Running a little witch store in a small town, recently the only exciting thing has been Jake visiting your store every other day. While he doesn’t buy anything, his looks are enough to make your days a little less boring. And when he comes in one day, mixing up his offered tea with a very, very powerful aphrodisiac… it is about to get a lot more than just a little less boring.
Pairing: Neighbor!Jake x Witch!Reader
Genre: Porn with almost no plot, Supernatural (as reader is a witch, duh)
Warnings: Jake is a bit of an idiot but hot, reader is very sarcastic… are those even warnings? Reader has female anatomy and is described as a woman, pure filth basically, MINORS DNI!!! Smut tags under the cut
Word Count: 6k
A/N: Well hello! Happy Halloween everyone! My little last minute Halloween Project is done! First up, thanks to @aaagustd for the AMAZING banner!!! And my lovely @heechwe for betaing! This work was very, highly, extremely inspired by a clears throat spicy audio that was uploaded literally last night. Could not stop imagining it to be Jake who this happens to… so here we are. The creator’s name is AugustInTheWinter, check out his Patreon or Reddit, I swear it is SO worth it if you’re into audios!! Anyway, thanks August for this inspo and thank you guys for reading! tagging my beloved @yvnempire because she's so excited about this hehe. Please leave comments and/or reblog, it would mean the absolute world! Wanna support me? Here's my Ko-Fi!
Smut Tags: Big dick!Jake, Jake starts nervous and a bit subby, but turns into a beast, handjob, blowjob, face-fucking, facial, p in v sex, unprotected sex (stay safe kids!!), multiple orgasms, loads of cum (like really… so much), dirty talk, degradation (words used: whore, slut, hole, fucktoy etc.) cumplay, cum eating, tell me if i missed anything!
Everything about this town was boring.
The scenery was boring. The activities were boring. The people were boring.
Just… everything.
Your coven had sent you here because of the apparent magical aura you so, as they said, “desperately needed to achieve your full potential”. Bullshit, for all you cared. The magical aura might have been strong, but it was so deeply rooted into the earth, you had trouble reaching it even after hours of channeling your own powers. Of course, you didn’t tell them that. All they knew was that you were having a blast in this shithole of a town and had already made tons of friends.
So far no one had questioned your answers and so you just lived your life, hoping you would soon succeed in attaining the magical power of this place and go back to your normal life.
Recently, though, you at least had something a little less boring gracing you every other day. Jake Sim - the neighbor from across the street. He was handsome and a little shy and very obviously did not believe magic existed. Not that you cared much about that, no, you had been exposed to many people who didn’t believe in you and your kind, not to mention all the other supernatural beings walking on the face of earth.
Jake was a non-believer and wonderful to look at and you were fine with that. Content. More than happy.
As you were brewing some potions a few of the older women around town had ordered (while they also didn’t exactly believe in magic, they at least believed in your ability to brew things that were extremely efficient in their gardens), you found yourself thinking about the pretty man again. About his laugh and his eyes, about the way his shirt would rise up and show a bit of his happy trail leading down to something you could only wish to see fully exposed one day.
Truthfully, the last time you got laid had been ages ago. So long that you couldn’t even really remember who it was with and where. It was a curse, this town, and seeing a young attractive man stalking into your store a few weeks back had suddenly brought back the desire you had managed to suppress for who knows how long.
Just then, as you were deep in thought, cutting up some lavender, the door opened and the little bell above it rang, bringing you back to the present.
“Hi Y/N!”
Jake had his puppy smile on, hair blown out of his face and a thick coat hanging off his shoulders. He walked over to the counter and you smiled up at him, catching yourself finding his flushed cheeks extremely endearing.
“Jake, welcome. Anything I can do for you today or are just here for another chat about how magic can’t be real?” You tilted your head and gave him a playful smile that he answered with a little laugh.
“Actually, I did come for something today. Mrs. Bloodstean said you have some great tonics for flowers?”
Ah, yes, Mrs, Bloodstean, the woman three houses down who had trouble with her roses. You had helped her and now her roses bloomed all year round.
“I do indeed, Mr. Sim. What can I get for you?”
“Well, I’ve been having some troubles with my Mandevillas… they don’t seem to wanna bloom as much as, uh, I would like them to.”
His sheepish grin would have made your knees weak if you’d been standing. You nodded and got up, checking the shelves behind you for the potion he’d need to get his flowers to grow and bloom as much as he liked. Eyes roaming over the different bottles, you soon came to the realization you were out and clicked your tongue.
“Seems like I’ll have to brew one. That’s gonna take a couple minutes, do you want some tea while you wait?”
Jake nodded yes and smiled, turning around to do this usual routine through the rows of shelves in your store. From a safe distance, he began to watch you do your thing, cutting up ingredients and throwing them into a miniature cauldron Jake couldn’t help but be amused by. A witch store in the middle of this small town, run by one of the most attractive women Jake had ever laid his eyes on.
When he had first stumbled in here, he had mistaken it for an alternative medicine shop. While he wasn’t totally wrong, he also wasn’t fully correct. You did offer some remedies and lotions, some potions and tonics, but you also had crystals and salts and books in your many high rising wooden shelves. The first day, he had spent hours just browsing through the books, not thinking of actually buying anything, but somehow being immersed into this world of magic he was so sure could only exist in fiction.
He hadn’t even noticed someone working at the front behind the counter until he turned to leave, almost stumbling over his feet when he spotted you. You concentrated on a page in an old looking book, biting down onto your tongue that was slightly sticking out of your mouth. You with the prettiest face he had ever seen, that made it so hard to look away.
After that, he came back every other day, hoping to talk to you, get to know you and maybe ask you out on a date. Of course, he never did because if Jake was anything it was a coward. It didn’t matter that he somehow happened to be handsome, his charisma was in the trenches.
It was obvious he didn’t see the effect he had on you, which made it even more fun to have him around in your store. You could sense that this man did not have one indecent thought about you while in the store, even when you wore low cut shirts or skirts with slits almost as high as your hip. No, he was a good boy, a sweet boy. The contrast of the two of you was almost comical - you thinking about what it would be like to feel him, to taste him, to push him against a bookshelf and have your way with him and Jake just wanting to man up to ask you out.
Circling back to the front, Jake saw you hard at work and decided to fill his tea cup by himself, the steaming blue teapot on the right side of the counter. Smiling, he brought the cup to his lips and took a sip, his eyes widening at the sweet taste.
God, that’s delicious!
The hotness of the drink seemed to fade into the background as the taste spread on his tongue, so sweet and wonderful his eyes almost rolled back, the liquid making his whole body feel warm and fuzzy, and without even noticing he finished the whole cup in one go.
“Wow, that tea is amazing! What kind is it? I don’t think I’ve ever had it before.” Jake put the cup back down and beamed at you.
Blinking, you looked up at the brown-haired man, your mind a little slow at catching up with what Jake said.
“What do you mean?” You asked, brows furrowing slightly.
“The tea you made me, what kind is it?” He repeated, pointing at the teapot next to him.
Your eyes widened for a brief moment, then you slowly got up.
“How much did you drink of that?” You asked calmly.
“A whole cup, it’s like so, so good, how-,”
“A whole cup?!” The volume of your voice surprised both of you and Jake’s eyes widened in surprise, his mouth dropping open a little.
“Was that- was I not supposed to? I- I’m sorry, you seemed busy, so I just helped myself.”
You stayed silent for a few seconds. Watching Jake’s confused face, trying to read his thoughts. He had absolutely no idea what he just drank. But you did.
A grin found its way onto your lips, a grin so diabolical it made Jake’s stomach turn.
“That’s not your tea, Jakey,” you said, pointing at the teapot he drank from, “your tea is over here.”
Jake followed where your finger pointed next, a small black teapot standing to your left, all done with a cute little pink cup next to it. He blinked a few times.
“Then- then what is this?” He asked, nervousness beginning to spread through his body. Your grin deepened.
“Oh, that? That’s just the very, very powerful aphrodisiac for Mrs. Brown’s husband. See, he can’t really get it up anymore.”
Silence. Jake felt like the whole world had suddenly gone silent at your words. But then he remembered where he was, who you were and how incredibly unlikely it was that this really worked. So, he snorted.
“Right. An aphrodisiac in the form of tea, I’m sure that’s gonna work wonders with Mr. Brown.”
“Not just him, but you too, you know,” you began to walk around the counter, stopping when you reached the other side, leaning against it with crossed arms, “and you’re only supposed to drink one sip of it. You, dear Jakey, drank a whole fucking cup.”
Honestly, Jake still didn’t believe you. Or at least he thought he didn’t. But something about the way you looked at him almost made him falter. He laughed and shook his head.
“Come on, Y/N, I’m not an idiot. This obviously isn’t going to work, it’s a hoax, we all know it’s a hoax.”
“Is it though, Jake? Is it really a hoax?”
“What? Of course it is! Magic isn’t real, can’t be real, this tea surely won’t help Mr. Brown get an erection and I, my friend, more than anything, will not get aroused by some fake viag-,”
Oh shit. Jake couldn’t help the deep moan escaping his throat when he suddenly felt the hardest wave of pleasure hit his body. He almost dropped to his knees, his cock growing harder by the second, pressing against the seam of his jeans, making them uncomfortably tight.
“You won’t get aroused, Jake? Yes? Is that right?” You were having the time of your life. This was better than anything you could have ever predicted. By Mystra, how could you have forgotten about the tea for Mrs. Brown? And how lucky were you for Jake to mistake it as his own? You couldn’t believe your luck.
“What the fuck is going on?” Jake groaned now, his chest heaving and you tilted your head again, watching sweat form on the handsome man’s forehead. His pupils were blown and his face flushed and, fuck, did he look good.
“I would say the potion is kicking in. How does it feel?” You bit your lip, watching Jake struggle to find words for what was happening inside… and outside of him.
“I- well, oh fuck, it, uhm, it feels… it feels like, like I’ve never- like it’s so.. it’s so h-hard, you know?”
“Hm, I don’t think I do. Perhaps you can show me, just so I can check if it all looks normal?”
Jake’s cock twitched at that. You wanted to see? Check if it looked normal? Another moan made its way through his lips and it sounded so utterly pathetic you felt yourself drip into your panties.
“Wh- what do you mean “normal”? C-Could it look, like, n-not normal?” He was sweating. A part of him really wanted you to see, to check, to maybe even touch him, but another felt shy, didn’t want this to happen before taking you out to a nice dinner, maybe even a movie and-
Fuck, who was he kidding?
“I don’t know, that’s why I wanna check. Will you show me, Jakey?”
“F-fine, b-but only to check!” His cheeks were on fire at this point. His cheeks on fire and his cock hard as a rock, aching and throbbing and probably aggressively red at the tip.
That last prediction proved to be correct when he pulled down his pants and briefs at once, his cock springing free, standing harder and prouder than he had ever seen it. He whimpered at the sight.
And you? You almost fell to your knees, itching to touch him, to lick over the tip that was already leaking so, so miserably. Oh good lord. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip again and you swallowed hard, eyes glued to the huge cock Jake had been hiding from you.
“Is it- is it always this big?” You asked, not even looking into Jake’s face anymore.
“Well, n-not when it’s not, uhm, you know… h-hard.”
“So it’s this size even when no potion is involved?” You wanted to know.
“Y-yeah, that didn’t change.”
“Holy fuck,” you mumbled, your hand wanting to grab around him so badly, but you contained yourself.
“What- what can we do? Like is there an antidote? Can I- can I drink another potion? Or maybe there is, uhm, fuck, a spell or something?”
You chuckled.
“Now you believe in spells, Jakey? Funny timing,” finally, you raised your head to look at him again, “but no, there is no antidote. Like I said, it’s made to help get it up and given in a specific dose. But you, my dear, drank probably thrice as much as necessary.”
“So what does that mean? I- I can’t just go home like this!”
He was right about that. Everyone would see him sporting the largest boner known to mankind. And right now, you decided, this was only for your eyes.
“I think the best way to deal with it is to, frankly speaking, empty it.”
Stars seemed to dance around Jake’s head when you spoke, the image of you rubbing his cock, sucking on it or even bouncing on it to empty him of all his cum… he twitched aggressively.
“S-so, wh-what are you sug-suggesting?” His heart was speeding in chest and he was trying his hardest not to jump to conclusions.
Yet another devilish grin spread on your lips as you raised your hand and snapped your fingers, closing the blinds of the storefront window and locking the door all at once. In any other situation, Jake would have been freaked out, but right now all he could concentrate on was the way you pushed yourself off the counter and looked at him from head to, well, problem.
“I am suggesting, Jake, that it would only be right of me to help you out.”
Jake swallowed hard, glued to where he was standing, his cock still so unbelievably hard, still aching and throbbing and in desperate need of attention.
As you lowered yourself, knees soon hitting the wooden floor, he couldn’t take his eyes off you.
“Do you want me to help you out?”
“God, yes, please.”
And there it was. All that you needed to finally bring your hand to his cock. He immediately moaned, head falling back as his hips moved forward, thrusting into your grip. You chuckled as you slowly began to move, bringing your thumb to his tip, gathering all of the already leaking precum to use as lubricant.
It already brought you immense pleasure, jerking him off. Staring up at him, seeing nothing but pure lust and desperation on his face. You were throbbing between your legs, wetness building up more every passing moment.
“Fuuuuuck, yeah, j-just like that, oh wow.”
Jake felt like he had never been touched like this before. Every bit of friction against his skin was like the first time. Every inch you touched with your hand was burning, sparkling with something he could only describe as magic. He couldn’t stop the desperate moans even if he tried, couldn’t stop his hips chasing your hand, thrusting into it like a mad man.
“Faster, please!” He cried out and you obeyed, speeding up your hand. Your eyes were glued to his cockhead then, watching how precum kept leaking, drips landing on your floor or the briefs that were hanging around his ankles with his jeans.
You worked your hand faster, having trouble closing it around his big shaft and finally adding the second, working him at double speed with his cockhead still peaking out.
God, how would he feel inside you?
Two hands around his cock and Jake could sense a first orgasm approaching. He thrusted his hips, fucking both of your hands, eyes rolled back into his skull, the pleasure completely taking over.
“Yeah, yeah, just like that, fuck, fuck, I am fucking your hands so good, shit!” He didn’t know where to put his energy, switching between moaning and whining and saying his incoherent thoughts out loud, feeling himself leak onto your hands. He wondered what you’d do when he came, if you’d just let him come right onto you or if you’d point it elsewhere.
“Feel good, Jakey? You look so hot, so, so good for me.” You stared up at him, batting your eyelashes and finally Jake looked down at you, his spit catching in his throat. You looked insane with his cock in your hands, your face wild and determined, a small grin on your lips that made his cock twitch once more. The whimper escaping him must have been the single most arousing thing you had ever heard.
“I’m gonna come, I’m s-so close,” he cried and you nodded, licking over your lips.
“Yeah, come for me, wanna see you come, Jakey.”
When he had said yes to you helping him out, he sure as hell had not expected dirty talk to be involved and, shit, was he happy it was. His mouth fell open wider, eyes glossy and focused on your face. He knew it was going to be a lot, knew he’s going to shoot the biggest load of his life onto you in a few heartbeats.
“C-Coming, oh- shit!”
When he came, he came. Cum spurted out his cock, and you didn’t even think about letting a drop go to waste. The first load landed on your neck and collarbones, dripped down your cleavage and over your breasts, the second you managed to catch with your tongue slurping it down like a five-star meal. The third landed on your cheeks and chin, some on your neck, joining his already left mark.
Jake truly couldn’t believe his eyes. You, the woman he had been thinking about asking out for weeks now, covered in and eating his cum. Another little bit of cum dribbled out his cock and you caught it perfectly with the tip of your tongue, causing Jake to groan desperately.
He was still so fucking hard. Still desperate for more.
“I need more, I’m still so hard, please.” His pleasing eyes and slightly trembling lips made the picture in front of you perfect. Jake, big cock full on display, still hard from the potion he had drank by pure accident, his first orgasm so powerful he had shot three loads onto you, was now begging you for more.
And you were more than eager to make every wish of his come true.
“Since you said please…,” you grinned, leaning forward, not giving a damn about the seed currently drying on your skin, and flicking your tongue against his tip, his hand almost immediately moving to grip the back of your head.
“God, yes, yes, please take it into your mouth, fuck, please!”
His wish was your command.
Your lips closed around his tip, sucking on it just slightly, tongue gliding over his sensitive slit, tasting his bittersweet taste, wondering if maybe the potion had altered something about it. Next, you moved your head forward, taking more of him into your mouth, feeling the veins of his cock press against your tongue. A moan erupted through you, the arousal almost too much to bear at this point.
“Ohhhh, god, yes, take it, take it deeper, shit.” His hips moved, pushing more of him into your mouth. He seemed to vibrate, seemed to fit perfectly into your wet heat, tip hitting the back of your throat and causing you to gag, spit dripping from his shaft down to the floor. Your hands grabbed the back of his thighs, steading yourself as he began to thrust down your throat.
“Holy fuck, that’s right, gag on my cock, gag on it, fuck.”
It must have been the potion speaking because he wasn’t usually this vocal. But then again, he had never had anyone take his cock down their throat as well as you were doing right now. Gagging and spitting and tearing up, but nothing in your face showed discomfort. No, you were thriving on this and Jake felt your arousal in the air, felt it mixing with his and he sped up his hips, both hands now holding your head in place as he let out the most beautiful moan you had ever heard.
He shoved you down his cock completely now, his balls hitting your chin as he fucked your mouth like it was the last thing he’d ever do. Drool mixed with his precum dribbled down your chin, tears began to stream down your face, your eyes rapidly blinking as you watched him lose all of his composure. You wished to keep this memory engraved into your brain for all of your life.
Jake was in a rush, in a complete trance, fucking down your throat, feeling your tongue against his shaft, your throat restricting around him, your gags and chokes turning him on even more. Somehow, with every thrust closer to his release, he felt the tension rise up more.
What the fuck even was in that potion?
It hit him then, his second orgasm, thrusts becoming sloppier, quicker, accompanied by desperate moans, whimpers and groans.
You managed to swallow it all, the load just as huge as during his first orgasm, shot after shot down your throat, your eyes growing wide while you sucked him dry, or at least attempted to.
“Swallow it all, yes, yes, fuck, come on, come on! Take it all, I know you want to, fuck!”
There was no control left in his body, the potions effect taking over completely.
He emptied his cock into your mouth and pulled out when he at least thought it was over, only for another wave to hit him and land on your skin again. He felt like an artist painting an already perfect canvas with his own visions.
“S-sorry, fuck,” He breathed hard, watching you slowly get up, your face wild and stained with his seed as well as your own tears. Your eyes were red, pupils blown and with every gaze you shared, he knew you wanted him as much as he wanted you. He swallowed and looked down, seeing his cock still hard, still throbbing and aching. Would this ever end?
“I need more, need more,” he mumbled, stumbling forward and grabbing your hips roughly. You moaned at his touch, your fingers gliding over your chest to pick up some of his cum and shove it into your mouth, sucking them clean. He swore under his breath.
“Do you want to fuck me, Jakey?” You asked then, voice sweet like honey, but body looking so breathtakingly filthy.
“Want to, need to, have to,” he replied, moving to lick some of his own cum off your neck. You moaned at that surprising action, pussy throbbing and dripping. Without another thought, you dipped forward, pressing your lips against his. He kissed you back right away, tongue shoving into your mouth and he could taste himself even more on your tongue. His hands ripped open the corset-dress you were wearing, freeing your tits from their prison and immediately moving to grab them.
You hopped onto the counter then, pulling him closer, legs hooking around his waist. He kissed you hungrily, tongue and teeth and spit and hotness all mixed together. You shoved his coat off his shoulders and opened the buttons of his shirt, but he stopped you.
“No time, need to be inside you now.” He basically growled, fingers simultaneously finding your panties and ripping them off of you just like he had your dress. You spread your legs further, ready for him, more ready than you had ever been.
Jake knew he had reached heaven right then. Grabbing his cock and bringing it to your drenched pussy, pushing into your awaiting entrance and feeling you grip him, pulling him closer. He cried out, whimpered into your ear and continued to suck on your skin, cleaning you off of his seed all while working to bottom out.
And when he was finally buried to the hilt, he only paused for a second to take it all in, before beginning to fuck into you at a brutal pace. Your fingers clawed into his shoulders, mouth dropping open as your head tipped back and high pitched moans crawled out of your throat over and over.
“So fucking tight, taking me so fucking well, such a dirty fucking slut.” Jake bit your neck and you cried out once more, your whole body shaking with pleasure as he continued to fuck you. There was nothing you could compare to what was happening right now. No one had ever fucked you as good, as hard and as fulfilling as Jake.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better than this, Jake pulled out of you and grabbed your waist, heaving you off the counter only to spin your around and push you down onto it, your ass up in the air.
“Sorry, need to fuck you like this.”
Back in he went - full speed, full force. The counter shook under you and you gasped when he began to thrust. His cock dragged against your walls, split you open so beautifully it felt like you were going to burst. You threw your ass back at him, clawing at the edge of the counter, eyes falling shut as you let yourself enjoy the way he drilled into you.
There was a high chance Jake was going to grow addicted to this feeling. Never had he ever had sex as good as this and perhaps this was courtesy of the potion - or maybe it was just you. You with the perfect pussy, the perfect mouth, the perfect hands. Everything about you seemed to heighten his arousal, seemed to get him closer from the edge all while pushing him even further away from it.
He could do this for hours, fuck you until he came, spill his seed in you over and over, watch how it spilled out. God, he wanted to see your pussy stuffed with his cum so bad. Watching his cock slip in and out of you, hearing the noises you made, it was almost too much.
“You’re my perfect little hole, aren’t you? Just made to be fucked like this,” he couldn’t help himself, grabbing your hips even rougher and spitting down to make it even wetter. Not that that was really necessary. You were dripping down his cock as well as your own thighs and Jake swore he would never recover.
“Fuck, Jake!” You cried out, hip trying desperately to move while he held you, eyes opening only to roll back as your orgasm hit you like a brutal wave.
“Shit, are you gonna come on my cock, slut?” Jake saw red as he felt your pussy spasm around him, pulling him even deeper, squeezing him for all he had, wanting to milk him dry of his load.
And who was he to deny such a request?
“Come inside me, Jake, please, please, please!”
You had sensed his orgasm and he let out a growl, finally filling your pussy with his load just as you hit your second high right after the first. Once again, it didn’t stop, it just kept on coming, his cum landing inside you and already dripping out as he fucked both of you through your orgasms, filthy sounds filling the air next to both of your moans and groans and pleads for more.
Jake had expected to be done after three, but no, he was still hard, and so he grabbed your wrists and held them behind your back, standing up straighter as he picked up the speed once more.
“Need another one, baby, just one more, fuck, m-maybe two, I just- fuck, I am so hard, I need to fuck you more, wanna fuck you all night, need to fuck your pussy.”
There was nothing left in his brain except for the need to come, for the need to fuck you. He was like an animal during heat, felt like he was going to explode. His cock was so incredibly sensitive, hurting even at this point, but it was addictive, you were addictive. Just the thought of not being inside of you anymore filled him with something close to agony.
“Y-yes, fu-fuck me Jake, your cock feels so good, s-so big!”
At this point you could have taken the potion yourself judging by how you were feeling and talking. Normally, you were the one in charge, the one on top. But with Jake? You enjoyed being in his hands like this, enjoyed being used by him for his pleasure. You wanted him to fill you up, to split you open, to do with you whatever the hell he wanted.
“God, yes, like my big cock fucking you open like that? Such a good behaved little whore, isn’t that right?” He found himself slapping your ass, and judging by your reaction that had been the exactly right thing to do. He groaned when he felt you squeeze him again, both hands back to holding your hands in place.
He lost himself in you. Lost himself in the pleasure. And you lost yourself in him and the need to have him fill you up again and again.
His fourth orgasm made his cock soften a little. He filled you to the brim, watched the majority drip down your legs, forming a little puddle to your feet and he licked his lips, letting go of your hands and pulling out of you, turning you back around and placing you back on top of the counter.
“Lean back,” he ordered and you did as wanted, eyes wide and pussy throbbing from the last orgasm a few seconds ago.
You leaned back on your elbows, watching him position himself between your legs. He grabbed his cock and placed it in between your lips - to thrust in between them, cockhead repeatedly hitting your clit. You gasped, body jerking forward.
“Wanna paint your whole body with my cum, stay still.” His big hands grabbed your hips, pinning you to the counter as he began to thrust his cock over your pussy, the friction already enough to almost make him come again.
“Mhmm, y-yes, f-feels good!” You cried and he grinned, continuing his spiel like a madman.
“You’re so sexy, so fucking sexy, baby.” He breathed out, his brain slowly but surely coming back to him. And when he heard that little noise you apparently always made before you came (if he could trust the two orgasms from earlier), he felt himself reach the edge as well.
Your head fell back when you felt the next orgasm hit and your pussy ached for more when his next load landed all over your stomach, even reaching as far as your tits, painting you just like he had wanted.
The canvas was finished.
But Jake wasn’t.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, so sorry, I need to-,” his head was fuming red, and he moved back a little, just to dip his cock back into your spent pussy and you fell flat onto your back, your head hanging over the counter.
He fucked you like a ragdoll, like a toy, like he didn’t even really acknowledge you were still there. He pressed down onto your stomach and sped up, tried to fuck you deeper. He imagined he could feel his cock through your skin, imagined he could see himself fucking you just like that.
“S-so deep!” You cried out and he looked at you, at your body, and nodded, watching now how your tits jumped at every thrust. They were stained with his cum as well and he hoped he would never forget this image.
“One more, promise, just one more, my perfect little fucktoy, yeah?”
His words were so filthy, so desperate and full of need, they made your pussy spasm again, made you grip him hard over and over again.
“That’s it, fuck! Gonna come, gonna come, shit, sh-shit! Take my cum, take it, yes, yes!” He was in a spiral downwards, then back up and back down - his last orgasm hitting him like a fucking brick, yet another load landing inside your pussy - one, two, three. His cock twitched and twitched and finally began to soften.
When he pulled out, he fell backwards, landing on the floor, his eyes wide and his ass hurting.
The potion slowly lost its grip on him, his normal, coherent thoughts coming back all while he was getting down from his many, many highs.
You pulled yourself up in exhaustion, your chest heaving. When you sat up straight again, you couldn’t help but chuckle at Jake on the floor.
“Need a hand?” You asked, carefully jumping off the counter and finding that your legs were nothing but mere jelly. Quickly, you grabbed onto the edges of the surface and found your balance again.
“I- I-,” Jake began to stutter, his eyes probably the size of saucers by now. You grinned.
“You?” You raised a brow. Jake’s face turned crimson.
“I- I’m sorry, I-,”
“You’re apologizing? For what? The best sex I’ve ever had?” You snorted, “No, Jakey, no need to apologize.”
Jake bit the inside of his cheeks. Best sex you’ve ever had? While he wanted to feel proud, he wasn’t so sure if that really had been him having sex with you or if the potion had a mind of its own.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” you moved forward now, stretching your hand out for Jake to take, “the potion only strengthens what’s already there. It doesn’t change your personality, it just makes you give less fucks.”
Had you read his mind? Jake cleared his throat and nodded slowly, before taking your hand and letting you help him up.
Only then, when he was standing so close to you again, did he realize you were still covered in his seed. He turned even redder.
“Oh, right.” You giggled, closing your eyes and once again snapping your fingers.
Immediately, you were clean of his cum and back in your dress - which had also magically repaired itself. Jake also found himself back in his briefs and jeans, his coat safely hanging over the counter. His mouth dropped.
“You-,”
“Are an actual witch, correct, Sherlock.” You winked at him and walked back to the other side of the counter, “Now, do you still need that potion?”
Jake stared at you for a second.
“Y-yes,” he mumbled, watching as you quickly finished the preparations. He didn’t dare say anything, his heart beating at triple speed and his brain working overtime. He had just fucked you. For like… a good while. And he didn’t even have your phone number.
“There you go,” you smiled and carefully shoved the bottle with the potion over the counter, “just pour a few drops over your flowers tonight. You should already see some results in the morning.”
“Th-thanks. How much do I owe you?”
“Oh, Jakey. You already paid me enough.” You said cheekily and Jake found himself choking on his own spit.
When he walked out he regretted not asking you for your number. Or if you wanted to go on a date.
But that night, when he got ready to put the potion to its use, he saw a little note stuck to the label he hadn’t seen before.
Tomorrow, 8 o’clock at your place. I promise I’ll bring wine that won’t make you wanna fuck me for hours. It’s a date! Also here’s my number: xxx-xxx-xxx. See you tomorrow, loverboy!
Jake found himself laughing out loud.
And while he did his work in the garden, he thought that just because the wine wouldn’t be the reason, he sure as hell would not mind fucking you for hours at least twice every day for the rest of his life.
When a friendship comes with too much history, rules become necessary. It’s easier to stay safe when you can name the lines you refuse to cross. That’s why Jaeyun has always been so strict about his secret little guide, or at least, he was, until the moment you asked him to sleep with you, and everything started to shatter in his hands like it was never real at all.
a friends to lovers oneshot｜27.7K
PAIRING: Jaeyun x fem!reader
WARNINGS: university au, Jaeyun is an electronic engineer student, kinda nerdy, and too down bad for the reader even though she is a bit of a brat, i am not sure if there’s a major plot, smut, nipple play, fingering and oral (f. receiving), handjob, virginity loss, protected and unprotected sex, there’s a fwb situation within, one fight between Jaeyun and reader’s ex, and jaykehoon being the most chaotic roommates ever
PINTEREST MOODBOARD
RULE ZERO: DO NOT RUIN THE FRIENDSHIP
When you were twelve, Jaeyun got you both grounded.
He had the brilliant idea of bringing a bottle of whiskey home — something one of his soccer teammates had stolen from his father’s cabinet and hadn’t known how to get away with now that it had been opened and already had a swig taken from it.
Jaeyun didn’t know why he decided to take charge of it, much less bring it home — he could have just let his teammate deal with it alone, for God’s sake. But perhaps because he liked the thrill of secretly carrying it and the astonishment in your eyes when he took it out of his backpack, he did bring it home.
But the fact was — neither of you drank any of it, yet his brother — the Mr. Perfect, as you used to whisper in each other’s ears — had caught you with your hands on it, and in the end it didn’t matter.
You were grounded for four weeks. No phones, video games, or allowances. You were only allowed to go to school and straight back to your homes — Jaeyun having only the small detour of dropping you off before going to his.
It made you miss the Seoul Annual International Book Fair. A major literary gathering with author events, book markets, and cultural programs that you had been looking forward to.
Nerdy, he had told you, which only made your tears flow even harder, and he felt so bad about it that he gave you a voucher the next morning, a handmade thing that got you laughing when he handed it to you.
Jaeyun had never been much of an artsy type. The voucher was irregular, and his handwriting was so bad you could barely decipher the words free wish — but it was his way of trying, and so, you took it, promising you would use it well.
That was probably when it started: the first page of a guide he would never mean to write, on how not to ruin a friendship that felt bigger than him because as he watched you folding the paper and tucking it into the front pocket of your sweater like a keepsake, he had a sudden clarity that he would do anything not to lose you.
You never really used the voucher.
Eleven years into your friendship, you never once brought it up.
Perhaps because Jaeyun always did everything for you, the voucher seemed useless.
When you got asked for a date for the first time in your life, Jaeyun agreed to go shopping with you without much fanfare, although he despised every second of it. And when you called him afterwards, telling him to come over so you could rant about it, he once again was there without the voucher having even passed through your minds. He simply came and stayed there, listening to you, your backs side to side on the hardwood floor of your bedroom until the walls had turned orange and pink with the sunrise.
When you crashed your father’s car and called him crying, he asked where it had happened with his jacket already on and searching for his keys.
And when you moved out of the university dorms somewhere around your second semester, Jaeyun was carrying your boxes and luggage without you even glancing at his side.
So it felt a bit weird now, seeing you pushing the little thing through the counter — its edges turned so yellow with the advance of the years that he could see it even in the bar’s reddish light — and especially with the words that followed:
“Sleep with me,” you said.
RULE #1: DO NOT ACCEPT RECKLESS REQUESTS
Don’t answer requests she makes when she’s drunk, mad, or sad — that’s when she turns reckless. I’m supposed to get her home, get her water, and let time take the sharp edges off whatever she thought she wanted. If I do my job right, she’ll wake up with a headache — maybe puffy eyes — but no regrets. At least not the kind that have my name on them.
Arcano wasn’t as fierce as the name made it seem.
If Jaeyun were being honest, it was, in fact, a terrible bar. Awful, actually.
The seats were constantly sticky, and the tables were permanently stained with something spilled too long ago. The restrooms always smelled like weed and sex, and there was writing on the walls telling you who to call for a good time — but, awful as it was, it was the only bar on the outskirts of the university, and the drinks were cheap, which made it a reasonable choice for anyone who wanted to get drunk in the middle of a weekday.
Which, apparently, was what you were doing.
You had called him, your voice softened and a little slurred at the edges, even as you tried to keep it brief — trusting him to hear the truth between your words, as he always did — and his body went tight, that low instinct already moving beneath his skin with the need to make it better.
Jaeyun came in without question, his eyes scanning through the dim room. Tables first, booths next, then the bar counter, because putting things in order always helped him keep control — but then he saw you, and his heart hitched hard enough to make his hands unreliable.
Arcano was nearly dark, red bulbs offering more irritation than light, and yet whatever sheen clung to its corners now seemed to gather around you; the glint of bottles, the thin neon humming above the bar. Even the noise shifted, bending your way subtly, as if the room itself couldn’t help but want to be near you.
Or perhaps it was only him — caught on you like gravity, a quiet flaw built into his body that only ever showed itself in your presence.
Across the bar, the music shifted, and someone laughed too loudly as a glass hit the counter with a wet little sound, but none of it reached him the right way, not while you were there, bent toward the counter with your hair falling forward and your shoulders loose with drink and something sharper underneath it.
Jaeyun swallowed and pushed his hair back off his forehead — the gesture automatic in the way habits were — as he closed the last steps in.
You shifted on your stool as he stopped behind you, small and unthinking, leaning back into him as if it was the most natural thing in the world to put your weight onto his chest merely because you trusted him to catch it without ever asking. And he did, his body reacting before his mind did, his arms raising and settling just enough to keep you upright.
He didn’t understand how you did it — how you could recognize him without looking. If your bones had memorized the shape of him and refused to forget even here, in a terrible bar, with alcohol in the air and the whole world pretending not to watch, or if you merely felt the same gravity as him, because you, too, had been built with some quiet flaw that only ever showed itself in his presence.
“Hello,” you said, tipping your head back to look at him.
“Hello, Princess,” he said, leaning in just to drop a kiss on your forehead. But you smelled like vanilla and white flowers — the kind of soft sweetness you always insisted on having threaded through every perfume you owned — and he allowed himself to breathe you for a second more before he let go, sliding onto the stool beside you.
His jeans brushed your bare thigh, and when you turned toward him, he had no other option than to spread his legs further apart, opening space so your knees fit between his; and for a second, Jaeyun’s brain focused on the image, slowly and cruelly, taking the stark line of your skin against denim, the heat of you seeping through a fabric barrier that suddenly felt too thin to be decent. Your knees fit perfectly between his, and the placement was so intimate it might’ve been accidental if he hadn’t felt how quickly his body registered it as right.
He went still.
Not because he didn’t want more contact, but because he did. Because he wanted it in a way that made him feel juvenile, and his restraint could turn into nothing but a costume you’d just tugged at the seam.
So he forced himself to look up, his gaze finding your face like it was the only safe thing left, but it only turned to be worse.
You were flushed from the alcohol, color blooming across your cheeks and the bridge of your nose as if you’d been kissed too many times already. And your eyes were bright in that unfocused way that made his whole body ache with protectiveness and something he refused to name.
Jaeyun swallowed, dropping his gaze before he could stop it — but that was when he saw the dress.
Low-cut, and reckless in the quietest way, exposing your skin in a soft curve that made his throat tighten, not because it wasn’t vulgar or blaring, but merely because it was you — warm, real, and too close.
And resting there, right in the center of it all, was the necklace he’d given you on your fifteenth birthday, the thin chain catching what little light Arcano offered and holding it like a secret. Jaeyun felt something in his chest twist — sharp and familiar. A gift, a promise, a piece of him you’d kept on your skin for years without making a thing of it.
He blinked, dragging his eyes back up, back to your face, as though that could undo what he’d seen. As though looking anywhere else could turn his thoughts into something normal again, but it didn’t.
“You called me,” he said in the end, voice light on purpose, aiming his gaze at the safe edge of your hairline instead of your eyes.
“Is there a question in this statement?” you asked, your head tipping to the side the way it always did when you were teasing him, letting a strand of hair slip loose and rest against your cheek.
Jaeyun huffed a quiet breath through his nose, something that almost counted as a laugh if anyone else had been listening. The bar noise swelled and dipped around you — ice clinking in glasses, a burst of laughter from a booth, the bass thudding like a distant heartbeat — and for a second it made the moment feel ordinary. Like this was just the two of you, playing the same game you’d played a hundred times.
“I don’t know,” he said. “You’re the linguistics genius among us.”
His hand lifted without thinking and brushed the strand away — quick, familiar, and thoughtless — the kind of gesture that belonged to years of friendship, not whatever else was crouched under tonight. He didn’t linger. He didn’t let it become a thing. He just tucked it back like he’d done it before and would do it again. Still, you felt the contact anyway, blinking at him, and it took you a moment to speak again.
“I think there was,” you said, your voice more serious than he expected. “I need to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
You turned halfway on your stool to reach into your purse, and Jaeyun took the moment to breathe — really breathe, looking across the room as his hands found and pushed at his hair, steadying himself.
Overhead, a red bulb faltered, and the neon hissed in — thin, stubborn light clinging on.
“Yun,” you called.
He turned to you again, catching as you slipped the voucher toward him, the piece yellowed into something that didn’t belong to the present. His own handwriting stared up at him, crooked and absurd in the way only a teenage promise could be.
Jaeyun’s lips parted around a question, but the words slipped before they could reach his mouth.
“I’m using it,” you announced, slurring just enough for the words to snag on each other — but not enough to take the weight of the words that followed:
“Sleep with me.”
Jaeyun inhaled too fast and choked on the air, like the sentence had gone straight for his throat and his body refused to swallow it. He coughed once, twice, eyes watering, and hated himself for how obvious it was.
“Drink,” you said, lifting your glass toward him — offering it with the careless kindness of someone who had no understanding of the damage they were capable of causing.
Jaeyun pictured you rummaging through your drawers for the voucher, trying to guess when the decision had formed. Whether it had been planned. Whether it had been impulsive. Whether the dress had been chosen with him in mind—
He didn’t get to finish the thought.
He took the glass too fast, his thumb grazed your knuckle — more an echo of a touch than a touch itself — but his whole body registered it like a confession. And he forced himself to bring it to his mouth and swallow it. The liquor burned his throat, cheap and harsh and useless, and then — for one horrifying second — he tasted you there, sweet and faint beneath the sting.
He set it down.
“What—” he tried, and his voice came out wrong. He cleared his throat. “Where’s Baekhyeon?”
Because it felt reasonable to ask where your boyfriend was when you were asking him to sleep with you.
Your eyes gleamed at the name and then cleared just as quickly. Whatever that feeling was, it was banished with a blink before you reached for your glass again, considering the few drops he’d left.
“We broke up,” you said.
“When?”
“Today — or yesterday.” Your brow creased. “I’m not sure. What time is it?”
“But why?”
You shuddered, already turning toward the bartender for another drink, but Jaeyun reached for your wrist and drew you back in. His hands were cold against your warm skin, and a shiver danced across you, strong enough to make your shoulders tremble.
He let go.
“Princess, talk to me,” he said. “What happened?”
And so you told him, your words coming rushed and messed up, one long stream being pulled out of you because now that you’d started, you couldn’t afford to stop. You told him how Baekhyeon had gotten quieter ever since he started his internship. How he’d been thinking, whatever that meant. How he wasn’t so sure anymore, like your relationship was a class he could drop mid-semester. And when you’d asked where it put you, all you got were half-answers and that look people had when they were already gone but didn’t want to be the villain.
“And it is so humiliating, Yun,” you said, your hands dragging down your face, hiding it as you folded forward and rested on him again — forehead against his shoulder, your whole body fitting into the space between his thighs like it had always known where to go.
Jaeyun reached out without thinking, one hand settling at the small of your back as the other slid into your hair, fingers tangling gently there — holding you together in the only way he knew how.
“It’s not like I thought he was going to be my forever one,” you said. “But I thought that — God, I’m — I’m a virgin in university, Jaeyun. Do you know how insane that sounds? Especially after having a boyfriend? It’s like I’m — defective.”
The whole sentence hit and sank in with a dull ache, shifting a fault line in him so sharply his whole body twitched. His fingers flexed against you, tightening at your back before he could stop himself, because this was simply his first instinct: pull you in, hold you tighter, so perhaps he could keep you from breaking by sheer force of his will.
But then he hated himself for it — for the greedy relief that came with the feeling of you against him, for the way wanting and protecting acquired the same face in his body — and he loosened his grip immediately, forcing his touch back into something safer, something that could still pass as friendship.
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”
“I’m feeling terrible,” you muttered. “Like I might have done something wrong in my life.”
“Princess,” he said again, the nickname rolling softly through the air, and for a moment, it didn’t feel like a joke at all. “Look at me.”
You shook your head, stubborn even like this, forehead still pressed where you’d chosen to hide. And Jaeyun exhaled through his nose, trying to sand the edge off himself before it could cut you.
“You’re drunk,” he told you. “And you’re not thinking straight.”
You didn’t react this time — which somehow made it worse.
“Come on,” he said, his hands slipping away only so they could find you again, but this time, somewhere safer. His palms spread on the bare skin of your arms to guide you up. “I’m taking you home.”
“But—” you began, your gaze sliding to the voucher.
Jaeyun reached for it and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans, taking it out of your sight like he could make the exchange never happen — like merely hiding it could erase the fact that something had moved inside his chest with your ask, and now refused to calm down.
“I’ll keep it safe,” he said, and the promise tasted older than tonight.
He helped you off the stool with one hand at your waist as the other caught your purse, looping it around his wrist before he returned it to your elbow — steadying and guiding, making sure your feet landed where they were supposed to.
You swayed into him, coming so close that when you spoke, he not only heard you, but felt it through his skin.
“You always do.”
Jaeyun’s fingers flexed once again at your side.
“Yeah,” he said, looking ahead as he led you through the mess of bodies and sticky tables. “I know.”
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Outside, it was already spring in theory, but in practice, Arcano’s door swung shut behind you, and the night folded over — winter still pressing into April nights, and making it chilly.
The sidewalk out in front was uneven in that neglected-university-outskirts way, broken slabs and hairline cracks waiting for someone careless, and tonight, that someone was you.
Jaeyun watched as you made it three steps before you stumbled. It had been nothing significant, just your ankle rolling in a way that could have passed unnoticed — but he was watching, and before you could pretend that it hadn’t happened, his hand had already closed around your forearm, firm and quickly, holding you.
He brought you closer to him on instinct, the lines of your bodies collapsing and melting under the same yellow wash of streetlight, and when you looked up at him, it gathered in your eyes in tiny gold flashes, softening you at the edges, and making you look heartbreakingly close; the tiny gasp you released warming his mouth.
“Easy,” he muttered.
“I am being easy,” you argued, but you made no effort to disengage yourself from him, and so, neither did he — letting you both stay in the dim hush of the night for a moment more before he finally eased back, shrugging out of his jacket and easing you into it, one sleeve first and then the other.
Jaeyun gave your purse back, and only when your fingers closed around it did he turn and drop into a crouch in front of you — shoulders broad and steady on purpose.
“What are you doing?” you asked.
“Taking you home,” he replied. “Get on.”
“I can walk.”
“You can barely negotiate a curb,” he argued. “Get on.”
Jaeyun waited then, bracing himself for another surge of protest, but instead, you leaned forward, your arms sliding around his shoulders, automatic, and with the kind of trust that never failed to set a quiet ache behind his ribs.
But if anything, he hooked his hands under your thighs and stood, letting your weight settle against him and your cheek to press into the side of his neck, warm and familiar.
“This is a bit embarrassing.”
“This is practical,” Jaeyun said. “Better than having to take you to the hospital over an ankle you refuse to admit you could break.”
You hummed, and he huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, tightening his hold as if you could slip out of his hands.
As if he would let you.
“Princess,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, “you’re going to be the death of me someday.”
You didn’t react this time — either because you didn’t hear it, or because your hazy mind had already filed it somewhere dangerous for tomorrow — but in any case, Jaeyun kept walking.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Jaeyun’s apartment building greeted you in the same failing way it always did. The hallway light flickered with stubborn inconsistency, always seeming one second away from burning out, and the front door still refused to open unless someone met it with a shoulder and a certain amount of conviction.
He did it one-handed, you still on his back and refusing to let go even when he had to fumble for the key, his free hand going to his pockets once, twice, while the other kept you anchored against him, steadying you with the same absent care, as though you were simply part of the equation.
Inside, the living room looked exactly the way it always did — dim, cramped, familiar in the ugly way cheap rent always was. Sneakers lay abandoned near the entrance like they’d given up halfway through the day. A laundry basket sat in the corner with the quiet menace of something that had been ignored too long.
And a few steps in, Sunghoon was there — barefoot, hair damp, skin still carrying that clean, just-showered warmth, as if he’d stepped out of steam and decided the world could handle itself for a while.
His gaze flicked to you, draped over Jaeyun, then back to him, and his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.
“She really can do whatever she wants to you,” he said, flat as anything.
At the sound of his roommate’s voice, Jaeyun felt you shift against him, lifting your head just enough for the night’s air to slip into the space you’d made.
“Hello, Hoon,” you said.
“Hello, Princess.”
The hallway light blinked out, wiping your shadows clean for a quiet beat before Sunghoon shifted, and the sensor caught it, coaxing the bulb back to life. Jaeyun adjusted his grip like it meant nothing, like you weren’t warm against him in all the places he worked hardest not to think about. You shifted at his back once more, settling and slipping, and his shoulders tightened on reflex — prepared to steady you, prepared for anything — except your next words.
“If Yun doesn’t, would you do it with me, Hoon?”
“Do wh—”
“Nothing,” Jaeyun snapped. “She’s drunk, and I’m taking her to my room.”
Sunghoon’s brows rose at his roommate’s urgency, his mouth twitching deeper, but he didn’t push. If anything, he stepped back, clearing the way like Jaeyun needed permission at all.
“Tell me tomorrow, Princess,” Sunghoon called after you, loud enough to be heard down the hall. “Though I’m pretty sure Jaeyun will do it for you.”
Jaeyun didn’t give you the chance to answer.
He was already moving, turning down the hall. And when he reached his room, he shifted your weight higher with a small, efficient jerk of his arms, then shoved the door open with his shoulder.
The motion-sensor light in the hallway faltered again behind you, a brief blink of dark, and then the room swallowed you whole — quieter, warmer, smelling faintly of detergent, old cologne and whatever Jaeyun used to pretend he didn’t care about.
He stepped into his room and kicked the door shut with his heel, shutting the rest of the apartment out — Sunghoon’s smugness, the hallway’s flicker, all of it cut off as if it had never happened.
Yet still, he didn’t set you down. Jaeyun carried you the last few steps to his bed, and when he finally tried to set you down, you clung tighter — arms locking around his shoulders as your thighs pressed against his sides.
“No,” you said, and there was no explanation required. It didn’t matter that it had been six months since you last shared a bed. He knew your rules just as much as he knew his: you didn’t do beds before a shower — much less in outside clothes. You didn’t even sit on them in anything that had been out in public.
“Princess,” he sighed. “It’s my bed. I don’t have that rule.”
“Your bed is contaminated,” you decided.
Jaeyun went still for a second, like sheer willpower might make you reasonable. But it didn’t. You stayed latched onto him, stubborn as a vow, and he realized — again — how useless he’d always been at saying no to you.
He sighed again.
“Fine,” he said. “Fine — let’s take a shower first.”
He tried to lower you, shifting his hands to set you down properly, but the moment your heels brushed the floor, you stiffened in protest, clinging harder.
“No shoes inside,” you reminded him, as if he were the one being difficult.
Jaeyun’s eyes shut for a brief beat — his surrender arriving the way it always did with you, tender and doomed.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.”
He crouched carefully, still keeping one arm hooked around your legs so you wouldn’t tip, and reached for the thin strap of your heel. His fingers worked quickly and practiced, undoing what he could without looking like he was paying attention.
Only when both heels had slipped free did he straighten again — and only then did you finally loosen, sliding down from his back. Jaeyun kept his hands on you the whole time, steadying you through the transfer, guiding you down until your bare feet found the floor without a stumble.
“There,” he said. “Now cooperate.”
Jaeyun went to his drawer and pulled out a t-shirt so old it had softened past saving, turned into the kind of thing that should’ve been discarded a long time ago. But it was the one you always chose when you slept over, and so it stayed — stupidly and hopefully, waiting for you.
He pushed his hair back off his forehead, his hand lingering there for a beat before he reached for a towel and stood up.
“Come,” he said then, placing his hand behind his back to encourage you to catch up and grab it.
You held hands across the apartment and into the bathroom, letting go only when Jaeyun reached for the switch and snapped the light on — white and harsh in a way that suddenly made the night tangible.
“The lock is broken,” Jaeyun said.
“Wasn’t Jongseong going to fix it months ago?” you asked.
Jongseong had, but it broke again and again, and by the fourth time, the three of them had decided it was what it was and left it to its habits.
“I’ll wait outside,” he said. “Can you handle yourself?”
You leaned against the sink, head tipping to the side. Your necklace sparkled with the movement, catching the bathroom light in thin, bright flickers, and all at once, he regretted asking.
It all felt too real, too reckless. What if you asked him to stay and help you, as it had happened a dozen times before Baekhyeon?
He couldn’t trust himself to make good decisions — couldn’t trust himself to help you out of your dress without looking. Not with the voucher still in the pocket of his jeans and your words coiling through his mind, slowly displacing all his other thoughts.
He was suddenly wild under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom.
“I’ll be right outside,” he said, reaching past you to set the towel on the counter, then the shirt beside it — lining them up like order could keep the night under control. “Take your time.”
“Okay.”
Jaeyun didn’t say anything as he stepped out. He merely pulled the door shut and folded himself down in front of it — knees up, forearms crossed above them, and his fingers tightening against the sides of his jeans for a quiet moment before he let go.
From inside the bathroom came the soft shift of fabric. Then the small, telltale clink of something against porcelain — your necklace, surely your necklace — before the water finally started to run. And Jaeyun let out a slow breath he couldn’t quite believe in.
It wasn’t the first time he’d guarded a door for you, and he should’ve known how to breathe through it by now.
But tonight had reached in and rearranged all the defenses he’d built, and now he was back at the beginning with nothing solid to brace against. His fingers flexed once again, anchoring himself to the pressure and the bone, and making him almost miss the complaint of a floorboard down the hall.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jongseong’s voice carried from the hallway. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
“The lock doesn’t work,” Jaeyun said.
“It never worked.”
“She’s inside.”
“Who?” Jongseong asked — more reflex than curiosity — because the moment his gaze landed on Jaeyun, the question dissolved on its own, understanding settling without needing a name.
“Oh, it’s been a while,” he said, and Jaeyun’s mouth tightened, the words pressing an old bruise.
It had been six months since you last slept there, to be exact — the same amount of time you’d been with Baekhyeon, and the same amount of time Jaeyun had been pretending the distance was natural. Reasonable. Maybe even healthy.
It wasn’t as if Baekhyeon had forbidden your friendship with him, or your sleepovers at this apartment. Baekhyeon was—
Jaeyun’s mind halted.
For a second, he tried to call him nice, the word rising up like it wanted to be fair, but then he recoiled from the generosity of it.
Nice didn’t matter. Nice didn’t change what it meant to watch you choose someone else. Nice didn’t stop the humiliating clarity of memory: the shape of you curled into his bed like you belonged there, the way you’d mutter his name half-asleep when you couldn’t find the edge of the blanket — then the way he’d learned, almost overnight, how to live without it. And so, he said nothing, merely breathing out, real slow, between barely parted lips, which ended up being louder than anything he could have said.
Jongseong leaned back against the opposite wall and crossed his arms, staking out the space without saying a word because that was how he always did. He didn’t press — never that. Jongseong just stayed, letting the world breathe between them until it started to feel like an invitation people never knew how to refuse.
Jaeyun looked away.
“She called,” he said. “She was at Arcano. Drunk — not falling-over drunk — but enough.”
“Baekhyeon?” Jongseong asked, not because he was looking for gossip, but because it was logistics. It was the obvious missing piece.
“They broke up — he broke up with her,” he said. “Something about not being sure anymore.”
“Damn.”
Jaeyun hummed in agreement, and because he didn’t know how to bring up the topic, he merely said: “She asked me to sleep with her.”
Jongseong blinked — actually blinked, like his brain had dropped a piece on the floor.
“She asked you,” he repeated.
Jaeyun’s jaw flexed. “Yeah.”
“To sleep with her.”
The words hung there between them, obscene in how plainly they fit the shape of the night. Jaeyun breathed out slowly through his nose, like the air itself didn’t want to make room for them.
“And you said?” Jongseong asked, though his tone already suggested he knew the answer. Everyone knew Jaeyun’s reputation. Everyone knew he didn’t say no to much — especially not to you.
“I said no,” Jaeyun replied.
Jongseong stared at him, then let out a low whistle like he couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or concerned.
“Don’t make it weird,” Jaeyun muttered.
“I’m not making it weird,” Jongseong said. “I’m just—” He paused, pondering what his next words should be. “You’re kind of famous for not being the guy who says no. Not to her.”
Jaeyun’s lips parted, his tongue already rolling in to say something, but the words stuttered and stammered, refusing to leave immediately, and Jongseong shifted his weight, glancing down the hallway once as if checking whether Sunghoon would appear and make this worse. But when he didn’t, he looked back at Jaeyun and waited again.
Of course he did.
Behind the door, the shower shifted pitch — water on tile instead of skin, the soft scrape of movement as you’d turned under the stream — and Jaeyun’s shoulders tightened at the sound, reflexive and stupid, like his body wanted to go in there and steady you with his hands.
He forced himself to stay where he was.
“You know what the problem is?” Jaeyun asked.
“Tell me.”
“I know her,” he said, and he hated himself for how quickly it came out, like a confession that had been waiting all night. “I know she meant it.”
Jongseong’s expression softened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“But what if it changes something?” he asked. “I could say yes, and for one night I’d get—”
He cut himself off, shoving his hair back as if he could physically push the thought out of his head.
“Fuck — I’d get something I’ve wanted for a long time.”
“And then?”
“And then she’d wake up, and something could flick.” Jaeyun said. “Like she’d look at me and realize she made a mistake. Like she’d hate me for letting her.” His grip tightened once, then loosened. “Like I’d lose the only part of her I’m allowed to have.”
The hallway seemed to draw in around him, the air thickening as if it could listen. And Jaeyun lowered his voice in response.
“I’d rather have just a part of her forever than have her entirely for a night and lose her in the morning.”
“That’s — that’s more honest than I expected.”
Jaeyun let out a humorless breath. “Thank you.”
“I’m not done,” Jongseong said, because of course he wasn’t. “You’re treating having her like it’s one thing.”
Jaeyun frowned, irritation returning on instinct because it was safer than admitting Jongseong was right.
“It’s either you stay in the safe version of your friendship forever — half-measures, unsaid things — or you sleep with her and blow it up.”
“But it could happen.”
“But it also couldn’t — not if you do it in the right way.”
“In the right way,” Jaeyun scoffed. “That clears everything up.”
“When she’s sober,” Jongseong continued, ignoring the sarcasm like it was a symptom. “You tell her the truth she can use.”
“Like what?”
“You tell her you said no because she was drunk.”
“Obviously.”
“And you tell her you care about her too much to risk the friendship over a night.”
Jaeyun’s stomach tightened. The sentence was too clean — neat edges, no mess, nothing anyone could accuse him of — and it sounded like something he was allowed to say. But it wasn’t the real reason, though. The real reason lived lower in him, hot and humiliating because of the selfishness of it.
Jaeyun cared too much to let you choose him with alcohol blurring the corners, too much to wake up and find your eyes clear and horrified — he cared too much to have his name become the sharpest part of your regret.
He didn’t want a night he’d have to defend. He wanted a tomorrow that didn’t require forgiveness.
He couldn’t lose you.
“And if she guarantees nothing will change?” he asked, and his voice sounded small there, drowned out by the fantasy of it.
“You decide,” Jongseong said. “You do it, or you don’t. But don’t lie to yourself that you can keep something by freezing it.”
“I can keep it by not touching it.”
“And you can lose it that way too,” Jongseong said, immediately and all at once making Jaeyun halt. “You’re already changing. She’s already changing. Baekhyeon happened. Tonight happened.”
“So what?” Jaeyun asked. “You think I should accept?”
“I think you should accept the conversation,” Jongseong corrected. “Not the drunk proposal. Not the chaos. Not the one-night disaster you’re picturing.”
He paused, just long enough for Jaeyun to swallow.
“It’s the best way,” Jongseong added. “Because it’s the only way she gets to choose you with a clear head — and you get to be chosen without feeling like you stole it.”
“Fine,” he said. “I will talk to her tomorrow — when she’s sober.”
“Good.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke, but then Jongseong nodded toward the bathroom door with a faint grimace that tried to pass for humor. “Rap on my door when she’s done, yeah? I need to use the bathroom, and I don’t feel like getting murdered for walking in on — whatever this is.”
Jaeyun shot him a look, he wasn’t going to, but if anything, Jongseong’s mouth quirked, teasing and mean, as he turned and started back toward his room, leaving Jaeyun alone with the thin shaft of light coming from under the door, the broken lock, and the sound of you moving on the other side — alive, breathing, and close enough to ruin him if he let himself reach.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
The bathroom door opened with a tiny complaint from its hinges. Your figure momentarily silhouetted against the spill of light before he blinked and put you into focus, barefoot, hair slicked back and tucked behind your ears, cheeks still flushed from the shower, alcohol, and something that didn’t belong to soap or steam. His old shirt hung off you all wrong and yet perfectly: too big in the shoulders, too long in the hem, but familiar in a way that made Jaeyun’s chest tighten.
Perhaps he was dreaming this night.
“I thought I heard someone,” you whispered.
“It was Jongseong,” he replied, smoothing his tone into something casual, in the hope that you wouldn’t notice the way Jongseong’s appearance now sat warm and heavy beneath his ribs, pulsing each time he breathed, threatening to spill.
“Did we wake him up?”
Jaeyun shook his head and pushed himself up, his joints protesting with stiffness from the position and from the sheer act of not moving every time his instincts had told him to go in and make sure you were okay. “No. He just needed the bathroom.”
You nodded at him, and Jaeyun reached his hand to you, the gesture so unconscious, he didn’t notice he had done it until you reached back to him, fingers finding the slots between his, and intertwining your hands.
“Let’s go,” he murmured, already turning and guiding you down the short stretch of hall.
He wasn’t sure what time it was, but when he opened the door to his room, the world outside seemed vivid in comparison, a mist of light blue and purple coming through his open window, and spilling across the rumpled sheets and the scatter of things that made the space undeniably his: a jacket draped over the chair like it had been forgotten mid-thought, a half-open book, and a glass of water caught a thin slice of shine. The air was warmer in here, carrying the faint, familiar mix of laundry soap and skin and something clean underneath everything that had happened.
“Lie down,” Jaeyun said, swinging your interlaced hands toward the bed even though he expected you to refuse, saying something about contamination or demanding clean sheets, and forcing him into the familiar rhythm of your rules because that was how it always went — he was already halfway bracing for it, already planning how to humor you through it without letting his hands linger where they shouldn’t — but you moved then, slipping from his touch and laying on the mattress without protest. And it was somehow worse than anything.
“Princess,” he called, not really sure what the rest of the phrase was supposed to be, and the nickname hung in the air longer than it was necessary.
“Aren’t you coming?” you asked, and he was caught by the simplicity of it.
“Close your eyes,” Jaeyun said. “I’m going to get changed first.”
You made a small sound that almost counted as a snort, like the idea of him needing you not to look was ridiculous. But you did it anyway — eyes shut, face turned into his pillow, going still with the kind of obedience you only ever gave him when you didn’t want to argue.
Jaeyun changed quickly, like speed could make him safer. Jeans off. Sweatpants on. Shirt pulled over his head and tossed it somewhere he refused to look at. He kept his movements efficient, controlled — all about angles and purpose — because he couldn’t afford softness. Couldn’t afford the way tenderness turned reckless when it had nowhere to go.
By the time he finished, you hadn’t moved, and for a moment, he thought you’d fallen asleep, your body finally ceasing. But when he stepped closer, you opened your eyes, the dim light catching in them like a held secret, glazing along your lashes, turning your gaze into something soft and deep, as if whatever remained of the light had found a way to live inside you.
And Jaeyun hovered at the edge, forgetting for a beat how to be anything but pulled in.
He sat on the bed, and you shifted closer, cheek pressing deeper into his pillow like it belonged there — like you belonged there.
And the fact that you were smelling like him didn’t help. His shampoo was tangled in your damp hair. His soap clinging to your skin. The boring smell of him with something sweet underneath — vanilla and white flowers — threaded through it all. Like the night had taken the parts of him that were supposed to be private and braided them through you.
He wouldn’t sleep tonight.
“Yun,” you called. “About what I said—”
“Just sleep,” he cut in. “We can talk tomorrow.”
Your mouth parted as if you wanted to argue on principle. But your body betrayed you in the softest way: your breathing deepened, your fingers loosened on the sheet, your forehead sank into his pillow as if it was the only safe thing left in the world.
Jaeyun lay down beside you before he could think too hard about it, keeping the space between your bodies like a rule — a boundary he could hold — but you drifted closer inch by inch, pulled by some instinct that had never learned to be afraid of him. Your knee brushed his leg. Your hand settled near his, warm and lax, fingers curved like they might reach if you dreamed the right dream.
Jaeyun didn’t move. He only stared at the ceiling and listened to you breathe — slow and even — trying not to count it.
Tomorrow, he told himself.
Tomorrow, he would be brave. Tomorrow he would say the right things — the usable truth, as Jongseong had called — the truth you could hold without cutting yourself on it.
Tomorrow, he would not ruin you, or the fragile shape of a friendship he’d carried for years like a glass of water.
But tonight—
He turned his head just enough to look at you, and stayed awake anyway — guarding the morning like it was the most dangerous thing he’d ever faced.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Jaeyun woke up to the morning sunlight filtering through the still-open window of his bedroom, and you curled into him, cheek on his shoulder, as your hand rested on his chest.
He didn’t move — he couldn’t bring himself to move — he didn’t even let his breath deepen because his first thought was the same one it had always been, old as instinct and just as merciless: don’t wake you. Don’t jolt you out of whatever gentle, thoughtless trust had guided you here in the dark and kept you here in the light. He merely stared at your hand on his chest.
Your fingers were loose, resting over his heartbeat like they’d found it by memory. Like your body had reached for the most familiar thing in the room and settled before your mind could intervene.
He swallowed.
The sunlight was falling in slow stripes across the sheets and across the line of your shoulder beneath his shirt, turning the old cotton into something almost translucent, and catching on your necklace. Dust drifted through the brightness like the morning was innocent — like the world hadn’t heard what you’d asked for last night, hadn’t seen the way his restraint had shaken under the skin.
He’d stayed the whole night trying to remain as far as he could tell. And still, here you were — curled into him like this was allowed. Like this was fine. Like you belonged in the hollow of his shoulder with your palm over his heart, claiming the one part of him he’d never learned how to hide.
You made a small sound in your throat, barely more than a breath, and nudged closer, your knee tucking nearer, your fingers flexing once against his shirt, and the heat of you spread through him like something inevitable.
His gaze drifted to your face.
Sleep had unmade you cruel in its sweetness; your lashes cast a faint shadow under your eyes; your mouth was parted just slightly, softened by the quiet. There was no teasing there, no armor, no bright deflection — only you, unguarded, and breathing against his shoulder like you trusted him to hold.
Because he would — he always would.
Jaeyun swallowed and very carefully — so carefully it bordered on absurd — slid his arm out from beneath your head, immediately receiving a small sound of protest from you, brows drawing together, and for one panicked second, he thought you’d wake.
But if anything, you only turned your face further into his pillow, drifting your hand from his chest to the sheet between you.
Jaeyun sat up slowly, pushing his hair back off his forehead as if he could physically push the feeling out, and looked at you once more.
Then he reached for the blanket and pulled it higher, covering you with a tenderness that felt dangerously close to a confession — tucking the edge beneath your arm, smoothing it down over your ribs, restoring order because order was the only thing that kept him from doing something reckless — before he stood up, crossing the room barefoot.
Jaeyun left the room, pulling the door nearly shut behind him, careful not to let the latch click.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
The kitchen met him as it always did on weekdays.
The sink was crowded with his roommate’s morning small evasions — a cup abandoned to the drying rack, a plate left half-rinsed as if someone had set it down and decided they couldn’t be bothered to finish. Old coffee grounds sat in the filter, gone cold and sour, and the air held that faint, stubborn bitterness like it had seeped into the walls.
Jaeyun stood in the middle of it all for a moment, then two — trying to make his brain behave.
Tomorrow, he had said, and it was tomorrow.
He exhaled through his nose and opened the fridge, scanning the shelves as if the answer to what to do with his hands might be hiding behind the milk, but not even this they had. There were eggs, half a loaf of bread, butter, something green that had once been vegetables in a kinder timeline, and the strawberries he bought weekly and kept in the back, pretending it wasn’t for you.
He closed the door on impulse, pushing his hair back off his forehead before he reopened it and grabbed the eggs.
Jaeyun had never been a breakfast person, but he needed something to do with his hands that morning, and so, he warmed the pan, melting the butter as he had seen you do a dozen times.
He cracked the first egg too hard, and a piece of shell fell in, forcing him to fish it out with the edge of a fork with a curse under his breath. The second one cracked clean. And he caught himself staring at it for a second, mildly offended by success.
He scrambled the eggs like he was negotiating with them — low heat, constant movement, refusing to let them burn. The toast popped up too dark on one side, and he had scraped it with a knife.
He got strawberries in the back of the fridge, rinsed them, and set them on a plate.
And by the time it started to look like something someone might eat, he heard you, softly coming down the hall and making the air shift, the apartment itself holding its breath.
Jaeyun turned, and there you were in the doorway — his shirt hanging off you, hair a mess, eyes brighter than they had any right to be.
Your gaze landed on the plates — on the counter, catching the eggshells still on it, the crumbs of his burned toast, and the strawberry tops before it moved to him.
“You made breakfast,” you said, the corner of your lips shifting into a smile.
“I’m aware.”
You padded toward him, bare feet on the kitchen tile, and suddenly you were so close, he could smell you, his soap still clinging to your skin. Your eyes were puffy, your cheeks still a little flushed, but the embarrassment had already arrived; Jaeyun could see it in the way you held your shoulders, in the way your gaze didn’t stay on his for too long.
“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly.
Jaeyun leaned his hip against the counter, arms crossing because if he didn’t put his body in order, his face might betray him. “You were drunk. You called me. I picked you up. That’s not like it never happened.”
“I remember what I said.”
Jaeyun went still.
“I’m not going to pretend I don’t,” you said. “Or that I said it only because I was drunk — I mean, I was drunk.”
You paused, heat creeping up to your cheeks and making it a tone warmer.
“Jaeyun, I’m—” You pressed your palm to your forehead briefly, as if you could push the shame back inside. “I’m in university. I’m still a virgin. And it’s not even because I’m some — saint. It’s because I kept waiting for the right moment.”
Your voice dropped. “But now it just feels like I’ve been standing still while everyone else moved.”
Something moved in Jaeyun’s chest then — sharp, protective, and making him push himself off the counter before he meant to, closing the space between you in a step he didn’t ask permission for.
“Princess,” he called, his voice as soft as the way his arms eased apart, but he didn’t touch you. Didn’t put his hands on your shoulders or tuck your hair back or do any of the things his body begged him to do on autopilot — because this was morning, and you were sober, and this mattered.
“You don’t owe anyone a timeline,” he said. “And you don’t have to make it some performance to prove something.”
“I know, Yun, it’s just that—” Your mouth tightened, lips pressing as you searched for the shape of the truth. “When I think about it, I keep coming to the conclusion that it would be safe if it were with you.”
“Do you remember that party at Seoyeon’s where they did that stupid bottle game, and we both had our first kisses in her parents’ closet?” you asked. Jaeyun blinked at the sudden turn of topic, but nodded anyway. “It was awful and so awkward. The guy made it so awkward. And the whole time I remember — the whole time I remember wishing it had been you on the other side of the bottle, because it would’ve been easier if it were you.” You swallowed. “If it were you, I’d be safe — and it’s still true, I know it would be okay with you,”
“You’re the person I trust the most in this world.”
The whole sentence went straight through his ribs and sank there, spreading through the parts of Jaeyun that had learned to stay careful until his restraint loosened another notch, and his chest went tender with it, so sudden it almost hurt.
In his mind, he was back at Seoyeon’s party, you laughing and brushing the situation off in front of him, cheeks flushed even in the low light with what he thought was shyness. And perhaps it had been. Perhaps he hadn’t been completely wrong: you’d been shy there, but not because you’d just had your first kiss, but because you’d wished he was the one there. He, your best friend — and the thought came so suddenly he couldn’t prevent it — he wanted it to be him, too. He wanted to be your first in every way that counted.
And that was exactly what you were offering to him.
Jaeyun swallowed, his fingers flexing on the counter.
“Do you truly want it?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“But nothing can change between us,” Jaeyun said. “We start as best friends. And even if this — if this thing doesn’t work and we turn out to be awkward, we end as that. Best friends. No matter what.”
You stared at him for a second.
“Are you afraid of losing me?” you asked, teasing like you could make this lighter if you tried hard enough.
Jaeyun could hear the invitation in it. The offer to laugh. To dissolve the moment back into something safe. But when he looked at you, his eyes were solemn. So solemn that whatever retort you’d been about to throw at him got stuck somewhere between your lips and your courage.
“Yes,” Jaeyun said, and the teasing fell away.
Your breath caught for a moment before you exhaled, your face softening into something older than jokes.
“Okay,” you whispered.
“Okay,” he echoed.
Your gaze flicked to the counter again, to the two plates resting there, and he felt like it was some type of evidence. Proof this wasn’t only shame and late-night chaos, but morning too. Domestic, ordinary, real.
“So,” you said, voice a little too bright, “we’re doing this?”
Jaeyun’s mouth twitched. “Eat.”
“That was not an answer.”
He reached past you, grabbing a fork, and placing it in your hand with exaggerated seriousness.
“Eat,” he repeated. “Then we talk.”
“Jaeyun.”
He held your gaze, and the air between you tightened with something that had nothing to do with breakfast.
“Yes,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he wanted it to. “We’re doing it.”
“Good,” you said, and then, because you were you, because you couldn’t help yourself: “When are we doing it?”
Jaeyun stared at you.
“Are you—” he began. “Are you trying to schedule sex?”
“Seems reasonable.” You shuddered. “Or do you want us to do it now—”
“No,” he cut in, eyes narrowing, but the fondness in it betrayed him. “Tonight.”
“Don’t you have classes?”
“Are you having second thoughts?” he countered.
“Tonight,” you agreed. “My place?”
“That makes more sense,” he said, not only because he didn’t want his roommates hovering around, but because if he kept you here, if he kept you in his bed again, he didn’t trust the part of him that wanted to pretend you didn’t already belong.
“Okay,” you said.
“Okay,” he echoed.
Jaeyun straightened, grabbed his own plate, and turned away from the counter as if he hadn’t just scheduled the end of the life he’d been carefully maintaining like a lie. As if he’d invited you to the movies instead of into the most dangerous part of him.
“Eat,” he said again, voice rough. “Before I change my mind.”
You took a bite of eggs, crunching your nose. “These are terrible.”
“They’re edible,” he argued.
You smiled around your bite, and in the brilliance of it, Jaeyun noticed with sudden clarity that you might not be drunk, you might not be mad, but it had been a reckless request.
And he had just said yes.
He should’ve panicked.
He should’ve backed out and clung to his rules until they cut him open.
But he only watched you — standing in his kitchen with his shirt draped around you, alive and real and trusting him with clear eyes, and he couldn’t make himself care about the danger.
RULE #2: DO NOT TOUCH HER IMPROPERLY
Some touches are allowed because they keep her safe — elbow, shoulder, wrist, maybe her waist; small steadying things I can explain without it sounding like a lie. Improper is anything I do for myself. Improper is touching her like I’m owed something just because I’ve been here a long time.
Jaeyun liked electrical engineering — he really liked it — perhaps more than he’d ever admitted out loud.
There was something about how he could take a mess of a problem — wires crossing like arguments, values that looked meaningless until he stopped panicking and actually looked — and reduce it to rules that held. KCL. KVL. The calm mathematics of not lying to himself. Find the reference. Label the nodes. Define the direction. Solve.
If he couldn’t control other things — timing, people’s feelings, the way you could laugh like nothing was wrong while something in him quietly broke — then at least he could control this.
At least here, the world had edges. Here, the answer existed, and he found some calmness in it.
But not tonight.
Jaeyun sat in the last row with his book open and his pen in hand, trying to make his body obey.
But the professor’s voice moved through the room, muffled by the low hum of the projector and the whisper of AC that never quite cooled the lecture hall. Something about the transient response. Something about step inputs and settling time. Jaeyun stared at the diagram on the slide until it started to blur, because all he could see was you in his kitchen, barefoot on his tile. His shirt on your body. Your mouth around the word tonight like it was a dare and a promise and a joke all at once.
He wrote a line of notes, realizing a moment too late that it didn’t make sense; it was just a string of symbols that meant nothing. His jaw tightened. He scratched it out so hard the paper tore, then froze, breathing through his nose like he could sand himself back into something normal.
He tried to listen again, forcing his gaze to the board, and his brain into the shape of equations.
But the truth was: he wasn’t there anymore.
He was already walking to your studio apartment. He was already at your door, pressing the code of your keypad as he had done a thousand times.
He was already hearing your voice say his name the way you always did when you wanted something — and he hated that the wanting in him answered like a trained dog.
His leg bounced under the desk as his eyes moved to the clock.
The second hand dragged itself forward like it was doing it on purpose, like time had decided to become cruel just to prove it could. Jaeyun forced himself to look back down at the board. Forced his jaw to unclench. Forced his foot to stop bouncing.
It didn’t work.
He dragged a hand through his hair, knuckles scraping his scalp, and stared at the open page like he could threaten it into giving him peace.
Step response.
Damping ratio.
Overshoot — his chest felt like overshoot.
Jaeyun exhaled slowly, then made a decision, closing his book with a sound sharper than it should’ve been in the lecture hall, a final clap that made the person in front of him glance back, but Jaeyun didn’t care. If anything, he slid the book into his bag, capped his pen, and stood.
Outside, the late afternoon air hit him with a faint bite — winter pretending it hadn’t left yet. And the campus was loud in the way it always got near the end of the day: students spilling out of buildings, scooters whining by, laughter too bright, life too easy.
Jaeyun walked straight through it, taking the quickest route off campus, cutting between two buildings, and down the narrow street that always smelled like fried food and stale cigarette smoke.
He didn’t stop to think — didn’t even breathe; he only followed the line to your apartment complex, pushing the door open and taking the stairs, two at a time.
At your door, the keypad was there, small and impersonal, a little square of plastic and numbers that shouldn’t mean anything. But Jaeyun had always been stupidly good at remembering what mattered, and your passcode was one of those things he picked up without asking, without naming it as intimacy — the way he learned strawberry was your favorite fruit when you were both twelve, the way he memorized the sound of your laugh before he realized he was paying attention. Four digits. He knew it — he had used it a dozen times, but as his finger found the first digit, he froze because him knowing it all too well, suddenly felt like trespassing.
Jaeyun stared at the numbers. His hand still in the air, suspended, and ridiculously caught between two versions of himself. The one that had always been allowed inside your life, the one that had walked into your space carrying groceries and textbooks and your bad moods like they were part of his schedule, and the one standing here now, with the taste of tonight still sharp in his mouth, and the knowledge that tonight is not errands or emergencies.
He exhaled, slowly, trying to make his body act normal — trying to make his hand stop trembling with the sheer idiocy of wanting.
But couldn’t, and when he raised his hand again, he only knocked at the door and waited, hearing his own pulse in his ears, a stupid, loyal metronome that refused to slow down.
And then — movement.
The smallest sound from inside. Footsteps. A shift of air through the crack of the frame, like your apartment exhaled before the door even opened.
Jaeyun straightened without meaning to, shoulders going back like he’s bracing for impact. His hand dropped to his sides, finding his pockets because he refused to be caught halfway through panic.
Warm light spilled through the gap, and the scent of your place followed it — something clean and faintly floral, the trace of whatever you always used that made you smell like comfort when you hugged him goodbye. And there you were, framed in the doorway as if you’d been waiting in the exact spot where he would have to see you all at once.
For half a second, Jaeyun couldn’t breathe, his lungs catching, devastated by you.
“Hi,” you said. It was the same word you’d always used, yet it didn’t sound the same. “Did you forget the code?”
Jaeyun swallowed, forcing his face into something neutral.
“No,” he managed, his voice coming out rougher than he wanted it to. But if anything, you hummed at him, requiring no further explanation, as you opened the door a little wider so he could come in.
Jaeyun had molded the moment when he would step into your place in his mind enough times to believe he would be prepared when it finally came into reality.
Yet it didn’t.
He tried to don a neutral aspect, tried to speak — make some joke — but the words stayed in, hooked into years, and yanked, allowing nothing but air to pass through his lips.
Your apartment was small in the way studios always were — everything close enough to touch from the same spot, everything bearing the faint imprint of your routines. A blanket was folded too neatly on the end of the bed. A mug sat on the counter that looked like it had been rinsed and set down without being fully put away. A stack of books with their spines cracked in the middle like they’d been loved, not displayed.
And there was you — too close, too real.
You’d changed since he’d last been here, but at the same time, you were the same girl he had known his whole life, and the combination of both made something in him tighten until it felt sharp.
Jaeyun shut the door behind him with his foot, careful not to let it slam, yet the click of the latch sounded louder than it should’ve, and he stood there for a beat too long, backpack strap still across his shoulder, hands in his pockets.
“Shoes,” you remembered, because you couldn’t help yourself, and a laugh escaped through him, familiar enough to settle him.
Jaeyun bent, unlaced his sneakers, slipped them off with quick, efficient motions before he lined them near the door and dropped his backpack.
When he straightened, you were still watching him, draped in a dress that didn’t try to be subtle.
It hugged you way too prettily, clinging to your waist and hips like it had been made with the sole purpose of making him forget he’d ever learned how to breathe. The neckline dipped just enough to show skin, and right there — resting against it like a quiet, years-old claim — was the necklace he’d given you.
“Jaeyun,” you called. And he knew this tone — he knew it so damn well. It was your do something.
And so he did, striding in your direction, his hands already reaching for your face, cradling it on his palms before he looked down at you with a small question that he couldn’t come to pronounce because you were already replying by closing your eyes, tipping your head up so he didn’t need to do much to catch your top lip within his.
It was your first kiss. Jaeyun had known you for his whole life, but it was the first time he had come to know your mouth, and it felt almost like a travesty of the universe.
You tasted like strawberries, sugar, and something so familiar that his chest ached, threatening to break open and groan escaped him when you parted your lips, allowing him to dip his tongue inside, pressing against yours until he couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t you.
You and the way your hands found the front of his t-shirt and curled on it.
You and the way you pulled him along with you as you stepped back — and back, until the back of your knees had hit the mattress, and you had no other option but to fall on it, his hands bracing around your face, one knee bent and pressed where the skirts of your dress had pooled in too high.
You didn’t say anything as you reached for him, rushing your hands beneath the blue shirt and pushing it over his shoulders.
“Wait, Princess, wait,” he asked. “Slow down.”
“Is this how you always do it?”
And he could have lied, could have merely said yes, that was how he took all the other girls, but he didn’t.
“No,” he said. “It’s because it’s you and me.”
You stared at him, and suddenly the room felt too small for your heartbeats, too quiet for how loud everything inside of him turned.
But then, you leaned in and kissed him again — slower this time — giving him space to meet you properly.
His hand slid from your jaw to the side of your neck, his thumb pressing and feeling your pulse through the tip of it as his other hand followed the line of your shoulders, moving further and further until his palm had found your waist, his fingers spreading on you the way he always did to anchor you — except that now it was less anchoring than keeping you.
You shifted beneath him, your leg sliding close enough to brush the inside of his thigh, and Jaeyun felt it like a jolt — small, accidental, and devastating — traveling straight through his length, and making his breath catch.
He forced himself to hinder — force himself to keep his head clear. But his body was already answering you, heat gathering with every centimeter of contact, the novelty of it turning molten and bright in his blood — wanting to move, to press in, to take what you were offering without thinking.
“Tell me if—” he started, then stopped, trying to rearrange his thoughts.
“If what?”
“If you want me to stop,” he managed. “Say it if you—”
“I won’t,” you said, and the certainty in it hit him like a punch.
Jaeyun exhaled, pressing his forehead to yours — not kissing, not moving — just breathing the sweet scent of you, vanilla and white flowers, the same he always had as he counted the seconds like he could make them behave through the sheer force of his want.
“You’re sure?” he asked — because he had to — because he knew that this was the line where everything became real, and everything before this was going to feel small in comparison.
“Yes, Sim Jaeyun,” you whispered. “I’m sure.”
“Okay,” he murmured, more to himself than you. “Okay.”
Jaeyun’s fingers found the strap of your dress, sliding it with a gentleness that didn’t match the way his pulse was climbing, easing it down through your shoulder slow enough that it felt like a question you could stop without words — yet you didn’t — and the dress shifted with a soft whisper through your body.
He leaned in and pressed his mouth to the skin he’s uncovered — one brief kiss, then another — until the dress loosened and pooled lower, until he could guide it away and reveal your lingerie set, pinkish in a way that only made your skin warmer under the lights of your apartment.
His breath hitched.
You were beautiful in a way he’d always known, but also in a way he’d never allowed himself to study — never this close, never with permission. Never with the soft spill of your skin under his hands, much less with the heat of you turning every familiar detail into something obscene and new.
His hand splayed over your belly, the tips of his fingers skimming the lower edge of your bra before he slid down, finding the band of your panties and hooking it lightly.
“You’re—” he began.
“Don’t get too full of yourself, Jaeyun,” you murmured. “I dress like this because I just happen to have no bad sets.”
The laugh that left him was helpless, more air than sound, relief threading through it because you were still you, even here, even now, just in your lingerie set and with skin turning reddish because of his kisses, and it truly didn’t matter that you interpreted him wrongly this time.
“Right,” he managed. He couldn’t argue with anything you said — not right now — not never. “Of course.”
Your fingers curled in his shirt, pulling him closer — not frantic, not desperate — just needy, and Jaeyun went still for one beat to let himself feel it: the pull, the permission, the way your hands on him turned his years of restraint into something soft and breakable.
“Of course,” he whispered again, bending down and kissing you, your temples first, and then your cheeks — his lips pestering over your face with soft pecks before he moved lower, discovering that one sensitive spot underneath your jaw, and when you gasped, he took it as an incentive to move to the column of your neck, his mouth parting as his tongue slipped out in a tiny tease that got you gasping softly — almost silently, hands closing at the shoulders of his shirt as if you couldn’t help yourself.
“You’re sensitive,” he murmured, tucking his discovery carefully alongside all the other details he’d collected about you over the years.
You called for him, but if it had been a warning or a submission, you lost interest in the rest of your thought as he kissed you again, open mouth and tongue rolling against your skin, surely leaving a mark, and making a moan to rumble through your lips instead.
Jaeyun’s eyes flicked up to your face, and he didn’t let go — not even when his hands slipped to your back, the tips of his fingers finding and curling on the clasps of your bra. Not even as he opened it and slid further into you, kissing the tip of your breast and sending goosebumps through your skin.
He never let go.
And when his lips parted, tipping his tongue out, and making your hands move to the back of his head, fisting at his hair almost bitterly, he only smiled against you, the movement adding another coating to the sensation and making your arch against him.
He licked you softly, licked you hard, covered the areola with his lips and pulled the tip into his mouth, pulled more and harder, until your back arched even more and created a gap between the mattress that his hands took no time to fill, his fingers spraying through your skin and holding you still as his mouth moved, leaving your nipple just to create a path through your body, trailing down to your sternum, your stomach — taking in every piece of your skin in between his lips.
Jaeyun lifted his head then, just enough to look at your face properly, catching the flush on your cheeks, the way your lips had parted because your breath had turned pant, your chest moving too fast and allowing your necklace to sparkle.
The room was suddenly too small for how loud his blood had gotten.
For a moment, he didn’t kiss, didn’t lick, didn’t give either of you the mercy of motion; he only held still and watched, like he needed to see what he was doing to you before he let himself do more.
“Princess,” he breathed, the word slipping out before he could decide on anything else.
You looked at him, and your gazes locked as they had done a dozen times across the existence of you, yet the moment acquired that dream quality because you were here, bare in a way he’d only imagined in the abstract — late at night, in the quietness of his room, in the version of his imagination he kept locked away like contraband — and the distance between wanting and having had narrowed to a single breath.
Jaeyun swallowed, trying to steady himself, before let the moment break by degrees — his palm slid down the slope of your stomach, slow enough to feel like asking, fingertips grazing your skin as if he were relearning it; as if touching you like this rewired something in him that had always been too careful until his fingers finally found the band and paused there, hooked lightly under the elastic.
He looked back up at you then, thumb stroking once along your hip as his other hand held you steady at the small of your back, refusing to let you drift away from him — from this.
“You okay?” he murmured, and it sounded like he meant all of it.
You nodded at him, and he moved — quietly relentless — his knuckles brushed your thighs on the way, accidental touches that weren’t accidental at all, and the sound you made hit him physically.
He had never been so hard in his whole life.
He guided the panties lower, and lower, until they slipped free; and for a beat, he just held them, as though the simplest thing in his hand had become proof that the night had finally crossed into real.
Then he set them aside without looking, his attention snapping back to you immediately — hand returning to your inner thigh with a firmer hold than before.
“If I do anything you don’t like — you tell me, okay? We have to communicate.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoed.
His thumb drew one more slow line along your inner thigh, watching the way you answered it before he allowed himself to lower his head again, kissing the inside of your knee this time — soft — almost innocent, if the moment hadn’t been burning at the edges. Then another kiss, slower, lingering, his mouth warming you as his hands guided you open with a care that felt reverent.
“You are just — beautiful,” he heard himself say.
You let out a small sound that wasn’t quite a breath and wasn’t quite a laugh, startled by how earnest he was being. Your cheeks warmed, and you turned your face just slightly, like you could hide behind the angle.
“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, aiming for teasing, but it came out too soft for anything but shyness.
And Jaeyun’s mouth twitched, a helpless curve that didn’t reach humor so much as relief. And his hand tightened once at your thigh, then gentled, thumb stroking a quiet line as if to soothe the flush he’d put in you.
“Yeah?” he said. “But is it okay?”
“Yeah,” you said, the word threaded through the quiet laugh that escaped you. You didn’t dress it up, didn’t offer an explanation, didn’t hand him the because — you just let the answer be simple. But it wasn’t simple at all, not to him because he heard the rest in the way your gaze found his and held: yeah, you said, because it’s you.
The first touch of his mouth against your folds was light enough that he didn’t even taste you, but your body still reacted: a sharp inhale, a pull through your spine, the instinctive arch that made his own breath break low in his throat.
And when you tipped your hips to him, he mouthed you again, his hands sliding further into you, thumbs finding the tender flesh of your hood and lifting it — leaving your clit in full exposure for him to lean in, the tip of his tongue kneading the sensitive flesh around, slightly rubbing before he pressed it, unable to prevent the sound that escaped his throat then — something between reverence and desperation.
It took your smile away — your lips parting in a gasp as your fingers met and wove through his hair, pulling him in a demand that he had no second thoughts before obeying, giving you another lick — a harder one.
His tongue twirled all around the edge, then he pressed a kiss over it — a long, tender wet kiss before he lowered his head and licked at the entrance of your body because you were clenching around nothing, and it suddenly felt too evil, and Jaeyun would never be evil to you.
He pushed his tongue against your hole, and then, he pushed again until his tip went inside it, and he had to control his will to roll his eyes back.
Even his boldest fantasy hadn’t come close to how sweet you actually were. And the thought landed too tender to survive, cracking him open into something darker because being careful had started to feel like another kind of denial, and he couldn’t come to continue to restrain himself when you had given him all the permission. Jaeyun lifted his head just long enough to look at you, eyes blown wide and honest, as if he was giving you one last chance to pull him back. To tell him to stop. To make him good again.
Yet you didn’t. And something within him shifted. His hands held you firmer, spreading you open as he went back to you no longer soft-edged, and decided to stop hovering at the threshold, giving you what you were asking for.
Jaeyun’s grip tightened as he worked on you, alternating between broad strokes and precise licks on that one spot that never failed to make you cry out his name.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me hear you.”
Your response came almost immediately — a broken moan that seemed to come from somewhere so deeply inside of you, Jaeyun felt your own desperation reverberating through his entire body.
You were getting closer, he could tell by the way your thighs kept quivering under his hands, your breathing becoming more and more ragged with each pass of his tongue, but it wasn’t enough — he needed to see it: the moment pleasure turned undeniable, the moment he could stop wondering if he was reading you wrong.
Jaeyun retreated with a torturous care, pressing a final kiss to your folds as he pushed himself back onto his knees and earned a protest from you.
“Jaeyun—”
“Not yet,” he said. “For now, I need you to hold yourself open for me. Can you do that, Princess?”
You nodded despite yourself, spreading your legs further apart — pushing the soles of your feet against your sheets for some leverage and fuck.
The sight of you like this — glistening with your fluids and remnants of his saliva — the sight of you so ready for him.
He could hardly breathe.
He brought one hand down through your thigh, his thumb resuming the circular motions on your clit while his other hand moved to your seam, teasingly brushing the tips of his fingers through before he slid a single one inside.
You were so wet already, he slipped with no resistance, and it was so dizzying — everything about it was so dizzying — he hardly heard you panting as he began to move his finger in and out, your stomach tightening and giving a small convulsion, but you kept your legs apart as he had asked you to.
It was a false deed, honestly — as if Jaeyun could command anything when both of you knew — he was the one to always follow.
But he really didn’t care.
When Jaeyun felt you opening up to him, he added a second finger in, curling them slightly to discover that one spot that soon enough got you into a mess — squeezing him with your release as your hands grabbed at your sheets. Your lips parted around his name, and your hair turned wilder as your head pushed against your pillows, arching your back in that one beautiful bow before you melted again.
“Princess,” he called, and you clenched at the endearing name, a velvet heat that he felt in his very soul.
You hadn’t done anything to him, but Jaeyun felt utterly undone by you. His breath was coming in short, ragged gasps just by watching you.
God — he could come just by watching you.
You were so wet. His hand was coated with you, white slick dribble coming out of your cunt, making each of his moves obscenely loud in the quiet night, yet — all he could think was how stunning you were like this, so lovely and so his.
He wanted to keep looking — to hold the moment still, to learn it by heart, and make it something real enough to survive the morning. But he wanted to look away, too, all at once — startled by the sheer size of his wanting.
You had so much power over him, it was terrifying even to examine the way you owned his soul. When your gazes caught, his heart seemed to burst in his chest.
Was he doing it for you, or doing it for him? He couldn’t tell anymore.
He curled his fingers deeper inside of you, making you mumble something unintelligible, a sob ripping through your chest and already threatening to turn into a release. Jaeyun couldn’t help but grin at the sound, reveling in the way your body trembled and arched underneath his touch.
You thrashed and thrashed as he still tended you the way you needed, stroking the spots inside that made you shudder and rubbing at your clit until he heard you panting, his own name falling from your lips in a breathless moan before it turned into whimpers, and when you came around him, he leaned in to kiss you.
Jaeyun stayed close through the last shiver, like he didn’t trust the world not to startle you out of it. He kissed you again — slower now, softer — catching your mouth as your breathing stuttered, and pretending that he could take the edge off the intensity just by holding you there. His hand eased from its grip into a gentler touch, smoothing along your thigh.
“Hey,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
His forehead brushed against yours as his hands smoothed over your body, taking you through until he could cup your face, and his thumb could reach for the corner of your mouth, wiping away the evidence of his kiss with a tenderness that didn’t match how wrecked he looked. He swallowed, chest rising and falling too fast, and forced himself to slow his breathing until yours started to follow.
“Still okay?” he asked again, softer, as if the question mattered more now than it had before.
You nodded at him, managing a flimsy sound that might’ve been yes, and Jaeyun pressed another kiss to your temple, then your cheek, unhurried, almost devotional, as if he needed to apologize for his own intensity.
“You did so well,” he whispered. “Tell me what you need. Water? A minute? Do you want me to hold you, or-?”
“Jaeyun,” you cut.
“Yes, Princess?”
Your hands slid to the back of his neck, fingers curling and weaving through his hair, holding him still.
“I need you.”
It might have been the words, the small plea that took Jaeyun anew because he would never refuse anything you asked him, or perhaps it was the way you said them, a bit flimsy because you couldn’t control it still, but either way, he gave in, slipping from your hold only so he could take his t-shirt off.
He almost choked when you stood with him, your hands reaching for his lower abdomen, nails scraping his skin slightly before you took his belt and unbuckled it.
“Princess,” he called, the questions already on his tongue, shaped by habit, and the need to do this right.
But you didn’t give him time.
Your hands moved for his jeans, unzipping them as if you’d decided you were done waiting, easing them down in one smooth, impatient motion. The room seemed to go hushed around the sound of it — denim shifting, breath catching — until the only thing left was the sudden, helpless awareness of his length slapping against his abdomen.
Your hand found him, fingers curling around him almost beautifully, closing and molding with a care that didn’t match, and making his whole body go taut, breath pulling tight in his chest like it had nowhere to go. Not because he didn’t want it — God, he wanted it — but because he did, too much, too fast, the kind of wanting that threatened to ruin the rest of the night by sheer impatience.
He caught your wrist gently, holding you as his forehead dipped toward yours again, his eyes shutting.
“If you do that,” he began. “I’m not going to last.”
The honesty of it landed between you, sharp with embarrassment. And when he opened his eyes again, there was something almost pleading in the way he looked at you — like he was asking you not to laugh, not to make him feel small for how quickly you could undo him.
“Another time,” he promised, realizing the implications of his words a fraction too late. Not just later tonight. Not just when you feel like it. But again. As if he’d already decided that there was going to be a future where he got to learn you — and be learned — without rushing.
But you didn’t tease him. When you looked at him, your gaze holding his until the heat in his face had nowhere to hide, you merely nodded.
“Okay,” you said.
You were no warmer than Jaeyun was, but when he touched your waist, your skin shivered, a fine tremor running under his fingertips.
“Okay,” he echoed.
You let him ease you down onto the sheets, smoothing you into place as he followed you down, bracing himself over you without crushing you, and kissed you — slow, mouth soft, reverent in a way that made the moment feel almost holy.
“Tell me if anything hurts,” he whispered. “Tell me if—”
“I know,” you breathed, and the words sounded so much like trust — Jaeyun’s throat worked, and he kissed you again and again and again, only letting go to reach down beside the bed for his jeans, fingers finding the pocket by feel — clumsy in a way he never remembered being. His breath caught when you made the smallest sound behind him, and he hurried to get his wallet free, forcing it out with a practical shuffle before the faint and quick tear of foil came in the hush.
He slid it on with shaky hands that he hoped you wouldn’t notice.
But you did — of course you did.
When he climbed back over you, you reached for his arms, your fingers brushing down until you found his hands.
“You’re shaking,” you whispered, your brows knitted, and searching his face like you were afraid you’d pushed him somewhere he didn’t want to go.
Jaeyun went still.
“Because it’s you,” he replied, not giving himself time to consider how much he had exposed with this mere phrase.
Of course he was shaking. He’d wanted you for so long it had grown into something foundational, something he’d learned to live around and never touch. And now you were here beneath him, looking at him like he was allowed — like he was chosen — and his wanting hadn’t been foolish after all.
His throat worked. He tightened his fingers around yours, trying to make the shaking stop by force.
“If I mess this up, you won’t ever let me hear the end of this,” he smoothed.
You laughed at him — familiar in a way that loosened something in his chest, easing everything inside him as if the sound of you had always known where to press to make him breathe again.
“Don’t worry,” you said. “I’ll keep it all as another of our secrets.”
“What other secrets do we have?”
“What you had under your bed when we were teenagers,” you began. “That you couldn’t sleep without a lampshade until you were twelve. Where we were on your eighteenth birthday. That you cried watching The Notebook—”
“Everyone cried watching The Notebook at least once.”
“Baekhyeon didn’t—”
“Did you watch it with him?”
“It’s my favorite movie, of course I did,” you said. “But don’t worry, it was just once — it’s funnier with you anyway.”
“Obviously,” he said. “Everything is funnier with me — and we are about to have a lot of fun.”
You laughed again, softer and only because he was allowed to — he kissed you again, his hands smoothing your thighs, your calves, his fingers moving and curling around your ankles and pulling you to him, lifting your legs to his hips.
You stiffened as his tip made contact, your body going taut beneath him and he stopped like he’d been trained for it, like every instinct he had rewired itself around not hurting you. His grip shifted back from your ankles to your thighs — his thumbs stroking small, steady circles as if he could coax your muscles out of panic.
“Princess, look at me,” he murmured. “Do you want me to stop?”
You shook your head, a little bit too frantically as if you were afraid he would really stop it, and Jaeyun exhaled through his nose, a sound that stood somewhere between a laugh and a prayer. He kissed you once, slow and grounding, then another at the corner of your mouth.
“Okay,” he said. “Then we go slow. I’m right here.”
He shifted — barely enough to change the angle, but you seemed to feel it and his thumb reached for you seam, wetting the tip of it with your fluids, and finding your clitoris, rubbing it in slow and deliberate circles that got you closing your eyes, moving your hips, and welcoming whatever he was giving.
Jaeyun made himself still enough to read you, his eyes tracking your face with the kind of focus that might’ve felt clinical, if it hadn’t been so tender. He watched your breathing first, then your mouth, then the tiny shifts in your shoulders before he slowed and it eased again.
He moved in careful increments, pausing whenever your breath changed. Waiting whenever your brows pinched. His hands steadied you — firm at your thighs, gentle at your waist, and holding you through the newness of it.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “Is it okay?”
You nodded and he lowered his forehead toward yours.
It was slow at first, all about him discovering the new shape of you, but soon enough, it was confident and knowing. When he drew back, he knew exactly how to move back in, how to make you tighten around him, and his name to escape from your lips a little bit more frantically as his rhythm increased.
Your fingers spread through the back of his neck, fingers twisting at the hair at his nape and bringing him closer and closer, as if you couldn’t help it. And when your breath turned ragged and your fingers tightened, Jaeyun pressed his mouth to your temple, whispering your name like a promise he could finally keep.
Even if only temporarily.
“Yun, I’m going—”
“It’s okay, Princess,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
And this time he meant it in every way.
“Come for me, babe.”
You twisted under his body, even as he kept you pinned in place with his hands on your hips, squirming and whimpering your way through it, finishing with an almighty shudder as you came a second time, and it was so beautiful, and overwhelming — he tried to stay careful. He tried to keep his breathing even. But you said his name like you needed him, and something in him cracked clean through.
He buried his face against your neck, a shaky sound trapped in his throat. “Princess—”
He didn’t have room for anything except you.
No thought. No control. Just the force of feeling, cresting too high and too fast, until it dragged a groan from him with your name inside it — like that was the only thing he could say when he finally lost himself — and with a final, deep thrust, his body tensed and spilled inside of you — groaning your name. The echo of it carved into your skin as he buried himself, his fingers molding into your skin with an intensity that left behind indentations as the waves of his pleasure washed over.
Jaeyun hadn’t realized how noisy you both had been, but the room felt suddenly too quiet after.
And for a beat, he only stayed still — his forehead tucked against the curve of your neck, breathing you in like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of the air between you, the feeling of your pulse under his mouth, your fingers still lost in his hair, and your bodies so tangled, he couldn’t quite tell where he ended and you began — his whole soul afraid that the moment would slip away the second he admitted it had happened.
But then, you made a small sound, and it made him force his head up — just enough to look at you.
He brushed his knuckles along your cheek, then paused, thumb hovering at your lips because he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you like this now that the moment was gone.
“You okay?” he asked, the question already worn thin by the number of times he had used it through the night, but it felt heavier somehow, meaning more than any of the earlier ones ever had.
But if anything, you only nodded — leaning into his touch as your lashes fluttered shut.
“Just stay,” you whispered.
And so, he stayed — rolling you both through your bed, his back sinking into the mattress as he drew you to his chest, giving you a place to rest as if it was any other night and you were merely best friends falling asleep together. He stayed until your heartbeat evened out against him and the room turned orange and pink with sunrise, dust motes catching in the full light like glittering hush, and the night had inevitably bent itself into morning.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Jaeyun lay on your bed, holding a breath in his chest as if it could keep the morning from happening. The sun slipped through your parted curtains and spilled across the room — patient and indisputable — turning everything into proof.
Your dress was still pooled on the hardwood, your panties right above it, and his jeans were so close it could’ve been one thing. Your bra was still at the edge of the bed, pink, half-tucked into the sheets he couldn’t remember tangling.
He let the breath go, and the mattress answered, making you stir — just a little — your head rolling off his chest until your chin found him again.
When your eyes opened, the light caught and held — as if it had nowhere else to be.
Jaeyun felt the instinct to speak. Something practical. Something safe. Something that could be filed under morning conversation and good friend behavior.
Are you okay? he thought. Do you need water?
Do you want me to make breakfast again and pretend I don’t care when you mock me for it?
But you didn’t give him time.
You lifted your head — sleepy as it was certain — brushing your nose against his before you caught his lower lip between yours and kissed him in a way that made teasing feel like a promise.
Jaeyun went utterly still, his hands hovering, useless with hesitation. He had spent years learning which parts of you he was allowed to hold — elbow, shoulder, wrist; the small, steadying touches that could be explained without telling on himself.
But this was your room.
Your bed.
Your morning.
And you were kissing him like you’d never once needed an explanation, catching his lower lip — so gentle it hardly counted as a bite — holding it for one heartbeat longer before you let him go and eased back.
Jaeyun blinked, and the muted morning light dazed him — your room pressing in with a kind of hush that made it feel like a dream: sun-warm sheets, the sound of breath, the closeness of you like something he hadn’t earned but had been given anyway. He let it hold him for a suspended moment before he leaned in and kissed you again, this time with more feeling than thought — one hand found your waist, as the other slid behind your neck, tilting you up to him.
Your breath caught at that, and for a moment, Jaeyun feared he had gone too far — too fast. He’d finally slipped enough to not be able to lie and pretend he hadn’t broken his second rule, but then you shifted, sliding a leg over his hips, straddling him like it was the most natural place in the world to be, and something in him went quiet with the rightness of it.
He didn’t move first. He didn’t take. He only held where you’d placed him.
And when you parted — pulling back just enough for you to breathe — it carried the kind of practicality that had always been your shared language.
“I need a shower,” you said.
For a beat, Jaeyun blinked at you, incapable of understanding the words. But then, his brain latched onto it, and he felt thankful. A shower meant tiles. Water. Soap. Clean lines. A task that could be completed. A thing he could do without interpreting your mouth, your eyes, the way your kiss had said stay.
“Okay,” he heard himself say. “Okay, yeah.”
Jaeyun shifted carefully, guiding you off him with hands that tried to remember what permitted felt like — waist, ribs, shoulder — anywhere that could still pass as gentle logistics instead of want. His gaze skated away from your face on instinct, as if looking at it too directly might pull him back under, and slipped out of the bed.
You followed, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, slightly swaying — more due to sleepiness than weakness, but Jaeyun’s body reacted anyway. He reached for you, his hands steady on your arms.
He helped you up. Guided you through your studio: past the small table with the stack of books, past the mug you never fully put away, and into the narrow bathroom where the tiles were warm and the mirror caught the gold of morning and gave it back to him as evidence.
Your skin carried so many marks from the night before that his breath caught.
He looked away so fast it felt like a flinch.
Jaeyun moved like he was trying to fix the world.
He turned on the light first. Then the fan. Then the tap — hot first, then cold, adjusting in small increments until the water felt right because putting things in order always helped him keep control.
He watched the water steam faintly as it ran, watched it like it was a system he could calibrate.
He set a towel within your reach. Folded it once, then unfolded it because the fold looked too neat and he didn’t want you to notice how nervous he was. Then he reached for your shampoo and put it back where it already was, because he suddenly ran out of things to do, but his hands still sought for something.
You leaned your hip against the sink and watched him with that quiet softness that made his chest feel too full. The bathroom was suddenly too bright for how careful he was trying to be.
“Yun,” you called, and he turned to you like a man answering a question in class — focused, braced, trying to keep his face neutral.
“Yeah?”
You tilted your head, gaze flicking once before you merely stepped past him, your hands brushing and taking his, pulling him to the shower with you.
The steam gathered immediately, beading on his skin, blurring the sharp edges of the morning until the world became smaller and quieter.
“Sometimes, I can hear you thinking,” you said. “Did you know that?”
“I’m sorry,” he replied.
You laughed at that, but didn’t say anything. You merely turned around, reaching for the shampoo bottle he had previously rummaged and gave it to him.
“Wash my hair,” you said.
And so, he did.
Jaeyun took the bottle, pouring shampoo into his palm — more than he needed, because his hands were unsteady — and rubbed it between them until it warmed and foamed. Then his fingers slid into your hair, working the suds in small circles at the crown of your head, careful and thorough, moving outward as the steam gathered and the water ran down your spine. His knuckles grazed your ear once. An accident, maybe. But you let out a sound — more a sigh than anything, and something in Jaeyun tightened anyway, a flare that made his chest feel too warm. His jaw flexed at it, and he forced his hands to stay where they belonged — his attention to stay on the sequence, because sequence meant control: lather, rinse, repeat.
He rinsed you with his palm shielding your forehead, water sluicing through your hair in clear sheets. The gesture was intimate in the most domestic way — protective, practiced — as if he’d been doing it for years.
And maybe that was why it did him in.
You must have felt the pause in him, the way his body went too still behind you, because when he finally finished, you turned to him, reaching for the bottle, and pouring shampoo into your own palm as you stepped closer — the warm line of you almost meeting the warm line of him, and slid your fingers into his hair.
Jaeyun didn’t know what to do with himself.
He merely bent a little so you could reach, letting your hands take over with a quiet competence that made his throat work. Water ran down his temples, traced the line of his jaw, caught at his lashes. He kept his eyes on the tile like a prayer — like if he looked at you, he’d lose the last clean edge of himself.
You rinsed him, and only when you tapped his hands — did he straighten again.
Then you smoothed soap over his bare skin, starting at his shoulders, your palms unhurried and warm. Down his collarbones. Over his chest.
Jaeyun’s breath broke when you reached his lower abdomen, your fingertips hovering dangerously close to the ache he’d been holding back, and making a sound slip from him — low, involuntary — rushing before he could trap it.
“Princess,” he said, but the word carried no warning at all, and you merely allowed your fingers to rest there, steady as the way your gaze met his.
“You said another time,” you remembered.
Jaeyun froze.
Not because he didn’t understand. Because he did. Because the memory arrived with humiliating clarity: your hand curled on him in a way that made his honesty slip out raw and breathless last night.
He dragged in a slow breath through his nose. Steam beaded along his lashes; water traced the line of his jaw. He still didn’t look at you — not fully — like eye contact might knock the last brace out from under him while he was still negotiating with himself. Like he was trying to find the border between permitted and improper and realizing you’d moved it with one sentence.
“Are you asking me?” he began. “Or—”
“I’m asking,” you said.
His gaze found yours.
“Okay,” he said, and this time the word didn’t sound like procedure, but like agreement. Like trust.
He took your wrist and guided your hand, not down, not yet, but to his jaw, to his throat, to a place he could handle without losing himself.
“Slow,” he said, and you nodded at him, letting your fingers linger.
Your thumb brushed the hinge of his jaw first — testing, almost absent — before your hand slid lower and lower, following the line of his throat, his collar bones. Water ran between your knuckles and his skin, warm and constant, making every touch feel softened at the edges, as if the steam had filed down the danger until it could pass for tenderness, but Jaeyun’s pulse changed immediately, his heart racing as though it too wanted to reach for you through his skin, meeting where your fingers brushed against his chest.
Jaeyun’s lips parted in a soft gasp as you reached for him, tentatively brushing through his extension. Starting from the already flushed tip and moving to the prominent veins all over him and then, all the way back, receiving an almost imperceptible buck of his hips in response.
“Okay?” you asked, and he nodded, but it wasn’t an answer so much as a reflex — his body trying to behave when his mind had gone helpless and searched for something to say — something small enough to fit inside a bathroom, inside steam, inside the ordinary noise of water hitting tile.
But there was no small word that fit because how could he say that anything you did with him would be okay?
How could he say that if you asked for his heart, he would open his ribs for you? If you reached in and took it, he would hold still and even tender you if you faltered.
Jaeyun swallowed, throat tight, breath catching on the way out as he reached for you, his fingers splaying over your cheek as his thumb reached for where a drop had taken place on your skin.
“I’m okay,” he said then, the closest answer he could give for what he meant. If you could feel the shape of the unspoken right alongside the spoken, you didn’t show it.
Your hand merely closed around his length, fingertips tracing the same places his mind had traced a thousand times in private, and every pass of your hand felt like it rewrote him — like your touch didn’t just touch, but claimed a truth he’d been denying for years.
Jaeyun’s breath hitched as you guided him closer, his eyes shutting as his forehead tipped to the curve of your neck.
“Princess,” he whispered, not really sure if he intended to say something, but the sudden call made you pause, your hand motionless enough to make his breath hitch again, his hips bucking and chasing for the friction still.
“Don’t stop,” he said, and perhaps it had been the words, perhaps it had been the way he said it, more like a plea than a request. But you didn’t — even when his grip tightened on you, his finger shaping bruises on your hips, and his lips parted, leaving a matching one at your neck.
You didn’t stop, even when he came into your hand. You merely gentled him, moving to his stomach, his chest, smoothing him down until his breath wasn’t so ragged and his heart had come into peace beneath your touch.
“Yun,” you called, and he hummed at you, still pressed close, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted like he’d forgotten what to do with the air. Water clung to his lashes. Steam softened the hard lines of him into something boyish, something undone. For once, he wasn’t braced for impact — he was simply there, breathing, and letting you see him, and it was strange how it made your kiss just even better.
How he could simply melt into you.
You smiled at that — small, warm — kissing the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then a place beneath his jaw that made Jaeyun’s eyes flutter shut, his head tipping just slightly to give you access, like his body wanted to cooperate even when his mind still tried to keep score.
“Princess,” he breathed again, and this time it sounded less like a plea and more like disbelief.
Your hands found him at your hips, guiding it down through your body, the swell of your ass, giving him enough time to grow on it, and take the lead, brushing over warm skin, following curves with a care that made it feel devotional rather than desperate.
“Okay?” he murmured, because he couldn’t help — he couldn’t ease — not until you had nodded, brushing your noses and making something within settle with the gentleness of it.
Jaeyun exhaled and stepped closer. One hand halted at your waist while the other slid down and around, his fingers tightening briefly against your skin before he shifted, and lifted one of your legs — guiding it up to rest against his hip.
His tip brushed against your seam with the new position, barely anything, but you drew in a breath that didn’t quite make it back out to you, and a faint, trembling noise escaped through your lips instead, and he couldn’t help the soft, almost-gentle smugness that warmed his smile.
He rolled his hips against yours, and your head tipped back, eyes closing and lips still parted on that same faltered breath, allowing sunlight to catch on your skin in the shift, warm and liquid-gold along the lines of you.
“Bed,” you whined, and you didn’t need to tell him twice.
Jaeyun turned the taps off, not really checking if he had done it properly, before he took you in his arms again, folding your legs around his waist as he walked you back down the short stretch of your place. Water tumbled from you both — tiny drops trembling loose with each step, catching the light before they fell in a thin, gleaming trail on your floorboards.
But you didn’t complain, you didn’t even say anything. When he placed you on the mattress; you merely spread your legs further — wordlessly making room for him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Condom,” you reminded him. “Do you have more?”
For a moment, the question didn’t make sense, but then, he nodded at you, slipping from your touch — just enough to reach for the wallet still tossed on your floor.
“How many did you bring?” you asked, and although Jaeyun had listened to it and understood, he didn’t reply, he allowed the question to hang in the air, a flush of warmth spreading up to his cheeks because the memory of him piling it at the chaser before he went to his classes last evening was too fresh still.
Just enough, he had thought like he wasn’t, in fact, hoping.
Hoping that it wouldn’t be a one-time thing.
Jaeyun’s fingers fumbled once at the wallet before he forced them steady. He didn’t let himself look at you while he did it; if he looked, he’d lose the last clean thread of control he had left, and so, he merely tore the foil, the sound too loud in the quiet room, and the practical motions that followed felt like an anchor — something procedural to keep him from drowning in the fact that you were watching.
He climbed back onto the mattress, moving slowly, knees sinking into the sheets between your thighs. The bed dipped under his weight, and you shifted automatically to make space for him, your body already well known in the shape of him.
Jaeyun paused above you.
Water still clung to your hair, darkening the strands where they stuck to your neck. Your skin gleamed in the soft light — warm, flushed, kissed by steam and morning and the evidence of him. You looked up at him with your mouth slightly parted, breath uneven, eyes steady and it hit him so hard it almost made him gentle to the point of breaking.
“Princess,” he said, but if anything, you reached up, fingers catching at the back of his neck — not pulling him down, only holding him there — close enough to feel your breath on his mouth. Close enough that he couldn’t lie to himself about how much he wanted it.
Jaeyun lowered his forehead to yours and breathed once, then twice, as if he was counting himself into calm.
“Tell me if—”
“I know,” you cut, and he snorted at that, his hands finding your thighs, and spreading there with care — measuring you, reading you, bracing you the way he always did when something mattered and he couldn’t afford to do it wrong.
He pulled in slowly, pausing each time your breath changed. Waiting when your fingers tightened in his hair. Listening like your body was the only language he trusted.
“Okay?” he murmured against your mouth.
“Okay.”
Jaeyun exhaled, giving himself a moment before he shifted his weight and settled in deeper.
You made a small sound at that, and Jaeyun halted — caught mid-motion as his eyes stayed on your face, searching for the smallest crack of discomfort, for anything he might have missed and could never forgive himself for.
“Talk to me, Princess,” he said. “Is it too much?”
“No,” you whispered. “It’s — good.”
That answer landed somewhere under his ribs and stayed.
Jaeyun’s eyes shut for a beat. And when he opened them again, he looked wrecked in the quietest way.
He kissed you once more, slower, lingering at the corner of your mouth, your cheek, beneath your jaw — mapping comfort into you the way he mapped calm into circuits, the way he tried to fix the world when it was too big.
And then he moved again, careful and deliberate, letting the moment become real one breath at a time.
The sheets gathered under your fingers. The room narrowed to heat and the sound of his name caught in your throat. Jaeyun held you like he could keep you safe simply by refusing to rush, like tenderness was the only rule he needed now.
“Look at me,” he whispered, and you did, blinking under the morning light and making him swallow, his chest swelling then, big enough to break open with love for you. And perhaps, you had felt it too — heard it in his voice, this sickening desperation, because your hands found his face, cupping it with a tenderness that didn’t match the way he was burying deep inside of you, his tip forming an eminence on the lower part of your belly as he worked on you with slow, long thrusts, and making you come in the morning haze.
Jaeyun collapsed beside you, his back sinking into the mattress as you followed rolling so you rested over his chest.
“Always,” you whispered, the word coming so suddenly, Jaeyun blinked down at you, his head rolling so he could search your face, confused if he had asked you something in his own haze. But sunlight picked strands of your hair, reflected through your damp skin. And he couldn’t make sense of anything.
“What?”
“I’m always okay when I’m with you,” you said.
He knew that he shouldn’t — but Jaeyun felt so right about it.
He felt so right when you called him Sunday afternoon, a tiny can you help me with something? rolling from your tongue and making him sprint to your place, being greeted with you already in your lingerie and you didn’t lie — you had no bad pairs.
When he brought you down onto the bed, he didn’t even care about taking it out of you; his fingers merely reached in between your thighs, holding the piece as he slid inside of you.
He didn’t know then, if his hands were still doing their job or if they’d defected. If he was still keeping you safe — or if he’d finally started touching you like he’d wanted to for years, and breaking one more rule.
But as he held you, listening to you breathe quickening and setting against the curve of his neck, he couldn’t make himself care.
Again.
RULE #3: DO NOT BE POSSESSIVE
I’m her best friend. I always have been. That doesn’t give me the right to be possessive. If I can’t be calm about her, I at least have to be kind. If I touch her, it has to feel like a question she can stop — not a claim. And if someday she chooses someone else, I have to accept it. I have to accept it like it won’t split me in half.
Jaeyun woke to movement.
Not the slow, sleep-warm kind he’d grown used to in the past weeks, but something quicker — restless. Drawers scraped open and knocked shut again in the same nervous motion; fabric whispered against fabric, and hangers clacked as they were shoved aside.
He didn’t open his eyes — not yet. He listened to you instead: your bare feet skimming the floor, the breath you kept trying to hush, the tiny hitch of frustration when something wasn’t unfolding the way you needed it to.
And that — that was what pulled his eyes open at last. You sounded wound tight with it, and Jaeyun couldn’t stand the idea of you being anything but fine.
You were half-dressed — shorts on, bra, hair still messy in the way only the mornings after managed, the frizz denoting the number of times he had made you come the night before, arching and pushing your head against the sheets — one of his t-shirts clutched in your hands like it belonged to you more than it belonged to him.
“What—”
You looked over your shoulder at him, guilty only for the fraction of a second it took before your face rearranged into something else.
“Sorry,” you whispered. “I’m late.”
Jaeyun pushed himself up on his elbows, the sheets slipping down his waist. He blinked slowly, trying to coax his mind into one piece through the morning haze.
“Late for what?” he asked — voice rough with sleep and something worse.
“My exam,” you said, already turning and moving another hanger. This time you pulled a blue plaid shirt free — the kind you’d been loving to borrow and make him come to collect it himself, your scent worked into the fabric like a quiet claim disguised as comfort.
“You’re stealing that,” he said.
You didn’t even bother to look guilty. “Borrowing.”
“My wardrobe is becoming empty.”
“And yet,” you said, turning to him with that familiar tilt of your mouth, “you really don’t hate it.”
Jaeyun didn’t answer. He merely watched as you stepped in close again, stealing the air from between you, as you pressed a kiss to his mouth — soft, swift, like a blessing you left behind on purpose.
And the second you pulled away, he moved. Jeans in his fists, he dragged them on as he went, stumbling through the doorway — desperate to be the first thing at your heels.
He caught you at the exact moment his roommates did — both of them lingering in the living room, their backpacks slung over one shoulder, caught in their coffee-stained routines — until the second they saw you and stopped like they’d walked into an invisible wall.
Sunghoon’s gaze went straight to the shirt.
Then to Jaeyun.
Then back to you, his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile.
Jongseong’s eyebrows lifted, slow and serene — the kind of calm that only existed because he liked chaos best when it belonged to someone else.
“Morning,” Jongseong said.
“Morning,” you replied — too bright. “I’m late.”
“Exam?” Jongseong offered, easing into conversation the way he always did: polite, steady, giving everyone an out.
Jaeyun cleared his throat. “She’s late.”
“I am late,” you echoed, pointing at him like it was somehow his fault you’d woken up tangled in his sheets instead of your own — in a room with no alarm clock at all, because Jaeyun despised morning obligations. “But yes.”
You crouched by the door, fingers quick on your laces, and slipping your shoes on.
Sunghoon’s eyes tracked you the whole time, amusement sharpening at the edges of his expression as Jongseong, bless him, kept the conversation where it belonged — safe, ordinary.
“Good luck,” he said.
“Thank you,” you chirped, already halfway upright again. “Do you have exams too?”
“We’re finishing our exams too,” Sunghoon said. “We should go out after. Celebrate.”
Jaeyun’s jaw worked, like he was chewing down whatever sound wanted to come out of him.
“Arcano?” you asked, and Jongseong’s expression tightened into immediate refusal. He despised the bar, convinced it was what got him hospitalized during his first semester. “I know it’s terrible, but Yun has classes until late tonight — it’s the most reasonable for him.”
For a moment, the room went strangely quiet.
Jaeyun’s gaze found yours and held, warmth rising in him — quiet, disarming — and he went still with it, not knowing where to put the feeling. His mouth parted on a reflex, then he swallowed it back.
Jongseong’s eyes flicked to Jaeyun, then back to you.
“Fine,” he said at last. “But if anyone ends up in the ER again, I’m haunting all of you.”
“That’s fair,” Sunghoon said.
“You don’t have to—” Jaeyun began.
“I — we want to,” you cut in, the words coming as gentle as it was final before you stood and took the knob. “Text me the time!”
You slipped out with a bright, hurried smile, the borrowed shirt hanging off you like a secret, and making Jaeyun step forward, holding the door open so he could stand in the doorway, lingering in the shape of you leaving, and the way you’d arranged the world so he could follow.
When Jaeyun finally clicked the door shut, silence filled the hallway for exactly two seconds before Sunghoon whistled.
“So,” he began, but Jaeyun didn’t look at him; his gaze stayed on the closed door. “Friends-with-benefits?”
Jaeyun’s jaw flexed. “Don’t.”
“Oh, it is that.”
“It’s not—” Jaeyun started, pushing his hair back off his forehead before he turned to his roommates. “I mean, I don’t know! We haven’t talked about it.”
“But you should,” Jongseong said, his voice neutral enough for Jaeyun not to hear the warning it carried until the air in the room shifted.
“Baekhyeon talked to me yesterday,” Sunghoon said.
“What?” Jaeyun asked, more as a reflex than in fact, understanding what it meant. “Why?”
Sunghoon’s gaze flicked to the door before it moved to Jongseong. And Jaeyun didn’t need anyone to spell it out — his roommates had already talked about this when he wasn’t there.
“He wanted to ask about her,” Sunghoon said. “He didn’t come in aggressive — just pathetic.”
Jongseong’s mouth flattened. “Careful.”
“I’m not being cruel,” Sunghoon replied. “I’m telling the vibe. He was clearly bothered, like he knew what he’s doing was humiliating.”
“What did he say?” Jaeyun asked, his voice warped to his own ears. “Exactly.”
“That was it,” Sunghoon said. “He just asked if I’d been seeing her around.”
He paused.
“And if she was with someone else.”
Jongseong’s eyes cut to Jaeyun, concern flashing there before he forced his expression back into stillness.
“And?” Jaeyun asked.
Sunghoon’s mouth twitched. “I am not stupid, I didn’t say you both have been acting like bunnies over the past few weeks.”
“Do you think she told him something?”
“No,” Sunghoon cut. “That’s the thing — I think he has been trying to contact her, but she has been ignoring him.”
And suddenly, it made sense — all those times he’d watched you skim your phone, thumb hovering over the screen, before you set it aside and you looked back at him, a smile forced into place.
God — he’d been so silly for overlooking it.
“He broke up with her,” Jaeyun said.
“We are not telling you this to make you stressed,” Jongseong cut in. “We are just telling you so you can decide — this thing of yours is working for now, and I am glad for you — she apparently doesn’t want Baekhyeon back, which is great, but it might be someone else someday, and you will have to decide if you are okay with having only a part of her again.”
The apartment fell silent at this, and only then did Jaeyun notice how fast his heart was beating. It hummed against his ears, so loud he couldn’t even think.
When you were both younger — ten, maybe eleven — you had camped in your parents’ garden, your backs side by side on a too-thin blanket and a tent that never stopped letting the wind in. The world had been so silent, you’d whispered that it felt like there were only the two of you in the world, wouldn’t it be nice? You had asked. Back then, he’d rolled his eyes and said something dumb to make you grin, too young to consider anything.
Now, in his hallway with your perfume still on his skin and your borrowed shirt still bright in his mind, he understood what you’d meant. It would be so nice — so nice — if the world really could narrow down to just the two of you, and choosing you didn’t mean risking everything else. And he didn’t know whether that thought made him in love or made him dangerous.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
By the time Jaeyun arrived at Arcano, you were already on the dance floor with Jongseong and Sunghoon.
And it was stupid, honestly, how whenever he thought he was getting used to your existence, you managed to surprise him — newly lit, newly impossible — you stood between his roommates, eyes sparkling, arms half around Sunghoon’s shoulders as you both shouted the lyrics of a song that was too loud and too familiar, and Sunghoon was singing like he meant it, even if he was off-key on purpose. Jongseong yelled the chorus at your back, his face turned upwards as if the ceiling had personally offended him.
Arcano was the same as it had always been — red bulbs that made everyone look like a rumor, sticky floors that clung to the soles of your shoes like the place didn’t want anyone leaving sober, and bass so loud it turned thought into vibration. The air smelled like cheap liquor and perfume and sweat and the faint bite of citrus from a just-spilled drink.
And it’s too much — everything was too much.
But the moment he stepped further, you turned to him — not searching, but sure — as though you knew he was going to be standing there.
Gravity, he thought.
He moved through the bodies like he’d done it a hundred times — shoulders angled, hands careful, a quiet apology here and there, never shoving, never rushing. The bass beat against his ribs and still he stayed steady, eyes on you the whole time as if the rest of the room was just static.
You didn’t meet him halfway — you never did — you stayed where you were, your body turned subtly toward him, and only when he got close enough, your hand lifted, fingers finding his. And the moment you held him, the noise of Arcano seemed to dull around the edges, like the room had agreed to give you a fraction of quiet.
His hand was cold while yours was warm, and a shiver danced across you, strong enough to make your shoulders tremble.
And God — he wanted to kiss it.
You had changed since the morning, trading the shorts and t-shirt for a white dress, but his shirt remained, draped around your shoulders, and making his breath catch — he tightened his grip only enough to be sure you felt him back.
“Hi,” you said, loud enough to be heard over the music, but soft in the way you always became with him.
“Hi,” he replied.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” Sunghoon shouted. “We were about to file a missing person report.”
Jaeyun huffed a breath that almost counted as a laugh. He had gone to the apartment after his classes to drop off his backpack, but he didn’t feel like explaining, not when you were squeezing his hand — small, and private.
“Did you eat?” you asked, and Jaeyun felt the absurd tenderness of it. The fact that you could be in a bar, sweating and laughing and alive, and still your first instinct with him was care.
“Yes,” he lied automatically.
Your eyes narrowed. “Yun.”
“I ate.”
“You ate what?” you asked, and Jaeyun opened his mouth, but his words stalled, and so he closed it again.
“He didn’t eat,” Jongseong said.
“He did that thing where he decides worrying is a food group,” Sunghoon agreed.
Jaeyun’s jaw flexed, but his hand stayed linked with yours like the connection mattered more than winning. “I’m fine.”
You didn’t argue, or at least, not right away. You just watched him for a second, your expression shifting into something softer and knowing, like you could see through him even in red light and bass.
“I am getting you something,” you said. “Stay here — don’t wander.”
Sunghoon leaned in. “He literally can’t. He’s on a leash.”
Jongseong barked a laugh. “Be nice.”
Jaeyun opened his mouth to protest, but you were already gone — your smile tossed back at him before you turned toward the bar and leaving him to stand there, eyes following, and tracking the small obstacles: the drunk guy who swayed too wide, the table edge that could catch your hip, the slick patch of floor near the booths. All the little risks the world liked to place in your path, as if daring him not to rush up and fix it before it could hurt you.
You barely had reached the counter when he approached you.
For a moment, Jaeyun thought it was a guy merely trying his luck with you, but then he shifted, red light catching on his features and Jaeyun recognized him immediately.
Baekhyeon.
Your body stiffened as he leaned in, his mouth close to your ear for a moment before you shifted sideways, trying to create space. Jaeyun couldn’t hear the words leaving your mouth, but your body was speaking loudly enough: no.
Yet Baekhyeon didn’t step back; when you seemed to be about to leave, he reached out, his hand closing around your wrist, and forcing you to stay.
Jaeyun didn’t even think, Sunghoon shouted something behind him, but he was already moving, shoving through people, and cutting a direct line toward you.
“Just listen.” Jaeyun heard Baekhyeon say, his grip still on you. “Just for a second.”
“I said no,” you said. “Let go—”
“Let her go.”
Baekhyeon turned at the sound of his voice, eyes unfocused and caught in that ugly space between sober and drunk. For a second he only stared, his brain having to wade through the noise to understand what he was seeing. But then, something in his face tightened, reading the truth between the lines and understanding, all at once, that you weren’t alone here. That you weren’t waiting to be won back. That whatever space he thought he still had in your life had been filled.
Or worse — that it never existed at all.
Jaeyun inhaled, his chest filling with a silly compassion toward Baekhyeon because he, too, wouldn’t know what to do if he ever found himself being dismissed from your life like this, but then Baekhyeon’s hand tightened on your wrist, making your fingers contract in pain, and Jaeyun exhaled, letting it all go.
He would crawl through hell, cut himself open until his body had become numb to pain, but Jaeyun surely would never hurt you — never.
“Let her go,” Jaeyun repeated.
Baekhyeon’s laugh echoed oddly loud in Arcano’s air.
“Here he is,” he said. “Always showing up like a good little — what is it? Lap dog?”
Jaeyun’s jaw flexed once. He’d been called worse — he could take worse — but then Baekhyeon’s gaze slid over you again, slow and mean, taking in your dress, your flushed cheeks, the smile you’d been wearing five minutes ago like it was a crime, and Jaeyun couldn’t stand it.
He stepped forward.
“Baekhyeon,” Jaeyun warned, and the other released your wrist, flicking his hand in a dismissive gesture as he looked around the bar.
For a moment, Jaeyun believed Baekhyeon had given up, putting an end to it, but then he turned back at you again, eyes brighter than ever.
“Tell me,” he said, loud enough that people nearby started to glance. “Did you ever actually care about me? Or was I just—”
He looked at Jaeyun.
“—filling time until your lap dog finally got his reward?”
Jaeyun didn’t decide to shove him — he didn’t plan it — his body merely moved like it had been waiting for permission from something older than thought.
His hands drove into Baekhyeon’s chest, making him stumble back, hard, and knocking into someone behind him.
Drink spilled onto the floor, and the scent of it rose almost immediately — sharp citrus and cheap sugar, muddled by the stale sweetness already living in the boards. It cut through the sweat and perfume for half a second, bright as a peel torn open, before the warmth of the room swallowed it again and left only the sour bite of liquor drying in the air.
“What the fuck—?” Baekhyeon barked.
“Yun,” you called, but it was already too late.
Baekhyeon launched himself at Jaeyun, his knuckles across Jaeyun’s cheekbone with a hot, skidding sting.
For a beat, the impact didn’t hurt the way it should’ve — it was just information — pressure, heat, the metallic taste of adrenaline flooding his mouth.
But then, something in him snapped.
The image of Baekhyeon’s hand around your wrist flashed behind his eyes like a match struck in dry tinder, and Jaeyun moved before his mind could catch up.
His fist drove forward on instinct, a short, brutal arc — no finesse, no warning — just the need to hit back, to end it, to make Baekhyeon understand with his body what his brain refused to learn.
The punch connected.
Jaeyun felt it in his knuckles, in the jolt up his arm, in the startled give of flesh beneath bone — and the sound that left Baekhyeon was small, shocked, as if he hadn’t expected consequences to be real. Jaeyun didn’t wait to see what it did to his face. He only stepped in closer and did it again.
Baekhyeon fell on the dirty floor, Jaeyun above him, fist in the middle of another throw, when someone hooked an arm around Jaeyun’s chest from behind and hauled him up.
“Stop it,” Jongseong snapped. “You’re going to ruin your damn face.”
But Jaeyun barely heard him. He was still leaning forward, still straining toward the floor like if he just landed one more hit, the feeling in his chest would finally loosen, and make sense.
Jongseong tightened his hold, bracing his weight behind Jaeyun’s back like an anchor.
“Yun,” you called.
Your voice wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
Jaeyun froze like you’d put a hand straight on his spine. His fist hovered, trembling with leftover momentum, and then your hands were on his face — warm palms cupping his jaw, thumbs brushing his cheekbones as if you could physically pull him back into himself.
“Yun,” you said again, closer now, eyes searching his like you were trying to find the part of him that still knew you.
And just like that, the fight drained out of him in a shuddering rush. His shoulders sagged. His breath broke. He let Jongseong hold him up for a second longer than he should’ve needed before he leaned on your touch.
“Princess, I—”
“Come with me,” you said. “Can you?”
For a second, Jaeyun couldn’t find the shape of an answer. Not because he didn’t have one — but because he had too many, a lifetime of yeses he’d never said out loud. His body was still buzzing with violence, his knuckles still singing, but your hands on his face made the world narrow into something he could survive. You were asking like it was a choice, like he was a person with options, when the truth was simpler than that: he had been following you since he was old enough to recognize your voice in a crowd. Since gardens and tents and school hallways. Since the first time you turned and expected him to be there — and he was.
“Yes,” he breathed, and the word came out rough, almost broken with how easy it was. Because you could’ve asked him to walk through fire and he would’ve stepped forward without thinking, just because you were the place his instinct went when the world got sharp. His hand rose, uncertain at first, then settled at your wrist like a question he’d spend his whole life answering the same way.
Always.
You looked past him to Jongseong and nodded, a quiet reassurance, and Jongseong finally released Jaeyun.
“Come,” you said, your fingers slipping into his.
˖ ⟡ ݁˖
Arcano’s neon shrank behind you with every step, its red glow thinning into something distant and irrelevant, but Jaeyun’s body hadn’t gotten the memo yet. The adrenaline still sat high in his chest, making his breath feel too big for his lungs, his heart beating like it was trying to outrun what had happened. He kept swallowing like he could force it down.
You didn’t talk much at first. You didn’t need to. You just walked — your fingers laced through his.
And every time his grip tightened without meaning to, you squeezed back once, small and reassuring. It’s okay. I’m here.
The street was cooler than it had any right to be, so closer to the summer, late-night air cutting cleanly through the smell of booze still clinging to him. The city sounded normal — cars passing, a laugh from someone’s balcony, a distant siren that didn’t belong to you. It was strange, how quickly the world returned to ordinary after a fight. As if nothing could be important for more than a few minutes.
Jaeyun glanced at you once, then again.
You looked furious in a contained way, like your anger had somewhere to go now that you’d gotten him out. Your mouth was set, your brow faintly pinched. Your thumb brushed the side of his hand, absent and grounding, like you couldn’t help checking he was still there.
Jaeyun’s chest tightened.
He wanted to say something useful. He wanted to apologize in a way that would actually fix it. But every sentence he tried to build collapsed into the same thing: I saw him touch you and I lost my mind.
Instead, he stayed quiet and let you lead.
You pushed the code into the keypad of your door with muscle memory, the little beep sounding too loud in the stairwell before it buzzed open and revealed your apartment.
Quiet in the specific way your place always was — soft, contained, familiar, smelling like clean laundry, faint florals, the lived-in warmth of your routines. The small lamp near your bed cast a gentle yellow glow that made everything look calmer than it felt. Books stacked neatly where they always were. A mug by the sink. A blanket folded too precisely at the end of the bed like you’d been trying to keep your life in order by force.
“Shoes,” you remembered. “Then sit by the counter.”
Jaeyun did as you said, slipping out of his shoes before he went to your counter and sat down on a chair, his hands on his thighs, and palms down, like he was trying to behave as you rummaged around — drawers, cabinet, a small basket you moved too roughly — the soft clack of objects knocking together filling the silence between you.
“First aid,” you muttered. “I know I have it.”
“Princess,” he said quietly.
“Don’t move.”
“I wasn’t going—” he began, but stopped, suddenly understanding. You weren’t being dramatic, but practical, anchoring the night into tasks: disinfectant, gauze, bandage. The same way he always did when his emotions got too big to hold comfortably.
You found the kit with a little gasp before you crossed back to him and set it on the table with a soft thud, kneeling slightly so you could see him properly.
“Give me your hand,” you said.
Jaeyun hesitated for a fraction of a second — then extended it.
Your hand closed around his, gently turning it over in the light, and beneath this sudden clarity, you frowned, eyebrows knitted, lips pressing into a thin line. The wounds were worse than it seemed. There was a cut over his fingers, bleeding as a darker bruise spread over. You reached for them, the tips of your fingers wandering through his skin as if you could erase them with your bare touch.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
Jaeyun went still, your words reaching past the cuts and hitting something deeper.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say you’re sorry for that.”
“It’s my fault—” you started.
“No,” Jaeyun cut in. “No. He did that. Not you.”
You turned to the aid kit on the kitchen counter, dropping your gaze like you could hide behind the small, practical motions of it — like if you focused hard enough on gauze and antiseptic, he wouldn’t see the way your eyes had gone wet. But Jaeyun did. He always did, in the quiet, unfair way he noticed everything about you.
“I hate that you got hurt because of me,” you said.
Something in Jaeyun’s chest tightened — sharp and aching.
He leaned forward in the chair before he fully knew he was doing it, his uninjured hand sliding to your wrist, fingers curling gently around your skin as he pulled you onto his lap.
The motion was clumsy with the chair and the counter and the first aid kit half-open, but the moment you settled, your thighs bracketing his hips, the world narrowed into something that made painful sense.
His hands came up to your face, palms cupping your cheeks as his thumbs brushed along your cheekbones, cleaning your tears like he had done when he got you both grounded at twelve, and like he’d done again years later, on the night you crashed your father’s car — your hands shaking on his wrists, as he told you to breathe.
He made you look at him.
Your eyes were wet and bright, with tears, the shine gathering at the lower lid until it spilled and traced down your cheek, and his chest ached at that low instinct already moving with the need to make it better.
“Don’t take the blame,” he said. “I can’t stand it when you do that.”
Your breath hitched.
“It wasn’t your fault — he grabbed you and said those things. He—” Jaeyun’s throat worked, and for a second his voice broke. “I heard the way he talked to you, and I didn’t know how to be calm about it. If there’s someone to blame here, it isn’t you. It’s me.”
You stared at him for a second before your hands lifted, your fingers finding and resting at his wrists as they always had.
“Yun,” you whispered.
Jaeyun’s breath shuddered out, and he leaned forward without thinking.
You met him halfway.
Your kiss was soft at first — careful, like checking whether he was still Jaeyun, whether you were still you. Like asking permission in the only language that didn’t require words.
But Jaeyun answered too eagerly.
His grip tightened at your cheeks, desperately — like he needed the proof of you. His mouth moved against yours with a yearning that felt out of proportion to the moment, and he hated himself for it even as he did it.
He kissed you like he was still at Arcano.
Like he was still shaking.
Like the only way to stop the night from replaying was to overwrite it with you.
This wasn’t protection anymore. It was possession.
He wanted proof that you were still here.
Your hands slid into his t-shirt, fingers curling at the thin material the way they always did when you wanted him close, and it was enough to steal a sound from him — quiet, and yet completely wrecked — his arms slipped, and tightened around your waist, pulling you nearer until there was no space left to misunderstand.
“I’ve been trying to be good. I keep failing when it’s you,” he heard himself say. “I don’t know how to be only your friend anymore.”
There was a lost moment — a second where none of you moved, and Jaeyun thought that he finally did it — he had finally ruined the friendship, but then, you leaned in again, lips on his as your knees tightening around his hips, your weight settling into him like you’d chosen the place on purpose.
And it made him exhale like relief.
His uninjured hand slid along your side, finding you. The curve of your waist. The line of your ribs. The warmth of you under your dress like a living proof he couldn’t talk himself out of. He paused every time your breath changed, as if he was listening for the smallest no, for any flicker of doubt.
But you didn’t give him one. Instead, you tipped your forehead to his, noses brushing, and whispered his name in that soft, wrecked way that always pulled something honest out of him.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, the words rough around the edges. “Tell me and I—”
You kissed him before he could finish, fingers threading into his hair, holding him so close, he not only heard the next word, but felt them. “You.”
Jaeyun’s throat worked.
He lifted you — not smoothly, not perfectly, because the chair was in the way and the table was too close and the first aid kit lay open like a dirty evidence — but he did it anyway, with a gentleness that didn’t match the violence still humming under his skin. He carried you those few steps like it mattered, like the distance between your kitchen and your bed was a threshold he needed to cross carefully.
When he set you down, you caught the back of his t-shirt and pulled him after you. His restraint cracked in the smallest way — enough to let a kiss turn deeper, enough to let want show itself without becoming rough.
He braced his weight so he wouldn’t crush you, forearms on either side of your shoulders, head dipping until his mouth you again, again and again, pressing kisses along your cheek, your throat, the place beneath your ear that always made your breath hitch and he made a question of always finding it. His hand slid down your arm to your fingers, lacing them together above your head for a moment like a question, like an offering, and when you squeezed back, he let himself believe you.
His shirt went first, easing off your shoulders like a last, familiar layer — then your dress, and then your bra, quietly as the breath you released when he leaned in again and kissed the tip of your breasts, one at a time before he moved to your sternum, your stomach — taking in every piece of your skin in between his lips.
When he reached your panties, he didn’t care about taking them off; he merely kissed you over them, the thin lace not doing much to dull the feel of his mouth over your cunt and making you shiver, hands coming to his hair and threading almost bitterly, but if anything, he hummed, giving you another kiss and then, another. Open mouthed and tongue sneaking out every now and then to bump against your covered clit, and making you squirm in his hands, head thrown back, and sliding away a bit.
He pulled you into him, hands grabbing at your thighs so he could push his face back between them, licking a flat, slow stripe over your cunt. The lace did nothing to hold your fluid this time, and he tasted you through, his eyes closing almost instinctively to savor it better.
“You taste so good,” he couldn’t help but say. “So fucking good.”
A grin broke across your face — bright, and disarming — and Jaeyun forced his arms to push him up, kissing it like he could keep it there, among your already flushed cheeks, and your hair messy against the sheets because God — he was so in love with you.
“Princess,” he called, not really sure if he had something to say. But you hummed at him anyway, hands reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, and slipping your fingers underneath it.
His abdomen tensed and contracted as you wandered through, your trembling fingertips grazing through the lines long memorized, and pushing the piece up and up, until he had no other option but to lift his arms and help you take it off.
Jaeyun groaned as you moved to his belt, unbuckling it with the same ease you unzipped his jeans.
“Shit,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Condoms,” he whispered. “I — we used the last one yesterday. I was going to buy after Arcano.”
“That’s okay.”
It was his turn to halt, your words catching somewhere between sound and meaning. “What?”
“That’s okay,” you repeated, and when he didn’t move, you arched up beneath him, lips finding his ear. “I am saying that you can hit it raw, Yun.”
He made a sound — small and involuntary — the kind of honest noise his body made when his mind was still trying to pretend it had control.
You blinked up at him for half a second — then a laugh slipped out of you, warm and bright, the exact laugh you’d always used to turn moments into something survivable. Not mocking. Just delighted, but Jaeyun’s face heated immediately, color climbing up his neck.
“Don’t,” he managed, as if the word could stop you from seeing him like this — undone by you, made soft by a sentence and the brush of your mouth near his ear.
But you only smiled wider, eyes shining with the kind of fondness that hurt.
And Jaeyun — God, Jaeyun — looked at you like he didn’t know what to do with how much he felt. Like love had taken up residence in him years ago and never once paid rent, and now it was everywhere: in his breath, in the way his hand hovered and then settled, careful, as if touching you was a question he wanted to keep asking for the rest of his life.
He exhaled, a little shaky. Then, because he couldn’t help it — because you were laughing and alive beneath him, and he was hopeless — his mouth twitched.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Princess,” he whispered, the words rough with tenderness.
You shook your head, not quite dismissively, but more like you couldn’t believe how silly he was — how silly he was for you.
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Hips up, babe,” he instructed, and you met him there, your body moving on a quiet arch, as you pushed at your feet, and allowed him to curl his fingers at the band of your panties, sliding them away.
His attention snapped back to you immediately — hands returning to your inner thigh, your calves, taking over your ankles, and pulling you toward him.
You shivered as he pushed himself inside of you, your fingers digging into his back as your lips parted on a quiet moan that he made up for you — Jaeyun simply not being able to be quiet at the feeling of you around him with no limitation and groaning loudly.
Jaeyun never thought he would be the type of guy to be emotional over taking a girl without a condom, but it was you with him, and when he started moving again, it was slow and deep, each thrust deliberate as if he wanted to memorize every sound you made, every way your body responded to his. The friction was different, he could feel every ridge, every pulse of you around. And it was almost too much, the intimacy of it making his chest tight with emotion he couldn’t name.
Jaeyun hissed, looking down between your bodies, eyes all warm and glazed as he watched how you fit together for a quiet moment before his forehead dipped and rested against your shoulder, his breathing uneven, as if he was trying to keep the night from turning reckless again.
He was so careful with you it felt like devotion.
But then, you drew him closer — insistent — and he finally let his body answer with the same honesty his voice had tried to avoid. Jaeyun kissed you until you tasted like him. Until your hands clung. Until the space between your bodies stopped feeling like a rule and started feeling like a lie. Each thrust of his hips pronounced with a wet clash, and the sound of your headboard hitting the wall.
And it was too much, honestly — you were too much.
When you came, he followed — quietly, inevitably, his breath breaking as if your body had taken his and led it somewhere he’d never learned to survive. Yet still, he didn’t punish you; he stayed close, slowly towing your climaxes for as long as he could. And when he finally stilled, he pulled back with a tenderness that looked almost like it broke him to let you go.
Jaeyun eased down and let his head rest against your lower stomach, breathing there for a second — then another — almost as if his lungs needed to relearn how to work. Your hand found him, threading into his hair, fingers combing gently until his face softened and his eyes fell shut. And, for the first time all night, his body stopped bracing.
RULE #4: DO NOT LET HER KNOW YOUR TRUE FEELINGS
If I say it out loud, I make it her problem. I put something heavy in her hands when she never asked to carry me. And I’m afraid — plain and simple — that if she knows, everything changes. And if everything changes, she might step back. She might leave. I can survive wanting her. I can survive swallowing it. I can’t survive losing her. So I’ll keep it useful: jokes, rides home, answers at 2 a.m., the kind of loyalty that looks harmless from the outside. I won’t say I love her. I won’t say I’ve always loved her. I won’t turn our friendship into a question she has to solve.
Jaeyun stayed where he was a little longer than he ought to have, his palms splayed at your sides, lips parted against the skin of your stomach as he pressed a kiss there, and then, at your hips, your thighs, covering all the way to your knees and back up again.
You shivered as he nipped at the tender skin just inside your hip, your fingers tightening in his hair for a moment before you eased again — slow, and unconsciously, keeping time with your breath.
“Jaeyun,” you whispered, and perhaps it had been the way your breath changed then, caught on something that he couldn’t quite hear, but his heart wavered in his chest.
He knew you enough to know it was the beginning of a confession. He just didn’t know what kind. And that was what scared him: not the truth itself, but the possibility of it. That you might be about to ask for distance. That you might be about to reach for a word that would make him either the safest thing in your life — or the mistake.
“Could you turn the lights off?” you asked.
It could have sounded silly then. But it was something old between you — something you’d done as kids when you needed to confess something embarrassing, something heavy. As if darkness could make secrets smaller. As if not seeing each other’s faces could make bravery easier.
Jaeyun propped himself up, knees pressed against your mattress as he reached for your lampshade and turned it off.
The room darkened instantly, but not completely — not with your curtains still open and the city’s light streaming in, painting the walls in soft silver and distant neon, scattering stripes on your sheets.
Jaeyun hadn’t noticed how still you both had become until a car passed outside, its tires whispering over the asphalt before it was gone, and the room held onto the quiet that followed, too complete, too attentive.
The sheets rustled softly as Jaeyun lay back down beside you, not touching you — not yet. He just stayed close enough that when you turned to him, he could feel you through the dark, but then you reached for his hand, interlacing your fingers as you had done when you were nine and whispering that you’d heard your parents arguing and didn’t know where to put the feeling, you were thirteen and admitting you were terrified that one day you’d grow up and he wouldn’t be yours to keep.
“Talk to me, Princess,” he whispered.
“Baekhyeon wasn’t wrong,” you said, the words scattering through the space of your bodies so quickly, Jaeyun took a moment to catch it all, and when he did, he went very still, eyes sharpening on your face.
“Not about you,” you added. “But about me — he wasn’t wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you remember my first date?” you asked.
Jaeyun let out a breath that was almost a laugh, except it didn’t contain humor. Of course he remembered. He remembered the outfit. He remembered your perfume. He remembered how a strand of hair didn’t quite stay on your pins and he kept fixing it while you paced through your room. He remembered how his fingers lingered there for one last time before you slipped through the door.
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I remember.”
You stared at your hands for a beat, thumb brushing against his knuckles.
“I thought you would tell me not to go,” you admitted. “But you didn’t, and so I went, and through the whole day I kept thinking oh, it would have been so much better if Yun was here,”
“The same thing happened with Baekhyeon — I kept wishing you were there with me instead, and I thought it was just because you’re my best friend and everything is funnier when it’s just us. I thought it was just because I feel safer when I’m with you, but—” you paused. “But through these last weeks, I just realized that I truly wished you had asked me to stay.”
Nothing in the room moved, but something in him did, his internal footing slipping, the world turning unstable while his body stayed perfectly still beside you.
You weren’t saying I wanted you to forbid me. But I wanted you to want me enough to risk it.
Jaeyun’s mouth parted, but his body acted like it was still losing its footing. His breath snagging, throat tightening, the words jamming as if speech required solid ground he no longer had. And in the middle of his silence, you created your own answer.
“Never mind, I just—” you began, slipping from his touch and slipping away, but he caught you then, fingers closing around yours again and keeping you there.
“I’ve wanted to tell you to stay a thousand times.”
Your breath caught at his words, your gaze lifting to his and holding, steady and unblinking, the kind of eye contact that made everything feel suddenly too honest to survive. His grip tightened on your fingers, then gentled again, careful not to turn it into a claim — only a question he was asking with his whole body.
“I wanted to,” he said. “When you had that first date. When you called me after and tried to laugh about it, like it didn’t get under your skin. When you—” His breath caught. “When you started seeing Baekhyeon, when he called when we were together. Every time — every time damn time — I wanted to ask you to stay.”
Jaeyun lifted your joined hands to his face, turning them slightly so the backs of your fingers brushed his cheek.
“But I didn’t,” he whispered. “Because I thought if I told you to stay, that was when I was going to lose you entirely — and you know, Princess, I can handle being your best friend forever. I can handle being the one you call when you’re sad or drunk or mad — even if it’s just for you to leave once the moment passes. I can handle having only parts of you.”
His voice lowered. “But I can’t handle losing you.”
You turned toward him properly then, shifting until your faces were close enough that when you spoke, he didn’t just hear the words that followed, but he felt them.
“I would have stayed,” you said. “Every damn time — I would have stayed.”
Jaeyun made a sound that didn’t belong to him — small and raw — the sentence going straight through his ribs and lodging there.
His grip on your hand tightened — and his forehead dipped toward yours, hovering there as if he didn’t trust the space between you not to change its mind.
“Stay, Princess,” he asked.
“I’m going nowhere.”
FINAL RULE: NO MORE RULES
I wrote rules that were supposed to keep me from ruining us. I thought that if I could define every boundary, I could pretend I could control the outcome. Don’t accept reckless requests. Don’t touch her like I’m owed. Don’t be possessive. Don’t say the words that might make her leave.
A small guide for surviving her without losing her.
But I’m not losing her.
She’s here. She’s not a maybe, not a mistake, not something I have to handle with gloves on. She’s with me — clear-eyed, chosen, real. And for the first time, the future doesn’t feel like a threat I need to solve. It feels like something we’re walking into together.
So this is the last rule: no more rules.
Not because I’ve stopped being careful with her — fuck, I’ll always be careful with her. But because I don’t need rules to keep her close when she’s already choosing to stay. Because I don’t have to hide love inside procedure anymore. Because I can finally stop bracing, and start living in the simplest truth I’ve ever had:
summary. nerdy sim jaeyun is sweating buckets when the baddie he's been crushing on sits in his lap on a two-hour road trip.
pairing. nerdy!jake x baddie!female reader
genre(s). oneshot, smut, big porn with a small plot
warnings. MDNI, jake is a professional yearner, jake is very shy and repressed (and a bit insecure), masturbation, pervert!jake, unprotected sex (pls don’t), subby switch!jake, top or bottom he's always a sub, reader is a bit mean, jake cries a lot and begs a lot, slight sunsunki if you squint, handjob, blowjob, nose-riding, jake eats her out as well, reverse cowgirl, cowgirl, missionary, BRO WHY IS IT NEVER-ENDING, but like it's messy, EDGING EDGING EDGINGGGG, reader calls him jaeyun, reader is jealous and possessive, implied aftercare, enhypen ensemble, hmm please let me know if i missed anything! not beta read we die like injang
word count. 14,807 words
note. oh boy! this used to be a veeeery old, 8k-word draft, my take on nerdy jake that i decided to polish and give life to. it is also a gift for my bestie and fellow jake's wife: dr. @twocupsofsuga 🫶🏼 congratulations on passing medschool! you're so smart mhm here's my lap dance for you 😏
Women make Sim Jaeyun nervous.
Especially someone as bold and confident like you.
There's something about the soft lilt of your voice that makes him feel ashamed to even speak in your presence. There's something about your enticing eyes that makes him stutter and stumble with his own words, his grammar-police persona flying out the window. There's something about the sure sway of your hips that makes him want to avert his gaze and look more all the same time; like something sinful he shouldn't want but crave for anyway.
You're the kind of woman that makes Sim Jaeyun nervous.
Park Jongseong's cousin from the States that always comes to visit for summer, with that bold show of your body that'll usually often get frowned upon in his neighbourhood, that honey tint of your skin that's far from the local society's beauty standard. You're upfront and so unapologetically you, something he admires and makes him overly conscious if his hair looks nice or not.
It's another summer and you're here again. You're always a welcome addition to their annual trip to Jay's beach house, a road trip that's usually joined by the other five plus you and him. But this year, Nishimura Riki had a last minute decision to cancel his flight to Japan and opted to spend the summer with them instead of with his family.
Which leaves all of you with no space for one person inside Jay's SUV.
"I call dibs on the rear seats," Heeseung says before anyone gets the chance to and disappears into the car. Riki opens his mouth, about to follow the eldest of the group, when Jungwon shoots him a sharp look and blocks his way with his hand.
"No, Riki. You're not getting a seat."
Riki's face morphs into horror. "What?! Am I excluded from this trip?"
"You cancelled your flight this morning. You were never included in the trip."
Seeing the look of hurt on his face, Sunoo actually takes pity on Riki. Peering inside, the blonde mumbles with a pout when he sees a small ice box sitting beside Heeseung. "Surely we can squeeze him into the rear seat, right…?"
"All of his six-feet-one ass? I'd like to see you try, Sunoo hyung." Jungwon shakes his head. He leans on the passenger door, already the assigned co-pilot of the car, in charge of Spotify playlist and Waze and moral support to his Jay hyung. "Either one of you sits in another's lap, or we can Uber Riki to the beach house."
Hearing that, Riki immediately throws his hands. "It's a two-hour drive, hyung, I might just be paying for the Uber's car loan! It's gonna be so expensive!"
"If you can afford cancelling your flight with no refunds, then I think you can afford an Uber to Sokcho."
Riki whips his head to his Sunoo and Jake hyung, jutting out his lips in a pout that's borderline pitiful. Jake mirrors his expression, not really having the power to go against Jungwon's verdict—as if anybody could. Jake pities him, really, but it's Yang Jungwon. There's a whole menace behind those cute dimples and boba eyes.
Beside him, Sunghoon lets out a long sigh. "Then one of us will have to sit in another's lap."
It's an option that has everybody darting their eyes around, afraid that any eye contact with Jungwon will make them become the sacrificial thighs for the two-hour road trip. They're all men packed with mass and muscles, a result of a gym routine that unexpectedly becomes a problem today. Each of them at least weighs one hundred-forty pounds. Jake's sure that if he was chosen, he'd lose his legs by the time they exit Seoul.
Just in time, a loud thud is heard from the car boot. You and Jay walk into the scene, just having finished loading all of their stuff into the car. Jake adjusts his glasses instinctively, unknowingly fixing his appearence when his eyes land on you.
You've abandoned your cardigan, now only wearing a yellow camisole top that only reaches your belly button and a pair of jeans shorts that ends at the bottom swell of your ass. Your outfit choice hides nothing about your figure—your perfect body that admittedly has always been on his mind.
Jake gulps and lets his eyes trail down to your legs. You're seriously one of the most beautiful and hottest girls he's ever seen, and unfortunately, he has a severe problem of having a crush on baddies who are completely out of his nerdy league. You're definitely one of them.
When he looks up, Jake almost faints when your gaze catches his eyes with an unreadable expression. He quickly averts his eyes, adjusting the thick black rims of his glasses that didn't need adjusting.
Did you notice him staring?
"Car seat problem?" Jay asks when he senses the tension among the boys, already foreseeing this issue the moment Riki told him that he was joining their road trip over the phone this morning. They hesitantly nod.
"So what's the solution?"
"Riki takes an Uber to Sokcho—"
"Which will cost him his tuition fees," Jay comments, ever the hyperbole-user.
"—Or someone has to sit in another's lap."
Judging from the expression on Jay's face, he, too, doesn't think it's a comfortable position to be sitting in on a two-hour road trip.
But apparently, someone thinks otherwise.
"Oh, then let's do that!" You pipe in, flashing them with your charming smile. "I don't mind doing it!"
There's an elephant silence that follows your statement. Upon seeing their gaped expression, your smile slowly dies down, unsure if you had said the right thing.
"…Or not."
"Or yes!" Riki interrupts, relief flooding his senses. His eyes lit up as he looks around at each one of his friends. "Guys, she's offered to sit in anyone's lap. We can do that, right?"
Jungwon narrows his eyes. "It's a two-hour drive."
Riki blinks nervously. "But noona wants it."
"Then let Y/N noona sit in your lap."
Now, there's a rosy blush blooming across Riki's cheeks. Jake frowns. Lucky bastard. "I-I mean—"
"Not him," you cut in, a small smile playing on your lips. Jake can feel the exact moment everyone holds their breath, as if the air pauses on its own accord and waits for the rest of your sentence. Either they're anticipating or dreading to be your exclusive seat in the car—he's not sure. He's certain that he's the former, but he's also certain you'd pick someone more your type—Sunghoon or Riki, who are loyal gym buddies that possess strong thighs for you to sit on—or even Heeseung who's abandoned his nap and is eavesdropping the conversation now.
He doesn't know why, but surely someone hot like you would pick someone just as hot, right? And hot in Sim Jaeyun's definition is someone who matches your confidence (not him), someone who has a good body and is not shy to show them (Jake thinks his body is nice, but he's also always wearing long-sleeves), or just anyone but him.
Jay pinches the bridge of his nose. "Then who?"
When your eyes meet Jake's, the brown-haired boy almost loses his breath.
A smile curves up your lips. Jake thinks he's hallucinating because there's no way you are smirking at him.
"With Jaeyun."
There's a ripple of gasps, disbelief and shock mixing with a hint of betrayal (no doubt from Riki). Jay's brow disappears behind his hair.
"Seriously, Y/N? You don't have to—Riki's rich enough to pay for the Uber."
Riki's protest is muffled when Jungwon pulls him into a chokehold and slaps a hand over his mouth. Jake wants to pity him, really, but this time he thinks he's the one who needs help because what do you mean? There's no way—
"I'm serious. Jaeyun-ah."
—Oh my fucking God. Jaeyun. Jaeyun. Who's Jaeyun? Who the fuck is Jaeyun?
Jake has a trouble hearing you over the loud roar of his blood, heart threatening to jump out of his throat. But he manages a small, airy, 'Hm?' when all eyes are on him.
You tilt your head slightly, eyes never letting go of his, holding him hostage in your gaze alone. This, paired with the way you call his government name—a name you prefer over Jake because 'it's cuter' (according to you, not him) when he first introduced himself to you four years ago, and Jake had let you because he could never say no to you—are the most perfect, never-before-seen formula to unravel the physics genius Sim Jaeyun.
Yeah. Jake is a goner. And will soon have a boner if no one stops you from picking him as today's sacrificial thighs.
"Can I sit with you, Jaeyunnie?"
Someone please say no. Someone please stop you. Someone please tell this Jaeyun to say no because—because why him? Is this some kind of a cliché ploy that popular girls do to play with men's feelings, especially a physics nerd like him? Because if it is, Jake hates to admit that he'd be a willing participant (even if it'd break his heart a little).
"Yes, sure," he squeaks, finally recognising that Jaeyun is his name. He's still trying to process that you chose him—not Sunghoon with his ridiculous broad shoulders, or Riki with his ridiculous long legs, or Heeseung with his ridiculous charm—but him, who's sweating buckets and dampening his armpits underneath his long-sleeved T-shirt. His glasses almost glide down his nose from how sticky it is.
"It's settled, then!" Sunoo claps once, already red and irritated from having to stand under the unforgiving sun for longer than necessary. "Jake hyung and Y/N will sit together. So I will be sitting with—"
"Me!"
"Me!"
Sunoo ignores Sunghoon and Riki, and walks straight to the rear seats. "With Heeseung hyung!"
Soon, there's shuffling and then everyone's already inside the car. Riki sits in the middle with a pout, a penalty for causing the minor disruption and losing rock-paper-scissors to Sunghoon and Jake. Sunghoon is happily humming to a song from the 80s, occassionally turning around to tease Sunoo who's been trying to join Heeseung in his mandatory road-trip nap. Jay and Jungwon have settled into their designated seats as the drivers of the day, already talking about the route they're taking and traffic condition. While Jake—well, he's preparing himself for the inevitable.
You're still standing by the door, overseeing the situation at hand, and Jake tries to ignore the way his cheeks burn under your weighted gaze.
"Can I sit now?" You softly ask. Jake hesitates a moment before nodding his head frantically.
"Y-Yes."
You, on the other hand, do not hesitate at all. Jake instinctively spreads his legs when you climb into the car, already aiming his lap as your throne for the next 120-minute of the ride. His senses heighten, overly aware of his friends' eyes watching his every move, and the soft scent of peach from your body wash that invades his nose when your weight finally settles on him.
In a split second, Jake goes from never daring to touch you to having you resting your ass comfortably on his clothed dick, thanks to a certain Japanese who's now queueing songs like he didn't just commit a fatal crime against his Aussie hyung.
His slightly longer thighs bracket your exposed ones in a hesitant cage, every point of your skin meeting his seems to burn through the fabric of his jeans. Your hair and neck are one breath away from his nose now, where he's inhaling lungfuls of peaches and creams and your vanilla-ish perfume, and Jake chooses to blink at the ceiling to avoid looking over your shoulders and possibly flashing himself with the swell of your chest under that thin camisole top. The already-cramped space feels even smaller, and Jake doesn't think he can breathe properly.
While at it, Jake hopes his prayers could break through the car roof and reach the heavens.
God, please have mercy on me and let my other head not have a brain of its own.
God answers him shortly in the form of you shifting around.
"You comfortable?" You ask innocently, adjusting yourself on his lap. Jake nearly inhales his tongue, feeling blood rush to his ears and south. A strangled noise escapes his throat instead.
"Mhm."
From the front, he can hear a snort coming from none other than Jay. "You sound constipated, dude."
'Try having a pretty girl sit on your dick then!', is what Jake wishes he could say to his friend, but he knows that this is more of a him-problem. Someone like Jay won't get flustered in this kind of situation—at least not as bad as he is, who doesn't even fucking know where to put his hands, hovering in the air like he's about to conduct a choral speaking.
So, Jake resorts to conveying his rage through the rearview mirror instead, hoping that his glare and frown are enough to make Jay feel bad. (They don't, Jay finds him cute instead).
Jungwon comes to save the day as he turns to the backseat. "Do you have everything with you?" All of them except Jake hum. He thinks he doesn't have his sanity anymore, but of course the younger boy pretends to ignore him.
Jungwon eyes each one of his friends, his gaze stopping longer at the sight of Jake gripping the leather seat, the white of his knuckles almost matching his face, and you smiling innocently at him. Jungwon badly wants to laugh.
Jake widens his eyes at Jungwon. Help me!
The younger boy gives him an indecipherable look before turning to face the front. "Alright. We're not turning back for you even if you forgot your PlayStation."
Jake wants to say that they might want to leave a certain Sim Jaeyun to save him from this misery, but all words are gone from his mind when the car starts forward with a sharp jolt. Your back meets his chest in a soft thud, punching air out of his lungs. Your ass pushes deeper into his lap and Jake nearly pierces the leather with his nails from how desperately hard he's gripping it.
"Oops, sorry!" Jay chimes from the driver seat, sounding far from sorry.
You straighten up and turn around, looking more sorry than your cousin. "You okay? Sorry about that, Jaeyunnie."
Oh, fuck. Please don't use that voice on him when he's one bump away from kissing your lips. You're so close it feels like you're breathing in the same air he exhales, so close he can see the faint, tiny freckles dusting your cheeks and the bridge of your nose.
"Yeah," he manages, voice hoarse like he's just swallowed a bucket of sand. "I'm okay."
There's a halt in your movement, like you're actually seeing him through the calm façade he's exuding. His breath catches when your eyes drop to his lips briefly, the bitten-red skin tingles under your heated gaze.
Then, after a moment, you smile at him so easily; as if the tension never existed, as if the pull was only one-sided.
"If you say so."
When he's met with your shiny hair again, Jake lets out a breath he unknowlingly held. Your voice fills up the space softly as you begin talking to Jungwon and Jay, all cheery and unrestrained while he's exerting mental training equivalent to physical labour of a building constructor to stop his dick from hardening every time you move.
He hears a snicker from his left and immediately meets with Riki's mischievous eyes. The younger boy mouths something that has Jake closing his eyes and leaning on the headrest in defeat.
'Don't get horny now, Jake hyung.'
Jake is worried that if it's not now, it'll be the next time Jay hits a bump.
Instead of a road bump, Jake's personal enemy turns out to be you.
Ten minutes in, everything is still going fine. Jake is still breathing, alive, and hasn't popped a boner that could traumatise you and get him banned from the car permanently. You also seem okay, still engrossed in a conversation with the cat-duo driving the car, talking about college and your winter trip to Japan.
For a moment, Jake selfishly thinks if his lap was that…sitable, seeing as you haven't shown any signs of discomfort yet. Or, to be fair, it has been barely ten minutes since they're en route, and though those minutes are enough to pull the others into a car nap, ten minutes feel like one round of orbit around the Sun when he has you sitting on his lap.
Jake can feel himself melt into the seat. Maybe this isn't so bad at all. Maybe he can make it to Sokcho without having to cut his dick off before anyone could see his hard-on. He just has to sit really quietly and will his mind to avoid teetering dangerous territory.
Yeap. Everything is fine.
Not until you decide to put your hands on his thighs.
Jake almost jolts at the contact, flexing his thighs instinctively when you place your perfectly manicured fingers on the surface of his jeans. It's a brief touch, one that can pass as accidental, but the lingering heat it leaves behind feels almost physical.
His eyes dart to the back of your head, trembling with nerves nearly frayed at the edges, gauging your reaction, and bites the bottom of his lips when you resume your conversation as if nothing happened. Or nothing really happened to you.
It's just a touch, for God's sake. Calm your dick down.
If a simple touch from you could unravel him this fast, what about other things? What if you hug him, or-or if you hold his hand, or—wait, is he wishing for other things to happen between you and him? (He does, but he knows that it won't happen.)
Jake gulps harshly and decides to enjoy the scenery instead. He stares hard out the window, so intense like he's memorising every species of the trees they pass by, mind lost in a whirlwind of horny thoughts clashing with rationality, when you do something again.
This time, it isn't an innocent touch on his thigh. It's an innocent move to hear Jungwon better. You lean forward, pushing your ass deeper into his lap simultaneously, offering your ear to Jungwon who seems to be sharing a secret about Jay. Jake's breath hitches and his hands almost come up to hold your waist, the friction sending heat through his body.
Fuck. He peels his eyes away from the window forcefully and follows down the dip of your spine to where your ass meets his crotch. Your position highlights the narrow of your waist and the width of your hips, all sinful curves that have him swallowing harder, something inside his pants threatening to stir alive. Jake closes his eyes.
Think of Jesus, Jake. Think of Layla. He absentmindedly fixes his glasses. Think of quantum physics. Think of—
"—Oh!" You squirm excitedly, round butt wiggling slightly against his cock. "Yes, I met her before!"
Jake hisses before he can stop himself, the sound serving like a knife cutting the conversation. You and Jungwon instantly turn to look at him, the latter wearing a mischievous expression when he sees the heat painting Jake's face red.
"Are you okay?" You prompt in concern, noticing how stiffly Jake is nodding at you.
"Y-Yeah. Good. I'm horgoony."
Freudian slip is gonna be the death of him.
Jay and Jungwon burst out laughing, catching the slip as fast as any dirty-minded man would. Jake's face turns a darker shade of red, avoiding your eyes whose brows now pinching in confusion.
"Horgoony?" You echo, pretty confident you have never heard of that strange word spoken before. Jake immediately shakes his head, panic creeping into his chest when Jungwon shows a sign of opening his mouth.
No! Do not let that orange cat speak! Jungwon only cares about his downfall!
"I feel horribly good! Yeah," Jake stammers, to hell with any logical reasoning. "Like, I feel good because we're on a road trip. But also kind of horrible because I get motion sickness sometimes."
Now that the string of the sentences has flowed out of his mouth, Jake thinks he is kind of making sense. Satisfaction blooms in his chest when you nod in understanding, because two conflicting emotions—feeling good and horrible—can exist simultaneously, right? Like the way he wants to push you from his lap and hide in the deepest part of the Sokcho forest forever but also craves to just grab your hips and pull you close and have his way with you—wait stop.
What a horrible, horny, nothing-good man you are, Sim Jaeyun.
"That does sound horrible." Jake snaps out of his thoughts when he registers your voice, nodding fervently to amplify the faux pity that he's just orchestrated.
You give him a sorry look, the one where it pulls the corners of your mouth down into a frown. Jake sighs in relief. You bought it. Thank God for his smart brain.
"Yeah. I think I'm just gonna take a nap," he adds, voice turning softer when you still look at him in concern. He feels a strange need to overexplain.
"Motion sickness happens because your eyes see one thing while your inner ears and muscles feel another. If I take a nap, it'll eliminate the visual stimuli that causes the conflict…" Jake trails off, catching himself before he could go on and on and on on why humans experience motion sickness, and possibly bore you to death. He shakes his head imperceptibly. "So—yeah. I should take a nap."
To his surprise, you only give him a warm smile. "I never knew that, Jaeyun. Then what's the correlation between motion sickness and playing your phone in a moving vehicle?"
Jake blinks behind his glasses, genuinely taken aback that you're actually listening instead of zoning out halfway through his rambling.
"Oh. Um." He clears his throat. "It's kind of the same concept. Your eyes are focused on something stationary—your phone—but your body still feels the movement of the car."
You hum softly, leaning back against him slightly, prompting him to continue. Jake immediately forgets how lungs work.
"S-So your brain gets confused because the signals don't match," he continues weakly. "Your eyes tell your brain you're sitting still, but your inner ears are like, 'No, we're moving.' It's like mixed signals, and our body doesn't like mixed signals."
His ears are warming up from how true the words are to the situation he's having with you.
"And right now you're seeing my stationary body while the car's moving," you continue with a subtle tilt of your mouth, "so you're nauseous and all dizzy now, right?"
Jake almost chokes to death. Did you know about his little problem? He blinks at you rapidly, hand itching to touch his glasses in a fit of nerves.
Oh my God. He's going to die. He's going to die and Jungwon will write 'Sim Jaeyun was a smart friend, died a horny man with a dick that never went down, a standing ovation to his contribution to Seoul National University' as his headstone epitaph. You know about it so Jake is going to die!
He stumbles with his own words. "I-I mean—It's actually—"
You give him a cheeky smile. "I'm just joking with you, Jaeyun. You're probably sick because you're having me on your lap like this."
You start digging into your front pocket, frowning when it's empty. Jake holds his breath when your hands move to your back pocket, looking for whatever it is that gets you so determined and his dick so excited whenever your finger brushes against his crotch. Jake is almost blue from not breathing.
He thinks this time he's really going to die.
"Found it!"
You offer your palm to him, where two mint candies sit idly on the soft surface. Jake's chest slowly feels lighter as air rushes in, no longer collapsing under the pressure of your searching hand accidentally brushing against him moments ago. He clears his throat.
You beam at him. "These will soothe your sickness, Jaeyunnie. Please take them."
Jake studies your face.
Do you know what you're doing to him? Was everything done on purpose, or are you really oblivious to everything?
He swallows and forces a nod, taking the candies from your palm, feeling a spark of electricity in his system when his fingers brush your skin.
"Thank you, Y/N."
You turn your back on him, resuming your conversation with Jungwon and Jay. All sweet and cotton candy, unaware of the turmoil he's going through. Jake stares at the candies in his hand, a mocking sign to his misery, and heaves out a quiet sigh. He glances at his wristwatch.
It feels like two world wars had happened but it's only been twenty minutes into the drive. An hour and forty minutes of horny torture remains for Sim Jaeyun to endure, and he's not sure if he's going to survive.
He slowly closes his eyes. Maybe sleep can help with horniness, too.
It does, but only for a moment, because Jake could swear he just blinked when you tap his shoulder a few times.
Jake blinks, half-groggy and half-alert. Did he have a wet dream of you and get hard in his unconsciousness? Is that why you woke him up?
But he's met with your apologetic face instead. "I'm sorry for waking you up," you whisper, trying not to wake other boys who are fast asleep. "But my back's sore. Can I lean on you for a moment?"
In a flash, all incoherent thoughts fly out the window. Guilt starts lodging in his chest as he realises—glancing at his watch—that you've been sitting straight for one hour. Before he knows it, Jake is already nodding at you, adjusting his seat to accommodate the new position.
"Y-Yes, you can."
God, he's such a loser. The word 'no' seems to disappear from his dictionary whenever you're around.
You reward him with an appreciative smile and waste no time to turn around and lean back softly on him. The moment your back touches his chest, Jake can feel his system kick start, a chemical reaction that he can never understand no matter how hard he studies Biology.
You physically relax into his chest. "This is so much better," you sigh, a dreamy smile on your face, resting your head in the crook of his neck. Then you tilt your head upwards to glance at him. "Is this okay for you?"
Jake hopes you can't feel how fast his heart is beating through the fabric of his shirt. The brown-haired boy nods wordlessly. "More than okay."
For a moment, you just stare at him, brilliant eyes holding his in a soft gaze. It's a silent minute full of everything unspoken, rendering him speechless and even more restless because no matter how smart he is, he could never decipher the meaning behind this look you're giving him. There's something you hide that he feels like he should know, like an open secret waiting for the right time for him to catch.
This time, Jake is even sure that you can hear his heartbeat.
Then, as if that moment never happened, you close your eyes and get comfortable.
"We should sleep, Jaeyun. Don't want you to get carsick again."
You nuzzle closer and Jake holds his breath, feeling the silky strands of your hair brushing against his jaw. His hands hover, not knowing where to land, though the pinch of your waist is where he wants to hold the most. Eventually, Jake settles on his thighs, watching the difference between his veiny hands and the smooth span of your thighs.
Is he still sleeping? Is he dreaming or are you really sleeping on his chest?
It seems that sitting in his lap really tired you out, because you're fast asleep in less than five minutes. The guilt in his chest amplifies at the sight of your closed eyes, breathing evening out as sleep overtakes your being. Jake bites his lips.
He's so shameless, napping to avoid getting turned on instead of caring for your being. He’s so horrible, worrying more about his hard-on than the fact that you’ve been uncomfortable for an hour. Jake wants to cry so bad.
Jake spends the rest of the ride watching you sleep. He fixes your hair when it falls over your face, tucking it behind your ear carefully, and then smiles to himself when he sees your pout. He blocks the sunlight with his hand when it's glaring on your skin through the window, not minding letting his hand redden from the harsh light. He instinctively holds your waist at a sharp turn, firm and secure, though he lets go just as fast as if it burns, afraid that it's not a touch you'd receive had you been conscious.
Other than the carnal desire he has suppressed for you, this road trip also makes him realise the depth of the feelings he actually harbours for you. He's so doomed. He's so doomed because in what universe would a hot, sweet, popular California girl like yourself, return back the feelings of a bland, studious, quiet Korean-Aussie boy like him?
In fictions. In another lifetime. But not in Sim Jaeyun's current universe right now.
However, the Sim Jaeyun in this universe also will never know peace.
Because just as he's getting comfortable with the you-watching routine that he just recently discovered, the road has another plan for him when Jay finally, and actually, hits a bump this time.
The first bump is a mild surprise. Jake gathers it's a small bump, one that Jay overlooks while getting excited over Bon Jovi playing on the rodeo. But the aftermath brings you settling deeper into him, pressing on him in a way that has his breath hitching. Jake holds your waist on instinct.
"Oh my God, I didn't see that," Jay mutters from the front.
Jake tries to steady his breath. That's…a shock. One that shatters the soft atmosphere he created while watching you, now replaced with the same tension he's been fighting the last hour.
Jake lets go of your waist when he assumes that it's just a one-time thing. But then the bump happens again, and instead of a solid, big one—it's shaky, like they're sliding through endless, tiny jagged rocks.
"Damn bro, this road needs fixing," Jay makes another commentary. He glances at the rearview mirror. "You good, Jake?"
Jake doesn't know what to answer. "I think I am," he mumbles, voice clipped.
Is it good that you're practically bouncing in his lap, adding more pressure with almost no interval for him to recover mentally? He thinks not. But Jay doesn't have to know that.
"We're almost there," Jungwon chimes in, navigating the map. There's a shakiness in his voice that comes from the vibration caused by the bumps. "Fifteen minutes at most. We found a shorter route just now and traffic was smooth."
Fifteen minutes.
Jake thinks he might actually die in fifteen minutes.
Another bump sends your body rocking against him softly, your sleeping face scrunching for a brief second before relaxing. His grip tightens.
Fuck.
If Jay doesn't stop the car and fix this damn road himself then he's definitely going to pop a boner soon.
Jake squeezes his eyes shut when another bump rattles through the car, and then again, and again, and again until Jake can barely separate one sensation from another anymore. Until he doesn't know where he starts and where you end anymore. You shift unconsciously, settling heavier against his chest before Jay hits another bump.
This time, Jake makes a mistake of looking down at you.
He didn't notice it before, too lost in his sappy, romantic feelings for you. But right now, it's actually so damn obvious that the angle from where he sits taller than you and you lean against him, he can easily see your cleavage past the neckline of your camisole.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The road doesn't stop shaking beneath the tires, and so does his pulse as he watches your breasts bounce with every bump that comes their way. Jake averts his eyes, so stiff and so strained, but can't help letting his gaze drift back to watch the soft mounds shake.
This is bad. This is very, very bad, and Jake is nothing but a bad fucking pervert.
A particularly rough patch of road sends the entire car jolting. Your body bounces against him harder this time, more pressure and more friction that Jake almost whimpers. He tips his head back, gulping harshly as the line of his long neck glistens with a sheen of sweat.
Inside his jeans, he can feel his cock kick.
Oh, fuck—he's definitely hard now.
Oh my fucking God.
"This is the last one, promise!"
Jake doesn't even register Jay's words, or the way your head hits his jaw from impact, because his internal system is flooded with horny-filled panic. He can feel it: his dick twitching and getting semi-hard from the continuous stimulation from your bouncing. He doesn't even realise that he's now clawing at his own thighs, seeking strength that could neutralise his blooming lust, or that you are finally awake.
"Are we almost there?" You ask groggily, blissfully unaware of the raging boner forming under your ass. You sit up when the coastal view greets your blurry vision, mouth gaping in awe.
"Oh, wow!" You gasp, always excited to visit Sokcho no matter how many times you've been there. "It's beautiful as always!"
The road is smooth now, but Jake's final torture arrives in the form of you bouncing, excitedly and consciously, in his lap. You wiggle in enthusiasm, urging Jungwon to pass your phone that's been charging at the front to take some pictures and send it to the family groupchat.
"Jungwon, Jaeyun, look at those seagulls!"
Jake is seeing no seagulls. He's only seeing white hot, painful pleasure as you move in his lap, his brain dissolving into useless static. His fingers twitch, itching to grab your waist and force you to stay still, but you're so excited that he almost didn't have the heart to do it.
"Did you see that?" You lean to the window, and then shift happily when you spot kites in the sky. "We should do that too! Hey, Jay, do you think you can—"
Jake finally has had enough.
The restraint that he's been holding onto finally breaks like a taut wire getting cut. His hands snap to your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, hips almost bucking up from the delicious friction alone. His lips drop to the shell of your ears, hot, ragged breath brushing the sensitive skin as his voice lowers an octave.
"Y/N," Jake licks his dry lips, the tip of his tongue peeking through. He watches with dark eyes as the hair on your neck stands straight under his unforgiving proximity.
"Stop fucking moving."
And that's the moment you feel it.
A bulge, hard and rigid and big, poking your ass from where you rest in his lap.
Oh my fucking God.
Sim Jaeyun is hard.
You freeze, breath hitching.
Neither of you dare to move. Not even your excitement of being back to your uncle's beach house, or Jay's questioning look from where you cut your sentence, can bring you to move. No.
You couldn't, not when Jake's hard dick is nudging at you right now, so tangible and unmistakably his.
The brown-haired boy is still panting in your ear, shooting tingles through your system. His grip on your waist is almost bruising, like he's trying very, very hard to hold back from overstepping lines that shouldn't be overstepped.
You hadn't meant for this to happen. Sure, Jake is fun to tease. That boy is all broken words and nervous glances whenever you're in his proximity, and it can't be helped when he blushes prettily too.
You just can't stop yourself from seeking his attention in your own way, because aside from being a pretty boy, Jake is also such a sweetheart and so, so smart. And in an age where intellligence is a scarcity, you absolutely adore smart guys.
Especially the one who isn't condescending and is actually eager to help people like him.
So, really—you hadn't meant for this to happen. Offering to become the one without a seat is a decision you made when you consider yourself to be lighter than most of the guys, but offering to sit in Jake's lap is definitely a decision born from personal bias. You kind of knew what it would cause—seeing how stiff and awkward Jake had been—but you let it go halfway through when the soreness in your back outweighs your desire to tease.
Which has now brought you to this situation.
The car's still moving like nothing happened, and the boys are slowly stirring to life one by one. Everything is normal, except for the nails digging into your waist and the deep timbre in your ear.
You swallow harshly, not daring to move. Jake is so close, so close that you can feel every movement of his chest. You sit still in his hold, trying not to wince from how hard he's gripping your hips, and how hot you find the situation is.
His dick, despite no movement is being made, only hardens further. Jake gasps almost imperceptibly, almost matching the way your breath leaves your mouth when you notice, again, just how big he is.
Fuck. Fuck, that's so hot. Sim Jaeyun is so hot and you can feel yourself slowly getting turned on.
Without any warning, as if driven by an invisible force that urges to look at him, you finally turn around.
And Jake looks absolutely wrecked.
Beads of sweat dot on his forehead, the furrow of his eyebrows showing restraint and constraint. His lips are red from how hard he's biting them, and his previously clean, smooth glasses are now fogged up and hazy. His eyes, glazed over with tamed lust, lock into yours, half-lidded and dark.
A breath catches in your throat.
This is not the Jaeyun you know.
Or, more accurately, this is not the Jaeyun he usually shows.
This is another side of him, like seeing Jake wearing short-sleeves and showing his arms for the first time. Gone are his round, puppy eyes, now replaced with this narrowed, slit gaze that makes you shiver under his heated stare. He used to be so nervous around you, and you can feel that he's nervous now, too, but his pent-up sexual frustration seems to outweigh any rational daily-Jake thoughts.
This is still Sim Jaeyun. Just a different, never-before-seen side of Sim Jaeyun.
"Are we finally there?" Riki, the last one to awaken, stretches beside the two of you. You don't even notice that the car has pulled up into the driveway of Jay's ridiculously huge beach house from how piercing Jake's gaze is holding your eyes captive now.
Jake bites his lips, the fog in his head slowly clearing up now that the car has stopped. As if snapping out of a daze, he quickly maneuvers you into Riki's lap instead, showcasing his strength that he often hides. The latter yelps at the sudden weight and grabs your waist on instinct, before Jake darts out of the car without looking back.
"Sim Jaeyun! Bring your own fucking luggage!" Jay shouts from the car boot, but the brown-haired boy has already disappeared behind the door.
You sit, stunned in silence, still frozen and unable to speak. Not until Riki nudges at you, Heeseung and Sunoo impatiently asking the both of you to move so that they can get out.
"Are you okay, noona? Is hyung okay?"
You nod. You give the youngest a strained smile as you slowly move out of his lap and out of the car, careful not to start another war of hormones.
"We're okay."
The lie tastes bitter on your tongue.
Jake is avoiding you.
It's a foreseeable aftermath. It's inevitable. But it pains you regardless.
It gets to the point where he straight up refuses sitting next to you at dinner, which raises some eyebrows and teasing from the boys. But you know better.
He is deliberately avoiding you.
It frustrates you, really. Because every summer, it is your thing with Jake to sit in silence in the morning and read at the porch, enjoying the sunrise over wordless, comfortable silence. But now he purposely sleeps in, waking up later than usual, leaving you alone in the cold of dawn, your paperback copy of The Inheritance Games left untouched on your thighs.
At movie nights, he'll be the last one to join, just to see where you sit first to avoid being near you. He'll become extra quiet when you speak, acting like the floor is more interesting than your face, not even sparing you a glance.
And your patience is wearing thin. Almost thinner than the bikini you're wearing right now.
Fine. He can ignore you all he wants, act like he didn't just pop a boner after letting you sit in his lap. He can pretend like you never affected him, pretend like nothing happened, but one thing you know is that Jake could never betray his attraction for you.
So, be fucking it. You don't care if it's petty to pick the skimpiest bikini you own today, the one in hot pink that always contours the line of your cleavage, perfectly bunching up your tits and making them look rounder. The one that you know will drive Jake crazy from how bouncy your ass looks, basically confirmed when his eyes can't seem to stop trailing after you even after you dive into the pool.
You come to the surface with a gaping mouth, letting the water slide down the lines on your body, and make no show of hiding yourself from looking straight at Jake.
That coward has the nerves to look away after staring at you like a touch-deprived teenager.
"Is Sim Jaeyun single?"
The reason why you always agree to join the all-boys road trip is because it's not exactly all-boys. There are girls who live nearby. Girls you're acquainted with from how often you follow your cousin to his beach house every summer. Spoiled rich girls whose parents come from the same tax bracket as your and Jay's family.
And one of those girls is shamelessly checking Jake out now, hungry eyes drinking in the way his wet, long-sleeved shirt sticks to his torso, outlining the faint lines of his abdomen that he never shows. She's sitting on the edge of the pool, feet-dipping while you take a break from your swim.
You narrow your eyes, an ugly spark of jealousy blooming in your chest. You don't like the implication of the question, and you absolutely hate the way she's looking at him now.
"Don't even think about it."
Your neighbour only shrugs and continues her eye-fucking. "He's so my type. So nerdy, so smart. I wonder how he'll look like without the glasses?"
You will poke her eyes before she gets the chance to. "Use your own imagination," you hiss, almost bitter when you realise that you also have barely seen him without his glasses.
Jake has sensitive eyes that react badly to contact lenses, which explains his preference for thick glasses than going out without them. Even now, when everyone is fooling around Jay's enormous pool, his thick, black-rimmed glasses perch on the bridge of his tall nose—the nose you hope you can put into good use one day.
The girl only hums, half-listening to you. She sighs dreamily. "I can't believe that I have his number."
At this point, the jealousy has turned so ugly you're actually seeing green. Or red. Or whatever that Cortis song sounds like. "You have his number?"
She finally pays attention to you. "Yeap! I asked him yesterday. I don't know what I should say to start the conversation though," she pouts, glancing back at Jake who's now sitting on the side with Sunghoon, sipping on coconut water. "Should I ask him if I can join dinner at your house tonight?"
Jake gave his number to her?
You grit your teeth. The hurt has materialised into a knife, twisting in your chest in a sharp pain disguised in jealousy. So, while Jake's been avoiding you like a fucking plague, he's been spending his time giving away his number to any curious girl? He's been talking with other girls while leaving you with radio silence, one that you didn't deserve because it was him who popped that boner?!
You are the one who's supposed to ignore him—not the other way around!
What a fucking loser.
You can't stop the bitterness from leaking through your voice when you finally speak.
"It's me and Jay that you should ask—not Sim Jaeyun. And no, you cannot join dinner at my house tonight."
You leave her dumbfounded by the pool, seething in anger that the water on your skin could steam from the heat alone. You march to the slide doors, giving Jake and Sunghoon the nastiest side-eye you could ever give when the latter calls out to you, and slam the door behind.
Whatever. Or not whatever. Sim Jaeyun is a fucking pervert and a jerk and a coward, and stupidly hot while being so oblivious to how hot he actually is. Whatever! You don't care.
You don't care that he barely speaks a word to you. You don't care that he leaves any room you walk into. You don't care that he's flirting with other girls and giving away his number willingly when you had his on default for being Jay's younger cousin, and from Jay himself at that.
The corner of your eyes burn.
You wish you didn't care.
You're ignoring Jake.
Jake knows this the moment you no longer come to the porch to read. Instead, every morning is now spent in the garden with Jungwon, tending to Jay's mom's flowers. After, you'll brew some hibiscus tea that you pluck from the garden and share it with Sunoo and Riki.
And when he walks into the kitchen to get some food, you no longer meet his eyes, or save that apple that he knows you know he likes to eat for breakfast. You let Heeseung eat all of them! It's so—so unfair, because he likes apples and you know it!
It sends Jake to the end of a cliff. Why are you suddenly being like this?
His sanity is stretching thin as he tries to work his brain. Why the sudden change? Is it because of his silence? But he's just embarrassed to face you! Or—did you find out about it?
Genuine horror floods his mind when he thinks, oh no, you must've realised how disgusting he truly is. How dirty-minded and perverted he is, that every day he has to take cold showers three times a day whenever he catches a glimpse of you.
You in your sleepwear. You in your casual shirt. You in shorts.
You in bikini.
Jake has fallen out of any point of salvation, because God, could any man get this horny just from a mere look? In the back of his mind, he knows it's the image of you sitting in his lap that ignited the beginning of his undoing, but the continuous hard-on he gets whenever he's around you is definitely, entirely on him.
And Jake, oh so sweet Jake, doesn't dare touch himself to the thought of you. No. He'd rather leave his balls blue, take cold showers every morning, every evening, and every night, and let his dick go from standing tall like a national anthem was being played to becoming flaccid under the cold water without any action. He doesn't even have the guts to touch his own fucking dick, the guilt blocking him from doing anything to relieve himself.
So—did you find out about it? Because if you did, then Jake could understand the cold shoulders you're giving him.
But Jake is a mere man—maybe a bit perverted, and a bit too horny despite his image, so he couldn't stop himself from getting hard the moment he sees you walking into the living room in nothing but an oversized white tee that falls off your shoulder. He grabs the nearest cushion and places it on top of his crotch, blood already rushing south when he sees the strap of your black bra.
This is why he has to go to church sometimes; to balance everything out. Because Einstein never talked about the solution or formula to cure men's (Jake's) sexual desires that seem endless. And sexual desires that come from seeing a strap of a bra alone.
Whatever it is, Jake's soul has almost left his body, already tuning out of his surroundings. He doesn't even realise that Jay and Riki are wrestling for the TV remote, and accidentally sending said remote flying onto the floor just a few feet away from him.
He only comes to when you stand in front of him, back facing him, and bend over to pick up the remote.
You. Bend. Over. In. Front. Of. Him.
In a second, Jake has a full view of your ass. The shirt rides up slightly, revealing white shorts that stretches across the round flesh as you bend over to reach the remote and Jake feels like he's brought back to the car when he was fighting demons as you unintentionally ground his crotch with every movement.
His grip on the cushion tightens, head dizzy from the way you practically shove your butt in his face.
Jake releases a shaky exhale.
He can see the outline of your panties and wonders if it matches your black bra.
And he can see the outline of his doomed future if he stays in the living room any longer.
"Whose turn is it to pick the movie?" You casually ask, now straightening up as if you just didn't flash Jake with your perky ass.
"Jake hyung," Jungwon replies from the center of the long couch, carding his hand through Sunoo's silky hair, the blonde who's now laying down his head on his lap. "It's his turn."
Your face remains expressionless as you turn to the glasses boy. But instead of taking the remote from your hand, Jake stands up, avoiding eye contact and clutching the cushion tight over his crotch.
Then he flees the living room, leaving behind six confused men and one very angry, very upset girl.
Jake thinks he deserves a medal for surviving the living room.
Or perhaps an exorcism.
The moment his bedroom door clicks shut behind him, Jake drops the cushion onto the floor and drags both hands down his face with a groan. His glasses nearly fall off his nose in the process.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
He paces once across the room, then twice.
Outside, he can still hear the muffled sounds of the movie downstairs—Riki yelling dramatically at a character, Sunoo complaining about spoilers, Jay laughing too loudly. Normal sounds. Normal people.
Meanwhile Jake feels like he's one accidental glimpse of your shoulder away from committing a crime.
His eyes squeeze shut.
That white shirt.
The black bra strap.
The way you bent over in front of him so casually, completely unaware that Jake nearly ascended right there on Jay's living room couch.
"Fuck," he whispers weakly to himself.
Jake drops onto the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees.
Maybe he should take another cold shower. That would make four today.
"I should sleep," he mutters to himself, breath shaky. "S-Sleep can help with motion sickness and horniness."
With a newfound resolution, he turns off the lamp and settles under the blanket. His movement is stiff and awkward, overly aware of the tent straining his shorts. Once he pulls the blanket over his chest, Jake closes his eyes, forcing sleep into his system.
Only, the image of you swimming in your hot pink bikini flashes behind his eyelids.
"No, stop. Not that," he whispers, brows scrunching in protest. He shakes his head, as if physically removing the image away, and tries again.
This time, the image of you in his lap comes back, stripped down to heated skin and soft breaths, your body moving against his in ways that make his stomach twist.
His eyes fly open. The image is so clear and vivid, thanks to his photographic memory and insane imagination—the very thing that's been saving him in the academic department now serving as the tool that brings him to his downfall.
His cock twitches involuntarily.
"N-No," he pants, chest moving rapidly. He grips the edge of the blanket, knuckles turning white. "I—Stop—"
Then he remembers just now: you bent over, giving him a delicious access to his ass-shaped sufferings, and Jake almost whimpers from the flashback alone.
The room rises in temperature, the air conditioner doing nothing to tone down the feverish lust spreading through his body. Jake finally relents and discards the blanket, glasses all fogged up as he stares at the bulge under his shorts.
"I'm sorry," he whimpers, slipping off his shorts and boxers until they bunch up around his knees. "I'm so fucking sorry."
His cock springs free, standing tall in the dimness of his room. The tip glistens, already drooling with precum that shows no sign of stopping. With shaky hands, hesitance still edging around his lust, Jake finaly touches himself.
He has to bite down hard on his lips to muffle the sound threatening to escape. His hand stutters, the feeling of finally rubbing some relief after days of holding back comes crashing down on him. His head spins from how heavy his cock is in his hold, veins protuding like they're going to combust.
He slowly starts moving his hand, lathering up precum to ease the glide. His head tips back, a strangled sound catches behind his throat.
"Oh, God," his head spins, sparks of lust bursting at the tip of his fingers. "Oh, fuck—"
Through his hazy gaze of the blurry lenses, Jake tightens his grip slightly. A moan escapes his lips at the force, his cock only getting heavier in his hand. He plays with the mushroom tip of his dick, thumbing the slit and hissing when it sends pleasure up his spine.
"Ngh—" his eyes squeeze shut, brain putting up pieces of his memory of you. His body jerks when the rough pad of his thumb touches the underside of his cock, and as if on cue, the image of your jiggly breasts inside the car flashes behind his closed eyes.
"Fuck—Y/N," Jake sobs, picking up his pace. His wrist turns and flicks, biceps flexing hard at the speed he's going. Guilt starts accumulating inside his chest the more he thinks of you, of your voice, of your gaze, of your scent—but guilt isn't enough to stop Jake from chasing his own release.
"'So sorry," he chokes, letting go of his bottom lip, bitten-red and swollen. He imagines it was your hand instead of his, smaller and softer, with those manicured nails that he loves so much. How tiny your hand would look around his hard dick, trying to grip his length in its fully erect state.
Jake isn't inexpereinced. He's had his own fair share of sexcapades with a few people, and he's always been told that he's bigger than average. The big dick that he hides under his pants, further concealed by his nervous persona that only certain girls find cute.
But seeing his state right now, Jake thinks he's the furthest thing from cute.
He's pathetic.
Pathetic and gross and disgusting, feeling bad for jerking off to the thoughts of you but still unable to retract his hand and stop. The sound of his cries that he fails to hide fills up the space, and for the first time in days he's very glad that he won paper-rock-scissors during room assignment.
"Oh, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N," he chants, mouth gaping open when he can feel himself close. His wrist is already tired and numb from the relentless pace he's set, the slick sound of his sinful act matching the roar of his blood rushing in his ears.
"Please, please, 'm gonna cum," he sobs, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. His hips lift off the mattress. "Please—"
"Do not fucking cum, Sim Jaeyun."
Jake's entire body locks up.
His wrist stills immediately, pleasure crashing into horror so fast it makes his stomach twist. For a second, he genuinely thinks his heart stops beating.
The room goes dead silent except for his ragged breathing.
Through fogged-up lenses and teary eyes, Jake stares at you standing by the door, unable to process the fact that you're actually here.
That you heard him.
That you saw him.
Oh my fucking God.
His hand jerks away from himself like he’s been burned, chest heaving violently as he scrambles to sit up straighter. The blanket tangles around his legs from how abruptly he moves.
"I—"
Nothing comes out.
Jake has never felt this level of humiliation before.
Not when he failed his chemistry olympiad in tenth grade. Not when he tripped in front of his entire lecture hall. Not even when Jungwon found his hidden Pokémon card collection at nineteen.
This is worse. So much worse.
Because it's you.
You, standing there in that oversized white shirt slipping off your shoulder again, eyes dark and unreadable as you look at him sprawled across the bed like something shameful.
Jake feels sick. His face burns so hot he thinks he might actually pass out.
"S-Sorry," he chokes out instinctively, because apologising is the only thing his brain knows how to do right now. "I didn't—I wasn't—I—"
His voice cracks miserably.
Jake is going to cry.
What should he even say in this situation? Sorry that you caught him jerking off to you? Sorry that he's such a nerd, such a loser that the only time he could talk smoothly with you was when he was defining what motion sickness was, but never had the courage to tell you how much he likes you and how much you affect me? Sorry that he's such a pervert that he thinks of you in positions way too inappropriate to be just friends?
The weight of his arousal sits heavy against his thigh, a testament to a newfound, lifelong embarrassment that he'll carry to his grave.
Jake squirms under your heated gaze, and quickly covers his crotch with his blanket when you slip into his bedroom wordlessly. The door clicks shut, the sound amplified by the heavy silence hanging in the air. His body tenses up.
Oh my God—he messed up, didn't he? Jake hangs his head low in shame, tears gathering along his lashlines.
"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to…"
His vision turns blurry. Fuck, you must hate him now.
"I-It's wrong—I know that—I'm sorry—ah!"
Jake looks up in surprise when your bold hand cups his erection. There's angry lines in your forehead, a sneer on your mouth, but the nasty look you're giving him does nothing to soothe down his arousal.
If anything, twisted as it is—it turns him on even more.
"Couldn't even look me in the eye downstairs," you begin, "but you here you are, jerking off to me like I wouldn't find out?"
The venom in your voice hurts him. You're being mean with your words, and it hurts his feelings but Jake couldn't care less. His mind is a messy jumbles of guilt and pleasure and shame, so all he does is cry and shake his head.
"I-I'm sorry, Y/N—"
"Are you really sorry?" you tighten your grip on his cock, one knee dipping into the mattress. "Your dick doesn't seem sorry though."
Jake wants to cry—oh, he's already crying. His hand curls into the sheets beneath him, unable to form coherent words when you start rocking the heel of your palm on his hard-on. The friction from the blanket and the pressure from your hand only spark electric pleasure through his system.
Within seconds, Jake is all hard again—even harder than before.
"Tell me, Jaeyunnie. Did all of this happen because I sat in your lap?"
Jake whimpers pathetically. You knew. Of course you knew. You're not only hot and pretty and kind, you're also smart like him, so in tune with your surroundings. You're a little mean right now, but it's okay because Jake believes that he deserves this after avoiding you without any explanation.
"Answer me, Sim Jaeyun."
"Yes," he croaks, shame burning his face red. His eyes screw shut. The admission sets his being on fire, skin flushed from embarrassment. "O-Oh, God, y-yes."
He cracks one eye open when you don't reply. Instead, he's met with your fiery gaze. The edges have softened with lust, like you're also affected by this, but you're good at keeping your control.
Unlike him, who's unraveling like a loose thread under your touch alone.
Jake almost whines when you retract your hand, but the sound is muffled with a gasp when you yank the blanket open. He instinctively closes his crotch area with his hands, but you're fast to slap his wrists away.
"I'm so pissed off, Jaeyun," you mutter, swinging your leg over his thighs so now you're straddling him. You fix him with your sharp eyes, hand finding his dick again.
"You've been acting like we're strangers and it hurts me so bad."
Jake's mouth hangs open as you gather his precum and start working your wrist around his cock. His brain barely registers your words, too lost in a cloud of lust, but when he finally processes it, he desperately shakes his head.
He wants to apologise again and again and again, because he is truly sorry—he didn't know how affected you were. How could he not, when you're always described as everything out of his league, but he's always described as everything that doesn't fit your type?
"I'm sorry, I was just—fuck—just ashamed—" he gasps, hips bucking into your touch. "Didn't mean to—t-to hurt y—ngh, Y/N, faster please."
You coo at him, feigning sympathy as you set a ruthless pace on his cock. Jake is big—something that isn't a surprise anymore since that day you sat in his lap—but the sheer size of him is enough to make your mouth water and your panties damp.
Damn these nerdy boys. Acting all shy and innocent when they have this monstrousity hiding behind those ugly glasses.
"Faster? You wanna cum, Jaeyunnie?" you tilt your head. Jake nods frantically. "I don't think you deserve it, though. Why not ask from those girls you gave your number to?"
Something sharp twists in his stomach. Jake's eyes fly open, almost cowering when you give him a distasteful look. He grabs your arms desperately and shakes his head.
"N-No! She asked me first—" you put more pressure and Jake damn near loses his mind. "—said she needs—help—w-with Physi—cs—"
You roll your eyes. It's that easy to fool him? Can't he see the way those girls fuck him with their eyes? Without waiting for his sentence to finish, you sink down and take him in your mouth.
"Oh, fuck!" Jake screams, accidentally thrusting up his hips. He bites his lips, glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose as you take him deeper, tracing the line of his veins with your sinful tongue. "Oh, Y/N—please."
You hum around his length, tongue swirling as you hollow your cheeks to deepen the suction. Jake nearly busts from that alone, mind melting into a puddle of your name, the wet heat of your mouth serving as a better pleasure than his own hand.
You start bobbing your head up and down, marveling in the way the weight of his dick sits on your tongue. He's so big that you're so close to choking, but you don't care. You need to remind Jake how stupid he's been acting and how stupid he is if he thinks that you were not just as attracted toward him.
Jake sobs into his hands, hips jerking with every touch of his tip hitting the back of your throat. His head is getting dizzier, he can feel the coil in his stomach getting tighter and he knows that anytime soon, he will come undone on your skillful tongue.
But just as he's about to reach that high, you let go of him with a pop.
"No!" Jake whines, tears sliding down his cheeks. You're so mean. "P-Please let me cum."
"Not yet, nerdy boy." You mutter, red lips slick with saliva and precum. Jake can only sob, dick throbbing in need and desperation.
This is the punishment he deserves for being a jerk. He knows that, but he can't seem to stop crying. God, he's so pathetic.
Then he feels movement on his thighs. He blinks through the foggy lenses and lets out a breathless moan when you lift up your shirt and shorts and discard them away, leaving you in nothing but a pair of bra and panties. His mouth starts salivating at the display of your beautiful body, and Jake swears he almost cums when he sees that you're indeed wearing black panties.
Oh, fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Just as he imagined—God, you're so perfect he wants to kiss you.
But instead of a kiss, you push his at his chest instead. "Lie down."
And like the obedient puppy that he is, Jake follows your word, carefully descending his back onto the mattress. He's still sniffling from the previous denial, but now it's mixed with anticipation of what's to come when you hover above him.
You trace a gentle finger along the tall bridge of his nose, a barely-there touch that makes him shiver. With a slow tap on the tip of his nose, you finally speak.
"Did anyone ever ride your nose, Jaeyunnie?"
H-His nose?
Girls always compliment his nose, but he's never given it many thoughts as to why they did that. "N-No. Never."
There's a wicked smile on your face as you stand on your knees. Jake watches with a mouth gaping open as you make a show of shimmying down your panties, painfully and traitorously slowly that he almost rips it with his hand.
"Ah, what a shame," you sigh dreamily. "Guess I have to be the first one then."
Once your panties are out of the picture, Jake is instanly hit with a wave of your arousal. Your pussy glistens under the moonlight, soaked with slick and dripping with need. Jake inhales shakily, stopping himself from darting out his tongue to get a taste.
Fuck. He's sure he has actually died in the car and this is heaven because not even in his wildest dream did he get to have you like this.
Too lost in his reverie, Jake belatedly notices that you have removed his glasses. Despite your mean words and your mean actions, the caresses of your thumb on his cheeks are so gentle that he thinks he's hallucinating.
"You're so handsome, Jaeyun," you murmur. "But I bet you'll look better buried between my thighs."
You give him no time to recover from your crude words when you slowly move to straddle his head. Then, with a hand in his hair, you descend, letting the tip of his nose nudge at your clit.
And oh my fucking God—you smell so divine.
"Ah, Jaeyunnie," you moan, rocking your hips slowly to test the waters. "Your nose feels so good."
You sound even more divine. Jake's eyes roll to the back, savouring the way your sinful moans fall on his ears as you use his nose to get off. The bridge of his nose slides through your folds—wet and sticky and so sweet that he can't get enough of it.
Jake wraps his arms around your thighs to give you support, and another moan escapes your lips upon seeing his veiny arms around your supple skin. He stares at you through half-lidded eyes, groaning despite your cunt suffocating him, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure to your system.
"Ngh—Jaeyun—"
He can't breathe, and he can't hear properly from how hard you're clamping his head with your legs, but he can't deny that this is the best way to die. Being suffocated by your leaking pussy sounds like a dream death compared to dying in Jay's old SUV.
You keep your rhythm, rocking your hips back and forth, grinding your clit on his nose and dragging your folds on the tall bridge until the sharp tip of his nose catches at your hole. The grip you have in his hair hurts his scalp, but everything is worth the pain when Jake can watch you fall apart on his face, his own cock pulsing with a trembling need to cum.
"Ah—ah—Jaeyun oppa—"
Fuck. Fuck that sacred nickname.
The dynamics between you two often makes Jake forget the fact that he is indeed older than you. Coming from the States, it's uncommon for you to address people with such honorifics.
But right now, using that very honorific against him ignites something inside him; a carnal desire that's been thrumming low in his guts, waiting to be unleashed.
This time, Jake barely stops himself from stealing a taste. He darts out his tongue, prodding your hole with the tip, and hums in satisfaction when your stance falters slightly.
"Don't," you hiss, but there's no heat in it. Jake takes it as a sign to continue, licking more into your weeping cunt until your pace turns sloppy.
He doesn't care. You're probably gonna be so mad at him and punish him more, but whatever it is you have prepared can wait. Right now, Jake is having the best pussy of his life—barely breathing but still eating so, so fucking well.
"Jaeyun—stop—"
"No," Jake protests when you try to get up, pulling you down until the full weight of your body rests on his face.
Oh God, choking on pussy has never felt so good.
"Sim Jaeyun!" You squirm, feeling the stirring inside your belly getting wilder. Despite your weak attempts, your hips keeps grinding on his nose, showing no signs of stopping. You throw your head back.
You knew his nose would be the best thing to ride on, but hearing the slurps of your slick and his saliva—the sinful noises of him feasting on your cunt—makes you almost regret not letting him eat you out first.
"Ngh—Jaeyun—I'm close—"
Jake pulls your hips harder, letting you grind your clit on the tip of his nose as his tongue pushes into your hole mercilessly. You let out a high-pitched scream, muscles pulling tight at his ministrations. The double stimulations are fast pushing you over the edge.
Soon, white hot pleasure crashes into you, your vision turning black momentarily. It's so blurry and messy that you haven't realised that you've been screaming his name raw, hips unrelenting to chase the high. Jake swallows every drop of your sweet nectar, moaning into your spasming hole as he licks it clean.
Fuck. He's already desperate to have another round.
When you come down from your orgasm, hair matted to your forehead, you look down at him furiously.
"Let me go! I told you not to do it!" You attempt to sit up, but Jake doesn't let go, shaking his head with a pout. His nose and chin are drenched with your release, it's so sinful and filthy and you can't lie that you like seeing him so wrecked and fucked over like this.
"Can I have more? Please," he begs, kissing your inner thigh unhurriedly. He's already so addicted to the taste of you, Jake thinks he's gonna die if he doesn't have another fill. "I'll be so good to you, Y/N. Wanna eat you out so bad."
You grit your teeth, pushing away the temptation to save your pride. "No. Get up, Jaeyun."
But Jake is stubborn. He's so desperate to have more of you that he doesn't mind if he's leaving his own cock neglected and balls blue. "Please, I need it bad," he nudges at your pussy with his finger, pupils blown wide at the strings of sticky cum decorating your folds. "Fuck, please, Y/N, I want to eat you out."
"I said get up, Jaeyun."
"Y/N—"
"Jake."
The sharpness in your voice cuts through the haze instantly.
Jake stills immediately.
The desperation in his eyes flickers into something softer, more uncertain, like a scolded puppy finally realising he’s crossed a line. His grip on your thighs loosens at once, chest rising and falling hard beneath you.
The sound of his English name on your tongue feels foreign and almost painful, because it lacks the usual warmth and intimacy that your 'Jaeyun' usually holds. Yet, something inside him pulses harder, liking the change more than he'd like to admit.
“S-Sorry,” he whispers automatically, voice rough. “I just…”
He doesn’t even know how to explain it. How could he? That hearing you moan his name made him lose every coherent thought in his brain? That he’s spent days trying to stay away from you only to end up here, beneath you, completely ruined anyway?
You study him for a long moment before finally shifting off his face.
“Sit up.”
Jake obeys instantly.
The movement is clumsy and needy. His hair is a mess, lips swollen, face still flushed from lack of oxygen and desire. Without his glasses, his eyes look unbearably open like this—too honest, too vulnerable.
You cup his jaw gently, the touch losing its cruelty. Jake melts into it.
"There he is," you murmur softly, fixing his bangs that are obscuring his eyesight.
Jake can feel his heart stutter traitorously. This version of you—tender and sweet—a glimpse of the usual-you, is always more dangerous than any teasing.
Wordlessly, you tug at his shirt, and Jake obediently holds up his arms to let you peel away the fabric. Your eyes flick downward, amusement tugging at your lips.
"You know," you start, fingers trailing slowly down his sculpted chest, "for someone who acted terrified of touching me in the car…"
He groans softly, already embarrassed.
"…You were pretty damn desperate down there, Jaeyun."
His face burns hotter. Fine, he's just a touch-starved man, desperate for you in every way possible. But how could he not? Have you even looked at yourself?
"I-I can't help it…" His eyes drop to your lips. "You tasted so good."
A breathy chuckle escapes you, quiet and fond. But to Jake's ears, he's already hearing the wedding bells chime.
And suddenly the humiliation twisting in his chest eases into something warmer when you climb into his lap again, turning slowly until your back presses against his chest.
The exact same position. That fucking position in the car that has his mind on an endless frenzy that he thinks he was genuinely getting crazy.
Jake goes completely still beneath you.
“Oh,” you whisper, settling against him deliberately. “Now you’re quiet again?”
His hands hover uncertainly near your hips, like he still can’t believe he’s allowed to touch you.
“You’re mean,” he mumbles weakly against your shoulder. You laugh, one hand patting his hair as the other one aligning his neglected cock on your entrance.
"But I know you like it, Jaeyunnie."
At the same time you presses on the nickname, you sink onto his cock slowly, letting the bulbous head of his length spear you open.
The both of you moan simultaneously. Jake's hands find puchase on your waist, trying his best to stop from manhandling you to just fucking bounce on his dick and letting you adjust. You, on the other hand, let the stretch burn, your walls spasming to accommodate his length.
"S-So big," you stutter, taking him inch by inch. Jake drops his head on your shoulder, his own breathing ragged. "So—full—"
When he finally fits inside you to the brim, you let out a long, drawn-out moan. He fills you up so good that you can feel every vein against your walls, every pulse kissing your insides. It's a dizzying experience that prompts you to start moving your hips.
Jake’s fingers dig into your waist, trembling.
Not because he wants to stop you.
Because he’s trying so hard not to lose himself completely.
The position alone is enough to send him spiraling—your back against his chest, your body in his lap exactly like the car ride, except now there’s no seatbelt digging into his side, no boys teasing from the front seat, no restraint left between the two of you.
Just you and him.
And the devastating realisation that you wanted him too.
Jake lets out a broken sound against your shoulder when you move again, his forehead falling against your skin. His entire body feels feverish, overwhelmed by too much sensation and too many emotions crashing into him at once.
"Wasn't this what got you so hard, Jaeyunnie?" You pant between breathless moans. "Me in your lap, bouncing on your cock like this?"
"Ngh—" A strangled noise escapes his throat. Jake watches with bated breath as your hands find the clasp of your bra and finally let the two soft mounds free. Now, he badly wants you to turn around, eager to relive the scene of your bouncy breasts in Jay's car.
"Did you not—ah—crave this?"
You arch your back, pleasure tingling every nerves as his cock drags against your walls. Jake feels his dick throb inside your hole, the same position that ruined him now had him completely at your mercy.
"S-So tight," he whimpers, mouth falling open at the way you clench around his cock and roll your hips. "S-So fucking tight, Y/N, fuck."
Jake clings onto you desperately, bucking his hips to chase your movement. But you hold down a firm hand on his thigh, completely in charge.
"Don't," you warn, grinding down on him in a way that makes your ass ripple. "Or I'll get up and leave."
Jake freezes instantly.
The warning slices straight through him, sharp and effective. His hands tighten on your waist, but he forces his hips back against the mattress despite every instinct screaming at him to chase you harder.
“O-Okay,” he breathes quickly. “Okay. Sorry.”
God, he sounds wrecked.
You can feel the way his thighs tremble beneath yours, the strain in his breathing every time you move your hips slowly against him. Jake drops his forehead between your shoulder blades with a weak groan, like simply holding himself back is physically painful.
"I'm still mad at you," you murmur. You roll your hips again, faster this time, and Jake nearly whimpers into your shoulder. His jaw clenches so hard he might pop a vessel.
"Are you sure you're not the one—" you moan, your thighs burning from how fast you're exerting yourself. The wet sound of skin hitting skin starts getting louder the harder you slam down your hips. "The one who's being—mean?"
Jake sobs into your skin, half-regretting, half-dizzy. The tight heat of your cunt pulses and flutters around his dick and he genuinely feels horrible for only thinking using his other head now.
Even so, he still manages to apologise again. "I'm s-sorry—"
You clench around him on purpose. Jake digs his nails deeper. "Fuck—"
"Stop fucking apologising," you seethe, voice trembling as you feel your release getting near. "Delete her number or I'll sit in Sunghoon's lap when we get back to Seoul."
There's no bite in your threat. It's just a spur-of-the-moment kind of things, one that you say just to rile him up.
But Jake takes your words like a verdict. He snakes an arm around your waist, lips worshipping your skin in desperate, wet kisses.
"I'm sorry, Y/N, darling," he begs, tears clinging to his lashes. He bites his lips in an attempt to stop himself from moaning because he's so, so close. "I will block her. Fuck—I will delete her number. P-Please don't sit with S-Sunghoon—"
His speech is interrupted by a high-pitched whine. Jake hasn't come all night, he's nothing more than a thread waiting to snap. The moment you bounce harder and faster, the supple skin of your butt jiggling wilder, Jake can feel that he's about to come.
"Y/N—ah—p-puh—lease—" he whimpers, voice scratching at his throat. "'M close, 'm g-gonna cum—"
But he should've known that you're so, so mean.
The moment you lift off his cock, Jake genuinely sobs out loud, thrashing under you.
"No! No, please—" he chokes, hiding his crying face behind his hands, too shattered when his orgasm being denied again. "Please, no—I wanna cum, please."
You turn around and the sight of him—red-faced, wet cheeks, lips trembling—it softens your heart. You quickly pull his wrists and rest his hands on your hips, your own cupping his cheeks.
"I'm sorry, baby," you shush him, blowing kisses to the tip of his nose as you take him again. Jake whimpers quietly. "I'm so sorry—I'll let you cum this time, hm?"
Jake weakly nods, then lets out a soft moan at the familiar feeling of your walls enveloping him. You move again, already sore, but you no longer have it in you to torture your poor, poor Jaeyun. This time, you immediately begin with a fast pace, giving him a show of your tits bouncing with every thrust.
"Ah—fuck—Jaeyunnie—" you bite your lips, expression so erotic that it has the brown-haired boy drooling. "Glasses—like you better with glasses."
Jake is too dazed to register your words, so you pick the glasses on your own and put them on him. And there he is—your sweet, sweet boy, your Jaeyunnie that you adore so much, your Jaeyun that thinks it's bad for wanting you this much.
"S-So—handsome, Jaeyunnie," you roll your hips, chest arching into his face. "My nerdy boy, you're mine, hm?"
Jake physically cannot take it anymore. The sight of you on top of him, bouncing on his cock like your life depends on it, putting on his glasses and calling him yours—it's too much for Sim Jaeyun who's never been given this kind of attention and affection.
Especially from you.
His lips move, but you can barely hear him.
"Hm? What did you say?"
"I said I'm sorry, Y/N," his nails dig into your waist. "I'm so fucking sorry, please don't be mad at me."
Your brows furrow in confusion, but before you know it, Jake is already flipping you around, changing your position in one swift movement. You have half a second to gain your breath before the boy hovering over you pulls you closer by your ankles and throws your legs over his shoulders.
"I'm s-sorry," Jake stutters, slipping his dick back into your cunt and starts thrusting fast. "I-I can't hold it anymore."
Despite the showcase of his strength, Jake looks absolutely ruined. There's a flicker of guilt in his eyes, but from the pace he's railing you, you know that his lust ovverrides whatever little guilt he has.
Soon enough, the air smells so thickly of sex. The sound of his balls slapping your ass, accompanied by your high-pitched moans and his groans are the only one filling up the space, to the point that you're sure one of the boys must've heard you.
It's so hot and filthy that Jake's glasses are all fogged up again. His grip on your waist is now leaving bruises, but you don't care because all you can think of is Jake, Jake's big cock, Jake's stupid glasses and just Jake, Jake, Jake.
"F-f-f-fuck," he exhales shakily, splitting you open with his cock. "I-I'm so—close—"
You thrash around, fisting the sheets until it tears from the force of your nails. "Jaeyun—" you gasp when he keeps abusing that spot that has you seeing stars. "Oh, fuck—Jaeyun—harder—"
Jake leans forward, straining his arms on either side of your head. His glasses slide down his slick nose slightly when he bends down to capture your lips in his thick ones. You both moan into the kiss, finally getting the taste of each other, tongues already clashing for more.
Jake licks into your mouth, hips never faltering, and sucks on your bottom lip. You whimper, the sensation becoming too much until you're just breathing against his lips, all heat and teeth and saliva. Jake groans.
"I-I'm gonna—cum—" he gasps against your mouth, face scrunching in pleasure when you clench around him. "O-Oh my fucking God, Y/N, fuck—please let me cum inside."
His hands find your waist again, thrusting harder than before. His head drops to your shoulder as he begs, again and again.
"P-Please let me cum inside, please," he whimpers, voice needy and whiny. "Please—I'm gonna—I wanna—"
"Just cum," you moan when his teeth scrape against your skin. "Jae—Jaeyunnie—"
Jake groans. With last few, deliberate thrusts, he finally cums—a full-body orgasm that has him shuddering, his cock spurting out rope after thick rope of his release, painting your walls white.
You follow him just a second after, vision blurring for a moment as your second orgasm rips through your body. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream, eyes rolling back from how delicious your climax is.
Jake takes a long moment breathing into your ear, grinding his hips slowly before he's finally pulling out. He hisses as he drags out his cock, careful not to overstimulate you, and watches in awe as white fluid flowing out of your pulsing cunt.
"Oh my fucking God."
You breathe out a laugh, sounding breathless and disbelieving. Seeing Jake sitting still by your legs, you open your arms toward him.
"C'mere, Jaeyunnie. Let's cuddle for a moment before washing up—I'm too sore to walk."
Jake perks up at that. Gone is the hungry, lust-driven boy a few moments ago, now replaced with the shy, kicked puppy holding his tail between his legs.
"Cuddle?" he echoes, unsure. "Are you not mad at me?"
"I could never be mad at you for too long," you reply, giving him a reassuring smile.
It gives Jake a flicker of hope. He scoots closer, still cautious and observing, like approaching a scared animal.
"But I avoided you…"
You drop your arms and pretend to think, making a show of tapping your chin with a finger.
"You're right. You were mean for that. Why don't you carry me to the bathroom and clean me up so we can cuddle afterwards?"
Hearing that, Jake finally relaxes, his tight muscles loosening. With an eager smile, he scoops an arm under your knees and your back, and then lifts you up easily as if you weigh nothing.
"Your wish is my command, my princess."
The next morning, you receive knowing looks from the boys. There are lingering stares on your neck from where Jake was mauling your skin last night, but you have no problem showing them off.
Jake, on the other hand, is on the edge of another breakdown.
"So, Jake," Jay starts, already planning a mischievous teasing inside his head. "How did it feel like to get railed—"
"I did not get railed!" he squeaks, ears blushing red. "I-I was the one who railed her! Right, Y/N?"
There's a laugh bubbling inside your chest as you watch Jake squirm under the relentless teasing of his friends. It felt good to be the one in charge, but after that display of strength and the way he manhandled you last night?
You don't mind having him on top of you.
But the both of you know who's truly in charge.
And if you choose to sit in his lap again, this time grinding and shifting on purpose that he gets hard until the car reaches Seoul, nobody has to know that.
content: 18+ [ MDNI!!! ], male reader, submissive top! jake (as always) x dominant bottom! reader, riding jake while he's playing video games with friends, creampie, cumplay, jake lowkey likes being degraded, multiple rounds, reader's hole gets referred to as pussy, they are nastyyy
You know Jake—once he’s locked into a game, he’s laser-focused, headset on, jaw tight, fingers moving fast across the controller. But then there’s you, deciding you’re done being ignored for the sake of Jay, Sunghoon, and Heeseung yelling through the mic.
You straddle his lap, facing him, and he gives you a quick look like—don’t you dare. But his hands already find your hips, because he’s weak for you even when he’s trying to act serious.
“Bro, cover mid!” Heeseung’s voice blasts through the headset. Jake swallows hard, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the TV, but the outline of his cock is already pushing against his sweats.
You slide your hand down, tugging at the waistband, and he stiffens. “M/N, don’t—” he hisses under his breath, though his voice is shaky, betraying just how much he wants it.
“Oh, don’t what?” you whisper, lining yourself up and slowly sinking onto him. His breath catches so hard that Jay immediately calls him out—
“Jake? Yo, you good? You sound like you just got jump-scared.”
He bites down on his lip, clutching your waist as you bottom out on him. “Y-Yeah, I’m good, bro,” he forces out, voice strained. “Just—lag. Bad lag.”
You smirk, rocking your hips, making it nearly impossible for him to keep his composure. “Mm, I think you’re the one lagging.”
Jake glares at you, but his cheeks flush red, his abs tightening every time you grind down on him. The worst part for him? You’re silent, absolutely quiet, like you’re playing your own game against him. No moans, no gasps—just the wicked little smirk that says you’re in control.
Meanwhile, his teammates are screaming through the mic.
“Jake, heal me!” Sunghoon groans.
“Dude, what are you even doing?” Jay yells.
“Are you AFK?” Heeseung demands.
Jake’s head falls back against the couch, his headset slipping slightly. His knuckles go white around the controller as you ride him slow and deep. “F-Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, barely audible, but the mic still picks it up.
“Wait, did you just—?” Jay starts, but Jake instantly cuts the connection, ripping the headset off and tossing the controller aside.
Now it’s just you and him, no distractions. His hands dig into your ass as he starts bucking up into you, rough, needy, desperate. “You’re evil, M/N,” he growls, his voice low and ruined. “You know exactly what you’re doing to me.”
You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Maybe... Or maybe I just like it when you're trying to stop yourself from acting like a needy dog.”
And just like that, Jake completely loses the game—and himself.
You don’t let him flip you—not yet. You press a hand to his chest, keeping him down, still buried inside you, and smirk.
“Go back to playing,” you whisper, rolling your hips in a slow, sinful grind. “If you win, you get a reward.”
Jake freezes, eyes wide. “M/N… you’re insane.”
“Insanely good at multitasking,” you tease, licking your lip before leaning down to nip his jaw. “Now pick up that controller, puppy. Prove you can focus.”
He swears under his breath, but you see the way his cock twitches inside you—he loves it. With shaky hands, he grabs the controller again, slipping the headset back on.
“Finally, man!” Jay’s voice explodes through the mic. “What the hell happened?”
Jake clears his throat, trying to sound normal while you start bouncing lazily on his lap. “S-Sorry, my, uh… connection dropped.”
You choke on a laugh, muffling it against his neck. Jake shoots you a death glare, but his ears are burning red.
“Cover left flank,” Sunghoon barks.
“Got it,” Jake grits, thrusting his hips upward reflexively as you squeeze tight around him. His voice cracks halfway through, and he has to cough to cover it up.
You lean in, whispering, “You’re so tense, baby. Don’t choke under pressure.”
He growls, his abs tightening under your hands, but he keeps his eyes glued to the screen. You pick up the pace—harder, faster, making his thighs flex beneath you while he struggles to steady his aim in the game.
“Yo, Jake, that was clean!” Heeseung cheers.
“Damn, clutch,” Jay adds.
Jake’s teeth sink into his lip so hard you’re almost sure he’ll bleed. He hisses low enough only you can hear: “If we win this match, I’m going to wreck you so bad you won’t walk tomorrow.”
Your grin turns wicked. “Good. Then you better win, big boy.”
The final minutes are chaos—his teammates are shouting, Jake’s knuckles are white around the controller, and you’re bouncing on him with just enough rhythm to keep him on the edge. He shoots a glance at you, sweat beading at his temple, and you smirk knowingly.
The victory screen flashes. VICTORY.
Jake drops the controller instantly, headset sliding off. He grabs your ass with both hands and slams you down onto him, making you gasp. “Reward time,” he growls, breathless, finally letting himself go rough.
Jake doesn’t even give you a second to breathe. The controller’s forgotten, his headset dangling off the couch as he hauls you down onto his cock with desperate force.
“Fuck—Jake!” you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders as he rams up into you, his rhythm now feral compared to the teasing grind earlier.
He’s panting, teeth bared, sweat shining along the lines of his jaw. “You… you fuckin’ distracted me the whole game,” he growls, thrusting so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach. “Do you know how hard it was to not—ugh—ruin you while they were all yelling in my ear?”
You gasp, clenching around him on purpose. “You still won, didn’t you?”
Jake snarls, slapping your ass hard enough to make you yelp. “Yeah, and now I’m taking my goddamn prize.”
He grabs your hips, bouncing you rough and fast, his cock sliding wetly in and out of you, each slam making you see stars. You bite your lip to muffle your moans, but Jake notices. His hand shoots up, grabbing your jaw, forcing you to look at him.
“No,” he pants, eyes blazing. “I wanna hear you. Let them all know you’re mine.”
That breaks something in you. You let go of your restraint, whining and moaning shamelessly, riding him harder, your thighs burning as his cock stretches you open again and again.
“Fucking hell, M/N…” Jake’s voice cracks into a whimper as you tighten around him. He bucks up desperately, his head falling back against the couch, throat exposed, Adam’s apple bobbing.
You lean down, licking and biting along his throat, growling in his ear, “Bet you'd like your friends to hear us. Want them to know just how much I ruin you. Just how much you can't stop yourself from fucking into me like the desperate horny dog you are."
Jake lets out the most broken, high-pitched moan you’ve ever heard from him, his hips stuttering as he grips you so hard you’ll have bruises tomorrow.
“Don’t—fuck—don’t say shit like that, I’ll cum—”
You smirk, biting his lip hard before pulling back, your forehead pressed to his. “Good. Cum in me, baby. Fill me up like you always want to.”
And that’s it. Jake loses it completely, slamming up into you with wild, frantic thrusts. His cock twitches deep inside you as he cries out your name, spilling thick and hot into you, his whole body trembling under yours.
You keep riding him through it, milking him, your own release crashing over you until you’re both shaking, covered in sweat, panting into each other’s mouths.
When it finally slows, Jake’s still inside you, his arms wrapped around your waist like he’s scared you’ll slip away. He kisses your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—messy, desperate little kisses.
“You drive me insane,” he whispers, still breathless. “But fuck, I wouldn’t survive without you.”
You collapse against his chest, both of you sweaty and panting, his cock still buried deep inside you. He’s trembling, arms locked tight around your waist like you’re the only thing keeping him anchored.
For a moment, it’s quiet—just the sound of his ragged breathing against your ear. Then you feel him laugh softly, almost shy.
“Fuck, M/N,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “You always squeeze me like you’re trying to break my dick off.”
You smirk against his skin. “Maybe I am. Wouldn’t want you fucking anyone else with it, right?”
Jake groans, tilting your chin up so you have to look at him. His eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide, still drunk off the high. “As if I’d ever want anyone else. Look at you—ruining me every time.”
When he finally eases out of you, the mess is immediate. His cum spills out, dripping onto his thighs and the couch. Jake stares at it with that hungry, wrecked expression, biting his lip.
“Goddamn…” He presses two fingers against your hole, pushing some of the cum back in while his other hand strokes your hip. “Look at how much you’re leaking. Can’t believe this pussy isn’t made to get pregnant. I’d have you knocked up already.”
You slap his chest lightly, rolling your eyes. “You’re disgusting.”
Jake just grins, smug and filthy, before shoving his fingers into your mouth, making you taste the mix of you both. “Disgusting for you, yeah.”
The taste, the way he’s looking at you—hungry and desperate—makes you groan around his fingers. He pulls them out, only to cup your jaw and kiss you hard, licking into your mouth like he’s trying to taste himself on your tongue.
“You think I’m done with you?” Jake pants against your lips. His cock, still slick and half-hard, twitches against your stomach. “One round isn’t enough. Not when you’re this fucking hot sitting on me.”
You smirk, grinding your ass back against him deliberately. “Then make me regret opening my mouth, Jake.”
That’s all it takes. He grabs your thighs, flips you onto your back on the couch, and lines himself up again. He pushes in with one sharp thrust that has your back arching and a curse spilling from your lips.
“Fuck!” you choke out, clutching his shoulders. His cock stretches you open all over again, the sting addictive. “You’re too big—”
Jake groans, lowering his head to kiss your neck. “Yeah? And you’re too fucking tight. We’re perfect.”
He starts thrusting, slower this time but so much deeper, hitting every spot inside you with precision. Each grind makes you gasp, your nails clawing down his back.
Jake looks down at you, hair falling into his sweaty face, lips red and swollen. “You drive me insane, M/N. You’ll never understand how fucking obsessed I am with you.”
You grab his face, kissing him hard, teeth clashing. “Then show me, Jake. Fuck me like you mean it.”
And he does. Jake slams into you harder with every wordless thrust, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest as he keeps you pinned beneath him. The sound of skin on skin is obscene, wet and fast, his cock sliding in and out of your messy hole that’s already leaking from the first round.
He smirks against your throat, biting down hard enough to make you yelp. “Not until I’ve fucked you stupid, baby. Not until you can’t even say my name without moaning.”
Your nails dig into his shoulders, but instead of slowing, he only grinds in deeper, rolling his hips until you’re writhing. You clench around him involuntarily, dragging a broken groan out of his throat.
“God, you’re choking my cock,” Jake whines, his voice cracking. “You love it, don’t you? Being stuffed full of me, round after round.”
You meet his thrusts with a shaky smirk. “You’re talking too much—shut up and cum in me again.”
That does it. Jake growls, snapping his hips brutally until he’s spilling another hot load inside you, his whole body shuddering above yours. He kisses you through it, messy and open-mouthed, moaning into your mouth as he empties himself.
But he doesn’t pull out. He stays buried in you, panting against your neck, cock still twitching. You think he’s done—until he shifts his hips and starts moving again, slower this time but relentless.
“Jake!” you gasp, legs trembling. “You can’t—”
“I can,” he pants, grabbing your thighs and folding you in half so he can slam deeper. “I’m not stopping until this couch is ruined. Until I’ve fucked you into the cushions.”
By the third round, you’re biting into his shoulder just to muffle your own screams. He’s lost his shirt, hair plastered to his forehead, abs slick with sweat. He grips your waist and bounces you on him, watching with feral eyes as your hole swallows his cock over and over.
“You’re so fucking hot like this,” he groans. “Look at the way you’re taking me—sloppy and dripping, like you were made for my cock.”
By the fourth round, you’re on top, riding him raw. Your thighs are burning, but the way he’s looking at you—mouth open, whining your name, hands clutching your ass—is addictive. You bounce harder, smirking down at him.
“You like watching me fuck myself on your cock, huh?” you taunt, sweat dripping from your chin onto his lips.
Jake’s voice breaks into a desperate whine. “Yes—fuck, M/N—don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”
He cums again, shooting so deep you swear you feel it in your gut. He’s trembling, glassy-eyed, chest heaving.
By the fifth round, it’s a blur of sweat, cum, and overstimulation. You’re bent over the armrest, Jake pounding into you from behind, one hand tangled in your hair, the other squeezing your hip hard enough to bruise. Your knees nearly buckle, but his grip keeps you upright.
“Take it,” he growls, his voice hoarse. “Take all of me, baby.”
When he finally empties himself again, both of you collapse into a heap on the ruined couch, your bodies slick, sticky, and trembling. You’re both breathing so hard it feels like you ran a marathon.
Jake kisses your shoulder lazily, still inside you, cum dripping down your thighs. “Fuck,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “We lost count, didn’t we?”
You groan, burying your face in a pillow. “I can’t feel my legs. If you try to start again, I’m actually killing you.”
Jake laughs, delirious and boyish, nuzzling into your neck. “Fine. But only ‘cause I want you alive to fuck me tomorrow.”
a/n: hiiii i'm backkkk! it's been a while since i've posted. likes, comments, and reblogs are very much appreciated <3
jake makes you jealous on purpose, and you make him regret it in the best way.
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 2.1k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, power bottom!male reader, bratty!jake, jealousy as foreplay, punishment sex, riding, edging, orgasm denial / control, heavy begging, unprotected sex (p in a), veryyyy slight face slapping, dirty talk, crying during sex, creampie, pathetic!jake.
the tension had been a living, breathing thing between you since the very moment jake had thrown that lazy, charming arm around your ex’s shoulders at the bar.
just to 'catch up', he’d said, his brown eyes wide with feigned innocence. but you’d seen the way his hand had lingered, the way he’d leaned in to laugh at something stupid, the way he’d glanced over at you from across the room, a tiny, infuriating smirk playing on his lips.
your boyfriend knew exactly what he was doing, and the fire that had ignited in your gut had burned through the rest of the night, fueling a silence in the car that was louder than any screaming match.
now, the front door of your apartment was barely closed before the atmosphere shifted from simmering to a full-blown inferno. you didn’t speak, you simply turned, your back to the door, and watched him. jake stood in the middle of the living room, all six feet of him looking suddenly smaller under the weight of your stare. his earlier bravado was gone, replaced by a nervous energy that made him shift his weight from foot to foot.
“the fuck was that, jake?” you asked, your voice low and calm. way too calm.
your boyfriend swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing.
“it was nothing. just messing around.”
“messing around,” you repeated, pushing off from the door. you closed the distance between you slowly, each step deliberate. “you think it’s funny to make me watch you flirt with someone else?”
“wasn’t flirting,” jake mumbled.
his brown eyes dropped to the floor, and his shoulders were hunched, that confident, cocky bastard from the bar was now completely gone. in his place was this — a boy who couldn’t even meet your gaze, whose breath was already starting to quicken.
“just wanted to see you… y’know.”
you stopped inches from him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. “see me what?”
jake finally looked up at you, and the raw need in his eyes was honestly staggering; his irises were blown wide, nearly eclipsing the brown.
“see you get mad. see you… care.”
a slow, dangerous smile spread across your face, and you slowly, slowly reached out, your fingers tracing the line of jake’s jaw before gripping his chin, forcing his head up a fraction higher.
“oh, i care, baby. i care a lot,” you leaned in, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “bedroom. now. and you’re going to do exactly what i say.”
a shiver ran through your boyfriend, and it was so intense it was almost a tremor.
“yeah,” he breathed, his voice already strained. “okay.”
the walk to the bedroom was a foregone conclusion. by the time you pushed jake onto the bed, his shirt was already off, discarded somewhere in the hallway, his chest rising and falling in a frantic rhythm. you took your time undressing him, making him lift his hips for you to pull off his jeans and boxers.
jake was already fully hard, his cock flushed and leaking against his stomach, an indication to how much this game of his had already affected him.
you settled yourself on jake’s thighs, pinning him down with just your weight. his hands immediately came up to your hips, fingers digging in.
“you want to act like a brat,” you murmured, leaning over him to grab the lube from the nightstand. “you get treated like one.”
jake breath hitched. “fuck—yes.”
you slicked your fingers, watching his eyes flutter shut as you reached behind yourself to prepare.
your boyfriend was a sight — golden skin flushed pink, dark curls plastered to his forehead, his plush lower lip caught prettily between his teeth. when you finally positioned yourself over him, the head of his cock pressing against your slick, stretched entrance, a desperate whine escaped his throat.
“please,” he gasped, his hips bucking up involuntarily.
you tutted, slapping a hand flat against his stomach.
“uh-uh. i’ll let you know when you can move.”
slowly, agonizingly, you began to sink down.
the stretch was exquisite, a burning fullness that stole your breath for a little second. above you, jake was a masterpiece of restraint; his hands were fisted in the sheets, knuckles completely white, every muscle in his body taut as a bowstring. a guttural groan was ripped from his chest as you took him all the way to the base, your ass flush against his hips.
“fuck, baby,” he choked out, his accent thickening on the last word. “so tight. feel so fuckin’ good.”
you gave yourself a moment to adjust, savoring the way his thighs trembled beneath you. then, finally, you started to move.
it was a slow, deliberate roll of your hips at first, a rhythm designed to torment him. you’d lift yourself almost all the way off, letting just the tip stretch you, before sinking back down with a wet, obscene sound. and each time, jake would let out a punched-out little 'ah', his head thrashing against the pillows.
“look at me,” you commanded.
jake’s eyes snapped open, glazed and desperate. they were fixed on where your bodies connected, watching himself disappear inside you over and over again. a flush crept up his neck, spreading across his cheekbones. he looked wrecked, and you’d only just started.
you changed the angle, leaning forward to brace your hands on his chest, and began to ride him in earnest. you set a brutal pace, slamming yourself down onto him, chasing your own pleasure.
the room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, your shared gasps, and the increasingly loud, broken moans falling from jake’s lips.
“oh my god—fuck, fuck, fuck,” jake babbled, his hands flying from the sheets to your hips, his grip bruising. “like that, yeah, just like that, don’t stop—”
his hips unconsciously started to piston up to meet your movements, his control shattering.
you let him for a moment, letting the friction drive you both higher; you could feel jake getting thicker, harder inside you, a telltale sign that he was close. his rhythm became erratic, his thrusts desperate and jerky.
and that’s exactly when you stopped.
you lifted yourself off him completely, completely ignoring jake’s broken cry of protest. he was left on the bed, his cock slick and glistening, twitching against his stomach, his chest heaving.
“did i say you could fuck up into me?” you asked, your voice hard despite your own ragged breathing.
jake’s eyes were wide, wet at the corners.
“no, but—i was so close, please, i need—“
“you need?” you cut him off, straddling him again.
you reached down and wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, squeezing here just hard enough to make him whimper.
“you need to remember who’s in charge here. you think you can pull that shit in public and just get to cum the second you want?”
tears were welling in jake’s eyes now, spilling over and tracking down his temples into his dark hair.
“m’sorry. i’m so sorry. please, just let me—i’ll be good, i swear i’ll be so good.”
you leaned down, your lips brushing against the salty tracks on his cheek. “oh, i know you will.”
you repositioned yourself and sank back onto him with one swift, brutal thrust.
the sound jake made was something between a sob and a scream, his back arching off the bed. you didn’t give him a second to recover; you started riding him again, harder this time, using your leverage to pound yourself onto him with a relentless fury.
jake’s composure was completely gone.
his accent, usually a soft, charming lilt, had thickened to a drawl so heavy it was almost unintelligible, each word dragged out of him on a sob.
“fuckin’ hell—can’t—too much, it’s too fuckin’ much,” he gasped, his hands scrabbling at your thighs, your hips, trying to slow you down or pull you closer, you couldn’t tell. “gonna—i’m gonna cum, i can’t—please, let me come, please, i’ll do anythin’.”
“no,” you said simply, slowing your pace to a deep, grinding swirl that made his eyes roll back. “you don’t get to cum until i say so.”
jake let out a sound of pure anguish, his head lolling to the side. his cock was pulsing inside you, impossibly hard, and you could feel every desperate throb.
you leaned back, bracing your hands on his knees for better leverage, and began to bounce on him again, taking him fast and shallow, letting the head of his cock slam against your prostate with every movement.
“oh, fuck—!” he screamed, his whole body seizing. “it’s right there, it’s fuckin’—i’m gonna—i’m gonna cum, you gotta let me, please, baby, please, please, please—“
jake was crying in earnest now, tears and snot mixing on his face, but he didn’t look anything but beautiful.
his pleas were a litany, a desperate prayer offered up to you. his accent was so thick you could practically taste it, wrapping around each word like honey.
“stoppin’ me,” jake begged, his voice cracking. “you’re fuckin’ killin’ me ‘ere. can’t take it. need it. need to cum so bad, i’ll fuckin’ die if i don’t. please, love, please.”
you reached forward and wrapped your hand around his throat, squeezing the slightest bit, feeling the frantic pulse of his heartbeat under your palm. with your other hand, you slapped him lightly across the face, just a sharp crack that made his eyes widen and his hips jerk.
“look at you,” you said, grinding down on him, holding him deep inside you. “so pathetic. you wanted my attention so bad? you have it. every. single. inch. of it.”
a high-pitched, keening whine left jake’s lips. his entire body was trembling violently, a fine tremor that shook the bed. jake was being held at the very edge, a hair's breadth away from falling, and you were the only thing keeping him from the plunge.
you leaned forward again, your face inches from his.
“you’re going to cum inside me,” you whispered, your rhythm finally faltering as your own climax began to build, a pressure coiling hot and tight in your belly. “but only when i tell you to. understand?”
jake nodded frantically, a jerky, desperate motion.
“yeah, anythin’. just tell me when. tell me when, please.”
you started moving again, a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm driven by the need for your own release.
you rode him hard, chasing the feeling, his desperate gasps and sobs a symphony in your ears. you could feel jake’s cock twitching, pulsing, his balls drawn up tight against your ass. he was holding on by the sheer force of his will, his face a mask of anguished ecstasy.
“now,” you gasped, the coil snapping as your own orgasm crashed through you, your inner walls clenching down on him like a vice. “now, jake. cum.”
the single word was jake’s undoing.
a raw, guttural shout was torn from his chest, his back bowing off the bed as he finally, finally let go. you felt the first hot pulse of his release deep inside you, then another, and another. he came so hard his entire body seized, his hands fisting in the sheets hard enough to tear them, his hips jerking up into you with each spasm.
jake’s mouth was open in a silent scream, tears still streaming down his face, and his accent was just a raw, guttural blur of sound that might have been your name.
he kept coming, more than you thought possible, jake’s cock was desperately pulsing inside you until he was completely spent, his body going limp beneath you. his chest was heaving, his eyes closed, his pretty face tear-streaked and utterly wrecked.
you stayed seated on jake for a long moment, letting him catch his breath, feeling the last aftershocks ripple through his body. finally, you lifted yourself off, collapsing onto the bed beside him. a trail of his release followed, warm and sticky against your skin.
the silence in the room was heavy, broken only by jake’s ragged breathing.
after a minute, jake turned his head on the pillow, his brown eyes finding yours; they were puffy and red-rimmed, but there was a deep, boneless satisfaction in them, a look of pure, utter contentment.
a small, wobbly smile touched his lips. jake’s voice was a wrecked, hoarse whisper, the aussie drawl still clinging to the edges of his words.
“so… d’you reckon that makes us even, or…?”
you couldn’t help it; a laugh burst out of you, breaking the last of the tension. you reached over, brushing the damp curls off jake’s forehead, your touch gentle now.
“not even close,” you murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of jake’s swollen mouth. “but i guess it’s a good start.”
what a better idea than kissing your best friend on valentine’s day for a 50% discount?
❛ content 2.7k words, male reader, best friends to lovers, fake dating kinda, fluff, mutual pining, romcom vibes, both of them being sooo cute & awkward, multiples kisses.
the february air biting at your cheeks is a small price to pay for the annual tradition — valentine’s day. well… not that either of you care about the whole romance thing, but you do care about the 50% discount at burgers & shakes, and that’s basically the same thing.
love is just a chemical reaction, but a delicious double cheeseburger with extra bacon? that’s real.
“bro, i’m telling you, we’ve got this,” jake says, bumping his shoulder against yours as you approach the glowing red-and-pink storefront.
the windows are plastered with paper hearts and a lots of little cupids, and inside you can already see multiples couples sharing milkshakes with two straws, holding hands across sticky tables.
jake sim — jaeyun, technically, but he’d introduced himself as jake on the first day of uni and it just stuck — is walking beside you with the kind of easy confidence that usually gets him out of trouble and you into it.
he’s got his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his oversized denim jacket, dark hair swept back from his forehead, and there’s a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth that you know all too well. it’s the same grin he wore before convincing you to sneak into the cinema last month, and before that, when he talked you into doing karaoke even though you can’t carry a tune.
jake is a little taller than you. well, not by much — maybe two or three centimetres — but it’s just enough that when he looks at you from this angle, his head tilted slightly down, his brown eyes catch the warm light from the restaurant and turn almost amber.
“we absolutely do not have this,” you say, because one of you has to be the voice of reason. “we are the two worst liars on the planet. you laughed during that presentation about sustainable agriculture.”
“that was because the word 'compost' sounds funny,” he protests. “and this isn’t lying. this is… performance art. method acting.”
“method acting that requires us to—”
“kiss, yeah,” he says it like you’re discussing the weather, like it’s no big deal.
but jake’s ears are pink, though. you notice because you’ve known him for years and you’ve catalogued every single one of his tells. the ears give him away every time.
“it’s just a kiss, bro. people do it all the time. it’s, like, a normal human activity.”
“people in love,” you clarify.
“people in love, people in france, people saying goodbye at airports—it’s a whole spectrum,” jake waves a hand vaguely. “we’re just borrowing one tiny slice of that spectrum. for economic purposes.”
you want to point out that the discount is not even that much, but that’s not really the point anymore.
the point is that this is stupid. the point is that it’s also kind of funny. the point is that jake is looking at you with that particular expression — half challenge, half plea — and you’ve never been able to say no to him.
“fine,” you sigh. “but if we get arrested, i’m telling them you planned the whole thing.”
“deal.”
the bell above the door chimes as you push it open.
the restaurant smells like hot oil and salt and something artificially sweet, and the valentine’s decorations are even more aggressive up close; pink streamers hang from the ceiling, a cardboard cutout of a smiling couple shares a giant plastic fry.
there’s also a sign propped up on the counter;
♡ couple’s special ♡ 50% off when you prove your love! just ask our staff! ♡
“okay,” jake mutters under his breath. “okay, we’re doing this. we’re normal. we’re a normal couple. what do normal couples do?”
“they don’t usually plan it out loud,” you whisper back.
“right. right. okay. i’m just gonna—” he reaches over and slides his hand into yours.
jake’s palm is warm, way warmer than you expected, or maybe you just weren’t prepared for the actual weight of it, the way his fingers naturally slot between yours like they’ve done this a hundred times before. his thumb rests against your knuckle, and you can feel the faint callus from where he plays guitar.
you both stand there for a second, frozen, staring down at your joined hands.
“this is fine,” jake says, his voice is slightly higher than usual. “this is normal couple behavior.”
“yeah,” you agree. “very couple. very normal.”
but you’re still not moving.
a family with a toddler pushes past you toward the booth section, and you both immediately jerk apart like you’ve been caught doing something illegal.
“okay,” jake breathes. “okay. let’s just—let’s just order.”
the girl at the counter has her hair tied up in a very pretty little heart-shaped scrunchie and a nametag that reads mika. she’s maybe nineteen, and she’s already smiling at you both with the particular brightness of someone who’s worked a valentine’s day shift before and is determined to make it bearable.
“hi there! what can i get for you two today?”
jake steps up to the counter, and you can easly see him physically shift into performance mode; his shoulders square up, and his aussie accent gets slightly more pronounced — it always does when he’s nervous or excited, thickening around the edges like honey.
“yeah, hey, we’ll have the double cheeseburger meal, large fries, and uh—” jake glances at you. “strawberry milkshake?”
“strawberry milkshake,” you confirm.
“strawberry milkshake,” he repeats to mika. “and also the deluxe chicken burger meal, large fries, and an ice tea.”
mika taps at the screen.
“okay, that’ll be—oh, wait!” her face lights up. “are you guys celebrating valentine’s day? because we have our couple’s discount going on right now.”
jake’s grip on the counter tightens slightly.
“y-yeah,” jake says very weirdly. “we are. celebrating. together. as a couple.”
the words tumble out of him all at once, and mika blinks. her gaze slowly flicks between the two of you — jake’s flushed cheeks, and your very intense study of the menu board just behind her.
“that’s so sweet!” she says, and she genuinely sounds like she means it. “i just need to see a quick kiss, and then i’ll apply the discount.”
“right,” jake says. “a kiss. quick one. got it.”
he turns to face you.
for a moment, neither of you make a move. the restaurant noise fades into a dull hum — the fryer sizzling, a baby crying somewhere, the low thrum of a trending pop song about love and longing.
jake is looking at you with something unreadable in his expression, and you realize you’re both still standing about two feet apart, which is not very couple-like at all.
“okay,” he says quietly. “ready?”
you nod. your mouth is suddenly very dry.
jake steps closer.
the space between you collapses; you can smell jake’s cologne — something clean and woody, the same one he’s worn since second year, the one you once told him smelled nice and he pretended not to care but definitely started wearing more often. you can also see the faint freckle under his left eye, the tiny scar on his chin from when he tripped over his own feet freshman orientation.
jake’s breath hitches; just slightly, and then, suddenly, his lips are on yours.
it’s very quick — barely a second. it’s simply a soft press of warm, dry skin against skin, chapped from the february wind. jake’s nose bumps yours awkwardly, and his hand finds your elbow, steadying himself, and you make a small sound against his mouth that might be surprise or might be something else entirely.
jake pulls back.
mika is watching with her chin propped on her hand, clearly charmed. “aww. okay guys, discount applied! your total is—”
“wait,” jake says.
you both look at him.
jake’s ears are fully red now, adorably so, the colour spreading down his neck. he’s not looking at mika, he’s looking directly at you, and there’s something new in his eyes — something searching.
“that was really, really fast,” jake says. “i think we should—i mean, she might not have seen it properly. like… it was really fast.”
“i saw it,” mika says. “it was cute. you’re good.”
“but maybe we should do it again,” jake continues, like she hasn’t spoken at all. “just to be safe. you know—for the discount.”
oh, you know exactly what he’s doing. you know because you’re thinking the exact same thing, and you don’t have a good explanation for it except that his mouth was softer than you expected, and it only lasted a second, and you want to know what it feels like when it’s not rushed and clumsy and nervous.
“yeah,” you hear yourself say. “just to be safe.”
mika shrugs. “i mean, i don’t really need—”
but you’re already stepping forward.
this time, you’re the one who closes the distance, and jake’s eyes widen slightly, and then they just flutter shut, and then your lips are meeting again and it’s nothing like the first kiss at all.
this kiss is slower, more conscious.
you slowly tilt your head to avoid the nose-bumping situation, and somehow that brings you even closer, your mouths fitting together properly. jake’s hand slides from your elbow to your waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of your hoodie. yours finds its way to his shoulder, then up, your thumb brushing the side of his neck where his pulse is rabbiting away.
jake’s lips part slightly, just barely, and just enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, the soft wet heat of his mouth. you press closer without thinking, and he makes a sound — a tiny, barely audible sound, swallowed by the space between you.
this isn’t a quick kiss; damn it, this isn’t a performance.
this is jake’s hand sliding around to the small of your back, pulling you in until your chests are touching. this is your fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck, soft and slightly tangled. this is his lips moving against yours like he’s trying to memorize the shape of them, tentative and searching and so, oh so gentle.
the milkshake machine hums. someone laughs in the background. mika has gone very quiet.
when you finally break apart, you’re both breathing harder than you should be.
jake’s cheeks are completely flushed, his lips slightly pinker than before, and he’s looking at you like you’ve just rewritten the laws of physics.
“okay,” he whispers. “yeah. that was—okay.”
you don’t say anything. you can’t. your heart is doing something complicated in your chest, and your lips are tingling, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how close he still is, his hand still pressed against your lower back.
“your total is fourteen fifty,” mika says, slightly strained.
neither of you moves.
“fourteen fifty,” she repeats, louder. “for the food. that you ordered.”
“right,” jake says. he doesn’t let go of you. “food. yes.”
you don’t let go of him either; his hair is still wrapped around your fingers, and it’s very soft.
“i think,” you say slowly. “we should make sure the discount definitely applied.”
“yeah,” jake agrees immediately. “yeah, we should definitely check. thoroughly. for accuracy.”
“i already applied it,” mika says. “it’s applied. you can see it right here on the screen.”
but you’re not looking at this damn screen.
you’re looking at jake, and he’s looking at you, and there’s a moment of silence where something passes between you — something that’s been there for years, probably, buried under late-night study sessions and shared takeout and the time he held your hand during a horror movie and neither of you mentioned it afterward.
“one more time,” jake breathes. “just to be sure.”
you nod.
and oh, this kiss is very different.
this one isn’t tentative or searching; this one knows exactly what it wants.
jake’s hand presses more firmly against your back, drawing you flush against him, and you go willingly, eagerly, your fingers tightening in his hair. his lips are soft and warm and they move against yours with a confidence that wasn’t there before, parting yours easily, and suddenly you can taste him — slightly sweet, like the mint gum he was chewing earlier.
your free hand slides up his chest; you can feel his heartbeat through the layers of his jacket and hoodie, fast and steady. his fingers curl into the hem of your hoodie, just barely touching the skin of your lower back, and the contact sends a shiver up your spine.
jake tilts his head, and the angle deepens; his lips part further, and yours do too, and suddenly the kiss is open-mouthed and warm and achingly tender. his breath mingles with yours, his nose brushes your cheek. you can feel him smiling against your mouth, just slightly, like he can’t help it, and you realize you’re smiling too.
this isn’t for the discount. this isn’t for mika or the 50% off or the double cheeseburger with extra bacon.
this is because jake’s mouth fits against yours like it was made to, because his hand on your back feels like home, because you’ve been his best friend for years and you’ve never once thought about kissing him until tonight and now you can’t think about anything else.
you completely lose track of time.
the restaurant fades away; there’s only jake — the solid warmth of him, the soft little sounds he makes when you tug gently at his hair, the way his thumb traces absent patterns on your skin.
“okay,” mika says loudly. “okay—i believe you. you two are definitely a couple. please just stop kissing so i can give you your food.”
you break apart slowly.
your lips feel swollen, and jake’s are definitely red now, and his hair is a mess where you’ve been running your fingers through it. he’s looking at you with dark, dazed eyes, and his chest is rising and falling quickly.
“sorry,” jake says, not sounding sorry at all. “we just—really wanted the discount.”
mika slides the tray across the counter. her expression is caught somewhere between amused and traumatized.
“yeah. i could tell.”
you take the tray. your hands are shaking slightly.
jake’s fingers find yours under the counter, intertwining like it’s the most natural thing in the entire world, and this time neither of you pulls away.
you find a booth in the corner, away from the other couples. the milkshake is cold and sweet, and the fries are perfectly salted, and jake is sitting across from you with his knee pressed against yours under the table.
for a long moment, neither of you mentions the kissing. neither of you mentions the way you kept holding hands all the way to the booth, or the way his thumb is still stroking slow circles over your knuckles.
you eat your burger. jake eats his. the pop song changes to another one about love.
“hey,” jake says eventually, not looking up from his fries. “that was—i mean. the kissing. that was…”
“yeah,” you say. “it was.”
jake glances at you through his lashes, and his cheeks are still really pink.
“did you… like it?”
you think about lying; you think about making a joke, deflecting with something stupid, pretending this was all just a bit of fun. you think about the way his lips parted under yours, the sound he made when you pulled him closer, the way his hand felt on your back.
“yeah,” you say honestly. “i really liked it.”
he exhales slowly. his knee presses harder against yours.
“me too,” jake says timidly. “like, a lot. more than i thought i would.”
the silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. it’s full — of everything you haven’t said yet, everything you’re both suddenly realizing.
“we should do this again,” jake says. “not the—i mean, yes the kissing, but also—this,” he gestures vaguely at the booth, at the food, at the two of you. “hanging out. but also maybe the kissing. if you want.”
“i want,” you say, and your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “if you want.”
jake smiles. it’s a real, sincere smile; not his usual teasing grin — but soft and open and a little bit nervous.
“yeah. i want.”
outside, the february wind is still cold. the restaurant is still full of couples sharing milkshakes and holding hands, but now you’re one of them, sort of, maybe, and jake’s hand hasn’t left yours since you sat down.
“hey,” he says, picking up his burger. “next year, we should do this again—for the discount.”
you laugh. “we don’t need the discount. we’re not actually a couple.”
jake looks at you for a long moment, and his eyes are so warm, the colour of honey in the low light.
“yeah,” he says softly. “we’re not.”
but his fingers stay intertwined with yours, and neither of you lets go for the rest of the meal.
SUMMARY : a petty fight on the drive home from a party gets heated enough for your boyfriend, jake sim, to pull over. things don’t exactly cool down after that.
CONTAINS : smut, top!jake, bot!reader, jealous reader, fuckboy-ish jake, banter (ofc), bj (r. recieving), car sex
WORD COUNT : 2.686k
your drive home was supposed to be quiet. supposed to be. instead, it’s jake humming along to some dumb trending pop song, drumming his fingers on the wheel like he didn’t just spend the last two hours acting like .
“what’s wrong with you?” you mutter, arms crossed tight. “like, genuinely. do you think i like watching you grind on people like i’m not even there?”
jake scoffs playfully, eyes flicking back to the road. “grind? i wasn’t grinding on anyone.”
“you had your hands all over her.”
“i was helping her find the kitchen.”
you sound bitter. “with your hand on her waist?”
he smirks. “hey, i’m a hands on guy.”
you slap his arm, more reflex than anything. “you’re such an asshole.”
he laughs, like actually laughs, which you swear makes you one step closer to fully snapping. “you’re overreacting. seriously. i was just talking to people.”
“sure you were," you say sarcastically, "you were eating it up, the attention, the flirting, all of it. you love it.”
his smirk rises, that little dangerous curl of his mouth. “and you don’t?”
“i don’t like my boyfriend look like a fucking idiot. like a fuckboy.”
that shuts him up for half a second, and you think maybe you won something... until he shakes his head, smirk sliding right back in place. “god, you’re cute when you’re jealous.”
your whole body tries its best not to strangle him right now. “don’t call me cute right now.”
“what? it’s true.” he leans back, one hand loose on the wheel, the picture of smug comfort. “you get this little pout, all defensive. makes me wanna—”
“pull over so i can walk home.” you snap.
his tongue pokes his cheek with that smirk, like he’s holding back another laugh. “so dramatic.”
“stop saying that!” you shove at his shoulder this time, the car swerving slightly as he chuckles.
“what, i can’t tell the truth?”
you glare daggers at him, heat rising in your throat. “you’re so full of yourself.”
“and yet,” he says slowly, eyes cutting toward you, “you’re the one all worked up over me.”
that’s it. you can’t take the smugness, the little smirk, the way he’s so calm while you’re fuming. disbelief spilling over into anger. “worked up? oh my god, you’re insane. i’m pissed, jake. there’s a difference.”
he tilts his head, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “pissed because someone touched your pretty boy?”
“shut the fuck up,” you snap, even if he is a little bit right. “i don’t care if someone touches you. i care when you let them.”
“so you do care.” his grin widens, triumphant.
you groan loud, dragging both hands through your hair. “you twist everything i say.”
he shrugs, like the steering wheel isn’t between his hands and your patience. “i just think it’s funny. you act all cold at the party, ignoring me, and now you’re foaming at the mouth ‘cause i smiled at someone.”
“jake. you didn’t just smile,” you shoot back. “you leaned down, whispered in her ear like—like—”
“like what?” his tone sharpens just a little, though the smirk doesn’t fall. “like i wanted her?”
you hesitate, pulse racing. “yeah. exactly like that.”
he exhales, amused. “baby, if i wanted her, i wouldn’t have left with you.”
“oh, congratulations,” you bite. “you came home with your boyfriend. what a fucking saint.”
that makes him laugh again, low and delighted, which is the worst possible response.
“you’re ridiculous,” you mutter, crossing your arms so tight it hurts.
“and you’re jealous.”
you snap your head toward him, eyes wide. “say jealous one more time—”
he smirks, eyes on the road. “jealous.”
that’s it. you can’t take the smugness, the little smirk, the way he’s so calm while you’re fuming.
“you’re such a fucking child,” you spit, voice sharp enough to cut.
jake’s laugh is low, smug, deliberate. “say that again.”
before you can snap back, the blinker clicks, and the car swerves off the road. tires crunch against gravel as he kills the engine, plunging everything into a buzzing silence.
you blink at him, chest heaving. “what the fuck are you—”
his hand shoots across the console, grabbing the lever at your side, yanking it so your seat jolts back with a squeal. before you can react, he’s shoving the chair down, reclining it until you’re half-sprawled, pressed against cool leather.
he’s leaning over you now, braced on one arm, breath hot against your mouth. “say it again.”
your pulse hammers. you glare up at him, jaw tight. “fuck you and your smag ass personality.”
his grin sharpens. “aww, you wanna fuck me?”
then he’s kissing you, hard, bruising. it’s messy, desperate, like every insult in the car condensed into heat and teeth. you hate how fast you melt into it, how your hand fists in his hoodie instead of pushing him away.
he drags his tongue along your teeth, groaning when you bite down too sharp. “still mad, huh?”
“don’t act like this fixes anything,” you snap, voice catching when his thigh shoves between yours, pressing you open.
he smirks, grinding his hips down against you, the console creaking with the force. “then don’t act like you don’t love it.”
you shove at his chest, but it’s weak, traitorous. “you're an asshole.”
“and you’re hard,” he shoots back, one hand sliding down your stomach, groping you through your jeans. his palm presses slow, teasing, until your breath stutters. “so which one of us looks stupid now?”
“still you,” you bite out, even as your hips roll up into his hand.
he laughs, low and wrecked, like he can’t believe how much this turns him on. “god, you’re hot when you’re petty.”
your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard. he groans, smirk never faltering, and dives down to mouth at your neck. the wet drag of his tongue makes your eyes flutter, but you grit your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a moan.
“gonna be quiet for me now?” he murmurs against your skin. “after all that yelling?”
“maybe i just don’t wanna hear your voice anymore.”
jake pulls back, eyes glinting in the dim dashboard light. “i'll just wait till you do.”
before you can retort, his hand slips under your waistband, fingers wrapping around you. you choke on a gasp, back arching against the seat.
“fuck—”
he grins, stroking slow, deliberately teasing. “there’s the sound i wanted.”
you bite your lip so hard it hurts, glaring at him even as your hips jerk up. “don’t... give yourself the credit”
he laughs while his wrist twists, pumping you with maddening rhythm. “oh, i’ll take the credit. all of it.”
your nails dig into his shoulders, grounding yourself against the way your body betrays you. he shifts lower, mouthing down your chest, fumbling your jeans open with one hand.
“gonna let me take care of you?” he asks, voice mocking but soft.
“just shut up and do it,” you snap.
his grin widens. “so bossy.”
but he does. he drags your pants down, pressing kisses to your stomach, slow and messy. his hair brushes your skin as he works his way lower, until his mouth is on you, hot and wet and perfect.
you curse loud, head hitting the seat. your hand shoots down to grip his hair, tugging hard. he groans around you, the vibration making you buck.
“hate you,” you gasp, even as your thighs tremble.
he pulls back, lips slick, smirk devastating. “funny way of showing it.”
before you can answer, he’s back down, taking you deeper, throat working. you swear your vision goes white for a second, breath catching on a broken moan.
your petty resolve cracks with every drag of his tongue, every swallow. you’re still glaring, but it’s weak now, desperate.
he pulls off again just long enough to breathe, “say it. say you hate me.”
your chest heaves, words spilling before you can stop them. “i hate you—fuck—”
he groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard, dives back down harder, faster, until your whole body’s shuddering. your grip in his hair tightens, thighs shaking around his head, chest heaving like you can’t get enough air.
he pulls off with a wet gasp, lips slick, chin shining, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “look at you,” he pants, grinning. “falling apart already.”
you’re flushed, breathing ragged, still glaring down at him. “don’t think this cancels out what you were doing back there.”
jake tilts his head, hair falling into his eyes, smirk sharp as ever. “what was i doing?”
“stop playing dumb, jake.” your voice cracks when his hand slides back up your thigh.
his grin widens, fingers ghosting over you again, maddeningly light. “i was being polite.”
you groan, dragging a hand down your face, half-delirious and still pissed. “you were being an whore.”
“maybe,” he mutters, pressing two fingers inside you without warning, “but you’re still letting a fingerin.”
your breath stutters, eyes fluttering. “fuck—”
“yeah,” he says, watching your face like he’s starving. “keep talking, i like it.”
you try, words strangled as his fingers curl. “you should’ve just— kept your hands to yourself.”
he leans up, mouth hot against your ear. “want me to keep them here instead?”
you don’t answer fast enough, back arching as he separates the fingers, and his laugh is low and smug. “thought so.”
the seat squeals as he shoves it farther back, crowding over you, braced between your thighs. the moment his cock drags against you, both of you groan.
“still holding that grudge?” he teases, lining himself up.
you glare, jaw tight, even as your body pushes toward him. “if you take your time, i’ll start listing names.”
his smirk nearly splits his face. “jesus. that's hot.”
then he pushes in, slow but relentless, and your words cut off in a sharp cry. your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in.
“fuck,” jake groans, head dropping against your neck. “you’re unreal.”
your breath stutters, back arching into him despite yourself. “don’t sugar talk me now.”
he pulls back, thrusts forward hard enough to rock the car on its axles. “who said i was sugar talking?”
you bite your lip, half a glare, half a moan. “just... shut up and move.”
and he does, grinning against your skin, hips snapping faster, deeper, like he can fuck the fight right out of you
the rhythm builds fast, jake driving into you hard enough to make the whole car creak. sweat sticks his shirt to his back, windows slightly fogging with every groan and gasp.
your fingers dig further into his shoulders, and you manage to choke out, “you better not think this means i’m over it.”
jake laughs, breathless, grinding deeper until you can’t keep the sound in your throat. “baby, you could still be yelling at me and i’d eat it up.”
you want to roll your eyes, maybe spit another comeback, but the way he angles his hips steals the thought. instead, you end up clinging harder, your legs trembling around his waist now, you pray anyone driving wont notice the shaking car.
he notices, ofcourse. he always does. “there it is,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “knew i’d find it.”
you bite back the whine threatening to slip out, gritting your teeth. “smug bastard.”
he kisses your jaw, sloppy and hot, smirk curving against your skin. “keep calling me names. i’ll make you scream them.”
the car rocks harder, rhythm messy now, both of you sweating and swearing. you try to hang onto the grudge like it gives you some control, but your body betrays you, arching into him, clenching around him.
jake’s groan is harsh. “fuck... you’re not mad, you’re obsessed.”
you glare, even as your moan exposes you. “don’t flatter yourself.”
the sound in the car is obscene now, skin slapping, the slide of sweat, your broken gasps. you’re too far gone to keep up the act.
“jake—” it rips out of you, raw and desperate, more plea than accusation.
his forehead presses to yours, thrusts sharp, relentless. “cum with me. right here.”
your legs lock around him, dragging him in deeper, and the fight you’d been clinging to unravels in a single messy rush. your body seizes as you cum, gasping against his mouth.
he curses, low and ragged, chasing it. three more brutal thrusts and he’s coming too, hot and heavy inside you, hips grinding until he’s wrung out.
the car goes quiet but for the ringing of your breaths. windows slightly dripping condensation, both of you wrecked.
jake collapses forward, chest heaving against yours, then starts to laugh, soft and smug. “still mad?”
you shove at his shoulder weakly, glaring even as your body refuses to let him go. “don’t talk to me.”
he kisses your neck anyway, lazy and warm. “you say that all the time.”
you close your eyes, trying not to melt into him, trying not to give in to the comfort sneaking in under the haze. “next time you flirt with someone, i’m keying your car.”
he grins against your skin, too satisfied to argue. “worth it.”
jake eventually pulls out with a hiss, the sudden emptiness making you shiver. he leans over you, presses a kiss to your jaw, lazy and smug, before finally climbing back into the driver’s seat. the car creaks under the shift.
the engine rumbles to life, headlights carving out the empty road ahead. jake cracks the window and lights up, the faint scratch of his lighter filling the quiet before smoke curls into the night.
you fix your clothes in silence, still fuming on principle, even though your legs are trembling and your pulse hasn’t caught up. you turn your face toward the window, pretending the empty road is more interesting than him.
“so quiet all of a sudden,” jake says, exhaling smoke with a grin in his voice. “kinda suspicious.”
you scoff, crossing your arms. “don’t flatter yourself. i just don’t feel like talking.”
“mm.” he taps ash out the window, glancing at you sidelong. “you don’t not feel like talking. you’re holding onto your little grudge ‘cause it makes you feel powerful.”
your jaw tightens. “would that include making you sleep on the curb tonight.”
he laughs, warm and throaty, like the idea doesn’t scare him at all. “please. you’d last five minutes without me before crawling back.”
you glare at him, but the heat behind it is softer now, dulled by exhaustion and the buzz still fizzing in your veins. “you’re impossible.”
“and irresistible,” he shoots back instantly, grin spreading across his face.
you groan, dragging a hand over your face. “god, shut up.”
but then he flicks ash out the window, voice dropping just a little. “seriously, though… why would i go for anyone else? i’ve got the world’s best ass sitting right here.”
you whip your head toward him, giving him a side eye, but your chest warms anyway. “you’re disgusting.”
he smirks around the cigarette. “disgusting and loyal. can’t beat that combo.”
the corner of your mouth twitches annoyingly close to a smile. you turn back to the window to hide it, watching streetlights blur past as the smoke swirls between you.
jake drives one-handed, other arm draped out the window, humming some half-remembered tune under his breath. the road hums steady beneath you, and bit by bit the tension bleeds out of your shoulders.
he glances over once, catches the way you’re leaning into the seat now, not rigid anymore. “see? told you we’d be fine.”
you huff, still clinging to the last scraps of your grudge. “don’t get used to it.”
“too late,” he says, grinning as he takes another drag. “i already did.”
the silence that follows isn’t heavy this time. it stretches comfortable, the air thick with smoke and leftover heat, and when jake reaches over at the next red light to squeeze your thigh, you don’t push him away.
you just sigh, soft and surrendering, and let the hum of the engine carry you both the rest of the way home
jae's note ! a little thing i was writing for a while and took a bit to get out. currently in the midterm season so will try to fulfill the poll's results sometime soon!
— riding your boyfriend out of jealousy [ sim jaeyun ]
content: 18+ [ MDNI!!! ], male reader, submissive top! jake x dominant bottom! reader, multiple rounds and creampies, cowgirl, 69, possesive reader, jake is a pathetic puppy, filthy
You were bouncing on his cock like you had something to prove, nails scraping down his chest hard enough to leave marks. Jake was already panting, sweaty hair clinging to his forehead, his eyes glassy as he stared up at you like you were a god he’d been begging his whole life to worship.
“Mine,” you growled, sinking down hard enough to make him whimper. “She was looking at you like you belonged to her. Touching you like she fucking owned you.”
Jake shook his head frantically, breath hitching when you clenched around him. “No, no, baby—fuck—never. I don’t want her. I don’t even fucking see her.” His hands gripped your waist like he was terrified you’d vanish. “I only see you. Always you.”
You leaned forward, lips brushing his ear as you spat, voice low and venomous, “Her pussy would never taste as good as my ass.”
Jake let out the filthiest, most desperate moan you’d ever heard from him. His whole body jolted under you like your words had shocked him straight down to his spine. His grip on your hips turned bruising, cock twitching deep inside you.
“F-fuck, M/N—don’t—don’t say that unless you want me to lose it,” he gasped, eyes rolling back as he thrust up helplessly into you.
You smirked, grinding down in slow, punishing circles, letting the thick stretch of him drag against every sensitive spot inside you. “What, puppy? Gonna cum just from thinking about how good your tongue looks buried in my ass?”
His groan was guttural, like it was ripped straight out of his chest. He was falling apart, body trembling, abs flexing under your hands as you rode him raw. “You—you don’t get it,” Jake stammered, voice broken, “I think about it all the fucking time. When I’m at the gym, when I’m in class, when I’m trying to sleep—I’m obsessed. I’ll never get enough of you.”
Your jealousy simmered down into smug, wicked satisfaction. You tightened around him deliberately, making him whimper, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.
“Good,” you hissed, dragging your lips across his jaw, biting down hard enough to make him groan. “Stay obsessed. Stay mine. She’ll never get what I give you. Nobody will.”
Jake’s response was feral. He snapped. One second you were in control, grinding down on him with spiteful precision, and the next he had you flipped onto your back, legs pinned wide open. His eyes were blown black with lust, jaw clenched, sweat dripping down his temple as he loomed over you.
“You think I’d ever look at her?” he growled, voice dark and ragged as he slammed into you, forcing a cry out of your throat. “No one—no fucking one—can touch me the way you do. No one tastes like you, no one feels like you, no one fucking owns me like you do, M/N.”
And with each thrust, he drove the point home—burying himself to the hilt, dragging your body across the couch cushions as his cock punched deep, exactly where you needed him.
“Say it,” you moaned, gripping his shoulders, eyes rolling back. “Say it again.”
Jake’s lips crashed against yours, teeth clashing, spit and desperation mixing in a kiss that felt more like a brand than affection. When he broke away, he groaned into your mouth, “Yours. Fucking yours. Forever.”
He was already on edge, but you didn’t let him breathe. Even after he came deep inside you, you clenched down on him and rolled your hips like you were determined to milk every last drop out of him.
Jake’s face was a mess—flushed, damp with sweat, lips swollen from kissing you raw. His abs tensed under your palms, every vein on his neck and arms popping out as he whimpered. Actual whimpers, high-pitched and needy, the kind of sounds you never thought he’d make until you ruined him enough times to know better.
“M/N—f-fuck—I just came—” he cried, hips twitching up anyway, his cock already hardening again inside you.
You smirked wickedly, dragging your nails down his chest. “And you’ll cum again, puppy. You’re not done until I say you’re done.”
He whimpered into your mouth when you kissed him again, his body trembling under your control. You shifted just enough so that when you clenched, his cum spilled out around his cock, dripping down your thighs, wetting his skin. Jake’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and obsessed, watching the mess.
“Oh my—fuck—look at you,” he groaned, one hand shooting down to your ass, spreading you open so he could watch his seed leak out. “I swear, M/N—I’d fill you every fucking day if you let me. Every day. I’d keep you stuffed so full of me you’d forget what empty feels like.”
You leaned down, licking the sweat off his jaw before biting it sharp enough to make him gasp. “You already do, Jake. You’re pathetic. I let you cum in me once and now you can’t stop.”
He shuddered, cock twitching back to life inside you, and it made you laugh breathlessly against his lips. “See? You’re hard again already. Puppy really can’t control himself.”
Jake moaned, wrapping his arms tight around you, holding you like if he let go you’d disappear. His voice was broken when he confessed, “I can’t help it, baby. You make me crazy. You fucking own me.”
You clenched hard, forcing a sob out of him. He bucked up desperately, chasing more, even though his body was already overworked.
“That’s right,” you whispered darkly, lips brushing his ear. “You’re mine to ruin. Mine to keep. No pussy, no girl, nobody else will ever give you this. Only me.”
“Only you,” Jake repeated instantly, like it was gospel. His eyes rolled back when you started grinding again, slow and cruel, making sure he felt every ounce of overstimulation. “F-fuck, M/N, I’m yours—just yours—forever—”
And then he broke again, cumming inside you with a guttural cry, body jerking beneath you as tears slid from the corners of his eyes.
You just sat there, riding out his orgasm, smirking down at him. “Pathetic. My puppy can’t even last five minutes without filling me again.”
Jake was already wrecked—sweat dripping down his temples, hair sticking to his forehead, chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon. But you didn’t let him rest. Not when you were still rock-hard yourself, still greedy, still jealous.
You lifted your hips just enough to let his cock slide almost all the way out of you, watching how slick and messy it was, glistening with both your cum. His eyes followed it too, dazed and hungry, like he was addicted to the sight of you using him.
“M/N… baby… please,” he whined, voice cracked and raw. “I can’t—f-fuck—I can’t—”
You slammed back down, making him choke on his own words. His whole body arched, hands flying to your waist, but you grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head.
“You can,” you hissed, leaning down so your nose brushed his. “Because I’m not done with you yet. You’re not allowed to be done until I say so.”
He sobbed out a moan, tears welling in his eyes as you bounced harder, your ass clapping against his thighs with every thrust. The overstimulation made him thrash, made his legs tremble, but his cock stayed impossibly hard inside you, throbbing, pulsing, desperate to give you more.
“M/N—” he cried, and you cut him off with a sharp bite to his lower lip.
“Say it.”
He blinked through the blur of tears. “S-say what?”
“Who owns you?” you growled, grinding down slow and mean, squeezing him tight enough to make his hips jolt up involuntarily.
“You—fuck—you own me!” Jake wailed, head thrashing back against the pillow. “I’m yours, baby, I’m only yours!”
You smirked, satisfied, and rode him harder. His moans grew louder, borderline pornographic, filling the room until your ears rang with them. He begged into your mouth between sloppy kisses, babbling nonsense—“Please, don’t stop, don’t let go, I’ll be good, I’ll do anything, just keep me full, keep me yours.”
And then, unbelievably, he came again. You felt it flood inside you, hot and endless, his cock twitching violently as he cried out your name like it was the only word he knew. You didn’t stop moving, not for a second, milking him mercilessly.
Jake was sobbing by the end, shaking under you, his body too sensitive but his eyes wild with obsession. “B-baby, I can’t—oh my god—I’m yours, I’m yours, I swear—fuck—”
You leaned down, licking the tears off his cheeks, your voice dark and tender all at once. “Good boy. Keep cumming for me. Prove you’re mine.”
And he did—because no matter how overstimulated, how wrecked, how broken down you made him, Jake’s cock just kept giving, desperate to please you, desperate to belong to you.
He was still trembling beneath you, his chest streaked with sweat and his lips kiss-bruised, but you weren’t close to finished. You climbed off him slowly, watching his cock twitch against his stomach, red and soaked in the mess of both your releases.
Jake blinked up at you, glassy-eyed, voice hoarse. “B-baby… I don’t think I can—”
You smirked, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look at you. “You don’t have to think, Jake. Just do what I say.”
His breath caught, pupils blowing wide, and he nodded instantly. “Yes, sir.”
You crawled up, straddling his face. His hands immediately gripped your thighs, needy and trembling, pulling you down until your ass pressed against his mouth. He moaned like he’d just been given his favorite meal, tongue darting out to taste you.
But this time, you gave him no mercy—you leaned forward, wrapped your fist around his cock, and swallowed him down your throat. The taste of his cum still coated him, bitter and salty, but you didn’t care—you wanted to ruin him further.
Jake screamed into your hole, the vibrations of his voice making you moan around his dick. His hips bucked off the bed, trying to shove himself deeper into your throat, even as his tongue worked desperately between your cheeks, licking up every drop of your mixed release.
“God—fuck—baby,” he choked between licks, his voice muffled against you. “You taste—ngh—you taste so good—oh my god, I could die like this.”
You pulled off his cock just long enough to growl, “Shut up and eat your cum like a good boy.” Then you shoved him back into your mouth, bobbing your head ruthlessly, your throat flexing around him.
Jake sobbed, obeying instantly. His tongue worked harder, slurping up the mess dripping out of you, swallowing like it was holy water. His hands clawed at your hips, nails digging into your skin as he tried to drag you even deeper onto his face.
You were both moaning now, loud and desperate, the obscene mix of sucking, slurping, and choked cries filling the room. Jake’s cock pulsed violently in your throat, already leaking again, and you smirked around him—he was close, even though he’d just cum twice.
You pulled off with a wet pop, spit dripping from your chin. “Pathetic,” you taunted, grinding harder onto his mouth. “You’re gonna cum again just from eating yourself out, huh?”
Jake whined against you, shaking his head even though his cock twitched like crazy. His voice broke as he tried to speak with his mouth still buried in your ass. “P-please—I can’t—f-fuck—I’m yours, M/N, I’m only yours—”
You stroked his cock with slow, cruel twists of your wrist while riding his face, your voice dark and amused. “Then prove it. Make yourself cum with my taste in your mouth. Show me you’re my puppy.”
And that was all it took. Jake arched under you, body convulsing as he spilled himself across his stomach, crying into your hole as he came untouched except for your grip and the humiliation of being forced to eat his own cum out of you.
When you finally pulled back, he was a ruined mess—his face soaked, chest glistening, tears streaking down his cheeks, cock twitching weakly against his stomach. He looked up at you with raw devotion, panting hard.
“See?” you murmured, tugging his hair so he’d look you dead in the eye. “No pussy will ever taste like this.”
Jake nodded instantly, voice broken but full of worship. “Never—never, baby. Only you. Only you.”
a/n: i was actually shaking while writing this. submissive puppy top jaeyun 🔛🔝 i need him so bad since 2021 😭 i hope y’all enjoy this!
⊹ jake is SO filthy. dear god do not let his sweet, gentle boyfriend act fool you because jake is a full nelson freak who loves putting you in the most embarrassing positions. something about positions that leave you completely exposed or vulnerable are his favorite. nothing turns him on more than the fact that nobody else can see you like this.
⊹ jake WILL beg you to spit in his mouth. he’ll beg you while smiling so sweetly, even when your pussy’s sucking him in unbearably tight. you’d be riding him, exhausted and so insanely wet. he’d be underneath you, faces so close your lips are grazing eachother. “just this once baby, please?” his hips pounding into you harder now, a white ring forming at the base of his cock. if you agree to spit in his mouth, his eyes WILL roll back and he WILL cum on the spot.
⊹ jake the back breaker and ass eater. will have you face down ass up on his dorm mattress and will eat you out with his thumb in your ass. the first time jake’s tounge grazed your unexplored hole, you gasped and asked him what he was doing. which he responded to you with a laugh and licked a long strip from your clit, to your ass, and all the way down to the middle of your back.
⊹ jake who can be so so rough but gives the sweetest aftercare. the last thing he wants is for you to feel used when he loves you so much. jake is the type to immediately pick you up and take you to the bathroom so you can pee (uti’s are horrible i do not recommend). he’ll cuddle you, order food, message your legs, play with your hair, anything u ask for, he will do.
⊹ jake loves and adores morning sex. on a fall morning when the air is chilly but the two of you are warm under a soft blanket, jake slowly thrusting in and out of you. it’s so lazy but so comforting the way he kisses at your body like he’s not in a rush at all, even though him and the boys have to leave in half an hour. he’ll smile at you, gently teasing your clit to bring you over the edge. not kinky. not gross. just sweet. because while sim jaeyun is a freak he is also the best boyfriend.
you and jake were best friends since childhood because of your families. before graduating college, they told you that if the two of you haven’t found a relationship by the time you graduate, they would marry the two of you off.
you didn’t want that, so in order to stop that arrangement, you decided to set jake up with somebody else.
however, when things get more deeper than intended, can you still pretend that your heart doesn’t beat for the one person who’s stayed by your side all this time.
pairing: sim jaeyun x male reader
contains: 18+ [MDNI], male reader, childhood best friends to lovers, arranged marriage, secret mutual pining, jake is whipped, reader is in deep denial, emotional tension, fake dating, heavy smut, chickboy jake (but not really) x pretty boy philosophy major m/n, slowburn
other characters: other enhypen members, sophia and megan (katseye)
notes: this fic is set in the philippines (yes, i’m a filipino). jake is a 4th year engineering student in ateneo, while m/n is a 3rd year philosophy student in pup. jake used to go back and forth in australia before his family settled in the philippines. some dialogues might be in tagalog (but i’ll also provide english translations). btw, hmu if you’re a filo!
You always knew your families were too close.
The kind of close that made sleepovers feel like second homes. The kind of close that made your mom call Jake her “panganay na hindi ko nanganak” (my eldest that I didn’t give birth to) and his mom call you “my future son-in-law.” You never took it seriously—until they brought it up again this year.
“If you two are still single by graduation, we'll arrange marriage you. Para kampante kami na hindi kung sino-sino lang ang makakatuluyan niyo (So we’ll be assured that the two of you won’t end up with just anybody).”
They laughed.
You didn’t.
Jake? That traitor smiled like it was a promise.
You're sitting on the third step of his porch now, iced coffee melting beside you as you try to process the weight of what graduation now means. Jake lounges next to you, lazily flipping through something on his phone, as if his entire future isn't being hijacked by a half-joke and a mom with a wedding Pinterest board.
“Do you even care they’re trying to legally bind us like a teleserye plotline?” you mutter, eyes fixed ahead.
Jake shrugs, his accent slipping soft and lazy like honey in the afternoon heat. “I’ve had worse offers.”
You shoot him a glare. “So you’re really okay with marrying me?”
His eyes don’t leave the screen, but you hear the grin in his voice. “I mean… you’re cute.”
“Jake.”
Finally, he looks at you. And it hits you, just like it always does when he does that thing—like he's looking through you, not at you.
“I wouldn’t mind,” he says, quieter this time. “Not if it’s you.”
Your stomach tightens. Not from butterflies, but from dread. You’ve heard those words before. From boys who didn’t mean it. From boys who wanted you when it was convenient. From boys who said things like “I’d date you if I wasn’t straight” while their hand was still on your thigh.
And Jake? Jake had the face, the body, the fuckboy rumors. Ateneo engineering major, soccer varsity, tiktoker aura, hotdog-arm-showing-cropped-shirt-wearer. He was the guy moms warned you about and the guy you once fell asleep thinking about, years ago, before you taught yourself to stop.
You can’t let yourself be one of his experiments.
Which is why you say, “Good. Because I found you someone.”
He blinks. “Huh?”
“Sophia,” you continue, grabbing your phone. “Fourth year din (too). Business major, sa Ateneo rin (in Ateneo too). I met her through Jay—she’s pretty, smart, and actually wants a relationship. And she’s not a guy you grew up bathing with.”
Jake snorts. “First of all, you bathed with me.”
You smack his arm. “Second, I’m serious. You want a girlfriend? Date her. You guys are in the same org, same barkada (group of friends). She asked about you, you know. Said you’re cute.”
At that, he perks up. But not in the way you expect.
Not with interest.
With suspicion.
“She asked about me? Or you offered me to her?”
“…What’s the difference?”
“Big difference, M/N.”
You ignore the way your name sounds in his voice, like a secret only he gets to say.
Jake leans in, smirk curling just slightly. “You trying to set me up to save yourself from marrying me?”
“You’re damn right I am.”
Jake’s face softens for a second. “So desperate to not end up with me, huh?”
You scoff, roll your eyes, and shove your phone screen toward him. “Text her. Before I do end up with you and my life becomes a Wattpad tragedy.”
But as Jake reads her contact info, something shifts.
His jaw clenches just a little. His fingers tighten on your phone.
And behind that teasing grin, you miss the flicker of hurt.
He’s been in love with you for years.
You just never let yourself believe it.
And now?
Now you’re handing him off.
On purpose.
To someone prettier.
To someone safer.
To someone not you.
“You said he’s a what now?”
Sophia’s voice crackles over the call, amused and slightly suspicious.
“An Englishero,” you say again, flopped stomach-down on your bed as you scroll through Jake’s old photos to send her. “Like… full Aussie when he wants to be. Grew up back and forth. Accent comes out pag gusto niyang magpa-cute (when he wants to act cute). Which is always.”
Sophia laughs, low and impressed. “Okay, wait, this is him with the soccer jersey, right? The thighs??”
You smirk. “Yup. Also, he’s single, slightly stupid, and—get this—our parents are tryna arrange marriage us if we don’t find someone by graduation.”
“…Girl.” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “So you’re setting him up with me so you won’t be forced into a love team marriage?”
“Exactly.”
She hums. “Is he okay with this setup?”
“Babe, he doesn’t even care who he ends up with.”
You don’t mean to say it with so much bitterness. But it’s there. Hanging. Like a splinter.
Sophia, ever perceptive, doesn’t comment on it. Just replies, “Well, if he’s cute and dumb and speaks like Timothee Chalamet, I’m in. When’s the date?”
Later that day, you’re at PUP, stretched across a patch of grass on campus, trying to ignore the weird gnawing in your chest. Megan’s painting her nails beside you while Jungwon and Ni-ki argue over whether K-drama engineers are ever realistic.
“You’re giving him away why again?” Megan asks, not looking up.
“I’m not giving him away,” you mutter.
“You literally matched him with a girl who looks like she walked out of an influencer meet-and-greet.”
“I’m just… stopping a marriage before it happens.”
Jungwon sips from his taho. “A marriage that only happens if you’re both still single. Which means…”
You glare. “Which means nothing.”
Ni-ki smirks. “You like him.”
You throw a leaf at his face. “I don’t. I liked him before. A long time ago. Then he started getting girls left and right like a walking Ateneo fuckboy.”
“And yet,” Megan sings, “here you are, still bitter.”
You fall dramatically to the grass. “I am not bitter. I’m just… responsible. Jake needs someone stable, sweet, with an MBA in the making. Not me, a stressed-out philosophy major who overthinks every facial expression.”
“Babe,” Megan says, “you literally wrote a 3k-word paper on why Jungwon’s side glance last week meant he was going through an existential crisis.”
“…It was meaningful.”
Meanwhile, across Ateneo, Jake leans against a locker as Jay eyes him with that older-brother-who-knows-you-too-well face.
“So you’re really going on this date with Sophia?”
Jake shrugs. “She’s hot. I mean, yeah.”
Jay squints. “Right. You sure you’re not doing this to get closer to M/N?”
Jake’s smile falters.
“I mean,” Jay continues casually, “setting up a date to prove he doesn’t like you is a classic romcom move. Very When Harry Met Salome of you.”
“That’s not even the title—”
“Jake.”
Jake sighs. “I’m doing this to make him see I’m serious. He thinks I flirt for fun. He thinks I wouldn’t want him. I’m trying to prove a point.”
Jay raises a brow. “You sure it won’t backfire? What if he actually lets you go?”
Jake’s silence says everything.
The date happened around 7:14 PM on High Street, BGC.
You’re not there.
But you are watching from Sophia’s Instagram story like a stalker with a WiFi connection and a bruised ego.
They’re sitting at a rooftop bar. She’s laughing. He’s doing that smile—the lazy one, where his tongue peeks out and his dimples go nuclear.
You toss your phone aside. It hits your pillow.
But of course, your friends have no chill.
Megan sends you a selfie: “Lurker era 🤭”
Jungwon sends a meme: “You when he looks happy with someone else 👉😃🔪”
And then—your phone vibrates.
Jaeyun 🐶:
she’s cool. thanks for setting me up, M/N.
You stare at the message too long.
Type.
Erase.
Type again.
You:
no prob! hope you’re having fun lol
Delivered.
Read.
No reply.
But what you don’t know?
Jake’s staring at his screen too.
Sophia’s talking. Laughing.
But Jake?
He’s not listening.
Because all he’s thinking about is how you never once asked him if he wanted to be set up.
And how everything you’re doing to push him away just makes him want you more.
“So,” Sophia says after a beat, setting down her wine glass. “You’re really into him.”
Jake nearly chokes. “I—what?”
Sophia smirks, propping her chin on one hand like she’s watching a good drama. “Come on. You’ve looked at your phone fifteen times, and every time I mention his name, your eye twitches like you’ve got an allergic reaction to your own feelings.”
Jake sighs. “Is it that obvious?”
“To everyone but him, apparently.”
He leans back, defeated. “He thinks I’m just… playing around. Like I’m not serious. Like I’d date anything in a skirt—”
“Well, that’s rude. I’m wearing pants.”
Jake grins weakly. “You’re not the problem. He is.”
Sophia tilts her head. “Then maybe he needs a push.”
Jake frowns. “A push?”
Sophia leans in, eyes glittering. “What if we make him realize what he’s missing? Play along. Make it look like we hit it off. Post a few stories. Hang out a few times. Make him think you’re slipping through his fingers.”
Jake hesitates. “You’d help me with that?”
Sophia laughs. “Babe, I live for drama. Besides, I’m not even into guys.”
And that’s when Jake stares at her, blinking.
“You’re—”
“Yup.”
“Does Jay know—?”
“No. I like seeing him suffer.”
They clink glasses.
The next day, you were a clueless fool at Megan’s house, biting your nails as Sophia posts a photo of her and Jake laughing at a café.
The caption?
guess we weren’t so different after all 💙
Megan stares at you like you’ve lost brain cells. “Okay, if you tell me one more time that you ‘don’t care,’ I will throw your phone into the rice cooker.”
“I don’t,” you mutter, refreshing the story again.
“M/N.”
“What?! I don’t! I just—ugh—it’s weird seeing him with someone else, okay?”
Ni-ki, sitting cross-legged on the floor, raises an eyebrow. “So you admit it.”
Jungwon leans in, voice flat. “You’re in love with your best friend, and you’re too dumb to realize it.”
You shoot him a look. “Shut up.”
“No, you shut up.”
You groan, flopping onto Megan’s bed.
Megan cocks her head. “If you don’t like Jake, why does your whole body glitch every time you see them together?”
You don’t answer.
But your silence is loud.
You thought to yourself: Maybe I just don’t like people getting close to Jake.
That’s it. That’s the whole explanation you allow yourself to believe.
Because Jake’s been yours for so long—not in a romantic way, obviously. Just… emotionally. Practically. Historically. He was the one who called you “[Nickname]” before anyone else. The one who knew which shade of taho syrup you hated. The one who sat through your rants about metaphysics like it was the season finale of a K-drama.
You don’t own him.
But sometimes, it feels like he belongs to you.
Meanwhile, Jake’s pacing in front of Sunghoon and Jay while Sophia scrolls through your latest IG story—just a photo of a book and coffee, but she zooms in on your reflection in the mug.
“His ears are red,” she says smugly. “He’s spiraling.”
Sunghoon blinks. “So wait… you're fake-dating her to make him realize he likes you?”
Jake shrugs. “Basically.”
Jay sighs, rubbing his temples. “This is the most unnecessarily complicated gay pining I’ve ever seen.”
Sophia grins. “You’re welcome.”
You’re still processing that mental lie you keep telling yourself when Megan ambushes you during your Friday breakdown hour.
“Dress up,” she announces. “We’re going out.”
You blink from your laptop. “I have a paper due—”
“It’s Jay’s house party. Everyone’s going.”
“I don’t want to see everyone,” you mutter, eyes flicking briefly to Jake’s latest story. A selfie with Sophia, captioned:
Study date. or not 🤫
Megan arches a brow. “You’re going. Ni-ki already laid out your outfit. He said he’s bringing the slutty cologne.”
“You mean your cologne—?”
“Details, babe. Get ready.”
10:38 PM. You arrived at Jay’s party. It was loud. Too loud. You didn’t expect to feel this off.
The music’s bumping, the crowd is hot, and there’s a beer in your hand that someone definitely refilled without asking. Ni-ki’s glued to your side like a chaos gremlin in a mesh shirt, flirting with anything that breathes and dragging you around for damage control.
“Okay, smile,” he whispers, arm around your shoulder. “Jake just walked in.”
You freeze. “What?”
“Just act natural.”
“What does that mean?”
“I dunno, pout and look expensive.”
You barely manage to compose your face when Jake appears in the corner of your vision. Navy shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy—he looks like every bisexual crisis rolled into one man.
You wave awkwardly.
He stares.
His eyes drop to where Ni-ki’s hand still rests around your waist.
And he moves.
Straight toward you.
“Yo,” he says, voice a little tight. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”
You force a smile. “Didn’t plan to. Megan and Ni-ki kidnapped me.”
Jake nods once, glancing again at Ni-ki’s hand. Then—he laughs, kind of awkward, kind of forced.
“Hey,” he turns to you, “can I talk to you for a sec?”
Before you can answer, his fingers curl gently around your wrist, tugging you out of the living room. Not roughly. Just firmly enough that your breath catches.
“Jake—where are we—?”
“Just here,” he mutters, leading you to the empty hallway upstairs. “Away from whatever that was.”
You stare at him. “What was what?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Ni-ki. You two were kinda… close.”
You frown. “We always are. You know that.”
Jake shrugs. “Still.”
Still what?
Still weird?
Still yours?
You don’t say it. He doesn’t either.
Instead, he blurts, “You’re free this weekend, right?”
“…Why?”
“My soccer game. Finals. You should come.”
You blink. “Since when do you invite me to your games?”
He shrugs again, suddenly avoiding your gaze. “Just thought it’d be cool if you were there.”
You narrow your eyes. “Is Sophia coming?”
Jake doesn’t flinch, but his voice flattens. “Don’t think so.”
“Oh.”
“And wear my jersey,” he adds, more casual this time. “I’ll bring it.”
You laugh. “Why would I wear your jersey?”
His eyes flick to yours. “Why wouldn’t you?”
And god, there’s something about the way he says it. Not flirty. Not teasing.
Just serious. Quiet. Hopeful.
You swallow the heat in your throat. “Fine. Just… don’t expect me to cheer like a fangirl.”
Jake grins. “You don’t need to. Just be there.”
Later that night, Jake drove you back home after picking up his jersey from his condo unit.
You stare at the jersey now sitting on your bed.
Still smells like his cologne. Like summer and vanilla deodorant and a boy who’s always been too close for comfort.
You hold it to your chest, pulse skipping.
It’s not a big deal.
You’re just… helping your best friend.
Who maybe fake-dated someone to make you jealous.
And maybe succeeded.
You’re not nervous.
Okay—you are, but you’re hiding it under your hoodie as you walk toward the Ateneo soccer field, Jake’s oversized jersey rolled into your backpack like a secret you weren’t sure you were ready to wear.
SIM 15
His name. His number.
You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. You’ve worn his hoodies before. Shared towels. Slept head-to-chest with him in a cramped tent on a field trip once. This? This is just cotton.
So why does your heart feel like it’s about to choke you?
The bleachers are already filling up when you arrive. Girls with signs. Loud teammates. A few players stretching. Jay waves you over with a stupid knowing grin. You pretend you don’t see him.
But someone else does see you.
“Ohooooo?”
You turn and find Sophia grinning like the cat who caught the gay rat.
“Is that a jersey I see?” she teases, walking over, iced coffee in hand and bisexual superiority in her step. “Let me guess… Sim. Number 15.”
You try to sound casual. You fail. “He gave it to me. Said I should wear it.”
Sophia leans closer. “M/N, baby. I know this wasn’t part of the plan, but are you sure you’re not already dating?”
You flush. “We’re not.”
“Mmm. But you're wiping his sweat and wearing his number like a K-drama love interest in the final arc.”
“That’s just muscle memory!”
Sophia smirks. “So is love.”
You’re saved from further teasing when the crowd bursts into cheers. The players are lining up. Blue and white uniforms, the Ateneo logo shining proudly.
Then—Jake.
Your eyes find him instantly.
He’s walking out of the dugout, hair pushed back, cheeks already flushed from warmups. He scans the crowd once, twice—then spots you.
And he lights up.
Not in a “hey bro” kind of way. In a sunshine breaking through clouds kind of way.
You instinctively lift a hand in a weak wave.
Jake jogs over.
Just before entering the field proper, he pauses near the sidelines where his teammates are huddled.
You’re too far to hear what he says, but you see it—he gestures subtly in your direction. The boys look. Smirk. Nod. One even whistles.
You freeze.
Jake looks back at you, grinning.
You have no idea what just happened.
The game starts.
You try to pay attention.
You fail again.
Because Jake keeps stealing glances.
Because you keep noticing.
Because every time the ball comes near him, he goes beast mode, and suddenly your throat is dry and your brain is wondering if watching soccer is supposed to feel like foreplay.
The crowd roars every time he scores or blocks. You don’t know the rules, but you know he’s playing like he’s got something to prove.
And between every play, every whistle, every break—he comes back to you.
“Water?” he pants.
You hand it to him without thinking, unscrewing the cap before he asks.
Then: towel. You wipe his sweat off his forehead. Neck. You even push his hair back, like your hands remember the way before you do.
Jake blinks up at you, breathing hard.
“Thanks,” he murmurs.
You barely nod. “You’re welcome.”
He grins. “You’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“Being mine.”
You laugh. Nervous. Stupid. “Shut up.”
But you don’t stop wiping his sweat.
And he doesn’t stop looking at you like you’re his home base.
Halftime.
Jake’s coach calls for a break. He jogs over again, this time less sweaty and more giddy.
“You okay?” he asks, crouching by your feet.
You nod. “You're winning.”
He nods too, eyes scanning your face. “So are you.”
You frown. “Huh?”
Jake leans in slightly. “You’ll get it eventually.”
Before you can ask what the hell that means, he’s running back onto the field.
You sit back.
Your fingers curl around the hem of his jersey on your body.
His name. His number.
His eyes.
His everything.
And maybe… you’re starting to realize:
This is not just soccer.
This is not just friendship.
And maybe, just maybe…
You’ve been in love with Jake Sim all along.
The final whistle blows.
And the crowd erupts.
Ateneo wins. 3-2. Jake made the final goal—some dramatic, cinematic, slow-motion shit that you only half saw because you were already on your feet, screaming without meaning to.
People are cheering. Teammates are piling on each other. Someone pops confetti into the sky like it’s a graduation.
But Jake?
Jake doesn’t join the huddle.
He turns.
Locks eyes with you.
And runs.
Straight.
At.
You.
Your heart leaps—no, it rockets to your throat as Jake barrels across the grass like you’re gravity itself.
“Wait, what—Jake—Jake—JAAKE—!”
It’s too late.
He lifts you.
Full arms-around-your-waist, feet-off-the-ground, twirling you in the air like a scene out of a drama you’d clown anyone else for watching.
And all you can do is laugh. Loud and helpless. “Put me down, you idiot!”
Jake doesn’t listen. He’s grinning like a man who’s never been this happy, cheek pressed briefly against your temple, the world whirling with every spin.
The sky is glowing. The team is yelling. You’re still laughing when he finally sets you down, but his arms don’t leave your waist.
He’s flushed from the game, breathless, and his eyes…
His eyes don’t move from yours.
“We won,” he says.
You grin, dizzy. “Obviously.”
“No, I mean—” he leans in just a little, voice low, “I won.”
You blink.
Jake gestures vaguely to the crowd, the team, the field.
“But this?” He tugs the hem of his jersey on you. “This is what I really wanted.”
You just looked at him, unable to hide the smile slowly creeping up your lips.
Half an hour passed, the field’s mostly empty now.
The crowd has filtered out, confetti trampled into the grass, teammates showering in the locker room, coaches yelling about stats that no one cares about anymore.
But you’re still here.
Waiting.
Just like Jake asked.
You sit at the edge of the field, grass tickling your ankles, Jake’s jersey still clinging to your back like it belongs there. Which it does. But you haven’t figured that out yet.
Then—
Heavy footsteps.
And a louder, heavier thud.
Jake collapses right beside you. Or rather—on you. Half his body sprawled across your lap like you’re a human pillow and he’s earned the right to melt into you like this.
You freeze. “What the hell, you’re all sweaty—”
“Shhh,” he groans, voice muffled against your stomach. “Just let me die here for like five minutes.”
You snort. “Drama queen.”
Your fingers move without thinking, brushing through his damp hair, soothing him like you always do when he’s tired, like you’ve always done, long before you realized what it meant.
“You played hard,” you say quietly. “You should rest.”
Jake hums, snuggling in closer. His arms loop around your waist like it’s instinct. Like his place has always been here. With you.
He exhales, lips brushing the side of your shirt. And then, barely audible—
“Your name sounds good with mine.”
You blink.
“…What?”
Jake doesn’t lift his head. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t play it off.
Just repeats, softer this time:
“Your name. With my last name. M/N Sim.”
Your brain short-circuits for a second.
Then you laugh. Nervous. Uncertain. “You’re delirious. You need Gatorade.”
But Jake doesn’t laugh.
Instead, he nuzzles deeper into the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin, his voice low and serious.
“I’m not kidding.”
You freeze. Your hand in his hair stills. Your heart does too.
“Jake—”
“Don’t overthink it,” he whispers. “Just… let me be here. With you.”
And you do.
Because you can’t move.
Because your body feels like it’s housing something too big to name.
Because maybe—deep down—you do know what he meant.
But you’re not ready.
So you pretend you didn’t hear it right.
You pretend he’s just tired.
While he—buried in your neck, clinging to you like a lifeline—waits for the day you finally hear him right.
Later, both of you decided to go to his place.
Jake’s condo smells like citrus body wash and laundry softener when you step in.
The kind of scent that always hits you in the face when you realize: oh. he lives here. Without you. Without anyone else. Just him. And that ghost of a what-if that’s been lingering between you for months.
He tosses his gym bag to the corner, already barefoot, shirt slightly damp from the post-shower rush. You haven't even taken your shoes off yet, and he’s already wrapped his arms around you from behind.
“Jake—let me order food first,” you protest with a tired chuckle, your phone barely staying in your grip as he sways you side to side like you're slow dancing with gravity.
“Mmm,” he mumbles, face buried into your shoulder. “Can’t we just eat air and each other’s company?”
“...That’s the gayest thing you’ve ever said.”
“And yet you’re still here,” he grins against your neck.
You sigh, but you’re smiling—because how can you not?
You open the delivery app, scrolling through options. Jake doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans more of his weight on you, arms still looped around your waist like you might disappear if he blinked.
“Want anything specific?” you ask.
He shrugs. “Anything you like. I’m starving.”
“You should lie down.”
“I am lying down,” he says, squeezing tighter. “Horizontally. In spirit.”
“You’re literally vertical—Jake—fine, just—just let me press order—”
He finally lets you go with a groan, flopping dramatically onto the couch like a defeated prince.
You finish the order, take off your shoes, and toss your phone to the side.
When you walk over, Jake pulls up the blanket and lifts one eyebrow. “You staying over?”
You hesitate. “I wasn’t planning to.”
He shifts to make space. “Stay.”
Just that.
No teasing. No smirk. No “just kidding” energy.
Just that word.
Stay.
And so you do.
You curl into the space beside him, unsure where to put your hands. He solves it for you by tugging you into his chest, arm draped around your waist, legs tangled like it's second nature.
It is second nature.
Because you’ve done this before.
Movie nights. Sleepovers. “Accidental” naps.
Except this feels different.
He’s warm.
He’s quiet.
And you can feel his heart beating against your back.
“I like this,” Jake murmurs sleepily.
You glance over your shoulder. “What, cuddling me like a giant koala?”
“No. Well. Yes,” he hums. “But mostly… you. Here.”
You don’t know what to say.
So you don’t say anything.
You just let his fingers trace light shapes on your side, his breath settle into a slower rhythm, his body soften behind you.
Minutes pass.
Then—
Barely audible, as his breathing evens out:
“Feels right… having you like this.”
You don’t think he meant for you to hear it.
But you do.
And it settles in your chest like a stone tossed into a quiet lake.
The food arrives around 8PM, still hot, a little greasy, and smelling like home. You lay it out on the coffee table while Jake shuffles over in the softest hoodie known to man—hood up, hair still damp at the tips, like he couldn’t even be bothered to towel it fully.
He plops onto the floor beside you with a dramatic sigh, face hitting a pillow.
You laugh. “Seriously? You couldn’t even sit up?”
“I scored three goals,” he mumbles into the fabric. “I’m basically an athlete-slash-legend-slash-crippled.”
“You’re a baby-slash-annoying,” you retort, already mixing rice and ulam (dish) into a bowl.
He peeks up at you with the most tired, most adorably helpless expression ever manufactured.
“…Can you feed me?”
You blink. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” he pouts. “I’m so tired, M/N. My legs don’t work. My arms are floppy. I’m dying.”
You roll your eyes, but your heart is already crumbling into soft goo. “Fine. But only because you look like a dehydrated pug.”
You scoop some food into a spoon and turn to him.
“Say ah.”
Jake grins like he’s won something major. “Ah~”
You feed him the first bite.
And the second.
And before you know it, he’s practically melted against your side, chewing slowly, head resting on your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“It’s a good thing you’re not in nursing,” you mutter, giving him water after the third spoonful. “You’d be excellent at patient manipulation.”
He hums, mouth still full. “I don’t want anyone else taking care of me.”
You pause.
Spoon halfway to his mouth.
Your brain stutters.
Jake doesn’t even notice. He just opens his mouth expectantly.
You recover, awkwardly stuffing food into his face. “God, you’re such a brat.”
He swallows, then says, “Only with you.”
Your heart does a triple backflip in your chest.
You don’t answer. You don’t even breathe. Because you can’t.
Instead, you keep feeding him until his eyelids start fluttering closed between bites, until he leans more into you, heavier now, drowsy warmth radiating off him in waves.
You set the bowl down.
He turns his head into your neck again.
You let him.
And suddenly it’s quiet again. Just the hum of the air conditioning, the smell of leftover food, and Jake—tired, full, clinging to you like you're the softest place in the world.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “For staying.”
You whisper, “Always.”
And you mean it.
Even if you still don’t know what this is.
Even if you’re not ready to name it yet.
Moments later, you don’t remember falling asleep.
You only recall Jake mumbling thanks between bites of chicken, his eyes slowly drooping like a toddler post-fiesta, and the now—
He was curled against you on the couch, arms around your waist, cheek resting right over your heart.
Your fingers are threaded in his hair. His legs are tangled with yours. You’re half-covered by a throw blanket, the room glowing soft with the warm hue of the overhead lights you forgot to turn off.
And for once?
You don’t feel the need to move. Or explain. Or leave.
Because Jake’s here. Breathing slow and warm and safe against you.
You close your eyes.
Peace.
Until—
Click.
The front door unlocks.
You blink.
Wait. Wait.
Jake definitely told you no one else had the spare key.
The door creaks open.
You shoot up slightly, trying not to dislodge Jake (spoiler: you do), and squint toward the hallway—
And there, standing frozen in the doorway with a brown paper bag in one hand and his entire soul leaving his body, is—
Jay.
He stares. You stare.
Jake mutters something like “M/N… five more minutes…” and curls back into your chest.
You look down, then back up.
Jay’s mouth opens. “...So.”
You whisper-scream, “It’s not what it looks like!”
Jay raises a brow. “You mean the part where my best friend is cuddling you like you’re a body pillow he’s married to?”
You flail slightly. “He was tired! I fed him! He told me to stay—!”
Jay walks inside, gently placing the paper bag on the counter. “So you fed him, let him cuddle you, wore his jersey, and stayed the night—platonically?”
You bury your face in your hands. “I hate you.”
Jay just laughs. “You know, Sunghoon and I had a bet.”
You glance up, panicked. “Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say.”
He grins. “He said Jake would confess first. I said you’d crack first. But now? I don’t even know if you realize you’re already dating.”
You whisper, “We’re not.”
Jay points. “M/N. He is literally purring on your chest.”
You glance down.
Jake, half-asleep, nuzzles against your collarbone with a sleepy smile. “Mmm... love you.”
Jay pauses. So do you.
You both slowly look at each other again.
Jay’s grin drops.
Your brain combusts.
You whisper, “He’s asleep. He didn’t mean that.”
Jay raised a brow. “Or he meant it so much that it slipped past his sleep filter.”
You blinked rapidly in gay panic
Jay picks up his bag. “I’m leaving before you both kiss and make me a godfather. Lock the door. And for the love of God, tell him you love him back when he wakes up.”
Then he walks out. Just like that.
You look down at Jake, who’s now breathing softly against you again.
And suddenly… everything feels a little too real.
You didn’t sleep well after. Next thing you knew, it was already morning.
Birds are chirping somewhere outside. The sun’s shining through the kitchen window. Your skin still smells faintly like his detergent. And there’s this heavy feeling in the air—like something’s about to happen. Like the silence is charged.
You’re at the stove, still wearing his jersey, flipping eggs while Jake moves around behind you, slow and sluggish. Sleepy.
And clingy again.
Because every few minutes, his hand lands on your waist like it needs to remember you’re there. Like if he lets go, he might wake up and you’ll be gone.
You don’t think about it too much.
Because you can’t.
So instead, you reach for distraction.
Small talk. Neutral territory. Safe space.
Big mistake.
“So,” you say casually as you plate the eggs, “how are things with Sophia?”
Silence. Like—you could hear the egg yolks scream.
You glance over your shoulder.
Jake has stopped mid-step, a spoon in his hand, halfway to his mouth.
“…What?” he says, voice low.
You blink. “Sophia? You two have been hanging out a lot. Just wondering how that’s going.”
He drops the spoon. Like, actually drops it. It clatters loudly against the counter.
Jake turns to you. His jaw is tight. His hands curl into loose fists at his sides.
Then, suddenly...
“Is it really that bad?”
You freeze. “What?”
Jake steps forward, expression tight. “The idea of marrying me. Does it disgust you that much?”
Your mouth goes dry. “What are you talking about?”
He laughs once, sharp and humorless. “You’ve been trying to set me up with Sophia for weeks. You act like the thought of us—me and you—is some kind of joke.”
You stammer. “I didn’t—Jake, I didn’t mean it like—”
“Then how did you mean it, M/N?” His voice cracks a little. “Because every time I try, every time I get close to showing you how I feel, you brush it off. You joke. You call me clingy. You treat this”—he gestures between you—“like it’s just a game.”
You stare. Heart pounding. Mind blank.
Because deep down?
You knew.
You knew what it looked like. What it felt like. What he was trying to say without saying it.
But you weren’t ready to hear it.
Not out loud.
And now…
Now he’s standing there, hurt leaking from his voice like a bleeding wound, and he still—still—hasn’t confessed.
Because he's terrified.
Because maybe he thinks if he says it out loud, he’ll lose you completely.
You take a breath.
“Jake…”
He shakes his head, stepping back.
“Forget it.”
And just like that—he turns away.
The rest of the day is weirdly quiet.
Jake doesn’t bring up the conversation from breakfast. He doesn’t storm off or give you the cold shoulder either. Instead, he… acts normal.
Too normal.
He puts on a show like nothing happened—like he didn’t basically bleed in front of you emotionally while you stood there holding a plate of eggs and confusion.
You both lounge on the couch, a movie playing in the background. You don’t remember what it’s about. Something with guns. Or swords. Or dragons?
You wouldn’t know. Because your brain is still stuck on his voice this morning.
“Is it really that bad?”
He said it like a punchline. Like a plea. Like a door closing.
And you? You let it close.
Because you're scared.
Because if he says he loves you, everything changes.
And if you say it back?
You're not sure you know how to survive that.
Little did you knew, Jake was about to snap.
It starts like any other family dinner.
Your parents. His parents. Jake. You. A long table. Fancy restaurant. Cold aircon. Slightly overpriced sinigang.
They’re laughing. Swapping stories. Asking about school. Careers. The future.
You’re halfway through your juice when Jake’s mom smiles across the table and goes:
“So… graduation’s coming soon.”
You stiffen.
Jake—calm, composed, chewing like nothing’s wrong.
“Mm,” his mom continues, “you both remember the deal, right? If you haven’t found anyone by graduation—”
“We marry each other,” you finish weakly, laughing like it’s a silly little inside joke, even though it’s the reason you once considered setting him up with the entire Ateneo population.
Your mom chuckles. “We’re not forcing anything, of course, but—”
“Actually,” you cut in quickly, “Jake’s already dating someone.”
Jake’s fork clinks against his plate.
“Oh?” his dad raises a brow. “Really?”
You nod too fast. “Yup. Been a while. Super happy. Yup.”
Jake swallows.
The table turns to him.
His eyes meet yours.
And that’s when he does it.
That’s when he throws the whole damn match into the gasoline-soaked mess you’ve made.
Jake smiles. Calm. Easy. Deadly.
“Yeah,” he says, “I’m dating him.”
BOOM.
The silence is instant. Like you just said you were moving to Mars together.
Your soul leaves your body and slaps you on the way out.
You choke. “I’m sorry—what??”
Jake looks at you. Innocent. Smiling. “You didn’t want them to think we were single, right?”
“JAKE.”
“Oops,” he says, shrugging like this isn’t the emotional equivalent of being drop-kicked off a cliff.
Your dad looks confused. Your mom is smiling way too hard. Jake’s mom is gasping into her hands like she just won a bet. His dad looks like he already pulled out a wedding planner from under the table.
You’re losing it. “I meant Sophia! You were—Sophia was—!”
Jake turns back to the table. “Sophia’s a friend. M/N’s… more.”
More.
You almost launch yourself into the atmosphere.
“Oh my god,” you mutter. “You’re serious.”
Jake leans closer, grinning now, whispering just loud enough for only you to hear:
“Now you have to deal with it. Since, you know, I’m your boyfriend publicly.”
You shoot him a glare so sharp it could pierce armor.
He just leans back, smug. Like he didn’t just hijack your entire life with one sentence.
Meanwhile, your mom is already pulling out old baby photos. Jake’s mom is giggling. Your dad is Googling marriage license requirements.
Jake sips his water like he didn’t just detonate a bomb and walk away unbothered.
You stood up and gripped his wrist, practically yeeting him out the restaurant door, weaving past waiters, ignoring the old ladies watching like it’s a telenovela.
“Jake. Outside. Now.”
“Was it the public confession or the marriage approval committee I should be worried about?” he teases.
You shove the door open. It swings with drama.
And when you both step outside—quiet street, sun already dipping low, the city humming around you—you turn.
You’re seething. Flushed. Breath short.
“You’re insane.”
He smiles. “Insanely in love with—”
You slap a hand over his mouth.
“No.”
You look around like someone might still be eavesdropping.
“I told you I was using Sophia to get them off our backs. You didn’t have to go full Wattpad on me in the middle of family lunch, Jake!”
He licks your palm.
“JAKE—!”
You yank your hand back. And then—without thinking—your fingers fly up and tug at his hair. Not too hard. Just enough to release the sheer, chaotic frustration burning through you.
Jake freezes.
Then, slowly, he smirks.
“Okay, wow,” he says softly, grabbing your hands before you can even recoil, locking your wrists in his gentle grip.
“Getting feisty, aren’t we?”
“Don’t start with me—”
Before you can pull away again, he leans down and—kisses your knuckles.
Just like that.
Soft. Purposeful. Unfair.
You blink.
Your brain fully bluescreens.
Your soul does a cartwheel off the roof.
He’s still holding your hands when he says, “If you’re going to attack me, at least let me enjoy it.”
“Jake—”
“I meant it, you know.”
You pause.
“…The public confession or the hair-pulling kink?”
He laughs.
But then he quiets. His smile drops just slightly.
“I meant it when I said you’re mine.”
Your heartbeat stutters.
“And I’d say it again. In front of our parents. Our friends. The waiter. Your future therapist.”
“Jake—”
He leans in closer. Still holding your hands like he’s anchoring you.
“I know you’re scared. I know you don’t think this makes sense. But I’ve loved you since we were dumb kids sharing snacks and getting scolded for doodling on each other’s arms.”
You swallow. Hard.
He smiles, gentler now. “So yeah. You can hiss at me. Pull my hair. Pretend this is a game. But I’m not playing.”
Then he lets go and steps back.
“I’ll be inside,” he says. “If you’re ready to stop pretending.”
And with that—
He leaves you standing outside. Heart pounding. Hand still tingling from his kiss.
Tail puffed like a cornered cat who maybe—just maybe—wants to be held.
After a few minutes of composing and giving yourself a very lengthy and rather aggressive pep talk, you return to the table like nothing happened.
As if you didn’t just almost combust in the alley because your best friend turned fake boyfriend turned real heart attack kissed your damn hand and called you his.
Your mom raises an eyebrow. “Everything alright?”
You smile. Too wide. Too bright. The kind of smile that says "I am 5 seconds away from committing a crime."
“Yep,” you chirp. “Just needed air.”
Jake’s already seated. Looking entirely too pleased with himself. His hand is resting across the back of your chair when you sit beside him—casual. Familiar. Possessive.
You subtly swat it away.
He grins.
“So,” Jake says loudly, drumming his fingers on the table, “should we talk venues?”
You blink. “What?”
“The wedding,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I’m thinking beach? Or garden? I know you like plants. We could do something earthy. Maybe get Megan to design the invitations.”
Your fork clangs against your plate.
“Jake,” you mutter under your breath. “What are you doing.”
“Brainstorming,” he replies cheerily. “It’s not every day I get to plan my wedding to the love of my life.”
Your mom gasps. Jake’s mom is crying.
You smile through your teeth. “Can I speak to you outside again?”
Jake winks. “Already did that. You tried to maul me.”
Your face twitches.
He leans closer, voice low so only you can hear, warm and amused against your ear. “You look cute when you’re trying not to commit a felony.”
You hiss through clenched teeth, “I will bite you.”
“Promise?”
You stare ahead, silently praying for divine intervention.
Your dad raises his glass. “To Jake and M/N!”
Everyone cheers.
You are dying inside.
Jake is glowing.
Dinner wraps up with Jake still acting like he just won The Bachelor. His mom is glowing. Your dad is laughing with Jake’s dad. Sophia texted you “i’m gonna kill you but like romantically 😍.”
You’re sweating through your shirt—well, Jake’s shirt that you borrowed once and eventually ended up not givingg back—and silently vibrating with secondhand anxiety.
You’re about to make a clean escape—grab your bag, pretend you left your charger at home, maybe fake your death—when you hear it:
“Anak (Son),” your mom says, smiling too sweetly.
“Can we talk for a bit?”
Oh no.
You sit down again. Your palms sweat instantly.
She waits until everyone else is distracted—Jake’s still entertaining your dad with an exaggerated soccer story—and then turns to you.
And asks, gently:
“So… how long have you been in love with him?”
BOOM.
Immediate internal malfunction.
“W-what?” you cough. “No—I’m not—we’re just friends!”
She tilts her head. “He calls you babe.”
You flail. “That was one time—!”
“He kisses your hands.”
“He started it—!”
“You feed him.”
You freeze. “Okay, low blow.”
She leans in, voice soft, eyes serious.
“M/N. I’ve watched you two grow up together. Since you were kids, you’ve always looked at Jake like he was the sun. And I used to wonder if it was just you being close. But now…”
She pauses. Gives you that look—the one that sees straight through your soul.
“…You still look at him that way. And he’s never looked at anyone else like he looks at you.”
Your breath catches.
“I’m your mother,” she says. “You can lie to everyone else. Not me.”
You stare at your lap. Hands fidgeting. Voice small.
“…What if he’s better off with someone who isn’t scared?”
She places a hand over yours.
“He’s not asking for perfect. He’s asking for you.”
Your chest tightens.
You blink back the sting in your eyes.
And suddenly, her voice is gentler. Teasing.
“Besides, anak (son)… you think he’d let anyone else wear his jersey?”
You laugh. Quietly. Wetly.
“…He’s so annoying.”
She smiles. “Yes. But he’s yours, isn’t he?”
And this time, you don’t deny it.
After everyone bid their goodbyes, you step outside.
Jake’s already there, sitting on the curb like a model in a sad music video. The street lights paint gold over his skin. He’s spinning a bottle cap between his fingers like he’s been waiting—not just today, but forever.
He sees you and grins.
“Your mom give you the full ‘so when are you marrying my son’ talk?”
You cross your arms.
“I don’t like you.”
Jake blinks.
Then slowly—so slowly—he smiles.
The kind that tugs at the corner of his mouth, smug and soft and devastating.
“You done lying for the night?” he says.
You feel your face burn.
“I’m serious,” you mumble, shifting on your feet.
Jake stands.
And then he steps in close.
Not enough to touch. But enough to feel the heat from his body. Enough to make your knees consider betraying you on the spot.
“Okay,” he says, nodding casually. “You don’t like me.”
“Right.”
He smirks. “Then you won’t mind if I kiss you tomorrow.”
You choke. “What?”
“Just saying. If you don’t like me, it won’t matter, right?” He shrugs. “You won’t care if I kiss you. Or if I keep texting you goodnight. Or if I make you coffee the way you like it. Or if I call you mine in front of people again.”
You stare. Mouth slightly open. No words, only malfunction.
Jake leans in—just barely—and adds, in a whisper.
“I’m still going to make you mine, M/N.”
Then he steps back.
“Anyway,” he says cheerily, “see you tomorrow!”
And he leaves.
Just like that.
You’re left standing in front of the restaurant, face on fire, heart pounding, your brain short-circuiting like a faulty karaoke mic.
You yell after him, “I SAID I DON’T LIKE YOU!”
Jake, without turning around:
“Sure, babe!”
You scream internally.
And maybe—just maybe—a little externally, too.
You get to campus early.
You’re calm. Composed. Dressed in neutral colors and a will to survive. You’ve successfully ignored Jake’s three good morning texts, his “hey babe” voice note, and the meme he sent of Layla holding a sign that said “Stop saying you don’t like him. You’re literally in love with him.”
You’re fine, until you reach the gates of PUP.
And see him.
Wearing your department shirt.
Yes. Your PHILOSOPHY DEPARTMENT shirt.
You freeze.
He waves. “Hey, batchmate!”
“Jake,” you hiss as you reach him. “What are you doing here?”
“Wearing your shirt. Embracing your world. Becoming your destiny.”
“I’m going to scream.”
“Want me to wear your ID next?”
You swear your vision tilts.
“I have class,” you mutter, trying to sidestep him.
He follows. “Same. It’s called Advanced Flirting: Seduction Through Emotional Warfare.”
“Jake.”
“What, I’m just being a supportive fiance.”
“Stop calling yourself that—”
“I will when you admit you love me.”
You almost trip.
Later that day, your friends spot him waiting by your building with food.
Jungwon stares. “You still think he’s not in love with you?”
Megan just eats a fry. “Should we start planning your prenup?”
Ni-ki whispers, “Tell him to take the shirt off.”
You glare. “He’s testing me.”
Jake pops a fry in your mouth before you can finish.
You choke. He smirks.
“Eat well, babe. You’ll need energy. Loving me takes work.”
You scream internally.
But also… your heart skips.
Because no matter how loud your denial is—he’s louder.
Later that night, you're pacing in your room, your phone buzzing like hell. Twitter is on fire. Jake posted a soft photo—your side profile, blurry, sunlight caught in your lashes, your lips parted as you sipped from your coffee.
my favorite view 🥱💙
Your friends filled the comments.
@sunghoon: OK BOYFRIEND
@megan: M/N???
@jungwon: oh this is getting out of hand
@niki: LITERALLY SAID YOU’RE NOT IN LOVE?????? THIS???
Out of spite, you commented:
@m/n: JAKE DELETE THIS. NOW
And then moments later, your phone rings.
Sophia.
You answer.
“Hey—”
“I’m going to kill you.”
Your brows furrowed. “What did I do?!”
“Stop denying your feelings, for Christ’s sake, M/N! I can’t take any more of Jake’s rants about you!”
“What—I—Weren’t you, guys, supposed to be the ones dating?! You two seemed to hit it off—”
“We were faking it, duh!”
You pause.
“We wanted to watch you squirm and admit—verbally and truthfully—that you actually like him! But Jake wasn’t kidding when he said that you’d rather get hit by a comet than talk about feelings!”
You hear a door slam in the background.
Then suddenly, your group chat starts BLOWING UP.
Jungwon: emergency call now
Ni-ki: im adding megan
Megan: this better be about M/N’s mess
Sophia: it is.
Within 20 seconds, you're on a Google Meet of doom.
Ni-ki looked at you like he was judging your entire existence. “Do you hate happiness?”
Megan: “Genuine question. Do you think love is a government scam?”
Jungwon: “We have receipts. He’s been in love with you for years. Years, M/N.”
You run a hand down your face. “Okay, okay. I get it. I might like him.”
They all whined.
Ni-ki: “MIGHT??????? MIGHT??????????”
Megan: “You literally moaned his name in your sleep during a field trip, and I have it on audio.”
You choke. “WHY DO YOU HAVE THAT?!”
Sophia leaned closer to the camera. “You’re the only person who doesn’t realize this is real. Jake’s not playing. He hasn’t been playing.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Jungwon speaks, softly. Seriously.
“You’re going to lose him if you keep pretending you don’t want him the way you actually do.”
The silence hits different.
You blink, eyes a little glassy.
“...What if I don’t know how to want him the right way?”
Sophia’s voice is calm. Sure.
“You just have to stop running away from it.”
Another ding.
Jake.
It’s a picture. You and him. His hand half-visible in the foreground, your head resting against his shoulder. Taken today. You didn’t even know he snapped it.
“I think you’re my favorite thing.”
And for the first time…
You wonder why you’ve spent so long pretending you weren’t his too.
a/n: i’m cutting it here since i feel like it’s too long for my liking. i’ll post part 2 once i’m done with it. next part would tackle about how m/n would deal with his feelings for jake now that he learned to accept it to himself (also some heavy smut 😏). thank you so much to everyone who reads this and i hope you enjoyed it!
nerd bestfriend!jake teaching you how to squirt… with his dick :)
a/n: uhm, im not back. but this shit is too good to not share😞
>>>>>>>>>>
“okay, so—fuck—” jake hisses, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, fogged up from sweat, “so the, uh, the anterior vaginal wall is—shit—right here.”
he adjusts his grip on your thighs, pushing them up so your knees press to your chest, your pussy stretched wide around him, flushed and dripping. he’s buried deep, almost too deep, but you can’t think, can barely breathe, your hands fisting the sheets as you stare up at him.
he’s panting, face red, brows furrowed behind his glasses as he tries to keep himself from moving, trying to keep the “lesson” under control, but his cock keeps twitching inside you.
“j-jake,” you whimper, trying to move your hips, but he pins you down, glaring.
“stop, i’m teaching,” he snaps, but his voice is high, strained, as he tries to regain composure, pushing his glasses up with one trembling finger.
“a-anyway,” he continues, clearing his throat, “the g-spot is around two inches in, towards the belly button, and—fuck—when you stimulate it with the right pressure and rhythm—”
he shifts, pulling back slightly before rolling his hips forward, grinding against that spot, making your eyes roll back.
“you—ah, you feel that?” he stutters, his breath hitching, “th-that’s the—fuck, that’s the spot.”
your hands fly to his forearms, nails digging in, your body arching, “oh my god, jake—”
“and when you keep stimulating it, the skene’s glands—” he gasps as he thrusts again, “can cause—f-fuck—expulsion of fluid, which is—squirting—”
his voice cracks on the last word, his hips stuttering forward, cock dragging against your sweet spot again and again, your cunt fluttering around him.
“you’re clenching—shit, baby, you’re clenching too hard,” he moans, loud, glasses sliding down again as sweat drips onto your chest.
“jake, please, please—” you whine, tears pricking your eyes, your thighs shaking violently.
“s-shit, i’m—i’m trying to teach, okay?” he whines, loud and embarrassingly needy, “you just—fuck! you feel too good, it’s—so hard to—fuck!”
his hips snap forward harder, faster, despite himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tries to keep talking.
“n-need consistent pressure—like this—” he pants, grinding his cock deep, making you sob, “and—ah—angle towards the belly button, right there, right—fuck, right there—”
your vision blurs, a tight coil snapping as you scream, your body locking up before a sudden gush of liquid spills out around his cock, soaking his thighs, the sheets, everything.
“holy shit—holy fuck—” jake chokes out, hips jerking, cock twitching inside you as he pulls out fast, wrapping his hand around himself.
he strokes himself frantically, eyes wide behind his fogged glasses as he cums, thick ropes spilling over your pussy, your stomach, some of it dripping onto your folds, warm and messy.
“s-sorry, fuck, sorry, you just—” he whines, shivering as his cum leaks between your thighs, “you just feel too—fuck! too good.”
you’re both panting, your body still shaking, your pussy still leaking from your first squirt, your skin sticky with his cum and your own mess.
he looks down at you, cheeks flushed, hair a sweaty mess, glasses crooked, before letting out a soft, breathless laugh.
“so, uh,” he says, clearing his throat as he pushes his glasses up again, “that’s… how you squirt.”
you smack his arm weakly, but you’re laughing, tears slipping down your cheeks, your heart pounding, your body warm, your best friend looking at you like you just gave him a reason to live.
you meet jake during a college party and for some reason, he knows you.
contains: 18+ [MDNI], male reader, service top! jake, bratty bottom! reader, jake is the popular guy everyone likes, reader is a black cat, lots of passionate make-outs, body worship, first time, oral, big dick! jake, unprotected sex (wrap ur willy pls), jake is whipped, aftercare
You hated parties. Too loud. Too many people. Too much sweat and not enough air.
But your roommate had practically begged you to come—“Bro, it’s Jaeyun’s party. Sim Jaeyun. You don’t say no to that.” And maybe you shouldn’t have.
You weren’t exactly friends. You were the quiet type in class—kept your head down, made your grades, minded your own business. Jake? He was the opposite. The guy who danced on tables, flirted like breathing, looked too good even when he was late to class. You never thought he even knew your name.
But tonight… everything changed.
The house was packed wall-to-wall. Bodies swayed to the music. Lights pulsed like heartbeats. You ducked away from the chaos, slipping past the kitchen, past a laundry room—until you found it. A quiet back hallway with a dim red glow leaking through a half-open door.
You meant to just sit and breathe.
But when you pushed the door open, you found him.
Jake. Sim Jaeyun. Slouched against the wall. Half his red leather jacket slipping off his shoulder, hair messy from dancing, and that sleeveless shirt clinging to his chest—sweat making it near transparent.
He looked up. His eyes locked on you like you were a surprise he didn’t know he’d been waiting for.
“Didn’t think anyone else knew this part of the house existed,” he said, a crooked grin on his lips.
“I could say the same,” you muttered, heart hammering in your chest.
He pushed himself off the wall and took a step closer. The music still pulsed outside, but it felt far away now. Like the world had narrowed down to just this hallway. Just the two of you. Just him.
“You’re… Y/N, right?” he asked, voice low, playful.
Your breath caught. “You… know my name?”
Jake smirked. “Of course. You’re the quiet guy who always wears those oversized hoodies. I notice more than people think.”
You were stunned into silence.
He stepped closer again, and now you could see the way his chain gleamed under the dim light, the way his chest rose and fell just a little faster. “You looked like you didn’t wanna be at the party either,” he murmured. “Thought maybe you’d understand.”
You nodded slowly, but your voice betrayed you. “Yeah… I get it. Too many eyes.”
Jake tilted his head. “Then maybe we can look at each other instead.”
Before you could reply, he closed the distance—and kissed you.
Hot, slow, testing. You gasped against his lips, and he took that as permission, tilting your chin up and deepening it. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you back into the wall, and your head spun.
“I’ve wanted to do that since midterms,” he confessed against your neck, breath hot, fingers curling into your shirt. “The way you look when you're reading? Fuck.”
You were drowning in him—his scent, his heat, the slick brush of his lips on your jaw.
“Jake—someone might—”
He silenced you with another kiss, this one rougher, more desperate. “Let them,” he whispered. “They’ll just see me kissing the guy who actually makes me lose my mind.”
Your body was pressed flush against the cold wall now, Jake’s hand slipping under your shirt. His touch was fire, his mouth tracing your collarbone, biting softly, then licking the sting away.
You whimpered.
“Shhh, baby,” he cooed, lips brushing your ear. “Can’t have you being loud if we’re gonna keep this secret, yeah?”
You nodded, flushed and breathless.
His hand slid lower, and your hips bucked into him instinctively. Jake groaned.
“Fuck, you're sensitive,” he muttered. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”
“Then do it,” you challenged, surprising even yourself.
Jake’s eyes darkened.
“Oh, you have no idea what you just unlocked.”
You didn’t know how it happened. One second, you were pinned against the hallway wall, Jake’s mouth devouring every sound you made. The next, his fingers had laced through yours and pulled you—half-dazed and fully aroused—up the creaking stairs, past the noise, past the crowd.
To his room.
He closed the door behind you with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than the music downstairs. The room was warm, dimly lit with fairy lights tangled across the headboard. A poster half-ripped on one wall, cologne bottles on a cluttered dresser, an unmade bed that you suddenly couldn’t look away from.
Jake didn’t say a word at first. Just looked at you. Really looked. Like he was deciding where to touch first.
He took off his chain slowly, eyes never leaving yours. Then the red leather jacket. He tossed it on the desk chair without care, like he’d done this a hundred times—but tonight, something about his hands screamed restraint.
“You okay?” he asked gently, stepping closer.
“Yeah,” you whispered, voice a little shaky. “You?”
Jake gave you that soft half-smile again, the one that made your knees weak. “I’ve been waiting for this.”
Then his hands were on you again—one gripping your waist, the other sliding under your shirt, fingertips ghosting over your skin like he was memorizing you. You shivered.
He kissed you this time with less urgency, more intent. His lips moved like he had time. Like he wanted you to feel everything. And you did—your heart beating so hard it echoed in your ears, your body arching instinctively into his.
You grabbed at his shirt, dragging your nails lightly down his side. “Off,” you said, voice low, breathless.
Jake chuckled, low and teasing. “Yes, sir.”
He pulled the sleeveless shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor, revealing sweat-slicked skin, toned chest, collarbones you wanted to worship. You swallowed hard.
Your hands moved without thinking, tracing up his abs, then his chest, pausing when he let out the softest sound—a choked gasp that made your body burn.
“Fuck,” he murmured, tilting his head back. “Keep doing that.”
You stepped forward, pushing him gently toward the bed until the backs of his knees hit the edge. He let you, eyes wide and full of hunger. You kissed down his jaw, then lower, until your mouth reached the curve of his throat. He let out a sharp breath, his hands gripping the sheets behind him.
“Y/N,” he breathed, voice cracking, “if you keep teasing me like this, I might forget I’m supposed to take care of you too.”
You smirked against his skin. “Who said you had to take the lead?”
Jake let out a surprised little laugh. “Damn. Quiet guy’s got a mouth on him.”
But even as he said it, he pushed you down—slow, gentle, guiding you to your knees between his legs. His hand tangled in your hair like he’d been dreaming of it.
“You don’t have to—” he started, breath hitching.
“I want to,” you said.
He didn’t say another word.
Just watched you, lips parted, eyes dark as you undid his belt, pulled his jeans down just enough, and saw the outline of everything he’d been holding back.
He was packing. His length was probably around 6.5 to 7 inches, maybe a bit more. The girth was unfairly satisfying. Not baseball-bat thick, but thick enough that you could already feel your jaw going numb just by looking at it.
“Holy shit,” you muttered.
Jake bit his lip, trying not to look smug—and failing. “Still want to play quiet now?”
You didn’t answer.
You just opened your mouth.
His reaction? Immediate. A curse, then a gasp. His hand tightening in your hair, not to control—just to ground himself. His head hit the wall behind him.
“F-fuck, Y/N—oh my god—”
You worked him slow, steady. Tongue tracing every inch. Every whimper from him went straight to your core. He was losing it. For you.
“Look at me,” he begged, voice breaking.
You did.
And he almost came from just that.
Before he could do so though, he gently pulled your head away and in a moment, his lips were already on yours again.
Next thing you knew, you were lying on his bed, hearts racing, skin buzzing from everything that happened before. Jake was hovering over you, his hand cupping your cheek like you were something fragile, precious—his.
“I…” You swallowed hard. “I’ve never done this before.”
Jake’s eyes widened slightly, but not in surprise. More like—relief? Awe?
“Okay,” he whispered. One hand brushed your hair away from your face. “Okay. We’ll take it slow. We’ll stop if you need to, yeah?”
You nodded, your fingers tightening around his wrist.
He kissed your forehead. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” you breathed, voice small but steady. “Just… be gentle?”
Jake smiled, soft and sincere, and kissed you again—this time like he was promising you something sacred.
“I will. I’ll take care of you, baby.”
He took his time with everything. His hands explored you like a map—fingertips memorizing every spot that made you gasp, shiver, arch. He slicked his fingers, prepping you carefully—watching your face with every motion, kissing you through every wince and whimper.
When he was done, he was about to stand up when you suddenly locked your legs on his hips. He looked at you, gentle yet a raw desire radiating from his eyes.
“Wait, baby. I’ll just get a condom from my pocket—”
“Don’t,” you almost whimpered. “I want you, Jake.”
You could see him swallow hard. At that moment, you knew. This wasn't some random heat-of-the-moment hookup in a grimy frat house bathroom.
No—
This was Sim Jaeyun taking his time with you, treating your first time like it meant something. Because it did—to both of you.
And when he finally lined himself up, hands shaking slightly from how badly he wanted you, he asked one last time:
“You want me like this?” he murmured, rubbing the tip against you, voice strained. “No condom?
And you nodded, breath hitching, trusting him.
“I want to feel all of you.”
Jake went still, his jaw clenched—like your words broke something in him.
“Fuck… okay. I’ll go slow. I’ll be gentle. Just tell me if it’s too much, baby.”
He entered you slowly, inch by inch, whispering praise the whole time.
“You’re doing so well for me.”
“So tight… so good…”
“Just breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”
The stretch stung a little at first, but his lips were everywhere—your cheek, your jaw, your neck—until it turned into something warm and full and right. Your hands tangled in his hair, and he laced his fingers with yours.
He started to move—slow, careful, hips rolling deep and smooth. It wasn’t about roughness. It wasn’t about dominance. It was about you.
And you felt everything.
Jake moaning softly into your ear, his breath stuttering. The way he held your hand like he never wanted to let go. The tremble in his voice when he said your name like it was a prayer.
“Fuck, Y/N—you feel so good, baby.”
You gasped, your body clinging to him.
“I-I can’t believe it’s you,” you whispered, overwhelmed.
Jake slowed, buried deep inside you, and kissed you like the world had gone silent.
“Believe it,” he said against your lips. “You’re mine now.”
You felt the way his body shuddered as you clenched around him, how he buried himself deeper.
Your body was still trembling when Jake slowed his hips, now barely moving, just grinding gently into you like he didn’t want it to end. He was deep inside, both of you slick with sweat and release, your heart pounding against his chest.
You whimpered, breath stuttering. Your legs twitched around his waist, and Jake paused immediately, eyes wide, chest heaving.
“Too much?” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.
You nodded weakly, face buried into the crook of his neck.
Jake kissed your temple and murmured, “Okay, baby… okay, I’ve got you. I’m gonna pull out, nice and slow.”
You clung to him with a soft whine, not from pain—but from how full you’d been, how intimate it felt. Like if he left your body, he might take the moment with him.
Jake nuzzled your cheek, his hand smoothing over your back.
Then, carefully—achingly slow—he slid out of you.
Your body shuddered. You whimpered, your whole being hypersensitive, overstimmed. You could feel everything—his warmth leaving, the slick mess between your thighs, the way his hands held you like you might break.
“Shhh,” Jake whispered, kissing your shoulder. “You did so good for me…”
He stared down at the mess—his cock flushed, twitching slightly, your hole fluttering as it clenched on nothing—and his breath caught in his throat.
“Fuck… you took me so well, Y/N.”
You blushed, eyes hazy. You were spent. Wrecked. But god, you’d never felt so wanted.
He reached for a towel beside the bed and gently wiped you down, still kissing your skin as he did. Thigh. Belly. Inner knee. All soft, all reverent.
Then he pulled you into his chest, under the sheets, and held you like he needed you close to breathe.
You could still feel the ghost of him between your legs. The warmth. The fullness. The soft, satisfied ache.
Jake’s fingers traced circles on your lower back as he whispered,
“I’ve never… felt anything like that before.”
You turned your head, dazed and sleepy.
He smiled, nose brushing yours.
And with one last kiss to your forehead, he whispered, “Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
The first thing you felt was… warm.
Then heavy. Then the soft rhythm of someone’s heartbeat against your cheek. You cracked your eyes open and were immediately met with golden sunlight filtering through half-closed blinds and the sight of Sim Jaeyun—shirtless, tousled, and very asleep.
His arm was slung around your waist, holding you close like a body pillow. His face was buried in your hair. His lips barely parted, breath fanning over your neck in slow exhales.
He looked younger like this. Softer. Like the boy who whispered praise into your ear hours ago wasn’t the same campus heartthrob everyone thirsted over at parties.
You smiled lazily… until you tried to move.
You shifted—just a little—and immediately winced.
“Ow—fuck.”
Jake stirred, eyebrows pulling together in a sleepy frown. His grip on your waist instinctively tightened.
“…Baby?” he mumbled, voice raspy and low. “You okay?”
You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “I’m fine. Just… y’know.”
Jake blinked awake, eyes squinting as he sat up slightly and looked down at you, concerned.
Then realization hit.
“Oh.” A slow, knowing smirk curled at his lips. “Is someone sore?”
You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”
But Jake was thriving. He propped himself up on one elbow, his chain still hanging around his neck from the night before, hair sticking out in every direction, eyes shining with sleepy smugness.
“Damn… I really did a number on you, huh?”
You tried to sit up again and instantly winced. Jake's smirk faded, replaced by something gentler. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your shoulder.
“Okay, okay, cocky moment over. Come here.”
He helped ease you upright, guiding your movements like you were made of glass.
Then he pulled the blanket around your shoulders and stood up—completely shirtless, of course—stretching with a satisfied groan that revealed way too much toned torso for this early in the morning.
He looked around the room and then the open door.
“…The house is a crime scene,” he muttered, grabbing his phone from the floor. “There’s… a sock in the toaster? What the f—”
You laughed softly, still sore, but the amusement overrode the ache. “You throwing another party tonight?”
Jake glanced over his shoulder with that stupidly hot lopsided grin. “Only if you’re staying over again.”
You flushed. “What if I say no?”
He padded over, leaning down until his face was inches from yours. His voice dropped.
“Then I’ll just have to do something that makes you say yes.”
You raised a brow. “Like what?”
Jake kissed you—slow and deep.
“You’ll see. But first, I’m making pancakes. You need to recover. My fault.”
He winked.
“Sorry… not sorry.”
You watched him walk off in nothing but boxers and messy hair, mumbling something about “protein and hydration” and “maybe an ice pack?” like the sweet, chaotic menace he was.
And somehow, even with the aching soreness between your legs, you already missed how he felt inside you.
