday a voice note at eleven at night: just wanted to check you were okay. don’t reply if you’re asleep.
You reply and end up talking for forty minutes.
Friday morning he’s at your door.
In one hand, coffee. In the other, folded fabric — dark blue, the Caldwell Wolves crest on the chest, white lettering across the back. SIM. 9.
He holds it out. “You don’t have to,” he says, before you can say anything. “It’s not — I’m not trying to make it a thing. I just thought—”
You take it from him.
You pull it over your head immediately. It’s enormous on you — falls to mid-thigh, swamps your shoulders, the fabric soft from washing. You look down at it and then up at him. His expression is something you don’t have a word for.
You reach up and pull him down by his jacket lapel and kiss him, there in your doorway, in the yellow morning light, slow and certain.
When you pull back he looks — stunned, almost. Like he didn’t expect it even after everything.
“What was that for,” he says with a big grin.
“The jersey,” you say. “Come on. We’ll be late.”
The Hargrove Center is loud in a way that is different when you’re in the stands rather than the corridor — a living, moving noise, four thousand people and the echo of the ice and the announcer’s voice bouncing off the rafters. Mina is beside you, which you’d insisted on, and she’s wearing a Wolves scarf she definitely did not own before today and is eating a pretzel with the focus of someone who has decided to enjoy this.
Someone sits down on your other side.
You look over. He’s older — Jake’s build, the same broad shoulders, grey at his temples, a Wolves cap and a measured, unhurried expression.
“You must be—” he starts while smiling at you with the same grin Jake gave you not long ago.
“Dean Sim,” you say. “Hi.”
He looks at you for a moment with that steady attention that is so recognisably Jake’s that it almost makes you laugh. He’s smileing — warm, real. “He talks about you,” he says. “Quite a lot.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“Mostly.” He settles back in his seat. “He told me about the grapes.”
You look at him. He looks back with an expression of someone who finds this mildly amusing and is being polite about it.
“He remembered I was craving them,” you say.
“I know,” Dean Sim says. “That’s why he told me.” He looks out at the ice where the Wolves are warming up, Jake moving with that particular ease that is the same on ice as off it, unhurried and certain.
“He’s better than he knows how to show yet,” his dad says, quietly. Not performing it. Just — true. “But he’s getting there.”
You watch Jake on the ice.
“Yeah,” you say. “I know.”
The Wolves win.
Not narrowly — convincingly, the way they do when Jake is in the kind of form he’s been in lately, sharp and present, the kind of player who makes everyone around him better just by being fully there. You find yourself on your feet twice without meaning to be and Mina is absolutely losing her mind beside you in a way that suggests she has been quietly wanting to attend a hockey game for some time and has simply been waiting for the invitation.
After the final buzzer the arena stays loud, the celebration on the ice spilling into the stands, and Dean Sim shakes your hand and says it was lovely to meet you with a warmth that is entirely genuine, and you watch him go and think that Jake got the best of him, underneath everything.
And then the jumbo screen above the ice lights up.
You see it before you process it — your name, in big white letters, and then: JAKE SIM WANTS TO KNOW — WILL YOU BE HIS GIRLFRIEND?
The arena does not go quiet because four thousand people do not go quiet, but there is a definite shift — a ripple, a collective awareness, people turning and pointing and the noise changing character. Mina grabs your arm. You stare at the screen.
“Oh my god,” Mina says.
“Oh my god,” you say.
“Are you — are you going to—”
And then he’s there.
Full hockey gear, skates and all, somehow having gotten from the ice to the stands in the time it took you to register what the screen said, and he’s standing at the end of your row with his helmet under his arm and his hair damp and his face doing that thing — the unguarded thing, the thing without composure — and four thousand people are watching and Mina has both hands over her mouth.
“Well?” he says. Over the noise. Just to you.
You look at him. You look at the screen. You look back at him.
“You’re insane,” you say.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Is that a yes?”
You laugh — real and helpless, the kind that comes from somewhere you haven’t accessed in a while — and you step over Mina’s knees and go to him and he meets you halfway and you kiss him in the Hargrove Center in front of four thousand people and full hockey gear and the crowd does what crowds do when they witness something and the noise is enormous but you don’t hear any of it.
When you pull back his forehead drops to yours.
“Yes,” you tell him. “Obviously yes.”
He exhales — slow, like something released. His hand comes up to your face. His thumb at your cheekbone, the way it always is. “Good,” he says.
“Good,” you say back.
Behind you Mina is making a noise that suggests she is going to be telling this story for the rest of her natural life.
—
Three weeks later you are officially four months pregnant and the bump is undeniable now, round and real, and you’re sitting on Jake’s bed in his room — tidier than September, same room, different everything — with your legs across his lap while he reads something for class and his hand rests on your stomach with the absent certainty of someone who has stopped thinking about it and started just doing it.
The Wolves won again last night. His jersey, what you wore last night and have been to every game, is on the back of his chair.
Outside the window Caldwell goes on being large and indifferent and fully lit up, and in here it is warm and quiet and ordinary in a way that is — everything, actually. The whole thing. The specific ordinary of someone else’s presence that you’ve been missing without knowing how to name it.
“Hey,” Jake says, without looking up from his page.
“Hey,” you say.
“You good?”
You look at him — at the line of his jaw and the hand on your stomach and the room that used to be just a room and is now something else, something yours — and you think about September, about the corridor and the money and the slap you don’t regret. You think about Mina in the drugstore bathroom and Hannah on the third ring and the heartbeat on the monitor that made everything real.
You think about how none of this was the plan and how a plan was never the point.
“Yeah,” you say. “I’m good.”
He turns a page. His hand stays where it is. Outside, Caldwell. Inside, this.
Cansada de ser rechazada por su falta de experiencia sexual, una chica pide ayuda a sus cuatro mejores amigos con una petición peculiar.
INSPIRADO en 'YOUR TURN' de @mssishipi! y; 'RENT-FREE! ' de @swiftjay23
୨୧ dinamica: mejores amigos - hyungline x reader !
୨୧ contenido explícito (smut): Pornografía con argumento, orgía, sexo oral, eyaculaciones faciales, juegos con los pezones, masturbación, fijación oral, sexo sin protección, lenguaje degradante, apodos cariñosos (bebé, amor, cariño, etc.), doble penetración, sexo anal sin protección, bofetadas, masturbación manual, sobreestimulación, eyaculación femenina, creampie, esto es pornografía pura pero con un romance al final, cuidados posteriores al sexo.
୨୧ CANTIDAD DE PALABRAS: 9.4K !
sugerencia de spotify: bad idea right? ; Often ; Slow Down ; Señorita
nota: If you happen to be here and don't speak Spanish, let me tell you that the English version is available here.
Por favor no republicar o traducir este OS en ninguna otra plataforma, gracias.
— Al final, ¿cómo te fue con Niki? — Preguntó Sunghoon, metiendo un puñado de papas fritas a su boca.
— Oh ella verdaderamente no quiere hablar de eso. — Respondió Heeseung tirado en el sofá, junto a él la chica, con un leve sonrojo en las mejillas, rondando los ojos y suspirando.
— Fue una total mierda. — Soltó. — Él me rechazó por ser "una niñita aún"
Jake sentado al lado de Sunghoon soltó una risa sonora. — Eso no tiene sentido.
— Verdad, es decir, ¿quién no aprovecharía la oportunidad de estar con una virgen?
Sunghoon comentó, aun comiendo. La chica bufó — Hombres — Pensó ella, se le olvidaba que sus mejores amigos eran simplemente h o m b r e s.
— No seas grosero Hoon, la pones mal a la pobre.
Jay entró a la sala del apartamento de Heeseung, donde estaban teniendo una pijamada, trayendo con él latas de cerveza, golpeando por detrás de la cabeza a su amigo. Este no se quejó.
— Descuida, ya vendrá alguien que no sea un imbécil, o un estúpido, o un idiota, o un abusado, o un...
— Ya entendí Jay, gracias... — Se quejó la muchacha. — De verdad pensé que él estaba interesado.
— Lo estaba, pero en follarte duro.
— ¡Sunghoon! — lo reprocharon los tres chicos a su alrededor. El mencionado rodando los ojos. — Hijos de puta, ahora se hacen los moralistas. ¡Es la puta verdad! Niki solo quería sexo rápido con ella, pero como ella no cedió tan fácil como él esperaba la mandó a la mierda.
— Sunghoon no estas siendo muy amable con tus palabras... — Heeseung abrazó a su amiga por el hombro. — Tranquila, que se joda Niki, eres una mujer divina, hermosa y tienes un gran corazón, él se lo pierde.
— Por Dios Hee, había formas más sutiles de ser un marica. — Se burló Jake, bebiendo de su cerveza.
Ella río, sus amigos eran hombres, pero eran buenos chicos, sin duda.
— Al menos no te acostaste con alguien que simplemente te iba a joder y luego desaparecer, supongo que eso hubiese sido cruel para ti, conociéndote.
Jay tenía razón, eso hubiese sido horrible, su amiga tenía fuertes sentimientos por el chico ese y descubrir que solo la quiso utilizar pegaba en el orgullo.
— No quiero hablar más de eso. Dios, me pone nerviosa... — Hubo un pequeño silencio, de un minuto nada solamente, los muchachos esperaron, sabían que ahí no se terminaba la conversación. — Pero saben qué es lo que más me molesta.
Ellos rieron bajito, su amiga era muy predecible.
— ¡Dios! Nos estábamos besando y el bajó la mano, pero me aparte, ME PUSE NERVIOSA OKAY. — Se cubrió el rostro con ambas manos, frustrada. — Me sentía lista, sí. Pero no sé, no sé qué pasó.
— Tomaló como una señal de que por ahí no era, solo eso. — Heeseung le extendió de su cerveza, ella pegándole un trago largo, molesta, frustrada, acalorada. — Despacio. — Río él.
— Jesús, debo ser la única chica en el campus que aún sigue siendo virgen. Necesito un novio, preséntame un amigo, Hoon, ese chico de ojitos lindos.
— Jungwon es igual que Niki, créeme, folla y se va.
— ¡Hombres! Todos igual de idiotas.
Los muchachos se rieron fuerte, Heeseung acariciando la cabeza de su amiga levemente. Jay se sentó a su otro lado libre, colocando una palma sobre la rodilla de su amiga, sonriendo.
— No hace falta que te apresures, cada uno a su tiempo.
— Eso lo dices porque tú ya lo hiciste. Todos ustedes lo hicieron, me sé sus historias de memoria.
— Cómo esa vez que Hoon se estaba jodiendo a una chica de primer año y entró su abuela al cuarto. — Recordó Jake, recibiendo un empujón por parte de Sunghoon, reprochando que no necesitaban recordar eso, que vergüenza.
— Estúpido, ¿y tú? Esa vez que no se te paró por estar drogado.
— Oh, esa chica era muy caliente encima, quedé como un inútil. — Fingió un llanto, riendo. — Pero Jay tiene razón, no tienes que estresarte por eso, es solo sexo. ¿O qué? ¿Estas muy desesperada por una polla?
Ella abrió la boca para insultarlo, pero la cerró, esquivando la mirada, sonrojada. Quitándole de la mano la cerveza a Heeseung, bebiéndola. Su amigo río a su lado.
— Lo está.
— Cierren la boca, idiotas, me incomodan.
Bufó molesta, dejando la lata ahora vacía sobre la pequeña mesa en frente. Aprovechó que se levantó para salir caminando de la sala, en dirección al cuarto de Heeseung.
— Me voy a cambiar de ropa. — Explicó.
Cuando regresó, ahora con un pantalón corto deportivo y una camiseta oversize sus amigos ya estaban en ropa cómoda también. Volvió a sentarse entre medio de Heeseung y Jay, colocando las piernas por sobre el regazo de Jay y la cabeza sobre la de Hee. Ambos sin decir nada o accionar, esa confianza era normal entre ustedes, eran amigos desde hace más de diez años.
Vieron una película, que eligieron Jake y Sunghoon. Todos bebiendo de la cerveza y comiendo papas fritas, de vez en cuando hablando de tonterías para reírse un buen rato. Ella se levantó del regazo de Heeseung, llamando la atención de los cuatro.
— No puedo con esto. — murmuró— Ayúdenme, ya estoy harta.
Jay, acariciando sus tobillos suavemente la miró confundido. — ¿De qué hablas?
— Sexo, Jay. Lo pensé, no quiero tener mi primera vez con un imbécil que me va a joder y luego desaparecer... Tal vez, es mejor hacerlo con alguien que sé que no me va a lastimar, alguien con quién tenga confianza y un buen vínculo.
— ¿Estás diciendo que quieres follar con alguno de nosotros? — Soltó Jake, algo sorprendido. Ella asintió.
— Ustedes no son unos idiotas. Bueno, a veces. Pero no serían malos conmigo.
— Bien, no más cerveza para ti. Estas diciendo tonterías, te estas dejando llevar por el alcohol.
Heeseung le sacó la cerveza de la mano. Ella rodó los ojos.
— Hablo enserio Hee. Es solo sexo, lo dijo Jake.
El mencionado se señaló a sí mismo, sorprendido porque le estaban echando la culpa con la mirada.
— Oh vamos. ¿Cuántas veces no les cedí mi habitación para meterse entre las piernas de una chica? Y las veces que les presenté amigas. Solo les estoy pidiendo una cosa.
Hubo un silencio. Ninguno sabía que decir. Había miedo, tensión, calor. Jake miró a Sunghoon a su lado, este con notable incomodidad. Jay miró a su amiga, y luego a Heeseung detrás de ella, había dejado de acariciar su pierna.
— ¿Con quién? — Dejó salir finalmente Jay. Mirandola, ahora diferente, no como una amiga. Ella vaciló, esquivando la mirada. No lo había pensado. — Uhm no lo sé. — Respondió.
— Cualquiera de ustedes está bien. No tengo en mente a alguien en particular. — Jake se levantó del sofá, pesado, con expresión nerviosa. Heeseung lo detuvo. — Ah-ah. Tú no. Eres un salvaje, la vas a lastimar.
Jake rodó los ojos, queriendo empezar una pequeña y estúpida discusión con su amigo. En eso, Jay se levantó del sofá, tomándola de la mano, jalando de su cuerpo en dirección a la habitación. — Tomaré prestado tu cuarto, Hee. — Avisó, cuando ya estaban prácticamente adentro. Cerró la puerta despacio, sin llave. Ella mirándolo nerviosa.
— Lo preguntaré solo para constatar. ¿Estas segura? No va a pasar nada que no quieras.
Ella asintió, en realidad aún dudaba en su mente, pero si retrocedía todo sería incomodo. Sonrió, mostrando una expresión que su amigo encontró adorable, sus mejillas rosadas por el efecto del alcohol y la piel algo rojiza por el ruborizado. Oh, Dios, eso hizo cosquillas en la polla de Jay. No tenía que engañarse. Su mejor amiga era caliente, era hermosa. Lo único que antes lo detenía era eso — que era su mejor amiga — pero ahora mismo, que tenía su consentimiento, que había sido su idea, no iba a contenerse.
Acercó su cuerpo sujetándola suave por la cintura, de manera delicada. La observó a los ojos por unos segundos, buscando alguna señal de arrepentimiento, al no recibir ninguna sonrió y junto sus labios. El beso era tranquilo, un poco torpe al inicio, pero Jay le susurro — Relájate, no pasa nada. — Ella dejando escapar un suspiro, buscando sacar de su cuerpo la ansiedad que la consumía, intentó seguirle el ritmo de los labios de su amigo. Lento, suave, con paciencia. Jay se relajó, apartando un poco el rostro.
— ¿Seguimos? — Buscó aprobación, ella asintió. Entonces él la sujeto con una mano la nuca, y la otra aún en su cintura, apretando más cerca sus cuerpos, besándola más desesperado ahora, con más experiencia y menos calma. Metió su lengua dentro de su cavidad, saboreando la cerveza aún presente, se alejó mordisqueando el labio inferior. Dejó pequeños picos por sus mejillas, primero un lado, luego el otro, le besó la nariz, los pómulos, la frente y bajó a su cuello. Ella se retorció bajo su agarre, riendo un poco. — Cosquillas — Se excusó apenada, él le sonrió para dejarle en claro que eran detalles menores.
Los besos siguieron la línea de su mandíbula, dejando humedad en la piel de su cuello, Jay podía sentir como su arteria bombeaba más rápido bajo sus labios. Apartó su cuerpo del de su amiga, viendo la expresión de rechazó de la chica ante la lejanía. — A la cama, muñeca. — Ese apodo hizo click en ella, podía sentir su piel super caliente para ese punto y ni siquiera la habían tocado más a fondo. Camino arrastrando los pies hasta la cama de Heeseung, bajo la atenta mirada de Jay, este se quitó la camiseta por encima de los hombros, arrinconando su cuerpo con el de ella ahora sobre el colchón, volvió a besarla, más hambriento, más sediento, más ansioso. Llevó ambas manos hasta la cintura de su amiga, acariciando la piel de su abdomen por debajo de su camiseta, sentía cosquillas, no de las que te dan risa, si no de las que hacen que se moje su intimidad. Jay sujetó el borde de la camiseta, mirándola — ¿Puedo? — Preguntó, la sabia que tenía permiso, pero no quería dejar de repetirle que él la iba cuidar. Ella asintió, ansiosa. Jay quitó de un tirón la prenda, teniendo ahora frente a sus ojos los senos expuestos de su mejor amiga, lo sabía, sabía que dormía sin sostén.
Se lamió los labios, comiéndola con la mirada, eso la puso ansiosa, necesitaba que dejara de prestarle atención a sus pezones puntiagudos, el chico volvió a besarla en los labios, bajo a su cuello con más desesperación, lamió y mordisqueo despacio sus clavículas. Saboreando el perfume ya casi inexistente, besó entre medio de sus dos pechos, y mirándola directamente a los ojos pasó la lengua sobre el pezón excitado, provocándole un leve quejido junto con un temblor. Sonrió, apoyando sus dientes en la punta, lo besó, lo lamió y lo acarició, repitiendo la secuencia con el otro lado, dejando una huella de saliva en ambos, se separó de su cuerpo, ahora sujetando el borde de sus pantalones cortos, los bajó despacio lanzándolos al suelo.
Ella sintiéndose muy acalorada y expuesta suspiró, Jay le acariciaba los muslos de manera amorosa y le dejaba pequeños besos, poco a poco fue acortando la distancia con sus genitales, sintiendo la respiración tibia de su amigo sobre su ropa interior, el chico plantó un beso en el centro de sus bragas — muy húmedas, pensó él— con un dedo apartó la tela, dejando ahora a la vista esos labios, pasó la lengua por medio de ellas, la chica gimiendo bajo suyo, sintiendo como su polla pedía auxilio debajo de sus pantalones. Besó y jugó con su lengua por toda la extensión de su feminidad, sintiendo como ella lo jalaba del cabello, algunas veces empujando para que fuera más profundo. El chico estaba muy decidido en hacerla sentir adorada en ese momento, besando su punto débil, generándole descargas eléctricas por la excitante sensación.
— Jay... es mucho... — Suspiró ella. Él se apartó un poco. — Es solo el inicio, mi amor. — Jay escupió un poco de saliva sobre sus dedos, llevándolos hasta su entrada, posicionó uno de ellos en la cavidad, besando a su amiga. — Respira...— Y lo introdujo, despacio, sintiendo como su compañera lo estrujaba nerviosa, siguió besándola, para distraer la atención de la intromisión, al sentir como ella se relajaba apenas empezó a mover dentro y fuera, metiendo un segundo y luego un tercer dedo, siendo más obvio ahora el sonido morboso de los fluidos golpeando con su piel. Jay besaba sus labios, luego su cuello bajando por su abdomen hasta su vientre, acariciándola con los labios aún mientras penetraba su entrada con los dedos y con el pulgar haciendo masajes en círculos sobre el clítoris. Se alejó luego de sentir las piernas de la muchacha temblar, quitando los dedos.
— Voy a entrar, muñeca. — Le avisó, Jay quitándose los pantalones junto a los boxers, liberando al fin su muy endurecida polla, roja y brillante, que lloraba por atención. Terminó de quitar por completo las bragas de su compañera, posicionándose entre medio de sus piernas, ella enrollándolas alrededor de su cadera. — Seré gentil, te lo prometo amor.
Parado firmemente frente al borde de la cama, tomó de sus caderas jalándola, colocó la punta caliente de su polla en le entrada, se adentró en ella, lento, con mucho cuidado, mirándola para escanear algún gesto de dolor o incomodidad. Ella sentía como la estiraba, ardía, pero no dolía, respirando hondo para liberar la tensión. Jay empujó hasta el fondo entrando por completo, escapando un gemido, esperando el momento para empezar a mover sus caderas, primero lento, con cariño.
— Mhg... Ja-Jay... — Ella gimoteó, con los ojos cerrados mientras con la mano acariciaba el abdomen del chico. — ¿Estás bien, muñeca? — Ella asintió, gimiendo fuerte nuevamente, él estaba yendo hasta el fondo, no fuerte, pero si pesado. — Más... más Jay... — Esas palabras fueron la luz verde que necesitaba para aumentar el ritmo y la amplitud de sus embestidas, ahora golpeando sus caderas más rápido, provocando que su compañera gritara más fuerte. El acariciaba su clítoris con el pulgar mientras bombeaba en su interior, la chica intentó cubrir su boca para no gritar fuerte, pero él no se lo permitió, sujetó las muñecas de ambas manos sobre el abdomen de la chica, aumentando más la velocidad. — No muñeca, te quiero escuchar... Dime, ¿Te gusta?
— S-si... Mhg~ Jay, si me gusta... — Habló a penas, no pudiendo pronunciar palabras correctamente por las descargas de calor que sentía por todo el cuerpo, nublando su mente, se sentía bien, muy usada, pero de buena forma.
— ¿Qué es lo que te gusta? ¿Uhm? Dilo. — Demandó el chico, agachando su cuerpo ahora frente al rostro de su amiga, dejándole un beso en los labios, gimiendo al unisonó. — ¡Ghk! Me gusta... cómo es-estas entrando... hmh... —Eso hizo sonreír al muchacho sobre los labios de ella, tirando con los dientes de sus labios. Soltó las muñecas para enderezarse, tomó las piernas de su amiga para dejarlas caer por sobre sus hombros, empujando su polla más al fondo, cómo si ya no fuera suficiente la profundidad en la que se introducía. — ugh~ Ja-jay... Ngh~ voy a-a... — Jay podía sentir como el interior del coño de su amiga lo estrujaba fuertemente, teniendo que renderizar sus movimientos, los muslos de la chica temblaron fuerte, soltando un grito intenso. — Eso amor... Córrete sobre mi polla, Mhg~ te amo, te amo... — Volvió a recobrar la velocidad de las embestidas, ahora más resbalosas por el orgasmo, el choque de sus testículos sobre su perineo era muy ruidoso. — ugh... estoy cerca amor... ahh-ahh... me voy a correr... — Gimió el muchacho, golpeando con dureza la pelvis. Tras sentir como miles de cosquillas le recorrían las piernas quitó su polla del interior del coño sensible y expulsó su descarga sobre el abdomen de la muchacha. Muy aturdidos, agitados y sudados. Cuando ya no salía ni una sola gota más de aquel liquido blanco y caliente golpeteo su polla por sobre los labios hinchados del coño, adolorido, excitado todavía.
— hmh... Y dime amor, ¿Todo bien?, ¿Está todo en orden? — Le habló, aun recobrando la respiración, parpadeando repetidas veces por el éxtasis. Acarició la mejilla de su mejor amiga sonriéndole como un tonto, besó sus labios y mejillas con ternura. — ¿Te gustó? o acaso fui un idiota, umh.
— No Jay, no eres un idiota. Todo bien... muy bien. — Contestó ella con la garganta seca y las mejillas rosadas. Sonrió. — Me gustó, cumplió con las expectativas, gracias. Te quiero mucho.
— Yo a ti, muñeca. Déjame limpiarte, ya vuelvo... — Jay se reincorporó, caminando hacía la puerta, pero cuando la abrió, no esperaba ver a Jake, justo en frente de él, con la mano sobre su polla fuera de sus pantalones.
—¿Qué haces? Asqueroso. — Jay reprochó a su amigo, mirando por sobre su hombro en dirección a la sala, Heeseung y Sunghoon estaba en la misma situación. Ambos masturbándose. — Ustedes no fueron para nada silenciosos, Jay. — Confesó Jake, aun bombeando su polla, mirando brevemente a la chica recostada en la cama. — Me toca a mi ahora.
Jake estaba por ingresar a la habitación, pero su amigo lo detuvo sujetándolo por el brazo, fuerte, posesivo. — No te la vas a follar. — Jake río sarcástico, mirándolo con una ceja alzada. — ¿Y por qué no? ¡Tú lo hiciste! y te encargaste de que todos lo escucháramos. Es injusto.
— Ella me lo pidió. — Justificó Jay. Jake negó con la cabeza con su dedo índice en su dirección. — No, ella dijo que estaba bien con cualquiera de nosotros, y tú te la llevaste. — Jay suspiró, estaba algo cansado como para tener que pelear con su amigo, pero tenía algo de razón.
— Entonces pregúntaselo a ella. Solo si ella quiere. — Ambos chicos giraron la mirada en dirección de su amiga, que ante la penetrante mirada de sus amigos tuvo la reacción de por inercia, cerrar las piernas para cubrir su zona intima. — Dile muñeca, Este salvaje quiere follar contigo, ¿te vas a negar? — Le habló Jay.
Ella parpadeó, era una situación que no imaginaba que sucedería, siendo un poco irónico, sabiendo que estaba teniendo sexo con su mejor amigo en la casa, la habitación y la cama de su otro mejor amigo, con sus tres mejores amigos en la sala, escuchándolo. Tambaleo la mirada entre Jay y Jake, sintiendo los nervios quemarle la yema de los dedos y el repentino frio pegarle en los pies. Estaba expuesta y caliente, aún sensible. Tragó saliva antes de hablar. — Yo... No lo sé... — Jay sonrió, intentando empujar al otro chico lejos. — Ves, no quiere follar contigo. Vámonos. — Pero el australiano no se lo permitió, apartó el brazo de Jay, adentrándose en la habitación y acercándose a la chica, comiéndola con la mirada, prácticamente.
— Vamos preciosa, no me dejes con las ganas... ¿Uhm? Hasta hace un rato estabas ansiosa por tener una polla que estabas dispuesta a tomar la de cualquiera de nosotros. — Habló Jake con la voz gruesa, grave, evidentemente cachondo, acariciando apenas su polla frente a ella. — Para qué tener solo una polla si puedes tener cuatro para tí solita, por esta noche.
— Jake... creo que estas presionándola de más. — Quiso intervenir Jay en la puerta. — Esta bien. Lo haré. — Ambos chicos quedaron en silencio luego de la respuesta de la chica, sintiéndose atrapada esquivo la mirada, cubriendo sus senos con sus brazos, sentándose sobre sus talones en la cama.
— Repítelo. — Demandó Jake. — Necesito volver a escuchar eso, y te juro por Dios, que será el mejor día de tu vida.
— Acepto tener sexo contigo ahora, Jake... y acepto hacerlo con los demás... solo por hoy.
Con eso fue suficiente para que el australiano sujetara su rostro con ambas manos para besarla, rudo, desesperado, ansioso. — Joder, no te prometo ser gentil. Pero si hago algo mal te dejaré patearme las bolas. — Eso la hizo reír, asintiendo.
Jake siguió besándola, básicamente comiéndose su boca de forma brusca, buscando saborearla por completo, mordisqueando su labio de a ratos, sin dejarla tomar respiro. Con una mano en su cintura y la otra sobre uno de sus pechos, presionándolo fuerte, estrujándolo y pellizcando el pezón con sus dedos, robándole jadeos que se obligaba a tragar mientras comía de su boca. Ella inconscientemente empezó a frotar su coño por las sábanas, Jake notando esto se alejó frenando toda acción.
—Haremos esto preciosa... — Giró alrededor de la cama, yendo detrás de ella, subiéndose en el colchón, presionando su pecho con la espalda desnuda de su amiga. — Abre las piernas, hacia tu público, Ja..~— Frente a ella, a un costado de la puerta tenía a Jay mirándola, fijamente, con la polla dura nuevamente y detrás de el a Heeseung y Sunghoon, en la misma situación. La situación la ponía ansiosa, demasiada atención para soportarlo, esquivando la mirada se sentó correctamente en el colchón, extendiendo las piernas.
Jake detrás de ella estiro también las piernas, sentándose, tomo las rodillas de la chica para abrirle las piernas de par en par, exponiéndola frente a los otros tres muchachos. Posicionó los muslos de ella sobre los suyos, besando y mordiendo su espalda. Llevó dos de sus dedos a la boca de la chica. — Chupa. — Ordenó, y ella lo obedeció, lamiendo ambos dedos, llenándolos de saliva, él jugó un rato con su boca y quitó los dedos con un sonido sucio — Blopp. Direccionó los dedos empapados al coño humedecido para pegar un cachetazo sutil, eso la hizo pegar un brinco. — Hmm con esto ya estas saltando, no me puedo imaginar con lo que te hare más tarde. — Frotó sus dedos de arriba a abajo sobre toda la extensión de la vulva, primero despacio, luego de repente hizo el mismo gesto, pero exageradamente rápido.
— ¡Oh- AAH...! — Gritó fuerte la chica, queriendo cerrar las piernas por la sensación de cosquillas que eso le había causado, Jake volvió a bajar la velocidad, dando círculos en su entrada, introduciendo sus dedos, mordiendo su hombro fuerte, haciéndola gemir.
— ¿Te gusta preciosa? ¿Uhm? ¿Te gusta cómo te toco mientras los otros te miran? Estas demasiado caliente, sin duda estas disfrutando esto.
Sus dedos follaban su entrada de manera ruda, entrando y saliendo, deteniéndose unos segundos para doblar los dedos en forma de gancho dentro de ella, tocando sus paredes. Heeseung se acercó a ella, subiéndose en la cama, con la polla en su mano direccionándola a su boca. — Comételo. — Ordenó con voz grave, eso hizo cosquillas en ella, abriendo la boca para recibir la polla hinchada de su amigo. — ohh~ umh... eso bebé. — Sujeto la cabeza de la chica con ambas manos, bombeando su boca de delante a atrás para que se lo tragara lo suficiente, llevando la cabeza para atrás al sentir la lengua hacerle círculos por la punta sensible. — Hazlo de nuevo y te voy a reventar la boca, lo juro, lo sentirás hasta el fondo. — Fue una amenaza que ella decidió tomar como desafío. Volvió a lamer desde la base hasta la punta, dejando un besito en ella, mirando a Heeseung en el proceso, provocándolo. Con la lengua jugó en con el orificio de la polla de su amigo, este tembló sobre el colchón, tomando la base de su polla con el puño.
— Abre bien grande para mi bebé, y respira por la nariz. — Ella obedeció, abriendo lo más que pudo la boca, sin chocar sus dientes con la carne. Heeseung empujo de una estocada su polla en la garganta de la muchacha, provocándole una arcada, pero no le permitió separarse, empezó a embestir su boca, sintiendo como su nariz chocaba con su vientre. — hmh~ ohh... bebé voy a ugh~... voy a correrme — Siguió embistiendo— ¿Te lo vas a tragar todo para mi verdad? Porque tú eres una buena chica, verdad. — Ella asintió, gimiendo con la polla dentro de su boca, haciéndolo vibrar, y a la vez con los dedos de Jake dentro de ella, haciendo que empiece a tener demasiadas cosquillas. Heeseung empujo sus caderas unas cuantas veces más hasta desparramarse en tu interior, bien al fondo, hasta la última gota de su semen. Quitó su polla de la boca de su amiga, super hinchada y colorada. Sonrió, besándola en la frente. — Hermosa, demasiado hermosa.
— Quítate, Jake. — Se escuchó decir a Sunghoon ahora detrás de él. Jake con un bufido quito la mano del interior de la chica, saliendo de la cama, Heeseung también bajándose, para retroceder y observar. Sunghoon acarició la espalda de su amiga, dejándole besos en el hombro. — Siéntate en mi cara, cariño.
— ¿huh? — Dijo ella, volteando a mirarlo, Sunghoon estaba desnudo, sonrió mostrándole los colmillos, besando sus labios en un pico. — Que te sientes en mi cara, amor, voy a comerme ese coño ahora. — Él se recostó en la cama, boca arriba, haciendo un gesto con las manos para indicarle a ella que debía sentarse. La chica posicionó sus rodillas a cada costado de las mejillas de Sunghoon, sin sentarse aún. Ni siquiera la estaba tocando directamente pero ya sentía su cálido aliento cerca de su entrada, él le sujetó de la cintura, hundiendo su rostro en su boca, con la nariz chocando con su clítoris. Ella gimió. Sunghoon lamió de lado a lado la entrada de su amiga, metiendo su lengua dentro de esta.
— Ohh~ Dios, Hoon... hmh~. No-no puedo. — Dijo mientras los dientes le temblaron unos con otros, estaba demasiado cerca y las cosquillas que le hacia la nariz de su amigo la volvía loca, llevó una de sus manos a su cabello, acariciándolo y jalándolo cuando el enganchaba su clítoris con los labios y tironeaba de él. — mmn~ ohh~ — Jay y Jake se acercaron a la escena, tomando las manos de la chica, direccionándolas a cada polla.
— Haznos sentir bien, muñeca. — Jay la besó en los labios, como él sabía hacerlo, con delicadeza. Ella moviendo sus manos sobre las erecciones de sus amigos, masturbándolos. Sunghoon levantó una mano hasta su pezón, pellizcándolo. y Jake lamía el otro.
— ¡Joder, Mierda... Hoon voy a- AAH~! — Su aviso llegó más tarde que su orgasmo, sintiendo un revuelo dentro de su vientre y las cosquillas viajando directo a su clítoris y a su entrada penetrada por la lengua de Sunghoon. Este lamió y succionó todo lo que la chica le daba. Las piernas de su amiga lo presionaron temblando, gimiendo, derritiéndose sobre él. Acariciando sus senos y muslos. Jake quitó su mano para intercambiarla por la de él mismo y masturbarse ferozmente.
— Abre la boquita para mí, preciosa. — Y ella lo hizo, abrió la boca, sacando apenas la lengua. El australiano bombeo su polla una vez más, dejando salir el chorro de semen en dirección al rostro de su amiga, embocando la mayor parte en la cavidad, y otro poco en sus mejillas. Cuando ya no salía más pasó su pene por sus mejillas, recogiendo el líquido que se le había escapado y metió la punta de su polla con semen en sus labios — Comételo todo, preciosa.
Sunghoon y Jake se separaron de ella, dándole un breve respiro. La cabeza totalmente por las nubes, totalmente caliente y temblorosa.
Heeseung sentándose en la cama, contra la cabecera, palmeó sus muslos, con la polla dura de nuevo. — Arriba bebé, demuéstrame que tan bien puedes montarme. — Sonrió, la chica gateo hasta él, posicionándose sobre su regazo, Heeseung tomo su punta y la guía en la entrada de su amiga, dejándole la responsabilidad. — Soy todo tuyo bebé, mi polla te pertenece ahora, sáltame hasta que ya no pueda más.
Ella bajó despacio, la posición la estiraba diferente que Jay, ella estaba sentada en la polla de Heeseung, la polla de su mejor amigo la perforaba hasta el fondo. Ambos suspiraron cuando llegó hasta el final. La muchacha movió las caderas en círculos, acostumbrándose. Luego empezó a subir y bajar lento, tortuoso para él chico bajo ella. Heeseung jugaba con sus pechos, con ambas manos los apretaba, los acariciaba y dejaba besos, lamia y mordía los pezones erectos y la miraba, totalmente desecha sobre él, con los ojos cerrados. — Mírame bebé — Ella lo miró, Heeseung sujeto sus brazos por la espalda, moviendo su cadera hacía arriba. — Salta más rápido bebé, fuerte. — Ella tomaba el impulso desde las rodillas, intentando no caer hacia adelante al estar sujeta por la espalda, brincando sobre la polla de Heeseung, entrando y saliendo, con el ruido del chapoteo por el lubricante natural que su cuerpo chorreaba.
— ohh~ hah~ Hee... ugh~ — Heeseung le soltó las muñecas, para sujetarla de las caderas, acomodándose en la cama para ahora estas acostado, teniendo la mejor vista que pudo imaginar. Elevó apenas las caderas de su amiga, sin salirse de su interior. Y empezó a embestirla duro, rápido, frustrado. El sonido que las nalgas rebotando por sus caderas y muslos lo hacían perder el control y ver como los senos de su amiga rebotaban frenéticamente apresuraban su segundo orgasmo de la noche. — ohh~ ohh... bebé voy a correrme. — Presionando muy fuerte sus manos en sus caderas la bajaba bruscamente hasta el fondo de su polla, haciéndola gritar — ¡Hee- AAH~! Ahí... justo ahí heeseung... por favor, Mhg~. — El chico sonrió victorioso, había tocado su punto dulce. Siguió empujándola fuerte y rápido, y más rápido, y más y más y más hasta que las bolas se le estrujaron, vaciándose dentro de ella. Teniendo que detenerse por como las paredes del canal lo apretaban, abrazó la espalda de su amiga y la recostó sobre su pecho, besando su mejilla. — Buena chica, muy bien bebé, me succionaste hasta lo último. — Río cansado, besando el hombro de la chica.
— Bueno mucho ya. Estoy esperando hundirme en ese puto coño desde que ella tiró la idea en la sala. — Se quejó Jake, frente a ellos, con su mano sobre su polla. — Heeseung, fuera, ahora.
Heeseung se río y movió a la chica de encima suyo, besándole los labios por última vez antes de apartarse. Jake sobre la cama, totalmente desnudo la movió por las sábanas y palmeo apenas su trasero. — Levanta ese culo para mi preciosa, te voy a joder tanto que vas a olvidarte de hasta como te llamas. — Ella, boca abajo se posicionó sobre sus rodillas y manos, sintiendo el calor subirle totalmente a la cara y al cuello, que posición más humillante Santo Dios. Tenía a los otros tres mirándola, masturbándose. Jake tomó su cadera y observo con un puchero su coño goteando. — Se ve mejor desde este ángulo, sin duda, y está goteando completamente. — Su amigo le lanzó una palmada en la nalga derecha, haciéndola jadear y que una mancha roja empezará a asomarse por la piel lastimada. — Y dime, ¿Cómo se siente tener la atención de tus cuatro mejores amigos? ¿huh? Te gusta, te encanta, ¿verdad? Te estas entregando como una puta total a nosotros. Amiga.
— Cierra la boca, Jake. — Se quejó ella, sintiendo mucho calor por todos lados, el australiano le volvió a palmear la nalga contraía, una y otra y otra vez. — Pídemelo. — Posicionó su polla en la entrada — Ruégame que te lo meta. Hazlo. — Besó su nuca, acariciando toda su espalda.
— Mierda Jake, por favor, hazlo... — Habló, meneando las caderas buscando intromisión. — No te entiendo, ¿qué quieres? ¿Umm? — Dijo su amigo, molestándola.
— Méteme la polla Jake, por favor, jodeme, fuerte, follame rápido. — Rogó, el chico sonrió en grande. — Lo que mi niña me pida.
Entonces empujo brusco y fuerte, prácticamente perforando los músculos de su interior. Eso provocó un grito desgarrador por parte de la muchacha. Agachó la cabeza por un segundo y cuando lo alzó las lágrimas estaban resbalando por sus mejillas, llanto.
— ¡Jake! La estas lastimando. Idiota. — Gritó molesto Jay, con Heeseung a su lado dispuesto a golpear al australiano.
— Claro que no. La muy zorra solo está exagerando. Le encanta que se lo meta duro hasta el fondo. ¿Verdad mi amor? — Empezó a empujar frenéticamente las caderas, jadeando. — ugh~ si... es-está bien... mierda, así... joder Jake, ohh~ — Vaciló la chica, demasiado aturdida por las embestidas como para ser clara con las palabras.
— Sunghoon. Métele la polla en la boca así deja de llorar la puta esta.
El mencionado se acercó, se agachó para estar a la altura del rostro de la chica, le acarició las mejillas, limpiando las lágrimas. Besó sus labios con cariño, ahogando los gemidos que soltaba por la follada que estaba recibiendo. Cuando soltó sus labios, dirigió su polla a su mejilla, pegándole unos pequeños cachetazos con él. Sonrió cuando ella sola por su cuenta busco meter la polla palpitante en su boca, tragándoselo.
— Ugh~ para ser la primera vez lo haces muy bien, amor. — acarició su cabello, excitado por la mamada que estaba recibiendo y por la vista de la polla de Jake hundiéndose en su interior, no hacía falta que empujara sus caderas, porque por el simple empuje duro que hacía Jake ella devoraba toda la longitud de su polla gruesa. — Ngh~ ¡A-Augh~! J-jake — Soltó un sollozo la chica cuando el dedo pulgar de su amigo se hundió en su trasero, abusando de su anillo. — Perdón mi amor, pero no me puedo aguantar... — Se defendió el australiano, dando masajes circulares en el anillo de su amiga, para luego hundir más su dedo, jalando las paredes.
— ¡Gah..~! mmn~ ohh~ Jake... m-más... por fa-favor más Ahh~ — Gimió sin vergüenza, muy fuerte. Para cuando se dio cuenta ya tenía a Heeseung y a Jay al lado de Sunghoon. Jake aun embistiendo duro, muy duro el coño empapado de su amiga recogió su cabello en su puño, jalándola, para que su espalda se pegue a su pecho, sin dejar de perforarla brutalmente.
— Míralos amor, míralos cómo se tocan viéndonos follar. — Sonrió y jadeo Jake en su oreja, mordiéndole el lóbulo, chupando su cuello, Jay tomó su mano para que lo tocara, acatando la acción. Heeseung y Sunghoon devorando cada uno un pezón. — Ahh~ ohh… ohh~ Dios, ohh~ Dios. — La chica sintió de nuevo esa típica descarga eléctrica recorrerle desde la nuca, por toda su columna hasta su coño abusado. Temblando bajo el agarre de su amigo. — ¡Jake! ¡Jake!¡Jake! — El chico la empujó nuevamente para colocarla sobre sus manos, metiendo su cabeza en la polla de Sunghoon. — Atragántate con esa polla, zorra. Te mueres si vieras como estas ahora mismo. Llorando y gritando mi nombre, mientras te rompo entera y mantienes la boca ocupada con una polla, y las manos con otras. — Habló de forma burlona, riendo, azotando su trasero una y otra vez. — Ahh~ Ahh… eres una maldita puta. Y te encanta serlo.
Jake salió de su interior, se agachó a la altura de su coño y escupió sobre él. Palmeando una cachetada fuerte en los labios sensibles. Sunghoon por su lado empezó a sujetar la nuca de la chica, temblando y mordiendo los labios muy fuertes, quitó la polla de su boca para terminar en su rostro, salpicándola completamente. — Ugh… totalmente una puta. — pasó sus dedos por el rostro de su amiga, y se los metió en la boca, dejándola que se lo saboreara por completo.
— Buena niña, cariño.
— Igual aún no he terminado contigo preciosa. — Jake la abrazó por la espalda, sujetando su cuerpo débil, acostándola completamente sobre su pecho, tomó su polla adolorida presionando sobre su segunda entrada. — Vas a tener que respirar muy hondo amor, no podré entrar si te tensas, anda muñequita, ábrete para mi polla. — Introduciendo lentamente su polla por la abertura estrecha de su amiga Jake gimió grueso, la presión que ejercían las paredes lo hacían perder el control. — ohh~ Jake... no-n-no puedo... Jake no... ¡A-Augh~! duele...
Jay se acercó a ella, para besarle con mucho amor, la tomo de las manos, sintiendo como ella apretaba las uñas en su piel y se quejaba sobre sus labios. — Tú puedes amor, lo estás haciendo excelente, si muñeca. — Su amigo había ingresado en casi su totalidad por detrás de ella, se sentía muy irritada, muy estirada, incomoda. Ninguno se movió. — Preciosa, me voy a mover y necesito que grites mi nombre lo más fuerte que puedas y me correré solo para ti. — Jake empezó a moverse lento, despacio y con cuidado. Estaba esperando a que su amiga dejara de estar tensa para moverse más rápido. Jay estaba tomando el control de besarla y atender sus pechos con sus manos. Y debajo, Heeseung acariciando suavemente su clítoris. Cuando sintió que la pesadez de sus hombros se relajó empezó a enterrarse más a fondo, veloz, y fuerte.
— hah~ Jake... ¡Jake! ohh~ — Gimió la chica, fuerte. Y eso fue suficiente para que el al fin se liberara en su interior. Besando su hombro y mejilla. Quitó su polla del interior adolorido y lo restregó por su coño. — Dios Jake no hagas eso, estoy aquí. — Se quejó Heeseung que había estado ahí abajo atendiéndola. — Mejor quítate.
El chico, aún cansado por la reciente descarga, la acostó a su lado en la cama, dándole un beso. Heeseung intercambió lugar con él, recostando su espalda a la cabecera de la cama. — Sunghoon ayúdala, sobre mí. — Sunghoon la agarró de la cintura, sentándola sobre el regazo de Heeseung. Quedándose detrás, con la polla dura sobre el surco de su trasero. — Amor, dime... ¿Quieres recibirnos a la vez? — El la miraba a los ojos, con esos ojos saltones que caracterizaban a Heeseung cuando buscaba obtener lo que quería. Sunghoon detrás de ella, acariciando con sus dedos su entrada débil y mojada, aun chorreando semen de las rondas anteriores. — Te hice una pregunta. Contesta. — Habló nuevamente, pero esta vez con los ojos cargados de deseo.
— Si... lo haré Hee... ambos, sí. — Él sonrió, besándola en los labios y luego frotando sus narices.
— Como toda una puta, sí. — Escupió Sunghoon en su espalda, metiendo su polla en el coño de su amiga — Ohh~ Uff... es mejor que cualquier otro coño que haya follado antes. — Sin moverse, sintió como la punta de la polla de Heeseung pedía permiso para ingresar a la par de la suya. Beso toda la espalda de su amiga mientras ella se retorcía bajo las dos pollas que le estiraban el coño en ese momento. Ambos se movían, intentando ir a ritmo. Mientras uno entraba el otro salía y así. — umh~ hmh… umh~ chicos... es mucho, de-demasiado... — Heeseung besó sus labios con desespero, abrazando su espalda y pegarla más a su pecho. — Tú puedes, como la puta zorra que eres. Estas tomando dos pollas a la vez. Dos putas pollas en tu coño. Una completa zorra, eso eres. — Escupió Sunghoon detrás mientras se movía, echando la cabeza para atrás. Con cada estocada intentando hundirse más a fondo y rozando con la polla de Heeseung, demasiada fricción.
— Hoon... no-no le digas así. Ella no es una puta. Ella es nuestra muñequita. — Heeseung la defendió, para él era diferente la dinámica, él la quería hacer sentir bien sin herir sus sentimientos. Podría estarle desgarrando el coño, sí. Pero los sentimientos jamás. — ohh… ohh… Dios, estoy cerca amor, estoy cerca. — Siguió empujando su polla dentro de ella, más rápido que antes. — ¡Gah..~! ah… ah… ah… Hee, Hoon... Voy-voy a...
— Hazlo. Hazlo sobre nuestras pollas, cariño. Y nosotros te llenamos de nuestra esencia también. — Sunghoon apretó su nuca con rudeza, abriéndole los cachetes del trasero, gimiendo al ver como los dos pedazos de carne entraban y salían juntos. Las piernas de la chica temblaron nuevamente, perdiendo la cuenta de las veces que se sintió así en la noche. Escondió su rostro en el hombro de Heeseung mientras ambos seguían bombeando su interior, el primero en llegar fue Heeseung, seguido de Sunghoon al poco tiempo. Ambos empujaron unas pocas veces más luego del clímax, saliendo despacio. Sintiendo el peso del cuerpo de su amiga relajarse.
Se sentía derrotada, débil, cansada y todo lo que le sigue. Aferrada torpemente al cuerpo sudoroso de Heeseung, Hoon ya se había alejado. — Oh Dios, se está desparramando todo el semen por su coño. Quien te viera, pediste una polla y obtuviste cuatro, muchas desearían estar en tu lugar, amor.
— Cállate Jake. — Se molestó la chica, con Heeseung encariñado con ella, acariciándole la cabeza. — No doy más chicos... ya.
— Una última cosa. — Habló Jay — De rodillas, aquí en el suelo. Ahora. — Ella levantó la cabeza, mirando con un puchero a Heeseung, este le sonrió, besándola. — Esto y terminamos, amor.
Ella asintió, moviéndose torpemente del regazo de su amigo, bajando de la cama para arrodillarse en el suelo, muy agitada aún. Necesitaba que se termine. Los cuatro chicos la rodearon de pie, Jay, que había pedido esta última escena, le colocó la polla sobre sus labios abultados en un puchero. — Chúpame la polla, fui el único a quien no atendiste con tu boca, amor.
— Literalmente fuiste el primero en follartela, que dices. — Se quejó Jake. Ella tomando con una mano la polla de Jay llevándosela a la boca, lamiendo desde la base hasta la punta en el agujero que despegaba liquido preseminal. Se lo metió entero en la garganta, chupando rápido, sonoro y caliente. Jay quitó su polla con un bloop, empujando la nuca de la chica a la polla de su otro amigo. Jake gruño al sentir los dientes rasparle la carne sensible. — No me muerdas preciosa, ya sé que te gusta tener una polla en la boca, pero no se come de verdad. — Río, acariciando el cabello de su compañera, acompañando los movimientos de su cabeza para que se lo tragara completamente. Presionando unos segundos el fondo, hasta ahogarla y soltarla de golpe, viendo como el hilo de saliva caía de su boca. — Ahora tu polla favorita, amor. — La aparto, empujándola hacia Heeseung, quien la veía como un animal salvaje a su presa. Ella acercó su boca abierta a la polla, pero el dueño la aparto a un costado, dejándola con un gesto de disgusto.
— Oh mírala Hee, se enoja si no se lo das. — Río Jake a su lado, masturbándose. — Pídemelo amor, pídeme que te lo de. Adelante. — Ordenó Heeseung, mirándola a los ojos. Ella trago saliva, sintiendo como sus propios muslos se empapaban, estaba agotada pero su cuerpo aun chorreaba de excitación. Él la esperó, levantando una ceja y ladeando la cabeza brevemente. — Por favor Hee...
— Por favor qué, no escucho. Hace un rato gritabas con dos pollas adentro y ¿ahora no puedes hablar?
— Por favor Heeseung, jodeme la boca con tu polla, por favor, lo necesito. A ti. — Él sonrió, cambiando su semblante a uno más suave, llevando su polla a su boca, jadeando por la presión en su punta. — Buena niña. Ahora respira hondo. — Acatando las ordenes tomo aire por la nariz y sintió como la punta caliente de la polla de Heeseung le golpeaba el fondo de la garganta, provocándole arcadas, él no la dejo retroceder y siguió golpeando su fondo. Jake y Jay tomaron sus manos para que los atendiera, con movimientos torpes masturbaba a ambos mientras recibía las embestidas de su otro amigo.
— Tengo una idea, deja solo la punta, Hee. — Habló Sunghoon, ansioso por ser el último. Su amigo hizo lo que le pidió, dejando únicamente su punta rosada sobre la lengua de su amiga, Sunghoon colocó la suya también, al lado de la anterior. — Chupa. Comete las dos pollas a la vez, como la zorra que eres. — La chica rodó los ojos, fastidiada por la actitud de su amigo, pero Sunghoon era así por naturaleza. Como pudo chupó ambas pollas, ambas puntas dentro de su boca, estirando sus mejillas más de lo que podía soportar, dejando escurrir saliva por los bordes, era un total desastre.
— Comete las cuatro amor, vamos. — Habló Jake, acariciando su cabello, esa quitó las dos pollas de su boca, cambiando por las de los otros dos chicos restantes. Masturbando a Heeseung y Sunghoon ahora. Luego quitó una, y siguió moviéndose sobre la polla de Jay, hasta el fondo, dando círculos sobre la punta, haciéndolo jadear. — Ohh~ Sigue con la otra amor, nos vendremos en tu linda carita. — Ella soltó la de Jay, abriendo la boca para la de Sunghoon nuevamente, haciendo lo mismo, de abajo hacia arriba, una y otra vez, masturbándolo y succionando la punta. — Carajo, ya casi, ya casi. — La liberó, dejándola seguir con la de Jake, este le hizo cerrar la boca lo más que pudo mientras empujaba su polla en una de sus mejillas armando una bola saliente en esta— Joder amor, ugh~ podría estar todo el día metido ahí, me encantas, — una imagen demasiado sucia y excitante que le contrajo las bolas. La soltó para seguir masturbándose el solo. Por último, nuevamente frente a la de Heeseung. Este acarició su mentón, luego subió los dedos a sus mejillas rosadas y a sus labios hinchados, ella no esperaba recibir una bofetada por parte de su amigo, no fue fuerte, solo picó muy apenas. Bajo la atenta mirada de los otros tres muy sobre el clímax, Heeseung volvió a abofetear su otra mejilla, dejando dos círculos rojos en ellos.
— Te encanta esto, ¿no es así? Lo estas disfrutando muchísimo. Te amo, se buena niña y abre la boquita para recibirnos. — Ella lo hizo, abrió la boca, sacando la lengua, esperando. El primero en hacerlo fue Jay, bombeando su polla con sus manos, expulsando su liquido sobre su rostro, hasta lo último, luego dejó que le chupara la punta una última vez, retrocediendo. Dándole lugar a Jake y Sunghoon, ambos a sus costados derramaron su esencia sobre la cara de su amiga, embocando en cualquier lado menos en la boca. Luego ambos golpearon sus pollas contra sus mejillas pegajosas. Finalizando con Heeseung, que acarició una vez más su polla y descargó el chorro sobre los labios de la muchacha, metiendo la polla hasta el fondo de su garganta una vez más. Salió de ella, cansado.
Pasaron unos segundos, alrededor de un minuto, donde lo único que se escuchaba en la habitación era la respiración agitada de los cinco. El placer yéndose poco a poco y atacando la vergüenza. Ella se pasó la mano por el rostro, quitando la viscosidad que la decoraba, le ardía un ojo y tenía la garganta seca. Las piernas empezaron a acalambrarse y su espalda baja dolía como el infierno. No se animó a levantarse, mirando el suelo, buscando concentrarse en otra cosa antes de morirse de la vergüenza, Heeseung la sujetó de la cintura, cargándola hasta el baño. Abrió la canilla esperando que se cargara con agua tibia.
Acariciando su cabello húmedo por el sudor y los demás fluidos, ella no lo miraba, tampoco busco hacer que lo haga, entendía que ahora estaba avergonzada, ya había bajado el éxtasis y pisado la realidad, y la realidad le apenaba. La bañera se llenó lo suficiente y la ayudó a limpiarse, pasándole una esponja con jabón — que olía a vainilla — por todo el cuerpo adolorido. Cuando llegó a su zona baja ella volvió a la realidad, cerrando las piernas. Tomo la esponja por su cuenta y se pasó por la zona, arrugando la expresión, dolía, si, bastante. Mientras lo hacía, muy despacio porque sentía la zona muy delicada, Heeseung le lavaba el cabello con su propio shampoo — que olía a coco — le hacía masajes en el cuero cabelludo, apreciando como ella cerraba los ojos y derretía el gesto. Eso le encantaba y Heeseung no quería admitir que cuidarla estaba haciendo que su corazón se exalte.
Cuando terminó la dejó sola para que se tomara el tiempo necesario, dejó una camiseta y un pantalón corto deportivo de el para que se vistiera. Heeseung volvió al cuarto, encontrando a Sunghoon y Jake totalmente tirados y dormidos en la cama, y a Jay en el pequeño sofá del suelo, vestido con sus pantalones.
— ¿Está bien? — Pregunto Jay. Heeseung asintió. — Dios, vístete, me incomoda verte la polla ahora, y a esos dos tambien. — Heeseung rió, buscando unos pantalones para vestirse, por mientras.
Alrededor de unos diez minutos después la chica apareció en la habitación, vistiendo la ropa de su amigo, secando su cabello con la toalla, ahora completamente limpia se podían notar todas las marcas violetas y rojas por alrededor de sus muslos y su cuello. Se percató que Heeseung y Jay la observaban muy detenidamente y no pudo evitar entrar en pánico.
— Ya, dejen de mirarme. O voy a llorar. — Reprochó, con un puchero y la voz suave. Ambos rieron, era adorable. Jay se levantó, desapareciendo en el baño. — Ven, te ayudo. — Heeseung le ofreció, con esa sonrisa dulce que el poseía, ella se acercó, sentándose en el pequeño sofá y su amigo detrás de ella, secando su cabello. — ¿Todo en orden? Umm... ¿Hay algo qué no te haya gustado? Digo, tal vez... Jake y Sunghoon eran muy groseros... no les hagas caso, le dicen eso a todas con las que se acuestan.
— Todo bien Hee, descuida. Solo, estoy muy cansada y me duele hasta el ojo. Mírame, está rojo. — Ella señaló su ojo izquierdo, él la observo, y efectivamente estaba irritado, supuso que tal vez en esa última actividad alguno se lo tiró en el ojo, pero no se lo iba a recordar, no ahora. — Necesito dormir dos días seguidos, te lo juro.
El río detrás suyo, peinó su cabello con el cepillo que había tomado del bolso con las pertenencias de su amiga. — Oye, ¿queda mal si te pido un beso ahora?, es decir, si yo te doy un beso a ti... no me malinterpretes ósea-
Ella sonrió divertida, amaba ver a Heeseung nervioso, asintió y se acercó a sus labios, besándolo torpe. El suspiró y tomó su mentón para seguir besándola, suave, delicado, con amor. Al separarse le sonrió y beso las mejillas, luego los pómulos y luego la frente. — Hee, detente o empezaremos una nueva ronda y créeme, no tengo energía. — El río bajito, asintiendo.
En la mañana, ella se despertó sobre la cama de Heeseung, con el mismísimo Heeseung abrazado a su espalda, muy sujeto a ella como no queriéndole dejar escaparse. Estaban solo ellos dos en la habitación. Se incorporó muy apenas, el brazo de su amigo sobre su cintura muy aferrado a ella. — Hee, despierta. — Le habló, la voz le salió rasposa y se la tuvo que aclarar, moviendo los hombros del chico para despertarlo. — ¿Ya estas despierta? Buenos días, bonita. — Ella se sonrojo, con las mejillas rosadas, él se le quedo mirando, muy atento, con un click en su mente. Solo despertó del trance cuando ella al querer levantarse retrocedió liberando una queja.
— Oh, oh... ¡Auch!. — Se quejó, tocando la parte baja de su vientre, en ese momento Heeseung se alarmó, levantándose de golpe. — Carajo, ¿Estas bien? ¿Qué te duele? ¿Te lastimamos? Te juro que si es así voy y les corto las pollas a los otros tres ahora mismo.
Ella río, negando. — Todo en orden, bueno, si, duele. Pero descuida, no es de vida o muerte. Solo, necesito ir a orinar, urgente. — Ella se levantó rápido de la cama, corriendo en dirección del baño, pero Heeseung no se quedó tranquilo cuando vio una mancha de sangre en las sábanas, tampoco cuando vio un pedazo de papel con sangre en el bote de basura del baño. Durante el almuerzo decidió no comentar nada al respecto, tal vez ella estaba avergonzada y no necesitaba exponerla ante los demás chicos.
Jay cocinó para todos el almuerzo. Juntos sentados en el comedor del departamento, comiendo. — Despacio... te vas a atorar. — Dijo Jake, divertido cuando la vio comer bastante energética. — Cierra la boca, tengo hambre obviamente. — Discutió ella con un pedazo de carne en la boca, mirándolo enojada al australiano. — Y entonces, ¿Como te sientes? — Preguntó Jake.
— ¡Santo Dios! Podrían... simplemente dejar de preguntármelo, por favor.
— Solo nos preocupamos por ti muñeca — Menciono Jay, dejando un pedazo nuevo de carne sobre su plato. Sonriendo. — Estoy bien chicos, ya.
— Así es, no tienes que tener vergüenza, somos tus amigos después de todo. — Jake le acaricio la cabeza con unas palmadas, sonriéndole. — Bueno, el concepto de amistad escalo bastante la verdad. — Ella rodó los ojos, Sunghoon acercó un pedazo de verdura a su boca con los palillos, ofreciéndoselo, ella negando con la cabeza, — Yo tengo los míos, gracias — Dijo, Sunghoon acercando más el palillo. — Come, anoche abrías en grande la boca y ahora te haces la delicada.
— Hoon, déjala. — Regañó Heeseung, el mencionado rodo los ojos y ella mordió de la verdura, comiendo. — ¡Ah! Lo recordé, ¿no te hice daño verdad? Digo, ya sabes a lo que me refiero... — Murmuro Jake, provocando que ella se atragante con el vaso de agua que bebía. Sonrojándose. — Hmm, todo en orden, solo... un poco de dolor, supongo que se irá luego. Eso espero, realmente estoy haciendo el gran esfuerzo de mantenerme sentada ahora.
Jake rio, abrazándola por los hombros. — Perdooooonnn. Me emocioné, pero al menos dime que si te gustó eso, anda dímelo por favor — Ella dudo un segundo, haciendo un gesto como si estuviera pensando. — Fue horrible, que no se vuela a repetir.
El chico quedo dolido, con una expresión de ofensa mientras los otro tres se reían. — Eres una mentirosa, ¿Te tengo qué recordar como gritabas mi nombre? "Méteme la polla Jake, por favor, jodeme" — Se burló el chico, muy divertido, imitando la voz de su amiga con exageración.
Recibió un golpe del puño de su amiga directo al pecho, molesta, giró y miro a Heeseung en busca de ayuda. — ¡Hee! Jake me está molestando, dile algo.
— Jake, la vuelves a molestar y te corto la polla, te lo juro, el cuchillo está en frente mío ahora. — El mencionado bufó — Aguafiestas. Bien, me callo.
— ¿Ustedes dos qué se traen? Andan muy melosos, no me digan que se enamoraron luego de esto. — Dijo Sunghoon — Heeseung literalmente nos pateó fuera de su habitación y se durmió contigo en la cama. Y ahora le pides que te defienda, ahh pero anoche "Por favor Heeseung, jodeme la boca con tu polla, por favor" — Se burló Sunghoon, imitándola, también.
— Listo. Me voy, al carajo. Los odio, no me vuelvan a hablar en sus vidas. — Ella se levantó de su asiento, dispuesta a caminar en busca de sus cosas e irse a su casa. Pero las manos de Heeseung la sujetaron de las muñecas, atrayéndola a él, abrazándola, ella escondió su rostro en el pecho de su amigo. — Cierren la boca o los voy a golpear. Y no, no estamos enamorados, se llama ser atento, Sunghoon, deberías aprender.
Luego de toda esa escena dramática los demás se fueron a sus respectivas casas, Jay ofreciéndose en llevar a su amiga en su auto, ella negándose, diciendo que se quedaría un rato más. Heeseung limpiaba los platos cuando sintió como su amiga lo abrazaba por la espalda. El dejó lo que hacía y se giró para tomar su rostro entre sus manos y darle un beso corto en los labios. — Hee... — Murmuro ella — Dime bebé. — Eres el mejor, solo quería decírtelo. Gracias por cuidarme, lo aprecio.
— De nada bebé, es lo mínimo que debía hacer luego de todo lo que hicimos — río apenas — Además, te quiero y aprecio mucho... eres mi mejor amiga... sería un idiota si no fuese amable.
— Uhm si... mejores amigos... Hee — Él la miro atento. — ¿Por qué me siento diferente contigo? Es decir, no sé, amm esto se siente ugh no se. Perdón, olvídalo.
Él sonrió, tomando su mentón para volver a besarla, más rápido, con más deseo, con más sentimiento. — A la mierda, para nada puedes volver a ser mi mejor amiga luego de esto, es decir, tuve la polla en tu coño y tu garganta, eso para nada es de amigos. — Recibió un golpe en el pecho — ¡Heeseung! No me lo recuerdes.
— ¿Nueva ronda? Solos tú y yo eh — Dijo el con una sonrisa pícara, solo buscaba molestarla. — No. Me duele el culo, literalmente. — El volvió a reír, besándola en las mejillas, abrazándola. Esa noche estuvieron junto solos en el departamento, simplemente compartiendo el tiempo y la cercanía del otro, sin toqueteos ni segundas intenciones. Bueno, con algunos ataques de besos de vez en cuando. Pero algo que habían descubierto ese día era que la atracción era mucho más que una simple noche de sexo, era de verdad, pero aún estaban aturdidos como para querer afrontarlo.
Seria problema para otro día.
Por fin! Lo publique. Espero les haya gustado y que los entretuviera un rato jeje. Pueden dejarme ideas, preguntas o lo que sea, todo es bienvenido.
in which. . during a stupid college party, you find a piece of mind with a unfairly good looking guy, that ends up showing you how to have a proper smoke sesh! >_<
starring; plug! riki x reader
cw; mention/ consume of substances (weed, alchool) suggestive making out use of petnames like angel, good girl not proofread!
the second you stepped foot into the building you knew you choose the wrong fraternity to hit tn— your brain immediately replayed aisha words, and her suggestion of staying inside and watch some rom com you thought was horrible.
still, it wouldn’t have been worse than this.
the frat house, despite the announcement published from their instagram post signalling that the party would start at nine o’clock, smelled already of cheap alcohol, smoke and sweat.
just trying to pass through the hall felt like a mission, you had to dodge two girls who were currently throwing up their strawberry vodka near the persian carpet you remember jake mom had been bragging about and ten couples trying to make a pregnancy announcement in front of everyone.
of course it couldn’t miss the dumb assholes too.
you knew you looked good; black leather shorts with a studded belt, boots that made your legs appear even longer and a top that hugged your figure just right + silver accessories. still you would’ve had prefer is some guy didn’t try to grind against you as you looked around for a familiar dumb face.
after two whole minutes of searching, you saw him, and immediately walked up to your best friend.. who was already in another world.
“shiiit! you’re here!” jake slurred voice snapped you out of your thoughts, beford his hand wrapped around your shoulder and pulled.
you snorted, pulling him up slighty, amused by the fact that your best friend was already drunk off his ass. “what happened to you dude?”
“lost at beer pong..” you said while scratching his eyes with the back of the hand, the same one who was holding yet another beer. you took it from him, letting the warmth liquid ease your nerves as he walked you to his friends.
the sight that greats you were the now same familiar faces; heeseung and sunghoon busy trying to do body shots with two pretty girls, earning amused scoffs by sunoo whilst jay and jungwon were playing peer pong— jungwon was winning by a mile.
they all greeted you with a smile, offering you a drink while you helped jake sit properly. “you need to get a grip man.” you hummed, messing his hair up as they all laughed in unison.
“been telling him that!” heeseung shouts aftet he downed a drunk walking up to you, giving you a polite side hug. “didn’t even smoke yet and he’s shit faced. c’mon man.”
“ah fuck off hee.” he groans, getting comfortable on the wooded chair.
but your mind isn’t focused no more on how annoying jake is right now, or the thousands of body grinning against each other in such a small kitchen.
“who has weed?” you ask, and look— you’re not an addict never been, it’s just been too long since you had a proper smoke sesh. two weeks before you tried your seat mate cheap ass weed in a moment of desperation, which didn’t end up nicely. plus! your old plug had moved out, and everyone charged too much for your poor wallet.
still, you needed it. and you would’ve been okay with dropping some cash right there.
sunoo, who had been smoking a cigarette near by spoke. “riki most definitely, his room in upstairs. but good luck!”
“riki?” you repeated, the name tasting foreign on your tongue. not because you didn’t know who he was, along with the other five guys, he was jake closest friend, but you never had the chance to meet him.
sunoo nodded, swirling the liquor in his red cup mindlessly. “best weed in town i swear. just hope you don’t walk in him getting head.”
“ew, gross.” you said, earning a rough chuckle from him. “yeah, tell me about it.”
“jokes apart he’s not a weird, like jake or the others.” sunoo adds, and you swear, he wanted to say something else, by the way his eyes rank over you, but held back.
“then, i’ll try. keep an eye on that idiot please.” you say, hugging him before walking away.
— it doesn’t take much fro you to walk up the stairs, fixing your low waisted shorts as you look for him, riki. there’s a few rooms in the little hallway, but you stop when you hear some rnb (either pnd or brent faiyaz) song coming from outside a door.
you hesitate for a few seconds, realising what you were about to do: walk in somebody else personal space judt for some weed. you were soo deep in your thoughts you didn’t even realise you had knocked.
“ah, f’fuck sake” a muffled raspy voice went through, and without noticing, you straightened your back.
the door opens quickly, due to the harshness of his gesture, revealing a tall man, slighty over six feet, since you need to slighty tilt your head to look at him.
“i told you. i don’t know where your boxers ar—“ a few beats pass, riki face changes from pissed to confuse, when he realises it wasn’t sunghoon knowing at his door, but a brown haired girl.
a beautiful one too.
“sorry, i don’t mean to bother. but dunno told me you might have weed.. and y’know.” you start, the usual smoothness of your speeches dissolving as you take the man in front of you.
his eyebrows raise at that— you smoked? didn’t look like it.
and usually nishimura would’ve just closed the door in the person face, cause who comes outside his room asking for weed like that? still he doesn’t move.
just let his eyes rank over your body, from your boots to the curve of your lips and your brown eyes, before he shakes his head, muttering something under his breath.
“sorry, i don’t got much on me.” he gruffs, voice low and raspy, due to the blunt he had just started smoking and was now placed in the ashtray of his room.
you sigh in defeat at that, thinking about how he could give you that little he had left but still you give him a polite smile, “thanks either way. i’ll leave you be then.”
but before you can walk away, riki speaks. “actually. i was about to lit one, wanna smoke it with me?”
you blink, looking between riki and the slighty ajar door trying to think if it was smart idea or not, walking in a man room you knew nothing about just to get a good high. he noticed that. “don’t have too if you don’t feel like it, no pressure.”
that made your shoulder relax. “nah i’m cool with it.”
he let you enter his place, poison still playing in the background as you took it in.
his room was just a mirror of the vibe he radiated; poster of various music artist strached with old tape on the walls plus various ce scattered around his room. his bed was unmade, meaning he probably was laying in there until you knocked on his door.
the other side of his room was even more messy, clothes scattered everywhere, on the floor, near the desk— which, had all the things he needed; a skull grinder and an ashtray over a neat rolling tray, scatters on the sides there were many bic lighters, from studded ones to neon.
you let your eyes linger while nishimura plopped down on the bed, looking at you with a curious gaze. “y’know who dat is?” he said, lighting the blunt, the flame illuminating his features for a quick second.
“who doesn’t know who brent is?” you laugh, turning around, focusing your attention back onto the attractive man on your left.
he chuckled at that, amused. “dunno, girls these days like all that soft shit.” while passing you the blunt, making space for you to sit on his bed.
you took it from him gladly, taking a looong drag, moving the smoke from your mouth to your nose as you inhaled, letting the room fill with thick smoke. “nah, not my type of music.” you said, which made his lips turn slighty.
“you’re jake friend right, [name]?” he said aftet a few minutes, both of your eyes starting to drop slightly, your body feeling less tender then before as riki passed you the blunt once again.
that, you didn’t expect, for him to remember. and honestly? you felt a bit guilty, cause before tonight you wouldn’t have never been able to recognise him.
“yeah, how’d you know?” you say, unable to resist asking.
“he told me about you, said you were nice to talk too.” he started, letting his eyes drag over your face once again as he took another hit, the end of the blunt growling amber between y’all. “went easy about your pretty face tho.”
that made your stomach flutter, before a wave of confidence made through. “you look good too.”
low-key, you were undersolding him, but you couldn’t tell a guy you met just five minutes ago that his face was making you fuzzy all over. how could you not? his face looked like it was sculpted by the most greedy artist, sharp features covered by a few strands of hair, the caramel colour glistening in the room— and god, those eyes.
your straightforwardness earned a little cough from nishimura, the smoke clinging to hi throat for a secondo too long, not expecting you to be so.. upfront, still he appreciated. “thanks angel.”
the voice of brent faiyaz drowned you and nishimura in the quiet privacy of his room.
-
half an hour had passed, and both of you warmed up to each other, the weed helping the conversation flow with more ease.
riki found out you hated spiders, cold drinks and this stupid fraternity. you told him about your roommates, how sarah had the best clothes, and that she lends you her balenciaga city bag from time to time, or how aisha has the best spots to do graffiti.
and also, your high-giggles were very cute.
you on the other hand, learn how (kinda obv) riki doesn’t like this types of party, about his younger brother or his love for tattoos, all of them done in the span of two nights when heeseung bet 150 bucks he wouldn’t do it. so know he has four; one on his wrist, two on his torso, one more specifically on his side t the other in his back.
the now half smoked joint burns between his index and middle finger when you hum, voice slighty highed pitched then before, “i like your rings.”
your fingers brush against the silver jewellery without realising, analysing with your touch the cross ring.
he lets you, moving the blunt from the other hand, giving you more access. while you keep looking he lets his gaze move higher, taking in the way his salt lamp makes your hair look even more soft.
but then, you come to the fact that you were shamelessly touching the hand of a stranger, so you immediately pull back, “sorry..” you had, a bit embarrassed.
nishimura is quick with it, waving a hand towards you as if to say it’s okay, “s’okay, liked it.”
you both moved closer to each other after that, not needing to explain yourselves, the fabric of his distressed jeans brushing against your thigh.
your fingers traced his arm in silence, moving from his silver rings on his index and middle finger, to the dangly bracelet on his wrist, then going up.. up..
he looked at you with a boyish smirk, raised eyebrows, the weed making him more relaxed against your touch. you could feel the warmth of his skin against your finger tips, and despite how wrong it probably was, you couldn’t stop.
a few minutes passed in this thick warm silence, before riki spoke.
“have your ever tried shotgun?”
the question lingers in the air, your stoned mind taking a few more seconds than usual to catch up, before you shake your head. “mm, nah. not really.”
“why? wanna teach me?”
the question comes off more flirty than you intended.
but he doest mind, not with the way your looking at him, all red eyes and dopey smile. he shrugs, like the idea of it doesn’t make the hair on his neck rise. “if you’re up for it angel.”
then, he pats closer.
giving you the time, to choose if this is what you wanted.
so you move, turning so your back is not against his bed headrest,face to face with riki and those sharp eyes, his gaze is raw, unfiltered.
it makes you hesitate for a second.
he catches it, so he takes your wrist in his hand, and pulls you on his lap, your legs on one side.
you push him slighty at that, he holds his hand up. “sorry— hey! i said sorry.”
then, he holds the joint in his hand, looking at you. as if to say take a drag. you do, the room feeling suddenly warmer when you wrap your lips around the filter, holding the smoke there.
riki grins, red eyes looking back at you witj a quiet intensity in them. “just like that.”
“now slowly, you blow the smoke in my mouth.” he adds, leaning closer— you could see the slightest stubble on his chin that way. “got it, angel?”
you don’t say anything nor nod, just lean closer, slowly blowing the smoke into his parted lios, so close to yours. you’re not even focussed on the feeling of the weed entering your body no more, your eyes are locked on nishimura expression as he takes the smoke from you with a french inhale, waiting a few seconds near yours lips before pulling back.
“can i try it again?”
and he be damned if he said no.
but he couldn’t trust himself to speak right now, not with the way your soft lips where so close to his, or how he can feel his jeans getting tighter with you perched on his lap like this— all soft and high.
he just pass you the blunt, eyes locked on your lips, taking note with his eyes at the way your lips wrap around the filter, and how you inhale the smoke.
“you’re a natural. c’mere.” he says, voice gruff with smoke.
you follow, tilting down your head to pass him another cloud of smoke, this time even closer.
but this when he inhales, none of the two moves.
“i need you to back up pretty girl.” he hums, licking his bottom lip.
“why?” you asked, your heart thumping in your ears.
“cause i don’t think i can hol—“
and then your lips pressed against his.
you felt him inhale against your mouth, before he relaxed, taking the blunt from your fingers witj you parting away and throwing it in the ashtray.
his hands come next, finally touching too.
a warmth spread onto your thighs as he pulled you closer, while coaxing your lips open with his tongue. but then he stopped.
“you— you have a tongue piercing?” he asked, looking at you like a heaven sent sin.
“yeah..” you said.
he groaned, whispering something— prob a ‘fuck me’, before diving back into your lips.
he kissed like he wanted to make you dizzy, all tongue and teeth, but not in a harsh, repressive way.
he made you fell all of it, every flick of tongue against yours, the little breaths he had to take in between before moving right back in, while his hands kept kneeling the flesh of your thighs, making you squirm slightly.
you weren’t doing much difference to him; nishimura riki could’ve died there, in that shorty room if it meant he could keep kissing you snd that gorgeous mouth for judt a bit longer.
and jesus christ. your skin was so so soft.
“riki..” you whispered, lips parting against his, needing to catch a breath. it wasn’t a kiss anymore, just brething into each other space.
“yeah?” he asked, nipping at your bottom lip, while his hand moved higher, fingers dipping infer the hem of those nasty shorts you had on.
“i—“ you tried, words failing you when he buzz held his nose onto your neck, then your jaw, leaving a few kisses here and there.
he was definitely making you more dizzy than weed.
“shh.” he hummed agaisnt your neck, before leaving a sloppy kiss there, making your breath itch. “i got you angel, don’t worry.”
“mhm.” you sighed, tilting your head back, letting him play with you a bit more.
time dragged over, the vinyl ended a good ten minutes ago, and the smoke almost completely dissipated from his room.
but between his mouth and hands, you didn’t know which was deadlier. but you sure as hell couldn’t walk away after.
and he might’ve read your mind.
“think i’m gonna keep you here for the whole night, ‘kay angel?” he said as y’all parted away again, giving your mouth a little peck, letting you breathe.
“i need words ‘ma.” he coaxed.
“kay.” you repeated, while caressing the nape of his neck, before he stood up with you in his arms, locking the door off his room behind him.
synopsis: in the middle of a relationship argument between you and your boyfriend caused by your jealousy, ni-ki pulls you into a kiss that quickly turns into a pillow talk conversation, and the two of you work things out during a cold, rainy night beneath warm sheets.
kat's note: another fanfic involving music… maybe this is my true personality. i feel like i write really well when it comes to taking inspiration from music. anyway, enjoy reading, everyone.
Another argument intensified between you and your boyfriend, once again fueled by your jealousy after you brought up a girl from the dance studio where he worked as an instructor, and that alone was enough to trigger a fight.
“Riki, don’t try to downplay this. You get jealous too! Why can’t I point ou—”
“Because in my case, I could see those guys had intentions with you.” He sighed. “Come on, baby?! I already told you, that’s just work, okay?”
“Just work? The way she smiles at you, the way she looks at you, and the way you touch her?”
That last sentence made Nishimura turn to face you the exact moment the full thing reached his ears.
The Japanese man was tall, carried an overwhelming presence, and you knew very well how easily intimidated you became with just one look from him.
“What the hell did you just say?”
He started walking toward you with firm steps, trying to appear unreadable, while you stayed rooted in place.
“Exactly what you heard.”
Riki let out a breathy laugh and quickened his short steps until his hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“Say it again while looking at me.”
Your eyes met the sharp gaze of Nishimura Riki, making your poor, frustrated heart race with excitement.
You knew just how serious Riki could be, but you wouldn’t admit that maybe you had crossed the line — after all, you found the way he carried himself during arguments attractive.
Every argument always ended somewhere different; sometimes you wouldn’t even sleep, and other times you would just talk and each go to sleep in your respective homes.
But today felt different. The atmosphere felt different.
“I…”
You started, but froze.
Riki tightened his grip on your waist and leaned his face closer to yours, making you catch his scent, his cinnamon-laced breath mixed with the nicotine from his cigarette.
“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”
With his free hand, Riki lifted your chin, stopping you from looking away or lowering your head.
“Repeat it while looking at me.”
He repeated himself, and you felt a strong shiver travel through every part of your body, forcing you to grip your boyfriend’s strong arm.
That situation had the potential to escalate into something suggestive, and maybe playing his game wouldn’t be a total waste of time.
“…the way you touch her. I don’t like that, Nishimura.”
“The way I touch her, hm?” he chuckled softly. “And how do I touch her? Like this?”
He slid the hand that had been on your waist down to your ass and gave it a firm squeeze, making you gasp in surprise.
“Or like this?”
With the hand that had been holding your chin, Riki guided it to your breast, covered only by a thin sweater that barely needed a bra underneath.
And then he squeezed and massaged it.
Without taking his eyes off you.
“Riki…”
“Shh. I’m not done yet,” he whispered in your ear, his low, rough voice making you melt. “Do I touch her like this… by any chance?”
And finally, he pulled you back against his body and, with controlled roughness, pressed his lips against yours in the kiss you were hopelessly addicted to.
Those full, soft lips claimed yours as if he were trying to prove something.
And maybe he was.
Riki started letting his hands wander over your torso until he reached your thighs, lifting you effortlessly and placing you on his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist.
“Can you feel my hard cock?”
The moment he broke the kiss to say that, you could feel the growing bulge getting harder the longer the situation dragged on.
“What the fuck, Nishimura… I didn’t mean it like that…”
“Oh, you didn’t?” he teased. “Don’t you want to settle this a different way, hm? Aren’t you the one who says breaking routine is a good thing?!”
Feeling cornered, you stopped resisting. You wanted to lose your head.
After all, Riki was there with you on his lap, hard because of you, trying to keep himself under control in the middle of that stupid jealousy-fueled argument.
There was no reason to resist or play games.
You both hated games.
“Just fuck me already, Riki.”
A sly smile spread across the Japanese man’s swollen lips and, without wasting any time, he took you to his bedroom.
It was cozy, incredibly cozy, and the steady mid-autumn rain outside only made everything better.
You felt the softness of your boyfriend’s bed — the one you loved so much — and soon felt Nishimura’s attractive body hovering over yours with an overwhelming sense of possession.
“You know, baby?” he murmured. “You stressed me out a little, but you’re way too damn hot, and somehow you’re still attractive even when you’re being unbearable. So…” he let out a quiet chuckle. “I promise to fuck you in a torturously slow way. It's our paradise and it's our war zone.”
That being said, Riki went back to capturing your lips in a more heated kiss despite the cold. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt and black sweatpants that made it very obvious just how much he needed you.
You had irritated him, but he loved you and desired you far too much to simply stay mad.
“Fucking gorgeous… I feel like fucking you every time you have a jealous outburst,” he murmured between kisses as he moved down to your neck. “You know why? Because it only motivates me to show you how you’re the only girl I want in this whole fucking world and the only one who makes me feel sick from wanting you so badly.”
You felt your panties grow damp.
Riki’s voice—so low, so husky, and so close to your ear—was truly torture.
You let out a soft moan when he left a hickey on a spot of your neck, quickly making you place your hands on his shoulders in search of some kind of anchor.
You wanted him to kiss you, mark you, thrust into you slow, deep, and fast when you were close to coming—that was what ran through your mind. Just as filthy as your boyfriend’s mouth.
Riki wasted no time pulling up the fabric of your thin shirt and taking your breasts into his mouth as if he needed it to survive.
And his hand didn’t stay still.
He traced a short path until he reached the waistband of your shorts and, without stopping his attention to your chest, got rid of the piece of clothing, leaving you only in your gray panties.
“Do I touch her like this?” he suddenly said, massaging your soaked cunt over the thin fabric, the dampness becoming visible.
“Ahn… Riki… please…”
“Please? Why are you asking like that? Want my fingers inside you, hm?”
“Y-yes… I do! Please…”
Riki smiled and sat facing you on the mattress, lifting one of your legs onto his shoulder.
“Asking like that, I wouldn’t dare refuse.”
He moved the fabric of your panties aside, revealing your glistening intimacy, shining with uncontrollable arousal.
You wanted Ni-ki’s fingers inside you. No matter how many— you just wanted to feel them.
And he didn’t waste any time.
Slowly, Riki pushed two fingers inside you, coating them as they slid in. You moaned loudly at the sensation and spread your leg wider to give him more access.
“So sensitive. So wet. Is all of this because of me, hm? We’ve fucked so many times, darling, so why do you still get like this, hm?”
“I-I don’t kno— hmm…”
Your words were cut off by the way Riki moved his fingers.
He knew exactly how to touch you, the rhythm, and when you were enjoying it far too much — your teary eyes were always confirmation enough for the boy.
“Shh. Just enjoy it, hm? You’ve been too stressed today because of some stupid girl. Let your boyfriend show you who he really loves.”
And within just a few minutes, you had become a teary, trembling mess from nothing but the boy’s fingers. He wasn’t going to let you finish, but he realized you were at your limit when you ended up lightly squirting over his fingers.
That’s when he noticed just how needy you were.
“Oh my God, y/n. I’m actually scared of you, you know? You’re so wet it’s like a river.” he let out a husky laugh afterward.
“I can’t take it anymore, Ni-ki…”
“You have to, baby. That was only the beginning. I’ll be a good boy and let you choose. Do you want me to go down on you or do you want me inside you? Tell me."
Regardless of your choice, you were fully aware of how good things would be from now on.
But you wouldn’t lie — you really wanted your boyfriend fucking you like that. You knew he was somewhat stressed and wanted him to take it out on you.
“I want your cock inside me. Fuck me, please…”
“You’re so needy. Still think it’s worth losing your head over silly jealousy?”
Before you could answer, Riki slowly pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his own lips in an extremely erotic scene.
He lowered your leg just enough to take off his sweatpants and pull down his boxers, revealing his hard, rigid length, showing just how much he needed you too.
Nishimura brought one of his hands to his own cock and slowly stroked himself while looking directly at you.
“Look at me, kitten. Imagine taking me like this, ah…”
He bit his lower lip and stopped touching himself to place both of your legs over each side of his shoulders in a position you knew very well Riki only used when he truly wanted to torture you.
“This position right from the start?”
“What? Don’t like it? I remember perfectly well you crying from pleasure last time.”
“I-I do, but… I’m so sensitive… I don’t want to be loud, Riki! Your neighbors complained last time.”
Riki let out a deep laugh and took the chance to line himself up with your entrance, penetrating you with the kind of slowness that made your eyes roll back and drew out an instant moan from you.
Exactly like it was happening now.
He could feel how warm you were as his cock grew wetter the deeper he slid inside you. He wanted to go deep. Wanted to bury himself inside you.
“I want all the neighbors to go fuck themselves while I fuck you real good right now.”
With his cock fully inside you, Riki held onto your thighs and started a gentle session of thrusts.
Slow. Unhurried.
This was dangerous.
You moaned as he pulled out and slid back into you, feeling your wetness grow with every movement.
“It feels so fucking good…” you breathed out between moans, closing your eyes and sinking your head into the pillow.
“It feels good, hm? Like being fucked slowly? This is so delicious.”
The rain outside grew heavier, the droplets hitting the window and creating an even cozier atmosphere.
He sped up his movements, though still keeping that slow, torturous rhythm. Riki knew how needy you were and how badly you wanted him to fuck you hard.
But he wasn’t going to let something this good end in minutes.
“You thought I was pissed, didn’t you? Thought I was gonna be rough,” he laughed. “No. You deserve to be fucked slowly so you can feel me inside you — a reminder that I’d never touch another woman with second intentions.”
A deeper thrust pulled a loud moan from you.
“I just want to touch you, damn it. I just want you. I just need your fucking love.”
Another deep thrust.
And another.
And another.
“Ni-ki… aww…”
Soon, he shifted positions, spreading your legs and leaning over you, his hips meeting your pelvis in deeper thrusts — still not fast, but strong.
The moans grew louder as the motion repeated itself. You could probably both come from this alone.
“Ride me for a bit, hm?”
Breathing heavily, you shifted on the bed as soon as he pulled out of you, and now your positions were reversed.
Riki was underneath.
You carefully settled yourself over his cock, quickly feeling full again, the sensation bringing instant relief.
As soon as you started riding him, Riki kept his eyes locked on you, admiring just how unbelievably beautiful you looked in that moment.
Unable to keep still, he pulled your shirt off in one swift motion, leaving your breasts bouncing freely with every movement you made — and of course, he wouldn’t miss the chance to start sucking on one of them, making you moan louder.
Your hands moved to Riki’s soft hair, fingers tangling in the short strands to steady yourself.
With you setting your own pace, everything became even more intense for both of you, especially with nothing but your underwear tossed aside — one of Riki’s particular turn-ons.
He slid a hand up to your neck, squeezing lightly.
“You like riding, don’t you? Want me to help you go faster?”
“U-uhm…”
Riki let out a laugh against your ear before unexpectedly giving your cheek a quick slap, then reaching for your hair.
“You unbearable brat. You lose your mind over jealousy and then ride my cock like the world’s ending,” he clicked his tongue three times. “Go ahead. My cock’s your best friend right now.”
Seeing you were already starting to lose strength, Nishimura held onto you firmly and began thrusting up into you this time, moving at the speed you’d wanted from the beginning.
Not caring about the neighbors anymore, you let the moans spill out freely.
"You motherfucker!" you gasped, nearly screaming as the orgasm crashed over you. Riki didn't show any sign of stopping. "I’m so spent..."
"Spent, swollen, aching. That just makes me want to fuck you more, damn it, Y/N..."
Riki switched positions, and as if the situation couldn’t get any worse (or better), you were now on all fours. Your boyfriend gripped your waist, thrusting into you with such intensity it made you want to cry.
Between moans, as you begged him to go harder, you were also thanking God. Yes—God.
It was a profane scene, yet a necessary one. You thanked God for having a boyfriend like Nishimura Riki; you thanked Him for the fact that he loved you just as much as you loved him.
Meanwhile, Riki slapped your backside, squeezing firmly immediately after. The view before him was beautiful; he could tattoo the image of you on all fours into his mind in every possible context. It was the best sight he could ask for after an argument.
"I’m going to come... let me come in your mouth..."
As soon as his voice reached your ears—sounding just as needy and demanding as you felt—you smiled, biting your lower lip and nodding as you looked at him over your shoulder.
That was the breaking point for him.
With a few more deep thrusts and dirty words, Riki pulled out of you. Your body felt wet and swollen as he guided himself to your mouth. You took him in eagerly, the suction drawing dragged-out groans from Riki until he finally filled your mouth. The white heat of him came in such a rush that a little escaped from the corner of your lips.
He pulled back once you swallowed everything, firmly cupping your face to bring his close to yours.
"Don't you ever say again that I touch or would ever touch another woman. Because I would never do this with anyone else, even if you broke up with me right now."
You stared at him, eyes brimming with tears, and nodded without looking away.
"Now," he continued, "I want you to sit on my face. I'm going to eat you out, and I need your thighs to suffocate me."
synopsis ᛝ time and time again, heeseung has used you as an outlet to complain about the thousands of times women have done him dirty. but at this point in time, you’re fed up of hearing the same story over and over again. and somehow… you being friends with sunghoon is something he also problem has a problem with?
contents & warnings will be listed in each part
STATUS: ongoing !!! [ 04/21/2026 - tbd ]
CHAPTERS
01) part one: different girl
02) part two: i am nothing like him
03) part three: not your problem
04) part four: can’t stop thinking about it
05) part five: everyone is confusing me
06) part six: nothing
07) part seven: not my name
08) part eight: you are my problem
09) part nine: all the little unimportant details
10) part ten: my attention
11) …loading…
12) ...loading...
and more parts to come !!!
notes; i think this might become my longest smau and i wanted to give the parts titles too… so i decided to make a masterlist to make things a bit easier and to stay organized !
📁 2026.works. ╰ 📂 JAKE : SMAU/NSFW! — explicit texts !!CW : CHEATING. best friend’s boyfriend!jake cheating on her with you
—. requested by @jaeyunsbabygirl. thanks for sending your request wrote it quite easily lol i hope you’ll like it, i rlly made both jake and reader awful people LMFAOOO won’t be surprised if everyone’s getting dragged in the comments 😆safe to say this is an angsty but realistic end, known too many cases like these bruh
PART 2 ; PART 3 ; PART 4 ; PART 5 ; PART 6 ; PART 7 ; PART 8
pairing: husband!sim jake x fem! reader x perv ghost!park sunghoon
wc: 16k
read part one here.
summary: finding out that sunghoon was, in fact, a ghost hellbent on haunting you (in a flirty manner, per his words) did little to answer your questions. in fact, it only raised more questions. you set out to answer them, but find that these answers come at a price.
tags/content: smut, 18+, erotic horror + suspense + all that jazz, attempted exorcism, possession (literally), dubcon (sunghoon gaslights reader into thinking she wants it / “can’t help it”, reader tells sunghoon to stop multiple times before giving in), oral (fem receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, verbal humiliation and degradation, daddy kink (for sunghoon and jake), subspace, dom sunghoon/jake and sub reader, hickies and bruises, jake gets sick + is not doing the best for a majority of the fic, a bit of angst once we get into sunghoon’s backstory, a bit of emotional cheating (sunghoon and the reader kiss in an emotionally charged moment)
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
The door opened at 6:14pm, forty five minutes earlier than usual.
You heard his keys before you saw him, the familiar scrape of metal against the lock followed by the particular sound his shoulder made against the door when he pushed it open. He'd been coming home earlier every day since it happened. Twenty minutes the first day. Thirty the next. Like he was slowly, incrementally unwilling to leave you alone in the house for any longer than his job required.
He found you on the couch with a book open in your lap. You hadn't been reading it. The same page had been facing up for the better part of an hour, the words refusing to arrange themselves into anything meaningful. It gave your hands something to hold and your eyes somewhere to rest, and that had felt like enough.
Jake crossed the room before he'd even set his bag down. His coat was still on, carrying the cold from outside with it, and he crouched in front of you with both hands coming up to cup your face. His palms were cool against your cheeks. His eyes moved over you in quick, methodical passes, checking the way you'd seen paramedics check accident victims on television.
"Hi," you said.
"Hi." He turned your hands over in his, examining your palms and then your wrists before apparently finding nothing to alarm him. He exhaled through his nose. "How was today?"
"Quiet."
"Quiet how?"
You understood what he was asking. "Nothing happened. No sounds. Nothing moved. It was just a regular day."
Some of the tightness around his eyes loosened but didn't disappear entirely. He sat back on his heels, still holding both your hands, not quite ready to let go. The coat was making him look broader than usual, more substantial, and you noticed he hadn't been sleeping well either. There were shadows beneath his eyes that hadn't been there a month ago and a tension in his jaw that didn't fully release even now.
"You ate?" he asked.
"Lunch and a snack."
"Water?"
"Jake."
"I'm just asking."
"I know you are." You squeezed his hands once before extracting yours from his grip. "I'm okay. You don't have to come home and inventory me every evening."
He stood and finally shrugged his coat off, draping it over the armchair with less care than he usually gave his things. He remained standing, which meant he wasn't done yet. You waited.
"The pills are still in the cabinet?"
"Exactly where we left them."
Neither of you had touched the two bottles since the night everything happened. They sat side by side on the bathroom shelf in their matching orange containers, one real and one not, and there was no way to know which was which without testing them. Jake had suggested throwing both away. You'd suggested keeping them as evidence of something, though evidence for what and presented to whom remained unclear. The bottles had stayed.
"We should throw them out," he said. Same suggestion, different evening.
"Maybe."
He dragged one hand through his hair and looked at the wall instead of at you. The new curtains hung in the window behind him, the vanilla linen fabric catching the last of the afternoon light and diffusing it into something soft. You'd chosen them to make the room feel less like it was closing in. Some days it worked.
"I keep thinking about what it means that he hasn't come back," Jake said. His voice was careful. He was choosing each word with the deliberateness of someone who had rehearsed this conversation on his commute home. "Whether he's waiting for something or whether he's just."
"Done?"
"I don't know what done looks like for something like him."
Something. Not someone, but something. Sunghoon was not a something, you knew that with a certainty that sat in your chest separate from everything else, quieter than the fear. Whatever Sunghoon was, whatever category he occupied, he was not a something. He had a name and a history and a reason for haunting you two that neither of you knew.
That was the part that sat heaviest, the not knowing. Sunghoon had vanished mid-sentence, or close enough to it, and left the two of you standing in your kitchen with the specific silence that follows something enormous. You'd replayed it enough times to have worn grooves in the memory.
Jake finally sat down beside you on the couch. The cushion dipped under his weight and you shifted automatically toward him, closing the small gap between your bodies. His hand found your knee.
"Are you scared?" he asked. Quietly, like the house might hear.
You considered lying. It would have been easy and kind and he would have believed you because he needed to. But you'd spent enough of the past weeks saying things that weren't true just to keep the peace, and it had cost you something you were still trying to calculate.
"Yes," you said. "But not the same way I was before."
"Before I was scared and alone in it. Now I'm just scared." You looked down at his hand on your knee, at the small scar on his thumb from the cooking accident. "That's different enough."
Jake turned your words over in silence. Somewhere in the walls the heater clicked on, and you both went still for just a moment before recognizing the sound for what it was. It’s a habit now, probably one that would take a long time to unlearn.
"Okay," he said finally. His thumb moved in a slow arc across your knee. "Okay."
The room settled around you. Outside, the light was doing its early evening thing, going golden and thin before the dark came in. You stayed where you were. Waiting, both of you, for something neither of you could name.
You'd made something simple for dinner. Rice, a protein, and some vegetables that had been sitting in the crisper long enough that using them felt responsible. The kitchen smelled warm and ordinary, which was a comfort in itself. Ordinary had become something you actively cultivated now, sought out in small domestic moments the way you used to seek out novelty.
The plates were already set out on the counter. You were spooning rice when you felt hands. They slid beneath the hem of your shirt from behind, palms pressing flat against your bare waist with a familiarity that expected no resistance. A body closed the distance behind you, chest to your shoulder blades. Their weight settled against you like it belonged there.
You went rigid.
Your first instinct was Jake, was always Jake, your nervous system still wired to read his presence as safe. But something else registered before that reflex could complete itself. You knew Jake's hands in the specific way you knew your own face, the particular width of his palm and the way his fingers curved and the slight roughness along his right index finger. These hands were different. Longer fingers gave them a different weight entirely.
The spoon clicked against the pot as you set it down too quickly.
"Don't." The word came out barely above a whisper.
He didn't move away. The hands stayed where they were, thumbs tracing slow arcs against your sides in a gesture that felt less like provocation and more like something automatic, muscle memory from a life lived so long ago it had calcified into instinct.
His mouth found the nape of your neck.
The kiss was feather-light and deliberate, placed with a precision that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing. You drew a sharp breath. Another kiss followed, lower, trailing down toward your shoulder. Your fingers found the counter edge and held on.
You should have said his name. You should have told him to stop, moved away, done any of the reasonable things a person did when a ghost pressed his lips to their neck in the kitchen while their husband's dinner was getting cold.
You couldn’t move.
His forehead came to rest against the curve of your shoulder. The weight of it was slight, barely there, like something trying to remember how to be solid. You felt him breathe in like he was committing something to memory or retrieving something he'd almost lost.
The stillness stretched. Whatever he was doing, it wasn't about you, not entirely You understood that without being able to explain how.
Then he said a name that wasn’t yours.
He said it quietly, almost to himself, the single word carrying the specific exhaustion of something repeated so many times it had worn smooth.
The cold vanished. The weight against your back dissolved so completely that you stumbled slightly forward, your hip catching the counter for the second time in recent memory. You stood alone in the kitchen with the steam rising from the pot and your own reflection staring back at you from the dark window above the sink.
You didn't move for a long moment. The name he'd said was still sitting in the air around you, or felt like it was, though you couldn't have repeated it. It hadn't been meant for you to keep.
The back door opened and Jake came in from the garage, still pulling his earbuds out. He'd gone to get something from the car after dinner had started. He looked at you, then at the counter, then back at you.
"Everything okay? Rice isn't burning is it?"
"No," you said. "It's fine."
He came to stand beside you and peered into the pot with the mild interest of someone who had never once worried about a ghost in his kitchen. His shoulder pressed warm and solid against yours.
You picked the spoon back up and finished plating the food.
────୨ৎ────
Jake had been asleep for twenty minutes but his grip hadn't loosened at all.
He was buried against your chest with his face pressed into the fabric of your shirt, one arm locked around your waist and the other fisted in the blanket beside you. Even in sleep he was bracing against something. His breathing had evened out into the slow, heavy rhythm that meant he was genuinely under, the kind of deep exhausted sleep that had been coming for him earlier and earlier each night. His body was simply giving out by a certain hour regardless of what his mind wanted.
You kept your left hand moving in slow circles up his spine, across his shoulder blades, and back down. The repetitive motion had become its own kind of ritual lately, something you did without thinking. He settled incrementally under the touch, the tension in his shoulders releasing by degrees, his grip on your waist staying firm even as the rest of him softened.
Your other hand held your phone.
You'd told yourself you were just going to check your messages. That had been forty minutes ago.
The address search had turned up nothing useful. All you found was generic listing history, and square footage.The house had changed hands three times in the past fifteen years according to the property records, which told you something without telling you enough. Three sets of people who had either left voluntarily or been driven out. You wondered briefly which category you would eventually fall into.
You cleared the search and typed his name.
Sunghoon. Just his name and the address.
Nothing came up aside from a few cached real estate pages and a community forum post from years ago that led nowhere. The scrolling continued anyway, the blue light from the screen washing over Jake's sleeping face. There was only the particular blankness of someone who had died before the internet had any reason to remember him.
The ceiling got a long look. Against your collarbone, Jake exhaled slowly.
Then, you typed his name and the name he had said in the kitchen.
You kept the search vague, first name only, not wanting to give weight to something that still felt like it belonged to him rather than to you. The results loaded slowly on the house's unreliable wifi.
Again, there wasn't much for people who died in the years before everything got documented automatically.
A digitized local newspaper archive appears first, the kind a county historical society maintained out of obligation rather than enthusiasm, with scanned pages that loaded in uneven chunks. A brief mention in a community column from what appeared to be the late nineties, the print slightly smudged in the scan. A young man named Park Sunghoon, recently settled on a quiet residential street, mentioned in the context of a neighborhood welcome piece the paper apparently ran periodically. The address matched yours. He was described in two short sentences as a new homeowner and a promising young professional. The column moved on to someone else immediately after.
You scrolled further down to the death notice. It was tucked into the bottom corner of a page. The date was consistent with what you'd guessed, late nineties, early two thousands at the latest. No cause listed. Survived by no immediate family. Services private.
That was all. Just two small mentions in a local paper that no one had read in decades, now preserved on a server somewhere because someone had decided local history was worth the storage cost.
You locked your phone and set it face down on the nightstand.
Jake stirred slightly at the movement, a small sound escaping him that wasn't quite a word. His grip tightened around you, fingers pressing into your side.
"Shh." Your hand found his hair automatically, fingers threading through it in slow passes. "It's okay. Go back to sleep."
He made another sound, lower this time, his brow furrowing against your collarbone. His body was caught in that particular in-between state, not asleep enough to stay under but too exhausted to fully wake, hovering at the surface with his grip tight and his breathing uneven.
"I'm here," you said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."
Something in him seemed to locate that and hold onto it. The furrow in his brow smoothed by a few degrees. His grip loosened slowly, his fingers relaxing one by one until his hand lay heavy and open against your side. His breathing evened back out, slow and deep, and he went boneless against you. You resumed the slow circles up his spine, across his shoulders, and back down.
Sunghoon survived by no immediate family.
You thought about the name he'd said into your shoulder. It had come out of him like something involuntary, like a word his mouth still knew by heart even after everything else had faded. You thought about how he'd stood in your house for twenty or thirty years with no one left who remembered him existed, driving out strangers because the alternative was watching them be happy in a place that still felt like his.
The heater clicked on somewhere in the walls. Jake didn't stir this time. Your eyes grew heavy before you'd decided to let them close.
────୨ৎ────
You woke slowly, cautious. The room felt quiet except the ambient stillness of early morning, gray light pressing through the curtains in thin strips.
Jake's weight was warm against your chest. His hair tickled your chin. You let yourself exhale.
Then you registered that something was wrong.
The arm around your waist was too light. The hair under your chin was the wrong texture, softer than it should have been, and the body curled against you carried that particular temperature you'd felt twice now in the kitchen.
Your eyes opened.
Sunghoon had his face tucked neatly against your collarbone, eyes closed, one hand resting against your ribs with a casualness that suggested he'd been there for a while. He looked completely unbothered. More than that, he looked comfortable, like he'd simply relocated to the most logical place available and found the arrangement satisfactory.
You stopped breathing.
"Where is Jake." The words came out flat and very quiet.
Sunghoon's eyes didn't open. "Shower."
"I don't hear the shower."
"He just got in."
You strained to listen. Nothing reached you from down the hall. The house sat in perfect unbroken silence, and the dread that had been living in your chest since the kitchen began its familiar crawl upward toward your throat.
"Sunghoon." You tried to sit up. His arm tightened slightly. "I need you to let me up right now."
"You were going to wake him anyway. Just wait."
"That is not the point."
He finally tilted his head up to look at you. His expression was unhurried, faintly amused, the same expression he probably wore when he moved your mugs to the cabinet under the sink and waited to see what you'd do.
"He's fine," Sunghoon said simply, like the answer was obvious. "I don't hurt people."
You wanted to point out that swapping someone's medication without their knowledge occupied a complicated moral territory, but before you could find the words the bathroom door clicked open down the hall.
Jake's footsteps were immediately recognizable. They were heavy and grounded, landing with the full weight of a living person moving through space. You heard him pause at the bedroom doorway.
He saw your face first.
"Hey." He crossed the room immediately, moving with that particular urgency he'd developed recently where your expression functioned as a warning system. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"
"I'm okay." Your voice didn't fully cooperate.
The mattress dipped with his weight as he reached for you. His hand found your arm in the space where Sunghoon's arm still rested across your ribs. Jake's movement stilled. The furrow between his brows deepened in the specific way it did when he was trying to make sense of something that wasn't making sense.
His eyes weren’t registering what his hands felt. There was some texture or resistance in the air that didn't belong there, and you watched him process it in real time with the careful concentration of someone trying to solve a problem using only one of their senses. His eyes moved slowly across the space beside you, tracking the shape of something his hand could feel but his vision couldn't confirm. The harder he looked, the less he found.
Sunghoon watched Jake with mild disinterest. If anything, he seemed faintly entertained.
"It's cold," Jake said slowly. You knew he wasn’t talking about the temperature.
"Jake."
He looked at you. His eyes were very alert now, all traces of sleep gone. "Is he here?"
You didn't answer immediately .Sunghoon's gaze slid from Jake back to you. The mild disinterest he'd been performing gave way to something more entertaining. His mouth curved into that slow unhelpful smile that meant he had something to say.
"Take your time," he said pleasantly. "It's not like I have anywhere else to go."
You held his gaze for just a moment longer than necessary, communicating without words exactly what you thought of that, and then turned back to your husband.
"Yes," you said. "He's here."
Jake's jaw tightened. His hand remained exactly where it was, still in contact with whatever part of Sunghoon's presence he could register without being able to see it. He didn't move away, you noticed. A month ago, he would have moved away.
"Tell him," Jake said carefully, each word deliberate, "to get off my wife."
Sunghoon's smirk deepened. He lifted his arm from your waist with exaggerated slowness and sat up, the mattress registering almost nothing under his weight. The cold receded.
You sat up too, pulling your knees to your chest. The room felt different with all three of you occupying it in whatever way each of you occupied space.
"Good morning," Sunghoon said pleasantly, to no one in particular.
Jake looked at the space the voice had come from, already talking before he'd fully processed where to direct it.
"I know you're here." He was addressing the room. The careful measured patience he'd been maintaining for weeks worn down to something rawer underneath. "I don't know what you think you're doing but she is my wife and you don't get to put your hands on her. You don't get to be anywhere near her. I don't care whose house this is or how long you've been here. She is mine and you need to stay the hell away from her."
Sunghoon tilted his head. "Tell him his wife is very pretty and it's a shame she's wasted on someone so boring."
You looked at Jake. The line of his jaw was tight, his shoulders squared against something he couldn't even see. He was holding himself together with visible effort, standing his ground in front of empty air and trusting entirely on your word that it landed somewhere. There was something almost painful about watching it.
"He says he hears you," you said.
Sunghoon looked at you flatly. The smile had gone somewhere quieter and more dangerous. "That is not what I said."
"I know."
"Tell him what I actually said." The lightness in his voice hadn't left yet but something underneath it had shifted. His fingers had stilled at his sides.
"Absolutely not."
"Tell him." His voice dropped into something lower, more deliberate. "Word for word. Don't do that."
Jake's eyes had been moving between you and the space beside you, tracking the conversation he could only access through your half of it. "You're translating for him right now aren't you? What did he actually say?"
You pressed your lips together.
"Tell me."
"He said you seem like a boring husband." You kept your voice neutral. "That's the general idea."
Sunghoon laughs sharply.
"Capable after all," he said, with the tone of someone genuinely surprised by a dog that had learned a new trick. "He pushed until he got something. I'll give him that much."
You turned to look at him. "Don't."
Sunghoon rolled his eyes, slow and theatrical, like you were the unreasonable one in this situation. He said nothing. The smile stayed exactly where it was, settled comfortably on his face.
Jake's jaw tightened and his hand came up slowly, fingers spread wide as he moved them through the air beside you with careful intent. They didn't close around anything solid, but they stopped, held there against what looked like nothing. There was a pressure with no visible source, as though the air itself had decided it wasn't going to cooperate with him. He kept his hand there anyway.
Sunghoon glanced down at the space where Jake's fingers hovered above his chest. He didn't step back or give Jake the satisfaction of acknowledging that had actually reached him. What he did instead was redirect his attention entirely back to you. One knee found the mattress beside your hip and his weight shifted in increments, redistributing until the distance between you became something else entirely, close enough that looking at him required you to tip your chin up.
"Tell him to stop embarrassing himself," Sunghoon said pleasantly.
Jake looked so tired. He looked like someone who had been running on adrenaline for days and was starting to feel the bill coming due. The version of him that had always been able to fix things by showing up and being present was failing in real time and he knew it.
Something in your chest pulled tight. You looked away from Jake's suspended hand before it could settle into something worse.
"Let him see you," you said.
"No." is all Sunghoon says.
"He's right here." You kept your voice measured even though it wanted to be something else. "He knows you're here. He can feel you. Just let him.”
"No." His tone is firmer this time. His eyes stayed on yours the entire time, which somehow made it worse than if he had looked away.
"Sunghoon." You said his name with more weight than you intended, and something in his expression shifted at the sound of it. "Look at him. Please."
"He's fine," Sunghoon said.
"He is not fine. He is sitting here blind and you're-"
"He'll live. That's more than I got."
The room went quiet.
Jake squeezed your hand. "What's he saying?"
You looked at Sunghoon for a moment longer. His eyes dropped from yours, breaking the contact he had held so steadily through everything else, and the teasing fell away with it. What was left underneath sat on his expression quietly, unguarded in a way he didn't seem to notice. Serious in a way that felt like it had been there the whole time, waiting for the performance to run out of room.
"Nothing," you said. "He's not saying anything right now."
He had turned his gaze somewhere past you, toward the gray morning light pressing thin and pale through the vanilla linen curtains, close enough that you could have reached out and touched him if touching him worked the way touching worked with living people. He looked like he was thinking about something that had nothing to do with the room.
"Make him leave," Jake said quietly. The anger had gone out of his voice and left only exhaustion.
You glanced at Sunghoon. He didn't look back at you, his gaze still settled somewhere in the middle distance, expression unreadable in the gray light.
"He won't," you said.
Jake exhaled slowly, accepting in a way that cost him something. "Okay."
Jake's thumb traced slow arcs across your knuckles, the same absent gesture he made without thinking in order to ground you for years before any of this. Your fingers laced through his on top of the blanket. Neither of you had done it consciously. It had just happened the way breathing happened, the way two people who had been reaching for each other in the dark for long enough eventually did it without needing to think.
Beside you, Sunghoon went still. You could feel it despite not touching him. Living in close proximity to something teaches you its patterns whether you want to learn them or not, and you had learned his without ever deciding to.
When you did look, his expression had closed over.
The easy amusement was now completely gone. The teasing quality that lived in the corners of his mouth had gone flat and still, and what remained underneath was something older and less composed. His eyes had moved from your joined hands up to your face, and then to Jake's profile. The look on his face was the specific look of someone who understood something they wished they didn't.
Your stomach dropped. You knew that expression. "Sunghoon." His name came out of you low and urgent.
He didn't respond. His gaze had settled on Jake with a focus that made the air feel heavier, charged in a way that raised the fine hairs along your arms.
"Hey." You shifted, moving without fully deciding to move, and your free hand found his arm. Or found the space where his arm was, the particular resistance and cold that mapped the shape of him even when he wasn't fully solid. Your fingers closed around it anyway. "Don't. Whatever you're thinking right now, don't."
He looked down at your hand on his arm. Something moved across his face.
"I'm not going to-" he started.
"Please." The word tore out of you before you could shape it into anything more composed. With it came everything you had been holding at a manageable distance for days. Your own body had stopped feeling reliable in ways you didn't have language for yet. The mood swings ambushed you without warning, and the fear had taken up permanent residence in your chest without ever agreeing to leave. It had all been sitting there, stacked and waiting. Now it rose at once and crested before you could get ahead of it. Your eyes filled before you could stop them.
"Please don't hurt him." Your voice had gone unsteady, each word requiring more effort than the last to keep from breaking apart entirely. "I know you're angry. I know this is your house and we're the ones who don't belong here but please. He's just - he's trying. He doesn't understand any of this and he's so scared. He's still here and he's still trying, and I can't-" You stopped, tried to draw a breath that didn't fully cooperate. "I can't watch you hurt him. I can't."
The tears came properly then, the kind that arrived with their own momentum once they started, blurring the room into soft and indistinct shapes. You were dimly aware of how you must look, gripping the arm of a ghost in your own bedroom while your husband sat on your other side unable to see any of it.
Sunghoon had gone very still.
He was looking at your face with an expression you hadn't seen on him before. His gaze traveled over the specific way your brow pulled together and the way your mouth trembled slightly at the corners.
He lifted his free hand slowly.
His fingers didn't quite reach your face. They hovered at the edge of it, close enough that you felt the cold radiating from them against your wet cheek. His expression had cracked open in a way that made him look younger than you'd ever seen him, and so profoundly tired.
"Hey." Jake's voice came from your other side, low and close. He had turned toward you fully, whatever he'd been processing about Sunghoon's presence temporarily overridden by the more immediate fact of you crying. His hand released yours only to come up and cup your face instead, warm and solid. His thumb sweeps the tears from your cheekbone with practiced care. "Hey. Look at me. What happened? What did he do?"
"Nothing." You turned toward him despite yourself, the warmth of his hands pulling you in. "He didn't do anything. I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
"I know." A sound escaped you that was almost a laugh. "I know I'm not fine."
Jake pulled you against his chest without further discussion, his arms coming around you and gathering you in. His hand cradled the back of your head. His heart beats steady and reliable under your ear.
You felt Sunghoon's cold recede.
The temperature in the air beside you lifts degree by degree, the particular weight of his presence thinning and dissolving the way it always did when he left. This time it felt less like disappearing and more like withdrawing. It almost felt like someone backing out of a room quietly so as not to disturb the people inside.
By the time Jake pressed his lips to the top of your head, the cold was gone entirely.
The bedroom felt larger without him in it. Maybe it was just emptier in a way that had its own distinct quality, a silence that wasn't the same as the silence before he'd arrived. Jake rocked you slightly, whispering quiet comforts into your hair. You let him, staring at the space where Sunghoon had been.
Outside the window the morning light was finally coming in properly. A new day was announcing itself with complete indifference to everything that had just occurred inside these walls.
────୨ৎ────
Jake had fallen back asleep eventually, his body simply refusing to stay conscious any longer regardless of what his mind wanted. You'd waited until his breathing deepened and his grip on you loosened before carefully extracting yourself from the bed. You'd pulled on a sweater from the floor and taken your phone and your charger to the kitchen.
You sat at the kitchen table with both hands wrapped around your mug and opened the county assessor's website.
It took longer than it should have, the interface clearly designed by someone who had never considered that a person might actually want to use it. You navigated through several dead ends before finding the property records search. You typed in your address and waited while the page loaded in pieces.
The ownership history came up in a simple table. Dates on the left, names on the right.
Your names were at the top, the ink barely dry in the legal sense. Above yours were the previous owners, a couple who had held the property for six years before selling. Above them, another name you didn't recognize, a single owner who had held it briefly, less than two years. The kind of short tenure that told its own quiet story.
And above that, transferred from estate, Park Sunghoon.
The date of the estate transfer was consistent with the death notice you'd found. That meant the name above his, the name listed as co-owner on the original deed, had been there from the beginning. They had moved into this house alongside him when it was newly built and the porch railing had been straight and sturdy.
You stared at her name for a moment before opening a new tab.
The marriage record was public, appearing grainily on your screen. But both names were legible, dated roughly two years before Sunghoon's name had first appeared on the deed. The house had come after the marriage.
The divorce filing took longer to locate. Court records required navigating a different database entirely, one that loaded even more slowly and offered even less guidance. You followed several wrong turns before you found the right county court archive and typed her name into the search field.
It returned one result.
The filing date landed in the same year as the estate transfer, close enough that you had to check it twice. The divorce had been finalized in the spring. Sunghoon's death notice had run in a local paper the following autumn. Somewhere between those two dates, in the span of a single unremarkable summer, whatever had been left of him after she walked out had apparently run its course.
You thought about the way he'd said her name into your shoulder, like it was something his body still did without consulting him.
Her remarriage record appeared in a different county, which explained why it had taken longer to surface. She'd moved after the divorce, put distance between herself and his house and whatever had happened inside it.
She had left and moved forward. Meanwhile, Sunghoon had stayed. The house had changed hands twice more since then, each new owner leaving their own small marks on the walls and the floors while he remained fixed in place, tethered to something that had stopped existing the moment she signed those papers.
You closed the tabs one by one. You still didn't know how he'd died.
The coffee had gone cold while you were reading. You wrapped both hands around the mug anyway, needing something solid and present to hold onto.
Fourteen months and she had been someone else's wife. Here he was, thirty years later, still in this kitchen saying her name into the shoulders of women who walked through his door and reminded him of something he could no longer fully reconstruct.
You heard Jake's footsteps on the stairs. He appeared in the kitchen doorway looking rumpled and sleep-soft, crossing the room to fold himself around you from behind without preamble. His arms came over your shoulders and his chin found the top of your head.
"Morning," you said.
"Mm. What are you doing up?"
"Couldn't sleep."
"Were you on your phone?"
"Just reading."
He made a low sound that wasn't a question and wasn't quite acceptance either. His arms tightened slightly. You put your hands over his where they crossed at your collarbone and felt him exhale slowly against the top of your head.
"What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?" he asks. The question was carefully casual.
"Nothing planned," you said. "Why?"
"Thought you could get out of the house for a bit. Maybe you can go to that bookstore you mentioned a few weeks ago. Or just drive around. Whatever you want." His chin shifted against your hair. "You've barely left since everything happened."
That was true. The walk where the neighbor had called it the bad house felt like it belonged to a different chapter entirely.
"Maybe," you said. You looked down at your phone face down on the table and thought about the county records website still sitting in your browser history. "I could actually go to the library and do some more research."
Jake's arms went still. It lasted only a second or two before his hold resettled. You noticed.
"Or," you said, keeping your voice light, "we could just go together. It can be a date. We haven't done that in a while."
"You should have time to yourself," he said. "You've been cooped up in here with me for weeks."
"I like being cooped up with you."
"You'd have more fun without me."
You turned in his arms to look at him properly. He let you reposition without releasing you, his hands finding your waist, but his eyes had gone to a careful neutral that you recognized. The same neutral he used in difficult conversations at work, the one that meant he was managing something.
"Jake." You studied his face. "Do you not want to come?"
"I just think you need space."
"You've been glued to me for two weeks because you're scared to leave me alone and now you want to give me space?”
He opened his mouth and then closed it again. His jaw tightened slightly.
"The fresh air will be good for you," he said finally. "It’ll give you time to think."
"You could also get fresh air. You could also think."
"I have some things to take care of here."
"What things?”
"Just,” He waves his hand dismissively. “Things."
"What things, Jake?” You ask, more firmly this time.
"Just house stuff." The words came out slightly too quickly. "The porch railing. I keep saying I'm going to fix it."
"You want to fix the porch railing tomorrow afternoon.”
"It's been loose for weeks."
"It has been loose for weeks," you agreed slowly. "And you just decided that tomorrow is the day."
"I just want you to have a nice afternoon," he said, quieter now. The careful neutral slips slightly at the edges into something more genuine and more difficult to argue with. "That's all. I'm not trying to get rid of you."
The last sentence landed a beat too late to be fully convincing.
He was scared. He had been scared for weeks. Fear did things to people, made them act in sideways directions and construct plans they couldn't explain out loud because explaining them would require admitting how frightened they actually were.
You understood that. You'd been living inside your own version of it for longer than he had.
"Okay," you said.
His shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. "Yeah?"
"I'll go to the library." You turned back around and pulled his arms back over your shoulders and felt him exhale slowly against your hair. "But you're taking me to dinner after. Somewhere nice."
"Wherever you want," he says too quickly.
You laced your fingers through his and wondered what exactly he was planning to do with an empty afternoon and why he needed you gone to do it.
────୨ৎ────
The library visit dissolved into two hours of dead ends and digitized records that told you nothing you hadn't already found from your kitchen table. You'd sat near the window with your notebook open and had written almost nothing in it. Eventually you'd packed up and driven home with the radio off.
You were halfway down the block when you saw the car pulling out of your driveway.
It was dark colored, moving with the unhurried pace of someone who had finished what they came to do. You slowed without thinking, watching it complete its turn and head in the opposite direction. By the time you'd pulled into the driveway and cut the engine it had already disappeared around the corner.
You sat for a moment with your keys in your hand before heading inside.
"Jake?"
The house felt different. Not the way it felt when Sunghoon was present. This was something else. There was a disturbance with different dimensions.
You found Jake in the living room.
He was sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his head hanging forward. When he looked up at you his eyes were slightly unfocused, like he was having difficulty locating you in the room despite you standing directly in front of him.
"Hey." His voice came out rough.
"Hey." You set your bag down slowly. "Are you okay?"
He opened his mouth. It took him visible effort to speak, like he was searching for words in a language he'd had to translate first. "Fine."
"You don't look fine." You crossed the room and crouched in front of him, bringing yourself level with his eyeline. Up close the disorientation was more apparent. His gaze kept losing focus and then finding you again. "How long have you been like this?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Your chest softened. You thought about the anniversary, two years ago, when he'd spent three days convinced he wasn't sick and then collapsed at the restaurant table with a fever. He'd apologized the entire drive to urgent care like getting ill was something he'd done to you personally.
"Baby." You reached up and pressed your palm to his forehead. "Did you ask me to leave because you didn't want me to catch whatever this is? You should have just told me, I wouldn't have-”
His hand closed around your wrist.
The grip came fast and certain, locking around the bone with a pressure that sent a spike of pain straight up your arm. Before you'd processed what was happening, he'd risen from the couch and used the momentum to turn you, your back meeting the mattress in the bedroom with an impact that knocked the air from your lungs. You hadn't even registered moving through the hallway.
One moment you were standing in the living room and the next the ceiling was above you. You stared up at him from the bed, winded.
"Jake." The word came out thin.
He looked down at you. Something was wrong with his expression. The same features had been picked up and set back down by someone who understood them technically but not quite intuitively. You had looked at Jake's face more times than you could count and this was not quite that.
The hallway came back to you first. The impossible speed of it and the way the distance between the couch and the bedroom collapsed in no time at all, faster than a person could possibly move.
Jake always used both hands when he was like this because he always wanted more contact rather than less. He pulled people toward him and he never pinned. One hand holding your wrist above your head instead of two was not a small difference.
"You're home early." His head tilted to one side at an angle you had never seen Jake use once in all the time you had known him. The cadence was off by a fraction, a rhythm that belonged to someone who had learned Jake's speech patterns from the outside rather than lived inside them.
Sunghoon had never once needed Jake's body to make his presence known before today.
"Jake doesn't tilt his head like that," you said quietly.
The grip on your wrist didn't change. He looked at you with Jake's eyes and Jake's face and that expression that belonged to neither of them.
"Jake doesn't pin me down with one hand either," you continued. Your voice was steadier than you had any right to expect from it. "He always uses both. He likes the contact."
A pause.
Then the corner of Jake's mouth moved, pulling at borrowed features in a way that confirmed everything your instincts had already assembled.
"Clever girl," Sunghoon said, from inside your husband's voice.
The wrongness of it moved through you like cold water. It was Jake's voice but the cadence belonged to Sunghoon entirely, that particular unhurried amusement sitting in it like it owned the place. All of it was arriving through the wrong instrument and filtered through the wrong body. The combination was the most frightening thing you'd encountered in this house yet.
Which was considerable.
Then Sunghoon, speaking through Jake's voice like he had every right to it, said: "So. What are you going to do about it?"
"Sunghoon." You yanked your wrist back and he let you take it, which was somehow worse than if he hadn't. You scrambled upright and pressed your back against the headboard, putting as much mattress between you as the bed allowed. "Get out of him. Right now."
Jake's face arranged itself into an expression of mild offense. "That's your reaction? Not even a hello?"
"I said get out."
"You're angry." He settled onto the edge of the bed. The posture he did it with was Jake's, easy and loose in a way that stopped your breath for a second. You hadn't seen Jake's body that relaxed since before you moved into this house. Sunghoon wore it without effort, completely unbothered, like he had simply sat down for a pleasant conversation and hadn't just thrown you onto a mattress using your husband's body thirty seconds ago."That's funny."
"It's not funny. It's not remotely funny. Get out of him right now or I swear-"
"You swear what?" His head tilted into the wrong angle again. "You're angry at me. Do you want to talk about who actually deserves your anger right now?"
"Don't."
"There was a priest here today." He watched your face when he said it. "Did you know that? Did your husband mention he was having someone come to the house while you were conveniently somewhere else? That he arranged it specifically so you wouldn't be here to know about it?"
"A priest," you repeated. You felt the small interior flinch move through you before you could get ahead of it.
"Left about twenty minutes before you turned onto the street. He was an older man, very serious. There was a whole bag of things he was very confident about." He settled back slightly, comfortable in Jake's body in a way that made your stomach turn."It didn't work, obviously. But I thought you should know that your husband has been making decisions about this house, about me, without telling you a single word about it."
The familiar shape of that particular hurt moved through your chest. Jake had known. Jake had pointed you toward the library with a carefully casual question and smiled at you on your way out the door while someone with a bag of certainties was already on their way to your house. Somewhere along the way he decided that consulting you was not a necessary part of the process.
"That doesn't give you the right to-"
"Your husband treats me like a nuisance to be managed." The conversational warmth had vacated Sunghoon's voice completely. "He walks through these rooms like the right combination of effort and resourcefulness will eventually produce a result he can live with. He has spent weeks under this roof without once arriving at the conclusion that he is the guest here and I am not. He required a demonstration."
"So your solution was to take over his body." Your voice came out unsteady in a way you hadn't intended. "That seemed proportionate to you."
"That seemed practical to me. It’s working, isn’t it?"
"Get. Out."
Sunghoon began moving across the mattress toward you.Your shoulders met the headboard as he came closer. Something in the way he inhabited Jake's body read as slightly foreign, a rhythm that approximated Jake's without fully committing to it. His knuckles found your jaw and traveled along it with a slowness that made the tenderness feel deliberate. Your body registered Jake's familiar warmth, producing a response entirely without your permission. The tension in your shoulders released by a fraction and the betrayal of it made your face heat.
"Stop." The firmness you had intended was mostly absent from your voice.
He paid no attention to what you had said. His lips found the curve of your neck just below your ear. Your body recognized the weight and warmth of Jake with loyalty. Your hands came up with the full intention of pushing him back and then found the fabric of his shirt and held on without consulting you at all.
Sunghoon made a quiet sound against your neck that might have been satisfaction.
"Stop it." Your fingers tightened in the fabric. "This isn't fair and you know it."
"I am aware of that." His mouth moved to your collarbone, Jake's mouth moving with an intention that had nothing of Jake in it. "Or else what? You won't hurt him to get to me."
Another kiss, lower than the last. "That’s the problem here. You can’t reach me right now without going through him first."
You hated the specific trap of it, the way he'd made himself unreachable by making himself indistinguishable. Most of all, you hated the way your body was simply refusing to receive the correct message.
"Sunghoon." You said his name deliberately, not Jake's. You aimed it past the borrowed face and the borrowed hands at whatever was sitting underneath all of it. "I know about the divorce."
He went still.
"I found the records of the court filing and the remarriage in a different county fourteen months later." You kept your voice level with effort. "I know what those months probably looked like. What Jake did today was wrong and I'm going to tell him that. But this isn't-"
It moved through Jake's features all at once. The amusement collapsed like a structure losing its foundation and what surfaced underneath carried a heat Jake's face had never held before. Not once in all the time you had known him had he looked like this. You had seen Jake frustrated. You had seen him tired and sad and stretched thin. None of those expressions looked anything like what was sitting on his face right now. He pulled back just far enough to look at you and what occupied his eyes had nothing of him anywhere in it.
"Dirty laundry," he said quietly. "You went and dug up all my dirty laundry."
"I was trying to understand—"
"You were trying to understand." He repeated it back with a flatness that made the words sound foolish coming back to you. A laugh followed, short and completely without warmth, arriving through Jake's voice in a way that made your stomach turn. Jake's laugh was one of your favorite sounds in the world. This was not that. "Now you feel sorry for me. Now you think you have figured something out."
His jaw tightened with a fury Jake had never once turned in your direction. "You found some court documents and now you think you know something about my life."
"That's not what I—"
"You have everything." The words hit with enough force that your shoulders found the headboard. "You came into my house with a husband who loves you. Your whole life is still ahead of you."
His voice dropped low and the lower register was more frightening than the volume had been. "You have everything I was supposed to have. You want to tell me you understand what my life looked like?"
"Sunghoon—"
His fingers pressed into your mouth without warning. Two of them shove their way inside, firm and absolute. "No. You don't get to talk right now. You dug around in my life like it was something to research and now you want to use it to manage me."
His eyes moved over your face with an intensity that made you feel transparent. "You and your husband both think you can handle me. He brings a priest into my house and you pull out your little findings like they're going to make me feel understood. I've been here for thirty years. I have watched every single person who walked through that door try to figure out the right thing to say to make me cooperative. You want to know how many of them succeeded?"
You couldn't answer. Obviously.
"None of them," he said. "Not one. You need to learn the same lesson your husband does. This is my house. Not yours. Not his. Mine."
His free hand pressed flat against the headboard beside your head. "And I am not something either of you gets to manage."
You could taste the salt of Jake’s skin. Sunghoon watched you, Jake’s eyes dark with unfamiliar fury. The silence stretched, broken only by the ragged sound of your own breathing through your nose.
Then his other hand moved. His palm cupped the side of your neck, thumb pressing into the pulse point at the base of your jaw. His hold was firm as he tilted your head to expose the column of your throat.
“You think understanding is a tool,” he murmured, his breath warm against the skin he’d just exposed. “Let’s try a different one.”
His mouth closed over the sensitive junction where your neck met your shoulder.
The heat of it was a shock, followed instantly by the sharp, wet suction that you knew would leave a mark. Your body reacted instinctively, a full-body flinch that was part revulsion, part arousal. A sound, muffled and desperate, vibrated against the fingers still silencing you.
He worked at the skin with a ruthless efficiency, the pressure bordering on pain. Your hands, still fisted in his shirt, pushed weakly. It was like pushing against a stone wall wearing your husband’s face.
He finally released the suction with a soft sound, but didn’t pull away. His lips brushed the already-throbbing spot, a mockery of tenderness.
“There,” he whispered, the word vibrating against your ravaged skin. “Now you have something to remember me by. Something you can’t just research in a file.”
He finally removed his fingers from your mouth. You gasped, the air burning your throat.
“You’re sick,” you choked out, your voice raw.
“Probably.” He leaned back just enough to admire his work. “It’ll bruise up nicely. Purple and green. Your husband’s going to love that.”
“Why are you doing this?” You touched the spot, the skin already hot and tender under your fingertips, a brand. Your eyes stung.
“Because I’m bored.” He said it simply. “Because you’re here. Because I can. And because you still need to learn your place.”
He shifted his weight, his body pressing you more firmly into the mattress. The intimacy of the position was a horror show. Every point of contact was Jake from the breadth of his shoulders to the familiar scent of his deodorant.
“Let me go,” you beg, the command sounding pitiful even to you.
“Ask nicely,” he teased, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register that mimicked Jake’s but curdled it at the edges.
“Go to hell.”
He laughed, a soft, genuine sound that was infinitely worse than his anger. “Already there, sweetheart.” He leaned in again, his nose skimming along your jawline. You recoiled, but there was nowhere to go.
“You know what Jake would say right now to calm you down? When you get like this?” His lips were at your ear. “He’d say ‘Shh, let Daddy take care of it.’”
You froze.
“Wouldn’t he?” Sunghoon whispered, the borrowed voice slick with false comfort. “That’s his little thing. His comforting lie.”
Whatever was looking out through Jake's eyes had a gleam to it that belonged entirely to Sunghoon. “You like it when he says that. It makes you feel safe and protected."
His hand found your neck. The grip was not enough to cut off air but it was enough to remind you that it could be. He pressed his forehead to yours in a gesture that wore the shape of tenderness without any of the substance. “But I’m not him.”
“So if I say it,” he continued, his voice filling the small space between you, “it doesn’t mean safe. It doesn’t mean protected.”
“It means I’m in charge. This is my game and my house.” His thumb stroked over the pounding bruise on your neck. “Daddy’s home.”
His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, his fingers finding the fabric with a casual ownership that made your breath catch. You twisted, a sharp, panicked motion, your hands coming up to claw at his wrists. “Get off!”
He didn’t even tense. Your struggle was as effective as fighting a statue. He simply pushed your hands away, pinning one wrist to the mattress beside your head with a grip like cooled iron. “Shhh,” he murmured, the sound dripping with mock sympathy. “You’ll just tire yourself out.”
With his other hand, he tugged your shirt up over your stomach, over your ribs. The air was cool on your exposed skin.
“See?” he said, his voice low. “All that fighting for nothing.” He leaned down, his breath hot against the skin just below your sternum. “You should save your energy.”
His mouth pressed against you. There was a slow, deliberate press of teeth that held for a long, sickening second before he sucked, hard. You gasped, the sound tearing out of you. He held the suction relentlessly. You could feel the blood rising to the surface, another dark flower blooming under your husband’s lips.
You bucked under him, unable to help it. He rode the motion easily, his body an oppressive weight. He released the bruise with a wet pop and moved lower, marking a trail down your torso with that same efficient method. Your free hand gripped the bedspread, the fabric tearing under your nails.
“Stop,” you pleaded, your voice cracking. “Please, just stop.”
He paused, his lips hovering over your hip bone. He looked up the line of your body, his expression serene. “Why? You dug through my life. You pulled out the worst of it and spread it on the table like evidence.” He lowered his head again, his mouth finding the soft skin of your inner thigh. You jerked. “This is just me returning the favor.”
Then his mouth was between your legs.
It was Jake’s specific warmth and practiced pressure, a familiarity so profound it short-circuited your terror for one treacherous second. A traitorous warmth unwound in your lower belly, a pure physical response your mind screamed against. Your hips lifted a fraction, a reflexive, instinctive search for more of that feeling that meant safety, that meant Jake.
Sunghoon went utterly still.
Then he pulled back, just enough to look up at you. Your eyes flew open. His expression was one of pure, delighted malice.
“What was that?” he whispered.
You shook your head, mute with horror.
“I felt that,” he said, his voice thick with vicious amusement. “You liked that.”
He lowered his head again, his tongue flicking once in that spot Jake knew so well. Your back arched off the bed against your will. He stopped again.
“Go on,” he coaxed, his voice dark. “You can say it. He’s not here to hear you.”
Tears of shame and rage spilled hot from the corners of your eyes. You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood.
He applied his mouth again, Jake’s talented tongue now weaponized against you. The pleasure built, a cresting wave you were powerless to stop. It was too much, the betrayal of your own body combined with the unbearable friction between violation and a sensation you associated only with love. The climax broke over you, brutal and unwanted, wracking your body with shuddering pulses. As the peak stole the last of your resistance, the word tore loose from some ruined, defenseless place inside you.
“Daddy…”
The syllable hung in the air, awful and sacred.
Sunghoon lifted his head, chin glistening. Jake’s face was filled with a triumph so vile it made you sick.
“Oh,” he breathed, the sound rich with delight. He shifted his weight, crawling back up your body until he was looming over you again, his eyes locked on yours. “Oh, you perfect hypocrite. You spend weeks snooping, judging my life, trying to box me up with your little research.”
He leaned close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And all it takes is his tongue in the right place to make you call me by the name you think is dirty.”
You turned your head away, the tears coming freely now.
He caught your chin, forcing your gaze back to his. “See how simple it could be?” he said, his thumb wiping roughly at a tear on your cheek. “If you just behaved like Daddy’s good girl and stopped digging where you don’t belong, we could have so much fun. You wouldn’t have to be scared. You wouldn’t have to fight it.“You could just feel good. All the time.”
He let the offer hang in the air, a poisoned gift. Then he shifted, laying beside you as if nothing at all had happened.
“Think about it,” he said, Jake’s voice now just tired. “Fighting and bringing priests into my house takes so much out of you. Being good is so much simpler than all of that."
“You’re shaking,” he observed, Jake’s voice soft.
You were. It was a fine, constant tremor you couldn’t stop. The marks on your neck and torso throbbed in time with your heartbeat.
He closed the distance between you slowly, without urgency, giving you time to watch him coming. Jake’s strong, familiar hands came up to frame your face, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. The tenderness was worse than violence.
“Look at you. You’re exhausted. I meant what I said,” he continued, his voice a low, intimate drone that vibrated in the hollow of your chest. “It’s so much easier if you don’t fight. If you just let go.”
His thumb brushed over your lower lip. “He’s not coming to save you. He called a priest to get rid of me, not to save you. There’s a difference.”
Another fresh tear broke free. He caught it with his thumb.
“See? You know it’s true.” He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “So let me make you feel good instead. Let me show you how simple it can be.”
His hands drifted down, over your shoulders and settled on your hips. He turned you until you faced the wall. The peeling plaster was inches from your eyes. His body pressed against your back, Jake’s solid warmth now a cage.
One of his hands splayed on the wall beside your head. You felt him, hard and impatient against the small of your back, still confined by his jeans. Your body, trained by years of love, responded to the familiar pressure with a traitorous, softening ache. You hated it. You hated yourself.
“That’s it,” he whispered, his lips against the shell of your ear. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your leggings and underwear and pulled them down in one rough, efficient motion.
You heard the rasp of his zipper. Then he was there, the blunt head of him pressing against you. There was a sharp stretch, but it was fleeting. Your body, so accustomed to Jake, to his specific size and shape, yielded to the familiar intrusion with a shocking, humiliating ease. It wasn’t welcome, but it wasn’t a fight. A choked gasp lodged in your throat as he slid in, one deep, steady stroke that seated him fully inside you.
“Oh,” he sighed, genuinely pleased. He pulled back and pushed in again, a slow, testing roll of his hips. “Look at that. No fuss at all. You’re already so ready for him. You’re just made for this, aren’t you?”
You squeezed your eyes shut, but it only heightened the sensation. The fullness was Jake. The rhythm, the angle, the way he filled you, it was all the ghost of your husband, played by a master puppeteer.
He began to move in earnest, finding a pace and an angle that bypassed your terror and went straight to the animal part of your brain that only knew pleasure and surrender. Each thrust was perfectly aimed. A coiled heat began to build low in your belly, undeniable and awful.
“There she is,” Sunghoon crooned. One hand left your hip and slid around your front, fingers finding the sensitive knot of nerves. You jerked as if shocked. “Shhh, I’ve got you. Just feel it. You can’t help it, sweetheart. Your body knows what it wants.”
His words were a poison that acted like a balm. The combination of the relentless, perfect friction inside you and the deft, circling pressure of his fingers was dismantling you piece by piece. The fear began to blur at the edges, smudging into a thick, heavy fog. Your thoughts, once sharp with panic, grew slow and syrupy. Everything began to recede, drowned out by the building roar of physical sensation.
You were slipping down into that soft, quiet place where nothing existed but feeling and the voice in your ear.
“That’s my good girl,” he whispered. The praise, however mocking, sank into you like a hook. Your knees wobbled. A long, trembling moan vibrated in your chest. “See? No more fighting. Daddy’s good girl takes it so well.”
Each filthy, endearing word wrapped around you, pulling you deeper into the subspace. Your resistance melted into a boneless surrender. Your head lolled back against his shoulder. The tears still fell, but they were detached now, simply a physical reaction. Your hips began to move of their own volition, meeting his thrusts with a weak, eager cadence.
“Such a sweet cunt,” he breathed. His own rhythm became more frantic, less controlled. “Milking me like you were born for this. Born for him. Born for me.”
You were teetering on the edge, a terrifying climax built on violation approaching fast. His thrusts became erratic, jarring. His breathing hitched in your ear, a ragged, desperate sound. He was close.
“That’s it,” he snarled, his voice guttural. “Take it. Take every-”
He froze.
A full-body shudder wracked the frame pressed against you. The hands on your body went slack. Then, you heard a raw, shattered gasp.
“Wh-?”
It was Jake’s voice, not Sunghoon’s. Jake’s voice, shredded with confusion and dawning, absolute horror.
His body spasmed. His hips stuttered forward a final, involuntary pulse, and you felt the hot, intimate rush of his release inside you.
He tore himself away from you as if scalded, stumbling back, tripping over his own jeans around his ankles. He crashed into the dresser, sending a lamp rocking. He stood there, pants down, naked and exposed, staring at you as you slowly turned from the wall.
His eyes were wide, pupil-blown, but they were his. They were seeing you. He looked down at his own body, then back at you. His mouth opened and closed. No sound came out. He was pale, disoriented, swaying on his feet as if he’d just been thrown from a moving car.
He had been. He’d been a passenger. A spectator strapped into his own skin, watching through his own eyes as something else used his hands, his mouth, his body to break his wife.
You saw the understanding crash into him in waves. The priest. The strange detachment he’d felt upon your return. The black, empty silence that had followed, and then… sensation. Movement. Pleasure that wasn’t his. Your cries. Your tears. Your moans. The taste of your skin in his mouth. The feeling of being inside you, but not being the one driving. Watching his own hands grip your hips, hearing his own voice call you those names, powerless to stop a single second of it.
His legs gave out. He slid down the side of the dresser and landed hard on the floor, his back against the wood, his hands coming up to clutch at his head.
You stood by the wall, the cold air raising goosebumps on your ravaged skin, watching your husband come completely, utterly apart. The space between you was only a few feet, but it had suddenly become uncrossable.
He finally looked up at you, his face streaked with tears you hadn’t seen fall. His voice, when it came, was a broken thing.
“I saw…” he whispered. “I was… I was right there. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop…”
He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the bruises on your neck, the fresh, dark mark blooming on your collarbone. His own hands had made them. His own body had been the weapon.
He folded forward, retching dryly onto the floor between his knees, his whole body convulsing with sobs he could no longer contain. Slowly, you crossed the floor toward him on your hands and knees because standing felt like too much to ask of yourself right now.
"No." The word came out barely above a whisper. "No, no, no—"
He reached for your wrist with both hands and cradled it with a gentleness so extreme it registered as its own kind of ache. His fingers trembled as they turned your arm over to look at the bruising.
"I did this." It wasn't a question.
You shook your head slowly. Words felt very far away, floating somewhere above you just out of reach. The effort of gathering them into something coherent felt like more than you had available right now. Everything had gone soft around the edges. The room and the light and the ache in your wrist were all present but cushioned, like something wrapped carefully before being handed to you.
"It was my hands." His voice broke. This was not the controlled and managed upset you had seen from him over the past weeks. "I was in there and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t do anything. I kept trying to get back and I couldn’t get back."
You reached for him.
Your arms found his shoulders and pulled. He came without resistance, folding into you and pressing his face against your neck. His whole body was shaking. You got your fingers into his hair and held on.
"'s okay," you said. The words came out quieter than intended, slightly slurred at the edges with exhaustion. "Daddy. 's okay."
A sound escaped him against your neck, something wrecked and grateful all at once.
"I love you." You turned your face into his hair. It smelled like him, just him, and something in you unknotted slightly at the confirmation of it. "I love you. 's okay. I've got you."
"I'm supposed to be taking care of you." His voice was barely coherent, muffled against your skin. "I'm supposed to be keeping you safe and I just— I let him—"
"Shh." Your hand moved in slow passes through his hair. "You're here now. You came back."
He held on tighter. His arms around you were nothing like the arms that had pinned you down earlier. These were Jake through and through, the specific way he held you like you were something he didn't want to lose. Your body knew the difference in its bones.
"I've got you," you said again. "I've got you. I love you. 's okay."
He didn't say anything else for a long time. He just stayed where he was, face pressed against your neck, breathing you in while you kept your hand moving through his hair in the same slow rhythm he used on you when you needed grounding.
────୨ৎ────
You noticed it the night before, the particular stillness Jake got when something was wrong with his body that he didn't want to admit yet. He'd gone quiet at dinner, which wasn't unusual lately, but it was a different kind of quiet. You'd pressed your hand to his forehead when he came to bed and he'd batted it away and said he was fine.
By morning he was not fine.
He woke with the dazed, slightly confused quality of someone running a fever, his eyes glassy movements uncoordinated. He knocked his water glass reaching for it. Instead of picking it up, he sat on the edge of the bed for too long before standing.
"You're sick," you said.
"I'm fine."
"Jake."
"I'll feel better after a shower."
He did not feel better after a shower. He came out looking paler than he'd gone in and sat heavily on the edge of the bed again with his towel still around his shoulders. This time, he didn't argue when you pressed your hand to his forehead. The heat radiating off him was significant.
"Okay," he said, conceding.
You got him back into bed and pulled the blanket up. He looked at you from the pillow with glassy eyes. You smoothed his hair back from his forehead and he leaned into it involuntarily.
"I'm going to get you something to eat," you said. "Toast, maybe. Something easy."
His hand found your wrist before you'd finished standing.
"Stay."
"I'm just going downstairs. I'll be five minutes."
"Stay." His fingers locked around your wrist with a conviction that was inconsistent with how wrecked the rest of him looked. You tried to gently extract yourself but his hold didn't give. "Please. Just stay here for a bit."
His eyes were closed now, jaw set with effort, and you recognized the specific shape of what was happening. The anxiety had found a host in the fever, the two things feeding each other, and his body was doing the only thing it knew how to do which was hold on.
"Jake. I have to get you food and find your meds. You need both."
"In a minute."
"You've been saying that."
"Just a few more minutes." His thumb moved across your wrist. "I can hear you from here. Just talk to me while I rest. You don't have to go anywhere."
You sat back down. You talked to him about nothing, about the book you'd been pretending to read and a show his mom had recommended and whether you should repaint the hallway when all of this was over. His grip gradually softened but didn't release, and every time you shifted your weight his hand tightened again on reflex like a warning system.
After an hour of this you carefully reached for your phone with your free hand.
Jake's mom answered on the second ring. Her name in your contacts was Mom J, something Jake had added there himself two years ago without asking, certain you'd need it eventually.
"Hi," you said, keeping your voice easy and calm. "I'm sorry to call. Jake is sick and I'm having a little trouble getting downstairs to get things for him. Could you come over?"
There was a brief pause before you heard shuffling on the other end. "How sick?"
"Fever. Anxious." You looked at Jake's hand around your wrist. "Very anxious."
"I'll be there in an hour. I have a key."
"Thank you."
She arrived in forty five minutes. You heard her key in the lock and her voice calling up from the entryway. The sound of her reached Jake before she did, his whole body registering it the way it registered very few things lately. His grip on your wrist finally loosened. She appeared in the doorway with a container of soup and a reusable bag.
"Hi, baby," she said, crossing directly to the bed.
Jake's whole expression shifts toward something younger and less armored. "Hi, Mom."
She settled beside him and pressed her hand to his forehead and clicked her tongue softly. Then, she began asking him questions in a steady unhurried way that required him to answer and therefore to focus on something other than the sounds the house made. You watched his shoulders drop.
She glanced back at you over her shoulder. "Can you find his medication? The white pill, should be in the medicine cabinet."
"I'll look," you said.
She nodded and turned back to Jake, her voice dropping into something low and continuous while you slipped out into the hallway. Behind you, Jake said something soft that you didn't catch.
The medicine cabinet was empty.
You stood in the bathroom doorway and stared at the empty shelf where Jake's things usually lived. Of course. Of course they weren't there. You checked the cabinet beneath the sink out of obligation rather than hope and found nothing.
You straightened up and listened to the muffled sounds of Jake's mom moving around upstairs. Her voice came through the ceiling low and steady. Jake's response was too quiet to reach you and that was good. She had always had that effect on him, the specific comfort of a parent that a spouse could never fully replicate.
The medication had to be somewhere in this house.
You started methodically. Kitchen cabinets came first, working left to right. The junk drawer that stuck and required two yanks to open came next. Nothing in any of it. You moved to the living room next. You were crouching beside the coffee table when you felt the room change.
There was someone standing near the window.
He had his back partially toward you with one hand braced against the wall and his head hanging forward. He was young, with dark hair slightly disheveled. His clothes belonged to a different decade, the cut and fabric subtly wrong in a way you could not have specified but recognized without effort. He was holding a bottle at his side.
You didn't breathe.
He couldn't see you. You understood that without testing it. His eyes were fixed on something outside the window or maybe on nothing at all. The light in the room was wrong, slightly too warm and coming from the wrong angle for the time of day. His edges were not quite solid in a way that took a moment to register consciously but your instincts had already processed.
This was a memory of something that had already happened.
You watched him push off the wall and move toward the staircase with the drunk, uneven steps. His hand found the banister and he made it up halfway before he stopped. He looked up the remaining stairs for a long moment.
Then he shook his head, turning back toward the living room.
One foot found the first step down and then the other followed. His sock caught the edge or his balance shifted wrong. It happened so quickly and so quietly that for a moment you did not understand what you had seen.
The room was empty. The staircase looked exactly as it always did, with the third step carrying its familiar creak and the banister Jake kept promising to secure.
Sunghoon hadn't been trying to die.
He had been standing at the bottom of those stairs with a bottle and thirty years ago he had looked up at whatever was waiting for him at the top and changed his mind. The house had taken him anyway. He had changed his mind on those stairs and it had not mattered at all.
Thirty years of that, alone in these walls, because he'd moved into this house to build something and the something had left and he hadn't known how to follow.
Your eyes were burning. Somewhere upstairs, Jake's mom laughed softly at something Jake had said.
You wiped your face with the back of your hand and made yourself breathe steadily. The medication. You were supposed to be finding the medication and you had gotten very far off course.
You checked the hallway closet and found the orange containers on the top shelf sitting behind a stack of towels, exactly where no one would have thought to look for them.
Jake's mom had gotten him sitting up against the headboard with a pillow arranged behind him and the soup open on the nightstand. She was in the process of convincing him to eat some of it. Jake was resisting with the halfhearted stubbornness, his lack of strength apparent.
"Found them," you said from the doorway.
His mom looked up with visible relief. "Perfect. Jake, take the pill first and then the soup."
"I'm not hungry."
"I didn't ask if you were hungry."
You crossed to the bed and shook one pill out into your palm and handed it to him with his water glass. He took it without further argument, which was the fever making decisions for him. You sat on the edge of the bed while his mom resumed her campaign on the soup front.
He ate about half of it. That felt like a victory.
Somewhere in the process of his mom smoothing the blanket down and adjusting the pillow, Jake's eyes began losing the battle. They'd drift closed and then open again with effort, and then close for longer. You sat beside him and ran your fingers through his hair in slow passes while his breathing gradually evened out. His mom's voice dropped lower as it became clear he was going under, tapering into the occasional soft word and then into silence.
By the time his breathing had deepened fully you both sat without speaking for a moment, listening to it.
His mom stood carefully, tilting her head toward the door. You followed her out into the hallway, pulling the door behind you.
When she faced you in the hallway light, the expression she had been keeping controlled all afternoon had loosened. The worry was right there on her face now that she didn’t need to keep it managed for Jake's benefit.
"He hasn't had one of these since college," she said quietly. "The stress fevers. He used to get them during finals, his sophomore year especially." She looked at the closed door, then back at you.
"It has been a difficult few weeks for both of us."
"I can see that." She folded her arms across her chest. "He called me last week. Did he tell you?"
"No."
Something in her expression shifted, not surprised exactly, more like confirmed. "He kept it vague. Said the two of you were finding the adjustment harder than expected and that the house was proving to be a lot. He sounded exactly like he did back then."
Your gaze dropped to the floor between you.
"My place has more than enough room," she said. "You know this already. Come and stay for a while, the both of you. Put some distance between yourselves and this house. Give Jake somewhere he can actually recover without whatever this place is doing to him. He han’t been himself since you moved here. I could see it the first weekend I came to visit. Something about these walls disagrees with him and it is not going to get better the longer you stay inside them."
You started to say something and stopped.
What was sitting in your throat was not a simple thing. It had Sunghoon in it and the vision of him at the bottom of the staircase and thirty years of a story that had never gotten a proper ending. There was no version of that you could reasonably offer to Jake's mother in a dim hallway while her son slept ten feet away.
So instead you said "I know. I've been thinking about it."
"Don't just think about it." She reached out and squeezed your arm once. "He needs to leave. And you look like you haven't slept properly in weeks."
From inside the bedroom came a sound.
You both went still. It came again, a low pained noise. When you pushed the door open, Jake had curled onto his side with his knees drawn toward his chest. His face creased even in sleep, his whole body contracted around something he couldn't name while he was awake.
You stood in the doorway and looked at him for a long moment.
The bruise on your wrist had begun fading to yellow at the outer edges. Behind your eyes Sunghoon was still standing at the bottom of the staircase, shaking his head at whatever conclusion he had just reached. And here was Jake. Your husband, sick and small and hurting in his sleep in a house that had been wrong since the day you moved in.
"Okay," you said quietly. "Okay. We'll go."
You'd figure out Sunghoon. You'd find a way to say whatever needed to be said.
But not at this cost. Not anymore.
────୨ৎ────
The living room came first.
You stood in the middle of it and looked at the vanilla linen curtains you'd spent an hour choosing and the bookshelf Jake had assembled with muttered curses.The room looked like a home. It had taken weeks to get it there and now you were going to leave it behind.
"I knew you'd come find me eventually."
You turned. Sunghoon was leaning in the doorway to the hallway with his arms crossed. He looked at you the way he always looked at you,with that particular quality of attention that had stopped unsettling you weeks ago and become something else entirely.
"We're leaving," you said.
"I know." His jaw tightened. "I've been watching you pack."
"Then you know there's nothing to argue about."
"I'm not arguing." He pushed off the doorframe and moved into the room at his usual unhurried pace, stopping a few feet from where you stood. "I'm just saying it's unnecessary. He can leave. You could stay and keep me company. The house is only big enough for two."
"That doesn't even make sense," you said. "He's my husband."
"He's miserable here."
"You made him miserable here."
Something moved through his expression and he looked away briefly, which was the closest Sunghoon ever came to conceding a point. "He would have struggled regardless. This house has a way of doing that to people."
"It doesn't have to."
"Yes," he said, and his voice had gone quieter. "It does."
"Tell me why." You crossed your arms. "Not the speech about territory and not the lesson about whose house this is. Give me an actual answer."
A long silence opened up between you. Outside, a car moved slowly down the street and the sound of it faded.
"Because I was angry," he said finally.
"At Jake."
"At all of it." His voice had dropped into something quieter. "At him for bringing someone in to remove me like I was a pest problem. At you for-" He stopped.
"For what?"
His jaw worked. "For making me care whether you stayed."
You held his gaze. "That's not an excuse."
"I know it's not."
"You scared me. You've been scaring me since the day we moved in." Your voice came out steady but firm. "Moving our things, swapping the medication, the shower curtain, all of it. Do you understand what that did? I thought I was losing my mind. Jake thought I was losing my mind. I spent weeks convinced that I couldn't trust my own perception because every time something happened there was a reasonable explanation ready and waiting."
You took a step toward him. "You knew exactly what you were doing and you kept doing it."
"Yes," he says. This time he has the decency to look ashamed.
"And the possession-”
"I know." The words came out with weight. "I know what I did."
"Do you?"
"I've been doing this for thirty years," he said. "I have done it to every single person who walked through that door and I never once thought about what it felt like from the other side. You're the first person who stayed long enough that I had to think about it."
"That's not the compliment you think it is."
The corner of his mouth shifted slightly into something smaller and more honest than his usual smile. "No. I am aware of that."
You studied him for a moment. "You have known the whole time that it was wrong."
"Yes."
"Then why the hell would you keep doing it? Stop dancing around the question."
"Because it worked." The plainness of it settled heavily in the room. "Every time, it worked. Everyone left eventually and when enough people leave you stop weighing whether your methods are right. You simply keep doing the thing that has always produced the result.”
"That makes no sense," you said, but your voice had lost its edge.
“Every single one of them acted like they had some claim over what happened here. My house is not a problem to be managed or a transaction to be completed. It’s mine." His jaw tightened. "Her new husband tried to buy it. Did you know that? He came to the door like he could just write a check to get rid of me."
The controlled flatness in his voice had developed an edge underneath it. "Her name hadn’t been on that deed for over a year. She had already moved on and started an entirely new life. For some reason, he still thought he could walk up to my door and make decisions about my property. Every person since has been some version of that. They all decide what should happen to a place that was never theirs to decide about."
“Well. Aren’t you territorial?” You mumble. Everything was coming together, from his extreme possessiveness of you and the house to his overreaction of Jake calling in a priest.
"I know." That almost-smile again, sad and slight. "She used to say that. When something I did made no sense she'd stand exactly like that and say those exact words. You even sound like her when you're angry."
"A few days ago I saw something in this room. A memory." You kept your voice as steady as you could manage. "You were standing near the window with a bottle. I watched you look up at the staircase and I watched you change your mind."
Your throat tightened around the words. "And then I watched you slip."
Everything that usually lived on his face had gone. The ease and the wit and the deflection, all of it had cleared away at once. He stood very still, completely exposed and vulnerable.
"You had no right to see that," he said. His voice was low and controlled.
"I know. I did not choose to see it."
"That was not something meant for you."
"Sunghoon. What were you going upstairs for?"
"It does not matter now,” He turned away from you then, his eyes finding the staircase and staying there.
"It matters to me."
"Why?" The word came out with more force than he had intended and something real broke through the surface of his composure underneath it. "Why does it matter to you at all? You’re leaving anyway.”
"I have to." You looked at his face and held it in your attention for a moment. “Whatever it was that kept you on those stairs that night is not contained to you anymore. It is in the walls and it is in my husband's body. It has been in my head every single day since we moved in. What happened to you is not just your business anymore. It stopped being only yours the moment it started costing other people something."
The silence stretched out between you and then he said, quietly, "I know."
"I found the records," you said, and kept your voice gentle. "I know how long you were alone in this house before you died, and how long it’s been since then.”
"She left in the spring," he said after a long moment. His voice had gone flat. "She packed while I was at work and left the key on the counter. I came home to half an empty house and my first thought was that someone had broken in."
"I called her. She answered, which I hadn’t expected. She was very calm about the whole thing." He let out a slow breath. "She told me she had been unhappy for a long time. She said she had tried to tell me and that I didn’t listen. She may have been right about that. I don’t remember most of our relationship. It’s been too long.”
“It’s a bit pathetic. I’m still here because I have nowhere else to go. It was my house and I had built my life inside it and I kept thinking that if I stayed put long enough something would eventually make sense." He looked back at you finally. "Nothing did."
"Did it help?" you asked quietly. "Driving everyone out of this place that wasn’t her. Did it ever actually help?"
He considered that with more honesty than you expected. "No," he said finally. "It just gave me something to do."
"You deserved better than what she did," you said. "You deserved better than thirty years alone in this house. You deserve to be able to move on and have a life somewhere else, whatever part of the afterlife you belong to that isn’t here.”
"I mean it." You held his gaze. "Whatever she was to you, whatever happened, you deserved someone who stayed. And the fact that she didn't isn't a debt you should still be paying for."
You closed the distance between you and pressed your lips to his.
He went still the way he always went still when something caught him off guard. The kiss was gentle. The most gentle thing that had ever passed between you two in this house. There was no desperation in it and nothing complicated underneath it.
When you pulled back his arms came around you and he pulled you back against him. He held on with desperation, face pressed into your hair, his hold tightening like someone trying to memorize a feeling before it was gone for good.
And then, pressed into your hair so quietly it was almost nothing, in a voice that sounded like something his mouth still remembered without being asked to:
Her name.
Not yours.
Hers.
You closed your eyes and kept holding on and the house settled into a quiet around you both that you had never once felt from it before.
────୨ৎ────
Jake was already at the door when he stopped and checked his jacket pocket. Then his jeans. Then his jacket again with the particular escalating energy of someone who already knew what they weren't going to find.
"You have to be kidding me," he said. He turned back to the room with both hands thrown up in exasperation."My keys are gone. They were right here. I put them on the table last night, I watched myself do it."
You both make the decision not to address the room directly the way you might have weeks ago, when the anger had been fresher and less worn down.
"I'll look around," you said.
You did a slow circuit of the living room. The bookshelf, the bowl by the door, the couch cushions. Nothing. The hallway console table. Nothing. You moved to the kitchen and stopped.
The keys were on the counter, just sitting there in the middle of the clean surface, exactly where nothing had been a minute ago. Sunghoon was leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. He was just standing there watching you with an expression that had none of his usual architecture in it.
You picked up the keys.
"Jake," you called. "I found them. Kitchen counter."
Jake appeared in the doorway. His eyes went to the counter first and then, following some instinct he'd developed over the past weeks, to the space beside you. His body registered it before his face did, a subtle flinch pulling through his shoulders.
Sunghoon looked at him with an expression that had no mockery in it for once. Jake held out his hand for the keys without moving further into the room. You crossed to him and pressed them into his palm. He closed his fingers around them and kept his eyes on the space where Sunghoon was.
Then, he picked up the last box and went out to the car.
You stayed for just a moment longer.
Sunghoon looked different. He wasn’t healed, and he definitely didn’t look any more alive than the last time you saw him. But something in the quality of him had shifted, like a window painted shut for decades where someone had finally worked the latch loose. Still closed, but no longer trapped.
"Goodbye, Sunghoon," you said.
He said nothing. He looked at you with those dark eyes that had been watching people move through his house for thirty years. Something in them was different too.
You picked up your bag and walked out the front door.
Jake was loading the last box into the trunk. The morning was cold and the porch railing wobbled slightly under your hand as you came down the steps, the same as it always had. You didn't look back at the house.
SUMMARY: the artsy guy in your class offers to paint you; who knew he meant in more ways than one? (10.7k)
PAIRING: artsy!riki x afab!reader
CONTAINS: praise +petnames! oral + unprotected sex, paint play, guided masturbation w/ a paintbrush, slight insecure reader, rik paints you w/ his....y'know, dark-haired ki w/ streak!! consent king ki :)
NOTE: based on colors by halsey! w/ a sexy twist :) my first smut writing so please feel free to provide any feedback
he tapped the end of the brush to his lip in thought, before dipping the bristles into the blues of his palette.
you wondered, in that moment, what it would be like to understand that feeling. taking merely seconds in thought instead of minutes before creating the next stroke. how effortless it seemed to him, the ideas that he'd spend those quiet moments pondering before bringing them to life on canvas. you'd been in the back of the class, staring at your own blank canvas for the last hour.
whoever said art class was an easy elective clearly didn't understand the concept of creative block, absent talent, and nishimura riki. though if you're truly feeling cynical, you could say that with time, a bit of guidance, maybe the first two could be helped. but not him, not riki.
he'd been the biggest distraction since day one.
it started with his paintings, of course. you'd look over during class only to be met with a canvas brilliantly decorated with deep and vibrant hues, bursts of color depending on the day. sometimes you'd see a sunset, with the soft shades of burnt oranges in a stark contrast against cloudy blues. other times you'd see a moonlit sky, with acrylics that made the stars shine so brightly you'd sworn they'd been plucked from the night. campfires, adorned with embers and surrounded by lush trees, detailed depictions of swans, beautiful, beautiful work that you never seemed to have the talent to achieve.
you swore it was just envy. plain and simple. you wanted to be like him, nothing else. that the only reason your eyes kept wandering over to his side of the classroom, had simply been for bits and pieces of inspiration.
but then you noticed it. not just his painting; him. the way he'd spend moments in between his strokes, looking at his art with such an intensity you'd wonder if the painting itself would break into a sweat. you'd watch as he created images with pursed lips and pinched brows. the way he'd bite his lower lip as he made intricate 'corrections' to such minuscule mistakes along his board. but above all, you would notice the level of reverence he'd seem to have for his creations, from start to end. how he never seemed to eye a blank canvas as a sign of failure, but a chance for a new story to tell. how he seemed to care for every aspect, shade, and 'accident' he'd make along the way.
you could learn from him in that regard. maybe even learn a couple more things from the class overall if you stopped staring at him so much, too.
from the stool upon which he sits, your eyes inevitably float back to your very own canvas, shining the same shade of snow it did as when you first began, without so much as a stroke. it's evident you won't be getting much done today, and the time on your wristwatch, confirming the soon approaching end of your class, aids in the thought. you began to pack your items up amidst the sea of chatter from other students, hoping to slip out earlier than the formal end of the lesson.
but it's as if your professor senses the end too, calling everyone to attention in a voice that almost instantly quiets the noise. her pale legs reveal themselves as she hobbles from around the desk, mentioning how quickly the time seemed to have passed without her noticing. you wondered what that was like, too, being able to get so deep and into art; instruction, or the doing, that you lost track of time. the class itself never claimed your attention that drastically, though riki had been a close second.
"class, before you all are dismissed-" professor jona begins, grabbing the thin-framed glasses from her desk and slipping them past her nose. "i'd like someone to share their piece, and the story behind it."
her green eyes search the room for a victim, and you don't bother stopping the packing up of your items. she'll pick riki; she always does. can't say you blame her, really. not when he's clearly one of the most skilled ones in the class. his painting always told a story, the same way his eyes, hands, and teeth-bitten lips did as he created them.
but it's your name instead, you hear ring out from the front of the classroom, freezing you in motion as heads from around the room turn toward the back.
"(y/n)!" professor jona speaks again, as if the state of shock you remained in, backpack suspended in mid-air, wasn't enough to indicate that you'd heard her the first time. "would you like to turn your easel around, tell us about your work today?"
no. not really, you think. especially considering the blank state it's remained in for the past hour, the only story you'd be able to tell is how you'd simply propped the canvas onto the wooden frame, not much else. unless they really want to hear about how you spent the entire class looking at riki's fingers rock back and forth along his own art.
"i um...." you began, throwing the bag over your shoulder with a low huff. maybe if you act as if you're still about to leave early, she'll ultimately end up choosing someone else. "i'd rather not, really."
"oh don't be so bashful!" professor jona persists, her wrinkled hands gesturing to your canvas again, with the pursuit of several eyes following the direction. "we'd all love to see what you have; you don't have to go too into depth."
if there was any depth at all, you would gladly have shared. but just like the stares from your peers and professor alike, the canvas was simply blank.
you wondered if this was your fault. the only reason why you'd gotten by in this class had been coasting on last-minute assignments, turning in poorly depicted attempts at abstract art, void of any true feeling or real emotion. simple lines and splashes of color thrown together in a manner that screamed you were acting out of time constraint, no real passion. your realistic art had always been an inadequate imitation of the theme you'd gone for, never truly able to capture the true 'essence' or feelings the others seemed to channel. something too tethered, controlled with little to no artistic tone or voice. nothing ever effortless, true, or deep. nothing like riki's.
maybe this was inevitable. only a matter of time before she'd stop picking him. after all, you were nearly halfway through the semester, and there had of course been plenty of students with their own, deep, abrasive, and abstract stories to tell. you just wish she hadn't started with you.
but as you held your backpack close to your side; you'd realize that she had no intention of giving up. so in a quick attempt to get the humiliation ritual over with, you picked up your easel and gave it a turn.
silence at first, then the soft attempts to stifle snickers, low mutterings from amongst the class that made you want to burrow into the ground beneath you and hide.
the red curls hanging along the side of your professor's head shook as she gave you a nod: as if both validating and trying to understand the vision herself. "oh, well that's just....."
"missing something." you hear a classmate murmur from beside the professor. upon a glance to your right, you see it's jake whose lips the words leave, followed by hushed chuckles among his surrounding group.
you resist the urge to roll your eyes, quickly flipping the stand back around in part annoyance, part embarrassment. it was bad enough that you seemed to have this massive block regarding creation on your own. but putting it on display, for everyone to see and judge, hadn't made it any easier.
there's a warmth that floods your cheeks upon the remembrance that riki is likely one of those doing the same. he didn't seem like the type to chuckle to himself or make jokes about your disposition, though the thought hadn't calmed you at all. ultimately it had been the principle; the guy you'd spent all the time watching in class had now probably been eyeing you back with an opinion of his own amongst many. artsy, effortless riki. you didn't even want to peer in his general direction to find out.
instead, you let out a quiet huff. "sorry, profesor jo, i just-" you pause, eyes flickering up to meet hers; and only hers for the sake of your dignity. "haven't been able to find much inspiration."
her head bobs faster now, serving as what she surely intends to be an empathic response, despite her already calling you out in front of the entire class. "and that's okay!" she says, a wrinkled smile forming upon her features. "we've all been there," she remarks, tilting her head down to meet eyes with you from above her frames.
she turns her attention back to the overall class, using your sorry canvas as an example of how not to deal with creative block. she mentions the importance of looking into the world around for inspiration and ideas for creation, taking moments of quiet to truly observe before painting.
what she doesn't understand, is that you've tried this before. spent more time than you can recall staring at your own works of art, quietly waiting and hoping to create something that felt real, true to you. any organic idea that you could transfer onto the canvas just as effortlessly as so many others seemed to do. that the whole 'just start painting' thing hadn't worked for you, often ending in a horrid mess of color, devoid of any true explanation or story. all she saw, ultimately, was your apparent lack of effort at all.
"....and i'd like to mention that there are so many wonderful artists in this class!" she drones on, aiding further in your embarrassment. "connecting with other artists helps, especially-" her eyes return to you as she says this.
"take riki for example!"
of course, you think, watching as she gestures over to his stool just next to the left side of her desk. "riki, you'd help out a classmate if asked, right?"
a groan that you manage to suppress, claws at your throat, the heat in your cheeks grows hotter with each second when you see it. riki, from the corner of your eye, giving a slight nod in return to the instructor who thought it wise to air you out.
he can hardly get his verbal response out before she interrupts him, noting once again how class is coming to a close. funny, she'd have more time for instruction had she cut the tangent about leaning on each other altogether. "well isn't that just splendid!" she drawls, turning back to you with a knowing smile. "i suggest you two get together right away!"
you wanted to melt into the floor.
"with all that being said," she clasps her hands together. "i'd still love to hear about someone's piece.....riki, if you will?"
unbelievable. there's just actually no way.
but when the streaked hair giant turns his canvas toward the majority of the class, you close your eyes in acceptance. listen to his annoyingly charming voice as he tells the story of his piece. it's a simple one, so far at least. incomplete, but still containing all the depth yours lacked. he says he'd just playing around with colors for a while, but when your eyes finally peel open to see it, you're amazed how structured it actually looks. how familiar the gently drawn out lines of the picture seem to look. you think it may be a shelf he's working on. whatever story may come of it, you'd inevitably hear about it when he got called on again.
the rest of the class has followed your lead, stuffing items into their respective bags as you pop up from your stool. your professor gives praise to riki (of course) and the last bit of instruction before you finally turn toward the door. you're finally about to leave when you hear it.
hurried footsteps making their way behind you, your name on his lips as he approaches.
you whip around faster than lightning. because there's no way he's actually trying to talk to you.
but when you look back, all six foot two of nishimura riki stands, looking back at you with an expression of gentle curiosity in his features.
he's handsome up close. with long lashes that flutter rapidly as a small smile forms upon his features; he extends his hand in an effort to grasp yours. "(y/n), yeah?" he grips the same hand you hadn't even realized had been drifting upward. "are you busy this weekend?"
you nearly let out a bitter laugh, realizing exactly what this is about. "i'm not, but," a swish of air sounds as you let your hand fall from his gentle grip. "you don't actually have to help me with painting, despite what professor jo says."
although as you eye him carefully, you can't say it wouldn't be nice. you imagine making time to spend with him outside of the classroom. the deep voice of his booming from behind you as he shows you how to make your way around a canvas, stroke by stroke.....
but alas, you know he's got more than enough on his plate. being the arts (to include dancing, singing, and rapping in other curricular areas), prodigy, and all. it was considerate that he'd said what he did upon being called on by professor jo, but truth be told, what else could he have said? can't help her these days, professor jo; i'm busy carrying the world? the comments he'd given were to be nothing more than a courtesy, not an obligation. "besides, i'm sure i'll find my inspo at some point."
"actually," he says, his smile seemingly growing softer in what you presume to be an element of quiet admiration. shyness perhaps? "it'd help me too, if anything." he says.
"i was hoping i could paint you, if you'd let me."
oh. you think. he wants to paint you?
your hand has seemingly drifted up again, because he lets out a low chuckle as your pointer finger finds your chest in confusion. "m-me?"
another low laugh leaves his lips, this time with a nod in confirmation. "yeah, you." he says, his dark orbs glistening with delight under the harsh blue light from overhead. "we'd be helping each other out, really."
then, his voice drops a tone as he tucks his hands into his side pockets. "you inspire me," he says, his eyes shifting gently along your face in a way that feels sincere. you almost miss the way your heart stutters at his words due to pure shock.
because....how did you inspire him? by staring at the back of his head every class? you aren't sure what kind of inspo he usually derives his creations from, but it's quite a shock to say that you've made the list. especially considering that glorious works of art he's decorated his pieces with. maybe he means your essence, truly. the way you'd sit quietly in the back of class, unassuming and clearly out of place.
maybe he needs help depicting a trainwreck.
brushing the thought off, you roll your shoulders, shifting your weight for a brief moment before responding. "oh, well," you clear your throat as the palms that clutch your canvas begin to moisten. "alright, then."
when you offer a smile of your own, he quickly pulls his phone from his back pocket, handing it over to you in a swift movement. you hope he doesn't notice the way your fingers tremble upon typing in your digits before handing the device back over to him in a matter of seconds.
he doesn't seem to, because upon receipt of your contact info, he offers nothing more than a bitten back smile before he sends you a message, confirmation that he's got the right number. "great," he says "how does....." his eyes roll upward as he ponders the thought. "saturday at noon sound?"
"perfect," you say, not giving yourself the chance to overthink the next words. "sounds good to me."
"saturday, then." he reiterates, pulling his hands from his pockets to retrieve his canvas as he makes his way to and out of the door. just before he crosses the threshold, it's as if he remembers to say something. because he pauses, turning back toward you with a slight amusement in his features. "it may not be much help and.....you've probably heard it before, but,"
he gestures to your blank board lazily, biting back another soft smile that threatens to reveal itself at any moment. "just.....try to paint what you feel."
and in a flash, he's gone. leaving you in a manner that far more in need of air than before.
when you finally do return home, it's as if the inspiration that you'd been waiting to hit you for weeks strikes you with a bat. the only thought on your mind is him, and when your fingers finally touch the canvas to adorn it with washed-out watercolors, the image forms underneath the low light of your apartment living room.
you picture his smile from earlier, the shy one before he asked to paint you and tucked his hands away. the stubborn part of your brain recalls the way the ends of his lips seemed to twitch as they formed the words. the recollection makes you feel excited, and a flash of bright orange appears in a flash, straight and long, across the canvas.
sprinkles and specs of purple appear next as you recall his voice, your heart refusing to let go of the way it stuttered when he'd called your name out at the end of class in a manner that made you feel thrilled. they line the edges of the once white board as your fingers move frantically, should they forget even for a split second what he sounds like.
red is next. it's the brightest one that glides effortlessly along the board as you imagine his plump lips, how he'd bitten them up as he spoke to you the same way he'd do so when creating a work of art of his own. you want to project yourself into the image itself, as if to surround yourself with the very color you'd associated with his lips. you wanted to be swarmed in it; and the feeling of warmth you'd imagine they'd give. you picture the lovely pair making their way up your chest, down your back, along your shoulders, before switching to blue.
even if his eyes were brown, it's the one color you feel captures the essence of them. the strength and unwavering gaze they'd seem to trap you in earlier, the same way they'd do with his own art. the color is light as you make broad strokes with your thumb, index, and pinky fingers. because in that sense, his eyes can be that way as well. gentle, soft, in a glint amidst them, like when he'd told you to paint what you felt, before he'd left you in the classroom for the day.
and so you did exactly that; looking at the abstract work now, with its bright blend and fusion of colors, is something you'd never thought you'd be able to do. the work that sits before you now is a highlight of this afternoon, every feeling you'd felt toward him encapsulated in those mere moments before you'd gone your separate ways. bright, intentional, beautiful, and anything but void of emotion.
--
saturday comes sooner than expected.
he offers you a water when you take a seat on the cushioned chair he has set out for you, to which you politely decline. it's sweet of him, truly, but being without a bottle leaves you less opportunity to fiddle with anything. "this is....a nice place."
and it is. the living room of his apartment was spacious, the walls lined with small portraits; some drawn, painted, or taken with a camera. the only spot that wasn't practically littered with images or depictions of art was the wall you sat in front of. instead, it had been lined with shelves of books, serving as the backpiece for the picture he'd soon create.
he offers a small smile as he pulls a stool in front of his easel. "thanks," he says, before setting up an array of various paints in front of his canvas. "make yourself comfortable, please."
you'd worn a dress for the occasion: flowy and floral. light and loose enough to feel comfortable. but it wasn't every day that you'd be offered the chance to be painted by an artist, specifically not from one as talented and handsome as he was. so despite his words, you found yourself shifting within the seat, trying to catch the low hum of bossa nova that played lowly in the background.
he looked comfortable, though. in his black top and grey sweats, you watch as he assembled his items with the same ease and carefree nature he'd always carried with regard to art. the sunlight that peered through the curtains captures the blonde streak of his hair and the delicate features in a manner that makes your chest stir. you wonder if he's ever created a self-portrait: ever tried bringing his own beauty to life on a canvas.
but you don't ask. because you're only slightly more curious about why it's you specifically who sits in the chair amid the backdrop of books. as he settles into a comfortable position on the stool, the words finally leave your lips. "so.....i have to ask," you start, tilting your head in inquiry. "why paint me?"
he pauses his set-up for a second, looking up at you with the same glimmer of amusement behind his eyes as that day in the classroom, as if the answer had been quite obvious. "i think you're pretty."
the words leave his lips so matter-of-factly, you almost feel foolish for asking. a new color that you hope won't last long enough to be captured in the portrait floods your cheeks as you blink in shock. "t-thank you,"
you aren't sure what else to say, really. you didn't think he ever noticed you, not really. from where you sit in the classroom, it was a semi-surprise to you that he had even known your name.
he simply murmurs a hum in acknowledgment, turning his attention back to the partially done canvas. "and a bit frustrating." he says with a sly smile.
that earns another tilt from you. the tone is light, playful, but the truth in his words still clear. "frustrating? how?"
he dips the thick-rimmed brush into the water that sits in the center of his palette, the same way you've watched him do countless times. "i've done countless portraits before; so many sketches," he says, bringing the bristles toward the browns for the background. "beautiful works, people would try to buy them off of me, y'know?"
"but this," he taps the bridge of his nose with the end of the brush, brings it to the space underneath his eyes, then his lips. "you," he says, dark eyes shadowed by even darker hair fall upon you. "i can never seem to get you right."
your heart hiccupped as the words left his lips. he's tried before to capture you, or your essence, by the way he's phrased it. he speaks of you as if you're the art itself, that he's only done his best to replicate it. you almost ask him again; why you? but the answer has been made clear. especially with how he looks now, as he moves his fingers along the whites of his page, etching it with color.
so you ask something else. "i....inspire you that much?"
he doesn't even pause again, nodding ever so slowly as his slim fingers clutch and control the brush. "of course," he says, with a smile "everything does." he continues; and the way the light captures his adam's apple as it bobs isn't lost on you. "the ducks by the pond on campus, the fog in the early mornings before classes,"
"the cherry blossoms by the park," the way his expression shifts as he eyes his painting lets you know something is coming together. "pretty girls that sit in the library," he says, with a gentle wink. "it's hard not to be inspired."
you'd let out a snort if the last remark didn't make you flustered. undoubtedly, there was beauty everywhere, especially the sakura trees and the formation of ducks by the pond. but to be so inspired by it to try to bring it to life was a completely different thing. and to be so inspired; to see it in you, had been something you hadn't even fathomed.
the piece, you begin to realize, is in fact a continuation. this was most certainly the one from class, with shelves arranged to form the image. it was only upon hearing his words that you understood they'd been proper bookshelves, like the ones you'd sit under in between courses. the same thing he'd tried to replicate somewhat in the living room of the apartment.
you suppose this really had been helpful for him. maybe in a matter of moments, he would be able to capture you the same way he does a bright sunset, or a vivid horizon upon a beach. "well," you say, eyes falling onto the way his hands drift. "glad i could help."
the room grows with a soft quiet as riki works. he watches you intently from across his stool before turning back to his piece to drag his hand across it. his brows furrow in that same familiar way they would in class, and he wears the unmistakable expression of concentration when creating something beautiful, something real. it's funny, being on this side of it. you'd never thought you'd be the focus of it when it came to his works.
but here you are, sitting as he moves with pinched brows and quiet precision. it's only the sound of bristles meeting cloth, accompanied by quiet jazz that fills the room, your lips hesitant to even so much as quiver. it's only when he lets out a sigh of frustration that they finally twitch.
"is...everything okay?"
he nods slowly, dark hair bouncing with the subtle shake. "yeah, i'm just..." he huffs, moistening the bristles. "a bit scared is all."
never in a million years did you think you'd hear those words leave his lips. riki, the class prodigy, who'd generated creations worthy of praise and even more....was scared? he, who the professor had looked to as an example to project, promote, and constantly acknowledge. the artist whose minimal 'mistakes' only aided in his works coming alive?
"scared?" you ask now, squinting. "for the....features, right?"
he nods lowly, biting at his lower lip. "i just don't want to mess it up, y'know?" he mutters, as a battle wages behind his eyes. "i don't want to ruin it."
funny, how all the times you'd spent looking at him in the classroom, this is the first time you truly see him. sitting now before you, in a pair of gray sweats and wearing an expression of worry, is when you finally feel as if you recognize him; the real him.
your classmate and peer, the boy who shows to the world the fruits of his labor, the beauty in his works, but deep down deals with the same challenges and worries as you. the boy who feels and experiences the same points of block when creating. the boy who feels stuck in his own work because of: you.
only the pressure for him was ten times worse. often looked at as the example, golden boy of the field, you realized he didn't get to have these rare moments of block, let alone show up and leave his class with a blank canvas the way you did.
maybe, you begin to wonder that you are both more alike than you realize.
he smiles a soft one before shifting back to work, but you've already seen it. the flicker of vulnerability in his features. the gentle frustration behind his eyes at himself for being unable to bring his vision to life. a feeling you know all too well.
before you realize it, you clear your throat. "i tried what you told me the other day," you say, returning the soft smile as you speak. "about just painting what i felt."
when his dark eyes meet yours, you hope the words provide him any kind of consolation, any help as you continue. "my piece was a little more abstract, but.....it worked."
it's true. his advice on a random afternoon had done more than a dozen art lessons, videos, and lectures from professor jona. you'd only hope that even if he hadn't been able to capture what he'd been going for, at the very least, the image could make him feel something other than frustration.
of course, it had helped that you had a very handsome, tall, and downright gorgeous muse in mind as you created it, but maybe: he needed a reminder of his own words to do exactly that. especially if in his eyes; you were as pretty as he said you were.
riki nods, his hands moving slower as he works, as his attention shifts to the words that leave your lips. "that's good," a genuine tone echoes through the room. "what'd you paint?"
"it was....a bit of everything," you say, thinking of the flurry of colors you'd produced mere nights ago in your living room. "but it's better than anything I've done in....a while."
you shock yourself with your own honesty. perhaps it's something in the air; the warm silence in which you two safeguarded within the four walls you sit in, up until this point. there's an ease the energy of the room has shifted into, the jazz being an excellent choice to aid in it.
in a moment's notice, he stops working completely to offer another sweet grin. though it's not unlike the smiles he's given you before, this one is most certainly softer; more authentic. "that's really awesome, actually," he says, a soft glimmer in his eye. "hoping i can do the same, hm?"
before he can even do so much as shift back into his perpetual 'flow-state' you quickly tell him that he can. "i took the advice you gave me a bit literally, but," you start. "whose to say you can't do the same?"
this question seems to intrigue him, because he places both the brush and palette down nearby, before raising a brow. "what do you mean?"
so you tell him. explain that even though the piece you worked had been shapeless, lifeless, it held thousands of words and feelings beyond it. that expression, in that moment, relied more on color, the feeling itself it'd drawn from you. not a series of shapes and angles aligned in a manner that could change at any moment.
"it's like this," you say, practically itching in your seat to tell him about it. "think about what you're feeling and... choose a color that best represents it."
he squints in thought, and you can practically see the art critic in him willing itself out of his body. "that does seem to better fit abstract art, though."
a scoff nearly leaves your lips upon hearing his words. it's as if another switch flips in your body because in that moment, you finally understand the persistent debates and arguments held within class. the snarky remarks jake and other classmates would make amongst each other from and across their sides of the classroom. the rebuttals against those who taught and thought of art as a clinical process, a study; something to be perfected and achieved.
those who thought of the field with deep intricacies and nuances as a craft to be improved upon. the very same people whose views contain such constraint that seep into your subconscious, blocking out any imperfect thought or paralyzing you as you stand before your own page. one to be graded, critiqued, and misunderstood by anyone who didn't quite 'get it' or feel what you felt.
and to be quite frank, it'd be a shock to see if he were one of those people. so you challenge the very thought.
"whose to say it does?" you ask, a newfound confidence rising within your voice and body as you squint back at him. "it may end up capturing more than you think."
and there it is. the flicker of worry, concern, and unease that brings his eyebrows together and purses his lips. the expression seems to rip the words out of you before you can register them.
"you won't mess it up, riki."
there's a sensitivity in your voice that manages to simultaneously ease him and you as it floods the room. professor jo would be in shambles upon seeing this. the class wreck, trying to ease the expert into something new? unfathomable.
but your professor hadn't been there. in the living room sat only two art students, sharing quiet thoughts and confessions in the shadows of their own vulnerabilities across the thin veil of paint and cloth. no prodigies nor washouts; only you and riki, and the gentle hum of jazz the record player provides.
the pause he takes is relieved momentarily, and as his eyes dance along the features of yours he'd so longingly tried to imitate. his eyes flicker back to the painting, then to you, as he purses his bottom lip as if to say why not?
"show me." he then says, though if there weren't so much humility in his voice, you'd think it a command; one you easily oblige to upon hearing it.
accompanying this feeling, is a quiet ache in your chest upon hearing his words that sticks with you. a subtle feeling of regret that sits in your core upon the realization of the truth; that no matter how it seemed, he'd only ever been just like you. intrigued, thoughtful, and curious about the true meaning and value of art. maybe you'd have realized it sooner if you'd spent time with him, rather than merely looking at him from the back of the class. or even at times judging how 'perfect' his presentation had always seemed.
a pang sits in your chest for all lost time, but the curiosity in his tone makes you want to make up for it. in a flash, you're on your feet, crossing the room to stand in front of him. he only watches with intrigued brown eyes as you pop the canvas from the easel, and set it on the floor. "join me?"
he nods quickly, picking up the paints and setting them next to the piece on the floor as you take a seat next to the work. to the record player he goes, to turn up the bossa nova before he returns to sit next to you on the floor. you're grateful, truly: you were beginning to wonder if he'd hear your stuttering heart over the low tone of music.
he sits along the carpet, shifting the paints along the hardwood portion of the floor to prevent any major messes. "so....a color for a feeling?"
"exactly," you respond, watching as he mixes a deep blue with a gentle red, before dropping the tool. "exactly like that."
"so like....red for anger? green for envy?"
"not quite," you say, wracking your brain for the words. "it's more so what something makes you feel."
the images from that night flash in your mind; the recollection you'd had of his smile, voice, and their coinciding colors. a hue of greens, purples, and oranges across the canvas as the emotion had been pulled out of you. "for instance....." you look at the partially done image and faceless depiction of you that lies before you both. "libraries make you feel....."
"warm." he says lowly, an ease in his voice that stirs a new feeling of it's own in your chest. "cozy."
you're just about to ask what color he associates with the feeling, but he's already reaching for the brush again to dip into a slightly dried brown on his palette. instinctively, your hand grips his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. you pull away almost instantly, as if you've burned yourself upon the realization of what you've done.
"sorry," you say quickly, gesturing back to the palette. "i just....i also only paint with my fingers."
a tip he didn't necessarily need to take, but one you'd felt important to mention. he'd been using watercolor this whole time, so you'd felt safe to mention it. had it been acrylic or oil, you'd have been hesitant. though the ease with which you'd be able to work with the material, to you, at least, had made you feel more connected to the creations in a way.
but he does take it, wetting his fingers in the muddled water before connecting them with the brown, drawing lines along the canvas. then, suddenly, "what was your inspo when you did it?" he asks, looking up at you as his fingers dot the blank portions. "any muses of your own?"
you almost don't register the question, looking at the way his pale fingers run themselves along the whites of the board. in a flash, though, it hits you, earning a low, ironic chuckle that flies from your lips.
under different circumstances, you'd have dodged the answer completely; insisted on giving a vague answer or simply telling him "a guy". but in the spirit of revelations about each other and the unguarded ease with which you two had slipped into moments ago, it felt right to tell him. after all, he'd been the one who'd opened that door. insisted on calling you 'pretty' and apparently, the inspiration for his own works.
so, looking up from the piece his hands shuffled across; you attempted to use the same matter-of-fact tone as he did earlier when answering your question. "i thought of....." you give the same genuine smile as he did. "you, riki."
you aren't sure what to expect when the words leave your lips. a flood of color tints his cheeks as he looks back at you, and he bites back a surprised smile. "oh," he says, amusement skirting his tone. "guess i should have known, hm? you are always staring at me in class."
the record player may as well have scratched, because in that moment, you feel your heart plummet.
this entire time, he had noticed.
"i-" for a brief moment, you wondered if this had been what it was like for your brain to actually short-circuit. "i-"
he lets out a soft, throaty chuckle at your perturbation before gripping your wrist in his hand. "relax, pretty," he says, gesturing to the work with stained fingers. "clearly i noticed you, too."
his eyes capture yours under the cast-in light the windows provide. they hold you with a reverence for a brief moment, and upon feeling your once-tense hand loosen a bit, he doesn't let go. not even when he turns back to work the page.
with one hand lining the canvas and the other holding yours, he dots the lines of the depiction of your hair with a mellow yellow. after a moment of watching him sprinkle the color along the edges, you ask what it means.
he looks up at you, before a look of awe unfolds upon his features. "hopeful." he says, running the color along the lines of the portrait.
he spreads the color amongst many along the features of the canvas, slowly making his way toward the portions he'd once been hesitant about. you're tempted to ask what each of them means, but let him move in silence for some time, leaning into the way he clutches your hand.
then, by surprise, you feel a cool sensation against the back of it as he reaches to press the same color of yellow along the smooth skin, streaking the tone in a stark contrast. your heart practically trips over itself upon the contact, and you glance up at him to clarify. "hopeful?"
he nods, and doesn't stop there. before you can ask why, he dips his index finger in a shade of orange before dragging it along your arm, avoiding your floral dress as he does. he mutters something quietly, personal, in a tone so intimate you could melt. the jazz nearly drowns it out, but you think he says the word; "happy."
the sensation of his fingers running along your arm is enough to make you twitch; something you're almost positive he catches as he works the paint along your skin.
but you don't pull away, try to stop him as he continues. you only turn toward him, allowing him to work the paint up toward your collarbone, earning a low gasp from you as he shifts and adjusts his palette.
"shy," he chuckles, gliding his fingers along the curve of your neck. his eyes glimmer with the exact emotion he claims to experience upon exposure to the specific feature, as shown in how his fingers start to tremble upon nearing your face.
it's a feat of your own, trying not to twitch or shudder as his fingers dance along the corners and curves of your body, as if marking you like a portrait itself.
as he dawns you in colors, you'd wonder how long he'd been connected to the feeling of them. how often had he grown shy upon seeing you in halter-tops on the way to and during class? how happy had it made him when you'd rolled up your sleeves to reach a book on the top shelf of a section in a library? did it always give him hope to see the ways in which you'd styled your hair on a specific day?
as the questions float in your mind, it seems as if he has one of his own. because after a moment, he pauses, then glides a swatch of blue along your chin as he lifts it up, as if you ask if the very movement is alright. as if to make sure no lines had been crossed.
it's only when you nod that he continues, muttering a soft "nervous." he wipes the blue along your cheek with his thumb, as he cups it before leaning in. "really nervous."
the words rip a gentle gasp from your throat, and you feel your breathing grow shaky as the gap between both of you begins to shrink. the feeling had been more than mutual, and by the way your hands fumble as they reach for the fabric of his clothes, it had been for some time.
finally, without taking his eyes off of you for even so much as a second, his nimble fingers manage to find the color red, but not before dipping into the water, and gliding the vibrant shade just beneath your lip, along the edges of your mouth. "desire," the words comes out closer to a groan as they tumble from his lips. "want."
you're leaning into his touch, eyes darting along his features, which solely concentrate on you. in that moment, it's as if you completely understand what it must feel like to be the subject of his art. he eyes you in the way he would a canvas, his dark brows drawn together and his plump lips pouting in veneration.
only, as his eyes circle yours, there's something softer behind the brown orbs, a gentleness in the way they glide along the colors of your cheek; and a new question. one that he chooses to now verbalize as he gazes into your eyes underneath the sunlight. "(y/n)," he breathes, blinking softly, as if he could etch the image of you behind his lids. "would you do me the honor of letting me paint you?"
and when you give a shaky nod, accompanied by a soft 'yes', he snaps into action.
the gap is closed with a gentle tug of your face towards his. the lips you'd long thought about feel softer than you could have ever imagined as they move against your own. there's a burst of your own red that seems to flood your chest, want spilling from you like a fountain as you nearly stumble over the painting in an attempt to lessen any further space.
he seems to understand this, because the strength you hadn't realized he had reveals itself as he pulls you into his lap. the flap of your dress rises slightly as he does, and his reaction isn't lost upon you as he steadies your thighs, shuddering lowly.
there's a reverence to his movements, a quiet restraint as he holds you as if you are something fragile, something delicate. his paint-stained fingers make their way up your exposed thigh, each finger tinting your skin a new shade. he stops upon reaching the waistband of your lace panties, before pulling his lips away to inspect your features.
you should feel silly when he does, the gentle features of your own colored in with washed shades of red, blue, and orange alike. admittedly, there's a low chuckle that he can't suppress as he eyes you, which welcomes a warm smile in return as you bring your hand up to wipe his own smudged cheek. but beneath it all is the clear and undeniable expression of sheer want.
so he presses forward, adjusting your body in his lap so that your back is against his chest. you lean into his warm embrace, tilting your head back to look at the delicate, unwavering features of his again.
you think he's going to take your lips between his again, when his arm reaches across the painting you both sit before, and he grabs the paintbrush. "riki..." you mutter, eyes following his fingers as they make their way back to you. "what-"
he silences your concern with a kiss, only breaking apart to whisper the gentle words that send tingles along your skin. "wanna try something first."
and then you feel it.
the drag of the thick-rimmed wooden brush along your skin, along the dips and line of your collarbone. a gasp leaves your lips as he continues moving it down the line between your breasts, the soft fabric of your dress sliding with it.
his other hand pops the clips of your bra mere seconds upon the dress making it's way down, the restraint in his actions growing thin. "riki..." you say again, although it's fathomed more out of a plea than simple concern.
a plea that he moves quickly to fulfill as your satin bra slides off your shoulders. "hm, pretty?" he says, bringing the end of the brush to your now exposed breasts, rubbing small circles along your nipples. then, lower, "feel good?"
you will the words to leave your throat, but they seem to be suspended there with each flick of the hardened material against the peaks of your chest. all you manage to get out is a low whimper as your back arched away from his chest to chase the contact of the brush.
but that doesn't seem to be enough. his lips find new spots along your neck to kiss and bite along as he lets out a low hum. "need to hear you say it, hun."
an unruly shiver emits itself from you as you feel his lips press themselves along your erogenous zones, marking them in a manner that will most certainly leave colors that can't so easily be washed away. the sensation of his bites paired with the lazy glide of the brush just past your areola almost proves too much to handle.
he seems to feel it too, his breathing growing heavy as he watches your lashes flutter every so often from the contact. his sweats don't help much, either; they easily give way to the shape of his hardening cock as it presses into your back while kissing you.
but it's only when you let out a weak. "yes, riki," between ragged breaths that he finally acts.
his nimble fingers move to spread your thighs apart, hiking up your dress as his other hand with the brush moves downward. the handle drifts along your chest, past your waist, then to your slick panties. shockwaves are sent through your body as he glides the wood across your clothed clit, bringing it up and down in an agonizingly slow pace.
your hips buck at the sensation, willing him to apply more pressure along your pussy with the brush, a low moan threatening to erupt from your throat as you grind.
"easy, baby." riki purrs, applying just enough contact to drive you insane if prolonged. "wanna take this slow."
but you don't. not with how much time you'd felt had been spent with inaction, watching and waiting from opposite sides of the classroom, but ultimately wanting the same thing. each other.
so you wrap your fingers around the base of the brush, keeping his touch there in alignment with yours in an attempt to bring it closer. "rik, please,"
his restraint seems to fray at your given nickname, and his grip on the handle eases at your touch. he pauses from neck kisses against your shoulder to peer over it instead, watching as you push the end of the brush closer towards your clit. he cracks only slightly as he watches you buck into the thick handle.
"fuucck," he hisses, adjusting his hand on the handle so that it clutches yours along the wood. "okay, baby....just....lemme guide you, hm?"
you nod fervently, loosening your own grip in submission as he changes the tempo and pace with the brush, flicking the tool from side to side in a way that makes your core ache. before you can stop them, whimpers are tumbling from your lips, soft, high-pitched squeals that grow with each movement along your panties. he lets you tilt the brush at a devastating angle to shallow along your lips now, your underwear sticking to the wet folds as you both move.
"shiitt, riki," you finally moan, your handle on the brush growing weak as you succumb to the pleasure that lights up every nerve in your body. "so....fucking good."
riki nods into your shoulder, the pounding of his heart thudding from behind your back as he grunts lowly. "i know, baby," his free hand drifts up to caress your exposed breasts, adorning them with specs of color; reds of course, deep hues and expressions of devastating want. "keep rubbing that pretty pussy for me, wanna see you do it in circles."
there's something about the low tone in which he speaks that makes you wish to obey. so in mere seconds, you switch to the circular motion he's told you to, mouth agape from the sheer pleasure it brings.
"oh," you moan at the contact, feeling his hand tighten around yours in an attempt to maintain the pressure. "oh my fucking god, riki,"
you won't last long. not with the way he picks up the tempo as your hands go slack with delight. the sounds of moisture sliding against the tool and material of the fabric rival with the heavy breaths between moans you let out. "i'm gonna fucking....mmgh.."
the dizzying spell of his hands against your chest leaves you breathless, and the struggle to find words pursues as he presses down harder, drawing out longer, deeper circles. "mm gonna what, pretty?"
the sudden jerk and twist of your body is the answer as you let out a drawn-out moan, clawing at his clothes for any semblance of grounding. your orgasm shoots through you, a sharp jolt that spreads from your pulsing clit along the nerves and veins of your empty walls, past your shaking thighs. the sensation is enough to make your skin along every exposed part of your body tingle as you squeak the words out. "mm....fuckin' coming,"
the sound that erupts from riki upon your undoing is nothing short of feral. he groans as he watches you twist in pleasure, only slowing down the pace of the brush when you push against his hand, whimpering as you ride out the sensation. "my fucking god, baby," he grunts into your ear. "you're so damn beautiful."
your hand is still clutching his clothes when he drops the brush and pulls away. in mere seconds, he slides the dress up and off of your figure, before guiding you out of his lap and onto the carpet. you watch intently as he hovers over you, pulling off his own shirt without doing so much as letting his eyes leave yours.
and boy, is he a work of art.
tattoos along his rib, you see dark letters that spell out 'ROSE' in a stark contrast against his skin. just above his waist, you see a bright red kiss mark, the vibrant in the same hue he'd painted his 'desire' toward you with. the same shade that stains your cheek, after he'd dragged his finger across it with watercolor.
instinctively, your finger comes up to palm it, circling the pair of lips in awe as he throws his shirt to the side. "so are you." you respond, a bit breathless from the high of the climax and the way he looks at you.
you don't miss the flood of pink in his own cheeks as he leans down to kiss you, peeling at your underwear with his fingers. when he gets them off, they are neglected just as easily as the thought of the jazz music that hums lowly in the back, drowned out by the noise of wet, sloppy kisses exchanged between you both.
the kisses grow messier, louder, as his lips move down toward your exposed cunt as he places several along your thighs, then a harsh lick along your clit.
a gasp leaves your throat, and you nearly squeeze your thighs shut as he suckles and rolls your sensitive parts around his tongue. the image is almost too much to bear; his head between your thighs, streaks of paint from his fingers that line them in an attempt to keep them open. your fingers make their way through his locs as you grip his hair, moans from your throat flying freely now.
"shiit, riki, i'm gonna-" your voice cracks at the devastating pulsing his tongue performs against your swollen clit. "m'gonna cum again, fuck." you manage to whimper out.
your eyes squeeze shut, though between flashes, you can see hues of yellow and blues have accumulated within the pale streak of his hair. whether it had been from the paint he'd coated your hand with from earlier, or the flecks from the tip of the paintbrush you'd both held, you weren't sure. but it all added to the image you'd never be able to forget; not now, not ever.
you come with a harsh shudder as he flicks his moist tongue through and around the folds of your pussy. "ngh!" you cry out, gripping the locs of his dark hair even harder as your thighs tremble.
he clutches them as you ride out your high, letting out a deep groan and bringing his head upwards to place another kiss along your cunt. "mhm, such a pretty girl,"
you can only twitch in response, growing weary as the second flood of pleasure washes over your senses. riki is already making his way back up your face with a line of kisses as he mutters sweet words into your skin.
he takes his time making his way up, running his fingers along the sides of your waist, the sticky sweat of it alone enough to activate a new blend of colors he spends on you.
the feeling of his hands along your skin is something you don't think you'll ever get used to. not with how every gentle stroke seems to set you on fire, sending you into a frenzy. the same, you begin to realize, can be said with regard to satiation. because as you lie, trying to recover from your last high, you practically ache to become close to him again. the once skin-tingling pleasure begins to shift to one of want when his lips find yours. "ki...." you mutter between kisses. "need you, please."
"i know, hun," he hums into your lips, the taste of yourself spilling onto your tongue as he kisses you. "gonna give you everything you need, promise."
but he's so agonizingly reverential. his hands move along your sides as if he'll break you should he grip too hard. he treats your body as if you were the painting from earlier, restraint of expression holding him back from painting you with all the brightest colors of his own.
you couldn't wait a second longer. not when you'd already waited for what felt like an eternity for a moment even remotely close to this; to him. so a slight push, you lift his weight from atop you, breaking the kiss.
"ki, i'm not like the painting, okay?" you say, running your hands along the base of the artwork that adorns his own body. "you're not gonna ruin me," you say, tugging at his sweatpants; which does a poor job at hiding his now leaking tip.
the darkness that falls upon his eyes is instant, and the once careful painter you'd known from earlier seems to fade away as the words leave your lips. it's as if he'd been waiting for you to say them all along, because his response is almost instant, his low voice practically dripping with need as he looks down at you. "what if i want to?"
this only makes you tug harder at his sweats, a low plea sliding off your tongue in desperation. "then do it, ki please do it." you gasp. "please ruin me."
and at your words, the last of his resolve crumbles. he practically rips his pants away, willing the space between you to ultimately disappear. "fuuckk, hun," is the only throaty, guttural warning you get before he lines himself up, and pushes into you.
the sensation is instant, hitting you as nearly as hard as the orgasm from mere moments ago, as the sheer width of his cock fills you with pleasure. you claw at his arms, pulling him down for any kind of support as he slams into you, a feeling that leaves you breathless.
a yelp emerges from your throat as you feel a sharp sting across your ass, accompanied by the echo of a slap. the sensation is so sharp you feel your eyes begin to well; that, just like his other markings, will leave a bright hue for you tomorrow, if it hasn't already.
the moans that erupt from him upon entry nearly send you over the edge again. it's as if you can feel the last of his restraint fray as he pounds into you mercilessly. he holds down your arms onto the carpet as he fucks you; as if you could go anywhere, anyway. as if you could do anything more than moan his name as he kissed, sucked, and nibbled at any exposed part of your body.
the moisture that spills between you sends the exchange of color down the valley of your breasts, and along his shoulders. it's a lovely shade of lilac that you've decided feels like passion, harmony, lust; all at once. and maybe one day, something more.
it's the same gorgeous shade you see when he breaks the kiss to look into your eyes. a gasp is evoked from you upon seeing the smudges materialize along his neck, a mix of the blue and red he'd given you.
you wonder how you look underneath him, smeared in the material with your mouth hanging open, willing your teary eyes to stay open as his cock drags in and out of you.
"beautiful," he says, as if reading your mind before picking up the pace. "long way from the back of the class, huh?"
you'd answer him if you could, but the only thing that seems to be able to leave your lips are the high-pitched moans that rival his low, deep groans as he speeds up.
his brows furrow as he presses his forehead to yours, his mouth parting in awe as he loses himself in the velvety warmth of your cunt. "i'm....not gonna last, baby." he mutters, biting his lip between grunts as the slap of his balls sounds throughout the living room. "i'm so close."
you felt yourself nearing the end, too, the coil in your stomach twisting and swelling with a sensation that threatens to spill over at any minute. the long lashes that riki peers through flutter every so often he watches you twitch beneath him. then, his brown eyes manage to stay open for just long enough to give a plea of their own, and a question, low, wrecked tumbles from his gasping lips.
"can i- fucckk, ngh," he starts, gripping your thighs with the tenacity of a man who longed for this just as deeply as you had. a man who took great pride in ruining you the way you insisted. "can i come on your belly, baby?"
you nod gently, whimpering out a soft "yes" as he tastes the salt along your skin with each sloppy kiss along your face. in a few quick, deep strokes, you're sent over the edge, gripping him with your walls as the nerves of your pussy flood with waves of euphoria. "sshiiittt, riki!" you hiss, the tears that formed from your pupils spilling over as he rams into you.
his eyes roll back after he sees you unravel beneath him. through visions of flashes of white you see his sharp jaw slacken as the heat of his breath glides along your cheek. "shit, (y/n) i'm gonna...."
the last of his resolve is used to pull out of your twitching cunt before your skin is pricked with liquid, hot and white, along the curve of your breasts, stomach, and facial features alike. "fucckkk" he groans, his chest heaving in delight. his lips find your face again, now adorned with streaks of his cum. "there she....fuckin' is." he croaks, as his eyes dart along the paint and cum littered portions of your figure.
he wills himself not to collapse on you, as if he'd ruin the very art he'd work so hard to create. but alas, he grows weak, succumbing to the fatigue as he eases himself onto your body, careful not to put all of his weight on you. there's a deep, low chuckle that sounds in your ear as he runs his hands through strands of your hair. "mhm, finally," he says, low, fucked-out. "got you right."
a swell of pride enters your chest, because his words, and the gentle expression of joy in his features as he kisses along your face, you know he's done it. finally brought to life the essence and emotion he'd been trying to for months; if not on canvas, he'd undoubtedly captured the image in his mind for many more months to come.
soft sighs and chuckles erupt from you two, and he takes his fingers to swirl the remaining color around your body gently. he does so the entire time eyeing you as if you'd truly been a mosaic, a mural, and the portrait all at once; as if you had been the real art this entire time. the once-forgotten bossa nova reemerges from the player, no longer drowned out by the sounds of bliss you'd created only seconds ago.
in a swift movement, he pushes off, and pulls you back into a gentle embrace, in no rush to clean either you or him, as if erasing the very proof that what had occurred would undo him completely, all over again.
so there you lay; breathless, weary, blissful, and content. the very words that described the body you claimed, and adorned in colors and the essence of love alike, his masterpiece.
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