I think since we see smut posts blow up we forget there's a whole side of tumblr that likes non smut stuff too, and royalty aus are a popular trope, so I think it'll do well. You'd likely get more rbs since people won't be as shy about hyping it up. And I love your work Mika 🥹
eeee okay i didnt think anyone was going to reply!
tysm twinnn! honestly makes me feel soo much better about what i've planned for this royalty au. literally writing the draft up for chapter 1!! (possible choose ur ending...)
+*pairing: royalty au-> crownprince!heeseung x betrothed(to his younger brother)princess!reader. forbidden lust.
+*wc: 5k
+*contains: explicit sexual content (18+), morally gray dynamics, toxic!heeseung, infidelity (reader cheating on betrothed fiancé) diabolical behavior from both reader & hee, manipulative!hee, pretty possessive hee, implied consent, dom!hee x subby ( implied virgin ) reader, degradation, dirty talk (“little slut", “brother’s whore", “mine”, "princess" —both affectionately and degradingly ), intense inner conflict between guilt x lust, fingering (fem rec.), squirting, orgasming (both), creampie :3 wrap before u tap.
reader discretion is advised. if any of the tags trigger you, i encourage you to skip this fic. this is a fictional piece written for entertainment purposes only and does not reflect the real personalities or actions of lee heeseung. by continuing, you’re acknowledging that you are of legal age and comfortable engaging with these themes.
synopsis: you're betrothed to the younger prince. pure, untouchable, and tucked neatly into a future you never asked for. but when a snowstorm during the dead of winter traps you in the crown prince’s chamber—heeseung’s chamber—things unravel. slowly at first. then all at once. a touch too long. a look too sharp. and then his mouth is on yours, whispering things no betrothed bride should hear. especially not from the crown prince, future king.
m i k a 🌷: my second entry for kate's ( @brokenengene ) enhypen winter writing event ❄️ #NaughtyAndNice2025 be sure to check out kate and all the talented writers who joined!!! i couldnt give the younger brother a name because this was so messed up. just imagine someone you dont like😭 not proof read again sorry:/
🎀taglist: No pressure to my beautiful flowers to read at all! I love youuuu🌷💝 @heegyukeluv @1osingdog @str8ykids @nctrenjunie @enigmaticsal @allygator-98 @jay-scenarios @wsrod-deszczu @serendipityunho @hxonieverse @ninistranaut @rockstarkkami @brokenengene @nishimurmur @heeprints @heefairies @ohsowoozi @theyluvjake @iclimbjungwon
the news reaches you the way most things do in winter. quietly, and all at once.
there is no announcement made for spectacle. no gathering of court. it comes folded into the morning routine, passed from mouth to mouth as servants move through the palace with a different kind of urgency.
your betrothed is leaving before dawn.
not for ceremony, but obligation. a winter inspection of allied territories before the passes close entirely. something official enough to require his presence and inconvenient enough to pull him away at the worst possible time.
you sit at your vanity while your maid braids your hair and listen without interrupting.
you nod when appropriate. thank her when she finishes.
only after the door closes do you let your hands rest uselessly in your lap.
it is not heartbreak. not quite.
it is the absence of something that was supposed to be there.
*******
heeseung finds out while already awake.
winter makes light sleepers of those who carry responsibility, and he has been up since before the sun, reading reports by candlelight when the message arrives. he does not react immediately. he finishes the line he is on. folds the paper carefully.
the decision makes sense.
it always does.
still, later, as he crosses the palace grounds and watches snow begin to gather along the stone, he thinks of you standing in a room too quiet for the news you were just given.
he tells himself that is not his concern.
he should not meddle in matters of his younger brother’s betrothed…
he tells himself many things. opposing things, even.
many things that tug on the chains of his self control.
*******
you do not see him that day.
that, more than anything, makes it easier to behave as expected. you attend what you must. speak when spoken to. accept the small, careful looks sent your way by people who already know where your future is meant to go.
a good, mannered bride-to-be.
when the sun sets, your maids escort you from the palace holiday lighting ceremony. thousands of warm, yellow lights adorning the stoned walls and carved arches. the snow glowing around the twinkling flecks of light.
by late evening, the sky has turned heavy and low. snow begins falling sideways, the kind that does not fall with grace and dance. snow that rushes down and falls with urgency. .
you’re halfway back to your chambers when footsteps slow behind you. heavy, but steady.
you do not turn right away. you already know who it is.
“you should walk closer to the wall,” crown prince heeseung says. “the floor’s slick near the windows.”
you glance down. he is right.
you adjust your path without comment. he matches your pace, not quite beside you, but close enough that the heat from him reaches through your cloak.
“they said he’ll be gone for weeks,” you say.
heeseung nods once.
“longer, if the storm worsens.”
you hum softly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. the sound seems to pull his attention toward you more fully.
when you reach your door, you expect him to stop.
he does not.
instead, he lingers, one hand braced against the frame above your shoulder. not blocking you in. not moving away either.
the space between you feels deliberate.
“they’re closing parts of the palace tonight,” he informs, eyes steady but not exactly meeting yours. “if the wind picks up.”
“will i need to move?” you ask, tugging your fur shawl closer to your chest.
“possibly.”
you look at him then. really look. “to where?”
his eyes finally hold yours. “to my wing.”
you dont comment on that. you simply nod, open your door, and step inside.
only once it closes, do you realize your heart is beating too fast.
*****
the storm comes down hard. wind blowing distant corridor windows open.
it wakes you sometime after midnight, the sound of it throwing itself against the palace like it wants inside. the fire has burned low, and the cold has now crept into the corners of the room.
there is a knock at your door before you can ring for help.
you open it to find crown prince heeseung already dressed, cloak fastened, snow caught in his hair.
“hurry, princess. we’re moving now,” he says.
no explanation. none needed.
you gather only what you must. tossing on an extra layer to then follow him into the corridor, where servants move quickly, voices hushed. when you step onto a patch of stone slick with melting snow, you slip a bit while you step.
heeseung catches you without a word and with little to no effort.
his hand stays at your elbow longer than necessary once you’re steady again.
you do not move away as the two of you walk.
*********
his chambers are quieter than yours.
more shielded. the windows thick and narrow, the fire already lit. servants set down candles and withdraw, bowing in respect, and leaving the two of you alone with the storm. the low crackle of flames as your background.
you stand near the hearth, warming your hands.
crown prince heeseung removes his cloak and hangs it carefully, movements unhurried. when he turns back to you, his gaze lingers, slow and assessing, before he seems to realize what he’s doing.
“you can take the bed,” he says, aprehension clear in his voice
“and, what about you?” you palms slowly warming again.
“the chair’s fine.”
you glance at it. then back at him. “it doesn’t look fine. this is your chamber, your highness.”
he exhales softly through his nose. something like a laugh, but restrained. “it’s temporary.”
i wish it wasnt, you think.
instead, you sit on the edge of the bed and shrug off your cloak.
“you don’t need to punish yourself,” you lit, testing his composure.
his jaw tightens. not in anger. in something quieter.
he crosses the room and sits in the chair anyway.
you notice, with a strange flicker of awareness, how close it is to the bed…
”you don’t have to call me that.” his eyes are trained on the swaying of the flame.
“call you what?” you blink.
”just call me heeseung.” he doesnt turn his head to look at you, only moves his eyes to where you stand. “i wont punish you for the informality.”
he takes your wordless nod as compliance.
“sit.” he gestures to the single arm chair across the one he’s in.
once, you sit. the fire lulls the both of you into conversation.
time stretches.
the storm worsens. the palace groans around it. you talk about little things. the kind of things that come up when there is nothing else to hold onto. places you’ve seen. winters that were worse. winters that were kinder.
at some point, heeseung pours wine.
at some point after that, you stop thinking about how many glasses you’ve had.
the fire dips low again.
heeseung stands to tend it. even crouched over the fire, his slender, strong figure was still tall and powerful. he was going to be king one day. preluding a bit early in the line of his future reign, but just by his stature and regality, he could take on the crown right now and it would be fit. he truly is meant to be king.
you watch him without hiding it, chin resting on your hand.
when he straightens, he catches your gaze.
you don’t look away.
his attention lingers, drops briefly to your mouth, then lifts again. something passes over his expression, controlled but not untouched.
you stand.
the distance between you closes quietly. not rushed. not cautious either.
“the storm’s loud,” you say.
“it’ll last until morning.”
you nod. your fingers brush the edge of the bed, absent, almost thoughtless.
heeseung’s eyes follow the movement. “you don’t have to stay,” he says.
you look at him. “i know.”
but, you do not move.
neither does he.
the fire crackles. the wind howls.
he steps closer first, stopping just short of touching you. close enough that you feel his warmth, his breath.
“if you do,” he says, voice low, even, “ stay, i mean. you should do it knowing it won’t be simple.”
you tilt your head slightly, considering him. “has anything ever been?”
his younger brother’s face crosses the forefront of your mind.
his hand lifts, hesitates, then settles at your waist. steady. certain.
you inhale. image of his brother, gone.
the bed is right there. no one would hear.
the storm hides everything.
you let yourself lean into him, just enough to feel the heat of his body.
heeseung closes the remaining space.
the kiss is not gentle.
it starts that way. honestly, it tries to be gentle at first.
his mouth meets yours like he means to stop after a second, like he’s only checking something, like this is a mistake he plans to correct. but the moment you breathe against him, the moment your lips part without hesitation, restraint slips.
his hand tightens at your waist.
you feel it immediately. the way his grip changes. the way his thumb presses in, grounding, claiming. like he needs to know you’re real. like he needs you closer.
you make a sound you don’t recognize. soft, broken, pulled straight from your chest.
that does it.
heeseung kisses you again, deeper this time, slower, as if he’s decided there’s no point in pretending. his mouth moves with intention now. unhurried. thorough. he kisses you like he’s been thinking about it far longer than you want to believe.
your hands lift on their own.
you don’t remember deciding where to put them. you only know that suddenly you’re holding onto him, fingers curled into the fabric at his shoulders, then higher, sliding into his hair as if you’ve always known how it feels there.
warm. soft. grounding.
you break the kiss just long enough to breathe.
“we shouldn’t,” you whisper, the words barely making it past your lips before he’s kissing you again.
he doesn’t argue.
he just leans in harder, mouth moving against yours like he’s answering you with everything but words. his breath is warm. steady. his control feels thinner now, stretched tight beneath his skin.
your back brushes the edge of the bed.
you feel it before you realize what it means. the mattress against your thighs. the way the space behind you disappears.
heeseung’s hand slides from your waist to your lower back, palm firm, guiding without force. not pushing you down. just reminding you that the bed is there.
that you could fall back if you wanted to.
you don’t.
instead, you step closer.
your body fits against his in a way that feels far too natural. your chest presses to his. your hips brush his thigh. the contact sends a slow, curling heat through your stomach.
you gasp into his mouth.
“this is wrong,” you murmur, the words muffled between kisses.
his mouth stills for half a second.
just long enough for you to think he might stop.
then his lips move to your jaw, your cheek, your throat. his mouth is warm and deliberate, kisses pressed along your skin like he’s mapping something he’s not allowed to keep.
“then tell me to stop, princess.” he says quietly, mouth brushing your skin.
you don’t.
your hands tighten in his hair instead. you tilt your head without thinking, giving him more room, more access.
that quiet sound he makes then is not a word. it’s breath. controlled, but barely hanging on.
his forehead rests against yours for a moment, his grip at your back firm enough that you feel locked in place.
“you’re shaking,” his lips brush against yours as he whispers.
“so are you,” you reply, trembling.
his mouth curves faintly, something dark and pleased and undone all at once.
“its too cold out there for you to leave now, princess. especially when we’re so warm here.”
you nod, unsure why you do but you can tell he wants this as much as you do.
how you imagined this many times. countless times.
your hips shift, slow and uncertain, just enough to relieve the tension pooling low in your body.
the reaction is immediate.
his breath stutters. his hand tightens again. his thigh presses forward, fitting between yours, creating friction that makes your knees soften.
you inhale sharply, the sensation lighting something hot and dizzy behind your eyes.
“heeseung,” you whisper, his name slipping out like a confession.
his mouth finds yours again, rougher now. hungrier. the kiss deepens until there’s no space left for guilt to breathe.
you kiss him back without restraint, without apology. your body moves closer, chasing the feeling, grinding against him in a way that makes the air between you feel charged and thin.
every thought you have tells you this is wrong.
that you shouldn’t go back on your word.
that you shouldn’t betray his brother like this. not when he was probably shut up in a quaint villa, sheltering from the snow storm. shivering near a cramped tender of flame.
every part of you feels right. oh so, fucking right.
his hand slides to your hip, fingers digging in as if he needs leverage, as if he needs to anchor himself to something while your bodies move together. the pressure between you builds, slow and steady, not rushed, but impossible to ignore.
you break the kiss again, breathless.
“we really shouldn’t,” you whisper, even as you roll your hips forward again.
this time he laughs softly. low. strained.
“you keep saying that,” he murmurs against your mouth. “and you keep doing this.”
his hand guides you against him just enough to show you what he means.
your face burns.
your body doesn’t stop.
the storm howls outside, loud enough to swallow the sound of your breathing, the quiet friction of fabric, the way his mouth keeps finding yours like he’s afraid to let go.
you feel dizzy. warm. painfully aware of every place your bodies touch.
sinful feels like the only word for it.
heeseung pulls back just enough to look at you. really look.
his eyes are dark. focused. undone in a way you’ve never seen before.
“if we keep going,” he says, voice low and steady despite everything, “i won’t stop.”
your heart pounds.
your body answers before your mouth can.
you lean into him again, pressing yourself closer, choosing desire over doubt. sin over righteousness.
he exhales slowly, like a man finally giving in.
his mouth claims yours once more.
and this time, neither of you is pretending anymore.
the imaginary veil held between you is torn to shreds. out goes restraint and on the bed is where you fall.
he doesn’t give you time to think.
the moment your back hits the mattress, he follows, weight settling over you with controlled inevitability. not crushing. not hesitant. his hands brace on either side of your head, sinking slightly into the velvet comforter as the bed absorbs the movement.
the candles and fireplace move the shadows against the wall over his bed.
your breath comes out in a rush.
heeseung looks down at you like this for a moment, chest rising and falling, eyes dragging slowly over your face, your throat, the way your body curves into the bed beneath him like it belongs there.
“look at you,” he murmurs. it’s quiet. not mocking. not gentle either.
your heart races through your eardrums.
his mouth drops to your jaw again, then lower, lingering at your throat where your skin is warm and exposed. his lips move slowly, deliberately, like he knows exactly how sensitive your skin is.
“you keep saying we shouldn’t,” he continues, breath hot against your skin. “but you didn’t pull away. not once.”
your hands slide up his arms, fingers curling into his sleeves, grounding yourself against him.
“heeseung,” you breathe, your voice already gone.
he hums softly at the sound of his name, like it pleases him more than it should.
his knee presses between yours, firm enough to make you shift instinctively. the friction sends a sharp, breath-stealing jolt through you, and you gasp.
he feels it.
of course he does.
“hmm,” he says quietly. “you tell me i’m wrong while your body keeps answering me in opposition.”
your face burns. your hips lift without permission, chasing the pressure.
“this is awful,” you whisper, even as you move against him again. “we’re awful.”
his mouth curves against your skin.
“you were promised,” he says, low and deliberate. “you said the words. you wore the ring.”
your breath stutters.
“and yet,” he continues, pressing closer, letting you feel exactly what you’re doing to him, “here you are. in my bed.”
his hand slides down your side, slow and sure, stopping at your hip like he’s staking a claim he’s denied himself for years. lips now near the shell of your ear.
“do you think he’s thinking about you right now?” he murmurs. “out there in the snow? hm?”
the words hit somewhere deep and sharp.
your body reacts before your mind can catch up, a soft sound tearing out of you as your hips roll up again.
heeseung exhales through his teeth.
“there it is,” he says. “so desperate. my brother's little whore.”
your hands fist in his clothes, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.
“you shouldn’t say that,” you whisper.
“well, you shouldn’t be doing this,” he replies easily, hands moving up to your exposed ankle. dragging his hand up your leg, along with the hem of your dress. “ but here you are, squirming under me, princess. i wouldn’t be surprised if i find that your soaked underneath this dress.
his forehead presses to yours, breath mingling, voice dropping even lower.
“you feel how warm it is here?” he whispers, words hitting in tiny huffs. “how easy it would be to forget everything else?”
his mouth finds yours again, slower this time, deeper. he kisses you like he’s already lost the argument, like he’s decided the sin is worth it.
your bodies move together without thinking now, heat and pressure and need tangling until it’s impossible to tell where guilt ends and desire begins.
the storm screams outside, wild and relentless.
“tell me to stop,” heeseung murmurs against your mouth, voice thick and ruined.
you don’t.
you never do.
and when his hand finally slides your dress past your hips, you know there’s no going back.
your breath catches the second heeseung’s hand curls under your thigh, rough and steady, dragging your dress up over your hips like it’s something that’s owed to him.
his mouth never leaves yours for long. every breath you try to take is swallowed whole. the room is too warm. the air too heavy. your head swimming with wine, guilt, and the weight of his body pressing closer, closer, closer.
when his fingers reach the soft, soaked lace between your legs, he pauses.
he doesn’t gasp. doesn’t curse. just presses his forehead to yours and laughs—quiet and breathless—like he’s been waiting for this moment to prove something to himself.
“fuck,” he whispers, voice cracked open. “you really are wet for me.”
you clench.
shame blooms hot under your skin. but it’s the kind of shame that makes your body pulse harder. your legs tense around his waist instead of pulling away.
his fingers press, slow and deliberate, over the fabric.
“you know what’s worse,” he mutters, voice gravel. “i knew you would be.”
he kisses you again, all teeth and tongue. like punishment. like reward.
your hips lift toward his hand, chasing the pressure. trying to find more.
“look at you,” heeseung groans, dragging the soaked lace to the side, finally skin to skin. “open and dripping. like your little cunt’s been waiting for this just as long as i have.”
your eyes flutter closed.
he moves his hand. once. twice. enough for you to let out a broken sound.
“does he touch you like this?” he asks. not curious. cruel.
your heart twists.
you shake your head.
heeseung breathes hard.
“no,” he says. “because you’re not his. not right now.”
you want to protest. want to remind him what this is. what you are.
but then his fingers push inside you—slow and deep—and the only thing that leaves your mouth is a gasp that sounds like his name.
“so tight,” he mutters. “fuck—this is how you’d take me? your pussy gripping my cock, even after being promised to someone else?”
your body stutters beneath him. your walls flutter around his fingers like they know it’s wrong. like they’re begging him to keep going anyway.
“i shouldn’t be doing this,” you breathe. but your hips roll again, greedier now, fucking yourself on his hand.
heeseung smiles against your neck, voice low and filthy.
“then why are you?” he asks. “why are you letting me touch what belongs to him?”
you can’t answer.
you don’t want to.
he curls his fingers just right, and your thighs shake around his waist.
“because deep down,” he whispers, dragging his lips over your ear, “you don’t want to be my brother’s bride.”
you let out a sound that isn’t yes but isn’t no.
heeseung groans.
“you want to be ruined,” he says. “want me to fuck you so good you forget how he even kisses you.”
you gasp.
“i’m going to mark you,” he says, breath ragged. “everywhere. my brother’s never going to see it, but you will. you’ll feel it every time you sit. every time you bathe.”
you clench around his fingers again.
he pulls them out slowly and holds them up to the firelight, slick and shining.
“see that?” he murmurs. “your royal cunt, soaking for the wrong man.”
you whimper.
he leans in again. kisses you like he owns your mouth. grinds his hips down into you, the thickness of him pressing right where you need it.
and when he finally starts tugging his pants down with one hand, his voice drops to a ruined whisper.
“this’ll never be mine,” he says, hand sliding up your throat, tilting your head back. “but your pussy? that’s mine tonight.”
he pulls back just enough to look at you, chest heaving, jaw set tight like this is the last thread of restraint he has. “you better hope this storm passes soon, princess. im going to fuck you all winter.”
you’re laid out beneath him now. legs spread. thighs trembling. dress bunched around your waist. lips parted. his fingers still wet with you.
he strokes himself once, twice, lining up without a word.
the look in his eyes isn’t asking permission.
it’s claiming what was already his.
and when he pushes in, slow and deliberate. you choke on a gasp so raw and broken it makes him groan through gritted teeth.
“fuck,” he breathes, sinking deeper.
your body takes him inch by inch, stretching in a way that aches and burns and satisfies all at once. your head falls back against the mattress. your hands curl into the sheets.
it’s too much. it’s not enough.
he’s big. thick. heavy inside you already. and he’s not even all the way in.
your eyes flutter, voice thin.
“oh god—”
“already trying to push me out?,” heeseung mutters, dragging his mouth along your neck. “relax that fucking pussy for me.”
his eyes are blown wide and you can feel how much tighter you’re getting from clenching.
“unless you rather me fuck you open.”
you release a shaking breath. your muscles instinctively relaxing for a brief moment—
he thrusts in the rest of the way, one smooth motion that punches the air from your lungs.
you cry out. your legs jerk. your back arches, hard.
“that’s it,” he chuckles, through his nose. “take it.”
you try. you try to breathe. to make sense of the white noise roaring through your head.
heeseung starts to move.
not fast. not rough. just deep. just right. like he’s trying to memorize how you feel from the inside out.
“you let me in so easy,” he says, voice wrecked. “so fucking wet for me, princess.”
your eyes blur.
heeseung groans again, hands tightening around your thighs as he pushes deeper, grinding his hips in a slow, deliberate circle.
“he’ll never fuck you like this,” he hisses. “he’ll never fuck you knowing what you sound like when you’re about to break.”
you try to lift your hips. to meet him.
you want more.
he gives it to you.
the next thrust is harder. meaner. your hands fly to his shoulders like you need something to hold onto.
you feel everything.
the guilt.
the stretch.
the heat curling in your belly like it’s going to swallow you whole.
“you feel that?” heeseung growls, dragging his cock almost all the way out, then slamming back in. “thats me. marking what's mine.”
you cry out again. louder. needier.
he fucks you harder now, pace picking up. your body bounces with every thrust. your moans dissolve into broken gasps.
“say it,” he grits out. “say who’s fucking you right now.”
you shake your head, tears stinging.
“say it,” he growls.
you give in.
“you,” you gasp. “you, heeseung—fuck—it’s you.”
his head drops to your shoulder.
“that’s right,” he mutters. “he’s got your mind. your future. that fucking ring. but right here? in my bed? i’ve got this pussy.”
you shudder beneath him.
“tight little thing,” he groans. “gripping me like you never wanted anyone else. your body doesnt even know right from wrong.”
he fucks you through it—long, hard strokes that make your whole body tense and tremble. “getting fucked by the crown prince when my brother is probably out there shivering in a tiny cottage somewhere in the allied villages. bad little bride.”
you’re close. too close.
and the worst part is how badly you want to come on his cock.
to let go. to give it all to him.
“you want to come for me?” heeseung pants, voice breaking. “huh? gonna soak me and run back to your chambers like you didnt just get ruined by me??”
your eyes roll back.
your walls tighten around him. your thighs lock.
you’re gone.
you come with a cry you can’t take back, clenching so hard around him heeseung chokes on a curse and slams into you deeper, grinding until you’re gasping for air.
he doesn’t stop.
he keeps fucking you through it. keeps fucking you like he wants to ruin you.
and maybe he already has.
because when you come back to yourself, dazed and trembling under him, the first thing you think is:
i want more.
you’re not sure what breaks first.
his pace, or his composure.
because he starts slow. but the way you gasp when he presses in deep… the way your walls flutter and pull, greedy and wet and welcoming…
he groans.
quiet, at first. strained. as if he’s trying not to let you hear how good you feel. how much he’s wanted this.
but he can’t help it.
his forehead drops to yours, breath stuttering.
“fuck, princess,” he whispers, voice shaking. “you feel unreal.”
you can’t speak.
your hands grip the fabric at his shoulders like you need something to keep you grounded. like if you let go, you’ll be swept under.
“so wet,” heeseung mutters, dragging his hips back, then pushing in again with a soft, desperate grunt. “like your body knew i’d be the one to fuck you first.”
your stomach flips.
your mind flashes to your betrothed; somewhere far from here, riding through snow, expecting you untouched.
heeseung sees it in your face.
he doesn’t soften.
he leans in closer, voice darker now.
“you think he’d even know what to do with you?”
his next thrust makes you gasp. “you really think he’d fuck you like this?”
heeseung moans when your legs tighten around his waist.
you don’t mean to respond. your body just reacts. like it’s his. like it’s always been.
“that’s what i thought,” he breathes. “you needed someone to teach you. you needed me.”
his mouth finds your neck—soft lips, sharp teeth, wet heat—and you arch up into him without thinking.
“i’ll leave you wrecked for him,” he whispers, low and ruinous. “you’ll spend the rest of the winter pretending not to think about this.”
you clench around him. hard.
heeseung groans again, louder this time, hips stuttering before he finds rhythm again.
“shit,” he pants. “you like that? being ruined behind his back?”
you nod, helpless.
“say it,” he rasps. “say you like me fucking you while he’s away.”
your voice breaks.
“i do,” you whisper. “i… i like it.”
his lips drag across your cheek. his next moan is thick and muffled against your skin.
“i know princess…” he murmurs. “your pussy’s telling me the same fucking story.”
he shifts higher, changing the angle, and drives back in so deep it knocks a cry out of you.
“oh my god—”
“heeseung,” he corrects, voice breathless. “say my name while i fuck you.”
you do. again and again. it falls from your lips like prayer and poison both.
“louder,” he moans. “let the storm hear how much you love this.”
his hands are gripping your thighs now, keeping you spread and pliant, like he’s using your body as proof. each thrust is heavier. messier. less calculated. the more you tremble, the more he gives in.
he groans. “fuck, just listen to you. you’re fucking mine.”
you nod, frantic, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how hard you want it. how good it feels.
“i’m close,” you whisper. “heeseung—please—”
he laughs, a little breathless. “you wanna cum for me? like a good little whore?”
you cry out.
“you want to cum while your fiancé rides through snow thinking of your smile?”
your body seizes under him. heat explodes in your stomach.
“then fucking do it,” he growls. “let it happen. come on my cock like the filthy little thing you are.”
your orgasm tears through you like a scream held too long.
your body clamps down so tight around him that heeseung moans—loud, raw, broken—and slams into you one last time.
“fuck, i’m gonna—ah! fuck!”
his voice dissolves into a groan so guttural it barely sounds human. his hips jerk, once, twice—then he stills.
you feel him pulse inside you, heat spilling deep, and your eyes roll back.
heeseung groans again. quieter. strained. like it’s too much.
“fuck, you feel like heaven,” he breathes, voice shaking. “warm little pussy taking all of me, fuck.”
your heart pounds in your ears.
he doesn’t pull out right away. he just holds himself over you.
inside you.
eyes closed, forehead resting against yours.
when he finally speaks, his voice is soft.
too soft.
“he’ll never know.” he whispers, pulling you deeper underneath the covers as the fire place burns strong.
casting shadows against the wall, an echo of your betrayal.
you don’t respond. the storm consumes the castle while your sweaty bodies tangle underneath velvet sheets.
his hot cum leaking out of your cunt.
oh my god,
what have you done?
m i k a 🌷: PHEW! THATS CRAZY😔😀 lmk what you think!!
& let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!
All Rights Reserved to mika of vanillaxbambi 2025. Any posts on other platforms are prohibited.
how do you guys feel about royalty au's that dont end in smut??or any au's without smut really. i absolutely enjoy writing for this theme and would love to do an interest check on what my audience likes to read.
would you consider or enjoy reading a fic with just a fleshed out plot and world building? is my writing even enjoyable enough to read for an extended amount of time?
its odd writing things like this because only 3 people ever interact and respond but, do tell if you have anything to say!
+*pairing: childhood best friends-> older!jake x younger!reader, old money family!jake x new money family! reader..
+*wc: ~8k
+*contains: explicit sexual content (18+), ...jake is 2 years older. (He isnt a sugar daddy sorry girlies....) childhood best friends → lovers, reader is a virgin, possessive behavior, jealousy, emotional manipulation (intentional and unintentional), power shifts within a previously “safe” dynamic, oral (fem rec), light degradation, dirty talk, first-time intimacy, almost-caught intimacy, and some emotional angst (because apparently i refuse to let anyone be normal or emotionally stable). reader discretion is advised. this is a fictional work written purely for entertainment and does not reflect the real personalities or actions of jake sim. by continuing, you acknowledge that you are of legal age and comfortable engaging with these themes.
synopsis: you’ve loved jake for as long as you can remember. he’s always been gentle, protective, constant. the boy who carried you home, split everything evenly, and stood between you and the world. its new year’s eve. surrounded by old money, polished smiles, and a girl who fits effortlessly into his world, you finally decide to step aside. you slip out to the balcony just before midnight, ready to disappear for good... only for jake to follow. when the countdown hits one, everything shatters. a kiss. then something more.
m i k a 🌷: this is my prompt for the #naughtyandnice2025 enhypen winter event ❄️ hosted by lovely @brokenengene 💕 i loved doing this prompt! everyone that's already posted their fics are sooo talented!GO READ THE OTHER FICS! ! hehehe, i also may have gotten a little carried away... was supposed to be like 4k... WELP. Enjoy! not proof read :3
🎀taglist: No pressure to my beautiful flowers to read at all! I love youuuu🌷💝 @heegyukeluv @1osingdog @str8ykids @nctrenjunie @enigmaticsal @allygator-98 @jay-scenarios @wsrod-deszczu @serendipityunho @hxonieverse @ninistranaut @rockstarkkami @brokenengene @nishimurmur @heeprints @heefairies @ohsowoozi @theyluvjake @iclimbjungwon
masterlist .
new years eve. s.jy
for as long as you could remember, jake had always been sweet to you.
a gentle, loving boy that would always hand you the bigger piece of whatever you would split.
your mother loved that he always treated you as if you were his younger sister.
his mother would often say that one day, you two would end up together. the idea was more than a lofty joke between two mothers that had children around the same time.
you fantasized about it a little more often than you would dare admit to your best friend. you thought about it absentmindedly and even dreamt about him in ways that you really shouldn't. He was your closest friend. someone you could confide in. someone you grew up with.
jake was your best friend. not someone you should fantasize touching you in the dead of night.
since your very first memory, you and jake were inseparable. attached at the hip.
even until college, you both had very different interests and signed for various university life activities. Your peers knew that you and jake were best friends. dare say you would hear a few rumors that people even believed that the both of you were actually dating.
jake was oblivious, or at least didn’t seem to care what your friendship looked like to others.
this stupid line of friendship and one sided love was blurred whenever jake’s head would tip over to yours on the subway in sleep exhaustion. whenever men at the bars would huff their intoxicated breath in your face, instantly a firm arm would capture your waist, pulling you deeper into the safety of the dance floor. whenever you would pass out in the study lounge and wake up to a warm chest carrying you back to your dorm, your backpack even slung lazily over his shoulder.
yet, whenever your mothers would tease the both of you, your little fantasy world would shatter into millions of pieces.
“mom, auntie… stop, you know y/n would never settle for a guy who was bathed with her in pre-school. it’s gross.”
gross.
so casually, so carelessly.
straight from his mouth.
he might as well have told them that you were a disgusting beast and that he never wishes to touch you with a 9 inch pole.
you were starting to think that you were in the way of his opportunity to get a girlfriend. that maybe he felt obligated to take care of you.
often when you were coming up as children, since he was slightly older, he was responsible for taking care of you and held to a standard of keeping you safe.
once, you had scraped your elbow after falling on his skateboard when your mom multiple times had told you not to.
you begged and begged for jake to let you ride, just for a quick second.
your body gave, your weight flung forward as you realized the curb stopped your wheels from going round. you met the ground under the mercy of physics and gravity.
you remember your mom taking care of your abraded skin while jake’s mom grilled him for almost an hour for not being responsible.
the annoying little sister that he needs to take care of or else he gets in trouble.
hell, you’ve never even seen him flirt with another woman in front of you before.
helplessly, you drown out these outrageously, reasonable reasons for jake to act the way he does to you.
“son, you need to be nicer to y/n. you’ll hurt her feelings talking to her like she’s just one of your guy friends.”
here we go again.
you were not going to let jake’s mom guilt him into extending care over you when he’s been trauma bonded to the role of older brother.
“auntie, don’t force him. he’s already having a hard time getting a girlfriend on campus. he could use the break from babysitting me all the time.”
“thank you, y/n. i wasn’t even being paid minimum wage for all the years of dragging you from all the trouble you would get into.”
you glare at him. trying to hide your true hurt with a humorless smile. “trouble you would PUT me into, jakey. lets not forget the time in your senior year when you wanted to sneak me to lalapa—“
jake’s so fast you barely register it. one second he’s working the dough into the counter, the next his palm is slapped over your mouth, flour puffing over the air around you like snowfall.
your squeal is muffled in his palm.
“you took her to lalapalooza?!?” both moms gawk over the stove as they stir the simmering pots.
god, his face was so close it was unfair.
unfair how grown up he is. unfair how warm his breath feels against your cheek.
“always have to run your fucking mouth.” jake mutters as he brings his face close, holding his hand over your flour-caked face until you grossly lick his palm.
his face cringes before he leans in closer. “oh… i like that kinda shit, y/n.”
you manage to pull your face away and shove him off of you.
but, not before your heart skips a beat and you’ve momentarily swam in the pool of espresso tinted irises. you know those eyes so well. you’ve stared at them too many times to count before ripping your attention away. a reaction to maybe hide from the shame or possibly to shield yourself from the pull that draws you closer to his orbit.
another interaction added to the list of interactions that would probably leave you reeling and staring at the ceiling moments before you fall asleep.
so many nights. so many restless nights thinking about him.
you keep yourself distracted with small tasks while your moms chat, slipping back into the familiar new year’s routine.
the sim residence is dripping in streams of silver and gold tonight. glitter, confetti balloons, streamers all cascaded around the floors and banisters to a level of extravagance your own home could only try but never replicate.
your parents had hosted the party at your own manor a few times before, but it was never as polished as the sims’ events. by the end of the night, it was always trashed anyway — careless rich guests treating your home like disposable décor.
guests began trickling into the sim’s mansion in small gradual waves. some bringing champagne, some coming with various influential people. some you recognize from social media and others even from national tv.
jake’s former private school sports team friends crowd him like they always do— loud, out of touch, and smelling heavily of designer cologne and daddy’s money. you barely catch their obnoxious voices over the music, only the muffled laughter over the speakers and the view of Jake's eyes crinkling at their jokes.
it’s the kind of laughter and jokes that he only shares with people like him. people who belonged in private school and inherited generational wealth. people who thought about tuition as a given right rather than a privilege that most of society work years for just to attain the possibility of it.
despite how sweet and caring jake was.
you hate to admit it, he fits in effortlessly.
not only by looks; jake was beyond them when it came to appearances.
probably the best looking one— a bit biased— considering most of them according to the normal population were untouchable. in their own class of people. lofty and shallow, yes. fragile and temporary. absolutely no.
jakes mom had married into old money. your family; new money.
you’d think that rich was rich. money was money regardless of how one obtains it.
no—
new money has a shine that chips fast. it’s respectable, sure, but flimsy at the edges. still finding its footing, still proving itself. a wealth that’s somehow seen as temporary.
old money doesn’t have to prove anything. it simply exists, heavy, generational and inherited. houses built on ages of reinforcement.
you admired that jake’s mom never let those lines get in the way of her friendship with your mother. she adored your mother. she adored the two of you together. she still nudged jake to look after you.
you hover near the doorway for a moment, pretending to adjust the bracelet on your wrist just so you don’t look like you’re blatantly staring at him.
but it’s impossible not to notice how easily he laughs with them. how his posture changes. how the jake you grew up with — your jake — shifts into someone smoother, sharper, more self-assured.
someone you’re not so sure you belong beside anymore.
a familiar voice slices the room like a polished blade:
“jake?”
you don’t even need to look to know who it is.
but you do anyway.
minji park.
former captain of the high-school tennis club.
the girl whose family name is quietly whispered at charity galas.
the girl you always thought looked too perfect to be real — glossy ponytail, straight white smile, and the kind of confidence only old money can give someone.
she’s wearing a soft champagne dress that probably cost more than your entire college semester.
she greets jake with a hug. a lingering one. one that you subconsciously put too much meaning into.
she pulls away with that effortless grace, manicured hand resting on his arm.
“i didn’t know you’d be in town this year,” she beams.
jake smiles back, warm and easy.
“yeah… wouldn’t miss my mom’s annual circus.”
everyone laughs.
even minji. even jake.
you try to, too — except nothing comes out.
because suddenly, you feel every part of your childhood friend's role squeezing tight around your ribs.
every scraped knee he carried you through.
every study session he stayed awake for.
every time he guided you across busy streets like you were smaller, softer, someone he was obligated to lead.
someone who was always being protected.
and then there’s minji. standing there beside him like an equal. like someone who matches him in status, confidence, class.
someone who doesn’t need taking care of.
you swallow hard.
minji leans closer, voice dipping into something sweeter.
“you never texted me back after that alumni event. i thought i scared you off.”
you didn’t know about that.
why would you? why should you?
your stomach twists.
jake huffs a laugh. “you didn’t. i just— life got busy.”
busy.
funny. you’ve never heard him talk like that with you.
he’s soft with you. teasing. familiar.
but this?
this is the version of him that belongs in rooms like this — polished, magnetic, charming without trying.
you step back quietly, letting yourself blend into the moving crowd. you shouldn’t be listening. you shouldn’t be watching.
you shouldn’t care.
but god, you do.
because all you can think is:
that’s the type of girl he’s supposed to end up with.
not the girl whose mom only recently stepped foot into this world of money and prestige.
not the girl who still feels out of place in homes with cascading, pillared ceilings and marble floors.
not the girl who learned how to be careful. too careful — around rich people because you didn’t grow up with safety nets built into your last name.
and definitely not the girl jake called “gross” to date.
you’re a relic of his childhood.
an old obligation packaged into nostalgia that follows him well into his college days.
his mother’s favorite story to tell at dinner parties.
the reality of what he sees you as hits you like a freight train.
the younger girl he grew up protecting.
the younger girl he still instinctively shields from drunk men and reckless decisions.
the one he carries home when she’s tired.
a responsibility.
not a choice.
you exhale softly, setting your half-empty drink on a passing tray.
you should move. disappear for a bit.
give him some space. give him… room to explore more than what his mother asked him to do for you.
because minji — with her confidence and pedigree and perfectly aligned stars — fits the world jake lives in. she knows the ins and outs. understands this world just as much as he does.
she fits the man he’s become.
and you?
you’re still the girl he slaps flour on and calls a troublemaker in a kitchen full of childhood memories.
you slip away from the crowd, unnoticed, weaving through clusters of guests as your chest tightens.
not jealousy. no. something a bit worse.
it’s a thrumming, sad realization that maybe it’s time to stop standing in jake’s way.
stop clinging to a fantasy that only exists in your head.
stop being the girl he has to protect.
you don’t want him to feel responsible for you anymore. the sister-like shadow you once were to him needed to dissolve into nothingness. if you didn’t stop now, you would always be a barrier for the promising future he could have with a polished, put together girl like minji.
so you act immediately.
you slip out of the booming room quietly, telling yourself you’re doing the right thing.
that it’s better this way.
that stepping aside now hurts less than being pushed aside later.
the cold hits you as soon as the balcony door shuts behind you.
the breeze outside is nice. threading its cold fingers through your hair. almost comforting. your lungs take it in like medicine. hoping it’ll clear out whatever’s sinking against your chest. your attempts to silence your thoughts with the brisk winter air works for now.
the night sky hangs above you— not at all bothered by the pounding speakers, clinking glasses, and buzzed laughter bleeding through the stone walls. stars twinkle lazily, indifferent to the impending chaos of the countdown you so desperately want to avoid. as if taunting the upcoming fireworks to disturb the peace.
It doesn't care about your inner turmoil as you hide outside of your best friends family new years eve party. so you find purchase to the sweet, yet warm taste of the champagne in a flute you plucked earlier from one of the servers.
the balcony door clicks open behind you — a quiet sound, nearly swallowed by the music. but you recognize the footsteps instantly.
you don’t have to turn to know who it is.
jake always walks with purpose. even when he’s pretending he isn’t searching for you.
“wow,” he says, voice warm with humor, “you ditched the party? and here i thought you loved watching me get harassed by our old classmates.”
you stiffen, palms flat against the cold railing. your flute of champagne resting on the ledge, now chilled againt the cold air.
“i didn’t ditch,” you mumble.
“mmhm.” his tone is playful. “you just… wandered out here alone? into the freezing cold? right before midnight?”
you roll your eyes at the teasing lilt in his voice, but you don’t turn around. you can’t.
“jake. go back inside. you’ve got… someone waiting for you.” the words taste sour, but you force them out. “you should get ready to give minji her new year’s kiss. you know… start your year right.”
the teasing slips out of him instantly. “what?”
the air changes. the warmth in his tone hardens — not angry, but alert. “kiss minji?”
you swallow. “she’s perfect for you, jake. she fits right in. so just… go.”
there’s a beat of silence.
then soft footsteps.
one, two, three.
he stops just behind you, close enough that the heat of him pushes into the cold around your shoulders.
“y/n,” he says quietly, voice no longer teasing. “look at me.”
you don’t.
your fingers cling to the railing like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
he exhales. a sound that’s equal parts disbelief and frustration, like he can’t believe he’s only noticing this now.
“you’re out here because of minji?” he asks gently. “seriously?”
you wince. “i’m not— it’s just—”
“god.” he drags a hand through his hair. “you think i came out here to… what? check on my little sister or something?”
you flinch.
he sees it.
his voice softens instantly. “hey. hey, don’t do that.”
noise from inside erupts — shouts, laughter, someone yelling:
“ONE MINUTE!!”
you turn your head half an inch. that’s all he needs.
jake steps forward and grips your wrist, pulling you fully to face him.
his eyes search yours fast, piecing everything together.
the hiding. the slipping away. the comment about minji. the trembling lip you’re trying so hard to hide.
“you’re intimidated,” he murmurs, like it physically pains him to say it. “by her. by them. by… everything.”
your throat tightens.
“jake—”
he shakes his head once, sharply. “no. i’m not letting you run away minutes before midnight over something that isn’t even—” he bites down the word. “—true.”
another cheer rises inside.
“THIRTY SECONDS!!”
he looks over his shoulder like time is attacking him. then right back at you.
something in him snaps into decision.
“come here.”
before you can protest, jake tugs you forward by the waist. not roughly, not gently, but with certainty — pulling you into the warm solidness of his chest.
your breath stutters.
his mouth is close enough that the cold air fogs between both of you.
“you’re not spending the new year alone out here because you think i want someone else,” he says, voice low, urgent. “i’m not letting that happen.”
your heart pounds so hard you feel it in your fingertips.
“TEN! NINE! EIGHT—”
jake’s hands tighten at your waist.
“you’re with me,” he breathes. “right here.”
the countdown booms.
“—SEVEN! SIX! FIVE—”
he leans in, forehead brushing yours, grounding you. “i’m not going back inside without you.”
your breath catches.
his thumb brushes your hip — a single, devastating touch.
“—FOUR! THREE—”
he whispers your name.
like it means more than the countdown.
more than the party.
more than minji.
“—TWO!”
your lips are a heartbeat apart.
“ONE!”
fireworks crack. cheers erupt. glasses clink and the music blares loudly once more.
it happens before your brain can register anything but heat.
warmth.
jake’s warmth.
his mouth presses into yours right as the fireworks explode above the rooftop. he’s warm, deliberate, and steady.
a kiss with no prelude. no warning. a years-long dam finally bursting, crashing into you with so much force that it makes you dizzy in an instant.
there isn’t any hesitation. only the sure, devastatingly delicious taste of his plump lips fit against yours like he’s done it forever. a dangerous fever dream that you could’ve never imagined to actually experience.
your breath catches, fingers instinctively curling over his sweater. for a sheer millisecond, you melt into him. tilting your head to taste more.
you moan. pathetic how the sound spills into him before you can stop yourself. before you can even comprehend the way his hands frame your waist. the way he tastes you back with fervor. as if he’s waited just as long as you.
and then reality slams into you like freezing water.
you jolt back so fast that your heel nearly slips from a patch of slickness from the melted frost.
your hands fly to his chest, not to support yourself but to shove.
you push his chest hard.
jake stumbles back half a step.
he doesnt look nearly as shaken as you are. doesn’t look confused— hell, he doesn’t even look sorry.
he just stands there. breathing hard, lips red, eyes lazily fixed on your trembling mouth as if he can still taste you.
“what the fuck was that?!” you hiss, voice cracking.
jake blinks at you slowly, lips still parted from the kiss. he looks… unfairly calm. unbothered. amused.
like he’s been expecting this exact meltdown from you.
“uh,” he says, taking a step toward you, “pretty sure that was a kiss?”
“no.” you shake your head hard. then harder. your pulse is sprinting. “no, jake. stop. don’t, you can’t just—”
you point at him, words tangling. “that better not be some dumb joke. or some dumb new years dare your stupid rich friends put you up to.”
“what—“ his brow tweaks up.
“you can’t just-just kiss me like that…” your heart beat is everywhere. “not after all this time! not after treating me like your little sister or some obligation you had to drag around!”
he watches you unravel with a slow, maddening calmness. still focused entirely, devastatingly, on you.
“y/n,” he says softly, “if you were my sister, i wouldn’t have kissed you like that.”
you shake your head violently.
jake just stands there, breath warm in the cold air, lips still kissed-red.
then, slowly, infuriatingly—he lets a small, amused smile pull at the corner of his mouth.
“happy new year to you too, by the way.”
“no. no, jake. don’t joke. im serious, don’t—“ your voice breaks. “you better not be playing some prank, or doing some stupid new years dare for your rich friends—”
“a dare?” he almost laughs. “who the hell would dare me to kiss you?”
your stomach twists.
gross.
the word echoes in your ears—sharp, humiliating, impossible to forget. and suddenly you’re not sure which version of jake is standing in front of you: the boy who once swore you were like a sister… or the man who just kissed you like he meant every second of it.
“i’m serious!” you shout, even though your voice wavers. “you can’t just— mess with me like that and act like— like it’s nothing.”
he blinks at you incredulously.
“don’t you dare try to touch me again.”
but he’s already reaching for your hand.
not to grab.
not to pin.
just… to hold.
his fingers brush yours gently, tentative in a way that makes your breath stall.
“y/n,” he murmurs, lifting your hand to his lips, “if i wanted to mess with you, i wouldn’t start by kissing you breathless.”
you freeze.
his mouth brushes your knuckles softly. once, twice—each kiss unraveling you more than the last.
“you can hit me if you want,” jake says quietly. “yell at me. shove me again.”
another kiss. your pulse stutters.
“just don’t lie to me.”
“jake,”
he turns your wrist, lips finding the inside of it. warm, slow, devastating.
“don’t act like you didn’t want that.”
your knees nearly give.
“don’t act like you don’t still want it.”
“you. you don’t get to say that,” you breathe, trying to retreat but pinned by the railing. “you think i’m just going to let you—”
he kisses your shoulder through your sweater. you shiver violently.
“let you?” he echoes, gaze lifting to yours. “you kissed me back.”
your hands push at his chest again—but this time he catches your wrists.
gently.
easily.
like he’s done it a hundred times in his head.
he pins your hands to the cold railing behind you—not forceful but enough to steal your breath.
his forehead lowers until it rests against yours.
“say you didn’t want it,” he murmurs, his warm breath spilling over your lips. “say it, and i’ll stop.”
your throat closes.
“go on,” he breathes. “just once. i’ll back off.”
he loosens his hold on your wrists.
he releases you completely.
but you don’t move.
you don’t even blink.
you can’t. not with him this close, not with your heartbeat tangled in his breath, not with the taste of him still on your lips.
his eyes lower to your mouth.
“y/n,” he whispers, “please. just say it.”
you open your mouth.
nothing comes out.
he studies your face, really studies it. and something in his expression softens, not with pity, but with a kind of warm, unbearable fondness that hits you straight in the chest.
then he steps closer.
you step back.
he steps forward again.
you hit the railing.
“stop doing that,” you breathe.
“doing what?” his voice dips lower—gentler, taunting in the softest way.
“looking at me like that.”
“like what?” his eyes glisten under the dim balcony light.
“like….” you swallow hard. “like you meant that.”
he doesn’t blink.
doesn’t move.
doesn’t even take a breath.
then he says, perfectly calm, perfectly certain.
“i did.”
your knees wobble.
“jake…”
“it wasn’t a joke,” he goes on, voice losing every trace of playfulness. “nobody told me to do it. nobody dared me. i kissed you because i wanted to.”
your heart drops straight into your stomach.
“you’re lying,” you whisper.
he huffs a quiet laugh, disbelieving, almost offended. “you really think i’d do something like that to you? a prank? after all these years?”
you look away, unable to hold the weight of his gaze.
“you’ve been avoiding me all night,” he says softly. “you disappeared, ran from the room, hid out here… all because you thought i wanted someone else.”
your breath trembles.
“and then you told me to go inside and kiss minji.” his jaw sets. “so yeah. when the countdown hit one, i kissed the person i actually wanted to kiss.”
your stomach flips violently.
“don’t…” you whisper. “don’t say things you don’t mean… you called being in a relationship with me gross.”
jake steps in—finally, fully. closing the remaining distance so deliberately you feel his warmth before he even touches you.
one hand rises, fingers brushing the back of your arm—barely there, but grounding in a way that nearly undoes you.
“i’m not playing with you,” he murmurs. “i’m not messing with you. i’m not confusing you on purpose.”
your eyes burn. “then why, why now?”
his thumb grazes your wrist, tender and sure.
“because you tried to get out of the way.”
you inhale sharply.
“and i realized,” he says quietly, “that i’ve been letting you believe things that were never true. i don’t think a relationship with you is gross. or that you’re like a little sister to me…”
he tilts his head, bringing his mouth dangerously close to yours again.
“y/n,” he whispers, “i meant every second of that kiss.”
Your knees were weak, your jaw slack, your pulse hammering through your fingertips. he could probably feel it from where he’s standing.
“and,” his lips brush the side of your face, inching closer to your ear. “i think you did too…”
“no,” you whisper, weakly. barely a sound. barely you denying much.
“hmm?” his voice dips lower. dangerous. seductive even, a tease laced with certainty. “that’s strange. because i could’ve sworn i heard you moan against me when i kissed you, y/n.”
you don’t answer.
you just tilt your head away. biting your bottom lip. pouting because, he had you there.
you glance back at him. lips parted and plush. eyes nearly pleading.
it’s enough for him.
he surges forward, mouth dragging down the slope of your neck. not kissing; devouring. open-mouthed heat, slow hunger, breathing you in like he’s been starving for years.
“you drive me fucking insane,” he groans against your skin. “you think i didn’t notice the way you looked at me? you think i didn’t go home half the time already hard just from being near you?”
your breath stutters.
“you think i never noticed those shorts you wear around me in the summer? or that dress at my birthday?”
“jake, stop,”
“why?” he murmurs against your jaw. “tell me to actually stop. and i will”
you try. you really do.
but your head falls back with a soft, helpless sound when his hands slip beneath your sweater—warm palms skimming your bare waist like he’s relearning your body.
“we’re on the balcony,” you pant. “anyone could see—”
“let them.”
“our moms are inside—”
“then maybe be quiet for once in your life,” he growls—right before he drops to his knees in front of you.
your legs nearly buckle. your hands fly into his hair, gripping without meaning to.
“jake—jake—what are you—”
he yanks your panties down to your knees, a low groan breaking from his chest as black fabric accessorizes your thighs.
“you’re shaking,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles up the inside of your leg. “you cold?”
“i—yes—but that’s not—” the sound of you whimpering is foreign but it’s coming out so naturally.
“not what?”
“not why i’m shaking, asshole—”
“it’s because your body can’t handle how badly she needs me… right here.” he doesn’t wait. his mouth follows the inside of your thigh, slow kisses up your skin, until your knees threaten to give out.
“you’re soaked,” he breathes—almost a moan. “fuck.”
“oh my god—”
“you’ve been wet for me since the second i kissed you… haven’t you?”
you try to push him away. your hands tangled in his hair, tugging instead of resisting.
“i’ve wanted to taste you for years,” he whispers—no tease now, just devotion. “let me, y/n.”
you don’t speak. you just nod.
he lifts one of your legs onto his shoulder and dives in.
the first stroke of his tongue knocks the air straight out of your lungs. you cry out before you can stop yourself—hands clutching his hair, hips grinding down for more, chasing him without thinking. your skirt flipped up around your thighs.
“fuck—jake—” you gasp. “i can’t—we can’t—”
he hums against you, gripping your hips like he’s holding himself together.
“you taste even better than i fucking dreamed,” he growls into you.
you’re gone.
everything blurs—fireworks still bursting overhead, cheers from inside, the cold biting your thighs. all of it disappears under the white-hot pulse of jake’s mouth on you, slow and greedy, like he’s worshiping.
when you cum, you nearly sob.
your legs tremble violently. jake stands, catching you effortlessly, and kisses you hard—lips slick, tasting like you.
“think you taste good?” he whispers against the corner of your mouth.
“shut up,” you moan.
“you taste so fucking good.”
your breath is still uneven, thighs trembling, your weight leaning into jake’s chest like your bones have decided to give out—right before reality slams back into place.
you hear a faint, familiar voice slowly approaching the balcony door.
“shit—my underwear—”
you push off of him, not rough but frantic, fingers scrambling to pull the fabric back up your legs. your hands shake badly enough that you fumble the waistband twice.
jake watches, not bothering to disguise the heavy-lidded hunger in his eyes, mouth still wet from you.
you’re just finished tugging them over your hips and under your skirt when-
the balcony door slides open.
“you two out here?” jake’s mom calls, her voice warm and a little tipsy. “oh hey! we’ve been looking—”
she stops.
you snap upright so fast your vision blurs, sweater collar yanked down a bit in a panic, hair a mess, face burning hotter than the fireworks still going off above the roofline.
jake doesn’t move.
doesn’t straighten. doesn’t pretend.
just turns his head… and lets a slow, sinful smirk pull at his mouth. head tilted towards you.
and when he drags his tongue across his lower lip, slow enough to savor, your stomach drops straight through the floor.
his mother blinks, the wine in her glass sloshing faintly. “you two… alright out here?”
“yep,” jake answers, popping the p just to be an ass. “perfect. the fireworks look great mom.”
you glare at him, mortified.
“hmm.” his mom tries him again, squinting like she’s trying to focus. “jake, you weren’t being an asshole again, were you?”
you nearly choke on nothing.
“mom—” he sighs, an amused exhale, biting back something wicked.
“i mean it,” she insists, wagging a finger. “if you’re rude to y/n again, i’m going to lecture you until the day i die. she’s a good woman. way too good for you, frankly.”
your stomach twists hard.
jake’s smile sharpens, slow and deliberate. “oh, trust me,” he darts his tongue over his lip again. “she’s way too good.”
your knees weaken.
his mom doesn’t notice; she’s too busy adjusting her blazer and trying to reorient herself while glancing over at something out of view from inside.
“come,” she says, brightening. “we’re going to cut the cake once everyone comes back from the garden.”
jake’s hand slides across the small of your back—light, confident, unmistakably intentional.
you tense, breath catching at the heat of his palm.
“coming,” he tells her, eyes locked on you in a way that curls heat low in your stomach.
then—bold, deliberate—he bites his bottom lip clearly thinking about what the two were almost caught doing.
your mother’s voice floats through the doorway before you can react. her head peeping into view. “are you two out there kissing or fighting?”
jake doesn’t miss a beat.
“kissing,” he says softly, smirk fully turning into a smug smile once both moms, in their tipsy joy, hug each other and squeal.
a bit too excited with alcohol fueled energy.
”i knew this day would come!” you mother chimes happily as she uses jakes mom to hold herself steady.
you elbow him—not childish, but sharp enough to warn him to stop talking.
he laughs under his breath, leaning in so close his lips brush the shell of your ear.
“you can shove me all you want,” he murmurs. “i’m not done with you tonight.”
your breath stutters.
“come on,” his mom urges from the doorway, swaying slightly, completely oblivious to her son’s dark intentions. “you two are so adorable.”
jake gives you a look as you walk past her. slow, heated, as if he’s stripping the hours ahead of you bare with nothing but his eyes.
nothing adorable about it. at all.
. . . . .
you didn’t even know how you reach the hallway bathroom. one second Jake’s mouth was still on you, his mother laughing drunkenly in the background, the next, you were slamming the bathroom door behind you, chest heaving, hands gripping the sink like it could keep you upright.
you stare at yourself in the mirror.
swollen lips. flushed skin. neck marked where he’d mouthed over you like he was starved.
your reflection looks wrecked.
you hated it. you loved it.
a soft knock.
just him.
“y/n... open the door.”
your throat tightens. “go away.”
He didn’t.
instead, he turns the knob — slow enough to warn you — and steps in. carefully letting his body block the view of you hunching over the sink. he shuts the door with a click, trapping you between the counter and his body.
you look away from him.
he doesnt let you avoid him.
two fingers slide under your chin, forcing your eyes to his.
“trying to hide? ” he murmured. "what's wrong?"
“you,” your voice cracked. “what we did... you cant just do that to me. not after everything. not tonight. Not with our moms right inside. I don’t even know what this is.”
“why not? ” he said simply. “you're finally getting what you want... and so am i.”
Your breath hitched.
“and you,” he continued, brushing his thumb over your still‑kiss‑swollen mouth, “you're finally admitting you want me.”
“I never said—”
“ah. well, you didn’t have to.”
you pushed at his chest. a weak, useless shove which Jake stepped in closer instead of away. his body pressed yours into the counter, his breath warm on your cheek.
“come upstairs.”
your stomach dropped. “what,"
“not asking,” he whispered, voice deep and sure. “come. upstairs.”
he grabs your wrist. not hard, not rough, but with a kind of certainty that makes your knees jello and guides you out of the bathroom, down the hall, and up the staircase to the second floor.
your heartbeat thunders in your ears as he pauses outside a familiar door.
his old bedroom.
the place where your parents used to leave you both with popcorn and movies.
the place where you’d built pillow forts, shared secrets, fell asleep side‑by‑side in childish innocence.
he opened the door.
everything smelled the same. that faint woody, warm scent that had always clung to Jake’s sweaters, even now.
but the moment he pulled you inside and shut the door, nothing about this was childhood.
he kisses you. hard, hungrier than before, walking you backward until your knees hit the edge of his old bed. you fall onto the mattress with a gasp, and Jake’s mouth follows, trailing heat and hunger over your jaw, your throat, down your chest.
your sweater went first. Then your bra.
you didn’t even remember lifting your arms.
jake’s breath stuttered.
“fuck,” he whispered, staring at your bare chest like he was in pain. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”
your nipples tightened under his gaze, and before you could cover yourself, he cupped your breast, thumb brushing over the peak.
you choked on a gasp.
he smirked. slow, dangerous.
“not the same girl who used to sleep on this bed clutching a stuffed rabbit, huh?”
“jake….”
he bent down, lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking hard enough your back arched off the mattress.
“you grew up so fucking pretty,” he murmured against your skin. “so fucking gorgeous. i used to—” he cut himself off with a groan as he pulled your panties down again, tossing them aside like they offended him. “i used to look at you back then and force myself to ignore it.”
your breath stalled.
“i didn’t want to ruin you, you know?" he said, dragging his hands up your thighs. “didn’t want to take something that wasn’t mine.”
his fingers sank into your hips.
“but look at you now.”
he pushes your knees apart.
“look at how wet you are for me.”
Your vision blurred.
jake didn’t ease into you. he tore into your kiss, tore into your breath, tore into your sanity. His mouth crashed onto yours as he dragged you further up the mattress, caging you under him.
his jeans hit the floor.
his underwear follows.
you barely had time to inhale before he lined himself up, gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise.
“Jake…” Your voice shook. “Wait, I’ve never….”
His expression shifted instantly. not softer, but focused.
“you want me to stop?”
“no,” you breath. “oh god— no.”
his voice drops into something sinful.
“then tell me you want me,” he whispered, pressing the head of his cock against your entrance, pushing just enough to make you gasp. “tell me you need me to fuck you in the room where we used to play.”
Your nails dug into his shoulders.
“i need you, jake, please.” you whisper, heart pounding out of your chest.
he snaps.
jake thrusts into you. all the way, deep, stretching you until your breath hitched into a sob. he swallowed your cry with his mouth, groaning against your lips as he bottomed out.
you clung to him, nails scraping down his back, legs trembling around him.
adjusting to his length, walls spasming and twitching around his dick. you can hear and feel how wet you are.
and then—
he moved.
slow but hard.
claiming.
the bedframe slammed into the wall as Jake fucked you like every year of holding back had just detonated inside him. you breasts bounce with every thrust, and jake stares down at them like he was going insane.
“of fuck—look at you.” he groans, hand gripping your waist to pull you onto his cock even harder. “nothing innocent left now, huh?”
You gasped, head falling back.
“remember, you used to sleep right here,” he grunted, thrusting deeper, “curled up beside me….and now look at you—”
your eyes rolled. throat letting out god know what kind of noises.
“now you’re moaning on my cock, in the same fucking spot—”
a splash of your arousal hits his abdomen.
“—where we used to fight at night because i would steal your little plushie.”
your entire body shuddered.
he leans down, biting your shoulder just enough to make you cry out, one hand sliding to your throat, not squeezing. just holding.“you need your plushie now, y/n?”
“you’re mine now,” he whispers raggedly into your ear. “you understand me?”
you nod, desperately.
“say it.”
“i'm yours! jake, oh my god, I’m yours!”
he lets out a low groan, thrusting so deep you see stars.
the bed creaked. the old headboard slammed. the room you’d once thought of as safe now echoed with filthy sounds of skin, gasping breaths, and the wet slap of your body meeting his.
your climax hit you violently.
jake wasn’t far behind. his voice breaking into your neck as he thrust through your orgasm, chasing his own until he pulled out just in time, finishing hot and fast over your stomach, chest heaving above you.
your bodies stayed tangled in the dark as fireworks cracked through the sky outside.
new year’s eve into new years day. More than what you could ever imagine.
a new beginning.
not as Jake's obligation. but as his choice.
his. All his.
m i k a 🌷: let me know if you want to be added to my general taglist! 💕
All Rights Reserved to mika of vanillaxbambi 2025. Any posts on other platforms are prohibited.
Mika?! Mika explain yourself!! 😭 how will I cope!! What in the hallmark romance?! I can't deal right now??
The [spoilers]
The new years count down as Jake confesses?! I can't– *punching the air*
Childhood friends to lovers 🚬 I was never a fan of the trope bc I don't want my crush to have been there for the blunder years.... and yet.... something about your Jake seems like he would've found even the most awkward of teens beautiful when he was that age 🙂↕️
No but him being shocked she thought he could ever like anyone else?!
This is so romcom and you are diabolical 😮💨😮💨 how will anyone compare to old money childhood bff jake
EEEEE STAWPPPP because i was quite literally rocking back and forward in my office trying to HOLD IT TOGETHER. this jake is literally PEAK and i wanted to get him EXACTLY HOW I PICTURED HIM IN MY NOGGIN! plus i had always heard of people talking about new years kisses and was like YO THIS IS JAKE BADDDDD
+*pairing: royalty au-> crownprince!heeseung x betrothed(to his younger brother)princess!reader. forbidden lust.
+*wc: 5k
+*contains: explicit sexual content (18+), morally gray dynamics, toxic!heeseung, infidelity (reader cheating on betrothed fiancé) diabolical behavior from both reader & hee, manipulative!hee, pretty possessive hee, implied consent, dom!hee x subby ( implied virgin ) reader, degradation, dirty talk (“little slut", “brother’s whore", “mine”, "princess" —both affectionately and degradingly ), intense inner conflict between guilt x lust, fingering (fem rec.), squirting, orgasming (both), creampie :3 wrap before u tap.
reader discretion is advised. if any of the tags trigger you, i encourage you to skip this fic. this is a fictional piece written for entertainment purposes only and does not reflect the real personalities or actions of lee heeseung. by continuing, you’re acknowledging that you are of legal age and comfortable engaging with these themes.
synopsis: you're betrothed to the younger prince. pure, untouchable, and tucked neatly into a future you never asked for. but when a snowstorm during the dead of winter traps you in the crown prince’s chamber—heeseung’s chamber—things unravel. slowly at first. then all at once. a touch too long. a look too sharp. and then his mouth is on yours, whispering things no betrothed bride should hear. especially not from the crown prince, future king.
m i k a 🌷: my second entry for kate's ( @brokenengene ) enhypen winter writing event ❄️ #NaughtyAndNice2025 be sure to check out kate and all the talented writers who joined!!! i couldnt give the younger brother a name because this was so messed up. just imagine someone you dont like😭 not proof read again sorry:/
🎀taglist: No pressure to my beautiful flowers to read at all! I love youuuu🌷💝 @heegyukeluv @1osingdog @str8ykids @nctrenjunie @enigmaticsal @allygator-98 @jay-scenarios @wsrod-deszczu @serendipityunho @hxonieverse @ninistranaut @rockstarkkami @brokenengene @nishimurmur @heeprints @heefairies @ohsowoozi @theyluvjake @iclimbjungwon
the news reaches you the way most things do in winter. quietly, and all at once.
there is no announcement made for spectacle. no gathering of court. it comes folded into the morning routine, passed from mouth to mouth as servants move through the palace with a different kind of urgency.
your betrothed is leaving before dawn.
not for ceremony, but obligation. a winter inspection of allied territories before the passes close entirely. something official enough to require his presence and inconvenient enough to pull him away at the worst possible time.
you sit at your vanity while your maid braids your hair and listen without interrupting.
you nod when appropriate. thank her when she finishes.
only after the door closes do you let your hands rest uselessly in your lap.
it is not heartbreak. not quite.
it is the absence of something that was supposed to be there.
*******
heeseung finds out while already awake.
winter makes light sleepers of those who carry responsibility, and he has been up since before the sun, reading reports by candlelight when the message arrives. he does not react immediately. he finishes the line he is on. folds the paper carefully.
the decision makes sense.
it always does.
still, later, as he crosses the palace grounds and watches snow begin to gather along the stone, he thinks of you standing in a room too quiet for the news you were just given.
he tells himself that is not his concern.
he should not meddle in matters of his younger brother’s betrothed…
he tells himself many things. opposing things, even.
many things that tug on the chains of his self control.
*******
you do not see him that day.
that, more than anything, makes it easier to behave as expected. you attend what you must. speak when spoken to. accept the small, careful looks sent your way by people who already know where your future is meant to go.
a good, mannered bride-to-be.
when the sun sets, your maids escort you from the palace holiday lighting ceremony. thousands of warm, yellow lights adorning the stoned walls and carved arches. the snow glowing around the twinkling flecks of light.
by late evening, the sky has turned heavy and low. snow begins falling sideways, the kind that does not fall with grace and dance. snow that rushes down and falls with urgency. .
you’re halfway back to your chambers when footsteps slow behind you. heavy, but steady.
you do not turn right away. you already know who it is.
“you should walk closer to the wall,” crown prince heeseung says. “the floor’s slick near the windows.”
you glance down. he is right.
you adjust your path without comment. he matches your pace, not quite beside you, but close enough that the heat from him reaches through your cloak.
“they said he’ll be gone for weeks,” you say.
heeseung nods once.
“longer, if the storm worsens.”
you hum softly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. the sound seems to pull his attention toward you more fully.
when you reach your door, you expect him to stop.
he does not.
instead, he lingers, one hand braced against the frame above your shoulder. not blocking you in. not moving away either.
the space between you feels deliberate.
“they’re closing parts of the palace tonight,” he informs, eyes steady but not exactly meeting yours. “if the wind picks up.”
“will i need to move?” you ask, tugging your fur shawl closer to your chest.
“possibly.”
you look at him then. really look. “to where?”
his eyes finally hold yours. “to my wing.”
you dont comment on that. you simply nod, open your door, and step inside.
only once it closes, do you realize your heart is beating too fast.
*****
the storm comes down hard. wind blowing distant corridor windows open.
it wakes you sometime after midnight, the sound of it throwing itself against the palace like it wants inside. the fire has burned low, and the cold has now crept into the corners of the room.
there is a knock at your door before you can ring for help.
you open it to find crown prince heeseung already dressed, cloak fastened, snow caught in his hair.
“hurry, princess. we’re moving now,” he says.
no explanation. none needed.
you gather only what you must. tossing on an extra layer to then follow him into the corridor, where servants move quickly, voices hushed. when you step onto a patch of stone slick with melting snow, you slip a bit while you step.
heeseung catches you without a word and with little to no effort.
his hand stays at your elbow longer than necessary once you’re steady again.
you do not move away as the two of you walk.
*********
his chambers are quieter than yours.
more shielded. the windows thick and narrow, the fire already lit. servants set down candles and withdraw, bowing in respect, and leaving the two of you alone with the storm. the low crackle of flames as your background.
you stand near the hearth, warming your hands.
crown prince heeseung removes his cloak and hangs it carefully, movements unhurried. when he turns back to you, his gaze lingers, slow and assessing, before he seems to realize what he’s doing.
“you can take the bed,” he says, aprehension clear in his voice
“and, what about you?” you palms slowly warming again.
“the chair’s fine.”
you glance at it. then back at him. “it doesn’t look fine. this is your chamber, your highness.”
he exhales softly through his nose. something like a laugh, but restrained. “it’s temporary.”
i wish it wasnt, you think.
instead, you sit on the edge of the bed and shrug off your cloak.
“you don’t need to punish yourself,” you lit, testing his composure.
his jaw tightens. not in anger. in something quieter.
he crosses the room and sits in the chair anyway.
you notice, with a strange flicker of awareness, how close it is to the bed…
”you don’t have to call me that.” his eyes are trained on the swaying of the flame.
“call you what?” you blink.
”just call me heeseung.” he doesnt turn his head to look at you, only moves his eyes to where you stand. “i wont punish you for the informality.”
he takes your wordless nod as compliance.
“sit.” he gestures to the single arm chair across the one he’s in.
once, you sit. the fire lulls the both of you into conversation.
time stretches.
the storm worsens. the palace groans around it. you talk about little things. the kind of things that come up when there is nothing else to hold onto. places you’ve seen. winters that were worse. winters that were kinder.
at some point, heeseung pours wine.
at some point after that, you stop thinking about how many glasses you’ve had.
the fire dips low again.
heeseung stands to tend it. even crouched over the fire, his slender, strong figure was still tall and powerful. he was going to be king one day. preluding a bit early in the line of his future reign, but just by his stature and regality, he could take on the crown right now and it would be fit. he truly is meant to be king.
you watch him without hiding it, chin resting on your hand.
when he straightens, he catches your gaze.
you don’t look away.
his attention lingers, drops briefly to your mouth, then lifts again. something passes over his expression, controlled but not untouched.
you stand.
the distance between you closes quietly. not rushed. not cautious either.
“the storm’s loud,” you say.
“it’ll last until morning.”
you nod. your fingers brush the edge of the bed, absent, almost thoughtless.
heeseung’s eyes follow the movement. “you don’t have to stay,” he says.
you look at him. “i know.”
but, you do not move.
neither does he.
the fire crackles. the wind howls.
he steps closer first, stopping just short of touching you. close enough that you feel his warmth, his breath.
“if you do,” he says, voice low, even, “ stay, i mean. you should do it knowing it won’t be simple.”
you tilt your head slightly, considering him. “has anything ever been?”
his younger brother’s face crosses the forefront of your mind.
his hand lifts, hesitates, then settles at your waist. steady. certain.
you inhale. image of his brother, gone.
the bed is right there. no one would hear.
the storm hides everything.
you let yourself lean into him, just enough to feel the heat of his body.
heeseung closes the remaining space.
the kiss is not gentle.
it starts that way. honestly, it tries to be gentle at first.
his mouth meets yours like he means to stop after a second, like he’s only checking something, like this is a mistake he plans to correct. but the moment you breathe against him, the moment your lips part without hesitation, restraint slips.
his hand tightens at your waist.
you feel it immediately. the way his grip changes. the way his thumb presses in, grounding, claiming. like he needs to know you’re real. like he needs you closer.
you make a sound you don’t recognize. soft, broken, pulled straight from your chest.
that does it.
heeseung kisses you again, deeper this time, slower, as if he’s decided there’s no point in pretending. his mouth moves with intention now. unhurried. thorough. he kisses you like he’s been thinking about it far longer than you want to believe.
your hands lift on their own.
you don’t remember deciding where to put them. you only know that suddenly you’re holding onto him, fingers curled into the fabric at his shoulders, then higher, sliding into his hair as if you’ve always known how it feels there.
warm. soft. grounding.
you break the kiss just long enough to breathe.
“we shouldn’t,” you whisper, the words barely making it past your lips before he’s kissing you again.
he doesn’t argue.
he just leans in harder, mouth moving against yours like he’s answering you with everything but words. his breath is warm. steady. his control feels thinner now, stretched tight beneath his skin.
your back brushes the edge of the bed.
you feel it before you realize what it means. the mattress against your thighs. the way the space behind you disappears.
heeseung’s hand slides from your waist to your lower back, palm firm, guiding without force. not pushing you down. just reminding you that the bed is there.
that you could fall back if you wanted to.
you don’t.
instead, you step closer.
your body fits against his in a way that feels far too natural. your chest presses to his. your hips brush his thigh. the contact sends a slow, curling heat through your stomach.
you gasp into his mouth.
“this is wrong,” you murmur, the words muffled between kisses.
his mouth stills for half a second.
just long enough for you to think he might stop.
then his lips move to your jaw, your cheek, your throat. his mouth is warm and deliberate, kisses pressed along your skin like he’s mapping something he’s not allowed to keep.
“then tell me to stop, princess.” he says quietly, mouth brushing your skin.
you don’t.
your hands tighten in his hair instead. you tilt your head without thinking, giving him more room, more access.
that quiet sound he makes then is not a word. it’s breath. controlled, but barely hanging on.
his forehead rests against yours for a moment, his grip at your back firm enough that you feel locked in place.
“you’re shaking,” his lips brush against yours as he whispers.
“so are you,” you reply, trembling.
his mouth curves faintly, something dark and pleased and undone all at once.
“its too cold out there for you to leave now, princess. especially when we’re so warm here.”
you nod, unsure why you do but you can tell he wants this as much as you do.
how you imagined this many times. countless times.
your hips shift, slow and uncertain, just enough to relieve the tension pooling low in your body.
the reaction is immediate.
his breath stutters. his hand tightens again. his thigh presses forward, fitting between yours, creating friction that makes your knees soften.
you inhale sharply, the sensation lighting something hot and dizzy behind your eyes.
“heeseung,” you whisper, his name slipping out like a confession.
his mouth finds yours again, rougher now. hungrier. the kiss deepens until there’s no space left for guilt to breathe.
you kiss him back without restraint, without apology. your body moves closer, chasing the feeling, grinding against him in a way that makes the air between you feel charged and thin.
every thought you have tells you this is wrong.
that you shouldn’t go back on your word.
that you shouldn’t betray his brother like this. not when he was probably shut up in a quaint villa, sheltering from the snow storm. shivering near a cramped tender of flame.
every part of you feels right. oh so, fucking right.
his hand slides to your hip, fingers digging in as if he needs leverage, as if he needs to anchor himself to something while your bodies move together. the pressure between you builds, slow and steady, not rushed, but impossible to ignore.
you break the kiss again, breathless.
“we really shouldn’t,” you whisper, even as you roll your hips forward again.
this time he laughs softly. low. strained.
“you keep saying that,” he murmurs against your mouth. “and you keep doing this.”
his hand guides you against him just enough to show you what he means.
your face burns.
your body doesn’t stop.
the storm howls outside, loud enough to swallow the sound of your breathing, the quiet friction of fabric, the way his mouth keeps finding yours like he’s afraid to let go.
you feel dizzy. warm. painfully aware of every place your bodies touch.
sinful feels like the only word for it.
heeseung pulls back just enough to look at you. really look.
his eyes are dark. focused. undone in a way you’ve never seen before.
“if we keep going,” he says, voice low and steady despite everything, “i won’t stop.”
your heart pounds.
your body answers before your mouth can.
you lean into him again, pressing yourself closer, choosing desire over doubt. sin over righteousness.
he exhales slowly, like a man finally giving in.
his mouth claims yours once more.
and this time, neither of you is pretending anymore.
the imaginary veil held between you is torn to shreds. out goes restraint and on the bed is where you fall.
he doesn’t give you time to think.
the moment your back hits the mattress, he follows, weight settling over you with controlled inevitability. not crushing. not hesitant. his hands brace on either side of your head, sinking slightly into the velvet comforter as the bed absorbs the movement.
the candles and fireplace move the shadows against the wall over his bed.
your breath comes out in a rush.
heeseung looks down at you like this for a moment, chest rising and falling, eyes dragging slowly over your face, your throat, the way your body curves into the bed beneath him like it belongs there.
“look at you,” he murmurs. it’s quiet. not mocking. not gentle either.
your heart races through your eardrums.
his mouth drops to your jaw again, then lower, lingering at your throat where your skin is warm and exposed. his lips move slowly, deliberately, like he knows exactly how sensitive your skin is.
“you keep saying we shouldn’t,” he continues, breath hot against your skin. “but you didn’t pull away. not once.”
your hands slide up his arms, fingers curling into his sleeves, grounding yourself against him.
“heeseung,” you breathe, your voice already gone.
he hums softly at the sound of his name, like it pleases him more than it should.
his knee presses between yours, firm enough to make you shift instinctively. the friction sends a sharp, breath-stealing jolt through you, and you gasp.
he feels it.
of course he does.
“hmm,” he says quietly. “you tell me i’m wrong while your body keeps answering me in opposition.”
your face burns. your hips lift without permission, chasing the pressure.
“this is awful,” you whisper, even as you move against him again. “we’re awful.”
his mouth curves against your skin.
“you were promised,” he says, low and deliberate. “you said the words. you wore the ring.”
your breath stutters.
“and yet,” he continues, pressing closer, letting you feel exactly what you’re doing to him, “here you are. in my bed.”
his hand slides down your side, slow and sure, stopping at your hip like he’s staking a claim he’s denied himself for years. lips now near the shell of your ear.
“do you think he’s thinking about you right now?” he murmurs. “out there in the snow? hm?”
the words hit somewhere deep and sharp.
your body reacts before your mind can catch up, a soft sound tearing out of you as your hips roll up again.
heeseung exhales through his teeth.
“there it is,” he says. “so desperate. my brother's little whore.”
your hands fist in his clothes, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.
“you shouldn’t say that,” you whisper.
“well, you shouldn’t be doing this,” he replies easily, hands moving up to your exposed ankle. dragging his hand up your leg, along with the hem of your dress. “ but here you are, squirming under me, princess. i wouldn’t be surprised if i find that your soaked underneath this dress.
his forehead presses to yours, breath mingling, voice dropping even lower.
“you feel how warm it is here?” he whispers, words hitting in tiny huffs. “how easy it would be to forget everything else?”
his mouth finds yours again, slower this time, deeper. he kisses you like he’s already lost the argument, like he’s decided the sin is worth it.
your bodies move together without thinking now, heat and pressure and need tangling until it’s impossible to tell where guilt ends and desire begins.
the storm screams outside, wild and relentless.
“tell me to stop,” heeseung murmurs against your mouth, voice thick and ruined.
you don’t.
you never do.
and when his hand finally slides your dress past your hips, you know there’s no going back.
your breath catches the second heeseung’s hand curls under your thigh, rough and steady, dragging your dress up over your hips like it’s something that’s owed to him.
his mouth never leaves yours for long. every breath you try to take is swallowed whole. the room is too warm. the air too heavy. your head swimming with wine, guilt, and the weight of his body pressing closer, closer, closer.
when his fingers reach the soft, soaked lace between your legs, he pauses.
he doesn’t gasp. doesn’t curse. just presses his forehead to yours and laughs—quiet and breathless—like he’s been waiting for this moment to prove something to himself.
“fuck,” he whispers, voice cracked open. “you really are wet for me.”
you clench.
shame blooms hot under your skin. but it’s the kind of shame that makes your body pulse harder. your legs tense around his waist instead of pulling away.
his fingers press, slow and deliberate, over the fabric.
“you know what’s worse,” he mutters, voice gravel. “i knew you would be.”
he kisses you again, all teeth and tongue. like punishment. like reward.
your hips lift toward his hand, chasing the pressure. trying to find more.
“look at you,” heeseung groans, dragging the soaked lace to the side, finally skin to skin. “open and dripping. like your little cunt’s been waiting for this just as long as i have.”
your eyes flutter closed.
he moves his hand. once. twice. enough for you to let out a broken sound.
“does he touch you like this?” he asks. not curious. cruel.
your heart twists.
you shake your head.
heeseung breathes hard.
“no,” he says. “because you’re not his. not right now.”
you want to protest. want to remind him what this is. what you are.
but then his fingers push inside you—slow and deep—and the only thing that leaves your mouth is a gasp that sounds like his name.
“so tight,” he mutters. “fuck—this is how you’d take me? your pussy gripping my cock, even after being promised to someone else?”
your body stutters beneath him. your walls flutter around his fingers like they know it’s wrong. like they’re begging him to keep going anyway.
“i shouldn’t be doing this,” you breathe. but your hips roll again, greedier now, fucking yourself on his hand.
heeseung smiles against your neck, voice low and filthy.
“then why are you?” he asks. “why are you letting me touch what belongs to him?”
you can’t answer.
you don’t want to.
he curls his fingers just right, and your thighs shake around his waist.
“because deep down,” he whispers, dragging his lips over your ear, “you don’t want to be my brother’s bride.”
you let out a sound that isn’t yes but isn’t no.
heeseung groans.
“you want to be ruined,” he says. “want me to fuck you so good you forget how he even kisses you.”
you gasp.
“i’m going to mark you,” he says, breath ragged. “everywhere. my brother’s never going to see it, but you will. you’ll feel it every time you sit. every time you bathe.”
you clench around his fingers again.
he pulls them out slowly and holds them up to the firelight, slick and shining.
“see that?” he murmurs. “your royal cunt, soaking for the wrong man.”
you whimper.
he leans in again. kisses you like he owns your mouth. grinds his hips down into you, the thickness of him pressing right where you need it.
and when he finally starts tugging his pants down with one hand, his voice drops to a ruined whisper.
“this’ll never be mine,” he says, hand sliding up your throat, tilting your head back. “but your pussy? that’s mine tonight.”
he pulls back just enough to look at you, chest heaving, jaw set tight like this is the last thread of restraint he has. “you better hope this storm passes soon, princess. im going to fuck you all winter.”
you’re laid out beneath him now. legs spread. thighs trembling. dress bunched around your waist. lips parted. his fingers still wet with you.
he strokes himself once, twice, lining up without a word.
the look in his eyes isn’t asking permission.
it’s claiming what was already his.
and when he pushes in, slow and deliberate. you choke on a gasp so raw and broken it makes him groan through gritted teeth.
“fuck,” he breathes, sinking deeper.
your body takes him inch by inch, stretching in a way that aches and burns and satisfies all at once. your head falls back against the mattress. your hands curl into the sheets.
it’s too much. it’s not enough.
he’s big. thick. heavy inside you already. and he’s not even all the way in.
your eyes flutter, voice thin.
“oh god—”
“already trying to push me out?,” heeseung mutters, dragging his mouth along your neck. “relax that fucking pussy for me.”
his eyes are blown wide and you can feel how much tighter you’re getting from clenching.
“unless you rather me fuck you open.”
you release a shaking breath. your muscles instinctively relaxing for a brief moment—
he thrusts in the rest of the way, one smooth motion that punches the air from your lungs.
you cry out. your legs jerk. your back arches, hard.
“that’s it,” he chuckles, through his nose. “take it.”
you try. you try to breathe. to make sense of the white noise roaring through your head.
heeseung starts to move.
not fast. not rough. just deep. just right. like he’s trying to memorize how you feel from the inside out.
“you let me in so easy,” he says, voice wrecked. “so fucking wet for me, princess.”
your eyes blur.
heeseung groans again, hands tightening around your thighs as he pushes deeper, grinding his hips in a slow, deliberate circle.
“he’ll never fuck you like this,” he hisses. “he’ll never fuck you knowing what you sound like when you’re about to break.”
you try to lift your hips. to meet him.
you want more.
he gives it to you.
the next thrust is harder. meaner. your hands fly to his shoulders like you need something to hold onto.
you feel everything.
the guilt.
the stretch.
the heat curling in your belly like it’s going to swallow you whole.
“you feel that?” heeseung growls, dragging his cock almost all the way out, then slamming back in. “thats me. marking what's mine.”
you cry out again. louder. needier.
he fucks you harder now, pace picking up. your body bounces with every thrust. your moans dissolve into broken gasps.
“say it,” he grits out. “say who’s fucking you right now.”
you shake your head, tears stinging.
“say it,” he growls.
you give in.
“you,” you gasp. “you, heeseung—fuck—it’s you.”
his head drops to your shoulder.
“that’s right,” he mutters. “he’s got your mind. your future. that fucking ring. but right here? in my bed? i’ve got this pussy.”
you shudder beneath him.
“tight little thing,” he groans. “gripping me like you never wanted anyone else. your body doesnt even know right from wrong.”
he fucks you through it—long, hard strokes that make your whole body tense and tremble. “getting fucked by the crown prince when my brother is probably out there shivering in a tiny cottage somewhere in the allied villages. bad little bride.”
you’re close. too close.
and the worst part is how badly you want to come on his cock.
to let go. to give it all to him.
“you want to come for me?” heeseung pants, voice breaking. “huh? gonna soak me and run back to your chambers like you didnt just get ruined by me??”
your eyes roll back.
your walls tighten around him. your thighs lock.
you’re gone.
you come with a cry you can’t take back, clenching so hard around him heeseung chokes on a curse and slams into you deeper, grinding until you’re gasping for air.
he doesn’t stop.
he keeps fucking you through it. keeps fucking you like he wants to ruin you.
and maybe he already has.
because when you come back to yourself, dazed and trembling under him, the first thing you think is:
i want more.
you’re not sure what breaks first.
his pace, or his composure.
because he starts slow. but the way you gasp when he presses in deep… the way your walls flutter and pull, greedy and wet and welcoming…
he groans.
quiet, at first. strained. as if he’s trying not to let you hear how good you feel. how much he’s wanted this.
but he can’t help it.
his forehead drops to yours, breath stuttering.
“fuck, princess,” he whispers, voice shaking. “you feel unreal.”
you can’t speak.
your hands grip the fabric at his shoulders like you need something to keep you grounded. like if you let go, you’ll be swept under.
“so wet,” heeseung mutters, dragging his hips back, then pushing in again with a soft, desperate grunt. “like your body knew i’d be the one to fuck you first.”
your stomach flips.
your mind flashes to your betrothed; somewhere far from here, riding through snow, expecting you untouched.
heeseung sees it in your face.
he doesn’t soften.
he leans in closer, voice darker now.
“you think he’d even know what to do with you?”
his next thrust makes you gasp. “you really think he’d fuck you like this?”
heeseung moans when your legs tighten around his waist.
you don’t mean to respond. your body just reacts. like it’s his. like it’s always been.
“that’s what i thought,” he breathes. “you needed someone to teach you. you needed me.”
his mouth finds your neck—soft lips, sharp teeth, wet heat—and you arch up into him without thinking.
“i’ll leave you wrecked for him,” he whispers, low and ruinous. “you’ll spend the rest of the winter pretending not to think about this.”
you clench around him. hard.
heeseung groans again, louder this time, hips stuttering before he finds rhythm again.
“shit,” he pants. “you like that? being ruined behind his back?”
you nod, helpless.
“say it,” he rasps. “say you like me fucking you while he’s away.”
your voice breaks.
“i do,” you whisper. “i… i like it.”
his lips drag across your cheek. his next moan is thick and muffled against your skin.
“i know princess…” he murmurs. “your pussy’s telling me the same fucking story.”
he shifts higher, changing the angle, and drives back in so deep it knocks a cry out of you.
“oh my god—”
“heeseung,” he corrects, voice breathless. “say my name while i fuck you.”
you do. again and again. it falls from your lips like prayer and poison both.
“louder,” he moans. “let the storm hear how much you love this.”
his hands are gripping your thighs now, keeping you spread and pliant, like he’s using your body as proof. each thrust is heavier. messier. less calculated. the more you tremble, the more he gives in.
he groans. “fuck, just listen to you. you’re fucking mine.”
you nod, frantic, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how hard you want it. how good it feels.
“i’m close,” you whisper. “heeseung—please—”
he laughs, a little breathless. “you wanna cum for me? like a good little whore?”
you cry out.
“you want to cum while your fiancé rides through snow thinking of your smile?”
your body seizes under him. heat explodes in your stomach.
“then fucking do it,” he growls. “let it happen. come on my cock like the filthy little thing you are.”
your orgasm tears through you like a scream held too long.
your body clamps down so tight around him that heeseung moans—loud, raw, broken—and slams into you one last time.
“fuck, i’m gonna—ah! fuck!”
his voice dissolves into a groan so guttural it barely sounds human. his hips jerk, once, twice—then he stills.
you feel him pulse inside you, heat spilling deep, and your eyes roll back.
heeseung groans again. quieter. strained. like it’s too much.
“fuck, you feel like heaven,” he breathes, voice shaking. “warm little pussy taking all of me, fuck.”
your heart pounds in your ears.
he doesn’t pull out right away. he just holds himself over you.
inside you.
eyes closed, forehead resting against yours.
when he finally speaks, his voice is soft.
too soft.
“he’ll never know.” he whispers, pulling you deeper underneath the covers as the fire place burns strong.
casting shadows against the wall, an echo of your betrayal.
you don’t respond. the storm consumes the castle while your sweaty bodies tangle underneath velvet sheets.
his hot cum leaking out of your cunt.
oh my god,
what have you done?
m i k a 🌷: PHEW! THATS CRAZY😔😀 lmk what you think!!
& let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!
All Rights Reserved to mika of vanillaxbambi 2025. Any posts on other platforms are prohibited.
oh sunoo, jake, & jungwon immediately. should i even go on to explain? they love themselves an independent, baddie dynamic. it may not be a preference but they LOVE when theyre in that sort of relationship… at leadt i THINK lmao, i dont know these men… as far as the internet knows at least…👀
+*pairing: childhood best friends-> older!jake x younger!reader, old money family!jake x new money family! reader..
+*wc: ~8k
+*contains: explicit sexual content (18+), ...jake is 2 years older. (He isnt a sugar daddy sorry girlies....) childhood best friends → lovers, reader is a virgin, possessive behavior, jealousy, emotional manipulation (intentional and unintentional), power shifts within a previously “safe” dynamic, oral (fem rec), light degradation, dirty talk, first-time intimacy, almost-caught intimacy, and some emotional angst (because apparently i refuse to let anyone be normal or emotionally stable). reader discretion is advised. this is a fictional work written purely for entertainment and does not reflect the real personalities or actions of jake sim. by continuing, you acknowledge that you are of legal age and comfortable engaging with these themes.
synopsis: you’ve loved jake for as long as you can remember. he’s always been gentle, protective, constant. the boy who carried you home, split everything evenly, and stood between you and the world. its new year’s eve. surrounded by old money, polished smiles, and a girl who fits effortlessly into his world, you finally decide to step aside. you slip out to the balcony just before midnight, ready to disappear for good... only for jake to follow. when the countdown hits one, everything shatters. a kiss. then something more.
m i k a 🌷: this is my prompt for the #naughtyandnice2025 enhypen winter event ❄️ hosted by lovely @brokenengene 💕 i loved doing this prompt! everyone that's already posted their fics are sooo talented!GO READ THE OTHER FICS! ! hehehe, i also may have gotten a little carried away... was supposed to be like 4k... WELP. Enjoy! not proof read :3
🎀taglist: No pressure to my beautiful flowers to read at all! I love youuuu🌷💝 @heegyukeluv @1osingdog @str8ykids @nctrenjunie @enigmaticsal @allygator-98 @jay-scenarios @wsrod-deszczu @serendipityunho @hxonieverse @ninistranaut @rockstarkkami @brokenengene @nishimurmur @heeprints @heefairies @ohsowoozi @theyluvjake @iclimbjungwon
masterlist .
new years eve. s.jy
for as long as you could remember, jake had always been sweet to you.
a gentle, loving boy that would always hand you the bigger piece of whatever you would split.
your mother loved that he always treated you as if you were his younger sister.
his mother would often say that one day, you two would end up together. the idea was more than a lofty joke between two mothers that had children around the same time.
you fantasized about it a little more often than you would dare admit to your best friend. you thought about it absentmindedly and even dreamt about him in ways that you really shouldn't. He was your closest friend. someone you could confide in. someone you grew up with.
jake was your best friend. not someone you should fantasize touching you in the dead of night.
since your very first memory, you and jake were inseparable. attached at the hip.
even until college, you both had very different interests and signed for various university life activities. Your peers knew that you and jake were best friends. dare say you would hear a few rumors that people even believed that the both of you were actually dating.
jake was oblivious, or at least didn’t seem to care what your friendship looked like to others.
this stupid line of friendship and one sided love was blurred whenever jake’s head would tip over to yours on the subway in sleep exhaustion. whenever men at the bars would huff their intoxicated breath in your face, instantly a firm arm would capture your waist, pulling you deeper into the safety of the dance floor. whenever you would pass out in the study lounge and wake up to a warm chest carrying you back to your dorm, your backpack even slung lazily over his shoulder.
yet, whenever your mothers would tease the both of you, your little fantasy world would shatter into millions of pieces.
“mom, auntie… stop, you know y/n would never settle for a guy who was bathed with her in pre-school. it’s gross.”
gross.
so casually, so carelessly.
straight from his mouth.
he might as well have told them that you were a disgusting beast and that he never wishes to touch you with a 9 inch pole.
you were starting to think that you were in the way of his opportunity to get a girlfriend. that maybe he felt obligated to take care of you.
often when you were coming up as children, since he was slightly older, he was responsible for taking care of you and held to a standard of keeping you safe.
once, you had scraped your elbow after falling on his skateboard when your mom multiple times had told you not to.
you begged and begged for jake to let you ride, just for a quick second.
your body gave, your weight flung forward as you realized the curb stopped your wheels from going round. you met the ground under the mercy of physics and gravity.
you remember your mom taking care of your abraded skin while jake’s mom grilled him for almost an hour for not being responsible.
the annoying little sister that he needs to take care of or else he gets in trouble.
hell, you’ve never even seen him flirt with another woman in front of you before.
helplessly, you drown out these outrageously, reasonable reasons for jake to act the way he does to you.
“son, you need to be nicer to y/n. you’ll hurt her feelings talking to her like she’s just one of your guy friends.”
here we go again.
you were not going to let jake’s mom guilt him into extending care over you when he’s been trauma bonded to the role of older brother.
“auntie, don’t force him. he’s already having a hard time getting a girlfriend on campus. he could use the break from babysitting me all the time.”
“thank you, y/n. i wasn’t even being paid minimum wage for all the years of dragging you from all the trouble you would get into.”
you glare at him. trying to hide your true hurt with a humorless smile. “trouble you would PUT me into, jakey. lets not forget the time in your senior year when you wanted to sneak me to lalapa—“
jake’s so fast you barely register it. one second he’s working the dough into the counter, the next his palm is slapped over your mouth, flour puffing over the air around you like snowfall.
your squeal is muffled in his palm.
“you took her to lalapalooza?!?” both moms gawk over the stove as they stir the simmering pots.
god, his face was so close it was unfair.
unfair how grown up he is. unfair how warm his breath feels against your cheek.
“always have to run your fucking mouth.” jake mutters as he brings his face close, holding his hand over your flour-caked face until you grossly lick his palm.
his face cringes before he leans in closer. “oh… i like that kinda shit, y/n.”
you manage to pull your face away and shove him off of you.
but, not before your heart skips a beat and you’ve momentarily swam in the pool of espresso tinted irises. you know those eyes so well. you’ve stared at them too many times to count before ripping your attention away. a reaction to maybe hide from the shame or possibly to shield yourself from the pull that draws you closer to his orbit.
another interaction added to the list of interactions that would probably leave you reeling and staring at the ceiling moments before you fall asleep.
so many nights. so many restless nights thinking about him.
you keep yourself distracted with small tasks while your moms chat, slipping back into the familiar new year’s routine.
the sim residence is dripping in streams of silver and gold tonight. glitter, confetti balloons, streamers all cascaded around the floors and banisters to a level of extravagance your own home could only try but never replicate.
your parents had hosted the party at your own manor a few times before, but it was never as polished as the sims’ events. by the end of the night, it was always trashed anyway — careless rich guests treating your home like disposable décor.
guests began trickling into the sim’s mansion in small gradual waves. some bringing champagne, some coming with various influential people. some you recognize from social media and others even from national tv.
jake’s former private school sports team friends crowd him like they always do— loud, out of touch, and smelling heavily of designer cologne and daddy’s money. you barely catch their obnoxious voices over the music, only the muffled laughter over the speakers and the view of Jake's eyes crinkling at their jokes.
it’s the kind of laughter and jokes that he only shares with people like him. people who belonged in private school and inherited generational wealth. people who thought about tuition as a given right rather than a privilege that most of society work years for just to attain the possibility of it.
despite how sweet and caring jake was.
you hate to admit it, he fits in effortlessly.
not only by looks; jake was beyond them when it came to appearances.
probably the best looking one— a bit biased— considering most of them according to the normal population were untouchable. in their own class of people. lofty and shallow, yes. fragile and temporary. absolutely no.
jakes mom had married into old money. your family; new money.
you’d think that rich was rich. money was money regardless of how one obtains it.
no—
new money has a shine that chips fast. it’s respectable, sure, but flimsy at the edges. still finding its footing, still proving itself. a wealth that’s somehow seen as temporary.
old money doesn’t have to prove anything. it simply exists, heavy, generational and inherited. houses built on ages of reinforcement.
you admired that jake’s mom never let those lines get in the way of her friendship with your mother. she adored your mother. she adored the two of you together. she still nudged jake to look after you.
you hover near the doorway for a moment, pretending to adjust the bracelet on your wrist just so you don’t look like you’re blatantly staring at him.
but it’s impossible not to notice how easily he laughs with them. how his posture changes. how the jake you grew up with — your jake — shifts into someone smoother, sharper, more self-assured.
someone you’re not so sure you belong beside anymore.
a familiar voice slices the room like a polished blade:
“jake?”
you don’t even need to look to know who it is.
but you do anyway.
minji park.
former captain of the high-school tennis club.
the girl whose family name is quietly whispered at charity galas.
the girl you always thought looked too perfect to be real — glossy ponytail, straight white smile, and the kind of confidence only old money can give someone.
she’s wearing a soft champagne dress that probably cost more than your entire college semester.
she greets jake with a hug. a lingering one. one that you subconsciously put too much meaning into.
she pulls away with that effortless grace, manicured hand resting on his arm.
“i didn’t know you’d be in town this year,” she beams.
jake smiles back, warm and easy.
“yeah… wouldn’t miss my mom’s annual circus.”
everyone laughs.
even minji. even jake.
you try to, too — except nothing comes out.
because suddenly, you feel every part of your childhood friend's role squeezing tight around your ribs.
every scraped knee he carried you through.
every study session he stayed awake for.
every time he guided you across busy streets like you were smaller, softer, someone he was obligated to lead.
someone who was always being protected.
and then there’s minji. standing there beside him like an equal. like someone who matches him in status, confidence, class.
someone who doesn’t need taking care of.
you swallow hard.
minji leans closer, voice dipping into something sweeter.
“you never texted me back after that alumni event. i thought i scared you off.”
you didn’t know about that.
why would you? why should you?
your stomach twists.
jake huffs a laugh. “you didn’t. i just— life got busy.”
busy.
funny. you’ve never heard him talk like that with you.
he’s soft with you. teasing. familiar.
but this?
this is the version of him that belongs in rooms like this — polished, magnetic, charming without trying.
you step back quietly, letting yourself blend into the moving crowd. you shouldn’t be listening. you shouldn’t be watching.
you shouldn’t care.
but god, you do.
because all you can think is:
that’s the type of girl he’s supposed to end up with.
not the girl whose mom only recently stepped foot into this world of money and prestige.
not the girl who still feels out of place in homes with cascading, pillared ceilings and marble floors.
not the girl who learned how to be careful. too careful — around rich people because you didn’t grow up with safety nets built into your last name.
and definitely not the girl jake called “gross” to date.
you’re a relic of his childhood.
an old obligation packaged into nostalgia that follows him well into his college days.
his mother’s favorite story to tell at dinner parties.
the reality of what he sees you as hits you like a freight train.
the younger girl he grew up protecting.
the younger girl he still instinctively shields from drunk men and reckless decisions.
the one he carries home when she’s tired.
a responsibility.
not a choice.
you exhale softly, setting your half-empty drink on a passing tray.
you should move. disappear for a bit.
give him some space. give him… room to explore more than what his mother asked him to do for you.
because minji — with her confidence and pedigree and perfectly aligned stars — fits the world jake lives in. she knows the ins and outs. understands this world just as much as he does.
she fits the man he’s become.
and you?
you’re still the girl he slaps flour on and calls a troublemaker in a kitchen full of childhood memories.
you slip away from the crowd, unnoticed, weaving through clusters of guests as your chest tightens.
not jealousy. no. something a bit worse.
it’s a thrumming, sad realization that maybe it’s time to stop standing in jake’s way.
stop clinging to a fantasy that only exists in your head.
stop being the girl he has to protect.
you don’t want him to feel responsible for you anymore. the sister-like shadow you once were to him needed to dissolve into nothingness. if you didn’t stop now, you would always be a barrier for the promising future he could have with a polished, put together girl like minji.
so you act immediately.
you slip out of the booming room quietly, telling yourself you’re doing the right thing.
that it’s better this way.
that stepping aside now hurts less than being pushed aside later.
the cold hits you as soon as the balcony door shuts behind you.
the breeze outside is nice. threading its cold fingers through your hair. almost comforting. your lungs take it in like medicine. hoping it’ll clear out whatever’s sinking against your chest. your attempts to silence your thoughts with the brisk winter air works for now.
the night sky hangs above you— not at all bothered by the pounding speakers, clinking glasses, and buzzed laughter bleeding through the stone walls. stars twinkle lazily, indifferent to the impending chaos of the countdown you so desperately want to avoid. as if taunting the upcoming fireworks to disturb the peace.
It doesn't care about your inner turmoil as you hide outside of your best friends family new years eve party. so you find purchase to the sweet, yet warm taste of the champagne in a flute you plucked earlier from one of the servers.
the balcony door clicks open behind you — a quiet sound, nearly swallowed by the music. but you recognize the footsteps instantly.
you don’t have to turn to know who it is.
jake always walks with purpose. even when he’s pretending he isn’t searching for you.
“wow,” he says, voice warm with humor, “you ditched the party? and here i thought you loved watching me get harassed by our old classmates.”
you stiffen, palms flat against the cold railing. your flute of champagne resting on the ledge, now chilled againt the cold air.
“i didn’t ditch,” you mumble.
“mmhm.” his tone is playful. “you just… wandered out here alone? into the freezing cold? right before midnight?”
you roll your eyes at the teasing lilt in his voice, but you don’t turn around. you can’t.
“jake. go back inside. you’ve got… someone waiting for you.” the words taste sour, but you force them out. “you should get ready to give minji her new year’s kiss. you know… start your year right.”
the teasing slips out of him instantly. “what?”
the air changes. the warmth in his tone hardens — not angry, but alert. “kiss minji?”
you swallow. “she’s perfect for you, jake. she fits right in. so just… go.”
there’s a beat of silence.
then soft footsteps.
one, two, three.
he stops just behind you, close enough that the heat of him pushes into the cold around your shoulders.
“y/n,” he says quietly, voice no longer teasing. “look at me.”
you don’t.
your fingers cling to the railing like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
he exhales. a sound that’s equal parts disbelief and frustration, like he can’t believe he’s only noticing this now.
“you’re out here because of minji?” he asks gently. “seriously?”
you wince. “i’m not— it’s just—”
“god.” he drags a hand through his hair. “you think i came out here to… what? check on my little sister or something?”
you flinch.
he sees it.
his voice softens instantly. “hey. hey, don’t do that.”
noise from inside erupts — shouts, laughter, someone yelling:
“ONE MINUTE!!”
you turn your head half an inch. that’s all he needs.
jake steps forward and grips your wrist, pulling you fully to face him.
his eyes search yours fast, piecing everything together.
the hiding. the slipping away. the comment about minji. the trembling lip you’re trying so hard to hide.
“you’re intimidated,” he murmurs, like it physically pains him to say it. “by her. by them. by… everything.”
your throat tightens.
“jake—”
he shakes his head once, sharply. “no. i’m not letting you run away minutes before midnight over something that isn’t even—” he bites down the word. “—true.”
another cheer rises inside.
“THIRTY SECONDS!!”
he looks over his shoulder like time is attacking him. then right back at you.
something in him snaps into decision.
“come here.”
before you can protest, jake tugs you forward by the waist. not roughly, not gently, but with certainty — pulling you into the warm solidness of his chest.
your breath stutters.
his mouth is close enough that the cold air fogs between both of you.
“you’re not spending the new year alone out here because you think i want someone else,” he says, voice low, urgent. “i’m not letting that happen.”
your heart pounds so hard you feel it in your fingertips.
“TEN! NINE! EIGHT—”
jake’s hands tighten at your waist.
“you’re with me,” he breathes. “right here.”
the countdown booms.
“—SEVEN! SIX! FIVE—”
he leans in, forehead brushing yours, grounding you. “i’m not going back inside without you.”
your breath catches.
his thumb brushes your hip — a single, devastating touch.
“—FOUR! THREE—”
he whispers your name.
like it means more than the countdown.
more than the party.
more than minji.
“—TWO!”
your lips are a heartbeat apart.
“ONE!”
fireworks crack. cheers erupt. glasses clink and the music blares loudly once more.
it happens before your brain can register anything but heat.
warmth.
jake’s warmth.
his mouth presses into yours right as the fireworks explode above the rooftop. he’s warm, deliberate, and steady.
a kiss with no prelude. no warning. a years-long dam finally bursting, crashing into you with so much force that it makes you dizzy in an instant.
there isn’t any hesitation. only the sure, devastatingly delicious taste of his plump lips fit against yours like he’s done it forever. a dangerous fever dream that you could’ve never imagined to actually experience.
your breath catches, fingers instinctively curling over his sweater. for a sheer millisecond, you melt into him. tilting your head to taste more.
you moan. pathetic how the sound spills into him before you can stop yourself. before you can even comprehend the way his hands frame your waist. the way he tastes you back with fervor. as if he’s waited just as long as you.
and then reality slams into you like freezing water.
you jolt back so fast that your heel nearly slips from a patch of slickness from the melted frost.
your hands fly to his chest, not to support yourself but to shove.
you push his chest hard.
jake stumbles back half a step.
he doesnt look nearly as shaken as you are. doesn’t look confused— hell, he doesn’t even look sorry.
he just stands there. breathing hard, lips red, eyes lazily fixed on your trembling mouth as if he can still taste you.
“what the fuck was that?!” you hiss, voice cracking.
jake blinks at you slowly, lips still parted from the kiss. he looks… unfairly calm. unbothered. amused.
like he’s been expecting this exact meltdown from you.
“uh,” he says, taking a step toward you, “pretty sure that was a kiss?”
“no.” you shake your head hard. then harder. your pulse is sprinting. “no, jake. stop. don’t, you can’t just—”
you point at him, words tangling. “that better not be some dumb joke. or some dumb new years dare your stupid rich friends put you up to.”
“what—“ his brow tweaks up.
“you can’t just-just kiss me like that…” your heart beat is everywhere. “not after all this time! not after treating me like your little sister or some obligation you had to drag around!”
he watches you unravel with a slow, maddening calmness. still focused entirely, devastatingly, on you.
“y/n,” he says softly, “if you were my sister, i wouldn’t have kissed you like that.”
you shake your head violently.
jake just stands there, breath warm in the cold air, lips still kissed-red.
then, slowly, infuriatingly—he lets a small, amused smile pull at the corner of his mouth.
“happy new year to you too, by the way.”
“no. no, jake. don’t joke. im serious, don’t—“ your voice breaks. “you better not be playing some prank, or doing some stupid new years dare for your rich friends—”
“a dare?” he almost laughs. “who the hell would dare me to kiss you?”
your stomach twists.
gross.
the word echoes in your ears—sharp, humiliating, impossible to forget. and suddenly you’re not sure which version of jake is standing in front of you: the boy who once swore you were like a sister… or the man who just kissed you like he meant every second of it.
“i’m serious!” you shout, even though your voice wavers. “you can’t just— mess with me like that and act like— like it’s nothing.”
he blinks at you incredulously.
“don’t you dare try to touch me again.”
but he’s already reaching for your hand.
not to grab.
not to pin.
just… to hold.
his fingers brush yours gently, tentative in a way that makes your breath stall.
“y/n,” he murmurs, lifting your hand to his lips, “if i wanted to mess with you, i wouldn’t start by kissing you breathless.”
you freeze.
his mouth brushes your knuckles softly. once, twice—each kiss unraveling you more than the last.
“you can hit me if you want,” jake says quietly. “yell at me. shove me again.”
another kiss. your pulse stutters.
“just don’t lie to me.”
“jake,”
he turns your wrist, lips finding the inside of it. warm, slow, devastating.
“don’t act like you didn’t want that.”
your knees nearly give.
“don’t act like you don’t still want it.”
“you. you don’t get to say that,” you breathe, trying to retreat but pinned by the railing. “you think i’m just going to let you—”
he kisses your shoulder through your sweater. you shiver violently.
“let you?” he echoes, gaze lifting to yours. “you kissed me back.”
your hands push at his chest again—but this time he catches your wrists.
gently.
easily.
like he’s done it a hundred times in his head.
he pins your hands to the cold railing behind you—not forceful but enough to steal your breath.
his forehead lowers until it rests against yours.
“say you didn’t want it,” he murmurs, his warm breath spilling over your lips. “say it, and i’ll stop.”
your throat closes.
“go on,” he breathes. “just once. i’ll back off.”
he loosens his hold on your wrists.
he releases you completely.
but you don’t move.
you don’t even blink.
you can’t. not with him this close, not with your heartbeat tangled in his breath, not with the taste of him still on your lips.
his eyes lower to your mouth.
“y/n,” he whispers, “please. just say it.”
you open your mouth.
nothing comes out.
he studies your face, really studies it. and something in his expression softens, not with pity, but with a kind of warm, unbearable fondness that hits you straight in the chest.
then he steps closer.
you step back.
he steps forward again.
you hit the railing.
“stop doing that,” you breathe.
“doing what?” his voice dips lower—gentler, taunting in the softest way.
“looking at me like that.”
“like what?” his eyes glisten under the dim balcony light.
“like….” you swallow hard. “like you meant that.”
he doesn’t blink.
doesn’t move.
doesn’t even take a breath.
then he says, perfectly calm, perfectly certain.
“i did.”
your knees wobble.
“jake…”
“it wasn’t a joke,” he goes on, voice losing every trace of playfulness. “nobody told me to do it. nobody dared me. i kissed you because i wanted to.”
your heart drops straight into your stomach.
“you’re lying,” you whisper.
he huffs a quiet laugh, disbelieving, almost offended. “you really think i’d do something like that to you? a prank? after all these years?”
you look away, unable to hold the weight of his gaze.
“you’ve been avoiding me all night,” he says softly. “you disappeared, ran from the room, hid out here… all because you thought i wanted someone else.”
your breath trembles.
“and then you told me to go inside and kiss minji.” his jaw sets. “so yeah. when the countdown hit one, i kissed the person i actually wanted to kiss.”
your stomach flips violently.
“don’t…” you whisper. “don’t say things you don’t mean… you called being in a relationship with me gross.”
jake steps in—finally, fully. closing the remaining distance so deliberately you feel his warmth before he even touches you.
one hand rises, fingers brushing the back of your arm—barely there, but grounding in a way that nearly undoes you.
“i’m not playing with you,” he murmurs. “i’m not messing with you. i’m not confusing you on purpose.”
your eyes burn. “then why, why now?”
his thumb grazes your wrist, tender and sure.
“because you tried to get out of the way.”
you inhale sharply.
“and i realized,” he says quietly, “that i’ve been letting you believe things that were never true. i don’t think a relationship with you is gross. or that you’re like a little sister to me…”
he tilts his head, bringing his mouth dangerously close to yours again.
“y/n,” he whispers, “i meant every second of that kiss.”
Your knees were weak, your jaw slack, your pulse hammering through your fingertips. he could probably feel it from where he’s standing.
“and,” his lips brush the side of your face, inching closer to your ear. “i think you did too…”
“no,” you whisper, weakly. barely a sound. barely you denying much.
“hmm?” his voice dips lower. dangerous. seductive even, a tease laced with certainty. “that’s strange. because i could’ve sworn i heard you moan against me when i kissed you, y/n.”
you don’t answer.
you just tilt your head away. biting your bottom lip. pouting because, he had you there.
you glance back at him. lips parted and plush. eyes nearly pleading.
it’s enough for him.
he surges forward, mouth dragging down the slope of your neck. not kissing; devouring. open-mouthed heat, slow hunger, breathing you in like he’s been starving for years.
“you drive me fucking insane,” he groans against your skin. “you think i didn’t notice the way you looked at me? you think i didn’t go home half the time already hard just from being near you?”
your breath stutters.
“you think i never noticed those shorts you wear around me in the summer? or that dress at my birthday?”
“jake, stop,”
“why?” he murmurs against your jaw. “tell me to actually stop. and i will”
you try. you really do.
but your head falls back with a soft, helpless sound when his hands slip beneath your sweater—warm palms skimming your bare waist like he’s relearning your body.
“we’re on the balcony,” you pant. “anyone could see—”
“let them.”
“our moms are inside—”
“then maybe be quiet for once in your life,” he growls—right before he drops to his knees in front of you.
your legs nearly buckle. your hands fly into his hair, gripping without meaning to.
“jake—jake—what are you—”
he yanks your panties down to your knees, a low groan breaking from his chest as black fabric accessorizes your thighs.
“you’re shaking,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles up the inside of your leg. “you cold?”
“i—yes—but that’s not—” the sound of you whimpering is foreign but it’s coming out so naturally.
“not what?”
“not why i’m shaking, asshole—”
“it’s because your body can’t handle how badly she needs me… right here.” he doesn’t wait. his mouth follows the inside of your thigh, slow kisses up your skin, until your knees threaten to give out.
“you’re soaked,” he breathes—almost a moan. “fuck.”
“oh my god—”
“you’ve been wet for me since the second i kissed you… haven’t you?”
you try to push him away. your hands tangled in his hair, tugging instead of resisting.
“i’ve wanted to taste you for years,” he whispers—no tease now, just devotion. “let me, y/n.”
you don’t speak. you just nod.
he lifts one of your legs onto his shoulder and dives in.
the first stroke of his tongue knocks the air straight out of your lungs. you cry out before you can stop yourself—hands clutching his hair, hips grinding down for more, chasing him without thinking. your skirt flipped up around your thighs.
“fuck—jake—” you gasp. “i can’t—we can’t—”
he hums against you, gripping your hips like he’s holding himself together.
“you taste even better than i fucking dreamed,” he growls into you.
you’re gone.
everything blurs—fireworks still bursting overhead, cheers from inside, the cold biting your thighs. all of it disappears under the white-hot pulse of jake’s mouth on you, slow and greedy, like he’s worshiping.
when you cum, you nearly sob.
your legs tremble violently. jake stands, catching you effortlessly, and kisses you hard—lips slick, tasting like you.
“think you taste good?” he whispers against the corner of your mouth.
“shut up,” you moan.
“you taste so fucking good.”
your breath is still uneven, thighs trembling, your weight leaning into jake’s chest like your bones have decided to give out—right before reality slams back into place.
you hear a faint, familiar voice slowly approaching the balcony door.
“shit—my underwear—”
you push off of him, not rough but frantic, fingers scrambling to pull the fabric back up your legs. your hands shake badly enough that you fumble the waistband twice.
jake watches, not bothering to disguise the heavy-lidded hunger in his eyes, mouth still wet from you.
you’re just finished tugging them over your hips and under your skirt when-
the balcony door slides open.
“you two out here?” jake’s mom calls, her voice warm and a little tipsy. “oh hey! we’ve been looking—”
she stops.
you snap upright so fast your vision blurs, sweater collar yanked down a bit in a panic, hair a mess, face burning hotter than the fireworks still going off above the roofline.
jake doesn’t move.
doesn’t straighten. doesn’t pretend.
just turns his head… and lets a slow, sinful smirk pull at his mouth. head tilted towards you.
and when he drags his tongue across his lower lip, slow enough to savor, your stomach drops straight through the floor.
his mother blinks, the wine in her glass sloshing faintly. “you two… alright out here?”
“yep,” jake answers, popping the p just to be an ass. “perfect. the fireworks look great mom.”
you glare at him, mortified.
“hmm.” his mom tries him again, squinting like she’s trying to focus. “jake, you weren’t being an asshole again, were you?”
you nearly choke on nothing.
“mom—” he sighs, an amused exhale, biting back something wicked.
“i mean it,” she insists, wagging a finger. “if you’re rude to y/n again, i’m going to lecture you until the day i die. she’s a good woman. way too good for you, frankly.”
your stomach twists hard.
jake’s smile sharpens, slow and deliberate. “oh, trust me,” he darts his tongue over his lip again. “she’s way too good.”
your knees weaken.
his mom doesn’t notice; she’s too busy adjusting her blazer and trying to reorient herself while glancing over at something out of view from inside.
“come,” she says, brightening. “we’re going to cut the cake once everyone comes back from the garden.”
jake’s hand slides across the small of your back—light, confident, unmistakably intentional.
you tense, breath catching at the heat of his palm.
“coming,” he tells her, eyes locked on you in a way that curls heat low in your stomach.
then—bold, deliberate—he bites his bottom lip clearly thinking about what the two were almost caught doing.
your mother’s voice floats through the doorway before you can react. her head peeping into view. “are you two out there kissing or fighting?”
jake doesn’t miss a beat.
“kissing,” he says softly, smirk fully turning into a smug smile once both moms, in their tipsy joy, hug each other and squeal.
a bit too excited with alcohol fueled energy.
”i knew this day would come!” you mother chimes happily as she uses jakes mom to hold herself steady.
you elbow him—not childish, but sharp enough to warn him to stop talking.
he laughs under his breath, leaning in so close his lips brush the shell of your ear.
“you can shove me all you want,” he murmurs. “i’m not done with you tonight.”
your breath stutters.
“come on,” his mom urges from the doorway, swaying slightly, completely oblivious to her son’s dark intentions. “you two are so adorable.”
jake gives you a look as you walk past her. slow, heated, as if he’s stripping the hours ahead of you bare with nothing but his eyes.
nothing adorable about it. at all.
. . . . .
you didn’t even know how you reach the hallway bathroom. one second Jake’s mouth was still on you, his mother laughing drunkenly in the background, the next, you were slamming the bathroom door behind you, chest heaving, hands gripping the sink like it could keep you upright.
you stare at yourself in the mirror.
swollen lips. flushed skin. neck marked where he’d mouthed over you like he was starved.
your reflection looks wrecked.
you hated it. you loved it.
a soft knock.
just him.
“y/n... open the door.”
your throat tightens. “go away.”
He didn’t.
instead, he turns the knob — slow enough to warn you — and steps in. carefully letting his body block the view of you hunching over the sink. he shuts the door with a click, trapping you between the counter and his body.
you look away from him.
he doesnt let you avoid him.
two fingers slide under your chin, forcing your eyes to his.
“trying to hide? ” he murmured. "what's wrong?"
“you,” your voice cracked. “what we did... you cant just do that to me. not after everything. not tonight. Not with our moms right inside. I don’t even know what this is.”
“why not? ” he said simply. “you're finally getting what you want... and so am i.”
Your breath hitched.
“and you,” he continued, brushing his thumb over your still‑kiss‑swollen mouth, “you're finally admitting you want me.”
“I never said—”
“ah. well, you didn’t have to.”
you pushed at his chest. a weak, useless shove which Jake stepped in closer instead of away. his body pressed yours into the counter, his breath warm on your cheek.
“come upstairs.”
your stomach dropped. “what,"
“not asking,” he whispered, voice deep and sure. “come. upstairs.”
he grabs your wrist. not hard, not rough, but with a kind of certainty that makes your knees jello and guides you out of the bathroom, down the hall, and up the staircase to the second floor.
your heartbeat thunders in your ears as he pauses outside a familiar door.
his old bedroom.
the place where your parents used to leave you both with popcorn and movies.
the place where you’d built pillow forts, shared secrets, fell asleep side‑by‑side in childish innocence.
he opened the door.
everything smelled the same. that faint woody, warm scent that had always clung to Jake’s sweaters, even now.
but the moment he pulled you inside and shut the door, nothing about this was childhood.
he kisses you. hard, hungrier than before, walking you backward until your knees hit the edge of his old bed. you fall onto the mattress with a gasp, and Jake’s mouth follows, trailing heat and hunger over your jaw, your throat, down your chest.
your sweater went first. Then your bra.
you didn’t even remember lifting your arms.
jake’s breath stuttered.
“fuck,” he whispered, staring at your bare chest like he was in pain. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”
your nipples tightened under his gaze, and before you could cover yourself, he cupped your breast, thumb brushing over the peak.
you choked on a gasp.
he smirked. slow, dangerous.
“not the same girl who used to sleep on this bed clutching a stuffed rabbit, huh?”
“jake….”
he bent down, lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking hard enough your back arched off the mattress.
“you grew up so fucking pretty,” he murmured against your skin. “so fucking gorgeous. i used to—” he cut himself off with a groan as he pulled your panties down again, tossing them aside like they offended him. “i used to look at you back then and force myself to ignore it.”
your breath stalled.
“i didn’t want to ruin you, you know?" he said, dragging his hands up your thighs. “didn’t want to take something that wasn’t mine.”
his fingers sank into your hips.
“but look at you now.”
he pushes your knees apart.
“look at how wet you are for me.”
Your vision blurred.
jake didn’t ease into you. he tore into your kiss, tore into your breath, tore into your sanity. His mouth crashed onto yours as he dragged you further up the mattress, caging you under him.
his jeans hit the floor.
his underwear follows.
you barely had time to inhale before he lined himself up, gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise.
“Jake…” Your voice shook. “Wait, I’ve never….”
His expression shifted instantly. not softer, but focused.
“you want me to stop?”
“no,” you breath. “oh god— no.”
his voice drops into something sinful.
“then tell me you want me,” he whispered, pressing the head of his cock against your entrance, pushing just enough to make you gasp. “tell me you need me to fuck you in the room where we used to play.”
Your nails dug into his shoulders.
“i need you, jake, please.” you whisper, heart pounding out of your chest.
he snaps.
jake thrusts into you. all the way, deep, stretching you until your breath hitched into a sob. he swallowed your cry with his mouth, groaning against your lips as he bottomed out.
you clung to him, nails scraping down his back, legs trembling around him.
adjusting to his length, walls spasming and twitching around his dick. you can hear and feel how wet you are.
and then—
he moved.
slow but hard.
claiming.
the bedframe slammed into the wall as Jake fucked you like every year of holding back had just detonated inside him. you breasts bounce with every thrust, and jake stares down at them like he was going insane.
“of fuck—look at you.” he groans, hand gripping your waist to pull you onto his cock even harder. “nothing innocent left now, huh?”
You gasped, head falling back.
“remember, you used to sleep right here,” he grunted, thrusting deeper, “curled up beside me….and now look at you—”
your eyes rolled. throat letting out god know what kind of noises.
“now you’re moaning on my cock, in the same fucking spot—”
a splash of your arousal hits his abdomen.
“—where we used to fight at night because i would steal your little plushie.”
your entire body shuddered.
he leans down, biting your shoulder just enough to make you cry out, one hand sliding to your throat, not squeezing. just holding.“you need your plushie now, y/n?”
“you’re mine now,” he whispers raggedly into your ear. “you understand me?”
you nod, desperately.
“say it.”
“i'm yours! jake, oh my god, I’m yours!”
he lets out a low groan, thrusting so deep you see stars.
the bed creaked. the old headboard slammed. the room you’d once thought of as safe now echoed with filthy sounds of skin, gasping breaths, and the wet slap of your body meeting his.
your climax hit you violently.
jake wasn’t far behind. his voice breaking into your neck as he thrust through your orgasm, chasing his own until he pulled out just in time, finishing hot and fast over your stomach, chest heaving above you.
your bodies stayed tangled in the dark as fireworks cracked through the sky outside.
new year’s eve into new years day. More than what you could ever imagine.
a new beginning.
not as Jake's obligation. but as his choice.
his. All his.
m i k a 🌷: let me know if you want to be added to my general taglist! 💕
All Rights Reserved to mika of vanillaxbambi 2025. Any posts on other platforms are prohibited.
this new years eve jake fic is BREWING in my drafts rn🤭making the headline post for it right now. looking for the three little icons at the top is my favorite part of the posting process. i joined an enha winter writing event tagged #naughtyandnice2025 so this is honestly what's motivating me to keep writing... BE ON THE LOOK OUT FOR WHEN I POST LOVELIES😝🥰😘
THIS IS WHAT ITS ABOUT BTW:
childhood besties-> lovers, oldmoney! jake x newmoney! reader, older! jake (22) x younger(21)!reader (not really an age gap but its sort of important to the story), unrequited love -> very much reciprocated love... d/s themes, caregiver x subby reader, jakes got a mutual corruption kink RAHRAHRAH
im already at 6k im not NEARLy done writing it
IM REELING JUST THINKING ABOUT IT
just so im not yapping to the ether: @heegyukeluv @1osingdog @str8ykids @nctrenjunie @enigmaticsal @allygator-98 @jay-scenarios @wsrod-deszczu @serendipityunho @hxonieverse @ninistranaut @rockstarkkami @brokenengene @nishimurmur @heeprints @heefairies @ohsowoozi @theyluvjake @unfxrgetwble @iclimbjungwon
✦ wrapping up the year 2025 we've seen beautiful fics from all our lovely writers everywhere smaller or larger writers, now it's time to show them how grateful we are to the creative writers for this fandom giving them more than an ask or a comment, what's better than nominating them for awards they could receive.
what's the best part?
you will be nominating your favourites, yes, you! and its finally time to show your authors how much their work and creativity means to us readers. enhablr has been going through a rough patch so what better way to get these lovely and gifted authors that write for us more recognition and love than this? 💐💐
⭑HOW DOES VOTING/NOMINATIONS WORK?
⸝⸝⸝how does the nominations and submission, voting process work?⸝⸝⸝
⚚ we will be receiving your favourite fic/genre/author based on the specific category in the form of asks and messages. Anonymous asks are strictly not allowed. This is so we make sure no one is nominating one single fic or author multiple times and everyone gets a clear chance.
⚚ nominations will be held from 9th of december to 21st of december and then the inbox will be closed.
⚚ after the first round of voting that will close on 21st of december KST 11:49 PM, we will be releasing the final nominations and from then onwards from 22nd December to 2nd January the voting process for fully specified categories will be hosted.
⚚ but these votes specified are for the main big categories. which will be the live voting for the following:
1) best writer, 2) best fanfiction, 3) best series, 4) best social media au, 5) best lee heeseung fic, 6) best yang jungwon fic, 7) best park jjongseong fic, 8) best park sunghoon fic, 9) best kim sunoo fic, 10) best nishimura ni-ki fic
⚚ nominations categories here!!
🦇LIVE VOTING AFTER 21ST ONLY FOR THESE CATEGORIES.🦇
☏ PLEASE KEEP IN MIND ALL OF THIS IS JUST FOR APPRECIATION AND BRINGING MORE FUN INTO THE ENHABLR COMMUNITY. PLEASE DO NOT FEEL BAD IF YOUR FIC IS NOT NOMINATED, WE HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THE NOMINATIONS WE ARE ONLY HERE FOR MEDIATING THE PROCESS. ASKS AND QUESTIONS ARE ALLOWED. BUT ANY HATE WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. ☏
the idea was taken from another fandom @katseyeawards on tumblr and the concept seemed really cool and interactive between fans on tumblr and our beloved writers.
ahhh sweet vi!! 🥰🫶🏼NOT EVEN 🫢🙂↕️! I CANT BELIEVE U WOULD SAY THAT ABOUT MY WRITING LITERALLY UR WRITING SHAKES ME TO MY CORE😭i love ur writing a billion times more!! when i saw that u were also a ddlg enthusiast through ur blog, i couldn't resist passing off the wealth🤭... i fear there isnt enough dd!idol out there thats done the right way... feel free to come to my inbox for ur dadawon (or other dd!idol) needs 😘🌷💕
Your blog update is so cute. I can tell you've been working overtime.
You're like if orange flower by enhypen was a person 🧡🌼🏵
eee! thank uu🥹🥺🫶🏼i've lowkey just been feeling like trash lately so i used changing aesthetics to escape for a bit🥲 im so glad at least one person noticed!!
also, thats literally the sweetest thing ever! to be compared to the most beautiful song everrr😩 ur the best!!:3
m i k a 🌷: just a thought in my head that i figured someone else is bound to enjoy…. tell me what you think, love youuuu <3
🌷g e n e r a l t a g l i s t — @heegyukeluv @1osingdog @str8ykids @nctrenjunie @enigmaticsal @allygator-98 @jay-scenarios @wsrod-deszczu @serendipityunho @hxonieverse @ninistranaut @rockstarkkami @brokenengene @nishimurmur @heeprints @heefairies @ohsowoozi @theyluvjake @unfxrgetwble
m a s t e r l i s t .
imagine sleepy voice heeseung lowly grumbling in ur ear while you snuggle into his torso about how he wants to see you fall apart in his lap...
his bambi eyes almost pleading for you to break and shatter like glass as he holds you near the heat of his chest.
“i could hurt you...” he whispers, almost to himself.
imagine heeseung getting off at the thought of you crying out in a mixture of pain—mostly pleasure.
just picture it.
his dominant gaze perfectly disgused underneath a pretty picture of male doe eyes that make him take on the appearance of a deer in the head lights—foolish baby.
run.
you‘re no longer the hunter you thought you were when you came across this harmless man.
you‘re the hunted.
run!
“no where to go now...” heeseung‘s chuckle blows against the side of your face as he presses himself to the hilt with one rough thrust. your wrists pinned. hips locked under his. and eyes rolling to the back of your skull. core trembling with strain.
your walls stretch pitifully around his girth. each pump comes in waves that ripple in pleasure so intense you cant tell the difference between the start of one to the end of the other.
“i love watching you shake.”
you cant help it when your orgasm washes over you prematurely.
he doesn’t pull out. it would hurt him to at this point. you look devastating like this. he would never stop. not when your pleasure feels so good.
he just enjoys you shattering like delicate glass. eyes lazy with remnance of sleep still lingering over his lids.
