tags: light !bondage, !exhibitionism, unprotected p in v, !breeding kink, !oral (both receiving), temperature play
enjoy 🤍🍒
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• he’s such a tease and let him take it FAR cos he’ll tie your hands to the headboard with his skating ribbons and then just watch you squirm while he slowly drags an ice cube down your naked body <3 he loves seeing you drip and beg while he stays fully dressed
• he’ll suck ice so his cold tongue and lips shock at first, but everything turns hot real fast cos he’ll eat you out so deep and nasty, nose buried in you, making obscene slurping sounds while he fingers you roughly. he doesn’t stop even when you’re shaking and crying - he just smirks and says “you can give me one more”
• breeding kinkkk he’ll fold you in half, cock so deep you can feel him in your stomach. he’d point at the bulge in your tummy and whisper “gonna fill this up til you’re overflowing… want you leaking my cum for days”
• loves choking you with his long fingers while he fucks you from behind in front of a mirror. forces you to watch your own face as he ruins you “look at how pathetic you look taking my cock”
• would make you ride his thigh while he’s still in his ice prince outfit. he won’t touch you properly until you’ve made a complete mess on his pants, then he’ll call you a dirty little slut for it
• temperature play kinggg. alternates between ice cubes and his hot tongue/cock so shocks go up your spine and bring you a bit closer to cumming every time
• possessive as HELL. will mark up your inner thighs and neck, then force you to wear short skirts so everyone can see his claim while knowing only he gets to ruin you
• after he cums inside you, he loves pushing it back in with his fingers and making you cum again just from that “can’t waste a drop, pretty”
• will fuck you on the balcony at night, hand forced over your mouth so no one hears you screaming his name while he fills you up <3
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requests are OPEN
i really wanna do what i think the members would be like during sex cos i don’t wanna brag buttt lowkey i think i have that shit DOWN if my intuition is right🤭
*pairing: pervy wolf hybrid Jake x human student girl
*trope: popular playboy x nerdy girl-tutoring
*inspiration: off campus book 1
*synopsis: Jake only had one problem: History. He's always been good at any subject, especially since balancing being the captain of the football team and studying engineering is no walk in the park, but his lack of history could compromise everything, and when he saw a girl holding the text with the word 100 written on it, he realized that you could be his only chance of getting through that damned subject.
But what would it sweat if tutor sessions began to become moments where he could be himself, where you began to open up after a long time to a person and discover that jake wasn't as much of a womanizer and you weren't as broken as you thought you were?
*tags: Jake is a playboy at first but after a while you arouse his curiosity, Y/n at first is skeptical of letting Jake into her life, Y/n suffered violence in high school (I won't write anything about this act also because my stories have to be a fun) many kisses, Jake is a wolf hybrid and little by little he will become territorial but also clingy with Y/n, Y/n thinks she's broken but Jake will trust her both intimately and physically, visual masturbation, protected sex, unprotected sex (dont' horny ppl) knotting, jealousy, possession, sucking to claim Y/n, declaration, +18, little bit angst, pet names (jakey) (baby, sweetheart)
banner by: @eightnyn *wc: 4.7k
The campus bar that afternoon was wrapped in an unusual quiet, perhaps because the day outside was decidedly gloomy. A thin mist blurred the large windows, erasing the outlines of the bare trees in the courtyard and the various statues that adorned the university. Looking outside, you couldn't help but think how lucky you were to be working inside, warm and surrounded by the sweet scent of freshly baked cinnamon muffins and the comforting, pungent aroma of forest fruit tea bags left to steep.
As a student job, you really enjoyed working at the bar. It had also made you less shy, and many of your shifts were with Allie, which always turned into chaotic sessions filled with her dramas involving her boyfriend or ex-boyfriend—however many times they had broken up.
There was no one in line at the register, and most of the students present were scattered on the sofas or at the tables, lazily tapping on their laptop keys or underlining notes with their heads bent over notebooks, accompanied by hot chocolates. Taking advantage of this moment of pause without the usual crowd of people ordering, you turned toward the drink machine, wanting something sweet. By now, you didn’t even need to look at the controls—your hands moved on their own, activating the hot chocolate dispenser. The thick, dark liquid filled the ceramic cup. You stretched your arm to grab the glass jar full of mini marshmallows and let a generous handful fall onto the whipped cream, creating your perfect reward drink to defeat the gloom of the day. At the sight of a bit of cinnamon, you sprinkled a small dose on top of the cream, and you smiled at your creation. Just as you were arranging the last marshmallow, a rough and unmistakable voice broke the silence behind you—one you would have recognized even with your eyes closed: “Hey, sweetheart.”
At that sound, your cheeks instantly flushed a deep red, even though you were still half-bent over the hot chocolate. When you turned abruptly, clutching the slightly scalding cup in your hands, if you hadn’t had the wooden counter just a few centimeters away where you placed the mug with a reflex movement, you probably would have dropped everything—or worse, on your clothes and the counter.
Jake was there, standing in front of you, separated only by the surface of the counter where there was an area where you placed all the ready drinks. But there was something radically different about him compared to the last time you’d seen him—his hair. It had always been raven black, but now it had a new feature that left you speechless: along the sides, the strands faded into warm tones that tended toward a creamy blonde, giving his figure an even more marked and wild hybrid aura.
When he took off his usual baseball cap with a fluid gesture, it fully revealed the new cut, which took your breath away. The side strands were completely white and perfectly bleached, falling slightly messy on either side of his face, framing his sharp features and making his profile even more pronounced, especially his nose. You thought those light shades blended spectacularly with the soft fur of his wolf ears that peeked through the dark hair, moving slightly.
Jake immediately noticed the way you were staring at him, and the fact that his change in appearance had struck you so much made his inner wolf take a small leap of pride.
“Oh... your hair... it's... you look so good with this slightly fluffy cut, but with these mullet-like features,” you stammered, completely losing the thread of your thoughts, unable to take your eyes off those blonde and white strands that gave him such a disheveled yet irresistible look. You were super curious if those tufts were as soft as they had always been or if they felt different after being bleached.
Jake smiled with a crooked, pleased expression that lit up his eyes. He brought a large hand to his head, running his fingers through the light strands to mess them up even more with a deliberately cheeky gesture just for you, one of his usual attitudes to make you blush even more or to tease you. At the same time, he gave you a slight wink, lowering his voice so the other students couldn’t hear: “Thanks, sweetheart. I felt like changing things up a bit, especially now that the most important matches of the season and the Christmas parties are coming up. Let’s just say I wanted a fresh look that not everyone has. Anyway... thanks for the drink, it’s really delicious. I would have never thought that cinnamon powder would go so well with whipped cream and chocolate.”
You blinked, confused. “What drink...?” you asked, since you hadn’t prepared anything for him. But when you lowered your eyes to the counter, your cup was already in his hands, and Jake had already made his way through half of it: a generous spoonful of whipped cream and almost all the marshmallows were gone, leaving only a white trail at the corner of his lips. In the cup, you could already see the dark liquid. You raised your gaze, crossing your arms over your chest and putting on a small, annoyed pout.
“Hey! That was my reward drink for today’s stressful day, between classes and my work shift!”
Jake chuckled, seeing you slightly sulky, and took another sip, looking at you over the rim of the cup. “Well, I’d say I deserved it too, sweetheart. I was on the outdoor field until five minutes ago, with almost zero degrees and fog, running and training for the team.”
You rolled your eyes, hugging yourself tighter, and replied: “I don’t recall the doctor prescribing you to play soccer in these polar circle temperatures, Sim.”
At that tone of fake scolding, the atmosphere between you changed. Jake slowly lowered his eyes from your face, letting his gaze slide down the bar uniform you were wearing. The tight apron around your waist perfectly hugged the curve of your breasts and highlighted your stomach, making your figure incredibly familiar to his sight. Jake moistened his lips with a slow movement of his tongue, then lightly bit his lower lip, which was a bit chapped from the icy wind of the field.
At that moment, his hybrid instincts were screaming that he wanted to simply vault over the counter in one leap, grab you by the waist, and press you against his massive chest to feel your warmth and your scent again, which calmed him and satisfied his hybrid nature. But as if you had read his mind and wanted to ease that growing tension, you reached a hand over the wooden counter, and with the tips of your fingers, you gently caressed the base of his soft, fluffy ear, then delicately moved up to ruffle those newly bleached strands at the nape of his neck. To your surprise, even the bleached tufts were as soft as all his hair, and you absolutely wanted to know his secret to making his hair so fluffy.
At the sudden sensation of your warm touch, Jake shivered from head to toe. His wolf ears twitched pleasantly under your fingers, lowering almost backward in pure relaxation, while his tail, hidden behind his team’s sweatpants, gave a sharp thump against the bar stool and began to sway. His eyes half-closed with the immediate pleasure that your close contact was causing, and he remained still, almost hypnotized by the now-familiar sensation of your hands touching him.
“Stop looking at me like that, Jake… there are people in here,” you whispered, your cheeks red as you slowly pulled your hand back to avoid drawing attention. He raised an eyebrow, placing the now half-empty cup on the counter and leaning forward, reducing the distance between your faces to just a few centimeters. With a rough, provocative tone, he said: “Like what, sweetheart? Let’s hear it.”
You rolled your eyes, barely suppressing a smile at his audacity, and said in a low voice: “Like you’re about to pounce on me at any moment, that’s how.” You were half-embarrassed by your own words, and Jake chuckled, leaning even further over the counter. “Forgive me, sweetheart… but I have to remind you, I’m a wolf hybrid. And the way you said that… it sounds either terribly bad or terribly good to my ears, depending on the perspective,” he said, biting his lower lip. His cheeks tinged with a soft blush, betraying that the thought was genuinely teasing him.
You gave him a playful little slap on his muscular arm and said: “Be serious, Sim.”
But he didn’t stop looking at you for even a second. It was then that you noticed a small residue of chocolate and whipped cream stuck to the sides of his lips. Without thinking twice, guided by the intimate naturalness that now belonged to you both, you reached out and gently passed your thumb over the curve of his mouth to clean it.
Jake froze instantly, watching your face just millimeters from his. His wolf ears relaxed again at the sensation of you touching him of your own accord. At that close distance, his predator senses immediately picked up on a subtle change in the air: your usual sweet strawberry scent was taking on warm, intense notes of cotton candy, which meant that this closeness and hint of intimacy were pleasing you to no end. His wolf rejoiced with pleasure because just a few weeks ago, you had been truly reluctant to touch him or want his touch.
When your thumb removed the dark drop, instead of pulling your hand back, you decided to leave it there, lazily brushing the corner of his mouth and pressing lightly against the outline of his lips. You looked him straight in the eyes in a challenging way to tease him. With extreme slowness, you slid the tip of your thumb toward the center of his lower lip, pressing slightly to force him to part his lips, as if to remind him of the power you had over him. He immediately understood the game you were playing, but Jake had infinite patience when it came to you, so he held your gaze, limiting himself to raising an eyebrow with a hint of pure feline challenge, while his lips curled against your finger.
A theatrical little cough and a soft whistle abruptly burst the magnetic bubble that had formed around you both. You pulled your hand back suddenly, feeling the blood pump even harder into your cheeks, just as Jay and Sunghoon appeared behind Jake, giving him two complicitous shoves on either side of his arms.
“Are we interrupting something private, lovebirds?” Jay asked with an incredibly cheeky tone and a sly grin on his face at the sight of you two so close, something that was no longer much of a novelty for their pack.
Jake rolled his eyes, visibly annoyed at being interrupted at the best moment, and let out a low, warning growl—but one that Jay and Sunghoon knew all too well. It was one of those playful growls. “Jay… Sunghoon… you’d better disappear,”he said.
The two guys burst out laughing, not at all intimidated by the pack’s wolf. You, trying to regain a professional demeanor behind the counter, greeted them with a still slightly embarrassed smile and asked what you could prepare for them.
Jay, leaning on the counter with his elegant black cat hybrid demeanor, ordered a hot chocolate with orange flavor, while Sunghoon, adjusting his heavy scarf, opted for a classic black tea accompanied by a butter cookie, which he shared with Jay.
As you prepared their orders, the two guys didn’t stop teasing Jake about his new fluffy look with the mullet and the cream-colored streaks. Finally, they took their cups and, grabbing him by the shoulders, dragged him away toward the tables at the back of the bar. But before being pulled away by the pack, Jake suddenly turned and fixed you with a direct gaze across the counter. With a crooked smile that promised everything but good behavior, he said in a low voice: “See you later, sweetheart!”
At 6:30 PM, you turned everything off, slipped on your heavy jacket, and wrapped your scarf around your neck. Outside, the fog had thickened even more, reducing visibility to just a few meters. You shivered slightly as you stepped over the threshold of the café, the biting cold hitting your face. You couldn’t wait to snuggle under the blankets in your apartment, but to get there, you had at least a ten-minute walk ahead through the muffled murmurs of students returning to their dorms after their last classes or various sports practices. You were convinced that Jake had left long ago with Jay and Sunghoon, but instead, just a little further ahead, you spotted his figure at the corner of the sidewalk. He had his soccer bag, with his initials printed in white, slung over one shoulder, and he was looking right at the entrance of the bar. You approached him, pulling your coat tighter around you.
“Why are you still here in the cold? Didn’t you say you’d already spent way too long training in freezing temperatures and just wanted to stay warm?” you asked, observing him with a hint of curiosity.
Jake slowly slipped a hand into the pocket of his hoodie, and you heard a clear metallic jingle. When he pulled his hand out, he showed you the keys to his gray Range Rover, parked just a few meters away.
“I waited for you because I wanted to take you home,” he explained, looking you up and down, all bundled up against the cold, and still finding you cute. “But, well… if you really want to walk the whole way in this bone-chilling dampness and cold, I won’t stop you, of course!” he added with an ironic tone, turning on his heel to head toward the car. You rolled your eyes with a small smile tugging at your lips.
Jake turned just once to check with the corner of his eye that you were following him. Seeing you behind him, he chuckled to himself while his wolf tail, hidden under his jacket, kept swaying from side to side with excitement at having you close to him again.
When you got into the car, Jake started the engine, but the car had been sitting in the frozen parking lot for hours. “Sorry, it’ll take a few minutes before the heater starts blowing decent warm air,” he said with a small, annoyed pout as he set the controls to the maximum to warm you up as quickly as possible. He didn’t have this problem—being a hybrid, his skin temperature was always higher than any human’s.
“It’s no problem, really,” you replied, settling into the leather seat. Your gaze fell on his right hand, resting naturally on the gear shift. Without thinking too much, you stretched out your slightly cold-stiffened hand and placed it on top of his. The contrast was immediate—his palm already radiated a warmth that instantly warmed at least your hand.
“It’s not fair at all,” you grumbled, looking into his eyes. “You hybrids don’t suffer from the winter cold at all thanks to your metabolism, and it’s the same in the summer with the heat… you’re practically immune to both cold and heat.”
But Jake didn’t care much for your biology lesson on hybrids. As soon as your skin touched his, his thumb began to stroke the back of your hand with a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm. You both stared at each other in silence for endless minutes while your breaths began to slightly fog up the inside of the windshield.
Suddenly, Jake leaned slightly toward you, bending over to your side of the seat, and pressed his warm lips against yours in a simple, sweet peck.
That unexpected gesture caught you completely off guard, sending a shiver down your spine. You knew a lot about Jake, and you’d never have thought that the guy from a couple of months ago would kiss you like that, out of nowhere, with such a tender peck. When he started to pull away, his cheeks slightly flushed, you didn’t give him time to distance himself. You reached out and grabbed the collar of his training jacket, pulling him back to you. This time, it was you who deepened the kiss with a boldness that even surprised yourself.
That second kiss was wetter, almost desperate, and perfect for making up for all the lost time and the tension that had built up earlier behind the bar counter.
His warm lips sought yours with a hunger and a need barely contained, as Jake had become almost obsessed with your lips, still savoring that light, sweet aftertaste of strawberry and chocolate that characterized you—a lethal contrast with his spiced flavor of cream, cinnamon, and milk chocolate.
His tongue didn’t waste any time: it slipped decisively between your slightly parted lips, intertwining with yours in fluid, warm strokes that made you completely lose your breath. A small moan escaped you as his large hands found the perfect position—one cupped your cheek, his fingers tangling in your hair to hold you still, while the other pressed firmly against the back of your seat to support the weight of his body leaning over you.
You smiled against his mouth, feeling the warmth radiating from his chest, and to tease him even more, you used your teeth to gently tug at his lower lip, giving it a playful little bite before sucking it softly. As you’d come to understand from being around Jake, he let out a low, rumbling sound—a mix of a grunt and a moan. Jake was always noisy, thanks to both his sunny personality and the fact that he always let out little moans or sighs when you touched or kissed him.
The urge to have you even closer, to feel your weight, and to inhale your strawberry scent—tonight smelling incredibly like cotton candy—became completely uncontrollable for his hybrid nature. Pulling back just a millimeter from your lips, his breath short and his ears bending backward with excitement, he locked eyes with you. With a rough voice, he ordered: “Swing your legs over… and sit on my lap, now, Y/n.”
You shifted slightly on the seat, trying to regain some composure as his command sent butterflies to your stomach. “What if someone sees us? It’s not exactly wise to risk breaking some absurd law or campus rule just for a few kisses…” you said.
But Jake didn’t care at all about what people might think. With a quick movement, he slid both of his large, warm hands to your hips, gripping you with a firm but gentle hold. “Stop always acting like such a good girl, sweetheart,” he murmured in a low voice against your earlobe. “Who’s going to notice us? Look outside… the fog is so thick you can’t see a hand in front of your face, and the windows are already fogging up from the heat. And even if someone did pass by, do you really think anyone here would care about two people kissing in a car after a long day of classes? It’s just you and me, Y/n. Let go.”
You let out a long, resigned sigh, knowing full well that when he used that voice and that smile, you were utterly incapable of saying no. Realizing that with the bulky puffer jacket, you’d never manage to move in that small space, you slipped it off and tossed it onto the backseat.
Jake grinned, visibly satisfied with his small victory as he watched you take off your jacket. With his free hand, he pulled a lever on the side of the seat, sliding the backrest slightly backward to create more space. He spread his muscular thighs to show you where to sit, and seeing you still a little uncertain and hesitant in the car, he nodded toward himself with his head. You rolled your eyes and offered him your hand.
Jake took it, intertwining his fingers with yours to give you stability, and so you swung your leg over the center console. With a slightly awkward movement due to the limited space, you settled onto his strong thighs, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck and inhaling his scent.
Jake leaned toward you, and whispering against your lips, he said: “Hello again, sweetheart…”
You giggled and greeted him again, your cheeks slightly flushed from the situation you’d gotten yourself into.
“Did you think I’d forgotten, sweetheart?” he whispered against your throat as his warm nose buried into the hollow of your neck. With a slow, delicate gesture, he removed your scarf, freeing your scented skin so he could better inhale that strawberry aroma, which at that moment smelled like pure cotton candy.
You gently caressed his face, brushing the corner of his eye and the top of his cheekbone with your fingertips. “Forgotten what, Sim?”
Jake smiled against your skin, releasing a warm breath that sent shivers down your spine. “You’re really in the mood to tease me today, huh? You provoked me in front of everyone at the bar earlier, especially when Jay and Sunghoon showed up, leaving me there looking like a fool with them… And let me tell you, my wolf has very little patience when you start acting all bold.”
As he spoke, his hand slid under the hem of your sweater, caressing the bare skin of your back and waist with warm palms that almost seemed to burn against your still slightly cold skin. At that contact, you stammered, losing your train of thought: “J-Jake…”
Hearing his name, he smirked as usual, and with a slow movement, he began to play with your lower lip with his teeth, just as you had done earlier, hooking it gently to pull you toward him before sucking it with a small, possessive tug.
You moaned softly, overwhelmed by his warm body, his scent, and his pheromones that were calming you.
Your fingers found his soft, fluffy ears, tugging and gently caressing them at the base. That gesture made him moan lazily because he loved being touched by you. Without realizing how time was slowly turning darker, you began a sequence of overwhelming kisses, where sweetness inevitably merged with a deep, unstoppable passion.
At first, the kiss was slow, with his soft lips seeking yours in a wet, rhythmic caress, savoring the delicacy of your mouth and moving in sync with both of your breaths. But it only took a few seconds for Jake’s wild nature and the heat of the fogged-up car to transform that contact into something infinitely more intense and sensual.
His tongue slipped decisively between your parted lips, claiming space with deep, warm, fluid strokes that wrung small sighs directly into his mouth. You felt his fingers on your bare back grip you more fiercely, pulling you even closer against his hips, while you ruffled his new cream and black streaks at the nape of his neck, letting yourself be lulled by the constant rhythm of his kisses that tasted of cinnamon, cream, and the desire that had built up earlier during your work shift.
As you continued kissing with that barely contained fervor, the car’s cabin finally warmed up completely, wrapping you both in a scorching cocoon. It wasn’t just thanks to the hot air blowing from the vents, but mostly due to the heat of your intertwined bodies and your ragged breaths, which turned the Range Rover’s windows into a completely opaque, fogged-up surface, isolating you from the cold mist outside.
As the minutes passed, in an attempt to find a more comfortable position in the cramped seat, you shifted slightly closer to him. But that small movement caused your intimacy to press directly against his shaft, which, under the soft fabric of his sweatpants, was inevitably hardening more and more.
At that direct contact, you clearly felt how big, hard, and burning hot it was. The memory of when you had seen him completely naked in front of you, pleasing himself and giving you perfect instructions on how to make yourself come, suddenly flashed through your mind. You remembered how imposing, thick, and veiny his hybrid member was, and you thought about how much you wanted to touch it or feel it against your lips. A wave of pure heat shot through your stomach, and you let out a small, muffled moan against his lips: “Mmm… J-Jake…”
Jake immediately tightened his grip on your hips, and his hands lifted you just a millimeter before slowly rocking you against his erection, making you feel all of its firmness against your pants. You felt his mouth move down along your jawline, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses along the sensitive curve of your neck, while a long, rough sigh trembled in his chest as he felt your sweet scent driving him wild.
“Damn, little one… you have no idea what you do to me…” he murmured in a rough voice, while his hybrid, wild nature tried with all its might to overpower his human, rational side.
At that moment, the beast inside him would have wanted nothing more than to give in to instinct: to slide his fingers under the lace of your panties, penetrate your warm center with his long digits, and watch you ride his hand until you came on his palm. He would have wanted to feel you touch his erect member or, even more, to see you undress and ride his shaft until he marked and knotted you to him. However, his human side knew the weight of your insecurities, perfectly understanding that you deserved respect, gentleness, and that he shouldn’t risk making a wrong move after all the progress you had made in these situations. Thank God Jake was the perfect balance of 50% hybrid and 50% human, because otherwise, he didn’t know how he would have managed to hold back.
So, with a small, frustrated pout and his wolf ears flattening slightly from physical frustration, Jake slowly pulled away from your neck and took a deep breath, swallowing to dispel the fog of desire. He looked into your eyes with incredible sweetness.
“You… you make me feel things that are completely strange and out of control, Y/n,” he said, trying to regulate his accelerated heartbeat. “And that’s exactly why I don’t want to rush into things we should do later, with much more calm.”
You immediately tried to protest, shaking your head and clinging to his neck: “But Jake… I’m fine now, really! You don’t have to stop just because you’re afraid of—”
Before you could finish the sentence, however, Jake gently placed his index finger on your lips, silencing you with a soft gesture.
“You think you’re ready now just because you’re carried away by the moment, sweetheart… but you’re not quite there yet,” he explained with a calm voice, defying the longing of his own body. “You saw how much your body struggled the other night, and we were in a controlled setting where I wasn’t even close to you. I don’t want to rush anything… I want that when it happens, you feel one hundred percent safe.”
With his thumb, he began to gently caress your swollen, reddened lips from the intense kisses you had shared. At that mature tenderness, you felt your heart melt at how Jake had been treating you—perhaps since the very first day you had met. Slowly, you were discovering the real Jake. You nodded slowly, resting your forehead against his shoulder, and thanked him, murmuring against his hoodie: “Thank you, Sim… you have no idea how protected this makes me feel.”
Jake smiled against your hair, caressing your back over your shirt, and regained his usual playful tone: “Well, I’d better take you home now… otherwise Allie will start filing a missing person’s report for you, and Jay will have to come drag me away!”
You let out a soft laugh, still comfortably nestled against his scorching chest, savoring the last moments of that warmth before moving back to the passenger seat.
Hey, this is a little insight into the second and final part of Jake's story (I can't wait to post it and let you know what other hybrid member the next story will be)
— PAIRING: frat president!Lee Heeseung x fem!nerd!reader
— SUMMARY: No one, not even you, can figure out why Heeseung's so infatuated with you. Too bad, he's not your type.
— WORD COUNT: 16.8k
— WARNINGS: college!au, this is a coping mechanism (and a little self-indulgent), reader is described to have glasses and shorter than heeseung, mentions of other HYBE & FNC artists (just piwon), frat!enha, downbad!heeseung (like embarrassingly bad), reader's kind of a jerk but he likes it, chock full of clichés (because they're fun sometimes), grumpy x sunshine, heeseung's so domestic in this (i kind of went crazy but it's chill), slight sunsun & keeung mention, miscommunication (i love it too much), cursing, suggestive themes (no actual smut), a lot of backstory that i promise is important
— A/N: fun fact, this was originally named after a one direction song for obvious reasons but then i changed it since that was too upsetting :(
You weren't the type of girl he hung around.
Being the president of Gamma Kappa Phi Zeta, Heeseung had met all types of girls at parties over the years—you were not one of them.
You weren't a sorority girl like your friends, you weren't rich, you never put too much thought in your clothes, you just wore whatever was clean. You were never invited to the big frat events.
And something told you, you didn't want to be.
They got seriously dangerous sometimes, like people have ended up in the hospital over these parties. Fireworks to the face, people falling off the roof into the parking lot, and a waterboarding that could have easily been avoided.
It was dumb kid stuff, you told yourself.
You didn't need to be included, you were focused on your studies, that's what you told your parents and yourself when you looked out the window with a yearning to be among people your age.
You and Heeseung weren't even supposed to meet, it was just dumb luck.
୨ৎ
"Dumb? No, it was stupid!" Yunjin's voice rings through your room like an alarm. Right now, she's stomping around your room like your mother, picking up all the clothes you couldn't be bothered to pick up.
She always came over at the same time everyday, checking on you to make sure you're still breathing, as if you were some charity case.
You were recounting your day to her when she noticed the clutter. And she rarely could help herself. You didn't feel like doing it and if that's what she wanted to do, that was her problem.
The reason she was calling you stupid? The same one she always got this dramatic over; Mr. Calderon.
Since freshman year, people have been telling you to take his creative writing class if you wanted to get criticism without the gloves.
You wanted to be better so you signed up.
But everyone forgot to mention two things to you; one, he was the meanest motherfucker in the world and two, if you failed his class, it brought your GPA down exponentially.
Two foods that suck together.
It seemed like in the beginning that people had no idea what they were talking about since his first assignments were pretty chill but the further you got in the year, the more he started to shut down your ou there creativity.
Nothing you did was correct.
You didn't use the right formula, there was too many long sentences, your idea didn't make sense to him.
At some point, it felt like he just wanted you to transfer out of his class, he kept trying to scare you off but you kept coming back for your punishment because you didn't know how to quit.
But neither did he.
And that's where today comes in.
Today was a shitshow, your breaking point.
You told him exactly what you thought about his teaching; that it was archaic and stupid and needed fixing. He said tough titties, you joined my class so you had to deal with it.
You called him an evil little fuck who only liked to tear women down and he probably was sad and alone and that's why he acted this way.
He didn't like that.
He wanted to give you a detention but then he realized this was college and he couldn't do that.
So he gave you the next best thing.
Sanctioned tutoring.
You brought this upon yourself, you knew that.
Yunjin was just reminding you.
"Mr. Calderon has too much patience with you. You're lucky all you got was stuck with Riki. You could have gotten booted from the class. This is like your last straw." She scoffs, almost mirroring his pain.
As if your punishment needed to be any worse than it already was, you didn't just have to tutor some dumb boy, it was a dumb frat boy who apparently has a body count so high, he should be a walking STD.
And of course, Yunjin was on your oppressor's side. She had a crush on him for as long as you've been under his rule (in his class).
"You should be nicer to that man. He is too fine to be getting wrinkles this early." She wiggled her eyebrows at you.
You don't even realize the grimace on your face.
"Are you seriously still on this? I thought we were past it."
She plopped down onto your bed, exhausted from the job she assigned herself. You had to give it to her, it had only been a few minutes and your room actually looked neat for once.
"Never."
Silence falls between you. You let it, you both needed it after the days you had. Her more than you since your pain was self-inflicted.
She breaks it first, her loud groan echoing off your walls from it being extremely empty. "So when are you going over?"
You return to the obligatory conversation you and Riki had earlier.
You had to do most of the talking since he decided now was the time he wanted to be silent out of spite. You asked him what time he'd be free, the only answer you got was a groan.
"Look, Icky, I don't want to do this any more than you do. But I'm coming by. You can give me a time or I can just show up whenever I want. Your choice."
He rolled his eyes but reluctantly, he told you to come by at 7.
You checked your phone before turning to your friend who was making herself too comfortable in your bed right now. You kicked her.
She pushed you back and that cued you both to get out of the bed.
You were going the same way, so why not walk together? It also didn't help that Yunjin was on the search for Jake. The reason? She wouldn't say, she just looked very suspicious, stalking like she was looking for prey.
As president, Heeseung's days aren't anything less than exciting. From the moment he woke up, he was already putting out fires left and right.
He opened his eyes to Jake standing at the edge of his bed, looking like he was about to say he threw up. He immediately closed them back.
"What happened now?" His voice hoarse but he never lets that stop him from talking this early.
"I don't know how to tell you this but Sunghoon broke the sink downstairs."
"No, I didn't!" Sunghoon fought back through the wall.
"And I need your help," Jake continues, not paying any mind to things happening outside of the room. "Yunjin's kind of been stalking me a little bit and I need protection."
Now he was up, his eyes broke open fully, his blanket was tossed to the side and he was sitting up, looking at his brother completely now.
"What did you do to her?"
"I didn't do anything!" He tried to plead his case.
But it was rather hard when he lived in a house full of tattletales who loved picking on him.
Luckily Beomgyu was walking by when he heard it.
"He's a liar. She told me some of her clothes are missing. Including some of her underwear." He eyed Jake. Heeseung didn't even get a moment to ask more before Beomgyu was getting shoved down the hall.
"He doesn't know what he's talking about." Their heads shook in tandem.
It was only 9 AM and Heeseung already wanted to pull his hair out.
He dragged his hands along his face. He stands up, stretching his limbs until he heard a pop, a pop that he felt the need to get rid of everyday because of these boys running him ragged.
"Jake, I swear to God. If you are keeping Yunjin's clothes from her, that is your problem, not mine. That is between you and her."
He rushes Jake out of the room, not even entertaining his pleas for help with a mess he made himself. Heeseung was very big on letting his brothers fix their own personal problems.
Especially the stupid ones.
"I hope she tears your ass open."
Shutting the door doesn't stop the loud noises from breaking through but at least he knows he taught everyone else how to knock.
Ask before you come in!
The last time they ever did it, they caught Soobin playing Just Dance in his underwear and no one's been able to look him in the eye since.
He went through his morning routine no problem.
He goes to the bathroom, uninterrupted. Thank the Gamma gods for the presidential quarters.
He puts on his darkest clothes because he can just tell, by the end of the day, someone is going to spill something on him. It's just being prepared.
Once he finally gets his hair to look just the right amount of messy, he gathers himself, bracing for the state this so-called 'broken sink' was in.
He'd hate to spend the rest of his day on the phone with housing management. Again.
Mercifully, it wasn't too bad once he got downstairs. He tried not to pay too much mind to all the gross things the members were doing this early in the morning.
If he stopped and said something to everyone, he'd never see the end of it.
Make that a problem for a different day.
The sink just had a simple clog in it, he could get it out in no time. No need to make any phone calls.
He'd like to imagine this is the only problem he'd have to face today but that was just delusional.
Next, he had to settle an argument between Jungwon and Jay; the younger one had ate the lasagna that Jay had prepared for his cooking class. He thought it was someone else's.
It wasn't due yet so he just told Jungwon to pay for ingredients for his new dish.
Then, he had to fish Sunoo's laptop out of the pool because when they pushed him in, he was working on his paper.
Heeseung got all the rice he could muster (most stolen from Jay, sorry) and tried to bring it back to life. Once he saw a light, he left it alone since the day was already gone by the time he got it out of the water.
He was like their mother, corralling them away from the light sockets because they were still in that phase of wanting to touch the shiny things.
By 6 PM, he felt collapse. It was barely even night and his body was already screaming at him. Every movement brought about a new ache, a new cramp, something stopping him from doing something for himself for the first time all day.
As soon as the clock struck 7, the only thing he had the energy to do was drag himself to bed.
But he wasn't allowed, since the big ol' man babies were always crying.
The moment he touched a stair, he heard it.
One quick cling of metal, a burst and then screaming. He didn't even have to turn around to know what happened.
The pipe that was perfectly fine hours prior, now broken with water spraying everywhere.
And who else but Jake at the scene of the crime?
"Hee! Sunghoon broke the sink again!"
It's like it never stopped, like at all.
His bed gets a rain check and he turns back around, meeting Jake in the bathroom with the newly forming puddle.
He does what Jake hadn't thought to do and he turns off the water supply to stop the river from becoming. Not without getting his sweatpants completely drenched.
He made himself busy throwing all the towels on the ground, hoping to soak up what was left. All the while, Jake had buzzed off, off to the next thing which happened to be figuring out who was at the door.
He slid to it like it was nothing, swinging him open with reckless abandon.
"Hello—" His greeting died in his chest once he met Yunjin's eyes, her piercing ones that had been searching for him all day. You didn't even get to say anything before he took off screaming up the stairs with her in tow.
You didn't seem concerned, he probably deserved it.
But it did leave you unaware of what to do. Yunjin knew more about the house than you did. She was meant to be your bridge.
You kind of just stood on the porch, rocking back and forth like a baby.
Heeseung was tripping out of the bathroom when he spotted you standing there. His presidential instincts kicked in immediately, he jogged over to the door like you were the mailman.
"Hi, how can I help you—holy shit, you're gorgeous."
And just like the rest of the idiots he lived with, he had been hit with the stupid. But this wasn't his fault, you looked so pretty. Any inside thought he might have had about you was pouring out of him like word vomit.
He didn't know you — he'd remember you.
He shamelessly looks up you up and down.
Your baggy clothes, your hair was down but still a little messy, your big glasses that framed your face, your lipgloss that seemed to sparkle under the porch lights.
He had seen many a girl, none of them made his heart beat this irregular before.
"Sorry, who did you say you were, sweetheart?"
"I didn't. Where's Riki? He told me to come by at 7." You rock back in forth on the balls of your feet, your eyes darting around the space.
You wouldn't lie to yourself, you were curious on how they lived. You found the water mess immediately. On the floor and covering his pants. You were about to ask but he caught you staring and spoke up first.
"Oh, Jake broke the sink. I didn't pee on myself, I promise."
Your teeth clenched in disgust.
"I didn't want to say anything."
He tries to laugh but he can't seem to commit to it, he's too busy memorizing everything about you.
"Trust me. If I knew there was going to be a pretty girl at my door, I would cleaned up a little better."
And then you laugh, the most mellifluous and light sound he's ever heard.
He wanted to hear it again, to be the one to cause it to come out of you once more.
But this day refused to let Heeseung be, he wasn't allowed to admire you for long before Riki was appearing over his shoulder like a parrot. He reached past his brother like it was nothing, snatching your hand up like it belonged to him, yanking you up the stairs, muttering something about staying hidden.
Heeseung watches until you're gone from his sight.
He couldn't go to sleep now.
He instead got stuck on hold with housing.
He tried to pretend like he wasn't staring at his brother's closed door, wondering what you two were doing.
He knew you weren't a hook-up, from how close he was, he'd probably be able to hear you two. If anyone asked, he was making sure Riki was safe, no other reason.
Definitely not spying on you.
He almost didn't even notice when someone was on the other line.
୨ৎ
"So are you going to listen to anything I say or are you just going to keep making eye contact with the ceiling?" You bored into him but he wouldn't have noticed.
He giggled like you had said something funny.
"You gon' keep playing eye tag or you gon' holler at your boy?" He laughs once again at his joke. You knew he wasn't talking to you, it was muttered, you had only caught it because it was the only noise in the room.
You don't even think, you grab the pillow behind you and hit him in the face with it.
"Ow! Why?!" He tried to dodge but it's useless.
"Because I hate you! And Mr. Calderon, for making us spend time together." You hit him again, he goes to move but he's too slow.
"You know, you're the first tutor to ever hit me!"
"I doubt that, everything that comes out of your mouth is stupid. They've at least screamed at you."
"At me? No. For me, yes."
A comical pause; you're just staring at him.
"You're a helpless disgusting little worm, Riki. I hope your parents choke you out Homer Simpson-style when they see your grades because I quit."
You grabbed your backpack off the floor and you move for the door.
His chuckle is villainous in the air. A shiver almost develops on your back but you don't let it.
"You do realize that if you fail to tutor me, you could fail this class, right?" He was being presumptuous, as if he held the fate of your future in his hands.
"I'm not the one already on thin ice here, you are. I at least have other good grades. You just suck." You turned around slowly. "When I tell Mr. Calderon I couldn't tutor you, he won't see it as my failure, it'll be yours. I'm just another person who couldn't fix your trainwreck which is not my fault. If anything, he'll commend me for trying. And that's enough for me to get a different extra credit assignment."
You stopped yourself from laughing as you looked at him again because the situation really was testing your last nerve.
You were about to say fuck him and fail out of the class, maybe then you'd be free.
But he stopped you, guilt painting his face for what seemed like the first time in his life. He actually looked like a real person for a second and not just some stereotype.
Another pause as he looked everywhere but at you.
"I have to get my math book from Taehyun. I lent it to him sophomore year and never saw it again."
You nodded.
Now he'd never tell anyone this because no one would want to sleep with him if they knew how slow he was, but tutoring was actually very helpful.
He was still ashamed of getting help but once that door was closed, he was the most eager student you would have ever seen.
After getting something right the first time, he got a sense of accomplishment in his chest, he liked it. He wanted to feel it all the time. And that drove him to want to know all the answers.
He was chasing his high and fixing his grade — it was a win-win.
Heeseung definitely took notice of you coming around more often. It was hard not to, since Riki was moving like he had something to hide, meeting you at the door without giving you much of a chance to knock, sneaking you up the stairs as if his parents were going to see.
It'd seem weird if he didn't know how nosey the members got; one look at you and they'd be busting down his door like the police.
He doesn't get to talk to you again until he stakes out the door, coming downstairs around the usual time you appear and grabbing the door before Riki does.
You looked up from your phone in surprise, those weren't the eyes you were used to seeing.
"Hey, you're that guy who pees his pants. Aren't you the president of these dummies? Hee something? I don't know if I would trust your judgment if you were pissing your pants all the time. But then again, they're dummies."
He chuckles too loud at your joke, loud enough he's surprised you don't clown him for it.
"Um, it's Heeseung. And your name was?"
"Y/n, I'm Riki's—"
You don't get to finish your sentence because you're cut off by the loud stomps down the stairs. Riki's barreling, taking them two at a time, not even stopping when he almost slipped.
"There you are! We're going to the library today." He steps in between the two of you, pushing you out of the doorway and toward the steps.
He ushers you away from the house, putting his arm around your shoulders. You turned around right before he pulled you off the porch fully, meeting Heeseung's eyes one more time.
"Bye, Mister President." You waved him goodbye.
"See you later, pretty girl." He prayed you couldn't see the dopey smile that was painted on his face from such a quick interaction.
Learning your name was all he needed, now it made it ten times easier to find out who you were.
And he knew exactly who to ask.
୨ৎ
"No, leave me alone." Yunjin was hoping to be by herself when she got to the fashion studio but now Heeseung was her shadow, every movement she made, he was on her heels, not even giving her a moment to breathe.
"Come on, Yunjin!" He whined. "Think about all I've done for you. Would it hurt you to help me just this once?"
She paused, eyebrows crinkling at his pleas.
"Like what, Hee? The last time I can remember you helping me with something was my math grade freshman year and that's about it. I owe you nothing. And even if I did, I've probably paid it over double by now."
Even if Gamma boys were supposed to hate Delta girls, that could not be said about Heeseung and Yunjin, even though, they were the leaders.
They knew each other way before this, their friendship didn't have to end just because they were in college now.
And since they both held power, they used to help each other out sometimes.
If Yunjin's girls got raided in the night, she knew it was them and once she tattled on them, she knew Heeseung was going to reprimand them because he didn't play that.
And if the girls were feeling vindictive, a one-night stand that didn't go the way they hoped and they decided to take it out on the house, Heeseung knew he could mention it to Yunjin and she'd straighten it out. No problem.
Usually she was a big help.
This was not one of those times.
"What are you even asking me for again?" She's cutting fabric, she's not even really paying him any mind anymore. Usually they tucker themselves out.
He rolled his eyes, it felt like this was the 50th time he said it.
"Your friend, I was wondering if you could put me on. Yes or no?"
Now she's squinting at him, confused since she has a lot of friends.
"Dani?"
He shook his head immediately, he was on bad terms with both Danis so that was not a road he wanted to travel down.
"No, Y/n?"
She looked up like he said something he wasn't supposed to.
"I'm sorry, how do you know her?"
He shrugged like it was nothing, like you weren't the only thing that's been on his mind. "She's been tutoring Riki for the past month, I think. He keeps trying to hide her like we wouldn't notice him suddenly counting under his breath. I don't know why he didn't just ask me though."
She shook her head since that wasn't the full story. She explained how you were being punished with being a tutor in order to get extra credit and Riki was your first subject.
All he heard was a way in.
He could need a tutor. Ok, he didn't need a tutor, but he needed to talk to you.
"So can you make the introduction?"
"Absolutely not."
"Why must you hurt me so bad?" He whined.
"Y/n hates frat boys! If I tried to introduce you two, she would not be down like at all. You want to talk to her? Go find her yourself. She's probably in the library. The study rooms have better wifi than her apartment."
She didn't have to tell him twice, he was gone before she could even look up and notice his little smoke cloud.
At first, he figured Yunjin was just playing a trick on him, just to see him huff and puff over something that really was this big of a deal. But there you were, stumbling out of the library, struggling to carry your books like this was a 2000s film.
It was something he picked right out of his fantasies.
He was on you quicker than a flea, rushing to your side to help you.
"Here, let me get that."
You didn't fight him on it, seemingly too tired to decline help at the moment, he took it as a step in the right direction.
Pushing your hair out of your face, you finally notice who he was.
"Oh hey, it's the President. Are you stalking me or something?"
He snorts—not completely.
"No, I was hoping to procure your services so Yunjin told me where to find you."
You quirked a brow at him.
"Services? I'm not a hooker."
And he's guffawing like you're a comedian. "No, tutoring. I need a tutor." Again, confusion spread on your features.
"Why?"
"I'm struggling with math right now and you seemed to be helping Riki so.."
"How do you know that? He treats me like an affair. As if he doesn't get upset when I cancel a session."
"I wouldn't be a good president if I wasn't checking on my members to make sure they were being educated properly. I once bounced a guy out of the chapter because he had a B in English, straight up."
Your face betrays you as you snicker at his joke.
Once again, he was making you laugh.
He was 2 for 2.
It doesn't go unnoticed by him how you two begin walking side-by-side, your steps in perfect unison, you almost sounded like one person.
"I mean I'm not a real tutor. I don't know if he told you but this is a punishment. I'm not doing this out of the kindness of my heart. He's actually the most annoying person in the world."
He wasn't going to correct you, you weren't wrong.
But he wasn't giving up on you either.
"What if I paid you?"
"How much?"
"How ever much you need. I have an exam coming up." Not fully a lie, he did have an exam coming up. He just didn't need any help.
You pondered it for a second, your mouth contorting as you went over it. "Ok, but don't pay me. Then it'll definitely look like you're soliciting me for sex."
He nodded quickly.
"We can meet at the library tomorrow, I guess."
He's the nodding machine, bobbing his head up and down like he was getting tested on it.
You take your books back, balancing them on your arms a little better since you're more awake now. "Here," you use your free hand to fish your phone out of your pocket and hand it to him. "Put your number in."
This was a dance he was all too skilled in.
He was actually surprised you didn't already have it, it's plastered on almost ever girl's bathroom on campus. 'Call Heeseung if you want to have a good time,' that type of thing. It was a prank gone wrong but jokes on them, he got hook-ups because of it.
Before he knew it, you were waving him goodbye, walking off into the sunset like an angel.
He couldn't wait for tomorrow.
It didn't make sense.
The moment your eyes broke open, you still were in a dream-like state.
When yesterday poured over you, it was orange juice on cereal, settling weird and tasting wrong.
One question kept repeating in your mind: Why did Heeseung Lee need a math tutor?
To your knowledge, you were pretty sure he didn't need one. You might have been too tired to be making any transactions because now shit didn't make fucking sense.
Was he messing with you?
Was this some type of bet? He had to see how long he could keep a tutor before you realized he wasn't as dumb as he seemed.
Either way, you weren't laughing.
Right now, you were just tired and wondering why you told this boy you'd meet him when you knew damn well this was the only day you had nothing and could just relax.
You were about to cancel.
You didn't want to play his game.
But then your phone blinked, maybe he heard you.
heeseung
how do u like your coffee? i was planning on picking some up before we met
you
are you trying to butter me up or something? are your grades worse than riki's?
heeseung
no one is that bad :/
i just wanted to do something nice for you since i'm not paying you
you
fine i like my coffee cold and milky
heeseung
my kinda girl ;)
ok, see you in a bit, beautiful <3
Now you were certain he was pranking you.
You didn't move urgently to get dressed at all.
He was already there waiting, standing outside the library as if he needed your permission to enter. Two cups in his hands like the good boy he was pretending to be.
You almost laughed at how helpless he looked. This guy was the leader of a frat? Sounds ludicrous.
"Hey there, Mr. President." You joined his side on the stairs, taking the lighter drink into your hands.
You take a tentative sip, the caffeine coursing through your veins to be the power you need to get through this next hour.
"Are you ever going to call me my name?"
Another sip.
"Are you?" You shot back.
His face crumpled.
"Touché."
With that, you went into the library, him using his free hand to open the door for you.
Inside the vibes are so much different than the glaring sun outside. The lights were dark and gentle, a few of the other bookworms already cuddled up to the shelves the way you would be if you weren't tutoring.
The librarians are quick to greet you too.
"Y/n!" It came out loud and sing-songy, the way it wasn't supposed to sound in a library.
You didn't even try to stop the smile that began.
"Hey, Kee."
He walked around the counter swiftly, wrapping his arms around you in that comforting mother way he learned from being a librarian.
"I feel like I haven't seen you literally in forever."
He was dramatic; you were getting books last week.
You don't jump to introduce them, you don't really care to. Luckily, Heeseung is such a 'nice guy', and it would be unbecoming if he didn't speak up.
"Hi, I'm Heeseung," he puts his hand out for Keeho to shake and he takes it gladly. You watched as his face lit up from the sight of the boy beside you. He bounced between you two like he was figuring something out.
You didn't even flinch.
"Oh, I know who you are."
Heeseung goes to you for a life raft and since you're not completely awful, you give him a hand.
"Keeho makes it a point to know everybody's business. As the librarian, he has to have everything memorized. The books and the people who come in. Or..don't come in." You snorted.
He nodded because it's true and he does nothing to hide it.
"Also, it's very hard to work in the library and not hear whispers of your name in the stacks. Every girl wants a piece of you."
Heeseung expelled a shy little giggle, as if Keeho were mentioning his accolades and not his whore tendencies.
"Not every." You cut in, stopping the laughing.
There's a pause as Keeho nudged you, urging you to be a little nicer as Heeseung looked physically wounded. You just rolled your eyes.
"This seems a lot to run for just one guy." His eyes wandered around with a childlike wonder that confirmed your train of thought, he hadn't been in here before.
"Oh, don't worry. I'm not alone."
As if on cue, your attention is pulled away from the conversation but to the sound of one of the library carts crashing into someone. A very quiet 'ouch' and then reprimanding.
"See that cute little sophomore?" He pointed to the boy who was being lectured and actively picking up the books he dropped from the cart.
"That's my son, Shota. Not really but I buy his food. And the one who looks like he's grounding him? That's Jiung. He does the important bits. I just look pretty."
They both give you a wave before disappearing.
"As fun as this is, we have some tutoring to get to."
Keeho nodded. "The table in the corner is free."
You grabbed Heeseung's forearm, yanking him along with you so he didn't get lost.
You plant him on the end, sitting beside him with your front pointed toward the entrance and front desk. You didn't have an explanation for it, just being in the exact position makes your brain work the best.
You began pulling your stuff out of your bag and between finding your pens, your brain makes it apparent to you that he hadn't moved yet.
He was too busy eyeing Keeho from where he was giggling at his phone behind the desk.
You had to snap to get his attention back to you.
"Huh?"
"Yo. ¿Dónde están tus libros, huh?"
A pause as his brain tried to translate what you just said but coming up empty.
"Books, my guy. You know the colorful things with words?"
His mouth makes a very visible 'O' as he finally dives into his backpack that just felt like a prop and heaved out his heavy old ripped up textbooks.
“So, I’m guessing you two are close, you being such a nerd and whatnot.”
You rolled your eyes.
"Are you guys friends?"
You can feel it, the entire library is the most silent so it'd be hard not notice how deep he was fishing. He was basically screaming at you.
"Yeah, why?" You stay locked on turning your laptop on.
He shrugged, still bringing things out of his bag of wonders.
"I don't know, there was just a little bit of vibe."
You snorted but choked it back once you heard the loud noise expel from your body. It was laughable, just not in here.
"A vibe? Really, Mr. Frat Boy? That's your diagnosis?"
"I'm just saying what I saw."
This time, you don't stop your laugh, at least, not efficiently since you slapped your hand over your mouth, stifling it slightly.
You didn't think he could make less sense today; you stood corrected.
"You might need to get new glasses there, Hee, because your gaydar sucks." You almost fold over in laughter, your hands finding the table to ground you.
"No." He protested. "No!" A hushed whisper as he can't believe himself either. "I have perfect gaydar. My roommates are gay."
"Well, you might want to have a conversation with your roommates because those boys are together."
He went to look back, get another look to reaffirm what he thought he saw and as if Keeho had heard your conversation, as he was walking past, he pressed a harsh kiss on Jiung's temple. His smirk was faint but there.
"Huh."
"Yeah. Don't make assumptions. Or else you'll make an ass out of you and..'mptions."
He laughed at your joke for a second, not too long, calculated as he's done this before. "You're funny."
"I know."
A sip from your cup was a drag of a cigarette, calming your nerves.
"Wait, did you call me Hee?"
"Don't get too excited, dummy. Now show me what you're working on."
He grumbled but did as you asked with no problem.
Your first tutoring session actually wasn't that bad. Not any worse than any other.
You spent the hour explaining the simplest of systems and he spent his time staring at you. He did interrupt quite often to ask you questions about yourself but you avoided them—this wasn't a social call, you were supposed to be doing a job.
He did not get that.
And since he didn't, it only made sense for you to see him again.
You couldn't find any reason not to.
You two met for the second time a week later.
Between attending your classes and still tutoring Riki, you found it hard to keep Heeseung on your plate. But he begged you, citing that without your help he was going to fail. And although you figured he didn't need your help with that, you still found a way to squeeze him in.
It just took a longer for him to see you again.
He was already sitting at a table by the time you got there, already having his stuff out, looking around with the biggest curious eyes you've ever seen.
He was coming more prepared this time.
He jumped up the moment he saw you, pulling your chair out as you shook your very wet umbrella.
You sit down without even thinking about the gesture.
"Sorry for coming so late. I didn't know it was going to rain and I was on the other side of campus without an umbrella. I had to borrow this from Chaewon."
He's shining those pearly whites in your face when you finally look up and you hate how you could see why so many people get weak in the knees about it.
Your heart did stutter a little.
"You don't have to be sorry, babe. I'm glad you're here."
You just rolled your eyes at the nickname as you reached into your bag to pull out your stuff.
"Now I kind of wish I got struck by lightning."
He snickered, not too loud for the librarian to notice but enough that the other people would hear his laugh. It was part of his tactic, and it hadn't show any fails just yet.
"You'd probably look a little funny."
"Just open your books."
He doesn't fight you, he just smiles and does what's asked.
The second time around, he was more focused, showing signs that he was actually listening to you and not just making spit bubbles. He still had a few issues with the problems you were working on but when you explained, he wasn't just staring, he was comprehending.
You couldn't call him dumb anymore, not when he was trying.
You two wrap up at the best time; the sun peeks through the clouds for the first time all day, birds chirping and singing for the day to return.
You feel a change of heart so you open your mouth in the silence.
"You're improving," you muttered to your bag. You kind of hoped he didn't hear your compliment but he was too close not to, standing just a breath away doing the same thing.
His grin was big and toothy.
"I'm sorry, was that a compliment?"
That earned your second eye-roll of the day, this one was just a little more playful than the last, adorned with a small smile.
"It was. Are you going to make me regret it?"
"You'll never regret anything with me, angel, I promise." He smirked, winking at you with a twinkle.
You hate that it erupts a giggle out of you.
"You have to stop talking to me like that. I am not your girlfriend, Heeseung."
"No one said you were." He shrugged all innocently.
"Your face is saying something else."
You zipped your bags up at the same time, almost like he was waiting for you to be done so he could follow you. He trails you out of the library, only catching up fully to open the door for you.
You don't chuckle at the gesture, you welcomed it.
And he took that as a fantastic sign.
The sun beams down on you both instantly, hitting you both at the same time.
Your eyes shut instinctively, not being able to withstand the blinding rays. He noticed and stepped in a little closer, putting his hand on your face to block.
"Better?"
You don't realize how close you are until it's too late. His voice a little more hushed since you're not that far, his breath fanned your cheek slightly, and for once, you felt yours catch.
"Mhm..thanks."
He looked so pretty from this angle, the light hitting him perfectly to give him a subtle glow, it was a little unfair. It was making your mind turn to goop.
"You know all this nice weather, maybe next time, class could be outside."
"Who said there was going to be a next time?" Your brows knit together with your gaze. He mimicked you like a baby.
"Uh, your face."
Your head dropped in embarrassment, your eyes widened, anywhere else was better than looking at him with the smug smirk brewing. "It's kind of cute to see you nervous." He teased.
"Shut up," you snickered, shrugging him away with a very clear grin.
"Nothing about you makes me nervous." You scoffed.
He bobbed his head up and down, he could pretend he believed you. it didn't have to be true.
୨ৎ
Over the next few weeks, the weather just can't help getting nicer. The sun isn't hiding much anymore, the once green trees in the courtyard are now blooming pink anywhere and everywhere.
The breeze that you could use as shield was now dull, a nice warmth now flowing through the air. You could no longer hide behind your big hoodies, not when it was basically grilling weather.
You still carried them around but as a decoration for your bag and a safety net.
You didn't want to admit it, but he was right.
It was perfect if you wanted to spend all your time outside. And according to Yunjin, that's exactly what you wanted to do.
She claimed you 'never left your apartment unless it was for nerd activities'. That caused Kazuha to burst out laughing in the middle of the backyard.
You didn't think it was that funny.
"They are not nerd activities!" You wailed, trying to shove Kazuha for teasing but she was too strong. "God forbid a girl is focused and educated."
"And severely domestic." Yunjin poked from her spot across you at the table. "No one ever sees you anymore. We have to contact the librarian if you're missing from the one spot we check."
She was making you sound downright pathetic. Is that how people saw you? Some homebody who never did anything and just never showed her face? Is that what you were? Why was she your friend if you were this sad?
Your hands retreated to your lap, your fingers threading together so you could pinch them to bring yourself down. You knew she meant nothing by it, didn't stop your mind from bullying you into a corner though.
Yunjin's such a good friend, she sees how your energy changes and she corrects promptly.
"Well, either Keeho or Heeseung. You have your pick of them these days." She sipped her drink all cheeky and aunt-like, darting her eyes around to see her damage.
Kazuha stopped her cackling fit, Chaewon choked a little, Eunchae even finally gave the conversation her attention. His name was like Batman, something about hearing it made everyone sit forward.
"You're hanging with Heeseung?" Chaewon inquired, turning toward you fully.
"Doesn't Keeho have a boyfriend?" Eunchae leaned over to Kazuha in confusion, gaining a unnecessary nod that stopped any future debate.
"No, we're not hanging." You shut it down.
Yunjin made an astonished face, she never liked letting you live.
"You're not hanging and yet he has you saved in his phone as 'my pretty girl'? Yeah, for sure. Because I have all people I'm just acquaintances with under cute little nicknames."
Both Eunchae and Kazuha gasp to let you know they're still in the conversation, they however instead vied to be focused on their food instead of boring into you like Chaewon seemed to be doing.
"How long have you two been close?" Her tone was light, the same kind interest that was always in her voice when she spoke to you.
"Not long. Not at all really. I'm just his tutor. He's kind of a weirdo."
"Yeah, a weirdo who seems to be obsessed with you," Kazuha's mouth is full of pasta, you're confused on how she even got words out.
Yunjin's spaghetti was best eaten hot anyway.
"He is not obsessed with me."
"Yes, he is," Yunjin smacked the basketball right out of your hands. "Trust me, I've known Heeseung for the longest and I've never seen him so enamored. I'm telling you: the boy is in love."
As much as it blossomed in your chest, you didn't want to believe her.
The moment you let yourself be delusional was when you were vulnerable to everything, he could hit you from every angle metaphorically and you wouldn't let him take anything from you.
He wasn't allowed the power.
It was still possible she could have got her wires crossed.
People can change.
"He's definitely just using you for a grade." You and Chaewon were in the same boat.
You gesture to her. "That I believe more."
“You’ve been friends with him but you never dated him.”
Sometimes you forgot about Heeseung and Chaewon’s relationship from freshman year. It was so long ago, you kind of thought she did too.
It was before he became such a hotshot, before he was Gamma president, way before you even joined the friend group. You had only heard stories about what happened between them.
No specifics, just that he humiliated her at some party.
She has since gotten over it and forgiven him, so she says.
"He might not be a 'whore' anymore but tigers never change their stripes. He's a manipulator."
"And I refuse to let him get me. He could shower me in all the compliments he wants. I'm not falling for it."
And you meant it.
Just not enough.
As much as you wanted to deny Yunjin, she was right about one thing — you did enjoy spending your time outside.
The birds and the atmosphere were actually ideal.
More than the library.
If you needed to get something done, or if you just didn't want to be in your apartment any longer, you'd go out and sit in the quad, let the sun rain down your face and forget about how much life sucked.
The animals chittered, the trees making whipping noises in your ears, all calming noises you needed to suppress any aggravating feelings settling in between your eyebrows.
"Well, aren't you just a pretty flower?"
And how easy it was for it to return.
You don't have to open your eyes to know who's voice it was, he welcomed with something cringy every time.
"Are you stalking me or something?"
His shadow over you is daunting, daunting enough for you to sit up. When you finally do give him a look, he appeared a little different than when you saw him last. It brought a heat to your cheeks.
His hair is parted out of his face so you could see him better, he's a little more unzipped than how you would normally perceive him, now just rocking a t-shirt and jeans.
And in his hands was a picnic basket.
You don't get a chance to ask about it before he's sitting beside you and pulling a blanket out.
"Technically not stalking because you're still laughing at me. It borders on predator once I start like following you home."
You tittered, your eyes focused on all of the things he's pulling out like he's Mary freaking Poppins.
"Not a smile on my face, weirdo. Just general perplexity. How did you find me and why do you have all of my favorite snacks?"
He lights up, this was the exact reaction he wanted.
"Both questions, same answer: Keeho told me. You were right, that guy really does know everything about his patrons."
And right now you wished you never told him diddly.
Because the expression on his face is the same one he gives you when he'd correct you, smiling arrogantly like he's the smartest person in the world.
You hated that expression because every time he made it, you felt your heart skip a beat and your breath stutter.
"What are you doing here, Heeseung?"
"Well, as much as I love our time in the library, and I do — more than life — I feel like we can do more fun things, hence picnic." He reached into the basket again, pulling out a cute pink beverage and tossing it over to you.
You don't even hesitate before poking it open and taking a sip.
If he was going to offer food, you weren't going to not eat it.
"Or we could do something actually fun, like rip each other's teeth out or watch paint dry."
His face crumpled at you. "What do you have against picnics?"
"Nothing. It's just I don't understand why anyone would want to share their food with the ants and the dirt, that's all." You take a very innocent sip while watching his composure dissipate into awestruck.
"What?! Picnics are so freaking romantic. You could be under the stars or on top of a hill watching the sunset."
You squinted.
"Like in Up?"
That took all weight out of his fight, he slumped in defeat.
"Do you like anything?" He tried.
"Yes, of course."
"Like what? Tell me."
Your lips pursed, jumping around your mind to look for the answer he was digging for.
"I like music and books. I like ice cream. I like eating it by myself, preferably not outside and not with bugs."
He snorted.
"Umm, I like Yunjin. You'd think I wouldn't because she's like you kinda but she's actually a really good friend. She treats me nice even though sometimes I don't think I deserve it." You paused a little, pinching some grass between your fingers.
He leaned back on his hands, suddenly staring at you with a new lens.
This had been the first time you had emoted in a way that wasn't negative, you weren't shutting him down, you weren't getting him away for the topic, you were actually opening up. He had to take advantage.
"You know, I never heard how the two of you came to be. You're not like the usual people she runs with. You're...different."
"Different as in I'm not some sorority girl like Saki or Chaewon?" Your attention falls on the pile of snacks in between you, picking at something.
"Well, no. You're a little more weirder than them."
"Gee, thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel special."
"No, that's not what I meant," he sat up, sticking his hand out and placing on your shoulder. You stare at it but you don't tell him to move. His touch is stronger than you expected, you don't hate it.
"I just meant you're not afraid to say things. Most girls I meet — besides Yunjin — are more quiet and soft-spoken, you're not. It's cool."
"If you're waiting for me to say 'I'm not like other girls', it's not coming. Because trust me, I am no different than the next girl. Our only difference? I'm not falling for this. I've dated frat boys, I'm good off 'em for a long time." You continue to pick at his food, not making eye contact as you closed his whole situation down.
If he were anyone else, he'd probably pout like Charlie Brown and walk away with his blanket tucked between his legs but unknowingly you cracked a door open for him.
"I'm sorry. I was under the impression you hated frat guys through and through. At least, that's what Yunjin told me. You mean to tell me you dated one?" You can hear the smile in his voice, you don't have to look.
The eye-roll that followed was a given.
He's leaning forward, his head perched on his hand when your eyes betray you and flick over to him. He bats his eyelashes at you.
"Do go on."
You could dodge him again but maybe it's the nice weather, the breeze that quells any anger you could be feeling, you don't care to keep yourself from him.
Not when he was openly asking and eager to listen.
"Yunjin caught me on a bad bender. That's how we met. My boyfriend cheated on me so I went to her party to drink my sorrows away. She's been addicted to caring about my wellbeing since."
There's a lull where you expect the facade to break and for him to unmask the demon inside to disappoint you like you've been anticipating.
But he doesn't.
In fact, he makes the exact same face she did when she found out: his jaw on the ground.
It's not a look you've seen on his face before. It's nice.
"A frat guy did that to you?"
"Yeah, aren't you all like that?"
"No!" He's quick to stop that train before it leaves the station. It surprises you so much, you look around just in case anyone heard him being ridiculously loud.
"Cheating is absolutely fucking disgusting." His tone was direct and unforgiving. He spoke in absolute, he had never been more serious about anything since you've known him. "Anybody who does that shit is stupid and lazy."
You can't hide your snicker, in fact, you don't even try to. Hearing a man denounce cheating these days was like when they got mad about periods, it wasn't something substantial, it was just something they said.
"You think I'm joking?"
You shook your head wordlessly.
"I just think guys will say whatever they need to get into your pants. Especially when it's the only thing on their mind."
"Fine, I'll make you a deal," he brushed the crumbs away and stuck his pinky out. "I promise I will keep it in my pants, as long as we can be friends."
You're not sure you completely believe him but you're curious about his attempt so you lock fingers with his.
"I have good self control," he smirked.
"Mhm, sure."
Bad idea.
Once you opened up the door for him, he barreled through like an bull. All you had to do was tell him you could be friends and he took that shit to the bank.
Now that just meant he was blowing up your phone when you least expected it.
You were in class, wanting time to move quicker?
He'd send you that pic of that cat telling you to hang in there.
You're just working on homework in your bed?
Then you'd get a selfie of him in the same position you were in, mocking your anguish.
You couldn't sleep?
Neither could he, and now you were both just sitting up, not getting any rest, giggling about whatever dumb shit Jake did that day.
You didn't like the fact that he had you bursting at the seams in your own home. He was invading the inner sanctum and he hadn't even made it to the door.
It was disgusting.
And to make it ten times worse, now you were just waiting for him to text all the time. You checked your phone to see if his name was there, you got worried if he didn't send you anything in the normal times, sometimes you even messaged him first.
You wanted to jump out of your skin.
He wasn't any better although. Without even realizing it, he began neglecting his responsibilities just to talk to you. It's not safe to fall in love when you're the president — and unfortunately that's what he felt was happening.
It had only been a couple months and he already couldn't imagine his life without you in it, his nights without your really bad jokes (he didn't think they were bad) or his mornings without pictures of how bad you thought you looked when you woke up (he refused to think you looked bad either).
You were the perfect pathetic pair.
୨ৎ
You had been fully integrated into his night routine by now. Now when he brushed his teeth, you made an appearance, right on the sink.
You two had been texting for a few hours, he couldn't even remember where it started, all he knew was that now you were talking about weird things you did in childhood.
He told you about how he thought if he skated backwards, he could go back in time; you laughed at him mercilessly.
And in return, you relayed to him that you used to drink chocolate milk out of your plastic Hello Kitty tea set.
He poked fun at you like you did, but he actually hadn't heard anything cuter.
you
what are you doing anyway? you're being dry and i kind of hate it :(
heeseung
sorry, i'm brushing my teeth
give me a second
He was rinsing when his ringtone washed over the tiled walls. He doesn't even think twice about answering it.
"You wanted to talk to me this bad? Aw!" His speech is muffled from all the foam coming out of his mouth. He spit before locking eyes with you in his screen.
"Ew, no. Maybe. I was curious on what it looked like when you were brushing your teeth. My mind just couldn't imagine it."
He brushed extra hard for your amusement.
The pain was worth it to see you smile.
"Not all of us are stinky."
He hears a rustle on your end, probably readjusting yourself in your bed. He knew the sound by now.
"I don't think you've ever smelled bad. You're one of the nicest smelling guys I've ever met."
He dropped his toothbrush in the cup, turning the light off and jumping into his bed for the night.
"How many guys are you smelling?" He chuckled.
You grimaced. "Too many."
He must have been enjoying himself too much, he got comfortable too early, too quickly and the world wasn't allowing that, or rather his members.
Once again, knocking is forgotten and his door flies wide open. He flinches like he's doing something wrong, grabbing the blanket to cover himself up. There's nothing out in the open, it just feels intimate.
"Hey, hyung, can I have some underwear—" Riki started but his words die on his tongue once he sees the state of his older brother.
He was shaking like a cat and it's unnatural.
Riki's eyes squinted.
"Have you ever heard of knocking?!"
"Nah." He paused for a second, giving Heeseung a once over with an inquisitive eye. "Are you masturbating in here?"
"If I was, would you leave?"
He shook his head. "No, not really. I really need some underwear."
"Is he about to put on your underwear? That's nasty!"
The younger one's gaze is like lasers, zapping from place to place, trying to find the source of the sound he just heard. "Was that Y/n's voice?"
He flipped his phone around, revealing your cozy state to his nosey friend quickly before turning it back.
"And for your information, he is not stealing my underwear. I buy extra for when the boys lose theirs." He answered, hoping to peel the scowl off your face.
"How often are they losing their underwear?"
Now he was frowning, no part of him wanted to divulge any part of his system to you. Especially when he knew how dirty his roommates were, it was something better left inside the house.
"No comment."
Having what he came in for, Riki moved for the door, going back to mind his business. As he goes to close the door, he turns once more for one final blow.
"By the way, just want to let you know, pizza night kind of went bad and now there's a big ass puddle of pasta sauce in the middle of the kitchen. You might want to get on that."
He doesn't even let it settle on Heeseung's face, he's gone before he could get yelled at.
The vein in the back of his neck pinches thin. He can't tell if he was still breathing or if he finally died and was put out of his misery. A soft snicker falls from his mouth dementedly.
"It never ends, does it?" His fingers carded through his hair recklessly.
"They really rely on you for everything, don't they?" Your tone is so gentle, it almost brings him down from the small panic attack those boys gave him everyday.
"It's like they want me to reach into the chests and breathe into their lungs for them!"
Almost.
"These are supposed to be grown men? They act like they still need their mommy."
"Men will only be as bad as you allow them to be. Tell them you're not going to clean up their messes and if they don't whip up into shape, start leaving it there. You're not their maid. Or their mom."
The manly side of his brain wanted to be mad and tell you were wrong, stick up for his brothers the way he was taught to feel. But you were right, he was just mad all it took was for your words to snap him out of this years-long spell.
No one ever told him he didn't have to do it.
They just expected it.
"You know something? I never thought of it that way."
"Your comfortability matters just as much as theirs. You can't be expected to overcome your bad grades and keep sweeping up their messes. You're not Superman."
There's a split-second his logic gives him to right his wrong; 'Haha, funny story. I actually have really good grades and I've actually been pretending to be stupid à la Mean Girls because I like you.'
It would have been so easy to say.
But his tongue stops him instead. Not when he made it this far.
"I could be Superman."
You squinted in response. "Mhm sure."
He was the president of the dummies after all.
୨ৎ
Things get hectic for you two, with all the procrastinating you were doing, life started to catch up to you and eventually you had to go to sleep without all the extra conversation.
You fade out of each other's lives like hair dye. You're still on each other's minds but all the way in the back since you need room for what needs to be done.
Heeseung uses your tactic of letting them clean up their own messes. It takes a little longer than it should since he literally had to reprogram everyone's instincts. But in a short time, he has them moving with purpose. They even figure out where the broom closet is.
And just in time because party season begins not too long after they get a clue.
Now it doesn't feel like he's juggling everything with just two hands. There's some extra, it's very slim but something is better than nothing.
He has the boys around campus moving like the military, picking up deliveries and buying things with his credit card all willy-nilly like he had cash to burn.
This is the only time being frat president mattered: when people needed a sick event on campus to drink at.
He had nary a moment to call or text you. Between being the party guy and actually working on his schoolwork, you were a guilty pleasure he couldn't indulge in quite often anymore.
You weren't exactly free either.
In a quest to break out of your shell, you found that they were hiring in the library. They needed someone to check people out since there were only three boys working there. They need some type of estrogen to bring the masses in.
It was an easy change, you spent most of your time in there anyway, now you were just getting a paycheck for it.
It was a win-win scenario.
And sometimes during your shift, something slightly odd would happen. Maybe you'd find a book with your name in it since you borrowed it earlier in the year or someone would wander in after they had crossed your mind.
He was in a rush when he stumbled in. All he was looking for was a book his teacher mentioned before he met Jake in the parking lot to go get his car from the shop.
He couldn't fully remember the name and it was becoming bothersome. He couldn't find anyone to help him so he was about to give up and leave.
Then he heard a familiar sound through the stacks, the sweetest little hum to ever grace his ears.
He turned the corner with the daze of someone following the scent of a pie and weirdly enough, there you were, wearing your earbuds, dancing around the shelves like a stage.
You had never looked more natural in his eyes. You were in your element, cracked completely open for anyone to see. He kind of didn't want to disturb you on account of it being his favorite thing to look at.
He saunters up even though you can't see him and he tapped you on the shoulder.
You flinched as if someone had screamed your name and yanked your ear free. "Jesus! You scared me." All he does is laugh at your anguish, and snatch your phone from your pocket to see what had you dancing like that.
"You were over here dancing to this girly music? I didn't know you listened to this kind of junk. That's cute."
You scowled. "Natasha Bedingfield is not junk. She made perfect music for the time period. You're just mad you can't listen to her without getting made fun of because you're a stupid boy. I bet you've never even felt such joy." You snag your phone back, dropping it and your earbuds in the cart away from his grabby hands.
He scoffed, leaning back as if you hit him.
"I'll have you know I'm not some sad human being just because I don't listen to music from the 2000s."
Your frown juts out when he says that, you couldn't stop it, it felt like he basically shot you in the chest.
"I don't know how to tell you this, sweetheart, but that's exactly what that means." You brought your clasped hands up to your mouth, shaking your head disappointed.
With that, you turned back around to your cart, doing your job since you had been abruptly stopped.
"I don't know what to comment on — the fact that you just called me sweetheart or stupid. I loved both, to be honest."
All of your resolve drained out of your body and you're giggling the way he missed hearing in his ears every night.
"You're so weird." You complained but it had no real burn to it since you're smiling. "So what brings you to the library? You're not stalking me again, are you?"
He almost forgets what he came in here for, seeing you washed everything else away.
"As much as I would love to consider this a visit to my favorite grump, unfortunately, I am here looking for a math book my teacher wanted me to read." His pupils lulled back, already done with this quest.
You go into work mode immediately, turning the corner with Heeseung in tow.
"Who's class is it for?" You trained on the shelf.
"Mr. Kim."
You spot it with precision, grabbing it with force. "You're lucky I had his class freshman year. Mr. Kim doesn't believe in helping his students. Instead he gives you this big ass book that's supposed to have all the answers, and weirdly enough, it kind of does." You hand it over.
"With this, you probably won't even need me anymore," you chuckle but it sounds fake, your heart didn't like the idea of him not being your life, and you were pretty sure he wouldn't be if he didn't want his grades to be better.
Out of nowhere, he tosses that book full-force behind him. It makes such a loud thud you jump.
"Dude, what the fuck?" You whispered harsh, you were the librarian, it was in your nature. "What was that for?"
"That book had some bad juju. I didn't like the way it looked at me."
"That doesn't mean you throw it! Go pick it up, right now."
"Yes, ma'am."
He shuffled over to where it landed, doing exactly what you asked with no argument, just putting back where you got it from.
"Yeah, nah, nevermind. I trust you more than any stupid book anyway."
He doesn't have a reason but he continues to follow you as you pushed the cart back to the front where it resided. Since you've done it so much these days, it was impulse going behind the desk and sitting in your stool. And since he has no sense, he follows back there too.
"You're not allowed back here!" You tried to create some semblance of professionalism but he didn't care, he was already touching your knickknacks.
"Relax, no one's trying to be in your librarian business. I just want to play with your toys."
You spent most of your time in the front so it only made sense to have things to entertain yourself with while you wasted away, i.e fidget toys that was gifted to you from Soul. He only gave you the ones he liked.
And now your slime balls were getting the life squeezed out of them because they were in the hands of a excited boy.
"Don't you have somewhere to be? Some beer to drink, some other girl to bother?" You slimmed your eyes at him, he seemed blissfully unaware.
"Are you coming to the Gamma party in a few weeks?"
"No." It seemed obvious, you actually couldn't even believe he was asking you. "I never go to Gamma parties."
"Really? Not even for your favorite person?" He pouted.
"Why would Yunjin want me at your party?"
He clutched his chest, falling back once again with that dramatic flare you had come to honestly enjoy.
"Sticks and stones, Y/n. That's all it is. It doesn't matter how bad you treat me because you wanna know why?"
You raised your eyebrows in intrigue.
His strong hands land on the sides of the stool, turning you toward him so you could see him fully. He leaned in until you were eye-to-eye, his breath fanning your face.
You stifle a giggle by covering your mouth.
"I can tell you like me just as I do. You wouldn't be all giggly if you weren't." He whispered.
You continue but you do move your hand to speak.
"What if it's because your breath stinks?" You wondered in between your little snickering.
To double down, he blows in your face to throw you off guard so he could plant a kiss right on your forehead.
"Ew!" You wipe the fictional smell out of the air.
He flees the scene before you could hit him like you wanted, going on the other side of the counter where he belonged.
You didn't want to touch it but your face burned where he kissed you, basically branding this affection on you and cementing just how much he was genuinely right.
"Ok, fine. I won't beg you to come if you don't want to. But at least, can you come by tomorrow? I need help with an assignment due next week."
You scoffed as if it was going to be tedious, out of the way and impossible but ultimately, you do miss spending time with him and you kind of didn't care about how you got it.
"Sure." You nodded.
"Awesome." He snapped. "Just to let you know though, most of the boys are going to be at the away game so we're going to have the house to ourselves. Ok, bye!"
He ran out before you could say anything else, just leaving you there with your flagrant dismay.
Tomorrow couldn't come quick enough.
The weather was not on your side it seemed. You planned on walking over to the frat house, it wasn't that far, and you've done it so many times before. But the moment you were almost there, the sky opened up and started spitting on you with ferocity.
You couldn't understand what you did to get such bad luck, you just pulled your hood up and ran.
You were lucky the Gamma house had a porch with a roof and that Heeseung didn't make you knock long. One rap and he was swinging the door wide open to reveal your soaking frame.
He was frowning instantly.
"Do you need me to buy you an umbrella?"
"I don't have one because it doesn't usually rain this much!" He grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the warmth. "Plus, I rarely leave my apartment."
He's rubbing your damp arms, hoping to bring some warmth into them.
"How about we get you a towel or maybe some drier clothes, yeah?"
Feeling like a really sad mop, you give him a solemn nod and grabbed his hand when he put it out to guide you up the stairs you had been up many a time before.
Although now, you're not going through the younger one's door.
Now you get the big one with the sign on it, the one that sparkled with words 'president'.
You don't know what you expect when he opens his door, up till now, Heeseung had continued to be an enigma.
You imagined the stereotype you were told about: the flashy, whorish rock-star vibe. You were told to be aware. But that wasn't what you were seeing right now, you didn't have a name for what this was.
His tidy sheets are what you catch first, it's very hard not to since his bed is so big. Probably the perks of being the president, you get the best sleeping quarters.
His room's actually the cleanest thing you've ever seen, it almost looked like no one lived in it.
He lets go of your hand in the middle of the room, leaving you there to explore with your eyes as he rifled through his drawers for something of his that might fit you enough.
He doesn't have many posters around, just a few in frames behind his bed. But even those seem too put together for a college student.
There's not even any demonic clothing piles you could confuse for people in the middle of the night. All of his dirty clothes divided in color piles in his hamper like a crazy person.
This wasn't the guy who was spewing all types of lines in your ear at night, trying to get a rise out of you. It wasn't even the guy who was lowkey stalking you.
You didn't think you knew this one at all.
"Here you go," he held his folded sweats out for you. Even they still looked as good as new. "You can change in the bathroom." And he directed you to the private door behind him.
You don't waste another second, running in and cracking the door just enough so he can't see you anymore.
Him being a gentleman, he still turned around, just in case he could get a glimpse of anything. He didn't want you to think he was perving on you like some weirdo.
He wasn't that type of guy.
You discarded all of your wet garments on his bathroom tile with a nasty plop. You don't think about them once they dropped, you felt liberated and you didn't want to stare down your oppressor.
"What should I do with my clothes?" You spoke through the door.
"You can leave them there, babe. I'll put them in the dryer for you, don't worry."
With that, you pull the oversized sweatshirt over your head, alongside the pajama pants that were too long. His height was never something that dawned on you until you were wearing his stuff.
They were covering your toes and actually dragging on the ground.
You bunched them up before finally turning the light off and returning back to his eerily empty room.
He's sitting on the edge of his bed now, pretending to be engorged in his phone and not like he was staring at the door, hoping to use telepathy to tell you to come out.
You can tell from how quickly its discarded.
When his gaze locked on you, he paused for a second, pupils widening with the heightened sense of a cat. You didn't have to look so cozy in his clothes.
He hadn't even done anything yet.
He cleared his throat even though it wasn't obstructed. Anything to not lose his cool this early.
"So are you going to make me do a scavenger hunt to find your books or are you going to make my job so much more easier?"
He smiled innocently.
"Of course not. I haven't eaten anything yet, and you know I can't think if I'm hungry, Y/n."
You were already on your first eye-roll of the day.
"I guess."
He stood up once you finally gave in, crossing the threshold so he could be in your space again, exactly in the way he missed in the last 24 hours.
"Well no one's going to drive out in this weather, that I know for sure. I wouldn't. And Jay doesn't really let me buy like pizza pockets or anything, says it's going to kill me quicker than all the instant noodles I eat. So we kind of only have ingredients here." He shrugged.
"Do you have any ground beef?" You inquired emotionlessly.
"Yeah." He confirmed.
"Do you have any spices?"
"Yeah."
"I have an idea."
୨ৎ
Yunjin always said you were a hazard in the kitchen, that all you knew how to do was make the simple things to keep yourself alive. You wanted to deny it, claim she was wrong but it was undeniable.
And one of those simple things you had mastered?
Tacos.
"Stop touching! You're going to burn yourself." You smacked his hand away for what felt like the fiftieth time.
"It's not my fault. It smells so good."
His hands wrapped around your middle like it's second nature, his head falling into the crook of your neck as you cooked on the stove.
"Where'd you learn how to make these?"
"You can learn how to make anything on internet these days. Especially when you don't have many places to go to."
He hears the disappointment in your voice, it knocked into him like book stacks. It clicked into his brain easily now that he knew what it sounded like.
"Not for lack of invitation. I asked you yesterday if you wanted—"
"Not parties, Hee. Definitely not yours. I wouldn't feel safe there." It was sad that it was true. He didn't want you to feel that way about something he only did to give people a good time.
He especially wanted to be able to show you some fun. Without inhibitions the way it was meant to be when you were young.
You deserved it.
"Even if my parties were dangerous — which they're not — I would protect you from any and everything that could harm you. I wouldn't invite you somewhere you wouldn't be protected."
"Mhm."
Your agreement could barely hold water, you're not looking at him, still focused on your task in front of you. You don't believe him and he wants so badly to shake that way of thinking right out of you.
He proves to be too eager in his quest to change your mind because he moved too quick and hits the pan right where the fire is and singed the tip of his finger.
"Ah, fuck!"
He buckled over and whimpered like it was the end of the world.
If there was one way to throw him off his rhythm, it was when he hurt himself. He never knew how to handle it. He reverted back into a baby, that's how low his pain tolerance was.
"You dummy! I told you it was hot." You were squatting down in front of him in no time. "Did your mom never teach you how to listen? Let me see, you baby." You grabbed his hand with force, investigating the growing boil on the tip of his pointer.
It wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be but you had to admit, he was cute when he was being dramatic.
"Where is your first aid kit?"
He uses his head to point underneath the sink, still wincing at the shiny sore beginning.
You moved fast, grabbing the little box and lifting him in on swoop.
You ripped his big ring off before turning on the water. He freezes once it splashes back at him, almost like a deer in the headlights.
"No, what are you doing?" He panicked, pulling back as if the water was going to be another thing that was about to burn him.
"I know what I'm doing. You have to run it under cool water first. I promise I'm not trying to kill you. Just let me help you."
That's enough to get him to stop fighting; he lets you rinse him (not without a fuss), you rub some burn cream right on the sight really rapidly to his chagrin, and you cover it up with a band-aid.
"I'm sorry, those dumb boys expect you to be their guide and you get put down by a pan? You are hopeless."
He doesn't say anything as you begin repackaging everything back up, his eyes are locked on you in way that's still examining, still confused if he's looking at you or someone else.
"How did you do that?" He sounds so far away, out of his body, like he's not the one asking the question.
"Do what, sweetheart?"
"Lock in so quickly for me just now. I acted like a complete child and you knew what to do immediately."
You meet his gaze with a light he had never seen in you. It definitely wasn't helping from how his heart was beating out of his chest right now. It certainly didn't make it better when you pushed your glasses up either.
"Have you never had anyone help you before?"
He looked up, recalling any instance in his life before now, scanning everything for the kind of action he had just gotten from you.
"Besides my mom when I was a kid, no. I figured I'm an adult, no one was going to save me so I had to do it myself."
You were shaking your head before he could even let the sentence marinate.
"That's not true. Everyone needs help sometimes. Even cute little dumb presidents." You kissed his bandaged finger with a smile.
You finished cooking without any hassle, he sits away from the stove just in case it wants to bite him again. You snickered at his antics but you didn't outwardly make fun of him. Somehow you figured it was his first time feeling this way.
When you're done, he tells you it'll be better if you ate in his bed. Apparently it was the most comfortable spot to eat in in the entire frat house. Mostly because it's where he had a lot of his meals.
You obliged, a comfy seat would never be turned down.
You two sat side-by-side against his headboard, knees bumping as you ate for what seemed like the first time in ages. Neither had ate today so that might have contributing.
And since tacos were one of the only dishes you could do really well, it was gone before either you could say a word.
All that was left behind was a content hum harmonizing in his quiet room.
"You're going to call me dramatic for this too, but I honestly don't care. That was one of the best meals I think I ever had." He rubbed his stomach, giving his food a nice pet on his way through his body.
"Weirdly enough, you're not the first boy to tell me that."
He takes your plate from you, stacking them up on his side table, out of the way.
"Oh yeah? Was the other one that cheating asshole? Don't listen to him. Matter fact, don't even mention him. As far as I'm concerned, he is a stain. If anyone else compliments your food, use me as a reference, not him."
You snorted like a woman in a trance, it almost didn't even sound like you for a second. "Ok, noted. Although, do you think you can talk about him that way having not known him?"
His beautiful browns locked on you like it was his job.
"I don't care if it was my best friend, he deserves double what he did to you. Maybe worse. You are too special of a girl to cheat on. I have to fight for your attention because he had it and he fucking wasted it. In my head, he's a loser."
As numb as you wished you could play it, that last sentence touched something in your supposed-dead heart and made it burn. Not the life-ending kind but the one you didn't know you missed until he returned it to you.
It didn't even seem to affect him the way it did you, this was just a normal Thursday for him.
The world just had to make him extra charming today.
It was pissing you off.
And making you want to kiss him a little.
You hadn't even noticed that he had gotten closer in saying that, his knee was now hovering over yours, your shoulders also touching from the proximity.
He was doing it on purpose and you couldn't find it in you to shun it anymore.
"You don't mean that." You shook your head, mustering up the last little fight you had left.
He cuts through it easily with that devilish smile of his. His strong hand came up, cradling your cheek like he wanted from the moment he met you. Your heart betrays you, making you lean into it.
"I would never lie to you."
Just then, like the world needed to send the biggest, brightest sign, thunder cracked across the sky all loud and overwhelming.
You jumped, a tense snap that went with the weather. Your instincts were akin to a feline. With the harsh rain attacking his glass windows, it sounded too loud to just to be water. And then the lights had to go out.
That was enough to make you fully meld your body into his.
You were practically in his lap when the next flash happened, trying to burying yourself in his neck in hopes that the big sounds would cease.
You realize your mistake as it's happening but you don't move and neither does he.
"Um, sorry." You sound regretful and yet, you gripped tighter once it hit again. "I was never too good around thunder as a kid. Or the dark. Something about just always seemed too much for me."
Another crack made him wrap around you, his warm arms bringing you close and keeping you safe from your fear.
"You don't have to be sorry, angel. It's not your fault. Do you want some help?"
The question sounds innocent enough, but in his low tone, it sounds how he means it, forbidden and not before touched.
"Help?"
Instantly, a switch flipped. His hands moved, pulling on your hips dangerously, like he wants to make it so you can't move. The adjust makes you gasp, but you welcome it.
"I can help you through it or I could leave you alone. Which one do you want?"
You figured you'd be disgusted when the topic finally officially came to the table. But under the guise of a distraction? You do anything to not have to think about the terror going on outside.
"Help me how?"
Your panic makes you a little slow but it's okay, he planned on moving slow anyway, especially since he was finally getting to have you so close.
The pressure of his fingers in your side start to drop, until they were pushing into your thigh, too close to where he wanted to be but not enough to be crossing a boundary. Although he can tell you like it from the squeak you let out.
He tries not to laugh at you because he knows it was involuntary but it's still cute.
"Do you mind if I touch you?"
You go to nod but the weather has other plans to send you back into his shoulder for safety.
"Uh-uh. If you're going to tell me what you want, you're going to have to look at me. Please, come on."
Against on your better judgment, you slowly lift your head amidst the chattering outside. You could hardly make out his face in the darkness, you couldn't tell if it was because of the fear or it was just the lighting.
But you can see his eyes and the altruistic-threaded lust that filled those twinkling irises.
How could you say no?
It calms you enough to let you speak clearly.
"I think you just want me to say it."
That shit-eating grin returned, a car passes by, putting it on full display.
"I really, really want you to say it. Like nothing would make me happier in this world."
The situation is so odd, you don't even notice the genuine laugh you give him.
"Fine." You scoffed. "Yes, I want you to touch me."
It breaks like a dam, he had been waiting so long that it wasn't possible to hold it back anymore. He lunges forward, tackling you into the bed, hovering over top of you so his lips could meet yours with urgency.
It's not soft or sweet like in the movies, it's rough and hungry. There was teeth and tongue thrashing everywhere, he was gripping you like he was in pain and you were the remedy.
His instincts kick in as his hands went lower, past the waistband of your (his) pants. You gasped into his mouth and your fingers grip onto his shoulders for stability.
That's his sign that he's moving too fast.
He pulled away even though he doesn't want to but he knows your lungs are screaming at you. You're not as used to this as he is. He doesn't let go as you catch your breath, his forehead rested against yours.
"Sorry, baby, I got too excited. I've wanted to do that since I first laid eyes on you."
A snicker falls from your mouth in your quest for air.
"What happened to that good self control?" You huffed, eyes still closed, your nose bumping against his.
"If I'm doing a lot, you can tell me. Just say the word and we can forget this ever happened."
And you hate your keen ears at the moment because you can hear the desperation in his voice. Not only does he want it as much as you do but he was willing to turn it off if you weren't ready.
That was the last thing you remembered him saying before everything disappeared alongside your clothes that came to paint the floor.
You were extremely grateful that all the other boys were gone. You would have hated if they heard any of the noises that came out of the two of you.
He probably wouldn't have minded since he kept trying to get you to be louder but either way, you let out a breath of air when you finally did fall asleep — cuddling him, the way he insisted.
୨ৎ
The sun broke through Heeseung's curtains cinematically, a bright spotlight being lit on this one moment. The rain of the day prior had dried and all that was left was beauty. As if it needed to be louder.
Here you two laid, him behind you with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you in unbelievably close, his breath was warm on your bare back, calming in the quiet.
His grip was tight like he thought you were going to run away.
If anyone were to bust in right now (like they did so naturally), they would probably think you were a couple.
But it was professional, you kept telling yourself, this was transactional. He was getting a service from you and soon enough, you'd be done. And it wasn't as promiscuous as your position would suggest.
This was just misread after a night of things you probably wouldn't mention if you kept tutoring.
Definitely not like this.
You woke up first, your body aware that this wasn't your bed or the fact that you weren't sleeping alone.
You tried to move, his limbs become a seatbelt, holding you in place.
"What if the boys are back? Someone's going to get the wrong idea."
He took that as a sign to nuzzle into you more, his nose finding the crook of your neck like it's his birthright.
"Good. They need to know who you belong to. You're my girl."
Your snort is involuntary but you don't stop it from bursting out into the emptiness. You flipped over to see him better and surely enough, he's still looking at you with those big browns of his, like you're something precious. His hand comes up and brushes your hair behind your ear.
"I don't know how many times I have to say this: I am not yours."
His lips pressed together to form a thin line. You didn't even believe yourself, why should he? Especially if he knew you as well as he proclaimed.
"You can keep saying it but you wouldn't be in my bed if you didn't like me a little," he caressed your cheek.
You don't fight it though, you let yourself lean into his soft hand slightly.
It felt nice, nice enough for you to forget where your head was, or how many heads like yours have graced his pillows after a night of giving into the bad desire every girl has.
But maybe it didn't have to be something heinous, you didn't have to regret it.
Not if he didn't.
For once, you're looking at him with inquisitive eyes, searching and hoping to find the awful bits. Something to grasp onto so you don’t have to admit how much you actually enjoy his company. But then he smiled, and it put a warm feeling in your chest, a warmth you couldn’t downplay.
“Okay, maybe a little.”
“I’ll take it,” his words are barely above a whisper as he ditches them to lean in and capture your lips again. He’s not as feral as he was before, he’s not trying to bite and nibble, he just felt like it.
"And for your information," he planted another kiss on your cheek, "the boys won't be back until this afternoon. I gave them a bunch of errands to run, just in case."
Your face crumpled, thinking of the possibilities of his vague statement.
"Just in case what?"
He pulled his underwear back on with a sweet smile.
"In case dreams come true." Once he winked at you, that's when it clicked for you. You pulled the blanket up completely covering your frame in embarrassment.
"Gross!"
"I'm just letting you know you have nothing to worry about. No one's going to see your cute little butt but me."
You couldn't see him but you could have sworn you heard a small laugh.
You hear him rummaging through drawers, probably looking for a clean pair of pants. You don't pop your head back out until you feel a weight by your side, right on the edge of the bed.
He's already looking at you when you peek.
"You want some breakfast? Jay does at least buy the good cereal."
You pretend to think about it and against your better judgment, you do end up eating cereal with Heeseung. In fact, you spend your entire morning with him.
You hate yourself because you tell him things about yourself when he asks, you shoved him playfully when he said something stupid, you let him hold you when he reached out, you even told him about your dream of being a writer; all things you would do if he was your boyfriend.
And him being so sweet, he welcomed all those things happily, as if he wanted to be.
It did tug on your mind a little.
Would it be so bad he was?
You thought about coming to the frat house instead of going all the way home after work, sleeping in his bed more often, kissing his pretty face whenever you wanted to.
It was a nice future, one you'd be completely okay with living.
Especially if it was filled with how he was staring at you right now.
He never interrupted you when you spoke, he kind of just watched you like there was nothing better to be looking at, as if he couldn't believe you were still sitting on his couch with him.
Eventually you noticed the clock: he had to get ready for his day and you had a shift at the library soon. This beautiful bubble you wished you could live in forever had to pop.
You peeled yourself out of comfortability, paying no mind to all of his whines and pleas.
"No! Where are you going?" He's frowning, reaching for your ankle as if that was going to stop you from putting your clothes back on.
"As fun as this is, playing make-believe all morning, at some point, I have to get back to my life." You slipped your now-dried pants back on, still a little warm from the dryer.
He doesn't comment, he just watches you change like you're trying so hard to get out of there.
Is this how girls felt freshman year, when he was pushing them out like his parents were coming home any minute?
It was an odd feeling.
"What are you doing later?"
"This is not going to be a regular occurence." You shook your head. You knew that's what he was grasping at, and you were really adamant on not stepping over the line more.
"That's not what I was going to ask."
It most certainly was, but it was just because he wanted you to sleep in his arms again. Might have been the best sleep of his life but he couldn't say that out loud without sounding crazy.
He scooted to the edge of the couch where you stood, pulling himself up to his knees so he was rightfully taller than you.
"God forbid a guy just wants to see you again."
You scrunched your nose but you would admit, your heart did jump.
"I'll let you know but no promises."
You go to slip your shoes on quickly, moving fast, you don't even think about swinging the door open, you just do it. You are smacked in the face violent from the cold breeze.
"What the hell? Why does it have to be cold on the one day I leave my jacket?" You smacked your teeth, pulling your sleeves down like it's going to combat the shiver.
He doesn't second guess, he's off of the couch without another word, opening his hall closet to pull out one of his hoodies.
"Here."
He opened it up, prompting you to duck your head so he could don you with it.
"Now it's like I'm walking you home."
You quirked a brow at him. "Are you sure you're not trying to like mark your territory? Make sure no other boys talk to me on my way home?"
He looked up all innocently like that wasn't his intention. You weren't dumb and he knew that.
"I mean, it wouldn't be completely awful if they saw you wearing my hoodie and knew to stay away."
You go to stick your hands in the pockets and are immediately met with something cold and hard. You pull it out haphazardly and are meet with the cursed ring from last night, a physical talisman that last night wasn't just something you imagined in your sleep.
"Oh! I was looking for that. I forgot I stashed it away in my pocket. The boys are always stealing my shit so I have to make sure I don't leave it out."
You placed it in his hand.
He tried to put his ring back on his burnt finger but you stopped him, you didn't want it to swell and get stuck. He loved watching you be worried for him, so he gave that to you too.
"Jeez, are you trying to make a Heeseung shield around me?"
He doesn't confirm or deny more of these claims, he just smiles, kisses your forehead and holds himself back because he knew if he had his way, he wouldn't have to watch you walk away.
synopsis. jay is everything an alpha should be: respectful, mature, impossibly considerate. unfortunately, the omega he falls for at first sight thinks he’s a performative fraud. determined to prove he’s genuinely a good alpha, jay sets out to win over a man-hater (you!) while trying not to lose his mind over your smile, your sharp tongue, and, regrettably—your very distracting chest. oh goddess of the moon, please show him mercy! he swears he’s not a pervert. a spin-off from love me (k)not and mark me yours!
pairing. alpha!jay x omega!female reader
genre(s). omegaverse, rom-com, (one-sided) enemies-to-lovers, love at first sight, light angst, fluff
warnings. jay pervert allegation, reader has above-average boobs, profanity, whole &team are assholes here sorry, ex-boyfriend maki, cheating, gaslighting, reader is a fashion student, enhypen ensemble, jay is a sweetheart, reader is just a complex character please try to understand her, nesting, vulnerability and insecurity, arranged date, not beta read we die like injang, please let me know if i missed anything <3
word count. 16,983 words
note. this is soooo long overdue i'm sorry :( but it's my first ever jay fic though so we cheer! have fun reading and lmk what you think <3
“Peach or cherry?”
Jay is losing his mind and all Jake cares about is whether he prefers ass or boobs.
The frat house is crowded as usual, with people getting drunk and high on whatever substances they prefer in their system. On any other night, Jay would find the scene irritable and annoying.
After all, he always keeps himself in check, always sober and in control of his actions and thoughts, always so, so responsible. He’d prefer watching from the sidelines and being of help for when Riki starts throwing up from too much drinking or when Heeseung sings too loud after his second fill.
Jay is always responsible. He never lets himself on the loose.
But tonight, as the aftermath of his near-fight with Heeseung and him having to rush to the hospital after the burgundy-haired alpha collapsed in his omega’s doorway, despite Jay himself being too shaken to stand, he thinks he’s fine with getting slightly reckless.
Slightly reckless, in this case, is drinking more than the two red cups he usually gets.
“Why are we using fruits to represent anatomy?”
Back to the situation at hand, where he’s sitting on top of a tall stool around the kitchen island, Sunoo is throwing Jake a grimace. Beside him, Riki already has his head bobbing to the music, a telltale sign of a blackout drunk that would usually result in Jay and Sunoo cleaning his mess up. A defeated sigh leaves his lips involuntarily.
Jay downs another shot.
"I don't want to be too explicit," Jake shrugs, like it's the most normal thing to do. "So, peach or cherry?"
Jay knows how this will go.
Riki is an ass guy, judging from the way he likes to slap anyone's butt within his proximity. Jake is both because he's an indecisive little shit who's just too greedy to pick. If pussy was on the options, he'd pick all three.
Sunoo, despite his reckless endeavor with alphas, Jay has never heard him doing anything more than a messy make-out and a blowjob. But he might be an ass guy too, just because he has a juicy fat ass. Heeseung—well, if he was here, anyway—would've said boobs, because Jay knows him a little too well which makes him privy to the former's (previously) sexually active life.
And Jay—he's too respectful to even answer that.
True to his own guess, Riki shakes his head drunkenly from beside an expressionless Sunoo. "My girl is perfect," he says, then grins cheekily. "But I like taking her from the back. Shit, you shouldn't know that."
"We shouldn't, dumbass. Why are you airing out your bedroom activities to us?" Sunoo rolls his eyes, but there's no bite to it. Everybody knows how loose Riki's tongue can get when he's wasted. On any other sober days, he would gate-keep the hell out of his omega. "Anyway, peach."
Jay has guessed almost everything right. He downs another shot.
A shit-eating grin appears on Jake's face. "I knew it, Sunny, you're an ass guy!"
"It's not really a groundbreaking discovery," Sunoo shrugs his shoulders, then turns to Jay. "Jay hyung, what about you?"
Jay is a respectful guy, so there's no way he would ever answer that. He shakes his head, already dizzy from the buzzing alcohol in his system.
"I don't like talking about this."
A chorus of groans echoes around the island. Only Sunoo smiles at him.
"You're no fun, Jjongsaeng," Jake shoves his shoulders playfully. "It's harmless conversation. As for me, I like anything they give me, but I love pussy the most. Which will make me a butterfly guy."
Sunoo lets out a loud groan, while Riki is already giggling. "Are you calling pussy a butterfly? Hyung, please shut the fuck up."
It's ridiculous, really. Jay loves his friends, but they sometimes do questionable things that makes him want to rip his own hair out. If Jungwon was here, he would be up his ass and plot ways to get on his nerves. If Sunghoon was here, well, Jay likes his company the most because he's the calmest and doesn't say controversial shits that could get them cancelled. His friends can be insufferable sometimes, but the most annoying one at this moment is none other than Heeseung.
Thinking about the burgundy-haired alpha just makes his wolf bitter all over again. Seriously, what did he do wrong? Heeseung should've been thanking him instead for keeping his omega dry from the rain. Not taking him down in an almost-fistful physical attack, and definitely not this silent treatment between them that makes their shared apartment smaller than it is, on-edge pheromones suffocating the air.
Jay is pissed. Pissed that they haven't made up yet and pissed at himself for being too kind.
Is he too kind? Should he just let her get soaked in the rain?
He grabs his red cup, ready to feel the alcohol again, and sighs quietly when there's only a drop left inside. Jay is about to stand and refill more booze, but he's stopped by a firm hand on his wrist.
He looks up to a worried Sunoo.
The younger alpha gives him a once-over. He probably looks so red in the face right now, but nobody seems to notice because Jake and Riki are somehow trying to bite each other's heads off arguing about the proper fruit representative for a pussy.
"You're drinking a lot tonight," Sunoo finally says, ever the observant. "Did something happen?"
Everything happened.
Is what Jay wants to say badly.
That near-fight with Heeseung happened. That still-awkward tension between him and Riki's mate happened. That weird glances mated alphas throw at him whenever he's around their omegas happened. That flirty and hopeful stares omegas give him whenever he so as looks their way happened.
And, despite everything, him still not meeting his mate happened.
If anyone should be envious, it's Jay. Not Heeseung. Not Riki.
"Envious of?"
Shit. He said that out loud, didn't he?
He was about to deflect, but now that Sunoo is fixing him with that foxy gaze, glinting with relentless curiosity that won't back down no matter the excuses, Jay knows he has nowhere to go. He looks to his left, where Jake and Riki has reconciled and agree that no fruit matches with a pussy's shape because apparently pussy is too special for fruit comparisons, settling on calling it flower instead, and now have started discussing about how diabolical it is to compare a dick to an eggplant, and sighs.
Jay thinks he needs new friends. Better friends, even. Except Sunoo. And Sunghoon.
"Hyung?"
When Jay's sure that Jake and Riki are too wasted and distracted to eavesdrop, he finally relents.
"I…Sunoo-yah," he swipes a tongue across his bottom lip. "Is there something wrong with me?"
This is why he hates getting drunk. Because his body recognises alcohol as invitation to start talking deep shits and pouring his heart out like an endless stream of river. It's not a bad thing to be vulnerable, but Jay has guarded his heart so tight that only certain people have the privilege to listen to his deepest secrets.
Thankfully, tonight is just his luck. Rather than exposing himself to a stranger, which has been his biggest fear when getting drunk, it's Sunoo who's listening to him attentively. The brown-haired alpha is looking at him softly, amber eyes full of understanding and encouragement, and it makes the tension in his shoulders slowly melt away.
"Why'd you say that?"
Jay is quiet for a moment. Right, why would he? Then he remembers Heeseung and Riki, those omegas and alphas, and, finally—his own wolf.
"Am I too…" he sucks in a breath, not wanting to sound self-absorbed, but it's what he's been hearing from people.
"Am I too much of a green flag?"
Sunoo didn't expect that from him, judging by the micro-surprise in his expression. Maybe he should stop there and let Sunoo reply, but now that he finally lets it out, Jay finds it easy to just continue.
"Is it wrong to be a kind alpha? I think it wasn't, but seeing how anxious and weary alphas can get when I'm being a gentleman to their omegas…" he trails off, hating the fact that it's his best friends' faces that appear on his mind. "I think it's a mistake. I shouldn't be too kind, right?"
There's a muffled silence between them, dampened by the loud bass from the living room and the sharp citrus turning bitter in the air. Jay looks off to the kitchen island, realising that it's now just him and Sunoo in that space; Jake and Riki are now joining the beer pong just getting started in the backyard.
Across from him, a look of understanding crosses Sunoo's face.
"There's no such thing as being too kind, hyung."
"Then why am I being punished for it?" He cuts in sharply. "Why do I feel bad for doing those things to them?"
He still remembers, the day Riki showed up in his apartment, crying because his lifelong crush wanted Jay to help her with her heat. Riki begged him not to agree, and Jay had done so—it didn't feel right to do that, especially when he knows about the younger boy's feelings for his childhood friend. But then Riki changed his mind and convinced him to say yes, because 'I didn't want her to go through it alone in indescribable pain, and I don't want to ruin our friendship if it's not me that she wanted. Please help me, hyung, she's just presented as an omega. It'll be too dangerous for her to do it alone.'
He had agreed out of sympathy for his younger friend, but somehow him agreeing had bloomed jealousy in the alpha's heart. Jay understands—Riki is still too young, and young alphas are the most territorial creatures to walk on this Earth—but it still hurts his feeling to be treated like a Mr. Steal Your Girl, when he has never stolen anything except omegas' hearts unintentionally.
Riki had apologised and admitted to his immaturity, but still, it wasn't enough to erase weeks of awkward silences and clipped conversations over a single apology. His omega has been extra cautious around Jay, and it always makes him sore to hold back from being himself around her. Or around any taken omegas, for the record.
So, really, he'd appreciate it a lot if Sunoo could just be honest with him and tell him, 'Yes, hyung, you're too kind for your own good,' instead of sugarcoating it.
But of course Sunoo would say the opposite.
"The ones who did that to you aren't the people you helped, right?" Sunoo says, smooth voice weaving through the music like it's meant to find Jay no matter the noise. "It's always the jealous alphas. But I'm sure those omegas were thankful for you for helping them. You're not being punished, hyung. You're just too good that you kinda intimidated these alphas into thinking that their mates would run to you the second they look away."
Jay doesn't know what to say to that. Sunoo always has this way of charming people with his words, the kind that can convince a criminal that they're a saint with that lilt in his voice that only he has. He's not sure if Sunoo really means it, or if it's the truth as it is.
The younger alpha sees right through him. "You're doubting me."
"No! No, I'm just—" Jay pauses, hating the fact that he is indeed doubting his friend's words, and decides to just be honest. "Okay—yeah. You're right. It's hard to believe you."
Sunoo hums, not the slightest offended. He leans forward, turning his head to watch the ongoing beer pong, seen through the transparent sliding door. Jay follows his line of sight, and feels his chest tighten when he sees Riki making out with his omega.
It's the familiar ache that he felt when he saw the mating mark on Riki's neck. The same longing he feels whenever his mated teammates talk about their fulfilled love life. It's like a circle of bubble that Jay doesn't dare burst, being the only one outside of a room full of people who have found the meaning of love.
I wish I could have that too.
Sunoo catches him before he could mask his scent. He throws Jay an expressionless look. For a moment, Jay prepares himself for a 'Gotcha!' comment from him, but the younger alpha only gives him a close-lipped smile.
"Ah, hyung. I should've known. You want a mate, don't you?"
"I don't," Jay is quick to deny, but upon seeing the knowing glint in Sunoo's eyes, he realises there's no point in denying. He sighs for the umpteenth time that night.
"Yes, I do. But it's not as easy as you might think."
"Why? I'm pretty sure there are many omegas who'd throw themselves at you."
"But I can't because I…" Jay licks his lips, "I don't find anyone I like enough yet."
Sunoo doesn't say anything for a long, stretched moment. Jay almost squirms under his dissecting eyes. It feels as though Sunoo is picking him apart by his gaze and his scent alone, seeing parts of himself that he wouldn't show bare. It's unnerving yet weirdly comforting at the same time, having someone who can see right through him despite the walls he built.
"Hyung, everything about this gentleman persona and you wanting a mate—there's only one thing I can say."
Jay swallows thickly, mind sobering up with each passing second. "What?"
"You are with this kindness not without a purpose," Sunoo says calmly, like he hasn't just dropped the most riddled sentence that sounds too Shakespeare-ish to Jay's drunken mind.
"Huh?"
"I'm saying, there is someone out there who needs your kindness, hyung. Your patience. Your heart," Sunoo flashes him a small smile, sincere and genuine. "You'll meet them someday. And when you do, you'll understand why you are the way you are. You are never too much for someone who's meant to hold you."
Jay hears him, truly, but that promise sounds so distant and far away. Like a reality he's witnessesing from a different universe, through a portal of lifelong waiting and yearning. He wants to believe it, wants to hold onto every syllable and let it be his new faith, but the deepest, ugly part of him doesn't believe he belongs to that kind of destiny.
He doesn't say anything. Not that he has the chance to when the smell of burning chocolate greets his senses and soon, an upset Jungwon is already filling up the space with his broad shoulders and moody pheromones.
A black leather jacket, zipped up to his chin, hugs his body, highlighting his wide figure under the kitchen light, paired with leather pants. Jungwon's hair is messy, untamed around the frame of his eyes, and Jay knows why when he sees the helmet in his arm.
"Hyung, be honest. Do I look too baby-faced?" The alpha pouts, gesturing at his body. "Even after wearing this whole gear? I even rode my precious bike to see her!"
Jay doesn't have to stay to know that Jungwon's whining about the older omega he has a crush on, someone that used to babysit him when he was 10 years old and is now still treating him like a baby. He would've stayed to listen and comfort the younger alpha, really, but unfortunately for Jungwon, Jay also needs some comfort for himself before he loses his fucking mind.
He grabs his red cup and stands up, needing the alcohol to be in his system now more than anything. The other two alphas don't notice him leaving, and if they do, Jay's sure Sunoo's more interested to hear about Jungwon's failing love life than his already-doomed one.
Jay makes his way through the crowd, giving polite smiles to everyone in his way. He's not really a fan of this kind of crowd—it's more of Heeseung's and Riki's crowd—but it's the least of his concerns now. The alpha squeezes past dancing omegas whose stares linger, past a group of alphas who give him a nod of acknowledgement, past a pair of lovers making out on the wall.
That makes him falter.
Jay blames it on the alcohol. Really, he's usually not like this. It's actually easier to act like not having a mate among friends who are already mated doesn't affect him when his thoughts are more coherent and making sense. But right now, as he watches the couple giggling at each other, lips in ears and soft eyes looking into soft eyes, a pinch of envy twists in his chest.
Jay huffs, leaving the scene faster than he'd like to admit. Seriously, if he was so good and kind like everybody had said, if he's the picture-perfect alpha like every family member had boasted about, then why is it only him alone with no one to hold? Why is it always him who's cleaning after everybody's mess when he only watches on the sidelines as they get their happy ending? Why is it that people who run from love are more favoured than someone who's always been ready like him?
What about him? What about his happy ending?
After what felt like hours, Jay finally finds his booze. Jake has an eccentric preference of placing the booth all over the frat house, and the one in the kitchen has long ran out. He's standing at the booth by the stairs right now, the majority of them still untouched. Jay pours into his cup full to the brim. His senses are already tingling with the thoughts of drinking more.
When the alcohol buzzes through his system, Jay lets out a satisfied sigh. God, he's so carefree tonight. But whatever, he's pretty sure Sunoo can drive them home safely. Right now, Jay's focus is only on making himself feel better and forget whatever ruckus that has unfolded the past few weeks.
He pours more when his cup empties. From where he's standing, the bass doesn't really reach him, a bit distant from the speaker now blasting Miley Cyrus' Party In The U.S.A.. It makes the conversation around him sounds clearer in his ears. Including the ones coming from upstairs.
Jay pays them no mind. He's not here for gossips or shits and giggles—he's here to cool off. But when something sweet, something that reminds him of his mom's berry strudels and morning coffee drifts into his nose, Jay's senses sharpen.
Is someone baking? He wonders alone. The last time he left the kitchen, there were only Sunoo and Jungwon. As far as he remembers, neither could touch the oven without risking an explosion.
So where does this sweet scent come from?
It gets sweeter the more he spends his focus on it. Jay looks around, mind still buzzing, unable to find the source of the scent that has piqued his interest through the haziness. His nose twitches. Even in his drunken state, Jay can't help but notice how constrasting the scent is to his sharp citrus.
And for some reason, his wolf likes it.
"Is it from the stairs?" he mumbles, stumbling to the foot of the stairs, drink sloshing in his cup.
But just as he's about to look up, he's already colliding into a soft body coming down from upstairs.
"Ah!"
Oh no.
Jay watches in horror as the drink in his hand spills all over the person's shirt, staining the white fabric with yellowish mark that almost looks like someone's piss. He freezes, mouth gaping in surprise, but the only thing his hazy mind picks up is 'Yes, he's finally found where the scent comes from.'
It's from the victim of his booze.
Or rather, the furious omega who's looking down at him with a sneer on her face right now.
"Hey!" You yell, face burning red. "Look at what you did!"
Oh, Jay is definitely looking. For some reason, his eyes are glued to your face, taking in every feature decorating your sweet face. The perfectly sculpted brows that are now frowning deep, the round eyes that are narrowing down at him, the full lips that are pulled into a tight, dissatisfied line.
Such an angry omega. But also the most beautiful he's ever laid his eyes on.
"Hey, stupid alpha. I'm talking to you!"
Jay has never seen you before. Who are you? Why are you making his heart beat so fast? Why is his wolf wiggling his tail at the sight of you?
"Oh my fucking God. So fucking annoying."
Even when you're glaring at him, under the dim light of Jake's frat house, you look very, very pretty. Are you even real, or just a drunken manifestation of his desperation for a mate?
Jay's too starstruck and drunk to notice how dumb he must look right now, but you've had enough of the alpha gaping at you like a dying fish. You shake his shoulders, manicured nails digging into his shirt.
"Earth to dumbass alpha! Hello??? You just spilled your drink all over my Limited Edition Cherry Chanel Baby Tee!"
Oh, right. Jay snaps out of his reverie, and drops his eyes on your chest to see the damage he's done.
But instead of realising his mistake, he's realising something else instead.
The wet patch darkens your shirt from its usual shade, sticking to your chest like second skin. From where he's standing so close, just a step below you on the stairs, his eyes level with your chest, Jay has a belated realisation that you have such perfect…boobs.
They're slightly bigger than average, perfectly-shaped and round, and they sit so nicely that Jay feels like they'd beat his expensive pillows in softness. A thought, a small thought that sober-Jay would never have, crosses his mind.
Jay wants to bury his face in your chest to test it.
Oh my God. This is bad. Drunk-Jay is so, so bad. He's really malfunctioning tonight.
You, on the other hand, are already at your wits' ends. It doesn't help that the shirt feels so sticky, so uncomfortable and it irritates you to the core. Also, why the fuck is this stupid alpha staring at your chest like—like he wants to touch it?
"Hey!" you push his shoulder again, but the alpha doesn't budge. You grit your teeth. "My eyes are up here, dumbass!"
Jay breathes out. "Che…rry."
Your brows furrow in confusion.
"What?"
"Cherry." Jay repeats, eyes never leaving your chest. His mind is dissolving into mixed up conversations—he can hear Jake's voice, your voice, and the bass mixing together.
"I prefer…cherry."
There is a heavy silence that follows, loaded with bubbling anger, drunk confusion, and a very, very horrific realisation that he's talking about your chest. Your mouth falls open.
With a handsome face and neat shirt like that, you can't believe that this alpha is such a fucking pervert!
"Yah! Are you crazy?! What cherry?!" You scream, attracting more attention on the two of you. Jay barely blinks. "Are you talking about—about my boobs?!"
Jay blinks blearily, then nods.
"Your…cherry."
You let out a scandalised gasp. Humiliation starts creeping up your face, painting your skin even redder than before.
This is ridiculous. This is diabolical! The audacity of this alpha—!
Before you know it, your hand already swipes across his cheek in a surprised, harsh slap. Jay's head jerks to the side, his own eyes growing wide at the impact. A ringing silence echoes between the two of you, followed by a chorus of gasps from the onlookers.
After literally getting slapped into his senses, Jay sobers up in that one single moment and realises with a dread, What the fuck did he just do?
He slowly looks back at you, touching his stinging cheek like you had personally offended his whole bloodline. You're glaring at him, chest heaving rapidly like you can't contain your anger any longer.
"You fucking pervert!"
Jay's breath hitches. He's a pervert?
"Get away from me!"
The alpha lets his body get shoved to the side like a door blocking the way. He stands there, motionless, as he watches you leave, angry steps making your hair bounce. Shame and guilt start crawling up his chest when his mind decides to replay the scene, realising in horror how out of character he had been and how rude he was to you.
Oh God. Oh my God.
Seriously, Park Jongseong? Cherry? That's the first thing you say to the literal love of your life?
"Isn't that Park Jongseong?"
"Oh my God, I thought he was a green flag?"
"I guess even a green flag still has a knot to satisfy."
"Park Jongseong is a pervert?"
Jay squeezes his eyes shut and runs a hand down his face. He doesn't really care about his reputation, so the whispers barely bother him.
What he cares more is the lingering scent of acidic espresso and rotting cherries in the air, trailing after you even when you're long gone. His cheek still burns, but he couldn't care less because—you know…he kind of deserved it.
Fuck.
And Jay doesn't even know your name.
"All alphas are nothing but a knothead!"
You spit, seething in anger as you glare at anyone in your way. Not even the loud music can muffle your voice, sending death threats and insults to a certain alpha (and literally all other alphas.)
Maybe it's just your bad day, because just as you finally see your exit, an alpha—stupidly broad-shouldered alpha, fuck alphas and their ridiculous proportions—bumps into you. You click your tongue and look up at him.
"Why do you guys stupid alphas only think with your dick, your cock, and only your small fucking knot?!"
The alpha stares at you in horror. It seems like today is more of his unlucky day than yours.
"I-I don't—"
"What? You don't have a dick?" You cut him off, irritation pulling at your nerves. Tonight is such a shitty night. "Isn't that the only thing you alphas are proud of? Thinking with your knot and tricking omegas with your cock?!"
The poor alpha stands there cowering, hanging his head low as if he's already accepted his fate of being the receiving end of your hatred towards alphas and…dicks.
You push a trembling finger on his chest, eyes prickling with tears. Fuck these hormones and emotions, fuck this soft scent that makes people think you're nothing more than a weak, defenceless omega—you've had enough of everything.
"Am I wrong? Isn't that why Riki cheated on me?!" You yell, not caring if people catch your words. "Because his dick can't get enough with only one pussy?!"
A ripple of murmurs and whispers start spreading around you. Even the DJ has turned the volume down slightly, taken aback by the sudden drop of the bomb of truth.
A cheating scandal? That's the juiciest gossip college students could have ever had.
The nameless alpha looks at you, eyes wide in surprise mixed with disappointment when he hears your words.
"Oh my God—there's no way—Riki cheated?" He stammers. "Nishimura Riki cheated?"
"Who the fuck is Nishimura Riki?" Your brows furrow, first time hearing that family name. "It's Hirota Riki! My stupid, cheating ex who's immature and younger than me and just plain dumb like a textbook alpha!"
The relief physically vanishes from his face. Then, as if realising what you have said, his face mirrors your confusion. "Wait—you mean Maki? That German-Japanese guy?"
You squeeze your eyes shut. Of course people know him. You almost forgot that your ex, other than being a piece of garbage and a pain in your ass, is also a famous model for the college magazines. His face is everywhere, in every campaign and poster and advertisements, wearing clothes that always gains attention.
Clothes that you designed and sewn by hand.
The back of your eyes burn with tears, but you blink them back, not wanting people to see your sadness. You'd rather they have your anger and rage, because lashing out and being called crazy for screaming seem less vulnerable than the little drops of tears down your cheeks.
You push at the alpha weakly, every fibre of your being just begging to go home and forget everything about tonight.
"Are you okay, angry omega?"
"Shut up," you hiss, voice shaky. "I'm leaving this place."
The crowd parts for you as you make your way to the exit. You sway slightly, too drained from spending your energy screaming at everyone and no one at the same time.
You hate the prying eyes. You hate the pitying words. You hate the whispers. But there's nothing you can do when it's you who accidentally aired out your ex boyfriend's scandal in your fit of anger.
It's been two months since the breakup—a breakup that you thought was healthy and reasonable. Maki told you that he was going to get busy with growing his career, balancing his job as a freelance model with being an engineering student was starting to take up most of his time. Somewhere in between schedules, he no longer could find the time to love you, to fit you in his world of fame and glory.
You didn't want to hold him back. Even when you had liked him more than you ever did anyone, you still let him go. The relationship lasted only for nine months, and you never really expected anything serious or long lasting from dating someone in college.
But tonight, a friend let the truth slip.
Maki didn't break up with you because he wanted time for his career growth—or whatever bullshit he spouted at you. No.
He has been seeing another omega behind your back. Someone from the same major as you.
It's no surprise that you didn't find out any sooner. Being a fashion major warrants competitiveness and rivals—and you're not exactly well-loved by your fellow designers. You're the notorious omega known for your ridiculous standards, your pride and stubbornness, and your sharp tongue. It's your brilliant designs that get people to at least pretend to be your friends, hoping to steal a bit of your creative talent—but you always smell bullshit from miles away.
So, really, it upsets you that you failed to detect Maki's bullshit first. And people have been keeping it from you because they like to see your downfall.
And what better downfall is there than seeing your ex cheating on you with your fashion rival?
It's not like you liked him to the point of love—no. It's the betrayal that makes your mouth feel dry, heart heavy in ways it never had been before, like an anchor pulling down ships to sink.
Before you know it, you're already outside. The air is too chilly for your skin, amplified by the wet stain on your chest. You bite your lips, on the verge of tears when you're reminded of that perverted alpha.
Another alpha that only caused you humiliation. Really?
How can someone look at you like you're the most divine being one minute, then blatantly stare at your chest the next?
It's beyond you, really. Alphas are just evolutionary failures.
You fish out your phone from your wallet and look for an Uber. You're not too drunk to drive. If anything, you've never felt more sober in your life. It's just skills issue—you just cannot drive. Even when you have a whole damn Porsche in the garage of your family's mansion; a gift from your overly-doting parents who got too excited when you managed to get into fashion school—it still terrifies you to hold the steering wheel.
All of these privileges and wealth, yet no success in the dating department (and driving classes). Your whole life, you have dated a cheater, a closeted alpha who was too scared to tell you that he liked knots better than your pussy, and just a total manchild who sulked back whenever you pouted.
"Seriously," you mutter, confirming your location on the screen. "When will it be my turn to date an actual manly alpha?"
You pause. Now that you think of it, even so-called green-flag alphas give you the ick.
They're just a bunch of performative males. Just look at the college's beloved cheater. Maki was acting like a green forest itself when he was courting you!
None of these alphas can be trusted!
"I will just die single," you decide, closing the app once your driver is confirmed. Your parents have more than enough money to support you anyway.
You stand at the porch in silence, the sound of the bass can be heard faintly through the walls. The stickiness of your shirt is now long forgotten; you've given up thinking about it when the memory of your ex comes back. There are more pressing matters at hand that need your attention.
Like the upcoming fashion week, no doubt will get you into another spiral of self-doubt and stress. Like your parents who keep insisting you meet this one young, handsome bachelor that apparently would be just your type—but you're still hurt by Maki's action that you haven't found the right timing to say yes. Like your favourite cherry Chanel baby tee, now ruined and stained, and you wonder if you should send it for dry cleaning or pay a fortune to scalpers—
"Miss?"
A deep timbre greets your hearing. It's soft and a tad bit familiar, like you've heard it somewhere before.
You turn around and immediately frown when you see him.
It's that perverted alpha.
"What?" You reply, already annoyed. The alpha blinks at you, looking more sober than before. His collar is folded neatly now, and the red tips of his ears are hinting more on shyness than alcohol influence.
He gives you a nervous smile. "I came to apologise."
Tch. Another performative alpha. But this one likes to stare at your chest too much.
You roll your eyes and turn back to the front, wishing for your driver to arrive fast.
"Just save your breath and go. You don't even know what you're apologising for."
One thing you hate about men, especially alphas, is that they never mean their sorry's. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry for everything'. Everything is too generic. They don't have any idea what they apologise for. The phrase has lost its value from how often it flows out of their mouths without meaning.
But this alpha is a bit more stubborn than you think. He shuffles closer, still keeping a safe distance, and stands next to you. Now closer, you can smell the citrusy scent wafting from him—sharp and refreshing, something that reminds you of summer. It has to be his pheromones.
Well, okay. He has sexy pheromones. You'll admit that. Too bad that the owner is already on your blacklist.
"I apologise for spilling my drinks on you and ruining your baby tee," he begins, turning his body facing you. But you refuse to look.
"It's the Limited Edition Cherry Chanel baby tee," you correct him. From your peripheral vision, you can faintly see him grin.
"Yes, I'm sorry for ruining your Limited Edition Cherry Chanel baby tee."
Okay. He's obedient. But it could be performative. Maybe he's just trying to get into your pants. You're not oblivious to how beautiful you look. You know that your family has good genes.
"And I apologise for staring at your chest inappropriately. I came off as a pervert even when I didn't mean to," he breathes out, voice lowering down in shame. "I'm sorry that I made you uncomfortable."
Something tugs at your heart unexpectedly. It surprises you that this alpha actually knows what he's apologising for, unlike your previous exes who only said sorry to get your nagging self off their backs. You shift slightly, unwilling to let this new change get to your head.
"Well, apology heard," you retort, still strong on not letting the alpha get too close—or accepting his apology. "But I'm not sorry for slapping you. So don't expect an apology from me."
An amused chuckle slips past his lips. His lemon scent bursts in the air, sounding too elated for your liking.
What's so funny?
"I guess I deserved it," the alpha, whose name you just realise you never know, replies as he touches his cheek with a brush of his fingers. You take a glance, satisfaction blooming in your chest when you notice the red mark on the tender skin.
That's what alphas like him deserve. Omegas run the world anyway.
You don't bother to say anything, just letting the cold breeze of night wind engulf you. It seeps into your bones, making you shiver almost too aggressively. The driver is still five minutes away, taking suspiciously long time at the red light just in front of a Burger King drive-thru.
You feel eyes on you before you feel his movements. The alpha sheds his trench coat, brushing wrinkles off the fabric before he hands it to you. You almost sigh, both out of relief and annoyance because really, you could use some extra layers right now but seriously, does it have to be in the most cliche, K-drama-worthy situation ever?
"What is this," you flatly ask, unimpressed.
"You're cold."
"How did you know that I'm cold?"
You watch the tip of his ears blush, and then his eyes traitorously drop to your chest before quickly lift up to face you again.
"I just…noticed."
You roll your eyes before looking down. "I know it's soaked, and it's—"
The words die on your tongue.
Your nipples. They're erect from the cold, mounting the thin, drenched fabric of your shirt in deadly-obvious pebbles. You brain dissolves into incoherent blabbering as a heat of embarrassment creeps up your neck. It's seriously the worst day ever to choose not wearing a bra.
You don't know if it's shame, or anger, or both, but when you look up to the now-blushing alpha, there's rage boiling over like a kettle about to whistle.
"I fucking knew it!" You couldn't hold yourself back this time, snatching the coat and smacking the alpha with the fabric. The alpha's eyes widen as he cowers to dodge your attack.
"You're just a pervert!"
"I-I'm not! I'm sorry—ow! Ow!"
You don't relent and keep hitting him with his coat, tears of shame threatening to spill over.
"What are you sorry for, you performative wolf?!" Smack! Smack! "You just ogled at my chest again!"
"I didn't mean to—ow! I'm sorry!"
With one final hit, you throw the coat at his face with all your might. He clumsily catches it, eyes wide with shock. The anger is hot, too hot that the cold doesn't bother you anymore, in fact you think steam might rise from your head in any second. With a huff, you stomp down the porch, ignoring his cries of sorry's from behind.
"I-I'm sorry! It's a misunderstanding! I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable again!"
"Shut the fuck up! You better not show your face anymore!" You flip him off without looking back.
However, upon seeing the Uber driver, you take a U-turn and stomp back to the alpha. His eyes immediately light up, there's a thin layer of moisture in his eyes. Maybe the coat hit his eyes or he's just so performative he'd cry if he could, you don't really care.
"You came back," he breathes out. "I'm sorry—"
"I said shut up!" You yell, already too irritated and overstimulated. While you're at it—embarrassing yourself to the point of no return—you snatch his trench coat and sling it over your chest shamelessly.
The driver is also an alpha, and you're not risking flashing your tits to another pervert.
"I'm taking this. Bye!"
"Wait!"
"And I am NOT returning it!"
With a harsh slam of the door, the car finally drives into the horizon, leaving behind a confused and guilty and perverted alpha as he chases after your Uber. Your chest heaves deeply, adrenaline running hot as your face flushes. You pretend not to notice the bag of chips and burger in the driver's lap, or the way the perverted alpha stands smaller in the side mirror as he watches you leave.
You just hope you never see that alpha again.
You never see that alpha again. However, as if you had personally offended the Earth and the entire Solar system, the Goddess doubles it down and sends your cheating ex to your studio instead.
His presence is too invasive that you feel him before you see him. His pheromones, now making your hair stand instead of providing the comfort that it used to do, breaches your senses when you round the corner. You had just stepped out to get some lunch, already grumpy from resisting your persistent mom and her chosen alpha for you to mate, when you see Maki walk down the hallway like it was his runway.
Your stomach drops. Like it's survival instinct, you turn back around and speed-walk to your studio. It's like a drum war being hit inside your chest, and you hope you're fast enough because you really, really don't want to deal with him right now.
Just as you're about to close the door, a force of Maki's hands pushes it back open. You stumble backwards, eyes wide in surprise as Maki effortlessly slips inside. His body, tall and wrong and crowding, swallows the room like a black hole sucking in the light and leaving you empty and alone in the darkness.
There's a lazy smirk playing at his lips.
"If it's not my favourite ex."
His voice is dripping with honey, a sweet poison that always gets to you no matter how hard you pretend it doesn't. It's sticky and uncomfortable, it makes you squirm and feel like there's something you should be scrambling for. It gets under your skin and Maki always gets the reaction that he wants.
You snap, face pulling into a scowl.
"What do you want, Maki?"
Maki lets your voice fade, acting like he didn't hear you. With his hands in the pockets of his jeans, the young alpha straightens, easy eyes meeting your sharp ones. And when he speaks, the words roll off his tongue so smoothly, like seeing the person he used to love didn't affect him the slightest. Like you didn't have such an impact on him the way he does you.
"Did I cheat, Y/N?"
The question strikes you dumb for a moment, but you recover quickly. Of course. Words spread fast on campus, especially if the source is the frat house. You knew it'd reach Maki eventually, but you didn't expect it to be this fast. It's like every person inside that house was an extension of Maki; the golden boy, the people's favourite, the face painting every cover of magazine.
You try to hide the tremble in your fists.
"You did."
Maki hums noncommittally.
"Do you have proof?"
"Liz told me," your voice grits out, "You'd been fucking around with your new girlfriend since you were with me."
The alpha tilts his head, still wearing that laid-back expression that you wish you could slap off his face. "Did she?"
"Yes. Now get out of here, you fucking stink—"
"Why would she help you, Y/N?" Maki calmly cuts you off, a bored tone in his voice. Like he'd rather be anywhere else but here, like he'd rather deal with a child than you. His smug face makes your skin prickle. You hate how easily he can hit your nerves.
Maki takes a step closer, taunting as ever.
"Had you started thinking that you have friends now?"
It's a soft blow that lands hard in your chest. Maki used to know you, therefore he knows all the ugly parts of you. And seeing him turning every knowledge he has of you into a weapon against you feels like being forced looking into a mirror that you've spent your whole life avoiding.
Your fists shake, nails digging into soft skin, almost drawing blood.
"Even if she lied to me, you got together with your new girlfriend so quick after the breakup," you spit between gritted teeth, holding back more than words. "That told me enough."
Maki is silent for a few heartbeats, his face unreadable.
"So what?"
There's a drop in your heart. Confused, disbelieving. "What?"
"What's wrong with moving on from you so fast? You didn't think you were so special for me to weep around, did you?"
There's a vaccuumed silence that swallows you whole. His words, casually laid out like he was discussing the weather, like the matters of your heart was something he wasn't concerned about, seep into your skin and every fibre of your being. The thoughts turn and curl, igniting a numbing buzz that replays his voice like a broken record.
Special. What's so special about you?
And when even you cannot find an answer, you feel the first crack in your chest.
Maki revels in your silence; in the first sign of submission. His smugness is loud in the studio, his pheromones flaring with dominance. He advances, taking deliberate steps, circling you like a predator assessing its prey.
"You've always been like this. So fiery, so passionate. All this energy yet no particular direction to go to," he drawls out, the words tumbling out lazily. He stops right in front of you, only a few centimeters away, and makes a show of looking around your studio.
He takes in the rumpled fabric, the crumpled sketchbooks, the spilled coffee. It appears as what he just observed: too much energy with no proper control. Loud. Messy. Reckless.
You.
"You can't even keep your studio tidy, Y/N," he breathes out a sigh.
"What's so unforgettable about you?"
When you had first started fashion school, you'd been told by every living person that money couldn't buy talent. No matter how big your mother's name is in the beauty and healthcare industry, no matter how prominent your father is in the automobile sector—you're nothing more than a mundane, passing student if you don't possess talent. And here, people always feel the need to remind you of that fact, especially after learning about the affluent background you come from.
So you learned. It's not like you got here through nepotism, anyway—you got in through your own grit. Your parents had always wanted you to get into med school, and the only thing you're good with when it comes to medicines is drawing the anatomy by hand. That sketch turned into figures and furls and soon, your dream to study fashion finally bloomed.
You have the talent and you have the grit. People always pass you nice compliments and constructive feedbacks you often dwell on—but the sleepless nights didn't really matter when you could finally see your collection walking down the runway front-row. You wear your confidence loudly that sometimes it's easy to forget that some people hate shiny things.
Your designs are so forgettable.
Said the new lecturer one day, tearing your sketchbook apart in front of the whole class came the third semester.
It was humiliating; the kind that burned your skin and the back of your eyes. Your nails cracked under pressure, trying so hard not to shed tears in front of so many pairs of eyes. But no matter how hard you try to reassure yourself, the comment lingers. It becomes an invisible knife that twists each time someone so much as look at your designs the wrong way.
And the first mistake you did was open up about it to someone.
The second mistake was that someone was Maki, of all people.
Because now, that alpha—all pride and arrogance—is throwing back the exact same insult at you right in your reddening face.
What's so unforgettable about you?
What's so unforgettable about you?
What's so unforgettable about you?
"Nothing," Maki finishes, eyes never leaving your face, as if savouring every twitch of hurt in your features.
There's nothing unforgettable about you. Not your designs; someone else probably invented something far more interesting than you. Not your face; you're just another pretty omega in a sea of more pretty omegas. Not your scent; you smell like pastries that people can easily get from any bakery. And certainly not you as a whole.
That's what he meant by it, right?
You're just a plus-one. An afterthought. The reason why skip buttons exist.
A heavy lump forms in your throat.
Maki takes your silence as a win and steps back.
"Now be a good girl and retract your statement. I never cheated on you," he says with conviction that you start questioning your own truth. "It's just your omega hormones messing around with you."
The door closes with a thud, leaving behind a ringing silence, the echo of his insults bouncing off the walls. There's a thin veil of moisture in your eyes, but you refuse to cry.
You refuse to cry for the rest of your time in your studio, trying to fix some of the mess, hating yourself even more when you realise that you care about his comments more than you should.
You refuse to cry on your way home, sitting in silence at the backseat of your Uber, replaying Maki's words in an endless loop that you wish could stop.
You refuse to cry when you have nothing to eat for dinner, stomach growling in hunger for some warm, homecooked meals, yet you have to settle for takeout again.
You refuse to cry when you sit in the middle of your living room, a luxury apartment far too big for one person to live in, trying to eat the soggy noodles and too-drenched fried chicken.
But like any normal human being, you have a heart too—a soft one at that. You can only hold on for so long.
It's hard to ignore the vast, empty space of your apartment; of the two vacant rooms down the hallways; of the single mug, single cutlery set, single-everything because for some reason you half-know and half-not, you just don't have…friends. At least not those who can reach the depths of your being—just fleeting, surface-level friends. Or companion.
Or whatever it was that Maki said that finally got to your head.
The dam finally breaks when you enter your room.
For the first time in your life, your nest that you always keep tidy on the love couch you have by the window, your safe haven where you lie in to find comfort, becomes the spot that you want to avoid the most.
There, arranged into a circle, are all the things that smell like solace and consolation after a rough day—or at least used to. Maki used to be like that—used to be your person, used to be your comfort place. So it's almost pathetic that you are still clinging onto his hoodie, his sweatshirt, the mittens he gave you last winter, the plush bunny that he won at an arcade, for comfort long after the breakup happened.
God, you didn't even want that bunny. You wanted the black cat.
You pick up his hoodie. It's the one he asked you to wear during a movie night, the one he received as a gift from GAP after a modelling gig with them. With shaky hands, you press your nose into the fabric, trying to catch the person who used to care for you—the person he was before he is now.
His scent lingers, faint and fading, but it's still there. Pine and frost, cold and sharp as his features. But instead of the warm feeling that you used to get, his scent makes your stomach twist and churn, a bile rising behind your throat.
The first drop of tears slides down your cheek.
He's no longer your safe space. Hadn't been since that breakup. Hadn't been since the night he kissed another woman behind your back.
Without thinking, you throw the hoodie on the floor. The fabric lands with a soundless thud, but the indication is loud regardless. When you look back at the love couch, the sight almost breaks you into pieces.
Your nest is all destroyed.
With a cry of fury, you lunge, hands tearing his sweatshirt apart next. At your force, the plush bunny tilts sideway, further breaking the perfect circle that used to be your nest.
"It's just a nest," your voice trembles, but the words ring hollow. Inside, your wolf twists and turns, aggressively shaking her head.
A nest is never just a nest.
"I don't care!" you shout, stomping on the plush bunny. "It's not like—it's not like anything would ever comfort me anymore."
Your knees buckle, too worn after carrying the weight of your inner battles for so long. You slump on the floor, sobs wrecking your chest, the sound raw and scratched. As if on instinct, you bring your knees close to your chest, staring at the mess with a solemn, teary gaze.
You don't even know what you're crying for. It's not like you still have feelings for Maki; or at least, there's no positive feelings for him except for lingering resentment and a strong sense of betrayal.
Is it because what the destroyed nest symbolises?
That you're nothing but a lonely, easily-discarded omega?
That nothing will ever be safe enough for you to rely on anymore?
You might act strong on the outside and bite every bullet with squared shoulders, but if only they knew what you truly feel inside.
If only they knew.
A loud, shrill ringing from your phone cuts you off your silent misery. You drag your body to where your mattress is located at the center of your bedroom, your mom's contact name blinking to be picked up.
With a wipe on your cheeks and a sniffle, you answer the phone.
"My lovely daughter! How are you? Are you eating well, sweetheart?"
I just destroyed my nest. "I'm good, Mom. Just had dinner."
"Come visit this weekend! I'll send our chauffeur to you. I'm planning to—"
"Mom."
You look around your room. At the space that feels too big to fill in, the discarded fabric on the floor. Then, at your disheveled reflection in the mirror.
"Yes, daughter?"
You bite your lower lip, trembling. You look like a mess. Just like what Maki had said.
"I wanna go home."
There's a split second of silence before your mom's voice echoes again.
"You mean you wanna move back here, sweetheart?"
"Mhm," you almost sniffle but you catch yourself, not wanting to give yourself away. "I wanna live with you again."
"Oh, my! That means you agree that alpha, don't you?"
Sigh. You almost forgot about that. The silly condition your pouty mom makes if you ever want to live with them again. One that you've been trying to avoid, too busy with the fashion week preparation and planning revenge on your heartbreak.
But is there really anything to lose?
If you agree, you'll be in close proximity with what you'd say your comfort: your family, and the mansion you used to grow up in. A blind date is just free dinner and having an alpha shower your with praises and compliments. You might have to put up with a little bit of boasting here and there, but it's nothing you can't handle.
So long as you can escape this loneliness, even if only for temporary…
"Yeah," you breathe out. "I'll meet him."
Just let me go home to you, Mom.
Park Jongseong's cheek is still stinging.
But instead of acting like any other man who just got slapped would, he's wearing a giddy smile on his face. He's lying down on the couch, his apartment being the hangout spot of the day for the weekend, but thoughts about his friends are scattered away. Jay is absolutely gone and lost in cloud nine, a cherry-shaped cloud wearing the face of a certain beautiful omega that has been running on his mind as of late.
"Geez, this guy has turned crazy," Sunoo shakes his head before he nudges the older alpha. "Jay-hyung, I brought some ice packs for your cheek."
Jay absentmindedly reaches out his hand, barely registering his friend's words. "Sunoo-ya, Britney Spears was right."
Sunoo gives him a deadpanned look and then shoves the ice pack in his face. Jay yelps from the sudden cold contact.
"Ow!"
"Well, if you can't find her, I'm more than willing and capable to hit you one more time in her stead."
The older alpha huffs, pressing the cold compress into his swollen cheek. "You don't understand, Sunoo," he defends, "Her hands were so soft and she's so….beautiful."
"She slapped you."
"I deserved it."
"Yeah, cause you were ogling at her chest."
"I—" Jay gulps. Well, now it doesn't sound so good. "I mean…yeah, I did. I stared too long, in fact. That's why I said I deserved it."
Even while saying so, there's still this stupid smile decorating his handsome face. Sunoo can only shake his head, hands on his hips like a tired mom handling her teenage son's first underage drinking. It sounds that bad because it was that bad.
"I can't believe this is the end of Jay-hyung's gentleman era," Riki snorts from the floor. He's been hogging Jay's latest edition of PlayStation all to himself, secretly eavesdropping the two alpha's conversation.
Jay doesn't take it nicely. "What do you mean? I am still me."
"Mhm. Gentleman by day, boob enthusiast by night. Totally not a pervert."
Jay is open to criticism, especially anything to improve himself. But there's nothing to improve here. Jay is just…in love. Okay, that's a bit too soon. Jay is infatuated would be the best way to describe his situation right now because there's no doubt that he, as in human-Jay, and his wolf, like you.
Yes, in a romantic way. Yes, in a 'he wants to court you' way. Yes, in a 'I need her name and a priest now because he does hope he can marry you' way.
He's everything but he's not a pervert. No. And Jay has a hard time receiving criticism about his personality if it comes from a certain alpha named Nishimura Riki, and another alpha named Lee Heeseung. Call it pettiness or a vendetta, but those two have no right to say shit about him. Right now or ever.
Beside him, Sunoo starts to sigh. "Riki."
"What? At least we know why omegas like you now."
Jay's expression hardens. There's a twitch in his jaw that doesn't go unnoticed by Sunoo.
"What do you mean by that?"
Riki, still not sensing the sudden drop of temperature in the room, casually shrugs. "I'm saying maybe you've always been looking. Heeseung-hyung and I knew better."
A heavy silence blankets the room, suffocating each corner with unspoken rage. Sunoo almost recoils from the sudden bitterness that comes from Jay's pheromones. He casts a worried glance at the wounded alpha.
"Yeah." Jay lets out a quiet laugh. "Because both of you thought I'd steal your omegas."
Riki goes rigid. He puts down the console, finally registering the damage that came out of his mouth. He whips his head around, only to be met with a sharp glare from Jay.
"Jay-hyung…"
"No, let's talk about it." Jay gently pushes away Sunoo's hands that come up to comfort him, putting down the ice pack with calm fury that radiates more heat than if he had shouted. He fixes Riki with a burning glare that could've melted the ice pack.
"Let's talk about how I am always the collateral damage of your love story."
Riki gulps. Truthfully, he has never seen Jay angry. And even when he did, that anger was never directed to him. But this time, being the receiving end of such disappointed eyes, Riki wishes the ground would swallow him whole.
"Jay-hyung, you know I don't mean it like that."
"Which part? The pervert part? Because you and Heeseung surely treat me like one whenever your omegas are around," Jay says, still soft, but the venom is there. "As if I was some horny wolf waiting for the time to pounce on them. Let me ask you, Riki. What was so wrong with wanting to help you when you literally asked me for help?"
"I—I know. You're never wrong—" Riki swallows, too paralysed from how fast the situation took its bad turn. "I just…shit. I'm sorry, hyung. You're such a good alpha—"
"Am I, really? Because with you two, I never feel like one."
Riki tries to say something back, mouth gaping like fish out of water. Jay heaves out a long sigh, ruffling his already-messy hair. As if on cue, the door to his apartment opens and comes in Heeseung, whose eyes immediately widen in alarm upon sensing the tension in the living room.
"What are we fighting about?"
"About your terrible jealousy issues," Jay grits through his teeth, looking up to meet eyes with Heeseung. The latter almost flinches from how sharp his gaze is. Jay takes another deep breath.
"God, you know what? I understand jealousy. I truly do. I wouldn't want any alpha near my omega too. But that would be any alpha but you two. Because I trust you. I trust you so much and it actually," Jay halts for a moment, realising how intense his emotions have been running. But the reassuring pat from Sunoo serves as his motivation.
He needs to say this. He needs to. Otherwise he'd drown in undeserving guilt and shrink himself again.
"It actually hurts when you guys don't feel the same about me."
The tension thickens it could be cut with a knife. Riki's expression crumples, the alpha who's usually prideful and cocky is now in shambles upon seeing his older alpha breaking down like this. Heeseung fails to find any words, the guilt is lodged in his throat that barely any voice would come out, blocking any syllables from being spoken.
"I just wanted to help. My kindness has no underlying meanings. I didn't offer to help because I wanted to have your omega in bed, Riki. I was thinking about you. I was thinking how I could stop you from crying because you were my friend first and it—it hurt to see you cry so much like that."
Jay is still soft. His voice is still gentle, and that's what makes this whole situation uglier. That's what makes the guilt press harder. Both alphas in question could only stare at their feet, reflecting on their actions towards Jay.
"And you, Heeseung. Would you rather have your mate get soaked that night?" Jay doesn't let him answer. "I don't think you would. I couldn't just leave knowing she'd get drenched in the rain, knowing how much my friend cherishes her and would freak out if she got sick."
Heeseung purses his lips. He was so busy mending what was broken with his omega that he didn't realise how much he's been hurting his friend.
The apartment is silent, save for the PlayStation menu playing its music on loop. Riki can't bring himself to look at Jay, perfectly fine with tucking his chin low and hiidng his shame. Heeseung still has a hand on the doorknob, the metal feels cold on his slippery palm.
"Jay-ah…"
"I'll be in my room. I want to be alone for a moment."
The anger has long left his body. All he feels now is exhaustion and relief, like finally putting back a heavy backpack he's been carrying for months.
The three watch as Jay disappears behind the door of his master bedroom. It closes with a gentle click, as if even in anger and disappointment, Jay wouldn't ever be harsh to his friends. Heeseung and Riki immediately let out a breath they didn't know they were holding while Sunoo watches them with amusement.
"It took him a lot of courage to say that, you know." Sunoo takes a seat on the couch, grabbing the console that was left untouched by Riki. "You guys better apologise and make up to him properly."
"I am such an asshole," Riki whines and drapes his body across the couch, letting his head fall into Sunoo's lap despite his protest. "Hyung was right. It's all about trust. And I was acting like an insecure dog."
Sunoo snorts. "You're a big puppy, Riki."
Heeseung is still quiet. The memory of the punch that almost landed on Jay's face still haunts him, even before the confrontation. He knew it needed to be talked about eventually, he just didn't expect it to be in a situation like this. But alas, Jay has been a sponge that absorbs everybody's emotions, the reliable one—it's about time that the patient alpha loses it.
Just as he's about to enter the apartment fully, the door is suddenly pushed open from behind and Heeseung gets shoved inside instead. Immediately, the smell of burnt chocolate fills the air and the insults he prepares for the intruder die on his tongue.
"Sunoo-hyung!" Jungwon barges in, a pout protruding on his lips. "Noona called me his little brother again!"
Oh, Goddess of the Moon. Please protect this friendship.
Heeseung walks silently to his room, ignoring the trio alpha now fighting for Sunoo's attention. Jungwon, however, upon seeing Riki, immediately scowls at the younger. His pout disappears and his complaints die in his throat.
"YOU! Nishimura Riki. You're not cheating, aren't you?"
Riki blinks confusedly.
"Cheating? In FIFA or PUBG?"
"On your girlfriend!"
"Fuck, no!" The blond-haired alpha sits up, taking full offence from the sudden accusation. "I would jump off the cliff first before I'd ever dare cheat on my lovely mate. What the fuck are you on? You know I'm loyal as fuck."
Sunoo pinches his arm. "That's too many curse words, Riki."
Jungwon shakes his head. He pushes the younger off the couch and claims his previous spot, laying his head comfortably on Sunoo's lap. The scandalised look on Riki's face hasn't faded, the alpha is still glaring at Jungwon like he has offended Riki's ancestors.
"Nothing. There was just this omega yelling about getting cheated on during last Friday's party."
"And? What does that have to do with me?"
"The cheater's name is also Riki! You don't know how disappointed and heartbroken I was for those three seconds when I thought it was Nishimura Riki. It turned out to be Hirota Riki," Jungwon nudges Sunoo's hand, urging the older to pat his head. He's still heartbroken, please comfort him, thank you. "I was so close to committing a murder on you that night."
With that explanation, a look of understanding passes Riki's face. He slumps and sprawls on the floor, relief bleeding out of his muscle.
"Oh. That's Maki. Riki C. He's the disgraceful Riki. I don't fuck with him. Not anymore."
"You better not!" Jungwon hisses at him like an angry kitten.
"Wait, so you're Riki B?" Sunoo tilts his head. One of his hands is playing with Jungwon's hair. "Then who is Riki A?"
"The other Riki is Taki, and no, I am Riki D, because this dick—"
"Nishimura Riki!" Sunoo and Jungwon simultaneously yell, drawing out a cheeky laugh from the youngest.
From inside his room, Heeseung could hear the commotion. He shakes his head. Oh, Goddess of the Moon. Please save Nishimura Riki.
Living with your parents has been as peaceful as it can get. Nothing much can be said, considering that it has only been a week.
For the time being, you manage to get your mom off your back about meeting this handsome alpha that she'd like to have as a son-in-law. You hide behind the excuse of being busy with the fashion week, which is not totally a lie.
Fashion week is one of the biggest assessments there is. It means two months of outsourcing high-quality fabrics, sketching and crumpling papers and sketching, hours spent in the studio, finding suitable models for your runway and, the most important part: piecing your imagination and hardwork into a clothing worth wearing and parading.
Which is why you're spending your time in the studio on a Saturday, leisurely going over your sketches again as you wait for your fabrics to arrive. It had been preordered a month ago and the delivery was scheduled today. Precisely, two hours ago.
But you try not to worry. It's only 12 p.m., and there's probably traffic on the road since the working civilians are supposed to be having lunch now. But one hour turns into two. Then another one passes.
Before you know it, it's almost five in the evening, yet there's no sight of a truck or even a ring from the company itself. By the time you dial their office number, you have already done a cherry set on your nails, tidied up the space to accommodate your resources, and even sketched a whole damn new collection.
"Hello, this is The Nakakita. How may I help you?"
The Nakakita. A Japanaese establishment that is owned by the Nakakita family. You wouldn't have gotten in touch with such a prestigious supplier of the Japanese fabric materials had it not been for your cheating ex's connection in the fashion industry.
Maki is all things, and resourceful is one of them.
"Good evening. I'm Y/N. There's supposed to be a delivery for order #1284 today to my studio. Japanese denim, linen cotton, blended silk?"
Well, you might have sounded too demanding. But that's the least of your concern now.
"Oh, Miss Y/N. I'm terribly sorry, but this order was cancelled."
If your jaw could drop down to the ground right now, it would cause a huge-scale earthquake across the city.
"What? I never cancelled it, though?"
There is a sound of clicking on the keyboard from the end of the line. "Um…it was cancelled by the account holder two weeks ago. By Mr. Hirota Riki, approved by the heir himself, Mr. Nakakita Yuma."
What the actual fuck. Two weeks ago was when Maki had confronted you about the rumour spreading about his infidelity. Despite feeling a bit intimidated (not that you'd ever admit), you did no such thing and let his reputation continue to get tarnished. You still firmly believe that he did cheat and whatever manipulation he pulled on you was just an attempt at making you feel miserable.
Not only is his ego as big as he is and a gaslighter, but he is petty, too?!
You let out a disbelieving scoff. Oh my Goddess…That alpha is really something else. As if shattering your dream of having a mate wasn't enough, now he wants to interfere with your career path as well?
What a fucking weirdo.
"So, what happened to all those fabrics? I already paid for the deposit."
"Based on this record, it has been delivered to Miss Kim Areum three days ago and your money is in the process of being refunded back to your bank account."
And as if all of those things weren't enough to pull you under, Maki just has to deliver the final blow to the most sensitive part of your heart.
Of course he'd give those resources to his new girlfriend. Of fucking course.
It's like a cellotape on skin. Peeling it off would sting, taking away your body hair that gives you heat, and leaving sticky residue that wouldn't come off easily. Your relationship with Maki—during and after the breakup—has always left you with this hollow, sinking feeling that weighs heavy on your shoulders.
No matter what you did, if the relationship has ended or not, it'll always leave burn marks that you have been trying so hard to heal. And whether the world has moved on or not, it's always you bearing the ugly aftermath.
"…Miss?"
"I see," you finally speak, voice hoarse from suppressed anger. "Let Yuma know that my attorney will be in contact with your team soon."
"Wait—"
Not letting them finish, you end the call and toss your phone on the couch. Your perfectly blowed hair is now disheveled, untamed by your fingers as you pace the room. There's unshed tears hanging low on your waterline, waiting for the time to fall down, yet you still refuse to give in.
"Fuck!"
It's so unfair. It's so fucking unfair. It wasn't you who left, nor was it you who cheated and being disloyal—yet you are the one who have to pay the price for his crumpling ego? And now he's putting your hard-earned place in the fashion school on the line?
What a fucking manchild.
"What am I supposed to do? Goddess, help me—what am I supposed to do?"
You sink into the couch, the tears now slide down your cheeks with no restraints. There's a choked sob coming out of your throat, your scent souring with every hiccup slipping past your lips.
Time is not a luxury that you can afford now. Confronting Maki would only mess with your head more and result in nothing. You'd love to find a way to sue The Nakakita, but that's a matter that you'd like to solve after the fashion week ends.
Fuck. You barely have two months on your hands, yet you have just lost your resources that you have ordered a month ago. Finding a new supplier would be tough—since not many of them would take indiviual customers due to economies of scale. You are no wholesaler or retailer; catering to you would be expensive for them.
But you have to find a way somehow.
With a shaky hand, you tuck your hair behind your ears and grab your laptop. The tears are uncontrollable at this point, but it's not a sign to give up or stop. Your dainty fingers start typing fast on the keyboard, trying to search for any textile businesses that would make some space for you.
This is not how you imagine your evening would end. You had pictured measuring and cutting fabric pieces to fit your six-piece collection, getting prepared to start assembling them and fitting your models.
Yet here you are, giving calls after calls, accepting rejection after rejection from every business you try to contact. It's exhausting, the tears are now just cracked vulnerbaility on your cheeks. Somewhere along the way, you have accidentally snapped your manicured nails while typing.
"I'm sorry, you have to place an order three months prior in order to secure the fabrics."
This is the sixth one.
You barely hold back a sigh. "I see. Thank you for your time."
You slam your phone on the couch and start rubbing your face. This is hell. You're sure a truck had hit you somewhere on the road and this is your hell, punishing you for being such a bitchy omega to everyone around you.
But how could you not be one when everybody always gives you a reason to protect yourself?
Taking in a shuddering breath, you open your bleary eyes and stare at another line of name on the screen.
Sinar Textile.
It's operating until 8 p.m., which is unusual for many companies. Talking about the time, your stomach growls on instinct, as if reminding you of the skipped lunch and forgotten dinner that you are yet to acknowledge.
"This is the last one," you whisper to yourself. "If this too fails, I will fucking kill Maki."
You punch the number on your phone screen, exhaustion clinging to every movement. It's inhumane to sabotage someone like this; you wonder if you can sue Maki too somehow. He deserves it more than anyone in this world.
It takes five rings before the call gets picked up. A cheery voice greets you.
"Good evening! I am Jake from Sinar Textile. How can I help you?"
You rub your temple, appreciating the friendly tone while it lasts before you start threatening this poor Jake to agree to your proposal.
"Hi. I'm Y/N. I'm looking for a few bolts of fabric for my upcoming collection."
A rustle is heard from Jake's side. "Hello, Miss Y/N. When do you need the fabrics?"
You tap your fingers on your thigh. "Two weeks from now."
There's a few seconds of silence before Jake speaks again. "Are you a wholesaler or a retailer?"
I fucking knew it. "Um," you gnaw at your bottom lip, nerves grating your edges. "Neither. I'm in fashion school, and I need them for my fashion week."
Please. Please accept me. Please take my request. Oh Goddess, this is the least you can do for justice.
But unfortunately, Jake is not your Goddess. "I am sorry, Miss Y/N, but our business strictly provides for wholesaling and retailing establishments only. As for indivi—"
"Please," you let out before you could stop yourself. "I'll take scraps or leftovers. Or even any cancelled order. I'll take anything but please don't turn me down."
You are never one to beg. Especially not to alphas. And while you're not sure about Jake's secondary gender, he's still a man and it still feels humiliating to beg.
But you don't have many choices now, do you? You care more about your degree than your dignity as of now.
The hesitance in Jake's silence is loud. "Miss Y/N, I am a mere part-timer here. I'm afraid I don't have the power to decide."
"Then let me talk to the person in charge, please."
You feel bad for Jake for putting him in a tough spot like this. But to be fair, he's receiving your kindest energy now—since you've lashed out on many other receptionists prior to this call, when you were still brimming with anger.
"Please wait a moment."
You inhale sharply. Is this really happening?
It doesn't take long before a feminine voice takes over the call. "Hello. You're speaking to the CEO of Sinar Textile. I am Mrs. Park."
You straighten up. "H-Hello, Mrs. Park. I apologise for the late disturbance."
The woman hums. "It is not a big deal. My receptionist has told me about your situation. Unfortunately, we do not supply for individuals like you."
The hope blooming in your chest deflates instantly. You close your eyes as you gather your composure.
"I—Please, ma'am. I don't know how to tell you that I desperately need them for my fashion week." For a strange reason, you feel yhe need to give her context. You're no careless student who forgot to book her supplier until last minute—you just got sabotaged. "My supplier terminated our agreement after my…ex-boyfriend intervened."
The woman seems to consider this, as her next words give you a sliver of hopium. "Please email me your sketches. Then I will consider. What's your name again, Miss?"
"Y/N. I am Y/N."
"Y/N?" She repeats, and if you tried to listen hard enough, you'd be able to detect the hint of recognition in her tone. "Great, Miss Y/N. Email me at [email protected], then I will let you know my decision."
Relief floods your senses like a tidal wave. With trembling lips, you try to piece your words together.
"Thank you, Mrs. Park. I—I'll take anything. Leftovers—or any defects. I can do it. Please consider my request."
"No worries, Miss Y/N. I'll get back to you the soonest tomorrow."
And with that, the call ends. You slump in your seat.
You could've gotten the details of their wholesale customers and buy from them, but from experience, you knew that getting the materials directly from the sources is hundreds time better in terms of quality and the price. And you have reports to submit much later on, where your budgeting would be questioned like you just laundered the national income.
Later that night, you arrive home with this aching need to be comforted. Instead of a pile of all the soothing scents you've encountered in your life, you open the door to your empty bed, void of any nest. Your mom's bedroom is just one door away, but it's too late to ask for cuddles, isn't it?
You open your wardrobe, staring at the empty spot where your nesting blankets used to be.
"It's just a nest," you convince yourself. "I'll feel better after waking up."
Completely ignoring the twisting pain in your gut, you settle yourself under the cover after washing up.
Sundays are fun days, and this time, your kind of fun is rushing your chauffeur to take you to your studio and threatening him into disregarding every traffic rule he's ever learned about.
"Miss, the light is red."
"I don't care."
"We will get fined."
"I will pay," you urge.
The chauffeur closes his eyes. "Please don't tell your mother."
And that's how a fifteen-minute drive could be cut into ten minutes of ride only. Your thanks barely leaves your lips as you rushes out, trying your best to look put-together while also lightly sprinting to the private studio that you've rented since your first year, located inside the university compound.
This morning, you woke up to an email from Sinar Textile. Mrs. Park, bless her heart—seems so taken with your sketches and has decided to give you some leftovers of their previous arriving batch from Japan. It's like the Goddess has finally taken pity on you overnight, and proving that the evil shall perish altogether (Fuck you, Maki).
You spend the entire ride mentally redesigning half your collection. Leftovers are more than enough. You'll make them work. You always do.
By the time you reach the studio, your mood has improved significantly.
There are bolts of fabric, stacked near the door to your studio. Two men wearing short-sleeved Polo stand around the stack, chatting with each other while waiting for your arrival. You waste not even a second and approach them faster.
"Good morning!" You greet them enthusiastically, so unusually you, but you're too giddy to care. "Are you from Sinar Textile?"
The shorter of the two greets you back, a puppylike smile stretching wide on his face. "Hello! You must be Miss Y/N. I'm Jake, and this is Sunghoon. We are the part-timers from Sinar Textile."
The latter bows to you. Up close, you finally notice the wolf ears nestling among his pitch-black hair. Oh, so he's a wolf hybrid. No wonder his pheromones are still strong to your nose despite the thick scent patch glued to his neck.
Well, first of all—Sinar Textile sure hires only super good-looking guys to work with them. If you weren't so into your post-breakup feelings, you might think about asking for their numbers after this.
"Nice to meet you two. Now, shall we?"
"We're waiting for Jay."
Your brow jumps at that. Who is that? "Jay? Is he supposed to be here?"
"Yeap! He went to take the last bolt of your Japanese denim—oh there he is!"
You know the saying, every good thing comes with a price? While yes, there is a price tag to every bolt of fabric tha you receive from Sinar Textile today—apparently, there is a hidden tax that you have to pay the Goddess for granting you with this opportunity after Maki's stupid stunt yesterday.
And that tax is Jay. Or more precisely, if your memory hasn't betrayed you—the pervert alpha from the frat house party a few weeks ago.
There he is indeed, walking down the hallway in a similar black Polo shirt. He's carrying a bolt of Japanese denim, but does he have to carry it on his shoulder like that? It looks so show-off-y, what with the way his biceps stretch against the sleeves, bulging muscle straining under the weight of the fabric. His face is as handsome as you remember it, and without the dim light of the porch, every cut of his face is clearer for your eyes to see now in broad daylight.
Damn it. Why does he have to be so infuriatingly good-looking?
Your smile has never dropped so fast, but it's the opposite case for the alpha, because as soon as he recognises you—you've never seen a smile light up so fast.
"Cherry?"
You could barely tone down your irritation. Who the hell is Cherry?
"Are you the other part-timer?"
Jay blinks confusedly. He glances at the clipboard in his hand, and then his eyes widen imperceptibly.
"Oh—I apologise. You're Miss Y/N, right?"
"Yes, that's me," you narrow your eyes at him. But Jay only smiles back. "And you are Jay."
His eyes shine—what the heck?—at the mention of his name. "You know my name? It's actually Park Jongseong, but you can call me Jay. It sounds better when you say it."
You try to ignore the offended gasp coming from Jake.
"Are you flirting with me?"
"I'm not!" Jay is fast to deflect, shaking his head when you only stare at him thretaeningly. "I just—I think—I just want to…talk to you?"
Jake and Sunghoon wince from sheer awkwardness.
"Aren't you here for Sinar Textile?"
"Yes."
"Then we're here strictly for business. I am going to open my door and you three will carry the bolts inside, and then you leave. Understand?"
If Jay were to have wolf ears like Sunghoon, they'd droop like wilting flowers from your tone alone. "I understand," he gives in, then shoots a serious look at two of his friends behind you.
"Boys, let's get moving!"
Jake springs up with a salute. "Aye aye, captain!"
You sigh and unlock the door to give way to them. The three boys lift two bolts at the same time, marching in like soldiers ready for the battlefield. Jay stops briefly in front of you, and you prepare another scolding if he tried to say something absurd again.
"Where would you like these?"
You almost falter by the unexpected, but you don't let it show. "At that corner. I tidied up that space for these bolts yesterday."
Jay nods and wordlessly steps further inside. You watch as the three men move effortlessly together, avoiding mannequins and putting down the bolts gently like true experts. They seem close, judging by how at ease they are with each other. Probably just three best friends working part-time together to kill the time while gaining extra pocket money.
Jake, being the first one to reach the corner, claps his hands and looks around. There's amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Wow, this is my first time at the fashion building and I already got to be in a private studio."
You quirk up an eyebrow. "Are you from around here?"
There's a surprised chuckle from the beta. He slaps a hand on Sunghoon's shoulder, but the wolf hybrid barely budges.
"Yeah, we attend this university too! I am from engineering, Sunghoon is from law school, and Jay is from the business department—obviously, if he wants to inherit this company."
Your curiousity is growing like a moving snowball. "Inherit…?"
"Sinar Textile is owned by his parents. He's just doing this on the weekend when he's got nothing to do with his basketball team," Jake casually says like he didn't just drop the bombest bomb you've heard the entire week.
That says a lot, considering The Nakakita incident yesterday.
And—What?! Sinar Textile is—what—so Mrs. Park is his mother?
You are left with no words. Not that you could muster anything, when said guy is already speaking. "Stop referring to me like I'm not in the same room as you."
Jake pouts at that. "Well, you're busy with your clipboard, so why not?"
"I am counting the inventory and preparing the invoice for Miss Y/N," Jay smoothly says, while he's scribbling something on the clipboard. You ignore the efficient way his hand moves, the veins popping on his forearms, and the pout he makes when he's focusing.
When he chances you a glance, you scowl back at him. The alpha only smiles.
It's so irritating. Why does he keep smiling?
"Alright boys, get back to the van. I'll follow you after I'm done with the invoice."
"Stop bossing me around! We are the same age!" Jake protests.
"Well, technically, I am your boss."
"A boss baby! You are not even the CEO yet!"
Sunghoon only sighs and drags Jake by the arm to follow him. He stops momentarily in front of you, gives you a short bow and a 'thanks'—that you reply back with a 'thanks' too, what the heck?—before he leaves with the beta. Jake waves his hand at you, his previous pout melting into a wide grin.
"See you again, Miss Y/N!!! Please invite me to your fashion week!"
If it weren't for Sunghoon's tail and wolf ears, you'd think that Jake was the hybrid. Probably golden retriever—that seems to suit him more.
It's only when Jay clears his throat that you're reminded you're left alone with him in this studio. Instinctively, you back into the door, putting more distance between the two of you. Jay doesn't seem to mind or take offence, he just gives you that easy smile that's been putting you on edge since fifteen minutes ago.
"Two bolts for Japanese denim, linen cotton, and blended silk each. This is your invoice. You may make the first payment when we send you an email," Jay speaks, his tone professional, as he hands you a piece of paper the size of A4. "Please sign here."
You take the pen painfully slowly, trying to avoid any physical contact, and sign.
"If you need anything more, please feel free to contact me." You glare at him. "Or any of us, really! But don't hesitate—my mom told me to put you on our priority list."
There he goes again. Typical alpha trying to flirt his way into your pants. As if you had forgotten about his perverted gaze a few weeks ago!
You cross your arms and dare to look into his eyes. "Thank you. I will contact Jake."
Jay purses his lips. "That's great. Jake works every Saturday and Sunday, while Sunghoon works after 3 p.m. on weekdays. Please feel free to reach out."
He opens his mouth, seemingly to add something, but decides against it when he smiles instead.
"It's actually nice to see you again," he mutters almost quietly, his tone soft and delicate, the grip of professionalism loosening. "I've been hoping I could run into you again."
But you're not easily swayed by sweet-faced alphas like him. "So you can, what, stare at my chest again?"
Jay's ears perk and blush a deep shade of pink. "What? No! Y/N—" he shakes his head, eyes pleading. "I really meant it when I said that I didn't mean to! I swear I'm not a pervert. Please forgive me."
"But you still stared."
"I…did." His voice becomes quieter, the confession feels like cold air hanging in the studio.
Jay shifts in place. The way you stare at him all cold and menacingly seems to undo him more than anything. From where he stands, he can catch a whiff of your scent—the sweet cherry that's been haunting him since that night.
You're so pretty even when you're mad, glaring at him like some kind of a criminal like this. A sight that he's not used to, because people often look at him like an angel sent from the Goddess as an apology on behalf of the alpha population.
"Y/N," he begins, already making up his mind. Your name falls easily from his lips now that he finally gets the chance to know it. "I would like to apologise. I made you feel uncomfortable twice, and probably unsafe, too. I deserved to get beaten more than what you did that night."
"Yeah, I should poke your eyes for good measure. Making sure your eyes don't stare at omegas like that again."
"I don't do that with other omegas, though. Only with you."
"So, congratulations? I'm your first victim?"
Jay panics. "No!"
"Your favourite victim?"
"No!"
"Your exclusive victim?"
"Please stop saying victim."
"Then stop staring at my boobs. You're doing it again." The corner of your lips lifts when the crimson on his ears deepens. Okay. It's kind of fun teasing him, and truthfully, you're no longer that upset from his behaviour that night.
"No, I'm sorry," Jay dips his head lower, staring at his feet, not catching your intention. "It's very wrong of me. I sincerely apologise. Please forgive me."
Your heart does something strange. The sincerity in his voice is unlike any other you've heard from not even a single alpha before. It's raw with honesty and vulnerability, like he actually spends every night dwelling on this mistake of a first impression he had made of himself.
But you say nothing. You simply stare at the alpha whose eyes are remorsely fixed on the ground.
"I know you probably don't trust me."
You snort. "Obviously."
"But I hope one day you'll feel safe around me."
There it goes again—your heart, lurching like Jay was a K-drama main lead saying something corny to win the heroine over. But this is not fiction, and Jay is not your alpha, nor are you his omega.
"Are you threatening me with a next time?"
He shifts again. "May I earn another first impression someday?"
You almost scoff at that. You wish there's no next time or someday! ...Though, you admit, if you put aside the two—or three if you count just now—times he stared at your boobs, it has been quite alright to talk to him.
He just has this aura that puts people at ease around him. Maybe it's his face, or the citrusy scent coming from him that easily tops every other masculine pheromones you have ever sniffed, but Jay just has a way with words that makes you feel like old acquaintances.
Whatever. A pervert is still a pervert!
"Actually, my family has chosen an alpha for me."
Jay's smile falters. "Oh."
You lift your chin proudly. "Yeah! Apparently his family is very wealthy, and he's ridiculously handsome too."
Jay only blinks at you, taking every hint of rejection like a champ. "I see. I mean—that's what you deserve. An omega like you doesn't deserve anything less than that."
Your eye twitches. Why is he so damn good with words? You can't tell if it's genuinelt who he is or if it's all performative. And that infuriates you.
With a newfound determination to flaunt an unknown alpha, you triumphantly nod. "And everyone says that he's the most perfect gentleman. My mom said that he's—" How was he again? "—Very capable and hardworking. I can't wait to marry him!"
Now, you're pushing it. You don't want to marry that alpha. Hell, you're just about to accept the dinner invitation after this!
"That's good…" Jay scratches his cheek. Damn it. Jay realises that you're really trying hard to reject him, even when he hasn't said explicitly that he likes you.
But Jay is a man who can take a hint.
"That's quite a reputation. I really hope he treats you well."
"He will."
Jay purses his lips, trying to swallow down his disappointment. Of course. A pretty omega like you is rarely ever single or unclaimed, even though he doesn't see any mark on your nape or sense any alpha presence around your scent.
Sigh. Just as he finally found an omega that he genuinely likes.
"I wish you and your alpha the best, Miss Y/N." Jay lowers himself to a 90-degree bow. "Thank you for trusting Sinar Textile, and I'm sorry again."
And with that, Jay takes his leave, until the echo of his footsteps fades into oblivion. Once you're confident that you're out of his earshot, you instantly fish for your phone and call your mother.
"Mom!"
"Hello darling~ Did everything go well with the shipment?"
You bite your nails. "Yes, yes it did. Mom, I need your help."
"What is it, sweetheart? Have you finally decided to buy that new handbag from Bonia?"
"No, Mom. I think," you close your eyes and sigh exasperatedly. Truly, there's no one else that puts you in worst case scenarios but yourself and your life decisions.
"I think I'm ready to meet that alpha that you like so much."
As expected, your mother squeals into the phone and you have to force your phone away from your ears.
Great.
Now you have to mentally prepare yourself to sit with an alpha boasting about his wealth and alpha-ic achievements for approximately two hours.
All because you wanted to avoid Jay.
Or so you thought.
Of course, fate—the little evil author that it is—decides that humiliation ritual would be the perfect trope for your failing love life.
Because why the hell are you seeing Jay coming out of the black Mercedes now parked in your mansion?!
"Mom!" You whisper-yell, already halfway bolting upstairs when you see him and his parents start walking towards the door of your house. "You said that the alpha's name was Park Jongseong!"
Your mom, who's been gushing over how handsome and perfect Jay is for you from behind the curtain where the both of you are spying on the newly-arrived guests, only nudges your shoulder gently.
"He is Park Jongseong. And those are Mr. and Mrs. Park."
"No! That's—that's Jay!"
Your mom coos, fanning her face dramatically and turning to your father. "Oh my, honey, did you hear that? They're already on nickname terms with each other."
You feel like climbing the stairs and purposely falling and rolling down to the ground.
This cannot be real!
"Wait," your mother suddenly stops her dramatic gesture. She fixes you with a curious gaze, eyes squinting suspiciously.
"How do you know him?"
Maybe jumping would be faster and easier.
On the other side of the door, Jay has been fiddling with the collar of his suit for the tenth time. Beside him, Mrs. Park is frowning, swatting at his hand when he reaches for his tie again.
"Why are you fixing your tie again? It already looks perfect."
Jay swallows. "I don't know."
No, he actually knows why. Jay has never been able to lie truthfully—an irony that always amuses his friends. His body is vibrating with never-ending nerves ever since he had reluctantly agreed to his mother's planned family dinner with the omega she has taken a liking too.
Yeap. To put it simply, Jay is nervous.
And his mother catches it, if the soothing accent of her scent is telling something. "You'll like her," she convinces. Then, as if it was an afterthought, she adds, "You already met her."
If Jay was shocked, he didn't let it show.
Well, it doesn't matter, does it? When his wolf and himself have been so captivated by you.
Whoever this omega is, Jay wants to apologise in advance. He thinks he needs a couple of months to properly move on from the wonder of you before he'll be ready to accept any dating arrangement again.
"If you're confident that I'll like her, then I hope she's the person I have on my mind, Mom."
And that is the truth. If he had already met this omega and his mother's instincts are sure that he'd fall for her—then it can't be no one else but you.
Jay had crossed paths with many omegas. He had been flirted with, pursued, and even outright confessed to more times than he could count, yet no one had occupied his thoughts quite like you.
And to think that you're spending your time with another alpha…
Jay swallows down the bitterness and forces his pheromones to calm down.
Too lost in his frantic, chaotic mind, Jay hasn't realised that he's already standing in front of the door. It swings open before any of them could press the doorbell, revealing a beautiful couple and…
"Cherry?"
His cherry.
When the scowl appears on your face, Jay feels like a diver finally coming up to the surface for air. The nerves that have been jagging every edge vanish almost instantly, now replaced with a relief so profound it feels like being given a second chance at life again.
It's really. Really. You.
"It's Y/N, you dummy."
That hostile gaze. That frown and unfriendly tone.
It's really you.
The smile that spreads across Jay's face is so hopelessly fond that Mrs. Park immediately knows she doesn't have to do any matchmaking tonight. Your frown deepens, hating the blatant display of joy that's coming from him.
What is he so giddy about?!
Meanwhile, your mother is completely oblivious to the glare you're shooting at him.
"I told you, they're already using endearments for each other!"
You hope the ground could swallow you.
Jay hopes the ground could move and bring him closer to you.
bf!heeseung who can’t sleep without you, no matter how sleepy he is. whether it be you in his bed, limbs tangled up together, or even just on the phone so he can hear your soft breaths.
bf!heeseung who’s a sucker for any kind of skinship. he’s always touching you in some sort of capacity, and he always has to take it up a notch too. holding hands? he’s playing with your fingers and tracing small shapes on your palm. cuddling? best believe you guys are skin-to-skin with his hands all over you.
bf!heeseung who cannot stay still for the life of him. you guys are watching a movie? he’s bouncing his leg, changing positions 5 times, laying his head on your lap, sitting up to hold you, the list goes on. it’s always something with him!
bf!heeseung who seeks your approval in anything he does. he loves and cherishes you so much, of course your opinion matters to him!
bf!heeseung who sends you voice messages rambling about the most random things, going on and off track multiple times, and then later apologizes for doing so. to which you reassure him that you don’t mind. you love listening to him ^^
bf!heeseung who absolutely has to hold your hand whenever he’s gonna cum :( the feeling is just so overwhelming and he needs you to keep him grounded
bf!heeseung who loves to cum inside you AND at the same time!!! he says it helps him feel closer to you. isn’t he so sweet? </3
if anyone wants me to expand on any of these lmk!! don’t be shy bc i genuinely find this so fun ><
where heeseung has to hold your hand whenever he’s gonna cum. it’s non-negotiable!! the feeling is just so overwhelming and he needs you to keep him grounded. and don’t even get him started on cumming inside you.
he finds himself subconsciously holding his breath, eyes screwed shut, and hands clenching onto the sheets beside your head. you notice and tap his wrist, signaling him to loosen up. interlocking hands, you remind him to breathe and let himself feel.
he’s already got you in missionary but he needs you closer. he can’t help it, the way you’re being so gentle and loving with him has him so so turned on :( this is all he’s ever wanted and he wants to give you everything, make you feel everything.
your grip on his hand tightens when he leans down, pushing some hair out of your face and kissing you sweetly. at least, this is what he considers sweet in his fucked out state. the kiss is wet and sloppy as he helplessly laps at your mouth, leaving you struggling to keep up.
his desperation grows, hiking your leg up and doubling down on his thrusts, plunging into you. he’s so deep but he’s whining that it’s “s’not enough” :( you’re not sure how to help such a lost cause, so you just lay there, letting him use you while you praise him.
“oh fuck, gonna cum..” he groans, squeezing your hand and pressing his forehead to yours. his face slips to squish his cheek up against the side of your face with a whine. “please say you’re close, too. can’t hold it”
you nod and squeeze his hand thrice in response, a silent ‘i love you’ that causes his hips to stutter as he spills inside you. your orgasm follows not long after, coating him in your sticky arousal. he’s practically spent as he continues to ride out his high, filling you up with ropes of his cum ^_^
can u tell i love his lil macbook photoshoot? ugh he’s too cute
‘well, do you like it?’ jake sticks his tongue out,
you slowly raise your fingers to skim against the cold metal, looking up to meet your boyfriends eyes.
you nod cheerfully, ‘yeah! it’s cute’
jake’s—equally as freezing hands—slide up against your warm arms, pushing you down to the bed gradually.
‘then… should we test it out?’
you don’t have time to respond before jake reaches for the waistband of your shorts, pulling them off swiftly.
he meets your eyes with his own, noticing your hesitant nod. he briskly removes your panties, his mouth practically drooling at the sight. the slight touch of his lips onto your hypersensitive clit was enough to make your legs jolt.
jake’s hands reaches up to your inner thighs, spreading them further with his palm. you can’t help but let out a whimper at the chilling metal intertwining with your puffy folds.
‘stay still for me baby, okay?’
you answer him by threading your fingers in between his soft, messy hair—causing him to hum straight into your clit, a gentle moan escaping your throat at the vibrations.
his tongue dips into your entrance before frustratingly moving back up, the tongue piercing adding an extra layer of pleasure overwhelming your senses. the moans spilling out your mouth were uncontrollable now, the heavy dam in your lower stomach threatening to burst at any moment.
as soon as the cold metal and his warm tongue thrusted inside of you, the knot immediately snapped—creaming his mouth.
jake doesn’t stop though, he uses your stickiness to suck harder.
despite your protests, he continues to abuse your sweet spot with his tongue. the sounds leaving your mouth were pathetic, the stiff metal adding even more stimulation — it was just enough for the weak knot to break once again.
jake finally releases his mouth off of you, his chin covered in your fluids. he licks his lips lightly before pushing himself up. he bashes his lips onto yours, leftovers of spit and arousal dripping down your throat.
‘i think you really like it’ jake giggles before gliding his hand down to your stomach, clearly not satisfied yet.
kiki’ thoughts: omg first non heeseung post on this acc…. nervous :(((( but uhhh this def not my best but i hope u enjoy anon!! …. .𖥔 ݁ ˖
in which ° you drunkenly call your ex boyfriend heeseung in the middle of the night, asking him to come over. you done expect him to actually do it, until he turns up later, destroying you, then putting you together again as well as fixing your relationship
warnings ° smut, mdni 18+, exes to lovers, rough sex, dom!hee, sub!rea, gentle sex, aftercare, makeup sex, if theres anything else let me know
word count ° 1.1k
taglist ° @ikeuscape open!!
🫧claudias whisper ° i really enjoyed writing this!! i had a random idea while listening to 'hate that i made you love me' by ariana grande and i DONT PLAY ABOUT MY BABY ARIANA so i just had to write it
The silence of your apartment had become a suffocating weight, especially over the last few weeks. Every corner of the room held a ghost of Heeseung—the scent of his cologne on a forgotten hoodie, the indentation on the mattress where he used to sleep.
The breakup had been messy, a collision of pride and misunderstandings that left you both shattered and stubborn.
Tonight, however, the silence was drowned out by the rhythmic thrum of bass from a nearby bar and the burning slide of tequila down your throat. You were far past the point of rational thought. The alcohol had stripped away your resolve, leaving only a raw, aching hunger for the one person you weren't supposed to want.
Your fingers trembled as you dialed his number. You expected it to go to voicemail. You expected him to have blocked you. But when he picked up on the third ring, his voice was a low, gravelly rasp that sent a shiver straight to your core.
"What the fuck do you want, (y/n)?"
The roughness in his tone didn't deter you; it ignited something. "I miss you," you whispered, your voice thick and slurred. "I fucking miss you so much it hurts."
There was a long pause, the sound of his heavy breathing filling the line. "You're drunk," he stated, but there was a tremor of desire in his voice that betrayed him.
"Come over," you challenged, a sudden spark of desperation hitting you. "Or are you too scared?"
The line went dead. You slumped against your wall, wondering if you'd just pushed him too far, until forty minutes later, the lock on your front door clicked open. Heeseung stormed in, looking like a storm cloud in a black t-shirt and jeans, his eyes dark and turbulent. He didn't say a word as he slammed the door shut behind him, the sound echoing through the hallway.
He marched toward you, his presence overwhelming. Before you could even breathe, he had you pinned against the wall, his hands gripping your wrists and slamming them above your head.
"You think you can just call me and demand I come here?" he growled, his face inches from yours. His breath smelled of mint and something sharp, his eyes scanning your flushed face with a mixture of anger and longing.
"I didn't demand," you gasped, your chest heaving against his. "I asked."
"You're a brat," he hissed. He didn't kiss you gently. He crashed his lips against yours in a bruising, desperate collision. It wasn't a reunion; it was a war. He bit your lower lip hard enough to make you moan, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth to claim every inch of you.
He released your wrists only to grab your thighs, hoisting you up. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirt riding up to your hips. He groaned into your throat, his teeth grazing your skin, leaving marks that would surely be purple by morning.
"I hated you for calling me," he muttered against your skin, his voice vibrating through your chest. "I've spent every night trying to forget how you taste."
He carried you to the bedroom, not bothering to be careful. He dropped you onto the mattress and stripped his shirt off in one fluid motion, revealing the lean, hard muscles of his chest and stomach. You reached for him, but he stepped back, his eyes narrowing.
"Not yet," he commanded.
He stripped you with a rough efficiency, ripping your lace panties aside rather than sliding them off. He didn't use lubricant; he didn't use patience. He knelt between your legs, his large hands gripping your hips and bruising the skin as he pulled you to the edge of the bed.
He entered you in one heavy, punishing thrust. You screamed, the sudden fullness stretching you wide, a mixture of pain and overwhelming pleasure crashing over you. He didn't slow down. He began to fuck you with a rhythmic, violent intensity, his cock slamming into your pussy with a wet, slapping sound that filled the room.
"Tell me you're mine," he demanded, his voice a guttural command. He reached down, his thumb grinding hard against your clit while he continued to drive deep into you. "Tell me you're still mine, (y/n)."
"I'm yours!" you sobbed, your head tossing back against the pillows. "I've always been yours, Heeseung! Please, don't stop!"
The roughness peaked as he flipped you over, forcing you onto your hands and knees. He gripped your hair, pulling your head back so he could whisper in your ear while he hammered into you from behind. Every thrust hit your cervix, sending jolts of electricity through your spine. He was relentless, his body a machine of heat and friction, driving you closer and closer to the edge.
Just as you felt your walls begin to tighten, Heeseung let out a low, animalistic growl. He lunged forward, burying himself as deep as possible, and came with a force that made your entire body shudder. You followed immediately after, your orgasm ripping through you in violent waves, your pussy clamping tight around him as you both collapsed into a heap of tangled limbs and sweat.
As the adrenaline faded, the atmosphere shifted. The anger that had fueled the sex evaporated, leaving behind a raw, aching vulnerability. Heeseung didn't pull away immediately. Instead, he rolled over, pulling you tightly against his chest.
The roughness was gone. His touch became tentative, almost reverent. He began to kiss the crown of your head, his lips soft and lingering.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry for how I acted."
He shifted, gently lifting you to carry you into the bathroom. He didn't let you walk. He sat you on the counter and took a warm washcloth, carefully cleaning the remnants of their passion from your skin. He was meticulous, his movements slow and tender, ensuring you were comfortable.
Once you were clean and dressed in one of his oversized shirts, he led you back to the bed. He tucked the duvet around you, then climbed in beside you, pulling you into the crook of his arm. He spent the next hour just holding you, rubbing slow circles into your back, whispering apologies and admissions of how much he had suffered in the silence.
"I can't do this anymore," he murmured, kissing your temple. "I can't be without you. I don't care who was right or who was wrong. I just want you back."
You looked up at him, your eyes misty. "I don't want to be without you either."
He leaned down, kissing you—not with the violence of before, but with a sweetness that brought tears to your eyes. It was a promise, a reconciliation sealed in the quiet of the midnight hour.
"We'll fix it," he promised, tightening his grip on you. "I'm not letting you go again."
ᦸ 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌𝗍’𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗇!𝗃𝖺𝗄𝖾🧁 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗇𝗍!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 22.3k ⠀˃̵ᴗ˂̵⠀ first times NSFW corruption kink religous allusionsㅤ reblogs&kisses
You hated the town long before you learned its name.
Your father insisted that hatred was a strong word, one that people reached for too quickly whenever life refused to accommodate them. Still, he had never understood that some places possessed the uncanny ability to reject you before you had even crossed their borders. Hatred, in your opinion, implied familiarity; this feeling was stranger than that. It was instinctive, immediate, almost animalistic, settling somewhere beneath your ribs the moment the highway dissolved into narrow country roads lined with skeletal oak trees and weathered fences whose peeling white paint looked as though it had been touched by every season except change. The farther the city disappeared in the rear-view mirror, the more oppressive the silence became, until even the hum of the old Ford sounded intrusive against the vast stretches of open fields and endless blue sky.
Chicago had always been loud enough to drown out your thoughts.
This place seemed determined to make you listen to every single one of them.
The moving truck rolled slowly down Maple Street, its engine grumbling as though it, too, objected to the destination, and you rested your forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window while watching the neighbourhood reveal itself slowly. Every lawn had been trimmed within an inch of perfection. Every mailbox stood upright instead of leaning drunkenly toward the road. American flags fluttered from polished porches despite there being no holiday worth celebrating, and flowerbeds burst with arrangements of roses whose petals looked too immaculate to have survived wind or rain. Even the children riding bicycles seemed strangely choreographed, calling cheerful greetings to neighbours who knew each of their names, their laughter carrying through the warm spring air before disappearing beneath the distant toll of church bells.
Your father finally slowed the truck in front of a modest two-storey house with pale blue shutters and a wraparound porch. He turned off the engine without saying anything, gripping the steering wheel for several seconds while cigarette smoke drifted lazily from the one balanced between his fingers. The divorce had split everything neatly down the middle—house, furniture, bank accounts, holidays—but no one asked where eighteen-year-old daughters wanted to go. Your mother stayed in Chicago with the apartment she'd fought tooth and nail to keep. Your father accepted a new job three states away because "there was nothing left" back home.
"You can take whichever room you want," he said eventually, still looking through the windshield instead of at you.
It was such an ordinary sentence that it almost made you laugh.
Not Are you okay?
Not I'm sorry your life fell apart because ours did.
Typical.
You climbed out before he could say anything else, letting the truck door slam harder than necessary, and inhaled air that smelled overwhelmingly of freshly cut grass and damp earth instead of gasoline, hot concrete, and rain-soaked asphalt. The breeze carried the scent of lilacs from somewhere nearby, sweet enough to become cloying after only a few breaths, and the oppressive neatness of the neighbourhood wrapped itself around you with the suffocating gentleness of a freshly washed bedsheet.
It didn't feel real.
It felt staged, like someone had built an entire town from the collective memories of people who believed America had once been simpler than it actually was.
Your father lit another cigarette almost immediately after finishing the first.
"Apparently," he muttered, exhaling smoke toward the afternoon sky, "the pastor lives next door."
You followed his gaze without much interest.
The neighbouring house was much older than yours, its white clapboard walls softened by decades of climbing ivy that curled around the porch railings in thick emerald vines. Rose bushes bloomed beneath every window, their crimson blossoms almost unnaturally vibrant against the white paint. While rows of lavender swayed gently beside a stone pathway leading toward the front steps.
A woman emerged from the garden carrying a wicker basket balanced against her hip, and even from across the lawn there was something effortlessly graceful about the way she moved, brushing loose strands of dark hair behind her ear before looking toward the moving truck with an expression that immediately softened into a welcoming smile.
She waved.
Your father waved back with awkward enthusiasm.
You offered the smallest possible nod.
The woman didn't seem offended by your lack of warmth. If anything, her smile only widened before she disappeared inside the house, leaving the front door open behind her as though expecting someone else to follow.
"You could try being polite," your father remarked.
"I nodded."
"You looked like you were attending a funeral."
"I kind of am."
The words escaped before you could stop them.
Your father didn't answer; he simply looked away, crushing the cigarette beneath his shoe with more force than necessary before opening the truck and beginning to unload boxes in silence.
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Your bedroom overlooked the street.
It wasn't particularly large, but the slanted ceiling and wide window gave it the illusion of space, and if you ignored the floral wallpaper left behind by whoever had lived there before, it might even have been pleasant. You left every box untouched, stepping instead toward the window where the neighbourhood stretched beneath the late afternoon sun in quiet perfection. From here, the church dominated everything.
It stood only a short walk away, its white steeple rising confidently above the rooftops until it became the highest point in town, casting a long shadow that crept slowly across the surrounding streets as the sun drifted westward. The stained-glass windows caught the light in fractured colours, spilling ribbons of sapphire, crimson, and gold across the stone walls, and every hour the bell announced itself with unwavering certainty, as though reminding the entire town exactly where its heart resided.
You had never been particularly religious.
Your mother claimed belief was something people found when they were desperate enough. Your father claimed nothing at all.
Still, there was something undeniably magnetic about the building—not welcoming, exactly, but impossible to ignore. It possessed the quiet confidence of institutions that had existed long before the people inside them and fully expected to remain standing long after everyone currently alive had become names carved into marble.
The longer you stood there, the more impossible it became to convince yourself that the church was simply another building.
Every street curved toward it, every sidewalk appeared to lead back to its weathered stone steps, and even the houses seemed arranged in quiet deference, as though generations of families had built their lives around its presence without ever questioning why. It reminded you less of a place of worship than of a watchtower, standing silently above the town with the patient certainty that everyone, eventually, regardless of where they wandered, would find themselves returning to its doors.
With a quiet sigh, you stepped away from the window and looked around your bedroom for the first time. Brown cardboard boxes towered against one wall with your mother's handwriting still scrawled across the tape in black marker—BOOKS, WINTER CLOTHES, BEDROOM—small pieces of a life that no longer existed packed away as though memories could be folded as neatly as sweaters. For a fleeting moment, you considered unpacking, imagining where your records might sit or which shelf your novels would occupy, but the thought felt strangely disloyal, as though arranging your belongings meant accepting that this house was something more permanent than a temporary stop on the way back home.
Because that was what you kept telling yourself.
You weren't staying.
Your father might believe in fresh starts, but you believed in endings, and sooner or later, this one would end too.
You left the boxes where they were.
Downstairs, the muffled scrape of furniture drifting across hardwood floors reminded you that your father had continued working without you. You could picture him perfectly without even looking—the sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled to his elbows, another cigarette dangling absentmindedly between his lips despite promising your mother years ago that he'd quit, moving through the house with the determination of someone who believed staying busy was easier than admitting he didn't know what else to do with himself.
He had always been good at pretending. Pretending as if the shouting matches hadn't rattled the windows, that your mother's packed suitcases hadn't sat untouched by the front door for nearly a week before she finally carried them downstairs herself, that signing a stack of divorce papers in a lawyer's office on an unremarkable Tuesday afternoon was no different from signing for a parcel at the post office.
Some people cried when their marriages ended.
Your father had simply bought another pack of cigarettes.
You wandered downstairs without thinking much about where your feet were taking you, trailing your fingers lightly along the polished banister as unfamiliar floorboards creaked beneath your weight. The house carried that peculiar scent all recently vacated homes seemed to share, a mixture of fresh paint and old timber.
Your father was standing in the kitchen with his back to you, staring blankly into an open cupboard that contained nothing except two chipped mugs the landlord had apparently forgotten to remove. For several moments, he didn't move at all. He simply stood there with one hand braced against the counter, cigarette smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling while the afternoon light spilled through the sink window and painted long rectangles across the floor.
For a fleeting second, he looked impossibly older than you remembered.
Not because of the grey beginning to thread through his dark hair or the pull of his permanent frown that exemplified a network of deep wrinkles, but because loneliness had a way of ageing people unevenly. It hollowed them out from the inside until they carried themselves like houses after a fire—still standing, somehow, but unmistakably changed.
He noticed you only when the floorboard beneath your foot groaned.
"There's a diner a few blocks over," he said, reaching automatically for his wallet. "I figured we'd get dinner there. Saves unpacking the kitchen tonight."
You leaned against the doorway.
"Sure."
He hesitated.
"You hungry?"
"I guess." You sighed.
Another silence settled between the two of you, stretching just long enough to become uncomfortable before he cleared his throat and slipped the wallet into his back pocket.
"People say the pie's good."
The comment felt almost painfully rehearsed, like something he'd read in a brochure on how fathers were supposed to speak to daughters after destroying their lives.
"That's reassuring."
"I thought so."
You almost smiled.
Almost.
Instead, you looked past him through the kitchen window.
The church steeple was visible even from here.
It rose above the rooftops in the distance, brilliant white beneath the lowering sun, impossible to escape no matter which direction you faced. The cross at its peak caught the fading light so intensely that for a moment it seemed suspended in the sky itself, detached from the building below, watching over the town with quiet indifference.
"Everything around here revolves around that place, doesn't it?" you asked without turning away from the window.
Your father followed your gaze.
"I suppose it does."
"That's depressing."
"It depends who you ask."
You let out a quiet hum.
"I wasn't asking."
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The diner sat on the corner of Main Street, tucked between an old hardware store and a tiny bookshop whose faded sign looked as though it hadn't been replaced in decades. A little brass bell chimed above the door as you stepped inside.
It looked exactly how diners always looked in old American films, with red vinyl booths polished smooth by generations of customers, spinning chrome stools lined neatly along the counter, and waitresses who somehow remembered every regular's order before they'd even sat down. A jukebox stood silently in one corner, its coloured lights flickering despite no one feeding it coins, while framed photographs of local baseball teams and town parades crowded every inch of the walls.
The conversations stopped. Not all at once, but you felt it nonetheless.
Heads lifted almost imperceptibly from steaming coffee mugs and half-finished meals. Eyes lingered a fraction longer than politeness allowed before drifting away again, only to return moments later under the pretence of looking elsewhere.
You were no longer just another girl.
You were the new girl.
The divorced man's daughter.
The strangers from Chicago.
Your father either didn't notice or chose not to. He slid into a booth near the window, picking up a laminated menu, prompting you to sit down too. Your fingers drifted absently over the frayed edge of the laminated menu, though you weren't really reading it. The words blurred together into an endless procession of burgers, meatloaf, club sandwiches and slices of homemade pie, all priced cheaply enough to suggest the recipes had remained unchanged for decades. It struck you that this diner, like everything else you'd seen since crossing the county line, seemed entirely uninterested in becoming something new.
A waitress appeared beside the table with two glasses of water balanced expertly on a round metal tray tucked against her shoulder. She looked to be in her late fifties, her greying hair pinned into a loose bun beneath a paper hat embroidered with the diner's name, and she smiled with the effortless familiarity of someone who had spent most of her life recognising faces before names.
"You folks must be the Parks," she said brightly, setting the glasses down without needing to ask whether you wanted lemon. "We've all been expecting you."
Your father looked up in surprise. "You have?"
"Oh, honey." She laughed softly, her voice oozing with honey. "Nothing much happens around here. New neighbours are practically headline news."
You lowered your eyes to the condensation gathering on your water glass, tracing a fingertip through the droplets before they slipped onto the tabletop. Somehow, hearing it confirmed felt infinitely worse than merely suspecting it.
The waitress scribbled something onto her notepad before looking between the two of you again.
"Your daddy's taking over at the engineering firm, isn't he?"
"That's right," your father replied politely.
"Well, we're happy to have you both. Lord knows this town could always use a few fresh faces."
Your father offered the strained smile he'd perfected over the last year. "Thank you."
She turned to you then, her expression softening almost instinctively.
"And you'll be starting at Saint Augustine's on Monday?"
You blinked. "I guess."
"You'll like it there."
The certainty with which she said it made something inside you churn.
"What if I don't?"
She paused for the briefest moment before smiling again, as though she believed every difficult thing could be solved with enough kindness.
"Oh," she said gently, "I'm sure you will."
When she finally wandered off toward another table, your father reached automatically for the sugar dispenser despite drinking his coffee black.
"You didn't have to answer like that."
"I answered."
"You know what I mean."
"No," you replied, lifting your glass. "I really don't."
He sighed quietly, rubbing a hand across his jaw before staring out the window instead of arguing further. It had become another habit of his lately, abandoning conversations the moment they threatened to become honest. You sometimes wondered whether it was because he genuinely wanted to avoid conflict or because he no longer trusted himself to say the right thing.
Outside, Main Street basked beneath the last warmth of the evening sun. A teenage boy wheeled his bicycle past the diner's window, one hand balancing a paper bag hooked over the handlebars while an older woman called after him from across the street, reminding him not to forget choir practice tomorrow evening. He lifted a hand in acknowledgement without even turning around, clearly having heard the reminder a hundred times before.
Choir practice.
You almost smiled to yourself; of course, there was choir practice.
Of course, there were church picnics and Sunday bake sales and Christmas pageants where everyone knew every line before the first rehearsal. You could already picture the bulletin boards covered in handwritten notices, casserole dishes appearing mysteriously whenever someone fell ill.
The waitress returned with a steaming mug of coffee for your father and a basket of warm dinner rolls that she insisted had "just come out of the oven."
"They're on the house," she said with a wink. "Welcome to Maple Creek."
Your father thanked her.
You stared at the basket for a long moment before pulling one apart absentmindedly, watching gasps of steam escape into the air. The bread was still warm enough to burn your fingertips, tasting like someone's grandmother had been making them exactly the same way for fifty years, refusing to write the recipe down because she'd never needed to, measuring ingredients by instinct rather than teaspoons, and somehow producing the same perfect result every single time. You truly hated how good it was.
Your father noticed the expression that crossed your face before you had the chance to hide it, the smallest flicker of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth as he reached for one himself. "See?" he said quietly, tearing his own roll in half. "The pie probably isn't lying either."
You looked up just long enough to roll your eyes.
"Don't get ahead of yourself."
"I'm just saying," he replied with a shrug that felt almost familiar, "the place has potential."
"The bread has potential."
"I'll take that as progress."
"It isn't."
He smiled anyway.
It was brief—gone almost as soon as it appeared—but for the first time since you'd crossed the state line, your father looked a little more like the man you remembered. Before the lawyers, before the cardboard boxes stacked shoulder-high in your old living room, before every conversation between your parents had become another carefully measured negotiation about who got what and when. There had been a time when he laughed easily, when Sunday mornings meant burnt pancakes and classic rock playing too loudly through the house while your mother complained that neither of you knew the meaning of an inside voice. Sometimes it frightened you how difficult it was becoming to remember those versions of them.
The waitress returned, balancing two heavy plates against her forearm, a skill that could only come from years of doing the same job every single day. She placed your father's meatloaf before him first, thick slices drowned in peppered gravy beside a generous mound of mashed potatoes. She then set your cheeseburger and fries in front of you with a smile.
"Everything looks alright?"
"It looks fine," your father answered politely.
"You just let me know if you need anything. Ketchup's already on the table, and don't be shy about asking for more fries. Earl always makes too many."
She drifted away before either of you could respond, stopping at another booth to refill an elderly couple's coffee cups without needing to ask. The old man thanked her by name. She asked after his wife. Two booths over, someone else called her over just to tell her that his grandson had finally gotten into college, and she clasped both hands over her heart as though the news belonged to her own family.
You watched the exchange for longer than you meant to.
You had the uneasy feeling that, by tomorrow morning, half the town would know exactly where you'd eaten dinner on your first night. By the end of the week, they'd know which house you lived in, what car your father drove, and probably the fact that you'd barely spoken through the entire meal. In a place this small, stories didn't spread because people were cruel. They spread because there simply wasn't much else to talk about.
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You learned later that the woman from earlier was Mrs Sim, the pastor’s wife. She arrived with a still-warm peach cobbler, which your father accepted with a gratitude that seemed genuine, the lines around his eyes softening as she spoke to him about the community, the quiet, the good schools. You lingered in the doorway of your new bedroom, arms crossed, watching the performance of small-town benevolence. Mrs Sim’s eyes eventually found yours. “You must be y/n,” she beamed. “My son, Jake, is about your age. I’ll send him over later to help with the heavier boxes. It’s so nice to have young people in the house next door again.”
Jake.
The name meant nothing to you; it was simply another piece of information about a place you hadn't asked to know.
A pastor's son.
Someone who probably belonged here in the same way everything else seemed to.
You imagined someone polite, someone with perfect manners and neatly folded clothes, someone who had grown up knowing exactly where he fit in the world because everyone around him had spent his entire life reminding him. The kind of person who would wave at strangers while driving, volunteer on weekends, and probably know every verse of every hymn before he was old enough to understand why he was singing them.
Someone who would look at you and immediately know you didn't belong.
"That's nice," you replied.
Your father gave you a look, but you ignored it.
Mrs Sim only smiled. "You'll meet him soon enough."
Mrs Sim's words lingered in the air even after she had finished speaking, though you weren't entirely sure why. There was nothing particularly significant about them. She had simply mentioned her son in passing, the same way someone might mention a neighbour's dog or a nearby restaurant or which grocery store had the freshest produce. It should have been forgettable, another harmless detail about a town you had no intention of becoming attached to. Yet somehow, the certainty in her voice bothered you. You'll meet him soon enough. Not if you want to. Not if you happen to. Just a quiet assumption that, eventually, your lives would cross because that was how things worked here. Everyone knew everyone. Everyone belonged to someone. Everyone had a place already waiting for them.
You wondered if that was what made small towns feel so comforting to the people who loved them. There was no uncertainty. No endless possibility of becoming someone entirely different from who you were yesterday. In places like Chicago, people disappeared and reinvented themselves all the time. They changed schools, changed neighbourhoods, changed friend groups, changed everything about themselves until sometimes even the people who knew them best couldn't recognise who they had become. Here, it seemed impossible to escape the version of yourself that other people had already decided existed. Your family history, your mistakes, your reputation, your name—all of it followed you down every street and through every doorway.
Maybe that was why everyone here smiled so easily.
They had never needed to wonder who they were.
The conversation continued downstairs, though you stopped listening. Your father asked Mrs. Sim about the school district, and she answered with the same gentle enthusiasm she seemed to offer everything else, explaining which teachers were wonderful, which streets were safest, which shops had been around for generations. She spoke about Maple Creek as though it wasn't simply a town but a living thing, something delicate that required care and loyalty. You watched your father absorb every word, nodding along with an expression of relief that you recognised immediately.
He wanted this to work.
That was the part you hated most.
If he had been miserable, if he had admitted he regretted moving, if he had looked around this unfamiliar house and said that maybe he had made a mistake, then perhaps you would have felt less alone in your resentment. But instead, he seemed lighter here. Not happy exactly, but closer to it than he had been in months. The possibility that this place could become something good for him felt unfair somehow, because while he was finding a reason to believe in a future here, you were still grieving the one you had lost.
You quietly stepped back into your room before either of them noticed, closing the door without making a sound.
The peach cobbler sat untouched on the kitchen counter.
You could smell it even from upstairs.
Another thing this town seemed determined to make impossible to dislike.
You hated that. You hated that the houses were beautiful, that the neighbours were kind, that the diner food was good, that your father looked slightly less broken every time someone welcomed him. You had spent the entire drive here building a version of Maple Creek in your mind—a place where you could justify being angry, where every smiling face could be dismissed as fake and every gesture of kindness could be interpreted as pity.
But what were you supposed to do when people were genuinely nice? Anger was easier when you had something to fight against.
You sat down on the edge of your bed, staring at the unopened boxes surrounding you, and pulled your knees toward your chest. The room was quiet except for the faint sounds of movement downstairs, the occasional creak of floorboards beneath your father's footsteps, and the distant hum of traffic passing along the main road.
Somewhere outside, a church bell rang.
You looked toward the window instinctively. You had never understood the comfort people found in places like that.
The idea of faith had always seemed strange to you—not because you thought people were foolish for believing, but because certainty itself felt like something you had never possessed. Some people moved through life convinced there was a plan waiting for them, that every heartbreak had meaning and every loss had a purpose. They believed things happened for a reason.
You had never been able to understand how.
Your parents had loved each other once.
At least, everyone said they had.
There were photographs proving it. Old videos, memories you carried from childhood of them dancing in the kitchen, laughing over burnt dinners, holding hands while walking through crowded streets. There had been a time when their marriage had seemed as permanent as the church standing at the centre of Maple Creek.
And then one day, somehow, it wasn't.
So what exactly was faith supposed to do with things that broke?
What was the point of believing something was sacred if it could still be destroyed?
The question followed you as you unpacked only the things you needed for the night. A toothbrush. Clean clothes. Your phone charger. The essentials required to pretend that tomorrow would be normal, even though nothing about your life felt remotely familiar anymore.
You avoided opening the box marked BEDROOM, avoided touching the photographs, avoided anything that felt too much like admitting you were staying.
Downstairs, your father eventually called goodnight, and you answered automatically.
Then you were alone.
The first night in the new house was quieter than you expected. Not peaceful—peace implied comfort—but quiet in a way that made every small sound noticeable. The pipes shifting behind the walls. The wind moving through the trees outside. The occasional footsteps of your father crossing the hallway below.
And beneath everything else, faint but unmistakable, the church bells. They rang once more before midnight.
You lay in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling, listening as the sound travelled through the darkness.
You didn't know anything about Maple Creek.
You didn't know its streets, its people, its traditions, or the boy whose name had been casually introduced to you before you had even met him.
For now, though, all you knew was that you were eighteen years old, three states away from everything you had ever known, living beside a church you didn't believe in, in a town that seemed determined to believe in you before you had even decided whether you wanted to believe in anything at all.
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The next morning, Maple Creek looked almost deliberately beautiful.
You resented it immediately.
The sky was clear, the kind of bright blue that seemed almost too perfect to be real, and sunlight spilled across the streets as though the entire town had been carefully arranged for someone else's happiness. Birds moved between the trees, children walked toward school in groups, and neighbours greeted each other from opposite sides of the street with the casual familiarity of people who had been doing the same thing for years. There was something almost offensive about the way everything appeared untouched by the chaos that had brought you here. The lawns were freshly cut, the gardens were beginning to bloom with the first signs of spring, and every house seemed to sit peacefully beneath the morning light as though heartbreak, divorce, and starting over were things that happened somewhere far away to other people.
It was impossible to hate something that looked like it belonged in a memory.
You stood in the kitchen drinking coffee your father had made before getting ready for work. m He had already unpacked half the kitchen, organised the cupboards, and somehow found the patience to locate the coffee machine among dozens of unopened boxes that still crowded the dining room and hallway. It was such a typical thing for him to do that, despite everything, it almost made you smile. Your father had always dealt with uncertainty by creating order wherever he could. When things became unpredictable, he cleaned. When conversations became too difficult, he focused on practical tasks. When emotions became too overwhelming, he found something that could be measured, arranged, or fixed. He had spent the last year losing control over nearly every aspect of his life, and now that he had a new house with empty shelves and rooms waiting to be filled, he seemed determined to rebuild everything piece by piece.
You watched him move around the kitchen, placing mugs into cupboards and checking his work schedule on his phone, and you realised that this was probably the first time in months that he had looked like he knew what he was doing. It was strange seeing him like this. You had grown used to the version of him who sat silently at the dinner table, who stared at paperwork longer than necessary, who seemed to carry the weight of conversations he never dared to start. The divorce had changed both of your lives, but you had always been more focused on what you lost than you had forgotten he had lost something too.
That did not mean you were ready to forgive him for bringing you here.
It only meant you understood him slightly more than you wanted to.
"You should probably leave soon if you don't want to be late," he said, breaking the silence that had settled over the kitchen as he reached across the counter for his keys. He glanced briefly toward the clock hanging above the stove before looking back at you, his expression carrying the same quiet concern he had been trying to hide since the move. "First impressions are important."
You took another sip of your coffee, letting the warmth distract you from the uncomfortable feeling building in your chest. You glanced toward the clock above the stove, even though you already knew exactly what time it was.
"You already checked my schedule, didn't you?"
Your father paused for half a second, his fingers still wrapped around his keys, and that tiny hesitation gave him away immediately. He had always been terrible at pretending he wasn't overly involved. He tried to act casual, as though he hadn't spent the previous night reading through your school information or memorising your timetable, but you knew him too well. When he was worried, he disguised it as preparation.
"You need to admit that you would forget something important if I didn't."
You looked at him over the rim of your mug, unimpressed.
"I wouldn't."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind that suggested he had been waiting for you to say exactly that.
"You forgot your passport before our flight to Florida."
You looked away.
"That was one time."
Your father leaned back against the kitchen counter, folding his arms across his chest.
"You forgot your wallet at a restaurant last summer."
"I got it back."
"After I drove back twenty minutes to get it."
You opened your mouth to argue, but he continued before you could.
"You left your phone on top of the car."
You immediately looked away.
"That happened once."
Your father's smile widened slightly, and for a moment, the heaviness that had followed both of you since the divorce disappeared. It was such a small thing, barely noticeable, but it reminded you of the person he used to be before everything became complicated. The father who teased you about losing things, who laughed when you became stubborn, who knew exactly when to push and when to leave you alone.
He picked up his briefcase from beside the kitchen table and moved toward the front door, but before he stepped outside, he stopped.
The hesitation was subtle. Most people probably wouldn't have noticed it, but you did.
"Are you nervous?"
The question was simple, almost too simple, and that was what made it difficult to answer. You looked toward the front window instead of at him, watching a neighbour across the street wave to someone passing by. Everyone here seemed so certain of themselves, so comfortable in a world that already knew their names. Meanwhile, you were standing in a kitchen that still smelled like cardboard boxes and unfamiliar paint, preparing to walk into a school where nobody knew you except as the girl who had just arrived.
You could have lied.
You almost did.
"No."
Your father didn't say anything, he didn't need to.
The look he gave you carried the quiet disbelief of someone who had known you your entire life and could tell when you were pretending.
You sighed, setting your coffee mug down on the counter.
"Maybe a little."
It was the closest thing to admitting the reality that you were willing to offer.
His expression softened immediately, and for a second, you prepared yourself for the kind of speech parents always gave in moments like this. Something about how everything would be okay. Something about making friends and giving people a chance and remembering that everyone felt nervous sometimes. You expected reassurance because reassurance was what adults usually offered when they didn't know how else to help.
Instead, he simply nodded.
"That's normal."
You looked back at him, almost surprised by how little he said.
"That's it?"
He shrugged slightly, his fingers tightening around the handle of his briefcase.
"What do you want me to say?"
You looked down.
"I don't know."
The honesty of the answer seemed to surprise both of you.
Your father let out a quiet breath, his gaze drifting briefly around the house. The unopened boxes stacked near the hallway. The unfamiliar walls. The unfamiliar kitchen. For the first time, he looked less like someone who had brought you here with a plan and more like someone who was simply trying to figure everything out alongside you.
"Neither do I," he admitted.
The words settled between you. And strangely, they helped more than any perfect speech could have.
Because your father had spent so long trying to make everything seem manageable that you had almost forgotten he was also struggling. He didn't have some hidden answer for how to rebuild a family after it had fallen apart. He didn't know the secret to making a new town feel like home or how to erase the memories you had left behind. He was just another person standing in unfamiliar surroundings, hoping that somewhere along the way, he had made the right choice.
"I'll see you after school," he said eventually.
You nodded.
"Okay."
He opened the front door, letting in a rush of cool morning air that carried the scent of grass and flowers from the neighbouring garden. He stepped outside, then paused with one hand still resting against the doorframe.
"Y/n?"
You looked up.
"Try not to get suspended on your first day."
You stared at him.
"Seriously?"
A small smile appeared on his face, the first genuine one you had seen that morning.
"I'm just saying."
"I haven't even been there yet."
"I know my daughter." He smiled as you watched him walk down the front steps and toward his car, his briefcase held loosely in one hand while the morning sun stretched across the driveway
You grabbed your bag from beside your stool and checked your phone one last time before leaving. There were still messages from Chicago, but fewer than yesterday. The group chat that had been impossible to ignore during the drive had become quieter overnight, conversations naturally shifting toward things you weren't there to experience. Someone had posted a picture from a coffee shop you used to visit after school. Someone else had mentioned a teacher you had complained about for years. Tiny pieces of your old life continuing without you.
You stared at the screen for longer than you should have.
Then you locked your phone.
There was no point in torturing yourself with reminders of somewhere you couldn't return to.
At least, not yet.
You stepped outside, locking the front door behind you, and immediately became aware of the house beside yours. The pastor's home stood exactly as it had the previous evening, peaceful and untouched beneath the morning sunlight. The garden that had seemed almost excessive yesterday looked different now—not less perfect, but more alive. The roses beneath the windows moved slightly in the breeze, and the ivy climbing along the porch railing cast delicate shadows across the white wooden walls.
You wondered briefly what kind of person grew up in a house like that.
Not because you were interested, you reminded yourself of that.
It was just simply curiosity.
A house like that came with expectations. You knew enough about people to understand that. The pastor's son probably had a reputation before he was old enough to create one himself. People probably knew him as a child before they knew him as a person. They probably expected kindness from him, patience from him, goodness from him. They probably looked at him and saw his father's occupation before they saw anything else.
You wondered if that ever became exhausting.
The thought disappeared quickly.
You adjusted your bag over your shoulder and started walking toward school.
The route was shorter than you expected, which somehow annoyed you. You had imagined getting lost, having an excuse to turn around, having some dramatic reason to delay arriving at a place where you knew nobody. Instead, Maple Creek made everything inconveniently simple. The streets were easy to follow. The sidewalks were clean. The school appeared at the end of the road exactly where the map on your phone said it would be.
Even the town was refusing to give you a reason to hate it.
The school building was larger than you expected, though it carried the same old-fashioned charm as everything else in Maple Creek. Red brick walls covered in climbing greenery, tall windows reflecting the morning sunlight, neatly maintained gardens surrounding the entrance. It looked less like a school and more like a place people took photographs of during graduation.
You stood at the edge of the school grounds for a moment longer than necessary, letting the flow of students move around you as though you were standing still in the middle of a river. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going, which hallway they needed, which friends they were meeting, which teachers they needed to avoid before the first bell. There was a strange confidence in the way people moved through familiar places, the kind that only came from years of repetition. They weren't thinking about where to turn or whether they belonged there. They simply existed within the routine of it.
You missed that.
Not the school itself. Not the crowded hallways or the endless assignments or the people who had somehow made every small inconvenience feel like a personal crisis. But you missed knowing what to expect. You missed walking into a building where you knew which staircase was always empty between classes, which vending machine stole your money, which teachers would let you hand things in late without a lecture. You missed the comfort of being a person who already had a place, even if that place wasn't perfect.
Here, everything was unfamiliar.
And unfamiliar meant vulnerable.
You hated that feeling.
You followed the signs toward the main office, your shoes making quiet sounds against the polished floor as you entered the building. It was exactly what you expected inside. Framed photographs lined the walls, displaying graduating classes from decades before you were born, sports teams holding trophies with proud expressions, theatre productions captured mid-performance, students who had once walked through these same hallways and eventually left to create lives somewhere beyond the town.
It was strange seeing so much history preserved.
Back home, schools changed constantly. Posters were replaced, rooms were renovated, people came and went so quickly that it was easy to forget anyone had existed there before you. Here, the past seemed carefully protected. Maple Creek held onto things. It held onto houses, traditions, names, and memories with the kind of devotion usually reserved for things people were afraid of losing.
The thought followed you into the office, where a woman sitting behind the front desk looked up immediately. She had the same welcoming expression everyone here seemed to possess, the kind that made you suspicious because you couldn't understand why a stranger would look genuinely pleased to see you.
"You must be Y/n."
You stopped.
It was becoming unsettling how often people knew who you were before you had introduced yourself.
"Yeah."
The woman smiled and reached for a folder beside her computer. "I'm Mrs. Li. We spoke briefly with your father yesterday when your enrolment paperwork came through. Everything has been processed, and your schedule is inside.
She handed the folder across the desk.
You accepted it carefully, glancing down at your name printed neatly across the front.
"Thank you."
"You'll find everyone here is very welcoming," Mrs Li added.
There it was again.
The phrase everyone seemed determined to use.
Welcoming.
You wondered if there was a meeting where the entire town agreed on the same vocabulary.
You forced a small smile.
"I'll keep that in mind."
Mrs Li didn't seem offended by your lack of enthusiasm. If anything, her expression softened slightly, as though she understood more than you had said.
"Your first class is English. It's just down the hall and to the left. If you have any trouble finding anything, ask someone. We have a wonderful group of students here."
You nodded.
"Okay."
The hallway had become busier now, students moving between lockers and classrooms as the first bell approached. Conversations blended together around you, creating a constant stream of voices that you tried not to focus on. You kept your eyes on your schedule, pretending you didn't notice the occasional glance in your direction.
You knew what they were thinking.
Who is she?
Where did she come from?
Why is she here?
You had been the new girl before, but never like this.
In Chicago, being new meant being one person among thousands. There were always other transfers, other unfamiliar faces, other people trying to figure out where they belonged. Here, you felt like the entire town had watched your moving truck arrive. You weren't just a student who had transferred schools.
You reached your classroom and paused outside the door, hearing voices from inside. The urge to turn around was immediate and irrational. Not because you were afraid, but because walking through that door meant admitting this was real, that you were actually here and not on some sort of visit. You weren’t just passing through; this was your life now.
Eventually, you pushed the door open.
The classroom was brighter than you expected, sunlight spilling through the wide windows and casting shapes across the desks. Students looked up briefly as you entered before returning to their conversations, their curiosity subtle enough to be polite but obvious enough that you noticed. You had become aware, almost immediately, of how visible you were here.
You made your way toward the empty seat near the window and placed your bag down, grateful for the small distance it gave you from everyone else. For the first few minutes, you simply sat there, watching the classroom. The teacher arranged papers on her desk. Students exchanged conversations that seemed to continue from yesterday, last week, and years ago.
The rest of the morning passed in a way that felt strangely unreal, as though you were watching yourself move through someone else's routine rather than actually participating in your own. Every classroom had its own rhythm that you didn't understand yet; every teacher seemed to know exactly how much time to spend explaining something, exactly when to move on, exactly which students would answer questions before they even raised their hands.
You found yourself observing more than listening, studying the small details that revealed how deeply connected everyone was to this place. The girl in front of you had a sticker on her notebook from a local charity event. The boy beside the window wore a jacket with the school emblem stitched neatly onto the chest. Two students passing your desk exchanged a joke that clearly referenced something that had happened years ago, something you could not possibly understand because you had not been there to witness it.
By the time you checked your schedule again before your next class, you were already expecting another subject you would have to pretend to care about, another room where you would sit quietly and allow people to decide what they thought of you. Instead, your eyes stopped on the words printed beneath the next period.
Chapel.
You stared at it for several seconds, convinced that maybe you had misunderstood.
You looked back at the schedule.
Still there.
A mandatory chapel period.
Not an optional gathering. Not a once-a-week event. Not something students attended only if they wanted to participate. It was built directly into the school day with the same certainty as mathematics, English, or science, another requirement that everyone accepted without question.
You almost found it impressive.
Only a town like Maple Creek could create a school where religion was not simply something people practised, but something embedded so naturally into everyday life that nobody even considered questioning it.
Of course, they had a chapel.
You followed the other students toward the chapel building, trying not to let your expression reveal exactly what you were thinking. Nobody else seemed bothered. That was what caught your attention more than anything. They weren't walking there reluctantly. They weren't whispering complaints about having to attend. They weren't rolling their eyes or joking about finding a way to escape.
They simply went, like it was normal.
The chapel itself was beautiful, which added to your growing irritation. The building was old but carefully maintained, with dark wooden beams stretching across the ceiling and rows of polished benches facing a raised platform at the front. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows, breaking into fragments of blue, red, and gold that shifted slowly across the floor as the morning passed.
You took a seat near the back, naturally, the safest place for someone who had no intention of becoming involved.
The teacher at the front began speaking about faith, purpose, and community, and you tried to listen. You genuinely did. You weren't there to mock anyone or disrespect something that clearly mattered to the people around you. But there was a difference between understanding why something was important to others and feeling it yourself.
People always talked about faith like it was something that remained when everything else fell away, but what happened when the things you believed in failed you first? What happened when the people who promised they would always be there were suddenly the reason you had to leave your home? What happened when forever turned out to be something people said only because they wanted to believe it at the time?
Maybe that was why religion had always felt so distant to you. It wasn't because you hated it, and it wasn't because you thought people were foolish for believing in something greater than themselves. You understood the appeal of having something permanent to hold onto when everything around you felt temporary. The problem was that belief required a kind of trust you no longer knew how to give. You had spent too much time watching things people promised would last forever eventually fall apart, watching something that was supposed to be unbreakable become fragile enough to disappear. It was difficult to surrender yourself to the idea of certainty when your own life had become proof that certainty could be taken away without warning.
The clock above the doorway seemed to move more slowly with every passing minute, each second stretching longer than the one before it. You tried to convince yourself that you could sit there until the period ended. It was only one class. Forty minutes of listening, pretending, and doing what everyone else seemed completely comfortable doing.
But the longer you remained in that room, the more aware you became of how different you felt from everyone around you.
The chapel, which seemed to offer comfort to everyone else, began to feel strangely suffocating. You felt as though the room itself was asking something from you—some kind of acceptance, some willingness to belong, some acknowledgement that this was now your world too.
You looked around one more time, almost hoping to find someone else who looked as uncomfortable as you felt.
You didn't.
Every student seemed exactly where they were supposed to be.
Everyone seemed to have a place.
Except you.
The realisation irritated you more than it should have, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you quietly gathered your notebook and slipped your bag over your shoulder. You waited until the teacher turned her attention toward the front of the room before standing, moving carefully between the rows of benches and making your way toward the side exit. Nobody stopped you. Nobody questioned where you were going. For a moment, you wondered if that was because nobody noticed, or because in a place where everyone seemed to know everyone, you were still too new to matter.
Either option was strangely comforting.
The moment the chapel doors closed behind you, you exhaled.
The hallway outside was empty, and the sudden absence of voices felt like stepping out of a crowded room after holding your breath for too long.
You walked without a destination, following instinct rather than any actual plan, letting your feet carry you away from the main buildings where students gathered and teachers watched.
The further you walked, the quieter the school became.
Eventually, the polished pathways and carefully maintained gardens gave way to a less noticeable section of campus behind the sports fields. It was the kind of place people probably passed without ever really seeing, hidden behind a line of tall trees that separated it from the rest of the school grounds. The branches stretched overhead, creating patches of shade across the grass, while the old maintenance building stood quietly against the edge of the property, its brick walls worn by years of changing weather.
It wasn't somewhere students were supposed to be, which immediately made it somewhere you preferred.
There was something comforting about finding a place that hadn't been perfected. Unlike the rest of Maple Creek, which seemed determined to preserve every detail and present itself as something untouched, this corner of the school existed without trying to impress anyone. The grass grew unevenly. The walls carried marks left behind by time. Nobody had placed flowers here or added signs explaining its importance.
It was simply there.
And for the first time that morning, you felt like you could be too.
You leaned back against the wall, pulling the cigarette from your bag with the familiar ease of someone who had done this too many times to feel guilty anymore. You knew exactly what people would say if they saw you. You knew the assumptions that would immediately follow. The new girl from Chicago who couldn't even make it through her first day without breaking a rule. The divorced man's daughter who clearly had an attitude problem. The outsider who had arrived and immediately proved everyone right.
You almost laughed at the thought.
People loved being right about others.
It made them feel like they understood the world.
The lighter flickered in your hand, and for a moment the small flame was the only movement around you. You watched the cigarette catch before lowering your hand, allowing the smoke to disappear into the cool morning air. The irony wasn't lost on you.
You had escaped a chapel full of people searching for meaning only to find yourself hiding behind a building with a cigarette in your hand.
Maybe everyone had their own way of coping, and yours was just less socially acceptable.
For the first time that morning, you felt like you could breathe properly. There was no teacher watching you. No receptionist smiling at you like she already knew your entire story. No students glancing over and wondering where you came from.
Just complete silence.
You closed your eyes briefly, letting yourself enjoy the rare moment where nobody expected anything from you.
Then you heard footsteps.
At first, you assumed they belonged to another student who had discovered the same hiding place. You didn't bother moving. If anything, you were slightly annoyed that even your one quiet corner couldn't remain yours for longer than five minutes.
The footsteps came closer, slow and unhurried.
Not the hurried steps of someone trying to sneak away.
Someone who knew exactly where they were going.
You opened your eyes.
A boy stood a few feet away, one hand resting casually in the pocket of his uniform trousers, his expression difficult to read. He wasn't wearing the usual look people gave you when they caught you doing something wrong. There was no immediate judgement, no smug satisfaction, no excitement at having discovered someone breaking a rule. He didn't have the expression teachers usually wore when they found students somewhere they shouldn't be, that careful mixture of disappointment and authority that suggested they had already decided what kind of person you were before you had the chance to explain yourself.
Instead, he simply looked at you.
He appeared to be around your age, dressed in the same Saint Augustine's uniform as everyone else, though somehow he carried it differently. The other students you had seen that morning wore their uniforms like an extension of the school itself, every shirt neatly tucked, every tie perfectly adjusted, every detail reflecting the careful order that seemed to exist everywhere in Maple Creek. This boy didn't look careless, but there was something less deliberate about him. He looked comfortable, as though the uniform was simply something he wore rather than something he used to prove that he belonged.
His eyes briefly moved toward the cigarette between your fingers before returning to your face, and you waited for the inevitable reaction. You waited for the sigh, the disapproving expression, the comment about rules and responsibility and how this was not the kind of behaviour expected at a school like Saint Augustine's.
Instead, when he finally spoke, his voice was calmer than you expected.
"You know, I'm pretty sure this isn't exactly where you're supposed to be during chapel."
You stared at him for a moment, caught slightly off guard by the fact that his words sounded more like an observation than an accusation. The cigarette remained between your fingers, smoke curling lazily upward before disappearing into the cool air surrounding the trees.
"I'm aware," you replied.
Your tone was sharper than necessary, but you had already spent the entire morning surrounded by people who were trying to make you feel like you were being welcomed while simultaneously reminding you that you didn't belong. Defensiveness had become easier than politeness. It was a habit you had developed without realising, something you reached for before anyone had the opportunity to hurt you.
The boy didn't seem bothered.
If anything, he looked slightly amused.
"Good," he said simply.
You frowned.
That wasn't the response you were expecting.
Most people would have continued. They would have taken your attitude as an invitation to argue, because people often mistook defensiveness for a challenge. They liked proving they were right, especially when they believed they were helping.
You studied him for a moment before asking the question you already knew the answer to.
"Are you going to report me?"
The question came out automatically, almost like a test. You weren't actually interested in whether he would tell someone. You were interested in seeing what kind of person he was. Whether he was the kind who followed rules because they mattered to him or because breaking them gave him a reason to feel superior.
For a moment, he didn't answer.
His gaze moved briefly toward the school building in the distance, where students were still sitting inside the chapel, probably listening attentively to whatever lesson you had decided you couldn't endure.
Then he looked back at you.
"No."
The simplicity of the answer made you hesitate.
"Why?"
He shrugged slightly, his expression remaining thoughtful rather than dismissive.
"Because I don't think getting you in trouble is going to change anything."
You tilted your head slightly. "What does that mean?"
"It means," he said, looking toward the ground for a moment as though choosing his words carefully, "that if someone doesn't want to be somewhere, making them feel worse probably isn't going to make them suddenly want to be there."
You looked away, taking another slow drag before exhaling toward the trees.
"You're surprisingly understanding for someone at a religious school."
There was a slight pause, then he smiled faintly.
"Is that supposed to be an insult?"
You shrugged. "I'm not sure yet."
That earned a quiet laugh from him, and the sound surprised you because it wasn't the kind of laughter you expected from him.
"You thought I was going to give you a lecture."
"I mean, you're standing behind a church school talking to someone who skipped chapel and is smoking," you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you as though the situation itself explained everything.
His eyebrows lifted slightly, not in disbelief, but in genuine thought, as though he was actually considering your words rather than waiting for his turn to respond. It was a strange reaction, and you found yourself watching him more closely because you couldn't figure out what he was trying to do.
"Do people usually do that?" he asked.
The question was so simple that it almost confused you.
You glanced away for a moment, looking toward the empty field beside the building where the morning sunlight stretched across the grass. "Usually."
You didn't need to explain what you meant.
He seemed to understand anyway.
"And does it work?"
The question caught you off guard.
Not because it was difficult, but because you had expected him to ask something else. You expected him to ask why you smoked, why you skipped chapel, why you seemed so determined to reject everything about the place you had just arrived in. You expected him to focus on the action itself, because that was what people usually did.
You looked back at him, studying his expression carefully.
"What?"
"Does it work when people lecture you?"
For a moment, you didn't answer.
The cigarette slowly burned between your fingers, the ash growing longer before falling quietly onto the ground beneath you. You opened your mouth, ready to give him the easy response. The sarcastic one. The answer you usually gave whenever someone asked a question that felt too close to the truth.
Something like depends who's asking.
Or clearly not, considering I'm still here.
But the words didn't come.
"No."
The answer came out quieter than you intended.
The boy didn't look surprised. He didn't look pleased, either, like he had somehow won an argument. He simply nodded slowly, as though your answer confirmed something he had already suspected.
"Then I don't see the point."
There was something unusual about the way he spoke, like he wasn't trying to convince you of anything. He wasn't saying it because he expected you to suddenly agree with him or because he wanted credit for being understanding. He said it like it was an obvious conclusion, like forcing someone to listen to advice they had no intention of accepting was just another way of making yourself feel useful.
You watched him carefully, trying to figure out what kind of person said things like that.
It was difficult because he didn't fit neatly into any of the categories you had already created for everyone in Maple Creek. You had expected people here to be predictable. You had expected the students at Saint Augustine's to be polite in the same rehearsed way the rest of the town was polite, carrying themselves with the quiet confidence of people who had never had to question whether they belonged. You expected judgment hidden beneath kindness, because that was what you had grown used to.
Before you could stop yourself, you spoke.
"You know, I don't think I ever got your name."
For a moment, something almost amused passed across his expression, like he hadn't realised until then that you had been standing there having an entire conversation without knowing who he was.
His eyes softened slightly, and he shifted his weight away from the wall, extending his hand in a gesture that felt strangely normal considering how unusual the circumstances were.
"I'm Jake."
You looked at him for a moment, your fingers still holding the cigarette as you tried to place where you had heard it before. It sounded familiar, but the thought disappeared before you could catch it. There were too many new names, too many new faces, too many pieces of information being thrown at you since arriving in Maple Creek.
You would remember eventually.
"Y/n." You replied.
He repeated your name quietly back to you, almost absentmindedly, like he was making sure he remembered it.
And you hated how much you noticed.
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The walk home felt strangely shorter than it had that morning, and you found yourself resenting that more than you probably should have. The Sim house came into view as you turned onto Maple Street, standing beside yours exactly as it had the day before.
You looked at it only briefly before turning toward your own house.
You didn't have the energy to think about anything else.
The day had already been long enough.
You dropped your bag beside the stairs, kicking your shoes off before walking further inside. The living room looked slightly different from when you had left that morning, although you couldn't immediately identify what had changed. Your father had clearly spent the day trying to make the space feel more lived in. A few boxes had disappeared, the curtains had been opened, and the empty shelves that had made the room feel like a stranger's house were slowly beginning to fill with pieces of your old life.
It was strange watching him rebuild everything so quickly.
Your father had always been good at practical things.
He knew how to assemble furniture without reading instructions. He knew how to fix things that broke. But making it a home was something else entirely, it required something you couldn't unpack from a cardboard box. It required time, memories.
You found him in the kitchen, standing at the counter with his sleeves rolled up while sorting through paperwork beside a half-empty mug of coffee. He looked up when he heard you enter.
"You're home."
You leaned against the doorway.
"Unfortunately."
A small smile tugged at his mouth before disappearing almost immediately.
It was one of the things you noticed about your father. He rarely laughed properly anymore. Since the divorce, happiness seemed to appear in brief moments before he remembered there were still things to worry about.
"How was school?"
You knew what he wanted. He wanted some kind of reassurance that this hadn't been a mistake. That moving three states away hadn't made everything worse. That his decision to leave Chicago, to take the job, to start over, had actually been the right one.
You could have given him the answer he wanted.
You could have complained about everything and proven yourself right.
Instead, you placed your bag down beside the counter and shrugged.
"Fine."
The word was deliberately vague, and you knew it the moment it left your mouth.
Your father knew it too.
He looked up from the papers he had been sorting, his expression changing only slightly, but you noticed the shift anyway. He didn't look angry or disappointed. He didn't even look surprised. If anything, he looked like someone who had expected that answer before he had even asked the question.
"Fine?" he repeated, leaning back against the counter.
You opened the refrigerator door, more to give yourself something to do than because you actually wanted anything inside it. The shelves were organised with the same careful precision that seemed to define everything your father had done since arriving. Groceries were arranged neatly, containers were stacked, and everything had already found a place despite the fact that you still hadn't decided where half your belongings belonged.
"Yeah."
You could feel him watching you.
"You know, most people would probably use more than one word to describe their first day at a new school."
You didn’t reply, and he didn't ask again.
Instead, he simply returned to the papers on the counter, allowing the conversation to move on without forcing you to explain something you weren't ready to explain.
After a few moments, he glanced down at the papers before speaking again.
"The Sims stopped by earlier."
You glanced back at him, immediately recognising the name. The woman from next door had already made more of an impression on your first day than most people had managed to in years, mostly because she seemed almost impossibly comfortable in a way you couldn't understand. She had arrived with a warm peach cobbler, spoken to your father as though they were old friends rather than strangers who had only just met.
"The neighbours?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer.
Your father nodded, placing the papers aside and leaning back against the counter. "Yeah. They invited us over on Sunday."
There was something about the way he said it that immediately made you cautious. Not because you disliked the Sims specifically, but because you had started to understand that in Maple Creek, every friendly gesture seemed to come with some deeper connection to the town itself.
You looked at him carefully.
"For what?"
Your father hesitated only briefly, but it was enough for you to notice. He had always been terrible at hiding things from you, especially when he knew the answer would probably annoy you. There was a certain expression he got when he was trying to approach a subject carefully, like he was mentally preparing himself for the reaction before the conversation had even started.
"Church."
You stared at him, waiting for him to laugh or explain that he was joking, but his expression remained completely serious. Of course, he was serious. This was Maple Creek, after all. You should have expected that the first invitation from the neighbours would involve the very building that seemed to watch over the entire town from its place above the rooftops.
Your father watched your expression carefully, already knowing exactly what you were
"I don't know why we have to go," you said, trying to keep your voice neutral, although your father clearly heard the resistance underneath it.
He set his mug down slowly, and for the first time since you walked through the door, you saw the patience he had been holding onto begin to weaken. You knew your father well enough to understand that the church was not the real issue. The issue was everything that had come before it — the constant rejection of every attempt he made to make this place feel less unfamiliar, the way you had spent days insisting that Maple Creek was a mistake before you had even given it a chance.
"They're being kind," he said.
"I know."
"Then why does it bother you so much?"
You looked away because you didn't have a simple answer. It wasn't that you thought Mrs Sim was a bad person. She wasn't. It wasn't that you thought your father was wrong for wanting to meet people. He wasn't. The frustrating part was that everything about Maple Creek was making it harder for you to stay angry.
Your father watched you for a moment before letting out a quiet breath, the kind that carried more exhaustion than frustration. "You know, I understand that you're upset."
You stayed silent.
"I understand that you didn't want this. I understand that you miss Chicago and your friends and the life you had before everything changed. I understand that you feel like you were dragged here because of choices you didn't make."
"But you have to understand something too."
You looked back at him.
"I didn't choose this either."
The words made you pause.
Because you had spent so much time thinking about what you had lost that you had forgotten your father had lost something too. He had lost the same home, the same routines, the same version of your family that you missed. The difference was that while you had been angry, he had been trying to make sure there was still something left to save.
"I am trying," he continued, looking around the kitchen that still didn't quite feel like yours. "I'm trying to make this work. I'm trying to make this place feel like somewhere we live instead of somewhere we ended up."
The honesty of it made you uncomfortable because you didn't know what to do with it. Anger was easier. Anger gave you something to hold onto. But your father's frustration wasn't coming from a desire to control you. It was coming from the fact that he was tired of feeling like he was the only person willing to believe things could get better.
"I'm not asking you to love Maple Creek," he said after a moment. "I'm not asking you to suddenly become someone you're not. I'm just asking you to stop deciding that everything here is against you before you even know what it is."
The kitchen fell quiet again, filled only by the distant sound of the town outside and the faint ringing of the church bell in the distance. You hated that the timing almost felt intentional, as though Maple Creek itself was reminding you that it was still there, waiting patiently for you to stop fighting it.
But after a long moment, you finally sighed and looked back at your father.
"One Sunday."
The surprise that crossed his face was immediate, and you regretted agreeing almost as quickly as you saw it.
"Don't make it a big deal," you warned.
A small smile appeared on his face, the first one you had seen since the conversation started.
"I won't."
You narrowed your eyes slightly because you both knew that wasn't entirely true.
"You will."
He laughed quietly, shaking his head as he picked up his mug again.
"Maybe a little."
You grabbed your bag and headed toward the stairs before he could say anything else, still uncertain about whether agreeing had been a mistake. You still weren't looking forward to Sunday. You still didn't understand why this town seemed so determined to pull you into its routines, its traditions, its carefully preserved little world where everyone seemed to know exactly where they belonged.
But as you entered your bedroom later that evening and looked out through the window toward the church steeple standing above the rooftops, you found yourself wondering what exactly waited for you there.
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The Sunday you were dreading seemed to come faster than you wished.
The pews creaked under the weight of the congregation as you sat rigid beside your father, the stiff collar of your dress scratching at your neck. The sermon droned on, the pastor's voice booming from the pulpit, but your attention drifted until the side door opened. A boy about your age slipped in late, Bible tucked under one arm, and took the empty seat two rows ahead. The moment his profile turned, your stomach dropped. It was him—the same guy who had caught you behind the school last week, cigarette between your fingers, smoke curling from your lips.
Jake.
For a moment, you wondered if he had noticed you, but he seemed completely absorbed in the service, carefully opening the worn Bible beneath his arm before offering a quiet apology to the elderly woman beside him for arriving late. She smiled as though she had forgiven him before he'd even spoken, patting his arm affectionately before turning her attention back toward the pulpit.
Every movement he made carried the unconscious ease of someone who had spent years within these walls. He knew exactly when to stand, when to sit, when to join the hymns without needing to glance at the page numbers announced from the front. Even the people around him seemed to move naturally around his presence, greeting him with small smiles whenever the congregation shifted or the peace was exchanged, as though he wasn't simply another student from school but somebody they had watched grow up.
You couldn't imagine what that felt like.
The service continued, the pastor's voice echoing beneath the high timber ceiling while coloured light from the stained-glass windows drifted slowly across the polished wooden floor. You tried—genuinely tried—to pay attention, but your concentration wandered almost immediately yet again, your gaze drawn back toward Jake every few minutes despite yourself. It wasn't curiosity anymore, at least not entirely. It was something closer to disbelief. The boy who had found you smoking behind the maintenance building somehow looked exactly the same here, yet completely different at the same time.
Eventually the pastor closed his Bible, offering a final blessing before the congregation answered in practiced unison. Almost immediately the atmosphere changed. The solemn quiet dissolved into conversation as people rose from their seats, hymn books slid back into their holders, and families gathered in the aisles with the familiar ease of people who had repeated the same ritual every Sunday for decades. Children darted between rows of pews while older couples lingered to catch up.
Your father stood beside you, smoothing invisible creases from his shirt before offering you a hopeful glance.
"Come on," he murmured. "We should say hello."
You resisted the urge to sigh.
Instead, you followed him reluctantly through the growing crowd, offering polite nods whenever another unfamiliar face introduced themselves. Everyone smiled. Everyone seemed genuinely pleased that you were there.
It was exhausting.
Across the room, you caught sight of Mrs Sim weaving effortlessly through the congregation with the same warmth she'd shown the day she'd arrived at your house carrying a peach cobbler. The moment she noticed the two of you, her face lit up, and she crossed the room with surprising speed before your father had any chance of escaping.
"I'm so glad you came," she said brightly, clasping your father's hands between hers before turning that same smile toward you. "And you must be surviving your first week at school."
"Barely," you replied.
Mrs Sim laughed, apparently choosing to interpret your answer as a joke.
"I'm sure it'll get easier."
You weren't convinced.
"Oh," she said suddenly, looking over her shoulder. "Jake!"
You followed her gaze instinctively.
Jake had been speaking with an older man near the front of the church, but at the sound of his mother's voice, he excused himself immediately and made his way over, offering the man a polite smile before crossing the aisle. Up close, he looked exactly as he had behind the school, except for the blazer he'd pulled on over his shirt and the Bible still tucked beneath one arm.
"Jake," Mrs Sim said warmly as he reached the group, resting a gentle hand against his arm. "I'd like you to meet our new neighbours."
He turned obediently toward your father first, offering a polite smile before extending his hand. "Hi, sir. I'm Jake."
"Nice to meet you, Jake," your father replied, returning the handshake. "I'm Daniel, and this is my daughter." Only then did Jake's attention shift towards you.
Recognition crossed his face almost immediately, so brief that anyone else would have mistaken it for an ordinary pause, but you caught it anyway. His eyes widened the slightest fraction before settling, the corners of his mouth threatening a smile he seemed to think better of almost as quickly as it appeared.
He hadn't expected you to be here.
You hadn't expected him either.
"Hi," he said after the briefest hesitation, extending his hand towards you exactly as though the two of you had never spoken before.
You looked at his outstretched hand for a second before taking it.
"Y/n."
"Jake."
The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, "It's... nice to meet you."
You caught the tiny pause before meet, and for a moment you wondered if anyone else had noticed it. Judging by the bright smile spreading across Mrs Sim's face, they hadn't.
Mrs Sim's smile widened with obvious satisfaction as she looked between the two of you, entirely convinced she had just witnessed the beginning of a perfectly ordinary introduction. "Isn't that lovely?" she said, clasping her hands together for a moment before turning her attention back to your father. "I've been telling Jake all week that he should properly come over and welcome you both, but between school and helping his father prepare for Sunday, we simply haven't had a moment."
Jake withdrew his hand slowly, offering his mother a small, almost sheepish smile that suggested this was hardly the first time she'd volunteered his time on his behalf. "Sorry about that," he said, his attention returning to you for only a moment before politely addressing your father again. "I should've introduced myself sooner."
"It's been a busy week for everyone," your father replied easily. "We're still finding boxes we forgot to unpack."
"I can imagine."
The conversation settled into an easy rhythm almost immediately, though you found yourself contributing very little. It wasn't intentional; there simply wasn't much to say. Your father and Mrs Sim seemed strangely well suited to one another's company, discussing the town with the comfortable enthusiasm of two people standing on opposite sides of the same experience—one eager to tell stories, the other grateful to hear them. Your father listened with genuine interest, asking questions whenever she paused, and you realised with some surprise that he was smiling more than you'd seen him smile since leaving Chicago.
"You survived your first week."
Jake's voice came quietly from beside you. You turned your head just enough to find him standing beside you, close enough to speak without raising his voice but careful not to crowd your space. He wasn't looking directly at you. Instead, his attention rested somewhere across the sanctuary where a little girl in polished black shoes chased her younger brother between the pews before their mother caught both of them with an exasperated laugh. The corners of Jake's mouth lifted ever so slightly at the sight, his expression carrying the quiet amusement of someone who had probably watched the same scene play out countless Sundays before.
"Barely," you admitted, your answer escaping with a dry honesty that surprised even you.
A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it, dissolving almost as quickly as it appeared. For a brief second, the carefully composed image everyone seemed to have of Jake dissolved, revealing someone your age rather than the pastor's son everyone else appeared to see.
"I figured," he said, the smile lingering faintly as he glanced down for a moment before looking back toward the sanctuary.
You studied him for a second, curiosity getting the better of you.
"You figured?"
His attention finally shifted towards you, and there it was again—that impossibly gentle expression that somehow never felt rehearsed. "Most people," he said with the faintest trace of amusement colouring his voice, "don't decide to skip chapel on their first day."
You couldn't help the quiet smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth, the memory arriving almost uninvited. You could still picture the look on his face when he'd stepped around the maintenance building and found you leaning against the brick wall with a cigarette balanced lazily between your fingers. You had been so certain you knew exactly how that conversation would unfold. You had expected disappointment, a lecture rehearsed from years of Sunday sermons, or at the very least the smug satisfaction of someone catching another person doing something they shouldn't.
"No," you replied, folding your arms loosely across your chest. "I figured I'd make an impression."
Jake's head dipped as another quiet laugh escaped him, this one accompanied by the smallest shake of his head. "You definitely managed that."
"Oh?" you asked, unable to resist. "I was under the impression you were trying very hard not to think about it."
"I was."
"But?"
"But..." He hesitated, searching for the right words with the same care he seemed to give everything he said. "You're not exactly easy to forget."
The admission seemed to surprise him almost as much as it surprised you. The words hung between you for a moment before a faint flush climbed slowly across his cheeks, and you watched the realisation dawn on him that he'd spoken aloud instead of keeping the thought to himself.
"I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant."
His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, grateful that you hadn't chosen to make things more embarrassing than they already were. A sheepish smile tugged briefly at the corners of his mouth before he ducked his head, his fingers absentmindedly tightening around the worn spine of the Bible tucked beneath his arm. It was strangely endearing, watching someone who seemed so composed unravel over a sentence as innocent as that.
For a moment, neither of you spoke, then Mrs Sim's voice drifted across the sanctuary before either of you had the chance to say anything else.
"Jake, sweetheart," she called, waving him over with an affectionate smile. "Would you mind helping your father carry the coffee urn into the hall?"
Jake glanced over his shoulder toward his mother, then back at you, and for a moment he looked almost reluctant to leave.
"I should probably..." he began, his voice trailing off as he nodded toward where his mother was waiting.
You glanced in the same direction before looking back at him.
"Go," you said, unable to hide the amusement in your voice. "Before she sends someone else over here to get you."
He adjusted the Bible beneath his arm, his fingers brushing over the worn leather cover as though he needed something to do with his hands.
"It was..." He paused, searching for the right words, and the hesitation was so unlike the confident, composed version of him everyone else seemed to know that it almost made you smile. "It was nice to officially meet you."
You looked at him for a moment, letting the irony sit between you.
"We're still pretending that's what happened?"
A small smile appeared on his face, one that he tried and failed to hide.
"...It was nice to officially meet you too."
Something about your answer seemed to genuinely please him. His smile widened, then he disappeared into the crowd, moving easily between familiar faces and Sunday conversations, stopping every few steps to greet someone who knew him by name. You watched him for a moment longer than you intended.
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The weeks after that passed slowly enough that you almost didn't notice when Maple Creek began feeling less like a place you had been sent to and more like somewhere you actually existed.
You still missed Chicago in ways you didn't always admit. You missed the noise of the streets outside your old apartment, the constant movement of people who didn't know your name and didn't care enough to ask. In Maple Creek, everyone knew everything, or at least they acted like they did. The neighbours waved whenever you walked past. Teachers remembered your name. People asked how you were adjusting with genuine concern, and you never quite knew what to do with their kindness.
It wasn't that the town had suddenly become home. It hadn't. There were still mornings when you woke up convinced that if you looked out of your bedroom window, the familiar skyline of Chicago would somehow have returned overnight, replacing the church steeple that stood stubbornly above the rooftops. There were afternoons when you found yourself reaching instinctively for your phone to text friends who were no longer part of your daily life, only to remember that conversations became difficult when they were separated by three states and an entirely different routine. Life back home continued without you, just as yours continued without them, and there was something quietly devastating about how quickly people adapted to absence.
School settled into something resembling routine before you realised it had happened. The novelty of being the new girl faded as other distractions claimed everyone's attention, and the curious glances that had followed you through the corridors during your first week gradually disappeared. Teachers stopped introducing you to every class. People no longer whispered your name after you walked past.
To your surprise, you found yourself sharing more classes with Jake than you had expected.
English, where the seating plan placed him one desk beside you after Mrs Henderson announced she wanted "fresh perspectives" before rearranging the entire room. History, where he somehow managed to answer questions without sounding like he was showing off, speaking only when the teacher called on him and never a moment longer. Even Chemistry, where your assigned lab partners changed every fortnight until, through what you suspected was extraordinarily bad luck, you ended up standing opposite him at the same scratched black laboratory bench.
"You look disappointed," he observed one afternoon while measuring chemicals into a graduated cylinder with infuriating precision.
"I was hoping for someone who'd let me do absolutely nothing."
The corner of his mouth lifted, though he kept his attention on the clear liquid slowly rising against the measurement lines.
Your eyebrows rose.
"You did?"
"No."
You let your head fall back with exaggerated disappointment.
"There goes my entire plan for the afternoon."
Jake finally glanced up, the faint smile still lingering on his face.
"You had a plan?"
"I usually don't," you admitted as you leaned against the bench, absentmindedly spinning an empty beaker between your hands. "That's probably the problem."
"I noticed."
You looked at him suspiciously.
"Was that supposed to be an insult?"
"No."
"It sounded like one."
"It wasn't."
"You didn't even deny noticing."
"I didn't think I had to."
For a second, you simply stared at him before a reluctant laugh escaped you. Jake smiled in return, before returning his attention to the experiment.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember why talking to him had once felt awkward.
The strange thing about Jake was that conversations with him never felt like conversations you had to win. He never treated your sarcasm like a challenge or an invitation to argue. Most people responded to your remarks by trying to outmatch them, determined to prove they were cleverer or funnier or somehow immune to the walls you built around yourself. Jake simply accepted them for what they were, answering with the same gentle humour every time until, before you realised it, you found yourself talking without thinking quite so carefully about every word.
You hated how easy that was becoming.
One morning you arrived at English to find the teacher running late, and Jake had absentmindedly saved the empty seat beside him without either of you acknowledging it. You would steal half his fries at lunch because, according to you, "sharing was a Christian virtue," and he'd sigh with theatrical disappointment before sliding the carton a little closer anyway. Another afternoon you discovered your pen had run out halfway through a history test, and before you could even ask, another one appeared silently on your desk. He never made a point of it. By the end of the lesson, he'd simply asked for it back with an absent-minded, "I only own two."
Neither of you ever spoke about it.
There simply came a point where being around one another stopped requiring an invitation.
By the time October settled over Maple Creek, the trees lining Main Street had begun surrendering their leaves one by one, covering the sidewalks in deep shades of amber and burnt gold that crunched beneath your shoes on the walk home. The afternoons grew cooler, sunlight fading earlier than it had only weeks before, and your routine settled into something that almost resembled normality. School. Home. Homework you pretended to hate. Dinner with your father, who looked a little less exhausted every evening.
One Friday evening, you arrived home to find the house smelling faintly of rosemary, garlic and something roasting in the oven. Music drifted quietly from the old radio your father had finally unpacked, filling the kitchen with the familiar sound of Fleetwood Mac while every available surface had somehow become covered with bowls, chopping boards and ingredients.
"What happened?" you asked, eyeing the organised chaos spread across every available surface.
Your father looked over his shoulder, the wooden spoon still resting in his hand, his brow creasing with mild confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"You cooked."
A quiet laugh escaped him as he returned his attention to the saucepan.
"I do know how."
"You ordered takeaway four nights this week."
"I was busy."
"And now?"
He hesitated for only a second before a small, almost satisfied smile settled across his face.
"I invited the Sims over for dinner."
The words landed with enough force that you straightened instinctively.
"You... invited them?"
"I did."
You stared at him for a long moment, trying to decide whether he was joking. Judging by the calm expression on his face as he sprinkled herbs into the saucepan, he wasn't.
"The pastor's family?"
"Our neighbours," he corrected gently.
You let out a slow sigh, dropping into one of the kitchen chairs as you rubbed a hand across your forehead.
"You really expect me to survive an entire evening of polite conversation?"
Your father smiled to himself as he stirred the sauce once more.
"I think you'll manage."
You narrowed your eyes at him.
"I think you're overestimating me."
His smile only grew. "Dinner's at six tomorrow."
You groaned quietly, letting your head fall back against the chair.
"I wasn't asking."
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The following evening arrived with surprising speed, carrying with it the kind of nervous anticipation you refused to acknowledge. By half past five, the house had been transformed into something almost unrecognisable. The dining table, which had spent the better part of a month buried beneath unopened mail and half-unpacked boxes, now sat neatly arranged with your father's best plates and polished cutlery that hadn't seen daylight since Chicago.
Your father had changed shirts twice.
You knew because you'd watched him do it.
The first one had apparently been "too wrinkled." The second, according to him, made him look like he was trying too hard. Eventually he'd settled on a navy button-down you'd seen him wear exactly twice before, smoothing imaginary creases from the sleeves every few minutes as he checked the oven for what had to be the sixth time.
"You know they're only coming for dinner," you observed from where you leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching him fuss over the table with growing amusement.
Without looking up, he adjusted one of the forks by what couldn't have been more than half a centimetre.
"I know."
The doorbell rang precisely at six.
Your father disappeared into the hallway before you had a chance to move, and moments later the sound of warm greetings drifted through the house, accompanied by the unmistakable laughter of Mrs Sim. You remained exactly where you were for another moment, taking a steadying breath before reluctantly following.
The Sims stood just inside the front entrance, autumn coats folded neatly over their arms after escaping the cool evening air. Mrs Sim was the first to notice you, her face brightening instantly as she crossed the hallway with the same effortless warmth she seemed to carry everywhere, wrapping you in a brief hug before you had any real opportunity to avoid it.
"Oh, sweetheart," she said, stepping back to admire you with an approving smile. "It's lovely to see you again."
You returned an awkward smile, still adjusting to people who expressed affection so freely.
"You too."
Pastor Sim stood nearby, extending a firm hand toward your father while thanking him again for the invitation. He carried himself with the same quiet authority you'd heard in his sermons, though stripped of the pulpit and formal robes, he seemed considerably less intimidating than he had on Sunday morning. He laughed easily, spoke gently, and thanked your father three separate times before stepping inside.
Jake lingered near the back of the group, waiting until everyone else had entered before quietly closing the front door behind them. Unlike church, where he'd worn pressed clothes and carried a Bible tucked neatly beneath one arm, tonight he looked comfortably ordinary. Holding a charcoal knit jumper over his arm, he wore a pale collared shirt whose sleeves had been rolled casually to his forearms, and his hair, usually kept neatly in place throughout the school day, had begun to curl slightly around his forehead in the cool evening air.
His eyes found yours almost immediately.
A small smile appeared before either of you spoke.
"Hi."
"Hi."
The greeting was simple, almost laughably so after weeks of sharing classrooms and conversations, but somehow it felt different here. There were no teachers nearby pretending not to overhear you, no church congregation moving around you, no hurried walk between classes limiting the conversation to a few passing words. This was your house. He was standing in your hallway.
"So..." you said, leaning casually against the hallway wall as the adults disappeared into the dining room. Your eyes moved over him with deliberate curiosity, taking in the fact that the boy who spent his days looking perfectly composed at school was now standing in your house looking slightly out of place. "This is how you spend your Saturday nights?"
Jake glanced towards the dining room before looking back at you, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. He seemed caught between defending himself and admitting you had a point.
"Apparently."
Before you could say something back, Mrs Sim called for both of you from the dining room, and Jake gestured for you to go ahead.
You looked at him suspiciously as you walked past.
"Just manners?"
He smiled.
"Just manners."
Dinner was easier than you expected.
You had prepared yourself for an evening of uncomfortable silence and forced conversation, the kind where every question felt like an interrogation and every answer had to be carefully chosen. Instead, the night moved naturally. Your father and Pastor Sim carried most of the conversation, discussing the town, work, and everything you had missed during your first few weeks in Maple Creek. Mrs Sim filled in the quieter moments with stories about the neighbourhood, laughing whenever your father admitted something embarrassing about adjusting to a smaller town.
You mostly listened. Jake sat across from you, occasionally catching your eye when the adults became too invested in their conversation. Each time, there was a quiet understanding between you both—a shared amusement at the fact that neither of you had expected the evening to be as normal as it was.
By the time the dinner had ended, the plates were cleared away, the last traces of conversation drifting from the kitchen as your father and the Sims continued talking.
You had just started relaxing into the evening when your father returned from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel as he glanced between you and Jake.
"You know what?" he said, wiping his hands on a towel. "You should show Jake your vinyl collection."
You looked up immediately.
"My what?"
Your father ignored the disbelief in your voice, leaning casually against the doorway.
"You spent all that time organising them last week."
You narrowed your eyes at him, already knowing exactly what he was doing.
Jake glanced towards you, a small smile forming.
"I'd like to see them." He responded.
"Fine.", you sighed, standing from your chair.
Your father smiled in victory.
"But if you judge my music taste," you added, pointing at Jake, "I'm making you leave."
A quiet laugh escaped him as he followed you towards the stairs.
You led the worn wooden stairs creak under Jake's weight as you guided him up to your room. You could feel the heat of his gaze on the back of your neck, a palpable thing that had nothing to do with the heat of the evening. "My dad has a few old gospel records," he said, his voice softer than it had been downstairs. "But they're predictable. The same messages."
You pushed your bedroom door open, "Predictable is boring," you stated, your tone leaving no room for argument as you gestured for him to enter. He stepped over the threshold like he was crossing into another world, his eyes wide as they took in the turntable on your desk.
You watched his throat work as he swallowed.
You pulled a record from its sleeve, toying with the black disk in your hands. "This one," you said, not asking, as you placed it on the platter and lowered the needle. A slow, grinding bassline filled the room, something primal that seemed to push against the walls. Jake flinched, just slightly. "Listen," you instructed, standing close enough that your arm brushed his. You didn't move away. "Hear the difference?."
He stared at the spinning record, but his attention was fractured, pulled to where your skin met the crisp cotton of his polo shirt. "It's intense," he managed, his voice tight. You turned to face him fully, closing the small distance. You saw the conflict in his eyes, the lifetime of doctrine warring with a raw, waking curiosity.
"You don't have to analyse it, Jake," you murmured, your hand coming up to not quite touch his cheek. You let it hover. "You just have to experience it." His breath caught. His eyes fluttered shut for a second, and when they opened, the look in them was one of surrender. You finally let your fingertips graze his jawline. He leaned into it, ever so slightly.
Your other hand found his, prying his fingers open from the fist he hadn't realized he'd made. You guided his palm, placing it flat against the album cover on your desk. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" you asked, the music swelling around you both. He didn't speak. He only nodded, a slow, deliberate dip of his chin, his eyes locked on yours.
The song ended with a final, resonant thrum, and the sudden silence felt louder than the music. Jake’s hand remained on the album cover, his knuckles pale. You watched him, the rise and fall of his chest beneath his starched shirt a little too quick. You didn’t move your fingers from his jaw. The air in the room grew thick, charged with the things he’d been taught to confess and repent.
You finally broke the contact, turning back to the turntable. You lifted the tonearm, the click of the switch cutting off the faint surface noise. “There’s more,” you said, your voice a low murmur, not looking at him as you flipped through the crate, the cardboard sleeves stacked against each other. You could feel him watching you, his eyes following your every move.
You selected another record, this one with a stark, abstract cover in deep reds and blacks. “This one builds slower,” you explained, your back still to him as you slid the vinyl out. “It takes its time. It makes you wait for it.” You placed it on the platter, setting the needle down with care, and a single, clean piano note echoed through the speakers, followed by another, spaced apart by a breath of silence. Jake let out a slow exhale behind you. You heard the soft rustle of his clothes as he shifted his weight.
You turned then, leaning back against the edge of your desk, crossing your ankles. You studied him openly—the way his hair fell a little too perfectly over his forehead, the rigid set of his shoulders that was beginning to soften. His eyes were fixed on the record as it spun, but you knew he wasn’t really seeing it. He was listening, truly listening, to the music.
“Do you understand now?” you asked, your voice barely above the level of the unfolding melody. His gaze flickered to yours, and in the low light from your desk lamp, you saw the first crack in his composure, a fine, hairline fracture. He gave another small, silent nod. You held his look for a long moment, then let your eyes drift back to the spinning black disk, letting the music fill the space where words would have been a trespass.
His fingers slowly curled, lifting from the album cover. He brought his hand back to his side, but it didn’t hang with its usual relaxed posture. It was a fist again, though looser this time, as if holding onto the ghost of the sensation. The piano melody wove around a slow, deliberate drumbeat. He took a half-step forward, then stopped, as if an invisible line on your floor marked a boundary he wasn’t sure he was allowed to cross.
You didn’t invite him closer. You simply watched, your expression neutral, giving him nothing but the space to choose. His eyes traveled from the turntable to your face, then down to your lips, before snapping back up, a faint flush coloring his neck. The music built, layer upon layer, a sonic cathedral of something entirely secular. It was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous to him, you could tell.
“Where did you find this?” he finally asked, his voice rough. It was the first question he’d dared to ask since entering your room. It wasn’t about the music, not really.
“A little shop downtown,” you answered, your tone casual. “The owner knows what I like.” You uncrossed your ankles and stood up straight, taking a single, slow step toward him. He didn’t retreat. The distance between you was now just a matter of a few inches. You could see the rapid pulse at the base of his throat.
“It doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard,” he admitted, the confession seeming to cost him something. His gaze dropped to your collar, to the hollow of your throat, before he forced it back to your eyes. He was trying so hard to be polite, to maintain eye contact, even as every instinct was pulling him elsewhere.
You reached out again, this time not towards his face, but towards the stiff collar of his polo shirt. You didn’t grab it. You merely hooked a single finger under the fabric, just beside his neck, and gave the slightest tug. His breath hitched audibly, a sharp sound swallowed by the swelling music. His entire body went still, a deer caught in headlights.
A slow, wry smile touched his lips, a flicker of his usual self breaking through the tension. “Checking the thread count?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper that carried a surprising hint of humor. It was a defense mechanism, a quick-witted retreat into something safe and mundane, but it faltered as your finger remained, the back of your knuckle resting against the pounding pulse in his throat.
You released the collar, your finger brushing the warm skin of his collarbone as you withdrew. “Just seeing if it’s as ruined as your demeanor,” you replied, matching his tone but letting your gaze drop meaningfully to his lips. The color in his cheeks deepened, but he held your look. The music built around you, a complex tapestry of sound that felt like it was weaving the two of you together in the dim light.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “My mom insists on a specific laundry routine. Says a crisp appearance reflects a… an ordered mind.” The words were a confession and an offering, a glimpse into the world of rules that shaped him. He was letting you in, piece by piece, even as his body trembled on the precipice.
Your hands came up to frame his face, your thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. He leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. You kissed him, your mouth demanding against his, and after a moment of stillness, Jake responded with a desperate, hungry fervor that shattered his careful composure. His hands came up, hovering awkwardly at your sides before finally settling on your waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt. A low groan vibrated from his chest into yours. You walked him backward until his legs hit the edge of your bed, and he sat down with a soft thump, breaking the kiss only because he had to.
You stood between his knees, looking down at him. His lips were swollen, his breath coming in short pants. You reached for the hem of his polo shirt again. This time, you didn’t tease. You pulled it up and over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. His chest was pale and smooth, his skin heating under your gaze. Your fingers went to the button of his chinos. He watched, mesmerized, as you undid it, then the zipper. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his pants and his briefs. “Lift,” you commanded softly.
He obeyed instantly, raising his hips so you could strip the last barriers from him. He was fully, beautifully exposed, sitting on the edge of your bed. You let your eyes travel over him, a slow, appreciative look that made him shiver. Then you sank to your knees on the floor before him. His eyes widened, a soft “oh” escaping him. You didn’t make him wait. You took him into your mouth, your tongue sweeping a broad, wet stroke along his length. His whole body jerked, a choked cry tearing from his throat. His hands flew to your hair, not pushing or pulling, just tangling in the strands as if he needed to hold onto something solid.
You set a slow, deep rhythm, your mouth a warm, slick haven. His hips began to move in tiny, helpless thrusts, a rhythm as old as time but entirely new to him in this context. His breaths were ragged prayers, gasps of “please” and “God” that had nothing to do with the divinity he’d been raised to worship and everything to do to the sinful paradise you were building with your lips and tongue. You could feel the tension coiling tightly in him, his thighs trembling against your shoulders. Just as he was teetering on the edge, you pulled back, leaving him gasping and bereft. You looked up at him, your chin glistening. “My turn,” you whispered, and you rose to guide him back onto the bed.
He hesitated for only a second, his face flushed with shame and arousal. “I… I shouldn’t,” he whispered, voice trembling. “This is wrong… I was taught to resist this kind of temptation.” Yet his body betrayed him. His cock twitched visibly, already leaking at the tip, and he didn’t resist when you pushed him onto his back. He lay there obediently, arms at his sides, fingers clutching the sheets like he was praying for strength. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, wide and pleading. “Tell me what to do,” he said softly. “I’ll do it. I’ll be good for you.”
You guided him onto his back, and he went without resistance, settling against the sheets with his arms loose at his sides. His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. His cock lay hard against his stomach, flushed dark and twitching with every pulse of his heartbeat. You climbed over him, straddling his hips, and his eyes followed your every movement like he was watching something forbidden yet irresistible.
"I shouldn't," he whispered again, the words catching in his throat. "It's a sin. I've prayed against this... against wanting it." His voice cracked on the last word, but his hips lifted slightly, seeking contact even as he spoke against it. His hands stayed where they were, fingers digging into the bedding, waiting for your command.
You leaned down until your lips brushed his ear. "Then pray while I use you," you told him. A soft, broken sound escaped him, half a whimper and half a moan. You reached between your bodies, wrapped your fingers around his cock, and lined him up. His whole frame tensed as the head pressed against your entrance.
"Please," he breathed. "Tell me I'm allowed. Tell me to take it."
"Push up," you ordered.
He obeyed at once. His hips rose in one smooth thrust, sliding into you with a single, desperate motion. The moment he was buried to the hilt, a strangled prayer tore from his lips—half-formed words of repentance mixed with raw need. You stayed still above him, letting him feel every inch of your heat gripping him, while his thighs trembled beneath you.
"Move," you said.
He started with shallow, careful thrusts, trying to keep some measure of control, but it quickly unraveled. His hips snapped upward harder, chasing the slick friction, each stroke punctuated by soft, guilty gasps of "God" and "forgive me." His hands finally left the sheets to grip your hips, not to guide you but to hold on as if you were the only thing anchoring him. Every time he bottomed out, his eyes squeezed shut like he was both praying for strength and begging for more.
You leaned forward, pressing your chest to his, and whispered against his mouth, "You're being so good for me. So obedient."
A shudder ran through him. "I want to be good," he panted. "I want to please you. Even if it's wrong. Even if I have to confess later." His thrusts grew faster, more urgent, the wet sound of your bodies meeting filling the room. Pre-cum leaked steadily from him inside you, mixing with your own slickness. His abs flexed with every movement, the muscles in his arms standing out as he held you.
You sat up again, rolling your hips in a slow circle that made him cry out. "Don't come yet," you warned.
He nodded frantically, biting his lower lip hard enough to leave marks. "I won't. I won't until you say. I'll hold it. I'll be good." His cock throbbed inside you, right on the edge, but he forced his hips to slow, following your command even as his entire body shook with the effort. Sweat beaded on his forehead and chest. His eyes stayed locked on yours, wide, glassy, and completely surrendered.
You stayed seated on him, savoring the way his cock pulsed inside you with every desperate heartbeat. His grip on your hips tightened, but he kept his thrusts shallow and controlled exactly as you ordered. Sweat glistened across his pale chest, and his lips moved in silent prayer even while his body betrayed every word of it.
"Good boy," you murmured, rolling your hips in a slow grind that dragged a broken moan from his throat. "Keep praying. Let me hear it."
His voice cracked as he obeyed. "Forgive me... Lord, forgive me for this... for wanting it so much..." Each word dissolved into a gasp when you clenched around him. His thighs quivered beneath you, and his cock twitched hard, threatening to spill, but he fought it back with visible effort.
You leaned down and kissed him hard, swallowing the next plea. When you pulled back, a thin strand of saliva connected your mouths. "Now fuck me properly," you told him. "Hard. Don't stop until I tell you."
The permission hit him like a command from above. His hips snapped up in one powerful thrust that drove the air from his lungs. He buried himself to the hilt again and again, the wet slap of skin filling the room. His fingers dug into your flesh hard enough to leave marks as he used every ounce of strength to obey. Each stroke punched a ragged sound from him—half curse, half prayer.
"Yes... yes, use me," he panted. "I'm yours... I'm so sorry, God, but I'm yours right now." His eyes stayed locked on yours, glassy with guilt and lust. Pre-cum leaked steadily from him, mixing with your slickness and making every thrust louder, filthier.
You reached between your bodies and rubbed your clit in tight circles while he pounded into you. The sight of him—flushed, sweating, desperate—pushed you closer. "Don't come," you warned again. "Not until I do."
He nodded frantically, jaw clenched, veins standing out in his neck. His rhythm never faltered even as his whole body shook with the effort of holding back. "I won't... I promise... I'll be good... I'll wait..." His cock swelled inside you, so close to the edge it hurt to watch, but he kept driving upward exactly as you wanted.
You rode him faster, chasing your own release while he suffered beautifully beneath you. His prayers had dissolved into wordless, broken sounds. Every thrust hit deep, the head of his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you until your thighs started to tremble.
"Now," you gasped. "Come with me."
The permission shattered what little control he had left. His hips jerked upward in one final, brutal thrust as he came hard, flooding you with hot pulses. A loud, guilty cry tore from his throat—your name mixed with another broken apology to God. His cock throbbed violently inside you, emptying everything he had while his body arched off the bed. You clenched around him and came right after, your walls pulsing and milking every drop from him.
He kept thrusting weakly through both orgasms, unable to stop even after he was spent. When the last aftershocks faded, he collapsed back against the sheets, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut in shame and relief. His softening cock still twitched inside you, sensitive and overstimulated.
You stayed on top of him, letting him feel the mess he'd made. After a long moment he opened his eyes, looking up at you with raw, wrecked devotion.
"Thank you," he whispered. "For... for letting me. Even though I shouldn't have."
◌ֹ 💭 ִ ՞
You hadn't expected Jake to become so desperate for you. Then again, you couldn't argue against it since the boy had never touched anything until that night in your bedroom. That night had been your experiment, a little game to see if the golden boy preacher’s son would crack, and he had shattered. Now, three weeks later, the crack had become a canyon, and he was falling through it daily, reaching for you.
He appeared at your usual smoke spot, his crisp button-down looking absurd against the scarred wall. His hands were shoved deep in his khaki pockets, his shoulders tense. "The archives in the library basement," he said, his voice low and urgent, skipping any greeting. "The theology section. No one goes there on Wednesday afternoons." His eyes, usually so clear and certain, were clouded with a need that looked like physical pain. You took a long drag of your cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly, watching him flinch. Not from the smoke, but from the delay.
It became a pattern. A folded note tucked into your sociology textbook with a time and a location scrawled in his neat handwriting: *Boiler room, 3 PM.* A text message that just read *Empty classroom, second floor, east wing. Now.* He never asked if you wanted to. He simply presented the opportunity, a sinner offering his own temptation, his voice always carrying that same ragged edge. You’d find him there, pacing or standing perfectly still, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break. The moment he saw you, the calm would evaporate, replaced by a frantic energy as he fumbled with his belt, or yours, his prayers forgotten, replaced by whispered pleas against your skin.
You met him in the designated broom closet. It was cramped, smelling of lemon cleaner and dust. He had you pressed against the shelves before the door clicked shut, his mouth hot and demanding on yours, his hands pulling at your clothes with a clumsy haste. "I can't stop thinking about it," he gasped against your neck, his hips already moving against you. "About you. That's all I think about." His confession was torn from him, as he learned your body with a fervor he'd once reserved for scripture, each touch a new verse in a gospel of his own damnation.
Afterward, he would help you dress with trembling hands, his fingers brushing your skin as if memorizing it. He’d smooth his own hair, try to rearrange his face into something resembling the composed Jake everyone else saw. But the look in his eyes gave him away—a hollowed-out, hungry thing. "Tomorrow," he'd say, not as a question, but as a statement of fact, a necessary appointment for his survival. "The photo development lab. During the yearbook committee meeting."
You saw him at a campus ministry barbecue two days later. He was flipping burgers, laughing politely, the perfect picture of clean-cut devotion. His eyes scanned the crowd, found you leaning against a tree at the edge of the lawn. He held your gaze for a fraction of a second too long, and the plastic spatula in his hand snapped clean in two. He looked down at the broken pieces, then back at you, a slow flush creeping up his neck. He turned back to the grill, abandoning the ruined burger, and walked away from the crowd without a word to anyone.
The broken spatula was the first public crack. He didn't come to the smoke spot for two days, and you assumed maybe the guilt had finally won, that the prayer circles and his father’s disappointed eyes had rebuilt the wall. You were almost disappointed. Then, on the third day, as you were leaving a late class, a hand closed around your wrist from the shadow of a doorway. It was Jake, but he looked ravaged. Dark circles smudged under his eyes, his hair was uncharacteristically messy, and his collar was undone.
"Walk with me," he said, his voice hoarse. It wasn't a request. He didn't let go of your wrist as he steered you away from the main paths, toward the old greenhouse at the edge of the botanical gardens. It was locked for the night, but he produced a key from his pocket. Inside, the air was thick and humid, and he finally released you, turning to face you under the ghostly light filtering through the glass ceiling. "I tried," he breathed out, the words sounding ripped from his chest. "I prayed. I read. I went to confession." A harsh, humorless laugh escaped him. "It just made it worse. All I could think about was the smell of your skin in that closet."
He reached for you then, but his touch was different. It wasn't the frantic groping of before. His hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks with a terrifying tenderness. "You ruined me," he whispered, his forehead leaning against yours. "Do you understand that? Completely. And I don't want to be fixed." His mouth found yours, and this kiss was a slow, deep claim, devoid of its earlier panic. It was a surrender. He guided you down onto a bed of soft peat moss behind a tray of orchids, his movements deliberate.
He took his time. He peeled your clothes away with a reverence that was more unsettling than his prior desperation. He mapped every inch of you with his lips and tongue, whispering things that sounded like prayers but weren't. "This is my communion," he murmured against your stomach, his breath hot. "This is my only truth." When he finally entered you, it was with a slow, devastating roll of his hips that made you cry out, the sound swallowed by the dense air. He moved with a focused intensity, his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure on your face as if studying for a final exam.
After lying tangled together on the borrowed jacket he’d spread beneath you, he didn't scramble to leave. He traced idle patterns on your arm, his head on your chest. "My father is giving the sermon at the downtown mission on Friday night," he said, his voice quiet in the humid dark. "The office in the back will be empty. The door locks." He stated matter-of-factly. The dependency had crystallized into something calm and absolute.
◌ֹ 💭 ִ ՞
Your father stood at the stove, absently stirring a saucepan while an old Fleetwood Mac song played softly from the radio, the familiar melody blending with the quiet clink of cutlery as you wandered in to grab your jacket from the back of a chair.
"You've been going out a lot lately."
His voice was casual, almost conversational, though you could feel him watching for your reaction.
You shrugged one shoulder as you zipped up your jacket.
"So?"
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he looked back at the saucepan, stirring it slowly.
"I don't know..." he said after a moment, choosing his words carefully. "You just seem happier."
Your hand paused around your keys, turning to look at him properly, a faint crease appearing between your brows, "Really?"
He nodded once, meeting your eyes for only a second before his attention drifted back to dinner, "I think so."
You let out a quiet breath, leaning your hip against the counter as though considering the possibility for the first time.
"...I didn't notice."
"I don't think you were supposed to."
The silence that followed settled easily between you, neither awkward nor heavy. The saucepan continued to bubble softly on the stove while somewhere outside, a car rolled slowly down Maple Street.
You pushed yourself away from the counter, slinging your jacket over your shoulders.
"You're not going to ask where I'm going?"
Your father smiled to himself, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.
"I thought about it." He admitted.
"And?"
He looked back at you then, amusement warming his expression.
"I figured you'd tell me it was none of my business."
A slow grin spread across your face, "See you later."
"Don't stay out too late," he called after you, though there wasn't much authority behind it anymore.
You glanced back over your shoulder, a teasing smile still lingering on your face.
"No promises."
The downtown mission was cold and smelled of old wood and candle wax. He was waiting for you in the dark, a silhouette against the faint light from the stained-glass window depicting the crucifixion. He didn't speak, he simply took your hand and led you to the low, padded kneeler at the front of the small room. He guided you to kneel, then knelt beside you, not before the altar, but facing you. His hands trembled as he reached for the hem of your skirt, pushing the fabric up your thighs.
His repentance began with his mouth between your legs, there on the kneeler, his whispered prayers lost against your skin. Each flick of his tongue was a plea for forgiveness, each deep, worshiping stroke a confession of his weakness. He drank from you like communion, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady as he sought his own form of absolution in your taste. When your back arched and a stifled moan escaped your lips, he only pressed closer, his own need evident in the desperate sounds vibrating against you.
After, as you trembled, he rose to his feet. He unzipped his dress pants with a soft hiss that was obscenely loud in the quiet. He took your hand and wrapped your fingers around him, his own hand covering yours, showing you the rhythm. "Do it," he breathed, his eyes clenched shut, his head tilted back toward the vaulted ceiling. "Let me feel you… take your penance from me." Your hand moved on him, slow at first, then faster at his urging, his hips jerking into your fist. His other hand came up to cover your mouth, muffling the sound of his own ragged, broken gasps as he spilled over your fingers, his release hot and sudden in the dim, holy space.
He sank back onto his heels, breathing heavily, his forehead resting against your shoulder. The silence returned, thick and heavy. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket, the kind he always carried, and carefully wiped your hand clean. Then he wiped himself, folded the soiled cloth, and tucked it back into his pocket without a word. He stood, straightened his clothes, and ran a hand through his hair. He looked at you, still kneeling on the padded bench, your skirt rumpled, and in his eyes was a profound, unsettling peace. The crisis had passed. The sin was complete. He offered you a hand up, his touch now steady.
Sunday night found you in the back pew of the very same church, the evening service sparsely attended. Jake was at the pulpit, his voice clear and strong, speaking about grace and the burden of temptation. He looked every inch the devoted son, his suit crisp, his expression serene. His eyes scanned the congregation and landed on you. There was no flicker of recognition, no secret smile. His gaze passed over you as if you were a stranger. The sermon ended. The final hymn was sung. People filed out, offering him quiet greetings which he returned with gentle nods.
You waited until the last person had left, until the sexton had dimmed the lights and exited, leaving only the eternal flame flickering near the altar. The heavy door clicked shut. Jake remained at the front, his back to you, staring up at the cross. You stood and walked down the center aisle, the sound of your footsteps swallowed by the cavernous space. He didn't turn. You stopped a few feet behind him. For a long moment, there was only the faint hum of the building's electricity.
"Tell me you're sorry," you said, your voice soft but echoing slightly in the empty church.
He finally turned. In the dim light, his face was unreadable. He took a step toward you, then another, closing the distance. He didn't touch you. He simply looked down at you, his expression a mask of perfect, placid devotion. "I am washed clean," he stated, his voice low and even. Then his hand came up, not to your face, but to the top button of his own shirt. He undid it. Then the next. He took your hand and placed it flat against his bare chest, over the frantic, hammering beat of his heart. His skin was fever-hot. His eyes never left yours. The lie was a physical thing between you, trembling under your palm.
"I haven't been able to sleep," he rasped, his voice sounding ruined. "Every time I closed my eyes, I felt you. Every time I spoke of purity, I could taste you on my tongue."
He didn't kiss you softly. He claimed your mouth with a bruising intensity, his tongue demanding entrance as if he were trying to consume you. There was a desperate edge to him now; the seal had been broken, and the floodgates were wide open. He wasn't just a man resisting temptation anymore—he was a man who had tasted the forbidden fruit and found he couldn't survive without it.
His hands were frantic, sliding up your thighs with a familiarity that made your heart race. He knew exactly where you were most sensitive, exactly how to touch you to make you arch your back and moan his name into the silence of the church.
"You've ruined me," he groaned against your skin, his lips trailing fire down your neck to the swell of your breast. "I go to the altar and all I can think about is the way you scream when I'm deep inside you. I'm a liar. A hypocrite. And I don't care."
He reached down, his fingers trembling slightly as he freed himself from his trousers. He was already rock-hard, pulsing with a need that eclipsed any sense of divine duty. He gripped your hips, pulling you to the very edge of the table so he could align himself with you.
He looked you in the eyes, his expression a mix of agony and ecstasy. "Tell me you want this," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous vibrate. "Tell me you want me to forget everything but the way you feel."
As you whispered your consent, he drove into you in one fluid, powerful motion, filling you completely. He let out a guttural sound—half-sob, half-growl—as he buried himself in you, his forehead crashing against yours. The rhythm was savage, a relentless pounding that shook the heavy table, the sound of your colliding bodies echoing through the hallowed halls.
For Jake, this wasn't just sex; it was a desecration, and every thrust felt like a deeper plunge into a beautiful, shimmering hell. He clung to you as if you were the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth, his movements becoming faster, more desperate, as he chased the blinding peak that would leave him shattered and ruined once again.
The sound of the mahogany table groaning under the weight of their colliding bodies filled the room, a rhythmic, visceral thud that drowned out the distant chiming of the church bells. Jake was no longer the composed man of God; he was a storm of sweat and desperation, his breath coming in jagged, ragged gasps that sounded like prayers to a different kind of deity.
He gripped your hips so hard his fingers left crescent marks on your skin, anchoring you as he drove into you with a relentless, punishing force. Every thrust was deeper than the last, hitting a spot that made your vision blur and your toes curl. You could feel the sheer size of him filling you, stretching you, the friction building a heat that threatened to consume you both.
"I can't... I can't stop," he groaned, his voice a guttural wreck. He shifted his angle, lifting one of your legs and hooking it over his shoulder to plunge even deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, a piercing, electric pleasure that radiated through your entire body.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down, your nails digging into his shoulders through the thin fabric of his shirt. You whispered his name—not as a plea, but as a command—and the sound of it seemed to break the last shred of his restraint.
Jake’s movements became frantic, a blur of motion and heat. He was chasing a release that felt like it would tear him apart. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, his voice a low, shaking moan of "Oh God, oh God..."—though now, it wasn't a prayer. It was a surrender.
The tension reached a breaking point. You felt the first wave of your orgasm crash over you, tightening your walls around him in a series of rhythmic, pulsing contractions. The feeling of you gripping him was the final trigger. Jake let out a loud, unrestrained cry—a sound of pure, unadulterated release—as he thrust one last time, buried as deep as he could possibly go.
He shuddered violently, his entire body locking up as he spilled himself inside you in hot, heavy bursts. He collapsed against you, his chest heaving, his heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. For several long minutes, the only sound in the vestry was the sound of two people trying to remember how to breathe.
As he slowly pulled away, the cold air hit your skin, but the heat between you remained. Jake didn't move immediately. He stayed there, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes clouded with a mixture of absolute bliss and a crushing, lingering guilt.
He looked down at the wreckage of their clothes, then back at you, a dark, hungry smile playing on his lips. He leaned in, kissing you softly.
"I'm condemned," he whispered, "And I think I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure we both burn for this."
୨୧ from ♡ 𝑘𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑎𓏼⑅ ♥︎ ୧
this is the longest fic i have ever wrote... so it is kind of proofread... i rlly hope you guys like this because i put so much effort into this and im scared u guys wont!! also im not trying to offend anybody with this fic, its purely for entertainment and entirely fictional!!!
+ this layout is inspired by katsuiki
IN WHICH... Jake walks into his apartment to find you—half-naked—dancing in his living room. When he learns that his roommate left you there and never even touched you, he can’t wait to clean up his mess.
WC: 3.7k
Content/Warnings: MDNI, Strangers to Lovers, Porn With Minimal Plot, Nicotine Use, Smut, Kissing, Unprotected Sex, Edging, Dry-Humping, Riding Jake, Sub Jake (wants reader to use his body)
NOW PLAYING... "Steal The Show" - Lauv
Ari's Note: So this was purely inspired by my complete obsession with Lauv's "Steal The Show" from Elemental (which I actually first heard on Jake's live), and this idea came to me while I was listening. So this is dedicated to all my fellow Lauv listeners <3 Also, this Jake pic?? Like hello?? 😳🫠
The first thing Jake heard walking into his apartment was music.
He set his bag down with a thud, his back aching from carrying it all day. He was exhausted. Running from class to work and back to class again, spending every spare moment studying for his midterm an hour ago that he’d probably bombed.
All he wanted to do was shower and sleep, but the music blasting from the living room seemed to have other ideas. He cursed. God, was he sick of his roommate. Link seemed never to get tired of driving Jake mad. Playing the TV until 3 am, making food in the middle of the night, and having his girlfriend, Lizzie, over so much she practically lived there. He thought about moving out at least three times a day, but the rent was too good, and money was too tight.
He walked slowly to the living room, preparing a speech on decent manners and respect for the people you live with, but when he turned the corner, he froze.
Because there, dancing in the middle of his living room, your eyes closed as you moved with the music, was a girl he’d never seen before.
It wasn’t Lizzie; it wasn’t one of his friends who used his couch to get high; it was a stranger. And not just that, you were practically naked.
He spotted a pile of clothes on the floor, leaving you in nothing but a bra and underwear, dancing to the music like it was your entire world. You flipped your hair and swung your hips, spinning and smiling like you were joy itself. Jake watched in muted shock, the music slowly registering as a song from that new Disney movie about the elements he used to help him get to sleep once.
He looked down and saw a dark blue vape on the coffee table, only just registering how the room smelled a little like blueberries.
Jake opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. You looked so happy, so full of life, the complete opposite of how he felt. It was oddly freeing, and just slightly, he felt some of the tension slip from his shoulders.
He watched you until the song ended, his eyes tracing the curve of your hips and the bounce of your breasts as you moved. You hadn’t noticed—too lost in your own world—or maybe the slight haze of smoke in the room as you giggled and tangled your hands in your hair.
But then it stopped, and Jake blinked. He opened his mouth just as you turned around.
“Oh, my god.” You jumped back, hands immediately moving up to cover yourself.
“S-sorry,” Jake stuttered, “I didn’t mean to-” He looked away and reminded himself that this was a stranger in his apartment. He looked back up, trying his best to keep his eyes from wandering. “Um, who are you?”
“Uh, y/n? Link let me in.”
Jake cocked his head. “Ok…where is he?”
You shrugged, sitting on the couch and picking up the blue vape to take another hit, all of your previous shyness gone. “He said he had to run some errands and to make myself at home.”
He realized that she had no idea Link was probably with Lizzie right now, fucking her while she sat alone getting buzzed in his apartment.
How much of an idiot could that guy be?
Jake sighed, turning off the TV as a new song started playing on the speakers. He ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, I don’t know how to tell you this, but Link…he has a girlfriend, and I doubt he’s coming back tonight.”
You stared at him for a second before a high-pitched laugh stumbled from your lips. You tucked your knees to your chest, and Jake couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to your exposed thigh.
“That sounds like my luck, always picking the wrong guy.” You studied the vape between your fingers, a dazed expression on your face. You held it out to him. “Want a hit?”
Jake’s eyes darted between you and the vape, knowing he should say no, that he should go shower as he planned and go to bed. But another part of his brain, the one that kept staring at the way your boobs spilled out of your bra, urged his feet forward. And before he could process it, he was sitting down next to you, taking the vape from your fingers and bringing it up to his mouth.
The hit was long and satisfying, blooming into his lungs with a subtle warmth. He coughed slightly as he pulled it from his lips, which made you smirk. “Been a while?” You asked.
“Long day.” He said. Jake put it back on the table, leaning back into the couch with a sigh.
He felt your eyes on him, and he turned his head, noticing now how pretty your eyes were. “How’d you meet Link?”
You tilted your head against the couch cushion, your body still turned towards him. “In the library. He sat at my table while I was studying.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said that I looked like I was stressed and could use a night to relax.”
“So you followed him here?”
“I know, I have zero survival instincts.”
Jake snorted, “Did you guys…?”
You laughed, burying your head in the cushions. “We made out a bit, I sucked his dick, and he left.” You moved your head so that only one eye and part of your mouth were visible. “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”
Jake laughed too. “No, he is, believe me, that guy is a total train wreck. If I had a penny for every time he made me roll my eyes, I’d be rich.”
“That bad?”
“Oh yeah, he makes me miss the dorms.”
You raised your eyebrows. “Oh, so really bad. And here I was falling for it.”
Jake shrugged. “Looks like you were having plenty of fun without him. Never thought I’d see someone dance like that to a song from a kids' movie.”
You shoved his leg with your foot. He tried not to think about the way your thighs rubbed together.
“It’s a good song; you can’t blame me.”
He put his hands up, feeling the buzz setting in, his head fuzzy and loose. “Hey, I’m not. I enjoyed the show.” He winked.
You smiled and looked down, picking at the skin around your nail.
Jake glanced over you again, the words slipping from his lips before he could stop them: “Did he really not do anything?”
You looked up, letting out a short laugh. “I took these clothes off myself; he barely touched me.”
Jake felt a twinge of annoyance in his gut. How could Link leave a girl like you sitting around? If you’re going to be a cheating asshole, at least do it right. He slowly reached out his hand and gently brushed his knuckles down your knee.
“Do you want to be touched?”
The air in the room shifted as you both realized where you were sitting.
You visibly tensed, your eyes searching his. Jake chewed on his lip, studying your expression that started as hesitation and slowly morphed into interest.
“Maybe.”
He smirked. “Maybe?” He moved a bit closer, opening his palm to move down your thigh, your skin prickling under him. “I’m going to need you to be a bit clearer.”
Your eyes fell to his lips, and he watched with bated breath as you parted your knees slightly at his touch. Jake searched your eyes for confirmation, making small circles on your thigh.
He watched your pupils dilate and your skin shiver. The hint of smoke in the room hung around your face, making the tension feel thicker—heavier.
You nodded, your words slightly breathless, “Yes.”
He moved, gripping your thighs and pulling them hard so you were dragged onto your back. He ran his hand up your stomach, smirking as you shivered under him. He leaned down and kissed the skin below your bra.
You sighed, and he smiled, realizing how long you must have been waiting to be touched that night. He hooked his hand behind your back and unclipped your bra, pulling it off you in one motion. Jake groaned when he took in your bare chest, immediately sinking to take one of your nipples in his mouth.
His tongue played with the raised bud, the sensation combined with his hair tickling your skin, making you moan. You slipped your hand into his hair, holding him down.
Jake made a sound, his tongue becoming more active as he felt your fingers pull at his hair. His hand moved down to your hip, his thumb playing with the hem of your underwear as he pulled away from your breast with a wet pop.
He looked at you, the nicotine making the image of you spread out under him painfully euphoric as his erection pressed against his pants. “Link doesn’t know what he’s missing.” He leaned down and captured your lips with his, moving his mouth until you opened for him, giving him the space to slip his tongue past your teeth. He swirled his tongue around yours, groaning when you pulled him closer. “Don’t worry,” he pulled back, “I’ll make you feel good.”
You nodded quickly, your body humming with excitement. “What’s your name again?”
He smiled, “Jake.”
You threaded your fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth back on yours. “Jake,” you moaned into his mouth. You grabbed at the bottom of his shirt, desperate to feel his bare skin pressed against yours.
He pulled back just long enough to pull the fabric over his head, revealing a lean expanse of muscle and smooth pale skin. You barely had time to enjoy the view before he was back on you, kissing you like a starved animal.
“Fuck I needed this,” he groaned. He traced his hand down your stomach in reverence, his hungry eyes scraping down your body. “You’re so pretty. Should dance for me all the time”
You smiled, his words sending a shock of pleasure straight towards your core. “I’ll consider it.”
He smirked and buried his face in your neck, kissing and sucking at the skin with persistent swipes of his tongue. “I’ll play whatever song you want.”
You moaned as his teeth grazed your nape and you felt your walls clench around nothing. You gripped at his back, feeling his shoulders flex around your touch. You dug your nails in slightly and smiled when he whimpered into your neck, his arm braced around your head, buckling. His chest fell until he was pressed fully against your tits, your hard peaks buried against the warmth of his body.
“Jake!” You gasped, your forehead pressed against his as you tried to catch your breath. You couldn’t stop staring at his lips. They were swollen and glistening with your shared saliva, slightly parted as air slipped through in short gasps. You thought you could kiss them all day, and the heavy fog in your brain was doing nothing to dissuade you.
You kissed him again. “I want to ride you, want to feel you cum inside me.”
Jake made a sound—something between a growl and a whine—and gripped your waist, his fingers firm and protective. He searched your face, his eyes dripping with desire. But even still, you could pick out a single kernel of restraint.
“Are you sure? You don’t even know me-”
“Jake.” You said, holding his face as you stared at him. “I don’t give a shit right now. After waiting hours for your jerk roommate, I think I deserve a reward.”
Jake smirked, and with a surprising show of strength, hooked his hands under your ass and lifted you off the couch and onto his lap.
You yelped in surprise, gripping onto his shoulders as your whole world blurred.
He smiled, his hands holding your hips firmly against him. You could feel his erection pressed against your core, the fabric of his pants already damp with arousal. He hadn’t removed your panties, and the thin layer of fabric between your aching bodies was torturous.
You ground against him softly, and both of you moaned together. His hands gripped your ass cheeks and spread them wider, making your core sit more firmly on his length. Jake moved your hips so your folds brushed over him in another torturous stripe, making you both gasp.
You fumbled at the button on his pants, but he shoved your hands away, instead holding your wrists and guiding them around his neck. “Not yet. I wanna feel you…slowly.”
“Jake,” you whined, “I’ve waited so long.”
He kissed you softly. “I know, baby, but it will be worth it, I promise. Link is gonna regret leaving you alone for the rest of his life.”
You smiled against his lips.
Then he moved.
His hips ground against yours in a steady rhythm, making your clothed core rub against his pants with devastating friction. You buried your hands in his hair, tugging softly as broken moans slipped from your lips. Jake’s breathing became ragged as he moved, and he nuzzled his nose into your neck and up your cheek until his lips were on you, swallowing your sounds in a hungry kiss.
You moved against each other until you were so wet your underwear was practically soaked through, and you could hear the squelch of your pussy with every move of your hips. The sound only fueled the hunger between you, and you sped up, moaning every time his tip caught on your clit.
Jake watched you with wide eyes, his head whipping up and down between your colliding bodies and the way your tits bounced as you ground with increased passion. He leaned forward and took one of your hard nipples into his mouth, flicking his tongue against the bud with surprising control. You ran your hands down his back that was already wet with sweat, and you felt his groan vibrate from his throat and through your chest.
“Jake, I’m close.” You breathed.
He immediately pulled away, and you almost came at the sight of him. His hair was a complete mess from your fingers, big and fluffy and falling in sweaty clumps over his forehead. His lips were somehow puffier than before, pink as sour candy—and when his tongue flicked out over them—you couldn’t help but sigh. But his eyes were what almost destroyed you. They were wide and dazed, unfocused on everything except you, and when they met yours, there was only pure need.
“You ready to ride me, baby?" His hands went to the button of his jeans, and he loosened it before looking back at you for confirmation.
You responded by slipping off his lap, giving him enough room to pull his pants and boxers down. His hard length sprang free, and you cursed at the sight of it. It was long and thick, dripping and angry at the tip from the intense foreplay. You forced your mouth closed when you realized you were basically drooling.
Jake leaned back on the couch and beckoned to you, eyes darting between your face and his dick.
You bit your lip and pulled off your soaked panties before slowly climbing back over him, gasping as his tip brushed your folds. His hands settled back over your hips, providing a steady anchor.
“Go slow,” He said.
You grabbed his shoulders and gently moved so his tip brushed a stripe through your swollen pussy lips, covering him in your wetness.
Jake inhaled sharply and tilted his head back, his jaw clenched.
“You like that?” You did it again.
“Yes!” He gasped. He tilted his head so it was sandwiched between your breasts. “You feel so fucking good, y/n.”
“I thought you were the one supposed to make me feel good, yet here we are.” You teased, sinking so his tip barely slotted into your entrance.
He groaned into your chest, his hot breath fanning over your tits. His grip on your hips only tightened, his fingers almost painful. You looked down and saw the veins on his forearms protruding prominently, strained as he resisted spearing you with his cock.
“You said to go slow; I’m just following your orders, Jake.”
“Good girl,” he gasped. He kissed the space between your breasts. “So perfect for me.” He lowered your hips, drawing a loud moan from your lips as the stretch deepened. Jake thought it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, and he realized he’d do anything to hear it again.
He tilted up his mouth and pulled your head down, taking your mouth in a searing kiss. The way he sucked on your tongue and bit at your lip distracted you completely from your teasing advances, and before you could stop yourself, your body was melting into him, and you felt yourself sink onto his cock in one overwhelming motion.
You gasped against Jake’s lips, the intensity of the stretch making your vision momentarily go white. You dug your nails into his shoulders, and the sound he made was broken and barely human. Jake breathed against your mouth in short whimpers, and you could feel his hips trembling under you, desperate to listen to human instinct and move.
“You ok?” He brushed a strand of hair out of your face, searching your eyes for any sign of discomfort.
You smiled weakly, taking in the warm pressure of him filling you. “Perfect.”
He smiled back and kissed you softly. “Ride me y/n. Want you to use my body like you deserve."
You didn’t respond; you just moved.
You started with gentle grinds, closing your eyes as you felt the ridges of his dick brush against your smooth walls with agonizing friction. You kept your foreheads together, exchanging hot breaths as you slowly learned each other’s bodies. One of Jake’s hands remained a stabilizer on your hips while the other cupped the back of your neck, holding you close. You opened your eyes, watching as his face contorted in pleasure with every thrust of your hips. When the shock of the stretch faded, and only the deep pressure in your core remained, you started to move faster, breathy moans escaping your throat with every snap.
Jake stared down at the place where his cock disappeared into your entrance, eyes wide because he could hardly believe this was happening. An hour ago he’d been moments away from showering and collapsing onto his cramped twin bed, and now he was getting fucked by his roommate’s discarded side-chick.
And he was loving it.
He leaned back onto the couch, giving you space to grind on him fully, gripping your ass and moaning as he felt his climax building.
Jake’s broken sounds spurred you on until you were bouncing on his cock in a debilitating rhythm, moving deep so his tip pounded against your cervix, sending shockwaves of pleasure down your back.
“Jake,” you moaned. “You feel so good.”
His voice was high-pitched and strained as he responded. “You're doing great, baby; you look so beautiful like this. Could watch you bounce on my dick forever.”
You grabbed his hair and pulled him into a messy kiss, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your squelching juices and the clashing of teeth and tongues.
Jake started bucking against you, moving in time with your rhythm as he chased the swell of pleasure racing through his entire body.
The two of you desperately fucked each other until you were nothing but sweaty, moaning messes slicked in saliva and arousal, bodies moving in a tangle of roaming hands and clenched thighs.
It was hot, it was filthy, and both of you were too far gone to process what it must have looked like from the outside.
Jake might have heard the front door of the apartment open—two slurring voices drifting down the hall—if he hadn’t finished at that exact moment.
His orgasm swept over him like a tidal wave, knocking the breath out of him as his mouth dropped open in a broken gasp and he arched against the couch.
The second his warm seed spilled inside you, you felt your walls clench as an explosion of pleasure erupted through your body. Your pussy milked him dry, spasming in concentrated bursts until you knew you were full of him. You gripped Jake’s neck, resting your head on his shoulder as you slowed your grinds and the aftershocks faded into a satisfying hum in your muscles.
Jake slung one arm over your back, tracing soft, soothing circles on the hot skin as his heart rate slowed.
“What the fuck?”
A girl's voice cut through the space like a knife, and both of your eyes shot open. Link and Lizzy stood in the doorway of the living room, staring at the two of you tangled together on the couch, your bodies dripping with sweat and cum.
“Jake…what the hell, man? I thought we agreed on no sex in the common space?” Link said, his expression shocked but also slightly smug.
You were frozen on Jake’s lap, his cock still inside you. You covered up your chest as best you could, and Jake pulled you close so he was shielding you with his chest. “I- uh- thought you’d be gone for the night.”
He shrugged, “plans changed, but it’s ok man, I’m glad you got some.” He winked, and when Link’s eyes looked you up and down, you wanted to vomit.
Jake frowned. “Whatever, man, we’ll clean up; just get out of here.”
He put his hands up. “Alright, alright, I’m going. Don’t have too much fun!” He grabbed his girlfriend's hand and disappeared down the hall.
The second Jake heard his door close, he turned to you, cupping your face in his hand. “Are you ok?”
You nodded and sighed. “Yeah, I can’t believe I thought he was charming at one point.”
Jake laughed softly. “It’s ok, there was a brief period of about five minutes I thought he was a decent guy too.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well, he started blasting music at full volume in this very room.” He searched your eyes. “But after today, maybe I don’t mind that as much anymore.”
You smiled. “Did I steal the show?”
Jake leaned forward and kissed you slowly. “Completely.”
thinking about best friend jake who always wants you on his lap 🤍
warning: 18+ mdni!! contains smut
• Jake has been your best friend for years. It started innocently enough - movie nights, gaming sessions, late night talks. But now he always finds an excuse to pull you onto his lap.
• “There’s no more room on the couch, c’mere,” he says with that sweet smile, even when there’s clearly space. He pats his thigh and locks eyes with you until you sit.
• Once you’re there, his arms wrap around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He rests his chin on your shoulder and continues whatever he was doing, but you can feel him getting hard underneath you <3
• He gets bolder over time. His hands start sliding under your shirt to rub your stomach softly <3. Sometimes he “accidentally” shifts his hips so his hard cock presses right against your ass cheeks
• “You’re so comfy, baby,” he whispers in your ear one night while you’re watching a movie. His voice is lower than usual. “So soft and warm.”
• The tension finally breaks during one of your usual sleepovers. You’re sitting on his lap in his bed, watching TikToks, when he suddenly grips your hips and pulls you down harder against him. You can feel how hard he is through his sweatpants.
“Jake…” you breathe.
• He buries his face in your neck. “Yeah sweetie?” he asks softly. He starts grinding up slowly, hands guiding your hips. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me every single time you sit here like my good girl.” 🤍
• From then on, “sitting on Jake’s lap” takes on a new meaning.
• He loves when you face him, straddling his lap while he kisses you deeply. He loves when you face away so he can grind his cock against your ass while playing with your tits. He especially loves when you’re wearing his hoodie and nothing else
• Jake your needy, touchy best friend who never lets you sit on your own couch <3
warnings & content: mdni! 18+ explicit language, suggestive themes, unprotected sex (safe sex gois), p in v, oral sex (m receiving) breast play, clit play, nasty jake, reader is freaked out, jake brother almost caught them
synopsis: screw the rules of chess. you had a completely different, much wilder game in mind for the both of you, playing the part of being jake’s freaky girlfriend…
now playing: “freak” by doja cat
note: i'm so freaked out by the one and only sim jaeyun. just want him 24/7 ☹️✌️ he's the reason why i am so freaky these past few days. pls enjoy this freaky fic mwahhh!!
The chessboard placed between you and Jake, as you sat on the soft cushion, pieces arranged in their opening formation. His shared room with his brother smelled of fabric softener and the strawberry ice cream you'd shared earlier. The only sounds were the soft click of pieces moving and the occasional frustrated exhale from Jake.
You should have been planning your next move. Instead, your gaze drifted upward from the board to where Jake sat cross-legged across from you, manspreading just enough to make the fabric of his khaki pants stretch taut across his thighs. The outline of him was visible—thick, heavy, pressing against the fabric. Your fingers hovered over your bishop, and were now forgotten.
Jake ditched the blazer hours ago. His white uniform shirt had the top three buttons undone, the collar loose, his necktie hanging like an afterthought. The sleeves were rolled to his forearms, and every time he reached for a piece, the muscles shifted beneath his honey skin. Veins traced along the backs of his hands, prominent against pink knuckles. His fingers were long, bony, nails trimmed neatly as always. When Jake moved a knight forward, his jaw clenched—a sharp angle that flexed as he realized he'd walked into your trap.
He ran his fingers through his hair again, the dark strands falling messy and soft across his forehead. A bead of sweat gathered at his temple despite the cool air from the air conditioner.
"Your move," he said, voice low and distracted.
Winning wasn't your goal anymore. The ache between your legs had been building since he'd unbuttoned that shirt. Your panties were soaked through—you could feel the wet fabric clinging to you with every small shift of your hips. You wanted to ruin him.
You wanted him to ruin you. Now.
You stood. Jake's eyes followed you, confused, his hand still resting on his rook. Without breaking eye contact, you slipped your hands beneath your skirt, hooked your fingers into the waistband of your black panties, and tugged them down. The fabric peeled away from your wet center with a soft, obscene sound. You balled them up and tossed them directly at his face.
Jake caught them on reflex, one hand snapping up. The soaked fabric dangled from his fingers. His eyes went wide, cheeks flushing pink.
"W-what are you doing?" His voice cracked. Another bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
"Isn't it obvious?" You planted your foot on the edge of the chessboard and kicked. Pieces scattered, clattering against each other, the carpet muffling the sound. "I'm going to fuck you. So unzip your pants now before I ruin them."
"But my brother could come anytime soon—"
You dropped to your knees and crawled across the cushion toward him. Jake's words died in his throat as you pressed your lips to his. Soft. Plump. Tasting strawberry ice cream you ate earlier. You bit his lower lip—thick and warm between your teeth—and he whimpered.
The sound went straight through you. High, breathy, desperate. You wanted to hear it again and again.
"Then let's be quick," you murmured against his mouth.
You reached for his belt, yanking the buckle open, pulling the leather free. His khaki jeans came next—tugging the button, dragging the zipper down, shoving the fabric past his hips. He lifted himself enough for you to pull them off, and they landed somewhere on the soft carpet behind you. Your patience is gone. Your wet cunt throbbed with the need for your boyfriend inside you.
Jake shifted backward, leaning against the edge of his bed, and pulled you onto his lap. You straddled him, your bare pussy pressing against the cotton of his boxers. You ground down, feeling the hard length of him beneath the thin fabric, your slick wetness soaking through immediately.
"Horny, are we?" Jake's smirk was breathless. He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, and you tilted your head to give him more access.
"How can I not? I have a sexy boyfriend with a big dick." You palmed him through his boxers, feeling him twitch against your hand. You tugged the waistband down, freeing his cock—hard, flushed, the tip swollen and leaking pre-cum from the slit.
You grabbed him, positioning the thick head at your entrance. You teased yourself first, just fucking the fat tip of him in and out, stretching yourself around the widest part.
"Hnghh—" you gasped.
"F-fuck, you're so tight," Jake groaned, his hands gripping your hips.
You sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch. He filled you completely—thick, long, his cock pulsing inside you as if it had been built for your cunt. You could feel every vein, every ridge of him. You started to bounce, your wet pussy sliding up and down his length, his balls slapping against you with each movement. The lewd, wet squelching sound echoed off the walls.
"You're so big—ahh!"
"Go fuck yourself more," Jake urged. His eyes were fixed on you—your closed eyes, your furrowed brow, your parted lips fighting to stay quiet. He lifted your skirt, watching his dick disappear inside you, his balls glistening with your juices. White cream formed where your bodies met. His naughty fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles. Jake wants to engrave this to his mind forever.
"You're so hot like this. Fuck—" He watched your fucked-out face, your pussy stretched wide around him.
You unbuttoned your blouse, freeing your breasts from your bra, just enough for Jake to devour it. You leaned forward, brushing one nipple against his plump lips while you groped the other shamelessly. Jake latched on immediately, sucking like a starving man, his tongue swirling, his eyes locked on yours.He looked at you as he kept on sucking it, maintaining his eye contact with you.
If you are the freak, then he is the nasty one.
He twitched inside you as you keep bucking your hips. You tightened around him—he felt it too. Jake pushed you down gently onto the carpet, your head landing on the soft cushion where you sat earlier. He grabbed both your legs, pressed them toward your chest, spreading them wider. Without warning, he thrust hard and deep—so deep making your eyes roll back.
"J-Jake—fuck! Fuck!" You were crying now, tears of pleasure as he slammed into you faster.
"Does it feel good? Is this what you wanted?" He fucked you deeper, harder.
"Yes—hnghh! Right there..."
You grabbed his necktie, pulling it toward you, and bit down on the fabric to muffle your moans. Jake couldn't stop staring—your spread legs, your swollen cunt dripping onto the soft carpet, boobs bouncing sinfully trying to escape from your bra, your mouth biting his tie, your glossy eyes staring at him. You're so freaked out right now. Jake swore he could cum anytime by just looking at you.
“Hmmp–” Then you came hard. Your cunt clenched around him, pulsing, sucking him deep. Making him moan from your tightness. Your whole body shook from your intense orgasm.
"Fuck, baby... you're so good around me." He kissed your forehead, pulled the tie from your mouth, and kept pounding.
"B-babe, cum in my mouth? Please?" You opened your mouth, tongue out with your pleading eyes.
What a nasty offer.
"You're such a freak—ahh!" He kept snapping his hips.
Jake pulled out suddenly. You hissed at the sudden loss. He hovered above you, in between your head, stroking his cock fast. You could see his slit oozing with pre-cum. You lifted your head a little bit, licking his flushed swollen tip, swirling your tongue, sucking just the head as he stroked the base. Staring at him playfully. Jake cannot think straight right now by how hot you look.
"My baby wants my cum?" He ran his fingers through his sweat-damp hair.
You nodded, releasing him with a wet pop. Jake was breathtakingly handsome above yours—biting his lower lip, staring down at you intensely, stroking himself fast as he could. You're a lucky bitch you thought to yourself.
"I'm gonna cum—ahh—fuck—hnghh!"
Jake came hard. Hot spurts of his seed hit your tongue, some of it landed on your flushed cheeks, your closed eyes. He kept milking himself until nothing remained. You lifted your head again, sucking his swollen tip clean. Earning a loud groan from Jake.
You appear messy, yet in a beautiful way. Jake captured this moment to his mind.
He gets off you quickly above you, lifts his boxers from his ankle, and reaches into the drawer beside you for the wipes. He took some wet sheets and gently cleaned your face, wiping away the sticky semen. Jake also helps you button up your blouse, before moving down to your legs to wipe away any juices.
"Open your legs for me, baby," he commanded, and you complied quickly.
Now, he is once again beneath you. You felt the cool wipe against your entrance as he cleaned it gently, causing you to clench from the sudden friction. Jake swallowed, his gaze fixed on your swollen pussy.
"So beautiful. Only for me," he leaned forward to press a quick kiss on your pussy. Your eyes widened, and you quickly grabbed his hair, forcing him to look at you.
"Jake, we just finished!" you scolded him.
Jake chuckled softly and pressed a gentle kiss on your lips. He inserted his tongue, savoring the taste within your mouth as he explored your warm mouth. Both of you pulled out with a smile.
"Thank you, babe."Jake warmly embraced me with a gentle smile, saying, "I love you so much."
"I love you too, Jaeyun. Next time?" You hugged him back, teasing him again.
"I don't mind doing it again right now."Jake laughed.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Both of you froze, staring at each other before disconnecting when someone began to knock.
"Jake! Bro! I left my wallet inside. Could you please give it to me?" His older brother was outside.
Your blood ran cold upon hearing his brother. Jake panicked and quickly put on his pants, then stumbled to his feet.
"Wait a minute, hyung!" Jake shouted.
"Come on, man! Let me in!" His brother was knocking harshly on the door.
Jake finally zipped up his pants and went to his brother's study table to pick up the wallet he had been requesting. He opened the door, revealing his furious brother.
"Peace, hyung." Jake shyly handed him the wallet.
His brother's eyes landed on you as you sat on the floor, hugging a cushion and bowing at him with a shy smile. You were honestly embarrassed. His gaze then shifted to his younger brother. Both of you were flushed from the intense session you just had, your clothes wrinkled and your hair messy. Jake's older brother quickly understood the assignment.
"Alright. Thanks for this!" A naughty smile crept across his face as he said his goodbyes.
As soon as Jake closed the door, his brother shouted from the hallway.
"Safe sex, kiddos!" his voice playfully teased, followed by loud laughter fading down the corridor.
You and Jake stared at each other, your faces burning with embarrassment. You threw a cushion in Jake's direction, but he caught it instantly, thanks to his quick reflexes.
"What?!" Jake laughed, trying his best not to smirk at how flustered you were.
"N-nothing!" you replied, burying your reddened face in his pillows as you collapsed onto his bed.
"Where's my freaky girl now?" he teased, joining you on the mattress and pulling you close.
ᦸ 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽!𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇🧁 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 1.2k ⠀˃̵ᴗ˂̵⠀ first times NSFW praise kink oral (m recieivng)ㅤ reblogs&kisses
The summer air was thick and sticky in Sunghoon’s cramped bedroom, the only sound the hum of an old floor fan. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, a look of pure frustration etched on his handsome face. You sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against his dresser, trying to keep your expression neutral.
“It’s just… awkward,” he mumbled, not meeting your eyes. “Every time it gets to that point, I freeze up. I don’t know what to do with it.” A faint blush crept up his neck. You’d been friends since middle school, had shared every secret, but this was new territory. You took a steadying breath, the unspoken truth hanging between you. Of course you’d noticed; it was hard not to when he walked out of the shower with just a towel slung low on his hips. His sheer size was intimidating, even from a purely observational standpoint.
“Okay,” you said, your voice surprisingly steady. “We’re just problem-solving. Like we always do.” You pushed yourself up from the floor and sat beside him on the bed, the worn mattress dipping under your combined weight. The space between you felt charged, the humid air clinging to your skin. “First, we remove the mystery.” You kept your gaze on his face, on the nervous flicker in his dark eyes. “Let me see.”
Sunghoon exhaled sharply, a mixture of relief and fresh anxiety. His fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, the sound loud in the quiet room. When he finally pushed the denim down his hips, the reality of him was even more staggering than the glimpses you’d stolen. He was thick and long, fully hard already, the tip flushed a deep red. He looked painfully earnest and completely lost. “See?” he whispered, his voice rough. “It’s… a lot.”
“It is,” you agreed softly, not touching him yet. You took his wrist and guided his hand to himself. “Get used to the feel of it.” You coached him through a slow, tentative stroke, your hand over his. His breath hitched, a soft groan escaping him. “That’s it. No rush. Just get used to the sensation, to being in control of it.”
You let go, allowing him to continue on his own, watching the concentration on his face shift from panic to a dazed sort of focus. After a few moments, his rhythm faltered. “It’s not… I can’t just do this by myself forever,” he said, frustration creeping back in. He looked at you, a silent, desperate question in his eyes.
“Then don’t,” you murmured. You shifted closer, your thigh pressing against his. With deliberate slowness, you reached out and replaced his hand with your own. The first full touch of your skin on him made him jerk, a strangled sound catching in his throat. He was impossibly smooth and hard, the vein along the underside pulsing under your thumb. You began to move your hand up and down in a firm, measured pace, your eyes locked on his.
A sheen of sweat coated his forehead. His hands gripped the bedsheet, knuckles white. “What… what about with someone else?” he managed to ask, his gaze dropping to where your hand worked him.
“That’s next,” you said, your own pulse thrumming. You leaned in, your breath ghosting over the wet head of his cock. “You have to learn where it’s most sensitive.” You touched your tongue to the slit, tasting the salty pre-come there. Sunghoon cried out, his back arching off the bed. “Here,” you said before taking him into your mouth, as much as you could manage. It was a stretch, your jaw aching instantly, but you hollowed your cheeks and sucked, using your hand on the base he couldn’t fit. His moans became broken, pleading things. You pulled off with a wet pop. “See? Responsive. You just have to listen.”
You crawled up his body, settling over his hips. The damp heat of your own need pressed against the thin barrier of your shorts, meeting the solid, insistent pressure of him. You guided him with your hand, positioning him right where you ached. "This is the part that usually makes people nervous," you said, your voice low. "It’s okay to go slow." You kept your eyes on his as you began to lower yourself, taking just the broad head of him inside. A sharp, full sensation made you pause, breathing through it. He’s not going to fit.
Sunghoon's hands flew to your hips, his grip instinctive but gentle. His eyes were wide, watching where you were joined. "Okay?" he breathed out, the word strained.
"Okay," you confirmed, sinking down another inch. The stretch was intense, a burning fullness that forced a low moan from your throat. You moved in a careful, rocking rhythm, letting your body adjust to the overwhelming size of him. His hips twitched upward, seeking more, but you placed a firm hand on his stomach. "Not yet. Let me lead."
You continued the slow, grinding descent until he was fully seated inside you, a feeling of being utterly filled. I’m full. Completely full. You stayed there, unmoving, letting the sensation settle for both of you. His chest was heaving, every muscle in his abdomen taut. "Now," you whispered, beginning to move in earnest. You rose until only the tip remained, then sank back down, setting a deep, rolling pace. His hands tightened on your hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he matched your rhythm, his own thrusts growing more confident, more demanding.
A low, ragged moan tore from your throat as he hit a spot deep inside that made stars burst behind your eyelids. His confidence was growing with every thrust, his movements losing their initial hesitation and gaining a raw, powerful rhythm. You braced your hands on his sweat-slicked chest, riding him with a desperate intensity now, each descent a deliberate surrender to that overwhelming fullness. The stretch had become a burning pleasure, a constant, throbbing reminder of his size that was tipping you toward the edge. You could feel your own climax coiling tight in your belly, triggered by the relentless, deep friction.
Sunghoon’s breathing was coming in harsh gasps, his eyes glazed and fixed on you. His hands slid from your hips to grip the backs of your thighs, holding you open, controlling the depth of his plunges. "Tell me," he grunted, the words strained. His voice was rough with a newfound authority. "Tell me if it's right."
Before you could form a coherent sentence, your orgasm crashed over you, a violent, clenching wave that ripped a cry from your lips. Your body clamped down around him, milking his length in rhythmic pulses. That sensation tipped him over the edge. With a choked-off shout, he drove up into you one final, searing time and held there, his release flooding you.
You collapsed forward, your forehead resting against his collarbone, both of you slick with sweat and utterly spent, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against your ear. His arms came around you, holding you close in the sticky silence. “So,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet and a bit rough. “Best friends still?”
୨୧ from ♡ 𝑘𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑎𓏼⑅ ♥︎ ୧
inspired by this fic by wonxee and my comment lol big dick hoon agenda is reallllll + this layout is inspired by katsuiki
sim jaeyun (jake) from enhypen <3
"i just want you to come inside. baby, what's mine is now yours. the couch is really comfy. got some chips ahoy if you're hungry."
track 11 of the man's best friend series found here
y/n has finally finished furnishing her apartment, i mean that's what she thinks until fwb!jake who's practically in love with you comes over & adds the finishes touches.
word count: 3.5k
warnings: smut !!, sex without a condom (wrap it up pls), creampie, fingering, multiple orgasms, couch fucking, riding, cockwarming, reader has tits and jake's obsessed with them, tit sucking, rough sex, finger sucking from both of them, tiny pain kink (they like biting each other a bit), hickies, fwb that confess feelings.
You opened the door to a white long sleeved, dark blue casual tee and khaki pants Jake that was also masked up to avoid being recognised. In his hand, a bag of what you can assume groceries for your new place. Quickly pulling him inside by the collar of his shirt, you shut the door behind him. Taking off the black mask on his face with your other hand and bringing him in close to kiss him. He kissed back but broke it apart after a few seconds. His deer like eyes not hiding his shocked but admirable expression for your boldness.
"No hello, how are you? No house tour?" he asks, you roll your eyes.
"Do you know how stressful it is furnishing this place? I kinda need it." you try to pull him in closer again but he stops you by lifting his arm with the groceries in his hand, waving it as a signal.
"Well, I kinda spent money to get you things." he vocalises.
"Sorry, sorry. Thank you. What did you get?"
Jake places the bag onto the kitchen counter.
He pulls out a packet of chips ahoy, you gasped.
"Holy shit where'd you get these!" you beamed, chips ahoy were not easy to find in South Korea but god, do you miss them.
"You chose a good place baby, the supermarket near you has them in the international aisle." he explains. You roll your eyes at him calling you baby, no matter how much you tell him to stop, he won't and to his defence, you don't get mad about it during certain other times.
You rip open the bag without hesitation, grabbing one to munch into while you signal to the bag for him to keep going. He pulls out pineapple and cranberry juice, another eye roll.
"Hey! I'm just looking out for my baby girl." he defended, you smack him in the arm. Unable to tell him off for another pet name with your mouth full.
"Now for your bathroom." he pulls out a box of condoms that was only one size, specifically his size while the other hand had his and her toothbrushes that together made a little red heart side by side. Your eyebrow raised as you finished eating the cookie.
"Are you trying to scare the hoes" you groaned.
Grabbing the chips ahoy cookies, you take steps in moving away from him and to the couch. Man, did Jake love giving you mixed signals that you never questioned because what was the point? You both had a good thing going, let's not make it obvious you developed feelings and ruined the whole thing. Jake follows you, "come on! they're cute and you said I could spend nights here..." he trails while sitting next to you.
"But what if one of the people I decide to bring home sees it?" you say this without even thinking and automatically regret it. Jake can't even hide that he didn't like that sentence one bit.
"I fucking heard you're going on dates but you're sleeping with them too?" he shoots, the snappiness of his voice making you shudder just a little bit. Were you two about to have your first fight?
"No! I'm just saying a what if! Especially now that I have my own place, don't you hook up with other girls while you're on tour?!" You defended back.
He shook his head, "fuck no! I'm quite satisfied with you actually." It felt like your body and brain froze by his sentence and Jake took that opportunity quickly.
"Besides" he moves closer to you, the eye contact heavy as he moves one of his hands to the side of your neck and the other to cup your pussy through your silk shorts making you whimper.
"I know none of them can make me cum as much as you do." the lust from his voice dripping.
Fucking hell. You chuck the chips ahoy cookies that were in your hand to the coffee table on the side and kiss him. Jake reaches into your shorts to rub circles with two fingers on your pussy chuckling as he felt the lack of underwear, you were always such a good girl. Made it way too easy for him. The pressure makes you automatically climb on his lap while his fingers stay in rhythm and both your lips are still on each other. The more he rubbed your clit, the more you basically dry humped his cock that it quickly got hard and you could feel it.
Jake then slipped two fingers in you, "Jake" you moaned out, head titled back as you gripped on his shoulder.
"Keep saying my name baby girl" he whispered, you moved your head to look down at him. Mouth becoming agape seeing how he looked at you. Jake's eyes... Jake always looked at you like you held the stars but you didn't look into it too deep, all that admiration was probably for the fact you easily get his dick wet.
"I'm going to take my fingers out so we can take these shorts off okay? Want- No, need to see" he practically whimpered, you nodded and stood up briefly to shimmy down your shorts. He bit his lips seeing your bare pussy for him, he patted his lap, legs spread out. With no shame, you eagerly climbed back into his lap. Before Jake could put back his fingers where he wanted them, you grabbed the hand that was just on you to stick the two fingers that were dripping with your essence in your mouth.
This time, it was Jake's mouth that went agape from the surprise action of you deciding to taste yourself. You made your tongue go in between his point and middle fingers, salivating it all up while making eye contact, not like you needed to do this, you were basically dripping all over Jake's lap and it was obvious. But you loved surprising Jake. Another surprise? Adding his ring finger, making it three fingers you're sucking on, practically begging him to use all three on you. Releasing his fingers with a pop, he admired how wet they were as he shoved two back in you.
"You're a fucking freak" he complimented, while you practically humped his hand in response.
"Add another finger" you ordered.
He rolled his eyes at your impatience, but you were his freak so. He wasn't really complaining. You gasped and both of your hands went to his shoulders to clutch them at the new stretch.
You heard a tsk coming from Jake, "come on baby you've taken much more than this." he taunts and he was right.
"Well, I haven't had a cock in me for a couple of months since someone's been on tour" you state in between heavy breaths, staring down at his fingers entering you.
Hearing this made Jake's fingers go faster, knowing he was the only one you're fucking brings him joy that he can't even describe. You moaned loudly, throwing your head back at the new pace but this makes Jake grab the back of your neck to pull you in for a kiss instead. Sloppy, messy. His hand then goes from behind your neck to under your shirt to grope your tits that he's missed oh so much. He switches between each of them, using two of his fingers to rub your nipples as well.
The new added on pleasure, how his other hand still had his three fingers vastly thrusting in you and the intensity of how you two were kissing made the pit of your stomach tighten. Jake knew you were close just by how you started grinding on his hand in desperation and you barely could catch his lips with how much your senses were losing it. Releasing your lips he started sucking and nibbling the spot between your neck and collarbone. Your sweet spot. Your eyes rolled at the back of your head from this, how he knows your body so well. How could you go seek a fuck from anyone else?
"Jake, I'm going to cum." You warned. He only nodded, continue to suck and not so softly bite your skin. "Then cum baby." He whispered, moving his thumb in circles that was already on your clit for pressure. That was the last action you needed to cum all over Jake's fingers, one of your hands going from his shoulders to gripping the back of his hair as you continuously moaned in his ear. Leaving no space in between you two.
He kept slowly thrusting his fingers to help you through your orgasm until you grabbed his wrist to stop him from continuing.
Jake laughed "What? Can't handle anymore?" He knew this wasn't the truth, you always needed more than this.
"Look at me" he whispered, gripping your chin to make eye contact with him, your faces were so close, it felt so intimate. The emptiness of the lack of his fingers became evident but before you could whine, they were in front of both your faces. You opened your mouth to welcome them in but he surprised you and placed them in his own mouth instead. Jake, still with his hand on your chin places his thumb that was on your lip deeper into your mouth to give you some oral fixation. He hummed at the taste of you and made sure you saw how much he loved tasting it, switching from two fingers into his mouth to his ring finger. Like his fingers was the stick to a lollipop and your cum was the candy.
While maintaining eye contact, your hands start to move to his pants to unzip it, only breaking the long and heavy eye contact after feeling wetness on the back of your hand. You turn pink seeing the large wet patch on his khakis that you left behind. He realised it, and found you adorable. He could tease you at this moment, and he wanted to until the air hitting his hard cock made him throw his head back in a hiss.
"I want to cum on your cock." You state, he groaned as his head fell back onto the couch cushion behind him and his wet hand that was just in his mouth, ran through his hair instead. Yes, he could have used his other, dry hand that was on your hip but Jake always needed to have a hand on you somehow, it was just a natural habit of his. He was going crazy with that sentence of yours though, you said it like it was something spoken regularly. Like it wasn't filth falling from your angelic lips.
You grab Jake's already precum spilling cock to smear it around your wet pussy, fuck he was in bliss, so much in bliss that it didn't even process you were slipping his tip in without a condom until you sank all the way down to envelop his cock completely.
It made his eyes snap open and his head lift off the couch.
"Y/N." He said in seriousness. It made your body tense up, was this a bad idea? He's always talked about how much he's always wanted to fuck you without a condom and your persistent nos was because you always thought he was off fucking other girls, so the fact he confirmed that was not the case...
"Did you not want this?" you asked. His eye grew wider hearing and seeing your discouragement. He desperately shook his head.
"No, no. This is a fucking dream, you just shocked me, you've always said no baby" he rambles, using his right, dry hand to stroke your face as the left moved to your left hip.
"Are you sure about this?" he asks.
"You swear there's no other girls?" Leaning into his hand as you softly said this, you made sure to stare at him too. With your intimate time together and even hanging out without the sex, you soon found out Jake was a shit liar and wore his emotions on his face.
One of the only emotions you couldn't detect though, was Jake was practically in love with you and that's what he was expressing now. Not just the fact your pussy was still wrapped around his cock, it was your face being in the palm of his hand that made him weak.
"No baby girl, just you. I fucking swear."
"Then I'm sure." you reassured him, knowing he was speaking the truth. He nodded as you started to bounce on him again.
Jake tugged on the bottom of your silk top, you lifted your arms up so he could lift it off you as you continued riding him. Your bare tits now on full display for him. Jake really loved your tits, hell everyone did and there was a sense of pride knowing it was only him that gets to see them fully naked. Before he could get his mouth on them, you pouted at him and tugged on his own shirts.
"Take it off" you demanded. A bit unfair that you were naked while he was still fully clothed with only his cock out.
Jake took both shirts off swiftly for his girl, throwing them behind him and you watched it land directly on the floor. Your hands automatically going back to holding his now bare shoulders, as her eyes wandered down Jake's fit body. You started riding faster, it made Jake lose his senses but not enough to miss you whisper "mine". Mine. Fuck yeah he was yours.
You started making figure 8s with your hips, his reaction to the new movement being to grip your hips tightly and start thrusting up to meet your movements. It made you scream as your nails dug into Jake's shoulders more, the pain made him hiss but it also made his cock twitch inside you. His eyes going from watching your fucked out face to your bouncing tits right in front of him.
Jake lifted himself off the couch so he could attach his lips to your right tit. His movements were messy and all you could feel was his lips all over your chest. It would go from putting as much of either of your tits in his mouth that he could, to flicking your nipples with his tongue and making out with your chest to leave hickies all over. The sensation was insatiable. It made you need to cum for the second time.
"J-Jake I'm going to cum but I-I w-want you to cum with me. I-Inside me. Please" you stuttered out begging.
He stops making out with your chest in shock and his hips stop meeting yours but you don't stop bouncing, he was in so much disbelief. What was going on... From fucking without a condom to now cumming in you? Jake's wondering if he's in heaven and you could tell from staring down at him his thoughts were going wild.
Fuck, he's so cute. Though he fucked so dominant a lot of times, Jake was also so submissive and it was everything. If you told him to stop fucking you and get on his knees to eat you out right now, he would do it in a heartbeat without hesitation.
"Baby talk to me" you whisper.
First time calling him baby too, oh.
Jake suddenly flipped you on your back, your head hitting the pillow as he lifted your leg up to his shoulder and his pace... His pace was insane that it made your back arch and your nails dig into his back.
"Oh my god Jake" you practically shouted out.
"Want me to cum in you? These hickies weren't enough? You want me to paint you inside as mine?" He basically growled, his territorial trait showing. It made you whimper as your head kept hitting the pillow behind you from how rough he was fucking you. You bit your lip and nodded.
"No baby girl. Use your words, need to hear you say you're mine"
"I-I'm yours Jake, all yours, fuck! Right There! Yours!" you shrieked mid sentence as he found the spot you needed and it made him turn animalistic. His left hand gripped the side of your body to go faster as his right continue to hold your leg above his shoulder, he bit your inner thigh making you yelp from the sudden pain but you wouldn't have it any other way.
Your vision started to blur as your new place's walls were just the moans between you and Jake with both your skins smacking together with how fast and rough you two were going.
"I'm really going to cum Jake!" you screamed, he nodded groaning above you. "Come on baby give me your cum, be the good girl I know you are." his dirty talk sent you seeing white.
Jake, feeling your cum gushing on his cock and your pussy spasming for the first time without a condom made him go over the edge himself. You felt his cum spurting out into your walls. You wrapped your arms around him to bring your lips together. Your sweaty bodies meshing together as he continued to slowly thrust in you- so you get every drop of him. When it felt like both your orgasms were over, your lips separated and Jake was about to pull out but you wrapped your legs around his torso.
"No, just stay and cuddle." you whimpered out. Jake could only nod. You left him speechless. He wrapped his arms around your body and shifted you both so you were both laying on your sides but still facing each other, legs meshed together so his cock was still in you. You felt so warm and full. Jake pulled the rest of his pants and briefs down, chucking them somewhere behind him, you went to tell him off for his carelessness but seeing how close your face was to Jake made you go beet red before you could get your words out.
"Now you're getting shy? My cum and cock are in you right now" he taunts, laughing. You smack his chest in response. "Shut up!" you say.
Jake coughs, "seriously, what changed y/n?" he asks
You shrug your shoulders, "I don't know. I missed you and hearing you say it's just me you're fucking... I didn't know we were exclusive, it makes me feel better" you admitted.
"We could make it more exclusive, give it even a professional label ... I've always wanted that" Jake confesses, that same look of love and adoration in his eyes that you see while the two of you are having sex is undeniably there.
Your beet red face turns into shock instead, "Jake Sim. Do you like me for more than a fuck?" you ask.
Jake's eyes rolled "since like day one you loser, you couldn't tell?"
Your hand goes to smack your mouth to show him how shocked you actually are. "No! I just thought you liked me for my tits!"
He went to rub his forehead in distress, "the whole reason why I went to that party that we first hooked up at was because Jay told me you were there. You disappeared before I could talk to you at that other party two weeks before that." he explained.
Your head was basically spinning at this new information.
"Huh? You noticed me that night?"
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊
You felt arms wrap around you and wet hair on your shoulders as you threw Jake's pants and your couch blanket in the wash. Both having certain stains from the recent activities...
"Ah, I could get used to seeing this." he says while nuzzling his head more deeper in your neck and his arms grips around your waist tighter. Wanting to inhale you like you two weren't in the same shower, at the same time, using the same products.
"Only just asked me on a first date, no girlfriend title and already dreaming of me doing your laundry? I'm starting to regret my decision Jake Sim." You teased as you spun yourself around to face him. A look of fake shocked was across his face with a big smile.
"Oh, so you telling me you liked me back was sympathy for me... I get it. Just don't go on the date then." He whines.
"Oh please... I mean, I still owe you a house tour though? I guess if we fuck in every room and surface of this place. I would go on that date with you." You continue to tease him, like you didn't say yes and confess you also have feelings for him just half an hour ago. You wouldn't even say no when he pops the girlfriend question either.
"Don't even have to ask me twice y/f/n" Jake responds, lifting you up and carrying you to your bedroom.
( 애인 ) 𝒾n which ︵ they all have different habits during sex. ⫶ smut mdni 212O dom!enha marking hair-pulling rough & soft sex p in v implied no protection degradation kink size kink spit kink not so decently proofread
⌨️ like&&reblog for a kiss. ── #click4masterlist to see more.
LEE HEESEUNG ── needs to be kissing you.
heeseung's lips are on yours, drinking up every little moan you make, swallowing every sound. his hips snap against yours, hands gently fixed on your hips. he's buried deep in your cunt, every thrust hitting exactly where you need it to.
he hitches your leg up higher, shifting his angle from where he's above you. "fuck, princess," he groans, briefly pulling away from you. a string of saliva connects his mouth to yours. "you're takin' me so well. s'like this pussy was made for me."
he pulls a hand away from your waist, moving it between your legs. his finger finds your clit, rubbing circles to push you closer to the edge. the sheets are cool beneath you, a sharp contrast to the heat you feel in your body. you arch your back against them, squeezing your eyes shut.
he drops his head once more, pressing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to your lips. heeseung sucks on your tongue, leaving a wet mess behind. he only pulls away when your turn your head for air, but even then, he pouts at you. he seems to forget that not everyone has the stamina to hold their breath as long as a main vocalist does.
"h—hee—" you moan, your nails sinking into the toned muscle of his arms. you can feel that familiar coil in your stomach, the one that renders you useless for words. his name is the only thing you can voice, and you repeat it softly, in broken—but beautiful—syllables.
"i know, baby. i know. you gonna be a good girl and cum for me?"
PARK JONGSEONG ── bites and leaves hickeys everywhere.
jongseong has you bent over the kitchen counter, hips slamming against your ass. the tip of his cock drags against your slick walls, making you choke on your own moans.
gripping the edge of the slab, your knuckles are white and your palms are slick with sweat, as you try to stay on your feet. his hands grip your waist, firmly keeping you in place. the cool counter digs into your skin, but the faint pinch is nothing compared to the way he's brutally thrusting into you.
his cock stretches you out, forcing you to mold to the shape of his thickness. you clench around him, struggling to keep up. you don't think you'd be upright if it weren't for him literally holding you.
"can't— seongie, i can't..." you trail off when he thrusts into you very particularly, your mouth dropping into the shape of an 'o'. words are very hard when you're getting fucked into next week.
dark hair sticks to his brow, and he shakes his head. "y—yes, you can, baby. you can take it, i know you can." jongseong, without warning, leans closer to your shoulder, sinking his teeth into the flesh. nothing deep enough to break skin, but enough to leave quite the impression.
it makes you gasp out of shock, but the sensation isn't unwelcome. it's another mark added to the gallery he's already left on you. hickeys cover your body, teeth marks all over your neck.
running his tongue over the spot, soothing it delicately, his breath hitches, "god, doll, you taste so fuckin' good."
SIM JAEYUN ── talks a lot.
"so pretty. so, so, so pretty—can't believe you're all mine. i'm so fuckin' lucky, aren't i?"
jake's mouth has been running a mile per minute, breathing out anything that comes to his mind. he doesn't think before he says them, just lets himself melt into you. he's positioned above you, your legs wrapped around his waist to keep him close.
his eyes are glazed over, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. your boyfriend's hands roam your body restlessly, eventually settling on the curve of your waist.
"you f—feel so good, shit. s'wet. do i do all this to you, hm?" he mumbles, pulling out his cock to rub the tip against your clit. the loss of him in you makes your whine, but he just gives you a slow, easy grin.
jake slips back in, fucking you harsher this time. "you're so desperate for my cock, huh? need it so bad? s'all yours, angel. i'm all yours—fuck—and you're all mine."
you nod, cock-drunk and blissed-out. he's made you cum twice already, fucking you through both times. every time you'd tried to pull away from the overstimulation, a new knot formed, and you didn't want him to stop anymore. you didn't want him to stop ever. if there was one single thing you could feel for the rest of your life—it would be this.
"y—yeah, jakey... all yours," you say, struggling to push out the words.
"god, i love it when you say that. i swear, i could cum from just that."
PARK SUNGHOON ── pulls on your hair.
you think sunghoon will tire eventually, but so far, he hasn't. in fact, you've lost count of the orgasms he's pulled out of you. he fucks you in doggy-style, and you're fairly surprised you still have the stamina to stay on your hands and knees. it's a miracle you haven't collapsed yet.
the miracle being your boyfriend's big, strong arms keeping you up.
"fuck, you look like a goddess, sweets," he hisses, partially under his breath. even though he's talking to you, you're not sure if he means for you to respond. not that you can, really.
the only sounds you're capable of making are filthy moans and cries, and you're positive he's aware of the fact. if anything, sunghoon likely revels in it.
you gasp as his fingers fist in your hair, pulling your head back to expose the delicate curve of your throat. he tugs, the movement making you whine.
"mm—hoonie, feels so good," you moan, stuttering when he pulls your head a little further back.
"yeah? damn, baby, you're milking my cock."
he loves getting rough with you. loves that you love it. loves how you take it so well, like you know who you belong to—and it's such an easy thought to get off to.
his girl, you, who loves anything he gives you. your hair is soft in his hands, silky and shiny. it contrasts against his calloused, rough hands.
"who do you belong to, doll? hm?"
"you!" you cry when he slams into your harder, wet tears trailing down your cheeks. "you—hoonie, i... i'm all yours."
"glad you know it," he says, and even if you can't see his face, you can hear his shit-eating grin.
KIM SUNOO ── eye contact.
sunoo clicks his tongue at you, shaking his head. your eyes are squeezed shut, your head tilted away from him as you try to adjust to the thickness of his length. it doesn't matter how many times you've has sex together—the feeling of being full of him is something you'll never get used to.
the hand he's using to rub your clit, trying to get you to relax; he pulls it away, and you buck your hips up, wanting the sensation back. he moves his fingers to your chin, forcing you to face him once more.
"look at me, baby. eyes on me. i want you to look at me while i fuck you dumb on my cock."
sharply, you inhale, a broken whimper leaving your throat. "s—sunny... you're so big."
"and you're doing so well," he coos, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. your fingers curl into the mattress sheets, as you attempt to ground yourself.
"hey, what did i just say?" sunoo chides, easing out of you slowly, only to slam his dick back in. you moan, shaky but loud. peeking your eyes open, you see him hovering above you, a glint of satisfaction in his own.
through your lashes, you can see the soft pinkness of his lips, slightly swollen from kissing. there's a faint flush on his cheeks, and some smudged lipstick on his neck.
he looks fucking angelic.
"that's a good girl," he murmurs, gently pinching your cheek. "even prettier when you listen to me."
"please, i want you," you beg, arching into him, hips wiggling desperately against his for more. he pauses for a moment, contemplating whether or not he'll be nice to you. after a second, his moves—lazy, but deep, thrusts.
you can feel his tip grinding against your sweet spot, and you move your hands from the sheets to his back, fingers curling into his shoulders.
"i'll give you what you want, but if you look away, you're not gonna get to cum, sweet thing."
YANG JUNGWON ── whimpers.
jungwon, however nasty his words may be, makes the prettiest noises when he's cumming. it's like watching him unravel completely—he'll go from completely degrading you, to stuttering your name out in half-syllables, eyes glossy.
his thrusts are mean and cruel, folding you into a mating-press, and fucking into you with a force you know will leave you immobile for the next day-and-a-half (at least). obscene, wet noises fill the room, skin slapping against skin.
every drag of his cock makes the pressure build more and more, until the soft tears pricking your eyes turn into sobs. "fuckfuckfuck—wonnie, i'm so close, please—"
"mhm, i know. shit, princess. i can feel you squeezing my cock like a slut," he grunts, his fingers digging into your hips, sure to leave bruises.
his name is the only thing you can remember, not even your own. it falls in short, watery gasps, as your nails drag along the length of his back. his eyes drop to your lips; "open."
you comply, too lost in the way he fucks you to argue. he spits sharply in your mouth, and on instinct, you swallow. jungwon laughs, but you're too far gone to be embarrassed. "ha—whore. you'll take whatever i give you, won't you?"
you whine, tears streaming down your face. his hips stutter, a sign that he's close, too. "cum for me, yeah?" he murmurs, and that's all it takes for you to let go.
"god," he groans, low and filthy. "i'm—fuck, me too." his pace gets sloppy, thrusts uneven as he chases both the high of his and yours. "you're so perfect, princess. so pretty. i—i love you, you're my everything—"
jungwon's mindless words trail into short whimpers, and he tucks his head into the crook of your neck. he spills into you, warm and sticky, adding to the creamy ring around the base of his cock.
and then he presses the most gentle kiss to your skin, like he didn't just rob you of your ability to walk.
NISHIMURA RIKI ── gets off to your climax.
riki dips his head to kiss you, his teeth briefly knocking against yours. he doesn't have a set pace, instead just fucks you the way he wants to. his cock stretches you out, but what had primarily been a sting between your legs, quickly melted into pure, unadulterated pleasure.
he mumbles against your lips, slowing down slightly, "do you even know how perfect you look under me? god, i'm addicted. could fuck you like this forever..."
the charm of his chain swings by your mouth, and you catch it between your teeth, making him groan.
"bite it, baby. leave marks. never gonna take this fucking chain off—keepin' this piece of you forever," he hisses, a low register that makes you tighten around him.
your nails claw against his back, and you arch up, breath catching in your throat. "'ki—i'm s'close!"
"y—yeah? you're gonna cum for me, sweet girl?" he teases, and his lips twitch in amusement. he hasn't even been fucking you that long, but in your defense, he had been teasing you for the better part of an hour prior to this.
you nod, breathless. "mhm, please, i—"
"go ahead, angel," riki coos, and with a final thrust, you cry out, your body tensing. your grip on him tightens, like he's your anchor, and stars burst behind your eyes.
he can feel his own orgasm take root, especially when he watches your face contort with pleasure. your mouth drops open, and your eyes hit the back of your head, before screwing shut.
there's this beautiful, glowy flush on your face, and when you tighten around him, too—that's all it takes. he falters, and you hear him sharply inhale, "wait, baby, fuck—"
he cums seconds after you do, fucking you through the height of it, and even the waves that come after. he moans your name, and you moan his, your voice blending into his. a moment later, he drops his forehead against yours.
"have i ever told you how gorgeous you look when you're cumming? because, holy shit—"
I think it would start when Jake starts to pick up on your obsession with his hands. He notices how you tend to stare at them alot and how when you’re sitting on his lap you love to play with them and compare how small your hands are compared to his . ( yes jake would def have a thing for size dif)
He also noted how easily you come undone around his long fingers. Moaning and crying in the immense pleasure. He could genuinely have you overstimulated from just his hands & fingers alone. He loves to tease you with them. Simply running them down your thighs to get a reaction out of you.
He didn’t realize you’d be into sucking on them until one night. He was fucking you so good. Your legs over his broad shoulders, while his thick girthy cock splits you open. You were so blissed out, moaning , whimpering and holding onto the bed sheets like they were the only thing anchoring your body to the bed. “You’re doing so good for me baby” he said as he slid his veiny hand around your neck nestling it there and squeezing, not enough to cut off your air, but just enough for you to really feel him there.
“J-jake…” you moan, “ I can’t take it anymore…. t-too much.. too good…” He looks down at your tear stained face with so much love and care, contrast to his harsh thrusts into you. “ Shhh baby, you can take it for me babygirl. I know you can. My strong, big girl yeah?” You nod, too fucked out to disagree, just really wanting to make your Jakey proud :( .
“ Here baby, suck” he says while moving his hand from your clit and sliding two of his long veiny fingers right into your warm, wet mouth. You gladly welcome them in sucking them. “ There she is, my good girl. Cum one more time for me baby then we’re done okay? Can you do that for me?” You nod, mouth still around his fingers, looking up at him, your eyes wide and teary. He brings you to your 4th(?) ( you honestly lost count ) orgasm of the night. After you calm down from the aftershocks he pulls out and begins aftercare ( he is an aftercare king) wiping you down and telling you how good you were for him and how much he loves you.
After,he pulls you against his chest, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “ You did so well baby, I’m so proud of you” he says as he presses soft kisses on your face. “ I love you too jae..”
“ I can tell you love my fingers too,hm?” “ maybe..? they’re just really nice to look at and.. suck on..”
He laughs, stroking your hair softly, “ I figured baby, don’t worry I think it’s adorable”
an: this was so ass, but it’s my first time actually writing so bear w me😭 anyways i need him to finger me asap🤤🤤
